Madam Umbridge Home for Wayward Girls

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/15176684.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: F/M, M/M, F/F
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationship: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Character: Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, Draco Malfoy
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Victorian, Gothic, Orphanage,
Doctor/Patient, Mystery, Ghosts, Haunting, Murder, Slow Burn, Horror,
Thriller, Multi-POV, Plot Driven, Additional Warnings Apply, TWs listed
inside please observe before reading
Stats: Published: 2018-07-05 Completed: 2020-10-31 Chapters: 35/35 Words:
765679

Madam Umbridge Home for Wayward Girls

by LovelyVillain

Summary

Hermione’s life takes a dark turn after the death of her parents, leaving her at the mercy of a
tyrannical Matron. Her new home is more prison than sanctuary, haunted by ghosts bearing
terrible, bloody secrets. And though she is surrounded by troubled young women, it is the
men in her life who teach her that freedom comes at the greatest price of all.

Victorian AU, Tomione, Dramione, no triad

[COMPLETED OCTOBER 2020]

 Fire & Brimstone
Chapter Notes

** Updated March 2021 **

DAZED AND CONFUSED?

START HERE

Hello, my Beauties, welcome back or greetings for the first time :) With a fic this size,
I thought some house cleaning was in order. Which is ironic since I busted a window
to get in here. I've seen some questions and rumors floating around and want to clarify
things for anyone debating whether or not to give this monster a ride…

**** Wayward is NOT a romance. While there are Dramione and Tomione
elements and several side-ships, romance is not central to the main plot. This has
driven many a reader insane. But they continue to write to me from inside the Asylum
and it's so lovely receiving handwritten notes.
**** Wayward IS a plot-driven thriller with lots of action and horror, including
mild gore and acts of torture. I know. It sounds really gross but is actually super fun
and most readers love it. They’re also insane, so there’s that.
**** It DOES feature multiple POVs. Hermione remains the central figure but
there’s a crap ton of other people running around doing crazy shit at all times. It’s
exhausting and I miss them terribly.
**** Characters ARE of age. All of them, and not just by Victorian standards. The
law protects their right to screw up their lives however they see fit. And by their I
mean my.
**** This is NOT a crossover. Only HP characters are featured. Trust me, I use all of
them. I do draw heavy inspiration from the video game Alice: Madness Returns
and original Lewis Carroll book in later scenes. Most of you will skip these scenes.
This will not save you from the Asylum. Your soul is MINE.
**** There IS smut… after a Grade A Slow Burn. Caution: Victorian slow burn is
the leading cause of reader insanity. One in three people will lose their shit. Or have
their shit stolen. By me. While they’re reading. The window I broke is yours.
**** TWs are NOT listed before each chapter. Despite my flippancy, this tale does
feature dark subject matter and possible triggers listed below. Please note, I do not
feature explicit rape or child abuse. Someone does pair a ruffled shirt with cropped
trousers but the scene is quick and non-graphic.
**** The story synopsis DOES suck. I am bad at writing synopsis, but I love saying
the word. Synopsis. Feel free to suggest a better one. My head will explode if I try to
edit at this point.

And the BIG TWO…

What is the story about?

PASS.

Who does Hermione end up with?

You can find this out pretty easily. While I prefer not knowing the ending before I
read, I understand suspense isn’t for everyone. If the final pairing is vital to your
 enjoyment, I doubt you’ll like this story regardless of ship preference. If stroke-
inducing sexual tension is your thing, boy do I have exciting news.

No really, wtf is this thing about? How is it so long?

There are few descriptions posted because readers are very respectful about not
sharing spoilers. I usually say it's a murder mystery teetering between gothic horror
and noir thriller. If you like a classic Who Done It in a Victorian setting, this may be
the golden squirrel for you. If you refuse to continue without a detailed overview, I
respect your boundaries and am happy to validate parking. Please see the squirrel at
the reception desk.

IMPORTANT PLEASE READ

!!! TRIGGER WARNINGS !!!

Self-harm, suicide, psychological trauma, drug use, drug addiction, hospitalizing

patient against their will, physical scars, child abandonment, PTSD, seizures,
sexual predator, sexual violence, non-consent, confronting abuser, miscarriage,
homophobia, female oppression, kidnapping, physical abuse, drugging someone
against their will, forced medical treatment, graphic violence, gore, torture,
murder, character death

** Starting quotes are from the video game and book **

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Another day, a different dream perhaps.

. . .

Flames.

Everywhere.

Lapping up the walls, climbing the curtains, spilling across the ceiling in pools of orange and red
light, so bright they burned her eyes, so hot they scorched her flesh, filled her lungs with copious
smoke, black rot, turning her esophagus to ash. She choked, gagged, clawed at her throat, desperate
for air, desperate for life. Tears streamed from her eyes, vision so hazy she could barely make out
shapes in the vast chaos before her. The wood floor beneath her was warm, flammable, as unsafe as
every other surface within the vast room. She scrambled on her hands and knees, heavy skirts
tangled around her legs, slowing her progress, making her clumsy as she pulled her weak body
futilely towards the doorway, at least the direction she thought was the doorway.

A crash, an explosion beside her, fresh plumes of flame and sizzling embers erupted high into the
air like the mouth of a spitting volcano, spilling molten lava across the grand piano, the settee, the
chaise lounge. Everything was burning. Everything was dying. Hermione was next. She coughed
up murky spittle, wiping away the strings of saliva with the back of her ash-stained hand. She
gasped, inhaling yet more smoke, suspended in a black haze of poison gas, hellfire flickering
angrily through the gaps in the dark clouds. She couldn’t go on. Her limbs were too weak, arms too
shaky to support her weight any longer. She collapsed in a sweaty heap, long curls matted with
debris, caked to her forehead, covering her face in a delicate mask that did nothing to protect her
from imminent demise.

And then she heard it. Voices. Screaming her name. Unmistakable even through the roaring
flames, the deafening snap of an overhead beam as part of the ceiling caved in around her, chunks
of plaster and tile crashing down, the chandelier shattering mere feet away, glass exploding in
every direction like crystal raindrops.

“Hermione!” Her mother.

“Mione!” Her father.

She wept, curling slowly into the fetal position, burying her face in her sweat-slick palms, wracked
by dry, broken sobs. The fire was upon her now, forming a perfect ring around her huddled form. It
was a sentient being, an angry god born from the pits of hell, come to drag her into the depths of
fire and brimstone where her soul would suffer eternal damnation.

There was nothing left to breathe but smoke, nothing left to feel but raw flame tearing away her
flesh and searing away nerve endings. It would take her sight, her breath, her life. Her heart would
be the final thing to go, she’d burn alive as her most vital organ continued to beat with the ivory
cage of her ribs. Her entire body would turn to ash, she’d be frozen in abject horror forever like the
victims of Pompeii. She’d become a passing tourist attraction with no name, no story, no memory.
Dust in the wind.

The flames washed over her like a tidal wave, and in that final moment of cognizant terror, she
heard her mother scream for her one last time, the sound ringing in her ears, deafening.
“Hermione!”

She screamed, the fire consuming her limbs, her skin, muscle, and bone.

“Hermione! Wake up!”

Her eyes snapped open, darkness surrounded her.

“Calm down! It’s a dream! It’s just a dream!”

The deafening roar of the fire still echoed around her. She blinked rapidly, turning her head in
every direction, searching for the flames, the black smoke, muscles tense and ready to spring, to
run for her life.

“Stop yelling!” the new voice demanded.

She blinked again, the disembodied voice taking physical shape before her. A face, pinched in
distress, inches from her own. Hands clasping her shoulders so tightly she cringed back, but they
held tight. Her throat felt raw, scorched. But not by smoke. By her own screaming.

She snapped her mouth closed and the roaring stopped. The room fell silent, eerily so. She gasped
for breath, wiping at her face, fingers coming away wet. She blinked, staring at her glistening
fingertips in confusion.
“Hermione? Are you okay?”

She blinked again, peering up. The face was recognizable now.

“Parvati?”

“Bloody hell, you scared the shite out of me.” The young woman slowly released her shoulders and
leaned back from where she sat on the edge of the bed. Hermione drew her knees up beneath the
thin blanket, wrapping her arms around her legs and trying to regulate her breathing, trying to
eradicate the lapping flames from her memory. The nightmares were a regular occurrence,
inescapable, but if she forced her mind onto other things, she could usually shake the lingering
effects within a few minutes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’d be amazed if you didn’t wake the entire floor. You were screaming your head off for at least
five minutes. I kept shaking you but you wouldn’t come out of it.”

Hermione swallowed, throat tight, the melancholy taking longer to escape than usual. “It was
stronger this time.”

Parvati nodded. “Obviously. Did you take your medicine?”

Hermione glanced away, eyes down.

“It’s okay," the girl said. "I won't tell anyone. But you won’t be able to hide it from them much
longer if you keep on like this every night.”

Hermione nodded, idly running her fingers through her loose curls for a distraction. “I’ll be okay.
I’m sorry again for waking you. Do you want some tonic to fall back asleep?”

Parvati shook her head, folding her hands in her lap and sighing. “No use. Lav’s missing. Again.
I’m going to stay up 'til she gets back.”

Hermione raised a brow, glancing to the third bed in the small room, its covers drawn and a lumpy
figure beneath. At a distance, it would be easy to mistake as a person, but from where they sat, it
was clearly pillows artfully arranged under the blanket. “How long has she been gone?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t hear her leave. But it’s already 2 a.m., another inspection is due to come
round any time now. She better hope her skinny arse doesn’t get caught or we’re all in for. You
know Umbridge will say we were accomplices.”

Hermione nodded, lips turned down. “If she’s caught, this will be her third strike. Umbridge is
dying to make an example of her.” She sighed, throwing back her blanket and drawing her legs
over the side of the bed, knees still weak from the lingering terror of the dream. She cringed to see
the large sweat stain she'd left behind on the sheets. It was as if her body truly thought it was
trapped by fire.

“What are you doing?” Parvati asked.

“I’m going to find Lavender and bring her back before the guard comes 'round.”

“Are you mad? You’ll just get yourself caught and we’ll all be punished anyway!”

“I know the route Filch takes. I can avoid him. Just stay here, and if she comes back before I do,
make sure she stays put.”

Pavarti groaned. “Mione, I really don’t think you should—”

“If she gets a third strike, she’s out on the streets. Do you really think Lav can survive out there on
her own?”

They shared an intense, meaningful look before Pavarti relented, stepping away from the bed.
“Please be careful.”

Hermione shrugged on her thin robe that barely reached her knees, pulling her long hair free from
beneath the collar. “I always am.” And then she tiptoed barefoot to the door, opening it a crack and
peering out, holding her breath. Upon seeing the dimly lit corridor, she slipped out without a
backward glance, carefully clicking the door shut behind her.

She bit her lip, pressing to the wall as she quickly padded down the hallway, past numerous closed
doors, the faint sound of snores and heavy breathing discernible through the thin barriers. A few
times she heard whispering and her heart lurched, fearful someone with insomnia would hear her
creeping past and stick their head out to investigate. For the most part, the residents here respected
each other’s privacy, as long as you stayed out of their business, they stayed out of yours. But a
select few loved to meddle, loved to kiss up to the Matron, and were always on the lookout for
rule-breaking. With her dreadful luck, she’d draw the attention of the wrong person, so she did her
best to remain silent and invisible, becoming one with the shadows she moved between.

She had a good idea of where her missing roommate could be, the blonde loved to sneak outside to
the courtyard to smoke and drink after the majority of the Home was in bed. She just hoped
Lavender was engaging in those vices alone. The girl had received her first two strikes after being
caught in the company of young gentlemen after curfew.

Hermione carefully avoided the squeaking floorboards, having mapped out the best routes to take
after the last few months of residency. She may be one of the newest additions, but she was a very
quick study, and more observant than most.

She gasped at the sound of muffled voices around the corner, heart racing when she realized she
wasn’t hearing a hushed conversation, but rather a heavy moaning. Good lord… She swallowed
tentatively, peeking her head around to gaze down the dark hallway beyond. She saw no one, but
there was a faint glow of flickering candle flame across the far wall, emitted from a door at the end
of the corridor which stood open barely an inch. She debated whether to journey any further.

Heaven knows I don’t want to see what they’re up to, but if it’s Lavender inside, it’s better I catch
her than Filch.

She sighed, squaring her shoulders and quickly dashing down the hallway before she could think
better of it. She gazed over her shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before peering inside the
faintly lit room.

It was a storage closet, if the abundance of cleaning supplies were any indication. How foolish of
them to engage in such debauchery inside Filch’s own pantry! Did they want to be caught?

She gasped, eyes going wide when her gaze moved past stacked crates and buckets to glimpse the
gyrating bodies on the other side. She gulped heavily, whipping back around and pressing against
the wall, mortified and shocked. She'd expected to see kissing, perhaps heavy petting at worse. But
the couple inside was engaged in full-on coitus. Her cheeks flamed.
What am I doing here?

She was about to sprint away when she thought once more of Lavender. She hadn’t gotten a good
enough look at the female-half of the duo to know if it was her missing friend. The man’s bare,
rippling back had taken up her field of vision. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes.

And what if it is Lavender? What am I supposed to do? Knock on the door and kindly interrupt
them, tell her it’s time to return to the dorm?

The sounds at her back increased in volume and pace. “Scream for me,” a deep baritone whispered
from behind the door, mostly gravel.

Hermione’s entire body went rigid, lungs deflating as her blood ran cold. She blinked quickly, tears
forming behind her eyes as her hands formed fists at her sides. She tried desperately to keep the
buried memory from surfacing, but it was to no avail. She stood in a darkened, dusty hallway with
no distractions beyond the passionate coupling mere meters away. She shook her head as if to rattle
the thoughts loose, but they raced to the forefront of her mind, vivid and bright as the morning sun.

“That’s it, luv, scream for me…”

She screamed with the full force of her lungs, kicking, clawing, twisting. A desperate, dying
animal, veins pumping pure adrenaline from her racing heart, surging through her thrashing
limbs.

“That’s a good girl, now say my name.”

She gasped for breath, pulled forcefully from the waking nightmare. Doubling over and trying not
to gag, her heart pounded wildly in her ears, drowning out the lustful coupling behind the door. She
closed her eyes. Count backward from ten. Come on, count…

Ten… Nine... Eight…

“—about time, I was starting to think he’d changed his mind. Couldn’t say I’d blame him.”

Hermione's eyes snapped wide at the unmistakably shrill tone of her Matron’s voice. She glanced
around like a cornered doe, feeling like prey about to be skewered by an arrow. If Umbridge caught
her out after curfew, she wouldn’t bother with warnings or reprimands. She’d throw Hermione out
on the street this very night with nothing but the clothes on her back and the bare feet beneath her.

She heard the sharp click of the Matron’s heels against the hardwood, determined and fast
approaching. There was an uneven patter following in the woman's wake, the sound of Filch’s
broken gait. Hermione’s mind went blank with terror as she fled down the hall, twisting every
doorknob in sight. She whispered a silent prayer of reverence when one finally gave way, allowing
her to slip inside.

The room beyond was pitch black but silent and seemingly empty, which suited her purpose just
fine. She shut the door but for a small crack to listen through. Holding her breath, she leaned in
close, listening to the Matron and her loyal minion pass through the hallway perpendicular to her
hiding spot.

Their conversation was muffled by the door, but Hermione was certain she heard the word
“Doctor” in there somewhere. She blinked, waiting for the voices to fade entirely before daring to
relax. The last doctor had been dismissed before her arrival at the Home. She'd heard through the
grapevine they had been searching for his replacement, but apparently, no respectable physician
wanted to tie his horse to a den of wayward teen girls.
With a deep breath, she decided to linger inside the quiet room a few moments longer, just to
ensure the threat of discovery was truly behind her. And what about Lavender? She sighed, tipping
back her head and closing her eyes. Dammit.

Hermione didn’t know why she felt such an obligation to protect her roommates, she'd only known
them for such a short time, but the girls had been kind and accepting of Hermione from her first day
here. While many shunned the new arrival on principal, Parvati and Lavender had taken her under
their wings and shown her the ropes, taught her the lay of the land and kept a watchful eye on her
while she adjusted to her new, upside-down life. Finally tasked with repaying the debt, she couldn’t
in good conscience leave them to suffer at the hands of Umbridge simply because the toad Queen
hated everyone under her care.

Okay. I’ll spend five more minutes looking, tops. Assuming that wasn’t Lavender in the closet…

In her panic to hide, she’d nearly forgotten about the hidden couple. She wondered if they were
close to finishing. The thought made her shudder with revulsion.

As she pictured the layout of the Home in her mind, planning what routes to take to best avoid
discovery, she felt a cold draft slip past, a faint whistling sound blowing loose curls into her face.
She spun quickly, only to blink in confusion. There were no windows in the room. Where was the
gust coming from?

She held her breath once more, taking a careful step deeper into the all-consuming darkness, hands
extended to feel along the wall and keep her balance. Suddenly, she felt an electrical pulse in the
air, charged particles sweeping around her like a wind tunnel. She gasped desperately, retreating to
the door. Oh god please, not again—

“Hermione…”

She clamped a hand over her mouth to capture the scream, barely able to swallow it down before
she felt warm breath on her neck, the presence of something else behind her. She tore open the
door in blind terror, running full speed ahead down the shadowed hallway, mindless of the ruckus
she was causing.

When she reached the intersection at the end of the path, she started to turn in the direction of her
room, but a distant shadow of a hunched figure stopped her short. Filch.

Damn!

She couldn’t risk taking the usual route back, Umbridge would be impossible to bypass. Instead,
she turned on her heel and dashed the opposite way, leaving the network of hallways that
comprised the Resident dorms and entering another wing entirely. It was one she knew of but had
never ventured down, comprised solely of storage rooms, or so she’d thought.

She tried to slow her breathing, to quell the rising panic in her gut while trying every knob in her
path. Once again, fortune took mercy of her this night, the very last door giving way beneath her
hand. She stepped inside with a cry of relief. The room had a round window at the top of a curved
ceiling, illuminating a decent-sized chamber that, to her surprise, contained a well-made bed and
chest of drawers opposite a standing wardrobe.

She froze at the sight. Bloody hell, does someone live here? She strained to listen for any
movement but the room was deathly still, as well as ice cold. Her bare legs were covered in
goosebumps, the thin fabric of her robe doing little to shield her from the frigid temperature. She
breathed out and saw a plume of breath depart her lips, quickly absorbed by the empty air.
Tentatively, she made her way to the chest and opened the top drawer, unsurprised to find it empty
save for a King James Bible, standard in every room. She shut it swiftly and opened the remaining
compartments, safely concluding the room was indeed uninhabited. She carded fingers through her
hair, trying to calm her frazzled nerves.

You did this to yourself, sneaking out like a fool. If you get caught, it will be your own fault. A
heavy sigh. Maybe it will be better if I’m thrown out. I can’t stand it here anyway. Harry will put
me up—

She was pulled from her musing by fast-approaching footsteps outside the door. Her eyes flared
wide, pulse stuttering anew as muffled voices joined the fold, the symphony of noise drawing
louder, closer, heading straight for her.

No, it can’t be…

Of all the rooms in this giant, haunted mausoleum of a girls’ home, they just had to be headed to
the very place she's chosen to hide. Spinning in a frantic circle, she saw no closet door to hide
behind. She glanced briefly at the bed, knowing she was certainly thin enough to slide beneath its
frame, but the coverlet was short and didn’t reach the floor, easily exposing her presence.

Blast it!

She dashed for the standing wardrobe, her only option it would seem, and tugged open its doors. A
quick spin and she was tucking herself inside, a tight fit to be certain, but after folding her legs and
sucking in her breath, she was able to enclose herself in darkness just as the voices reached the
bedroom door.

A faint creak of hinges followed by footsteps entering, at least two sets. The distinct click click
click of heels made her cringe, but the slow, steady gait that followed was far too even and smooth
to belong to Filch. Her heart raced so violently she pressed a hand to her chest, eager to keep it
within her body.

If I’m caught like this, I’m done for.

She gulped and closed her eyes, willing herself to become invisible despite knowing it was a
wasted effort. Fate had had it in for her since the night of the fire; there would be no reprieve here.

“I hope you will find the room satisfactory,” Umbridge said, voice clawing through the wardrobe
door. “It is located in the east wing so you’ll have plenty of privacy. Of course, every now and
then, one of the residents likes to sneak off and do God knows what. Delinquents, the lot of them.
If you find anyone roaming about, report them to me directly. I shall dole out the proper
punishment.”

Hermione held her breath, trembling in her huddled heap, terrified to even blink.

“The room is more than satisfactory. Thank you, Madam.”

Breath and thought evaded her entirely as a deep, resonating baritone traveled through the wood
with a pleasant hum. A man's voice, perfectly foreign to her ears. There were only a handful of men
employed by the Home, Filch the one most frequently set before the residents. Aside from outside
gardeners and maintenance workers, and the owner of the local Apothecary who made infrequent
visits, Hermione couldn't recall any other male staff members.

“Good," Umbridge replied. "Well, I shall let you get settled then, Doctor.”
Doctor? It seemed the Matron had found a replacement after all. And for some inexplicable reason,
the revelation sent chills of unease down her spine.

“I appreciate your hospitality, Madam, especially at this hour.”

Footsteps headed in her direction, heavy and precise. She drew in a sharp gasp, pressing into the
solid backing of the wardrobe. This was it, she was about to be discovered and thrown out on the
street, left to rot in the gutter and scrounge for scraps of food, begging for change and drinking
from filthy puddles—

The doors parted swiftly and soft candlelight streamed through, alongside a beam of moonlight that
perfectly illuminated the face of the handsome stranger standing less than a foot away. Staring
right at her.

Their eyes locked, hers wide with unbridled terror, his slightly narrowed, but without scorn. He
possessed storm grey irises that seemed to glow from within, robbing her of what little breath she
had left. The corner of his mouth tipped up. And then, as though nothing was amiss, he glanced
away and began shrugging out of his overcoat.

“I look forward to meeting the residents tomorrow,” he said, reaching inside the wardrobe to
extract a folding hanger from above her head. She watched in vacant shock as he casually strung
the garment around the wood and hung it beside her.

“Your feelings will change soon after you do, I assure you,” her Matron said with no shortness of
scorn, still hovering near the entrance.

The Doctor’s eyes locked with Hermione’s again, rendering her as motionless as a pin through a
butterfly wing. “I beg to differ. I have a feeling there are some rather interesting individuals
residing here.”

She felt a warm flush rush across her neck and cheeks, becoming hyper-aware of her bare legs on
full display. She wanted to pull down her robe and wrap it around her knees but feared the
movement would draw her Matron’s attention.

“The only interesting thing about them is how wild and graceless they can be," the Madam replied.
"They go out of their way to disgrace everything the fairer sex stands for.”

The stranger raised a bold and heavy brow, his features sharp and lethal in the flickering
candlelight. His smirk gave way to a smile that revealed a row of perfectly white and gleaming
teeth, but his expression held no trace of humor. It was cruel, mocking, and made her shrink back
instinctively.

“It seems you harbor no affection for your charges, Madam.”

Umbridge scoffed indelicately. “As I said, wait until you meet them for yourself.”

His eyes remained fixed upon Hermione, unyielding in their intensity. “I look forward to it.”

And then, to her great and utter shock, he winked and closed the doors, submerging her in darkness
yet again. She released a trembling breath, lungs starved for oxygen as the muffled exchange
continued on the other side of the barrier.

Oh my god.

She pressed a hand to her chest, then slide those shaking fingertips to her neck to check for a pulse.
The painful thrum of her artery came to life beneath her touch, proving she hadn't dropped dead
yet.

Oh my god.

She was beyond forming anything more coherent than that for the time being. The moment was
unreal, a dream, unlike her usual nightmares but no less terrifying in its clarity. There could be no
other plausible explanation. She blinked inside the darkness when she heard her Matron’s heels
recede down the hall. She remained still and silent, unsure what to do.

“You can come out now," a steady voice bid.

She cringed, having hoped he would have left as well. Of course not! This is his room, idiot.
You're the intruder here.

She bit her lip before slowly unfurling her legs and pushing the door open. Trembling, she hovered
awkwardly, still seated on the wide shelf of the wardrobe. She gazed upon him with wide eyes. He
stood before the foot of the bed, arms folded calmly across his chest. A prolonged view of him
revealed a frightening beauty. Pretty things were always the most dangerous.

Tall and lean, his proportions were carved by an artist's chisel. His shoulders were broad and his
waist narrow, the sleeves of his shirt rolled part-way up to expose pale, sinewy forearms. His thick
wave of dark brown hair was rendered black in the moonlight, paired magnificently against high
cheekbones and a sharp jawline. But how she took these details into account was a true mystery,
for she hadn't been able to pull her focus from his eyes for even a moment. They seemed to pulse in
response, charged by a magic long-forgotten by man. She shuddered at the childish notion and was
reminded of her sparse evening attire. Another quiet gasp and she was pulling her robe closed and
tying the sash with clumsy fingers.

“Hello,” he greeted, in a tone that both soothed and rattled her nerves.

Her eyes darted to the bedroom door. Closed. Please don’t let it be locked…

“My name is Doctor Riddle. And you are?”

Her eyes snapped forward, pulse frantic as a rabbit before a cat. But an invisible force kept her
grounded, lending her the fortitude to reply in a small and hoarse voice. “Hermione.”

He nodded, as though he'd suspected that was her name, and then turned to face the bed with
unhurried poise. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Hermione.” She watched him lean down and open a
traveling case at the center of the mattress. “Do I want to know why you were hiding in my
wardrobe?” he posed.

She took a deep breath. “It wasn't your wardrobe when I first got in.”

This seemed to amuse him, a secretive grin playing at the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough.” He
started pulling clothing and books from the case, spreading them over his coverlet in a meticulous
fashion. She watched him work for several moments, utterly entranced, before he turned to face her
again.

“I have a feeling you’re not where you’re supposed to be, and the Madam of the Home will have a
great deal to say on the matter if you’re caught.”

She took a step back but he made no motion forward, merely tilted his head and roamed her figure
with his gaze, but in such a clinical manner it didn’t unsettle her as it normally would. “I won’t
report you," he said. "But I suggest you return to where you need to be at once.”

She nodded mutely, edging backward until she was halfway to the door. They continued to stare at
each other with fascination, hers tinged by fear and surprise, his by some unknown emotion that
took root in his expanding pupils.

“Thank you,” she whispered, uncertain what else to say before whirling on her heel and dashing for
the door. As she turned the knob, he recalled her attention.

“Hermione.”

She peered over her shoulder, breath hitching at the dark smile awaiting her.

“Sleep well," he bid, causing her mouth to run dry.

Words were impossible so she nodded instead, slipping through the narrow opening and clicking
the door shut at her back. She pressed her forehead to the wood, half-convinced she was still curled
inside the wardrobe awaiting discovery.

Did that really just happen?

She shook her head and pushed on, stumbling down the desolate corridor with a lump in her throat.
The lingering distraction made her lose track of her route, resulting in several wrong turns that cost
her precious time and sent her barrelling headlong into a huddled body in the shadows. She inhaled
deeply, prepared to shatter glass with her lungs when a hand clamped over her mouth.

“Shh!” a male voice demanded. She reared back, fighting off the strong grip with a muffled squeal.
“Mione, shut up!”

The sound of her nickname rendered her motionless long before the familiar voice could spark in
her mind. The restraining hand eased and she pushed it off the rest of the way, glaring hatefully at
the fool before her.

“Cormac, you idiot! What are you doing—” her tirade was derailed by another memory. A man's
sweaty back, muscles flexing in time to his thrusts. Her cheeks flamed. “You were in the closet
with Lavender," she concluded dumbly.

He raised a brow before awarding her with a wolfish grin. “Watching us, luv? I'd no idea you were
a voyeur.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I came to rescue Lavender from herself. If she gets caught sneaking
around after curfew she’ll be chucked onto the street. But I doubt you care about that, as long as
you get your midnight kicks.”

He shook his head and inspected her slowly, the hungry perusal nothing like the Doctor's. She felt
dirty and exposed, stepping back with a shameful blush.

“Well, maybe you should help her out," he posed. "Sneak out in her place. You know I’d make it
good for you.”

Bile rose in her throat. “Get. Out.” You vile, loathsome pig went unspoken, though the moniker was
clearly read in her eyes. But Cormac wasn’t deterred, laughing at her ire like it was some private
joke between them.

He carded a hand through his hair and winked, another perverted mockery of the Doctor, before
stepping to the window. She was about to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, but his
intent became clear enough when he pushed open the pane and hoisted himself onto the ledge.

“Are you mad?” she hissed.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Worried about me?”

She crossed her arms. “Do try to break your fall with your neck.”

He tossed his head and laughed, causing her to glance around frantically, terrified Filch would
overhear.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, blowing a kiss and sliding his other leg over the side before dropping
out of sight. She gasped, racing to the window and peering down in time to see the idiot land atop
the springy shrubs in a graceless sprawl. Her sigh was equal parts relief and annoyance as she
closed the pane and fastened the latch, catching sight of her pale reflection in the glass. A stranger's
face stared back at her, marked by pain and trauma until her features were all but unrecognizable.

She looked away before the screams could follow, continuing her journey to the dorms. By the
time she slipped inside her room, she felt well and truly exhausted. The silver lining would be a
coma-like sleep the moment she closed her eyes, her mind too overtaxed to concoct any more
nightmares.

“Hermione, thank god! We thought Filch had snagged you!” Parvati declared from beside the door,
causing Hermione to jump. Movement drew her attention to the third bed where Lavender sat
against the headboard, braiding her golden tresses into an intricate plait.

Hermione opened her mouth, but her recovered roommate beat her to the punch.

“Please, spare me the lecture, I know it already. I’m a bloody idiot who's just asking for trouble,
you’re terribly disappointed in me. I got it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s no fun when you say it.”

Her friend smirked. “Sorry I made you go chasing after me.”

Hermione made her way towards her bed, weary down to her bones now that the adrenaline had
dissipated.

“Did you spot Filch?” Parvati asked.

Hermione bit her lip, debating just how much to share. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted to
keep her exchange with the Doctor private. She had so few things that belonged solely to her
anymore.

She tossed her robe to the foot of the mattress and slid her legs beneath the blanket. “No,” she said,
laying her head on the pillow. “I didn’t see anyone.”
 Past. Present. Future.

There’s no use going back to yesterday,

Because I was a different person then.

. . .

Hermione stirred her porridge absentmindedly, eyes fixed on a bare patch of table beside her bowl.
She had yet to bring a spoonful to her mouth. The breakfast selection at the Home was narrow,
though not totally abysmal. They still had appearances to keep, and a bunch of starving,
malnutritioned wards would not ensure renewed funding every year. The Queen liked to throw
crown money at social causes, particularly those suited to women, without having to step foot in
the hovels herself. Hermione was certain the funding was at least partially diverted to other
interests before the residents saw any benefit. But the powers that be couldn’t allow the place to
fall into complete ruins, otherwise, they’d be cut off entirely.

Still, she had no stomach for the food set out before her. She selected a bowl of mush so she’d have
something to do with her hands, giving the illusion of eating. Her appetite was nonexistent, as it
had been for the last year. She only ate when pressured, and her thin, brittle frame was showing the
wear and tear of her poor diet. Her collarbone all but jutted out from her pale skin, nearly every rib
visible around her middle. She wore high collars and extra layering to hide the evidence of her slow
disintegration.

Truth be told, she couldn't care less about her appearance these days. And it seemed right that her
outside match her inside. Broken and scarred. It was strange to think back to who she once was
such a short time ago. The silk dresses, the glittering gems, the painstaking hours of prep before
she’d dare step foot outside. Her mother would spend all morning twisting her curls into lavish
displays, strategically placing pearl-tipped pins throughout, giggling alongside her daughter as the
thick tendrils refused to stay in place for more than a few seconds.

Thinking of her mother caused a sharp pain in her chest, a chronic ache as of late. She pressed a
hand to the spot in silent acknowledgment of her grief, but quickly lowered it as someone slid onto
the bench beside her. She didn’t have to spare an upward glance to know who had joined her, the
smell of gardenias greeting her before the white-blonde braid became visible in her peripheral.

“Good morning, Hermione.”

“Good morning, Luna. You’ve been tending the garden?”

The young woman smiled, expression lit by genuine serenity. “You're very observant. Or did
Lauma tell you?”

Hermione couldn’t help but smirk. “No, I’m afraid Lauma doesn’t speak to me.” She continued to
stir her bowl. “What form did she take today?”

“A spotted magpie,” Luna said, playing idly with her plait. “She sang to me while I watered the
flowers.”

Hermione glanced sidelong at her strange companion who claimed the woodland fae goddess
communed with her in the form of various animals. “That’s a good sign, right? It means today will
be a good day.”

Luna shrugged a delicate shoulder. “It depends on the message. She sounded a bit frantic. I think
she was trying to warn me.”

A sudden chill permeated her bones. Hermione set the spoon aside, turning to face her companion.
“Warn you about what?”

Luna reached for a piece of burnt toast without a care in the world. “I don’t know, I had trouble
understanding her. Something in the air is affecting my aura.”

“The air? Like smog?”

“No.” Luna slid the butter dish closer. “Nothing you can see. Something you can feel.” Her large
blue eyes found Hermione. “You can feel it, too. I can tell.”

Hermione shook her head, keen on asking more when a new voice interrupted their conversation.

“Loony Lovegood, covered in filth before breakfast is through. Sleeping in the stables again?”

Hermione glared at the uninvited guest standing behind them. “What’s your problem, Marietta?”

The young woman smiled with malevolent glee. “My problem, Granger, is Loony’s stench. Or
maybe it’s you I’m smelling from across the room?”

“Luna smells like the garden and I practically bathed in rose oil this morning, I know your capacity
for original thought is limited, but do try and be more creative.” Hermione faced back around, not
willing to give the petulant girl another moment of her time.

“You stupid bunter! Think you’re so much better than everyone here because you grew up on the
Westside? Well, now you’re stuck in the East End like the rest of us because no man will have
you. Which makes sense, considering you’re certainly nothing to look at, so don’t think for a
minute—”

“Not thinking is really more your thing, isn’t it Edgecomb?” Came a new voice.

“As is deterring members of the opposite sex with your ghastly face.” Came a second.

Lavender and Parvati appeared, flanking the angry girl from behind, exchanging smirks with each
other as they crossed to the table and sat opposite Hermione and Luna.

“You— you— dumb whores—”

“It’s alright, Rhetta, if there are men desperate enough to pay for it, there’s gotta be someone
willing to stick it to you for free.”

“Lavender!” Hermione hissed. “Not at the breakfast table!”

Her roommate laughed, reaching for a piece of toast without a hint of shame. “Oh please, it’s not
like I told her to wear a bag over her head—”

“That’s enough!” Hermione glanced around, looking for Umbridge as Marietta burned bright red,
sputtering in outrage and humiliation.

“It’s really just your complexion, luv,” Parvati said, voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Men
mistake your face for your arse and get all confused.”

Lavender choked on her bite, spitting crumbs across the table. Hermione shook her head, spotting
their Matron at the head of the room, beady eyes narrowed on the gathering of girls. “We’re being
watched.”

All heads swiveled around. Marietta took a reluctant step back. “This isn’t over,” she hissed,
stomping away with clenched fists and a blistering face.

“I can’t believe you said that, Parvati,” Hermione whispered. “What if she reports you to
Umbridge?”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “She’d never have the nerve to repeat it because she knows it’s true.”

Hermione sighed while Lavender erupted into a fit of giggles. Luna started humming and nibbled
her crusts, seemingly oblivious to the entire exchange.

“Oh relax, Mione," Lavender offered. "Edgecomb isn’t a threat. She’s a brown-nosing little—” she
stopped short, mouth agape and eyes glassy. Hermione leaned forward with concern.

“Lavender?”

The woman remained unresponsive, gaze affixed to some point just beyond Hermione’s shoulder.
Hermione glanced at Parvati in confusion, but found her attention similarly locked. She spun
around on the bench as the chatter within the dining hall came to a standstill. The silence was
jarring, eerie, and then Hermione saw what everyone was staring at and understood.

Dr. Riddle had entered the room.

For his part, he either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the profound effect his presence was having
on the female population of the Home. Her money was on the latter, as the sea of teenage girls
made their interest shamefully obvious. They giggled and blushed, whispered behind their hands
and batted their eyelashes coyly. She felt a wave of nausea seize her, embarrassed to be in the same
room as these twits. She turned around to say as much to her roommates, only to watch them
salivate all over the table.

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” They didn’t hear her, too busy tracking his every movement as he cut a
confident path through the middle of the room en route to the head table.

“Strange…” Luna murmured, gaining Hermione’s notice.

“What is?” Hermione whispered, the room still unnervingly quiet.

“Your aura… it’s changed.”

Hermione blinked, spared from having to find a response by the cringe-inducing sound of their
Matron clearing her throat. It sounded kittens being drowned in a burlap sack. Hermione imparted a
lingering look of bewilderment to her bench mate before turning to the front of the room.

Umbridge stood on her little crate, making her round shape hover half a meter higher than usual.
She glanced about the room with her signature glare in place, paired timelessly with her cruel little
smirk. “How lovely to have everyone so attentive first thing in the morning. Perhaps I’ve been able
to instill a modicum of manners into you after all.”

The Doctor came to a stop beside their Matron, turning to face the room with his hands clasped
behind his back, shoulders level and chin up. Despite the modelesque stature, Hermione could tell
it was a natural repose for the man, not an act of preening she was accustomed to seeing young
men like Cormac exhibit in female company. She tilted her head, studying him in a clinical fashion,
much the same as he'd done to her the night before. She hadn’t been able to fully process his
appearance then, frazzled as she was. Now, safely encased within the group, she was free to inspect
at her leisure.

He was obviously quite attractive, even more so in the sunlight, which was surprising since it
normally revealed flaws. But his pale skin was unblemished, carved from marble and sloping in
perfect lines beneath a heavy brow. His clothing was as dark as his hair, heat-pressed and bespoke.

Everything about him was inviting, screaming refinement and money. It was no wonder the room
was filled with such shock and awe. It wasn’t often such a specimen was seen on this side of town,
little less within these walls. At least not during daylight hours. Plenty of rich young men found
themselves wandering the halls at night in search of female company. And many of the residents
were only too happy to oblige, taken in by promises of a better life. Others simply gave in for the
promise of one less lonely evening.

But Hermione wasn’t fazed by his appearance or beauty. If anything, she was put off by both. No
stranger to high-born males who dressed like kings and treated everyone around them like squires,
she'd lived alongside the elitist sphere for most of her life. Never a part of things, always an
outsider looking in, painfully aware of her so-called shortcomings due to the great misfortune of
being born into the wrong family.

She was already classifying the Doctor among the gentry she so detested before Umbridge had
even finished introducing him to the room. Hermione had barely spoken to him last night, and truth
be told, he'd shown great leniency in letting her go without punishment or reprimand. But she
didn’t dwell on that detail. No, she couldn’t afford to think of him as anything but a person to
avoid. She would form no ties with this strange man, that much was certain.

Tuning back into Umbridge's speech, she found herself sitting straighter upon learning his full
name. “I would like you to all help me in welcoming our newest member of the administration, Dr.
Thomas Riddle. He joins us from St. Mungo’s Hospital where he came very highly spoken of by
all his associates. We are so very honored to have him join us.”

There was an explosion of chatter, eyes gleaming and limbs fidgeting as the crowd moved as one to
get a closer look.

“Ladies! Ladies, do calm down!” Umbridge yelled, looking greatly put-out. Her pleas fell on deaf
ears, the ensuing chaos growing louder as residents called across the room to one another,
exchanging jokes and laughing sharply.

Dr. Riddle looked mostly amused, the corner of his mouth tipping up as he glanced around the
room with little interest. Hermione glared. It was just as she'd suspected, then. Of course Umbridge
would hire someone with as little regard for the residents as herself. And if rumor was true, no one
had wanted the post to begin with, which was why it had taken so long to fill. Needless to say, she
highly doubted the Doctor was all that respected in the field. It seemed far more likely he drew the
short straw among his colleagues.

She continued to scowl at the side of that handsome, perfect face, when his head suddenly turned
and his eyes locked with hers. She jolted, accusing expression transforming into one of dismay as
she was once again subjected to his burning gaze. There was a sudden flash of lightning in his
storm-cloud eyes, perhaps a flicker of recognition, and his air of amusement only grew. Heat
flooded her chest and neck, pooling in her cheeks until he finally released her, glancing away as
though nothing had happened.

She deflated with a sharp breath, unaware she’d even been holding it in. Yes… I definitely need to
stay away from that one.
“Blimey, I think he was looking at you.”

Hermione glanced across the table, fearful her head would ignite. “Pardon?”

“He was staring right at you," Parvati continued. "Probably thought you have a fever with how red
you’re turning.” She smiled knowingly, making Hermione burn even hotter.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. He wasn’t looking at me.”

“Leave her alone, Parv,” Lavender smirked, twirling a long strand of hair around her finger. “If he
pinned me under his stare, I’d be turning all shades of crimson.”

“If he had you pinned under—”

“Enough!” Hermione snapped, facing the front of the room with her hands folded primly on her
lap. She pressed them so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“Quiet!” Umbridge all but screamed, complexion turning a blotchy purple. “Act like respectable
young women!” Her eyes bugged out, a vein throbbing in her forehead. It was all Hermione could
do to hold in her laughter. Others weren’t so capable. Umbridge silenced them with a lethal glare.
“You will all behave the way young ladies are supposed to behave, and will not embarrass me or
this institution!”

The Doctor looked both humored and perturbed by the Matron’s tirade. Hermione did her best to
keep her eyes off him but found it increasingly difficult. The crowd finally settled, silence falling
across the room in a rippling wave. Umbridge gasped for breath.

“Dr. Riddle will be treated with the respect his title and position in this Home deserve. Any offense
against him will be treated the same as an offense against me.” She scanned the crowd with a
slitted gaze, her focus lingering on a select few charges, Lavender included. The blonde rolled her
eyes, indifferent to the threat. “Once the Doctor is settled into his office, he will begin seeing
patients on a case by case basis, starting with those who have not been to see a physician since their
admittance.”

Hermione’s heart skipped.

“If this includes you, you will review the schedule posted outside the clinic door tomorrow
evening. If you are late for your appointment, or try skipping it—” her eyes fell on Hermione,
bright with hell flame, “I assure you, you will not enjoy the consequences.”

Hermione released a slow breath as the Matron glanced away, then felt her heart lurch anew as the
Doctor's fathomless gaze turned upon her, likely taking cues from Umbridge. Hermione stared
ahead, remaining perfectly motionless until the feeling of being stared at passed. Her fists were
clenched so tightly her nails had broken the skin of her palms. The sting of pain was soothing.

And then, as if the Matron hadn't just spent the last five minutes threatening and belittling the
entire room, she smiled brightly and bounced on her crate. “Splendid! I am so looking forward to
another productive day. The weather is superb, so there’s no excuse for anyone to dawdle in the
dining hall. Remember, idle hands are the devil’s playthings.”

Parvati scoffed as the room erupted into conversation. Hermione watched the Doctor extend a hand
to their Matron, helping her down. Umbridge flushed, her hand lingering on his arm even after he
released her. She glanced away sharply, staring at her congealed porridge with a heavy lump in her
stomach.
“Well, the day is certainly off to an interesting start,” Lavender mused, sweeping a pile of crumbs
onto the floor with a smirk. She loved creating a mess for Filch.

“You’re one lucky bint, Hermione.” Parvati grabbed a piece of toast and began ripping it to shred,
tossing the pieces over her shoulder to add to the growing mess. “You’ll get to spend some quality
time with the good doctor before any of us. You have to report back, spare no detail.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at their antics. “I will do no such thing. And I certainly don’t understand
the cause for such a stir. He’s a medical professional, what do the girls think is going to happen?
He sees us as his patients and nothing more.”

Lavender waggled her brows, leaning in closer. “Obviously, you don’t know why the last doc got
chucked.”

Hermione found herself leaning forward as well. “What do you mean?”

“He was a bad man," a soft voice spoke.

Hermione jumped, nearly having forgotten Luna was seated beside her. The simple but loaded
declaration made goosebumps erupt along her arms.

“What did he do?”

“Let’s just say he adhered to the medical half of his job title a bit more closely than the
professional part,” Parvati replied with disinterest, glancing about the room.

Hermione’s mind reeled. “Are you saying he was inappropriate with the residents?”

“If that’s the genteel way of saying he knocked boots with ‘em, then yes.” Lavender looked far too
amused by the subject matter they were discussing.

Hermione blanched, at a loss for what to say. She couldn't think through the sudden emotion that
seized her. How could such a thing happen? This was meant to be a safe haven for young women,
refuge for the orphaned and destitute. The mere notion that someone charged with providing
protection and care could abuse them in such a way was beyond terrifying.

She glanced over her shoulder at where the Doctor had last stood, but he was already gone.

Hermione pushed open the glass inlaid door, the overhead bell ringing through the small
Apothecary.

“You’re late.”

She fought back a sigh. “I was detained by Madam Umbridge. She extended the list, we have a
new physician on staff and the medical pantry needs restocking.”

“I’m aware. Now stop wasting my time any further and hand it to me.”

Hermione crossed the wood slat floor and did as requested, barely phased by Snape’s ire. She was
used to it after three months of regular visits. It was unheard of for Umbridge to entrust one of the
residents with the important task of procuring medical supplies for the Home. Apparently, Filch
had been assigned the errand previously. But Hermione’s existing knowledge of medicine and
chemistry made her a more viable candidate for the task, resulting in this pleasant afternoon
excursion.
Of course, Umbridge went through the shopping basket with a narrowed eye upon Hermione's
return each time, no doubt paranoid she was pocketing substances for herself. Hermione found it
mildly irritating but didn’t take great offense, well aware of how much she could earn by selling
tonics to the residents or on the street. Lavender had already tried to convince her to do so more
than once before Parvati finally convinced the girl to let the matter rest.

And as much biting sarcasm as Snape drenched Hermione with during her visits, she knew he
preferred her to Filch’s company any day of the week. The Chemist often tossed out random
questions to challenge her, looking annoyed when she answered correctly, but also somewhat
pleased. She imagined he considered the majority of his customer base idiots, making her visits a
welcome reprieve.

She watched his black eyes scan the parchment, flickering back and forth rapidly before setting the
list on the counter and disappearing between the aisles. She heard him rummaging about, the
tinkering of glass, and saw flashes of his thin, ghostly frame between the shelves.

“May I help?” she asked, already aware of what his answer would be. Alas, she enjoyed poking the
bear with a stick; she had so few outlets for entertainment these days.

“The only help you could provide is acting as a human door jamb.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was going to suggest substituting the laudanum with soothing syrups. Both
are addictive, but the girls won’t be as familiar with the latter and therefore less likely to abuse it.”

“Seeing as I’m not a complete imbecile, I’ve already made the alteration.”

She folded her hands behind her back, glancing around the shop with a gleam in her eyes as she
paced between the display cases. She didn’t notice Snape watching her through the shelves, raising
his brow.

“You seem restless today, Ms. Granger. List the humoural temperaments.”

She straightened, a thrill racing down her spine. “Sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic,
if you’re basing it on classical theory. If you lean towards Kant’s argument, then of course
phlegmatic is merely the absence of temperament. Unless you adhere to the five temperamental
theory, in which case the latter is deemed neutral, whereas relationship-oriented introverts are
regarded as the fifth classification.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up a fraction before his expression pinched into a signature scowl.
“There, you got to show off. Now stop wearing a hole into my floor.”

She sighed, coming to a standstill. “The pedlar’s back. I saw him at the corner of Browning on my
way here.”

“I’m aware.”

She frowned at the scorn in his voice. “Why hasn’t he been arrested yet? He’s selling snake oil and
patents, at least one death has been linked directly to a tonic from his wagon.”

“The authorities rarely put the focus where it is most needed, surely you of all people are aware of
that fact.”

She averted her eyes to the floor, unable to shake the dark cloud hovering above her since last
night. She was pulled from her melancholy by Snape’s bored drawl.
“I find it fascinating you have such concern for the welfare of Fletcher’s clients and so little for
your own.”

She glanced up, watching him move from one aisle to the next like a graceful bird of prey, deft
fingers grabbing up bottles, boxes, and pouches before adding them to the ever-growing pile.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You’ve lost half a stone since you last deemed to grace me with your incessant presence.”

She feigned fascination with a display case, doing nothing to deter him.

“And here I thought you had some common sense about you. Surely you’re aware daily sustenance
is needed for the body’s vital functions to continue operating?”

“Last Spring a man survived for twenty-two days on a boat without food,” she recited.

“What a useful piece of information.”

She glanced to her feet with a flush. Snape was silent for a while, the only sounds in the shop
comprised of swift footsteps as he navigated his inventory. Then he spoke again, voice laced with
disinterest “You should try and survive until Parliament reconvenes. Gurney is bringing forth an
interesting proposal.”

Her head snapped up, embarrassment quickly forgotten in wake of her budding excitement. She
stepped around the shelf but only caught a glimpse of dark coat tails as he darted to another corner.
“They’re voting on the Medical Act?” she asked. Her access to political news was limited to
snippets she overheard in the street or read in stray newspapers abandoned to the pavement.

“Indeed.”

“Do you think it will pass?” She continued to search for him between the stacks but he was like a
human shadow, jumping from one place to the next as quickly as light traveled.

“The Queen is certainly against it, but Gurney has a long record of overcoming great obstacles. He
managed to get the Property Act through, after all.”

She inhaled deeply. The implications were life-changing. For the first time in a long time, she
dared to feel hope. Her heart was light and fragile as glass in her chest, one touch and it would
shatter to pieces.

Snape appeared before her as though materializing from thin air. She reared back, tipped off
balance. He grimaced as she steadied herself against the wall, nearly crashing headlong into a
cough-suppressant display.

“Another symptom of starvation is lightheadedness.”

She blinked twice. “I didn’t— I mean, you—” she shook her head, falling silent as he passed by
swiftly with a loaded basket in hand.

“I will add these to the Home account," he clipped. "Tell me, do you enjoy performing sums as
much as hearing yourself speak?”

She watched him pull a ledger out from under the counter, writing fast and furious across its page.
“I find myself in need of part-time assistance," he continued. "I would put a sign out front, but I
shudder to think of the vermin it would attract.” Her heart lurched as he continued to write,
speaking as though he was bored out of his mind. “I need someone to take inventory, restock
shelves, and conduct rudimentary sales on occasion. And while I’d prefer a deaf-mute, I doubt I’ll
be able to find one on such short notice. If I’m forced to settle, I suppose you’re as adequate as
anyone else. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in the position?”

She nodded quickly. “I— yes, of course, that is, I would be honored to— if you needed the help—”

“Bloody hell.” He glanced up sharply, eyes narrowed. “I already regret asking.”

She couldn't help the smile from overtaking her face, causing him to scowl further. “Yes! I would
love to assist you—” she stopped short, excitement curdling. “But I don’t think Madam Umbridge
would allow it.”

His expression flickered, true malevolence overtaking his face for the briefest of moments, there
and gone so quickly she wasn’t certain whether she'd imagined it or not.

“I will speak to her,” he said, gaze returning to the ledger. “Your skills are wasted as a simple
errand girl.”

She blinked, wondering if she'd misheard him even as warmth permeated her chest. The comment
was high praise coming from Snape. And it had been so long since she’d heard such commending
words regarding her intellect, she felt shaken to her core.

He raised a brow, eyes still focused on the parchment. “Don’t get a big head. It will look obscenely
out of place on that skeletal body.”

Ah. That was more like it. Still, she felt dizzy with excitement, drunk with hope, the dark cloud
breaking apart and light peaking through. And for just a moment, she felt the old Hermione stir
beneath the surface.

She was so excited about her potential new position at the Apothecary, she'd nearly forgotten her
second mission of the day. She was supposed to head straight back to the Home with the supplies,
of course, but knew escaping the oppressive walls of her sanctuary would be all but impossible
once she returned. And she had something vitally important to do, no matter the consequences.

Studying her reflection in the windowpane, she tried not to cringe. Her appearance was ghastly.
And while she normally didn’t give two figs about such trivialities, she knew the person meeting
her inside would have a strong opinion on the matter. She sighed, doing her best to tuck her fallen
curls away. She hadn't spent nearly the time she should twisting them up this morning, it was only
a matter of time before the entire mess came crashing down around her.

Alas, she couldn’t delay any longer. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped
inside the bustling cafe. Luckily, they were meeting at a halfway point, and therefore she only
received a fraction of the sidelong glances she'd be subjected to in a fancier establishment. She
stood on her tiptoes, peering around the tops of diner's heads in search of the familiar shock of
black hair.

“Mione! Over here!”

Her heart leaped as she spun, grinning widely at the familiar face. “Harry!”

He stood from his chair as she approached, weaving between tables with the apothecary basket in
hand. He stepped forward, unable to wait any longer, and seized her in a hug. She laughed,
wrapping her free arm around him as he breathed into her hair. “Christ, I’ve missed you.”

She felt tears well in her eyes at the simple admission. “I’ve missed you, too.”

He released her slowly. They gazed at each other, oblivious to the stares they received from
neighboring patrons. Her bedraggled appearance may not cause a stir in itself, but a man and
woman embracing so openly in public were certain to garner a scandal. No doubt the onlookers
were curious to see how much further the couple took it. But she was used to strangers drawing
assumptions about her and her best friend, both having given up explaining their bond years ago.
Harry had been a central part of her life since childhood, and she wouldn't feel any measure of
shame for loving him.

“You look dashing,” she said with a grin, admiring his tanned complexion and bright emerald gaze.

He flashed a dazzling smile, dimples capping either end. “Stop that. You look—” he paused,
finally staring at her properly. His smile fell. “Mione, what’s happened?”

She stepped around him for the table, eager to sit and block her thin frame from view. “Nothing’s
happened. Let’s sit and order, I’m starving.” She cringed, regretting the turn of phrase as soon as it
left her lips. She kept her gaze averted to the basket as she set it beside her feet.

“Obviously," he replied. "Have they not been feeding you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just busy—”

“Too busy to take care of yourself?” He slid into the chair across from her, eyes narrowed.

“Harry, please, let’s not do this right now—”

“Then when, Mione? I haven’t seen you in over two months and you look like you—”

He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. Now it was her turn to glare.

“And I look like I what, Harry? Say it.”

“Nevermind.”

“No, you obviously want to talk about it, so let’s talk about it. What do I look like?”

“I don’t want to fight," he relented.

She exhaled slowly. “Neither do I.”

He handed her a menu before opening his. “If you want, we can go 'round back and I’ll let you
punch me square in the mouth.”

“That sounds splendid.” Her eyes roamed the page without reading anything. She glanced over the
top. “How was the Mediterranean? You look like Apollo come to life.”

He laughed shortly. “I don’t know about that. But it was breathtaking. I have to take you to the
islands. You’ve never seen water so blue, the way it sparkles like topaz under the sun.”

She smiled, happy to see him talk so animatedly about something again. He was normally in high
spirits, always finding the bright side to any situation. She'd been equal parts broken-hearted and
thrilled when he'd followed in his godfather’s footsteps and enlisted.
“And the ship? Is it really mastless?” she asked.

“Yes, the very first of her kind. She has a twin that's about to be sea-bound as well. The
Devastation class, or so they're calling it.” His eyes lit up when he described the ironclad warships,
but she felt a stone sink to the pit of her stomach.

“Do you man the gun turret?”

He shook his head with a sigh. “I’m not senior enough for that. At least not yet. But Sirius thinks
I’ll be ready in another year. I’m focused on weaponry now, but still in training.”

“I hate the thought of you on 13,000-ton weapon in the middle of the ocean.”

“If I’m going to be in the middle of the ocean, better to be on a massive floating weapon.” She
rolled her eyes as he laughed. “Relax, Mione. No one is going to mess with our ship, not when they
know the firepower we have. I was in more danger on the previous routes I sailed.”

“Don’t remind me.”

He scanned her face. “Enough about me. How are you?”

She lifted her menu, focusing on the appetizers.

“That bad, huh?" he asked.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly.”

She swallowed tentatively. “Harry—”

“I don’t understand why you insist on staying at that awful place. Grimmauld is sitting completely
empty right now. And even when Sirius and I are off rotation, we’re practically family—”

“The rest of the world doesn’t know that and they’d hardly listen if we tried explaining it to them.”

“I don’t give a toss what the rest of the world thinks.”

She sighed behind her shield. “People who don’t care about the opinions of others lead very lonely
lives. And that’s what will happen to us both if we’re labeled an item.”

“We won’t be lonely if we have each other.”

She lowered the menu. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I love you, Harry, and right now
you might be longing for travel and adventure. But someday you’ll want to settle down, find a wife
and start a family. And you’ll never be able to do those things if all of London thinks I’ve been
your kept mistress for the better part of our youth.”

“Then I’ll find a spouse outside of London.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

“You mean you can’t stand it when I punch holes in your argument.”

“You’d have a better chance of punching holes in your warship.” She picked up her menu with a
pointed glare. He smirked.
“Glad to see your sharp tongue hasn’t dulled.”

She smirked in turn. “I seldom have the opportunity to use it now that you’re off sailing the high
seas.”

“So, I take it that to mean you haven’t spoken to anyone else?”

Her amusement faded, knuckles turning white around the cardstock. “Hm?”

“And I’ll take that half-hearted deflection as a resounding no.”

“I think I’ll get something sweet, I’m craving fresh fruit.”

“Hermione.”

She ground her teeth, hating when he used her full name. It rarely boded well.

“I know you’ve been avoiding our friends because you’re all they've asked me about since I got
back," he divulged.

“Don’t be dramatic, you only returned home yesterday.”

“I did indeed. And guess who was waiting for me at my doorstep?”

She went rigid in her chair, continuing to stare blankly at the dessert selection. “I have no idea.”

“No guess whatsoever?”

“I’d make one if I had it.”

“So you didn’t get into a big fight with—”

“I don’t want to discuss this,” she snapped, unable to bear hearing the name spoken aloud.

“I didn’t want to discuss it either, but I was forced to listen to his drunken ramblings until one
o'clock in the bloody morning. So you can sit here and listen to me for a few sodding minutes.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

“Now, I have no idea what is going on between the two of you,” Harry continued with a glare.
“Frankly, I don’t want to know, since I’m sure it will send me into a violent rage, and I have zero
plans of being kicked out of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy over Draco Bloody Malfoy—” she cringed,
unable to mask the visceral reaction. “Which means the two of you are going to work it out so I
don’t have to have to act as mediator.”

She shook her head. “No one has asked you to be our mediator.” She certainly knew Draco
wouldn’t. Then again, if he was truly in his cups last night and went to Harry’s door, he must have
been in quite a state… She wondered how much he revealed. It couldn't have been much,
otherwise, Harry would have brought up the elephant in the room right away.

“The two of you have fought like cats and dogs since I made the horrific mistake of introducing
you ten years ago," her best friend lamented. "If I didn’t step in every now and then, I’d have lost
my sanity a long time ago. But I can’t do that anymore, not with being abroad and not with you
being stuck in that asylum you call home. I worry about you every day, all day. I need to know
you’re okay. Draco can look out for you. But if you refuse to speak with him—”
“It’s not that,” she hissed, instantly wishing she could recall the words.

Harry raised a curious brow. “No? Then what is it?”

She inhaled sharply, cheeks tinging pink. Her companion groaned. “Bloody hell, I knew it, I’m
going to fly into a violent rage—”

“It’s not a joke.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“I don’t want to discuss this with you—”

“Then discuss it with Draco!”

“I can’t!” She blanched, practically screaming the last part. Nearby tables looked upon them,
whispering feverishly. Harry sighed, either oblivious to or uncaring of their audience. Probably the
latter, given his frustrating skills of observation.

“You don’t have a choice, Mione.”

She peered across the table. “What does that mean?”

“Malfoy said you have to arrange a meeting with him, or he’s coming to you.”

She leaned back with a huff.

“Furthermore," Harry recited, "he said, if you make him come to you, he’s arriving in his family’s
most gaudy stagecoach and wearing his most ostentatious suit, and is tipping off the gossip rags so
your reunion makes it to the front of the London Gazette.”

She rolled her eyes while her tablemate smirked, far too amused by the aristocrat's ludicrous
threats.

“He also said to inform you, if you planned on slipping out of the Home upon his arrival, he’ll
purchase the deed to the building and the land and have everyone evicted by morning.”

Hermione nodded, face pinched. “Lovely. Anything else?”

“Yes," Harry smiled. "He said you have twenty-four hours to send him word, starting from last
night.”

“That son of a—”

“Are you ready to order?”

Hermione jolted, gazing up at the waitress beside their table. The woman's eyes were fixed firmly
to Harry, obvious wonder in their depths. Even out of uniform, he cut an attractive sight.

“Not yet, luv, give us a moment,” he replied, barely sparing her a glance. But he flashed a cheeky
wink that made her giggle nervously.

“O-Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She walked away as though tipsy, batting her lashes while
Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Why am I surrounded by such desperate women?”

“She wasn’t desperate," he sighed. "She was flirting. There’s a difference. Not that you’d
recognize either.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your idea of flirting is debating politics or breaking a bloke's nose.”

She flushed brightly. “That was one time! And it was hardly flirting!”

“As I said, I don’t want to know. I just want the two of you to get it sorted. Which is why I’m here
to reluctantly act as your messenger pigeon.”

Her shoulders drooped. She didn’t want to do this, wasn’t ready to confront him, but it seemed she
had little choice in the matter. It seemed the last of her free will had burnt away in the remnants of
her childhood home.

And yet a part of her, albeit a small, frustratingly supercilious part, knew Draco wasn’t being
entirely unreasonable. She'd ghosted him for the better part of three months, after all, avoiding
public markets and bustling parks where he could corner her, all the while remaining unresponsive
to his numerous letters. She'd read them all, of course, quite obsessively, until she'd memorized
every word, before carefully folding them into thirds and binding them in a pile to tuck underneath
her mattress, only to repeat the ritual night after night. Her silence was cruel, but avoidance was so
much easier than facing the truth of the matter. There’d been too much to deal with this last year,
she couldn’t process it all at once. And yet, it seemed he'd finally managed to corner her after all.
She was almost impressed, if only she wasn't so enraged.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, ending their stalemate with a tired sigh. “Tomorrow. Royal
Gardens. 10 am.”

He seemed lightened by the words. “Great. Where inside the gardens?”

She closed her eyes, a familiar stab of pain impaling her heart. “Just tell him to meet me at Kew.
He’ll know where I am.”

She was reluctant to part ways from Harry, content to linger in his company all day. But she'd
delayed her return to the Home far too long. She had no doubt Umbridge would punish her
tardiness but wanted to avoid total house arrest if possible. She doubted Draco would appreciate
such an excuse for standing him up, and she certainly couldn't reveal her plans to the Matron.
Umbridge already thought her charges were sexed-up strumpets one glance away from getting
impregnated by any man who passed them on the street.

She'd have to be on her best behavior tonight, draw as little notice to herself as possible until she
was able to slip out after breakfast. Perhaps she could get Parvati to cover for her should her
absence be noted—

“There you are!” a shrill voice rang.

Hermione froze halfway down the hall, a rapid click click click gaining volume behind her. She
took a deep breath before slowly turning, unable to speak before the Matron cut her off.

“Quiet! I don’t want to hear whatever pitiful lie you’ve concocted! You should have been back
hours ago. Where have you been? And give me that!” She forcefully tugged the Apothecary basket
from Hermione’s grasp. “If I find a single item missing, you can rest assured you'll be spending the
rest of your nights sleeping in the gutter.”
Hermione kept her face neutral. “Yes, Madam.”

Umbridge huffed, always frustrated when her charges refused to take the bait. “Come to my office
at once.”

Hermione fell in step behind the rotund figure, fists clenched at her side. They followed a twisting
path through the crumbling corridors before emerging inside the horrendously decorated office.

Each wall was lined with shelves housing a menagerie of figurines, namely cats, alongside a varied
assortment of adorable creatures with large round eyes and softly curling mouths. It was always
jarring to stand inside the whimsical space, especially when accompanied by the evil witch.

Hermione felt the hairs on her neck stand on end, reminding her of the experiences she'd had
trapped in other parts of the Home… other dank, dark rooms brimming with—

She cleared her throat, eager to distract herself from the haunting thought. She couldn't afford to
think on that now, not here, not in the presence of Medusa herself. Umbridge glanced over her
shoulder at the interruption, eyes narrow and expectant. Hermione flushed, scrambling for an
excuse as to why she'd called the woman’s attention.

“Um… I…” Her mind was a wasteland following her visit with Harry.

The Matron rolled her eyes. “Spare me.” She set the basket on her desk and began rummaging
through its contents, clicking her tongue to find everything in order. Suddenly, a large dark mass
floated past the open doorway. Hermione gasped, rearing back as an invisible current of frigid wind
blew inside the room, settling deep into her bones.

“Idiot girl!” Umbridge hissed, stepping away from her desk en route to the door. “Not an ounce of
propriety.”

Hermione stared at the empty doorway in a daze, wondering if Umbridge saw the same ghoulish
apparition. The Matron stepped into the hall, saccharine smile plastered ever so sweetly to her face.
“Oh, Doctor Riddle, do you have a moment?”

Hermione's brows pinched in confusion as the steady tread of footsteps echoed off the stone until a
tall, imposing figure appeared before her, dressed in the same dark pitch as this morning. She
flushed brightly, realizing she'd mistook his passing form for a supernatural entity.

I’m going mad.

Logic evaded her entirely when his gaze shifted over the Matron's short head and fastened on her.

“Yes, Madam?” he bid, looking at Hermione all the while.

Umbridge glanced over her shoulder with a scowl, as though it was her charge's fault for drawing
his attention away. “I just received new inventory from the Apothecary. Would you like me to
have it delivered to your office?”

He smiled, turning his focus on the Madam. She flushed hotly beneath his scrutiny. Something in
his expression looked lethal. “No need, I am happy to take it myself.”

“O-Oh, alright then. Please, do come in.”

It was disturbing to watch Umbridge titter about like a nervous school girl. It was more disturbing
to feel the shift in atmospheric pressure as the Doctor stepped inside the room, as though his
presence had a gravitational pull all its own. Hermione fought its effect, stepping back until she
was practically pressed up against the wall. The movement drew his attention, eyes locking on her
once again. The corner of his lips turned up in a wry smirk.

“Hello there. My name is Doctor Thomas Riddle, and you are?”

Her stomach twisted into knots.

“The doctor asked you a question!” Umbridge hissed, quickly reloading the basket.

Hermione tried to remember how to breathe as she muttered, “Hermione Granger."

“Hermione,” he repeated, eyes dancing with mirth. “That name sounds strangely familiar.”

She stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. This was it. He was going to expose her midnight
excursion to his chamber, last night’s reprieve merely a mocking gesture, a passing amusement at
her expense—

“Ah yes,” he mused, teeth gleaming in the light. “I know where I’ve heard that name… The
Winter’s Tale. Were your parents fans of Shakespeare?”

Her heart thumped painfully, poisoned with adrenaline. She wasn't certain what was happening but
forced a response past the constriction in her throat. “No. I mean yes, they were.” She trembled
beneath his scrutiny. “But they were bigger fans of Greek Mythology. My mother’s name was
Helen, my father called her his Helen of Troy.”

The Doctor’s eyes flashed, filled with an emotion she couldn't catalog. “Ah, yes. Hermione, the
daughter of Helen and Menelaus. She married the son of Achilles, did she not?”

Hermione felt her shoulders ease a touch, finding familiar footing among such topics. “Yes, after
breaking an engagement to her grandfather.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and soothing to her nerves.

“Seems she caught a lucky break then," he reflected.

She stepped away from the wall, the lure of conversation overriding her panic. “Hardly. Pyrrhus
took a mistress and abandoned his wife after she failed to conceive. Hermione fled Sparta, married
her cousin, and died in childbirth.”

The Doctor raised a brow, eyes narrowed as he drew in a breath to speak. She held hers, eager to
hear his response, but their Matron’s shrill voice broke the spell woven between them.

“I find such stories a complete waste of time. They’re myths, nothing more, hardly worth studying.
No one ever succeeded in life by memorizing fairytales.”

Hermione glanced down, barely catching the predatory flash that overcame his features as he faced
the head of the Institution.

“On the contrary, Madam. I find Greek and Roman mythology played a pivotal role in the
developing world, leading to the most notable innovations in arts and science that allow us to lead
the lives we do today.”

Umbridge glanced up with eyes wide. “Oh. Well, I—”

“The earliest charted navigation system for shipping routes were credited to man’s understanding
of the stars, explained using stories of ancient myth and legend to make them accessible to future
generations. In fact, the majority of the cosmos are named after such stories. And even today, the
symbol for modern medicine is the staff used by Asclepius, the God of healing.”

The Madam's face was somehow deathly white and blistering red all at once. Hermione felt her
chest swell, pulse staggering, and for the briefest moment, she met the Doctor’s eye. Time stopped
and the air shifted, gravity evading the room until they were weightless among the stars he'd just
described. And then he glanced away, indifferent to the occurrence. Her feet hit the floor with a
thump, cursedly weighted to the earth.

“That’s very interesting, Doctor,” Umbridge said in a thin voice, unable to meet his gaze. “Well,
the supplies are ready, if you’d like to take them.”

She swallowed nervously as he approached, smiling without warmth when he took the basket and
glanced at its contents. “These were delivered?” he inquired.

The Matron bristled. “No, they were picked up by Ms. Granger. Is there a mistake? I knew the girl
was up to something—”

“Not at all. Everything is in order. I was merely curious.”

The woman deflated. “Oh. Yes, well, it saves on a delivery charge if I send one of the residents.”

He nodded. “Then perhaps Ms. Granger can also help me restock the medical pantry, given her
familiarity with its content.” It wasn’t phrased as a question. Hermione felt her thighs clench of
their own accord.

“Oh…” The Madam looked decidedly thrown for a loop. “That is... highly unorthodox. We don’t
trust our charges to handle the medical supplies directly, you see.”

“Merely to purchase and transport them.”

Hermione bit her cheek to keep from smiling. She’d never witnessed someone challenge their
Matron before. It was superbly entertaining.

“I… well, Ms. Granger has background with such things, otherwise I wouldn’t—”

“Wonderful, she’s the perfect candidate to assist me then.”

Umbridge blinked. “That’s not— I don’t— well, I suppose—”

“I begin seeing patients in two days' time. Send her to my clinic tomorrow after lunch.”

Hermione swayed on her feet, wondering if she'd been rendered invisible. He'd engaged her
without hesitation moments ago, teased her even, and now he spoke as if she wasn't even in the
room.

“Alright,” Umbridge relented with obvious unease.

“Thank you, Madam. Have a wonderful evening.” He offered her his back without awaiting a
response, striding for the door.

The room rapidly darkened with the setting sun, bathing his face in shadow. Hermione drew in a
shaky breath, equal parts frustrated and dismayed, not fully comprehending either reaction. He
stopped in the hall and turned to face the doorway, standing directly before her but out of the
Matron’s view.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Granger.”

She swayed in place, lured by the magnitism of his stare.

“I shall see you tomorrow.” His smile was perversely beautiful, dripping venom to the floor.
“Sleep well.”
 The Cold Hand of Fate

Is it mad to pray for better hallucinations?

. . .

Hermione took a deep breath, hands curled at her sides. She was trembling, and it had nothing to do
with the temperature surrounding her. The manufactured heat normally soothed her nerves, but not
today. She stood beneath a glittering blown glass roof that arched high into the blue skies above,
thick green canopies cascading overhead, breaking the sunlight into beams that illuminated the
miniature rainforest surrounding her.

The Palm House was a true marvel of engineering and beauty, the gem of the Royal Gardens, a
point of English pride. It housed the most breathtaking exotic plants, many extinct from their
original habitats, an explosion of lush greenery and bright colors. Everywhere you turned there
were blossoms, orchids, epiphytes, ferns, and bromeliads… there was no square centimeter that
wasn’t covered by leaf, petal, or bark. It was an oasis, her favorite spot to come and explore since
she was a child. It was where her father took her every Sunday, no matter his workload. It was
where she'd dragged Harry and her friends to explore when they'd otherwise wanted to spend the
afternoon lying in or getting into trouble.

It was where she and Draco—

She pressed a hand to her chest. Bloody hell. Was she really doing this? She debated fleeing for the
umpteenth time. The only thing keeping her in place was the lingering threat he posed if she stood
him up, alongside the pleasant memories the Palm House induced. She calmed herself by thinking
of her father, his warm brown eyes and easy smile, the excitement that lit his gaze as he introduced
her to some rare plant species, explaining the potential medical benefits of researching the genome.
He'd always become so animated discussing his passion, sharing it with his only child. She'd loved
listening to his voice.

Her eyes burned as she pushed the memories aside, taking another deep breath. Get it together!
Don’t let Draco see you like this…

She already cringed to think of what her hair looked like thanks to the saturating humidity. She’d
spent twice the time getting ready this morning, skipping breakfast to allow maximum beauty prep.
Her roommates had berated her with questions, knowing she was up to something. She'd never
spent so much time carefully plaiting her hair. And she'd certainly never asked to borrow
Lavender's rouge before. But she’d managed to drive them out of the room with promises of
explaining everything later in the evening. She’d worry about thinking up some excuse later. She
couldn’t tell them the truth. They’d never understand.

Examining the nearby rubber tree, she watched white sap slowly drain from the long and narrow
stump into a metal dish at its base. Until suddenly, she felt a shift in the air. Not just any shift. A
familiar sensation of being watched, examined, stripped…

She swayed on her feet before slowly rotating in place, eyes cast downward, delaying the
inevitable. But the feeling only intensified, a red-hot need surging across her skin, reminding her
too much of the fire. Her gaze lifted. And there he was. Standing tall and picturesque in a three-
piece charcoal bespoke suit, black undervest, and crisp white cravat. The silver chain of his pocket
watch peeked out from beneath the lapels. His tie and pocket square were silver, which
instinctually made her look to his eyes, mercurial and hypnotic, always eliciting a bevy of reactions
in her.
His white-blonde hair was swept back, the thick locks perfectly tamed as always. She curled her
hands at her sides, wanting to run her fingers through that hair, muss it up, tear at his clothing,
make him look less god and more man. His flawlessness angered her. She inhaled sharply, eyes
narrowing.

“Malfoy.”

His eyes narrowed in turn, sharp features pinching into a familiar scowl. “Granger.”

She straightened. “You summoned me. Here I am.” She watched his Adam's apple lift while his
eyes swept her over like a physical touch.

“Here you are," he echoed, long legs eating up the distance between them. Her heart jumped wildly
as she braced for impact, unsure what would happen, unsure what she wanted to happen…

He stopped less than a meter away and she felt her body deflate, in relief or disappointment she
wasn’t certain. She glared up at him and he glared down at her, neither compromising in their
anger. He reached out and seized her hand before she had time to process the movement, long
fingers uncurling her fist and bringing it to his mouth. His lips grazed her knuckles, scowl
unrelenting. She scoffed at the chivalrous act, furious he could be so formal at a time like this. Like
she was… like she was… like she was just anyone.

She tried pulling her hand away but he merely gripped it tighter, keeping it near his mouth, words
hissing across her skin.

“Never a shred of manners.”

“Not everyone can be such an epic ponce," she replied crisply.

“As opposed to a know-it-all, uptight bint.”

“Leave it to a man to consider intelligence in a woman a character flaw.”

“If I wanted to list your flaws I’d start with your hair.”

“I’d start with your pointed face.”

Heat sparked in his gaze. “You look dreadful, barely ninety pounds soaking wet.”

“Your expression looks dumbfounded, as usual.”

“You already commented on my face. Losing your edge, Granger?”

“Hardly. I just have to limit my insults to small words you can comprehend.”

His eyes were ablaze, cheekbones tinged pink, though she suspected neither were in
embarrassment. She knew that look, knew it was just as evident on her own face.

“You have no idea how much you’ve infuriated me these last three months,” he muttered low, jaw
pulsing.

“I couldn’t care less.”

“Is that so? I’ll have to fix that then.”

She gasped as he closed the distance between them with lightning speed, seizing her round the
waist and pulling her flush against his body, lifting her easily off her feet. He strode backward,
leaves brushing their shoulders as he backed them into a corner covered by thick foliage, as though
they were truly sequestered in the pits of the Amazon. She felt dazed, light-headed, instinctively
twining her arms around his neck while his lips descended on her.

The kiss was hungry and frantic, fang, tongue, and claw, wild beasts battling for dominance in the
jungle, trying to overtake the other. She moaned when her back pressed the unforgiving bark of a
tree, digging through her dress and corset, leaving indentations in her skin. Or perhaps his
fingertips were leaving the bruises, marking his claim on her flesh.

She pulled away to gasp for air, feet dangling above the ground, pinned between his body and the
tree. She tipped her head back in a vain effort to open her airway, exposing the column of her throat
to his eager mouth. She made a desperate keening sound when his teeth scraped across her pulse
point, tongue quickly following to soothe the burn. She was too lost in the raw heat of it all to feel
a shred of embarrassment.

Her fingers drifted into his hair at long last, raking through the silken locks and scratching along
his scalp, pulling an animalistic growl from deep inside his chest. She felt it rumble through his
chest, pressed as tightly as they were.

“D-Draco—” she barely recognized her voice. His hips ground into her. Red pinpoints appeared
across her vision. She moaned before trying again, stronger, firmer. “Draco.”

“Say it again." His voice was pure gravel, making her core tighten reflexively.

“Draco.”

“Again.”

She closed her eyes, releasing his hair and pressing against his shoulders, caught between pushing
him away and pulling him closer. “We can’t. We have to stop.”

“Hermione…” He breathed against her neck, breath scalding.

“No. We can’t, not here.”

“Just say my name again.”

Her heart lurched, eyes flaring wide.

“That’s a good girl, now say my name.”

She gasped, choking on a sob, pushing against him with all her strength. She was no longer
encased in Draco’s arms, no longer surrounded by his familiar scent and drowning in his liquid
sounds. She was pinned between another man and a hard, unyielding door. Locked. Trapped. She
could feel the knob digging into her lower back, could smell the cigar smoke on his breath, could
feel the scrape of his teeth against her neck. A caged bird, unable to escape the glinting cat claw
stretching through the bars. Her eyes filled with tears, desperate sounds emitting from her throat.

Her feet hit the ground, lungs expanding as her body shook violently, relieved of the weight that
had been pressing against it.

“Hermione?”

Her eyes snapped up, unfocused, lost.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Gentle fingers seized her jaw, tipping her face upward. “Are you
crying?”

She swallowed thickly. “No.”

His thumb swept beneath her eye, smearing a trail of wetness. “Did I hurt you?”

She pulled from his grasp, offering her back and wiping her eyes, burning with humiliation and
shame. “Of course not.”

“Then I upset you?”

“It’s not you, Draco.”

“Then what is it?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m just a bit overwhelmed. I haven’t seen you in such a long
time and—”

“And whose fault is that?” He snapped, concern rapidly replaced by ire. Good. She could handle
his anger. His worry and concern would destroy her.

She faced him again with emotions in check, dark memories shoved to the depths of her mind
where they belonged. “I surmise by your tone you think it was mine.”

His eyes went comically wide before narrowing to menacing slits. “Have you lost your mind as
well as half your body weight? I’ve made every attempt at communicating, at closing this distance
between us—”

“And why do you think I put the distance there to begin with?”

“I have no bloody idea! If I did, then perhaps I wouldn’t be wandering the city half-mad, seeing
your face in every frizzy-haired woman I pass, hearing your voice in every opinionated arse I’m
forced to listen to at sessions!” His mocking words were undermined by the declaration hidden
beneath.

“Draco, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Didn’t you? Have these three months not been a punishment?”

“Punishment?”

“You’re angry with me for proposing so soon after your parent’s death." His expression softened,
emotions flipping on a pence, making her head spin. "You weren’t ready then, I understand that
now. I should have been more sensitive to your feelings, tried to understand what you were going
through. I...” He swallowed, as though forcing the next words free. “I’m sorry.”

She raised a brow. Draco was many things. Intelligent, sharp-witted, barb-tongued. His presence
was unyielding, all-consuming, drawing every eye when he entered a room without having to utter
a word. Between his pale, Adonis looks and notorious surname, he never had to compromise, never
was denied anything. He didn’t stop to consider the feelings of others, and he certainly never
apologized.

“That was the worst memorized speech you’ve ever delivered," she hissed. "And that includes the
time you were hungover and stumbled your way through factory wage reform for two hours!”
His eyes narrowed, knocking the mask of endearing patience from his face. “Damn. Greengrass
ensured me that would have a profound effect on you.”

Hermione drew back. “You've told Daphne about us?”

“Bloody hell, we weren’t as incognito as we liked to pretend. People noticed when we disappeared
from rooms at the same time.”

“What are you saying? Everyone knows you proposed?”

His expression turned lethal. “Don’t be daft. I would hardly go bragging about being rejected so
splendidly. I only told Daphne because our parents are trying to arrange a marriage between me
and her sister.”

Her heart lurched. “You’re marrying Astoria?”

Malicious delight burned in his eyes. “And what if I was? You’ve made your lack of interest quite
clear. Surely you have no care in the matter.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “Two seconds ago you spewed an apology worthy of the stage, and
now you bait me with threats.”

“Is that why you said no then?" His expression sobered. "I rushed it?”

He stepped closer. She stepped back. A look of hurt flashed across his features, there one instant
and gone the next, anger quick to follow. “Why are you treating me like this? What did I do to
upset you so?”

“You didn’t do anything," she whispered, tears stinging behind her eyes.

His chest heaved. “Is there something I should have done? You know I hate puzzles, Hermione.
Just tell me what you need, what you want, and you’ll have it. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to
you.”

The words were spoken with such passion she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. He seized the
advantage, invading her space and wrapping an arm around her middle, pulling her in gently this
time, one hand splayed at her lower back and the other snaking into the hair at her nape, tugging
back her head and forcing their eyes to meet.

“Hermione…” He dipped his head low. “I will lay the world at your feet,” he whispered against
her lips.

She closed her eyes, unable to maintain a shred of rationality when her vision was so filled by him.
“I don’t want the world, Draco.” She turned her face away before he could kiss her, stealing away
the last of her resolve. “I’ve told you that.”

His body went rigid, grip clinging tighter. “Then what do you want?”

Her gaze fixed on a dwarf fern at the base of a eucalyptus tree. “I don’t know. But I know what I
don’t want.” When she peered up, his eyes looked like two swirling pools of molten silver. “I don’t
want a husband that resents me.”

“What are you talking about?”

"We both know your father would never allow you to marry me.” She felt a tremor run through
him.

“I don’t give a shite about what he wants.”

“He’ll cut you off, Draco. You may say you don’t care, but trust me, you will. You’ve lived in the
lap of luxury your entire life. It’s all you’ve ever known. You’ll learn to make do without it for a
little while, consider it an adventure no doubt. But soon you’ll miss it, want it back. And you’ll
blame me for taking it away.”

He reared back without releasing her from his hold. “Is that really what you think? Why you said
no?”

“Partially.” Her eyes narrowed, nails digging into the silken fabric of his perfectly pressed tie. “I
also wasn’t exactly swept off my feet with the manner in which you proposed. Mostly because it
wasn’t a question, it was a demand. A foregone conclusion drawn in your mind before you'd even
arrived. You didn’t declare your affection, you declared a business proposition, a means by which
to keep me from winding up destitute. I hardly need your charity, I’m doing just fine on my own.”

He scowled. “Oh yes, you’re obviously thriving at the shelter, you look positively radiant in such
fine garments, they must lavish you with riches—”

“You smarmy little—”

“Furthermore,” he interrupted, clutching her tighter as she pushed away. “I find you’re the one
who’s drawn forgone conclusions, assuming you know what my father will do. And even if that
were to happen, the fact you think I'd turn my frustrations out on you is utterly preposterous.”

“Oh, stop it, Draco. You know in your heart everything I’ve said is completely accurate. Your
father wants you to marry Astoria Greengrass for heaven’s sake! Do you really think he’d be fine
with you marrying me instead?” He opened his mouth to argue but no words could form. She
nodded. “Exactly. And don’t get me started on your mother—”

“Don’t you dare speak against my mother!”

“There you go! Always defending her, even when she makes cutting remarks every time I enter a
room! You know she’d have a conniption if you told her we were engaged. She’d be more
incensed than Lucius, and that’s really saying something!”

“I’m a grown man, I don’t need their approval.”

“Don’t you? What about their money, Draco? You really think you could handle living in a home
without a private wing devoted entirely to game rooms?”

“I won’t apologize for being born into a family with wealth," he scowled.

“And I won’t apologize for being born into a family without it!”

They continued to glare in a battle of wills that shook the ground and split the sky.

“Mummie! Look! There are people back there!”

“Where darling? I don’t see any— oh… come along, Henrietta.”

They sprang apart like similarly charged magnets, watching the woman drag her young daughter
away from the sordid couple, sending a haughty look of judgment over her shoulder.
Hermione glared at the retreating stranger, too incensed to feel any real embarrassment. Draco
swept his fingers through his hair, realigned each strand into place, erasing all evidence of her
touch. She stepped through the trees and shrubs onto the tiled walkway. He followed in her wake, a
simmering heat at her back.

“You claim your intent is not to hurt me, and yet you choose this as our meeting place.”

She turned to face him, mindful of the distance between them. “I chose the Palm House because
it’s rarely crowded during weekday mornings, and it reminds me of better times.”

“Better times? So the fact that you rejected my proposal within these very walls means nothing to
you?”

Her expression crumpled. “I didn’t—”

“Or that it’s where we shared our first kiss?”

Her lips pressed thinly, thoughts scattered by the pain and longing in his voice. He held her gaze
for several long seconds before drawing to his full height, emotions cloaked behind his beautifully
crafted mask. She wanted to tear it off his face, grind it to dust beneath her heel.

“I see," he spoke tersely. "I didn’t realize our time together meant so little to you. That’s good to
know. It will help me move on, as you so obviously have done.”

“Draco—”

“There’s no need to drag this on any further, Ms. Granger. I apologize for my unwanted advances. I
will leave you to your life. I won’t bother you any further.”

She huffed in annoyance. “I can’t tolerate your melodramatics.”

He started to scowl, the mask cracking, but he fought the urge and inhaling sharply through his
nose instead. “Then you should be thrilled you won’t have to suffer them any longer.”

“So that’s it then?” she asked, crossing her arms.

His eyes roamed her face and body slowly, the want, the hunger, brewing just beneath the surface
until he met her gaze with blank indifference. “That’s it.”

Then he spun on his heel and marched out of the Palm House. Out of her life.

Hermione sat at the table in a swirl of bristling anger.

“Bloody hell,” Parvati said, glancing up from her plate. “What’s the matter?”

“Everything is perfectly fine.”

“Oh. Okay then.” The young woman rolled her eyes and brought a bite of hash to her lips.

Hermione drew in a sharp breath, eyeing the empty seat beside her roommate. “Where’s
Lavender?”

Parvati shrugged, swallowing her mouthful. “Dunno. Probably running wild through the streets,
driving Filch to madness.”
“What?”

“Today was her turn to do the market run. She went with a few others, I think Hannah was in the
group.”

Hermione glanced between the tables for the familiar strawberry pigtails. “They should've been
back by now.”

“Don’t worry. You know Lav, she only volunteers so she can meet up with Cormac. The rest of the
group is probably combing the city for her.”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t understand what she sees in him. She has to know he’s only
using her, he’ll never take her away from this place.”

“Who says she isn’t using him? He’s paid for most of her wardrobe, buys her whatever she wants
when they’re out.”

“But at what cost?”

Parvati arched a brow. “Just because it’s a great expense to you doesn’t mean it’s that way for
everyone.”

Hermione drew her shoulders back. “I didn’t— I just meant—” She shook her head. “I just don’t
want to see her get hurt. Or kicked out, on account of him of all people.”

Her roommate smirked. “You really hate that boy.”

“He’s vile.”

“He’s handsome and rich.”

“That has nothing to do with his personality.”

“Spoken by a true debutant.”

Hermione’s brows pinched. “Me? A debutant? You have to be joking.”

“You may not be blue-blood, but you’re as close to it as anyone here has met. You speak
differently, act differently.” She raised a staying hand as Hermione turned rigid. “It’s not an insult.
If anything, it’s a compliment. You’re well-bred, educated, raised with solid morals. There’s
nothing wrong with that. But I think it’s hard for you to relate to most of the girls here. Most
weren’t brought up like you. They never had a role model to teach them right from wrong before
they wound up in this place. Lavender doesn’t consider herself compromised when she runs around
with Cormac. She doesn’t feel like less of a person, less of a woman. She doesn’t view the world as
you do.”

Hermione let out a slow breath, feeling the words settle into her skin, followed by a wave of
shame. She was a hypocrite, especially in light of her afternoon outing with Draco. “You’re right,
Parvati. I shouldn’t judge. I have no right. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel uncomfortable.”

Parvati smiled, scooping another bite onto her spoon. “No worries, I'd have kicked you out of our
room by now if you had.”

Hermione smiled, believing every word.

“So…” her friend hummed. “Where were you off to in such a hurry this morning?”
Hermione glanced away. “I had an errand to run.”

“I see. An errand that required you to leave in your nicest dress and return with red-stained lips?”

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling the swollen flesh. She blushed, unable to meet her
friend's knowing stare. “It was a rather unique errand.”

“Must have been strenuous.” Parvati snickered as Hermione squirmed. “I expect you to relay every
detail of said errand later tonight.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I said yesterday…” she trailed off, eyes losing focus.

“Mione?”

“Shite,” she hissed under her breath, causing her roommate to laugh.

“You never curse, this must be good.”

“I just remembered, I have to assist the Doctor today, after lunch.”

Parvati sat up straight, eyes bright. “You lucky bit—”

“Language.”

“You just swore!”

“That was by accident.”

Parvati glared. “I’m starting to rethink not kicking you out of our room.”

Hermione glanced at the large clock hanging over the dining hall. “I better go now, I don’t want to
be late.”

“You haven’t eaten.”

“I’ll eat later.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hermione avoided her gaze, standing from the bench. “Please, do your best to keep Lavender
contained within the building when she manages to return.”

“Sure, you go play with the good Doctor and leave me the thrilling task of strapping her to the
bed.”

“I’m sure she already owns a set of binds.”

“Hermione Granger!” Parvati called after her retreating form. “You just made a dirty joke, you
scandalous minx!”

Hermione couldn’t help but flash a cheeky wink over her shoulder, sharing a look of amusement
with her friend before exiting the dining hall.

By the time she reached the set of imposing double doors, all her humor had faded. The clinic was
on the first level, set away from the kitchen and public spaces. It had been closed for months, all
injuries and maladies outsourced to other venues depending on their severity.
Most ailments didn’t extend beyond a common cold, but last month, a girl had caught pneumonia.
Hermione had diagnosed the condition herself and insisted the resident be taken to St. Mungo’s
despite their Matron's vehement denial anything was wrong. The Madam had delayed the girl’s
transfer until she'd collapsed in a breathless heap in the middle of the corridor. Hermione was
relieved to finally have a full-time doctor on staff, she just wished it was someone less… intense.
Yes, that was the best word for it.

She took a grounding breath before knocking on the door. The sound echoed loudly down the
stone corridor at her back. She felt a chill creep along her spine, alerting her to danger.

“Come in.” The deep voice was muffled and distant, but unmistakable. She forced the stiffness
from her limbs and reached for the rod iron handle.

There’s nothing to fear. You’ve faced truly terrifying situations. This is nothing.

She opened the heavy door and stepped over the threshold, halting to take in the clinic properly for
the first time. It was a vast space, one long room that ran the entire length of the building, broken
intermittently by white curtains suspended from the ceiling, surrounding empty cots. Windows
littered the back wall, filling the space with copious sunlight, lifting her mood significantly.

A noise drew her focus to a large oak desk stacked with papers and books. Beyond that stood a
wide shelf brimming with even more books. Her pulse swelled, fingers twitching with the desire to
run them along the creased spines.

She jolted at the sudden movement in her peripheral. The clip of footsteps preceded his silhouette,
both emanating from behind a standing partition. She mapped his outline with her gaze, tall and
lithe in its measurements, before taking another step inside and announcing her arrival.

“Doctor?”

The silhouette lifted its head before disappearing entirely, the 3D version materializing before her
eyes. He stood at the same distance as he had in the dining hall yesterday morning. But without a
crowd of witnesses surrounding them, he felt much closer and brighter, like staring directly into the
sun.

“Ms. Granger. I’d forgotten you were joining me this afternoon. Thank you for remembering for
the both of us.”

She wasn’t sure why she felt a wave of disappointment at his words. She should be relieved he’d
forgotten about her. Besides, she’d nearly forgotten about the task herself. She pushed the feeling
aside, not wanting to dwell on it.

“Of course. How may I assist?”

He held papers in one hand and a thin magazine of some sort in the other. “This place is a bit of a
mess at the moment. It appears little was done to maintain its upkeep. I am busy reviewing and
organizing patient files and haven’t been able to unload the supplies you purchased yesterday.”

She nodded. “I am happy to put them away.”

He lifted the hand holding the papers, pointing to a large cabinet against the wall. “The basket is
beneath my desk, you may unload it into the pantry.”

She walked briskly to where he directed, hesitating at the chaos on his desk. She was a very
meticulous person, seeing such disarray caused her skin to itch.
“I feel the same," he murmured. She stopped dead, his voice alarmingly close. He stood a meter
away, watching her with a sardonic grin. “I can see the disquiet in your eyes. I had a similar
reaction upon seeing what awaited me. I assure you, I'm normally very organized.”

Her nerves settled. “I understand. I can only imagine the work that has to be done after the post sat
derelict for so long.”

He nodded, then his eyes flickered to her mouth. “Do you have any allergies, Ms. Granger?”

She shook her head in confusion “No, none that I know of.”

“Interesting. Your lips look particularly swollen.” His gaze lifted, a knowing glint in their depths.

She flushed beneath the penetrating stare. “I- I sometimes bite them when I’m distracted.” Dear
God, did I really just say that?

He arched a dark brow, his presence eating up all the oxygen in the room. “I see. That’s a rather
unbecoming habit. We’ll have to curb the urge by giving you something more interesting to hold
your focus.”

She swayed on her feet, the room was sweltering, some invisible heat source pumping steam
directly into her lungs. He glanced away, pacing casually to the bookcase and sliding the thin
magazine atop a stack, oblivious to the trembling girl at his back. She released a slow breath,
regaining her bearings. What’s the matter with me?

“You may begin any time.” He spoke over his shoulder, reading a paper in his hand, her presence
remanded to a background distraction.

She nodded mutely, walking around the desk on shaky knees to fetch the Apothecary basket, stiff
and clumsy as she carried it to the cabinet. Upon opening its doors, she paled at the chaos inside.
What self-respecting physician would allow their stores to become like this?

The previous doctor took advantage of those assigned to his care. He had no respect for anything.

She examined the overcrowded shelves, trying to ascertain where to start, nauseated by the
discovery of a select few jars. She fished them carefully from the row, glaring at their labels before
glancing over her shoulder. She was hesitant to interrupt him, to draw anymore embarrassment to
herself, but she couldn't let the matter go unaddressed.

“Doctor?”

“Yes?” He didn’t glance up from whatever he was reading.

“Aside from any expired contents, may I do away with items such as these?”

He glanced up at her bidding, gaze narrowed on the ivory pot in her hands. She knew the moment
he read the label, his eyes darkening. “Toss it," he instructed plainly, much to her relief.

She nodded eagerly, setting aside the container labeled LEECHES, happy to see it go. After the
awful ordeal so many suffered, including Ada Lovelace, one of Hermione’s great idols, she saw no
benefit in the archaic practice that couldn’t be accomplished by more modern and efficient means.
She also dispensed with the pot labeled ARSENIC, knowing the powder had many purposes but
seeing far greater risk than reward keeping it accessible to the residents. She imagined several
young women would employ it as a beauty agent, slowly poisoning themselves from the inside out
all for the sake of a paler complexion.
She became lost in her task, navigating compounds and arranging bottles according to the cabinets
she’d seen in her father’s medical stores, as well as the numerous hospitals she'd visited with her
mother. She wasn’t aware an hour had passed until the Doctor walked up behind her, breaking the
silence alongside her concentration.

“I see the Madam was finally right about something.”

She gasped, spinning around too quickly and losing her footing. She caught herself against his desk
while his arm shot out to steady her, pulling her back to her upright position. She flushed beneath
his amused stare.

“You really do have a background in medicine," he concluded.

She nodded despite her embarrassment. “Yes, my parents both worked in the field.”

She realized he still had a hold of her arm. His fingers released her in the same moment. She
brought her hand to the same spot, unconsciously mimicking his touch.

“Was your father a doctor?” he asked.

She straightened. Talking about parents was still an emotionally trying exercise, but she found
herself excited to share their history and accomplishments with someone who could truly
appreciate their work.

“He attended medical school but wasn’t a practicing physician, not in the traditional sense. He
researched and developed cures for infectious diseases. He spent most of his career working with
the military, studying foreign ailments to ensure soldiers didn’t get sick while abroad.”

Light danced in his eyes. “Impressive.”

She felt her chest swell.

“And your mother?” he prompted.

“She was a nurse. She worked on a voluntary basis after I was born so she could focus on raising
me herself. But before they married, she trained under Florence Nightingale at St. Thomas
Hospital.”

“Equally impressive. That’s a notoriously difficult program to gain acceptance into.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “She was a very impressive woman.”

Following her words, a thick silence permeated the room. His gaze held her frozen.

“What happened to them?” he asked.

She opened her mouth but the reply wasn't forthcoming. She had to pry the statement free. “They
died in a house fire.”

His eyes flickered between hers, as though searching for something. She had no idea what he could
possibly be looking for, but she couldn’t look away. Finally, his gaze settled. “I’m sorry for your
loss.”

She nodded, used to the generic condolence, the obligatory statement that was quick to follow such
a somber confession. But she was disappointed to hear him utter the phrase, expecting more from
him for some reason... And then he gave her more, asking the question that would tip her world on
its axis. “How does it make you feel?”

Her shoulders drew back. “What?”

“Their deaths. Are you merely filled with sadness, or do you feel anger?”

She shook her head, edging back on instinct. “I- I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do. It’s a simple question, Hermione.”

The sound of her given name on his lips rendered her motionless, transporting her back to the night
they first met. She was huddled inside his wardrobe, heart in her throat, trapped between fear and
intrigue. She held his gaze with fascinated wonderment. “I feel so angry I can’t breathe at times.”

The air around them sparked with electricity. He nodded, the same gesture as when she'd first told
him her name, as though he'd already known the answer before she delivered it.

“Good," he said. “Sadness cripples. Anger motivates.” The world around them grew hazy but she
stood mesmerized. “Your anger will take you places, Hermione. You must learn to control it, but
never eradicate it from your arsenal.”

There was something clawing beneath her skin, desperate to tear through, to render her in half. He
stepped back, sliding his hands in his pockets and turning his focus to the cabinet, shattering the
glass dome that encased them in its spell.

She swayed in the aftermath of her own admission, turning to face the cabinet for the distraction it
offered, the return to normalcy. His words still rang in her head, haunting and subversive, yet much
louder than any of the other voices rattling around in there. She already knew she’d never purge his
advice from her mind. Years from now, she would recall this moment in perfect clarity, for better
or worse.

“The cabinet looks good," he offered. "I appreciate your help. But I’ve taken you away from your
scheduled chores long enough, I can finish up here.”

She deflated. “Oh… alright.” She wanted to see the project through, finish what she started. That
was the only reason she felt disappointed. Certainly. She wrung her hands together, eyes darting
around the room, looking for something, anything—

Her gaze found the medical treatise in his hand, part of its title blocked by his thumb, but she could
see the author’s name in full. Her heart skipped in victory. “My father was once a student of Dr.
Snow.”

The Doctor blinked before gazing down at her. “Pardon?”

She gestured to the journal. “Dr. John Snow, he taught my father the ins and out of cholera when he
was first starting in the field.”

He raised the journal, staring at the cover before glancing back to her, expression pure intrigue. “I
consider the man a true pioneer in the field of medical study.”

She nodded enthusiastically, feeling that familiar thrill seize her. “Without a doubt. His
breakthroughs in environmental health science are renowned. If not for him, we may still be
treating people for miasma. It’s bizarre to think how readily the masses accepted something on the
grounds of absolutely no evidence for so long, especially when the practical solutions were right
under their noses.”
His eyes radiated heat, bathing her in their warm glow. “Tell me something, Hermione… What are
you doing here?”

She exhaled sharply. “I told you, my parents died—”

“But why are you here? Do you have no other family? Surely your parents left you the means with
which to survive outside of a place like this?”

A whirlwind of emotion seized her. “I…”

She hoped her obvious unease would deter him, a true gentleman would politely desist from his
line of inquiry. But not Dr. Riddle. He held her captive beneath his eyes and she knew he wouldn’t
relent. While she normally would hold true to her secrets, take perverse pleasure in denying the
demands made of her, she found herself yielding, unable to tamp down the torrent of words.

“My parents were both only children, all my grandparents died when I was very young, I don’t
remember them at all. And because I had just turned eighteen when the fire struck, I wasn’t
eligible for adoption by my friend’s family. He still offered to house me, but it would be deemed
terribly inappropriate and do irreparable damage to his reputation. He has a bright future ahead of
him and I refuse to compromise him in any way.”

She stopped for breath, feeling drained. The Doctor didn’t blink, his focus so absolute it became
eerie. “That’s very selfless of you.”

“It’s not selfless. It’s love. Which is perhaps the most selfish emotion of all," she replied on
instinct.

A beat of silence passed before he smirked. “What a fascinating outlook. You are very wise for
your age, Ms. Granger. But your friend's reputation aside, it sounds like your father led a very
successful career. Did he not leave you a sum in which to care for your upkeep?”

Talk of finances was an extremely taboo subject, even among relatives with existing ties. That the
Doctor would ask her such a question was both inappropriate and expected, for she was quickly
discovering this man knocked convention on its arse at every turn. She quite liked that.

“Yes, he did," she replied evenly. "Unfortunately, the Property Act only protects married women
from losing their fortunes to their husbands. Apparently, those of us who are single are not to be
trusted to manage our own accounts. Everything my parents left me is tied up with—” She broke
off suddenly, breath evading her.

“Hermione?” He moved closer, reaching out as she felt herself tip. “You look faint, do you need to
sit down?”

Hearing her name steadied her, the feel of his hand on her arm tethering her to the present moment,
pulling her back from the spinning black vortex at her feet. “No... I’m fine. I just haven’t talked
about these things in a long while.” She hoped the lie was edible.

He seemed to gnaw on the edges, but ultimately spit it out. “You were remarkably composed
speaking about their deaths a moment ago.”

Damn. He’s relentless. Why won’t he let me be?

As much as his tenacity frustrated her, it also filled her with twisted pleasure. Finally, someone saw
through her veil of propriety to the buried truth at the center. No one else pushed her for answers
—real answers— not even Harry, who was always so afraid of pushing her off of some invisible
cliff’s edge. But the Doctor couldn’t seem to care less about how far or how hard he pushed her.
She wondered if he'd follow her over the side when the time came.

“Sadness cripples. Anger motivates.”

She released a slow breath, skin hot beneath his lingering touch. “My funds are controlled by my
parent’s solicitor. He allots me a monthly allowance to stay here. Unfortunately, he doesn’t allow
me enough to live independently.” Keeping her mind focused was a trying feat. Away from the
shadows, away from the darkness. But his gaze held her firm, acting as a homing beacon as she
pushed onward. “As I’m sure you’re aware, women of any marital status can inherit land and the
property built atop it. But our home burned down to the foundation, nothing is left but the acres
beneath. They’re currently awaiting auction. Due to the fire damage, the soil is untillable, so it’ll
likely sell at a fraction of its original worth. Still, the money will be completely mine, and then I’ll
be able to venture out on my own.”

He tilted his head. “And where will you venture to?”

She licked her lips. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Of course you have.”

His hand squeezed harder, biting into her circulation. She didn’t mind. “I want to travel," she
breathed. "See the world. Go everywhere. Experience every culture I can. I want to live life so fully
that I turn old and grey before I’m thirty. I want my face to be filled with wrinkles from all the
things I’ve seen and done. I want to reach the end of my days with no regrets. Because my only real
regret would be allowing fear of the unknown to hold me back.”

His eyes seemed to glow, lit by an internal light source. The edges of the room blurred, leaving
only his face in perfect clarity. “That is quite a large order, Ms. Granger.”

“What’s the point in dreaming otherwise?”

He grinned slowly, and something about his countenance seemed too pleased, too satisfied to be in
simple reaction to her words. She shivered, tugging gently at her trapped arm. His hand fell away
immediately. And then stepped back. “It’s been a delight speaking with you." The words sounded
rehearsed, hollow, lacking the edge of passion and intent from moments before. “I thank you again
for your assistance. You are free to go now.”

She nodded quickly, pacing backward on trembling legs. She made it halfway to the door before he
called her attention, stopping her in her tracks.

“Ms. Granger, on your way out, would you be so kind as to post the appointment schedule to the
outside of the door?”

Her heart raced as she approached, eyes trained on the sheet of paper in his hand, knowing her
name was upon it. She halted some distance away, extending her arm to take it from him. But his
hand didn’t release the other end. She peered up nervously, sensing the weight of his stare.

“Thank you," he murmured, releasing the sheet to her hand. Their arms fell away like a severed
vine.

“You’re welcome," she muttered, clutching the paper with white knuckles all the way to the door.
When she reached it, she was overcome by the intoxicating need to glance over her shoulder one
last time. She denied the urge with her last reserves of strength, neck cramped from how stiffly she
held it. Slipping out of the clinic, the heavy doors closed heavily at her back, freeing her at last.
She breathed heavily, leaning against the barrier and willing her pulse to calm.

What's happening?

The crinkling of paper drew her focus, the forgotten appointment log half crumpled in her hand.
She scanned the names written across it. As Umbridge had warned, he was starting with the newest
girls first, those who hadn’t been around to see the previous doctor.

Thank god.

She was terrified to imagine what may have transpired had she arrived during the last physician’s
tenure. Her eyes lingered upon her own name at the bottom of the page, the black ink of Dr.
Riddle’s script elegant and precise, exactly what she would have expected. The letters in her name
held no special flourish or design, nothing to set them apart from the others on the list. She was
one in a sea of many, a simple smudge on a page.

It's for the best.

Yes, it was for the best.

She was better off steering clear of the man. He stirred up thoughts and emotions better left to rest.
Still, it seemed she wasn’t free from his clutches just yet. Her appointment was tomorrow. The last
one of the day.

She lingered outside the clinic door for several moments, gazing upon her name with her heart in
her throat before facing the long corridor ahead. She really wished she hadn’t. Because on the stone
floor directly in front of her was a sight so ghastly, so terrifying, she was rendered mute in abject
horror.

Bloody footprints. Leading down, down, down… She closed her eyes, trembling.

It’s not real. It’s not real. The temperature dropped rapidly, her next breath full of ice, expelled in a
plume of crystals. It’s not real.

She edged forward with her eyes closed and arms aloft, mindful of keeping her footing.

“Hermione…”

She nearly fell over when the haunting whisper filled the corridor. Tears cut icy tracks down her
cheeks, a scream welling in her throat. Her eyes peeled open at the sound of fast-approaching
footsteps. But they weren’t normal footsteps. No, they sounded like the broken gait of Filch, but
somehow more damaged, more violent...

Thump. Draaaag.

Thump. Draaaag.

Thump. Draaaag.

She stood trembling, horrified gaze fixed to the end of the hall, waiting for It to appear…

Thump. Draaaag.

Thump. Draaaag.
It stopped. She keened desperately, vision dimming when an arm curled around the wall. The flesh
was torn, shredded through, shiny with blood and exposed bone. The fingers were claw-like,
grasping hungrily at the stone, reaching out. Reaching for her. She staggered back, prepared to
release a blood-curdling scream when a new voice joined the fold, rendering her mute with shock.

“Hermione!”

The breath caught in her throat, halfway between a scream and a sob as the comforting voice drew
nearer, its accompanying face appearing around the corner.

“Hermione! Oh, thank god, you’re still here!” Parvati ran forward, dark braid swinging at her back.
Hermione leaped for her desperately, eager to protect her, to warn her—

She glanced to the end of the hall, but the mangled arm was gone. Turning quickly, she saw the
bloody footprints had disappeared as well. Parvati arrived beside her, flushed and panting. “I was
hoping you’d still be— Mione? Are you okay?”

Hermione wiped at her eyes, too shaken to form words. She nodded instead.

“Are you crying?”

She cleared her throat, willing the terror at bay. “I’m fine. What is it, Parv?”

Her roommate didn’t look convinced but let the matter drop. “We have a problem," she said.

You have no bloody idea…

But Hermione was pulled from her dark musing by the gravity of the next statement.

“Lavender is missing.”
 Smoke Demons

Begin at the beginning,

And go on till you come to the end:
Then stop.
. . .

“What do you mean we’re not going to do anything? She’s been missing since yesterday
afternoon!” Parvati yelled.

“You will do well to remember who you are speaking to, Ms. Patil. I do not appreciate the tone in
which you address me, nor do I recall requesting your presence in my office.”

“This is utter bullshite!”

Hermione stepped forward, pulling the girl back as she lunged for the desk. “I think what Parvati is
trying to say is we’re concerned about Lavender’s welfare, considering the time frame she’s been
missing.”

Umbridge glared daggers. “I don’t need you to translate simple English, Ms. Granger. Nor do I
recall asking you to come here either. But seeing as you both lack the most rudimentary of
manners, I find myself unsurprised. However, I refuse to entertain such wildish antics. Ms. Brown
is not missing, she is a runaway, and most importantly, she is prohibited from ever setting foot
within this institution ever again.”

Hermione’s eyes blew wide as Parvati thrashed in her grip. “You vile, loathsome—”

“Thank you, Ms. Patil, for further illustrating what a model of propriety you are.”

“Screw your propriety! My best friend is missing! She’s all alone on the streets of bloody London
because you’re too busy dusting cat sculptures to send out a search party!”

“That is enough!”

“Parvati,” Hermione hissed, restraining her tighter. “Stop, this isn’t helping.”

“What’s it matter? She isn’t going to help no matter what we say or do. She hates Lavender, hates
us all. She’d be happy if everyone disappeared.”

Hermione pursed her lips, unable to voice an argument against a statement she knew to be true.

“Are you both quite done?" Their Matron asked blithely. "Leave this office at once and I’ll
consider only giving you a week’s worth of house arrest.”

Hermione released Parvati to charge the desk in her stead. “What? You can’t do that!”

Their Madam's smile was sweet and venomous. “I think you’ll find that I absolutely can, Ms.
Granger. You might have been a big shot in your previous life. But here, you’re merely a resident
living under this roof by my good graces.”

“You receive a monthly stipend from my solicitor.”

Umbridge’s smile fell. “It’s hardly worth the burden of your upkeep, I assure you.”
Hermione clenched her fists as Parvati stormed forward, planting both hands on the desk and
leaning in menacingly. “You won’t get away with this, you disgusting toad!”

“That’s two weeks house arrest for you both!”

Hermione exhaled a gust of steam before grasping her friend's arm and hauling her towards the
door.

“We can’t leave!” Parvati shouted.

“We can and we are. We’re not doing Lavender any good by lingering here.”

“But—”

“Parvati!” she hissed, willing the other woman to look at her. “Trust me. We need to leave now.”

Parvati looked stricken. Hermione held her gaze, silently conveying her message until, finally, she
relented, allowing herself to be led through the doorway and into the hall.

“Have a wonderful, productive day, girls!” Umbridge called from the desk, voice high and gleeful.

“That bit— umph!” Parvati squealed into Hermione’s palm.

“Shh! We’re already under house arrest for two weeks thanks to that mouth of yours! Keep quiet
until we're back in the dorm!”

Parvati shook the muzzling hand away, twisting free of Hermione’s grasp. “I’m not going back to
the bloody dorm! I’m looking for Lavender!”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Obviously. We both are.”

“You’re coming with me?” Parvati asked, tension ebbing.

“Who snuck out two nights ago to drag her back to our room before Filch came 'round?”

Parvati sighed. “Thank you, Hermione. I need all the help I can get. I’m really worried, you know
this isn’t like her. Something is wrong, I can feel it.”

Hermione shared the same sentiment but felt it better left unsaid. Hope was their greatest weapon
at present, they needed every morsel they could find.

“We’ll find her, Parvati. But we can’t rush off into the city on a whim. We need to figure out a
plan. And thanks to Umbridge, we’ll be watched day and night by Filch and her other minions. We
need to be clever about this.”

“In that case, I’m really glad you’re helping.”

Hermione smiled, though it lacked its usual vibrancy. They were both much too worried to feel any
true amusement.

“Come on,” Hermione prompted, starting down the hall. “Let’s get to the dorm so we can
strategize in private.”

The large oak door of Grimmauld Manor rattled on its hinges, the frantic pounding echoing loudly
through the vaulted entry, carrying across the marble floor and up the grand staircase, the latter of
which Harry currently descended, scowl firmly set.

“Bloody hell, I’m coming!” he shouted, but the noise continued to reverberate through the entire
property. It was a miracle the wood didn’t splinter beneath whatever battering ram was on the
other side. Too aggravated to even bother looking through the curtain first, he unbolted the front
door with a menacing growl. “Alright! Jesus Christ!”

He ripped the barrier open wide, only to be bowled over by his uninvited guest. The man stormed
inside like a bat out of hell, clipping Harry's shoulder as he passed.

“Your friend is a vicious harpy, Potter!”

Harry narrowed his eyes and rubbed his bruised joint. “Please, come in, Malfoy.”

“I can’t abide her! She’s mad! Utterly insane! She needs to be officially diagnosed so they can
admit her into a proper hospital!”

“Good day to you as well. I’m great, thanks for asking.”

“I don’t know what’s triggered the madness, some latent hysteria or that destitute domicile she
insists on staying at. Maybe there’s something in the water affecting their cognitive function.”

“Sounds like the most rational explanation.”

“You have no idea what she—”

“Correction, I don’t care. Now get out.”

Malfoy stopped his rapid pacing of the entryway, blinking dumbly as though noticing Harry for the
first time. “Did she say anything to you?”

Dear god. Harry rubbed his eyes. “Malfoy, it’s barely 9 a.m., when would I have spoken to her?”

“Yesterday.”

“No, idiot. I haven’t talked to her since the cafe. And if I had, I wouldn’t tell you anything she
confided in me. Now get out.” He gestured to the open doorway.

“I need a whiskey.” Malfoy strode past him for the parlor.

Harry sighed, slamming the door. “It’s barely nine in the bloody morning!”

“I’ll mix it with coffee!” Malfoy shouted back.

“Fucking hell…” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, only to jolt at the echoing crash from
upstairs.

Malfoy stopped mid-step, glancing at the ceiling. “Do you have company, Potter?”

Harry tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. “It’s a cat.”

“You don’t own a cat.”

“It’s a poltergeist.”

Malfoy peered forward sardonically. “A poltergeist cat?”

“Precisely. The feline met a rather violent end after it woke me up to complain about another cat
that continuously avoids its company.”

The blonde twat paced to the window. “I didn’t see another carriage out front.” His mercurial gaze
returned to Harry, inspecting him from bottom to top, alighting on the rumpled details he'd
overlooked upon first entering. “Which means your guest had to have arrived in your carriage last
night.” His smirk shined with cruel delight. “Who are you fucking, Potter?”

“I'm deeply offended by—” Harry was interrupted by the sound of floorboards creaking overhead.
Malfoy's smile only grew. Harry sighed, shaking his head. “Fantastic.”

“Who is it, Potter? Some bird from Holywell? You have to be careful with those, half of them carry
a bawdy pox that’ll snap your prick right off.”

“Is that what happened to yours? I wondered how Hermione came to acquire it in her purse next to
your bollocks.”

Malfoy's amusement sank like a dead weight. “At least I don’t have to pay for sex, Potter.”

“At least I’m having sex, Malfoy.”

The aristocrat raised a speculative brow. “You admit it then? You have a kept dame upstairs?” His
eyes flickered to the landing above.

“Don’t even think about— goddammit!” Harry sprinted after the idiot, tackling him halfway up the
stairs.

“Bloody hell, you lunatic!” Malfoy grunted in pain as the hard, unforgiving wood bit into his shins
and ribs.

“You aren’t even welcome downstairs, Malfoy!”

“Is she missing an eye or something?”

“What?” Harry dodged an elbow to the face, taking it on the jaw.

“A bum leg?” the fool continued, coughing when Harry landed a shot just beneath his kidneys. “Or
does she have a set of hairy boys dangling down low?” he wheezed, no hope of shutting him up.

“Fucking. Hell. Get. Out!” Harry managed to twist his opponent's arm behind his back, yanking
him upright and sideways as they stumbled down the stairs.

“I just want to see," Malfoy pled. "I promise, I won’t say a word.”

“And a horse won't shite in a stable.”

“Do you kiss her with that mouth?”

“Goodbye, Malfoy.” He dragged him towards the front door, grunting with exertion.

“Wait, is it someone I know?”

Harry struggled to open the door without relinquishing his grip. The blonde’s eyes narrowed in
epiphany. “Oh god, it is, isn’t it?” Thrashing wildly, Malfoy managed to slip free like a wily fish,
making it two steps towards the staircase before Harry tackled him like a rugby player.
“It’s too early for this bullshite!” Harry yelled.

“I agree," Malfoy grunted, refusing to be pinned. "So tell me who’s upstairs and I’ll leave.”

Harry glared. “Fine.”

His opponent stilled, seemingly shocked by Harry's sudden acquiescence. “Really?”

“You'll honestly leave if I tell you?”

Malfoy nodded eagerly. “Yes, I’ll go and never return.” Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy sighed,
“That is, I won't return this week.” Slightly more convincing. "Stop stalling, Potter. Who’s
upstairs?”

Harry exhaled slowly before meeting the man's gaze, forcing out the truth with reluctance.
“Alright, fine. It’s… your mum.”

Malfoy blinked, going perfectly still as Harry fought to maintain his somber expression, lasting
another three seconds before exploding with laughter.

“Bloody pillock!” Malfoy roared, lunging forward and toppling him onto his back.

“You asked!” Harry gasped between noisy guffaws, rolling atop the marble.

“We’ll see how fucking funny it is when I break your sodding arm!”

Harry dried the corners of his eyes. “Why don’t you try growing a sense of humor along with a
new cock?”

Malfoy swung a fist in response and Harry narrowly dodged. They were ten years old again,
wrestling in the backyard while their fathers talked business and their mothers watched on in
amusement. “I’m going to kill—” The sound of fast-approaching horses silenced them.

“Another guest?” Malfoy posed casually, forearm lodged against Harry’s throat.

Harry tipped back his head, gazing upside-down at the front door. “It’s nine in the bloody
morning!”

“Closer to nine-thirty now, I’d say.”

He rolled his eyes, elbowing the blonde in the ribs. “Get off me.”

“Is that how your mistress says it when the hour’s up?”

Harry reared his knee upward, aiming for the idiot's groin. Malfoy rolled away just in time.

“Oi! Penalty!”

“Dumbarse,” Harry muttered, pushing to his feet and striding for the window. He gazed out at the
circular drive while Malfoy inspected his reflection in the mirror, adjusting his cravat and combing
his platinum locks into their signature, jagoff coif.

“I admit," Harry began, smile reflecting in the pane. "I thought the rest of my day was going to be
downhill from here. Now it’s shaping to be the best goddamn day of my life.”

Malfoy paled, more than usual, anyway, glancing sideways in horror. “No.”
Harry let the curtain fall before turning slowly. “Yes.”

“What the hell is she doing here?" the blonde hissed, marching to the window. "Did you know she
was coming?”

The carriage rolled to a stop. “I promise, this is solely the universe rewarding me for putting up
with your unbearable presence my entire life.”

“Potter, she can’t see me.”

Harry lifted the edge of the fabric, peering outside again. “She’s already seen your carriage, she’s
staring right at— Oh, never mind. Now she’s walking to the front door.”

Malfoy backed away quickly. “I can’t— Potter, I—” He inhaled deeply. “Harry. Please.”

Harry sighed. Dammit. “Fine,” he relented, tipping his chin towards the back of the house. “Use
the servant’s entrance and sneak around front. I’ll cover for you.”

Malfoy nodded, already en route to the hallway. “Thank you.”

“Not yet, but you will.”

Malfoy spun on his heel and sprinted ahead, disappearing around the corner seconds before a
delicate knock sounded at Harry's back. He shook his head and glanced at the upstairs landing. So
much for his quiet morning in. Then he turned and opened his door for the second time that day.
Luckily, it was far more enjoyable company.

“Hello, Milady. To what do I owe the pleasure?” His easy grin faded when she walked inside with
a strained expression. “What’s the matter?”

“Is he here?”

Harry arched a brow. “Who? Malfoy?”

“His carriage is out front.”

“He’s out back looking at something. Don't worry, he’ll be gone in a minute.”

“He’s out back looking at something,” she repeated, her flat tone telling him all he needed to know
about the clarity of her mind.

“Alright, caught me. The moron's sneaking 'round back like a burglar hiding from Scotland Yard.”

She sighed heavily as he closed the door. “I’m sorry he came to you again. You shouldn't be
dragged into all this.”

Harry shrugged, pulling her into his side and steering them towards the parlor. “It’s not your fault
he’s a stupid wanker.”

“Harry.”

“I’m sorry, are we pro-Malfoy this morning? You came to the wrong house if you want to sing his
praises.”

He released her and paced to the settee, sprawling back with a groan. His body still ached from his
early morning wrestling session on the stairs. And the one in his bedroom before that.
Hermione continued to hover in the middle of the room, looking tense. “I’m in the right place, I
just didn’t expect to see him here.” She took a fortifying breath. “Harry, I need your help.”

He leaned forward, sensing the weight of her tone. “What’s wrong, luv?”

“One of the residents at the Home is missing. My roommate, Lavender. She’s been gone since
yesterday morning and the Matron won't do anything about it. Umbridge thinks she ran away but I
know that’s not the case. Lavender has nowhere to run to. And even if she did, she’d never leave
without—”

“Wait, Mione, slow down. Here, come sit by me.”

She nodded quickly, doing as bid, slumping against his side as he wrapped an arm around her.
“Harry, I’m so scared for her," she admitted in a frail voice, dropping her forehead to his shoulder.
"Lavender isn’t… she doesn’t... “ She paused, searching for the right words. “She’s very pretty.
Vivacious and carefree, the type of person you want to be around, so full of energy and life. But the
wrong person may target her for all those qualities, hurt her. I’m terrified something awful’s
happened but I have no means of finding out where she is.”

Harry rested his chin atop her head and rubbed circles on her back. “It’s alright. I’ll ask around,
send word around the city. We’ll find her.”

She pulled back to meet his eye. “Thank you, Harry. I knew I could count on you.”

He smiled, dropping a quick kiss to her forehead. “Always.”

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was getting back inside her carriage with her pockets lined with
coins. Harry had practically had to force the funds upon her, knowing her solicitor was a stingy
bastard who barely gave her enough to survive on each month. Harry used to send her money every
week while he'd been abroad, only to learn the Matron of the hovel opened everyone’s mail before
allowing messages to pass in or out. Hermione had never seen a farthing of what he'd sent, so he
took to showering her with money and gifts when he was in London to ensure the notes made it
directly into her hands, no matter how unwilling she was to accept them.

He'd have loved to spend his afternoon with her, but knew she was crawling the walls to find her
roommate. No doubt the young woman was off with some bloke or a group of friends, having the
time of her life while Hermione tortured herself with dark thoughts. Harry would find the girl
before the day was over, if only to give Hermione the peace of mind she deserved.

Standing in the open doorway, he watched her carriage pull away. Halfway up the drive she leaned
through the compartment window and waved farewell, as per tradition since they were children.
No matter her strife, he knew she'd follow through. He returned the gesture with a grin, lowering
his arm when she rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

“Are all your mornings so eventful?” a voice beckoned from the landing.

Harry closed the door with a sigh. “As of late, it would seem so.”

“I had no idea you were in such high demand.”

He smirked, glancing over his shoulder at the figure leaning against the banister. “What can I say?
I’m a popular guy.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, gleaming off the chandelier and reflecting in Harry's
eyes. “Perhaps you’d like a personal demonstration?” he posed.

“Hm. I thought I already had one of those last night. And two this morning.”

Harry licked his lips. “Those were just warm-up exercises.”

His companion sighed. “Bloody hell, Potter. Do you want to keep making terrible metaphors, or do
you want to fuck me?”

“Believe me, I want nothing more than to bend you over that railing," Harry lamented with a
wolfish grin. "Unfortunately, I have to run into the city and find Hermione's missing friend.”

“You’d do anything for her, wouldn’t you?”

"Yes," he replied without hesitation.

“Should I be jealous?”

He tilted his head, roaming their figure from bottom to top. “You’ve never been jealous a day in
your life.”

“You’d be surprised. Not everything was sunshine and roses growing up in my house.”

Harry’s expression sobered. “I know.”

“Bloody hell, I can’t abide such heavy subject matter so early in the day.” His guest turned,
heading for the hallway. “You go play knight-in-shining-armor, I’m going back to bed.”

Harry watched his lover disappear around the corner, sighing heavily when a door closed several
moments later. Yes, his mornings were far more eventful as of late.

“Stop here, thank you," Hermione instructed.

“I can drop you off at the front, Miss.”

“I’m afraid that will only ensure my imminent demise. The corner is fine.”

The driver pulled on the reins and the horses slowed, stopping along the curb. Hermione pulled a
few coins from the hidden pocket of her skirt and handed them to the man, descending the carriage
with a leap.

“Thank you, Miss, have a good day.”

“You as well.”

She navigated around newsstands and trolleys on the sidewalk, weaving between the throngs of
early morning shoppers and people running late to work. Turning the corner, her destination came
into view and her heart lurched.

The Home dominated the entire block, the tall and imposing structure a testament to gothic
architecture, equipped with flying buttresses and stone gargoyles, the latter of which glared down
with their menacing eyes, following her every movement.

She crept beside the rod iron gates and drew her hood over her face, eyes averted to the pavement
as she slipped through a set of loose bars near the back entrance, just beyond the makeshift garden
that existed to delude pedestrians into thinking the Home was well-managed. The squeezing
maneuver was a tight fit few residents could accomplish and even fewer knew existed at all. Leave
it to Lavender to discover every in and out of the building. The adventure-seeking girl was only too
excited to share her vast knowledge with Hermione, no doubt in the hopes of enticing her new
roommate to sneak out with her one night.

Hermione had always refused, but now she wished she hadn’t been so averse to the young woman's
lifestyle. Perhaps Lavender would have confided more in her had she been accepting of her choices.
At least then, Hermione may have a handle on where the girl had skipped off to yesterday
afternoon, and where she may be now. Instead, Hermione was utterly in the dark, rendered
helplessly reliant on Harry’s ability to lead the investigation. She couldn’t abide feeling powerless,
and yet it seemed to be the running theme of her life.

She kept behind the privacy shrubs as she made her way to the kitchen doors, hoping Luna had left
them unlocked, as promised. She and Parvati had enlisted the help of two other residents they
trusted to help them launch the search. Luna had been an easy selection and an even easier sell,
eager to assist them however she could.

Parvati had then recruited Hannah, just as anxious to help in the wake of her misplaced guilt,
feeling responsible for Lavender’s disappearance since she'd been with her at the market.
Hermione had tried assuring the girl there was nothing she could have done to derail Lavender
from her plan, but Hannah’s eyes had still looked plagued when they'd parted company that
morning.

Hermione was almost to the kitchen door when a shrill cry drew her attention to the trees. A frantic
birdsong, chilling to the bone.

She swallowed thickly, spotting the black-billed magpie atop a low branch on the silver birch. Her
heart raced as the bird hopped around manically, cries growing louder as it held Hermione's gaze.

"She sounded a bit frantic. I think she was trying to warn me.”

Hermione shook away the memory of Luna's voice, the notion utterly ludicrous. The bird launched
into flight a moment later, solidifying her stupidity. Can't believe I thought it was talking to me.

She turned to the door and pulled its handle, breathing a sigh of relief when it turned beneath her
hand. Rising onto the balls of her feet, she crept inside and closed the door softly at her back,
glancing into the dark kitchen—

“There ya are!” A strong hand gripped her shoulder, yanking her forward as she cringed,
recognizing the grating voice before she saw the equally grating face. “Knew someone was up to
somethin' when blondie snuck down 'ere earlier,” Filch said with malevolent glee, releasing her
arm to seize her wrist in an ironclad grip. She bit her lip to prevent from crying out, unwilling to
give him the satisfaction. “Wait 'til the Madam sees ya! Yer in 'fer it, girly.”

He pulled her along as he limped across the kitchen and passed beneath the archway, stomping into
the hallway. She reared back, twisting her arm, but he pulled harder, nearly taking her off her feet.

“Stop that!" he roared. "Yer good and caught, no point fightin' me now!”

“Precisely, so release me this moment!”

“What are ya on about?” He scowled over his shoulder.

She scowled back. “I’m already caught, there’s no point in running, so there’s no point in you
detaining me like a criminal, I’m not going anywhere!”

“Ha!” he barked. “I don’t trust a single one of ya 'ta do what ya says ya gonna do, so shut up and
keep walkin'!”

She bit back a scream of frustration, digging in her heels as he hauled her down the long corridor.
Residents stopped along the way to watch the spectacle, greeting her with varied expressions. A
few looked gleeful, amused, but most looked concerned and frightened, flashing her looks of
sympathy. Hermione avoided their gazes, not wanting to encourage anyone to try and help. Not
that they would. But nevertheless, she didn’t want to implicate anyone else in her wrongdoing.

“Stop doin' that!” he yelled, voice echoing down the now silent hall. Everyone had stopped what
they were doing to watch their parading figures. “Walk!”

“Let go of my arm and I will!”

“You stupid little trollop, I told ya that I—”

“Mr. Filch.”

The smooth baritone surrounded them from all sides, pausing their struggles as they searched out
the source. She expelled her breath in a rush, rocking in place as the gathering crowd parted down
the center to make way for the tall, imposing figure to emerge.

“Perhaps you can explain to me why you’re abusing one of my charges?” he demanded, eyes dark
and menacing.

Warmth suffused her chest and she cursed her own foolishness.

“D-Dr. Riddle…” Filch stuttered, his sallow skin turning even clammier. “I— I caught 'er, ya see.
She were sneakin' 'round when she’s 'sposed ta be—”

“Unhand her at once.”

The caretaker's expression pinched but he did as bade, circulation flooding back into her hand as
his calloused fingers loosened their chokehold. She instinctively flinched away, stumbling towards
the Doctor. He, in turn, stepped forward, placing himself between her and Filch. An impenetrable
wall. She tipped her head down, face half-hidden behind his broad shoulder.

“Is this how you normally treat the residents?” the Doctor posed, his tone colder than death.

There was an excited murmur among the residents, a wave of whispers rippling down the corridor
as they looked on with eager eyes. Filch shifted uncomfortably. “She were caught breakin' the
rules!”

“I don’t care what she was caught doing, if I ever see you place your hands on one of these girls for
any reason whatsoever, I assure you, I will throw you out on the streets with my bare hands. Do I
make myself clear?”

Hermione gulped, the motion locking in her throat as she gazed upon his beautifully enraged
profile. His words brokered no room for argument, no ounce of leave. Filch physically wilted
beneath the threat. “I… I don't…”

“It’s a simple yes or no.”

The caretaker's yellow eyes flickered to Hermione, narrowing imperceptibly. “Yes,” he bit out.

The Doctor glanced at Hermione as well, then turned to face her so swiftly she drew back on
instinct, cringing when he reached for her bruised wrist. He paused with his arm aloft, hostility
faded from his gaze. “May I?” he beckoned softly, for her ears alone.

She nodded, lifting her arm for his examination. His touch was firm and cold, but the moment his
fingertips moved from the fabric of her sleeve to the bare skin of her inner wrist, she felt the
lightning strike, following the path of her spine. The sensation was overwhelming. She gasped.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, easing his grip.

She flushed, mortified by her reaction. Tempted to feign greater injury to cover for her silliness, she
knew he’d be able to detect a sprain or fracture easily. Furthermore, she didn’t want to lie to him.
So far their interactions were based on raw, naked honesty. She didn’t want to change that now.
Not for this.

“No," she muttered, unable to break his gaze despite knowing her eyes gave the secret away.

His touch had warmed, one hand supporting her forearm while the other encircled her wrist, a
stunning contrast to the way Filch had held her moments before. Her pulse thrummed madly
against his thumb.

“You’ll bruise,” he murmured. Their gazes remained firmly locked. “But your hand is still
attached, despite his valiant attempt to rip it off.”

She blinked, brow pinched until she saw the flash of dark amusement in his eyes. And just like
that, a suffocating weight left her, the stress of the last day, week, and month, gone in an instant.

“That’s too bad," she offered in response. "A severed appendage would surely qualify me for
disability services. I could have earned up to ten shillings a week.”

His pupils expanded, mouth curving wryly. “Dare to dream big.”

Her heart skipped dangerously, the rest of the world falling away until someone giggled sharply
and the resounding murmurs echoed through her skull, pulling her from the weightless abyss and
back into the crowded hall. She drew her arm away at the same moment he released her, both
stepping back from the other.

She glanced to the floor as he turned to the caretaker. “I'll have to report this incident to the
Matron," the Doctor informed the man, the darkness returned to his voice. She wondered if she'd
imagined the last few moments, touching her wrist where his thumb still burned.

“As you bloody well should!" Filch scoffed. "I told ya, I caught 'er sneakin' about, she needs ta
come with me and see the Madam right now!”

“And where exactly did you catch her sneaking about?”

She toed the ground, terrified the Doctor would turn his ire on her for breaking the terms of her
house arrest.

“The back garden, comin' in through the kitchens like a common thief!”

“And between discovering her entrance and hauling her down the hall like a cow to auction, did
you stop to ask why she was in the garden?”
“It don’t matter why—”

“Precisely. Because had you taken but a moment to make the simple inquiry, you’d know Ms.
Granger was taking inventory of the herb garden, just as I requested.”

Her heart nearly burst from her mouth. Filch blinked, gazing rapidly between them. “But— I wasn't
— you never told me she was—”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Filch,” the Doctor folded his arms, getting comfortable for the execution. “Am I to
understand I need to inform you of every task needed to perform my role as primary physician?”

Filch gulped loudly. Their audience whispered feverishly, steadily growing in number.

“She didn’t say nothin' 'bout no inventory—”

“Perhaps she was a bit distracted by your violent efforts to wrench her arm from its socket.” The
Doctor released the man from his beratement to peer down at her. “I will take care of the matter,
Ms. Granger. You may go.”

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, too shocked to move.

His eyes narrowed. “Go.”

She snapped out of the daze, nodding quickly and spinning on her heel, only to face a wall of
onlookers blocking her path to freedom.

“All of you!” The Doctor shouted, voice reverberating off the walls and ceiling like the voice of
God Himself. “The show is over! Get back to where you need to be or I’ll summon the Madam to
repeat the instructions!”

That was all the threat needed to break apart the sea of girls like an icepick. They scattered in every
direction, laughing and shouting, eager to spread the gossip.

Hermione hesitated a moment more, glancing over her shoulder as Filch and the Doctor continued
to speak in low voices, the former hunched and defensive, the latter towering and lethal, but she
couldn’t hear what they were saying.

She took a deep breath and hurried down the corridor towards her dorm.

Harry walked across the busy campus of the Royal Polytechnic Institute, eyes scanning the crowd
milling outside the School of Engineering.

“Oi, Boot!” he shouted. The lanky man turned from the group he was with, smiling upon seeing
his old friend.

“Potter! Long time no see, mate. What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you," Harry said, crossing the walkway. "I’m looking for the old man, he around?”

“Yeah, he was in the last lecture with me, ended about ten minutes ago. He should be out
anytime.”

“Thanks.”

Terry nodded, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. “So, you’re on leave?”
“That I am.”

“Kill any pirates?”

Harry laughed. “Unfortunately not.”

“Too bad." Terry shook his head. "Come close to killing any?”

“So far, I’ve only come close to killing my friends. Let’s hope I have the strength to curb my
homicidal urges a bit longer.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

Harry chuckled. “Good point. Oh, I see him now. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright then. Goodbye, Potter.”

Harry smiled, tipping his head in farewell as he strode past the stairs to the edge of the building.
“Nev!” he called.

Neville halted, glancing up from the open book in his hands. “Harry?”

“In the flesh.”

The man laughed, snapping shut his book and stepping forward to embrace him. “Blimey, I
thought you weren’t getting back until next week.”

“Last minute change of plans," Harry sighed, clapping his friend on the back before stepping
away.

“No one tells me anything,” Neville complained without heat, opening his leather satchel to
deposit the literature.

“How is Cambridge?”

Neville smiled. “It’s fantastic. I’d stay there year-round if not for Gran. Luckily, the Institute offers
summer programs so I can stay on track.”

“On track for what? To graduate in half the time?”

“I’m doing a double major.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s astounding we share the same blood.”

“Barely. Remember when Hermione made us trace our entire family tree for her genetics project?”
His eyes were bright with amusement, though it faded in the next moment. “How is she? I’ve
written a few times but haven’t heard back. I don’t know if she gets regular mail where she is.”

Harry sighed, placing a hand on the man's shoulder and directing him down the walking path.
“Actually, Mione’s the reason I paid you a visit. I need to ask you a favor.”

Neville raised a brow. “A favor for you or for her?”

Harry smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Does it matter?”

Neville glanced away, unable to hide his blush. “No, of course not. I just... I just worry about her,
is all.”

Harry nodded. “Me too, Nev. Me, too.”

Hermione checked both ways down the corridor before slipping inside the room, still a bit out-of-
sorts from this morning’s encounter.

Luna immediately stood from the bed and crossed the room. “Hermione, I’m so sorry! I didn’t
know Filch saw me sneak into the kitchen—”

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

The blonde nodded, though her eyes still look burdened. Hermione was about to reassure her
further when she spotted the room’s third occupant. Hannah sat on the foot of Parvati’s bed,
appearing equally distraught.

“Does the entire Home know?” Hermione sighed.

Hannah sent her a sympathetic look. “It's all anyone can talk about.”

Hermione trudged past Luna with a shake of her head. “Lovely. Umbridge is sure to catch wind of
it then. She'll know I broke house arrest. I can only imagine her wrath."

“But didn’t the Doctor step in to help?”

Hermione perched on the edge of her bed. “How much did you hear?”

Luna took a seat beside Hannah. “The girls are saying Doctor Riddle defended you against Filch.
Defended all of us, actually. Said Filch wasn’t allowed to touch us ever again.”

Hermione nodded, wondering if they'd also heard the Doctor's claim she’d been working in the
garden on an errand for him. The other residents wouldn’t have cause to doubt the lie, but Luna
and Hannah knew the truth, and would likely read more into his assistance than Hermione was
willing to face at the moment.

“Were you able to talk to the others about Lavender?” She asked, eager to get them back on track.

“Yes," Hannah provided, though her eyes were sorrowful. "They agreed to keep an eye out when
they go on market runs. But no one has any idea where she could be. They haven’t heard
anything.”

Hermione deflated. “Thanks anyway. I thought it prudent to ask around, but I wasn’t expecting
much. Lavender didn’t hang out in the typical places, I doubt anyone here knows exactly what she
got up to outside these walls.” She paused, saddened. “Not even me.” A somber silence filled the
room before she recalled her earlier field trip. “I spoke with my friend, he’s going to help us search.
He knows practically everyone in London, thanks to his family and connections. I think he’s our
best bet.”

“I think Parvati's contact in the city will be useful, too," Luna posed.

“She isn’t back yet?”

Both women shook their heads. Hermione fell back on her mattress with a graceless sigh. “Shite.”
Harry came to a stop outside the red-painted door in the dark alleyway.

“You didn’t have to come here with me, Nev. You’ve already done plenty by spreading the word
around the campus.”

Neville shrugged. “I don’t mind. I didn’t have any plans for the day beyond studying. At least this
gets me out of the house.”

“It certainly does," Harry laughed to himself. "Though I feel I should warn you again—”

“Bloody hell, I’m not a child. I know what goes on in these places.”

Harry smirked before rapping his knuckles against the door. “Gird your loins.”

Neville shook his head in amusement, then jolted as a small window level slid open in the wood,
revealing the top half of a man’s face.

“Password?” the bouncer prompted.

“Egbert," Harry provided without missing a beat. The window snapped shut, the sound of clicking
locks quick to follow.

“How did you know that?” Neville asked.

Harry flashed a silver grin over his shoulder as the door opened fully. “I have my ways.”

They stepped over the threshold and entered the smoke-filled lobby. Neville immediately started
choking on the bitter cloud, coughing loudly.

“Careful.” Harry hit him on the back a few times. “It’s opium. Try not to breathe in too much of it
or I’ll have to carry you out.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Neville hacked another breath. “The air’s filled with it!”

Harry shrugged, entering a long hallway filled with sheet-draped doorways. “I’m sure you’ll figure
something out, you always were the smart one.”

Neville wiped the tears from his eye and followed, covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow.
Harry reached the end of the corridor, passing through a beaded curtain that glimmered in the haze.
Neville swallowed tentatively, immediately coughing anew.

They entered the main room of the opium den, a powerful cloud of white greeting their arrival.
Harry waved it from his eyes, spotting a large oriental rug on the floor and a massive hookah at its
center. Pillows and bodies were scattered around it, men and women of every age and ethnicity
taking turns with the hoses. Their red-rimmed eyes blinked slowly, not a single face turning in his
direction.

Harry inspected their faces as best as he could through the smoke, finally shaking his head. “I don’t
see him.”

“What does he look like again?” Neville coughed.

“Our age, blonde and smug.”

“And what does smug look like exactly?”

“Handsome and punchable.”

“Got it.”

Harry backed out of the room. Neville turned to follow but something wrapped around his ankle.
He peered down, met by a smiling young woman on the ground, long dark hair spilling across the
carpet. “Hello,” her voice was raspy, eyes dim and lifeless. “Stay and play with me.”

His brows drew tight as he gently tugged free of her grasp. “Not today, luv.”

She giggled, unaffected by his rejection. “Tomorrow then?”

“Sure," he muttered, passing through the curtain and choking on another lungful of smoke.

By the time he made it back into the hallway, he saw Harry peeking his head through a curtain,
inspecting the room's occupants before pulling back and moving onto the next. The third room
seemed to be the lucky charm, as evidenced by his look of irritation as he stepped fully inside.

“Got you," Harry muttered, proceeding across the small room to the chaise lounge against the wall.
“Hello there, McLaggen.” He looked to the woman sprawled across the slumbering man's lap,
adorned in nothing but her shift. “And what’s your name?” She didn't respond, seemingly passed
out for the foreseeable future, but the second woman at McLaggen's side sprang to life like a
gunshot blast, scrambling to her feet and struggling to lace up her corset.

“Potter? Is that you, mate?” The McLaggen slurred, peeling open his eyes.

“I’m not your mate.”

The woman tugging up her dress was clumsy, wobbling on her feet and tripping over the rug. Harry
shot forward and caught her before she hit the ground. She blinked up at him, looking panicked.

“Careful,” he murmured, inspecting her face closely. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Lavender,
would it?” She shook her head as he hauled her upright. “Wrong hair color," he mused, staring at
the dark brown plait before tipping his head at her napping counterpart. "What about your friend
over there, what’s her name?”

The brunette shrugged, gripping his arm for balance as she pulled on her shoe. “I don’t know.”

Harry sighed, returning his focus to the man on the chaise. “How long have you been here,
McLaggen?”

McLaggen had fallen asleep again but the sound of his name roused him somewhat. He opened his
eyes slowly, blinking like an idiot. “Potter? Is that you?”

“Bloody hell.” Harry groaned, then glanced over his shoulder at the figure in the doorway. “Do me
a favor, Nev? Go back to the main room and see who’s coherent enough to speak. Ask if anyone
knows about Lavender Brown.”

Neville nodded before backing into the hall, unsteady on his feet. Great. It seemed Harry would be
carrying someone out of here after all.

He glanced to the woman, halfway through straightening her stalkings. “Do you know a Lavender
Brown?”

She shook her head, jaw firmly set as she glanced to the sheet-covered doorway, clearly eager to
bolt. He wondered if she was a paid companion or just a run-of-the-mill addict looking to supply
her habit by hanging out with rich pricks.

“You’re free to go," Harry said, in case she thought he was holding her here. "I need to ask your
friend some questions, you can have him back after.”

Her eyes darted to McLaggen's drowsing form, narrowing slightly. “He’s not my friend.”

That made Harry smirk. “I share in your sentiments. In that case, would you like to stay and watch
me rough him up a bit?”

“Could I help?” she deadpanned, fixing her plait.

“Sorry, luv. I’m afraid I don’t have time for that, but I like your way of thinking.” He examined her
more closely now that she was fully dressed. “What’s your name?”

She waited so long to answer he thought she wasn't going to tell him. But after several moments she
finally muttered, “Susan.”

“Susan,” he repeated, watching a blush spread down her neck. “I’m looking for a missing girl by
the name of Lavender Brown. Blonde, your age, just as pretty. Would you mind keeping your eyes
open for me?” She leaned back when he reached into his coat, shoulders easing when he withdrew
only his contact card. “If you hear anything, give that to the coach and they’ll take you to me.”

Her eyes narrowed. He heard the implication in his words.

“Don't worry. I only want information, nothing more.”

She bit her lip and accepted the card, studying the letters as though decoding them. He silently
cursed, realizing she might not be educated.

“I’m Harry," he offered.

She glanced up sharply. “I know how to read.”

He smirked at the scorn in her voice. “My apologies.”

“For the record, I’m not what you think I am.”

“I make no assumptions, I assure you.” That was a lie, he assumed she'd be very entertaining to
speak to under different circumstances. As it was, Susan slipped his card into the pocket of her
skirt and hurried to the door.

“I’ll keep an eye out," she said, then dipped under the sheet before he could bid her farewell.

He turned to face the snoring asshole in the room, sprawled across the chaise with his mouth open.
A thin line of drool cut a path down his chin, dripping onto the girl curled up in his lap. She was so
still she didn’t seem to breathe. Harry leaned down, shaking her lightly and sighing in relief when
she murmured in response, slowly rousing. He'd already known by her hair color she wasn’t the
girl he was searching for, but the vacant expression on her face also told him she wouldn’t be
providing any worthwhile information.

He helped her off McLaggen's lap, holding her arms as she swayed heavily on her feet. “Hello,” he
said, feeling as though he was handling a newborn fawn learning to walk. “I need you to head into
the main room for a little while, can you make it there on your own?”
She nodded while her eyes slid closed, frail body slumping forward.

“Fucking hell,” he grunted, sweeping her into his arms and laying her gently on the floor, out of the
way. She immediately curled into a ball and went back asleep.

Harry stormed to the chaise, directing the full beam of his fury at the room's last remaining
occupant. “Wake up, idiot!” He kicked the man in the shin, boot colliding with bone.

“Ah, fuck!” McLaggen doubled over like a bear trap, clutching his leg and rolling onto his side.
“What the f— Potter?”

“We’ve already established that, dumbarse. Now sit up. I’m tired of this bullshite.”

McLaggen blinked, making no move to right himself. Harry growled, grabbing the fool by the
suspenders and yanking him upright.

“Bloody hell!" McLaggen sputtered. "What’s your-”

“Now listen good, because I’m only going to ask you this once before I resort to more drastic
measures,” Harry uttered, low and menacing. “I’m looking for a girl by the name of Lavender
Brown. I know you’re familiar with her. Intimately. Where is she?”

McLaggen gasped like a fish out of water. “All this for a strumpet? She’s used goods mate, you’re
better off— Ow! Fuck!” His head snapped back with the impact of Harry’s fist.

“You didn’t follow instructions. Let's try this again. Where is she?”

“You bloody bast— Jesus! Okay!” McLaggen cringed away when Harry drew his fist back a
second time. “Alright alright! She’s up at the Girls Home on Bromley!”

Harry scowled. “That’s where she’s supposed to be, shite for brains. She’s been missing since
yesterday.”

McLaggen dabbed his bloody lip, flinching at the sting. “I don’t know anything about that.
Honestly, mate.”

Harry rose to his full height. “I’m not your mate.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Where else could she be?”

“How the bloody hell should I know?”

“You run around with her at least once a week. Where do you take her?”

McLaggen glanced up. “How do you know about that?”

“I have my sources.”

“Who? I pay good money to keep people quiet.”

“I’m asking the questions here,” Harry warned.

McLaggen sneered in response. “I have no idea where the bloody bint is! If I did, I would tell you!
No bird is worth getting my face split open!”
“What a gentleman.” Harry glanced at the sleeping woman on the floor. “And what about her, do
you even know her name?”

“These places aren’t for sharing names, Potter.”

“Just drugs and disease.”

“Get off your high horse, you smug prick.”

Harry’s knuckles cracked as he winded up another fist.

Five minutes later, he was escorting Neville down the hall, acting as a human crutch to keep the
man aloft as they stumbled to the door.

“Sorry, Nev, didn’t mean to take so long in there.”

“S’fine… did ya get whatdya needed?”

Harry smirked. He hadn't meant to get his friend higher than a jackdaw, but he couldn't help but be
amused. “I found a possible lead, and still had time leftover to blacken the bastard's eye. So all in
all, I’d say our excursion into the bowels of hell was quite successful.”

Neville hummed, eyes heavy. “S’good. Let’s get some cake now.”

Harry chuckled. “Alright, Nev. Let’s go get some cake.”

Hermione had spent five minutes hovering at the end of the hall that led to the clinic doors. Her
vivid hallucination from yesterday still haunted her. She'd only found the courage to forge ahead
when the doors had opened and a young girl slipped out, another resident several years her junior,
housed in a different dorm.

The girl had paused in her tracks upon seeing Hermione lingering like a suit of armor at the mouth
of the corridor. Hermione had forced a smile, which only seemed to frighten the poor child more.

Alone again, Hermione released a weary breath and proceeded forward. A quick examination of
the floor found it clear of any gleaming, bloody footprints. She bit her lip as she arrived at the
closed doors, debating whether to knock or simply walk in. Then she reminded herself it was a
public clinic meant for anyone’s use, not his private office.

Does he even have a private office? Or was the desk in the clinic where he intends to work?

Shaking the thought from her mind, she opened the door and proceeded inside, resigned to meeting
her fate and reminding herself the anticipation was often worse than the actual experience. Unless
it wasn’t.

Her eyes found him immediately and her stomach somersaulted. He stood at the front of the desk,
writing something on a clipboard with his back to her. She held her breath, his presence still jarring
even as she knew what to expect.

He was dressed in black trousers and a charcoal vest that reminded her a little too much of Draco’s
suit from their previous encounter. She examined him more thoroughly, noticing his rolled-up shirt
sleeves and exposed forearms. He wasn’t wearing a medical jacket and she wondered if he turned
his nose up at that convention as well, or if he was simply trying to appear less intimidating to the
younger residents.
Most of the girls here had never been to see a doctor beyond their initial admission to the Home.
Hermione had a sneaking suspicion the previous physician wore his full medical garb in their
presence, anything to seem more authoritative and controlling. The thought gave her a chill.

“Ms. Granger. Right on time. I should expect no less.”

She stood at attention, his back still facing her as he finished whatever he was writing. She began
to fidget, waiting for him to mention her earlier encounter with Filch, interrogate her about her true
whereabouts that moring, and perhaps even scold her a little. At the very least, she expected him to
mention his role in saving her from a cruel fate at the hands of the Matron.

Instead, he remained focus on the papers in hand, addressing her without an upward glance.
“There’s no need to hover at the door. You’re more familiar with this place than most.”

She released a nervous sound and proceeded towards the windows, peering out at the row of
privacy bushes lining the property gate. Night was descending, the sun quickly fading. She tilted
her head as she saw a short figure dart past, barely discernible through the gaps in the leaves. She
wondered if it was Colin on his rounds to ignite the gas lights. Soon the street would be awash in
the soft glow of moonlight and flame, turning the city into another creature altogether.

“Ms. Granger.”

She spun on her heel, nearly forgetting his presence. But her nerves returned when he directed all
of his attention upon her. He moved no closer, but his eyes rendered her motionless.

“Given your background, I’m sure you know what to expect, at least to an extent,” he continued.

She started to speak but her throat felt dry, so she settled on a nod.

“Good.” He released her from his thrall, glancing at the clipboard in his hand. “I need you to
remove your dress and corset. You may leave your shift and everything beneath it in place. Use the
privacy screen to your left.”

She took a deep breath, hands clenching as she cut a quick path to the standing partition, taking
shelter behind.

Stop this madness at once. There’s nothing to fear. You’re acting like a silly juvenile.

Her fingers felt clumsy as they pulled at the stays on the front of her dress, loosening the bodice
enough to pull it down her waist and over her hips, letting it fall like a corpse around her feet. She
closed her eyes and began unlacing her corset. The ivory shift came to her knees, her bloomers and
camisole layered beneath, and her black stockings reached her mid-thigh, leaving only her arms
truly exposed, and they'd been visible all day courtesy of her cap-sleeved dress. But being without
the additional garments made her feel bare and vulnerable. She couldn’t abide the feeling. Not in
the presence of a stranger, no matter his profession.

She hesitated behind the curtain for several moments more. The Doctor no doubt knew she was
done undressing but made no comment to urge her along.

Finally, with great resignation, she emerged. He was still gazing upon his clipboard, though his
eyes didn’t move and his body appeared tense, perhaps tenser than she stood. She hovered outside
the screen, shifting from foot to foot before his eyes slowly lifted. He watched her in silence. She
feared her heart might explode.

“Excellent,” he murmured, lowering the papers and gesturing to his left. “Please, take a seat on the
table.”

She moved to the raised platform. It had thin padding and a clean sheet pulled over the top, which
she was grateful for as she hoisted herself up. He approached, every step sending her heartbeat
higher in her throat. When he stopped before her, their heights were slightly more level, though he
still gazed down to meet her eye.

She held her breath and wondered if he’d mention the incident from earlier in the day when she
was raw and exposed, less likely to formulate lies. Instead, he looked to the chart in his hands and
adopted a tepid, professional tone.

“I pulled your medical file from the records. Your previous physician was Dr. Murrow at St.
Bartholomew's?”

She tried not to fidget. “Yes.”

He lifted a page, reading carefully. “You were hospitalized for three days following smoke
inhalation.” She didn’t respond, seeing as he held her medical chart in his hands and bore all the
answers. He gazed up sharply. “You failed to mention you were in the fire as well.”

“I…” She peered away, picking at the sheet with blunt nails. “I was downstairs when it broke out.
They were able to drag me out in time.”

She didn’t bother to go on, detailing that her parents were upstairs, trapped in the bedroom while
the hallway became a river of hungry flames. She didn’t mention she could hear them screaming
her name the entire time they burned alive. Not calling out for help, but begging their daughter to
flee, to leave them behind and save herself.

“You suffered no burns?”

She shook her head, throat clenching tight.

He lifted another page before sighing heavily. “This is rather outdated. I need to ask you some
questions to modernize it as well as determine the necessary course of our exam.”

He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to her, so she remained still and quiet until his
questions prompted her to speak.

“Do you drink or smoke?”

“No.”

He scribbled along the margins with a pen, the scratching of the nib the only sound beyond her
chaotic heartbeat.

“Do you partake in at least thirty minutes of physical exercise per day, such as walking or
performing manual labor?” His voice was flat and toneless, an unnerving contrast to the passion
she had heard the day before.

“Yes.”

His eyes darted up, scanning her body and making her flush. “You're underweight. Unfortunately,
the clinic lacks a scale. Not that I’m surprised.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” she said, tucking hair behind her ear.
His gaze snapped up, narrowing in question. She gulped, almost afraid to continue, speaking on
pure adrenaline. “Some of the older residents are preoccupied with their image, they may abuse the
scale and resort to drastic measures to obtain a more favorable weight.”

Something in his eyes flashed. “Is that what you’re doing?”

She reared back. “No, I—” She broke off, unsure how to continue. “I don’t care about my
appearance. I mean, I do, but it’s not— I don’t— I wouldn’t—”

“Take a breath, Ms. Granger.” She inhaled sharply, head a whirlwind. “Yesterday you told me your
greatest desire is to turn wrinkled and grey before the age of thirty. I don’t deem that as someone
deeply obsessed with outward appearance.”

She flushed deeper at his recollection of their earlier conversation. It felt somewhat sordid to think
about now, in this clinical setting. She was having trouble equating the man from yesterday, from
this morning, with the stranger who stood before her now, eyes emotionless and flat.

“I may lack a scale, but I do have other tools to obtain vital readings," he divulged. "Please extend
your right arm.”

Her brows knit together in confusion but she did as bade. He smirked when she held her arm at a
ninety-degree angle from her body, gently enclosing her wrist and pushing it down slightly. “Like
that,” he murmured, releasing her to her stuttering breath as he turned to his open medical bag on
the cot.

She watched with great curiosity as he emerged with a stethoscope in one hand and a foreign-
looking device in the other. “What is that?” she asked.

His smirk grew. “I'd wondered if you’d seen one before. It’s called a sphygmomanometer, a new
invention out of Austria. It measures the pressure of one’s blood flow.”

Her eyes lit with intrigue. “Truly? What a remarkable invention!” She bounced in her seat. “How
does it work?”

His smirk transformed into a breathtaking grin. “If you sit still, I’ll show you.”

She nodded eagerly, earlier discomfort long-forgotten in the wake of such a learning opportunity.
She was never exposed to anything new these days, especially in the field of medicine.

“This is a pneumatic cuff, it wraps around your bicep and is controlled by the manual pump on this
end,” he explained, holding each piece aloft for her to view. “I will constrict the blood flow through
your brachial artery.” He wrapped the two-inch band around her upper arm, watching her face as
she watched his hands. “I'll then loosen the band and release the blood flow in a controlled manner.
The mercury manometer will measure the pressure of release for me, I just have to use the
stethoscope to determine at what pressure the flow is starting and at what pressure it’s unimpeded.”

She shook her head in awe, hanging onto every word. “This is incredible. May I watch?”

He laughed shortly, eyes no longer flat and lifeless but bright and endlessly deep. “That is up to
you. The procedure does not require you to close your eyes.”

She smiled, too excited to feel embarrassed. He tightened the cuff into position and began
squeezing the pump. “Remain still and silent.”

She nodded, watching the dial on the end change, not understanding the values but no less
intrigued. She jumped at the cold bite of metal on her chest, tugging down the neckline of her shift.
Glancing up, her eyes fixed on the Doctor's downturned lashes, studying the concentration on his
face as he listened to her heartbeat. She had no doubt he was being subjected to a cacophony of
sounds, her heart beating wildly at his close proximity, the heat and pressure of his thighs grazing
her knees.

After a few moments, he lowered the stethoscope and released the valve on the cuff. Air started
hissing free, the pressure easing as the meter changed. He examined the dial and slid the band from
her arm.

“You’re at one-twenty over eighty," he said. "Which is within the healthy range but right at the
cusp of hypertension. No doubt do to the stress put on your heart from your size.”

She shifted awkwardly, unused to such casual discussion regarding her slight form. Luckily, her
curiosity burned much brighter. “What do those numbers mean?” she asked.

“The first refers to the amount of pressure in your arteries during the contraction of your heart. The
second refers to the pressure of blood between beats. I have a chart I can show you later listing the
ranges. Data is still being collected, of course, given the rising popularity of this method.”

“It’s amazing. And I thought the stethoscope was an ingenious bit of design.”

His smirk returned. “Are you familiar with the history of the stethoscope?”

An electrical current ran up her spine, words emitting before she had a chance to think. “It was
invented by Dr. Laennec in Paris, its original design merely a wooden tube for listening through
one ear. He created it because he was uncomfortable placing his head to women’s chests to listen
to their pulse.”

He shook his head with wry amusement, returning to his desk and depositing both items into the
case. She chewed the inside of her cheek as an admonishment for rambling like an eager school
girl, desperate to please the tutor.

“Alright,” he headed back towards her, “Now I’m going to examine your lymphatic and thyroid
systems, as well as check the condition of your spleen and liver.”

She nodded, rendered mute when he stopped directly before her knees, heat radiating from his
body. Or perhaps it was radiating from her. She couldn’t be certain. She sucked in a sharp breath
when his hands lifted to her face, prodding gently beneath her jaw and tilting her face up.

“Tell me if you experience any discomfort or pain.”

She swallowed thickly, closing her eyes and nodding. His fingers were just as cool as they'd been in
the hall that morning, wrapped around her wrist. But now they slid around to the back of her neck,
tipping her head forward and pressing along the sensitive skin at her nape. Gooseflesh speckled her
arms. She willed her body to calm.

“Lift your arms.” His voice sounded closer, deeper.

She opened her eyes, gasping to discover his face just before her. She lifted her arms and held her
breath as he pressed the glands beneath, prodding lower and lower along her sides. One large hand
splayed along her hip while the other gently pressed at her spleen. Her breathing hitched.

“Does that hurt?” he murmured. She could feel his breath on her face. It was cool, too, smelling of
spearmint.
“N-no.” She blushed hotly, trying again. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Good.” He checked her liver next. She worried she might faint. “Everything seems to be in order.”

When he finally stepped back she could only look at his shoulder, too embarrassed to meet his
gaze. He was a physician, she knew that rationally, and had received numerous medical exams
throughout her life. But having this particular man touch her felt nothing like her past check-ups,
no matter the fact he hadn’t variated from the standard procedure.

“I need to ask you some rather personal questions now, Ms. Granger.”

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She watched him take up his clipboard and write along the
margin before pinning her with the full intensity of his gaze.

“Are you intact?”

She felt herself separate from her body, watching someone else answer the questions in rigid
stillness. “Yes.”

He didn’t blink, didn't reveal a single emotion. “Are you sexually active in other ways?”

She released a slow breath. “No.”

His gaze turned searching, flickering to her mouth and back. Her heart lurched. “You don’t engage
in any form of physical congress with members of the same or opposite sex?”

The question threw her, the phrasing odd. She wondered if anyone would openly admit to engaging
in intimate acts with their own sex. It was technically an arrestable offense, if not merely swept
beneath the rug to never be referenced openly. But she supposed as a physician, he was entitled to
such information from his patients. Surely he wouldn't use it against them.

You don’t know this man, Hermione.

She swallowed tentatively. “I… I don’t… not with women.” She blushed furiously, shifting in
place.

He raised a heavy brow, eyes glowing. “With men?”

She thought her entire body would burst aflame. She prayed for it to happen, to put her out of this
awful, awkward misery.

“I don’t— I don’t normally. I just recently, nothing sordid. I mean—”

“Ms. Granger.” She inhaled sharply. “I am your physician, you don’t have to be embarrassed," he
spoke calmly, coaxingly. "But I must know what type of activities you engage in so I know how to
best treat you.”

She nodded, sliding her hands beneath her thighs. “I’ve never been with a man, I’m still intact. The
most I’ve engaged in is kissing.”

And heavy pawing… But that wasn't on the questionnaire.

“And how recently have you engaged in... kissing?”

Her brows furrowed. “Is that important?”

“Yes.”

She blinked. “Oh. Well, um…” Oh god, she really didn’t want to say it. “Yesterday morning.”

Something in his eyes flashed, rendering her motionless, caught. Then he merely gazed down,
writing more along the margins. She felt sick to her stomach, though she couldn't fathom why.
She’d done nothing wrong. Despite what society might try to instill in her, Hermione considered
her body her property and her's alone. She was free to do whatever she wanted, with whomever she
wanted, whenever the hell she wanted.

Her embarrassment quickly turned to anger, incensed by the notion the Doctor stood in silent
judgment of her actions. As though she'd disappointed him somehow. Like he'd expected better of
her. Like engaging in mere kissing made her less of a person, less of a woman—

She straightened, thoughts scattering like feathers to the wind as Parvati's words returned to her.
Bloody hell, is this how I made Lavender feel all those times I lectured her about Cormac? Her
nausea doubled, this time from guilt. She desperately hoped she had the opportunity to apologize to
Lavender in person. Don’t think that way! You'll see her again. You know you will.

“In light of your admission, I see no reason to refer you to a gynecologist for an internal exam," he
spoke, oblivious to her inner ramblings. She hadn't even known such a thing was a possibility. She
sagged in relief.

“However, I will be performing an external exam myself.”

Her relief flew out the window like a frantic bird.

“Lie back. I'll inspect your dermis as well. There have been recent cases of infection spread by
vermin and I need to check your limbs for bites or abscesses.”

She blinked, trapped in a numb stupor as she drew up her legs and pivoted sideways, exhaling
slowly and laying on her back. Staring at the ceiling, she saw nothing beyond the thick clouds
overtaking her vision.

Breathe. Just breathe. This is perfectly normal. You’ve reached maturity, it’s only natural for your
reproductive health to become a part of the exams.

He approached the side of the table. “Will I be the first to perform this on you?”

Something about his phrasing caused her pulse to throb harder. “Yes.” She cringed at the blatant
apprehension in her voice.

“There’s no need to worry.” His voice sounded softer now, less clipped than moments prior. “I'm
simply going to press along the outside of your pelvis to check for any lumps or abnormalities. I
can also check your inguinal nodes for swelling. Let me know if you feel any discomfort.”

She nodded mutely, tears forming in the corners of her eyes, too far gone in her anxiety to be
embarrassed. His hands hovered above her for a long moment. She shifted, wondering the cause
for his delay when she felt his eyes upon her. Glancing up, she was trapped by his fathomless gaze,
helpless to hide.

“Were you aware physicians in medieval times believed a woman’s womb could move about her
body?” he asked, the question so unexpected she barely noticed when his hands finally made
contact with her lower abdomen. Their eyes remained firmly locked as he pressed down gently.
“They called it wandering womb syndrome and affiliated it with a myriad of afflictions. Irregular
cycles, sore arms, stiff neck, cramped feet, even anxiety and nerves. Basically, anything that
caused discomfort was attributed to a displaced uterus.”

She tilted her head, studying his profile as he glanced down, tracking the motion of his hands along
her body. She was mesmerized by his voice, her earlier unease pushed steadily aside.

“Naturally, the prescribed treatment for such an ailment was regular sexual intercourse,” he mused,
the corner of his mouth tipping up in dark amusement. “Only with one’s husband, of course,
because the female body would know the difference and only be set right by her spouse's touch.”

“I had no idea the uterus was so astute," she supplied.

“Astuter than the human brain, it would seem. Luckily, the doctors of the time were on top of such
things. And as for unmarried women, the cure was strict diet and prayer.”

“I think they got the better end of the deal compared to their married counterparts.”

His face came to life with a wry smirk. “I am inclined to agree with you.” His fingers pressed
lower, lower, causing her breath to catch. “Thank goodness we’ve come so far in women’s health,
wouldn’t you agree?”

Something in his voice spoke volumes far beyond his words, as though he didn’t actually expect
her to agree. She suspected he was trying to distract her, and she knowingly took the bait, desperate
for the escape.

“I hardly consider us far removed from medieval times in that regard," she spoke quickly, trying to
outpace her panic. "Women’s reproductive health and mental health are still synonymous. The
London Surgical Home continues to perform a ghastly number of clitoridectomies each year to
address any condition they deem hysteria. God forbid a woman get branded a nymphomaniac. Or
worse, guilty of masturbation. She’s liable to be locked away from society for the duration of her
life.”

Her impassioned speech was cut short by the sensation of his fingers tracing the contours of where
her thighs met her pelvic bone. She swallowed heavily as his heated touch lingered, pressing
gently, then firmer, igniting warmth through her shift and bloomers and skin, all the way to her
tightening core. Her reaction frightened and confused her.

“I take it you aren't a proponent of modern hysterical theory?”

She exhaled slowly, willing her mind away from his touch and back to his words. It wasn't easy. “I
consider all three of those words nothing but a long oxymoron when used in conjunction.”

He startled her with sharp laughter, deep and rich and delighted, setting her nerves aflame. He
shook his head, far too pleased with her response. “I’ve never heard it put that way, but now I shall
never be able to think of it as anything but.”

A blush spread across her cheeks. She found herself rambling to distract from the fluttering
sensation within her abdomen. “After the trial of Lewis Payne in America, the legal definition of
insanity was addressed publicly for the first time. Its definition has nothing to do with the female
condition, its source considered one of the mind, not the body. And yet, the medical field still
operates under the archaic belief the uterus is a powder keg set to blow at the slightest provocation,
turning half the population into raving lunatics at a moment’s notice.”

His hands slid along her hips, seeming to grip them before releasing her all at once. She bit her
tongue, startled by the coldness that settled across her skin without his hands branding her. She met
his eyes, seeing fire in their depths.

“You speak quite passionately about such things. Do you have any interest in upending the system,
Ms. Granger?”

“What do you mean?” she asked innocently.

The corner of his mouth tipped up, eyes narrowing, darkening at the centers. “You know exactly
what I mean.”

Yes. She did. “I planned on training to become a nurse, like my mother. Then we heard about the
Medical Act working its way through Parliament and my parents told me to wait. My father
intended to back my admission to medical school when the time came, but then the fire struck..."
She set her jaw, pushing on. "The bill is being presented for final voting in the coming months. But
even if it passes, female applicants need a licensed doctor to recommend them to the board.
Without my father’s backing, I won’t qualify, regardless of my test scores.”

“Surely one of your father’s associates will vouch for you?”

She smiled sadly. “To do so would be putting their reputation on the line. Though the Act may
pass, it will not be met with open arms. The proponents may still face a terrible onslaught to their
careers. Anyone considered a supporter will be targeted by those against the reform. My father may
have been willing to put his name on the line for me, but I couldn’t ask anyone else to do so.”

He titled his head and studied her at an angle, as though it revealed something new to his gaze.
“You are far too caring for your own good, Hermione. It will only lead you to ruin.”

Her pulse thrummed at hearing her given name on his lips for the first time. He stepped closer to
her head and leaned in slightly. “Some things in life are so important they must be taken, no matter
the cost to others. Sometimes it’s okay to be selfish. Necessary even.”

She felt dizzy despite her prone position. “It’s never necessary to be selfish,” she whispered,
sounding frail and young. She hated it.

He watched her in the silence that followed and she worried her heart would leap right out of her
chest. Then he edged back, lifting to his full, impressive height and stepping back. She thought the
spell was broken, but the candlelight continued to burn in his gaze.

“I will examine your skin for worrisome blemishes now,” he murmured, voice thicker than she'd
ever heard it before. Her thighs clenched as he paced to the foot of the table, face visible above her
bent knees. “I’m going to remove your stockings.”

Her breath caught. She replayed the words in her head. He hadn't asked permission, hadn't asked
her to remove them herself—

She gasped when large, familiar hands slid beneath her shift, dragging the thin fabric over her
knees and grazing the sensitive skin of her mid-thigh. He grasped the top of her stocking and pulled
the fabric down her calf. A hand cupped the back of her ankle and raised her foot, yanking the
scrap of fabric away entirely. Cool air danced across her exposed flesh as he set to work on her
other leg, repeating the motion even. more quickly, like stripping young women of their stockings
was a nightly occurrence in his office. She gasped when his fingertips brushed the back of her
knee, setting her nerves aflame even as goosebumps overtook her skin.

Both legs were bared to his eyes, he proceeded to rake them with his gaze, the gesture just as
intimate as his touch.
“I see no bites, abscesses, or moles,” he muttered, and perhaps she imagined his brief pause. “No
flaws." Then he stepped around to the side of the table, freeing her from whatever madness had
taken hold. “I’ve already seen your arms to know they are the same. But I would like to examine
your wrist more closely. You may sit up.”

She worried she wouldn’t be able to, rendered utterly boneless. Knees pressed together, she pulled
into an upright position, sliding sideways to dangle her legs off the edge. She found him situated
before her with his palm up expectantly. She took a deep breath and raised her arm, placing her
trembling hand in his. His fingers ensnared her wrist, gently rotating it in either direction.

“Pain?” he beckoned. She shook her head. The fingers of his other hand grazed the faint blue and
purple marks on her pale flesh, darker than they'd appeared this morning. “Bruising looks to be the
worst of it. Lucky for Filch.”

She blinked at the casual statement, the hostility brewing beneath its surface, and decided to take
the plunge rather than ignore the elephant any longer.

“Thank you for defending me against him this morning.”

His eyes lifted, steady and expectant.

She pushed ahead. “I don’t usually— I don’t normally break the rules or sneak about.”

He raised a sardonic brow. “Such as hiding in stranger’s wardrobes at three in the morning?”

She swallowed. “It was two in the morning, actually.”

The corner of his mouth lifted as he returned to her captive wrist. “Semantics. Why were you
sneaking out of the Home in the first place?”

“I was searching for my missing roommate,” she said. His grip tightened painfully and she
flinched. He released her so abruptly her arm smacked into her knees.

“Missing roommate?” His tone had changed to something new. Something she didn’t recognize.
Not as the intensely passionate man or the staunchly professional doctor. This persona was darker,
intenser than the others. “When did this occur?” he asked, eyes gleaming unnaturally.

“Y-Yesterday morning. Lavender went with a few others to pick up groceries at the market and
disappeared. They lingered behind to search for her but there wasn't a trace. My other roommate
and I tried to coordinate a search party but Umbridge refused. She claims Lavender ran away and is
evicted from the Home.”

While the intensity of his gaze was unsettling, she still found it immensely cathartic to discuss such
things with someone other than Harry. She wondered if the doctor would be sympathetic to her
plight.

“So, you took it upon yourself to go searching through London by yourself?” He didn’t sound
accusing, merely curious.

She debated how much to tell him, then decided she owed him at least some of the truth in light of
his assistance that morning. “I visited a friend who I thought could get the word out and organize a
search outside of Umbridge’s control.”

Mentioning her intent to undermine the Matron seemed to intrigue him. The shadows cleared from
his expression. “You’re certain she didn’t run away? Or skip out to bed down with friends for a few
nights?”

Hermione didn’t hesitate. “I know with every fiber of my being that Lavender would have returned
to the Home if she had the power to.” She deflated with the declaration, already knowing the truth
in her heart. She'd been unwilling to break hope or resolve, but in his presence, she had only naked
truth at her disposal. “I know something bad has happened.”

He held her gaze, expression unreadable. “I will speak to Umbridge.”

“Really?” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. Of all the reactions she’d been
expecting, that hadn’t been it.

He looked slightly amused by her outburst, but his expression quickly sobered. “We are tasked
with protecting those assigned to our care. She went to the market on an errand and disappeared, it
is no different than if she'd vanished from under this very roof. Accepting her absence without
attempting a search is unacceptable.”

Tears burned behind her eyes. She blinked them away, whispering a small, “Thank you.”

He tilted his head, searching her face. “My exam is complete. You may get dressed.”

Several minutes later, she stepped out from behind the partition fully clothed and feeling overly
dressed. While laying about in her underclothes had seemed mortifying at first, it had become a
second-skin by the time the Doctor was finished with her.

Glancing around the clinic, she was disappointed to find him seated behind the desk, deep in
paperwork. He didn’t glance up at the sound of her footsteps. She rocked awkwardly on her heels,
unsure what to say, settling on a simple farewell.

“Well, good evening, Doctor.”

His head lifted, eyes flat and emotionless. Her least favorite persona. “Good evening, Ms.
Granger.”

She hesitated a beat, hoping he’d tell her to sleep well, a cheeky allusion to their first encounter.
But he merely glanced back down to his work, a silent dismissal. She swallowed down the sour
emotion and started for the door.

“Ms. Granger.”

Her heart leaped. She spun quickly, eager and alert. He continued to gaze at his paperwork as he
spoke. "You will do wise to heed my advice. Stay within these walls unless given explicit
permission otherwise. The Madam seems particularly keen on evicting residents, and I won’t
always be there to save you.”

Something in his words made her blood run cold, for they seemed to reach far beyond the everyday
threat of Umbridge’s scorn. She nodded mutely, then realized he couldn't see the gesture with his
gaze averted. “I understand.”

A soft chuckle. “I was hoping you’d agree. But alas, I cannot control your actions, merely attempt
to influence them.”

She intertwined her fingers, knowing she could easily promise to stay indoors like a good little pet.
But she didn’t want her first promise to him to be a lie. “I’ll take your advice to heart,” she settled
on instead.
He was looking at her now, eyes bright in the rapidly darkening room. “See that you do.”

She nodded, prepared to resume her exit when he called her attention in a far more intimate
manner.

“Hermione.” She swayed in place, hypnotized by his voice. “I assure you, your missing friend will
turn up.” The setting sun cast shadows across his face, transforming his features into a beautiful,
lethal mask. “One way or another, they always turn up.”
 Vertigo

Down
Down
Down
Would the fall never come to an end!
. . .

Hermione walked along the corridor leading to the clinic, body numb, pace steady.

The walls vibrated all around her, a deafening hum of whispers echoing off every stone, sharp but
unintelligible to her ears. Her mind felt heavy and slow, thoughts slow to process, senses dulled.

She looked in either direction, searching for the source of the voices, doing a double take as she
glanced over her shoulder and spotted a long trail of bloody footprints in her wake.

Strange.

Was she bleeding?

She looked down but couldn’t see her feet. The floor was filled with smoke, black and opaque. It
hovered around her knees, rising no further.

She glanced back up, the doors were in front of her now-

And then she was drifting through them. Into the clinic.

Only... she wasn’t inside the clinic.

She was in an office.

A very familiar office.

Blind panic seized her.

No! Please no!

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t unleash the scream that was tearing through her mind, burning
through her chest, her vocal chords as useless as the rest of her. She couldn't blink, couldn’t flinch,
couldn’t take control of her limbs-

Her heart thudded painfully against her ribcage as the tread of slow, steady footsteps sounded
behind her, louder and louder, closer and closer…

Turn around!

Run!

Her body burned with exertion as she strained every muscle, desperate to regain mobility. But it
was to no avail, she remained frozen in place, standing in the middle of the opulent office, facing
the large windows, sunshine streaming in but not quite reaching her, leaving her suspended in
shadows.

The footsteps stopped.

Directly behind her.

Her senses became overwhelmed by the sweltering presence at her back, the warm breath on her
nape, causing the fine hairs along her arms to stand on end. Her entire being vibrated with
unbridled terror. Every nerve ending raw and exposed, every vein throbbing, set to burst at the
slightest touch-

“Hello, Hermione.”

Her first instinct was to close her eyes, separate herself from this moment, but she had no eyelids,
no means of escape.

A large hand wrapped around the back of her neck, thumb pressing painfully against her frantic
pulse, a searing brand.

“Don’t you look lovely,” he purred against her skin, teeth nipping at her flesh. “What a pretty little
dress, did you wear that just for me?”

Her throat was on fire, whether from the forcefully tamped scream or the rising bile she wasn’t
certain, but she was unable to emit any sound or find release. A second hand wrapped around her
arm, wrenching her back-

And then her vision was filled with Him.

He leered down, stepping into her body, filling her nasal passage and lungs with a toxic cloud of
expensive cologne and liquor. He pressed her back, back, back, she was floating, suspended in
mid-air by the force of her terror, heels dragging along the floor, and then her body hit the hard,
unyielding door, her head ringing with the collision.

She wasn’t breathing and yet she remained vividly conscious. He dipped his head in, scraping his
lips and teeth along her neck, his stubble leaving a burning rash in its wake.

“That’s it, luv, scream for me.”

She wanted to, so desperately. But she couldn’t get her lungs to function.

“That’s a good girl,” he moaned, grinding his lower half into her skirts, sending ripples of fear and
revulsion through her trembling limbs. “Now say my name.”

Suddenly the door gave way and she was torn from His grasp, falling backward in a fit of terrifying
weightlessness, down, down, down… the hole had endless sides, no bottom, no end in sight-

And then her body collided with solid warmth, a wall of muscle, hands gripping her arms from
behind, a chest pressing along her spine.

“Hermione,” a new voice whispered into her ear, spearmint breath chasing along her neck, once
more bringing her nerve endings to startling life. “You are far too caring for your own good. It will
only lead you to ruin.”

She gasped as she felt his arms encase her, pressing her so tightly against him she wasn’t certain
where she stopped and he started. She tried to turn her head to gaze upon his face but could only
stare ahead into the vast darkness before her.

“Some things in life are so important they must be taken…”

She swallowed thickly, surrendering to his hold, melting into his embrace. And then his velvet lips
were grazing along her bare shoulder. She couldn’t see her body but somehow knew she was
wearing only her shift.

He put his mouth to her ear once more, his breath giving life to her own.

“I will lead you to ruin...”

She shuddered as his hands pressed along her abdomen, sliding down, across her hips and tracing
the crease of where her thighs met her sex-

“Hermione.”

A new voice. Painfully familiar. Intimate. Angry.

She jolted, Riddle’s touch falling away at once, the darkness still surrounding her on all sides but a
recognizable figure took shape within the center…

“Draco.” Her heart leaped into her throat, dread and shame washing through her veins, filling the
chambers of her heart. She tried to cross her arms to hide her meager coverings but they wouldn’t
cooperate.

His expression was lethal. “I offered you the world, and this is how you repay me?”

“No, I didn’t-”

“Why do you want to hurt me?”

She shook her head desperately. “I don’t!” Her gaze widened as he started to fade from view,
turning translucent before her eyes. “No, wait! Draco-”

Her cry fell short when a new figure blinked into existence, appearing before her all at once. She
swallowed thickly.

“Lavender?”

Her friend hovered in the darkness, long blonde hair blowing in an invisible breeze.

Hermione tried to step forward but her feet were stuck in place, so she reached her arm out instead,
straining desperately but unable to reach.

“Lavender!” She screamed, sensing something terrible in their midst. The swirling darkness was
alive, churning, set to swallow them both whole.

The blonde tipped her head, expression beatific, radiating an inner light.

“Hermione…”

Lavender held her gaze for a short eternity before she spoke again, voice calm, detached.

“Run.”

And then the bottom dropped out, the endless abyss taking them both.

Hermione awoke gasping for breath, feeling her limbs crash into the mattress, the fall finally
coming to an end. She was soaked in sweat, heart thrumming so rapidly she feared it may give out
entirely.

“Bloody hell.”

She gasped anew, jolting against the headboard at the sudden voice, a figure appearing beside the
bed.

“I am both desperate and terrified to know what you were dreaming about.”

She swallowed, closing her eyes and running a hand along her face.

“Parv-”

“At first I thought you were having another night terror, but then I became convinced it was a
wonderfully filthy dream… and then you started screaming Lav’s name, so it could really be either
I suppose.”

Hermione shook her head. “Hilarious.”

“What? You’ve never had an erotic dream about one of us?”

She sighed, slumping back into the pillow.

“There’s no shame in admitting it, luv. I’ve had plenty starring you.”

Hermione closed her eyes, willing her nerves to settle in the new reality she found herself in. She
felt the mattress dip down, a delicate weight settling beside her.

“I’m okay,” she said, voice strained, eyes still closed.

“I know.”

Hermione took a deep breath, tipping her head back and laying her arms flat at her sides as Parvati
settled back against the mattress.

“Really, Parv, you don’t have to-”

“I said I know. I’m here for me if you must know.”

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, head turning to the side.

“Are you alright?”

There was a tense silence, her friend’s face masked by the heavy shadows cloaking the bedroom.

“I’ve been up most the night, thinking about every worst-case scenario in startling detail.”

Hermione turned onto her side, allotting the girl her full attention. “Don’t do that.”

“Easier said than done.”

“It’s going to be okay. She’s going to be okay-”

“Don’t say that just to say it, Hermione. You don’t know what happens to young women out on the
streets. I do.”
Hermione blinked, the loaded statement weighting her limbs, sinking her lungs. She treaded along
the edge of the swirling whirlpool of Parvati’s past.

“Is that...” she hesitated, then braced herself, jumping off the ledge. “Is that what happened to
Padma?”

She swallowed heavily, the tense silence that followed making her shift awkwardly. “I’m sorry,
you don’t have to answer that, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s alright,” Parvati’s voice was thicker than moment’s ago. “I don’t talk about her with just
anyone. But I trust you.”

Hermione felt warmth blossom within her chest at the statement. She had been painfully curious
about Parvati’s twin since she first learned about her, though it was Lavender who let the fact slip
one day months ago after Hermione awoke to find the brunette sleeping beside her.

Lavender explained that Hermione had been thrashing about in her sleep and they’d been unable to
wake her. Not wanting to alert the Matron or Filch, Parvati had laid next to her in a desperate
attempt to calm her. Lavender said she got the idea from sharing a bed with her sister growing up.

She’d then warned Hermione to wait for Parvati to volunteer the information herself. Hermione had
waited patiently but finally accepted that the time may never come. She only broached the
sensitive topic now because of the dark circumstances surrounding them.

She suspected Parvati was being haunted by more than just Lavender’s disappearance, and that
speaking about it may be cathartic. They were both in desperate need for release, the pent-up fear
and anxiety eating away at their already frail sanity.

“Padma and I lived with our parents just outside of Haggerston, near the timber yard. Do you know
the area?”

Hermione fought to keep her expression neutral, nodding slowly. Despite the darkness, it seemed
her roommate saw right through her ruse.

“Yes, it’s one of the roughest neighborhoods north of the Thames, I’m well aware. Lots of gangs,
lots of violence. But there’s also a lot of families, jam-packed, living on top of each other in squalor
and disease.”

Hermione listened so closely she was afraid to breathe.

“There were lots of youths running about, getting into trouble, desperate to make a few notes,
anything to get out of there,” she continued, voice suddenly swelling, full of pride. “Padma didn’t
let any of the boys give her the runaround. You should have seen her. She was utterly brilliant.
Starling so. All the intelligence went straight to her in the womb. And she was so level-headed, no
matter the situation. But also passionate. You could listen to her talk about anything, she always
made it sound so interesting.”

She paused.

“You remind me of her, actually.”

Hermione swallowed, reaching out on instinct, taking Parvati’s hand in her own. The girl gave her
fingers a gentle squeeze, continuing in a more somber voice.

“Disease ran rampant, given the living conditions, obviously. We lived in one big room, and the
walls separating us from the next family over were thinner than a tea filter. Our mum contracted
the sickness first. We thought it was typhoid, we had no doctor to diagnose her, little less offer
treatment. We isolated her as best we could, hoping to minimize the risk of it spreading. But it was
typhus, and Padma fell ill not long after.”

She swallowed, the air around them charged and tense. “After mum died and Padma was
bedridden my father and I became desperate. He was earning less than minimum wage because of
his immigrant status, and as a woman and an immigrant I was practically unemployable.”

Hermione’s body tensed. She knew what she wanted to ask but she was afraid to give the thoughts
voice.

“Desperate times and all that... I did what I had to do to get the money for her treatment. We
managed to scrape enough together for her to be admitted to an en masse clinic. But it didn’t do
any good. She was too far gone at that point. I visited her everyday, stayed as long as they’d let me.
And then one day I came round and her cot was filled by someone else. They didn’t let me see her
body. Didn't let me say goodbye. They just threw her on the back of a wagon with the rest of the
diseased corpses and drove her off.”

Hermione blinked, tears dropping off her chin to her chest, soaking into the fabric of her
nightgown.

Parvati swallowed thickly, the only betrayal of emotion. “After that, dad lost it. Lost everything.
Including his will to live. He developed consumption within weeks and died soon after.”

Hermione wiped at her wet cheeks, trying to hide her reaction, not wanting to upset the girl who
obviously suppressed her own emotions so masterfully.

“Parvati… I-”

“I know.” Her voice was an iron barrier, the message clear. “I know, Mione. It’s okay.”

Hermione longed to say the words anyway, communicate the depth of her sympathy, her love for
the girl lying beside her who she had only known such a short while but had developed such a
strong kinship with. But she also knew Parvati didn’t process tragedy and loss the same as she did,
and that forcing the matter would do more harm than good. Parvati obviously said all she intended
to say, and Hermione was grateful for even that much.

“Alright,” she agreed reluctantly. “I’ll just say this… I’m glad you told me.”

Parvati inclined her head, a stray beam of moonlight hitting her across the eyes, illuminating their
dark depths.

“So am I.”

Draco entered the bright dining room with narrowed eyes, his head a throbbing blister set to burst.
He cringed at the unforgiving clink of silverware against fine china, the rhythmic sawing of a knife
against the plate. His father had impeccable table manners, his mother even more so, which meant
whoever sat at the table was no doubt making great effort to annoy him.

He averted his squinted gaze at the head of the table, the blurry form at the end taking shape.
Draco scowled, then grimaced at the sharp screech that followed from their meticulous hands.

“Thank you for that.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Lucius said with a bright grin, voice loud and boisterous, filling every
corner of the room and ringing off every edge of Draco’s pulsating skull. “How did you sleep,
son?”

Draco swallowed lightly, fighting the urge to spew across the expensive table linen.

“If you deem to grace this room with the contents of your stomach you will find yourself without
carriage privileges for a fortnight.”

Draco rolled his eyes- or tried to, stopping halfway as a wave of vertigo swept over him- and
hastily pulled a chair free, slumping gracelessly atop the seat, leaning his head against the back and
gazing blearily at the ceiling mural, an oil paint rendition of the birth of Venus.

“Dare I ask what you got up to last night, or the many hours preceding it?”

It took several regulated breaths through his nose before Draco felt confident words would be the
only thing emitted from his mouth.

“I paid patronage to Crockford’s.”

Lucius shook his head, sawing into his sausage link with added gusto, making Draco cringe anew.
“And how much of my money did you award the filthy fishmonger?”

His father’s words rang through his head once more, but this time for their content versus their
volume.

His father’s money…

“He’ll cut you off, Draco. You may say you don’t care now, but trust me, you will.”

He swallowed past his rapidly constricting throat, his airway closing off.

“Honestly, Draco. Must you turn green in the dining room of all places? I’m trying to eat.”

“It’s my money as well.”

“Excuse me?”

Lucius raised a pale brow, his regal, statuesque features so greatly mirrored in his son. Draco was
unnerved at just how alike they were starting to look, every year the differences becoming less and
less…

It was enough to send his treacherous stomach over the edge. He quickly forged ahead, desperate
for any means of distraction.

“I’m your sole heir. The Malfoy fortune is as much mine as it is yours.”

Lucius chuckled, averting his gaze to his plate as he continued to cut his food into perfectly shaped
bites.

“I beg to differ, my dear boy. As the head of this family, I assure you that I have absolute control of
where every pence is allotted. That includes how many show up in your pockets.” His mercurial
gaze snapped up. “But I have a feeling you aren’t interested in a lesson on gentry inheritance laws.
So why don’t you tell me what drove you to the rat-infested gambling den in the first place?”

“It’s not rat infested. It’s thriving.”

“Of course it is. Crockford’s is frequented by the black sheep of every aristocratic family in the
commonwealth. I never expected to count my son among them.”

“I’m happy I could live down to your expectations.”

“Very funny. So do you plan on telling me what’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter.”

“I’ve heard from my contacts that you’ve made two visits to Grimmauld in as many days.”

Draco scowled. “Spying on me.”

“Hardly. I assure you, I sleep far better at night not knowing the extent of your vices. However, I
do keep an eye on my business associates and extended family alike. I need to be alerted to any
potential scandal. And Sirius warrants twice the watching.”

“I wasn’t visiting Black.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then why bother mentioning it?”

“Because I am interested in knowing why you find it so important to visit the Potter boy so soon
after his return.”

“I wanted to ask him about enlisting.”

Lucius tipped his head back and laughed, the sound deep and melodious, making Draco’s hackles
rise.

“Forgive my reaction,” he said without a hint of sincerity. “I admit you would cut quite the dashing
figure in uniform. But you are far better suited to Parliament.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just as it sounds. You are far too intelligent to be a simple cog in Her Majesty’s Royal militia.”

“You think I’m too weak to be a soldier.”

“I never said that. Nor do I think it. Any idiot can fire a gun. It takes special skill to sway a room of
politicians and lawyers to your side of an argument. There is no greater esteem than serving in the
House of Lords, that is where the Malfoy men belong. That is where you belong.”

Draco swallowed heavily, averting his gaze.

“We both know your father will never allow you to marry me.”

He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not marrying Tori.”

Lucius blinked, obviously caught off guard by the abrupt change in subject but quickly finding his
footing, an experienced politician.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is.”

Lucius pushed his plate away, tossing his napkin to the table and leaning back in his seat.

“Alright. I’d assumed you’d prefer waiting until you didn’t feel like death warmed over, but if you
insist on having this out now then I certainly won’t stop you.”

Draco scowled, fists clenching on his lap. “There’s nothing to have out. I’m not marrying her.
That’s the end of it.”

He maintained his glare but harbored a great sense of unease as he watched his father calmly lace
his fingers before him on the table. He performed the same movement before tearing his
adversaries to shreds in Parliament and the courtroom.

“And is there something that brought on this passionate disposition?”

Draco did his best to keep his mask of indignant anger in place, knowing any crack in the facade
would prove fatal. His father could smell blood in the water from kilometers away.

“I just don’t want to be subjected to an arranged marriage. You weren’t.”

Lucius smirked. “You know full and well I was contracted to your aunt Andromeda since we were
both in swaddling clothes. The contract was rendered null and void after she ran off with a chimney
sweep.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “He runs a publishing house.”

“He certainly didn’t at the time. Regardless, I was only given leave to marry your mother because
it still united our families.”

“But you were in love by then.”

“Yes, we were.”

“You weren't saddled with someone you didn’t want.”

Lucius raised a brow, a knowing glint igniting in his molten gaze.

“Is there someone else you want, Draco?”

Draco’s fists tightened further yet, the knuckles turning white.

“Do you really think he’d be fine with you marrying me instead?”

His jaw ticked. “I didn’t say that. Merely that I don’t want to be forced into a union without
affection.”

“And what makes you so certain affection won’t develop later in time?”

“I’ve known Tori since we were children.”

“I’ve known your mother since she was born.”

“Yes, and you knew you wanted her even when you were promised to her sister. Astoria and I have
had ample opportunity to develop such an attraction and so far none has blossomed.”
“Perhaps it simply needed the proper encouragement.”

“Neither of us are encouraged. She doesn’t want this union any more than I do.”

“Her father has voiced no objections.”

“She’s a dutiful daughter, she’d never oppose his wishes openly.”

“How fortunate for him to be afforded such obedience.”

Draco shook his head in annoyance as Lucius smirked. “I’m merely poking fun, Draco. You know
I appreciate your rebellious streak. You remind me so greatly of myself at your age it’s scary at
times.”

Draco seethed. “We aren’t as alike as you’d think.”

Lucius arched an intrigued brow. “Please, illuminate me.”

It’s a trap. He’s trying to lead me somewhere…

Does he know?

The thought gave Draco pause.

If a number of his friends knew about him and Granger then it wasn’t impossible that word may
have led back to his father.

He swallowed tentatively, forging ahead as best he could with a throbbing skull and churning
stomach.

“I don’t see why I have to get engaged right now. I’m twenty-one, shouldn’t I get a reprieve before
I’m tied down with a bunch of screaming rugrats?”

“So you’re opposed to marrying anyone at this point in your life?”

Draco swallowed.

He’s definitely leading this somewhere…

“Yes,” he deflected. “Of course I am.”

Lucius nodded, though there were wheels turning behind his eyes that were greatly unsettling.

“I see. Well, if I had multiple sons to spare then you could whore about at your leisure. However,
given the fickle thread of life, the family line must be secured as soon as possible in the event you
and I meet our gruesome ends sooner than expected.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to raise a brow. “We’re expected to meet gruesome ends?”

“They run in the family, I’m afraid.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fantastic, something else to look forward to.”

“You’ve been afforded more than most could ever dream of, Draco. You will do well to remember
that when it comes time to finally make a sacrifice for the sake of your family’s well being.”

Draco’s face pinched in annoyance, a sharp barb at the ready, but he managed to tamp it down at
the last minute, averting his gaze and pushing back from the table.

“You’re right, I’d rather wait to have this conversation when I don’t feel like death warmed over.”

Lucius smiled indulgently. “A wise decision.”

Draco channeled his huff of annoyance through his nose, expelling steam. He stood and began to
leave, but as he reached the doorway his father spoke once more.

“Oh, and Draco?”

He stopped short, one hand resting on the maple frame as he glanced over his shoulder with raised
brows.

Lucius’s smile fell away, his face transforming into lethal repose.

“Stay away from Hermione Granger.”

Luna slid into the bench beside Hermione with easy grace, her mannerisms light and effortless,
lacking the rigid lines Hermione felt within her own posture most days.

“Good morning,” she greeted serenely, smiling as always. “A messenger pigeon visited the garden
earlier today.”

Hermione quickly spun in her seat. “For me?”

Luna nodded, slipping a narrowly folded piece of parchment into Hermione’s hands beneath the
table.

“Dennis says hi.”

Hermione smiled. The Creevey brothers were well known throughout the Home for providing
goods and services to the residents under the Matron’s radar. They passed the gates twice a day to
maintain the gas lights, and hid notes and small parcels in secret nooks for a small fee, though
Dennis was quite taken with Luna and did anything she requested for free, despite her every
attempt to pay him.

Hermione clutched the paper tightly in her palm, glancing over her shoulder at the head table.
Umbridge sat with her back ramrod straight, a regent holding court, narrowed gaze sweeping along
her disloyal subjects. When they alighted upon Hermione they somehow narrowed even further,
flames in their depths.

Hermione held her stare with a steady calm, unflinching. Umbridge scowled and then glanced
away, continuing her eager search for any punishable offenses.

Hermione briefly wondered if the Doctor took breakfast in the public hall or in his rooms. The
thought of him dining while reclined in bed, the bed she had seen in person that first night, made
her flush brightly.

And then her dream came back to her…

She swallowed thickly, facing forward once more.

“Tell me if she looks this way,” Hermione whispered. Luna leaned forward slightly, nodding as
she kept the Matron in her gaze.
Hermione carefully unfolded the parchment, smoothing it across her lap with nervous fingers,
recognizing the messy handwriting immediately and smiling. The message was short, direct and
signed with love, a perfect reflection of the author’s personality.

“Is it from your friend?” Luna asked lowly, eyes still trained on the head table.

Hermione nodded with a smile. “Yes, Harry says they have a possible lead, he’s following up on it
today and will let me know what he finds via Colin.” She bit her lip, eyes lingering on another
sentence within the message. “He also says our friend Ron is arriving home tomorrow on leave.
He wants to see me.” She sighed, briefly closing her eyes. “Which will be virtually impossible
thanks to my house arrest.”

Luna tilted her head. “Will he still be in London when the arrest is lifted?”

Hermione smirked, sending her a sideways glance. “Ron isn’t known for his patience. If I don’t
find some way of breaking free to see him for a few minutes I fear he may break in…”

Luna smiled. “You have many people that care for you. That’s wonderful, Hermione.”

Hermione’s expression sobered. She reached out without thinking, grasping the blonde’s hand in a
mirror image of the moment she shared with Parvati in the wee hours of the morning.

“So do you, Luna. I care about you.”

Luna’s smile grew, her face angelic. “Thank you, Hermione. That means a lot.”

Hermione swallowed, Luna’s innocent words filling her with a great weight instead of the lightness
she’d expected.

She held the girl’s guileless blue gaze, realizing for the first time with perfect, stunning clarity that
she was responsible for Luna, just as she was responsible for Parvati, Hannah… and Lavender.
These girls had become her new family.

And Hermione refused to lose any more family.

Dolores was having a terrible day.

Between finding a way to make the meager funding they received from the Crown stretch across
the multitude of bills the Home accumulated and the general antics of the misfits she housed, she
was in dire need of a strong cup of tea with just a dash of brandy. A thimble full wouldn’t be
deemed too illicit, surely.

Furthermore, she had been informed by Mr. Filch last night that Ms. Granger had been caught out
in the garden, which at first had inspired a great sense of excitement and anticipation. Granger had
been nothing but an ongoing thorn in her side since her admission, challenging her decrees at every
turn.

The girl thought she was superior to everyone around her, just because she grew up in a fine
neighborhood and was afforded private tutors. But her current circumstances proved just how
utterly ordinary she was. No better than anyone. No different than Dolores.

Except Dolores wasn’t ordinary. Not anymore. She was the Head of a Girls Home that was
afforded great attention from the Crown. She was a someone, powerful and relevant at long last.
And she wouldn’t let these witless harlots deter her from her mission.

So when she’d heard about Granger’s blatant skirting of her house arrest, mere hours after it had
been set down, Dolores had been eager to make an example of the nuissant girl once and for all...

… Only to be met with crippling disappointment when Filch had informed her in his next breath
that the girl had been acting on instructions from the Doctor.

After the bristling anger had faded she’d been met with a great unease. What was the Doctor doing
undermining her orders?

Surely it was a misunderstanding. Doctor Riddle was utterly brilliant, a man of conservative
reform, if his stunning recommendations had anything to say about it. It was such a relief to have a
like-minded individual on the premises, someone to hold an intelligent conversation at long last.

And it didn’t hurt that he was superb to look upon, utterly beguiling in his perfection…

Not that she would let it interfere with their professional relationship. She was his boss, after all,
she must maintain a healthy distance for propriety's sake.

She wondered if he was unattached.

Just then a knock sounded on her door. She blinked, pulling out of her treacherous thoughts and
glancing sharply to the door. Her heart raced, hands beginning to sweat.

“Come in.”

The door opened swiftly, a tall lithe figure emerging.

“Madam.” He dipped his head, voice sending thrills along her limbs. “You beckoned?”

She swallowed. “Oh, why yes, I did.” She fought back a cringe at the heightened octane of her
voice. “Please, do come in.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, something about it unsettling, but before the emotion could
fully take root he stepped inside her office, closing the door behind him without prompt.

She sat back straighter, pleased he made the assumption, that he wanted their exchange to be
private.

She couldn’t help her grin from spreading as he cut a path to her desk, coming to a stop on the
opposite side with his hands folded behind his back, awaiting her leave to sit.

What superb manners. The mark of a true gentleman...

She tittered nervously as his storm cloud eyes seemed to drill holes straight through her, leaving
her a bit breathless and scattered.

“Oh, um, please, do sit.”

He pulled out the chair and gracefully folded into it, still gazing down upon her from his
impressive height. His face was expressionless, at least of any emotion she could discern, but his
eyes looked expectant. She cleared her throat, trying to pull her thoughts together.

“I merely wanted to discuss the incident that occurred yesterday with one of the residents. A Miss
Granger.”
“Hermione.”

She blinked, his automatic response pulling the pleasant smile right off her face.

“Um… yes. Hermione Granger. You met her in my office on your second evening here-”

“I recall.”

She swallowed lightly, shifting in her seat. “Yes, well, she is a known troublemaker, you see.
Always running wild, doing as she pleases. She isn’t to be trusted.”

He tilted his head. “This is the same girl you enlist to transport the bulk of the Home’s medical
supplies, is it not?”

Umbridge felt a flush of heat steal across her neck and across her cheeks. “I- that’s not-” she
blinked twice, heart leaping. “That isn’t what I mean. She runs errands just fine, but she has no
regard for the rules. She thinks she is above them, superior to the other girls here.”

Her eyes flickered between his, looking for any sign of agreement, an acquiesce. But all she saw
was lightning flicking through the dark clouds. She leaned back, unconsciously putting more
distance between them.

“I only mention this in light of my recent discovery that you assigned her the task of collecting
herbs from the garden-”

“I had her run inventory.”

Dolores’s jaw snapped shut. No one interrupted her. She tentatively tried again.

“Right, well, regardless of the task itself, she was under house arrest for a prior offense, you see,
and was not to leave the premises for any reason whatsoever. I realize that you didn’t know about
my punishment, and therefore didn’t know the task you assigned her went against the-”

“You punish students by taking away their outdoor privileges?”

She blinked anew, jaw ticking. She really hated being interrupted, even by someone as handsome
as he.

“It’s very effective, I assure you.” Her tone was clipped, precise.

He merely tipped his head. “And may I ask, what is Hermione being punished for?”

Dolores saw a flash of red in her vision, quickly blinking it away, disturbed by her own visceral
reaction to hearing the man speak the trollops given name once more. The way it effortlessly rolled
off his tongue, like he spoke it all the time-

She quickly shook the thought away. What nonsense. A man like this would never tarnish his good
reputation with any of the filth residing within these walls. Especially that girl.

“She stormed into my office yesterday morning, making outlandish claims and demands, using vile
language and causing general disruption for the mere sake of causing a stir.”

She furrowed her brow in confusion as his face transformed into a look of amusement. She
swallowed thickly, shoulders drawing back.

“As I said, she is a menace, and her filthy dark-skinned friend is even worse, I don’t know why I
even still house that one-”

“What was she demanding?”

Dolores blinked. “Pardon?”

“What was she demanding of you, when she stormed into your office and caused such a stir?”

Something about his tone sounded too light, almost mocking, as though he didn’t grasp the severity
of the girl’s offense. Dolores huffed in annoyance, desperate to make him see just how unbearable
the little chit was.

“She claims that her roommate is missing. I calmly tried to explain that the girl simply ran away.”

“And you’re certain that’s the case?”

“Yes!” she was getting angry now, more animated. “The missing girl is a known hussy, loose and
immoral, hardly worth-”

“I thought you said she wasn’t missing.”

Dolores deflated, heart stuttering in her chest. “I... “ she swallowed lightly. “That’s merely a turn of
phrase. As I said, she ran away, that’s what they all do.”

He held himself with such an eerie stillness he hardly seemed to breathe. She released a sharp
breath as his face seemed to transform from idle curiosity to something lethal, sharp as a dagger,
eyes bright and malevolent.

“There have been others.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question but she was compelled to speak regardless, feeling as though she
was being forced to dance along a floor filled with broken glass, each step more dangerous than the
last.

“Of course, this place is filled with the lowermost rungs of society, discarded for their indecency.
They run wild. And then they run away.”

He raised a dark brow. “Is that so? I thought the majority of residents were admitted due to
unfortunate circumstances leaving them without a legal caregiver. I would think they’d be
desperate to remain sheltered from life on the streets.”

She blinked rapidly, feeling awash with heat from head to toe, convinced a furnace was situated
directly overhead.

“That isn’t- I mean, perhaps a few of them, the younger ones maybe, but the older girls I assure
you are no good and run away all the time.”

He watched her with easy grace, complete calm and indifference, tilting his head once more,
pinning her helplessly still.

“Do you keep track of those numbers?”

Her mind went blank. “What numbers?”

“The number of runaways,” he supplied patiently, unblinking. “I would be curious to see the
turnover. It will help me get a handle on how much inventory to keep on hand. I was expecting
many more residents based on the medical files awaiting me in the clinic. I was quite surprised
when three of my patients didn’t show up for their appointments, only to discover they’d already
come and gone from this place within the span of a few months.”

She squirmed, the air pulled from her lungs but the intensity of his watchful gaze.

“It would help if I was kept apprised of such events, to keep accurate records as well as maintain
the health facility in accordance to the changing population.”

She swallowed nervously. “I don’t, that is, we don’t track such things. It’s impossible to know
when girls leave if it’s not reported then-”

“Surely you must keep a running list of residents to provide the solicitors and Crown attachés?”

Sweat pooled along her temples and neck. Where was that blasted heat coming from?

“I… I mean yes, of course, we do, but-”

“And certainly you audit the list regularly to keep your records above board?”

Her mouth was running dry, forming words became a struggle.

“Well, yes, we provide quarterly updates-”

“Excellent,” he grinned, broad and beautiful and ice cold. It was unsettling but sent a blessed chill
up her spine, a momentary reprieve from the internal oven baking her organs and setting her blood
to boil. “I shall use those as a means of keeping my logs up to date. Please have them delivered as
soon as possible.”

She blinked. What just happened? She scrambled to find the upper hand once more.

“That’s… that’s fine,” she relented, unable to think up a valid excuse otherwise on the spot. “But
that isn’t the purpose of this meeting. I wanted to warn you about Miss Granger, she is duplicitous
and conniving and not to be trusted.”

If his methodical intensity unnerved her before, his wry smirk sent her firmly for a loop.

“She may be all of those things, Madam, but they in no way impeded her ability to organize the
medical cabinet more precisely than most doctors I’ve known.”

Dolores inhaled sharply through her nose. “As I said, she has a medical background, but outside of
that she’s completely useless-”

“I think I may have a solution then.”

Her mouth hovered open, lost mid-thought by his casual declaration.

“I still need help setting the clinic to rights, getting all the paperwork sorted. You say that she’s
running wild outside of her prescribed errands.” He paused, eyes gleaming like a cat in the dark.
“Give her to me.”

Her heart skipped a beat, his words profoundly unsettling.

He wanted the girl?

Her hands curled into fists atop the armrests.

Unacceptable.

Before she could articulate a response he continued, swift, precise, flawless.

“It’s just as you said, idle hands are the devil’s plaything. Quite a brilliant sentiment. I couldn’t
agree more.”

She pursed her lips, confused. Perhaps she had it wrong, maybe he really did just want an aide to
perform the grunt work… but the thought of the filthy trollop spending her nights working in such
close proximity to the man seated before her made Dolores’ stomach clench.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, given her new work schedule.”

Something flashed in his eyes, distinctly predatory, there one instant and gone the next. She was
certain she’d imagined it.

“Work schedule?”

Umbridge drew in a deep breath, spine straightening. “Yes. The owner of the local apothecary has
requested her assistance in his shop.”

Dolores made a mental note to send a letter to the pushy, off-putting man at once. She’d outright
refused his request when he first presented it, taking great joy in denying the girl a chance at
escape. Surely the stupid bint would love to work at the shop, use it as yet another means of setting
herself above those around her.

But if Dolores had to choose between sending the errant girl across town to work in a stuffy store
all day or sequestering her in the clinic with the Doctor, the choice was an easy one.

She pasted on a sweet smile. “I’m afraid she’ll simply be too busy to assist you in the clinic.”

He didn’t blink, didn’t move for several long beats. The silence around them was thick and
sweltering, pushing down on her chest and expelling the breath from her lungs. Her smile faded,
heart racing anew before he finally released her from his thrall.

He tilted his head, eyes roaming her face and making her distinctly uncomfortable before he
nodded, once.

“Very well. I shall have to tackle the project on my own then.” His voice was light and unaffected,
worlds away from the intensity he radiated moments ago. “Is there anything else you’d like to
discuss, Madam?”

She shook her head, more than ready for this overwhelming exchange to end, eager to collect her
bearings in the privacy of her secluded office.

“I shall take my leave then.”

He stood, tipping his head in a polite address before striding casually for the door.

“Good day, Madam,” his tone was cordial, but his eyes burned brightly as he directed his gaze
upon her one final time.

“And I look forward to receiving those resident logs.”

Harry took a deep breath as the carriage came to a stop outside the large structure, the air filled
with excited shouts. He paid the driver and deftly descended, shaking his head as he gazed up the
main stairs of the entrance.

He hadn’t been here in many years, since his father took him as a boy and taught him the ways of
betting.

The horse track.

Yet this was where McLaggen’s instructions led, much to Harry’s confusion and intrigue. Just
what the bloody hell was this Lavender chit involved in?

There was only one way to find out.

He headed up the stairs, taking them at a steady pace, wanting to avoid drawing any attention to
himself. The horse track was a respectable establishment, frequented by members of every sect of
society. However, the man Harry was meeting with was anything but.

He entered the lavish doors, the sounds of heavy screams growing even louder as they echoed
along the vaulted ceiling and tiled floors of the main lobby. He swiveled his head in either
direction, chest seizing as the memory of his last visit came flooding back.

“Are you excited, Harry?”

“Yes! Where are the horses?”

His father smiled indulgently, eyes warm as he gazed down upon the miniature version of himself.
“They’re outside, did you think they ran around indoors?”

Harry smirked, green eyes tipping up. “It would be a lot more exciting if they did.”

James threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and lustrous, comforting and familiar.

And forever just a memory in Harry’s mind.

He blinked, pulling himself out of the momentary stupor and proceeding to the door labeled
TRACK at the other end. Once he emerged onto the stands the noise was deafening, people
crowding the seats and gesturing wildly as the horses barrelled past beyond the barrier.

He maneuvered around a man jumping on top of the seat, screaming animatedly at the top of his
lungs. The woman beside him laughed so hard she nearly toppled over. Further down was a man in
a finely tailored suit, fully equipped with top hat and monocle, hands resting atop his ebony cane.
Harry shook his head in amusement, wondering what sight awaited him next.

Apparently, it was a brawling pair of men, both faring poorly if the blood and sweat marring their
faces was any indication. A few people attempted to hold them back, but their efforts were half-
hearted, everyone in the group looking drunk off their rockers. Harry paused in his tracks as they
barreled past, toppling over seats and crashing to the ground less than a foot from where he stood,
gazing down with disinterest.

“Excuse me, gents.” He stepped over them, barely free when they staggered to their feet, swinging
clumsily at each other once more.

He started up the stairs zigzagging along the side of the stands. If memory served correctly the
lower levels were the rowdiest, the more genteel and tame clientele occupying the upper floors. He
emerged on the second level, peering along the crowd, wondering if there were any private booths
up here. No, they must have been at the very top-

“Harry, m’boy!”

His spine went rigid at the sound of his name. So much for a low profile…

“What a pleasure! C’mere! Let me look at you!”

He slowly spun around, resigned as soon as he recognized the voice. There was no escaping his
fate.

“Hello, Dr. Slughorn.”

The short, rotund man beamed up with glassy eyes, face red and lips parted into a genuine grin of
joy. Harry tried to affect the same expression but fell widely short, already thinking up an exit
strategy.

“How many times must I tell you, outside of the hospital it’s perfectly fine to call me Horace.
We’re friends, you and I! I’ve known your parents and godfather since-”

“They were in diapers, yes, I know.”

Slughorn laughed, the sound a bit hysterical, and a pungent cloud of whiskey and body odor wafted
over Harry, it was all he could do not to gag.

“It’s so good to see you! I thought you weren’t getting back until next week. Is Sirius with you?”
He teetered on his tiptoes, peering around Harry’s tall form as though he’d find the sole member of
the Black family and reigning patriarch ducked down behind his godson.

Then again, if Sirius were here he would be likely doing just that, desperate to avoid getting sucked
into the endless void of monotonous pleasantries and brown nosing. Harry sighed, then replayed
the man’s words in his mind and raised a brow.

How did he know I was supposed to be back next week?

He shook his head, deciding he was likely better off not knowing. Slughorn had been obsessed with
sidling up next to the last two members of the powerful Black and Potter lines, relentless in his
pursuit. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if the man kept a journal detailing their tea preferences.

“Sirius is outside Malta, he gets back next week. I got released early for good behavior.”

The simple joke elicited an explosive reaction from the stocky man, who promptly doubled over,
seized by a coughing fit, Harry gazing down in equal parts amusement and revulsion.

“That’s…” he hacked up half a lung. “Hillari-” he gasped for breath, “ous.”

Harry took a step back. “Well, it’s been great seeing you, Doctor-”

“Horace!”

Harry feigned a smile. “Horace. But I’m afraid I’m meeting company and must be going.”

Slughorn visibly deflated, expression forlorn. “Oh, yes, of course, a busy man you are. I expect
everyone is eager to see you now that you’re back.”

Harry nodded, continuing to back away to the stairwell. Slughorn stepped closer, eyes wide and
arm reaching out into the air.

“Do come by Mungo’s sometime, before you depart, I’d love to hear about your travels, catch up-”

“Certainly,” Harry interrupted, stepping onto the landing and starting to turn. “I’ll talk to you later,
Slughorn. Enjoy the races.”

“Horace!” he heard the man shout in his wake as he quickly flew up the stairs.

Hermione groaned as she flexed her sore fingers, the knuckles cracking. She’d been scrubbing the
kitchen floors by hand for several hours now, another punishment from the beloved Matron in
retribution for yesterday's antics. For having the audacity to worry about Lavender’s welfare.

Hermione suspected it was more than that however, she wouldn’t be surprised if Umbridge had
caught wind of Hermione’s excursion into the garden and the Doctor’s subsequent involvement in
the chaotic ordeal, ultimately saving her from the woman’s evil clutches. This was the Matron’s
way of sending a silent, sinister message.

I know what you did, and I’ll get you one way or another.

She sighed deeply, scooting back against the wall and giving her strained spine and shoulders a
momentary reprieve. She was beyond exhausted, unable to fall back asleep after Parvati crawled
into bed beside her before dawn, plagued as she was with fear for Lavender, sadness in the wake of
Parvati’s revelations, and the lingering shame and terror of the dream…

The dream.

Her memory was foggy, the details fading away as the hours progressed. But she recalled with
stunning clarity how it began.

In the office.

The hands on her neck, her arms, the foul breath in her face…

She closed her eyes, swallowing thickly.

She remembered the environment changing, the company changing… the Doctor appearing. His
hands touching her as well, but even more intimately. However she hadn’t been afraid then, wasn’t
a cornered animal desperate for escape. No. She’d been fraught with nothing but tortuous
anticipation…

She shook her head, willing the images away.

Things got a bit murkier after that. She couldn’t recall where the next transition came in but she
knew Draco made an appearance. She couldn’t recall anything he did or said, but his presence left a
definite impression in her psyche, the outline of a leaf on the pavement after the rain.

She couldn’t remember anything after that except for a sense of panic. Parvati said she was
shouting Lavender’s name but she couldn’t recall seeing her missing friend in the eerie sequence.
Maybe it was for the best. Given the state in which Hermione awoke, whatever she’d experience in
the dream plane couldn’t have been good.

She imagined her subconscious was desperately trying to work out her tumultuous personal life,
thanks to Hermione’s age-old practice of suppressing things until she felt better equipped to deal
with them. She just didn’t feel up to task these days, so the pile of unresolved mental and emotional
conflicts steadily grew, teetering on the edge of a major collapse.

She was pulled from her musings by the sound of fast-paced footsteps treading up the outside hall.
She blinked twice as they changed direction, coming straight for her. Her heart rate increased,
mind a whirlwind, trying to sort out who it could be before they appeared.

She knew the click of her Matron’s heels from a kilometer away, Luna barely made a sound when
she walked, as though floating on air, Parvati tore up the stone like a Clydesdale, purposefully
stomping about to grate at Umbridge’s nerves, so perhaps it was Hannah…

No such luck. The footsteps swiftly entered the room and the face that appeared was already
scowling, eyes narrowed.

“Ugh. You look like a drowned rat.”

Hermione glared in turn, wiping away the sweat on her forehead with her forearm.

“What do you want, Marietta?”

“To be anywhere but here. Unfortunately, Umbridge wants to see you so I’m stuck escorting you to
her office.”

Hermione sighed, setting aside the soap drenched scrub brush.

“I don’t need an escort, I’m perfectly fine walking there myself.”

“She told me you’d try and shake me, and not to fall for anything you said.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, pulling to her feet using the wall as support. Her knees felt as sore and
weak as the rest of her.

“Fine, then. I really couldn't care less.”

Marietta’s slitted gaze narrowed, and then to Hermione’s great trepidation the corner of her mouth
turned up in a sinister smirk that in no way boded well. The girl glanced to the side where a few
stores sat perched along the countertop.

She walked over to the bag of flour and before Hermione could so match as blink she upturned it in
her hands, a heaping pile of finely milled powder exploding across the damp floor and arching out
in every direction like blood splatter, a giant mushroom cloud of white extending upward, blocking
Marietta’s malevolent glee from sight for a few seconds before it settled.

Hermione’s mouth worked open and closed, eyes wide and locked onto the mess at their feet, but
no sound emitted. Marietta tilted her head, glancing down casually.

“Hm. Seems you missed a spot.”

Hermione found her voice.

“You bitch.”

Both girls blinked. Hermione never resorted to name calling. Her roommates had finally worn off
on her. She felt a swelling of pride in her chest. Marietta snapped out of her momentary daze,
grinning anew.
“I’ll be sure to tell Umbridge you think so.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her you wasted an entire five-pound bag on purpose. You know how tightly she
manages the food budget. I imagine she’ll make you clean the floors with your tongue.”

Marietta’s smile fell away, her face turning white. “I… I’ll just tell you knocked it over.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, stepping around the mess and past the idiot girl.

“Yes, I knocked over the flour and then called you a bitch, what a masterful cover story. No
wonder you’re her favorite.”

Marietta sputtered in outrage as Hermione started cutting a path up the hall, towards the office.
Marietta had to jog to catch up, her face twisted in anger but remaining silent for the duration of the
journey, an unspoken agreement that they’d both keep the kitchen incident to themselves.

Halfway there Hermione was able to push her brimming annoyance to the side long enough to
wonder what in the hell this was about. She couldn’t imagine why Umbridge wanted to see her,
unless it was in inflict yet another punishment-

“I will speak to Umbridge.”

She stumbled on her feet as his voice invaded her mind. In light of her chaotic morning and busy
day, she’d nearly forgotten the Doctor’s words. She wondered if he was able to sway the fat toad
into searching for Lavender.

The idea made her hopeful, eager to reach their destination, which was surreal as she’d never
approached the Head Office with anything but sinking dread in the past.

When they finally made it to the door Hermione bit her lip, anxiety setting in. What if it was about
something else? What if her solicitor decided to stop making payments, what if she was being
thrown onto the streets?

“Did you forget how to knock?” Marietta bit out from behind, leaning past to bring her own fist
against the wood.

“Enter!”

Hermione cringed at the sing-song voice. Umbridge sounded happy as a clam. That definitely
didn’t bode well.

She tentatively turned the knob and pushed open the barrier, stepping over the threshold and
hovering in place, locking gazes with the Matron from across the room.

“Jesus, you’re so daft!” Marietta forcefully shoved both her shoulders, jolting her forward and
nearly knocking her off her feet as she stumbled to the middle of the room.

“That will be all, Marietta. Thank you.” The toad’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her face
delighted as she directed her attention to her favorite lackey.

“Of course, Madam,” Marietta dipped into the worst curtsy Hermione had ever seen. Her old
governess would have fainted at the sight. “Have a good evening.”

“You as well, my dear.”

Marietta had the audacity to wink openly at Hermione before spinning on her heel and practically
prancing into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Hermione’s pulse kicked up a notch. She hated closed doors. Hated being locked in a room, any
room, but especially a room with undesirable company.

She slowly faced forward, shifting awkwardly as she noticed Umbridge’s eyes upon her, roaming
her body as if looking for something in particular.

“Such an ordinary thing, aren’t you? No great beauty, no grace, nothing to offer the opposite sex.”
Hermione’s blood ran cold as the Matron spoke, slow and reflective, as though speaking to herself.
“I just don’t see it.”

Hermione glared, spine straightening, shoulders drawing back. “See what?” She clipped, voice
laced with steel.

Umbridge blinked, registering Hermione’s presence. Her face pinched in annoyance.

“I hope you are enjoying your cleaning duties, Ms. Granger. I have plenty more for you tackle once
you’ve completed the kitchen.”

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Was that the purpose of this meeting then? To continue
her threats in person?

Lovely.

Umbridge interlaced her fingers atop the desk, her signature smile playing across her thin lips,
making Hermione’s blood pressure rise.

“Alas, that is not the matter I mean to discuss. Please, take a seat.”

Hermione didn’t move a muscle. She’d never been afforded a seat within the office before and
didn’t trust the offer now.

She recalled the story of Pirithous and Theseus, the ill-fated adventurers who traveled to the
Underworld to abduct the Queen goddess herself, Persephone, only to become permanently bound
to the first stone they sat upon to rest. She didn’t trust this place, and she didn’t intend to get
comfortable within its walls.

“I’d rather stand.”

The Matron’s smile immediately fell away, eyes flashing. Her mouth opened and closed in outrage
before she finally spoke.

“Fine. You look filthy anyway, I don’t want the upholstery ruined.”

Hermione crossed her arms, tongue pressing into the roof of her mouth to fight back a quip.

“I merely want to inform you that you’ll be starting part-time work at the Apothecary. Starting
immediately.”

Umbridge seemed bristled by her own words, eyes narrowing as though Hermione had tried to
argue the point. For her part, Hermione felt a bud of excitement take root, but she masked her
reaction, terrified Umbridge would take the offer away if she knew how greatly it pleased her.

“I-”
“I didn’t give you leave to speak!”

Hermione clamped her mouth shut, heart racing.

Umbridge cleared her throat, sweeping nonexistent stray hairs off her face. “As I was saying,” she
continued calmly, voice light and airy. “You will be assisting at the shop part-time, and will return
to the Home directly after your shift ends. If you make any stops along the way I assure you, I will
know. And your position will be terminated, along with any hope of setting foot in the outside
world ever again. Do I make myself clear?”

Hermione was hesitant to speak but muttered a low-toned, “Yes.”

“Good. You begin tomorrow morning, 8 am, the owner will be expecting you and will provide the
remainder of your schedule for the week. Now go.”

Hermione blinked, stepping back.

That’s it?

Something about this entire encounter seemed… off. She chalked it up to her disappointment over
there being no mention of Lavender or continuing the search. She took a deep breath, forging ahead
despite knowing it was a futile effort.

“Madam… about Lavender-”

“If I hear you speak that name in this office again I will terminate your position at the Apothecary
before it begins!”

Hermione deflated, hands curling to fists at her sides. “I just-”

“What is the matter with you? You just can’t help yourself! I don’t understand what he-” she cut
herself short, eyes bugging momentarily, veins throbbing in her neck and forehead before her
expression pinched once more.

Hermione blinked, replaying the brief outburst in her head.

Did she say ‘he’?

She opened her mouth but before she could utter a word Umbridge held her finger aloft, gaze
lethal.

“That is enough, Ms. Granger! You will not mention Ms. Brown within these walls ever again, you
will not rile up any of the others girls into finding Ms. Brown, and if I catch wind of you violating
either of these orders then I will make you rue the day you were ever born, do I make myself
clear?”

Hermione swallowed thickly, limbs rigid with fear and disbelief. She’d never seen the Madam
explode in such a way, over so little instigating no less.

She nodded, voice evading her. Umbridge inhaled sharply, leaning back in her chair. “Good. Now
leave before you do or say something else to make me think even less of you.”

Hermione was only too eager to escape. She was almost to the door when Umbridge spoke again,
addressing Hermione’s back.

“One more thing, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione swallowed, glancing over her shoulder.

Umbridge smiled, her eyes two black voids of despair.

“Stay away from Doctor Riddle.”

Harry emerged on the upper level of the viewing stands, the volume much quieter up here in wake
of the thinning crowd. Half the floor was comprised of private viewing boxes, one of which was
Harry’s ultimate destination.

He walked behind the row of seats, his eyes alighting on a closed door ahead, the plaque
displaying the number 5 in bold black.

“He’ll be in box 5,” Cormac said, wiping away blood from his lip and glaring out of his good eye.
“You fucking wanker.”

Harry smirked at the memory. He wasn’t a violent person. At least he didn’t think of himself that
way. He was a bit of an adrenaline junkie and often put himself in harm’s way, but he certainly
never sought to inflict damage to others.

However, he was more than happy to make an exception for McLaggen. He detested everything
about the man, and the mere thought that he was creeping about the dark hallways of Hermione’s
home at night made his blood boil. When he’d asked her point blank if the man ever laid hands on
her she’d assured him he hadn’t. Harry was good at seeing through her lies, just as she saw through
his. He believed her, and that was the only reason Cormac was able to walk out of the opium den
on two functioning legs.

He was distracted from his thoughts as the door to Box 5 swung open and a figure darted out,
heading quickly in his direction.

Harry stopped dead, blinking once, twice-

“Daph?”

She came to a dead stop, glancing up with wide, tear stained eyes. The rest of her face was hidden
behind her gloved hands but he could hear the muffled gasp. She blinked as well, her look of shock
mirroring his own. She quickly removed her hands from her face, briefly wiping the damp from her
cheeks and taking a deep, shaky breath.

She was clearly trying to gather herself and was doing a very good job, any ordinary onlooker
would see nothing amiss in her beautiful dress or perfectly styled blonde hair, but Harry had known
this girl most his life and learned to see past the outer layer of perfection to the person trapped
beneath.

“What’s the matter? What are you doing here?”

She drew her shoulders back, expression closing off. “Everything is perfectly fine, Potter. It’s
lovely to see you. But I’m afraid I must be going-”

“Let’s try that again,” he said, stepping closer, eyes unyielding. “What wrong, Daphne?”

She huffed in annoyance, face pinching. “Harry, please, I can’t be seen lingering here.”

“Too late. You’ve been seen. By me. Now what the bloody hell are you doing in a bookie’s
office?”

Her eyes flared. “You…” she swallowed, face paling even further. “I don’t- I-” She shook her head,
looking frantic. “You can’t tell anyone, Harry. No one, do you understand?”

He tipped his head, studying her appearance. Nothing looked amiss other than her face when she
first emerged, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. “Did he hurt you?”

She blinked, then realization dawned in her pale eyes. “No, of course not.”

“Then why were you crying?”

“Shh!” she hissed, glancing around in either direction. “Stop that! You can’t tell anyone what you
saw-”

“I’m not worried about the bloody gossip rags, I’m worried about you-”

“I’m fine, I promise,” her voice was sharp, urgent, angry. “I don’t need you stepping in and playing
the bloody hero because you have nothing better to do, I need you to forget about what you saw!”

He scowled. “Not until you tell me why you were meeting with-”

“It’s none of your business!”

“If there’s something-”

“I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.”

Harry’s mouth snapped shut, heart lurching. He blinked, watching as she stepped in closer, barely
an inch between them.

“I’m sorry to do that, Harry. Really I am. But my life will be ruined if you breathe a word about
this to anyone.” She nervously wet her lips. “I know you would never do so to hurt me, but the road
to hell is paved with good intentions, and you’re absolutely filled with those.”

Harry’s throat felt thick, scratchy. He cleared it, trying to regain his voice.

“I- I don’t-”

“I know, Harry.”

His airway closed off entirely, spots appearing before his eyes. She placed a staying hand on his
arm.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Even if I think you’re both bloody idiots sneaking around like
you’re doing. But I won’t breathe a word of it, if you can make me the same promise.”

He swallowed heavily, dazed, and nodded slowly, hardly aware of his actions. She tipped her head,
gaze sad, and then rose on her tiptoes to peck him lightly on the cheek.

“Thank you.” She whispered into his ear, and then quickly stepped past, disappearing in a flourish
of silk skirts.

Harry stood stock still, blood frozen in his veins for several more minutes before the sudden roar of
the crowd below awoke him from his stupor. He blinked several times, flexing his fingers at his
sides, willing his circulation to resume, for his heart to start beating again.
Then he proceeded slowly to the open door.

He paused at the threshold, gazing in a the tiny, jam-packed office beyond.

“Knock knock,” he said without inflection, causing the thin, graying man seated behind the
overcrowded desk to glance up sharply, posture stiff and defensive.

“I’m sorry, kid, I’m not taking any-” he stopped short, eyes widening and shoulders dropping.
“Wait, you’re the Potter boy.”

Harry fought back a scowl, exhausted by his reputation always proceeding him, and not because of
his own accomplishments but rather his father’s. He felt like a thief, an imposter, everytime
someone gushed over his surname.

“I am. And you’re Bagman.”

The man’s face stretched into an obscene grin as he dropped his pen to the desk and pushed to his
feet.

“What an honor to have you here, Mr. Potter! Please, come in, come in!”

Harry stepped inside, his stomach still in knots from his brief encounter with Daphne, and closed
the door behind him. The office felt even more claustrophobic with the entrance blocked off.

“Sit, please,” he gestured wildly to the chair, like a showman. “What brings you to my office?
Placing a bet? I can provide all the insider’s knowledge you need, my friend-”

“I’m not interested in horses,” Harry said, slipping his hands in his trouser pockets and gazing
down upon the eager face. He chose to remain standing. “I’m interested in another service you
provide.”

“And why the hell am I visiting a horse track bookie?” He asked in annoyance, pulling the man
upright as he slumped to the side once more.

“Just tell ‘im I sent you, he’ll give you what you need,” Mclaggen said slowly, eyes heavy and
lolling as the opium overtook him once more.

“If she’s anywhere, that’s where she’ll be…”

And then he passed out.

Harry hadn’t been able to find out exactly what Bagman was supposed to give him, McLaggen had
been unrousable at that point. But Harry had been thrust into chaotic situations completely blind
before, and if anything the mystery only added to the excitement.

“Er… I’m not sure what you mean.” Bagman’s joyous expression pinched. But he didn’t look
confused… no, he looked hesitant.

Harry felt a thrill seize him.

“I think you do,” he held the man’s nervous gaze steady, the corner of his mouth lifting as he
delivered the death blow. “Cormac McLaggen sent me.”

Bagman’s eyes flared, his posture changing, going rigid and then loosening, as though he couldn’t
decide whether to stay or run.
“Oh… I… he’s not supposed to, I mean... I’m not really supposed to hand them out to just anyone.”

Harry fought to keep his expression neutral, blank, though curiosity burned a tortuous path through
him.

“But I ‘spose you’re not just anyone, are you?” Bagman grinned, eyes hopeful, desperate for
approval. Harry despised that look, especially when it was directed upon him, but he played along
to further the bizarre transaction.

“No, I’m not. And I’d be ever so appreciative if you could help me out. I won’t forget it.”

He knew his last sentence held the most weight among men like Bagman who lived and breathed
balance books, favors owed, debts collected.

As expected the man’s eyes gleamed hungrily, no doubt already fantasizing about how he’d cash
in. “Oh, well, alright, you’ve twisted my arm!” he laughed excitedly, darting to a standing safe in
the corner of the room, hidden beneath piles of paperwork.

“Did he tell you the price?” he asked over his shoulder as he spun the dial.

Harry scowled internally.

Fucking McLaggen…

“He didn’t have the opportunity, what’ll it cost me?”

Bagman opened the safe door but his body blocked the contents, much to Harry’s annoyance.

“Er… sixty pounds,” he said nervously, eyeing Harry with trepidation.

Harry blinked.

Sixty pounds? Bloody hell, what was he buying, a gold-plated carriage?

He fought past his surprise and nodded. “Done.”

Bagman’s apprehension turned to joy once more. He grabbed something off the top shelf and
stood, cutting a path to Harry with obvious pep in his step. Harry’s eyes remained transfixed on the
small package in the man’s hands. Whatever it was appeared box-shaped, wrapped heavily in
newspaper. He was desperate to tear into it.

Bagman began to hand it over, then pulled the package back to his body. “Remember, don’t open it
inside, no one is supposed to see it.”

Harry nodded, heart beating through his chest in anticipation. “Of course.” He flashed a silver grin.
“Do you take cheques?”

Ten minutes later Harry was in the back of a carriage, the mysterious package balanced atop his
knee. He told himself he’d wait until he got home to open it.

But he knew resistance was futile. The temptation was far too great. He took a deep breath, gazing
out the window at the passing scenery, as though making sure there were no stowaways hanging
off the side of the car, peeking in, and then slowly lifted the bundle.

It was lightweight, startling so. He’d questioned on his way out of Bagman’s office whether he’d
just been swindled, sold a bundle of old newspapers and nothing more.

But his fingers slid along the wrapping and felt the rigid shape of a rectangular box beneath, half
the length of his forearm. He took a deep breath, wasting no more time and quickly tearing the
paper away, revealing the plain brown box inside.

He licked his lips, slowly lifting the lid, eyes transfixed. He peered at the contents.

And blinked.

He reached inside, extracting the sole item lying atop a white velvet cushion.

A long, solid black skeleton key, intricate scrollwork at the head, block teeth at the base.

A blood red satin ribbon attached to the end, tied in a delicate bow.

He held the key to the light, then examined it in his palm, looking for some hidden message, some
clue as to its meaning, its purpose.

The longer he stared upon it the larger it seemed to grow, taking on a sinister life of its own. And
suddenly a feeling of dread seized him, inexplicable yet unshakable. The key was a mystery, but
one thing he knew for certain.

“This can’t be good.”

 Sheep's Clothing

She generally gave herself very good advice,

Though she very seldom followed it.
. . .

“I cannot in good conscience recommend a blood purifying agent to you, Madam. There is no
fundamental research on which to base the manufacturer’s claim that it remedies any of the
underlying symptoms it is prescribed for.”

Hermione bit her lip, peeking through the gaps in the shelving to watch the exchange at the front of
the shop. She was learning a great deal listening to Snape interact with the customers.

She already respected the man before starting the job but seeing him give up the opportunity for a
sale in order to steer the customer in the right direction filled her chest with warmth. She was proud
to be working for someone with strong moral fiber.

Even if he was unbearably rude and cynical, barking commands at her as though trying to
housebreak a mutt.

“Oh bother…” the older woman muttered, then sighed. “I purchased a case of them at Bloomberg's
last month, they sold it to me without issue.”

Though Hermione couldn’t see his face she could practically hear the scowl in his voice.

“Unfortunately the staff at Bloomberg’s care more about their bottom line than the welfare of their
clientele. Furthermore, if their detoxifying agent worked as promised then a case worth would have
been more than sufficient to cure your husband of his ailment. The fact that you are seeking more
of the product only proves that they sold you snake oil in a pretty bottle, knowing you would be
gullible enough to believe whatever idiocy they scratched along the label.”

Hermione shook her head. Bloody hell. Snape was teaching her a great deal about medicine, about
the different manufacturers and brands, but perhaps she could teach him how to take a softer hand
with customers. Women especially. Though he never swore outright, he could be openly callous at
times.

Hermione didn’t mind his scathing remarks, she’d learned early on he never said anything without
purpose, without cause. The more biting the remark the more serious the issue. But customers
didn’t appreciate being spoken down to, especially the high born members who strolled in from
time to time.

The woman scoffed, stepping back with an affronted expression, but before she could utter a word
Snape spoke again.

“Based on what you’ve told me of your husband’s condition I believe he has an ailment of the liver.
I can recommend products to assist with nausea and fatigue, but if his skin is starting to yellow and
abdominal pains persist, you must take him to a doctor immediately. His life could be at stake.”

The woman swallowed. “Oh my…”

Just then the door opened, the bell above ringing. Snape glanced over his shoulder.

“Welcome.” His voice was clipped and rather unwelcoming. “Granger!” He called suddenly. Her
heart leaped into her throat. She scrambled out of her hiding spot where she’d been watching him
for the last several minutes under the guise of stocking the shelf. “Please assist this gentleman.”

She swallowed nervously, nodding quickly and smoothing her hands down her skirts. Snape didn’t
so much as spare her a glance, turning his attention back to the woman standing before him. The
fact that he was trusting her to handle a customer directly, on her own, on her first day of
employment no less, filled her with both excitement and dread.

She so desperately wanted to impress him, but she also wanted to avoid selling someone the wrong
product, causing more harm than good…

“Today.” He clipped with obvious annoyance, still not looking at her.

She blinked, flushing lightly and crossing the small room to the door.

“Hello,” she said, voice a bit higher than normal. She cleared her throat. “How may I assist you?”

The newest customer was a short man, well dressed but shifty looking. He squirmed nervously,
eyes darting about the shop before fixing on her. His expression changed from a general sense of
awkwardness to full-blown panic.

“Oh… I…” he took a step back. “I shouldn’t…”

She raised a brow. “I’m sorry?”

He shook his head quickly, darting back out of the shop.

She blinked.

What just happened?

My first customer and I sent him running for the hills. Literally.

She looked nervously to Snape but he didn’t seem the least bit upset. In fact, it looked as though he
was fighting back a smirk, his focus still directed upon the woman. Hermione turned back around,
glancing through the window pane and watching the man run down the street, kicking up dust in
his wake.

Fantastic.

She resumed her shelving duties as Snape sold the woman soothing salts and ginger root, as well as
writing down the name of a hepatologist he recommended she contact. She was positively gushing
praise by the end of their exchange and he had to practically push her physically from the shop. He
sighed deeply, shaking his head at her retreating figure before slowly turning around-

“Bloody hell!” He stepped back, Hermione directly in front of him, nervously wringing her hands.
“Must I put a bell around your neck like a common house cat?”

She swallowed tightly. “I’m sorry about that man earlier. I don’t know what I said to scare him
away.”

He rolled his eyes, stepping past her without preamble. “You did nothing wrong.” He walked
behind the counter, grabbing a stack of parchment from beneath. “At least not where he was
concerned. I have yet to inspect your stocking abilities. I never knew it took twenty minutes to line
up ten items.”
She shifted nervously. “I’m sorry if I lost you business-”

“What did I just say?” he glanced up sharply. “You did nothing wrong. He will be back.”

She blinked, watching him resume his writing. “He will?”

“He has little choice.”

“I don’t-”

“Are you always this incessant?”

She tilted her head, considering. “Yes.”

He groaned, rubbing at his eyes. “The man took off running like a gaping buffoon because you are
a woman, and he was too embarrassed to request his monthly course of treatment from you.”

She furrowed her brow, confused. What was he…

Realization dawned on her, heat blossoming up her neck.

Snape sighed, focusing once more upon the parchment. “I did not recognize him at first. He usually
comes in the presence of another man. Had I known who it was I wouldn’t have requested that you
assist him.”

She swallowed thickly, shoulders drawing back. “I am more than capable of discussing such
matters.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up, barely discernible to her eyes. “You are capable of discussing
any and everything to a bloody pulp. However, not everyone likes to disclose their condition so
openly, Ms. Granger. You will do well to remember that in this line of work.”

She watched him in silence for another few moments before nodding. “I will remember that.”

She started to walk back to the shelves when the door flew open once more, so hard it nearly
crashed into the opposite wall. Snape glared at the new customer, Hermione spun around, startled-

And immediately felt her chest wrench open with joy.

“Mione!”

The newcomer stepped inside, not bothering to close the door, holding his arms out expectantly,
face split in half by an open-mouthed grin.

She stood frozen for another heartbeat, eyes roaming his tall figure, his dashing uniform, still
processing his sudden appearance. Then she was grinning as well, pulled free from her daze and
launching herself across the floor.

“Ron!”

She leaped into his arms with little concern for propriety. She imagined she may have reacted
differently had there been customers in the shop, but in all honesty, she probably wouldn’t have
cared, considering the outside world fell away as soon as he appeared before her.

She hadn’t seen him in nearly three months, which might as well be three centuries for how greatly
she missed him. As he wrapped his arms around her he lifted her off her feet, spinning her in a
circle and drawing a childish laugh from her throat.

Ron had that ability with her, one of the few who did. He could coax out her most youthful,
carefree side no matter the situation. He was like an overgrown child himself, despite his towering
height and broad chest, despite his clean pressed Naval uniform, all Hermione could see when she
looked at him was that gangly, awkward prepubescent boy she met all those years ago.

She adored him.

“Welcome home!” she managed to say before once again squealing in delight as he spun her
around.

“It is now. Look at you, darling, you’re utterly smashing.”

She laughed anew, rolling her eyes and gently pushing at his shoulders. “Put me down, you dolt!”

“Not until you give me a kiss hello,” he winked, puckering his lips and closing his eyes, squeezing
her tighter as she wriggled in his hold.

“You’re an idiot,” she admonished without heat, even as she reached out and turned his head to the
side, pecking him lightly on the cheek. “There. Now put me down this instant.”

“I don’t think so, I’ve been gone for ages, surely I’ve earned a better present than that-”

“Perhaps the two of you could move this nauseating reunion to anywhere besides the open door of
my store.”

Ron’s eyes flared and his arms released her at once, causing her to yelp as she thudded
ungracefully to the floor.

“Ronald!”

“Oh, sorry, Mione.”

She rolled her eyes, then smoothed her wrinkled skirts, flushing lightly as she glanced over her
shoulder at Snape, having forgotten where she was in the wake of her excitement.

“I’m-”

“Spare me. I’ve heard enough of your drivel to last me two lifetimes.” His dark eyes flickered up to
Ron, expression pinching further. “A Weasley, I take it?”

Ron blinked, face turning brighter than his hair and he swallowed audibly. “Y-yes, Sir.”

Hermione bit her lip to stop from laughing.

“Hm.” Snape’s gaze scanned his tall form for another few seconds. “I see the resemblance to the
rest of your brood. Ill-mannered and confounded. But your mother is a good customer. Inform her I
received a new supply of alphozone tablets if she’d like to reserve a few boxes.”

Ron swayed on is feet. “Oh… um, yes, I-I will. Thank you, Sir.”

Now Hermione had to cover her mouth with her hand, delicately coughing to disguise her laugh.
His lethal gaze shifted back to her, absorbing any lingering amusement and causing her to fidget
nervously.
“You may take your fifteen-minute break, now, Ms. Granger.” His eyes narrowed. “Outside. I will
not be subjected to any more of this emetic display.”

She nodded quickly. “Of course. Thank you, Sir.”

She grabbed Ron’s arm, pulling his stiff frame towards the exit, pushing him through as his legs
locked up. As soon as she shut the door behind her she glared at him. “What’s the matter with
you?”

“You work for Snape?” He asked without preamble, eyes wide.

She raised a brow. “You know him?”

“He’s a notorious arsehole. Made Charlie and Bill deep clean his supply closet years ago. Scared
the piss outta them.”

She blinked. “What? Why would he do that?”

Ron shrugged, starting a path up the sidewalk, shortening his normally long stride so she could
keep pace beside him.

“I dunno. I was really young at the time. I think they accidentally broke his window or something.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, is that all that happened?”

Ron narrowed his gaze but his expression lacked any real heat. “He’s still an arse!”

“An arse that could have easily charged your family for the cost of repairs. I dare say your brothers
got off easy if all he made them do was clean his cabinet for an afternoon.”

Ron shrugged, facing forward as they maneuvered around a trolley. “I just know he put the fear of
God in them, and no one has ever been able to inspire that kind of terror since, not even mum.”

Hermione smirked. “It’s good to have you back, Ronald.”

“I love it when you call me that.”

She laughed lightly, shaking her head and stepping in close, weaving her arm through his. “It’s
been so dreary without you and Harry. I’m so happy you’re both home, at the same time no less.
It’s like Christmas come early.”

“If only other women found such joy in my presence.”

She tipped her head up, staring at his profile. “No romances on the high seas?”

He laughed loudly, without care for the startled glances he received from nearby pedestrians.

“You realize I’ve been on a ship with three hundred other gents for the last three months, right?”

She shrugged. “You have to go ashore to refuel and restock eventually. With your dashing good
looks and terrible jokes I thought you’d have wooed girls in every major port city by now.”

He sighed deeply, dramatically tipping his head back. “I try, Mione! Really I do! But I’m terrible
with the birds in the Mediterranean. I get all clammy and have no idea what to say. It doesn’t help
that most of them don’t speak a lick of English.”
She burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. He shook his head as though annoyed by her reaction
but his smirk betrayed his own amusement. She finally settled down enough to catch her breath,
peering up through teary eyes.

“Oh, Ron! You poor thing. But does it matter what you say if they can’t understand you anyway?”

He smiled. “That’s true. For all they know I’m a Navy surgeon.”

She exploded into another fit of laughter.

“What? I could pull it off, how hard is it to pretend to be a doctor anyway?”

His words were spoken in jest but they caused a visceral reaction in her. Her laughter ended
abruptly, a vivid image taking root in her mind.

Dr. Riddle stepping out from behind the privacy screen, sunlight at his back, illuminating his tall
figure like a creature descended from the heavens…

She swallowed thickly, releasing Ron’s arm and leaning away.

“Mione? You alright?”

She blinked, gazing up with a forced smile. “Yes, of course.” She tucked a fallen curl behind her
ear. “I want to hear everything about your travels!” She mustered as much enthusiasm as she could,
trying to redirect his focus.

Ron always meant well and cared for her a great deal, but he wasn’t as observant as Harry, to her
great relief. She couldn’t handle if both her best friends were frustratingly astute.

Sure enough, he took the bait, launching into a story with animated hand gestures, making her
smile anew.

Ron loved to speak about his Naval career. He was the only member of his family to enlist in that
particular branch, his oldest brothers electing to join the Army while Percy trained to be a
magistrate. Fred and George were the Weasley wild cards, the jack of all trades, still living at home
and trying to forge their own path.

But Ron had discovered his, and she was so very proud of all his accomplishments. She knew
growing up in such a large family, among so many brothers no less, caused him to be overlooked
quite a bit. Not to mention the fact that their family had a bit of reputation amongst the gentry for
being low on their means.

They were descended from two very prestigious lines, Weasley and Pruitt, both names going all the
way back to Henry II, the first Plantagenet monarch. But over the last few generations, the
Weasley name fell from prestige as their wealth diminished, whereas other families rose to power
in their place, like Parkinson and Greengrass-

Hermione blinked, her heart skipping a beat. Even thinking the name Greengrass made her
nauseous.

Astoria is so beautiful. So rich. So well bred.

They’ll make a perfect couple.

She shook her head forcefully but the dark fantasy still took root in her mind… an image of the
flawless heiress standing beside Draco on the balconet, hand in hand, as Lucius proudly announced
their engagement. She felt light headed.

She forced her attention back to Ron, who was still rambling away, oblivious to her mental
anguish.

“-and I said to him, ‘You can try, mate, but I promise, you won’t be seeing the last of me.’ And the
whole room exploded, it was bloody hilarious, Mione, you should have seen it-”

She blinked several times, trying to focus upon his words but finding it frustratingly impossible.
The longer he talked the further she slipped away. She needed a distraction to keep her grounded,
keep her sane.

“Ron-” she interrupted, stepping in closer. “How did you know I’d be at the shop?”

He cut off abruptly, blinking down at her.

“What? Oh. Harry told me.”

Now she blinked. “When?”

“This morning. I stopped by Grimmauld first, didn’t want Fred and George dousing my uniform
with pomegranate juice before I had a chance to sweep you off your feet.”

She tilted her head, thoughts a swirling cyclone. In his message to her yesterday Harry had said he
was following up on a lead and would fill her in on his findings. She’d assumed he meant later that
evening when Colin did his nightly rounds. Hannah had slipped out to the garden and checked the
hiding spot but found no missive.

Hermione wondered if he’d been able to follow through or if Cormac’s information had been a
bust. She wondered if Harry would even tell her the truth, terrified as he was of ever disappointing
her.

She hated being reliant on someone else for information. She loved Harry and trusted him
completely, she knew he’d see this through for her no matter what, but she hated sitting on her
hands, waiting on updates. She was used to being self-reliant and this forced dependence was
torture.

“Speaking of Fred and George, they’re talking about renting a townhouse near Regent Square.”

She blinked, pulled from her inner ruminations. “Really? That’s a decent area. How are they going
to afford it?”

“You know how they like to invent things…”

She laughed shortly. “I know how they like to destroy things.”

Ron shrugged. “No argument there. Well during one of their experiments they figured out some
way to… well, they tried to describe it in a letter but I really didn’t have any idea what the hell they
were talking about. You’d probably get it. It’s something mechanical with a news press. I think.
Anyways, they’ve got a patent and licensing deal pending. If it all goes through they’re going to
turn the bottom of the Townhouse into a shop and live out of the top.”

Hermione bounced on her heels. “Ron, that’s incredible! I’m so happy for them! They always were
brilliant, I’m not surprised they created something-”
“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Mum won’t shut up about it. If their heads get any
bigger they won’t be able to fit through the bloody doorway.”

She laughed.

“The reason I mention it is...” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck. She tilted her head, studying
him curiously. “I only bring it up because once they’re gone, it’ll just be mum, dad, and Gin living
there.”

Her heart lurched.

He swallowed, glancing at her sideways. “I want you to move into the Burrow, Mione.”

She released a deep breath, facing forward, remaining silent.

“I know the reason you said no before was that Fred and George were still there, and it would be
scandalous or some such nonsense, despite the fact you’re practically our second little sister.”

She glanced at him sharply, mouth opening, but he held up a staying hand. “I get it, okay, I know
public image is a bigger deal for you birds than it is for us gents. But now that they’ll be out of the
house there’s no excuse for you to stay in that hovel.”

Hermione sighed. “Ron-”

“Mum and dad agreed, were adamant about it, actually. You know they love you like a daughter.
And Gin would be ecstatic to have you there-”

“Ron-”

“I already know you’re going to say no, I can see it in your eyes. Just think about it, okay? Please?
For me?”

The sincerity in his blue gaze made her chest ache. She clamped her mouth shut, jaw ticking. Then
she nodded lightly, already knowing her answer would remain the same but not wanting to have
this loaded conversation so soon after his return.

“Thank you,” he said, expression remaining stoic for another beat before transforming into his
signature carefree grin. The familiar image lightened her heavy heart considerably.

“So what are we supposed to wear to this bloody thing tonight anyway?”

The question took her off guard, so much so that she stumbled on the sidewalk. Ron’s arm shot out
and caught her.

“Whoa, careful, luv.”

She gazed up at him. “What thing tonight?”

He blinked. “You’re not going?”

“Going to what?”

He helped her regain her footing, stepping away and sliding his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure,
some fancy party. Something to do with the Scotland Yard. I got roped into it by Harry. I assumed
you were going.”
She shook her head. “I had no idea it was happening. I don’t get invited to such things anymore.”

His gaze narrowed. “That’s bullshite. You’re the smartest person I know, they should be chomping
at the bit to have you.”

She smiled, but it reflected a sadness she couldn’t mask. “The last thing powerful men want in their
company is an intelligent woman. Little less a woman who has the nerve to display that
intelligence.”

“It’s ridiculous. The night’s going to be a bust without you. Come as my guest. Or Harry’s,
whichever will piss ‘em off more.”

She laughed, stepping close to grab his arm once more, directing him back towards the shop, her
break coming to an end.

“As fun as that sounds, I am under house arrest for the next two weeks. I couldn’t slip away if I
wanted to. And I must admit, I have no desire to be in the company of the Scotland Yard by my
own free will. I’ve had my fill of police.”

He sighed. “I know. I’m just looking for an excuse to linger in your company. I can't abide
sneaking about like this.”

She raised a brow. “You, Ronald Bilius Weasley, can’t abide skirting the rules for your own
amusement?”

His answering smile gleamed in the sunlight. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, luv. I’m a
model citizen.”

She shook her head with a laugh, leaning her head against his arm. “If you want to convince those
foreign beauties you’re a surgeon you’ll have to learn to lie better than that.”

Tom was a patient man.

At least, he considered himself to be.

Others may have labeled him obsessive. Demanding. Controlling. Possessive.

He didn’t disagree with those monikers. He was all of those things as well.

But above all else, he was patient.

He had to be, in order to see through this mission. This calling. And now that the fruits of his labor
were finally within sight, he couldn’t afford to jeopardize it all by being too eager. By showing his
hand too soon.

By being… distracted.

No, distractions simply wouldn’t do.

He didn't anticipate encountering any diversions here. He hadn’t allowed himself to grow attached
in the past. The residents here were pawns, nothing more. Just a means to an end.

That was all they could be.

He’d dealt with patients for years. The sick and dying. Young and old alike. Men, women,
children. They were just bodies housing complex systems requiring regular maintenance and
upkeep, and on occasion, invasive repair. There was nothing meaningful attached, no identifying
markers. No faces, no names, no stories.

It was easiest that way. Made him the most effective. Made him into the brilliant, if not cutthroat,
doctor he was today.

He came here with the same mentality. It was the only way to see this through. If he saw any of
these girls- no, these residents- as anything but pieces on the chessboard then he would certainly
get distracted. And that was not an option.

He’d come too bloody far.

Nothing, nothing, would stop him now.

He found himself having to remind himself of that more often than not these last few days. It was
troubling, but he wouldn’t let it overcome the greater objective.

His eyes moved rapidly along the document in his hand, speed reading the information presented.
He’d been surprised to find the stack of resident logs awaiting him that morning, stacked neatly on
the center of his desk with a note attached from the beastly Matron. He’d expected her to skirt his
request until he all but had to ransack her records room for the information himself.

After discarding her note to the floor and opening the first file he quickly discovered the reason for
her immediate acquiesce.

The records were doctored.

Pitifully so. They’d been altered with an obvious heavy hand, going so far as to scratch out data to
write new information over the top. Even more obscene was the fact that these were old records
that had already been reviewed and signed by a solicitor. Someone court-appointed had read this
farce of a report and given it the stamp of approval.

His eyes narrowed on the signature at the bottom. The flourish of swoops and swishes spelled out a
name he recognized well. His heart swelled.

Though he already knew he was in the right place, the document in his hand guaranteed it with
absolute certainty.

He stood in the heart of the demon’s lair.

At long last.

He snapped the file shut as a thrill of adrenaline seized him. He wanted to grab his scalpel and cut
something open, see the crimson bead of liquid swell beneath his hands, feel the power and control
of rendering something naked and exposed beneath his touch.

Soon.

Soon, he’d have them.

And then he’d have his revenge.

But first, he needed to see the records dating back further. He needed to go back as far as possible,
from before the Madam’s appointment.
He tossed the folder to his desk, striding to the clinic doors and marching into the empty corridor,
intent on requesting the remaining documents from the Matron directly. He couldn't abide being in
her presence, knowing just who she was, exactly what she was, but what nauseated him the most
was her blatant interest in him.

It wasn’t just a matter of physical attraction, or in this case, the lack thereof. He didn’t fault people
for things beyond their control, physical appearance among them, but he always found it repellent
when his prey willingly exposed their throats to his fangs.

It was one thing for the residents to be drawn to his palpable air of danger, a natural draw to their
youth and inexperience. He was unable to mask it fully, not for long stretches of time. Which is
why he stayed on the constant move. When bodies started to surface he knew his good looks and
easy charisma would only shield him for so long.

But it was another matter entirely for the head of the Home to be so blatantly obtuse about the
danger she let past her doorstep. Then again, she wasn’t exactly keen on protecting her charges,
was she? He certainly wouldn’t be the first predator she beckoned inside.

He looked forward to making her rue that decision with her last gasping breath.

He turned another corner, his mind focused on the task at hand, aware but indifferent to the
whispers and tittering laughs he elicited from the girls he passed. In the few days since he’d been
here, he’d garnered five explicit propositions and a handful of more inconspicuous offers from
residents within.

He was almost impressed by their confidence, their bravado, unhampered by their circumstances.
He’d politely turned them all down, too amused to be properly disgusted. Most of them had been of
age anyhow, so in their view, it probably wasn’t an obscene proposal.

However, such a thing was so outside the realm of possibility that it didn’t even register in his
mind. He’d never touch one of these girls.

You already have…

He forced the thought away with narrowed eyes. His expression turning unknowingly lethal,
causing his crowd of onlookers to glance away nervously, scattering like mice in the midst of a
hungry cat.

No.

He’d allow for no distractions.

No matter how tempting.

As he moved past the doors leading to the garden he did a double take, noticing a girl slipping
inside, head downturned, long blonde hair cloaking her face, hand clutched to her chest.

Blood dripped down her wrist and onto her pale skirts, dribbling across the stone floor.

He halted, changing course with little thought.

She glanced up, her eyes found him cutting a path towards her and they widened, blue as the sky
on a clear day.

She swallowed, backing up and hitting the wall, no escape in sight.

He tipped his head, studying her as he neared. She looked familiar. He hadn’t given her an exam.
Hadn’t spoken to her directly. But he knew that face from somewhere-

She was sitting beside Hermione at the breakfast table.

The thought made his stomach muscles tighten. He released a slow breath, forcing them to loosen,
to regain control of his faculties.

“What happened?” he asked without preamble, eyes pinning her in place.

She blinked up at him, a cornered doe, speechless.

He shook his head in annoyance, but also a general sense of resignation. He was used to rendering
people silent when he directed his full attention to them. It wasn’t always intentional. It was on his
list of things to work on. After killing a few more people.

He stepped closer, reaching out for her injured hand even as she tried to pull it away.

“Stop that, let me see it.”

He grabbed her thin wrist, gently tugging it towards him, prompting her to give up the struggle,
relenting her arm to his control.

He turned her palm up and she slowly unfurled her fingers, revealing a long but shallow gash
across the middle.

“I need to clean this, but I don’t think it will require stitches.”

She swallowed thickly, trembling lightly. “I can clean it myself, Sir.”

His eyes snapped up, meeting hers once more. He raised a dark brow, fascinated to see pure fear in
her eyes. He rarely inspired such a reaction when wearing his mask. Especially among young
women. Especially among the young women here. Most of them would be eager to have him
attend their wound. He wouldn’t be surprised if some of them purposefully injured themselves for
an excuse to visit him in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened in his
career.

But alas, this girl seemed… different.

Like she had a sixth sense about him.

He tilted his head, examining her face more carefully.

“What’s your name?”

She blinked once, twice, then whispered, “Luna.”

He studied her in silence a few moments longer, still holding her hand in his, before releasing it
and stepping back, watching her visibly deflate in relief.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to do that, Luna. I insist on treating the cut myself to minimize the
risk of infection. It should only take a few minutes, I assure you.”

She bit her lip, eyes darting around the mostly empty hall, as though debating whether to make a
run for it.
How fascinating.

He was beginning to understand why she held Hermione’s interest. She was certainly gaining his.

“The sooner you come with me, the sooner we can have it done.”

Her large blue eyes fastened to his once more. She was obviously unsettled but seemed to accept
there was no way out. She stepped away from the wall, nodding.

“Alright, Doctor.”

His jaw ticked at the way she said his title, voice unsteady. A budding suspicion took root in his
mind, weeds growing like veins into his cerebrum, whispering dark things that only made him
more eager to get her back to the clinic.

His chessboard had a new rook.

“I feel like a trussed up lobcock.”

Harry shook his head, gazing out of the carriage window with a smirk. “However did I survive
without your colorful vernacular for two whole days?”

“That’s a fancy word. Hermione teach it to you?”

“Obviously,” Harry sighed as they drew to a stop outside the large Hotel. “Bloody hell, I really
don’t want to go to this thing.”

“At least you’re dressed half decent. Look at me!” Ron held his arms out to the side, displaying his
rather simple and outdated suit. “I had to borrow something from Dad’s closet because Charlie and
Bill never, and I quote, ‘Tressed up like lobcocks for a party’.”

“You’re dad’s hand me down clothes, your brothers’ hand me down jokes, are you wearing your
own shoes?”

“Ha-fucking-ha.”

Harry leaped down to the pavement, paying the driver as Ron descended behind him, still
grumbling under his breath.

Other carriages were arriving behind theirs, people ascending the grand staircase in fine suits and
evening gowns, a formal affair to be certain, but certainly not the lushest event Harry had ever
attended. This was an event for the Scotland Yard, the lowest rung of government employees.
Money and jewels wouldn’t be thrown from the balcony as they would at a bluestocking affair.

Still, Harry had no interest in attending. He only did so because Sirius was still abroad and at least
one of them were expected to make an appearance at such events, especially those relating to a
public cause. Harry couldn't care less what people thought of him but he didn’t want to bring
shame to the Potter name, that would only insult his parents’ legacy.

Being the sole member of a once powerful and influential family really sucked ballocks sometimes.

Ron groaned beside him, reminding Harry that he wasn’t the only one dreading this night. The
Weasleys didn’t receive nearly as many invitations to events as they did decades prior. Harry
envied them that, but Molly took great offense at being shunned by the ultra-elite they were once
considered a part of, many generations removed.
So she made at least one of their brood attended each event they received an invitation to. Usually
Percy, as he was the most well mannered and socially hungry. But every now and then she forced
one of the other boys in his place. Just to keep them relevant to the vultures hovering above,
desperate to nip at the heels of anyone with the slightest bit of power or influence.

Ginny wasn’t to be presented until next Season, much to her brothers’ joint dismay.

Thinking of Gin inevitably led to thoughts of Hermione.

She never got a Season. Not that she wanted one. In fact, she was rather against being presented
like a horse to auction, as she so fondly put it. But had things been different, had her parents still
been alive, and had she been the type of girl who enjoyed such societal antics, she’d be in the
middle of her Season now. Lavished in expensive dresses, attending parties every weekend, toting
a full dance card around her wrist, young men vying for her affection...

Instead, his best friend was trapped in an old, gothic prison with dozens of other hostages,
subjected to the whims of the embittered crone that ran the place and, as Harry had most recently
learned, susceptible prey to whatever young men decided to sneak in at night, trolling the hallways
for kicks.

And to top it off, Hermione’s own bloody roommate disappeared without a trace, without a stir,
without a single upturned rock…

It was madness.

“We goin’ in, mate?”

Harry blinked, emerald gaze snapping to the side. Ron tipped his head towards the ascending
crowd.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d love nothing more than to spend the night out here. But if we’re heading
in, might as well seize the opportunity to hide amongst the crowd.”

Harry nodded, steeling himself for the evening ahead.

“Good looking out. Let’s go.”

They slipped into the throng of partygoers, following their steady path into the opulent Hotel
lobby, then along to the event hall. The room was large and open, tables removed to give ample
space for socializing, as the society dregs loved to do. The room was jam-packed, people filling
every corner, conversation bouncing off every surface. Harry already felt a pressure headache
building rapidly behind his eyes.

“Blimey. I need a drink,” Ron muttered beside him, tugging awkwardly at his sleeves, which were
a touch too short for his gangly arms.

Harry nodded. “Grab me one. I’ll get the next round.”

“How bout the next seven.”

“Sounds fair.”

“I’m a decent bloke.”

Ron took a deep breath, bracing himself before disappearing into the crowd, attempting to cut a
path towards the bustling bar. Harry stood by himself, feeling overwhelmed despite the fact no one
had spoken to him. But he felt eyes alight upon his body, from his face down to his shiny leather
shoes.

He was used to garnering attention everywhere he went, due to his name, his looks, his uniform, or
some combination of the three. It was worse in London’s social scene, because everyone knew
everyone so annoyingly well, the rumor mill in constant grind. He joined the Navy because it was
his family legacy, a rite of passage, a way to feel closer to the father he’d lost, but also as a means
of escape. Escaping himself.

When sailing abroad Harry was truly free. Free from the long history of his surname, from societal
expectations, from his own youthful misdeeds. He could be anyone he wanted, every new
assignment was a chance to start fresh, to try out a new identity for a while. He even went so far as
to change his first name when meeting locals at port cities, truly breaking the chains of his past.

It was thrilling, a tingling rush that satisfied the adrenaline lover dwelling at his core. He created
his own adventures on his own terms, answering to no one but his Captain. Who also happened to
be his godfather. And while it was frustrating at times, given their close relationship outside the
ranks, having him on the ship was also a source of comfort. Sirius and Ron were a piece of home
away from home that chased away his melancholy when he went long stretches away from
Grimmauld. Away from Mione. Away from-

He swallowed heavily, pushing the notion aside, his chest tightening at his near mental slip up.

They agreed it was only casual. Nothing serious. Nothing to dwell upon outside the bedroom.

Harry had nodded along at the time, not wanting to seem needy or desperate. Not wanting to push
them away. He always felt like they were precariously balanced in his hands, one wrong move and
he’d lose them. It had felt that way since their first encounter. It felt like that a year later, several
encounters later.

Stop thinking about it. Not now. Not here.

He took a deep breath, swiveling his gaze around the room, eager for any distraction. His eyes fell
upon a cluster of finely dressed debutantes, batting their lashes at him from behind their fans. He
smirked, inclining his head politely but making no move in their direction.

He’d gone down that route before, desperate to rid himself of his obsession with the unattainable.
He had no desire to formally court anyone, his Naval career kept him too busy to take a wife, that
was his excuse anyway, when nosy busybodies ultimately asked at every public event he attended.

It was a solid excuse in his opinion. Sirius had never settled down. He was married to the sea, as he
liked to say, with a roguish grin and wink that sent the birds swooning by the masses. There had
been great pressure on his godfather to sire an heir to the Black fortune, but he’d remedied himself
of the burden by formally adopting his godson when he was barely a teen, freshly orphaned.

Harry became to sole heir of the massive Potter and Black fortunes, and the pressure to marry and
start a family doubled in turn, weighing his shoulders down with such crushing weight he found it
difficult to put one foot in front of the other, to walk into events such as this where he knew he’d be
the prey of every social climber and gold digger alike, eager to parade their daughters, sisters and
nieces before him like cattle.

He understood why it disgusted Mione so. It disgusted him and he wasn’t even the one being
dolled up and forced on display. It made him see red when families put forth girls so young they
weren’t even formally presented, biologically not a woman yet. Harry knew that after he turned
down their father’s offers the girls were being pushed off onto the next man, and the next, until
they found one willing to take a child bride.

It was perverse. Deranged. And the social norm.

Harry found himself longing for the high seas more than ever.

He found himself longing for his bedroom at Grimmauld.

Longing for the warm body pressed against his, the mattress a private island of bliss, solitude.
Escape.

He averted his gaze from the group of twittering young women, only to land upon the Dowager
Duchess of Devonshire and a sickly pale girl at her side, both with their eyes firmly upon him. The
Dowager looked hungry, focused, a predator tracking its prey through the tall grass. The girl
looked resigned, already dreading the interaction to come. Harry sighed, having only a split second
to decide upon his course of action.

Stay or run.

He bolted.

Darting into the crowd to his left, going so far as to hunch down a touch, allowing his thick shock
of black hair to disappear beneath the many talking heads. He was too relieved at his narrow
escape to feel embarrassed or give two shites about the curious glances sent his way as he pushed
steadily through the masses, aiming himself at the far corner of the room.

He emerged from the sea of bodies, gasping for breath as though he truly broke free from the
turbulent ocean. A deep snicker caught his attention. He didn’t have to turn around to recognize the
owner of the amused voice. But he did so anyway, eager to engage in conversation with someone
who wasn’t trying to trap him in a marriage contract.

“Having fun, Potter?”

Harry sighed, unfolding to his full height but keeping his back to the massive crowd at his back.

“The time of my life. What are you doing here, Zabini? This isn’t your usual scene.”

Blaise shrugged indifferently, handsome face slipping into its natural repose; supreme boredom,
with an underlying derision that made his dark eyes gleam, ever watchful of the milling guests,
always on the lookout for something.

The man normally made Harry uneasy, with his shrewd gaze and lewd speech, eager to unsettle
those around him. For what purpose, Harry was never certain. He found it easier to avoid the
strapping Italian altogether, which was simple enough considering he and Zabini maintained very
different social calendars. Harry only went to events if dragged, held at gunpoint or otherwise
guilted into attending. And he left as soon as he paid the host or hostess a polite hello.

Zabini loved lavish parties, the gaudier the better, throwing several out of his mother’s estate
himself. He was always at the center of the action, the heart of the gossip, otherwise the opposite
end of whatever venue Harry found himself forced to be in.

So the fact that the man stood in the same corner now greatly perturbed Harry. He glanced around,
wondering if there was something he’d missed, some great scandal playing out beside them, media
reporters watching nearby, anything to draw the man away from the crowd.

“I was forced to come to this, much like you, I presume,” he finally spoke, taking a sip of whatever
dark liquid filled his lowball glass, eyes still tracking the talkative faces.

“Forced? By whom?”

“By whom else? The only woman with any sway over me.”

Harry nodded, slowly turning to face the crowd, feeling safer with them in his sights rather than at
his back.

“How is the Countess?”

“Happily sandwiched between two lovers half her age in Nepal.”

Harry shook his head, fighting the urge to cringe at the mental image. “That’s your mum, you
know.”

“I was aware, yes.”

“And why does she want you to come to an event for the Scotland Yard?”

Blaise smirked, taking another sip of his drink. “She just buried husband number five. I imagine
she wants to show her support of the new criminal investigation unit to avoid being the subject of
their first case.”

Harry blinked, glancing sideways at the man. “The new what?”

“Honestly, Potter, do you often show up to events without knowing their purpose?”

“Most the time.”

Blaise swirled the glass in his palm, the liquid creating a tiny vortex as he flashed a grin. “How can
I forget, you enjoy the element of surprise better than the present itself.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Get on with it, Zabini.”

The man chuckled. “The police formed a new branch within the London Office. The CID unit,
they’re calling it. Its main purpose is to break apart large-scale crime rings with plainclothes
detectives using more subversive measures.”

Harry raised a dark brow. “And you know all this how?”

“I slept with one of the detective's secretaries. And one of their wives. They were both surprisingly
chatty afterward. Kept talking to each other even after I left.”

Harry blinked, peering sideways at the man’s stoic profile, finally relenting with an amused smirk.

“Blaise, there you are, I ran into-”

Harry went rigid as the new voice joined the fold, a familiar face appearing from the crowd,
pausing at the edge, eyes fixed upon Harry in surprise, then panic.

Blaise raised a brown, glancing between them, lips curving into a wry grin.
“Well isn’t that interesting.”

“Do shut up, Blaise. No one enjoys hearing your voice as much as you.”

“Ouch,” he cringed in mock pain, pressing a hand to his chest. “What’s gotten into you, Daph?
Aren’t you going to bid Potter a hello?” His eyes danced with malevolent glee.

Daphne glared at the Italian, then she slid her mask of proprietary indifference into place. “Hello,
Harry. It’s wonderful to see you.”

Harry swallowed, folding his hands behind his back to keep from flexing his fists.

“Daphne,” he bowed his head in polite greeting. “The pleasure is all mine. It’s been a long time.”

She blinked, shoulders relaxing a touch. “Yes, yes it has.”

“This is very interesting,” Blaise muttered over the rim of his glass, eyes darting between their
rigid forms.

Daphne glared at him once more but remained silent. Just then Harry’s eye was drawn by a
familiar sweep of white blonde hair bobbing along the sea of guests, steadily heading in their
direction. He breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he was in dire straights if he took comfort in
Malfoy’s arrival.

“Draco, bloody hell, what are you doing here?” Blaise said at full volume as the man emerged into
their small pocket corner of the room.

The blonde straightened out his pristine jacket as though it were amiss, eyes sweeping along the
three people standing before him, pale brow raised.

“Well isn’t this a sinister looking gathering.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Blaise said, winking at Daphne as she huffed in annoyance.

“And I’m sure I don’t care,” Draco drawled, gazing over his shoulder at the crowd. The group of
young, attractive aristocrats hiding in the corner were starting to attract a concerning amount of
attention. Harry feared he’d have to find a new refuge soon.

“I’m afraid I lost your sister to a pit of hissing vipers, Daph.” He turned to face her. “I would
attempt to save her but I fear I’d only exacerbate the problem.”

Daphne sighed, shaking her head in annoyance. “Let me guess, the Carrow sisters?”

“They have a surprising obsession with the marriage market considering they’re both dried up
spinsters.”

She scowled. “Their niece and nephew are a far cry from anything you’d consider remotely
eligible, they have to live vicariously through other families.”

“I heard Alecto and Amycus have eyes and hands only for each other,” Blaise said casually, tipping
his head to inspect a woman in a particularly tight corset.

“That’s vile, Blaise,” Daphne said, face pinched in disgust.

“I didn’t say I agreed with it luv, merely that I heard it.”

“You shouldn’t repeat such tasteless rumors, they’re liable to spread.”

He raised an amused brow, gaze snapping back to hers. “Do you even know who you’re talking
to?”

She rolled her eyes, folding her arms and sidling closer to the wall.

“This party if worse than I imagined,” Draco said, turning to scan the room. “And that’s really
saying something, considering I fantasized about setting the building on fire.”

“You too, huh,” Harry said before he could stop himself, earning an amused laugh from Blaise and
an appreciative smirk from Draco.

“What are you doing here, anyway?’ Harry asked, posture finally easing over the shock of seeing
Daphne again so soon. He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, effecting a casual stance.

“Father said one of us was obligated to come, and that it was too low budget to garner his
attention.”

“He isn’t wrong,” Daphne said, glancing around the room. “A blind nun must have been in charge
of decorating. I didn’t even know they made brown table runners.”

“At least they aren’t wasting our tax dollars on fancy cutlery and window treatments,” Harry said.
“An extravagant ball would send the wrong message.”

“And what is the message?” She asked in annoyance.

“I’ve no bloody idea.”

“I’m bored,” Blaise interrupted. “Have Pans or Theo arrived yet?”

Harry’s heart lurched so violently he swayed on his feet, covering the gesture with a sudden cough,
averting his face away. He felt eyes upon him and knew they belonged to the sole female of their
group. Color stained his cheeks. Damn.

“Alright there, Potter?” Draco asked over his shoulder, blessedly oblivious to the nature of Harry’s
outburst.

“Never better,” he said in as level a tone as he could manage.

He wanted to ask follow up questions, like why the hell they were coming to this event in the first
place, but he feared the men would read into his questioning, and he was still too wound up by the
confirmation that Daphne definitely knew about his tryst.

Double damn.

He supposed it was only a matter of time before someone became suspicious. Harry noticed Mione
and Draco sneaking off to secluded balconies right away. He noticed their budding attraction,
disguised as mutual jealousy and hatred, even before they did. He shouldn’t be surprised
Greengrass put the pieces together.

After all, she was best friends with-

“There they are! About bloody time. Finally, someone with a bit of excitement.”

Harry swallowed heavily at Blaise’s boisterous announcement, his eyes fixating on the main
entrance where the newest couple emerged into the room. His heart skipped a beat, palms starting
to sweat. He blinked rapidly, stepping back, glancing at Daphne on instinct.

She stared back, holding his gaze steady, the intensity making his body quake. His lungs felt
weighted, he couldn’t draw a proper breath. He glanced back to the crowd, his eyes finding theirs
like a homing beacon. They burned like twin sapphires, such a deep blue they appeared violet in
the soft lighting.

He tore his gaze away but could still feel their eyes upon him like a physical touch.

He couldn’t do this.

“It’s been an absolute delight,” he said, affecting a bored tone, but his voice sounding unsteady to
his ears. “But I’m going to find Ron. Enjoy your evening.”

He took off before they had a chance to register his departure. It was a terribly rude and abrupt exit,
he should have paid his respects to each of them in turn, taken Daphne’s hand and kissed it
farewell, but he couldn’t afford to linger there a moment longer.

Besides, he doubted any of them expected Harry to adhere to social custom anyway. He was
known as the rebel aristocrat, the reluctant prince, skirting convention at every opportunity.

He was just fine with those assumptions if it earned him a reprieve.

He dived headfirst into the crowd, heading towards the bar, glancing around for the familiar shock
of red hair.

Luckily, Ron possessed an equally recognizable laugh. Loud, carefree and joyful, eliciting either a
grin or scowl from all those nearby. Harry sighed in relief upon hearing it, darting in the direction
of the boisterous noise.

He spotted the man beside the bar, deep in conversation with a young woman, his freckled face
alight with whatever story he was telling her. Harry slowed his pace, smirking in amusement. He
never failed to be entertained by his best friend’s escapades with the opposite sex. It rarely ended
well.

Harry raised a brow as his emerald gaze fell upon the woman, only her back visible. Something
about her seemed... familiar. Though he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. He knew practically
everyone in London. Unfortunately.

Ron’s blue gaze met his from over her shoulder and his smile widened.

“Oi, Harry! C’mere! Meet the new police commissioner's daughter!”

Harry fought back a cringe as a few people glanced around in annoyance. Whereas Harry purposely
skirted the rules of etiquette, Ron was outright oblivious to them.

However, the mystery girl didn’t seem to mind his jovial outburst, tipping her head back and
laughing, the sound making Harry stop short a few feet behind her, heart leaping into his throat.

He knew that voice… but from where? He felt like he’d heard it quite recently, fresh on his
memory, but he hadn’t been around any women except for-

“Harry, meet Susan Bones.”

The girl spun on her heel, bright smile melting into a look of abject shock, eyes widening to
comical size.

Harry blinked.

Bloody. Hell.

Ron glanced expectantly between them, brow raising at their prolonged silence.

“Um,” he rubbed his neck. “Have you already met?”

Susan took a deep breath, eyes desperately pleading. Harry shook himself of his momentary stupor,
grinning wildly and stepping closer.

“Not at all.”

He reached forward, grabbing her stiff hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Hello, Susan. A pleasure to meet you.”

His mouth hovered above her knuckles, curved into a silver grin, eyes gleaming beneath the
chandeliers.

“I’m Harry.”

Hermione returned to the Home from her first day of work in a buzz of excitement. She’d been
exhausted when she first left the establishment, her skirt filled with extra coin from Snape. She’d
looked at him in confusion when he first handed it to her.

“The Madam informed me she will be taking half your wages off the top as overhead and to send
your bi-weekly cheques directly to her.”

Hermione blinked. Snape shook his head, eyes narrowed as he opened the till.

“I had a strong inkling the remaining funds would never make it to your hand, so I told her you
were earning half the actual amount. I will pay you the difference directly if you have no
objections.”

She blinked again, emotion swelling within her.

“That’s… very kind of you.”

“Paying my employees isn’t kind, it’s the law.” He withdrew a bag of coins and made a note on
his ledger, sliding the money across the counter. “Take it and leave. You’ve given me enough of a
migraine today.”

She’d accepted the payment with another round of thank-yous before he’d banished her with a
scowl, telling her to report back at the same time in two days. She reflected on the events of her day
during the carriage ride home, feeling overwhelming pride that she was finally employed, and in a
medical-related field, no less. She imagined what her parents might say…

She pressed a hand to her chest, shaking her head and gazing out the window as they rounded the
corner and the imposing structure of the Home came into view. She had the driver drop her off
directly in front, knowing Filch would no doubt be waiting up to report her arrival immediately to
the Matron.
As she paid the driver and spun around to face the main gate she felt a cold chill steel past. She
blinked in confusion, gazing around as it blew stray leaves and sticks along the pebbled driveway.
It was still summer, unseasonably sunny and warm at that, so the sudden drop in temperature
startled her.

She quickened her pace to the front door, some force compelling her to glance up at the gargoyles.
She swallowed thickly, feeling their hollow eyes upon her.

Then her gaze flickered down, to the large circular window of the attic, sealed off from the
residents. Supposedly it was nothing but storage space, caked in dust and cobwebs, easily
forgotten.

So the sight that met her eyes caused Hermione to stop dead in her tracks.

A girl stood at the window, deathly pale, cheeks gaunt, eyes dark and sunken.

And fixed squarely upon Hermione.

She released a slow breath, too transfixed upon the stranger to notice the cold plume of air it
created. Her heart thumped painfully against her breastbone. She closed her eyes. Counted silently
backward from five.

And then opened them.

The girl was gone.

The summer air once more warmed her chilled flesh.

She bit her lip, staring blankly at the door ahead.

It’s getting worse.

What am I going to do?

She fought back tears as she resumed her rapid pace inside.

The hallucinations started after she joined the Home. She thought they were just an extension of
the night terrors that plagued her since her parents’ deaths. But they didn’t align with her
nightmares, having nothing to do with the fire or her family.

No, instead she was plagued by ghastly visions of bloody, animated corpses, torn flesh, gaping
wounds, severed limbs… all belonging to strangers she was certain she’d never laid eyes upon
before.

It disturbed her to no end that her mind could concoct such horrific images of its own accord.
She’d never been exposed to such sights before, her parents never even allowed her to gaze upon
cadavers in the morgue. She had no idea where her subconscious derived such bloody imagery, or
why it did so in the first place.

But one thing was certain, she couldn't tell anyone.

The only thing more terrifying than being diagnosed with hysteria was being diagnosed with
insanity. Though they were more or less treated as one in the same, at least hysteria held the
possibility of a cure.

Instead, the insane were locked away in padded rooms for the duration of their short lives,
subjected to the most barbaric of practices to break their minds of the madness. From what little
she’d glimpsed in her parents’ medical books, the treatments were more likely to induce madness
than to cure it.

She didn’t want to even think about what they’d do to her if they knew she was experiencing such
violent hallucinations. She’d never see the sunlight again.

No, she was better off suffering in silence. At least then she could maintain her mediocome of
freedom. She’d rather be plagued by the haunting visions out in the open than continue to
experience them alone in a cell, strapped to a bed, imprisoned within a straightjacket.

She was so overcome by her panic that she didn’t notice the figure walking down the hall in the
opposite direction, their eyes downturned upon a bundle in their arms.

“Oh!” Hermione gasped, catching herself against the wall, gazing down at the sprawled figure
before her. “Luna! I’m so sorry!”

She quickly knelt down, reaching for the girl’s hand to help pull her up, then gasping anew at the
thick bandage covering it.

“What happened?”

Luna smiled, serene as ever, slowly lifting to her feet. “Oh, it’s nothing. I had an accident pruning a
rose bush. Lauma startled me.”

Hermione blinked, remembering the frantic sounding magpie she’d encountered the other day,
moments before Filch caught her sneaking into the kitchens. “Was she singing to you again?”

Luna tipped her head, leaning down to grab whatever she’d drop during the collision. “No, she was
a chocolate lop this time. She leaped on my foot. She didn’t mean to startle me, she apologized so
profusely afterward.”

Hermione examined the items in her hand, raising her brow.

“Where did you get the bandages?”

Luna peered down at the stack in her hand. “The Doctor was kind enough to provide me with
extras. I told him I preferred changing the dressing myself.” She glanced at the floor once more.
“But the iodine is a lost cause.”

Hermione glanced down as well, seeing the pool of plum colored liquid spread across the stone, an
unturned bottle on its side in the center of the mess.

“Oh, Luna, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“It’s quite alright. I lose focus all the time, especially after conversing with spirits.”

Hermione reared back, heart racing. “What?”

Luna knelt down and collected the empty bottle with casual grace. “I said I often lose focus as
well, especially after conversing with-”

“Spirits?”

The blonde stood upright and gazed upon her, blue eyes as calm as a placid lake.
“Yes.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, shaking her head, trying to pick a single
question in her chaotic mind to give voice to.

Luna tilted her head once more. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just assumed that’s what you were
doing.”

“Wha-” Hermione stopped short, mouth dry. “What are you talking about, Luna? Why would you
think I was talking to spirits?”

Her blue gaze shifted to some point just beyond Hermione’s shoulder and lost focus. “Your aura’s
been touched.” Her eyes brightened once more, snapping back to Hermione’s. “Why? Were you
doing something else? My injury might be affecting my sight.”

Hermione leaned against the wall, overwhelmed.

“Luna…” she ran a hand over her face. “I think I’m going insane.” She sighed deeply, shaking her
head. “And the scariest part is insanity may be the preferable option.”

The blonde stepped beside her, leaning against the wall as well, their shoulders touching.

“Why is that scary?”

Hermione glanced sideways at her, seeing no trace of humor in her expression, which in turn
caused Hermione to burst into a fit of hysterical giggles. Luna smiled as well, though it seemed to
be in amusement of Hermione versus the situation itself.

“I’m-” she gasped, caught somewhere between laughter and sobs, “I’m losing my mind.”

The girl reached out with her uninjured hand, brushing fallen curls away from Hermione’s face.

“You aren’t losing your mind, Hermione. You have the most solid grasp on your mind of anyone
I’ve ever known. With the exception of one of daddy’s old colleagues. He was an Egyptian doctor
who performed self-trepanation and actually touched his brain.”

Hermione blinked, staring at her for another heavy beat, then started laughing anew. But it was
calmer this time, born from a sense of release instead of a steady build. She took a deep breath,
tipping her head to the side to rest on her friend’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Luna. I feel better now. I think.”

“You’re welcome. I am very good at making people laugh.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed briefly, imagining her friend was used to being the butt of cruel jests, a
source of mean amusement. “You are very good at seeing the good in all things. I envy you that. I
would give anything to find a silver lining to these hallucinations.”

She felt Luna gaze down at her. “What if they aren’t hallucinations?”

Hermione blinked, pulling back. “Of course they are, Luna. I’m seeing…” she swallowed heavily.
“I’m seeing horrific things, I can’t even describe them to you without feeling sick to my stomach.”

Luna tipped her head. “Why are you so certain they aren’t real?”

“Because no one else can see them.”

“Maybe that’s because they only want your attention.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold. She stepped away from the blonde, gooseflesh spreading up her arms.

“I-” she took a deep breath, “I don’t think so, Luna. I don’t believe in those things. If something
were trying to communicate it would be better off reaching out to you.”

She felt like she was going to burst out of her skin, a storm brewing just beneath the surface, even
more unsettling in the wake of Luna’s completely composed demeanor.

The blonde shrugged one shoulder.

“Maybe you’re the only one who can help.”

Hermione closed her mouth, certain her heart would spill free as it steadily climbed up her throat.
Luna glanced casually to the bottle in her hand, unencumbered by the crippling dread and anxiety
pressing against Hermione’s chest.

“I have to go get more iodine from the clinic, the Doctor will be leaving soon-”

“I’ll go.”

Hermione blinked, taken aback by her own declaration. Luna glanced at her with a smile. “That’s
alright, I can-”

“No, really, let me.” Hermione stepped forward, gently taking the bottle from her loose grip. “I
caused you to spill it, it’s only fair I fetch you a new one.”

Luna’s eyes flickered between Hermione’s, making her feel even more unsettled. With Luna’s
jaunts into the fantasy world, it was easy to forget how astute the girl was, how sharp-witted.
Hermione felt warmth blossom across her chest and neck as Luna’s searching gaze settled, as
though she found what she was looking for.

“Alright then.”

They stared at each other for another heavy beat. Hermione broke away first, stepping back on
shaky knees, forcing a smile.

“Okay, I’ll bring the bottle to your room before bed.”

Luna stared at her silently as she started to walk away. But after she took a few steps her friend
called her attention back.

“Hermione.”

She stopped, spinning around with a nervous jerk. Luna’s voice held an uncharacteristic weight,
sinking Hermione’s feet into the earth, trapping her in place.

“Please, be careful.”

Hermione blinked, spine going rigid. She knew she should ask the other woman what she meant by
the warning, but on some level she feared she already understood. She didn’t want to think about it
too deeply. She didn’t want to think about it at all. She just wanted to feel. To escape this harsh
reality for a few blessed moments.

She swallowed, nodding once. “I will.”

And then she slowly spun on her heel and resumed her path, pulled along by some invisible thread
to the last place she knew she should be headed.

Yet the one place she longed to be.

The clinic.
 Interlopers

A secret is only a secret when it is unspoken to another.

. . .

“Hello, Susan. A pleasure to meet you.”

Harry’s mouth hovered above her knuckles, curving into a silver grin, his eyes gleaming beneath
the chandeliers.

“I’m Harry.”

She blinked, jolting out of her panicked reverie. She dipped down into a half curtsy, swaying
lightly.

“Hello, Harry.”

They held each other’s gaze a moment longer before he released her. She took an automatic step
back, shifting awkwardly. Harry held her steady in his sights, mind rampant with churning
thoughts.

What were the chances?

He met the police commissioner’s daughter in a smoke-addled opium den, half dressed, sprawled
beside Cormac Fucking McLaggen two bloody days ago.

And now she stood before him, adorned in a fine silk dress with her hair immaculately styled, a
creature from another world.

His assumption at the den had been accurate. She was fascinating, brimming with secrets, just like
him. He imagined she’d offer superbly interesting conversation.

And he knew just where to start.

She must have read the look in his eyes, for her next words were directed to the man still glancing
awkwardly between them.

“Ron,” she smiled over her shoulder. “Would you mind grabbing me a wine from the bar?”

He blinked, spine straightening. “Oh, um, yeah, of course.”

He glanced at Harry, eyes bright and hopeful.

Christ.

Ron liked her.

Harry didn’t have a good feeling about this.

He watched his best mate spin on his heel, heading into the throng of bar patrons. Susan sighed,
gaining his attention.

“Please, don’t say anything.”

“I didn’t intend to,” he pinned her with an intense stare. “But don’t lead my friend on. He’s a good
guy, he doesn’t deserve to be strung along if you’ve got something going on with McL-”

“Shh!” She burst forward, stepping close. “Don’t say his name! You just said you weren’t going to
mention it!”

“I won’t, but I need to ask you a few questions first.”

She narrowed her gaze, glancing around nervously. “About what?”

He tipped his head towards the outside balcony. “Let’s step out if you want to avoid anyone
overhearing.”

She bit her lip, stepping back. “And if I refuse?”

Harry raised a dark brow. “You have every right to do that. I won’t force you.” He stepped
forward, his chest nearly bumping hers. “But on this particular occasion I’m seeking information
on behalf of my friend, concerning a missing girl no less, so I’m extra motivated to get answers. If
you don’t have them, then my next stop is your father-”

“Are you threatening me?” She seethed through her teeth.

He smirked. “Not at all. Your father is the new police commissioner, head of the criminal
investigation unit, yes? It only makes sense I report a potential crime to him.”

She blinked, setting back on her heels. “You bloody wanker…” she muttered, glancing around
once more.

Harry fought back a laugh.

Okay, she was growing on him…

“Alright, come on.” She grabbed a handful of her skirts and began a quick path to the double
doors. He followed in her wake, glancing over his shoulder as well, feeling a sudden thrill along
his spine, as though he were being watched…

He didn’t see any eyes fixed directly upon him, but he didn’t really care if anyone witnessed him
walking outside with Susan. It was easy enough to brush off with as innocent an excuse as they
needed fresh air. What was that thing doctors claimed women got in crowded rooms? It drove
Hermione batty… oh yes, vapors.

He slipped outside and shut the door behind them, glancing up to see a few people milling about,
hushed conversations taking place in the darkened alcoves. They paid the new arrivals no mind.

Susan stormed into an empty corner, skirts swishing violently, before spinning on her heel in a huff
of annoyance. “Listen here,” she began without preamble, “I told you when we first met, I’m not
what you think I am-”

“And I told you I make no assumptions.”

She stopped short, blinking. “No one can know about me and McLaggen, got it?”

Harry nodded. “Got it.”

Her eyes flickered between his for a few more moments. “I’m not-” she stopped, swallowing
lightly and glancing away. “I’m not some immoral floozy.”
He tilted his head. “I didn’t think you were.”

She scoffed. “Sure.”

“I think you’re an addict.”

Her eyes widened and snapped back to his, face paling. “What?”

“But it’s really none of my business, so I don’t care either way.”

She blinked rapidly, gaping in outrage, but her eyes held a hollow sadness that was all the answer
he needed. Still, he could sense a battle royale on the horizon, her anger set to boil. He held up a
staying hand.

“I just need to ask you a couple questions and then I’ll be out of your hair for good. You don’t have
to worry about me offending you any further.”

She clamped her mouth shut, eyes narrowing. He pushed ahead before she stormed off entirely.

“Do you know where I can find him?”

She blinked, looking thrown for a moment. “Find… McLaggen?”

He nodded. She shook her head, looking more outraged than before he asked. “No, I don’t. I’m not
with him-”

“Okay, but do you have any idea where I can find him?”

She stewed for a few seconds more before forcing out a bitter, “No.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, making a few piece stand completely upright.

“Alright…” He shook his head. “My next question may sound a bit off the wall unless you know
what I’m talking about, which will be bloody fantastic, but my hopes aren’t high.”

She raised a brow, her eyes betraying a look of intrigue though her expression remained guarded.

He reached into his inner coat lining and withdrew the skeleton key, holding it in his palm before
her, his eyes carefully cataloging every minute facial movement, gauging her reaction carefully.

She blinked, tilting her head and examining the ornate key from a distance before glancing up.
“What is that?”

He deflated, her curiosity seemed genuine.

“You’ve never seen anything like this before?”

She shook her head. “No. Should I have?”

He slipped it back into his coat. “Probably not.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“No.”

“But McLaggen does?”

Harry shrugged slightly, leaning back against the balcony ledge. “Yes, but I can’t find the stupid
shite.”

She sighed, glancing away. He assumed she storm off now and was surprised when she stepped
closer, voice low. “That girl you asked me about, Lavender something?”

His heart rate increased. He leaned in. “Lavender Brown.”

She bit her lip, looking hesitant. Harry felt a thrill seize him, something important within grasp.

“She’s still missing?”

“Yes.”

She fell silent again. Harry was getting impatient. “Susan, do you know Lavender?”

She shook her head quickly, eyes snapping to his. “No. I don’t. But I think, maybe, I’ve heard her
name before… at the-” she stopped short.

He nodded sharply, indifferent to her embarrassment or shame, the information too vital. “You
think you heard her name at the opium den?”

She cringed but nodded. “I think I heard one of the other girls mention her, saying she was chosen,
that she was lucky.”

Harry blinked. “Chosen? Do you know what she was talking about?”

Susan glanced down. “A lot of those girls are companions. They’re there for a different reason
than I am. They don’t confide in me much. I just overheard that bit, I think anyway. I don’t know
anything else.”

Harry swallowed, taking a deep breath and leaning back again. “Thank you, Susan. Any
information is better than none. I appreciate it.”

She glanced up, her hesitant expression a far cry from the outspoken woman who ordered him
around a few minutes ago. “You won’t tell anyone about what you saw?”

Harry held her gaze steady. “I won’t. You have my word.”

She released a small breath and stepped back.

“Thank you.”

And then she was darting away, skirts trailing behind her before disappearing back into the main
room.

Harry sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

This was just great.

He’d lost track of his one viable lead and now he had a key burning a hole in his pocket and no
bloody idea what to do with it.

He put his glasses back on, watching the only remaining couple on the balcony head inside as well.
He basked in the peaceful solitude, nothing but the bustling street below and the moon and stars
above.
He turned around, leaning against the ledge to gaze at the buildings ahead, the carriages milling
around between them, as he tried to decide what the hell to do next.

The door opened behind him, followed by the sound of footsteps. Harry stepped away from the
railing, reluctantly turning back around to head inside-

His heart skipped a beat, muscles turning to stone as though he had locked eyes with Medusa
herself.

“Potter.”

Harry blinked, releasing a short breath.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“I have appearances to keep as well, social obligations.”

Harry’s eyes flickered between theirs. “You came with a date.”

“As I said, appearances to keep.”

His jaw ticked. “Is it serious?”

They tipped their head, eyes roaming his body from bottom to top. “Is it serious between you and
the girl you snuck out here with?”

Harry raised a brow. “Susan?”

Their eyes flashed. “Who is she?”

“She’s not important.”

“Whatever you were talking about looked important.”

“It was. But she isn’t. Not to me.”

The silence that followed was deafening, sweltering, all-consuming. And then it broke.

They leaped at the same time, a perfect harmony of two desperate bodies in motion, closing the
chasm that divided them and colliding in a fit of grasping hands and hungry mouths. They
staggered into the shadows, out of view of the balcony doors, and battled for dominance over the
other.

Harry lost track of time, lost track of reality. All that existed was the warm body before him, the
throbbing pulse beneath his tongue, the salty expanse of taut skin-

The door swung open.

They sprung apart.

Harry swallowed heavily, spinning on his heal and facing the street, straightening his lapels, his
cravat, running a shaking hand through his hair.

“Bloody hell, there you are,” spoke a familiar voice, heavy footsteps sounding behind him.
“Already hiding? Oh, didn’t see you there Potter. You hiding, too?”
Harry tried to regulate his breathing, glancing over his shoulder at the new addition.

“Guilty.” His voice sounded thick, foreign to his ears. He cleared his throat, turning around fully.
“Actually, I have a question for you Zabini.”

Blaise raised his brow, as well as his newly filled glass to his lips.

“A question for me? This should be good.”

Harry reached into his coat once more, his emerald gaze flickering to the other person on the
balcony, casually leaning against the railing, face flush and eyes gleaming.

“I have a question for both of you.”

He pulled the key free, dangling it by the red ribbon before their eyes. He knew he hit gold when
they both went rigid, gazes firmly locked on the item in question. Blaise blinked, then to Harry’s
great surprise and dismay, he started to laugh, the sound rich, deep and ominous.

“Fucking hell, Potter. You can’t just pull that out in the middle of a party, for the Scotland fucking
Yard no less-”

“I take it you know what this is then?”

Blaise tipped his head, laughter fading but his smirk remaining. “Yes, do you?”

“No, I don’t. But you’re going to tell me. Right now.”

Blaise sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Only you, Potter…” then glanced over his shoulder.
“You want to take this one, Theo?”

Hermione took a deep breath as she came to a stop outside the clinic door. She clutched the empty
iodine bottle so tightly in her hand she feared the glass would break.

Her Matron’s words rang through her head, as clear as if she stood within the whimsical office of
doom across from the she-beast herself.

“Stay away from Doctor Riddle.”

Hermione had no idea why the woman felt compelled to instill such a warning.

Such a command.

But she’d stayed up late into the night replaying the encounter over and over in her head, searching
out some hidden meaning, some deeper message.

By morning all she knew for certain was she desperately wanted to rebel against those orders.

Is that what I’m doing here?

She bit her lip, shuffling on her feet.

I should have let Luna come to replace the bottle.

But you spilled it. It’s only polite you fetch her a new one.

Is that really your justification?

She swallowed thickly, closing her eyes.

I shouldn’t have come…

And yet her arm raised of its own volition and pushed the door open.

She opened her eyes. The interior was masked in low light, the gas lanterns along the walls burning
dimly. She held her breath and stepped inside. She heard no movement, saw nothing but the
dancing shadows.

She stepped inside, hovering just past the threshold for a long moment before turning and closing
the door behind her.

The click was deafening. She placed her palm against the wood for a moment, swallowing again.

“May I help you?”

She spun around, facing the desk. But she didn’t see the owner of the deep voice.

She blinked, glancing around, and then she spotted him, facing the windows at the far corner, once
again with his back to her while he read something in his hands.

“I-” she stopped short, taking a deep breath.

Her one syllable seemed to have a strange effect upon him. His spine straightened, shoulders
drawing back, his entire body tensing before her eyes. He glanced up sharply from whatever he
was holding, staring straight ahead at the foggy window pane.

She felt frozen as well, heart climbing up her throat as he continued to face away.

“I’m sorry to bother you so late…” she swallowed lightly, feeling inexplicably foolish. “I need a
bottle of iodine.”

The world was static, all its inhabitants moving in slow motion. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears at
half speed and her breathing slowed as she watched the Doctor turn around frame by frame, like a
film strip being fed through a praxinoscope.

“Ms. Granger.”

His voice was deeper than usual. Her entire body throbbed. She was disturbed by her reaction.

“Yes.” She briefly closed her eyes, mortified by her response.

“I have a feeling the bottle is not for your own personal use.”

She stared at him once more, heart beating fast as she saw he’d turned around, awarding her his full
attention.

“No, it’s for my friend.”

“Luna.”

She blinked. Then flushed at her own stupidity. Of course he knew Luna, he’d treated her hand for
goodness sake. She felt like her mind was slipping the longer she lingered in his presence.

“Yes. I accidentally knocked her bottle to the ground and spilled the contents. I’m terribly sorry, I
am happy to have the expense added to my account-”

“Are you always this contrite?”

She blinked again, flushing deeper. “Yes.”

He smirked, the low light casting most of his face into shadow but his eyes burned brightly.

“Another thing you must work on. Come, let us fetch you a new bottle.”

She couldn’t prevent her lips from curving into a smile. She was used to receiving admonishments
from most everyone in her life, from the advice of well-meaning friends to Snape’s blistering
remarks, and of course Umbridge’s hateful derision.

But Doctor Riddle’s comments affected her differently. She didn’t take them as an insult and she
didn’t brush them off. She found herself cataloging each one, storing them at the forefront of her
mind for later reflection, later obsession.

She took a deep breath as she forced her legs into motion, cutting a path towards the cabinet,
following in his wake. He opened the large doors and reached inside without hesitation, grabbing a
bottle from the pit of darkness. She was impressed he’d already memorized the inventory layout.
The layout she’d designed.

He turned around, a cloud of his scent wafting over her. She blinked rapidly, trying to discern the
different notes. She smelled a heady arrangement of earthy wood and fresh citrus. And suddenly
her mouth was in motion without permission from her brain.

“Do you wear cologne?”

She blinked, face aflame in embarrassment.

Bloody hell, I did not just ask him that!

She swallowed convulsively as he raised a dark brow, his expression betraying great amusement,
either at her question or her obvious reaction to it.

“I just- I smell bergamot and sambac, and I’m used to more medicinal scents in the clinic.”

She clamped her mouth shut, willing the ground to open wide and swallow her whole.

His smirk merely grew. “You have a keen nose, Ms. Granger. I was mixing tonics earlier.
Bergamot is good for lowering fever and sambac can be used as an antiseptic and sedative. I also
ground up plums and cedar leaves.”

She bit her lip, his scent invading her nasal passage further at his words. Yes, she could smell the
clean and sweet notes now that he’d mentioned them…

It was a divine combination.

She swallowed lightly, still plagued by a full body blush. “I didn’t realize you made your own
tonics.”

“I like to have alternative options on hand for those who are either sensitive or allergic to typical
medicines.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s a good idea.”

His eyes gleamed brighter than the lanterns at their backs. “I’ve been known to have those on
occasion.”

The entire exchange was so mortifying that she came out the other side, immune to any additional
embarrassment at this point. She laughed, shoulders relaxing.

“I think I’ve met my quota for the day, only poor decisions for the remainder of the night.”

He tipped his head, eyes rendering her motionless. “Is that so?”

“Yes. After I leave here I think I’ll climb up to the roof, gaze at the stars. Perhaps invite Filch to
join me.”

He tipped his head back and laughed, the sound beautiful and deadly all at once, for it caused her
heart to seize in her chest, dimming her vision at the corners.

“I think there is far more appealing company to share such an adventure with, but to each their
own, I suppose.”

She smiled, chest swelling at his teasing banter. This was her favorite version of the Doctor. For
she had a feeling very few were allowed to witness it. She felt a strong sense of pride at being able
to coax it out of him.

Such a feeling was dangerous, she knew, but she couldn’t find it within herself to care. Not right
now. Not in his company.

And suddenly she found her mouth moving of its own accord once more, hardly aware of what she
was saying.

“One night, when I was young, my father woke me in the middle of the night. He was so excited to
show me something, but he wouldn’t tell me what it was. He took me outside and pointed to a
ladder leaning against the side of the house. My mother nearly had a conniption but he convinced
her to allow me to climb it. When we got to the roof he pointed into the sky and-”

She stopped short, heart lurching painfully. She swallowed, shaking her head. “I- never mind, I
don’t know why I-”

“What did you see?”

She blinked, gazing up at the Doctor. His eyes were a raging storm. She stood in the eye of the
hurricane, the walls around her trembling, set to tumble down any moment.

“I saw an explosion of color. Greens, blues, purples and reds, crashing like waves over the stars. I
thought I was seeing the gateway to heaven. I asked my father if that’s what it was.” She smiled
fondly, remembering the way the lights reflected in her father’s gleaming gaze, making him seem
an otherworldly creature kneeled at her side.

“He explained geomagnetism to me. I was quite tired so I retained only half the information, I’m
sure. But I remember him saying there was an intense disturbance that caused a low latitude
aurora. He said it could be seen all over the world, that there was a little girl standing on her roof
on the opposite end of the globe watching the event just as I was.”

She swallowed thickly. “It was such a profound moment. I was too young to comprehend it fully.
But I still think about it every time I gaze into the night sky. Wondering how many others are
staring at those very stars at that very moment, feeling just as I do.”
She took a shaky breath, coming back to reality, the force of his gaze weighting her limbs,
quickening her pulse and slowing her thoughts.

“And how do you feel?”

Her entire body pulsated with the next throbbing heartbeat.

“Tiny. Inconsequential compared to the vast cosmos above and below.” She was afraid to blink,
afraid to lose whatever magic held them firmly in this moment.

His presence seemed to swell, his spine stretching and limbs lengthening, chest expanding until he
filled every corner of her vision, blocking out the flickering glow of the lanterns, the steady beam
of moonlight, and casting her world into darkness. Her entire existence centered on his next breath,
his next word.

“Frightening, is it not?”

His simple question was tinged with hidden meaning. A private message for her alone to decode.
She responded on instinct.

“No. It’s liberating.”

She didn’t feel herself move, didn’t see him move, but suddenly they were standing so close to one
another she could feel his steady breath on her face, causing loose strands of hair to dance along
her neck and chest.

Heat radiated from his body. She absorbed it hungrily, soaked it in greedily, basked in it.

He tilted his head slowly, face tipping down, eyes studying her carefully as their mouths aligned,
separated by a narrow abyss.

“You don’t belong here, Hermione.”

His low spoken words triggered a great transformation within her. Her skin split at the jagged
seams, tearing apart and falling away in shreds. She burst through, shedding the outer layer that
kept her trapped and dormant for so long. She stood before him, dripping the remnants of her old
self like blood onto the stone floor.

“Neither do you.”

His eyes flickered between hers, the conviction in her voice brokering no room for argument.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” he whispered, words glancing off her lips and spilling
down her chin.

“I don’t know the circumstances that led you to take this job. But I know you’re not happy here.
No one is happy here. And therefore you don’t belong anymore that I do.”

His eyes turned wild, feral. She could see lightning striking within their depths, could count the
bolts.

And then he surged forward.

She gasped, head tipping back to maintain his gaze. She braced herself for impact, for attack, for
whatever came next…
He inhaled sharply, his entire body jerking back as though an invisible leash ripped it away. He
blinked rapidly, running a hand over his face, Adam's apple bobbing heavily as he swallowed.

She staggered back, the force of his reaction awakening her from whatever dark trance took root
within her.

It took him several moments to collect himself, shoulders tense, eyes guarded and narrowed as
though presented with some great problem. She blushed hotly beneath such scrutiny, this new
examination unsettling.

“I… I’m-”

“Your iodine.”

She blinked, eyes alighting on the bottle he held out between them. His posture remained stiff but
he’d regained his composure, the invisible wall erected between them once more, solid and
impenetrable.

She took the bottle mutely, eyes averted down, chest quaking with remnants of the storm. She
swallowed before attempting to speak.

“Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence that prompted her to glance up, nervous, hopeful.

“It is late, Ms. Granger. You should head to your dorm.”

She nodded but remained frozen in place, feet not obeying her commands. He stepped back, putting
more distance between them.

“Allow me to escort you out.”

His clipped words triggered the deep ache within her chest. She fought the urge to press her hand
against it as she slowly followed a few feet behind as he led her to the doors. He gripped the
handle but didn’t pull. Instead, his entire body went taut as a strung bow, gaze fixed firmly ahead,
expression hidden from view.

“We are both interlopers, brought to this place because of circumstances beyond our control.” His
words deepened the ache. “That doesn’t mean we have to play the role of passive bystander.”

She swayed on her feet from her place just behind him. And then he released the handle, turning to
face her once more. His eyes were glowing, magnetic, sweeping her out to sea, pulling her beneath
their depths.

“If the walls refuse to hold you, tear them down. Build a new fortress atop the ruins, with your
name carved into the very foundation.”

He made no move in her direction and yet seemed to tower above her. She forgot how to breathe.

“Do not compromise. Take it all.”

Her heartbeat reverberated in every limb, vision becoming cloudy. She felt him all around her, yet
he remained miles away.

And then he opened the door.

“Goodnight, Ms. Granger.”

She moved jerkily towards the threshold, hands trembling, the full bottle nearly slipping from her
grasp.

“Goodnight, Doctor,” she managed to force from her tightened throat before darting away, out of
the clinic, cheeks aflame.

But not with embarrassment.

No, Hermione burned with something else entirely.

And it frightened her.

Because she enjoyed it so.

“How the hell did you come by that, Potter?”

Harry cringed at the derision in Theo’s voice, the flatness of it, so different in public than behind
closed doors. He pushed past the tightening in his chest.

“What the hell is it?”

Theo glared, unamused. “It’s a ticket into a very exclusive club.”

Harry blinked, staring down at the key dangling from his fingers.

“Fucking Christ, put it away,” Blaise hissed, his smile fading. “You want the entire party to see
you holding that?”

“I don’t even know what that is.” Harry slid the offending item back into his coat.

Blaise shook his head, rolling his eyes toward the sky. “You really do accept invitations without
having a bloody clue what they’re for.”

He narrowed his emerald gaze. “Will one of you tell me what the hell you’re on about?”

“First tell us how you came by the key,” Theo said, stepping away from the railing, closer to Harry
and Blaise.

Harry made a concerted effort to feet his feet in place, his natural instinct to step closer or put more
distance between them so he wasn’t tempted to step closer.

“I purchased it off a bookie. Nice guy.”

Theo rolled his eyes and Blaise laughed. “Never knew you had it in you, Potter,” the latter said,
taking another swig of his drink.

“Why the hell did you purchase it if you don’t know what it is?”

Harry took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose, gaze locked with his sometimes-lover.
Theo raised a challenging brow, shoulders tense, a look Harry recognized well.

He knew he wasn’t getting answers from the man until he provided a few of his own. He trusted
Theo, he just wasn’t sure about Blaise…
“Come on, Potter, you can’t hold out on us now,” the man in question teased. “How did the Golden
Boy himself come to own such a sordid little trinket?”

Harry’s spine straightened, not appreciating the mocking nickname or the implication about the
key. His worst fears were starting to find solid ground.

“I’m looking for someone.” He held Theo’s gaze steady. “A missing girl.”

He saw the spark of recognition ignite in the depths of his sapphire eyes. Theo no doubt recalled
Hermione’s visit to Grimmauld a few days prior, her plea to Harry regarding her missing friend.

“And your search led you to that?” He gestured at Harry’s chest, to the item hidden within.

“The key is the end result, yes. I had no idea what the hell I was buying, only that it leads to the
girl.” He paused, glancing between the men, matching expressions of intrigue clear on their face.
“Now tell me what the hell it means.”

Just then the doors to the balcony sprung open.

“Fucking hell…” Harry muttered, rubbing his eyes, the sounds of new footsteps joining the chorus
of voices emerging from the main room.

“Talk about shite timing,” Blaise laughed under his breath. “Oh, what are the chances, hello
Drake.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open, Draco’s scowling visage filling his vision.

“What the bloody hell is this? Some great meeting of the minds I’m not privy to? Are you all out
here discussing the global ramifications of India joining the British Empire?”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the love of God, Malfoy shut the fuck up.”

Blaise choked on his heavy swig, doubling over.

“Pardon my interruption, Potter. Please, proceed with your discussion. It looks positively riveting.”

“Draco?” A new voice joined the fold, emerging through the open door. “What are you- oh, what
the hell is everyone doing out here?”

“For the love of Christ.” Harry groaned, shaking his head as Pansy stepped outside, closing the
door behind her.

“Good to see you, too, arsehole.”

“Don’t be offended, Pans, Potter is only talking to us because he needs something,” Blaise said,
voice strained and eyes red from his coughing fit.

She raised a dark manicured brow. “Is that so? This should be good.”

“Can the two of you go back inside, please?”

“Are you serious?” Draco laughed without humor. “I’m not going anywhere now you sodding
Shanker.”

“Bloody hell,” Theo snapped. “Will everyone shut the hell up for two goddamn seconds?”
Everyone glanced at him in surprise.

“Harry, if you’re really trying to find this girl then you need all the help you can get. Besides, you
know as well as I do that telling one of us is the same as telling all of us. Especially where Blaise is
concerned.”

“I reflect that comment.”

Theo didn’t spare the man a glance, holding Harry’s emerald gaze steady for several heavy beats.
Harry finally blinked, nodding once.

“Fine then.”

“Wait, find what girl?” Draco asked, earlier derision forgotten.

Harry sighed, facing the others. “Someone went missing from the Girl’s Home on Bromley-”

“What?” Draco stepped forward, causing Harry to step back instinctively. “Is Granger okay?”

Pansy scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes. “Bloody hell, you pathetic wanker. If she wasn’t, do you
really think Potter would be here tonight? He’d be out tearing the city apart by hand like a knuckle-
dragging Neanderthal.”

Theo cocked his head to the side, gaze roaming Harry’s face. “True enough.”

Draco’s expression looked no less tense. “She’s okay?”

“Yes, Mione’s fine. Physically at least.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Bloody hell, Drake, calm down-”

Draco snapped his head around, silencing Balise with a lethal glare before facing Harry once more.

“What’s happened?”

“For Christ’s sake, Malfoy. Step back and I’ll tell you.”

Draco blinked, face and body taut, but he took a reluctant step back. Then another. Harry sighed,
glancing at the group in turn.

“I wasn’t keen on this information spreading, I don’t want to bring harm to the missing girl or
make the situation any worse. What I tell you tonight must remain between us, do you
understand?”

“We understand, now fucking talk-”

“I know that you understand, idiot. But not everyone here is motivated by their obsession with
Hermione.”

Draco reared back, eyes bright with flame. He opened his mouth but before he could spew venom
Pansy elbowed him in the side.

“Fucking hell, we won’t spread any gossip, Potter. I doubt it’s even interesting enough to share.”
“I don’t know about that, luv,” Blaise shot her a wink. “He has a Black Key.”

Pansy blinked. Then her head snapped round to Harry.

“No bloody way.”

Harry’s pressure headache was really gaining momentum.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell the Key is all about?”

Theo sighed deeply. “Harry, tell us how you came by it and we’ll tell you what we know,” He
pinned Blaise with a meaningful look. “We all agree not to breathe a word about this to anyone.”
He glanced at Harry once more. He was standing close. Too close. “And then we’ll help you as
best we can.”

“Um, I never agreed to that-”

“Shut up, Pans.”

She scowled, crossing her arms but falling silent. Harry swallowed heavily, nodding to Theo.

“Mione’s roommate went missing from the Home a few days ago. No one knows where she is and
they’re not searching for her, the Matron’s labeled her a runaway. But Hermione swore to me that’s
not the case, and the more shite I uncover the more I believe her.”

“What has that got to do with a Black Key?” Pansy asked, her annoyed tone doing little to
undermine the curiosity brimming in her narrowed gaze.

“Mione told me about a guy she runs around with.”

Draco jolted. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Not Mione, you fucking knob. He messes around with Lavender, her roommate, the missing girl.”

“And this guy led you to the Key?” Theo prompted.

“Yes. But now I can’t find the idiot to question him about it. Hence this unbearably frustrating
conversation.”

“I didn’t think I’d be saying this, but I am so fucking glad I came to this party.”

Harry scowled. “Enough bullshite, Zabini. You and Theo obviously know what the key is, I take it
Parkinson knows about it, too.”

“You really have a Black Key?” she asked, tilting her head, inspecting his person as though it
would materialize out of thin air.

“Yes, I really have one. Now someone fucking talk!”

“The Key grants you access to Amortentia,” Theo said, gaze intense.

Harry blinked. “Amort-what?”

“Amortentia,” Pansy repeated, looking far more intrigued than she had moments ago. “A private
Club in Knightsbridge.”
Harry glanced between them, preparing his next question when Draco cut him off.

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me.”

“Why?” Harry raised a brow. “Have you heard of it, too?”

Draco shook his head, glancing between the group, his eyes landing on Theo.

“Since when are there Keys?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “There’s always been Keys, you fucking ponce. Not everyone is related to the
owner.”

Harry’s heart lurched. “You’re related to the owner?”

Draco scowled at him over his shoulder. “So are you, thanks to your bloody adoption.”

Harry paled, taking a step back, as though distancing himself from the truth. “Wait, don’t tell me-”

“Dear Aunt Bella and Uncle Fucking Rod are part owners, yes.”

Blaise started to laugh anew. “I am so bloody happy I came tonight.”

“Shut up!” Harry and Draco shouted as one, glaring at the man.

“That was disturbing,” Pansy muttered, straightening her skirts without a care in the world. “So are
we going or not?”

“What?” Draco asked, glancing sharply at her.

She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t we? Potter has a Key, you have a blood relation, surely that’s
enough to get the rest of us in.”

Theo shook his head. “That’s a bloody terrible idea, tell them, Potter.” He glanced at Harry, then
scowled. “Fuck. Don’t even say it-”

“I need to get a look at the place,” he said, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I need to see if
Lavender’s there.”

“Excellent!” Pansy said with exuberant cheer, clapping her palms together. “It’s settled then. We’ll
all head over-”

“That’s not what I said-”

“Honestly, Potter,” Blaise cut in, “You can’t expect to just leave us here.”

“That’s exactly what I can expect to do-”

“This Lavender chit,” Draco interrupted, voice steady and loud, silencing the quartet. “She’s
important to Granger?”

Harry held his gaze. “Yes.”

Draco was silent for a long beat before finally backing away towards the door.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Malfoy-”

“Just try and stop me, Potter.”

“If Drake’s going then I’m definitely going.”

“If Blaise is going then I’m coming!” Pansy snapped, spinning on her heel and marching towards
the door in Draco’s wake.

As the three disappeared back into the main room Harry rubbed at his eyes once more, groaning.

“What the fuck just happened?”

He heard footsteps slowly draw near, stopping just to his right. Then a hand was pressed to his
shoulder, fingers lightly squeezing. Harry glanced up.

“See what happens when you play knight in shining armor, Potter?”

Harry stared at his mouth as he spoke, heart thudding painfully.

“I can’t seem to help myself.”

“I know. That’s what I like about you.”

Harry sighed, pulling his gaze up to meet Theo’s.

“You’re coming, too, I take it?”

He arched a dark brow, a coy smirk transforming his face into something devastatingly beautiful.
“Potter, God himself couldn’t prevent me from witnessing this shit show play out.”

Hermione knocked gently on the door, still a scattered mess from her earlier encounter with the
Doctor.

“Come in.” The pleasant voice rang out, a soothing balm to her raw nerves.

Hermione opened the door and slipped inside the dimly lit room, the gentle flicker of a candle
flame the only light source.

“Hello, I brought you the iodine,” Hermione half whispered, glancing around the room for the
second occupant.

“Where’s Hannah?”

“She should be coming to bed soon.” Luna tucked her knees beneath her from her spot on the bed,
marking the page of whatever book she held and setting it aside. “She was kind enough to finish
pruning the rose bushes after I injured myself. It put her behind on the rest of her chores.”

Hermione sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, setting the bottle on the side table.

“How is your hand?”

Luna held it aloft, turning it over as they both gazed upon it.

“It’s fine.”
“May I take a look?”

Luna smiled. “Of course.”

Hermione turned to face her fully, smoothing out her skirts and patting her lap, prompting Luna to
lay her palm in the center facing up.

Hermione began to gently unwind the gauze bandages.

“My mother taught me to treat cuts when I was very young. She took me with her to volunteer at
the hospitals when I got older. She let me change dressings for cuts and burns.” She glanced up,
meeting Luna’s gaze. “I promise, I know what I’m doing.”

Luna tilted her head. “I trust you.”

Hermione smiled in response, turning her focus back to the delicate hand in her grasp. “I should
have asked Doctor Riddle for honey…” she muttered, inspecting the gash as the dressing was
removed.

“Honey?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Honey has been used to promote healing since before Van Leeuwenhoek
discovered bacteria. It reduces the chance of infection and inflammation, as well as helping
dressings stay in place. Perhaps I can run down to the kitchens later.”

Luna tilted her head the other way, watching Hermione work.

“Did your mother teach you that as well?”

Hermione nodded, reaching for the iodine. “Yes. Between her and my father, there was hardly a
medical fact that went unknown in our household. It could be quite overwhelming at times.”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione shrugged lightly, uncorking the bottle. “I wanted to make them both proud, I studied
night and day, trying to absorb as much knowledge as I could. I was so terrified of not meeting
their expectations. Not that they’d ever be disappointed in me. Perhaps I feared disappointing
myself.”

She swallowed lightly, a sense of hollowness taking hold. “I suppose in the end it was all for
naught. They won't see what becomes of me either way.”

“That’s not true.” Luna reached out with her uninjured hand, resting it atop Hermione's knee buried
under the mounds of skirts. “I’m sure they’re still watching you, Hermione. They would be so
proud of you.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “That’s sweet, Luna.”

“You don’t believe me?”

She sighed. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

There was a heavy beat of silence before the blonde spoke again. “I never knew my mother.”

Hermione glanced up sharply, the gentle admission taking her off guard. She’s never spoken to
Luna about her past. She found herself immensely curious.
“No?”

She shook her head. “She died giving birth to me. Daddy said that I look just like her. A mirror
image.”

Hermione held her breath, filled with emotion but not wanting to interrupt.

“He had a photograph of her he kept on his desk. It was taken just after they married, the day they
found out they were expecting me. She said it was the happiest day of her life. He paid to have her
picture taken so he could capture the emotion on her face. He said it was the most radiant she’d
ever looked. The most beautiful. Like an angel descended from heaven.”

Hermione struggled to breathe normally, her throat tightening. Luna’s gaze became unfocused,
drifting slightly.

“I like to think that they’re together now. Even if they aren’t watching me, that’s okay. As long as
they get to be happy wherever they are.”

Hermione blinked, biting her lip. “May I ask how he died?”

Luna looked remarkably composed, but her eyes betrayed an emotion Hermione wasn’t used to
seeing on the persistently happy girl.

“He was shot.”

Hermione reared back. “Shot?”

“Yes. With a gun.”

“I-” she stopped short, shaking her head. “Who, I mean, why?”

Luna shrugged lightly. “I don’t know the answer to either of those questions. Daddy was working
late one night and never came home. I went to the office to see if he was alright and found him
lying in a pool of blood.”

Hermione clutched the hand resting on her knee. “Luna, I’m so sorry. That’s terrible. You being
the one to find him is even worse.”

Luna’s eyes came back into focus. “It was very difficult. But if I hadn’t of seen it with my own
eyes I don’t think I’d have believed it. That he was really gone, that is. I’d still be waiting for him
to come home.”

Hermione swallowed thickly. “There were no suspects?”

“No. Daddy was an editor at the London Chronicle. They think it could have been a disgruntled
reader who disagreed with some of the articles he published. They have a heavy liberal slant. But
there were no witnesses, no clues, nothing was stolen or disturbed. The investigation never could
gain momentum.”

Hermione shook her head. “The police are bloody useless.”

Luna shrugged once more. “I suppose in this case they really didn’t have much to go on.”

Hermione bit her tongue, feeling it wasn’t the appropriate time to go off on an angry tangent. She
was so upset on behalf of her friend she expelled steam with every breath. But she also knew there
was the large possibility she was projecting her personal feelings onto the matter due to her own
unsolved case file sitting deep within the basement of the Scotland Yard.

Hermione brought her attention back to Luna’s hand, trying to distract herself from the swelling of
emotion within her. She dripped fresh iodine over the gash, tipping her head to inspect it at an
angle.

“The cut is clean. That’s fortunate, considering it was made with gardening shears. He did a good
job of irrigating the wound.”

Luna tipped her head in turn, studying Hermione as Hermione studied her hand.

“He is a good Doctor. That is fortunate.”

Hermione nodded, still focused upon her task. “Yes, it is. Especially considering the last physician
was a-”

She blinked as Luna jolted lightly, her hand pulling away.

“Does it hurt?”

Luna shook her head, quickly putting her hand back in Hermione’s lap. “No, I- I’m sorry, it’s fine.”

Hermione blinked. “Luna,” she said. “Are you okay?”

The blonde nodded once more, perhaps a bit too quickly. Hermione’s heart started to beat faster,
recognizing the guarded expression, the averted eyes. She’d seen it in the mirror countless times.
She took a slow breath, treading carefully.

“Luna, you can tell me anything, you know. I promise to never repeat anything you confide in me,
not to Parvati, not to Hannah, not to anyone.”

Luna was still and silent for a long beat before smiling once more, but it looked strained and out of
place on her pretty face.

“I know that, Hermione.”

Hermione swallowed lightly, slowly returning her focus to the hand in her lap. She wanted to ask
more, to dig deeper, but she couldn’t justify doing so when she too kept a dark secret harbored
within the depths of her soul. If Luna wanted to confide in her, she would do so in her own time.

Hermione set the bottle back onto the side table, grabbing up the stack of fresh bandages in its
place, and began wrapping Luna’s wound once more.

“There,” she said, tying off the end. “I’m sure the Doctor told you, but do try and avoid using this
hand if at all possible, preferably for the next week. Keep the dressing clean and dry, and change it
at least once a day. I’m happy to do that for you if you’d like.”

Luna pulled her arm back, nodding. “Yes, I would appreciate that.”

Hermione held her gaze, opening her mouth to reply when the door behind them burst open.

“Bloody hell, there you are,” Parvati said, sounding winded. “I’ve been looking everywhere for
you.”

Hermione blinked. “I was just-”

She stopped short as another figure entered the room just behind Parvati.

“Whoa, are we having a slumber party?” Hannah asked, gazing around the tiny room.

“I have a lead on Lavender,” Parvati said without preamble, stepping towards the bed. “But we
have to go right now-”

“Wait,” Hermione held up a hand, heart skipping a beat. “Slow down, Parv, what are you-”

The girl shook her head, reaching out and grabbing Hermione’s arm, pulling her up. “No time! We
have to haul ass.”

Hermione dug in her heels. “We can’t leave! If we’re caught-”

“If we’re caught what, Mione?” Parvati pinned her with an intense look. “Umbridge won’t expel
you and you know it, you’re one of the few who pays a monthly stipend, she’s too desperate for
cash to kick you to the curb. I’m the only one really at risk.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better!”

“Um,” Hannah said loudly, eyes flickering between the struggling pair. “Maybe I have a solution?”

Hermione blinked, pulling her arm from Parvati’s tight clutch. Hannah shrugged lightly. “Filch
doesn’t inspect our floor too closely. He spends most his time scouring the upper dorms, where the
troublemakers are.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue the point but Parvati spoke first, tossing her braid back with a
raised brow.

“Damn straight. And proud of it.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “As I was saying, if he even comes down our hall he never bothers to open
our door. As long as there’s no noise disturbance. So…” she glanced to the bed. “Luna and I could
sleep in your beds tonight. That should keep you covered when he peeks in.”

Hermione shook her head but was once more prevented from voicing her argument.

“That’s bloody aces, Hannah. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Hey, a bed’s a bed.”

“It sounds exciting,” Luna added, smiling serenely.

“It’s too risky,” Hermione finally added, glancing at each girl in turn. “If we’re discovered then
we’re all going to punished severely. Being expelled may be the least of our worries.”

“Worse than disappearing without a trace and having no one even bother to look for you?”

Hermione sighed, gazing back at her roommate. “Parv, you know I want to find Lavender, but-”

“Then come with me, Hermione. I’m leaving with or without you, but I could really use that giant
brain of yours.”

Hermione groaned, shoulders drooping. “Jesus… this is going to go terribly.”

Parvati squealed, leaping forward and throwing her arms around her, nearly knocking her off her
feet. “You’re the best, Mione!”

“Okay,” her friend drew back, grabbing Hermione’s hand in her own. “Let’s go.”

“Oi, Ron!” Harry called from the opposite end of the bar, stealing the man’s attention away from
the woman he was talking animatedly to. Another guest moved aside and she came into view.

Susan.

Harry groaned.

Ron bid her to wait and maneuvered his way through the crowd to Harry’s side.

“Hey, mate! Where the hell have you been?”

Harry sighed. “It’s a long story,” he paused, debating how much to reveal. Then his eyes flickered
over his friend's shoulder and met Susan’s narrowed gaze. His jaw ticked. “Having a good time?”

Ron beamed. “Harry, you have no idea, this girl’s amazing. She’s laughing at all my jokes, she’s
really smart too, I mean, not Mione smart, but certainly smarter than me-”

“Maybe you should slow down a bit, yeah?”

Ron blinked. “What do you mean?”

Harry shook his head. “I just, I mean, you just met her. And she’s the commissioner’s daughter.”

Ron shrugged. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Bollocks.

“Nothing, mate. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

He didn’t have time for this now. He’d sort it out later.

“Listen, I gotta head out-”

“No fucking way!” Ron said a bit too loudly, earning surprised glances and glares from nearby
guests milling about the bar. His ear’s tinged pink. “I mean, you can’t just leave me here,” he
hissed more quietly.

“You can leave, too.” He hoped he would, but he already knew the answer he’d receive.

“No, I think I’m going to stick around, see if I can hit it off with her. But I’m still pissed you’re
flying the coop so soon.”

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you, mate. I gotta run.” He stepped past
Ron, heading down the bar and passing Susan on his way to the exit.

He slowed his tracks, keeping his gaze averted forward but speaking clear enough for her to hear.
“If you hurt him, our deal’s off.”

She blinked, eyes narrowing slightly, but then she glanced away and nodded lightly.

Harry released a long breath through his nose, making a dash for the main lobby.
He was relieved to see Pansy and Blaise standing near the doors, the former glaring daggers at him
and the latter bouncing on his heels. “About bloody time!” Zabini said as he approached.

“Where’s Malfoy?”

“Ditching his fiancé.”

Pansy elbowed him in the side. “They aren’t engaged, you bloody moron.”

Blaise smirked down at her even as he rubbed his sore rib. “Still holding out hope, Pans? You
know if he doesn’t marry Greengrass you still have to get through Granger.”

Pansy scoffed. “Do shut up.”

“Why don’t you both shut up. You’re giving me a migraine.”

Pansy turned her derision upon him. “Have you ever heard the phrase don’t bite the hand that
feeds, Potter?”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’d have no idea Amortentia even existed if it wasn’t for us.”

He shook his head. “Does she ever stop?”

Blaise smirked. “Never.”

Before Pansy could respond a new voice joined the fold. “What are all you wankers still doing
here? Hail a bloody carriage!”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Theo has one waiting for us, your Majesty.”

Draco seethed, stalking past them and pushing open the door before the doorman had an
opportunity.

Pansy rolled her eyes, following in his wake. “Always so dramatic.”

Blaise pushed away from the wall. “I don’t understand what you see in him.”

“Sodding idiot.”

Harry shook his head, reluctantly heading up the end of the procession.

They all piled into the carriage, Harry and Draco sharing a seat while the other three smashed into
the one opposite.

“Fucking hell, Pans, you could fit twelve arses into that skirt.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Theo.”

“Why don’t you sit on my lap, luv? Give us more room.”

“Not in this life or the next, Blaise.”

“Will everyone just shut the fuck up and tell the driver where to go!”

Harry blinked, glancing sideways at Draco. “You don’t know the address?”
Draco rolled his eyes, ignoring Harry and glancing across the tight space to his friends.

“Who’s?”

Theo shook his head. “Not mine. Father’s home.”

Harry felt his blood run cold at the simple pronouncement.

Pansy pulled him from the dark reverie as she sighed dramatically, slapping Blaise’s hand away as
he played with the copious excess of her skirts. “Same here.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, scowling in annoyance as they continued to ignore
him.

“Alright, mine then,” Blaise said with a casual shrug. “Lord knows I have plenty to go round.”

“Plenty of what? God dammit, I really hate being ignored.”

“Jesus, Potter, you’re giving me a headache.” Pansy’s cruel smirk made his blood boil.

Before he could respond Blaise was thumping the roof of the carriage, shouting through the narrow
window to the driver.

“Lancaster Gate, good Sir!”

Harry blinked as the carriage lurched into motion, gently rocking its inhabitants from side to side.

“Why are we going to your house?”

Blaise settled back into his seat, idly playing with Pansy’s skirts once more, his eyes gleaming in
the fading moonlight.

“Honestly, Potter. You can’t go to a costume party without a costume.”

“Where are we?”

“Outside Trafalgar Square.”

Hermione stuck her head back inside the carriage. “Why are we here again?”

Parvati rolled her eyes. “I told you, we’re meeting one of my old friends, she thinks she has a lead
on Lav.”

“She thinks?”

“On occasion.”

Hermione’s jaw ticked. “We broke curfew and house arrest for a hunch?”

“No, we did it to find Lavender, and this is the best lead we’ve got, unless you’ve heard back from
that friend of yours?”

Hermione’s mouth clamped shut as she deflated in her seat. She was upset Harry hadn’t sent any
word to her yet, even just to tell her he wasn’t able to track down Cormac. She hated being in the
dark, and she suspected Harry was keeping her there for a reason, which only frustrated her further.
She was tired of other people controlling her life, thinking they knew what was best for her.

She drew her shoulders back. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Parvati smirked as the carriage came to a halt at the corner. “Thatta girl.”

Hermione paid the driver with coins from the bundle Snape provided her earlier that day, she’d yet
to remove them from her skirt. Then she steled herself, following in Parvati’s wake along the
sidewalk, dashing quickly through shadows with their heads downturned from the illuminating
pools of the lamp posts.

White Horse Lane ran along the west side of the Square, a dividing line with the middle class on
the west and lower income families on the east. They turned right at the corner, heading east,
deeper and deeper until they passed the low income sector into border line squalor.

Shouts could be heard from a nearby tavern, along with the screams of children running along the
street, faces and hands caked in filth, toothy smiles wild with abandon. Hermione lept to the side to
avoid a small boy from plowing head long into her.

“Sorry, Miss,” he said with a cheeky grin, removing his threadbare cap and dipping into a low bow.

“That’s quite alright-”

“Enough of that!” Parvati snapped, aggressively shooing the boy away. “Common thief, ain’t ya?
Saw you trying to feel up her skirts a mile away. Find another mark, kid.”

She grabbed Hermione by the arm, pulling her along, the boy scowling in their wake before darting
back into the shadows.

“Parv, was that really necessary?”

“He’s a little pickpocketer, Mione. Would rob you blind and not bat an eye about it. Keep your
head down and eyes open, don’t trust anyone.”

“Not even the children?”

“Especially not the children.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Don’t give me that look. I grew up in a neighborhood even worse than this one. I know all the
tricks. All the cons. Kids learn to rob from the time they’re old enough to walk. It’s the only way to
survive. I don’t fault ‘em for it. I just don’t want to have to walk home because your bleedin’ heart
gave away our last pence.”

Hermione tilted her head, studying her friend at an angle.

“Your accent is different.”

She sighed. “Always happens when I’m back on the streets. I can’t help it.”

Hermione smirked. “I like it.”

Parvati laughed, quirking a brow. “Want me to talk dirty ta ya, luv?”

Hermione joined in the laughter. “Maybe later, after we meet with your friend.”
“I’m gonna hold ya ta that.”

Hermione shook her head, knowing the girl was purposely throwing her voice for amusement sake
now.

They passed a multi-unit complex, falling apart by the looks of it, the balconies over run with
clotheslines and junk. Stray cats darted between the trash filled alleys. Hermione pulled her cloak
tighter to her person, keeping close pace beside Parvati. For her part, Parvati walked with an air of
authority, shoulders back and chin up, eyes gleaming in the dim lights.

She looked as much a predator as the wily felines, hunting after their midnight meal. Hermione felt
a wave of comfort being at her side, feeling as though Parvati could navigate her through the worst
of the city and out the other end.

She just hoped they didn’t encounter any rowdy tavern patrons or other obstacles. Parvati told her
once that she knew how to throw a mean right hook, but she doubted the thin girl would prove any
real challenge to a full grown man. Hermione knew she herself would be little to no help should
something occur, other than to try to talk or reason their way out of it. But somehow she highly
doubted keen intelligence was the traded currency on these streets.

“Who is this friend we’re meeting?”

“An old chum from the Timber block. Grew up a few units down from us. I’ve known her since
we first came to London.”

“She’s your main contact on the outside?”

“One of them. But I trust her. If she says she has something for us, I know she has something.”

Hermione nodded, remaining silent the rest of the short haunt until Parvati came to a stop outside
an old brownstone.

“This is it. She’s on the top floor.”

Hermione followed her up the rickety staircase, clutching the railing with white knuckles as one of
the steps groaned so loudly she feared her foot would burst through the slat.

“Watch your step, nothing here is up to code.”

“I can see that.”

They ducked beneath a stained sheet hanging on a line between the second and third level, finally
coming to a stop outside a matte black door. Parvati stepped forward and knocked softly, in a
distinct pattern that made Hermione burn with curiosity.

“No one opens their door for just anyone out here,” the girl said over her shoulder by way of
explanation.

Hermione nodded, as though that made perfect sense, as though she wasn’t questioning her sanity
for agreeing to traipse through the dredge of London streets in the middle of the night with no
means of protection.

Her earlier indignation induced bravado was rapidly wearing thin.

But she was distracted from her rising panic as the door creaked open just a touch, forming a
narrow gap just large enough for a set of golden eyes to peer through.

“That you Parv?”

“It’s me, luv. And company.”

“I was worried something happened. Hang on, let me take the chain off.”

The door closed once more before opening all the way, revealing a tall, lean young african woman
with a striking face and long braids tied at her back. She smiled widely, gesturing inside. “Come on
then, don’t want pretty birds lingering on my doorstep attracting all kinds of attention.”

Parvati laughed lightly, stepping into the room with Hermione following nervously behind.

“Mione, this is Angie, Angie, this is Mione.”

“Mione, eh? That’s a bit unusual, no?”

Hermione grinned. “Tell me about it. It’s lovely to meet you, Angie. Thank you so much for-”

She stopped short as the other girls burst into sudden laughter.

“See?” Parvati said, gesturing to Hermione at large. “I told you she was somethin’.”

“That you did, but I admit she’s even better in person.”

Hermione crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

They burst into another fit of laughter. Hermione huffed in annoyance, not liking being the butt of
anyone’s joke, especially when she didn't comprehend the punchline.

“Sorry, Mione. I just have trouble explaining your perfect manners to other people sometimes.
They hafta see it in person to really get the full jist of it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “My manners are far from perfect. For one, I wouldn’t be standing here
if-” she stopped short, eyes widening. “I mean, pardon, I didn’t mean any offense-”

“Take a breath, luv,” Angie waved a hand. “I assure you, I’m not easily shocked or offended. Not
by the likes of a delicate little thing like you.” She smiled as Hermione’s eyes flashed. “But maybe
you aren’t so delicate, eh? That’s good. You gotta have a spine of steel to survive in this world.”

She winked at her, then turned to face Parvati. “Alright, let’s get to it then?”

Parvati nodded. “You have enough for us both?”

“Of course. She’s a tiny little thing but it’s easier to take the clothes in than let em’ out.”

Hermione blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Parvati glanced at her over her shoulder. “Oh. Right…” she glanced away, making alarm bells ring
loudly in Hermione’s head. “So, the thing is…” she trailed off once more, shifting on her feet.

Hermione inhaled sharply, stepping forward. “Parvati Patil, what did you do?”

Her friend bit her lip, glancing up through her lashes. “I knew if I told you you’d never agree to
come.”
Her heart leapt into her throat. “Tell me what?”

Angie glanced between them, smirking. “Parv, you really didn’t tell her where we’re going?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Going? We’re going somewhere?”

“We’re going to look for Lavender,” Parvati said, reaching out to her.

Hermione stepped back, dodging her hand. “I thought that’s what we were doing here.”

“Well, we are, technically-”

“Just tell me what’s going on!”

Parvati sighed, shoulders dropping as she relented. “Angie works at a Club on the upper West side.
She’s seen Lavender there before. Lots of times, actually. Cormac brings her. Angie’s going to get
us in so we can look for ourselves.”

Hermione blinked, paling. “I… that’s… we can’t-”

“We can and we will. We’ve already come this far.”

“You brought me here under false pretenses! Why can’t Angie go and look for her on her own?”

“Because Lavender is our friend and it’s our job to find her!”

They stared each other down, gazes narrowed. Angie stepped forward, clearing her throat.

“So, not that this isn’t immensely entertaining, but I’m going to be late for work if I don’t start
getting ready. Are you dames in or out?”

“In.” “Out.” They spoke at the same time.

Angie nodded her head. “Right then. I’m going to start getting dressed. Let me know what you
decide. Just decide quick.”

She turned and disappeared through a curtain divider, the flat one giant room that afforded them
zero privacy as their argument commenced.

“I can’t believe you lied to me!”

“I didn’t lie, I just withheld a tiny piece of information-”

“Oh stop, Parv, you know you misled me on purpose-”

“Of course I did! How else was I supposed to get you here?”

“There is no way I’m going into some random Club! What if we’re spotted, reported to
Umbridge?”

“Trust me, no one there will know who we are, little less where we come from.”

“Yes, I’m greatly comforted by the fact it’s some place McLaggen often frequents. It’s probably
some-” she glanced sharply at the curtain, at the silhouette of Angie getting dressed. She threw her
voice low, hissing. “It’s probably some scandalous sex den or something!”

Parvati blinked, mouth remaining closed. Hermione’s eyes widened as she reared back.
“Are you bloody kidding me?”

“Listen-”

“You want to walk into a brothel?”

“It’s not a brothel, it’s an entertainment parlor-”

“Calling it that doesn’t make the business any different!”

“Well, it’s where Lavender is most likely to be, Mione, what do you want me to do?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, blinking rapidly. She shook her head. “I want to find her,
Parv, I really do, but…” She trailed off, still shaking her head.

“But what, Hermione? This is our best shot at finding her or at least picking up her trail. Like I said
before, I’m going, with or without you. I’m sorry I lied. But I was desperate.” Her voice thickened.
“I’m desperate and scared. I don’t know what else to do. If you have a better idea, please, tell me.”

Hermione swallowed, holding her gaze for a long while. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
Her jaw ticked, a long sigh of resignation marking the turning point in her resolve.

“Bloody hell. I was joking before.”

Parvati blinked. “About what?”

“When I said I was only going to be making poor decisions from here on out.”

Her friend looked confused for a moment before her expression transformed into a wry smirk.

“You haven’t even seen the outfits.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Outfits?”

“The Club has a very strict dress code,” Angie called out from behind the curtain. “For guests as
well as employees. I can only sneak you in through the back if you’re wearing a uniform.”

Hermione felt light headed, sensing something truly awful about to be unleashed upon her.

Angie’s hand appeared around the curtain, pulling the excess folds of fabric back.

“Trust me, once you put it on you get used to it.”

She pulled the rest of the barrier away, revealing her outfit to their eyes. Parvati cringed, glancing
sideways at Hermione.

“Did I mention that I’ll owe you for this?”

Hermione shook her head, eyes still fastened on the dark skinned girl before her, who looked far
too amused for the situation.

“Parvati,” her hands curled to fists at her sides. “You’re going to owe me into your next life.”
 Until the Ribbon Breaks

But, I nearly forgot.

You must close your eyes.
Otherwise... you won’t see anything.
. . .

“This is ridiculous.”

“Don’t knock it til’ you’ve tried it, Potter.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, the only part of his visage visible through the white Venetian mask.

“I don’t know what’s more disturbing, that we’re required to wear this awful getup or that you have
a walk-in closet full of it.”

Blaise smirked from his spot on the opposite seat. “It’s my mother’s collection, if you must know.
And thank god for her perversions, otherwise we wouldn’t be making it through the front door.”

Harry shook his head, gazing out the window at the passing scenery, a blur of shadows against the
backdrop of foggy London night.

“I hope she remembers to wipe the masks down before putting them away,” drawled Theo from his
spot beside Zabini, eliciting a dark laugh from the latter.

Draco and Pansy were in a second carriage following theirs. Pansy’s change in outfit required a
seat all to herself, the skirts more obscene than her previous dress. The moment her eyes landed on
the costume she insisted on wearing it, no matter that it took three maids and thirty minutes to get
her properly suited, much to the boys’ annoyance.

Harry had spent their forced time waiting in the large parlor of Countess Zabini's London home
badgering the other men with questions, trying to construct an accurate image of what to expect.

“What type of place is this exactly?” he had asked, inspecting his velvet jacket with gold brocade
and over extended ducktales at the back. “I take it we aren’t going to a Renaissance fair?”

“It’s a place to escape the constraints of modern day life and societal expectations,” Blaise had said
with a Cheshire grin, sprawling back on a tufted sofa. He’d elected the most colorful of the
costumes, constructed of a fine gold fabric that glimmered every time he moved. His velvet cape
was blood red, a striking combination.

Harry was indifferent to what he wore, all the options equally appalling to his eyes. He’d grabbed
for something dark and simple at the back of the closet, only to have Theo thrust an outfit into his
chest, stopping him short.

“Wear this,” the man had said, eyes burning a hole through him. “It goes with your eyes.”

Then he’d walked away to select his own garment, leaving Harry blinking stupidly in his wake.
The overcoat Theo had selected for him was a deep green, almost black, with an emerald lining
that was almost an exact match for his gaze. Beneath it he wore a plum colored undervest and
black trousers that stopped mid way down, his calves covered in black knee-high tights.

He felt like an idiot.

Draco looked equally disturbed by his own costume, though Harry thought it suited him well,
preening aristocrat that he was. The blonde’s overcoat was a deep charcoal, his vest a gleaming
silver that matched the cape at his back, clasped to his lapels by intricate silver dragons.

When Theo stepped free of the changing room Harry had done a double take, earning a knowing
smirk from the man. His velvet coat was a deep, midnight blue that paired perfectly with his
sapphire eyes. It made Harry’s chest ache to stare at him for too long, so he averted his gaze and
started asking questions instead.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Zabini. If you’re this excited to go I can only imagine the types
of services they offer.”

Blaise tipped his head and laughed, offering no other information. Harry turned to Draco, currently
pouring himself two fingers of whiskey. “You’ve been there before, Malfoy? Outfit and
everything?”

Draco scowled over the rim of the glass, taking a deep swallow before responding. “Once. Theo
and I went on my eighteenth birthday.”

Harry fought the urge to glance at the other man, currently seated with a bored expression at the
front of the room.

“Only once?”

“It’s not really my scene.”

“I take it they don’t have a gambling hall then?”

“Very funny.”

“Perhaps someone can tell me what they do have.”

“Of course, Potter. They offer a variety of-”

“Someone other than Zabini.”

Theo leaned back in his chair, casually inspecting his nail beds. “It’s an anonymous sex emporium,
Potter. How you haven’t worked that out yet is beyond me.”

Harry rolled his eyes, reluctantly turning to face the source of the voice. “Well excuse me, I didn’t
realize there were brothels in the upper west side.”

“It’s not a brothel,” Theo glanced up, locking gazes. “At least not the kind you’re imagining. It’s a
high-end members-only club that caters to the wealthy and elite. How much did that key cost
you?”

Harry straightened, jaw tensing. “Sixty pounds.”

Blaise whistled low under his breath. “Bloody hell, I can’t wait to get inside.”

“You’ve never been there?” Harry had a hard time believing that, the man seemed the target
customer for such a venue.

Blaise shrugged. “I tend to only visit such establishments on holiday. Better not to piss where you
eat.”
Harry cringed, dismissing the man and turning back to Theo. “So it’s an upscale gentlemen's club-”

“I didn’t say that either.”

Harry’s confusion obviously bled through. Theo smirked. “They have many wealthy female
members as well, at least they did when Draco and I attended years back.”

Harry blinked. Sex dens with a female clientele weren’t unheard of, there were certainly a few on
Jermyn Street, renowned for its underground population of rent boys and female on female
eroticism. But it was rare to hear of a Club catering to both men and women, in such an upscale
location no less.

“It’s a modern-day Hellfire Club then?”

Theo’s smirk broadened. “Now you’re on the right track. Except it’s a touch classier. People don’t
screw out in the open. The back portion of the building is comprised of private rooms.”

Harry swallowed, forcing down the burning question within him.

Did you use one of them?

Theo seemed to read the look in his eyes, his smirk rising. “Not that I visited them myself. Draco
and I spent the majority of our evening getting sloshed at the bar.”

Harry released a breath, forcing his gaze away, terrified of being too obvious.

“The people who work there, they’re paid employees?”

Draco raised a brow, pouring himself another glass. Harry had half a mind to tell him to slow down
but suspected it would only spur the man to drink more out of spite.

“Why are you asking me, Potter? How the bloody hell should I know? My deranged aunt and
uncle own the place, not me.”

“You’ve never overheard them talking about the Club?”

Draco sighed. “A few times, but nothing in depth. They hardly discuss their bustling sex business
at the family dinner table.”

“But it might be possible this Lavender girl took a job there?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “As I said, I wouldn't know.”

Harry’s lips pressed into a firm line, annoyed, eager to get going, to find out something useful.

He recalled Susan’s words from earlier that night.

“I think I heard one of the other girls mention her, saying she was chosen, that she was lucky.”

A chill raced along his spine.

He had a sinking feeling Lavender wasn’t as lucky as they thought.

Then Pansy came down the main staircase in a grand entrance, causing Harry’s thoughts to scatter.

He blinked.
Then blinked again.

“You are not going in that.”

“Just try and stop me, Potter.”

“At least take off the headdress.”

“The headdress is the best part! You don’t know anything about fashion.”

“You won’t fit through the bloody door.”

“Then I’ll have to climb in through a window, won’t I? Are we going or not?”

Harry rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time, barely tamping his frustration as she did, in fact,
struggled to get her massive skirts and obscene feathered headdress through the doorway. Blaise
laughed uncontrollably, helping shove her through, Theo shaking his head and Draco ignoring
them all, climbing into a carriage with an obvious air of impatience.

At least they had that in common, bound by their tie to Hermione, for better or worse.

Fast forward twenty minutes and they were pulling into the front of the venue, a massive baroque
inspired structure with a crimson carpet rolled down the steps.

Since the reign of Victoria brothels and sin dens had taken on a lower profile. Prostitution was as
legal and widespread as ever but it was kept hush hush in the richer communities, no one in the
gentry wanting to earn a sordid reputation that put them in the Queen’s bad graces.

So Harry was quite gobsmacked to see the outlandish opulence of Amortentia, its extravagant
entrance and finely clad doormen, the fact that they required a costumed dress code, a mark of their
influence and control over society’s elite.

Only Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange would have the nerve to so openly subvert the Regent’s
prudent orthodoxy.

Harry braced himself for the madness he was sure to face inside.

He emerged from the carriage with a heavy sigh, hands itching to remove his mask. He was no
stranger to hiding his identity, but this felt more stifling than liberating.

“Come on,” Draco said, voice muffled by his own white mask, stepping forward to lead their little
group up the red-carpeted steps to the main entrance.

“Hello, gentlemen, lady,” the doorman said with an oily smile, bowing at the waist to Pansy.
“Welcome. May I see your invitations?”

Harry had brought the key with him but Draco had claimed he wouldn’t need it, not with him in
tow.

Draco lifted his mask. The Doorman’s eyes widened. “Oh, excuse me, Mr. Malfoy. I apologize for
not recognizing you sooner.” He stepped aside, opening the large gold inlaid door. “I hope you and
your guests enjoy your evening.”

Draco replaced his mask with a look of derision, walking past the man without a word. Harry
followed suit, not wanting to speak and risk being recognized as well. He was just as well known
among this crowd.
They walked down a wide hall to another set of doors, which were promptly opened by another set
of doormen, these men clad in Venetian themed wear and masks, standing rigid and silent as the
Queen’s Guard.

And then they emerged into the main room.

Harry stopped dead.

“Fucking hell…”

The space was huge, the ceilings vaulted with a wrap-around viewing ledge above, white masks
gazing down upon them from behind the banister.

There were sofas and chairs, loveseats and settees, clusters of people gathered around various…
demonstrations. The house girls were clad in distinctive uniforms, red ribbons wrapped around
their bare wrists and necks, same as the one tied to the key in his pocket.

Harry spun in a slow circle, the crowd was huge, everyone clad in a mask, decked in costume,
making each into an anonymous stranger.

How am I supposed to find the girl in this mess?

“Is that my boy?”

Harry’s heart lurched at the familiar sound, he spun around just in time to see Malfoy jolt with an
entire body cringe. A broad-shouldered body appeared before them, pushing through the milling
crowd. They wore a mask but their voice was easily recognizable.

“Little Drakey finally pays another a visit to my humble establishment. About time, boy. I was
beginning to wonder about you.”

The man seized Draco with a muscled arm, pulling him close.

“What brings you here?” He glanced up at the rest of the group, everyone watching with guarded
eyes. “Having a party? What are we celebrating?”

Draco jerked free of his grasp. “Hello, Rodolphus. How kind of you to pay me a personal greeting.
But I’m sure I’ve pulled you away from your business long enough-”

“Nonsense. I always have time for family. Speaking of which, I need to pay the Manor a visit soon,
talk to your father about a few things regarding the new Bill his party is-”

“No offense, Rodolphus, but I’d rather not discuss politics at the moment.”

The large man laughed, shoulders bouncing with the force of it. “Of course!” He glanced around
the group once more, his eyes narrowing through the holes in the mask as they lingered on Harry.
“Wait a moment… is that Potter with you?”

Harry’s jaw ticked, fists tightening anew.

Rodolphus laughed once more, something dark taking root in his eyes. “What kind of party is this,
Draco?”

“The kind better left undiscussed.”

“Hm. Intriguing.”
Draco stepped back further. “Where’s your wife?”

His question served its purpose, pulling Rodolphus’s gaze away from Harry. “Your aunt isn’t here
this evening. She’s going to be incensed she missed seeing you. She won’t believe me when I tell
her you showed up with Potter in tow.”

“Perhaps we can keep this encounter between us men?”

“I think it’s too late for that,” the man’s gaze cut past Draco’s shoulder. “Lovely costume, luv. I
know of only one young woman who would brave such adventure. Parkinson, I presume?”

Pansy dipped into a perfect curtsy, despite her copious skirts and massive headpiece.

“Lord Lestrange, a pleasure to see you this evening.”

“The pleasure is all mine, luv.” His gaze moved back to his nephew. “Alright, I can tell when I’m
unwanted. I’ll leave you and your guests to your evening. Enjoy the festivities, children.”

He dipped his head, eyes lingering on Harry once more, before clapping Draco heartily on the
shoulder and departing. The group breathed a collective sigh of relief as soon as he disappeared
into the crowd.

“Well that was a warm and tingly reception,” Theo deadpanned, eyeing the crowd with little
interest.

“What can I say. We’re a tight-knit family.”

“We need to split up,” Harry spoke, eager to move past the unsettling encounter. “Everyone take
a-”

“I think I’ll go search the private rooms,” Blaise said, flourishing his cape as he strode past, tossing
a wink over his shoulder. “I promise to be very thorough in my investigations.”

Harry shook his head, turning to face the others. “Parkinson-”

“I appreciate your attempt to take control, Potter, but I’m not into being dominated. I’ll see you
boys later.” And then she too was slipping away into a nearby group gathered around a half-
dressed young woman.

Harry sighed. “Fantastic.” He turned. “Theo-”

“Will be investigating the bar.” Theo smirked and back away slowly, holding Harry’s annoyed
gaze before disappearing from sight.

“Bloody hell.” His emerald gaze snapped to Draco. “Do you intend to actually be of assistance?”

“Calm down, Potter. I wouldn’t have insisted on coming here if I didn’t mean to help you find the
missing chit.”

“Good. There’s a lot of ground to cover. I need all the help I can get.”

“Admitting your inadequacy is the first step to recovery.” Draco glanced about the room. “We’ll
split up. Take opposite ends. You take the front half of the venue, I’ll take the back half.”

Harry nodded. “Alright. We’re looking for a girl about Mione’s age named Lavender Brown. She’s
blonde and very pretty.”
“Well, that should narrow it down. I spot at least a dozen young blondes from where I’m standing.
And Granger thinks everything’s pretty. Does the girl have any distinguishing marks?”

“Like a massive scar running down the side of her face or a missing limb?”

“Precisely.”

“I think Mione would have mentioned it.”

Draco shook his head, backing away into the throng of people. “Happy hunting, Potter.”

Harry watched the man depart before turning in another slow circle, the low hum of conversation
and tinkling glass filling his ears.

Time to get to work.

Hermione pulled her cloak tighter to her body, fidgeting nervously as she followed the girls up the
narrow walkway leading to the back entrance of the Club.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Shh!” Parvati hissed over her shoulder. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that, you’re supposed to be
an employee.”

“If I were employed here I’d be ranting and raving every moment of every day. No offense,
Angie.”

“None taken, doll.”

“I can’t believe I’m wearing this-”

“Didn’t you complain enough at the flat?”

Hermione clamped her mouth shut, eyes narrowing. She felt completely within her rights to
continue but decided maybe now wasn’t the best time. After all, she’d committed to seeing this
insane task through and wasn’t going back on her word now. Not when her friends were counting
on her.

But in her defense, the outfit was atrocious.

She wore a black corset and shortened bloomers that stopped mid-thigh, with see-through
stockings pulled up to meet them, the edge of her garters visible. She had no shift or dress, the only
bit of coverage the black half skirt attached to the base of her corset. It was missing the front panel,
leaving her minimally-clad legs entirely on display from every angle but directly behind. The
underside of the fabric was blood red, as were the ribbons wrapping her wrists and neck.

The outfit was scant and shocking, meant to provoke. It certainly did its job, she was on the verge
of a nervous breakdown. Parvati shrugged her costume on without hesitation, barely batting an eye
as she waltzed out of the flat, bare arms and cleavage on display. Hermione had rushed after her to
throw the cloak around her shoulders, blocking her naked limbs from view until they arrived inside
the venue.

Amortentia. It sounded elegant. Hermione had a sinking suspicion it would be anything but.

“Oh, I nearly forgot!” Angie said, stopping in her tracks and spinning around. She pulled on the
drawstring of the velvet bag in her hands. Hermione hadn’t paid the satchel much notice until now.
Her heart rate increased. “You have to wear these as well. Lucky really, seeing as you don’t want
to be recognized by anyone.”

Hermione swallowed audibly as Angie pulled out two black masks that covered the top half of the
face. “Employees wear black, the customers wear white.”

Hermione took hers with numb fingers, trembling lightly.

“It’s going to be okay, Mione,” Parvati said, resting a hand on her arm. “We’ll be in and out,
hopefully with Lavender in tow.”

Hermione took a deep breath, nodding. “I’m okay. Let’s go.”

Parvati squeezed her arm lightly before releasing her, continuing their journey to the door. A man
standing guard ran his eyes over their mask-clad faces.

“Evening, Bastian,” Angie said, walking in front of them.

“Hey, Ang. Who’ve you got here?”

She shrugged. “A couple new girls, I’m saddled with showing them the ropes.”

He tilted his head. “I don’t remember hearing about new hires.”

Hermione’s heart was beating through her chest, blood pounding in her ears, drowning out the
sound of the city around her.

“That’s really interesting, Bastian. You want to call Lord Lestrange out here or can I get on with
my shift?”

Hermione rocked back on her heels with the force of her shock.

Lord Lestrange?

Oh my god.

Her vision dimmed at the edges.

“Alright, alright,” the man said with a smirk. “Have a good night, ladies,” he said with a wink as he
opened the door.

Once it shut behind them Angie spun around, pulling off her cloak. “Alright, I have to run to a
private booking but I’m going to leave you with a friend of mine, she’ll take care of you. Drop your
cloaks in the closet and follow me.”

Hermione unclasped her cloak with shaking fingers, still reeling from the revelation moments ago.

“Angie, do you know Lord Lestrange?”

The girl furrowed her brow. “Of course, he’s one of the owners.”

Hermione blinked. “Rodolphus or Rabastan?”

“Rodolphus. Why, do you know him?”

She released a sharp breath. “You could say that. Shite.”

“What’s the matter?” Parvati asked.

Hermione shook her head. “If he spots me here I’m done for. Umbridge will be the least of my
worries.”

Parvati nodded. “Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t spot you.”

Hermione was reluctant to part with the shield of her cloak, feeling utterly exposed without it. She
crossed her arms over her exposed cleavage as they followed Angie down a narrow hall. Other girls
appeared, wearing matching corsets and half skirts, masks hiding the tops of their faces.

They turned a corner and entered a changing room, vanities set up along the walls and racks of
clothing at the other end. Hermione blinked at some of the items dangling from the hangers.

Perhaps clothing was putting it generously.

“What is that?”

“Hm?” Angie turned around, following Hermione’s perturbed gaze. Then she laughed. “It’s a
harness, luv.”

Hermione blinked. “Oh.”

Parvati and Angie exchanged a look before they both smirked. Hermione put her shoulders back.
She wasn’t a prude, at least she never considered herself one before. She just hadn’t been exposed
to these types of things before.

“It looks really big.”

“That’s because it’s designed for a man. Makes them easier to ride.”

Hermione fought back a blush, a plethora of mental images flooding her mind like spilled ink
across a page, staining everything in its wake.

“Oi, Ang!” A girl called from one of the vanities. Angie spun around, sighing with relief.

“Allie, thank god.” she started cutting a path across the room. “These are the girls I mentioned, you
still good to take them?”

“Sure thing,” the young woman stood from her stool, smiling. “Hi there, I’m Alicia.”

“Hermione,” she stuck her hand out. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Alicia glanced down at her extended hand and laughed lightly, taking it gingerly in her own and
shaking. “This is going to be fun.”

“You have no idea, luv. I’m Parvati.”

“Ang has talked about you before. It’s good to finally meet you. You’re looking for a friend?”

Parvati nodded. “A blonde by the name of Lavender, usually hanging off the arm of Cormac
McLaggen.”

Alicia raised a brow. “A lot of girls hang off his arm, I’m afraid.”
Hermione scowled, opening her mouth but Parvati beat her to it. “They weren’t exclusive.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Okay, well I haven’t seen her in a while but I haven’t been to work since last week. I hope you’re
able to find her.”

“I gotta run, ladies,” Angie said from behind them. “Good to meet you, Mione. Parv.” She leaned
in, exchanging a lingering hug with the girl. “I missed you,” Angie whispered. “I miss Pad, too.”

Parvati swallowed. “So do I.”

Hermione glanced away, affording them what privacy she could. Alicia seemed to be doing the
same. Finally, they broke apart, Angie sparing them one last wave before dashing out of the room.

Hermione bit her lip, looking to Parvati. She wasn’t surprised that her friend was stoic as ever,
emotions already buried somewhere in the recesses of her resilient mind.

“Okay,” she said, expression hardening. “Lead the way, Alicia.”

Alicia rubbed her palms together with a smile, eyes bright beneath her half mask. “Follow me, my
sweets.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smirk, the woman’s remarkably bubbly personality in light of their
surroundings a balm to her nerves.

“Alright,” she spoke over her shoulder, leading them to the same door Angie had disappeared
through. “I’m assigning you both to drink duty. Walking around with trays will give you an excuse
to mingle with the crowd without having to worry about being groped. Well, not groped too badly
anyway.”

Whatever brief relief Hermione had felt died in her chest, heart seizing painfully. She swallowed
thickly, willing her rising panic back down. It was as futile as trying to stop the ocean tide from
coming in.

“If someone tries to deter you into a private room just tell ‘em your shift is almost up and you have
to ask the manager for permission. That’ll give you an excuse to slip away.”

Hermione took a deep breath, nodding quickly, trying to pretend this was just another lecture hall
she was sitting in on, listening to someone discuss a new medical breakthrough or scientific theory.
Just another learning opportunity. Nothing to worry about.

She clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking.

They emerged into a small room with a long narrow table at the center, covered in trays of
champagne flutes.

“This room is behind the bar, one of the staff keeps it stocked with trays, the guests drink like fish
so you should be okay with this cover while you’re here.”

Hermione followed Parvati’s league and grabbed a tray, nearly dropping it right away.

“Oh!” Alicia sprung forward and helped her balance it out before she lost her hold entirely.

“Sorry!” Hermione said, flushing brightly.

“It’s okay, they can be tricky to balance when you’re not used to them.”

Hermione nodded, dazed with fear and adrenaline.

Alicia cocked her head, studying her. “You alright, hon?”

She swallowed, nodding. “Yes, fine, thank you for asking.”

Alicia smiled again, though her expression held some inner sadness that tore at Hermione’s chest
further.

“It’s a sweet thing you’re doing, searching for your friend like this.” She placed a hand on
Hermione’s bare shoulder. “Most people would sit back and be sad without trying to do anything
about it. You’re very dedicated.”

Hermione held her gaze for a heavy beat before sharing her own saddened smile. “I know she’d do
the same for me.”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, meeting Parvati’s dark gaze. “We’re going to find her.”

Alicia dropped her arm and stepped back. “I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

Hermione blinked, smile fading in lieu of a jarring memory.

“One way or another, they always turn up.”

She shook her head, willing his voice away. Thinking of their exchange would only rattle her
further.

“Okay, you girls are set. Good luck. And if you need anything feel free to ask. I’ll be around.”

“Thank you, Alicia,” she said, taking a deep breath and steadying her tray.

Alicia winked, smiling once more and leading them to the exit, a butler’s door that swung both
ways.

The three girls emerged into the main room.

Hermione gasped.

Her immediate instinct was to turn around and run back into the galley. She became hyper-aware of
every inch of her exposed flesh, a full body flush taking over. She shifted awkwardly on her heels,
feeling off balance, sure to fall.

“Just breathe, Hermione,” Parvati whispered to her sharply. “You look like you’re going to pass
out.”

Hermione tried to take a deep breath, to steady her racing heart. Her eyes scanned the crowd before
them, the room packed with men and women dressed in extravagant Venetian costumes from the
Renaissance period. A sea of white masks, they all seemed to be staring at her, closing in rapidly-

“Mione!”

She gasped, blinking rapidly.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Thank you, Alicia, we can take it from here.”

Alicia looked hesitant, glancing between the girls before nodding reluctantly. “Okay… please,
come get me if you need anything.”

Hermione was in a stupor, barely registering the girl’s departure. Parvati shifted her tray in one
hand and placed her other on Hermione’s arm, gently squeezing. “Hermione, please, I need you.”

Her words shook Hermione from her trance. She bit her lip, closing her eyes briefly and stealing
herself.

Get a grip. You aren’t locked in a room. You aren’t pinned against a door. You’re in control. Just
breathe.

She swallowed.

Lavender needs you.

She opened her eyes.

“I’m okay. Sorry, I just-”

“Don’t apologize. I understand. Thank you for doing this, Mione. I know it’s asking a lot of you.”

Hermione shook her head. “I meant what I told Alicia. I know you and Lavender would do the
same if I was missing. I’m going to see this through.”

Parvati held her gaze, nodding slowly. “Let’s find our girl.”

They both turned to face the bustling room, Hermione did a double take as a girl wearing red
ribbons climbed onto a table, methodically unlacing her black corset as the crowd around her
clapped, creating a rhythmic beat she swayed her hips to. Hermione watched in a half-trance,
knowing what was coming but still feeling her mouth run dry as the girl’s naked breasts came into
view.

If there was any pretending she was in the middle of a crowded lecture hall, the moment had surely
passed.

She glanced away sharply, pushing past her unease and trying to formulate a plan of execution.
Thinking was her strong suit, her prime contribution to this mission. She took a deep breath and
opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word a new voice emerged.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

A man burst through the crowd, marching straight for them. He was in costume, face entirely
hidden by a mask, but his frame and voice were unmistakable.

Rendering her numb with terror.

Rodolphus.

She went rigid, helpless to run, to hide, panic rushing through her veins and displacing her blood,
filling her heart with pure adrenaline.

“How did you get here? Did he bring you?”

Hermione opened her mouth but her brain couldn’t form any words.

He was upon her now-

And then he marched past her, seizing Parvati by the arm.

“Oi! Watch it!” her friend snapped, jerking out of his grasp, barely maintaining her grasp on the
tray.

Rodolphus reared back, blinking behind his mask.

“What did you just say to me?”

Hermione glanced rapidly between the pair, too shocked to form words.

“I said, watch it. Don’t you dare lay your hands on me again.” Her voice dripped venom, eyes
licked by flame.

Hermione shook her head, trying to send a silent warning, but Parvati was lost to her anger.

“I don’t care what kind of place this is, you can’t just-”

“Who are you?”

She fell silent at his question, gaze turning hesitant. He stepped closer and reached for her mask.
Hermione held her breath. Parvati ducked out of his reach, holding out the tray between them,
blocking his path.

“I’m Carmen,” she said, voice radically subdued from its earlier intensity.

Rodolphus lowered his arm, staring at her hard.

“Carmen.” He repeated, not sounding the least bit convinced. Hermione took a deep breath,
fighting through her rising panic for a way to get them out of this bizarre interaction.

“My apologies, Carmen,” he said suddenly, standing to his full intimidating height. “I thought you
were someone else. You look just like a friend of mine.”

Hermione swallowed, eyes briefly meeting Parvati’s before her friend locked gazes with him once
more.

“Some friend.”

Hermione cringed. But Rodolphus merely tipped his head back and laughed. Parvati looked as
disturbed by his rapidly changing mood as Hermione.

“No,” he said eventually, shaking his head. “I see now that you’re nothing like her.”

He stared upon Parvati for another long moment before taking a step back. Hermione sensed he
was about to turn around and face her. Panic seized her by the throat. She quickly spun on her heel
and dashed to a small gathering of men, holding her tray aloft.

“Beverages?”

The men stopped their conversation, glancing at her. “Why thank you, darling. What a pretty thing
you are.”
She smiled, adrenaline surging through her every pore, dispelling every last remnant of hesitation.
She’d venture into a private room if it meant getting Rodolphus off her tail.

Actually, that isn’t such a bad idea…

Her mind raced as the men grabbed flutes of champagne, a few trying to engage her in
conversation. She nodded along, not listening in the slightest, shoulders sagging in relief as
Rodolphus walked past. She swallowed heavily as he glanced once more over his shoulder, his
gaze sweeping across the area in which she stood.

She ducked her head down, loose curls falling over her mask, obscuring her vision.

She blinked, slowly peeking up.

The coast was clear.

She abandoned the group of men without preamble, oblivious to their heated looks of longing. She
darted to where Parvati still stood, confused and shaken.

“Are you okay?”

Parvati nodded slowly. “Yeah. That was…”

“Weird.”

“I was going to say fucking nuts, but that works.”

“Do you know Rodolphus?”

Parvati’s eyes widened. “Wait- that was Lord Lestrange?”

Hermione nodded quickly. “Yes. I was trying to signal you but I was afraid to speak. He’d
recognize my voice.”

“Why the bloody hell did he grab me?”

“I’ve no idea. He thought you were someone else apparently.”

Parvati rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe that any more than he believes my name is Carmen. He’s
part owner as well as a manager, he probably knows every girl who works here.”

“I know, but I’m glad you didn’t give him your real name. I think we’re better off if we both avoid
crossing paths with him again.”

Her friend sighed. “Agreed. But the stakes are higher for you if you’re caught.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I was thinking of heading to the back, looking at the private rooms. I think
I’ll be able to keep a lower profile that way.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll stick to the main floor.”

“You sure you don’t mind?”

Parvati shook her head. “No, it’s fine.”

Hermione set her tray down on a nearby table, briefly touching her friend’s hand with her own.
“You sure you’re okay?”

Parvati took a deep breath. “Yeah. At least I didn’t punch him.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smirk.

“That would have made this entire evening worth it.”

Parvati mirrored her expression.

“The night’s still young. I’m sure I’ll be hitting someone in the face before it comes to an end.”

Harry shook his head as he passed another blonde clad in a black mask and red ribbons.

So far none of the girls he asked were named Lavender or had heard of the girl. Unless someone
was lying. Perhaps they were skilled at hiding the truth. Given their profession, it was a likely
possibility.

He wanted to run his hand over his face in exhaustion but the damn mask prevented him from
doing so. The costume was as imprisoning as it was ridiculous.

He groaned in frustration until his sweeping gaze fell upon a shock of familiar feathers. He crossed
the distance to where Pansy stood.

Then he slowed his approach, seeing what held her focus. Two girls sat on a couch in the center of
a small crowd, pawing and kissing, slowly removing each other's already limited clothing. His jaw
tensed, eyes alighting upon their hair. Neither were blonde. His shoulders dropped.

He came to a stop beside her. She didn’t glance in his direction.

“Giving up already, Potter?”

His spine straightened.

“Not at all. Just had to take a look over here since it seems you aren’t offering any assistance.”

“You made fun of my outfit, why would I help you?”

He rolled his eyes. “I see. Is that what has you in such a mood.”

She finally averted her gaze, glancing at him sharply.

“What does that mean?”

Harry met her eye. “Are you sure you’re not upset that we’re here on a mission for Hermione?”

Pansy raised a dark brow, staring at him for another few seconds before bursting into a fit of
laughter.

“Is that what you think? That I’m jealous? Oh, you’re such a bloody idiot. No wonder you can’t
find the missing girl.”

His chest burned.

“So you’re over Malfoy then?”

She laughed anew, shaking her head in some private amusement he couldn’t begin to comprehend.
“I was never under Malfoy, Potter. Despite popular belief.”

Harry swallowed. “So you’re under Theo then?”

His question seemed to take them both off guard. He hadn’t meant to voice it aloud, though his
curiosity had been burning a hole inside his lungs since watching them arrive together at the party.

Her laughter faded, eyes bright.

“I find it curious you refer to the rest of us by our surnames, but never Theo.”

Harry blinked.

She slowly smirked.

He glanced away, staring blankly at the kissing girls, white closing in around the edges of his
vision.

“Do I? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Hm.”

She faced forward as well. His heart was pounding through his chest. He swayed with the force of
it.

“No. I’m not under Theo either. But I think someone else is.”

Harry released a slow breath, unable to look at her.

“I’ve no idea who, but I can tell he’s fucking someone.”

His hands flexed at his sides. “Does that upset you?”

She tilted her head, still watching the show before them.

“Why would that upset me?”

“Aren’t you an item?” he asked.

“We’re chess pieces in our parent’s elaborate game,” she said with a roll her eyes. “Something
you’d understand if you actually had parents. Lucky bastard.”

He shook his head.

“So no. I don’t care that Theo’s fucking someone else. Just as he doesn’t care I’m doing the same.”

He finally looked her way, studying her masked profile. He drew in a breath but she spoke first.

“Don’t even think about asking me who it is. A lady doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Harry chuckled lightly, the tension melting away in light of her confession. “I’ll be sure to keep
that in mind when I encounter one.”

“Don’t you have some damsel in distress to rescue?”

Harry smiled, knowing she couldn’t see it and backed away slowly.
“That I do.”

The private room section of the venue was divided from the main hall by a set of blood-red velvet
curtains that hung from the vaulted ceiling, a rather difficult sight to miss.

As Hermione slipped past them she came to a standstill. She stood at the head of a short hall that
ran perpendicular to another. When she came to the intersection and looked left and right she found
the same intersecting points at either end.

A maze.

She turned right, feeling her pulse thrum rapidly as she finally passed by a closed door. A black
key was sticking out of the lock, a red ribbon tied to the end. She paused, the sight giving her
chills.

She stepped closer and swallowed heavily as the sound of muffled moans met her ears. She stepped
back quickly.

She’d come back to that room later.

She continued her journey, following the twists and turns of the narrow halls, passing door after
door with the same ghostly looking key hanging from its lock. She bit her lip. Perhaps she didn’t
really think this through. How was she supposed to find Lavender behind a closed door?

And what’s the alternative? Knocking? Peeking my head in and interrupting the festivities to ask
about my missing friend?

Hermione sighed, turning yet another corner, wondering if she’d be able to find her way back out-

Just then the sound of laughter jolted her. It was loud, unmuffled. She spun on her heel, glancing
about, looking for the source of the noise.

A door stood ajar at the end of the hall.

She looked around once more, as though expecting to find someone lingering past her shoulder.

The hallway was empty.

She returned her focus to the open door, the sound of whispered voices and melodic laughter
continuing to filter out, and slowly approached.

I’m only going to glance in, just to see if Lav’s there.

Her hands curled at her sides, limbs rigid with anticipation.

She hesitated at the opening, body blocked by the wall. The voices were hushed but distinctly male
and female. She took a deep breath and leaned forward, glancing inside.

A man and woman sat sprawled on a chaise lounge, perched at opposite ends. The woman was
wearing a white mask, her outfit tight and just as revealing as Hermione’s. The man leaned
forward, shirt undone, saying something that caused her to erupt into another fit of wild laughter.

Hermione was relieved they weren’t on top of each other, as she’d been expecting.

But then the man tipped his head back and joined in the laughter as well, and Hermione stumbled
back in shock.

She knew that voice.

Fucking hell, am I going to run into Harry and Draco while I’m at it?

Tonight was turning out to be a rather obscene reunion of sorts.

She held her breath as the noise stopped abruptly. Her adrenaline spiked, she was poised to run but
barely had time to blink before the door was being thrown open.

“Who’s there? Oh, hello, poppet.”

She continued her retreat until she collided with the opposite wall.

“Shy, are you? I like that.”

He doesn’t recognize me.

“Who is it, Ami?”

The man glanced over his shoulder. “A tasty morsel. Perhaps we should invite her inside?”

This isn’t happening.

He focused upon her once more, stepping aside, beckoning her forward. “Come in, little one. We
won’t bite. Hard.”

The woman sat up from the chaise, lifting her mask to get a better look. Her eyes narrowed as she
examined Hermione’s face. She felt her knees weaken.

Then the woman slowly smiled, sliding her mask back down. “She’s fantastic. Come in, dear,
we’ll take excellent care of you.”

Oh my god. This is happening.

Hermione swallowed convulsively, desperately trying to get her vocal chords to work. She prayed
they wouldn’t recognize her voice, that her heightened nerves would throw it to a distorted pitch.

“I- I’m sorry,” she said, pressing harder into the wall. “I can’t. My shift is nearly over.”

The man laughed. “We’ll pay you double your hourly rate to stay.”

She swallowed again, mind firing rapidly. What else had Alicia told her to say? Oh, yes...

“I’ll have to ask my manager.”

The woman scoffed. “I know the manager, luv. Quite well. Trust me, he won’t mind.”

Hermione wondered if she could get out of this by feigning a seizure.

I may not have to fake it…

“Now, now, Alecto. I think we’re scaring the poor thing.”

Alecto rolled her eyes. “Bloody hell. Go check with Roddy if you must. But do hurry back.”
Hermione nodded, pushing away from the wall on shaky legs and sprinting down the hall, so
desperate in her need to escape that she had no idea if she was heading in the right direction.

By some miracle she found her way to the exit, bursting through the red curtain with a gasp, as
though emerging from the sea after a shipwreck.

She glanced around, looking for Parvati, looking for anything to grab onto for balance.

She didn’t see her friend anywhere, just a sea of white masks broken intermittently by red and
black. A blurred mess, smudges on a canvas. She darted to the place she left her tray but it was
gone.

Shite.

She bit her lip, glancing up as an employee darted past, heading for the galley room with a wine
bottle in hand.

“Excuse me?”

The young woman stopped, glancing at Hermione.

“I can take that for you.”

She glanced down at the bottle.

“It’s empty.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’ll take it anyway.”

The woman quirked a brow but ultimately relented, handing her the item and walking back in the
direction she came from. Hermione held the bottle tightly in both hands, pressing it to her abdomen
like a shield, and slowly slipped into the crowd.

Only to stop dead at the sight before her.

A house girl in nothing but her bloomers was at the center of a gathering of spectators, bound and
gagged. Her face was pressed into the expensive oriental rug, back arched and bottom up.
Hermione blinked as another woman walked up from behind and proceeded to flog her.

Perhaps I’ll go this way.

She spun on her heel, her head turned down and eyes desperately searching the crowd.

She had to dodge a drunken man stumbling in her path, causing her to knock into a table,
something hard prodding against her lower back.

She glanced over her shoulder and felt the blood drain from her face.

What on god’s green earth…

She blinked rapidly, backing away from whatever bizarre contraption sat on display. She stared at
it in morbid fascination until her eyes drifted down to the plaque situated beneath.

She gaped openly as she read the short excerpt.

I’ve truly seen it all now.

A steam-powered dildo.

The massive rubber phallus protruded out of the wooden base, a medley of mechanisms stationed
behind it.

Leave it to the Lestranges to find such an invention worthy of a pedestal.

She spun around once more, mind a muddled mess, and bumped shoulders with a tall gentleman
with his back to her. She gasped lightly, stepping away, an automatic apology forming on her lips.

And then she looked upon him.

The perfectly styled coif of white blonde hair was unmistakable.

Her heart leaped into her throat, stomach clenching painfully.

It can’t be…

He didn’t spare her a glance, merely straightening his velvet coat and holding out his empty glass.
“How fortunate you should bump into me, I’m in desperate need of a refill.”

She blinked. Then blinked again.

And then she got angry.

What was he doing here?

She clutched the neck of the bottle so tightly she was certain it would grind to dust in her hands.
She glared at his profile, hidden behind the mask, the force of her emotions giving rise to her
voice.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” His spine went rigid, shoulders tensing. “I’m afraid the bottle is empty, however,
I’m happy to break it over your head.”

He spun around, nearly losing his grip on his glass, eyes burning brightly from behind the narrow
cutouts. He staggered back, shock palpable as he took in her appearance from bottom to top. And
then his gaze narrowed and he surged forward, capturing her arm before she could flinch away.

She opened her mouth to demand he unhand her but gasped instead as she was pulled fully into his
body. She blinked up at him, swallowing heavily at the lethal look he pinned her with, somehow
more malevolent when accompanied by the neutral visage of the mask.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he hissed, voice ferocious and unyielding. “You’re coming with me now.”

And then he was dragging her back towards the red curtains.

Harry’s patience was wearing thin.

He’d tried to spark up a conversation with a few of the guests on the floor but it was shaping out to
be a study in self-torture. Every attempt was a reminder of why he loved sailing abroad so much.
London’s high society was grating, unbearable, a foreign world at this point.

He sought momentary refuge at the bar.

Perhaps he’d overhear snippets of conversation that were more worthwhile than the useless banter
on the main floor. He could also ask the bartender about Lavender.

Yes. It was purely strategic.

It had nothing to do with the handsome young man seated at the end of said bar, nursing a glass of
burgundy wine, mask discarded on the counter.

But while Harry was headed in that direction anyway…

It only made sense to ask Theo whether he’d learned anything relevant.

He took a deep breath, approaching with a forced air of calm, spine straight. He slid into the seat
beside the man, eyes carefully averted towards the bartender.

“Whiskey sour, mate.”

The bartender nodded. Harry rapped his knuckles against the glossy wood, unable to quell his urge
to fidget. He removed his mask with the other hand, sighing in relief as the cool air swept across
his face, free at last.

He didn’t see the knowing smirk that overcame his lover’s face as he watched Harry from the
corner of his gaze.

“How goes the search?” Theo finally asked, bringing the glass to his lips.

Harry released a slow breath, turning to face him. “Utter failure at the moment.”

“Hm. Is that so.” Theo took another long swallow, eyes dancing with humor over the rim.

Harry’s emerald gaze narrowed. “What’s so funny?”

“I didn’t say anything.” He set the glass back down, licking his lips. “I’m just sitting here enjoying
my drink.”

“I can see that. I was hoping you’d be a bit more helpful.”

Theo arched a dark brow. “Did you now? And why would I break character?”

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning his forearms against the counter. “I forget, you have a role to play.”

“We all have roles to play, Potter.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Parkinson noticed that I address you by your first name.”

Theo drummed his long fingers along the counter, an elegant imitation of Harry’s more nervous
gesture.

“And what did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Avoidance is the most telling response of all, Potter.”

Harry glanced away. “It made me realize that you never use my name.”

“I don’t think Areshole is appropriate in mixed company.”

Harry fought back a smirk, holding tight to his serious resolve.

“Even when we’re alone, you never use my first name.”

Theo leaned forward. “Tread carefully, Potter,” his voice was low, ominous. “This isn’t exactly an
ideal setting for such a conversation.”

Harry traced the wood grain detail of the veneer with his fingertips. “You would avoid this
conversation if we were stranded on a desert island.”

“Of course I would. I’d be far more concerned with getting an even tan while you slaved away at
building a raft.”

Harry lost the battle, the smirk breaking free.

Damn.

Theo always found a way to subvert his moods, making it all but impossible to have a meaningful
conversation with the man. Theo leaned back once more, taking another sip of his wine as the
bartender returned, sliding Harry’s drink across the hardwood.

“Cheers, mate,” Harry said by way of thanks, eagerly taking a swig as the man once more departed.

Harry savored the burn down the back of this throat, the pool of warmth ignited in his stomach. He
stared into the glass a few moments more before continuing.

“The point is, you keep your distance.” He pursed his lips, gaze still averted to his drink. “Even
when there’s nothing between us.”

They sat alone at the far end of the bar. He didn’t fear being overheard, but he kept his voice low
anyway, providing the man at his side one less deterrent.

Theo sighed, face pinched in annoyance as he glanced over his shoulder at the crowd. Harry
deflated in his seat, convinced he wouldn’t respond, jolting when he did.

“I don’t know what you expect of me, Potter. What you think this is. It can only ever be one
thing.”

Harry glanced up, searching his sapphire gaze. He sensed the answer in the man’s closed off
expression but needed to hear it spoken aloud.

“And what is that?”

Theo didn’t blink.

“A secret.”

The silence that followed thickened the air, made it difficult to breathe, coating his lungs with an
invisible film.

Harry nodded, facing forward once more, both hands wrapped tightly around his lowball glass.

“Don’t do that,” Theo said, brows drawn. “I hate it when you do that.”

Harry glanced at him in confusion. “Do what?”

“Mope like a sad puppy with big green eyes and its fucking tail between its legs.”

Harry blinked. “I don’t-”

“You do. All the bloody time. And it drives me fucking insane.”

Harry’s jaw ticked. “I’m sorry I annoy you so badly.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say it annoys me, idiot. I said it drives me insane.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes. I avoid things that annoy me. I’m driven insane by the things I can’t.”

Harry swallowed, blinking rapidly.

“You’re doing it again! God dammit.”

Harry smirked. “I’m not trying to. Driving you insane must come naturally.”

“I’m not surprised.” Theo finished off the rest of his wine in a large gulp. Harry watched his throat
convulse as he swallowed. Heat crept up his neck as he realized Theo watched him steadily over
the rim.

“I think I prefer that look much better.”

Harry released a slow breath, eyes flickering between Theo’s, searching for something he couldn’t
begin to understand, finding something wild and chaotic that blossomed within his own chest.

“Come to Grimmauld tonight.”

He didn’t phrase it as a request, didn’t see the point. He knew Theo liked it when he took
command.

Sure enough, he watched his lover melt back into his chair, limbs loosening.

“I can’t.” He pushed the empty glass away with two fingers on its base. “Father is home. He’ll get
suspicious if I disappear all night so soon after the last.”

Harry bristled. “How long is he back for?”

Theo shrugged one shoulder, his posture one of calm indifference, but his averted gaze held a rigid
hardness that made Harry’s stomach clench.

“Is he…” treading lightly was never his strong suit. “Is he being a total fucking arse?”

Theo smirked, the darkness in his eyes receding at the edges as he glanced up. “You’ve met him,
Potter. When is he not a complete fucking arse?”

Harry leaned in towards him, just a touch, just enough for Theo’s pupils to expand beneath Harry’s
steady green gaze. “All the more reason for you to escape that prison. Come to Grimmauld. Who
gives a fuck what that tyrant thinks.”

Theo’s tongue darted out as he licked his lips, mouth parting on a sigh. “Unfortunately I’m forced
to care. Privileges of being the only child and sole heir of a powerful elitist and peer of the realm.”
“Exactly why you shouldn’t give two shites. He won’t cut you off or disown you. You’re his only
chance at keeping the Nott empire intact. He can’t do anything to you.”

Theo glanced away once more, shadows cast across his face.

“You’d be surprised what he’s capable of doing. I’d rather not incur his wrath. At least not on this
particular night. I’ll already have a hell of a time explaining this god awful get up to him.”

Harry glanced at Theo’s deep blue jacket. “You wear it well.”

“Trading barbs now, are we?”

“I mean it. The color suits you.” He smirked. “It goes with your eyes.”

“Hilarious.” Then his gaze roamed Harry’s figure. “I chose well, though. You look rather decent,
all things considered.”

“High praise coming from you. Trying to butter me up for something?”

“I have much more effective methods of bending you to my will, Potter.”

His body pulsated with desire.

“I’m well aware.”

The heated moment was punctured, deflating rapidly as a familiar voice invaded their private
space.

“I need all the girls who aren’t with guests to search for him.”

Harry and Theo glanced over their shoulders, eyes latching on Rodolphus’s tall form as he cut a
path to the red curtains marking the private rooms. A sea of house girls in tight corsets and
bloomers trailed in his wake, disappearing behind the barrier.

“What the hell is that about?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied, gaze narrowing. “But I have a bad feeling about it.”

“Let me guess, you’re going to dive head first after that bad feeling?”

Harry spared his lover a wink as he reached for his mask.

“You know me so well.”

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Draco hissed as he dragged her down the maze of
hallways, searching out an empty room.

“I could ask you the very same question!”

He glared over his shoulder. “You seriously think I came here for sex?”

“Oh silly me, you’re obviously here for a meeting of the minds. Are you discussing the practical
applications of the combustible engine?”

“Such a brat,” he grumbled, facing forward once more. “For your information, I’m here looking for
your missing friend.”
Hermione blinked, body going lax in her surprise. She stumbled into his back, losing her footing
and nearly falling. Draco spun around and steadied her with his hands, fingers gripping her narrow
waist. She swallowed heavily, hyper-aware of his burning touch through the thin fabric.

He didn’t release her, merely glared down through his mask. She reached up on instinct and
removed it, needing to see his face.

She expected to see a scowl. Instead, she was met with another painfully familiar expression.

Desire.

Mixed with a hearty helping of anger.

It always went hand in hand with Draco.

She pressed a hand against his chest, trying to put distance between them, to get her thoughts
sorted, but he merely grasped her tighter, holding her in place.

“I… how…” she swallowed. “Harry told you?”

“Yes.” Her face must have betrayed her dismay. “We forced it out of him, he didn’t want to divulge
the information.”

Her brow furrowed. “We?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You came to help Harry?”

His eyes flickered between hers.

“I came to help you.”

Her heart thudded painfully. “Draco, I-”

“Shouldn't be here.”

Her gaze narrowed. “I have every right to be here, she’s my friend.”

His fingers pressed harder against her corset. “What do you think will happen if you’re seen within
these walls? In that outfit? Rodolphus is on the floor tonight, what if he’d recognized you?”

She sighed. “I already saw him. It was a close call but I slipped away.” She bit her lip. His eyes
tracked the movement. “That’s not all,” she began tentatively. “I saw the Carrows as well. It’s a
miracle they didn’t recognize me.”

His eyes snapped back to hers and his face transformed into a sneer. “Lovely. Half the pervert
population of London is here. What a superb night to throw your reputation to the wind, Granger.”

She tried to emulate his look of pure derision but found it an impossible task, the expression a
finely crafted visage inherited from generations of aristocratic disdain.

“Are you deaf or dumb, Malfoy? I told you what I’m doing here, I couldn’t care less who’s in
attendance as long as I find Lavender!”

“Shh!” he hissed, pressing harder against her, pushing her into the wall. “Keep your voice down
you stupid bint.”

“You’re the only idiot here!”

Voices could be heard in the distance from one of the connecting halls.

“I’d have to disagree, it seems you’re itching to be discovered.” She huffed but he cut off her
seething response. “You are leaving, immediately, and maybe I’ll consider not telling Potter what I
saw. Lord knows he’ll tear the roof off this place if he knows you’re here.”

Her heart jolted at the realization that Harry was here. Of course he was, he’d never allow Draco to
come on such a mission alone.

“I’m not leaving, Draco. Not until I find what I came for.”

“Potter and I will search.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t get it, I’m not leaving this one to the boys. Not this time. Besides, I
didn’t come here alone.”

His hands clenched along her waist.

“Who are you with?” His voice was low and lethal. She furrowed her brow, confused by the
sudden wave of hostility.

“My other roommate, Parvati.”

His expression softened considerably. She shook her head, too overwhelmed by the night’s events
to try and decode his rapid mood changes.

“I need to go back out there-”

“Are you insane?”

“Stop questioning my mental faculties!”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’m starting to debate whether to even let you return to that
hovel on Bromley, they obviously have shite security if you’re able to sneak out dressed like a
tart.”

Her eyes widened to saucers, reacting on instinct, forgetting that she held a similar reaction upon
first seeing Angie in the tight revealing uniform.

“This may come as a shock to you, Malfoy, but I don’t need your permission to live my life.”

“Live your life?” he repeated, face alight in malicious mirth. “I apologize, Granger, I didn’t realize
you were making a career of working in a brothel. At least you chose an upscale one, I’m sure
you’ll find it very lucrative, men just love to discuss politics before fucking.”

She cringed. “Don’t be crass, Malfoy.”

“I’m only giving you pointers to help you earn better tips, luv. Try debating the Franco-Prussian
war, that’s sure to get their blood boiling.”

“It certainly had an effect on you that night in Albert Hall.”

His smirk faded, eyes scorching. “Are you really bringing that up now?”

“You brought it up!”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Then walk away, you seem to be good at that.”

They stared each other down, chests heaving, racing hearts aligned through their tightly pressed
bodies.

And then the ribbon broke, chaos unleashed. Their claws descended, mouths connecting with a
powerful magnetism that forced her entire body along his, as though trying to merge into one
being.

Hermione gasped as he ground his lower half into her thin bloomers, feeling the outline of his
manhood with stunning clarity. The sensation was frightening and exhilarating, she moaned as his
hand wrapped delicately around her throat, thumb tipping her chin back so he could feast upon her
rapidly thrumming pulse, his other arm wrapping around her middle and holding her firmly in place
against his body.

She blinked dazedly at the ceiling, clutching at the velvet fabric of his charcoal coat, losing herself
to the sensation, oblivious to their surroundings-

“Well I’ll be damned, is that little Drakey?”

They both lurched but stayed firmly attached, the voice recognizable to their ears. Draco’s face
hovered just above hers, eyes burning a hole through her mind, a silent warning. She nodded, light-
headed in the wake of their wild kiss and the resounding shock of the interruption.

Draco swallowed thickly, holding her gaze as he composed himself, carefully crafting his signature
scowl and casting it over his shoulder.

“Fuck off, Carrow. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Amycus laughed. “I can see that. And I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you.” His eyes
flickered to her, then narrowed. “Wait a minute…”

Draco moved slightly, blocking her from view, hands dropping to firmly grasp her hips as he
continued to glare daggers at the man.

“I know you.”

Hermione swallowed so loudly she heard it echo off the walls.

“You’re that bird from earlier, aren’t you? I thought you were going to ask Roddy about staying a
while longer.”

Draco raised a pale brow. “She did. And she’s staying with me.”

Amycus tipped his head back with a dramatic sigh. “Oh come on, Malfoy, be a gent and share!
Alecto and I had our eye on this one.”

Hermione fought back a cringe, averting her face behind Draco’s shoulder.

“I am sure you will find another bird to share.”

“But we want that one,” he whined like a petulant child. “I’ll take her when you’re through, I don’t
mind waiting. Hell, I’d love to watch.”

Draco’s fingertips dug painfully into her flesh, she bit her lip and stifled a gasp.

“I don’t share, Carrow. You know that. Now fuck off.”

“You’re such a stick in the mud, Malfoy. What about letting Alecto join in, two on one? What
bloke can say no to that?”

Her pulse thrummed rapidly, hands clutching at the fabric of Draco’s undershirt.

“The only person interested in screwing your sister is you, mate.”

Amycus’ face turned lethal. “Fuck you! I’ve never laid hands on her. We like to have fun is all,
you could stand to learn a few things from us.”

“I’m sure the treatment for syphilis is top among them.”

“You little prick!”

“Ami, darling, what’s the matter?” A feminine voice joined the fold.

Bloody hell, this can’t get any worse.

Alecto rounded the corner, mask off, concern marring her expression. Her eyes fell on the trio in
the middle of the hall.

“Oo, a party, may I join in?” she smiled lasciviously, winking at Draco. “Good to see you, darling.
Don’t you look handsome.” She tipped her head. “And who do you have pinned to the wall?”

Great. It’s worse.

“Don’t bother, Allie. He’s being a little twat, as usual. Let’s go.” Amycus grabbed her arm and
dragged her along the hall. Hermione sighed in relief, then scowled as Alecto slipped her hand
along Draco’s shoulder blades as they passed.

“I’ll see you later, Draco,” she blew him a kiss and giggled as her brother angrily jerked her
forward, the twins finally disappearing around the corner.

Hermione inhaled sharply, starved for oxygen.

“That was close.”

He glanced down, eyes bright. “Now do you understand the risk? You can’t stay here, Granger.
Too many people may recognize you.”

She closed her eyes, head falling back to thump against the wall. “I know. I just don’t know what
else to do. We have no other leads on Lavender.”

“Let me and Potter search for her.” Her head sprung back down, eyes narrowed. “I know,” he
continued, “you want to contribute, I got it. But there are other ways to do so without risking your
reputation.” His eyes slowly flickered down, resting on her cleavage. “Among other things.”

She flushed. “For the record I wasn’t keen on the idea of coming here, little less wearing this. But
it was the only way to get inside. I’ll do anything to find her.”
His eyes latched onto hers, holding her gaze steady for several heartbeats before his hand rose to
her face, knuckles skimming her cheek and thumb tracing her bottom lip.

“I know,” he said lowly, the rumble of his voice reverberating through her own chest. “You’ve
always had more concern for others than yourself.”

She unconsciously leaned into his touch, eyelids heavy.

“Draco.”

“Hm.”

“I’m scared for her.”

He tilted his head.

“I know.”

His hand left her face to wind around her waist. “Let me help you.”

She sighed deeply, resting the side of her face against his chest, the steady pound of his heart
against her temple.

“I thought you wanted nothing to do with me anymore.”

She felt his face press into her hair, his chest rising on a deep inhale. He stood silently with her in
his arms, holding her scent in his lungs, before releasing a long slow breath.

“I was angry. I still am.”

Hermione nodded against him. “I’m so sorry, Draco. I never meant to hurt you. I would never seek
to hurt you.”

She felt the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. “I know. We’re just-” he stopped short.
Hermione pulled back, tipping her head back to gaze at him.

“We’re just what?”

His eyes held a sadness that stabbed at her heart.

“We’re just a mess. We’ve always been a mess.”

She searched his gaze. “You’re just now realizing that?”

She meant it in jest but couldn’t bring herself to smile. She didn’t expect him to either.

“You were right.”

“I usually am. To what are you referring?”

“My parents would never accept us. My father told me to stay away from you.”

Hermione felt a burning behind her eyes. She made to pull away from his grasp but he clung to her
tightly.

“I don’t care what they think, Hermione. I know you don’t believe me. I don’t blame you. I’ve
answered their beck and call my entire life. I’ve done everything they’ve ever commanded of me. I
attended Eton and Oxford like my father, joined Parliament just like my father, so why wouldn’t I
marry who they want as well?”

She blinked, vision blurred by tears.

“But I’m done. I’m done living my life for them. I want to live it for me.” His eyes turned molten.
“I want to live it with you.”

She swayed on her feet, his arm the only thing keeping her upright. His hand returned to her face,
thumb sweeping beneath her eye, coming away glistening. “Draco… I-”

“Split up. Find him. Tell him I need to speak with him immediately.”

Hermione's eyes widened at the thundering voice emanating from just around the corner, a chorus
of footsteps quick to follow.

“Rodolphus,” she whispered, face pale.

Draco’s jaw ticked but he set his emotions aside and burst into action, grabbing her by the hand
and pulling her along the hallway at a sprint. She struggled to keep up, sighing in relief when he
found an open door, practically tossing her inside the empty room before sliding in behind her.

He put a finger to his lips and braced his hand against the knob. She nodded, shifting anxiously
from foot to foot as the sound of footsteps passed by. She swallowed heavily when another set
stopped just outside their door.

A delicate knock sounded.

Draco scowled.

“What?” He bit out, still braced against the wood.

“Sorry to bother you, Sir,” spoke a soft feminine voice. “My mistake. Please have a good evening.”

The footsteps proceeded further down the hall, the muffled sound of knocking and conversation
filtering through from the other rooms.

“What was that about?” Hermione whispered, stepping closer.

“They’re looking for someone.”

“I got that.”

He shook his head, slowly stepping away from the wall. “The girls must recognize the voice of
whoever they’re searching for.”

“Who would Rodolphus be trying to find?”

“I honestly couldn’t care less, as long as it isn’t me or you.”

Hermione sighed. “We can’t hide in here all night, Draco, I have to check on Parvati.”

“If she was able to convince Hermione Granger to show up to an upscale brothel in nothing but a
corset and bloomers I have no doubt she’s more than capable of handling herself.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve already made your opinion of
my outfit perfectly clear-”

“I’m not complaining. Not now at least.” He started to slowly stalk towards her. “I can’t abide
other men seeing you like this. But I don’t mind when I can have you all to myself.”

Her pulse quickened at his approach. Yet she didn’t move, arms falling away from her chest as his
reached out to grab her once more-

The door burst open. Hermione gasped, leaping behind Draco to hide from view, but it was too
late, the newcomer had already seen her.

“What the bloody hell is this?” The newcomer demanded, voice enraged.

Draco’s spine straightened, hands curling to fists at his sides. Hermione cringed, willing the ground
to open and swallow her whole for the second time that evening.

“I said,” they stepped inside the room fully, eyes narrowed. “What the hell is this?”

Draco released a heavy sigh through his nose, glancing over his shoulder at her crouching figure.

“We’re fucked, luv.”

Harry carefully maneuvered through the crowd, hot in pursuit of Rodolphus and his harem.

He made it past the red curtain and down the short hall before reaching the intersection, glancing
both ways and seeing a girl turn a corner at the end. He turned left and dashed after her.

“Hey!” She stopped dead in her tracks, spinning around, her half skirt fluttering around her bare
legs. “Wait for a second, luv.”

“Can I help you, Sir?”

“Yes, I’m looking for a friend of mine, she often comes as a guest. Lavender Brown, the name ring
any bells?”

The girl blinked, taking a step back.

“I- I don’t- I’m not supposed to-” she stopped short, swallowing nervously.

Harry took a step forward, heart racing. “You know her?”

She shook her head, a bit too frantically. “No, I’m sorry, I have to go.”

She started to turn but Harry reached out, catching her arm. She flinched and he released her. “I’m
sorry, I don’t mean to frighten you. But I’m worried about Lavender, I think she might be in
trouble. If you know something about her, anything at all, please tell me.”

The girl gazed up at him with raised brows. “You’re her friend?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, a very close friend, she’s practically a sister to me.” He pictured Hermione’s
face in his mind as he spoke, giving his words the conviction they needed.

The girl bit her lip, looking hesitant, and then she glanced over her shoulder with an obvious
longing to escape. His fists curled at his sides, frustration setting in, but he resisted grabbing her
again.
“Please.”

His one syllable plea held a great weight he felt all the way to his marrow. She faced him once
more, eyes filled with such a stricken sadness it scattered his thoughts.

“I’m sorry.”

Harry blinked, blood rushing through his ears.

“What?”

She took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I can’t help you.”

And then she disappeared around the corner.

Harry stood there for several beats, something painful twisting in his chest, wrapping around his
heart and squeezing.

The girl hadn’t said she didn’t know Lavender. She said she couldn’t help him.

The distinction was his first true lead.

He hated to chase her, to make her feel like cornered prey, but this was too important to let slip.

He removed his mask and headed after her, rounding the same corner and drawing short.

She was gone, but he could hear the faint conversation in the next hall, the sound of knocking. He
followed the noise, realizing belatedly that they were looking for someone. He recalled
Rodolphus’s words from earlier, wondering who the man was searching for.

He noticed black keys sticking out of several doors, the faint sound of murmurs and moans
emanating from within. He finally spotted a closed door without a key and darted for it, hoping to
hide inside and wait for the girl to walk by, perhaps he’d have a better chance of intercepting her if
she didn’t see him coming.

He started to enter but reared back as he realized the room was already occupied. He was readying
an apology when his eyes processed the scene before him.

Malfoy.

Pressed tightly against a girl in scant uniform.

“What the bloody hell is this?”

Malfoy came to his full height, body tense as he spun around.

“I said,” Harry took a menacing step closer, chest tight with a torrent of emotion. “What the hell is
this?”

Malfoy merely sighed, face resigned as he glanced over his shoulder at the girl cowering behind
his tall frame.

“We’re fucked, luv.”

Harry’s jaw ticked, the casual intimacy in the man’s voice making him see red.

“You backstabbing louse! I thought you cared about Hermione, that you wanted to help find her
missing friend. But you came to dip your quill in a bit of ink. You pathetic excuse for-” Harry
stopped short, brows drawing. “What the fuck are you laughing about?”

“Should I tell him or should you?” the blonde asked the girl with a smirk that only served to
frustrate Harry further.

“This night can’t get any worse,” spoke an all too familiar voice from behind the man’s back,
dainty hands appearing on his biceps as she gingerly stepped out from her hiding spot.

Harry’s jaw fell open, mind rapidly trying to process what he was seeing.

She cringed.

“Harry, I can explain-”

“This should be good. Hold on a moment.” Draco sat down on the chaise, leaning back with his
arms over the backing and his legs crossed at the ankles. He smiled widely. “Proceed.”

Harry’s mind finally moved beyond the initial shock.

He exploded.

“Hermione?!”

She cringed again, leaning away with the force of his volume.

“What the bloody hell is going on here? Why are you-” he blinked rapidly, face crumpling. “What
are you wearing?”

She opened her mouth but he continued unabated.

“Jesus Christ, why are you in a uniform, Hermione?”

She stepped towards him with her hands up, mouth opening once more.

“Fucking hell, are you kidding me? I can’t-”

“Why don’t you try letting her get a word in, Potter.”

“Shut up, Malfoy!”

Draco laced his fingers behind his head. “Pardon my interruption. Please, continue to rant and rave
like a lunatic, it’s immensely entertaining.”

Harry’s jaw clamped shut so hard his teeth clinked audibly. Hermione closed the distance between
them, placing a hand on his chest.

“Harry, I came here to look for Lavender. Draco told me you came here for the same reason.
We’re both-”

“You’re pretending to be a House girl, Mione? Are you fucking daft?”

Draco smirked. “And it gets better.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, hand falling away. “I’m going to give you a pass on that one because I
know you’re still in shock. But the next insult will cost you.”

Draco scowled. “I didn’t get a free pass!”

Hermione glared over her shoulder. “That’s because you’re an arrogant arse. Now hush.” She faced
Harry once more. “Did you find out anything about Lavender?”

Harry shook his head. “What? Are you serious? I’m not past the fact that you snuck in here!”

Hermione rolled her eyes, groaning. “Can we please skip over the inevitable argument regarding
my welfare? I’m exhausted.”

His eyes narrowed as he shrugged out of his jacket, stepping close to drape it over her shoulders.

“We’re not skipping it, but we can delay the argument until the ride home, which is happening
now.”

Draco chuckled behind them.

“Good luck with that, mate. I’ve been trying to drag her out of here since she threatened to break a
bottle over my head.”

Harry pinned him with a sardonic look. “You dragged her to the back of the Club into a private
room looking for an exit.”

Draco shrugged. “I was getting round to it.”

“Stop it, both of you!” Hermione snapped. “I am tired of everyone telling me what’s best for my
life! I am looking for my missing friend and I’ll do whatever the bloody hell it takes to find her! If
that means dressing up like a- a-”

Draco raised a pale brow, smirking as she struggled to find the word. She shook her head, pushing
on.

“If that means dressing up and sneaking into a brothel then that’s what I’m going to do!”

Harry blinked, dumbfounded.

She heaved a breath. “Besides, I’ve met the girls who work here. They’re kind and intelligent and
hard-working- stop laughing, Draco! I’m serious! They are good people and I’m not ashamed to
pretend to be one of them. They stuck their necks out sneaking me in here and I’m not leaving until
I find out something useful!”

She locked gazes with her best friend, the air around them charged with the force of her conviction.

Harry knew a losing battle when he saw one, on sea and on land, especially when it came to
Hermione. She was a formidable opponent, easily talking circles around educated men twice her
age. If they were lucky she left them licking their wounds, nursing bruised egos. Others she
eviscerated entirely.

He didn’t feel like being skewered through the middle, at least not while wearing tights.

“Bloody hell…” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair, grabbing a handful and tugging in
frustration. “I don’t think this night can get any w-”
“Ah ah ah!” Draco shouted from his prone position on the chaise. “Don’t be a dumb shite and jinx
us any further, Potter.”

Harry sighed, dropping his arms at his sides. But it was too late.

The night got worse.

“Bloody hell, you broke my nose you crazy bint!”

“Damn right I did! Teach you to keep your paws to yourself you fucking- oi! Did you just pinch my
arse? Want me to break your arm as well?”

Everyone turned to face the open door, the hallway beyond empty but for the loud voices bouncing
off the walls.

“Zabini?” Harry asked, glancing to Draco with a raised brow.

Hermione rushed past them, dropping Harry’s coat to the ground and flying out of the room.

“Shite!” Harry shouted, sprinting after her, Draco springing off the chaise just behind him.

“Goddammit, Potter! She’s ninety bloody pounds and a foot shorter, fucking grab her!”

Harry reached out but she slipped around the corner before he could make contact. He and Draco
crashed into the wall, unable to check their momentum in time.

“Ow! Fuck!” Draco groaned, grabbing his shoulder as Harry cursed under his breath, pushing off
the wall and dashing down the hall.

Hermione came to a dead stop in an open doorway and Harry stumbled behind her, nearly falling
face first onto the runner to avoid toppling into her.

“What the hell are you- Mione?” She darted into the room, Harry leaping after her. He blinked at
the sight within.

Blaise was leaning over in an upholstered chair cradling his face, blood seeping out from between
his fingers. A girl stood a few feet away, poised in a defensive stance, fists clenched.

“Parvati, are you alright?”

“Is she alright? I’m the one fucking bleeding!”

Hermione blinked. “Zabini?”

He blinked as well, sitting upright. “Granger?”

“You know this tosspot, Mione?” Parvati asked, hands perched on her hips.

Draco entered, panting lightly. “What the bloody hell is...” he trailed off as he gazed about the
room. “...going on.”

Harry shook his head. “We’ll sort it out in the carriage, we’re leaving.” No one moved. “Now!” he
shouted, making everyone jolt.

Hermione crossed the room and reached for the other girl, everyone ignoring Blaise who continued
to scowl as he took to his feet.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

Harry tipped his head, inspecting the man’s bloodstained upper lip and chin as his hands fell away.

“I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure you deserved it.”

Blaise glared, stomping past Harry and a laughing Draco. Harry turned his attention to the girls,
ushering them into the hallway as quickly as possible. If they heard the commotion from two halls
away it was only a matter of time until more people showed up.

“Did he hurt you?” Hermione whispered to her dark-haired friend. The girl shook her head, eyes
narrowing.

“No. The wanker made a pass when I was walking down the hall looking for you. Then the idiot
had the nerve to pinch my arse after I punched him! Cheeky bastard.”

Hermione smirked, intertwining their arms as they headed down the hall.

“On the bright side, you got to hit someone in the face before the night was through.”

Approximately forty-five minutes later and a rather hurried explanation to Pansy and Theo, which
left them both laughing outright at Blaise’s bloodied appearance, the carriage was pulling alongside
the corner of Bromley and Wade, the drop off point Hermione had insisted on to ensure they
weren’t seen.

The ride had been a tense one, the car’s four occupants all brimming with exhaustion and stress in
the wake of a chaotic evening.

Hermione had confessed to the boys that she and Parvati had made a pit stop outside Trafalgar
Square to change clothes, leaving their garments at Angie’s flat. They were none too pleased to
hear the girls had been running around the backstreets of London but agreed there wasn’t time to
swing by and collect their belongings before the sun came up.

Which meant the girls were not only sneaking into the Home after curfew but were also doing so in
their corsets and bloomers. The boys had given them their coats to help shield their arms, but their
legs were still woefully exposed beyond the flimsy half-skirts.

Hermione could only imagine Umbridge’s reaction if she caught them in such a state. She took
small satisfaction picturing every blood vessel in the toad’s face bulging with the force of her
outrage, her head bursting like an overripe plum.

But her brief humorous interlude was squashed as Harry made good on his promise and proceeded
to have out the argument about her welfare. It was mostly one-sided as Hermione was too
exhausted to put up much fight.

She was also despondent that the night had turned up no additional information on Lavender.
While Hermione had been subjected to a revolving door of close call discoveries, Parvati had
actually been able to ask around the floor and speak to some of the house girls. While a couple
claimed they’d seen Lavender before, none of them had any handle on her current whereabouts.

It had all been for naught. They were back to where they started, empty-handed and clueless.

Meanwhile, Draco, who’d insisted on accompanying the girls home as well, hadn’t spoken a word
throughout the duration of the ride, which was immensely frustrating. He didn’t come to her
defense when Harry lectured her, didn’t even speak up to agree with the man. He also didn’t spare
her a single glance beyond helping her into the carriage initially.

Was this the same man who claimed only an hour ago that he longed to spend his life with her?

It felt as though a stranger was seated across the carriage.

Did he regret what he said in the hall? Did he wish he could take it all back? Was he pretending she
didn’t exist in the hopes of erasing it from her memory as well?

Then why would he insist on seeing us home?

Hermione sighed as the carriage lurched to a stop, her mind overtaxed and unable to work out the
oddity that was Draco Malfoy any further this night.

Harry was seated by the door and opened it, leaping down and reaching up to help the girls find
their footing. Parvati exited first, extending her thanks as Harry grabbed her hand and helped keep
her balanced on the dismount.

Hermione bit her lip, sliding along the seat waiting for her turn. She glanced over to Draco with
trepidation, the unease that steadily built up throughout their ride overflowing from her lips.

“I’d say goodnight, but I don’t think it’s fair to call it that.”

Draco glanced away from the window and locked gazes. A stray beam of moonlight filtered
through and illuminated his eyes. They looked surreal, glowing otherworldly from his shadowed
corner of the carriage.

“We’ll speak soon, Granger.”

His words rattled her, sounding more like a threat than a promise. She blinked.

“Are you angry with me?”

Parvati was fully on the ground now, Harry reaching up and waiting for her to exit.

Draco cocked his head. “Furious.”

Her heart leaped into her throat. She didn’t want to end their interaction on such a note. Not again.

“Draco…” She trailed off as she noticed the glimmer in his eyes, the soft upturn of his lips. She
tipped her head back with a sigh, relief pouring over her like warm water on cold skin. “Hilarious,”
she groaned. “You make me want to scream my bloody lungs out sometimes.”

“We’ll turn that desire into reality the next time I see you.”

Her head snapped back down, a flush overtaking her body in the wake of his heated words. She
opened her mouth but before she could formulate a response Harry popped his head in.

“Planning to stay the night in here, luv?”

She blushed deeper. “Oh, sorry,” she took his offered hand and leaped down to the pavement,
glancing over her shoulder one last time but unable to see Draco through the shadows.

“So, this is where we exchange heated barbs or makeup, I’ll leave the decision up to you,” Harry
said with a small smile.
She rolled her eyes. “Come here, idiot.”

His grin widened as he stepped forward and wrapped her in his embrace, speaking softly against
her hair.

“I’m sorry I didn’t send word to you sooner. I was afraid of what I might find at the Club and
didn’t want to upset you.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “I know. But I’m not a child, Harry. I deserve to be kept in the
loop, especially since it involves someone close to me. How would you like it if I left you in the
dark about Ron?”

He went suddenly rigid in her hold. Hermione glanced up. “Harry?”

He cleared his throat. “Um…” he shook his head. “I was just thinking how disappointed Ron will
be that he didn’t get to see you in this outfit.”

Hermione arched a brow, not entirely convinced that’s what he was thinking but allowing him to
divert the conversation in light of the circumstances.

“It’s a small blessing you were the one to find me. He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

Harry smirked. “Don’t think you’re getting off that easy. I plan on throwing this evening in your
face for many years to come.”

“I would expect no less.” Her eyes moved past Harry to Parvati who shifted from foot to foot,
glancing around the empty street warily. “Well, we should probably go.”

“Are you sure I can’t escort you inside?”

“We’re going to have to sneak back in, better if we’re not accompanied by a man when we do so.”

Harry sighed. “I can’t stand this place. I really wish you’d take Ron up on his offer.”

Hermione blinked. “He told you about that?”

“Gin told me he was going to ask you to move into the Burrow when he got back, knowing Ron I
assume he brought it up in the first five minutes.”

She glanced away. “I can’t, Harry.”

“Fred and George will be gone soon-”

“It’s not that.”

Harry arched a brow. “What is it then?”

She shook her head, swallowing lightly. “I don’t want to go into it right now, we really have to get
going, the sun will be up in a few hours and Filch sleeps hanging upside down from the rafters as it
is.”

Harry sighed deeply, releasing her from his grasp and stepping back.

“Send word to me in the morning so I know you weren’t caught and flogged within an inch of your
life.”
Hermione blinked, an image of the girl being flogged in the Club coming back to her in stunning
clarity. She cleared her throat. “Of course.”

Harry’s expression turned somber. “I won’t stop looking for her, Hermione.”

She smiled sadly.

“It’s alright, Harry. There are no more leads to go on.”

“I’ll find McLaggen.”

“I don’t think he knows anything more, he’d have told you if he did.”

Harry’s jaw ticked. “I’ll knock him around some more, shake something loose from his memory.”

“As wonderful as that sounds I think the only thing you’ll knock loose is his already limited brain
function.”

They held each other’s gaze a while longer until Parvati’s soft shuffling broke the trance.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Mione,” he caught her arm as she started to walk past. She glanced up, brow raised. “Please, don’t
run around London looking for her. Whatever she was involved in…” he exhaled slowly.
“Whatever she was involved in isn’t the type of stuff I want you getting tangled with. Let me keep
searching for her. I’ll keep you informed of everything I find, I promise.”

She gently pulled free from his hold. “I love you too much to lie to you, Harry. I’m not going to
stop searching for answers. But I’ll keep you in the loop as well so that there aren’t any more
surprises like tonight.”

He didn’t look happy about that response. “You’re the most stubborn person I know.”

She smirked. “Funny, I was thinking the very same thing about you.”

Five minutes later she and Parvati were slipping through the gap in the back gate, carefully
maneuvering through the garden beneath the bright moonlight.

“I like him,” Parvati whispered over her shoulder.

Hermione smiled. “Everyone likes, Harry.”

Her friend gazed upon her again, a coy smirk playing at her lips. “I wasn’t referring to Harry,
though I like him, too.”

Hermione blinked. “I don’t-”

“No need to pretend, luv. I was in the carriage. Sexual tension was thick in the air. It was
delicious.”

Hermione flushed, opening and closing her mouth but finding her usual lies inaccessible while
pinned beneath the girl’s knowing stare.

“How did you figure that out?” she finally asked, resigned to the truth. “He didn’t spare me a word
the entire ride.”
Parvati chuckled quietly, creeping past the freesias. “Exactly. It’s all about body language, not
what a bloke says. Blondie was tense the whole ride, hands clenched at his sides to keep from
reaching for you. He studied the window frame like it held the meaning of life.”

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek. “He’s a whirlwind. One moment he’s burning hot and
the next he’s ice cold. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

They carefully stepped around the hawthorn bush.

“Then don’t think. Feel.”

Hermione tipped her head, examining Parvati’s face in the darkness. “I wish it was that simple.”

“It can be simple. You just like to complicate everything.”

“Says the girl who tricked me into spending the night in a sex club.”

Parvati smiled. “I tricked Hermione Granger. This is a huge milestone in my life, you’re sarcasm
won’t ruin it.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile and failing miserably. “The kitchen door will be
barricaded, thanks to my earlier escapades. We’ll have to use the old servant’s entrance.”

“The one Filch uses all the time?”

“Unless you feel like scaling the side of the building to find an open window.”

“Not in these shoes. Alright, let’s meet our fate.”

They were able to slip inside without issue. But their luck ran out as they entered the first-floor
corridor that led to the stairs.

A shadow appeared on the far wall, illuminated by a swinging lantern.

The broken gait that followed was unmistakable.

They both dodged behind a tapestry, crouching low.

“Shite!”

Hermione nodded her agreement. “We have to find a way around him. Remember, we’re heading
to Luna and Hannah’s room, they’ll still be asleep in ours.”

“How the hell are we going to get past him? He’s blocking the stairs!”

Hermione bit her lip. “One of us will have to create a diversion so the other can slip past.”

“That’s great for the person who doesn’t get trapped on the first floor.”

“They can lead Filch around in a circle. We’re both faster than he is. We can be under the covers
by the time he makes it back to the dorms.”

Parvati shook her head. “And you accuse me of being the reckless one.”

“I thought you’d be proud.”

“I’m so proud I could burst into tears. Perhaps I’ll use that as the distraction.”
Hermione held her gaze. “No. I’ll create the distraction, you head upstairs.”

“What? No! I’ll-”

“Listen, Parvati,” she whispered sharply, reaching out and grabbing her hand. “It’s like you said
earlier, if we’re caught Umbridge it less likely to kick me out. She needs my monthly stipend.
She’ll lock me in the cellar for the rest of my life, but she won’t put me out on the streets.” She
sighed. “We both know she’ll happily evict you in a heartbeat.”

Parvati looked stricken, her mouth opening and closing before she deflated. “If you’re caught I’ll
never forgive myself.”

“If I’m caught then you’ll be obligated to slip me bread and water through the narrow slot in my
cell.”

“Don’t joke.”

“Sadly I wasn’t. Okay, I’m going to head to the west end and make some noise. Don’t leave this
hiding spot until he rounds the corner.”

Parvati squeezed her hand. “God’s speed.”

Hermione nodded.

“What’s one more poor decision, right?”

She took a deep breath, releasing her hand and creeping out from behind the tapestry. She carefully
removed her shoes to minimize sound and then took off at a sprint down the hall.

Bloody hell, this night…

Her heart was pounding through her ears, body alive with the thrill of the rush. Her earlier fear and
anxiety was pushed aside, her entire being possessed with the adrenaline surging through her veins.

She turned the corner so fast she skidded on her hose covered feet, catching herself against the
wall.

Good going, idiot! Do you want to sprain an ankle before Filch even starts chasing you?

She collected herself and continued down the passage to the kitchen with steely determination. She
grabbed a lantern off the wall before pushing open the butler door, eyes skimming the counters and
cabinets, considering her options.

Best to keep it classic.

She set the lantern down and walked to the opposite wall, carefully removing a large metal pot
from the hanging rack above. She bit her lip, eyeing the soup ladle hanging beside it. She started to
reach for the instrument but then drew her hand back, shaking her head.

Classic and simple would do.

She crept back to the door, starting to push it open, but then remembered something and spun
around.

She took the lantern to the store pantry and grabbed a small jar of honey, sliding it into the pocket
of Harry’s velvet coat. It carried his scent, a small source of comfort. She lingered a moment
longer, staring blankly at the items within before shutting the doors and exiting the kitchen, light
and shoes in one hand, pot in the other.

She inhaled deeply, raising the pot high over her head, holding the air in her lungs until they
burned, closing her eyes…

She opened her fingers and the dead weight dropped, crashing to the stone floor with a mighty roar,
an explosion of chaos.

The immediate silence following the storm was unsettling.

But then she heard it.

“Bloody ‘ell!”

Muffled, distant cursing, followed by the shuffling footsteps of the caretaker.

She wasted no time, taking off at a run down the hall, passing the entrance to the dining hall as she
made a large circle around the first floor, hoping Filch would be distracted by the abandoned pot
long enough for her to make it to the stairs-

She gasped, stopping dead in her tracks, eyes widening at the sight in front of her.

She dropped her shoes and the lantern, the glass breaking and scattering along the ground.

Her heart skipped a beat as her mouth formed the name.

“Lavender?”

But no, it couldn’t be.

The girl stood at the end of the darkened hall, cast in shadows. She wore a plain white shift and
nothing more, feet bare and dirty, blonde hair limp and stringy, hanging in a solid curtain over her
face, blocking her identity from view.

The unnatural chill in the air was Hermione’s first indicator.

The girl’s utter stillness was the second.

She wasn’t breathing.

Hermione blinked back tears of terror.

“Who are you?”

The figure remained frozen.

Hermione couldn’t see its eyes, but she knew it was watching her.

Waiting.

“What do you want?”

Silence. All-encompassing, drowning out her rapid heartbeat, her nervous swallow.

“Are you in my head?”

She blinked again and the tears fell, dropping silently to her chest and carving paths along her skin.

And then the figure moved. The head tipped up, the hair parted, the face became visible.

Hermione brought a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream.

The eyes were missing. Gouged out, bloody holes left behind, jagged sockets aimed upon her.

The terror was overwhelming, shorting out her other senses, muting her thoughts.

She ran.

She had no idea where she was going, Filch was long forgotten, her mission to return to the dorms
a far away memory.

She sobbed openly, oblivious to her surroundings, mindless of the noise she was making.

She had to get away.

Away away away-

An arm emerged from the shadows and grabbed her, pulling her into a darkened alcove.

She gasped, preparing to scream-

A large hand clapped over her mouth. “Calm down, Ms. Granger, unless you’d like to bring Filch
running.”

She blinked. Then blinked again. The figure before her slowly taking shape through the tears.

She swallowed nervously as the hand slipped away. She licked her lips, tasting salt.

“Doctor?”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t look so relieved. What are you doing out of-”

He trailed off, eyes roaming her figure. “Ms. Granger, are you in your underclothes?”

His neutral tone made her glance down in confusion. She’d forgotten she was barely dressed, her
body still quaking with latent terror. She pulled the coat closed, shielding her torso, and then
glanced over her shoulder with wide eyes, searching the darkness beyond for a white slip, blonde
hair, the nightmare visage.

“I saw- there was a- I thought it-”

“Breathe, Ms. Granger.” His hand was still upon her arm, the other was filled with a thick stack of
papers. She shook her head, inhaling sharply, feeling light-headed. “You’re having a hysterical
reaction. Come with me.”

“I don’t- I shouldn’t-”

“You can and you will. Focus on maintaining your breath and follow along.”

She swallowed thickly, nodding as she fell into a numb stupor, the adrenaline dissipating rapidly
from her system.

She followed him blindly, assuming he’d lead her to the clinic.
But they walked steadily in the opposite direction.

She gazed around in confusion when he led her down a darkened corridor she recognized only too
well. It was where she sought refuge the night she discovered Lavender in the closet with
McLaggen. The night she met the Doctor for the first time. Another lifetime ago.

The corridor led to his bedroom.

Her heart skipped a beat, yet she continued to follow without opposition. Without rational thought.

But he didn’t take her to his room. Instead, he stopped at a door on the opposite wall directly
across from his chamber. The door was partially open, soft candlelight flickering within. He held
his arm out, inviting her to enter. She stepped inside without hesitation.

The room was small, startling so. Barely more than a storage closet, yet it managed to fit a desk,
chair, and small bookcase. Every surface was covered in papers. Endless stacks of it lined the
walls. It was overwhelming to look upon, making her heart race anew. She stepped back
instinctively and gasped as she met something warm and unyielding.

She spun around, the Doctor directly at her back, eyes narrowed and fixed upon her.

She opened her mouth but her words fell short as his hand reached out, lightning fast, and grasped
her neck.

Her pulse thrummed madly, mind going blank in this fresh wake of terror. She was hypnotized by
it, a rabbit falling into a death trance as the python coiled around and around, pinning it limbs,
squeezing the breath from its lungs-

Only the Doctor didn’t put any pressure on her neck, he merely tipped her head back with his
thumb while his fingers grazed the delicate flesh, his eyes transfixed upon her throat.

Then she realized he was tracing the red ribbon adorning her neck like a choker.

His eyes flashed with hellflame. She watched in mute fascination as a dark transformation
overcame him. It rendered her boneless. She remained upright merely by the magnetism of his
hand upon her.

“You’ve been somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

She blinked, pulse throbbing wildly against his lingering touch. His fingertips burned her flesh, the
fire in his gaze emitting black smoke that filled her lungs and stole her breath.

His eyes flickered up, meeting hers.

“What have you done?”

His gaze was unnatural, his body too still. Instinctual fear took root within her. She was in the
midst of a predator. She understood that now.

But it was too late.

He stepped closer.

And closer yet.

His shoulder blades split down the middle, monstrous wings expanding, made of shadow and
smoke, filling the room, blocking the candlelight, casting her into a dark abyss.

“What have you done, Hermione?”

She swallowed, feeling the movement against his resting fingers.

“I made a series of very poor decisions.”

His eyes flickered down once more, she couldn’t tell whether he stared upon her mouth or the
ribbon.

“I can see that.” He tipped his head, the casual gesture unsettling. “You snuck out.”

She inhaled. “Yes.”

“You changed clothes.”

“Yes,” she replied.

He stepped closer. “You went to Amortentia.”

She blinked, a deep flush overtaking her. Part of her senses returning upon hearing the name
spoken by his voice.

“You know about Amortentia?”

“I know a great deal about it.”

She flushed hotter, eyes flickering between his.

“No, I’m not a client,” he supplied.

She released a slow breath. He was standing so close her chest grazed his on her next inhale.

“But I know all about it just the same. These ribbons,” his thumb grazed across the fabric, “I know
what they signify. Which leaves me immensely curious as to why you’re wearing them.”

She opened and closed her mouth, his proximity too much for her frazzled nerves to endure.

He held her gaze for several beats more before stepping back, his hand dropping away, her lungs
decompressing.

“Take your time. We won’t be disturbed in here.”

His comment did nothing to alleviate her stress.

“I was looking for Lavender.”

“At Amortentia?”

She nodded slowly. His eyes flickered to her body, lingering on her hose-clad legs.

“You pretended to be an employee," he surmised.

It wasn’t a question. She bit her lip, averting her gaze to the ground.

She braced herself for the scorn, the lecture, the punishment.
“Did you find anything useful?”

Hermione blinked, glancing up. She stared at him in wonderment before shaking her head. “No…
we didn’t.”

She cringed at her inadvertent use of the term ‘we’. She didn’t want to bring Parvati down with her.
She knew the Doctor caught her turn of phrase, the man didn’t miss anything. But his next words
startled her further.

“That’s unfortunate.”

She took a deep breath, shoulders dropping. “Yes, it is," she agreed.

“Why were you running down the hallway like hellhounds were at your heels?”

She glanced away once more. A part of her wanted to tell him the truth. Craved it desperately. To
share this burden with another person, someone who may have the answers she sought, not the
supernatural speculation that Luna provided. But she knew she couldn’t. She didn’t know this man,
not well enough to place her fate in his hands. He would have the grounds to have her admitted to a
mental asylum if she confided the details of her hallucinations.

She couldn’t risk it. “I was trying to escape Filch.”

He tucked his hands in his trouser pockets, gaze steady. “Why were you crying?”

She swallowed lightly, glancing up. “I was… I was scared.”

He raised a dark brow. “Scared? Of Filch?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Of being caught. I know the trouble I’d be in if Umbridge found me in such a
state.”

He tipped his head, as though studying her at a different angle revealed something new. “I see.”

Perhaps it did. She bit her lip once more. He knows I’m lying.

She ran her finger beneath one of the ribbons on her wrist, fidgeting anxiously, and tugged too
hard. It broke beneath her touch, falling to the floor. She stared upon it for a few tense seconds
before forcing her gaze upward.

“Are you going to report me?” she asked.

A heavy beat. “No.”

She breathed slowly, daring to ask the question burning inside her. “Why not?”

“You will go to any lengths to find your friend. I cannot bring myself to punish that which I
admire.”

Her heart lurched, body rocking with the impact of his words.

“You seem surprised," he observed. "I am not the head of this establishment, nor am I the
disciplinarian. I am the Doctor. It is my job to ensure your welfare, which is why I strongly
discourage you from visiting Amortentia or such establishments again. But I will not punish you
after the fact.”
More of her fear fell away in light of the mystery before her.

“You aren’t like most Doctors,” she said.

His face transformed once more, a dark humor setting in, lifting the corner of his mouth. “That I
am not.” His eyes gleamed. “You aren’t like most young women.”

Hermione’s hands curled at her sides. “No. I’m not.”

His gaze remained steady, unyielding. “You seem to have recovered from your episode. I think it’s
safe for you to return to your dorm now.”

“Safe is a pretty relative term.”

He nodded, head turning as he glanced at the door. “I will deter Filch in order for you to head
upstairs.”

She jolted, trying to make sense of his offer but finding no logic to be had. She normally loved
puzzles. But not this one. “Why…” she gathered the meager remnants of her courage. “Why are
you helping me?”

He looked to her once more, his mask of calm detachment back in place. “Because, Ms. Granger.
You’re in need of my help at the present moment, and I’m in a position to provide it.”

Then he smiled, and the mask cracked. His fangs descended. She blinked and they were gone, his
next words pulling her from the haunting reverie.

“And perhaps one day our positions will be reversed… and you will be able to help me.”
 Shadow Monsters

Forgetting's just forgetting,

Except when it's not.
Then they call it something else.
. . .

Hermione didn’t fall asleep that night.

Her mind was too restless, her heart refusing to return to its normal pace.

After she’d slipped into the darkened dorm she’d been immediately accosted by Parvati, her friend
standing guard at the door waiting for her. She said she’d been on the verge of searching for
Hermione herself, convinced Filch had discovered and dragged her to some hidden dungeon
beneath the Home.

They’d shared Hannah’s bed for the first hour, staring at the ceiling silently in the dark, until
Parvati was finally slipped under the sweet veil of unconsciousness.

Hermione wasn’t so lucky. And lying beside the slumbering girl had only made her feel more
anxious, more nervous. So she’d padded quietly to Luna’s bed and slipped beneath the covers, the
mattress her own private den of solitude, an island all her own.

She was a castaway, separated from civilization, trapped in the center of an endless ocean.

“... perhaps one day our positions will be reversed… and you’ll be able to help me.”

Of all the chaos that had ensued over the last twenty-four hours, the utter mess that was her night,
those were the words that stayed with her until the sun broke the horizon, bathing the room in a
pale orange glow.

They unsettled her greatly, though she couldn’t fathom why. The comment was harmless enough.
But the manner in which it was delivered, the man who delivered it…

It all amounted to something more.

But what?

She had such a headache, brought on by utter exhaustion and rampant overthinking as she tried to
analyze every beat of her night.

By the time Parvati stirred Hermione was already sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the
window with a haunted gaze.

They borrowed clothes from their friends’ wardrobe and slipped downstairs to breakfast for
appearance’s sake, neither girl hungry but needing to see the aftermath of Hermione’s midnight run.
She’d meant to leave a pot for Filch to find but also ended up leaving behind her borrowed shoes
and a broken lantern.

She had no doubt he’d be out for blood, desperate to find the person responsible for giving him the
runaround and making him look like a fool in a wily game of cat and mouse.

Hermione slid in beside Luna on the bench, stomach clenching at the mere sight of toast on the
girl’s plate.

“Good morning,” the blonde said with a bright smile. “How did you sleep?”

“Like the dead,” Parvati responded from her spot across the table. “And you?”

“Your bed is really hard, Mione,” Hannah said, taking a bite of eggs. “I had to move to Lavender’s.
I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is. Someone needs to keep it warm for her,” Parvati said automatically, filling her
glass with water from the pitcher.

Hermione glanced away.

“Your bed is quite comfortable, Parvati,” Luna said pleasantly. “I find it much more enjoyable than
mine.”

“Any time you want to crawl in beside me you come right on over,” Parvati flashed her a saucy
wink. Luna tipped her head, buttering her toast.

“That’s very kind of you to offer, I shall keep it in mind.”

Parvati snorted, shaking her head and taking a drink.

“So…” Hannah said lowly, leaning forward. “Don’t leave us in suspense, did you find anything?”

Hermione glanced at the head table, narrowing her gaze when she saw no sight of Umbridge. She
swallowed nervously, wondering if her absence had anything to do with last night.

Did the Doctor end up turning me in?

But she asked the question with little anxiety, already knowing the answer in her heart.

He wouldn’t turn her in.

He needed her for something...

She felt a steady pressure build rapidly behind her eyes everytime she thought on it, the more she
tried to solve the puzzle the more her head felt like it would split down the center, her brain
spilling onto the floor.

She snapped her gaze back to her friends.

“We should avoid talking about it in public if at all possible, just in case.” She bit her lip, shoulders
dropping. “But the short answer is no, we didn’t find anything.”

Hannah deflated as well, sighing. Luna on the other hand merely tipped her head. “Don’t be
discouraged. You’ll find something.”

“Any chance you’ve had a vision, luv?” Parvati asked her in all sincerity. “Anything is better than
nothing at this point.”

Luna shook her head, hair shimmering in the sunlight. “I’m afraid not. I haven’t had one in a long
time, and I’ve never been able to induce them myself.”

Hermione rubbed her palms against her borrowed skirt, feeling a blossoming sense of anxiety in the
wake of such a discussion. When she first met Luna she’d been gobsmacked by the girl’s claims,
that she actually thought she had such supernatural abilities.

Then she’d gotten to know Luna and fell utterly in love with her kindness, selfless nature, and
bright outlook on the world at large, no matter the situation.

And the more time went by, the closer they became, the less strange it all seemed. Hermione
certainly didn’t believe in any of it, but she came to understand that Luna did, so she learned to
accept it as a part of the girl’s personality, what made her the unique and compassionate individual
she was.

But now Hermione was starting to develop a different outlook on the matter.

With these ghastly hallucinations she was plagued by on nearly a daily basis at this point, her own
sanity in question, she found such paranormal discussion unnerving.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” Luna asked, blue eyes upon her.

Hermione nodded quickly, trying to effect a more casual posture. “Yes, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Luna held her gaze, her expression all too knowing, but the moment was interrupted by a new
presence at their back.

“Granger.”

Hermione cringed.

“What do you want, Edgecomb?” Parvati snapped.

“Is your name Granger?”

“Something looks different about you today, Rhetta. Are you normally this bloated or are you just
getting fatter?”

Marietta’s hands clenched to fists at her sides, even as a malevolent smirk appeared on her face. “I
won’t stoop to your level today, Patil. Besides, I know you’re just sore over the fact your dirty slut
of a friend took off without you. Trouble in paradise?”

Hermione leaped at the same time as Parvati, but she flew towards her friend, while Parvati flew
towards Marietta’s throat.

“Parv, stop!”

Hannah sprung to her feet as well, helping restrain the flailing girl as best she could.

“You stupid bitch!”

Diners at nearby tables stmid-conversationsation, setting down utensils to watch the show.

Marietta stepped back, laughing. “Struck a nerve, did I? I was joking about her running off, you
know. I assume she’s dead in a gutter somewhere, whored herself out to the wrong bloke.”

Hermione clenched her jaw, barely tamping her own raging desire to strike the girl down. Instead,
she clasped Parvati’s face in her hands, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Don’t listen to her, Parv. She’s trying to provoke you. She knows if you hit her you’ll be kicked
out. Don’t give her the satisfaction.”

Parvati’s eyes were unfocused, wild.

“Parvati, please, calm down!”

“She’s not worth it, Parv,” Hannah added, glancing nervously to Hermione.

Parvati came to her senses in stages. She slowly deflated in Hannah’s hold, blinking a few times as
she seemed to awake from a stupor.

Her eyes met Hermione’s.

“I’m okay.”

Hannah kept her grip on her arms a few moments longer, finally releasing her.

“Well that was fun,” Marietta deadpanned. “But I really don’t have time for such base diversions. I
came to fetch Granger.”

Hermione spun around, still seething.

“Fetch me?”

“Umbridge wants to see you immediately.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. She glanced sharply at Parvati and shared a loaded look. Then she
felt something brush her fingers, making her jump. She looked down and met Luna’s gaze.

“You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Hermione blinked, something in the blonde’s eyes blanketing her in a wave of calm.

“I’ll see you girls later.”

“Hermione-”

“It’s fine, Parv.” She gave her a meaningful look, trying to convey the silent message. Her friend
nodded, albeit reluctantly, and then Hermione was exiting the dining hall, limbs stiff and mind
blank as she followed in Marietta’s wake.

“I really do think she’s dead, you know,” the girl said over her shoulder as they walked down the
mostly empty corridor.

Hermione took a deep breath, muscles tensing.

Marietta’s eyes narrowed, annoyed she was unable to elicit a more satisfying response. Hermione
braced herself for her next attempt.

“Probably for the best. Lord only knows the disease she was spreading everytime she opened her
legs.”

She scowled as Hermione remained silent, eyes averted straight ahead. Eventually, she seemed to
accept that Hermione wasn’t going to play along, facing forward with a huff.

Finally they stood outside the office door. Hermione never thought she’d feel so relieved to arrive
at this particular location, but she didn’t think she could bear to remain in Edgecomb’s presence for
another moment.

“Good luck,” she said in a sign song voice, laughing as she left Hermione to her fate.

She paused outside the door, taking a deep breath and willing her mind to stay calm. She pictured
Luna’s steady blue gaze, which led to images of a calm blue lake.

After last night she had limited remaining capacity for fear. She raised her arm and knocked solidly
against the wood.

“Enter!”

The sugary sweet voice turned her stomach.

“Oh, yes. Ms. Granger.” Was the lackluster greeting she received upon entering the whimsical
office.

Hermione stood numbly in the middle of the floor, relieved to see there was no one else inside. She
presumed if she were being punished for last night then either Filch or the Doctor would be in
attendance.

Or perhaps I’m being punished for breathing the wrong way.

Also a possibility.

“I received word last night that your solicitor will be paying his inspection this afternoon. This will
be the first of his quarterly visits, as you know, and I expect nothing less than-”

The rest of the Matron’s words faded away beneath the deafening hum that echoed through
Hermione’s ears.

She swayed on her feet, the blood draining from her body and pooling on the floor, creating a great
river that spread along the stone and climbed up the walls, coating every surface in bright crimson.

She blinked, vision fading. Her entire body went numb.

“Ms. Granger! Are you even listening?”

Hermione opened her mouth but no sound emitted.

“Lord help me, it’s barely sun up and you’re already driving me mad. If only you applied such
dedication to being a-”

“He’s coming here. Today.”

Umbridge blinked.

“Was that a question? Did you hear anything I just said?”

She blinked again, eyes drifting to the red stained walls, bloody handprints appearing over
everything.

“Ms. Granger!”

Hermione blinked again and the room was clean, bright sunlight spilling in through the large
windows, no trace of red in sight.

“Honestly, what is the matter with you?”

She took a shaky breath, swallowing thickly.

“My solicitor is coming here today.”

Umbridge scowled. “We’ve already established that. Now listen good because I will not repeat
myself again. He is arriving at noon to conduct his inspection of the premises and to ensure your
welfare is being provided for. You are to escort him around the grounds and answer any and all
questions in a satisfactory manner. If you try and portray me or this institution in a bad light then-”

“Why is he coming here today?”

Umbridge’s nostrils flared.

“Bloody he-” she caught herself before completing the curse. “Are you daft? Do you suffer from
an ailment of the mind? That would explain quite a lot.”

Hermione briefly closed her eyes, a strong wave of vertigo overcoming her. She stumbled on her
feet, opening her lids to regain her balance.

“If you’re ill then I won’t have you spreading it to the other girls-”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re white as a sheet.”

She swallowed again, her throat full of jagged rocks.

“I’m fine.” She forced herself to meet the Matron’s hostile gaze. “I’m fine.” She repeated, voice
steadier.

Umbridge hardly looked convinced, but she clenched her jaw and relented. “This meeting is very
important to your continued relationship with this institution. You will arrive at this office at
precisely twelve o'clock, not a moment later. And you will conduct your meeting as a proper young
lady, none of these wild antics you are so keen on. If you do anything, and I mean anything, to
embarrass me or the Home then I promise you-”

“I’ll be here at noon.” She didn’t mean to interrupt, Hermione knew the woman hated it more than
anything, but she was having trouble staying upright and was desperate enough to leave that she
was willing to incur the Matron’s wrath.

“Very well,” Umbridge finally bit out, eyes narrowed to thin slits. “You may go. I suggest having a
lie down until he arrives. I won’t have you emptying your stomach contents all over his shoes.”

Hermione nodded, barely registering her words, and fled the office before given proper leave.

She managed to turn the corner to the next hallway before she collapsed.

She slid bonelessly down the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her face in her
skirts.

She had been wrong.

She still had plenty of capacity left over for fear.

And right now, she was utterly terrified.

Harry opened his eyes, blinking away the last remnants of sleep, his lids still burning with utter
exhaustion.

He’d managed to somehow find a few hours of rest after arriving back at Grimmauld right at the
cusp of sunrise. It was surprising, considering his mind was an utter mess. He was plagued with
fear and anxiety for Mione, the usual stress and confusion that Theo induced, and the newest
overwhelming emotion, great trepidation where this Lavender girl was concerned.

Something wasn’t right. When Harry had first been presented with the missing person case he
hadn’t taken it all that seriously, assuming she’d shacked up with a bloke or a few friends and
neglected to tell Hermione.

But after speaking with Susan and the frightened girl at Amortentia, Harry was starting to suspect
something much larger at play.

And he knew Hermione wouldn’t let it rest. Which meant he couldn’t either if he had any hope of
shielding his best friend from whatever monsters lurked in the shadows, hidden beneath the bed
and deep inside the closet. The greatest dangers were always those situated closest to a person.
And Harry would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

He’d lost enough already at his young age, he couldn’t bear to lose Hermione, too.

Which is why he’d chosen to withhold the information he’d garnered at the Club. The mysterious
house girl who fled from his questioning obviously knew more than she was telling. He just
needed to figure out how much. Which meant finding her again.

If he told Mione about the strange encounter then she’d set out to find the stranger as well, leading
her only deeper and deeper into this tangled mess.

No, Harry would follow up on the lead alone. She may be frustrated by his constant need to shield
her from every danger in London but he couldn’t help it. As far as he was concerned she’d been
through enough tragedy to last several lifetimes. He would protect her at all costs.

So he rubbed his bleary eyes and gazed up at the vaulted ceiling, trying to formulate a plan.

Planning was always Mione’s strong suit. Execution was his. It’s what made him an excellent
Naval sailor but an inept strategizer, something his godfather was steadily trying to develop in him.
He constantly told Harry he needed to think before he acted, plot things through before jumping in
head first.

Sirius went easy on him because he claimed he was the same in his youth, always relying on James
to be the big idea guy, the one to spend the night before a mission planning out every step while
Sirius climbed the walls desperate to get moving.

But with age brought life experience and Sirius had been forced to develop a keen sense of
strategy, especially in the wake of James’s death. Sirius had been tasked with filling his best
friend’s shoes as Lieutenant. Fast forward nearly ten years later and he was Captain of an elite
warship, first of her kind.

Harry knew his godfather wanted Harry to follow in his footsteps, to become the man James never
had the opportunity to become.

Harry wanted to make the man proud, to honor his parents’ memory.

He just felt like he was living someone else’s life sometimes.

Suddenly there was an echoing slam of a door from downstairs.

Harry blinked, sitting up quickly.

He sat still for several moments, listening hard to the noises that followed, the steady thud of boots
on the hardwood, the creaking of the baseboards.

And then-

“Get up, you lazy arse!”

The echoing voice made Harry’s heart jolt.

And then he smiled.

Hermione took refuge in the water closet.

She was terribly nauseous but hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours and her empty stomach
twisted painfully as she dry heaved for several minutes.

She was breathless by the end of it, sitting on the floor without a care for how filthy it probably
was. Cleaning duties for the room were assigned as a punishment and the girls saddled with the
responsibility, often times Lavender and Parvati, didn’t usually put much effort into making the tile
shine.

She leaned her head against the wall, gazing at the floral wallpaper with hooded eyes.

What a terrible thing memory was.

How it could plague a person so, twisting and turning, manipulating itself into endless shapes and
sounds, distorting reality into a new, terrible truth.

Hermione didn’t recall many of the details of that day. She had replayed the events over and over
in her head so many times she’d lost track of what was real and what her mind had fabricated in the
wake of her terror and shame.

Only the bare bones of the transgression had survived unscathed.

She couldn’t remember getting ready for the appointment, nor could she recall the ride to his office
or walking up the steps that led to his door.

She remembered the dress she wore. She remembered because he loved it so, tugging and pulling
the fabric. She remembered because she destroyed the garment afterward, too disgusted to look
upon it. Unable to wash the blood out.

She didn’t remember the conversation leading up to the attack.

The crux of the memory began the moment he locked the door.
She recalled the endless echo of sliding metal as he twisted the deadbolt, the way the sound pulled
the air from her lungs. She remembered the look he flashed her over his shoulder as he stood there.
The way her body screamed at her to run even as her mind went stunningly blank.

The next few moments were a blur. There was more talking. He stood behind her, hand on her
neck, hand on her waist, hand on her hip, hand in her hair- hundreds of hands, thousands of fingers,
searing hot breath scorching her flesh.

She couldn’t recall running. But suddenly he was chasing her around the desk. She remembered
carrying her beating heart in her mouth, tasting the blood on her tongue, feeling the stuttering beats
against the back of her throat, her veins and arteries pulled taught, pure adrenaline giving rise to
blind fight or flight instinct.

But he’d captured her.

A wire net cast over her flapping wings, ripping her from the sky.

And then…

… and then...

“Oi!”

A rapid pounding on the water closet door.

“Come on, you’ve been in there for half an hour!”

Hermione blinked, lurching away from the wall and climbing shakily to her feet.

“Sorry.” Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat, trying again. “I’ll be right out!”

A muffled groan.

“Hurry up or I’m going to have to use the garden!”

Hermione swallowed, running a hand through her curls, trying to tame the loosened strands. She
gazed upon her pale complexion in the mirror, pinching her cheeks to add a hint of color, the
illusion of life, and took a steadying breath.

She opened the door, stepping out tentatively.

“About bloody time- Oh. Hello, Hermione. Didn’t know it was you in there.”

“Hello, Fay. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It’s alright, didn’t mean to get so snippy with you but I’m fit to burst.”

Hermione nodded. “No offense taken, please, don’t let me keep you any longer.”

The brunette gave a quick smile and dashed into the small room, slamming the door behind her in
her haste.

Hermione bit her lip, lingering in the corridor for several moments trying to work out where to go
next.

She still had a few hours before…

Before she had to arrive at Umbridge’s office.

She recalled the woman’s words, her instruction to lie down.

Hermione knew she wasn’t ill, and she knew she’d never be able to catch up on sleep in her current
state, but hiding away in her dorm sounded wonderful at the moment. She didn’t think she’d be
able to fake her way through morning chores and congenial interactions.

She clenched her fists at her sides and took off at a quick stride to her room.

Harry threw on his clothes haphazardly and galloped down the stairs, feet bare and shirtfront
hanging open.

He saw the bags in the center of the floor, a coachman exiting the entryway and closing the door
behind him.

Harry leaped the bottom two steps, landing in a pounce on the finely woven rug, spinning in a
circle looking for-

“You’ve been drinking all my good whiskey, I see.”

Sirius.

Harry laughed, entering the parlor.

“You have Malfoy to thank for that, you know I’m more partial to your secret brandy stash.”

The man rolled his eyes, setting the mostly empty crystal decanter down. “Not much point in
calling it secret then, is there?”

Harry crossed the room. “What are you doing back? I wasn’t expecting you till next week.”

Sirius sighed, wrapping an arm around his godson and embracing him. “I lost my mind and blew up
the ship. Decided to lie low for a bit. Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me.”

Harry shook his head, pulling back from the hug. “No can do I’m afraid. I stand to inherit a lot in
the event of your death or life imprisonment. I’ve been dying to buy a home on the coast of
Santorini.”

“You good for nothing louse.”

“You knew that when you adopted me.”

“True enough. Now, what’s this about Malfoy polishing off half the decanter?”

Harry rolled his eyes, backing up and sprawling on the sofa.

“It’s a long bloody story, and far too early to dredge it up.”

Sirius knocked Harry’s feet off the cushion and took a seat at the opposite end.

“You’ve been home for three days, how much could I have missed?”

Harry pinned him with a sardonic look.

“It involves Mione.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Say no more. Poor kid’s got it bad.”

“Yes, please say no more,” Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes. “I can hardly stomach the thought of
her with anyone, little less the Ferret King himself.”

“Alright, I’ll drill you for the information later. What else has happened since you’ve been back?”

Harry shrugged, fighting back a yawn.

Oh you know, Hermione’s friend went missing and she asked me to help find her so I pummeled the
shite out of McLaggen in an opium den and was led to a shady bookie who sold me an even shadier
key for a small fortune which led me to a sex den owned by the Lestranges where I discovered
Mione dressed like a high-end prostitute and barely managed to sneak her out in time and now I’m
trying to figure out how to continue the investigation because there’s obviously something sinister
at play.

“Nothing really.”

Sirius raised a dark brow. “Is that so?”

“Pretty tame, all things considered.”

Sirius held his gaze for a moment longer before relenting. “How boring.”

“Story of my life.”

“Yes, what a simple life you’ve led, Harry Potter.”

Now Harry rolled his eyes. “So what are you doing back, really?”

Sirius sighed, tipping his head back into the couch. “We brought the ship to port early for the
celebration.”

Harry blinked. “Celebration? For what?”

Sirius closed his eyes. “My promotion to Admiral.”

“What?!” Harry leaned forward. “Are you serious?”

He groaned, catching his slip too late. The other man smirked.

“You’re spared. I’m too exhausted to grab such low hanging fruit.”

“Hardy har har. But honestly, you’ve been made Admiral?”

“Honestly, I have.”

“Why aren’t you more excited?”

“Because I just got off a fifteen-hour shift and am starting to hallucinate.”

“Don’t brag.”

Sirius chuckled, opening his eyes. “I’m honored by the promotion.”

“I’m sorry, do I look like a reporter for the London Tribune?”

“Alright, I’m bloody ecstatic. And scared shiteless. And fucking anxious as hell.”

“That’s more like it.”

“That’s not the only bit of news.”

Harry leaned back. “Burying the lead, I see. Are we getting new window furnishings as well?”

“Not unless you set fire to them again.”

“For the last time, that was Ron. He was drunk and tipped the candles over.”

“You’re getting Lieutenant.”

Harry’s smile fell, heart stuttering a staccato beat.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

He opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish. “What- I-” he swallowed. “When?”

“It’ll be announced at the party this weekend. I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I wanted to
give you ample time to process the information, prevent you from saying something stupid in front
of the boss.”

“I’m touched you have such faith in me.”

“The last time you were caught off guard you referred to the Dowager of Kent as a cleaver in front
of a room full of Peers.”

“She accosted me between the legs at the dinner table. Besides, I was only repeating your words!”

“I never said that. And if I did, I was drunk.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, mind reeling. Sirius leaned forward and patted him on the leg.

“It’ll be alright, my boy. There are worse things in life than getting rewarded for your hard work.
You’ll survive this yet.”

“I’m not- I just-” he fell short, shaking his head in frustration.

“It’s okay, kid. If anyone gets it, I do. Which is why I told you ahead of time so you can get those
chaotic thoughts in order before you’re expected to walk the stage.” He sighed, pushing off the
couch. “Now, I’m going to go collapse face first into the mattress for no less than twelve hours.
Disturb me at risk to your own life.”

Harry nodded, barely hearing the words as his godfather made his way for the exit.

“Oh, and before I forget,” Sirius spun around in the doorway. “The family’s coming by for dinner
tonight. How they managed to find out I was heading back early is beyond me, but Andy sent a
letter last night informing me there was no way out of it.”

Harry groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“Fantastic. Anything else you want to tell me?”

“Yes.” Sirius started heading for stairs, speaking over his shoulder. “Refill my liquor cabinet
before this evening. We’re going to need it.”

Hermione sighed into her pillow, regretting her decision already.

She’d chosen to hide out in her dorm to avoid interacting with anyone.

She didn’t think through the consequences of total solitude.

Like being trapped with nothing but her dark thoughts for company.

She groaned, pressing the heal of her palms into her eyes, counting the bursts of light against the
back of her lids.

The door opened.

Hermione gasped, jolting into an upright position.

“Oh! Sorry to scare you, Mione, didn’t know you’d be up here,” Hannah said, slipping inside the
room and closing the door behind her. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Hermione took a deep breath, heart rate settling. “No, I wasn’t sleeping.”

Hannah smiled. “Good. I mean, good that I didn’t wake you. I just came to grab my journal. I left it
in here this morning.”

Hermione blinked. “Oh. Of course.” She glanced to her side table, then to Parvati’s. “I don’t see
it.”

“I left it in Lavender’s drawer.”

Hermione swallowed, watching Hannah cross the small space and slide open the top drawer on the
dusty night table.

“Got it.” She pulled out a small black leather journal, the edge of the pages marred and warped.
Hermione tilted her head.

“I didn’t know you kept a diary.”

Hannah glanced to the item in question. “Oh, I don’t. It’s a sketchbook.”

“Really?” Hermione sat up straighter, leaning back against her headboard. “May I see?”

Hannah bit her lip. “I’m not very good-”

“Stop that this instant. I’m sure you’re brilliant. Besides, I can’t draw a straight line. I won’t give
you any criticism.”

Hannah laughed lightly. “I just… it’s not very, I don’t really think you’d-”

“Hannah.”

The girl glanced up, warm brown eyes meeting Hermione’s hazel gaze.

The blonde sighed, shoulders relaxing. “Alright, but I’m telling you, they’re absolutely awful.”
Hermione smiled, patting the empty space beside her on the bed. She was excited to see her
friend’s talent, her passion, to learn more about the girl she’d been sharing a Home with all these
months.

She was also desperate for a distraction, anything to pull her from the swirling vortex of her
thoughts.

Hannah flopped down beside her, curling her legs beneath her and slowly opening the book, letting
it rest between their laps.

Hermione blinked. Then she smiled, lifting the book for a closer look.

“You draw architecture.” She gazed at a detailed rendition of a Georgian style building. “Hannah,
this is fantastic.”

“No it’s really not.”

Hermione raised a brow, glancing up. “Please tell me you’re being obscenely humble. This is
incredible. The detail is amazing.” She flipped a page, gazing at an interior drawing. “Look at this
scrollwork on the columns and ceiling. It’s breathtaking.”

Hannah picked at the quilt, eyes averted down. “I don’t know about that. It’s just a standard
Neoclassical design.”

Hermione shook her head, turning page after page, more impressed the further along she went.

“Are these real places or designs you’ve created in your head?”

“A bit of both. The front of the journal is mostly real places. The more recent stuff is my own
designs.”

Hermione shook her head, studying the drawing of an outdoor courtyard complete with
landscaping, fountains and an ivy-covered gazebo.

“You’re gifted.”

Hannah laughed.

“I’m serious! Don’t sell yourself short, Hannah. I was honestly expecting sketches of flowers and
rabbits and heart doodles. But this… this is professional level work. It has as much detail as the
blueprints on display at the V&A.”

“Ok, now I know you’re laying it on thick-”

“How did you learn to draw like this? Are you self-taught?”

Hannah met her gaze. “My father was an architect and draftsman.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open.

“Blimey, don’t look so shocked, do I really come across like such a charver?”

Hermione laughed, reaching out and squeezing her hand. “No! Of course not! I’m just surprised I
didn’t already know this. It’s my own fault for not asking sooner.”

Hannah shrugged, leaning into the headboard as well. “It’s not that big a deal. Most of us aren’t
keen on sharing our backgrounds and history as it is. It’s not a topic of conversation to be had over
dinner.”

Hermione tilted her head, studying her in a new light. “So did you have a governess growing up?”

Hannah smirked. “No. Our family had means but were far from conventional. My father traveled a
lot for his work, all over the world really. He met my mother in Paris while on assignment. She
was a street artist.”

Hermione smiled, resting the open sketchbook in her lap. “Two gifted parents. It’s in your blood.”

“I suppose so.”

“Why do you say they weren’t conventional?”

Hannah gazed ahead, as though staring at the memories as she described them. “My father took my
mother and me everywhere he went. He said he didn’t see the point in marrying for love and
having a child if he had to leave them behind every time he worked.”

“He sounds like a great man.”

“He was.”

Hermione bit her lip, brimming with more questions but waiting patiently for her friend to continue
at her own pace.

“Some of his projects lasted a few years, some a few weeks. We moved around constantly. It was a
bit overwhelming as I got older, unable to form ties with any one place because we were already
packing to leave for the next. I can’t complain, though. I got to see a great deal of the world from a
young age. That’s more than most can say, especially those living here.”

Hermione nodded. “It must have been difficult though, especially as an only child.” She blinked.
“Were you an only child?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Then I know from experience how lonely that can be, and I lived in the same house my entire
childhood.”

Hannah sighed, grabbing for the sketchbook, running her fingers along the edges of the page.
“You’re right. It was lonely. The only people I was close to were my parents. After they died I had
no one.”

Hermione took a deep breath, diving into the unknown waters. “How did they…?”

“Marsh fever. They contracted it in Essex of all places. Right here in England.”

Hermione shook her head. “Hannah, I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged. “So am I. I’m sorry for me, for you, for Luna and Parv. For everyone here. We all
have a story. Otherwise, we’d be anywhere else.”

She closed her sketchbook with a snap, glancing down. “Anyway, I better get back to the kitchens.
I’m on plate scrubbing duty. Filch is making the rounds. Seems scalier than usual.”

Hermione’s heart leaped into her throat.

“Have you heard anything about last night?”

Hannah rose off the bed. “What do you mean? About you and Parv?”

“About someone being downstairs after curfew.”

“Oh. No. Why? Did you almost have a run in?”

Hermione released a slow breath. “Something like that.”

“Well, you must have given him the slip up because I haven’t heard anything, and you know he’d
run to the Frog Queen right away if he had anything solid, in which case you’d be the first to
know.”

Hermione nodded, absently pulling a loose thread on the pillowcase. Hannah tipped her head.

“What are you doing up here anyway?”

Hermione blinked. “Oh, I was sleeping.”

She raised a blonde brow. “I thought you said you weren’t sleeping.”

“I was trying to fall asleep.”

Hannah nodded, holding her gaze.

“I’m sorry you didn’t find her last night, Mione. But don’t give up hope. Hope is all any of us have
anymore.”

Hermione felt the familiar ache in her chest.

Hannah’s eyes turned bright and hard as marbles.

“And when that goes, we have nothing to protect us from the monsters.”

Hermione spent the remainder of the morning sitting in the dorm staring out of the window
watching the street below.

She spun wild fantasies in her head.

Various means to escape her fate.

She considered faking an injury. Then she graduated to actual injury.

She imagined throwing herself down the garden steps. There weren’t enough of them to do serious
damage but she’d certainly twist an ankle or even break a limb if she angled it just right…

She imagined scalding her hand on the stove, or perhaps the steam from the kettle…

Then she really let loose and imagined running into the street and letting the horses and carriage
wheels do their worst.

It was oddly gratifying.

And yet at precisely five till noon Hermione stood outside the Matron’s office, an empty husk of
her former self. Her soul had left her body, her sensibilities abandoning her mind.
Her limbs were animated by the force of mechanical springs in her joints, the beating of her heart
fueled by a coal engine, triggering a series of switches and gears that set her into motion.

Hermione was no more.

Whatever happened would happen to a hollow shell.

So it didn’t matter.

The sun would rise tomorrow, the moon would chase it away, and nothing that occurred within
these walls would prevent either of those events from occurring.

She lifted her arm and knocked.

“Come in!”

Umbridge sounded especially cheery and bright. Hermione closed her eyes, opening the door.

She’d known what faced her on the other side.

Expected it.

Braced herself for it.

But seeing his face, his person, standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed
upon her from across the room…

The world tipped on its axis.

She scrambled to find purchase on the stone, the floor became the wall, the wall became the
ceiling, the ceiling became the floor, and round and round the room spun.

“Ms. Granger!” Umbridge’s voice was laced with malice, though she kept a thin-lipped smile
stretched taught across her face. “Do come in, my child.”

Hermione stepped over the threshold on wobbly legs, feeling as though she was walking on stilts.

“Come in all the way,” the Matron bit out, eyes narrowing, then laughing lightly and glancing to
the third occupant in the room. “Silly girl, she wasn’t feeling well this morning, poor thing. I do
hope she’s recovered.”

The man smiled, silver grin reflecting the sunlight.

“Is that so?” His eyes never left Hermione. “I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps my visit will brighten
her spirits.”

“Yes, I’m sure it will. The two of you go way back, you were saying?”

Hermione’s eyes burned, desperate for her to blink, but she refused, terrified to lose sight of him for
even an instant.

“That is correct, Madam. I was a very good friend of Mr. and Mrs. Granger.” His eyes flashed.
“God rest their souls.”

Her heart sprung a leak, the blood draining rapidly from her head, pooling at her feet.
“Such a tragedy,” Umbridge said with a stricken look. “Poor things, to burn alive like that, no way
to go.”

He finally glanced away, eyes latching onto the Matron. “An absolute loss to the world. Both were
skilled healers.” He tipped his head. “Luckily they were able to pass on those skills to their
daughter.”

Umbridge’s face pinched in annoyance for the space between heartbeats, then she was smiling
again. “Yes, Ms. Granger is a brilliant girl, an absolute delight. We’re so thrilled to have her here.”

She cleared her throat, making Hermione cringe. “And of course we’re doing our best to develop
her into a strong, capable young woman. I took it upon myself to arrange for her to work part-time
at the local Apothecary. It’s so important to me that these girls discover and follow their passions.”

His eyes flickered back to Hermione. “Ms. Granger is full of passion.” His knowing grin made her
stomach drop. “I am happy to hear you have found part-time work in the field of medicine,
Hermione.”

Hearing him address her properly made her knees quake and throat close.

“Perhaps you can recommend an ointment for this,” his expression darkened as he gestured to the
left side of his face. She finally blinked, unable to force her lids open any longer, but the burning
sensation only increased, tears forming.

“Oh, my…” Umbridge said with exaggerated sympathy, bringing a delicate hand to her mouth.
“I’d noticed of course but wasn’t certain how recent the injury was. May I ask how it occurred?”

His pupils expanded, drawing Hermione in with a powerful gravitational force.

“I was thrown from my horse while riding. A wild and stunning filly, not properly broken.”
Hermione swayed on her feet. “I cut my face on the rocks.”

“How dreadful! I do hope the mark isn’t permanent.”

He brought his hand up, fingertips tracing the long narrow strip of raised flesh that bisected his
eyebrow and grazed his high cheekbone.

“I don’t mind scars, Madam. The memories they invoke are often quite thrilling.”

Umbridge pursed her lips, glancing between them, as though finally noticing the silent turbulence
in the room.

“I see…” she narrowed her eyes on Hermione. “You’ve been very quiet, Ms. Granger. How
unusual.”

Hermione released a breath, slowly turning her head to face the woman.

“My apologies, Madam. I think I’m still a touch out of sorts from this morning.”

“I can tell. What a shame you aren’t always so afflicted, it makes you quite amicable.” She glanced
quickly at him. “I merely jest, of course!” She laughed nervously as he raised a dark brow. “I like
to have fun with the girls, it fosters a sense of kinship between us.”

His tipped his head. “Certainly, Madam. I can see why they appointed you as head of this fine
institution, you obviously have a great deal of affection for your charges.”
Hermione swallowed the black bile that threatened to spew forth as Umbridge preened beneath his
saccharine praise.

“I would love nothing more than to linger in your engaging company all day, but I’m afraid I have
a schedule to keep and the grounds to inspect.” He flashed his white teeth. “Business never ends.
You understand.”

Umbridge’s spine straightened. “Of course, of course! I’ve enjoyed our conversation but I’ve kept
you long enough, please, proceed as you’d like. You have the complete run of the Home. If you
need anything, anything at all, simply inform Ms. Granger and it will be yours.”

He turned his head to Hermione, eyes gleaming feral. “Wonderful.”

“Ms. Granger.” Hermione tore her gaze away, looking upon her Matron with empty detachment.
She knew there would be no reprieve found in the other woman, no help offered. “Do well to
remember our discussion from this morning.” She pinned Hermione with a meaningful look. “And
enjoy your afternoon.”

Hermione merely blinked, stepping back and heading to the exit on numb legs. As she pulled open
the door she heard the unmistakable sound of lips pressing flesh. She didn’t need to glance over her
shoulder to know he was kissing the back of the Matron’s hand.

The perfect gentleman. High bred. Genteel.

“It was a true pleasure to make your acquaintance at long last, Madam.”

Umbridge tittered.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Dolohov.”

Draco emerged from his family carriage and proceeded up the opulent steps to the Greengrass
Estate with a set jaw and hardened gaze.

He was on a mission.

And would not be deterred.

He knocked, his unannounced arrival taking the butler off guard, causing the man to blink silently
for several moments before stepping aside and beckoning the young Malfoy heir inside.

“My apologies, Sir, but I’m afraid Lord and Lady Greengrass have stepped out for the afternoon.
They are not expected back until later this evening.”

“I’m well aware. They’re at the same event as my parents. I’m here to see Astoria.”

The man blinked, the color draining from his face.

For Draco to request the presence of Astoria without her parents present was terribly uncouth. For
them to be alone in the same room without a proper chaperone was absolutely scandalous.

Still, it would be even more unacceptable for the butler to deny the request of a Peer, no matter
how reckless that request may be.

“Of course, Sir,” the man said, bowing at the waist, face pinched. “I shall fetch Miss Daphne as
well.”
“There’s no need for the elder Greengrass’s attendance. Please fetch me Astoria and only Astoria.”

The man swallowed, obviously unsettled, but ultimately nodded, departing swiftly from the marble
entryway.

Draco walked into the receiving room, a large oil painting of the sisters hanging above the hearth,
their pale gazes fixed upon him.

Draco took a deep breath.

He was on a mission.

And would not be deterred.

After a few minutes footsteps could be heard on the main stairs, light and clipped. Draco closed his
eyes as she approached, running through the lines in his head, the prepared speech he’d thrown
together during the carriage ride over here.

The footsteps neared, entered the room, coming to a stop behind him.

He turned around-

And scowled.

“Fucking bastard. I told him not to fetch you.”

Daphne perched her hands on her hips. “It’s not Leopold's fault. I saw your carriage from the
balcony.” Her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here, Draco?”

“I came to speak to your sister.” He matched her glare. “And only your sister.”

“Whatever you have to say to Tori you can say to me.”

“I fell for that last time and it got us all nowhere. We’re still unofficially engaged, it’s only a matter
of time before our families announce it publically, and then we’re officially fucked.”

She sighed, arms dropping and eyes glancing away. “I tried speaking to father-”

“A lot of good that did.”

“Well, at least I’m trying! What have you been doing to help the situation?”

He seethed. “This is a conversation I intend to have with Astoria. She’s a big girl, Daphne. Christ,
she’s about to be my bloody wife. I think she can handle speaking to me without a chaperone
present.”

Daphne’s beautiful face turned lethal. “You have no idea what it means to be responsible for
another person, Draco. You’re an only child and a male of privilege. The world bows down to you.
It’s not the same for us women born into families such as ours. I’ve protected Tori since we were
children. She’s all I have and I’m not going to leave her to face this alone.”

His brows drew together. “Face what? Me?” He scoffed. “Christ, Daph, we’ve known each other
since before we could walk. Do you really think I pose any threat to her?”

“I’m not talking about you,” she crossed her arms. “At least, not just you. I’m talking about the
world at large. Tori and I are constantly at the mercy of another person’s whims. Be it our father’s
or our future husband’s-”

“Don’t even get me started!” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disdain. “You preach to me
about how god awful you have it when you’ve been allowed to marry for love-”

“I was told who I was to marry when I was nine years old, Draco! I happened to be lucky enough to
fall in love along the way, but if I hadn’t it wouldn’t have made any difference! I’d be forced to
marry whoever my father said just as Tori is now-”

“That’s what this is all really about, isn’t it? You feel guilty you’re actually fond of your fiancé
while your sister has to be forced into an arrangement she doesn’t want.”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed to slits. Silence permeated the room, hostile and heavy.

“You’re only going to make this worse, Draco,” she finally said, voice resigned.

His jaw tensed. “I’m trying to make this right.”

“You’ll never be given leave to marry her.”

Draco blinked, heart seizing, knowing immediately that they were no longer discussing Astoria.

“That’s not-”

“You’ll only start a feud between our families and leave Tori’s reputation damaged. She’ll be
tarnished on the marriage market and pinned with a man twice her age.”

He swallowed thickly. “What are you saying? You actually want me to marry your sister?”

“Of course not. I’m just telling you not to make a public spectacle. It will only prevent you both
from getting what you really want.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “And what does Tori want?”

Daphne sighed, glancing away and stepping back from the entrance.

“She’s in the upstairs drawing room.”

He opened his mouth to repeat his question but stopped when he realized she had relented, giving
him her unspoken blessing to speak to Astoria alone. He reluctantly closed his mouth, deciding not
to press his fate.

He started to exit, pausing before he entered the foyer.

“I’m not going to hurt her, Daphne.”

She nodded, meeting his gaze with hardened eyes.

“I know. But you aren’t going to protect her, either.” She stepped away. “I’m the only one who
protects her.”

And then she turned her back on him.

Draco lingered a moment longer, a great burden weighing upon his shoulders.

Fucking Christ.
He shook his head, marching for the stairs, refusing to dwell on this new emotion swelling within
him.

Guilt.

He made it to the second level, pausing outside the drawing-room door, closing his eyes, trying to
wipe his mind clear and return to his earlier resolve.

He was on a mission.

And would not be deterred.

He opened his eyes and the door, stepping inside without invitation-

And stopped short.

Astoria sat on a low settee, doubled over, hands covering her face, quietly weeping.

Fuck.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to stand the sight of crying women.

He was thoroughly deterred.

She glanced up sharply, red-rimmed eyes going wide.

“Oh! Draco? What are you doing here?”

“I came to speak with you.”

She blinked, looking dumbfounded, then quickly recovered, wiping at her cheeks and sitting
straighter, running her palms along her voluminous skirts.

“Of course, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Draco sighed, stepping into the room and starting to close the door, then thinking better and
leaving it open. Best not to send the blasted butler into complete heart failure.

“You don’t have to talk like that when it’s just us, Tori. I’ve told you that.”

She blinked again, obviously hesitant. He crossed the room and sat down across from her.

“You don’t have to impress me or please me. I’m not your father, I’m not some random suitor
come to pay you a visit. I’m your friend.”

She deflated in her seat. “You’re also my fiancé.”

He ran a hand through his hair and over his face. “Not yet. But if we don’t think of something, it’s
going to happen bloody soon.”

She glanced away, picking at the folds of her skirt. “I don’t know what you expect of me, Draco. I
told father I’d like to have another Season and he refused, told me it was the end of the discussion
and not to bring it up again.”

His jaw ticked. “Another Season won’t save you, Tori. It’ll only delay the inevitable. If it isn’t me
you marry it’ll be some other random bloke. Your father won’t give two shites whether you like
him.”

She swallowed lightly, gaze still averted down. “But Daphne has a love match-”

“Daphne had over ten years to make the most of her situation and fell in love with Greg along the
way. You think if they hated each other your father would call off the contract?”

Astoria sighed. “No.”

“Exactly. You don’t have a decade to get to know whatever man you’re saddled with after me.
You’ll be forced to marry right away and then you’re in it for life. We need to think of a solution
that is more permanent.”

Her pale brows drew together, eyes finally flickering up. “What are you saying? What could
possibly prevent me from having to marry against my will?”

Draco sat across from her and resting his forearms on his knees.

Thinking about the welfare of others was a foreign concept to him. He didn’t think of himself as a
selfish person, but perhaps he was. What Daphne said downstairs was technically all true. He was
an only child born to privilege, he never had to protect or think about someone else. Nothing stood
in the way of him getting what he wanted.

He could easily leave Tori to the wolves, let her fend for herself after he turned his back on her.

But he didn’t want that. She was more a victim in this mess that he was. At least Draco could
broach the topic of marriage with his father, not that it led anywhere, but he wasn’t shut down
entirely.

Lord Greengrass considered his daughters nothing more than ornaments to hang on the mantle to
brighten the room. They weren’t people, they were bargaining chips, void of emotion and desire.

No. Draco couldn’t leave her alone in this.

But his mind drew up few viable alternatives.

“Alright, hear me out…”

She raised a pale brow, face turning guarded. “I already know this is going to be awful.”

His eyes narrowed. “I said hear me out. So I was thinking about ways for you to avoid the marriage
market entirely, and on the way to your Estate I passed by several churches, and I-” he stopped
short as Astoria burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. It was wild and deep, she even snorted as she
tried to get herself under control.

“Oh dear god, I was right! This is unequivocally awful!” she gasped between breaths.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

She laughed harder, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. “You were going to suggest I join
a convent and become a nun.”

Draco blinked, sitting back. “Well… I mean…”

She nearly toppled out of her seat.

“I didn’t realize the prospect was so amusing.”

She took a deep breath, finally coming to a calm, face flush. “That’s because you’re a man.”

He scowled. “Well excuse me for trying to think up solutions!”

She mirrored his expression surprisingly well. “You consider locking me away in a church for the
remainder of my life a solution?”

“You wouldn’t be locked away, they have gardens, and food drives and they travel-”

“Yes, it’s always been my dream to travel to the world’s most poor and destitute villages to spread
the holy gospel while sporting a black potato sack!”

“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any alternatives!”

“Christ, Draco! I never said I didn’t want to get married! I just said I didn’t want to get married to
you!”

“I’m not keen on marrying you either! You’re practically a little sister to me, annoying as f-”

“Is everything alright in here?”

Draco growled, glancing sharply over his shoulder. “You just can’t help yourself can you?”

“Your yelling is carrying through the entire house!”

“I wasn’t the only one yelling!”

“Daphne,” Astoria said, voice calm and even. “It’s alright, thank you for checking on me but I
don’t need any help.”

“I know that. I heard his nunnery suggestion and came to see if you’d stabbed him yet.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Hilarious. I’m glad that I can provide such past time amusement to you
both.”

“You obviously have no concept of how highly offensive such a suggestion is-”

“Why are you still here, Daphne? Didn’t Tori dismiss you already?”

“You pompous arse!”

“Both of you, stop!” Astoria rose to her feet. “Fighting like this solves nothing.” She directed her
gaze to him. “I appreciate that you are trying to find a long-term solution for me, Draco, but I am
not going to enroll in a convent.”

“You’ve made that quite clear.”

She sighed. “If someone sees your carriage out front and tells my father then we’re both done for.
You should go.”

He bristled. “I didn’t even get to say what I came to say!”

“Consider it said and go,” Daphne snapped, stepping into the room with crossed arms. “As usual,
you provide nothing but flash and drama. Tori and I will find a solution that works for her. You
just worry about yourself.”

Draco stood as well, towering above them in his rage. “Worry about myself? Are you daft?
Whatever comes of this marriage contract affects me just as much as it does her!”

“Worry about yourself, Malfoy. It’s what you’re good at.”

Astoria stepped forward, looking stricken. “Daphne, he was only trying to-”

“Don’t defend him.” She stepped back, gesturing to the doorway. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“You’re both mad.” He bit out as he stormed out of the room.

“And a good day to you as well!” Daphne shouted after his retreating form.

As he reached the stairs he heard her address her sister. “A nunnery… why didn’t you stab him?”

Consumed by anger, it wasn’t until the carriage pulled free from the circular drive that he realized
he never asked Astoria why she had been crying in the first place.

Hermione walked down the corridor with her arms motionless at her sides. Dolohov’s resounding
footsteps at her back put her on edge, but she refused to walk beside him, as though they were
friends or lovers on a midday stroll.

As unnerving as it was to not have him in her sights, it was also a relief. She tried to pretend it was
someone else at her back, but then he spoke, ruining any illusion she may have formed.

“I have missed you, Hermione. Terribly so. Have you missed me?”

She kept her gaze straight ahead, walking briskly for the door to the gardens. She’d show him the
outside first. She needed air. And witnesses.

“Do slow down, you’re practically sprinting.”

She swallowed heavily, keeping her quick stride.

“Hermione. Slow down.”

Fingers wrapped around her wrist and she pulled back violently, spinning on her heal and colliding
hard with the wall.

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed, spitting venom.

His eyes narrowed as he leaned in.

“Do not think for one moment I will entertain such hysterics, Hermione.”

“Stop calling me that.”

He tilted his head, face moving closer still. “Is that not your name?”

Her chest heaved with the force of her rapid breathing, as though she’d just ran circles around the
property line.

“You may address me as Ms. Granger or nothing at all.”

He smirked. “Such spirit. I am relieved to see it has not diminished during your stay in this abysmal
place. I was worried you’d changed. Turned meek.”

His dark eyes flickered between hers. “But you’re too strong to let such a thing as circumstance
change who you are, isn’t that right? Such a determined girl. So very clever.” He raised a hand, the
backs of his fingers grazing her cheek. “So very beautiful.”

Hermione turned her head away so sharply a muscle in her neck strained. She squeezed her eyes
closed, a tear tracking down her cheek, meeting his fingertips.

“I love to watch you cry. Nearly as much as hearing you screa-”

Suddenly a group of girls rounded the corner, the resounding chorus of giggles and sharp laughs
bouncing off the walls. Dolohov stepped back, hands at his sides as he glanced upon them, smiling
politely.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

They nodded and whispered behind their hands with smiles, skipping off with parting glances over
their shoulders.

Antonin Dolohov was old enough to be their father but remained a remarkably striking man with a
tone physic and full head of dark hair, salt and pepper strands flecked through the temples. He
sported a West London accent and fine bespoke suits... always charming, always disarming, and
always searching for a tender bit of flesh to sink his fangs into.

His eyes found hers once more.

“Come now, Hermione.” He smiled deepened. “We mustn’t delay. I must inspect the entire
grounds to ensure you are in a safe environment.” Fire ignited in his eyes. “I must see where you
sleep.”

Hermione blinked, dazed by fear, her mind overwhelmed with it, driving out rational thought.

“I…”

“How do we get to the dorms?” He glanced around, starting to pivot, the main staircase leading to
the bedrooms just behind him.

Hermione stepped away from the wall, a sudden bolt of inspiration striking within her. She had no
idea where it came from, what triggered it, but she didn’t stop to ponder, merely spoke the words as
they formed within her throat.

“The dorms are this way.”

He turned to face her once more, brow raised, as though surprised she gave in to his request so
easily. Hermione swallowed, afraid he’d see through the ruse.

“Perhaps I can show you the garden first?”

It took every ounce of strength left within her to hold his gaze, to maintain her delicate mask of
demure reluctance, hoping beyond hope he’d accept the easy victory without question.

His eyes narrowed briefly before the corner of his mouth lifted. “No need. I saw it from the street
on my way inside. We fell behind schedule thanks to your rather desperate Matron.” He licked his
lips. “Show me your room.”

She inhaled deeply through her nose, forcing her neck to obey her commands and nod her head.
She proceeded down the hall, around the corner, past the entrance to the dining hall…

Deeper, deeper, deeper.

Just a bit further…

“Are you certain this it the way? From the outside, it looked like the dorms were on the opposite
side of the building.”

Shite.

Hermione bit her lip, briefly closing her eyes and desperately searching for a viable excuse.

Her eyes snapped open. She glanced over her shoulder.

“This is a shortcut.” She held his gaze. “A private shortcut.”

She knew she’d successfully hooked him as his pupils blew wider. “Is it now?”

She was too far gone with adrenaline to feel proper disgust. “Yes. I want to avoid the younger
students. Is that alright?”

“By all means,” he held out his hand. “Proceed.”

She clenched her jaw, facing forward once more and continuing her journey. Hoping like hell her
bet paid off. Because if she was wrong, then she really was leading the beast to a secluded alcove.
And there’d be no escaping his clutches.

She swallowed heavily, pushing past her heart in her throat. And then she saw it. The oasis in the
desert… The double doors that signified solace. Asylum. Safety. Or her doom.

“What is this?” He slowed his tracks.

Shite shite shite! I need to get him inside!

Hermione blinked, trying to maintain an air of calm. “It leads to the stairwell.”

He tilted his head. “Are you certain about that?”

“Which of us has been living here for the last three months?” She delivered the cutting remark with
more force than intended, but it seemed to please him immensely.

“My apologies, sweetling. I will trust your direction.”

Her skin crawled at the intimate endearment. Her father used to call her sweetling. Dolohov knew
that.

She glanced to the double doors with such longing she was amazed they didn’t pull open by the
magnetism of her gaze alone. And suddenly they were within reach-

And she was grasping the handle like a life raft, pulling it with such force it banged off the
opposite wall. She leaped inside, wild, madly searching, searching-
“Ms. Granger?” a deep voice spoke.

Hermione nearly collapsed with the power of her relief, her entire body deflating with the intensity
of it.

“Doctor!” Her voice was too high, too eager, eyes half crazed in desperation.

And then she saw him, standing by the bookcase, frozen in his signature repose of papers in his
hands, a look of concentration upon his beautiful face...

He was the most magnificent thing she’d ever seen. Her savior. Radiant light spilled from his
limbs, illuminating him in a halo of otherworldly splendor. She wanted to fall to her knees in
worship, in gratitude, in sheer exhaustion.

His eyes narrowed, sweeping over her from bottom to top. Then they were flickering past her
shoulder to the man standing just beyond. Lightning flashed in their depths. For once she found it
immensely reassuring.

“I’m sorry, mate,” Dolohov said with forced cheer. “Seems Ms. Granger and I got turned around a
bit. We’ll be out of your way.” He pinned Hermione with his dark gaze, still hovering at the
threshold.

Hermione stepped further into the room, closer to the Doctor. He set the papers aside, closing the
distance between them. Only to pass her by entirely... Coming to a stop between her and Dolohov,
spine elongating to his full, imposing height.

She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to cower behind him, remaining frozen and breathless in
the middle of the room.

“Hello, there. My name is Doctor Thomas Riddle. I don’t believe we’ve met.” His voice was
pleasant enough, but Hermione had interacted with the man enough to know it now sounded more
clipped than usual, harder at the edges.

“Yes, hello…” Dolohov glanced between her and the Doctor, his frustration at being misled
showing through. But then he slipped his mask back on, resuming his impeccably mannered
facade.

It was surreal to watch them interact, knowing what she now knew about both men- or at least what
she suspected of the Doctor. They were both dangerous predators. Stealthily hunting after prey. She
knew what Dolohov sought. And though she didn’t have the first clue what Doctor Riddle was
after, she knew it wasn’t her. And that simple truth was enough information for Hermione to
formulate a clear preference and pick her side. She made her choice known, staying safely situated
behind the Doctor’s back.

“I am Antonin Dolohov, Ms. Granger’s solicitor.”

There was a shift in the air, the sunlight dimmed behind a cloud, the shadows became tangible,
sentient, spread like dark pools over the walls and floor. The Doctor’s hands clenched at his side
before loosening, such a quick movement she wasn’t certain whether she’d seen it at all.

“I believe Ms. Granger has spoken about you before.”

Hermione blinked. Then she recalled her brief mention of Dolohov days ago, in this very clinic,
after she’s stocked the medical cabinet. What cruel irony the man himself now stood within this
sacred space, polluting the air with his toxic breath.
The predators shook hands. The ground rumbled. Their grips tightened, lingered, eyes locked. And
then she sensed it…

The moment they drew the same conclusion that she had, the moment they recognized the beast
dwelling within the other man’s eyes…

Their hands fell apart. The cloud moved away from the sun, light spilling back into the room,
blinding in its relentless invasion. Hermione squinted, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the
bright rays.

“And what brings you to the Home today, Mr. Dolohov?” the Doctor asked. She blinked rapidly,
unable to see his face.

“I am conducting my quarterly visit of the grounds. As the executor of Ms. Granger’s estate it is
imperative I ensure her continued welfare.”

Her eyes adjusted to the light, their shadowy figures came back into view.

“Then it is a good thing you are here," the Doctor supplied. "What a beautiful day to pay a visit.
Perhaps Hermione can show you the outdoor grounds?”

Dolohov went rigid at the Doctor’s casual use of her first name. Hermione swallowed as his dark
gaze flickered to her and back again.

“That would be lovely. But first I must finish our inside tour. And we really must be going, I’m
afraid we’re already behind schedule.”

She swayed on her feet, desperate and hopeless, no other escape plans coming to mind in the wake
of her unbridled terror. Dr. Riddle stepped back, closer to Hermione, turning to face her while
tucking his hands in his trouser pockets.

“I’m afraid I can’t permit that.”

She rocked back, heart leaping into her throat.

“Excuse me?” Dolohov’s fists clenched at his sides.

The Doctor smiled, utterly beautiful and lethal, gazing at the other man with indifference.

“She is clearly ill. Look at her complexion. She appears to be suffering from the stomach sickness
that has been going around.” He looked to her once more, eyes cast in shadow, gleaming from the
darkness. “Have you been sick today, Hermione?”

His continued use of her first name made her entire body throb. She nodded quickly. “Yes," she
admitted. "I spent half an hour in the water closet prior to Mr. Dolohov’s visit.”

His eyes narrowed, searching hers, and then the shadows passed, his expression once more masked
in blank disinterest. “There you have it. Another case of the stomach flu. As her physician, I cannot
permit her to expend any more energy today. I’m afraid she will not be able to lead you on your
tour of the grounds.”

She felt like she was separated from her body, watching the scene from the ceiling, hovering
against the corner of the walls. Dolohov’s mask cracked, an enraged scowl overtaking his
handsome features for a flash, the haunting visage emblazoning on her mind, familiar and
unmistakable.
“Well, far be it for me to argue with a physician's orders,” he said slowly, gaze warring with the
Doctor’s. “I’ll simply have to reschedule for a day when Ms.Granger is feeling more herself.”

“There’s no need.” The Doctor tipped his head with a smile. “A busy man such as yourself
shouldn’t have to make two trips up here just to ensure the ceiling isn’t leaking and the floors
aren’t filled with holes. I am happy to show you around the rest of the building.”

Dolohov opened and closed his mouth, then sent Hermione a rather accusing glare, the message
clear. You planned for this.

She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing down.

“I appreciate the kind offer, but I wouldn't want to pull you from your duties as sole physician.
Surely you are more needed here than as a tour guide.”

“It is the residents’ lunch hour, as well as mine. The clinic is closed right now. If there’s an
emergency one of the girls will summon me. The grounds aren’t that large.” His teeth gleamed. “It
doesn’t take long to find what you’re looking for.”

Dolohov released a slow breath, the sound becoming music to Hermione’s ears. The melody of
surrender. “Well, I suppose I am grateful for your hospitality, then.”

The Doctor nodded, then glanced at Hermione. “Go to your dorms and lie down, Hermione. Drink
plenty of fluids.” His eyes flashed. “And stay there for the remainder of the day.”

She nodded quickly, stumbling for the door in such haste she nearly tripped.

“Goodbye, Ms. Granger,” Dolohov bid. Hermione stopped dead, spine straightening as he
continued to address her back. “It was a pleasure seeing you again. I look forward to our next visit
when you are feeling better.”

She swallowed, slowly glancing over her shoulder and meeting his dark gaze, the black tar pits of
hell contained within, and felt her throat seize up. She merely nodded, staring into the endless void
for another rattled heartbeat, his purple scar standing out in stunning contrast from his tan skin.
And then she tore her gaze away, bursting through the double doors like the devil himself was in
pursuit.

Tom watched Hermione flee the clinic in much the same state as she entered it. Terrified out of her
mind.

Before her spectacular arrival, he’d been cross-referencing the medical files of those deemed
‘runaways’, looking for connections, markers. Something that stood out, made them stand out…

His nights were filled with much the same thing, his newly appointed secret office fit to burst with
stolen files from the records room. Only it wasn’t such a secret anymore, was it? He’d let the girl
inside. Foolish really.

But he’d been so shocked to find her racing along the halls, a sobbing mess, he’d sprung from his
hiding spot just to see if she was gravely injured, missing a limb or some other calamity. When
she’d appeared physically fine other than her frazzled mental state and lack of proper attire he’d
been even more intrigued. Luckily she’d hardly noticed the contents of his office, badgering him
with no questions, more concerned with fleeing than staying to investigate.

Still, he shouldn’t have taken her there. It was only a matter of time before an inquisitive mind such
as hers grew curious. Worse yet, she had a bold streak a mile long that would only instigate her
need to meddle. She’d gone to Amortentia. She’d gone as a house girl…

Yes, the girl certainly had a core of steel. She’d left one of her crimson ribbons behind. A smear of
blood upon the floor. He’d picked it up. Wrapped it around his finger. Traced the edges with his
thumb. And now for some inexplicable reason, he carried it in his pocket.

It was simply a reminder. A reminder of all that was at stake. Nothing more. And then the doors
had burst open in a small explosion, the girl herself emerging in a cloud of smoke as though his
thoughts alone had summoned her into existence.

First, he saw her eyes. Wild, desperate, searching. And then he’d seen the creature lurking at her
back. And he’d understood. This would simply not do.

It had been a natural instinct to insert himself between the doe and the wolf. He’d faced down
predators such as this many of times. It was almost as second nature as wielding a scalpel or taking
a pulse. Men like Dolohov had shaped Tom into the man he was today. He’d find a way to show
his unending gratitude.

Once the doors closed behind Hermione’s abrupt departure the curtains lowered over the stage, the
play ended, the masks came off.

“So tell me, Doctor Riddle, what brings you to this establishment of all places?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, mouth lifting into a lethal grin. “I find I am able to accomplish a great deal
of work here. The post sat abandoned for so long, the residents were in desperate need of care.”

Dolohov raised a sharp brow. “Still, a young man such as yourself surely has loftier dreams than
being confined to the clinic of a girls’ shelter for the duration of his career.”

Tom slid his hands into his pockets, smoothing the satin ribbon between the pads of his fingers. “I
assure you, my dreams are very clearly defined. This is merely a stepping stone to the ultimate
goal.”

Dolohov tilted his head. “And what is that?”

Tom held his gaze steady. Several heartbeats passed, and then he stepped back, gesturing to the
doors. “I’ve distracted you for too long. Shall we proceed with the tour?” Tom felt his teeth
elongate behind his lips, desperate to tear into the creature before him. Dolohov blinked.

“I don’t really think that’s necessary. I’ve taken up enough of your time today, and I’ve seen
enough of the building to know it’s in good standing. I think I can conclude with today’s visit.”

His sharpened teeth receded, the surrender taking him off guard. Perhaps he wasn’t as subtle as
he’d intended. Another thing to work on. He nodded. “Certainly. I will escort you out.” He
couldn’t have the fox sneaking into the hen house upstairs.

“That’s not necess-”

“I insist. I’m in need of a mild excursion myself, I’ve been cooped in this room for too long. Come,
I’ll take you through the garden gate, you really must see the flowers.” Most of the residents were
dining. Less prey lingered outside.

Dolohov’s jaw ticked, but he pasted on a congenial smile and tipped his head. “Certainly, lead the
way, Doctor.”
Tom led the forward march out of the clinic, fingers still intertwined with the ribbon as his senses
rose to high alert, ever aware of the presence at his back. Once they emerged in the corridor he
altered his pace, allowing Dolohov to fall in step beside him. The better to see his reactions. “How
did you come to be Ms. Granger’s solicitor?”

The man blinked, spine going rigid. “I was her parent’s solicitor before their untimely deaths.”

“And now you control their estate?”

“As the law dictates, with no male heirs to take control I am entitled to controlling rights until such
a time as Ms. Granger marries or produces a legal male heir.”

“How antiquated that an infant boy is entrusted with rights and property denied to an adult
woman.”

Dolohov laughed, a dark glimmer in his eye. “I admit that Ms. Granger is a clever girl, but I have
met enough women to know that entrusting the majority of them with large sums of property and
cash would only lead the world to ruin.”

“Is that so?”

“They are spiteful things, led by their emotions rather than their sensibilities. In my line of work I
have seen many a man, business and even government laid to waste by a woman’s fickle fancy.”
He shook his head. “Trust me when I say men are better off maintaining controlling rights, for the
good of the fairer sex.”

Tom gazed sideways. The smile on Dolohov’s face was inviting, bidding Tom to agree. Instead,
his focus lingered on the raised line of purple flesh across his eye. “And how did you come by such
a scar?”

“Hm? Oh,” he gingerly touched the mark. “This old thing?”

“It looks fairly recent.”

He laughed shortly. “I wasn’t paying attention while riding and was thrown from my horse.”

Tom studied the mark. Dolohov shifted uncomfortably. “You must have hit a very sharp rock,"
Tom observed. "Minimal trauma to the surrounding skin suggests the cut was made with a narrow
point. Like a blade.”

Dolohov blinked, averting his gaze forward as they walked the wide corridor. “Just my luck, I
suppose.”

Tom smirked, eyes still fixed upon him. “Luck has a way of always running out, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, unfortunately, it does.” Dolohov increased his pace. Tom’s long legs easily kept stride beside
him.

“Here we are.” Tom gestured to the doors that led outside. “This will take us on the scenic route.”

“Delightful.”

Tom held the door open, allowing the other man to pass by first, eyes flashing with malevolent
glee as Dolohov kept his gaze averted forward, obvious tension in his limbs.

“So tell me, Doctor, where have you practiced medicine before? I know many physicians
throughout the city. I’m curious if we share any acquaintances.”

We most certainly do. “I transferred here from St. Mungo’s. Before then I spent years practicing
medicine on the continent, mostly throughout eastern Europe and parts of the Middle East.”

“How fascinating.” The man sounded anything but. “Did you attend school abroad?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. He knew what the seemingly harmless question implied. Men like Dolohov,
the privileged elite, measured other men’s worth first by pedigree and second by education. Tom
had no doubt the man considered any school outside the UK subpar. He clearly thought Tom was
saddled with this position because he couldn’t qualify for work elsewhere.

“I graduated from Cambridge before attending the Royal College of Surgeons. I placed at the top
of my class and transferred to a teaching hospital in London. After being made the head of the
surgical division in two years time I was offered a coveted spot on the St. Mungo’s medical team.”

Dolohov blinked, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words. “I… that’s… quite
impressive, Doctor. May I ask… whatever are you doing here?”

Tom’s eyes gleamed beneath the bright sun. “I’ve spent my entire life searching relentlessly. I’ve
yet to find what I seek. This place is merely another rock to uncover.”

Dolohov’s brows drew together, obviously unsatisfied with the vague response, but before he
spoke he seemed to become distracted by something over Tom’s shoulder. Tom blinked, turning to
follow the wolf’s dark gaze. His jaw ticked. The garden was empty of residents. Except for one.
His Rook.

The ethereal blonde was on her knees, bent over and digging at the roots of a large hawthorn bush
with a small spade. Dolohov stood transfixed by her for several long moments before Tom shifted
his stance, blocking the girl from view. The man blinked, eyes narrowing and locking with Tom’s.

“I’m starting to understand why a man might be willing to forgo his mighty reputation to work in a
place such as this.”

Tom’s spine elongated, rising to his full height. The ribbon wrapped around his finger so tightly it
cut off the circulation. A scathing response was burning on the back of his tongue, but he inhaled
sharply, tucking it away. There was an opportunity here, one that would require him to tread
carefully. But if he was able to strategize ahead, perhaps he could advance along the board even
faster. “Yes. It certainly has its benefits.”

Dolohov smirked, eyes alight as he clapped Tom heartily on the shoulder. “Damn straight! Ha! I
knew the moment I saw you that you were an intelligent bloke.” His eyes shifted past him,
focusing once more upon the girl. “So tell me…” he spoke in a low voice, leaning forward. “Just
between us men, do you get to examine all the girls?”

Tom’s eye twitched. “I am the sole physician here. Every resident is under my care.”

Dolohov nodded eagerly. “And do you get to... Examine all parts of them?”

Tom was silent for several beats, focused on the thrumming pulse in the man’s neck, vivid
imaginings of spurting red fluid filling his mind’s eye, keeping him calm, grounded. “I conduct all
external examinations. I refer patients to a specialist for anything more invasive.”

Dolohov leaned back. “Damn. Too bad, eh?” He winked, smirk transforming his face into
something wicked. “You know,” he continued slowly. “I heard a rumor, about the last doctor to
hold your post.”

“Have you now?”

“I heard that he got a bit, hands-on with the girls. A bit too hands on, if you catch my meaning.”

Tom inhaled slowly. “I heard similar rumors.” And then he’d heard the truth from the horse’s
blood filled mouth.

“Such a shame that a man of high standing and esteem is made a victim by the whims of a few
errant school girls.”

Tom raised a brow. “You don’t believe the rumors?”

Dolohov’s expression sharpened. “I have no doubt he only did what those girls wanted him to.
They’re all desperate for a handout, for a golden ticket, they’ll do anything to better their station in
life. And that goes for the high born females as well, just as ruthless and cutthroat as their
downtrodden counterparts, if not more so.”

“And do you hold Ms. Granger in the same regard?”

Dolohov blinked, drawing back. Then a slow smile curved his lips. Tom’s fists tightened in his
pockets. His reaction perturbed him. He forced his hands to loosen. “She is special,” the solicitor
admitted. Tom’s eye twitched again. The silence continued, Dolohov electing to say no more. Then
his dark gaze averted to the blonde. “I see there are many special cases here.”

Tom couldn’t keep the beast inside him chained down much longer. His resolve was wearing thin.
He gestured to the gate. “It’s been a true delight to make your acquaintance, Mr. Dolohov. But I
hate to deter you from your day any longer.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” He stepped back, examining Tom with a tilted head. “I like you, Riddle. If
you don’t mind me speaking so informally.”

“Not at all.”

The man smiled. “I’d like to get to know you better, learn more of your background. I have a
feeling you and I share many common interests.”

You have no idea. Tom’s answering smile wasn’t feigned. “I have no doubt our paths will cross
again.”

Dolohov nodded. “I do hope so. Perhaps I shall forward an invitation to a gathering with other like-
minded individuals, help you reintegrate yourself into the proper social scene now that you’re back
in London.”

Tom savored the taste of victory sweet. “I would be honored.”

“Excellent. Well, I bid you good day, then.”

“To you as well.” He watched the beast saunter past the flowering bushes and through the gate,
finally disappearing around the side of the building. And then he felt eyes upon him. He glanced to
the side, locking gazes with the garden’s other inhabitant.

She was still perched on her knees, gloves caked in soil, long braid draped over her shoulder. Such
a placid, angelic looking thing. Such a delicious meal for the wild creatures lurking just outside
these walls. His gaze lingered, considering…

No. She was too sweet, too demure. The perfect bait but the worst kind of trap. She lacked the
metal teeth needed to ensnare the stealthy fox or disembowel the hungry wolf. Tom nodded to her,
once, and she nodded back, removing her gloves and taking to her feet, quickly heading back inside
the building.

She’d proven helpful so far. She’d prove even more helpful yet, he had no doubt. But she could
never be more than his Rook.

He inhaled the warm summer air, letting the floral and wood notes linger in his lungs, and slowly
withdrew his hand from his pocket. He gazed down at his fingers, the line of bright red pressed
deep into his flesh, turning his fingertip blue. Squeezing the life from the tissue. He tilted his head,
slowly loosening the ribbon, savoring the sharp pang of needles as the blood rushed back into the
appendage.

“She is special.”

Yes. That she was. She survived the flames of hell, only to be reborn edged in steel. Meeting the
beast she had scarred only solidified what he already suspected upon finding her hiding in his
wardrobe, a burning omen of the battle to come.

He’d laid out his chessboard many years ago, steadily gathering the pawns and knights needed to
bring the enemy to its knees. And now, at long last, he’d found his final piece. The most vital one
of all.

Hermione Granger would be his Queen.

Harry was battling his bath dampened hair with a comb when a thunderous rumbling occurred
downstairs.

He quickly descended, half wondering if Malfoy was once more beating a dent into the door, when
the melody of voices on the other side of the barrier met his ears, making him shake his head in
amusement.

He opened the door-

And promptly had the air knocked from his lungs as a small and sturdy figure darted forward,
crashing headfirst into his body and driving him back.

“Uncle Harry! You’re back you’re back!”

“Teddy! What did I tell you about leaping on people like a dog?”

“It’s alright,” Harry laughed, stepping back and hoisting the boy into his arms. “As long as he
doesn’t pee on my leg I can’t complain.”

The woman entering behind the boy rolled her eyes, stepping inside. “Don’t give him any ideas,
Harry.”

“Hello, Dora,” he leaned in, allowing her to kiss him on the cheek. “You look lovely.”

“I look like I’ve crawled out from beneath a ton of bricks. I’ve spent the last two days unpacking.
Why do we own so much shite?”
“Language!”

Dora rolled her eyes. “Sorry, mum. Why do we own so much bloody shite?”

Harry fought back a smile as his Aunt entered the residence, eyes narrowed upon her daughter but
lacking any real heat.

“It’s wonderful to see you, my dear, welcome home,” Andromeda said as she placed a hand on his
shoulder, kissing him on the cheek as well.

“It’s good to be back. How is the publishing house doing?”

“Splendid. Ted couldn’t come tonight, he’s waiting on a delivery and sends his love.”

“Where’s Rem?”

“Forced to the back of the line, as usual,” the man in question said with a smile, entering the Manor
and shutting the door behind him. “Hello, Harry. Christ, you look more like James everytime I see
you.”

Harry swallowed thickly, leaning into the man’s embrace as he clapped him on the back. As they
separated something hard prodded into his chest, he glanced down and saw the toy clasped in
Teddy’s hands, a wooden ship with white sails. Harry smiled.

“Still want to be a sailor like your godfather and Uncle Sirius?”

Teddy nodded enthusiastically, holding his toy aloft and dipping it through the air like it was
sailing the raging seas. “I’m going to be a Fleet Admiral!”

Harry tipped his head back and laughed even as Remus shook his head in exasperation. “Any hopes
of turning the boy into a scholar have been dashed, thanks to you.”

Harry smirked. “No one can accuse him of setting small goals.”

“At least he doesn’t dream of becoming a pirate,” Andromeda said, unfastening the buckle on her
cloak. “Like his mother did.”

“Who says I still don’t?” Dora winked.

Harry set his godson down, stepping towards his Aunt. “Let me take your cloak.”

She raised a dark brow, shrugging out of the garment. “You have no butler?”

“Sirius let him go a while back. Said he was judging him with his eyes. And watering down his
liquor.”

Andromeda sighed. “Of course he did. And where is my mongrel cousin?”

“Passed out upstairs. I’ll go fetch him.”

“Why don’t we let Teddy do the honors? He’s quite capable of waking the dead, Sirius should pose
little challenge.”

Harry smiled. “Brilliant.” He glanced to the boy hanging from his leg. “I have a mission for you,
Teddy, official orders set down from the Queen herself.”
Teddy’s eyes widened, glimmering in the light. “What does she say?”

Harry fought to keep his earnest expression. “You are to go upstairs and wake up Uncle Sirius by
any means necessary. Just don’t damage the furniture or injure yourself. Sirius is fair game, do
whatever you like to him.”

Teddy’s face split in half with a wide grin. “Mission accepted! It’s an honor to serve her Majesty!”
And then he was taking off at a sprint, galloping up the stairs with a five-year-old’s determination.

Harry turned to his Uncle. “How long are you back for?”

“Until the end of August, classes start on the first of September.”

“You’re still teaching Anthropology?”

“Yes-”

“They’re making him head of the Department,” Dora cut in, leaning her head against his shoulder.
“The youngest to ever hold the title.”

“That’s fantastic, mate! Congratulations.”

A flush stained Remus’s cheeks as he glanced away. “Thank you, Harry, but it’s not that big a-”

“If you say it’s not a big deal I’m going to smack you upside that brilliant head of yours.” His wife
threatened, eyes narrowed.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, my love. It’s a very big deal. Are you happy?”

“Always.” She perched on her toes and pecked him on the lips, making him blush deeper.

Harry smiled. Andromeda sighed. “Please refrain from intimate displays of public affection in the
entryway, it’s uncouth.”

Dora spun around, hands on her hips. “I’ve seen you and dad kissing all over the house. Scarred me
for life as a child.”

“Then think about what you're subjecting my poor grandson to.”

“Speaking of which,” Harry interjected, glancing up the empty staircase. “I thought we’d have
heard the roof caving in by now-”

Right on cue, a thunderous roar issued from the second floor, following by childish squeals of
delight.

“You little hellion! Come here, I’m going to toss you out the window!”

“No!” Teddy screamed with laughter. “Uncle Sirius don’t!”

“I’ve got you now!”

Everyone glanced to the upper level as heavy footsteps sounded, followed by Teddy’s hysterical
giggles. Sirius emerged from the hallway, toting the boy upside down over his shoulder like a sack
of potatoes.

“Perhaps I’ll toss you over the banister instead so the neighbors don’t see...”
“No!” His short limbs thrashed, Sirius keeping him easily pinned in place.”I’m sorry! Uncle Harry
told me to!”

“You little tattletale!” Harry called up.

“I see, my ungrateful godson is the real culprit! I suppose I’ll have to toss you both over the
banister.”

“No! Uncle Harry, help! Help!”

Dora laughed, shaking her head. “Why don’t you ever call mom for help? You don’t think I can
take Sirius in a fight? I’d have him laid flat in two seconds.”

Sirius huffed, eyes narrowed. “That’s only because you fight dirty, you lawless heathen.”

“I learned from the best,” she winked.

“Thank you, luv,” he smirked, shifting the flailing boy on his shoulder.

“I wasn’t referring to you, dolt. Mum taught me everything I know about throwing a mean right
hook.”

“Dora, honestly,” Andromeda shook her head. “Don’t forget I also taught you how to shoot.”

“Trust me, she hasn’t forgotten,” Remus chimed in, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist.
“She’ll shoot the glass right out of my hand when she’s ready to leave a party.”

Dora rolled her eyes. “That only happened twice.”

Teddy let out another high pitched squeal as Sirius began to tickle him.

“Please don’t get him riled before dinner, Sirius,” Andromeda called up. “He barely sits still as it
is, I don’t want him running amok in the restaurant.”

“He’s a boy, Andy! They’re meant to run wild. Besides,” he glanced to his longtime friend. “He’s a
Marauder by blood. There’ll be no hope for getting him to obey the rules.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” Remus said, arching a brow. “I kept you and James in line, didn’t I?”

“Your technique needs some work, my dear,” Andromeda said as she cut a path across the floor to
the parlor. “I seem to recall the three of you sitting in a jail cell on Christmas Eve, one pair of pants
among you.”

Remus flushed bright red. Harry’s ears perked up, smile forming. “I’m sorry-” he glanced up to
Sirius, who looked equally red-faced. “I haven’t heard this story. Please elaborate.”

“Yes, please do, mother!” Dora gripped her husband’s arm in excitement, bouncing on her heels.

“Don’t you dare, Andy!” Sirius shouted, quickly trotting down the stairs with Teddy flopping from
his shoulder, laughing all the while. “You swore yourself to secrecy!”

She smirked over her shoulder. “I recall making no such agreement, Sirius Black. And as the only
sober person involved in the debacle, I believe my memory is the one to be trusted.”

“Don’t leave us in suspense, Aunt Andy,” Harry started to follow her, laughing at his Uncle and
godfather’s mortified reactions. “You have to tell us the story.”
She sat gracefully on the settee, arranging her skirts in a pristine flourish, living proof you could
take the woman out of the aristocracy but you couldn’t take the aristocracy out of the woman.
Sirius put Teddy down and the boy promptly darted into his grandmother’s lap, her arms wrapping
around him.

“I suppose we have time for one quick story before supper-”

“Andy, I swear to god, don’t tell this story.”

“You have to, Mum!”

“Please, Aunt Andy,” Harry bade. “I’ve never seen Sirius this embarrassed, and I’ve caught him in
compromising positions without pants before.”

“Oi! Remember one thing, kid, I’ve changed your diapers.”

Harry laughed, opening his mouth to respond but before he could utter another word there was a
sharp knock at the front door. Everyone fell silent, turning their heads to gaze upon it.

“Expecting someone?” Dora asked.

“Only you lot,” Sirius replied, then glanced to Harry. “Unless you’re expecting someone?”

Harry shook his head. “Maybe it’s Ted?”

“No, he’s running inventory after the shipment arrives,” Andy supplied, running her fingers
through Teddy’s sandy blonde locks. “He’ll be at the business all evening.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, only one way to find out.”

He departed from the group and crossed the entryway, peeking through the pane to see who it was,
spotting only the street carriage parked behind the Tonks’. He raised a brow, curious, and opened
the door a crack, peering out and meeting a set of familiar light brown eyes.

His heart dropped into his stomach. He blinked, staring at them blankly.

“Well, are you going to invite me in or not?” She asked before glancing over her shoulder. “The
longer I stay out here the better chance I have of being seen.”

Harry glanced over his own shoulder at his family, currently watching him with blatant curiosity.
Fuck. There was no way around this mess. He couldn’t very well speak to her outside and risk
some random passerby witnessing their exchange. Which left only one alternative… He opened the
door fully. “Come on in.”

She gathered her skirts and darted past, making it halfway across the foyer before coming to a dead
stop, eyes wide and fixed upon the small gathering in the adjoining room. “Oh…” she trailed off,
blinking several times and glancing nervously at Harry. “I didn’t realize- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean
to interrupt.”

Harry closed the door. “You aren’t interrupting.” He placed his hands in his trouser pockets, trying
to affect an air of calm indifference, knowing his family was watching the interaction like nosy
hawks.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Susan. Welcome to Grimmauld.”

She glanced between Harry and his family. Sirius smirked, stepping into the foyer.
“Hello there, luv. The name’s Sirius Black, how do you do?” He reached out for her hand, placing
a polite kiss on the back.

“Yes, I know who you are, Lord Black. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.” Her voice
sounded nervous. “My name is Susan Bones. I do hope I haven't disturbed your evening.”

“Not at all.” His eyes darted to Harry, filled with humor. “And how do you know my godson?”

“Oh, well, we…” she looked to Harry once more.

Jesus Christ. This was looking more sordid by the second. “We met at a function for the Scotland
Yard," Harry supplied. "Susan’s father was just appointed Commissioner of a new investigational
unit at the London precinct.”

“Ah, I thought your name sounded familiar,” Remus said from the other room, smiling at her. “The
CID is a much-needed asset to the police department. We wish your father all the best in his new
position.”

She nodded. “That’s very kind of you to say, Sir. I shall pass your good wishes onto my father.”

“So,” Sirius raised a brow. “What brings you here this evening?”

“Oh,” she wrung her hands together. “Well… I…”

Dora laughed lightly from her spot beside Remus. “Bloody hell, give the kids some privacy!”

“Dora!” Andromeda scolded. “Do mind your language in front of guests!” She glanced at Susan. “I
apologize for my daughter’s colorful outburst, my dear. Perhaps you and Harry would like to move
your discussion to the billiards room?”

Harry nodded, relief flooding his system. “That’s a great idea,” he tilted his head towards the
opposite hall. “Please, follow me, Susan.”

Sirius sighed. “No one ever lets me have any fun.”

Harry shot his godfather a glare as he escorted Susan into the hall, the curious and amused gazes of
his family disappearing behind the wall. Susan released a deep sigh as they entered the expansive
billiards room. “Shite,” she whispered as he shut the door. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you’d have
guests over. Ron said it was only you at Grimmauld.”

Harry blinked. “It was. Sirius got back this morning, the family just arrived for dinner.”

She looked stricken. “I was hoping my visit would remain a secret.”

“Why are you here?”

She bit her lip, reaching into her bag and withdrawing a familiar slip of paper. Harry’s calling card.
The one he’d given her at the opium den. “You told me to come here if I had any information that
could be relevant.”

His heart leaped, body jolting. “You’ve heard something about Lavender?”

She swallowed, eyes darting down. “Maybe… I’m not sure.”

He tilted his head, stepping closer. “What is it, Susan?”

“I…” she sighed deeply, shoulders dropping. “I overheard one of the officers telling my father
about something they found tonight.”

His blood rushed through his ears, pulse thrumming madly. She finally glanced up, meeting his
intense gaze.

“They’ve pulled a body from the river.” Her brows drew tight. “A girl.”

The air was pulled violently from his lungs, the gaslights seeming to dim at once. The silence
pressed against him from all sides, finally broken by his low spoken curse. “Shite.”
 Pretty Dolls

How long is forever?

Sometimes, just one second.
. . .

For the first time in a long time, despite all odds, Hermione was enjoying a blissful night’s rest.

Sheer exhaustion brought on by blind terror and forty-eight hours of restlessness finally gave way
to death like sleep, her mind too spent to fabricate its usual haunts.

No fire, no blood, no wandering hands, wanted or unwanted… just endless, all-consuming

darkness.

She was suspended in the black pools of eternity, drifting steadily down a river of ink that
weighted her limbs, invaded her lungs and saturated her vision.

And like all good things, it came to an end far too soon.

Hermione awoke to the sound of a click.

Her eyes sprang open, body fully alert, mind startling clear, as though she’d never fallen asleep in
the first place.

She blinked, turning her head.

And saw what had pulled her from her serene slumber.

The door opening.

And the person walking in, clad in a sheer nightgown.

The new entrant closed the door behind her, head downturned, blonde hair obscuring her face.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

She always snuck in after curfew, always waking Hermione in the middle of the ni-

Hermione blinked again.

And stared.

Realization set in like a heavy blanket over her mind.

She watched in dumbfounded shock as Lavender tiptoed to her bed, pulling her quilt back and
slipping beneath the sheets, silently lying down with her back to Hermione.

Hermione closed her eyes. Opened them.

Then sat up and scrubbed a hand over her face.

This is a dream.

Only, she was awake. Of that she was certain.

But this couldn’t possibly be happening. There was no way.

It’s Luna. You mistook Luna for Lavender…

But she knew deep down she’d never mistake her friends. They were different heights, different
builds, different shades of blonde.

And Luna wouldn't sneak in unannounced. She’d be more likely to crawl into bed beside Hermione
or Parvati if she came up here. She’d never slip into Lavender’s bed.

Hermione swallowed heavily. Then she worked up the courage to finally get up.

She slowly drew her covers back and swung her legs over the side, bare feet making the
floorboards creak like old bones. She cringed at the noise, standing frozen beside her bed.

But Lavender didn’t stir.

It’s not Lavender.

Her hands began to shake at her sides.

Please… please don’t let this be what I think it is…

She felt tears well in her eyes as she slowly crept forward.

Please… God, I know you haven’t answered me in the past, but please, just this once, please let
this be real…

She hovered beside Lavender’s bed, currently filled by someone, something…

She started to reach out a hand but quickly withdrew it, fear taking root within her so solidly it
froze her in place.

She stood there for a short eternity, staring at the same back she’d spent the last three months
gazing at each night. The same river of honey blonde hair, the same pale nightgown with lace
detail around the edges…

She closed her eyes and stealing herself in the temporary blindness. Please let this be real. She
opened her lids and reached out her hand. And touched the girl’s shoulder. They slowly turned to
face her. Hermione was so overwhelmed with fear and anticipation her mind had a hard time
processing the image that was revealed.

Lavender. Staring up through her deep brown eyes. Expression calm and serene and beautiful.

Hermione lurched forward, hand clamping down on her friend’s flesh, nails digging into her skin,
leaving behind crescent-shaped indentations. She swallowed again, throat closing up, tears
streaming. They stared at each other for a short eternity. And then Hermione burst.

“Lavender!” she cried, throwing herself down and clutching the girl tightly. “Oh my god!” she
sobbed. “Where have you been? Do you have any idea how terrified we’ve been? Christ, I’m so
glad you’re back I don’t even care!” Hermione was so wracked by tremors it took her a moment to
realize that Lavender lay limp in her hold. Hermione blinked rapidly, pulling back to examine her
friend more closely, the usually talkative girl’s silence deeply unnerving. “Lavender, are you okay?
Are you hurt? What’s happened?”

Lavender held her gaze, but at this close proximity, with their faces mere inches apart, Hermione
saw just how blank her stare was. Paired with lifeless limbs, it was as though she was a life-sized
doll.

Such a pretty doll…

The words were whispered in her mind by another’s voice, one she’d never heard before and yet
recognized all the same. Hermione shook her head frantically, heart stuttering. “No…” she
swallowed thickly. “No!” She clutched her shoulders, shaking her. “Parvati!” Hermione screamed,
mindless of waking the entire floor. “Parvati get over here!”

She glanced frantically to the other bed, the brunette’s outline beneath the covers clearly defined,
her steady breathing never breaking pace. “Parvati wake up!” Her second roommate didn’t stir.
Hermione sobbed harder. “No… no, no, no!” She gazed at Lavender again, clutching her tighter.
“Please don’t do this to me. Please, not her!”

She fell to her knees beside the bed, arms still wrapped around the limp form. Her violent shaking
had caused Lavender’s blonde hair to obscure half her face. Hermione reached out a hand to
smooth it back. The girl’s face was cool and silky, like a porcelain mask. And then Hermione
noticed the red at her throat. A perfect, gleaming line of red. A choker.

Hermione’s heart stopped beating. Lungs stopped breathing. The world stopped turning. She
reached out a hand to caress the familiar satin ribbon. And then blinked in confusion when her
fingers drew away wet. She stared at them, the dark ink staining her skin. She held her hand aloft in
the moonlight, the liquid shimmered crimson.

Her face crumpled as she brought both her hands to Lavender’s throat, desperately trying to pull the
ribbon away, but it was adhered to her skin, flush against her neck, ingrained to her flesh. And
seeping blood.

She was beyond words, lost to terror and madness. She clawed futilely at the fabric but it wouldn’t
budge. Her hands were slick, nail beds caked in red. She met Lavender’s blank stare. “Please,
Lavender, please wake up.” Her desperate plea was met by deaf ears. Lavender’s glassy doll eyes
remained fixed with Hermione’s, a silent scream of terror locked in their depths. She gave up the
struggle, collapsing forward and burying her face in her friend’s still chest as she cried. “I’m sorry,
Lavender. I tried. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“Mione?”

Hermione reared back, eyes wide. “Lavender?” But the bed was empty.

“Mione, what are you doing down there?”

She lurched away as a hand gripped her shoulder.

“Whoa! Calm down!”

Hermione gazed up from her sprawled position on the floor, Parvati hovering above her with raised
hands. She glanced rapidly between her friend and the empty bed. “What…” she swallowed,
scrambling forward. “What happened?”

“That’s my question.”

She shook her head. “I… I was dreaming.” She spoke the words more for herself than Parvati. The
ache in her chest intensified.
“I’ve never seen you sleepwalk before. Shite, it was creepy. Here.” Parvati offered her hand and
Hermione accepted, fingers trembling. Her entire body twitching with latent adrenaline.

“I’ve never sleepwalked before.”

“Well, you certainly did tonight. Not just that but you were carrying on a conversation as though
someone else was there. Like I said, creepy as shite.”

“I was talking?” she asked. Parvati nodded. Hermione’s eyes burned. She rubbed them. “Was I…”
she sighed. “Was I talking to Lavender?”

Parvati stared at her with a guarded expression. “I don’t know. I had trouble understanding you.
But you were leaning against the side of her bed. What were you dreaming about?”

Hermione took a deep breath, glancing away. She wanted to confide the details of her haunting
reverie to Parvati, but she was also desperate to forget. And the easiest way to forget something
was to keep it buried deep within the recesses of her mind, an easier feat to accomplish when fewer
people knew the disturbing truth in question.

“I don’t remember.”

Parvati raised a dark brow, looking supremely unconvinced. “It’s alright, you know. You can just
say you don’t want to tell me. I won’t be offended.”

Hermione blinked. “It’s not that-”

“My bigger concern is you getting out of bed and crossing the room without waking up. What if
you make it into the hall next time and fall headfirst down the stairs?”

Hermione’s jaw clamped shut so tight it ached.

“I know you hated the medicine, Hermione, but at least it kept you in your bed at night.”

“It kept me in bed all day. I became useless and exhausted all the time. I won’t take it again.”

Parvati sighed, shaking her head. “Well, maybe the Doctor can suggest an alternative-”

“I don’t need sleep tonics, Parvati, I need-” she stopped short, mind reeling. I need an exorcist. The
thought was so random, so ludicrous it made her burst into a fit of hysterical giggles.

Parvati’s dark brows drew together. “Mione? What’s so funny?”

Hermione shook her head, unable to control her laughter. She shook with it, was consumed by it,
and soon it transformed into uncontrollable sobbing.

“Mione…” Parvati stepped forward, wrapping her arms around her as her knees gave out, both girls
slowly crumbling to the floor. “Mione, what’s wrong?”

Hermione felt the wetness stream along her heated face, snot, tears, Lavender’s blood, she couldn’t
discern one sensation from the next anymore. “I haven’t the first clue,” she gasped between
breaths.

“I don’t understand.”

Hermione trembled, struggling to regain control. “Neither do I, Parv. I have no idea what’s
happening to me.” Her friend pulled her closer, Hermione tipped her head forward and rested it
against her chest, just as she had done with Lavender moments ago. The thought made the ache in
her chest fester and rot, spreading outward to destroy her body one cell at a time.

They sat in silence while Hermione regained her breath, until the raging waters settled into a
bubbling brook. And then Hermione came to a decision. She couldn’t keep it inside anymore. The
only thing more terrifying than telling someone was not telling someone. She couldn't go another
day, another hour, another minute, living this awful truth alone. “Parvati…” she began, voice
broken and strained.

The girl in question smoothed a hand over Hermione’s head, pushing the curls from her wet eyes.
“What?”

Hermione's eyes drifted closed. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Draco awoke in a foul mood.

He hated waking up in a foul mood.

He supposed no one cared for it a great deal. But he especially detested it, usually because it
signified he was at the mercy of something beyond his control. His schooling, his career, and now
his future marriage.

All things dictated to him by his father.

But on this particular morning, Draco awoke to a feeling of guilt. And he hated guilt most of all,
which led to this slow deterioration of his day.

He banged his fist against the door once more, the metal knocker rattling in its holder.

“Come on, open up! I know you’re in there!”

He set his jaw, eyes narrowed as he looked about the decorative shrubs for anything he might
launch through the window.

Then the door swung open.

“You fucking ponce, what the hell do you think you’re- Hey!” she shrieked as he barged past her
into the entryway.

“Draco! You can’t just storm in like this, what if I’d had company?”

“I appreciate your attempt at humor but I’m hardly in the mood for a laugh.”

She scowled, tying the sash of her silk robe. “Congratulations, you’ve been here all of thirty
seconds and are already getting kicked out. That’s a new land speed record for you.”

“I need to talk.”

“Clearly you came here to take your foul temper out on me. I’m not interested.”

He sighed, slowly turning to face her. “I’m sorry, Pans. I didn’t mean to imply you never have
company. If anyone was hoarding a harem of lovers in her private abode, it would be you.”

She crossed her arms, drawing to her full, if limited, height. “It’s too late for flatteries.”
He smirked, stepping closer. “Come on, luv. I need a woman’s perspective on something. Consider
it a public service for the rest of your gender, to keep me from offending any more of you.”

She raised a manicured brow. “Now this has the potential to be interesting. Who did you piss off?”

He ran a hand over his face. “Can we sit? And drink.”

“I don’t drink hard alcohol before noon. Except on weekends. And holidays. And Tuesdays.
Tuesdays are simply intolerable.”

He took off for the front parlor. “Then you can watch me drink.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t partake in anything. Pour me a glass of champagne.”

“Good girl.”

“So what great tragedy have you unleashed this time?” She followed him into the room, sitting on
an overstuffed armchair and tucking her legs beneath her.

Draco strolled to the liquor cabinet, eyes narrowing at the selection. “This is pathetic, Pans. What’s
the point in owning your own house if you don’t keep the bar properly stocked?”

“First of all, my father owns the house and everything inside it, including me, as you’re well
aware.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Furthermore, he has no idea I’m here, and if he did, the last thing
he’d be worried about was keeping the bar properly stocked for my guests. If you’re disappointed
you’re welcome to do some shopping.”

“I’ll make it work.” He unstopped a decanter, sniffing the contents. “Who lived here again?”

“Mrs. Devereux,” Pansy replied boredly, weaving her long dark hair into a plait.

Draco poured the amber liquid into a low ball glass. “She’s no longer his mistress I take it?”

“She started sleeping with his business rival. You know how my father gets when it comes to
competition. I’m surprised he didn’t have a contract put out on her. Actually, he might have. I
haven't heard anything about her in some time.” She began wrapping the braid in a loose bun.
“More spoils for me. The last house I was using was commandeered by Lestrange.”

Draco blinked, glancing over his shoulder. “Rod?”

She shook her head. “The other one.”

Draco sighed, facing forward and reaching for a bottle of champagne. “Great. Do I even want to
know what he’s using it for?”

“Decidedly not.”

Draco popped the cork and tipped the bottle into a crystal flute, the sound of bubbling foam filling
the room.

“Alright, I’ve let you into my hideaway after you insulted me, and now I’m letting you drink the
rest of my cabinet. You better have something good for me, Draco Malfoy.”

He handed her the flute.

“I suggested Tori should join a monastery.”

Pansy blinked, halting her sip. “To her face?”

“Yes. And Daphne overheard and threw me out.”

He sighed as Pansy erupted into the same hysterical laughter that Astoria had, only she looked far
more pleased. She doubled over at one point but managed to keep her glass level all the while.

“I have no idea why that’s so bloody hilarious.”

“That’s because you’re a man,” she gasped for breath, wiping at her eyes.

“Tori said the same thing. I’m well aware, thank you.”

“You’re also a pompous arse with no regard for the welfare of anyone but yourself. But I’m sure
you’re well aware of that, too.”

He blinked, the statement hitting him square in the chest.

“That isn’t true.” Even as he said it, he felt an underlying sense of unease unfurl in his gut. He
wondered what it could be, he hadn’t eaten anything yet today. It certainly couldn't be shame. He
never felt shame.

He refused to feel it now.

“I only made the suggestion for Tori’s sake. It wasn’t as though I demanded she became a nun! I
was just trying to think of a permanent solution. I didn’t know it would send the female population
into such a conniption or I wouldn’t have said it!”

“The fact that you didn’t know it would elicit such a reaction is exactly why you’re a pompous
arse.” Her smile widened at his scowl. “It’s alright luv, what other way could you have turned out
with the upbringing you had?”

“So my circumstances are to blame, then.”

“When are circumstances not to blame?” She took a sip from her glass. “Honestly, why would
anyone ever take responsibility for something when there’s always the perfect scapegoat sitting in
the wings?”

He ran a hand through his hair, groaning. “I take it that I said the worst thing possible?”

“Not quite. The worst thing would be suggesting she leap to her death from the roof her home.
Wait a moment,” she tipped her head, gazing upward. “Actually, now that I think about it, for
someone like Tori I think death would be preferable to a nunnery. So yes, you said the absolute
worst possible thing. And you did so without even trying. Impressive.”

He shook his head, taking a seat across from her and setting his drink on the low table.

“I don’t understand why she threw such a fit. It’s not my fault there are so few alternatives for
women besides marriage. If I could ship her off to Paris and put her up in a castle filled with
everything she’s ever wanted I would, but unfortunately the only way to do that is by making her
my wife. The only refuge offered to single women is the church.”

“Notice that in both those examples you dream of locking her away, whether in a castle or a
nunnery, you want her behind closed doors.”

He blinked. “That isn’t- I didn’t mean it like that. I simply meant providing for her so she doesn’t
have to be roped into another marriage contract.”

“Would you suggest locking Granger away in a castle or church?”

Draco reared back, nearly dropping his glass. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“Doesn’t she have everything to do with this?”

His jaw ticked. “I would be trying to find alternatives to this contract regardless.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, goddammit! Tori is like a sister to me, I’ve known her since the day she was born!”

“Alright then, let’s say you find a way out of marrying her. What about the next contract your
father tries to arrange? And the next, and the next? The gentry extends well beyond London,
Draco. There’s plenty of viable options to be had if your only reservation is marrying someone
you’ve grown up with.”

He scowled, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms. “This isn’t about me. I came here
to discuss Tori. Daphne more or less banned me from the house, meddlesome witch that she is, and
obviously I need help coming up with an alternative for her sister.”

Pansy set her flute on the table, leaning back in a casual sprawl. “Why are you so worried about
Tori? Not to beat a dead horse, but concern for others isn’t your style.”

He ground his teeth together, hands clenching. “Stop saying that. I’m fucking caring.”

She smirked. “Yes, you’re a regular Saint.”

“At least I’m trying to change, then! What do you want from me? Would it be better if I left Tori to
the clutches of her father and the rest of the vultures that want a piece of her fortune?”

Pansy sighed, her expression taking on a rare seriousness that few got to see.

“I think it’s honorable if your intentions are truly to help her. If you’re merely trying to assuage
your guilt then I’m less inclined to assist.”

“What do I have to feel guilty over?”

She raised a brow. “If this arrangement falls by the wayside you know as well as I do Tori stands
to suffer the worst for it. Passing her up to marry outside the gentry will leave her reputation in
tatters. She’ll be a laughing stock, her father will be merciless, and I shudder to think of the man
she’ll finally be saddled with.”

Draco leaned back, heart stuttering in his chest. He’d never thought through the full ramifications
of his desires, at least not in terms of how it might affect anyone besides him and Hermione.

“Shite,” he whispered, tipping his head back against the cushion.

“Precisely,” she picked up her glass and took a delicate sip.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Pansy shrugged, the silk robe falling off one shoulder. She didn’t bother pulling it back in place.
“Have you ever considered just marrying her and keeping Granger for a mistress?”

Draco’s head snapped down, eyes narrowed.

“Clearly that’s a resounding no, got it.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, the bottom line is if you don’t
marry Tori, someone else will. She’s blue blood. Her father is a traditionalist. There’s no escape
for women like us.”

Draco blinked, her final statement catching him off guard. He raised a pale brow.

“So you and Theo…”

She groaned, tipping back the rest of her glass in a few convulsive swallows. “Yes.” She set the
empty flute down with extra force.

“I think a refill is in order.”

“You aren’t as stupid as you look.”

“My perfect hair is misleading.”

“That’s one word for it.”

He made his way back to the bar. “When will it be announced?”

“I’ve no idea. My father hasn’t even told me officially. I oversaw the contract in his office the
other day.”

“How is Theo taking it?”

“I haven’t discussed it with him either. You’re the first.”

Draco stopped mid-pour, gazing over his shoulder. “Are you… alright?”

She groaned. “Why did you have to choose today to develop empathy, Draco? Lord knows you
have limited stores of it, better to save it all for the next time you see Tori.”

He set his jaw. “I don’t think she wants to speak with me for a while.”

“Well, unfortunately, neither of you have a while.”

“What should I do, Pans?”

She sighed, taking the newly filled glass from his hands.

“The next time you see her, try listening.”

He blinked.

“You have heard of listening, yes?”

He rolled his eyes, falling back into the cushions with a groan of resignation.

“Men are always so busy attempting to find a solution they don’t even understand the problem. Let
her do the talking next time. You might be surprised what you learn.”

He tilted his head, studying her profile in the morning light.

“You know something.”

She smirked. “I know many things. I’m quite brilliant.”

“About Tori.”

“If I did I most certainly wouldn’t tell you. Woman’s code and all that.”

“Pans-”

“If you want to know her secrets try talking with her instead of to her. That’s all I have to say on the
matter. Now,” she swung her legs over the side, rising to her feet, “I’m going back to bed. Feel free
to drink yourself into a stupor. Just don’t disturb me.”

She strode past him, robe billowing around her legs, completely at ease in her scant dressing. As
she neared the doorway Draco took a deep breath, calling her attention without looking at her.

“Pans.”

He heard her footsteps slow.

“If you do ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

The room was silent for several beats. Then she laughed, light and airy.

“Why, Draco, perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

Hermione took a deep breath, eyes narrowed in concentration as she examined the form resting on
the counter between her and the dark figure at her side.

“Inventory is divided into five categories,” Snape said, voice clipped. “Tonics, Purifiers,
Cathartics, Oxygenators, and Stimulants.”

She nodded along with his words, tilting her head and he drew a finger along the parchment,
pointing out specific product listings.

“I do not sell the purifiers in their natural form, there is no evidence they cleanse the blood.
However, the active ingredients are useful in certain mixtures I sell for other purposes. We keep
the stock behind the counter, away from customers. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now-” he stopped short, scowling. “I cannot tell if you are suffering from indigestion or a
thought. Nor do I care, as long as you keep either to yourself.”

Hermione sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. His expression pinched further.

“Obviously you will continue to sulk until you give voice to whatever meaningless notion is
rattling about in your head. Speak.”

She gazed up. “Do you consider oxygenators worthy of your shop?”

His dark eyes narrowed. “I take it you do not?”

“Well, I…” she drew back, cheeks tinging pink. “Nevermind, please continue.”
He raised a brow. “You are no shrinking violet, Ms. Granger, do not act like one now. You
presented this topic for discussion, so we shall discuss it.”

She swallowed lightly, feeling like a frog being dissected beneath his penetrating gaze. “There’s no
evidence that oxygenators increase blood flow to the brain. The only medical studies sanctioned by
the board were conducted at St. Martin’s Hospital several years ago and returned inconclusive
results for increased cognitive function or well being.”

He pulled to his full height, staring down his prominent nose at her.

“Your ability to prattle off useless information without taking a breath should warrant a study in
oxygenation itself.”

Hermione lost the battle, eyes rolling of their own accord.

“While your skills at memorizing random facts are unparalleled, I had hoped you possessed critical
thinking capabilities as well. Alas, it seems my expectations were too high.”

She bristled, shoulders drawing back. While his passing insults usually glanced off her shoulders,
this one felt personal, an attack on her most prized possession, her intelligence.

“If you have a point to make, I’d greatly appreciate if you simply made it.”

He cocked his head. “Your temper is shorter than usual today, Ms. Granger. Perhaps it is also
clouding your ability to see the most rudimentary of solutions staring you in the face.”

She blinked, shoulders deflating.

What was he on abou-

She blinked again, realization dawning. She sighed, tipping her head back, frustrated with herself.

“Oxygenators pull blood to the surface. They can be mixed with salves and pastes to promote
healing of the dermis and increase circulatory function.”

The corner of his mouth lifted even as his eyes narrowed. “That took you long enough.”

She glanced away. “I’m having an off day.”

“An off day,” he made the words sound sordid. “I don’t know what that means, but I’ll chalk it up
to women’s troubles and insist you never speak of it again.”

She fell silent, fighting back a groan of exasperation. Her nerves were still rattled after last
night’s… episode. She still wasn’t certain what occurred. She just prayed it never happened again.
And given her award-winning streak of bad luck, she had a sinking suspicion things would only get
worse from here.

She spent the remainder of her night confiding the details of her haunting hallucinations to Parvati,
sitting on the foot of her friend’s bed and wringing her hands together all the while, terrified
speaking the truth aloud would cause the ghastly apparitions to appear before her eyes and drag her
to the pits of hell from whence they surely came.

Alas, nothing occurred, the sun slowly rising in the east and filling the room with its warm glow,
erasing the shadows from the corners of the room and Parvati's tightly drawn face.

Hermione hadn’t been certain how her friend would react, but she knew without a shred of doubt
that she wouldn’t turn her in, even out of concern. Parvati understood the harsh realities of the
world they lived in better than most, and that reporting Hermione’s affliction meant forced
confinement in a mental asylum, a fate worse than death.

But promising to keep it a secret did nothing to alleviate the girl’s fear and worry. Hermione felt
guilty burdening her with even more stress. But at the same time, she felt an enormous weight
lifted from her chest, allowing her to breathe properly for the first time in weeks. Perhaps in
months.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

That simple fact brightened her outlook considerably. She took comfort in the fact she wouldn’t
have to harbor these dark visions in solitude, even if she was the only one who could see them.

While both girls agreed whatever was happening was confined to Hermione’s mind, neither willing
to entertain ideas of supernatural forces at play, the conclusion only made the incidents more
frightening.

Because that meant something was wrong with her. Something that couldn’t be seen or touched or
addressed in a medical book.

Sickness of the mind was still a largely undeveloped field of study. Most medical professionals
didn’t give it much credence. The select few alienists in practice were typically assigned to treat
only the worst cases of insanity. Even so, such modern approaches were rare, brutal physical
therapies and isolation remained the most popular remedies offered to the afflicted.

Parvati had begged her to spend the day inside the Home in the wake of her sleepwalking episode.
But Hermione refused to stay cooped up in her room. That would only allow her thoughts to
wander, for the painful memories to creep back up from the depths from which she’d banished
them. She was already having trouble distinguishing hallucination from reality, nightmare from
memory. The last thing she wanted was confinement.

So Hermione bathed and dressed and showed up to the Apothecary for her second official day of
work. But it seemed she’d left her good sense somewhere between her bedroom and the shop,
because it certainly wasn’t in her possession.

Snape tilted his head once more, a large bird of prey bearing down upon her.

“Have you eaten today?”

She blinked. The question was so unexpected it took her several beats to derive the meaning of his
words.

“Yes, I had breakfast.”

His visage fell into its natural sardonic repose. She suspected his facial muscles froze into such a
mask after a lifetime of considering everyone in his midst an idiot.

And then she wondered if there was anyone Snape was fond of in this whole wide world, now or in
the past. The idea of him smiling, of his eyes alight with excitement by the mere presence of
another, was so obscene it made her want to laugh.

Yet she suspected he wouldn’t find the same amusement in the anecdote, so she forced the
wayward thoughts from her mind.
“I suggest you take your lunch break now. Eat something with starch. Avoid the sugary
concoctions the gypsies are pedaling from their carts or you’ll be passed out against the shelf in
another two hours. Then again, that may be preferable for me. Eat what you will.” His eyes
narrowed. “Just be sure to eat.”

She blinked again, trying to make sense of his remark even as he walked away without preamble.

After spending so much time in the man’s company she’d come to understand Snape showed his
concern in a rather unique fashion. Compliments were disguised between insults and rarely paid,
but when they were it meant even more to her.

Regard for her welfare was a new one, but she found herself strangely moved, despite his callous
approach.

She knew better than to linger inside after she’d been so clearly dismissed. She put away the
inventory list and quickly exited the shop, emerging into the bustling street with a sigh of relief.

It felt good to be surrounded by such movement and noise, so many blessed distractions, so little
time to wander aimlessly through the dark caverns of her mind.

She didn’t have an appetite, but she forced herself to eat, picking at a honeyed roll from the corner
bakery as she walked along the sidewalk, gazing into storefront windows.

The bread was sweet on her tongue, almost too sweet, but then she bumped shoulders with a man
walking in the opposite direction and it quickly turned to ash in her mouth.

She didn’t know him, didn’t recognize him, but he had a crop of salt and pepper hair that reminded
her too much of Dolohov, and her stomach clenched painfully. She released a slow breath,
watching the stranger progress down the road, and shook her head at her visceral reaction.

She had vowed to never fall victim to him again, to anyone again, but within mere minutes he’d
had her sequestered alone in the hallway, cornered against the wall like a terrified doe. Had she not
thought to flee to the clinic she had no doubt that she’d be having a very different day.

But she had thought to flee to the clinic, her bet on the Doctor paying off. She had known on some
instinctual level that he would understand her plight without the need for words. He’d looked into
her eyes and read the terror, and as she expected, he didn’t bother to ask for explanations. He
simply acted. He protected her.

She took another bite of bread, letting it sit on her tongue, pressing it to the roof of her mouth as
her thoughts slowly trailed into the shadowy caverns…

And then someone grabbed her arm.

She shrieked, spinning around and dropping her roll to the cobblestone, eyes wide with shock.

Then she gasped.

“Harry?”

“Christ, I didn’t mean to scare you, didn’t you hear me calling your name?”

She blinked. “No, I-” she shook her head. “It’s fine.” She took a deep breath. “What are you doing
here?”
“You told me in your letter you’re working at the Apothecary today. I thought I’d press my
advantage and see you in person without one of us having to scale a fence.”

She smiled, senses returning as she grasped his arm, letting him escort her through the sea of
pedestrian traffic.

“I’m so happy you came by, Harry. I’ve been having such a-” she paused, about to say dreadful and
thinking better of it. Harry would only worry, and dig. She wasn’t ready to broach the topic with
him yet. “Such a tiresome day,” she tried instead, forcing as much cheer into her voice as she could
muster. “But seeing you chases the clouds away.”

Harry blinked.

“Bloody hell, Mione. Did you just rhyme? Christ, now I know something terrible’s happened.”

She sighed, barely skirting a groan.

“Everything’s-”

“Let me guess, cheery and bright, more than alright?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I thought we were reciting poetry.” His boyish smirk pulled at her heart. “Perhaps I’ll sweep you
off your feet and serenade you on the street.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s not an easy thing to do to think these up on cue.”

“I’m two seconds away from pretending I don’t know you.”

“There was a woman from Nantucket who sat on a bucket-”

“Enough!”

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “I was running out of material.”

She rolled her eyes. “That was very impressive. I pray you got it out of your system for the duration
of our friendship.”

“No promises.”

She smiled, her earlier melancholy long forgotten. “So, are you simply here to waste an afternoon
serenading me, as you say?”

His roguish grin fell at the corners, the gleam in his eyes diminishing just a fraction. Most people
wouldn’t have noticed anything. But Hermione knew Harry better than she knew herself most days.

“What is it?”

He forced his expression into something light and casual. “Nothing serious, I just wanted to ask
you a couple questions.”

She clutched his arm more tightly. “About what?”

He glanced away, the most telling gesture of all. “Lavender.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing, I just-”

“Harry James Potter, look at me.”

He sighed, coming to a halt beside her and finally meeting her gaze. “Mione, really, I just wanted
to ask you more questions about her, to help me continue the search.”

She tipped her head. “I know you too well to buy that. You’re hiding something.” Her eyes
narrowed, pinning him in place. “Tell me.”

He ran a hand through his full locks, jaw tensing. “I just wanted to get a better idea of what she
looks like. Her name isn’t ringing any bells for anyone but maybe if I had a more detailed
description of her someone will recall seeing her.”

She straightened, sensing there was more he wasn’t telling her. It itched at her brain, the inaudible
whisper that something was amiss.

“I thought we promised no more secrets.”

He swallowed. “I’m not-”

“Harry.”

He deflated before her eyes, posture turning in as the air left his lungs in one fell swoop.

“Bloody hell,” he rubbed a hand over his face. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything, I just wanted to
wait until I knew for sure-”

“Knew what? Just tell me, Harry.” She placed her hands on her hips, frustration taking the helm of
her emotions.

His lingering silence was ominous, sending her heart aflutter.

“They pulled a girl from the Thames.”

She reared back.

“We don’t know if it’s Lavender,” he said quickly, raising his hands. “All they know is it’s a
young woman, they haven’t been able to identify her yet. I wanted to take a look for myself, but all
I know about her is that she’s blonde.”

Hermione blinked, spine going rigid, braced for the battle to come. “I need to see the body.”

As expected, Harry’s eyes hardened. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s the only way to be certain. Even if I describe her to the best of my ability you’ve never seen
her, you could misidentify her one way or the other.”

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting you-”

“I’m not asking for your permission, Harry.”

He rolled his eyes, tossing his head back. “I knew you’d do this! That’s why I-”

“That’s why you misled me, yes, I’m well aware! I’m sick and tired of people thinking I’m some
delicate-”

“This has nothing to do with you being delicate, Hermione! You’re talking about viewing the
potential dead body of your friend! Think about it. Is that really how you want to remember her?
I’m only trying to protect you from yourself.”

She drew back, chest heaving, mindless of the nearby spectators they were attracting.

“That isn’t for you to decide, Harry. You don’t get to know what’s best for me simply because
you’re a man.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t throw that in my face, Mione! I’ve never, ever tried to exert control over
you because you’re a woman!”

“You do, Harry! All the bloody time! It’s so ingrained in our relationship you don’t even realize
you’re doing it! You’re so used to being the Great Protector that you assume I’m too weak to face
anything on my own!”

“How can you say that? I’ve always said you’re the smartest person I know!”

“Intelligence has nothing to do with strength. You didn’t tell me about the body because you didn’t
think I’d be able to handle it.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this! I’m- This is- God! I can’t even talk to you right now!”

“Stop yelling!”

“I can’t help it!” He threw his hands out. “I yell when I’m angry!”

She crossed her arms. “You’re angry because you know I’m right.”

“I’m angry because I’m scared!”

They blinked, both taken aback by the admission.

“What?”

He sighed deeply, scrubbing both hands across his face, exhaustion in his eyes.

“I’m scared, Mione. For you. All the damn time. It’s never-ending.”

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have involved you with this-”

“I’m not talking about Lavender. Although that certainly hasn’t helped matters. I’m talking about
you. All of you. All of this.” He gestured to her with a wave of his hand. She glanced down to
inspect her person, searching for something amiss.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t," he said. "And that’s what scares me the most. Because you’re the most
brilliant person I know and you don’t see a problem with any of this.”

Her jaw ticked in growing frustration. “Any of what, Harry?”

“You’ve isolated yourself from everyone and everything that once comprised your life, Mione.
You’re clearly not taking care of yourself. And you insist on living in that Girls Home when you
have multiple friends begging you to live with them.” He raised a hand as she opened her mouth.
“And don’t give me that drivel about reputations. Because I don’t believe it for a second. You
accuse me of keeping secrets, what about you?”

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she took a reflexive step back.

“I know something’s happened," he pressed. "Something beyond the fire. I know this isn’t just
grief. I know grief. And the fact that you won't tell me what it is kills me. Every single day. And I
know if I ask, you’ll lie, and that hurts even more, so I don’t ask. And I feel like an arse for not
asking. And I feel completely helpless and I hate feeling helpless. Every time I look at you I feel
like a failure. As a friend, a brother, a protector. Any title I might have worn has been stripped
away. So yes, I tried to keep the body a secret. Because I’m terrified it’s going to be the feather that
breaks the camel’s back and takes you from me altogether.”

Hermione blinked rapidly, his stricken face obscured by the tears brimming in her eyes. Her throat
had closed halfway through his impassioned speech. She tried to swallow past the constriction.
“Harry, I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t know what else to say, crippled by guilt in light of this new reality he’d set forth. She
had no idea her current circumstances affected him so. She’d foolishly hoped his Naval career kept
him too preoccupied to focus on what was happening back home.

“I don’t want you to be sorry, Mione. I want you to be happy.”

She glanced away, unable to stare into the raw emotion and sincerity in his eyes. Harry had been a
central figure in her life for so long, the surviving foundation beneath the rubble of her old life, she
couldn’t bear to see the cracks that had formed. “I need to see that body, Harry. I have to see it with
my own eyes. No matter the consequences.”

He released a long breath through his nose, embers fading in his eyes. “Alright then. How are we
going to do this?”

She was grateful for his surrender. She knew it was only temporary, that she was biding her time
and prolonging the inevitable, but she would worry about that later. In all this chaos she only had
the capacity to worry about what was directly in front of her, and right now, getting to the morgue
was her first priority. “I can’t leave work, it’s only my second day and I really don’t feel like
explaining the situation to my boss.” She sighed, running a hand along her neck as she thought. “If
I’m late returning to the Home my Matron will have a field day. She has her henchman waiting up
for me every evening. Which means…” she met his gaze once more. “I’m going to have to sneak
out again.”

He shook his head. “You spend more time climbing over the walls than inside them.”

“It certainly feels that way.”

“Are you sure you can manage it again, so soon after the last time?”

She bit her lip, slowly nodding. “Yes, I think so. I’ll be careful.”

He looked reluctant to agree, but to his credit, he tamped down any remaining argument. “Alright.
I’ll wait for you outside with a carriage.”

“No, that’ll draw too much attention, especially if I’m delayed leaving. I’ll have to meet you
there.”

Harry blinked. “I don’t think-”

“That it’s a good idea? None of this is a good idea, but it’s happening anyway.”

He rubbed at his eyes. “Fine. I’ll meet you there.”

She hated this version of Harry, lacking the usual fire and passion that distinguished him from all
others. “I don’t want things to be this way between us, Harry.”

He nodded. “Neither do I.”

“May I…” she bit her lip, shifting awkwardly. “May I hug you?”

He blinked. And then his face transformed once more, a bark of laughter cutting the tension like a
knife. “You had better.”

She smiled in relief, stepping forward at once and wrapping her arms around him, closing her eyes
and relishing his hold. Harry had always been a primary source of comfort. She fought back tears
as she realized his presence no longer banished away all her fears and worries. They slowly broke
apart, meeting each other’s gaze.

“I love you, Mione.”

She took a deep breath, emotions warring within her. “I love you, too, Harry.” Of that she was
certain. She just hoped love was enough to keep them tethered together through the storm to come.

Harry practically jogged up the steps leading to the massive black doors, an ominous omen of the
danger housed within, literally and figuratively. He knew he shouldn’t be here. Coming here was
stupid. Short-sighted. Disastrous. But he could think of nowhere else to go following his explosive
encounter with Hermione. His emotions were still caught in a whirlwind. He hadn’t been able to
release the full force of his frustrations with her, his driving need to protect her too strong to be
overcome by the simple heat of an argument. So, he sought out the one person he could take out
his pent-up aggression on.

He banged on the door with the side of his closed fist, heart racing. The barrier gave way to reveal
the butler on the other side, eyes widening as they fell upon Harry.

“Mr. Potter, good afternoon, Sir.”

Harry nodded. “Good afternoon, Winslow. I’m here to speak to speak with The-” he stopped short,
swallowing lightly. “I’m here to speak with Nott.”

“Young Master Nott is currently in his chambers, I shall fetch him for you.”

“Thank you, Winslow.” He stepped inside, passing up the parlor for the drawing room. It had only
one door, easier to see who was coming.

He paced the room anxiously, circling the tufted sofa with heaving breaths, running through the
last two days in his mind. All this shite with Hermione, her missing friend, his promotion… he no
longer had control over any facet of his life, everything was happening so fast, changing so fast, it
was all too much-

“For Christ’s sake, Potter, have you lost your bloody mind?”
Harry glanced up sharply, so consumed by his thoughts he hadn’t heard Theo descend the stairs or
enter the room. Theo looked over his shoulder into the hall, sighing and closing the door. “What
are you- Mfh!” Theo gasped.

Harry slammed him against the back of the door, mouth silencing the rest of his words, swallowing
them with a groan of satisfaction as his tongue lapped against Theo’s, invading the warm caverns
within. Theo’s hands clutched at Harry’s shoulders, then slid down to squeeze his biceps before
descending to his narrow waist. Harry held Theo’s head in place with one hand on his neck and the
other clutching his dark hair in a fist, angling him just right, devouring him one ragged moan at a
time. He pressed their bodies flush, heights aligned, pelvises bumping, erections grazing. Theo
mewled low in his throat, Harry growled, biting his lover’s bottom lip and jerking his head back to
scrape his teeth along his exposed neck.

“Po- Potter…” Theo swallowed thickly, Adam's apple bobbing beneath Harry’s tongue and teeth.
“Potter, we can’t… not here.”

Harry once again forced his silence with his mouth, hands releasing his head to grip his hips,
pinning him against the door as Harry ground against him at a relentless pace.

“Fuck!” Theo moaned, eyes rolling back into his head.

“We’re getting there.” Harry’s voice sounded foreign to his ears, dark and low. Theo didn’t seem to
mind in the least, hands fisting in Harry’s undershirt, dragging the material free from his pants and
sliding beneath, soft fingertips and blunt nails carving paths along his back.

The world fell away. All the stress and anger and confusion melted at his lover’s eager touch. The
only reality that existed was Theo’s rumbling groans and desperate gasps, the salty sweet of his
skin and the searing heat of his touch. Until those skillful hands released his back and slammed
into his chest hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Harry staggered back, bereft of the other
man’s warmth.

“Fuck! Christ, Theo!”

Theo gasped for breath, leaning his weight against the door as he pinned Harry with a narrow gaze.
“That’s my line, Potter. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I thought I’d made my intentions perfectly clear.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“Let me show you how serious I am.”

Theo held up a hand, halting Harry’s approach. “You must be insane to think I’d do this in my
father’s house.”

“Your father isn’t here.”

“The staff is. The same staff who saw the two of us enter the same room and close the bloody
door!”

Harry drew in a deep breath through his nose, spine straightening. “Then come with me to
Grimmauld. Sirius will be busy all afternoon-”

“What’s gotten into you?” Theo raised a dark brow, eyes roaming Harry’s disheveled figure. “What
happened?”
Harry blinked, fists clenching at his sides. “Nothing’s happened. Thanks to you.”

Theo swallowed, breathing finally regulated. “I’m not joking around about this, Potter. You can’t
even imagine what my father would do if he suspected something, anything, like this was
happening. Little less under his own roof.”

Then he straightened his clothing and ran fingers through his dark hair. “I know you’ve never had
much good sense to begin with, but you certainly have more than this. Now you can choose to talk
to me about whatever’s got you in such a state or you can leave. I couldn’t care less either way.”

Harry scowled. “Fine, I’ll leave!”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Always so immature.”

“I didn't hear you complaining a moment ago.”

“At least tuck your shirt in before you go storming into the hall like a Neanderthal.”

“I doubt Neanderthals tuck their shirts in.”

Theo sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I take back what I said at the bar. You’re starting to
annoy me as well as drive me insane.”

Harry’s jaw tick as he violently tucked his shirt in, taking out his aggravation on the fabric as
though it was the source of all his problems.

“Fucking hell, Potter. What is the matter with you?”

“You gave me a choice, talk or leave. I’m leaving.”

Theo folded his arms, continuing to lean against the door, blocking his only exit. “I’ve changed my
mind. You’re not leaving until you tell me what the hell your problem is.”

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Theo.”

“Well, you certainly had me fooled when you were dry humping my leg a second ago.”

Harry tossed his head back with a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. But you did. And now you’re going to tell me why.”

The turbulence had calmed in his chest enough for Harry to feel a touch foolish. He ran a hand
through his hair, closing his eyes. “I got into a fight with Mione. I… I don’t know why I came
here.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “I should think it quite obvious. You’re terrified of wilting your delicate
flower so you stormed over here to bruise me.”

Harry blinked. “I didn’t- I don’t-”

“Calm down, Potter. I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Harry swallowed. “Hermione said the same thing. About me treating her like she’s fragile. I didn’t
think it was true.”

“For someone so in touch with his emotions you choose to deny the strangest things.”
Harry glanced away, walking to the sofa and collapsing into the cushions, suddenly feeling quite
drained. Theo pushed away from the door and made his way over, sitting beside him in a much
more dignified manner. “I feel like I’m losing her. But I’m starting to wonder if I’m not just
pushing her away.”

“You’ll never lose her, Potter. The two of you are thicker than thieves. Add in that ginger lap dog
always drooling all over the pair of you and you make quite the quaint little image.”

Harry glanced sideways at him. “You know I love her like a sister. There’s never been and never
will be anything between us.”

“Christ, I’m not jealous, no need to reassure me.”

Harry nodded. “Good. Because I can’t even reassure myself at this point. I’m watching her
deteriorate and I can’t do anything about it. It’s driving me mental.”

Theo sighed, leaning back and folding an arm behind his head. “I’ve told you countless times what
your problem is, but you never listen to me.”

“I do not have a hero complex.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “As I said, I’m endlessly fascinated by your denial.”

“I thought you wanted to have a serious discussion.”

Theo maintained his casual repose but his eyes narrowed dangerously. “I assure you, I’m quite
serious. In fact, I’m being brutally honest. Your constant need to save others is slowly killing you.”

Harry glanced at him sharply. “Don’t you think that’s a bit dramatic?”

“Look at the state you’re in, Potter. Completely falling apart because your friend won’t let you run
her life for her.”

“I don’t want to run her life! I just want to-”

“Tell her where to live, what to eat, how to spend her free time?”

Harry blinked, reeling back. “What? No! Of course not! Wanting her in a safe environment isn’t
me trying to control her, it’s wanting her to be safe and provided for! And yes I want her to fucking
eat more but I could give two shites what she-”

“My point is, Potter, that you think you know what’s best for her, and in your misguided attempts
to push her towards those choices you’ve driven a wedge between the two of you. The good news
is the wedge is completely removable. The bad news is you have to be the one to remove it.”

Harry tilted his head, studying Theo’s aristocratic profile. “How long have you been waiting to tell
me all that?”

“Since we started fucking and you started droning on about your idiot friends.”

“It’s called pillow talk.”

Theo’s stoic expression was broken by a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose
that’s why I prefer chairs and walls to beds.”

“I’m not complaining.”

He met Harry’s gaze. “Has your sanity finally returned, then?”

“Unfortunately. I’m sorry I came.”

“I thought I pushed you away in time.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “You did. I’m sorry I put you in that position.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you pinned me against a door.”

“It won’t be the last.”

Theo’s eyes flickered to Harry’s mouth. “Good.”

“I should probably go before the staff starts getting wild ideas.”

Theo sighed, glancing away. “Winslow will keep them in line. He looks out for me the best he
can.”

Harry studied him some more, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “I knew I liked him.”

“He likes you as well. Otherwise, he’d never have let you in. Father’s wrath is not easily skirted.”

“Is he-”

“As you said, you should probably go.” Theo stood, keeping his back averted to Harry as he
walked past.

Harry leaped to his feet and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around and pressing a soft kiss to
his lips, beckoning hands slow and tender in the wake of their earlier clawing and desperation.
Theo responded instantly, allowing Harry to coax his lips apart, tongues gently gliding. Then he
pulled back, just enough to inhale sharply, hands clutching Harry’s waist as he rested their
foreheads together.

“I’m marrying Pansy.”

Harry jolted, held in place by Theo’s strong grip. He opened his mouth but no words formed. His
heart climbed into his throat, the rapid thrum of his pulse resounding through his entire body. Theo
swallowed, blinking rapidly, eyes glittering like the sapphires they so emulated. “Say something,"
Theo begged.

Harry's jaw was locked, his mind a barren desert, things like language and speech abstract concepts
to his overloaded mind. Theo sucked in a long, shaky breath, fingertips digging painfully into
Harry’s waist.

“Please say something.” Their lips grazed, noses brushing. “Harry.”

Hearing his name on Theo’s lips at long last drove a metal spike through his heart. The blood
rained down and pooled along his feet with each successive beat. He shared his lover’s breath for a
moment more before gently extracting himself from his hold. “I have to go.”

Theo blinked, expression pinching before he glanced away sharply. Harry stepped away in a numb
stupor, dripping blood all over the expensive carpets and fine upholstery. When Theo gazed upon
his once more his mask was firmly in place, all trace of emotion gone.

“Goodbye, Potter.
Harry swallowed heavily. “Goodbye, Nott.”

Theo’s eyes hardened, but anything that came after that was lost to Harry as he turned around and
left, desperate to find a dark, damp patch of earth to burrow into as his heart drained itself entirely.

“She’s going to kill me if she finds out.”

“She’ll understand, you’re doing this for all of us. It is a great burden to bear.”

Hermione sighed, lying back on Luna’s bed and staring at the ceiling. She felt the mattress dip as
Hanna sat beside her. “She’s right, Mione. Someone who’s seen Lavender in person has to go. I
don’t think I could stomach it.”

“It’s not that,” Hermione closed her eyes. “Parv will be pissed I’m not telling her I’m going. She’ll
think I went behind her back.”

“Well, you are.”

Hermione’s eyes snapped open, head turning. “Thanks, Luna.”

“But you’re doing it for her own good. Parvati would insist on coming along, and that would only
risk her welfare as well as the mission itself.”

Hermione swallowed, glancing back to the ceiling. She felt incredibly guilty withholding these new
findings from her roommate, but Luna was right. Parvati would insist on going, seeing the potential
body of their missing friend for herself, and would only complicate matters further. However, she
knew Parvati would note Hermione’s absence, especially if the errand kept her out past curfew, so
she enlisted her other friends’ help.

“I don’t want to put either of you in a position to lie for me. If she asks where I am, you can tell her
the truth, just make sure she doesn’t try and take off after me.”

Hannah nodded. “Don’t worry, Mione. We’ll take care of things here. If you’re out late one of us
will sleep in your bed again.”

Hermione sighed. “Thank you. Let’s hope I’m back before then, I have a feeling Filch is going to
be extra obsessive with his rounds after the fiasco two nights ago.”

She’d filled the girls in about most of the evening’s events, including the pot and lantern mishap.
She didn’t tell them why she’d dropped the lantern, only Parvati knew about the eyeless apparition.
And no one knew about her encounter with the Doctor. Some secrets were better kept under lock
and key.

“Even if security is tightened there’s only so much he can do. He’s one person, he can’t be
everywhere at once, much as he likes to pretend he’s omnipotent.” Hannah rolled her eyes.
“Besides, he can’t come into our rooms, even if he suspects something amiss. He’d have to grab
Umbridge.”

Hermione scowled. “I think I’d prefer Filch coming into my room.”

“I’d have to agree with you," Hannah laughed. "So when are you heading out?”

“Soon. I need to figure out a way to get free without the other residents spotting me. The usual
routes are being watched by Marietta and her gang.”
Hannah tipped her head, clearly thinking as well.

“I know a way,” a soft voice spoke. They both glanced to Luna, sitting crossed legged at the head
of the bed, pulling twine around a wooden hoop. Hermione had no idea what the girl was making
and didn’t bother asking, sometimes Luna was better left to her own devices.

“Really?” Hermione asked. To her knowledge, Luna had never snuck out before. “Where?”

“Through the clinic.”

Hermione jolted upright. “What?”

Luna kept her gaze averted to her craft project. “The windows open and are plenty large to step
through. Then you merely have to slip through the gate.”

Hermione blinked. “I…” she opened and closed her mouth, thoughts whirling. “How do you know
the windows open?”

Luna halted her work, body tensing for the space between heartbeats, and then gazed up with a
serene smile. “I’ve seen them open before, last summer when the heat wave came through. We
propped open the double doors to let the air flow circulate.”

Hannah’s brows drew together. “I think I remember that.”

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek. “That’s a good idea, Luna. I just have to break into
the clinic. The doors are locked after close.”

“Then you should hurry, it’s open for another twenty minutes.”

“She can’t go while the Doctor is still there.”

Luna met Hermione’s eyes. Her blue gaze was normally calming, but for some inexplicable reason,
Hermione felt unsettled by it. “Right. My mistake,” Luna spoke, holding her gaze for a moment
longer before glancing down, threading more twine over the hoop.

Hermione swallowed, shifting anxiously on the bed. “Well…” she cleared her throat, pushing to
her feet. “I should probably go change. If I don’t see you before curfew thank you both again. And
if Parvati gets mad, tell her…” she sighed, shaking her head. “Never mind. I’ll tell her.”

“Don’t worry about her, Mione.” Hannah’s face held a deep concern, furthering unsettling her
weary nerves. “Worry about you tonight. This is for Lav.”

Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath and slipping quietly from the room. And then pressing her
back against the wall, tipping her head to the ceiling and closing her eyes. Shite.

Shite shite shite.

She just couldn’t avoid entangling this man in her complicated life. I’ll wait until he leaves. Then
I’ll find a way to sneak inside the clinic. She sighed, shaking her head. The door will be locked.
How am I supposed to get a key? She opened her eyes, already knowing what needed to be done
but delaying the inevitable. You have twenty minutes to find your courage.

He hadn’t been angry that she went to Amortentia...

“Did you find anything useful?”

Those had been his exact words. He’d understood her need to find answers.

“I cannot bring myself to punish that which I admire.”

She chewed her lip, hands curling at her sides. Perhaps he’ll understand this, too. There was only
one way to find out.The worst he can do is say no, and I’ll be back where I started. He won't report
me to Umbridge. We’re past that illusion.

The simple truth sent a thrill through her body, animating her limbs and compelling her to make
the jaunt downstairs. She braced herself outside the familiar doors, trying to keep her breath steady.
And then she pushed them open, stepping inside on a deep inhale. This place held a special
meaning to her now, especially after yesterday. She would never think of it as just a clinic again.

“You spend nearly as much time here as I do, Ms. Granger.”

She spun around. He was seated behind the desk, gaze averted down on his work. “It would seem
that way," she agreed.

His eyes flickered up. “How are you feeling?”

She blinked, then recalled their last interaction. “I’m feeling much recovered. Thank you for
asking.”

“I am your physician, it is my duty to ask such questions.”

She swallowed nervously, daring to take a step closer. He raised a dark brow, leaning back in his
chair and pinning her with the intensity of his gaze.

“You want something," he surmised.

She froze in place, heart stuttering. “I- well, I need to-” amusement danced in his eyes. “I need to
leave the grounds.”

He tilted his head. She felt a hot flush consume her. “Do you now.”

Her hands curled at her sides. “And I need to sneak out through the clinic windows to do so.”

The silence was deafening. And then he smirked. “I’ve come to expect the unexpected from you,
Ms. Granger,” he said slowly. “And yet you still manage to surprise me.”

She took another step closer. “I know this is asking a lot, but I wouldn’t dare ask if I had any other
option.”

His amused expression turned unreadable. “I take it this has to do with Lavender Brown?”

Hearing her friend’s name from his lips was strangely unsettling. She nodded quickly. “Yes. I need
to visit the morgue. A body washed up in the river last night and they haven’t been able to identify
it.”

And then his visage changed once more. Shadows moved along the sharp planes of his face,
sinking his cheekbones and darkening his brow, hardening his gleaming eyes to diamond points,
until suddenly one of Milton’s fabled fallen angels was seated before her. She knew nothing of this
man, nothing of his background or motivations, but in that moment she knew with absolute
certainty she was gazing upon a tortured soul. It called to her, a siren song of pain that her own
heart danced to quite often. And she knew that he would let her go.
She swayed on her feet, fighting the magnetic pull of his gaze. The shadows cleared from view,
rendering him a mortal man of flesh and bone once again. He pushed away from the desk.

“Very well, Ms. Granger. Let’s go.”

She blinked, snapping out of her daze. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.” He reached for his coat draped over the back of the chair. “I cannot condone you
roaming through the city by yourself, no matter how noble the purpose. If something happened to
you it would be my fault.”

She took a deep breath. “I won’t be alone, I’m meeting someone there.”

His movements slowed, just a touch, gaze snapping to hers. “I see.”

She swallowed, feeling the need to explain, speaking before her mind could edit the content. “My
friend, Harry. He’s the one who told me about the body. He wanted to pick me up from here but I
insisted he meet with me instead. I thought a carriage parked along the street would only draw
suspicion.”

He smoothed his high collar. “A wise decision. One that changes nothing.”

She bristled. “I don’t need a chaperone, it’s only-”

“You are a very intelligent young woman, Hermione. Surely you recognize a losing battle when
you see it."

She was rendered mute. Not by his statement but by his use of her first name. Hearing him say it
always scrambled her thoughts. Perhaps he knew that, and used the tactic to his advantage…

“Very good.” He smirked, and then held out his arm for her to grab, further upending her mind.
“Shall we?”

She stared at the offering dumbly. “I… I can’t go out the front with you. I’m under house arrest.”

“I won’t have you crawling through windows and climbing over gates like a common criminal.”

She drew in a breath. “But, Umbridge…”

His mouth curved into a Cheshire grin, lightning flashing in his eyes. “That’s not for you to worry
about. I’ll take care of the Madam.” He held his arm aloft once more. “Let’s go, Hermione.”

Her name was a spell on his lips, rendering her pliable beneath his will. She stepped forward and
placed her hands on his arm, feeling the ground beneath her tilt as her fingers pressed into the dark
fabric of his sleeve. After they passed through the doors into the hall he placed a hand over her
own, making her entire arm tingle even as her heart leaped into her throat. He gently removed her
fingers from his arm as he spun around and pulled a set of keys from his coat.

She watched as he locked the doors, biting her lip once more. “It’s alright if you leave the Home?”

He raised a dark brow. “I am a man grown, Umbridge holds no sway over me.”

She swallowed. “That's not what-”

“I know what you meant.” He replaced the keys into his breast pocket and grabbed her hand
without warning, tucking it back into the crook of his arm and resuming their path down the hall.
“The Home went several months without a physician, I think they can manage one evening.”

She nodded. “I just don’t want to,” she searched for the appropriate words. “I don’t want to
monopolize your time.”

He shook his head, eyes focused ahead. “What did I tell you about always being so placating?”

She stared at his profile in a half-trance, but was pulled into stunning awareness as they emerged
into the entrance hall which was still bustling with residents, conversations silencing as they gazed
upon the Doctor and Hermione striding for the door arm in arm. She felt her face burn and had to
fight the urge to hide it behind his shoulder. And suddenly the silence was shattered by a familiar,
grating voice.

“What the bloody ell is happenin in ere?”

She felt the muscles beneath her palms tighten, saw the minute shift in his posture as the broken
gait sounded behind them.

“Oh… Doctor… didn’t see ya th-” Hermione went rigid as she felt the telltale signs of eyes upon
her, making her skin crawl. “What is she doin’ ere?”

She heard him sigh deeply beside her before he once more touched her hand, this time pressing it
firmly into his arm as he rotated them around to meet the speaker head on.

“Mr. Filch.” His voice was colder than ice, causing her to draw back instinctively. His hand
tightened on her before falling to his side. “I have an errand to run that requires Ms. Granger’s
assistance. We shall be back shortly.”

“Errand ta run? She can’t go on an errand!”

“She can and she will, I assure you.” His smile was death. Hermione was transfixed by it.
“Furthermore, I do not require your permission to take residents off the grounds. If you’d like to
take the matter up with the Madam you are more than welcome. I am happy to speak with her after
we return.”

Filch opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish, eyes rapidly flickering between them “But-
but-”

“Good evening, Mr. Filch.” He glanced at Hermione. “Ms. Granger, this way.” And then they
were striding through the large entryway doors and down the front steps like they owned the
building and possessed naught a single care in the world. It was beyond surreal.

As they walked down the drive to the street she felt his eyes upon her. “Breathe, Ms. Granger.”

She swallowed heavily. “I think I’ve forgotten how.”

He wry smirk further deprived her lungs of oxygen. As they reached a carriage the Doctor offered
her his hand for balance as she stepped onto the platform. She gasped as his hands then gripped her
waist, helping steady her as she climbed fully inside. She blinked rapidly as he gave the driver
instructions and then entered the narrow space, taking the opposite seat and leaning back, falling
into a cloak of shadows from which his eyes gleamed.

“Don’t pay any mind to Mr. Filch. I certainly don’t.”

She bit her lip, lurching slightly as the carriage started to move. “So I’ve noticed.”
His gaze was unwavering. “You shouldn’t let him intimidate you. That’s where he derives his false
sense of power.”

She nodded. “I’m well aware. I’ve met many others like him before. Unfortunately, most of the
residents don’t take my advice to heart.”

He finally glanced away, directing his gaze to the passing scenery through the window. “It’s easy
to see why he’s so attached to his job. Where else can he lord over so many delicate things.”

Hermione blinked, sitting up straighter. She wasn’t unsettled by his comment per se, but she didn’t
like the idea that he considered her or the other residents weak. “Women are considered fragile, but
I’ve never seen anything as easily wounded as a man’s ego.”

His head turned, their eyes locking once more. A smile slowly unfurled along his face, true and
genuine, making her chest swell and ache. "How very astute you are, Ms. Granger. My apologies if
my comment caused offense.”

She shook her head. “It didn’t. Filch causes offense.”

His eyes flickered between hers for a moment longer, and then his smile slowly fell. “Are you
prepared for what may come of this excursion?”

She pressed back into the seat, tearing her eyes away. “Of course.”

“If this is Ms. Brown, it may be very traumatizing.”

“You sound like Harry.”

He tilted his head. “Have you ever seen a dead body before, Ms. Granger?”

She slowly glanced up. Only in my head. “No,” she provided instead.

His eyes narrowed briefly, as though reading a different answer in her gaze. “Even if you had,
nothing prepares you for seeing the body of a loved one.”

She blinked, questions brimming within her. The most obvious being Who have you lost? But she
wasn’t sure if such a thing was appropriate to ask. The moment passed, her hesitation cost her the
opportunity as he continued.

“Furthermore, I feel I should warn you that what you’re about to see tonight may be deeply
unnerving for an entirely different set of reasons. Depending on how long the body was
submerged, it may be extremely waterlogged. This will make it more difficult to recognize
common facial features. You may have to resort to other means. Did Ms. Brown have any other
distinguishable markings?”

She swallowed heavily, his words inspiring deeply disturbing images to flourish within her mind.
She shook her head, trying to dispel them. “I don’t think so. Not that I know of any way…” she
sighed. “I should have asked Parvati. She’d know better than I would.”

“I reviewed Ms. Brown’s medical file. She suffered a broken pelvis some years ago. If the external
examination is inconclusive the autopsy should help determine whether it is her.”

Hermione’s mouth ran dry. A broken pelvis? She’d no idea. Her mind ran rampant with every dark
possibility for how her friend had come by such an injury. The Doctor seemed to notice her
dismay.
“My apologies," he offered. "I would normally never share the details of a patient’s medical file,
but in these exceptional circumstances where Ms. Brown’s welfare is at stake I deem it necessary.”

Hermione nodded, staring blankly out the window. “I understand.”

She felt his gaze linger on her for a while longer but couldn’t bring herself to meet it, terrified he’d
see through the stoic facade she was barely maintaining. And then he too was glancing out the
window, keen eyes watching the buildings and people pass by in rapid succession.

As they neared the river his eyes darkened. “This is near where I grew up,” he said, voice deep and
grave.

She glanced quickly at him. “Really?” They were passing through a lower middle-class
neighborhood, the smell of grease and fish strong in the air.

“Actually, I grew up closer to Christ Church on Watney Street.”

Hermione blinked. She was no expert on the entire city of London, but thanks to her parents’
careers she’d been privy to the poorest, roughest neighborhoods where the majority of injury and
disease came from. The area he spoke of was of the lowest class, plagued by crime and sickness
and in a state of chronic disrepair. That anyone could escape such an upbringing, becoming a
Doctor no less, was unheard of.

His eyes stayed directed out the window, giant barges sailing in the distance. “I started working on
the docks when I was nine. Or perhaps I was eight. I don’t recall exactly. Just that I was small
enough to fit through the confined spaces on the ships to clean them.”

She was desperate to hear more, holding her breath.

“I mainly worked on fishing vessels," he supplied. "No matter how hard I scrubbed, I could never
get the smell off of me. It permeated my clothes, my hair, my skin. Probably my bones as well. It
followed me everywhere I went. Sometimes I still smell it to this day, when I'm in the office, or
walking along the hall. And for an instant, I'm right back on the docks.”

Hermione leaned forward, unable to quell her curiosity any longer. “How did you get out?”

His head snapped around, eyes pinning her in place. “I had a benefactor.”

She drew back, not expecting such a response. “They put you through medical school?”

“They put me through Cambridge. I attended medical school on a full scholarship.”

Her eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to attend University," she confessed. "Cambridge would be
my first choice, their science department is-” She blinked again, leaning back. “Apologies. Such
topics always make me speak out of turn.”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth turning up. “I didn’t realize we were taking turns, Ms.
Granger.”

Something in his voice made her swallow. It was light, playful, but the edges were sharp. He was
teasing her. And for just a moment it filled her with such light it dispelled the darkness lurking
within her heart.

"Do not stop on my account," he said.

“Be careful what you wish for, Doctor. Once I get started I won’t stop until I’ve exhausted you
completely.”

His smirk deepened, embers burning in his eyes. She reared back as she caught the sordid double
meaning of her words, flushing hotly.

“I- I didn’t mean- What I meant to say was-”

“I do believe watching you stammer and blush is the highlight of my day,” he said.

She fell back into her seat, still burning beneath his intense gaze. “I’m glad one of us enjoys it so.”

He laughed lightly, shaking his head and peering through the window once more. His expression
sobered. “We’re almost there.”

She nodded and closed her eyes, stealing her courage for the task ahead. When she opened her lids
the Doctor was watching her, face unreadable.

“It’s rare to see such dedication to others, Ms. Granger. Especially to someone outside of one’s
family.”

She shrugged, thinking of Harry, of Ron, Parvati and Luna and Hannah. “Family takes many
forms.”

His gaze was unwavering. “I suppose it can.”

She gasped as the carriage came to a sudden halt, the driver shouting that they’d arrived. She
leaned forward, peering through the window, swallowing heavily at the large grey building ahead
of them. It looked as dead as the bodies it contained. She regained her senses as the Doctor leaped
down and paid the driver, then stepped back to the open door and offer his hand. She was too
overwhelmed with sudden fear to process the warmth of his touch, or how it lingered on her skin
even after he released her.

She stood before the ominous entrance with wide eyes and shallow breath. And then she felt his
hand wrap around her shoulder from behind. Not pulling or pushing, merely touching. Grounding
her in place.

“It will be alright, Hermione.”

She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply and nodding. And then they were walking inside. He held the
door for her as she entered the cold, barren lobby, gazing around with trepidation, as though the
corpses were on display in this very room. She saw the familiar shock of black hair and emerald
eyes beneath. Harry stood, cutting a quick path towards her.

“About time, I was getting wor-”

He fell silent as the Doctor entered a few paces behind. She stepped back, glancing between them,
Harry’s expression turning guarded while the Doctor’s remained unreadable to her eyes.

“Harry, this is Doctor Riddle. He’s the physician at the Home and was kind enough to escort me
here. Doctor, this is my friend Harry Potter.”

The Doctor moved first, his smile revealing gleaming teeth as he held out a hand. “Hello, Mr.
Potter. Hermione has told me about you, it’s good to meet you at last.”
Harry seemed to come out of whatever reverie had possessed him. He swallowed, meeting the
offered hand with his own. “Hello, Doctor. I’m afraid Hermione hasn’t mentioned you in turn, but I
don’t get to see much of her these days.” She glanced away, chest tightening. Their hands fell
apart, both stepping back, inclining their bodies towards her.

“Yes, the Matron certainly likes to keep the residents under lock and key the majority of the time.”

Harry’s eyes hardened for a moment but softened as soon as they met Hermione’s. “So I’ve heard.”

The Doctor’s gaze flickered between them and then the door on the opposite wall swung open as a
tall, sinewy man stepped forth.

“Oh good, you’ve arrived," the stranger spoke. "Mr. Potter says you’re here to try and identify the
body from last night?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

“Excellent. This way, please.”

The Doctor led the procession as Harry walked beside Hermione, hand on her arm.

“You don’t have to do this, Mione,” her best friend whispered as they walked down a long hall.

She narrowed her eyes, staring at the back of the Doctor’s head. “I don’t want to have this fight
again, Harry,” she whispered sharply, painfully aware of the echoing volume of their voices in the
otherwise silent corridor.

“Neither do I, I just want-”

“Enough!” She whipped her head around to face him. “I’m done talking about this. I’m going
inside and that’s final.”

He sighed, shaking his head and facing forward. She gazed ahead as well, embarrassed to have
such a tiff in front of the Doctor. She had no doubt he heard every word. The attendant came to a
stop outside a door at the end of the hall, turning to face them.

“The body is through here.” The man's gaze fell on Hermione. “We have a separate room for the
lady to wait.”

The Doctor stepped forward. “The lady is the only one who can accurately identify the body. She
is the entire reason we are here.”

The man’s brows pinched together. “I can’t in good conscience allow a woman to look upon a dead
body, Sir.”

The Doctor tipped his head, and though Hermione couldn’t see his expression from this angle, she
had no doubt he was pinning the man with his most severe stare. The attendant shifted anxiously.

“We aren’t leaving here until you allow the lady to view the body. Do you understand?”

The attendant swallowed. “Yes, Sir. This way, please.” He shouldered open the door and they
followed inside. Hermione brought a hand to her mouth and nose, the noxious chemicals in the air
burning her nostrils and throat. Harry reared back, sputtering into his hand. The Doctor strode
forward without any discernible reaction.

“Sorry about the smell,” the attendant offered over his shoulder, walking past several metal tables
with sheet-covered corpses atop. “Embalming fluid and-”

“We get the point,” the Doctor clipped, eyes on Hermione as she tentatively stepped into the room,
hand still covering the bottom half of her face.

Harry got himself under control, though his eyes watered. She blinked as the Doctor reached inside
his coat and withdrew a handkerchief, holding it toward her.

“This will help,” he offered. She nodded her gratitude and pressed the soft fabric to her mouth and
nose, letting it filter out the acrid odors.

“Right, well, this is the girl they found in the Thames last night.” The attendant stood beside a
table at the end of the row, the white sheet covering everything but the ankles and feet. And
judging by the sight of those, Hermione felt her entire body lock up with trepidation.

Harry stepped forward from behind her, circling the table and standing at the head, fists clenched
at his sides as he too gazed upon the swollen, discolored feet. “Mione…”

She shook her head. “I have to, Harry.”

The attendant placed his hands in his pockets, gazing at the Doctor, no doubt identifying him as the
leader of their group. “Based on the state of the corpse and the temperature and acidity levels of the
river we estimate she was only underwater for twenty-four to forty-eight hours, the body is still
remarkably intact, there’s just been swelling of the fat tissues as the water-”

“Thank you," the Doctor interrupted, eyes hard. "The girl we’re looking for has been missing for
five days. Given the timeline, it’s a possibility.”

Hermione subconsciously sidled closer to the Doctor as he spoke, sensing something truly terrible
in her midst and seeking the protection he offered.

“Alright, well, when you’re ready," the morgue worker bid.

Hermione swallowed, swaying on her feet as she nodded to the man. “I’m ready.”

Harry drew in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. The Doctor drew to his full height
beside her. The attendant proceeded to pull the sheet back, exposing the face and shoulders to their
collective gaze. Hermione gasped, backing up and knocking into the Doctor. His hands gripped her
shoulders. She spun around, burying her face in his chest, trembling.

“It’s her," she gasped, tears tracking down her cheeks in twin streams. “It’s Lavender,” she
confirmed, choking back a sob.

The Doctor's arms encircled her, holding her steady against him as she shook. She didn’t see him
glance to the attendant, motioning with his head for the man to recover the body. She didn’t see the
way Harry watched them with an alert and narrowed gaze, fists tight at his sides. She didn’t see the
charged look the men shared as their eyes met over her head. All she saw was the image forever
emblazoned in her mind of the pale, waxen face of her friend, blue and purple veins bulging
against the bloated flesh, mouth agape in a silent scream with sunken, shriveled lids covering her
once warm brown eyes.

“Hermione,” the Doctor whispered. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” She nodded weakly against him, her weight slumped into his body. “I know it’s h-” she
stopped short, the image in her mind revealing a new detail, fuzzy but unmistakable. She slowly
pulled away, eyes wide and glistening. She held the Doctor's gaze for a moment before turning
around. “Let me see her again.”

“Mione-”

She held up her hand. “This is important, Harry.”

The attendant sighed, glancing over her shoulder at the Doctor, awaiting his permission before
stepping forward and pulling the sheet down once more. Hermione swallowed thickly, braced for
the sight this time, but it still sent her reeling. She maintained her clarity long enough to gaze upon
Lavender’s neck.

Bruised and marked. And cut straight across.

She swayed on her feet. She was hardly aware of the Doctor grabbing her arms, helping steady her
shaky knees even as Harry lunged forward to catch her. “She was murdered.”

Hermione heard Harry's voice from a great distance. “We need to get her out of here.”

“Take her to the lobby, I’ll take care of matters here,” the Doctor instructed calmly. She felt strong
arms slide around her waist, and then she was leaning into a warm, solid mass that bore a familiar,
comforting scent.

“Come, on, Mione. I’ve got you.” She let Harry lead her out of the room and down the long hall,
back into the sterile barren lobby where he lowered her onto a bench. “Mione, I’m so sorry.” He sat
beside her, arm looping around her shoulders as he pulled her in, resting his chin atop her head. She
sucked in a breath, rubbing her eyes.

“I didn’t think it would be her. I thought… I thought it was impossible. She was always so full of
life.” She turned her face into his neck, saturating his shirt with her tears. “I can’t believe she’s
gone.”

He sighed, rubbing small circles into her back. “I’m sorry you lost her, Mione. That you have to go
through this again.”

Hermione blinked, pulling back. “It’s going to be the same thing all over again, isn’t it? They aren’t
going to look for her killer. She was an orphan. They’re going to brush this under the rug just like
they did with the fire.”

Harry tried to pull her close but she shrugged away, sitting straight and brushing loose hairs from
her face. “I won’t let them get away with this.”

Harry placed a hand on her knee. “We haven’t even spoken to the police yet. We don’t what
they’re going to-”

“I’m not talking about the police. I’m talking about her killer. I’m not going to let them get away.”

The edge in her voice made him sit back, eyes searching her face. “I don’t know what you’re
thinking, but I know it isn’t good.”

She set her jaw, feeling the fire ignite within the empty recesses of her chest, felt her bones
resolidify with metal, the urge to crush, to destroy overriding even her grief and despair. “Someone
took her, Harry. They abused her and they killed her and then discarded her in the river like a piece
of trash.” She sobbed heavily. “And right now they’re sitting somewhere thinking they got away
with it. Maybe they’re even planning to do it again. Maybe they’ve done it to other girls.” She
clenched her fists, arms shaking. “And I’m going to find them and I’m going to-”

“Stop it, Hermione!” Harry leaned forward, gripping her arms and forcing her to look at him.
“Please, stop this. I’m so sorry she’s gone and I promise you I’m going to make sure the police
find the bastard that did this. But you have to stop. This isn’t healthy. And you’re only going to-”

“I can’t stop.” She twisted out of his grip. “I can’t go back to the Home and look my friends in the
eyes and tell them that Lavender was murdered and just move on with my life. I can’t trust the
police to find justice. I can’t sleep at night knowing that it could happen to someone else I care
about!”

Her best friend grimaced, shaking his head, but before he could speak again the door swung open
and the Doctor emerged. The young pair fell silent, chests heaving with emotion, staring at the
newcomer with wild eyes. The Doctor stood motionless, glancing between them before arching a
heavy brow.

“I’ve provided Ms. Brown's details to the attendant. He will inform the police of her identity.” His
gaze settled on Hermione. “I am happy to step out and lend you both some privacy.”

“No," she replied, standing so that Harry’s hand dropped away. She drew her shoulders back and
stepped closer to the Doctor. “I want to leave this place. Now.”

The Doctor held her gaze for several tense beats before nodding. “Certainly.”

Harry stood as well. “Hermione-”

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I’m done talking about this. At least for tonight. I can’t think about it
anymore.”

His let out a deep sigh, face stricken. “I’ll call on you tomorrow.”

“I’m under house arrest, I can’t see guests.”

“In light of the circumstances I’m sure the Madam will make an exception,” the Doctor said, voice
solemn and deep. “I shall speak with her.”

Harry nodded, eyes flickering to the man. “Thank you.” He glanced to Hermione and back again.
“And thank you for making sure she made it here safely.”

The Doctor tipped his head, examining Harry from a new angle. “Of course. It is my job to ensure
her welfare.”

Harry nodded again, a deep sadness in his eyes. “I’m glad that someone there is looking out for
her.”

Their gazes lingering for a moment more before Hermione stepped between them, fidgeting
anxiously as the events of the evening started to set in fully.

“Good night, Harry. I’ll speak with you tomorrow I suppose.”

He sighed. “Come here.”

She didn’t resist his touch this time, allowing him to pull her into a hug and resting her face against
his shoulder.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”
She nodded. “I know. It’s alright.” She pulled back, hands lingering on his chest. “I’ll be okay.”
She wondered if the words were for his benefit or her own.

Ten minutes later she was once more seated in a carriage across from the Doctor. They both
remained silent as they were jostled from side to side along the cobblestone streets. Since they’d
been inside the morgue the sun had set, the city wrapped in a cloak of darkness, broken
intermittently by bubbles of light from the lamp posts. She wasn’t sure how much time passed
while she sat suspended in a void of melancholy, but suddenly his voice pulled her from the heavy
fog.

“Hermione.”

She glanced to where he sat, leaning back and completely submerged in shadow. She could only
see his knees and the hands interlaced between them, long slender fingers calm and relaxed while
hers twisted together like snakes in a barrel. The carriage turned a corner and the moonlight
streamed in through the window, a pale beam falling across his eyes, making them visible through
the darkness. They watched her carefully.

“I am sorry for your loss,” he offered.

She blinked. His statement reminded her of the night in the clinic when they’d discussed her
parents’ deaths. Hollow and meaningless. “So am I,” she replied simply, quite numb in the wake of
this evening’s onslaught.

He tilted his head, she couldn’t see the motion, but his eyes suddenly viewed her at an angle. “I
wonder if your commitment to Ms. Brown has lessened in the wake of her death.”

Her gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?” But a part of her already knew what he meant. That faint
whisper in the back of her mind she was always so quick to suppress. The voice that grew louder
every time she was in his presence.

“You stopped at nothing to find her. Would you go to the same lengths to find her killer?”

The air around them became charged, alive, making the fine hairs on her arms and neck stand on
end. Hermione swallowed, unconsciously leaning forward, drawn by the hypnotic pull of his voice.
“Yes,” she whispered.

He held her steady in his thrall as he leaned closer, eyes gleaming. The moonlight hit the side of
his face, illuminating half his visage, transforming him into a supernatural creature, beautiful and
deadly. And she knew at that moment she was gazing upon the true Thomas Riddle. The man
behind the many masks. Her body throbbed with the force of her heartbeat.

“Your judgment is clouded at the moment. You must process your grief.”

Her brows pinched, supreme disappointment weighting her limbs as she deflated. She opened her
mouth to voice her dissent but fell silent with his next words.

“Take time to mourn,” he continued. The carriage hit a rock, shaking hard. Their knees brushed.
“And if afterward you find that your anger still eclipses your sadness…” She held her breath,
watching his lips form the promise to seal her fate. “I’ll be waiting.”
 Feather & Bone

Into the hole again

We hurried along our way,
Into a once-glorious garden
Now steeped in dark decay.
. . .

When Hermione and Doctor Riddle returned to the Home it was well past curfew, yet the front
doors gave way effortlessly beneath his touch.

He guided her inside with one hand on her lower back, a gentle pressure urging her forward in
place of her mind. She was too overcome to focus on anything as mundane as walking. She had no
concept of direction. As she gazed around the dark gothic architecture she felt as though she were
seeing it for the first time.

And for just a moment she lingered in the fantasy. This was her first day at the Home. She had just
come from the solicitor’s office, had just signed her life away in exchange for those she cared for
most. She was about to be given the tour and shown her dorm. She’d meet her roommates. All the
horrors of the last few hours were a dream.

And then she heard the sound of a throat being cleared. High pitched and grating to her ears. And
the fantasy shattered. Reality hit her full force in the chest, knocking the air from her lungs.

“Welcome back, Doctor.” Umbridge stepped forth from the shadows, a vengeful demon
materializing from the black pits of hell. “Ms. Granger.”

Hermione swallowed as she was pinned beneath that malevolent stare and tried to take an
instinctive step back, but his hand flattened along her spine, keeping her in place.

“Good evening, Madam," he bid. "I do hope you didn’t stay up simply to await our return.”

The Matron’s eyes flashed as she directed her focus upward, gazing up at the Doctor with a
mixture of awe and hatred. It was a fascinating thing to behold if it wasn’t so terrifying. “When a
member of staff takes a resident off grounds for several hours without notifying me of their intent I
have little choice but to await their return, Doctor.” Her eyes narrowed. “This was highly
inappropriate, I can’t begin to-”

“Perhaps this is a conversation best had in private, Madam?”

Umbridge bristled, lips pressing into a thin line as she released a forceful breath through her nose.
“Fine.” She returned her gaze to Hermione, and if looks could kill, Hermione would be eviscerated
on the spot. “Go to your dorm, Ms. Granger. You will do well to stay put. I have had enough of
your rebellious antics. If I catch you out one more-”

“I believe Ms. Granger understands your instructions.”

Hermione released a slow breath of shock and dismay as Umbridge turned such a deep shade of red
she appeared almost purple, a life-sized eggplant set to burst.

“I am the head of this institution!” the Matron shrieked, voice sharp and lashing. “You both will do
well to remember that!”
Hermione blinked, glancing up at the Doctor. His pupils were blown so wide they swallowed the
grey completely, two fathomless voids that froze the blood in her veins.

“I assure you, Madam," the Doctor spoke calmly. "That is a fact I won’t soon be forgetting.”

Umbridge seemed to come to her senses beneath his piercing stare, shifting anxiously on her feet.
She glanced away quickly, expression pinched and flush. “You are dismissed, Ms. Granger. Get
out of my sight.”

Hermione didn’t mean to do what she did next, she made no conscious decision to turn her head,
had no control over her eyes as they looked to the Doctor for confirmation, for permission. This
night had left her in tatters, shredded her outer layers until only the bare bones of instinct remained.
And her basic most instinct knew quite clearly who was in charge.

The Doctor met her gaze. The air swelled. He nodded once. She released the breath she didn’t
realize she’d been holding and quickly spun on her heel, walking quickly through the entrance hall
until she emerged into the main corridor, and sprinted for her room.

Harry drummed his fingers along the tabletop, eyes averted to the rim of his glass as his mind
replayed the events of the night again and again beyond his control.

Hermione was so damnably stubborn. If only she had listened to him. The look on her face as she
gazed upon the body of her friend would haunt him for the rest of his life. It was almost enough to
override his memory of the stranger holding her in his arms. Almost.

The entire night was unnerving to the extreme. He hardly trusted his instincts. He needed time to
process everything before making any rash decisions. Unfortunately, he knew he didn’t have that
time as Hermione would be eager for answers. And if he didn’t provide them for her, she’d hunt
after them herself. Which was why he was here, waiting to meet with one of the few people he
knew would go to any length to help protect her. Even if that meant protecting her from herself.

The door to the pub opened and a familiar form slipped inside, pausing just past the threshold and
flashing a look of disdain across the room. Their eyes settled upon Harry, scowl intensifying. Harry
took another long pull of ale, readying himself for the conversation to follow.

“This had better be good, Potter,” Draco said as he arrived at the table in the far corner. “If I’m
seen in here my reputation will be in tatters.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’ve been spotted in every major gambling hall north of the Thames. I
hardly think the Hog’s Head will do you any more damage.”

“Such statements make it startling clear you have no place in the aristocracy. Gambling halls are
acceptable refuges for members of reputable families to dally. Filthy pubs in the back alleys of the
East side are decidedly not.”

“The patrons here keep their mouths shut. That’s why I chose this place.”

Draco sighed, taking a seat across the table, crossing his arms and leaning back. “I’m only here
because your note said you have news about Granger.”

Harry took a deep breath, resting his forearms on the table. “Her friend was found dead last night.
Hermione identified her body at the morgue this evening.”

Draco surged forward. “What? How the bloody hell did that happen?” His eyes narrowed to slits.
“Don’t tell me you were daft enough to let her go?”

Harry’s jaw ticked. “I hardly control her actions, Malfoy. If I did she wouldn’t still be living in that
place to begin with.”

“How did she even find out about the body?”

Harry glanced away. Draco scoffed. “You told her. Fucking idiot.”

Harry glared. “For your information, I tried to keep the fact hidden, but that went over like a dead
weight. I did everything in my power to prevent her from going but she insisted, I’d like to have
seen you stop her.”

“I would have stopped her because I wouldn’t have told her about the body in the first place. If our
roles were switched and I was given free leave to do as I like I would have dragged her out of that
den of wayward orphans the moment she stepped foot inside!”

Harry’s fists clenched. Draco was prodding him on the sorest of subjects, his inability to protect
her.

“Then you really are an idiot, Malfoy. Forcing her hand is the surest way to lose her trust. Maybe
that’s why she turned down your proposal.”

Draco blinked, face paling. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, shoulders tense. “She
told you about that?”

“No. Of course not. She’d never risk embarrassing you. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out
why the two of you stopped talking for three months.”

Draco inhaled deeply through his nose, spine straightening. “Our relationship has nothing to do
with you-”

“Trust me,” Harry cut in, picking up his glass. “The less I know the better. I have absolutely no
desire to hear about anything that happens between you. I just care if you hurt her. In which case-”

“You’ll cut me open from neck to groin and slowly pull out my entrails, yes, I’m well aware.”

Harry took another drink, brow raising. “I was going to say I’ll kick your arse. But I like your idea
much better.”

Draco glared, then his expression somber. “How is she?” he asked.

Harry sighed. “She’s out for blood. She wants to find the person responsible and I-”

“Wait, what do you mean the person responsible?”

Harry blinked. “Oh. I forgot to mention, the girl was murdered.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, such a minor detail, of course, you overlooked it.”

“I didn’t overlook it! Christ, I’ve been dealing with a lot today, I’ll have you know.”

“You aren’t the only one.”

“If you’re too busy to give a shite then just leave-”

“Did you hear me say that, Potter? You don’t own the majority share in concern for her.”

Harry leaned back, face tense. “I know that. That’s why I called you here. I’m afraid she’s keeping
things from me and I can’t protect her when I don’t know what to protect her from.”

Draco’s jaw ticked. “You said she’s out for blood?”

“She wants to find the killer. She’s convinced the police won't do anything. You know how she
feels about the Scotland Yard.”

“As she well should. A bunch of bumbling idiots sitting on their arses.”

Harry gazed into his drink. “There’s a new commissioner. Maybe he’ll be different, help reform
the lot of them with the investigational unit.”

Draco didn’t spare the comment a moment’s thought. “I doubt it. Granger is right. They won’t
waste time and resources on an orphan’s murder. The girl was obviously already forgotten about,
otherwise, she wouldn’t have been living in that place to begin with.”

Harry’s gaze snapped up. “Mione isn’t forgotten about.”

“No, she isn’t.” A beat of silence. “But maybe that’s what she wants.”

Harry drew back. “What?”

“She’s distanced herself from everyone quite purposefully, Potter.”

“I’m not going to lose her.”

Draco’s gaze hardened. “Nor am I.”

Harry nodded, relieved to hear the conviction in the other man’s voice. “So you’ll help me then?”

“Help you what exactly?”

Harry’s fists tightened anew, emerald eyes flashing. “Find the killer, of course.”

Hermione hesitated in the hallway outside of her room, lingering behind the door as she tried to get
her thoughts and emotions in order. It was of no use. Sorting it meant facing it, and she was already
walking precariously along a narrow tightrope suspended over a pit of hysteria. She couldn’t afford
to tip her precious balance now.

Before she could formulate a plan the door swung open. Parvati stood before her, hands on either
side of the door frame, fire in her eyes. “How could you?”

Hermione blinked, taking a step back.

“Oh no you don’t!” Parvati lunged forward, catching Hermione by the wrist and pulling her inside,
slamming the door behind them.

“How could you take off to the morgue without me? I thought we were in this together! I can’t
believe you told Hannah and Luna but went behind my back and-” she stopped short, eyes finally
taking in Hermione’s somber expression and red-rimmed eyes.

Parvati blinked, deflating before her eyes. “No…”

Hermione swallowed, taking a step forward. Parvati held her hands up, halting her movements.

“No," Parvati said. "I need to hear you say it.”

Hermione blinked, tears welling anew. “I’m so sorry, Parvati.” Her voice broke on the final
syllable. She covered her mouth, trapping in the sob.

Parvati stared at her blankly, shoulders dropped, arms limp at her sides. “No. I don’t… It wasn’t
her, it couldn't have been-”

“It was her.” It took every ounce of strength to keep her voice steady. “I saw her with my own
eyes.” She swallowed again, holding her friend’s gaze. “It was her.”

Parvati started to quake. Her body shook at a steady vibration while her eyes sharpened to lethal
points. And then she exploded.

Hermione blinked in shock as the girl stormed to the dresser and swept her arm across the top with
a blood-curdling scream, sending everything crashing to the floor. Next, she attacked the side table,
snatching up the lantern and throwing it full force at the wall. The glass shattered and flew in every
direction, oil running down the wallpaper and pooling along the hardwood.

“Parvati!” Hermione ran forward as she started to tear her bed covering off in violent tugs,
screaming like a banshee all the while.

Hermione grabbed her arm but was shrugged off, she tried again but her hands met open air as
Parvati leaped over the bare mattress and launched a book at the window, sending it clear through
the broken glass. “Parvati! Please!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face.

Parvati let out a howl like a wounded animal and crumpled to the floor in a heap. Hermione landed
hard on her knees at her side, wrapping her arms around her quaking form. “No! Get off me!” the
girl struggled weakly in her hold but Hermione held tight, sobbing openly, pulling her closer.
“Stop! Get off me!” But as she repeated the broken command she turned her face into Hermione's
neck and collapsed into her body.

Hermione pressed her cheek into the top of her head and she gently rocked her back and forth,
unable to hold back the force of her own grief in the startling wake of Parvati’s breakdown. Then
the door crashed open.

“What the bloody ell is goin on in ere?” Filch bellowed from the doorway, a gathering of girls
behind him, perched on tiptoes to peer over his shoulder at the chaos inside. “What did ya little
vandals do?”

“Get. Out.” Hermione seethed, her voice so fueled by hate and anger it dripped like acid from her
lips, scorching holes into the floor.

Filch blinked, hesitating. He glanced rapidly between the two huddled figures on the ground, then
to the broken glass and debris all over the room, then back to them. “This better be cleaned up by
mornin…” he set his jaw, grabbing the handle and slamming the door shut, leaving them alone
with their misery and heartache.

Hermione took a deep breath, face hot and swollen, and smoothed a hand over the top of Parvati’s
head. The girl seemed hardly aware of Filch’s entrance and abrupt departure, eyes fixed to a blank
spot on the wall as she shook uncontrollably.

“Parvati…” her voice was strained, cracked and distorted. “There’s more.” She felt the girl stiffen
in her hold. She didn’t respond, but Hermione knew she was listening. She closed her eyes.
“Lavender was murdered.”

The silence that followed was oppressive, surreal in the wake of the explosive chaos of moments
ago. And then Parvati slowly drew back, face hovering so close to Hermione’s their noses nearly
touched.

“How.” It was more demand than question.

Hermione swallowed past the constriction in her throat. “Her throat was cut.”

Parvati blinked, eyes gleaming in the low light. “Just like your dream.”

Hermione jolted, rearing back. She opened her mouth to dissent but fell silent as the haunting
images of her nightmare superimposed the very real memories of Lavender’s body.

“What are we going to do, Mione?” Her voice was just as ragged, but it held an edge of hardness
that was unmistakably Parvati.

Hermione inhaled through her nose, holding the air in her lungs until they burned, metal encasing
her spine. “We’re going to take time to mourn her properly.” She held Parvati’s gaze but saw a very
distinctive set of storm grey eyes in her mind, illuminated by moonlight, coaxing her into shadow.
“And then we’re going to get justice.”

Umbridge drew her shoulders back, stretching to her full height. She still had to crane her neck to
look him in the eyes. Tom could see how much their gaping height differential annoyed her. It
brought him immense satisfaction.

“Take a seat, Doctor.”

He fought back a smirk as he casually strode across the room and did as bade. Her jaw ticked with
his slow pace, his utter lack of concern for her raging temper. If only she knew the storm that
brewed within his heart and mind. She would soon enough. Tonight he would only give her a small
taste of the venom lacing his fangs. He wouldn’t kill her. No. Not tonight.

He still needed her, unfortunately. Her disappearance would raise too many flags and only derail all
the progress he’d made. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t flex his jaws just a touch. Just enough to
validate the instinctual fear that lay just beneath the surface. He’d fill her with just enough toxin to
paralyze her limbs and make her pliable to his will.

His eyes gleamed with anticipation, tracking her movements as she rounded the desk and sat across,
posture stiff and gaze narrowed. He held himself with an eerie stillness he was hardly aware of, the
natural repose of a predator lying in silent wait.

“Well, Doctor,” she placed her palms flat on the desk. “I do believe you owe me an explanation for
your callous disregard of the rules I very clearly set forth.”

He tasted the sweet promise of dinner in the air. “I escorted Ms. Granger to the morgue this
evening," he explained boredly. "She positively identified the slain corpse of her roommate,
Lavender Brown. The girl you insisted had run away. The same one you refused to search for.”

Umbridge blinked, leaning back in her chair with wide eyes. “I… that’s unfortunate to hear.” She
swallowed, blinking again. “But not surprising. Runaways are often targeted by malicious
offenders on the streets.”
He tipped his head. “So it’s still your belief she left this place of her own free will?”

“Certainly. While the events that befell Ms. Brown are most tragic they are merely a reflection of
her reckless behavior. She always sought trouble while living as a resident. It was only a matter of
time until she found it.” His gaze remained unwavering. She squirmed in her chair. “I suppose
given the circumstances I can overlook this infraction,” she continued tentatively. “But as an
employee of this institution, you should have sought my permission first.”

“Of course.” He smiled, teeth gleaming. “I do hope the fallout from this tragedy does not impact
you too harshly, Madam.”

She blinked, face paling. “Why would it? I played no role in anything that transpired.”

Interesting turn of phrase. “Precisely," he agreed. "When word spreads of the girl’s fate it may
encourage someone to look into the conditions that encouraged her to run away in the first place.”

Umbridge glared. “I told you, she was a reckless tart that-”

“I’m not the one you need to convince.”

She leaned back. “What are you implying?”

“You rely on funds from the Crown as well as the estates of certain residents with the means to
provide for their charge’s welfare. If this transgression comes to light on the next inspection things
could get very-” he wet his lips, “messy.”

Her hands clenched atop the desk. “We’ve never had a problem passing inspection before. The
Crown representative knows the type of residents we house, their exuberant dispositions-”

“And what about Ms. Granger’s solicitor?”

Umbridge fell silent.

“He was just here the other day, yes?" Tom persisted. "Do you think his opinion of this institution
would be altered if he knew a former resident was found murdered not a week after her departure?”

His eyes narrowed just thinking about the man, but he kept his voice level, coaxing. “And not just
any girl. His client’s roommate. If he saw the distress this caused Hermione what do you think he’d
do?”

Umbridge’s face pinched. “He could decide to have her transferred," she concluded. The mere
mention of Hermione seemed to disgust her. His claws curled over the armrests, eager to tear
grooves along the polished wood.

“Imagine all the money you would lose if others followed suit. You have a few other girls you
receive monthly cheques for. Ms. Abbott included. Another friend of Ms. Brown, if I’m not
mistaken.”

She inhaled slowly through her nose, nostrils flaring. “I see your point, Doctor. But hindsight is
20/20. What am I to do about it now?”

He slowly leaned forward, eyes flashing. “I suggest doing everything in your power to make the
girls feel safe and cared for, discouraging future runaways or transfer requests.”

She scowled. “I already see to their safety and care.”

“Then you must be even more accommodating. At least until the storm passes.”

Her lips pursed, disdain clear on her face. How he relished it.

“And to start, I think you should ensure those closest to Ms. Brown are given the resources they
need during their mourning period.” He drew in a slow breath before striking for her throat. “This
may also discourage them from seeking relief from the authorities.”

Her eyes widened as his fangs sank into her flesh. “The authorities?”

“Of course. Ms. Brown was murdered after all.”

She gulped, eyes flickering across the desk, as though searching for a solution hidden among the
ghastly figurines. “Such an investigation would be nothing but a waste of valuable resources.”

He smirked. “I doubt Ms. Granger would agree.”

Contempt dripped from her lips even as his venom rushed through her veins, making her more
pliable to his will with each successive heartbeat. “That girl-”

“Is less likely to raise an army if she’s properly distracted.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “I already gave her leave to work at the Shoppe.”

“Yes. But the rest of the time she’s under house arrest.”

Fire burned within her dark eyes. “I won’t lift it! She broke the rules and she must be punished!”

“I wasn’t suggesting otherwise, Madam.” His voice was soft, placating, a silk cord around her
neck. “There are other means in which to keep her busy while keeping her within these walls.”

Her expression softened. “More chores?”

“She’ll only view such tasks as punishment, becoming more rebellious.”

Umbridge sighed her agreement, shoulders dropping. He held her gaze, circling her slowly. “Allow
her to assist me in the clinic. She will view it as a reward and be less likely to act against you and
the institution.”

“I- I don’t... “ she swallowed convulsively. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The urge to leap across the desk and end this dance once and for all was strong. But he clenched
the armrests and reminded himself of all the reasons it was too soon. “I merely state a suggestion,
Madam.” He could smell the jealousy coming off her in waves, more putrid than the odor of the
morgue. He treaded carefully, leading her along the garden path to the cage awaiting her on the
other side. “I am only looking out for your well being. If we distract the girl, we ensure her
silence.”

He knew he’d baited her sufficiently when her eyes softened at his choice of pronoun. She leaned
forward.

“We… yes… yes of course.” She wet her lips. “I see that now. It’s not a bad idea, I suppose…”

He drew in a slow breath, holding it.

“Perhaps allowing her to assist in the clinic temporarily is fine… just until this blows over,” the
Matron relented.

His lips formed a slow smile, eyes heavy with satisfaction. She flushed and drew back nervously,
unsure how to interpret the predatory look but hopeful all the same. But his mind had already
discarded the prey seated before him, having sufficiently drained her of her usefulness for this
evening. No, his look of supreme pleasure was derived from his budding sense of anticipation…
knowing that soon, soon she would come to him.

And his board would be complete.

He licked his lips, the air thick with victory. A honeyed wine to clear his pallet. The Matron
gulped, eyes transfixed. “I think that is a very wise decision, Madam.” Shadows danced across his
face. “Absolutely brilliant.”

Hermione spent the remainder of her morning in a fog, her surroundings obscured by transparent
darkness that enveloped everything and everyone, herself included. She’d lingered for several
minutes on the floor with Parvati. Or perhaps it had been several hours. By the time she managed
to convince the girl to retire to Hermione’s bed, Parvati’s remaining in tatters, the sun was just
breaking the horizon.

Hermione left her friend staring blankly at the ceiling while she began to slowly clean the mess all
over the floor, picking up items tentatively, using the chaos of the room to distract from the chaos
of her mind. After remaking the mattress and restocking the top of the dresser she was left with
mounds of broken glass and an oil spill to contend with. She bit her lip, hesitant to leave Parvati
alone for even a moment, but when she informed the girl she’d be right back she received not even
a blink of reaction. Halfway to the supply closet Hermione paused and started to shake anew.

She quickly suppressed the dwelling of emotion and spun on her heal, taking off for the stairs,
keeping an ear out for Filch. After their brief encounter earlier she doubted he would actively seek
her out, but she wanted to avoid him all the same. She emerged into the hall of the lower dorms and
quietly slipped inside Luna and Hannah’s room, shoulders tense with resignation.

After Parvati’s charged reaction she thought nothing else could impact her so. But seeing Hannah
burst into tears had been a second lance through the heart. Luna remained the most composed of
them all, not bursting into hysterics but calmly crossing the room and wrapping her arms around
Hermione.

“I’m so sorry you had to be the one to see her. I know how difficult it is.” Luna had whispered into
her hair while Hannah curled up on the bed and buried her face in the pillow, muffling her sobs.

Hermione swallowed heavily, recalling that Luna had been the one to discover her father’s slain
corpse. She returned the girl’s embrace. “Thank you, Luna.” She inhaled shakily, Hannah’s broken
sounds affecting her deeply. “I feel terrible bringing you this news and leaving, but I need to get
back to Parv. I don’t want to leave her alone upstairs. I just wanted you to hear it from me first.”

Luna nodded, arms falling away as she took a step back. “It’s alright, Hermione. Parvati needs you.
I’ll take care of Hannah.”

Hermione searched her gaze for any signs of turmoil. “Are you going to be okay, Luna?”

The blonde tipped her head. “I will shed my tears for Lavender after I’ve burned her a candle and
spoken a prayer.”

Hermione nodded, unsure how to respond. “Alright. That sounds…” she searched her mind for the
right word, lovely and beautiful feeling grotesquely out of place given the gruesome circumstances.
She sighed, heading for the door instead. “I’ll see you both later today.”

She returned to her room, sweeping broken glass and scrubbing oil from the wall while glancing
over her shoulder at Parvati’s huddled form every few minutes. Seeing the strong girl reduced to
this only broke her heart further. When her parents had perished Hermione had been the primary
person affected, the main one to mourn their loss. This was the first time her grief was spread out
among others she cared for, and while there was a perverse comfort in sharing such tragedy, it also
deepened the wound two-fold. It made her…

Angry.

She blinked, halting her ministrations and staring blankly at the stain on the wall. “And if
afterward, you find that your anger still eclipses your sadness… I’ll be waiting.” She closed her
eyes.

What did he mean by that? She’d been in such a daze on the ride back she hardly knew what was
real and what was a figment of her dark, twisted imagination. Did he really say it?

She opened her eyes. Yes. Yes, he said it.

Hermione dropped her scrubbing brush into the pale and slowly sank to the floor, leaning against
the dresser. His words were yet another layer to the enigma that was Doctor Thomas Riddle. But
what disturbed her the most was the thrill his words had caused versus the fear they should have
inspired.

She didn’t want to sit around and watch the justice system turn its back on her plight once again.
Especially since this time, it wasn’t only her plight to suffer. She was fiercely protective of those
she loved and if this tragic experience taught her anything, it was that she loved the girls she called
her friends in this desolate place. She wanted answers for their sake. She wanted justice for
Lavender.

And she wanted revenge for herself.

“Have another helping, dear, you look much too thin. I can’t even imagine what you’re forced to
eat on that ship, and don’t get me started on the natives of those islands, eating leaves and twigs
like-”

“For Christ’s sake, mum, his plate is already overflowing, let him be.”

“Ginevra Weasley! Do not use such crass language in this house! Honestly, I don’t know where
you get it from-”

“Oi!” Shouted a male voice from upstairs. “Whoever stole money from my room is going to get my
boot so far up their arse they’re going to be tasting my toes until Christmas!”

Ginny raised a brow, holding her mother’s mortified gaze.

“I am terribly sorry you have to hear such things, Harry, I would like to say Ron and Ginny aren’t
mine, but I’m afraid the Weasley hair can’t be denied.”

Harry finally swallowed the bite he’d been chewing throughout the exchange. “No need to worry,
Mrs. Weasley, I assure you I hear far worse on the ship.”
Molly shook her head, face solemn. “You poor dear.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, perching on the edge of the breakfast table and grabbing a strip of bacon
from Harry’s plate with her fingers.

“Ginevra!”

Harry hid his laugh behind his napkin.

“What? He doesn't mind, do you Harry?”

“I don’t care if he minds! It’s called etiquette, you do not eat with your hands and you do not sit on
the table!” Molly threw her head back with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know how we’re
going to get you through the next Season.”

Ginny took a large bite of bacon. “Then let’s skip it.”

Molly blinked, mouth hanging open. Harry cringed, braced for the onslaught sure to follow. “What
did you say, young lady?”

The blessed sound of boots trodding down steps filled the kitchen, prompting Harry to spring from
his seat so fast he nearly toppled his chair.

“Sorry, mate,” Ron said as he rounded the corner into the sunny room. “Didn’t mean to keep you
waiting so long.” He pinned his sister with a narrowed gaze. “But someone raided my nightstand
and stole half my shillings.”

Ginny scoffed, still perched on the table. “In your dreams. The most you had in there was
threepence, you broke basta-”

“Ginevra!”

“Why am I the only one getting yelled at?”

“Because it is more unbecoming for a young woman to use such vulgar language. Although…”
She walked up behind her son and smacked him upside the head.

“Ah! Jesus, mum!” He clutched his head, ducking away. “What was that for?”

Harry bit his tongue to hold in the bark of laughter desperately climbing his throat.

“That was for your comment earlier, young man. Just because you are given free reign to speak
like a heathen while at sea doesn’t mean you may bring such language home with you.”

Ron rubbed the back of his head, eyes downcast and shoulders drawing in as he stepped around the
formidable Molly Weasley. “Sorry mum,” he muttered, making Harry shake with the effort to
conceal his amusement.

“I will forgive you this time, Ronald. Now go speak with Harry quickly, I won't have you starting
your day without a full breakfast in your stomach.”

Ron beckoned Harry to follow him into the hallway with a tip of his head. Harry eagerly complied,
turning to bid Molly a farewell but falling silent as she perched her hands on her plump hips and
glared at her daughter.

“What did I say about sitting on the table?”

Harry spun back around, seeking refuge in the hall, their squabbling growing muffled as he
emerged into the living room.

“So, what’s up?” Ron asked as he flopped into a threadbare armchair, long limbs hanging off the
sides, broad grin firmly affixed beneath bright blue eyes.

Harry raised his brow, crossing his arms. “You seem disturbingly chipper for a man who just
realized he’s been robbed.”

Ron shrugged. “Probably Fred and George. They’re scraping together every pence they can get
their hands on to move out. I’ll get it back. With interest.”

Harry tipped his head, examining him at an angle. “Doesn’t explain the sunshine on your shoulder.
Something's happened.”

Ron’s smile widened, dimples appearing on either end. “I think I’ve found the one, mate.”

Harry blinked, arms dropping to his side. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve never felt this way before!” He leaned forward, face imploring.
“Susan’s absolutely incredible, I mean, I think about her all day and night, and-”

“Ron.” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “You met this girl two days ago.”

“So? Mum and dad fell in love at first sight. Not everyone needs years. Sometimes you just know.”

“You don’t know anything about her,” Harry snapped, eyes narrowed. “You’re just infatuated
because she shows you attention. You can’t go making any major commitments.”

Ron’s expression pinched. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Harry. You’ve never been
in love. You’re right, I don’t know every detail about her, but that doesn’t matter, I can find all that
out later. Right now all that matters is how we feel about each other.”

“Bloody hell.” Harry shook his head, glancing away in annoyance. “I get that you like her, but you
can’t possibly be in love. And if she’s telling you otherwise she’s lying right to your face-”

“Hey!” Ron stood, shoulders back. “For your information, I haven’t told her how I feel. I didn’t
want to scare her off-”

“I’d say so! Christ, how many times have you seen her in person?”

Ron glared. “Three times and each was better than the last.”

Harry ran his hands over his face, groaning into his palms. “I can’t even process this. There’s been
too much insanity over the last twenty-four hours.”

Ron sighed, stepping forward. “I know I just sprung this on you. But I’m taking her to the Royal
Navy party this weekend. Once you meet her you’ll see-”

“I’ve already met her, Ron.” Harry swallowed heavily, holding his friend’s gaze.

“Yeah, you met her at the Scotland Yard event, but that hardly counts," Ron said. "You have to
really speak with her, get to know her. She’s so bloody witty it’s-”

“Ron.” Harry took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
His friend drew back. “What is it?”

Harry thought of the opium den, of Susan’s sprawled form beside McLaggen. But he couldn't seem
to find the words when Ron was looking at him with such hope in his eyes. He really liked this girl.
Fuck.

Harry sighed, changing course. He was about to detail his late-night excursion to the morgue when
another realization struck him. Susan.

She could provide a useful resource into the CID unit, help him push Lavender’s case into the right
hands. Which meant speaking to her about the newest developments. If Ron discovered their
connection to the investigation it was only a matter of time until the circumstances surrounding
their first meeting came to light. Double fuck.

It was such a mess. He needed to tell Ron. But he couldn’t bear to crush him, not right now, not
after the night Harry just had. He needed more time to think this through.

“Harry, what is it, mate?”

Harry rubbed his brow. “I just… I just wanted to tell you I planned on asking Mione to the party.”

Ron blinked. “Oh, shite. You had me worried there for a moment, I thought you were gonna tell
me someone died.” He laughed, Harry forced a smile on his face.

“No. Nothing like that.” Bloody hell, he was exhausted.

“Well, I’m glad you’re asking her," Ron said. "I hope she comes. I’d love for her to meet Susan,
too.”

Harry was spared from having to respond by the sound of the front door opening and a familiar
face appearing from the other side.

“Oh, Harry! Good to see you, my boy!”

He released a breath of relief, eager to end the previous exchange and begin a more pleasant one.
“Mr. Weasley, it’s great to see you.”

“You’re a grown man and sailor now, Harry, you can start calling me Arthur.”

Harry smiled. “That would feel too weird, Mr. Weasley.”

Arthur chuckled, shrugging out of his coat. “What brings you by the Burrow this morning?”

“Just wanted to check in with Ron.”

“Well, I’m happy I ran into you. I heard an interesting proposition brought forth at last night’s
session and I’d love to get the perspective of a military man.”

“Hey,” Ron folded his arms. “What about asking your son?”

Arthur cocked a brow. “Whenever I mention sanctions and laws you make up some flimsy excuse
to flee the room.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Most that stuff’s boring as shite.”

“I’m touched you hold my career with such high regard.”

Harry nodded. “I’m happy to speak with you, Mr. Weasley. Are you just getting back from the
office?”

“Oh goodness no, I managed to make it home last night. I just had to deliver some paperwork first
thing this morning.”

Ron shook his head. “Fucking Lestrange, forcing you to do his grunt work-”

“Ronald, mind your language, what if your mother heard you?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “She’s already clomped me over the head once today.”

Harry blinked. “You’re still working for Rabastan?”

“Unfortunately,” Mr. Weasley sighed, stepping further into the room. “Now enough about me,
how have you been? I hear congratulations are in order.”

Harry went rigid. “Um, I…”

“Congratulations for what?” Ron asked.

Mr. Weasley glanced between the two young men. “Oh, I’m sorry. I spoke with Remus last night
and…” he wet his lips. “Perhaps I’ll leave you two with some privacy.” He stepped past Harry,
patting him on the shoulder. “It was good to see you, Harry.”

He nodded, steeling himself for the conversation to come. “You, too, Mr. Weasley.”

As soon as his father entered the hallway Ron rounded on his friend. “What is he talking about?”

Harry took a deep breath. “I’m being made Lieutenant.”

Ron stepped back. “What?”

“It’s not a big deal-”

“Not a big deal? Are you bloody mental?” Ron’s brows drew together. Harry swallowed, shoulders
tight.

“Listen, I meant to tell you-”

“It’s bloody brilliant!” Ron leaped forward, nearly knocking Harry off his feet with his embrace.
“Congratulations, Harry! It’s about time they promoted you!”

Harry blinked, mouth opening and closing before he finally bent his arms and patted Ron on the
back. “Uh, thanks, mate.”

Ron had always been jealous of the attention his older brothers received growing up, followed by
the success of their careers as adults. Feelings of inadequacy had taken root within the man and
followed him through his own career, as well as his relationships with his friends. At least
according to Hermione, who seemed to have a much firmer grasp on such concepts than Harry. He
wasn’t sure how Ron would respond to the news of his promotion, and he felt a pang of guilt for
expecting his longtime friend to be anything but supportive.

Ron released him and leaned back. “That’s what you came to tell me, isn’t it?”

Harry swallowed, images of the morgue, of the dead girl on the slab, flashing before his eyes.
“Caught me, mate.” His voice sounded hoarse to his ears. “That’s what I came to tell you.”

Hermione didn’t know what was more surreal, seeing Harry within the walls of the Home or the
fact that Umbridge had obviously sanctioned his visit. She stood in shock, taking in his appearance,
the rest of their surroundings coming into slow focus around him.

“Mione, are you alright?” he asked.

She blinked, coming out of her trance. “Yeah. I just... can’t believe you’re here.”

His brows drew together. “I told you I’d be paying you a visit.”

“I didn’t mean that. I mean it’s strange seeing you in here.”

Harry sighed, glancing up the arched ceiling, the shadows hovering along the rafters. “It’s a bit…”
he tilted his head. “Dark.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“And creepy.”

“That’s better.”

His gaze fell upon her once more. “How are you doing?”

She blinked, starting to respond, then closed her mouth and looked over her shoulder at the girls
lingering along the wall, sneaking glances at them. “Let’s go somewhere a bit more private.”

“The Caretaker… Filch? He said I’m not to leave this room. Something about corrupting-”

“The bodies and minds of the innocent. He stole that line from Umbridge.” She rolled her eyes.
“Come on, I know a secret route that will take us near the garden exit. I need some fresh air.”

“Secret route?” He asked, falling in stride beside her. “That sounds exciting. Do you use it to
transport contraband through the building?”

She smiled lightly, chest loosening. “Guilty. I’m the head of a smuggling ring. Very illicit stuff.”

He smirked. “Ron would be proud.”

Hermione slowed her steps through the narrow corridor, glancing up at him. “Did you tell Ron?”

“No.”

His answer was a bit too abrupt.

She narrowed her eyes. “Harry…”

“I didn’t. He’s a bit distracted at the moment, I haven’t seen much of him. But he deserves to
know. He cares about you, Mione. He’d be devastated if he knew you were going through this and
didn’t tell him.”

“I will tell him.” She glanced ahead, fists clenching at her sides. “But right now I just want to… I
just don’t want everyone knowing right now. I can’t bear their sympathy. Not again. I just need
to-” she trailed off, the look on his face unnerving.
“Harry?” He glanced away. Her spine straightened. “Harry. What did you do.”

He quickened his step. “I didn’t-”

“Harry!” She reached forward and grabbed his arm, halting his steps.

He sighed, slowly turning to face her. “I might have told Draco.”

She reared back, heart stuttering. “What? Why did you tell him?”

“Because he cares about you, Mione.”

Her jaw tensed, eyes narrowing. “Is that really the reason?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are the two of you joining forces to stop me from following through with the investigation?”

He pulled free of her hold. “What? Of course not!”

“I don’t believe you. Why else would you have gone to Draco instead of Ron?”

His gaze hardened. “Ron’s busy courting the daughter of the new police commissioner. However,
at least at the present moment, you remain Draco’s main obsession. And he came with me to
Amortentia, he deserved to know what happened.”

Hermione shook her head and spun away.

“I don’t see what the big deal is, Mione.”

“The big deal is, Draco’s going to be kicking the door into this place!”

“Maybe he should. Isolating yourself isn’t healthy, especially after a tragedy.”

She sighed deeply through her nose. “I just need time to process things on my own before I can
process them with other people.”

“Last night you were talking about seeking out the killer on your own. I think you’re processing
things just fine.”

Her eyes narrowed but she remained silent. Instead, she spun on her heel and continued to lead him
through the passage.

“I only told him about Lavender. I didn’t tell him about-” Harry stopped short, prompting her to
glance over her shoulder in confusion.

“Didn’t tell him about what?”

Harry's eyes burned bright in the dim lighting. “I didn’t tell him about the Doctor.”

Hermione stumbled, catching herself against the wall even as Harry reached out to steady her. “I-”
she swallowed, blinking rapidly. “I don’t understand, why would you keep that a secret?”

Harry held her gaze steady. She felt a slow flush inch up her neck. “I thought it would upset him.”

Hermione glanced away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

Her hands clenched at her sides. “I-”

“I don’t want to have another fight. And I don’t want you to lie to me. So I’m willing to drop the
subject. For now. But we will be coming back it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “There’s nothing to come back to-”

“As I said, we’ll discuss it later.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, something wild breaking open in her chest, the need to fight, to
defend was strong. But she resisted.

Harry wouldn’t understand. And if he knew the Doctor’s parting words after the carriage ride
home he’d drag her from this place kicking and screaming. No, Harry couldn’t possibly know what
it felt like to fester and rot with a darkness growing inside you, each day another piece of you
consumed, forever lost. Only the Doctor understood. Somehow, she knew he understood...

So she quelled her tongue and nodded. “If you insist. Follow me, the garden is just ahead.”

They merged into the sun-drenched oasis, the sound of the street beyond the privacy fence
breaking the unnerving silence that surrounded them in the corridor. “This is nice,” Harry said as
they walked past several of Luna’s rose bushes, hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t expecting
something so vibrant after seeing the inside of this place.”

Hermione nodded, running her fingers along a stem, tracing the thorns. “Poisonous creatures
always bear the most colorful skin.”

“Hm?”

She gazed up at him. “Nevermind.”

He held her gaze for a moment before rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, there’s something I
wanted to ask you, well, I planned on asking you before last night happened, and now I feel strange
asking even though I think it’s a good idea…”

She tipped her head. “Christ, Harry, it sounds like your gearing up to propose.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Sirius is being made Admiral.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s wonderful!”

“And I’m being made Lieutenant.”

She blinked, brow raising. “That’s … also wonderful?”

He smirked. “Am I that obvious?”

“You look like you’ve just told me you have two weeks to live.”

He shrugged lightly, averting his gaze to the roses. “Feels that way. I wasn’t really vying for a
promotion. I haven’t had a chance to process it yet.”

“I know the feeling.”

He sighed, gazing upon her once more, eyes softening. “I know you do.”

She stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m happy for you, Harry. What did you want to
ask me?”

“Oh, right.” He turned to face her. “They’re having a party this weekend announcing both
promotions. I wanted you to come as my guest.”

She tipped her head. “You mean as your date?”

“That’s how the majority of people will view it, yes.”

She couldn’t contain her smile. “Didn’t want to risk stringing another lovestruck damsel along?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve learned my lesson the hard way.” Then his expression turned somber.
“But I want you to come regardless. Your friends want to see you, and I think you need to see them,
especially now.”

She let her arm drop, stepping away. Before she could speak he stepped forward and caught her
hand. “We’ll leave after an hour. It’ll give me an excuse, you know how I hate those types of
things.” His emerald gaze pleaded. “I’m overwhelmed by this, Mione. And I’m going to have to
walk the stage and face everyone. Please,” he squeezed her fingers. “Come. For me.”

She swallowed thickly, breath caught in her chest. Dammit. “Fine…” she relented, rolling her eyes
as Harry tugged her closer and picked her up off the ground in a hug.

“Harry, you’re causing a scene,” she hissed, glimpsing the other residents pause their work to stare
upon the strange sight of a man on the grounds.

“Am I? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t twirl you then.”

“Don’t you dare- Harry!” She shrieked with laughter as he did just that. Finally, he set her on her
feet, a boyish grin alighting his face that made her heart stutter, it had been so long since she’d
seen him truly happy…

But soon the moment faded and reality came crashing back down, oppressive and sweltering. She
pushed through, reaching for his hand once more and leading him through the foxglove and
bluebells.

“Filch hasn’t discovered us yet, let’s make the most of it.”

He smiled. “I like this version of you. Wild and dangerous.”

She bit her lip. Be careful what you wish for, Harry. Instead, she affected a light tone, leaning
against his arm as they walked. “So, who is Ron courting?”

Harry groaned, tipping his head back. “Funny you should ask…”

Dolores had been called many things throughout her life. Many, to put it delicately, harsh names.

She wore each one like a badge of honor. Harsh names were often given to women with drive and
ambition. Dolores had earned every scrap of every meal she’d ever eaten, every item she’d ever
come to possess. She poured her blood, sweat and tears into each task she ever undertook and she
wouldn’t apologize for her success. There were no rewards, no handouts in her household. After
her great misfortune of being born female to an already destitute family, she was raised to serve
only one purpose in her life, to engage in an advantageous marriage.

But Dolores had been born with the double misfortune of not possessing classical good looks. Yet
another failure in her family’s eyes. Yet another travesty to set her apart from the little trollops
running around the street outside her window, barely dressed and eager to spread their legs for any
man willing to pay them a compliment.

Dolores wasn’t jealous of them. Dolores didn’t get jealous. She had been born with intelligence
and a keen sense of survival that was far more valuable than a narrow waist and big doe eyes. She
was better than those harlots, she’d made something of herself without relying on a man to lead her
along with his name and fortune. She was a bloody role model for the masses. The residents should
be lined up outside her office each morning, eager to earn her favor, desperate for just a moment of
her time. She should be inundated with praise and admiration.

So, the fact that she’d spent her morning pacing her office in worry over some slut that went and
got herself killed absolutely enraged her. The fact that she’d spent the previous night pacing the
entrance hall awaiting the Doctor’s return made her murderous. And all because of that girl. The
meddlesome little bitch. The ever-growing thorn in her side. Sticking her nose where it didn’t
belong. Thinking she was above them all because her father had been an educated man. But she
was nothing. Just another castaway with illusions of grandeur. And she would not, would not,
jeopardize everything Dolores had built by bringing the police to their door.

Dolores wished she could discard of her like the others, regardless of the monthly stipend. No
amount of money was worth the headache the girl induced on a daily basis.

Alas, such decisions were not up to Dolores and never had been. Maybe if I make a special request
they’ll make an exception for her, just this once-

She sighed deeply, leaning back in her chair. No. The Doctor had been right. She had to be strategic
about how she dealt with the aftermath of the body’s discovery. Granger was a useless swot, but
she posed a threat all the same. She would have to tread carefully with the girl for the next few
days to ensure her silence.

She flattened her palms to the table, hands spread out, examining her ring finger. The Doctor had
said ‘we’.

She licked her lips. He’d said he was looking out for Dolores’s well being. And then he’d said
‘we’... twice. A thrill seized her.

She felt foolish for thinking he was under that little tart’s spell. Of course, he was too brilliant to be
wooed by such juvenile antics. The girl was rebellious, a child acting out. Weaker men would be
led astray by such trickery but the Doctor was different… he was so unlike any man she’d known
before.

And his eyes...

They had a way of skewering her right through the middle, pinning her in place, yet at the same
moment causing her to levitate… it was... exhilarating. She felt foolhardy succumbing to the wiles
of any man. She promised herself it would never happen. Her own success came first. Only stupid
bints fell for the illusion of romance. But he’d been so adamant about protecting her from the
fallout, he wanted to work with her…

Maybe I can introduce him to the others…

She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing in thought. The last person she brought into the fold had been a
complete disaster, one she was still trying to recover from. They didn’t trust her judgment anymore.
But how was she to know the man was a complete pervert? He was a licensed physician for
goodness sake! She’d assumed he possessed at least a modicum of self-restraint. But Doctor Riddle
couldn’t be more different than that fool. Perhaps if they met him they’d see what she saw.

She leaned back, the early workings of a plan taking root in her mind when a soft rapt sounded at
her door. She scowled. “Come in.”

It opened and in stepped the vile creature herself. Dolores released a long breath through her nose.
“Ms. Granger. Right on time. Do come in.”

The girl shuffled into the room, graceless thing that she was. Dolores curled her hands atop her
thighs, drawing every ounce of self-control within her to maintain the ruse.

“Please allow me to express my deepest condolences for your loss. Ms. Brown was an exuberant
girl and she will be greatly missed.”

The girl raised a brow, lips pressed into a thin line. No manners whatsoever. Dolores cleared her
throat lightly, pressing on. “I apologize if I startled you last night. I was just very worried about
your well being. No one notified me you were leaving the grounds.”

She remained silent, staring out through vacant eyes. Dolores felt the temperature rise within her.

“Well,” she clipped. “I do hope you enjoyed your little visit with your male companion. You
should know men are not allowed within these walls under any circumstance. I made an exception
to show you how very committed I am to seeing you through this difficult time.”

If the girl remained silent much longer Dolores was going to throw a figurine at her head, just to
see if she was really there or merely a figment of her imagination.

“How very kind of you, Madam," the tart offered at last, voice dry as a desert. Dolores was tempted
to throw the figurine even more. The little bitch was clearly embittered. How dare her! After all the
exceptions that had been made simply to make the little bint happy! How hard was it to show a
little appreciation?

“Furthermore,” Dolores leaned forward, raising her arms and interlacing her fingers on the desk. “I
wanted to inform you that you have been given leave to assist in the clinic when you feel up to it.”
The words tasted like black bile on her tongue, the mere thought of the trollop working so closely
to the Doctor beyond unbearable. Alas, sacrifices had to be made. And he had made it clear he was
on Dolores’s side. The girl was merely a tool to be used and discarded.

“How does that sound?” she prompted.

The girl showed her first true hint of life, eyes brightening slightly. “I... “ she trailed off, the
lingering silence too much for Dolores’s wrought nerves.

Such a miscreant. Can’t even say thank you. The Matron inhaled sharply. “We want you to feel-”

“We?”

Dolores blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“You said ‘we’.”

Of all the things to get her talking… “Habit," Dolores grinned tightly. "I meant myself of course.”

Something flashed in the girl’s hollow gaze, there one moment and gone the next. It was highly
unnerving. It almost reminded her of-

“That is very kind indeed.” The strumpet's voice sounded different. Like it harbored something…
sinister. Dolores leaned back.

“I am happy to provide you with all the resources I can.” Her face felt like it was going to crack
with the effort it took to smile at the ungrateful bint. “Please, do not hesitate to come to me with
any requests or concerns. Consider my door open at all times.”

The girl raked her eyes over Dolores’s face, something unreadable in her expression. Dolores’s
knuckles turned white with the force in which she clenched them. “Good evening, Madam.”

Dolores ground her teeth. “And to you as well, Ms. Granger.”

She watched the girl cross the room with narrowed eyes, sagging in relief as soon as she
disappeared through the door. The idiot child was truly insufferable. No matter. Soon enough,
Dolores would ensure Hermione Granger never posed a threat again.

“Master Theo, a guest is here to see you.”

Theo launched off the sofa with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. He tried to mask his reaction
by casually closing his book, setting it calmly on the side table. “Thank you, Winslow. See them
in.”

The butler bowed, spinning gracefully on his heal and returning to the hall. Theo swallowed
heavily, running his hands through his hair, gazing down at his shirt, smoothing a palm over the
front. The steady tread of boots sounded just outside the room, his heart leaped into his throat-

Then fell into his stomach as a tall blonde entered the room. His shoulders dropped, breath leaving
him in a woosh.

“Way to make a bloke feel special, Nott. You look like you just had your cock lopped off.”

Theo rolled his eyes, collapsing back into the couch. “What do you want, Draco?”

“Can’t a friend stop round for a visit?”

“Certainly. So I’ll ask again, what are you doing here?”

Draco raised a pale brow, sitting on the opposite couch. “We aren’t friends?”

“We are when it’s convenient to you.”

Draco blinked. “That’s not true.”

“No? So you aren’t here because you need something?”

Draco scowled. “For your information, I came to check in on you. I spoke with Pansy yesterday.”

Theo’s expression fell, eyes averting down as he picked his book back up, tracing the spine. “Is
that so.”
“Yes, it’s so.” Draco leaned his forearms against his knees. “And if her father told her then I’m
certain you already know as well.”

Theo’s jaw ticked. “Father told me two night ago. After I returned from the Club.”

The silence was sweltering. Draco sighed. “And… are you... alright?”

Theo raised a dark brow. “Are you high?”

Draco rolled his eyes, leaning back.

“Seriously,” Theo pressed. “This is freaking me out. Since when do you drop in to check if
someone’s alright?”

“Fucking hell.” Draco carded his fingers through his hair. “Am I really that bad?”

“Yes.”

The blonde sighed, shaking his head. “Why do any of you still talk to me if I’m such a self-
absorbed arse?”

Theo shrugged. “Because we’re all self-absorbed arses.”

“At least tell me I’m not as bad as Blaise.”

Theo narrowed his eyes in thought. “Depends on the day really.”

Draco groaned.

“I’m just fucking with you. No one is as bad as Blaise. Although you certainly have your
moments.” Theo crossed his arms and legs at the ankles. “Honestly, what’s inspired this bout of
Sainthood?”

Draco rubbed the back of his neck. “I royally pissed off the Greengrass sisters. Pansy told me I
need to be a better listener.”

“What did you do?”

The blonde sighed, painfully familiar with the reaction it would elicit. “I suggested Tori become a
nun.”

Theo snorted loudly, quaking with pent-up laughter.

“Fucking hilarious, I know,” Draco growled.

“Please tell me you meant it as a joke.”

“I meant it as a means of escape. I was trying to help her.”

Theo tipped his head, gazing up at the ceiling. “I’m imagining Pansy’s reaction if I made the same
suggestion to her.”

Draco’s sour expression melted away to a wry smirk. “She’d take a carving blade to your
bollocks.”

“Hm. Sounds about right.”

Draco examined his friend across the small space. “So, have you come to terms with it?”

Theo blinked. “What’s to come to terms with? I knew I’d be saddled with someone of my father’s
choosing since I was old enough to understand the concepts of Peerage and marriage.”

Draco glanced away. “Am I a fucking idiot for trying to find a way out of this?”

“Yes. But love makes people into fucking idiots.” His jaw ticked. “Or so I’ve heard.”

Draco didn’t pretend to be confused by the statement. There was no point. “What makes me even
more pathetic is the fact she already turned down my proposal.” He laughed without humor. “I’m
doing all this to chase after a woman that consistently evades me at every turn.”

Theo shrugged. “Some things are worth the pursuit.”

“Perhaps.” Draco ran a hand over his face, leaning his head against the cushions. “Depends on why
the person being pursued is running though, doesn’t it?”

Theo’s eyes flashed. “Maybe she’s just being realistic.”

Draco blinked. “What do you mean?”

Theo swallowed. “It’s not like the two of you can actually be together. Society would never allow
it. Your family would never allow it. Imagine the look on your father’s face if he knew the truth
about you. If he knew what really dwelled within your heart.”

Draco raised a pale brow, mouth opening to respond, only to promptly close when he noticed the
vacancy in the other man’s eyes, lost in some dark thought.

“Wanting someone isn’t the same as love, is it?" Theo prompted the air. "And even if it was, what
does love matter in the long run? Love fades. People change. Why throw everything away for a
fleeting feeling that will end up poisoning you from the inside out in a few years time?” His
breathing hitched, chest rising faster, eyes fixed on a random spot on the wall. “Family, duty,
loyalty, those are unchanging. That’s what truly matters. Not some whirlwind dalliance from your
youth. It’ll be nothing but a distant memory a decade from now. A wild phase. A passing thrill. If it
was actually worth something then it would be worth fighting for. But if they don’t want to fight
then why the hell should you?”

Draco raised his other brow, watching Theo with unmasked intrigue. “Theo.” The other man
blinked, seeming to remember Draco was in the room. “Is there something you’d like to discuss?”

His friend swallowed lightly, adjusting on the cushion. “I just think it’s foolish for you to throw
away your future on someone that doesn’t want to spend it with you.”

Draco’s expression darkened. “You don’t know the first thing about Granger and me.”

“I know what you’ve told me, which is that she turned down your proposal and avoided you for
three solid months, and continues to avoid you even now.” He pinned him with a sardonic look. “I
may not be an expert in women, but I can certainly read the signs when they’re hanging in front of
my face.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed to slits as he leaned forward. “At least I’m fighting for control of my life!
Not rolling over like some dog eager to lick his master’s boots clean.”

Theo scowled. “So much for your foray into sensitivity.”

Draco rose to his feet. “My first urge was to hit you in the face. I dare say I’m making wonderful
progress.”

“You came here. If you were looking for blind encouragement try another house. You’ll only find
realism and practicality within these walls.”

“Funny, the room positively reeks of depression and despair. I’m sorry you’ve decided to give up
on any chance at happiness, but don’t condemn me for still giving a shite about mine.”

Theo shook his head. “Fuck off.”

“Gladly.” Draco straightened his coat and headed swiftly for the door. He paused at the threshold,
glaring over his shoulder. “How could I have forgotten?” Venom dripped from his lips.
“Congratulations on your engagement.”

Theo launched the book at his head, but by the time it completed its journey across the room the
door was already closed, and Theo was once more alone with his blackened heart and withering
soul.

Hermione exited the Matron’s office in a state of shock. What the hell just happened? She didn’t
know what disturbed her more, Umbridge’s saccharine sweet disposition edged in poison or the
fact she was giving Hermione leave to work in the clinic. What is she up to?

Hermione didn’t trust the woman for an instant. Her sudden change in mood couldn’t bode well.
She must have some motivation. I need to think about it, it has to be somehow related to
Lavender…

She started heading towards the dorms on instinct. It had been hours since she’d checked on
Parvati. She wanted to afford her friend some privacy, she had taken the news the hardest of them
all.

She sighed in relief when she opened their door to find her roommate asleep, breath rhythmic
beneath the quilt. Hermione lingered at the threshold a moment longer before quietly closing the
door and slipping back into the hall. She felt off-kilter. There was still so much to sort through…

She wanted to see the Doctor. To tell him about her strange encounter with Umbridge and gauge
his reaction. Did he have a hand in getting the Matron to sign off on the clinic? What about Harry’s
visit? How the hell did he manage to sway such a frozen heart?

She subconciously started walking towards the steps leading to the outside of the clinic. She froze,
placing a hand against the wall to steady herself. No. She wasn’t ready to see him yet. His words
replayed on an endless loop inside her head.

“... if afterward you find that your anger still eclipses your sadness… I’ll be waiting.”

She couldn’t decipher the full meaning behind his words, but she knew enough about the man to
know he didn’t make flippant remarks. She sensed something monumental on the horizon, large
enough to block out the sun and cast the world into darkness. She just didn’t know if she was ready
to look upon it.

She changed course, heading in the opposite direction and descending the stairs leading to her
friends’ room. She knocked softly on the door, not wanting to barge in as she had this morning.

“Come in, Hermione,” a gentle voice bid.

Hermione blinked, entering tentatively. “How did you know it was me?”

Luna smiled, eyes averted to the item in her hands. “You have a distinctive knock.”

Hermione closed the door behind her, glancing about the room. “Where is Hannah?”

“She said she needed fresh air.”

“How is she?”

Luna tilted her head, examining her project at a different angle. “She seems better. All things
considered.”

Hermione nodded, walking towards the bed. “What are you making?”

Luna glanced up finally, eyes a mesmerizing blue. “A dream catcher.”

“Is that what you were working on yesterday?” Hermione examined the hoop, now completely
covered in twine, intersecting patterns webbed inside.

“Yes. I meant to have it completed last night, but I ended up sleeping in your room to dissuade
Filch.”

Hermione sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress. “Are those feathers?”

Luna nodded, holding the item between them. “I collected them from Lauma. They help trap
negative energy.” She traced a brown feather with her fingers. Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“What are those?” She pointed to an ivory decoration, already fearing she knew the answer.

“Bones.”

Hermione glanced up sharply. “From what?”

The blonde shrugged lightly. “I’m not sure. A rabbit I think. Perhaps a raccoon.”

“Luna, please tell me you didn’t handle an animal carcass.”

“Of course not.” Hermione sighed in relief. “Dennis extracted them for me.”

Hermione groaned, palming her face.

“I would have happily done so myself, but I didn’t want to risk irritating my wound.” Luna glanced
to the thick bandage still wrapping her hand.

“The bones could carry just as much disease as the rest of the body, Luna. They could be crawling
with bacteria.”

“The Doctor allowed me to soak them in a solution to kill any germs.”

Hermione blinked. “He did?”

Luna nodded, gaze averting back to her creation.

Hermione tilted her head, examining the girl. “Do you speak to the Doctor often, Luna?”

“How do you define often?” the fair girl responded without a hint of mirth.
Hermione shook her head. “Nevermind.” She ran her finger along the edge of the hoop.

“This is quite lovely. I wish I had your creativity.”

Luna smiled. “Now you do.” She held the dreamcatcher aloft. “I made it for you.”

Hermione raised a brow. “For me? Really?”

“Mm-hm.” Luna tipped her head. “I know how the dreams frighten you.”

Hermione’s face tensed. “Yes. They do.”

“This should help dispel them. At least to an extent.”

Hermione glanced down, focusing upon the feathers and bones woven into the design. “And what
if they aren’t dreams?” Her question was barely above a whisper, but Luna seemed to hear her just
fine.

“This is meant to capture negative energy, dream or not.” Luna placed a hand over Hermione’s.
“And if you continue to have visions, perhaps they aren’t malevolent.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, nodding. “Thank you, Luna.”

“You’re very welcome.”

As Hermione made to set the dreamcatcher beside her on the bed she knocked over the ball of
twine situated between them. It hit the floor and rolled beneath the bed. “Oh, shite.” Hermione
hissed, getting to her feet. “Sorry about-”

“It's okay,” Luna said quickly, scrambling to her feet. “I’ve got it.”

Hermione shook her head. “Don’t be silly, I’ll get it.” She lowered to her haunches, reaching
beneath the frame.

“Really, Hermione, just leave it, I don’t need it anymore.”

Hermione blinked as she slid her fingers along the floor, papers sliding beneath her touch. “Oh, I
think I…” she blinked again as she knocked over a stack. “What…” She lowered her head to peak
under the bed.

“Hermione, don’t-”

“What are all these?”

Luna knelt down beside her, shaking her head. “It’s just-”

“Are these resident files?” Hermione asked, pulling a paper out to examine it more closely.

“Why do you have these, Luna?”

“I…” the blonde trembled. “I’m not supposed to tell.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t stop to ponder how she knew. She just knew. “Did
Doctor Riddle ask you to steal these for him?”

The blonde glanced away. Hermione shook with the force of her reaction. “Luna…” she reached a
handout, gently squeezing the girl’s arm. “I’m not going to say anything to Umbridge, I promise.
But you need to tell me why you have these.”

Luna took a deep breath, eyes still averted down. “He said he needed them.”

Hermione’s hands clenched, the paper bending in her grasp. “Did he tell you why?”

The girl bit her lip. Hermione set the paper aside, gently grasping her chin and turning her face
until their eyes met. “What did he say he needed the records for?”

Luna blinked rapidly, tears forming in her eyes. “He said he knew the last Doctor was a bad man.”
Her voice was hoarse, broken. “He said he knew what he did to us, and that he wanted to help.”

Hermione breathed deeply, body vibrating. “Help how?”

“He said he wanted to find out who the bad man hurt. The records would tell him who needed to be
examined. Who needed to be tested for…” Luna trailed off, eyes closing.

Hermione released her, tears forming in her own gaze. “He wanted to check for possible
pregnancies?” she concluded quietly.

Luna nodded, tears dripping down her cheeks. Hermione drew in a slow breath, trying to steady her
nerves.

“Luna…” she placed a hand on the girl’s knee, prompting her to open her wet eyes. “Did the last
doctor hurt you?”

Luna bent her head, pale hair curtaining her face. It reminded Hermione so much of the eyeless
apparition from the hall that she reached forward and parted the silky tresses on instinct. “It’s
alright,” Hermione said gently. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, I understand.” She
drew closer, wrapping an arm around the trembling girl. “We don’t have to ever talk about it, I
won’t pressure you. But I want you to know that if something did happen, it wasn’t your fault, and
you have absolutely no reason to feel ashamed.” She was hardly aware of the tears streaming down
her own face. “You’re one of the strongest and most caring people I’ve ever met. Nothing and no
one will ever change that about you.”

Luna leaned in to Hermione’s side, nodding lightly. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione wiped the tears from both their faces. “Sorry for what?”

“For keeping the files a secret. He told me it was okay because you would find out eventually.”

Hermione blinked. A thousand questions burned within her but she knew they were better directed
at someone else. She felt fit to burst. The man played on Luna’s tragic experience to get what he
wanted. He put her in an untenable position that could have very easily resulted in her expulsion. It
was deplorable.

Suddenly the door started to open. Hermione shoved the stray paper under the bed before she fully
processed her actions. Hannah entered, glancing around the room and then staring in confusion at
the pair on the floor.

“Hi.”

Hermione forced a smile. “Hi.”

“What are you doing down there?”

She swallowed, mind reeling for an excuse when Luna slowly pulled from her grasp and rose to
her feet. “Hermione was helping me look for sprites.”

Hannah tipped her head. “Sprites?”

“Elemental fae spirits. They’re normally invisible to humans unless they’re feeling playful.”

Hannah smirked. “Gotcha. Did you find any?”

“Not yet. Maybe next time.”

Hermione stared at Luna in silent wonder, seeing the girl in a whole new light. She wondered how
often she used her outlandish reputation to her advantage, steering people away from the truth.
“Right, well…” Hermione stood as well, brushing her hands across her skirt to remove the
wrinkles. “I suppose I should be heading back to Parvati then.”

Hannah nodded, opening her wardrobe. “Give her our love.”

“I will.” She glanced at Luna. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

The blonde grinned serenely, as though the last few minutes were nothing but a fevered fantasy.
“Don’t forget your dream catcher.”

Hermione leaned down to retrieve the item from the bed. The setting sun illuminated the ivory
bones in pale orange and violet. “I have a feeling I’ll be needing this very soon.”

Hermione stormed down the corridor. She paid no mind to hiding in the shadows or walking on
tiptoes. No. She was livid and wanted, needed, that rage to be felt. The Doctor had lied to her.
Misled her. Used her. Even worse, he had done the same to Luna. Sweet, tender, nurturing Luna.

Hermione needed answers and she would get them now. But she didn’t march to the clinic. A face
to face confrontation would only lead to more lies. She needed to see the evidence for herself and
connect the dots free from his coaxing voice. So, she stormed to the room he had taken her to after
discovering her racing along the hallway after curfew. The room across from his chambers.

The makeshift office piled high with paperwork. She hadn’t paid close enough attention the night
she was brought here, too overwhelmed by the haunting apparition and his sudden appearance. But
it was all starting to come together now. Keeping a private office so far away from the clinic. He
was obviously hiding something.

She was relieved to find the door unlocked. But she wasn’t surprised. In order to lock it, he’d have
to request the key from either Umbridge or Filch, which would mean tipping them off to his…
extracurricular activities. She inhaled sharply at the mess that awaited her inside, the same
explosion of papers covering every surface, stacked high along each of the four walls. She
wondered how many Luna had stolen for him. The thought enraged her more. Because something
didn’t add up. If he was truly concerned about the last physician impregnating a resident why did
he request files for past girls that no longer lived in the Home? No… he was up to something
alright, but he had lied to Luna about whatever it was, playing her past against her.

Hermione tore through the office, grabbing papers at random, reading the headers, her stomach
twisting into knots as she started to discover a common theme…
All of these girls were listed as runaways. None of them seemed to have any family or emergency
contact listed outside the Home. And then she found the most damning document of all.
Lavender’s.

Tears filled her eyes as she read over the details in her friend’s medical file, her behavioral write-
ups, all of her past transgressions listed in black and white. And on the last page, circled many
times over in red ink, was one word, bold and ominous, pulsating before her eyes.

Suitable.

Hermione blinked, setting the papers carefully aside, as though they retained some piece of the girl
they detailed and reached out to grab another file. She flipped to the last page, heart jolting as she
saw the same word circled in red ink.

Suitable.

Hermione swallowed, picking up the next stack, and the next, and the next…

Suitable.

Suitable.

Suitable.

She blinked rapidly, hands shaking. The door opened behind her. A tall shadow appeared across
the opposite wall, stretching endlessly in either direction. She gasped, spinning on her heal, papers
dancing in an invisible current.

“Ms. Granger.” His eyes contained a raging storm. Lighting illuminated the room, thunder shook
the floor.

It paired beautifully with the chaos brewing inside her chest. Her heart was a war drum, each
deafening beat a call to battle.

He stepped into the small space, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body. She refused
to retreat. He pressed the door closed behind him, eyes never straying from hers.

“I’ve been expecting you." His voice was a silk net cast over her head. She withdrew her blade and
cut through the bindings.

“You told me to come when my anger eclipsed my sadness,” she hissed, chin tipped defiantly. His
pupils expanded rapidly. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she raised the papers clenched tightly in her
hand, pressing them against his chest. “I find that I’m exceedingly angry.”
 Fang & Claw

If ignorance is bliss, I must be ecstatic.

. . .

“You told me to come when my anger eclipsed my sadness.” She lifted the papers clutched tightly
in her grasp, pressing them into his chest on instinct, needing the words printed across each page to
burrow as deeply into him as they had her. She felt the steady thud of his heart beneath her palm as
her fingernails dug into the soft fabric of his shirt. She wanted to claw through the thin barrier, tear
into his flesh, mark him for all eternity, a constant reminder of the chaos he had unleashed inside
her. “I find that I’m exceedingly angry.”

She wasn’t fully aware of just how close they were standing until his hand shot up too fast for her
eyes to process, long fingers manacling her wrist, and pressed her hand more firmly into his body.
She blinked, the sensation of his skin awaking her from the dark trance. She tried to pull away but
he held her firmly in place.

“Why Ms. Granger…” the corner of his mouth lifted, a haunting accompaniment to his feral gaze.
“It seems you have something you’d like to discuss.”

Her eyes narrowed to slits, stomach clenching at the mere hint of amusement in his expression.
“You’ve been using Luna to do your dirty work. You put her in danger of being thrown out on the
streets. You should be ashamed.” Each syllable was a slash of her knife, but he remained
unblemished and unmoved.

“Is that really what you came to say?” he asked, far too calm and amused for her sanity to
comprehend. She tried once more to pull her wrist free. His fingers tightened, bordering on painful.
He covered the bruise Filch had left on her skin. She wondered if she would bear a new mark
before the night was through. The thought infuriated her.

“I came to tell you to leave her alone. Whatever you’re up to, she isn’t going to be a part of it.”

He tilted his head. “And how do you intend to stop me?”

She seethed. “I’ll expose you. Expose this office. You’ll be fired for stealing patient files, if not
arrested on the spot.”

His smirk gave way to a full-fledged grin, teeth sharpened to points. “I enjoy seeing this side of
you.” He leaned down, she tried to rear back but his fingers squeezed in warning, the pad of his
thumb pressing in on her pulse point. “But you’re too smart for that, Hermione. I’m the Doctor. I
have every right to commandeer these documents. And even more importantly, you know the
authorities couldn’t care less about what happens in a place like this, as long it stays behind closed
doors.”

She blinked rapidly, tears burning behind her eyes. “Who are you?” Her voice was reduced to a
meager whisper, face mere inches from his.

His eyes flickered to her mouth and back, expression transforming into something beautiful and
terrifying, for it held a wild anticipation that set every nerve ending within her aflame. “I’m the
only one who can help you. The only one who can lead you to the answers you so desperately
seek.” His eyes gleamed in the flickering light. “The only one who can lead you to vengeance.”

She inhaled sharply, the floor tilting beneath her feet. He didn’t release her wrist, but his other arm
snaked around her waist as she tipped to the side. She fell into him, his heartbeat centered in her
palm, racing up her arm and echoing through her chest.

“I think this is a conversation best had in less claustrophobic quarters.”

She was rendered mute, held captive by his hands and gaze. And then the arm around her middle
fell away, the one at her wrist remaining firm as he pulled open the door and led her into the hall.
To the room directly across.

She gulped thickly as he withdrew a familiar set of keys and unlocked the door, pushing it open
and gazing at her with the same dark amusement from moments ago.

“Don’t be shy, Ms. Granger. This isn’t your first time inside my chambers.”

Harry traced his fingertip over the rim of the glass, gazing absently into the amber liquid contained
within.

“Pince for your thoughts, kid.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “They’re not worth even that these days.”

Sirius tipped back another swig from his own glass. “That bad, eh?”

Harry leaned back in his seat, eyes still averted away. “Just a lot happening lately it seems.”

“So tell me about it.”

Harry wanted to. So badly. Sirius was the closest thing Harry had to a father, their bond tried and
true. He knew he could trust the man with anything. Sirius would never turn his back on his
godson, no matter the situation. But he would also try to help, his need to protect overriding his
need to understand. And it seemed the more people that got added to the mix the closer they
headed towards disaster. “Just overwhelmed about this promotion.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Harry was overwhelmed by it. He was just slightly more overwhelmed by his
crippling fear of losing his best friend and his utter heartbreak and despair over losing his lover. If
he’d had any time leftover to reflect on his actual career, he was certain he’d be in need of Sirius’s
council.

“I was your age when I got promoted to Lieutenant, you know.”

Harry swallowed heavily, well aware of the fact.

“They needed me to take the post immediately. Less than a week after your parents-” Sirius
stopped short, never able to speak the word aloud, even over a decade later. He cleared his throat,
rotating his glass, watching the ice spin across the bottom. “I had to take over when I was still half
out of my mind with grief. Not to mention trying to get the paperwork sorted to get custody of
you.” He paused yet again, seemingly lost to the past. “The last thing I cared about was work. The
last thing I wanted was to take over James’s position… I felt like a bloody fraud.”

Harry blinked slowly, watching his godfather’s face carefully.

“Some days I still do,” the man concluded solemnly. The silence that followed was thick, invasive.
Harry breathed it in, choked on it.

“Sirius… you’ve made Admiral based on ten years of hard work that is yours alone.”
His godfather smirked, finally meeting his eye. “The same goes for you, kid. That promotion
belongs to you. You bust your ass out there, every single day, every single time. You’re going to
make a great leader one day, the boss has his eye on you.”

Harry shook his head. “He has his eye on me because I’m James Potter’s son.”

“That’s what sparked his interest, true. But it’s not what impressed him. Your hard work did that.
He wouldn’t be giving you this if it wasn’t earned through blood, sweat and tears.”

Harry laughed without humor. “Listen to us, trying to comfort one another without taking our own
words to heart.”

Sirius raised a dark brow. “When did you get so philosophical?”

“As I said, it’s been a crazy week.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

The intensity of the man’s expression didn’t bode well for Harry. His godfather liked to play the
role of carefree rake but in reality, he was remarkably astute, which is what made him such a
skilled leader on the sea. And right now, he was analyzing Harry with a keen eye. “So… how’s
Susan?”

Harry blinked. Bloody hell. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what.”

Sirius chuckled into his glass. “Come on, half the fun of being a parent is making you
uncomfortable when it comes to birds.” He inspected Harry from the corner of his eye. “For the
record, I know there’s nothing going on between you. Well, nothing romantic.”

Harry’s heart sped up. “How do you know that?”

“Body language. You seemed uncomfortable when she showed up at the house, but not in a bashful
way. More in a pissed off sort of way. Which I must admit, is even more intriguing.”

Harry shook his head. “Ron’s courting her. Or at least he wants to.”

Sirius choked on his swallow. “What?” he sputtered, then started barking out a laugh. “You’re
telling me the chit Weasley is chasing ran to your doorstep in the middle of the night? Oh, this just
keeps getting better and better.”

“She didn’t come in the middle of the night. The sun was still out, thank you very much. And like I
said, he isn’t officially courting her yet. They met three days ago for Christ’s sake.”

Sirius tipped his head. “You don’t sound jealous… but you don’t sound happy for them either.”

“Did you hear the part where I said they met three bloody days ago?”

“Yes, I did.”

Harry pinned him with a sardonic look. “And don’t you think Ron is being a little hasty?”

Sirius chuckled. “That is one area I cannot speak to, mate. I know next to nothing when it comes to
matters of the heart.”

“Neither does Ron. He’s barely had a conversation with a girl, now he says he’s in love. It’s
madness.”

“Some say love is nothing but a form of prolonged madness.”

“I don’t want to see him get taken for a fool.”

“And what makes you think this girl would do that?”

Harry seethed, chewing the inside of his cheek to keep from revealing too much.

Sirius nodded with a smirk. “Ah… the plot thickens.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Omission is the most telling detail of all.”

Harry jolted in his seat, deja vu hitting him square in the chest, squeezing his heart painfully. He
was instantly transported to a similar-looking bar, discussing a very similar topic with a very
different man… who said the exact same thing. Sapphire eyes appeared in his mind, clear as day.
Harry swallowed thickly, pushing on, hoping to mask his visceral reaction.

“I just don’t want Ron to get his heart broken.” I would never wish this on anyone.

A warm hand pressed his shoulder. “You alright, kid?” Damn his godfather’s observational skills.

“Actually, I gotta piss.” Harry was in desperate need of some privacy. The whiskey was burning a
steady path through him, loosening his tongue with each successive sip. He needed to step away,
clear his head before he revealed something he couldn’t take back.

“Classy.”

“I’ll be sure to keep my pinky up.”

Sirius tipped his head back and laughed while Harry sidled past and cut across the pub to the water
closet in the back. He tried to open the door but found it locked. He groaned, perching up against
the wall and gazing about the venue without interest.

The toilet flushed, the sound of running water quick to follow. And then the door was opening. A
familiar face appeared. Their eyes met. Harry blinked, then blinked again.

“Ah fuck.” McLaggen looked supremely put out.

Harry pushed away from the wall, smirk forming. “Just when I thought this night was going
downhill.”

“Come on, Potter,” McLaggen backed away rapidly, hands raising. “You got your shots in the last
time we met.”

Harry trailed after him step for step as they neared the back exit. “That I did. It was quite
enjoyable. But I’m afraid your luck has run out, I’ve been searching for you.”

The man swallowed. “I know. I heard you’ve been asking around. But I don’t know anything else
about the chit, I told you everything-”
“She’s dead.”

McLaggen stumbled, catching himself against the edge of the bar, blinking dumbly. “What?”

Harry watched him closely, studying every nuance of his expression. “I said, Lavender’s dead.”

The color drained from McLaggen’s face. He stopped his retreat, eyes flickering rapidly between
Harry’s. “I don’t… she… I just saw her a week ago…”

Harry held his gaze for several moments, finally sighing as he detected no duplicity in the man’s
reaction. “Take a breath.” He pulled a stool out from the bar. “And a seat, before you pass out.”
McLaggen sat gracelessly, slumping forward into the counter, eyes wide and perplexed. Harry slid
into the stool beside him, the liquor in his system making him much more amenable to the man’s
distress. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I just had to see if you were involved.”

McLaggen blinked. “Involved?” His Adam's apple bobbed. “Lav was… murdered?”

Harry raised a brow. “I’m afraid so.” He tipped his head, watching him carefully. “I didn’t think
you were all that fond of her.”

“I…” he shook his head. “I saw her a week ago…”

Harry nodded. “Already said that, mate.”

McLaggen’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we weren’t mates.”

“We aren’t. Doesn’t mean I can’t buy you a drink.” Harry pivoted, flagging the bartender. “Two
whiskeys.”

McLaggen ran a hand over his face. “This is… I can’t…” he glanced sharply to Harry. “Are you
sure it was her?”

Harry pushed one of the glasses closer to the man as soon as the bartender departed. “I’m positive.
And I’m searching for the person responsible. Any idea who would want to hurt her?” McLaggen
shook his head rapidly, taking the glass and tossing it back in a convulsive swallow. Harry glanced
at him from the corner of his eye as he finished his own shot. “The last time we spoke you didn’t
seem too concerned about her disappearance.”

McLaggen brought the back of his hand to his mouth, dragging it across his lips. “I didn’t think it
was anything serious. Lav dances to the beat of her own drum, runs around all the ti-” he stopped
short, eyes shuttering. “She danced. She ran around… fuck.”

Harry set his empty glass down. “Where did she go when she ran around? Who did she meet
with?”

McLaggen blinked. “How was she killed?”

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. McLaggen was lost to his own twisted form of grief,
questioning him would be a feat. “Her throat was cut.”

The man almost tipped off his stool. “ What?”

“It wasn’t some random street mugging or alley rough up. Someone very meticulously killed this
girl and I need to find out who. Can you help me, McLaggen?”

The other man faced him slowly. “Why are you doing this? Were you involved with her or
something?”

“I never met her when she was alive. But she was very important to someone who’s very important
to me. And I promised them I’d find the killer and bring them to justice.”

McLaggen leaned further into the countertop. “What about the police? If she was murdered
shouldn’t they be involved?”

“I know you knocked a few back before our paths crossed tonight, but surely you're not that
drunk.”

The man sighed deeply, shaking his head. “So you’re the only one trying to find out who killed
her?”

“I have help. But I’m leading the charge, yes. Now,” his expression hardened, “I need you to tell
me everything you knew about her, where she went, who she talked to. Even the things you think
are inconsequential.”

“I… right now?”

“No time like the present.”

“I didn’t know much, honestly. I mean I took her places, but she never talked about herself. Not her
past anyway. The most I knew was she lived up on Bromley. But I didn’t know why.”

“That’s alright. What types of places did you take her?”

“The types of places you found me in the last time we spoke.”

“What about Amortentia?”

McLaggen glanced around sharply. “Shite, Potter! Not so bloody loud!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fucking hell. It’s not the holy grail.”

“It might as well be for how difficult it is to come by an invitation.”

“For the record, when you have to pay sixty bloody pounds it’s not considered an invitation, it’s a
cover charge.”

McLaggen glanced away. “I thought for sure you’d find her there.”

“Why is that?”

“Rod offered her a job.”

Harry blinked, heart racing. “She took a job there?”

“No.” The man shook his head. “She turned him down. Didn’t want to work doing that sort of
thing, she told me. But she was friends with one of the girls and liked to speak with her everytime
we went. They knew each other from before. I think. I usually gave them privacy.”

Harry’s jaw tensed. “Do you know anything about this girl? A name, physical description?”

“They all wear masks, I never saw her face. Not anything above the mouth.”
“What about hair color?”

McLaggen scratched the back of his head. “Erm… blonde, I think? Yeah. Dirty blonde. Shoulder
length.”

Harry’s eyes flashed. The girl he spoke with briefly in the hallway at Amortentia had been blonde.
Could she be the friend? He sighed, pushing on. “Was Rodolphus upset she turned him down?”

McLaggen blinked. “You mean enough to kill her?”

“I’m just trying to piece together the entire picture.”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there when they made the offer.”

Harry tipped his head. “They?”

“She said he and his wife approached her in a private room.”

Harry’s blood ran cold. Any mention of Bellatrix inspired an instinctual reaction of dread. “Was
there anything else-” he stopped short at the sight of Sirius standing from his chair across the bar,
glancing over his shoulder, eyes searching. Fuck. He groaned, facing the other man once more. “I
have to end our conversation here, but I’d like to be able to contact you with more questions.”

McLaggen’s expression turned guarded. “You aren’t going to hit me in the face?”

“Only if you make me hunt you across the city again.”

The man released a long breath through his nose, face resigned. “I’m staying at my father’s estate
in Gordon Square.”

Harry nodded. “Good. I’ll pay a visit if I need you.” He stood to leave, hesitating in light of the
awkward exchange. He was just buzzed enough to feel underlying sympathy for the man seated
before him, still appearing dumbfounded. “If you really cared about her, you’ll tell me anything
you can think of that may help me find out what happened.”

McLaggen’s jaw tensed. “We weren’t… it was just casual.” He swallowed. “She wasn’t someone
you take home. But I hate being home anyway. We had fun together.” He met Harry’s eye. “She
didn’t deserve what happened.”

Harry started to back away in the direction of Sirius. “No one deserves for that to happen to them.”
His gaze hardened. “Except for the bastard that did it.”

Hermione spun around as the bell chimed behind her. She forced a smile, ready to greet the new
customer when her eyes fell on the entrant. It was the man she encountered on her first day of
work, the one who took off running when she bid him hello. She swallowed lightly as his nervous
gaze settled on her. She remained frozen in place, glancing over her shoulder to where Snape stood
behind the counter. He was focused on the ledger, eyes downcast. “Er… Sir?”

Snape blinked, eyes snapping up in annoyance. Then they flickered past her to the man hovering in
the doorway. He sighed.

“Do come inside, Quirrell. I assure you the girl doesn’t bite. But she will talk incessantly if
provoked.”

The man shifted awkwardly, slowly stepping forward and allowing the door to close behind him.
Hermione bit her lip, glancing away, afraid to send him running in the opposite direction by staring
upon him for too long.

And I thought I had problems.

She pretended to study the items on a nearby shelf while he darted across the floor to Snap, who
started pulling something out from beneath the counter. It was wrapped in burlap. Hermione raised
a brow, curiosity brimming. Snape met her eye past the man’s shoulder, some amalgamate of
amusement and annoyance in his gaze, prompting her to scurry behind the shelf completely. The
mens’ hushed voices shed no additional light on the mystery, and Hermione was once again left
without distraction from her raging thoughts.

She had been offered a reprieve from work, but she’d insisted on coming in. She needed to get out
of the Home. To her knowledge, Snape had no idea about the events that transpired, at least he
made no indication he knew, and for that she was grateful. The shop became her sole refuge away
from the harsh realities of life. She was relieved to be in the company of someone who didn’t treat
her differently in light of the tragedy.

However, her thoughts offered no such reprieve. Trapped in the quietness of her corner she was
forced to once more relive the events of last night, each replay offering more details that her
subconscious mind had captured as the chaos raged within her. She started her trip down memory
lane with the moment he opened the door to his chambers.

Hermione stared into the room beyond with her heart in her throat, body frozen in the hallway as a
thrill of terror seized her. “This is highly inappropriate.”

He raised a dark brow. “I dare say we’re well past that, Ms. Granger.” And then he released her
wrist and stepped inside, crossing the room without glancing in her direction.

“Stay or leave, the choice is yours. But I don’t think you raided my office like a woman possessed
simply to leave empty handed now.”

Her fists tightened at her sides as she watched him open the wardrobe and remove his outer coat,
images of their first encounter racing through her mind. She slowly stepped over the threshold.

“I know you harbor no fondness for closed doors, but I suggest making the sacrifice to avoid
detection. I have considerable pull with the Matron, but this will be a stretch to explain even for
me.”

She set her jaw, reluctantly doing as bade. And then she blinked, staring at the knob. “How do you
know I dislike closed doors?”

“I’m an observant person, Ms. Granger.”

She slowly turned to face him. His back was still to her as he shut the wardrobe. Her spine turned
rigid. “Is that how you manipulated, Luna? You observed an easy target and then struck?”

He leaned against the dresser, arms folding across his chest, expression lit with amusement. “I
assure you, if I wanted an easy target, the enigmatic Ms. Lovegood would not be my first choice.”

She seethed. “And yet you still managed to trick her into stealing official documents for you.”

“I didn’t trick her into doing anything. I requested her assistance in exchange for my services, she
had every opportunity to deny my offer without a threat of recourse. She chose to obtain the files of
her own free will.”
Hermione took a step forward, propelled by the force of her convictions. “You lied to her. You said
you needed those records for the welfare of the other residents. If that were the case you wouldn’t
be sifting through charts of girls who no longer live here.”

He tilted his head, gaze flickering across her face, studying her. “I didn’t lie to Ms. Lovegood.
What I told her was true. I have every intention of following up with the previous physician’s
victims and ensuring they receive necessary medical care.” His eyes flashed. “However the records
serve a dual purpose, one that Ms. Lovegood was no doubt aware of but chose not to question.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, standing at the foot of his bed. “What are you doing here? Why did
you take this job?”

All traces of humor faded from his visage. His eyes hardened to diamond points. “I should think
that quite obvious by now, Ms. Granger. You’ve seen enough to put the pieces together, especially
after your foray into my office.”

She blinked slowly, heart rate increasing as her mind spun the threads together, the tapestry slowly
taking shape. “Lavender was kidnapped.” It wasn’t a question, it was a malevolent truth that had
been festering within her heart for several days.

His chin lowered, the lantern seemed to dim, shadows springing to life around them. “Go on.”

She trembled at the sinister voice that emanated from his lips. “Her resident file…” she stepped
closer, drawn by a magnetism that pulled at her bones. “There was a term on the last page. Suitable.
It was on the other files as well.”

His chest rose slowly, eyes tracking her movements. “You’re getting warmer.”

“She wasn’t just taken. She was targeted.” Her heart was in her throat now. “She was targeted from
within these very walls.” Another step, and another. “So were the other girls. The other runaways.”

His eyes glowed from the darkness, the corner of his mouth tipping up, not in humor, but in
supreme satisfaction. "You’re red hot.”

Every nerve ending came to life with the thrill of discovery. This was no classroom, no medical
lab, but it did nothing to deter from the excitement of solving a complex problem, watching the
pieces fall into place by her steady hand. “There’s a conspiracy going on," she continued. "The
residents are being taken and written off as runaways. Lavender was another victim to some
underground ring trafficking girls.” She came to a stop, eyes bright and flickering rapidly between
his, desperate for confirmation, for approval. And then his mouth curved into a breathtaking smile,
teeth gleaming.

“I knew you would solve the mystery, Hermione, but I admit I am impressed by how little
assistance you needed.” Hearing her name on his lips made her startling aware of how close they
were standing, how far she had traveled.

She took a step back, cold washing over her. This wasn’t a classroom, wasn’t some news story she
was discussing as an impartial party. This was all very real, and the ramifications of what it meant
set in like a crushing weight on her chest, expelling her breath. “This- this is... “ she blinked
rapidly, spinning around in a flurry of nerves and panic. “We have to go to the police!” She barely
made it a step towards the door when she was firmly yanked back by an iron grip on her arm. How
he crossed the space between them in one fell swoop was beyond her, but as she spun around with
wide eyes he was flush against her, eyes black and face lethal.
“And I was so impressed…”

She blinked, his casual statement rattling around her brain like a tin can through the streets, loud
and meaningless. She tried to jerk away but an arm looped around her waist like a steel band and
held her immobile. She felt the heat of his body press against her, felt his heartbeat within her own
chest, felt his breath across her face and neck.

“I will allow you a moment to collect yourself, in light of your recent revelation," he offered. "Then
I will give you the opportunity to reconsider your actions.”

She swallowed, his words finally taking root in her mind. He spoke without inflection, as though
discussing the weather, but his eyes were endlessly deep, the chaos within mesmerizing. She was
too overwhelmed by her fear for the other girls to spare a thought for the threat facing her down at
this very moment. She knew a predator was in her midst, baring fang and claw, but she couldn’t
find it in herself to flee. “None of this explains why you’re here.”

The arm around her waist pressed her tighter. “Now your senses are returning.”

She narrowed her eyes, hands flat against his chest. “My senses never evaded me. Reporting a
string of kidnappings to the police is a normal response.”

“That it is, Hermione. And tell me, what do you think would be the Scotland Yard’s normal
response to such a claim?”

She blinked, knees quaking as the walls started to close in around them. Lightning flashed in his
gaze as he saw the realization spark within hers.

“You know from personal experience how much care and consideration is given when there’s no
influential family to back a victim’s claim," he continued. "When there’s no one to grease the
hands of the corrupted officials in charge.” She couldn't breathe, vision hazing at the edges. She
listed into him more fully, his face the only thing in perfect clarity. “You know, Hermione...” His
voice was everywhere, echoing off the walls and ceiling, filling the empty spaces within her chest.
“You know the authorities will do nothing to stop it. You saw the dates on some of those files.
There’s no way they could remain ignorant for this long. They’ve chosen to look the other way and
they won’t be swayed by the words of an orphan girl.”

A spark ignited within her broken chest, flames springing to life. “If we can’t go to the police…”
she held his gaze, the only thing left in the darkness of her surroundings. “What can we do?”

His slow smile returned, terrifying and thrilling. “We stop them ourselves.”

Her gaze searched his, thoughts and emotions trapped in a whirlwind. “This is why you came
here? You knew all this time?”

He blinked, arm slowly dropping away from her middle, the warmth of his body evading her as he
took a step back. “I wasn’t positive. I am now.”

“Who are you?” She crossed her arms protectively. “Why are you involving yourself in this?”

“That is not up for discussion.” The finality of his words jolted her. “I was prepared to execute this
mission alone. I am still prepared to do so.” He paced across the room, shoulders back and spine
straight. “You can walk away now, Ms. Granger. I will give you the same option I gave Ms.
Lovegood. Turn around, walk out the door, and we can pretend this conversation never occurred.”

She reared back. Was he joking? Walk away from this? After everything that happened, everything
she’d learned? Not bloody likely.

“I don’t think so.” Her previous fear and uncertainty burned away in the fire coursing through her
veins, setting her blood to boil. “Someone I care about was murdered, I won’t stand idly by and let
it happen again." Her fists clenched at her sides, the flames licking up her throat and through her
mind, radiating through her eyes. “I’m going to help. Nothing can stop me. Not even you.”

He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, eyes roaming her from bottom to top. “I do not envy
the man who attempts stopping you from anything.”

“Tell me what to do,” she bid. There was a victory in his gaze, but she wasn’t unnerved by it, for
she was a creature born of fire, and nothing could hurt her now.

Hermione was jolted from the perturbing memory as the bell above the shop door rang one more.
She emerged from her hiding spot behind the shelf to greet the newcomer but saw no one. She
blinked, glancing to Snape in question, his eyes met hers briefly and he gestured with his head
towards the aisle on the opposite side. She nodded, slowly approaching the back of the store and
forcing a smile on her face. She rounded the endcap and opened her mouth to greet the customer-

Her smile promptly fell when she saw who it was. “Parvati?” She hissed, stepping closer. “What
are you doing here?”

“Do you get an employee discount on laudanum?” Her friend asked casually, examining a tin of
cough suppressants with a bored expression. “I’d normally knick a bottle but I don’t want it taken
from your wages if your boss is an arsehole.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, stepping closer and grabbing the girl’s arm, forcing her to turn and face
her. “Seriously, what are you doing here? You’re still under house arrest!”

Parvati sighed, pulling free of Hermione’s grasp and leaning against the shelf. “Damndest thing
happened this morning. The Toad Bitch called me to her office and said I could go on a market
run.”

Hermione blinked. “Why would she do that?”

“Beats me. She went on about how she wants to support me through this difficult time, yadda
yadda, bunch of pig shite. But alas, she offered a reprieve and I took it. I’ve been going stir crazy
cooped up inside every day.”

Hermione crossed her arms, glancing through the gaps in the shelf to ensure Snape was still
preoccupied. She kept her voice low. “Well, what are you doing here then? You’ll get put back
under lockdown if she knows you snuck off.”

Parvati shrugged. “I’m impervious to her wrath at the moment. Pretty sure someone could pull a
gun on me and I wouldn’t flinch.”

Hermione tipped her head, examining her friend more closely. She’d been deep beneath the covers
when Hermione had returned to her room last night, as well as this morning when Hermione left
for work. She suspected her friend had some chemical help to keep her under all day but didn’t feel
right prying into her drawers in search of evidence. Hermione was content to look the other way
while Parvati dealt with the aftermath of her grief. As long as she didn’t put her life at risk,
Hermione didn’t feel it was her place to judge. But now she was worried her friend may be taking
something in excess to avoid facing an onslaught of emotions. Hermione narrowed her eyes,
searching Parvati’s gaze for signs of a tonic.
“What?” Parvati’s voice held an edge that was music to Hermione’s ears. Her attitude was subdued
but not entirely absent. Her pupils appeared normal.

“Nothing.” Hermione drew back. “I’m glad you got out for a bit, but I don’t want you getting in
trouble. You need to head back before Filch notices.”

Parvati sighed. “I know. I just needed to get away for a bit. Away from everyone.” Hermione knew
the feeling well. "I was being serious about the laudanum," her roommate said.

Hermione raised a brow, then saw the humor in the other girl’s gaze and smirked. “I won’t help
you get hooked on that shite. But I will bring you some soothing syrup if you promise to leave now
and head straight back to the market.”

Parvati groaned. “You’re no fun.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining when we snuck into a pleasure house dressed in our skivvies.”

Parvati smiled. “We still have the outfits you know, we could pay another visit.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, fighting back a laugh. “Time to go, Parv.” She was relieved to see traces
of her friend’s lascivious humor bobbing to the surface. She started to shoo her down the aisle.
“Now get out of here before my boss gets a good look at you.”

“Embarrassed of me, luv?”

“Humiliated.”

Parvati tossed a wink over her shoulder as she rounded the aisle. And collided fully into the
nervous customer who was no longer occupied with Snape. “Bloody hell!” Parvati shouted, nearly
toppling over.

Hermione cringed, darting forward to help steady the girl. Snape came out from behind the counter
as well, but before anyone else could get a word in the odd man straightened to his limited height
and peered at the girls, first to Hermione, then to Parvati. And had a full-blown panic attack. He
opened and closed his mouth several times, a gaping fish, and then started to walk back towards
the door, knocking into displays as he went.

Snape stopped in his tracks, watching the man with obvious irritation radiating from every pore.
Hermione stared after him dumbly, too shocked by his bizarre behavior to do much else. He finally
ran into the door, reaching blindly for the knob, eyes still fastened to Parvati in terror.

The girl in question raised a dark brow, finding her voice. “What’s your problem, huh?”

He released a terrified squeak and threw the door open, spinning on his heal and darting outside in
the space of a heartbeat. The three remaining people in the shop all stood silently in his wake for
several beats before Snape strode forward and slammed the door closed.

“Bloody moron,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Hermione to make out. Then
his black gaze darted to them. “Are you a customer?” His severe expression told them he already
knew the answer.

Parvati blinked, glancing at Hermione and then back to him, looking properly cowered. “Um… not
exactly, I-”

“Then get out.”

She leaped out of Hermione’s grasp. “Gladly!”

She darted around Snape and slipped through the door without a backward glance. Hermione stood
in the middle of the floor glancing around, wondering if she hallucinated the last few minutes.
Finally, she brought her eyes to Snape, who was watching her in turn, something unreadable in his
gaze. She fidgeted anxiously, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry about that man-”

“Quirrell.”

Hermione blinked. “Quirrell,” she repeated. “I seem to keep scaring him off.” She'd meant it in jest,
hoping to elicit a softer reaction from the brooding figure before her. Instead, he cocked his head
like the bird of prey he so resembled, examining her more closely.

“Yes. It would seem you are quite skilled at doing so.” A pause. “At long last, we’ve found
something you’re good at.”

She sighed, turning on her heel and heading back to the shelves, not ready to face the formidable
snark of her boss just yet. She quickly brushed the strange incident aside, her mind already drifting
to her plans for the evening, and the task she had been assigned.

“What did she say exactly?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “I’ve already told you everything she said-”

“You obviously paraphrased.”

“How would you know-”

“Because I know how Granger talks! Now stop being a vacuous arse and tell me everything she
said!”

Potter closed his eyes, tipping his head back.

“As fond as I am of your chronically sunny disposition, I’m afraid I have better things to do with
my day.”

“Don’t you dare walk away! We agreed you could be the one to visit her if you reported back
every detail of your interaction.”

Potter pinned him with the full force of his annoyance. “I don’t recall making any such agreement,
Malfoy. Furthermore, it was always going to be me who went to her because I’m her best friend.”

Draco scoffed, turning away. “You’re completely useless, Potter. I’m going to see her myself.”

“I highly advise you refrain from fulfilling that urge, Malfoy.”

Draco seethed. “I need to see her.”

“Why don’t you stop and think about what Mione needs instead.”

Draco ground his teeth together, the urge to throttle the idiot standing before him strong. He’d
stayed up all night awaiting word from Potter, expecting the man to report back on his visit with
Granger. When nothing came he’d assumed the worst, paying a visit to Grimmauld only to find the
house empty. And of course Black was the only aristocrat to dismiss his maid and butler staff,
leaving behind no one to take down a message.
Draco had been left with no recourse beyond pinning a note to the door, demanding Potter meet
him at the park first thing in the morning or else face his ground splitting wrath. They currently
stood in the vibrant heart of Kensington Park just north of the Albert Memorial, the Basin pond to
their backs. Children ran around the water’s edge, laughing and splashing, mothers and nannies
watching with fond amusement. The serene setting did nothing to calm the storm raging inside of
him.

“I’m tired of this run around bullshite. I barely see her as it is and now I have to rely on you as a
messenger. It’s bollocks.”

“She just lost her friend, Malfoy, she needs time.”

“Are those her words or yours?”

“Both.”

Draco scowled. “So she’s fine with you paying her a visit but she draws the line at me?”

“Our relationships with her are very different.”

He narrowed his eyes and kicked at the grass like a petulant child. “I need to see her. Even for just
a few minutes. I need to see her with my own eyes.”

Potter groaned, shaking his head. “You’re as stubborn as she is.”

“She doesn’t have to sneak out, I’ll find a way in-”

“I’m taking her to the party tomorrow night.”

Draco blinked, rearing back. “What?”

“I’m taking her to the party-”

“I heard you, idiot.”

Potter scowled. “You’re a piece of work.”

“She agreed to come?”

“Yes.” Draco raised a brow. Potter rolled his eyes. “I had to guilt her into it but she finally
relented," the man elucidated.

Draco's nose twitched. He’d been planning on skipping the party, knowing he’d be wrangled into
escorting Astoria if he attended. Now it seemed his plans had changed. “I’ll need a few minutes
alone with her.”

“Don’t look at me.”

“You can help cover for her while we slip out-”

“I don’t want anything to do with the two of you slipping out together.”

“Fucking hell, Potter, would you prefer I cause a bloody scene and abscond with her entirely?”

The other man pinched the bridge of his nose. “I only get migraines when I’m around you, did you
know that?”
“The party is at Wilton Place in Belgrave Square, we can sneak out to the gardens when the old
bastard is delivering his speech.”

Potter took a deep breath. “It’s like a steady building pressure behind my eyes. Feels like my skull
is caving in.”

“Everyone will be distracted. I can pay off the doorman to keep guard for us.”

“I also hear a slight ringing in my ears.”

“Yes, that should work.”

Potter rolled his eyes once more. “Can I go now?”

Draco blinked, remembering the man at his side. “You’re still here?”

“Always a pleasure, Malfoy. The next time you pin a death threat to my door, leave out the swear
words, it warps Sirius’s innocent mind.”

“Tell the heathen to hire a butler like a normal person.”

Potter saluted him with a smirk and took off through the hedges, whistling brightly as he went.
Draco glared at his retreating figure. Bloody ponce. As he made his way in the opposite direction
he noticed a familiar carriage pull out along the cobblestone path ahead.

He swallowed thickly, dodging behind a tree. Too late.

“Very subtle, Draco!” Came the feminine voice, laced with amusement.

Draco cringed, still hidden behind the thick trunk of the hornbeam. “I was afraid of projectiles
flying at my head!” he called back, hearing the horses come to a slow stop.

“I’m sure that’s a common occurrence for you.”

He laughed lightly, the tension melting away. He stepped out from his hiding spot, gazing up at
the woman seated within the gleaming teal carriage.

“Fancy a ride?” she asked.

He took a deep breath, gazing about the park. “Such a beautiful day, thought I’d take it by foot.”
He met her pale eyes once more. “Fancy a stroll?”

She smirked, then looked to her driver. “Martin, Lord Malfoy is going to escort me for a few
minutes. Please wait here.”

The driver twitched nervously. “Miss Astoria, your father gave me strict instructions to-”

“Very good, Martin, I won’t be but a moment, enjoy the sunshine.”

She took Draco’s offered hand and gathered her copious skirts with the other, carefully stepping
onto the platform and then down to the pavement. The driver opened and closed his mouth before
finally sighing, directing the horses to trot further along the road.

“I tend to cause your staff nothing but coronaries," Draco observed.

Astoria smiled. “Yes, our butler is still recovering from your last visit.”
“About that…” he stuffed his hands in his pockets, eyes averted to the grass. “I’m sorry about what
I said.” He forced his gaze upward, chest tight. “Truly.”

Her smile faded to a wry smirk. “Consider yourself forgiven. I know you didn’t mean it
maliciously. You’re just an idiot.”

He blinked. “Your sister is rubbing off on you.”

“Don’t tell her that, she’ll get a big head.”

He studied her profile. “Confidence looks good on you. You should try wearing it more often.”

The amusement faded from her expression entirely. “Easy for a man of wealth and power to say.”

“Good point.” He turned his focus ahead. “I’ve been wanting to speak to you again-” he stopped
short, recalling Pansy’s words. “I mean, I wanted to speak with you.”

Astoria raised a dark brow. “About our pending engagement?”

He released a slow breath. “Precisely.”

“I overheard my parents talking last night.”

His head snapped around. “About us?”

“About my dowry.”

His jaw ticked. “Fuck.”

She released a nervous laugh.

“Shite. Sorry.” He cringed. “I was just speaking to someone else, still haven’t switched over my
vocabulary.”

“Who were you speaking with?”

Draco blinked, his mind still reeling from her previous revelation, unable to think up a cover story.
Why the bloody hell do you need a cover story? She won’t have the first clue what we were talking
about… “Potter," he replied.

Astoria lost her footing, collapsing into him. “Oh! Sorry!” she shrieked as Draco gently grasped her
arm, helping steady her.

“Are you alright?

She blushed profusely, nodding quickly. “Yes, there must have been a rock or something.”

Draco blinked, gazing at the smooth pavement. “Right.”

She swallowed lightly. “So, what did you and Harry discuss?”

Draco felt a strange sensation grip him. He studied her face, flushed hot and carefully void of
emotion. No bloody way… He shook his head. It just couldn’t be. He placed her hand in the crook
of his elbow to prevent her from taking another tumble as he led them onward. “We were just
discussing the Naval party tomorrow night.”
She glanced at him with wide eyes. “You’re going to that?”

“Seems so.”

She blinked. Then her expression transformed once more, to something far too knowing. “She’s
going to be there, I take it?”

Draco stumbled over the same invisible rock. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s alright, Draco. I don’t mind that you’re in love with someone else.”

His heart leaped into his throat. “I don’t- what do you- how-”

“I do hope you’re more poetic when in her company. If memory serves correct she’s quite
intelligent. I imagine you’ve got to be much quicker on your feet to hold her interest.”

Draco straightened, gaze narrowing. “Did Daphne tell you?”

“No, she didn’t. I’m not as addle-brained as everyone likes to think.”

His eyes softened. “I never thought you were.”

She smiled sadly. “I know. You’re one of the few who doesn’t treat me like a china doll. Which is
why I find your company somewhat enjoyable, in small doses anyway.”

He smirked. “Stop. You’re making me blush.”

She mirrored his expression. “So, is that the reason for your sudden interest in the Naval party?”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, reluctant to reveal too much. But at the same time, he was
enticed by the prospect of speaking about it to someone outside of his immediate group of friends.
And Potter. Perhaps Astoria would bring a different perspective to the fold. “Yes, she’s the reason
I’m going.”

Astoria nodded, averting her gaze to the flowering shrubs lining the walkway. “How lucky she is to
have such devotion.”

Draco sighed, glancing at her with a heavy heart, but before he could speak she shook her head.

“I didn’t mean it that way," she explained. "I just envy her ability to possess the love of the person
she loves in turn.”

He looked away, pain seizing his chest. He forced his free hand into his pocket to prevent from
pressing it against the open wound. Astoria didn’t seem to notice.

“You know if you accept the invitation our parents are going to force us to arrive together," she
continued.

He nodded. “I know.”

“She won’t mind you attending with your prospective fiancé?”

He laughed bitterly. “She’s going as Potter’s date so I don’t think she gets much say in the matter.”

She’s also banned me from visiting her. Stubborn wench. His fingers curled into a fist in his
pocket. He almost missed the way Astoria’s hand clenched around his arm.
“But they’re like… brother and sister, aren’t they?”

Draco nodded casually, watching her from the corner of his eye. "They’re strictly platonic.”

She arched a brow. “So are we, and look at the situation we’re in.”

“Our families are different. Black is a proclaimed bachelor with no social ambitions. He could care
less if Potter married. In fact, the man’s such an outlier he’d probably insist Potter marry for love if
at all.”

She cleared her throat. “And what about Granger? Doesn’t she have to wed to regain rights to her
family estate?”

Draco took a deep breath, the ache spreading out to his limbs, a festering rot. “Yes. But she’s as
unconventional as Black, if not more so. She won’t rush down the aisle for anything but love.”

Draco paused. I didn’t tell her I loved her when I proposed.

His chest tightened. Idiot.

“So… is your plan to marry her then?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Right now my plan is to see her at the party. I take it day by day.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

His brows drew together as he glanced at her, seeing true despair in her features. “For what?”

“I thought you had it easier because you’re a man... but you’re just as trapped as I am, aren’t you?”

He held her gaze, gloom blossoming between them, radiating from their every pore. “It would
seem so.”

They basked in their shared misery for another few heartbeats before she finally glanced away,
leaving him to study her delicate profile. Pansy’s voice once more filled his head. “... try
listening… you have heard of listening, yes?” Even in his mind, the harpy gave him grief.

“Tori," he spoke. She glanced up, eyes bright and doe-like. “What do you want?” he asked her.

She tilted her head. “I’m sorry?”

He stopped walking, gently grasping her arm to draw her to a standstill at his side. “If you could
have any future you wanted, no matter how unrealistic, what would it be?”

She laughed. “I used to play this game with Daph when we were little-”

“It’s not a game.”

Her expression slowly fell, then hardened. “Then it’s a cruel jest.” She tried to pull away but he
held fast.

“I’m serious, Tori-” he fell silent as a couple strolling in the opposite direction passed them by.
Once they were out of earshot he continued, eyes narrowed. “I want to know what you want most.”

“Why, so you can buy it for me out of guilt?”

He drew back. “Guilt?”

“You plan on denying my father’s offer and leaving me in shambles-”

“Of course not!” His chest heaved, she glanced around quickly, shushing him.

“Keep your voice down!”

“I would never do that to you,” he hissed, leaning in close. “I’m trying to help you-”

“I thought I made it clear last time, I don’t want your help-”

“Dammit, Tori, work with me here! I’m fucking trying to make this right for the both of us but you
won’t meet me halfway-”

“I want to be a writer, dammit!”

Draco blinked, mouth clamping shut. She swallowed, glancing around once more, a blush staining
her cheeks. He continued to stare at her. She rolled her eyes, tugging free of his grasp at last.

“Nevermind!” She hissed, marching away.

Draco snapped out of his daze, leaping forward and seizing her arm once more. “Wait! I’m sorry, I
just- I wasn’t expecting-”

“You expected me to say I want to marry a prince or design pretty dresses.”

He blinked again. “What? No… I mean, maybe…” She scoffed and tried to storm off. “Shite, just
give me a minute to process this," he asked.

“There’s nothing to process! You asked me a question and I gave you an answer. The game is
over.”

“I told you this isn’t a game.”

“Well, it might as well be!”

“Why? There are plenty of female authors.”

She scowled. “Yes, and what an easy road they’ve had getting published.”

He stood back, examining her in a new light. “I had no idea you even wrote.”

“No one does, except for Daphne.” She crossed her arms, glancing away. “Father would never
approve. He’d never let me submit my work little less allow it to be published.”

Draco’s posture eased now that it seemed she wasn’t going to run off again. “What if you used a
pseudonym?”

“It’s not my name that’s the problem. He doesn’t want either of his daughters to have a career. He
wants us married and popping out heirs.”

His wheels started turning. “Are you a novelist or journalist?”

She shifted on her feet, apprehension coloring her face. “The former.”

“That’s impressive, Tori.”

Her blush deepened, she glanced down. “Not really. I’m locked inside most of the time, it’s not like
I have much else to do.”

Her words inspired a sudden memory. “Why were you crying that day?”

She glanced up. “What day?”

“When I paid you a visit last. You were crying in the sitting room.”

She took a tentative step back. “Oh. That was…”

He raised a staying hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”

She shook her head. “It’s not that, I just… it’s not entirely my story to tell.”

His brows drew together. Interesting. He pushed on. “Do you have a completed manuscript?”

She rubbed her arm absently. “Yes… why?”

“Bring it with you to the party tomorrow.”

She tipped her head. “Draco, what are you up to?”

His face split into a Cheshire grin, eyes alight. “I have an idea.”

Her expression was caught between trepidation and humor. “God help us all.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear before facing the red door. He
rapped his knuckles against the wood. The privacy slot slid open, dark eyes peering out. “Egbert.”

The eyes drew away, the sound of turning locks quick to follow. The door opened to reveal a
smoke cloud, white and bitter. Harry took a deep breath of putrid alley air before stepping inside.
He passed by the doorman with a nod and quickly descended the hall. He walked to the end,
emerging through the beaded curtain and then stopping dead.

The main room was overflowing with people, the floor carpeted by sprawling bodies. He blinked
rapidly, trying to clear the hazy fog from his vision, every hose of the hookah in use. A group of
girls in the corner caught his eye, clad in only their shifts, seated upon pillows and plaiting each
other’s hair.

He crossed the room carefully, mindful of stepping on hands and bare feet. A man was passed out
with his shirt open, limbs askew. Harry shook his head, not envying him the muscle cramps he’d
inevitably have upon waking. The girls stopped their ministrations, gazing up through heavy-lidded
eyes.

“Hello, luvs.” Harry lowered to his haunches. “You wouldn’t happen to know a pretty brunette by
the name of Susan, would you?”

They shook their heads. He sighed deeply, taking in more smoke than intended, his eyes tearing.
He stood and resumed his slow search of the room. He was on the verge of giving up, ready to
invade the private rooms in the hall, when he saw a familiar river of brown hair in the corner.

A girl lay on her side, facing the wall, clearly asleep. Or dead. It was hard to tell from this distance.

Harry leaped over a few bodies to inspect more closely, walking through a cloud so thick he
couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, and then quickly knelt down, placing a hand on her bare
arm. She didn’t flinch. He gently rolled her to her back, brushing the long strands away from her
face. It was Susan alright.

He groaned, hovering his hand over her face to feel her breath. It was so shallow it took several
moments for him to confirm she was still alive. “Fucking hell.”

When his attempts at rousing her came to naught he leaned forward to scoop her into his arms,
teetering slightly as he rose to his feet with her added weight. He made his way to the beaded
curtain once more, no one bothering to glance in their direction as he left the room with the prone
girl in his arms. He made his way down the hall and readied his excuse for the doorman. To his
surprise, and great unease, the man didn’t bat an eye at the sight of the woman in his grasp, he
merely stood from his stool and held open the door.

“Good day, Sir.”

Harry blinked, adjusting the dead weight in his arms. “Yeah. Same to you.”

He was relieved he had the forethought to tell the carriage driver to wait for him at the end of the
alley, blocking the view of the entrance from pedestrians and traffic. He’d wanted to prepare for
the worst. Sadly he found it.

Susan didn’t stir as he carefully maneuvered her inside, laying her across one of the seats and
removing his coat to stuff it beneath her head as a makeshift pillow. He slipped the driver extra
money to keep his mouth shut about what he saw and instructed him on where to go next.

They pulled into the driveway of Grimmauld half an hour later, Harry was relieved to see his
godfather was still out. But he could be returning at any time, and Harry wasn’t keen on explaining
the situation when the man found an unconscious woman in his parlor. So Harry carried her
upstairs to his chambers, laying her upon the mattress with a sigh of exhaustion. She was a slight
thing but carrying her all the way from the entrance had been an exercise.

Her expression remained completely lax, utterly lost to the coma-like sleep of the poppy. He sat on
the floor beside her, leaning against his nightstand.

Well, he thought ruefully, running a hand through his wild mane, finally got a woman in my bed.
He laughed at his own silent musings.

Ron wants to marry this one. He tipped his head back, staring at the crown molding with narrowed
his eyes, chest tightening. Fuck love.

As the carriage pulled off Uxbridge Road into the private community of Holland Park Tom felt a
pang in his jaw from grinding his teeth. He released a long breath through his nose, watching the
lavish townhomes pass by the window with narrowed eyes. He’d wasted no time in accepting
Dolohov’s invitation to attend the private gathering of so-called ‘like-minded’ individuals, as the
solicitor was fond of putting it. He was surprised to receive the invitation so soon after their brief
and somewhat tense encounter. He suspected the man was after something, something he thought
Tom could deliver.

Tom was only too happy to enter the snake pit to hear the man out. He was equipped with fangs as
well, and was always fascinated by the company of other predators. He descended the carriage in a
leap and bid the driver farewell after handing over an extra hearty tip, his spirits already lifting at
the thought of the evening to come. While being in the presence of such opulence normally set his
hackles to rise, he smoothed his sleek fur back and reminded himself that this was exactly what he
wanted. The plan was going accordingly, ahead of schedule perhaps, but he would make it work.
He always did.

He climbed the marble steps to the front door and raised his hand to grab the brass knocker. Before
he could make contact the door swung open to reveal a thin graying butler, face pinched with
perpetual distaste.

“May I help you, Sir?”

His sour tone suggested he would be happy to shut the door in Tom’s face. Tom drew in a slow
breath, instantly reminded of all the times he’d been snubbed at Cambridge and medical school for
his less than spotless background, for his lack of blue blood.

Being snubbed by a member of the wait staff was always worse somehow, that the people paid to
scrub chamber pots still placed themselves above him, as though they could see into his very soul
and knew exactly what he was. A misfit, a miscreant, forever a filthy dock hand cursed to scrub the
belly of ships until his fingers bled for all eternity.

Tom blinked, pulling himself out of his reverie. His eyes narrowed dangerously, irritated with
himself for allowing his mind to drift at a time like this. He took his ire out on the man standing
before him.

“My name is Doctor Thomas Riddle. I received an invitation from Mr. Antonin Dolohov.”

His tone suggested the butler was an idiot for not already knowing this.

The butler gave him a thorough once over. Tom bristled. He was in his most expensive bespoke
suit, purchased at the same store all the elite shopped at. Yet he felt like a child playing dress-up
beneath the old man’s shrewd gaze. An imposter.

Tom’s jaw ticked, fists tightening reflexively. Finally, the butler stepped away, beckoning Tom
inside.

“Welcome, Doctor. The others have been expecting you.”

Tom strode past the man without acknowledgment, shoulders back. Conversation could be heard in
the parlor off the main entrance, and as Tom turned to face the room a familiar voice called his
name.

“Ah! Riddle! I’m so glad you were able to join us!” Dolohov crossed the gleaming wood floors
with a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other. “Welcome!”

Tom slid into his elitist persona with ease. He’d crafted the disguise while at University and it now
fit him like a second skin. “Of course. It was kind of you to think of me, Dolohov.”

The man smiled, eyes slightly glazed and mannerisms stilted. This certainly wasn’t his first drink.
“Come, come, I want to introduce you to the others.”

Tom fell into step beside the man, tucking his hands into his pockets as he glanced casually about
the home, eyes drifting past priceless artworks and antiques as though they were nothing more than
window decoration. Once upon a time, he’d been gobsmacked by such blatant wealth, perturbed by
it, even as much as he coveted it. He’d since learned to treat it with as much disregard as those born
into such a lifestyle if he stood any chance of assimilating.
As they entered the parlor the conversation ceased, heads turning to stare at the newest arrival.
Two men were seated in leather armchairs facing the roaring fireplace, two others stood by the
drink cart, puffing away on cigars and nursing lowball glasses in their hands. Inside Tom was
shaking his head at the tragically cliché image they all made, outwardly his expression remained
neutral, pleasantly indifferent.

He knew the type of men these were. Business tycoons and political leaders. They were
bombarded by eager arse kissing day in and day out. They’d only spare Tom a passing glance if he
proved interesting, an intriguing anomaly in their otherwise normal and boring routine of running
the world. Tom wasn’t intimidated. He harbored no doubt he was the most fascinating individual in
this room, mostly for reasons he couldn’t disclose without killing them all, but that was just a
minor detail. He merely needed to set the stage, line them up to knock them down. This was going
to be fun.

“Men, gather round! I have someone you absolutely must meet.”

Tom raised a dark brow, intrigued by Dolohov’s grand build up. True, the man was well plied with
drink, but he also was clearly trying to endear himself to Tom.

Or he’s setting me up for something with the others…

His senses came to life, instincts roaring within him as the two men standing at the drink cart
closed in. His fists clenched in his pockets, he forced his fingers to relax and drew them free,
resting casually at his sides.

“This is Doctor Thomas Riddle, just got back to London. He attended Cambridge and medical
school in England before traveling the world. He’s a right genius and clever sort, if you know what
I mean.”

Tom smirked, looking smug and appreciative of Dolohov’s concise summary. Inwardly he was
sharpening his claws against the whetstone, ready for the questions he knew were sure to follow.

“Doctor, good to meet you. Jonathan Avery,” one of the men said, pulling the cigar free of his
mouth and extending a hand.

Tom met it with his own, grip steady and sure. “Pleasure. And there’s no need for formalities. Call
me Riddle.”

Avery nodded once, expression pleased and curious. Tom imagined they were used to most men of
their caliber demanding everyone address them by their full title. The man standing beside Avery
rubbed at his sandy colored mustache, eyes roaming Tom’s figure, assessing.

“The name’s Yaxley. Corban Yaxley.” He finally lowered his hand, extending it as though in
challenge.

Tom fought the urge to roll his eyes. The man was obviously easily run over by his counterparts,
which explained this ghastly attempt at dominance. Tom shook his hand with a smirk, already
dismissing him as useless in his mind. His focus instead went to the two men still seated on the
chairs, watching the scene unfold with guarded expressions. This was where the power lied.

Dolohov clamped Tom on the back, making him cringe internally even as his gaze remained fixed
across the room. The longer he gazed upon the seated men the more he noticed a familial
resemblance. His heart leaped. Could it be? He’d been expecting a foot in the door. Not to strike
gold...
“Riddle,” Dolohov began, gesturing with his drink. “May I introduce you to the infamous
Lestrange brothers.”

Tom's pupils dilated. One of the men tipped his head, eyes roaming Tom from bottom to top.

“Riddle…” he raised a dark brow, finally meeting his eyes. “Welcome.” He smiled, teeth gleaming
in the firelight. “I’m Rabastan, this here is Rodolphus.”

The elder Lestrange released a long breath of smoke, lowering his cigar. “I’m more than capable of
speaking for myself, Rab. You’re worse than Bella.”

Rabastan shrugged lighting, taking a sip from his glass, watching Tom over the rim.

“So,” he continued, licking the liquor from his top lip. “How did you meet our Dolly?”

Dolohov groaned, stepping away from Tom and making his way towards the drink cart. “Must you
embarrass me in front of guests, Rabastan?”

“He usually does a good enough job of that on his own,” Avery said with a smirk, winking at Tom
as though it were some inside joke between them.

“Bloody hilarious, the lot of you.” Dolohov grabbed a crystal decanter, removing the lid. “Riddle,
what are you drinking?”

Tom glanced over. “Bourbon, neat. Thank you.”

Dolohov waved a hand. “None of that, now. You’re among friends, Riddle. No need to be so
proper.”

“Perhaps he was instilled with a bit more manners than you,” Rodolphus said, once more facing
the fire.

“You’ll have to excuse Antonin,” Yaxley sidled closer. Too close. Tom’s muscles tensed but he
forced himself to remain poised and relaxed. “His mother was a gypsy who convinced his father to
raise him in Westminster.”

Tom’s jaw ticked. Westminster was an upper-class neighborhood where many of the Peerage kept
smaller London homes. He forced a smirk, stomach clenching in disgust. “What a travesty. I
suppose he must be forgiven.”

Yaley laughed, clapping him on the back. Tom’s eyes twitched. Avery looked pleased as well, but
Rabastan gazed upon him with an unnerving shrewdness. “We’ve gotten off subject, as usual. How
did the two of you meet?”

Dolohov crossed the floor, extending a glass of amber liquid to Tom. “We met at the Orphanage on
Bromley. Riddle’s the physician there.”

Rabastan’s eyes flashed, expression transforming into something lethal. Rodolphus reacted
similarly, head snapping round, eyes narrowed dangerously. It thrilled Tom to no end.

“What the bloody hell were you doing at the orphanage?” Avery asked with clear distaste.

“I was conducting an inspection for a client," Dolohov replied with boredom.

Tom held Rabatstan’s gaze, slowly sipping at his drink, relishing the uncertainty in the other man’s
eyes as Tom refused to be shaken.
“Who the hell is your client?”

“You know I can’t tell you that, Jon.”

“Well Riddle obviously knows, he can tell me.”

“He’s a doctor, idiot, he’s bound to more secrecy than I am.”

“Secrecy must be a large part of your work,” Rodolphus cut in, causing the three men surrounding
Tom to fall silent, deferring to their leader.

Tom grinned slowly, gaze calm and steady. “Naturally.”

The brothers shared a charged look, Tom could practically see the wheel’s turning behind their
eyes, but his attention was pulled away as new footsteps came into the room, the gait clipped and
light.

A woman. And certainly no maid. She wore a blood red gown, the plunging neckline revealing
ample cleavage and a glittering diamond necklace, her black hair drawn up with loose stands
grazing her pale neck and shoulders. Her walk was positively feline, confidence radiating from
every pore, and her kohl-lined eyes were fixed upon Tom, bright and hungry.

His heart jolted. She made quite the sight. And instantly he knew... the greatest threat yet had just
entered the room.

She licked her rouge-stained lips, sidling up next to one of the chairs and sitting on the arm,
running her hands along the elder brother’s arm.

“Roddy, darling, you didn’t tell me we were having someone new to the house. I would have
dressed up for the occasion.” She had yet to take her eyes off Tom. He watched her in turn, sensing
something truly wild in his midst. A feral beast, more dangerous for its unpredictability.

“You look breathtaking as always, my treasure.” Rodolphus took her hand in his, kissing her
fingertips. “May I introduce Doctor Thomas Riddle.” A beat. “He works at the girl's home on
Bromley.”

The woman’s gaze narrowed, red lips parting in a wide grin that revealed dripping fangs. Tom’s
spine straightened. “How marvelous," she spoke. Her eyes gleamed as she stood, sauntering across
the room with swaying hips, yet he could tell the stride came naturally to her. She put on no show
for him. She was the show. “Bellatrix Lestrange, luv.” She presented herself, voice deep, chin high
and hand raised expectantly. Tom didn’t miss a beat, capturing it in his strong grasp and pressing
his lips to her knuckles. Her pupils expanded rapidly, as did his own.

“Utterly charmed," he murmured, retaining his grip on her fingers. “I am honored to be in your
home, Madam Lestrange.”

She tipped her head back and released a throaty laugh, causing her husband to smile indulgently
even as Yaxley and Avery shifted uncomfortably, as though the noise brought them great distress.
“This little shack?” She shook her head, cleavage jostling with the movement. “This property
belongs to Ethan Parkinson, dear. Roddy and I would never be caught dead buying a house in this
neighborhood. Not even to hide bodies in.”

Tom released her hand with a grin. His skin burned from the acid of her touch. He knew exactly
who he was dealing with now. All the characters were introduced. The play could finally begin.
“Will Parkinson be joining us?” Dolohov asked.

“He had other business to attend to this evening. As did Travers. This is everyone,” Rabastan
replied, finally standing with his empty glass held aloft.

“Where is that damned butler? If I have to refill my own drink one more bloody time-”

“I’ve instructed Perry to give us some privacy,” Rodolphus stubbed his cigar out in a crystal
ashtray at his side. “You are more than capable of supplying yourself with liquor, brother, of that, I
am most certain.”

Rabastan rolled his eyes but made no other comment, making his way to the drink cart. “So, are
we going to stand around chatting like a bunch of hens or are we going to get down to business?”

Tom’s heart beat faster.

“Very well, might as well get to it,” Rodolphus said before standing, cracking his neck. “Riddle,
you play cards?”

Tom switched gears effortlessly. “I’ve been known to engage in a few games over the years.”

Bella slid to his side, grasping his arm. “Fantastic. I have a sneaking suspicion you’re an expert at
most things, darling.” She winked. “Escort me to the billiards room?”

“It would be an honor." He didn’t spare a glance for her husband as they passed, but he already
garnered the impression the man couldn’t care less about his wife’s blatant flirtations. She did so
with such ease it was obviously a regular occurrence. Tom doubted it ever came to anything of
note. Or perhaps they had an understanding. One that he would happily exploit if needed.

The billiards room was already set up with a felt lined table in the center, another roaring fireplace
in the corner.

“Will you be joining us, Madam?” Tom asked.

She tipped her head up, dark eyes searching his face. “Most men wouldn’t bother asking such a
question, Doctor.”

“Riddle,” he corrected on instinct, eager to separate himself from the elitists who'd terrorized his
youth.

She smirked. “I think I prefer calling you Doctor. You don’t mind, do you, luv?”

“Not at all.”

She nodded, looking quite pleased about something he couldn’t quite place. “Alas, I will leave the
gambling to the boys. I merely traipse about the room and create a rather frustrating distraction for
everyone.”

He held her gaze. “I have a feeling you cause a distraction most everywhere you go.”

She laughed once more, eyes bright. “Oh, I like you.” She squeezed his arm before releasing him
and stepping away. "I’ll let you boys play.” She walked to her husband’s side, placing a hand
against his chest and perching on her tiptoes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. Her lip rouge left
behind a mark. She wiped it away with her thumb. “Have fun, my luv.”

He smirked down at her, hand gripping her waist. “I always do.”

Tom glanced away, pulling out a chair and seating himself across from Dolohov, the chairs on
either side of him empty. Rabastan took one and soon enough Rodolphus filled the other.
Sandwiched between the two most powerful men in the room. Perhaps they meant to intimidate
him. Tom couldn’t be more pleased.

“Are you familiar with poker, Riddle?” Rabastan asked, withdrawing a pack of cards from a
compartment beneath the table.

“The American game?”

Yaxley laughed, twirling the ice in his glass. “Those bloody yanks may be heathens but they’ve
certainly got their vices down to an art form.”

“Actually, the game derives from an ancient card game played by a tenth-century Chinese
emperor.”

Everyone looked to Tom. He smirked. “Apologies. I am simply brimming with useless

information.” The men all laughed. His chest swelled.

“I find anything relating to the fine art of gambling hardly useless,” Rabastan opened the deck,
shaking free the cards and beginning a skilled shuffle.

“So, tell us more about your job, Riddle. I find it remarkably fascinating,” Avery spoke around his
cigar.

Tom drew back in his chair, posture impeccable, naturally mirroring those around him. “I am sure
you encounter far more interesting things in your day than tending the sick.”

“Avery owns a chain of rundown steel mills. I assure you, he doesn’t.”

“It’s a hell of a lot more fascinating than owning a sodding paper mill,” the man shot back
defensively. Yaxley rolled his eyes, seemingly unaffected by the slight.

“Gentlemen. Behave.” Rodolphus took a drink. “Tell us, Riddle, what is it like working and living
around so many young women?”

Tom took a steady breath. This was it. The moment that would set the tone for the remainder of the
conversation. And finalize his position on the board. He opened his mouth, but before he could
utter a word a loud knock sounded at the front door, echoing through the marble entryway and into
the room.

Everyone turned their heads.

“I thought you said we weren’t expecting anyone else?” one of the idiots spoke.

“We aren’t.” Rodolphus pushed back in his chair, standing. “Just a moment, lads, I’ll return
shortly.”

Tom’s jaw clenched. The bloody interruption had cost him the crucial moment. He’d have to
carefully reconstruct the opportunity once more. He was pulled from his seething thoughts by the
sound of Rodolphus’s boisterous laughter.

“Come on, come say hello to the others," Rodolphus bid, out of sight from the doorway.

“I would rather not," an irritated voice replied.

“They haven't seen you in ages. Just drop by for a quick-”

“I’d rather you sign the papers so we can both get back to our evening.”

“Nonsense. I’ll sign as soon as you come inside.”

“Fucking hell.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Tom raised a brow. The sound of footsteps followed, two sets. Rodolphus entered the room,
followed by a very reluctant and irate looking young man that had the chiseled features and
perpetual disdain of a true blue-blood. Tom had already dismissed the fair creature as another
useless aristocrat when Rabastan sprang to his feet beside him, quickly crossing the room with his
arms outstretched.

“There’s my nephew! Where the hell have you been hiding?”

The blonde cringed but accepted the staggering embrace, glaring at the ceiling. “Under a rock.”

“Ha!” Rodolphus clapped the young man on the back. “Say hi to the boys.”

The stranger pulled out of Rabastan’s grip. “Hi to the boys.”

“Smart arse.”

“Stay for a round of cards, Drake. We’re playing poker, your favorite.”

“I really must be going. I just need Rod’s signature on these papers and I’m free from my father’s
wrath for the evening.”

“I’ll sign them once you play a round.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “You said you’d sign them if I said hello to everyone!”

Rodolphus laughed, eyes shifting to Tom. “Riddle, I’d like for you to meet my nephew, Draco
Malfoy.”

Tom nodded politely. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Malfoy looked supremely uninterested. “Mutual, I’m sure.” Then his pale gaze shifted to the man
towering at his side. He shoved papers into the center of his uncle’s chest, the gesture reminiscent
of what Hermione had done to Tom the previous night. The sudden memory made his temperature
rise. He shifted in his seat, pushing the thought aside, needing to maintain focus, control.

Rodolphus took the papers with a heavy sigh. “Bloody waste of youth, you are.”

Malfoy smirked without humor. “I’ll fetch you a pen.”

“No need.” Tom withdrew a pen from his inner coat lining, holding it aloft. “Use mine.”

Malfoy blinked, looking hesitant for the space of a heartbeat before crossing the room. “Cheers.”

Tom nodded, covertly examining the young man up close. He was handsome, dressed in the finest
of clothing, and carried himself with the casual grace of a man raised with private tutors and
etiquette coaches. Tom detested him. But he didn’t hate him. The difference may have been a fine
one, but it was the line between life and death all the same. The blonde accepted the pen and
turned back around.

“Well if you’re not going to offer us any entertainment, we’ll have to rely on Riddle’s stories,”
Rabastan said offhandedly, making his way back to the table. “He’s the doctor at the girl's home
on Bromley.”

And then the most curious thing happened. The young man froze in his tracks, shoulders going
rigid. Tom raised a brow, surely he wasn’t the only one who noticed the man’s strange reaction…

But no one seemed to pay the blonde any mind. Rabastan retook his chair, grabbing the deck of
cards. Rodolphus scribbled his name at the bottom of whatever legal document he held, and Tom
was left to study the boy alone.

Malfoy slowly turned around, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His pale gaze fixed
upon Tom. "You work where?”

Tom’s body thrummed. Fascinating. Perhaps he isn’t an innocent child after all. “I’m the
physician at the Umbridge Home for Girls.”

The blonde blinked, drawing to his full height. His eyes darkened, expression turning dangerous, so
very much like his aunt’s Tom instantly knew where his blood relation lied. “On second thought,”
Malfoy took a step forward. “I’ve got time for a quick round.”

“That’s the spirit!” Dolohov shouted, raising his glass in the air and spilling some over the side.
Rodolphus shouted his enthusiasm as well, but the object of their celebration hardly seemed aware
of their presence.

Instead, his eyes remained fastened on Tom, even as he slid into the chair directly opposite his. The
intensity of the young man’s expression was almost enough to put him on edge. Almost. Tom felt
his curiosity reach a new peak. This last-minute addition to the group was proving far more
fascinating than all the other players combined. He barely registered the cards being dealt across
the table.

“Alright, gentlemen.” Rabastan clapped his hands together, eyes bright. “Let’s play.”

Harry awoke to the sound of a scream. He jolted, banging his head on something hard. “Ow!
Fuck!” He blinked rapidly, gazing around in confusion, senses slowly returning. He spun to face
the woman on the bed as she scrambled backward with terror-filled eyes.

“Susan! Calm down! It’s me!”

He pulled himself to his feet, holding his hands up non-threateningly. She finally fell silent though
her mouth remained open, shock palpable.

“H-Harry?” her voice was thick, raspy. She gasped for air, blinking.

Harry reached for the glass of water beside the bed, holding it out. “Here, drink this.”

Her eyes flickered rapidly between the glass and his emerald gaze. “Harry?”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Bloody hell, drink the water, Susan.”

She reluctantly took the offering, downing half the contents in one go. She gasped for air afterward,
eyes more focused. “Where am I?”

He sat on the edge of the bed, one foot still on the floor. “Grimmauld.”

Her eyes widened, but before she could respond there was a knock on the door. Harry’s heart
leaped into his throat as he quickly sprinted across the room. Susan scrambled off the bed, getting
tangled in the coverlet and toppling to the floor. “Ow, shite!”

“Shut up!” he hissed over his shoulder, turning back to face the door. “Yeah?” he called out.

“I heard a woman scream. Thought I’d do my parental due diligence and check in.”

Harry closed his eyes, shaking his head. “It was me. I saw a spider.”

He could hear the smirk in his godfather’s voice. “That I can almost believe. But I also heard you
talking to someone.”

Harry rubbed his throbbing temples. “I was giving myself a pep talk before killing it.”

“I see. Well, that all sounds very reasonable.”

He glanced back. Susan covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide and pleading.

“So…” Sirius continued from the other side. “Any chance the spider survived and will go on to
press charges for kidnapping and battery?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I already dismembered the body, I’ll bury each of the legs in a separate
location, make it harder for the cops to piece together.”

“Good lad.” A pregnant pause. “Carry on then. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Finally, the sound of footsteps retreated down the hall and to the stairs. Harry thwacked his
forehead into the door. “Fuck. This. Day.”

“More like fuck this week, I’d say,” Susan whispered, slowly rising from the floor. “Will Lord
Black say anything?”

Harry shook his head, turning to face her. “No, he may not know how to act discreet but he’s the
best secret keeper you’ll ever meet.”

She nodded slowly, crawling back onto the bed after tipping sideways. He narrowed his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

She moaned low in her throat. “Like a maggot living on an animal carcass left in the sun to rot and
decay.”

He raised a brow. “Very poetic.”

“I have my moments.”

He slowly drew near, hands in his pockets. “Is it normal for you to wake up in a stranger's bed?”

She scowled. “You aren’t a stranger.”

“You know what I mean. You seem remarkably at ease.”

“I assume you brought me here from the den, arsehole.” She attempted to roll her eyes but seemed
to get dizzy midway through. “Ow, goddammit…” she clutched her stomach. “Shite. I think I’m
going to be sick.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Fuck. Hang on!” He ran to the corner and grabbed a waste tin, leaping over
an ottoman and skidding to the bed just in time to shove the basket under her face.

She opened her mouth and spilled the meager contents of her stomach. Harry cringed, turning
around to afford her some privacy, feeling his own stomach clench at the sound of her dry heaving.
“Bloody hell…” she whispered, panting lightly. “I’m sorry. Doesn’t usually get this bad.”

Harry swallowed thickly, glancing over his shoulder. “How often are you smoking?”

She closed her eyes, setting the basket on the floor beside her. “Why am I here, Harry?”

His jaw ticked, but he let her navigate around the question. For now. “I needed to speak with you. I
visited your house but you weren’t-”

“You went to my house!” She lurched forward. “Did my father see you?”

Harry shook his head. “Relax. No one was home but the maid. She told me you were out. I
hazarded a guess as to where you might be.”

She scowled. “If my father finds out I had a gentleman caller-”

“I didn’t give my name. If the maid tells him and he asks just say I’m a salesman. Or better yet, a
Jehovah’s witness.”

She fell back into the mattress, head plopping on the pillows. “Christ.”

“Funny, those were my thoughts exactly as I was carrying your unconscious body from the smoke-
filled back alley club.”

“Don’t lecture me, Potter.”

“So I’m Potter now, huh?” He walked to the other side of the bed, flopping down beside her,
leaning against the headboard.

“I can call you a meddling bastard if you’d prefer?”

He smirked. “I get enough of that from my friends, think I’ll stick with Harry if it’s all the same to
you.”

She covered her eyes with her palms. “It’s so bloody bright in here.”

“Deal with it.”

“I can’t stand you right now.”

“Well you’ll have to put up with me a bit longer I’m afraid, I have some questions for you.”

“Bloody Christ.” She buried her head in the covers. “You always have questions for me.”

“What can I say, you’re a regular fountain of information.”

“I don’t know anything else."

“Lavender is dead.”

She went rigid at his side, slowly peering up from the blankets. She blinked, then drew herself
upright. “I’m sorry.” She bit her lip. “That was her they found in the river, then?”

Harry nodded, shoulders heavy. “Yes. She was murdered.”

Susan closed her eyes, sighing deeply. “Shite.”

Harry studied her closely. “How did you know they found her body in the first place?”

She glanced at him in confusion. “I already told you, I overheard one of the officers telling my
father.”

“At the station?”

She nodded. Harry tipped his head. “You were visiting him at work?” he asked.

She blinked. “No. I work there also.”

His heart skipped a beat. “At Scotland Yard?”

“I’m a part-time receptionist for the CID.”

He grinned, leaning in. “That’s brilliant.”

She drew back, brows drawn. “Why?”

“Because I need your help getting the investigation opened.”

She swallowed heavily. “Look, Harry, I want to help but-”

“Susan, you know as well as I do Lavender’s case is going to be swept under the rug if we don’t do
something.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t know what you expect of me. I’m just a secretary-”

“Your father leads the department.”

“For large-scale crime rings, not one-off murders.”

He took a deep breath. “What if we could prove her murder is linked to something bigger,
something more sinister?”

She eyed him wearily. “Is it?”

He glanced away, staring at a random spot on the wall as his mind raced. “I’m starting to think this
goes deeper than any of us can imagine.”

Susan drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around her legs and leaned into the headboard beside
him. “Are there other murders linked to hers?”

He blinked. Bloody hell… “Bloody hell.” He looked at her sharply, eyes bright. “You have access
to records?”

She shook her head. “Oh no, don’t even think of asking me to do that, Harry.”
“The evidence is sitting right under your nose, Susan. If you can find even one case that is
remotely related to Lavender’s then I can follow up on the leads and-”

“Get yourself killed.” She shook her head. “No way, I’m not getting involved in this shite. It could
ruin both our lives and my father’s career if we’re caught.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, suspecting the pleading route wouldn’t sway her as it would Hermione.
This girl had no emotional connection to him. But they did share one vital connection… “You owe
me, Susan.”

Her eyes widened to saucers. “Excuse me?”

“I kept my mouth shut with Ron.”

She scoffed indelicately, rearing back. “Are you bloody mad? I brought you information about
Lavender in exchange for your silence!”

“Yeah, and that was well and fine when you were just flirting casually with him, but now you’ve
gone and made the idiot fall in love with you.”

She blinked, mouth clamping shut. Harry groaned, instantly regretting his underhanded tactics.

“Fuck, forget I said-”

“He loves me?" she asked.

He rubbed at his forehead, the pressure headache hitting an all-time peak. Maybe it’s not just
Malfoy that causes them… Still, better to blame the pompous arse.

She gazed forward, face tense. “He loves me…”

Harry dropped his head back, skull cracking against the headboard. “Yeah.”

She sighed. “We only just met.”

“Ron’s a hopeless romantic.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I take it you aren’t
head over heels?”

She shifted nervously. “I like him. A lot. He’s sweet and always tries so hard to impress me. I’m
not used to blokes being so... “ she shook her head. “I’m not used to nice guys I guess.”

Harry nodded. “I know the feeling.”

She glanced sideways. “Pardon?”

“Nevermind.”

She gazed forward once more. “But we’ve only known each other for-”

“Four days.”

She blinked. “Shite. Is that all it’s been?”

“Susan.” She stiffened. “If you’re just looking for something casual, please be honest with him. He
wears his heart on his sleeve and it’ll be easier to let him down easy now than drawing this out any
longer.”
She rubbed at her chest. “I… I don’t want to let him down easy. I like spending time with him.”

Harry watched her carefully. “If you stay with him, I’ll have to tell him.”

She turned to face him, eyes pleading. “Harry, please don’t. I can’t bear for him to look at me like
I’m some sort of… some sort of…” She closed her eyes. “I just couldn’t take it.”

“He’s my best mate. I can’t keep this secret from him.”

Her eyes snapped open, bright with intent. “What if I help find the files for you?”

Harry’s stomach knotted. “I don’t want-”

“I know, you’re not the type to blackmail someone.” She paused. “On second thought, you
probably are, but you’re too much of a gentleman to blackmail a woman.”

Harry raised a brow. “Fair enough.”

“If I search for cases relating to Lavender's will you promise not to say anything to Ron?”

Harry sighed deeply, pulse thrumming. “As tempting an offer as it is, I can’t take any deal that
results in me lying to my friend.”

She swallowed thickly, glancing away in defeat. Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But…” She
glanced up with hopeful eyes. “I suppose I can keep my mouth shut if you promise to tell him
yourself when you feel the time is right.”

She bit her lip. He pinned her with an intense glare. “And I don’t mean ten years from now after
you’re married with five kids.”

She blinked. “Bloody hell, that’s a bit excessive, no?”

“Ron’s got five brothers and a sister.”

She paled, looking away. “Jesus.”

“Do we have a deal?”

She was silent for a few tense beats before nodding slowly. “Yes, I suppose that’s better than
nothing.”

Harry watched her several moments longer before speaking again, muscles tense. “I have another
request for you, relating to the case.” That part wasn’t necessarily true, but it would save him from
questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.

She looked at him wearily. “What is it?”

He inhaled slowly through his nose. “I want you to see what you can find out about Doctor Thomas
Riddle.”

She tipped her head. “Is he involved?”

“I just need you to tell me if there’s anything in the records about him.”

She nodded, resigned to her fate. “You were right," she said, collapsing against the headboard once
more. “Fuck this day.”
Hermione rubbed at her tired eyes, vision blurry as she combed through the messy scrawl of yet
another resident file. She leaned back in the chair, shoulders tight with tension after hours of sitting
in the same position. She gazed at the meager stack of completed papers to her left, then to the
ominous stacks lining the four walls. She closed her eyes, tipping her head back. This was going to
take weeks, months even.

I need to work faster…

She rubbed absently at a sore muscle in her neck.

You can’t rush this. If you miss the finer details what’s the point to any of it?

She opened her eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling while another image took shape in her mind.
The Doctor’s face looked like the cat that caught the canary as she agreed to help him in his
mysterious crusade.

“Tell me what to do,” she had said, so full of righteous anger.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but his reply certainly wasn’t it.

“I need you to go through the records, determine which ones have been altered, which ones are
classified as Suitable.”

She'd blinked, shoulder dropping.

“You seem disappointed, Ms. Granger.”

“I…” she'd shaken her head. “No, I just…”

“You were expecting something more radical?”

The candlelight had danced in his eyes. She took a steadying breath, the fire cooling in her veins.
“It just seems you already have a handle on examining the records.”

He'd tipped his chin up. “It’s time-consuming. And I still have a job to do during the day. Being
the sole physical of all the residents takes up every free moment. I try to devote the majority of my
evenings to research but it’s been slow going.”

She'd nodded. That made sense, she supposed. Still… “What exactly are you looking for?”

“Commonalities between the girls who went missing. We need to find out why they were deemed
Suitable.”

Her hands had clenched at her sides. “I take it the previous physician is the one who deemed them
as such?”

“Yes.”

She'd waited for him to elaborate, the silence unnerving. So she'd pushed forward, finally asking
the question that was eating away inside her, echoing through her head like a bat in a cave. “What
do you plan on doing once you find the information you’re looking for?”

He'd smiled slowly. The predatory look didn’t frighten her as it once would have. And yet her lack
of fear was what caused her to take a step back.
What’s happening to me?

His answer had been frustratingly vague, and yet everything she had been expecting. “We shall
cross the bridge when we come to it, Hermione.”

And now here she sat, in his cramped, overfilled, makeshift office, going through file after file,
eyes burning and head throbbing. The Doctor had told her he was running an errand that evening.
When she shot him an accusing glare he had simply said it was relating to the investigation and
then strode into his chambers, closing the door behind him with finality. She reluctantly entered the
office, taking a seat and starting her slow and diligent work. He’d emerged from the room several
minutes later, dressed to the nines. Her heart had leaped into her throat, and an inane, ridiculous
thought entered her mind, louder than all the others.

Is he meeting a woman?

She blinked, mortified and angry with herself. She justified her reaction by thinking of how
irresponsible it would be for him to head out on a date while he left her the insurmountable task of
painstakingly combing through each file. She certainly wasn’t jealous. Merely curious. What part
of the investigation required him to look like a member of the peerage? She had bit her tongue as
he swept past without a glance or parting word, eyes fixed ahead as he casually buttoned his
expensive coat. It fit him perfectly, contouring the angles of his broad shoulders and tapering down
to his narrow waist.

Hermione pulled her gaze away, blushing, and buried herself in her work. Time went by quickly as
she got the hang of things, learning what to look for, then it crept by torturously slow as it all bled
together. She caught herself having to reread information twice, sometimes even three times.

She rubbed her eyes. Curfew was soon. He had given her strict instructions not to break it. Being
caught in the halls after hours would risk exposing their room of stolen documents. She faced the
desk once more, slowly gathering papers into a neat stack when a shadow passed by the room,
causing the candle to flicker. Hermione glanced up sharply, heart stuttering.

She didn’t hear any footsteps approach and had done her utmost to remain silent throughout her
work. The office was located deep in an abandoned wing, he had assured her no one ventured down
this far, most of the rooms sealed for storage.

Umbridge knows about this wing. So does Filch. She scrambled out of her chair. Unless the Doctor
is back? She quickly dismissed the notion. He had only left a few hours ago and had assured her he
would be back late, not to wait up. But why didn’t I hear the sound of her heels or Filch’s dragging
gait?

She took a tentative step forward, hoping it was merely a resident, a girl looking for a place to hide
out, maybe engage in drink or smoke. Hermione could talk her way out of discovery if that were
the case. Maybe bribe them if reasoning didn’t work. She hovered at the door. It was open ajar, she
couldn’t bear closing it all the way, but now she cursed her stupid phobia, no doubt the candlelight
cast across the opposite wall had attracted whoever was in the hall.

I can’t hide in here forever. Curfew will be soon. Better to face whoever it is and figure out the
severity of the situation.

It was strangely comforting to rationalize her way through something, the majority of her day had
shaped out to be a study in insanity. She held her breath and opened the door. The bit of hallway
directly in front of her was empty. She stepped over the threshold, glancing in either direction.
She saw no one. But a cold breeze stole past, blowing her loose curls back and rustling her skirts.
She blinked, peering down the dark expanse of corridor to the windows at the far end. One of them
appeared to be open.

She remembered Cormac climbing out of a similar window, falling into the shrubs below. The
memory felt far away, faded, from another lifetime. When Lavender had been alive. Vibrant.
Tangible. She pressed a hand to her chest, the familiar ache returning, and quickly made her way
down the hall. She darted to the window, shutting it before the cool draft attracted Filch’s
attention.

The moon was bright, a waxing crescent, the stars dimly visible through the murky pollution filling
the London air. She missed her family trips to the countryside. They often went with the Potters,
the two families sharing an estate near the seaside for a few weeks each summer. At night, she and
Harry had laid in the grass and stare up at the cosmos, bright and clear as the midday sun. They’d
trace the constellations, Hermione detailing the legends behind each one while Harry inserted
clever remarks that served to frustrate and humor her in equal measure. Their days had been filled
with exploring the caves and local wildlife. Harry would pick up just about any creature that didn’t
outright try to kill him. Hermione would gather plants and fossils in her skirts, eager to share her
bounty with her father when they returned home. When the water had been calm enough, Harry
dived backward off the cliff’s edge while she shrieked in terror until his head of soaked, messy hair
emerged, emerald gaze sparkling with mirth as he teased her mercilessly about being too afraid to
jump in after him.

But she had never mustered the courage to jump from the cliff, even the lower ones. Hermione was
perfectly content with sitting on the dock and letting her bare feet and calves take the plunge while
she read a book, hair loose around her shoulders, lightened by the bright sun. The memory was so
vivid, so real, she actually heard the sea around her, the gentle lapping of the waves, the chorus of
gulls overhead, and if she held her breath she could even hear her mother’s laughter in the
distance…

A floorboard creaked behind her, shattering the illusion. Hermione spun, eyes wide. The shadows
at either end of the intersecting hall were opaque, an inky black mass that breathed and undulated.
She took an instinctive step back as the darkness seemed to grow, to spread along the walls,
swallowing picture frames and molding, flowing tentacles reaching out for her. She stumbled back
down the hall she came from, desperate to return to the candlelight, the familiar stacks of paper.

She froze. The hairs on her arms and neck stood on end as she felt the unmistakable presence of
someone at her back. And then she felt the gust of breath ghost across her neck and down the
fabric of her loose collar.

She closed her eyes, the rational part of her mind shutting down, giving way for the impossible to
take root. She knew what awaited her on the other side, but she was too far gone with terror to even
think of running. She slowly turned around... and gulped thickly at the sight before her.

She had been braced for the worst. A mangled corpse. A flayed body. Another eyeless visage. But
the girl staring back at her appeared peaceful. Unmarred. Normal. Aside from the fact she was
levitating a foot off the ground.

Hermione gazed down at the girl’s bare feet, suspended over the hallway runner by some unseen
force. She was so overwhelmed with shock that she came out the other end, gazing back up at the
girl’s face, level with her own, and speaking without thought. “You’ve lost your shoes.”

Hermione blinked, her own words registering a moment after she'd said them, but before she had
the opportunity to smack herself in the forehead, or scream bloody murder, the ghostly apparition
tipped her head and smiled. For some inexplicable reason, Hermione found the gesture comforting.
Her chest loosened. The girl’s serene expression revealed just how young she was. Perhaps not
even a teenager. Her long hair floated around her as though underwater, gently swaying in an
invisible current.

Her skin was deathly pale, nearly translucent. The dark circles beneath her sunken eyes revealed all
Hermione needed to know about her living status, in case the levitation was merely a fancy parlor
trick. Hermione shuddered, shock and adrenaline separating her mouth from her mind. “Are you a
ghost or hallucination?”

The girl tipped her head the other way, smile still in place. “Can you speak?” Hermione prompted.

Suddenly the girl was floating backward, further along down the hall, closer to the ominous
darkness. And for some insane reason that Hermione didn’t stop to ponder, but would later berate
herself for, she took a step after the girl, reaching out.

“Wait! Don’t go!”

The girl stopped her retreat, still facing Hermione. And then she lifted a frail, pale arm and
beckoned her to follow. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She felt dizzy. The girl rotated mid-air,
facing away and continue her path down the corridor. She disappeared into the darkness. Hermione
sucked in a breath, tears in her eyes and ran after her.

What am I doing?

It was the last rational thought she remembered having that night. As she entered the oppressive
darkness she felt the air around her drop in temperature, gooseflesh breaking out along her arms.
She stepped forward and soon emerged into a beam of moonlight from the next set of windows.

The girl was ahead, face averted away, but she kept pace with Hermione, the distance between
them remaining constant as Hermione trotted down the long hallway, plunging herself into pools of
shadow and moonlight as she went. And then the girl stopped at the wall, finally turning to face
Hermione once more.

Hermione blinked in confusion, adrenaline lacing her system. The hallway was empty, seemingly
ordinary. Had she misunderstood the instructions? “What do you want?”

The girl merely tipped her head again, eyes guileless and expression serene. She reminded her a bit
of Luna. The comparison unnerved her deeply.

Hermione took a tentative step forward, opening her mouth to speak again-

And the girl floated into the wall, disappearing from sight. Hermione reared back, gasping. Her
senses returned to her all at once, whatever strange force that propelled her to blindly follow the
apparition wearing off. She covered her mouth with her hands, horrified. She started to back away
rapidly, needing to get away, go anywhere, see anyone, just as long as she wasn’t here-

She stopped mid-step, stumbling. Then blinked rapidly before narrowing her eyes. The wall
paneling. There was a gap. She swallowed.

Who cares! Get. Out. Of. Here.

And yet she was stepping forward on shaky knees, breath trapped in her throat. She ran a hand over
the wood veneer. It felt cool the touch, but otherwise normal. No skeletal hand emerged to drag her
through. She traced the seem in the wall, the gap was definitely there, but it was too narrow for her
to get her fingers under. She bit her lip, trying to pry it open with her nails, but it wouldn’t budge.
She stepped back, gazing at the wall, mind racing.

It’s a hidden door.

She released a slow breath as she spoke the realization in her mind. And suddenly, a puzzle stood
before her. One she was determined to solve.
 Delicate Pretty Things
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

. . .

Draco ran the tip of his index finger over the sharp edge of the Jack of Spades, head tipped down
and eyes pinned to the man seated across the felt lined table.

The Doctor.

He took a deep breath, trying to maintain an air of calm despite his racing heart and mind. He
works at the Home. Draco still couldn't get his head around it. What were the bloody chances? Why
is he here? He leaned back with easy grace, his mannerisms born from generations of finely tuned
idiosyncrasy.

"Place your bets, men." Rabastan took on the role of dealer, the most adept at shuffling and
maneuvering with a slight of hand that bordered on pure magic itself. Draco knew the man had a
serious gambling addiction stemming from his youth, no doubt giving way to decades of harnessed
skill.

Of course, the gentry would never label it such. The aristocracy refused to acknowledge such vices
until they impeded on financial assets, in which case they referred to a man's hardship as the result
of a poor investment or some other economic downturn. Seeing as the Lestrange family was third
in wealth only behind the Crown and Draco's own family, destitution posed no great threat.
Therefore, as was publically known, Rabastan didn't have a gambling problem. He had a fervent
pastime.

The fact that he was choosing to deal cards rather than engage in the actual game was quite
remarkable, at least to Draco. No one else seemed surprised by the turn of events, which only
perturbed the young blonde more.

Something about this entire evening is off.

Why did his father insist Draco hand deliver the legal documents to his Uncle on a Friday evening?
The magistrate's office was closed over the weekend. When Draco tried to argue the point his
father had sent him a bone-chilling look of finality, reminding him who was in charge of the family
coin purse, and if Draco hoped to see another pence to his name he would deliver the documents
without further protest.

He resented his father more each day. Always dangling a bit of silver over his head, just out of
reach, taunting. And yet Draco caved each time. Ever the obedient son. The loyal lap dog. His left
eye twitched at the mere thought of his father, perched in his study with a pipe dangling from the
corner of his mouth, naught a care in the world.

Draco blinked as he realized the room had fallen silent. All eyes were on him.

"You with us, Drake?" his Uncle prompted.

Draco's gaze narrowed. "Call."

He tossed his chips into the pot with little care. He'd picked up an unhealthy obsession with cards
as well. He'd like to blame it on some hereditary dysfunction but he wasn't related to Lestrange by
blood. Still, Hermione had once argued with him on the topic, scolding him for his rampant
patronage to the gambling dens of the east side. She'd claimed environmental factors played just as
much, if not more of a contributing factor to vices developed later in life.

She'd been so passionate on the subject, so filled with self-righteous fury. She was utterly
breathtaking. He'd argued the point simply to see her cheeks flush, her hazel eyes glow from
within, the moonlight reflecting off the Thames at her back as they stood beside the embankment,
hidden from view of the party they'd escaped.

He'd silenced her with a kiss. He'd never admit it aloud, but he loved to hear her lecture him on one
triviality or another, simply for the excuse to press his hungry mouth against hers, descending
rapidly into clawing hands and snapping teeth, animals breaking free from the constraints of their
human skin. He swallowed thickly.

Bloody hell. How do I always bring it back to her? I t's like a sickness of the mind...

He adjusted in his chair, the room stifling, desperately trying to push the image of her stern set lips
from his mind, flexing his hand beneath the table to erase the sensation of her soft curls gliding
between his fingers. He glanced up and his blood ran cold. The Doctor was watching him with an
eerie intensity, that when paired with his absolute stillness made him a disconcerting sight indeed.
And once more, Hermione's face took root in his mind.

This man lives under the same roof as her.

His spine straightened, muscles tense. "Doctor," Draco spoke, tipping his head and casually
examining the man seated across from him. "How long have you worked at the Umbridge Home?"

The man raised a dark brow, the corner of his mouth lifting up as though the question amused him.
Draco clenched his teeth. "Only a couple of weeks now."

"And before that?"

"I was practicing medicine in France before returning to London."

"France, eh?" Avery spoke around his cigar. "I hear French women are practically begging for it in
the streets there."

"Bloody hell, Jon," Rodolphus narrowed his eyes. "You're like a dog in heat."

"Just making conversation-"

"So," Draco interrupted, eyes never straying from the man seated directly across from him. "How
did you make my uncle's acquaintance in such a short time?"

"He made my acquaintance," Dolohov said, eyes on his cards. "I was fortunate enough to meet the
good Doctor while visiting a client."

Draco's eyes snapped to Antonin, a handsome, slimy sort that always unnerved Draco. "I didn't
realize you did pro bono work."

Dolohov threw his head back and laughed, as did Yaxley and Avery. Draco raised a pale brow.
"Come now, Drake, you know me better than that. I'm merely handling the estate of a young
woman who resides there. It's my duty to check in from time to time, make sure she's being looked
after properly."

"I'm sure it is," Rabastan said with a roll of his eyes. "Alright, gents, let's-"

"Who's your client?" Draco leaned forward, the game long forgotten.

Dolohov knew the Grangers. Draco never discussed such matters with Hermione, but it would
make sense they'd use the man as their solicitor. Draco assumed after their deaths Hermione's case
was turned over to a public magistrate since she was unable to access her funds until marriage. But
if Dolohov had maintained controlling rights… The idea of the man keeping Hermione under
thumb made Draco's chest quake.

"You know I can't disclose such information, Drake."

Draco felt his temperature rise, blood boiling in his veins.

"Can we at least pretend we're playing poker? Everyone place your bets." Rabastan snapped.

Draco swallowed back the steam rising in his throat. He'd find out tomorrow, at the party. He'd get
time alone with her, whether he had to drag her kicking and screaming-

"Fucking hell, Draco, get your head on straight, won't you? It's your bet."

His left eye twitched as he gazed upon the community cards, fighting back the base urge to flip the
table over in frustration. "Raise."

"Now we're playing!" Yaxley clapped his hands together, face ruddy with drink.

"What are you doing here anyway, Drake?" Antonin cut in, picking up his glass. "What urgent
matters did Lucius need attending to on a Friday evening?"

Draco picked at the corner of his card with his thumbnail. "Hell if I know. I'm just the future heir,
not to be trusted with matters of business."

Rodolphus chuckled, blowing smoke. "Don't pretend Lucius doesn't try and groom you at every
turn. You just resist him at all costs."

"Then why did he seal the envelope?"

"Because he likes stamping that gaudy 'M' on everything," Rabastan mumbled beneath his breath,
causing Avery to sputter up his drink.

"It's a petition against the Medical Act if you must know." Rodolphus placed his cards down,
leaning back. "Your father is leading the opposition, he's collecting support before he presents his
argument before the Committee."

Draco leaned back as well, the blood draining from his face. Before he could formulate a response
the Doctor spoke up, posture at ease.

"This is the Medical Act Gurney presented two years ago?"

Rodolphus nodded, sipping from his lowball glass. "Yes. It's undergone several revisions since
then, mind you. But it's finally going to be laid to rest in the coming weeks."

"I take it you're all in opposition of it then?"

A general chorus of laughter could be heard around the table, excluding Draco and the Doctor.

"Women parading as doctors? Can you even imagine?" Yaxley coughed out a plume of smoke.

"You're a medical man, Riddle. Surely you find the entire idea ludicrous." Dolohov raised a dark
brow, amusement etched across his features. "Women are temperamental creatures, controlled by
the whims of their emotions. Not to mention their delicate constitutions. Can you imagine one of
them wielding a scalpel?"

Draco blinked as something in the Doctor's eyes flashed, scorching as hell flame. Dolohov seemed
to notice it as well, leaning back in his chair, putting more distance between them. Then the Doctor
smiled, teeth white and gleaming. "I imagine such a scene would end in fantastic bloodshed."

Antonin swallowed thickly, then smiled as well, a bit nervously. However, the other men at the
table seemed to find his response wildly amusing. Draco felt his stomach clench in revulsion. It
was impossible to push Hermione from his mind now. This bill was everything to her. Her entire
future in the medical field. And his father was leading the charge against it. How could Draco not
have known? His father had kept the knowledge from him purposefully. But why? Could it have to
do with her? How could his father possibly know her desire to become a doctor?

Both her parents were in the medical field, it's not that far off to assume she'd follow in their
footsteps…

Draco took a deep breath, willing himself to calm. And realized the Doctor's eyes were once more
upon him. His open-mouthed smile had fallen into a smirk, but a shadow passed across his eyes
and turned his expression truly sinister. He and Draco were the only two not laughing. Their gazes
remained locked, and tension grew to sweltering proportions.

"Riddle, it's your bet."

The Doctor didn't blink, didn't glance away from Draco. "Call."

And suddenly Draco was able to decipher the intense gaze. It was a challenge. Draco's spine went
ramrod straight, chin tipping up. On some instinctive level, he knew this had nothing to do with the
game. He just wasn't sure what the man was attempting to lay claim to.

Perhaps my pedigree. Men always resent me for my name and title.

No. The man's gaze held no jealousy, no covetous envy Draco was so used to seeing. It held
something more feral. More base.

Almost as if… Draco's eye twitched once more. You're being paranoid.

"I'm out." Yaxley threw his cards onto the table face up, leaning back in a slump and draining the
rest of his drink in one heavy swallow.

"Me as well. And I need a refill." Avery followed suit, pushing back from the table.

"Oi! Get me one while you're up." Yaxley held his glass aloft only for Avery to scoff loudly.

"Get off your fat arse and get it yourself!"

Rodolphus shook his head, leveling Riddle with a sardonic expression. "My apologies. They were
raised in the stables of the West End."
"And where about do you descend from?" Draco interjected, detecting the sudden rigid lines of the
Doctor's back and shoulders.

The man smirked yet again, though Draco could see a mask was firmly in place this time, erasing
the vicious repose from moments before.

"Funny you should ask. I-"

A heavy knock sounded at the front door. Everyone turned their head to look.

"Bloody hell, who is it now?" Avery grumbled, pouring more liquor into his glass.

"We must have left the sign out on the front lawn inviting every wayward drifter inside. No
offense, Drake."

Draco didn't spare Yaxley a glance. "Seeing as my pocket square is worth more than your entire
suit I take no offense."

The object of his scorn turned red while Rabstan and Antonin burst into laughter. The butler could
be heard crossing the wood floor to the billiards room, knocking softly on the door frame.
Rodolphus scowled.

"Christ." He threw his cards onto the table. "I'm out anyway. Keep going, I'll return shortly."

Draco couldn't help but watch his Uncle cross the room with a sense of rising dread. Any other
additions to this little party were sure to be just as awful as the current company. The Doctor
excluded. He didn't have the lemming quality of Yaxley or Avery or the oily demeanor of
Dolohov. And yet comparing him to either of his Uncles was perhaps the greatest condemnation of
all. So far, the man was wholly unique. And wholly unnerving. Then Rodolphus's scathing voice
filled the room, causing the rest to abandon any pretense of paying attention to the game.

"What the fuck are you doing here? I told you never to never seek me out in the open again-"

"I'm not here for you," a deep, gravelly voice replied. "I was summoned."

Draco tensed. The speaker sounded hauntingly familiar.

"By who?" Rodolphus bit out, voice echoing through the entryway.

"By that lawyer ponce."

Antonin adjusted in his seat, his expression caught halfway between embarrassment and
annoyance.

"You didn't," Rabastan hissed. "You aren't that bloody stupid."

"There's no cause for concern-"

"You invite that animal into this neighborhood and you don't think it's a cause for concern? How
fucking desperate are you?"

Dolohov's jaw flexed. "You certainly weren't complaining when it was for you-"

"Shut your fucking mouth and go get rid of him. Immediately."

Dolohov pushed back from the table in a fit of aggravation and stormed to the doorway, Rodolphus
appearing just as he was leaving. "You have got to be joking," their host scathed.

"Your brother already gave me an earful."

"Then I'll bash you upside the head."

"What was I supposed to do?" Dolohov beseeched. "Have him come to my office? Yours?
Parkinson doesn't mind-"

"Shut up and get out here." Rodolphus grabbed the solicitor by the arm and pulled him forcefully
from the room, pushing him into the hall that led to the foyer. And for the briefest of moments, a
third man could be seen standing at the other end, his massive shoulders nearly touching either
wall. His face was twisted in a scowl, yellowed teeth bared like an angry dog.

Yaxley reared back in his chair while Avery set the crystal decanter down with a clank. The Doctor
tipped his head, eyes roaming the interloper from top to bottom with careful precision. Rabastan
took a deep breath, turning to face the table as the three men disappeared from sight.

"Sorry about that, gents. Let's get back to it, shall we?"

Draco leaned forward. "I don't think so, Rab." He set his cards down, eyes narrowed. "What the
bloody hell is Greyback doing here?"

The evening was going nothing as planned. And yet Tom found himself far more intrigued than
expected. The man standing at the end of the hallway was unmistakable, even before the Malfoy
heir uttered his name. Fenrir Greyback. Though Tom mostly heard the man referred to as the
Boogeyman of East End.

He'd had never seen the elusive giant in person before, and yet he'd heard the man's description
enough times he was certain he could pick him out of a lineup. And not just for his size, though he
was without a doubt the largest man Tom had ever laid eyes upon, comprised of hulking muscle
that pulled at the seams of his linen shirt and trousers, suspenders stretched taut over a barrel chest,
sinewy forearms wrought with coarse hair and dark ink. No, his size was intimidating to any man,
and yet it wasn't his defining characteristic. Rather, it was the sizable facial scar that made
Greyback the horror of legends. The jagged mark ran the length of his face diagonally, from right
temple to left molar, bisecting his eyebrow and discoloring one of his brown irises a golden amber.
It made Dolohov's small scar look neat and surgical by comparison.

Tom was barely afforded a glimpse of the man before Dolohov was shoved through the doorway
with Rodolphus hot at his heels, blocking his view before they all turned the corner and
disappeared into the foyer. And then a different sight appeared.

"Sorry about that, gents. Let's get back to it, shall we?"

Tom couldn't pull his gaze away from the approaching figure. She moved like a cat, each step
sensuous and fluid. Her eyes glowed within the dim light of the hallway, dark pupils gleaming as
they latched onto his, holding him steady in her wake.

"I don't think so, Rab." He only half-listened to the young man prattle on. "What the bloody hell is
Greyback doing here?"

Her hand curled around the door handle as she stepped inside the room, shutting it firmly behind
her, never breaking eye contact with Tom.
She smirked, something sparkling in the depth of her gaze.

Tom gripped his cards more tightly, his other hand clenching to a fist on his thigh.

"Hello, boys." Her sultry voice rang through the room like a bell, effectively quieting the table.
"On behalf of my husband, I apologize for that little interruption. But please," she winked, "don't let
it ruin your fun."

Tom's jaw ticked as he watched her sashay her way around the settee and head for their table.

"Are you dealing, Rab?"

"You know it, luv." The man stubbed out his cigar. "I'm sure the men would have no objections if
you'd like to take over Rod's hand."

She laughed low in her throat. "Why thank you, darling. But I much prefer to watch."

She met Tom's gaze once more. Something in his chest tightened, squeezing the air from his lungs.
And then her predatory gaze fell on the pristine coif of white-blonde hair seated across from him.

"My, my, as I live and breathe." She licked her rouge-stained lips, coming to a stop behind the boy,
placing her hands on his shoulders. Tom watched the young man fight back a cringe.

This just gets more interesting by the second.

"Is it really my nephew, come to pay me a visit?"

"Hello, Bella."

His voice conveyed no ounce of affection. She laughed again, leaning down to whisper something
in his ear, her ample cleavage pressing into the back of his head.

Tom couldn't make out her words, his ability to read lips hampered by her distracting presence. But
whatever she said painted no amusement on the boy's face. If anything he went impossibly more
rigid in his seat, head tipping away from her just a fraction, just enough to convey his deep-rooted
desire to evade her touch.

She squeezed his shoulders, talons hooking into her prey, and then pecked him on the temple, a
motherly gesture of affection that caused him to scowl and finally jerk free of her hold. "Always a
pleasure, Draco, my sweet. I hardly get to see you anymore." She released him from her clutches,
stepping away and running her fingertips across the chair back of Dolohov's abandoned seat. "How
is the game going?"

"We're almost through. With Rod gone, it's just Riddle and Drake left."

Her eyes brightened, fastening on Tom once more. "Is that so? Then I arrived at the perfect time.
The climax is my favorite part."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, wiping away her rouge from his temple with the back of his hand. Rabastan
shook his head with a chuckle.

"You're incorrigible, Bella."

"There are worse ways to be in life. Wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"

Tom forced his tense body to relax, reflecting amusement back at her with a smirk of his own.
"That depends on your definition, Madam. In philosophy, incorrigibility is a property of a
philosophical proposition, which implies that it is necessarily true simply by virtue of being
believed."

She blinked, then her smirk expanded to a full-fledged grin as she released a delighted laugh,
resting a hand on Rabastan's back to balance herself as she succumbed to her amusement. Avery
finally returned to the table, full glass in hand. "It's like have a dictionary at the table," the factory
owner muttered.

"Rather like having someone with more than half of a functioning brain," she said through her
laughter, wiping absently beneath her eyes.

"Don't stop, Doctor. Tell us more."

Tom leaned back, tipping his head to examine her at an angle. He'd already forgotten about the
others in the room. They were merely background props to their two-person play. "Based on its
original usage a common example of such a proposition is René Descartes' famous saying cogito
ergo sum; I think, therefore I am. If we're applying this classic meaning to the word then I agree,
Madam, there are far worse ways to be in life, since the alternative would be to cease one's
existence entirely."

She'd stopped laughing, eyes hooded, fixed upon him as he continued seamlessly.

"However, as with most words deriving from a language not of English origin, the usage evolved as
it was traded between foreign tongues and cultures, taking on an entirely different meaning in most
modern British circles. I believe Lord Lestrange used incorrigible as a term synonymous with
incurable. And as a Doctor, my one true nemesis is the incurable. In which case I would have to
disagree. Incorrigible is the worst way to be."

The room was deathly silent. Madam Lestrange was still at her brother-in-law's back, barely a
meter away from Tom. Her gaze radiated an intensity that caused the floor to hum, vibrating
through his heels, into his legs, and through his chest. Finally, Avery broke the eerie silence with a
drunken laugh.

"Well. That certainly clears that up."

Yaxley joined in, albeit a bit high pitched and nervous. Tom spared a glance to Rabastan, who
shook his head in amusement. And then he glanced at Malfoy and paused. The young man's eyes
were narrowed and harbored as much potency as his aunt's. He didn't like Tom. Not one bit. Which
made him the smartest person seated at the table.

And that annoyed Tom a great deal. Because the Malfoy heir was a powerful player in this game,
unwitting or not, and he obviously harbored some secret tie to the establishment in which Tom was
employed. But given his disdain for his family, Tom doubted he was involved as deeply as the
others, if at all. So why his intense interest in Tom's job? Why give up his evening to attempt and
stealthily draw information out of a stranger?

The blonde was a mystery. One Tom would look into unraveling at a later time. Tonight... tonight
was about something else.

He drew his focus back to Madam Lestrange. She had sidled closer, placing a hand on his arm.
"May I watch you play the final round, Doctor?"

He held her gaze. "Of course."

He faced forward once more, ever aware of her fingers curling around his shoulder, squeezing
lightly, the heat of her body just at his back. Her scent invaded his nasal passage. Sweet and
poisonous. Such a contrast to the way she smelled-

Tom blinked, drawing his attention back to the young man seated across from him. Malfoy's face
showed open distaste and yet it seemed such a natural repose it told Tom little about the boy's
hand.

Rabastan laid the final card down. "Alright, men. Final bets."

Malfoy's mercurial gaze flickered briefly to the feminine hand atop Tom's shoulder, then back to
Tom's eyes, his own turning molten. His left eye twitched, just a fraction before a calm mask of
indifference slid into place.

"All in."

He pushed his mountain of chips to the center of the table. Avery chuckled into his glass, spilling
some over the side. "Now it's getting interesting. Finally."

Rabastan glanced at Tom. "It's all on you, Riddle. Knock this smarmy little shite off his pedestal,
won't you?"

"Hush, Rab. Aren't dealers supposed to be impartial?" Her tone was a lilting tease as she stepped
even closer and curled her fingers over Tom's other shoulder, boxing him in.

Her proximity put every one of his senses on high alert, to the point he was nearly overloaded by
the nuances of sight and sound, scent and taste. His jaw tensed briefly before he smirked, eyes
never straying from his opponent.

"Call." He pushed his pile into the center as well, the clay chips falling over in a cascade of color.

Yaxley whistled low under his breath. Rabastan's eyes brightened, thrilled by the stakes. They
weren't even betting real money. Tom suspected the man was an avid gambler. Yet another useful
tidbit to stow away for later use.

She leaned forward, pressing against Tom's shoulder blades. "Moment of truth," she whispered in
his ear, loud enough for all to hear, yet low enough to remain dangerously intimate.

Malfoy smiled, eyes still narrowed, wicked in its triumph. He threw his cards face up, leaning back
with an air of smugness that was befitting a King upon his throne.

Rabastan rolled his eyes. "Fucking hell, every single time... "

"A straight flush," she said, hands skimming down Tom's shoulders to trace his jacket lapels.
"Good fortune runs in our blood." She winked across the table. "Good job, Drakey."

The boy's look of triumph was briefly shattered by pure revulsion. Tom drew his attention back as
he threw his own cards down.

"Three of a kind," Tom said, leaning back, pressing further into Madam Lestrange as her hands
splayed flat across his chest. "Congratulations, Malfoy. Impressive hand."

His tone was brimming with amusement, knowing what it would do to the boy's ego. Malfoy's
interest in the Home may pose a mystery, but his weaknesses certainly didn't. Youth and privilege
were the boy's Achilles heel as much as they were his strength. He would be easy enough to wind
up and release in whatever direction Tom wanted to point him.

Sure enough, the blonde's eyes narrowed, jaw tensing. Then the door flew open.

"Sorry about that." The elder Lestrange strode in, chest heaving as though he'd just sprinted the
distance between the foyer and billiards room. "What did I miss?"

His wife released Tom slowly, hands retracing their path back up his chest and over his shoulders
before falling away completely. She turned around to inform him of the outcome.

"Your nephew won the game. But the Doctor put up an impressive fight."

Her husband nodded, eyes falling on Malfoy. "Good job, Drake. Sorry I missed it. How about
another round?"

"Not tonight." The blonde pushed back from the table. "I've lingered long enough, I must be
going."

Tom smiled, copying his movement. "I'm afraid I must follow suit."

Madam Lestrange looked at him sharply. "But you've just gotten here."

He buttoned the front of his bespoke jacket. "I've neglected my duties long enough. I'm still getting
the office in order, I need every minute of spare time I can afford to get it situated properly."

Dolohov slowly entered the room, cheeks ruddy. "What's all this? Why's everyone standing?"

"Drake and the good Doc are leaving," Avery supplied, finishing off his glass once more.

Dolohov looked at Tom. "But you've just-"

"We've been through it already, Antonin. Why don't you pour yourself another drink and shut up."

Dolohov glared at the back of Rodolphus's head briefly before making his way to the liquor cart.

"Thank you for joining us, Riddle. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Rodolphus
supplied, extending a hand to Tom. Tom understood the impact of this moment, this symbolic seal
of approval Lestrange was offering.

Tom accepted his hand, shaking. "The feeling is mutual. It was an honor to be invited. I do hope to
cross paths again soon."

Rabastan had a hand clapped atop Malfoy's shoulder, saying something that Tom couldn't hear or
focus upon as Madam Lestrange flanked her husband, hanging off his arm. "Luv, we must have the
Doctor over to the Club sometime."

Rodolphus looked down, sharing a loaded glance with her. Dolohov made his way over, standing
far too close for Tom's comfort.

"Riddle's a good sort, he'd have a good time." He clapped Tom on the shoulder, eyes glazed. "We
can talk more there since you can't stay tonight."

Rodolphus glanced back up. "We'd love to host you, Riddle." The man paused, eyes narrowing a
fraction. "Have you heard of Amortentia?"

Tom didn't flinch. "I can't say that I have."

Bella smirked. "You'll love it, darling."

Rodolphus wound his hand around her waist, drawing her into his side. "It's a pleasure house." He
held Tom's gaze, no doubt waiting to see if any trace of disdain or judgment would surface.

Tom felt his chest swell, rib cage cracking open, blood surging. "Sounds exciting. I'd love to join
you."

Bella squealed in delight. "Perfect! Come Sunday night."

Her husband gazed down upon her with indulgent admonishment. "Bella, luv, we've monopolized
enough of his weekend."

She pouted. "But-"

"It's no inconvenience. I'd be honored to attend," Tom supplied.

Dolohov clapped him once more on the back, jolting him. Tom's hands clenched at his sides, the
urge to break the man's wrist nearly overpowering his good sense.

"It's settled then!" the solicitor announced. "We'll pick up where we left off in a far more enjoyable
setting."

Rodolphus pinned the man with a ferocious look. "Just make certain not to invite any additional
guests without notifying me, Antonin. I won't have a repeat of tonight."

Dolohov paled slightly, stepping back. "Of course, Rod, I wouldn't-"

"I'm heading out now." They all turned to face the blonde at their backs. Malfoy glanced at each of
them in turn, his silver gaze lingering on Tom.

"Pleasure to meet you, Doctor."

"Likewise." Tom offered his hand, smirking in amusement when the young man seemed to debate
snubbing him. Finally, he relented, accepting the offer and putting extra force behind it. They stood
level, both at impressive heights. "I'm leaving as well, perhaps we can head that way together."

Malfoy visibly fought back a sneer. Tom's smile deepened. "Brilliant." The blonde relinquished his
grip, stepping back with a nod to his relatives. "Good evening."

"Nice try, Draco. You might be a foot taller, but you'll never be too big to give me a hug."

Tom glanced away for propriety's sake, watching the exchange from the corner of his eye. He was
endlessly fascinated by the dynamic between nephew and aunt. Malfoy's face tensed as he stepped
closer, allowing her to do all the work, finally leaning down at her insistent tug to allow her to kiss
his cheek.

"Do send Cissy my love. I was hoping to see her this weekend but it seems our schedules leave no
window of opportunity."

"Of course."

"Good boy." She wiped away the rouge stain on his cheek, tipping her head, hand lingering on his
face. "You're the spitting image of your father. It's almost frightening." He attempted to pull back
but she curled her fingers in, long nails indenting his high cheekbone, holding him captive. "And
yet you are your mother's son on the inside, where it counts," she continued. "A Black. Do well to
remember that, Draco."

Her nephew blinked, looking unnerved. Tom tucked his hands into his pockets, absently thumbing
the satin ribbon. It had been a risk to bring it here of all places, and yet he found himself adding it
to his pocket at the last minute before departing from the Home. It had become a balm to his
nerves. And most importantly, a reminder of all that was at stake.

"Goodnight, Bella," Malfoy clipped, finally freeing himself. He glanced at Tom. "Shall we?"

He nodded, smiling pleasantly. "Lead on."

After a few more cursory goodbyes to the men seated at the table, Tom entered the hallway at
Maloy's side, easily matching the younger man's stride.

"Excellent game," Tom said, staring ahead at the door, denying the awaiting butler even a parting
glance. "You have true skill with the cards."

Malfoy smirked. "I've always been a dab hand at poker. Though it seems I always have the best
cards when the least is at stake."

Tom smirked, detecting something lingering beneath the simple words. A steel tooth trap lying in
the tall grass. He gracefully sidestepped the metal claws, casting his own net into the fray.

"It was a well-deserved win, even with your left eye constantly sabotaging you."

Malfoy blinked, pausing in the entryway, prompting Tom to do the same. The butler glanced
between them, hovering at the door. "You're saying I have a tell?"

Tom raised a dark brow. "Of course. All men do."

"This is the first I'm hearing of it. And I've played a lot of cards." His eyes narrowed. "If you knew
I had the better hand why the hell did you go all in with three sevens?"

Tom tipped his head, eyes scanning the young man's alabaster skin, the sharp lines of his face,
pinched in annoyance. "I knew you bluffed on the turn. I wasn't sure how many masks you wore. I
needed to be certain." He met his gaze once more, grey eyes gleaming. "Now I am. And in the
future, I'll be able to recognize your deceit." His smile deepened, revealing his teeth. "Sometimes
strategy extends beyond the table. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Malfoy. And your victory."

He nodded to the butler who quickly opened the door, still gazing upon Tom as though he were a
wine stain on white linen. But it did nothing to dampen Tom's elated mood as he swiftly exited the
townhome, trotting down the marble steps with a smirk, well aware of the seething aristocrat at his
back.

Hermione tipped her head, peering more closely at the expanse of exposed skin. "The mark is
symmetrical, has a defined border and consistent coloring throughout. Have you noticed any
changes to the shape or size since discovering it?"

The girl shook her head. "No. But I only noticed it last week. I normally wouldn't worry, but given
the location, I thought I should have it looked at. It's not like I'm flashing my bare thigh out in the
garden."

Hermione smiled. "Understandable. But moles aren't only caused by sun exposure. Genetics plays
a large part. Did either of your parents have moles or freckles?"
The girl shrugged. "I never knew my pa and ma died when I was a babe."

Hermione's smile fell, expression sobering. "I'm terribly sorry." She swallowed lightly, helping
lower the girl's shift over her bare legs. "I see no indicators the mole is cancerous. If you're still
worried I can ask the Doctor to-"

"No!" The girl sat forward. "I only came because the girls said you were helping examine patients.
I don't want a man seeing me in such a state."

Hermione nodded, placing a hand on the girl's bare shoulder. "It's alright, Mandy. I understand
completely. As I said, there's nothing to worry about. But if you notice the mole change shape or
color, come and see me immediately. Alright?"

The girl sighed in relief. "Thank you, Hermione."

"You're very welcome. I'll let you get dressed in privacy. Have a good rest of your day."

"You, too."

Hermione ducked out from behind the partition, walking to the desk and grabbing up Mandy's
patient file. She spun around, eyes searching. Her heart skipped a beat as she found him standing
across the room, open medical book in hand, eyes upon her. She bit her lip, rocking back on her
heels before proceeding forward, trying to maintain a slow and steady gait. Amusement danced in
his eyes, lips forming a slow smirk.

"How is our patient doing?" he asked.

Hermione fidgeted with the file in her hands. "Mandy Brocklehurst, I examined a possible
melanoma, I saw no cause for concern. She's getting dressed right now."

He nodded, setting the book back on the shelf and extending his hand for the file. She passed it
over, watching him flip through the pages. "And the previous patient?"

"Oh, Sally-Anne Perks, she just stopped by for menstrual pads. She requested extras for her
roommates as well, said they were too embarrassed to stop by themselves."

His grey eyes rapidly scanned the document before him. Hermione interlaced her fingers, twisting
her hands.

"I was thinking…" she began.

He continued to read, finally glancing up at her prolonged silence. "I've noticed you rarely stop."

"Pardon?"

"Thinking," he supplied.

She blinked, then smiled, a blush staining her cheeks. "Right. Well, I was thinking we could keep a
supply pantry in the corridor outside the clinic stocked with menstrual pads and bloomer cloths, so
the girls don't have to stop in every month to request products." He held her gaze in silence. She
took a deep breath, continuing on as her nerves rattled within her chest. "I mean, I only make the
suggestion after speaking with Sally. I'm afraid that some girls will forgo their monthly hygiene
because they're too nervous about asking a man for supplies. Also, before your arrival the supplies
were kept on a shelf in the clinic, the girls were free to take them as needed, there was never an
issue with hoarding or-"
"Relax, Ms. Granger." His smirk grew. "I was merely thinking. I agree with your assessment of the
problem, and think keeping an external supply closet is a sound solution."

Her mouth clamped shut, flush spreading down her neck. The Doctor lowered the file, pinning her
beneath the full intensity of his gaze.

"However, the decision will ultimately be up to the Matron, as she oversees all ordering and
inventory."

Hermione felt herself deflate. "Then we can't tell her I had anything to do with the idea."

His eyes flashed even as his smirk grew into a smile. "Per usual, you are right again."

She held his stare, the air thick, sticking to the back of her throat. A sudden noise from behind
jolted her, drawing both their attention. Mandy stepped out from behind the partition, smoothing
her skirts. She glanced up, smiling and waving somewhat nervously at Hermione. Hermione
returned the warm expression and bid the girl a final farewell, watching her depart the clinic at
haste. Once the door fell shut Hermione turned to face the Doctor once more. His eyes roamed her
face, making her fidget anew.

"So far every patient who's entered the clinic has requested you," he observed.

Hermione blinked. "No, the first girl who came in-"

"Requested you as well. However, she required a pelvic exam. I was going to ask you to stand in to
keep her at ease but you were seeing to someone else."

She bit her lip. "Well, that's just because I'm a woman. And you're…"

He raised a dark brow. "A man?"

"Well, yes. That, too. However, I was going to say intimidating."

He tilted his head, expression lit by the afternoon light streaming in through the windows. "Is that
so?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh dear, am I the first to bring that to your notice?"

Deep laughter erupted from his chest. The sound was an instant balm to her nerves. "I see. So I
scare the patients?"

"Well, not all of them."

His eyes continued to gleam with mirth. "I've noticed."

She caught the double meaning of her words. "No, I didn't, I just meant-"

"I know what you meant." He put her out of her misery, setting the file aside and striding towards
the medical cabinet. "And I'm well aware that some of the residents harbor no reservations
whatsoever when it comes to paying me a visit. At all hours."

She felt her pulse quicken. "You don't mean…"

He opened the cabinet. "I do."

Heat rose within her again, this time born of a far different emotion. "Residents have…
propositioned you?"

"That's one word for it." He reached into the cabinet, grabbing a small glass bottle with a faded
label. Her mind reeled, rendering her silent for several moments before she burst.

"That's- that's ludicrous! How can they possibly think such a thing even remotely appropriate-"

"I don't think proprietary was top of their mind."

She fell quiet, cheeks aflame. He glanced over his shoulder. "I assure you, I set them straight," he
supplied.

She took a step forward. "Of course you did. I never doubted that. I'm just shocked they'd have the
audacity to do such a thing. Especially after the last physician-" She stopped short, coming to a
standstill. His back went rigid, shoulders tense. He was facing away, she desperately wished she
could see his face but was also grateful she couldn't. Perhaps it was best to pull the bandage off
quickly, jump in headfirst rather than skirting the issue any further.

"Have you had an opportunity to attend the girls who…" she searched for the right term, her mind
too rattled to derive something more decorous. She sighed. "Have you been able to examine his
victims?"

He shut the cabinet, slowly turning the bottle over in his hand. "The patient this morning was
among those I suspect of being violated. However the majority of the girls Ms. Lovegood was able
to identify have already vacated the Home."

Hermione drew in a slow breath, heartbeat reverberating through her limbs. "Are their files in the
office?"

His eyes flickered up, rooting her to the spot. "Many of them, yes."

Hermione shook her head, glancing away, overcome by emotion.

"Speaking of Ms. Lovegood," he said slowly, the steady tread of his footsteps approaching. "I'd
like for you to pass this on to her." He held the small bottle out. Hermione tilted her head,
narrowing her eyes in an attempt to read the faded label. "Aloe vera with rosehip," he supplied,
tucking his other hand in his trouser pocket. "Her wound is healed enough to allow air exposure.
This should help minimize scarring."

Hermione's chest swelled. She reached out, grasping the bottle, their fingers brushing. She bit back
a gasp at the familiar sensation of heat rushing through her arm. And without her permission, her
eyes flickered up, meeting his shadowed gaze. He maintained his grip on the glass, she held tight
as well, their arms suspended between them, the pad of her thumb resting atop his knuckle.

She swallowed audibly. "That's very considerate of you."

"I am the Doctor, Hermione. It is my duty to see to the well-being of everyone here."

"You seem to go beyond the regular call of duty."

For the expanse of a stuttered heartbeat, his expression morphed into something wild, dangerous.
She squeezed the bottle, in turn pressing harder against his flesh.

"I didn't mean-" She licked her lips, other hand clenching at her side. "I meant in regards to Luna's
hand. You ensured she didn't succumb to infection. You're not obligated to worry about scarring."
"I'm merely offering a topical ointment for her own use. I'll hardly be receiving any special
certificates."

Hermione smiled. His eyes flickered to her mouth. And she realized that at some point one or both
of them had stepped in closer, minimizing the distance between them to less than a half meter. She
glanced down at their feet, wondering how on earth that happened, and then back up to his eyes. Or
at least she meant to. Instead, her gaze became fixed on his lips, full and parted slightly. His tongue
darted out to moisten them, and she felt her entire body throb.

"Scars are terrible burdens to bear," he spoke lowly, voice a deep rumble she felt vibrate along
every bone in her body. "A constant source of suffering, long after the pain is gone."

She inhaled slowly, still focused upon his mouth. "Yes. They are," she agreed.

"Ms. Lovegood's cut was long but shallow. It should leave minimal damage in its wake."

She nodded, utterly transfixed.

"Unlike Mr. Dolohov's scar, which will only become more prominent with time."

The air was pulled violently from her lungs. She released the bottle, rearing back, meaning to step
away, flee-

His hand shot out of his pocket lighting fast and captured her wrist, pulling her forward, causing
her to tip off balance and fall against him. Her eyes snapped up, wide with fear and shock. His
expression was void of emotion, a placid lake, but his eyes… his eyes were positively feral.

"A fine piece of work, if I may say so myself." His breath smelled of spearmint, blowing across her
face, pushing past her own parted lips and invading her mouth. "What did you use to inflict such
injury?"

She blinked rapidly, vision blurred by tears, lips pressing thin. She tugged her arm back once, felt
his iron grip hold true, and recalled the last time he restrained her in such a manner. She accepted
the futility of trying to escape. Instead, she opened her mouth, mind spinning with rebuttals,
refusals, lies. But his eyes stripped her bare, dismantled her defenses as quickly as she contrived
them. Her chin tipped up as she held his gaze steady.

"A letter opener," she supplied.

His dark brow arched high, nearly disappearing beneath the fall of his hair as his face tipped down,
closer to hers. "A letter opener," he repeated with dark amusement, eye narrowing. "Must have
been sharp."

She lifted her chin. "Very."

"You sliced up and outward with your dominant hand."

She blinked, inhaling sharply, feeling the press of her chest against his. "How do you know that?"

"The angle of the cut and variation in depth from one end to the other suggests greater force was
applied at the base, near the top of the cheekbone, decreasing in pressure as the blade moved
upward, across the eye socket."

She felt light-headed.

"If you had used the same hand to slice his left side in a downward swing, you would have easily
ruptured the eye beyond repair."

Her jaw flexed. "Hindsight is 20/20."

He chuckled darkly, her ribcage absorbing the sound. "Yes, yes it is." The pressure on her wrist
increased. "I hope he bled like a gutted pig."

Her heartbeat was in her throat, in her captured wrist, behind her knees. "He did. It made a mess.
Ruined my dress."

The windows were at his back, casting his face in shadow, making the nuances of his expression
hard to discern. But his eyes gleamed like a cat in the dark. "How many times has he attacked
you?" he asked plainly.

If she hadn't been leaning against him already she would have surely collapsed. She'd never had an
out-of-body experience before, but surely she was having one now, some supernatural force
controlling her vocal chords.

"Once."

"After your parents died, I assume?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you report him?"

She swallowed past the constriction in her throat. But the lump was too thick, too rooted. His eyes
flickered between hers, fingers squeezing her tighter yet. She cringed. He blinked, loosening his
grip but not relinquishing his hold.

"Why haven't you reported him, Hermione?"

Hearing her name from his lips was usually a sure fire way to disarm her. But this time it triggered
different memories within her mind. Different voices, different faces, and eyes.

"Why won't you come to Grimmauld, Hermione?"

"Why don't you move to the Burrow, Mione?"

She shook her head. "I…" her breath was coming faster, shorter, making her dizzy. "I can't…"

His gaze narrowed, something dangerous taking root in their dark depths. "Wilting flowers don't
slash their attacker's face open. You can turn him in, but you won't." He tilted his head. "Which
leads me to believe..." She felt her blood pressure rise, watching in abject horror as the final pieces
clicked into place behind his eyes. "He's got something over you," he concluded simply.

She reared back, twisting her arm, but he merely pulled her captured wrist closer.

"I see. But what could it possibly be? You're not the type to beckon scandal." His face darkened
and lightened at once, mesmerizing in its unnaturalness. "Unless it isn't blackmail." He searched
her face as though the truth were written across it. "Perhaps it's a trade-off."

She was rendered frozen, numb with growing terror. His smile gleamed triumphantly. "You're
protecting some-"
The clinic doors burst open. He released her at once. She staggered back, gasping for breath as
though emerging from the depths of a frozen lake.

Shoes tapped lightly on the stone floor before coming to a stop. "Oh. Sorry." The girl gazed at
them with unease. "Um... are clinic hours still open?"

The Doctor fixed the young woman with a pleasant smile, mask firmly set. "Yes. Come in, take a
seat. I'll be right with you."

The girl nodded, cheeks flushing at being the sole recipient of his attention before quickly
shuffling to the other end of the room. Hermione's fingers twisted around her wrist, mimicking his
hold, mind reeling. She couldn't meet his eyes, instead staring numbly at a spot on the wall just
beyond him.

"You're free to leave, Ms. Granger. You've put in plenty of work today."

She nodded, slowly backing away.

"Don't forget the aloe," he promoted, extending the bottle.

Hermione stared at it for a long moment, heart racing, fingers twitching restlessly. She still couldn't
bring herself to look at his face but she could feel the intensity of his gaze across her skin. She
stepped forward tentatively and quickly took the bottle from his grasp, terrified of losing her hand
to another steel trap. The glass was warm from being encased in his palm for so long. She
swallowed, spinning on her heal and heading for the door as fast as she could without outright
sprinting.

"Ms. Granger," he spoke, voice stripped of its dark seduction. Her muscles went rigid just as
effectively, forcing her gait to slow. She paused at the door and glanced over her shoulder. He
smiled. "Enjoy the party."

Harry pulled his pocket watch free from the inner lining of his bespoke coat, flipping open the
golden lid and peering at the time. He sighed, eyes briefly lingering on the engraving-

For those who love,

Time is eternal.

Lily

-before snapping it shut, tucking it away again. He glanced at the man by his side. "It's been
twenty minutes, should I-"

"Hurry them at your own risk, my boy," Mr. Weasley said with a laugh, patting Harry on the
shoulder. "You aren't married yet, so take my advice to heart. Never rush a woman, especially for a
special event. Whatever time you save beforehand is nothing compared to the time you'll spend
wallowing in the dog house afterward."

"Wiser words were never spoken," a third voice spoke from the doorway.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," Harry smiled, nodding politely.

"Hello, Harry, dear. Don't you look dashing in your suit! Oh, how I wish I could watch you walk
across the stage." She crossed the room on her short legs, fussing with the lapels of his coat.
"I wish you would. You and Mr. Weasley were invited."

She sighed deeply, straightening his silk pocket square. "I don't bother going to such events these
days. With all the boys grown and only Ginny left it just makes us seem a bit-"

"Desperate?"

Mrs. Weasley spun on her heel, eyes narrowed at her youngest son who was descending the stairs.
"Excuse me, Ronald?"

He smirked. "Sorry, mum. Carry on."

She released a huff of annoyance, abandoning Harry to instead tug at her son's coat. It was slightly
ill-fitting, yet another hand me down from his elder brothers. "Oh, I just knew I should have let the
sleeves out a bit more. Your knuckles practically drag across the ground when you walk-"

"Oi!"

Harry smothered a laugh, sharing a look of amusement with Mr. Weasley.

"I didn't mean it like that, darling, you're simply long-limbed-"

"Then say that! Don't call me a bloody knuckle dragger!"

"Watch your mouth, young man!"

"You're the one who-"

"Alright, alright!" Mr. Weasley stepped away from his position at the mantle and approached his
wife and son. "No one meant to offend anyone, we're all in high spirits tonight." He placed a hand
at the small of his wife's back, peering over her short form at Ron.

"How are the girls doing?"

"I don't know," Ron grumbled, trying to evade his mother's busy hands, still pulling at the fabric of
his coat. "Door's closed. But I can hear Mione complaining from halfway down the hall."

Mrs. Weasley tisked. "I don't know what's gotten into that girl. Invited to a fancy party as the guest
of honor's date, given a brand new dress for the event, what does she have to complain about?"

"Molly," her husband gently admonished, rubbing circles into her back. "She's been through a lot,
and even before all that Hermione was hardly what you'd consider a normal young woman." He
looked up at Harry. "I mean that in the best possible way of course."

Harry smirked. "Of course."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had known the Granger family for as long as the Potters had. They
considered Hermione a second daughter, just as they considered Harry yet another son. However,
given that they weren't actually blood-related, Mrs. Weasley made her desire to have both of them
marry into the family well known. She'd been quite open about her designs for Harry and Ginny as
well as Ron and Hermione when they were all younger. As the years went on she seemed to accept
that neither pairing was going to happen.

So, she'd changed tactics, setting her sights on Hermione becoming the next Mrs. Potter instead.
He and Mione laughed about it often, never keeping their sibling bond a secret from the Weasley
family matriarch, and yet it never seemed to stall the woman from her fantasy. And as if she read
his thoughts aloud, Mrs. Weasley turned to face him once more with a wry grin and gleaming eyes.

"It was so lovely of you to purchase dresses for the girls, Harry. You didn't have to worry about
Ginny, though. I had a perfectly appropriate gown laid out for her on the bed. It was the same one I
wore the night I met Arthur."

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "And you looked stunning, my love. But fashion has changed since then,
and Ginny deserves to have a gown of her own." He looked at Harry. "Still, I intend to pay you
back for what you spent-"

"Absolutely not. It was my thank you gift to Gin for helping me drag Mione to this event. Not to
mention picking out the dresses. I have no bloody clue what's in style these days."

He fought back a cringe at the mere thought of Pansy's copious skirts and flashy bustiers.

"How nice of you to take Hermione as your date," she continued, tone lilting. He took a deep
breath, bracing himself for the unavoidable conversation to follow. "Tonight marks a major turn in
your career. Whom you bring means a great deal."

Harry opened his mouth but before he could respond Ron rolled his eyes and scoffed loudly.
"Jesus, mum! When are you gonna accept that Mione and Harry are just friends? They're never
getting hitched!"

"Ronald!" She hissed, spinning back around in a blaze of fury. "At least Harry is bringing a
respectable date!"

Ron raised a brow. "You're calling your daughter unrespectable?"

Mrs. Weasley's face pinched in supreme annoyance. "I don't consider bringing your sister to such
events the height of social decorum! You should have invited a proper date, someone you intend to
court! You're too old to be-"

"I told you, I'm meeting my real date there!"

"And what kind of chivalry is that? Are you ashamed to have her on your arm?"

"I haven't asked her father's permission to begin courting her yet is all." Ron's face flushed as red as
his hair. "And I'd prefer going stag but Gin blackmailed me into taking her!"

"I heard that, Ron!" A feminine voice yelled down the hall.

"It's true you nasty harpy!" He called back up.

Mrs. Weasley turned to her husband with fists clenched. "Arthur! Do something about your
children!"

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Why don't we go in the kitchen and have a nightcap and let the
boys wait for the girls alone, give them time to prepare for the night?"

She groaned but allowed him to maneuver her towards the hall. They passed Harry as they went.
She reached out and smoothed an invisible wrinkle on his pressed shirt. "You really do look
dashing tonight, Harry. Hermione is a very lucky girl."

He smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

"Yeah, thanks, mum."

She scowled at her son. "Sorry, darling. Ginny is also a very lucky girl."

"Sick, mum!"

Harry couldn't contain his laugh as Mr. Weasley finally pushed her from the room. Ron glared at
him. "Shut up."

Harry's laughter slowly faded as the sound of a door opening echoed down the upstairs hall.

"About bloody time!" Ron groaned, leaning against the railing from the outside. "Get your dolled
up arses down here!"

"Shove it up yours, Ron!"

"Oi! You're supposed to be a high society bird tonight! How am I supposed to pawn you off on
some clueless yuppy when your mouth's filthier than mine?"

Ginny scoffed loudly, the sound nearly identical to her brother's as she started to descend the stairs.
Harry's smile broadened as her vibrant emerald skirts came into view. The waist cinched tightly,
highlighting her lean features and pale, freckled arms adorned in cap sleeves. Her deep auburn hair
was styled up in an intricate chignon, a white calla lily pinned into the side.

The gown was silk and cost a small fortune, one that Harry would never disclose to her parent's in
fear they'd try and reimburse him. He'd been sneaking Ginny presents since they were children,
considering her a little sister to dote upon. Hermione, though technically younger as well, always
felt older, so full of wisdom and concern. And she detested when he surprised her with gifts. Which
is why he'd had to enlist Ginny to select a proper gown for her to wear tonight. He knew Hermione
would be too proud to say anything, too practical to justify purchasing such an extravagant garment
when she dressed modestly the majority of the time.

When she isn't running around pleasure dens half naked.

He shook his head, dispelling the memory, stepping closer to the stairs and offering Ginny his hand
to help her step onto the ground level.

"You look absolutely stunning, Gin."

She beamed. "I know!"

He laughed, shaking his head. "Good. No point in playing it modest in a dress like that."

"You're gonna give her a big head, Harry. Not that it can expand much mor- Ow!" Ron reared back
as Ginny punched him in the arm with a mean right hook. "Bloody bit-"

"Ron," Harry said calmly. "Tell your sister she looks beautiful or shut up."

"Always taking her side."

Harry rolled his eyes as he glanced up the empty staircase. "Where's Mione?"

Ginny sighed, tipping her head back and inhaling deeply. "Hermione Granger get your skinny arse
down here!"

Harry cringed at the deafening volume of her voice, though it was certainly effective. There was no
way anyone within a quarter mile could claim not to have heard her. And yet the upstairs remained
stubbornly silent.
Ginny scowled. "If you make me walk up those steps in these shoes to fetch you I'm going to drag
you down by your hair!" She turned to Harry. "Not really," she whispered, patting him on the arm.
"Took me almost an hour to get her hair looking perfect. I wouldn't ruin all that hard work."

Harry smirked. "Good to know. Why don't I try wrangling her?"

She shrugged, stepping aside. "Be my guest. But hurry, I want to arrive in time to be announced."

Harry blinked as he started up the steps, glancing over his shoulder. "Gin, you know this isn't a
royal ball, right? We don't get announced."

She raised a delicate brow. "Does it at least have an open bar?"

"Yeah."

"Even better."

Harry shook his head and ascended the rest of the stairs, gazing down the narrow hallway to the
closed door at the far end.

"Mione," he called out, slowly approaching. "Are you decent?"

"Harry, I can't do this!"

He sighed, stopping at the barrier, placing his hand flat against the wood. "Can I come in?"

He could hear her muffled groan of "Yes," through the barrier. He smirked, turning the knob and
opening the door-

He blinked, pulse jolting. "Jesus, Mione."

She paled, placing a hand on her neck. "Is it that bad? I told Gin to go easy on the rouge-"

"You look beautiful."

She stopped short, mouth opening and closing. His eyes roamed her figure. He'd seen the gown
Ginny selected on the hanger and thought it pretty enough, but seeing it on Hermione transformed
the garment, brought it to life, and turned her into an ethereal creature. "You're just saying that to
get me out the door."

He smirked, eyes trailing back up slowly. "If you're fishing for compliments I'm happy to give
them."

She laughed, high and nervous, face tinging pink, highlighting the delicate sweep of rouge along
her cheeks. "I'm not fishing, I assure you. You know I can't stand attention."

She gazed down at the full skirts, layers of white silk overlaid by sheer periwinkle, meeting a white
bustier that fit her like a second skin, decorated in hand-painted cherry blossom branches, curving
around her ribs. Her shoulders were bare, sheer bell tiered sleeves starting at her upper arms and
ending at her elbows, adorned in the same hand-etched detailing. Tiny silk petals in varying shades
of teal and blue adorned the sweetheart neckline and scattered along the waist and skirt, as though
the branches were shedding their blossoms as she moved. Her hair was in a low bun, soft curls
framing her face, grazing her bare neck and shoulders. Unlike Ginny, she wore no flowers denoting
her marital status. Harry knew the lack of open declaration would only intrigue men further.

He shook his head. "Then you're out of luck, luv. Because you're going to get all the attention
tonight."

She raised a brow, trying her best to affect a stern expression and failing miserably. He could see
she was practically vibrating with nerves.

"What's the matter?" He stepped fully into Ginny's bedroom, shutting the door behind him. "I'm
the one who has to get on stage. You have nothing to worry about."

She swallowed lightly, head tipping down. "I know. I'm sorry."

He crossed the small room, placing a hand beneath her chin and tipping her head up. "Don't
apologize."

She sighed deeply, closing her eyes. "I just, I haven't been to a function like this since…" she bit
her rouge stained lip. "And there's going to be so many people, people I haven't seen in months.
And they're all going to know about my circumstances, they're going to look at me and judge-"

"Mione. Open your eyes."

She released a slow breath, doing as bade. Her expression was tense, eyes heavy and resigned. It
pained him to see her in such distress.

"I shouldn't have pressured you into coming tonight."

Her hazel gaze widened. "No, it's not that!" She grasped his wrist with both hands, squeezing
gently. "I want to see you up on that stage, being honored for all of your hard work. I want it more
than anything. I don't regret agreeing to come." She breathed in deep, holding the air in her lungs
for several beats. "I'll be okay. Honest. Just nerves."

Harry smirked. "I know the feeling."

She tilted her head, tense expression giving way to a look he recognized better than his own face.
Concern. "How are you doing? Have you had a chance to come to terms with the promotion?"

He sighed, nodding. "Yes." A pause. "And no." He smiled. "Things have been pretty busy around
here lately."

She smiled as well, though it was weighed down by a great sadness that caused his chest to ache.
"Thank you for all you've done for me, Harry."

He rolled his eyes.

"No, I mean it." She tugged on his wrist, prompting him to meet her earnest gaze once more.
"You've always been there for me. Through thick and thin, through blood, sweat, and tears. No
matter the request, no matter the situation, you're the only one I've been able to count on without
fail. Without reservation." She pressed the back of his hand to her cheek. "You're more than a
brother. More than a best friend."

His heart swelled with emotion, prompting him to blink several times and swallow thickly. He
cleared his throat, smirking to break the heavy tension. "Don't let Mrs. Weasley hear you say that."

It did the trick. Hermione released a giggle and lowered his hand. "Poor Molly. She'll no doubt be
choosing our wedding colors while we're out tonight."

"Let her have her fun. Besides, whatever she organizes can be used for Ron and Susan. This will be
their first date, so according to the rate in which Ron moves, they'll be married by the end of the
month."

Hermione's laughter intensified. She grabbed her side, shaking her head, loose curls swaying.
"Harry James Potter, you're awful!"

"And don't you love it." He winked, holding out his arm. "Shall we, my Lady?"

She smiled, stepping forward and grasping his elbow. "We shall, good Sir."

They both stared at the closed door, taking a deep breath.

"It'll have an open bar," he supplied, still unmoving.

She sagged in relief. "Thank Christ."

The carriage rolled off, leaving the quartet at the base of the large stone steps.

"Bloody hell, this place is posh."

"Blimey, Gin, try and act like you come from class."

The redhead spun on her heel, blue eyes narrowed. "How about I knee you in the groin instead of
punching you in the face? That's classy, right?"

Ron tipped his head back and laughed, extending his arm to her. "Come on, you heathen."

She smirked, accepting his arm and proceeding up the stairs with wonderment in her eyes, gazing
upon the large Baroque building.

Harry gave Hermione's hand a squeeze, peering down with a reassuring smile. "Ready?"

She forced a smile in return, it felt grotesquely out of place, but she fought through her rising
anxiety. This evening wasn't about her, and she wouldn't give Harry anything else to worry about.
"Absolutely."

He raised a dark brow, not looking convinced, but faced forward and led her up the carpet lined
steps just the same.

Tonight's party was at Wilton Place in Belgrave Square. Westminster was a posh neighborhood to
be certain, and with the building's adjacent location to Hyde Park and the Serpentine, it made an
ideal locale for royal banquets and parties.

The last and only time Hermione had been to the lush venue was for Princess Louise's birthday
party. The rebel royal insisted on having a celebration outside the palace, and the event had truly
been one to remember. It was the first time Hermione had seen a live tiger outside of the zoo. It
was also the first time she'd tasted anything stronger than champagne. She smiled at the memory of
the night, nerves settling.

Channel your inner royal, Hermione. They've been thrust in the public's eye their entire lives. You
just have to get through one evening.

She squared her shoulders as they arrived outside the entrance, just behind the Weasley duo. The
finely dressed staff opened the double doors and bowed. Hermione nodded with a smile. "Thank
you, gentlemen."
One of the employees glanced up in surprise. Harry chuckled, drawing her attention. Her
expression pinched. "What? Is being polite to staff considered gauche?"

He shook his head, eye fixed forward. "Not at all. I was just thinking about the last time we were
here."

Hermione's ire melted away, a smile unfurling across her face. "So was I. We had so much fun that
night, didn't we?"

"We did. Until you disappeared and Ron and I spent an hour and a half tearing the place apart
looking for you."

Her smile fell, a blush staining her cheeks as she glanced away. "There's no need to bring that u-"

"Only to find you in the kitchen, giving the staff aptitude exams you wrote on the back of napkins."

"I was trying to help them find more fulfilling career paths!"

"You were drunk."

"That too."

There was a heavy beat of silence before they both erupted into laughter. Ron glanced over his
shoulder as they entered the lobby.

"What? Do I have something on my back?"

"Not everything is about you, Ronald!" Ginny hissed.

"Did I ask you?"

"Let's all try and have a good time tonight, and remember this evening is about Harry," Hermione
said lowly, hyper-aware of the people surrounding them on all sides, the steady hum of
conversation and the gleam of watchful eyes.

They came to a stop in the center of the marble floor, glancing around at the opulence.

"I bet they have a massive food spread," Ron said, absently rubbing his stomach.

Hermione's eyes became fixed on the crystal chandeliers above. She felt her pulse quicken. Even
when such events had been the norm of her social life she detested them. Getting all dressed up was
fun every now and then, and she was vain enough to admit she enjoyed seeing herself in silk finery
on occasion, but she never enjoyed mingling with large crowds under any circumstances. She did
much better in small groups, preferably of like-minded individuals.

And she especially hated being paraded about parties like a cow to auction. She'd begged her
parents to let her skip her Season. Her father had been happy with the idea, not ready to give his
little girl up to another man just yet. Her mother had been more reluctant to snub the tradition
entirely. So they'd struck a compromise and agreed to delay her coming out another year. That
would also give time for the Medical Act to reach Parliament, and they'd know whether she was
eligible for medical school.

Back then it all seemed to matter so much, the way society viewed her, the standards set in place.
Now it all meant nothing. Hermione knew she needed a husband if she had any hope of obtaining
her family's fortune. But she couldn't care less about that in the wake of her lingering grief. She
 refused to marry for money when her parents were alive, and nothing had changed in the wake of
their deaths.

Still, she knew events such as this marked an excuse for men and women to scope out their
prospective partners without the hassle of a traditional Season.

When the girls had been getting ready at the Burrow, Ginny had asked for Hermione's help
convincing the formidable Mrs. Weasley to allow her to skip her coming out party. Hermione was
reluctant to agree, feeling Ginny had seen too little of the outside world to deny herself such an
opportunity for the simple sake of rebelling. Hermione skipped a Season for a specific reason, to
see what direction her career went, Ginny was simply trying to avoid social norms.

"Why don't you wait and see how you feel after tonight, Gin?" She said, taking the girls hands in
her own. "You haven't met many men outside of your own family. There will be all types of people
there tonight, from all different backgrounds. You might find someone you like. And you won't have
the pressure or rules of a formal Season to get in the way of having fun."

Ginny groaned, tipping her head back, long red hair cascading down her back.

"I don't want to get married, Mione! I want to live on a ranch and raise horses!"

Hermione smiled. "Maybe you'll meet a jockey. Dare to dream big, Gin. Or in this case, small."

They'd both erupted into a fit of laughter.

Now Ginny looked pale and overwhelmed. Hermione touched her arm, gaining her attention.

"We're going to have fun tonight," she assured her with another forced smile.

"Famous last words," Harry mumbled under his breath. She rolled her eyes, pinching his arm. He
smirked. "Just a fair warning, luv. Don't jinx us before the party even starts."

She shook her head, smiling despite her nerves. "Always the optimist." She faced the group. "Well,
there's no point hiding in the lobby, if we want free food and booze we'll have to head to the main
hall."

"You had me at free food," Ron said, once more rubbing his stomach.

Ginny smiled. "You had me at free booze."

Hermione laughed. "Lead the way."

Their small procession headed for the doors at the other end of the room, uproarious noise could
be heard from the other side. Hermione squeezed Harry's arm for her own comfort, but felt the
tension in the tightly drawn muscle and gazed up at him.

"Don't worry, Harry," she whispered, doing her best to sound assuring. "It's a party in your and
Sirius's honor. What's the worst that can happen?"

She bit her lip as soon as she uttered the words. His emerald gaze snapped to hers, brow raised.

"Good job, Mione. Now we're definitely screwed."

Chapter End Notes

Inspo for Mione's gown.
 Welcome to the Dollhouse

Do you suppose she's a wildflower?

. . .

The attendants opened the double doors and the volume of the crowd increased tenfold. Hermione
swayed on her feet as Harry led her into the main room, blinking rapidly at the explosion of sight
and sound. There were so many people, so many faces, so many voices- it was sensory overload.
She pressed into Harry's side. His hand squeezed the wrist folded across his arm.

"You're the most beautiful woman here," he murmured into her ear.

She smiled, releasing a short laugh, some of the tension ebbing away. "You're sweet, Harry. And
clearly biased."

"Damn straight."

She met his glimmering emerald gaze, sharing his smirk. Then his eyes flickered past her, drawn
by something else, and his amusement faded. A knot twisted inside her stomach. Anything or
anyone that diminished Harry's happiness was her enemy, even before she laid eyes upon it. She
glanced to her other side, seeing nothing but more faces in the sea of guests.

"What are you looking at?" She tried to keep her voice low.

His jaw ticked as he averted his gaze sharply. "Nothing."

Her brow furrowed as she felt the muscle beneath her hand stiffen. Something had obviously upset
him but she decided to let the matter pass, for now, wanting to keep his focus on the positive. "Do
you see Sirius?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Though I usually hear him long before I get a visual."

She laughed, doing her utmost to ignore the bustling crowd, to dismiss the sensation of ants
crawling across her skin, the perturbing symptom of watchful eyes. To say she felt self-conscious
would be a gross understatement. She clutched Harry's arm with both hands to prevent from
fidgeting with her skirts, her bodice, her hair. She couldn't stand being stared at, analyzed. From
her peripheral, she saw men and women sneaking furtive glances her way. She could only imagine
what they were saying.

Arriving on the arm of one of the Guests of Honor certainly didn't do her any favors when it came
to fading into the background. Suddenly, Ron stiffened before her, bouncing back on his heels and
tugging his arm free from his sister's grasp.

"There she is." His voice held an edge of anxiety. He spun around, raking his fingers through his
hair. "How do I look?" His blue eyes held such guileless desperation Hermione found herself
swelling with emotion until she was fit to burst. She released Harry and stepped forward,
smoothing a hand over the redhead's lapels comfortingly.

"You look absolutely dashing, Ron." His shoulders relaxed. She smiled. "If she's not swept off her
feet at the mere sight of you, she doesn't deserve your company in the first place."

The corner of his mouth tipped up. "You're the best, Mione." He leaned forward to peck her on the
cheek but Ginny's hand shot out and caught his arm just in time, pulling him back.

"We're not at home, Ron! If you kiss Hermione you might as well drop to one knee and propose!"

He flushed brightly. Hermione bit back laughter bubbling inside her throat.

"It's alright, Ron, I'll be making far worse faux pas before the night is through."

"You're dead set on cursing yourself," Harry muttered from behind, still looking frightfully
distracted.

Ron cleared his throat, nerves tightly drawn. "Alright, well, I'm off, wish me luck." He started to
back away but then glanced at Ginny and stopped short. "Er…"

She rolled her eyes. "Get out of here, Casanova. I'll be fine."

He glanced at Harry. "Keep an eye on her?"

"I'm not a dog, Ronald. I can take care of myself just f-"

"We'll all keep an eye on each other," Hermione interjected, resting her hand on Ginny's shoulder.
"Go ahead, Ron. And good luck." She winked, prompting Ron to nod in relief before spinning on
his heal and cutting a quick path through the opulent room. Hermione couldn't help but perch on
her toes, trying to gaze over the heads of milling guests to glimpse the mysterious woman who'd
managed to enrapture her best friend in such a short time.

Harry told her the truth about Susan during his visit to the Home- that he met her at the opium den
in McLaggen's company, a detail he was still keeping from Ron in light of the current
circumstances. Hermione agreed it was better to let Susan confess the truth herself, and selfishly,
Hermione hoped the woman would stay in their lives long enough to help further the investigation.
But Hermione's love for Ron surpassed even her burning desire to seek justice. If their relationship
proved toxic in any way, or Susan was leading Ron on for her own nefarious purposes, Hermione
held no qualms about expelling the woman from all their lives. By force if necessary.

As she searched the sea of pretty faces and lavish dresses in search of Ron's beloved, she instead
became ensnared by a gleaming silver gaze that rendered her breathless. She sank back on her
heels, heart beating through her chest. Draco stood at the other end of the room, dressed in an
impeccable charcoal suit that paired magnificently with the dark violet of his date's dress. Astoria
hung off his arm, smiling and laughing, a radiant sight to behold. Her dark hair was woven into an
intricate braid crown, a lavender rose pinned to the side.

Hermione swallowed thickly, eyes quickly roaming the other woman's lithe figure. The dress
conveyed royalty. Though in truth, she looked more like a goddess, Aphrodite come to life. But the
rose… the rose…

Love at first sight.

Familiar pain lanced through her chest. She set her shoulders back and brought her gaze to the tall
blonde. Beside Astoria, he appeared the impeccable aristocrat his lineage denoted. They cut such a
beautiful image her hands began to shake.

Draco had yet to look away, to even blink. His eyes bore into hers from across the room, slowly
tracing every line of her body from top to bottom, rendering her frozen in abject misery. His irises
seemed to glow, or perhaps it was merely a trick of the light as the rest of the room became hazy,
only his face in stunning clarity. His jaw ticked, a crease forming between his pale brows, only to
give way to a mask of blank indifference as another body stepped in front of him, blocking his face
from view. The river of white-blonde hair situated between a set of broad shoulders made her entire
body tense.

Lucius Malfoy stepped aside and Draco reappeared, though his gaze was averted away from where
she stood. The Malfoy patriarch leaned in close, whispering something in his son's ear that only
seemed to agitate Draco further. And then, in the next heart-stopping moment, Lucius's gaze shot
up and locked with hers. Her blood froze in her veins, lungs compressing. She couldn't breathe,
couldn't blink, couldn't look away-

The corners of his lips turned down, face creasing into a map of disdain. Heat tore through her
body, an inborn humiliation that bubbled to the surface and seeped out of every pore.

At that moment, trapped beneath his penetrating stare, she couldn't hide from the truth. She was an
imposter. A stain on an otherwise flawless tapestry. A scratch on the crystal. Unworthy to share the
same air. And above all else, unworthy of his son's affection.

Suddenly, a waiter walked by and obscured the Malfoy men from view. She took the brief reprieve
to inhale sharply, starved for oxygen. By the time the waiter moved Lucius was staring at his son
once more, clapping him on the back before striding away in the opposite direction, leaving Draco
openly fuming in his wake.

Hermione jolted as a hand grazed her arm. "Mione?"

She blinked rapidly, spinning around to face her friends, Harry's touch falling away. "Sorry.
Thought I saw someone I recognized."

He raised a dark brow. "Oh. I thought you were staring at Malfoy."

She scowled. "Keep your voice down!"

He rolled his eyes but fell silent while Hermione blushed every shade of red. "I need a drink."

"I second that!" Ginny groaned, gazing around the room with obvious anxiety.

"If we all start drinking now I predict terrible things for the future of our evening." Harry snagged
two champagne flutes off a passing tray. "But with any luck, we'll be too drunk to remember any of
it."

"It's moments like this I forget you didn't spring from my own loins," a new voice spoke at their
backs.

Hermione's face split into an uncontrollable grin as she spun around, periwinkle silk fluttering.
"Sirius!"

"Kitten." His smile matched her own as he reached for her hand. She threw social decorum to the
wind and sprung forward, ensnaring him in a hug that he returned with a deep chuckle. "You look
breathtaking, luv," he said. "I'm going to have to murder half the idiots here tonight just for the
way they're staring at you."

She shook her head, leaning back. "There are so many things wrong with that statement my brain is
stalling out on where to begin correcting you."

"Think on it and get back to me, I'll be the bloke dancing on the bartop in an hour."
She laughed, the tension from moments ago melting away instantly. He released her, glancing at
the redhead lingering behind.

"Gin, aren't you the vision. Get over here, lass."

Ginny stepped forward with a laugh, extending her hand for Sirius to kiss. He did so with an
exaggerated flourish, eyes flickering up as he held her fingers.

"What do you say we cause a real scene and I spin you about like old times?" he asked the
youngest member of their trio. Ginny's blue eyes flashed with rebellious intrigue, lips curling into a
wicked grin.

"Absolutely not!" Hermione interjected, glancing beside her. "Harry! Tell Sirius he is free to incite
scandal surrounding his own reputation but he is to leave Ginny out of it."

Yet it seemed Harry was deeply preoccupied with draining the champagne flute in a single
convulsive swallow, the second glass empty in his other hand. She sighed, shaking her head as
Sirius's bark of laughter echoed around them.

"Now it's impossible to tell he isn't mine."

"Harry," she whispered, sidling closer. "Is everything-"

"I'm fine, Mione." He lowered the glass, licking his lips. "Just marvelous."

She blinked, drawing back. Something was clearly amiss but she couldn't work out if it was simply
nerves or something else. She wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of the mystery, but
she knew this was not the best time to do so. "Alright." She turned away with great reluctance.
"Sirius, congratulations on your promotion to Admiral. It's well deserved. I'm so proud of you."

He flashed a dazzling smile, the kind that made women of every age group weak in the knees, or so
Hermione had been told, always viewing the man as an Uncle herself. "That's sweet of you, Kitten,
but I think we all know I only got to the top by-"

"I'm going to stop you there and remind you that Ginny's present."

"Hey! I'm only a year younger than you!"

Hermione nodded. "Exactly. I'm older and wiser."

Harry flagged down a waiter and set the empty glasses on the tray, reaching for another. Hermione
flashed a worried glance at Sirius, who winked at her and stepped beside his godson, throwing an
arm over his shoulder and steering him away from the tray.

"Pace yourself, my boy. You drown your sorrows in booze and you're likely to wake up the
Admiral of Her Majesty's Royal War Fleet."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You are not giving me a lecture on vices."

"Of course not. That sounds terribly boring. But I will remind you at least one of us needs to not
make a complete fool of themselves tonight, and you know my record is o for sixty, so all the
responsibility falls to you I'm afraid."

"Lovely."

Sirius clapped him on the back, much in the same manner Lucius had done to Draco, and the
contrasting dynamic between parent and child was stunning to her eyes. She harbored no doubt
Lucius loved his only child, but that love was so rigid in comparison to the warmth shared between
Harry and his godfather. Even their tense moments were blanketed in affection. Hermione
suddenly thought of her own father. His warm brown eyes and easy smile. She swallowed thickly,
clearing her throat to dislodge the sudden obstruction.

"Oh- um, Harry?"

They all turned to face the new voice.

"Neville!" Sirius shouted, releasing his godson to instead throw his arm around the nervous-
looking young man's neck, drawing him into their cluster. "I haven't seen you in a dog's age, how
have you been?"

He blinked rapidly, smiling despite his obvious unease. "Oh, um, I'm good. Congratulations on
your new rank, by the way." He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as his eyes flickered to the girls.
"Hey, Gin. You look great." He blushed. "I mean, you look lovely."

She laughed. "Thanks, Nev."

He smiled, eyes moving to Hermione... and widening to comical proportions. "Her-Hermione?"

She couldn't help but laugh. "I'm afraid so."

His blush deepened to feverish proportions. Sirius and Harry exchanged smirks.

"Wow. You look… different." He blinked rapidly. "That didn't- I mean, you look really nice, you
always look nice, but tonight you look-"

"It's alright, Neville." She held up a calming hand. "I understand. This definitely isn't something I
wear around the market."

"Right." He laughed, high and nervous. "I didn't know you were coming tonight."

"I'm Harry's date."

Neville swallowed once more. "Oh. I didn't know you were… I mean, that's great." He glanced at
Harry. "Congratulations, mate."

Harry held his gaze a full beat before bursting into deep laughter, grabbing his side. Sirius and
Ginny quickly followed suit. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"It's not that funny," she hissed.

Harry sucked in a breath. "It's pretty funny."

She rolled her eyes, glancing back to a painfully confused Neville. "We aren't together, Nev. We're
just here together. As friends."

The man's shoulders seemed to ease. Hermione blinked, sudden dread seizing her. Before she could
reflect on the possible revelation she caught sight of a familiar shock of red hair approaching from
behind the boys.

"Er… hey everyone," Ron bid, looking stiff and awkward as he escorted a pretty brunette forward.
"Oh, hi, Nev."
Neville turned around and smiled. "Hey, Ron!"

Ron placed a hand on the girl's lower back. "I'd like for you all to meet Susan Bones."

She smiled brightly, albeit a bit nervously as well. "Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you all."

Hermione noticed her body stiffen as her gaze landed on Sirius.

"She came by Grimmauld to tell me about Lavender," Harry had relayed. "The family thought I
was secretly courting her."

Sirius winked. "The pleasure is all ours, Ms. Bones. Please, allow me to introduce myself." He
stepped forward, grabbing her hand. "Sirius Black." He kissed her fingers. She visibly deflated in
relief. Ron didn't seem to notice anything amiss.

"You've already met Harry at the party, this is Gin, my sister." Ginny smiled sweetly even as her
eyes roamed the woman from bottom to top with careful precision. "This is my old schoolmate
Nev." Neville nodded politely. "And this is Mione. Er, Hermione."

Susan's smile wavered as their gazes met. "It's great to finally meet you, Susan," Hermione offered
warmly. "Ron speaks so highly of you." The other woman blinked, posture easing further.

She knows Harry told me everything.

"He speaks highly of you as well, I've been looking forward to finally being able to put a face with
the name."

Hermione's earlier fears started to split at the seams. Susan seemed genuine enough, and Hermione
never sought to knowingly prolong another's suffering. The sound of shattering glass drew all their
focus to the bar. Nearby conversations tapered off as heads turned.

Hermione saw Susan take a step back as Cormac McLaggen came into view, leaning heavily
against the bar top as he shouted drunkenly at a waiter.

"What the bloody hell is that arsehole doing here?"

"Ronald!" Hermione snapped.

"What? He is an ars-"

"We get the point, mate." Harry's eyes remained fastened on Cormac. Meanwhile, Susan faded a
deathly pale. Hermione's natural instinct to protect took hold. She barely knew the girl, but she was
important to Ron, and therefore Hermione felt some vested interest in her well-being.

"Ron, why don't you ask Susan to dance?"

He blinked, cheeks coloring red. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh come off it, you can't expect to not dance with her on your first date, at a
party no less?"

"I'm a shite dancer!" He hissed, glancing at the girl in question.

Hermione sighed. "I know."

Ron looked at her sharply. "What the hell is that? You're supposed to tell me I'm not that bad! Or
that there's more to romance than dancing ability or some shite."

She smirked. "It warms my heart you think so highly of my advice. But you clearly don't need me
to say what you already know." She tipped her head toward the dance floor at the center of the
room, the band on stage above playing an upbeat tempo. "Now go ask her to dance before someone
else beats you to it. You aren't her official date for the evening and you know how high-born males
can get when they have enough drink in them."

Ron swallowed, inhaling deeply. "Christ. I can't believe I'm going to humiliate myself in front of
everyone."

She patted his arm. "It's alright. Your friends already know you can't dance for shite. And we love
you anyway. Consider this a test of her devotion."

He rolled his eyes even as he drew back, sidling closer to Susan. Hermione turned away to afford
the pair some privacy, and her eyes landed on the coif of white-blonde hair that seemed to draw her
eyes like a magnet.

Draco stood by the glass doors of the back garden. His eyes held her in a hypnotic trance as he
tilted his head, gesturing to the exit and then slipping through it, disappearing from sight. She
released a breath.

Don't even think about it, Hermione.

She turned to face her friends. Ron and Susan made their goodbyes and departed for the
dancefloor.

"Looks like he's got a pole up his arse," Harry muttered, watching Ron escort her stiffly through
the crowd.

Hermione wrung her hands together. Harry glanced at her. "You alright?" he asked.

She gazed up with a blink. "Yes. Why?"

"You didn't scold me just now."

"Scold you for what?"

He raised a dark brow. Neville cleared his throat and took a half step closer.

"Er… Hermione, would you like to-"

"I need some air," she said suddenly, so consumed by her thoughts she hadn't even heard him
speak. Neville quickly stepped back into his previous position, blushing profusely. "I'm going to
head to the gardens for a few minutes," she resolved.

"You can't go out there alone, poppet," Sirius said. "Even I know that."

She sighed. Damn all these social constraints.

Harry stepped towards her. "I'll take y-"

Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder. "You stay with Gin, I'll take her."

Hermione bit her lip, wondering which of the two men would be less of a hassle to shake so she
could get some blessed privacy.
"Come on, kitten." He held his arm out to her. She took it with a forced smile.

"I'll be back soon," she offered. Yet the only person staring at her was Neville, in such a way it
twisted her heart. She faced forward, allowing Sirius to escort her through the crowd. "Thank you,
Sirius, but honestly, you don't have to come outside with me. This is your party-"

"This is Her Majesty's party, a chance to show off England's Naval strength with fancy music and
champagne so the Elite feel they have some hand in warfare despite never getting their hands
dirty."

She blinked. "Oh… right."

"And don't worry, as soon as we get outside I'll turn you loose to your ferret. Just make sure you
leave enough room between yourselves for Jesus to squeeze in."

She tripped over her feet, his arm keeping her steady. "What?"

He smirked. "I didn't get the title Admiral without taking notice of my surroundings, luv. Little
Drake's been watching you from the moment you arrived, and I saw him give you the signal just
before he slipped out."

She swallowed heavily but didn't see any judgment in his eyes or hear it in his voice. There was no
point in trying to deny it now, and she hadn't the mental fortitude necessary to even make the
attempt. "It's not…" she shook her head. "It isn't like that."

He raised a brow. "Like what?"

She rolled her eyes at his coy smirk. "You know what. We aren't going to do anything sordid. Just
talk."

"So that's what the kids are calling it these days."

Hermione sighed. "We haven't been… together in some time." She blushed, remembering their
heated encounter at Kew... and later inside Amortentia. "Well, we've-"

"Alright, kitten, I appreciate you wanting to confide in me, and you know you can come to me for
almost anything." He patted her hand. "But if you start telling me about Malfoy putting his greedy
little hands on you I'm liable to cut them off at the wrists, which will cause Lucius to bring the
wrath of Parliament down upon my head and induce all types of headaches I do my best to avoid."

He smiled. "But if that blonde idiot does anything to upset you, and I mean anything at all, you
come to see me right away. I will personally see to it that his bullocks are removed from his
person, no matter his father's reach."

She couldn't contain the fit of giggles that overtook her. "Fair enough."

They pushed open the glass doors.

"Alright, luv. You go have fun. Just not too much fun. I'll be over here enjoying a cigar when
you're ready to go back inside."

She smiled, squeezing his arm gently before releasing it. "Thank you, Sirius."

He winked, reaching into the silk lining of his coat and extracting a wrapped cigar. Hermione took
a deep breath, turning to face the garden milling with men and women. She saw a flash of blonde
hair in the far distance, near the fountain, and swallowed heavily, glancing down at her dress. Her
hands smoothed along the branches on the bodice.

"Kitten." She glanced over her shoulder. Sirius smirked, flipping open his gold lighter. "You look
beautiful," he assured her.

The tension expelled with her next breath. She smiled, turning forward with her shoulders back,
and started up the path towards the fountain.

Draco sighed deeply, grabbing a flute of champagne off a nearby tray and handing it to Astoria.
She blinked, staring at the offering for several beats before accepting.

"Thank you…" she held it delicately, as though expecting it to grow teeth and bite her at any
moment. He rolled his eyes.

"Christ, you saw me take it off the tray, when would I have had time to poison it?"

She smirked. "I'm just surprised you didn't grab one for yourself. I assume there must be something
wrong with it if you're not drinking."

He raised a pale brow. "I never said that." He gestured to the waiter. "Bring me a scotch on the
rocks." The man nodded, disappearing into the crowd.

"Ah. Now the world makes sense again." She took a dainty sip, her other hand still wrapped around
his upper arm.

Draco tilted his head, trying to alleviate the tension in his neck. "How much longer do we have to
stand like this?" he groaned.

"Another twenty minutes at least, then we're free to wander at leisure." She raised a manicured
brow. "Or in your case, make a beeline for the exit."

His jaw tensed. "I'm not going to abandon you here, Tori."

"Of course not, Granger hasn't arrived yet."

He blinked, gazing down at her sharply, but she continued to glance about the room, seemingly at
ease. "Did you bring the manuscript?" he asked.

"It's in the carriage."

He nodded. "Good."

She swirled the champagne in her glass, staring at the bubbles. "Why did you have me bring it?"

"You'll see."

"I hate mysteries."

He laughed without humor. "You're a woman."

Her nose twitched, eyes narrowing. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're a living, breathing mystery."

Her head tilted as she gazed at his profile. "I can't tell whether to be flattered or offended."

"If you're on the fence I suggest going with the former, lord knows I insult you enough without
trying."

She shook her head, taking another sip of her beverage. Draco sighed in relief as the waiter arrived
a moment later with his drink order. He accepted the low ball glass with an appreciative nod,
relishing the burn down the back of his throat with the first swallow, warmth pooling in his
stomach, spreading out through his limbs, a blissful reprieve from his hellish surroundings.

Present company excluded. Astoria was actually ideal company to keep in such situations. She
always knew just what to say to the idiots who sidled up to them, desperate to converse, eager to
get into Peerage good graces. She always dismissed the interlopers with such casual grace the fools
hardly realized they'd been redirected until they were halfway across the room. She'd spared Draco
from having to make trivial small talk at least a dozen times over since their arrival. Their
exchanges with one another had been limited but painless, which was as much of a compliment as
he was capable of extending this evening, nerves stretched taught.

He took another deep swig of liquor. And then the main doors were opening at the other end of the
room, conversations tapering off and heads turning, socialites eager to get an eyeful of each guest
as they arrived, the gossip mills in full swing. He tilted his head at the matching set of red hair that
emerged.

"Bloody hell," he tilted his head the other way, as though the change in angle would reveal some
new detail. "Did Weasley bring his own sister as a date? Christ, I know no woman will have him
but this is desperate even for him."

"Draco," Astoria hissed, unamused. "That's terribly rude, keep your voice down."

He peered down at her. "Are you telling me you condone such behavior, Miss Greengrass?"

She rolled her eyes at his mocking tone. "I hardly think this announces his intent to marry his
sister, idiot." She shifted, glancing away. "Though it is a bit lacking in decorum."

He smirked. "Lacking in decorum? What a filthy mouth you have, Greengrass."

She shook her head, fighting back a smile. Then her eyes widened. "Oh my," she muttered.

He blinked, gazing ahead. "Wha-"

And then stopped short, jaw hanging open as the second couple slowly entered the room. His
breath left him in one fell swoop, grip tightening on the glass until it threatened to shatter beneath
his hand. Hermione stood beside Potter, but the dark-haired idiot was rendered invisible to Draco's
gaze. He saw nothing but her.

She was… perfect. Absolutely beautiful. Adorned in silk that hugged her narrow waist and
accentuated her hips, shoulders bare and sleeves fluttering behind her. Her hair was up, exposing
the pale column of her neck. Her skin looked like fresh cream, flawless and smooth. His fingers
tightened once more of the glass, desperate to touch the soft expanse of flesh. His teeth ground
together as Potter escorted her deeper into the crowd and she disappeared behind the gaping red-
headed fool and his sister.

Draco swallowed thickly, breaking from his trance. He peered down at Astoria, desperate for some
distraction, only to be rendered mute once again. She appeared similarly transfixed, perching on
her toes to follow their path, sagging in disappointment as they disappeared from view. He tilted
his head, eyes carefully cataloging every nuance of her expression. What he discovered was deeply
unsettling.

Fucking hell.

"Tori."

She blinked, eyes darting up, a delicate blush staining her cheeks. He opened his mouth but found
he couldn't find the words to broach this disturbing topic succinctly. Before he could dwell on the
subject a couple sidled up beside them, recognizable even from the corner of his eye thanks to the
female half of the duo's outrageous outfit. Draco turned to face the newcomers with a scowl.

"Jesus, Pans, aren't you supposed to wear the cages under your dress?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Bloody hell. Men." She flashed both him and Theo an annoyed look before
releasing the latter's arm to adjust the golden hoop skirt that hung from her narrow waist,
suspended over her deep sapphire skirts. "It's not a cage, idiot. It's decoration."

Draco shook his head, taking another drink and glancing back to where he'd last seen Granger.

"I think it's marvelous," Tori said, leaning forward to brush a fingertip over the filigree detail. "I've
never seen anything like it."

"There's a reason for that," Theo said, cringing as Pansy pinched his arm in retaliation.

"It's the latest design from Paris. Lord knows we haven't had any fashion innovations here since
that dowdy nun took power."

"I believe that's treason, Pans."

"Spare me, Draco. I'm sure far worse things are said in the House of Lords on a daily basis."

"Attacking her politics is one thing, attacking her looks is another beast entirely."

"That's true," Theo interjected, glancing about the venue with little interest. "Women are much
more sensitive about their appearance."

"You're kidding, right?" Astoria raised a dark brow. "She's a queen! She has far more important
things to worry about than her wardrobe!"

Pansy signaled to a waiter holding a tray of champagne. "She has an entire team of people devoted
to worrying about her wardrobe for her. There's no excuse."

Astoria shook her head even as a reluctant smile broke through. Draco was about to take another
drink when a gap appeared in the crowd and a familiar flash of periwinkle silk caught his eye. He
followed the line of fabric up until her face emerged. She was perched on her toes, peering through
the sea of guests, eyes searching for something-

His heart lurched in his chest as her eyes swept in his direction, holding his breath until that
moment when the ground shook and the earth tore open. Her eyes met his, and she froze. The rest
of the room fell away, every face, every voice, every tinkling glass. All that existed was her and
the endless expanse of time and space between them. His eyes carefully roamed her figure,
cataloging every detail, storing it in his brain to revisit on the lonely nights that surely awaited his
future.
The thought pained him to no end. That he couldn't just go to her, couldn't declare his feelings
publically.

A lot of good that would do. Even if you could have her, she wouldn't have you.

The pain sharpened tenfold. And then a hand was clapping his shoulder, pulling him violently from
his musings. The world came crashing back around him in stunning clarity, lights and noise
exploding against the inside of his skull.

"Draco, there you are."

His father's voice put him on high alert. He looked away from Hermione, praying his father hadn't
noticed the direction of his unwavering focus. He felt Astoria stiffen beside him as well, her hand
gripping his arm tighter as Theo and Pansy drew back a half step.

"Miss Greengrass, Miss Parkinson, don't you both look stunning this evening."

The girls sank into demure curtsies, picture-perfect smiles adorning their faces, eyes hollow.

"Draco." His father leaned in, voice low. "Be on your best behavior tonight. Remember that you
represent much more than just yourself." A heavy pause. "It won't do to have any distractions
getting in the way of your bright future. Do I make myself clear?"

Draco's only response was to grind his teeth together, shrugging his shoulder to dislodge the man's
grip. His father pulled away with a bright smile, as though that were exactly the response he'd been
hoping to elicit, and patted him on the back.

His astute gaze flickered to Theo and Pansy. "As I understand it, congratulations are in order. I hear
that the official announcement will be made soon."

Pansy gripped her champagne flute so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"Thank you for the good wishes, Lord Malfoy," Theo replied, face and voice void of emotion.
"And yes, our families are planning the announcement and engagement party as we speak."

Lucius nodded. "Excellent. There's no better cause for celebration than two of the most powerful
and well-respected families in the British Empire uniting through love."

Both couples shifted awkwardly. Draco pulled at his silk cravat, feeling suffocated. His father
chuckled under his breath. "Excellent, well I'll leave you young ones to it. Enjoy your evening."

The other three bid him a polite farewell while Draco continued to try and alleviate the pressure on
his airway. Pansy released a slow breath, shoulders dropping. "He terrifies me more than my own
father, and that's really saying something."

Theo grabbed the flute from her weak grasp and drained the contents in one gulp. "My father is
still the scariest," he said, licking the moisture from his top lip.

Tori shifted at Draco's side. "I think mine can go head to head with Lord Nott."

Theo raised a dark brow. "Wanna bet?"

"Enough," Draco bit out, earning surprised glances from all of them. He sighed, glancing at
Astoria. "Come on, there's someone I want you to meet."

She blinked. "Who?"

"Yes, who?" Pansy asked, leaning in, eyes sparkling with intrigue.

Draco grasped his date by the hand and tugged her away from the other couple without a backward
glance or parting farewell. He wasn't surprised Theo made no allusion to their previous fight.
They'd been trading barbs since they were children, brushing aside the fallen debris and resuming
their turbulent friendship without ever addressing past transgressions. But he couldn't bear to linger
in their presence another moment. Their pending nuptials reminded him of the blade swinging
above his own head. He was Damocles, living on borrowed time, one hair's breadth away from
being skewered through the middle.

"Who are we meeting with, Draco?"

He sighed once more, scanning the crowd, focusing upon the last place he'd seen them. "My
Aunt."

Astoria drew back, hand clenching. "What?"

His jaw ticked as he continued to search the room. "Not that Aunt…" his gaze found its target.
"That one." He gestured with his head, smirking. "Her husband owns a publishing house, we're
going to give them your manuscript. Also, speaking to Andy pisses my father off royally. It's a win-
win."

He started to lead her forward but she dug in her heels.

"Draco, wait!" She hissed. He blinked, peering over his shoulder. She bit her lip. "I didn't know… I
didn't expect to talk about my work- I haven't prepared what to say."

He rolled his eyes. "You aren't walking the stage tonight, Tori. This is a casual conversation.
Besides, they're the type of people who prefer genuiness, if you delivered a polished speech it
would only turn them off." He tugged gently at her arm. "Come on."

She continued to worry her bottom lip as she reluctantly followed in his wake. "If my father finds
out-"

"He won't."

She swallowed audibly. "If your father finds out-"

Draco squeezed her fingers. "He won't, Tori."

She finally fell silent, walking closely at his back as he navigated them through the crowd. People
glanced their way with obscene smiles, eyes bright as they tried to catch his eye. Draco kept his
focus forward, the force of his gaze attracting his Aunt's attention. She was standing next to her
husband among a small group, everyone laughing at some anecdote.

Upon seeing her nephew's approach, she squeezed her husband's elbow and gestured with her head.
She whispered something to him before slipping past the group and meeting him halfway. "Draco,"
she uttered with a genuine smile as soon as they were within earshot. "Don't you look marvelous
tonight." Her gaze shifted. "And who is this beautiful young woman?"

Astoria dipped into a perfect curtsy. "Astoria Greengrass, Mistress Tonks, a pleasure to meet you."

Andromeda nodded, her smile transforming into a smirk upon seeing such pristine manners. "I
thought you looked familiar. You have your mother's eyes."
Astoria blinked, shoulders relaxing. "You knew my mother?"

"Of course, we went to finishing school together. Such a beautiful woman, inside and out. I was
very sorry to hear of her passing. My condolences to you and your sister."

Astoria nodded. "That is very kind of you to say."

Andromeda's eyes shifted once more, head tilting as she gazed upon Draco. "So, was I correct in
assuming you crossed the great expanse to speak with your dear old Aunt?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "The last time I called you old you beat me with a mop."

Her laughter echoed like tinkling bells. "I believe I forced you to mop, my dear. Though I'm sure in
your mind that's just as bad."

He shook his head without any ire. Andy was impossible to be at odds with, her every breath
exuding easy affection, even for the nephew she was barely allowed to see throughout the majority
of his life.

"Alright, what's going on? I can tell you're on a mission," she prompted.

His nose twitched. She also had a keen intuition that rivaled even his mother's. All the Black sisters
were practical mind readers, their ability to determine when he was hiding something bordering on
the supernatural. "I just came to bid you a good evening."

"Mm-hm." She raised a dark brow, the gesture transforming her face into a reflection of her elder
sister, making his heart skip a beat before the edges of her expression softened once more. "And if
I ask Astoria will she feed me the same poppycock?"

Astoria clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a giggle. Draco sighed, jaw flexing.

"Alright, we came to speak with you and Ted about an amazing new book, we want to give you
first publishing rights."

She tipped her head back, laughing anew. "Is that so?"

Draco grinned, confidence exuding from every pore as he stood at his full height. "Yes, it is."

Her expression sobered. "Alright, I'll bite. Who's the author?"

"You're looking at her."

Astoria went rigid at his side, a brittle reed set to blow away at the next gust of wind. Andy's eyes
widened a fraction as she brought her focus to his companion.

"You wrote a book?" his aunt asked.

Astoria blushed deeply, mouth opening and closing. Draco gave her a nudge, seeming to break her
panicked daze. "I... well... yes, Ma'am."

Andy smiled. "Now this is interesting." Her eyes roamed Astoria from bottom to top with much
more precision than before. "We don't have many female authors signed, we've been looking for
more to add. What's the genre?"

Astoria cleared her throat lightly. "It's a mystery thriller."

Draco started, gaping down at her. "A what?"

She peered back, expression annoyed, as though she didn't appreciate him invading their private
conversation. "You heard me."

Andy laughed. Draco ignored her, still staring at Astoria as though she'd grown a second head.

"You wrote a thriller?" he asked, still reeling from the news.

"Don't look so shocked. What, you assumed it was a romantic comedy?"

"A tragic romance perhaps."

She rolled her eyes, peering at the woman across from them once more. "My mother used to read
Wilkie Collins to my sister and me when we were little. I've always had a passion for mystery."

Andy nodded, the wheel's visibly turning behind her eyes. "It's a popular genre, to be certain. Even
more so now that Arthur Conan Doyle is on the scene. His newest novel is practically flying off
the shelves. Though there's certainly a need for female writers in the genre. The only one who
comes to mind is Catherine Pirkis."

Astoria nodded, eyes bright. "She's brilliant. I'm also a fan of Anna Katharine Green."

"The American writer?"

"Yes. My sister's fiance managed to procure some of her works for me while abroad with the
military."

Andy eyed her speculatively. "Your family is supportive of your writing then?"

Astoria wilted before their eyes.

"I thought as much." Andy leaned forward, eyes warm. "Families can be total shite sometimes, my
dear. Don't let it discourage you."

Astoria blinked several times before erupting into indelicate laughter, releasing Draco's arm to grip
her side. Draco smirked at the sight before addressing his Aunt.

"We have the manuscript in the carriage. Even if you don't decide to publish I'd like for you to print
a professional copy for her to send out to other publishing houses. I'll cover the expenses."

Both women gazed upon him intently, Andy with brimming curiosity and Astoria with such
heartfelt emotion he couldn't bear to look at her. His Aunt held his unwavering gaze a moment
longer before smiling. "We'd be happy to, darling." She looked back to Astoria. "I'd like to
introduce you to my husband, he must meet the new up-and-coming female novelist."

Astoria blushed anew. "I'd be honored."

Draco felt his chest ache as his eyes caught a flash of blue in the distance. It was merely a
stranger's dress, the coloring all wrong, but it set his heart aflame just as well. "While you get
better acquainted with the Tonks, I'm going to take a quick stroll through the garden."

Astoria nodded absently, thoughts obviously preoccupied. Andy met his gaze.

"Thank you for introducing us, Draco." Her tone held an underlying firmness that gave him pause.
She smiled knowingly. "I think Astoria and I will have much to discuss."
His heart leaped into his throat. He swallowed it back down. "I hope so."

She nodded, effectively dismissing him as she escorted his date to the group in which Ted still
stood. Draco watched them walk away for another prolonged beat before making his way to the
garden exit, racing thoughts scattering as his mind became fixated upon one thing only...

He lingered at the doors, facing the room, eyes darting rapidly across the sea of faces. And then
that familiar, magnetic force drew his gaze to where she stood. She was standing in a group,
laughing and smiling, utterly beguiling in her radiant innocence. Light pulsated from her very
being, an aura that drew the gazes of every man around her. He stole glances for several moments
more until he watched her spine straighten, shoulders stiffen, head dart to either side as her eyes
scanned the crowd.

She met his gaze once more and time stood still. He drew in a slow, steady breath before tilting his
head to the doors, forcing himself to break their shared gaze as he slipped outside. He cut a
determined path across the garden, confident her burning curiosity would outweigh even her
stubbornness. He adjusted his diamond-studded cufflinks for idle distraction as he arrived at the
grand fountain, waiting on the girl he'd spent half his life wanting.

Harry was having a piss-poor evening. He'd strongly suspected this would be the general direction
of his night, though he'd certainly kept himself open for the possibility of something slightly less
awful. Ever the optimist. But the moment they'd entered the grand ballroom and his eyes fell upon
the sight of his former lover and his former lover's current fiance, the bottom promptly dropped
out. Which really left him with only one option.

Alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

As soon as his godfather had escorted Mione towards the garden, he'd grabbed another flute from a
passing tray. He justified his avid thirst by telling himself it was only champagne, mostly bubbles
really. It wasn't like he was pounding pure whiskey. Though that was certainly next on his list
because it seemed his eyes couldn't stop searching out the familiar contours of a body he knew
better than his own.

Theo was everywhere he looked, a living shadow cast from one wall to the next in the space of a
heartbeat. Or maybe Harry's heartbreak finally spread to his mind. Perhaps this deeply seeded ache
was truly a disease, festering and growing until it consumed him whole.

"I'm glad Hermione came tonight."

Harry blinked, pulled back to the present moment by the sound of Neville's low voice.

"I mean, I haven't seen her at any events for the last few months," the man continued, oblivious to
Harry's anguished plight. "I was worried she'd turned into a recluse, or that they didn't let her out of
that place." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Harry nodded.

"It wasn't easy convincing her to come," he relayed. "But I'm glad it worked out. She needs to start
getting back into the swing of society."

Ginny sidled up to his other side. "My feet are bloody killing me! I knew I shouldn't have worn
these shoes."

Harry gazed at the ground, her feet masked by her emerald skirts. "We can trade if you like?"

She burst into laughter. "That would be fantastic, actually."

He smirked. "We'll have to swap outfits as well, my boots will clash horribly with that dress." He
allowed himself to get lost for a few moments in easy banter, his anxiety ebbing. Only to return
tenfold as a familiar presence appeared in his peripheral.

"Hello, Potter," a familiar voice bid.

Harry turned into a living statue, limbs frozen. Theo came to a stop just before him, Pansy on his
arm, her outfit even more obscene than the Venetian costume. Harry forced his gaze to meet the
sapphire eyes that haunted his dreams each night and plagued his every waking moment. They
sparkled like stars against the midnight sky, even as they bore their way through Harry's skull.

"Congratulations on your promotion. What an accomplishment," Theo offered, polite as a stranger

meeting him for the first time. Harry swallowed as the voice continued talking. "Her Majesty is
lucky to have such accomplished sailors as you and your godfather in her fleet."

Harry's jaw throbbed as they continued to stare at each other for several suffocating beats. Then he
forced himself to speak, hardly aware of what he was saying. "I appreciate the sentiment, Nott. But
you're much too kind."

Pansy tipped her head, glancing between them with growing interest. "I tell him that all the time,"
she interjected, drawing Harry's gaze at last. "Luckily I'm a raging bitch and am able to balance
things out."

Harry rolled his eyes while Neville shifted awkwardly, but Ginny exploded into laughter, wild and
contagious. Pansy's feline gaze cut to the young woman. Her pupils dilated, red lips curving high.

"Why hello, darling. I don't believe we've been formally introduced."

Ginny settled down, cheeks lightly flushed at the greeting. "Oh... I haven't officially come out yet.
I'm Ron's sister, Ginevra."

Pansy's smile widened, eyes bright. "Never preface your introduction by way of a man, my dear.
You are your own person, are you not?"

Ginny blinked. "Well, yes."

"Then introduce yourself as Ginevra Weasley."

Ginny's blush deepened as Pansy said her name. "People call me Ginny."

"Ginny is a little girl's name." Pansy lifted her chin. "A nickname from your youth. If you continue
to associate with it, you'll never be taken seriously as a woman." Her gaze flashed. "Would you
like for me to call you Ginny?"

Theo rolled his eyes even as Ginny stood transfixed. "Call me Ginevra."

Pansy winked. "Good choice, darling."

Theo shook his head. "Well, now that we've got that all sorted-"

"I simply love your dress." Pansy reached out a hand, ignoring her date completely as she traced a
purposeful fingertip along the emerald cap-sleeve, grazing freckled skin and causing Ginny's entire
arm to twitch. "Custom made?"

"Oh.. um, yes…" Ginny followed the path of Pansy's fingers with her eyes.
"Stunning. Who designed it?"

The younger woman blinked, eyes snapping forward. "I did."

Pansy's brow arched, eyes roaming Ginny's figure carefully, causing the girl to fidget. "You have a
marvelous eye for fit and form."

Harry glanced at the other two men. Neville looked perplexed, but Theo shot him a weighted look
that cast stones to the pit of his stomach. Ginny was laughing, glancing down at her dress. "I don't
know about that. I just provided a rough outline, the seamstress did the rest."

"Don't act meek, darling, it clashes terribly with that outfit."

Ginny's eye snapped up. "I like your dress as well. I've never seen anything like it."

"I strive to be original."

"Well, you're certainly turning heads."

Pansy's eyes gleamed. "Am I now?"

Harry stepped forward. "You look like you're wearing a birdcage, Parkinson." Her expression
soured instantly as her eyes cut to him. He pinned her with a warning look, the message clear.

She held his severe gaze a moment longer before rolling her eyes, glancing away in acute
annoyance. And then her expression transformed into something truly wicked. "Come on, Theo,"
she coaxed throatily, bringing her lips close to his ear, speaking loud enough for them all to hear.
"Let's go slow dance."

Theo sighed, eyes locking with Harry's for a heart-pounding instant. The emotion contained within
absolutely gutted him. And then the man looked away. "Congratulations again, Potter." His voice
was hollow, unrecognizable. He grasped Pansy's hand and led her away. She shot a glance over her
shoulder at Harry, eyes narrowed and sinister. And then her focus swept to Ginny, lingering a
moment longer before the couple disappeared into the crowd.

Everyone visibly deflated in the wake of the passing storm.

"Pansy is more… vibrant than I remember," Neville provided, no doubt trying to ease the strange
tension holding them all in its grasp.

Harry sighed. "She's a bit more everything."

Ginny bit her lip, eyes averted to her skirts. "I thought she was fascinating."

Harry watched her carefully. Fuck. Just what I need to deal with.

Before he could think of a suitable response, Neville stepped forward. "Gin… um…" he shuffled
awkwardly. "Would you like to dance?"

Ginny beamed. "I'd love to, Neville."

His expression matched her own as he extended his arm, only to glance at Harry nervously. "Oh…
you don't mind, do you, mate?"

"Not at all. Have fun out there."

Ginny flashed him a wink as Neville led her away. "I'll save a spot on my dance card for you,
Harry."

He chuckled. "You'd better."

And then they were gone and his expression fell. He glanced around with resignation, alone in a
room full of people, a special sort of misery. Though it seemed he wasn't unique in his acute
suffering.

A crash sounded at the bar, followed by a few shocked gasps. Harry spun around, sighing in
aggravation as he spotted the culprit. McLaggen.

Bloody hell.

Harry made a quick beeline across the room, nudging his way through the spectators watching the
scene play out with avid fascination.

"Fucking sheep!" McLaggen listed heavily against the bar. "All of you are fucking sheep!"

Harry paled, emerging through the crowd and grasping the man's shoulder, causing him to jolt and
nearly fall over.

"Wha-" His unfocused eyes widened. "Potter! What are you doing here?"

"I crashed the gates," Harry deadpanned. "Hear they're throwing this bash for some uppity ponce."

McLaggen blinked, then burst into loud, grating laughter. Harry cringed.

"Alright, I think you've had en-"

"I killed her you know."

Harry reared back. A few people standing nearby ceased their conversation to listen in.

"Cormac." He squeezed the man's shoulder. "Not here, mate, let's go outs-"

"We aren't mates." His expression pinched. "You said that."

"Let's go outside anyway," Harry coaxed.

"I don't have mates. Not really."

Harry glanced around, causing a few eavesdroppers to glance away quickly while others continued
to shamelessly stare.

"People pretend to like me for my money… I know that…" McLaggen knocked a glass over on the
bar, ice spilling across the glossy wood. "Lav was different though. She liked me for me. Flaws
and all."

Harry sighed heavily. "Cormac, listen to me. We can't talk about this here."

McLaggen ran a hand over his face, offering little resistance as Harry pulled him away from the
bar, sliding an arm beneath his to help steady his weight and directing them towards the garden
exit. "I shouldn't have ever taken her there. It's like I cut her throat myself."

Harry's heart lurched. He glanced sharply at the man, surroundings fading into the ether. "Take her
where?"

McLaggen groaned. "You know where Potter."

Harry's jaw ticked. Amortentia. "Do you think-" He stopped short, too many spectators whispering
behind hands and feather fans. Harry sighed. "Come on." He hauled the man to the exit, balancing
precariously as he opened the door and maneuvered them both through.

He inhaled the fresh night air in a desperate gasp, relieved beyond measure to be free of the
oppressive crowd. He glanced around, spotting a scenic bench by some flowering bushes, and
quickly made their way over. He lowered McLaggen with a groan. The man slumped over
immediately.

"Alright, McLaggen, don't choke on your own tongue." Harry blinked, considering. "Or perhaps
do, that's a sure-fire way to bring this evening to a screeching halt."

McLaggen scrubbed a hand over his face. "I need another drink."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You need water and a good night's rest. In your own bed, not on a bench.
I'm putting you in a carriage."

McLaggen attempted to stand, only succeeding in tipping over further, nearly completely horizontal
on the bench. Harry shook his head.

"Fucking hell."

"Don't act all pomp you uptight arse."

Harry couldn't contain his grin. Leave it to this idiot to pick a fight when he couldn't even sit
upright. "I'm going to go hail a ride unless you came in your private carriage?"

McLaggen groaned anew, rubbing his temples. Harry stepped back.

"Right. Don't go anywhere."

Ten minutes later he was shoving the man into the back of a carriage, the cramped interior already
reeking of a brewery as McLaggen laid down on the seat. Harry started to dismount but hesitated,
glancing inside once more. He was brimming with questions but knew McLaggen was in no
condition to provide any valuable answers. He sighed. "McLaggen."

A low moan emanated from the shadows.

"Sleep it off, mate. I'm going to swing by your father's estate in the morning, finish our
conversation."

The huddled figure started to rise, only to fall again. "We aren't mates."

Harry stared into the darkness. "I know." He pulled back. "Good night."

He leaped to the cobblestone and slammed the door, gesturing to the driver. As he watched the
carriage pull away from the entrance, he felt cold tendrils wrap around his heart and throat, pulling
him under the surface and down down down to the darkest depths of his mind.

Hermione clutched her skirt tightly as she cut her way across the garden, knuckles turning white.
Draco had spotted her the moment she stepped onto the grass, his silver gaze tracking her carefully
as she made her way to him. His utter stillness and pale beauty made him look more marble than
man. She was reminded of the statues at the V&A, their cold perfection. She wondered if his skin
would be hard and unyielding beneath her touch, or warm and pliable, muscles tensing beneath her
nails. She clutched her skirts tighter. And came to a stop at the other end of the fountain. The
distance between them yawned and stretched. The statue came to life, head tipping, eyes roaming
her figure with such raw desire it caressed her like a physical touch.

"You look nervous," he observed.

She blinked, mouth opening and closing. She forced her hands to relaxed, her skirts swaying
around her in an invisible current. "I'm not nervous."

His eyes finished their upward ascent, locking with hers once more, keeping her trapped in place as
he slowly walked towards her. Every footfall clipped away at her resolve.

"I'm sorry about Lavender," he offered.

She swallowed heavily, shuffling on her heels.

"Potter told me what happened," he supplied, something flashing in the depth of his gaze. "Are…
How are you?"

She tilted her head back, holding his gaze as he reached her at last. The sincerity in his voice tore at
her heart. "I…" she shook her head. "I haven't really thought about how I am. There's been so much
else to deal with."

He inhaled slowly. "Please tell me you aren't entangling yourself in the investigation."

Her eyes narrowed. "There isn't an investigation." The relief in his eyes made her spine turn ramrod
straight. He sighed deeply.

"Don't give me that look," he clipped. "I'm not happy her murder is being ignored, but I will sleep
better at night knowing you aren't running around the city hunting a killer."

"Interesting. I find I can't sleep at all knowing her murderer is still loose, free to abuse more young
women."

He glanced away. "Christ. There's no winning with you."

She crossed her arms, expression pinched. "After ten years of losing every argument, you'd think
you'd have learned that by now."

He ground his teeth, eyes flashing. "Is Dolohov your attorney?"

Hermione reared back at the abrupt change in subject, losing her balance. Draco's hand shot out
and grasped her arm just in time, drawing her forward. "I'll take that as a yes," he surmised.

She gazed up at him, eyes wide and horrified. "Why are you asking me that?" Is he here? The urge
to glance around was strong, but Draco's magnetic gaze was stronger, holding her focus.

"He mentioned making a recent trip to the Umbridge Home for a client. I doubt the majority of
residents could afford his services." His fingers tightened around her arm, cutting into the
circulation. "He controls your estate then?"
She paled considerably, eyes flickering between his, seeing no escape in sight. She knew he
wouldn't have bothered asking if he wasn't already assured of the truth, he merely wanted to see her
reaction. And she was certainly giving him quite the show.

"Yes," she muttered. "He maintains a controlling interest." That much was safe to share. As for the
rest… Draco could never know. For the same reasons, she would never tell Harry. Either man
would go on a homicidal rampage and kill the bastard without a thought for the consequences.
Well, Harry would certainly revert to violence. She wasn't certain if Draco would follow suit or
take the legal route. The latter would be the most devastating, hurting those she was trying to
protect…

No. The attack was a secret she would take to her grave. As agreed.

"When did you speak with him?" She asked, hoping to steer him away from the truth.

Draco continued to grip her arm, his other hand sliding to her waist, fingers splayed across the
branches on her corset. "I was wrangled into a poker game with my uncles and their guests."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure that was quite a sacrifice for you."

His jaw ticked. "I've been cutting back."

"I can see that."

His silver gaze narrowed. "I made another fascinating discovery that night."

She tilted her head, muscles tense and ready to pounce, the feeling of being in his arms stirring her
most base instincts. "I'm sure it was positively riveting, I'm ever so eager to hear."

Their faces hovered so close his next words glanced off her lips.

"I learned that the Home recently employed a male physician by the name of Doctor Riddle."

Hermione blinked. And then several things happened. Looking back, she wouldn't be able to
ascertain the order of events as it all seemed to occur at once. One of the first things her memory
recalled was the intensity of his gaze, the eerie glow of his irises, as though lit by some internal
source. The next thing she became aware of was the unforgiving line of his body, as though she
were suddenly pressing against a brick wall. The third thing to imprint on her memory was the way
his head tipped back, causing his eyes to narrow as he peered down his nose at her, effectively
turning him into the spitting image of his father. And that thought triggered her final realization.

It's a test.

She knew with unequivocal certainty that the next few seconds would alter the course of their
future forever. He was waiting for her to react. And that knowledge gave her all the power. She
could make or break it all with her next word, her next movement.

A small voice whispered in the distance, begging her to tell the truth. It sounded suspiciously like
Harry. But a louder voice that sounded like her own urged her to tread carefully. Don't lose him.
Not like this.

There was no decision to be made. The lie coated her lips like nectar. "Yes. We also planted three
new rose bushes and added croissants to the breakfast menu. Aren't you receiving the Home
newsletter?"
His eyes flashed, something wild taking root, making her heart race. But she maintained her mildly
annoyed expression, her easy posture, as though they were discussing any mundane topic that
resulted in their usual banter. She was unnerved to see suspicion still present across every sharp
line in his face.

"He's quite the impressive character," he stated. "Seems hard to overlook."

She tipped her head. "Would you like for me to ask if he's single? Perhaps you can take him to
dinner."

"Do you speak to him often?"

"Define often."

"Don't play dense."

"I'm trying to make you feel more comfortable."

His hands gripped her arm and waist tighter, a thrill raced along her spine, nerve endings firing to
life. "Hermione." His eyes flickered between hers. "You know what I'm asking."

She swallowed lightly, soul withering inside her shell. She pushed on, committed to seeing this
through. "I do."

The silence grew and festered, the only sound in the universe the melody of her racing heart and
the fountain at their backs.

"But I assure you, I have no interest in him," she supplied, amazed she'd managed to stay upright.
"I find him deeply unsettling if I'm being honest." Hm. That much was certainly true. "I do my best
to avoid him."

He held her gaze for a short eternity before she felt his body deflate against her, tension expelling
with an audible hiss. He nodded, expression softening, mask falling away. She blinked rapidly,
eyes burning. "I found him unsettling as well. It's good you keep your distance. I don't trust him."

Cleared her throat, vocal cords tangled. "Why was he at the poker game?"

Draco shrugged lightly, hand falling away from her arm, the limb tingling at the renewed blood
flow. His fingers instead traced idle patterns along the branches at her ribs, grazing the fallen
petals. "Dolohov invited him. They're best mates now apparently."

Her entire body throbbed. She pressed her hands to Draco's chest as she swayed on her feet. He
glanced back up, brows drawn.

"Hermione?"

She forced a smile, trying to shove her heart back into the empty cavity at her center. "You're a fan
of the dress I see?" She prayed the subject change wasn't too abrupt but dwelling on the previous
topic for a second more would prove fatal.

"You look breathtaking. Half the men here can't keep their eyes off you. I don't think I'll let you
back inside."

She relaxed against him, taking comfort in the familiarity of his hold. She realized then she'd never
once felt threatened by Draco's presence, even during the height of their arguments. Hermione took
great comfort in that realization.

He raised a hand towards her face, twining a loose curl around his finger, eyes roaming her hair.
"You aren't wearing lilies or daisies."

She shook her head, glancing down at her bodice. "I'm wearing cherry blossoms."

Draco raised a pale brow. "I'm not familiar with their meaning."

Hermione glanced back up with a smile tinged with sadness. "Ginny picked the dress," she relayed.
"I doubt she knew the meaning either. I think she just liked the color." She removed a hand from
his chest to run a belled sleeve between her fingers. "It's ironic really, how fitting they are to this
occasion. To me. And yet they were chosen completely by accident."

The hands on her waist slid around to rest at her lower back. "What do they mean?"

She swallowed lightly. "The significance of the cherry blossom in Japanese culture goes back
hundreds of years. They represent the fragility and splendor of life. A reminder that each of our
lives is overwhelmingly beautiful, but also tragically short."

She became lost to melancholy thoughts, unaware of the intensity of Draco's gaze or the increased
pressure of his hands. She only came back to reality at the sound of his voice.

"Run away with me."

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "What?"

"You heard me."

She tried to draw back but his arms held her firm. His face held an open yearning that rendered her
mute.

"What's stopping us?" he asked. "Family? Friends? The people you love won't ever abandon you,
and the more distance I put between me and my father the better."

He leaned in. "Besides, Potter ships out in another couple of weeks. Back to his life. And what will
you do? Go back to that hovel? How much longer do you plan on staying there? What are you
waiting for, Hermione?"

She shook her head, thoughts caught in a whirlwind, breathing labored. "Draco, I-"

"I can already see the answer in your eyes. But before you reject me outright I want you to stop and
really think about it. What future do you really want? You've always said you don't want to marry
for money, I'm willing to walk away from all of it to be with you." His jaw ticked. "Unless you
don't want to be with me." He drew back, arms stiffening around her. "In which case that would
change everything."

She felt light-headed.

"Tell me the truth, Hermione. I need to hear you say it."

"I can't-"

"You can."

She gazed at him with pleading eyes. "Draco, I can't do this right now."
"I'm sick and tired of this runaround!" He hissed, eyes bright. "I deserve to know the truth! If you
don't want to be with me then just say it!"

Her abject misery was replaced with white-hot anger in the space of a heartbeat. "How dare you
corner me with this when your fiance is waiting inside for you!"

His eyes narrowed. "She isn't my fiance."

"She is and you know it! I saw the way Lucius doted on her earlier, he's practically salivating at
the thought of your pending nuptials!"

Draco's chest heaved.

"Furthermore, my friend was just found murdered," she reminded him. "I have no plans to leave
London until I know the person responsible is off the streets!"

He opened his mouth but she cut him off with a swift elbow to the ribs, causing him to grunt and
clutch his side as she twisted free of his hold.

"But the main reason for my vehement reservation is the fact that you've never once told me you
love me!"

She swallowed thickly, unaware the words had been sitting heavily on her heart until their weight
was lifted. They both stared at each other in surprise, earlier agitation forgotten. Draco blinked
several times, and then she saw the flame ignite in his pupils, even as the vines constricted around
her heart. She raised her hand just as he opened his mouth.

"Don't you dare say it now, Draco Malfoy!" Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Not in the middle of
a fight and certainly not after I've mentioned it to you!"

His face transformed into his signature scowl. "I can say it whenever the hell I want to say it,
Granger!"

She threw her hands up. "Fine! Say it then!"

"Well the moment's fallen to shite now, hasn't it?"

"That's what I just said!"

"No, you just tried to dictate-"

"Don't tell me what I-"

"- never can get a bloody word in-"

"- insufferable prick that you are-"

"- telling me what I can and can't-"

"- like a child that doesn't-"

"- after I ask you to be with me-"

"- like it's some great romantic gesture-"

"Hello, kids."
Draco and Hermione jumped a foot in the air at the sudden interruption, spinning around to face
the new arrival. Sirius stood with a cigar in his mouth and a delightedly entertained gleam in his
eyes.

"I hate to interrupt," the man spoke around a cloud of smoke. "And I mean that from the bottom of
my heart because it looked like the kitten was seconds away from rearranging your pretty face
again, little cousin. But I just spotted my godson dragging what appeared to be a very drunk man or
a very dead body through the garden." He released a long breath of smoke into the night air,
glancing between their dumbfounded faces. "But I'm guessing you were a bit too preoccupied to
notice."

Hermione recovered first, shaking her head to dispel the shock of his arrival. "Wait, Harry was
dragging who?"

Sirius shrugged. "Hard to tell, but I think it was Cormac McLaggen."

She inhaled sharply, pulse quickening. "I need to speak with him." She grabbed a handful of skirts,
glancing over her shoulder at Draco. His eyes were still narrowed, color high in his cheeks. "We
can finish this discussion later."

He scoffed, voice dripping in derision. "I think we've said all that we needed to, Granger."

The muscle in his jaw clenched as he strode past, long legs eating up the grass in graceful strides
even as his body seemed to vibrate with pent emotion. Hermione stared at his retreating figure for
several seconds before she remembered Sirius lingering beside her. He stared back with a gentle
concern that reminded her so much of her father she clutched her chest, glancing away.

"Please, don't ask."

He turned his head, blowing smoke in the other direction. "I know better than to do that, kitten."

She nodded, staring at the fallen petals sewn into her skirts. "And please don't say anything to
Harry. He has enough on his mind. I don't want him worrying about me as well."

Sirius raised a dark brow. "Is there cause to worry?"

She met his gaze with great hesitation, embarrassed to have been caught in such a state, even by
someone as accepting Sirius. "No." She didn't bother trying to sell the lie, knowing he would see
right through her rouse. But to her immense relief and undying gratitude, Sirius didn't press the
matter, instead offering his arm to escort her back inside.

"Just so you know, my offer still stands," he supplied around his cigar, smoke emitting with every
word. "Just give me the word and I'll castrate the ferret for you anytime, luv."

A laugh bubbled from her throat, high and broken, but genuine. She met his knowing gaze and
smiled, hoping it masked the pain. "I'll keep that in mind."

Harry was fully immersed in the quest for a new drink when a small hand alighted on his shoulder,
stopping him in his tracks. He glanced back, chest loosening when he was met with comforting
hazel eyes. "Mione, there you are."

She raised a brow. "What were you doing with Cormac?"

His face fell. "You saw us?"

"Several people saw you it would seem." She glanced towards the bar. "Is he still here?"

"No, I stuffed him in a carriage. I doubt he'll be able to find his way out of it before daybreak."

Her shoulders dropped. "He didn't tell you anything else then?"

Harry's hands flexed at his sides. "Can we talk about this after I have a whiskey in my hand?"

"Harry," she prompted.

He sighed. "He was too drunk to make much sense. But from what I garnered he harbors a lot of
guilt about Lavender."

Hermione drew back, folding her arms. "I didn't think he cared for her that much."

Harry fought to keep his gaze focused on her, well aware that Theo stood several yards ahead, just
within his eye line. "Appearances can be deceiving."

A shadow passed across her face. "I suppose that's true."

He gazed at her for a long moment. Her forlorn disappointment was sharp as a dagger point. "But
he told me something earlier that may be useful." The result was instantaneous. Light flooded back
into her eyes, wide and eager. "I ran into him at a pub the night after I came to visit you. He told
me there's a girl at the Club who knew Lavender from their youth, he thinks."

She swelled with visible excitement. He held up a staying hand.

"Now before you go asking a million questions, no, I don't know her name or even what she looks
like, besides the fact that she's also blonde."

She nodded quickly. "We can ask the-"

"We are not going to do anything. I am going to continue the investigation and you are going to
stay out of trouble just as we discussed."

Her eyes narrowed. "Discussed and agreed are two very different concepts."

He tipped his head back, gazing at the crystal chandelier at the center of the domed ceiling.
"Sometimes I think you live to put me into an early grave."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic."

"Harry! Good to see you, m'boy!" A new voice practically shouted beside them, causing them both
to jolt. Hermione brought a hand to her chest, steadying herself. Harry cringed.

"Congratulations on your promotion! About time, if you ask me. They certainly drag their feet
when it comes to these sorts of things, you didn't hear it from me though- Oh, hello, dear."

The portly man smiled at Hermione. "I didn't see you there. Though I must be going senile if I
missed you in that stunning dress. I hope I didn't interrupt?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, clearly still processing the man's whirlwind arrival. Harry
stepped forward. "Not at all Doctor Slughorn."

"How many times must I insist you call me Horace?"

"Always at least once more it would seem."

Harry placed a hand at Hermione's elbow, a gesture that appeared chivalric, but in reality, was
merely a means of keeping her from leaving him alone with their unwanted guest. "Doctor, this is
Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Doctor Horace Slughorn."

She smiled pleasantly. "Of course, I recognize you from your photo."

Slughorn blinked. "My photo?"

"Yes, in the science wing of the British Museum, you're quoted next to one of the vaccine
displays."

He stared at her a moment longer before breaking into a wide grin. "Oh, I'd nearly forgotten about
that." He chuckled, placing a hand on his sizable stomach. "Fortunately that photograph was taken
many years ago when I had less around the middle and more up top." He gestured to his balding
head. Hermione laughed along with him. Harry glanced around, looking for something to injure
himself with. This exchange had barely begun and he was already desperate for it to end.

"Wait a moment…" Slughorn's eyes widened. "Granger, you say? You wouldn't happen to be
related to Doctor Richard Granger?"

Harry watched her smile freeze in place, brittle and frail.

"He was my father."

Slughorn's expression fell. "Oh, I am terribly sorry for your loss, my dear. What a brilliant man, I
had the honor of meeting him on several occasions."

She swallowed lightly. "Yes, I remember him mentioning you, he was a fan of your work."

"And I of his." His face brightened once more. "Now as I recall, I remember him mentioning a
daughter. He said she was interested in becoming a doctor herself."

Hermione blinked, color staining her cheeks. "Oh, well, yes, I did. I mean, I do, but-"

"Are you following the progression of the Medical Act through Parliament?"

"Yes, as much as I can. I hear they're drawing close to the final vote."

"They are indeed. I remember your father being a very outspoken proponent of it, now I see why.
He told me you were quite brilliant."

She smiled, eyes hollow. Harry stepped close. "She is. The most brilliant person I've ever met in
fact."

She glanced up sharply. "Harry-"

"Don't be modest, Mione."

"Well with that endorsement I am eager to see the bill pass, we need more bright minds in the field.
Perhaps one day I'll see you walking the halls of Mungo's in a white medical jacket."

She took a deep breath. "I'd love nothing more, Doctor."

Harry was focused on her face, so he saw the moment her posture turned defensive. He glanced up
and instantly understood the cause of her transformation.

"Oh, hello Lucius!"

"Hello, Horace," the deep, icy voice greeted. The man's silver eyes darted to Harry. "Mister Potter.
I came to bid you congratulations on your promotion. I do hope I'm not interrupting."

Harry set his jaw.

"Not at all, Lucius!" Slughorn gushed. "I was just doing the same. Of course, I went off on a bit of
a tangent as I'm prone to do. And then we got onto the subject of the Medical Act, which I just now
remember is one of your party's focus. I do hope your ears weren't burning."

Lucius spared the man a sharp smile laced with acid. Harry felt his chest tighten, Hermione pale as
a ghost at his side.

"It is indeed, Horace." His gaze drifted to Hermione, latching on with predatory focus. "And I do
recall Ms. Granger's father being an advocate of the bill. Are you taking up his mantle, my dear?"

Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione gently touched his hand, silencing him. "I've been a bit
distracted with other endeavors, Lord Malfoy. But I am a passionate proponent nonetheless." She
swallowed. "I didn't realize your party was involved."

His smile widened, teeth pointed and precise as the rest of his appearance. "We are leading the
charge against it." Slughorn shifted uncomfortably but no one spared him a glance.

"I do hope you don't take offense, my dear. It's not that I personally have anything against women
joining the medical field, but this bill will no doubt be a stepping stone the liberal advocates will
use to launch more and more ludicrous ideas. Once momentum is gained it is difficult to stop. I am
merely trying to protect the overall sanctity of the values and standards that keep our society
running."

Harry's knuckles cracked with the force of his clenched fists, but Hermione's poise kept his feet
firmly rooted. She lifted her chin and spoke with calm certainty.

"If history has proven one thing, Lord Malfoy, it is that society continues to persevere even through
the most radical of changes. Some of the most renowned structures are built atop ruins of the old.
The floor we stand upon this very moment is built on land once occupied by the Anglo-Saxons,
and earlier by the Celtic tribes of Britannia. Had our ancestors not set out into the unknown then
we wouldn't be able to even have this discussion. The only thing that can halt us as a people and as
a species is to turn our backs on change and innovation, to deny ourselves the opportunity of
growth and development."

Harry smirked, tearing his gaze away from Hermione only to bask in Malfoy's reaction. His eyes
were narrowed to slits, his hand clutching the dragon head of his cane like a claw.

"A passionate speech, indeed, Ms. Granger, but hardly relating to the topic at hand. I do not see the
connection between women entering the medical field and our country's ability to thrive
economically. We've certainly risen to become the world's most powerful nation without the use of
female doctors, I dare say we can maintain our position just fine without altering our enrollment
process. The reality of the matter is women are better suited to other areas, like taking care of the
family, which is where their true strength lies."

She raised her chin, allowing her the luxury of staring down her nose at the man even as he
continued to tower above her.
"I see," she offered. "I can't disagree that women have shown to be unparalleled protectors. Perhaps
you feel they would be better suited as military leaders, as history proves?"

Malfoy opened and closed his mouth but she didn't await his response.

"One of the greatest military commanders of the ancient world was Fu Hao of the Shang Dynasty,
one of the king's many wives, who ended up leading his army to victory so many times she was
granted her own fiefdom to rule and was buried as a warrior queen. And then there were the
formidable Trung sisters of Vietnam, who ruled as co-queens and led the charge to reclaim their
nation's lands from the Han Dynasty. They were famed for appointing female deputies to their
armies, one of which is said to have charged into battle while pregnant and given birth on the very
field. And you've of course heard the tales of Boadicea, the Celtic queen who led the rebellion
against the Romans to protect her daughters' legal claim to their father's land. And we mustn't
forget the infamous Joan of Arc, who took charge of King Charles army as a mere teenager and
broke apart a bloody siege that had been raging for months in only nine days, a victory that became
the most pivotal battle in the Hundred Years War. There are countless others I could mention,
Laskarina, the famed Naval Commander, Azurduy, who escaped a convent to become a guerilla
warrior, and then, of course, there's our own English Queens, Elizabeth and the beloved Queen
Victoria herself. So I agree with you, Lord Malfoy, women certainly play a pivotal role outside of
medicine. But if they can be trusted to defend and lead entire nations, our own included, I don't see
why they can't be trusted to care for the health and wellbeing of individuals outside of their own
family."

She tipped her head and blinked, eyes as innocent as a doe. Malfoy blinked, expression caught
somewhere between explosive rage and utter disbelief. Harry was similarly transfixed, gazing upon
her with so much pride he thought his ribcage may split with it.

Slughorn finally broke the silence. "Well, my!" He clapped his hands together with a laugh. "I see
that Harry wasn't exaggerating before. That was quite impressive Ms. Granger. If you were allowed
to speak before the Committee I dare say you would be able to sway more than a few minds."

Malfoy's eye twitched. "That... was certainly a pretty speech."

Hermione's face remained a placid lake, which only served to rile the blonde further. And then an
arm was slung around Harry's neck, causing him to stiffen in annoyance even though he knew who
it was.

"Well isn't this an interesting group," Sirius said with a wry grin. "Let me guess, you're discussing
Lotta Crabtree's theatre group finally making a European tour. I'm excited as well, we should all go
in on tickets." Harry rolled his eyes, shrugging off the offending arm.

"And to think you will soon be commanding our nation's war vessels," Malfoy said, expression still
pinched from Hermione's epic smackdown.

"No one is as shocked as I am. Still, the only thing that would make the promotion even better is if
I could wear a powdered wig to work each day. You're living the dream, Lucius, living the dream."

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose to mask his laugh as Hermione stifled hers with the back of her
hand.

"Sirius, I'm so happy to run into you!" Slughorn seemed oblivious to the mounting tension. "I was
meaning to tell you about-"

"Sorry, Horace, old chap, I just got word from the old man that we're needed on stage." He glanced
at Harry. "Ready, kid?"

Harry released a long breath. "Let's get this over with."

"That's the spirit."

As his godfather started to direct him towards the raised stage he glanced over his shoulder to
Hermione. She flashed him a wink of reassurance. He tried to smile but found it a herculean task.
Instead, his eyes drifted, drawn by a familiar magnetic force that he put no effort into resisting.

He locked eyes with Theo from across the room. His former lover looked devastatingly handsome,
eyes unfathomably blue. Harry wanted to drown in their depths. Anything to put an end to this
misery. Yet he managed to continue putting one foot in front of the other, tearing his gaze away
and leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

Hermione watched Harry take the stage with a heavy heart. He looked so despondent… she knew
more than just the promotion was plaguing him, and it made her feel overwhelming guilt she didn't
know what it was.

I've been a selfish friend.

Her thoughts scattered like dried leaves to the wind as she felt a body draw near. Lord Malfoy
hovered above her, breath cascading across her face and neck.

"Tread carefully, Ms. Granger," he whispered into her ear. "You are nothing but an ant. Easily
crushed beneath my boot."

She blinked rapidly, trying to maintain her neutral composure as she stared ahead.

"And stay away from my son, you wretched girl. I assure you, he considers you nothing but a
passing amusement. Easily used and discarded. Like the rest of your kind."

He lingered a moment longer, seemingly satisfied by her silence, finally drawing back and spinning
on his heal, pale hair flowing behind him as he slipped back into the crowd. Hermione released a
gasping breath, feeling light-headed. She thought she detested the man before, but her previous
emotions felt benign compared to this new hatred festering in her heart.

He's leading the charge against the Medical Act…

She swallowed thickly, smoothing her skirts in the hopes of distracting herself.

Did Draco know?

Her attention was drawn back to the stage as a familiar and intimidating figure crossed the stage to
stand behind the podium, the sea of guests falling silent by his mere presence. He had that effect
upon people, Hermione included. Her mind went stunningly blank as he began to speak.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. And thank you for showing your support by attending
tonight's event. For those of you who do not know me, my name is Albus Dumbledore, I am the
Fleet Admiral for Her Majesty's Royal Navy, and tonight I have the great honor of rewarding two
of my sailors for their hard work and dedication."

Hermione felt her chest swell with emotion as her eyes drifted to Harry, standing beside his
godfather behind Dumbledore. But the man's next words were drowned out by the blood rushing
through her ears as a new presence joined the stage. One that stole the breath from her lungs.

Just behind Dumbledore hovered the ghostly apparition from the corridor, the girl who led her to
the hidden door. She wore the same white dress, hair flowing around her in the same underwater
current… And she continued to levitate off the ground.

Hermione took a step back, glancing around at the crowd. There were no looks of shock or terror,
no screams aside from her own voice in her head. She gazed back up, locking eyes with the girl.

This can't be happening. Not here.

She'd never experienced an episode outside of the Home. The sudden evolution terrified her more
than the vision itself.

Why are you here? Why are you doing this to me?

It took every ounce of strength to maintain her calm expression, though her eyes brimmed with
tears as she gazed upon the girl. And then, a memory played before her eyes, bright and clear as the
night it happened. And only one word came to mind.

Door.

Hermione swallowed, covertly wiping away her tears, hoping anyone watching would assume she
was overcome by emotion at seeing Harry take the stage. She saw the outline of the hidden door in
her mind's eye, except this time a sinister red light emanated from behind it. Hermione knew then
what needed to be done.

She glanced back at the stage, but the girl was gone. She looked around the room, spotting her
target not far away. She quietly made her way through the spectators.

"Neville," she whispered once within earshot.

He brightened at seeing her. "Hermione! Is everything okay?"

She nodded. "You're still an engineering major, aren't you?"

Neville raised a brow. "Er… yes, I am."

She sighed in relief. "Great! I need your expertise."

He blinked. "Oh. I mean yeah, of course. About what?"

She smiled sweetly. "What's the best method for prying open a door?"

Harry stepped off the stage, idly thumbing the medal around his neck, eyes combing the crowd for
his friends. He caught Ron's eye from across the room. The man mock saluted him with a smile,
Susan on his arm. Harry smiled, shaking his head and continuing his path towards the bar. People
kept stopping to congratulate him, he nodded and uttered the proper responses, his mind starting to
shut down with exhaustion. He wasn't used to staying at social events this long into the night, and
he certainly wasn't used to being the center of attention. It was grueling. And then he caught a flash
of periwinkle silk, his heart lifting.

"Harry! You were magnificent up there!" She clutched his arm. "I'm so proud of you!"

He tried to smile but ended up sighing instead. Then he noticed a similarly conflicted look in her
eyes, bottom lip pinned between her teeth. "Mione? Are you alright?"

"Oh, of course. I just… I need to go, Harry."

He straightened. "Oh thank god. I thought you'd never say it. Let's get out of here."

She blinked. "What?"

"You don't think you're leaving me behind while you fly free?"

"It's your party, Harry, you can't just leave."

"I assure you I very much can."

Hermione released a frustrated breath. "It will look bad."

"I'm not concerned about how these people perceive me, Mione. The ones I care about will
understand my need to get out of here before my sanity slips any further."

She pinned him with a withering look. He smiled his most boyish grin, emerald gaze bright. She
sighed. "Alright fine."

He grabbed her elbow, leading her through the throngs of partygoers at rapid speed.

"Wait! You have to say goodb-"

"Why don't I stand on the buffet table and shout it to the room?"

She rolled her eyes. "If you receive grief for this from your superiors don't come crying to me."

"Sirius will cover for me if Dumbledore cares, which I doubt he will. He detests these showy
events as much as we do."

"We at least should tell Ron."

Harry sighed deeply, coming to a stop. "Okay fine, where is h-"

His gaze found his friend quite quickly, red hair a bright beacon pulsating in the midst of the dance
floor. Ron was laughing wildly, spinning Susan around in a quick mazurka, her face equally alight
with joy. Susan's movements were fluid and precise, while his were abrupt and ill-timed, but
neither seemed to care. Hermione followed his gaze, spotting the dancing couple.

"I don't think they'll notice our absence," he said, emotions warring within him.

Hermione seemed to sense the change, always so attuned to his moods. "She seems rather taken
with him."

Harry nodded, tearing his gaze away. "I'm happy for him."

She held his gaze. "Just worried?"

His jaw ticked. "Aren't you?"

"I want him to be happy. If she can manage to do that… I think the rest will have a way of working
itself out."

Harry ran a hand through his barely tamed hair, causing a few strands to stand on end. He was
plagued by guilt, the lies eating away inside him. All the lies. "Gin's dancing with Neville, should
we-"

"Ron will make sure she gets home. Let's not interrupt their fun."

She nodded. He continued sweeping her out of the room before she could formulate a verbal
response. As they walked through the lobby he felt her keen eyes upon him once more.

"Harry?"

He took a deep breath, bracing himself.

"Is everything ok?"

He opened his mouth, an excuse at the ready-

"And please don't give me one of your canned responses."

His mouth snapped shut. She squeezed his arm.

"I know you're upset about something," she continued. "This isn't just aggravation over the event. I
hate to see you this way." Her voice was a warm blanket wrapping around his shoulders. It
reminded him so much of his mother it caused his chest to seize. "Please talk to me."

He swallowed heavily, continuing to lead them through the double doors of the exit, eyes fixed
firmly ahead. Theo's face flashed before his mind's eye. He thought he may faint. "I-" he stopped
short, stomach in knots. He fought to maintain his breath. "I'm just a bit distracted with everything
that's happening." His eyes burned, he blinked to alleviate the dryness. "It's nothing sinister, I
promise."

She tipped her head, studying his profile carefully. "We've always been able to tell when the other
person is lying, Harry."

Every footstep was a feat. They reached the main stairs. He gazed down at the carpeted steps,
careful to keep his eyes averted. She'd read the truth in them as easily as one of her medical books.
The need to tell her was strong, burning a hole in his esophagus. But the fear held him back. If
anyone would understand it would be Hermione...

But what if she didn't? She was his ship, his sail, his compass. If he lost her he'd never be able to
navigate the treacherous waters of this life. It was a risk he hadn't the courage to take. Not tonight.
Not after seeing the fire burning in Pansy's knowing gaze. The hollowness in Theo's.

He shook his head, desperate to dispel the memory. "I just need a good night's rest."

She deflated beside him. He forced a smile, patting her hand. "That doesn't mean I'm not up for
some dessert. Why don't we visit Honeydukes?"

She glanced away. "Actually, I need to get heading back."

Now he was the one trying to capture her gaze. "For any particular reason?" he asked.

She bit her bottom lip. "I'm just as much in need of a good night's sleep."

His jaw ticked. She was right. They always knew when the other was lying. Of course, Hermione
wasn't doing much to cover hers, spewing his own words back at him rather than constructing her
own excuse.
They both gazed sadly at the carriage pulling in. What a pitiful state of affairs this was. Keeping
secrets from one another. He wondered if hers were anything like his, sewn into the very fabric of
her heart, poisoning her blood with every beat. What cure was there for something so firmly
attached to one's core?

The driver hopped down, bowing low before straightening to open the door.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to accompany me on one last outing?" he asked.

She met his eyes, her brows drawn, as though the refusal caused her physical pain. "Next time."

He held her gaze a moment longer before nodding, bringing her hand to his lips, kissing her
knuckles. "You really were the most beautiful girl here tonight."

Her smile contained more sadness yet. "It reminded me of old times," she admitted. "I'm glad I
came. Seeing you on stage was…"

Her smile faltered, something haunted passing across her gaze, there one moment and gone the
next. She shook her head. "I'm just happy I got to see it. I'm very proud of you, Harry. More than
you could ever know." A beat. "Your parents would be proud of you as well."

His body throbbed with the force of his heartbeat. "I hope so."

She leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. She lingered a moment, as though about to whisper in
his ear, but then changed her mind, settling back on her heels. "Goodnight."

"Night, Mione." He helped her into the carriage, pushing her skirts past the threshold before
closing the door and stepping back. He placed his hands in his pockets, watching her pull away,
smiling to himself as she leaned out of the window as the horses turned the corner, waving farewell
as per tradition. He laughed to himself, tears brimming in his eyes, and raised his hand to wave
back. But she was already out of sight.

Hermione felt strange entering the main doors of the Home in her finery. She had been half
tempted to sneak in through the back, feeling as though her late-night excursion and dress were a
great betrayal to the other residents. They were all trapped in this hell together, made stronger
through their unity. Over the last few months, she'd developed a kinship with and earned the
respect of most the girls here. If anyone saw her like this she could only imagine their reactions.
However, she knew her skirts would not allow her to slide through the gap in the gate, and so the
front door it was.

Luckily, it was after curfew and the lobby was empty. Umbridge had given her approval for
Hermione to attend the party, another strange attempt to help Hermione cope with Lavender's
murder, apparently, so Filch wasn't standing warden. She hesitated at the mouth of the corridor that
led to the dormitory stairs. And replayed Neville's voice in her head.

"You need to pry open a door?" he asked.

I know it sounds… alarming, but I assure you, it's completely innocent."

Neville blinked. "Um… alright then." He scratched the back of his neck. "What kind of door is it?"

She tried not to fidget. "It's hidden in a wall."

She shook her head as she changed course, heading in the direction opposite her rooms.
Poor Neville. Poor, brilliant Neville.

"Hidden? Like a secret door?" he questioned.

She forced a smile, trying to put him at ease. "That's one way to think of it, I suppose."

He stared at her for a long beat. "Okay… well, all doors are designed to be opened somehow.
Usually with a key. But if it's hidden there's probably an extra layer of security, like a catch."

"A catch?"

"A trigger mechanism." His eyes brightened, voice becoming more animated. "Something attached
to the jam or hinges that allow it to be accessed. It may be concealed, but it will likely be on the
same wall as the door so the wire can connect."

Hermione nodded. "Okay. And if I find the trigger…?"

"Well, theoretically that may be all you need. But if it merely opens an access panel, you still may
have to get through a lock."

She bit her lip. "I don't suppose you know how to pick one?"

"There are hundreds of lock variations so unless you can describe to me what it looks like there's
no telling what the best method would be." He sighed, then blinked. "But technically, there still
may be a way in."

Hermione pushed open the butler door to the kitchen, pulling her skirts through before they got
caught in the swing back. She felt around through the dimly lit space until she found the drawer
containing the matches, quickly striking one and following its glow to a spare lantern. She lit the
oil-soaked wick and shook out the match, holding the lantern high as she inspected the utensils
hanging along the wall. This time, a ladle would not do.

Hermione walked further along until the knives came into view. Her eyes lingered on the cleaver.
She shook her head. No…

She smiled at the butcher knife. The blade was long and narrow, the handle short and wooden.
Perfect.

She quickly retrieved the tool. Her skirts had no pockets, the true definition of fashion over
function. But even if they did, she wasn't keen on stuffing the sharp blade into them. So instead she
made her way upstairs with the lantern in one hand and the massive knife in the other.

Hermione felt emboldened by the weapon, less fearful of the shadows and the creatures that
dwelled within them. She went slowly, lingering behind each corner, straining to hear any noise.
But Filch seemed to be making dormitory rounds, the hallways on this side of the building clear.
She debated walking down the corridor containing the secret office. Just to check on the files.
Make sure nothing was amiss.

It had nothing to do with the fact that the Doctor's chamber was just across the way. Hermione
could care less what he was up to. And she certainly didn't want him catching wind of her late-
night adventure. Instinctively, she knew this was a mission she must undertake solo. The visions
plagued her and her alone. She would seek out the source of the madness without his intervention.
And somehow she knew the answer would lie beyond the hidden door. It had to.

She finally emerged into the long, barren hallway, making her way quickly down.
"Don't ever run with a knife in hand," her mother's voice echoed in her head. "No matter how
much of a hurry you are in, a blade to the stomach or chest will surely slow you down a great deal
more than simply walking."

She swallowed as she came to halt at the dead end. The hidden panel was clear as ever now that
she knew what to look for. She wondered if Umbridge knew of its existence. She pushed the
thought aside, setting the knife on the floor before backing up slowly, extending her gaze outward,
searching for a hidden catch.

It will be hidden…

Her eyes landed on the only portrait on the wall, an oil painting. It depicted a young woman in all
black sitting before a solid grey background, making her pale skin glow in the darkness. She
looked as much of a ghost as the being that led Hermione here. She ran her fingertips carefully
along the back of the frame, feeling for any sort of push or pull mechanism, eyes locked with those
of the portrait. For a heart-stopping moment, the woman's eyes seemed to flicker, following
Hermione as she adjusted her stance.

Hermine blinked and the portrait was lifeless once more. She sighed in frustration as she felt
nothing amiss, stepping back and glancing at the wall with narrowed eyes, desperation building.

I refuse to walk away in defeat.

The girl had appeared to her twice now. She wouldn't let her down. Wouldn't let Lavender down.
Wouldn't let herself down. Her shoulders drew back with determination.

There has to be something else, something I'm missing…

Her lantern dimmed dramatically, drawing her gaze. The moment her eyes fell upon it the flame
flared to life once more. She blinked and her chest swelled.

Of course!

She spun back around, glancing at the sconce high upon the wall. She reached up but her fingertips
barely grazed the base. She lowered back to her heels, holding the lantern high, tilting her head to
study the iron structure. There. The left side had a seam absent the right. Like a lever. Adrenaline
surged through her system. Now, to reach the damn thing.

If only I were taller... A vivid image played out in her mind, Doctor Riddle reaching up with
graceful fingers and pulling the level with ease. She took a deep breath. No. I can do this.

Hermione gazed upon the sconce a moment longer before an idea occurred to her. She smiled at
the ludicrousy of it, then glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was watching. The was about
to make a fool of herself after all. She set her lantern aside and kicked off her heels, walking
several yards down the hallway with a wry grin.

I can't believe I'm about to do this…

She shook her head as she turned around once more, setting one foot back and bending her knees,
lifting her skirts off the floor.

Here goes nothing!

She sprinted as fast as she could at the wall, lungs pumping furiously, silk rustling around her,
hairpins sliding loose- And leaped for the sconce. Her arms stretched out, hand wrapping around
the lever and pulling it down as gravity took hold and her body fell. She dangled in the air, hanging
from the iron decoration for half a heartbeat before she released it, fearful of pulling the item off
the wall entirely. She jumped at the sound of a loud click, and then to her utter delight and fear, the
wood panel swung free from the wall, a narrow gap appearing.

She fought to catch her breath, the run made more difficult by her flowing dress and rattled nerves.
But it paid off. She swung the wood panel open all the way, a dry, dusty gust of air rushing out and
hitting her in the face. She drew back, coughing into her hand, eyes squinting into the utter
blackness beyond. Of course. It just had to get more terrifying.

She leaned over to retrieve her knife and lantern, hesitating for just one second more before forcing
her feet forward- "Ow!"

Hermione reared back, leaning over to rub her sore toe. She lowered the lantern, illuminating a set
of stairs leading up. She blinked.

Isn't this the top floor? Her heart skipped a beat. The attic.

But the attic had an entrance on the other side of the building, one that all the residents knew
about. And yet they were all forbidden to enter the space. A chilling memory stole through her
mind. The evening she returned home from the Apothecary after her first day of work… the cold
that blew past as she walked up the main stairs, the chilling face gazing down from the attic
window…

Or what she thought had been the attic.

Hermione swallowed thickly, gathering her skirts carefully with her knife-wielding hand and
holding the lantern aloft in the other. The stairs creaked loudly beneath her bare feet, the wood
cold to the touch. She peered down, seeing a thick layer of dust marring their surface. Every step
left a footprint behind.

No one has walked these stairs in years…

She released a sigh of frustration as the steps led to yet another door. She shuddered at the sight. It
was solid black, gleaming beneath the lantern flame. It seemed as though faces danced along the
lacquer, hollow eyes and gaping mouths stretched grotesquely in cries of anguish and desperation.
She blinked, tearing her eyes away to gaze upon the handle, and took a deep breath.

Might as well try it, I'm bound to get lucky one of these days, right?

It would seem that day would not be today. The door was firmly locked. Time for plan B.

"... technically, there still may be a way in." Neville's eyes gleamed. "If you come across a lock,
you can try getting around it. You'll need something sharp, like a hammer end or crowbar. A knife
may work, too, if the blade is strong enough."

Hermione set the lantern on the step below her, turning the knife over in her hand.

"Start by prying open the top of the door."

She bit her lip in concentration as she carefully maneuvered the flat side of the blade into the
narrow gap between the wood.

"Slide the tool along the frame through the door stop."
She grabbed the handle with both hands, standing on her tiptoes and using all her strength to drag
the blade down and around. She grunted with exertion.

"Once you get through that, carefully slide it through the latch."

Hermione gasped as she felt the blade hit the metal lock, then held her breath, eyes narrowed, face
flush as she carefully jimmied the knife- She gave a short shout of joy as the metal latch clicked
loudly, echoing through her ears. "You're bloody brilliant, Nev."

She pulled the knife free and pushed open the door. The room beyond was dimly illuminated by
moonlight and orange glow from the gas lights on the street below, filtering in through a dirty
circular window.

The same one I saw the girl standing in...

Her limbs trembled, the lantern shaking in her hand and casting chaotic shadows along the wall.
And yet her eyes were drawn to one sight alone.

A massive dollhouse.

She was drawn towards it by some mysterious force. Or perhaps it was merely her burning
curiosity, the benign image clashing so strongly with the horrors she expected to uncover. But she
quickly realized the further she walked into the small room the more sinister it all became. Broken
dolls littered the floor, each missing something- an eye, an arm, a dress- one integral piece away
from being made whole. More disturbing yet was the doll lying within the dollhouse. Hermione
slowly reached for it, throat tightening as she gazed upon the red marks marring the eyeless sockets
and grinning mouth. She brushed a fingertip along its lips, then inspected her skin. It was stained.
She rubbed her fingers together, feeling tiny granules.

Red charcoal.

Hermione set the defaced doll back down carefully. Alrighty then. She spun around, desperate to
leave this disturbing room but reluctant to do so empty-handed.

What is this place? Why was I led here? What am I meant to find? The dolls?

She held the lantern out, scanning the remainder of the room. But all she saw were more toys for a
little girl.

Why is there a playroom beside the attic? And why is it guarded by a locked, hidden door?

She felt a cool draft blow into the room, ghosting across her bare shoulders and arms, raising
gooseflesh in its wake. Her spine straightened. She was familiar enough with the unnatural cold to
know what it meant…

A message. Or a warning.

She watched the invisible breeze disturb dust, stray coloring papers, and doll hair, following its
progression across the room-

Her eyes landed upon a short and narrow file cabinet in the corner, hidden in shadow. She wasted
no time crossing the room and kneeling before the wooden structure, not an easy feat in her current
outfit. She tried opening the top drawer. Locked.

She raised a brow. Not for long.

She wedged her blade into the gap, face lit with determination. After taking down two doors she
refused to be deterred now. She managed to pry the lock free in a few seconds, heart swelling with
pride. Hermione considered herself an academic. Breaking and entering was not her usual pastime.
But it was quite exhilarating. She began to understand the appeal of certain crimes…

She brushed the thought aside, eye lighting eagerly as a drawer full of files came into view. She
grabbed up the first stack and held the pages before the light. She blinked. Then deflated. More
patient records. Hermione wasn't certain what she'd been expecting, but disappointment flooded her
system.

She sighed, ignoring the feeling and doing her due diligence, flipping through every page, pain
lancing through her chest each time she saw the word Suitable marring the final sheet. She shook
her head, grabbing more files.

What am I supposed to be seeing? Are these different from the others? Why are they locked away
instead of kept in the records room downstairs?

She scanned the pages two, three times, looking looking looking-

Wait. Her eyes widened. Maybe…

She picked up a file she previously glanced at, focusing on the first page instead of the last. And
inhaled sharply. She quickly flipped open another folder, and then another…

Dear god. They dated back forty years. Chills ran up her spine. It's been going on for decades…
What evil is this?

Hermione grabbed more records, the dates becoming more recent until she reached a pile that was
nearly thirty years old. And suddenly something else caught her eye. She blinked rapidly, assuming
it was only a trick of the light, and brought the page directly in front of the lantern.

No.

She grabbed another folder from the same pile and flipped it open, eyes scanning desperately-
There it was again. She shook her head. It wasn't possible. She quickly opened a third file. And a
fourth.

It can't be. It doesn't make sense.

She clenched the papers tightly in her hand, glancing around frantically, as though some other clue
would lend itself to this mystery... And caught a glimpse of something on the wall behind the
dollhouse. She set the pages aside and picked up the lantern, holding it high above her head. Her
lungs compressed violently as the image came into view. Writing. In bright red charcoal, scribbled
in a childlike hand.

And suddenly, somehow, Hermione understood…

This was what she was meant to find. These four simple words. This blood-chilling message.

the Dollmaker is coming

 River of Flame

A reflection sometimes exposes more reality than the object it echoes.

. . .

Hermione charged down the corridor in her extravagant party gown, barefoot, with a massive
kitchen knife in one hand and a stack of confidential papers in the other. The evening was proving
to be quite eventful.

Her hair had fallen into disarray at some point, perhaps when she was running full speed at the
wall before leaping into the air, or maybe when she was stabbing at the door jam or wandering the
eerie doll room. It was all a bit of a blur, her only vivid memory being the moment she discovered
the name upon the pages.

And the end result was thus; her curls spilled free of the pins Ginny had spent nearly an hour
painstakingly placing, her skirts were a rumpled mess, caked with dust, and sweat glistened at her
temples and the valley of her cleavage. She was only half aware of these components to her
appearance and didn't care one tosh. She wasn't seeking compliments or validation. No. She was
seeking answers. And she couldn't wait until daybreak to have them.

If she returned to her room now, she'd only spend the remaining twilight hours tossing and turning
in bed, or perhaps pacing the floor like a madwoman, which would only alert Parvati to her
discovery. And Hermione couldn't risk this information getting out, not until she knew for certain
what she read was accurate. Even then, she could hardly believe it herself.

Steel laced her spine as she marched to the one place she promised herself to avoid. She wasn't
positive of the hour, perhaps it was around midnight, perhaps even later. But there was really no
ideal time to do this. And a part of her suspected it was better to catch her target off guard, give
them no opportunity to formulate seamless lies that slipped through her fingers. Yes, now was the
perfect time.

She felt justified, emboldened. Until she came to the closed door of the Doctor's chamber. And
then she felt dread pool in her stomach.

You've come this far… Don't cower now. She swallowed thickly. I've faced down Lucius Malfoy,
another ghostly apparition, broken through two doors and a bloody cabinet… I can certainly face
Him.

And yet, some basic instinct told her confronting the Doctor would be the most dangerous part of
her evening. Before she could think better of it, Hermione lifted the hand holding the pages and
brought it down against the door three times. She could barely hear anything over the rapid
pounding of her heart. She shifted on the balls of her feet. And then gazed down at the papers once
more, a flush stealing across her body, not born of embarrassment, but indignant rage.

The secrets end tonight. One way or another.

She inhaled sharply as the door flew open. And her vision was filled by a wide expanse of naked
skin.

The Doctor stood before her, eyes narrowed dangerously, dark hair rumpled. Chest startling bare.
"Ms. Granger?" His gaze widened a fraction as he scanned her figure from top to bottom and back
up again, lingering on her bodice before flickering to the glinting blade in her hand. "Ah. You've
come to murder me then?"

She blinked, his words slow to process, and forced her eyes away from the smooth pale flesh, the
lines of his toned abdomen and pectoral muscles."I… what?"

He nodded to the knife, his one hand on the door and the other bracing the frame. "What your
method lacks in originality is certainly made up for in manners. I've never heard of a killer
knocking on their victim's door to announce their presence."

Hermione swallowed, thoughts a jumbled mess. His tone and stance revealed no hint of fear, and
yet his eyes darkened rapidly, pupils swallowing the grey even in the dim light of the low burning
hearth.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?"

Hearing her name caused her to jolt, senses sharpening. "I made a startling discovery tonight."

His eyes strayed once again, roaming her body with slow calculation. "At the party?"

His voice was gravel-filled with sleep. She struggled to maintain her steady breathing.

"No… in the attic."

His gaze snapped up. "The attic?" he repeated.

She curled her toes against the hall runner. "Well, not quite the attic… it's a bit of a long story."

He leaned away. "I'm starting to see that." His jaw ticked. "Very well. Come in." He took a step
back, holding the door open. She swayed on her feet, making no move to advance. He rolled his
eyes. "You obviously thought this so-called discovery was important enough to pound on my door
in the dead of night, dressed in a ballgown and wielding a knife no less. Did you really intend to
have this discussion in the hall?"

She huffed in annoyance, stepping into the room with tensed muscles, eyes hard set. He smirked,
pushing the door with enough force that it swung closed behind her. She trembled lightly as he
continued to stare at her from a few feet away, body eerily still, eyes gleaming. And then he
stepped back, turning around and making his way for the dresser.

The air was torn violently from her lungs at the ghastly sight laid bare before her. His back was a
mapwork of jagged scars.

She gasped, placing a hand to her mouth to smother the sound. But it was too late. His spine went
rigid as he opened the top drawer, glancing half-heartedly over his shoulder.

"My apologies, Ms. Granger. Had I known to expect a midnight visitor I would have adorned a
shirt sooner. My back is not a sight easily stomached."

She released a slow breath, lowering her hand. "I-" she swallowed, eyes transfixed on the
undulating muscles beneath the knitted flesh as he pulled an undershirt from a neatly folded pile.
"Does it hurt?"

His movements paused. A heavy beat of silence. "No," he replied simply, shaking the shirt open,
sliding his arms through the bottom. "Not in many years."

He pulled the fabric over his head, turning to face her just before the fabric obscured his middle,
lean muscles pulled taut, his flawless front such a jarring contrast to his mangled back. He tugged
the shirt down, smoothing a hand across the front.

She breathed easier, eyes no longer burning in their sockets at his partial nudity. In her entire life,
she'd only seen two other men shirtless, her father and Harry, the latter when he was only fourteen,
merely a boy. Seeing a man's bare torso- a man distinctly not her relative or childhood friend- put
her current circumstances into stunning focus.

She stood in a male stranger's bedroom in the dead of night. After seeking him out herself. What
utter madness my life has become.

Yet his added clothing helped to restore a small fragment of her sanity. She flexed her hands, the
paper crinkling, drawing his attention.

"I don't know what I'm most curious about, the contents of your right hand or your left," he said.

She gazed down at the knife, knuckles white around the handle. "Oh. I forgot I was still holding
it."

He tipped his head, studying her face. "What a fascinating creature you are, Ms. Granger."

She gazed up. "I can set it down."

"If you feel more comfortable wielding a blade in my presence then, by all means, continue to do
so."

She raised a brow. "Aren't you nervous?"

His low laugh echoed off the walls and grated at her pride. She narrowed her eyes, which only
seemed to amuse him further. "My apologies, I don't mean to offend, I find the question amusing,
not you."

Her expression eased. "Why is it funny?"

"Because if you need to ask whether you instill fear in someone then you've already failed."

She held his gaze, realizing that she actually was more comfortable being armed in his presence.
She'd never forget the feeling of his large hand ensnaring her wrist, holding her captive against his
body while he slowly drew the truth of Dolohov from her lips. She blinked. The notion that she
preferred wielding a blade unnerved her. She quickly discarded the weapon on the bed.

His eyes tracked its path, flickering back to her once it settled on the mattress. "That's one hand
down," he murmured.

She followed his gaze to her left hand, clutching the files tightly.

"I take it those are from the office?" he inquired.

She watched his face carefully as she replied. "No."

His eyes met hers dead on, the intensity nearly causing her to stagger back. "I don't like guessing
games, Hermione. Tell me what has you in such a state."

She breathed in slowly, gaze unblinking, determined to catch every nuance of his expression. "I
found more patient files in a hidden room in the attic."
"A hidden room? How-"

"How I found it is not important."

His eyes narrowed, obviously unsatisfied with that response. But the truth was Hermione hadn't
thought of a plausible story for how she discovered the trap door. Confessing the truth about her
floating apparition guide certainly wasn't an option. She took a tentative step forward, holding the
papers out.

"What I found is the important detail."

He continued to hold her gaze steady as he reached out and took the papers from her grasp. He
straightened the pages with dexterous fingers, finally looking away to peer upon the documents.
She took a deep breath as his shoulders drew back, body turning to unforgiving marble before her
eyes. She knew what he was looking at, the same sight that held her transfixed for so many
minutes in the attic.

Hermione took another daring step closer, compelled by some invisible force, senses heightened,
catching the subtle tick of his jaw, scenting bergamot and cedar bark and musk.

"Doctor Riddle," she asked slowly, hands curling to fists at her sides. "Why is your name all over
these documents?"

Harry slumped into the settee, head tipped back against the cushion and one leg dangling off the
side, bare foot flat on the oriental rug. His arm hung over the edge as well, clutching the neck of a
whiskey decanter. He'd finished off the brandy an hour ago. Since then, he'd taken to steadily
sipping from the crystal spout, forgoing a glass, and gazing blearily at the ceiling mural.

He'd never taken to studying the design before. He'd always known it was there of course, ever
since his frequent boyhood visits to Grimmauld with his parents. He'd been vaguely aware of all
the creepy portraits adorning the walls of the house. Their oil pastel gazes tracking his every
movement, watching, judging in eternal silence. Their eyes followed him even now. He swore the
portrait of Walburga Black was truly possessed, the lines of her face creasing more and more every
passing year, her scowl deepening, brow darkening. She practically grimaced when he walked past
with Theo in tow. It unnerved him greatly at first. Until he found perverse pleasure in it.

He'd taken to stripping his lover bare in the hallway on the way to the bedroom, pinning him
against the wall directly across from her image, giving her an up close and personal vantage of the
glorious depravity occurring in the heart of her ancestral home. He'd once asked Sirius why he kept
the portrait up. A haunted look had passed across his godfather's face, the buried pain of his
troubled youth clawing at the surface of the ice shelf. Only to respond that the painting served as a
reminder. Harry had let the matter drop, despite the fact the vague answer only filled him with
more questions than before.

Alas, Harry respected his godfather's privacy and elected to embrace Walburga along with all the
other portraits comprising the Black family tree. They were as much a part of this home as Sirius.
As Harry. For better or worse, each of them had left a mark upon the very foundation, forever
shaping the walls and roof surrounding him today.

Harry raised the decanter to his lips, slowly tipping it up, doing his best not to spill the expensive
contents all over himself or the silk upholstery. But his hand wasn't as steady as he thought.
Whiskey soaked his shirt and the silk upholstery.
"Fuck!" He sat up quickly, head spinning. "Ah," he moaned, clutching his forehead. "Shite."

A steady pounding started at the base of his skull, slowly echoing until it bounced off the back of
his lids. He flexed his jaw, pulling the bottom hem of his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers,
tugging the drenched fabric up and over his head, hair standing on end as it emerged. The pounding
grew louder. Harry sighed, rubbing his temples and tossing the shirt to the floor.

The pounding stopped. He breathed a sigh of relief. And then it started again. He blinked. And
then it dawned on him.

"Jesus Bloody Christ."

He stood from the settee, lurching slightly on his feet, before promptly crossing the drawing room
for the entryway. The knock continued, gaining persistence. "Sirius you tosser," he groaned,
running his hand through his hair. "Let me guess, carrying the key would have ruined the line of
your coat." He wrenched the door open with a scowl. "Am I the bloody butler now or-"

He broke off with a jolt, blinking twice, jaw falling open. His midnight visitor smirked, crossing
his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

"Harry Potter, the shirtless butler with a filthy mouth." He tilted his head. "I've had this dream
before."

Harry's senses returned in stages. "Theo." He blinked again, still clutching the brass handle. "What
are you doing here?"

"You left the party in quite the rush. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Harry swallowed, spine straightening even as his head continued to spin. "It isn't your job to check
on me." He was about to add not anymore. But he smothered the words, realizing with a sharp pain
it had never been Theo's job. They had been many things at one time or another, but they had never
been that.

Perhaps it's better he never wanted it. Otherwise, I'd have lost so much more.

And yet, his chest still felt like it was caving in, crushing his lungs, making it all but impossible to
breathe. Theo's eyes roamed the expanse of tanned flesh laid out before him. The deep blue ignited,
internal flames turning his irises violet. Harry swallowed.

"I'm fine, Theo." His grip tightened on the handle. "You should go. Pansy will be looking for you."

Theo's eyes snapped up, body going rigid even as he maintained his casual lean. "I dropped her off
at her private estate. No doubt she's already tangled with another naked body at this very moment."

Harry's jaw tensed, a memory from earlier in the night bursting to life before his eyes. "And would
that other body be male or female?"

"If you have to ask you already know the answer. Nevertheless, this is a topic best discussed
behind closed doors." His gaze moved down, fixating on Harry's tight abdomen. "Not to mention
the scandal that would erupt if a neighbor happened by and saw you in such a state of undress."

Harry shook his head. "I'm not inviting you inside, Theo."

"And why is that?"

"You know why."

"Think I'm going to damage the priceless antiques?"

"Between me and Sirius, they're already marked to hell. I'm not inviting you in because we both
know what will happen once that door closes behind you."

Theo's pink tongue traced a slow path across his plush lower lip. "I merely came to talk, I assure
you."

"That's what you said the last time. And the time before that. And the-"

"You wore emerald tonight."

Harry's mouth opened and closed as he lost his train of thought. "I…" He swayed precariously,
using the door for balance. "I didn't notice. I just grabbed something from the closet."

Theo's smirk grew. "Is that so? It had nothing to do with the fact it's my favorite color."

Harry released a sharp breath. "I didn't know it was your favorite."

Theo's arms slowly unfolded as he stood to his full height, taking a measured step closer, boot
resting on the threshold. "Liar."

Harry forgot how to breath entirely as Theo leaned in, the heat of his body saturating his naked
skin, making every nerve ending tingle without so much as a touch.

"Invite me in, Harry."

Harry's abdomen throbbed. "That's not fair," he whispered, eyes darting down to the man's mouth.

"What's not fair?"

"When you say my name. You know what it does to me."

Theo smiled, teeth gleaming, breath ghosting across Harry's jaw and down his neck. "And you
know what seeing you in emerald does to me."

Harry's body pulsated with the force of his heartbeat. "Yes."

Theo's hand rested above his on the handle, chests colliding as he stepped fully inside, forcing
Harry back. Forcing the door closed. And then all hell broke loose.

"Why is your name all over those documents?" she asked.

The Doctor's hands tightened on the pages. Her heart stuttered, the room suddenly feeling very
small. She suddenly felt very small. While his presence seemed to swell before her very eyes, his
shadow stretching out to either corner of the room, like two massive wings unfurling at his back.

"You found these in the attic?" he posed calmly.

She started to step away reflexively, but then his eyes darted up and pinned her in place as
effectively as his hands had done in the clinic.

"Show me," he demanded.

She blinked. "I don't-"

"Hermione."

Her heart stuttered once more. She felt dizzy.

"You're going to take me to the place where you found these files." His voice remained steady,
calm, eyes burning bright as hellfire. "Right now."

She swallowed heavily, nodding. "Okay."

Her spine was ramrod straight as she led him down the darkened corridor, hands curled at her
sides. The Doctor remained a few steps behind, his gate slowed for her benefit since his legs could
easily outpace her otherwise. She fought to maintain her steady breathing, his ominous presence at
her back combined with his eerie silence more unnerving than their destination.

As they finally made it into the hallway that led to the hidden stairs Hermione released a sigh of
relief even as her shoulders tensed. The Doctor slowed just before the panel, prompting her to do
the same.

"Ms. Granger." He tilted his head, gazing at the items on the floor. "Are those your shoes?"

She blinked. Then flushed. "Yes."

He raised a brow, eyes lifting to meet hers once more. "You journeyed to my bedroom with a knife
in hand but no shoes?"

A shiver raced along her spine as he said bedroom. She cleared her throat, desperate to dispel the
strange sensation, placing her hand between the narrow gap in the panel and the wall.

"It's a long story," she hedged.

The corner of his mouth lifted. "So you keep saying. Yet I find those to be the most intriguing tales
of all."

She bit her lip, pulling open the barrier and revealing the dark staircase beyond. His smirk faded,
gaze fixated ahead. "You went up there by yourself?"

"I did."

He took a step forward, causing her to retreat on instinct. And yet the only direction to move was
up. She paused on the first step, glancing wearily over her shoulder.

"If Filch happens by-"

"He won't," the Doctor assured her. "This wing is abandoned."

"He likes to search out possible hiding spots."

The Doctor braced a hand at either side of the doorway, blocking her exit and the dim light beyond.

"He avoids this hallway all the same. I have a feeling you're about to show me why."

Her pulse quickened.

"It's…" she inhaled deeply. "A bit jarring."

He tilted his head. "I have a strong constitution."

They held each others' stare a moment longer before she slowly gathered her copious skirts and
continued their journey to the black door. Her hand hovered over the busted handle, limbs
trembling. Bracing herself for the broken doll bodies and haunting missive within. She pushed
open the door and led the Doctor inside.

Her eyes immediately alighted on the cabinet in the corner. The papers she'd been frantically
searching through remained piled on the floor. She hadn't taken the time to refile them, assuming
no one checked this room given the amount of undisturbed dust piled atop every surface. Next, she
gazed upon the dollhouse. It seemed even more sinister the second time around. Now that she knew
of the blood-red scrawl hovering above its shingles. And then her eyes slowly tracked up.

The menacing warning came into startling view, the crimson lettering highlighted by the moon.
She took a step back. And promptly gasped, lurching forward as her body collided with hard
muscle. The Doctor stood just at her back, eyes equally transfixed by the disturbing graffiti, his
hands lifting to grasp her arms without so much as a glance.

He helped steady her, fingers grasping her bare flesh tighter as his brow darkened, eye gleaming in
the week glow of the street lamps. Hermione watched his face carefully, afraid to breathe, to break
his concentration. The wheels turned frantically behind his unearthly gaze, expression frozen. She
wished desperately she could decode the mysteries lurking behind those grey orbs. And yet they
remained just as elusive as the mysteries within this very room. And then he released her, so
suddenly she found herself swaying into him, chasing the warmth. She reared back, catching
herself just in time, flushing hotly as she averted her gaze.

She listened to his slow tread cross the small room, exploring every corner. His eyes lingering on
the spilled contents of the cabinet. He lowered to his haunches, dexterous fingers spreading the
documents further, eyes rapidly flickering back and forth, taking it all in.

Hermione rested her hands on her skirts, twisting the silk as a means of distraction. Yet her gaze
still made its way back to the message scribbled across the wall. She wasn't sure how much time
passed staring at it, lost in a dark trance, but by the time she tore her gaze away, the Doctor was on
the opposite side of the room, standing before the circular window, inspecting a stack of papers
held aloft in the weak light.

The moon's soft glow illuminated his pale skin, his chiseled features, casting shadows across his
cheekbones and brow, transforming him into Hades himself. The silence grew as thick as the dust,
but Hermione dare not break it. The tension radiated off him in heavy waves, weakening her knees.
So when he finally shattered the sinister quiet she jolted, barely stifling a gasp.

"It's not my name on the documents."

She blinked, fingers flexing. "I figured that much out already. You'd have to be well into your
fifties or sixties to be the same person who signed those records." She was tempted to make a joke
about hiding his age well, but the humor felt as ill-placed as the eyeless, limbless dolls littering the
floor.

He continued to read avidly, flipping quickly through pages. She shifted on her bare feet, toes
frozen.

"You took the identity of the real Dr. Riddle," she said.

That certainly earned his attention. His eyes snapped up. "That's quite a theory." He tipped his
head. "Rather imaginative."

She twisted her skirts until the fabric groaned between her fingers. He watched her carefully, the
moonlight hitting his eyes in such a way that they took on that supernatural glow that perturbed her
so.

"Is that what you really think?" he inquired.

She swallowed. "No. But it's what I was hoping."

He lowered the pages to his side, awarding her his full attention. "Why is that?"

"Because the only other plausible theory is so much worse."

He didn't blink, the utter stillness of his limbs making her feel like cornered prey. "Say it."

She took an uneven breath. "You're named after your father, Dr. Thomas Riddle Senior. His
signature is the one on those papers."

One beat. Two. Three. And then he smiled. Canines glinting. Eyes flashing. And all at once,
Hermione understood. She was gazing upon a predator. His beauty was nothing but a mask, a lure,
hiding his true self beneath, marred flesh covered. Venom dripped from his lips, pupils narrowing
to slits as he held her steady in his sights. And as he slowly closed in on her but one thought came
to mind.

No one will hear me scream.

"Ah! Shite!" Theo cringed in pain as his back collided with the unforgiving edge of the decorative
hall table.

"Take it like a man, Nott," Harry hissed across his lips, wrenching him forward with the same brute
strength he threw him into the table with.

"Bloody Neanderthal," Theo moaned into Harry's mouth, lips parting to give way for their tongues
to resume the heated battle that began in the entryway. He clawed at the man's clothing, sliding the
sapphire coat off his shoulders and tearing at the front of his shirt, ripping it straight down the
middle.

"Fucking hell, Potter!" He reared his head back, leaving Harry's mouth searching for his warmth. "I
can't just wear my coat home! Unlike some people, I don't go galavanting around without a bloody
shirt on!"

"You can wear one of mine, idiot."

"My father will recognize the difference. You dress like a -"

"Careful." Harry nipped at his lips, hands sliding around his bare waist, the pads of his thumbs
tracing the line of his pelvis. "Don't go killing the mood with that sharp tongue of yours."

Theo rolled his eyes, even as he threaded his fingers through Harry's untamed mop, pulling his
head in and claiming his mouth once more. They continued to writhe and grind their way down the
long corridor, stumbling every few steps, tipping into the wall only to push off and continue their
chaotic trek.

And then Harry spotted a familiar sight at his lover's back. Walburga. Her black eyes were
narrowed in acute derision, lip curled in a scowl Harry swore had not been present earlier in the
evening. "The old bitch really is haunting the place."

Theo pulled back, panting, cheeks ruddy. "What?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing."

He spun them around and threw Theo into the wall once more. This time there was no furniture to
impede his movement. He landed flat against the barrier and a moment later Harry was upon him,
trailing his searing mouth along his smooth, sharp jawline and down his throat, tongue laving his
Adam's apple. Theo keened, pulling Harry's hips flush with his own, grinding against him, causing
delicious friction as their erections collided.

"I have an idea," Harry whispered against the flesh he'd so hungrily marked with his teeth. "Let's
give the evil crone a show to remember."

Theo blinked at the ceiling, eyes glazed. "What the bloody hell are you on about, Potter?"

Harry drew back far enough to flash a truly devilish smirk. He watched Theo's eyes transform at
the sight, black pools swallowing the violet. His body eased back, tension draining from his limbs
as he silently surrendered to Harry's claws and teeth. "That's it." Harry's voice was pure gravel. He
lowered his hands to Theo's fly, the alcohol coursing through his system making his fingers
clumsier than usual.

"How drunk are you, Potter?"

Harry's smirk grew, eyes bright, greener than the gemstones they so embodied. "Not enough to be a
lousy lay, just enough to give zero fucks about the consequences come morning."

Theo licked his lips before offering a wry grin. "I dare say that's the perfect amount."

"I strive for perfection." Harry had finally managed to unfasten the front of his trousers. He hooked
his thumbs in the waistband and began pulling them down.

Theo jolted as Harry followed their descent with his body, dropping to his knees as the fabric hit
the floor. "Potter-"

"Harry," his lover prompted, gazing up with raw lust.

Theo rocked into the wall, palms flat against the wood paneling. " Harry."

Harry's cock throbbed at the sound. "Not bad. But I think I'll have you screaming it by the end of
the night."

He tore his gaze away, focusing instead on the appendage which brought nothing but beauty and
destruction to his life in equal measure from the moment they first became acquainted. He took the
cock in his hand, pumping steadily, running his thumb over the weeping tip, causing Theo to
shudder violently, head falling back against the wall with a thunk. Harry smirked, chest swelling
with pride at being able to elicit the string of broken sounds from his lover's throat. He parted his
lips, but before he could lean in, slender fingers tangled in his hair, holding his head back.

"Harry." Harry glanced up once more. Theo's eyes were fully dilated, his expression tense. "You
don't- we don't-" he released a sharp breath. "I honestly didn't come here for this. I wasn't
expecting-"
"Theo." The man's jaw snapped shut. Harry raised a dark brow. "I appreciate whatever sentiment
you're trying to make. But if I don't put your cock in my mouth in the next five seconds I'm going
to start feeling quite foolish down here."

Theo blinked. And then his shoulders lowered, mouth curving into a breathtaking smile. "Well, we
can't have that."

His fingers tightened once more. Except this time, they directed Harry's head forward. Harry was
only too happy to oblige.

Hermione's heart climbed steadily up her throat, its rapid beat radiating throughout all four limbs
as she walked backward, breathing frantically as the Doctor drew near. The papers rested at his
side, arms relaxed, even as he stared at her unblinking, something sinister blossoming within the
darkness of his gaze.

"You're afraid," he murmured.

She blinked, gasping as her back collided with the wall. She flattened her palms against it, trying to
press through the wood, break down her body on a cellular level and slip through the barrier
entirely.

"You explored an abandoned part of the Home," he continued. "Broke into a hidden room with a
knife, then banged on my door in the dead of night, and now you're scared."

She inhaled sharply as the Doctor continued his slow advance, his body growing larger and larger,
filling every corner of her vision until the rest of the room fell away and nothing existed but his
watchful eyes and sinister mouth.

"Hermione…"

She trembled as he reached her at last. Large hands pressed into the wall beside her head, sliding
down to rest just beside her hips. His head tilted, arms bracing his weight as he leaned in, towering
form encasing her, burying her in his warmth and heady scent.

"I only mean to thank you," he whispered in her ear, breath ghosting down her neck and setting fire
to every nerve ending in its wake. "I've been searching for these documents from the moment I set
foot in this godforsaken place." His elbows bent, chest pressing closer. Her nails clawed at the
wallpaper. "And you deliver them right to my door, directly into my hand, like some heavenly
messenger."

She tipped her head back, desperately trying to open her airway, to find the oxygen that evaded her
lungs. Her entire body sparked to life as his hand wrapped around the exposed column of her
throat. He didn't squeeze. Merely held her in place, forcing her gaze to meet his. His smile
remained, fangs fully extended, mouth hovering at her cheek.

"You're remarkably clever," he stated. "I knew that from the onset. But I must admit, you've
exceeded even my expectations. That is quite the feat."

She blinked back tears, pulse radiating against his fingertips.

"And I see now you're just as brave as you are intelligent. A formidable combination. Especially on
a woman." The pad of his thumb began to move in slow motions, caressing her skin, causing a gasp
to lodge in her throat. "And yet, I do not think it was merely your keen mind and daring nature that
led you to this room tonight." Lighting struck in his gaze and she felt it course through her entire
body, all the way down to her toes. "No…" his thumb continued its slow ascent, tracing along her
throbbing artery, tipping her chin up until their mouths were perfectly aligned. "I think it's time for
you to tell me that long story." His fingers squeezed. Gently, yet no less threatening. "In detail."

She swallowed thickly as he took a slow step back, hands dropping from her neck and the wall,
eyes burning like coals in the dark.

"And in exchange, I'll tell you a story." His head tilted, a wicked smile curving his lips, revealing
sharp, gleaming teeth. "One I think you'll be very interested to hear."

Draco awoke in a foul mood. It seemed to be a pattern of late. Especially where Granger was
concerned.

He made his way down the grand staircase with his shoulders set, hands clenched in his pockets.
He heard the shuffle of paper from around the corner and came to a stop, bracing himself, before
entering the dining room. His parents sat at the far end of the table, his father at the helm, an open
newspaper hiding his face, and his mother to the man's left. Draco fought back a groan as she
glanced up, spotting him. Too late to retreat now.

"Good morning, darling," a gentle voice bid. "Come have some breakfast. I want to hear all about
your evening."

His jaw flexed as he slowly strode inside, walking to the end of the grand table. He was tempted to
take the seat at his mother's side just to spite his father, but changed course at the last moment,
sitting to his father's right. Better to choose his battles. And he certainly had a few he planned on
waging. Where he sat was the least of his worries.

"Same as any government affair," he replied flippantly. "Far too much talking and far too little
entertainment." He sank into the finely upholstered chair, the door behind his mother opening and
their servant stepping through. "I can scoop my own bloody eggs, Parker."

"Language, Draco!" His mother snapped, pale eyes narrowed. She glanced over her shoulder with a
beautiful smile. "Thank you, Parker, but Draco seems keen on serving his own breakfast this
morning."

The man nodded, pinning Draco with a look of acute annoyance, his expression softening as he
gazed upon his Mistress, before slipping back into the kitchen. Draco fought back another scowl,
reaching for the pitcher of orange juice and filling his glass.

"Don't suppose we have any champagne to mix with this?"

"I'm sure you did enough drinking last night." She cut into her muffin delicately, pinkies out.

"I can certainly attest to that," his father offered, setting his newspaper down to alight his silver
gaze on his son. "I also suspect you paid tribute to a pub afterward considering you left the party
long before me and arrived home long after."

His mother glanced up sharply, setting her silverware aside. "Draco, tell me you didn't go down to
the East End again. It's not safe there, you're a walking target for the criminals and-"

"Not to mention what it does to our family's reputation every time you're spotted," his father
muttered.

Draco scoweld. "I'm touched you're so vitally concerned for my welfare."

His father shook his head, folding the paper into a pristine square once more. Draco's gaze drifted
to the bold headline. His heart skipped. "Were you planning on telling me about the Medical Act?"

His father froze for half a beat before picking up his fork and knife, expression void of any
discernible emotion. "I didn't realize you were interested in such subject matter. You tend to
gravitate towards business relating to foreign affairs."

Because I fantasize about fleeing England every time you open your mouth. Draco's fists clenched
beneath the table. "Is that why you deemed to keep it a secret?"

His mother dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin. "Draco, my heart, please mind your
tone."

"It's quite alright, dear." His father cut a sausage link into perfectly sized pieces. "It's good the boy
is taking an interest in my work." He glanced up with an infuriating smirk. "May I hazard a guess
as to your sudden interest in the Act?"

Draco's nostrils flared. He chanced a glance across the table to his mother. She watched him just as
carefully, pale gaze all too knowing. He leaned back in his seat. "I don't like being kept in the dark.
It's as simple as that."

His parents both watched him a moment longer before glancing at each other. The silence was
deafening. Draco cleared his throat, fighting to keep his posture eased and voice even. "I'd like to
assist on the final debate," he added as an afterthought.

Their eyes darted to him once more. His mother's face pinched in acute concern while his father
merely blinked. "Excuse me?"

He kept his gaze averted from his mother, unable to stomach the look in her eyes. Besides, she'd
see right through him if he gave her the opportunity. She always had a way of peering into his very
soul. So he focused upon his father instead.

"I'd like to assist," he repeated calmly. "I think it would be good practice for me, presenting before
a Committee during final rounds. Don't you agree?"

Lucius tipped his head, eyes roaming Draco's face with meticulous precision. It took every ounce
of strength not to squirm like a worm on the hook. His father's eyes narrowed slightly, his body
unnaturally still. "You support the opposition?" he posed carefully.

Draco didn't miss a beat. "Of course I do. Female doctors? I may partake in vices but my mind isn't
that far gone."

His mother sighed but made no comment, setting her napkin beside her plate. Draco kept his eyes
on his father, knowing this was a pivotal moment. If he looked away first, it was over.

"You're certain you don't have any other… motivation for volunteering to assist?" the man
prompted.

Draco's mind raced. Over a dozen carefully crafted responses played out in his mind, but in the
end, he knew the best lie was one surrounded by truth. "I don't see why we must beat around the
bush like we're in session. You obviously think I'm in this for Granger." His mother tensed. His
father didn't flinch. Draco forged ahead, heart racing. "You're right," he admitted. "The truth of the
matter is we had a rather massive falling out last night." His jaw ticked. "It's over. Permanently.
And I'd like to move past my youthful stupidity by solidifying the nail in the coffin." He forced his
fingers to relax as he reached for his glass, picking it up with a steady hand. "So you see, my
motivation, as you say, does revolve around her. But certainly not in the way you think."

He took a sip, desperate for the cool liquid on the back of his parched throat, watching his father
steadily over the rim all the while. Several moments passed. He set the glass down, licking his top
lip, still refusing to meet his mother's gaze. And then his father smiled. Draco's chest swelled.

"It's good to see you've finally come to your senses, son."

From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother lace her hands together on the table. Draco smirked.
"I admit I was a love-struck fool. But I've certainly learned my lesson. It's time I step up and take
on the family mantle."

His father chuckled, nodding. "Excellent. I can't tell you how long I've waited for you to take such
an interest." His eyes were bright. Excited. Draco blinked, suddenly feeling awash with a strange
emotion he never associated with his father before. Guilt. "The first debate portion is tomorrow,"
their Patriarch continued. "You'll listen in, take notes, keep a careful eye on our opposition and
help us find ways to exploit their weakness. You have prior knowledge of the bill no doubt, but I'll
bring you up to speed tonight."

Draco nodded, his face displaying an earnest eagerness, chest suddenly numb. "Wonderful."

His father raised a heavy brow. "Did last night's epiphany extend beyond your career?"

Draco blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I'd like to set a date to announce your engagement. Unless you still oppose the match?"

Draco froze. His father watched him like an eagle hunting its prey. It's a test. The numbness spread
outward to his limbs, every finger and toe.

"Astoria is a suitable Malfoy bride," Draco replied evenly. "She certainly didn't disappoint last
night. That outfit is still emblazoned on my mind."

His father laughed, nodding once in approval, finally releasing Draco from his thrall.

"But let's hold off a little while longer." Draco traced the edge of the cool glass with his fingertip.
"Theo and Pansy are announcing their engagement soon. It would be gauche to publicize ours first
when their contract is already finalized."

His father picked up his cutlery. "Excellent point. I suppose we can wait another few weeks. But
we must announce before the fall if we plan on hosting a spring affair."

Draco swallowed heavily, eyes inadvertently drifting across the table. Only to be captured by his
mother. The hawk. And just as he'd feared, her gaze cut right through him, scrambling his thoughts
as though she were truly sifting through his mind. It took every ounce of strength to maintain his
composure beneath the silent onslaught. And then she pulled back. His thoughts settled, strewn
about in the aftermath of the storm, and the numbness dissolved into a searing pain centered in his
chest.

She released a small sigh and shook her head imperceptibly, trapping him between the brick walls
of panic and relief. For Draco was certain of one thing... His mother knew exactly what he was up
to.

Harry blinked slowly, head pulsating in time to his heart, a dull ache he felt wind its way through
his muscles and bones from his skull to his ankles. Light streamed in mercilessly from the window
overhead, blinding even behind closed lids. He reached out to grab a handful of covers, intent on
dragging them over his head, desperate for a few moments more of blissful unconsciousness before
he was forced to face the relentless onslaught of his hangover. Yet, his groping hand met smooth,
warm flesh instead of soft fabric.

Harry's eyes shot open. Only to meet a shock of a familiar dark hair. His gaze flickered down,
following the pitch hue to a pale nape, then along the graceful curve of spine splitting a lean, toned
back. His eyes lingered on the dip of his bedmate's lower back, the rumpled sheets draped over his
pert arse. Damn.

Harry groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face as he rolled to his back, blinking blearily at the
ceiling. His mind flashed back to last night. He'd started out on the settee, staring at the ceiling in
much the same position. Then he'd spilled half the contents of the decanter. Then there'd been a
knock at the door. Then he'd gone and made a royally cocked up decision that led to a literal cock
up that would surely lead to nothing but more insanity and heartbreak.

He couldn't bear it. Couldn't face another rejection so soon after the first. For he'd known even
through last night's lust and drunken haze that what Theo said earlier in the evening was true. He
hadn't come to Grimmauld for a seduction. Which meant everything that ensued was just more of
the same fleeting madness that possessed them countless times over. And it changed nothing.

He flexed his back, chest already cracking down the center without a word being spoken. And then
Theo sighed, body stretching taut as he awoke slowly. Harry gave it his best effort to keep his eyes
averted. He really did. But he felt like shite inside and out and hadn't the strength to keep up the
good fight as the man rolled onto his back, arms stretching overhead and back arching high, the
sheets pulling down, revealing the dark shadow of his groin.

He sighed in contentment as his body relaxed. Only to tense once more as his eyes opened. He
glanced around frantically, clearly not recognizing his surroundings for half a beat. And then his
gaze fell on Harry.

Theo blinked, sinking into the mattress once more. They stared at each other for a short eternity,
shoulders touching while an entire cosmos swirled between them. And then his lover rolled to his
side, bending his arm to prop his head up as he gazed down at Harry.

"On a scale of one to horse shite, how do you feel?"

Harry closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I've exceeded horse shite. We're in elephant
shite territory now."

He couldn't see Theo's smirk, but he could hear it in his voice. "That's what you get for indulging
your vices to excess."

Harry chuckled without humor, voice still thick and sluggish with drink and sleep. "Considering
you're one of said vices I find that extremely amusing." He licked his dry lips, eyes peeling open.
"And I certainly didn't hear any complaints from you last night."

Theo's gaze flashed, as vibrant in the morning sun as it had been in the moonlight. "I complained
after you passed out on top of me. But for obvious reasons you were deaf to my struggles."

Harry raised a dark brow. "I did not pass out on top of you, Nott. Despite appearances, I know how
to handle my liquor. I recall every part of the evening in vivid detail."
Theo's smirk widened, expression turning alarmingly smug and frightfully appealing to Harry's
awakening libido. "You didn't pass out from the drink. You passed out from the orgasm I gave you.
Third in a row, mind you." His nose twitched. "You used to be able to go at least four rounds
before losing consciousness. You're getting soft in your old age."

Harry scoffed. "Perhaps I passed out from the effort of ensuring you got off four times." He
propped his torso up on bent arms, putting them at eye level. "You're not the only one who keeps
count, Nott." He expected Theo to throw back another quip, perhaps fight back a grin, so when the
man's expression melted away to somberness he felt his pulse quicken.

"You keep calling me Nott."

Harry blinked. "That's your name."

"Don't." The man's voice was edged with something abrasive, chafing Harry's skin. "Don't start
acting like this means nothing to you."

Harry sat up fully, pulling the sheets over his nudity and resting against the headboard. "What the
hell do you want from me, Theo? You tell me you're getting married, that we can't be together
anymore, you parade your fiance around at my bloody promotion party, and then you show up at
my door the same fucking night and practically accost me in the doorway-"

"What a selective memory you have, Potter." He narrowed his eyes before mirroring Harry's
position, leaning into the headboard beside him. "First of all, you attacked me in the foyer. I have
the bruises on my back to prove it-"

"That was from tossing you around the bloody hall-"

"Furthermore, you showed up at my father's estate in broad daylight and tried shagging me against
the wall of the main parlor while the entire household went about their business not a foot away.
You stormed out on me when I told you about the engagement- which I am being forced into,
thank you very much. I didn't drop to one knee and propose to Parkinson in front of the fountains at
Kew. We're both being sold to auction like cattle, dragged kicking and screaming to the whims of
our families. She's just as put off by the arrangement as I am. But our mutual aversion gives us no
more power over the situation."

Theo inhaled sharply, cheeks tinged pink. The muscle in his jaw clenched repeatedly as though he
were biting back more words. Harry watched him in silence for several stuttered heartbeats more,
thoughts trapped in a vortex, unable to find the words to convey the flood of emotion his soliloquy
inspired. Theo sighed, dragging a hand over his face and gazing forward, eyes lost.

"I found out my future was drawn up in a contract and signed before I even sat down for breakfast.
I found out one of my best friends was sealed with the same fate. That we're both condemned to a
lifelong, loveless union. And still-" he broke off, gazing blankly at his hands. "And still… losing
you was the hardest part."

Harry's heart tore open. Blood poured out onto the white sheets with every dying beat. He reached
through the river of red, grasping for Theo's hand, desperate for a lifeline, a means to pull himself
back to shore. But the moment their fingers touched, he realized they were both drowning. Both
lost to sea, and neither could save the other. All they could do was cling to one another as they sank
into the dark depths.

Harry leaned in, grabbing Theo by the back of the neck and dragging him forward, crushing their
mouths together. Their teeth clanked, gnashing, hungry animals starved for affection-
A knock echoed through the room. They split apart like similarly charged magnets. Theo glanced
around in a panic, ripping the sheet off the bed entirely as he staggered to his feet, covering his
lower half.

"Black?" He whispered, eyes wide and face pale.

Harry stood slowly from the bed completely starkers, straining to listen for a noise in the hall. The
knock sounded again. He breathed a sigh of relief. "It's not my door." He glanced at Theo. "It's
coming from downstairs. Someone's outside."

Theo nearly collapsed, eyes closing. "Fucking hell."

Harry spun in a circle, looking for his clothes, trying to remember if he was already naked by the
time they made it into the bedroom. "I doubt Sirius is even home yet. He usually crashes with one
of his lovers after a night of celebration. Especially as the guest of honor. Probably had a line of
people out the door to shag him."

Theo raised a brow, leaning over and picking up a pair of dark trousers lying crumpled on the floor.
"Line of people? Are you insinuating he swings both ways?"

He tossed the garment across the room. Harry caught it deftly, shaking the pants loose before
stepping into them. "I've never asked and he's never volunteered the information. But I've had my
suspicions over the years." He glanced up, fastening the fly. "Either way, if Sirius found out about
us he wouldn't give a toss." He paused. "Actually, he'd care a great deal. Be absolutely merciless
with his shitty puns. But it would have nothing to do with you being a bloke. He lives to torture me
about this kind of shite regardless."

Theo dropped the sheet and walked to the wardrobe, awarding Harry with a spectacular view of his
pert, tight arse, fully adorned with fingertip-shaped bruises and the faint outline of teeth marks.
"And what kind of shite would that be exactly?" He opened the double doors, gazing upon the
shirts hanging within.

Harry shrugged, running his fingers through his hazardous mop in an attempt to calm it. It was
more unruly than usual, the true definition of sex hair. "Relationship type shite. He's an avid
bachelor and self-proclaimed rake, if he found out I was shagging someone on the regular he'd
have a field day." He caught the shirt Theo had tossed his way. "But he wouldn't disown me or
alert the presses." He pushed his arms through, and by the time his head emerged through the other
side, Theo was pulling on a pair of his trousers from the drawer.

Harry smirked. "I like seeing you in my clothes."

Theo rolled his eyes. "My skin disagrees. This fabric is no better than a potato sack. Do you buy all
your clothing from Lenning Street? Those gypsies consider feather headdresses the height of
fashion."

Harry glanced at his hands, busy fastening the buttons along the front plait. "You should take
Pansy. Sounds right up her alley." He didn't dare look at Theo, knowing it was a risky statement to
make, especially in light of their earlier declarations. But he couldn't resist and certainly couldn't
recall the words now. To his immense relief, Theo merely flashed him a fleeting scowl before
pulling free another shirt from the wardrobe.

"Ha fucking ha, Potter. I'll have you know I intend to put a clothing budget into our prenuptial
agreement."
Harry couldn't smother the bark of laughter that escaped him. "Good luck with that." His
expression sobered. "So how does that work? The prenup." He straightened the collar and cuffs,
trying to keep his eyes averted. "When it comes to both of your… proclivities?"

Theo blinked, a long beat passing before he opened his mouth. Then the knocking started up again
from downstairs.

"Bloody hell, I nearly forgot." Harry tucked the shirt into his waistband. "What time is it anyway?
Who comes knocking this early in the morning?" His expression instantly fell. "Shite, please don't
let it be Malfoy."

Theo jolted. "Malfoy?"

"He has a tendency to appear when and where he's least wanted. And after seeing the state Mione
was in when we departed company last night, I have a feeling more than a few words were
exchanged between them."

Theo folded his arms as Harry opened his bedroom door. "Get rid of him, fast. Smarmy bastard
nearly made it upstairs the last time."

"And whose fault was that? I almost had him out the door when you started banging around like a
circus chimp."

Theo pinned him with a sardonic look. "Of all the animals you could have chosen, Potter." He
shook his head. "Go answer your door. And keep your visitor clear of the hall." He directed Harry's
gaze with his chin. "Looks like it's still littered with our clothes from last night."

Harry groaned. "Bloody fantastic." He left Theo smirking in his wake as he headed downstairs,
muscles tensed, mind reeling with excuses, anything to get the blonde heading back to his carriage
before taking a step inside. Then he saw the slight outline of the person standing on the other side
of the glass inset, the pale curtain revealing a feminine shape. His heart skipped.

Hermione.

He jumped the last two steps and practically sprinted for the door, wrenching it open with such
force the woman on the other side took a frightened step back. Harry blinked, the morning sun
illuminating her from behind and casting her face into darkness. "Mione?"

A long pause. "No…" came the feminine response.

He released a breath, shoulders sagging. "Susan. Sorry, I couldn't see your face."

She stepped towards the threshold once more. "I'm sorry to bother you so early, but I thought you'd
want to know right away."

Harry blinked again, blood running cold. "What's happened? Is Ron okay?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes, of course. I didn't mean to scare you."

He sighed, stepping back into the entry and gesturing inside. "Come on in."

She hesitated for a moment, glancing over her shoulder at the spare carriage out front.

"Sirius isn't here. It's just us," he assured her.

She gazed at him with obvious interest, but to his relief, she didn't ask any questions, merely
nodded and gathered her skirts before stepping fully inside. He shut the door, finally able to take in
her appearance without the blinding sun obscuring his view. She was wearing a casual but bespoke
gown, hair well-groomed, though there were obvious dark circles under her eyes. He might have
dismissed them as the same fatigue no doubt blemishing his own face. When he and Mione fled the
party Ron and Susan gave no indication of following suit any time soon.

And yet, it was the red lining her gaze that told a very different story. There was a slight puffiness
in her face as well. This wasn't the effect of alcohol or opium. This was the result of crying. At
length.

His body tensed. "Susan?" He prompted gently, stepping closer. "What's wrong?"

She inhaled, fingers interlaced tightly. "My father got the message early this morning. I was still up
from last night or I wouldn't have overheard…" she glanced down, as though bracing herself, and
then met his gaze with deep sorrow. "Cormac is dead."

Hermione fumbled on her hands and knees, fingers tracing the wood floor, searching blindly in the
shadows. "Where the bloody hell is it?" She hissed under her breath, squinting into the darkness, as
though her willpower alone would bring the missing item into existence. She huffed a sigh of
annoyance, drawing back into a kneeling position and closing her eyes.

This day had been one mess after the other, starting with her clumsiness in the kitchen as she
helped prepare breakfast, as it was her turn on rotation. Hannah helped cover for her, assisting in
the clean-up before Filch happened past. The incident had been nothing but a dark omen for the
events yet to come, she was certain of it. Behind the darkness of her lids, within the chaotic
solitude of her mind, Hermione's thoughts drifted.

Up up up... into the attic.

"Tell me, Hermione. How did you find this room?" His voice rang through her mind with such
clarity it was as though he were standing before her once more.

She had blinked slowly, still pressed against the wall even though there were several feet of space
between them now. "I-"

"I feel I should warn you. I am excellent at discerning truth from lie." A shadow passed across his
gaze. "And I assure you, the truth is always the much easier option."

She released a shaky breath. "Under normal circumstances, I would be inclined to agree. But in this
case, the truth is far more damning."

Now it was his turn to blink. She pushed away from the wall, swaying lightly. "I was led here." A
steadying breath. "By a girl."

The Doctor's back straightened, obviously not expecting such a response.

"That is all I am comfortable revealing at this time," she replied levelly. "Now it's your turn."

He raised a dark brow. "Is it now?"

"If the information you deem to share is just as personal then I will reveal more of mine." A tense
beat of silence followed. Her heart raced. And then he smirked.

"Very well, Ms. Granger. I suppose that's only fair." She deflated in relief. "As I'm sure you've
surmised from the documents, my father was the physician for this establishment some thirty years
ago." His expression tensed with the admission, the darkness spreading, consuming his entire being
until he stood before her in a haze of smoke and shadow. "He was deeply involved in the human
trafficking that still plagues the city today." His jaw ticked. "It was how I was conceived."

Hermione went deathly still, frozen in abject horror. He watched her carefully, raising the hand
clutching the stack of papers. "In fact, my mother's name is on one of these very documents." He
released a slow breath, as though making a concerted effort to remain calm. "Do you feel
comfortable sharing the rest of your tale now, Ms. Granger?"

The way he said her name grated at her nerves. She placed a hand at her throat, subconsciously
mimicking his touch. "I…" she furrowed her brow. "If I tell you, you'd have the grounds to
institutionalize me."

He searched her haunted gaze, as though seeking out the answers there alone. "I find myself more
enthralled with you by the second," he admitted plainly.

She flushed, then shook her head. "That illusion will be shattered once you know the truth."

His thumb traced a pattern on the paper, similar to the one he traced along her skin mere moments
ago. "My mother managed to escape their clutches while pregnant. No thanks to my father, who
wanted her killed. Someone else stepped in, pulled her out, helped her set-up on her own." His back
was frightfully straight, every muscle stretched tautly. "She was long dead by the time I learned the
full extent of my parents' relationship. The true nature of my existence." His pale, elegant hands
flexed. "I've been working towards bringing the organization down ever since."

Hermione trembled, every word sending a chill down her spine and causing the fine hairs on her
arms and nape to stand at attention. The air pressure surrounding them changed, as though another
presence had entered the room, summoned by his dark tale. He didn't seem to notice the anomaly.
Or perhaps he had and simply didn't care, electing to watch her in the growing pool of moonlight
instead.

She took a deep breath and came to a decision, one she sensed would alter the course of her life
forever. His confession had unleashed something wild and unrestrained within her. She pushed
ahead before the uncertainty could wrap its thorny vines around her heart, rendering her numb
again.

"I was led here by a vision," she confessed. He didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't seem to breathe.
Her heart stuttered. "I know it sounds... mad… and it likely is. Yet, even I cannot deny the facts. I
had no way of discovering this room on my own; I didn't even know this wing existed, little less to
look for a hidden door."

He tilted his head, inspecting her face. "Describe the vision." His tone was commanding, spurring
her to wring her skirt like a dishrag.

"As I said earlier, it was a girl. I didn't recognize her. But she's appeared to me twice now. The only
apparition to visit me more than once. So I knew whatever she had to tell me was important."

"You've had others?"

She nodded quickly, nerves spent. "Yes. Several since the fire." Glancing away, she studied the
wood grain in the floor, doing her best to avoid the broken dolls and discarded toys lining their
path. "The majority have been quite… gruesome, for lack of a better term. I won't plague you with
the details, but that's exactly what they've felt like. A plague. A curse. A sickness of the mind." Her
eyes chanced an upward glance at last. "Until now that is. This is the first time a vision has led me
to something tangible. Something worthwhile." She swallowed. "Which makes it perhaps the most
terrifying one of all. Because for the first time, I'm starting to question whether it's all real."

He stared at her for a very long time. So long, she began to grow light-headed, nauseous with fear.
But she managed to maintain his gleaming gaze through force of will alone. Until at long last, he
delivered her from the suffocating silence. "I believe you, Hermione."

Hearing her first name on his lips was more of a relief than the words preceding it. Her eyes burned
suddenly. She blinked, desperate to keep her emotion at bay. "Thank you," she whispered, throat
constricting.

"And I won't have you committed."

She released a hysterical laugh, completely unbidden, clamping a hand to her mouth to smother the
sound even as tears poured from her eyes. She sucked in a deep breath to clear her airway and
palmed her cheeks dry, vibrating with the flood of adrenaline and relief.

"Though I strongly advise you to keep these… episodes a secret. From everyone," he encouraged,
eyes pinning her in place. "Even those closest to you. They may feel reporting you is in your best
interest."

Her shoulders tensed. "Maybe it is."

"You aren't insane, Ms. Granger. Quite the opposite. I've rarely encountered such a well-organized
mind as yours. Insanity tends to scramble things around quite a bit. In any case, mental asylums are
ill-suited to the sane and insane alike." He drew to his full, intimidating height as shadows danced
along the walls, playing out his words in a child's macabre puppet show. "Their prescribed
treatment methods are enough to break anyone's mind, regardless of its original state, and they
certainly don't cure those with true afflictions." His eyes narrowed. "I would only wish such a fate
upon my worst enemies."

She was so fixated upon the morbid shadow-play unfolding across the wall, it drew the Doctor's
attention. But the moment he glanced over his shoulder, the darkness melted away. Hermione
blinked as the doctor met her gaze with a raised brow. She shifted nervously. "If it's not insanity…
what could it be?" she asked.

"I am not a trained alienist. But given these episodes started around the time of the fire, I lean
towards some type of posttraumatic stress-induced hallucination."

Delightful. She wondered if such a diagnosis was better or worse than being haunted.

"But, how did I find this room?"

His gaze slowly roamed down her neck and body. "That is the question, isn't it?" He watched her in
silence a moment longer before directing his eyes to the dollhouse. Hermione tensed, nails digging
into her palms.

"Do you know what that means?" she prompted. "What the dollmaker is?"

His eyes gleamed brightly in the shadows, fixated upon the ominous message. "Not a what, Ms.
Granger." Her heart skipped a beat. "A who." He faced her slowly. "And yes. I do."

She was pulled violently from the memory as the bedroom door opened and a slight figure slipped
inside. She reared back but it was too late to hide, and there was nowhere to go regardless.
Luna froze, her hand still clutching the knob as they stared at each other in silence.

"Hermione, what a nice surprise!" she offered at last. "The eggs you made this morning were
delicious. I enjoyed the biscuits as well. Why are you on my floor?"

Hermione blinked. "Oh. Well, that's…" She gazed around the room, searching for inspiration.
"You see, I forgot something here the night I stayed in your bed, and I was just searching for it."

Luna tipped her head, utterly still. Like a doll. Hermione gulped, stomach churning, and then her
friend sprung to life once again, closing the door and crossing the room on silent feet.

"How strange. I don't recall seeing anything unusual. Let me help you look."

Hermione pushed up to her feet, beating the dust from her skirt. "Oh, that's alright, I don't want to
disturb your privacy. I'll come back later."

"You're not disturbing me, Hermione. What is the item you're looking for?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, thoughts racing. Luna's watchful gaze was as blue and
serene as a placid lake.

"It's something involving the Doctor isn't it?" the fae-like girl prompted.

Hermione took a deep breath, relieved to be found out. "Yes."

"Alright then. How can I help?"

She couldn't resist smiling. "Thank you, Luna, but I don't-" she stopped short, considering.
"Actually… there is something you can help me with."

"Wonderful. It's been a rather boring day; the weather made it impossible to tend the garden.
Though I love the rain. Will it involve going outside?"

Hermione shook her head, plans in motion. "No. This time, it involves staying in."

. . .

"The Dollmaker is at the head of it all. The one in charge," he relayed, fingers tightening on the
pages. The darkness of the attic felt tangible, a great weight pressing upon them. "I only know
them by their pseudonym, as most people do. But I'm getting closer to learning his true identity. I
can feel it." He took a measured step closer. She forced her feet to remain in place. "There's no
point to any of this if the Dollmaker is left alive. The evil must be stopped at its root. Do you
understand, Hermione?"

Her name was a dark incantation on his lips, igniting the flames of hell within her, racing along
each limb in a hungry blaze. "The Dollmaker is responsible for Lavender's murder?" she asked.

He held her gaze. "Yes."

The fire worked its way into her chest, incinerating her heart. "Then I want to help you find him. I
want to help you kill him."

His expression transformed, its angles sharpening. "It will not be an easy endeavor," he warned.

"Nothing worth having is easily obtained."

His eyes gleamed. "You cannot tell your friends. If the organization catches onto us-"

"I understand. I won't tell anyone."

"Not even your Mr. Potter."

Her hands clenched. "Not even Harry," she agreed, his earlier confession ringing through her ears.
The fires within her were suddenly doused, hissing and snapping in their death throes. "I'm sorry
about your mother," she offered, picking idly at the petals on her skirt when faced with the
intensity of his gaze. "I know what it is to lose someone you love." A grounding exhale. "May I
ask how she died?"

His shoulders drew level. "She took her own life." Hermione flinched, unable to quell her reaction.
It wasn't so much the words he'd spoken, rather the tone he'd spoken them in. "She was not a
victim like Ms. Brown," he stated firmly, a heaping spoonful of bitterness on top. "She fancied
herself in love with my father. She willing suffered his abuse and was happy to die at his hand if he
so willed it. But she was forcibly removed by someone with far more sense."

He pulled his gaze away, staring at the writing on the wall. "Unfortunately, that good sense never
worked its way into her head. She pined for my father for many years, trying to search him out,
despite knowing the wrath it would bring upon both our heads." When his gaze returned to her, it
contained a raging storm in its depth. "My father finally tracked us down. And when he refused to
be with her, she hung herself from the rafters."

Hermione gulped, pulse thrumming in her neck. She imagined a noose tightening around it, tears
prickling her eyes.

"So please, Ms. Granger." He took another step forward, closing the distance between them. "Save
your prayers and mourning for those who truly deserve it. The women who are beaten and
murdered for trying to escape their captors. They are far more worthy of your time and emotion."

The coldness of his voice laid down a defensive wall, daring her to scale it, to inflict any more
damage than the demons of his past. She thought of his shredded, mangled flesh... And suddenly
she was leaning forward, raising her hand in a mindless fog.

"Love is a form of madness," she breathed, placing her palm on his chest, just beside his heart. She
felt it jolt and quicken.

He blinked twice, chaos exploding in his eyes before he schooled his expression once more. His
swift exhale lifted the fallen hair from her face. "So I remember you saying."

The warmth of his body infused her palm, raced along her arm. But this wasn't the enraged hell
flame of before, threatening to destroy her from the inside out. No. This was a liquid heat that
ignited her molten core, creating enough frenetic energy to make her delirious, pulling words from
her mouth like petals from a flower.

"The Goddess Styx fell in love with Phlegethon, a fire deity, though he burned her with his flames
every time they touched. She willingly allowed his fire to consume her, which the other Gods
smote her for. As punishment, she was banished to Hades and transformed into a river. When her
lover died, he suffered the same fate, though his waters were filled by flame and ran parallel to
hers. Forever out of each other's reach. Forever cursed by their desires."

She released a panting breath and blushed hotly, pulling away-

But the Doctor placed his hand over hers, pinning it to his chest and halting her retreat. He held her
gaze for a short eternity, his pupils two swelling pools of ink. Her body pulsated. And then his
touch fell away.

She inhaled sharply, dropping her arm as he staggered back. He scrubbed a hand over his face,
blinking quickly as though emerging from a cursed sleep.

"I'm going to Amortentia tomorrow night," he revealed, tone coarse and thickened. "I believe the
owners are involved. You are familiar with the Lestranges?"

The question was unexpected enough to restore her senses. "Unfortunately, yes." Another memory
rose to the surface of her mind. She shifted anxiously.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Harry. His source told him that Lavender knew someone who works at the Club. She might know
what Lavender was involved in." Hermione had no doubt her eyes were bright and hopeful as a
child on Christmas morning. "Maybe she knows more about the Dollmaker."

"Do you know her name?"

She deflated. "No."

He nodded, wheels spinning quickly behind his gleaming eyes. "I won't have time to track the girl
down and keep the Lestranges within my sights." He tapped the papers against his thigh, lost in
thought. "You'll have to come as well."

She staggered in place. What? "What?" she voiced aloud.

"You already ventured there once, on no more than a wild hunch. Now you have insight into a
legitimate lead."

"I…" I can't go, she'd meant to say. And yet… What's stopping me? Nothing was more important
than finding Lavender's killer. Than finding the elusive Dollmaker. She widened her stance, so
consumed by the inner workings of her thoughts she failed to notice the Doctor's dark
concentration boring down upon her.

"Yes," she breathed, emboldened by his intoxicating presence. "I'll find Lavender's friend."

. . .

"I'll take the outfit with me and change at the Club," she decided, shuffling her hands around the
bottom of the wardrobe. "I just need you to sleep in my bed tonight."

Luna nodded from her position on the floor, both arms sweeping beneath Hannah's bed. "Of
course. How large is this ribbon again?"

Hermione sighed. "Small. It goes around the wrist." She drew back from the wardrobe, pushing
stray curls from her face. "I don't know what happened to it. It must have broken at some point that
evening. It could be anywhere."

Luna leaned up, brushing her palms together to clear away the dust. "Can you use Parvati's?"

"I don't know where she put hers. And if I ask her, she'll know what I'm up to. I can't tell her about
this." She glanced at Luna, guilt heavy on her heart. "At least not yet."

Luna's answering smile was tinged with sadness. "It will be alright, Hermione. All that matters is
stopping the bad people. Parvati will understand."

Hermione nodded half-heartedly, glancing at the floor. "I just feel like shite for keeping secrets
from her." She sighed, too nervous about this evening to add her burgeoning relationship woes to
the pot. Climbing to her feet, she was startled by her reflection in the mirror. She studied her
appearance, a blush staining her cheeks.

"Hermione?"

She glanced away, clearing her throat. "I should start getting ready." She offered Luna her hand,
helping pull the girl upright. "I'm sure Angie or Alicia will have a spare ribbon for me to wear."

Luna didn't question who these people were. Instead, she placed an encouraging hand on
Hermione's arm. "Good luck tonight. I hope you find the person you're looking for."

Hermione nodded. "Me too."

"I'll let you get ready in privacy."

"Thanks, Luna." She watched her friend slip from the room on the same gentle breeze she blew in
on. And then she was alone again. With only her pale reflection for company.

She took a tentative step forward, stopping just before the mirror, holding her gaze as she tugged
the pins from her hair with slow movements. Her curls toppled free, spilling across her shoulders,
gleaming in the setting sun.

. . .

"The hour is late, Ms. Granger. Or rather, early. You should return to your dorm in haste," the
Doctor advised.

She glanced around the attic, eyes lingering on the broken dolls. "What about-"

"I'll seal the door behind us."

She nodded reluctantly. "Alright." Too fatigued to muster an argument, she turned on her heel to
depart.

"Ms. Granger." His voice was a leash that snapped her back to attention. She released a shallow
breath before turning to face him, rocking in place as he started towards her, vibrating the wood
slats with every footstep. "You make quite the vision in that dress," he confessed, and quite
suddenly the throb of her heartbeat was deafening. He tilted his head and moonlight struck his gaze
in a bright stripe. "But I think I prefer you in your normal attire."

He raised his arm, hand hovering beside her face, only to move higher yet. Pinpoints appeared
across her vision as his fingers swept through her hair, alighting across her scalp and down her
nape. "However..." he murmured, eyes never straying from hers as he pulled the last pin free,
sending her chestnut curls in a wild cascade down her shoulders and back. "Tomorrow night, I want
to see you with your hair down."
 All the Wicked Girls

How fine you look when dressed in rage.

. . .

The skies were draped in a thick blanket of clouds as Harry escorted Susan up the steps of the
morgue. He sighed as his eyes fell upon the equally grey building, recalling this was his second
time to the macabre establishment in only a week. The realization only compounded his guilt. For
Cormac McLaggen’s death plagued Harry in a way nothing had before. He’d sent the drunken man
home from the party alone knowing full well the state he was in, leaving him completely
susceptible to the creatures lurking through London’s dark streets, feral beasts born of shadow.

Even more condemning, Harry had known the mess Cormac was at least adjacent to, had seen the
aftermath of those dangers take another innocent life, and still, he’d loaded the nearly unconscious
man into the carriage and sent him on his way. He took a deep breath as they reached the door.

It’s like I killed him myself.

He felt a gentle hand squeeze his arm and glanced down.

“Harry, are you alright?” a feminine voice asked.

He nodded.

“Yes. Just lost in thought.” He tipped his head, examining Susan’s waxen complexion. “What
about you?”

Her jaw tensed as she averted her gaze. “My mother died when I was young. My father refused to
let me see her body, didn’t want my last memory of her to be… tainted.” She swallowed lightly.
“I’m just a bit anxious.”

Harry grabbed the handle, pulling the door open and waiting for her to pass. “You don’t have to-”

“I know.” She released his arm and gathered her skirts. “But I need to see for myself.” She crossed
the threshold, disappearing from his sight for the space of a heartbeat.

Harry used the temporary solitude to peer into the grey skies once more, feeling the electricity
sizzle through the air, racing along his skin. A storm was coming. It would be upon them soon. He
steeled his nerves and followed her inside.

She waited beside the entrance, hands folded patiently at her front. “I can’t give them my real
name,” she whispered as he came to stand beside her. “If an officer sees me on the visitor log
they’ll tell my father and-”

“I understand.” Harry glanced around the barren, sterile room. “Don’t worry. I’m an ace at
bullshiting my way through most things in life.”

The corner of her lips flickered in a reluctant grin. “So I’ve come to notice.”

Harry straightened his jacket and crossed the lobby, knocking on the door at the other end. A few
moments passed in eerie silence before a familiar face came into view. He stepped back as the
reedy employee from his last visit stepped out of the hall and glanced between the building’s
newest occupants.
His gaze finally settled on Harry and then widened. “It’s you again.”

Harry nodded. “It is indeed.”

“The girl’s been cremated already.”

Harry fought back a cringe. “I’m not here for her. I’ve come to officially identify Cormac
McLaggen.”

“Are you family?”

“His only family is on the continent. Even if they leave now they won’t be back in London for at
least three more days.”

The man eyed him speculatively. “But you were close to the victim?”

Harry's heart skipped a beat. “Victim?”

The attendant started to respond, only for his eyes to drift past Harry’s shoulder. Susan shifted on
her feet, wringing her hands together. "I don't think this is a proper conversation to be had before a
lady."

Harry’s brow flattened. “Yes, I remember you saying as much before. Perhaps you’ll recall how
successful your dissent was then.”

The man drew back, glancing quickly around the lobby. “Is… he here with you?” he asked
nervously.

“Not today. However the circumstances this time around are no different than last. Both myself
and Ms. St. Clair are close friends of Mr. McLaggen and will be able to make a positive
identification right now.”

The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, I let you back last time because the girl had no known
relatives. This is different. The McLaggens are a well-known family, powerful, I can't just let
anyone see the body. It could compromise the investigation."

Susan walked up behind Harry, shoulders back and chin up as she stood beside him. “If this is, in
fact, a homicide, the official investigation can't proceed until the victim is positively identified.
That also means the body can't be properly autopsied in conjunction with investigational
parameters until the case is created. The corpse's natural decomposition will destroy the majority of
material evidence in the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Whatever is recovered after that will
be deemed inconclusive in a court of law. Without discovery evidence, the chance at a successful
prosecution drops nearly fifty percent.” She raised a delicate brow, hands neatly folded. "If you
wait for Lord McLaggen to return to England you are all but ensuring his son's killer walks free.
When he finds out you had the ability to allow identification to trigger the onset of investigation
and refused, what do you think his response will be?”

The man blinked, mouth opening and closing before swallowing tentatively. “I… I don’t…” He
cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose I can let you see the face, just to make sure it’s Mr.
McLaggen.”

Harry smirked, feeling immense gratitude and pride at being surrounded by such brilliant women
in his life.

“I’ll have to put your name down on the log, for the police to add to their case file," the attendant
relented.

Harry nodded. “Understood.”

The man reached for the door handle, glancing between them once more. “You’d both like to see
the body?”

“Yes,” Harry supplied immediately, gesturing for Susan to enter the hall ahead of him.

She inclined her head politely as she strode forward, spine exuding confidence, the tremor in her
limbs barely discernible. As they drew near the door at the other end Harry recalled the pungent
odors that assaulted his airways on the last visit.

“Su- ah, Sally...” Harry did his best to keep his expression neutral. “Here, cover your nose and
mouth with this.” He reached into his jacket lining and withdrew a white kerchief.

She glanced over her shoulder, blinking once before taking the item with an appreciative nod.
Before covering the lower half of her face, she mouthed Sally St. Clair? with a smirk and then
faced forward once more. Harry shrugged lightly in response, covering his own face with his bare
palm, bracing his entire body as the door swung open and the attendant led them inside. His eyes
watered on contact with the chemical-filled air, but thanks to his preparation he didn't inhale
lungfuls, sparing his stomach and gag reflex.

“The body is right this way," the man directed. They walked the center of the room, passing
several tables with sheet-covered bodies. One stood out considerably, the fabric stained with a pool
of bright crimson over the chest. Harry pulled his gaze away, eyes landing on Susan who glanced
about the room with tight shoulders but an otherwise calm expression.

I wonder how much blood and gore she sees working at the station.

London employed some of the most skilled crime scene artists in the world. With her father leading
the helm of the CID there was no doubt gruesome sketches made their way through his office on a
regular basis. And yet, Harry knew first hand that a picture, despite being worth a thousand words,
couldn’t come close to capturing the experience of seeing a dead body with one’s own eyes. He
took a deep breath, preparing to offer her another out-

Only for Hermione’s face to materialize before him, her stern set glare as he tried to prevent her
from entering this very room. He ground his teeth, remaining silent. Neither woman was a
hothouse flower requiring round-the-clock tending and care, and trying to force it upon them
would only create the problems he was attempting to curb.

The attendant spoke again. “He was found in an alley in King Square-”

“Where?” Harry elongated his stride, placing a hand at Susan’s lower back to gently direct her to
the side as he met the attendant’s eye.

“King Square, not far from the courtyard.”

Harry blinked. The opposite side of town from Cormac’s final destination. I gave the driver clear
instructions… Unless McLaggen redirected him.

And yet, Harry couldn’t begin to envision the man even being able to sit upright long enough to
speak to the driver little less delivering an intelligible address.

“Was there a carriage nearby? Any other victims found?”

The man raised a brow. “Not that I’m aware. Though the police haven’t disclosed very much in my
presence.”

The hand not covering Harry's nose and mouth tightened to a fist at his side. “How did he die?”

The man stopped at a table at the far end, walking around to the opposite side to face them.
“That’ll be easily discernible in a moment.”

Susan drew back at his ominous warning. Harry started to reach out a hand but she drew away from
his touch. He let his arm fall, though he continued to stare at her pale profile.

“Whenever you’re ready, Sally.”

She nodded mutely, eyes lingering on the white sheet for several moments before flickering up to
meet the attendant’s gaze. “Alright.”

The man’s jaw tensed as grasped the corners of the fabric and drew it down, folding it over to
reveal the bloodless corpse hidden beneath from the shoulders up. Harry swallowed. Susan swayed
on her feet. He lowered the hand at his face to help steady her. They both gazed down at the dead
body of Cormac McLaggen.

Eyes transfixed upon the dark bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

“Hm. Looks like the rain has started," a voice spoke on the other side of the carriage.

Tom flexed his hands on his thighs, his companion’s words drawing his gaze to the carriage
window. He took a deep breath, relishing the smoke-dampened air that invaded his lungs. Every
city contained its own unique scent that carried through the streets and alleys and gardens, that
clung to the skin of every man, woman, and child no matter their finery or lack thereof. The
fragrance was inescapable, unmistakable, burrowing deeply within the subconscious.

Of all the places he’d lived, the many countries he’d taken up residence or passed through with
barely a parting glance, every scent had stained his skin, seeped into his pores, drenched his
olfactory. Yet in all the sensory overload, one fragrance combination stood above the rest. The
scent of London. The scent of home. Smoke and rain.

His muscles eased into the luxurious upholstery, eyes hooded. “It appears we left just in time.”

He allowed his gaze to linger on the passing scenery, the city transforming from day to night
before his very eyes. It shed its fur and donned a dragonhide, the orange streetlights gleaming
across every scale, in every shadow creature's eye. He tipped his head, fingertip tracing the edge of
the mask resting atop his knee. Solid black. The same as his outfit. The passenger seated across
from him was in a far more ostentatious getup. Dolohov adorned himself in head-to-toe ivory,
turning his olive complexion a deep gold, the same as the mask already strapped across his face.
Albino peacock feathers graced the cowl of his cape, a splendiferous decoration no doubt meant to
signify royalty, immortality, virility, traits men such as this valued above all else.

And yet, the sight of the flashy plume reminded Tom of something much different. The locals of
the Romanian village he treated for typhoid held a deep-seated superstition of the peacock,
believing the magnificent tail feathers foretold but one thing. Death. Which made the solicitor’s
choice of costume all the more satisfying to Tom’s keen gaze, for though the dark omen could be
interpreted in many ways, Tom had only one in mind.

“Ah, here we are!” Dolohov announced buoyantly.

Tom's eyes darted to the outside world once more, vision filled by the brightly burning torches
lining the outside of the sprawling structure. The red carpet lining the steps was most reminiscent
of blood. The stone lions guarding the main staircase were caught in an eternal battle of
dominance, fang and claw fully extended, slitted eyes boring down upon every sinner to pass
through the massive doors.

Devils through the front, angels through the back. He blinked, the random musing jarring the
careful order of his mind. Don’t even think about it…

His fingers flexed, desperate to curl into fists. He'd made it this far. Received an invitation to the
snake pit from the head viper itself. There was no margin for error now. No room for any slip-ups.
No distractions. His jaw tensed as the carriage pulled along the circular drive, shaking to a slow
stop. Dolohov bounced excitedly in his seat, hands tightening on the head of the ivory bone cane
situated between his knees.

“You’re in for a real treat, Riddle. This is the place to be, nothing can compare, not even the dens
of the East End. The girls here are clean, blemish-free. And they know how to take care of
Roddy's friends. Anything goes, if you know what I mean."

Tom met his gaze, lips curling into a slow grin, revealing the straight row of teeth beneath. “You
certainly know how to stir the blood, Dolohov.”

The man laughed loudly, eyes gleaming in clear anticipation. A footman opened their door and
bowed. Tom gestured for Dolohov to lead the way, which he happily accepted, practically leaping
from the carriage like a pouncing jaguar. Tom unfurled the long line of his body from the interior
of the car, his heel striking the cobblestone with a deafening click. He stood to his full height,
buttoning the front of his pitch jacket and taking in the extravagant sight before him.

“Ready?” His companion asked, then gasped lightly as a bolt of lightning split the sky directly
above.

The crash of thunder was quick to follow, so intense it shook the ground and vibrated every bone in
his body. Tom drew in a slow breath, senses sharpening.

“More than ready.”

And then they both started up the blood-red steps.

Hermione huffed in annoyance as the rain started. She pulled the hood of her cloak further down,
stuffing a stray curl back inside the shelter of the heavy fabric. Her thick curtain of hair was stifling
on her neck and back.

I must be daft for wearing it down. And yet, the very thought sent a wild thrill along her spine.

“I want you to wear your hair down.”

She swallowed thickly, navigating around the lamp post, clutching her bundle tighter to her chest
as she headed up the narrow walkway to the Club’s back entrance.

Surely he wanted me to wear it down to further my disguise. Very few have seen me with my curls
loose.

Yes, it was merely strategic. Nothing more.

She inhaled sharply as the large set doorman came into view. Shite… what the hell was his name?

She desperately tried to recall the memory of Angie speaking to the man but her frazzled nerves
prevented the memory from taking full form. She straightned as his eyes fell upon her.

“Hello there, dove. You working tonight?” he asked.

She came to a halt, fighting to keep her shoulders relaxed. “Yes.”

He tipped his head. “I remember you, you’re the new girl, right?”

She nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. “Yes, that’s me.”

“What’s your name again?”

She swallowed lightly. “Penelope.”

He raised a brow. “Penelope… I like it. Exotic, but still classy. Good choice.”

She blinked. He thinks it’s my Club name. For some reason, that rumpled her feathers. Which
made no sense, considering the name was merely a ruse to begin with. But it was perfectly
respectable nonetheless, it’s not like she’d chosen Caramel or Aphrodite- Get a grip, Hermione.

She smiled pleasantly, offering only, "I'm glad you approve. But unfortunately, I'm running a bit
late."

“Oh, sure, here,” he opened the door, stepping aside. “Have a good night, dove.”

Her face felt like it was cracking in half with the strain of her smile. “I’ll try.”

He laughed, staring blatantly at her backside as she slipped inside. As she crossed the threshold,
the sky exploded with light, a booming explosion of thunder making her jolt and gasp. The man
winked, seemingly unaffected by the chaos. “Got here just in time.”

She stared at him with wide eyes as he closed the door between them, leaving her at the mercy of
the beasts within. She spun on her heel as the sound of feminine laughter danced up the hall. She
pressed into the wall as two uniform-clad employees swung around the corner.

“You shoulda seen the cock on this one, tiny as a baby’s- oh, ello, poppet.”

Hermione blinked, frozen to the spot. “Um. Hello.”

“You lost or somefin?”

She quickly shook her head, glancing between them as they studied her carefully. “No. I just…
need to change.”

One of the girls tipped her head. “What’s your name?”

“Penelope," she offered, perhaps a touch too quickly.

They exchanged a loaded look. “I don’t know any Penelope,” one declared while the other placed
her hands on her hips.

Oh god. “Oh, well, I’m new, see-”

“Is you now?”

“Yes. I just started, actually. Tonight is my first night-”

“Who hired you?”

Her thoughts reeled. “Lord Lestrange.” One of them arched a brow, eyes gleaming in victory.
Hermione quickly scrambled. “Of course, Mistress Lestrange gave final approval.” They deflated.
“Actually, I was told to look for Angie," Hermione continued. "She’s going to be training me.”

The first girl sighed, stepping closer. “Sorry bout the questions, luv. Can never be too careful in
this line of work, you understand?”

Hermione nodded, slowly peeling off the wall. “Of course. I take no offense.”

“Angie will be finishing up a private booking, you can change clothes and wait for her in the main
salon,” the second girl offered. “We’re heading that way now, follow us.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

She could hear the explosion of rain against the side of the building as they progressed down the
hall, the noise finally falling away as they turned a corner and plunged deeper inside the fray. She
pulled her cloak tight to her body, knuckles turning white around her bundle as they emerged into
the common room, half-dressed women occupying every corner, laughing and shouting to each
other across the large space. Her two guides dispersed without a parting glance, one sliding into a
vanity chair and powdering her nose while the other began unlacing her black corset.

She took a steadying breath, spinning in a slow circle, pulse echoing through her ears. Alright. I
made it in. Mission accomplished. She glanced away from a bare-breasted woman who slid past,
expression harried as she wrapped a feathered boa around her neck. Dear Lord in Heaven. Get me
through this evening without having a stroke or seizure. She glanced down at the package in her
hands.The mission isn’t accomplished yet…

She inspected the room more carefully and spotting a partition near the back wall. She quickly
made her way across, politely excusing herself every time she bumped into a person or object, too
overwhelmed to discern the difference. As she slid behind the barrier, she breathed a sigh of relief.
No one else sought the privacy the thin wood wall provided, the other girls stripping nude in the
middle of the floor without hesitation or shame.

Her fingers trembled as she unfastened her heavy cloak, letting the fabric drop and pool at her feet.
She slowly withdrew the wrapped uniform from her bag, gazing upon it for a full minute before
tugging the stays at her back, loosening her dress until she was able to slide her arms out and push
it down to her hips. She tried to distract herself by thinking about the task ahead, but the prospect
of entering the main Club without Parvati’s company was a daunting one.

You aren’t alone. The Doctor is here.

And yet, that fact only rattled her further. The mere notion that he’d be in the company of Dolohov
and the Lestranges twisted her stomach to knots. Even more frightening was the idea of him seeing
her adorned in the scant uniform.

He’s already seen me in it… She swallowed, gazing down at her body as she fastened the front
lacing corset into place. This is insanity.

She imagined what else she might be doing with her evening if she wasn’t hunting a human
trafficking ring through London. What her life would be like if she’d never met Lavender. Never
set foot in the home. Never lost her parents. Her eyes burned. She blinked quickly, stepping into
the half skirt.

No use thinking on such things. T his is the hand you’ve been dealt, Hermione Granger. Y ou must
make the most of it.

And if she were being completely honest with herself, deep down, she derived a perverse pleasure
from straying so far from the social norms prescribed to her. If only innocent women didn’t have to
die for Hermione to be valued for more than her dowry. The majority of men in her life had always
recognized and respected her intelligence to be certain, but they rarely let her flex it. And they
certainly never allowed her to express her daring.

Harry begged me to drop the investigation. While the Doctor told me to sneak into the Club and
obtain the most pivotal piece of information yet…

His trust in her capabilities emboldened her. She fastened the garters and stood to her full, if limited
height, shoulders back.

I can do this. She stepped out from the partition, a mirror image of the seasoned employees filling
the parlor. I have to do this.

She swept her tamed curls over one shoulder, gazing around with careful focus, trying to work out
the next phase of her plan. And suddenly, a familiar face came into view. She took a deep breath
and closed in on her target standing near the clothes rack.

“Alicia.”

The girl’s head snapped up. “Yes?” She blinked. “Oh, hi, Hermione.” And then her gaze widened.
“Hermione!”

“Shh!” Hermione drew in close, glancing around. “I’m Penelope tonight.”

Alicia blinked once more. “Um… okay…”

“I came back to try and-” she stopped short, realization set in.

“You came for what?”

“Lavender was found murdered.”

Alicia’s expression fell, olive complexion paling. “I’m so sorry, Hermione. That’s…” she shook
her head. “I was really hoping she’d turn up alive.”

Hermione nodded shortly, the innate sadness in the young woman’s gaze making her eyes burn
anew. "Me, too." She pushed on. "The police aren't doing shite to pursue her killer. So I'm trying to
find out what happened."

Alicia glanced around the room tentatively, then grasped Hermione by the elbow and led her to the
far corner of the room. “That’s really dangerous, Hermione. Are you working alone?”

Hermione thought of Dr. Riddle. “No. I have help. But I’m here alone.”

“That’s the dangerous part. At least when your friend was with you there was someone to look out
for you. I’m booked tonight and can’t-”
“It’s alright. I didn’t expect you to keep an eye on me. I just need to ask you a question.”

Alicia tipped her head. “Me?”

“Yes. Lavender was apparently friends with an employee here. A blonde. I don’t know her name.
But I need to find her. I need to ask her about Lavender, see if she knows anything that could shed
light on her last days alive.”

Alicia sighed, shaking her head lightly. “I don’t know anything, Hermione. I mean, there are lots of
blondes who work here. I remember seeing Lavender a few times but I don’t know who she-” She
broke off suddenly, eyes widening.

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“I just had an idea… but it’s… it’s a really bad idea.”

“Those are all I’ve been making the last few days. Try me.”

Alicia chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before relenting. “Well, if Lavender talked to this
girl at any length when she came in she’d probably use a back room for privacy. We keep logs of
all bookings, make sure everyone gets a fair cut if they’re pulled into a party.”

Hermione nodded. “So you’re saying there may be a written account of who booked a room with
Lavender?”

“Yes.”

She practically bounced on her heels. “That’s great! Where do you keep the records?”

Alicia’s gaze darkened, causing Hermione’s spirits to plummet rapidly before she even spoke. “We
don’t. The managers keep the records in their office.”

Hermione sighed. “Shite.”

Alicia nodded. “Precisely. And the office is locked.”

“Let me guess, only managers have a key?”

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I told you it was a bad idea.”

Hermione took a deep breath, wheels spinning rapidly in her mind. I can’t fail. Lavender is
counting on me. Parvati. Luna. Hannah. The Doctor. Her hands curled at her sides. “It’s not a bad
idea, Alicia.” She licked her lips, eyes gleaming in the gaslights. “But what I plan on doing may be
the dumbest thing ever attempted.”

Tom gazed about the bustling floor, the venue nearly bursting at the seams with costume-clad
guests.

“More crowded than a Church at Mass!” Dolohov called over the chaos.

Tom’s jaw tensed, eyes flickering over everything rapidly, taking in every detail with careful
precision. And then a booming voice met his ears.

“Ah! Here at last! I was beginning to worry you’d changed your mind.”
Tom gazed upon the elder Lestrange, the crowd easily giving way for his hulking frame to cut
through the center of the floor. “This is quite the establishment you have here," he offered
cordially.

Lestrange smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. Tom’s spine went rigid. “We’re doing well for
ourselves, I’ll admit. Come, let me spare you from the lemmings and take you somewhere a bit
more civilized.”

Tom smirked beneath his onyx mask. “That is much appreciated.”

Dolohov pouted dramatically at their side. “Aren’t you going to give him a tour first, Rod?”

Lestrange shook his head, still gazing upon Tom. “He’s just eager to see and be seen. Dressed like
a bloody Renaissance pimp.”

Tom couldn’t tamp the laughter that erupted from his lips, relishing the dark flush that stained the
solicitor's cheeks even as his eyes narrowed.

"This cape cost me twenty godforsaken pounds!" Dolohov whined.

“What is the life of a dozen innocent peacocks worth, Dolly?”

The comment was meant to elicit another laugh from Tom, Rodolphus was clearly pleased with his
ability to inspire amusement in the Doctor. But his words had the opposite effect, smothering all
traces of humor in the space of a heartbeat. As though either of these men valued innocence or life.
It took a great deal of effort to keep his easy grin in place. The struggle increased tenfold as another
body parted the red sea.

Cat eyes gleamed through a black lace mask, fixated upon him with feral intensity. “Hello, Doctor.
How marvelous for you to join us," she greeted.

Tom’s hands flexed at his sides before he swept into a pristine bow. “Mistress Lestrange.” He drew
to his full height, holding her gaze with the same intensity. “You look breathtaking.”

She smirked, lips stained the same shade of blood as her extravagant gown. “And yet, you continue
to breathe.” She wrapped a delicate hand around her husband’s arm, dark eyes carefully roaming
Tom from top to bottom. “All black," she observed. "I’m beginning to think you don’t own
anything of color, Doctor.”

“Now, Bella,” her husband covered her hand with his own. “You mustn’t tease the man. We’ll
scare him off.”

Her eyes flashed. “I haven’t begun to tease him, my darling.”

Lestrange laughed, directing his gaze around the room. His eyes immediately became fixated on
something in the distance, expression tensing. “Bella, be a dear and escort the men to the back. I
have something to take care of.”

She didn’t miss a beat, releasing his broad arm and sliding to Tom’s side as though floating on air.
“Of course, my love.” She licked her lips. “This way, Doctor.” She wrapped both hands around his
arm, body pressing into his side. His pupils expanded rapidly, triggering the same reaction in her
wild gaze.

Dolohov hovered, forgotten at their backs as she led Tom through the throng of guests, her
husband slipping away without a word, eyes narrowed. “I hope everything is alright," Tom said.
She tilted her head. “Not to worry, darling. There is little my husband can’t handle.”

Tom raised a brow beneath his mask. “He leaves those tasks to you, I imagine.”

The sound of tinkling bells poured from her mouth as she tipped her head back and released a
delighted laugh. She squeezed his arm, long nails digging into the soft material of his jacket,
indenting his skin. And just as suddenly, her expression sobered, eyes no less intense as she peered
up at him.

“When I was a little girl, I often wished I had been born a boy.”

He tilted his head, so fixated upon her face he barely registered the frightful glances of nearby
patrons and employees as they scrambled clear of their path.

“I am the youngest of three girls. The baby. Yet instead of being grateful for his large brood, our
father openly longed for a son. He made it no secret my sisters and I were unworthy of our wealth
and good fortune due to our great infraction of being born the wrong gender. He wasted no time
trading us away into marriage contracts before we were old enough to bear children... or think for
ourselves." He saw the fire ignite in the pits of her black gaze even through the lace obscuring her
eyes. “I did everything in my power to please my father," she continued. "Everything I could to
bring pride to our family name. I was superbly behaved in those days. But I eventually realized I
would never win his affection, for I would never spring a cock from my loins and sire the next
generation of Black heirs.”

Tom didn’t flinch at her crass language. She didn’t expect him to.

“Once I learned to accept the limitation of my father’s love, I was free like never before. In fact, I
was born anew. I embraced my true nature and feminine wiles to their full extent, and haven’t
looked back since.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her sharp profile. He didn’t ponder why she’d chosen to share this
story with him on their second encounter. He understood her quite perfectly. She was far more
stunning than any others he had encountered before. The perfect predator… For like Tom, she had
once been prey. And thus, she possessed an understanding and intellect born hunters could never
hope to acquire. She had methodically unlaced her corset before his steady gaze and bared the scars
decorating her ribs and back, her badges of honor. Her proof of survival. Of outwitting her attacker.
A declaration that she was more than a pretty face and noble title.

She was a player with a seat at the table. And they were preparing him for something. He could
hardly contain the storm raging within his chest at the excruciating anticipation.

“Rodolphus wasn’t your father’s choice, was he?” Tom asked.

She blinked, expression caught for the space of a heartbeat. And then she grinned from ear to ear,
teeth white and lethal. “No. He wasn’t.”

A slow smile curved his own face. Yes, he understood her perfectly.

She tipped her head, eyes roaming his face as though seeing him for the first time. “I was to wed
my first cousin. If my father couldn’t have a son, he would ensure our wealth stayed within the
bloodline one way or another. Luckily my betrothed was just as eager to break the contract as I.”

“Family is both a gift and a curse.”

“Do you speak from experience, Doctor?”

His eyes flickered between hers. He started to open his mouth when a new voice joined the fold, a
massive body appearing before them, stopping them in their tracks. “There you are!” a new voice
shouted.

Her expression flashed murderous, unforgiving lines etching her pale skin. The younger Lestrange
blanched. “Er- sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“Nonsense.” Her complexion was smooth once more, red lips curving into a seductive grin.
“You’re timing is perfect, Rab. Would you mind showing the Doctor to the champagne room? I
have to check something on the floor.”

Rabastan blinked, swallowing lightly as his stance eased. “Yeah, sure.”

He looked to Tom, who was doing his best to suppress his own scowl of aggravation and laugh of
amusement at seeing the huge man cower before her heels. “Good to see you again, Doc, follow
me.”

“Am I invisible?” Dolohov posed.

Rabastan raised a brow, peering beyond Tom’s shoulder. “We should only be so lucky. That getup
is horrific, Dolly.”

Dolohov rolled his eyes. “That’s the last time I make an effort.”

“If you were trying to look like a pompous arse you did a great job.”

“Boys, do focus.” They all looked at her. Her eyes were on Tom. alone. “My husband and I will
join you shortly. In the meantime, please enjoy our hospitality. It is a pleasure to have you here,
Doctor Riddle.”

He grasped the fingers still clinging to his arm and gently extracted them. She held her breath as he
drew them to his lips, letting his mouth hover above her knuckles as he whispered into her skin.
“The pleasure is mine.”

He pressed her hand into his lips, holding her gaze all the while. She inhaled deeply, blinking
slowly as she lowered her arm. The men at their sides glanced at each other. And then, Tom
stepped back, releasing her from his thrall.

She blinked once more, tearing her gaze away, cheeks coloring faintly. “I’ll leave you boys to it
then.”

Her voice was slightly uneven, words clipped. She spun on her heel without a backward glance, the
crowd melting away at her every step. Tom faced the other two men. They watched him with open
wonderment. He smiled. “So, where’s this champagne room?”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat when the water closet door flew open, only to thud painfully in
relief when Alicia slipped into the narrow room, quickly closing the door behind her.

“I got it," the young woman anounced.

Hermione released a sharp breath. “Great! Thank you so much, you can put it in the sink. Did
anyone see you?”

Alicia crossed over and opened her arm, allowing the short bottle and rectangular box fall into the
basin. “Yes, but the kitchen staff minds their own, no one will ask any questions.” She stepped
back, brow raised. "But how are cornstarch and soap going to help you get the keys?"

Hermione smirked, pulling up the drain stopper and opening the lid to the box. “I’m not going after
the keys. It’s too risky, all the managers know me and would recognize my face if I got that close.”

She shook a pile of cornstarch into the bottom of the porcelain. “I recently learned how to pry open
a door. But I don’t want them to know anyone was in the office.” She set the box aside and
unscrewed the lid to the bottle, tipping it gently and allowing a thick dollop of dish soap to ooze
atop the starch. “So… I’m going to bypass the lock instead.”

Alicia blinked. “Bypass the lock? Like, break it?”

Hermione shook her head. “These substances aren’t corrosive.” She turned the faucet handle
gently, capturing a small pool of water in her palm before shutting off the stream. “And damaging
the lock would have the same effect as breaking the door.” She stirred the water into the mixture,
working it with her fingers as the mass congealed and thickened. “So I’m using putty.”

Alicia drew in close, tilting her head. “That’s putty?”

“It will be soon. I used to make this with my father. We’d press it to newspaper articles to absorb
the ink and then transfer it to other surfaces.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m going to use it for a different purpose tonight.” Hermione bit her lip, glancing up and meeting
the girl’s curious gaze. “Or rather… we are.”

. . .

“Hermione, I can’t do this.”

“I’m so sorry to ask this of you, Alicia, but I don’t know where Angie is and I can’t speak to him
myself.”

“If he catches me-”

“He won’t. He won’t even know what to look for. But even if by some miracle he sees it he won’t
suspect you anyway since I’m going to be the one-”

A male voice rounded the corner at the other end of the hall.

“That’s him!” Alicia hissed, eyes wide.

“I know,” Hermione swallowed thickly, clutching the ball of putty tight in her palm. “It’s going to
be alright, you can do this.”

Alicia nodded quickly, spinning around as Hermione ducked around the adjoining wall,
disappearing from sight.

“I’m not going to tell him again, the next time that idiot tries to-” Rodolphus stopped speaking
abruptly, glancing up from the jittery man taking avid notes at his side to the girl hovering outside
the office door. “Alicia.” He smiled, teeth gleaming. “Hello, luv. What are you doing up here?”

She interlaced her fingers behind her back. “I wondered if I could switch my shift next week. I
spoke with Mellie and she's fine taking over Wednesday in exchange for Friday.”
He raised a brow. “You wanted to discuss this now?”

“Before I forget. But I can come back later if-”

"No, now is fine." He glanced to the fidgeting man at his side. "Come back in five minutes,
Quirrel."

Hermione’s heart jolted at the name.

“Er… yes, Sir," the nervous man replied.

She glanced around quickly, slipping deep into the shadows a moment before the man rounded the
corner and came twitching into view, walking past without a glance in her direction. She held her
breath as she heard the heavy echo of footsteps, followed by the unmistakable jingle of keys.

“Come on in, luv. How are you tonight?” Rodolphus posed.

“Quite well. It’s a busy evening.”

“Yes, it is.” The door opened, Hermione’s pulse thrummed wildly. Please don’t close the door.
Please don’t close the door. She sagged in relief when the voices became distant but not muffled.

“Actually, I’m hosting a private party in the champagne room for a special VIP," the owner stated.
"Swing by later. Yaxley is there.”

“Alright.”

Hermione closed her eyes, steeling her nerves and stepping out of the shadows. She averted her
face down, allowing her hair to fall in a curtain over her shoulder, blocking the part of her face
visible beneath the half mask. And strode quickly past the office. The door was left ajar.
Perfection.

She gave the putty one last squeeze before cramming it into the latch cut out. She pressed it flat
with the pad of her thumb before resuming her quick pace down the hall, turning into the next
corridor and flattening her back into the wall, gasping for breath, adrenaline surging. A moment
later, the voices grew louder, footsteps emerging.

“Thank you, Lord Lest-”

“Rodolphus.”

A brief pause. “Thank you, Rodolphus.”

Hermione’s chest clenched at the faint tremor in Alicia’s voice. “I better get back to the floor.”

“Good girl. And don’t forget to swing by later.”

“I won’t!” She called over her shoulder, heading for the stairwell.

Hermione stood frozen in abject terror as deafening silence filled the hall. What the hell is he
doing? Can he see me? She shook her head at the paranoid thought. Unless he’d developed the
ability to look through walls, she was well concealed.

Her shoulders lowered as his steady tread finally started down the corridor, fading away after
several seconds. She had to physically pry her palms from the wood panel, her entire body drawn
taut as a bow and arrow. She peeked around the corner. And gazed upon an empty hall. Now or
never!

She kept close to the shadows as she scurried along the wood floor, grasping the handle with her
heart in her throat. The knob wouldn’t budge. Locked. She pushed her shoulder into the door, hard,
gasping when it jolted open. She stumbled inside, glancing back with wide eyes. Bloody hell… it
actually worked.

She wasted no time celebrating, spinning in a tight circle to sweep her frantic gaze over every
surface of the lavishly decorated office. She did a double-take as she spotted a leather-bound
journal sitting front and center of the ornate desk. And immediately dashed over, opening the cover
and scanning the pages. They contained several hand-drawn columns filled with dates, names and
currency denotations. She flipped through quickly, reading the dates, flipping further back-

She saw no mention of Lavender. Then she blinked, shaking her head. Of course not, idiot! She
wasn’t here on her own pence.

Instead, Hermione searched out Cormac's name. And sure enough, she found him listed several
times. And he’d booked a private room on the majority of his visits. Many girls were listed in the
column beside it. He was joined by up to five employees at a time. She bit her lip, pulling the
journal closer and focusing upon the names carefully. Someone has to be listed more than the
others…

Her gaze sparked when she found the common denominator.

. . .

Alicia gasped as the water closet door opened and Hermione slipped inside. “Oh thank god!” She
threw herself forward, embracing her tightly. “I was so worried you were caught!”

Hermione returned the hug, careful to avoid touching her putty-filled palm to the girl’s hair. “No, it
worked.” She stepped back and peeled the substance from her fingers, wrapping it in tissue and
tossing it in the wastebasket.

Alicia watched her carefully, rubbing her hands together. “Well?" she prompted eagerly. "Did you
find what you were looking for?”

“I think so.” Hermione glanced up, eyes bright in the dim light. “Alicia, who is Katie?”

Theo lowered his arm after the second knock, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets and
waiting patiently. After several minutes of gazing aimlessly at the tulips lining the walkway, the
door opened.

“Oh. It’s you," his companion muttered by way of hello.

He smirked. “You sound relieved. That’s a first.”

“The first time someone was relieved to see you at their door? Somehow I believe that.”

He tipped his head, roaming her robe-clad figure from bottom to top, eyes lingering on her rumpled
braid. “Late night?” he posed.

“As late as yours, I imagine.”

He rolled his eyes. “Can I come in?”

"Fine," she sighed, pulling the door open the rest of the way. "God forbid someone walks by and
sees us conversing. Might start a rumor we're engaged or something equally ridiculous.”

He shook his head as she closed the door behind him. “I’d hoped you’d have a slightly less hostile
disposition if I visited you in the evening.”

“Hope is for Church, Theo.”

“I thought prayer was for Church.”

“It is. What did I say?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Pans-”

“I’m fucking with you, no need to get your garters in a bind.” She crossed her arms, tilting her
head. “What’s wrong?”

He opened his eyes, jaw tensing. “Can we sit?”

She drew back. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Let’s sit.”

She dropped her arms, holding his gaze as she led him down the hall. “Whatever you want,
husband dear. This house will be yours soon enough.”

He cringed as he followed in her wake, eyes focused upon the billowing silk of her robe. "I’ll leave
you your privacy. You can have your own estate on the continent as well.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “That’s…” she blinked, gazing ahead once more. “Whatever.”

He sighed as they emerged inside the drawing-room. Empty champagne bottles and flutes littered
the tabletops and floor. He raised a curious brow. “Took the party home with you, I see.”

She gathered her robe and collapsed atop the sofa, folding her bare legs beneath her as she leaned
back casually. Theo took the chair facing her, sitting down with easy grace, hands resting atop his
knees. Her eyes narrowed, fingers playing idly with her dark braid.

“Alright. Talk.”

“The announcement goes out on Tuesday," he said without preamble. She froze. His own blood
slowed in his veins, making his head spin and vision fog until he blinked it clear once more. “I
found out yesterday morning," he continued quickly. "I was going to tell you at the party but-” he
swallowed lightly, emerald eyes materializing from the ether, watching him with burning intensity.
He blinked again. The phantom gaze disappeared, leaving only his grey pallor fiance seated before
him. “Pans?”

She drew in a sharp breath, seeming to awake from whatever stupor held her transfixed. “This…”
Her arms dropped lifeless at her sides. “This is really happening.”

He clenched his knees, fingertips turning white. “This is really happening," he agreed.

She glanced away, eyes gleaming wet. He looked down, affording her privacy while she wiped
quickly at her cheeks. His chest wrenched open. His own misery was bearable. Morbidly
comforting in its familiarity. He’d been suffering at his father’s hands in one way or another since
he was a boy. But seeing the acute misery on her face was a pain he’d never experienced.
“I’m sorry, Pansy.” His voice was thick, raspy.

She blinked, more tears falling silently, dropping onto the pale silk adorning her chest, darkening
the fabric. “Sorry? For what? This isn’t your doing.”

His jaw flexed, tongue pressing the roof of his mouth. She raised a brow. “Theo?”

“Actually… it is my fault.”

She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, shaking her head. “Stop playing the martyr, idiot.
You’re just as much of a pawn in this as I am.”

He took a slow, deep breath, forcing his eyes up. “I requested your hand.”

Silence. Heavy and oppressive. He braced himself for the inevitable explosion, the rage, the
confusion— And jolted when she erupted into a fit of wild, hysterical laughter. She grasped her
side, tears streaming down her cheeks anew as an unrestrained grin split her face in half, doubling
over atop the cushions, braid falling over the edge.

He watched her in bemusement, afraid to move, to speak. After a short eternity, she finally settled
down, her chest jolting with wet hiccups, her complexion beat red from the outburst.

She gazed at the ceiling unblinking while Theo watched her in much the same manner. “You
requested my hand…” she said, voice thin and strained. She swallowed. “Of course you did.”

He sat forward, heart racing. “I only did it because-”

“I know why you did it," she said. His mouth clamped shut, eyes tracing her expression carefully.
She tilted her face, meeting his gaze. “I know why, Theo.”

His jaw tensed. He leaned back.

“And I hate you for it.” She wiped her eyes. “But I’m glad you did it.”

His throat tightened. He swallowed thickly, trying to push past the sudden obstruction. She blinked
slowly, still sprawled across the cushions.

“If you hadn’t requested me, we’d still be having this conversation with our betrothed.” Her eyes
searched his. “But we’d be lying to them and ourselves.”

He tore his eyes away, running a hand over his mouth, blinking quickly to abate the stinging ache.

“We’re damaged goods," she stated bitterly. "Best we keep that damage contained.”

“We aren’t damaged," he insisted.

She slowly sat up, braid falling loose. “No? I think the majority of society would beg to differ.”

He shook his head, still avoiding her keen gaze. “We aren’t damaged. We’re something… but not
damaged.”

“We will be.” She smiled sadly. “After this marriage… we will be.”

Floorboards creaked, jolting him. He glanced to the open doorway with wide eyes. Pansy didn’t
flinch, speaking without a backward glance. “I thought I told you to stay upstairs.”
A slight figure appeared, wrapped in a pale sheet. “Sorry…” the newcomer began softly, eyes
darting between Theo and the back of Pansy’s head. “I thought I heard you crying.”

Theo met Pansy’s eye. She sighed. "I was laughing, luv. No matter. Come in, meet my future
husband.”

The young woman blinked before smiling at Theo. "Oh, hello. A pleasure to meet you."

He bit the inside of his cheek, giving a fleeting once over to the bare shoulders and ample cleavage
pushing against the sheer fabric. But his eyes lingered on the river of deep red hair cascading down
her back. “Hello, darling. What's your name?”

“Mindy.”

“Mindy," he repeated, and with no shortness of amusement. Pansy glared at the smirk curving his
lips. He ignored her. “The pleasure is all mine," he offered. "Please, join us.”

Mindy shook her head quickly. “Oh, thank you, but I should go put on some clothes-”

“Don’t bother.” Pansy examined her nails. “I’ll be back up soon enough. Go grab something to eat
in the meantime.”

Her companion didn’t seem phased by the command, glancing at him once more. “It was nice to
meet you…”

“Theo," he provided.

She nodded and then backed out of the room as quickly as she’d entered it. Theo shook his head,
the smirk growing to a full-fledged grin. Pansy continued to feign interest in her cuticles. “Don’t
even think about-”

“I’m allowed to make at least one comment," he insisted.

She groaned, folding her arms tightly across her chest, pinning him with the full force of her scowl.
“Fine. One comment. Choose wisely.”

He grinned widely. “Mindy looks remarkably familiar.” He rubbed his chin in mock
contemplation. “I wonder why that is?”

Her jaw flexed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like you're one to judge.”

“I’m not judg-” He blinked. “Wait, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Not all of us can fuck the object of our desire, Nott. We have to make do with the next best thing.”

His shoulders tensed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She grinned wickedly. “Of course not," she echoed.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Fucking hell. “Look, I just came to warn you about the
announcement, not start a row.”
“I’m not starting anything," she replied tersely.

He shook his head, rising to his feet. “I’ll leave you to your evening then.” He was halfway to the
door when he heard her shift on the sofa.

“Theo.”

He came to a reluctant halt, slowing turning to face her. She took a deep breath, hands clutching
the cushion.

“Thank you for telling me. My father doesn’t-” She bit her bottom lip. “You’re the only one who
talks to me about… about much of anything these days.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Of course.”

She nodded, glancing away. He started to turn back, only to tighten his fists and peer at her once
more.

“We aren’t enemies in this, Pans. We’ve been friends since we could walk. I don’t want to lose
that.” He swallowed, the next words expelling his mouth unbidden. “I care about you.”

She glanced up in obvious surprise. They stared at each other for a long moment. She opened her
mouth-

Something dropped in the kitchen, followed by a woman's low curse. They both leaned away, eyes
averted. Theo shuffled awkwardly. “I should-”

“Yeah," she muttered.

“Alright.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you-”

“Sure.”

He cleared his throat, darting from the room, so intent on fleeing he missed the fresh blossom of
tears in her gaze.

“Raise.” Tom tossed another chip into the center pile.

Avery whistled low under his breath, dropping his cards face down on the table and shaking his
head. “Too rich for my blood.” The man's eyes tracked the movement of the girl standing beside
the drink cart refilling their glasses. "I'd like to conserve my money for other endeavors this
evening."

Rabastan rolled his eyes, thumbing the edge of his cards. “I nearly forgot, the birds charge double
before they’ll lay their hands on you.”

“Fuck off! They practically line up to get it from me-”

“Let’s remember our guest, gents,” Dolohov spoke, leaning into the chair, his feather-lined cape
draped over the back.
Tom raised a brow, eyes fixed to his cards. "Please, don't stop on my account."

“See? Riddle is perfectly fine with our discussion. Loosen the corset, Dolly.”

Dolohov shook his head, reaching for his low ball glass and glancing up at Tom. “I apologize for
these heathens.”

Tom smirked. “Not at all. I find it immensely stimulating.”

“You know what else is immensely stimulating?”

“Jesus, Yaxley, I’d prefer you remain silent if you’re just going to reach for such low-hanging
fruit," Avery grumbled.

“I didn’t-”

“Who’s bloody turn is it?”

"Hell if I can keep track," Yaxley sighed. "What are we doing playing cards anyway? What’s the
point of coming here if we aren’t partaking in the goods and services offered?”

Rabastan pinned Yaxley and Avery with a narrowed gaze. “Rod wants us to wait for him.”

Avery scoffed. "Well, where the hell is he?"

“He has a fucking business to run, something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

Avery scowled but remained silent, seething over his half-empty glass. Rabastan glanced at Tom.
“You must think we’re a real group of arseholes.”

Tom smirked anew, turning a chip end-over-end with agile fingers. “When men gather, that tends
to be the case regardless of solitary dispositions.”

Lestrange and Dolohov erupted into laughter while the other two exchanged looks of candid
confusion. “Bet you miss the Home, eh?” Dolohov posed, gazing at his cards, eyes unnaturally
still. “Being surrounded by all those women. A lot better company than us.”

Tom suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. These idiots had the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.
Still, he could hardly complain. They were making his job exceedingly easy after all. “They’ll still
be there when I return.” He traced the line of his teeth with the tip of his tongue. “That’s the beauty
of it. They have nowhere else to go. No matter what happens, they’re as dependant on me as they
are that place.” His lips curved in a wicked grin as he met Lestrange’s gleaming gaze. “They’d
never speak a word against me for fear of being thrown on the streets.”

Rabastan’s eyes cut quickly to Dolohov before alighting to a spot beyond Tom’s shoulder. “Ang,
baby, come here.”

A dark-skinned beauty hovering near the wall stepped forward, golden eyes bright. As soon as she
stepped beside his chair Lestrange snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap. She
settled gracefully, crossing her bare legs and lacing her arms around his neck. “Yes, my Lord?”

Tom’s stomach clenched, hands tightening on his cards.

“I want you to give me and the boys a little privacy for the next few minutes.” Rabastan lifted a
hand to her face, tracing her full lips. “Take the other girls with you and round up some more
friends. When Rod gets back, I want this place filled with pretty faces.”
She nodded, nibbling on his fingertip and earning a satisfied rumble from his chest. She slid to her
feet a moment later, gesturing to the other two girls to follow her out of the room. “Wait a minute,”
Lestrange said over his shoulder, halting them in their tracks. He glanced at Tom. “What’s your
poison, mate?”

Tom blinked. Lestrange smiled wickedly. "Don't be shy, Riddle. We certainly aren't." His eyes cut
to the other men seated around the table. "Avery and Yax like the sugary sweet, doe-eyed lambs.
Though Jon prefers em blonde while Martin takes the brunettes." His gaze flickered to Dolohov,
who leaned back in his chair with supreme smugness. "Antonin has a rather specialized fetish. His
preference is for wild-haired minxes with sharp tongues. Though he usually puts their mouths to
other uses."

Tom’s spine tightened, fire raging in his chest.

“While my tastes lean towards the exotic," Lestrange continued, none the wiser. "I like the dark
ones, especially with accents. Makes it all the sweeter when they call out my name.” His teeth
gleamed. “So, what’s your type, Riddle?”

Tom's mind raced. Dolohov leaned towards him.

“Come on, chap," the solicitor insisted. "You work around dozens of young women every single
day, surely you’ve seen a fair share of variety.” He winked. “Every man has his preference. No
shame in embracing it.”

Tom forced his jaw loose. “My type…” The door on the opposite wall opened. The girls jumped,
spinning around to face the new entrant. Tom’s eyes darted across the room. And locked with the
feline gaze burning in the darkness.

Mistress Lestrange slowly sauntered in, watching him in tense silence. The men glanced between
them. And then Dolohov chuckled under his breath, glancing to Rabastan.

“I think we got it," the solicitor laughed. Rabastan's expression fell, glancing to his sister-in-law
with narrowed eyes, and then to the house girl.

“Angie, you know our tastes, pet. Go round them up.” She nodded, moving quickly out of her
Mistress’s way with a deeper nod of deference.

“Bella, how nice of you to join us.” Dolohov raised his glass in her direction. “Come have a seat,
luv, play a round.”

“I appreciate the offer, darling, but cards aren’t my game of choice.” She tilted her head, eyes never
straying from Tom. “But I do love to watch.” She sidled around the table, hand glancing off their
shoulders one by one until she came to a slow stop behind her target. Tom drew in a slow,
measured breath as her fingertips skirted along his bicep, nails scratching along the fabric before
tracing the black silk of his lapels. She leaned into his back. “Please, do continue.” Her hand slid
beneath the opening of his jacket, pressing to the center of his chest. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

The other men exchanged loaded glances before slowly picking up their cards. Tom ground his
teeth, her message received loud and clear. She didn’t just have a seat at the table. She owned the
table. And the entire goddamn building it was situated in. The warmth of her palm centered over
his heart. He cursed himself when it skipped a beat. She purred low in her throat, gazing down at
his hand.

“What a marvelous player you are,” she whispered in his ear. Tom maintained his casual posture,
kept his muscles loose, unaffected. While a turbulent war raged within him. For the hand at his
center instantly transported him from the lavishly decorated champagne room to a dusty, barren
attic filled with nightmares and shadows. And a haunted girl adorned in cherry blossoms and
misery.

And yet, she hadn’t run. Hadn’t shied away. Hadn’t condemned or judged or pitied. No. She’d
stepped closer. Placed her hand against his heart willingly. And spoken words that delivered him
from the dark prison of his own mind. If only temporarily.

When she made to pull away it had been his natural instinct to ensnare. Trap. Keep. And the
dawning realization that followed had been more explosive than any of the confessions they’d
shared aloud that night. So, he’d pulled back. And the delicate hand had fallen away.

He’d tried his best to banish the occurrence from his mind. Since his youth, suppression came as
naturally as violence. But he’d been plagued by a new obsession since their fateful trip to the attic.
More damning than the blasted, fucking ribbon. For this nuisance couldn’t be tucked into a pocket
and ignored. No. The lingering sensation of her hand was not so easily forgotten. The phantom
warmth against his skin was a permanent brand against his flesh, searing all the way down to the
muscle and bone no matter how hard and furiously he scrubbed the skin raw.

Worse yet was the perverse pleasure he derived from the ghost touch. The constant presence at his
front. But the hand touching him now didn’t fit. Wasn’t the right size. The right shape. The right
burning heat. It was all wrong. The femme fatale at his back chuckled lowly, her venom sweet
scent invading his airways and clouding his mind, slowing the rapid pace of his thoughts.

He called Yaxley’s bluff in the next round, earning a sigh of frustration from the man before he
pushed back from the table and stormed away to the drink cart.

“You are masterful at reading others, Doctor.” Her fingertips pressed into his shirt, nails digging
into his flesh. “There is no more useful skill to have.”

He traced his bottom lip with his tongue, eyes carefully averted to his cards. “It’s a hazard of the
trade, I’m afraid.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Do you enjoy your work?”

His thumb ran along the edge of the Ace of Clubs. “Medicine is my greatest passion.”

“Your greatest passion?”

He raised a dark brow, the corner of his mouth tipping up. “I have many to be certain, but it has
long topped the list.”

Her fingertips drummed idly against hard muscle. “Then it is fortunate we have made your
acquaintance, Doctor. Perhaps we can show you pleasures beyond those extended to a public
servant.”

He slowly tipped his head and met her hooded gaze, their masks long removed. “I would be most
fascinated, Madam.”

Her answering smile lit her beautiful face with sinister glee. Before she could respond the door
opened once more. The others glanced across the room. Neither he or she looked away from each
other.

“Alright.” The elder Lestrange’s voice boomed off the walls. “What did I miss?”
She licked her lips. “The boys were playing a little game, darling.” She winked at Tom, finally
glancing up. Her hand remained affixed to his chest as she addresses her husband. “But I think
they’re finished now.” She tipped her head. “Perhaps we should all get to know each other a little
better.”

Rodolphus’s eyes narrowed, some silent message transpiring between them. His eyes briefly
flickered to her hand. Then he met Tom’s gaze. And smiled. “The lady has spoken. Who am I to
argue?”

Tom smirked, fighting to keep his heart rate calm and steady. “As they say, happy wife, happy
life.”

Rodolphus laughed, approaching the table, keeping Tom carefully in his sights. “I think it’s time
we had a little discussion, Riddle.”

Tom traced the backs of his teeth with his tongue before grinning broadly. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Hermione carefully stepped through the tightly pressed bodies, making a concerted effort to avoid
physical contact. And failing miserably. Amortentia was nearly twice as crowded as her weekday
visit. The guests were loud and drunk, pawing at customers and employees alike. Hermione had
been accosted at least a dozen times in as many minutes, maintaining her quick pace and rigid
stance to try and deter the grasping hands.

And yet, guests continued to pull and pinch unhindered. One particularly zealous patron wrapped
his arms around her from behind and lifted her off the ground entirely, walking her towards a
lounge pit strewn with half-naked bodies. She’d thrashed and clawed like a woman possessed,
earning only laughter from her jailer and his friends as they watched and cheered. She forced
herself to think through her rising panic. It wouldn’t do to cause a scene, drawing attention to
herself and risking exposure. So she’d kept her screams at bay, electing to drive her head back into
his face instead, channeling her inner Parvati and relishing the satisfying crunch of bone against her
skull.

He’d released her at once, clutching his face, blood dripping from beneath his mask and between
his gloved fingers. She’d ducked low and slipped back into the surging crowd before his friends
even had a chance to make it to his side. But the man had been livid, eyes narrowed dangerously as
he pointed in the general direction of her escape. She was a fugitive now, on the run as much as she
was on the hunt.

She swept another glance around the endless sea of bodies. Alicia had described Hermione’s target
before they parted company, telling her the area Katie was most likely to be at this hour. Hermione
could only hope to find the girl soon. The longer she lingered in this place the more wretched she
felt. A festering rot rising to the surface, threatening to expel through her pores and drench her
entire being in the dark stain of lust and gluttony.

At long last, she made it to the stage at the other end. The pianist played a song that seemed far too
somber for the setting. And yet, it reflected her inner musings quite brilliantly. She sidled next to
the stage, examining the house girls on the raised platform, some dancing, others… inciting the
crowd with lustful antics. She narrowed her eyes on the two blondes. One was engaged in a
passionate kiss with a brunette while the other was slowing swaying to the music with her corset
half unlaced, eyes vacantly drifting over the faces below.

Please let it be the second one…

Hermione weaved between the onlookers to the other side of the platform and tried to call the girl’s
attention. “Um, excuse me?” she posed. The girl didn’t so much as blink in her direction. “Excuse
me!”

Someone spilled their drink beside her, exploding into a chorus of hyper laughter that drowned out
the sound of her own thoughts. She sighed, stepping closer yet and placing her hands on the raised
surface, using every ounce of strength in her thin arms to hoist herself. She slid her backside on the
stage and quickly pulled her legs up, carefully arranging the half skirt for maximum coverage
before rising to her feet.

A drunken man cheered, clearly thinking another strip tease was about to begin. Hermione scowled
at him through her mask, causing him to flush lightly and clamp his hefty jaw shut. She directed
her focus on the blonde once more.

“Excuse me? Are you Katie?”

The girl jolted, blinking quickly, as though waking from a trance. She turned to face Hermione,
taking a quick step back and nearly falling from the stage. Hermione leaped forward and captured
her arm, helping steady her, putting them face to face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The girl blinked, the vacancy in her eyes slowly clearing away. “Who are you?”

“Her— oh, um, Penelope.” She cringed at the abysmal cover-up. “And you’re Katie, I take it?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Because I need to speak with Katie.” She wasn’t trying to deadpan, just as she suspected the girl
wasn’t trying to be difficult. Her voice was too dulcet. Too hollow. Hermione searched her gaze,
wondering if she was tipsy or high. Not that I would blame her, having to dance on stage for these
animals. “May we go somewhere private to speak for a few minutes?”

The girl that Hermione was now positively certain was Katie blinked again. “There’s no such thing
as privacy here.” Her words weren’t slurred. But they were slow, measured.

Hermione nodded. "I can see that. Maybe somewhere less obvious then." She swept a glance over
the crowd. Many faces watched them eagerly. One man was very vocal with his requests.
Hermione sighed, leaning close to be heard over the commotion. “I’m a friend of Lavender. She
drew back to watch the girl’s reaction. But she felt it first. The arm still in her grasp jerked hard as
Katie reared back, eyes wide.

“Lav…” Katie shook her head, expression frantic. “Who are you?”

“I’m someone that cared for her a great deal. From what I’ve heard, so did you.”

The young woman opened and closed her mouth, still struggling. Hermione released her, raising
her hands in a gesture of peace.

“I’m not here to upset you or get you into trouble. I’m only trying to find out what happened to my
friend.”

Katie wrapped her arms protectively across her middle. “I’m not- I don’t know anything.”

“But you know she’s dead?”

Katie nodded sadly, eyes gleaming wet. Hermione took a deep breath. “The news of her death was
never made public.”

Realization rose above the misery. “You tricked me," Katie said.

“I assure you, I’m far too distracted to exert any sort of mental prowess tonight.” Hermione
lowered her hands. “I’m just trying to piece together the puzzle. And whether you like it or not,
you’re a part of it.”

Katie held her gaze for another loaded moment before glancing warily over her shoulder. “I
shouldn’t...” She bit her lip, looking at Hermione once more. “Talking about this is dangerous for
us both.”

Hermione tipped her head, a deep ache settling into her chest. “Talking to me will be your final gift
to Lavender.” It was an underhanded tactic, but effective. Katie's shoulder’s dropped, head hanging
forward in defeat.

“Alright,” Katie whispered, barely audible over the crowd. “Follow me.”

. . .

Hermione crossed her legs carefully on the narrow settee, doing her best to avoid staring at the
restraints and chains nailed to the wall at her side. Instead, she focused upon the girl seated across
from her, posture tight and rigid.

“We can’t stay here long," Katie said. "The flogging rooms always get booked out fast.”

Hermione blinked before clearing her throat. “Right. Of course. Thank you for speaking with me-”

“I’m doing this for Lav.”

“I understand.” She clasped her hands on her lap. “How did you know her?”

“We grew up together on the South Side.”

“I never knew where Lavender was from.”

“All Hallows.” Katie averted her gaze downward, picking at the hem of her garter. “It’s mostly
projects. Really rough. We both ran away when we were young. Life on the streets was no worse
than being stuck there.”

“You ran away together?”

“No. I’m a couple years older. I got out first. Lavender stuck around to help her mum. Her stepdad
at the time was a real piece of work. But when it finally got to be too much, Lav took off, too.
Though I didn’t know what happened until I ran into her years later.”

“Working here?”

Katie nodded, still staring into her lap. Hermione leaned forward.

“Katie… what do you know? What has you so nervous?”

The blonde rubbed at her arms. “I’ve survived this long by keeping my nose out of trouble.”

“Is that what happened to Lavender? She got involved with something dangerous?”
“She didn’t mean to. She barely talked to them.”

Hermione blinked, heart skipping frantically. “Talked to who?”

Katie was silent for several minutes before finally meeting her gaze. “The girls in All Hallows are
brought up on stories meant to scare us, keep us in line. They say he comes for all the wicked girls.
But it seems our behavior has little to do with it in the end. One in four girls goes missing each year
regardless."

Hermione’s brows drew together. “Missing?”

“That’s why so many of us run away. Poverty and violence aren't the only dangers we face in the
slums.”

Hermione watched her carefully, her entire body throbbing with the force of her heartbeat.

“They call him the Boogeyman," Katie whispered. "A few girls claim to have seen him and lived to
tell the tale. I don’t know how many of those stories I believe, since he's supposed to be as tall as a
building and as wide as one, too. Able to reach into second and third story windows while standing
in an alley, snatching little girls right out of their beds, blanket and all.” Katie shivered at her own
retelling. "A lot of girls in the neighborhood disappeared without a trace. It was hard to know
which ones were runaways and which weren't. In the end, no one looked for any of them so it didn't
really matter."

Hermione’s hands clenched at her sides. “I don’t understand, what does this have to do with
Lavender?”

Katie swallowed. “She got invited to some fancy party in the West End. One of the guys she was
going round with-”

“Cormac?”

Katie straightened. “You know him?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, he took her with him to extravagant parties. She said he did it to shock people. Liked
rebelling against his rank and title. She didn’t mind though. She loved dressing up and turning
heads. Any attention was good attention to Lav. She always said it was better to be seen than not.
The moment people stopped seeing you was the moment you stopped existing.”

Hermione took a deep breath, eyes burning. “What happened at the party?”

“She saw girls there from All Hallows. Girls we grew up with.” Her shoulders drew in. “Girls that
went missing.”

“But you said yourself it was hard to tell who was a runaway.”

“That’s what she thought at first. That maybe the girls took off on their own after all, only to end
up at the party just like she did. So she tried talking to them, catching up on old times.”

Hermione swayed in her seat, pulse thudding manically.

“But they weren’t…” Katie licked her lips, eyes darting away.

“They weren’t what?”

The young woman shook her head. “Lavender said they weren’t… normal.”

Hermione tensed. “Normal?”

"They were acting strangely. Said their eyes were empty. Lifeless. They only provided vague, basic
responses, and didn't seem to have any memory of All Hallows. A couple didn't even seem to know
their own name."

Hermione drew back, blood running cold.

“She said it was like they were—”

“Dolls," Hermione concluded gravely.

Katie nodded. “Yeah. Dolls. But one of them was different, more animated than the others, even
pulled Lavender upstairs alone. Seemed intent on telling her something.”

Hermione’s eyes widened hopefully. “What did she say?”

Katie shook her head. “Nothing. She was missing her tongue.”

Hermione gasped.

“But someone walked in and caught them," Katie continued. "Ordered the girl to leave, took
Lavender downstairs like nothing was wrong. She was really freaked out by the whole thing.”

Hermione pressed a hand to her chest. Why didn’t she confide any of this in me or Parvati? Did she
not trust us? Was she afraid of endangering us? “What happened after that?”

“Lord Lestrange caught wind of the incident. Pulled Lavender aside in the Club a few nights later
to assure her there was nothing to worry about. Apologized if the girl upset her. He tried telling her
the girl was from some poor village in Eastern Europe, that one of the men at the party saved her
from being killed and brought her to London and was taking care of her.” She shook her head.
“Lavender didn’t tell him she grew up with her, or that she recognized the others.”

Hermione released a sharp breath.

“And then he offered her a job," Katie said, rather unexpectedly.

“What?”

“He said she was beautiful and would pull in good tips. He even offered to set her up with a private
flat downtown.”

“What did she say?”

“She turned him down. Said she couldn't leave the Home. She considered the girls there her family
and wouldn’t leave them.”

“Was he upset?” Hermione asked.

“He told her he was impressed. That he admired her character and the offer was still open if she
changed her mind.”

Hermione ran a hand over her face, the mask discarded at her side. “Bloody hell.” There was so
much to unpackage… Where to even begin? “Is that the last time you talked to her?”
Katie bit her lip. Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Katie—”

“She told me Mistress Lestrange invited her to a party at her Estate. Personally.”

The blood drained rapidly from Hermione's face. Katie nodded. “That was the exact reaction we
had.”

“Did she go?”

“I don't know," Katie shrugged. "She didn’t want to but she was afraid to offend her by not
accepting.”

“When was it?”

“I don’t know that either. I don’t remember if she told me.”

Hermione sighed. “Thank you, Katie. This has been very enlightening.”

Katie rubbed her palms along her thighs. “Will it help you find out what happened to her?”

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “I think so.”

“Good. I hope Lavender gets justice. She deserved better.”

As the blonde started to rise from her chair, Hermione thought of one last thing. “Katie?”

The young woman halted, glancing over her shoulder.

“Why were you afraid to speak to me?" Hermione asked. "You didn’t want the Lestranges knowing
you were close with her?”

“I’m not like Lav, I don’t want to be noticed by powerful people.”

Hermione blinked. “But they hired you directly, didn’t they?”

Katie nodded. “Yes. But it’s the other family I’m worried about.”

“What other family?”

“The people who hosted the party with the missing girls.”

Hermione's heart lurched as she sat forward. “Who, Katie?”

The blonde released a slow breath. “The Malfoys.”

Every muscle in Tom’s body clenched at once as Madam Lestrange’s hand traced a slow trail up
his chest and across his shoulder before falling away entirely. She walked a measured path around
the table, her heels striking an even beat along the tile floor. Her husband took a chair directly
opposite Tom, forearms resting on the wood, eyes gleaming with predatory intent. The others
seemed transfixed, looking to the large man in obvious deference.

His wife finally made her way around, coming to a stop at his right side and leaning into his broad
frame. He drew back and wrapped an arm around her waist, idly tracing patterns along the silk
adorning her hip. “Tell me, Riddle,” Rodolphus began slowly, gaze unwavering. “Do you enjoy
your work?”
Tom leaned back into his chair and took a deep breath. Let the real game begin. “We were just
discussing said topic moments before your arrival. I informed your lovely wife that my work is
most fulfilling.”

Lestrange hummed low in his throat, sharing a brief look with his brother before glancing back.
“But surely a man of your repute, your impressive background, finds working in a crown-funded
girls’ home to be… lackluster.”

“It is not the most exciting location I have ever worked in, to be certain. But there is no glamour in
medicine. The most demanding cases are often the most horrific. The most volatile. I spent many
years elbow-deep in the muck and grime of third-world healthcare. Though it is fulfilling work, it
is draining. Every patient, every death, takes something from you.” Tom blinked at his own
admission, fist tightening on the table. Careful. He was skirting the line of reality and illusion a bit
too closely now. He quickly backtracked. "I found myself in need of a brief reprieve. Working at
the Home allows me to continue to work in the field I love without the threat of death and
dismemberment hanging overhead."

Avery leaned forward. “You mean your patient’s death and dismemberment, surely.”

“Theirs as well.” The intensity of Tom's gaze drove the man back into his chair. “I was among the
limited medical staff assigned to Ghana soon after the British Empire took control. The acquisition
inspired great civil unrest, many bloody battles were waged. The doctors and nurses were
specifically targeted by opposing forces. Many of my associates were badly injured, some even
executed.”

Yaxley swallowed audibly, drawing his gaze. "Why the bloody hell did you stay, mate? There are
enough things that can kill a man at home. No need to put yourself in the path of a bullet."

Tom raised a brow. “I’m certain the vast majority of the Queen's militia and their families would
disagree with you. The soldiers stationed on the island believed there was no more noble way to
die.”

Avery scoffed, turning his glass in a slow circle, ice melting along the bottom. “Bloody idiots, the
lot of 'em.”

“As you can see, neither Jon nor Martin have any military service in their past," Rodolphus
explained. "Too weak chinned to man a weapon. Which is fortunate, as they’d only succeed in
shooting their fellow soldiers. Or themselves.” Both men scowled but said no word against their
leader.

Avery pushed away from the table. “I’m gonna take a piss.”

Rabastan rolled his eyes. “Thanks for announcing it, idiot.”

Tom ignored the man’s departure, his gaze fixated ahead. “So, you’ve seen the armpit of society
and decided it was time for more pleasant pastures,” Rodolphus continued leisurely. “Well, you
certainly selected a most scenic venue.”

Tom drummed his fingers along the tabletop. “I admit, the patients are far more pleasant this time
around.”

“But you keep a professional distance,” Madam Lestrange spoke suddenly, causing her husband to
glance up sharply. She paid him no mind. “I can tell you are not a man so easily distracted. In fact,
I dare say you are one of the most focused individuals I’ve ever encountered.” She licked her lips.
“And observant. You see things that others do not, don’t you Doctor?”

“Bella, luv-”

“There’s no need to beat around the bush any longer, darling.” Her gaze never wavered from Tom.
“Doctor Riddle isn’t like the last. He isn’t like the others, either.” She tipped her head, the light
catching off her ebony hair. “He’s a formidable ally to have. We shouldn’t insult him any further
with our doublespeak.”

Her husband’s jaw flexed, but he remained silent, bringing his gaze forward. The other men at the
table tensed, glancing at each other. Tom fought back a grin, the thrill of victory racing along his
skin, surging within his veins. He’d placed his bet correctly. Lord Lestrange may have control over
the table. But Mistress Lestrange had control over him. And she liked Tom.

He’d managed to clear the largest hurdle. The one that had been hidden in plain sight. Most men
would have disregarded her for her gender alone. Sought her husband’s approval instead, his
money and title making him the brightest beacon in the room. But Tom saw her. Saw the real her.
The creature dwelling beneath the metallic skin and razor claws. And she saw her true self-
reflected back in his dark gaze.

He imagined he was among the few, if not the very first, to accomplish such a Herculean task.
Either way, he’d earned her attention. Her interest. She’d no doubt seek to wrap him as tightly
around her finger as every other male in the room. He welcomed the attempt. For the closer the
drew him in, the closer she drew him into the fortress as well. And the closer he got to his true
target.

“I would be most grateful if we could drop this charade as well, Madam," Tom replied.

Her teeth gleamed in the dim light. “We like you, Doctor. But we did not invite you here for the
sole pleasure of your company. Though I assure you, your company has been most pleasurable.”
She winked, smile widening. “The truth of the matter is, the people in this room have a vested
interest in the operations of the Girls’ Home where you find yourself currently employed. We like
to keep apprised of the day-to-day runnings of the facility, as well as the welfare of the residents
themselves. The previous physician in your post worked closely with us, keeping us up-to-date on
the matters most pertinent to our business.”

Tom tipped his head, muscles relaxed as a cat basking in the midday sun, a stark contrast to the
men at his sides. “And what business would that be, exactly?”

She opened her mouth once more but was promptly silenced by her husband's hand squeezing her
hip. Her ruby lips pressed into a thin line, agitation clear in her gaze.

"A philanthropic endeavor," Rodolphus began, his other hand reaching into his jacket to extract a
cigar. "There is a great social injustice in this city. The orphanages are overrun, the slums grow
more and more populated every year, homelessness is at an all-time high. Not only does this
contribute to the spread of disease, poverty, and violence, it is a severe burden on our nation's
financial resources. Our position of power is tenuous in light of social and economic advancements
in the east, and even among our cousins in the west. It is only a matter of time before Great Britain
is dethroned as the most powerful nation in the world. The fallout will be catastrophic. War.
Murder in the streets. Utter chaos."

Tom blinked. Then he blinked again. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Of all the contrived
excuses and justifications he’d imagined hearing tonight, this certainly took the bullshite cake. He
opened his mouth, but it took a solid three seconds before his mind constructed something free of
derision. "It sounds like the end of the world as we know it," Tom paused, fighting back an
incredulous laugh. "Though it would seem you're working to prevent such a catastrophic event
from occurring."

Rodolphus released his wife in order to clip the end of his cigar and light a match. She stood idly at
his side, seemingly at ease, but her eyes glowed brightly with focused intent.

"We are helping eradicate the infestation at its source." Lestrange puffed the end of the cigar,
smoke billowing proudly from his nose and mouth. "We're helping improve the circumstances of
the most impoverished while securing prosperous relationships with international powers across
the globe." Another puff. "We're protecting our great nation, doing our part to ensure she continues
to thrive and prosper. It's not a medical hut in Ghana, but one may argue we are not able to help
others until first helping ourselves."

Tom continued to blink, at a loss for words. Jesus Christ. He cleared his throat, seamlessly finding
his footing despite his utter disbelief. "I would agree with that sentiment. There are plenty of issues
plaguing our very city that have yet to be properly addressed. I am excited to learn more about your
plight to alleviate the stress caused by this so-called… infestation.”

“Marvelous.” She sparked to life once more. “We would love to bring you into the fold, darling,
however before we can go into details regarding our mission, we must obtain approval from our
main investor.”

Tom froze in place, heart skipping a beat. This was it, the grand prize of his evening... “Of course,"
he replied casually. "May I ask who that would be?”

"You may ask anything you like of me, luv, for I am an open book. But unfortunately, our silent
partner is quite the opposite. But don't worry, he insists on meeting all new associates in person. I
have no doubt he'll be eager to speak with you very soon."

A powerful tremor raced along his spine. He disguised it by adjusting in his seat. “I look forward
to it.”

As if on cue, a door opened at the Madam's back. She spun around. “I see we have company.”

A sea of girls in black corsets and half-masks hovered in the doorway. “Hello, Mistress. Would
you like for us to return?” the one in the front spoke.

“Not at all, Mellie. Do come in.”

The Madam spun on her heel as the women began filtering inside, sweeping her feline gaze across
the men seated at the table. “I’ll leave you boys to your fun.” Her eyes alighted on Tom. “Do enjoy
your evening, Doctor.”

He smiled. “I already am.”

She held his gaze a moment longer before stepping away, intent on departing the room before her
husband pulled her back by the wrist. A scowl transformed her face before melting into a seductive
grin as he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles.

“Don’t stray too far, my love," he instructed.

She tipped her head. “I never do.”

Girls started crowding the vast room, obscuring Rodolphus from sight. Before Tom lost visual of
his host's wife, her dark gaze flickered up and locked with his. Fire ignited in its depth. His fists
tightened on the table. And then she was swallowed by the surging crowd.

“Who, Katie?”

A deafening beat.

“The Malfoys.”

And then the bottom dropped out of Hermione’s world.

She reared back, nearly toppling out of her seat. “What?”

Katie blinked. “Do you know—”

“Are you certain?”

The blonde closed her mouth, nodding. Hermione shook her head, eyes flickering around the room
frantically, rendered blind in her rising panic. No. No…

Suddenly the door swung open and both girls jolted, eyes wide and muscles tensed. “Christ, there
you are!” A familiar voice erupted. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at the new entrant. “You
busy, Katie? I need to gather girls for—” The speaker broke off, golden gaze expanding to comical
proportions as it fastened to the room’s other occupant. “Jesus Bloody Christ… Hermione?”

Hermione tried to force a smile, but the revelation from moments ago still had her reeling. “Hello,
Angie.”

The woman stepped fully into the room, closing the door partway before quickly crossing over.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” She glanced around the space. “Where’s Parv?”

“It’s just me tonight.”

Angie pinned her with the full intensity of her glare. “Are you daft?”

“Closer to insane, really.”

“This isn’t a joke!” She grabbed Hermione’s arm, starting to pull her towards the exit. “You have
got to get out of here right fucking now, before—”

The door opened once more. They all froze. A man stood in the frame, smiling widely as his gaze
darted between them. "Well, what sort of party is this, and why isn't it occurring in our room?" he
asked lasciviously.

Angie went rigid beside her even as her lips curved into an easy grin. “Jon, darling, I was just
rounding up some treats for you and the boys.”

He licked his lips. “I can see that.” His eyes roamed Hermione from bottom to top with such slow
calculation it made her skin crawl as though fingers were trailing along her flesh. “Excellent
choice. She’ll be perfect for Dolohov.”

Hermione swayed precariously on her feet, spots appearing before her vision. The man was
oblivious to her visceral reaction, eyes already fastened to Katie.

“Catrina, my luv," he cooed. "You look absolutely stunning tonight. You’re coming to the private
party, aren't you?”

Katie swallowed tightly before smiling. “Of course, Jon.”

“Superb.” He held out a hand, prompting Katie to step forward and place her dainty hand in his.
His fingers slid up, ensnaring her wrist. Hermione blinked, the phantom sensation of the Doctor’s
hand around her own wrist causing her arm to jolt. And yet, the image before her was completely
different. Completely sinister. She gasped when Angie squeezed her arm.

"Go out the back," Angie whispered, barely audible over the blood pounding through her ears.
Hermione started to nod, only for the well-dressed stranger to draw their focus forward.

“What’s your name, precious?” he asked, staring right at her.

Hermione felt her chest vibrate with mounting hysteria. “Penelope.”

He flashed a wicked grin. “Oh, yes, he’ll love you for sure.” His eyes flickered to her companion.
“Come along, Angie. We’ve been waiting for far too long.”

Angie released a pained breath as he led Katie from the room. The blonde glanced over her
shoulder just before they turned the corner, her eyes meeting Hermione’s. The message was clear.
Run. But it was too late.

“Hermione, you need to go," her companion insisted. "I’ll find a way to cover for—”

“No.” Hermione took a deep, steadying breath, hands fisting at her sides. “If I don’t attend he’ll
send someone to look for me. I can hardly jump into a carriage wearing this. There won’t be time to
change back. Not going will only cause a bigger stir, potentially alerting the Lestranges to my
presence.”

Angie shook her head. “You don’t know the type of men in that group—”

“I do actually.” Hermione met the surprised gaze head-on. “I came here with one of them.” She
gently pulled her arm free of the woman’s clutches. “And I need to speak with him. Immediately.”

Angie stepped back. “This is a terrible idea.”

Hermione released a sharp laugh, edged in steel and laced with poison. “It would seem my life is
comprised of nothing but these last few days.” She gestured to the open door. “Lead the way.”

Parvati flicked her cigarette with added gusto, body drawn tight, eyes narrowed ahead at a barren
patch of brick. She’d spent the better part of the last hour seething in the courtyard, burning
through half a dozen cloves and billowing smoke like a chimney set to burst. Hermione had gone
behind her back again, after making the explicit promise to keep Parvati apprised of everything
after she’d identified Lavender’s body without her. She swallowed thickly, flicking more ashes to
the side, shaking her head.

Worse yet, she’d confided in Luna about her plan to sneak out, without leaving so much as a note
behind. Lavender had been Parvati’s best friend long before any of the others came along.
Certainly before their third roommate joined the fold. If anyone should be traipsing about the city
hunting down the bastard killer, it should be her. Hermione was denying Parvati her due justice.
Pushing her to the side like she was an errant little sister, nagging and in the way.

“Fucking ridiculous.”
She threw the cigarette down on the pavement, grinding it with her heel. She'd grown up in one of
the roughest neighborhoods in all of London. She's wandered and worked the streets with no
protection beyond her own wit and survival instinct, doing everything in her power to earn money
for her sister’s treatment. She’d tasted the stale sweat of desperation on the back of her tongue and
swallowed too many bitter pills to count. And then, she’d lost everything. Her entire family in the
space of a few months.

By the time she entered the doors of the Home, she'd been a shell of a person. Hollowed out by
grief, misery, and loss. Immune to most everything, including kindness and empathy. She didn't
trust such things. People always expected something in return. Nothing in this life was free. Least
of all love. She’d been suited in armor, wielding sharp claws and snapping teeth. The other
residents had been terrified of her, afraid to so much as meet her eye little less bump into her in the
hallway. So they’d all steered clear. All of them except for Lavender.

The energetic blonde had harbored no reservations about plopping down into the booth across
from Parvati during breakfast on her first official day as a resident. She'd stuck her hand out across
the table and introduced herself with a proud flick of her blonde hair, eyes bright and smile wide.
She hadn't been phased by Parvati's tight-lipped countenance, nor rebuffed by her refusal to shake
her hand.

Instead, she'd chatted on endlessly about the most trivial of topics while munching away at her
eggs and toast, making scandalous jokes all the while, as though they were the oldest of friends. As
though they were sisters. Parvati had leaped from the table and stormed out of the dining hall
halfway through the meal, unable to stomach the girl's radiant presence for a second more. Unable
to pretend everything was fine. Everything was normal. As though she didn’t have a gaping hole in
her heart that caused her pulse to quicken and knees to weaken at the mere thought of her lost twin.
As though the other half of her very soul hadn’t been stripped away and thrown into a heap of
naked bodies and burned in a pit without so much as God for a witness. No. Lavender had been
nothing but a beam of sunlight strewn across a dying, decayed garden. The warmth she provided
served no purpose, made no difference. And then they’d become roommates.

Parvati had been livid, storming into the Toad’s office with clenched fists and bared teeth
demanding her privacy back. She’d never been so thankful for their Matron’s chronic disregard and
neglect. For her demands and pleas had been met by deaf, uncaring ears, and Lavender had moved
into the room that very same day. And steadily worked her way under Parvati’s skin.

Within a few short months, Parvati was no longer cringing at the sound of the girl’s singing voice
as she got ready each morning, or the smell of the perfume she dabbed on her pulse points before
slipping out of the dorm. She no longer threw a fit over finding long blonde hairs clinging to her
bedding, her clothes, mixing with the dust on their countertops.

She found herself taking comfort in all those things. The gentle reminder that she wasn’t alone.
That someone else was there. Someone who cared. Though Parvati couldn’t for the life of her
figure out why. She was not an easy person to get along with, and she certainly never made it easy
for the perpetually cheery girl to get to know her. But Lavender had kept at it, her easy and bright
demeanor covering her hard as nails, determined core. She never gave up on Parvati. She had
fought for the right to become her friend. Her confidante. Her sister.

And then, when she had needed Parvati the most, when it had finally been time for Parvati to repay
all the debts she owed the woman, she hadn’t been there to protect her. Someone had snuffed out
the brightest lights in the known universe like it was nothing. Like Lavender was nothing. And
everyone in the outside world seemed just fine with letting them get away with it. Her knuckles
cracked as she clenched her fists at her sides.
Lavender was her friend, her responsibility, hers to take care of and hers to protect. Not
Hermione’s. And yet, here it was, the dead of night and Parvati was imprisoned within the Home
with no clue what was going on beyond these dark, oppressive walls. While Hermione went and
played detective. It was a betrayal of the highest order.

Parvati spun on her heel, muscles clenched tight as she stormed back into the building, only
masking the sound of her footsteps once she reached the upper landing leading to the dorms. A part
of her welcomed Filch catching her. She was certainly worked up for a fight, desperate for an
outlet, and feared reaching the dorms in this state. Luna didn’t deserve her ire. But when she saw
the male figure at the end of the hall, all thoughts of picking a row evaded her as quickly as her
breath.

She slid into the shadows, ducking low, waiting for the crippled, embittered caretaker to pass. Only
the footfalls that met her ears weren’t the right sound. Weren’t broken or dragging. She blinked,
eyes narrowing as she strained to make out the figure in the darkness. She gasped upon realizing
the male was much larger than Filch. Much, much larger. And he was heading straight for the
dorms with a determined step, pace quick and certain.

Adrenaline surged through her veins as the hulking figure turned the corner. She didn’t think,
didn’t hesitate. Instead, she sprung from her hiding spot. And gave chase.

It was a small blessing the man who walked in on their impromptu gathering wasn’t someone who
had previously laid eyes on Hermione in person. If Dolohov had been the one to find her without a
mask on, holed up in the sodding flogging room, half-dressed and in the company of two other
women, her evening would have taken a much different turn.

As it stood, she once again had her mask firmly affixed to the top half of her face, gleaming hair
gathered over one shoulder to allow the thick curtain of curls to hide her profile from view. If she
could stay out of the Lestranges' direct line of sight, she was confident they wouldn’t recognize her.
It had been many years since they’d gazed upon her, and never with her hair down.

Never half-naked, either.

She smothered a groan, hands clenched at her sides as she followed Angie down a dark, narrow
hallway to the sole door at the other end. Her heart thudded painfully as she realized Dolohov
would be an entirely different story. He’d never seen her with her hair down either… well, not fully
down, anyway. He’d certainly pulled her bun loose as he threw her into the wall. But if he
glimpsed her for even a moment he was certain to recognize her by her lips and chin alone.

She gazed at Angie. “There’s a man I need to avoid. If he sees me… it’ll be bad.”

The woman's expression tensed. “Which one?”

“Dolohov.”

Angie closed her eyes briefly. “Fan-fucking-tastic. You’re just his type. The entire reason Avery
insisted you come in the first place.” Hermione felt a wave of nausea seize her. Angie’s keen gaze
watched her carefully. “Wait… you aren’t just his type…” the young woman cocked her head.
“You’re the one, aren’t you?”

Hermione's heart lurched. “The one?”

“Every bloke has a One.”

Hermione continued to stare at her in bemusement. “Every guy has a type," Angie continued.
"Which stems from his obsession with the one… the first bird who turned his head. Or stole his
heart.”

She arched a dark brow. “The dame who got away. So he mends the wound by laying claim to
birds who remind him of her.”

Hermione swallowed the rising lump in her throat. “If I’m his one, I’ll fill my pockets with stones
and throw myself into the Thames this very evening.”

Angie smirked. “Definitely the one. Men love a challenge. You probably drive blokes up the wall
and back.”

Hermione averted her gaze forward once more. “I just need to avoid him.”

Angie nodded. “I’ll try and help. But you need to get in and out as fast as you can.”

“Trust me, I have no desire to linger.”

They stopped before the door, sitting ajar from Avery and Katie’s recent entrance. A chorus of
voices could be heard within, a collection of boisterous male dialogue and distinctly feminine
laughter. Please let there be enough people to hide among…

Angie pulled the door open. And down the rabbit hole they fell.

A seemingly endless stream of scantily clad young women flooded the room, filling every corner,
taking up every inch of space, filling Tom’s lungs with a cloud of stale sweat and toxic floral
perfume. He groaned in annoyance as a pretty redhead tried to seat herself upon his lap.

He gently pushed her aside, taking to his feet and buttoning his jacket, striding quickly for the
drink cart at the opposite end of the room. His mind was still spinning, nerves stretched tight. The
last thing he wanted to worry about now was fending off the advancements of tip-hungry brothel
workers.

He had nothing against their chosen profession. He was practically raised by the prostitutes in the
slums, most of them more attentive to him than his own mother had been. He understood that
women had few options when fallen on hard times. He detested the Johns more than the workers.
But he had an aversion to being touched, least of all pawed at. And his quota for play-acting was
reaching its limit for the evening. He could only feign congenial indifference for so long before his
true nature unleashed itself on some hapless young woman just trying to make a living.

He filled his glass to the brim with a dark brown whiskey, teeth clenching as the door opened again
and several more women piled in, eager eyes darting around the floor before quickly saddling
themselves to one of the men in the room. Tom was the only one who stood alone. They quickly
descended.

Fuck.

He turned around, a polite dismissal primed on his lips when the door opened a third time. His eyes
were drawn to the newest additions by some invisible force. A familiar warmth pressing into the
center of his chest. He swallowed thickly, dread sinking to the pit of his stomach before his eyes
even found her. But the moment he had her within his sights, he could see nothing else.

The rest of the crowd fell away. Fire burst to life within him. Alas, he was too far away to
intercept...

For Ms. Granger had just joined the party. And she was about to be devoured alive by circling
beasts.

Hermione had never felt herself teeter so close to a complete and total nervous breakdown. The
only thing that kept her upright was Angie’s strong hand at her arm pulling her along and through
the fray.

There were girls everywhere. A small comfort, as she felt she blended in quite well with her
disguise. But there were also men everywhere. More than she’d been expecting. She’d hoped the
Lestranges would be out on the floor, that perhaps she’d strike it lucky and Dolohov would already
be shacked up in a private room. But of course, she wasn't afforded such good fortune. Not since
the fire.

“Stay away from Dolohov’s side of the room and I’ll try and keep his gaze averted," her
companion offered.

Hermione nodded quickly, heart lodged in her throat, rendering her effectively mute.

“Which bloke are you trying to talk to?”

Hermione gulped, trying to glance around the room while keeping her face tipped down and her
hair swept forward. She didn’t see the Doctor. Shite! Perhaps he wasn't here. The Club was
massive, how was she supposed to find him now? “I don’t—” She stopped short as a booming
voice echoed from behind them.

“There’s my girl!”

Hermione went rigid as a board when Angie released her, spinning gracefully as a top. “Hello, my
Lord.”

“You did a fantastic job, sweetheart.” Rabastan weaved his arm around Angie’s narrow waist and
drew her flush against him, hungry mouth descending. Hermione swayed in place, placing a hand
at her abdomen and another at her lower back to keep herself steady. Draco’s uncle was standing
mere feet away from her. A mere glance away from exposing her to the room and all of its
bloodthirsty predators.

God help me. She took an instinctive step back, intent on fleeing to anywhere but here— only to be
drawn back by the powerful leash of his voice.

“Where are you going, beautiful?”

She halted, frozen as marble. Maybe he’s talking to someone else.

“You, with the curls and tight arse, what’s your name, luv?”

She flushed hotly, face still averted.

“She’s new, my Lord.” Angie’s voice was sugary sweet at her back. “This is her first night. Let’s
give her some time to gain her footing and grab another girl.”

Rabastan scoffed. “The only way to learn is to dive in headfirst. Besides, you know I like them
fresh.” She heard him drawn near, her body pulsating in time to her rapid heart. “I don’t recognize
you, did my brother hire you?”

Hermione nodded, dipping her head down further and allowing her hair to blanket her face entirely.
He chuckled, leather boots coming into view of her downcast gaze.

“Shy. No wonder he wanted you. He likes em demure.” A large hand reached for her face, intent
on tipping her chin. Spots appeared before her vision. This is it. She braced herself for imminent
demise. He hummed in contemplation. “You do seem familiar though…”

Her knee started to give out—

Another hand intercepted, clasping Rabastan’s wrist and halting it less than a hairsbreadth from her
pale cheek. Rabastan drew back, spine rigid.

“What the— oh, Doc, didn’t see you there.”

Her pulse exploded, blood surging so rapidly she felt dizzy with it.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, Lestrange," a deep and comforting voice spoke.

He released the thick wrist. She averted her gaze to the ground, hoping beyond hope she’d fade
completely from sight if only she remained still enough.

"You having a good time?" Rabastan posed, stepping back to face his adversary head-on. "Why
don't you have a bird yet? There are over thirty girls here, surely at least one is to your liking." A
meaningful beat. “One that you can have, that is.”

Hermione held her breath, sensing a world of tension beneath the words. Dark boots finally came
into view, taking a measured step in her direction.

“Funny you should mention that,” the Doctor replied, moving another step towards her. "I had my
eyes on this very one. But I see you were intent on taking her for yourself. Please, don't let me
interrupt."

Pale hands entered her eye line next, peeking through dark sleeves, purple veins stretched across
large, clenched fists. She recognized those hands as well as she recognized her face in the mirror.
She swayed towards him, drawn by the shelter and safety he exuded.

“I think she likes you,” Rabastan observed, brimming with bitterness. “Seems you have that effect
on most women.”

The blood surging through her ears muffled their words. She fought the urge to press into the
Doctor’s side like a trembling cat. “I assure you, my effect on women is usually quite the opposite.
I’m told I have a rather abrupt bedside manner.”

Rabastan puffed his chest out, stepping back and sliding his arm around Angie’s waist once more.
“Be my guest. Take her. She’s too tame for my liking anyhow.” He leaned down, nipping playfully
at the slender column of Angie’s throat. “I just wanted to see the kittens play together. No matter.”
He drew to his full height. “We’ll grab another one. Have fun, Doctor.”

The fists slowly relaxed. “Oh, I intend to.”

And then the oppressive stormcloud dissipated. Rabastan moved on. She glanced up slowly, not at
the Doctor, but at Lestrange's retreating figure. Angie glanced over his shoulder, wide eyes
flickering between Hermione and the Doctor, expression wrought. Hermione nodded in assurance.
The young woman breathed a sigh of relief before facing forward, allowing her patron to lead her
to the back of the room where heavy partitions surrounded beds and chaise lounges.

Hermione released a long, tenuous breath, finally turning to face her savior. A chill laced her spine.
He was clad in pitch, the gleaming onyx of his mask reflecting her own pale visage, which
appeared more ghostly than the floating apparition. The rigid line of his body and unforgiving set
of his broad shoulders made him far more sinister than the man she’d just evaded.

“I—”

“Quiet," he demanded.

She gasped as his hand ensnared her naked bicep with lightning speed, barely having time to gape
before he was hauling her across the room. She released a string of broken sounds before he shot a
lethal glare over his shoulder, rendering her fully mute. Only to choke as Dolohov appeared from
the ether, materializing before their path with a girl on each arm.

“Shite,” she heard the Doctor hiss under his breath. Numb panic set in as he halted immediately,
turning to face her. Heat tore through her entire body when strong hands grasped her hips, pushing
her back. She shuffled blindly over the tiles before hitting the wall, staring up at him in shock,
Dolohov long-forgotten in the wake of this new and startling development.

The Doctor pressed flush against her, flattening her against the wall and effectively shielding her
from sight. He dipped his head down, lips hovering at her ear. "You are exceedingly idiotic, Ms.
Granger," he whispered harshly, whiskey-scented breath cascading over her bare shoulder and
decolletage. "I take back any and every compliment I've ever paid regarding your intellect."

She stiffened in outrage, which only pressed her more firmly into hard muscle. He, in turn, leaned
his weight forward, pushing the breath from her lungs while his warmth permeated her skin to
feverish proportions. “If you knew even half of what I’ve been through tonight—”

“Nothing could justify the stupidity of knowingly entering a room filled with men who can identify
you by your voice alone.”

She flushed even hotter as embarrassment set in. "I didn't think I had much choice! Avery found
me and demanded I come to the party. I didn't realize I was walking into Caligula's den or I would
have run in the opposite direction!"

“Keep your bloody voice down!” He drew his head back just enough to meet her eye. Their masks
collided.

“You’re going to leave this room immediately. It’s far more important you find—”

“I already found her.”

He blinked. The hands still clutching her hips squeezed. She broke his intense gaze to gather her
bearings, unable to see anything beyond the dark wall of his body.

“Did you find out anything pertinent?” he pressed.

She fought back a shudder, silver eyes and pale hair flashing before her mind’s eye unbidden. She
cringed away from the phantom image and the pain it inspired. The Doctor raised a brow, barely
visible above the mask. One hand released her hip to gently clasp her chin, tipping her head up and
forcing their gazes to meet.
“Hermione, did you find out anything useful?”

She nodded mutely. He sighed, releasing her face and peering over his shoulder. “Good. That
means you can leave.”

“Wait, I—”

“You came here for one purpose and you’ve accomplished that task. The longer you linger, the
more you put yourself and this entire mission at risk.”

Her jaw clenched. “Fine.”

He made no move to release her. “There are too many of Lestrange’s guests swarming the floor,"
he spoke, incensed by the fact. "They’ll notice anyone trying to slip out.”

Her pulse beat faster than a war drum. “What should I do?”

A scowl twisted his features, infuriated at the words he had to speak. “You need to hide.” He
glanced around, muscles tensing as he spotted something of interest. “We’re going to lie low
behind a partition, at least until more men retire for the evening.”

She blinked rapidly, mouth opening and closing. But before she could even think of what to say, he
stepped back, stripping her of his warmth. She trembled when he grasped her wrist, wrapping his
other arm around her waist and hauling her into his side. He marched them along the wall, towards
the other end of the room. She gasped upon spotting Dolohov not far off, burying her face in the
Doctor’s side, immediately overcome by his heady scent. It filled her lungs and constricted the
blood vessels, pressure building to maddening proportions.

The wall of partitions was within sight. Silhouettes could be seen through the off-white barriers,
the sordid acts playing out leaving her vibrating in her skin, the fear and anxiety overwhelming.
But his arm tightened around her, as though he heard the moment her resolve snapped. He kept her
upright with the strength in his forearm alone, half dragging her behind an open space at the end of
the row.

The moment they turned the corner inside, he released her. She choked on a sob as she started to
fall, impact with the hard floor imminent- only to land in a graceless heap atop a plush chaise,
bouncing once as her hair flew across her face and lodged itself halfway down her throat. She
swiped manically, clearing her airway and brushing the errant locks aside. Only to meet his fiery
gaze.

He towered above her, the line of his body blocking out the dim gaslights, casting them into
shadow, only his gleaming, wild gaze visible in the sentient darkness. “You risked everything by
setting foot in this room tonight.”

Her nails dug into the velvet upholstery beneath her bare thighs. “I risked everything by setting
foot inside this Club.” She leaned forward, voice as venomous as the blood surging through her
veins. “My reputation, my inheritance, my chance at medical school, my life.”

He blinked. She pushed ahead, the air crackling around her as though charged by her fury.

“It’s so easy for you, isn’t it? Being born a male in the world’s most powerful nation. You’ll never
know what it is to truly be powerless. To truly be at another’s mercy for simply being born the
wrong gender. To be denied even the chance at an opportunity because you are viewed as
inherently weak, inherently worthless.”
She lurched to her feet, closing the distance between them with a wide step. He continued to gaze
down at her, unmoved. She tamped down a feral scream. “If you were exposed tonight the worst
that could happen is a slap on the wrist, perhaps you’d have to find a new post. At worse move to a
new city and begin again. They’d never risk killing a man of title. A man of connections.” She
swallowed heavily, settling back on her heels. “If I were caught— if I am caught— they’d have
absolutely no qualms about slitting my throat as well. I’m just as expendable as Lavender was, as
all the residents are. I’m an unmarried orphan with no dowry, so therefore I’m useless, useless to
them and to society at large. They could dump my body in the river and business would continue
on as usual. They’d fill my bed with a new cast off and the cycle would continue on and on and—”

“Hermione.”

She jolted as he grasped both her arms, falling silent at once. “You’ve made your point," he said.
"Quite passionately. Now keep your voice down while I lick my wounds.”

She blinked. Then scowled. “You hardly appear wounded.”

“As you learned the other night, I’m quite skilled at hiding my scars.”

Her expression softened rapidly. “That isn’t fair. I’m still angry.”

“I can see that," he smirked, hands continuing to brace her at either side. "And if we weren’t in the
heart of the snake pit trying to avoid detection, I would unabashedly provoke you further if only to
hear you speak with such vibrant conviction.”

Heat burst at her center, racing a smoldering path across her chest and along her neck. “I become
quite animated when under duress,” she admitted breathily.

His smirk lifted higher. “Is that so? How fascinating.”

“Don’t tease.”

His smile fell, eyes glowing from within with a bright intensity that hypnotized her on the spot. She
swayed precariously on her feet, pressing her hands to his chest to steady herself. The moment her
palm flattened against his shirt, he reared back as though burned by her touch.

She gaped in confusion as he released her arms and stepped out of her reach. His chest heaved for
several stuttered heartbeats, as though he'd lost his breath. Shaking her head dazedly, she ran a hand
over the lower half of her face, wishing desperately the mask covered her entirely, that she had a
private wall to hide behind, even from him. Especially from him.

Suddenly, she became hyper-aware of her outfit. She gazed down at her exposed flesh, trembling
anew with rising panic.

This is madness… what am I doing? She started to back away quickly, only to bump into the chaise
and topple sideways onto it, bouncing off the cushions and toppling to the hard ground. Fucking
hell!

He was at her side in an instant, extending his hand without a word. She glared at the offering and
averted her face, scrambling on her hands and knees to gain her footing. She heard him release a
sharp breath, his annoyance nearly as palpable as her own before he leaned over and slid his arm
around her middle, hoisting her up as though she weighed nothing. The moment her heels made
contact with the ground she twisted away from his grasp.

He set his jaw, watching her from his side of the chaise with seething calculation. She raised her
chin. Good. Let him know how it feels to have his touch denied.

The burning sentiment was obscene. Their entire argument was obscene. This entire night was
obscene. She shook her head, muscles relaxing, shoulders dropping, and ran her hands through her
hair, pulling at the roots with a frustrated sigh.

He obviously detected the change in her posture, the surrender in her gaze, for a moment later he
too transformed before her eyes, his gaze no longer lethal, the onyx mask far less sinister. She held
his unwavering stare for another series of racing heartbeats before collapsing onto the chaise in a
more controlled manner, weary down to her bones.

When he finally broke the silence, his voice seemed to echo off every wall, filling her head
entirely, driving away the sounds of the party and passionate couplings occurring mere feet away.
“We need a drink.”

Her attention snapped up. “What?”

He nodded towards the table in the corner. It was adorned with a miniature decanter and a single
low ball glass.

She shook her head. “I don’t drink.”

“Doctor’s orders.” He crossed the small space and picked up the crystal vessel, unstopping the
cork and bringing the spout under his nose. “I believe this is Scotch.”

She tilted her head, examining his masked profile. “You can tell just by the scent?”

“One of Scotch’s most recognizable flavors is derived from phenols, which happen to carry a very
distinctive aroma.” He flashed a wry smirk. “You’ll recognize the scent as well. It’s quite
medicinal.”

She rubbed her palms along her thighs. She felt cold now that she wasn’t running around the Club
or fearing for her life. He poured two fingers into the glass and walked slowly to her side. He held
the drink out, hand steady, eyes gleaming.

“Tell me what you smell," he instructed.

She accepted the glass without argument, tearing her gaze away from ihis and bringing the crystal
brim to her nose. She closed her eyes and inhaled, then promptly averted her face, every membrane
stinging.

His deep chuckle was slow, endearing, causing her skin to flush rather than her hackles to rise.

“It smells like disinfectant," she choked. "Mixed with wood stain. Mixed with gasoline.” She
opened her eyes, vision hazy with tears brought forth by the irritant.

He tipped his head, grin genuine, beautiful. “That about sums it up. Take a sip.”

She scoffed, holding the glass back out. “I think not.”

He moved as though to take the tumbler, but the moment his hand met hers, his fingers slid higher,
encasing her wrist and gently pushing her arm in. His smile fell, eyes shimmering like moonlight
on water. “Taste it, Hermione.”

She swallowed desperately, throat tightening as she brought the glass to her lips with a trembling
hand. Her bottom teeth clanked against the crystal before her lips pillowed the rim, tipping the
bottom up just enough for a small portion of liquor to pool on her tongue. He continued to hold her
gaze steady as his hand held firmly to her wrist, thumb pressing her pounding pulse.

The liquid burned, setting her tongue aflame. She swallowed the mouthful on instinct, desperate to
expel it from her airway. The path it burned down her throat was even more torturous. She barely
stifled a gag, coughing into the back of her hand instead.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. He edged closer, thigh brushing her shoulder, the warmth of his
body washing over her in luxurious waves. “The first taste always burns," he murmured, thumb
stroking the inside of her wrist. “The second is meant to be savoured.”

She blinked quickly, a tear falling from the corner of her eye. He reached out with his other hand
and wiped it away. Her breath caught in her throat, captured by his eyes. And then he was pulling
her wrist upward, inching the glass towards her mouth yet again. She offered no resistance, lips
clasping over the rim and she took a second convulsive swallow.

This time, she was able to hold his gaze the entire swallow. Fire ignited in the pit of her stomach.
But instead of racing its way up her esophagus, it flooded the lower half of her body. Her thighs
clenched.

“Drink the rest.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Barely discernible for the gravel lacing
every word.

She did as bade, closing her eyes to tip the glass back entirely, finding perverse pleasure in the
scorching flame that consumed her from the inside out. She lowered the glass to her lap, arms
falling limp, her entire body feeling wonderfully pliant, the crushing weight of her evening
evaporating in the rising steam.

“Good girl," he commended. It sounded more purr than spoken word and served to relax her
further.

She licked her lips, gazing ahead unseeing, tasting the bitter tang of the alcohol lingering in her
mouth. A drop had pooled at the corner and started to fall. His hand lowered again, thumb swiping
across her bottom lip and catching the bead of amber liquid. Her eyes snapped up, gaze hooded,
focusing upon the steady rise and fall of his chest as he brought his hand up and licked the
moisture from his thumb.

She released a sharp breath, vision hazing. She told herself it was the alcohol, but feared it wasn’t.
The response was entirely her own, born from a bottomless well of need.

He released her from his thrall when he stepped back, crossing to the side table and pouring
another measure of Scotch, nearly double the amount of before. She bit her lip as he brought the
glass to his own mouth and tipped it back, lips covering the imprint of her own on the crystal. She
watched his throat bob as he swallowed the contents without hesitation, lowering the glass as
though he’d just downed water. He held the crystal before his eyes, turning it over carefully,
examining the etchings with idle detachment.

She gripped handfuls of velvet, writhing lightly in her seat. Liquid warmth pooled low in her
stomach, turning her molten, terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. His head slowly turned,
turbulent gaze meeting hers before starting a slow descent down her body. Her skin burned with
phantom sensation, nerve endings firing to life as though fingertips traced the same path of his
gaze.
And then his eyes lingered on her legs. Bare but for the see-through stockings, the dark line of her
garters disappearing beneath the shortened bloomers. Her thighs were crossed tightly. She
squirmed against the cushion, trying desperately to alleviate the insurmountable pressure building
within. He swallowed heavily, taking a step in her direction, only to halt abruptly, as though
colliding with an invisible barrier.

His cheeks were flushed, eyes gleaming otherworldly as he met her gaze with an almost pained
expression. “We need to get you out of here.”

She inhaled sharply, lungs starved for oxygen, and nodded quickly. He set the empty glass aside
and strode for the partition, glancing around the other side. A moment later he drew back in.

“It’s safe for you to leave," he muttered.

She blinked. His back was still facing her. She rose to her feet on shaky legs. “I—”

“Go now. Hurry. Remember to keep your face down. You’re not free until you’re free, do you
understand?”

She blinked again, noticing the hard line of his shoulders, the rigidness of his stance. Her chest
ached something terrible. She pressed her hand to the center, nodding mutely. He seemed to
interpret her silence as acquiescence. She started to exit the space, only to glance at him over her
shoulder once more, hoping for something, anything, more.

“Change clothes and grab a carriage around back,” he continued, gaze still averted. “I’ll meet you
in twenty minutes.”

She stifled an argument, tears brimming in her eyes, and shook her head at her own foolishness,
this useless, childish reaction. She’d accomplished so much this night, been so very proud of
herself, only to have it all ripped away in the space of a heartbeat. The Scotch turned to vitriol in
her stomach.

She turned away, awash with heat, and darted into the main room. So focused on her escape, she
failed to notice the keen set of eyes watching from the corner, hellfire alighting in their depths.

Parvati held her breath as she tiptoed down the dark corridor, hot in pursuit of the mysterious
visitor. It wasn't unheard of for men to wander about the Home at night. Cormac had certainly
broken in enough times. And before that, a random string of would-be beaus had made the
adventurous journey through an open window or under a loose post in the gate, all eager to vie for
the vivacious Lavender's interest. Only a handful of other residents were likely candidates for
sneaking in an evening caller. But for some reason, the situation didn't feel right. This wasn't some
bumbling, nervous young man who glanced anxiously over his shoulder or stumbled down the
wrong hall.

This was a full-grown man, massive shoulders confidently set back and large fists clenched at his
sides as he strode through the building like he owned the place. The stranger knew exactly where
he was going, which route to take. And most terrifying of all, he was heading for the same floor as
Parvati’s dorm. She trembled.

It can’t be.

She kept waiting for him to change course, to double back, but he gave no indication of turning
around. He hit the final staircase and her heart leaped into her throat. She waited until he rounded
the steps and then sprung from the shadows, clutching the banister tightly as she jotted up the steps
as quietly as she could. She knew exactly which floorboards to avoid, which frayed patch of carpet
caught on the soles of shoes, tiny details that only a resident would have garnered.

The man knew which route to take, but clearly, he'd never stepped foot inside the building before,
for he kept knocking into tables and portraits as he tried to fit his massive frame through the
narrow hall. Parvati barely stifled a scream as the lightning crashed outside, illuminating the
stranger in bright light as he stood before the window directly across from her room. Her back
collided with the wall as she began to shake uncontrollably.

No… It couldn’t be.

How did he find me?

Terror seized her by the throat, rendering her limp and lifeless, a doll held aloft by strings, dangling
at the joints. The Boogeyman was back. And he was hunting for her.

His haunting, scarred visage fell into utter darkness as the sky plunged into a black abyss once
more, the booming thunder vibrating the walls and rattling her chest. His massive paw clutched the
handle—

He opened the door. And as he stepped into her bedroom, only one thought came to her mind.
Luna.

She tore down the hall with a feral scream, gaining his attention as he crossed the threshold. He
blinked in confusion, her slight form barely discernible in the shadows until she leaped forward
like a cat, claws extended, nails scratching down his face and along his ham hock arms. He
shouted in surprise, staggering, wide back colliding with the dresser and knocking over perfume
bottles and hairbrushes.

Parvati was in a wild trance, kicking and swinging with all her might, snarling like a feral beast,
only distantly aware of the girl stirring at her back, sitting up in bed and gasping at the sight
playing out in the center of the room. The intruder finally caught his bearings, lunging forward
with an annoyed grunt, muscled arm sweeping a wide arc and knocking Parvati clear off her feet.

She flew through the air, braid whipping past her face, and collided hard with the footboard of
Lavender’s bed. She gasped in pain, crumpling to the floor, trying to get her hands under her to
rise. But he reached her in a single stride, mud-caked boots filling her watery vision before a hand
grabbed the back of her neck and wrenched her to her feet. He snarled in her face. She hissed back.
He blinked, tilting his head, grip tightening painfully against the top of her spine.

“Well aren’t you a feisty little thing?” He laughed deeply, sharp, yellow teeth gleaming in the
candlelight. “Too bad you’re not the one I came for.”

Parvati blinked, tears streaming down her face as her eyes darted frantically to the room’s third
occupant. She opened her mouth, meeting Luna’s wide, terrified gaze, and screamed with the full
force of her lungs— “Run!”

Luna scrambled up from the bed, legs tangled in the twisted sheets, losing her balance in her haste.
The man groaned, shaking his head. “Little cunts. More trouble than you’re worth.”

And then a massive fist collided with Parvati’s stomach, pushing the wind from her in a violent
whoosh and filling her vision with explosive red. His hand released her neck and she fell like a ton
of bricks, curling in on herself, clutching her battered abdomen with a keening cry.

Luna found her footing. But she didn’t flee for safety. Of course not.
Parvati watched in abject misery as Luna picked up one of Hermione’s many books and launched it
at the giant’s head. He easily dodged the projectile, laughing deep in his throat, clearly intrigued by
the night’s turn of events.

“He didn’t tell me you’d be so fun to play with.” He licked his lips. “Unfortunately, I was given
strict instructions not to harm you.” He walked to Parvati’s side, crouching down and stroking her
sweat-dampened hair in an obscenely loving gesture. “However, I was given no such order when it
comes to your pretty little friend.” He wound her dark braid around his hand like a leash, pulling
her tear-stained face off the ground, shaking her head for emphasis. “I can do whatever the fuck I
want to her.”

Luna covered her face with her hands, tears glistening in the candle flame. “Please!” Her voice
cracked. “I’ll do whatever you want, please don’t hurt her!”

He hummed. “I thought that would quiet you down.” He smirked, brow arching as he gazed more
closely at Parvati's pain-crumpled visage. “You look mighty familiar, pretty one. Have we met
before?”

She attempted to spit at him but had a poor angle, her saliva hit the ground and strung across her
chin instead. He laughed. “I like you. A lot. Maybe I’ll come back 'round later. What do you say?”

“Fuck you!"

“That’s the plan.”

She started to scream anew, only for his fist to collide with the side of her head. This hit wasn’t as
hard as the first, but it dazed her enough to render her mute, vision fading in and out as stars
appeared before her eyes.

“Please!” Luna sobbed, moving closer. “I’ll go with you!”

Luna, no! But Parvati couldn’t speak, her teeth had cut the inside of her cheek and her mouth was
filling with blood. It ran down the back of her throat, choking her. She could barely make out
Luna’s shape in the dimming haze.

“Please leave her alone! I’ll come!”

“That’s a good girl.” The hulking beast released Parvati’s braid. She heard him stand, felt the
vibration of his heavy boots against the wood floor. Luna was trembling so hard she was
practically spastic. He seized her thin arm and pulled her into his body. “He told me you were a
clever one. But you can’t be that smart, or you’d have run.”

Luna wept silently, eyes fixed on Parvati, who was attempting to crawl across the floor to get to
them.

“Goddamn, look at that.” He licked his lips. “Christ, I like this one. I’m definitely coming back for
her.”

But she was too dizzy to continue moving in a straight line. She tipped to the side, winded and
dazed, reaching out a trembling arm. Luna reached forward at the same moment, their fingers
colliding for the space of a fragile heartbeat, clinging desperately. And then the blonde was
wrenched away, lifted off the ground and tossed over his massive shoulder like a sack of grain.

He strode casually to the door, patting the shuddering girl on her back as though soothing an errant
toddler. “Shh, it’s alright, Hermione. I promise, meeting me will be the easiest part of your night.”
And then he rounded the corner, Luna’s terror-filled eyes vanishing from sight.

Parvati screamed bloody murder, the shrill wail of a dying animal. But the sound was trapped
inside her head. All-consuming darkness answered her call.
 Where the Wild Things Are
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Only a few find the way,

Some don't recognize it when they do,
Some don't ever want to.
. . .

Tom watched her flee the room as though the devil himself was chasing at her heels. He ground his
teeth. Act less obvious. But it seemed the effect of the Scotch had already burned its way through
her system, her slight form once more filled to the brim with churning adrenaline.

He forced his own hands to relax in their braced position against the partition as she slipped
through the door and disappeared from sight. He deeply sympathized with her disposition. He'd
nearly lost control no less than thrice since her disruptful appearance in the body-strewn room.
First when Lestrange attempted to lay a filthy hand upon her, then when the lech Dolohov nearly
collided with them… And lastly, behind the partition.

The fucking partition.

He shook his head at his own stupidity, pushing away from the barrier with a scowl, tearing off the
dark mask and throwing it on the chaise. He blinked, gaze settling on the faint impression of her
thighs on the velvet.

Christ.

Her scent still lingered in the air and along the back of his tongue, headier than the finely aged
Scotch he'd just downed. Willow sap, orange flower, and watercress. Not a perfume. Not a
cosmetic bid at beauty, a bottled attempt at attraction. No…

It was a derivative of the tonics she brewed. Ingredients she meticulously handled with the utmost
care and precision and reverence. The smell of her work. Her passion. Her skin. The combination
burrowed its way deep behind his eyes and into the darkest recesses of his mind, stored away for
all eternity beside the smoke and rain of London herself.

He ran a hand over his face, tearing his eyes away from the chaise, heart beating a war cry against
his ribcage. Only to watch the Huntress slip through the partition opening. Her movements were
liquid, her crimson dress flowing like blood.

“Hello, Doctor," she greeted sensuously.

He desperately tried to recalibrate his mind and body. “Madam.”

She moved closer, each click of her heal a measured calculation. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Her voice was deeper than he’d ever heard it before, eyes bright, face flush.

He took a deep, steadying breath. It did little good. “I find your establishment most—”

“Come now, darling. You’ve already removed one mask this evening, why bother wearing the
other?” she posed. His jaw clenched as her smile turned feral, revealing a full row of white teeth.
“If we are to be friends we must be honest with each other.”

His eyes slowly roamed her face and body. She stopped directly before him, her overtly sweet
scent surrounding him from all sides and driving out the lingering notes of the last occupant.
Restoring part of his sanity. He leveled her with the full force of his gaze. “Are we friends,
Madam?”

She tipped her head thoughtfully. “No. We aren’t.”

“Do you want to be friends?” He studied her mouth, relishing the flush of warmth that spread
across her neck and decolletage.

She swayed forward, as though lured by the huskiness of his voice. “No." A heavy beat. "I don’t.”

She placed a hand against his chest and his entire body seized. Before he could even process his
reaction, he took hold of her wrists and pushed her into the wall. She hit it with a delicate gasp,
body jolting, cleavage bouncing before he pressed himself along her front, pinning her arms high
above her head. Her eyes turned black, reflecting the gaslights like pools of ink.

Enjoys being dominated. She runs the world and most everyone in it, rarely met with a challenge.

He tilted his head, examining her with a cool detachment that made her squirm anew. He was
certain her husband didn’t know the first thing about handling such a woman. Tom harbored no
doubt he could have her eating in hand within a day. Which could prove quite useful in the task
ahead. A way into enemy territory undetected. At the side of his opponent’s very own Black
Queen. His own musings jarred him. There was nothing subtle about his mind’s comparison of the
two women infiltrating his life. They stood as polar opposites…

Perhaps not. My White Queen has darkness in her yet. She wouldn’t have been able to slice open
the knave’s face otherwise.

His grip tightened on his captive’s wrists, causing her to gasp and thrash, drawing his focus back to
the present moment. The body pressing against and the face hovering beneath was all wrong.
Which made her just right.

“You would have me speak frankly, so allow me to act in accordance with my true nature as well,"
he offered.

She licked her lips, continuing her farce of a struggle. “Incredible nerve you have, Doctor,
apprehending me in my own place of business, with my husband mere feet away no less.”

He drove his knee forward, pressing into the thick plume of her skirts and pinning her legs in place
as well. “I think you enjoy a bit of nerve. I highly doubt you encounter much of it given the
company you keep.”

She blinked, falling still. And then she tipped her head back and laughed, high and melodious
chimes ringing through his ears. His expression remained unmoved.

“What is it you want from me, Madam?”

“I love hearing you call me that.” Her voice was mostly breath, strained and rasping. “If only you
were on your knees when uttering it.”

He smirked. “You want to see me crawl, then?”

“Among other things.”

“Such as?”

Her eyes flickered. “I’ve never met a man such as you. I didn't know men such as you were even
real.” Her arms twisted weakly in his hold, making no real attempt to break free. “I thought such
creatures existed merely in erotic fantasy and romance novels.”

He laughed deep in his throat, chest rumbling against her. “I assure you, I am not born from either
such place. I am a creature of nightmare. Of horror. You would be wise to steer clear of me.”

“I beg to differ," she swallowed thickly. "I’ve most definitely had this fantasy before.”

Her face remained placid but her pulse gave her away, thrumming madly against his fingers.

“And do you think it wise to seduce your newest business associate, before he’s even been properly
vetted or indoctrinated?”

“I admit, my mind is not what led me to you this night, Doctor.”

“I can see that.” His thumbs pressed into her wrists, making her release a rapturous moan even as
she winced in obvious discomfort.

“But I am not completely without scruples. I did not intend to seduce you here.”

“No?” He arched a brow. “Where was said seduction to take place then?”

“At my private estate in Bath.”

"Hm." He pressed into her harder, expelling the air from her lungs bit by bit, sweet wine-scented
breath hitting his face in a gentle gust. "You plan to invite me on holiday? Whatever will your
husband think?"

Her eyes flashed, something sinister lighting her expression before she was able to school her
visage. “Roddy and I have an understanding. Given our place of business it’s only natural we have
a bit of fun. Our only rule is to never take anyone home.” A heavy pause. “And to never get
attached.”

His eyes darted to her mouth as she licked her lips. “We’re open about our lovers. He knows every
man, and woman, I’ve ever been with.” She became pliant in his hold. “You would be my first
secret.”

He tilted his head. “Why is that?”

“Don’t fish for compliments, luv, it’s as unbecoming for men as it is for women.”

“He doesn’t want you sleeping with a potential business partner?”

“Hardly. I’ve lied with his own brother countless times.”

He examined her closely, pieces clicking into place. The Lestranges were more twisted than he
ever imagined. Impressive. “Explains your brother-in-law’s possessiveness towards you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Rab’s been plagued by chronic jealousy his entire life. I’m merely another
symptom of the deep seeded rivalry between brothers.”
“And yet your husband doesn’t mind you being with him?”

“Have you never used sex as a weapon, Doctor? Roddy and I keep Rab underfoot by keeping him
under me.”

“Revealing your hand so soon?” he grinned.

“You aren’t Rab. I harbor no illusions of controlling you… though it is certainly fun to imagine.”
She gazed up through her tinted lashes. “I want to fuck you merely to fuck you. And that is why I
wouldn’t tell my husband.”

Tom raised a heavy brow. “And what if I told him?”

"I harbor no illusions of that occurring either." Her smile widened, as though delighted by the mere
notion. "You claim to be a creature of the dark, which means you act in your own self-interest.
There's nothing to be gained by exposing my offer."

His hands tightened, squeezing the bone, bruising the skin. “I could blackmail you.”

She tipped her head up, whispering against his mouth. “You won't do that either…” her tongue
darted out, tracing the tight seam of his lips. “Doctor.” She rested her head against the wall once
more. “Because you're intrigued. I can see it in your eyes. One of the few emotions I’m able to
discern in your mysterious gaze.”

His jaw tensed, fire burning within his chest.

“Spend the weekend with me in Bath," she posed, "and I assure you, your life will be full of
passion once more. A man like you needs a real woman to hold your interest, challenge your mind,
not the uneducated slum trash we employ here. They’re perfectly suitable for the majority of our
clientele, but not for you.” She writhed against him. “That’s why you sent that girl running after
only a few minutes, wasn’t it? She bored you.”

He jolted, releasing her wrists and stepping back. She moved forward. “Admit it.”

“You saw the girl?” he asked.

"A glimpse of her. Skinny and young, likely as addle-brained as the rest of them."

His fists clenched at his sides, searching her dark gaze for any signs of duplicity. But her eyes held
only the familiar heat of passion and jealousy and the merest hint of uncertainty, try as she might to
keep it concealed. She feared she was wrong, she wasn’t what he craved, what he needed. But she
had no idea who the girl was. Fucking hell.

He inhaled sharply, relief flooding his veins and filling his mouth with words unbidden. “I’ll clear
my schedule.”

She settled back on her heels, smile genuine, uncalculated. “I’ll have the house prepared.” She
winked, beginning a slow sashay to the partition, pausing to glimpse over her shoulder. “I assure
you, Doctor, it will be a weekend you shall never forget.”

The flames burning in his chest surged through his limbs, erupting in his eyes. "Of that, I am
certain, Madam."

Hermione twisted her hair haphazardly into a bun for the seventh time in as many minutes. It
tumbled down the moment she drew her hands away. She groaned, stomping her boot against the
floor of the car in frustration.

“Everything alright, Miss?” the driver asked.

She peered through the narrow gap in the wall. “Yes, everything is quite fine.”

The driver chuckled lightly, resuming his perusal of the newspaper as they continued to wait for
the Doctor. She busied herself with plaiting her hair in the meantime, anything to distract from the
oppressive silence and utter chaos of her own mind. Besides...

He told her to wear it down in the first place. She wanted, no, needed, to get it back up
immediately. But as usual, the mess had an agenda of its own, the bottom of the braid unraveling
faster than she plaited the damned thing without a tie to bind it in place. She gazed at her wrist,
rolling her eyes at her own stupidity.

I managed to break into a locked office with nothing but pantry supplies but I can’t overcome my
own bloody hair.

She pulled the ribbon from her arm and quickly wrapped it around the base of the braid, securing it
in place. She’d forgotten to ask for a replacement ribbon, not that it seemed to matter. She was
pulled from her task by the door wrenching open so violently it shook the entire carriage.

“Good evening, Sir," the driver offered.

“Do you know our destination?” the Doctor asked without flourish.

“Your lady gave me the address.”

Hermione blinked twice, mouth opening at once, but the Doctor spoke before she could even think
of a suitable response.

“Very good. Carry on.” He took the bench across from her and slammed the door with nearly as
much force as he used to open it, prompting her silence as she pressed back into the seat, his
intensity palpable. His mask was removed but the darkness of the interior hid his face just as well.
However, his lilting tone told her all she needed to know about his mood. “Don’t look so
scandalized, Ms. Granger. We’re both exiting a pleasure house, he could have used far worse
descriptors.”

Her lips pressed a thin line as the horses started along the paved drive. Light streamed through the
window in waves, the torches lining the building growing distant until the orange glow faded
entirely and only moonlight reflected in his gaze.

“You tied your hair back," he observed.

She straightened, agitation forgotten. “I… yes.”

A strange, tense beat. “What did you learn tonight?” he asked.

Her shoulders dropped. How ludicrous the subject of my hair should be more overwhelming than
the horrors Katie revealed. She cleared her throat lightly while trying to banish the troubling
thought. “Lavender attended a party where she encountered several girls who went missing from
her neighborhood when they were young. They were acting quite bizarrely, one even tried to warn
her about something.”
She shook her head, briefly closing her eyes. “I’m adding my own spin. The girl tried to speak with
her about something— or rather, communicate something, as she had no tongue. I only assume she
was trying to impart a warning of some sort.” She opened her eyes. The Doctor watched her
carefully, missing nothing. She took a deep breath, pushing on. “Rodolphus pulled Lavender aside
at Amortentia and fed her some farce about the girl’s identity. And then he offered her a job at the
club, which she refused.” Her nails scraped along the fabric of the cushion. “Bellatrix invited her to
a party at her estate. But Lavender’s friend was unsure whether she attended. That was the last
communication they had.”

She bit her bottom lip, chest quaking in the wake of these renewed revelations. Yet in all the chaos
that had been unleashed this night, it was Katie’s final piece of information that haunted her the
most. And she wasn’t prepared to share it with anyone. Least of all him. Not until she had a chance
to speak with Draco. She would find out the extent of his family’s involvement one way or another,
but she already knew in her heart he had nothing to do with such evil.

It’s possible his father doesn’t either… just because he hosted the party doesn’t mean he’s privy to
everything occurring under his roof. She clutched the seat tighter. Do you really believe that,
Hermione? Lucius Malfoy is a vile human being who detests the poor and destitute. The perfect
candidate for such an operation.

And yet…

He also puts great pride in his family’s image and reputation, avoiding scandal at all costs. Would
he really risk it all just to traffic in young women? He’s already richer than God. What does he
stand to gain?

It didn’t add up. And until it did, this particular secret would remain hers alone.

The Doctor’s eyes gleamed bright and sinister, as though reading each thought across the lines on
her face. “Is there something else, Hermione?”

She shook her head. Perhaps a bit too emphatically.

He watched her carefully. "Are you certain?”

She sat up straighter, eyes narrowing. “I’m sure I would remember.” She tipped her chin up. “What
about you? Did you find out anything about the Doll—” She stopped short, cringing as he raised a
staying hand, grey eyes darting to the gap in the wall.

“Though it is doubtful the driver can hear us, you must be careful saying his name aloud," he
imparted.

She nodded, a faint blush staining her cheeks. Then a sudden thought struck. “Are you so certain
it’s a man?”

He leaned back, the shadows swallowing him whole. “I am not. But given the nature of their
crimes, I find it difficult to imagine a woman inflicting such injury upon her own gender. Factoring
in traditional power roles of the past and present day, a man seems the more likely candidate for
leading such an organization.”

Hermione leaned forward, drawn by the lure of spirited debate. “Women are just as capable of
great evil. As well as inciting loyalty in powerful men. Look at Bellatrix. I know we’re looking for
someone much older, but I don’t think it’s completely outside the realm of possibility that a woman
could be at the head of it all.”
He watched her with a quiet intensity that left her rethinking her words, searching for whatever
transfixed him so. “Bellatrix," he muttered simply.

Her skin crawled at the sound of the curse upon his lips. “You don’t refer to her as Madam
Lestrange.” She leaned back once more, catching the fatal mistake a moment too late. He had her
cornered and looked all too pleased with himself.

“How is it you know the Lestranges so well?” he posed.

She glanced away, staring at the dark and ominous trees lining the south end of Hyde Park to buy
herself time. “I grew up adjacent to the Peerage. I’ve encountered them on several occasions
through functions my father attended, the same way we met the Potters and Weasleys.”

“Hm.”

She pushed forward, daring to peer into the darkness of the carriage. “What about you, did you
learn anything valuable?” She heard him release a slow breath, followed by the faint rustle of
fabric before he spoke.

“I have earned their trust. At least to an extent. They’d like to introduce me to a silent partner,
someone with enough controlling interest to meet all new associates in person.”

Her pulse leaped. “Do you think it could be… Them?”

“It’s very likely." Moonlight streamed in, glancing off his face for half a pulse. His eyes were
fastened to the window, posture eased. "But even if not, someone of this importance to the
organization will no doubt be closely associated with its leader, and therefore serve as a valuable
resource regardless.”

She nodded before a thought struck her at random, almost crippling in its magnitude. What if the
silent partner is Lucius?

Her eyes darted around the carriage in time to her rapid-fire thoughts. Lucius couldn’t be the
Dollmaker, he was too young. But he was among the most powerful men in all of Britain. Surely if
he was involved in such a ring, he'd be the leader's right hand man.

“Hermione.”

She glanced up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Should I tell him? Warn him of the possibility at least?

She pictured Lucius's smug face, heard his scathing voice in her ear as though he was seated
directly beside her, warning her once more to stay away from his son… And then the face
softened, morphed and transformed. She felt the phantom sensation of Draco’s arms around her,
his plea to run away together glancing off her lips.

“I think this evening is just finally catching up with me.” She knew he didn’t believe her, bracing
herself for the inquisition that was sure to follow. And couldn’t mask her surprise when she was
met with something else entirely.

“You did very well tonight,” he offered. Her heart swelled. “I expected no less from you, yet I
remain impressed by your adaptability.”
She smiled, holding his gaze in the fading moonlight before they both looked away at the same
moment, eyes fixed to the blur of scenery beyond the window as the carriage turned a corner.

As they headed down the uneven road, Hermione shifted closer to the door, eager to leap out at the
first opportunity, desperate to escape the insanity of this night for the solitude of Luna’s twin bed.
But as she leaned over, the satin ribbon slid from her hair, braid rapidly unraveling, curls eager to
spring from their orderly confines and wreak chaos and disaster upon her life. She groaned,
reaching down into the dark pool of the floorboards, scrambling blindly for the fallen item.

“Shite…” she muttered, hair falling across her face and further obscuring her vision.

“Here.”

She gazed up. The Doctor held the ribbon in his open palm. She hadn’t even seen him search for
it… Maybe it fell on the ground near his feet? She quickly took it from his hand, lending a
quick “Thank you” before pulling her hair over one shoulder and threaded her fingers through the
tresses in a vain attempt to tame them once more.

Her movements slowed as she noticed his eyes upon her, gaze hooded as he focused on her hands,
watching her perform her task. She held her breath and continued to braid the thick locks into an
equally thick plait. His eyes slowly drifted down her hair, following the path of her hands until she
reached the very end. She started to wrap the ribbon around the braid when she noticed it looked
more worn than it had moments ago. She inspected the frayed ends.

How in the hell did that happen?

She glanced up, questions brimming on the tip of her tongue— But all thought evaded her instantly
when she met his turbulent gaze head-on. He pinned her to the spot with only a look.

“I meant what I said before," he spoke. "About your adaptability.”

Her heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears.

“You are a survivor, Hermione. An instinct we are all born with, but very few ever have cause to
truly exercise.”

She squeezed the ribbon between her fingers. “My hardships are few compared to many. True
survival is coming out the other side with the same appreciation for life you had going in.” Pain
alighted in her chest. “Sometimes I wonder if a part of me burned away in the fire.”

The ache sharpened with her own admission. He tilted his head. “Perhaps it is your close
relationship with Death which accounts for your ghostly visions.”

“Surely you don’t truly believe that?” she asked.

The carriage turned another corner, the moonlight streaming in clear across his face, illuminating
the full splendor of his feral gaze.

“It is more important what you believe, Hermione.”

She stroked the ribbon with the pad of her thumb, her hair a gleaming river flowing over her
shoulder. “I’m not sure what I believe anymore, Doctor.”

A suffocating beat.
“When we are alone in each other’s presence, you may call me Tom," he said. Replaying the
words in her mind, her entire body throbbed. His laughter was deep and rich. “It is merely an offer,
not a command. I just thought it appropriate given the nature of our… working relationship.”

The carriage turned again, the moonlight faded instantly, plunging them both into darkness once
more.

“I….” she cleared her throat. “I shall keep that in mind.” The horses started through the familiar set
of rod iron gates, wheels slowly rolling to a stop. She tilted her head as she stared at the entryway.
“Why are the lights still on?”

The Doctor- Tom- reached for the door handle. “That’s an excellent question.” His voice was
weighted with quiet intensity, all traces of previous amusement erased.

The carriage had barely pulled to a stop before the front door of the Home flew open and a flash of
white came darting down the steps.

“Doctor!”

Hermione's heart skipped at the familiar voice, though she'd never heard it laced with such distress.
Hannah came skidding to a stop just as the Doctor leaped from the car.

“Ms. Abbott? What’s wrong?”

“You have to—” she blinked, eyes drifting past his shoulder. “Hermione?”

Hermione exited the carriage at his back, steadying herself against the open door as she found her
footing.

“Focus, Ms. Abbott.” His voice brokered no room for dissent. Hannah did as bade.

“Please, Doctor, you have to come quick, Parvati’s hurt—”

“What?” Hermione gasped, then took off at a dead run for the stairs, Hannah tight at her heels with
the Doctor following closely behind. They burst into the main hall, the room filled with pajama-
clad residents milling about in varying states of unease. The sea of girls parted cleanly down the
center as Hannah led them to the grand staircase. As they reached the first landing, the Doctor
outpaced them easily, following the path of whispers and gasps until they reached the dormitory.

Hermione’s breath shuddered as she struggled to keep up, clutching Hannah’s arm as they rounded
the hallway leading to her and Parvati’s room. The young woman met her frightened gaze with a
deeply troubling look. Hermione released her to charge through the open doorway, nearly colliding
with the Doctor as he came to standstill just beyond the threshold.

“Doctor Riddle! There you are!” Umbridge burst, moving from the window in a thick robe that
covered her from foot to chin. “Where on earth have you—” She cut off abruptly, eyes flickering
past his shoulder as Hermione came into view. Her gaze widened. “Ms. Granger?”

Hermione ignored the acidic greeting, eyes drawn to the body sprawled across the center of the
floor. The Doctor was already lowering to his haunches beside Parvati's unconscious form.
Hermione gathered her skirts and darted closer, dropping to her knees with a harried gasp.

“What happened?” He demanded, eyes scanning the unnatural contortions of Parvati's limbs.
Umbridge continued to stare at Hermione with growing hostility. “What happened?” He repeated
with force.
The Matron shook her head, glancing to him at last. “I don't know.”

Hermione could barely hear over the blood surging through her ears. She reached out to stroke
Parvati’s hair back, tears brimming, only for her wrist to be captured in an iron grasp.

“Don’t touch her,” he instructed, drawing her hand away. “Let me examine her injuries first.”

Hermione nodded.

“Ms. Granger,” Umbridge snapped. “Where have you been this evening?”

“That doesn’t matter,” the Doctor replied in her stead. “The most pressing concern is learning what
occurred in this room.” He gently took Parvati’s wrist, pressing fingers to her pulse.

The Matron turned up her nose. “As I said, I have no idea. Though it appears Ms. Patil destroyed
her room before injuring herself, probably while intoxicated. She has always been particularly
high-spirited.”

“What?” Hermione faced the Madam in outrage. “That’s beyond ridiculous!”

“Then perhaps you can shed some light on the matter, Ms. Granger. Oh, that’s right. You weren’t
here.” She stepped forward menacingly. “I have ground to evict—”

“Enough!” the Doctor yelled, the booming command causing residents in the hall to scatter. “Our
only concern right now is getting Ms. Patil downstairs to the clinic.”

Hermione nodded. “I’ll help.”

“I think not," Umbridge scoffed. "You will come with me at once.”

“I need Ms. Granger’s medical assistance, she’s coming with me.” The Doctor's gaze openly
challenged the Matron as he slid his arms beneath Parvati's prone form. “The remaining residents
are to avoid the clinic unless it’s a medical emergency, do I make myself clear?”

Umbridge opened and closed her mouth, color rising in her cheeks. “I—”

“Perfect.” He stood swiftly, Parvati cradled effortlessly in his arms. “I suggest you send the rest of
the Home to their dorms, except for the girls with rooms adjacent to Ms. Patil's."

Umbridge blinked. “Why?”

“To question them, of course. Surely someone heard something. The dresser is clear across the
room.”

“Several girls heard Ms. Patil running amok—”

“That’s a lie and you know it!” Hermione yelled.

“Hermione.” The Doctor pinned her with a meaningful stare. She fell silent, eyes fixing on Parvati,
a storm raging in her heart. Umbridge’s scowl only deepened.

“I’ll have both you and Ms. Patil evicted come morning—”

“There was someone else here," a soft voice spoke. Everyone’s eyes flickered to Hannah, pressed
up against the wall with her eyes downcast. “I heard their footsteps, but I didn’t leave my room
until I heard Parvati scream. I should have come sooner. I might have been able to—”
“That is enough, Ms. Abbott!” A vein pulsed in their Matron’s forehead. “I will not have you
adding your juvenile theatrics to garner attention!”

Hermione jolted, a chilling realization seizing her. “Hannah…” she hedged carefully. “Where is
Luna?”

Hannah opened her mouth, tears spilling from her eyes, only to shake her head in silent misery.

No…

Hermione rocked in place, struck by the revelation.

“What does Ms. Lovegood have to do with this?” Umbridge demanded, glaring between her
charges. “Well?”

Hermione looked to the Doctor with dread sketched across her face. She started to speak but he
shook his head, a silent warning in his gaze.

“Help me get Ms. Patil to the clinic,” he instructed.

She set aside her rising hysteria for the sake of her friend, trailing him across the room on numb
legs. Umbridge attempted to cut them off at the door. “Now wait just a moment—”

“I’m afraid time is of the essence, Madam.” He strode past the sputtering Matron without a
backward glance, Hermione trotting in his wake, eyes fixed to her unconscious roomate.

As they entered the narrow corridor the lingering residents fled, their whispers thick on the air.
“This is madness!” Umbridge shouted down the hall, fury radiating from her tiny form in waves,
prompting Hermione to glance over her shoulder just before they rounded the corner, meeting the
woman's hostile gaze head-on.

She’d never seen Umbridge so incensed. But even more unsettling was the deeply seated hatred
brewing in her eyes. Hermione’s eyes narrowed in response, her own words echoing through her
head, now a haunting omen.

“Sometimes I wonder if a part of me burned away in the fire.”

It was in that moment her greatest epiphany struck, clarity setting in at long last. The flames may
not have touched her skin that fateful evening, but they had consumed her all the same. Filled
every square inch of her being, breathing life into her anew. Until Hermione no longer feared the
fiery blaze…

She became it.

. . .

The Doctor laid Parvati across a cot with careful precision, movements slow and gentle, while
Hermione vibrated in her skin, hands trembling. “Strip her down to her shift while I fetch my case.”

As he crossed the long room, Hermione set to work unlacing her friend’s dress, mindful of her
touch, unsure of the damage inflicted.

“Does she normally sleep in her day attire?” He asked from the opposite end of the clinic.

“No. But she probably went to bed late. I didn’t tell her I was leaving.” Tears dripped from her eyes
to Parvati’s neck, running down to the white sheet. “She was waiting up for me.” The last part was
merely a whisper, but he heard it all the same.

“And Ms. Lovegood?”

Hermione loosened the front of the garment and began gently tugging it down her shoulders. “She
sleeps in my bed when I sneak out.” The tremor in he hands migrated up to her arms. “Something
terrible has happened—”

“Calm down, Hermione. I need you focused. We must help Ms. Patil in order to help Ms.
Lovegood.”

Hermione wiped at her cheeks before resuming her task. Suddenly, Parvati grimaced in her sleep.
Hermione removed her hands instantly. “It’s her ribs," she said.

He made his way back to their side of the room with his medical bag in hand. Hermione gazed up,
eyes red-rimmed.

“Her ribs," she repeated. "They may be broken.”

Darkness spread across his face in tendrils, black ink filling his veins. “I need to inspect her head
injury first.”

Hermione nodded, stepping back to allow him access to the top of the bed. “What can I do?”

"Be quiet."

She bit her tongue but took no offense, his tone free of any derision. He gently prodded his
fingertips across Parvati’s scalp, sweeping her loose hair back as he went.

“There’s swelling on the left side," he diagnosed. "The blow to her skull is undoubtedly what
knocked her unconscious.”

Hermione’s hands clenched with the unbearable need to go to do something, anything, but stand
around uselessly. “Who would do this?” she pondered miserably.

“Let’s hope Ms. Patil will be able to shed light on the subject when she wakes.”

“It has to be connected to Lavender. There’s no way it’s not.”

He continued to gaze upon the injury, turning her chin either way as he inspected the rest of her
face and neck. “Unless Ms. Patil has other enemies who may wish to do her harm?”

“No. She doesn’t have anyone.” She brought a hand to her throat, pulse thrumming wildly. “No
one but us.”

His eyes flickered up, something knowing and familiar alighting in their depths. His expression
tensed. “Hold her arms. I’m going to inspect her side. If she starts to wake, she could injure herself
further.”

Hermione strode forward, eager to be of assistance, leaning over the bed and bracing Parvati’s
forearms on either side as he probed her ribs through the thin material of her shift.

“No breaks," he muttered. "But a likely fracture. When she comes to I’ll do a more thorough
examination.”

Hermione watched his profile, studied the intense concentration on his face.
“How long do you think she’ll be unconscious for?”

“There’s no telling. She must be closely monitored in the meantime. Her concussion is far more
dangerous than her ribs.”

“Alright," she nodded. "I’ll stay here with her while you go.”

He blinked, grey eyes meeting hers. “And where am I going, Ms. Granger?”

She released her hold on Parvati, rising beside the bed. “Back to the Club of course. To find Luna.”

He tipped his head, spine straightening as well until he towered above her. “Assuming it even was
the Lestranges behind the incident, surely you don’t think they’d be foolish enough to bring her to
their primary place of business?”

“What do you mean assuming? Of course they took her! Who else would it be?”

“We have no idea what happened—”

“What else could it have possibly been?” Her voice filled the enormous room, echoing off the
stone. "Who else would have reason to attack and kidnap the residents except for the people who
have already been attacking and kidnapping the residents?”

Charged particles induced static along her arms. “You have to go back now, get them to tell you
where she is—”

“And you expect them to hand her over to me, do you?” The intensity of his voice silenced her
immediately. He took a step around the side of the bed, slowly advancing as his words ate her up
alive. “You expect all of the pain and violence to end with one simple confrontation? One man
storming the gates, undoing decades worth of organized crime?”

“You can take the police with you—”

“And how would I manage that? There’s absolutely no evidence linking the Lestranges to Ms.
Lovegood’s disappearance. And even if there were, they’re one of the most powerful families in
the realm. There’s a reason they’re able to flaunt their brothel in the same neighborhood as the
bloody palace. They’re untouchable by the law.”

She trembled with every menacing step he took, the shadows on the walls morphing at his back,
following steadily as though he were their master and them his loyal disciples.

“Which is why we’re operating outside of the law to bring them down,” he continued, taking
another step. “And if I go marching in and blow my cover, we lose the only bit of leverage we’ve
been able to gain.”

She kept her feet firmly rooted in place, refusing to cower. “Leverage? What leverage? You
received an unofficial, undated invitation to meet someone who may not even be connected to the
Dollmaker, while they have yet another victim in their clutches! I’d say they have all the leverage
here!”

“Calm—”

“If you tell me to calm down one more time, I’m going to scream so loud and shrill the bloody
windows shatter!” She stepped forward, meeting him halfway as he blinked down at her. “Don’t lie
to me and say this is all about strategy. I know what this is really about.” Her face set with
determination. “This is about your mother. Getting revenge against your father and the people
associated with him.”

Something dangerous unfurled in his gaze. “Be careful, Ms. Granger.”

“You don’t scare me.” She lifted her chin. “Nothing in this world scares me more than the thought
of those monsters hurting Luna.”

His gaze softened a fraction, the harsh angles of his face receding. She sighed, guilt chasing the
anger. “I’m sorry about your mother," she offered. "What they did to her. What she became… and
all that it prevented her from becoming.”

He stood eerily still, watching as though entranced.

“But she’s gone," Hermione continued. "You can avenge her, but it’s too late to save her.” Her
heart fluttered faster than a hummingbird’s wings. “It's not too late for Luna. I will find her. No one
will stop me.” Her hands curled at her sides. “Not them, not Umbridge, and certainly not you.”

The wall of his body blocked the meager light from the windows, keeping her suspended above a
dark abyss. “I pity anyone who attempts to obstruct your path, Ms. Granger.” He took the final step
forward, closing the distance between them. “And though I do not doubt your abilities in the
slightest, you will not be made to journey that path alone.”

The staccato rhythm of her pulse made her light-headed as the weight of his words sank into her
bones, tipping her off balance. She placed a steadying hand to his chest on instinct. He shuddered
violently and she braced for his retreat. But it never came. Instead, he stood firm, leaning into her
touch.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the comforting thrum of his heart centered just beneath her palm.
“Tom.”

His eyes flickered to her mouth. She swayed forward, drawn by some invisible force, a sweltering
heat igniting in the pit of her stomach and rushing through every finger and toe, making her
feverish. A soft moan broke the silence, but it wasn’t from either of them.

They spun to face the bed. Parvati stirred. Hermione rushed to her side, kneeling down and
clutching the girl’s hand.

“Parvati? Can you hear me?”

“Ugh…” her roomate blinked slowly, face crumpling. “Shite.”

Tom walked up from behind, hovering just at Hermione's back. “Ms. Patil. You are in the medical
clinic. Can you hear my voice?”

Parvati tried to swallow, eyes narrowing as she groaned. “Fucking hell.”

Hermione squeezed her hand, glancing over her shoulder. “Can we give her something for the
pain?”

He shook his head. “Not until I know the full extent of her injuries.”

Hermione started to respond but was interrupted when Parvati bolted upright in the bed. “Luna!”
the young woman screamed, attempting to swing her legs over the side of the cot before curling in
on herself, pulling free from Hermione’s grip to clutch at her side. “Ow! Fuck!”
“Ms. Patil, you must stay still.” The Doctor strode to the other side of the bed and lifted her bare
legs back to the center.

She hissed through her teeth, tears dripping. “Luna—"

“We know, Parvati.” Hermione squeezed her shoulder, brushing the hair from her face. “We’re
going to find her.”

Parvati squinted against the candlelight, staring at Hermione’s face in pure misery. “How long have
I been out?”

“We don’t know,” Hermione admitted, the same pain and desperation mirrored in her eyes.

“Ms. Patil.” Both women glanced up. His expression betrayed not an ounce of emotion. “It is very
important you remain in bed. It is also important you recount every detail you can recall of this
evening.”

Parvati tried to swallow again. Hermione jumped to her feet. “You need water.” She glanced
around the room, spotting no pitcher. “I’ll run to the kitchens—”

“No!” Parvati yelled, grasping Hermione’s wrist with surprising dexterity. “You can’t leave!”

Hermione fell still. “Why not?”

“He came for you," Parvati whispered, tears falling faster, thicker.

Hermione’s vision faded at the edges in her growing panic. She saw the Doctor go rigid from the
corner of her eye but couldn’t tear her focus from the pleading face below. “Who came for me?”

Parvati choked on a sob, grinding Hermione’s bones between her fingers. “The Devil.”

Draco rubbed his eyes, lids burning as though he were suffering from a particularly gnarly
hangover.

“Hands down and shoulders back, Draco,” his father instructed over his shoulder as he led the way
up the steps of Parliament.

Draco bit back a groan, fighting the urge to roll his eyes as they marched through the large double
doors, his finely tailored suit swelteringly oppressive, weighing his limbs and choking his airway.
As they entered the main hall, his ears rang with the sound of hundreds of voices speaking
fervently at once, the heavy thrum of conversation echoing off the walls and overwhelming his
senses.

“Draco, focus.” His father directed him through the surging crowd towards the large arched
corridor beyond.

“Bloody hell, the sun isn’t even up yet, what are all these arseholes doing here?”

“Watch your tongue!” His father snapped, adorned in his signature scowl. “We aren’t in the bowels
of the gambling halls you so often frequent. This is the highest court of the land, show it the
respect it deserves.”

Draco forced a neutral expression, spine straightening. His father’s sharp gaze roamed his figure
from top to bottom before nodding once. “Better. Follow me.”
The crowd gave way to the formidable Lucius Malfoy as he cut a blazing trail through the heart of
the massive building to a theatre with a dome ceiling, the noise projected within echoing on an
endless loop. Circular benches lined all four walls, stacked all the way up, each set to burst with
robe-clad figures seated upon them, shouting at the top of their lungs, desperate to be heard in the
deafening chaos.

The volume lessened considerably as countless eyes darted to the doors, alighting upon Lucius. His
party members stood, bowing and nodding in deference as he made his way to their corner, tables
littered with documents and books. Draco looked around blankly, a generalized numbness setting
in.

“About time you got here, Malfoy,” a voice spoke above the rest. And then— “Drake?” Draco
scowled on instinct. The speaker laughed. “You wander into the wrong building?”

“Rabastan.” Draco acknowledged his presence with great reluctance, eyes narrowed. His uncle
only laughed harder, tossing his head back and resting either arm across the wooden backing.

“What are you doing here, Lestrange?” His father asked, unloading his leather case onto the
gleaming surface of the table. “Don’t you have a business to run?”

“I left Weasley in charge. As long as the bumbling idiot doesn’t set the building on fire, he surely
can’t fuck it up too badly.”

“You mock the man, and yet you rely on him to run the practice more often than not.”

Rabastan’s smile faded. “He’s nothing but a numbers cruncher. I’m the face of the organization,
the one who rakes in all the clients.”

“Whatever you say.”

Draco smirked. He knew the man would never speak against Lord Malfoy and relished his
simmering ire. Meanwhile, his father pushed forward without missing a beat. "Everyone, you
know my son and heir. Draco has decided to join our initiative and will no doubt become a great
asset to our endeavors. His youth gives him a unique perspective we can use to combat the
opposition's drivel about innovation and change. He represents the very future we are fighting so
hard to protect.”

The men nodded avidly and bid him a hearty welcome, eager to dance to whatever tune their leader
played.

“Draco, take a seat and get comfortable," his father directed. "I'm going to have you cross-check
medical treatises while the opposition makes their opening arguments. I want you to take avid
notes while keeping an ear and eye out for any weaknesses we can exploit."

Draco nodded, walking around the table on stiff legs. He pulled out the chair directly in front of
Rabastan, the only available spot besides the head chair his father would soon occupy. As he sat
down, his uncle leaned forward, clamping both hands on his shoulders and speaking into his ear.

“Good to see you take your rightful seat, Drake. It’s about time.”

Draco ground his teeth, shrugging out of the man’s hold. Rabastan laughed anew, sprawling back
without a care in the world. Draco grabbed a stack of blank parchment and a pen, writing the date
in the corner in his precise, elegant script.

“You write prettier than I do.”

He blinked, heart skipping a beat as he stared upon the date.

"I don't write pretty, Granger. I write precisely. And everyone's writing is precise compared to
yours. I'm quite certain my feet could write more legibly than you."

“Hilarious.”

He tugged at his tight cravat, desperate for air.

“Don’t be angry, you’re the one who brought it up.”

“I’m not angry.”

He set the pen aside, a tremor running through his hand.

“Your writing is perfect, Granger.”

“You just said it was abysmal!”

“It is. But all Doctor’s writing is abysmal. So it’s perfect.”

He pressed back into the chair, vision greying at the edges. He could scent her on the air as clearly
as her laughter rang through his head.

“I see what you did there. Very clever.”

"I'm quite brilliant, actually, but that's beside the point."

He ran a hand over his face as the papers and books stacked along the table grew higher and
higher, creating an impenetrable wall surrounding him at all sides, blocking out the sun and casting
him into darkness.

“I appreciate the backhanded compliment, but I’ll never be a Doctor.”

He felt the phantom sensation of her hair gliding between his fingers as he relived the memory of
drawing her in close, tipping her head back.

“Yes. You will.”

Draco closed his eyes, body pulsating with the force of his heartbeat. It echoed through his ears,
drowning out all other sounds- And then a hand seized his arm. His eyes snapped open, body going
rigid.

“Draco, are you listening?”

He met his father’s mercurial gaze, seeing his own face reflected back. His fist tightened on the
table. “Yes.”

His father drew back, hand falling away. “Good. Kingsley is about to take the floor. Get prepared.”

Draco watched the man who raised and molded him into his own image take his seat at the head of
the table. A sharp pain lanced through the center of his chest. The crowd surged anew as Kingsley
Shacklebolt stepped forward from the opposite side of the room, walking to the center of the floor
with his shoulders back. All eyes were fastened to him. Except for Draco’s.

Instead, he opted to stare at his father’s regal profile, nodding once. “I’m ready.”
Hermione blinked several times in the wake of Parvati’s outburst, fear quickly chasing the shock.
The Doctor broke the oppressive silence first. “Who is the Devil, Ms. Patil?”

Parvati glanced over her shoulder, meeting his gaze while maintaining her unbreakable grip on
Hermione’s wrist. “I don’t know his name. But I’ve met him before. In Haggerston. He trolled the
streets at night, took girls right out of their houses.” Hermione swayed on her feet as Parvati’s
voice continued on, hard and steady. “He broke into our flat one evening, tried taking Padma. I hit
him over the head with a bloody brick but the mammoth wasn’t even phased. He only took off
when our father came home early from work and brought half the building charging up the stairs
with him.” She faced Hermione. “He called Luna by your name. Someone sent him to take you.”

Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to clear the spots her vision.

“Ms. Granger.” His voice sounded distant, muffled, as though she were underwater. The current
was pushing her out to sea, rendering her helpless in the onslaught.

“Hermione!” Parvati shouted, just as Hermione's knees gave way. She hadn't even seen him circle
the cot, but suddenly his arms were around her, catching her just before she hit the stone floor.

“None of that,” he muttered in her ear, lifting her up by the arms and steering her to the foot of the
cot. “Sit down, breathe.”

It was then she realized she hadn’t inhaled since Parvati had unleashed hell upon her. “He took…”
Hermione gasped, hands shaking furiously. Parvati reached for her. “He took her because of me.
He’s hurting her because of me.”

"This isn't your fault, Hermione." Parvati was trembling just as badly. “He took her because of me.
I was right there, and I let him get away.”

The Doctor tipped his head, glancing between their huddled figures, expression sharpening to a
lethal point. “You are both deeply mistaken. The only parties responsible are the man who
kidnapped Ms. Lovegood and whoever hired him to do so.” His eyes fastening on Parvati. “Had
you let him take Ms. Lovegood, you would not be sitting here with a concussion and fractured
bone.”

Parvati blinked. His gaze moved to Hermione, the grey of his irises turning molten. “And had you
been Home tonight, Ms. Granger, it would be you who is missing, and circumstances would remain
unchanged.”

Hermione inhaled deeply. “It should have been me. Not Luna.”

His eyes flashed, but he remained otherwise silent.

“Why would someone pay to have you kidnapped?” Parvati asked, cringing in pain as she shifted.

“Parvati, you’re hurt, we need to—”

“We need to search for Luna. The longer we wait…” Parvati shook her head, closing her eyes.
“Unless they killed her outright when they realized their mistake.”

Hermione swallowed heavily, looking to the Doctor. He shook his head. “They won’t kill her," he
assured. "She’s not who they intended for, but she is valuable nonetheless.” His eyes darkened
considerably, a shadow casting across his visage. “Someone will want her.”
The ominous words sent a powerful shudder through her limbs.

This is all my fault… If only I hadn’t asked her to sleep in my room. She would be safe. Instead of
whatever evil is being forced upon her….

She smothered a sob with her hand, horrifying images taking shape in her mind until the Doctor’s
next words settled her focus.

“Once they realize their mistake, they will undoubtedly take corrective action. Which means you
are not safe within these walls, Ms. Granger. You must leave at once.”

She shook her head. “I’m not leaving Parvati.”

“Yes, you are.” Parvati grabbed her arm with both hands. “You’re the one they’re after. If he
comes back—”

“Surely he wouldn't strike again so soon?” Hermione gazed at the row of windows, the faint glow
of dawn breaking through the privacy bushes. “Not in broad daylight?”

The Doctor’s gaze was unwavering. “It depends on who hired him.” A meaningful pause. “And
how desperate that person is to obtain you.”

Her blood turned to ice in her veins as a sinister phantom whispered sweetly in her ear. “That’s it,
luv, scream for me…” Bile filled her throat as she reared back on the cot.

“Mione? What is it?” Parvati asked.

“It was him," Hermione muttered.

Tom's eyes narrowed as Parvati glanced between them.

“It was who?” the young woman prompted.

He nodded, ignoring the inquiry. “He is a likely candidate—”

“Who is a likely candidate? Someone talk to me!”

“My solicitor.” Hermione closed her eyes as images of her assault and illusions of Luna’s plight
collided in her mind, molding as one until it was Luna pinned against the wall of his office,
screaming, clawing, crying— She sprang to her feet. “We have to go to.”

“The only place you are going is to Mr. Potter’s estate.”

“I am not leaving Parvati!”

“Nor should you. Ms. Patil will accompany you, surely your friend won't mind.”

Hermione blinked, shoulders relaxing. Parvati tensed. “And what about Luna? Someone has to
look for her! If the two of you think you know who took her then—”

“You both will pack your things and leave the premises immediately.” His eyes fastened to
Hermione. “You will stay at Potter’s home. Every moment you are not behind the safety of his
walls you are a walking target. Getting yourself kidnapped will not help Ms. Lovegood.”

“Staying hidden away won’t help her either.”

“I assure you, I won’t be hiding.” His eyes gleamed in the rising sun. “I will find who took her.
And I will get her back.”

Hermione’s heart skipped. She leaned forward, drawn by the conviction of his words. Parvati
glanced between them, brow raised even as her eyes narrowed. “What about Umbridge?" she
posed. "No way she’ll let us walk out of here without causing a riot.”

His gaze lingered on Hermione for several seconds more before he shifted his focus to Parvati, the
corner of his mouth lifting. "Rest assured, Ms. Patil. I will take care of Umbridge."

Susan squirmed in her chair, hands hovering over the typewriter, a tremor running through her
entire body. She took a steadying breath, wiping the sweat from her temple with the back of a
trembling hand.

You can do this.

She gulped, blinking several times to refocus her vision on the document in the carriage. But the
words remained a dark blur. She pushed on, attempting to finish the report without the use of her
vision, only to press a series of incorrect keys.

“Shite!” She pulled the release lever with a frustrated groan and tore the paper free, crumpling it
into a tight ball and throwing it into the rubbish bin with a scowl.

This is bollocks. She closed her eyes, rubbing her neck to alleviate the throbbing tension. I can’t
work like this. I’m utterly useless. I just need a little. Just enough to feel functional. Just a little.

She was halfway across the office before she realized she’d even stood in the first place. She
staggered back, tears brimming in her eyes.

You can’t. You know what will happen if you set foot inside that place.

She backed up to the desk, leaning heavily against it, wrists and ankles bound by iron manacles.
Imprisoned in a cage of her own making. She wiped her eyes, utter despair and hopelessness
weighing upon her even heavier than the crushing fatigue of withdrawal.

It had taken every ounce of willpower to avoid the opium den last night. Seeing Cormac’s body
had been overwhelming. She’d been closed off from the majority of her emotions for well over a
year, since she started smoking regularly. And now she wasn’t equipped to handle such
devastation. Such onslaught. She craved the drugs with every fiber of her being. It was as much a
mental and emotional crutch as it was a physical dependence at this point.

She didn’t know who she was without the poppy coursing through her veins, without the white
smoke filling her lungs and nose and mouth, clouding her eyes, clouding her world, smoothing
down the sharp edges and dimming the lights. Reality was too bright. Too painful and demanding.
Too much. She started to step away from the desk once more, eyes focused on the door with all-
consuming intent.

Just one hit. I won’t smoke the entire bowl. Just enough to get through today and then I’ll focus on
getting better.

She darted to the door, clutching the knob so tightly it rattled in her trembling grip. Her entire body
shook with the force of her internal battle. And then she gasped, the door swinging open of its own
accord, the brass handle wrenched from her grip.
“Susan?” a familiar voice spoke.

She blinked, mouth still hanging open. “Dad.”

“Were you heading out?” He stepped into the office, tilting his head, inspecting her close. “Are
you ill, sweetheart? You look white as a sheet.”

She swallowed, forcing her hands into fists to hide the tremors. “I’m—”

Tell him you’re sick. He’ll send you home. You can be at the den within the hour. Just tell him
you’re sick. Say it. Say it!

“I’m fine.” She swayed on her feet, her internal musings nearly blowing her clear off her feet.

He raised a brow. “You’re certain?”

She nodded quickly, forcing a weak smile, one heartbeat away from bursting into hysterical sobs.
“Yes. I was just heading to storage to grab a new ream.”

Officers passed by the open doorway, the loud clatter of the Scotland Yard in full swing, a familiar
chaos that soothed her overwrought nerves. He nodded slowly, astute eyes still roaming her face
carefully. “If you need to go home—”

“I’m fine, dad.” She forced her spine straight, shoulders back. “Honestly. You don’t have to always
fuss over me.”

He shook his head. "Sorry, luv. That will never change.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping aside to allow him to enter the office fully, gaze drifting to the file in
his hand. Her body seized anew. “You’re working on the McLaggen case?” she asked.

He glanced at the stack with casual detachment. “Seems that way.”

“But…” her eyes affixed to the name written across the front page in bold, black letters. “Does it
qualify as a CID investigation?”

“Given his family’s influence, I wasn’t surprised it got pushed to the top, regardless of the cause of
death.” His mustache twitched as he flipped open the cover, eyes scanning the coroner’s report.
“However, I admit to being surprised by the details of the murder. It’s not a traditional case for our
department, but perhaps not wholly out of place either.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

“He was gunned down in an alley far from his home and last known whereabouts. His billfold was
missing, yet his watch and gold plated cufflinks were left behind. Along with expensive Italian
leather shoes. A traditional robbery usually finds the body all but nude, stripped of anything
remotely valuable."

Susan swallowed, rubbing her clammy palms together. “You think it was a staged robbery?”

He flipped the page, continuing to read. “I can’t say for sure right now. But what I find most
peculiar is the coroner’s report.”

She leaned in, trying to glimpse the sheet. “Why? What does it say?”

“Harry James Potter stopped by early yesterday morning to identify the body.”
She kept perfectly still, taking a deep, slow breath before carefully speaking. “They were friends,
surely. Everyone knows Lord McLaggen travels abroad throughout most of the year. Potter must
have been doing a favor.”

His mustache twitched again. "Perhaps. But it doesn't explain how he knew McLaggen was dead to
begin with."

She reared back. His eyes flickered up.

“Susan?”

“Actually, I think I am feeling a bit ill.”

He started to step towards her, hand outstretched. She quickly moved out of his reach.

“I’m going to visit the water closet.”

“Do you need—”

“It’s alright, I’ll be back in a moment.”

She flew out of the room, darting half-blind down the hall, bumping shoulders with passing
detectives and whispering half-formed apologies in her wake as she pushed open the water closet
door and sank to her knees inside, upending the meager contents of her stomach within the
porcelain bowl, skirts piled atop her lap. Her nose and eyes streamed as she dry heaved, choking on
broken sobs. Finally, her stomach clenched into a tight knot, every bit of liquid expelled. She wiped
her mouth with tissue and slumped into the wall, hiccuping, miserable. What have I done? To
Harry. To Ron. To myself. She ran a hand over her face, tipping her head back, staring forlornly at
the chipped ceiling tile. What a pathetic excuse for a human being you are.

She’d once been full of such life. Such hope. Such joy. Only to throw it all away by her own
choosing. Over a fleeting high that never seemed to last as long as it did the day before. Over white
vapor and bitter air. Her entire life was composed of smoke and mirrors.

That's what had first drawn her to Cormac. Not attraction of the body or mind. Simply the appeal of
spiraling down the rabbit hole with another person. Misery loves company. And that’s what they
had been to each other. A mirror image of their self-inflicted wounds. The true reflection of their
withered souls, stripped bare of the glitz and glamour of their public lives. It was an intimacy that
went deeper than love and hate. They shared more in the smoked filled haze of the den than two
lovers sharing a bed.

And though they’d occasionally pawed one another in the heights of their euphoria-driven
madness, they’d never had sex. It had never been about that for either of them. Cormac had a string
of lovers at his disposal to serve as his physical outlet. But his true love was the same as hers. The
beauty of escape. The perfection of the poppy bloom. Together, for just a little while, they laid
beside each other and floated high above the earth, leaving behind their bodies and all mortal woes.
He forgot about his deep seated resentment towards his family, all the expectations thrust upon
him that he feared he’d never amount to.

And Susan forgot about the pain in her father’s eyes whenever he stared upon her for too long, the
strain in his voice as he told her she was quickly growing into the spitting image of her mother. She
forgot about the limitations set against her because of her gender, all the things she’d never amount
to because she’d never be given the opportunity to try. She forgot what it felt like to be
disappointed. To care. And the further they soared, the harder they plummeted. Reality crushed
their bones, flayed their skin, scorched their throats and burned away their sight.

Then the smoke would clear and they’d pull their clothes back on and leave through opposite ends
of the den without so much as a parting glance. Their shared secret, their shared shame and
obsession, kept them bonded. Kept them from drowning alone. And kept them coming back to
each other. Until she’d met Ron.

And suddenly, she saw another reflection. One from her past. One that was long forgotten. She saw
everything she might be if she’d just get her bloody act together. Everything she might have been if
she’d never strayed so far from the path to begin with. She much preferred the reflection staring
back at her in Ron’s blue, guileless gaze. So she abandoned Cormac’s company for her new
companion. The man who saw her for what she might be, rather than what she currently was. But it
was a house built on quicksand. Ron didn't know about her addiction and choose to look past it.
She'd omitted the truth, concealed it with great care, and was spinning web after web after web of
lies until her every movement was constricted by silk netting. And soon, it would strangle her. Or
him. Or Harry.

She carded trembling fingers through her hair. I’m making Harry lie to his best mate, driving a
wedge between them. Ron will never want anything to do with me once he knows the truth.

She shuddered, her skin fevered and her bones frozen stiff. She’d never felt such guilt, such fear.
Not even when lying to her father.

Of course, I always had the smoke to block it out.

She’d only been sober for a day, and already it felt like a lifetime of misery was crashing upon her,
sweeping her out to the raging falls. And this time, she would drown alone.

Cormac is gone.

She blinked, tears falling unbidden. She didn’t love him. She didn’t even like him all that much.
But she’d understood him. And most significantly, he’d understood her. The true her. All the sick,
twisted parts of her, hidden beneath lavish gowns and bright smiles. And he’d never made her feel
ashamed.

Christ. He was the closest thing I had to a friend, wasn’t he? The dawning realization only tore at
her muscles further. She could hear her bones creak with every slight adjustment on the hard,
unforgiving floor. He wasn’t a gentleman, and I’m no lady. He didn’t deserve to die. And certainly
not by a bullet to the head.

Her father would get to the bottom of it, of that she was certain. Unfortunately, he was so good at
this job he would undoubtedly uncover all of it. Harry’s connection via her, her connection via the
den, and then, Ron would know it all, too. She slumped over further, each man’s face flashing
through her mind on an endless loop. And then she bolted upright, inspiration buzzing down her
spine. Maybe there was a way to salvage at least some of her life and still find justice for Cormac.

Harry.

If they worked fast, they may be able to determine Cormac’s killer before her father had a chance
to dig in deep. Surely they had more information to go on than the CID, knowing about Lavender
as they did.

It has to be connected…

If she brought the information to her father it would only slow down the investigation, causing an
uproar and implicating her immediately.

But Harry has connections of his own, viable leads.

And not just that. He’d given her another name to research late last week, someone he wanted her
to look up. What had it been?

Shite. Think, Susan, think…

A Doctor, wasn’t it? Yes, a Doctor, she was certain…

She closed her eyes, rummaging through the swamp of her fatigued thoughts, searching searching
searching… Her eyes snapped open, gleaming in triumph.

“I want you to see what you can find out about Doctor Thomas Riddle.” She pushed herself off the
floor with the last dredges of strength. If I leave the station I’m going to go smoke. If I smoke, it’s
all over…

Her thoughts stuttered on Ron’s smiling face, the sunlight glinting off his freckles, the warmth in
his cheeks as he reached for her hand. You can do this.

She steadied herself against the sink, avoiding her bloodless complexion in the mirror as she
wrenched open the door. And started a path for the records room.

Tom sent Hermione to the dorms to pack a bag for both girls while he all but strapped Ms. Patil to
the cot to keep her confined to the clinic. The injured girl was not easily ordered about, a trait he
normally admired but at the moment found endlessly frustrating. She was just as willful as
Hermione, and with their forces combined, he could only imagine the trouble they would find. But
he pushed those concerns aside for the time being, focused upon the task ahead. He would
personally oversee the girl's transfer to the Potter boy's estate to ensure nothing befell them on the
journey.

And to personally witness them stepping inside the bloody property. He wouldn’t put it past either
girl to brave the streets of London in search of their friend without any sort of plan or protection in
place. But he had something to take care of first. Or rather, someone.

She wasn't hard to find, standing exactly where he expected. And yet the sight of the Matron
hovering outside his bedroom brought to mind the startling contrast between her and his last
midnight visitor. She spun around at the sound of his heavy footfalls, eyes narrowed to slits as she
watched his casual approach.

She crossed her arms tightly, lifting her chin to glare down her nose as he came to a halt just before
her, a dark mass that caused her to swallow lightly despite her scathing tone. “You took Granger
off grounds.”

He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, tipping his head as he gazed down upon her. “I did.”

She blinked, his easy admittance obviously throwing her off-course. She squared her shoulders,
finding her footing once more. “That is highly inappropriate!”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I believe what’s highly inappropriate is allowing the residents to
be taken directly from the Home.”

She reared back, face turning a deep red. “I— That’s— I have no idea what you’re trying to
insinuate—”

“Then allow me to speak plainly. It was a very foolish decision to allow Greyback into a venue that
is not only brimming with witnesses but also is directly correlated to you.”

Her mouth opened and closed rapidly as she took a wide step back. “I— Who—”

“But the mistake has already been made," he added calmly, "and now, we must find a way to fix
it.”

She stopped in her tracks, blinking rapidly. “Fix it?”

“Yes, fix it, Madam." He could barely contain his amusement. "Before the Lestranges catch wind
of our gross miscommunication and punish us severely.”

She jolted. “The Lestranges? You’ve spoken with them?”

“Obviously. They’ve brought me into the fold. Didn’t they tell you?”

She searched his gaze frantically. “No…”

“Hm. How strange. I thought you were considered a high-ranking member of the circle.”

Her blush deepened. “I— I am. I mean, I am compared to most. I’m sure they were preparing to
inform me—”

“It’s irrelevant now. We need to deal with the problem at once. We can hopefully have it all sorted
before they even catch wind of the problem and bring hell crashing down upon us.”

She drew in close, shoulders tensed. “I don’t understand.”

“Surely you’re aware that Greyback took the wrong girl?”

All at once, her fear and anxiety gave way to a magnificent scowl. “Ms. Granger was supposed to
be in her room. It isn’t my fault.”

“But it would be your fault if the police were brought to the Home to investigate yet another
disappearance, risking exposure to the entire operation.”

She swallowed thickly.

“Precisely," he grinned. "Tonight’s abduction was to be staged off-campus, the same as Ms.
Brown’s. Which was why I took Ms. Granger on a supply run. Only, Greyback never showed.” His
gaze darkened. “And now I see why. As I said, a gross miscommunication.”

The Matron blanched. “When was all this decided? I didn’t know they changed the plan! No one
told me!”

“Perhaps you would like to tell Bellatrix it is her own fault, then.”

Umbridge’s jaw snapped close with an audible click, terror seeping from her every pore.

“There may still be time to fix this," he assured her. "But we must act fast. Who did you work with
to organize the kidnapping?”

She swayed in place, skin ghostly pale, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “… no one. That is, I only
received a note informing me of Granger’s selection. It wasn’t signed. It never is.”

His jaw ticked. “But surely you knew about Greyback’s visit?”

"Well yes. I had to provide him with a map of the grounds. I gave it to him only two days ago, the
plan must have changed only recently—"

“But you didn’t provide him with her description?”

She shook her head. “I assumed he had it, that whoever hired him told him what she looked like. I
merely told him she shared a room with a disgusting foreigner. I’d hoped he take them both, or at
least kill the latter.”

His eyes flashed before he could school his reaction. She drew back instinctively.

“I imagine Greyback will be in just as much trouble," he said, emotions reined. "That should make
him highly motivated to help us fix this. He may not have presented Ms. Lovegood as Ms. Granger
yet. Do you have a means of contacting him directly?”

“Yes!” She bounced with exuberance. “I use the filthy homeless boys who light the street lamps.
They can find him quickly.”

His pulse quickened. “Good. Write a message telling Greyback he can find Ms. Granger in the
alley behind St. Mungo’s at seven o'clock this evening.”

“Why?” she breathed.

A silver grin slowly unfurled across his face, causing her pupils to rapidly expand. “Because that’s
where she’ll be, Madam. I’m taking Ms. Patil for treatment at this very moment. Ms. Granger is
eager to stay at her side.” Her gaze clouded as he bore down upon her. “I’ll personally see to it
Hermione is where she needs to be when the time comes.”

He caught his slip too late. Her eyes flashed dangerously, color rising. Shite. He quickly
compensated. “Dolores.”

She shuddered at the sound of her name on his lips. He reached out, grasping her arm and drawing
her close. “We must work together, trust each other.” She turned boneless in his grasp, watching
his mouth form the words. “And we mustn't tell the Lestranges anything. There’s a very real
possibility we can have everything sorted before they even know what occurred.”

She slumped forward, melting into his touch. “Yes… yes, alright.”

His smile deepened. “Go. Send word to him now, there’s no time to waste.” He released her arm
and took a step back, leaving her gaping in his wake.

“Oh.” She cleared her throat, brushing a hand over her neck. “Of course.” She started up the hall,
then paused to glance at him over her shoulder. “I’m very happy to be working with you, Doctor.
And I’ll be even happier to see Ms. Granger get what she deserves.”

He arched a brow. “I couldn’t agree more.”

She tittered, bounding down the hall like a nervous school girl. His expression dropped like a stone
when she rounded the corner, muscles tensing when he retrieved the keys from his pocket and
unlocked his chamber door. He’d taken many liberties assembling that little tale, but it seemed his
educated guesses had been astute. Not that he had been worried either way. If she hadn’t believed
his fantastical creation or remained dead-set on contacting her employer regardless, he would have
simply killed her where she stood, storing her corpse in the attic until there was time to discard it
But it seemed the lovely Matron had a few uses yet.

He retrieved his special case from the top of the wardrobe, eyes flickering down to linger upon the
wide shelf beneath. He took a deep breath, shaking his head and slamming the doors closed,
exiting the room as swiftly as he’d entered it. Adrenaline surged through his system as he started
down the hall, the beginning stages of an age-old transformation, a familiar craving sparking to life
within.

Bloodlust.

Hermione pushed the dresser drawer closed with her hip as she draped the camisoles over her arm,
striding across the room to add them to the ever-growing pile on the bed. She reached for the
garment bag, gaze drifting to the headboard. Tears welled as she spotted the dreamcatcher hanging
from the post. She took a shaky breath, carefully removing the hoop and clutching it tightly as she
sank down on the mattress.

Hold on Luna… we’re coming for you… Please hold on.

The guilt was crippling. She sobbed, so lost to her grief she didn’t hear the slow tread of footsteps
down the hall.

“It isn’t your fault," a voice spoke at her back.

Hermione gasped, leaping from the bed. “Parvati! What are you doing? You need to be—”

“In the clinic. Yes, I know.”

Her roommate limped towards the bed, listing heavily against the wall. Hermione rushed to her
side, carefully wrapping an arm around her waist. Parvati hissed, rearing back.

“Sorry,” Hermione cringed, tears still wet on her cheeks. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, I can’t
believe you walked up all those steps.”

“I promise you, it happened. I remember every excruciating one of them.” She swallowed thickly
as Hermione navigated them to the nearest bed. Lavender’s. "There's sixty-three of them, by the
way. I counted each one, praying for the sweet release of death all the while."

Hermione helped lower her to the coverlet. "You're a regular riot when you're beaten to hell."

“It takes more than a blow to the head to soften my edge," Parvati smirked.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile in return. “You’d be the only patient in full body traction making
lewd comments to the orderlies.”

Parati laughed, then cringed with the motion. “Fuck.”

“Please don’t let your stubbornness injure you further. The more you exert yourself, the more
likely you are to contract a respiratory infection.”

Parvati released a slow breath, easing into the pillows. “I couldn’t stay down there any longer.”

“I’d have sent Hannah to sit with you—”

“It’s not that.” Parvati looked away, picking at the stitching in the quilt. “Clinics remind me too
much of Padma. Everything she went through. Sitting with her in that vile, filthy room with
hundreds of bodies. Half of them dead, the other half wishing they were dead.” She blinked
quickly. Hermione sat down beside her, placing a hand on her knee.

“I didn’t even think about that. I’m so sorry, Parvati.”

“How could you have known? People die all the time. Especially in clinics. But they’re a necessary
evil.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “I hate that saying. Evil is never necessary. But that’s not what I was
talking about. I’m sorry you had to go through this. That you saw Luna get taken.”

Parvati wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I tried to stop him, but I failed. Just like I
failed all those years ago. He would have taken Padma right out of our flat if my father hadn’t
come home when he did. I’m fucking pathetic.”

"Parvati, you fought until he beat you unconscious! Most people would have run in the opposite
direction, not laid down their lives to protect a friend." She dried her own tears. "It's my fault for
leaving in the first place. For asking Luna to take my bed."

Parvati’s eyes snapped up. “You were with the Doctor, weren’t you?”

“Yes," Hermione replied carefully.

“Where?”

Here we go. Best to tear the bandage off quickly. “We went to Amortentia to gain information
about Lavender’s murder.”

Parvati paled. “What?”

“Cormac led us to a girl that Lav knew—”

“No, not that.” Parvati's eyes narrowed. “Why would the Doctor help you?”

“Oh.” Hermione glanced away, twisting handfuls of her skirts. “He…” How much to tell? She
quickly dismissed the notion of keeping any more secrets. She couldn’t bear this wall erected
between them. “He lost someone to the same people who killed Lavender. He’s committed to
stopping them.”

Her friend was silent for several beats. “What if he’s lying, Hermione?”

“He isn’t,” Hermione replied without hesitation. “I believe him, Parv. He’s going to do everything
in his power to catch these monsters.”

“And then what?”

Hermione blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Once he catches them, what does he intend to do?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, her mind going startling blank. “I… I don’t know
exactly…”

"Well, I think we should figure it out before we get much more involved with him, don't you?"
Hermione flushed hotly. Parvati’s eyes roamed her face carefully, realization dawning in her eyes.
“Shite," the woman muttered. “Mione, you stupid bint. Please tell me you didn’t go and develop
feelings for him.”

“No! Of course not.”

Parvati rolled her eyes. “This is bloody fantastic.”

“I don’t have feelings for him.”

“Practice saying that in the mirror a few more times.”

“I…” Hermione shook her head, eyes drifting to the frayed, faded ribbon encircling her wrist, as
though his presence somehow lingered upon it. “I don’t…”

“We can deal with your mental breakdown later, right now we need to figure out a plan to get Luna
back. I can’t sit around while the Doctor does all the work. You might trust him, but I don’t know
him from Adam.”

Hermione sighed. “You aren’t doing anything except focusing on healing.”

“Don’t insult me. It’s just a minor fracture. I’ve done a lot more with a lot worse.”

“That doesn’t comfort me in the least.”

“It’s not meant to comfort you. Luna needs us. So I need you pissed off and half-crazed. That's
when you do your best thinking."

Hermione scrubbed a hand over her face. “Parvati…”

“Do you trust him more than me?”

Hermione looked sideways sharply. “What? Of course not!”

“Is that why you’ve been working with him behind my back? Keeping secrets? You don’t think I
can handle it or I’d do something to fuck it all up?”

“No, that’s not it at all! I was just trying to protect you. This is a large-scale crime ring, not a group
of petty criminals. I didn’t want you to get hurt.” Her eyes alighted on the swollen knot marring the
girl's temple. “A lot of good that did.”

Parvati released a long breath. "You can't protect me, Hermione. You can't protect anyone in this
life. Trust me, I've tried. But in the end, I still lost Padma, my parents, Lavender, and had Luna
literally torn from my grip."

The room lost focus as tears blurred Hermione's vision. She reached forward, grasping Parvati’s
hand. “We’re going to get her back.”

“I know.” Their hands tightened. “Just, please, don’t leave me out. Not anymore. I can’t stand not
knowing.”

Hermione nodded. "I promise, I won't keep any more secrets."

The heat of their joined palms sealed the bond.

"Wait!" Parvati gasped, causing Hermione to jolt. "What about your visions? Have you had any
more?"

Hermione blinked. Oh, that’s right. I’m also psychotic. “Yes, I have. But remember that we just
made up so you can’t be angry with me.”

Parvati’s face pinched. “Christ and a day, Mione.”

“I’m sorry, everything happened so fast and—”

“Just tell me what you saw.”

“A floating apparition. She wasn’t bloody or torn up like the others. She almost seemed…
peaceful, serene even.” Like Luna. She placed a hand to her chest. “She led me to a secret room in
the attic.” Her expression darkened. “It’s decidedly disturbing.”

"Fuck me," Parvati muttered, brows drawn. "Was it filled with whips, chains, and manacles?"

“Worse. Dolls.”

Parvati blinked. Then shivered. “Bloody hell. That is worse.” She tilted her head. “Do you think
she was a ghost?”

Hermione shrugged, pressure building in her neck and shoulders. “I don’t know.” Her eyes drifted
to a patch of sunlight spilling across the floor. “I really don’t know anymore.”

They sat in silence for another few moments before Hermione pulled her hand away, standing from
the bed. “We have to go, the Doctor will be waiting.” She started for the garment bag, only to halt
in her tracks at Parvati’s next words.

“I heard you call him Tom.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She slowly turned. Parvati’s eyes gleamed in the orange light. Hermione
shifted, hands curling at her sides. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Probably not. You need to be careful with him, Mione. There’s something about that one…”
Parvati shook her head. “Something dangerous. It surrounds him like an aura, follows him like a
shadow. And the way he was looking at you in the clinic… It was like he couldn't decide whether
to rip open your bodice or wrench apart your chest, and he seems perfectly capable of either feat."

Hermione opened her mouth but no sound emitted, Parvati’s summation of their disturbing
encounters astutely accurate.

Her friend sighed, glancing away. “Finish packing, Mione. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Hermione wasted no time shoving their clothing into the bag, carefully stacking Luna’s
dreamcatcher on top of the pile before buckling the top flap. “Alright. Let’s go.” She pulled the
leather strap over her shoulder while helping navigate Parvati out of the room and down the hall.

Neither girl saw the figure hovering in the corner, cloaked in shadow. Transfixed by the
conversation she'd just eavesdropped through the open door.

Harry scratched absently at his bare chest as he walked into the breakfast nook, robe trailing
behind him. He yawned loudly, a lion’s roar, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming in
through the panoramic windows.
“Morning, sweetheart, how did you sleep?” his godfather asked.

Harry rolled his eyes, pulling out a chair beside his godfather at the circular table. “Not well.”

“Hm.” Sirius took a sip of coffee, keen eyes watching him over the rim. “Something on your
mind?”

Harry avoided the man’s gaze, pulling toast onto his plate. “A lot of things.”

“Such as?”

He pulled the margarine dish closer. “The promotion is just a lot to take in.”

Sirius drummed his fingers on the newspaper lying beside his own plate of food. “That excuse will
only last you another couple of weeks, max. Then you might have to actually tell me what’s
wrong.”

Harry buttered his slice with careful precision, trying to keep his movements slow, calm. Inside he
was a raging storm, set to burst in an explosion of spitting flame and black smoke.

Sirius tipped his head. “I haven’t seen much of you since the party.”

Harry raised a brow, setting aside his knife. “You were gone half of Sunday.” He finally glanced
up. “Must be getting serious.”

His godfather narrowed his eyes. “Setting me up for easy puns won't distract me.”

“So, it’s alright to discuss my private life, but not yours?”

“Alright, fine," Sirius sighed, pushing his plate away. "If it will get you to finally open a window in
the bloody stonewall you’ve erected, then I’m happy to discuss my private life.”

Harry rolled his eyes for the second time that morning, taking a large bite as his godfather
continued.

“Yes, I was with company on Saturday evening and most of Sunday, and no, it’s not anything
serious. I don’t let it get that far, as you well know.”

Harry swallowed, dropping the dry toast to his plate. “No, I don’t bloody well know because you
never talk about your relationships. Which is curious, since you discuss every other aspect of your
life without a lick of hesitation or shame.”

Sirius rubbed a hand along his jaw. "Is this you really wanting to know more about my romantic
endeavors or are you simply trying to deflect from the original topic?"

Harry glanced away, lips pressing a thin line. Sirius leaned in, resting his forearms on the table.

“Look, Harry. I know I’m not your father. I could never replace James, and I’d never attempt to.
But when I adopted you I took the responsibility of parent, not friend. I know I blur the line more
often than not, and likely do a shite job at both, but when all is said and done it’s my job to protect
you, not be your best mate.”

Harry ran a hand through the insanity of his hair, staring at a bare patch of wall. Sirius continued
on, undaunted by his silence.

“You have Ron and Mione to be your friends. So if I’m annoying you right now, that’s just fine. I
won’t stop asking you questions, no matter how much it drives you up the bloody wall. And the
longer you hold out on me, the more unbearable I’ll become.”

“Christ, are you done?”

"Not even close, I have hours of lecture material I've knicked from Molly and Arthur. Not to
mention the God-awful cliches I've been dying to use since you were a boy. ‘Don't look at me with
those eyes.' ‘Close the door! Were you raised in a barn?' ‘If your friend jumped off the London
bridge, would you follow?'"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

“That’s what I thought," his godfather continued. "And there’s plenty more where that came from.
How about a little ‘This hurts me more than it hurts you?’ Or ‘You’ll understand when you’re a
parent.’”

“Thank you, Sirius, I get the point.”

“If you keep touching yourself, you’re going to go blind.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Watch the language, kid, or I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”

“This is really starting to creep me out.”

“Back in my day—”

A knock sounded at the front door.

“Thank god!” Harry leaped from his chair, nearly knocking it to the ground in his haste to dart out
of the room.

"This isn't over, Potter! I have journals full of this shite!"

“No wonder you can’t get a proper date!”

His godfather’s bark of laughter echoed down the hall. Harry strode to the entry where the
knocking had grown faster and more insistent. He braced himself for whatever onslaught awaited,
the recent chaos of his life leaving him open to just about any possibility. He opened the door and
blinked.

“Mione?”

"Hello, Harry."

“Yes, hellooo Harry…” an unfamiliar voice added. He glanced to the brunette leaning against
Hermione’s side. He recognized her from the Club. Their combined presence on his doorstep threw
him for such a loop he spent the next handful of seconds trying to remember her name while she
gazed upon his naked abdomen.

“Um… Harry?” Hermione prompted. “Can you either invite us inside or put on a shirt? Preferably
both, in that order.”

“Oh, shite. Sorry, come in.” He stepped back, ushering them inside, closing the door quickly. It
was then he noticed Hermione was acting as a human crutch for her friend. “What’s wrong? Is she
hurt?”

“Yes, can you help me get her into the study?”

“Of course, let me carry her.”

“She’s standing right here.”

“Sorry, Parv. Harry, you remember Parvati, don’t you?”

He nodded, slipping an arm around the girl’s narrow waist and drawing her other arm over his
shoulders. “How could I forget the girl who broke Zabini’s nose?”

Parvati smiled brightly, even as her eyes watered in acute pain. "If that's the only thing I'm
remembered for in this life, I won't die disappointed."

Harry tipped her into his side, alleviating Hermione of her weight. “I’ll be sure to have it etched
onto your tombstone as well.”

“I knew I liked you.”

He laughed, slowly escorting her across the marble floor. “Where are you hurt?”

“Just my side.”

“She has a terribly fractured rib, a bad concussion, and is highly at risk for contracting
consumption," Hermione recounted gravely.

Parvati rolled her eyes, glancing at Harry. “Has she always been such a dramatic swot?”

“Afraid so. When she was nine, I skinned my knee falling from a tree. She insisted on staying the
weekend so she could clean the wound twice an hour for three days straight.”

Parvati erupted into a fit of laughter as Hermione glared daggers at their backs. “I had just learned
about gangrene from my parent’s medical books, thank you very much. I was trying to keep your
leg from having to be amputated.”

“I appreciate that, Mione.”

“You’re welcome, arsehole.”

“Hark!” A deep voice called down the hallway. “Are those the dulcet tones of the sweet and
delicate Ms. Granger I hear?” Sirius entered the room, his wide grin not faltering at the sight before
him. “Ah, a guest. And my godson is already fondling you. I’ve taught him well.”

“Ignore him. We all do.” Harry escorted the women through the door of the study, steering Parvati
to the chaise lounge and carefully lowering her to the cushion. She bit back a cry, face crumpling.
“Sorry, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine, thank you for helping me.”

“What’s the matter, poppet?” Sirius came to a stop beside her, voice light but eyes narrowed in
concern.

Hermione stepped forward. “She has—”

“A fractured rib,” Parvati replied with a pointed look. “The way you describe it, I’m at death’s
door.”

“That’s our kitten. Do you need us to call for a Doctor?”

“No need. We were just dropped off by one.”

The men blinked, glancing once at each other before turning to face Hermione. She shifted
nervously. “It’s a long story.”

Sirius smirked. “Why don’t you start from the beginning then and I’ll pour us some drinks.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s barely eight o’clock.”

“I’ll be getting a late start then.”

“Actually,” Hermione interrupted, pinning her bottom lip between her teeth. “Would it be alright if
I spoke to Harry… alone?”

Sirius laughed. “Wouldn’t be the first time a pretty bird’s passed me up for the younger version.”

“No worries,” Parvati supplied from her seated position. “I’d love your company. And that drink.”
She grasped her side with a grimace. “But mostly the drink.”

“We’re going to get along like a house on fire, pet.” Sirius started a path to the bar in the corner.
“Harry, why don’t you and Mione catch up in the drawing-room? I’ll entertain our lovely guest.”

“Thank you, Sirius.”

“Of course, kitten.”

Harry opened his mouth but couldn't think of the first thing to say, so he only sighed and followed
Hermione from the room, braced for whatever insanity lie ahead. Her palms rubbed anxiously.
“I’m sorry to barge in on—”

"Mione, you know you're always welcome here. Now skip the shite and tell me what's going on."

Parvati's laughter echoing off the walls as Sirius no doubt dazzled her with his signature humor and
charm.

“There was an… incident… at the Home," Hermione said, winning the entirety of his focus.

“Are you alright?”

“I wasn’t there when it occurred.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. Then tensed at the realization. “Is that how Parvati was injured?”

"Yes," she nodded. “Also… One of our friends was taken.”

Stones plummeted to the pit of his stomach. “What—”

“I’ll explain it all to you, but not here. There’s not enough time.”

“Mione, I—”

“Please, Harry. I need your help. But mostly, I need you to trust me.”
He opened and closed his mouth, pulse thrumming, and finally sighed in resignation. “Of course I
trust you, Hermione.”

“Thank you.” She reached up, placing a hand on his arm. “Also, I really need you to put on a
shirt.”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Anything else?” He’d meant it in jest, but her
expression took on a contemplative look before her eyes brightened.

“Yes, actually.” She smiled sweetly. “Do you own a gun?”

Tom writhed in the darkness of his own mind as the carriage turned the corner, pulling onto the
paved road leading to his next destination. He was doing his damned best to avoid thinking about
the task ahead, but all remaining subject matter occupying his thoughts was no more pleasant.

He had just dropped the girls off at the sprawling structure of the Black ancestral home. After
making sure they made it inside he instructed the driver to continue on, hoping the Potter boy
would be able to keep his friend contained for the time being. He couldn’t worry about her welfare
and hunt down Ms. Lovegood at the same time. His concern for both girls was merely derived from
their roles in his final strategy. He’d selected them as pieces for his board. Weapons within his
artillery. They were his. And he took care of what was his. And he most certainly didn’t appreciate
people stealing from him.

He'd known Hermione would be a target at some point. She was too closely linked to the chaos not
to be. And between her intimate knowledge of the Lestranges, keen ability to spot the most minute
of details, and highly advanced problem-solving abilities, she was his most vital resource. Even her
so-called hallucinations were proving beneficial to their plight. So, he kept her within reach, so
focused on protecting her he’d allowed his Rook to be taken instead, a careless oversight he would
not be making again.

He’d become distracted, so consumed by his eagerness to see this mission through at long last he’d
overlooked the dangers lingering at his own front door. Now it was time to right that mistake.
Which meant venturing into hell itself. And facing the living embodiment of his most personal
demons.

The carriage pulled to a stop outside the large brick building. He paid the driver without a word,
stepping onto the sidewalk with all the enthusiasm of a man preparing to walk the gallows. Starting
up the steps, he took a deep breath, holding it deep and focusing on the burn, anything to distract
from the encounter ahead.

Greyback.

The mere thought of the man helped put him back into a familiar mindset. Murderous rage was far
more pleasant than any of the thoughts and feelings brewing just beneath the eroding surface of his
resolve, every stair one pace closer to the edge of sanity. His fists tightened at his sides. He hadn't
told Hermione about the identity of Ms. Patil’s attacker for fear she’d attempt to seek out the killer
herself. He also didn’t want her to have culpability when the man’s body was fished out the
Thames tomorrow morning. But mostly, he wanted the satisfaction of hunting the hunter on his
own terms. It had been too long since he'd enjoyed the thrill of a good old-fashioned chase.

He entered the main lobby of the large building, taking the familiar path upstairs to the office that
plagued his thoughts more often than he’d like to admit. His hand hovered outside the barrier for
far too long.
Let’s just get this over with.

He knocked.

“Come in," a hauntingly familiar voice bid.

Tom braced himself, carefully schooling his features before turning the knob and opening the door.
The air shifted, a faint ringing filling his ears as he stepped inside the large office. He met the eyes
of the room’s other occupant and felt his entire body draw tight as a bowstring.

“Thomas," the voice greeted.

Tom closed the door with added force. “Don’t call me that.”

His companion merely nodded. “My apologies… Tom.” The figure stood from the desk, eyes
slowly roaming Tom's front. “I haven’t seen you since you returned to London.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“So I’ve heard. You found employment at the Umbridge Home.”

“You’ve been spying on me," Tom scowled.

"I wouldn't call it spying. I've merely asked after you since you don't deem to provide me with any
word yourself."

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m concerned about you—”

“Don’t be. I’m not your responsibility. Neither was she.”

The silence was suffocating. The figure finally sighed, pacing around the desk and leaning against
it. “Why have you come here, Tom? It’s obviously not to catch up on old times.”

Tom took a step closer, posture rigid. “I need access to the shipyard.”

“Why?”

“Privacy.”

“Rent a hotel room.”

“And space.”

Another sweltering beat, the air alive with buzzing energy. “What are you up to?”

Tom narrowed his eyes, pinning his companion with the darkest of looks. Most people cowered at
the sight. Even strangers sought to avoid crossing his path. But, of course, the body propped
casually before him remained wholly unaffected.

“I’m not going to help you continue down this path.”

“You were the one who set me upon it,” Tom growled.

“I never intended for you to—”

“I’m close.”

His companion blinked, finally swaying by the force of the announcement. Tom stepped closer,
hands curled at his sides. “I’m so fucking close I can taste it. I can stop Him. Finally put an end to it
all.” A heavy beat. “Get revenge for both their sakes.”

He held that eerily bright gaze for far too long, until he was suddenly rendered ten years old again,
desperate for approval, validation.

“I don’t want revenge," came the tired reply.

Tom lowered his shoulders. “Justice then.”

His companions sighed deeply before glancing away. Tom pressed forward, committed to seeing
this through. “They murdered a resident and kidnapped another," he divulged. "A third girl is also a
known target. Not to mention all the victims they pick up throughout the city. How many innocent
women are taken and sold each month? Each night? I’m trying to help them. Save them. Fucking
fight for them.”

“Is it truly for them?”

His thoughts stuttered. “Does it matter?”

The head slowly shook. Not in disagreement. In disappointment.

Tom's expression hardened. “I need your keys.”

“Tom—”

“There’s a good chance I can rescue the young woman who was kidnapped last night.” He inhaled
slowly, striking for the jugular. “Her name is Luna Lovegood. She’s eighteen. Blonde. Kind.
Loves to garden and carries on conversations with the rabbits and birds. Another woman was
beaten unconscious trying to protect her, and I suspect Luna kept her true identity a secret to protect
yet another innocent target. She needs our help. They all do.” He held the penetrating stare without
blinking, raising his arm, palm up. “The keys.”

Sadness radiated from the figure in waves. Tom refused to balk. The body finally pushed away
from the desk with a low groan, circling to the top drawer as though preparing to sign a death
warrant. There was a jingle of metal, a glint of silver. Tom's heart raced.

“Violence begets violence, Tom.”

He ground his teeth, reaching for the keys. “I’m well aware. My back is a constant reminder.”

His companion didn't release their hold, their arms suspended in mid-air, connected by a large ring
of metal. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save you.”

“I wasn’t yours to save," Tom said darkly.

“And these young women aren't yours. Yet here you are, taking responsibility for them.”

“This is different.”

“If you say so.”

The opposing hand released the keys. Tom’s arm dropped like a dead weight, the metal prize
clutched tightly in his fist. His entire body felt leaden, yet he still managed to storm for the door
with rage and purpose.

“Tom.”

His mask of indifference dissolved. He continued facing the door, refusing to let his true face be
exposed in this fucking mausoleum.

“Regardless of what you think your true motivations are, I know you are capable of good. At the
edge of all darkness, light begins.”

That did it. Tom spun around, eyes wild. “I can’t abide your bloody affirmations, least of all right
now.”

“Just remember this, nothing you do can bring her back. She can’t be saved.”

Hermione’s words rang through his mind, Plaguing him, haunting him. “I could say the very same
thing to you. I know there’s a picture in your desk.”

"And one on my nightstand. Remembering is not the same as crusading. Whether you're able to
help Ms. Lovegood or not, your past will remain unchanged. You must eventually face it, and
reconcile." Self-deprecation oozed from every pore. "I speak from experience."

The final threads holding his self-control together were rapidly fraying, set to snap at the next
word, the next look. Tom couldn't bear to stand within the gilded cage a moment longer. He tore
open the door, speaking over his shoulder. “Your advice is duly noted.”

Not bothering to wait for a response, he charged down the hall like a man possessed, reminding
himself the endeavor had been successful, no matter the personal cost. He had obtained access to
the space he needed. And more importantly…

He was primed to kill.

As the theatre exploded with movement and noise, Draco curled his fingers with a groan, the pen
falling to the table with a clatter. His hand was cramped from hours of nonstop writing, wrist
locked. He leaned back in his seat, massaging the muscles in the heel of his palm while his father's
party members stood and gathered their materials. They each paid homage to their leader, heaping
praise onto him as though the man wasn’t already well aware of his formidable presence on the
floor, the mesmerizing quality of his voice, the way he held every eye and ear in a near rapture like
trance while he delivered his argument with fluid ease. Kingsley was a formidable opponent, of
that there was no doubt, but no one could quite compare to Lucius Malfoy. No one.

Draco’s jaw tensed as the last lemming bowed his departure and scurried out of the theatre, leaving
Draco alone in the corner with his father and uncle.

“Well, what did you think, Drakey?”

Draco scowled, refusing to grace the man still sprawled across the bench with a response. His
father gathered a pile of parchment and neatly tapped it against the table, aligning the edges before
sliding the stack into his leather briefcase.

“What are your first impressions, Draco?”

Draco sighed, rolling his head along his shoulders to alleviate the mounting pressure. “They’re
basing a lot of their argument on human rights, equating medical school admittance with racial
equality laws.”

His father nodded, eyes still averted to his work. “That did seem to be the crux of it. At least in
today’s session.” He started to gather the books along the table, reading the spines, looking for a
certain title. “What do you think of the strength of their argument?”

Draco's eyes flickered across the milling bodies slowly exiting the chamber, still in the throes of
lively discussion. “I think they’re biting off more than they can chew with that approach. There’s
still members of their own party who are vocal dissentionists of the abolition. Moody himself
provided strategy to Davis to try and sway a Confederate victory in the US. He’ll argue it was
purely of economic interest, but we all saw his face when Kingsley was discussing the
apprenticeship program. They’re obviously at odds over their own guiding principles.” He raised
his arms over his head, stretching high, relishing the pull on his muscles, the lengthening of his
spine.

"They’d be better off keeping their attack tight and focused. I don’t know if the decision to leave
Elizabeth Blackwell and Elizabeth Anderson out of their opening argument was strategic or if they
plan on presenting them later, but either way, I think it was a mistake on their part. They’d build a
stronger foundation with case specifics versus pure policy drivel, given our own weakness is a lack
of evidence against the former.”

He settled into his chair, cracking his knuckles one by one, eyes drifting to the vaulted ceiling. "No
doubt their own party is torn by dissenting ideals, which accounts for their rather scattered outline.
I think they'll be easy enough to dismantle if we can determine which party member accounts for
which pillar. Then we merely have to slice the Achilles heels of each specific creator."

He crossed his arms, stretching his legs out beneath the desk. The prolonged silence that followed
caught his attention. He blinked, glancing over to see if his father was even still beside him. Lucius
stood over his case, hands resting against the table, eagle gaze fixated upon his son with
undaunting intensity. The corner of his mouth slowly lifted. Draco’s heart skipped.

And then a low whistle sounded behind him. Rabastan leaned forward, clapping him on the
shoulders for the second time that morning, though the gesture was clearly born of respect versus
moxy. “Damn, Drake. You truly are your father’s son.”

Draco squirmed in his seat, trying to shake the man's touch. "Being his spitting image wasn't
enough of a giveaway?"

Rabastan chuckled. “You’ve looked the part of a Malfoy from the day you were born, but you’ve
never truly sounded like one.” His fingers dug in like talons. “Not until today.”

Draco met his father’s gaze. They stared at each other until Lucius nodded, his pride more evident
than Draco had ever seen it before. “Good job, son.”

Draco felt sick to his stomach.

“That’s enough for today," his father continued. "Let’s grab some lunch. Celebrate our imminent
victory.”

Draco lurched away from his Uncle’s hold and rose to his feet, standing eye to eye with his father.
“I can’t.”

Lucius blinked, expression falling. “Are you previously engaged?”

“I'm meeting up with Tori.”

His father’s countenance brightened considerably. “Ah! Excellent. I’m happy to see the two of you
are getting more closely acquainted before your nuptials.”

“And exactly how many times have you kids acquainted yourselves, eh?” Rabastan leered from his
seat.

Lucius scowled over his shoulder. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be vile, Lestrange?”

The man laughed, pushing up from the bench. “That I do. And I have much more pleasant
company waiting for me at home. I’ve seen enough swinging cocks today.”

Lucius sighed, shaking his head and buckling his case. “Do not let us intrude on your afternoon
debauchery. God forbid you put in more than twenty minutes at the office.”

“I work to live, you live to work, we’ll never understand each other.” Rabastan clapped Draco on
the back, hard enough to jolt him forward. “Take care, Drake.”

Draco scowled openly as the man strolled out of the chamber, whistling a merry tune all the while.
“Lives to be a pain in the arse, more like.”

“He lives to gamble and wallow in his vices, resting solely on his family’s wealth.” His father
placed a hand on his shoulder, firm but grounding, the polar opposite of Rabastan’s mocking
touch. “He represents everything the Peerage is detested for. The very image we are trying to undo
through hard work, education, and social justice.” He squeezed, eyes gleaming in the bright
sunlight. “Do you grasp the magnitude of what we’re doing here, son? What our purpose is to the
people? To our Country? To the Queen herself?”

Draco drew in a slow breath, nodding.

“Good. This marks the beginning of your Parliament career. The foundation for your future, our
family’s future. This nation’s future.” Lucius removed his hand. Draco swayed on his feet,
entranced. “Next week is the final session before voting commences. I’d like for you to speak
before the House.”

Draco staggered back. “What?”

“You heard me. I’d like for you to deliver the final argument, the closing statement.”

Draco swallowed, shaking his head. “I— that’s insane, father. You need to—”

“They’ve heard enough of my voice these last two decades. It’s time for our party to adorn a fresh
face. A youthful image. You represent the next generation of leadership, it’s time to make your
opinions heard. Everyone will remember this moment, Draco. This speech will launch your career
and solidify your place in the House of Lords. I will eventually pass my seat onto you. Next week
will mark the beginning of that transition.”

Draco’s mouth was barren as a desert, and then his father delivered the killing blow. “I believe in
you, Draco. I know you’ll make me and your mother proud.”

His evisceration was complete. Every piece of him lying in a gleaming pile on the marble. Draco
nodded. “I’ll do my best, Sir.”

His father smirked. “Very good. Now...” He stepped back, gesturing to the door. “Best not keep
your beautiful fiance waiting.”

Draco tried to mirror the man's mischievous expression but couldn’t get his facial muscles to obey.
He left the theatre in a haze, hardly aware of the great distance he had traveled until the loud drone
of the lobby faded at his back and the bustling sounds of traffic took its place. He wanted to curl up
in the darkness, submerge himself in a frozen lake, anything to bring his racing thoughts. He made
it down the steps, intent on flagging down a carriage when he heard a truly cringe-inducing voice.

“Draco!”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the caller emerged at his side, bathed in a sheen of
sweat.

“Draco, thank god I caught you—”

“What do you want, Dolohov?”

The man raised a brow, obviously taken aback by Draco’s cutting tone. “Where’s your father?”

Draco tipped his head towards the massive doors of Parliament. “In his Castle. Where else?”

The solicitor nodded but didn't take his eyes off him. “How was the session?”

“Is there something you needed?”

Dolohov shifted anxiously, movement erratic. Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Did you do cocaine this
morning?”

The man blinked twice before laughing. The sound was too high and strained to sound even
remotely genuine. He settled down a moment later, eyes slightly unfocused. “Where are you
headed?”

“None of your business.”

“What crawled up your arse today?”

Draco tipped his head back, closing his eyes and praying for serenity. All he wanted was to throttle
the bastard. The man who kept Hermione under his thumb. Draco would sever the appendages
cleanly from both hands if that’s what it took to untangle her from the bastard'ss net.

“What do you want, Antonin?”

“I just wanted to know where you’re headed.”

“To lunch.”

“Oh? Alone?”

Draco scowled deeper “Fucking— How much cocaine did you do?”

The man’s eye twitched. “Just a line if you must know. You want some company?”

“What?”

“For lunch.”
Draco shook his head, disgust evident on his face. “I think not. I’m meeting Astoria.”

Dolohov leaned in suddenly, searching his gaze closely, as though trying to discern something in
his pupils. Draco remained frozen in utter bewilderment. Before he had the pleasure of pushing the
man away, Dolohov lowered to his heels, nodding quickly. “Have a good time.”

“Jesus sodding Christ, take some laudanum.”

Dolohov laughed for a second time, this round laced with far less hysteria. Draco shook his head,
shrugging past and heading for an open carriage. And then some buried instinct, a silent whisper
on the breeze, told him to look over his shoulder one last time. He caught sight of Dolohov
watching his retreat, expression unguarded. Draco was rendered motionless by the sight. The
solicitor gazed upon him with so much hatred his eyes turned nearly solid black, malevolence clear
in their bottomless depths.

The man realized he’d been caught a moment too late, quickly schooling his expression into a
grotesque smile, cracking the plaster of his mask as he waved a joyous farewell, anxiety etched in
every line. And as the carriage pulled away, Draco watched came to a startling revelation

Antonin Dolohov detested him with every fiber of his being. And Draco had a festering suspicion
he knew why.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this.” Harry shook his head, pulling his gaze from the carriage window.
“Why aren’t we going directly to the police again?”

"You know why. You're just letting your feelings for me cloud your judgment."

“Remind me anyway.”

Hermione sighed, the carriage bouncing along the uneven road. “The police won’t do anything but
bring our search to a grinding halt. We have no direct evidence of who took her, and every moment
we waste the further away she gets.”

His expression tensed. “Do you think she was taken for the same reason as Lavender? Are they
interested in blondes or something?”

Hermione averted her gaze. “It’s possible blondes are worth more. But they’ll take anyone.
Parvati’s twin was nearly abducted when she was still alive. And I’ve seen—” She stopped
abruptly, biting her tongue.

Harry raised a dark brow. “You’ve seen what?”

Ghostly apparitions with an array of hair color.

“I’ve seen enough diversity at Amortentia to know men’s only true preference is a pulse.”

“Wishful thinking.”

She spared him a small smirk, relieved to be over the greatest hurdle in her path. She didn’t take
any pleasure in lying to her best friend, but she knew he would never have agreed to let her venture
outside of Grimmauld if he’d known she was the assailant’s true target last night. It was already
hard enough convincing Parvati to stay behind. Sirius had all but had to sit on her to prevent her
from limping down the drive and hoisting herself into the carriage with them.
Hermione felt terrible forcing the spirited girl to stay indoors, but her injury was too great to risk
exposing her compromised lungs to the fetid air of their next destination. Luckily, Parvati and
Sirius were two peas in a pod, he’d been only too happy to look after her while Hermione and his
godson took their mysterious field trip. The man hadn’t asked any questions, but he also hadn’t
seen the handgun Harry had hidden in his coat.

The carriage bounced roughly once more, jolting her hard. Harry held out a steadying hand to help
keep her seated in the bench across. She pushed her hair out of her face, studying the scenery as
they rounded the corner and entered the neighborhood.

All Hallows.

The air turned thick with dark smog as though they'd entered some invisible bubble where all the
filth and despair was contained. The sound of shouting and children screaming filled the confined
car, working women walking along the streets with their bosoms all but hanging out, heavy kohl
lining their eyes and too much rouge staining their cheeks. A pair of men brawled openly in the
road, staggering drunk, covered in sweat and blood.

Harry blinked. Then slowly turned to meet her gaze. “You have got to be kidding me. You said we
were heading south of the docks.”

She bit her lip. “Technically, we are south of the docks.”

“You know I would have never let you come with me if I had known we were heading to the
slums.”

“Precisely.”

The carriage came to a halt. She wasted no time scrambling out, terrified Harry would order the
driver to turn around immediately.

“Mione—”

“Best we don’t use our given names here. Pay the driver, Vernon.”

Harry jumped down beside her, slamming the door. “What?”

“I said pay the—”

“Mione.”

“Penelope.”

“Bloody hell.” He shook his head, slipping the driver his payment and then directing her out of the
horses’ path. “You get Penelope and I’m stuck with that fat arse’s name?”

“It will catch your attention in a crowded room the same as your actual name would. It’s effective.
Unless you’d prefer Dudley?”

He sighed, the hand at her lower back pushing her out of the way of other pedestrians. “You’re
evil.”

“I’m practical.”

He gazed down at her. “Is there a difference?”

“I suppose not. Now help me figure out where to go. I have no idea what building Lavender grew
up in, but I doubt the specifics matter. This entire place looks…” She gazed around, skin crawling
as a group of nearby men outright leered at her.

“Murdery as fuck,” Harry supplied.

“I was going to say decrepit. But yours sounds better.”

“I’m a born poet.”

“If you start rhyming again we’re certain to get stabbed.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

They walked further along the sidewalk, dark smoke filling the skies above from the factories on
either side. Everyone appeared to be covered in a layer of grime, watching them blatantly.
Hermione edged closer to his side, taking comfort as he slid his arm around her waist, a solid
presence she could cling to. Neither she nor Harry was dressed in fine garb, but they were far too
clean and blemish free to pass as locals.

She became hyper-aware of the gun strapped to Harry's opposite side. Mostly because the men
kept staring at it, their eyes darting between the weapon and Hermione, as though trying to
determine which they wanted more.

“This was a terrible idea,” he muttered lowly.

She swallowed thickly. “I don’t disagree. But we’re already here.”

“Who told you about this place again?”

“Katie.”

“Who is Katie?”

Her heart skipped. Each lie was another sip of arsenic, slowly poisoning her from the inside out.
“A resident who was close to Lavender.”

“Why didn’t she come to Grimmauld with you? None of the girls are safe.”

She gazed up at him, studying his profile. “You want me to bring the entire lot of us to your
estate?”

“Yes.” His voice held no hint of humor. And despite their tense circumstances, she smiled.

“You’re a good man, Harry Potter.”

The corner of his mouth lifted as he met her eye. “Let’s just hope I don’t become a dead man in the
next hour.” And then his gaze lifted, caught by some sight in the distance. She turned around,
searching, and saw a broken sign for an Inn. “Let’s get off the streets and regroup.”

She nodded, taking his arm as he directed her across the street and held open the door. It swung
loose on its hinges. She stepped into the narrow lobby and immediately coughed, the air pungent
with stale and sour sweat.

“What do you want?” A monotone voice asked from behind the desk. She turned around to face
the man as Harry entered behind her, gazing around with obvious disgust.
She elbowed him lightly. He quickly schooled his expression as he walked up to the Innkeeper, an
old man with a grime-caked bald head that sat on full display as he continued to gaze down at the
newspaper. Harry started to place his hand on the counter but she quickly slapped it away. She
couldn’t imagine the bacteria crawling along the surface. The sound drew the man’s focus. His
eyes fell on Harry first, roaming him slowly from top to bottom, expression unchanging, and then
he started on Hermione.

She shifted uncomfortably as his gaze turned heated, leaning into Harry’s side to shield part of her
body. Harry stepped forward, blocking her further. The man ran his tongue along his yellowed
teeth. “You kids lost?”

“Depends on whether this is an Inn or not.” Harry's tone and demeanor transformed before her very
eyes. He seemed taller, broader, wilder. It was a wonderful comfort. She admired his ability to
adapt to any given situation, no matter how bizarre.

And suddenly, the Doctor’s words returned to her unbidden.

“ ... I remain impressed by your adaptability.”

She flushed hotly. The Innkeeper watched the blood rush to the surface of her skin with narrowed
eyes. She fought back a cringe. “We rent by the hour,” he said slowly, eyes still fastened to
Hermione. “But looking at the quality of your girl, I imagine you’ll want at least half a day.”

She blinked, deeply offended. But then the words settled in further, and she realized it was more a
backhanded compliment than anything. Harry reached into his coat. “Four hours is more than
enough.”

“Oh to be young again.” The man pulled the ledger from beneath the desk, slapping it onto the
counter and making her jolt. “That’ll be eight shillings.” His eyes gleamed as Harry slid the money
across the table. Then his eyes fastened to her once more. “You new to these parts, sweetheart?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth before drawing her shoulders back. “Yes.”

“I’ll give you free boarding if you split your earnings with me. Forty percent.”

She blinked, earlier unease long forgotten. “Forty percent! That’s robbery!”

Harry placed a staying hand on her arm. “Penelope.”

She shrugged it off, stepping forward with clenched fists. “I would never agree to such a travesty
of a deal. You should be ashamed even asking—”

“Penelope—”

“Fine,” the man snapped. “Thirty percent.”

She scoffed.

“Alright, alright!” He raised his hands in surrender. “Twenty-five percent, but not a point lower!
You’ll more than triple your work in these parts. This building gets all the townies.” He tipped his
chin at Harry. “Point and case.”

She settled back on her heels, crossing her arms. “I’ll think about it.”

Harry rolled his eyes. The Innkeeper licked his lips, sliding them the key with their room number
attached. “Good. We have free coffee and change the linens every week.”

Hermione blanched. “That’s lovely.”

The man beamed with obvious pride for his establishment. She put up no resistance as Harry
snatched up the key and directed her through the hall towards the stairs.

“Great negotiation skills, Penelope. You’re going to make a killing here.”

She held her chin high. “I was trying to teach him a lesson for the sake of the actual street girls.
Maybe next time he’ll offer them a decent split.”

“You’re an advocate for hookers’ rights now?”

Her spine straightened. “Someone has to be. These beds are probably crawling with gonorrhea.
I’ve never heard of such a health code violation.”

Harry shook his head, placing a hand at her lower back as they ascended to the second floor.
“Come on, you nutter.” They reached the landing. He gazed down at her. “You really think we’re
going to find something here?”

She shrugged. “This neighborhood is a regular picking ground for them. One location, at least. If
anyone knows the man who took Luna, they’ll be here. They may even know where he took her.
Some type of holding cell or something.”

“And you just expect them to tell us where that is?”

Her eyes flashed as she gazed ahead. “If not us, then the gun.”

Harry tensed, studying her closely. She carefully avoided his eye. Instead, she focused upon the
scantily clad, middle-aged woman blocking the path to their room. Her cloudy gaze fell upon them.
She smiled, revealing a row of surprisingly straight and white teeth. “Hello there, luvs. Looking for
a third to join your party?”

They both opened their mouths to speak, only to fall silent with the same, shared idea. They
glanced at each other and arched matching brows. Hermione looked at the woman with a smile of
her own. “Yes, we are.”

. . .

The interior of their room revealed why it was rented on an hourly basis. She couldn't imagine
anyone being able to withstand the filth and smell for any longer than that. The small space was
dark and musty. She hesitated beside the windows.

“I’m afraid to touch the drapes.”

The woman chuckled. “Neither of you is from these parts, huh?”

Hermione shook her head, gingerly pulling the fabric back to allow a thin strip of light into the
room, illuminating their surroundings enough to avoid a collision course with the stained and worn
furniture. “Just visiting.”

The woman scoffed. “What a holiday spot to choose.”

“What’s your name?” Harry asked, tucking his hands in his pockets as he gazed upon her.
She smiled. “Whatever you want it to be, darling.” And then she was standing before him, running
her hands along his shoulders and chest.

He gently grabbed her wrists, removing her touch. “We’re not here for that, luv.”

“No?” She arched her penciled brow, glancing over her shoulder at Hermione, still hovering beside
the window. “Ah, I see. You like to watch.” And then she darted across the room, reaching for
Hermione’s chest.

Hermione reared back, nearly losing her footing and collapsing atop the petri dish of a bed. She
scrambled out of the way just in time, holding up her hands. “We’re not here for that either.”

The woman halted, glancing between them. “Alright… you’re going to have to help me out here
then.”

“We just need information.” Hermione smoothed her ruffled skirts. The woman stared at her for a
long moment before turning on Harry, hands on her hips.

“You a cop?”

“No.”

She ground her teeth, eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.” And then she started for the
door. Hermione looked to Harry desperately, but his eyes were still fastened to the woman’s
retreating figure.

“Would five pounds be able to help us?” he asked.

She froze, arm hovering in mid-air as she reached for the handle. "Five pounds?” She slowly spun
around. Harry removed his billfold. “You came into this neighborhood with that kind of cash? Do
you have a deathwish or something?”

“Or something.” He withdrew the notes, holding them aloft. “Now, will you hang around and
answer some questions?”

She shifted awkwardly for several moments, face pinched and eyes guarded, until she finally
reached out and accepted the bills.

“Alright.” She stuffed the money into her low-cut corset. “But I’m not telling you my name. Rats
get killed out here.”

“That’s fine.” Hermione stepped forward with her heart in her throat. She waited until the woman
met her eyes before continuing. “Girls are taken from this neighborhood often?” The woman was
clearly unnerved by the opening question. Hermione tried to relax her own anxious posture. “I
know powerful people are connected to this. I know the violence goes unchecked, unmentioned. I
know you're scared.” A weighted pause. “I’m scared, too. My friend was murdered. Another
beaten. Another taken. I’m trying to get her back-”

“She’s already dead.”

Hermione jolted at the response.

“Even if she’s still breathing,” the woman muttered, a shadow passing across her face. “She’s
already dead.”
Hermione took a deep breath, forcing her voice steady. “Do you know someone who’s been
taken?”

“Too many to count.”

Harry shifted beside her. “And nothing has been done to stop it?”

The woman focused upon him, venom in her voice. “When I was eight, my older sister was found
stuffed inside a drainage ditch. Last week, three girls were found beside the tracks. No one’s doing
shite to stop it.”

Hermione stepped forward, propelled by the revelation. “Bodies of local girls? They’re being
brought back?”

“We’re all considered trash. This is a dump. Where else would we turn up?”

Hermione settled back on her heels. "How were the girls by the tracks killed?"

“I didn’t see them.” The stranger shrugged nonchalantly. “I think one was strangled. Another
carved up real bad. Missing her eyes. I’m not sure about the third.”

Hermione swayed, a faint buzzing filling her ears. “Missing her eyes?”

The woman raised a brow. “Not the worst condition they’ve been found in, I assure you.”

A powerful wave of nausea swept over her. She pressed a hand to her stomach, glancing away.
Harry moved towards her. “Mione—”

“Penelope,” she whispered on instinct, unable to meet his eye.

The woman glanced between them before sighing. “You kids are way out of your depth here.
You’re going to get yourselves killed asking these kinds of questions.”

Hermione took a few calming breaths before finding her voice. “I just need to know who took her.”

“And then what? You think you can stop the Boogeyman? You’re a slip of a thing.” She stared
pointedly at Harry. “Your man is rather built, but he’s nothing compared to that monster.”

“You’ve seen him?” Hermione asked.

“Glimpses. I’m too old to be a target anymore, one less thing I have to worry about out here.”

“What does he look like?”

“Massive. Tall. Broad. Larger than any other man I’ve laid eyes on before. And trust me, I’ve seen
some giants in my day.”

Hermione nodded, heart swelling at the description that so closely mirrored Katie and Parvati’s.
“Anything else?”

“A jagged scar across his face. Yellow eyes. Like a demon.”

Harry suddenly came to life. “A scar?”

“Yeah.”
“Wait.” He stepped closer. “Do you know his name?”

The woman shrugged. “I’ve heard rumors, but—”

“What are they?”

Her eyes flickered, as though rifling through memories. “Graydon, Greyson—”

“Greyback?”

She blinked once more, gaze snapping back to his. “That’s it.”

Hermione placed a hand on his arm, their code names long forgotten in the wake of whatever
discovery was unfolding before her. “Harry?”

“Shite,” he hissed, running his fingers through his hair. “I know who he is.”

Her pulse thrummed. “What? How?”

“I’ve never met him, but the description sounded familiar.”

“From where?”

He drew in a slow breath, staring at her intently. “He used to be a sailor. They called him the Grey
Wolf. He got discharged for disorderly conduct, his face was scarred in a fight with another sailor.
He beat the man to death but somehow avoided any imprisonment.”

She practically bounced on her heels. “Do you know where we can find him?” Harry shook his
head. She looked to the room’s third occupant.

“Sorry, luv," the woman replied to the silent inquiry.

Hermione deflated at once, struggling to keep the disappointment from her voice. “Thank you for
all your help.”

The woman nodded, backing away. “Be careful, kids.” She started to open the door. “And for what
it’s worth...” She met Hermione’s eye. “I hope you catch the bastard and cut him to pieces.”

Hermione nodded, holding her gaze. “So do I.”

And in the next moment, the mysterious stranger was gone, leaving them in the barren, filthy
room. “We have to find him, Harry.”

“I know.” He gripped her shoulders, as though to keep her from scaling the walls in her wild
pursuit. “We will. Or rather, I will.”

“Harry, please stop trying to—”

“Just listen.” He gently squeezed. “I think I know a lead I can tap, but having you with me will
only draw suspicion and slow things down. If you really want to help Luna, you need to keep
yourself safe. I can work faster if I’m not worried about you.”

She sighed heavily, the ache centered in her chest spreading out to all four limbs, crippling in its
intensity. “Alright.” She rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “But I’m not happy about this.”

She could hear the smirk in his voice. “Trust me, I know.”
 . . .

She slid into the carriage with a groan, muscles sore and bones fatigued from so much physical and
emotional exertion over the last twelve hours. But she was pulled from her exhausted reverie by the
closing door.

Harry remained on the street below. “I’ll grab the next one. This one is going straight to
Grimmauld.” He pinned her with a silent warning. She rolled her eyes, settling back into the seat
without argument. His hand lingered on the window frame. “Mione.” The quiet intensity of his
voice drew her gaze immediately. His jaw tensed. “Cormac was murdered.”

She gasped, leaning forward and placing her hand over his.

“I didn’t want to tell you, I was afraid it would prompt you to do something dangerous.” He
glanced around the ensuing chaos of the street. “But it seems we’re long past that now.” He looked
at her once more, eyes cast in shadow. “So I’m hoping this information will help you understand
why I’m so scared for you. This goes deeper than any of us could have ever predicted. If they
aren’t afraid to kill high-born males, they certainly will have no qualms about coming after you.
Please. Go directly to Grimmauld and stay there with Parvati. Sirius won’t leave your sides.”

She nodded, hand trembling on his. “I promise, Harry. But you’re a target, too now. You shouldn’t
—”

“I’ll find him, Mione. I’ll find her.”

Tears tracked down her face. “I can’t bear to lose you, Harry. I wouldn't be able to survive it.”

He shook his head, expression fierce. “You won’t lose me. I’ll always be there for you. Always.”

She wiped at her cheeks with the hand not bracing his own. “I love you.”

"I love you, too." He flashed his boyish grin, instantly transforming his entire being into his ten-
year-old self, the boy who brought endless light and joy to her life even through the darkest of
storms. And then his expression fell. The man reappeared, pulling back to address the driver.
“Take her straight to Grimmauld, no stops, understand?”

“Yes, Sir," the driver replied.

Harry stood back, holding her gaze steady as the carriage pulled onto the main road, slowing
winding up the path to the bridge. Hermione strained to keep sight of him as long as she could until
her eyes were drawn by the sudden metallic gleam at his hip. The gun was the last part of him she
saw as the carriage rounded the corner.

. . .

Hermione had every intention of keeping her promise. Every intention of staying inside the
carriage until arriving safely at the manor. She really did. Just as she had every intention of
obeying the Doctor’s request to not leave Grimmauld in the first place. But then she'd spoken to
Parvati and the reality of the situation had fully set in. Luna needed them. All of them. And
Hermione couldn’t sit idly by and wait for the boys to save the day. Not when there was the
smallest chance she could be of assistance, the merest hope of discovering something useful,
anything to lead them to her whereabouts.

So, she’d broken her word to the Doctor without guilt, emboldened by her mission to investigate
All Hallows. And as she crossed over the bridge on the route to London proper, another sight
 caught her eye through the foggy window, stealing the breath from her lungs and melting the
resolve from her bones.

“Stop the carriage!”

The driver shook his head. “Sorry, Miss, I’ve been given strict—”

“I’m getting out of this carriage one way or another, you decide whether you want to lose your
permit after running me over!”

A heavy sigh sounded from above. And then the horses slowed to stop along the side of the road.
She wasted no time scrambling out of the car, gazing up. “I’m sorry I threatened you. Please keep
the entire payment as tip.”

He blinked, then broke out into a laugh.“Fascinating day, huh?”

She gathered her skirts, stepping onto the sidewalk. “You have no idea.”

She took off at a brisk walk, carefully sidestepping pedestrians, bouncing on her toes to keep sight
of her moving target. She felt heart-wrenching guilt for breaking her word to Harry but justified her
actions with the same motivation. Anything for Luna.

So when she spotted Doctor Riddle exiting a lively tavern by the docks with his dark collar pulled
high, her every instinct screamed to follow. He was clearly up to something, each movement sharp
and precise, certain of his destination. A thrill seized her. And she decided then and there the boys
would not sideline her anymore. Whatever the Doctor had planned for this evening...

She was along for the ride.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you to Frau_Blucher for providing the inspiration for Parv's bodice/chest
ripping line... I've been waiting to use that bad boy for nine chapters ;)
 What Large Teeth You Have

How do you know I’m mad?

You must be or you wouldn’t have come here.
. . .

Harry gazed around the crowded lobby of the horse track, spine straight and shoulders set,
fortifying himself for the mission ahead.

He was hyper-aware of the gun concealed beneath his coat, the weight at his hip, the burning heat
seeping into his trouser leg, scorching his flesh, inescapable, unforgettable.

He was no stranger to weapons, having been cross-trained with blades and firearms since youth.
The guns on the warship were easily the size of three men, the cannons even larger.

But outside of his uniform, apart from the company of the ship, his men, the revolver at his side
felt far larger than the rifle he carried across his back while seabound.

Now he was in the company of civilians and if he withdrew his weapon there was no good
outcome to be had. Harry already struggled with killing the enemy, his only casualty to date a
pirate who was millimeters away from slicing Ron’s throat. He’d shot the man dead center, bullet
piercing his heart, casting him overboard before the blood even had time to blossom across the
fabric of his shirt.

The adrenaline surging through his veins and ensuing chaos of the ongoing attack had rendered
him numb with shock. He’d continued fighting until they took back control of the vessel, and then
busied himself with assisting the wounded, pushing the incident to the far corners of his mind for
several days, until the weight of his actions came crashing down upon him with crushing swiftness.

He could have easily locked himself away inside his cabin for several days more, reliving the
moment over and over again in his head until it morphed and transformed a thousand different
ways, a thousand different methods of killing the same man.

But he’d chosen to push on, work through the storm in his head, ignore the simmering ache in his
heart. He was a member of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, his sole role to protect the vessel and his
men's lives at all costs. Killing was a dark but accepted part of that duty. He couldn’t afford to fall
to pieces over it. He couldn’t afford to let his men see him crippled by something that was such a
necessary part of their career.

But mostly, he couldn’t let himself be compromised. If he hadn’t shot the pirate Ron would have
died that day. And if Harry hesitated the next time it would undoubtedly cost another sailor his
life.

He wouldn’t allow that to happen.

But he’d be lying if he said a piece of him didn’t fall overboard with the dead man, a part of his
soul now blackened by the knowledge of how it felt to take another's life.

His godfather must have read the disquiet in his eyes, for he’d transferred Harry to another ship
several weeks later with a flimsy excuse about crew restructuring. Harry hadn’t posed any
questions, all too eager to escape his current confines regardless of his captain’s true motivations.

The change of scenery had done well for his head. At least temporarily. Coming home had been an
abrupt transition, and he hadn't been prepared to face Hermione right away. She was too light, too
pure for his tainted spirit to endure just yet. So he'd hidden away with Theo, a peaceful reprieve
from reality until she'd sent word to meet her in the cafe halfway between the manor and her new
abode.

The chaos that ensued since that fateful lunch felt as much of a whirlwind as the pirate attack.

And just as he’d killed to protect Ron, he would do the same for her.

He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

He made his way to the door at the back of the venue, cutting the same path as he had during his
last excursion, making his way steadily up the staircase to the top stands.

As he carefully sidestepped other patrons his thoughts drifted to his last visit and the bizarre
encounter with Daphne just outside the bookie’s office.

With everything else that came to light in the days following he’d forgotten all about the unsettling
exchange.

Which was really saying something, since she knew about Harry and Theo. Not even his best
friends were privy to such knowledge.

But even more alarming, she’d been nearly hysterical when they bumped shoulders.

The elder Greengrass sister had made her opinion regarding the prospect of Harry’s help quite
clear that day, but he couldn’t in good conscience leave her at the mercy of whatever underhanded
dealings Bagman was entangling her in.

He rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

Another mystery added to the pile.

Soon his memory drifted to the other person he’d run into on the stands that morning.

And as if by some dark magic, he summoned the man forth with but a thought.

“Harry! Harry, over here!”

He sighed deeply.

Dear Universe, why do you hate me?

He spun on his heel, facing the surging crowd. Two men were pushed aside to make way for the
portly doctor, eyes bright and faced flushed as he bounded over to Harry with surprising speed.

“What a coincidence, running into you a third time in only a week! I dare say the fates are trying to
tell us something.”

Yes, that they’re out to fuck up my life as well.

“Hello, Horace.”

The doctor rocked back, face beaming.

“What are you up to?”

“Just business.”

The man chuckled, hands resting atop his stomach. “Ah, but of course, business. Me, too. The
horses are just as unpredictable as my patients, but far more pleasant company.”

He continued to laugh at his own jest. Harry’s ground his teeth, nerves stretched too taut to feign
congeniality.

“It’s good to see you again, Horace, but-”

“How is the lovely Ms. Granger?”

Harry blinked, heart jolting.

“Excuse me?”

“Hermione, correct?”

Harry tilted his head, studying the man’s face carefully, but saw nothing amiss in his enthused
expression.

“Yes, that's right.”

"She made quite the impression on me at the Naval party. Afterward, I pulled up some of her
father's published work, refreshed myself on his many breakthroughs. I would love the opportunity
to speak with her on the subject, learn the specifics of her interest in the field.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, realization slowly setting in. His pulse thrummed.

“Are you thinking about endorsing her?”

Slughorn laughed again.

“Well, we’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves, the Medical Act has yet to pass, and even so, she’d
need to score high enough to-”

“She’s brilliant, she’ll pass her exams.”

Slughorn smiled anew. “After speaking to her for only a few minutes, I don’t doubt it. And the
way she faced off against Lord Malfoy.” He shook his head. “She’s got a spine of steel, a great
asset to possess in this line of work. But all the same, I’d merely like to sit down and learn more
about her. I wanted to extend an invitation for tea but don’t have the faintest idea where she
resides.”

“You can send the invitation to Grimmauld, I’ll see that she gets it.”

Slughorn’s grin turned wry.

“I thought as much. The two of you seemed quite… close.”

Harry fought another sigh.

Of course. Slughorn thought they were an item. As everyone did.

Which explained at least part of his motivation for being so eager to attach himself to her. It was
yet another way for him to saddle himself to the last remaining Potter and eventual Black heir.
But if it meant getting Hermione the necessary endorsement to attend medical school, Harry would
happily endure the man’s grating presence.

“We are very close. And I know she’ll be deeply honored to speak with you about her interest in
medicine.”

“Excellent!”

Harry started trying to think of the politest way to extract himself from this conversation when
another idea struck him seemingly at random.

“You’ve worked at St. Mungo’s for many years, haven’t you?”

“Try many decades, my boy.”

Harry licked his bottom lip, unconsciously shifting closer.

“Do you know a Doctor Thomas Riddle?”

The events that followed were many things, but in a word: fascinating.

Slughorn seemed to flush and pale at the same time, mouth opening and closing in rapid succession
as he physically reared back while managing to keep his feet firmly rooted to the spot.

Harry raised a brow.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I-” Slughorn cleared his throat, pulling at his collar. “Yes, I know of Doctor Riddle. Why do you
ask?”

He was clearly trying to effect a casual tone and posture, which only made his discomfort all the
more obvious.

“You know of him, or you know him personally?”

Slughorn blinked several times, wheels turning behind his gaze. Harry’s unease grew tenfold, long
buried suspicions finding solid ground at last.

“The latter.”

Silence festered between them.

Slughorn shifted, suddenly looking as though he were the one trying to escape.

“Horace.”

The doctor jolted lightly, the intensity of Harry’s voice rendering him frozen.

“Is he dangerous?”

Slughorn blinked again.

“Why would you think to ask me that?”

“Because I’ve met him.”

A beat. Then two.

And then to Harry’s great bemusement, the man tipped his head back and started to laugh.

Harry’s brows drew together, questions firing through his head too quickly to give voice to a single
inquiry.

“I apologize, Harry,” Slughorn gasped, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “Your rather prosaic
observations took me off guard. I’m not laughing at your expense, I assure you.”

“I’m not offended. Just confused.”

Slughorn finally settled down, face flush from exertion.

“Riddle has quite a presence, I’m well aware. From the moment I first laid eyes on him I knew he
was a man of great influence. I had the pleasure of working beside him in the surgery unit and saw
his brilliance first hand. His skills with a scalpel are unparalleled, even at his young age. I daresay I
had the honor of becoming one of his closest confidants, my recommendation led to his promotion
as Head of Surgery.”

Harry drew back.

“Head of Surgery?”

“Yes. The youngest to ever hold the position. A true prodigy.”

“Why on earth would he give all that up to work at a wayward girls’ home?”

Slughorn blinked.

“He’s back in London?”

“Yes.”

“I… I had no idea. But surely that’s not his employment.”

“I’m quite certain.”

Slughorn glanced away, eyes flickering back and forth, as though searching the recesses of his
memory for the answer.

Harry pressed on.

“You consider him a friend?”

Slughorn met his eye once more, expression turning guarded. “I don’t believe a man such as that
considers anyone a friend. But I’d like to think he thinks of me as a trusted associate.”

“Then why did you look startled when I first mentioned him?”

Slughorn's eyes widened a fraction, flush deepening, spreading down his neck and disappearing
beneath his collar.

“Oh, well, the name took me off guard, you see. I always referred to him by Tom, most everyone
did. I suppose he wanted to distance himself from any association.”
Harry raised a dark brow. “Association? With who?”

The doctor’s shoulders tensed.

“His father.”

He delivered the two words with such ominous overtone Harry felt his blood run cold.

“His father works at Mungo’s as well?”

“Not any longer.”

Harry tilted his head. “He’s retired?”

“He’s dead.”

Suddenly the crowd at their side exploded into raucous movement and shouting, the race below
coming to an end.

Slughorn stepped away, posture defensive, clearly withdrawing from the conversation.

"I'm afraid I must get back to my seat, Harry. But it was such a delight running into you again. I
will send word to Grimmauld regarding my meeting with Ms. Granger at haste."

Harry opened his mouth, fists tightening at his sides, eager to extract more information regarding
this unfurling mystery, but he was reminded of his original purpose in visiting the track as the
crowd continued to cheer and undulate.

At least Hermione’s away from the Home...

And the Doctor.

He’d worry about Riddle later.

“It was good seeing you, Horace. Take care.”

They parted ways, Slughorn turning away first, an occurrence Harry had never witnessed before.

He made his way to the upper deck, striding to Bagman’s office and bringing his fist down upon
the door.

After the third strike, he opened it without invitation.

The sound of shuffling papers filled with the room, along with the creaking of a chair.

“What on earth-” A weighted pause as Harry strode into the tiny office. It was as chaotic as he
recalled from his last visit.

And then the man seated behind the desk sprang to his feet, nearly tipping a stack of books to the
floor.

“Ah, Mr. Potter! How wonderful to see you again!”

Harry directed the full intensity of his emerald gaze upon the man. “I doubt you’ll think so in a
minute.”

Bagman blinked, slowing his walk around the desk. “I’m sorry?”
Harry shut the door behind him.

“I need information.”

“On a horse?”

He turned to face the bookie, eyes glimmering with flame.

“On a wolf.”

Bagman froze, mouth hanging open for several moments before he cleared his throat.

“I’m afraid I don’t-”

“Yes, you do.”

Harry took several calculated steps forward, driving the man back into the corner.

“You understand perfectly well.”

He came to a stop with only a few feet to spare, allowing his larger frame to tower over his prey,
relishing the dawning fear in his eyes.

Good.

Let him be scared of me.

I won’t have to resort to more drastic means.

“I’m willing to pay you for the information. Then I’ll walk away. Or we can take the messy route,
the one where I threaten to expose your entire operation to the police.”

Bagman’s brows drew together, fear rapidly giving way to agitation.

"Operation? You mean my business? I assure you, Potter, everything I do is perfectly above
board."

Harry smirked without humor. “Is that so?”

The bookie paled, voice raising an octave. “Gambling is legal, as are the services rendered at
Amortentia, selling keys is perfectly within my rights.”

“And how do you obtain those keys?”

Bagman pressed harder into the wall, shoulders tense. “The Lestranges provide them to me.”

“Out of the charity of their hearts? Or as payment for your silence?”

The man blinked rapidly, complexion turning waxen.

“I- I-”

"Last I checked, human trafficking is still frowned upon in Britain. I wonder what Captain Bones
would think about all this. I'm close friends with his daughter, you know. Had dinner with the man
just the other night.”

Bagman practically croaked. “Bones?”

Harry’s smirk turned into a shite eating grin. “Head of the CID. I dare say this type of operation is
right up his alley. What do you think?”

Bagman's eyes turned comically wide, pupils constricting to tiny points. "You have no idea who
you're messing with, Potter. The people involved in this could crush you without breaking a
sweat."

Harry’s smile dropped like a dead weight, the intensity of his gaze pinning the man in place as
effectively as steel spikes.

“I don’t doubt it. But if they’re capable of wiping a Peer off the face of the map, what do you think
they’ll do to you?”

Bagman swallowed audibly before releasing a high pitched sound that was somewhere between
speech and a wail.

“Exactly.” Harry eased back, satisfied his message was received. “As I said, I just need
information, then I’ll walk away. You're not the one I’m after.”

After several beats Bagman found his voice, though it was patched together with uneven tones.

“You want Greyback.”

It wasn’t a question, so Harry didn’t bother confirming it. Instead, he lowered his chin, face and
posture menacing.

“Where can I find him?”

Hermione bit her lip, pressing against the side of a shop as the Doctor came to a stop at the end of
the street, waiting for a carriage to pass before stepping into the crowded intersection.

She released a sharp breath and clutched her skirts, jogging to keep up with his long stride while
maintaining a healthy distance, heels rapidly clicking the pavement.

His pace remained constant, his final location an utter mystery. But he had yet to flag down a ride,
to her great relief and frustration. While following him by carriage would be logistically harder, it
would be immensely less straining on her exhausted constitution.

He turned the corner suddenly, causing her to groan and stumble into to lamppost while dodging
oncoming pedestrians, turning on her heel and dashing after her elusive target.

She rounded a newsstand, entering the street.

And stopped in her tracks.

The Doctor was nowhere in sight.

What the hell?

He didn’t have that much of a head start…

Her heart leaped into her throat as she caught sight of his dark coat trailing him into an alley
between a diner and grocer.

She breathed a sigh of relief, following quickly.

And hesitated outside of a fruit stand, taking a deep breath before peaking over her shoulder into
the alley beyond, curious if it was a dead end he would emerge from any moment.

Sure enough, the pathway led to a crowded street on the other side. The Doctor cut a straight route
through the center and disappeared from sight once more.

She lifted her skirts and charged headlong into the narrow divide, mindful of where she stepped,
dumpsters on either end filled with spoiled food, stray cats darting past her feet.

She reached the other side, stepping out onto the sidewalk-

And gasped sharply as a hand grasped her upper arm, steel fingers encasing her flesh and bone,
unrelenting.

The trap was followed by a solid wall of black pressing into her body, driving her back so quickly
she lost her balance.

A strong arm encased her waist, pulling her flush against an unyielding chest as she was lifted clear
off the cobblestone and carried backward, spine colliding with the brick wall a moment later.

She opened and closed her mouth in shock, wide eyes meeting a raging storm that rendered her
silent with terror.

In the next stuttered heartbeat the rest of his face came into view, the sharp angles and dark brow
familiar yet no less unsettling.

His jaw tensed, expression livid, though his words held an eerie calm.

“You must be mad.”

She swallowed thickly, muscles tensed, pinned as she was between his body and the wall.

“I thought we already established that in the attic.”

His eyes flashed, something wild taking root within, causing them to gleam unnaturally as gazed
down upon her. “I thought your superior intellect excluded you from such an affliction. I see now I
made a gross miscalculation.”

Her pulse thrummed, heat rising along her neck.

“Just because I want to help find my friend doesn’t make me insane!”

“I should have known the Potter boy wouldn’t be able to keep you contained.” The hand still
trapping her arm squeezed painfully. She flinched. His fingers loosened immediately, though they
were no less restraining. “I should have tied you up myself. Another miscalculation. One I won’t be
making again.”

“Naturally, the moment I don’t do your exact bidding your first inclination is to lock me away!”

“On the contrary, Ms. Granger. You’ve been going against my bidding from the moment we first
met.” His tone was calm, unaffected by her ire. “At this point, I would have more success
commanding you to do the opposite of what I truly want.”

“I am not a child!”

“I assure you, I’m well aware of that fact.”

His gaze darkened, a shadow passing across his visage, making her stunningly cognizant of the
suffocating heat and pressure of his frame pressing into every part of her.

“I won’t be hidden away, and I won’t sit idly by while Luna is still missing. If you refuse to let me
help look for her then at least allow me to evacuate the girls from the Home. Harry is willing to
bring them all to Grimmauld-”

“That’s ludicrous.”

Her flush deepened, emotions warring within her for dominance. “The Manor is nearly the size of
the Home, there’s plenty of room-”

“If we transfer the residents it will alert the organization to our movements and any chance we
have of retrieving Ms. Lovegood will be destroyed.”

“Then let me help!” Her chest heaved against him, his weight suffocating, grounding. “I’m the true
target, I’m the one they want! Surely I’m of more use to you as a tool than a hidden artifact.”

“You will be of no use to me if you’re dead.”

Her heart stuttered painfully. She slowly wet her lips, breath straining against the vice strangling
her lungs.

“You won't let anything happen to me. I’m safer at your side than I am at Grimmauld.”

He blinked. Then searched her gaze with his own. What he was looking for she hadn’t the slightest
clue. But he seemed to find it a moment later, his body easing back just a fraction, just enough to
allow part of her senses to come flooding back.

“That is quite the assumption to make.”

“It’s no assumption.” She spoke without hesitation, without thought, words filling her mouth
unbidden. “Parvati was right. She articulated what I’ve known all along. You’re dangerous. But
you pose no threat to me. I understand that now.”

He swallowed lightly. “You know nothing about me.”

Her brows drew together, chest alighting with chronic ache.

“I know you grew up in squalor, with a mother who was absent even when she was in the same
room. I know you resent her for pining after a man who abused her, who wanted to kill you both.”

His expression froze, solidifying into an impenetrable mask. His body underwent a similar
transition, turning to stone before her very eyes, an unyielding mass she clung to on instinct.

“I know you detest her for taking her own life, for choosing the easy way out instead of staying and
fighting at your side. And you detest yourself for missing her anyway. She’s the heart of all of this,
your underlying motivation for everything you do.”

Her hands were gripping his biceps, nails digging into the thick fabric of his coat as though to keep
him in place, though he made no movement whatsoever, standing so still he didn't seem to breathe.

“You’ve been forging this battle alone for most of your life. It’s your obsession. Your purpose for
being. You’ve allowed the quest for revenge to consume you, possess your every thought and
action. I know you have trouble trusting anyone, least of all someone you’ve only just met.”
Her heart was racing in her chest, set to burst through at any moment, spilling her life’s blood
down across both their fronts.

But still, she forged on.

“The idea of relinquishing even a morsel of control must make you sick with revulsion. You’ve
gotten to this point all on your own, so why let someone else into the fold now?”

His eyes flickered rapidly between hers, the mask cracking along the edges, his true visage peering
through, utterly stricken in its stillness, utterly heartbreaking.

“But you can’t do this alone, Tom.”

She felt a shudder run along his frame, echoing throughout her own. The arm still strapped across
her lower back flexed, pressing her against his abdomen.

“This final battle, this final push to victory is too precious to let slip through your fingers due to
sheer stubbornness. You know everything there is to know about me. My past, my parents, my
hopes and dreams.”

She wet her lips once more, mouth dry with exertion. His gaze lowered, tracking the movement,
lingering as she continued opening every vein before him, too late to turn back now.

“You know things not even Harry is privy to. Dolohov’s attack. The hallucinations.”

She swallowed thickly.

“I have no secrets from you. I’ve laid every card I’ve ever kept close to my chest on the table. I’m
stripped bare. You know my motivations, my dedication to seeing this through.”

His eyes moved back up, meeting her own. She felt dizzy, certain she’d collapse if not for his arms
holding her upright.

“If you don’t start trusting me we’ll lose Luna and any chance we have of stopping them.”

She gasped for breath, utterly gutted.

Exposed.

The silence that met her plea was deafening.

Crippling in its absolution.

She began to tremble, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay-

And then to her immense relief, his muscles slowly eased, body melting into her.

“I trust you.”

It sounded as though he were pulling the words from the far recesses of his throat, dragging them
along jagged rocks and gravel.

“But I am not deserving of the same. I couldn’t protect my mother, Luna was taken right out from
under me. I won’t risk losing you to the Dollmaker.”

She inhaled deeply, oxygen flooding her system and dimming the edges of her vision, leaving only
his face in perfect clarity. She went limp in his hold, surrendering fully to the moment.

“If we don't stop them I’m already lost. It’s only a matter of time before Greyback breaks into
Grimmauld and kills everyone I love to get to me. Nowhere is safe. Not until the evil is stopped at
its source.”

His jaw tensed, the raw heat in his eyes igniting, the blaze scorching.

“Greyback.”

He practically growled the name. Her heart jolted.

“That’s who took Luna.” She paused, studying his face carefully.

And then her spine went rigid once more.

“And by your lack of reaction, I suspect you already knew that detail.”

The arm bracing her middle tightened, as though to quell any renewed attempts to flee.

“You went on a field trip.”

She tipped her chin up. “Harry and I visited All Hallows.”

“Christ.”

“I would have been able to skip the journey if you had been honest with me in the first place!” Her
eyes narrowed. “How do you know Greyback?”

“I’ve heard enough stories to piece together his description long before I laid eyes upon him at the
poker game.”

She blinked, irritation forgotten.

“Poker game? He was invited?”

“Not as a player. He came to see Dolohov. Lestrange was quite upset by his appearance.”

She glanced away, mind racing, hands flexing upon his arms.

“Do you think-”

"Yes, I do. But to make absolutely certain I'm going to ask him myself.”

She met his gaze once more, eyes wide. His own was molten at the core.

“You know where to find him?”

His jaw ticked, as though considering his words.

“I know where he’ll be.”

“That’s where you're heading?” A thrill seized her. She bounced on her heels, inadvertently
pressing harder against him. “I’m coming with you.”

He raised a dark brow, eyes roaming her face with methodical precision.
“This is where I tell you that’s a terrible idea.”

“Yes. And I counter with nothing you say or do will stop me from seeing this through.”

His voice lacked any trace of amusement.

“Wonderful.”

She bit her bottom lip. “May we skip it this time?”

He exhaled slowly, chest expanding out, pressing her into the wall.

“Since time is of the essence, and I have no doubt you’ll sneak out of any place I try and sequester
you, I suppose I have little choice.”

She smiled brightly. “Wonderful.”

His eyes narrowed.

She schooled her expression as best she could, but the corner of her lips refused to cooperate.

He shook his head and took a step back, arms falling away a moment later, leaving her bereft of his
warmth and weight. She swayed on her feet, pressing her hands into the brick to regain her
bearings.

He watched her movements carefully, keen eyes missing nothing. She flushed in embarrassment,
scrambling for a distraction.

“How did you know I was following you?”

He met her gaze with stunning swiftness, causing her to freeze in place.

“I caught your scent on the wind.”

Her heart skipped a beat, nails scraping along the mortar.

He tipped his head, a smirk playing at the corner of his own mouth. “And then I caught your
reflection in the store windows. Your stealth leaves much to be desired.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help but mirror his expression, feeling foolish for thinking she had
the jump on him as he steadily lured her into the dark alley.

But their shared amusement was quickly squashed. His expression sobered rapidly, prompting her
to blink in confusion.

“If you insist on accompanying me, I must warn you of something.”

The chill in his voice made her breathing slow.

“My plans for Greyback this evening extend far beyond mere conversation.”

She stood away from the wall, spine lengthening, shoulders widening.

“He beat Parvati unconscious and stole Luna right out of my bed. I don’t want to have a
conversation with him.”

Her hands curled at her sides, talon-tipped claws piercing through her palms.
“I want him to suffer.”

His eyes slowly roamed her face, as though he expected such a response.

“We shall see if you still feel that way when the time comes.”

His casual remark made her pulse thrum, the hard lines on her posture falling lax once more.

He didn't seem phased by either metamorphosis. Instead, he extended his arm with casual grace.

“Come now.”

She blinked, lurching forward on unsteady legs, grasping his arm with trembling hands.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re making a detour.” He began to lead them out of the alley, onto the side street he accosted
her on moments before. “You must be properly attired for the mission ahead.”

She raised a brow, glancing down at her dress.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

He steered them around the corner, his tall, darkly clad figure easily clearing space for them as
pedestrians navigated out of their path.

“It lacks the necessary lure to draw the wolf from his den.”

She tipped her head up, studying the sharp line of his jaw. “I thought I was the lure?”

His lips curled into a secretive smile, eyes still focused ahead.

“That you are.”

And then his gaze flickered down, meeting hers with such vibrant intensity she stumbled over her
own feet. She used her grip on his arm to regain her balance, flushing hotly.

The dark amusement in his voice vibrated through every bone in her body.

“That you are.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair as he followed the sound of voices and tinkling crystal to the
study.

The sight that greeted him left him shaking his head with mirth.

His godfather caught his movement from the corner of his eye and glanced up from the card
strewed coffee table, a joyous smile alighting his face.

“There he is!”

His voice was a bit too boisterous to fit the occasion. Harry glanced at the half-empty decanter
beside the man's bare foot.

“I see the two of you are getting along quite nicely.”

Parvati glanced over her shoulder, eyes bright and cheeks flush. “Splendidly!”

Sirius tossed the cards in his hand down.

“Ms. Patil was just showing me how to count cards. Bloody brilliant girl.”

She winked. “I have many talents.”

Harry sighed, slowly crossing his arms.

“Let me guess, Mione lectured you both on the dangers of gambling and the immorality of cheating
before you chased her out of the room?”

Parvati blinked. Sirius tilted his head. Harry’s stomach dropped.

“Mione isn’t here,” she said.

“What?” He strode forward, pulse skipping.

“She left with you.”

“I sent her home over an hour ago.”

Parvati tried to push to her feet, cringing in pain. Sirius bolted upright, helping to steady her.

“Maybe she took a detour to the Home?” The man offered, glancing past her dark head of hair to
his godson.

“No, she wouldn’t do that,” Parvati responded, voice hard.

“I told her to bring back some of the girls,” Harry said, hands clenching. “Maybe she-”

“She told you what happened?”

Harry stopped short, holding her dark gaze with a festering sense of dread.

“She told me your friend was kidnapped.”

Sirius drew back. “Kidnapped?” He pinned his godson with an uncharacteristically intense stare.
“Alright, I think it’s time someone brings me up to speed.”

“There’s no time.” Parvati's gaze never wavered from Harry. “She didn’t tell you everything.” She
drew in a slow breath, stance rigid. “I think she’s in trouble.”

Harry raked his fingers through his hair for the second time, swallowing heavily.

“Goddammit, Mione.”

Draco placed his hands in his pockets, shifting anxiously in the extravagant entry, restless down to
his bones.

The sharp clicking of heels on marble drew his focus to the hall. But the gait was all wrong. Too
hard, too abrupt.

He fought back a cringe as a vibrant swish of turquoise silk emerged into the room a heartbeat
before its owner.
“What do you want?”

He sighed. “Hello to you, too, Daphne.”

She crossed her arms tightly, coming to a stop several feet away.

“You’re early.”

“I need to speak to Astoria.” He pinned her with a pointed look. “Privately.”

He expected an argument, as per their normal dealings, and was thrown decidedly off course as the
formidable Greengrass sister’s shoulders lowered, eyes averting to some spot just beyond his head.

“She told me what you did. With her manuscript.” Her jaw tensed. “I haven’t seen her this excited
about something in…” She shook her head, swallowing lightly. “In a long time.”

She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze once more. “I hope you aren’t here to ruin that.”

Draco blinked. "This has nothing to do with her manuscript. I have every intention of helping her
send it out to every major publisher on the island and continent until we find someone willing to
print it.”

Daphne stared at him in silence for several beats.

“That’s…” She opened and closed her mouth, clearly searching for the words. “That’s very decent
of you, Draco.”

“High praise coming from you, Greengrass.”

They both smirked.

“It still doesn’t change your pending engagement.”

His amusement faded.

“I’m working on it.”

Her expression sobered as well.

“I’m not sorry I threw you out last time.”

“I deserved it. I was a complete idiot.”

“Admitting it is the first step to recovery.”

He couldn’t contain his burst of laughter.

And then the soft clicking of heels echoed off the marble.

“Draco?”

They both turned to face the room’s third occupant.

“Tori. I know I’m early-”

“Is everything alright? Are you okay?”

He blinked, taken off guard by the concern in her voice. How long had it been since someone
asked him that question?

“I’m fine.”

The silence stretched on, an oppressive weight pressing upon his chest until Daphne delicately
cleared her throat.

“I’ll give you both some privacy.”

Astoria raised a dark brow, watching her sister exit the room with shock clear upon her face. Her
eyes darted back to Draco.

“Did you drug her?”

He smiled anew.

“We’ve turned a new leaf. At least for today.”

“I see.” She wet her lips, stepping further into the room. “Would you like to sit?”

"I haven't the time. There's something I must take care of." He shifted closer, trying to keep his
voice calm and steady, his posture eased. “I won’t be able to escort you to the publishing house.
But I’ve already paid for the order. You just need to pick it up. I’d send one of my footmen but I
assumed-”

“I want to see it in person.” She tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “What’s happened Draco? I can tell
something’s wrong.”

He swallowed, the words filling his mouth without restraint or filter.

“I need to check on Granger.”

“Hermione?” She straightened, eyes wide. “Is she in trouble?”

His pulse raced at the mere notion.

“I don’t know.”

She nodded quickly. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

His hands loosened at his sides, brows drawing in.

“Thank you, Tori.”

She tilted her head. “For what?”

“Being so…” He swallowed lightly. “Understanding. It’s a relief having someone I can be honest
with.”

“What are friends for?”

Her smile was warm, knowing.

He tried to respond in kind but his spent nerves wouldn’t allow for such an expression to grace his
face. He went for words instead.
"I can't wait to read your book. I already know it's going to be a bestseller."

Her laughter echoed off the vaulted ceiling, soft as chimes.

“I’m serious. You’re going to be known for more than just your beauty and pedigree. This book is
your heart and soul and the world is going to fall in love with it.”

Her amusement faded at once, eyes blinking rapidly as tears filled her gaze.

“Thank you, Draco.”

He nodded, looking away, affording her privacy to wipe them dry. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

He walked to the door, reaching for the handle.

“Draco.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

She twisted her hands before her full skirts. “I hope she’s alright.”

His jaw tensed, chest tightening painfully.

“Me, too.”

“Let me get this straight…”

Harry continued to wear a hold into the rug as he paced back and forth relentlessly.

“Hermione was the true target last night, she wasn’t at the Home because she dressed as a house
girl and snuck into Amortentia- again- in the company of the bloody Doctor no less, and then she
came here and persuaded me to take her into the slums where the man hunting her is known to
frequent?”

Parvati cringed lightly, pressing back into the chair. “About sums it up.”

Harry nodded.

“Fantastic. After I find her, I’m going to kill her.”

Sirius stood from the wall he'd been leaning against as Parvati recalled her tale.

“Slow down a minute, what do you mean snuck into Amortentia again?”

Harry sighed, running a hand over his face. His godfather raised a dark brow.

“This is what you've been keeping from me?”

Harry’s jaw tensed as a sapphire gaze flashed through his mind. He swallowed heavily.

“Yes.”

Sirius tipped his head. “I guess I’m out of the running for the parent of the year award.”

“We have to find her,” Parvati interjected, spine straight. “I’ve encountered Greyback twice now
and I assure you, he packs a wallop.”
Harry and Sirius both tensed. The latter spoke first.

“We’re going to the authorities-”

“No!” Harry and Parvati shouted at the same time.

Sirius drew back, glancing between them.

“Funny, you both mispronounce yes the same way.”

“The police won’t do shite-”

Harry held up staying hand, addressing his godfather directly.

“She’s right, Sirius. They’ll bring us all in for hours of questioning and Hermione will be left
exposed even longer. We have to get her back now, on our own.”

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing.

“Bloody hell.” Several moments passed before he glanced up again, resignation in his voice.
“Where do you suppose we look?”

“She’s hunting Greyback, same as us.” Parvati looked to Harry. “She’ll go where she thinks he is.”

Harry drew in a deep breath.

“Amortentia.”

She nodded. “Bagman told you he checks in there every evening. She’ll have likely figured it out
by now, too. Which means she’ll head back to the Home to pick up the costume.”

“Then we go to the Home and intercept her,” Sirius said.

“Unless she’s already left.”

“I’ll go to the Home.” Parvati slowly pushed up from her seat. “If a costume is missing I’ll know
she was there and what her plan is.” She held Harry’s gaze. “You go on ahead to Amortentia. See
if you can spot her or find Greyback first. If he’s taken off the street he won’t be a threat to her
either way.”

Sirius blinked, face paling. “Wait a minute, what are you saying?”

Harry nodded, turning to face the man. “You wait here, Sirius, in case she comes back-”

“Like hell! I’m not sitting back while you go off and kill someone.”

“I’m not going to kill him.” His jaw tensed. “I need him alive to find out where the other girl is.”

“Luna,” Parvati said softly.

He nodded. “Luna.” He held his godfather's eye. “I have to do this, Sirius. To protect Hermione.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed, Harry. If Greyback checks in at Amortentia it’s because he’s
working for Rodolphus or Rabastan. If either of them spots you there you'll become the next
target."

“I won’t be spotted. I’ll be in disguise.”

“Harry, I won’t allow it.”

“I’m not asking permission, Sirius.”

The both stood rigidly, fists clenched at their sides, shoulders braced for impact.

After a short eternity, Sirius released a long breath, deflating before his eyes.

“If something happens to you-”

“It won’t.” He reached out, resting a hand atop his wide shoulder. “But something could very well
happen to Mione. She needs me. And I need you to trust me.” A weighted pause. “And to let me
go.”

Sirius’s eyes turned glassy. He blinked, stepping back and glancing away.

“If you aren’t back inside this house by nine o'clock sharp I’m bringing the entire Navy with me to
Amortentia and tearing apart every square inch until I find you.”

Harry couldn’t suppress his smirk. “Fair enough.”

He turned to Parvati.

“Are you sure about this? You’re hurt-”

“I’m not losing someone else I care about.” She stood firm, chin held high. “I’m helping.”

He nodded, holding out his arm to escort her from the room.

“Harry.”

He glanced at his godfather once more.

“Please, don’t go there alone.”

The emeralds in his gaze flashed in response.

“I won't.”

The overhead bell chimed loudly as Astoria entered the shop.

She glanced around the bright, open space, seeing no movement aside from the fractured daylight
reflecting off the stained glass window.

“Hello?”

A muffled thump sounded from somewhere beyond the back wall.

“Just a moment!”

She crossed the room to stand before the front counter, hands folded primly at her front. She
glanced around the shop with uncandid interest, examining the beautiful books on display,
breathing in deep the comforting scent of leather and parchment.

Her chest swelled with longing.

And then heavy footsteps sounded down the hall. She quickly averted her gaze forward, smiling
pleasantly as the door behind the counter opened.

Only for her heart to skip a beat.

The young man standing before her glanced up and froze.

They stared at each other in silence for the space of another stuttered heartbeat before a grin spread
across his face like wildfire.

“Hello.”

She immediately blushed and silently chastised herself for having such a childish reaction.

“Hello.”

He fell silent again, seemingly content to just stare at her from behind the counter. She delicately
cleared her throat, a trait she had inherited from Daphne when trying to covertly gain someone’s
attention.

“Do you work here?”

He blinked.

“Oh, right.” His laughter was rich and deep. “Sorry. Um, I’m helping out the Tonks today. How
can I help you?”

“I’m here to pick up a manuscript.”

He nodded, stepping in closer. “What’s the name on the order?”

She wet her lips, brow furrowing. “I’m not sure. Check under Malfoy.”

He seemed taken aback for a moment but quickly recovered.

“Alright.”

He leaned over and started rummaging beneath the counter, out of her line of view. After a few
more seconds of searching, he hummed low in his throat.

“No Malfoy.”

She leaned in, eyes focused on the table top as though she could see through it if she focused hard
enough.

“Try Greengrass.”

His eyes flickered up, smile catching flame once more.

“Thought I recognized you.”

She blinked, settling back on her heels.

“Have we met?”

“I saw you at the Naval party.”

She smiled.

“Are you a sailor?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I’m a bit too adverse to authority to be trusted with our
nation’s security.”

The unassuming admission took her off guard, causing her own laughter to bubble up unbidden. He
seemed to bask in the sound, leaning against the counter and extending his hand.

“I’m a friend of Harry Potter, name’s Fred Weasley.”

She blinked, staring at his proffered palm with a curious expression.

The social etiquette was to kiss a woman’s knuckles.

She was quite certain she’d never shaken hands in her life.

Which made the prospect of doing so now simply irresistible. She raised her arm and pressed her
palm into his own, warmth alighting across her skin and through her entire body.

His grip was strong, sure. She felt the calluses on his fingertips scrape gently along her smooth
flesh. Her mouth went dry. His smiled deepened.

He continued to hold her hand long after the customary shake ended.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fred.” Her voice sounded high and grating to her ears. She swallowed
heavily before continuing. “I’m Astoria.”

Color rose in his cheeks, highlighting the caramel freckles scattered along his nose and the apples
of his cheeks.

“The pleasure is all mine, Astoria.”

Her heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears, pulse thrumming wildly in her wrists and at the back of her
knees. Though he only grasped her hand, she’d never had a touch linger upon her person for so
long.

Not even Daphne’s.

The realization caused her to jerk her hand away, eyes averting to the counter.

He seemed to snap out of their shared daze at the same moment.

“Oh, shite, your manuscript.”

He leaned over once more, flipping through paper stacks. She bit her tongue to suppress a grin,
unaccustomed to hearing a man swear in her presence.

A moment later he was standing tall with a thick binding in his hands.

“Here we are. Got done printing it this morning. It’s still warm.”

She tilted her head, eyes darting from the manuscript to his gaze.

“You print the books yourself?”

“Some of them. Testing out a new part on the press.”

She smiled, eager to ask him more questions, deeply fascinated by the process of bookmaking, but
was rendered silent as he set the manuscript on the counter and began examining the cover.

Her heart thumped erratically as his fingertips grazed the cursive letters of her name.

“You wrote this?”

She shifted anxiously. “Yes.”

He released a short laugh, gazing up through his auburn lashes. “Beauty and brains.”

Warmth exploded in her face and neck, causing her to blush every shade of crimson. “I don’t know
about that,” she said quickly, hands twisting her skirts. “It’s not an educational piece, that’s for
sure.”

And then, without prompt or permission, he opened the cover and began reading the first page. She
leaped forward, hand raised.

“Oh, please don’t-”

“It begins with a murder.” He arched a brow, eyes continuing to flicker rapidly across the text.
“Bloody hell, this is fantastic.”

Her heart jolted. She rested her hands on the counter.

And studied his profile as he continued to read at leisure, his smile continuing to grow.

She bit her lip, trying to contain her own grin.

And then without warning his eyes darted up. Their gazes met. She forgot how to breathe.

“This will fly off the shelf.”

The statement held no trace of humor, yet it caused her to erupt into a fit of unrestrained laughter,
tears pooling in her eyes. She covered her mouth, mortified by her bizarre reaction, but he seemed
all too pleased with her indelicate show.

After a few moments, she found her breath again, inhaling deeply, gripping the edge of the counter
to steady herself.

“You're very sweet.”

He flashed a wry smirk. “The majority of my family would disagree with you. They think I’m a bit
of an arsehole most days.”

She laughed anew, delighted by his lack of censorship in her company. She suspected this was how
he acted with everyone, regardless of rank and title. It was wonderfully refreshing.

“Fred?”

They both reared back at the new voice.

The door swung open once more, a familiar face emerging.

“Oh, Astoria, how lovely to see you again, my dear.”

Astoria dipped into a curtsy, her balance slightly off in the wake of the last few minutes.

“Madam Tonks.”

“Please, call me Andy.” The Madam directed her radiant smile on Fred, though her eyes narrowed
slightly. “I heard quite a bit of laughter coming from this room. I see you’ve met Mr. Weasley.”
She arched a dark brow. “I trust you were a complete gentleman the entire time?”

He quickly glanced away. Astoria straightened.

“Yes, he was.”

And then to her great shock, he met her gaze and winked, causing her to rock back on her heels.

The Madam watched the silent exchange and rolled her eyes, smile never faltering as she stepped
closer to the counter and peered down at the manuscript.

“I am happy you came to pick this up yourself, I wanted to speak with you directly.”

Astoria’s brain rapidly recalibrated.

“I read the first half.” The Madam glanced up, expression sobering. “My husband and I would like
first publishing rights.”

Astoria blinked. A faint buzzing filled her ears. She blinked again.

And then she met Fred’s eye. He was grinning like a loon, triggering the same reaction in her.

She pressed a hand to her chest, gazing at Mistress Tonks once more as she desperately tried to
think of an eloquent response to capture the full magnitude of her appreciation and joy, yet when
she parted her lips only once thing came to mind.

“Oh my god!”

Andromeda tipped her head back and laughed.

“I take it you’re interested?”

Astoria nodded so emphatically she nearly got a cramp in her neck. “Yes!”

“Wonderful. I’d like to have you to our home for lunch this week. We can discuss the details then.”

She continued to nod, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

“Yes, I would be honored.”

“The honor is ours, dear girl. You have a very distinctive voice, one that must be heard.”

There was nothing for it, water spilled from the corners of her eyes. She wiped her cheeks quickly,
too excited to feel proper embarrassment.

“Thank you.”

Andromeda smiled, eyes gleaming as she studied Astoria’s face with careful precision, as though
reading some hidden text printed along the front.
“I think the two of us will have much to chat about.”

She gently pushed the manuscript forward. Astoria reached out and gathered the bundle, clutching
it to her chest, heart pulsing against the binding.

“I look forward to it.”

“Enjoy your afternoon, darling.”

She swallowed thickly, trying to keep her voice steady, calm. “Yes, you as well.”

She started to leave, mind still reeling, knees weak with the weight of her emotions, when the
undeniable urge to look back overcame her.

She glanced over her shoulder, pale green gaze meeting eyes of a deep cerulean blue.

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Weasley.”

He smirked, and the rest of their surroundings faded to smoke.

“I hope to cross paths again, Ms. Greengrass.”

She bit her lip, facing forward and darting out of the shop with so much joy in her heart she lifted
off the ground and floated up up and away.

Harry reached forward, knocking on the door with a sigh before glancing to the man beside him.

“I appreciate this, Nev.”

Neville nodded, his gaze as wide and confused as it appeared when Harry first showed up on his
doorstep.

“Of course. I’m happy to help. Although I’m still a bit unclear-”

The ornately carved door opened.

And a third man peered out at them both, slumping against the frame and dragging a hand over his
face.

“I must be way drunker than I thought.”

Harry bit back a groan. “Zabini.”

Blaise lowered his hand, blinking rapidly, the lantern above the entry revealing the faint outline of
two black eyes and a narrow laceration along the side of his nose.

“Fucking hell. Is it really Potter and Longbottom at my door?”

Harry sighed, crossing his arms. “We need a favor.”

Blaise threw his head back and laughed, the sound deep and loud, echoing off the stone pillars
lining the elaborate porch.

“This is going to be bloody fantastic.”

Harry’s jaw tensed. “We need to borrow your mother’s costumes.”

Zabini blinked again and then exploded into a fresh round of boisterous laughter.

“Christ, it’s even better than I thought.”

“Zabini.” Harry glanced over his shoulder at the street beyond the circular drive. “Are you going to
invite us in or not?”

Blaise raised a dark brow. “Depends.” He slouched against the doorframe once more, eyes bright.

Harry ground his teeth. “On what.”

“I’m bored as hell.” Blaise shrugged. “I’ll give you the outfits if you let me tag along to the Club.”

“No.”

“Come on, Potter. The bloody key is wasted on you!”

“We’re not going for there for pleasure.”

“No shite. Longbottom’s presence was a bit of a dead giveaway, no offense, mate.”

Neville raised a brow, glancing between them. “I’m too confused to be offended.”

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Then invite me along on your merry excursion and we can get this freak show on the road.”

Harry tipped his head back, groaning into the orange and violet sky.

“Fine.”

Blaise rocked back on his heels with a Cheshire grin, swinging the open door. "In that case,
welcome to my humble abode gentleman.” He swept an arm forward. “Let’s get suited.”

Parvati listed against the staircase, chest heaving, eyes squeezing shut as she pulled together every
ounce of strength she could muster.

Twenty-seven more to go…

She licked her lips, cringing as she lifted her leg and continued her upward trek.

Her festering fear for Luna and now Hermione propelled her forward, filled her with enough
adrenaline to soften the blunt edges of the pain.

She allowed her churning thoughts to distract her, reliving every moment of her day since waking
in the clinic, going over the tasks that lied ahead with careful strategy.

She’d made the executive decision not to tell Potter about the extent of the Doctor’s involvement in
the hopes of keeping them all on track. She knew first hand that men often let their pride and ego
get in the way of rational thought.

And while she harbored no illusion there was a romance brewing between Hermione and her
childhood friend, his brother like bond with her would not exclude him from reacting adversely to
the news of Hermione’s perverse little partnership with the mysterious man.

But no matter Parvati’s own reservation regarding the Doctor, her gut told her he wasn’t the one
they needed to focus on.

They needed to find Greyback.

The Boogeyman was their target. He would lead them to Luna, and possibly even Hermione.

Still, Parvati had visited the clinic upon her arrival in the hopes Hermione or Riddle would be there
and make her job exponentially easier.

Wishful thinking, of course.

Nothing in her life had been handed to her yet. Things certainly weren’t about to change now.

She panted as she made it onto the second floor, eyes watering from exertion, pressing one hand to
the wall as she walked the hallway to their bedroom, sagging in relieve against the doorframe as
she finally reached her destination.

And then her eyes fell upon a dark stain on the hardwood.

Blood.

Her blood.

Her heart jolted painfully, the burning sting of her ribs swallowed by the scorching flame searing
through her heart.

Her fingertips tingled with the phantom sensation of Luna’s hand in her own, the terror in her blue
eyes as she was wrenched away haunting her every waking moment.

I’m so sorry, Luna. I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.

She slowly crossed the room, vision hazed by tears she refused to acknowledge. Instead, she
opened the wardrobe, pushing aside garments until she came across a familiar sight at the back.

Shite.

She drew away, shaking her head.

Both costumes were there.

If Hermione wasn’t at the Club where the hell could she be?

What if Greyback found her?

What if he took her, just like he took Luna?

She pressed a hand to her chest, suddenly feeling light-headed.

“Parvati?”

She spun around with a gasp, shoulders dropping when she spotted the face in the doorway.

“Hannah!”

The blonde darted across the room with her arms out, seizing Parvati in a hug. She gasped in pain.

“Oh, shite, I’m so sorry!” Hannah stepped away immediately, face stricken.
“It’s alright.”

“What are you doing outside Mungo’s? Did they discharge you already?”

Parvati blinked.

“Mungo’s?”

Hannah raised a pale brow. “That’s where Umbridge said you were.”

Parvati wet her lips, shaking her head.

“I’m staying at the Black Estate.”

Hannah stepped back, eyes wide.

“Wait, what?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later, I promise.” She rubbed tiredly at her eyes. “But right
now I need to find Mione, have you seen her?”

“I thought she was with you?”

“She was.” She sighed deeply, ribs protesting loudly. “I think she’s going after Luna.”

Hannah jolted. “By herself?”

Parvati’s jaw tensed.

“With the Doctor.”

“I- I don’t… that’s insane.”

“Precisely.”

Parvati turned to face the wardrobe once more.

“I need to find her before Greyback.”

“Who?”

“The man who took Luna.”

Hannah stepped forward, placing a hand on her arm to gain her attention. “You can’t be serious,
Parv. Look at the state you’re in.”

“I don’t have a choice.” She avoided her friend’s gaze, reaching into the wardrobe and carefully
extracting the costume from its hanger.

“You’re going to Amortentia?”

She nodded, spine rigid.

“I need to speak with Angie. She might know what Mione and Riddle were up to during last night’s
visit, where they might be now.”

She heard Hannah sigh and braced herself for an argument.

But then-

”I’m coming with you.”

Parvati blinked, glancing sharply over her shoulder.

“Hannah-”

“If you can go with a fractured rib there’s nothing stopping me.”

Parvati stepped back, allotting the girl the full intensity of her dark gaze.

“I don’t want to get you wrapped up in this mess.”

“I already am wrapped up. Luna is my friend, too. So are you and Mione.”

Parvati opened her mouth to protest anew but Hannah’s brown eyes were hard set, unrelenting,
rendering her arguments mute. She sighed instead, shoulders dropping.

“Alright. Come on then. I managed to give Filch the slip sneaking in, we can use the kitchen to slip
out.”

Hannah nodded enthusiastically, draping both uniforms over her arm and helping Parvati out of the
room and down the back steps.

They passed very few residents as they went, the atmosphere of the Home even more somber than
usual. Parvati suspected the majority of the girls knew what had occurred last night and that their
Matron was sweeping the entire affair under the proverbial rug.

No one was safe.

And if you weren't safe in your own home…

It was only a matter of time before they all snapped and formed a mutiny.

Parvati shook her head at her own internal musings.

It was a lovely fantasy to spin, but highly unlikely. The spirits of most of the residents were broken,
some beyond repair. There would be no anarchy in their future, if they even had a future to begin
with.

As they cut a path through the garden the smell of gardenias flooded her senses, reminding her yet
again of Luna. She held her breath until they made it to the gate, desperate to keep her wits about
her, and bit back a cry of anguish as she squeezed through the narrow opening between the bars.

Hannah watched her with such empathy in her eyes she was practically in tears by the time they
both emerged onto the sidewalk.

And as Parvati limped a shaky path to the street beyond, she caught sight of another familiar sight
in the distance.

At first, she thought she was hallucinating, her desire to see Luna again manifesting itself into a
mirage.

But as she blinked through the tears and pain she realized it wasn’t a woman she was gazing upon
at all, but rather a man with a shock of the same white blonde hair as her missing friend.
Wait a moment…

She recognized that pretty face.

“Holy fuck.”

“What?” Hannah asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Parvati increased her pace forward.

The man trotted quickly up the stairs of the Home, arm raised as though preparing to knock on the
front door. Her heart leaped into her throat.

“Oi!”

The man jolted, his arm dropping as he turned around and swept his gaze across the street.

“Over here!”

He blinked the moment his eyes fell upon the pair of girls standing at the gate.

Her pulse thrummed as she saw recognition dawn in their depths.

“You here for Mione?” She shouted.

He nodded, galloping down the stairs with great purpose.

“Yes,” he called back, cutting a path straight for them. “Can you fetch her for me?”

“She isn’t here.”

His mercurial gaze darkened as he came to stop just before them.

“Where is she?”

Parvati glanced beside her, exchanging a charged look with Hannah. She faced forward a moment
later, eyes drifting past his shoulder.

“That your carriage?”

He raised a pale brow, turning around to follow her gaze. “Yes.”

“Good. Come on.” She started forward, leaving him staring at the back of her head in bemusement.
“We’ll explain on the way.”

Neville gazed down at his chest, fingers carding through the ruffled collar of his shirt.

“So… why are we wearing this?”

Blaise glanced up from his all-important task of pouring a drink.

“Longbottom doesn’t even know our destination for the evening?”

Harry shook his head, fastening the laces on his own silk garment. “I didn't have time to go into
specifics. He just knows we’re looking for Hermione.”
Zabini brought the glass to his lips, bow arching high over the rim.

"She's there again? Damn, I see why Drake has such a hard-on for her."

Neville suddenly sprung forward, fists clenched menacingly at his sides.

“Don’t speak about her like that!”

Harry braced an arm at the man’s shoulder as Blaise slowly grinned.

“Ah, I see the obsession is contagious. Best keep my distance then, eh?”

He winked knowingly, causing Neville to flush brightly as Harry pushed him back to the other end
of the changing room.

“It’s alright, Nev. Zabini is equally offensive to everyone.”

Blaise tipped his head. “Well said.”

“Harry, where are we going?” Neville’s voice lacked the lightness of before, expression tense.
“And why would Hermione be there?”

Harry took a deep breath, patting him on the shoulder before dropping his arm and stepping back.

“She’s looking for someone. But she’s in a dangerous situation and we have to find her as soon as
possible. While you look for her I’m going to search for someone else.”

Neville blinked. “Who?”

“It’s complicated. Just remember, you’re there searching for Mione. Understand?”

He shook his head. “Not really, but alright.”

Blaise raised his hand high in the air. “Question.”

Harry rolled eyes, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”

“What is my mission while we’re there?”

“I thought your plan was to burrow your way to the center of an orgy.”

Blaise tipped his head, eyes contemplative. “Hm… that does sound quite splendid. But your
mission sounds even more intriguing.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Fine. You can help look for her, too.”

“That’s Neville’s assignment, I want one of my own.”

“How about avoiding another fist to the face?”

The man smirked fondly. “I liked her. She going to be there as well?”

Harry raised a brow. “You like the girl who broke your nose?”

Blaise shrugged, bringing the glass to his lips. “A bit of rough and tumble has its appeal. I’m
starting to see the method to Drake’s madness.” He lowered the glass, licking the moisture from his
top lip. “Speaking of which, why isn’t he involved in this little search party?”

Harry ran a hand over his face in sheer exhaustion.

“I went by the Manor first. No one was home.”

Blaise smirked, swirling the ice at the bottom of the tumbler.

“He’s going to kill you when he finds out you went ahead without him.”

Harry slipped his arms inside the sleeves of the velvet coat.

He realized a moment later it was the same one Theo selected for him on their last visit.

Bloody fantastic.

“He’ll kill me if I waste time looking for him when Mione’s in trouble.”

Zabini blinked, a shadow passing across his visage, casting his expression into uncharacteristic
sobriety.

“She’s really in danger?”

Harry inhaled slowly, straightening his shirt cuffs.

“Yes.”

Blaise nodded once, tipping back the remainder of his drink before slamming the glass on the cart.

“Alright then,” he smiled brightly. “Let’s go save the damsel, shall we?”

Hermione pressed her palms together, hands trembling.

Breathe. Just breathe.

She swayed on her feet with the force of her heartbeat.

Christ Christ Christ Christ

She resumed pacing along the back of the alley behind the hospital, spots appearing before her
vision as adrenaline surged through her system, only to stop short as her cloak caught on a jagged
rock on the ground.

She spun on her heel, grabbing a handful of the soft fabric and tugging with more force than she
necessary, nerves stretched to snap.

Hermione had forgotten she was even wearing the garment, having only adorned the last minute
purchase moments ago before parting company with the Doctor.

She turned over the black fabric and ran her fingertips along the blood-red lining, leaving tracks in
the velvet.

Her mind wandered without leave to the moment he draped it over her shoulders.

“This will help him spot you from a distance,” he’d said, voice deep and assuring.
She nodded mutely, body stiffening beneath the oppressive weight of the garment, buttery soft as it
was.

His hands hadn't left her. Instead, they gently braced her shoulders, his eyes drifting her to neck,
long fingers soon following the same path as he slid them behind her nape and extracted her hair
from the collar.

“All you have to do is wait for him. Don’t engage, don’t approach. Just stand here.”

She swallowed thickly.

“I know.”

His fingers threaded through her loose curls until they emerged free, brown tresses falling along
her chest.

He met her tumultuous gaze.

“I’ll be watching. I won’t take my eyes off of you.”

She stifled a gasp as his hand gently encased her throat, the pad of his thumb tracing the slender
column and tipping her chin up.

“I won’t let him touch you.”

She blinked rapidly, vision hazing.

“I trust you.”

He inhaled deeply.

And then dropped his hand, taking a step back.

And left the alley entirely.

Hermione had been pacing it relentlessly ever since, trapped within the swirling chaos of her own
mind. So lost to the rising panic she nearly missed the sound of boots scraping the cement.

Almost.

She froze on the spot, glancing over her shoulder with wide eyes.

A beast hovered at the mouth of the cave, shoulders so wide they nearly touched either end of the
brick walls, eyes glowing a sinister yellow, like a wolf in the dark.

“My, my.” He took a step closer, long legs making easy work of the black pavement. “What a
pretty thing you are.” Another menacing step. “Did you wear that just for me, little one? How did
you know red is my favorite color?”

She backed up quickly, gasping as her back collided with brick.

“You’ve caused me quite the headache, you know that? Naughty girl, sneaking out of her room at
night.” He licked his lips, continuing his predatory saunter. “That’s alright. I like naughty.”

Her hands flattened against the wall, fingertips digging into the rough surface. She wet her lips,
speaking barely above a whisper.
“Where’s Luna?”

He smiled, wild and feral, teeth sharp and gleaming.

“Blondie? Hm. Nice piece of arse, that one.”

Her jaw tensed, eyes narrowing.

“Where is she?”

He tipped his head back and released a sharp bark of laughter. “The kitten has claws. Fuck, I’d love
to play with you.”

She raised a brow. “You aren’t allowed to harm me, are you?” Her spine straightened. “Who hired
you?”

He continued forward.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

He’ll come.

“You do a lot of talking.”

Her heart pounded through her chest, deafening. Yet his words still echoed through her head.

“And I’m getting bored now. Come, pretty one, we’ve got places to be.”

He was upon her now, barrel chest blocking out the sun, casting her into the dark pits of Tartarus,
flames climbing up her ankles and calves from the scorched earth beneath her feet.

He’ll come.

His massive arm lifted, hand reaching forward, claws glinting before her eyes.

She cringed, turning her head away, tears spilling down her cheeks.

He’ll come.

A shadow appeared across her face. She held her breath.

“Ah! Fuck!”

Her eyes flew open at Greyback’s gasp of pain.

Only to blink in confusion at the river of red cascading down his naked forearm, dripping off his
tanned skin and onto the pavement below. She stared upon the crimson droplets in shock.

He gaped at the wound as well. “What the-”

Faded sunlight reflected off metal as it slashed through the air and connected with his massive
chest. His shirt split open in a diagonal line, revealing the hard lines of his pectoral muscle, and a
moment later red blossomed across the skin, soaking through the fabric.
He reared back, mouth agape but only sharp breath emitting as he spun to face his assailant.

Her heart swelled as Tom came into view, seeming taller and wider than she’d ever seen him
before, yet moving with such speed and dexterity he seemed more shadow than man.

Greyback took several steps back, hand clutching his bloodied chest, staring in open shock at the
bright crimson running in rivulets past his fingers.

Tom stood eerily still, a solid barrier between them.

In the next heartbeat, Greyback dropped both hands to his sides in boulder-like fists, a snarl tearing
from his throat.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Tom raised his own fist, and it was then she saw the curved blade peeking out between his middle
and ring finger, glinting in the sunlight, tipped in red.

“I said who the fuck are you!”

Tom’s only response was a slow, sinister grin that rendered her equal parts breathless and
mesmerized.

Greyback roared, veins bulging in his neck and temples.

“Nevermind. I already know who you are. You’re a dead man!”

He lunged.

Hermione gasped, ducking away on instinct, though Tom led the giant on a path away from her.
He moved with such swiftness Grayback’s swinging fist whistled through the air, connecting with
brick a moment later. He screamed in pain, rearing back and clutching his broken knuckles to his
blood-soaked chest as Tom's momentum took him low to the ground. He rolled deftly across the
pavement, his blade-wielding hand slashing across his target's thigh, another line of red appearing a
heartbeat before another shout of pain.

“Fuck!”

Greyback started to spin, swinging wildly with his uninjured fist, meeting air once more. Hermione
scrambled to the other end of the alley, eyes wide, heart lodged in her throat.

“Too scared to fight me like a man? Let’s settle this with fists.”

Tom rose to his full height with easy grace.

“I’m quite content with this arrangement.”

Greyback released an animalistic war cry before charging Tom with his arms out and shoulders
braced, trying to catch him across the middle.

Tom feinted left but dodged right at the last minute. Greyback tried to correct his path and ended up
clipping his shoulder against the dumpster, causing him to scream anew, whether in rage or pain or
some combination of both Hermione couldn’t make certain.

Tom used the man’s temporary distraction to drop low once more, slashing across his ribs and then
kicking the back of his knee with such force she cringed at the echoing snap of bone that filled the
alleyway, followed by the man’s guttural scream as his towering frame was brought down the
ground.

“You cheating fuck!”

“You do a lot of talking.” Tom rose once more, reaching inside his dark coat and extracting
something she couldn’t see. “And I’m getting bored now.”

And then he was jamming the item into the side of the man’s neck as he swayed on his knees
before him.

Hermione covered her mouth with both hands, stifling a scream.

But no blood poured from the wound.

She swallowed heavily as Tom’s hand moved away and she saw the mysterious item was a syringe.
He brought his thumb down on the depressor while Greyback swung blindly, movements stilted,
eyes unfocused.

“What did y-” he opened and closed his mouth, yellow eyes meeting Hermione’s shocked gaze for
the space of a wild heartbeat. “Wha- w-”

And then he toppled forward, face first onto the cement, limbs flopping out, utterly still.

Tom panted lightly, braced above the man for several seconds, muscles tensed as though awaiting
the giant to spring up and resume the fight at any moment.

And then he drew back, straightening his coat and sleeves before glancing up and meeting her eye.

She blinked.

His gaze was intense, unwavering.

“Are you alright?”

She blinked again, his words slow to process.

She slowly nodded.

“Good.” He licked his lips, glancing back down at the massive body sprawled between them.
“Watch the mouth of the alley while I load him into the carriage.”

She remained frozen against the wall, staring at him in shocked silence.

He glanced back up.

“Hermione.”

She jolted.

“Breathe.”

She inhaled sharply, tears filling her eyes unbidden. She quickly wiped them away with trembling
hands.

“Listen carefully,” his voice was clipped, but patient. “I want you to head back to Grimmauld-”
“No!”

Her outburst took them both off guard. She pushed away from the wall before she lost her nerve.

“I’m alright.”

He arched a dark brow. She straightened, smoothing her skirts on impulse, as though removing the
wrinkles would remove the last few minutes from memory.

“I can do this.” It was as much assurance for him as for herself. “Let me help.”

He continued to stare at her for a short eternity, his liquid gaze pouring a scorching path across her
face as he studied every nuance of her expression. She held firm, making a concerted effort not to
flinch.

Finally-

“Watch the street for me.”

She nodded quickly, walking forward on numb legs and carefully stepping around the muscled
barrier in her path. She nearly lost her balance in the process and Tom reached out a steadying
hand.

She shied away on instinct, fearing his touch, the same hand that wielded the blade only moments
before.

He drew his arm back immediately, darkness settling in his gaze as he met her eye.

She quickly glanced away and hurried an uneven path to the entrance of the alley, doing her best to
ignore the liquid blurring her vision and the grunts of exertion at her back as he dragged the body
deep into the shadows.

The band and crowd were in full swing as the trio made their way onto the main floor.

A rather illustrious striptease was occurring on the main stage, clothing flying through the air.

Black silk bloomers landed squarely on Neville’s shoulder.

“Harry.”

Harry cleared his throat, casually flicking the knickers off his friend’s arm.

“Yes, Nev?”

“You think Hermione’s here?”

“Possibly.”

"And she's going to be dressed… " Neville glanced at the half-nude stage girls. "Like that?”

“Also a possibility.”

Neville blinked.

“I need to leave the house more.”

Harry clapped him on the back.

“You haven’t missed much. All this shite’s gone down over the last couple of weeks.”

His friend raised a brow, expression turning pensive. “Is this why Hermione asked me how to pry
open a door?”

Harry drew back. “Wait, what?”

Suddenly he was jolted forward as an arm slung across his shoulders.

“Welcome to paradise, gents! Where shall we begin?”

Harry elbowed Blaise in the stomach and shrugging out of his hold as the man laughed in supreme
delight.

“Neville will look for Hermione.”

The man in question drew in a shaky breath, looking as white as the mask he adorned.

“It’s alright, Nev.” Harry placed a steadying hand on his arm. “Meet me at the bar in half an hour.
Unless you find her, then get her in a carriage and back to Grimmauld immediately.”

Neville nodded jerkily, staggering back and finally slipping into the surging crowd with great
resolve. Harry rubbed his eyes beneath the mask, a torrent of emotion sapping his strength and
mental fortitude.

And then Zabini was clearing his throat, causing Harry’s anger to spike and his mind to rapidly
clear. He spun around, pinning the man with a withering stare.

Blaise continued to grin like a court jester.

“Don’t give me that look, Potter. Six eyes are better than four.”

“Are you serious about helping us?”

“Naturally.”

He narrowed his eyes, jaw aching from constant tensing.

“Then look for Hermione.”

“Boring.”

Harry scowled. “Forget it-”

"Christ, Potter, your sense of humor is abysmal. Relax. I'll look for the frizzy-haired minx."

Harry sighed, shoulders relaxing. “Thank you.”

“Don’t go getting sentimental on me now.” A weighted pause. “Save it for Theo.”

Harry's heart leaped as Blaise winked through his golden mask before turning deftly on his heel,
heading for the red swaying curtains before Harry's overwrought mind could begin to construct a
response.

When it finally did, only one word came to mind, yet it managed to capture the entirety of his
evening with perfect clarity.

Fuck.

“I can’t believe I’m wearing this.”

Parvati glanced beside her, adjusting her half mask. “You look marvelous, now stop tugging at the
laces.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“Take short breaths.”

“And these bloomers-”

“Hannah.”

The blonde swallowed thickly, glancing up with her bottom lip pinned between her teeth. Parvati
placed a hand on her bare shoulder.

“It’s alright if you want to sit this one out-”

“No.” Hannah sighed, glancing away. “I just-” She blinked a few times and shook her head.
“Nevermind.”

Parvati tilted her head, gazing at her patiently. “You okay?”

She nodded.

Parvati continued to watch her in silence for another beat before letting her hand fall away. “We’ll
split up and search. I’m going to flag down Angie.”

“Alight.” Hannah smoothed her palms over her corset, as though checking to make sure it was still
in place. “I’ll meet you back here in an hour?”

“Unless you run into trouble, then you leave immediately.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you.” The conviction in her voice left no room for dissent.

Parvati smirked.

“Why are all my friends so stubborn?”

Hannah mirrored her expression. “Because like attracts like.”

“Must be it.”

They shared a smile before turning on their heels and heading in opposite directions.

The moment Hannah lost sight of Parvati she gazed down at her corset once more, tugging at the
front panel, trying to loosen it just a touch-

“Oof!”

She gasped as her shoulder collided with a solid mass, causing her to stumble back with the impact.
A large hand shot out, grasping her elbow and steadying her before she tipped over entirely.
Her eyes snapped up, color infusing her cheeks as she locked gazes with a tall male, wide brown
eyes peering out of a white mask.

“Oh!”

“Oh, my!”

“I’m terribly sorry-”

“Excuse me-”

“I wasn’t paying attention-”

“-my fault-”

“-didn’t mean to-”

“-didn’t see you there.”

They continued to stare at each other, necks and cheeks flushed.

She was suddenly hyper-aware of the warm palm pressing against her elbow and jerked her arm
back on instinct, finally tearing her gaze away and averting her eyes to the floor while her heart
rioted inside her chest.

“My apologies, again,” she uttered quickly, wrapping her arms across her middle, desperate to
conceal as much of her body as possible.

“I-” He swallowed heavily, Adam’s apple bobbing high. “Please, there’s no need to apologize.”

She nodded lightly and began to back away, watching his hand clench at his side.

“Enjoy your evening, Sir,” she whispered sharply, tipping her head down to allow her hair to fall
forward and conceal her face.

“Oh… right. Yes, um, you as well.”

She bit her lip and strode past, making a concerted effort not to run outright. As she slipped back
into the crowd she missed his quiet beratement.

“You as well? Nice one, idiot.”

He shook his head, eyes lingering on her departing figure before he faced forward once more and
started a path to the other end of the room.

Hermione pulled her hood down, blocking the right side of her face from the view of the street,
unconsciously sidling closer to the Doctor on her left. He held the reins in both hands, directing the
horses forward with confident ease. The carriage rocked back and forth along the uneven wood
slats lining the docks.

She did her best to keep her breathing steady, her hands flat atop her knees, thoughts focused ahead
instead of lingering on the violent encounter in the alley or with the beast slumbering on the floor
of the car.

Gulls circled the water in the distance, their shadows dancing along the ground, their shrill cries
echoing through her head.

“Where are we going?”

He continued to gaze forward.

“I have a warehouse prepared.”

Her heart leaped into her throat, she swallowed it back down.

“Prepared for what?”

A heavy beat. And then he turned his head, dark gaze holding her captive.

“Hermione-”

“I’m not backing down.” She sat straighter. “I understand, we need information, and you’re
prepared to do whatever it takes to get it from him.”

He arched a brow.

“Are you prepared?”

She wet her lips, glancing away and picking at the fabric of her skirt.

“You’re a good fighter.”

He tugged one side of the reins, the horses changed course immediately.

“I’ve had practice.”

She nodded, thoughts and emotions surging.

“Whatever you have planned… I can handle it.”

His prolonged silence prompted her to glance up once more. He continued to gaze down upon her.

“When we’re inside, you follow my commands without argument, do you understand?”

She blinked, and then drew back, starting to bristle. The shadows deepened along the sharp
contours of his face, creating a sinister mask.

“If you can’t agree to that then you aren’t stepping foot inside.”

She held her breath and nodded. “I understand.”

His eyes began a meticulous scan of her person. She squirmed.

And then he gazed forward. She exhaled, only to jolt at his next words.

“We’re here.”

She gazed up, spotting a two-story brick building ahead, several windows were broken, others
boarded. It looked abandoned, unassuming.

And yet her blood ran cold at the sight.

“How did you-”

“No more questions.”

Her face pinched. “We aren’t inside yet.”

He smirked, directing the horses to slow their gait.

“I’m starting to regret my leniency.”

She continued to study is profile, a smile forming on her lips.

And then she remembered where they were.

What they were doing.

Dread pooled in her stomach, all lightness snuffed out in the wake of her mounting unease.

The horses stopped beside the door.

“Tie them. I’ll bring him in.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes downcast as he leaped swiftly from the seat and onto the ground. He
strode to the side of the structure and procured a large timber cart, wheeling it to the carriage.

Hermione busied herself with climbing down, her hand grazing the side of the aged Thoroughbred,
petting along its flanks in a calming gesture meant more for herself than the softly braying creature.

The cart shook as Greyback’s dead weight came crashing down onto its surface. She bit back a
cringe, watching the Doctor wheel the unconscious man inside the ominous building from the
corner of her eye.

They disappeared into the darkness within. The door remained open, the shadows beyond were
sentient beings, calling out, mocking her.

She looped the reigns around a nearby post, lingering long after the knot was tied.

She tore her eyes away from the haunting sight, meeting the horse’s gaze instead and catching her
pale reflection in the black lake centered at its pupil.

She reached forward with a trembling hand and laid it gently on the animal’s snout, slowly
stroking the soft hair between its eyes.

The creature stilled beneath her touch, as though sensing the unrest brewing within her soul. She
stepped closer yet, resting her forehead against its own, matching her breathing to the wild beast,
trying to absorb its strength, its inner calm.

Tears filled her eyes.

She drew away, wiping them dry with her sleeve and staring at the open doorway once more.

She swallowed heavily and started a path inside, ignoring the sudden burst of movement and
keening whines at her back.

Harry dodged a flying elbow as a drunken patron staggered backward and toppled back-first onto a
table of drinks. The sound of shattering glass, shrieks and gasps filled the air, everyone turning
their heads to stare upon the catastrophe.

The man rolled to his side with a boisterous laugh, prompting the rest of the crowd to follow suit,
everyone too in their cups to be phased by the mess.

Except for the house girls, the majority of whom looked perfectly sober and perfectly annoyed. A
few scurried off, towards the manager's office, and Harry held his breath in anticipation.

The entire reason he tripped the drunken louse in the first place was to cause a stir, a bit of flash to
lure one of the snakes from its nest. He just needed to get eyes on his target.

Instead, his gaze landed on an even more unsettling sight.

He blinked several times, jaw hanging open before slowly regaining his senses.

He charged forward.

“Draco!”

The owner of the white blonde hair spun around, his maskless face already adorned in its
customary scowl.

And then he was surging forward as well.

“You son of a bitch.”

Harry raised a dark brow, coming to a halt. “That’s me. What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” Draco stopped just before him, fists clenched, a wild tempest barely
contained. “Have you found her?”

“How do you know-”

“Parvati told me everything.”

Harry reared back. “What?”

“I went to the Home to speak with Hermione, imagine my surprise when I find out she was
evacuated to Grimmauld following a failed kidnapping attempt!”

The volume and venom in his voice increased with every word.

Harry glanced around, the majority of the crowd lost to the own celebration but a few heads turning
in their direction. He grabbed the blonde’s arm. “Keep your voice down!”

Draco shook him off, eyes narrowed and gleaming like a viper about to strike. “How dare you not
tell me-”

“When the hell was I supposed to tell you, Draco? She showed up on my doorstep this morning and
was there for all of ten minutes before we headed to the South End!”

“You took her out?” His silver gaze widened, color rising in his alabaster skin. “Are you fucking
daft?”

“She didn’t tell me she was the target!”

Draco leaned forward menacingly, hissing each word with a puff of steam.

“You knew her friend was taken and you let her leave the manor anyway.” His jaw tensed. “If
anything happens to her I’ll kill you myself, Potter.”

Harry swallowed thickly.

“If anything happens to her I’ll welcome death.”

Draco blinked, the sincerity of Harry’s declaration seeming to smooth his scales. He drew back,
spine rigid.

“We have to find her.”

Harry took a deep breath.

“We will.”

“What if she isn’t here?”

“Then we’ll tear the city apart building by building.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, glancing away, the capillaries in his eyes standing in stark relief
against the white.

Harry’s shoulders squared, bracing himself. “Listen, Draco, Greyback checks in here nightly.”

The blonde’s eyes flickered back to him, widening, then thinning to slits. Harry’s pulse thrummed
loudly in his ears as he waited out the silence.

But no response came.

He pushed on.

“Do you think it’s possible Rodolphus or Rabastan are entangled in this?”

Draco tipped his chin up, expression hardening, eyes flashing.

“Bella.”

The name was spoken like a curse. Harry felt the fine hairs along his arms and nape stand on end.

“And where she goes, those idiots follow.”

Harry nodded, hands curling at his sides. “Then we need to find your aunt.”

“She isn’t my aunt.” The blonde’s face was lethal, causing Harry to step back on instinct. “And if
she had anything to do with the kidnapping plot, I’ll strangle her with my bare hands.”

Harry wet his lips. “I’d like to see that.”

And then he caught a familiar sight in the distance that caused his heart to skip.

“Son of a bitch.” He sighed deeply, then tipped his chin towards the red curtains. “Come on, I have
an idea.”
The abandoned warehouse was an old Naval storage locker if the discarded and decayed remnants
littering the floor were any indications.

Pieces of wooden crates laid in tatters, stamped with faded military seals.

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line, biting down on her tongue from her position in the
corner, where she’d been told to remain, silently.

Which was just as well, since she couldn’t bear to watch him cart the slumbering giant into the
center of the room, hoisting him onto a wooden chair and tying all four limbs with rope.

It wasn’t that she felt any shred of sympathy for Greyback.

It was that Tom performed the tasks with such careless ease. His tools had already been laid out
upon their arrival, the chair awaiting them in the center of the vast open room, his leather medical
case sitting to the side, casting a large, sinister shadow upon the wall.

She knew without a fragment of doubt this was not his first time performing such a task.

And from there her mind ran rampant with dark, gruesome fantasy.

So she kept her gaze squarely averted while he bound his prey, sweeping her eyes across the rest of
the interior, looking for any means of distraction.

The building was two stories but featured no true top floor, merely a catwalk running the perimeter
of the building and a small rectangular office at the helm, a narrow metal staircase leading to its
door. The side facing the warehouse floor featured a large panoramic window overseeing the
interior.

She stared through the cracked glass into the darkness of the room, losing herself in a trance, and
began to see forms take shape in the blackness.

Faces stared down at her. Pale stretched skin, fathomless, empty eye sockets and black gaping
mouths locked in grotesque screams.

She began to pant, coming away from the wall, drawn by their silent pleas.

And then a hand grasped her arm.

She gasped.

The face above her wasn’t born of mist and shadow, though it was just as haunting.

She inhaled sharply.

"Tom," she whispered breathlessly, pressing a hand to her chest and closing her eyes, desperate to
dispel the phantom visages from memory.

The fingers encasing her arm squeezed, prompting her to meet his eye once more.

“It’s time.”

Her spine went rigid, heart beating erratically at his ominous announcement.

“Stay against the wall. Don’t move. Don’t speak.”

She swallowed thickly and nodded. He released her, turning away and walking to the table set up
along the wall, covered in items that were clearly his own. She wondered yet again how he
obtained access to this building, and what exactly he had planned.

Violent musings began to whisper to her anew, causing her to press back into the brick
instinctively, flattening herself until she melted into shadow, becoming one with the darkness that
beckoned her so.

She saw the gleam of metal instruments on the table, his hands hovering above them. She held her
breath.

And then blinked in confusion as he selected a glass pitcher of water instead. She opened her mouth
but made no sound, watching in bemusement as he strode across the floor to the bound man, liquid
sloshing and dripping over the rim of the container.

And then it was upended over Greyback’s head entirely.

Water cascaded down in a violent explosion, soaking his dark hair and shoulders, causing the dried
blood along his chest and neck to run down in rivers, staining the unmarred portions of his shirt
translucent and pink.

And startling him awake.

He gasped and sputtered, liquid running off his nose and chin, plastering hair to his eyes. He reared
back, the chair groaned but didn’t budge. It was then she saw it was bolted to the ground.

“What the fuck?”

He shook his head like a dog, hair finally parting, golden eyes shining through, set wide as his gaze
flickered in every direction, only to narrow dangerously as it focused upon Tom, standing just
beside him as he set the pitcher aside and rose to his full, towering height.

Greyback growled low in his throat, baring his teeth, arms flexing as he pulled at the binds trapping
his wrists behind his back.

“Don’t bother.” Tom took a casual step back. “I’m an expert at knots. You won’t be breaking
through the rope.”

His barrel chest heaved.

“Who do you work for?”

Tom raised a dark brow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “How ironic. I was about to ask you the
very same question.”

“You have no idea who you’re-”

“Fenrir Greyback. The Grey Wolf.” He began to walk a slow path around the chair, hands folded
behind his back, gaze unwavering. “Former Sailor for Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. Discharged for
disorderly conduct while on assignment, otherwise known as killing a man with brute force.
Though I think it safe to say he wasn’t your first victim, merely the first you were caught standing
above after the fact.”

He tilted his head, grey eyes gleaming unnaturally in the evening rays streaming through the
busted glass and wood slats.
"Rabastan Lestrange financed your defense and had the entire case thrown out on a technicality,
likely after greasing a few palms. After your release, you graduated to kidnapping and robbery, and
running errands for the gentry, of course."

He arched a brow.

“Stop me if I’m boring you.”

Greyback snarled like the wolf he so resembled.

“Alright. You’ve asked around about me. Big fucking deal. You obviously don’t know everything
or I wouldn’t still be alive.”

Tom’s jaw tensed. Greyback smiled, teeth sharp and hungry.

"Ah. I'm right, aren't I? Seems I have some leverage after all."

“You’re tied to a chair in an abandoned building on a private dock. Don’t get too excited.”

The man snarled anew, thrashing against the chair, and then his gaze drifted past Tom’s shoulder-

And locked with hers.

Hermione straightened, heart thudding manically against her fragile ribcage as Greyback’s
struggles ceased at once. He leered, licking his lips and raking his eyes over her with slow
calculation, causing her skin to itch and burn as though acid were being poured across it.

“Well that’s one mystery solved,” he uttered lowly, voice barely above a growl as he held her
trapped in his sights. She swallowed heavily, stomach twisting like a swarm of eels.

And then his scarred, golden gaze flickered back to Tom.

He smirked knowingly.

“She yours?”

Tom’s entire body tensed.

“Don’t look at her.”

Greyback chuckled, settling back into his seat. "That's gonna be a problem because she's mighty
fine to look at."

And then without warning- Tom brought his fist crashing into the side of the man’s wide, square
jaw, the impact of bone echoing with a deafening crack through the dusty air. Hermione gasped
loudly as blood flew from Greyback’s mouth, his head snapping sharply right, red splattering
across the cement.

All was still and silent for a handful of suffocating seconds before Greyback brought his head
forward, deep laughter shaking his chest as blood ran down his chin.

“She must have a 24 karat gold pussy-”

Tom struck him again, this blow more powerful than the first, causing Greyback to grimace as his
back arched with the force of impact.
He spat again, a tooth flying free with the blood and saliva, hitting the ground with a soft tink.

She cringed, looking away, hands pressing her stomach and chest as though attempting to keep her
vital organs contained within.

And then Greyback’s laughter started back up, a dark omen that shook the floor and rattled the
walls and vibrated through her entire body.

Tom straightened, stepping back slowly.

“Hermione.”

She jolted, his voice as cold and sharp as a knife’s edge.

He continued to stare at the bound, bloodied and hysterically amused prisoner.

“Go outside.”

She blinked, shaking her head and stepping forward. “But I-”

“Don’t argue with me.” He turned his head, pinning her with such a powerful stare it drove her
back into the wall. “Do as I say.”

She was too frightened by his countenance to feel any offense. She pried herself off the bricks and
walked to the exit on trembling legs, every bone-rattling within her.

“She looks even better from behind.”

She quickened her pace, pushing open the door and bursting outside to freedom, gasping in the
damp, salty air as though emerging onto dry land after months at sea.

The door slammed shut behind her, a deafening click that sent her into an emotional tailspin. She
leaned against the building only to collapse into a heap, skirts bunched around her legs as she
buried her face in her hands and heaved.

He waited until the door fully closed, Hermione safely situated on the other side, before turning to
face his laughing prey. The man was still putting on quite the show.

But Tom saw right through it.

“You’re trying to provoke me.”

Greyback settled down, gazing up with gleaming eyes. "Seems I don't even have to try." He spat
more blood, the side of his jaw turning a vibrant patchwork of violet and blue. "This is all about
her, isn't it?"

Tom didn’t show any outward response, but the man seemed to read something in his glacial stare.

“Must be. My life didn’t start going to shite until she became my assignment.”

“I think the argument can be made you were born a piece of shite, but I don’t want to digress from
the topic.”

Greyback scowled. Tom paid his ire no mind.

“Who provided your assignment?”

“I’m not a rat.”

“You’d rather be a corpse?”

The giant began to chuckle once more, shoulders bouncing in amusement.

“You gonna feed me bullshite about letting me go after all this is over?” He raised a thick brow.
“The sweet nothings might make your girl wet but I recognize that spark in your eye. You’re a
killer. A hunter. Just like me.” His expression rapidly sobered. “And we both know you have no
intention of letting me go.”

Tom tilted his head, viewing the man from a new angle, layers of concealment stripped away.

“Fair enough.”

He began a straight path to the table against the wall.

“However, you can determine the method in which you die. I assure you, when I threaten to make
your final moments slow and agonizing, I have every ability to make good on that promise.”

He lifted his medical bag off the ground and set it atop the counter.

“I’m a doctor.”

He unbuckled the top, reaching inside and extracting a fabric roll, deftly untying the binds.

“I know how to make every nerve scream with a fire you can’t begin to imagine.”

He unrolled the bundle, revealing an even row of gleaming scalpels.

Greyback erupted into more laughter at his back.

“Fuck! You really are something.” He wet his lips. “If you weren’t about to kill me I think we
could have been good friends.”

“Doubtful.” Tom extracted a blade, holding it to the light, examining the edge. “I have an aversion
to men who beat and rape women.”

“Oh, you have a strong moral fiber do you?”

Tom tipped his head, setting the knife down and selecting another. “I have selective morality.
Brutality against the fairer sex happens to be one of the lines I’ve drawn.”

He held the second scalpel up, arching his brow, turning it over in his palm with swift ease.

“I also have an exceptionally steady hand. Though after ramming it into your face repeatedly I may
waver a bit as I take the skin from your thigh. I assure you, the nerve endings in the fibrous tissue
are uniquely sensitive. The deeper into the muscle you go, the tighter they’re clustered. Much like
blood vessels.”

The stretch of silence that followed prompted him to turn back around, meeting his prey’s gaze.

The man blinked.

“You’re a doctor?”

“We’ve already established that.”

Greyback shrugged lightly, as much as his bonds would allow. "I thought all docs were queer
ponces with silver spoons shoved up their arses. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

Tom started walking back to the center of the floor, weapon loosely encased in his grip.

“I grew up in the slums. In the neighborhoods you like to frequent for victims.”

Deep, dark laughter filled the vast room, but this round lacked any note of humor.

“You and I have very different definitions of the word.”

Tom grabbed an empty chair along the way and began dragging it behind him.

“You don’t think of the girls you take as victims.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question. Greyback’s arms flexed, the muscles straining with the force of
his conviction.

“I take filthy little sluts and give them a chance at a better life. They should be lining up to suck my
cock.”

Tom raised a brow, intrigued by the man’s delusion. He set the empty chair before him and
removed his coat, draping it neatly over the back.

“Is that what you think? That becoming a mindless fuck toy is preferable to free will?”

Greyback tilted his head.

“How do you…” Tom saw the moment realization dawned in his gold eyes. “They took someone
you know.”

His jaw tensed.

“Where is Ms. Lovegood?”

“Who?”

“The girl you kidnapped last night.”

“I already handed her over.”

“To whom?”

Greyback leaned away, turning his head.

Tom nodded slowly, voice edged with wild anticipation.

“Very well.”

He placed the scalpel between his teeth and rolled up his sleeves to the elbow before retaking the
blade in hand and gracefully folding into the chair.

Then he leaned forward and began to deftly slice through the man’s left trouser leg, holding the
fabric away from his thigh to avoid slicing the meat.

As anticipated, Greyback went wild.

“Wait! Wait!”

Tom paused, hands stilling their ministrations as he glanced up.

“Yes?”

The wolf was panting, teeth barred and angry, but his eyes held a gleam that Tom recognized well.

Desperation.

“Whatever you’re trying to do, it won’t work.”

Tom tilted his head, feigning interest, barely suppressing a smirk.

“And how do you know that?”

“You want to bring them down, right?” He wet his lips anxiously, breathing hard. “But you can’t
stop them. They’re too powerful. Trust me. It involves more people than you could begin to
imagine.”

"I won't have to imagine. Before the night is through, you're going to tell me everything I want to
know."

“Even if I do, it makes no difference. You might be handy with a knife but it’s going to take a lot
more to stop them.” His chest heaved, the admission costing him more than the blood he shed in
the alley and beneath Tom’s fist. “Take your girl and run. Leave England. Change your names. I
won’t come after you. I won’t tell them anything.”

Tom’s brows flattened. “I haven’t even made the first incision and you’re already bartering for
your life.” The corner of his mouth lifted beyond his notice or bidding. “Interesting.”

He studied the jagged scar running half the length of the man’s scowling face, tracing the puckered
skin with his eyes.

“It’s not the pain you fear. It’s the helplessness.”

Greyback paled, pressing back in the chair.

Caught.

Cornered.

Just like all his victims.

Tom’s grin finally broke free. Lethal. Radiant.

Hungry.

“I was hoping for as much. My offer still stands. Tell me everything you know and I will make
your death quick and painless.”

The wolf growled, gaze darkening, resignation finally taking root in its golden depths. “You
fucking bastard.”

“Where is Ms. Lovegood?”

“Go to hell.”

Tom nodded once, a silent acceptance, and resumed his task, cutting a clean rectangle out of the
heavy linen and revealing a wide patch of coarse skin and coiled muscle.

“I’ve been seeking the entrance to hell for a very long time.”

He adjusted the angle of his wrist, bringing the scalpel down onto the skin, heart leaping as it
pierced the flesh, crimson beads rushing to the surface.

“I think together, we might just find it.”

Within seconds, shrill screams cut through the silence and bled from the walls.

Bodies and voices surged within the Club, yet Angie caught the sound of her name above the fray.

“Ang!”

She turned on her heel, searching out the source of the voice.

And then she spotted the speaker, blinking rapidly.

“Parvati?”

She nodded, carefully sidestepping a laughing couple and emerging into the corner of the room.
Angie opened and closed her mouth before leaping forward with her arms out.

“Oh my god, what the hell are you doing here?”

She embraced Parvati tightly, causing her to cry out in pain.

“What’s the matter?” She asked sharply, drawing back to gaze upon her.

Parvati swallowed thickly, stepping back and gently extracting herself from the girl’s hold.

“Nothing… it’s fine.” She cleared her throat, doing her best to steal her expression through the
chronic throb. “I’m actually looking for Hermione. Have you seen her?”

Angie nodded. “She was here last night.”

“You haven’t seen her since then?”

She shook her head, brows creasing. “No, is she in trouble?”

Parvati exhaled through her nose, shoulders dropping. “I think so.”

Angie stood straight, expression hardening.

“What can I do to help?”

Parvati opened her mouth to answer but before she could utter a response a large shadow fell across
them both, the air pressure changing as someone approached from behind.
Angie’s body language transformed at once, softening, lids lowering as she gazed upon the
newcomer.

“Hello, luv. What can I do for you?”

Parvati tensed, glancing quickly over her shoulder, in no mood to deal with another groping patron.

And then her eyes fell upon the familiar dark mask. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“He isn’t a client.”

Angie blinked, glancing between them. He stepped closer, brushing Parvati’s shoulder.

“This is Harry Potter.”

Angie arched a brow, tipping her head in deference.

“It’s an honor to-”

“He isn’t like the others, Ang. You don’t have to grovel at his feet.”

She blinked in response, giving him a thorough once over with her eyes. Harry nodded in greeting.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” And then his emerald gaze shifted to Parvati, narrowing. “You told
me you would go back to Grimmauld.”

“I lied.”

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose through the mask. She
bristled.

“Look, two of my friends are missing, I’m not going to sit around and-”

“Wait, Missing?” Angie stepped closer. “I thought Lavender was found dead.”

Parvati nodded, eyes averting away. “She was.”

Her friend drew back, expression stricken. “A lot has happened since last night.”

“You have no idea,” Harry supplied for them both. Parvati glanced up once more, meeting the
girl’s sympathetic gaze.

“I’m trying to retrace Hermione’s steps when she was here. She spoke to Katie, right?”

Her friend nodded. “They were in a back room when I found them.”

“Did she say anything else to you?”

Angie shook her head.

“She didn’t talk to anyone else?”

“Alicia, I think. And that man.”

Harry straightened. “What man?”

“Tall, dark, handsome. He was at the Lestrange private party. She disappeared behind a partition
with him for a while.”

Harry and Parvati exchanged a loaded look.

“Riddle,” he whispered.

She nodded slowly.

His jaw tensed, something wild igniting in his gaze. She leaned in, grasping his forearm.

“Hermione trusts him, she told me he’s helping us.”

“I don’t trust him.”

She drew in a slow breath. “Me either.”

His fists clenched. “If she’s with him-”

“We’ll find her.” Her voice was edged in steal, expression resolute as she turned to face Angie.
“But first, we have to find Katie.”

Rodolphus cut a path through the center of the room, eyes narrowed as he came to a stop before the
pile of broken glass and remnants of the broken table.

“What the hell happened?”

A scantily clad employee shifted nervously at his side.

“A patron fell over, Sir.”

His chest expanded with a heavy sigh.

“Drunken morons.” He started to back away. “Clean this mess up. If someone cuts themselves I’ll
hold you personally responsible.”

She blanched, nodding quickly before scurrying off to the back of the house.

Draco tensed at the sight.

His uncle started to turn away.

He made his move.

He started walking in the opposite direction with his face averted, Rodolphus’s footsteps slowing
as he did a double take.

And then an arm shot out, a large hand bracing Draco's shoulder, stopping him mid-step.

“Drake?”

He blinked. “Rod?”

The man looked him up and down.

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in costume?”

“I’m not here as a client.”

Rodolphus lowered his hand and arched a brow beneath his burgundy mask. “No?”

“I came to speak with you, actually.”

He drew back, head tilting.

“Everything alright?”

"Yes." Draco glanced around anxiously, shifting closer. "Is there any way we can speak privately?"

Rodolphus’s brows flattened.

“Of course. We can use my office.”

Draco nodded, letting his face melt into obvious relief. A moment later he was following the man
through the crowd, sparing passing glances at the festivities unfolding along the floor. A few girls
rushed past with brooms and pale in hand.

And then they were heading up a gleaming black staircase to the second level.

Rodolphus led him down a narrow hall, the sounds of the venue becoming muffled the deeper they
went. He withdrew a heavy set of keys from his pocket but the door at the end of the corridor
already stood ajar. He pushed it open and narrowed his eyes, then scowled.

“Quirrell, leave.”

The sound of shuffling papers followed, then a jumping shadow. Draco stood to the side to allow
the twitching man to pass, making brief eye contact that caused him to lose his balance as he tried
to bow.

Draco rolled his eyes, glancing away in a silent dismissal. He followed his uncle into the office.

“That idiot still works for you?”

“Sadly. Good help is hard to come by.”

Rodolphus shut the door before crossing the plush rug and tossing the keys onto the desk.

“Alright, what’s on your mind, Drake?”

He wet his lips, pulse thrumming.

“You know about my pending nuptials, surely?”

Rodolphus arched a brow, reaching up and removing his mask.

“I’ve heard rumors. The younger Greengrass, correct?”

Draco nodded.

“She’s a beauty.” He tossed the mask beside the keys. “Congratulations.”

Draco scoffed, prompting the man to smirk.

“No?”
“She is a beauty. Sweet and demure. The perfect Malfoy bride.”

Rodolphus nodded slowly.

“But you prefer women with a bit of fire in their blood?”

Draco held his gaze for several moments in response. Rodolphus’s lips stretched into an all too
knowing grin.

“I can sympathize. I am afflicted with the very same desire.”

“Then you know the predicament I’m in.”

The man raised a brow, eyes glinting as he removed his outer coat and draped it across the back of
the chair.

“What is it you want from me, Draco?”

“I’ll go through with the marriage. I won’t disappoint my parents. But I’d still like to have my fun.”

Rodolphus opened the desk drawer, reaching inside and extracting two cigars. He glanced back up.
Draco shook his head.

“No thank you.”

“Suit yourself.”

He removed a gleaming silver slicer and clipped the end off of one.

“So, let me see if I understand correctly. You’d like to have your cake and eat it too?”

Draco fought back a grimace at the archaic saying.

“Precisely.”

He watched as Rodolphus flipped open his monogrammed lighter, igniting the cigar.

“Then I think I can be of service.”

Draco smiled, white teeth gleaming in the gaslights.

“I was hoping as much.”

Rodolphus puffed steadily at the end, releasing smoke with every word.

“So, Drake, if you could create the perfect woman, what would she be like?”

Harry shifted restlessly in the corner as the girls stood on tiptoes before him, eyes quickly scanning
the crowd.

And then Angie’s back with rigid.

She spun on her heel, eyes bright.

“Found her!”
He surged forward.

“Which one is she?”

She pointed ahead. “The blonde over by the couches, she’s on a man’s lap.”

Harry followed her direction, hungry gaze alighting on his target at last.

He nodded.

“Get the room ready, I’ll grab her.”

Parvati placed a hand on his shoulder. “Harry-”

“It’s alright.”

“But she’s-”

“I’ll take care of it.”

His voice left no room for argument. She sighed but drew back, following Angie through the large
red curtains with one last parting glance.

Harry straightened his jacket, taking a deep breath and zeroing in on his destination. She was
seated atop a man’s lap several meters ahead, smiling placidly while he erupted into a fit of wild
laughter, the group of men circling him joining in, faces red and eyes clouded.

Before Harry reached them the man stood, knocking her off his lap so abruptly she started to
topple to the floor, catching herself against the side of the velvet chair just in time.

Harry scowled.

The man swayed precariously on his feet before reaching down and grabbing her arm, pulling her
close and whispering something in her ear that left her eyes devoid of any discernible emotion.

She nodded shortly, tipping her head towards the red curtains.

Harry stopped in his tracks.

Time to change tactics.

He pretended to examine a nude sculpture on display as they walked by, waiting until they passed
through the crimson fabric before following.

He trailed them down the main hall, waiting until they turned into a deserted corridor and before
making his move.

“Catrina.”

The girl jolted, spinning on her heel, leaving her client blinking in bemusement before he too
turned around. Harry waited until she met his eye.

Recognition set in.

She took a step back.

He held his hands up in a peaceful gesture.

“I only want to talk.”

The drunken man grabbed her arm once more and pulled her roughly back. “Wait your turn, mate.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t think so.”

The man scoffed. “Hey, listen, fucker-” he started walking towards Harry. “Find another one, I
already paid for- ah!”

Harry grabbed his arm and spun him around, slamming him face first into the wall and clipping his
scream.

“No, you listen.” He spoke calmly in his ear, twisting his wrist behind his back, earning a sharp
gasp of pain. “You’re going to find another girl for the evening. And if I see you tossing them
around like a bloody ragdoll I’ll drag you back here and break both your arms.”

He twisted the wrist again, the joint popping beneath his hand.

“Do you understand?”

The stranger nodded as best he could with his cheek smashed against the damask wallpaper.

“Yes! Yes!” He panted, eyes wide and bloodshot.

“Good.” Harry released him, stepping away and straightening his jacket. “Now leave.”

The man sprinted down the hall without a backward glance, tripping over his feet in his haste.

Harry turned around.

“Katie.”

She swallowed heavily.

“How do you know my name?”

“I’m Hermione’s friend.”

She blinked. “You told me you were Lavender's friend.”

“I lied. I never met Lavender, but I needed information, I was trying to help find her.” His jaw
tensed. “But now Hermione’s in trouble.”

Katie’s brows furrowed.

“I tried to warn her.”

His heart skipped a beat, her words drawing him closer.

“Warn her about what?”

She shook her head, hands curling at her sides as she glanced away.

“I know you’re scared, Katie. But I promise-”

“You can’t promise me anything,” she whispered, voice thick but steady. She gazed back up, eyes
gleaming through the dark mask. “You can’t promise to protect me, you can’t promise that nothing
bad will happen to me. No one can.”

He took a deep breath, mind spinning.

“Will you please just sit with me for a few minutes and talk?”

She started to rear back.

“Not just me. Angie and Parvati will be there, too. I only want to ask you some questions. And I
won't force you to answer any of them.”

His assurances didn't seem to ease her in the least. He swallowed heavily, reaching for straws,
desperation setting in.

“Hermione came to you last night because she was trying to stop it, right? The kidnappings, the
killings?”

She paled considerably. He pushed on.

“But she can’t do it alone. She needs our help. And if we all continue to look the other way then
nothing changes.”

He leaned in but kept his feet rooted to the spot, treating her like a scared foal about to sprint into
the trees.

“Your life is already at stake, Katie. Every single day, working here, interacting with drunk,
volatile clients, and all the underhanded dealings that go on under this roof. You’re not safe now.”

Tears ran down her cheeks from beneath the mask.

“I want to help you. Help all of you.” He wet his lips. “I want to help Hermione. But I need you to
help me first.”

She closed her eyes, swaying on her feet. He sensed victory on the horizon and closed in, voice soft
and placating.

“I need you to tell me everything you said to her last night.”

A weighted pause.

“Please.”

A short eternity passed before she opened her eyes. His heartbeat was so deafening he almost didn't
hear her whispered reply.

“Alright.”

Tom drew the back of his wrist across his brow, wiping away the sweat threatening to run into his
narrowed eyes.

He took a deep breath, gazing up.

“Where is Luna?”
Greyback grimaced, complexion waxen and saturated in sweat. Tom set his jaw in concentration
and drew the scalpel down once more, slicing deep into the glossy, exposed muscled. Greyback
reared back, tendons straining in his neck and arms.

“I gave her to him! I gave her to him!”

“Gave her to who?”

“Dolohov!”

Tom sat back, heartbeat swelling in his chest, echoing through his ears.

“That’s who hired you?”

Greyback swallowed thickly. “Yes.” He wet his lips, blinking his bloodshot eyes slowly. “He
wants your girl.” Another wheezing breath. “He wants her bad.”

Tom’s eyes flashed. Greyback read the message in their gleaming depths. He pressed back into the
chair, trousers soaked black with blood.

"You can kill me, but it won't stop them. It won't make a difference…" He tipped his head back.
"There are others out there, others like me."

A weighted beat.

“He calls us snatchers.”

Tom’s pulse thrummed, energizing him anew.

“Who?”

Greyback’s heavy lids closed. Tom reared up, grabbing a handful of the man’s long hair and
jerking his head back.

“Who calls you that? Who do you work for?”

His golden gaze lolled, eyes rolling back in his head as his mouth opened and closed without a
sound.

“Who?”

He released his head, trading the scalpel to his left hand so he could drive a blood-caked fist into
the side of his jaw once more.

“Wake up!”

Greyback’s head stayed averted with the punch, eyes closed and face lax. Tom growled low in his
chest.

“Wake up!”

He struck him again.

And again.

And again.
Greyback’s lip split down the center, cut by his jagged teeth, blood marring his cheek and jaw,
temple rapidly swelling.

“Wake up!”

“Tom!”

He staggered back, spinning around and pinning the figure in the open doorway with his wild, feral
gaze.

“I told you to wait outside.”

She stepped closer, shoulder trembling. He raised a bloody hand to keep her at bay. Her hazel gaze
alighted on the appendage before flickering past, absorbing the sight of the broken, mangled figure
tied to the chair.

She paled.

His stomach twisted painfully at her fraught expression.

“Hermione, go-”

“Did he tell you where Luna is?”

He blinked, the prosaic question taking him off guard, then swallowed heavily.

“He told me he gave her to Dolohov.”

Her eyes darted back to his.

“He paid to have me taken?”

His shoulders tensed.

“Yes.”

She nodded slowly, chest rising as she inhaled deeply.

“Then we’ll go to his house and question him next.”

His fingers flexed around the scalpel.

“Greyback knows more.” A shadow passed across his face. “I can get it out of him.”

She shook her head, brows creasing. “He’s done, Tom.”

“He will be soon enough.”

She stepped forward.

“No.”

He blinked again, jaw tensing.

“No?”

“He told us what we needed to know. It’s done.”

He arched a brow, voice scathing.

“And now we do what exactly? Let him go? Let him continue taking girls off the streets and out of
their homes?”

“Of course not.” Her tone was calm, placating, her pace slow and steady, as though approaching a
wild animal. “We take him to the police.”

His dark laughter filled the warehouse, dancing off the walls and along her skin, causing it to crawl
along her limbs.

“The police. Of course. They’ll take care of everything.”

She swallowed, eyes landing on the wet, glinting blade in his hand.

"This is different. Greyback isn't the Lestranges. He isn't untouchable. And with his criminal
background, he'll be much easier to take down. He probably has prior-"

“I’m not setting him free, Hermione.”

She met his intense gaze once more, continuing her slow path forward.

“Killing him is setting him free, Tom.”

She stopped just before him, hands opening and closing at her sides, knuckles white.

“You know as well as I do being confined to a cage for the rest of his life will be far worse
punishment than death for a man like Greyback.”

Tom’s eyes glowed from within, hellfire licking across his pupils, an unholy gaze born from hell
itself.

His voice was just as sinister.

“I can’t risk him getting out, walking free. He managed it once already.”

She slowly wet her lips, struggling to keep her own words measured and calm. “If he does, then
you’ll be waiting for him.”

He opened his mouth, no doubt to continue his argument.

So she did the only thing she could think of to buy his silence, his surrender.

She placed her hand against the center of his chest.

The satin ribbon tied around her wrist stood in stark relief against the dried blood splatter across his
white shirt.

He stood firm, heat seeping out of his skin and into her hand, his strong heartbeat stuttering wildly
beneath her palm.

"Tom." She blinked the tears from her eyes, meeting his unearthly gaze head-on. "Please." She
leaned into him. "For me… don't kill him."

His chest heaved with each panting breath. She remained still, terrified to shatter the fragility of the
moment.
He continued to gaze down upon her, eyes molten, turbulent, a raging storm playing out within.

And finally…

He nodded, lips pressed thin.

She gasped, sagging forward with the force of her relief, resting her forehead against his chest,
feeling the powerful rise and fall of each breath.

She felt his body go lax against her, rigid lines smoothing. He bent his head down, lips and nose
brushing against her hair. His chest expanded with a deep inhale. He held it in his lungs. She
counted his heartbeats.

Time stood still.

And then, like all precious things, it came to a tragic end.

He reared back, almost violently, and took several wide steps away, opening a vast chasm between
their swaying forms.

She gazed up in shock, meeting his eyes.

And saw the impenetrable walls in place once more.

She sighed, fingers curling in, nails pressing her palms, the pain an anchor in the raging sea, the
smoke on the water obscuring her view of the shoreline.

He glanced away first, gazing down at his bloodstained hands, and then to the table against the
wall.

“I’ll clean up, then we leave.”

She nodded mutely, doing her best to avoid the sight in the center of the room, the blood pooled
along the floor, the trail leading up to the man it came from.

Tom cut a precise and graceful path to his medical case. She averted her gaze, unable to watch him
handle the blades with such precision now that she knew all he was capable of with the
instruments.

“Greyback will keep for another few hours,” he supplied over his shoulder without preamble or
emotion. “Plenty of time to accomplish our next task.”

Her heart jolted painfully in her chest.

“Dolohov,” she whispered, a lifetime’s worth of pain, terror and misery crashing over her like a
tidal wave.

From the corner of her eye, she saw his back go rigid, every muscle tensed.

And then he slowly turned, pinning her in place with his predatory stare.

“Dolohov.”

Draco had just exited the black staircase onto the main floor when he was grabbed by the collar
and jerked backward, nearly ripped clear off his feet.
He swung blindly, fist connecting with solid muscle and fabric, earning a satisfying grunt of pain
from his attacker.

“Get off-”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

Draco blinked, body tensing as he gazed over his shoulder with wide eyes.

“Potter?”

Harry let him go, stepping back and clutching his side. They stood beneath the staircase, hidden
from view of the floor, cast in shadow.

“You didn’t have to apprehend me, you bloody bastard.”

Draco straightened his jacket, eyes narrowed.

And then he saw the murderous expression on Harry’s face. He stepped forward, face pale.

“What is it?” His hands clenched. “Is she hurt? Where is she?”

Harry blinked, the hard edges in his expression softening.

“I don’t know.” He studied Draco’s visage carefully, looking for any trace of duplicity.

“Then why do you look like a red hot poker’s been jammed up your arse?”

Harry rolled his eyes, shoulders dropping.

“You’re the most annoying ponce on the planet and it’s not even an act.”

Draco arched a pale brow. “Excuse me?”

“Which means what I’m about to say is going to be a real blow, so brace yourself.”

Draco drew back, spine ramrod straight.

“What the bloody hell are you on about?”

Harry’s jaw tensed as he held the man’s bemused gaze.

“There was a party held at Malfoy Manor a couple weeks ago. Lavender attended with McLaggen.
She saw some shite she shouldn’t have seen and drew the attention of your aunt and uncle. She was
murdered a few days later.”

Draco opened and closed his mouth, body eerily still as his eyes darted between Harry's as though
searching for something beyond the words he was hearing.

“I-” he wet his lips, then shook his head. “There was no party at the Manor.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You sure about that?”

Draco scowled. “Yes, idiot. I fucking live there, I’d be the first to know.”

Harry blinked, glancing away and crossing his arms, wheels quickly turning in his mind.
“Who told you there was a party?” Draco asked, arms crossing.

“Someone who spoke to Lavender before she was killed.”

Draco tipped his head.

“She’s mistaken.”

“She was repeating what she heard. And I believe her.”

“Then the Lavender chit was mistaken.”

Harry pinned him with a calculating look. Draco glared.

“I’m not lying to you, Potter. I want to figure this shite out as badly as you do. But I’m telling you,
there was no-”

He stopped abruptly, jaw snapping shut with an audible click. Harry’s pulse thrummed, adrenaline
surging.

“What is it?”

“There was a party.”

Harry opened his mouth but fell silent at Draco’s raised hand.

“But it wasn’t at the Manor.” His silver gaze ignited. “And it wasn’t our party.”

Harry’s jaw ticked. “Explain.”

Draco bristled beneath the command, voice dripping in acid.

"We rent out properties to various blue-bloods who can't afford their own estates in the West End,
usually during Seasons and holidays, but some rent throughout the year and use it as their primary
residence, often because they don't have a country estate to retire to."

Harry nodded.

“How many of these properties are rented on the west side?”

“Dozens.”

Harry groaned.

“But only one had a party last week. A big one, I know because my father got pissed, threatened to
evict Avery if the fool ever did it again.”

Harry blinked.

“Jonathan Avery?”

“The human termite, yes.”

Harry drew back, head spinning with the revelation.

Draco continued on, shoulders tight.

“The property still has the Malfoy insignia on the gates, the girl probably recognized it and
assumed we were hosting the event.”

“Do you know where this property is?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going.”

“Naturally.”

Draco started to turn, Harry reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Wait.”

Draco shrugged free of his grip. “Stop accosting me, prat.”

“I need to grab Neville and Parvati.”

Draco raised a brow. “I’m sorry, did you say Longbottom?”

Harry ignored him, already striding past and scanning the crowd with his eyes.

“Why the bloody fuck did you bring him with you?”

“Because I needed help looking for Mione, and he’s one of the few people I could think of who
can recognize her even in disguise.”

“Why not recruit your ginger lapdog?”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

“Whatever, I couldn't care less. We need to hurry.”

“Then why don’t you shut up and help me look?”

“Fucking tosser.”

“Slimy ponce.”

They moved forward, submerging themselves into the crowd.

“Parvati’s waiting in a private room. I’ll get her, you meet Neville at the bar.”

Draco huffed in annoyance. “Fine.”

“Meet me out front in ten minutes.”

“Make it five.”

And then the blonde turned on his heel and disappeared into the wall of bodies.

Harry sighed, making his way through the red curtains once more, heading for the room he'd
spoken to Katie in.

Only to run into another member of their defunct party.

“Zabini?”

The man glanced up, a wide smile breaking free and gleaming in the light.

“Potter, there you are.”

“I forgot you were here.”

His declaration only made the grin widen.

“You really know how to make a bloke feel special. No wonder Theo can’t keep his hands off
you.”

Harry staggered back, heart beating through his chest, making him light-headed.

“I-” he shook his head, trying to regain his equilibrium. “What do you-”

“Relax, Potter. I’m just taking the mickey out of you. I didn’t intend to cause a heart attack.”

Harry wet his lips, mouth dry as a desert.

“I take it you didn’t find Granger?”

The question drew him from the depths of the water he was treading, a lifeline in the midst of
drowning.

He swallowed heavily.

“No.” He ran a trembling hand through his hair, desperately trying to recalibrate. “But we have a
lead on where she may be. Possibly Luna as well.”

Blaise blinked.

“Luna?”

Harry shook his head, striding forward on numb legs. “I’ll explain in the carriage. Assuming you
want to come.”

“Of course.” Blaise gracefully spun on his heel and skipped along the hall in Harry’s wake. “This
is by far the most eventful evening I’ve had in at least a week.”

Harry’s jaw tensed as he glanced over his shoulder, pinning the man with his most seething glare.
Blaise winked.

“This is serious, Zabini.”

He nodded dramatically.

“This is my serious face.”

Harry sighed and faced forward again, reaching the room at the end of the hall and knocking a
singsong pattern against the wood.

“Oh!” Blaise sidled closer, bouncing on his heels. “A secret code! The plot thick-”

He fell instantly silent as the door swung open and the person standing on the other side came into
view.
“You!” Parvati shouted, dark eyes narrowing to menacing slits.

Harry took no small pleasure in the sound of Blaise’s audible gulp before the man schooled his
expression into a rakish grin.

“We meet again, pretty minx.”

Her hands curled at her sides.

“You’re about to meet my fist again.”

Harry stepped between them, directing his focus on Parvati.

“While it pains me to deny us both the immense pleasure of seeing you break his nose a second
time, we have to get going.”

Her eyes flickered to his, hostile expression turning worrisome in the space of a heartbeat.

“What is it? Did you find Malfoy?”

“Malfoy?” Blaise straightened, glancing between them. “As in Draco?”

“Again, I’ll explain in the carriage, but we have to leave now.”

He started up the hallway towards the main room, both companions falling in close step behind
him.

“Wait!” Parvati reached out, placing a hand on his back and prompting him to stop, turning to face
her. “We have to find Hannah.”

Harry blinked. “Hannah?”

“Another resident who came with me tonight.”

Harry dragged a hand over his face, tearing off his mask and groaning deeply.

"This night can't get anymore-"

“Nah ah ah,” Blaise interrupted, holding a finger aloft, earning both of their scornful glares.

He smiled brightly.

“You know better than to finish that sentence, Potter.”

Antonin tied his smoking jacket closed with an elegant knot as he walked to his front door.

“Yes, yes, coming!” He called out, the delicate rapping ceasing immediately.

He sighed, setting his cognac aside as he unbolted the lock and wrenched the barrier open.

“What do-”

His jaw hung slack, eyes wide with shock.

The figure before him trembled lightly, hands laced together.

She licked her lips, prompting him to find his voice once more.

“Hermione?”

“Hello, Antonin.”

He swallowed thickly at the sound of his given name on her sensuous lips. His knuckles turned
white against the door.

“What- how did-”

“Can I come in?”

He blinked rapidly, lurching back. “Yes… yes, of course.”

He held his breath as she took a tentative step forward, glancing briefly over her shoulder into the
darkness of the empty street beyond, he followed her gaze, brow raised, but in the next moment she
was stepping fully into his home, shoulder brushing his chest, and he was lost.

He quickly closed the door, turning the lock, eyes never straying from her face.

“Would you like a drink?”

She spun on her heel, meeting his gaze, shoulders set.

“I know you sent Greyback for me.”

He jolted, heart skipping a beat. He opened his mouth but fell still as she held up a staying hand.

"I know he took Luna instead." She wet her lips anew, her arm dropping like a dead weight at her
side. "Please, let her go."

Then she inhaled sharply, blinking quickly, eyes gleaming bright.

“And I’ll stay with you. Willingly.”

His jaw snapped shut, eyes carefully roaming her figure, as though trying to determine if she were
truly there or merely a figment of imagination.

“I…” He licked his own his lips, running a hand across his face. “I didn’t want to resort to such
barbaric practices. But I knew of no other way to get you free of that hellhole.”

A crease appeared between her brows.

“You…” She shook her head, mind reeling. “You did it, for me?”

“Of course, Hermione.” He started towards her. She started walking back. “Everything I do, I do
for you.”

Her shoulders hit the wall. She gasped. He continued his approach.

“From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I vowed to protect you at all costs.”

Her pulse raced madly, causing her vision to haze at the edges.

“I will do anything for you. Surely you know that by now.”

She fought to breathe through the rising terror, the gut-clenching dread. Her hands pressed into the
wall, nails gouging crescent grooves into the wallpaper.

“Why?”

“Why?” He laughed, deep and unrestrained, reaching her at last. He pressed his hands to the wall
on either side of her body, caging her, chest pressing in, expelling the air from her lungs. “Because
you're mine.”

He rested his lips at her temple, hot breath cascading down the side of her face, causing her to
shiver in revulsion. Flashes of memory appeared before her mind's eye, the past overlaying the
present, blurring the lines of nightmare and reality.

“And now that you’ve accepted that fact, we can begin our lives together.”

Her gaze widened.

She had always thought it was just about sex.

“What?”

He drew his head back, lowering his chin, examining her closely.

“We’ll need to leave England immediately.” He took one hand off the wall to play idly with her
curls. “We should avoid Europe entirely, at least for a few years.” Cold fingertips traced a path
along her cheek and down her neck, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. “We’ll get married right
away, of course.”

She jolted, inadvertently pressing harder against him, bile rising in her throat as a purr released
from his.

“We’ll be able to collect your fortune. Combined with my sizable estate, we can live anywhere we
desire.”

His hands grasped her waist, squeezing, kneading, restraining. She tipped her head back,
attempting to open her airway, desperate for oxygen. He dipped his head and licked the exposed
flesh of her throat. She choked back a sob.

“You pick the place. Anywhere you want, Hermione. Anything you want. I’ll give you the world.”

She swallowed, working past the constriction, feeling faint, held aloft only by his pinning weight.

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so fucking long.”

His erection prodded into her hip through her skirts as his hands drifted down, bunching the fabric,
pulling it up, cool air meeting her stockinged calves.

“I’ve fantasized about being inside of you for years.”

He groaned into her ear as he continued to gather and lift her dress, his eyes unfocused, hungry.

“To be your first. Your only.”

She began to pant, hands clawing at the wall.

“I know you never let the Malfoy brat inside you. You’re too smart, too pure. He’ll never touch
you again.”

Her heart stuttered at the mention of Draco, but she was lost for words, succumbed to the terror of
her mind.

I should have let Tom do it his way…

She blinked rapidly at the ceiling, phantom smoke appearing before her eyes.

No.

Her nails lengthened, striking grooves in the plaster.

I can do this.

Adrenaline surged.

He’s mine.

Her resolve snapped back into place with an audible crack.

Her skirts were pulled higher yet, his fingers clutching at the thin linen of her shift.

“I understand why you ran, why you cut me.” His lips grazed her neck with every word. “I forgive
you, little one.”

He pulled the shift over her bloomers.

She pried her hands from the wall as he began to rut against her like a dog in heat.

“I deserved your wrath then. But tonight... tonight I want your passion.”

His head rose, lips searching for hers. She turned her face away sharply, leaving him panting
against her cheek. She slid her hand into the hidden panel sewn inside the folds of her skirt, fingers
wrapping around the narrow cylinder concealed within.

“Tonight, we finally get to finish what we started.”

She ground her teeth, gaze reflecting the ghostly flames dancing around her.

“Yes,” she hissed.

He nipped at her neck.

She tore her hand free from the fabric, the syringe gleaming in the moonlight as she drove it into
the side of his neck with all the strength contained within her body.

His shocked, pained scream was music to her ears.

He staggered back immediately, releasing her skirts, dress falling back into place, all evidence of
his sickening touch erased.

He blinked rapidly, tipping sideways into the back of the sofa, clutching the cushions desperately.
He swallowed heavily before reaching up with a trembling hand and pulling the needle from his
neck, staring upon it with wide, glazed eyes.

She watched him drop to his knees, the syringe falling to the floor as his hands went numb.
Then he met her gaze.

She started a slow path towards him, expression sinister in the fading light. A dark, avenging
angel.

Her every footstep was marked by ash, the entire world burning at her feet.

She came to stop directly before his crumbling form, eyes glowing in the darkness as she delivered
a promise of her own.

“Tonight we finish it for good.”

 Original Sin

Truth is always bitter to those who fear it.

. . .

“Move your hand, pervert.”

“Sorry, darling, thought that was my thigh.”

Parvati’s eyes narrowed dangerously from her corner of the carriage. “The next time you make
such a mistake I’m going to break every bone in your body.”

“You seem wound rather tight, might I suggest some relaxation techniques from the Orient-”

"Blaise, shut the hell up." Draco rubbed his throbbing temples, glancing at Harry. "This is
ridiculous, we should have dropped the others at Grimmauld."

Neville bristled from his spot on the opposite end of the bench. “If Mione’s in trouble I’m not
going anywhere.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’re the first person I think of when it comes to saving the day,
Longbottom.”

Neville shot him a scathing look even as he flushed brightly. Hannah adjusted awkwardly in her
seat, biting her bottom lip and drawing her shoulders in as though to make herself as small as
possible.

Harry sighed. “We need every pair of eyes we can get to search the house.”

The carriage rocked precariously, sending the jam-packed occupants bumping into one another.
Draco scowled.

“How the bloody hell are we supposed to sneak five people in? Avery may invite me inside but
he’ll most certainly have reservations regarding the circus at my back.”

Parvati sat straighter, the darkened interior casting half her face in shadow. “I’m good at breaking
and entering, and I can scale the side of the house if need be.”

Her announcement earned an appreciate once over from Blaise, which she pointedly ignored, while
Draco merely raised a pale brow, voice unenthused. “What a colorful CV you must have.”

She rolled her eyes.

Harry directed his focus upon her. “You aren’t scaling anything with a fractured rib.”

Zabini blinked, expression sobering as he gazed upon her carefully. “You’re hurt?”

“Mind your own business,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. He raised his hands in
mock surrender, their tight confines causing his elbow to lodge into Harry’s side. He forcefully
pushed the offending limb away.

"Draco will go in the front," he instructed, tone firm. "The rest of us will find a way in through the
back." He met the blonde's irritated, mercurial gaze. "Just keep him distracted long enough for us
to search the premises."
"Shouldn't he help us look?" Parvati asked, arms lowering to her lap. "It is his house, after all, he
must know the layout."

“It isn’t my home. My father owns the building, along with half of the West End. I’ve never set
foot inside.”

Harry peered out of the window, shoulders tensing. “We’re here, everyone act natural while I pay
the driver.”

“Act natural?” Parvati scoffed. “Hannah and I are dressed like tarts and you lot look like a
Renaissance Fair took a hot shite all over you.”

Blaise burst into laughter while Draco sighed deeply, carding his fingers through his hair. “I’m
dressed like a normal member of society, I’ll pay the driver. Everyone else start heading for the
back.”

The moment the carriage came to a stop everyone piled out eagerly, stretching their limbs and
shifting apart, desperate for personal space. Draco departed their company as he walked to the
front, reaching into his coat for his billfold.

Hannah shifted from foot to foot, crossing her arms tightly, eyes averted. Neville gazed at her for a
long moment before quickly shrugging out of his coat, clearing his throat as he did so.

“Um… here.” He held out the garment, a slight tremor in his arm.

She gazed up, brown eyes widening before a smile unfurled across her face. “Thank you.”

Blaise smirked, glancing at Parvati and grasping his lapels, starting to remove his own jacket. She
met his eye, expression pinching.

“No thanks.”

Harry sighed, shaking his head and removing his emerald coat, handing it over to her without a
word. She accepted it with an appreciative nod.

The gravel crunched beneath the carriage wheels as it pulled forward. Draco walked back to the
group, brows creased.

“What the hell are you all doing standing around?”

Parvati’s dark eyes narrowed. “I hope for your sake Mione smacks the shite out of you.”

“She already has and he’s still an arse.” Harry tipped his head toward the house. “Alright, let’s
head around the side.” He met Draco’s eye. “Remember, keep him-”

“Distracted. I’m not daft like most of your friends, Potter. Now go.”

Harry suppressed a groan, glancing at the others.

“Alright, follow me.”

. . .

Draco’s jaw tensed as he watched Potter and his Merry Band of Idiots head around the side of the
building.
He sighed deeply, starting a path up the drive to the front door of the large Estate.

He still thought it was a huge mistake allowing the others to tag along.

Especially Blaise and Longbottom. The girls seemed clever and amenable enough to avoid
wreaking total havoc on the evening, but six people on an espionage mission were just asking for
trouble.

He gazed at the large, gleaming black door, pulse thrumming at the mere thought of Hermione
being inside.

The idea disturbed him, but he also sent a silent prayer to a god he rarely believed in that she
would, in fact, be on the grounds, saving him from having to tear the city apart looking for her.

He lifted a fist and brought it down on the door three times before tucking his hands casually in his
pockets, body tensed.

A distant shuffle sounded, followed by sliding metal, and then the barrier gave way.

Avery stood before him, adorned in casual wear, blinking rapidly.

“Draco?”

“Jon. Good evening.”

The man shifted back, eyes darting around the porch before settling. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to ask a favor, actually.”

He blinked again, brow arching high.

“A favor? From me?”

“Yes, involving the upcoming debate. Surely you’ve heard my father is allowing me to speak
before the entire committee?”

“Oh…” he wet his lips, shifting again. “Well, yes, I did. But I don’t know what I can do to-”

A distant thump jolted and rendered him silent. He spun around, peering over his shoulder into the
home. Draco closed his eyes with a silent groan.

Fucking idiots.

He shook his head, gazing forward once more.

“Jon.”

Avery spun to face him. Draco smothered his annoyance with every ounce of willpower left within
him.

“Are you busy? I just a need a few minutes to ask you some questions about-”

The explosive sound of shattering glass echoed loudly down the hall.

“What the hell?” Avery spun on his heel, eyes wide. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Did you hear that?” The man asked, stepping away from the door and walking further down the
hall.

“I’m pretty sure the Queen heard it from Kensington.”

Avery opened and closed his mouth before clearing his throat.

“Give me just a minute, Drake, I need to check on something.”

Draco nodded with resignation. “You go do that.”

He watched the man take off down the hall and turn the corner before crossing the threshold and
closing the door, sliding the heavy lock into place, silently berating his evening’s companions all
the while.

He started a leisurely stroll down the same route Avery took, finally emerging in the parlor.

A broken vase littered the wood floor, the table beside it askew.

Avery stood stock still, gazing down upon the mess in utter bewilderment.

He glanced up at Draco’s entrance, mouth agape.

Draco sighed, voice dry.

“I’m as perplexed as you are.”

Floorboards creaked in the hallway beyond the room’s other exit. Avery spun around, fists
clenched at his sides, spine rigid.

"H-hello?" He practically squeaked.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Avery glanced anxiously over his shoulder. “You heard that, right?”

Draco bit his tongue to keep his scathing remarks at bay. Instead, he creased his brows, feigning
confusion.

Avery gazed at the empty doorway once more, taking a tentative step forward.

He barely made it to the archway before an arm shot out of the darkness, a fist colliding with the
side of his square jaw, knocking him clear off his feet.

Draco reared back, blinking at the sight of the toppling body.

Avery hit the ground in a heap, limbs askew, head lolling to the side as he plunged into
unconsciousness.

And then Potter was entering the room, running a hand through his wild mane as though nothing
was amiss.

Draco stared upon the limp figure for another deafening beat before finding his voice.

“What the bloody hell, Potter?”

The fool raised a dark brow, eyes guileless. “Our cover was blown, what was I supposed to do?”
The others began to trickle into the room from the hall.

Longbottom’s expression was stricken. “It was my fault. I tripped.”

“How hard is it to walk in a straight fucking line, idiot?”

The blonde girl stepped forward. “It was an accident-”

“Enough!” Potter’s voice caused them all to jolt. “He’s going to come to any moment, we need to
get organized. Draco, help me move him. Blaise, Nev, find something to bind him with.”

Blaise casually stepped over the body. “I love this bossy, domineering side of you, Potter.
Devilishly attractive.”

Parvati arched a brow as she stepped over the prone figure next. “Swing both ways do you?
Shoulda known, you look like you’ve been bent over a few barrels.”

Blaise tipped his head back and laughed. “I assure you, if I were to ever sample the wares from my
own gender I would be doing the-”

“Blaise, shut up.”

His friend shot him an annoyed glare. “Why do you keep yelling at me? It takes two to-”

“Potter, please knock him unconscious as well.”

Harry sighed, leaning down and sliding his hands under Avery’s shoulders. “This is going to be a
long bloody night.”

Hermione gazed down at Dolohov’s prone form.

And started to hyperventilate.

She stared at the unnatural angle of his limbs, then slowly brought her eyes to the discarded
syringe at his side.

She swayed on her feet, overcome with panic-

A heavy knock sounded at the door, jolting her from her stupor.

She gasped sharply, covering her mouth, blinking rapidly as she gazed at the large silhouette on the
other side of the curtain covering the inset glass.

And then she crossed the entryway rug on numb legs, hands trembling at her sides as she fumbled
with the heavy lock, sliding it back and wrenching open the door, listing her weight against it.

Tom stood before her, expression lethal, every muscle clenched as though poised to attack.

When his eyes took her in he relaxed, shoulders lowering.

“Are you alright?”

She swallowed heavily, trying to process his words in the thick fog contained within her mind.

His eyes darted past her shoulder, peering into the darkness of the home.
“Where is he?”

She swallowed thickly, shuffling back and glancing over her shoulder, giving him a clear view of
Dolohov's sock-clad foot peeking out of the drawing-room doorway and into the hall.

Tom’s eyes darted back to her.

“You were supposed to let me in immediately after. I was getting ready to break through the
glass.”

She gazed up, opening and closing her mouth. His dark brows creased as he stepped inside, gently
pushing her away from the door so he could shut and lock it.

“Hermione,” he spoke slowly, “did he hurt you?”

She quickly shook her head, even as her eyes filled with tears. His jaw tensed as he held her watery
gaze.

“Say something.”

She wet her lips, throat tight.

“I…”

His eyes darkened, shadows spreading upon the wall at his back, expanding all the way to the
ceiling.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“He didn’t- I wasn’t-” Her chest burned. “It was like last time, against the wall.” Her body
trembled, hands clenched tightly at her sides. “But I stopped him. It’s okay. I stopped him.” She
tried to regulate her breathing. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He started to reach out a hand, only to stop midway, leaving his arm hovering in the air halfway
towards her, his expression stricken, hesitant.

She leaped forward, mindless in her need for comfort. She pressed against him, burying her face in
his chest, inhaling deeply, relishing the darkness beneath the fabric of his coat as she burrowed in
deep.

She began to shake uncontrollably, overcome with emotion, unable to quell the torrent crashing
down upon her. As she bit back broken sobs she felt his arms slowly encase her, his movements
stilted, unsure.

She reveled in the heat of his body, its solid, unmovable presence. She clung to him, grabbing
handfuls of his coat and anchoring herself in place.

He held her for an eternity of fleeting seconds. And then his hands were gently encircling her arms,
pushing her back.

She tilted her tear stained face upwards, meeting his calming gaze.

“You did well, Hermione. I’m very proud of you.”

He stroked her hair. She leaned her face against him once more, eyes closing. His voice rumbled
through his chest and into her skull, echoing through her mind.
“Now your role is done, I’m going to-”

“No!”

She shot back, shaking her head, adrenaline suffusing her.

“I want to question him. I need to question him.” Her shoulders tensed.

“I need this, Tom.”

He held her gaze, breathing deeply, one hand at her arm and the other at her lower back.

Until finally, he nodded.

“You’ve certainly earned the right.”

Her muscles relaxed with a powerful sigh of relief.

“Thank you.”

He tilted his head, eyes slowly roaming her face. “There’s no need to thank me, Hermione.“ A
weighted pause. "We’re partners in this.”

The word caused her heart to skip. She blinked.

And then began to smile.

“Partners.”

They held each other's gaze for another sweltering beat...

He swallowed heavily, releasing her and stepping away.

“Search the home for Ms. Lovegood or any clues to where he took her. I’ll get him situated.”

Her expression sobered as the reality of their situation came flooding back with stunning swiftness.
She nodded quickly, arms dropping to her sides, nails digging into her palms as she turned away.

Her eyes landed on Dolohov’s limp foot.

She glanced away sharply. Tom started forward, arm brushing her as he passed. Their gazes met
and she opened her mouth to speak, though she hadn’t the slightest idea what her mind planned on
saying.

He stopped, waiting patiently for her words.

But they never came.

She closed her mouth, looking away with a blush and striding to the stairs.

She heard his footsteps behind her, the rustle of fabric as he moved into the drawing room. She
swallowed thickly, darting up the stairs as quickly as she could, desperate to put distance between
herself and the scene unfolding below.

She paused on the landing, clutching the railing so tightly the bones in her hand ached.

“Luna!”
She already felt the girl’s absence from the home in her heart. Luna was a bright light, a warm
glow. Everywhere she went she brought her illumination with her, bathing everyone in her
presence.

But this house felt cold, barren, dark. A mausoleum.

Still, Hermione wouldn’t leave until she searched every single room herself.

She paused outside the first closed door, hand flexing at her side before gripping the knob tightly
and jerking it open, braced for whatever horror may await.

It was his office.

Books were piled everywhere, the desk a violent explosion of papers.

No sign of life.

But just in case-

“Luna?”

Frigid silence greeted her.

She sighed heavily, pulling the door shut and moving onto the next one.

The water closet.

Larger than most, every square inch covered in pale marble and gold hardware.

But no living being.

She slammed it shut, heading to the next.

Her heart rioted in her chest at the sight within.

The master bedroom.

Covered in unlit candles…

… and rose petals.

They started on the carpet near her feet, leading a crimson trail to the bed like droplets of blood to
a crime scene.

The mattress was covered in them.

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth as bile-filled her throat.

He had prepared the room for her.

Like some grand romantic gesture.

It was the most disturbing sight she’d ever witnessed.

More gruesome than the eyeless apparition, more frightening than the ominous warning scratched
along the wall of the attic.
This was a terror unlike any she’d ever experienced before.

She turned away from the sight, gasping for breath, desperately trying to calm her nerves and keep
the contents of her stomach situated where they were.

After a few moments of solace staring blankly at the wall, she was able to direct her attention over
her shoulder once again, breathing steadily through her nose, forcing her eyes to the bed.

The quilt remained neatly pressed, free of wrinkles. The petals smooth as silk. Untouched.

The mattress unused. The decorations undisturbed.

He hadn’t raped her.

At least not on the bed…

She cringed at the dark thought, tears filling her eyes anew.

Even if he didn’t touch Luna, the next man to get his hands on her might-

She felt faint, listing against the dresser, trying to stay upright.

Trying to avoid the petals on the ground. Their sight was perverse. Their touch acidic. She’d never
be able to tolerate their scent again.

Suddenly, a whisper filled her head, unbidden.

“Scream for me, luv.”

She inhaled deeply, feeling the unforgiving door at her back, the brass doorknob bruising her spine.

Hands tearing at her dress, ripping into her flesh, consuming her like a feasting, feral beast.

She clawed at the phantom wall, nails breaking, body and soul dying.

And then her eyes had landed on a bright beacon of hope. She’d scrambled forward for the items
on the desk, barely reaching the edge, having just enough leverage to grip the silver letter opener
before he was grabbing her arms and slamming her back into the door, her ears ringing with the
impact of her head against the solid wood barrier.

She struck forward on instinct, blind in her panic, slicing him clean across the eye as his hand
clawed at her shift.

Blood blossomed across the split skin a stuttered heartbeat before his scream vibrated the walls.

He dropped her dress, rearing back with a hand clutching his face, red oozing out from between his
fingers and dripping onto his vest. She blinked at him like a terrified, wide-eyed doe, unaware of
the blood marring her own clothing.

He stared at her in shock.

And then the anger set in.

He lunged forward.

She screamed and dropped to the ground, causing him to ram his shoulder into the door before he
could check his momentum, the joint popping loudly, earning another strangled shout of pain.

She scrambled on her hands and knees to the center of the room before lurching to her feet,
breathing manically, still clutching her blood tipped weapon tightly in her fist.

He spun around, directing the full force of his wrath upon her. She paled, heart trapped in her
throat.

And then he’d done the most terrifying thing yet…

He laughed.

Deep, belly shaking laughter that peeled the skin from her bones as she stared on in shock and
bewilderment.

He'd finally settled, licking his lips and leering at her through the eye not covered by a blood-
soaked hand.

“I knew you would be as wild and passionate as you are brilliant.”

She blinked, tears cutting scorching paths down her cheeks.

“This isn’t over, sweetling. Not even close.”

She swallowed heavily, hands shaking so badly she stabbed herself in the leg with the letter
opener.

His jaw tensed.

"You speak a word about this to anyone and I'll-"

Stop!

Hermione clutched either side of her head as she bent forward, forcefully wrenching herself from
the dark waters of her memory and clawing her way to the shores of the present.

It’s over.

She gasped for breath, eyes squeezed tightly.

Tom is here.

She wiped roughly at her wet cheeks.

I’m safe.

She slowly rose to her full height, reddened eyelids parting, vision centered on the petal-strewn
bed.

And suddenly, from the ether, or perhaps from the far recesses of her mind where the truth was
always buried, a realization dawned upon her.

Crushing the air from her lungs and snapping every bone in her body.

The devastation was immense. So much so that it went beyond crying, beyond screaming.

Rendering her mute. Trapped within her own mind with nothing but cold reality and festering
hatred.

She slowly exited the bedroom, body numb even as her pulse thrummed.

She made her way down the hall and staircase like a ghost, feet levitating above the ground like the
apparition that led her to the attic. She was one with the haunting figures now. A creature of both
realms.

She hovered outside the drawing room, silently taking in the scene before her.

Dolohov was tied to a dining chair in the center of the rug, sofa and table pushed across the floor to
make way.

Tom was finishing up an elaborate knot binding the man's wrist to the armrest. The steady intensity
in his gray eyes were mesmerizing.

She watched on mutely, afraid to break his concentration, afraid of losing this moment, this calm
before the storm.

She tilted her head, unconsciously shifting her weight.

A floorboard creaked.

She held her breath, braced for his gleaming gaze to alight upon her.

But he didn't flinch a muscle. Merely continued with his work.

She sighed, shaking her head.

He’d already known she was standing there. Watching him.

Of course, he did.

She walked inside as he gave the end of the rope a final tug before rising to his full height.

He met her eye, the question clear in his gaze.

She inhaled deeply, shaking her head.

His jaw tensed.

“We’ll find her.”

She bit her lip, nodding. And then she glanced down at the bound figure between them. Her earlier
resolve came flooding back, solidifying within her veins. Tom's voice was hard but calm.
Grounding her to the reality of what lied ahead.

“Whenever you're ready.”

She released a breath filled with smoke, spine lengthening as her eyes narrowed upon her prey.

“Wake him up.”

Draco tilted his head, pale brow raised.

“He isn’t waking up, Potter.”

Harry sighed, running a hand over his face.

“I can see that, Malfoy.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t rammed your fist into the side of his head like a bloody Neanderthal we’d be
able to actually question the man.”

“Instead of bitching why don’t you make a suggestion on how to rouse him?”

Parvati shifted forward.

“Why don’t we slap him around a bit?”

Blaise’s expression brightened eagerly. “I second that motion.”

“Brain injury is the entire reason we’re in this mess. No one is hitting him,” Draco snapped. His
jaw tensed, eyes narrowing upon the limp figure tied to the upholstered chair. “Christ. Is he even
alive?”

“Yes, I felt his pulse when we were binding his wrists.”

“Excuse me if I don’t take your word as gospel, Longbottom. Do you even have any medical
training?”

“Check if you don’t believe me then, Malfoy!”

“Everyone just calm down.” Harry flexed his shoulder blades, trying to alleviate the growing
tension in his neck and back. “We’re going to leave him be while we search the house for Mione
and Luna.” He released a long breath. “Or anything that can point to their whereabouts.”

He glanced at each of them.

“Understood?”

“We should pair up,” Neville said, hands curling at his sides. “Just in case anyone gets into any
trouble.”

Harry nodded.

“Good idea. Alright, everyone grab a partner.”

No one moved a muscle.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fucking hell.”

Draco rolled his eyes, stepping forward.

“I’ll go with Potter. We’ll split up the girls for their safety.”

Harry blinked, raising a dark brow. “Thanks.”

“Don’t bother. I just want to get this over with.”

Still, the others didn’t budge an inch. Draco scowled.

“Christ, you lot come crashing in like a herd of stampeding elephants, but when it comes time to
actually do what we came here for you turn into a bevy of blushing virgins.”

Parvati groaned, stepping forward.

“Fine.”

She glanced at a smiling Blaise, eyes narrowing. “I won’t subject Hannah to your wandering hands.
Just remember my warning in the carriage.”

“How could I forget such an enticing offer, pet? It’s not every day a woman threatens to maim and
dismember me.”

“That’s shocking.”

She glanced at Harry.

“We’ll take the west wing.”

“Good. Draco and I will take the east.” He looked to Neville. “You and Hanna take the upstairs.”

His friend nodded, even as he flushed brightly as Hannah shifted closer, her thin frame swimming
in his coat.

“And this idiot?” Parvati kicked Avery’s shin with more force than strictly necessary to make her
point. He didn’t react in the slightest. “What if he wakes up while we’re still searching the house?”

Harry’s jaw tensed. “I have a feeling he'll be making quite a bit of noise when he comes to. We’ll
hear him.”

Parvati tilted her head. “I can gag him.”

Blaise exploded into laughter at her back. She didn’t pay him any mind, maintaining Harry’s gaze.
He smirked.

“Thank you for the offer, luv, but I’d rather know when he wakes.”

She shrugged, stepping away from the chair.

“Whatever.”

She started to exit the room, whistling a dog call over her shoulder.

“Come on, boy.”

Blaise’s smile grew tenfold as he followed with an eager trot to his step. Harry sighed.

“Remember, we’re here for information, Zabini, not for you to hit on women in the hopes of being
assaulted by them.”

Blaise spun on his heel, walking back to the doorway.

“I’m excellent at multitasking, Potter.”

He winked and disappeared around the same corner as Parvati.

Harry shook his head, glancing at Draco.

“How are you friends with him?”

The blonde rolled his eyes.

“Oh, as opposed to Longbottom and his endless supply of wit and debonair charm?”

As he spoke, Neville tripped over the corner of the rug while exiting the other end of the room.
Hannah leaped forward to help steady him with both hands on his arm. He blushed every shade of
crimson as he thanked her profusely.

Harry closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Let’s just get searching.”

Hermione squeezed the syringe with a trembling hand, hesitating just before the bare expanse of
neck.

She glanced over her shoulder.

Tom held her gaze steady, nodding once.

She inhaled deeply, setting her shoulders as she faced forward, pressing the needle to the skin
before she could second-guess herself.

The pointed tip slid in smoothly. She pressed her thumb against the depressor.

Injecting pure adrenaline directly into Dolohov’s bloodstream.

He awoke instantly, jerking so violently she lost her grip on the syringe, rearing back as he
thrashed in his binds, a shocked yell echoing off the walls.

He settled a moment later, blinking rapidly.

And directing his focus upon her.

“Hermione?” He blinked again, trying to lean forward. “What-” He tried to lift his arms, glancing
sharply at his bound wrists, then down to his ankles.

“What are you doing? What is this?”

He glanced wildly around the room.

And spotted Tom.

His brows creased.

“Riddle?”

Tom remained poised against the wall, tipped back in a casual lean with one knee bent, foot
perched against the paneling, arms crossed, eyes gleaming as he watched the scene unfold before
him with predatory stillness.

Dolohov paled at the sight.

“What the hell is going on?”

His struggles renewed, realization dawning in his dark eyes.

“You son of a bitch.”

He began to thrash wildly, the chair wobbled but stayed grounded. Hermione then noticed the back
legs were anchored with rope to the sofa table at his back.

She wondered absently how many times Tom had tied men to chairs to learn that little trick.

Dolohov’s enraged voice drew her gaze back up.

“I’m going to kill you, you bastard!”

Tom tilted his head, expression placid. “I suggest you direct your focus upon the lady. After all,
she’s the one holding the knife.”

Dolohov blinked twice, eyes snapping back to Hermione.

And down to the scalpel clutched tightly in her hand.

His eyes widened to comical proportions, jaw working silently before he forced the words out, tone
beseeching.

“Hermione, sweetling-”

“Don’t call me that.”

He swallowed audibly.

“Please-”

“My father used to call me that.”

Her voice was edged in steal, driving him back in his chair as she took a menacing step forward,
propelled by the force of her rage.

“All those times you brought paperwork to the house. Claiming you were in the area, that you
wanted to save them the trouble of having to come to your office. All those times you sought me
out, pretending to be interested in my studies…”

"I wasn't pretending-"

“Shut up!”

He jolted back, jaw snapping closed.

Her chest heaved.

“All the dinners you were invited to, all the trust they bestowed upon you. And the entire time…
the entire time you were watching me… thinking about me… fantasizing about-” Her stomach
twisted painfully, tears mottling her vision. “You were lying in wait the whole time. Just waiting
for an opportunity. Just biding your time until you could strike.”

She swallowed heavily, tears dropping off her chin and soaking the collar of her dress.

“But you got tired of waiting, didn’t you?”

He paled considerably.

She nodded, gripping the scalpel so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“So you created your own opportunity.”

She was breathing heavily now, lungs filling with phantom smoke.

“They said the fire started in my father’s office. A tipped over candle.” She wet her lips. “But he
checked every room of the house each night before he went to bed. He would never have left a
candle burning. Never.”

Her teeth clenched, muscles tensing in her face, transforming her visage into a hellish mask of
vengeful rage.

“Did you break in and set it yourself, or did you hire someone to do your dirty work for you? Like
you used Greyback to take me? Too much of a fucking coward to get your hands dirty!”

His breath stuttered. “Hermione, I never-”

“Choose your words carefully, Dolohov.” She held scalpel aloft, arm shaking with the power of her
conviction. “They may be your last.”

He swallowed heavily before speaking.

“I would never risk harming you. Never. The blaze nearly took you with it.”

Her spine straightened, chin lifting as she peered down her nose at his bound form.

“You’re such a masterful liar. No wonder you pulled the wool over their eyes for so many years.”
She shook head. “Over my eyes.”

“Hermione-”

“I wasn’t supposed to be home that night. Not yet at least. I was at a party. A party you knew I'd be
attending." She blinked. More tears fell. "It would have been easy enough to ask around and make
sure I was there. Maybe even plant a spy, ensure I was out of the house."

He leaned towards her. “I had no idea-”

“But I got into a fight with Draco that night and left early.”

Her admission rendered him mute. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tom's foot come away
from the wall, leg lowering as he stood tall, as though on alert. Until that moment she’d forgotten
he was even there.

She forged on.

“You meant for the house to be a pile of smoldering ash on the ground by the time I made it back.
You never planned on me running inside while it was still burning.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly.

“I-”

She lifted the blade once more.

Her hand was perfectly steady.

“The time for lies is over, Dolohov. Look into my eyes.” Diamond points shone in her gaze. “I
know the truth.”

His own gaze narrowed, face pinched in acute agitation.

“Your parents were smothering you. So terrified of losing you they let you skip your Season...
selfish fools.”

Her chest alighted with the old familiar pain that plagued her since the fire. She resisted clutching
it, transfixed by his rage-fueled words.

“Your father refused to entertain the notion of a marriage contract between you and anyone. I knew
if I made my interest known he’d never let me see you again.”

His neck strained, throbbing pulse visible through the skin, face reddening.

“I knew you’d never escape their clutches. Never be free to leave that house. I did the only thing I
could think of to set you free. To give you an opportunity for a future.”

He licked his lips, expression turning to beseech once more.

“I did it for you, Hermione. I already told you. Everything I do, I do for- ah!”

He reared back as she sliced forward with the scalpel, slashing across his unscarred eye, creating a
twin gash across his face.

He moved away in time to spare the eye itself, but the wound bled profusely, covering half his
visage in red, a gleaming mask of death.

“Hermione-”

“Stop saying my name! I can’t stand the sound of your voice, little less hearing my name on your
lips!”

He seethed, eye squeezed closed as he brought the other to focus on Tom.

“And what’s your part in this, Riddle?”

Tom didn’t so much as blink.

Dolohov growled low in his throat, glancing rapidly between them. His posture changed.

“No…”

He began to thrash anew.

“No! You deny my touch but you let that vile bastard close to you!”

She lifted her chin, jaw tensed. “He’s a thousand times the man you could ever hope to be.”

He laughed darkly, shaking his head, blood dripping off his chin, falling onto his smoking jacket.

“So naive. Look at what he’s gotten you to do for him. Drug me, assault me. He’s manipulating
you, Hermione. Making you perform his dirty work. When all is said and done the crimes will fall
on your head.”

Her pulse thrummed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m a man. I know exactly what I’m talking about. He’s only after one thing. Just like Malfoy.
They all want the same, precious part of you. To defile your innocence. And then they’ll leave.
They’ll use you, destroy you and discard you.”

She barely quelled a scathing laugh. “Says the man who attempted to rape me twice.”

“You came to me tonight.”

“Just like I came to your office to sign my inheritance paperwork?”

He sighed deeply, sweat dripping down his face, mixing with the congealing blood.

“I got carried away then. I deeply regret what transpired.”

“So much so that you threatened to destroy an innocent man’s livelihood to buy my silence.”

He leaned back, the chair creaking.

“I only meant to stop you from doing anything rash.”

"You meant to blackmail me into keeping the attack a secret, leaving the truth to fester away inside
me like a rotting, black abscess on my very soul, withering it away into nothing!"

His eyes narrowed.

“I had hoped with time you’d come to understand-”

“Then you were grossly mistaken. And more importantly, your time is up.”

He blinked, leaning back.

“Hermione, look at what you’re doing.”

“I’m well aware of my actions, Dolohov. I’ve apprehended the man responsible for my parents’
murder and my attempted kidnapping in an effort to extract the whereabouts of another victim. I
dare say the law would be on my side if any of this were to come to light.”

Her eyes darkened.

"Which it won't. Because we now have leverage on each other."

He swallowed heavily. Her breath remained steady, voice calm.

“Where is Luna?”

He opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish, shaking his head.

“I don’t want you getting mixed up with these people.”

“I don’t care about what you want.” She raised the scalpel, resting the blade at his cheek, pressing
just enough to dimple the skin. “Where is she?”

He panted, sitting deathly still, both eyes wide and focused upon the glinting metal.
“I don’t know-”

She flicked her wrist, drawing the blade through the meat of his cheek with focused precision,
heart skipping as the blade collided with bone.

He screamed, head jerking away, blood soaking his face from the long, narrow gash.

“I don’t know! Honestly!”

“I don’t trust anything that comes out of your mouth!”

“I would tell you if I knew, I swear it!”

She leaned over him, driven half mad with rage and misery, tears dripping from her eyes and onto
his crimson soaked face.

“She was brought here. Greyback delivered her to your door.”

“Yes, yes he did. And once I saw it wasn’t you I told him to-”

He stopped abruptly, swallowing thickly.

Her heart swelled, fit to burst through her ribcage at any moment.

“Told him to what?”

He blinked rapidly. The silence festered, decayed.

She brought the blade to his neck, pressing just beneath his bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Told him to what!”

“I told him to kill her!”

She reared back, the blade slipping from her grasp and grazing him lightly, earning a sharp hiss
from his lips as a single bead of blood ran down his neck.

“You’re lying,” she whispered, her entire body clenching with cold terror. “Greyback told us he
gave her to you.”

Dolohov shook his head, eyes wide, brows raised.

“He’s trying to protect himself by misleading you.”

She trembled, glancing over her shoulder on instinct, seeking Tom’s guidance, needing him to fix
the bad, to make things right.

He cut a dark line across the pale decor, arms crossed and back straight, body perfectly still as his
inhuman gaze remained fixed upon the panting, bleeding animal before them.

“Tom-”

His gaze lifted, latching onto her with breathtaking intensity.

And then he arched a dark brow, voice deep and all-consuming, as though his words emanated
from her very mind.
“I’ve thoroughly enjoyed watching you carve him up like a jack o lantern. But I think it’s time for
me to take a turn.”

She blinked, falling perfectly still as he drew near.

From the corner of her eye Dolohov went wild.

“Wait, no! Hermione-”

"For every time you say her name or utter a lie I'm cutting off a finger," Tom said cooly, reaching
out a steady hand and gently extracting the scalpel from Hermione’s lax grip. “Then I’ll move onto
toes, and then facial features.”

She stepped back, chest tight.

Tom came to a stop directly before the chair, gazing calmly down upon him.

“Do you understand?”

“You fucking bastard! I let you into-”

"Very good." He tipped his head, eyes scanning his blood-soaked visage. "Now let's try this again.
Where's the girl?"

Dolohov spit, saliva hitting the left side of Tom’s dark vest. Tom peered down at the stain with idle
detachment.

And then a slow, sinister smirk curved his lips.

He glanced up, meeting Hermione’s gaze.

“Should we count that as a lie?”

Her eyes flashed.

“Yes.”

He smiled fully, expression feral and perversely beautiful.

And then he directed the look of gleeful malevolence forward.

Dolohov reared back, jerking wildly at his binds.

Tom twirled the scalpel in his fingers with graceful skill.

“The lady has spoken.”

He lowered his storm cloud eyes to Dolohov's hands.

“No! No!”

He lowered to his haunches. Dolohov curled his fingers over the armrests, knuckles turning white.

Her gaze was transfixed.

“Hermione, please don’t let him-”

“A lie and her name.” Tom shook his head in mock derision, predatory intent clear in every sharp
line of his face as he braced the man’s left hand still beneath his blade. “Tisk tisk.”

“I didn't mean to! It slipped! Please don’t-”

His scream was long and shrill, every vein and tendon in his neck and face standing out in stark
relief as Tom drew the blade down, the snap of bone loud and distinctive to her ears.

She blinked as he tossed a small, curled item over his shoulder with careless ease, a soft thump
hitting the hardwood a few feet away from where she stood.

"I hope you don't play the piano."

“Stop! Please stop this!”

“Relax, it was only your pinkie.”

Bright red ran down the chair leg in thick rivulets, pooling along the base.

Tom gazed over his shoulder, eyes gleaming.

“Any preference for the next?”

Her eyes shone just as brightly. She tipped her chin up, shoulders drawn back.

“His left ring finger. Now that I’ve broken our nuptials he won’t have much use for it.”

Tom’s laughter echoed through her head, low and dark, a soothing stroke across her fraught nerves.

“Very practical deduction.” He faced forward, setting to work.

Dolohov’s screams took the paper off the walls. Tom let the second finger drop with a dull thunk
before wiping the blade clean on the man’s sleeve and rising to his full height.

Dolohov struggled to breathe, tears running from his eyes, created tracks in the dark blood. He
stared at her with raw desperation.

“Please, please… this isn’t you, this is him. He’s poisoned your mind, bent you to his sick and
demented will.”

She wet her lips, holding his gaze without fear or hesitation as Tom resumed twirling the blade.

“On the contrary. Be thankful he's the one wielding the knife. If it were up to me you’d be missing
a very different part of your anatomy.”

He blanched. Tom chuckled darkly, gazing at her with open appreciation.

“Brilliant. It’s refreshing to have a woman’s perspective on such matters.” He glanced down at
Dolohov. “I think I’ll skip your hands and feet and take up Hermione’s suggestion next time.”

“You’re mad.”

“Then you know to trust my threat.” He set his jaw, expression rapidly sobering. “Where is the
girl?”

“I-” He wheezed, glancing rapidly between them before settling his pained gaze on Tom. “I don’t
know what hold you have over her, but if you take this any further you’re signing both your death
warrants.”

“If you deflect my question again I will consider it another lie and remove your cock from your
person.”

The chair groaned as Dolohov pushed back with all the strength in his body.

“I gave her to Rabastan. He oversees external placements.”

He wet his lips, expression stricken and pale as he focused upon Hermione. He cut such a revolting
sight her stomach twisted painfully.

“I was only trying to protect you.” He blinked, tears glistening in his eyes. “I would do anything for
you.”

She shuddered, glancing away sharply, bile rising in her throat.

Tom moved forward, resting the blade against Dolohov’s neck, poised and steady.

“Of all the sick and depraved monsters I’ve had the displeasure of meeting, I’ve never encountered
a creature quite so pathetic.”

Dolohov’s eyes darted up, flashing, hatred burning bright in their depths.

"You think you're so much better than me. But look at where you are, what you're doing. You've
known her for barely two weeks and you're already committing murder for her."

“I was committing murder long before I became acquainted with Ms. Granger.”

“Keep telling yourself that. But you know in your heart it’s too late.” His jaw tensed, blood caked
along his scarred and clotted cheekbone. “She’s in your bloodstream. Burrowed beneath your skin.
You smell her on the wind, see her reflection on the water, hear her voice echoing through your
head every minute of every day.”

Tom slowly lowered the scalpel.

Hermione blinked, glancing at him sharply, stomach-churning by the sight of his silent retreat.
Dolohov continued on, clearly emboldened by Tom’s reaction.

“She’s a sickness. A disease. An infection for which there’s no cure.” He eagerly licked his lips.
“But it isn't our fault. We’re just men, born with undeniable cravings, biological needs. Physically
unable to deny our true nature. And she lures us into her nest like a siren to a shipwreck. Setting out
to possess us, wrap us around her finger, a slave to her will.”

His brows lifted to his hairline, voice beseeching. “You and I are the same, Riddle. We’ve both
been taken under by her witchcraft, blinded by her evil, manipulative wiles. We aren’t responsible
for our actions.”

He nodded empathetically as Tom took a step back, blade resting at his side.

“Untie me and we can take care of her together. I won’t report you. I understand entirely. We can
both go on with our lives, free of her dark magic.”

She swallowed heavily as she glanced between them, swaying on her feet with the force of her
heartbeat, terror rendering her numb.
Tom avoided her gaze, tipping his head, studying Dolohov with careful precision.

“What do you suggest we do with her?”

Dolohov squirmed, breath quickening.

“Whatever you want.”

“Kill her?”

He jolted.

“I- yes, if that’s-”

“Seems a waste.” Tom gazed at her at long last, eyes black and hallow, devoid of any life. “Don’t
you think?” His fathomless gaze slowly roamed her trembling figure, expression unreadable.
“Imagine all the other possibilities.”

Dolohov inhaled sharply.

“We share her then. Take turns. You can go first.”

She staggered, struck through the chest with a metal rod, piercing her clean through the heart.

Dolohov didn’t spare her a glance.

“We can enjoy her until morning, then dispose of her together.” He nodded eagerly. “Our little
secret.”

Tom met her gaze once more.

They were no longer empty pits.

This time, they were filled with raging fire.

Raw and destructive, wild and dangerous.

Familiar and comforting.

She rocked back on her heels with the force of her relief, eyes tearing with the onslaught.

“I was greatly looking forward to slicing your throat.” Tom gazed down at the knife, spinning it
idly once more. “But after that deeply generous offering, I believe Hermione should have the
honors.”

Dolohov roared and thrashed like a feral beast, teeth snapping, spittle flying.

“You think you’re special? You have no fucking idea what she’s like!” If looks could kill they’d
both be rendered to ashes where they stood. “Did she tell you about the Malfoy brat?”

Tom didn’t react. In fact, he stood unnaturally still.

Hermione thought she might faint.

"I hope you aren't harboring any delusions about a future together because she's already promised
herself to that little fucker." He seethed. "If I wasn't indebted to his father I would have gotten rid of
him years ago." His eyes narrowed to slits. "If you want her, I'm not the one you need to eliminate.
He is.”

Tom arched a brow, lips curving into a darkly amused smirk even as his shoulders stiffened.

“In the span of five minutes you’ve gone from professing your undying love to proposing her
murder. I find myself deeply intrigued to hear what sewage you spew next.”

“You’ll find out soon enough, Riddle. You’ll know what it is to want. To crave for something that
forever lies just out of your reach.”

“I’ve been plagued by such an affliction my entire life.”

His expression turned pointed, shadows dancing across his face, embers smoldering in his eyes.
Dolohov’s gaze widened.

“You took the job at the Home to gain access to the inner circle.”

Tom’s answering smile was as sinister as it was lethal.

“You were right about my motivations. My desires are base in nature. Just not the same as yours.”
The knife glinted in the light as it spun between his agile fingers. “Before all is said and done, I
will kill every last one of you on my way to your leader.”

Dolohov reared back. Tom lowered his chin, gaze still and penetrating as death.

“Now. For your last and final question of the evening.”

He leaned in close, hovering over his prey.

“Who is the Dollmaker?”

Hannah smiled as Neville held open the door for her, nodding her head in appreciation as she
slipped into the room.

It was a makeshift library, and the fourth room they’d explored since emerging onto the top floor.

They set off to opposite sides, eyes scanning every surface, both unsure of what they were looking
for besides the missing girls themselves.

“So…” she wet her lips, gently pushing on the bookcases to see if they gave way. “How do you
know Hermione?”

Neville’s ears perked, eyes widening as he turned to face her. “Oh, I’ve known Mione since we
were kids. Our families spent holidays together.”

“That’s great. She’s like a sister to you, then?”

He blinked, color staining his cheeks. "Um. Well, I-" he glanced away, examining the table
surface. "I mean… I suppose she’s similar…”

Hannah smoothed her palms over her thighs, his discomfort a palpable force that caused her to
squirm as well. She quickly sought a new topic.

“Are you an only child?”

“Yes.” He met her warm gaze once more, shoulders relaxing. “You?”

“Same.”

He shifted from foot to foot, hands flexing at his sides. “Are your parents…”

“Both dead.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

He cleared his throat, tracing his fingertip over the back of a chair. “My parents are gone, too.”

She tilted her head, taking an unconscious step closer.

“Do you have any other family?”

“My gran.”

His smile radiated such boyish charm it incited a grin of her own.

“Are you close?”

He laughed, seemingly to himself. “Very. I come home every summer to spend time with her while
I still can.”

“Come home from where?”

His expression sobered, blush returning, though he managed to maintain her gaze. “I attend
Cambridge.”

“Wow.” Her eyes widened. “That’s impressive.”

He shook his head, glancing down once more. “Not really.”

She took another step. “Don’t be modest.”

His blush deepened, spreading down to his neck, but she saw the corner of his lips turn upward in
response. She tentatively pressed on.

“What’s your major?”

“Civil Engineering.”

She rocked back on her heels. “Really?”

He raised a brow at her reaction. “Yes.”

Now she was the one blushing, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I find that deeply
fascinating. My father was an architect and I believe the two disciplines go hand in hand.”

Neville blinked, walking out from behind the table. “They do.” He continued to approach her.
“Your father sounds like a very impressive man.”

She swallowed lightly. “He was.”

Neville seemed to freeze in place by the melancholy in her voice. He glanced around the room for
another moment, the silence stretching thin, before asking a question of his own.

“What about you?”

She blinked, brows creasing. “What about me?”

“What are you interested in?”

She bit her lip, eyes drifting to the floor. “I…” She sighed, then shook her head, glancing back up
with a small smile. “I’ve distracted us. We should be-”

“Searching.” He seemed to jolt with his own word. “Right. Of course.”

She quickly turned away, hands clenched at her sides, gaze falling on the row of windows
overlooking the back garden.

And went rigid.

“Neville?”

“Yes?”

She slowly spun to face him once more.

“I think I found something.”

“So-”

“I’m not interested.”

Blaise smirked at the back of her dark head. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Parvati maintained her steady gait down the hall, eyes cast forward. “I can take a guess.”

“You broke my nose during our last encounter, the least you can do is answer a few of my
questions.”

She scowled over her shoulder. “You grabbed my arse during our last encounter. The least you can
do is keep your pretty mouth shut.”

His smirk transformed into a full-fledged grin. "You think my mouth is pretty?"

She arched a dark brow, facing forward and striding through the next doorway. “I think it will look
even better when it’s oozing blood and missing a few teeth.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

She rolled her eyes as he followed her into yet another guest bedroom.

“Were you dropped on your head excessively as a child?”

“It’s a possibility.” He opened the closet, inspecting the dark interior. “My childhood is a bit of a
blur.”

“Hm.” She pulled the curtains aside, gazing out of the window and into the bushes below.
“Growing up amidst the lap of luxury can have that effect, I suppose.”

“Most certainly.” He shut the door and headed for the bed. “Though living in nine different
countries within seven years has a similar outcome, I’m sure.”

Parvati blinked, watching him as he lowered to his knees and pulled the duster aside, peering
beneath the frame.

"Your father traveled for work?"

"My mother traveled for husbands."

She raised both brows, walking to the dresser and opening the top drawer.

“I had no idea there was such employment to be had. I’ve got to rethink my career goals.”

He laughed, pulling to his feet.

“You’d make a terrible Black Widow.”

“Think so?” She slammed the empty drawer shut, wrenching open the next. “I have a penchant for
violence, you know.”

"Oh, I'm well aware. However to pull off such a long-term con you have to be able to control your
own emotions and the emotions of others at all times.” He started a slow path towards her. “You’re
too brutally honest to be so manipulative.”

Something in his tone gave her pause, fingertips curling over the lip of the wood. She met his eye
as he came to a stop at her side.

"Your mum is a real piece of work, huh?”

“That's one way to put it.”

She tilted her head, inspecting his face, the strained lines of his roguish grin. “How would you put
it?”

He tensed, smile faltering as something flashed in his eyes.

“I’d rather talk about you.”

She sighed, pushing away from the dresser and walking around him. “My family is dead. I live in a
haunted house. My friends are being murdered and kidnapped faster than I can change my
knickers.” She paused in the doorway, resting her hand on the frame and peering over her shoulder.
“That about sums up my life story.”

His eyes narrowed, teeth gleaming as he pinned her with his most handsomely rakish stare.

“Now about these knickers…”

She shook her head, doing her best to feign annoyance and failing terribly.

“Idiot.” She turned her head away as her smile broke free. “Come on, we have two more rooms to
search.”

He watched her exit as swiftly as she entered, wasting no time in following.

Harry shut the pantry door, sighing in resignation, then glancing sharply over his shoulder as
Malfoy broke the tense silence.

“She’s not here. I can sense it.”

Harry’s body tensed. “I know.”

“This is a waste.” Malfoy pushed a chair into the wall with force, causing it to fall over with a
crash. “We should be looking elsewhere.”

“Luna might still be here.”

“The girl isn’t my concern.”

Harry crossed his arms, watching the blonde pace the room in clear agitation. “Maybe not. But
she’s Mione’s concern. If we find her friend then we stand a better chance at finding her... and
keeping her from running around the bloody streets of London half-cocked."

Malfoy continued to seethe, shoulders drawing back. “You should have tied her up, Potter. That’s
what I would have done.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Unfortunately I know you weren’t.”

Draco shook his head and stomped out of the room with stilted movements, every muscle strung
tautly. Harry sighed, running a hand over his face and then following him into the dining room.

“How did it go with Rodolphus?”

Malfoy looked like he was going to refuse to answer, but a moment later his shoulders eased, the
harsh lines of his expression smoothing at the corners.

“Shockingly, you were right for once.”

Harry raised a brow, resting his arms on the back of a chair.

“He’s going to bring you in?”

Draco shook his head, carding a hand through his hair. “I don’t know about that. But I expressed
my interest in a mistress and he’s going to find something to fit my specifications.”

“Which were?”

His brows flattened. “What do you think.”

Harry nodded slowly. “I just hope you weren’t too obvious about it.”

“Not all of us are bumbling fools, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes, cutting through the room as the man continued on.

“Regardless, we’ll get to see what this disturbing process looks like from the client side.”
“Do you think he’ll tell your father?”

“I asked him not to.” Draco followed him into the study. “He agreed.”

“Do you trust him?”

“He cares for me in his own demented way. He won’t tell my father for the sake of harming me.”

Harry started rummaging through books and trinkets scattered around the room while studying the
blonde from the corner of his eye. Several moments of searching passed before Draco threw his
hands up, eyes narrowed.

“What?”

Harry took a deep breath, bracing his hands on the edge of the shelf, preparing for the explosion
sure to come.

“This is going to piss you off royally, but I have to ask it at least once.”

“I can’t wait.”

A heavy beat of silence followed, then Harry finally turned to face him.

“Is there any chance your father is involved?”

Draco turned to stone, limbs frozen, expression hardening into an unreadable mask even as his eyes
seemed to darken.

Then, without emotion or preamble, he replied with a heavily weighted-

“No.”

Harry’s chest tightened at the intensity held within that one syllable. Draco straightened, shoulders
widening.

“My father is a right bastard. But he isn’t a depraved one.”

Another oppressive, sweltering beat.

And then Harry nodded, glancing away to resume his search of the room.

After a while he heard Draco join in, pushing things around with more force than necessary.

But they both fell still at the sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs. Harry drew back as
shadows approached down the hallway, heart leaping as Hannah skid into the room, followed
immediately by Neville, the latter nearly losing his footing before catching himself in the
doorframe.

Hannah met his emerald gaze, her face flushed, panting lightly. He stepped forward.

“Did you find something?”

She continued to catch her breath. “Maybe.”

“What is it?”

She shifted awkwardly, glancing up at Neville. He nodded, gesturing forward with his hand.
“Go ahead. Tell them what you told me.”

She nodded, facing Harry once more, wringing her hands together.

“This is a classical Georgian style residence. Each half of the house is a perfect reflection of the
other. Any deviation is considered a great flaw. And given the extravagance of the home, I doubt
the builders overlooked any part of the blueprint.”

Harry's pulse thrummed, it took great effort not to seize her by the shoulders to spur on her on
faster. "What did you see, Hannah?”

"Upstairs. In the den there are four windows along the wall. Which means on the opposite side of
the structure, in the library, there should also be four windows." She swallowed heavily. "But
there's only three."

Draco stepped in close, eyes bright. "What does that mean?"

“I wasn’t positive. So I opened the panes and inspected them from the exterior. I noticed the
brickwork pointing is different on the section of the wall where the fourth window should be.” She
wet her lips, bouncing on her heels. “Neville and I paced both rooms twice. The library is
approximately ten feet narrower than the den. Another major design flaw.”

Harry blinked, rearing back with the force of the revelation. “Are you saying what I think you’re
saying?”

She nodded quickly, blond hair dancing across her shoulders. “There may be a hidden room behind
the library.”

Harry inhaled sharply, then lost his internal battle and surged forward, grabbing her arms and
beaming down at her. “Hannah, you’re bloody brilliant!”

She blushed, smiling and biting her lip. Harry released her a moment later, breath quickening with
anticipation.

“Find Parvati and Blaise, we’ll start looking for an entry point.”

She nodded once more, glancing up to share an enthused look with Neville before spinning on her
heel and disappearing down the hall.

The three men practically raced each other up the steps and into the library. Harry darted in first,
Draco right at his heels and Neville closing in the rear, all three stopping in their tracks at the
center of the room, glancing around frantically.

Neville spoke first.

“If there is a hidden room can’t they hear us from inside?”

Harry shrugged. “Let’s find out.”

He inhaled deeply, then shouted with the full force of his lungs- “Hermione!”

They all stood frozen.

Only still silence greeted them.

He inhaled again.
“Luna!”

They all held their breaths, straining to listen.

Nothing.

Harry dragged a hand over his face, shoulder blades tight. "There's got to be a way in, a door of
some kind. Look for scuff marks, uneven floorboards, seems in the wall, anything out of place."

They each shot to a different wall, running their hands over everything in sight.

Then Neville spoke again, voice contemplative as he spun in a slow circle.

"There are bookcases on three walls." He placed his hands on his hips, eyes narrowing in thought.
"But not the fourth…"

He tilted his head, eyes flickering as though reading an invisible text in the air.

"It's got to be a pulley and dowel mechanism. Which means there's a wire laced through the
paneling. But it has to enter the room at some point to connect with the trigger."

His voice became animated as he addressed the other two men directly. “When you lift or pull the
anchoring item the wire lifts the dowel and frees a doorstop wedge, opening a hidden door or
panel.”

Harry and Draco exchanged a look, and then the blonde turned to eye the man appreciatively.

“My apologies, Longbottom. You aren’t as useless as I thought.”

Neville blinked. Then smirked. “I think that’s the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you,
Malfoy.”

“Probably.”

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, a moment later the other three swarmed inside the room.

“What’s happened?” Parvati’s face was as stricken as her voice.

"We're looking for a trigger mechanism," Harry replied, hand twitching at his sides. "Start pulling
on everything that isn’t nailed down.”

Within seconds they were all tearing the room part, books pulled off the shelves and toppled to the
floor, tables flipped, chairs tossed, the rug pulled up.

And then-

“Holy shit.” Everyone dropped the items in their hands, eyes darting to Blaise. “Literally,” he
added, just before a loud click sounded at his back, a wooden panel swinging free.

He gazed at the trick wall and then at the book in his hands, still attached to a thin cable running
into the plaster.

A bible.

"We're not only dealing with a sick and demented pervert but a pious one as well." He shook his
head. "A terrifying combination."
The others rushed to the opening, Parvati reaching it first, pulling it aside and cringing in pain,
grasping her side. Harry stepped in, pulling it open the rest of the way.

To reveal a solid wood door on the other side.

He immediately grasped the handle, jerking it with all his strength.

“Shite!” He hissed, banging a fist against the surface instead.

A muffled cry answered.

His mouth ran dry, eyes widening. Parvati appeared at his side, smacking her palms against the
wood repeatedly.

“Hermione! Luna!” She screamed, eyes wild.

There was more muffled shouting. Parvati fell silent, pressing her ear into the door, closing her
eyes. Harry held his breath, holding up a staying hand to the others, a silent bid of silence as the
faint sounds continued.

Parvati gasped, rearing back from the door with a keening cry, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“It’s Luna!”

Harry felt himself deflate, all the air wrenched violently from his lungs. He did his best to suppress
the crushing disappointment, chastising himself for the selfish reaction.

Parvati started pulling violently on the knob.

“It won’t budge!”

Draco stepped forward. “Let me try.”

He threw his shoulder into the barrier, the wood rattling on its hinges but too thick to splinter.

“Luna, we’re coming!” Hannah shouted, tears brimming in her own eyes.

Harry carded both hands through his hair, mind reeling. He finally gazed up at Neville, the man's
face pinched in concentration.

“Ideas, Nev?”

The man sighed, eyes narrowing. “Maybe we can create a ramp to try and-”

“Or…” Blaise interrupted loudly from his spot at the back of the group, drawing all their focus.
“We can go back to basics, the ways of our ancestors.”

Harry raised a dark brow as the man sported his signature Cheshire grin.

“Use an axe, Potter.”

Harry blinked, shoulders dropping.

And then a smile unfurled across his own lips.

“Glad you decided to tag along tonight after all, Zabini.”

Dolohov reared back in his chair, muscles straining in a desperate attempt to flee.

“How do you know about the Dollmaker?”

"I highly suggest you stop answering my questions with inquiries of your own, that is if you're
attached to the remainder of your anatomy."

He wet his lips anxiously, sweat dripping off his face.

“I don't know who he is. I’ve never even seen him. Very few ever have.”

Tom’s keen gaze narrowed, watching him carefully.

“Such as?”

“The Lestranges.”

Tom nodded.

“Then it is fortunate they are next on my list.”

Dolohov blinked slowly, eyeing Tom speculatively, as though seeing him for the first time.

“You won’t be able to stop it.”

“So I keep hearing.” Tom sighed, glancing down at the blade. “I believe your usefulness has
officially run its course.”

He glanced over his shoulder, grey eyes holding her in place.

“His fate is entirely in your hands.”

Hermione swayed on her feet, the weight of the burden driving her through the floor and deep into
the earth.

And then Dolohov spoke, breaking apart her swirling thoughts.

“I saved your life.”

She looked at him sharply, eyes narrowed, hackles rising.

“By killing my parents, yes, I’ve suffered enough of your depraved logic for a lifetime.”

“I meant… I saved your life last night.” He wet his lips. “He wanted you killed outright. Mutilated
and dumped in the Thames. I barely convinced him to allow me to keep you.”

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

“The Dollmaker?”

“No.”

She felt a phantom chill in the air, sweeping around her, a dark omen of the news to come.

He took a deep breath.

“Lucius.”
She jolted, ribs breaking, heart falling through the empty cavern at her center.

“He’s a part of this?”

“When it’s beneficial. When he can use our resources to help clean up whatever mess threatens the
golden reputation of his beloved, fucked up family.”

He swallowed heavily, jaw set.

“You terrify him.”

She blinked.

“I terrify Lucius Malfoy?”

“He’s been waiting for the morning he wakes up to find his boy gone. Thought it was only a matter
of time before the lovestruck idiot grabbed you and fled the country. Especially with the kid’s
marriage pending.” A weighted pause. “Lucius came to us, wanting to have you eliminated
entirely.” His eyes narrowed. “And I saved you.”

She shook her head, pulse thrumming madly.

“You saved me for your own nefarious designs.” Her hands clenched at her sides. “I’d rather spend
an eternity at the bottom of the Thames than a single night in your bed.”

His eyes flashed.

She dismissed him without another thought, looking at Tom.

He watched her steadily, voice calm and measured.

“Dolohov won’t face the same legal process as Greyback. He’ll be tried before a jury of his Peers.
Noble Lords, many of which will likely be entangled in the organization as well.”

Dolohov leaned forward, rapidly shaking his head. “That’s not-”

“If you say another word out of turn I’ll cut out your tongue.”

His jaw snapped shut.

Tom held her gaze in silence.

Leaving the decision up to her.

She took a deep breath, nodding once.

His eyes darkened.

“Will his leverage over you die with him?”

Dolohov thrashed but his pained grunts of exertion were easily ignored by them both.

She raised her chin.

“It doesn’t matter. When I made the agreement I didn’t know the full extent of his crimes.” She
met Dolohov’s eye, unphased by the blatant terror staring back at her. “He has to die.”
He exploded once more, Tom’s threat a distant fear in the wake of her final verdict.

“Hermione! Please, you don’t need to do this! I’ll leave the country, you’ll never see me again!”

Tom held out the scalpel.

She gazed at it for several beats.

Then shook her head.

He tipped his face, eyes gleaming.

“Would you prefer I do it?”

She swallowed thickly, then shook her head again, rubbing her blood and sweat-slicked palms
along her skirts.

“I don’t want to cut his throat.”

She faced forward. Gaze vibrant. Pupils slit.

“I want to see him burn.”

. . .

From the moment she announced his fate the screaming hadn’t stopped.

Begging. Pleading.

Then the anger set in.

Threats. Vile insults.

And then the bartering began.

His voice rang through her head on an endless, shrill loop, displacing her own thoughts.

Luckily he resided in a private estate far from any neighbors.

Still, they may not hear his cries, but they would certainly see the smoke.

Eventually.

She discarded the empty can beside the others, the room thick with noxious odor, making her light
headed and fearful the fumes would kill them all.

But Tom's hand at her lower back kept her steady as he directed her to the entry hall, extending the
box of matches just as he'd extended the scalpel earlier before they raided the storage shed, before
they doused every surface of the drawing room with gasoline.

“Hermione!” The bound, mutilated man wept openly, tears streaming down his face and creating
bloody tracks across the skin. “Please don’t do this! I’ll leave England! I’ll never set foot in Britain
again! You’ll never hear from me-”

“But I want to hear you, Antonin.”

She extracted a match from the box, meeting Tom’s eyes, relishing their feral gleam.
She struck the side of the stick along the phosphorus strip, igniting the tip.

She stared at the flame, watched the phantom faces twist and contort within.

Trapped souls, fueled by heat and hatred.

Eager to bring death and destruction upon all they touched.

“I want to hear you scream.”

She released the stick.

The match hit the oriental rug, igniting it instantly, fire exploding across the path laid out by the
gas.

Forming a perfect circle around the chair.

“Just like I heard my mother scream.” She watched his face through the flames, embers reflected in
her eyes. “And my father.”

Flames climbed the curtains, crawling up the ceiling, raining sparks and ash upon the finely
polished antiques.

“Hermione! Please!”

“They called my name, too.”

The flames reached his feet, igniting his pants.

His screams intensified, matching the roar of the flames.

Matching the beat of her heart.

“They screamed as they burned alive.”

His cries turned inhuman as the fire consumed the gasoline soaking his clothing, then demolished
the skin and bone beneath.

Black smoke filled her vision. Burning flesh invaded her airways. His entire body alighted with
flames, skin charring, blackening, mouth stretched obscenely wide, as though his jaw had become
unhinged.

“Just like that.”

She didn’t blink, didn’t breathe.

Her heart swelled, feet lifting off the ground as she transcended the mortal plane-

A hand wrapped around her arm, wrenching her back as the flames spread towards the doorway.

“It’s time to go.”

She gazed up, eyes wild and glazed.

“Just a little bit longer.”

Tom tilted his head, raising a hand to her face. His knuckles traced along her cheekbone. She
swallowed heavily, tasting smoke and death on the back of her tongue.

And then his blood marred hand was cupping her face. She closed her eyes, leaning into his palm,
seeking more pressure, more heat.

His other hand grabbed her chin, tilting her face up.

“Hermione.”

She opened her eyes, the flames surging beside them, blinding, scorching.

“He’s dead, luv.”

She blinked, then glanced sharply into the room.

Dolohov’s blackened corpse was lifeless, the chair splintering beneath the body's dead weight as
the flames ate through the wood.

“We have to go.”

His voice sounded distant, fragmented.

He inspected her face for another moment before grasping her arm once more and pulling her down
the hall to the front door.

She watched him slide the lock in a trance, swaying on her feet, the flames calling to her,
whispering her name, fiery hands crawling along the floor and walls, reaching for her-

Tom wrenched her out of the home and onto the gravel drive.

“A carriage will be too obvious to sight. We’ll leave by foot, stick to the trees until we reach the
other side of town.”

His words were a distant hum as she spun on her heal, watching the two-story estate burn, black
smoke rising high in the air.

She went rigid as her memories twisted like vines in her mind, superimposing her childhood home
over the strange building before her.

She was being dragged from the flames by an officer, laid out on the grass of her front lawn to
cough up black bile while her parent’s death cries echoed through her head endlessly.

Then the darkness had taken her into its cold embrace.

“Hermione!”

She jolted, turning to face him. His eyes bored holes into her, as though penetrating her mind and
watching the scenes play out before him.

He sighed, shaking his head and reaching down, grabbing her hand and interlacing their fingers.

He spoke not a word as he pulled her along, leading the way through the privacy bushes lining the
drive and into the low brush beyond, finally submerging their forms in the dark row of trees.

The woods were an ominous sight, filled with shadows and heart jolting noises. She stumbled with
every step, slowly coming out of her daze. Tom kept slowing his gait before finally stopping
altogether, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his side, lifting her into his body
as he strode forward, half carrying and half dragging her over the rocks and shrubs.

Despite the fact he was putting in twice the effort, she was the one panting, adrenaline surging
through every pore.

The realization of what she just did finally started to set in.

Her entire body began to thrum.

A moment later they emerged into a clearing.

Hermione blinked rapidly, glancing around with wide eyes.

Only it wasn’t a clearing at all…

It was a cemetery.

He navigated them through the wide expanse of tombstones, each of a unique shape and size, some
buried entirely beneath overgrowth.

He came to a stop beside a large mausoleum covered in ivy, leaning against it with casual grace
while Hermione slumped over, chest heaving as though recovering from an all-out sprint.

Once her lungs stopped burning she rose to her full height, glancing down at their hands, still
intertwined.

She swallowed heavily, looking up, nervous and eager to meet his eye.

He was watching her steadily, the moon bright and full overhead, illuminating half his face in an
ethereal glow.

The silence divided and swelled until she felt weak-kneed with it. Finally, he tilted his head.

“How do you feel?”

The question was simple enough, requiring a simple response.

Yet the gleam in his eyes told her he knew full well the magnitude of his inquiry.

She drew in a deep breath.

“Alive.”

She shifted closer, seeking his warmth, his stability.

“I’ve been chased by death ever since I was pulled from the flames.” Her hand clenched against
his. “But for the first time since the fire, I feel truly invincible.”

The moonlight and shadows cast shapes across his face, transforming his visage a thousand ways
over as a slow, sinister smile curved his lips.

“You made beautiful work of him.”

She licked her lips. His eyes latched onto her mouth.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” A heavy breath. “Thank you, Tom.”
She pressed a hand to his chest on instinct, pressing hard into the muscle in an attempt to capture
his heartbeat between her fingertips. He shuddered, placing his free hand on her hip and drawing
her close.

“I told you to stop thanking me.”

His voice was deep, laced with an edge of intent that sent shivers down her spine, gooseflesh
erupting in their wake. His head slowly tipped down, lips hovering above her own, hot breath
ghosting across her lips.

“Partners,” she whispered, throat strangled by the intensity of his eyes.

The irises were lit from within, unearthly, ignited with gray flame as the hand at her hip slid around
her waist, pressing her flush against him.

Her heart beat erratically, the world tipped on its axis, the ground dropping out from beneath her
feet.

His arm held her aloft, hovering above the endless expanse of open time and space surrounding
them.

And then his mouth descended on hers and the universe broke apart, fragmenting into a million
little pieces hurtling in every direction, ripping her to shreds in its violent death.

His lips weren’t gentle or coaxing, not even close. They couldn’t be either, for the man pressed
against her wasn’t capable of such a feat.

No.

The kiss was hard and demanding, unrelenting, inescapable. Just as she imagined it would be. Just
as she fantasized about in the dark recesses of her mind.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips as her hands clawed at his chest, nails dragging over the
linen of his shirt, pushing his coat open and away. His hands dropped, head rearing back as he tore
the coat off, wrestling it from his frame and throwing it to the ground violently, descending on her
in the next beat, one hand gripping the back of her neck, thumb pressing beneath her jaw, tipping
her chin up, keeping her poised at the angle he wanted. His lips worked her over until she went
limp, listing against him while his other arm became an iron band across her lower back.

Despite the numbness of her legs, her arms stayed busy, hands grasping at his warmth, nails
clawing up his sides and across his shoulder blades, tangling in his hair, dragging across his scalp,
her efforts earning a series of base growls and moans that caused her thighs to clench rhythmically.

And as though he sensed her mounting desire, he drove a knee between her legs, hard muscle
pushing at the apex of her thighs, creating pressure that left her gasping into the crisp night. He
took advantage of her parted lips, tongue seeking entry into her mouth, tracing the backs of her
teeth, licking at the sweet caverns within.

In response she dragged her hands down his shoulders and chest, grabbing handfuls of his shirt and
tearing the bottom hem free from his trousers, desperate for the heat of his body, the feeling of his
bare flesh against her hands.

Her fingertips traced the smooth skin of his hips, earning a shocked gasp from both their mouths,
sharing each others breath for several stuttered heartbeats while she smoothed her palms around to
his back-
She reached the patchwork of scars and he jolted, leaning back as though intending to retreat, some
shame ridden instinct that squeezed painfully at her heart.

She swallowed thickly, pressing her palms against the mottled flesh, keeping him in place as she
held his gaze and traced the jagged lines with her fingertips, giving care and attention to every one.

His chest heaved against her, breath labored, pupils blown wide, gaze entirely black and hypnotic.

She found the largest scar yet, centered down his spine, as though purposely placed with care and
precision.

The thought made her stomach churn.

She pressed both of her hands flat against the mark, letting the heat of her palms soak into his flesh,
willing the darkness of his past away.

“I want to kill whoever did this to you,” she hissed, eyes brimming with tears. “I want them to
suffer.”

He swallowed heavily, Adam’s apple bobbing high as his eyes flickered between hers, hands
clenching upon her neck and hip.

“They’re already dead.” His exhale danced across her lips. “And I assure you, they suffered a great
deal.”

She nodded, shoulders set in her conviction.

“Good.”

His eyes flashed. His hands drew her in once more. Except this time his lips hovered above hers,
each word causing their swollen flesh to brush, sending sparks throughout each of her limbs.

“This wasn't supposed to happen.”

His eyes continued to search hers, frantic in their pursuit. She had no idea what he was after, but
she surrendered to the quest, laid bare before him, every secret as exposed as her tender throat.

“This can't happen.”

Her hands curled against his back, nails digging into the flesh, driving a low purr from his throat.

“Why not?”

His jaw tensed, brow creasing as though in acute pain.

“If you knew the things I’ve done, the thoughts running through my mind, you would run.”

“I’ve already seen what you’re capable of, and I’m not running.” She swallowed, taking shallow
breaths, lungs restricted with how tightly he clung to her. “I’m with you in this, Tom. Until the
end.”

She saw the spark in his eye. The change that overcame him. The moment he made his decision.

The moment he transformed into a predator.

She felt herself tip-off that same ledge, free falling past the point of no return.
And then she was literally falling.

He plummeted down the dark abyss with her, controlling her descent as he laid her out on the
ground, her back hitting his coat as the grass sprung up all around them, tombstones lining both
sides.

He remained poised above her, a hand bracing either side of her body, the moon at his back, casting
his face into shadow, except for his eyes which gleamed from the darkness like twin beacons. A
creature hunting her through the woods, pouncing and pinning her in place, savoring the stillness in
his prey the moment before he devoured it whole.

And then he was moving, eyes holding her steady as his elbow bent, half his weight pressing upon
her while his hand stroked down her body in a long, luxurious pet before gathering a large handful
of skirts and dragging them up and over her knees.

Thought and breath evaded her entirely as cool night air kissed along her stockinged calves and
thighs.

She tipped her head back in a vain attempt to open her airway and he struck, teeth and tongue
dragging along the sensitive flesh, the sting of pain and pleasure overwhelming, causing her legs to
open beneath his, her hips to curl up instinctively, cradling him against her.

His hand flattened along the back of her thigh, fingertips tracing the bottom hem of her bloomers.
She’d never felt another’s touch upon her in such an intimate area, electrified by the sensation, the
unpredictability of his movements.

His directed her leg up and around his side, opening her center, allowing him to situate himself
fully between her thighs as he continued to drag his mouth across her throat, tasting and devouring,
her own hunger building and building, an insurmountable pressure from which there was no
escape.

Her hands scrambled beneath his shirt once more, nails raking over his bare flesh, tracing the
lines of scar tissue and muscle, feeling their movement, his reaction to her every touch.

His hips surged forward, driving her down, and she felt a distinctive pressure pressing through the
mounds of fabric separating their writhing bodies. Her mouth went dry, chest swelling with the
knowledge that she was responsible for such a base response in a man such as this.

Her lack of experience whispered in the back of her mind, made her hesitant and unsure for the
space of a heartbeat as he continued to grind his hips against her. But his movements were too fast,
too demanding to allow for any more reflection on the matter.

Their limbs became frantic, skin feverish, she was quite certain her nails pierced his flesh, creating
fresh tracks along his flesh, leaving her own signature upon his body. His growl rumbled through
her, large fingertips digging almost painfully into her thigh, no doubt leaving bruises in their wake.
Molten heat flooded her core, scorching the earth they laid upon, the grass catching fire all around
them.

Her back arched, breasts pressing against him, desperately seeking more-

And then he drew back abruptly, leaving her gaping in his wake. She started to open her mouth,
protests on her lips, only for the words to lodge in her throat as he reached into his trouser pocket
and withdrew a small item.

She blinked, trying to see it in the darkness, but a moment later he flicked his thumb and the object
in question revealed itself in the bright moonlight.

A switchblade.

She continued to blink in bemusement, fear never gracing her mind, not even as he lowered the
knife to her chest.

“Lie still.”

She barely understood his words over the gravel in his throat. She wet her lips, clutching handfuls
of grass as she fought to remain motionless beneath his hands as he grabbed the bottom of her
bodice and drew the edge of the blade through the fabric. It parted easily enough, as eager to rid
itself of her as she was to rid herself of it.

He closed the blade just before it reached her heart, tossing it to the side as he grabbed the fabric in
his own hands and tore it apart the rest of the way, the sound of ripping seams echoing loudly
through her head as heat raged through her center.

She inhaled deeply as the bodice slid to the grass in scraps, only the thin material of her camisole
covering her, the gauzy fabric rendered translucent in the moonlight. He gazed down upon her, still
as death, eyes transfixed by the sight.

And then his weight was pressing upon her again, her exhale captured in his mouth as he took her
breath into his own lungs. He dragged a hand down her body, lifting her skirts once more, moving
with great purpose as he skimmed the waistband of her bloomers.

Her heart leaped into her throat with anticipation, adrenaline surging, mind and body melting. She
raked her hands through his dark hair, grabbing handfuls and pulling, causing sinister sounds to
tear from his throat.

And then he spoke, the words slow to process in her mind as he whispered them in her ear.

“Be certain.”

She moaned, writhing mindlessly, arching into him in desperation.

“I am.”

And then he was kissing her again. The fire raged higher and higher, smoke filling the air, filling
her lungs, driving out all the oxygen and coherent thought. His hand slid inside her bloomers,
tracing the sensitive seam of her pelvis and thigh before cupping her sex, causing her entire body to
jolt, held in place only by his restraining weight.

His tongue slid into her mouth as his fingertip traced the opening of her body, gathering the
moisture already expelled and dragging it up, circling her most sensitive bundle of nerves and
causing her to keen and writhe, hands scratching and clawing at every part of him she could reach.

He hummed low in his throat as though pleased with her response, and then without warning his
finger slid back down and into her body down to the bottom knuckle. She gasped, arching high, the
sensation foreign and terrifying and glorious.

He drew his head back, gleaming black eyes watching her face carefully, reading every nuance of
her expression as he bent his finger, kneading her walls, causing her to emit a string of broken
sounds as tears filled her eyes unbidden.
She felt a sharp pressure as his fingertip reached her inner barrier. He retreated immediately, only
to slide back in with a second finger added, stretching her opening to a new limit, making her eyes
squeeze shut, tears leaking from the corners, lost to the sensation of discomfort and wonderful,
molten heat.

Every muscle was pulled taut as she continued to arch into him, her shoes falling off as she dug her
heels into the grass.

“I don’t- I don’t know what-”

“I’m going to teach you.” His voice was low and sinister, Hades speaking to her through the cold
dead earth.

And then he did the unimaginable.

He crooked his fingers inside her, pressing into the back of her pelvic bone, roughly kneading the
sensitive tissue, and the stars exploded above her in the night sky. Blood rushed through her ears as
the most powerful sensation she’d ever experienced possessed her entire being.

She undulated her hips on instinct, the pressure mounting and mounting, tortuous. Soil collected
beneath her nailbeds as she clawed at the ground.

“Don’t work for it, Hermione.” He continued to watch her, eyes unnaturally bright. “Let me give it
to you.”

His words, the way he said her name, unleashed something wild inside her, the blaze reaching
higher and higher.

“I can’t, I can’t-”

“You can.” He lowered his head, teeth scraping across her neck, leaving thin welts in their wake,
lips pressing against her thundering pulse, whispering against the delicate flesh. “And you will.”

He pressed his hips against her, erection straining through the front panel of his trousers, causing
her eyes to roll back as his weight restricted her movements, rendering her still and motionless
beneath the onslaught of his rhythmic fingers inside her. The wide pad of his thumb began tracing
circles around her clitoris before pressing hard into its center, and the world shattered beneath
them.

“Good girl,” he whispered against her panting mouth. “Let it come.” He licked her bottom lip.
Then bit down on it. “Surrender to it.”

The dam broke inside her. She fragmented into endless pieces, shattering like glass, every vein
expanding, blood surging, light exploding before her eyes as her muscles clenched and released
repeatedly around him, her core tightening upon his invading digits to the point of pain, as though
her body was desperate to keep him within. She clawed at the earth and then at his back, then at his
scalp and then her mouth was consumed once more by his demanding lips and tongue.

He worked her through her death throes, his fingers lingering inside her long after the muscle
spasms ended.

She gazed dazedly above, blinking slowly, thoughts scattered, breath labored.

He withdrew from her at long last, causing her to keen softly, hands caressing his chest as he
pushed up on his arms, hovering above her, his entire body wracked by tremors, blatant hunger
marring his carved features.

She licked her lips, holding his feral gaze without hesitation or fear, swallowing lightly as she
awaited the natural progression, her body pliant beneath his, heart rate increasing as she felt the
pulse of his erection against her thigh-

And then he drew back to his knees, leaving her gaping and bereft of his warmth as he staggered to
his feet, backing up several paces.

Hermione sat up, crossing her arms tightly over her front as cool air met the thin material of her
shift. He dragged a hand over his face, eyes still fixed upon her, muscles twitching as though it
took all his strength not to leap back onto her.

“Tom-”

“Don’t.”

His voice was cold, detached, the hand he held up was a metal barrier, a massive wall erected
between them.

Tears filled her eyes.

“What-”

“Get dressed.”

She swallowed thickly, shaking her head. “I don’t-”

“This was a mistake.”

Her jaw snapped shut, pain lancing through her chest. She turned her face away, wiping at her
damp cheeks, desperately trying to calm her nerves.

He turned around, tucking his shirt back into his waistband with stilted movements, adjusting
himself through his pants. She lifted the scraps of her bodice, blinking numbly and dropping them
back to the ground.

“Here.”

She looked up.

He held out his coat. She didn’t want to take it, but had no choice, refusing to walk around exposed
as she was. Her hand trembled as her fingertips brushed against his.

He released the garment immediately, taking a wide step back. She fought to keep her breathing
steady, slowly rising to her feet.

“Tom-”

“We aren’t going to talk about this anymore.”

She blinked rapidly, clutching his coat tightly as her ire rose.

“You don’t get to decide that!”

Shadows danced across his face, turning his handsome mask sinister.
“You’re in shock. We need to get you back to Grimmauld immediately.”

She drew back.

“Shock?”

“You just watched a man burn to death. The same man who attempted to rape you and murdered
your parents. Not to mention the trauma of Ms. Brown’s slaying and Ms. Lovegood's
disappearance. You aren’t in your right mind.” He swallowed heavily. “I took advantage of that.”

She opened and closed her mouth several times before finding her voice.

“You didn’t take advantage. I wanted you to-”

“You aren’t thinking clearly.” His shoulders drew back, spine rigid. She sensed something truly
terrible on the horizon.

“And current circumstance aside, you’re too young to know what you want.”

She staggered back with the impact.

“Too young?” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I turn nineteen next month! Women my age are
married with children!”

“Ability has nothing to do with maturity.”

Scalding heat suffused her from head to toe.

“You think I’m immature?” She glanced down at her body, humiliation setting in.

He closed his eye briefly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Not in that way.” He sighed deeply. “Enough. We’ve had a trying evening. Our only concern now
is getting you to safety.”

She wiped at her eyes, refusing to let him see the tears his callous words induced.

She shrugged on the coat, engulfed in his scent and their shared warmth from lying atop it for so
long.

The sensation made her skin crawl and stomach tighten. She pressed a hand to her middle, gazing
blankly at a chipped and faded tombstone.

“The main road is just ahead. We’ll find you a carriage.”

She didn’t respond, avoiding his gaze as he strode forward, falling into step behind him with great
effort and reluctance.

Her pulse reverberated through her tender core, shame eating her down to the bone.

“Luna!” Harry shouted through the wall. “Stand back! I’m going to break through the door!”

He took a deep breath, sleeves rolled to the elbow, jaw set as he swung the procured axe over his
shoulder and brought it down into the door with all his strength. His muscles tensed as he
wrenched it free, bits of splintered wood cascading down to the floor.
He struck a second time, the barrier cracking down the center. More wood flew past, everyone
took a step back as Harry continued to chip away, chest heaving and sweat collecting along his
temples.

Finally, an opening appeared. He lowered the axe, catching his breath, and Parvati raced forward,
peering into the narrow gap.

“Parvati!” A soft, feminine voice shouted, clear as a bell without the door obstructing her cries.

“Luna! I’m here! We’re getting you out!”

“I was so worried about you!”

Parvati's brows creased as she placed her hands flat on the wood. “You were worried about me?”

“He hit you so hard, I was so scared.”

Parvati swallowed heavily. “I’m fine, Luna. Nothing was going to stop me from finding you.”

A gentle sob sounded from behind. Harry glanced over his shoulder, spotting Hannah with tears
running from her eyes, hand over her mouth. Neville lifted a hand as though to touch her shoulder,
only to let it hover halfway there, finally letting it drop to his side as he glanced away.

Harry faced the door once more, standing beside Parvati and peering into the tiny, dark room
beyond.

He saw half a pale, delicate face framed by white blonde hair.

“Hello, Luna. My name’s Harry.”

She smiled, lips dry and cracked. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harry. Hermione has told me many
wonderful things about your friendship.”

He blinked, taken aback by her calm, placid demeanor. He cleared his throat, nodding slowly and
stepping back.

“Stand clear, luv, I’m going to cut through the rest.”

He heard her scuffle back, Parvati drawing away as well. He inhaled deeply, holding the air in his
lungs as he battered away at the door repeatedly, his muscles burning, bones rattling with each
impact.

At long last, the door splintered fully down the center, the two halves crumbling in, wood
fragments littering the floor like a carpet.

He set the axe aside, stepping close to assist the imprisoned girl over the busted wood, helping
steady her as she, at last, stood before them, glancing around with wide blue eyes.

Within a heartbeat Parvati was pushing him aside, throwing her arms around her, entire body
shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” she quietly sobbed into her shoulder.

Luna gently patted the back of her head. “Whatever for?”

“I-”
They all fell silent as distant screaming filled the room.

Everyone turned to face the open doorway.

Parvati drew back from the blonde, eyes narrowed to gleaming slits.

“I’m going to kill that sick bastard.”

Blaise tucked his hands into his pockets, face uncharacteristically intense.

“I’d like to assist.”

Harry shook his head, wiping the hair away from his sweat-slicked forehead.

“Not before I question him. Mione’s still missing.”

Luna blinked, tilting her head like a bird.

“Hermione? Did they find her?”

Harry's heart leaped into his throat. He opened his mouth but Draco surged forward before he
could fathom a response.

“Did who find her?”

Parvati spun to face him, ire still etched across her face as she stepped protectively in front of her
friend.

“Back off. She’s just been through hell and back, give her some room to breathe.”

Draco ground his teeth. “While she’s breathing Hermione may still be trapped in hell.”

Parvati paled, shoulders lowering. Luna placed a hand on her arm, stepping out from behind her to
address Draco directly. “I want to help however I can.”

Harry sighed, the axe gleaming from the corner of his eye.

“We’ll wait until we get you back to Grimmauld to discuss the details.” He focused upon the girls,
all huddled together. “All three of you are staying there from now on.” Parvati and Hannah
blinked. Luna started to twist a strand of hair around her finger. He pushed on. “But right now, I’m
going to shake some answers out the vermin downstairs.”

Draco’s fists clenched, voice severe, leaving no room for dissent. “We both are.”

Harry met his menacing gaze, nodding once, before facing the girls once more.

“Parvati, Hannah, take Luna to the kitchen and get her some water and food.”

The former crossed her arms, expression sharpening. “Trying to keep us out of the parlor?”

“I’m trying to keep Luna away from him.”

She sighed, glancing away. “Fine.” Then she reached down and grabbed Luna’s hand, giving it a
gentle squeeze. “Come on, luv.”

The girl nodded, letting her friends lead her from the room.
Only to suddenly dig in her heels, glancing over her shoulder and meeting Harry’s eye with such
intensity he nearly tipped back with it.

“Your aura is very dark, Harry.”

He blinked, heart skipping a beat at the ominous statement. She tilted her head, bright eyes
examining his person from boot to hairline, expression unreadable.

Then her gaze flickered to his side, giving Draco the same careful assessment. She met his silver
gaze, pale brows creasing.

“Yours as well.”

Despite the shadow her words cast across the room, her gaze remained guileless and serene. “Don’t
let your anger get the best of you. Think of what Hermione would want.”

Harry swallowed thickly, rendered mute. Parvati grabbed the mysterious girl’s shoulder, a smile
curving her lips.

“I’ve missed you, Luna.”

The blonde smiled back, the fact that she had been rescued from a hidden chamber in the wall
indiscernible on her doe-like features. "I've missed you, too." And then she placed a hand to her
stomach. "I hope there are biscuits in the pantry. I've had a craving."

Parvati’s grin widened. “We’ll find you some, come on.”

Both girls turned to face the doorway, Hannah reaching out her hand, clasping palms with Luna
and leading her into the hallway.

Harry continued to stare and blink at the empty air long after the girls disappeared from sight.

Draco raked his fingers through his hair, shoulders tenser than they were moments ago.

“I’m not going to dignify any of that madness with a response.”

Harry nodded slowly, finally tearing his gaze away to focus upon the others. “Probably best.”

The shouting started up again, loud and vibrant, edged with hysteria.

Blaise arched a brow, features alight with his signature grin.

“Perhaps we should deal with the hysterical man we have tied to a chair downstairs?”

Despite the humorous slant to his words, Harry could detect the unrest brewing within the man’s
angular features. It was a darkness centered in each of their gazes.

Harry's jaw flexed, chest expanding with a deep, fortifying breath as adrenaline surged through his
system, waking his most buried, sinister urgings.

“Let’s tear this bastard apart.”

Hermione held her breath as she squeezed through the rod iron bars, her heart stuttering in her
chest as she emerged in the moonlight drenched garden behind the Home.
She'd directed the driver to take her here moments after the Doctor slammed the door of the
carriage shut behind her, turning away without a backward glance and instructing the man to take
her to Grimmauld.

But turning up on Harry’s doorstep in her current state was absolutely out of the question.

Her bodice was missing, torso concealed by only the thin material of her shift and camisole, her
thin body dwarfed by the Doctor’s coat.

And if the evidence wasn’t clear enough by her disheveled attire, the truth was blatantly on display
in her eyes.

She needed a moment to collect herself in privacy, to sort her chaotic thoughts.

Get her emotions in check.

She simply couldn’t let anyone see her like this. Least of all her best friend and protector.

She slipped into the kitchen on tiptoes, biting her lip as she slowly shut the door, then leaning over
and removing her heels, padding along the tile on bare soles, straining to listen around every
darkened corner as she made her way to the dorms.

The air around her felt cold, shockingly so, but she feared no ghost or apparition this night. Nor the
delusions of her own haunted, twisted mind.

If anything, a bloody, mangled corpse would be a welcome reprieve from the sinister thoughts
already plaguing her.

She did her best to avoid thinking entirely, trying to push and shove the memory of her evening to
the far recesses of her exhausted mind.

But such a feat was impossible.

She carefully hopped along the floorboards that would render her footsteps silent as she hurried
down the hallway and finally slipped into her bedroom-

Only to collapse in a heap the moment the door shut behind her.

The room was illuminated by a wide strip of moonlight cascading through the window, casting
everything on either side into pitch blackness. Whatever monsters lurked in the corners and under
the beds were welcome to take her, drag her under, cast her to the flames.

Anything to escape the endless pain of her current reality.

She buried her face in her hands, tears collecting along her palms, running through her fingers,
dripping onto her dirt and blood-stained skirts.

She shivered, the soft material of his coat grazing her bare skin.

She swallowed heavily, pulling her hands away and wrenching the garment off violently, throwing
it as hard as she could across the room, watching it land on the floor like a dark pool of water.

She breathed heavily, shutting her eyes and turning her face away, wrapping her arms around her
legs and pressing back into the wall, trying to make herself as small as possible, wondering if she
could get away with residing in this forgotten corner for the rest of her days, never having to face
the outside world again.
After all, how could she?

Beyond her burning humiliation, she was also damaged goods. Tainted. Stained.

In more ways than one.

She’d killed a man. After seducing him in his own home. She’d drugged him. Taunted him.

Tortured him.

And then she'd watched him burn alive with a fire raging inside her own heart, propelling her
forward all the while, bloodlust possessing her mind, body, and soul.

What sort of animal was she?

And then she’d-

And then she…

And then…

She swallowed heavily, wiping angrily at her cheeks.

And then she'd acted like a common trollop. Urging him on like a cheap whore. No wonder he
turned away in disgust.

She had offered herself up without hesitation, without thought.

She had practically begged him to-

Stop!

Hermione pressed her hands to either side of her head, burying her face in between the valley of her
knees.

What is the matter with me? How could I?

What was worse yet… he’d called her immature.

A child.

He didn’t desire her. Her inexperience was written all over her face, advertised with every stilted
movement of her body, though it hadn’t made her act any less immoral.

I’m so ashamed.

For the first time since their deaths, Hermione was grateful neither of her parents was alive to see
what their beloved daughter had become.

A murderess.

And a wanton whore.

She choked back a sob.

I’m sick I’m sick I’m sick

She rocked back and forth, clutching her head, willing the madness to stop.

Willing it all to just stop.

Voices whispered to her from the ether, a cacophony of sounds raging through her mind, yet their
words were unintelligible.

She strained to make sense of it, but the more she tried to listen, the more indistinguishable they
became.

She pressed both hands to her mouth and screamed with the full force of her lungs, smothering the
high pitched wail, releasing all of her anguish with the long, strained breath.

By the time she ran out of air her throat was raw, eyes bloodshot and cheeks flushed.

She gasped, tipping her head back and resting it against the wall as she stewed in the tortuous heat
of self-loathing.

After a few minutes, she finally sighed, slowly picking herself up from the floor and crossing the
room on unsteady legs.

She drew open the wardrobe doors, staring blankly at the contents within, grabbing a dress at
random.

She tossed the garment across the bed, sighing deeply as she began removing her clothing, letting
the items fall in heaps at her feet, kicking them away as she reached for the dresser drawer-

Her eyes caught her reflection in the mirror.

She froze.

She looked a right mess, leaves and twigs caught in her hair, dirt marring her face and neck,
tracked by tears…

And the markings.

She slowly drew her hand away from the drawer, bringing her trembling fingers to her shoulder and
pushing her hair aside.

To reveal a series of red and purple welts beside the hollow of her throat.

The largest one centered over her pulse point.

Her breath became fragmented, heartbeat stuttering, making her sway precariously until she listed
against the dresser, covering her neck with her hand, tears welling in her eyes anew.

And then another thought flitted through her mind…

She avoided the reflection of her gaze as she slowly spun around, straining her spine as she peered
over her shoulder, gazing upon the back of her bare thighs in the mirror.

She swallowed heavily at the sight of fingerprints marring her pale flesh in varying shades of violet
ink.

She stared upon the round marks for several moments, until her neck burned from the severe angle
and she was forced to gaze forward once more.
The physical markings were somehow worse than the memories. They made her shameful act a
reality, the tangible proof of her depravity.

She’s been marked before by men… Draco left small welts on her neck from time to time, Dolohov
left a massive bruise along her side… but nothing compared to this.

Because what occurred in the cemetery hadn't been innocent, exploratory pawing between young
lovers. It hadn't been violently thrust upon her by a man whom she despised.

No…

What occurred between the tombstones was utter ruination.

And she had craved it with every fiber of her being.

She blinked rapidly as the smell of smoke met the back of her throat.

She brought a handful of her curls to her nose, inhaling deeply.

And cringed, turning her face away.

I smell of death.

She strode away from the mirror, disgusted by her reflection, and grabbed the dress off the bed,
pulling it on with stilted movements, hands shaking uncontrollably.

She began to fasten the ties with fumbling fingers, the invading whispers starting anew, swirling
through her mind and drowning out the sound of her own thoughts.

One haunting voice hissed louder than the others, its chilling message clear.

No my child… You are death.

Tom wound the reins tightly around his gloved hand as he led the horse across the uneven slats
lining the dock, gently rocking side to side with the creatures rhythmic gate, thighs clenching the
leather saddle.

The only source of illumination was the moonlight glancing off the water, the sound of the waves
soothing to his nerves, even as it reminded him of a harsh childhood spent grinding his bones with
hard labor.

The warehouse finally came into view, causing his pulse to thrum and his hands to clench. The
horse's steel shoes continued to clomp steadily across the ground, his chest tightening as the
structure grew larger and larger until they were upon it at long last.

He ground his teeth, swinging his leg gracefully over the beast’s back and leaping down, leading
the creature over to a water trough and tying the reins around the neighboring post.

The animal bent its head, golden mane cascading down as it began to drink. He patted its long
neck, stroking along its ears, anything to distract his mind from wandering into territory best left
buried.

But as the tamed creature brayed contentedly beneath his hand, muscles undulating beneath his
palm, he was reminded of the inherent beauty in strength, the power that could be contained within
the smallest of gestures…
And his bloody mind wandered.

She had felt so soft beneath him, her tiny frame emitting scorching heat that drove him half mad
with fever. The way she’d clenched upon his fingers when she’d finally succumbed-

He reared back, tipping his head to gaze at the full moon, drawing a hand through his hair, the
slight tremor in his limb nearly imperceptible to the naked eye but startling obvious to his own.

He swallowed thickly as he felt the phantom sensations along his fingertips, the way he’d stroked
against her maidenhead, the near frenzied bloodlust that had overcome him as the urge to break
through it had possessed him. The need to taste her, claim her, mark her…

Make her bleed and scream and writhe and beg-

Enough.

He drew away abruptly, fists clenched at his sides, just as he’d pulled away from her.

For her own safety.

She was too pure, too light, too fragile.

He couldn't ravish her in the dirt, above centuries-old corpses buried just below their gasping,
clawing bodies.

She’d never forgive herself. She’d never forgive him-

I said enough!

This was madness. A disease.

Just as Dolohov described.

The mere notion that he may share any of the same proclivities as that disgusting beast made him
physically ill.

He inhaled sharply, doing his best to focus upon the smell of fish and grease and salt, the sounds of
the water and distant ships, anything, anything else...

He sighed with resignation, shoulders lowering as he continued to stare at the front of the
warehouse unseeing.

This night had been nothing but a gross comedy of errors. One foolish mistake after the other, each
more catastrophic than the last, each the result of his own stupidity, his own pathetic longings.

First, he’d been fool enough to allow Greyback to live. Just because her tiny hand had alighted
upon his chest, just because he felt the echo of his heartbeat centered in her palm, felt the heat and
scent of her body washing over him, cleansing him of his misdeeds, releasing him from his sins.
The naked desperation in her eyes had driven his mind startling blank, the sincerity of her plea as
she begged him to leave the monster alive…

His second mistake of the night had been awarding her the moniker of partner.

Tom worked alone for a reason and propelling her to such a position had wreaked havoc on both of
their psyches. Paving the way for the third, and by far greatest error of their evening…
He was a true fool for touching her.

Because now he knew the heat and softness of her hips as they canted up to cradle his body.

He knew the sounds she made as she came undone beneath him.

And he knew the tightness of her body as she clenched rhythmically, the sharp sting of her nails
biting into his flesh as she gave herself over to the passion entirely.

Over to him entirely.

And the memory would haunt him for the rest of his days.

For as much as he longed, craved, wanted… he would never take her innocence. He would never
take anything from her again.

And after this mission was complete, once the Dollmaker lay dead and bloodied at his feet-

He would never lay eyes upon Hermione Granger again.

It was the only way to ensure her safety.

And his sanity.

Though both seemed to be tipping precariously at the given moment.

He rotated his head around his shoulders to alleviate the building pressure in his neck, striding for
the warehouse door, withdrawing his switchblade from his pocket.

At least he would be able to right one of his wrongs before the night was through.

But when he reached the barrier, he saw that it sat ajar.

He drew back against the wall, arm poised defensively across his front, knees bent and ready to
pounce, blade tipped down, glinting in the light, ready to strike.

He strained to listen, hearing nothing but the whistling backdrop of wind and sea.

Slowly, he pushed open the door.

It swung back into the darkness, banging off the wall, echoing loudly through the vast room.

Moonlight streamed in through the busted windows, providing just enough illumination to see the
chair in the center of the floor.

Tipped over.

Empty.

Blood stained ropes lying in pieces along the ground.

Fire exploded in his gut, rushing up his esophagus and expelling from his mouth and nose in a puff
of steam.

He strode into the warehouse, braced for attack, eyes frantically searching-

And then he gazed down, heart skipping.

He lowered the blade, kneeling low, inspecting the trail of dark blood leading to the door, the
giant-sized boot prints outlined in dirt and dust…

But it was the second set of tracks that drew his gaze.

That caused his eyes to narrow, his features to morph into a mask of inhuman rage.

Bloodlust rose once more, surging like acid through his veins.

Fucking hypocrite.

He drove the blade into the wood floor, red clouding his vision.

I’ll kill them both.

But then another thought struck, a much more pressing matter that drew him to his feet abruptly,
heart racing.

The old fool had no idea what he was dealing with, no concept of the danger he’d just unleashed
upon his former charge.

Or upon-

He spun on his heel, running from the room, emerging onto the dock with determination in his
step, murder in his eye.

He untied the horse and swung atop the saddle, kicking its flanks, sending it galloping wildly into
the night, his plans for the evening dissolving away into thin air.

Only one thing mattered now.

Finding her before the Wolf did.

Hermione looped the scarf around her neck once more, carefully tucking the end into the collar of
her dress as she reached the bottom of the steps.

Filch was making his rounds near the kitchen, which meant she’d be exiting through the front
door.

She quickly crossed the stone, mindful of the echoing click of her heels. The whispers in her mind
grew louder and louder with every step, almost as if they were trying to warn her…

She shook the chilling notion away, reaching for the door handle-

When the soul grating sound of a throat being cleared emanated from just behind her.

Hermione jolted, spine rigid, arm hovering mid-air as she closed her eyes, willing the sound to be
another twisted figment of her imagination.

Only for that fantasy to be shattered as the she-demon spoke, words clipped and venomous.

“Ms. Granger. What a pleasant surprise.”

Hermione cringed, slowly lowering her arm and turning to face the rotund woman standing only
feet away, gazing up at her through gleaming, predatory eyes.
Hermione wet her lips, mouth a barren wasteland of wind-strewn words and half-formed excuses.

“Tell me, how is Ms. Patil doing? I’ve been ever so worried about her.”

Hermione blinked twice, taking an instinctual step back.

“Parvati’s doing better, now that she’s had proper medical treatment.”

The Madam quirked a brow. “Hm. Is that so? St. Mungo’s is treating her well, then?”

Hermione’s heart fluttered wildly in her chest as she took another slow step back, shoulders
colliding with the heavy door.

“Yes.”

Umbridge’s eyes flashed.

“How peculiar. You see, I sent Filch to the hospital to check on her status.”

Hermione’s jaw tensed, hands pressing flat against the barrier blocking her escape.

“Imagine my surprise when he returned only to inform me that Ms. Patil was never admitted.”

Her nose twitched, lips unfurling into a sinister grin, revealing a long row of short, white teeth.

“Which leaves me quite baffled as to your response.”

Hermione tried to swallow past the tight constriction in her throat.

“We didn’t check her into Mungo’s. We decided to use the local clinic, it was closer and we
thought she would be treated sooner.”

Umbridge's lips pulled tauter, a marionette's grotesque grin.

“We?”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, foot hovering above the steel-toothed trap.

“The Doctor and I.”

“The Doctor…” Umbridge folded her hands behind her back, taking a slow step forward. The
shadows danced along the wall, taking strange shape at her back. “Don’t you mean Tom?”

Hermione blinked, heart jolting painfully, causing her entire body to rock.

The smile began to crack along the edges, ripping in half, venom dripping from the ends.

“That is what you call him, is it not?”

“I… I don’t-”

“At least in private, when discussing your relationship with friends.”

Hermione’s lungs stopped working, her brain rapidly deprived of oxygen, vision hazing at the
corners.

The shadows shot high into the air, bleeding from the walls and across the ceiling, creating a solid
black backdrop from which the Matron seemed to levitate in the center of.

“There’s no point in denying it, my dear.” Another step closer, the click of her heel sending
powerful shivers down Hermione’s spine. “Marietta overheard your little conversation this
morning.”

Her smile somehow grew larger, more lethal, the ends of her lips extending well beyond her face
like a caricature of madness.

“She also overheard something else profoundly intriguing.”

She halted just before her, sweet, brandy-seeped breath ghosting against Hermione’s trembling
chin.

“She also heard about your worrisome affliction.”

Hermione pressed hard against the door, willing her body to melt through it, for her limbs to fold in
and flesh to compress until she slid through a seam in the wall.

“M-my affliction?”

The Matron’s eyes narrowed, her pointed teeth shimmering in the candlelight.

“Your hallucinations, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione gasped, hands clenching, nails scraping along the wood.

“You're a very disturbed young woman, aren’t you?”

Dark smoke lifted from the floor, slowly rising all around them, darkness pulsing with the
Matron’s every word.

"I understand the Doctor's perverse interest in you now." A muscle in her jaw ticked, her gaze as
sharp as the blade that severed Dolohov's fingers from his hand. "He was obviously fascinated by
your lunacy, trying to treat you himself."

She tipped her round chin high, glaring down her nose even as she continued to peer up.

“A noble endeavor. But a harmful one all the same. You clearly are in need of professional
psychological help, my child.”

Hermione shook her head rapidly, curls obscuring her vision.

“No, no I don’t-”

“Silence!” A vein throbbed in the woman’s forehead, red mottling her pale face. “I will not be
subjected to the ramblings of a mad woman. And I will not subject my innocent charges to it
either.”

She took a deep breath, inhaling the phantom smoke in her mouth and nostrils, only for it to billow
out on her weighted exhale like an agitated, pink dragon.

“It isn't safe to house you here any longer, Ms. Granger. To let your madness continue to go
untreated would be an act of gross negligence. You are a danger to yourself and to others.”

She arched a brow, her smile returning with malevolent glee.

“You must be put away.”

Hermione staggered in place, heart skipping too many beats to keep her upright. She listed heavily
into the wall, mouth agape.

“You can’t do that!”

“I’m afraid it’s the only way, my dear.”

Terror gave her wings.

Hermione lurched away from the door and grasped the handle with both hands, tearing it open with
trembling arms, adrenaline making her heavy and weightless at the same time, propelling her
forward on stumbling feet-

Only to collide face first with two large men dressed in grey uniform.

Their large bulk blocked her path, the intent in their eyes clear as they strode forward.

“No!”

She staggered back, colliding with the Matron, a pudgy hand ensnaring her ribbon-clad wrist,
squeezing until the circulation waned, sharp nails piercing her skin like talons.

“As you can see, gentlemen, the girl is quite unwell. Feel free to use as much force as necessary to
get her under control.”

One of the men reached out a large, meaty hand.

“Come along, Miss.”

“I’m not mad!”

She slapped the hand away, wrenching her arm from Umbridge’s metal claw, blood blossoming
along the broken skin.

“Ms. Edgecomb has already provided us all with her witness testimony, Ms. Granger. I assure you,
this is for your own good.” She watched Hermione’s vain attempts to flee with sheer delight. “I
only want what is best for you.”

“She’s a liar!” Hermione screamed, barely dodging the other man’s arm as he tried to grab her.
“She hates me! She hates all of us!”

“Miss, if you don’t come willingly we’ll be forced to sedate you.”

“Please listen to me!” She held her hands up, body vibrating with the force of her terror. “The
Doctor who works here, he’ll tell you I’m not mad! Please wait for him to return-”

“Dr. Riddle is currently detained at St. Mungo’s,” Umbridge supplied in a sugary sweet voice.
“Checking on the welfare of another resident, as you well know.”

“She’s lying!” She thrashed wildly as one of the men grabbed her arm, wrenching her nearly off
her feet entirely as he pulled her into his large frame. “She’s lying! You-”

The second man plunged a syringe into her bicep, choking her with fear even before the massive
fatigue crashed over her head and down her spine in an ice cold wave.
“No… please…”

The first man adjusted his hold on her, half carrying and half dragging her to the exit, her limbs
quickly falling numb.

“May I please say farewell?” Umbridge wrung her hands in distress, brow creased. “She’s so very
precious to me.”

The man holding her upright nodded. “Of course, Ma’am. Best make it fast, though. She’s going to
be out any second.”

The click click click of heels drew in closer and closer, and then a sickly sweet perfume was
invading her airways, making her wretch internally.

Umbridge’s smug visage filled her vision a moment later as the Matron leaned in close, whispering
directly into her ear, lips brushing the skin.

“I knew you would return tonight, you filthy little harlot.” The harsh whisper echoed through the
endless caverns of her mind, thoughts rapidly washed away by the drug.

“You're desperate for attention, eager to cause me misery at every turn. I knew you couldn’t stay
away for long.”

Umbridge reached up, grasping the scarf around her neck and pulling it free, revealing the marks
Tom left upon her body. The witch’s eyes lingered upon the discoloration for a long moment, black
flames dancing in their depths.

Hermione came to the slow, abstract realization that the matron had known what she was hiding all
along. Shame mingled with the terror, making her physically nauseous.

Umbridge’s beady eyes flickered up, holding her gaze as a cruel, feral smile stretched her face.

“But you lose, you stupid, stupid girl. Do you hear me? You’re nothing but gutter trash, and within
a few days time you’ll be drooling and pissing all over yourself, eating off the floor and painting
the walls with your own excrement.” She licked her lips, hot breath scalding the shell of
Hermione’s ear. “We’ll see how much he wants you then.”

She drew back, arms rigid at her sides, scarf clutched tightly between white knuckles.

“Thank you, gentleman.” She bestowed them both with a tittering coo. “I appreciate that more than
you know.”

“Of course,” said the man at Hermione’s side, something in his voice sounding darkly amused and
causing her heart to jolt even as it slowed.

And then he leaned down, sweeping an arm beneath her limp knees and hoisting her into the air,
cradled against his large chest.

Her vision rapidly faded, head lolling lifelessly against his broad shoulder as she was loaded onto
the bench of a carriage. She heard the horses bray, the driver saying something unintelligible, as
though underwater.

The interior of the car was dark, cold and ominous. She glimpsed Umbridge on the steps, face
flushed and eyes bright, practically bouncing on her heels as the two attendants climbed in after,
shutting the door and submerging them all in shadow and faded moonlight.
The carriage started to pull away and her vision turned to smoke, the Matron dissipating within it.

But before the black cloak of unconsciousness took her completely under, she felt movement all
around, one man seated beside her, the other across, lifting her legs into his lap, large hand
lingering upon her thigh, sliding up up up and grasping her hip.

“Don’t worry, Miss.”

The man beside her stroked the hair from her face, the pad of his thumb tracing along her cheek
and across her bloodless lips.

“We’ll take good care of you at Rutledge Asylum.”

And then she plunged headfirst down the dark, endless rabbit hole.
 Path of Descent

Off

With

Her

Head

. . .

The frantic screaming reached migraine inducing heights as Avery heard the approaching footsteps
down the hall.

Only for the cacophony to cut off abruptly as their owner rounded the corner and entered the room.

He gasped, shoulders dropping with obvious relief even as his face glistened with sweat and tears.

“Draco! Thank god! I’ve been attacked! Did you see who-”

His mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish as another person entered a few paces behind,
posture set with open hostility.

“P-Potter?”

Harry narrowed his gaze, following Draco across the floor as yet two more men appeared from the
darkness beyond the doorway, one looking perturbingly amused and the other nauseatingly
anxious.

“What… what is this? What are you all doing here?” He began to thrash anew, straining in futility
against his binds. “Untie me at once!”

In the next moment, Harry closed the distance between them and drove his fist into the side of his
jaw, snapping his head back so hard his neck cracked.

Draco grabbed the assaulting arm and wrenched the man back with a scowl.

“Are you fucking daft? He just woke up from the last hit!”

Harry shrugged, eyes still fastened ahead as he watched Avery slowly recover from the blow, blood
running from his split lip.

“I couldn't help myself.”

"What else is new?" Draco snapped, releasing him and positioning himself between both men.
"He's undoubtedly concussed already, at this rate we'll scramble his brain before we elicit the
information we need."

Harry’s jaw tensed, finally glancing up, only to have his attention diverted back down as Avery
began to scream.

"You fucking bastard!" He spat blood and saliva onto the priceless rug, eyes and voice turning
pleading as his gaze shifted. "Drake, please, help me!"
The blonde ignored him as he continued to address Harry.

"Why don't you let me take over? Afterward, you can rend him limb from limb for all I care."

Avery reared back, face paling, jaw already swelling.

“What do you want? Please-”

"I must say, the shrillness of your voice is nearly as unbearable as your taste in decor." Blaise
leaned casually against the grand piano, hands resting in his pockets. "A striped settee and floral
ottoman atop an oriental rug?" He shook his head with a deep sigh. "Don't get me started on the
color palette-"

“Blaise.” Draco stood before the chair as Harry paced restlessly at his back. “Alright, Jon. I know
you already suffered from limited brain function before Potter knocked your remaining screws
loose, so I’m going to make this nice and simple.”

He leaned in, eyes gleaming menacingly.

“How did you come to acquire a girl in your wall?”

Avery swallowed convulsively, eyes bugging.

“I- how- I don’t-”

“We both know you don’t possess the requisite skill to compose an eloquent or convincing lie. And
even if you did…” His gaze narrowed dangerously. “I’m my father’s son. You stand no chance of
talking your way out of this.” His jaw tensed. “Tell us about the girl.”

Avery shook his head, sweat running past his temples.

“I didn’t hurt her. I never even touched her!”

Blaise continued his careless repose, but his voice grazed their skin with a sharp edge. “She walled
herself into a hidden chamber of her own accord?”

“Rab put her there!” His frantic gaze darted between the four men imploringly. “I swear, I barely
saw what she looked like!”

Draco blinked, drawing back, Harry stopped in his tracks and tensed.

“Rabastan brought her here? Was Greyback with him?”

Avery’s jaw hung open for a moment as a deep rivet appeared between his thick brows.
“Greyback? No, I haven’t seen him since the game.”

Harry's fists clenched at his sides.

“How many girls have you imprisoned here?”

Draco scowled, flashing a heated look over his shoulder.

“That isn’t important-”

Harry ignored him, taking a sinister step towards the chair. “Answer the question. How many?”
Avery shook his head so hard droplets of sweat flew free.

“I don’t know!”

Harry began methodically cracking his knuckles, the emeralds in his eyes reflecting with dagger
points.

“Take a guess.”

“Please, I don't touch them! I just hold them until they-”

He stopped abruptly, eyes widening to comical size. Draco and Harry froze in place.

“Until they what?”

The man’s pale lips pressed tight. Draco sighed, stepping back and gesturing to Harry.

“Have fun.”

The man wasted no time cocking his fist back. Avery flinched violently, trembling so hard the
chair legs rattled on the hardwood.

“Until they sell!”

Harry’s fist continued to hover as the blood drained from his face. Draco felt his own chest
constrict until his ribs screamed in protest.

“Sell to whom?”

“I don’t know…”

Harry scowled, fist tightening.

“They don’t tell me!” Avery cried in earnest, fresh tears welling in his eyes. “I never know who the
buyers are or where the girls are shipped!”

Draco surged forward. “Shipped?”

Avery panted, breathless as the last dregs of resistance fell away. “Rab brings me the ones who are
purchased by international buyers, I keep them here until travel arrangements are made.”

Harry lowered his fist, glancing over his shoulder and meeting Draco’s eye.

A heavy weight pressed upon them.

And then Draco took a deep, steadying breath, directing his focus upon the bound man once more.

“Where is Hermione Granger?”

Avery blinked, staring up in silence for several seconds, bemusement clear in his strained features.

“Herm… Richard’s girl?”

Something within Draco gave way, he felt the restraints snap along with what was left of his sanity.
He leaned in, bracing either side of the chair with all his strength in a vain attempt to keep his
violent urges at bay.
“Where is she!”

Avery paled, pressing back as far as possible, hands curled around the armrests. “I have no idea! If
she was selected she was never brought to me!”

A growl emanated from deep within Draco’s chest, teeth grinding. “She was Greyback’s true target
tonight. You’re telling me Rabastan mentioned none of this to you when he brought the other girl
by?”

“Luna.”

The interruption startled him, causing him to release his death grip on the chair and glance back.

He met Neville’s gaze, a heavy beat passing before he nodded slowly.

“Luna,” he repeated, the raging fire in his gut settling into a steady simmer. Avery drew his
attention forward once more, voice high and urgent.

“He would never tell me anything like that! I’m just a placeholder for them! I’m not high up, I’m
not in control of anything that happens!”

“Poor thing.” Blaise’s voice was light but the gleam in his eyes was most unsettling. “You don’t
even get to rape the girls you starve and imprison.”

“I’m merely doing as told-”

The flames burst to life anew, clouding Draco's vision with red.

In the next moment, his fist was balling of its own accord, arm swinging forward with all the force
in his body. He caught Avery dead center of the face, driving his head back and snapping cleanly
through the cartilage. Blood exploded out from behind his fingers, staining his alabaster skin and
arcing across the man's pain twisted visage.

“Jesus Christ!” Avery sputtered through the river of red pouring from his bent nostrils and into his
gaping mouth. “You’re a fucking lunatic!”

Draco snarled like a feral beast, vibrating with the force of his rage, reaching forward and grabbing
a fist full of his sweat-drenched hair, hauling his head forward and he hovered menacingly before
him, holding the man's terrified gaze steady.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t know where she is.”

“I swear!” Avery sobbed, eyes clouded with tears. “I would tell you otherwise! I have no idea!
Please stop hitting me!”

Draco shook his head, releasing him with disgust.

“You’re pathetic.”

Avery’s wet sobbing filled every corner of the room. Draco ran his hand through his hair, trying to
slow his rapid thoughts, unknowingly tinging a strip of white blonde pink with wet blood.

Harry sighed deeply, gazing upon him with a deep sympathy before silently taking the reins from
his grasp, addressing Avery with disturbing calmness.

“Tell us about the party you hosted here.”

Avery blinked several times.

“P-Party? W-Which party?”

Draco spun on his heel, causing the man to jerk back, jaw snapping shut. “The one that nearly
resulted in your eviction, idiot.”

"Rab threw it!" Avery leaned forward, tendons along his neck stretched tautly. "I told him it was a
bad idea but he-"

“I don’t care who hosted it, I want to know its true purpose.”

Avery licked the dark blood from his lips, shirt soaked through with sweat.

“They’ll kill me for telling you all of this. They’ll kill you if you try and-”

“Enough,” Harry said, the two syllables unleashing a frozen tundra upon the room and its
occupants. Draco glanced at him sharply on instinct, sensing the menacing presence of what was to
come before his mind fully processed what he was seeing.

Potter reached into his coat and extracted a gleaming revolver, holding it loosely at his side despite
the tight set of his back and shoulders.

Neville took a wide step back even as Blaise released a short bark of laughter.

“Bloody hell, Potter, I can always count on you to show a bloke a good time.”

Avery’s struggles took on a hysterical quality as Harry awarded him his unwavering focus.

“I don’t have time for your bullshite. You answer our questions or I start putting bullets in you.”

Neville shifted anxiously. “Harry-”

“Hermione is still missing, she could be tied and gagged in the belly of ship seabound for America
for all we know.”

Neville paled considerably even as he fell silent. Avery’s shrill pleas continued.

“She isn’t! If she was sold to an international buyer she’d have been brought to me-”

He choked on his words as Draco stepped in, a shadow passing across his sharp features, silver
eyes gleaming from the darkness. “Tell us about the party, Jon, or I step back and let Potter
demonstrate his precision with a firearm.”

Avery continued to gape for another wild heartbeat before speaking so quickly he barely broke his
words apart. “The party was to showcase our products to new members, we invited other people as
a cover and held the viewing in the library.”

Blaise tilted his head, standing from the piano. “Products? You mean the girls?”

Avery wet his lips eyes flickering. “Y-yes…”

Draco scowled, stance widening as though braced to strike again. “What aren’t you telling us,
Jon?”

“N-nothing! I mean, I’m telling you everything! Honestly!”

Harry traced the butt of the gun with the pad of his thumb. “Why were the girls acting so
strangely?”

Draco blinked, rearing around to face him.

“What?”

Harry didn’t miss a beat, voice even and unenthused as though delivering a financial report.
“Lavender recognized some of the girls from her old neighborhood. But they didn't have any
memory of their past, some didn’t even respond to their names.”

Blaise glanced between them, brow arched. “Fucking hell.”

Draco shook his head, thoughts caught in a violent whirlwind once more. “How is that possible?”

Harry’s jaw tensed, gaze narrowing as he focused upon the chair’s bloodied occupant. “Why don’t
you tell us, Avery?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know how he does it!”

All four men standing went rigid.

Harry recovered first. “He?”

Draco was quick on his heels, fire burning in his eyes as his heart galloped out of control. “Who
are you talking about?”

Avery wet his lips slowly, face crumpling into a mask of unmistakable terror.

Which was deeply unsettling to each of them, as the man hadn’t reacted with such blinding fear at
any other point in the evening, not even when the gun had made its appearance.

Draco braced himself for whatever new chaos was about to be unleashed upon them, heart and
mind stuttering when Avery spoke at last.

He whispered, but the ominous words echoed through his head at deafening volume.

“The Dollmaker.”

Sirius gripped his hair by the roots with both hands, pulling the dark strands taut as he walked
endless circles around the entryway.

What the hell was I thinking? Letting Harry wander off into the city to contend with an organized
crime ring by himself!

If anything happens to him-

Stop thinking like that! He's a smart kid, much more brilliant than you were at his age-

Brains have nothing to do with this. This is life and death. And you let him dive headfirst into
Charybdis.

He sighed deeply, holding the air in his lungs until they were consumed with fire and needles.

I’m so sorry James… Lily… I promised to protect him at all costs…

I’ve failed you.

His eyes began to burn as badly as his chest, the tears kept at bay only by his rapidly churning
thoughts and undulating emotions.

You gave him until nine… half an hour more.

Then I bring in the cavalry.

He nodded, heart swelling at the notion.

I’ll visit Dumbledore first. He’ll be able to wake the bloody Queen if need be.

The thought gave him hope, enough to continue standing upright even as his limbs threatened to
collapse. He'd never been rendered so numb with fear. Not when rifles and swords were aimed at
his heart, not when cannons exploded overhead. Not even when he buried his best friends,
becoming a parent overnight.

No, this was a horror the likes of which man was not made to endure. The pain of losing Harry
would be absolute, all-consuming, His soul would blacken and decay, his heart would cease to
beat. He'd become yet another ghost cursed to haunt this ancestral tomb of a home…

A knock sounded at the front door, loud and persistent. Sirius staggered back with the powerful
blow of his relief, running for the door so quickly he nearly wiped out across the edge of the rug,
catching himself against a marble statue of Dionysus before regaining his footing and grasping the
brass knob.

"Thank you, God!"

He slid back the lock and wrenched open the door.

“You have no idea the grey hair you’ve given-”

He blinked rapidly, muscles tensing once more, his entire body submerged in the Arctic waters as
he came face to face with a man decidedly not his godson.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man standing on his front step was clad in dark trousers and a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled
to the elbow, no coat in sight.

Making the dried blood splattered across the pale fabric a mesmerizingly haunting sight.

Further unsettling, the man seemed completely unaffected by his current state, though there was a
tenseness to his shoulders that caused Sirius to widen his stance, braced for a fight.

“Lord Black.” The stranger tipped his head, eyes unnaturally bright as they reflected the full moon
above. “My name is Doctor Thomas Riddle. I-

“I know who you are.” Sirius’s eyes narrowed dangerously, hands bracing either side of the wood
frame. “You've got some real nerve coming here.”

Riddle drew back, moving beyond the shaft of moonlight, shadows dancing along his face.

“I presume you've spoken to Ms. Granger?”

The calculated calmness of his tone was an abrasion to Sirius’s spent nerves.

“You bet your arse. I know that you took her to Amortentia dressed in nothing but under clothes
and a mask, dragging her deeper into this tangled mess until she can’t determine up from down.”

Riddle’s spine somehow straightened further, making him taller yet. Sirius wasn’t intimidated in
the slightest.

"The only reason I haven't reported you to the Yard is so I can have the satisfaction of beating the
ever-loving shite out of you myself."

The man’s eyes narrowed in turn, something predatory in his stillness, a silent warning Sirius
recognized all too well.

“Hermione isn’t a child, she chose to join me on the-”

"She's eighteen. Think back to when you were that age and the complexity of your decision-
making capabilities."

Riddle's jaw ticked, hands curling at his sides. "I believe you're letting your personal feelings for
her cloud your rational judgment."

Sirius inspected him from top to bottom and back up again, seeing the truth of his festering
suspicions in every strained line of his body.

“You would certainly know.”

Riddle blinked, seemingly thrown off guard for the space of a fractured heartbeat before expertly
schooling his features into a mask of cool indifference.

“I merely came to ascertain that she made it back to the Manor safely. I won’t bother you any
further.”

He drew away towards the horse, though he seemed reluctant to turn his back on Sirius just yet.

He knows how to fight.

What kind of Doctor is this?

He ran a hand through his hair.

Fucking hell, Mione, what have you gotten yourself into, luv?

He was keen to let the man continue on his merry way, anything to get him out of their lives.

But thinking of Hermione only brought the crippling fear and uncertainty crashing upon him, and
he spoke before he processed the words fleeing his mouth.

“She isn’t here.”

Riddle turned to cold, unforgiving marble before his very eyes. Sirius took a deep breath, releasing
the doorway to lean against it, crossing his arms.

“My kid is tearing the city apart looking for her, putting his life in danger as well.”

He exhaled deeply through his nose.

“If anything happens to either of them, I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands, you hear me?”

The statue split at the seams, the Doctor breaking free, chin tipping up as he pinned Sirius with a
keenly assessing eye.

“If you could direct even a fraction of that rage on the individuals who truly mean your children
harm then perhaps we stand a chance at beating them.”

Sirius shook his head, pushing away from the threshold and crossing the gravel, arms tight at his
sides.

“What the hell is going on? You obviously know more than Harry.” A weighted, resigned pause.
“More than he was willing to share with me, anyway.”

Riddle didn’t back down from the rapid approach, feet holding firmly in place as the raging man
advanced.

“I know that Hermione is in grave danger, more than you could possibly comprehend.”

Sirius paled, stopping just before him and rearing back as though struck. And yet the verbal assault
continued.

“I also know that if you notify the authorities of her disappearance, the powers that be will be
notified as well. They’ll smuggle her away on a cargo vessel or simply kill her outright.”

Sirius staggered in place, feeling suddenly faint, pressing the heels of his palms to his throbbing
temples.

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing. She’s like a daughter to me. Harry is my son. I can’t do
nothing.”

The silence stretched, Sirius became lost within the raging hurricane of thoughts and was startled
by the placid voice that echoed clearly over the fray.

“I’ve seldom encountered biological parents with such devotion, little less an adoptive one. I know
waiting here is madness. But someone must remain at the Manor in case Hermione returns.”
Something feral shone in his eyes, there one moment and gone the next. “Arm yourself. She may
be bringing company on her heels.”

Sirius slowly lowered his hands, jaw suspended in disbelief, a torrent of questions fighting to be the
first out of his throat. Finally, he settled on something simple and direct, which seemed to be most
effective with the man standing before him.

“What the bloody fuck is going on?”

Riddle sighed deeply, stoic mask cracking along the edges, raw emotion brimming just beneath the
surface, something wild and palpable and somewhat disturbing.

“I don’t have time to explain. But if you are faced with an adversary this evening, I hope you are
willing to pull the trigger.”

Sirius didn’t hesitate.

“If someone is threatening Harry or Hermione I won’t hesitate to kill them.”

The Doctor nodded, his gaze tinged with open approval.

“Good.”

And suddenly, he stepped back once more, beginning to turn away. Sirius jolted forward, starting
to reach for the man’s arm only to think better of such a movement, letting his grasping hand hover
in the air between them.

“Wait! Where the hell are you going?”

Riddle didn’t glance back, making quick work towards his horse.

“To continue my search.”

“Hold on!”

He strode forward, only stopping when Riddle groaned and spun to face him, irritation clear as
moonlight across his sharp features.

Sirius tilted his head, gaze narrowing as it slowly traced each line and curve of the man's face.

“I’ve seen you before.”

Riddle’s eyes narrowed briefly, shoulders drawing back before he forced himself to relax, all of
which provided more of an answer than his actual words.

“It’s possible.”

Sirius crossed his arms once more. “Where.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

"I know you're lying, But there are more pressing issues at the moment, so I'll let it slide."

The Doctor shook his head, spinning on his heel as he reached for the reins and braced one boot in
the stirrups.

“You don’t scare me, Riddle.”

He watched the man swing his leg gracefully over the saddle, situating himself atop as he directed
the horse into a slow gait forward.

He peered down at Sirius as he passed.

“Good.” His fist tightened on the reins. “You’ll need to be fearless to survive the battle to come.”

And then he urged the creature on, taking off like a shot across the driveway and into the dark
street beyond.

“Biscuits, biscuits, biscuits…”

Parvati opened the pantry for the third time, standing on tiptoes as she peered at the top shelf,
reaching her arms up and sweeping her fingertips across the items organized within, knocking
boxes and pouches to the floor with a groan.

“This fucker has everything but biscuits.”

Hannah smothered a laugh while Luna sighed, both girls seated behind the breakfast counter.
“It’s alright, Parvati, the bread is fine.”

Parvati shook her head adamantly, slamming the pantry door and storming to the row of cabinets
on the other side of the expansive kitchen. "You wanted biscuits, I'm going to find you biscuits."

Luna pivoted in her stool, watching her friend’s tight fist crusade unfold before her eyes. “Parvati,
it’s alright.”

Parvati groaned as she strained to reach the top row of cubbies.

“I can’t reach the damn things!”

“Parvati.”

She settled back on her heels with a resigned huff, slowly turning around.

Luna smiled, though the edges were tinged with uncharacteristic sadness.

“Please sit with me.”

Parvati opened her mouth as though to argue, only to catch Hannah’s eye, the girl giving a subtle
shake of her head. Parvati nodded reluctantly, giving up the search and making her way across the
checkerboard tile to the empty stool on Luna’s other side.

She took her seat, crossing her stocking-clad legs and reaching out a hand, brushing the loose and
tangled blonde hair from Luna’s delicate shoulder before gently grasping it.

“Are you…” She shifted, forcing herself to ask the question without inflection. “Are you okay?”

Luna reached for the glass of water sitting before her, bringing it slowly to her mouth and taking a
dainty sip before nodding, licking the moisture from her top lip.

“Yes, the bread is staying down quite well.”

Parvati exchanged another loaded look with Hannah. She bit her lip, pressing on.

“I meant…” She swallowed beyond her control. “Are you… hurt?”

Luna blinked, blue eyes clear and guileless as she tipped her head.

“Hurt?”

Parvati removed her hand from the girl’s shoulder and rested it atop her knee instead, the pale skin
chilled beneath the thin nightdress she still wore.

“Did he harm you?”

Ripples appeared in the placid lakes of her gaze, realization finally dawning.

She quickly shook her head.

“No. The man who brought me here gave him strict instructions not to.” She glanced to the
countertop, fidgeting with the perspiring glass. “They thought I was still pure.”

Hannah leaned in, placing a hand on her back.

“You are pure.”

Parvati nodded, pain lancing through her center, causing tears to well. “The purest heart and soul
I’ve ever known.”

Luna continued to keep her eyes averted.

“Thank you both. That’s very kind. But my body…” A faint tremor ran through her thin frame,
echoing into her companion’s arms, all of them shook by the same torrent of unspoken emotion.
Luna wet her lips, gently clearing her throat.

“After they made the assumption I didn’t say anything. One of the men told me virgins were worth
a fortune.”

Parvati’s hand squeezed her knee on instinct, expression sharpening to a lethal point.

“I’m going to grab one of those knives and slice his cock off.”

Hannah tensed in her seat. “Only after I use the vegetable peeler on it.”

The other two girls glanced at her sharply, blinking.

And then they both smiled. Parvati nodded her approval.

"You're just shrouded in surprises tonight, Abbott."

The girl smirked even as she blushed, glancing down at her scantily clad chest. “If only I was
shrouded in more clothing.”

Luna’s brows drew in and she examined their attire carefully, seeming to take in their appearance
for the time properly.

“What happened to Hermione?”

The innocent question caused both girls to jolt.

Hannah sighed, hand dropping to her lap where her fingers fidgeted anxiously with her garters.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

Parvati took a deep breath, seeming to surprise both girls as she glanced over her shoulder, eyeing
the empty doorway before facing them once more, leaning in and keeping her voice low.

“Actually, there’s something I need to tell you both. But you can’t say anything to the boys…” She
released the breath, her friends leaning forward eagerly as she continued, hands clenched at her
sides.

“It’s about the Doctor.”

Harry and Draco reared back at the jarring revelation, both rendered silent. Blaise tipped his head,
intrigue gleaming in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, the what?”

Avery panted as though exhausted by his announcement. “The Dollmaker.”

Harry regained his voice next, his classic subtlety in full effect.
“Who the fuck is that?”

Avery wet his blood soaked lips. “He’s at the head of everything.”

Draco’s jaw tensed. “What’s his real name?”

“I don’t-”

“Of course you don’t,” he bit out. “As useless as you are pathetic.”

Harry stepped forward, the gun still resting at his side, a heavy shadow cast across the room.
“What is he doing to the girls?”

Everyone tensed at the question, glancing to the chair bound prisoner with perverse fascination.

Avery inhaled slowly, hands flexing upon the armrest, Adam's apple bobbing high.

"It's like dark magic... I've seen its effects but never its application."

Draco blinked, mind reeling, slowly turning to face the others. “It must be a form of
brainwashing.”

Harry shook his head, brows creasing even as he spoke with conviction. “That’s only in science
fiction.”

“Not necessarily.”

They both spun to face the unwavering voice at their backs. Neville shifted awkwardly from foot to
foot, flushing beneath everyone’s undivided attention.

“I mean, all fiction is at least partially based in reality. The popularity of hypnotism is rapidly on
the rise at hospitals, it’s possible this… person found some way to modify the technique.”

Harry’s shoulders drew back. And then he tilted his head, gaze speculative.

“The military started recommending hypnotism for soldiers suffering from nightmares and trauma,
I suppose it’s a possibility.”

"I'd say these girls harbor as much trauma as any soldier." Blaise slowly stepped forward, inserting
himself in the center of the room. "Besides, hypnosis dates back to the birth of Hinduism. The sick
and dying would flock to holy temples to be cured of their ailments using the technique. There are
numerous accounts of worshippers overcoming illness through nothing but the power of their
minds."

Everyone stared at him in bewildered silence.

He shrugged.

“Mum’s third husband was a Doctor from India, loved to drone on about that type of shite.”

Draco arched a pale brow. ”The one she stabbed?”

“Drugged and pushed overboard.”

“Ah.”
Neville glanced between them, jaw hanging open. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a
deep breath.

“It still doesn’t make any sense.”

Draco spun to face him, eyes narrowed. "I don't give two gold-plated fucks about the practicality of
hypnotism. All I care about is finding Granger."

Avery surprised them all by clearing his throat, intentionally drawing their attention for the first
time since the chaos began. Once all eyes settled on him he wet his lips, squirming in his binds.

“I might have a suggestion…”

Draco blinked, stepping towards him with explosive violence clear on his visage. Avery pressed
back, eyes wide as he croaked out a haunting sound.

“Dolohov.”

Draco froze in place, every muscle solidifying to stone, heart sinking to the depths of the dark
abyss at his center.

Harry glanced between them, eyes lingering on Draco’s rigid form. “Her solicitor?”

The question shattered the spell. Draco exploded to life once more, grasping Avery by the lapels
and pulling him forward as much as the rope would allow, lips spitting white hot flame like his
legendary namesake.

“What does he want with her?”

Avery opened and closed his mouth, eyes glazed with horror.

But as Draco tracked every nuance of his expression with transfixed precision he saw the truth
hovering just beneath the surface.

The answer Avery was terrified of delivering.

Draco released him as though burned, staggering back with numb legs and great purpose. He began
to cross the room for the exit, nothing mattering but one thing-

“We have to go.”

Harry blinked rapidly, mouth hanging open for several stuttered beats before the unspoken truth
took root in his mind, dark vines spiraling out and possessing his limbs and tongue. He clenched
the gun until his knuckles turned white, hand trembling, voice calm, steady and utterly hostile.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Draco shook his head, shoulders set, braced for war. “Not if I kill him first.”

Harry began to follow him towards the doorway.

Blaise loudly cleared his throat, jolting them both into stillness.

"As much as I enjoy watching this testosterone-fueled display of murderous chivalry, we should
probably determine what to do with our current hostage before obtaining a new one."
Draco groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

There wasn’t time for this shite.

“Shoot him.”

Neville somehow managed to trip while standing still.

“What!”

Avery exploded with movement and noise, most of which went ignored by the room’s additional
occupants.

“Wait, please, I’ve told you everything I know!”

Harry ground his teeth, gazing at the weapon in his hand for a long moment, wheels visibly turning
in his pensive eyes.

“I can’t just kill him.”

Draco scoffed indelicately, hackles rising. “No? You seemed quite keen on the idea after you freed
Luna with nothing but an axe and your bare hands.”

Harry swallowed heavily, gazing up at last. He opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by
Neville’s earnest plea.

“We can turn him into the police-”

“Yes!” Avery continued to thrash like a man possessed. “Take me to the Yard, I’ll confess!”

“Shut up.” Harry didn’t spare either man a glance, running a hand through his hair and closing his
eyes

Blaise stepped forward, voice more resolute than they’d heard all night. “I agree with Draco. If we
allow him to live he’ll just run off to this Dollmaker chap and put a target on all our backs.”

Neville shook his head, stepping inside the turbulent cluster of debate. “Harry, you can’t kill him!
He’s a creten but he deserves a fair trial, the same as anyone-”

“There’s no such thing as a fair trial within the British Empire, Longbottom,” Draco supplied
without scorn. “Trust me, I’ve seen countless Peers and their mates walk free with blood still
gleaming on their hands.”

“That doesn’t mean we can just kill him in cold blood! If we do this then we’re no better than-”

“We can’t risk-”

“Perhaps if we-”

“Please don’t kill me!”

“I won’t stand by and watch Harry shoot-”

“- so bloody naive!”

"Everyone shut up!" Harry unleashed at the top of his lungs, rendering them all mute mid-sentence.
Avery continued to pant like a wild man while Harry took a steadying breath.

“Nev, go to the kitchens and grab the girls.”

His friend's face crumpled. “Harry, please don’t-”

“I’m not going to kill him.”

Neville visibly deflated while Draco burst into flames, a burning effigy of rage. “Un-fucking-
believable, and you’re the soldier among us.”

"I'm a sailor." Harry remained remarkably composed, content in his final determination. "I kill to
protect our national security. Shooting a man dead in his home for his involvement in a crime ring
is an entirely different matter." The raw emerald housed within his gaze began to glow eerily.
"Beyond that, we may still need him."

“Need him?" Draco laughed, tongue dripping a scorching trail of acid upon the finely woven
carpet. "You're bloody kidding, right? He's a brain-dead, disgusting piece of shite!"

“I don’t disagree. But he may have his uses yet.” Harry seemed to grow taller before their very
eyes, spine set with resolution. “Regardless, I’m not killing him.”

Draco took a deep breath, sensing a losing battle in his midst, his normally unparalleled powers of
persuasion rendered impotent in the wake of his blinding fear for Her.

“This is a mistake, Potter.”

Harry tilted his chin up, darkness settling in his gaze.

“I’m not setting him free either.”

Draco blinked.

Harry glanced to the man beside him. “Neville, get the girls.”

His friend quickly nodded before darting out of the room as though powered by steam.

Draco took a deep breath, questions brimming on the tip of his tongue, but Blaise articulated them
first.

“Alright, Potter, what brilliantly idiotic scheme have you dreamed up this time?”

Harry slowly turned to face their captive, the menacing intent in his gaze powerful enough to send
the man as far back in his chair as the restraints would allow.

And then he smiled.

“We’re taking him with us.”

Tom pushed open the front door of the Home with added force, still reeling from the confirmation
of his greatest fear.

He racked his brain since leaving Grimmauld trying to make sense of what happened to Hermione
after they parted company. The chance of Greyback intercepting her carriage was slim to none,
based on the staggering footprints on the warehouse floor it appeared the man couldn't even
support his own weight following his release.

Which meant she opted to stop somewhere else.

He ran a hand over his face.

I should have ridden the entire way with her, no matter the supreme discomfort of sharing close
confines so soon after…

His jaw set, eyes narrowing.

I’m a fucking coward and now she’s suffering for it.

He started down the main hall, traversing through moonlight and shadows as he went.

As far as places she may have decided to go instead, only a one came to mind.

The Home.

Which would be astoundingly foolish. But she certainly wasn’t in the keenest state of mind when
they paid their awkward farewells.

Neither was he.

Nothing else could explain the idiocy of allowing her to leave the cemetery unaccompanied, and
his short-sightedness for believing she couldn't possibly have a massive enough deathwish to risk
her freedom once again.

He took the stairs two at a time, heart galloping wildly in his chest as he emerged on the top floor
of the dormitories, walking swiftly for the room he knew to be hers thanks to Greyback’s earlier
attack.

The door stood ajar, he held his breath, bursting inside, braced for war, prepared to grab her and
toss her over his shoulder if need be.

But the room sat empty, void of anything but faded moonlight.

And something else.

On the floor…

His pulse spiked at the familiar sight. He leaned over and grabbed a handful of the dark fabric,
lifting it up to examine it beneath the window.

His coat. Still encrusted with dried blood, grass stains and smoke.

He squeezed the bundle until his knuckles cracked.

She was here.

But why?

He blinked, turning to face the wardrobe.

To change obviously. You shredded her clothing like an animal.

He ground his teeth.

Foolish foolish girl.

But the guilt was inescapable.

She wasn’t thinking clearly, you said so yourself. You shouldn’t have sent her off alone.

Everything that follows is your fault.

He swallowed thickly, images of another woman flashing through his mind.

You failed her as well.

You fail all of them, every time.

He dropped his coat to the ground, striding back into the hall and taking a deep, steadying breath.

Keep your head. Dredging up the past won’t mitigate present damage.

He quickly descended the stairs, cutting a quick path to his room, intent of changing out of his
blood and dirt sullied clothing as well. He imagined he would have more success ascertaining her
whereabouts if he didn’t look like he just got done flaying a man alive.

As he cut a path down the hall leading to his room he saw a rectangular light cast across the
opposite wall, emanating from a doorway that shouldn’t be open.

His steps slowed along with his heartbeat, hands clenching as he made his way to the opening of
his office.

And gazed down upon the woman seated within, lounging behind his desk with a glass of dark
liquid resting between her fingers.

Their gazes met.

She leaned back, rotund body framed by stacks of stolen resident files on either side of her chair.

“Good evening, Doctor.”

He stopped at the threshold, tilting is head.

“Madam.”

She swirled the contents of her glass, the sweet scent of brandy permeating the small room. “And
where have you been this evening?”

His eyes narrowed.

She smiled, leaning back, cheeks flushed with drink.

“Yes, I know you didn’t admit Ms. Patil to Mungo’s. Just as I know you didn’t deliver Ms. Granger
to Greyback.”

He drew back.

“How do you know that?” His eyes flashed. “Did you speak to the Lestranges?”

“And forfeit my life for allowing an imposter to pull the wool over my eyes?” She took a sip of her
drink. “No. I fear them far more than you.”
“Then you’re more foolish than I ever gave you credit for.” He stepped fully into the room, tucking
his hands in his pockets. “And I’m not an imposter. Everything I told you about my background is
true.” The corner of his mouth rose with sardonic amusement. “I merely left out a few details.”

“I always knew there was something.” She shook her head, examining the contents of her glass.
“How idiotic I was to trust a man. I thought you would be different. That you were different. But I
see now you’re all the same.”

Her face pinched as she gazed up, meeting his eyes with brimming malevolence.

“You just can’t bear to see a woman in a position of power. In a role superior to yours. You’re all
slaves to your crippling ego. And I am done making accommodations to ease your chauvinistic
mind.”

His smirk rose along with his dark brow.

“You’re as deluded as you are moronic. I imagine the relationship is analogous.”

She hissed like a feral cat, throwing the glass with all her strength into the wall, the glass shattering
in an impressive explosion, dark liquor marking the pale wall like blood splatter.

She missed him by a wide mile, clearly with intent.

She didn’t mean to harm him…

Because deep down, she still harbored hope.

He couldn’t keep the disgust off his face. She drew back at the sight, face crumpling.

“Who are you?”

His spoke without inflection, knowing the effect it would have upon her. “Thomas Riddle.”

“You know what I’m asking!”

He took a calculative step forward.

“How did you know Hermione wasn’t given to Greyback?”

She drew back, hands twining on the desktop. “Was it all a lie?” She gazed at him imploringly.
“Every encounter? Every exchange? Was any of it real?”

Her pleading drone caused his mask to drop away, expression turning murderous as the shadows
grew along the walls.

“I spent my youth thinking I could never hate anyone as much as the bastard who sired me, and
then I learned who the Dollmaker was. I spent the next decade believing such a powerful disgust
could never possess me again.”

She drew back as he moved forward, the candlelight flickering as though caught in a powerful
breeze.

“And then I met you.”

Her eyes widened. He wet his lips, teeth sharpening as the stench of fear permeated the room,
overpowering the sickly sweet of the brandy.
“You are the vilest creature I’ve ever had the fortune of encountering, Madam. That someone
entrusted with protecting destitute youth could willingly turn them over for abuse and slaughter for
nothing more than a sense of superiority is the height of all evil.”

He stopped at the other end of the desk, leaning forward and bracing his hands against the ledge,
gaze unnaturally bright as he directed the unyielding intensity of his focus upon her.

“Furthermore, every single one of our encounters was genuine. Every word, every promise.”

He leaned further in. “My desire for you has never been greater.”

She swallowed thickly, pupils blown wide, hands bracing the counter as though poised to spring
forward or flee at a moment’s notice.

Still holding out hope…

He decided to make his intentions perfectly clear once and for all.

“From the moment I first learned what you were, I wanted nothing more than to peel the skin from
your bones and leave you for the dogs.”

She paled, pushing back into the chair until the wood groaned beneath the strain.

“I-I’ll scream.”

His smile was predatory, eager. “Oh, you most certainly will. But first, you’re going to tell me
where Hermione Granger is.”

And then to his great shock and amusement, she released a shrill scream.

But not in fear.

Her face turned beat red in the space of a heartbeat, hatred contorting her face into a demon’s mask
as she swept her arms across the tabletop violently and knocked all the piles to the ground, papers
exploding upward in a cloud of fluttering white smoke before covering the floor in a sea of death
and despair, the evidence of decades worth of brutality.

“Stop saying that name!” She pushed to her feet with such force the chair went crashing to the
floor. “I never want to hear that bitch’s name again!”

His jaw tensed as he rose to his full height before her, all traces of amusement long faded from his
hardened expression.

“Where is she?”

Her answering laughter was as feral as her scream, tinged with gleeful hysteria.

“I killed her.”

His fists clenched beyond his control, even as he knew the words to be a lie the moment she uttered
them.

“You lack the courage and vision for such a task. I’m going to ask you one more time, and then
I’m going to demonstrate the depth of vision I possess.”

She took a step back. “She’s as good as dead.” Her shoulders collided with the wall. “I shipped her
to the Asylum. Where she belongs. Bloody lunatic that she is.”

He blinked, heart skipping a beat.

“What?”

Her eyes narrowed even as she continued to burrow into the wall as though intending to move
through it.

"Surely you know about her hallucinations. You let your desire for the trollop lead you down the
path of gross negligence. Regardless of my hatred for the wretch, she belongs in a padded cell,
away from proper society. It was only a matter of time before she took a kitchen knife to the other
girls' throats."

He barely suppressed a mocking laugh of his own. “I know how deeply concerned you are for your
charges' safety.”

His words triggered her possession once more, the brimstone sparking to life in her gaze, smoke
spilling from her mouth. “I did what needed to be done! You can’t deny she needs professional
treatment!”

He shook his head to dispel his wandering thoughts and emotions, reaching his limits all at once.

“Which Asylum did you send her?”

She continued to glare and press backward.

"You won't be able to set her free. Now that she's been admitted her only legal discourse is for her
solicitor to discharge her, and I assure you, Dolohov has no motivation to do so. Once she's deemed
incompetent by the Commonwealth her fortune will be transferred to him."

He drew in a deep breath.

“Once again, the depth of your stupidity astounds me.”

And then he reached down, grabbing the edge of the desk and wrenching it back so hard it flipped
onto its side and collided against the wall with a bone-jolting crash, splitting the wood and
cracking the plaster.

She screamed in shock, then began to shake violently as her only barrier was removed. He crossed
the meager distance between them, each step causing her to jolt harder than the last.

"I sent her to Rutledge!" She held up her hands in surrender, sliding against the wall down to the
floor, trembling with broken sobs. "Please don't kill me! Please, I beg of you!"

He gazed down upon her with gleaming eyes, the shadows merging and expanding at his back,
equal parts mesmerizing and terrifying to her tear-stained gaze.

“I would love nothing more. But to my endless frustration, you are more valuable to me alive than
dead.”

Her arms dropped as she deflated in relief.

“For now.”

She tensed once more, averting her face into the corner.
“Remember this moment. This desperation for life.” Every word made her flinch. Tom tilted his
head, examining her like a page in a medical book. “Because soon enough, you’ll be praying for
death.”

In the next moment, he reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair, dragging her away from
her hiding spot before she could choke out a shocked, pained scream. He pulled her across the floor
kicking and thrashing, papers scattering in their wake.

She clawed futilely at his wrist, desperately sobbing out broken pleas as he wrenched her into the
hallway and began dragging her down the runner. Her feet scrambled, trying to find purchase, one
shoe falling off as they turned the corner and entered the abandoned corridor Hermione had led
him down only days prior.

He clipped her shoulder against a side table, the vase resting atop tipping over and shattering to the
floor, converging with her sharp shriek of pain. Tom ignored her entirely, the muscles straining in
his arm and back as he continued to haul her like a sack of grain.

As they steadily progressed down the corridor towards the trap door the temperature dropped
substantially. Tom blinked, glancing at the windows, wondering where the draft was coming from.

Then they reached the end of the walkway and he redirected his focus, dropping her suddenly and
earning a wet sob for his efforts. He reached up and pulled the sconce, easily reaching the trigger.
Umbridge glanced up with wide, red-rimmed eyes, clutching her scalp as she cringed.

“What is this?”

The paneling swung free.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

He leaned down and grabbed her arm, jerking her to her feet without warning and hauling her
alongside him as he traversed the narrow, darkened staircase.

She tried to dig in her heels, succeeding only in knocking her other shoe free. It tumbled down the
steps with deafening thuds before resting lifelessly at the bottom. Her nails raked his bare forearms
as she tried to pry him free, her shrill cries ringing in his ears.

“Stop! Please, Tom!”

He jolted violently, rendered frozen. His sudden change seemed to startle her more than their
ascent. She reared back, gasping, already sensing her mistake but unable to flee.

He slowly turned his head, meeting her gaze, holding her still and silent in his dark thrall.

And then he leaned in close, his words hissing off her lips.

“Don’t you ever call me that.”

She blinked twice and then nodded frantically, struggles ceasing as he continued to drag her to the
ominous, gleaming onyx door. It still sat ajar from the last time Hermione pried it open. He pushed
the barrier and felt her stiffen as it swung open, revealing the eerie, moon-bathed interior.

Before she could voice a thought he threw her inside with such force she lost her footing and rolled
in a heap, limbs splayed out as she scrambled for balance, hair falling free of its pins at long last.
He watched her try and get her bearings as her momentum finally slowed and she got her hands and
knees beneath her.

And then she saw the items littering the floor.

Dozens of hollow, glass eyes stared up at her from the sea of broken, defaced dolls.

Tom blinked at the sight.

It was as if their heads and limbs all faced inward, sitting on alert.

Watching her.

He blinked again, dispelling the ludicrous notion.

“Wha-” She scrambled back, face twisted in horror as she continued to gaze around frantically. Her
back collided with the massive dollhouse and she shrieked, toppling over. “What is this?”

He watched her steadily from the top step. “Your holding cell until I have time to deal with you
properly.” He tilted his head. “Do try and conserve your energy. The human body can only last a
few days without water. It would be disappointing if you dehydrated before I have the chance to
kill you myself.”

She screamed anew, pushing to her bare feet, fists clenched.

He smiled. Then reached forward and grasped the knob, slamming the door closed.

Her shouting reached new volumes as he heard her charge across the room, the door rattling on its
hinges a moment later, pounding fists and clawing nails echoing through the stairwell.

He braced the knob with his hands, holding the barrier shut with his strength.

He didn't have the lock for the door. He flipped through the pages of his mind for items to
barricade it with-

He jolted as a loud, metal click rang through his ears.

The knob jerked in his hands.

He stared down in shocked silence, hands still clutching it tightly, mind unwilling to accept the fact
that it had somehow locked itself.

Don’t be foolish.

And yet…

He slowly dropped his arms.

The frantic pounding continued unabated.

The knob rattled as she tried to turn it on her end.

But it wouldn’t give way.

He continued to stare upon it carefully, heartbeat spiking.

There has to be a logical explanation.

Suddenly a cool draft rushed up the stairs and across his skin. He drew in a sharp breath, the air
seeming charged, full of static.

He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head.

Enough.

He quickly descended the steps, emerging into the hall and snapping the decoy panel back into
place.

And then went still and rigid, hand still bracing the wall.

Low whispers filled the air, swirling around him on all sides, distinctly feminine but unintelligible.

He slowly wet his lips, entire body throbbing with the force of his heartbeat.

No…

Hallucinations aren't contagious. This is nothing but a stress-based delusion built upon the
foundation Hermione set.

He swallowed heavily, unable to deny the low voices as they continued, seeming to grow in
volume and speed.

Until he spun around.

And staggered back at the image of a woman at the end of the hall.

Watching him from the shadows.

Half her body cast in darkness…

The other side glowing in the moonlight, making her easily identifiable.

Every muscle in his body strained to the point of hypertension, spots appearing before his vision.

It’s not her.

His breath quickened.

It’s not her.

His hands flexed restlessly.

She’s dead.

He swayed on his feet.

… she’s dead.

He blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes, limb trembling.

And then he gazed into the shadows once more.

The figure remained.

But it was no longer his mother staring back at him.

He drew in a sharp breath and the girl leaped out of her hiding spot and took off around the corner
like a shot.

Shite.

He sprinted after her, heart still thudding manically from the haunting mirage.

He turned the corner and caught sight of a white nightdress trailing behind a fleeing body before it
disappeared behind a door.

He sighed, slowing his gait as he approached, reaching for the handle before hesitating.

He lowered his arm, quickly recalibrating his mind in the aftermath of this hellish evening.

He stepped back, giving the door wide berth.

"I know you're in there. There's no way out unless you feel like scaling a drain pipe, and as your
physician, I highly discourage such activity."

Silence.

He rubbed at his eyes once more, bone-weary exhaustion setting in.

Patience is a virtue.

He cringed at his own musing.

But mostly, you don’t have time to throttle anyone else tonight.

He took a deep breath, trying again.

"There's no need to be afraid. I promise I won't hurt you."

He heard a faint shuffling from within, but the knob remained frozen.

“I imagine you overheard a very frightening commotion. I assure you, I wasn’t harming a
resident.”

He wet his lips.

“Only the Matron.”

A beat.

Then two.

The knob slowly turned.

He held his breath, fighting to remain still and calm as the door opened just enough for a set of
wide, gleaming eyes to stare through.

He tipped his chin down, scraping together every ounce of self-control to keep his face and tone
void of any predatory intent.

“It’s alright. Come out.”

A long beat followed, his hands clenched, but eventually, the door opened more, and the girl
finally emerged into the hall, body strung taut as a bowstring. Her thin fingers twisting her pale
nightdress, long hair falling forward and hiding her face from view.

Tom nodded his approval.

“And your friend.”

The girl glanced up sharply, eyes wide and fearful.

“I know someone is in there with you. I heard two sets of footsteps.”

She bit her lip, stepping back. He raised his hands, tone deep and soothing, as though coaxing two
frightened foals from a ravine.

“I won’t harm either of you. I merely want to talk. I promise to stay on this side of the hall the
entire time.”

The girl pressed into the wall, throat working silently as the door beside her opened once more,
another girl of a similar height and stature emerging, looking just as horrified.

They both stared transfixed at his chest….

He blinked, glancing down.

Fucking hell.

He’d forgotten his shirt and skin were stained brown with dried blood, not to mention the fresh
claw marks marring his arms from the Matron’s sharp talons.

He loosened his hands at his sides, trying to keep his posture eased, eyeing them carefully.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

They shifted from foot to foot, arms pressing as they huddled close.

“What are your names?”

The first girl bit her lip, mouth parting but no sound emerging. He continued to wait patiently.

Finally, soft whispers filled the air.

“Megan.”

Her companion met his eyes with more confidence.

“Sophie.”

He tilted his head.

“How old are you?”

“Twelve,” Megan provided, voice clearer than before.

“I’m twelve and a half,” Sophie said, standing a bit taller.

Megan bounced on her heels, eyes widening. “I’m almost twelve and a half!”
He smirked. “And are close with your Matron?”

They both paled, deflating into the wall once more.

He nodded. “I thought as much. I take it you heard her screams and came to investigate?”

“We didn’t know it was her.” Sophie rubbed her arm. “We thought another girl was being taken.
We came to help.”

Tom felt something tighten in his chest at the innocent declaration. He ignored the strange
sensation, keeping the mask firmly in place.

“That was very brave of you. I am glad you came out, that you’re taking responsibility for your
safety and the safety of your friends.”

They both smiled, visible preening. He imagined neither had been praised by an adult in quite
some time.

Perhaps ever.

His chest twinged once more.

“However I’m sad to say your Matron doesn’t have the same concern for your welfare.”

“She hates us,” Megan said at once, a surprising amount of venom in her voice. The light visibly
dimmed from their eyes despite the bright moonlight streaming through the windows at his back.

“That she does. And she’s guilty of much worse. I’m going to make sure she gets the punishment
she deserves, but I have something important to take care of first.” He smiled at the wonderment
taking root in their guileless eyes. “I’m going to leave the Matron in the attic while I’m gone. I
think that’s a fitting locale for her, don’t you think?”

“You should have chained her in the cellar.”

He couldn’t contain his laughter. “I like your way of thinking. But this room ensures no one can
hear her scream.”

Despite the disturbing nature of the conversation both girls rocked back on their heels with
excitement. His smile widened at their enthusiasm.

“Right now only the three of us know where she is. And it must stay that way. Can I trust you both
to keep this secret?”

“Yes!”

“We won’t tell anyone!”

He nodded once more, tucking his blood-stained hands in his pockets.

“Very good. I knew I could count on you.” He tipped his head toward the end of the hall. “Now
head back to your dorms, no one can know where you were tonight.”

They both nodded, grasping hands and shuffling away quickly, leaning in to whisper to one
another.

He strained to listen, to make sure it was, in fact, their voices he heard earlier in the night.
Of course, it was.

Now focus on what matters.

He turned on his heel, starting down the corridor in the opposite direction.

And then-

“Doctor?”

He stopped and turned back around, brow raised. The girls shifted anxiously, sharing a charged
glance before meeting his eye.

“When you get back, can we help you punish her?”

He blinked.

Then smiled.

“I’ll think about it.”

They squealed with excitement before spinning on their heels and darting down the hall at full
speed, seeming to race each other and giggling all the while.

He waited until they turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

The resilience of children was truly remarkable.

He let his thoughts linger on the encounter a heartbeat longer before resuming his route to his
chamber, intent on scrubbing the evidence of his violent evening from his skin before setting back
out into the feral, scarred streets of London.

He certainly wouldn't be able to convince the Asylum to release a patient to his custody if he
looked like he needed to be admitted alongside her.

The carriage bounced along the uneven dirt road as they traversed further and further from the
heart of the city.

Harry adjusted his grip on the reins, directing the horses at a quickened pace from his perch in the
driver's seat, Draco standing on the footboard beside him, holding onto the side rail, face pinched
in supreme annoyance as yet another groan sounded over the pounding footsteps of the horses.

“Why didn’t we let the others take the bastard back to Grimmauld with them?”

Harry sighed. “Because when Sirius sees Avery gagged and trussed like a Christmas turkey he’s
going to have a few questions. I need to be the one to explain things, keep him calm and rational.”

Draco scoffed. “We’re a bit past calm and rational, Potter.”

Harry adjusted his grip once more, pulling the right side to steer them around a hill, the land
becoming more rugged as they neared the solicitor's private estate.

“Let’s just stay focused. What’s the plan when we get to Dolohov's?”

The blonde tipped his head back, wind in his hair and moonlight in his eyes. “You mean who gets
to beat the bastard to a bloody pulp first?”

“Precisely.”

“I do.”

Harry’s emerald gaze narrowed. “Since I struck Avery I suppose I can let you have the first hit. But
I get a chance at him before you knock him unconscious.”

“I don’t want him unconscious, Potter. I want him dead.”

Harry’s heart jolted. Not at the words themselves but rather the tone in which they were delivered.
He glanced beside him, studying the blonde's profile as the backdrop of dark hills and trees rushed
past in the foreground.

“You were pretty keen on seeing Avery meet that same fate.”

Draco scowled, meeting his eye with cold resolution. “Why do you sound confused? These men
are predators, they all deserve to die.”

A heavy beat passed. Harry wet his lips tentatively.

“If I had handed you the gun, would you have been willing to pull the trigger?”

Draco’s jaw tensed, eyes flashing. “Without hesitation.”

Harry gazed forward once more, trying to keep his voice even, unaffected. “Even if it was someone
you knew?”

“What are you on about? I've known Avery since I was a boy.”

He took a deep breath. “I mean someone you were close to. Like Rodolphus or Rabastan.”

“We have vastly different interpretations of close.”

“You said yourself Rodolphus cares for you in his own twisted way.”

“I assure you the feelings are not reciprocated in the slightest.”

Harry was reluctant to believe him but let the subject drop, detecting the note of hostility in the
man’s voice and wanting to keep them focused on the task ahead.

Suddenly his thoughts were driven to the side by a heavy cloud in the air. Harry stiffened.

“Do you smell that?”

Draco tipped his head back, sniffing the air.

“Smoke.”

He glanced around while Harry kept them on route.

“Over there.” He gestured with his chin. Harry followed the line of his gaze.

His eyes widened at the orange glow emanating over the top of a distant hill.

“Holy shite. The blaze looks massive.”

“It’s in the direction we’re headed.”

Draco turned to face him once more, sharing a loaded glance.

Harry inhaled deeply through his nose, spurring the horses on faster. The carriage shook
precariously as he steered them off the road and across the grassy field leading to the hill. Avery
screamed anew, the shrillness cut by the gag, as his bound form bounced off the walls and floor.

The horses finally reached the hill, panting hard as they ascended. Harry held his breath, leaning
forward, desperate to catch a glimpse of the fire in person.

He gasped as they reached the peak, pulling the horses to a stop, awarding them a bird’s eye view
of the burning mansion below.

“Is that…”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god.”

The scene was littered with fire department trolleys, volunteers and spectators alike.

No one bothered trying to extinguish the flames.

There was no point.

The home was burnt down to its crumbling frame, everything within charred black.

Draco and Harry watched on in silence, orange reflected in their eyes.

The unfolding chaos reminded him of Hermione’s home, the day he received the news. He’d been
abroad, requesting emergency leave immediately so he could return home and sit with her in the
hospital.

And attend the funerals.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the melancholy memories. He could tell by the tense lines in
Draco’s posture he was suffering from a similar disposition.

The blonde continued to gaze down upon the hellish inferno as he spoke, voice low and haunted.

“Potter…”

“She’s alive.”

Draco jolted, head snapping around, their gazes locking. Harry set his shoulders, saying the words
aloud for both their benefit.

“I can feel it. Feel her.” He swallowed heavily. “Can’t you?”

Draco wet his lips, glancing away.

“I’m not sure. All I feel is fear.”

Harry nodded.

“I feel that, too. But I would know if she was dead. My soul would break apart, no matter how far
away she was.”

He watched Draco’s chest expand with a deep breath.

“What are we going to do now? Dolohov was our only lead.”

Harry wrapped the reins around his hand. “We drop Avery off at the manor and then figure out our
next step.”

Draco nodded, lips pressed thin as he gazed ahead, pointedly ignoring the blaze. Harry spared it
one last glance as he directed the horses in a half circle, watching the roof cave in just before they
descended down the hill, the fiery storm disappearing from sight, though phantom flames still
lapped at his vision in the surrounding darkness.

And though they didn’t speak a word as the carriage rolled back onto the dirt road, the city skyline
sitting ahead, backdropped by moonlight, his thoughts ran rampant, one thing in particular plaguing
his mind more loudly than the rest.

Mione… where the hell are you?

The carriage pushed on through the smoke-filled night.

At that given moment, Hermione was floating atop a river of black ink.

It saturated her skin, filled her insides, consumed her entirely.

And then arms were scooping beneath her legs and back, lifting her from the dark liquid, her mouth
parting wide as she gasped for air, desperate to fill her lungs with oxygen once more.

She felt the vague sensation of being carried, the gentle rocking motion, the warmth and scent of a
stranger’s skin.

Footsteps echoed loudly in her head, she could only assume they were not her own since she
couldn’t feel her legs.

A door opening, low voices. A door closing. More footsteps, this time across a different surface,
more clipped, more precise.

And then clear and concise words filled her head, flashing before the dark, vacant expanse of her
vision as though written in flame.

“What the bloody hell is this?”

“I told you we were gonna try and pick her up tonight.” She felt the rumbling of the words against
her cheek, echoing into her skull.

“I mean why is she drugged out of her mind?”

“She put up a fight.”

“She’s barely ninety pounds soaking wet, you had to inject her to get her under control?”

“I don’t tell you how to do your job.”

“That’s because I’m competent at my work.”

A loud scoff. She tried to cringe away from the offending noise but couldn't lift her head.

"Well, now you're fucked because the Doc wants to see her."

“Tonight?”

“Right now.”

“It’s after curfew.”

“I know. But what the Doc wants the Doc gets.” A low sigh. “And he wants her. So we have got to
get her lucid, fast.”

“Give her some-”

“I’ll think I’ll pass on whatever keen medical advice you were about to share.”

“Arsehole.”

“I’m helping you, idiot, you’re the one who drugged her.”

“It wasn’t just me, Carter was there, too.”

"At least we know the answer to the age-old riddle how many idiots does it take to fuck up
entirely?”

Another scoff. More movement, more footsteps.

“Set her down over here. Let me see her arm.”

She tried to scream, to retreat, but was trapped in the dark prison of her own mind. She resumed
feeling in her limb when she felt it pulled away from her body, something pressing the skin,
restraining, and then a sharp pain. A bee sting.

Her eyes flew open, vision blurred by a white haze of light.

“There she is.” A face hovered above her, the features undistinguishable except for the dark line of
a mustache set over a mouth. She blinked rapidly, panic setting in. The hand at her arm squeezed.
“Hello, poppet. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

She opened her mouth but the words wouldn’t come.

"Your vocal cords are still numb. Sorry about that. Wilson has issues with restraint."

She swallowed thinly, feeling the press of phantom hands upon her, gripping her thighs and tracing
her lips. She felt sick.

The face before her floated away, the hand releasing her arm as the stranger stood.

“You should be good as gold in about half an hour or so. We just need those pretty eyes open for
your meeting with the Doctor.”

Chills raced across her skin. She struggled to sit, but her stomach muscles wouldn't comply. The
man moved behind her, causing the panic to rise as he disappeared from view. A moment later
hands were grasping beneath her arms and lifting her up. She released a sharp gasp, screaming in
her mind for him to release her, the sensation of strange hands upon her more terrifying than
anything else she faced this night.

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes as she was forced to suffer his assistance in silence.

“Up we go.” His hands released her arms, awarding her only temporary relief before he was
sweeping loose curls off her shoulder. “Wonderful. Don’t you look nice.”

The words felt hollow. Mocking. Her stomach twisted painfully, bile rising in her throat. She tried
to bring a hand to her mouth but her limbs felt leaden.

“Feeling nauseous?”

She nodded quickly, tears overspilling her eyes at the prospect of vomiting all over herself.

“Shite.”

The man scrambled for the bin in the corner, placing it beneath her face just in time. She hurled
forward and expelled all the acid from her stomach, throat and nostrils burning with the bile sting.
She gasped for air, wracked by dry heaves and broken sobs.

He eventually pulled the container away, pressing a tissue into her hand. She tried to thank him but
only managed a weak croak.

She wiped clumsily at her face and eyes, finally gazing up and taking in her surroundings.

They were in a makeshift clinic, the room small and brightly lit by several gaslights lining the
walls, somehow making the space feel even more claustrophobic. She sat atop a cot, a medical
pantry to her left, and the door to freedom just ahead.

Blocked by a giant in a grey uniform.

The same man who carried her out of the Home.

He watched her in the festering silence, a smirk on his lips and a gleam in his eyes.

Her stomach twisted anew, but it was blissfully empty this time.

The mustached man stood before her, his features still slightly blurred but his voice was tinged
with genuine-sounding concern.

“Feel better now?”

She wiped again at her eyes, nodding weakly.

“You still look a bit green, but I doubt you have anything left in your stomach to discharge. What
do you eat, once a week?”

She glanced away, trying to keep the tears at bay, swallowing past the numbness in her throat,
willing her vocal cords to wake, desperate to scream away this torturous pressure welling within
her.

Not that anyone would hear her cries.

Or offer help even if they did.

"Alright, beautiful, let's get you in with the good Doc. I'll complete your admissions paperwork and
have your room prepared in the meantime."

She opened her mouth, leaning forward, frantic terror clear in her eyes. The man merely sighed,
nodding slowly.

“I know, I know. You aren’t crazy, right?”

She blinked, jaw snapping shut.

“Of course you aren't sweetheart.” Her heart jolted at the endearment. “Crazy people are left to
their own devices, free to wander off cliffs and bridges to their heart’s content. It’s the sane ones
they lock away.”

She drew back, body pulsating with her stuttering heartbeat.

The blur of his mustache widened in a smile, revealing a streak of white teeth beneath.

“Alright, off you go.”

He grabbed her wrist and wrenched her forward. She slid off the table easily enough but stumbled
into his side as soon as her weight was settled on her feet. He placed a steadying hand to her back,
his touch meant to stabilize, not wander, yet she squirmed away nonetheless.

His low laugh echoed off the walls.

“Ah, a shy one, how refreshing.”

She closed her eyes, desperate for an escape, but the darkness only tipped her more off balance,
more dependant on his strength to hold her upright.

“Christ. You’re still a hot mess. Fan-fuckin-tastic.” He shifted her awkwardly. “Wilson, you
moron, help her!”

Terror revived her voice at last.

“N-no!”

It was a pathetic excuse for a whimper, easily ignored by both men, but she felt triumphant all the
same, committed to regaining her faculties before they had a chance to lock her away entirely.

She would claw her way out of this prison if need be.

But at the present moment, she was rendered helpless as the hulking grey figure drew near, arms
snaking around her waist and ushering her forward. She tried to twist away in vain, finally settling
into his unyielding hold, realizing she was better off outside of this room anyway.

“Oh, and Ms. Granger?”

She jolted, the man at her side groaning at the interruption but pausing in the doorway as well. She
looked over her shoulder, meeting the blurry eyes of the other stranger.

He smiled once more, the sight cutting straight through her.

“Welcome to Rutledge.”

Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes as she was hauled past the threshold and down a long,
barren hallway lined with gaslights. Numerous closed door lined either side of the expanse, the
utter silence and stillness deeply unsettling.

But the most ominous sight of all was the gleaming red door situated at the far end of the corridor.

Somehow, she knew that was where they were heading.

“The Doc wants to see her.”

She began shaking uncontrollably, her already clumsy footsteps failing her entirely. The man at her
side squeezed her waist to the point of pain as he began dragging her the rest of the way.

And then they reached the red door.

But made no move to enter.

She cringed as she felt him lean in close, breathing in the scent of her hair. She imagined it still
reeked of smoke.

“Welcome to Rutledge, pretty one.”

She gagged on instinct, stomach rioting once more. He tensed beside her, voice sharp as a dagger.

“If you upchuck on me I’ll-”

“You’re already late, Wilson,” a deep voice spoke from beyond the door, distant yet precise. “I
suggest you not delay our evening any further.”

Wilson paled as he drew back, adjusting her weight to afford some distance between them before
opening the door at last.

And revealing the room beyond.

An office.

Barely lit, filled with dancing light and shadows.

“My apologies, Sir.”

“I’d rather have your common sense, though it appears you have very little to spare.”

Wilson flushed deeply. Hermione followed his line of sight to a shadow-strewn figure seated
behind a large, ornate desk. The wall behind his dark silhouette was filled to the brim with medical
books. Stacks of paper surrounded him on either side, a table lantern illuminating only half his
face.

Between her weakened vision and the poor lighting, she was only able to discern his general age
and handsomeness. A sharp jawline, salt and pepper hair, dark eyes. And then he was leaning back
in the chair, his visage submerging into a pool of darkness from which his eyes gleamed.

“Bring her in.”

Fear rendered her useless. Wilson had to drag her forward, the toes of her shoes scraping across the
wood floor before carefully depositing her in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. She
breathed a heavy side of relief as his hands left her at last as he stepped away.
“She’s heavily sedated.”

“I had no choice, Sir, she was a danger to herself-”

The room fell into eerie silence as the Doctor raised a staying hand.

“Leave us.”

The orderly nodded quickly, turning on his heel and disappearing from sight.

“And Wilson?”

The footsteps stopped.

“Ms. Granger is a patient under my specific care.” A weighted pause. She swallowed thickly.
“Nothing is to interfere with her treatment. Do I make myself clear?”

"Yes, Sir." Wilson's voice was laced with disappointment, causing her intestines to twist anew. She
pressed a hand weakly to her stomach, feeling light-headed.

“Good. See to it that the others know as well. Anyone in violation of my orders will answer
directly to me.”

“Of course, Sir.”

He continued out of the room, closing the door in his wake.

She jolted at the deafening click, pressing back into the chair with a full body shudder.

She felt his eyes upon her, the dark, shadow encased gaze a physical weight pressing upon her
entire body like a vice. And then long, pale fingers drummed atop the table, following a rhythmic
beat.

“Good evening, Hermione. Do you mind if I call you that?’

She swallowed heavily as his deep baritone filled the room, vibrating the very walls, blinking
several times in an attempt to clear her vision and get a better view of him.

Several moments of silence passed before he tilted his head.

“Ah. Your voice hasn’t returned to you yet.”

Her hands curled over her knees, nails digging into the fabric of her skirt.

"I shall attempt to stick to yes or no inquiries. But first, allow me to introduce myself." He pushed a
stack of paperwork aside, the oil lamp glancing off his features for the space of a heartbeat before
he was leaning back once more.

“My name is Doctor Angus Bumby and I am the lead physician at Rutledge. I will be overseeing
your rehabilitation throughout your stay.”

He laid his wrists on the armrests, seemingly at ease.

“I specialize in mental illness and find your case rather intriguing. I look forward to working with
you in the coming months.”
She drew in a sharp breath.

“I know, such a length of time seems deeply discouraging, but it is nothing compared to the
patients who are confined to lifetime residency.”

Her nails dug grooves into her flesh. The pain was distant, dimmed by the drugs coursing through
her system.

“But I am confident you will be able to recover and heal. Your mind is strong, resilient, I can
discern as much from your medical file as well as your mere presence before me.”

A weighted pause followed. His eyes continued to shine unnaturally, unblinking, causing her to
squirm, feeling like a slide beneath a microscope.

And then he released her from his unsettling thrall without warning, glancing down and picking a
thick file off the top of a nearby stack, bringing it to the center of the desk and flipping the cover
with unhurried grace.

“Allow me to express my deepest condolences for the loss of your parents. What a tragic demise.”

She swallowed once more, sitting upright in confusion as she tasted the unmistakable tang of
smoke of the back of her throat. She glanced around the dark room in confusion, suddenly
transfixed by the shadows swaying like tentacles across the walls.

"Your father was a successful researcher in the medical field if I'm not mistaken." Her eyes
snapped forward again, chest tight as her lungs filled with the phantom cloud. "I believe I've read
one of his treatises in the past. Your surname sounds familiar."

He hummed low, leaning in and resting his forearms atop the desk, fingers interlacing before him.
The light illuminated his side once more, her vision returning in phases, his features slowly
becoming more defined, more real.

“Are you interested in the medical field as well?”

She opened and closed her mouth, heart rioting beneath her sternum.

He was clearly awaiting a response.

She bit her lip, nodding slowly.

“Then I hope you will find Rutledge an educational experience, as well as a therapeutic one.”

The shadows undulating at his back changed, transforming to lapping flames that licked across the
shelves and book spines, consuming everything in a blaze of darkness.

And suddenly, Hermione wondered if she was exactly where she belonged...

An asylum for the mad.

“You’re an educated young woman, Hermione. Tell me, have you read The Divine Comedy?”

The question took her so off guard she was rendered motionless.

“At the very least I’m sure you’re familiar with it. I myself am not a natural proponent of poetry,
but Dante is the exception. I became rather transfixed by his depiction of hell in my youth.”
He pushed away from his desk, rising to his impressive height with elegant grace.

“The structured chaos appeals to a mind such as mine a great deal. I imagine it does to you as well.
Someone who is passionate about medicine must have a firm grasp on the human condition, and
what is the human body if not the living embodiment of organized chaos?”

She drew back as he walked around the desk, stopping just to her right and leaning back against the
edge, crossing his legs at the ankles, his dark suit slightly rumpled but obviously of high-quality
craftsmanship.

"I am most fascinated by the pathway through hell itself, rather than Dante's many adventures. In
the opening of the poem, Dante reveals he has lost the path that does not stray. The path of God.
The way of ascension through virtue, repentance, and forgiveness."

She drew in a slow breath as he gazed down upon her with bone-chilling intensity, the feeling of
ants crawling across her skin causing her to shift anxiously.

“Instead, he must embark on the path of descent.” He wet his lips. “The path through the nine
circles of hell.”

The smoke thickened in the air. She could practically see the dark haze surrounding them.

Closing in.

“At first, the reader is led to believe this journey will be torturous, that it will tear apart Dante’s
very soul to traverse such terror.”

The pressure in the room changed. As though someone else had entered.

"Instead, his travels afford him greater knowledge, wisdom and clarity. The path through hell is, in
fact, his way back to redemption."

She felt the presence of something to her left, the urge to glance beside her strong, but the fear of
taking her eyes off the Doctor was even stronger.

“Purgatory becomes his salvation.”

His words held a haunting cadence that only added to her deep seeded terror.

“The ultimate message being, Hermione, that in order to get to Heaven, one must first traverse
through Hell.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the hint of movement from her peripheral. The smoke filled air became
charged against her skin.

She knew what awaited her.

And she refused to recognize its presence.

"Of course, it's merely a poem, written a very long time ago. But I find its message and symbolism
to be far-reaching and widely applicable to the plight of mankind."

He folded his arms casually, tipping his head as he examined her in a detached, clinical fashion.

“Let’s take you for instance. You’ve most certainly been trapped on the path of descent for some
time, haven’t you? I imagine you’ve been feeling quite hopeless in your grief. Perhaps even
enraged by the injustice of your circumstances. I have seen countless young woman like you, left at
the mercy of a cruel and unforgiving world after being struck down by the indifferent hand of
fate.”

She pressed back further, legs trembling, but blissfully alert, the numbness fading at long last.

“Undoubtedly, in your mind’s desperation to cope with the sudden and tragic changes in your life,
it developed a rather unhealthy coping mechanism. The hallucinations perhaps started as a way in
which to not feel so alone. A means of escaping such a harsh reality.”

He rubbed thoughtfully at his chin.

“Or perhaps the illness was lying dormant inside of you all along, waiting to be awoken by a
traumatic, triggering event.”

She played out a grand series of vivid escape scenarios in her mind, wondering how far she could
get before a uniform-clad orderly captured her.

He seemed to detect the nature of her thoughts, standing from the desk and stepping closer,
hovering just at her side with his hands tucked into his trouser pockets.

Placing himself between her and the door.

“I assure you, Hermione, we will find the source of your madness, and we shall cure you of the
affliction.” His eyes flickered, the pupils slitting. “At all costs.”

Her vision was all but normalized again, the Doctor’s face taking its true form above her.

“Your path of descent shall lead you back to salvation. And I shall be the Virgil to your Dante.
Your guide in the darkness, your way through the fire and brimstone.”

She gazed upon him with full clarity at long last, heart racing.

The man towering before her was a stranger.

And yet her very soul recognized him for what he was.

For who he was.

She couldn’t resist the urge to look to her left any longer.

Her heart stuttered at the sight of the ghostly apparition sitting in the corner.

Charred flesh falling from the bone, jaw hanging loose, eye sockets empty, endless caverns in a
blackened, hairless skull.

She panted heavily, too shocked to speak, to run, to do anything but sit utterly transfixed.

And then to her greatest horror yet-

Dolohov smiled.

His lipless mouth parting to reveal a row of startling white teeth framed by bloody gums.

She was hardly aware of the movement at her back as the Doctor crossed to the door and opened it,
admitting Wilson back inside.
"Thank you for your time this evening, Hermione. I shall allow you to get situated and enjoy some
much-needed rest."

The orderly grabbed her by the arm and pulled her lifeless body from the chair, her bones a sack of
dead weight rattling around in her skin.

“And despair not, my dear.”

She finally tore her gaze from the mangled corpse in the corner when a cold hand gripped her chin,
turning her head up.

She met the Dollmaker’s black, fathomless gaze, orange flames roaring on all sides of the office,
deafening in their raging hunger to kill and consume.

His smile was more haunting than the ghost’s, each tooth sharpened to a fanged point.

“Tomorrow, your new life begins.”

 White Rabbit

Wonderland's become quite strange.

How is one to find her way?
. . .

Tom dismounted the horse with swift efficiency, leading it by the reins to the ominous rod iron
gates ahead.

He drew in a deep breath as he peered through the bars at the three-story grey brick building
beyond. Gaslights lit the large entry, the rest of the utilitarian building outlined by moonlight.

The sound of crunching gravel at his back caused him to spin around, muscles tense and limbs
coiled, ready to strike.

A man in uniform stood at the edge of the drive, face half illuminated by lantern. He gazed at Tom
with a quizzical expression.

“Visiting hours are from ten to four, mate, you’re way past the cutoff.”

Tom drew in a slow, steadying breath, doing his best to keep the beast at bay.

“I’m not visiting. I’m here to discharge a patient.”

The man blinked.

“Excuse me?”

Tom took a step forward, movements slow and calculated.

"I'm the physician of a patient who was recently brought in. However, the person who admitted her
was mistaken about her condition."

He reached into his leather satchel, withdrawing a thin file. “I have the proper paperwork proving-”

“Whoa, slow down.”

The man held his hands up and Tom’s fingers clenched around the folder, the urge to throttle
nearly overwhelming his senses.

“I’m just on gate duty. You gotta speak to the administrator about that.”

“I’d be happy to once you let me inside.”

The man’s arms lowered to his sides as he slowly shook his head. “The building’s closed,
everyone’s gone home for the night. You’ll have to come back when it opens at nine.”

“Nine?” He reared back with the force of his shock. “Are you joking? She was admitted barely an
hour ago!”

“I’m sorry, mate, I can’t let you in past hours, no matter who you are. Only authorized staff can get
in and out once the sun goes down.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, mind rapidly spinning as he deftly switched tactics.

“You’ve been manning the gate all night?”

“Yes.”

“Then surely you saw the girl they just brought in.”

The guard glanced away.

“I saw the carriage come through, but I didn’t see the patient.”

Tom’s jaw tensed, the file bending in his hand. “You can clearly see the front doors of the asylum
from where we’re standing.”

The man swallowed, eyes still averted. Tom’s chest tightened.

“What condition was she in?”

The guard rubbed the back of his neck.

“I don’t-”

"Just tell me. Was she restrained in any way?"

Tom held his breath as the man sighed deeply, at last meeting his gaze.

“She was unconscious. They had to carry her in.”

Red flooded his vision. He blinked rapidly, pulse spiking. The guard took a step back, seeming to
sense the dangerous transformation taking place. His hand moved to his side, a discernible bulge
beneath the grey coat. Tom's spine went rigid as he forced his reaction to quell.

The fact the asylum felt the need to arm their guards was a disturbing notion, combined with their
practice of drugging patients in order to admit them, Tom could only imagine what went on behind
closed doors.

“What will it cost to let me through those gates?”

The man blinked, hand hovering halfway to his weapon. He opened and closed his mouth before
dropping his arm entirely.

“I would lose my job.”

Tom ground his teeth, forcing his grip to loosen on the folder.

“I just need you to deliver this paperwork to whatever administrator is working tonight.”

With any luck, it would be a junior member of staff too nervous to defy a Doctor's orders.

The guard looked apprehensive as he stared upon the offered pages. Tom’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ll give you a pound.”

The man jolted, gaze darting up.

“A pound just to deliver the papers?”

“Yes.”
He wet his lips, covetous greed taking root in the depths of his eyes, much to Tom’s relief.

“It doesn’t mean she’ll be released.”

“The money is yours regardless.”

The guard sighed, putting on a piss poor performance as he pretended to deliberate the offer. Tom
tasted the sweet nectar of victory on his tongue before the man finally closed the distance between
them.

“Alright. Give them to me.”

Tom handed the file over and then fished his leather billfold out of his coat lining, removing the
note and handing it over as well. The guard’s eyes flashed as he accepted the money, staring upon
the paper for a long while, as though he’d never encountered a pound so close up. Tom imagined
he was paid in shillings.

After a few more seconds the man seemed to collect himself, pocketing the note with great care
before glancing back up.

“I’ll be right back.”

Tom stepped away from the gate as the man removed a set of large iron keys from his belt and slid
one into the lock.

The urge to knock him out and proceed inside by himself was strong.

So strong he found himself taking an unconscious step forward.

The horse brayed at his back, as though sensing the direction of his violent thoughts and warning
him against such action.

The guard quickly slid through the narrow gap and relocked the barrier.

Tom took a deep breath, stewing in his ire.

It would do no good rendering the guard unconscious.

Even if Tom made it into the building he’d have to bypass an unknown amount of guards and
orderlies while searching for Hermione. The building was massive, easily housing hundreds of
patients. It would be a fruitless task.

Better to play this one by the book.

Or at least partially by the book, considering the papers he’d handed the man were forged in the
span of five minutes. He’d scrawled out the necessary forms before departing the Home in a rush
of adrenaline only moments ago. But he was confident in his skills at forgery, having earned
pocket change in school by creating false immigration documents for fellow students and their
families.

It would take a keen, professional eye to recognize the documents as false. And Tom highly
doubted such a person was working the graveyard shift at the local asylum.

But on the off chance they were, Tom expected them to be equally motivated by cash. He harbored
no doubt the guard would be eager to earn more money and favor with his colleagues by granting
them the opportunity for wealth.
Everyone had their price.

Whether they were being bought or sold.

Within a few minutes, he saw the front door open once more and a familiar figure emerge.

By the stilted pace of the guard’s walk and tight set of his shoulders Tom already knew the
message he held. His fist tightened around the reins, the horse keening softly beyond his shoulder,
obviously attuned to his dismay.

The guard unlocked the gate, movements quick and clumsy, as though dreading the exchange
ahead.

He cleared his throat as he slipped back through.

“Sorry, mate.”

A shadow passed across Tom’s face, fire unleashing in his chest. “This is ridiculous, I’m her
primary physician-”

“They say only her legal guardian can release her.”

His blood percolated in his veins. “She’s eighteen.”

“But still a ward of the Commonwealth.”

He ran a hand over his face, forcing himself to switch gears once more, the tight pressure of the
reins cutting off the circulation in his fingers.

“Who gains custody if her legal guardian is d-” He stopped short, wetting his lips. “If her guardian
is indisposed?”

The guard shook his head. “I don’t know. You’d need to ask a solicitor or-”

Tom drew back swiftly, shoulders set.

“I’ll be back at nine.”

The guard blinked, taking a step back as well.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Tom mounted the horse as the lapping flames reached his eyes, smoke billowing from his lips as
he commanded the animal forward, shoulders drawing tight at the realization of what he had to do
next.

His gaze narrowed as the horse picked up speed, racing along the gravel drive back to the main
road.

It was just the same.

He’d been meaning to pay another visit to his former benefactor anyway.

Harry breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the carriage rolled to a stop before Grimmauld.

He’d never felt such a flood of comfort infuse his veins upon seeing the Black ancestral home,
even when returning from months away at sea.

The journey he was returning from now felt more treacherous than any he’d faced before. And
knowing the battle that continued to lie ahead, crouched in wait, only made him more eager for the
comforting embrace of home. Of the familiar and expected.

The front door burst open before he had a chance to fully step down from the driver seat.

Sirius threw his arms around him with such force he staggered back with the impact.

“You have no idea the hell you’ve put me through, kid.” Strong hands braced his shoulders as his
godfather drew back, gaze narrowing and voice sharpening. “You said you’d be back by nine.”

“I sent Nev and the girls ahead.”

“I don’t give a shite, you told me you’d be back by nine!”

Harry sighed, glancing away.

“I’m sorry. Something important came up.”

Sirius released him, eyes darting to the figure leaning against the carriage in careless repose.

“You recruited Draco as well?” He arched a dark brow, glancing between them. “Lucius is going
to shit a brick.”

“Potter and I crossed paths while looking for Granger, and my father has no idea where I am. It’s
best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

A low moan sounded at Draco’s back.

Both young men pretended not to hear.

Sirius took a slow step back.

“Bloody hell. What have you done?”

Harry held himself with such forced ease it made Sirius tense further.

“It looks a lot worse than it is.”

“Harry James Potter. Who’s in the carriage?”

Before his godson could respond Draco pushed away from the paneling and opened the door.

A rope bound body toppled out, landing on the packed earth with a dull thud, a muffled shriek of
pain emanating from behind the gag.

Harry exchanged a brief but loaded glance with the blonde before looking to his godfather, silently
bracing himself.

For several moments Sirius merely blinked.

And then he found his voice.

"Thank god. I thought you'd gone and kidnapped someone, but obviously, Avery is here of his own
free will."
More muffled screaming filled the air.

Draco stepped forward, using the toe of his boot to roll the man to his back.

“I wanted to kill him.”

Sirius nodded. “Fantastic, that makes me feel so much better.”

Harry drew in close. “He had Luna held hostage in his house.”

“Then why the hell did you bring him here? He needs to be at the Yard!”

“We can’t involve the police in this.” Draco’s eyes gleamed brightly beneath the full moon.
“Hermione could be captive with these people, we can’t let them know we’re onto them.”

“Fucking hell.” Sirius ran both hands through his hair, eyes briefly closing. “Get him inside before
the neighbors see.”

Harry visibly deflated, looking much the ten-year-old boy his godfather still considered him to be.
"Thank you, Sirius."

“Don’t thank me yet.” His eyes snapped open, jaw tensing. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to
do, but if we linger out here any longer a pedestrian is going to make the decision for us.”

Harry and Draco stepped forward and hauled the thrashing figure to his feet, dragging him up the
stairs and over the threshold while Sirius rounded out the end of the procession, sweeping his gaze
over the empty street before promptly closing and bolting the door.

Neville met them in the entry, shifting anxiously.

“Can I help?”

“You can look dumbfounded in the corner,” Draco snapped, elbowing him aside as they continued
to drag the man across the marble floors, nearly losing grip on his arm as he convulsed as though in
the midst of a seizure. “Stop thrashing! You’re arms and legs are bound, how far do you think
you’re doing to get even if you shake me off?”

“Come now, Drake,” Blaise called from the room beyond, sprawled across a chaise with his arms
folded behind his head. “It’s poor manners to taunt a man after you’ve gagged him with his own
sock.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Zabini?” Harry panted as he fought to maintain his hold on their
hostage. “I only sent Nev back with the girls.”

The man shrugged casually, eyes darting across the room so fast Harry thought he imagined it. As
they moved deeper into the foyer he caught sight of Parvati on the opposite couch.

“I wanted to make sure the dames made it home safely, proper gentleman that I am.”

Parvati rolled her eyes, earning a cheeky smirk from the man that caused Draco to scowl.

“Fine. If you insist on staying then you’re helping us move him.”

Neville followed at their heels. “I just offered to help!”

“And while I appreciate the sentiment, Longbottom, you’re more likely to cause damage to
yourself and the furniture than the actual prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” Sirius shook his head, hands tucked into his pockets as he trailed at a leisurely pace.
“Let’s avoid certain terms now so it’ll be easier to convince a judge in the future.”

“No one is being arrested!” Harry groaned, hauling the dead weight with added force. “Let’s just
get him locked in the parlor.”

“No.” Parvati stood from the couch, her voice a winter chill that seeped into all their bones. “The
parlor is too good for him. He locked Luna in a room no larger than a wash closet. I say we stuff
the bastard in the linen pantry.”

Blaise smiled like a jester as he sat up. “I like that idea.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s a shock. Why don’t you try and win the damsel’s favor by getting
off your arse, Galahad?”

Blaise sighed deeply in mock offense as he stood, at last, crossing the room with an easy
expression and determined step.

“Fine, I’ll grab his feet. You gents pick the destination.”

Between the three of them, they were able to haul Avery with much ease.

Until they reached the hallway.

As Sirius watched them wedge themselves into the narrow corridor with their prisoner stuffed
awkwardly between them he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It’s moments like this I wish parenting came with a manual. I thought giving kids the sex talk
would be the greatest hurdle to jump.”

Harry grunted with exertion, trying to fit his shoulder through the door frame. “You never gave me
the sex talk.”

“I don’t like jumping hurdles.”

"Can you at least open the door?"

“I’m reluctant to aid and abet. One of us needs to be able to post bail.”

“Close your eyes and open the door,” Blaise panted from the far end, trying to keep hold of the
man’s bound ankles. “You can claim you thought we were moving a rug into storage. Legal
amnesty.”

Sirius tilted his head. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Mum’s fourth husband was a criminal defender, knew all the legal loopholes to protect his rich
arse clients.”

Draco huffed, cheeks red. “The bloke she poisoned?”

“No, that was the one she stabbed.”

“Will you both shut up!” Harry shouted, teeth clenched. “Someone needs to open the goddamn
door!”
“Fuck, I’ll do it!” Parvati stormed around the opposite corner, coming up behind Blaise and
earning a wink for her troubles.

“I like a woman who takes charge.”

“I think you’ll settle for anything with a pulse.”

She pushed past him and swung open the door, quickly scrambling out of the way as they began to
pile into the parlor.

“Not necessarily.” Draco adjusted his hold. “I’ve caught him wanking to portraits of Louise de
Kérouaille.”

Harry groaned as he hoisted Avery higher, rolling his eyes at Blaise’s deep laughter.

“What can I say? I’m partial to buxom brunettes.”

“And blunt objects to the head and groin, apparently.” She smiled sweetly from beyond the
threshold, watching them haul their bounty the short distance to the nearest couch.

“Lay him down here,” Harry commanded.

They all panted as they dumped his weight and stepped back, Avery exploding to life once more.

“If you roll onto the floor you’re staying there.”

The man stilled instantly, though his scowl remained decidedly fixed, poisonous gaze latching onto
each of them in turn. Harry held his eye with an equally acidic look.

“You’re lucky to be alive. Two of the three people standing in this room wanted to put a bullet in
your skull.”

The man beneath them paled, flesh turning as white as the gag between his lips.

Harry nodded slowly. “I suggest you continue staying out of sight and out of mind.”

He led the way back into the hall, closing the door on their captive as soon as the others exited.
Sirius stood at the wall, hands still resting in his pockets though his expression was tense.

“I take it you had no luck finding Mione?”

Harry shook his head, sighing deeply and running his hand through his hazardous hair, eyes
drifting shut.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

His lids snapped open. “I’m fine.”

“You aren’t doing her any good if you're dead on your feet.”

He took a deep breath, standing taller. “I’m fine.”

Sirius eyed him carefully. “At least you’re home.”

“I’m heading back out.”

“What?”
Draco moved forward. “I’m going with you.”

“Hang on-”

“We can’t stop looking, Sirius.”

“Where the hell are you going to go? You can’t search the entire city with your bare hands.”

“We can try.”

Harry blinked as his godfather grabbed his arm, halting his path down the hall. “What aren’t you
telling me?”

“What?”

“Who’s after her? Who’s hot on her heels?”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, exchanging a look of confusion with Draco.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Sirius stared at him in silence for several strained beats, eyes roaming his face with meticulous
precision until his stance eased back at long last.

“You swear to god you aren’t withholding information from me?”

Harry’s own eyes narrowed, fists clenching at his sides. “Yes!”

Sirius took a deep breath, sweeping his own hair off his forehead and glancing away.

“Then you need to find Riddle.”

Harry and Draco went still as stone, rocking precariously on their feet with the weight of the
announcement.

Blaise glanced between them, brow raised.

“Who’s Riddle?”

Parvati stepped forward, arms crossed as she addressed the eldest of the group. “How do you know
him?”

Sirius met her eye.

“He came by tonight.”

Draco and Harry burst free from their frozen stance, leaping forward at the same moment and
expelling the same shocked syllable.

“What!”

Blaise smirked. “That was fun, do it again.” Only to grunt in pain as Parvati elbowed him in the
side, pushing past to get to Sirius.

“He came by tonight? Without her?”

Draco blinked, glancing between them so rapidly his hair fell free of its immaculate position. “Why
the hell would she be with him? Why is he coming here?”

Harry ignored his inquiries, instead spinning on his heel to pin Parvati with the full intensity of his
accusing glare.

“She took off on me to track him down, didn’t she?”

She bit her lip and looked to the ground. Harry advanced on her mindlessly.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that when she first went missing!”

Blaise stepped in between them, bracing a hand against Harry’s chest, halting him mid-step.

“Watch it, Potter.”

She rolled her eyes, forcefully pushing her would-be savior out of the way and advancing on Harry
with just as much steam.

"And what good would it have done other than rile you up further? We had no idea where to find
either of them, regardless if they were separate or together. But I knew if you had even the slightest
suspicion he was involved you'd go apeshite trying to find him instead of looking for Luna!"

Harry opened and closed his mouth, but before a response could surface Draco stepped beside
them, shouting above the fray.

“Everyone, shut up!”

They both directed their scowls upon him.

“Only one person speaks at a time,” he snapped, carding his fingers through his hair and narrowing
his mercurial gaze. “And since Parvati seems to have the firmest grasp on whatever the fuck is
going on, she gets the floor.”

She pursed her lips as the two men bored down upon her. Blaise rubbed the sore muscle at his arm,
her point of impact when she shoved him away moments before, only to step to her side again,
shooting both men a warning glare.

Draco held his friend’s gaze for a long beat before reluctantly moving back.

“Alright.” He took a deep, fortifying breath, scraping together the meager self-control left within
his mental stores. “What the hell does the Doctor have to do with any of this?”

Tom took the steps leading to the front of the brownstone two at a time, despite the fact he was
dreading reaching its door.

Once he arrived at his destination he didn’t linger, bringing his fist against the wood three times in
rapid succession, taking a deep breath and repeating the motion until he heard a distant and muffled
shout on the other side.

The barrier gave way, revealing a set of startled eyes that he could never seem to escape.

“Tom? What-”

“You freed Greyback.”

The man across from him blinked two more times before sighing heavily and stepping back,
gesturing to the darkened interior of the home.

“Come in.”

Tom brushed past, every line of his body drawn taut. The door closed softly at his back, driving out
the moonlight and leaving both men submerged in the soft glow of oil lamps.

“Can I offer you-”

“I told you to stay out of my way and you went behind my back.” Tom spun on his heel, eyes
gleaming hellishly.

The man standing before him remained frustratingly unaffected.

“On the contrary, I only recall you asking for the keys to the shipyard and my reluctant acquiesce. I
never agreed to stay out of your business, and I never will. You may be a man grown but you will
always be a boy in my eyes.”

“You freed a killer.” Tom took a menacing step forward. “A rapist. A violent sociopath.”

“I freed you from enduring yet another black mark on your soul.”

Tom stopped just before him, fists clenched tightly, feeling like an impotent child once more. “It
wasn’t your decision to make!”

“I beg to differ.” The utter calmness of his voice only raised Tom’s hackles further. “You tortured
a man on private property I own. You left him to bleed out. What if a stray dockhand had come
across his remains in the morning? I would be directly correlated with the murder.”

Tom drew back at last, desperate for distance, for space. “I wasn’t going to leave him until
morning.”

“Semantics. The bottom line is you agreed to my interference the moment you came to me for
those keys. We both know you could have found somewhere else to take him. You’re the most
resourceful man I’ve ever met. But you showed up at my door.”

“I didn’t have time to look for-”

“You came to me because deep down you know I will clean up whatever wreckage is left behind
by your destructive nature.”

Tom reared back, evading the lamplight and submerging half his visage in a pool of darkness.

“Your meddlesome bullshite is the last thing I’ve ever wanted!”

"My meddlesome bullshite got you off the streets and into Cambridge. It paved the way for you to
enter medical school. And last night it saved you from killing a man you obviously were reluctant
to kill. Otherwise, he would have been dead when I found him."

Tom swallowed thickly, the words getting caught and jumbled in his throat, everything he meant to
say this night rapidly dispersing before reaching his tongue.

“The only reason I didn’t slit his throat was-”

He stopped himself just in time, refusing to expose yet another damning secret to the man that
possessed all the others.

“Yes?”

Tom shook his head, eyes narrowing in warning. “Nevermind. What’s done is done. Where did you
take him?”

A deep sigh.

“To the nearest Hospital.”

“St. Mary’s.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure he’s already discharged himself and is prowling the streets for new victims.”

His companion ran a hand over his face, deep seeded weariness ever present in his ethereal gaze.

“Did you come here simply to berate me? If so I’d like to have a seat and get comfortable, the rain
has been hazardous on my joints.”

“I came here because you owe me.”

The man blinked several times before the corners of his lips eventually turned up, making Tom’s
blood pressure rise.

“Excuse me?”

“You set a killer free and now I have to clean up your mess. And I can’t do so until I take care of
another matter which needs your brand of-”

“Meddlesome bullshite?”

Tom scowled.

“I need to get custody of a ward of the Commonwealth. Tonight.”

A heavy beat passed. Pale eyes blinked.

“I think now is the perfect time to take that seat.”

Tom’s jaw clenched as he reluctantly followed his former benefactor into the drawing room, hands
flexing at his sides as he waited impatiently for the man to sit upon an upholstered chair. He
gestured to the couch and Tom pointedly ignored the offering, opting to gaze down upon him
instead.

He sighed deeply, settling back into the cushions and holding Tom’s eye without intimidation.

“Now perhaps you can explain to me why this is such a pressing matter at midnight?”

“I don’t have to explain anything.”

A brief, tense pause.

“Are you always this irritable or am I the lucky recipient of all your hostility?”
Tom raised his chin. “This isn’t about you and me, this is about getting an innocent girl out of an
asylum where she’ll undergo barbaric treatments until her mind all but breaks!”

“This is the same girl you came to me about the other day? Luna?”

Tom glanced away, hands twitching.

“No. This is someone else.”

“And you still haven’t found the first girl?”

His shoulders drew back.

“No.”

“Then shouldn’t that be your main priority? At least you know where the other girl is. It seems that
Luna is in more peril.”

“I didn’t come here for your opinion.”

“No.” A heavy sigh. “Of course not. You came here for my help, which you believe is owed to
you, and then to storm out without so much as a parting word.”

He tilted his head, eyes roaming Tom’s tightly wound frame with a knowing glimmer in their
depths.

“I will agree to help you under one condition.”

Tom’s fists tightened.

“And what is that?”

“I want you to answer one question. Honestly.”

Tom’s back stiffened, braced for whatever battle lay ahead.

“I want to know why you hate me so.”

The silence pressed upon him, a suffocating weight that expelled all the air from his lungs.

And suddenly, all the words that evaded him moments ago came rushing back in a torrential
downpour, the floodgates opening and the truth spewing from his lips in an explosion of volcanic
ash.

He drew in a sharp breath.

“I hate you for not hating them.”

The target of his animosity blinked, face paling.

Tom wet his lips, advancing on the chair slowly.

“I hate you for freeing yourself of this burden. This obsession.” He swallowed thickly. “Because I
can’t escape it. And I know I never will. Not until every single one of them is dead. And even then,
I can’t imagine a life that isn’t comprised of hunting, waiting, watching,” His eyes glowed in the
dim light. “Killing.”
He took another step forward, sliced another vein open.

“You say there’s another way. A path you discovered after years of searching. A path you now
walk with ease.”

His hands opened and closed convulsively, reaching for something that forever evaded his grasp.

“But I can’t follow you down it. Even if I wanted to. It isn’t in my nature. My make-up. I’m a
killer. A predator. Somedays I question if I’m any different than the men and women I’m hunting.”

As the recipient of his confession opened his mouth to respond Tom held up a silencing hand,
closing the last bit of distance between them.

“You wanted honesty. There it is. I hate you because you were able to free yourself of the
Dollmaker. Even after everything he took from you. But I’ll always be enslaved by him, I’ll always
be just another one of his victims. Another one of his creations.”

Haunted eyes gazed steadily up at him, the intensity of their focus piercing him to the core. He
glanced away sharply, voice thickened at the edges.

“I need you to pull whatever strings need pulling. Leverage whatever office is in charge of such
record keeping. I need to become Hermione Granger’s legal guardian by 9am today.”

Silence greeted him. Tom finally chanced a glance over his shoulder.

“Hermione Granger.” The man said her name as though testing the words on his tongue.

“The name sounds familiar.”

A measured pause.

“I believe we have certain friends in common.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed.

“We both know you do.” He crossed his arms. “And if it’s easier appointing one of them as her
guardian so be it. As long as it’s someone with her best interest in mind.”

“I take that to mean her current guardian doesn’t have such concern for her welfare?”

“He’s dead.”

A resigned sigh echoed through the room.

“I see you’ve obtained another black mark despite my best efforts.”

“I don’t know why you bother trying to save my soul. It’s far too late for redemption. My sins are
stacked too high.”

“I will never give up on you, Tom.”

He shook his head, heading for the doorway. “Spend your remaining years however you like. Just
see to it you get Hermione transferred to me.”

“I’ll send a message first thing in the morning. I believe I have a contact in the Family Services
Office who owes me a favor.”
“Of course you do.”

He began to round the corner.

“That’s it then?”

“That’s it.”

“Tom, wait.”

Tom sighed, reluctantly stopping just past the threshold, one hand bracing the frame as he fought
back a cringe, knowing what was in store.

“You say you are beyond redemption, and I know which of your crimes you are most unsettled by.
The one that haunts you to this day. But look at what you’re doing now.”

Tom continued to face away as he heard him stand, followed by the slow pace of footsteps.

“You allowed a man you wanted dead to live last night. Regardless of your reasons, you walked
away before ending his life. And now your greatest concern is saving a girl from an undeserving
fate. Not hunting. Not killing. You’ve found an appreciation for human life, whether you meant to
or not.”

Tom inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he heard the footsteps stop just at his back.

“And you’ll always find the upside to any situation, no matter how dire.”

“It’s in my nature.”

“It’s annoying.”

A low laugh. “So I’ve been told.”

Tom finally dropped his arm, slowly turning and meeting the pale eyes at last, though he could
think of nothing more to say.

“Take care of yourself, Tom. Just because you’ve chosen to lead a life of solitude doesn’t make
your actions any less impactful on the world around you.”

Tom held his gaze for a handful of fleeting seconds before glancing away sharply, turning once
more on his heel and striding for the exit.

He heard a low sigh at his back as he opened the door.

“Goodnight, Tom.”

He exited the residence without a backward glance.

Hermione stifled a pained gasp as Wilson dragged her up the stairs by her arm, pulling her into a
long hallway lined by endless grey metal doors. It looked more prison block than dormitory, and
the muffled screams and thumps from beyond the barriers served as a chilling reminder of exactly
where she was.

He hauled her along with one hand and held a lantern aloft with the other, casting a bubble of
orange light across the path directly ahead, the rest of the long hall submerged in blackness.
“Keep it down!” He screamed at one point, causing her to jolt as the frantic wailing seemed to
intensify each time they passed a room, the small glass windows encased in each door revealing
their presence as they progressed.

“Fucking animals.”

She cringed. His eyes snapped down to her.

“You see dead people, right?”

Hermione blinked, opening and closing her mouth. He seemed to take that as answer enough,
groaning as he gazed ahead once more.

“The hot ones are always out of their minds.”

She quickly glanced away. His grating laughter met her ears, causing her skin to prickle.

“Christ, tough crowd.”

A moment later they stopped before a door at the far end of the hall, as ominous as all the others.
He released her to pull a ring of metal keys off his belt, unlocking the heavy bolt at the front and
pushing the door open with his shoulder. As she watched him struggle beneath its weight her
dreams of escaping purgatory on her own quickly split apart at the seams.

He entered the room and replaced the keys, affording her a brief moment of privacy as she hovered
in the doorway, gazing into the moonlight bathed interior with wide, horror-stricken eyes.

It wasn’t a room at all.

It was a padded cell.

The only other items within were a utilitarian cot against the wall and a narrow window near the
ceiling, too high to reach even if she stood on the bed and too narrow for even her petite form to
wedge through.

Her hopes of escape were further dashed, creating an expansive hollowness in her chest as Wilson
stepped forward and wrenched her past the threshold.

“Alright, off to bed with you, pretty one.”

She reared back as he pulled at the collar of her dress, stretching the fabric until she managed to
twist out of his grasp.

“What are you-”

“I have to help you get changed, you’re still unsteady on your feet.”

She shook her head, rapidly backing away until her spine collided with the course padding.

“No, please, I can do it myself.”

He tipped his chin up, eyes narrowing.

“Fine.”

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

Until she saw the cruel smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“Strip.”

She blinked, the blood draining from her head in a powerful rush, leaving her breathless and dizzy.

“What?”

“Down to your shift.”

She shook her head again, too terrified to speak, pressing back into the barrier with all her strength.

“Want help?” He took a menacing step forward, hand outstretched.

“No!” She raised both arms protectively over her front, trembling violently. “I’ll do it!”

He smiled, stopping just before her and holding the lantern out, illuminating her pale figure for his
viewing pleasure. The light played tricks on her exhausted vision, a hazy mirage appearing at the
corner of her eye.

She ignored it, refusing to take her gaze off the hungry beast at her front.

“While we’re still young.”

She closed her eyes, swallowing thickly as she swayed on her feet, lightheadedness rapidly
increasing as she fumbled clumsily with the stays at her hips and back.

But she fought to stay conscious long enough to remove her own clothing, harboring no doubt
Wilson would only be too happy to strip her bare the moment she passed out.

She slid her arms free of the sleeves, gooseflesh spreading rapidly over her exposed flesh, the room
feeling unnaturally chilled all of a sudden, as though a winter draft was billowing in.

She glanced quickly to the window but it remained sealed.

“Cold?”

Fear sealed her throat. She ignored his question and amused laughter as she pushed her dress over
her hips, pressing back into the wall the moment it pooled at her feet.

His eyes roamed her in silence for several minutes, or perhaps several hours, as time and reality
seemed to be evading her as of late.

She turned her face away as his gaze darkened, lingering on her chest, her nipples hardening in the
cold as they pressed against the thin material of her shift.

She wondered if he would violate her despite the strict instructions of the Doctor. She wondered if
she could survive another attack. If she'd have enough of her soul left afterward to be considered a
living being.

She heard him set into motion and she closed her eyes, braced for his hands upon her, the heat and
stench of another unwanted body pressing against her, clawing and devouring.

She unconsciously grasped the frayed ribbon at her wrist, suddenly recalling its presence. Her
memories of the night were as fractured as broken glass, the details of how this particular accessory
came to be in her possession as faded as its color.
But it was a great comfort, one she desperately clung to and prayed he wouldn’t take from her.

But he seemed more concerned with other things.

“This will warm you up.”

She blinked as she heard him move away, turning her head forward as he stepped to the wall and
removed something hanging from a hook bolted into the padding. The darkness of the room made
it hard to see what it was, though from a distance it appeared to be a blanket.

Her brows creased, distrustful of any gesture of kindness, especially from him.

The lantern revealed his eager smile as he drew near and her worst fears were proven true as the
item came into view at last.

She scrambled into the corner, nails raking the padding as she tried to burrow through.

“I don’t need that!”

His teeth gleamed as a grin split his face in half. “I beg to differ. Until we can get you onto a stable
medication schedule you pose a danger to yourself and others.”

“How can I harm myself or others when I’m locked in a padded cell!”

“The crazy ones always think creatively.”

“Please-”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He licked his lips, leaning down to set the lantern
on the ground. “I think you know which I prefer.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners, framing her face in abject misery. She
took a shaky step forward, resigned to her situation, determined to do whatever it took to get this
creature out of her room.

She held her arms aloft, biting her lip to stifle her cries as he stepped behind her and began sliding
the straitjacket into place.

She swallowed thickly as he fastened the straps at the back, glancing down at her body, trying to
keep her rising panic at bay by reminding herself her chest was at least covered now.

“Comfy?”

She drew in a deep, unsteady breath, sanity wearing thin.

“You’re good to go, princess.” His voice was right at her ear, causing her to jolt. Large hands
grasped her hips from behind, holding her in place. A moment later she felt his body pressing
alongside her spine, his face brushing against her hair.

“You smell like smoke.” She swayed once more, spots appearing before her vision. “We’ll have to
give you a good scrub down tomorrow.” The restraining fingers dug into her flesh painfully before
releasing her all at once, leaving her to stagger in relief and shock.

He picked the lantern up, illuminating half his pleased expression as he stood before her.

“Sweet dreams. Don’t stay up too late talking to ghosts.”

He winked, then chuckled to himself all the way to the door. She sank to the floor the moment the
heavy barrier slammed shut with him blessedly on the other side. His laughter continued to ring
down the hallway, along with mocking remarks to other patients, before his footsteps disappeared
entirely.

Hermione continued to sit in the pool of moonlight, gazing blankly at the door with tears welling in
her eyes, vision blurred.

But still sharp enough to see the outline of the figure standing in the darkened corner.

She set her jaw with determination, pulling futilely against her binds until sweat collected along her
nape.

New mocking laughter began, as deeply disturbing as it was frustrating. She gasped in exhaustion,
finally giving up the struggle and slumping against the wall, directing her eyes to the occupied
corner at long last.

“You aren’t real.”

The blackened corpse tilted its head.

“Are you sure about that?”

Her heart beat through her chest as visceral fear set in.

An apparition had never spoken to her before.

The delusions are evolving.

I truly am mad.

She tentatively wet her lips, voice strained. “You’re dead.”

More laughter emanated from the shadows.

“No argument on that front.”

She pushed away with her legs, back still pressing the wall. “What do you want from me?”

“What I’ve always wanted, Hermione. To take care of you.”

She shook her head, scrambling awkwardly to her feet with great effort and crossing to the opposite
end of the room, sitting upon the cot and pressing against the headboard.

"You want to drive me insane. You're a vengeful spirit." She drew her legs up, resting her forehead
against her knees. "At least I hope that's what you are. Otherwise, I may truly belong in this room
for the rest of my life."

His answering sigh echoed through her head.

"You could be touring the Italian countryside right now, drinking fine wine and watching the
sunset over the rolling vineyards… if only you'd accepted my offer."

She shook her head, swallowing thickly.

“I’d just be a prisoner in a different type of cell.”

“Was I really so awful?”

“Yes.”

A weighted pause. “More awful than the fate that awaits you at the hand of the Dollmaker?”

She released a strained breath and dragged her weary gaze up, staring into the corner and shivering
as the moonlight glanced off the empty sockets of his skull, his lipless mouth set in a grotesque
parody of a smile.

“It may not be him.” She nodded, as though trying to convince herself. “It can’t be. What are the
chances I was delivered directly to his door...”

Another humorless laugh grated at her skin.

“You know the truth in your heart, even if that clever brain of yours hasn’t caught up yet.” A
weighted pause. “Besides, why else would I be here if not to protect you against the man I tried to
save you from in life?”

She sat up, thoughts sluggish even as her resolve strengthened.

“He won’t succeed. I’ll find a way out.” Her shoulders tensed beneath the oppressive weight of the
jacket. “My friends will help me.”

“Your friends have no idea where you are, sweetling.”

She shuddered violently.

“Don’t call me that.”

He tipped his head, loose skin dangling from his exposed cheekbone, following the path she’d
made with the scalpel. “Or else what? You’ll kill me?”

She turned her body away as the mocking laughter resumed, laying down upon the cot and facing
the padded wall, willing her madness at bay.

“You can’t ignore me, Hermione. You’ve ensured I’ll never leave you again.”

Swaying branches fractured the moonlight, causing it to dance along the wall before her face. She
sought out patterns in the pale fabric of the padding, looking for images, anything to distract from
the sound of movement at her back, the broken gait of dragging footsteps across the floor.

“You keep what you kill, sweetling. Didn’t he tell you that? Or was he more concerned with
getting you on your back?”

Tears ran along the bridge of her nose as she fought to ignore the voice, the ominous shuffling
drawing closer and closer.

“The lives you take become a part of you.”

Her heart thundered in her chest, blood rushing through her ears.

“Forever.”

She felt his presence as clearly as if she was gazing upon him. The air shifted as his skeletal hand
drew near, two fingers missing.
Her eyes scanned the wall frantically, at last seeing a pattern in the fabric, latching onto the faint
outline of a rounded body and long ears.

The hand curled around her shoulder, tearing a horrified gasp from her throat as an arctic chill filled
her lungs.

“White rabbit,” she whispered with the same frozen breath, vision hazed by tears, the creature’s
faint outline radiating before her eyes as though coming to life on the wall.

And just as suddenly, the cold, dead weight at her shoulder disappeared. The air shifted once more,
the oppressive presence gone. She turned over on instinct, eyes wide.

Dolohov was nowhere in sight.

But something else was.

A familiar apparition levitated at the opposite end of the room, long hair swaying in an invisible
current as she watched Hermione with her signature serene expression.

Hermione blinked rapidly, face glistening with tears.

“Thank you,” she whispered, voice thickened with emotion, knowing in her heart the floating
figure was somehow responsible for Dolohov’s disappearance.

The girl tipped her head, countenance unchanging, seemingly content to simply hover and watch.

Her presence was a deep comfort. A warm blanket wrapping her tight.

Hermione wet her lips.

“Will you stay?” She took a deep breath. “Until I fall asleep?”

The girl didn’t respond, just as Hermione knew she wouldn’t. But she read the acquiesce in her
pale, guileless eyes.

Hermione turned to the wall once more, the outline of the rabbit startling clear now that she knew
where to look, a pulsating beacon she clung to as she felt the calming presence at her back, eyelids
weighted by the leftover drugs still swarming through her system.

And as she closed her eyes at long last she felt the cot drop out from under her, her body
submerging beneath the cold river of ink for the second time that evening.

She surrendered to the powerful current, willing it to pull her under.

To drown her completely.

Draco stood eerily still at the far end of the study, arms crossed as he gazed out of the window to
the overgrown garden beyond.

The others exchanged loaded glances behind his back.

Sirius opened his mouth, prompting Harry to shake his head.

“Give him space.”

Parvati leaned forward. “Is he… alright?”

Blaise sighed from his spot beside her. “He tends to shut down when he’s at his limit.”

Hannah bit her lip, having just returned downstairs after getting Luna settled in a guest bedroom.
She caught the tail end of the explosion before the eye of the storm encapsulated them all in
unnerving calm.

“Are Draco and Hermione… involved?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair as he leaned back, resting an ankle on his knee. “Something like
that.”

Neville cleared his throat, fidgeting awkwardly. “I thought it was just casual.”

"He'd be content to let everyone think that. Including Granger. He doesn't like to display any
vulnerability." Blaise rested an arm over the back of the couch, prompting Parvati to roll her eyes
and scoot away, pressing further into Hannah's side.

“Such a man.”

He smirked. “To which of us are you referring, darling?”

She pointedly ignored him, glancing to Harry instead.

“Maybe someone should talk to him?”

Harry’s hands curled over the arms rests, jaw tensing. “I’m not the right candidate. I’m as pissed as
he is. The next time I see Riddle I’m going to-”

A heavy pounding at the door rendered them all mute.

Sirius leaned in, grabbing the glass of scotch he poured moments ago. “Wonderful. I’m sure only
great news awaits us.”

Hannah turned to Neville, grabbing his arm and causing a brilliant flush to appear on his cheeks
and neck. “Do you think it’s about Avery?”

Harry stood, spine rigid. "I have a connection in the Yard, if worst comes to worst we just tell them
the truth."

Sirius drained his glass in an impressive swig before hauling to his feet beside him. “Telling the
truth is the worst case scenario. I’m back in the running for parent of the year.”

He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Stay here, I’ll take care of whoever it is.”

Harry nodded, fists clenched and shoulders braced as he watched his godfather walk to the entry.
Everyone held their breath as he turned the corner and disappeared from sight, the silence
stretching, creating an endless vacuum until at last the sound of the opening door could be heard.

Harry swallowed heavily, heartbeat reverberating through his ears as the low sound of voices
echoed down the hall.

He recognized Sirius's voice immediately.

The other took a full beat to process.

The moment he realized who their visitor was his eyes snapped to Draco. The blonde came to the
same conclusion half a second later.

And all hell broke loose.

“Draco, don’t!”

The blonde sprinted the length of the room faster than Harry had ever seen a human being move,
his form a blur as he darted past. Harry exploded into action a moment too late, losing any hope of
catching him in time. The others gasped and shouted, lurching to their feet in shock and confusion
as Harry chased the man into the hall.

Their boots pounded the marble as they raced for the door. Both men standing in the entry spun
around, Sirius with his brows creased and their guest with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Sirius backed away just in time to miss Draco’s swinging arm as the blonde drove his fist towards
Riddle’s head. The Doctor caught his wrist and twisted his arm, earning a feral growl from Draco’s
throat as he was forced to pivot, the limb pinned behind his back within seconds.

Harry scowled at the sight, leaving his momentum unchecked as he crashed into the pair full force,
sending all three crashing to the hard marble with groans of pain.

They landed separate from each other but Harry recovered first, crawling to the Doctor’s side and
driving a fist into his side. Riddle hissed and drove his knee upward, prompting Harry to retreat
just in time to avoid being clipped in the jaw.

Draco joined his side in the next beat, diving for the Doctor.

Sirius stood at the wall, watching the scene unfold on the ground with a bored expression before
carefully stepping over their tussling forms and closing the door.

The others raced into the room, freezing beneath the archway.

“Christ!” Parvati shouted, then glanced at Blaise. “Do something!”

He blinked. “You mean join in?”

She rolled her eyes, looking to Neville next.

“Stop them!”

Neville rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eye. “I don’t know what side I’m on either.”

By the time they glanced forward, Harry was sporting a blackened eye while Riddle licked blood
from his split lip, both men staggering to their feet.

Only for Draco to push Harry aside, charging the Doctor around the middle, driving them both to
the ground once more.

“You fucking bastard! I’m going to tear you apart with my bare hands!”

The Doctor punched him in the kidney even as he took a hit to the jaw, both grunting in pain. He
managed to roll the blonde off, narrowly dodging Harry's kicking boot, sweeping his own legs out
and knocking Harry clear off his feet. He collided hard with the wall as he fell, knocking a portrait
loose, the heavy frame cracking on impact with the ground.

Sirius shook his head.

“If you’re going to destroy the house at least take the fight upstairs, I’ve been looking for an
excuse to toss out mum’s portrait for decades.”

The three men rolled clumsily on the floor, covered in sweat and various injuries, clothing a
rumpled mess. Riddle wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, smearing blood across the five
o'clock shadow on his jaw as he pulled himself up against a decorative column.

“Would you rather continue this exercise in futility or would you like to know where Hermione
is?”

Harry froze in place halfway to standing, but the words only seemed to spur Draco on further.

“You’re the reason she was taken!”

The blonde staggered unsteadily to his feet, sporting a small laceration above his left eye, blood
running a thin line down his cheek as he charged the man yet again.

Harry dove forward, knocking him off course before he reached his destination and driving them
both into a decorative table, which promptly collapsed beneath their shared weight.

“Stop! He knows where she is!”

Draco pushed him away with a murderous scowl. “Then why the fuck isn’t she with him?”

Riddle moved away from the column, crossing towards the pair without an ounce of trepidation.

“Because I can’t get access to her.” He stopped at their side, looking remarkably composed with
his bloodied lip and bruised jaw. “At least not until the morning.”

Sirius walked up next, offering Harry his hand and hauling him to his feet as he spoke over his
shoulder.

“Explain.”

Before Riddle could open his mouth Draco was roaring like an angry dragon, tensed to pounce.
Harry groaned, stepping between them with his arms out. “Draco! Stop!”

He tried to catch the silver gaze with his own but the blonde’s eyes were fastened to his target
standing only feet away. For his part, the Doctor made no effort to retreat, instead electing to watch
the men struggle against each other with casual detachment.

Heels clicked across the tile at a determined pace. A moment later Parvati stood at their sides, her
small hands managing to push Harry aside as she slipped herself between them and slapped Draco
with all the strength in her body.

His head snapped powerfully to the side, a red handprint blossoming across his pale flesh, a perfect
compliment to the gleaming blood.

He blinked rapidly, struggles ceasing as he gazed down upon her in shock. Harry wore a matching
expression, jaw hanging loose with his forgotten words.

She drew her shoulders back, chin tipping high as she glared down her nose at them both.
“Get your shite together! This isn’t about who has the best punch or the biggest cock! This is about
finding Hermione!”

She directed the full force of her fury upon Draco, causing him to step back. “If you really care
about her you’ll put your differences aside for however long it takes to find her!”

Draco stared upon her for another long beat before glancing at Harry, and then to Riddle, eyes
glittering like silver daggers.

But he stayed rooted to the spot, fists tight at his side.

Riddle held his gaze with the steady calm of a predator, leaving Harry glancing between them,
arms still raised, ready to break them apart at a moment’s notice.

Parvati eventually stepped back to the group, oblivious to the look of awe Blaise bestowed upon
her as she retook her place at Hannah’s side.

Draco inhaled deeply through his nose, spine lengthening as he straightened his coat and ran a
hand through his hair, realigning the strands.

“Where is she?”

Riddle licked the blood from his lip once more, pressing his hand to the cut and examining his
fingertips.

“Rutledge Mental Asylum.”

Hannah gasped, clutching Parvati's arm.

Harry staggered back.

“Who the hell committed her?” Sirius demanded.

“The Matron of the Home.”

Draco blinked. “Why would she do such a thing?”

“Because she’s a right bitch.” Parvati snapped with venom, earning the men’s attention. “And she
has it out for Mione especially.”

Sirius shook his head. “Even so, she’d need valid grounds to have her committed.”

Parvati met the Doctor’s eye. She opened her mouth, only to close it once more as he gave an
imperceptible shake of his head. The others were too distracted by the revelation to notice the silent
exchange.

“Not all establishments are known for their reputable admission policies,” Riddle provided, eyes
darkening. “One accusation is often enough to have someone committed without investigation.
Especially if they don’t have family to speak on their behalf.”

Harry’s shoulders tensed. “We’re her family.”

“Not legally,” Draco said, voice edged in steel. “And that’s what matters.” He looked to Riddle
once more. “But you can get her released?”

He nodded. “I’m working on it. But on the off chance something falls through, I hoped one of you
could assist, given your rank and connections.”

Harry glanced at Sirius.

“Who do we know that can help?”

His godfather sighed. “We’d need a proper solicitor-” He broke off as Harry and Draco shared a
heavy look. “Christ. What now?”

Harry ran a hand over his face. “Dolohov is her guardian.”

Sirius arched brow. “I thought he only controlled her estate?”

“Her wealth and autonomy are one and the same,” Draco said with no small amount of spite.

The Doctor gave him a carefully assessing look while his back was turned.

Sirius nodded. “Then we can get him to-”

“He’s dead,” Harry said without emotion.

His godfather blinked.

“Or at least I think he is,” he added as an afterthought. “And if he’s not, he soon will be.”

Sirius rubbed his eyes. “I don’t even know how to begin unpacking that.”

“Then don’t,” Draco snapped. “All that matters now is transferring Hermione’s guardianship.”

The Doctor placed his hands in his pockets. “I’m trying to get it transferred to myself.”

Draco rounded on him instantly. “You?” He took a menacing step forward, fists raising. “No
fucking way-”

“As her primary physician it would be a sound decision for the Court to make in lieu of blood
relatives,” he responded with narrowed eyes, seemingly unphased by the renewed threat the blonde
posed. “However I’m perfectly fine with anyone in this room gaining custody if the Judge is
willing to sign off on it.”

Neville shifted forward.

“What if someone else already has custody?”

Draco froze mid-step, glancing at him sharply. Neville flushed.

“If Dolohov is dead, or even missing, someone has to inherit his active cases, his clients, right?”

Sirius nodded. “That’s very likely. A man like Dolohov would surely have a contingency plan in
place.” He glanced at the Doctor. “If there’s an existing contract it may negate anyone else’s
claim.”

Shadows danced across his face. “Does anyone know who’s next in line? Did he have any
partners?”

“Not that I know of.” Draco’s body tensed. “But I can find out.”

Harry raised a brow. “Your father?”

The blonde nodded.

“If word has spread about Dolohov I can pretend I’m asking out of sheer curiosity.”

“He’ll see right through your rouse. Look at the state you're in.”

Draco scowled.

“Do you have a better plan?”

"I'm going to break into his office," Riddle said evenly, causing Draco to face him once more. He
met his eye without hesitation. "To see if I can find Hermione's original contract."

Harry took a step forward. “I’m coming with you.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, jaw ticking.

“Why are you doing this?”

Riddle tipped his head, voice carefully void of inflection. “Doing what?”

“Don’t play dumb. I’ve sat across the poker table from you. I know your tells as well as you know
mine.”

The Doctor drew to his full height, eyes flashing.

"We shouldn't waste any more time."

Harry took another step forward, casually situating himself between both men. “Agreed.”

Sirius sighed at their backs. “This is where I tell you committing more than one major felony in a
day is a terrible idea.”

“It’s after midnight. Technically we’re onto day two.”

“Ah, nevermind then.”

The Doctor glanced between them.

“What other felony has been committed?”

“None of your business,” Draco snapped.

Parvati rolled her eyes. “We kidnapped Jonathan Avery. After we found Luna at his house.”

Riddle took a step back, visibly reeling.

“You’ve found her?”

“No thanks to you,” Draco added lowly, grinding his teeth.

Riddle didn’t spare him a glance, still focused upon Parvati. “Is she alright?”

She nodded. “Greyback handed her off to Rabastan Lestrange, who apparently handed her off to
Avery. We found her in a hidden room. She’s resting upstairs.”

Riddle dragged a hand over his face.

“She must be kept safe. She can provide witness testimony when the time comes.” He glanced to
Sirius. “Can you protect her?”

“Protect her from what? Who knows she’s here?”

“Greyback is still on the loose, along with the rest of the Dollmaker's minions.”

Harry reared back. “How the hell do you know about-”

“I’ll explain on the way to Dolohov’s office. There’s no time to waste. If someone else has custody
of Hermione they could take possession of her at any time.”

Draco paled, exchanging a loaded glance with Harry before nodding reluctantly.

“Go. Find the contract.”

And don’t let Riddle get his hands on it went unspoken between them.

Harry wet his lips. “You should still talk to your father, see what you can uncover just in case the
office is a bust.”

Draco nodded once more, holding his gaze a moment longer before glancing at Riddle.

The two men held each other's gaze without blinking, some silent battle taking place that caused a
painful tightening in Harry’s chest, waiting for the worst, until at long last Draco took a step back,
shoulders tense as he turned on his heel and headed for the exit without a parting word.

Harry met Riddle’s eye next. “Let’s go.”

“Wait a minute,” Sirius said, grabbing his shoulder. “I need to speak with you. Privately.”

“Sirius-”

“I’m not going to try and stop you from going. I know by now I stand no chance of winning that
argument.” The hand clenched upon him, a pained look crossing his godfather’s features for the
space of a heartbeat, a deeply unsettling sight. “I just need a minute.”

Harry swallowed, tilting his head towards the hall. Riddle stepped aside, allowing them to pass
with an unreadable expression upon his face.

Harry entered the hallway beside his godfather, step harried.

“I have to go-”

“I know.” Sirius took a deep breath, grabbing Harry’s shoulder once more, holding him in place
before him. “I know you’ll do anything for the people you love. Just like your parents. But you’re
even more stubborn and determined than they ever were.”

Harry’s brows creased. His godfather shook his head. “That’s not what-” He sighed once more,
stepping back and running a hand over his mouth.

“What I mean to say is… please, please be careful, Harry. I have no idea what the fuck is going on
or who this Dollmaker person is. But there’s a tied, gagged Peer in my study and a former
kidnapped victim in my guest room. I don’t know what will come through these doors next and I
really don’t care, as long as you’re included.”
He pinned him beneath the soul-crushing weight of his fatherly gaze.

“You hear me? You come home, Harry. No matter what it takes.”

Harry swallowed heavily, nodding slowly. “I’ll come home.”

Sirius’s jaw tensed as he pulled his godson forward, embracing him tightly.

“And bring our girl back with you.”

Harry sighed into his shoulder. “I will.”

They parted without another word, striding for the entryway where the others lingered silently,
pointedly ignoring their gazes.

Except for Riddle.

Who met Sirius’s eyes first, nodding once, before looking to Harry.

“Do you know where his office is?”

Harry nodded, leading the way to the door.

“Yes. It’s not far.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You know how to break and enter?”

“Quite well.”

He bit back a smirk. “Good. Let’s go.”

After the door closed behind them the room’s five remaining occupants glanced at each other.

“So…” Blaise said at long last, rocking back on his heels. “That was the Doctor.”

Parvati arched a dark brow. “In the flesh.”

He smiled brightly.

“I like him.”

She rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips tipping up as she headed for the study. He waited a full
beat before trailing at her heels.

As Draco sat in the darkness of the carriage on his way to Malfoy Manor he reflected on the
insanity his life had become.

And at the swirling center of the chaos sat one person.

Hermione Granger.

He drew in a long breath, closing his eyes and tipping his head back against the seat, trying to recall
when the madness began, when the obsession seized him with both hands.

His jaw tensed as he realized the beginning of the end was, in fact, the very first time they met.

He was at the Potter Estate, celebrating Harry’s twelfth birthday. All the children were running
amuck outside on the lawn, boys and girls alike, too young to be constrained by traditional gender
roles just yet.

Draco had been chasing Harry with a fencing sword when a body collided with his own from
seemingly out of nowhere. He’d only caught a flash of navy skirts and pale skin before he was
toppled on his backside, choking on voluminous curls while delicate hands pressed upon his chest,
a soft voice apologizing profusely.

He’d bitten back with a scathing retort, no doubt something he’d memorized from his father,
unable to make out the annoying girl’s face with the sun directly overhead, casting her visage into
darkness. By the time they both scrambled to their feet and he was able to see her in stunning
clarity they were both scowling, his suit covered in grass stains and her hair full of leaves.

He’d told her to tie the rat’s nest back, then maybe she could see what was in front of her feet.
She’d called him a pompous arse, causing him to flush deeply as he’d no idea what pompous
meant, but it was clearly an insult and no one insulted a Malfoy, least of all some skinny, nine-
year-old brat.

By the time Harry found them they were both red in the face from screaming, Harry's mother
intervening just to get them separated.

At that moment he’d sworn to whatever deity was listening he hated the girl with every fiber of his
being and would spend the rest of his life making her life a living hell.

That was the excuse he continued to use for years as he tried to justify his need to constantly seek
her out.

Harry’s parents had died three months later to the day following that first, fateful encounter and
Draco began seeing far less of the orphaned boy as he was whisked away to Grimmauld. Lucius
didn’t want Sirius Black’s rakish reputation rubbing off on his only son, after all.

While Draco and Harry grew apart, Harry and Hermione grew much closer, developing a brother
and sister like bond that left Draco deeply jealous for reasons he was too young to fully
comprehend, fostering a sense of animosity and competition between him and the pair.

But he especially loved to challenge her, anyway he could. Anything to earn her ire, her undivided
attention.

Anything to lure her away from Harry’s side and closer to his, even just to yell in his face.

Then he hit puberty, and everything had turned on its head.

The sound of her lecturing drawl started to have… unsettling effects on him. He’d squirm in his
seat, heart palpitating, hands clenching, the typical urge to throttle her so overwhelming he found
himself walking away from fights, throwing in the towel simply to escape the unavoidable cloud of
her presence. Her scent.

And then she hit puberty, and he realized he didn’t want to throttle her at all. His hands ached for
something else, his entire body yearning in such a way that left him aching and dazed long after she
exited the room in a puff of smoke and righteous fury.

By the time he realized what he really wanted to do to her it was too late to escape, to walk away.
The longer he avoided her the more he wanted her, the more she plagued his thoughts. Every time
his eyes scanned a room for her chestnut curls he told himself it was the last time. Every time he
stared blatantly at her mouth while she delivered an impassioned speech about whatever social
issue struck her current fancy he told himself it was just hormones.
Hermione Granger was just a phase.

But he couldn’t rid himself of his desire, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many
beautiful girls flocked to his side at parties, clinging to his arm and placing their hands to his thigh
beneath dining room tables.

He always found some excuse to leave them at the edge of the dance floor as he sought out the
source of his festering obsession, the face that haunted his dreams every night, leaving him
gasping in a pool of sweat and uncomfortable stiffness.

He never asked her to dance. Never offered his arm to escort her to or from a room. All he did was
provoke her. So he told himself it was okay. It wasn’t a problem. His father couldn’t possibly
disapprove.

And then one rainy afternoon they found themselves sequestered in the glittering gem of the Palm
House, both separated from their respective group of friends as they scattered to seek shelter from
the sudden downpour.

They’d been surrounded by manufactured heat and tropical flowers, she’d been spitting mad at him
for telling her she looked like a drowned rat. Another cutting remark had been sitting on the tip of
his tongue, ready to go, but a sudden madness had seized him and he’d grabbed her instead,
earning a shocked gasp from her parted lips before he descended upon her, half pulling and half
dragging her into the corner as he claimed her mouth for the first of many times.

The moment she first collided against him at Harry’s birthday party had been his awakening.

But that first kiss…

That first kiss was his death.

A boy had perished away with the soft moans emanating from her throat, a man reborn in his
place. A man who knew exactly what he wanted.

And would do anything to get it.

But that moment was also when their fate started to unravel faster than either could weave it
together. They continued meeting in secret, fighting in public, instilling the false reality that their
liaisons were a sin, a mistake, a dirty secret best left to shadow-strewn corners and empty hallways.

He ignored the deep seeded emotions taking root within him, evolving with every passing year,
month, second. He thought one more kiss, one more caress would exercise her from his system.
Free him from her thrall.

He never intended to marry her.

He never intended to marry anyone.

Marriage enslaved men and women alike, why would he subject himself or the woman he desired
above all else to such a dark fate?

But he’d taken their arrangement for granted.

Taken her for granted.

Which led to The Fight.

The epic blow up, when hateful words were exchanged with such venom there couldn’t possibly be
any going back.

He’d watched her storm away with fire in her eyes, the same inferno raging in his chest. Within
minutes he started to chase after her, only to berate himself, forcing his feet in the opposite
direction.

To a gaming hall on the East End. Where he’d drowned his troubles away with ale and cards and
women until he couldn’t stand upright.

And while he was wallowing in the black bile of his vices, Hermione had watched her childhood
home burn to the ground, taking her only family with it.

He’d been passed out for the entirety of the next day, not receiving word of what happened until
she had already been hospitalized for a night. The administration wouldn’t allow him in to see her,
and he’d been too afraid to ask his father to pull any strings, years of keeping their relationship a
secret making it impossible to form the words when he needed them most.

And by the time she was allowed regular visitors Potter had already returned to London, taking up
permanent residence beside her bed, refusing to leave the room except to piss.

Her eyes had been so hollow, so haunted as she sat upon the hospital bed, Draco had simply stood
at the foot of the mattress and stared at her in silence, half-formed apologies dying on his tongue,
everything sounding grossly inadequate in his mind, undeserving of her forgiveness.

If only he’d gone after her that night.

If only he hadn’t been such a coward, so terrified of the depths of his feelings for his childhood
nemesis.

How pathetic that it took nearly losing her altogether to realize that he loved her with all of his
soul.

But how to tell her?

The time never seemed right. His courage always failed at the last second, or she would glance
away and the moment would pass.

Excuses, all of it. He knew that objectively. But it didn’t change the fact the words became lodged
in his throat everytime he tried to expel them.

Proposing to her had seemed the logical alternative. Surely she would understand the magnitude of
his longing then.

Her rejection had stung more than her fist colliding with his face all those years ago. The damage
far more long-lasting.

If only he’d told her...

And now he sat at the brink of losing her yet again, another raging inferno chasing at her heels.

Another man.

His stomach clenched painfully, teeth grinding.

Not just another man. A dangerous stranger who had everything but her welfare in mind.
The bastard may be trying to help set her free, but as far as Draco was concerned, it was Riddle’s
fault she was in the Asylum to begin with. It was his job to see to his charge’s safety. He should
have fought the spiteful Matron tooth and claw.

One thing was certain, Draco wouldn’t let the man gain custody of her.

Not that he felt he was any more entitled to such a claim.

For Draco knew without a shadow of a doubt he didn’t deserve Hermione Granger.

Just as he knew without a shadow of a doubt he loved her.

And in the back of the carriage, he made a silent vow to God that if he would please just deliver
her back to him safely he would tell her the words festering within his heart for so long.

And never let her out of his sight again.

Unless it’s too late…

Unless she doesn’t want you anymore.

The driver shouted down to him, the horses slowing their pace as the carriage rolled to a stop.

He forcefully suppressed his churning thoughts, leaping to the pavement and paying the man
before quickly ascending the stairs of his ancestral home, bracing himself for the battle ahead.

Tricking his father was all but impossible, which meant he’d have to tell the truth… selectively.

He took a deep breath, reaching for the handle, only for the door to swing open with his arm still
extended.

His butler stood on the other side, eyes sweeping over his form, widening considerably.

"Master Draco, are you alright?"

He blinked.

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re bleeding.”

Draco blinked again.

Shite.

He nodded quickly, stepping inside.

“I’m fine. Where is my father?”

“He isn’t home, Sir, but your mother is-”

“I’m going to go clean up, don’t tell my mother the state you saw me in, understand?”

The butler pursed his lips. Draco shook his head, running his hand through his hair. Lady Malfoy
had the entire staff wrapped around her diamond-strewn finger.

“At least don’t tell my father.”

Parker nodded. “Of course, Sir.”

“Any idea where he is?”

"A last-minute session, I believe."

He stood taller. “For the Medical Act?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

He set his jaw, hands clenching as he turned for the stairs.

“A letter arrived for you, Sir, would you like for me to leave it in your room?”

Draco turned back around.

“A letter?” His heart skipped a beat. “From who?”

Could it be?

“Your Uncle, Sir.”

He deflated at once.

“Oh.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take it now.”

Parker handed the sealed envelope over before bowing deeply and exiting the room with graceful
swiftness.

Draco blinked when he saw it was Rodolphus's wax stamp. He'd assumed it was a missive from
Rabastan regarding the session.

He broke the seal, unfolding the parchment.

Only to stagger back as he read the five simple words scrawled in precise cursive.

He crumpled the note in his fist as he sprinted out the door once again, not bothering to close it in
his wake.

The message rattling through his mind on an endless loop.

Your wedding present is ready.

Harry glanced either way down the darkened hallway, keeping watch as Riddle continued to pick
the lock at Dolohov’s door.

After a few more minutes there was a loud click, followed by the turning of the knob.

“Got it.”

Harry quickly followed him inside the equally dark office, feeling his way to the gaslight on the
wall and turning the dial, bathing the room in a soft glow.

“Where did you learn to pick locks?”

Riddle tucked whatever tool he’d used back into his coat. “I have many skills.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m starting to see that.”

The other man was already pulling open drawers and grabbing files, carefully thumbing through
the pages. Harry walked to the nearest cabinet, reaching for the handle.

“Put everything back where you find it,” the Doctor instructed. “If the police search the office we
don’t want to leave any trace behind.”

Harry raised a brow.

“Unless he isn’t dead.”

Riddle’s jaw tensed but he remained silent, putting the file back and reaching for another. Harry
sighed and opened the door, beginning his own search, the room filled with only the sound of
pages being turned and drawers being pulled for several minutes.

“How did you know about the fire?” Riddle asked at last, not bothering to glance up from whatever
he was reading.

Harry straightened, heartbeat slowing even as the blood rushed through his ears. He glanced at the
man sharply, studying the rigid lines of his back and shoulders.

He took a deep breath.

“Avery tipped us off that Dolohov might know where Mione is. Draco and I swung by his Estate.”
His gaze narrowed. “It was already engulfed.”

“What led you to Avery in the first place?”

Harry shook his head.

“Why don’t you answer a few of my questions for a change?”

Riddle stiffened but made no further remark. Harry pushed on.

“Parvati said you were helping Mione look for Luna. But she didn’t mention anything about you
knowing the Dollmaker.”

“I assume Avery told you about him?”

“Not much. Who is he?”

Riddle shoved a file back into place with extra force, knocking over a framed certificate. “That’s
the question I’ve spent the majority of my life trying to figure out.”

“Why?”

A tense beat. Riddle’s hands flexed at his sides.

“He took someone from me.”

Harry tipped his head, eyes scanning the man’s stoic profile. “And now you want revenge?”

“Now I want to stop him.”

“What about the rest of his organization?”

Riddle turned around, brow raised. “What about them?”

“Powerful people are involved in this.”

“I’m well aware.”

Harry raised his own brow, setting the pages in his hand aside. “How do you intend to take them
all down?”

Riddle stared at him in silence, finally shaking his head and turning back around.

“Let’s start with retrieving Hermione.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “The last time we met you still called her Miss Granger.”

“A lot has happened since then.”

His fists tightened at his sides. “Anything I should know about?”

Riddle’s jaw worked silently for a moment as he rummaged rapidly through a stack of papers. “I
imagine she would have told you what she intended for you to know.”

Harry’s chest tightened. He spun back around, slamming the cabinet door shut.

“How was she taken?”

Riddle blinked. “What?”

“If she was with you earlier in the evening, how was she dragged off to the Asylum?”

A brief pause.

“She returned to the Home.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

Harry spun to face him once more, emeralds flashing in his hardened gaze. “After she was almost
kidnapped from the same place? I don’t buy it. Mione is too clever for that.”

Riddle braced his hands against the counter, taking a deep, steadying breath. “It was a trying
evening, she wasn’t in her right mind.”

“And yet you let her wander off alone.”

The Doctor slammed the drawer with such force it shook the wall, knocking the portrait hanging
above askew.

“Why does it matter? What’s done is done. All that matters now is retrieving her.”

“She’s my best friend. It matters.” Harry’s spine lengthened, ribs cracking and reforming as his
chest expanded. “And I’ll find out the truth eventually. One way or another.”

Riddle didn’t reply, merely crossed the room on stiffened legs as he began rummaging through
another cabinet.

Harry took a slow step towards him. “You didn’t look surprised when we told you Dolohov might
be dead.”

Riddle avoided his gaze, voice flat. “I didn’t know him beyond a vague acquaintance. The news
didn’t affect me.”

Harry nodded, eyes fixed upon him, taking in every nuance of his expression.

“Or perhaps you already knew because you killed him.”

Riddle stiffened for half a beat, fingers clenching upon the file in his hands.

“And why would you think that?”

Harry wet his lips.

“Because I never said anything about a fire.” Another step closer. “Neither did Draco.”

Riddle took a deep breath but said nothing. Harry continued to approach, slow and wary, muscles
tensed.

“Who are you really?”

Riddle shook his head, setting the file aside. “I’m the man trying to stop this madness before any
more girls are taken or killed.”

He met Harry’s eye over his shoulder, halting his slow advance. “Starting with your best friend.”

His grey eyes narrowed. “Are you going to continue asking questions or are you going to help me
look for her contract?”

Harry’s shoulders dropped. He swallowed lightly, Hermione’s face flashing before his mind’s eye.
He reluctantly turned on his heel without another word, walking back to the cabinet.

They continued to search in silence, the papers never ending, until at long last Harry found a
cabinet full of surnames starting with G. His heart sped as he flipped through the stacks in haste.

And then he saw her name.

He rocked back on his heels, nearly losing his grip on the file.

“I think this is it.”

Riddle glanced up, watching as Harry continued to thumb through pages before nodding quickly.
“This is it.”

The Doctor moved quickly to his side, grabbing the oil lamp off the table and holding it aloft,
illuminating the pages.

“I only see Dolohov’s name.” Harry wet his lips. “That’s good, right? If there’s no other name
then-”

“Let me see it.”

Harry’s gaze narrowed as the man snatched the file out of his hands without preamble.

The Doctor began to rapidly scan the pages with his eyes, so quickly Harry thought there was no
possible way he was actually taking any of the information in. But then-

“It says if anything prevents Dolohov from fulfilling his legal responsibilities the contract passes to
his beneficiary.”

Harry blinked, drawing back.

“How do we find out who that is?”

Riddle’s jaw tensed as he closed the file.

“We find his will.”

Harry sighed, starting to turn away. “Let’s keep looking.”

“He wouldn’t keep such a document in a regular file cabinet.” Riddle carefully tucked Hermione’s
contract back into the folder. “He’d put it somewhere special, protected…” His glanced up. “Like a
safe.”

Harry swallowed. “Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

Riddle closed the drawer. “Start looking on the walls, behind picture frames and bookcases.”

Harry nodded as they spread out again. He was lifting the third picture frame when Riddle spoke
from the wall behind the desk.

“Here it is.”

Harry practically sprinted across the room as Riddle moved the seascape portrait aside, revealing a
wide and narrow metal rectangle set into the wallpaper.

“Any chance your repertoire of skills includes breaking a safe?”

“I’m afraid not.”

He dragged his hand through his hair, making some of the dark locks stand on end.

“We’re screwed. Unless we bash it open.”

“That's two inches of steel. We aren’t bashing anything.”

Harry tensed. “Then what-”

“It’s a dial lock.” Harry blinked as Riddle tilted his head, studying the gleaming safe cover. “A
number combination. Most likely between three and six digits.” He ran a hand over his mouth,
deep in thought. Harry continued to watch with intrigue. “Given the manufacturing seal and overall
quality I’d lean towards maximum security, six digits. Which means it’ll be one turn each, starting
with the standard clockwise.”

Harry blinked once more.

“What kind of Doctor are you again?”

Riddle started to examine the dial. “A general practitioner.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes. “Well unless you can also guess the numbers he uses, we’re still up
shite creek.”

Riddle wet his lips, stepping away from the wall and meeting Harry’s gaze.

“I don’t have that information.” A shadow moved across his face. “But you do.”

Harry’s heart stuttered.

”I do?”

“What day was Hermione born?”

He took a step back.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

He shook his head. “I… like, day of the week?”

“No. What day in September?”

Harry fell motionless as realization set in.

And fire exploded in his chest.

“No…” His fists clenched. “No.”

Riddle drew in a slow breath, moving further back. “Try it.”

Harry remained frozen to the spot, unable to see or think past his blinding rage. He shook with the
force of his pent emotions, desperate to destroy anything he could get his hands-

“Harry.” He jolted, eyes darting up. Riddle held his gaze steady, voice calm. “Enter her birthday,
with the year.”

Harry swallowed thickly, moving forward slowly, lifting his trembling arm and grabbing the metal
dial.

And started spinning it clockwise, each number, each turn a painful lance through his heart.

1… 9… 0… 9… 5… 7

The door clicked loudly, swinging free.

Harry staggered back, wiping his hand on his pant leg, desperate to rid himself of the dark taint on
his skin. He met Riddle’s eye once more, shoulders tight.

“Is he dead?”

The Doctor raised his chin, eyes gleaming bright.

“Yes.”

Harry set his jaw, nodding.

“Good.”

And then he moved back to the wall, pushing the door aside and rummaging through the safe
contents.

“He’s got a gun in here.”

“Leave it,” Riddle said from his side, raising the lamp as he peered into the opening as well.

Harry pushed the firearm aside, his hand grazing another heavy item.

“And a knife.”

Riddle stiffened, eyes narrowing.

“That isn’t a knife.”

Harry raised a brow, pushing the object away without any additional thought. "No?"

“It’s a letter opener.”

Riddle reached inside and extracted the gleaming item, staring upon it for several beats. Harry was
focused on extracting a large manilla envelope from beneath the pile and failed to notice when the
Doctor pocketed the narrow blade.

He opened the flap of the folder, sliding the first page free.

“Shite. You were right.” He inhaled sharply. “It’s his will.”

Riddle held out his hand silently. Harry relinquished the paperwork without hesitation, trusting the
man to find the information they needed faster than he could.

He watched as he slid the rest of the stack free and began speed reading once more, eyes flickering
back and forth so quickly it made Harry dizzy.

And then the Doctor went rigid as a board, hands tightening on the documents.

“What is it?” Harry stepped forward, his own hands clenching against the invisible weight of
something terrible. “Who’s his beneficiary?”

Riddle met his gaze over the top of the pages, darkness swelling all around them.

“We have a problem.”

When Draco arrived at the Lestrange Estate the moon was starting to dim, the sky turning from
black to indigo as the night waned thin.

Though the letter made no reference of where Draco should go, or when, he knew without a
shadow of a doubt whatever Rodolphus had procured for him would not be taken to his club.

And if he expected Draco to wait until the morning he wouldn't have bothered sending a courier to
the Manor in the dead of night.
He darted up the steps and pounded on the gleaming black door, gargoyles overhanging the roof,
slitted eyes boring upon him with fang and talon extended.

He drew in a deep breath, pulling his gaze away as the barrier opened, revealing a young, beautiful,
and barely dressed maid.

She smiled.

“Master Malfoy.” She dipped into a low curtsy that revealed more of her bare thigh. “Lord
Lestrange has been expecting you.” She rose to her full height, eyes gleaming. “Please come in.”

Draco entered swiftly, gaze quickly scanning the lavishly decorated black and crimson interior for
any sign of what lay hidden within these walls.

He knew it couldn’t possibly be Her…

But if there was even the smallest chance Riddle was mistaken and she wasn’t trapped at the
Asylum…

He had to be certain.

Though he wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. While he was desperate to get her into his custody
he was terrified of what she may have been subjected to in the meantime. He didn’t put much stock
in hypnotism, but one thing was certain, the Dollmaker was manipulating these women’s minds
somehow.

His stomach clenched painfully.

“You may wait in the parlor, Master.”

Draco blinked, pulled back to the present. He began following the maid across the entry hall, the
exaggerated sway of her hips telling him all he needed to know about her true purpose in this
household. He doubted she’d ever held a feather duster in her life.

A moment later she came to a stop, gesturing to the interior of a damask and velvet-adorned room
while remaining in the doorway, causing her chest to brush his arm as he passed. She giggled
softly as he lurched away with a scowl.

And then she turned around, heading for the main stairs. Draco began to pace the room restlessly,
hands sweating, when he caught a glimpse of a young, shirtless man walking past the doorway,
seemingly oblivious to Draco’s presence in the room.

A moment later a topless woman and pantless man headed down the staircase, laughing and
carrying half empty fruit and cheese trays.

Draco ran a hand over his face.

Fucking hell.

A bit much for a Wednesday...

He put his back to the doorway, in no mood to see what else was wandering these halls. After
several more minutes of being trapped inside his own hellish mind, he heard heavy, determined
footsteps down the hall. He spun around just in time to see his Uncle sweep into the room in loose
trousers and a billowing silk robe, no shirt in sight.
“Drake!” He called at deafening volumes, cheeks flushed and breath smelling of liquor. “Should
have known you’d come right away, a bit eager to unwrap your present, are we?”

Draco arched a pale brow.

“I hope I’m not…”

A stark naked young woman walked past the door, playing with a golden chain around her neck.

“...interrupting.”

“Of course not, darling.”

His blood ran cold as a new figure emerged in the hall just behind the girl, wearing a floor-length
black lace nightgown, the neckline cut nearly to her navel.

His fists clenched.

He’d been hoping to avoid her entirely.

“Bella.”

She entered the room with a red-lipped smile, only for her expression to freeze the moment she laid
eyes upon him.

He blinked in confusion as she darted across the room with fire in her eyes, reaching for his face.
He tried to duck away but a table blocked his escape, her hand gripping his chin and holding him
still before her.

“What’s happened to you, Draco? Who did this?”

He cursed himself for not cleaning away the blood better. He'd yet to look in a mirror since his
impromptu scuffle.

“It's fine-”

“It is not fine! No one lays a hand on my sister’s son!”

His chest tightened, unnerved by her reaction and concern, never comprehending her twisted
adoration for him since his youth. He turned his face away, prompting her hand to drop.

“You should see the other guy.”

“I should hope to see him dead.”

Draco wet his lips.

“Wishful thinking.”

She sighed wistfully, taking a half step back as her dark eyes carefully scanned his face.

"You aren't a child anymore, are you? No matter how dearly I wish you still were." She reached up
once more, stroking his cheek. He paled, swallowing heavily.

“But nothing can stay precious and pure in this life, can it?”

Her voice sounded strange and hollow as her eyes took on a vacant quality, their gleam rapidly
dimming. Her body fell unnaturally still, arm froze in mid-air, and suddenly it was as if a
mannequin stood before him.

Rodolphus stepped forward quickly, grabbing her arm and pulling her back, large hand squeezing
her pale flesh until she cringed. Draco blinked, brows creasing, a protest forming on his lips despite
the fact he didn’t normally give two shites what went on between the twisted couple.

But before he could think of what to say his Uncle was speaking low in her ear, just loud enough
for him to hear.

“Come now, my luv, Drake isn’t here for auntly affection.” He squeezed her arm again, but instead
of flinching she jolted lightly, life flooding into her eyes once more, limbs loosening. “He’s here
for his wedding present.”

She smiled, leaning into her husband’s touch as though nothing were amiss.

“Of course.” She licked her lips, voice back to its normal seductive cadence.

“When Roddy told me you approached him about such a topic I admit I was quite shocked.” Her
eyes gleamed more cat-like by the second. “But then he told about me the… specifications you
were seeking.”

A knowing grin curled her lips, teeth sharp.

“And I knew exactly what you were after.”

Draco’s heart lurched painfully against his ribcage as he took a slow step back.

They know.

She started towards the doorway with unhurried grace, speaking over her shoulder.

“However, we weren’t able to meet all of your wishes…”

He blinked, halting mid-retreat.

Maybe not...

“Which I believe is in your best interest anyway.”

His muscles tensed, braced for whatever madness she was sure to unleash.

“You are young yet, my darling, and I assure you, what you think you want now is not what you
will want in five years time.”

She laughed to herself, voice deep and smokey yet grating to his spent nerves. “Or five days time,
given that you are also male.”

And then footsteps started down the hall.

His spine went straight as an arrow, body vibrating with dark anticipation.

Her smile deepened as she stood in the doorway, gesturing to someone just beyond his line of
sight.

Rodolphus stepped beside him, clapping a heavy, weighted hand to his shoulder.
“Trust us, Drake, as long as you have an open mind, you’ll absolutely love it.”

It...

Draco swayed on his feet with the force of his heartbeat, vision tunneling in on the doorway,
everything else falling away as at last a figure turned the corner and emerged into the room,
stopping just beside his Aunt.

Bella squealed with delight, holding her arms out as though unveiling some grand prize.

“Surprise!”

Spots appeared before his vision as he staggered back in horror, grasping the back of the settee for
balance, thoughts rapidly spinning but only one making it past his lips.

“Oh my God.”

Hermione awoke with a jerk, gasping for breath and thrashing against her binds, forgetting where
she was for a terrifying second.

She fell still, gazing around the sun-strewn room, the white padding blinding to her eyes.

Only to realize with crushing swiftness last night wasn’t a nightmare.

Her terror increased ten-fold.

And then she heard the noise that woke her, the sound of groaning metal and heavy footsteps.

The orderlies were making their morning rounds.

Muffled shouts met her ear, desperate wails that caused her to shrink back against the headboard,
curling in on herself.

And then a familiar face appeared on the other side of the window at her door.

She held her breath as Wilson unlocked the metal barrier, pushing the heavy weight aside before
entering with a bright smile.

“Rise and shine, princess.” His eyes carefully roamed her figure. “Shite. You get any sleep?”

She wet her dry lips, swallowing lightly.

“Some,” she whispered, pulling her knees in.

He raised a brow, lips tugging higher.

“Ghosts keep you up all night?”

Her jaw tensed as she met his eye with brazen swiftness.

“One tried. He’s still a little upset I murdered him.”

Wilson blinked, rocking back on his heels.

And then he tipped his head to the tiled ceiling, bursting into boisterous laughter.
“Christ!” He wiped the corners of his eyes. “I knew I liked you.”

She glanced away, fighting the urge to shrink back as he crossed the room and gestured for her to
turn around.

She endured his touch in order to be free of the straitjacket.

Nothing felt as terrible as having her limbs confined.

As the stays loosened she breathed a deep sigh of relief, fishing her arms free of the constraining
fabric as soon as possible, welcoming the cold air against her bare arms and shoulders.

“Here’s your uniform.”

He tossed a folded pile of grey garments on the bed beside her. She stared at them without
expression, struggling to keep her voice even, unaffected.

“Are you going to watch me change?”

He chuckled.

“Afraid not, luv. Have to keep making my rounds. But I’ll be back for you in a few.”

She swallowed heavily as he strode for the exit, thoughts of escape running rampant through her
mind now that she was afforded mobility, clothing and temporary privacy.

But her thoughts quickly scattered as he stopped in the doorway, peering at her over his shoulder.

“Don’t dawdle for too long, you’ve got a busy docket ahead of you.”

The sinister glee in his voice made her stomach knot as she pressed a hand to her left wrist,
covering the frayed ribbon.

He flashed a wicked grin, teeth gleaming as he grabbed the door handle.

“Today is your first treatment.”

 Bitter Pill

I'll set you free, Alice.

Memory is a curse more often than a blessing.
. . .

Harry dragged a hand over his face in utter exhaustion, fighting the pull of sleep as the carriage
rocked steadily along the dirt road, following the winding path up the hill to a long-familiar
structure.

He’d just returned from Malfoy Manor, intent on sharing his alarming discovery with Draco, only
for the butler to inform him neither Malfoy male was home.

He had no idea where Draco could be and frankly didn’t feel like searching the city for yet another
person. He was certain he’d cross paths with the blonde soon enough, for he harbored no doubt
whatever mission the man had undertaken was with Hermione in mind, and therefore he’d
eventually seek Harry out to exchange information.

But until then, Harry planned to push forward with the haphazard plan he and Riddle had
constructed before parting ways outside Dolohov’s office, both still reeling from the frightening
revelation they’d uncovered in the solicitor’s will.

Which brought him to his newest destination.

He sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes.

Bloody hell.

What a cluster fuck this all was.

The carriage reached the peak, slowing to a stop before the gravel drive.

“We’re here, lad!”

Harry steeled himself, desperate to conceal both his fatigue and anxiety before setting foot on the
property beyond.

He swiftly exiting the car and paid the driver, adding extra bills to the pile.

“Wait here. I shouldn’t be too long.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck as he started for the house, noting that the chimney was already
puffing a steady stream of smoke into the pale blue sky.

He paused at the door, briefly closing his eyes before setting his shoulders and knocking.

Only to blink as the hinges creaked and the old wood gave way beneath the side of his fist,
swinging open to reveal the interior of the home.

Harry blinked.

Christ…
Leave it to the Weasley’s to not lock their front door.

He took a tentative step inside the Burrow, hearing the distant sound of voices down the hall.

“Hello?” He called out, closing the door behind him and sliding the bolt into place.

The voices halted, a brief beat of silence filling the dust and sunlight strewn air before a familiar
voice called back.

“Who’s there?”

Harry smiled, shaking his head.

“A home invader, come to rob you blind!”

“Good luck finding anything of value!”

“Ginevra Weasley!”

A dull thump sounded.

“Ow! Christ, mum! I was only joking!”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!”

“You take it in vain all the time!”

“Not before noon!”

Footsteps echoed down the hall, a long body appearing in the archway a moment later.

Ron blinked in confusion even as a smile curved his lips.

“Harry, what are you doing here?”

Harry tucked his hands into his pockets, trying to affect a casual stance. “I hope I’m not disturbing
your morning-”

“Nonsense!” Mrs. Weasley appeared just behind her son, wiping her hands on her flour splattered
apron. “Come inside and have some breakfast, dear, it’s wonderful to see you!”

His smile turned brittle as he fought to maintain it.

“Actually, I was wondering if I might speak to Arthur?”

She blinked.

“You just missed him. He got an urgent missive from work asking him to come in immediately.”

Harry paled.

“Do you still have the letter?”

“I… I’m not sure.” She shook her head, strands of red brushing her shoulders from where they’d
fallen loose of her bun. “Come to think of it, I believe Arthur stuffed it into his briefcase on his
way out the door.”
Ron arched a brow.

“Harry, what’s going on?”

He cleared his throat, struggling to keep a neutral expression in place.

“Nothing. I just… had a legal question for him.”

“At eight in the morning?” His friend crossed his arms, the corner of his mouth lifting in a wry
smirk. “What did you do?”

“Nothing crazier than usual.”

Mrs. Weasley didn’t share their amusement.

“Are you in trouble, dear?”

He shook his head, countenance sobering.

“No, of course not.” He forced another smile. His muscles felt atrophied. “Everything is fine.”

Her eyes narrowed, a deep sigh hissing past her lips.

“You lie as poorly as all my children. I suppose I should find it a blessing.”

And then she was spinning on her heel and striding down the hallway, speaking over her shoulder.

“I already know you’ll refuse to stay so I’m making you a plate to take with you. If you leave
before I return I’m bringing it to Grimmauld and lording over you until you finish every bite.”

His smile quickly turned genuine, the motherly threat causing the pressure in his chest to recede
just enough to breathe normally.

“I don't doubt it.”

A moment later she disappeared around the corner.

Ron quickly closed in, voice low.

“Alright, now will you tell me what the hell is going on?”

Harry dragged a hand over his face, lingering at his mouth, capturing his sigh of resignation.

He met his best mate’s eye, arm dropping like a dead weight to his side.

“Yes. But first I need two things.”

Ron blinked.

“What?”

“I need you to promise to withhold your rage until I’m finished telling you everything I have to
say.”

Ron leaned back as though evading the sharp edge in Harry’s voice.

“Fucking hell, you’re really starting to scare me.”

Harry swallowed, hands clenching at his sides. “Promise.”

"I can't guarantee I won't get mad." Ron's eyes narrowed, shoulders drawn. "And it's not fair to
ask!"

“Promise me for Hermione’s sake.”

As expected, the words made the man’s complexion fade whiter than a sheet, blue eyes widening.

“Harry-”

“If you explode into one of your tantrums then it’s only going to delay me and hurt her. I need your
promise or I leave without saying another word.”

“Fuck.” Ron shook his head, running a hand through his hair, dragging his fringe back. “I
promise.”

Harry nodded, heart thundering in his chest.

“And I need one more thing.”

Ron rolled his eyes, gesturing wildly to the air.

“Bloody hell! What? My kidney? My firstborn?”

Harry fought back a smirk.

“Today’s newspaper will suffice.”

Hermione picked at the coarse fabric of her dress, the linen stiff and scratchy against her skin, the
cool grey turning her already pale complexion even more lifeless.

She shifted anxiously on her feet, doing her best to avoid the gazes of nearby orderlies lining the
wall and the many patients filling the hall, standing in the same haphazard line she resided in.

Awaiting their morning medication.

A woman dressed in the same desolate garment as Hermione stood closely at her back, curled fists
resting at her mouth as she rocked steadily back and forth, long hair swaying to and fro, eyes
squeezed tightly as she muttered something to herself on an endless loop.

Hermione bit her lip, doing her best to shift forward to avoid the woman bumping her, but every
time she took a step the stranger seemed to follow, despite the fact her lids were obviously closed.

A moment later the woman’s rocking took on new steam and she collided with Hermione’s arm,
causing her to gasp and leap forward on instinct, bumping into the person standing before her.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” she uttered quickly, hands raised as the tall man spun on his heel.

Her heart seized as he gazed down upon her with pale, empty eyes.

Then he blinked.

And seemed to awaken from his stupor, color infusing his cheeks as a crescent grin alighted upon
his worn but handsome face.
“Ah, I see you’re a clever one, eh?”

Hermione blinked as well, as taken aback by the booming volume of his voice as the words
themselves.

“Pardon?”

He took a step towards her, prompting her to break from her place in line to recede from his
advance.

"How did you get into my bedchamber, dove?" He reached out a hand as though to grab her chin.
She gasped, ducking away, swatting at the offending limb.

“What?”

“Don’t be shy now, pet, you went through all the effort of slipping past my guards.”

He continued towards her, both hands extended. Terror seized her by the throat, his boisterous
expression somehow more terrifying than Wilson's lust-driven hunger.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Alright, alright,” a familiar voice spoke from behind her back, causing her to gasp and spin,
coming face to face with an orderly. “Everyone calm down.”

It was the mustached man from last night. She blinked, startled to see his features in clarity for the
first time, the drugs finally faded from her system.

He didn’t spare her a glance as he brushed past and grabbed the man by his arm, directing him
back towards the line. She watched as the patient attempted to wrench his arm free but made no
move to strike out.

“Unhand me, filthy squire! I will have you executed for this treasonous act!”

The orderly sighed, eyes flickering to where she stood, watching in open bewilderment.

“Don’t mind him, poppet. Lockhart here thinks he’s King Henry the Eighth.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, staring upon the man again with a creased brow.

“How dare you address your sovereign with such blasphemy! I’ll-”

“Have my head on a pike. Trust me, I know.” The orderly held up a staying hand as his associates
stepped away from the wall and began heading towards them.

“Stop! I’ve got it under control.”

Hermione shifted anxiously, trapped in place by dark fascination as the orderly proceeded to pat
the patient on the back, motions slow, voice steady and calm.

“Come on, Henry, take your medicine, then you can address the people.”

“I am not a child!”

“I know.” He held his hand out to the nurse behind the counter administering pills. “You’re a
King.” She leaned forward, handing him a small paper cup. “And you need to be in good health if
you want to keep on ruling, right?”

The man blinked several times, limbs finally settling as he gazed down at the offering, expression
taught with resignation.

He slowly accepted the cup and tipped it back, swallowing the contents dry.

The orderly nodded.

“Good man.” He patted him on the back once more, gesturing to an employee standing on alert.
“Cyrus is going to take you to the throne room, now.”

The patient sighed deeply, shoulders drawing back.

“Very well. I have kept my loyal subjects waiting long enough.”

Hermione watched the employee take the man by the arm as he escorted him down the hallway.

The mustached orderly ran a hand through his hair, turning to face her.

She shook her head. “I…”

He nodded. “Tell me about it.”

“He really thinks he’s King Henry?”

“Most days.” He shrugged. “Sometimes he’s Queen Mary of Scots. Fashioned a wig out of a mop
head and everything. It’s pretty entertaining.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Entertaining?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Oh let me guess, the girl who communes with spirits is an advocate for lunatics.”

She crossed her arms.

“I don't commune with spirits. And I’m not advocating for anything. But I fail to see what’s funny
about a man suffering from severe delusions.”

“Do you see me laughing?”

Her shoulders lowered, unable to process the look in his eyes.

He sighed once more.

“If this job has taught me anything it’s that most people suffer from delusions, in whatever form.
His just happen to be a bit more outspoken and colorful than most. I’m quite jealous, actually. He
gets to strut around the Royal Palace while I’m stuck in this hellhole.”

Her gaze turned appraising. He visibly flinched beneath her assessment.

“Don’t give me that look. Just because I sympathize with your plight doesn’t mean I’m going to be
your knight in shining armor.”

He raised a dark brow, turning to face the nurse at the window, accepting another small cup.
“But if that’s the delusion you choose to cling to in order to get through your days, I won’t stop
you.”

“I thought the point of an asylum was to dispel delusions, not encourage them.”

“The point of this place is to rid families and the general public of individuals they no longer want
responsibility for.” He turned to face her once more, cup in hand. “For whatever reason.”

“So you admit some of your patients don’t belong here?”

“Is that what I said?”

She bit her lip. He tipped his head, eyes roaming her face.

“Every single patient is in here because they don’t belong out there.”

He gestured to the window at her back with his chin. She glanced over her shoulder, gazing upon
the rolling green lawn. It was a stunning sight.

And absent any patients.

A beautiful rouse, hiding the grey death within.

“Including you.”

Her spine went rigid as she faced forward, raising a challenging brow even as her chest constricted
with the venomous truth of his words.

“You’re stuck inside these walls as well.”

He blinked, leaning away, seemingly thrown off guard.

A beat of silence passed.

And then the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Touche.”

He extended the cup towards her.

“Your medicine, Anne Boleyn.”

She forced her feet to remain fixed beneath her, the urge to run nearly overwhelming her senses as
she gazed down.

The cup contained a single, strange pill.

“What is that?”

His jaw ticked, hand briefly tightening, bending the paper.

“Blue mass.”

She shook her head, setting her shoulders and meeting his gaze.

“I’m not taking it.”

He sighed deeply, as though already anticipating the announcement. “And why is that?”

She inhaled sharply through her nose, unconsciously shifting into her lecturer mode. “For one,
mercury has never been proven to cure any of the ailments it is prescribed to treat. Furthermore,
modern medical studies show that it may in fact-”

“Bloody hell, woman.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think I prefer Lockhart’s rambling to
yours.”

Her eyes narrowed, fists pressed to her sides.

“Why am I being prescribed blue mass?”

“To level out your temper.”

Heat flared within her, plumes of flame lapping across her chest and neck.

“My temper!”

He pinned her with a sardonic expression. She bit her tongue, settling back on her heels, heart
racing as she watched him wet his lips, taking half a step closer.

“For Christ’s sake, it’s not a cyanide tablet. Lincoln swore by this stuff. Took a pill every
morning.”

She took half a step back. “He also suffered from severe bouts of melancholy and explosive fits of
rage.”

His shoulders widened, the small change in posture setting off warning bells in her head, causing
her pulse to spike.

“Look, lass, this is what the Doc prescribed, so this is what you’re going to take.”

She swallowed heavily, gazing into the cup once more.

“I’ve never seen a blue mass pill in that color or shape.”

“We use a non-local supplier.”

Blood rushed through her ears, the pill turning luminescent before her eyes, glowing unnaturally in
the cup, a bright beacon of death.

“What are the other ingredients?”

His hand tightened once more. “My nerves are wearing very thin, very fast.”

Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes unbidden, limbs starting to vibrate with the deafening call
of fight or flight pounding through her veins.

“What are you really giving me?”

He took a deep breath through his nose, closing the distance between them slowly. It took every bit
of strength to remain rooted to the spot, reassured only by the softening of his features, his voice
taking on the same patient cadence as when he calmed down Lockhart.

“It will help you get through your treatment.”

Fear gripped her throat, steadily choking her airway.

“What is it? A sedative? A stimulant?”

"You can take it on your own or I can force it down your throat."

She paled, stepping back and bumping the wall.

He sighed, shoulders dropping with some invisible weight. “I assure you, unlike Wilson I have no
desire for the latter.”

He gently shook the cup, the rattling of the pill echoing the fluttering of her heart. “Please, take
your medicine.”

She blinked, water leaking from the corners of her eyes as she reluctantly held out a trembling
hand, nearly losing her grip on the cup as he relinquished it to her.

She brought it to her mouth, maintaining eye contact with him all the while.

But his features became blurred by her tears, and for a split second another man stood before her,
another voice filled her head.

Don’t you dare, Hermione.

She closed her eyes in abject misery, tipping her head back and allowing the pill to land on her
tongue.

It tasted bitter.

Acidic.

Don't swallow it.

She swayed on her feet with the force of her heartbeat.

I have no choice…

She allowed the tablet to dissolve on her tongue for another few seconds, waiting for his response,
straining for his assurance, his advice.

For his comforting presence in her mind.

Yet only empty, endless silence greeted her.

She swallowed.

And felt the moment the poison hit her stomach.

She went rigid, eyes still closed, awaiting some ghastly transformation to take place.

And then cool fingertips gripped her chin.

"Open your mouth."

She squeezed her lids shut tighter, doing as bade.

“Lift your tongue.”

She complied, hands pressed flat against the wall at her back.

She heard him sigh, the hand releasing her.

“Good lass. Now take a seat in the lounge. I’ll come round for you in a few minutes.”

Her eyes opened, tears staining her cheeks. She wiped them dry with the backs of her hands,
refusing to break down before him, to let her mind fall victim to the delusion that he could be her
knight. That anyone here could save her.

That anyone cared at all about what happened to her.

She proceeded down the hall on stiff legs, hand pressing her middle, terrified of whatever she’d
just ingested on an empty stomach.

Her limbs already felt strange, like they were shrinking and expanding at the same time, her gait
uneven as she turned the corner and entered the designated common space.

And then she gazed up, taking in the large room and all its inhabitants.

Terror seized her once more.

Tom crumpled the letter in his hand, teeth gritted and blood boiling.

While Dolohov fell miles short of being a decent human being, he was certainly an astute lawyer,
setting a series of safeguards in place to mitigate any attempts on his life by a disgruntled client or
jealous competitor.

In the event of his death or disappearance, all of his active case files, accounts and property were to
be immediately transferred to his beneficiary pending investigation.

The contract was ironclad.

And already filed with the courts.

No one could sway a judge to overrule it, and fighting the matter would only draw more attention
to the challenger.

To Hermione.

Fuck!

He drove a fist into the side of the carriage.

“Whoa!” The driver shouted, pulling on the reins. “Everything okay down there?”

Tom forced a deep breath through his nose, pressing a hand to his mouth as he rested his elbow on
the window frame, too incensed to speak.

The carriage pulled to a stop along the curb. He suppressed a growl, sitting straight and preparing
to argue the matter when he noticed they were in fact already at their destination.

He’d spent more time than he thought reading the messy cursive of his former benefactor’s
missive.
The asylum lied just ahead, a great hulking structure atop a green, vibrant hill.

Tom descended the car, ignoring the look of trepidation the driver flashed his way after he paid,
spurring the horses on as soon as Tom stepped onto the curb.

The gates remained closed. As he drew near a guard stepped out of the small wood structure
alongside the treeline. Tom’s eyes immediately darted to his side, noting that he was also armed.

“Visiting hours aren’t til-”

“Ten. I know.” He stopped at the rod iron barrier, gazing nonchalantly through the bars. “I’m not
here to see a patient. I’m here to see the Doctor.”

“Got an appointment?”

His jaw tensed as he turned to face the uniformed man.

“I’m here to make one.”

“You have to speak to the admin about that.”

“Then I’m here to see the admin.”

The guard's beady eyes narrowed.

“What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. Thomas Riddle.” He raised his chin. “Doctor Thomas Riddle.”

The man arched a rusty colored brow, amusement playing in the creases of his eyes and mouth.

“Doctor, huh? You wouldn't happen to be the bloke who made a stir last night, would you?”

Tom tilted his head casually. "Depends on what you consider a stir."

“Storming the gates like a man possessed.”

“Funny, your associate didn’t seem at all perturbed when he accepted my money.”

The guard’s amusement quickly faded, shoulders drawing back.

“No way you’ll be able to see the Doctor today.”

“Of course not.” I’m sure he’s quite busy driving his patients further into madness. “But I would
like to speak with administration all the same.”

The man sighed heavily, shaking his head.

“Be my guest.”

He removed the keys from his belt and unlocked the gate, pulling it apart and allowing Tom to step
through.

He didn’t spare the man another glance as he started up the gravel walkway running alongside the
road. The path was steep, but his long legs made easy work of the hill. By the time he made it to
the large double doors his cheeks were flushed with color, eyes bright with intent.
Control yourself.

He took a steadying breath before pulling the handle and entering the main lobby.

The room was spacious, sterile and barren, but clean and obviously well maintained.

There were no patients wandering the premise. The only movement he detected was from the
woman seated behind a large desk at the far end of the room as she lifted her head, dark gaze
pinning him in place.

His eyes quickly scanned her form, assessing her for any signs of weakness, trying to determine his
best route of entry as he started forward, boots clicking loudly on the black and white
checkerboard tile, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

She made no movement or sound as he neared, her appearance becoming clearer with every step
forward. Her brown hair was streaked with gray, pulled back into a bun so tight it looked as though
it was pulling her face back with it. Her eyes were narrowed to slits behind her squared spectacles,
daylight glinting off the thick lenses. Her jaw was set as tightly as her hair, a masculine curve to
her facial features and shoulders.

Simply put, she looked supremely pissed off.

Tom wouldn’t have any fortitude in seducing her with his charismatic persona. Which was just as
well, as that was his least favorite mask to adorn, every forced flirtation acid on his tongue,
poisoning him from the inside out.

He much preferred when he could truly be himself.

He so seldom got to show people his true face without having to kill them after.

“Good morning, ma'am.”

She raised a brow as he came to stop on the other side of the desk, her lips pressed thin.

The silence stretched on.

He gritted his teeth.

And then she spoke, voice scathing and deep, exactly as he’d envisioned.

“My name is Ms. Cratchet.”

He breathed deep.

Of course it is.

Tom wet his lips, placing his hands in his coat pockets to hide the tightening of his fists.

“And what is the name of your physician?”

Her spine somehow became straighter, neck elongating.

“Dr. Angus Bumby.”

His gaze turned assessing at the evident pride in her voice.

Mostly because Tom had no idea who the hell this man was.

Which was alarming in and of itself. Tom knew most people in London, at least by reputation.
Especially other physicians.

He quickly racked his memory for any recollection of the name, any hint of familiarity.

But only drew a blank.

“How long has he been employed at Rutledge?”

She visibly bristled in her seat.

“And may I inquire as to the nature of these questions?” She cocked her head like a bird of prey.
“Who are you?”

“My name is Doctor Thomas Riddle. I’m the primary physician of a patient who was brought in
last night.” He inhaled slowly, determined to keep his tone even and unaffected. “Hermione
Granger. I would like to challenge the claims made against her which led to her admission.”

She set her pale hands on the desk, bony fingers intertwining.

“Would you now?”

His gaze narrowed.

She’s in on it.

Whatever it was…

But there was most certainly an it.

She tilted her head once more, the corner of her lips turning up in an awkward parody of a smirk.

“And how long has Ms. Granger been your…” Her eyes roamed him from top to bottom with
unnerving precision. “Patient?”

Heat infused his veins, blood pressure rising.

“Five years.”

Her smile grew. “I see. And you have her medical file with you?”

“I do.”

“Hm.” She leaned back in her chair. “Is there a reason her family hasn’t accompanied you today?”

A beat passed as he struggled to keep his muscles relaxed.

“She is a ward of the Commonwealth.”

“Ah yes. Of course.” She removed her hands from the desk in order to fold her arms over her chest,
amusement rapidly fading.“It seems we have a problem then, Doctor Riddle.”

He forced another slow breath. “And what is that?”

Her dark eyes gleamed with barely restrained elation behind the lenses.
“Without a legal guardian, it seems Ms. Granger has no place to go outside of the Girls Home she
was recently discharged from. Based on the statements of the matron, a judge will not see fit to
allow the patient back on public premises until a separate, unbiased assessment can be made of her
mental faculties.”

He traced the backs of his teeth with the tip of his tongue, fangs descended to lethal points.

“She has a guardian.”

Her face pinched. “That isn’t you, I presume.”

“What if they make a motion to release her?”

Her fingers drummed along her arm. “It is within their rights to do so at any time they see fit.”

Tom swallowed heavily, chest tight, suddenly conflicted in his desire. While he wanted nothing
more than to release Hermione from this prison, if he was unable to do so, perhaps it was better for
her to remain trapped, unattainable to the predators lurking outside the gate.

The question was, were there also predators lurking within these walls?

“I want to-” he stopped short, quickly recalibrating at the haughty look in her eyes. “May I see
her?”

She tipped her chin up, staring down her nose even as he continued to tower above her.

“Visiting hours don’t begin until ten.”

“I’ll wait.”

She straightened once more, hands folding primly atop her lap.

“There’s no need, Doctor. Unfortunately, Ms. Granger will be unable to see any visitors until next
week.”

He blinked, rearing back.

“What?”

“Dr. Bumby feels that outside visitation detracts from the success of treatment. At least at the
onset.”

She smiled brightly, teeth straight and gleaming. “We must prevent any distractions from getting in
the way of our patient’s recuperation.”

His resolve snapped with an audible crack.

In the next breath he was surging forward, slamming his hands on the counter with such force the
entire desk skid across the dizzying tile, causing her to gasp and push back in her seat, eyes wide
and face bloodless.

His eyes smoldered with predatory intent. He didn’t hold any facet of his murderous expression
back, allowing the full force of his presence to saturate into her bones, rendering her motionless.

“Then I would like to meet with the esteemed Dr. Bumby.”

She swallowed heavily, eyes still parted wide, as though afraid to blink.

“H-he’s b-booked solid today.”

“Of course he is.”

His words were laced with a sinister rumble. She swallowed once more.

"But I can p-probably find a brief window of opportunity tomorrow."

“Give me a time and I’ll be here.”

She finally tore her gaze away, scrambling for a leather-bound journal to her right, flipping it open
and rapidly turning papers with clumsy fingers.

She settled on a page at last, eyes rapidly scanning the neat cursive filling the paper.

“His first availability is at three o'clock.”

His jaw tensed.

“I look forward to meeting with him then.”

She nodded quickly, meeting his gaze once more. He held it in silence before pushing away from
the desk and straightening his dark coat.

“Good day, Ms. Cratchet.”

She nodded mutely, gripping the journal with white knuckles.

He backed away a few paces before turning around and striding for the door at a leisurely pace,
taking in every nuance of the building while his mind ran through a dozen different scenarios at
once, putting together a piecemeal plan to occupy his time until tomorrow.

If his brief and unpleasant encounter with the secretary had taught him one thing it was that the
facility was obviously hiding something.

Why else go out of their way to prevent patients from communicating with the outside world?
What treatment, mental or physical, was improved by utter seclusion?

No…

They had another agenda. Needed to bide their time to either load patients so full of drugs they
couldn’t determine fict from fact or instill some other means of intimidation to ensure their silence.

And while Tom was basing most of this largely on dark speculation, his general distrust in the
world and the people comprising it was born from decades of first-hand experience, giving rise to a
set of instincts that rarely failed him.

And right now, every instinct was deeply unsettled.

He opened the door, exiting the sterile, oppressive space and stepping out onto the stone steps
leading to the green, perfectly manicured lawn.

A pretty gem meant to be enjoyed by passing pedestrians, not the patients within.
He started down the hill once more, looking forward to his meeting tomorrow. He didn’t know
what to expect from the Doctor. But one thing was for absolute certain…

The next time Tom exited the asylum, it would be with Hermione in tow.

And no one would stop him.

But in the meantime, he was going to find out exactly who the hell the esteemed Angus Bumby
was.

While making sure her new guardian never crossed paths with the man.

Hermione shrank back in the chair, gazing about the room with open fear in her eyes.

A few patients paced about the floor in a manic state. Shaking, rocking and shouting.

But they didn’t scare her.

No. It was the quiet ones who instilled terror in her heart.

For the majority of the room’s occupants sat motionless, eyes dim and vacant, complexions waxen,
bodies nothing but empty shells without a trace of expression or personality, no signs of life beyond
a beating heart and expanding lungs.

She wondered how many were actually sick, truly troubled at the time of their admission. She
wondered which ones were once like her, victims of circumstance, wrongly accused, drugged
against their will.

She wondered how long it would be before she also became a lifeless shell.

A doll.

She squirmed in her seat.

Maybe this was preferable. Maybe drugs were the only way to make the visions stop.

Is it better to live with the dead haunting me, or to become a member of the living dead myself?

The unnerving thought caused her heart to race. She pressed a hand to her chest absently, the
familiar pang lancing through its center.

It was then she noticed her vision was starting to shift. Stationary objects began to move. The tiles
danced along the floor.

She blinked, rubbing her eyes.

The sudden click of footsteps pulled her concentration to the doorway.

The mustached orderly entered the room, glancing around briefly before his gaze settled on her
huddled figure.

“Alright, Granger. You’re up.”

She made no movement, said nothing, but something in her posture must have spoken volumes,
because a moment later he was sighing deeply, crossing towards her with a heavy scowl.
“Shite. I told them you only needed half a pill. You weigh as much as a feather.”

She wet her lips.

“What…” Her tongue felt too large for her mouth. “What is happening?”

He shook his head, leaning down and grabbing her arm, pulling her to her feet.

She immediately listed into his side, vertigo seizing her with both hands, tilting the earth on its
axis.

“Fucking hell,” he mumbled, raising her arm and draping it over his neck as he slid an arm around
her waist. She gasped, wanting to retreat but unable to command her feet.

“You’re alright, luv.” His voice was slower, more patient. “The onset is the hardest part.” He
hauled her up the rest of the way as she watched the wallpaper melt. “Here we go.”

They managed to stumble forward a few feet before a new voice halted them.

“McGill!”

She went rigid at his side, stomach-turning violently at the dreaded sound. She felt him sigh deeply
and heard it a moment later, senses unaligned.

“What?” He snapped, glancing sharply over his shoulder.

“Where you taking her?”

She cringed, averting her face as the voice drew near, footsteps echoing behind them.

“To her first treatment session.”

A dark shadow passed along the wall, gargoyle wings at its back. A moment later it dashed across
the floor, merging with the hulking figure now standing at her other side, his close proximity
causing her skin to twitch and crawl.

“I’ll escort her.”

She swallowed thickly, clinging to the mustached orderly's side, vertigo increasing ten-fold.

“I don’t think so.”

She sagged into him fully, boneless with relief.

Wilson stepped closer yet, tension radiating from his form in powerful waves, making her hair
stand on end.

“What?”

“You heard me. You’re on assignment downstairs, you have no business taking her anywhere.”

A brief pause.

“I switched with Dougle.”

“And why did you do that?”

Wilson exhaled, hot breath cascading across her neck. She pushed further into McGill’s side.

“I can’t stomach that fat bitch. Thinks she's the bloody Duchess of Kent, dragging her creepy baby
doll around, changing its nappies like a fucking lunatic.”

Another sigh reverberated beneath her cheek. “This is an asylum, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I just needed a break.”

“Is that so?” The arm tightened around her side. “And it had nothing to do with the fact Dougle
was originally scheduled to take Granger in?”

Wilson clenched his jaw. “I thought you were going to be working the clinic today.”

“There was a change of plan. Bumby wants me to assist.”

“I can assist him.”

“He didn’t ask for you. And I’m done having this conversation.” McGill’s words became clipped,
heated. “We both know why you’re really here.”

He pulled her back, away from the other man even as he leaned forward to address him more
closely.

“You’re going to stay clear of this girl, you understand? She’s under Bumby’s care, you lay a hand
on her and he’ll chop it off.” His eyes narrowed, voice hissing in a stream of smoke. “And if I catch
you violating his orders, I won’t hesitate to report it.”

Wilson’s complexion turned mottled red, chest expanding. “Fuck off.”

McGill nodded. “Precisely.”

And then his arm was tightening around her once more as he hauled her forward. Her feet shuffled
clumsily, desperate to keep up, to put as much distance as possible between them and the man
seething at their back.

After a few moments she glanced up, vision tunneling in and out.

“Thank you.”

He kept his eyes averted forward.

“Don’t bother. I’m protecting my own hide as much as yours.”

She nodded weakly, dizziness swelling with the effort.

“All the same,” she whispered, glancing down, only to watch the tiles rearrange themselves rapidly
before her eyes, making her stomach turn.

They continued across the room without exchanging another word. She glanced upward, hoping
the ceiling would inspire less nausea, only to gape in bewilderment at the grey clouds hovering
overhead.

She blinked rapidly, tripping over her feet, held aloft only by his supporting arm.

Am I dreaming?
Everything felt fuzzy, distant.

What the hell was in that pill?

“What…” Her voice faded as he pushed through a set of swinging doors, emerging in a long and
narrow hallway.

He continued to drag her towards the large metal barrier at the opposite end.

As ominous as it appeared, her focus was sealed to the ceiling, watching the dark clouds continue
to blossom overhead, blinking rapidly as a dense rain started to fall.

She followed its descent, flinching as heavy drops fell upon them, coating her shoulders and hair.

Only it wasn’t rain at all…

It was ash.

Her legs gave out entirely.

“Do…” she wet her lips, tongue swollen. “Do you see it?”

The words made sense in her head but came out a jumbled mess. He made no attempt to respond,
reaching the metal door and pulling it open, shuffling their forms over the threshold and into the
massive room beyond.

It was an industrial space without dividing walls or ceiling, exposed beams in the roof. The clouds
followed their path, quickly forming along the rafters, blocking out the windows and smothering
the daylight.

The cement floor was littered with medical equipment. Tables with straps and stirrups, carts
brimming with strange tools and sheet covered trays. Most of the items appeared dated, rusted
over, like walking through a museum of old world medicine.

She knew she should feel unbridled terror at the sight, but she was dissociated from her emotions,
her mind. She felt trapped within a body that wasn’t hers, no longer in control of her limbs or
senses.

“You’re late.”

The voice sent a chill along her spine, bones turning to ice. McGill stiffened at her side, stopping in
his tracks, arm tensing painfully at her waist.

“My apologies, Sir. Took a bit longer to get her mobile. The medicine hit her hard.”

Clipped footsteps drew near, the Doctor emerging as though springing from the shadows
themselves.

She met his gaze.

And reared back, blinking rapidly.

Black ink streamed from his eyes, tracking down his face like tears.

He tipped his head up, inspecting her closely, dark liquid running from his mouth and over his
chin, dripping from his sharp jawline onto the crisp white of his shirt.
“Perhaps I should have halved her dose.”

He drew closer, hands in his pockets, posture at ease. She tried to scramble back but her legs were
rubber, knees bending backward like a locust.

"Good morning, Ms. Granger. I was hoping to have this conversation before the drugs took effect,
but it seems we will have to make do with what we have."

He tilted his head toward the opposite end of the room.

“Take her to table.” He turned on his heel, walking away. “Prepare her.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to scream and rage, but only a broken croak emitted.

McGill proceeded to drag her lifeless corpse across the floor, only to groan in frustration halfway
there, leaning down and scooping an arm beneath her legs, carrying her bridal style to the far wall
and laying her upon a cold, metal table.

And then he began unbuttoning her dress.

She squirmed beneath his hands, raising her own in an attempt to push him away, missing her
target entirely as she grasped at the open air, depth perception gone.

“Calm down,” he instructed, the simple command causing her arms to fall limp at her sides as he
continued his task unabated. “I’m just stripping you to your shift.”

She swallowed heavily, staring blankly at the open roof, watching the ash rain beat down upon her,
clouding her vision, coating the room in a veil of darkness.

And then she jolted at the sound of scraping metal, the high pitch whine echoing all around her,
setting her nerve endings aflame as she cringed away from the deafening wale.

It stopped all at once, steady footsteps quick to follow, and then the sound of rushing water.

She turned her head to glimpse the commotion but couldn’t see past McGill's body as he continued
to strip her.

His movements slowed as he pulled the high collar away from her neck. His fingertip grazed the
sensitive skin, causing her to flinch. His hand moved away, eyes latching onto hers.

“I don’t remember seeing those last night.”

She blinked.

He gestured to the violet colored welts on her throat.

Memories came flooding back to her in a powerful rush, overtaking her entirely. She was no longer
laid out on a cold metal slab…

She was in a cemetary, gazing up at stars-

She closed her lids, forcing the imagery to the far recesses of her mind, tears overspilling her eyes
and soaking into her hairline.

“Let me guess,” he continued lowly, resuming his task and pulling her dress from her shoulders.
“You rolled around with a married man, his wife found out and had you carted away?”
Her eyes snapped open.

He smirked.

“I’m joking.”

He shrugged lightly, carefully pulling her arms free of the three-quarter sleeves.

“Kind of.”

“McGill.”

He froze in place, hands still holding her limbs aloft.

“Sir?”

“I’ve told you, do not converse with the patients once they’re into the second phase.”

McGill cleared his throat, glancing away from her face.

“My apologies, Sir. I didn’t realize she’d already progressed.”

“She’s clearly incoherent.” The sound of pouring water filled the air once more. “Get her suited.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He finished stripping her in silence, chilled air greeting her naked arms. She continued to gaze
upward, watching lightning split the dark sky.

Not lightning...

Flame.

Fire lashed through the clouds like an orange whip.

McGill sighed, setting her dress aside before leaning down and grabbing something off the shelf
beneath the table. A moment later he was pulling a stiff garment over her head.

A dark vest.

He tightened the straps at the front.

“She’s ready, Sir.”

“Good.” A beat. “Bring me the thermometer.”

Her heart skipped as she turned her head once more, this time glimpsing the Doctor’s blurred form
as he moved back and forth with something in his hand. And then McGill was at his side, handing
over a long glass thermometer. She braced herself, blinking in confusion as the Doctor turned his
back on her and proceeded in the opposite direction.

He stopped before a large metal tub bolted to the cement at the center of the room, kneeling down
and placing the thermometer within. He tilted his head, studying the reading.

“Bring it up another ten degrees.” He stood, wiping his glistening hands on his pant leg. “And
double check the ph level.”
“Yes, Sir.”

She held her breath as the Doctor started a path towards her, grabbing something off a nearby table
along his way. She tried to scoot back on instinct, limbs weak, unbalanced, her shoulders quickly
colliding with the stone wall.

He lorded above her, eyes gleaming pits of tar in his pale, chiseled face, black bile oozing from
every orifice like blood, dripping down upon her, acidic and grotesque.

“There is no need to be frightened, Hermione. I am merely going to check your blood pressure
before we begin.”

The hands that reached for her were tipped with gleaming talons, the fingertips stained black as
though dipped in ink. She watched in abject horror as he fastened the cuff around her naked bicep,
recalling the moment when Tom performed the same procedure upon her.

Not Tom.

He was Doctor Riddle then.

How long ago that felt. Another lifetime. Another girl.

Were Tom and Doctor Riddle really the same man?

She sensed movement in the corner, breaking her free of the musing. She glanced to the side and
spotted the dark outline of a familiar nightmare. She quickly looked away, not sure which ghostly
vision disturbed her more, and whether these haunting apparitions were born from her mind, the
drug, or some combination of the two.

“I can see you’re experiencing hallucinations.”

Her gaze flickered back to the Doctor.

He began pumping the cuff tighter, her circulation waning.

“That is to be expected. I assure you, whatever you are seeing is merely a figment of your
imagination.” He tilted his head, reading the dial through eyeless, gleaming sockets. “And also the
point of today’s exercise.”

She inhaled sharply as the cuff finally loosened.

He nodded to himself, removing it entirely.

“Very good.”

He set the tool aside, focusing upon her once more. Flames tore through the tempest overhead,
illuminating the clouds while ash and embers continued to rain down upon them.

“Are you familiar with sensory deprivation chambers, my dear?”

She swallowed heavily, only to discover her throat was sealed.

"You are going to be inside of one today. However, you will still be able to hear my voice. I am
going to lead you through a guided journey into the depths of your own psyche."

Tears welled within her eyes once more, further obscuring her vision.
“Rest assured, the experience is completely painless.”

He visage was now completely drenched in a glistening mask of congealed ink.

“And profoundly enlightening. The goal of this session is to gain a deeper insight into the inner
workings of your mind, searching for the root of these troublesome visions plaguing you.”

He rested his hands along the edge of the table, claws scraping along the metal surface.

“Once we find the cause, we can remedy your affliction at its source.”

His smile revealed a row of gleaming, pointed teeth.

“I have performed this treatment countless times, and though no two sessions are identical, it never
fails to unlock the subconscious mind.”

He gazed down upon her for another handful of fleeting heartbeats. She wondered if such madness
was fatal.

“McGill,” he spoke at last.

There was a brief shuffling to their side.

“The water is ready, Sir.”

“Excellent.” He stepped away at last. “Put her in.”

As the orderly reappeared and slid his arms beneath her she grasped at smoke tendrils in the air,
watching the dark clouds dissipate through her fingers.

She blinked and they were suddenly transported across the room, standing before the large metal
tank set into the floor.

She blinked again and McGill was leaning forward, dipping her bare feet into the water up to her
ankles.

She gasped desperately, clinging tightly to his shoulders.

“It’s alright,” he whispered in her ear, submerging her calves and knees, the bottom of her shift
soaked through. “The vest will keep you at the surface. And we’ll be right outside the entire-”

“What did I say about talking to her?”

He swallowed thickly, muscles tensing beneath her clinging hands.

And then his arms were releasing her entirely.

She screamed.

Or tried to, limbs thrashing wildly in the warm, salty water, unable to find purchase, unable to tread
properly.

I’m going to drown.

And they’re going to watch.

“Hermione.” The Doctor walked to the edge of the tank, voice calm and steady. “Be still.”
His words had a powerful and immediate effect, something cold racing along her spine, infusing
her limbs with lead, the weight too heavy to overcome.

He tilted his head, the black pools centered in his sockets gleaming brightly beneath the flames
exploding overhead.

“Good girl.”

Her stomach clenched painfully as she continued to bob in the water, the vest doing as promised
and keeping her at the surface.

His smile was death. His words the last voice she’d ever hear in this life.

“Let’s begin.”

She opened and closed her mouth, unable to speak, unable to process the look McGill flashed her
before stealing his expression and reaching down to grasp a large metal handle protruding from the
edge of the tank.

Screeching metal filled her head once more as a solar eclipse began overhead.

No…

It was a lid.

The tank had a cover.

They were locking her inside.

Her tears dropped into the pool, mixing and dispersing until she was swimming in a vat of her own
misery.

The darkness began to close in rapidly, taking the clouds and ash along with the light.

Her eyes clung to every visible item in turn, but she couldn't bear to gaze upon the Doctor, couldn't
allow him to be the final thing she saw of this world.

So her focus moved to the figure hovering beyond his shoulder, still housed within the shadow-
strewn corner.

Dolohov’s eyeless sockets held her steady as the black abyss pulled her into its waiting depths.

Ginny bit her lip, moving to the corner of the market to covertly count the remaining shillings in
her coin purse.

Only to groan.

Shite.

She'd spent too much on grain, which meant she was going to have to get half the produce her
mother requested.

And would be hearing about it for the rest of the evening.

She snapped the purse shut and tucked it back into her pocket, spinning on her heel to resume her
shopping, only to gasp and stagger back, nearly colliding with a fruit stand.

The woman standing before her smiled coyly, dark brown eyes slowly scanning her form from
bottom to top, making her skin prickle as though caressed by a physical touch.

“Ginevra Weasley.”

Ginny blinked quickly, flushing brightly and stepping away from the stand, cringing as apples
rolled to the ground at her feet.

“Lady Parkinson.”

She dipped into a clumsy curtsy, nearly losing her grip on her basket.

The woman’s smile deepened.

“That’s my mother’s title. And half the time she’s too sloshed to answer to it. I insist you call me
Pansy.”

Ginny blinked again, rising to her full height.

“Pansy,” she repeated, voice low and unsure, wetting her lips and willing her nerves to settle.

She was beginning to feel more foolish by the second, especially in the wake of the other woman’s
immaculate presence. Pansy wore a silk gown of vibrant magenta, complimenting her milky skin
and ebony hair beautifully, though it was certainly an extravagant ensemble for the neighborhood
market.

She also carried a wicker basket filled with fresh, colorful blooms of all variety, making her into an
unmistakable beacon of vibrancy that drew the eye of everyone who passed.

But what had Ginny’s stomach twisting in the tightest knot was the piercing look Pansy directed
upon her, unwavering in its focus. Ginny scrambled to think of something to say as the silence
pressed upon her like a physical weight.

“What brings you out this way, La-” she stopped short, fidgeting with her basket. “Pansy?”

The brunette tipped her head, eyes roaming her face with unnerving precision even as she lifted her
own basket higher.

“I enjoy purchasing the floral arrangements for my home myself. I have a certain eye for color I
don’t entrust with anyone else.”

Ginny nodded, gaze drifting to the sweetheart neckline of the vibrant gown, her blush spreading
like fire to a field.

“You certainly have an eye for fashion.”

“Compliments will get you everywhere, luv.”

Ginny pulled her focus back up, meeting her dark eyes and feeling strangely light-headed. She
tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear and held her breath as Pansy stepped closer.

“And what brings you to the market?”

Ginny blinked.
Market?

Oh, that’s right. They were still in the public square.

She cleared her throat, glancing into her basket at the household staples she’d already procured.

"Oh, I do the weekly shopping. Usually, my brothers would come along but now that they've
moved out it’s…” She bit her lip, shaking her head. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“Don’t apologize. I assure you, I have no trouble exiting conversations I no longer wish to be a part
of.”

Ginny gnawed on her bottom lip some more, heart stuttering as the other woman’s gaze flickered
down and tracked the movement. She licked her lips on instinct, rocking back on her heels as
Pansy’s pupils expanded rapidly.

“I doubt I’m all that interesting company, not compared to what you’re used to.”

“As I said,” Pansy arched a dark, manicured brow, eyes flickering upward. “If I didn’t want to be
standing here, I wouldn’t be.”

Her smirk deepened, lips stained the same magnificent shade as her dress.

“Have you eaten lunch?”

Ginny blinked, thoughts scattering at the unexpected question.

“Lunch?”

Her blush bled down her neck.

“Um… no.”

“Neither have I. Come grab a bite with me, my treat. We can gossip about our friends, it’ll be
endless fun.”

Ginny smiled lightly, shifting from foot to foot as she grasped her basket with both hands.

“I don’t really… I mean, I wouldn’t know any of the same people as you.”

Pansy tilted her head, eyes carefully roaming her figure, making Ginny hyper-aware of the utter
plainness of her ill-fitting garment.

“You’re starting your Season this fall?”

The question was simple enough, but it sent Ginny reeling down a dark pit of panic. She shifted
anxiously, throat closing up.

“I don’t- we haven’t-” She swallowed heavily. “I’m not sure yet.”

A knowing glint sparked in the depths of her companion’s gaze. “In other words, you aren’t sure
whether your parents will force you to participate against your will?”

Ginny’s rising dread instantly quelled. She laughed nervously.

“Pretty much.”
“It seems we have far more in common than you think.” Her smile sharpened with an edge of
intent. “Come to lunch with me, Ginevra. I’ll teach you everything you need to know about proper
London society. And most importantly, everything about the improper side. You won’t just be
ready to face your Season, you’ll be ready to conquer it.”

She winked.

“On the off chance you’re forced to walk the plank.”

Ginny had unconsciously leaned forward with every word, the cadence of the sultry voice
containing some tangible magnetism that drew upon her very core.

But alas, her mother’s voice rang even louder in her head.

She sighed, settling back on her heels.

“I’m supposed to be home-”

“Would you rather go home or have lunch with me?”

The inquiry took her off guard, which seemed to be a pattern of late. She enjoyed the unexpected
twists and turns of their conversation, even as it unsettled her.

“I… I would rather have lunch, obviously, but-”

“Then you should.”

Pansy took another step forward, the full plume of her skirts pressing into Ginny’s front, making
her knees quake.

"As women, we so seldom are afforded the luxury of doing what we want when we want to do it.”

Her tongue darted out and traced her bottom lip, holding Ginny’s blue eyes captive.

“So the question isn’t truly one of lunch. It’s one of principle. One of identity. Are you going to
play the doting daughter who never strays from the marked path, or are you going to venture
outside the lines and claim a bit of adventure for yourself?”

Ginny blinked slowly, eyes still fixed upon her bright lips, a great pressure swelling within her
chest, threatened to shatter her ribs in its desperate haste to break free.

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the basket with all her strength, the rest of the bustling
market blurring around them, only Pansy’s face in stunning clarity.

“I’m going to lunch.”

Ginny met her eyes just in time to see something wild unfurl within, breathtaking in its raw desire,
fading away as quickly as it appeared.

“Splendid.”

Pansy turned on her heel, sliding her arm through Ginny’s, linking their limbs and pressing their
hips side by side as she began to lead her down the aisle of stands towards the main road.

“Do you like French? Cuisine, that is. The people are another matter entirely.”
Ginny stumbled, leaning into Pansy’s side for stability. “Oh, I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever
had proper French food.”

“It’s decided then. I know the most scenic little bistro not far from here.”

She gazed upon Ginny’s freckled profile, eyes a searing brand drawing her focus like a magnet.
Their eye met and Ginny stumbled again, blush scorching across her skin like a fever.

“Everyone must sample a delicacy at least once before they can make up their mind on the matter.”

Ginny nodded, barely hearing the words and too overwhelmed to process them anyway. She had to
replay them in her head twice before finding her voice.

“I’m excited to try it.” She glanced down at her unassuming outfit. “But I’m not really dressed for
a fancy restaurant.”

Pansy smirked, stopping in her tracks and prompting Ginny to do the same. She swayed on her feet
as the brunette unlinked their arms, heart heavy at the notion of their afternoon excursion falling by
the wayside because of her plain appearance.

She cursed her hand-me-down wardrobe, her deep seeded shame of being the youngest child of a
notoriously destitute Peerage family burning a path of fire through her veins.

She awaited Pansy’s rejection, her acknowledgment of Ginny’s less than proper attire and
mannerisms.

Instead, she blinked in confusion as Pansy glanced into her basket of colorful bouquets, delicate
fingers thumbing through the blossoms before carefully extracting a white peony, bringing it to
Ginny’s face and holding it beside her cheek.

Ginny held her breath, watching in utter intrigue as Pansy studied the bloom with great
concentration before giving a short shake of her head, quickly depositing the flower back into the
basket.

She continued to rummage through bushels of orange, pink, and violet before her lips curled into a
breathtaking smile that had Ginny swaying on her feet once more.

She extracted a vibrant purple morning glory and held it beside Ginny’s face, knuckles brushing
along her chin as the satin petals traced her cheekbone.

Her heart stuttered as Pansy broke off the base of the stem and skillfully inserted the bloom into
her haphazard braid crown, fingers lingering on the vibrant red strands that had fallen free, twirling
them around her fingers before letting the loose curls gently settle along her shoulders and neck.

Pansy gazed upon her handiwork for another long beat before meeting Ginny’s eye, holding her
gaze in silence, the air around them alive, sparking, making her nerve endings sizzle.

“Perfect,” she whispered, sweet breath ghosting off Ginny’s lips. “Now your dress won't matter,
because no one will be able to take their eyes off your face.”

Ginny swallowed audibly, feeling faint.

And then Pansy stepped back, eyes gleaming more brightly than the blooms in her basket as she
linked their arms once again and led the way without another word.
Tom cut a quick line up the stone steps, wrenching open the large wooden door of the Home.

Only to stop short at the sight of a dozen young women in the entry hall, the feminine buzz of
conversation ceasing at once, nervous eyes darting towards him as they scurried back.

He blinked.

Then raised a brow.

“Good afternoon.”

Most averted their gazes, but a brazen few nodded in reply, a couple even mumbling a greeting
back.

He tilted his head, glancing from one charge to the next.

“Is something wrong?”

Silence greeted him.

He gritted his molars, impatience setting in, causing a faint ringing in his ears as frustration and
exhaustion wore his resolve into a transparent sheet of glass, set to shatter at the slightest
provocation.

“I take it you are all in the entrance hall for a reason?” He forced his voice to remain slow and
steady, his mask of reassurance haphazardly hung in place, blocking his predatory visage from
view. “Is someone hurt?”

An older girl cleared her throat, shifting forward. Her friends clustered at her back, glancing at her
anxiously as she bit her lip and met his eye.

“We just…”

Tom forcibly quelled his desire to urge her on faster, waiting out her nervous shuffling.

“We just wondered where the Matron is, Sir.” Her eyes darted to the ground. “She wasn’t at
breakfast and Filch-” She twined her fingers tightly together. “Filch seems rather disturbed.”

Tom rubbed his eyes in fatigue.

“That's a massive understatement.”

A chorus of laughter rang out, giggles hidden behind hands, anxiety breaking like ice beneath a
pick as the girls shifted along the walls, whispering to each other.

He drew in a deep breath, speaking to the room at large.

“I assure you all, there is nothing to worry about. I will see to your welfare until such a time that
the Matron can be found or replaced.”

The whispers grew excited.

Only to break off into a series of sharp gasps as a new sound echoed through the large hall.

Filch rounded the corner like a man possessed, scowl already in place before he even glanced Tom.
But the moment he spotted him, murder erupted in his eyes.

“You!”

Tom sighed, gazing upon the residents.

“Everyone, return to your dorms. Chores are on hold until I say otherwise.”

“You aren’t in charge here!”

The girls looked nervously between the men.

Tom raised a dark brow.

“You’re absolutely right. Perhaps we should allow them to decide who they’d rather obey?”

The residents shared a loaded glance before the girl who addressed him earlier nodded quickly.

“We’ll return to our rooms. Thank you, Doctor.”

She ushered the others through the corridor at their backs.

Tom waited until they disappeared from sight before starting across the room himself, indifferent
to the shouting at his back.

“What did you do to her?”

The man’s loud panting and broken gait followed him down the hall as he struggled to keep up.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to notice her absence.”

“Where is she?”

He could barely contain his smirk, continuing to face forward as he strode past the dining hall.

“How should I know?”

“I know you did something to her! I’m going to the Yard!”

Tom glimpsed several girls along the way, scattering to hide from view. He wasn’t used to seeing
so many residents wandering the grounds so freely. He imagined they weren’t used to such
autonomy either.

“You’re welcome to. Of course, if the Matron is truly missing then they’ll need to open an official
investigation.”

He turned the corner, aware of the young ears straining to listen in. “Which may also lead to a
multitude of other discoveries.”

Filch paled at his back, missing a step.

“I… I don’t-”

“Of course not.” Tom started down the hallway leading to the clinic. “I doubt anyone would
mistake you as intelligent enough to be a proper accomplice.”

He paused outside the door, glancing over his shoulder at last, awarding the man the full splendor
of his lethal grin.

“However you are the perfect candidate for accessory after the fact.”

Filch staggered to a stop, swaying on his feet.

“Who are you?”

Tom sighed, pulling open the door.

“Why do people keep asking me that?”

He shook his head, stepping inside, waiting until the man followed him over the threshold to spring
his attack.

The moment the door closed at Filch’s back Tom grabbed him by the collar and shoved him into
the wall, face placid and voice calm.

“I debated what to do with you, Mr. Filch. I strongly considered killing you outright.”

The man sputtered even as his limbs went lax with terror, making no attempt to escape.

“However, while the Madam is indisposed the Home still needs basic administration. Tasks I have
no time or desire to undertake. Given your close relationship to her, I entrust you will be able to
maintain the facility in her leave, at least in the short term."

Filch’s gaping mouth continued to hang wide. Tom tilted his head.

“Unless you’d prefer the alternative?”

“No!” He shouted at last, raising his trembling hands in surrender. “I can keep the Home running! I
know which accounts to pay!”

Tom's gaze narrowed. “Very good.”

He released him, stepping away from the wall as he started for his desk.

“Now I’m sure I don’t need to warn you what will happen if you try and notify the Lestranges of
our arrangement. I will find out, and I will torture you to within an inch of your life. And if you
think they have the ability or desire to protect you from such a fate, you are sorely mistaken.”

Filch shook his head frantically, pulling at his collar. “I won’t say nothin to em!”

“Wonderful.” Tom began to shrug free of his dark coat. “And now for the second condition.”

He threw the garment over the back of the leather chair. “You are to have absolutely no interaction
with any of the residents.” His eyes flashed as he met the man’s wide gaze. “Of any kind.” He
began to roll up his sleeves. “Under any circumstance.”

A heavy beat of silence filled the air.

“Understand?”

Filch nodded, sinking into the wall.

“Perfect.” Tom smiled brightly, unfastening the top button of his shirt. “Then I foresee an amicable
working relationship, Mr. Filch.”

He pulled the chair away from the desk.

“I look forward to not having to kill you. I already have a very busy afternoon ahead of me.”

He folded gracefully into the seat, smile dissipating in a dark puff of smoke, the final mask falling
away at last.

“Now get out.”

Filch wasted no time sprinting for the door, nearly losing his footing across the stone tile before
wrenching it open.

“And don’t disturb me.”

He went rigid, meeting Tom’s eyes once more.

“Yes, Sir.”

And then he was throwing himself into the hall, the door closing with a deafening click at his back,
settling Tom’s wrought nerves.

He took a deep, cleansing breath.

Solitude.

At last.

His eyes briefly closed as weariness saturated his limbs.

But he forced his lids open a moment later.

There would be time for sleep another time.

He had work to do.

Starting with uncovering everything he could about the mysterious Angus Bumby before
tomorrow’s meeting.

He pulled open a drawer and extracted a sheet of clean parchment, setting it atop the center of the
gleaming wood as he slid the inkwell closer.

As he reached for a pen a heavy knock sounded at the door.

Fucking hell.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, the knock resounding a second time, louder and more frantic.

He knew Filch would cut off his own hand before risking Tom’s ire, especially following his final
warning.

Which meant it was a resident.

It’s like herding cats.

He pushed away from the desk with a heavy groan, reminding himself that the majority were only
children and still in need of medical care.

That was his job after all.

At least technically.

He took several steadying breaths on the way to the entrance, desperately trying to slip one of his
masks back into place. It didn’t matter which one at this point. Anything to hide the lethal intent in
his eyes, the scathing cadence of his voice as his patience finally gave way entirely, the third round
of eager banging ringing through his head like a war drum.

He pulled open the barrier, biting his tongue to prevent snapping at whatever innocent young girl
awaited him on the other side.

Only for his hand to clutch the brass knob until his knuckles turned white, spine arching back with
the force of his shock.

For it wasn’t a resident staring back at him at all.

It took his exhausted mind several seconds to process the scene before him, to accept the reality
that this wasn't some stress-induced hallucination.

The man on the other side of the threshold stared at him in silence, silver eyes gleaming brightly.

At long last, Tom recuperated his voice, lip throbbing with the phantom sensation of a fist colliding
against it.

“Malfoy…”

And then his eyes drifted to the second figure in the hallway, hovering close at the man’s back.

Tom’s arm fell away from the door, pulse racing even as his thoughts slowed, an insurmountable
pressure pushing against his chest and expelling the air from his lungs.

The blonde shifted, tension radiating from his rigid form in visible shockwaves.

“I didn't know where else to go.” He swallowed thickly, voice rusted over. “Where to take her.”

Tom’s hands clenched repeatedly as he tore his focus away from the young woman to the young
aristocrat, holding his deeply troubled gaze steady as the ground trembled at their feet, jagged
cracks splitting across the stone walls, dust clouds swelling in the air as rubble fell all around them.

He wet his lips and took a step back.

“Come in.”

Ginny bit her lip as Pansy ordered their meals in perfect French, watching with unbridled
fascination and awe as she handed their menus to the finely dressed waiter with pristine grace, even
her tiniest of gestures steeped in finely tuned etiquette.

From the moment they stepped inside the high-end bistro Ginny felt sorely out of place, not only
because of her clothing but her overall mannerisms, or rather, lack thereof.

Her mother had taught her the basics of table etiquette, but with six brothers and no governess in
sight, she was fighting an uphill battle.
Especially since her only daughter had never given two shites about social decorum, taking great
joy in turning up her nose at such conventions.

Until now.

For Ginny desperately wanted to impress Pansy… and knew she held absolutely no chance of
doing so.

She couldn’t even read the menu.

Alas, so far Pansy had made no comment, overt or underhanded, regarding Ginny’s obvious lack
of fine dining experience. In fact, she hadn’t said much of anything since they sat down, instead
electing to pin Ginny beneath her all-consuming stare, rendering her even more nervous than she
already was.

She rubbed absently at her arm, glancing around the richly adorned patrons while desperately
scrambling for a topic of conversation that wouldn’t result in her chronic foot-in-mouth disease.

“My brother Bill was stationed in France for a few months last year.”

She wet her lips, running her fingertip over the creamy soft table linen, suspecting it cost more than
her finest dress at home, excluding Harry’s gift.

“He became completely taken with a nurse out there and has been courting her ever since. He
wants to bring her home for Christmas but I think he’s nervous our family will overwhelm her.”
She shook her head ruefully. “We can be a bit overbearing.”

She took a deep breath, wondering why in the hell she felt compelled to share that story, her blush
joining them at the table.

And yet Pansy leaned forward, folding her hands beneath her chin as though settling in for the
conversation.

“Your family loves each other very much.”

Ginny blinked, meeting the woman’s watchful gaze with surprise.

“Of course.”

Pansy smiled. But this one was different from the others, the edges tinged in sadness.

Ginny leaned back, feeling foolish for discussing such a topic over lunch and grasping for
something new.

“I saw your wedding announcement in the paper.” She reached for her teacup, a slight tremor in
her hand. “Congratulations.”

Pansy’s smile turned brittle. Ginny brought the cup to her lips, desperate for something to occupy
herself, a strange tension seeping into the air.

“Thank you, darling.” The brunette tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “And do you have a beau?”

Ginny choked on the liquid, sputtering tea into her fist as she coughed, eyes tearing.

“Me?” She croaked, shaking her head quickly. “No.”

Her dining companion arched a dark brow. “What about Potter?”

Ginny blinked. “Harry? What about him?”

Pansy smirked, eyes glinting.

“I happen to know for a fact he isn’t the object of Granger’s affection, but the two of you seemed
rather close at the Naval party.”

Ginny laughed, chest loosening at the mere notion. “Harry’s like a brother to me. I mean, my mum
used to hope we’d end up together, but that was when we were kids.”

“And did you ever hope you’d end up together?”

Ginny’s amusement faded as she squirmed in her seat, glancing at the liquid in her cup.

“Honestly…”

Pansy leaned in further.

“I've never really… liked… anyone…. like that.”

The brunette wet her lips slowly, sitting back with a hooded gaze.

“No one?”

Ginny's heart stuttered, face aflame.

“All I’ve ever really wanted is to ride horses.”

Pansy’s low laughter rang all around like church bells. “That dream seems rather attainable.”

Ginny smiled as well, bashfully meeting her eye once more.

“I’d like to live on a ranch. Away from London. Away from Seasons and balls and expectations.”
She inhaled deeply, holding the breath in her lungs. “To be truly free.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed in consideration, the corner of her lips turning up in a wry grin. “That
sounds divine.”

Ginny blinked.

“Really?”

Pansy tipped her head back and laughed anew, deep and melodious.

Ginny shifted in her chair, gripping the seat on either side of her thighs. “I just… you don’t seem
like the type who would want to live out in the country.”

“True enough. But I was more so reflecting on the concept of freedom.”

“Concept?”

“That’s all it is for us, isn’t it?”

Ginny swallowed lightly, chest tightening. “I suppose so.”

A blanket of somberness wrapped their shoulders, eating away the edges of their banter like acid.

The silence festered for several moments longer.

And then Pansy leaned forward again, holding out her hand.

“Let me see your palm.”

Ginny’s brows creased. “What?”

“Your palm.” She beckoned with her fingers, face expectant.

Ginny bit her lip. “Why?”

“Do you trust me?”

Her heart skipped a beat, the word escaping her lips before she had the opportunity to even process
the question.

“Yes.”

And then her arm was lifting of its own accord, her hand settling into Pansy’s warm grasp, a
powerful wave of sensation racing through her limb and across her chest, pooling in her lower
abdomen and causing her thighs to clench.

She was deeply unnerved by her body’s reaction, even as she basked in its glow.

“My governess taught me this rather interesting skill.”

Pansy raised her other hand and began to trace the lines in Ginny’s palm, only adding to the
building pressure at her core.

Ginny cleared her throat, throat tight. “To read fortunes?”

“Hm.”

“I thought Governesses taught about table etiquette and how to cross your legs properly.” She
glanced away, color rising. “Not that I’d know. My family couldn't afford one.”

Pansy’s grip tightened for a moment.

“You didn’t miss much. My main Governess was a rigid bint with a penchant for corporal
punishment whenever I failed to balance books atop my head. My father thought such extremity
was necessary to eradicate the teachings of my very first instructor. A young woman who happened
to be of Romanian descent. She obviously hid that fact from my parents, otherwise they’d have
never let her in the house.”

She continued to trace the lines of her palm before idly playing with her gently curled fingers.

“But in the brief year she was employed in our household, she taught me many interesting
traditions of her culture. Palm reading being my favorite.”

Ginny tipped her head, heart fluttering wildly in its ivory cage. “But your father found out and fired
her?”

“He found out and had her deported from England with nothing but the clothes on her back.”
Ginny paled.

“That’s horrid.”

“A concise and astute summation of Lord Parkinson.”

“But you live separate from him?”

Pansy nodded, eyes carefully averted to their hands. “I take up residence in one of the townhomes
he owns. He bought it for a mistress. I think he had her killed.”

Ginny opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for words for several moments.

“How can you stand to live there knowing that?”

The brunette sighed, eyes lifting, though their typical gleam was clouded. “Quite easily, darling.
The only other option would be to live under my father’s roof.”

Pain lanced through Ginny’s chest. She glanced down at her upturned palm, still safely encased in
the other woman’s grasp.

“What does my palm say?”

The melancholy dropped away in a warm rush as Pansy smiled coyly, teeth gleaming.

"Your lifeline is strong, and long." Ginny swallowed thickly as the supposed line was slowly traced
with the pad of her thumb. "Your love line…"

A weighted pause.

The blood surged through her ears.

She leaned in, eyes bright.

“Yes?”

Pansy’s smirk unfurled into a sickle grin. "It says a dark-haired, attractive stranger awaits you in
the near future."

Ginny blinked, fingers curling in. “Don’t you mean tall, dark and handsome?”

“Do I?”

A heavy beat.

They shared a knowing smile.

“You don’t really see all that on my hand.”

Pany released her at long last, leaning back into her chair. “Perhaps I have the gift of sight.”

Ginny bit her lip, cradling her hand in her lap, bereft of the added warmth and the sensation of
fingertips upon her skin.

“What a terrible burden that would be. To see everyone’s future, the good and the bad.”

Pansy shrugged lightly. “Not everyone can have it all. I’d learn to live with seeing the good as
well.”

Ginny blinked, holding her stoic gaze for another three seconds.

And then burst into unrestrained laughter, unable to quell the volume, overtaken by a powerful fit
of giggles.

Nearby patrons turned their heads, brows raised and whispers exchanged.

Ginny placed a hand to her mouth, trying to settle down, shoulders still shaking with mirth even as
her echoing prattle trailed off.

“Sorry,” she gasped, catching her breath and wiping at the corners of her eyes. “I’m causing a
scene.”

Pansy’s eyes gleamed like a cat in the dark, watching her outburst with supreme delight and
unwavering focus.

“As you should. But if you’d like to avoid drawing attention we can venture to a more private
location.”

Ginny fell still and silent at once.

“Where?”

“Perhaps you’d like to determine for yourself whether my father’s unfaithful ex is truly haunting
the hallways.”

“You…” Her mouth went barren as a desert, heart fluttering manically. “You want me to go to
your house?”

A slow, seductive smile pulled at her lips.

“That is what I’m offering.”

“I…” Ginny wiped her sweaty palms on her skirts, body pulsating. “I…”

Pansy leaned in, eyes bright and dangerous and inescapable. Ginny felt as though she'd tip out of
her chair at any moment. She grasped her knees, bracing herself for something unknown but surely
profound.

“I’d like that.”

The brunette’s expression was supremely pleased and supremely breathtaking, causing Ginny
blood to sizzle and pop in her veins as a full body flush seized her.

And then Pansy licked her lips, sitting back once more.

“I’ll get the food to go.”

Harry paced the streets of South Kensington for half an hour before working up the nerve to
approach his destination.

A massive construction site taking up an entire city block.

Yet once he neared the perimeter he hid behind the protective fence, gazing through the slats until
his target came into view.

His chest ached something terrible.

What am I doing?

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, wayward strands standing on end.

He shook his head.

Leave, idiot. Before you’re seen.

He turned on his heel, striding for the cement stairs leading back to the sidewalk.

“Potter?”

He cringed, back going ramrod straight as he froze in place, hands clenched at his sides.

Fuck.

He set his jaw, slowly turning in place, forcing his eyes upward to meet the bright sapphire gaze
that haunted his every waking moment of late.

“Nott.”

Theo blinked, glancing around quickly, muscles tensed. “What are you doing here?”

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat.

“I was in the area, thought I might swing by and take a closer look at the site.”

Theo arched a dark brow, eyes slowly roaming his face and posture, making his entire body pulse.

“Right.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, eyes drifting past the man’s shoulder at the chaos beyond,
desperate for distraction.

“They finally broke ground.” He gestured with his chin, fighting the urge to fidget. “It’s going to be
big.”

Theo followed his gaze. “It needs to be big if it’s to contain whale, elephant and dinosaur
specimens.”

Harry blinked.

“Wow. I’ve only ever seen a dinosaur claw.” He pasted on a congenial smile, face straining
beneath its weight. “I'll need to buy a ticket for opening night.”

Theo faced forward once more, the sunlight gleaming off his dark hair and highlighting the
contours of his face in such a way that left Harry’s mouth dry.

“That’s still several years away. And if Waterhouse gets his way then you won't have to buy a
ticket at all. It’ll be free to everyone.”

Harry raised a brow. “The museum will be free to tour?”

Theo nodded. “Indeed.”

“How will it make money?”

“Donations.”

“Bloody hell.” His smile turned genuine, shoulders dropping. “I like that idea. Allowing anyone
through its doors, regardless of rank and station.”

Theo smirked, eyes roaming him anew, a familiar heat sparking in their depths. Harry flushed,
shifting on his feet as the pressure mounted within.

“So you’re a member of the board?”

"My father is." He held Harry's gaze steady. "For appearance's sake, anyway. But he couldn't care
less about a Natural History Museum and delegated the majority of tasks to me."

“What does that include?”

"Everything and the kitchen sink at this point. I came by today to oversee a shipment of terracotta.
The building will have a Romanesque design. However, the blueprint follows a very specific
vision and the color of the stone is all wrong. I now look forward to what is sure to be a splendid
row with the supplier."

Harry nodded, hands flexing inside his pockets, knuckles turning white.

Theo tipped his head, eyes narrowing.

“There. We’ve made the necessary pleasantries. Why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing
here?”

Harry’s spine stretched, heel grinding the cement.

“I already-”

“Yes, yes. You happened to be in the area, running into me was complete happenstance.” His eyes
began to glow from within, relentless in their intensity. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell me the
truth? I honestly have no time to dance around the subject.”

Harry sighed deeply, tension twisting his stomach.

“Nevermind.” He shook his head, starting to turn away. “I’ll see you around.”

He made it half a step before a hand was gripping his bicep, holding him immobile.

“Fucking hell,” Theo grumbled lowly, glancing around once more. “Such a bloody nuisance.”

Harry’s head turned sharply. “Me?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Your delicate ego.”

Harry grit his teeth, wrenching his arm free, only for Theo to close the distance and grab him by
the shoulder, pulling him in and causing his heart to thump erratically, senses overwhelmed by the
heat and heady scent of his close proximity.

Theo's own pupils expanded, face tense, the lines of his body stretched tautly.
“Not here, Potter.”

He tipped his head towards an empty section of the site, hidden behind heavy industrial tarps
strung across steel beams in the air.

“Over there.”

Harry swallowed thickly as his sometimes-lover released him, taking a wide step back and
straightening his pristine bespoke jacket, drawing Harry’s emerald gaze to his wide chest and
narrow waist.

He spared Harry one more glance before starting for the makeshift curtains.

Harry hesitated, hands clenching the open air.

A moment later Theo stopped, looking over his shoulder and rolling his eyes anew.

“You’ve come this far to not tell me something. What're another thirty feet?"

Harry dragged a hand over his face.

Such a bad idea.

And yet his feet proceeded forward, following of their own accord.

Theo led him through the narrow textile maze, each turn taking them further from the heart of
construction, the voices of the crew fading away with the sounds of breaking rocks and groaning
steel carts.

Harry kept his eyes averted to the uneven ground, mindful of his step, focusing on anything but the
long spine and broad shoulders directly ahead.

He was full-up on heartbreak at the moment and needed to stay sharp for Hermione’s sake.

He couldn’t afford any more distractions.

And yet of all the places in the city, you came here.

He shook his head, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.

After a few more seconds of wandering, Theo stopped within a darkened corner lined by free-
standing support beams. The heavy curtains on either side shielded them from outside eyes and
gusting wind.

Theo spun to face him, crossing his arms.

“Alright, what the hell is-”

“I saw the announcement in the paper.”

Theo blinked, arms dropping lifelessly.

Harry’s jaw snapped shut, shocked by his own unplanned outburst.

The silence festered.

Both men shifted, glancing away, until at last Theo cleared his throat, studying the rubble beneath
their feet.

“I meant to tell you… the night I came by Grimmauld… after the party.” He shifted awkwardly,
carding his fingers through his dark locks. “But then I got distracted and-”

“Distracted.”

His sapphire gaze narrowed, darting up and fixing onto Harry.

“Is that why you came here?”

Harry leaned back.

“No.”

Theo arched a brow, the muscle in his jaw ticking. Harry rubbed the back of his heated neck.

“Maybe.”

He slid his hand around to his face, dragging it over his mouth as he struggled to find the words.

“I’m honestly not sure what the fuck I’m doing here.”

Theo continued to watch him closely, posture slowly easing.

“I should have told you. I’m sorry if it took you off guard.”

Harry shook his head. “You already told me you’re marrying her.” He swallowed heavily. “But
seeing the words printed across the page just made it… real.”

Theo inhaled deeply through his nose. “Tell me about it.”

The stricken edge to his voice prompted Harry to take an unconscious step closer, every instinct
screaming to comfort and protect.

He reared back, remembering himself at the last moment.

He isn’t yours.

Not anymore.

His heart seized.

And never was.

Theo’s eyes flashed with something akin to disappointment when Harry stepped away, arms tight
as his sides.

“Are you…” Harry wet his lips. “Okay?”

Theo drew back, jaw silently working for several beats before he spoke. “I’m not having this
conversation in the middle of a construction site, Potter.”

Harry nodded, the pain in his chest spreading down, poisoning his stomach.

“Fair enough.”
The silence stretched, wind echoing against the fabric walls, pushing them forward, caging them
in.

Theo tilted his head, eyes darting down to Harry’s mouth before latching onto his vivid green gaze.

“There’s something else.”

Harry swallowed thickly.

“Don’t bother denying it. I can read you like a book.”

Harry’s shoulders tensed as he averted his face, trying to summon the strength to pull himself
away.

“I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t involve you in this.”

“In what?”

He shook his head, forcing a wide step back.

“I have to go-”

“Harry.”

He froze in place, entire body seizing.

Theo stepped forward and braced his shoulder once more, but this time with both hands, his palms
scorching his flesh through the fabric of his clothing like a searing brand.

“Look at me,” he whispered sharply.

Harry was rendered helpless beneath his magnetic thrall, eyes lifting as he leaned into the touch.

Theo held him steady, kept him rooted, waited out the uncertainty until Harry, at last, found his
voice buried beneath the wreckage of his heart and mind.

“It’s Hermione.”

Theo’s hands gripped tighter.

“What about her?”

Harry drew in a slow, deep breath, forcing the words free.

"She's been committed to an insane asylum."

Theo’s touch fell away as he lurched backward.

“What?”

“It’s a long story-”

“Obviously.” He crossed his arms tightly, expression sharp, eyes bright and alert. “Does Draco
know?”

Harry dragged a hand through his hair, pushing the mess back. “Yes. He’s working with us to get
her released.”
“Who? You and Black?”

He closed his eyes. “Among… others.”

Theo's lingering silence prompted his lids to open, watching him reel until at last, he composed an
eloquent and concise summation of all that had been revealed.

“What a cluster fuck.”

Harry fought back a smirk.

“My thoughts exactly.”

His expression quickly sobered. “I was trying to…” He sighed once more, fatigue hitting him all at
once as he rubbed the strained muscles in his nape. “I was searching the paper for any mention of
the fire when I came across the announcement-”

“Fire?”

Harry’s brows creased. “Christ, so much has happened.”

“Start from the beginning.”

"Theo." He met his eye, tone resigned. "I want to tell you everything, believe me, I do. But if I drag
you into this I'm putting your life in danger and I can't lose anyone else I-"

He choked on the words, heart stuttering as burning heat suffused his skin.

“Care about.”

Theo's eyes flashed dangerously as he stepped forward, the sight mesmerizing, scrambling Harry’s
thoughts.

“Is your life in danger?”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, unable to form a coherent lie in the man's all-consuming
presence. "That doesn't matter, Mione is like a sister to me, I'd do anything-"

“That isn’t what I asked, Harry.” His voice was stern, unyielding. “Answer me straight. Are you in
danger?”

Harry struggled to maintain his diamond point gaze.

“Yes.”

Theo’s chin raised, eyes narrowing. “Then we’re going somewhere to talk. And you’re going to tell
me everything.” His shoulders drew back. “Everything.”

“Theo-

“Harry.”

His jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

“I’m a Peer of the Realm. I run the majority of my family’s estate. I have more power than most
realize or give me credit for.” He arched a dark brow. “If I know what’s going on, there’s every
chance I can help. Especially where Granger is concerned.”

Harry blinked, a powerful current racing along his spine.

“Actually…” The wheels began to spin rapidly in his mind, gears shifting, steam rising. “You
might be able to help me with something important.”

Theo nodded succinctly.

“Let’s get out of here.”

He started forward, retracing the steps that led them to this point.

“Theo.”

He stopped short, glancing over his shoulder. Harry inhaled deeply, holding his gaze.

“Thank you.”

He expected Theo to look away, to proceed as though he hadn’t heard.

So when he turned to face Harry fully and took a step in his direction, his pulse spiked manically,
body swaying in place with the force of the rapid beat.

Blood surged through his ears as he watched Theo raise a hand to his face, fingertips gently
skimming the stubble along his jaw.

Harry swallowed thickly, tilted his head into the touch, searching out the warmth, the assurance.

Theo inhaled sharply, lips parting and eyes clouding over as he cupped Harry’s face in his hand.

Time slowed, the very earth ceasing to spin for the duration of several sweltering beats.

And then the moon passed over the sun, darkness sweeping the land.

Theo’s arm dropped, leaving Harry staggering in place, lost to the barren cold.

They both glanced away.

Theo spoke first, voice strained and gravel-filled.

“Come along.”

As Pansy led the way into her private townhouse Ginny held her breath, pausing outside the
threshold and wondering for the fifth time since leaving the Bistro what the hell she was doing.

This is madness...

And then Pansy glanced over her shoulder, setting their boxed lunches onto a side table and
smiling brilliantly.

“Do you need a formal invitation like a vampyre?”

Ginny blinked.

“You’ve read Polidori?”

Pansy began removing her lace shawl. “I have an unhealthy interest with the macabre.”

“My brothers would be impressed.” She was hardly aware when she stepped into the entryway,
once more lured into the unknown by the woman’s undeniable siren call.

“They used to try and scare me with stories about creatures and beasts. So I started reading the
books too, until I could spin a far more terrifying yarn than anything they could hope to devise.”

Pansy’s eyes sparkled as she closed the door at Ginny’s back.

“It sounds like you’ve been keeping men underfoot since you were old enough to walk. You shall
conquer your Season without breaking a sweat.”

Ginny blushed, glancing away, which in turn revealed more of the luxurious interior to her eye.

She gasped, rocking back, eyes tracing the ornate scrollwork of the wood molding up to the ceiling
where a detailed mural of the evening sky stared down at her, swirling cosmos taking life before
her eyes.

“This is… beautiful.”

Pansy kept her eyes firmly affixed to Ginny. “I think so.”

She met her eyes, blush deepening. Pansy smirked, glancing to the mural.

“I had this commissioned when I first took possession of the home. London pollution prevents a
decent view of the stars. I missed seeing them.”

Ginny nodded, spinning in a slow circle as she took in the rest of the modern furniture and rich
textiles.

“It’s so very you.”

Pansy laughed melodically at her back, following her into the den.

“I suppose it is.”

"I mean that in the best way of course," Ginny added hastily, turning to meet her gaze. "You have
such an astounding eye for design. I knew your home would look like something from a fantasy."

Pansy's smile faltered, something wild and heated taking root in her gaze. Ginny swallowed,
glancing away, fingers twining anxiously.

“I would give anything to live alone.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, fingertips grazing the
morning glory still tucked into the braid. “I mean, I love my family, but they’re always so involved
in-”

She gasped as Pansy closed the distance between them and descended upon her, one arm looping
skillfully around her waist and drawing her flush into her body, the other sliding her behind her
nape, holding her head steady as her mouth took possession of Ginny’s very soul.

Her lips felt like plush velvet, her tongue strong and sure as it slipped between Ginny's shock
parted lips, tracing the back of her teeth before quickly withdrawing, the sudden and fleeting
sensation turning her limbs into melted wax. She listed into Pansy, heart racing so quickly she was
certain it would explode from her body in a moment's time.
Pansy pulled her face away, nose grazing her cheek, staring into Ginny's wide blue eyes. Their
mouths were still aligned, sharing heated breath, and all sense of time and space ceased to exist.
Ginny's only reality became the hands upon her, the mouth before her, the eyes boring into her. She
was born at this moment and would surely die as soon as it ended.

And then Pansy’s dark brows creased, her arms loosening as she made to pull away.

Ginny sprang into action, driven by pure instinct, her overwrought mind having no room left for
rational thought.

She grabbed Pansy in the same way she had been accosted, learning by imitation, and pulled the
woman flush to her once more, leaning in and pressing a closed mouth, tentative kiss to her lips.
Pansy stiffened in her hold, unresponsive to the gesture, and Ginny felt a searing wave of shame
and embarrassment wash over her.

She swallowed heavily, beginning to tremble in shock and fear and confusion-

Only for Pansy’s arms to tighten around her as she drove her backward, her spine colliding hard
with the wall, earning a shocked gasp from her throat. Pansy claimed her mouth in the same breath,
this kiss nothing like the first.

This one was raw and visceral, nails scraping along the back of her bodice, hips pressing her flat,
tongue sweeping into her mouth and searching out the sweet, hidden caverns within, leaving her
breathless and weightless and scorching as hot oil infused her veins.

Ginny had never kissed anyone before, but she was a quick study in most things, and soon began to
mimic Pansy's movement, grasping at the fine silk of her dress, pulling her more fully into her
body until her lungs were all but crushed between her heaving bosom and the unyielding wall. And
then she slipped her own tongue past Pansy's lips and earned a low, deep-throated moan for her
efforts, the sound sending a shockwave of pleasure through her body.

Pansy's hands slid up, across her shoulder blades, over her collarbone and to her neck, her fingers
gently encircling the long pale column of her throat as the other grabbed a handful of her fiery hair,
tugging just enough to elicit a sharp sting of pain that unleashed molten heat at her core, tugging
Ginny's head back as her lips began a searing trail down her chin and across her jaw, teeth
delicately scraping the sensitive flesh, causing to her grind her hips into Pansy mindlessly as her
broken mewls filled the air.

Pansy’s own breath was stuttered, heaving, thumb pressing into Ginny’s throbbing pulse, her
movements becoming more hurried, frantic-

And then just as suddenly as the madness unleashed, it stopped.

Pansy jerked back, gasping for breath, cleavage straining her dress with every deep breath. Her
face and neck were flush, fallen strands of hair cutting dark rivers across the pale flesh, lips
swollen, eyes glassy and wild.

Ginny had never seen her so undone.

She reached forward on instinct, needing more of her-

Pansy shook her head, pressing a hand to Ginny’s chest and pushing her flat to the wall, the other
gently cupping her face.

“We can’t.”
Ginny blinked rapidly, mind reeling, still trying to catch her breath and regain feeling in her legs.

“But, I thought…” she licked her own sensitive, swollen lips. “Don’t you want me?”

Pansy swallowed heavily, pupils blown wide.

“Yes. I do.”

She ran the pad of her thumb over Ginny’s mouth, gently dragging her bottom lip down until her
hand slid down to her neck once more.

“But I can’t have you. Not really. And I won’t compromise you to slake my own selfish lust.” Her
hand fell away, making Ginny’s stomach twist painfully. “You have a full life ahead of you. One
that doesn’t involve me.”

Ginny opened and closed her mouth, at a loss of what to say when her body was still yearning so
powerfully.

But the words had already been sitting heavily upon her heart, fleeing from her lips in a desperate
plea.

“What if I never want a man the same way I want you?”

Pansy’s brows creased once more, the hand still pressing against Ginny’s heart clenching. “Then
you will have to live with the burden as the rest of us do.”

"There are others?"

Pansy smiled. It was her saddest one yet.

“Unfortunately there are quite a few.”

“Why is it unfortunate?”

"Because we are all cursed." She swallowed heavily. "But don't fret, darling, you may not have the
affliction. Not fully. Just because you desire me doesn't mean you won't someday want a man."

She removed her touch at last, stepping back and leaving Ginny to support her own weight on her
weakened knees. Her expression looked pained, eyes gleaming with a dark flame that left Ginny
breathless and aching.

“Don’t ever settle for anything in this life, Ginevra. You deserve everything your heart desires, and
any man who isn’t willing to rake himself over hot coals to lay the world at your feet isn’t worthy
of your time.”

Ginny’s eyes began to burn as she took a half step forward. “But I want-”

“Shh.” Pansy reached out once more, pressing a finger gently to her lips, arm trembling. “You’re
young, yet, my love. You haven’t seen anything of the world beyond the local market.”

She cupped her cheek. Ginny leaned into her palm, closing her eyes. “Your heart is still malleable,
don’t harden it for the simple sake of being stubborn.”

Tears began to overspill her closed lids unbidden. She blushed hotly with embarrassment, feeling
ever the inexperienced child. Pansy swept the backs of her fingers across her cheeks and along her
jawline.
“Come now, dry your eyes. You’re far too beautiful to be so sad.”

Ginny licked her lips, opening her eyes. “That’s a terrible saying.”

Pansy laughed. "I know. It's what my mother used to say to me when I was a little girl. Until the
day I stopped crying altogether."

They held each other's gaze in acute misery for several beats.

And then Ginny pulled her face away from her hand, drying her eyes on her own sleeve.

“You’re marrying Theo.”

The brunette nodded, arm falling to her side.

“Is he…” Ginny swallowed thickly. “Like us?”

Pansy took a deep breath.

“You mustn't say anything.”

“I would never.”

The corner of her lips lifted, eyes soft and dark like midnight smoke on the water. “I trust you.”

Ginny rubbed absently at her chest, the magnetic pull still in full force, making it feel as though she
would split in half.

“My heart hurts for you.”

Pansy shook her head, expression sobering. “I don’t want you to think of me and be sad. I want you
to think of me and remember this moment. Remember how it made you feel.”

Ginny nodded, tears spilling anew.

“I feel free.”

She inhaled sharply.

“For the first time in my life. I feel free.”

Pansy swallowed heavily, gripping her skirts with both hands until her knuckles turned white.

“So do I.”

And then she took a slow step forward, reaching for Ginny's tear-soaked hand, the same one she
held in the restaurant, and brought it to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the center of her palm.

Ginny choked on her breath, desperately fighting the urge to sob outright, trembling with the force
of her pent emotions.

Pansy’s thumb swept over the delicate skin of her inner wrist before releasing her at last.

She took a step back, inhaling deeply before meeting her eye, expression remarkably composed.

“Let’s get you back home.”

Ginny nodded mutely, not trusting her own voice.

She followed Pansy to the entryway, each step a painful lance through her heart.

And then the door was opening, Pansy leaning into the wood, as though relying on it to support her
weight.

Ginny paused at the threshold, one hand bracing the frame as she dared to meet the woman’s eye
one last time.

They held each other's gaze for a short eternity.

Ginny wet her lips.

“Thank you, Pansy. For… everything.”

Pansy smiled, expression filled with warmth and sadness and countless other nuances Ginny felt
echoing in her own chest.

“Goodbye, Ginevra.”

Ginny took a deep, uneven breath.

“Goodbye.”

She turned away while she still had the strength.

The door closed behind her.

She pressed a hand to her chest, racing for the carriage by the curb, desperate to seal herself away
in the interior before losing herself to her misery.

Completely unaware that on the other side of the door Pansy had sunk down to her knees,
unleashing her first true tears in over a decade.

Tom quickly ushered the pair inside, sweeping a glance across the empty corridor at their backs
before slamming the door shut, sliding the bolt into place.

He spun on his heel, body tensed as he pinned the boy with the full intensity of his glare.

“Explain.”

The blonde scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head.

“I… she…” He sighed, shoulders drawn tight. “I don’t know what they did to her.”

Tom inhaled deeply, slowly, eyes darting to the young woman at Malfoy’s side, her delicate frame
swimming in his expensive coat.

“Is she coherent?”

Malfoy nodded.

“She responds to basic prompts.”

Tom stepped closer. Her eyes latched onto his, pupils expanding, but didn’t react any further to his
close proximity.

“My name is Doctor Riddle. Who are you?”

She blinked, glancing at Malfoy.

His jaw worked silently for a moment before he responded.

“Your name is Dawn.”

She smiled brightly, teeth gleaming and eyes dull as she looked at Tom once more.

“My name is Dawn.”

He tilted his head, gaze roaming her face with careful precision.

Then he turned to Malfoy.

“Did you choose that?”

He shook his head.

“That’s her real name.” He rubbed his eyes in obvious exhaustion. “At least that’s what she told me
when-”

He broke off, averting his face.

“You know this girl?”

“Not exactly.”

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “Withholding information from me will not help her.”

The blonde’s jaw tensed.

“How I know her has nothing to do with what’s happening now.” His fists clenched. “Can you help
her or not?”

Tom wet his lips, studying her vacant expression once more.

“I don’t know.” He took a step back. “Dawn.” Her spine straightened. “Remove your coat and sit
on the exam table.”

She looked at Malfoy again.

He nodded.

“It’s fine. Obey whatever command the Doctor gives you.” His shoulders tensed. “At least while
I’m in the room with you.”

Tom’s spine straightened. Not at the implication of the blonde’s statement but at the obvious
acquiesce in her posture.

“She only obeys you?”

“She was gifted to me.”

She started towards the exam table, pace unhurried and body relaxed as she shrugged free of the
outer layer, revealing her sleeveless dress beneath.

Tom approached his desk at the other end of the room.

“I assume your aunt and uncle were the benefactors?”

Malfoy’s chin tipped up, fire igniting in his gaze.

“You assume correctly.”

Tom grabbed his medical bag.

“And is it mere coincidence she looks remarkably like Hermione?”

The blonde swallowed heavily, lips pressed tight.

Tom started for the exam table, gazing at the man after a prolonged beat of silence.

Malfoy shook his head, expression utterly stricken, void of any poker face.

“I was trying to find her. I thought if they had her then…” His eyes closed. “It’s my fault.”

Tom set the bag beside the table, glancing over sharply.

“Excuse me?”

His silver eyes opened and narrowed to menacing slits. “It’s my fault she’s like this. I described
Granger and they went and found her doppelganger, didn’t they?”

His expression softened as it shifted to Dawn, still seated upon the center of the table with a blank
expression, eyes directed forward, staring off into nothing. “They did this to her to fulfill my
request.”

Tom arched a brow, withdrawing his stethoscope.

“I don’t know how the Dollmaker accomplishes his task, but I am certain it takes more than a day
to perfect.”

He inserted the eartips and placed the chest piece to her sternum, noting her lack of reaction as
well as the steady pounding of her heart.

He listened intently for several more seconds before lowering the stem and laying the tubing
around the back of his neck.

“Which means she was already in this state when you made your request.”

Malfoy blinked.

“You’ve seen this before. You knew the moment you laid eyes on her she was… affected.”

Tom leaned forward, searching his bag for the next item needed.

“I recognized the look in her eyes. Once observed it’s impossible to forget.”

The blonde stepped closer.

“You’ve met others?”

Tom’s jaw tensed, tongue pressing the roof of his mouth.

Malfoy shifted closer yet.

“And you’ve cured it?”

Tom turned sharply on his heel, giving him his back.

“No.” He gripped the tool in his hand with unnecessary force, knuckles cracking against the strain.
“Not yet.”

“What if it can’t be reversed?”

“Nothing in medicine or life can be reversed.”

He set the tool beside her leg and began pulling her curls back without preamble, searching her
scalp for signs of incision. She sat docile all the while.

“But most ailments can be remedied.”

He let her hair settle and moved onto her arms, looking for injection marks. Her skin was smooth,
unblemished.

“To some extent.”

Malfoy pressed a hand to his temple, eyes flickering across the floor in thought.

“At least she’s safe at the asylum.” He nodded to himself. “At least the bastard can’t get to her
there.”

Tom released her wrist, stepping back.

“There are other dangers in this world beyond the Dollmaker.”

He sensed the blonde was preparing to say more on the subject.

“Silence,” he snapped, and could practically hear the boy grinding his teeth in response. Tom rolled
his shoulders back. “I don’t want her distracted.”

Malfoy sighed in resignation, stepping away to the wall, leaning against it with his arms crossed
tightly.

Tom moved directly before her, meeting her vacant gaze head-on.

“Dawn.”

No trace of recognition sparked in her eyes.

“I’m going to test your reflexes, as well as ask you some questions. I want you to answer them to
the best of your abilities. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Very good.”
He picked up the rubber mallet.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“Where were you born?”

She blinked, brow creasing.

He waited out the silence for another beat before taping on her knee. Her leg jolted as it should.

“I…” She wet her lips. “I’m from London.”

He tilted his head, holding her gaze. “What neighborhood did you grow up in?”

She blinked again, expression falling lax. His eyes narrowed.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Her smile awakened.

“Yellow.”

He tapped her other knee. She reacted normally.

“What’s your mother’s name?”

Her eyes turned hollow.

He stepped back.

“When is your birthday?”

“March.”

“What day in March?”

Silence.

He sighed, detecting the pattern.

“What is your favorite season?”

“Summer,” she said with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

“Why summer?”

“I love the warmth, the long days. The sunshine lightens my hair.”

He smirked at the vibrancy in her voice.

“What is your favorite food?”

“I like all types of food.” Her movements became more animated.

“If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?”
“Hm…” She glanced upward, rubbing her chin. “I would want…” Her smile brightened as she met
his gaze with excitement. “Angel food cake, with whipped cream and strawberries.”

“And what is your least favorite food?”

“I hate lima beans.”

He arched a dark brow.

“What else do you hate?”

Her eyes narrowed, lips puckering in a delicate scowl.

“I hate being sick. I hate being caught in the rain. I hate rude people. I hate-”

“And what things do you love?”

She blinked, her smile snapping back into place with unnerving swiftness.

“I love animals. Horses and dogs, especially. I love-”

“Do you have any siblings?”

Her brow flattened, eyes turning vacant within a fleeting heartbeat.

He nodded, pulse racing at the discovery.

“Remarkable.”

Malfoy pushed away from the wall.

“What is?”

Tom inspected her mannequin-like repose, mind still reeling.

“She’s rather opinionated.” His voice held no trace of derision. “She’s been given leave to think
freely when it comes to present desires, but is prohibited from accessing previous memories or any
identifying information.”

The blonde shifted at his back.

“I told them I wanted someone with fire. With backbone.”

"And I'm sure Dawn is capable of acting in such a way if you were to instruct." His eyes narrowed
in thought. "Otherwise her personality falls dormant."

He ran a hand along his jaw.

“Fascinating.”

“Is it?”

Tom nodded, ignoring the scorn in his voice.

“Deeply so. Something in the brain is obviously controlling her impulses, but severing the
connections outright wouldn’t lead to such tailored conditioning.” He tilted his head, gazing upon
her at a new angle. “It’s astounding. Each girl must be treated individually. This can’t be a standard
procedure.”

He ran a hand over his mouth.

“Did they give you any instructions?”

The blonde reared back, blinking.

“Instructions?”

Tom nodded. “Yes. Do you have to repeat anything to her? Give her medicine, bring her back to
the Lestranges every so often?”

Malfoy shook his head, stepping closer. “They just told me to keep her away from other people
unless I was with her. She only answers to me and might cause a scene otherwise.”

“But you only met her today?”

Malfoy jolted as though struck, expression shuttering rapidly. Tom’s gaze flickered to him,
narrowing.

There wasn’t time for such juvenile antics.

“I meant since she became this way. You’ve only been around her for the last few hours?”

The boy stared upon him for several beats before nodding slowly.

“Yes.”

“Remarkable.”

He scowled. “Stop saying that. This isn’t remarkable, it isn’t fascinating, it’s disgusting and vile
and terrifying!”

Tom arched a brow, unphased by the heated outburst.

"I agree. But from a medical standpoint, what we're seeing is unheard of. Groundbreaking. And
from that point of view, it must be respected to be understood. Only then do we garner any chance
of treating it."

Malfoy scoffed loudly, tipping his head back. “So you respect the Dollmaker? Think he’s a genius
do you?”

Tom went rigid as stone, the silence festering like a black rot.

He pushed on, voice edged in steel.

“Do you own any property of your own?”

The aristocrat blinked, shoulders lowering.

“I have a home in the West End.”

“Does your father have access to it?”

He drew back swiftly, countenance hardening.

“Why does that matter?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“My father has access to anywhere he wants to be.” His tone was acidic, but not prideful. “No door
is closed to him.”

Tom walked to his case, closing the top.

“What about Grimmauld?”

A heavy beat of silence passed. Malfoy tucked his hands into his pockets.

“I suppose Black is the only person with enough stupidity and courage to deny Lucius Malfoy.”

Tom nodded. “Good. Take her there.”

“What?” He shook his head quickly. “No, I was told-”

“The Lestranges don’t want her in public because the moment you leave her line of sight she turns
into the living embodiment of a doll.”

The blood drained rapidly from the blonde’s face, turning him into pale marble.

“To protect this secret the girls must be kept away from society at large.”

He met his gaze.

“But we aren’t protecting the secret. We’re protecting Dawn.”

Malfoy wet his lips, brow creasing.

“I’ll take her.”

He rubbed his palms against his thighs, anxiety building.

“Are you coming?”

Tom nodded, setting his case aside. "Later. I need to examine her further, but there are pressing
matters I must see to first."

“More pressing than this?”

“I suppose it’s subjective. Do you consider Hermione’s freedom to be more or less important?”

Malfoy drew back swiftly, all traces of unease evaporating at once, only lethal intent remaining.

“Dolohov appointed another guardian.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Unfortunately.”

Tom drew to his full height, shoulders squaring back as he met the glinting silver gaze with
unwavering focus.

“And you’re going to help me find him.”

 `.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`
`
down

down

down

she

sank
.

H
e
r
m
i
o
n
e

Her eyes snapped open.

Darkness surrounded her.

Light appeared in the distance, broken, refracting through the water.

Water?

She blinked, turning her head.

Her hair floated all around her, the dark mass obscuring her vision.

She lifted her arm, movements weighted and slow, pushing the long tresses aside.

She was underwater, suspended in a vast ocean with no bottom or top in sight.

Am I dead?
“Hermione.”

The voice echoed all around her, sending a powerful tremor through the water, vibrating through
her bones.

Where are you?

She opened her mouth but had no voice to speak.

Where am I?

“You tell me.”

She blinked, hands pale and glowing brightly in the murky depths of the ocean.

I don’t know…

She glanced around once more.

I think I’m drowning.

“You aren’t drowning.”

But I can’t breathe.

“Can’t you?”

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling its steady rise and fall.

Yet no bubbles appeared before her mouth.

I think I’m dreaming.

Whispers echoed all around, unintelligible but sharp, sending ripples through the water and across
her skin.

Suddenly, she felt the undeniable urge to look over her shoulder, a siren call beckoning her gaze.

She twisted around, spotting a familiar sight several yards ahead, suspended in the water as well.

The white rabbit.

Her long hair floated around her head and arms in a bright halo, expression as serene as Hermione
had ever seen it, even across the dark expanse.

And though the girl looked no different than all the others times she appeared before her, their
current surroundings brought everything into stunning clarity for the first time.

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat at the chilling realization.

This is how you died.

The girl tilted her head, lifting an arm, offering her hand.

“Hermione.”

The deep male voice made her skin crawl.

“Tell me what you see.”

She ignored the disembodied command, kicking against the water instead, propelling herself
forward, arms fully extended, eager to reach the outstretched hand.

“Talk to me, Hermione.”

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

“Hermione!”

She grasped the offered hand at last, the girl’s flesh startling cold but silken to the touch, fingers
strong as they wrapped around Hermione’s palm, pressing in.

And just as soon as she found her anchor, the storm raged.

The earth was tipped on its axis, shaken by a child’s eager hand, the ocean spilling out into space,
her body tumbling with it.

She lost her grip on the girl, screaming in frustration as her hands met rushing waves, the tide
breaking overhead and twisting her upside down, spinning her so quickly she lost track of up from
down, right from left, her limbs from the water.

She coughed and sputtered, liquid filling her lungs, drowning her.

And then her shoulder collided with something hard.

She scrambled for it, desperate to grasp something, anything, to root herself in place, put an end to
this awful vertigo, this free-falling sensation that turned her stomach inside out and lodged her
heart in her throat.

But she lost her grip yet again, hands skidding past a smooth, slick surface as she hurtled past the
earth, thrown from the atmosphere into raw, open space.

. she
`. .
`.`.`. . f
`.`.`.`.`. . e
`.`.`.`.`.`.`. . l
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`. . l
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`. . through
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`. . the
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`. . stars
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`. .

And into an endless expanse of cosmos.

Planets and asteroids rushed past, lost in a blur of light and color. Her bones withered and decayed,
skin curling away from her flesh like an orange rind, evaporating to dust and trailing behind her,
creating a comet tail of mist across the endless black.
Her matter crumpled and folded until she ceased existing altogether, all that remained of her former
self a bright ball of light hurtling through space like a meteor.

And then she plummeted back to the planet’s surface, a tossed disc making its downward descent
at long last.

The explosion upon impact was deafening. The ground trembled as a mushroom cloud of smoke
and flame soared high into the heavens while she remained at the center of the massive crater.

She gazed up blearily, watching as the smoke blossomed into a vibrant assortment of colors, filling
the sky with a brilliant rainbow of bleeding hues.

“Do you see it, Hermione?”

“Yes! What is it, daddy? Is it heaven?”

“No, my sweetling, it’s called an aurora.”

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

And then something soft brushed her hand. She jerked upright, gazing around frantically, pulse
thrumming. The crater walls blocked her view of the outside world.

But something small resided within the hole with her.

An orange cat with a bottlebrush tail.

She blinked.

It padded closer, pushing its head into the back of her hand and purring loudly.

The corner of her lips turned up.

“Hello there, cat.” She gently stroked its head, scratching behind its ears. “How did you come to be
here?”

A shadow passed overhead. Her gaze flickered up, catching only a flash of pale skin before the
figure retreated out of sight.

“Hello?” She called, hands tensed at her sides.

She pushed to her feet, legs sore and knees weak.

And peered down at her body.

She was adorned in the same periwinkle gown she wore to the Naval party.

She traced her fingertips over the cherry blossoms painted across her ribs. The cat pushed against
her full skirts, back arching high as its purr echoed loudly off the charred crater walls.

And then the creature darted away, racing up the steep incline with deft, agile feet.

“Wait!”

It disappeared over the ledge in a blur of orange fur.

She scrambled forward, grabbing handfuls of her skirts as she tried to navigate the steep incline as
well, finally relenting upon her fifth stumble, grabbing handfuls of the earth and pulling herself up,
gritting her teeth beneath the strain on her muscles, dirt marring her hands and face, caking her
nails beds, staining her gown.

She finally emerged at the top of the crater, crawling over the edge on her hands and knees, panting
for breath and wiping sweat from her temples with a soil darkened hand.

Her arm froze in mid-air as she, at last, saw the world she'd been so violently deposited into.

It was…

London.

… but not.

She sat at the edge of the Thames. Tower Bridge was just ahead, the familiar sprawl of the city
filling her vision on all sides.

But the building and monuments were caked in ash, void of all color.

And life.

Not a single person, ship, or carriage was in sight. There was no billowing smoke, no crying gulls,
no movement beyond the vibrant aurora in the sky, the colors merging and dissecting in a
transparent film, as though a massive soap bubble encased the dead planet.

But in all the madness, what shocked her the utmost was the structure lying directly ahead.

As familiar as it was chilling.

Her childhood home.

In full, vibrant color, standing out from its black and white background like a shining beacon.

The fact that the home was standing along the river embankment in the heart of the city mattered
little.

At least in the grand scheme of things.

What caught her attention was the flash of a white dress darting around the side of the two-story
structure.

“Wait!”

She pulled her skirts aloft once more, taking off after the figure as quickly as she could manage,
bare feet crossing from rubble to paved cement to soft grass as she cut a quick trail across the yard
she spent her youth playing upon.

She stumbled into the back vegetable garden, losing her footing and skidding across damp soil as
she finally caught sight of a person on the porch.

Her muscles tensed, adrenaline flooding her veins in a powerful wave, making her stagger with the
rush.

She blinked several times, jaw slack.

“Lavender?”

Her friend smiled, face radiant and skin glowing, looking as beautiful as she’d ever appeared in
life.

“About time you got here.”

Hermione swallowed heavily.

“Where are we?”

The blonde shook her head, expression sobering.

“Not here.” She glanced around the garden and neighboring grey scenery. “He’s listening.”

Her heart stuttered painfully.

“Who?”

The girl took a step towards the house.

“This way.”

She grabbed the door handle.

“Wait!”

But in the next moment, Lavender was slipping inside, disappearing into the darkness within.

The door sat ajar.

Hermione’s chest alighted with pain so sharp she doubled over, certain she would die from it.

Her body trembled uncontrollably, intestines knotting tight.

“I can’t…” She whispered miserably, tears filling her eyes. “I can’t go in there.”

The pain faded as rapidly as it appeared. She gasped for breath, straightening, hands still braced
over her heart, convinced it would fall out of her body, arteries severed.

The open door called to her.

Beckoned her.

She closed her eyes, sighing deeply, hands curling to fists as she forced her feet forward, every step
causing her ribs to tighten and twist.

She walked up the steps of the porch and across the wood slats, pressing the door wide and staring
into the kitchen.

It was bright. Peaceful.

She bit her lip and crossed the threshold.

The door immediately slammed shut behind her. She gasped, grabbing the handle with both hands
and pulling with all her might.
But it was sealed tight.

Tears spilled from her eyes anew.

She staggered back across the tile, breathing hard, glancing around frantically as she waited for the
flames to appear.

For they always appeared.

Eager to finish what they started.

Desperate to claim the one who got away.

But she saw no spark, smelled no smoke.

What she did encountered was even more devastating.

Her family home, just as she remembered.

Just as she fantasized about when she allowed her mind to wander down the dark corridors of her
memory.

The hallway was as bright as the kitchen, as was the study beyond. The furniture unmarred by dust
or ash. Everything situated just as she recalled.

Her father’s books were still spilled across the desk. Her mother’s knitting project sat unfinished
on the upholstered chair by the window.

Her fingertips grazed the edge of the piano. She lingered before the portrait hanging above, a
beautiful landscape painting she admired since childhood.

She inhaled deeply, chest quaking, fighting back the urge to call out for her parents, the instinct
nearly overwhelming despite the fact she knew they weren’t home.

The house was filled with meaningful items...

But void of life.

She finally entered the den. The room she and her parents would retire to after supper, spending
their evenings reading, talking, laughing.

Lavender stood before the hearth.

Hermione stopped in the doorway, heart fit to burst.

"What.." She wet her lips, steeling herself. "What are you doing here?"

The blonde shrugged, leaning casually against the stonework.

“I figured you could do with a friendly face.”

Hermione took a tentative step inside the room, full skirts trailing behind her, leaving dirt and soil
in their wake.

“Are you real?”

Lavender sighed, shrugging once more. “As real as any of this.”

“I mean… are you a ghost, or a facet of my subconscious?”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Bloody hell, you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Lav, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” She met her gaze once more, lips curved in a painfully familiar wry smirk. “I’m here to
help you. What does the rest matter?”

“Help me?” Hermione braced the back of the sofa as realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.
“Help me escape the Dollmaker?”

Her friend's eyes darkened as shadows danced along the walls. Hermione took a shaky breath,
shoulders drawing back.

“It’s him then?”

Lavender crossed her arms, offering no response.

Hermione nodded to herself, eyes drifting to the windows as she began to slowly pace the rug.

“Of course. It makes sense… how he’s able to obtain his victims, women without ties or
connections to the outside world. He labels them psychotic and brainwashes them under the guise
of treatment.”

The blonde tilted her head, eyes filling with intrigue as Hermione ran a hand through her hair,
streaking it with soil.

“He creates dolls right under everyone’s nose.”

Her skirts brushed along the table legs as she passed.

“Hiding in plain sight.”

She bit her lip, thoughts spinning.

“Did Umbridge know who he was?”

She shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t trust her with that information. But the Lestranges know his
true identity. They probably mentioned Rutledge to her in the past. She knew to send me there.
Knew the Dollmaker would be able to get to me.”

She inhaled deeply, coming to a standstill.

“Wow,” the blonde spoke at last.

Hermione jolted, remembering she wasn’t alone.

“That was impressive.” Lavender winked. “And pretty hot.”

Hermione’s smile was tinged in sadness.

“You aren’t real, are you?”

Hermione swallowed thickly, examining her friend closely, looking for any trace of the violent
crime that befell her.
“You don’t possess any knowledge I don’t already have.”

The blonde smirked. “How is that any different than when I was alive?”

Hermione set her jaw, meeting her eye with steady determination.

“Can you tell me who killed you?”

Lavender leaned her head against the mantle.

“I would if I knew.”

Hermione blinked. Lavender’s gaze drifted to the chandelier.

“I wasn’t… all there when it happened.” She tapped her temple as though for emphasis. “My last
memory is drinking at the party, dancing with some bloke.”

She began to play idly with her long golden tresses.

“I think someone spiked my drink. I remember feeling fuzzy, someone helping me up the steps.”
She shrugged lightly. “That’s about it.”

“You went to the Lestrange Estate.”

She nodded, a smirk playing at the corner of her ruby stained lips.

“They have a sex dungeon, Mione. Can you imagine being the maid assigned to clean up after an
orgy?”

Hermione rubbed her eyes.

“Lav, focus.”

“Sorry, what was the question?”

“I need to know what happened to you that night.”

Suddenly an earthquake erupted at their feet.

The walls rattled violently, frames knocked askew as the furniture shook and vases fell.

Hermione choked back a shocked scream, grasping the edge of the window frame for support.

The tremors stopped within seconds, eerie silence filling the air.

She gazed around in a panic.

“What was that?”

Lavender sighed, expression bored.

“My warning bell.” She stood away from the hearth. “I can’t stay.”

“What?” Hermione stumbled into a table in her haste to cross the room. “You can’t leave!”

“I have to.”
Hermione stopped at her side, grasping her arms, rearing back at the sensation of touching her at
long last. She felt warm, real, alive…

Hermione burst into tears, throwing her arms around the girl’s shoulders and clinging to her
desperately.

“Lavender, please-”

“Shh.” The blonde embraced her back, stroking her hair. “It’s alright, Mione. It’s going to be okay.
You aren’t alone. We’re all with you.”

Hermione’s heartbeat reverberated through every limb as she slowly drew back, meeting the girl’s
eye, the magnitude of the final statement triggering a powerful wave of emotion within her.

“Why me?”

Lavender smiled, gently wiping the tears from her face.

“Because we knew you were strong enough to stop him.”

Hermione shook her head, grasping her tighter.

“But I’m not! I can’t do anything right! And now I’m locked in a padded cell, no one even knows
I’m there-”

“Of course they do.”

Her heart swelled.

“You are loved, Hermione. More than you could ever know. Your friends will come for you.
They’ll help you.” Her hand grazed her cheek. “You must have faith.”

“What am I supposed to do, Lav? How do I fight him?”

The blonde’s smile grew even as her eyes narrowed.

“By being you.”

Hermione blinked.

“I don’t understand-”

The house quaked once more. Hermione clung to her desperately, bones vibrating.

Lavender released a long, slow breath.

“I have to go.”

“No!”

“I don’t have long, Mione. And I need you to do something for me.”

Hermione swallowed miserably, finally nodding.

“Anything.”

The blonde bit her lip, hands tensing on Hermione’s shoulders.

“Tell Parvati…”

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming.

“Tell her I love her. And that she didn’t fail me. Not ever.”

She smirked mischievously.

“And tell her that I like him.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth.

“Like who?”

Lavender ignored the inquiry, expression sobering as the ground shook more violently, the
foundation ripping apart.

“I’m still with her. I’m still with all of you!” She shouted above the destructive chaos.

Hermione shook her head, clutching her for dear life. “Please-”

“We’ll meet again soon, Hermione!”

“Wait!”

She gasped as the girl began to fade from sight, the phantom ghost of her smile lingering behind
for several beats even after her body dissipated into thin air.

Hermione stumbled forward, catching herself against the stone fireplace as the ground finally
settled beneath her feet.

“Lavender!”

She spun in frantic circles, eyes darting to each corner.

A floorboard groaned from upstairs.

Her gaze flickered to the ceiling.

“Lavender!”

She raced into the hallway, knocking furniture aside in her haste to get to the steps. She tripped on
the first few stairs, her dress tangling around her legs. She scrambled forward with all four limbs,
gasping for air.

She skidded across the landing, shoulder clipping the wall hard enough to earn a pained wince.

She darted into the narrow corridor beyond, finally coming to halt outside her parent’s bedroom
door.

It stood ajar.

Rustling pages could be heard from within.

She raised a trembling hand and pushed the barrier the rest of the way.

The hinges creaked loudly.

The person seated in the chair by the window gazed up calmly from their book.

Hermione reared back, hands flying to her mouth to capture her broken sobs, tears dripping off her
jaw and onto her bodice.

“Mum?”

The familiar face smiled warmly.

“Hello, darling.”

The sound of her voice sent a shockwave through the air, far more powerful than either earthquake.
Hermione rocked precariously on her feet, dangerously light headed.

“What… what are you…”

A crease appeared between her mother’s brows as she set her book aside.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?”

Hermione shook her head, charging into the room and collapsing before her mother’s feet, leaning
in and burying her face in her skirts.

“Sweetheart!” Her mother bent forward, running her fingers through Hermione’s curls and rubbing
gentle circles into her back. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?”

Hermione couldn’t speak, sobbing openly, eyes squeezed tight.

“It’s alright, my love,” she cooed softly, holding her close. “Whatever it is, we will fix it together.”

Hermione tipped her head up at last, wiping her eyes with the backs of her stained hands.

“It’s too late.” She shook her head miserably. “We can’t fix it.”

Her mother’s answering smile was radiant as she placed her hands on either side of Hermione’s
face, cupping her jaw tenderly.

“Nonsense. It’s never too late to set things right.”

Her heart stuttered.

“I…”

She swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know how to set it right. I don’t know how to stop him.”

She closed her eyes once more. “I’m not strong enough. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Her face crumpled. “And more girls are going to die because of me.”

Her mother tilted her head, brow arching high.

“You are capable of doing any and everything you set your mind to.”

“This is different-”
“Hermione.”

Her voice was stern, expression stoic and utterly captivating. “Your father and I raised you to be
intelligent and capable.”

Deep pride shone from her eyes. “But you have grown into so much more than either of us ever
dreamed possible.”

Hermione’s heart soared, hands clenching the fabric her mother’s skirts.

“You’re so very clever, so strong and resilient.”

Her thumbs swept beneath her eyes, clearing away the last remnants of her tears.

“But what I admire most about you is your endless capacity for love and how passionately you
fight for what you believe is right, no matter the personal sacrifice, no matter the obstacles set
before you.”

Her smile deepened.

“You will be such a brilliant doctor, my love. You were born to save lives.”

Tears spilled from her own warm brown eyes. “You saved mine with your very first breath.”

She wet her lips, voice hitching. “I never knew how wonderful life could be until I held you in my
arms. And you’ve brought nothing but light and joy to us ever since.”

She took a deep, steadying breath.

“Whatever is troubling you is not insurmountable, no matter how much it feels that way now.”

She nodded, fingers tensing along her jaw.

“You are a fighter, Hermione. Look at all you’ve survived through. Nothing can break your spirit
as long as you stay true to who you are.”

Her hands slowly lowered, twining with Hermione’s atop her lap.

“You will overcome this yet, my darling.”

The heat of her palms radiated into Hermione’s arms and into her chest.

“And you will beat him.”

Hermione clutched her tightly.

“I wish you and daddy were still here.”

“We are, sweetheart.” She pressed their joined hands to Hermione’s chest, centered over the rapid
thrum of her heartbeat. “We are with you always.”

The ground shook beneath her knees, the chair rattling against the floor.

Hermione took a deep breath.

“You have to go, don’t you?”

Her mother gently untangled one of her hands in order to stroke Hermione’s hair once more.

“I can stay for a little while longer.”

Hermione nodded, leaning into the soothing touch.

“Thank you.”

She buried her face into her lap again, savoring the soft fabric against her cheek, the comforting
scent of her perfume.

“I love you, mum.”

A soft humming filled the air, a lullaby from her youth.

“I love you with all my heart, Hermione. You made my life complete.”

Her mother gently rocked her back and forth.

Or perhaps it was the earth crumbling apart.

The humming continued.

Blood rushed through her ears.

She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging tightly to her mother’s legs, fighting back a cry as she felt her
slowly dissipate into thin air.

And then Hermione was leaning against an empty chair.

Her eyes flew open when water splashed against her calves.

She gazed upon the floor in silent misery, watching as the room rapidly filled with liquid.

It rose higher and higher, reaching her chest within seconds.

Hermione scrambled to her feet but lost her footing, plunging back into the freezing sea filling the
bedroom.

The powerful current swept her out of the room and into the hallway. Water filled her mouth,
invaded her lungs, drowning her at last.

She thrashed wildly, unable to find purchase, hands scrambling uselessly against the violent waves.

And then the house started to split apart all around her.

The walls collapsed as the roof was wrenched away, a massive eye appearing overhead, filling the
sky as the dark pupil scanned the interior of the fishbowl, spotting her in the next fluttering
heartbeat.

And then an equally massive hand appeared from the aurora infused sky.

Reaching straight for her.

The water smothered her blood-curdling scream.

.
 .`.`.
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“Hold her steady!”

“I’m trying, Sir!”

A sharp sting pierced her arm.

Her body fell limp.

Heavy panting filled the room from three sets of lungs. Hermione blinked at the industrial beams
lining the ceiling, dazed, cold, and dripping wet.

The Doctor hovered above her, eyes gleaming like a predator in the dark.

“Hermione.”

She tried to cringe away but barely had the strength to blink.

He braced an arm on either side of her body, his broad form filling her vision.

“How did you do that?” His voice was tightly contained and deeply unsettling.

“D-do w-what?” Her lips trembled as violently as the rest of her body.

“Sir, her temperature is-”

The Doctor held up a silencing hand to the orderly, his eyes never straying from her face.

“Have you undergone hypnotism before?”

She blinked, brow creasing.

“H-hypnotism?”

“Don’t lie to me, girl,” he hissed, pupils slitting.

She shook her head, shrinking back against the table as water continued to pour from her drenched
shift and hair, pooling beneath her slight limbs.

“I d-don’t understand. W-where am I?” She turned her head, staring at the large room in confusion.

She caught a glimpse of McGill at her side, his eyes also affixed to her trembling form, though his
expression held a caveat of very different emotions.

After another tense beat, the Doctor pushed away from the table, fists clenched at his sides, water
soaking the front of his shirt.
“Take her back to her room. Keep an eye on her.”

His jaw tensed.

“And bring her to my office the moment the amnesia wears off.”

“Yes, Sir.”

McGill stepped forward at once, draping a heavy blanket over her body. She clung to the fabric
desperately, burying her face into its folds, eager to hide.

The Doctor continued to watch her, his expression closely guarded, his eyes openly lethal.

“You resisted your treatment, Ms. Granger.”

His voice was cold as death. She shivered anew.

And then the corner of his mouth lifted, the effect deeply haunting.

“I underestimated the severity of your affliction. It seems we’ll have to resort to more drastic
measures next time.”

He held her gaze for another sinister beat before spinning on his heel and striding to the door with
great purpose.

She watched him exit the room, releasing a heavy breath as soon as the door settled behind him.

But the relief was short lived as arms slid beneath her, McGill lifting her off the table and
following in the Doctor’s wake.

Hermione hid her face behind the blanket in silence, pressing a hand to her chest and wondering
why it felt as though a hole had been punched right through its center.
 Wait and Hope

You shouldn't ask questions you know the answer to.

It’s not polite.
. . .

Hermione stifled a gasp as McGill lowered her legs to the ground, allowing her a moment to regain
her bearings as her body averted vertical once more, only to slump into his side for balance as he
removed the keys from his belt and unlocked the door to her padded prison.

He pushed the heavy barrier aside and helped her over the threshold, taking on most of her weight
as they crossed the floor to the bed. The moment he released her she collapsed in a heap on the
mattress, instantly curling into a ball beneath the blanket, limbs trembling.

He gazed upon her for a stuttered beat before striding from the room without a word.

She blinked in bemusement, heart racing.

He’d left the door open.

She watched a brief but vivid fantasy play out in her mind, leaping from the bed on graceful legs,
sprinting down the hall at blurring speed, bursting violently through the front doors and emerging
into bright sunshine and crisp air-

She blinked again and he was walking back inside, a familiar grey garment slung over his arm.

He sat the clean dress on the foot of the bed and drew a hand over his mouth, sighing heavily
before addressing her at last.

“Rest. I’ll come back to check on you later.”

She wet her lips tentatively.

“What happened?”

His jaw tensed, shoulders drawing back as he visibly deliberated his response.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I…” She blinked. “I’m not sure,” she concluded weakly, clutching the blanket tighter to her chest,
well aware her shift was rendered transparent with wetness beneath. “I remember speaking to you
this morning… you gave me a pill...”

Her mouth opened and closed on the faded memory.

“The pill.”

Her gaze narrowed, fixating upon him with acute focus. “That wasn’t blue mass.”

He glanced away.

“Not exactly.”

She pushed up on the bed, leaning against the headboard. “What did you give me? Why does it
cause memory loss?”

“I really shouldn’t-”

“McGill.” Her brow furrowed, voice strained. “Please. I just want to know what happened. Why
I’m sopping wet.”

He reluctantly met her gaze. “Your memory will return.”

“Then why does it matter if you tell me now?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head with great resignation.

“I don’t know what’s in the pill. Not exactly. I just know it makes it easier for Bumby to…” He
rubbed wearily at his eyes. “Do whatever it is he does.”

She gazed down at the shriveled pads of her fingertips.

“I take it the treatment involves water?”

“You were in a sensory deprivation tank.”

Her heart stuttered painfully. She leaned forward, intent on prompting him further but he shook his
head and took a wide step back.

"I can't say any more. It's better to let the memories surface on their own."

She settled into the headboard once more, frustrated by his clear dismissal but sensing a losing
battle ahead. Besides, she was too exhausted to verbally fence, regardless of her desperation.

He took another step towards the door. “Try and get some sleep. By the time you wake you should
be back to normal.”

She drew her knees up beneath the blanket, resting her forehead against them. “That’s what I’m
afraid of.” She couldn’t disguise the raw misery in her voice. “My version of normal hasn’t been
doing me any favors these last few months.”

McGill gazed upon her for another moment before his expression lightened. “Normal is boring.”

She released a frail, humorless laugh. “Boring sounds bloody fantastic right about now.”

His countenance rapidly sobered, turning hesitant and instilling a deep sense of dread in her gut.

“I’ve never seen anyone resist treatment. Not under the effect of the drug.”

She swayed in her seated position, heartbeat echoing through every limb.

He grabbed the door handle.

“I don’t think he’s seen it either.” He held her steady in his sights. “If you want to lie low in this
place, try and be less interesting.”

His words caused her muscles to clench and seize, hands twisting the blankets at each side.

He held her gaze for another endless second before turning on his heel and exiting swiftly.

All the oxygen in the room followed in his wake, leaving her gasping for breath as the door clicked
shut. As soon as she heard the lock turn she threw the blanket aside and scrambled to remove her
shift.

The sopping fabric hit the ground with a wet thump, and though she was perfectly content burying
herself beneath the covers once more in nothing but her camisole and bloomers, she feared Wilson
making an unscheduled visit and discovering her in a state of undress.

She hurriedly pulled the dress in place, cringing as the coarse fabric abraded her skin before
curling atop the mattress once more, teeth chattering, cold permeating her bones.

She laid with her back to the wall and her eyes on the door, absently pressing a hand to her chest,
rubbing at the deep ache.

After several minutes her breathing regulated. She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling
instead, too exhausted to string together a coherent thought. Her musings were fractured and wilted
but loud and demanding attention all the same.

Did Tom find Luna?

Please let her be alright...

Please don’t let my stupidity lead her to more harm.

She raked her nails through her hair, prickling along her scalp, allowing the pain to ground her and
keep her housed within this body.

I’m utterly useless.

How am I going to get out of this mess?

She swallowed heavily, pulling at the tresses in impotent frustration.

No one even knows I’m here.

“Of course they do.”

She jolted at the foreign voice in her mind, soft and feminine. Her heart began to race anew,
adrenaline surging. She forced her spine back to the mattress, eyes squeezing shut as she willed the
lost memories forward.

She recalled swallowing the poison pill, the festering rot in her stomach as she walked down the
hallway to the waiting room.

But everything turned hazy after that. As though the memories were submerged beneath water-

Water.

Her breath hitched.

Water water water...

Her hands clenched the damp blanket, frantically grasping for something just out of her reach.

Think, Hermione, think!

Her temples throbbed painfully, skull splitting down the center, brains threatening to spill across
the pillow as though the imprisoned memories were trying to break their way free.

She pressed her hands to either side of her head in a vain attempt to hold it together, eyes darting to
the faded ribbon cutting a crimson mark across her pale wrist.

“Don’t work for it, Hermione.”

The breath evaded her lungs on a powerful woosh as the deep and familiar voice filled her head,
surrounding her on all sides as a phantom weight pressed her into the mattress, invisible hands
grasping her hips, pinning her down.

She pressed her hands to her mouth, smothering a broken sob as the reality of the last twenty-four
hours crashed upon her in a bone-crushing wave, crippling in its intensity.

Oh god… what have I done?

Her chest heaved.

Calm down calm down calm down!

Breathe.

She forced her mind to something familiar, something comforting, an anchor in the storm.

Academics.

Yes. Academics always settled her nerves, sorted her racing mind.

Stop. Be logical. Look from the outside in…

You aren’t the first to be wrongfully imprisoned.

No. Of course not. Others have made it through this. So shall you.

She nodded to herself, face glistening with tears she was hardly aware of shedding.

And suddenly, her father’s deep and calming voice filled her head instead, wrenching a pained sob
from her lips even as she desperately struggled to immerse herself in the sound.

She took shallow breaths, straining to listen, seven years old again and seated before his chair as he
thumbed through the pages of her favorite childhood tale.

Though in retrospect, it wasn’t a child’s tale at all. At the time she’d found it a splendid fantasy
filled with action and adventure and romance.

Reflecting on the story now, she found it dark, sinister and deeply motivating.

A tale of personal fortitude and redemption.

The Count of Monte Cristo.

Fire crackled in the background, the perfect accompaniment to his animated voice as he spun the
vivid imagery in her mind, imitating sword fights with the flourish of his hand, eliciting excited
laughter from her throat as she was transported far from their living room floor, far from her
padded cell.
She took a slow, shuddering breath, hands grasping her throat as she gazed unseeing at the tiles
above, her father’s voice loud and clear as though he was once more seated directly before her.

“All human wisdom is contained in these two words,” she recited in a whisper, heart beating a call
to war within her chest. “Wait and hope.”

She closed her eyes, the last remnants of tears overspilling the corners and disappearing into her
damp hairline.

It was then and there she decided, no matter the darkness ahead, she would venture bravely
through, ever hopeful of finding the light on the other side.

And as she journeyed blind into the transient shadows, she would keep her wits and resolve, doing
whatever it took to escape this grey purgatory...

Waiting for her time to strike.

Tom strode from the medical office with such intensity and purpose a nearby pedestrian stopped
dead in their tracks, stumbling back on the sidewalk to allow him maximum berth.

But he was hardly aware of the occurrence, of the lethal repose of his visage as he tore through the
city like a vengeful spirit from the depths of hell.

He’d just finished visiting with an old colleague from medical school, a man he had not seen or
conversed with in many years. Yet he knew his former associate was well respected in the up and
coming field of mental health, evident by the rather large research grant he’d just been awarded in
order to further expand the understanding of the human psyche.

It was unnerving to be within the man’s presence for too long, especially when the alienist made
his interest regarding the inner workings of Tom’s mind no secret. A select few were able to see
past the masks he adorned, no matter their pristine craftsmanship. Tom usually went out of his way
to refrain from such individuals, but this particular visit was unavoidable, and some punishments
were worth enduring for the culminating reward.

Tom needed to know everything he could about Angus Bumby.

His colleague had recognized the man’s name, though he’d never seen his face. Very few had.

It seemed Bumby was an elusive individual, taking up residence in the large asylum nearly seven
years ago and hardly stepping foot outside since. He lived and worked within its walls, rarely
attending medical conferences or public events.

However, no one seemed to know where the Doctor came from.

Was he a London native, locally educated, or an immigrant with prior practice experience?

Tom couldn’t begin to guess the mysterious Doctor’s age, and though seven years in the field
seemed far too little to take on the mantle of chief physician, it was certainly possible. Tom had
been awarded Head of Surgery after only five.

But Tom was also self-aware enough to know he was a rather… atypical specimen.

Which didn’t bode well for his opinion of the elusive Dr. Bumby.

He needed to know more. Needed to get his hands on transcripts, licensure, visa status, anything to
crispen the murky image in his mind.

He paused at the street corner, arm lingering halfway to flagging down a carriage, running a hand
through his hair instead, eyes briefly closing.

He needed to reexamine Dawn.

Needed to check on Luna...

Needed to find the fucking Dollmaker.

And at this very moment, he desperately needed sleep.

There were so many vital tasks to undertake, so many more pressing items than this current…
obsession.

At least he knew where she was. Investigating the head of the asylum wouldn’t get her released any
faster.

But the driving need to arm himself with information was overwhelming, suffocatingly so.

The thought of her suffering at the hands of a madman-

He forced his lids open, staring blankly at the bustling street beyond, the chaotic drone of the city
falling away as his thoughts surged mercilessly, making him light-headed with exhaustion.

His fists tightened at his sides. He drew his coat tighter around his middle, bracing against the
shrill wind, when something sharp pressed into his ribs, making his spine go rigid.

He pulled open his coat, gazing down in bemusement, heart leaping at the familiar gleam
contained within.

The letter opener.

He’d forgotten it was even there.

He slid a hand inside, tracing the sharp edge with a steady fingertip, watching as the metal dimpled
the skin, wondering how much more pressure it would take to puncture through entirely. To spill
his blood across the pavement. To splash it upon oblivious pedestrians.

“I hope he bled like a gutted pig.”

“He did. It made a mess. Ruined my dress.”

He wrenched his hand away, averting his gaze forward as a torturous pressure swelled within his
chest.

She was locked in an asylum because of him.

Not merely because he was foolish enough to have let her out of his sight.

But because he was embittered enough pushed her away with both hands, toppling her directly into
the path of the crocodile’s snapping jaws.

He tipped his head skyward, staring blindly at the clouds as he fumbled for the reins of his
runaway thoughts.
Such base distractions were useless.

He needed to stay focused and on track. He’d spent too long pursuing a madman across the globe
to be derailed.

Not now. Not when somewhere along the way he’d been driven into madness as well, sacrificing
his every drop of blood, sweat and tears alongside his remaining sanity.

Undeniable evidence sat within Grimmauld, two young women who could provide the evidence
necessary to bring the organization to its knees.

He needed to protect them.

Needed to let go of Her.

And if she were standing directly before him, she would tell him the very same thing.

Rather, she would demand it, refusing to monopolize his time and effort when young women were
still being targeted all across the city.

Selfless to a fault.

“Sometimes it’s okay to be selfish. Necessary even.”

“It’s never necessary to be selfish.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force the soft voice from his mind, the memory of her
laid out beneath him, eyes wide and bright with righteous conviction.

If she were truly before him she would tell him to continue in his pursuit of the Dollmaker, to
ensure the safety of their witnesses.

He drew in a deep breath, holding it in his lungs until they burned with raw fire.

“When her lover died he suffered the same fate, though his waters were filled by flame and ran
parallel to hers.”

He swallowed heavily, a fleeting attempt at quenching the rising heat, grinding his teeth against the
onslaught.

“Forever out of each other's reach.”

He closed his eyes once more.

“Forever cursed by their desires.”

The sound of braying horses drew his focus. A carriage rolled to a stop just before him.

“Need a ride, mate?”

He raised his stormcloud gaze to the driver.

“Yes. I do.”

Yet his feet remained fixed to the curb.

The man arched a brow, winding the reins around his hands.
“Where you headed?”

Tom set his jaw.

Grimmauld.

Where I’m most needed.

One square closer to Checkmate.

He ran his hand over the front panel of his coat, tracing the faint outline of the makeshift dagger.

And then he stepped forward at last, shoulders drawn back and chest pressed tight, unable to quell
the words spilling free of his lips.

“Library of Records.”

The carriage rolled over debris in the road, sending its two inhabitants listing into the reflective
walls as they were tossed around inside.

Draco placed a steadying hand to the window frame on instinct, watching as Dawn collided with
the paneling, expression placid and unchanging.

He ran a hand over his face as she rocked back to the center of the bench a moment later as the car
steadied out, shaking his head in disbelief and exhaustion.

Her glassy eyes rolled upward, fastening to his with unnerving swiftness.

“You look distressed, Master. Is there anything I can do to alleviate your tension?”

He cringed at both the words and their disturbing hollowness.

“Don’t call me that.”

Her expression went lax, eyes blinking twice before they too settled with abject stillness.

“I’m sorry.”

A chill of unease raced along his spine.

“Don’t be sorry. I just… I prefer you call me Draco.”

She nodded stiffly, shoulders perfectly squared and hands motionless atop her lap.

“Yes, Draco.”

“Stop-”

He sighed, closing his eyes.

“You don’t have to obey my every command.” His lids snapped open, brow furrowing. “And that’s
a command in itself, isn't it?”

He shook his head, rubbing the hard line of his jaw. “Shite.”

He forced himself to meet her eyes at last.

Only to push back in his seat, shocked by the smirk curving her lips, the gleam in her normally
vacant eyes.

He blinked and her visage was already reverting back to normal. His heart stuttered, wondering if
maybe, just maybe, her true self was still in there somewhere, trapped beneath the impenetrable ice
shelf, beating away with bloodied fists, desperate to break free.

“Dawn…” He swallowed thickly, regretting the question before it was even asked. “Do you know
who I am?”

Her resounding laugh was soft as wind chimes.

“Of course I do, Draco.”

He took a deep breath. “You remember how we met?”

She tilted her head, smile spreading. “We met during a party at your Uncle’s Estate.”

He drew back, paling. “Did they tell you to say that?”

She blinked, expression crumpling into picture-perfect bemusement.

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you remember how we really met?”

He sighed as her eyes once again drained of all recognition, all life.

“Can you recall seeing me before today?”

Her lips parted, voice as empty as her eyes.

“I met you at your Uncle’s party.”

His jaw tensed, hand bracing the wall as the horses turned a corner.

“I asked you to forget that night. My name. My face.” He shook his head once more, teeth
clenching. “I didn’t ask…”

His eyes drifted to the passing scenery, the world busy in its everyday tasks, as though nothing
were amiss. As though Armageddon wasn't awaiting them all on the horizon.

“I told you to forget.” He wet his lips, voice low. “I commanded it.”

He turned his head, pinning her beneath his gleaming gaze.

“And now I’ve gotten my wish.”

Her expression remained perfectly blank, posture stiff and poised.

A life-size doll.

He leaned forward, eyes darkening.

“Dawn.”

Something flickered in the far recesses of her gaze. A spark. Extinguished by his next breath.
“I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”

He began to reach forward, driven by the same powerful instinct, only for his hands to clench mid-
air, arms frozen in place.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch her. Even in comfort, it felt like a gross violation all the same.

He rested his palms atop his thighs.

“I’m going to do everything I can to fix whatever that bastard did to you. Whatever it costs,
however long it takes.” He searched her eyes, desperate to find that hidden flame once more. “I’m
not going to leave you like this. I promise you that.”

Alas, his search proved fruitless. He dropped back against the seat with a weighted sigh, unable to
bear her eerie stillness a moment longer.

He recalled the Doctor’s words in the clinic. His theory regarding her conditioning.

He decided to put it to the test himself, fists curling anew.

“It’s a beautiful day.”

Her smile awakened at once, brilliant as the sun streaming in.

“Yes, it is!” Her body sprung to life a moment later as she bounced in her seat, leaning forward to
stare out the window. “I can smell the garden from here! I adore the scent of honeysuckle.”

The transformation was as breathtaking as the sight she made as the sunlight illuminated her face.
His vision clouded and for just a moment, it was someone else seated across from him. Within
arm’s reach at long last.

His knuckles turned white against the strain of remaining in place.

Her eyes darted back to him, as though she couldn’t maintain focus on anything else for longer
than a few seconds. Her brows drew in, expression once more mimicking human emotion with
textbook accuracy.

“Draco, what’s wrong?”

He tore his gaze away, inviting the bright sun to blind him entirely.

“It’s hard to look at you.”

She leaned back, stricken.

“You don’t find me pleasing?”

“I find you beautiful. Painfully so.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s torture for my soul.” His shoulders widened, chest expanding, an offering to the waiting
blade. “Which I absolutely deserve.”

Before she could manufacture the proper response the driver called down, announcing their
approach to their final destination. Draco breathed a heavy sigh of relief, desperate to escape these
claustrophobic confines.

He was leaping down to the cobblestone before the wheels stopped turning, inhaling the late
afternoon air greedily, desperately. He paid the coachman and then offered his hand to Dawn,
biting his tongue as she clung to him with both hands, refusing to relent even after he helped steady
her on the pavement.

He reminded himself she was in no more control of her impulses than he was.

He began to escort her up the drive, muscles tensed as she listed into his side like a lover on an
afternoon stroll through the park.

A moment later the front door was flying open and a large body emerged, eyes wide and hair
flying. Black gazed first at the young pair and then at the departing carriage, face struck by raw
panic.

“Harry isn’t with you?”

“Potter is fine.”

The man visibly deflated. “You spoke to him?”

Draco shook his head. “I spoke to Riddle. They’re both working toward getting Dolohov’s will
overturned.”

“So it’s true then? Mione has a new-”

He broke off as Dawn leaned into Draco’s side, resting her head against his arm. Draco closed his
eyes and heard Black shift before them.

“I feel like I’m missing something.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

Black tilted his head.

“Hello, luv. I don’t believe we’ve met.” He arched a dark brow. “I’m Lord Black.”

“Her name is Dawn.”

His eyes flickered to Draco and narrowed. “Can’t she speak for herself?”

“Not in the traditional sense.”

His gaze continued darting between them.

“I’m definitely missing something.”

“I’ll attempt to explain inside.”

Black appeared to be bursting at the seams with questions but led the way to the door all the same.

“It seems I obtain a new young woman every hour.”

“Aren’t you the lucky bastard.”

"My twenty-year-old self would be in adamant agreement."

Draco arched a pale brow. “And now?”

“I want to feed them dinner and drape sheets over their heads.”

“Kinky.”

“We all have our little fantasies.” Black opened the door and ushered them both inside. “I dare say
I’m starting to see the pattern to yours.”

Draco scowled. “It isn’t what it looks like.”

“I beg to differ.” Black’s frustratingly keen gaze snapped to the girl still clutching onto his side.
“The resemblance can’t be denied.”

Draco sighed heavily, stopping in the entry and turning to face him. “That was the point.”

Black slid the heavy bolt into place. “Point?”

“I’ll explain in a moment. But first I want to get her settled in a room upstairs.”

“She’s staying on then?”

“Yes.”

He rubbed tiredly at his eyes. “Put her next to Luna. I’ll ask Parvati to take her-”

“No.”

His eyes snapped open. “No?”

“I need to minimize her interaction with others.”

His brows drew in, mouth opening but no sound emitting, realization sparking in the depths of his
dark gaze a moment later.

“Fucking hell…” His complexion turned waxen. “She’s one of them?”

Draco nodded, an invisible weight pressing hard upon his lungs, making it difficult to breathe, to
stand still.

“Yes.”

“We need to get her to a hospital.”

“I took her to Riddle. He examined her himself and told me to bring her here for safekeeping.”

“We’re taking orders from him now?”

“I’m not keen on the prospect either. But he’s seen this before and may be the only one capable of
treating her.” He wet his lips, peering down at her vacant expression. “He’s coming by later to
examine her further.”

Black tipped his head back with a groan. “Fantastic. Everyone is popping round for tea and a
biscuit other than my bloody godson.”

Draco ignored the man’s frustrated musings as he attempted to extract his arm from her tight grip.
“Dawn.”

She snapped to attention. Black tilted his head, watching her transformation with blatant interest.
Draco’s jaw tensed as she met his eye, an automatic smile stretching her lips in an obscene parody
of a grin.

“Would you like anything to eat before I take you upstairs?”

She shook her head. “No.”

And then she released his arm of her own volition, trailing a hand over his chest as her eyes
smoldered.

“Let’s go to bed.”

He caught her wrist, drawing her hand away as he took a wide step back, meeting Black’s
narrowed gaze over her slender shoulder, only to scowl anew at the accusation written across the
man’s face.

“Give me a little credit.”

Black crossed his arms, widening his stance. “I didn’t say anything.”

Dawn followed his retreat, pressing her body flush to his. He released her wrist and grasped her
shoulders, pushing her back and holding her at arm's length.

“I won’t be joining you for the night.”

Her brows drew in.

“But-”

“It’s not up for debate. Come along.”

He grabbed her hand and started for the steps, relieved when she fell into step without protest.

As they rounded the landing he peered over the banister at Black, still standing in the middle of the
marble entry, eyes firmly affixed to the pair.

But there was no longer judgment housed within their gleaming depths.

What Draco saw was far more unsettling, for it was echoed strongly within his own head and heart.

Fear.

He swallowed heavily, tearing his gaze away as he cut a quick path into the hallway leading to a
row of guest rooms.

The door closest to the stairs remained shut. He knew the ethereal blonde they’d rescued from
Yaxley was housed within. The girl unnerved him greatly with her mysterious talk about auras, but
she had a calming presence that made her company somewhat endurable in short doses.

He was relieved she would be the one in closest proximity to Dawn. He doubted the blonde would
seek to meddle or pry as the iron-willed Parvati would likely attempt.

He pulled her inside the empty bedroom and quickly closed the door, intent on getting her settled
as quickly as possible, but before he even opened his mouth to speak she descended upon him like
a cat in heat.

She grasped handfuls of his shirt and pulled him into her body, pressing along his front and surging
upward, lips aiming for his mouth. He turned his head away just in time and her teeth collided with
his jaw. She was undeterred, trailing a line of heated open mouth kisses down across his neck.

“Dawn- stop!”

She jolted violently, body going taut as a bowstring.

“What’s wrong?” She panted, breathless.

He finally got a hold of her arms and pushed her back with more force than intended, struggling to
regain his bearings as he braced her in an iron hold.

“We aren’t going to do this.”

She blinked slowly, settling back on her heels.

“I thought you said I was beautiful.”

His fingers tensed against her, heavy stones dropping to the pit of his stomach.

“You are. But it changes nothing. I’m not going to touch you.” He swallowed past the constriction
in his throat, dropping his hands from her flesh as he spoke the words. “No man is going to touch
you. You’ll be safe here.”

A deep crease appeared between her brows, lips curving down.

“You don’t want me?”

“Dawn-”

“I’ve done bad.”

His blood ran cold at the haunting cadence of her voice.

“What?”

She staggered back on unsteady legs, grabbing handfuls of her long hair and pulling violently.

“I’ve done bad!”

He gaped, shocked by her outburst, this uncharacteristic display of raw emotion.

“Stop-”

“I’m bad I’m bad I’m bad!”

Her screams quickly turned shrill, cheeks flush and eyes glassy as she released her hair, spinning to
face the bed and gripping the tall wooden post with both hands.

He blinked, lunging forward as she began to ram her head into the barrier, the entire frame shaking
with the powerful impact of her skull.

“Dawn, stop!”
He grabbed her arms and tore her back, ripping her clear off her feet and tipping her into his body.
But she was lost to her frenzy, thrashing wildly in his hold as she pounded her fists into her
temples, cheeks wet with tears.

“I’m bad I’m bad-”

“You aren’t bad!” He grabbed her wrists, crossing his arms across her front and sinking to the
ground, forcing her to descend with him, trapping all of her limbs against his body. “You haven’t
done anything wrong!”

She continued to sob hysterically, straining against his hold as she dug her heels into the carpet and
tried to gain traction.

The door flew open.

Draco glanced sharply to his left, face pinched in hostility.

“Get out!”

Blaise raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, blinking as he took in the scene on the ground.

“I heard screaming.” His eyes flickered to Dawn, eyes widening as his arms dropped. “Holy shite.
Thought it is was Granger for a second.”

“Blaise, leave.”

Her sobbing turned to sharp keening, eyes squeezed shut as she began to curl in on herself, and
thereby into Draco. Blaise’s expression was transfixed.

Draco held her tighter.

“Get the hell out!”

Blaise opened and closed his mouth but finally took a step back, reaching blindly for the brass
knob. Draco waited until the door was shut with his friend on the opposite side before directing his
attention forward.

“Dawn,” he whispered, voice thick. “Listen to me. You are not to hurt yourself again, do you
understand?”

His chest absorbed the aftershocks of her broken sobs.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t-” He took a deep breath, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “It’s alright, luv. It’s
alright.”

She finally fell still against him.

“Just calm down.”

He rested his chin atop her head, loosening his grip enough to stroke her arms in as soothing a
gesture as he knew how.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. This is my fault.”

He swallowed heavily as she went limp in his hold, sinking into him fully. He was hardly aware
he’d begun to rock her back and forth in the same manner his mother did when he was a child.

“This is all my fault.”

His chest tightened with conviction, molten steel running through his veins.

“And I’m going to fix it.”

Astoria watched with rapt fascination as Mistress Tonks scooped another spoonful of sugar into her
porcelain cup, stirring with precise and measured movements, manners as impeccable as any
governess she’d ever seen.

“Does your father know where you are tonight?”

The question startled her. She sat straighter, pressing back into the chair.

“Yes.”

Her companion raised a dark brow. “Really?”

“Well...” Astoria glanced at her own cup, tracing a finger along the gold filigree on the handle. “He
thinks Draco is here with me, introducing me to his extended relatives.”

Mistress Tonks nodded, setting her spoon aside. “Ah. I see.” She brought the steaming cup to her
lips, watching Astoria over the rim. “So you’re engaged?”

“Unofficially.”

The Mistress took a small sip, setting the cup in the saucer with such practiced skill it made not a
sound.

“Are you fond of my nephew?”

Astoria blinked, feeling the blood drain from her face and into her feet.

“Y-Yes, of course-”

“It’s quite alright, dear. I was also engaged to a Malfoy at your age.”

Her jaw clamped shut, heart stuttering.

“I’d like to think my nephew is leaps and bounds the man Lucius ever was, however I know what
it is to be trapped in a loveless union all the same.”

Astoria took a deep breath and smoothed the linen napkin over her lap, fingers trembling.

“I do care for Draco. Truly. He’s one of the few people I can be completely honest with.” Despite
her wrought nerves a wry grin managed to break free. “Although this has been a recent
development. It seems we’ve grown quite close in our mutual pursuit of freedom.”

The Mistress smiled, leaning back with casual repose.

“But you’re not in love.”

Astoria opened and closed her mouth, lies failing her as she was pinned with a supremely knowing
look. She sighed, shoulders dropping in resignation.

"To be fair, I've never been in love. I know it's different for everyone. Sometimes it's
instantaneous, sometimes it takes a while to flourish." She twisted the napkin into a rope beneath
the table. "My sister couldn't stand Gregory when they were children. Now they’re mad for each
other.”

She forced her eyes back up. “They’ve been engaged for over half her life. Draco and I have known
each other for just as long. But I’ve never…” She shook her head, rib cage swelling. “I’ve never
felt anything more than sisterly affection.”

She took a deep breath, one weight lifted, another added. “It’s the same for him.” She swallowed
lightly, glancing down to the gleaming table surface, staring upon her own pale reflection. “It’s
worse for him, actually.”

The Mistress tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Why do you say that?”

“Because he…”

She bit her lip.

It’s not my secret to tell.

“Because he’s trying to protect me from the fallout. He feels responsible for me.”

Her hostess's expression turned pensive. "I rarely had the opportunity to see him when he was
growing up. It brings me great joy to know the kind of man he has turned out to be."

Astoria nodded quickly.

“I am fortunate to be paired with him. I could have easily ended up with someone who thinks I’m
nothing but decoration for the mantle.”

“Is there no one else you desire to marry?”

The question took her so off guard she broke out in a blistering blush.

“I…”

The Mistress smiled coyly, eyes creased with humor. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Astoria swallowed thickly, squirming her chair. “When I was younger, I thought perhaps…” She
looked into her lap once more, pressing the mangled linen smooth. “It was merely a crush. We’ve
barely spoken a handful of words throughout the course of our acquaintanceship.”

She laughed dryly, misery edged in her voice, in her soul.

“I don’t know the first thing about him.”

And then she delicately cleared her throat, tipping her chin back up and holding the Mistress’s keen
gaze.

“Truthfully, the idea of marrying anyone frightens me a great deal.”

“I could relate to that sentiment quite well, once upon a time.”

She blinked.

“But I thought…”

“I ran away from home to marry Ted?”

The Mistress erupted into a fit of melodic laughter, sounding genuinely delighted.

“No, darling. I just refused to marry Lucius, and the Tonks were willing to take me in.”

Astoria’s hands fell still, drawn forward by the smooth cadence of her voice.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d been secretly pining for Ted for quite some time. His mother was a maid
in our household for many years, I spent nearly as much time with him as my own sisters. But love
didn’t blossom until much later, after we both grew into adulthood.”

“Weren’t you scared to run away?”

“I feared my father’s backlash more than anything. He had the power to destroy the Tonks. The
power to kill me.”

Astoria paled once more, knees pressing as tension stole through her entire body.

“He’d kill his own child?”

The Mistress gazed idly at her teacup, tracing a fingertip around the rim and relaying the news no
differently than a weather report. “He harbored no fondness for his children. Not in the paternal
sense. He loved the status we could bring him and nothing more. Once I threw his name into
scandal I was convinced he would end my life.”

Astoria wet her lips, eyes wide. “And yet you ran anyway?”

“Marrying Lucius would effectively end my life just the same. I thought it better to exit this world
abruptly than drag out my demise for many years.”

Her heart stuttered. “Is Lord Malfoy really that bad?”

Mistress Tonks sighed. “He was never cruel. But he was never warm. Of course, he was also
madly in love with Cissy, so I imagine he resented me a great deal.”

She shook her head, adjusting in her seat.

“It was long ago. We were only teenagers. Emotions ran high.” Her spine straightened, as though
braced against the world. “But I am grateful I acted on those whims. They led me to Ted. To this
life.”

She smiled fondly, teeth gleaming beneath the chandelier. “And I couldn’t be happier.”

Astoria leaned back at last, her face a mapwork of awe. “I wish I had your bravery.”

“Don’t you?”

She couldn’t contain the laughter that bubbled up and over spilled her lips.

“I’m not exactly courageous.”

“I think it took a great deal of courage coming here tonight, knowing how your father will react if
he knew the truth.”

She bit her lip, pulse thrumming anew.

“It still doesn't feel real. That you want to publish my book.” A smile curved her lips. “I felt so
much joy leaving your shop that day.”

“And now?”

Her smile fell.

“I still feel it. But it’s matched by fear.”

A heavy shadow swept in from above, blanketing the room.

“Of your father.”

"Yes. As well as the rest of the gentry. They would never accept me as anything but a proper
housewife. Women of my station do not take careers. Certainly not in male-dominated fields."

“Then you will start the trend.”

Astoria smiled sadly.

“My father is terrifying, but I harbor no fear of him killing me.” Her expression sobered. “The fact
that you were strong enough to leave your life behind at such a young age is truly remarkable. I
admired you a great deal before tonight, but now I think I shall build a shrine for you in my closet.”

Her companion’s laughter echoed all around, unrestrained and joyful, rhythmic and contagious.

“Oh, how you flatter me, dear girl!”

She wiped the corners of her eyes, settling down after a few more moments. “But I wonder… is it
admiration you feel, or envy?”

Astoria’s heart skipped.

“I…I don’t understand.”

“Do you dream of escaping your life? Your name and family?”

She swallowed thickly, fingers interlacing tightly atop her lap.

“I love my sister very much.”

“Then you don’t have to worry about losing her. Once she marries the young Mister Goyle she will
be free to converse with whomever she pleases, regardless of your father’s wrath.”

She shook her head. “I still couldn’t leave.”

“Why not?”

Nervous laughter escaped, unbidden.

“Are you… is this a game of some sort?”

Mistress Tonks tilted her head, eyes gleaming bright and hypnotic. “It’s not a game, my dear. It’s
your future.”

Astoria released a slow breath.

“I would never be able to show my face in London society again.”

“Thank goodness the world is so big.”

She shook her head, pressure loosening in her chest as another frightening sensation took hold.

Hope.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Hm…” The Mistress began to drum her slender fingers atop the table. “What languages do you
speak?”

Astoria leaned forward, unable to escape the powerful lure. The conversation was utterly
ludicrous. Utterly dangerous.

And yet she couldn't resist playing along.

“Italian, French and Spanish.”

“I daresay that’s a marvelous start.”

She tucked an imaginary loose strand of hair behind her ear, fighting the urge to fidget.

“I have always wanted to visit Spain. I thought perhaps after Draco and I married I would ask for a
villa in Barcelona. That way he could remain in London and live as a free man while I was allowed
to pursue my own interests.”

The Mistress smiled, bringing the teacup to her lips once more.

“A marvel idea.”

She took a hearty sip, setting the porcelain down with more force this time.

“Now let’s subtract my sweet nephew from the equation.”

Astoria reared back, feeling light-headed.

“I… I don’t...”

“Would you like to stop talking about this subject?”

She held the woman’s gaze in tense silence, the walls pressing upon her, the roof caving in.

“I would love nothing more than to continue talking about it.”

She wet her lips tentatively, picking at the edges of the napkin until the fabric began to fray.
“Which is why I think we should stop.”

Mistress Tonks nodded slowly.

“I understand.” Her smile was warm, genuine. “Whenever you are ready to resume the discussion,
you know where to find me.”

Astoria breathed a heavy sigh of relief, not fully comprehending the last few minutes, terrified of
reflecting upon the words for too long.

“Thank you.” She slowly grinned, something breaking free inside her chest at last. “Andy.”

The older woman chuckled softly, falling quiet as the sound of the front door opening echoed
loudly down the hall and into the dining room.

Andromeda’s smile took on a new, radiant light. “Ah, that will be Ted. Just in time for supper.”
She pushed back from the table, rising swiftly. “I’ll be just a moment, darling.”

“Of course.”

She watched her leave the room at an unhurried pace, though her eagerness to reach her destination
was clear.

Astoria’s heart swelled at the obvious love and devotion between the Tonks, even after three
decades of marriage.

It also made her stomach knot.

Because deep down, she knew she craved such love for herself.

So badly she could barely breathe at times.

The only companionship she had ever known was Daphne's, their mother having died before she
was old enough to retain any solid memories of their time together.

But she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be loved by a man. To be wanted above
all else. To be desired to the point of madness. To be looked at the way Greg looked upon Daphne,
as Ted looked upon Andy, as Draco looked upon Hermione.

She wondered if anyone could ever love her with such intensity, desiring her not in spite of her
flaws but because of them.

And she wondered if running away from this life would rid of her such crippling loneliness or
merely provide a new backdrop for her misery.

She set the napkin on the table, trying to reign in her thoughts and emotions before her hosts
returned.

Yet she couldn't shake the phantom whisper.

“It’s not a game, my dear. It’s your future.”

She closed her eyes.

A dangerous notion indeed.

Hermione followed McGill at a steady pace as he led her down the long and narrow corridor to a
familiar black door at the end.

The orderly had appeared in her room only minutes after she awoke from a fitful sleep, plagued by
strange dreams she couldn’t fully recall upon waking, though glimpses of a vibrant, paint saturated
sky continued to flash through her mind’s eye without rhyme or reason.

She barely had time to reflect on the surreal imagery before he was escorting her out of the room
and across the sprawling structure.

To the Doctor’s office.

Her fists clenched at her sides as they reached the end of the line, the door situated just before
them. He seemed to sense the unrest within her, allowing her a moment to gather her bearings
before he rapped softly against the wood.

Her heart swelled, fit to burst with latent terror, her earlier encounter in the bizarre equipment room
still spinning through her mind, trapped in a tidal wave of memory fragments, the wreckage left
behind from the poison pill.

“Enter.”

She cringed, unable to quell her visceral reaction. McGill spared her a sympathetic glance before
opening the door and stepping aside.

She swayed on her feet as the office was revealed, bathed in orange evening light, shadows
stretched high upon the walls, casting patterns along the Doctor’s many framed certificates.

Yet her eyes fastened immediately upon the man in question, seated behind his large ornate desk,
gazing up from whatever paperwork sat before him.

“Ah. Hermione. Do come in.”

She swayed on her feet, a dark force field centered at the threshold.

She knew if she crossed over, all would be lost.

No.

Hope… and wait.

The time will come.

She stepped inside.

A chill raced up her spine, setting the fine hairs along her arms and neck on end.

The Doctor smiled, teeth bright and deadly.

“Have a seat.”

She refused to cower, to feed into his twisted amusement any further, pushing forward and crossing
the rug until she reached the chair situated opposite his.

As she folded into it he dismissed the orderly lingering in the corridor with a simple nod of his
head. Her blood ran cold the moment the door closed behind her, the click deafening and final.

And suddenly she understood…

She was in the Ninth Circle, seated across from the Devil himself.
He pushed the papers aside, awarding her with his undivided, unsettling attention.

“How are you feeling?”

She swallowed tentatively, recalling the rage in his eyes when they last spoke, noting the casual
repose he now sat with, completely unconcerned.

She didn’t trust the act for a moment.

“A bit groggy.”

He nodded once, as though anticipating such a response.

“That is a normal side effect of the drug, nothing to worry about.”

Her jaw tensed, hands curling over the ends of the armrests.

“What exactly was the drug?”

His silver grin was sharp as a clever.

“I’m afraid that information is classified, my dear. But I assure you, all the ingredients are perfectly
safe.”

Her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps separately. But they obviously cause hallucinations when combined,
which can lead to self-harm and accidental injury. I hardly deem such a drug safe.”

She saw malevolence in his bright gaze. Along with intrigue. She wasn’t sure which unnerved her
more. And then he leaned back, tilting his head to leisurely study her at an angle.

“Has your memory returned to you?”

His tone was edged with disinterest but the tight set of his shoulders told another story. There was
greedy hunger in his eyes, reminding her of Dolohov. And yet the two men were polar opposites,
one desiring her body, the other her mind. She tread carefully along the narrow plank, surging
ocean beneath the rickety beam, snapping jaws eagerly awaiting her misstep.

“Somewhat. I remember McGill escorting me into the room with the deprivation chamber.” She
wet her lips, doing her best not to squirm. “I recall only brief flashes after that.”

He arched a grey brow. “Such as?”

Her knuckles turned white as she dug her nails into the leather upholstery.

“Being placed in the water. Feeling as though I was drowning.”

“I assure you, Hermione, you were perfectly safe the entire time.”

Despite the forced calm of his tone, she felt her skin crawl in fear and disgust, unable to bear the
sound of his voice forming her name. Her eyes flickered to his hand, curled around his bicep, and
fantasized about slicing his fingers clean off.

The blood fueled imagery soothed her.

“Perhaps. But it did little to minimize the terror I felt.”

“You recall being inside the tank then?”

Her gaze darted back up.

“My memory fades the moment the lid was shut.”

His smile grew, lines stretched taut like a marionette.

“How convenient.”

Her jaw set. “I fail to follow.”

“You’re a terribly clever young woman, you follow just fine.”

Her own lips pressed thin.

His expression melted away a moment later, arms unfolding, dropping to the table instead. His
forearms were sinewy with firm muscle. He was in good shape for his age. The observation
inspired great frustration. She quickly discarded any notions of overpowering the man by herself.

“You received a visitor.”

She blinked, heart jolting.

“Last night and this morning while you were undergoing your treatment.”

He drummed his fingers along the wood, each successive tap a needle plunging through her flesh.

“The most persistent man, I am told. And a fellow Doctor no less.”

His gaze darkened, fixing upon her with predatory stillness. And then he traced the edge of his
teeth with his tongue, as though savoring the words to come.

“Thomas Riddle.”

Her pulse thrummed madly, muscles turning to unforgiving stone, adhering her permanently to the
chair. She struggled to keep her visage neutral, free of reaction, but his answering smile told her he
saw right through the poorly constructed rouse.

His fingers continued to drum an even beat, gaze unwavering.

“I admit I reacted quite strongly to the name as well.” He tilted his head in consideration. “You see,
I also knew a Doctor Thomas Riddle. Once upon a time.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a disturbingly wry smirk.

“But he is long since dead.”

She jolted as his hand flattened upon the desk with a thump.

“Perhaps it is mere coincidence a man of the same name should show up at my door.” His arms
bent, fingers steepling before his mouth. “Perhaps it is also a coincidence he is the physician at the
Umbridge Home. And that you are his patient.”

He smiled anew, fangs glistening in the violet light emanating through the tall windows.

“So many coincidences.”

Her chest felt tight, breathing became a struggle.

“Tell me, Hermione… how long have you been acquainted with Doctor Riddle?”

She swallowed thickly, thoughts caught in a whirlwind, hands trembling too hard to pick out a
single one from the raging storm.

“Since the start of his tenure.”

“Is that so?” His joyous expression didn’t bode well. “How peculiar.”

He suddenly reached forward, grabbing up the paperwork from moments ago.

“According to the documents he left at the desk last night, he’s been your primary physician for the
last five years.”

She wondered if she was having a heart attack, hands clutching the chair so tightly the wood
groaned beneath the strain.

“I-”

“Don’t fret, dove. I spotted the forgery the moment I laid eyes on the papers.”

His gaze roamed the top sheet with passing interest, as though reading a restaurant bill.

“I admit, they are very well done, I imagine if he had more time he may have managed to put one
over even on me.”

His eyes rose once more, glittering from the swelling shadows.

“Not that it matters. I have no intention of letting you go either way.”

She pressed back in the seat as hard as she could.

“Not while you’re still so unwell.”

“I’m not unwell.”

“No?” He seemed pleased by the venom in her voice. “So you aren’t plagued by ghostly
hallucinations?”

She inhaled deeply, spine poised. “They aren’t a plague.”

His eyes traced the lines of her face. “What a fascinating response.”

“Is it?”

His laughter set her nerves aflame.

“Oh, you certainly do have spirit. No wonder so many powerful men want you.”

Her stomach knotted painfully, causing her to shrink back once more.

“And now I see for myself what drives the mysterious Tom Riddle out of hiding at long last.”

“He was never in hiding,” she said on instinct, chest burning with a smoldering flame.
He wet his lips, considering her for several moments with narrowed eyes.

“What a treasure you are. An unexpected gift. I had no idea the advantage you would grant me
when I accepted your case. I naively assumed you would be like all the others. But then you
managed to resist the pull of the drug, and now you bring me Tom at long last.”

She felt light-headed, the shadows spreading rapidly across the walls at his back, vying for her
attention.

“What a magnificent creature you are.”

The fire in her chest spread through her limbs, breathing life into her anew. “You would know all
about creatures.”

He blinked.

And then a slow, sinister smile crept upon his face, more frightening than all the others combined.

For the final mask fell away before her eyes, the true face of the Dollmaker visible at long last.

“I suppose it’s long time we did away with pretense.” He leaned in, bracing his forearms against
the lip of the desk. “You obviously know who I am.”

She, in turn, pressed back, disgust shrouding her body and words.

“You’re a monster.”

He tilted his head. “That is often the name applied to individuals society cannot understand.”

“It’s applied to soulless beasts. And there’s nothing to understand. You aren’t a genius. You aren’t
a god.”

“Nor have I claimed to be either.”

Her claws lengthened, tearing through the leather upholstery. “Why else would you go to such
lengths destroying innocent lives if not to make up for your own inadequacy?”

He tipped his head back and erupted into a fresh round of wall trembling laugher.

“Oh what spirit indeed!” He shook his head ruefully. “What a shame I must break it.”

She inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring as she leaned in, propelled by the force of her hatred.

“You will never break me.”

His smile faded in intensity but remained hauntingly fixed.

“I harbor no doubt you will pose a great challenge, my dear. Fortunately, I love to be challenged.
Nothing worth having in this life is easily obtained.”

“You will never have me either.”

“Look around you, child.” He gestured to the office. “You are already mine.” He sighed, arms
lowering to the desk once more. “In a manner of speaking, of course, since legally you now belong
to someone else.”
Her heart lurched violently, battering at her ribcage.

“I suppose it won't come as a shock to you that Mr. Dolohov perished away last night in a horrific
house fire.”

She scowled. He continued on, voice light and undaunted.

“I’d assumed he would be the one to come here, based on the rumors I’ve heard about his… shall
we say, fascination with you.”

Bile rose in her throat, thick as the sludge she watched pour from his eyes and mouth in the
equipment room.

“I also had a sneaking suspicion he would deny me the opportunity to cure you. Luckily, your new
guardian is a close acquaintance of mine, and is more than happy to continue your course of
treatment.”

She reared back as his smile grew fangs.

"However, I will be unable to do so at the asylum. Not with Tom battering down the door. I harbor
no doubt he’ll set the entire building aflame to get to you, and I’m not keen on suffering the same
fate as the poor Mr. Dolohov.”

He licked his lips, practically salivating before her.

“But fear not, pet. Your guardian has sent someone to escort you to your new home.”

Her entire body rattled with the force of her heartbeat.

“I will join you in the morning, and we shall pick up where we left off.”

As if awaiting some silent cue, the door opened and a man stepped inside, dressed in dark uniform.

“No!” She screamed, leaping to her feet and staggering back into the wall, adrenaline making her
sick and light headed.

“I wasn’t exaggerating before, Hermione.” The Doctor stood gracefully, slowly emerging from
around the desk. “Many powerful men want you. Never have I received so many requests before
the product is finished.”

“You vile bastard!”

“I am sure you will call me far worse before our sessions are through.”

He nodded to the stranger.

“Please detain the patient so that I may sedate her for travel.”

“Don’t touch me!”

“Don’t let him take you, Hermione.”

She gasped, a fresh scream emerging from her lips as Dolohov materialized at her side, the endless
black of his eyeless skull drilling holes through her head.

“You’re only chance to escape is now.”

The words caused a stir of emotions within her, both in their urgency and the perverse concern in
which they were delivered.

The uniformed stranger started towards her, hands lifting. She dashed to the tall shelf in the corner,
grabbing the heaviest book she could spot and throwing it with all the strength contained in her
slight form.

Her aim was terrible, limbs still shook and weak from the drug and water tank.

But she continued launching missile after missile, until at long last she landed a hit on her target,
the corner of a heavy spine clipping the advancing man on his temple with a powerful thwack.

He gasped in shock, grabbing his injured forehead and stepping back on instinct. She seized the
opportunity and charged past, losing a shoe halfway across the room before grabbing the chair
she'd previously occupied and knocked it over in his path as he barrelled after her.

He tripped over the obstacle with another shout of pain, crashing to the floor hard enough to shake
the wall. She wasted no time celebrating the small victory, kicking her other shoe off for balance
and sprinting into the hall as though hellhounds were nipping at her heels.

She heard the Doctor sigh in annoyance as the uniformed man struggled to regain his footing, and
then the only sound in the world was the deafening wail of her heart.

By some miracle she reached the door at the other end of the corridor, living out the escape fantasy
she’d played through her mind countless times since her arrival, arm outstretched to grab the
handle, when suddenly the barrier gave way of its own accord, swinging outward as a large body
appeared in the frame, blocking her way to freedom.

She didn’t have time to check her momentum, colliding into the solid mass at full speed, the impact
jarring her bones and knocking the wind from her lungs as she bounced back and toppled to the
hard ground.

She scrambled to her hands and knees, gazing up with wide, terrified eyes, meeting McGill’s
equally perplexed gaze as the sound of pounding footsteps echoed loudly behind her.

“Granger? What-”

“Grab her!”

“Please!” She screamed mindlessly, clutching McGill’s leg like a small child. “Please help me!”

His face looked utterly stricken.

The man at her back drew near.

The orderly shook free of her grasp and stepped forward, inserting himself between her trembling
form and the scowling beast charging down the narrow divide.

“What’s going on?”

“I'm here to take the girl to her guardian. She attacked me!”

“Please don’t let him take me!” She begged, sobbing openly as she struggled to her feet.

“McGill.” Her blood ran cold as the Doctor started down the hall at a casual pace. “Stand aside.”
“Sir-”

“Stand down.”

His voice was edged with as much poison as the pill, leaving no room for dissent. McGill
swallowed heavily, peering over his shoulder and meeting her desperate gaze. The look in his eye
shattered her heart to pieces before he even uttered the words.

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head frantically, too miserable to form any additional pleas. His jaw tensed.

“Any life outside of these walls is better than one within.”

And then he moved aside.

She screamed anew as the darkly clad man reached out and captured her arm, wrenching her
forward.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he hissed.

“Go to hell!”

She thrashed like a madwoman, driven by animal instinct and Dolohov’s haunting words.

She scratched, kicked, clawed, streaking his arms and face with red, caking it beneath her nails. He
wrapped both arms around her and began dragging her back down the hall, towards the awaiting
Doctor. She went limp in his hold, causing him to grunt in frustration as he tried to reestablish his
grip. She braced a foot against the wall and kick with all her might, causing him to lose his balance
and topple backward with her still tightly encased in his arms.

His spine hit the hard tile with a deafening crack even as the air was driven from her chest with the
painful impact. His arms loosened and she scrambled away, crawling on all fours, screaming like a
feral cat as her ankle was seized in an iron grip, leg wrenched back and chin hitting the ground
with enough force to fill her mouth with blood as her tooth cut her cheek.

She gritted her jaw against the sting, pulling her leg forward as hard as she could.

“Get off me!”

“You little bit-”

"There's no need for such base antics as childish name-calling," the Doctor calmly supplied as he
appeared at their sides, gait even and unhurried.

“Hold her steady.”

The man crawled over her body, grabbing her hips and flipping her over. She gasped in shock,
clawing at his face, aiming for his eyes-

Only for both wrists to be caught in his manacling grip. He ground her bones beneath his hands,
rage clear upon his blood-streaked face.

And as she attempted to twist her arms free, she felt the ribbon snap beneath his unyielding palm.

And a piece of her soul snapped along with it.

Forever gone. Dissipating in the wind.

The Doctor kneeled beside her head, face hovering above her own.

“You sick twisted-”

“As I said, there’s no need for name calling, my dear.” The Devil smiled. “I am merely trying to
help you.”

“You won't get away with this!”

He raised the needle to the light, examining the clear contents as he pushed the plunger up,
removing air bubbles.

Tears clouded her vision. Smoke filled her lungs. Hatred festered in her heart.

“Tom will find you.”

The message was delivered with utter calmness.

For she knew the words to be true and believed them with every powerful beat of her heart.

His movements froze, eyes darting down once more.

And then he smiled anew.

“Oh, I’m counting on it, pet. I’ve been waiting a very long time for the boy to become a man.”

She screamed as he plunged the needle into her arm, thrashing anew, helplessly pinned by the
oppressive weight bearing down upon her.

“He’ll cut out your heart,” she hissed.

He pushed down on the plunger. Ice surged through her veins.

“Perhaps he will. Lord knows he’s earned the right.”

Her muscles went instantly lax. The restraining hands loosened and her wrists dropped lifelessly to
the checkered floor.

The ribbon floated down to the ground, sitting upon the white tile like a smear of blood.

“Or then again, perhaps I’ll cut out his, just as I did to Thomas.”

The words echoed through her head at half speed, the meaning lost to her rapidly fading mind, but
the shadows racing along the ceiling and walls told her everything she needed to know about what
awaited her on the other side.

“Only one thing is for certain, Hermione.”

She hardly felt his hand weaving into her hair, fingers grasping the back of her skull and lifting her
head from the ground, bringing her face close to his, mouths nearly touching as he hissed a sinister
promise across her lips.

“You will be my greatest creation yet.”

The shadows crashed and collided, merging as one.

And then they swept down.

Consuming her entirely.

Draco took the stairs two at a time, eager to reach the landing, eager to put the ordeal at
Grimmauld out of his mind.

He was wracked by guilt and shame, fear and panic, terrified there was no cure for whatever the
bastard had done to Dawn.

Which didn’t bode well for any of the Dollmaker’s other victims.

But right now he had to shift his focus to another woman, someone he could help.

If he played his cards right.

And he was willing to play every card in his deck, propelled forward by the memory of her
impassioned voice.

“Those with means have a responsibility to help those without.”

“What a load of shite, Granger. Sounds like a bunch of people wanting a handout.”

“Everyone needs a helping hand at some point, Draco. And someday, you will, too.”

He'd scoffed at her that day, rolled his eyes, eager to provoke her ire, her heated flame. But despite
his youthful flippancy, her words had burrowed deep within his mind, unsettling him for years to
come.

And now he understood why.

They were a dark omen of the trials he would soon face.

His hands twitched at his sides, plagued by the phantom sensation of holding Dawn as she sobbed
hysterically in his arms. Twitching with the need to reach across the hospital bed and drag
Hermione into his arms, shouting to hell with the world around them.

His selfishness had driven away the woman he loved, his weakness had prevented him from
mending the wounds. His shortcomings were a festering rot, an infection quickly spreading to
every vital organ.

It was time to cut away the dead flesh.

Starting at the source.

He strode down the hallway with great purpose, taking a deep breath to steady himself before
knocking on the closed door at the end.

“Come in.”

He drew his shoulders back and entered swiftly, spotting his target across the room, seated behind
his vinewood desk with a stack of papers in his hand and reading glasses resting low on his nose.

“The prodigal son returns.”

Draco shut the door behind him, stepping further into the opulent office he’d so admired as a child.

“I could say the same for you.”

His father arched a pale brow, removing the glasses and setting them aside. “Meaning?”

“I got in early this morning, you were already gone.”

He nodded. “I had some emergency business to take care of.”

“Involving Dolohov.”

He blinked, setting the papers aside next. “You’ve read the announcement I take it.”

“Yes.”

He ran a hand along his jaw absently, leaning into the high backed chair. “Such a shocking
tragedy.”

His voice held no trace of grief or sadness. Draco stopped on the other side of the desk, crossing
his arms to hide his clenched fists.

“Do they know how the fire started?”

“Arson.”

He tipped his chin up, heart leaping.

“Murder?”

His father idly traced the rim of his eyeglass lens. "His remains were blackened, destroying most of
the physical evidence. Though the investigators found two of his fingers clear across the room, as
well as several empty gas cans littering the floor."

“Fucking hell.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Draco inhaled slowly, making a concerted effort to keep his tone unaffected. “And why were you
called in?”

His father glanced back to the paperwork, his own voice unnervingly measured. "To oversee the
execution of his will. Given the nature of his cases, it was imperative everything was transferred
immediately."

Draco wet his lips. “His cases.”

“Hm.”

His muscles started to tense as he fought for control. “It couldn’t wait until regular business
hours?”

His father’s eagle gaze flickered up. “Unfortunately not.” He tilted his head, eyes unblinking, eerie
in their stillness. “Is something wrong, Draco?”

He counted four heartbeats before forcing his arms to drop casually at his sides. “I’m just shocked
to hear about Dolohov.”

“It was jarring news to me as well.”

He nodded slowly. “At least you were able to carry out his final wishes.”

And then the anger struck, sinking its claws deep and seeping venom in his bloodstream.

“I’m sure he’s very grateful for such devote loyalty.”

His father narrowed his gaze, voice deepening, slowing, the opening stance of his infamous verbal
fencing dance.

“Perhaps this conversation would progress faster if you spoke plainly, son.”

He barely tamped down a cringe.

Fuck.

“Nevermind.”

He spun on his heel, silently berating himself for showing his hand too soon, always inept in the
midst of his father’s effortless sparring.

“Where were you last night, Draco?”

His body went rigid, steps slowing to a stop halfway to the door. His jaw worked silently, still
facing the opposite direction.

“Where I always am at three a.m. Gambling in the East End.”

“I ran into my contact at your regular haunt on my way home. They denied having seen you.”

His hands clenched as he spun around, signature scowl firmly centered in place.

“Why do you always insist on asking questions you already know the answers to?”

His father’s answering smirk only infuriated him further. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black
now, isn’t it?”

“What?”

His father’s expression rapidly sobered, silver eyes gleaming. “You knew where I was this
morning. Just as you knew Dolohov was dead.”

Draco crossed his arms once more. “I didn’t know for certain.” His lips curved into a sinister grin.
“I merely hoped.”

“And why is that?”

He shook his head, taking a wide step back. “I’m done playing your childish games.”

“Then act like a man and speak the truth aloud!”

The command unleashed something wild within the pit of his chest, clawing desperately to break
free, breathing flames into him anew. He surged forward, eyes feral, smoke billowing, slamming
his hands on the desk and knocking the oil lamp to its side, pinning his father with a lethal glare.
“You knew about that bastard's obsession with her and you allowed him to take custody anyway!”

Lucius appeared supremely unaffected his son’s outburst. “I didn’t allow anything. Her parents
were the ones who allotted him controlling rights.”

The fire burned hotter, brighter, scouring away his flesh to reveal gleaming black scales beneath.

“They didn’t know the man was a pedophile and a pervert!”

His father finally reacted, color rising in his neck, voice edged in steel.

“I only saw the contract after it was signed and registered with the courts. I hardly had any say in
the matter.”

“Are you sure about that, father?” He pushed away from the heavy desk with force. “Dolohov
wasn’t exactly the sharpest sword in the armory. The ironclad terms of his will carry a very
distinctive stench.”

Lucius blinked. “You’ve seen it?”

Draco set his jaw. “I’ve heard about it.”

His father seethed, slamming his fists on the desk before unfolding to his full height.

“Your mother and I saw right through that little song and dance you performed at the breakfast
table, insisting you were past your little crush.”

“Then why the hell did you let me join the legal team?”

“Because for the first time in all my life I prayed to God I was wrong!”

“You knew Dolohov intended to abuse his power over her.” His voice filled the expansive room,
walls trembling with the force of his explosive rage. “You wanted him to.”

His father braced his hands against the desk, eyes narrowed to slits. “I assure you, my days are
quite filled with far more pressing concerns that Hermione Bloody Granger.”

Draco leaned in, matching his expression. “No, they aren’t. Because you know what she means to
me.”

“This is merely a passing phase, Draco-”

“If you truly believed that you wouldn’t be so quick to sign her off to another man. You’d exercise
your conscience and petition the judge to transfer her guardianship to Black.”

Lucius laughed bitterly, tipping his head back, the river of blonde gleaming down his spine. “You
think Black is a more appropriate choice? It’s a miracle the Potter spawn hasn’t met the same fate
as his imbecilic parents under that heathen’s care!”

Draco reared back as though struck, chest seizing painful, ribs cracking with the impact of the
hateful words. His gaze slowly roamed his father’s impeccably-built form, taking in every detail as
if for the first time.

His heart blackened and decayed with the discovery.

“Christ.”
He shook his head slowly, meeting the mercurial gaze that was an identical reflection of his own,
wondering how he could bear to look in a mirror ever again.

“You really are a monster, aren’t you?”

His father’s expression fell, brows drawing together. “Draco-”

“I didn’t want to see it before. I defended you countless times. Justified your behavior however I
could…”

He raised his arms, carding his fingers through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief.

“But it’s true.” His voice thickened. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Lucius paled, rocking back on his heels.

“One of who?”

Draco’s stomach knotted, bile rising. He backed away quickly, desperate for freedom, for clean air
outside of the toxic gas cloud.

“Draco, don’t you dare walk away from me!” Heavy footfalls rounded the desk, following in his
wake. “One of who?”

Draco stopped short, spinning on his heel and breathing fire. “If he touches her, if he so much as
looks at her, I’m going to kill him.” He braced his shoulders, spine lengthening. “And then I’m
coming back here. For you.”

His father’s visage twisted into a demonic mask, flesh mottled and veins throbbing as he closed the
distance between them.

“How dare you threaten me, boy! After everything I’ve given you! After serving you the entire
world on a silver platter!”

“I don’t want the world you have to offer.”

He began to turn once more, only for his arm to be seized in an iron grip.

“Look at what you’re doing! Throwing your future away on a filthy harlot-”

He wrenched his arm free, heart rioting.

“She’s anything but. And when I get her out of that asylum, I’m taking her as far from England as
possible, and you will never hear from me again.”

“Draco, you aren’t thinking logically-”

“It’s a little difficult when I can barely curb the urge to throttle you!”

His father reached forward again but Draco evaded his grasping hand, chest heaving. Lucius
inhaled sharply, wheels visibly spinning in his gleaming gaze, posture changing as he seamlessly
switched tactics before Draco’s very eyes.

“I never intended for her to come to harm. I promise you, son.”

“I don’t believe a word you say.”

"Why not?" He raised both palms in a gesture of surrender. "I've never lied to you, not once in your
entire life. All I've ever wanted is to see you thrive, succeed, become the man I always knew you
were capable of being if only you could let go of these base distractions."

“Don’t-”

“Just listen, and then you can storm out like a man possessed. If I’m truly to never see you again at
least allow me this final say.”

Draco ground his teeth, the grating sound echoing loudly through his skull as he crossed his arms
and set his feet in a defensive stance. “You have thirty seconds.”

His father wet his lips, altering his own repose to reflect his courtroom posture, though it seemed a
gesture was born of habit more than intent. “As much as I detest admitting it, I know full well if
harm befalls her you would be inconsolable. Broken. I would never bring harm upon you, Draco,
no matter my dislike for the girl.”

Draco unconsciously leaned forward, drawn by the powerful lure of his hypnotic baritone, the
intensity of his words, the frustrating hope in his heart, his lingering desperation to believe the man
he’d spent his entire life idolizing wasn’t capable of such malevolence.

His father continued on, calm and beseeching, hands lowering as he took a slow step forward.

“I knew Dolohov wouldn’t pressure her to take a husband as another solicitor would. I’d hoped his
advances would encourage her to leave the country to start anew elsewhere. Far from England. Far
from him. And far from you. Underhanded motives, to be certain, but I never wished grievous
harm on her person.”

Draco tore himself from the man’s powerful thrall with great effort, taking a wide step back to
resume the distance between them.

“We have different definitions of the term grievous.”

“I’ve known Dolohov for years, I didn’t think he would-”

“Yes. You did.”

His father blinked, spine straightening.

“Draco…” His chin lowered, eyes darkening considerably. “Were you involved in what transpired
last night?”

“You mean did I kill the bastard?”

He laughed without humor, shaking his head manically. "Unfortunately no. But I want to find who
did and buy them a diamond-studded flask."

“Draco-”

“I didn’t kill him!”

Lucius raised his hands once more. "Alright, I believe you, son."

“Stop doing that! Stop acting like a concerned parent!”

“I am concerned and I am your parent. You might hate me right now but you’re still the most
important thing in the world to me.”

“If that’s true then you’ll help me.”

“That’s all I’ve been trying to do-”

“No, you’ve been trying to control my life. If you truly love me then you’ll support whatever
decision I make regarding my future. Even if you don’t agree with it.”

His father began to speak once more but Draco barrelled on, undeterred.

“You think removing her from the equation will set me straight. But I have news for you, father. If
anything happens to her, I’m changing my name and moving to America. You’ll never hear from
me again. So if you’re really so concerned with keeping me close, I suggest you help me get her
guardianship overruled.”

His father narrowed his gaze.

“I don’t respond to ultimatums.”

Draco arched a pale brow. “Then this will be a learning experience for you.”

They held each other's impenetrable silver gaze for several earth shattering seconds.

Until at long last, Lucius sighed deeply and drew back, shoulders lowering.

“If I help transfer her guardianship to Black, will you allow your mother and I the opportunity to
speak with you plainly about your future? Without interrupting or storming out of the room?”

Draco inspected his face closely, looking for signs of duplicity. All he saw was the very same
visage he’d been staring upon his entire life.

Which provided little comfort at the moment.

And yet, he understood the sacrifice his father felt he was making, what it cost him to extend such
an offer.

Draco was just desperate enough to accept.

“Yes.”

His father nodded.

“Then consider it done.”

Draco’s spine lengthened as gleaming black wings unfurled at his back, eager to take flight and
tear the roof off the bloody asylum.

“I want confirmation.”

“I’ll write the letter now.”

“And I’ll read it.” His eyes flashed. “And then I’ll hand deliver it to Judge Thicknesse.”

His father sighed deeply. “Very well.” He finally looked away, turning on his heel and heading for
his desk. “Take a seat.”
He gestured across from his own high backed chair as he lowered into the leather cushion,
grabbing a clean sheet of parchment off a nearby stack. He kept his eyes carefully affixed to his
pen and inkwell as Draco crossed the room in his wake.

“Earlier, when you said-”

"I'm done answering questions." Draco folded into the seat, drumming his fingers impatiently
along the armrests. "Start writing."

Lucius shook his head as he dipped the nib in ink, skillfully scraping away the excess with a rueful
smirk.

“While I regret the circumstances leading to this confrontation, I must commend your skills of
persuasion.”

Draco scrubbed a hand his face, eyes briefly closing.

“You just can’t turn it off can you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

He nodded, opening his lids once more, watching carefully as his father wrote the date in the upper
right-hand corner of the page.

“That’s what scares me.”

The room fell silent but for the sound of the pen scratching along the paper, guided by his father’s
sure and steady hand.

Draco pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, brimming with anticipation, heart fluttering with
hope even as his bones remained weighted by the unshakable fear his father was still concealing an
ace up his sleeve.

“Evening, Winslow.”

Theo stepped past his butler and into the entryway, shrugging out of his coat as his mind drifted to
the tasks ahead. It wasn’t until the man standing beside him cleared his throat that Theo noticed the
tense expression marring his features.

“What is it?”

The butler accepted his coat, folding it primly and draping it across his arm, reluctantly meeting
his young charge’s gaze.

“Your father is waiting for you in the drawing room, Master Theo.”

Theo blinked.

His father never waited for him.

He rarely even acknowledged him when they were in the same room.

“What’s he doing home so early?”

Winslow took a deep breath, acute discomfort evident in the hard set lines of his face and
shoulders.

“I believe he has been awaiting your arrival, Sir.”

Theo paled, pulse quickly rising.

“Do you know what this is about?”

The servant shook his head.

“I do not, Sir.” He hesitated, eyes shuttering. “But he’s been… drinking.”

Theo sighed deeply, running a hand through his thick locks and nodding.

“Thank you, Winslow.”

He started down the hall.

“Master Theo.”

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder with a quirked brow.

The faithful butler held his gaze steady.

“Do not hesitate to summon me should you need assistance.”

Theo smirked, even as dread twisted at his heart, wringing out every drop of blood until the
chambers ran dry.

“I’d never put you in such a position, Winslow. But thank you all the same.”

He started for the drawing room once more.

The doors sat open, a flickering glow emanating from within, splashing the hallway with orange
light. Theo paused at the threshold, eyes adjusting to the roaring flame in the massive hearth, his
father’s dark silhouette cutting an impressive sight at the center.

The image was as deeply unsettling as it was familiar.

Within a stuttered heartbeat Theo was eight years old again, creeping past the room on tiptoes,
lungs burning as he fought to hold his breath, desperate to escape his father's notice, his explosive
ire.

He blinked, instantly transported back to the present, but no less fearful than the childlike phantom
roaming the halls.

The room reeked of scotch, as it always did, but the half-empty tumbler resting atop the arm of the
leather tufted chair was a good indicator of the direction this encounter was undoubtedly headed.

He couldn’t see his father’s expression as the man continued to face the hearth, but he harbored no
doubt he knew he was there.

He could never escape his notice as a child, what chance did he stand now?

He took a deep breath, entering the room with every muscle tensed, awaiting the strike sure to
come when least expected.
“Father.”

The man gave no reaction. He never did. Only content to address his son’s existence when
convenient to him.

“Theodore.”

His blood ran cold. His father sounded tipsy, but not drunk enough to be easily evaded.

“Where have you been, boy?”

He folded his hands behind his back to conceal their tremor.

“I was at the-”

“Come here. I want to see your face.”

Theo took a deep breath, forcing his legs forward and crossing the expansive room until he stood at
the opposite end of the hearth. His father’s face came into view at long last, lit by flame. His dark
eyes remained fixed upon the roaring fire, bright with demonic glow.

“I was at the construction site, Sir. Overseeing a shipment.”

“Were you now.”

He swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to fidget as his father’s gaze flickered up at long last.

“You’ve been at the site all day?”

He fought to maintain his steady breath, to keep his feet firmly rooted in place.

“I had to run a few errands related to-”

“Don’t lie to me, boy.”

His jaw fastened shut.

“I spoke to the foreman. He saw you leave.”

He brought the crystal glass to his lips, taking a slow sip and watching him over the rim. Theo held
his breath as his father set the glass back down on the armrest, dark gaze never wavering.

“With Potter.”

Chills of unease raced from his nape across his spine and along all four limbs. His father’s hand
tightened on the crystal, grinding the base against the wood.

“Always fucking Potter.”

Theo’s lips turned pale as a corpse. “I-”

“Did you know Lucius pays men to watch Grimmauld?”

He rocked back to avoid the sharp edge of his father’s lethal grin.

“He’s concerned about Black bringing one too many tarts home and staining the family tapestry.”
His vision began to tunnel in and out, the flames crawling out of the hearth and spreading across
the floor, eager to drag him into their smoldering depths.

“But it seems his worries are misplaced. Black’s never brought anyone home with him.” He took
another heavy swig, licking his top lip. “His ward on the other hand…” He shook his head slowly.
“It seems the real scandal lies with the boy.”

The dark humor etching his features transformed into pure malevolence.

“A filthy deviant. It makes my stomach turn just thinking about the depraved acts such men engage
in.” He gripped the armrest with white knuckles, leaning forward and driving Theo further back.
“Imagine my reaction when I found out my own flesh and blood is guilty of the same.”

Theo’s back collided with the wall. “Father, I-”

“Don’t you dare!” He threw the tumbler into the fire, the crystal shattering against stone, flames
hissing and snapping as they hungrily devoured their meal. “You are no son of mine! I would have
you shot and buried if you weren’t my sole heir!”

“It’s not like that-”

“Isn’t it?” He pushed out of the chair with surprising dexterity. “Because Malfoy’s spies caught
quite an eyeful the night of the Naval party. I lost my lunch halfway through the report.”

Theo’s hands pressed against the wall for balance, the floor tilting beneath his feet.

“We don’t- I don’t-”

“There’s no use in denying it.” He began a measured trek toward him. “I gave up any hope of you
becoming a man worthy of the Nott name a long time ago. You’ve always been a disappointment,
but you’ve never disgusted me down to my very soul until this moment.”

He shook his head with a twisted sneer. "Gallivanting about in broad daylight, strutting about town
like a couple of trussed up hens. It's a miracle someone didn't draw and quarter the pair of you."

Theo swallowed once more, the noose cutting off his airway. “We only had lunch-”

“I know exactly what you get up to.” The venom in his voice traced along Theo’s skin like a rusted
hook. “So who sticks it to who, eh?”

Theo’s stomach turned violently as his father’s bitter laughter filled the room.

“Why do I even bother asking? Of course my son takes it up the arse! You’ve always been a
bloody ponce.”

He continued forward, closer and closer, the flames sizzling angrily at his back.

“Do you let him bend you over the railing and stuff you full? Look at me when I’m speaking to
you! Do you let him turn you into a bloody woman?”

Theo’s jaw was fastened in horror, lungs constricted, oxygen evading him entirely.

“You’re a vile degenerate. I’m ashamed to share the same blood. Thank god you murdered your
mother on the way out, otherwise she would surely die to see the fucking fairy her son has
become!”
“I- I don’t-”

“Shut your filthy fucking mouth!”

He closed the distance between them and drew his arm back. Theo watched in abject misery, eight
years old and frozen in place, as a fist drove into his left eye with bone-cracking force, driving him
off his feet and into a heap on the ground. He clutched his skull, braced for the violence he knew
would follow, blood rushing through his ears and swallowing his father's accompanying taunts.

“You even cry like a woman. Look at you! Fucking pathetic.”

A heavy boot collided with his side, driving the last bit of air from his lungs.

“You’re nothing but a barnyard animal, you’d probably fuck a horse if it would have you!”

The words echoed through his head on an endless loop.

The flames crawling across the floor reached him at last.

But instead of swallowing him whole, they consumed him from the inside out.

He let out a feral scream and surged forward with his entire body, catching his father around the
legs and driving him to the floor. The man shouted in shocked pain, eyes wide as Theo pushed up
on his arms, face hovering close.

“The only filthy animal in this room is you,” he hissed menacingly.

His father blinked several times, mouth opening and closing, too bewildered to struggle.

Theo leaped to his feet with graceful swiftness before leaning down and grabbing his father’s
lapels, wrenching him off the floor and driving him back into the wall, in the same spot he stood
frozen with fear moment’s ago and for countless years prior.

"I've spent my entire life vying for your affection, your approval, and you've never given me more
than a few seconds of your time! Your disdain!"

He pulled the man away from the paneling only to slam him back into it.

“Now you want to talk, do you? Want to ask me questions, get to know me better?” He smiled
wickedly, eyes bright, hands trembling with the force of his grip. “Wonderful, allow me to oblige.”

He leaned in close, holding his father’s horrified gaze steady.

“Yes, Potter has fucked me.”

His father let out a feral scream of his own, finally breaking from his stupor, thrashing against
Theo’s iron hold but finding no purchase.

“He’s fucked me until I can’t breathe, until I’m clawing at the mattress, the headboard, anything to
hold onto the face of the earth because surely the pleasure will drive me off the face of it.”

His father sputtered in outrage, face blistering red, eyes bloodshot. Theo panted with exertion, a
smile stretching his face taut as he continued to pin him into the wall.

“But rest assured, father, I’ve also fucked him. Plenty of times. Though I must admit, as fond as I
am of all his orifices, I do prefer his mouth to his arse, because he’s so very talented with it. He
does this trick with his tongue… I can’t begin to describe what it does to me.”

“You’re a heathen!”

His smile fell like a stone to the bottom of a black lake. “And let me guess, you’re a saint? If men
like you are roaming free in heaven I’ll happily burn in the pits of hell for all eternity.”

He licked his lips, the next words bubbling up without thought or permission.

“But you didn’t let me get to the best part of it all, father. My very favorite part. When the wild,
animalistic rutting is over, and everything falls still and calm, and we lie beside each other on the
bed, or the floor, soaked in sweat and panting.”

He pulled his father away from the wall once more, lifting his coat until he was forced to stand on
tiptoes, hands desperately clawing at Theo’s shirtfront.

“That’s when Harry starts talking, rambling really, about the most frivolous and mundane of
topics. And I roll onto my side and stare at him, memorizing every line in his face, every curve of
his body, every nuance of his voice, as though each moment will be our last.”

He shook his head, chest tightening. “Because I always knew this day would come. That eventually
you’d discover us, seek to destroy him and kill me. Which only drove me further into his arms.
Made me linger in his bed. Made me crave him with every breath until I was consumed entirely.”

His jaw set, eyes reflecting the flames at their side. “Until I couldn't give a fuck what you thought.”

His face twisted into a sneer of disgust that so closely reflected the man hanging limply before
him.

“You’re not even a real person. You’re a drunk, worthless shell of your former self, driven to ruins
by your own bigotry and hatred for the world. I don’t know what made you into such a
hatemonger, and I truly don’t care. Not anymore. I’m no longer a boy. I stopped idolizing you
years ago. And now I can’t even bring myself to fear you. You’re too pathetic.”

He loosened his hold, allowing his father to gain his footing once more. “I handle every facet of
the family business, I attend every meeting, speak at every public event. You can’t even be trusted
with the grocery ledger. You’ve fallen from grace, been knocked from your mantle, replaced.”

Theo released him entirely.

“By your fucking fairy son.”

He took a step back, gazing upon the trembling form of his father as though seeing him for the first
time.

"You can't kill me because you know I keep this household together, keep the factory running and
keep our name relevant in proper society. Without me, you would be nothing.”

He raised his chin, shoulders drawing back.

“You're not ashamed of me, father. You’re ashamed of yourself.”

He watched with detachment as the man sank back against the wall and slid to the floor in a
sweaty, liquor-soaked heap.

“And so am I.”
He took another step back. “In fact, I can’t bear to look upon you for another second.”

He ran a hand over his front, smoothing the material of his shirt, then carded his fingers through
his hair to tame the fallen locks.

“Have another drink. That’ll fix everything.”

“You’re- you’re-”

“Done with you.”

He turned on his heel and strode for the door, heart thundering like a thoroughbred. As he turned
the corner into the hallway a cluster of servants scattered like mice, gasping as they sprinted past
with their faces carefully averted down.

He sighed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes as he made his way for the entry. Winslow stood by the door
with Theo’s coat folded across his arm, as though he’d never moved from the spot.

Theo smirked.

“You read my mind.”

The butler nodded in turn, handing over the garment.

“Thank you, Winslow.”

“Of course, Master Theo.”

“I’m heading out. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, or if I’ll even return before daybreak.”

“Of course, Sir. Do be safe.”

His smirk rose into a crescent grin. "I pity anyone who tries to challenge me on this night."

Winslow arched a grey brow. “As do I, Sir.”

Theo clapped him on the back before exiting swiftly, trotting down the steps with speed and
purpose.

And only one destination in mind.

Tom leaned forward to maintain his balance as he trekked the steep incline of the grassy hill. He’d
made it through the rod iron gates just in time to avoid another row with the guard, the sun setting
in the distance, plaguing the land with undulating shadows as the branches swayed in the wind.

He’d come straight from the Library of Records, where public registries were kept in accordance
with government mandate. He’d spent hours scouring the stacks for any trace of the elusive Angus
Bumby.

He’d found his medical license, registered in the UK seven years prior, but failed to turn up any
education transcripts.

Which meant the man attended medical school in another country.

Or under a different name.

So Tom had searched for change of name documents, which were filed publicly for certain
professions, healthcare included. If Doctors were allowed to disappear into the night every time a
medical malpractice suit was brought forward the medical field would be even less ethical than it
currently stood.

However, Tom found no such form. Which lent towards the theory Angus Bumby was an
immigrant.

But he could find no visa on file.

So somewhere along the way, documents were mishandled, a common occurrence among
government workers and not necessarily a cause for alarm in and of itself.

But this man had Hermione under his care.

And something clearly wasn’t adding up.

Tom knew his attention was needed elsewhere, but he couldn’t concentrate on treating the
witnesses or following up on his lead regarding the Lestranges until he knew she was free of this
prison.

So he cut a quick and deliberate path to the front doors of the massive grey structure for the benefit
of all. The sooner Hermione Granger was in his grasp the sooner he could lock her away in
Grimmauld for safekeeping and be free of this burden, this driving obsession that possessed his
mind and rendered him incapable of seeing the mission through.

He pushed open the double doors, boots clicking loudly across the checkered tile as he cut a
straight path towards the desk at the other end of the lobby, a familiar spectacled gaze latching
onto him with steely focus.

“Ah, Doctor Riddle.” Cratchet’s voice was sugary sweet, eroding his teeth as he ground them in
annoyance. “How good of you to-”

“I’m here to see Bumby.”

He stopped on the other side of the desk, pinning her with a severe look, braced for rebuttal. All
trace of fear from their last encounter had vanished, her eyes once more set with calculated menace.

“The Doctor has been expecting you.”

He blinked, thoughts stuttering.

“Tonight?”

“He had a sneaking suspicion you would return before your appointed meeting time.” She pushed
aside the leather bound appointment log. “He said to send you right up.”

His jaw clenched as she pushed swiftly to her feet, frame tall and ready.

“Please, follow me.”

His chest tightened with unease as she led him through a door on the back wall and into a narrow
corridor beyond. It wasn’t what she said that unnerved him so, but rather, what she clearly was
leaving out.

But his treacherous musings were pushed to the far recesses of his mind as they emerged into a
sprawling common room brimming with potted plants and gleaming surfaces. Several chairs lined
the walls, as well as bookcases featuring rows of well-worn spines, but not a patient in sight.

“When is curfew?”

“Half an hour before sundown.”

“And patients are confined to their rooms at such time?”

Her shoulders tightened, back ramrod straight. “Of course. For their own safety.”

He arched a dark brow, carefully scanning her tensed posture. “Of course.”

As they progressed through a set of swinging doors a noise caught his attention. He glanced over
his shoulder, making eyes contact with a mustached orderly holding a dripping mop for a brief but
tense second before the barrier closed between them.

Tom averted his gaze forward, quickly dismissing the occurrence, trying to rein in his this
heightened sense of unrest. Something about the establishment was perturbing, though he imagined
any insane asylum would inspire such disquiet.

Knowing Hermione had been confined within these ominous walls for nearly an entire day did
little to quell his anxiety.

And then they turned another corner and were suddenly heading for a tall black door at the end of
the corridor.

How fitting.

“How many employees do you have on staff, Ms. Cratchet?”

Her hands tensed briefly at her sides. "Thirty-six full time, fifteen part-time."

“And how many patients?”

“We are currently at capacity with two hundred and fifty.”

“That seems excessive for a single physician to manage.”

She tipped her chin up, expression radiating with obvious pride. “Dr. Bumby is an extraordinary
man.”

Tom’s gaze narrowed. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“He’s expressed mutual excitement.”

His blood ran cold, but before he had the opportunity to reflect on the statement they were standing
before the black door and her bony hand was knocking delicately upon its center.

“Enter.”

The voice was deep and muffled. Tom felt a cold draft blow across his skin. He blinked, glancing
down the hallway in confusion but spotting no open window.

And then she was turning the knob. He spun forward as the interior of the room and its sole
occupant were revealed.
“Dr. Riddle has arrived, Sir.”

“Marvelous.”

Tom's gaze narrowed, adjusting to the low lighting of the office. The sun had finally dipped
beneath the horizon, casting the room into darkness beyond the dimly lit sconces along the wall.

A shadowy figure moved behind the desk, a click sounded, and then an oil lamp sparked to life,
illuminating half a face and a pair of gleaming eyes.

Tom drew back reflexively, every muscle drawn taut, the instinctual reaction unnerving him
greatly as the man seated across the room made no overt movement or gesture towards him.

Yet his eyes remained fastened to Tom with such unwavering intensity he found his lungs crushed
by their invisible weight.

And just as suddenly as the predatory thrall overcame him, it was lifted, the Doctor's eyes
flickering just past Tom’s shoulder.

“Thank you for escorting our guest, Ms. Cratchet. That will be all.”

The woman nodded once, tightly, before departing promptly down the hall, heels echoing loudly
off the patchwork tiles.

Tom continued to stand in the doorway, trying to shake the strange sensations that blanketed him a
moment ago. It had been many years since he'd been made to feel like cornered prey. Around the
time he silently vowed to never again suffer such desperation and helplessness.

The Doctor tilted his head, lips curving at the edges. “Apologies for my strange reaction, Dr.
Riddle.” He wet his lips, eyes roaming Tom with calculated precision. “I thought I saw a ghost,
you see.”

Tom arched a dark brow, the deep baritone reminding him of another haunting visage and therefore
grating to his nerves.

“You are his spitting image.”

His heart thundered wildly, shadows surging along the walls like ocean waves, closing in all
around him.

“Though I’m sure you’ve heard that a great deal throughout your life.”

Tom inhaled slowly, swaying on his feet as his lower half went numb.

“You knew my father.”

The Doctor nodded, leaning back casually, evading the glow of the flickering lamp and
submerging himself into darkness.

“That I did. Many years ago. Though I never knew he had a child.”

Tom set his jaw, fists tightening of their own accord until the bones cracked and the skin split in
jagged seams as his talons burst through.

“We were estranged.”

“I see.” A weighted beat. “I apologize if I’ve spoken out of turn.”

He forced his hands to relax, shoulder blades flexing in an attempt to alleviate the tension.

“You’ve caused no offense.”

“Good.” He beckoned Tom forward with a steady hand. “Please, do come in. And allow me to
formally introduce myself. I am Doctor Angus Bumby, sole physician at Rutledge Asylum.”

Tom swallowed heavily, throat scorched with flame, emotions stirring in his gut like a bubbling
pool of acid at the awakened memory of his sire.

He crossed the room gracefully, steps slow and measured. “It is a pleasure to finally make your
acquaintance, Doctor Bumby. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Of course. I recognize your name and couldn’t resist meeting you in person. And please, call me
Angus. You are my colleague after all.”

His jaw tensed once more as he folded into the chair on the opposite side of the desk, grabbing the
handle of the dagger and twisting, opening the wound wide.

“Angus.” The name tasted bitter on his tongue. “May I ask how you knew my father?”

Bumby drummed his fingers to a slow and silent beat. “Through mutual acquaintances in the field.
I had many colleagues working out of St. Mungo’s, where Thomas was employed at the time.”

Tom’s nose twitched. “That would have been before I was born.”

“My, how time passes.”

He curled his fingers over the ends of the armrests. “Indeed.”

“And despite your estrangement, you ended up following in his footsteps.”

Neither man blinked, the tension palpable, filling the air with dark smoke.

“I did.”

The Doctor's Cheshire grin gleamed in the glow of the oil lamp. "Well, it is wonderful to meet the
child of a former colleague. But the hour is late and I can see you are eager to cut to the chase."

Tom blinked, the weight upon his chest pressing in until his ribs groaned beneath the strain. His
mask was obviously slipping. The Doctor had taken him off guard at the onset of their meeting,
gaining the upper hand with merely a simple greeting.

Perhaps it was tragic coincidence. Since graduating Cambridge Tom had met many of his father’s
former colleagues. They’d all made the same comment regarding the uncanny resemblance, asked
the same questions regarding their strained relationship.

Yet his instincts screamed this occasion was different from the others. That the man seated across
from him was a skilled verbal adversary.

And possibly linked to much more than Rutledge Asylum.

Still…
He could make no forward momentum until he completed his original mission.

“I merely wish to expedite Ms. Granger’s discharge process.”

Bumby’s eyes narrowed just a fraction even as his smile grew.

"Of course, you argued quite adamantly for her release with two of my employees already."

“And I am prepared to do the same with you.”

Bumby’s amusement seemed to swell in time to the shadows along the bookcase at his back. Tom
absently noted several titles were missing from their spots along the middle shelf, stacked in an
uneven pile on the floor.

"You've been her Doctor for several years if I recall correctly?"

“You do indeed.”

“And you never observed any signs of a mental affliction?”

Tom leaned back, affecting an eased disposition. “She has no affliction, I assure you, merely an
overactive imagination. She was admitted solely upon the witness testimony of a young girl who
overheard a conversation Ms. Granger was having with another resident. The witness
misunderstood what was said.”

“I see.” The Doctor mimicked Tom’s posture with disturbing accuracy. “Well, young women are
certainly prone to exaggeration.”

Tom traced the backs of his teeth with his tongue before smiling in turn. “I couldn't agree more.”

Bumby tipped his chin up, eyes sparking like flint. “They are also prone to developing mental
health disorders at nearly twice the rate of their male counterparts, particularly between the ages of
eighteen to twenty-five.”

Tom’s hands tightened on the armrests. The Doctor leveled him with the full intensity of his eerie
gaze.

“I took into consideration the possibility that Ms. Granger was brought in under false pretenses and
conducted a thorough assessment of her mental faculties myself.”

Tom's heartbeat reverberated through every limb, gaze sharpening to a lethal point as he rapidly
thumbed through his mental list of alternative plans to abscond with her. Too many witnesses had
seen him enter this room, instantly ruling out over half the options.

“I found her quite remarkable. Though as her physician for the last five years I am sure you already
know the qualities I allude to.”

His knuckles turned white as the wood threatened to buckle beneath his clenching grip.

“She is brilliant.”

“Terribly so.” The Doctor smiled anew. Tom reconsidered killing him. “And I am happy to
conclude she is perfectly sane as well.”

His mind went stunningly blank all at once, leaving his ears ringing as the man continued,
oblivious to his own brush with death.
“She does not belong at this facility. I updated her medical file to reflect a clean bill of health.”

Tom’s hands loosened, as did his chest and stomach, though his heart continued to thrum rapidly,
something dark lingering in the far recesses of his mind, a nagging sense of unease that refused to
dispel with his body’s tension.

“I am relieved to hear you came to the same conclusion as myself.” He wet his lips, continuing to
lean back with forced ease. “I will take custody of her immediately and oversee her safe return to
the Home.”

Something swirled treacherously in the depths of Bumby’s gaze, a look Tom recognized well, for
he’d seen it in his own reflection countless times.

“What a commitment you have to your patients.”

His knowing grin caused Tom’s homicidal longings to flare anew, hot and scorching as his blood
pressure spiked.

“But such a gesture is unnecessary. I notified her guardian as soon as her discharge paperwork was
complete. He sent a footman to pick her up only hours ago.”

There it was.

Tom leaned forward swiftly, eyes black and gleaming.

“Her guardian is dead.”

Bumby was unmoved by the predatory advancement or warning edge in his tone.

“I assume you are referring to Mr. Dolohov.” His brows creased in exaggerated duress. “What a
tragedy.”

Tom struggled for breath as the invisible vice tightened once more, snapping his ribcage cleanly
down the center, piercing his lungs.

“As soon as I read this morning’s paper I contacted the Family Offices on Ms. Granger’s behalf.
They were kind enough to put me in touch with her new guardian, perhaps you know him-”

“I do.”

“Excellent. Then you know she’s in capable hands.”

Tom pushed to his feet, towering over the desk and his adversary. Bumby tipped his head back,
following his ascent with idle curiosity etching his aged but handsome features.

But not a trace of fear.

The urge to drive Hermione’s letter opener into the man’s carotid artery was nearly overwhelming.
Tom rocked back on his heels, disturbed by his sudden loss of control. It had been a long while
since he allowed his dark proclivities to get the better of him.

Killing the Doctor to quell his appetite would change nothing of the current circumstances, other
than labeling him a fugitive of the law as the Yard hunted him through the city.

Preventing him from getting her back from the creature who now had her in his clutches.
“Thank you for your time.” His words were clipped, laced with poison he hoped would corrode the
skin long after his departure. “I will allow you to get back to your many patients.”

Bumby's smile was equally deadly and genuinely delighted.

“Of course. Please, allow me to walk you out.”

Tom was hardly aware of crossing the room once more, though suddenly he was faced with the
black door, his vision tunneling as the walls seemed to press in rapidly.

“It was a true pleasure meeting you, Thomas.”

Steel infused his spine as he glanced sharply over his shoulder.

Bumby feigned chagrin. "My apologies. Force of habit. You truly are his doppelganger."

Enough.

Tom spun around, facing him head-on.

“You knew him when he worked at St. Mungo’s you said?”

“I did indeed.”

“You were practicing in London at the time?”

Anyone watching the scene from the outside wouldn’t have noticed the Doctor’s smile falter, the
shutters that fell across his eyes.

But Tom was on the inside, eagerly observing every subtle nuance.

Bumby blinked and his transformation was restored, hands casually tucked into his pockets.

"I was on sabbatical if memory serves. I'd just returned from an extended stay in Germany. I've
spent the bulk of my career practicing in Eastern Europe."

Tom tilted his head, searching his gaze. The man had directed the trap, sidestepping it in plain
sight.

Tom met the challenge without pause.

“That explains why I couldn't find any record of you practicing in the UK before the last seven
years.”

Bumby’s delight was palpable as it was unsettling.

“You did your research.”

“I merely like to be prepared.”

“Your father was the same way. So very thorough and meticulous.”

Tom ground his teeth, the blow striking him dead center. Bumby's expression lit with victory.

"I apologize if this oversteps, given your estrangement, but I would like to express my condolences
all the same."
Tom raised chin. “Thank you.” His voice was cold as death, submerged beneath frozen water.

“I remember reading the obituary, but I do not recall his cause of death.”

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his collar, bile stinging his throat.

“He was stabbed horrifically during a robbery.”

The Doctor shook his head, sighing deeply.

“The world harbors such darkness and cruelty.”

“That it does.” His fists tightened anew. “But the scales always have a way of balancing out.”

The silence was a sentient being, watching them in sinister wait.

“I suppose they do,” Bumby replied at long last, then shook his head ruefully, visage brightening.
“Well, I’ve certainly shown my age, rambling like an old fool. Please, allow me to bid you a good
evening.”

He opened the door, leaning against the edge of the frame. Tom held his gaze until the final
moment, desperate to leave, eager to stay, unable to sort through his chaotic thoughts and
unleashed backlog of emotions in such close proximity.

“Good evening.” A heavy beat. “Angus.”

And then he forced one foot in front of the other, pressing forward down the long and narrow hall
with his shoulders back, every nerve ending sparking to life.

He had many questions he’d love to ask the reclusive Doctor, but every moment he lingered in his
dark office was another moment she lingered in the demon’s lair.

A voice whispered frantically at the back of his mind but he couldn’t hear it over the raging storm
taking root at the center, overwhelmed by haunting images of very possible fate she may be
suffering at this very moment.

Movement at the end of the hall caught his eye and pulled him from his sinister musings. His gaze
flickered to the corner, shining brightly as he spotted a familiar figure hovering with a mop and
bucket.

Tom narrowed in on his prey immediately.

“You.”

The man’s head snapped up, eyes widening upon seeing Tom cutting a straight path towards him.

“Sir?”

“What is your patient turnover here?”

The man blinked, clutching the mop handle with both hands. “I’m sorry?”

He came to a stop directly before him, invading his personal space to throw him off guard and
decrease his ability to fabricate lies on the spot.

“How long is the average stay? How many do you discharge a year compared to admission rate?”
“Oh… I… don’t know.” His brows drew together. “You’d have to ask Ms. Cratchet.”

Tom inhaled deeply, drawing back.

Utterly useless.

“Very well.”

He continued walking past without a parting glance.

“You came for Hermione.”

He stopped abruptly, as though colliding with an invisible wall, turning swiftly and searching the
man’s face with greater precision than before.

“I did.”

The man nodded, glancing away as he reached into his trouser pocket and extracted something
small, easily hidden within his palm.

Tom tracked his movement carefully, heart racing.

“This belongs to her.”

He unfurled his fingers.

Tom’s entire body pulsated.

“I wish I could have done more to help her.”

Tom fought for control, every muscle set to spring as he slowly reached for the faded ribbon,
vision rapidly sharpening with predatory intent.

“What do you-”

Suddenly the stranger stiffened. He glanced up sharply, but the man’s eyes were averted over
Tom’s shoulder.

Tom glanced back, meeting Bumby’s watchful gaze as he stood at the mouth of his dark cave.

He smiled pleasantly, waving a congenial farewell. Tom bit his tongue until it stung, nodding in
turn, just as footsteps sounded at his back. He looked over his shoulder once more and spotted the
abandoned mop propped against the wall, the orderly's rapidly retreating form already halfway
across the room.

Bumby disappeared inside his office a moment later, closing the door with a deafening click,
leaving Tom alone in the hallway.

He gazed down at the ribbon, clutching it until his fist shook, and then he continued forward,
containing his building rage with a silent vow to the moonlight.

That any man who laid hands on her would be dead before sunrise.

d
o
 w
n

d
o
w
n

d
o
w
n

She plummeted to the earth's surface, breaking apart as she breached the atmosphere, flames
erupting at her back as she careened through the air faster than the speed of sound, the ground
coming closer closer closer-

Impact.

Hermione awoke with a sharp gasp, colors exploding before her eyes. She rubbed at them
furiously, shuffling back on whatever plush surface she’d been laying across as her adrenaline
surged.

She gazed around frantically, vision blurred and head filled with jagged rocks as her surroundings
slowly came into focus.

A bedroom.

Dimly lit, but obviously part of a sprawling estate, if the size of the room and quality of the
antiques and textiles were any indication.

There was no movement, no noise.

She was alone...

And getting the hell out.

She scrambled from the richly adorned mattress, losing her balance and toppling to the floor with a
groan.

Her limbs felt weak and sore, hip throbbing in time to her rapid heartbeat, but not from this fall…
no, from her scuffle with the man at the asylum. She gazed at her trembling arms, twin bracelets of
purple flesh wrapping her wrists.

Her pulse stuttered painfully as her eyes continued their journey downward, taking in the rest of her
body sprawled across the rug.

The grey uniform was gone.

Replaced by a floor length gown of deep, gleaming red silk, wrapping her form so tightly it
appeared as though her skin was glistening with congealed blood.

Her stomach twisted painfully, nausea rising as she pictured strange hands upon her unconscious
body, stripping her bare, violating her mercilessly as she remained limp and pliant in their hold.
She grabbed the carved bedpost and pulled up to her feet, pushing away and limping to the door on
bare soles, unable to take large steps thanks to the tightness of the garment and the deep ache
radiating through every joint.

She pulled at the gold-plated handle with all her might, tears brimming as it refused to budge.

She staggered to the floor to ceiling windows next, pushing aside the gossamer curtains and
pressing her hands to the glittering glass, looking for a seam, a handle, any type of opening.

Her thoughts of shattering the barrier and jumping to freedom were curbed as she gazed down at a
sprawling green lawn cloaked in darkness several meters below, realizing she was on the second
floor and such a leap would surely cause grave injury. She pressed her hands to her face, staring up
at the waning moon through her fingers in abject misery, debating if it was still worth trying.

Surely dying on the gravel cement was better than suffering whatever horror awaited her inside
these walls…

She quickly shook her head.

Don’t let your fear make you foolish.

There has to be another way out.

She rushed to the closet, tearing open the double doors, only to draw back in bewilderment.

It was overflowing with gowns and petticoats of the highest quality. She reached inside, grabbing
handfuls of fabric, rich velvet, glossy silk and intricate lace, as fine as the outfit she currently wore.

And equally as risque.

She slammed the doors in disgust, racing for the dresser next and wrenching open the first drawer.
It was filled with delicate, lacy undergarments, as was the one beneath. But the third and final draw
was filled with a sight that left her staggering back in horror.

Black satin ribbons and coiled silk rope.

The tears finally broke the surface as she raced for the door a second time, ready to batter it down
with her bare hands if need be.

Only for footsteps to sound down the hallway outside, unhurried but constant.

And drawing near.

Her body quaked as she spun in frantic circles, searching desperately for a weapon.

She spotted no candlesticks, no heavy tomes, nothing but-

Her eyes widened, heart fluttering madly as she rushed to a vase in the corner filled with fresh
roses. The sight and smell were sickening, instantly transporting her to Dolohov's bedroom.

She shoved the dark memory aside with all her strength, grabbing the blooms in a tight fist and
tossing them aside, petals scattering at her feet, grabbing up the vase with both hands and pouring
the water onto the expensive rug as she spun to face the door.

There was light emanating from under the gap, broken by the appearance of feet on the other side.
The sound of sliding metal filled her head at deafening volumes, a key twisting a lock.

She darted to the wall just beside the frame, pressing flat and holding her breath as she clung to the
vase with trembling hands, fearful of breaking the porcelain before she could put it to use.

The door opened, concealing her from view as someone entered the room, heels clicking across the
polished wood.

The footsteps stopped. Silence filled the dark void in her head, the terror in her mind far worse than
anything that could possibly be standing before her.

But by the next fluttering heartbeat the footsteps resumed, the entrant making their way towards
the abandoned bed.

Hermione inhaled deeply, spots appearing before her vision.

It’s now or never.

While you still have the element of surprise.

Tears dripped from her jaw onto the plunging neckline of the gown as she charged forward, vase
raised high overhead, a desperate battle cry ripping free from her throat beyond her control as she
darted towards the room's new occupant.

They spun around quickly, rearing back with a sharp gasp as Hermione came into view, curls flying
free and wild.

And just as suddenly as the chaos unleashed, she skidded to a stop, the rug piling at her feet, heart
galloping out of her chest.

She released the vase without thought, porcelain shattering loudly on the hardwood, her ears deaf
to the explosion as she continued forward with a far different purpose, body pulsating with the
force of her shock and relief.

“Parvati!”

She closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around the girl.

“What are you doing here?” She cried into her dark hair, loose around her shoulders.

Her friend went rigid in her hold, arms stiff and pressed to her sides.

“Parv, are you okay?”

Hermione leaned back, clutching her bare arms tightly as she blinked, taking in her friend's
appearance fully. She was adorned in a floor-length, sleeveless black gown, equally tight as
Hermione's.

Questions overflowed her mind, speeding by too quickly to give voice to a single one. Her eyes
darted up, searching her face desperately, lips parted as words turned to ash on her tongue, filling
the back of her throat and choking her with dread.

Glassy, blank eyes stared back at her.

From a lovely face Hermione had seen countless times.

And yet never before.

The realization shook the floor and split the walls, igniting pain in her chest so sharp she couldn't
breathe, couldn’t speak, only managing a breathy whisper of despair and disbelief.

“Oh my god…”

She clutched the stranger’s arms tighter, her only anchor in this vast ocean of terror.

“Padma.”
 Tea Party

I've heard self-reliance is a virtue.

Now you've heard it.
. . .

After speaking the name aloud the differences between the sisters became glaringly obvious to
Hermione’s assessing gaze.

They were surely indistinguishable from afar, possessing the same build and height, the same
caramel skin, almond-shaped eyes and thick river of glossy black hair tumbling to their lower
backs. But after living beside Parvati for so many months, Hermione was shocked she mistook
them for even a moment, especially when the most obvious contrast was staring her right in the
face.

Padma’s eyes were a much lighter shade of brown than her sister’s, flecked with burnt gold,
whereas Parvati’s were woven with deep red, making her keen gaze glow hellish when especially
incensed. Padma’s hair was stick straight unlike her sister’s heavy wave, her nose a touch more
narrow, brow less arched and cupid's bow more pronounced.

And that was just above the neck.

Hermione took a step back and allowed her gaze to roam, too shocked to form anything more
coherent than labored breath.

Padma’s skin appeared smooth and unblemished, at least the flesh that was exposed, and there was
quite a bit of it. She lacked the rough patches Parvati wore on her elbows and palms from exposure,
the thin scar marking her collarbone, the teardrop birthmark on the inside of her right forearm.

The girls were identical, and yet completely distinctive.

Hermione brought a hand to her mouth, the figure standing before her turning blurry with the tears
rapidly filling her gaze.

"Padma!" She found her voice, at last, lurching forward as though pulled by a cord, embracing the
girl tightly for a second time. "You're alive!"

Her entire body rattled with the force of her heartbeat. “Parvati is going to be-”

Padma seized in her grip, entire frame jerking violently. Hermione gasped, rearing back to meet her
eye.

“Padma-”

The girl jolted once more, muscles locking as though in the midst of an epileptic fit. Hermione
clutched her more tightly, eyes wide with terror, racing through her mental stores for what to do,
images of her father’s medical books taking shape in her mind, a morbid comfort to her wrought
nerves.

“Padma, it’s alright, just breathe, don’t-”

She wrenched free of Hermione’s grasp, staggering back on her obscenely high heels, swaying
precariously. She opened and closed her mouth several times as if unable to speak, prompting
Hermione to reach for her once more, only to freeze in place as her raspy voice filled the room.

“My n-name is Selene.”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat before thudding heavily, painfully, against her sternum.

“No,” she said forcefully, hands clenching upon the open air. “Your name is Padma Patil.”

Padma raised her arms, grasping her long hair at the roots and pressing the heels of her palms
against her temples. Hermione wet her lips, taking a careful step closer.

“Padma-”

“No!” Padma squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders drawing in. “Selene Selene Selene Selene...”

Her frantic whispering summoned an arctic blast, chilling Hermione to the bone. She resumed her
steady approach, hands raised in surrender, voice soft and coaxing.

“Don’t you remember?” Her brows knit together, pain lancing through her center. “You have a
twin sister named Parvati. Your parents brought you to London when you were children, you grew
up in Haggerston, near the Timber Yard.”

Padma’s back collided with the bedpost, halting her retreat. Hermione continued towards her. “You
got very sick and were taken to a clinic-”

“I-I can’t- I can’t-” She began to quake anew, heaving for breath, face twisting in acute agony.

“Shh, it’s alright.” Hermione reached forward, movements slow and measured, gently gripping her
shoulders and drawing her in. “I’m sorry if I scared you before.” She wrapped her arms around the
trembling girl, rubbing a soothing hand along her spine. “We’ll figure out how to get your memory
restored. But first, we have to get out of here."

Padma’s lids fluttered like butterfly wings, long dark lashes clumped with tears.

“Get out?”

“Yes.” Hermione took a deep breath, steeling her nerves. “Escape. Do you know a way out?”

Padma blinked slowly, eyes clouding. “M-Master instructed me to bring you downstairs.”

Hermione’s jaw clenched, hand tightening against her bare shoulder.

“You don’t have to obey your master ever again, Padma. I’m getting you out of here.”

She reached down and grabbed her hand, interlacing their fingers and spinning on her heel,
marching them out of the opulent bedroom and into the long, richly decorated hallway.

The over the top design was frighteningly familiar.

Her stomach twisted like a barrel of snakes.

They were halfway down the corridor when the hand encased tightly in her own started to pull
back.

“N-No!” Padma tugged with more force, digging in her heels. “M-Master said to take you
downstairs!”
“Shh!”

“Master said-”

Hermione spun around and placed a hand over the girl’s mouth.

“Padma, be quiet!”

Standing barely an inch apart, Hermione saw something flash in the girl’s wide gaze, a brief spark
of recognition. Her heart swelled with hope.

“Padma…” She watched her body go lax beneath her hands. “We have to be very quiet. Try your
very best not to make a sound, alright?”

She nodded weakly but her eyes held a keen alertness. Hermione squeezed her hand for comfort,
stepping back.

“Okay, come on.”

They started down the hall once more, rounding the corner at the end and coming face to face with
a banister overseeing the floor below. Distant footsteps drifted up, bouncing off the arched ceiling
and dancing all around them. Hermione reared back, grabbing Padma and pushing them into the
shadowed alcove.

She met the girl's terrified gaze and placed a finger to her own lips, signaling silence. Padma
nodded again, but her eyes were rapidly starting to cloud once again.

Hermione held her breath, trembling with the force of remaining still and quiet when all she
wanted to do was scream and rage.

The footsteps below faded away into the distance.

She sagged into the wall.

“How many people are in the house?” She whispered sharply.

Her companion stared at her blankly.

“Padma!”

The girl jolted, eyes briefly closing and opening to reveal a vibrant gaze.

“Five.”

Hermione blinked.

“Five? Including us? What about the staff?”

“Master dismissed them upon our arrival. He wanted privacy.”

Hermione couldn’t suppress her scowl. “Wants to keep me hidden, more like.” She drew a hand
over her face, mind spinning. “I take it the other two are guards?”

Padma nodded, rubbing her palms together anxiously. The sight was a small comfort, signifying
her access to long-suppressed emotions.
“Okay… we can do this.” Hermione released a slow breath, stepping away from the alcove. “We
just have to be invisible.”

She peaked carefully over the banister, spotting a large expanse of mahogany wood floor beneath.

The entry looked clear.

But that was far too easy.

There was no way her captor would leave the front door unlocked.

And if her jailer was who she suspected it was… then this was likely all part of some demented
game. Why else would he send Padma to fetch her instead of one of his guards?

She set her jaw, eyes narrowing to diamond points.

He wants to play?

She straightened to her full height, chin raised.

Let’s play.

She grabbed Padma’s hand and led her in the opposite direction of the main staircase, opening
closet doors until she found the linen pantry, pressing her hands along the wall inside until she
found the hatch leading to the shoot.

Too narrow for either girl to fit through.

But not a lost cause.

She followed the direction of the seam in the wall until she found the entrance to the servant’s
quarters. She carefully opened the door and peered down the dark steps beyond.

Please let this work.

She gazed over her shoulder, gauging how alert her companion was.

“Padma.” The girl snapped to attention. “Take off your shoes.”

She carefully toed them off, placing her bare soles against the hallway runner and standing only a
couple inches taller than Hermione.

“Follow me.”

They quickly descended the dark staircase, placing their hands to either side of the wall for balance
until emerging on the lower level. Hermione wasted no time barging into the first bedroom,
running to the window and pushing on the pane.

Sealed.

“Shite!”

She ran past a bemused Padma into the next room, and the next.

All sealed.

She spun in a tight circle, hands in her hair, tongue pressing the roof of her mouth.
Think think think think…

She blinked.

“Come on!”

She grabbed Padma’s hand once more and dragged her deeper into the hall, picturing the layout of
most grand estates in her mind. She knew the servants quarters eventually had to spit out into the…

She pushed open a swinging door.

And emerged into the food pantry.

“Kitchen.”

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief, pressing her hands to the outer door and straining to listen
through the wood. When she didn’t hear anything beyond the heavy thudding of her heart and
pumping of her lungs she carefully turned the knob, pushing the door open just enough to peer into
the vast room.

It was cloaked in shadow, no movement beyond the dancing light across the back wall from the
adjacent hallway.

“Okay, this way.”

She slipped out onto the tiled floor, Padma tight at her back, making a quick dash to the main door
leading to the garden. Surely he wouldn’t have sealed this exit as well, it would be far too great of
a fire hazard for the rest of the staff.

But as she pulled on the heavy brass handle to no avail, she realized it was exactly the sort of thing
he would do, safety be damned. Anything to prolong her agony, build her hope of escape only to
slowly dismantle it at every turn.

“Bollocks!”

She pounded her fists against the heavy barrier, teeth gritted in frustration, gazing through the glass
pane with endless longing and desperation.

When suddenly there was a pressure differential in the air, a bitter cold blowing past. Padma
shifted anxiously at her side.

“Sleeping beauty awakens.”

Her spine went rigid at the familiar male timbre. She spun around, back pressing the door, palms
flattening against the cold wood.

The guard stepped casually inside the kitchen, wry grin curving his lips even as his eyes drilled
lethal holes into her skull.

“You gave me a nasty knot on the side of my head, poppet.”

Her eyes shone with bright fury as she lifted her arms, presenting her mottled wrists to his
malevolent gaze.

“You left your mark as well.”

“I’m happy to leave more if you decide to resist me again.”

She set her jaw, lifting her chin in open defiance. His smile widened as his eyes flickered to Padma.

"Come here, Selene."

Hermione reached for the girl but it was too late. Her eyes took on the vacancy they possessed
when she first entered the bedroom, bare feet crossing towards him with broken, stilted
movements.

Hermione settled once more against the door, chest cracking cleanly down the center as she
fumbled with the useless knob, drawing his focus.

“Even if you make it outside, there’s nowhere to go. We’re miles from the nearest house.”

The words were a great weight pressing upon her, expelling the breath from her lungs.

“Where are we?”

“Come with me and you’ll find out.”

Her eyes darted quickly around the room, desperate for any alternative means of escape-

Only to settle on Padma’s unnaturally still form at his side.

Hermione swallowed thickly.

And took a reluctance step forward.

His smile gleamed in the weak light. “Good girl.”

Her skin crawled at the mocking praise. He waited until she stood just before him before finally
turning on his heel to lead the way into the corridor.

The moment his back was to her she sprang for the butcher’s block on the countertop beside them,
fingers curling around the hilt of a gleaming kitchen knife, identical to the one she wielded in the
doll room, taking perverse comfort in its weight and shape as she pulled it from its wide slot.

“Son of a bitch!” He hissed loudly, seeing her movement from the corner of his eye and lunging at
the same instant, one arm wrapping her waist as the other wrestled her hands for the blade.

She screamed in fury, thrashing wildly as he picked her up off the ground entirely, aiming her heels
at his shins and earning a grunt of pain for her troubles.

“You little cunt!”

He took hold of her wrist and bent it back with force, causing her to scream and drop the knife as
her tendon stretched to its limit. He released her from his hold a moment later, her feet hitting the
ground with enough impact to leave her staggering. He grabbed her arm and wrenched her out of
the room, her eyes fixed forlornly upon the discarded blade still spinning a slow circle upon the
counter.

He proceeded to drag her down the long hallway, her curled toes leaving tracks along the carpet as
she tried to gain purchase. He grunted with exertion, steel fingers cutting off the circulation in her
arm and causing the nerve endings to flare hot and enraged.
“Let me go!”

“Not a chance.”

Her mind flickered to another scene, another man. She recalled being dragged through the
hallways of the Home by Filch as he snarled and snapped at her. She blinked and was once more in
the opulent mansion, knowing full well a fate far worse than Umbridge and the threat of expulsion
awaited her at the other end.

And Tom wouldn’t be able to save her from meeting it.

He dragged her around the corner and through a set of gold inlaid double doors, Padma following
calmly at their backs, eyes fixed lifelessly ahead as though oblivious to the struggle taking place
mere feet away.

The first thing Hermione saw of their new surroundings was an obscenely long and narrow dining
table, cut down the center by a vibrant red runner, covered in assorted trays of colorful fruits and
pastries, tall candlesticks and ornate vases of fresh roses. It made such an eccentric sight it
rendered her mute for several moments, gaze consumed as she tried to process what she was
seeing.

She followed the extravagant decorations up the table, spotting a steaming pot of tea and three
place settings at the far end…

And a man at the helm, back turned towards her as he flicked open a gleaming gold lighter and lit
the tip of a cigar.

Her breath stuttered at the familiar set of broad shoulders and head of burnt umber hair.

He flicked the lighter shut with a deafening snap, jolting her, and slowly turned to face the new
entrants at last.

He puffed steadily at the end of the cigar before releasing a steady stream of smoke from his nose
and mouth, the cloud rising high, folding in on itself and contorting until it took the form of an
angry dragon, wide jaws snapping hungrily, mirroring the expression of its master.

His teeth gleamed in the firelight, predatory yet edged with child-like anticipation, eyes creased at
the corners and glowing devilishly.

“Welcome home, pretty minx.”

The end of the cigar burned a bright orange, intensifying the scorching hatred burning a hole
within her heart as her worst fears were at last confirmed.

“Rabastan.”

Tom pushed a low hanging branch aside with exaggerated force, eyes narrowed as he took in the
glittering surface of the pond.

This deep in Hyde Park the moonlight was his only source of illumination, turning the water into a
pool of black ink and casting every structure and monument in dim outline. He could hardly
distinguish bush from bench, and was relieved the gazebo he was headed for made more of an
impression on the landscape.
As he drew near the structure he detected a movement of shadows within, verifying he was at the
right location.

Good.

There was no time to waste.

He took the steps leading to the platform two at a time, shoulders tightening at the look both men
pinned him with as they stood from the railing.

“You’re late,” the blonde bit out.

“I was detained.”

Malfoy scowled. “Not with Dawn.”

Potter glanced between them. “Who’s Dawn?”

Tom paid the inquiry no mind.

“I came from the asylum.”

The result was instantaneous. Both men sprang forward, eyes and mouths agape.

“You saw her?”

“How is she?”

He fought to maintain a neutral expression and tone.

“She was already discharged.”

The tense beat that followed his declaration was deafening in its absolution. “Lestrange has her.”

Potter scrubbed a hand over his face, taking a step back and closing his eyes.

“When did this happen?”

“The Doctor claimed she was taken hours before my arrival.”

Potter shook his head, meeting his eye once more. “I just came from his house, the drive was
empty, no carriages in or out.”

Tom drew in a deep breath, wheels rapidly turning in his mind. “What other property does he
own?”

They both looked at Malfoy. The blonde lifted his chin, eyes narrowed in thought.

“Three others I know of, all in the West End. We can split up and each search one-”

“No.”

Both men went rigid at Tom’s definitive tone.

Malfoy arched a pale brow, fists clenching. “No?”

“I already know where he took her.”

He reared back even as Potter surged forward.

“How-”

“That’s not important. We have no time to spare.”

Malfoy recovered from the revelation, eyes metallic and sharp. “Then why the hell did you waste
time coming here if you already know where she is?”

Tom met his accusing gaze head-on, voice hard and steady. "Because I just realized it myself.
Besides, I can’t get to her alone.” His jaw tensed. “It will take all of our combined efforts.”

Potter and Malfoy looked at each other for a brief, charged moment, the air swelling, thick, brittle
and cold.

Potter glanced back to Tom first, nodding in acceptance, the inset emeralds of his gaze flashing
brilliantly.

“Tell us what we need to do.”

His smile was perversion personified.

Hermione drew back, only to run into the guard obstructing the doorway. She bit her tongue to
stifle a gasp, hands trembling beyond her control as Rabastan gave her body a slow, calculated
perusal, the tight dress leaving little to the imagination.

“My, my, how you’ve changed since our last encounter.”

She squared her shoulders, stepping away from the brooding guard and crossing her arms tightly
over her chest. “It’s called growing up. Children tend to do that.”

Rabastan chuckled, bringing the cigar to his lips.

“You certainly aren’t a child anymore, minx.”

She cringed, then scowled. “You don’t know anything about me.”

His laughter was grating to her nerves, smoke billowing from his mouth in a long stream. “I intend
to find out as much as I can before sunrise.”

He tilted his head, examining her at an angle, eyes lingering on her hips. “Once the Doc sinks his
claws in, that pretty head of yours will be empty as a cavern.”

She set her jaw, eyes narrowed to slits. “What have you done to Padma?”

He blinked, gaze snapping back up. “Who?”

“Pad-”

Both their attention was drawn to the girl in question as she jerked in place as though struck by an
invisible force. Hermione reached out on instinct but she quickly staggered beyond her reach.

Rabastan arched a dark brow. “Selene, my beauty, where are your shoes?”

“Her name isn’t Selene.” Venom dripped from her lips. “It’s Padma.”
The girl jolted anew, pressing hands to either side of her head as her eyes darted frantically around
the room, expression pinched in distress and confusion.

Rabastan ground his teeth, fingers squeezing the cigar until it trembled in his grip.

“Her name is Selene” He licked his lips. “Goddess of the night.”

“Goddess of the moon, idiot.” Hermione gazed upon him in disgust. “Nyx was the goddess of
night.”

His smile shone with bright amusement, annoyance dissipating along with the smoke from his
mouth. “I finally understand Antonin’s obsession.” His eyes scanned her figure once more. “As
well as my nephew’s.”

She drew in a shaky breath, phantom flames dancing before her eyes, ghostly screams echoing in
her mind. “Antonin was a vile beast.”

He shook his head ruefully, resting his forearm on the back of a chair. “It’s positively gauche to
speak ill of the dead, minx.”

“You hardly seem broken up.”

“I admit it’s a bit difficult to be downtrodden when my former colleague’s demise has awarded me
with such a splendid gift.”

She raised her chin, the flames taking root in her chest, expelling with her every word. “If you
touch me I’ll cut off your hands.”

His laughter rang out once more, boisterous and delighted, sending a ripple of unease across her
exposed flesh.

“Let’s sit down for a spot of tea first, shall we? There’ll be plenty of time for death threats later.”

She blinked, the statement so outlandish it successfully scattered her anger and disgust.

“I’m not having tea with you.”

His grin tugged higher. “Then we can retire upstairs immediately.”

She bit back a groan of simmering resentment, striding forward and pulling a chair free at the
farthest end of the table.

“Nah ah ah. Next to me, luv.”

She clutched the top of the chair with such force her knuckles turned white, eventually shoving it
back into place with enough force to knock an artfully arranged stack of biscuits on its side before
walking the gallows to the head of the table, skin curdling like sour milk the closer she drew.

He met her eye and winked. She glanced away sharply and sank into the seat to his left, earning his
amused laughter until he directed his focus towards the doors.

“Selene.”

Hermione watched in morbid fascination as Padma moved fluidly to the chair across from her,
sitting gracefully at his right.
He tilted his head as he tracked the girl’s movements, sidling close and brushing the long hair from
her bare shoulder, fingers skimming the smooth flesh, tracing the long line of her neck until curling
beneath her chin and tipping her face to meet his gaze.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

Hermione drew back at the unmistakable concern in his voice.

“Nothing, Master.”

He ran the pad of his thumb across her full bottom lip, gently tugging it down before stroking her
chin. Hermione’s hands curled over the edge of her seat on either side of her thighs, nails piercing
the fabric backing.

“Don’t lie to me, pet.”

“Of course not, Master.” She swallowed heavily, swaying into his touch. “My head… feels a bit…
strange.”

His jaw tightened, eyes flickering to Hermione with embers in their depths.

“I take it this is your doing?”

“Funny, I was about to say the very same to you.”

She was braced for his ensuing rage, taken aback when he sighed deeply instead, stepping away
and strolling leisurely for the chair situated between his two captives.

“I can only imagine what this looks like from your perspective, given your history with Antonin
and myself.”

Her indignation nearly robbed her of breath, but not of words.

“It looks like you’re part of an organization that kidnaps and brainwashes young women to sell
them as sex slaves.”

He arched his brow, lips pressing thin as he took his seat at the head of the table and placed his
cigar in a crystal tray.

“We rescue young women from destitution.” He reached for the steaming teapot situated between
them. “In Selene’s case, we literally saved her life.”

Her face twisted with disgust.

“You took her from her family!”

“If you knew who she was previously then you surely know she was on death’s door when we
found her.”

He tipped the pot carefully, pouring a stream of steaming liquid into her cup.

“When I found her. The others dismissed her as a lost cause, too great of an expense to undertake.”

He began to fill Padma’s cup next, staring at her fondly all the while.

“But her radiant beauty couldn’t be denied. I invested a great deal of resources into nursing her
back to health. And she hasn’t left my side since.” His smile was grotesque. “She’s a princess,
living every day in the lap of luxury.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed to razor slits. “She’s had her memories and identity stripped away for
your own perversions. She’s a prisoner in a golden cage.”

“Her memories were removed for her own well being.” He began to fill his own cup, posture
eased. “Why would I plague her with recollections of poverty, sickness and pain?”

“Because she’d spend every waking moment fighting like hell to escape.” She crossed her arms,
desperate for any additional barrier between them. “We both know I’ll never fall for this little song
and dance you use to lure investors with. You’re only trying to convince yourself you aren’t a
disgusting piece of-”

“Sugar?”

She blinked, staring in bewilderment at the porcelain dish in his hand.

“I…” She shook her head, grasping for the threads of her sanity. “I don’t want any tea.”

“It isn’t drugged.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t take your word for it.”

“You’ve just woken up, why would I waste what precious time we have left by rendering you
unconscious again?”

“A sleep tonic is the least of my worries when it comes to you spiking my drink.”

He rolled his eyes, setting the dish aside.

“Very well.”

He carefully grabbed both their steaming cups and swapped them out.

“Have mine then.”

She clutched either side of her head, barely stifling a scream.

“I don’t want your bloody tea!”

“Take Selene’s-”

“Stop!”

She swept her hand over the table and knocked her cup and saucer to the ground, tea splashing
across the fine carpet and delicate silk of her dress, china shattering to pieces in an impressive
explosion.

“This is madness! What do you want, Lestrange? Why are you doing this?”

She braced her hands against the edge of the wood, meeting his amused gaze with intense focus.
“You already have more money than the Crown and nearly as much power to go along with it,
what do you possibly stand to gain by involving yourself in human trafficking?”

Her nails dug crescent grooves into the soft veneer. “And don’t regurgitate that drivel about
improving the lives of the misfortunate because we both know you don’t believe a word of it. The
only help you’d care to provide others is escorting them off a cliff.”

He arched a brow, the corners of his lips tugging higher until he embodied a cartoon villain.

"I'm truly touched by your astute assessment of my character, minx. I didn't think you cared
enough to notice." He tilted his head, gaze appraising. "Furthermore, you're the first person to ask
me such a question."

He retook his cigar, casually twirling it between his fingers.

“Rod assumes I’m in it for the control. The force of habit. Always eager to follow big brother’s
footsteps.”

His eye twitched, the underlying note of resentment palpable in his voice.

“Bella is the only one who understands. The only one who can see the big picture, grasp the
magnitude of what all this means. Reasons far beyond money and prestige. Reasons he could never
possibly fathom.”

His voice ended on a much softer note, eyes gleaming with a very familiar and perturbing emotion.

Hermione tilted her head, carefully studying his visage. “I’m starting to understand.”

He smirked. “Are you?”

“Women undoubtedly flock to your side every moment of every day, desperate for your favor.”

He shrugged non-committedly while looking supremely pleased by her assessment.

"But you can see right through their pretty rouses, can't you? Their vapid cons. Takes one to know
one after all."

The pleasure dropped from his expression like a dead weight. She smiled.

“Of course. You want true devotion. Someone who sees past your name and title, who doesn’t
give a toss about your wealth or reputation.”

He laughed shortly. “Are you accusing me of chasing true love, minx?”

“No. I’m quite certain you find the notion of true love horrifying.”

His complexion paled. Hermione lifted her chin.

“Which is what led you here. A doll provides the perfect illusion without the emotional burden.”

His jaw tensed as she struck the killing blow.

“Because you’re already buried by your feelings for another woman.”

He swallowed thickly.

“A woman you can never hope to obtain-”

“Enough!” He slammed his fists on the table, tea splashing the glossy wood.

“How long have you been in love with your sister in law?”
“I said enough!”

He pushed back from the table and rose to his full height, arm drawing back as though to strike.
Hermione held his gaze, refusing to flinch.

“Do you hit Selene when she doesn’t parrot back the words you want to hear?”

His arm hovered mid-air, a powerful tremor running the length of his body. "I've never laid a hand
on her."

She pinned him with an accusing glare. He lowered his arm, straightening his bespoke jacket.

“Not in violence.”

“Violence is obviously a very subjective term.”

“I’ve given her everything, a life any woman would dream of, especially one from her
background.”

"Spoken like a true elitist male, operating under the misfortunate belief their company is preferable
to all other hardships we're made to endure."

“You think she’d rather have died, do you?”

“I don’t know, we’d have to ask her. If only you hadn’t clipped her vocal chords.”

He seethed, sitting down with enough force to vibrate the floor.

“I assure you, she has no cause for complaint.”

Hermione shook her head, averting her gaze to Padma, unable to look upon him for another
moment. He continued to prattle on, entranced by the sound of his own voice.

“We’ve discussed Selene long enough. The point of this evening was to discuss you.”

“I’d rather drink a cup of poison.”

He smiled wryly. “I told Angus I would allow him to continue the treatment so he’d release you
into my custody.”

She ground her teeth, still avoiding his gaze.

“I wanted to see you in person,” he continued silkily.

“You’ve already made your intentions for this evening crystal clear.”

“On the contrary, my dear. I’d like to make another arrangement, you see.”

She drew in a sharp breath, holding it until her lungs burned with hot coal. She released the flames
in a powerful rush.

“I’m never making another arrangement with you.”

“Why not?” He took a slow puff from his cigar. “I kept my end of the bargain.”

The fire ignited the table and chairs, swallowing her whole as she spun to face him at last. “And I
kept mine!”
Rabastan inclined his head. “I never accused you otherwise, minx.” He wet his lips, expelling long
tendrils of smoke. “The agreement is simple. You give me what I want and I’ll spare you from
your treatment.”

She blinked, settling back in her chair. “Bumby is coming here tomorrow.”

“And I can ensure you’re halfway across the continent by then.”

She opened and closed her mouth. “Why would you do that?”

His smile revealed a row of gleaming, dagger pointed teeth.

“Willing to hear my proposal, luv?”

Her hands curled to fists beneath the table, pulse thrumming powerfully in each limb.

“Willing? No. But it seems you have a captive audience.”

His laughter echoed as loudly as her heartbeat.

“Such a rare delight. But first...” He reached for the steaming pot once more. “Tea.”

Parvati’s hands moved at blurring speed as she maneuvered the cards with deft skill, Neville’s eyes
flickering rapidly as he tried to track the movement.

She smirked at the deep lines of concentration creasing his forehead, ignoring the man seated on
the other cushion, gleaming eyes affixed to her face instead of her hands.

“Alright gents, keep your eye on the Queen.”

She gave the cards another skilled shuffle across the table.

Blaise leaned forward, arms resting atop his knees. “I haven’t let her out of my sight.”

She met his gaze at last, rolling her eyes even as her lips twitched. Neville scratched the back of his
neck, chewing on his tongue in obvious thought.

“I think I followed it this time.”

She sat back, brow arched.

“Okay, luv, where is she?”

“On the right.” He nodded to himself, eyes transfixed. “Definitely on the right.”

She clicked her tongue, lips curling up. “So close…” She flipped over the center card, revealing the
Queen of Hearts. “And yet so far away.”

“Blimey!” Neville threw his hands up and leaned back, shaking his head. “You’re incredible at
that!”

“Hardly.” She gathered the cards and slipped them back into the deck. “You should see some of
the hustlers in the neighborhood I grew up in. Truly gifted with a deck and a bit of flourish.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Blaise eyed her carefully, signature grin in place. “You handle the
cards seamlessly. Have you ever considered working as a dealer? Plenty of gambling halls have
taken to hiring pretty birds to run the tables. Keeps the clients thoroughly distracted while they
drain their pockets dry.”

She shuffled the deck idly.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. I usually just drain men of their blood. But if I can get paid to rob
them blind as well, all the better.”

He tipped his head back, laughing loudly. Neville smiled as well, but his gaze quickly fastened to a
spot just beyond her shoulder, expression rapidly sobering.

“Sirius, want to play a round?”

Sirius paused his rapid pacing, glancing up in confusion.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Cards.” Neville gestured to the deck in Parvati's hands. “Want to go a round?”

Sirius shook his head. “No thanks, kid. I can barely think straight as it is.”

“Potter is fine.” Blaise leaned back into the couch, folding his hands behind his head. “That man
has more lives than a cat.”

“Cats are clever, but they only have one life, just like everyone else.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes without mirth. “I hate it when you get all serious.”

Sirius resumed his walk around the perimeter of the room without another word. Blaise exchanged
a loaded look with Neville.

“Fuck. I thought for sure he’d jump on that one. It must be bad.”

“Have a bit of empathy, arsehole.” Parvati set the deck aside, watching Sirius over her shoulder.
“Everyone deals with fear differently. He takes to tearing the room apart, I like to gamble, and you
start making god awful innuendos.”

Blaise kicked his feet up on the edge of the coffee table beside her.

“I’ll have you know my innuendoes are always god awful, regardless of my mental state.
Furthermore, I’m not afraid.”

She faced forward, meeting his gaze. “No? Then what are you still doing here?”

“Where else can I find such excitement on a Thursday night?”

“Nice try.”

He blinked, smile wavering. “I don’t follow, luv.”

“I think you do.” She leaned in, braid falling forward and swinging between them. “You’re not half
as stupid as you like to act.”

“I’m flattered you think it’s an act.”

“You’re here because you’re afraid for your friends, same as me.”
“Friends is a rather generous label-”

“If you really meant to pull off this I-don’t-give-two-shites-about-anyone-but-myself routine, you
shouldn’t have gone through each girl’s bedroom last night, making sure the windows were
locked.”

He blinked twice, seemingly taken aback, but recovered by the next beat, flashing a silver grin.
“That wasn’t chivalry, pet. It was strategy. I left yours unlatched. Too bad the ledge linking our
rooms is so damn narrow.”

He winked.

Parvati smirked and leaned back. “Wouldn’t have done you any good. Hannah and I crawled into
bed with Luna.”

“Did you now?” He wet his lips, leaning forward to close the distance she created. “And did you
cuddle all night?”

“We mostly kissed.”

His leg jerked, foot slipping off the table and knocking the deck off the edge, cards exploding
across the floor.

She shook her head, meeting Neville’s eye and exchanging an amused smirk.

“Too easy.”

Soft footsteps echoed down the hallway, quickly joined by feminine murmurs. A moment later
Hannah and Luna turned the corner, entering the room with linked arms. Parvati smiled brightly.

“Speak of the foxes.”

Hannah glanced up. “Pardon?”

“Nothing.” Parvati wrapped her braid around her wrist. “What have you been up to?”

Hannah glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the ornate crown molding. “We were just
exploring the house, admiring the architecture.” Her eyes landed on Sirius, still wearing a wide
circle into the floor. “I hope that’s alright.”

He slowed his steps, seemingly surprised to see the room’s two new occupants. “Sorry, luv, what
was that?”

Luna tilted her head, smile angelic.

"You have a very beautiful home, Lord Black. I most admire your garden, though unfortunately, I
can't explore it since it isn't safe to go outside. I also love your large kitchen and would be happy to
cook dinner tonight. I wondered if we should offer Avery some food and whether our new guest
will be joining us?”

Everyone blinked.

Parvati recovered first, shifting forward.

“Wait… what new guest?”

Luna met her eye, smile unwavering. “The girl in the bedroom next to mine. Does everyone like
pasta?”

Parvati shook her head, grasping the armrests tightly. “Someone else is upstairs?” She spun around,
glaring at Sirius. “What’s going on? Did you know about this?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Technically yes to the second question and I haven’t the faintest bloody clue to the first.”

She turned to Blaise next, opening her mouth, but he raised his hand, beating her to the punch.

“Ditto to everything he just said.”

She scoffed loudly, glancing at Luna once more.

“Who the hell is upstairs?”

The blonde shrugged. “I’m not sure. She hasn’t come out of her room since Draco left.”

“When the hell was Malfoy here? Who did he bring?”

Sirius sighed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “It’s better if we just leave her be. When Draco gets back
he can explain it, because Lord knows I can’t.”

“But-”

A knock sounded at the front door, bouncing off the marble entry and filling the drawing room.
Sirius snapped to attention, lurching forward as though launched from a cannon.

“Harry.”

He raced across the room, shoulder clipping the doorframe in his haste. Everyone held their
collective breath, afraid to move a muscle as they watched him dart to the entrance and wrench
open the door-

Only to deflate, sagging against the wood.

“Not Harry.”

The man standing on the other side of the threshold tilted his head. “I shave every morning.”

Sirius blinked.

“I would normally laugh, but it’s been a trying evening.”

“I can see that. I also surmise from your greeting that Potter isn’t here?”

“You’re an excellent surmiser.” He leaned in, examining the visitor with more care. “You also
look very familiar.”

“I have one of those hairless faces.”

His eyes narrowed, chin tipping up. “You’re Nott’s boy.”

“Unfortunately you’re correct.”

Sirius smirked. “Even more unfortunate, you’ve picked a shite night to pay a visit.”

“Is Granger still at Rutledge then?”

His smirk fell.

“How-”

“Theo?”

Sirius drew back, making room for the man approaching from the drawing room.

“Blaise?” Theo arched a brow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“It seems we’re all positively brimming with questions.” Sirius moved aside, holding the door
wide. “Might as well come in.”

Theo wasted no time doing just that, gaze widening as the others slowly filtered in from the hall.

“Longbottom?”

“Nott?”

“I didn’t realize you’d all still be here.”

Sirius pushed the door shut. “You spoke to Harry then?”

“Yes-”

“When?” He stepped forward. “Was he alright? Where the hell is he?”

Theo blinked, glancing between their eager gazes. “He was fine at the time, we parted company
several hours ago. He was on his way to Lestrange’s house.”

“Which one?”

“Queen’s Gate Terrace.”

Sirius nodded. “Then that’s where I’m headed.”

“I just came from there. The residence is empty and there was no sign of him outside. That’s why I
came here.”

Sirius drew a hand over his face. “Shite.”

Blaise’s gaze narrowed as he examined Theo’s profile. “What happened to your eye, mate?”

Theo swallowed, averting his face. “Oh, I…” He raised a hand, touching the corner of the
blossoming bruise. “It’s a long story.”

Sirius’s jaw tensed. “Did-”

“Harry wasn’t there when it happened. Last I saw he didn’t have a mark on him. Though he was
severely sleep deprived.”
“Fantastic.” Sirius raked a hand through his hair. “And he dragged you into this mess as well I take
it?”

“Quite the opposite, I had to drag the truth out of him.”

A heavy beat passed. Sirius’s gaze sharpened, raking Theo’s face like a knife’s edge.

“I didn’t realize you were friends.”

Blaise laughed loudly, clapping Theo on the shoulder with enough force to jolt him forward.

“Are you kidding? Potter and Nott here are thick as thieves, isn’t that right, Theo?”

Theo scowled, twisting free of his hold. “Why don’t you act like an idiot in the other room?”

“Because I just managed to rid the drawing room of his stupidity.”

Theo glanced past his unabashedly amused friend, meeting the eye of a tall brunette watching the
exchange from the archway.

“Parvati, I presume?”

Her dark gaze narrowed. “That depends on who’s asking.”

Blaise beamed at his side. “Isn’t she fantastic?”

Theo ignored him, turning to face Sirius.

“When’s the last time you heard from Potter?”

“Almost a day ago. You were the last one to see him, did he say where else he might be heading?”

Theo shook his head. “I don’t know any specifics, just that they’re working on getting Granger
out.”

Another knock sounded at the door, quick and loud. Everyone spun on their heel, staring at the
barrier with bated breath.

“Bloody hell, Grimmauld hasn’t been this popular since James and I threw a toga party while my
parents were on holiday.”

Sirius pulled open the door, posture rigid.

“Of course you aren’t my godson.”

The young man on the doorstep gazed around the crowded entry with wide eyes. “Sorry, Sir?”

“Wait, I recognize you, too.”

“I’m-”

“Dennis.”

The boy reared back at the familiar voice.

“Luna?”
He met her pale gaze from across the room, mouth hanging open.

“Luna!”

He charged inside, nearly knocking Sirius over. “The girls said you were kidnapped! Colin and I
scoured the city looking for any information we could find!”

She smiled, stepping forward and breaking from the group.

“How very thoughtful. I’m sorry to have worried you, but I’m quite-”

She fell silent as he threw his arms around her, nearly knocking them both off their feet. They
rocked precariously before stumbling to gain their balance. She laughed gently, patting him on the
back as he clung to her tight enough to crack a rib.

“I thought I’d never see you again!”

Parvati rolled her eyes, crossing her arms.

“Alright, Creevey-”

“It’s okay, Parvati.” Luna met her friend’s eye over his shoulder, voice as placid as her gaze. “It’s
wonderful to see you, too, Dennis. I’m touched by your concern.”

Blaise cocked his head. “You’re being touched by more than his concern, luv.”

Dennis flushed hotly, releasing her at once and staggering back.

“I didn’t, I don’t-”

“Ignore him.” Theo stepped forward. “And I’m confused, if you didn’t know she was here why did
you come?”

Dennis opened and closed his mouth, eyes flickering rapidly between the various faces surrounding
him.

“Oh, I…” He blinked, seeming to remember where he was. “I have a letter, from Harry-”

“Harry?”

Sirius moved in, snatching the missive from the boy’s hands before he finished pulling it from his
satchel.

Theo shifted closer, hands clenching at his sides as he recognized the haphazard messy scrawl
across the front of the envelope, spelling out Black’s name. His jaw clenched as Sirius fished the
parchment free, quickly unfolding it.

But he managed to keep his feet rooted in place, waiting silently for the man to read through the
message without interruption.

“He says he’s alright, but won’t be home for a while yet.”

Theo couldn't remain still any longer, moving quickly to the man’s side. “Where is he?”

“The train station.”

“What?”

He leaned in, reading the brief message once, twice, three times before shaking his head in
frustration.

Neville stepped forward, face tense. “Where is he going?”

“He conveniently forgot to include that detail.” Theo dragged both hands through his hair as he
began to pace the marble. “But I’m going to find out.”

Sirius blinked, dropping the letter to his side as he stared at him.

“You’re going to the station?”

“Yes.”

He eyed Theo with careful precision, studying every nuance of his visage, the hard set lines of his
shoulders and spine, before raising his chin, expression guarded.

“Alright. See if you can talk some sense into him.”

Theo laughed without humor, the sapphires flashing brightly in his gaze. “I stand a better chance of
beheading the Hydra.”

Sirius couldn’t contain his smirk. “You really do know him well.”

The comment was flippant, but the tone was loaded. Theo stopped short, glancing sharply over his
shoulder. He was rendered bloodless, frozen beneath the man’s knowing gaze. He swallowed
heavily, pulse spiking.

“I can’t stop him from being a heroic fool. But I can watch his back while he hatches whatever
idiotic scheme he’s most assuredly devised.”

Sirius eyed him carefully once more, expression softening as he, at last, discovered whatever he
was searching for.

He nodded slowly, hands loosening at his sides. “Thank you, Nott.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I still have to try and intercept the imbecile.”

“You better get going then.”

Theo strode for the door, meeting his friend’s amused gaze as he passed.

“I was going to tell you to keep an eye on the girls. But I see you already have that covered.”

Blaise rolled his eyes, tucking his hands in his pockets as he followed at a leisurely pace.

“I’ll keep the dames safe.”

Theo smirked at Parvati’s dramatic scoff. “From what I’ve heard, I’m certain they stand a better
chance at keeping you lot safe.”

She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms as she appraised him from head to toe. “I know we
just met, but I like you already.”
“Feeling’s mutual, luv.” He winked over his shoulder, reaching for the handle. “We’ll chat
properly when I return. Assuming I don’t die.”

Sirius scowled. “That isn’t funny.”

“My apologies. I’ve been hanging around Blaise too much. Simple minds are easily amused.”

Parvati’s laughter followed him outside. “I definitely like you!”

He smiled ruefully, closing the door at his back, expression hardening the moment he turned to the
street.

He’d already defeated one raging beast this evening and was primed and ready to face whatever
new battle lie ahead. For in the chaotic mess that was quickly becoming his life, only one thing
stood for absolute certain.

He wouldn’t let Harry go without a fight.

Draco dodged elbows and shoulders as he pushed through the surging crowd, scowl firmly affixed
as he searched the sea of masks for any sign of familiarity.

His target was nowhere in sight.

But his eyes quickly did a double take at a figure lingering near the bar.

He began pushing past bodies to cut a path, random hands grabbing at his clothing, fingernails
raking his clothing and hair. He rolled his eyes in disgust, noting half of his accosters weren’t even
house girls eager for a high paying client.

Amortentia was the last place on earth he wanted to step foot again, but it was a necessary evil if
they wanted to get Hermione back. He'd hand-delivered his father's letter to Judge Thicknesse
before heading to Hyde Park. He'd lorded over the man as he read the instructions, leaving only
when the official agreed to change her guardianship as soon as the offices opened tomorrow
morning.

But of course, Rabastan had taken custody of her tonight. Almost as if he knew…

Draco shook his head.

Rabastan was an idiot, barely able to function without Rodolphus and Lucius providing
handwritten instructions. He took her simply because he was an impatient pervert.

And as soon as Draco got his hands on him, he would be a dead man.

But first, he had to find the bastard.

“You.”

He emerged from the crowd, placing a hand against the bar and stepping beside the dark-skinned
house girl chatting with the bartender. She spun in place, golden eyes wide behind her half mask.

“Sir.” She shifted her posture, expression morphing into the same feigned interest all the
employees wore. “How are you this evening?”

“Pissed off.”
Her rigid facade cracked, the corners of her lips lifting.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

“Yes, there is.”

She stepped in close, placing a hand to his chest. He grabbed her wrist and gently extracted the
limb.

“But not that.”

She blinked, setting back on her heels.

“Sorry?”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Of course, Mr. Malfoy. Everyone here does.”

His jaw tensed. “I’m a friend of Harry Potter.”

She tilted her head, scanning his face as her hands fell to her sides.

“Really?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fair enough. It’s a miracle I managed to say that with a straight face.” He held
her gaze. “I’m a friend of Hermione Granger.”

She straightened, arms folding across her chest.

“Now that I believe.” She wet her lips tentatively. “Is she alright?”

“No, she isn’t.”

She jolted. “Christ.” Her eyes darted around the bar, then back to him. “Is there anything I can do
to help?”

He appraised her carefully. “What’s your name?”

“Angie.”

“What’s your real name?”

She arched a manicured brow. “That is my real name.”

“You didn’t create an alias?”

She shrugged lightly. “I’m not ashamed of what I do here.”

“What about for protection?”

“The men I need the most protection from are powerful enough to find me no matter what name I
give them.”

His hand clenched upon the edge of the bar. “Getting mixed up in this will only put you in those
men’s sights.”
“I’m already in their sights.”She lifted her chin. “I want to help Hermione.”

“You barely know her.”

Her spine straightened, eyes brightening behind the mask. “I know enough to think she’s worth
saving. And if it wasn’t her it would be one of us. It’s only a matter of time until my number’s
called. Too many girls go missing without anyone batting an eye.” She raised her chin, voice
strong and defiant. “We have to help each other or there’s no hope for any of us.”

Draco drew a hand over his face, filled with relief and trepidation in equal measure. For though he
was grateful Hermione was able to inspire loyalty in such a short amount of time, he was also
burdened with guilt for dragging yet another innocent girl into the growing madness.

But despite his misgivings, he knew he was going to use this girl anyway.

He’d drag the entire world into darkness if it led him to Hermione.

So he nodded, shifting closer.

“It’s a pleasure to work with you, Angie.” He tilted his head towards the private rooms. “Come
with me.”

Astoria held her breath as she slipped into her bedroom, biting her lip as the door groaned softly on
its hinges, the sound echoing at deafening volume down the darkened hallway and making her
heart seize in panic.

She froze in place, straining to listen.

Permeating silence greeted her.

Her father was still asleep. She sighed in relief, walking fully inside and turning to close the door.

A hand appeared around the other side of the wood, pulling the door from her grasp. She gasped
and staggered back, heart in her throat, terrified of her father’s wrath-

Daphne emerged from the other side, expression lit with a radiant smile as she pulled her
nightdress through and pressed the door shut.

“It’s about time! I was beginning to think you’d be gone until daybreak!”

Astoria pressed a hand to her chest, sagging against the bedpost.

“You scared me half to death!” She caught her breath, pulse settling. “And you didn’t have to wait
up for me.”

Her sister rolled her eyes, their shape and color an exact copy of her own. “Yeah, like I could sleep
without knowing what happened.”

Astoria shook her head, pulling her lace shawl off her shoulders and tossing it to the foot of the
lavishly decorated bed. Daphne advanced quickly, tossing her hands up.

“Well? Don’t leave me in suspense! How did it go?”

Astoria tried to contain her reaction but the moment she met her sister’s eager gaze she felt warmth
blossom deep in her chest, racing out into each limb.
“Great!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, clapping her palms together. “They’re going to send
the manuscript to an editor next! I’ll review the final draft before printing.”

Daphne let loose a high pitched shriek of delight, jumping in place and then launching forward,
grasping Astoria’s arms and pulling her close.

“Shh! Daph! You’ll wake the whole house!”

“Sorry! I’m just so bloody excited!”

Astoria laughed as well, pulling back from the embrace with a wide grin. “You must be, I only hear
you swear when you prick your finger doing needlepoint.”

"Oh tosh, you'll hear far more colorful language rubbing elbows with your worldly literary
friends."

Astoria rolled her eyes, stepping away and loosening the stays on the sides of her gown.

“Please. Like that would ever happen.”

Daphne moved behind her, helping tug the fabric from her shoulders and arms.

“It will happen. You’re getting published, Tori! This is incredible. I’ve never been so proud.”

Her heart swelled even as her lips turned down beyond her control. She quickly schooled her
reaction but it was to no avail, her elder sister finely attuned to her every emotion, no matter how
subtle.

“Alright. What else happened?”

“Hm?” She averted her face, pushing the garment to her hips.

“I can tell something is wrong.”

“I don’t-”

“Tori.” Daphne gripped her arms, halting her movement. “You don’t have to tell me everything,
but please don’t lie. We’re all each other has in this world and I can’t abide dishonesty.”

Astoria blinked, the warmth that infused her moments ago rapidly dissipating, ice settling into the
veins. “You’re all I have.” She wet her lips, pulling free of her grasp. “But you have Greg.”

Daphne drew back. “What?”

“Gregory. Your fiance.”

“I vaguely recall the name.”

She rolled her eyes, shimmying out of the dress, fabric hitting the floor in a wide silk pool.

“Nevermind.”

“No, you brought him up. What does he have to do with this?”

“He doesn’t.” She kicked the expensive garment aside with force, fumbling with the catch of her
petticoat.
“Tori.”

“Please, Daph, forget I said anything. I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Daphne visibly bristled, folding her arms tightly.

“Is this about Draco?”

“Bloody hell.” Astoria nearly tore the fabric as she opened the flap in her underskirt.

“I’ll take that as a yes. He induces a similar rage when I think about him.”

“You’re much too hard on him.”

“He tried to ship you off to a nunnery!”

“That is not what happened and you know it!” She threw the petticoat at the velvet chaise in the
corner, storming to her gold lief wardrobe. "Nevertheless, Draco has nothing to do with anything
that happened tonight."

Daphne followed at her heels. “But you’re thinking about your engagement?”

Astoria sighed heavily, wrenching open the second drawer and grinding her teeth. “It’s not that
either.”

“Then what?”

She dug through the neatly folded piles within, tossing clothes over her shoulder at random.
Daphne moved beside her, catching her wrist and gently tugging her away, forcing her to spin.

Astoria met her sister’s keen gaze with great reluctance, something wild scratching beneath the
surface of her skin, desperate to break free.

She swallowed heavily, speaking without thought, stunned by her own inquiry.

“What is it like being in love?”

Daphne blinked, grip tightening on her wrist.

“I…” she shook her head, seemingly confused, only to square her shoulders, eyes shuttering. “I
don’t know.”

Astoria’s eyes narrowed, tone sharpening. “Yes, you do. You’re just trying to shelter me.” She
scowled, summoning her inner Draco and pulling her wrist free. “Like a child that can’t possibly
comprehend what's going on around them.”

She turned on her heel, grabbing a nightdress off the top of the stack and slamming the drawer
closed.

“That isn’t true.”

“Then tell me the truth!” She faced her sister once more, eyes wide and gleaming in the moonlight
streaming through the balcony doors. “You always stress how important honesty is.” She took a
steadying breath. “So be honest.”

Daphne held her gaze in silence for several beats, seemingly debating her response. Astoria became
convinced another fabrication was on the horizon, prompting her to turn away again, shaking the
nightdress open in frustration.

“Being in love is wonderful.”

Her movements stuttered, arms stalling midair.

“It’s the most powerful and exhilarating feeling I’ve ever experienced.”

She slowly met her sister’s eye, swaying back with the intensity of the woman’s expression, the
raw emotion in her voice.

“But it’s also terrifying. Knowing how much I stand to lose. The thought of Greg being torn from
my life… it’s second only to the fear of losing you.”

Astoria clutched the pale dress tightly, stepping close.

“Greg is a skilled soldier, Daphne, and he hasn’t-”

“It’s not just that.” Daphne glanced down, leaning over to pick up the random articles Astoria
threw to the ground. “More than a bullet threatens to take him from me. Until we stand before the
minister and recite our vows he isn’t truly mine.”

She moved to the wardrobe, opening the drawer and placing the clothes back inside. “Father can
change his mind if he really wants. Sell me to a higher bidder or potential business associate.
Whatever raises his bottom line.”

Astoria pressed a hand to her heart, fingertips absorbing the rapid beats. “He wouldn’t do such a
thing, surely. You’ve been engaged since you were both children, breaking the contract now would
be scandalous.”

“Only to my reputation. But if he breaks it to marry me off to someone else then my reputation
hardly matters, does it?”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t he?” Daphne braced her hands against the edge of the wardrobe, glancing over her
shoulder, glacial eyes filled with misery. “I’m twenty, Tori. We should have been married two
years ago. But father added a clause stating he can delay our nuptials however long he sees fit.
Why else hasn’t he allowed the marriage to take place unless he’s waiting for someone else to
make a last minute offer?”

Astoria shook her head, closing the distance between them and placing a hand to Daphne’s
shoulder.

“It’s because Greg’s deployed. Lots of families delay weddings to prevent their daughters from
becoming young widows.”

Her sister rolled her eyes, slumping against the tall structure.

“The only Peerage family who places their children’s well being above their own reputation is the
Weasleys.”

Astoria deflated, hand skimming down her sister’s arm to grasp her fingers.

“I had no idea you were holding all this in. I’m so sorry.”
Daphne smiled sadly, squeezing her hand. “It’s not your fault. Talking about it only breathes life
into the fear. It does nothing to remedy the situation.”

Astoria jolted in place, inspiration striking like a lightning bolt, animating her limbs.

“What if you and Greg eloped?”

Daphne’s head snapped to attention, eyes wide.

“What?”

“The next time he’s on leave you can elope. A private ceremony. I’ll bear witness. No one else
ever has to know. You can still have the proper ceremony later, but if Father tries to pull the rug
out from under you before then you’ll be protected.”

Daphne opened and closed her mouth, carefully scanning her face, then glancing to the ground
unseeing, lost to thought.

“He’d force us to have an annulment.”

“Then you run away together.”

Daphne looked up sharply, eyes flaring anew.

“Tori… what’s gotten into you?”

Astoria sidled closer, propelled by the force of her conviction, the lingering despair of her earlier
musings and her sister’s silent suffering.

“Would you be willing to give up this life to be with Greg?”

“I…” Daphne blinked, swallowing thickly as her shoulders lowered. “Yes.”

Astoria smiled. “Then it’s decided.” She released her hand, taking a wide step back, mind spinning
and pulse thrumming. “When does he come home next?”

Daphne’s hand lifting to her neck to play idly with the golden locket laying against the hollow of
her throat, a sweetheart gift from the man in question. “He’s already en route, he’ll arrive early next
week.”

Astoria nodded, pulling the nightgown over her head. “Perfect. We’ll go dress shopping
tomorrow.”

Daphne stepped forward, helping tug the garment into place. “This is insanity.”

“It’s romantic.”

They shared a loaded look.

And then both burst into bubbling laughter, until Daphne released another glass shattering squeal,
launching forward to embrace Astoria tightly and nearly knocking both girls to the ground.

“Thank you so much, Tori.” She whispered into her hair, voice thick. “I don’t know what I would
do if I didn’t have you.”

Astoria’s gaze clouded with tears, casting the room into nothing but pools of shadow and
moonlight. “You’ll always have me.” She squeezed tightly, until she felt her sister’s heartbeat
echoing against her own. “Always.”

Draco slid his mask free, arm dropping to his side as he took a steadying breath, silently bracing
himself.

And knocked heavily on the door.

A distant thump sounded, followed by rapid shuffling, and then something banged into the other
side of the barrier, rattling the wood.

“You fucking moron. You open a door with your hands, not your head.” The voice was muffled,
but painfully recognizable.

Draco rolled his eyes, already anticipating the circus about to greet him.

Sure enough, the door gave way to reveal a thin, sallow man, fidgeting anxiously as he shifted
from foot to foot.

“Oh! M-Mr. M-Malfoy, Sir, I-”

“Am in the way. Move.”

Quirrell staggered aside.

“Drake?”

Rodolphus gazed up from his stack of paperwork, leaning back in his chair from his spot across the
office. “I’ve been seeing more of you in the last week than throughout your entire life.”

Draco gripped the mask tightly, tracing the edge with his thumbnail. “Is this a bad time?”

“I was just getting ready to head home. Come on in.” He tapped the cluster of paper against the
wood, straightening the stack. “I admit I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t think you’d be
leaving your bedroom for several days. At the very least, I expected to see you limping.”

Draco fought back a scowl as he crossed the threshold, sparing Quirrell no mind as the jittering
man closed the door at his back.

“It was difficult pulling myself away.”

Rodolphus grinned like a jester, setting the papers aside and awarding him his full attention.
“You’re enjoying her then?”

Draco came to a stop at a safe enough distance to prevent losing control and throwing a punch.

“Immensely.”

“So what brings you here?”

His spine straightened. “I had some questions…” His silver gaze landed on the room’s third
occupant, nestled in the corner with his eyes on the floor. “Perhaps better asked in privacy.”

“Pretend he isn’t there, I certainly do.”

“That doesn’t make him any less of a viable witness.”

“I think viable is a bit of a stretch.” Rodolphus leaned back, steepling his fingers before his face.
“But rest assured, he knows the fate awaiting him if he ever repeats anything said within these
walls. Don’t you, Quirrell?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

Draco set his jaw. “And I take it he knows about the products?”

“Indeed.”

His blood snapped and sizzled, scorching a path through his veins. “Very good.” He sent the man a
lethal glare that left him trembling anew before focusing upon his uncle. “I wanted to know more
about how she… works.”

Rodolphus arched a dark brow. “Works?”

“Whatever the hell you call it.” Draco rolled his eyes. “How she’s programmed to obey.”

“I’m afraid I can’t share details about the process." Rodolphus sighed, hands dropping to the
armrests. "Mostly because I've no bloody clue how it's done. Your Aunt is far more knowledgeable
on the subject."

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. “Does she help program them?”

“Not exactly.”

He blinked, curiosity almost overwhelming his original objective.

Almost.

He reigned himself back, picturing Her face in his mind, remembering his mission.

“What if I wanted to… change the settings?”

Rodolphus tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’d rather not go into specifics.”

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I can’t help you if I don’t know what you want.”

Draco tipped his chin up, pulse throbbing. “She only obeys me. But what if I wanted to share her?”

Rodolphus smirked. “Just tell her to obey whoever you’re with.”

“She turns into a dead fish the moment I leave her line of sight.” Draco wet his lips. “I’d rather she
stay… animated, even when she can’t see me.”

Rodolphus nodded, teeth gleaming. “You like to watch, eh?”

Draco squeezed the mask until it threatened to snap in his grip. “What man doesn't?”

His uncle’s laughter rang off the walls and ceiling, surrounding him on all sides, suffocating.

“I suppose that is a dilemma, assuming you want to give the illusion you aren’t in the room.” He
rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. “I’ll have to ask the boss and get back to you.”
“I’d rather not hear what you call my Aunt in the bedroom.”

Rodolphus laughed anew. “Rest assured, I have far more colorful names for her there.” Draco
cringed. “I was referring to our actual employer.”

Draco blinked, pulse spiking. “You have an employer? I thought you only answer to the Crown.”

Rodolphus’s amusement faded instantly, eyes gleaming predatory. “If only it were so. Someday
soon, that will be the case.”

Draco arched a pale brow, curiosity brimming anew, eager to press the subject, garner more
information about this elusive Dollmaker character-

No.

He drew his shoulders back.

Stay on track.

“When can I expect to hear back from you?”

“You’ll have to quell you sexual appetites for a short while longer, I’m afraid. I’ll send word to the
Manor when I have more for you.”

“Wonderful.” He took a step back, desperate to escape the oppressive weight boring down on his
chest, constricting his lungs. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

Rodolphus smiled indulgently. “What are uncles for?”

A distant shout sounded from downstairs, faint but clear.

His cue.

He started towards the door, scowling anew as Quirrell moved to open it.

“Drake.”

His step faltered, head turning to meet his uncle’s gaze of its own accord.

Rodolphus’s smile turned wry, eyes flashing.

“She’s a close match, isn’t she?”

Draco felt the blood drain from his head in a powerful rush, collecting at his feet, robbing him of
coherency.

“I don’t… what do you-”

“It’s alright. We’re men. We can’t control our natural impulses. I certainly don’t judge. I think the
mouthy little bitch is quite delectable myself.”

His fists clenched at his sides, the side of the mask splitting. Rodolphus calmly folded his hands
atop the desk, leaning in.

“Truth be told, I wanted to get you the real thing. Alas, Bella thought it would create too much of a
stir. Especially if your father caught wind.”
Draco blinked, rearing back as though struck dead center.

“My father?”

Rodolphus shook his head. “I know what it’s like to be consumed by raw, animal lust. I told Bells
you just needed to fuck the girl a few times to get it out of your system. But she wouldn’t relent.”
He shrugged, sprawling back. “Still, the one we found is a close match, isn't she? If you take her
from behind it’s almost like having the real thing.”

Draco trembled with the force of his rage. Rodolphus threaded his hands behind his head.

“Trust me. I speak from personal experience.” He winked. “Had to test her out when we first
acquired her, make sure she obeyed every command.”

Draco surged forward, propelled by a scorching white heat that melted away all rational thought.
All that mattered was tearing the bastard limb from limb-

The door burst open, riotous noise filtering in.

Rodolphus dropped his arms, springing to his feet as Draco spun around, breath labored as he
fought to regain control.

“Angie?” Rodolphus walked out from behind the desk. “What the hell is going on?”

She shook her head wildly, tears streaking her pretty face.

“A huge fight, Sir! Dozens of clients! We can’t break it up!”

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” He stormed past her. “Drunken fools.” He paused at the door, glancing
over his shoulder. “Sorry Drake, we’ll finish this conversation another time.”

He disappeared into the hallway before Draco could formulate a response, which was just as well
as he couldn't see past the red clouding his vision. Quirrell made a squeaking noise before sprinting
after his Master, unable to keep up with his long stride.

Their footsteps soon faded, the sound of explosive violence continuing to echo off the walls- shrill
screams and breaking glass- along with Angie’s labored, panicked breath.

She moved forward, closing the door.

And then fell perfectly silent, spinning to face him with a bright smile, wiping her glistening
cheeks with the backs of her hands.

“Sorry it took so long, had to enlist a few more girls to help stir the pot.”

He ran a trembling hand through his hair, briefly closing his eyes and counting backward from
five, focusing upon Hermione’s face, the memory of her voice.

“You okay?”

He swallowed thickly. “Yes.” He opened his eyes, arm dropping. “Thank you, Angie. You did
great.”

She crossed her arms, leaning into the wall. “I know.”

A laugh escaped him, the weight dissipating just enough to inhale a full breath. “How the hell did
you incite a riot in five minutes?”

“I have my ways.”

He nodded, glancing to the closed door. “How long do you think it’ll take him to break up?”

She hummed low in her throat, following his gaze. “I don’t know. With help from the bouncers…
maybe half an hour? Not including clean up.” She arched a brow, looking to him once more. “Do
you need more time?”

He sighed deeply, squeezing the broken fragments of his borrowed mask until his knuckles turned
white. "I've no fucking clue." His eyes narrowed, the bone-crushing weight returning all at once.
"The distraction wasn't for me."

Tom ascended the stone steps with agile speed, driven by pure adrenaline and unwavering resolve,
knowing if he paused for even a moment of consideration or reflection he would lose this burning
momentum.

And every single minute counted.

There was no telling what Rabastan was up to-

He ground his teeth, pushing the treacherous thought aside, forcing his shoulders to relax, his
stomach to loosen, fist drawn tight as he brought it down upon the gleaming black door with all the
strength in his body, desperate for a physical release to expel the latent aggression festering in his
very marrow.

The door gave way with surprising speed, a young maid standing before him, barely dressed and
unable to suppress her reaction to his presence.

She flushed hotly, shuffling in place before recovering her senses and smiling coyly.

"Good evening, Sir." She dipped into a low curtsy, shortened skirt riding obscenely high on her
fishnet-clad thigh. "How may I assist you?"

“I’m calling on Madam Lestrange.”

She blinked, rising to her full height and licking her lips.

“Is she expecting you?”

His eyes narrowed, hands resting in his pockets. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

“Oh… alright. And your name?”

“I think it best if I keep that information to myself. Just tell her she has a visitor, she’ll know who it
is.”

She blinked again.

And then smirked, eyes gleaming from beneath long lashes.

“How intriguing. Please have a seat in the receiving room to your left while I fetch the Madam.”

She spun gracefully on her heel and started across the marble entry, hips swaying with every step,
skirt dancing around her legs.

He stepped inside, closing the door and dismissing her from notice, taking in the sight of the
lavishly decorated interior instead. Black velvet damask adorned the walls, molding stained dark,
causing the shadows to breathe in the flickering glow of the sconces.

He made his way into the receiving room, the chandelier casting the space in scattered light and
causing the red textile to gleam as though soaked in blood. He traced a fingertip along the heavy
drapes, the color blinding to his eyes, and withdrew his other hand from his pocket, fingers bound
by a familiar strip of fabric.

Its color had greatly faded since the night he first claimed it from the floor of his office, but as he
held the bit of satin next to the velvet curtain he was reminded of exactly where he stood.

And what dwelled within these walls.

A phantom breeze blew past, causing a chill to race along his spine. He turned his head on instinct,
gaze drawn by an invisible force, and his attention immediately fell upon the portrait hanging
above the mantle, light centered upon its gleaming silver frame.

A young Bellatrix stared down at him, feline eyes tracking his every movement as he drew near,
tucking the ribbon back into his pocket, heart rate increasing with every step.

The oil painting was done by a poised and skilled hand, so realistic it was as though he could see
her breathing.

The air around him sweltered and sparked, charged and alive.

He stopped directly before the portrait, transfixed by the keen, heavy-lidded eyes boring down
upon him. He wondered why she chose to hang this particular painting in her home instead of
something more recent, commissioned after marriage.

The sound of clicking heels drew his gaze away at last, though the hair on the back of his neck
stood on end, as though the painting continued to watch him as he drew closer to the doorway.

The steps grew louder, quicker, a shadow appearing on the opposite wall, and then the woman
herself was entering in a cloud of pale gossamer silk and flowing black hair, skin flushed and eyes
bright.

His stomach clenched at the sight she made, at the knowledge of what was to come.

The ribbon burned red hot in his pocket, a searing brand against his flesh.

“Doctor.”

She stopped just past the threshold, lungs pumping though her limbs fell unnaturally still.

“I hardly believed Margo when she told me you were here.”

“I didn’t give my name.”

She licked her burgundy stained lips. “Nor do you need to. Your presence is unmistakable.” She
crossed her arms, the loose sleeves fluttering around her hips as her eyes roamed his form with
methodical precision. “My husband isn’t home.”

“I’m well aware.”

She blinked.

“You’ve come to see me?”

“Obviously.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing “Why obviously?”

“Don’t fish for compliments, luv.” He took a casual, measured step towards her. “It’s
unbecoming.”

She smirked. “So I’ve heard.”

Her arms dropped to her sides but she made no movement forward or back as he drew near.

Almost as though she were leaving the ball in his court.

But he knew better.

She was testing him, still holding firmly to the reins.

He decided to rip them violently from her grasp.

His pace increased until he was advancing aggressively, causing her to gasp and retreat, back
colliding with the wall. He caged her in, hands slamming beside her head and sliding down, arms
trapping her, body pressing in, driving the air from her lungs.

She swallowed thickly, palms flattening against his chest, nails pricking the flesh.

“The audacity, coming to my home for a rendezvous in plain sight of my staff.”

He dipped his head in. “I have a feeling they’re used to keeping their lips sealed.”

“Sealed?” She laughed, though it sounded more frantic than amused. “How boring. We keep their
mouths occupied, darling.”

He smirked, eyes darting to her lips.

“What a splendid notion.”

He descended on her without warning or restraint, one arm looping her narrow waist and pulling
her flush against him while the other threaded through her long hair, grasping the back of her skull
and holding her in place as he took violent possession of her mouth, devouring her with teeth and
tongue, pulling the breath from her body, pouring every ounce of frustration and anger and
desperation into the kiss, pushing the graveyard as far down into his memory as his strength would
allow.

He kept his eyes open and fixed upon his prey, refusing to allow his exhausted mind to wander, to
replace the femme fatale pressed against him with the other object of his desire, the face that
haunted his every waking moment as of late, the body he’d explored with meticulous precision,
memorizing every swell, every dip, every curve.

She moaned low in her throat, voice deep and raspy, helping ground him in this moment, this
twisted reality.

His tongue battled with her own, fingers digging into her flesh until he was certain he’d leave proof
of this infidelity upon her skin for days to come. A dirty secret she would desperately try and hide.
Physical evidence she wasn’t untouchable, none of them were untouchable.

He could tear her apart with his bare hands if he wanted. He would tear each of them apart...

His thoughts raged on, broken, fragmented, caught in a chaotic storm of adrenaline and sleep
deprivation, matched only by the explosive fire in his chest. He squeezed her harder, until she
gasped in pain, twisting her head away, pupils blown wide, chest heaving.

“Rod will be home any moment,” she panted, breathless and dazed.

He nodded, lips brushing her jaw. “Then we better act fast.”

Her swallow echoed through his fingertips as his hand slid down her silken nape and around her
throat. “What do you have in mind?”

“I can’t wait until this weekend.” His teeth skimmed her flesh, trailing back to her bottom lip,
nipping the swollen flesh. “Let’s go to Bath.”

She jolted against him, pulse thrumming manically as the pressure of his fingers increased, slowly
tightening her airway.

“Now?”

“Now.”

He sealed their mouths once more, tongue tracing the backs of her teeth and eliciting a keening
moan as she writhed, straining, clawing, before going boneless in his grasp, hands clutching his
arms tighter as he slowly drew back, her hot breath cascading into his mouth and down his chin.

She met his eye, her own clouded over with blatant hunger, raw desire, and nodded mindlessly.

“Let me pack a bag.”

Hermione stirred the tea with tense fingers, silver spoon clanking against the side of her new cup,
chunks of broken china still scattered at her feet. She felt his eyes upon her and squirmed in her
chair, skin crawling.

“We aren’t in London.”

He smiled, smoke billowing from his lips. “That we aren’t.”

She chanced an upward glance, refusing to cower. “This is your brother’s house.”

Her seemingly innocent statement hit its mark, causing his eyes to narrow dangerously.

“It’s both of ours. Father left it to us in his will.”

She tilted her head, clutching the spoon tightly. “Do you share everything?”

He bared his teeth in a snarl. “I’ve never shared Selene with anyone.” He flicked the end of the
cigar, ash littering the glossy table surface. “I found her. She’s mine and mine alone.”

She shook her head in disgust, averting her face forward, eyes landing on Padma. The girl sat
motionlessly, hands folded primly in her lap, empty gaze fixed to a spot just beyond Hermione's
shoulder.

Rabastan sighed, setting the cigar in the bowl. “We’re getting off topic. Again.” He turned his
focus to the guard standing sentinel by the door. “Leave us, Elliot.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me. Out.”

The guard nodded stiffly, backing into the hallway and reaching for the knob. His eyes fixed upon
Hermione as he pulled the door shut, flames igniting in their depths. She raised her chin, holding
his gaze steady until the barrier closed.

Rabastan arched a brow, grinning. “You certainly know how to make a lasting impression.”

“I assure you, there’s nothing I’d love more than to escape everyone’s notice for the remainder of
my life.”

"Slight chance of that, minx. A face and mind like yours aren't easy to forget."

She pressed back in the chair, shoulders drawn tight. “Your compliments fall a bit flat when I’m
being held hostage at your dining table.”

His smirk deepened, eyes glittering beneath the chandelier. “I don’t want to extinguish your flame.
Antonin was always dead set on taming you, turning you into a docile kitten lapping milk from his
palm.”

She fought back a cringe, looking away.

“But not me,” he continued, causing her hands to clench beneath the table. “I want you just as you
are. A tigress. Snarling bite and all.”

She ground her teeth, pulse skipping. “And turning me into a doll would make me too dull for your
liking.”

“Something like that.” He leaned back. “Some girls are able to act spirited on command.” He
shook his head, fingers tapping along the edge of his saucer. “But it’s just that. An act.”

His eyes shone with bright intensity, rendering her motionless in her seat. “I prefer the real thing.
The thrill of unpredictability. The impending flame that threatens to scorch your flesh from the
bone.”

Her gaze sharpened to a knife’s edge. His laughter cut just as deadly.

“Precisely, luv.” He licked his lips, eyes unwavering. “I love that burning heat in your eyes. It can’t
be manufactured. It can’t be instructed.”

“Get to the point.”

He leaned in swiftly. “Agree to be my mistress and I’ll get you out of England. I’ll put you up
anywhere in the world you want, give you an obscene allowance to play with. You’ll be-”

“Another one of your princesses?”

He glared. “No.” His expression softened, the earnest visage more frightening than his anger.
“You’d be my Queen.”
Her face twisted with disgust, heart galloping a broken beat in her chest.

“What makes you think I would ever agree to such an arrangement?”

“What other future do you have awaiting you? You’ve no family, no marital prospects, no way to
access your funds except through me.” His voice held an edge of anxiety, unsettling her more than
the hunger in his gaze. “I’m your only chance at freedom. Your only way to escape the
Dollmaker."

Her breath became short and labored, his every word puncturing her lungs.

“Who else gives a shite about what happens to you?” He tilted his head. “Drake?”

She swallowed thickly, pain lancing through her heart, tears burning behind her eyes. His laughter
echoed off the walls, surrounding her on all sides.

“I thought you were more clever than that, minx. Draco’s had his fun. And that’s all you are to
him. A passing amusement. He’s set to marry the youngest Greengrass any day now. Perhaps he’d
offer to take you as a mistress, but the moment Lucius caught wind you’d be out on the street.
Damaged goods. Gutter trash.”

His hands braced the edge of the table. “I can give you freedom. Autonomy. Riches. A new start.”
He slowly pushed back, chair sliding across the hardwood. “And all I want in exchange is the
pleasure of your company every now and then.”

He rose to his feet, stepping towards her.

“I want your fire.” His hand rested atop her shoulder, sending a powerful shockwave through her
body. “I want to be consumed by it.”

She trembled violently, unable to quell her visceral reaction to his touch.

“I’m not Bella.”

He visibly jolted, hand clenching upon her, fingers pressing painfully.

“I’m well aware.”

“Are you?” She jerked away, unable to endure the weight and heat of his hand a moment longer.
“You’ve dressed me in her gown.”

The muscle in his jaw throbbed. “I had no other option, lest I leave you in the potato sack you
arrived in.” Darkness unfurled in his gaze, reflecting her pale face. “Besides. Red suits you.”

He rested his hand upon her once more, fingers sliding along her collarbone as she tried to twist
away. She gasped, falling still, unable to evade his touch as he stood behind her chair and blocked
her path of retreat.

“A body like yours is meant to be wrapped in silk.” Gentle fingertips traced the hollow of her
throat and along her throbbing pulse, skimming her jaw and tipping her face up. “Your neck should
be draped in diamonds.”

She closed her eyes, refusing to meet his gaze, unable to hide the tremor in her limbs.

“And I simply must know…”

His other hand encircled her throat entirely, causing her lips to part as she gasped instinctively,
terrified he would strangle her outright.

“Who left these marks upon you?”

Her eyes snapped open, heat spilling across her skin like a crashing wave.

“None of your business.”

He tipped his head back and laughed, releasing her throat but forcing her head to stay tipped. At
last, he gazed down, eyes gleaming.

“Will you consider my offer, pet? You must decide quickly. Once the Doctor arrives, you belong
to him.”

“I belong to no one.” Each word was laced with venom she hoped would poison him from the
outside in.

His thumb rose, tracing along her bottom lip. She jerked her head away with force, the chair
rattling on the floor.

“Hermione.”

She jolted.

“Don’t make me surrender you to him, luv. Is being my mistress truly such an awful fate?”

She scoffed loudly. He drew back, attempting to capture her gaze.

“At least you'd have free will. And I’d never share you. You’d be as precious to me as Selene.”

Her eyes darted up at the reminder. Padma’s gaze was still averted blankly ahead, unseeing.
Hermione wet her lips, the air thinning around her as the atmosphere was ripped away.

“If I agree…” She throbbed with the force of her pulse. “Will you release her?”

He took a step towards his abandoned chair. “I’m afraid I must keep Selene as collateral. Otherwise
what would stop you from running away the moment my back was turned?”

She clenched her teeth, fists tightening beside her lap as she scraped together every last remnant of
her courage and resolve, a haphazard plan finally taking shape in her mind.

Completely mad.

But mad seemed to be all she had at her disposal, so she’d learn to make due.

“Her name is Padma.”

Right on cue, Padma awoke from her stupor, jerking in place. Hermione raised her chin, eyes
blazing.

“Her sister is Parvati.”

The girl rocked back in her chair, nearly tipping it over. Rabastan blinked, freezing in place.

Hermione smiled.
“And I’m taking her home.”

And then Padma began to convulse, toppling from her seat and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

“Selene!”

He darted around the table and lowered to her side, disappearing from view. Hermione reached
forward and grabbed the half-full teapot with both hands, pushing her chair aside and darting
across the room for the doors.

“What have you done!” He shouted, clutching Padma’s trembling shoulders as he attempted to
hold her still.

The door flew open a moment later, Elliot appearing in the frame, eyes wide as he quickly took in
the unfolding chaos before him.

Hermione allowed her surging adrenaline to propel her forward, mind turning off as she let her
instincts take over.

The guard's eyes lingered on his boss, still huddled on the floor with a convulsing girl in his lap,
before finally darting up to Hermione.

His mouth opened but before he could release a sound she brought the teapot crashing into the side
of his skull. He reared back in shock, rocking precariously on his heels as hot liquid and broken
porcelain cascaded down upon him, blood running along the side of his face in a bright red line.

She gaped in silent horror as he continued to lunge for her, only to lose his balance and crash face
first to the floor in a lifeless heap.

She gasped, leaping over his motionless form and taking off at a full sprint down the hallway. She
saw movement from the corner of her eye, the second guard charging forward from his post in the
entryway.

Except he didn’t make a move for Hermione.

He darted into the dining room instead. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief as she turned the corner
at full speed, bare feet skidding along the runner as Rabastan’s enraged scream chased at her heels.

“Don’t just stand there, you fucking fool! Grab her!”

Rushing blood filled her ears, vision fading at the corners as she charged forward.

“...only poor decisions for the remainder of the night.”

Her pulse spiked at the faded memory, hands gripping the wall as she quickly rounded another
corner, on a path towards the kitchen.

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face, boneless in his exhaustion. He'd taken to slowly staggering
around the platform bench in lieu of sitting upon it, fearful of falling into a coma-like sleep and
missing the train.

He was more than aware of the odd stares he was garnering, stumbling about like a drunk. Patrons
were no doubt waiting for him to tumble onto the tracks head first.

He kept his gaze averted down, tracing the cracks in the cement for means of distraction and
alertness, though his mind continued to drift into a twisted dream state, fatigue taking hold with
both hands and refusing to let him go.

So when footsteps approached from behind he was hardly aware they were real.

“You look like shite, Potter.”

He rolled his eyes. “Always sweet talking me.”

His gaze widened, spine going rigid as he spun on his heel, the familiar voice at last waking his
senses.

“Theo?” He blinked several times, waiting for the mirage to dissipate. “What the hell are you
doing here?”

“I happened to be in the neighborhood.” The man came to a stop at the other end of the empty
bench, hands tucked into his coat. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Harry shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Hilarious. What happened to your eye?”

“Long story.”

“Don’t give me that.”

“I assumed you preferred short and concise answers lacking any valuable information, seeing as
your letter consisted of a single run-on sentence.”

“My lett-” He rocked back on his heels. “You spoke to Sirius?”

“I was at Grimmauld when it arrived.”

He blinked again, pulse spiking as he took a reflexive step closer. “What happened?”

Theo sighed deeply, raking a hand through his hair as he spun to face the tracks. “We’ll talk on the
train. I assume you’re waiting for the next one?”

Harry’s jaw tensed, eyes still fixed upon the bruised and swollen flesh framing the sapphire gaze
he was so very fond of. “Yes.”

“What’s in Bath?”

He took another step closer, finally tearing his gaze away to also stare upon the barren tracks.
“Hermione, supposedly.”

“And a dash of mortal peril, I presume.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Naturally.”

“Excellent.” Theo slid his hands back into his coat, causing their elbows to brush. “I was worried
my evening would only consist of a good night’s rest. Leave it to you to add a bit of flourish.”

Harry’s head snapped around, eyes wide. “You’re coming with me?”

Theo smirked, still facing ahead. “Naturally.”

“Theo, you don’t-”

"We're long past that, Harry." Harry's heart skipped a beat. He stared at Theo's profile with such
profound concentration he felt light-headed. "Where you go, I go."

Warmth exploded in his chest, rushing out in a powerful wave, spots appearing before his vision,
only Theo’s face in perfect clarity.

And then his lips parted in a wide smile far beyond his control, hands clenching at his sides as he
fought to stay still, reminding himself they were still in a public venue, even if it was mostly
empty.

“Stop grinning like an idiot.”

Harry wet his lips, smiling wider. “I don’t think I can.”

Theo shook his head dramatically. “Such an embarrassment.” And then he flexed his jaw, fighting
back a smile of his own.

Hermione panted wildly, arms and lungs pumping hard as she struggled to run in the skin-tight
garment, losing her balance more than once and stumbling into the wall and tapestries, knocking a
decorative Ming vase off its pedestal and catching it a stuttered heartbeat before it shattered on the
hardwood.

She held her breath, arms trembling as she righted the antique, hands hovering beside it as she
strained to listen. She heard the second guard’s pounding footsteps in the adjacent hallway,
advancing quickly.

Shite shite shite shite

She charged down the corridor leading to the kitchen, darting into the shadowed space and
spinning in a tight circle, racing to the utensil rack and grabbing a meat tenderizer, clutching it
tightly to her chest as she searched out a stool, finally spotting one tucked beneath the center
island. She dragged it to the kitchen door, peering through the large pane at the garden beyond.

She only had one shot at this.

God, or whoever else might be listening, please help me out this one time.

I’ll never ask for any favors ever again.

She took a deep breath and held it, drawing back and ramming the tenderizer into the glass,
shattering it cleanly through. Shards exploded outward, glittering on the stone steps on the other
side of the sealed door. Her entire body vibrated with the force of the impact and her jittering
pulse, limbs erratic with adrenaline and she knocked the remaining glass free, pieces falling loudly
to the tile.

The racing footsteps changed course, coming straight for her.

She bit her lip in concentration, desperately trying to settle her nerves as she stepped away from the
shattered window once she ensured the hole was large enough for her slender body to fit through.

She pushed the stool in front of the door.

And darted into the pantry.

She closed the door but for a crack to peek through, clutching the weapon so tightly it pressed into
her skin, dimpling the flesh between her breasts.

The guard skid into the room a second later, crashing into the island before checking his
momentum and rushing to the door.

“Fuck!”

He tossed the stool aside. It hit the wall with a crack, one of the legs snapping off. He dragged a
hand over his mouth, shaking his head as he peered through the shattered opening, eyes frantically
scanning the dark trees and bushes.

“She’s outside!” He yelled at the top of his lungs, spinning on his heel and skidding on the glass
shards before darting out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

She gasped in relief the moment he rounded the corner, shadow and footsteps fading into the
distance, but remained standing in place for a count of thirty, body throbbing in time with her rapid
pulse, desperately trying to string together the rest of a plan.

She wondered if the property was gated, what the terrain was like beyond the shadowed lawn.

I’ve no shoes or transportation or currency…

She lowered the tenderizer, gnawing her lip as her mind raced.

And I’ve got Padma to think about…

Because there was absolutely no way she would leave Parvati's sister behind.

She took a deep breath.

It’s alright. Stay calm. You can get out of this.

You just have to keep your senses.

She raised a trembling hand and pushed the door open, walking out of the pantry on tiptoes,
convinced her heartbeat could be heard from a mile away.

Her pulse spiked as she heard footsteps approach from the opposite direction the guard has just
disappeared. She turned on her heel, taking a half step towards the pantry before shaking her head
and darting for the sink instead, dropping to her knees and opening the cabinet. She pushed aside a
metal bucket and folded herself within, dragging the flowing hem of her dress into the dark cubby
and closing the door just in time.

Noise filled the kitchen, light emanating from the gaps in the wood, causing her breath to hitch.

“How the hell did this happen?” Rabastan exploded, boots treading dangerously close to the sink.
“How does one tiny girl evade two fucking men?”

“I didn’t see the pot in her hands, Sir.”

She pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle her gasp.

Elliot was awake.

“Once I find her I’m going to strangle the bitch-”

“You’ll do no such thing. She’s mine, and you’ve put enough marks on her for one evening.”

“But Sir-”

“You were outmatched by a teenager. You deserve what she did to you.” Something hard hit the
countertop, causing her to jolt. “Now go help Stephen search. I won’t have her reaching the main
road.”

“Yes, Sir.”

There was a lingering pause, so thick and ominous she was certain she’d explode from the tension
swelling within her chest and stomach. Boots treaded past at long last, but not in the direction of
the hall.

“I said go!”

“Sir, I don’t think she’s outside.”

Her heart lurched painfully.

“What?”

“Look at how jagged the glass around the frame is. She’s small, but there's no way she could have
cleared it without slicing herself.” She closed her eyes, tears brimming past her lashes. “And the
shards on the steps outside aren’t cracked or bloodied. No way she stepped on them.”

"Maybe she leaped over the mess."

“She’s too short.”

A deafening pause. “Fucking hell.” She held her breath. “Clever girl.” Footsteps cut closer. “She’s
still in the house.”

“I’ll grab Stephen-”

“No. She may have found another way out by now.” Rabastan’s voice grew louder, closer. The
light framing the cabinet door dimmed. He was leaning against the sink. “I'm going to search
upstairs, she may try and kidnap Selene. You tear apart the main level.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The light shone brightly as Rabastan moved away from her hiding spot, crossing the kitchen and
entering the hallway. She bit her lip until the skin threatened to break, counting the footsteps as
they receded.

And then Elliot moved.

To the opposite end of the room, wrenching open the pantry door.

“I’m going to find you, bitch.” He slammed it shut. “And I’m going to hurt you.”

The blood froze in her veins as he stormed out of the kitchen, the floor and walls radiating with the
force of his rage.

She sat in a trembling heap long after silence blanketed the room. The inside of the pantry was
shroud in darkness, her rapid breathing echoing loudly off the narrow enclosure.
I can't stay here all night.

I have to escape before sunrise. Before the Doctor arrives.

She pushed the door open, tumbling out, hands bracing the floor as she pulled her silk clad legs
free, bare feet scrambling for purchase as she pushed up, slumping against the countertop and
setting the tenderizer aside, hands trembling.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

She covered her face with her hands, shaking her head, only to see a glimpse of light peeking out
from between her fingers.

She blinked, dropping her arms and staring in confusion at the item lying before her.

The butcher knife she’d grabbed and discarded earlier in the night.

She blinked again, tilting her head to gaze upon the blade more carefully. The metal reflected the
moonlight, glowing brightly as a beacon amidst a sea of blackness.

She wet her lips, reaching forward slowly. Her fingertips grazed the handle and a powerful tingle
rushed along her limb, pooling as warmth in her chest. She inhaled sharply and grabbed the hilt,
holding the knife aloft.

Its unnatural glow faded. She turned the blade slowly, drawing it closer to her face, and saw her
own hazel gaze reflected back. She tilted the knife and half her face came into view.

She barely recognized herself, the image disturbing in how strange it appeared.

And then to her great horror, the reflection arched its brow and smiled, teeth gleaming in the
moonlight.

Hermione jolted, gripping the hilt tighter, fear rapidly dissipating with a fresh rush of adrenaline.

Footsteps echoed in the distance.

She pulled her gaze away, staring at the empty doorway, waiting for another beat before drawing
her shoulders back and darting out of the kitchen and headfirst into the sentient darkness beyond.

Draco ground his teeth, slamming the train station door with enough force to rattle the glass inset
above the frame.

He stormed down the stairs leading to the entrance, bumping shoulders with a man ascending and
scowling with enough malevolence to silence whatever affronted outburst lingered upon the
stranger’s lips.

“Miss your train there, Sir?”

Draco blinked, halting on the sidewalk, glancing around.

“Over here, Sir.”

His gaze lifted to the driver’s seat of a nearby carriage.

“I’m happy to take you to wherever you were headed.”

He raised his chin, face contorting into a sneer.

“I need to get to Bath.”

The driver raised a sandy brow, whistling low.

“My, my, that is a bit of a jaunt.” He smiled widely, revealing a row of crooked, yellowed teeth.
“But something tells me you can afford such a jaunt just fine.”

Draco's fists tightened in his pockets. He couldn't direct his rapidly budding hostility at the true
source of his misery but would make do with whatever target lie in his path.

“And what will you charge for such an excursion?”

The driver chuckled to himself, idly thumbing the reins while the horses brayed softly, clomping
against the cobblestone.

"Hm… well, let me think on that…"

His eyes slowly roamed Draco's tall figure, lingering on the fine Italian leather of his boots, the
bespoke line of his coat, the meticulous precision of his hair despite the increasing wind.

Finally, he met his eye, lips stretched in an obscene grin.

“I think ten pounds should just about cover it.”

Draco’s jaw ticked. “I’ll pay you twenty if you can get me there within an hour of the train.”

The man’s smile fell as he gagged on his own tongue.

“Twent-” he wet his lips, fumbling with the reins. “You said twenty pounds?”

“I also said within an hour of the train. A minute later and I only pay ten.”

Which was already highway robbery, but hardly a dent on his pocketbook.

The driver cleared his throat, pulling at his collar.

“That’ll be near impossible, Sir, what with only four horses-”

“Near, but not entirely.” He tilted his head. “I suppose it depends on how badly you want to double
your fare.”

The driver swallowed heavily, pretending to think it over though the answer was already clear in
his covetous gaze.

“I can do it.”

He smiled anew, leaping down from his perch as he walked around the side of the car. “I know a
shortcut. Technically it’s illegal, but it’s dark enough we shouldn’t be spotted.”

Draco smirked, drawing near. “My, my,” he parroted back. “You are quite the aspiring
opportunist, aren’t you.”

The man opened the door, smile widening. “You’ve no idea, Sir. Hop on in, it’s a pleasure to make
your acquaint-”
“Spare me.”

Draco strode past, grabbing the handle and stepping inside.

“I’m not interested in your life story, only results.” He unbuttoned the front of his coat as he took
his seat, inspecting the interior. “The train departed five minutes ago, I suggest you do the same.”

The stranger nodded, slamming the door. “Quite right, Sir!” He shouted down as he swung into the
driver’s seat once more.

Draco braced a hand to the window and ceiling as the carriage surged forward with a powerful
lurch, the horses exploding into movement, the rapid pounding of their feet echoing through his
bones, mirroring the beat of his heart.

Hermione pressed flat against the wall behind a marble sculpture, knife clenched tightly, blade
pointed to the ground.

She listened to Rabastan head upstairs seconds ago, but before she could breathe a sigh of relief
she heard Elliot turn the corner into the next hallway, opening doors one by one, knocking
furniture aside as he tore the room apart looking for her.

She leaned forward, straining to listen for his location, only for another chilling sound to meet her
ears.

“Mione.”

She jolted at the singsong lilt, spinning around with a muffled gasp.

“Hermione.”

The feminine voice was sharper, clearer, seeming to surround her from all sides.

And in the resounding echo, it almost sounded like…

“Lavender?”

Her heart jumped into her throat at the resounding blithe and joyous laughter, chiming like bells.

I’ve finally lost my mind.

“Behind you.”

She spun around, seeing nothing but an empty hallway, decorated by portrait and shadow.

“On the wall.”

She blinked, turning once more, staring wide-eyed at the brass speaking tube affixed within the
wood paneling. She leaned in, eyes narrowing upon the dark opening.

“I’m not inside it, genius.”

Hermione blinked again, cheeks staining red.

“My apologies for being daft,” she hissed, lips hovering at the vent. “I should have drawn the line
at auditory hallucinations.”
The laughter rang out again, muffled and metallic.

Hermione glanced around the empty hall.

“Where does the intercom lead?”

“Does it matter? I’m not on either end.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“This isn’t happening…” She stood to her full height, raking a hand through her hair. “What am I
doing?”

“Looking for a way out.”

She gazed at the brass fixture once more.

“I…”

Is the drug still in my system?

She closed her eyes, gasping as a strange image took root in her mind, vivid and tangible. Lavender
standing before a familiar fireplace, smiling radiantly.

Her eyes snapped open, clouded with tears.

“You’re really here?”

“More or less.” She could practically hear the smirk in her departed friend’s voice, the memory of
her vibrant nature and playful banter making her chest ache. “Though mostly less, which means
you’re going to have to do the heavy lifting.”

The words settled across her shoulders like a physical weight.

“Now pay attention, there isn’t much time.”

She swallowed thickly, wading through the liquid cement until she was once more peering into the
dark vent.

“I’m listening.”

Rabastan pushed open the bedroom door and marched immediately to the closet, ripping open the
door and pushing the clothing aside, eyes narrowed on the floor, searching for bare feet.

Satisfied the space was empty he marched to the drapes, pulling them aside. He walked to the
center of the room next, dropping down and glancing beneath the mahogany bed frame.

He took a deep breath, raking a hand through his hair as he rose to his full height and gazed upon
the slender figure lying across the mattress.

He reached forward slowly, brushing her long, black tresses from her face, straightening the pillow
beneath her head and then tracing her lips with the pad of his thumb.

"Just relax pet. I won't let her hurt you." He drew the backs of his knuckles across her high
cheekbone. "The Doctor will be here in the morning. He'll make it all better."
Her eyes remained fixed upon the gauze canopy.

Blank and lifeless.

He stared upon her lax expression for several more seconds before inhaling deep and slow, backing
away quietly, body tense and jaw set.

There was a muffled noise downstairs, shattering glass perhaps, followed by the sound of rapid
footsteps.

He growled low in his throat, storming from the room with great purpose and shutting the door
with exaggerated care, mindful of disturbing her further.

He’d spent too much time and money perfecting his night goddess to lose her now, to something as
ridiculous as hearing her fucking name for Christ’s sake.

Surely she was programmed to be more resilient than that. He’d take it up with the Doctor, have
the man double her treatment next time.

His footsteps receded down the hall quickly, mind already set on the task ahead.

While upstairs in the bedroom he’d just vacated, the girl blinked.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, dropping past her temples and into her hairline.

Her lips parted, still quivering with the lingering sensation of her Master’s touch.

She released a shallow breath, throat working silently as letters danced before her mind’s eyes,
glowing brightly in the dark haze of her thoughts. They formed a word… a strange but familiar
word. Long buried, forgotten, forbidden…

And rooted in her very soul.

Her breath hitched as she whispered the sacred prayer aloud for the first time in three years.

“Parvati.”

Hermione stopped before the designated wall, panting from her barefoot trek through the maze of
hallways, following the siren call of Lavender’s voice through the brass piping.

“I don’t see any…”

She blinked, heart stuttering upon spotting the faint rectangular outline in the paneling.

“...door.”

She stepped forward, pressing her hands to the seam, searching out a handle or knob.

“How am I supposed to open it?”

Silence greeted her.

She quickly spun on her heel, staring at the intercom on the wall.

“Lavender.”
She held her breath.

Nothing.

No.

She ran to the speaking tube, leaning down and putting her lips directly before the opening.

“Lav!” She whispered sharply, trembling as she strained to listen for any fluctuation in the air flow.

Please don’t leave me! Not now!

She swallowed thickly, stepping away on weak knees.

I imagined it all…

She took a deep, stuttering breath.

This is all madness… this house… this night… my life. Utter madness.

And yet she couldn’t deny that something had led her to this all but invisible door in the wall on the
far end of the house.

She shook her head, pushing the sudden onslaught of emotion aside, too far gone to dwell on
something as trivial as sanity.

There were far more pressing concerns to contend with.

Hermione scurried back to the wall, knife in hand, pressing the blade to the narrow seam, recalling
her previous excursion into breaking and entering.

The razor edge slid in effortlessly, pressed snug. A perfect fit.

Like a key in a hole...

She bit her lip, eyes narrowed in concentration as she attempted to drag the blade down, searching
out a catch mechanism. The knife got stuck halfway, eliciting a grunt of exertion as she tried to pull
it free.

Shite!

She pressed her shoulder into the panel for leverage, digging in her heels as she threw all her
weight into pulling-

She gasped as the wall gave way beneath her, a resounding click snapping through the air, crisp
and deafening.

Hermione leaped back as the panel swung open, blinking rapidly.

I just had to press the damn thing?

She ran a hand over her face, pulling the blade out and opening the door the rest of the way.

A narrow stairway greeted her, quickly dissolving into murky darkness. But the scent emanating
from the lower level was unmistakable.

Oak, wine, and cork.

She wet her lips.

The cellar.

She stepped away, a cold draft stealing past, blowing her curls back.

But how am I supposed to…

The wooden handle heated in her palm. She glanced down at the knife once more.

Realization struck.

Her grip tightened, the smile reflected upon the blade finally her own.

The first-class carriage hummed gently as the train glided through the English countryside, the
landscape rendered black beyond the window, only the couple's pale reflection visible in the pane,
backlit by lantern glow.

“We should be arriving soon, luv.” Madam Lestrange spoke from her seat directly opposite,
watching him with gleaming cat eyes. “I normally take a private carriage to the Estate but the train
cuts the trip in half.” She smiled coyly. “And from our brief encounter, I surmise you are as eager
as I to arrive at our destination.”

Tom smirked. “I’m positively restless.” His chin tilted down, gaze predatory. “Of course, if we’d
elected to take a carriage, we wouldn’t have to wait at all.”

Her laughter echoed through the enclosed space, racing along his skin. “I appreciate your
creativity, darling. Though our first time deserves a bit more flourish than a narrow bench and
rickety wheels, don’t you think?”

“Anticipation is a foreplay unto itself.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Her smile turned secretive. “Speaking of foreplay…” She inclined her
head, eyes narrowed. “What happened to your lip, Doctor?”

His hands tightened on the armrests. “I thought you’d recognize your own handy work.”

She laughed again, utterly delighted.

“I most certainly do, darling. And trust that when I finally leave my mark upon you it will be in a
much more tantalizing location." Her laughter cut off abruptly, eyes flashing. "Besides, I noticed
the cut when I first laid eyes upon you. Whoever is responsible for defacing such artwork should
be executed on sight."

He smiled. “It was a result of my own clumsiness.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re as terrible a liar as my nephew. Ironically enough, he showed up at my
house sporting a battle scar as well.” She arched a brow, lips curving wryly. “Don’t tell me you
boys had a tussle?”

He tilted his head, movements slow and measured.

“Is this the same nephew I met at Parkinson’s Estate?”

“Indeed. My one and only.”

Her expression remained fixed but her voice exuded genuine warmth and affection. Tom recalled
her somewhat motherly, somewhat disturbing fixation on the boy at the card game.

Curiosity burned an acidic trail through his mind.

“You’re close?”

Her expression tensed. “Not nearly as close as I’d like to be. His mother hoarded him a great deal
during his most formative years.”

“Family tensions?”

“That’s putting it lightly.” She averted her face, gazing at the darkened landscape through the
window. “Cissy is very critical of my business and life choices.” Her fingers drummed atop her
knee. “It can be quite frustrating. But I can’t stop myself from seeking her approval all the same.”

His gaze sharpened. “You mentioned a third sister at the Club, I believe.”

She adjusted minutely in her seat, obviously ill at ease.

Fascinating.

“I don’t like discussing Andy.”

“My apologies.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, luv.” She gazed upon him once more, smile taut and forced. “Let’s not
waste our time with such heavy topics, lest they cause premature wrinkles.”

He raised a dark brow. “Is that the secret to your youthful appearance?”

“One of many. Bathing in the blood of virgins also helps.”

“Good to know. I’m always open to trying new things.”

She crossed her legs, causing their calves to brush. “They say with age comes wisdom. But I’m
perfectly fine staying witless and beautiful.”

“I want to live life so fully that I turn old and grey before I’m thirty.”

His entire body went tense, jaw clenching until his teeth threatened to shatter.

“What is it, darling?”

Her brows were drawn, eyes slowly roaming his form. He took a deep, cleansing breath, forcing his
posture to relax, spine pressing the cushioned seat.

“I was just reflecting on the news I received this morning, regarding Dolohov.”

She sighed, leaning back as well. “He certainly isn’t worth developing crow’s feet over.”

“No love lost I take it?”

She laughed shortly. “Not in the slightest. According to Lucius, someone murdered poor Dolly.”
Her dark eyes sparkled in the dim light. “I do hope they tortured him first.”

“Murder?” His face drew tight with shock and concern. “How disturbing.” His steel gaze darkened
beyond his control. “Do they have any suspects?”

She drew her fingers through the wayward strands that had fallen loose from her haphazard bun,
eyes carelessly roaming the cabin. “His list of enemies was greater than his ego. It will be a miracle
if they can speak to every potential suspect in a single lifetime.”

“Seems he led a colorful life.”

“No more colorful than the rest of us. If I should be found murdered tomorrow the list of suspects
would be twice as long.”

The words took him off guard. Not an easy feat.

He watched her carefully. “And yet you agreed to journey so far from the city with a stranger.”

Her grin turned wicked. “Some risks are worth taking.” Her eyes smoldered. “I have no doubt in
my mind you are more than capable of taking my life. Which perhaps explains my unnatural
attraction to you.”

He drew in a deep breath, further intrigued beyond his will and detesting every moment of it.
“Unnatural?”

She wet her lips slowly. “That is the word best used to describe people like us, is it not?”

They held each other's gaze for several beats, bodies poised and frozen, awaiting the other’s
reaction. At last, Tom inclined his head.

“I suppose it is.”

She smiled in triumph, listing into the armrest as though settling in for an intimate chat. “Have you
always been… this way, Doctor?”

He raised his chin, gazing down upon her through hooded lids, seeing her true face take shape at
last. He didn’t bother feigning confusion, asking for clarification, no... he understood exactly what
she meant. Exactly what the seemingly innocent inquiry signified.

Her mask was off.

And she was bidding him to do the same.

The final test.

Molten steel ran through his veins. His spine elongated, shoulders expanding, his true form
bursting free from its flesh prison.

“As long as I can recall.”

Her eyes took in his transformation with unabated excitement. And just as he anticipated, she made
no retreat.

“Me as well. Even in my well-behaved youth, I was merely playing a role. Watching other girls to
know what society considered acceptable. If left to my own devices I would have surely shocked
my father into killing me.”

Burning coals smoldered in the far recess of her gaze. “We both learned to survive our youth by
hiding our true nature.” He felt the fiery brand rake his skin as her attention descended to his
mouth. “Perhaps that also explains my attraction.”

She took a deep breath, biting her lip and causing his own eyes to stray.

Her grin was decadent.

“Now it’s your turn, luv.”

His eyes flickered back up. “My turn?”

“I thought you’d wait to make me beg until I was less clothed.” Her ankle brushed his calf. Then it
pressed forward. Lingering. “What is it about me that enthralls you so? That brought the hungering
creature to my door this night?”

He set his jaw, clutching the armrest until the leather groaned beneath his fingertips. He blinked
once, twice, the seamless lies he normally kept at his disposal failing him.

“You’re everything I may have become.” Heat burst to life within the cavern of his chest, words
forcing their way free of their own accord, rationality rapidly giving way to long stored resentment
and exhaustion. “If it wasn’t for a meddlesome old bastard.”

A heavy beat passed.

And then she leaned forward, eyes glittering like onyx.

"Oh, how I do love a good mystery.” Her voice was awash with delight. “I want to know all of
your secrets, Doctor. Every last one.”

The corner of his mouth tugged higher, the heat growing, spreading.

“Be careful what you wish for, Madam. Pandora herself would not dare to open this box.”

Her wry expression fell, giving way to something far more sinister and predatory.

The air thickened and swelled, fogging the cabin, clouding his throat, damp with the steam rising
off their bodies.

“Lock the door.” Her gaze was a lethal point drawing blood at his neck, stirring the beast from its
forced slumber. “I’m done waiting.”

His pupils swallowed the grey, vision sharpening as he reached up, sliding the metal bolt into
place.

Her shadow quickly descended over him, eclipsing the fire and moonlight. Driving away thought
and reason, smothering the voices in his mind and banishing the ghosts to their respective corners.

Her body quickly followed, thighs straddling his lap, hands gliding beneath his coat, nails raking
the thin material of his shirt, marring the flesh beneath. Each movement was strong, confident,
poised, demanding what it wanted and taking without hesitation.

He grasped her waist and pulled her flush, eyes closing as she writhed in place before claiming his
mouth passionately.

And for just a moment... just a single, fractured beat… it was someone else in his arms, another
tongue battling against his own, another’s fingers dragging up his neck and through his hair.
He growled low in his throat, lids pressing tighter, hands gripping harder, muscles tensed in their
need to claim and consume.

Lost once more to scorching thirst.

But at last, one he could quench.

He gripped her waist roughly, earning a pleased hum as her teeth nipped his lower lip, reopening
the wound. She nursed the pillowy flush with her mouth, his blood streaking her tongue and teeth.

His eyes snapped open, gazing upon her at last. But her figure was hazy, lost to the scorching
flames, the rising smoke. He wrenched her up and off his lap, eliciting a shock of dismay, followed
by a squeal of delight as he tossed her across the narrow cabin, her lithe figure landing in a staged
sprawl across the opposite bench, ebony hair falling free of its pins, cascading across the cushion
in a dark halo.

He rose to his feet above her, eyes searing pits of hell flame.

She watched him through hooded lids, reclining back fully and grabbing handfuls of her amethyst
skirts, slowly pulling the satin fabric up her legs, revealing the barest glimpse of tanned thigh. Her
cleavage strained against the tight constraint of her bodice, overspilling the top.

Tom flexed his hands at his sides, knuckles cracking, claws lengthening.

And then he descended upon her.

Elliot threw a chair against the wall, releasing a feral scream as it splintered down the back,
collapsing to the rug in pieces.

“Where are you, little bitch?” He yelled, storming from the thoroughly ransacked room and into
the corridor beyond. “You can run, but you can’t-”

Glass shattered in the distance.

Muffled, but distinctly to his left.

A malevolent grin split his face in two.

“Hide.”

He barrelled around the corner, knocking a portrait clear off the wall in his haste.

Footsteps pitter-pattered in the distance.

He doubled his speed, lungs pumping wildly, eyes gleaming, blood caked to his face and neck.

“I’m gonna get you!”

He laughed maniacally, rounding another corner just in time to catch a glimpse of wild curls before
their owner dashed into the adjacent hallway.

He released a gleeful battle cry as he leaped over the remnants of a shattered vase in the center of
the hall, crossing the remainder of the runner in a single bound before finally turning the corner
and following her path-
His shoulder collided with the wall as he fought to check his momentum, spotting the open door in
the middle of the corridor.

“Dumb cunt,” he whispered, laughing anew as he charged after her, racing down the cellar steps.

Only to be enclosed in total darkness before reaching the bottom, the door slamming shut behind
him.

“No!”

He lost his balance as he attempted to spin mid-step, tumbling down the remaining stairs and
hitting the cement floor with a grunt of pain.

Hermione pressed the door flush to the wall with both hands, panting furiously, adrenaline spotting
her vision. She waited for the latch to catch before driving the butcher knife into the narrow seam
between the hinges, pushing it in with all her strength, baring her teeth and growling with exertion.

Muffled footstep pounded up the steps, followed by a dull thunk against the door.

It rattled, but held true, the knife acting as a steel jam.

He began to riot, screams dulled by the heavy wood. The door was as thick as the cellar walls, well
insulated to keep moisture at bay.

She sagged forward in relief, resting her forehead against the paneling and placing a hand to her
chest to check whether her heart had exploded yet.

She finally caught her breath, slowly wetting her lips.

“These men are bloody idiots.”

She pulled back, turning to face the front of the hall.

And froze in her tracks.

A familiar apparition hovered at the opening of the corridor, pale hair flowing in an invisible
current-

Hermione drew back, overwhelmed by the image of the girl floating in a vast sea.

Pain split her head, causing her to gasp and double over, clutching her skull. She drew in a
strangled gasp, mouth agape in silent misery. Her heart skipped a beat and then the throbbing pain
dissipated, gone as quickly as it arrived.

She slowly unfolded to her full height, gazing up with tear filled eyes.

The White Rabbit continued to hover, serene expression unaffected by Hermione’s brief outburst.

She drew in a deep breath.

“Was I really speaking to Lavender?”

She knew the girl wouldn’t respond, couldn’t respond, and yet the resounding silence struck her
like a physical glance.

“Please.” She took a tentative step forward, footsteps heavy with the dawning weight of her
evening. “I just need to know-”

She cut off abruptly, biting her tongue until it threatened to burst in her mouth.

There wasn’t time for this.

“Padma,” she whispered, glancing to the ceiling, willing the barrier to give way and lower the girl
at her feet.

Of course not.

Nothing has been handed to me yet.

She took a deep breath, gazing upon the voiceless apparition with steady resolve.

“Is she alright?”

The girl made no overt movement, but Hermione gleaned the answer from her unchanged peaceful
countenance.

“Will you watch over her while I finish this?”

The girl tilted her head, blinking slowly.

Hermione nodded.

“Thank you.”

The apparition hovered a foot higher, legs gently swaying beneath the opening of her white dress,
and then proceeded to disappear sideways through the wall.

Hermione blinked.

Right.

She scrubbed both hands over her face.

And that’s the least bizarre thing that’s happened to me all day.

She wondered if this insane life was even worth fighting for anymore…

Her arms dropped to her sides, fists clenched.

You’re not only fighting for yourself. You have to see this through for Padma. For Luna. For
Lavender.

For every girl who was taken, abused and discarded without anyone ever knowing their name.

She blinked away latent tears, too awash with fatigue and determination to feel any semblance of
emotion.

“Alright.” She drew her shoulders back, braced against the raging storm ahead. “Two down, one to
go.”

Rabastan emerged in the entrance hall at a casual stroll, hands resting in his trouser pockets and
sleeves rolled to the elbow.
“Clever little trick, minx.” His raised voice rang through large space, bouncing off the vaulted
ceiling and winding its way down the hallways. “Triggering Selene’s memories like that. Thank
goodness the Doctor is on his way. He’ll fix her right up in no time, I assure you.”

He smiled, slowly rotating on his heel and heading for the drawing room. "So I take it the rumors
are true. My pet has a twin." He crossed the threshold, gaze sweeping across the disarray with
disinterest. "My brother claimed as much but I was reluctant to believe him. The girl he saw at the
Club was wearing a mask, after all."

He wet his lips, passing the leather tufted sofa and crossing through the arched doorway adjoining
the billiard room. “But then his stuttering gimp reported seeing her doppelganger in broad daylight,
in the middle of an Apothecary no less.”

He removed a hand from his pocket to trail a fingertip across the glossy edge of the pool table. “I
was quite intrigued.” His hand fell away, head raising as he peered over his shoulder, inspecting
the remnants of his guard's tantrum scattered across the floor. “I take it you know her sister?”

Dust settled on the upturned furniture as the silence stretched and solidified.

He laughed, low and deep. “I’ll take that as a resounding yes.” He made his way through the
narrow corridor leading to the library. “Wonderful. I simply must have the matching set.”

He emerged into the window strewn room, tall bookcases illuminated half in moonlight, half by
candle, long shadows dancing along the walls.

“I think I’ll name her Isis, goddess of the sun. Then I’ll truly have the night and day in the palm of
my hand. What do you think, minx?”

“I think Isis was the goddess of creation.”

He jolted, rapidly turning, searching out the source of the voice that seemed to surround him on all
sides.

“Daughter of earth and sky, protector of women and children.”

He blinked, eyes darting around the room as he chased every hint of movement, spinning around
and around.

“And I think she would smite you to a pile of ash where you stand.”

His hands tightened to fists as he, at last, pinpointed the direction of the voice, walking to the back
shelf as quickly and quietly as his hulking bulk would allow.

"Her husband Osiris was killed by his brother, who coveted his throne and wife."

His jaw clenched. The closer he got the stranger the voice resonated. Muffled. Hollow.

“Sound familiar?”

He bit back a snarl. “I would sew that pretty little mouth shut if I didn’t have plans for it later
tonight.”

“I’m afraid the itinerary has changed.”

He laughed, rounding the shelf, eyes wide as he peered into the shadows, reaching out and
grasping open air. He spun again, brows drawn, mouth open.
And then he saw it.

The brass intercom affixed to the middle of the wall.

He drew a hand over his mouth, feeling the corner of his lips rise.

“Clever, clever girl.”

His eyes gleamed with a potent combination of frustration and hunger as he quickly strode for the
exit, speaking loud and clear.

“I desire your insolence as much as I despise it. I suppose I’m a masochist.”

“That’s not the word I’d use.”

He could practically hear the scowl.

How he relished her wild flame.

He rounded the corner, rapidly cutting down the hall and emerging into the next room over. “This
fire will be extinguished once the Doctor wraps his fingers around your slender throat and clever
mind.”

He quickly paced the guest parlor, peering behind every piece of furniture, gazing into each
darkened, empty corner.

“I can spare you from that fate, Hermione.”

“I’m doing a pretty good job of sparing myself, in case you haven't noticed.”

He ground his teeth, noticing the second intercom on the opposite wall.

“I admit you’re far more resourceful than even I accounted for. Foolish of me, really, considering
the handy work you did to Dolly’s face.”

He wrenched open the door, charging into the study. “Still. You can’t escape me, minx.” He made
a beeline for the large desk. “And you certainly can’t escape the Dollmaker. He has snatchers all
across the city, even if by some divine miracle you make it out of here, you’ll simply be picked up
somewhere else.”

He ripped the chair away, leaning down to gaze upon empty space beneath. He growled, slamming
his fists on the table top.

“I’ll avoid London.”

His head snapped to the side, spotting another voice tube.

Fucking hell.

Is the entire floor piped with the damn things?

He seethed silently.

And then inspiration struck.

A grin unfurled across his lips as he pushed away from the desk.
“And allow your friends to suffer your fate instead? We both know that isn’t going to happen.”

“You’re right.”

A brief, contemplative pause.

“I suppose I’ll just have to kill you both.”

Untamable laughter erupted from his chest as he charged into the entryway, the room connecting
the entire first floor, and cut a path for the second door over, confident in catching her mid-flight.

"Oh, how I'll miss this."

He charged into the receiving room like a man possessed, eyes glowing hellish and triumphant.

“But I’m getting bored now.”

Her laughter rang out, soft as bell chimes, perverse in its feminine innocence when he knew
perfectly well the keen mind behind it.

“How ironic. Greyback said the very same thing when he tried to take me the second time.”

He blinked, spinning around the empty room, hands interlocked atop his head as his mouth opened
and closed.

“Just before we dragged his unconscious body from the alley.”

He blinked again.

“We?”

She laughed anew. Except this time it was tinged with unmistakable malevolence, setting his blood
aflame even as his skin grew deathly cold.

“My apologies. I take for granted how very slow your mind works.”

He stormed back into the entry hall, tipping his head back and screaming loud enough for God
himself to hear. “Enough of these games! There’s no use angering me, girl! I’m your only hope of
escape!”

“It seems killing you is my only hope for escape.”

Steam poured from his lips, chest heaving in his fury as he turned to face the new direction of her
voice, emanating from the direction he started from.

“You stand no chance at either feat.”

“Is that why you sound so anxious?”

He charged back into the drawing room like an enraged bull.

“You can’t hide from me forever.”

“I’m not hiding.”

Acid dripped from his tongue. “No?”

“I’m luring you in.”

He spun rapidly towards the door, barely catching a flash of her pale flesh before something dark
was blurring before his eyes.

And then his vision was filled with blinding, pulsating red.

Earth shattering pain exploded outward from his leg, impact tremors echoing across every nerve
ending in his body as he collapsed in a heap atop the priceless oriental rug.

“Ah! Fuck! You bloody bitch!”

She hovered before him, bare feet braced apart and body tilted as she held the wrought iron poker
aloft, poised as though to strike again. “Still preferable to minx.”

Spittle flew from his mouth as he rocked back and forth, clutching his broken shin. “I’m going to
fucking kill you.” He swallowed heavily, face turning a brilliant plum. “Then I’m going to destroy
him!”

Her eyes smoldered, twin flames in the darkness.

“I’m afraid our previous arrangement is null and void, Lestrange. And I must decline your newest
proposition as well, generous as it is.”

She twirled the poker, causing him to rear back on instinct, unable to escape her reach as she
pressed the hooked end beneath his chin, tipping his head up and forcing their eyes to meet.

“I’m making the rules now.”

He laughed, eyes bloodshot and veins throbbing in his neck and temples.

“You?” His expression pinched in lethal derision. “You’re nothing.”

He lunged forward, hand wrapping the poker as he attempted to wrench it from her grasp.
Hermione screamed, a Valkyrie cry tearing through the air, her small hands rapidly losing
purchase.

Her own visage twisted into a feral scowl as she drew close and pressed her foot upon his broken
leg, stepping down with her full weight.

He wailed like a dying animal, releasing the weapon and falling back in misery, panting and
moaning as she finally relinquished him of the torture, stepping away with her hard-won prize
tightly gripped in both hands.

"As I said." She pushed the hair from her sweat-slicked face. "I’m making the rules.”

Her gaze narrowed, the heat of it lancing through him as sharply as the agony in his shattered bone.

“And I suggest you keep your elitist bullshite to yourself, or the next strike will be aimed between
your legs.”

He whimpered, pushing back on his arms, only to fall still as she took a menacing step forward.

“That’s better.”

Her smile was saturated in venom, pupils narrowed to slits as she idly batted the poker against her
palm.

“Now let’s begin.”

 Compunction

I knew who I was this morning,

But I’ve changed a few times since then.
. . .

Tom descended upon her like a dark, crashing wave, one foot bracing the narrow strip of floor and
the other bent, knee wedged between the seat and her writhing form.

He gripped her hip with one hand, pinning her in place, the other grasping her neck, fingers
tightening as her breath thinned, pupils blown wide.

She pulled her skirts higher yet, bare flesh pressing into his thigh, a searing heat that turned the air
to steam around them, filling his lungs with a cloud of water vapor, stuttering his pulse.

“If I should be found murdered tomorrow the list of suspects would be twice as long.”

He squeezed her throat tighter, leaning in until his lips hovered just a hair’s breadth away from her
own.

Red overtook his vision, swallowing her form and washing away the lines of the cabin interior,
suspending him in a river of woe, drowning in bloodlust.

She gasped in his hold, the sound echoing into his mouth and waking him from the powerful
stupor.

He drew back, hand loosening around her neck, fingers stiff and wrist locked with tension.

“What is it?” Her voice was gravel thick, dark smoke swirling in her eyes.

He blinked slowly, senses returning in phases. He breathed deeply, arms trembling with the strain
of holding the monster at bay.

“What I want to do to you cannot be confined to a train car.”

Her lips curved into a coy grin.

“And what do you want to do to me?”

His jaw tensed as he released her fully, rising to his feet, swaying in place before placing a hand to
the overhead rack to steady himself.

She propped her elbow beneath her, making no attempt to lower her skirt.

“For a moment, I wasn’t certain whether you intended to strip me of my clothing or my flesh.”

He drew a hand over his mouth, meeting her gaze.

“Neither was I.”

She blinked. Then arched a dark brow, smiling with pure delight. “Do you mean to scare me away,
Doctor?”

He stepped back. “Nothing scares you, Madam.”

“Call me Bella.”

He lowered to his seat, straighten his coat and cuffs.

“Is that what your husband calls you?”

Her smile fell. She glanced away, pushing her skirts back over her knees and sitting up with fluid
grace.

“That’s what everyone calls me.”

He regained his faculties at last, hands settling upon the armrests.

“Then I’m not interested.”

Her eyes flickered up, flashing with pleasure.

“Tell me something about you.” She leaned in, crossing her legs, color high in her cheeks.
“Something no one else knows.”

“I detest beets.”

Her teeth gleamed. “No more games, luv. Not unless you’re prepared to finish what we started.”

His chin tipped higher, gaze steady even as his heart rioted.

“When I was a boy…”

He wet his lips, unable to capture the words before they were slipping free from his tongue.

“Before I knew who my father was, I prayed every night he would come and take me away.” His
hands loosened, the twisting tension inside of him releasing with every word. “To some grand
estate with sprawling lawns and private carriages. Or on a massive ship, en route to some exotic
land. The fantasies varied greatly. But they all shared a common thread.” He took a deep, slow
breath, lungs unconstricted at last. “Escape from my reality.”

The amusement was long faded from her face, the delicate porcelain set with hard intensity.

“What happened?”

He released the breath.

“My wish came true. My father came for me.” His gaze darkened. The interior of the cabin
followed suit, shadows flaring to life as the moon fell behind the hillside. “And took me away.”

Her eyes were unwavering, smoldering with black flame. “Hope is a great and terrible burden. We
are stronger in its absence. Free.”

His smile glinted with a razor’s edge.

“That is one of many lessons I learned by his hand.”

She tilted her head. “Did you regret praying for an escape?”

He blinked, dark memories crawling through his mind on dirty hands and knees, trailing blood and
decay in their wake.
“No.” His expression remained unchanged. “I regretted believing in God at all.”

Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing Theo’s arm from behind and dragging him into the empty cabin to
their left.

“Christ, this one is fine.”

His companion groaned, eyes roaming the tight confines with open derision.

“They obviously forgot to clean after the last change over.”

“It’s fine, you uppity ponce.” Harry pulled the door shut behind them, sliding the bolt into place.
“This is how the other side lives.”

“Says the sole heir of two of the wealthiest families in the Realm.”

Harry dragged a hand through his hair before collapsing into a seat beside the window, arms
falling lifelessly at his sides. Theo remained standing at the door, fingers clenched as he fought the
urge to cross the small cabin and run them through the chaotic mop.

Harry met his eye, brow raised. Theo swallowed thickly, moving slowly to the opposite seat.

"Alright, Potter. What is the asinine plan you've concocted this time?”

Harry scrubbed a palm over his face, eyes bloodshot.

“It’s not my plan.” He yawned into the back of his hand. “Well, not only mine.” And then
scratched the back of his head. “Riddle is on the train as well.”

Theo sat. “The Doctor you told me about at lunch?”

“Yes.” Harry slouched lower, knees bracketing Theo’s legs. “He’s going to lead us to Lestrange’s
estate.”

Theo blinked, expression tightening, realization quickly sparking to life in his gaze.

“He’s with Bellatrix, isn’t he?”

Harry’s brows furrowed, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Impressive.”

“I’m capable of analytical thought every now and then.”

“It’s sexy.”

Theo rolled his eyes, glancing to the window, unaware he’d just put his blackened eye in full
display of the moonlight.

“Your turn.”

Theo tensed. Harry drummed his fingers atop the neighboring seat.

“Who hit you and why.”

“I wasn’t-”
“Theo. Tell me who put their hands on you.”

He inhaled deeply, holding it until the pressure threatened to rupture his lungs, releasing the gust in
a satisfying rush.

“I got into a row with my father.”

Harry’s fingers froze.

“I’m going to break every bone in his fucking hand-”

“I assure you, what I did was far worse.”

He sat up straighter. “What did you do?”

Theo turned his head, meeting his gaze. “Held a proverbial mirror before his face. I will be
shocked if he’s able to pull himself out of his drunken abyss before the new year.”

Harry’s jaw tensed. “He deserves worse.”

“Physical wounds heal.” Theo raised his chin, eyes blazing. “I stand by my recourse.”

The train flared to life, pulling slowly out of the station. Harry’s legs jostled, their knees pressing.

“What was the fight about anyway?”

Theo blinked, airway constricted. He opened his mouth but the words refused to surface.

“Theo?”

“It was a squabble about finances.”

Harry arched a dark brow, looking supremely unconvinced. “Finances.”

Theo grasped the armrests, trying to imitate the man’s leisurely sprawl and failing terribly, a
childhood worth of social etiquette lessons refusing to bend his spine.

“You know how he gets when he drinks. If he’s in the mood for a row he’ll fight about spots on
the silverware.”

Harry’s expression tensed, emeralds glinting. “You need to get out of that house.”

“I’m working on it.” Theo carded a hand through his hair, realigning the strands. “And I’m tired of
talking about him.” He held Harry’s gaze, tone hardening. “Besides, you look barely capable of
speech.”

“The hair makes me appear far more feral than I am.”

“I beg to differ, though I was referring to the bags beneath your eyes. When is the last time you
slept?”

Harry shook his head, averting his face towards the window, dark scenery rushing by at blurring
speed. “Christ, you’re as bad as Sirius.”

“Worse. I have the power to bend you to my will.”

Harry’s head snapped forward, irritation falling by the wayside to make room for sultry heat.
“What did you have in mind?”

“Something wildly tantalizing. You, taking a nap against the window.”

He smirked. “Utterly filthy.”

“Potter-”

“Bloody hell!” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m fine, Theo. And I can’t sleep right now, I need to-”

“You need to be at your fittest to help Granger. You’ll only sabotage this already flimsy rescue
mission if you can’t walk a straight line.”

He sighed deeply, shoulders lowering as he blinked, vision hazy.

“Just a few minutes-”

“Stop fighting it and close your bloody eyes already.” Theo wet his lips. “I promise to wake you
once we arrive.”

“If we miss the stop-”

“Harry.”

His compartment mate blinked.

“Trust me.”

Harry’s jaw tensed, but he slowly nodded, adjusting in his seat as his lids fluttered shut.

His features fell lax within seconds, breath slow and deep.

Theo watched the steady rise and fall of his chest for several minutes before his eyes began to
wander beyond his control. He traced the hard lines of his arms and shoulders, the swell of his
Adam’s apple, the strong curve of his jaw, darkened with five o'clock shadow.

He swallowed thickly as his slow perusal led to the set of his lips, gently parted in sleep.

His fists tightened atop his thighs, muscles locked tight as he fought to remain still.

But the battle was lost within moments.

He leaned forward, arm extended, fingers gently raking through the wild mane atop Harry’s head.
The man’s forehead creased, breath stuttering. Theo froze in place, fingers consumed by the thick
locks.

A moment later his steady breathing resumed, though his face remained tensed. Theo bit his lip,
combing his mane back once more before lightly tracing the worry lines with his fingertips, heat
swelling as he watched the tanned flesh fall smooth beneath his touch.

He ran the back of his knuckles across his pert cheek before settling back at last, breath slowing
until it mirrored his slumbering companion’s, eyes hooded and fixed upon his still form.

He was content to simply gaze upon him in silence, chest aching as he wondered whether it would
be the final time he was afforded the privilege.
Draco clutched the metal bar above the window, leg bracing the opposite seat, fighting to remain
upright as the carriage charged through the wild terrain.

The horses raced over uneven grass, between rocky ravines and through shallow streams, the
compartment bouncing violently all the while.

The driver shouted into the night, propelling his animals forward, making good on his promise to
cut the most direct path to the countryside estate no matter the difficulty. The horses turned, the
carriage rocking precariously on two wheels as it struggled to round the cluster of small boulders.
The back one clipped the stone and caused Draco to lose his grip on the bar, crashing into the
opposite wall, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain as his shoulder took the brunt of the impact.

The carriage regained its balance, the right wheels hitting the ground with bone-crushing force. His
teeth snapped together as he jolted, pushing himself back towards the window, seeing nothing but
flashes of dark trees streaked with moonlight. Low hanging branches scraped the roof, snapping as
they snagged the frame.

A wolf howled in the distance.

Others joined in, closer.

His blood ran cold as he gripped the bar once more, knuckles turning white.

Fucking hell, I’m going to be savaged by wild beasts before we even arrive.

And then they were bursting through the thicket, a wide strip of moonlight highlighting a section of
woods in the distance.

A large, dark mass sped through the clearing, racing in the opposite direction.

Christ…

His heart skipped a beat.

What is that?

He blinked as the figure moved into the moonlight once again, drawing closer.

His mouth ran dry.

He pounded a fist against the roof.

“Hey! Are you seeing this?”

“Aye, Sir! It’s a fae spirit! Don’t look upon it or it’ll scratch out your eyes and steal away your
soul!”

He rolled his eyes before once more focusing on the figure ahead, heart seizing painfully as it
passed them by, separated only by a few yards of petrified trees.

He surged forward, head hanging out of the window as he struggled to keep it in his sights.

“Turn around!”

“Sir?”
“Go after it!”

“Are you mad?”

“I’ll double your fucking fare! Now turn around!”

The driver nearly dropped the reins.

“Forty pounds, Sir?”

Fire raged through his chest. “I’ll make it fifty if you shut your bloody mouth and turn around
now!”

The carriage made another tight pivot that sent him sprawling into the opposite bench. He was too
fixated on the carriage ahead to worry about the pain firing to life in his arm and wrist, sliding back
into place and gazing out of the window once more.

He attempted to lean out but the trees were too close, branches clawing at the side of the car, rocks
firing like missiles from the spokes.

The horses panted loudly, feet tearing through the grass and leaves as they quickly gained speed on
their target. The foreign carriage shook violently, more than the knotted terrain called for.

He narrowed his gaze, silver eyes alighting on the busted back left wheel, causing the car to lurch
and drag, its blinding speed and unbalanced weight making the supporting side buckle.

Draco gripped the bar with enough force to nearly rip it off the wall.

“Pull up beside it!”

The driver gazed down over his shoulder. “The route is too narrow!”

Draco groaned, eyes rapidly scanning the terrain.

He did a double take, pulse thrumming.

“Drive it toward the clearing ahead!”

“Aye, Sir!”

They caught up at last, riding its tail, his driver directing the horses just beside the busted wheel,
preventing it from the making the turn it obviously was preparing to make.

Instead the broken carriage lurched right, bursting through the bushes and into the moonlight
strewn field beyond.

His heart swelled as his compartment pulled forward, the foreign driver finally coming into blurred
view.

His hands curled around the bottom of the window frame as he pushed his head and shoulders out.

“Pull over!”

The deafening roar of the horses muffled his voice, but his vision cleared at last, fixated upon her
tear streaked face and gleaming, wild eyes. Her face was averted forward, shoulders tight, lost to
fight or flight instinct.
He wet his lips, inhaling deeply before shouting with the full force of his lungs.

“Hermione!”

She jolted, head turning.

He met her eye.

“Pull! Over!”

Her jaw dropped, mouth agape for several beats before regaining her senses, pulling on the reins.

The carriage rolled to a gradual stop, as did his own.

He pulled violently on the handle, launching himself free of the car before it stilled, staggering in
the tall grass as he charged forward.

She remained seated, panting hard as she gazed down, gaze wide and unfocused.

“Draco?”

He skid before her carriage, reaching up and grasping her waist, pulling her down as she gasped,
bracing her hands against his shoulders as his arms encased her fully.

He pressed her tight until he felt the breath squeeze from her lungs, blowing against his ear. Her
feet dangled high off the damp grass, arms slowly sliding around his neck, though her body
remained stiff and awkward in his hold.

He pressed his face to her shoulder, swallowing past the heavy constriction in his throat.

“Nice dress.”

She jolted.

And then fell boneless, melting into his frame fully as she was seized by powerful, hysterical sobs.

He closed his eyes, feeling the rapid flutter of her heartbeat echoed against his chest.

“I’ve got you.” He buried his face into her wind-blown hair. “I’ve got you.”

Tom tugged on the reins, the wheels crunching the finely milled gravel as they rolled to a stop
outside the entrance of the secluded estate.

The sprawling structure was backdropped by heavy, dark woods. The windows glowed brightly,
orange and unshuttered.

Bella adjusted beside him on the driver’s bench, hand tensing upon his arm.

“How unusual.”

He tilted his head, watching the flickering glow of a hearth dancing along the back wall, visible
through the large bay windows.

“The staff perhaps?”

She shook her head. “They should be in bed.” Her sigh was laced with aggravation. “I wonder if
Rabastan has made an impromptu visit.”

“Shall I wait outside?”

She wet her lips, releasing his arm and sliding to the end of the bench. “Perhaps that is best. I’ll
only be a moment.”

“Of course.”

She descended fluidly, heels softly dispersing the gravel as she progressed to the ashen steps,
lifting the hem of her dress as she ascended.

The moment the front door closed behind her Tom descended as well, tying the reins to the post
and glancing over his shoulder at the top of the drive. He saw faint movement in the distance,
horses emerging from the trees, two distinct riders atop, though only one was recognizable.

He had no time to ponder the stranger in their midst, nodding once to Potter before heading for the
house. He took the steps two at a time, opening the door with bated breath, braced for utter
madness.

Only to be greeted by an empty, silent entry hall.

He closed the door softly, eyes flickering along the various open doorways lining the circular
perimeter.

He heard faint movement to the first door on his left.

His fists clenched, boots clicking the mahogany wood as he breached the threshold, stopping in his
tracks as his shin collided with an overturned chair.

He blinked, gaze sweeping the furniture strewn floor, littered with shattered glass and bits of
busted wood.

The Madam stood in the center of the explosion, dark eyes drifting along the wreckage without
emotion.

He stepped around the chair, leaning over to set it right side up.

“I take it you didn’t leave the room in such a state?”

She cocked her head, slowly turning to face him. “My taste is eccentric to be certain, but this avant-
garde even for me."

He drew near, pushing aside the remnants of a shattered vase with the sole of his boot.

“Go wait in the carriage. I’ll inspect the rest of the home.”

She wet her lips, grabbing his arm, nails pressing through the material of his coat.

“What if they’re still here?”

He met her gaze. “I can take care of myself.”

She pressed in close, voice low, eyes gleaming.

“There’s a pistol in the study, bottom right drawer of the desk beneath a false bottom. Rod keeps
the key on him at all times, but you can pry it open.”

He nodded, placing his hand over her own, gently extracting it.

“Go outside. Wait for me to fetch you. Don’t step foot on the grounds no matter what you hear.”

She swallowed, complexion waning as he stepped back, clearing her path to the door.

“Be careful, Doctor.”

Her eyes lingered upon him for another heavy beat before she gathered her skirts and strode for the
door. He remained in place, listening to the echo of her heels across the entry and the open and
closing of the main door before resuming his search of the room.

A wrought iron poker lay discarded on the ground.

He picked it up, turning it over in his hands, studying the tip.

No blood.

He eyes grazed the floor once more.

No blood anywhere.

The observation managed to comfort and unnerve him at once.

He pushed the thoughts aside, exiting the demolished space quickly, crossing the hall and glancing
into open doorways until he found the room he sought.

He entered the study, crossing to the desk and wedging the tip of the poker into the seam of the
designated drawer, jaw clenching as he pried it free, wood splintering as the lock busted.

He laid the poker atop the counter, pushing aside the random contents until he found a crescent
notch in the bottom panel. He lifted the plaque away, gazing down at the gleaming pistol.

He picked it up, weighed it in his hand, then flicked open the cylinder, counting the bullets within.
He snapped it shut and lowered the hammer, expression fixed as he strode back into the entryway.

And stood in silence, gazing around slowly.

The first level was unnaturally silent, given the destruction gracing each room.

His eyes fixed and narrowed upon the main staircase.

He started up the center, hand tensed upon the gun, finger curled and poised at the trigger. He
paused at the first landing, glancing in either direction, picking one at random and venturing down
the adjoining hall.

It led to a row of bedrooms, doors unlocked and furniture undisturbed.

Except for one, which bore a shattered vase and the remnants of fresh cut roses.

The bed was made, but the covers were askew.

His jaw tensed as he continued his path, halting when he heard a muffled thump in the distance.

He pressed close to the wall, gun held at the ready as he continued further down the corridor,
glancing into each room before reaching a closed door at the end.

The thumping grew faster, more erratic.

He reached for the knob, but quickly reared back as rapid footsteps echoed up the staircase.

He spun around, pistol aimed-

Potter skid to a stop on the landing, hands raised. A dark-haired man was just at his back, eyes
wide as he gripped the former's shoulder and dragged him back.

Tom sighed, lowering the weapon.

“Where is Malfoy?”

Potter lowered his arms, shaking his head as he stepped forward, the man’s hand falling away as he
advanced quickly.

“I don’t know. We waited on the platform as long as we could, we never saw him leave the train.”

Tom opened his mouth, but before he could respond there was a particularly loud thump behind
the door.

The men stopped mid-approach, eyes fastened on the door.

Tom ground his teeth, braced for impact as he grasped the knob, glancing over his shoulder and
meeting Potter’s startling green gaze.

The man nodded, once, and then Tom gazed ahead, opening the barrier and raising the gun.

The three men entered swiftly.

And then froze like bronze statues at the center of the room.

Potter opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide, unblinking.

“Holy shite.”

Tom’s arm slowly lowered, weapon resting at his hip, equally transfixed by the sight ahead.

Rabastan Lestrange let out a guttural scream, muffled by the rope-twisted shirt tied across his
mouth, acting as a makeshift gag.

He pulled at the silk cords binding his wrists to the headboard, the wood slamming against the
wall in a violent cacophony as he sent them each a murderous glare in turn, face flush and veins
bulging.

Potter’s companion cocked his head to the side, blinking slowly as his shoulders lowered from their
defensive posture.

“Well… I dare say the damsel got tired of waiting for her rescue party.”

The carriage rolled a steady and even path along the paved road, the horses braying softly as they
took a leisurely pace back to the city.

Draco had loaded the girls into his carriage several minutes ago, Hermione sharing his bench while
her companion laid down across the opposite seat, eyes heavy with exhaustion. The strange girl
hadn’t spoken a word when he shrugged out of his coat and laid it across her.

She was asleep before they even pulled onto the main road.

Hermione had been trembling with cold as well, or perhaps it was nerves. He’d been content to
wrap her in his arms, but the moment he reached out she shied back, face averted to the window as
she laced her fingers tightly atop her lap, their breathless reunion in the field a distant faded
memory.

The rejection unfurled a deep, lancing pain in his chest. He dropped his hand, fist clenching as he
studied her profile in the moonlight.

And then his eyes drifted lower.

To the faded welts on her neck, the fingertip-shaped bruises along her arms and the fresh, vibrant
lines wrapping her wrists.

Red filled his senses as he envisioned every disturbing scenario of how they came to settle upon
her pale flesh.

At last he drew a hand over his face, inhaling deeply, forcing the words free.

“Are you…” His heart stuttered painfully. “Did he... ”

But he couldn’t force the rest out, not without losing control and ripping the carriage apart with his
bare hands.

Thankfully she seemed to understand all the same, glancing at the purple mottled wrists in
question, covering one with her palm.

“No.” She wet her lips, still gazing down. “I’m alright.”

He released the breath, but the fire still remained, flames licking higher in his throat.

“How did you escape?”

She closed her eyes, face pinching in either concentration or distress, though likely some
combination of the two. “It’s all a blur. Though I’m fairly certain I left Lestrange tied to a bed.”

He blinked, fists loosening by the outlandish mental image her words contrived.

“And you commandeered a carriage?”

She nodded lightly, eyes fluttering open. “It was outside, the horses were still attached.” A hand
drifted to her neck, fingers gently encasing it, hiding the violet and blue marks beneath. “I’ve no
idea how to steer one. The wheel busted and I was afraid we’d have to walk the rest of the way.”

Draco followed the direction of her focus, gazing upon the carriage’s third, slumbering occupant.

“She looks frightfully familiar.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, voice edged in steel. “Parvati thought she was dead.”

He looked back to Hermione, the pain in her eyes causing his hand to jolt, the urge to reach out and
touch her nearly overwhelming.
“Is she one of them?”

She looked at him sharply, brows drawn. “One of them?”

“A doll.”

She leaned away, a visible tremor racing through her limbs.

“Yes.” Her eyes shuttered. “But she seems to respond to her name. Especially her sister’s. I think
she can recover her memories with time.” She glanced back to the girl, hands lowering to clutch the
edge of the seat. “I just wish I knew what he does to them. Maybe then we could reverse the
damage faster.”

She shook her head. “There’s still so much to do. Luna is still missing-”

“She’s at Grimmauld.”

She spun towards him, eyes wide. “What?”

“We found her at Avery’s estate.”

She blinked.

“We?”

He opened and closed his mouth, settling on the first explanation that came to mind. “I’ve joined
forces with a rather motley crew of misfits.”

She leaned forward, hair falling across her shoulders, causing his heart to swell.

“She’s alright? Did he hurt her?”

“She’s fine. Not a mark on her.” His eyes flickered back to her throat, gaze darkening. “If only I
could say the same about you.”

She glanced away, turning forward, the moonlight revealing a bright flush across her neck, steadily
working its way to her dirt-marred cheeks.

“I have to warn them about the Dollmaker. I know his identity now. We can go to the police.” Her
eyes shone with manic urgency. “Unless he has moles in the force. Maybe I can reach out to Susan,
see if she knows who-”

He reached forward at last, setting a hand on her knee, causing her to jolt violently, but his fingers
gently encased the silk-clad limb, holding her in place.

“Hermione. Slow down.”

She opened and closed her mouth, shaking her head as she obviously sorted out a rebuttal in her
mind.

He squeezed her knee, causing her jaw to snap shut with an audible click.

“Take a breath. You’ve been through hell and back, we’ll wait until daybreak and-”

“I can’t slow down, Draco. They won’t slow down so I can’t slow down-”
“Alright, we'll figure everything out once we get back to London." He breathed deeply, a
heavyweight pressing his chest. "But right now, please just rest."

She blinked slowly, tilting her head as her eyes roamed his face carefully, the intensity of her gaze
unsettling.

And then her lips parted, her words setting him adrift.

“Why are you here?”

He drew back, though his hand still clutched her tight.

“What do you mean?”

She leaned in, voice louder, firmer. “Why are you here, Draco?”

He continued to stare at her in the resounding silence, his own heartbeat deafening to his ears as his
thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind.

“For you.”

She blinked. He leaned in.

“For you,” he repeated, the heat of her thigh sending a scorching heat into his palm, a searing brand
he relished.

“Only for you.”

Her eyes glistened, and a moment later tears over spilled the bottom lashes, tracking down her
cheeks and dropping off her jaw. He reached out on instinct, wiping them away with his thumb.

She leaned into his touch, the small movement clipping away the final threads of his self-control.
He released her knee, sliding his arm behind her back and pulling her slight frame into his side,
warmth flooding his chest when she made no attempt to pull away.

She laid her head atop his chest, centered over his rapidly thudding heart, hand gently curled and
settled across his thigh.

“You’re safe now.” His chin rested atop her head. “You got yourself out, you got her out, all by
yourself.” He rubbed a hand across her arm, trying to dispel the gooseflesh. “You’re incredible.”

And suddenly, his long-buried confession burst free from the depths of his heart, climbing rapidly
up his throat, eager to unleash itself at last.

“Hermione, I-”

But it got caught on the back of his tongue, hitting an invisible barrier, unable to travel any further.

She tensed in his hold, head tilting back to meet his eye.

“You what?”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“I’ll keep watch while you rest.”

She blinked as well, the fire that backlit her eyes dimming. She opened her mouth but seemed just
as incapable of speech. She cleared her throat, jaw tensing as she made another attempt.

“Rabastan and his guard may break free, they’ll come for us-”

He silenced her with a soft kiss. His lips didn’t linger or coax. It wasn’t a gesture of passion, but
one of gentle assurance, an urge that came naturally and couldn’t be denied.

She didn’t retreat, nor did she seek out anything more. She merely held his gaze, muscles relaxing
until her weight was molding against him.

He leaned his head down once more, his promise whispered and filled with lethal conviction.

“I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you from me.”

She swallowed, eyes glittering anew. She wiped them dry with the back of her hand, nodding
slowly before resting her head upon his chest once more.

His hold remained firm, as though primed for someone to wrench her away at any moment. He
stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb, tracing idle patterns as he listened to her breathing
grow slow and measured.

When he was certain she was asleep, or feigning it to the best of her abilities, he tipped his head
back against the seat, gazing at the dark ceiling panel.

He listened to the steady gait of the horses, the faint creak of the wheels, and for one fleeting
moment, the rest of the world and all its chaotic inhabitants faded away.

Nothing existed but the endless road, Hermione in his arms, and true contentment in his heart.

Tom tucked the pistol into the back of his waistband, crossing the carpet to the bed, reaching out
and pulling the spit dampened shirt out of Lestrange’s mouth.

“Riddle?” He blinked rapidly, gazing at them each in turn. “Potter? Nott? What the hell is going
on?”

The man Tom deduced as Nott inclined his head, dark brow poised high.

“Asks the bound, gagged man.”

Potter surged forward, displacing Tom with his shoulder as he leaned over the bed, eyes gleaming
with hellish intensity.

“Where is Hermione?”

Lestrange blinked rapidly. “I-” He drew back, spine pressing the solid headboard. “Untie me at
once!”

Potter lunged.

Tom grasped his shoulder and wrenched him back, causing his swinging fist to connect with open
air as he stumbled, catching himself against the side table with a scowl.

Tom ignored him, turning back to Lestrange and reaching for the hilt of the gun.
“Where is the girl, Lestrange?”

Rabastan’s gaze flickered back to Tom, narrowed with simmering rage.

“I knew it.” He bared his teeth like an animal. “I told Bella you couldn’t be trusted!”

Tom withdrew the pistol.

And proceeded to whip him across the face with it.

Lestrange bucked with the force of the impact, head snapping to the side and blood flying from his
mouth, creating an impressive arc of red across the sheets.

He tried to curl in on himself a moment later, the ropes quelling his attempt, but it was the gasp of
pain he emitted after Tom tucked the gun away that sparked his interest.

Tom tilted his head, eyes roaming his crumpled form with meticulous precision.

His gaze settled on his right foot, dark and swollen. He raised a brow.

“Your leg is injured.”

Lestrange licked his busted lip, blood coating his tongue and teeth.

“The fucking bitch broke it.”

Potter edged closer to the mattress. “Where is she?”

“Fuck you!” He spit, bloody phlegm stringing across his own chin and shirt. “You’re all dead
men!”

Tom calmly made his way to the other side of the bed, bracing his hand atop Lestrange’s leg and
earning an automatic gasp of pain as he attempted to scoot away. He idly noted the knots in the
cord were an approximate match to the ones he used to bind Dolohov.

His heart swelled with pride.

And then it blackened and decayed, hand pressing firm as he sought out the source of the injury.
Lestrange screamed like a banshee, the keening pitch nearly taking the paper off the walls as Tom
discovered the break, pushing directly upon the torn muscle and tendon.

“I don’t know! I don’t know where she is!”

Tom decreased the pressure, staring upon him calmly.

“Who else is here?”

Rabastan's face glistened with blood, snot, and tears, chest heaving with broken sobs. "M-My
guards! But I haven't seen them since she left me here!"

“And how long ago was that?”

His mouth opened and closed, wet and gaping like a fish.

Tom pressed anew, digging his fingers between the gap in the tibia.

Lestrange cried out for mercy, thrashing in his binds.

“I-I’m not sure! An hour! T-Two! Two hours!”

Tom rose to his full height, idly straightening his lapels.

“Did she leave by foot or carriage?”

Lestrange wet his lips, panting hard, sweat dripping from his face.

“I don’t-” Tom raised a brow, glancing at his swollen leg. “I had a carriage parked out front! If it’s
gone then she took it!”

Tom dismissed him at once, making his way to the foot of the bed and catching Potter’s gaze. The
man’s expression wasn’t easily discernible, and Tom wasted no time with the attempt.

“Go, take your horses and see if you can catch her.”

Potter’s jaw ticked as he made no move towards the door.

“What about you?”

Tom raised his chin, tone indifferent. “I’m going to clean up here.”

“Are you sure you don’t need my help? What if his guards show up?”

“I’ll be fine. Go.”

Potter’s shoulders drew back, gaze narrowing.

“Don’t forget, you have another loose end waiting for you in the drive.”

Tom's eyes flashed. "Thank you for the reminder."

Potter held his gaze for another loaded beat before glancing to his side, meeting his companion’s
eye and nodding. At last he stepped forward and led the way out of the bedroom.

Tom waited until the pair rounded the corner into the hall, disappearing from sight, footsteps
fading as they approached the stairs.

And then he turned to face his prisoner, leaning forward and bracing his hands against the
footboard, leveling his gaze.

Lestrange snarled, tugging at his binds and rocking the bed frame.

“I knew you were a bottom feeder the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Tom smirked, eyes gleaming with sinister mirth.

“You were out-wit and out-matched by an adversary less than half your age.” He arched a dark
brow. “You also crumbled like a house of cards after one broken bone.”

He relished the enraged snarl that followed.

“What a shame you have such a weak constitution. I would have enjoyed seeing her break every
bone in your body.”

His smirk unfurled into a full-fledged grin, teeth sharp and hungry.
“And if I weren’t so pressed for time, I would have some fun of my own.”

“Now that I would love to see.”

Tom spun on his heel as the feminine voice filled the room.

Madam Lestrange stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with casual disinterest.

But her eyes glittered in the fading light, dark, keen and predatory.

“I’m not sure what game this is, darling.” She licked her lips. “But you must let me play.”

Hermione sank slowly into the sea of darkness. Weightless, suspended.

“Mione.”

The voice echoed all around her, sending powerful ripples through the water.

“We’re here, luv.”

Something pressed into her hip.

She jolted awake all at once, gasping for air, pushing away from the warm, solid barrier at her
back.

“Calm down! It’s just me!”

She turned her head, eyes wide. Draco’s calm visage took form in the shadows. She pressed a hand
to her chest, shoulders lowering.

“What time is it?”

He shook his head. “I’m not certain.”

She leaned forward, gazing out of the window to the star-filled sky above, when Padma stirred in
her bench, drawing both their gazes.

Hermione sighed, running a hand through her hair, fingers catching in the snarls.

“Stay with Padma for a few minutes, let me explain everything to the others. I don’t want to
overwhelm her and cause another seizure.”

He nodded.

“Alright.”

He shifted back in the seat, allowing her room to pass, though their knees brushed and his hands
raised to gently grasp her waist, helping steady her. She bit her lip, unable to meet his eye as she
reached for the handle and opened the door, stumbling outside awkwardly, gravel biting into her
bare feet.

She fists clenched tightly as she turned to face the house.

And then felt the overwhelming urge to gaze back.

She slowly turned, heart leaping at the intensity burning in his eyes. She wasn’t used to seeing such
raw emotion in his gaze, and wished she was in the right state of mind to process it.

“Draco…”

He leaned forward. “Yes?”

She opened her mouth…

… and then closed it, taking a step back.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

His jaw tensed. She turned away, chest aching fiercely as she started up the drive.

She made it halfway to the door before it was wrenched open, a familiar face emerging.

“Kitten!”

Laughter bubbled up from her throat, the tension in her shoulders and back melting away as she
sprinted across the drive, the gown's mud-caked train trailing after her.

Sirius met her at the base of the stairs, picking up her and spinning her around like she was nine
years old again. She clung to his neck, burying her face in his neck as she fought back tears.

“Hermione!”

Parvati appeared in the doorway.

Hermione released another shriek of joy, releasing Sirius as he set her down and charging up the
steps, half colliding and half embracing the girl, nearly sending them both sprawling to the floor.

Hannah appeared just over her shoulder. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but then her eyes
drifted to the face staring back at her from just behind Hannah.

“Luna!”

They raced for each other, the impact just as jarring as just as satisfying as her hug with Parvati.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Luna clung to her tightly, and then there was movement on either side of they
swaying forms. Parvati and Hannah swept in and wrapped their arms around the duo as they all
burst into laughter and tears.

“Group hug!”

Blaise launched himself forward, head rising high above the cluster of women as he reached out
and encased them all with his long arms.

“Get off, pervert!” Parvati sent a glare over her shoulder, though her tone sounded mostly amused.

“That’s what I’m trying to-”

“Zabini?”

Blaise blinked, meeting Hermione’s eye. “At your service, luv.” He smirked, releasing the group
and bowing like a Queen’s guard. “Good to see you.”
Hermione pried free of the group and leaped forward, throwing her arms around his neck and
causing him to rear back, eyes wide as he gaped like a fish, hands raised awkwardly.

“Thank you for helping rescue Luna. Draco told me what you did.”

He relaxed a small fraction, gently patting her back.

“Well, saving damsels is what I do, princess.”

Parvati rolled her eyes, crossing her arms with a smirk. Hermione released him a moment later,
spotting the final member of the group hovering awkwardly near the archway.

“Neville.”

He smiled in all his nervous, charming glory.

“Hey, Mione, I’m so relieved you’re alri-”

His jaw snapped shut as she pounced, standing on her bare toes and embracing him tightly. He
burned red with a fever, embracing her more awkwardly than Blaise.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” Tears tracked down her face. “I thought I’d never see any of you ever
again.”

Everyone's expression tensed, though she missed their reactions behind her closed lids.

“Not to cut you short, kitten, but where is Harry?”

She released Neville, stepping back and facing the group.

“I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “Draco missed the train, he intercepted us in the woods after
we escaped the mansion. He’s probably on his way back to London now.”

Sirius raked his hands through his hair, tipping his head back as he stared at the vaulted ceiling.

“That kid is going to give me a massive coronary.”

“Wait.” Hannah stepped forward. “Why did you say ‘we’?”

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. She turned to face Parvati, face paling.

“Christ, I meant to tell you right away.”

Parvati blinked, arms dropping at her sides.

“Tell me what?”

There was a knock at the front door. Everyone spun around, Sirius bursting to life and charging
towards it. Hermione gasped, stepping forward and reaching out a hand, grasping open air.

“Wait, Sirius-”

“Just a moment, kitten.”

He pressed a palm to the wood, reaching for the handle.

Hermione turned on her heel, eyes wide.

“Parvati-”

He opened the door.

“Drake, there you… holy shite.”

Parvati was still staring at Hermione, brow raised, but her eyes averted to the door at Sirius’s
bewildered statement.

And then she went stock still, blood draining from her complexion in a rapid flood as she gaped at
the entrance, dark eyes reflecting the sconces like pools of ink.

Hermione blinked rapidly, heart thrumming as she peered over her shoulder. Everyone stood
equally transfixed, gazing upon the woman standing beside Draco in the doorway.

Padma looked around the room cautiously, shoulders tight and hands clenched.

And then her gaze fell upon her sister.

She jolted, stumbling in place, arm clipping the frame.

Parvati pressed a hand to her chest, feet frozen, eyes unblinking. Hermione reached out and placed
a hand upon her shoulder, the gentle touch awaking her at last.

She shrugged free of her grasp, bolting forward, crossing the tile with wide bounds.

“Parvati, wait!”

“Padma!”

Tears erupted from Padma’s eyes, her mouth opening but no sound emitting.

And then she started to seize.

Draco surged forward, catching her before she hit the ground, struggling to maintain his hold as she
jerked violently in his grasp. He sank with her, laying her on the tiles with eyes wide.

Hermione chased at Parvati’s heels, watching as her friend collapsed before her sister’s trembling
form, grabbing her arm and pulling her from Draco’s grip into her own lap.

“Padma!”

Hermione dropped beside her.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“It’s her mind.” She reached beneath her jittering chin, tipping her head back and trying to pry her
jaw loose to open her airway. “It’s affecting her physical systems. I don’t know how-”

And suddenly, Padma’s struggles ceased at once. Her entire body went lax as her arms fell lifeless
to the marble.

Her eyes closed.

“Padma!” Parvati clung to her tighter, dragging her higher into her lap, tears dripping from her face
onto her sister’s pale complexion. “What happened? Is she dead?” She gazed up, eyes wide and
frantic. “Hermione! Is she dead?”

Hermione swallowed thickly, pressing trembling fingers to the pulse in the comatose girl’s neck,
holding her breath as she felt the faint flutter beneath the cool skin.

“No, she’s just fainted.”

Parvati choked back a sob, vibrating so hard it appeared Padma was seizing in her sleep.

“Is this real?” More tears fell, hot and heavy. “Is this really happening?”

Hermione nodded, her own eyes misting over.

“She was at the house. Rabastan has had her for years.”

Parvati’s gaze snapped up, narrowed and incensed, even in misery. “What did he do to her?”

Hermione took a deep breath, hands settling in her lap.

“It wasn’t him. It was the Dollmaker. He’s suppressed her memories, but they’re still there, buried
deep, that’s why she’s having these fits.”

Sirius drew a hand over his mouth, gazing upon them with weary eyes as he took a slow step back
from the settling wreckage.

“Alright, let’s get her off the floor and into a bedroom.”

The air shifted at her back as someone else moved forward.

And then Blaise was lowering to his haunches between them.

“I’ll take her-”

“No!” Parvati leaned over Padma, crossing her arms over her middle as though trying to pin her in
place. “Don’t touch her!”

Hermione blinked. “Parvati-”

“Nobody touch her!” Parvati’s voice broke, face twisted in acute pain, grabbing handfuls of her
sister’s silk gown, fists shaking. “No one touches her ever again!”

Blaise swallowed heavily, reaching out slowly, letting his hand hover mid-air for several moments
before finally clasping Parvati’s shoulder.

“Parvati.” His tone was deep and calm, no trace of the lilting amusement Hermione was so used to
hearing.

Parvati’s refused to meet his gaze, face buried beside Padma’s as she continued to shake with silent
tears. He continued, undeterred, words slow and measured.

“I’m only going to carry her upstairs. You’ll be right beside us the entire time. She won’t leave
your sight.” His hand lingered. “No one is going to hurt her.”

She drew in a sharp, gasping breath, at last drawing back, blinking rapidly to clear her vision as she
met his gaze.
Hermione’s heart broke a thousand times over, stealing any comforting words she may have added.
But it seemed Blaise’s quiet promise was enough. Parati nodded slowly, fists unfurling as she
slowly released Padma from her death grip.

Blaise shifted forward, hands slipping beneath Padma’s shoulders as he gently lifted her off
Parvati's lap. Hermione pushed to her feet, extending her hand to her friend and helping pull her up,
both women watching as Draco and Blaise gently maneuvered the unconscious girl into the latter’s
arms.

He rose to his full height, tipping back and allowing her dead weight to lean against him as her bare
feet dangled high over the marble.

Luna shifted forward, placing a hand on Parvati’s arm, squeezing. They all moved back, allowing
Blaise a clear path to the staircase.

He met Parvati’s eye, face somber.

“I’ll put her next to Dawn.”

She wiped her cheeks dry with the backs of her hands.

“No. I want her in my room.”

He nodded, waiting for her cross in front and lead the way to the second level. He adjusted Padma
in his grasp and then followed, the entryway falling tense and silent as everyone watched them
ascend.

They turned on the landing, disappearing into the hallway a moment later.

Hannah shifted forward, rubbing her palms anxiously.

“I’m going to sit with Parvati, if she’ll let me.”

Luna nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

As she crossed to her side she passed by Hermione, pausing her steps to gently touch her hand.

Hermione swallowed, glancing up, mesmerized by the clear blue of her friend’s eyes.

“You did such a wonderful thing, Hermione, bringing her home.”

Her heart lurched painfully. She nodded slowly, still at a loss for words, too overcome for coherent
thought.

Hannah and Luna took the steps quickly, footsteps padding softly. As they too turned the corner on
the landing Hermione blinked, the explosive chaos of the last few minutes settling over her mind in
a thick, oppressive haze.

She slowly turned, eyes drifting between the room’s three remaining occupants.

Until finally settling on Draco.

He held her gaze with steady poise, spine straight and shoulders squared.

At long last Hermione broke the silence, her voice hoarse echoing off the columns and archways.
“Who’s Dawn?”

Bellatrix watched him from the doorway, expression caught between amusement and intrigue. She
tilted her head, eyes unnaturally bright.

“Please, don’t stop on my account.”

“Bella! Run! He’s-”

“Do shut up, Rabby.”

Rabastan sank back into the pillows, blinking quickly.

“You don’t understand, he-”

“I understand perfectly, darling.” She continued to hold Tom’s gaze with ease. “Do you have a gag
handy?”

He arched a dark brow, unable to contain his smirk as he reached down and grabbed the discarded
shirt from the mattress, leaning forward and gagging the screaming man anew as he thrashed and
rioted in his binds.

“I thought I told you to stay outside.”

“You should know by now I never do as told.”

She watched him tie the shirt behind his captive’s head, slowly stepping away from the bed.

“No valuables are missing, nor can I find the bodies of my staff.” She folded her arms calmly.
“Perhaps you can enlighten me as to what this is all about?”

Lestrange screamed into the gag, face red and glistening. She addressed his concerns without an
imparting glance.

“No one is talking to you, Rabby.” She proceeded forward, steps slow and calculated. “What is
going on, Doctor?”

Tom folded his hands before his body in casual repose, but his gaze turned acute, assessing every
nuance of her expression.

“I came here in search of someone your brother-in-law was holding captive.”

She arched a brow, her only outward reaction to the revelation.

“Selene?”

Lestrange went wild at their back, headboard pounding the wall.

Tom tilted his head, curiosity peaking at the foreign name.

“No.”

Her brow fell. “Then I’ve no idea who you could be referring to.”

“Perhaps not.” He wet his lips, eyes gleaming with predatory intent. “But you know what I’m
referring to, don’t you, Madam?”
She raised her chin, something flashing in the depths of her dark gaze as her body turned to
unforgiving marble before his eyes.

“You never had any intention of joining the organization, did you?”

He held her accusing stare.

“No.”

The gun rested heavier at his waistband. “I always intended to bring it to its knees.” Heat unfurled
inside his chest. “And then I plan to cut the head off the snake.”

Her eyes flashed. “You used me.”

“No more than you used me.”

Her jaw clenched, arms dropping to her sides. “I never once lied to you.”

“Neither did I.”

She inhaled deep and slow, eyes flickering between his shoulders, lost to thought.

“So what happens now?”

Tom leaned back, resting his spine against the canopy post. “Now, I kill your brother-in-law.”

Lestrange exploded to life once more. They both ignored his muffled screams.

“Do you have any objections?”

She met his gaze, the corner of her lips turning up, visage positively cat-like.

“Only if you don’t let me watch.”

Tom raised a dark brow, intrigued by her effortless switch, the bed trembling at his back as his prey
tried to break free of the rope.

She took a step towards him, leaning forward and lowering her voice as though imparting a secret.

“I’ve been planning his murder for quite some time and will be absolutely incensed if you deny me
the satisfaction of watching the life drain from his eyes.”

Her lilting laughter intertwined with Lestrange’s frantic screams, the dissonance ringing in Tom’s
ears. She settled down a moment later, rolling her eyes at her brother-in-law’s frantic commotion.

“Perhaps we should move this conversation to the adjoining parlor.”

Tom inclined his head. “Certainly.”

He stepped back, holding out his arm, gesturing her to pass. She did so with swift and languid
movements, hips gently swaying, steps unhurried. Tom followed at a leisurely stroll.

He crossed the threshold into the hallway, closing the door on Rabatsan’s broken screams, and
then entered the narrow parlor behind her, barely having cleared the doorway before she rounded
on him, eyes glinting like faceted onyx.

“And just what do you plan on doing with me, Doctor?”

He remained rooted as she grew closer. “I haven’t quite decided yet.”

She licked her berry-stained lips, stopping just before him, head tipped back to maintain eye
contact.

“You could have extracted the location of this estate back in London.”

“I didn’t have time to torture the information from you then.”

“Liar.” She leaned forward, chest pressing in. “You brought me along because deep down you
wanted to reveal your hand.” Her hands braced his ribs as she rose on her toes, mouths aligning.
“Wanted to see if I’d crumble and fold, or hold my ground and push my chips in beside yours.”

Tom captured her wrists. She inhaled sharply, zeroing in on his mouth.

He turned his face away, leaving her gasping against his jaw.

“I brought you because I wasn’t certain what security the estate had. I needed a golden ticket
inside.”

He pried her hands away from his torso, her extended claws seeking purchase in the frigid air.

“And I would only keep you alive now to provide evidence later, when the organization is exposed
and taken before the magistrate.”

She scowled, wrenching free of his hold as she lowered to her heels.

“You’ll never be able to stop this. It’s too big for one man to conquer, even one as capable as
yourself.”

“So I keep hearing.”

She blinked, opening and closing her mouth as realization took root in her eyes, expression
darkening in the room’s swaying shadows.

“You murdered Dolohov.”

“And the Home’s previous physician.”

She tilted her head. “You’ve been a busy boy.” Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I stand less chance of
leaving here alive than I thought.”

“I suppose it depends on your definition of alive.” He folded his arms, tone perfunctory. “You’ll be
tried for the crimes you committed in association with the trafficking ring. Your money and title
will be useless when your husband is also behind bars. The rest of the gentry will do everything in
their power to distance themselves from you both. You'll spend your life incarcerated in a female
penitentiary or a mental asylum, depending on how you plea.”

She arched a brow, shoulders drawing back as though to distract from the slight tremor in her
limbs.

“Then I beg you to shoot me where I stand.”

He made no move towards his weapon, gaze unwavering. She inhaled deeply, swaying back as her
feet remained rooted.
“Do you think me an awful person, Doctor?”

He blinked, taken aback not by the inquiry but the notion he of all people was equipped to answer.

“I’m hardly in a position to judge.”

Her feline gaze glowed. “But surely you justify your crimes as serving the greater good?”

“I don’t waste time with such sentiments. My soul is condemned no matter how I pretend to justify
my actions in this life.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in god.”

“I don’t. But the devil is real enough.”

She wet her lips, voice lowering, introspective. “Living within all our hearts.”

The air thickened upon his tongue, eyes darting between hers, gaze searching.

“Yes.”

His eyes settled at last, shining brightly in the lantern glow.

“Why did you involve yourself in this? I understand the other’s motivation, but not your own.”

Her jaw ticked.

“I owe Him.”

He took a step forward, propelled by the revelation, pursuit instincts firing to life.

“The Dollmaker.”

“Yes.” Her voice was heavy, course, eyes glittering with sudden emotion as she glanced away. “He
saved my life.”

Tom was rendered frozen. She inhaled deeply, fists clenching as she continued, eyes fixed to the
wall.

"I suffered a late-term miscarriage many years back. I…"

She shook her head, gaze unfocused for the space of a heartbeat. Tom held his breath, watching her
closely, transfixed.

“I nearly lost my life in the delivery. By the time they staunched the bleeding, I’d lost my son and
the ability to ever bear children again.”

Her eyes clouded, fingers pressing in at her temples as she stared blankly at the floor.

“I became rather unbalanced after that.” Shrill laughter erupted from her lips, causing his skin to
prickle. “If you can imagine such a thing.” Her arms settled at her sides, countenance draining of
any visible emotion. “I tried taking my own life several times. The shrinks piled in through a
revolving door, prescribing every mood suppressor they could spell on a prescription pad.”

She met his eye at last, voice foreign, hollow. “I was a living ghost. Floating through this life
without thought or desire.” A heavy beat. “And then I met Him.”
Tom released his pent breath, lungs burning with the strain.

“He saved me. Provided me with treatment to suppress the trauma of the miscarriage. To allow me
the chance at a normal life once again.”

Her brows furrowed, limbs reanimating.

“I owe him everything.”

Tom struggled to remain in place, fingers curling restlessly.

“You’ve undergone treatment?”

She blinked, settling back on her heels, seemingly thrown by his response.

“Yes. Many times.”

The wheels in his mind turned rapidly, connections sparking, information rushing from one point to
the next, the commotion all contained behind his gleaming gaze.

“I’ve lost you, haven’t I?” She asked suddenly.

His racing thoughts hit a brick wall. Her eyes roamed him slowly, expression carefully void.

“Or perhaps I never had you at all.”

The sadness in her voice was far-reaching, encompassing much more than this current moment.

She looked away abruptly, clearing her throat.

“So, have you decided my fate?” She gazed upon him once more, armor fastened in place. “Shall I
die this night?”

Tom raised his chin.

“I cannot kill what is already dead, Madam.”

She blinked. His gaze darkened.

“He took a ghost… and turned it into a doll.”

She reared back.

“What?” And then she laughed, amused and manic. “Hardly! I assure you, darling, I’m in full
control of my faculties.”

“Do you recall anything that happens during treatment?”

Her expression fell. He nodded, slowly advancing.

“You’ve no idea what seeds he’s planted in your mind.”

She shook her head, retreating back with his every step.

“He wouldn’t-” She opened and closed her mouth. “He saved me. He saves all of them-”

She gasped as her heel caught the edge of the rug, causing her to stumble, catching herself against
the back of an upholstered chair. She clutched the backing, nails piercing the fabric.

“You couldn’t possibly understand!” Her finely milled complexion turned red, expression twisting
with rage. “Every decision I make I make of my own free will!”

Tom’s eyes glinted with unnatural brightness, continuing his advance. “We’ll see.”

She collided with the wall a moment later, hands pressed flat on either side. She inhaled sharply,
struggling to hold his gaze.

“What do you intend?”

Tom came to a stop just before her, the darkness of his aura swallowing them both.

“Exactly what you wanted, Madam.” He smiled, teeth sharp and gleaming. “We’re going to play a
game.”

Hermione came to a stop in front of the four poster bed, spinning on her heel and folding her arms
as she faced the room’s second occupant.

“What’s going on, Draco? Who is Dawn?”

He shut the door, gaze lingering upon the wood for several moments before he turned.

“Another doll. Gifted to me by my doting aunt and uncle.”

She paled. “What?”

“I was trying to find you. We had no idea where you were and I was terrified the trafficking ring
had picked you up. I thought if I…” He swallowed heavily. “I thought if I made a request, maybe
they’d return you to me. I pretended to be a client.”

Her heart skipped with dread. “What does this have to do with Dawn?”

He visibly tensed, causing her nerves to wind tighter.

“She looks like you.”

Hermione drew back. “That poor girl.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Where is she? I have to
see her.”

Draco blinked, shifting as if to block the door. “Why?”

“To assess her mental and physical state. Lord only knows the trauma she underwent before she
came under your protection.”

“Riddle already examined her.”

Her thoughts stuttered at the name. “How?”

“I panicked. I had no idea what to do.” He wet his lips. “So I took her to the Home. I thought
maybe he…” He shook his head, face stricken. “I hoped he could fix her.”

“And?”

“He discovered her memories are repressed, though perhaps not destroyed. But he didn’t know
how to access them.”

“Did she have a seizure?”

“No. She just falls… dormant, for lack of a better term. Nothing like the girl downstairs.”

She nodded. “I’d still like to see her.”

"It won't make any difference."

“Maybe not, but-”

“I’d rather you didn’t, Hermione.”

His decisive tone stole her next words. She searched his gaze instead, a new fear taking root within
her chest.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

He glanced quickly to the windows, staring intently at the room’s reflection in the dark glass.

“I…” He carded a hand through his hair, pulling roughly at the pale stands. “Shite.”

“Draco.” She shifted forward. “What is it?”

“I know her.” He spoke so quickly the words were barely discernible. “Knew her. From before.”

Hermione’s steps faltered. She blinked twice, brow furrowed.

“Before she became a doll?”

He nodded, hand dropping to his side, curling into a fist.

“That’s wonderful!”

He jolted, gazing at her sharply, silver eyes round and glinting like coins.

“It is?”

“Yes!” She practically bounced in place. "You can help us trigger her memories. I imagine that’s
the key to unlocking their minds, if we can find a way to do so in a controlled setting.”

She rubbed her palms together in eager anticipation. “Parvati will be able to assist with Padma, and
you can help us cure Dawn.”

Draco gaped like a fish out of water, struggling to take a full breath.

“I don’t… I don’t know anything about her. I mean, not personal information. I just know her
name.”

She shook her head. “I thought you said you knew her from before.”

“I…” He glanced to the floor, studying the stitching in his boot leather.

Hermione watched him intently, frustrated by this uncharacteristic coyness. She opened her mouth,
the next question sitting on the tip of her tongue-
And then it hit her, square in the chest, rocking her back on her heels.

She swallowed heavily, fingers clenching.

“Oh.”

Her cheeks heated at the simple, unintended utterance. Draco met her gaze swiftly, eyes intense.

“It wasn’t serious.”

She forced her hands to relax at her sides. “Obviously. You only know her name.”

He stepped closer. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

She took a reflexive step back. He halted immediately, expression tightening. Hermione looked
away, struggling to make sense of her reaction, the hollowness permeating her chest.

“Why are you apologizing? You don’t owe me anything.”

His spine straightened.

“Don’t I?”

“We never agreed to be exclusive.”

His knuckles cracked as his hands curled, irises darkening. “So you really don’t give a shite?”

She barely bit back a scoff, arms crossing tightly as she met his incensed glare. “What do you
want, Draco? You want me to be angry?”

He surged forward. “Yes, dammit!”

She held her ground, set firm in her outrage. “Is that why you did it? To get a reaction from me?”

She watched as his mood once more flipped on a pence, smoldering flames turned to cooling
embers by her words. “No. I never intended for you to know.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“Because I don’t want to keep secrets from you.”

She blinked, heart skipping.

Only to resume beating at a dizzying speed.

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head, gaze diamond hard. “You just want to unburden yourself.
Alleviate yourself of any guilt.”

“I’ll never alleviate myself of this guilt.”

She sighed and tore her eyes away, pacing towards the window, trying to escape the oppressive
weight of his stare.

“It’s just sex, Draco. It’s not like you ran off and married the girl.”

She couldn’t see him, but the shock in his voice was palpable enough to visualize his expression
with clarity.
“I thought…” A torturous beat. “Sex used to signify more to you.”

“It still does.” She stopped just before the glass “To me.” She avoided her reflection. “But you
obviously don’t hold it in the same regard, and I can hardly punish you for harboring different
ideals.”

“You really don’t care?”

“I never said I didn’t care. I said I wasn’t angry.”

Another beat. This one far more ominous, turning the air frigid.

“It was the night of our fight.”

She blinked, processing his words.

And then a powerful current raced along her spine.

“The night…” She struggled to breathe, to think. “Of the fire?”

He swayed in place, as though fighting the urge to close in on her.

“Yes.”

She spun slowly.

“You slept with her the night of the fire.”

He wet his lips. “I didn’t know…” He took a step closer before catching himself. “I was so upset
with you. You stormed out on me, said you were done with me for good.”

“I’ve said that many times.”

“I know. But I believed you that night.” His jaw worked silently. “Because deep down I’ve always
known I don’t deserve you. And I thought you’d finally realized it, too.”

Her brows drew in. “So you slept with another person?”

“I went to a club on the East End. I tried to drink and gamble my way to oblivion. But the pain
wouldn't fade. I…" He drew in a slow breath, as thought fortifying himself. "I saw Dawn standing
by a roulette table, and in the low light and the heavy smoke I thought for an instant it was you I
was staring at.” He swallowed, though the motion seemed to get caught in his throat. “I thought,
for just one night, I could pretend you were truly mine. I could have you as I’ve always wanted-”

"Stop." She closed her eyes, averting her face. "I don't want to hear any more."

“Hermione, I’m so sorry. It was a mistake-”

“From everything I’ve just heard, it was quite deliberate.” She shook her head, loose hair dancing
across her shoulders. “It’s… upsetting. But I’m not angry.”

She opened her eyes at his prolonged silence. He watched her carefully, body strung taut as though
poised to charge or flee depending on her next words.

“You aren’t?”
Her arms hung limply at her sides. "If you had told me this earlier, perhaps just a few days ago, I
imagine my reaction would be quite different.”

His temper switched once again, visage contorting into its signature scowl complete with a hellfire
gaze. “But now you couldn’t care less.”

She matched his disposition quite effortlessly. “Now I'm a little preoccupied. There are quite a few
concerns a bit more pressing than our relationship if you haven’t noticed.”

He continued to seethe. She wondered if he’d burn a hold in the rug just by standing in one place
for too long.

“I’m well aware. I’m just as entangled in this mess as you are, if you haven’t noticed. I brought
Dawn to Grimmauld, fought to have your guardianship transferred, and engaged in a fucking
chariot race through the woods to intercept you in Bath.” A vein throbbed at his temple, reminding
her unnervingly of his father. “Don’t pretend I’m merely some sideline character in your epic tale!”

Her throat tightened, heart thundering.

"I know you aren't." She spoke calmly, forcing her vocal cords to relax. "You’ve done a great deal,
Draco. And I appreciate it. I truly do. But you can’t be angry at me for not providing the reaction
you want.”

He flipped once more, seemingly drained by his own rapid mood swings. He spun on his heel,
gazing at the wall as he drew a hand over his face, wiping away the perspiration as his breathing
leveled.

“You’re right. You’ve been through hell and back. I shouldn’t have put this on you.” He rested his
hands on his hips, gazing over his shoulder. “I’m not thinking clearly. I’ve been sick with worry
these last two days, I can’t remember the last time I slept or ate.”

She tried to smile. It felt grotesquely misplaced so she abandoned the effort, trying to convey
warmth with her words instead.

“You need to do both.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“I’m too wound up to rest.”

He nodded slowly, facing her fully. “You should still try.”

She swallowed again. “I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep and wake up somewhere else again.”

His eyes flickered.

“What if I stayed with you?”

She blinked, heart stuttering.

“You don’t have to-”

“I’d like to.” He took a step closer. “I’d like to hold you.” A weighted pause. “If you wouldn’t
mind.”

“I...” She swayed in place, overcome by a strange panic. “I don’t know if we should.”
He closed the distance, gently grasping her arms.

His grip warm, strong, certain.

Pain lanced through her chest.

He drew her forward, until only a narrow chasm existed between them, their chests pressing with
every breath. One hand slid across her shoulder and along her neck, grasping her nape and tipping
her head back, forcing their gazes to meet.

He held her so softly… and yet she felt trapped.

Captive.

Her stomach twisted violently. She drew back. His hands fell away immediately.

“Is this too much?”

“I-” She rubbed her palms along the stained silk of her dress, trying to collect herself, wishing
desperately for a wall to hide behind. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have-” He shook his head. “I’m just content to hold you. To know you’re
safe in my arms. I don’t expect anything from you, Hermione. I won’t pressure you to give me
anything more.”

She blinked, a familiar and unwelcome burning sensation beginning behind her eyes. She sucked in
a breath, desperate to keep the onslaught at bay.

“Draco…” She carded her fingers through her hair, gathering it back into a messy pile, alleviating
her neck of the burning heat.

“What?”

“I…”

She licked her lips, studying patterns in the wood grain and letting the pile of curls tumble loose
across her shoulders.

“I think I’d like to be alone.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, to witness his reaction. But she felt it in the air, the way it
sparked and sizzled against her skin. She cleared her throat, unconsciously bringing a hand to her
neck, fingers curling around her throat.

His eyes tracked the movement, posture falling unnaturally still.

“How did you get the marks on your wrists?”

She blinked, lowering her hand to gaze upon the bruises.

“Lestrange’s guard grabbed me.”

His eyes flashed, the shadows beneath his cheekbones and brow darkening, turning his face into a
sinister mask.

“And what about the ones on your neck?”

She felt the blood drain from her face, yet a cursed blush still managed to stain her cheeks.

“Those aren’t fingerprints,” he continued before she could formulate a response. “I know what
those are.”

Her lungs constricted in an invisible vice. The same binds squeezed her heart.

“Did he-” His voice was low, weighted, inescapable. “Did he rape you?”

She quickly shook her head, the tears springing free at last, always making their appearance when
least wanted. She wiped them away with the backs of her trembling hands.

“No. I promise. He didn’t get that far.”

“But he put those welts on you.”

Her face crumpled, more tears rushing to the surface, the dam breaking within her at long last.

“No.”

His hands clenched. He stepped forward.

She sucked in another shaky breath, voice barely above a whisper.

“The marks were already there.”

He halted halfway to her, expression rapidly cycling through an amalgamation of emotions.

Until finally stalling on one.

Realization.

He drew back swiftly.

“Of course.” And then realization gave way to rage. “How could I be so fucking blind?”

“Draco-”

“Those are from Riddle.”

She wiped her eyes dry once more, to no avail.

“Yes.”

He shook his head, tipping his face back and releasing a toxic cloud of bitter laughter.

The grating sound filled her throat with acid. And then it cut off abruptly as he spun on his heel
and drove a fist into the bedpost, violently shaking the frame and causing her to jump.

“Fuck!”

“Draco, please calm down-”

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!"

He turned towards her, advancing quickly. She staggered back, colliding with the wall and edge of
the window frame.
“Do you have any idea the hell I’ve been through, Hermione? What it took to find you? How out of
my mind with worry-” he changed course a moment before reaching her, pacing along the rug
instead, hands pulling restlessly at his hair. “And the entire time, the entire bloody time you were
shacked up with the fucking Doctor!”

“Shacked up?” She pushed away from the wall, tears evaporating with the smoldering heat of her
outrage. “I was in a bloody mental asylum! I was a prisoner in Lestrange’s mansion! I haven’t seen
Tom in days!”

He stopped in his tracks, shoulders squared and voice lethal. “Tom?”

The name was a dark spell, summoning a winter chill and stealing away her righteous fury.

“I…”

He spun to face her, pinning her in place with the quiet malevolence of his gaze.

“Are you in love with him?”

Her hands clenched.

“Were you in love with Dawn?”

“Don't change the subject-”

“I find this topic highly relevant! You’re mad at me when you just admitted to sleeping with
another person!”

“I was drunk out of my mind with longing and misery! I pretended it was you the entire time!” He
arched a brow. “Can you say the same? Were you thinking of me when you were with him?”

She felt sick.

“I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“Tough shite!” She jolted. The vein in his temple throbbed anew. “Now answer the fucking
question! Do you love him?”

“No!”

She summoned every ounce of strength left within to hold his gaze, vision hazed with fury, tears
and shame.

“It was a mistake, alright? Just like yours!”

He raised his chin. “And what about me?”

She blinked.

“What about you?”

“Do you love me?”

She released a sharp, humorless laugh. “You really want to have this conversation now?”

“I find this topic highly relevant.”

She sighed deeply, lungs burning. “I don’t know, Draco. I don’t know what I feel. About you.
About myself. About anything.” She swallowed thickly. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I
change moment to moment. Crisis to crisis. And as soon as I think I have a handle on my identity, it
changes again.”

She took a steadying breath, eyes unwavering.

“You don’t recognize the girl standing before you. I don’t recognize her either. But she’s who I
have to be in this time and place. She’s a survivor. Capable of walking through flame and emerging
on the other side unscathed.” Her chin raised. “She’s not who I want to be. She’s who I have to be.
And when this madness comes to an end, if I even survive it, I’ll likely change into someone else.”

Her eyes glinted, lit from within. “You asked me if I’m in love with you, but have you stopped to
ask yourself the same question?” She tilted her head. “The girl you loved is long gone. And I don’t
know if she’s ever coming back.”

She wet her lips, heartbeat strong and steady.

“I don’t know if I want her to come back.”

Silence encompassed them, the gravity of her words so intense neither could move for several
moments.

Until at last, Draco swallowed heavily and took a step back.

“Alright then.”

His voice was gravel thick, distant. He turned on his heal and started for the door.

“Draco.”

He paused, but didn’t face her.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

A beat.

Then two.

He nodded.

“I know.”

He continued forward.

“You never thought of me at all.”

Her eyes burned anew, but no tears fell. She watched him grab the knob, his shoulders tense.

“If you ever figure out who you are, what you want.” He opened the door. “Let me know.”

And then he crossed the threshold, swiftly turning the corner and disappearing from sight.

Leaving her with the dark mess of her thoughts.

She crossed to the bed, sinking against the edge of the mattress in a boneless heap, drained down to
her marrow.

She crawled to the center of the bed, curling into a heap and pressing her face into the plush
pillowtop, willing the blissful reprieve of unconsciousness to take her under, to silence the sharp
whispers in her mind, erase the dancing shadows along the walls.

But sleep refused to answer her beckoning call.

Yet another pardon eluding her.

She released a sharp sigh of frustration, driving her fists into either side of the comforter, causing
the mattress to gently rock against the wall. Her gaze drifted to the tall posts.

She remembered tying Rabastan’s arms and legs to the canopy-

She sat up abruptly, closing her eyes, rubbing them with the heels of her palms.

She couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t let her mind wander.

Her lids snapped open, jaw tensing as she slid her legs over the side of the bed, toes skimming the
rug before she dropped off the edge, swaying on her feet. She steadied herself against the side
table, setting her shoulders in a hard line as she pushed away, cutting a quick and precise path to
the door. It still sat ajar from Draco’s departure.

She pushed those thoughts aside as well, emerging into the hall with a searching gaze, desperate for
any means of distraction.

Only to find it standing a few yards away, casually tipped against the wall and watching her with
dark, amused eyes.

She crossed her arms, coming to a stop.

Blaise smiled.

“Granger.”

“How much did you hear?”

He arched a dark brow. “I covered my ears like a proper gentleman.”

She rolled her eyes, arms dropping as she started towards him.

“I’m sure you did.”

“Why the cold shoulder, luv? Downstairs I couldn’t pry you off of me.” His teeth gleamed. “Is that
what has Drake in such a fit?”

He ran a casual hand through his hair, nodding as though her silence provided the answer he
sought. “Can’t blame him, really. Wouldn’t be the first time a pretty dame passed him up for my
company.” He wet his lips suggestively. “What do you say we make the most of the empty
bedroom down the hall?”

She shook her head, standing beside him.

“Eventually, we all become what we pretend to be.” She rested a hand against the wall, leaning
into it. “It may be an act now, but someday, the face staring back at you in the mirror will no
longer be a mask.”

“That sounds profoundly philosophical and far beyond my comprehension.” His eyes skimmed her
disheveled form. “We really must work on your flirtation skills, dove.”

“I don’t think it would make any difference. We both know nothing will pry you away from that
door.”

He blinked. And then opened his mouth, broken sounds emitting.

Hermione pushed away from the wall, patting him on the shoulder as she passed.

“It’ll be our little secret.”

A flush stole across his tanned complexion. She put him out of his misery, elbowing him aside in
order to knock on the closed door at his back.

“Parvati? It's me. May I come in?”

There was a faint shuffling, followed by the creak of the knob as it turned beneath her hand.

Luna’s face appeared in the gap. She smiled and then opened the door the rest of way, backing up
to allow Hermione entrance.

Her eyes immediately fell upon Hannah seated in the corner, expression tense as she met
Hermione’s gaze.

And then her attention cast to the bed.

Padma was laid across its center, fully clothed atop of the covers, hands folded across her stomach.
Her black dress and pale complexion made her seem like a corpse at a wake.

And then Hermione’s gaze fell upon Parvati, seated so close to the mattress she was half on top of
it, her own hands entangled with Padma’s across her middle.

Her dark eyes were transfixed upon her twin’s lax face. She gave no indication she even heard
anyone enter the room.

Hermione took a deep breath, turning to Luna. The blonde hovered beside the door, expression
serene, but Hermione knew better. Luna was standing guard and would unleash her own brand of
hell upon anyone seeking to harm the room’s inhabitants.

Hermione smiled gently.

“May I have a few minutes with Parvati alone?”

Luna tilted her head, ocean-gaze roaming Hermione’s face with unnerving precision.

And then she nodded, smiling in turn.

“Of course.”

Hannah stood, hearing their hushed exchange from across the small room. She imparted a sad
smile of her own as she followed Luna out of the room. The door clicked at their backs. The room
fell silent. Eerily so.
Hermione turned to face the pair at the bed. Her fists tightened as she mustered her resolve, taking
a tentative step closer.

“Parv-”

“Did Lestrange hurt you?”

She stopped in her tracks, thoughts scattering at the hollow voice echoing all around her.

She blinked, throat working to deliver the response.

“No.”

Parvati nodded, still focused upon her sister.

“Did he hurt her?”

“I…” Hermione swallowed again. “He said he never hit her.”

Parvati tilted her head, thumb idly stroking the back of Padma’s hand.

“Just rape.”

Hermione inhaled deeply. “Parvati-”

Her friend glanced over her shoulder, eyes black and filled with red fire.

“For three years.” Her voice was unrecognizable. “He raped her for three years.”

Hermione tried desperately to think of a comforting response.

But there was no comfort to be found in this morbid reality they all resided in.

Parvati lifted her chin, eyes unblinking, relentless in their intensity.

“Did you kill him?”

Hermione struggled once more to communicate.

“I…” Her hands clenched helplessly at her sides. “No.”

“Good.” Hermione jolted. Parvati turned back to Padma, settling into her chair. “Because he’s
mine.” She traced the inside of her sister’s palm “I’m going to carve the meat from his bones and
cut off every last appendage, starting with his rotten fucking pecker.”

Hermione blinked and felt tears cut a searing path down her face. She quickly wiped them away,
mortified by her reaction, desperate to remain strong and stoic for her friend.

“He’ll go down, Parvati. They all will. That I promise.”

"Prison isn't enough." She shook her head, loose strands brushing her shoulders where her braid
had come undone. "I know what prison means for a man like Lestrange. A private cell with all the
amenities. Conjugal visits every day. He'll be out within a year, onto the next country with a new
name and a free ticket to destroy more innocent lives.”

Hermione shifted closer. “I’m sorry I left him alive.”

“I would never put that burden on you. You aren’t a killer.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Phantom smoke filled the air, her nose, her lungs. Dolohov's screams
echoed loudly, deafening in their shrill terror and agony.

“Besides.” Parvati’s voice awoke her from the dark reverie. “I’m glad you got her out. That’s all
that matters.”

Hermione wet her lips, hovering at the foot of the bed, hands twisting anxiously before her.
“Parvati, you shouldn’t…”

She bit her lip, nerves failing her. Parvati glanced up, brow raised.

“I shouldn’t what?”

Hermione started around the footboard, towards the chair. “What happened earlier, downstairs…
she had a similar episode in Bath when I said your name.” She lowered to her knees beside the bed
and placed a hand on Parvati’s arm. “I think seeing you is triggering her memories.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Not if it’s causing her seizures.” She swallowed heavily. “She could go into cardiac arrest the next
time.”

Parvati paled, twisting in her seat to face her. “So we take her to Mungo’s.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea either. I doubt they’ll know the first thing about treating her, and
we’d be leaving her exposed. The Dollmaker has snatchers all over the city. They may already be
on the lookout for all of us.”

“What are you saying?”

She gently squeezed her arm.

“I think you should let Luna and Hannah look after her. Until we know-”

“What?” Parvati reared back, yanking her limb free. “You’re telling me I can’t sit with her?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to see you when she wakes up. Not until we can-”

“I’m not letting her out of my sight, Hermione.”

“I know you want to protect her, but-”

“Protect her? Protect her!” She pushed the chair back with her feet. “Look at her!” She gestured to
the bed wildly. “I think it’s a bit late to protect her, don’t you? Her mind’s been destroyed, her body
violated, and now the very sight of me sends her into an epileptic fit!”

Her gaze sparkled in the light as she rose to her feet. She blinked and tears brimmed past her dark
lashes, framing her heart-shaped face in abject misery. "I couldn't protect her then, what chance do
I stand now?"

Hermione pushed to her feet beside her.

“Parvati, this has nothing to do with anything you did or didn’t do-”
“Of course it does! She’s like this because of me!”

“How can you possibly think that?”

“Because I abandoned her! When she needed me the most, I abandoned her!”

Hermione shook her head. “What are you talking about? You didn’t abandon her, they took her
from you! They told you she was dead! What could you have possibly done?”

“I should never have let her out of my sight.” Her hands trembled violently as she brought them to
her face, cupping her mouth to capture her broken gasps. “I should have stayed at her bedside night
and day.”

Hermione felt tears wetting her own face as she moved forward, reaching out. “You had to earn
money for her care.”

Parvati reared back, evading her grasp. “They got to her because I wasn’t there.”

Hermione rounded the chair, undeterred. “Lestrange wanted her, Parvati. He would have done
whatever it took to obtain her. And if you had been there, he would have taken you, too.”

“It should have been me.” She drove a fist into her own chest, directly over her heart. “I wish to
god he had taken me instead.”

“I doubt Padma would agree.”

“You don’t understand. She isn’t like me. She isn’t like you. She was…” She gasped as Hermione
reached her at last, gripping both her arms. “She was like Luna. So full of love and hope and
innocence.”

Her face crumpled in acute pain as she swayed heavily, knees buckling. Hermione gripped her
tighter, steadying their descent as she followed her down, legs tangled as they landed in a heap.

“The bastard should have taken me.” She listed into Hermione, heaving for breath. “I could have
survived it.”

“Parvati, look at me.” Hermione released her arms to grasp her face, tipping her chin up and
holding her gaze. “She did survive it. She is strong, and she still possesses all of the qualities you
just described. He didn't take that from her. She protected her heart. It's still intact."

Parvati gasped for every stuttering breath, face flushed and glistening beneath the relentless flow of
tears. “How can you possibly know that?”

Hermione’s fingers clenched against her cheeks as she held her gaze steady. “Because she barely
reacted when I said her name.” She wet her lips. “She only had her fit when I mentioned you. You
are her heart. You are the treasure she fought to protect, the love and the hope she clung to for
three years.”

Parvati began to quake in her grip. "She refused to let you go." She released her face, resting her
hands on her shoulders. “She’s home now. She’s safe. But we have to give her time to heal. We
can’t force the memories to the surface.”

She brushed the tear dampened hair away from her friend’s face. “And until I can figure out how to
help her, I think we should let Luna and Hannah sit with her.”
Parvati went boneless in her grip, tipping forward to rest her forehead against Hermione’s chest.

“If that’s what you think is best.” She sniffled loudly, and then nodded. “I’ll do anything to get her
back.”

Hermione stroked her back, then carded her fingers across her scalp and through her dark hair,
mimicking the soothing motions her mother used to perform to calm her in her youth.

“I promise, we’ll get her back, Parvati. Whatever it takes, we’ll get her back.”

Parvati sighed heavily, her hot breath racing along Hermione’s neck. “Thank you, Mione.”

There was a soft knock at the door. Parvati leaned up, wiping away her eyes and snot with the back
of her hands without shame. The door opened without prompt, earning both girl’s alert gazes.

They both calmed as Luna appeared on the other side.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” She met Hermione’s eye.”But I thought you’d want to know, Harry just
arrived, and Draco just left.”

Hermione sighed deeply, rubbing her throbbing temples and nodding. “Thank you, Luna. I’ll be
out in a moment.”

The blonde nodded and began to turn.

Parvati extracted her legs from Hermione’s. “Wait.”

Luna stopped at the threshold, glancing over her shoulder. Parvati set her jaw, expression
hardening to the visage Hermione most recognized.

“We’re afraid Padma will have another seizure if she sees me.” She took a deep breath, bracing her
hands upon her thighs as she pushed up. “Do you mind sitting with her?”

Luna smiled brightly. “I would be honored.” She turned to face them, pressing her palms and
interlacing her fingers. “I’ll plait her hair and read her stories. We’ll have such fun.”

Parvati laughed lightly. The sound was genuine and went a ways towards loosening the knot in
Hermione’s stomach.

“Thanks, Luna. That sounds lovely.”

Their ethereal friend nodded once more before quietly slipping from the room, footsteps silent.

Hermione gazed up at Parvati. “Are you going to-”

“I’ll be fine.” She met her eye and extended a hand. Hermione accepted it with a grateful smile,
lurching gracelessly to her feet. Parvati released her, tipping her head towards the door. “Go on
ahead, Mione. You have work to do.”

Hermione stood fast, fists clenching anew.

“I won’t stop until we find justice for her. For all of them.”

Parvati arched a dark brow, the corner of her mouth rising.

“I know.”
Her dark eyes gleamed. But not with unshed tears.

With righteous fire.

Hermione’s heart swelled as she realized Lestrange had been right about one thing after all.

Isis was a fitting name for Parvati Patil.

For surely the Egyptian goddess stood before her now, burning brighter than a thousand suns,
ready to strike down anyone who dare bring harm upon the innocent.

Parvati raised her chin, poised and powerful in her conviction.

“And I’m going to help you.”

Tom strode into the room at a leisurely pace, straightening his cuffs where he’d rolled his sleeves.
The man on the bed screamed bloody murder into his gag.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He met Rabastan’s bloodshot eyes at last, stopping at the edge of the mattress. The man attempted
to speak, nearly choking in the process.

“Hm. I didn’t quite catch that.”

He reached forward a steady hand, tugging the sweat and saliva drenched garment free of his
gnashing teeth.

“What have you done to Bella, you fucking bastard?”

Tom tilted his head. “Bella?” The corner of his mouth curved up. “Oh, the woman who’s been
enthusiastically plotting your murder these last few years?”

“Fuck you! What have you done to her?”

“That's none of your concern.”

Rabastan thrashed in his binds, headboard rattling. “I knew you couldn’t be trus-”

“We’ve already had this discussion.” Tom stepped back. “We’re onto the next phase.” He tugged
on the binds, testing their strength. The knots held strong.

“I’m only going to ask you this once, and I’ll know if you’re lying to me. If you lie, I’ll gouge your
eyes from their sockets with my bare thumbs. Do you understand?”

Rabastan turned deathly white, throat bobbing convulsively as he nodded, lost for words.

“Good.” Tom held his gaze steady, the air crackling in his quiet fury. “Did you harm Hermione?”

Rabastan swallowed again, shaking his head so quickly droplets of sweat flew free.

“No, I swear I-”

“Did either of your men harm her?”

He reared back.
Tom’s gaze flashed.

“Tell me.”

“Elliot roughed her up a bit, at the asylum. But just her wrists, m-maybe her arms. He dragged her.
That’s all I swear it.”

Tom tilted his head, eyes gleaming.

“Who is Selene?”

Rabastan fell motionless, lips pressing thin, eyes blazing. Tom arched a dark brow.

“I see.” His chin lowered, shadows cloaking his gaze. “I surmise she’s another one of his
monstrosities.”

“She’s perfect! You have no idea what-”

His outburst clipped abruptly as Tom extracted the gun from his waistband, studying it idly in the
dim light.

“Is she on the grounds?”

Rabastan swallowed thickly, transfixed by the gleaming metal.

“Granger took her. I heard them walk past my room.”

Tom traced the sleek barrel with the pad of his thumb, chest tightening.

“Of course she did.”

Rabastan examined him in the silence, jaw flexing as he no doubt tried to formulate another means
of escape.

“Who-”

“Am I?” Tom dropped the gun to his side, tone edged in boredom. “Seems to be the question of the
hour.” He met Rabastan’s eye. “I’m the man who’s going to kill you. Just as I killed Dolohov. Just
as I’m going to kill your brother. Though I suspect that’s one funeral you’d have loved to attend.”

Rabastan wet his lips, hands curling around the rope. “Listen, Riddle, I can pay you-”

“I’m not interested in money. Nor do I have time for your desperate attempts at bartering.” He
turned away. “I have a few loose ends to tie up.”

He started towards the door. “I’ll leave you to hasten through the remaining stages of grief.” He
glanced over his shoulder as he entered the hall. “Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon.”

He closed the door on his homicidal ragings.

As he made his way down the narrow corridor he examined the pistol once more, realizing
Hermione managed to overcome her assailants without the use of firepower.

He shook his head, gazing forward as he turned the corner and started down the grand staircase.

Brilliant girl.
The chaos of the main level made his pulse race. He ignored the main rooms and cut a path for the
back of the house, navigating the tight, darkened hallways until he at last came across something of
note.

A shattered vase in the middle of the corridor. He tilted his head, stopping just before it.

There was no pedestal or table in sight.

Which meant the vase was taken from its display.

He lowered to his haunches, carefully grazing the fragments with his fingertips.

No blood.

He sighed, starting to rise.

And then he caught sight of something else.

Glinting on the wall.

He stood, squinting, unable to make out the item.

He sidestepped the mess and began a slow, silent trek to the obstruction.

His heart jolted when it at last came into view.

He wet his lips, head tilting in either direction as he walked a methodical path around the knife,
eyes narrowed as he traced the wooden handle with his finger.

It was an identical copy of the one she wielded outside his bedroom.

He smiled.

And then his gaze flickered to the seam in the wall, stepping back as the hidden door came into
clear view.

He held his breath as he pulled the knife free with a hard tug, raising the gun with his other hand as
he gave the paneling a hard kick.

There was a muffled thump.

His jaw clenched, hand steady as he pointed the barrel.

And then the panel was swinging open.

A pale face appeared.

The man gasped as he caught sight of the weapon and then Tom, arms raising as he staggered back,
tripping on the step and listing to the side, catching himself against the railing.

“Whoa!” His hands trembled as he held them aloft. “Take it easy, mate!”

Tom raised a brow. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Elliot! I work for Lestrange!”

Tom’s pulse thrummed, vision sharpening as he studied his prey in the shadows.
“I see.” He lowered the gun. “I’m one of Rabastan’s associates. I came to check on the girl’s
transfer.”

The man dropped his arms, walking to the top of the steps once more, fear giving way to lethal
anger.

“The little bitch got away.”

“Obviously.” Tom tucked the gun back into his waistband. “How did that happen?”

“Luck.” He braced his hands against the frame. “But don’t worry, I’m going to find the stupid
cunt.”

Tom wet his lips, hunger awakening his most primal urges.

“And what do you plan on doing to her?”

The guard smiled, face lit with malevolent longing. “I’m going to beat the chit bloody. Then I’m
going to fuck her in every hole until she screams for mercy.”

Tom tilted his head, eyes gleaming in the darkness.

“Creative. I can tell you’re a deep thinker.”

The man blinked, confidence faltering. He settled back on his heels, shoulders tensing.

“Where is Lestrange?”

“Upstairs. Tied to a bed.”

He opened and closed his mouth.

“I… should go free him.”

Tom smiled. “That won’t be necessary.”

The guard swallowed heavily.

“Who did you say you were?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The guard inhaled sharply, pushing off the frame and surging forward.

Tom remained in place, drawing an arm back with lightning reflexes and driving it forward,
clocking him dead center of the face, breaking his nose with an impressive crunch.

The man screamed, blood exploding past Tom’s fingers. He reared back, stumbling back into the
cellar doorway as he clutched his mangled face, red dripping past his chin and onto his shirt.

Tom sighed, stepping forward grasping the door.

“Back in you go.”

He leaned back and kicked him in the stomach, the heel of his boot cracking against his hip. The
air expelled from the guard's lungs in a powerful rush as he catapulted back into the darkness, body
colliding with every step as he rolled to the bottom of the stairwell.
Tom stood at the top of the steps, dark silhouette outlined by faded candlelight.

He addressed the shadows calmly, voice edged in steel.

“You shouldn’t have touched her, Elliot.”

The guard scrambled on his battered hands and knees, trying to stand.

“No!”

Tom stood back, grasping the panel and slamming it shut. He turned the knife over in his hand
before slamming it home in the seam, pushing it in with all his strength until the blade could
journey no further.

He stepped back, straightening his collar.

And then smirked, shaking his head.

She's wrapped them all in pretty ribbons for me.

He started down the hall once again, the thought prompting him to place his hand in his pocket,
wrapping the faded ribbon around his finger.

And then he turned the corner, heading towards the kitchen.

Hoping it would have the supplies he needed.

Harry raked a hand through his hair for the fifth time in thirty seconds, the strands standing
completely on end as they drove through the center of the square.

“If she isn’t there-”

“Then we’ll tear the city apart.”

“I’m being serious, Theo. I don’t know what to do next.”

Theo sighed from his side of the bench, gazing around at the night-drenched scenery.

“Where else do you think she would go?”

Harry shook his head, pulse spiking as he pictured London from a bird’s eye view. His grip
tightened on the reins.

“She may not have made it back to the city at all.”

Theo tapped his fingers against the frame. "Granger out-maneuvered Lestrange and his goons
single-handedly. She made it back to London."

Harry carded his fingers through his hair again. “What if something happened on the road-”

"Harry." Theo leaned forward and grabbed his wrist, gently extracting it from the rat's nest atop his
head. "I'll visit the Home, will that settle your nerves?"

Harry swallowed thickly, nodding.

“Partially.”
Theo smirked, releasing him. Harry absently rubbed the inside of his wrist, pulse throbbing where
Theo’s touch had lingered.

His companion gazed ahead once more. “Okay, drop me off here, I’ll catch another carriage across
town.”

Harry inhaled deeply, pulling on the reins.

“Thank you, Theo.”

Theo slid to the edge of the seat as the horses slowed to a stop along the curb. The road was dimly
lit by street lamps, empty but for their carriage.

“You can thank me more creatively than that later.”

Harry blinked, mouth opening and closing as he watched the man descend, gripping the edge of the
frame and landing gracefully upon the cobblestone.

“Theo.”

He steadied himself against the side of the carriage, peering up a moment later.

“I…” Harry wet his lips, heart skipping as Theo’s violet gaze lowered to his mouth. “Something’s
changed.”

Theo arched a dark brow.

“Changed?”

“With you. With-” He choked on the rest, hyper-aware of their public venue despite the resounding
silence of the night.

“With…?”

He shook his head, gazing forward and adjusting his grip on the reins. “Nevermind.”

Theo tapped the side of the paneling before stepping back onto the pedestrian walk. “Don’t get
squirrely on me now, Potter. You can’t afford to be incoherent with that hair. You’ll be carted off
to an asylum faster than Granger was.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Theo laughed to himself, tucking his hands into his coat.

“Too soon?”

“Just a bit.”

“I’ll wait until we find the warrior princess to make clever jokes at both your expense.”

“I look forward to it.”

Theo saluted him, his resounding laughter following him down the street as he urged the horses
forward, sending a pleasant chill along his spine.

But then he steered the carriage around a shop corner and the sound faded, leaving him along with
his raging thoughts once more.
His knuckles turned white, circulation waning as he wound the reins tighter and tighter, distracted
by his fear. He regretted leaving Bath. They should have scoured the woods deeper, looked for
some sign of her. Anything.

Alas, Theo had somehow convinced him Hermione was clever enough to find her way back to
London, and that she’d be in greater need of Harry’s protection once she set foot within the city
limits. He shook his head, thoughts scattering on the wind, drifting rapidly to Riddle, wondering
what the hell the mysterious doctor was up to at this very moment.

He was so lost to his internal musings he was hardly aware of journeying across the city. He only
became alert to his surrounding when the horses brayed softly outside the familiar rod iron fence.

He jumped down to open the barrier and then steered the creatures through. He was shocked he
made it to the front of the stone drive without being accosted. His bewilderment increased ten-fold
as he tied the horses to the post and started up the steps. He hovered outside the door, sending a
silent prayer to the dark, smog-filled sky before knocking heavily against the wood.

Quick footsteps clicked across the marble on the other side. His heart swelled as he recognized the
gait.

The lock slid free. The door flew open.

“Fucking hell.”

He was wrenched off his feet by a strong arm around his neck, dragging him over the threshold.

“Do you have any idea the torture you’ve put me through, kid?”

“I sent you a letter-”

“Fuck the letter! For all I knew you were forced to write it at gunpoint while bandits did god
knows what to you!”

Harry blinked, finally regaining his footing as his godfather released his unintentional chokehold.

“Bandits? I think they’re all busy robbing trains in the Wild West.”

Sirius scowled, throwing his arm across his shoulders instead. “I’m relieved to see your smart
mouth hasn’t dulled any.”

“I’m sorry I worried you. But I still haven’t found Mione-”

“She’s upstairs.”

Harry reared back, heart leaping into his throat as his blood surged.

“She’s here?”

“That’s what upstairs implies.”

He released a sharp breath. “Is she alright?”

“You can ask her yourself.”

He dragged him in close, ruffling his already thoroughly-ruffled hair. “And then you’re going
straight to bed. No more galavanting around the city with a glaring target on your back.”
Harry rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to speak but falling silent at the resounding footsteps at
their backs.

“Potter.”

Harry tugged free once more, raking both hands through his hair to smooth it back. “Malfoy?
Where the hell have you been?”

Draco came to a stop under the archway. “I missed the train.”

“So you came back here?”

“Not quite.” The blonde looked supremely tensed, every line rigid. “I’m sure Granger will provide
the details.” He nodded in farewell, starting for the door. “Gentlemen.”

Harry spun on his heel, following his departure with a slack jaw. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Out.”

“What about Mione?”

“As long as she remains inside until sunrise she’s safe.” He gazed over his shoulder, holding
Harry’s accusing stare with a carefully void expression. “I trust you’ll ensure that happens.”

“You’re just leaving? After everything that’s happened?”

And then his silver gaze sparked to life. Molten at the core, boiling with incinerating heat.

“Yes, Potter. After everything that’s happened.” He reached for the knob. “I’m leaving.”

And then he did just that, striding outside with the elegant swiftness of a man with a pole shoved
up his arse. Harry blinked as the door slammed shut, turning to face his godfather.

“I’m obviously missing something.”

“Those will the words engraved on my tombstone someday.”

“Fitting.” He started towards the grand staircase. “I’m going to talk to Mione.”

“I know you are.” Sirius slid his hands into his trouser pockets, tipping his head as he watched him
ascend. “Oh, avoid the first two doors on the left.”

Harry paused on the step, glancing back wearily.

“Do I want to know?”

His godfather sported his signature, rakish grin. The sight provided the complete opposite of
comfort. “There’s been a lot of excitement here tonight.”

Harry nodded, the words imparting a great weight upon his shoulders despite the fact they were
delivered in jest.

“Let’s hope it’s run its course.”

As if waiting for its baleful cue, a cold breeze rushed through the entryway, scattering dried leaves
across the marble and whistling past the columns.
They looked at each other.

Sirius arched a brow.

“Well, that just happened.”

Harry mirrored his expression, gripping the banister.

“Let’s pretend it didn’t.”

“I’m excellent at ignoring obvious signs of peril.”

Harry shook his head, fighting back a smile as he resumed his upward trek. His godfather leaned
against the base of the railing, voice filling the room.

“Good to have you home, kid!”

Harry rounded the landing, tossing back a shout of his own. “Good to be home, old man!”

And then he started down the east wing, spotting a familiar face as soon as he entered the hall.

“The knight in shining armor returns.” Zabini stood away from the closed door. “Surprised to see
me?”

“Not really. I knew you’d stick around.”

Zabini crossed his arm, lips curving wryly. “I can’t abide all these insinuations that I’m a decent
human being.”

Harry clapped him on the shoulder as he passed.

“Where is she?”

The man tipped his head toward the end of the corridor.

“Two doors down.”

Harry nodded his thanks, starting towards the designated room. Zabini’s arms fell to his sides as he
sank back against the same door as before. Harry paid the motion no mind as he stopped before the
bedroom and knocked, heart steadily climbing into his throat with each successive beat.

“Mione?”

There was a muffled thump, followed by the most precious sound in the universe.

“Come in!”

He wrenched open the door, eyes immediately latching onto the movement at the foot of the bed.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling her stocking into place. She met his eye and smiled,
standing swiftly, pale skirts falling into place.

“Harry!”

He inhaled sharply, closing the door before crossing the room in a single bound. She laughed as
she seized her, pulling her off her feet in a tight embrace. She clung to his neck, face buried against
his shoulder as they clung to each other in silence.
At last he spoke, unable to keep the questions at bay a moment longer.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

His hold loosened, allowing her to slip down his body as she regained her footing. “I found
Lestrange.”

She nodded, hands still clutching his arms. “Draco told me-”

“What happened, Mione? What did he do to you?”

“He served me tea.”

Harry blinked, hands clenching upon her waist.

“Tea?”

“And then he propositioned me.”

Harry’s jaw ticked, red filling his vision. “Did he touch you?”

She shook her head, hands dropping to her sides. “Not like that.”

“How the hell did you overpower him?”

She shook her head again, stepping back, out of his reach, hands playing idly with the ends of her
hair as she gazed at the window.

“I’ll tell you everything, I swear, but not right now. It’s in the past and I want to focus on the
future, on what we do next.”

He swallowed heavily, fists heavy at his sides.

“I’m sorry, Mione, I can’t just skip over it all. You were in a mental asylum for christ’s sake!” He
stepped towards her. “Did they hurt you?”

She turned to face him, expression guarded.

“It was a blessing in disguise.”

His mouth opened but only choked breath escaped.

“I know who the Dollmaker is, Harry. Had I not been shipped away, we may have never found out
the truth.”

Harry’s jaw snapped shut as the words settled in his brain like a heavy fog.

And then he nodded, shoulders drawing back.

“We need to tell Riddle. He stayed in Bath to clean up the mess but he should be back anytime.”

And then to his great intrigue and discomfiture, Hermione turned an alarming shade of white,
swaying back as though faint.

She pressed a hand to her stomach and cleared her throat, glancing away to compose herself, the
entire ordeal lasting merely a few seconds.

Harry shook his head, hackles rising.

“Okay, this we’re definitely not skipping.” He braced his feet apart, prepared for battle. “What’s
going on between the two of you?”

She met his gaze, the picture of innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hermione.” He held her steady in his sights, allowing no reprieve. “I’ve spent time with him. I’ve
seen the way his eyes spark at the mere mention of you.”

She turned her back on him, pacing towards the window. “I don’t want to hear that.”

“Why not? Did he-”

“No, he didn’t hurt me, Harry!” She threw her arms up, spinning on her heel, eyes gleaming. “I’m
not made of china! I’m not going to shatter!”

He swallowed heavily, barely resisting the urge to grab hold and shake her like a rag doll until she
saw reason. "I don't think you're fragile, Hermione. I never have. But I don't know what the hell to
do with all these secrets."

Her face twisted. “Secrets?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Dolohov?”

She reared back as though struck.

“How…”

“I broke into his office with Riddle. We had to crack his safe to find your guardianship papers.” He
wet his lips, fists trembling. “The combination was your birthday.”

She pressed her palms flat against her chest, eyes darting across the floor, lost to the endless depths
of her mind. Harry took another step closer.

“Now don’t tell me you don’t want to talk about it.” Another step. “He’s the reason for the dark
cloud that’s been hanging over you these last few months, isn’t he?”

She held his gaze for a deafening beat, tears brimming along her bottom lashes. Pressure swelled
inside his chest, threatening to rupture his ribcage down the center.

“Please. Talk to me, Mione.”

She blinked and a single drop fell. She wiped it away before it reached her cheek, chin lifting,
expression guarded, composed.

“He attacked me in his office.”

His heart skipped a succession of beats, the edges of his vision hazing. Her voice kept him
grounded, the even, impassive tone pulling him down like quicksand.

“He didn’t rape me. Not for lack of trying. But I was able to fight my way free.”

He drew a hand over his face, palm lingering over his bared teeth.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She calmly held his eye, rolling her shoulders back. “He swore me to secrecy.”

Harry shook his head. “How?”

“He told me if I said anything to anyone…” She broke off, gaze dropping at last. Harry took an
unconscious step forward, closing the distance between them at last. He grasped her arms. She felt
cold and rigid to the touch.

She took a deep breath, eyes lifting. “If I reported him, Rabastan would have fired Arthur, and then
blacklisted him throughout all of Europe.”

His hands clenched. “Mione…”

“He used the same threat to ensure I stayed at the Home, easily accessible when he conducted his
quarterly visits.”

He blinked, something cold and wet cascading down his nape and spine, an icy wave chilling him
to the bone. “That’s why you refused to come to Grimmauld?”

She wet her lips tentatively. “And the Burrow, yes.”

He ground his teeth, forcing his fingers to relax their steel grip. “You should have told me, I would
have killed him.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s precisely why I didn't tell you, Harry.” She tugged free of his grasp for
the second time that evening, crossing her arms tightly. “I knew you’d throw away your entire
future in a fit of blind rage.”

His blood percolated in his veins, snapping and sizzling in his ears.

“That bastard got away with attacking you! Lord knows how many other girls he raped while he
continued roaming the streets!”

She rocked back with the intensity of his words, cheeks flaming bright. "How dare you try and put
that on my conscience! I was trying to protect Arthur and his family! Molly and Ginny rely entirely
upon his income, they'd be destitute if he was blacklisted!"

“Sirius could have offered him work-”

“And what would that have done to Arthur’s pride? Relying solely upon the generosity of another?
It would have destroyed him all the same!”

“And what about you?” He threw his hands up, mouth foaming, eyes gleaming with feral light.
“Dolohov just gets to walk away without punishment? Without recourse?”

“He got his recourse when I burned the bastard alive!”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, choking on the rest of his tirade, the blood that throbbed
painfully at his temples draining to his feet in a powerful rush, leaving him staggering.

Hermione gaped as well, eyes wide as saucers as she pressed her hands to her mouth, brows
creasing.

Harry swallowed thickly, his tongue a barren wasteland. After several seconds he recovered his
voice, though it sounded distant and foreign to his ears.

“You set the fire?”

“I…” She closed her eyes, hands sliding away from her face. “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”

“Fucking hell.”

Her eyes opened, burning bright, even as her face was cloaked in shadow.

“He set the fire at my house, Harry.”

He staggered anew.

“He killed my parents.” Her jaw tensed. “I could have gone on living with the buried shame of his
attack. But when I found out he was responsible for all the tragedy and pain in my life...”

She released a long, weary breath. “It was too much.”

They stared at each other in the resounding silence. Harry shifted forward, shoulders lax.

“He deserved to die, Mione.” He nodded, as much in assurance to himself as to her. “And I’m glad
you were the one to do it.”

She blinked.

“You’re not…” She shifted anxiously. “Do you think differently of me?”

He tilted his head. “I could never think differently of you.”

Her eyes flickered between his.

“I took a life.”

“So have I.”

“That’s different. You were protecting our nation.”

“And you were protecting his future victims.”

She swallowed, opening her mouth as though to respond, only to close it without uttering another
word.

Harry pressed on.

“Riddle was there?”

She nodded.

“How did you get taken to the asylum?”

He watched her draw a hand over her face, an obvious bid to buy herself more time to think. His
stomach twisted as she moved away from the window and started towards the bed.

“Because I acted very foolishly.” She sat on the edge of the mattress, feet barely skimming the
carpet. “He was right. I wasn't in my right mind.”
“What-”

“Harry.” She gazed up, eyes wide and heart-rendering in their innocence. “I…”

He drew towards her. “What is it, Mione?”

She swallowed heavily, hands curling over her knees. She gazed at her lap.

“I feel so much. And yet I feel nothing at all.” And then she looked up, face stricken. “Does that
make any sense?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “More than you know.”

He crossed the rug, sitting beside her, his weight causing her to sink into his side. He raised an arm
and laid it across her back. She immediately burrowed into him, wrapping her arms around his
middle.

He took a deep breath, resting his chin atop her head.

“Are you in love with him?”

She pressed her face into his chest, as though attempting to block out the light.

“I felt…” Her sharp exhale burned a path across his placket. “I can’t quite describe it. It was unlike
anything I’ve experienced before.” She twisted the fabric of his shirt beneath her fingertips. “It
burned so brightly, so intensely. It consumed me entirely, leaving behind no trace of the person I
was before.”

Her curls brushed his jaw as she shook her head. “But it couldn't have been love.” Her voice was
hoarse, strangled. “Love is a force of creation. Of beauty. Whatever possessed me was born of
darkness and destruction.”

A beat.

“It was exhilarating. And terrifying.”

Harry rubbed a gentle circle against her spine. “You’re speaking in past tense.”

She shuddered faintly in his arms.

“I know.”

He exhaled deeply, breath blowing loose strands of her hair across her forehead. “When you see
him again, it’ll change things.” He tucked the curls behind her ear. “Trust me. Seeing them always
changes things.”

She shifted beside him, starting to pull back, no doubt detecting the sudden melancholy in his
voice. He held her tighter, heart beating through his chest.

“What happened with Draco?”

She stiffened, halting her retreat, instead sinking into his hold once more.

“Why is love so complicated? Why can’t it just be simple?”

He meant to laugh, but the sound escaping his lips sounded more whimper. He cleared his throat,
cheeks flushing. “Because then it wouldn’t be worth fighting for.” He wet his lips. “It wouldn't be
worth bleeding for.”

She loosened her hold enough to tip her head back, searching out his gaze.

“Harry… what is it?”

He ground his teeth, shoulders tensing. “Nothing.”

“I’m not the only one who has secrets.” She drew back further, placing a hand on his knee. “I know
there’s something you’ve been keeping from me.”

“Hermione…” His hands started to sweat. He clenched them in the fabric of her dress to hide their
tremor. “I-”

His gaze cut to the floor, tracing the grooves in the wood, the fibers of the rug. “I’ve been…”

“You can tell me, Harry.” Her hand gently squeezed. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He inhaled sharply, releasing the words in his next breath. “I’ve been seeing someone for the last
six months.”

She jolted, hand slipping away.

“Six months?”

He nodded, muscles tensed to the point of hypertension.

He finally met her gaze.

She was smiling.

“That’s fantastic!” He blinked rapidly, dumbfounded as she reached up and cupped his cheek. “It’s
something serious, then?”

He turned his face away on instinct, missing the look of hurt that flashed across her features.

“It’s not-” He choked back a groan, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck, I don’t know why it’s so hard to say.”
He tipped his head back, glaring at the crown molding. “I’ve never said it out loud before. I don’t
think I can.”

She leaned away and began to mimic his previous motions, rubbing soft patterns into his shoulder
blades.

Her voice was patient, soothing.

“It’s a man.”

And yet the words sliced through his chest all the same, spilling his heart and lifeblood across his
lap and onto the floor. He reared back, eyes wide.

“I-” He swallowed convulsively, cold sweat drenching him. “How-”

But her expression remained unchanged, placid like a gentle lake. He took a long breath, holding it
in his lungs.
“Yes.”

She smiled again, tilting her head, long curls falling over her shoulder in a thick curtain.

“Is it someone I know?”

He blinked again, senses slowly returning, though surely this was all a dream.

“Yes.”

She arched a brow. “Are you going to make me guess?”

His jaw clenched and released several times before he could work the name loose from the
recesses of his heart.

“It’s Nott.”

The hand on his back paused, her expression falling carefully blank for a gut-wrenching beat. And
then she brightened once more, the name registering at last.

“Theodore?”

He released the searing breath, lungs aching. “Theo.”

Her hand fell to the mattress as her eyes narrowed. “Hm…” She stared ahead, chewing on her
bottom lip. “Handsome, smart, terribly witty and sarcastic.” She met his gaze, her own gleaming
like campfire embers. “You must drive each other around the bend.”

His lips formed a smirk of their own accord.

“Around the bend and back.”

Soft, feminine laughter filled the room, a cooling balm to his spent nerves. She settled a moment
later, eyes soft as smoke.

“It’s more than a casual fling?”

“I think I’m in love with him.”

Both their expressions sobered, equally taken aback by the admission. She leaned forward, tone
hushed, as though Theo may be hiding in the wardrobe, listening in.

“Does he feel the same?”

Harry’s scalp began to itch. His fists clenched at his sides, the urge to tug anxiously at the stands
nearly blinding in its intensity. “I don’t know.”

She leaned back once more, chin lifting. “He would be a fool not to.”

His battered heart lurched but somehow continued to beat.

“Do you think differently of me?”

She lifted her arm and placed her hand against his chest, palm centered over the thrumming beat
within.

“I could never think differently of you.”

She smiled again, but it was different than any of the others he’d ever seen her wear. More radiant,
more breathtaking. “I love you just as you are, Harry Potter. And you are the greatest person I’ve
ever known.”

He blinked, eyes and chest burning with a familiar fire.

“You deserve all the love and happiness life has to offer.” Her fingers curled in, as though
attempting to grasp his heartbeat. “I’m so happy you’ve found someone to share it with.”

He placed his hand over hers, holding it firmly in place.

“Thank you, Mione.”

She nodded, swallowing heavily, as though unable to speak any more. He understood, his throat
was so tight it was a miracle he could breathe.

“Does anyone else know?”

The question jolted him. His hand fell away.

“You’re the only person I’ve told. But Daphne knows. And unfortunately, I think Zabini does as
well.”

Her hand lowered to her lap. “He won’t report you.”

He nodded. “I know.”

She studied his expression closely. “I’m glad you told me, Harry.”

“So am I.” He sighed deeply. “It feels… freeing.”

“I feel it, too.” Her shoulders drooped. “Like a weight has been lifted.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, throwing an arm around her and pulling her into his side once more.

“Look at us, barely adults and already guilty of executable offenses.”

Her hands folded primly atop his thigh. “I never knew adulthood could be so exciting.”

He laid his cheek against her head. "Ron's going to feel left out-" He jumped, accidentally
squeezing her waist until she yelped. "Shite."

She pulled back swiftly, brows creased. “What is it?”

“I need to tell Ron you’re okay. He’s still out there trying to track down Lestrange.”

She paled, pushing back further.

“Find him. He could draw the attention of the wrong people.”

Harry nodded, already rising, only to halt mid-step, hand wrapping the bedpost as he hesitated.
Hermione braced her hands to either side of the mattress, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Sirius doesn’t inherit guardianship until daybreak.”

She blinked.

“I know.”

Harry sighed, meeting her distraught gaze over his shoulder. “If you leave before then-”

“I won't.”

He remained frozen. She clenched her jaw.

“I promise, Harry.”

“Just like you promised to return straight to Grimmauld from the slums?”

She bristled. “That was different.”

“Mione-”

“Harry, Ron could be in danger. You have to find him.” She pushed to her feet beside him. “I won't
leave Grimmauld before daybreak.”

His hand dropped to his side. “I don’t want you to leave period.”

“I won't, now go!”

He drew a hand over his face in exhaustion, too spent to continue rowing.

“Alright.” He started towards the door, step weighed with fear and reluctance. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Be careful.”

He stopped at the threshold, grasping the knob and meeting her eye one final time.

“I always am.”

Draco kicked a stray rock aside as he marched down the pavement, eyes narrowed and burning a
scorching trail along the sidewalk.

There were very few pedestrians wandering about at the ungodly hour, even fewer carriages. Yet
one slowed to stop beside him on the curb. His shoulders tightened, teeth grinding as he kept his
quick pace, daring the idiot inside to try and obstruct his path-

“Thought that was you.”

He jolted at the familiar voice, stumbling along the path as he spun to face the street.

“Christ, Theo! You scared the shite out of me!”

The man smirked, leaning casually against the window frame. “Then it’s a good thing you’re in
dark trousers.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing in this part of town?”

“Just dropped Potter off at Grimmauld.”

He blinked.

“What?”

Theo drummed his fingers along the glossy paneling. "You missed the train I take it?"

Draco reared back.

“How-” He shook his head, stepping forward. “Why were you with Potter?”

Theo glanced towards the driver. “I’m being charged for the displeasure of your company. Hop in
if you want to talk.”

Draco opened and closed his mouth, setting back on his heels at last.

“I’m not in the mood to talk.”

"Well, perhaps you're in the mood to help me find Granger."

His pale brows drew together, hands clenching at his sides.

“She’s at Grimmauld.”

He watched with uneasy fascination as his friend sighed with obvious relief, leaning back in his
seat.

“You found her then.” He carded a hand through his dark hair. “Thank god.”

Draco scowled. “I had no idea you were so concerned for her welfare.”

Theo sighed, shaking his head with an air of amusement.

“Fucking hell. You’d get jealous at a pigeon for staring at her wouldn’t you?”

“Comparing yourself to the flying rodent?”

“I assure you, I have no interest in your star-crossed love.” He leaned forward again, pushing open
the door. “Now get in. I’ll take you to the West End. Unless you planned on walking the entire
way?”

Draco stifled a groan, glancing ahead at the barren street, debating continuing ahead by foot in
blissful solitude.

His jaw clenched, realizing he'd merely be plagued by torturous thoughts the entire way home.

At least Theo provided a potential distraction.

He turned to the carriage, sighing heavily as he stepped forward and grasped the handrail, lifting
himself into the compartment.

Theo smirked but said nothing as Draco took the opposite seat, leaning out of the window to shout
to the driver.

“Belgrave.”

The man nodded, urging the horses ahead. The carriage lurched softly, rolling back onto the road,
rocking them from side to side before steadying.
Draco glared across the shadowed interior.

“Alright. I’m in. So talk.”

Theo rested his elbow in the frame, listing casually to the side and propping a booted foot on the
edge of the seat.

“I ran into Potter at the train station.”

“What were you doing at the train station?”

“Looking for Potter.”

Draco shook his head in annoyance.

“And why were you looking for him?”

“Black seemed concerned for his welfare. As did the others.”

Draco scanned his face carefully. “Your answers only create more questions.”

“Perhaps you’re just asking the wrong ones.”

His face twisted effortlessly into another scowl.

“Alright then. What happened to your eye?”

Theo glanced away, though his tone remained flippant. “My father.”

Draco felt his stomach tighten.

“You fought?”

“I suppose you can call it that.”

“Do you want to stay at the Manor tonight?”

Theo blinked, meeting his eye in disbelief. Draco bristled.

“What?”

Theo shook his head slowly, eyes fixed. “I’m just surprised by the offer.”

Now Draco looked away.

“I thought that’s what friends do.”

“Are we friends then?”

His teeth clenched painfully, pulse thrumming.

“When I came to your house…” He squirmed in his seat, clutching the edge of the bench. “I said
some things that…” His eyes flickered along the passing scenery, seeing nothing. “Things that I’ve
come to regret.”

Theo arched a dark brow, examining his moon-lit profile closely. Draco wet his lips, forcing the
rest free.
“I was upset over Granger and I took that anger out on you.”

He sucked in a deep breath, willing it to choke him.

“I’m…”

Theo leaned forward as the silence lingered.

“Yes?”

Draco’s face pinched in acute discomfort.

“Sorry.”

Theo blinked, falling back in dumbfounded silence.

And then burst into riotous laughter, clutching his middle and seizing in his seat.

Draco growled, pinning him with a lethal glare.

“Fuck you, too.”

Theo wiped the corner of his eyes, still caught mid-fit.

"Well, that grand reformation didn't last long."

“I’m trying to be serious.”

“And succeeding brilliantly.” His amusement quelled, thought the smile remained. “The
atmosphere of this carriage is positively grim.”

Draco shook his head and folded his arms. “Nevermind then.”

Theo took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back. “Relax. I’m only jesting.”

“I can see that.”

He tilted his head, studying the blonde anew.

“What brought on this sudden change of heart?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He raised a dark brow. “I think you do, otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten into my carriage.” His
smile widened. “You’d have told me to go bugger myself and flagged down one of your own.”

“I still might.”

“Draco.”

Draco released the breath he’d been holding, reluctantly facing forward.

“She’s alive.” Theo’s expression was back to its normal somberness. “Everything else can be
fixed.”

Draco swallowed heavily, the words erasing his previous ire, rekindling the crippling emotions that
plagued him on the sidewalk.
“Not this.”

He gazed out the window. “I’ve wanted very few things in this life. Because I’ve never had the
burden of being without. Everything’s been gifted to me on a golden platter before I could even
think to desire it.”

His jaw tensed, the words heavy on his tongue. “Everything else I’ve been able to purchase.
Everything has a price tag.” He wet his lips. “Even people.” His eyes fixed upon a dark row of
trees in the distance. “Especially people.”

The carriage hit a rough patch. Draco grasped the frame.

“But not her.” He shook his head. “Never her.”

He swallowed thickly, still clutching the ledge until his knuckles threatened to burst from the skin.

“I could never buy her. My name and rank mean absolutely nothing.” He sighed deeply, chest
aching. “If anything they’ve been a hindrance.”

His head snapped forward once more.

“I can’t make her love me, Theo.”

The final admission rendered him breathless and numb. Theo watched him in the swelling
darkness, the silence suffocating.

Until at last, his friend leaned forward, a beam of moonlight hitting across his face in a diagonal
strip.

“Are you certain you love her?”

Draco pressed back in his seat, already baring his teeth.

“We’ve already discussed this-”

“No, we’ve yelled about it.” Theo’s foot fell off the seat as he turned to face him fully. “And the
last argument was as much my doing as it was yours.” He nodded shortly. “I’m sorry as well. But I
don’t take back any of the things I said that day.”

He took a deep breath, as though bracing himself. Draco braced himself as well, sensing something
profoundly unsettling on the horizon.

"Are you in love with Hermione Granger or merely the idea of her?"

His lips pressed thin, turning bloodless.

Theo continued on, unrelenting.

"The girl who defies all logic yet is filled to the brim with it. The only one who sees beyond wealth
and beauty and nepotism to the very core of a man."

He wet his lips, voice taking on a hypnotic cadence. “Loving her is an act of defiance. A way to
break the chains of your birthright. A chance to stand outside of your father’s all-encompassing
shadow at long last.”

Draco attempted to swallow, it got caught halfway.

“But you truly love her?” Theo tilted his head. “When you picture your future together, is she
standing beside you in your world, or are you standing in hers?”

He sighed again, leaning back and releasing Draco from his thrall.

“Love is messy and complicated. But it shouldn’t be this painful.”

Draco watched him for a long beat.

And saw him at last.

He tilted his own head, trying to make sense of the revelation.

“You speak from experience.”

Theo held his gaze.

“Yes.”

Draco continued to study him in the moonlight.

And then his heart skipped a beat.

His chin raised, hand sliding free of the sill.

“Potter.”

Theo said nothing, merely stared back in the ensuing silence.

Draco blinked, overcome by the revelation for a weighted second.

And then the chaos passed. His shoulders relaxed, chest loosened.

“Suppose it could be worse.”

Theo lifted a brow.

“Who’s worse than Potter?”

Draco smirked. “Blaise.”

Theo mimicked his expression.

“Point taken.”

There was a tense beat. Both their countenances sobered.

“You love the gaping idiot then?”

Theo sighed, gazing out of the window as they turned a corner. “Unfortunately.”

Draco joined him, the news already falling by the wayside as his mind was once more consumed
by thoughts of Her.

Always Her.

Ever since she collided with him at the bloody birthday party.
If only she’d have been watching where she was going. If only she’d tied back those riotous bloody
curls and seen what was right in front of her-

Their paths may have never crossed.

The mere notion made his chest wrench down the center. He bit back a gasp of pain, facing his
companion once more.

“How do you know when it’s real? When it’s more than just a figment of the imagination?”

His hands clenched upon the seat, fighting the urge to press them to his heart, terrified the vital
organ would fall out of his chest cavity and into his lap at any moment.

“How do you know when it’s worth fighting for? Worth dying for?”

Theo met his gaze and smiled, expression tinged with such sadness Draco was certain the answers
he sought were contained somewhere within it.

And then his friend nodded, kicking his leg back onto the seat.

“You’re finally asking the right questions.”

Hermione paced a rapid trail along the perimeter of the rug, hands clenched at her front, fingers
twined tightly. Any chance of sleep was long gone, fleeing the room at Harry’s heels.

Please let him find Ron.

Please let them be okay.

She wondered if the Dollmaker’s minions were already scouring the city for her. Surely they didn’t
know of her escape. How could they? Rabastan was still bound when the boys arrived and the
Dollmaker wasn’t scheduled to arrive until morning.

The second guard…

What did Rabatsan call him?

Stephen.

Could he have alerted someone?

She shook her head.

No, he’d have freed his Master first. There’s no way he came back to the house before they
arrived-

She was jarred from her thoughts by a soft wrap on the door. She spun so quickly her foot caught
the carpeting, causing her to stumble, heart in her throat.

“Come in!”

The door opened gently, she held her breath, surging forward-

Neville’s head appeared, eyes wide and nervous.

“Er… hi, Mione.”

She stopped in her tracks, deflating.

“It’s you.”

His brow furrowed. She shook her head, stepping closer.

“I’m sorry, Neville, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just hoping-” She swallowed lightly, glancing
away. “Nevermind.”

His smile was warm. “No offense taken.” He shuffled inside, leaving the door ajar. “I just wanted
to check in, make sure you’re alright.” His eyes roamed the room, and then her figure, blush
blooming to life.

“You changed your dress.” His smile widened. “I like this one better.”

She ran a hand over her skirts and laughed.

“Me too.” She gazed back up, tilting her head. “How are you doing, Nev?”

He shuffled awkwardly.

“I’m good.”

She nodded. “Thank you for looking after my friends.”

"Of course." His expression grew tense. "I wouldn't have left them alone. Not that I can do much in
the way of protection. Not like Harry."

She reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder. He jolted, rocking back on his heels before
settling once more.

“Neville, you’re just as capable as Harry.” She squeezed. “And much more capable than me.”

Her arm dropped as he erupted into laughter, eyes bright.

"You're kidding, right? Rumor is you single-handedly beat up three thugs."

She opened her mouth, brow raised, only to clamp it shut soundly, shaking her head.

“Blaise.”

He nodded.

“He exaggerated I take it?”

“Just a bit.” She rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t talk to him for too long. He’s liable to corrupt
you.”

“I don’t doubt it.” His laughter faded as he scratched the back of his head and glanced down. “It’s
alright. I’ve spent more time talking to Hannah.”

She tilted her head, chest warming at the excited lilt in his voice as he spoke her friend’s name.

“Let me guess, you’ve bonded over engineering and architecture?”

He met her eye, expression heavy with pleasure and embarrassment. "Among other things."
She grinned brightly. “That’s wonderful, Nev. I-”

She blinked, distracted by a new face in the doorway.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Parvati pushed the door open, expression tense, eyes glinting like gunmetal. Hermione swallowed,
stomach twisting.

“What’s wrong?”

Parvati glanced quickly between them, her gaze finally settling on Hermione. The air became
heavy, corrosive, difficult to breathe.

“We have a visitor.”

Hermione’s fists tightened, bracing herself for the worst.

“Who?”

Parvati wet her lips, eyes narrowing.

“Doctor Riddle.”

. . .

Hermione turned the corner onto the landing, clutching the railing until her knuckles turned white,
insides turning to lead with every step towards the staircase.

She peered over the banister into the entryway.

And faltered.

Her heart skipped a beat, and then thudded hard, painfully, creating a steady throb in her wrists and
behind her knees.

Tom stood in the center of the room, dressed entirely in pitch, eyes unnaturally bright.

And fixed upon her with predatory stillness.

She drew in an unsteady breath, holding it, swaying in place, suddenly light-headed.

“When you see him again, it’ll change things.”

She tried to tear her eyes away but couldn’t, as trapped by his storm cloud gaze as she was the night
of their first encounter.

She was trapped inside the wardrobe once more. Frozen in fear and shock, breathless in her
hopelessness.

Hypnotized by the dark avenging angel standing above her.

Their perspectives were flipped this time, but the feeling his presence inspired was no different.
She cursed herself for allowing him to have such a profound effect upon her. Especially after all
that transpired.

All she’d been through.

She was stronger than this. More resilient.

She swallowed thickly, nails digging crescent grooves into the banister before she forced her
fingers to loosen and her locked knees to bend, urging her feet forward.

She paused at the top of the steps, unnerved by how eerily still he held himself, how tightly
wound, every muscle rigid, as though poised to spring.

She clutched the railing, trying to hide the tremor in her limbs. As she began her slow descent she
felt the air change, an invisible force pulling her forward as though she’d breached his gravitational
force, drawn in beyond her control.

His eyes gleamed beneath the chandelier, as otherworldly as they appeared in the moonlight.

In the cemetery.

“We aren’t going to talk about this anymore.”

She shuddered, tearing her gaze away at long last, focusing upon a random portrait in the distance
as humiliation took root within her once more.

In all the chaos that ensued over the last two days, she had yet to fully process what transpired
between them.

And she certainly didn’t have time to do so now.

There’s nothing to process.

He regrets what happened.

She raised her chin.

As do you.

His jaw tensed as she reached the bottom step.

They both stood motionless.

Frozen.

And then the energy sparked and crackled all around them.

He sprung forward.

Long legs carried him swiftly, movement fluid and catlike, the air charged, alive-

He stopped with only a few feet to spare, body colliding with an invisible barrier.

His proximity ate up all the remaining oxygen in the room, leaving her gasping and flush as his
eyes began a slow methodical perusal of her body. His gaze was clinical, detached, the same eyes
that examined her in the clinic.

Until he spotted the bruises on her wrists.

And then his gaze darkened and morphed until it became the same one she gazed into as they stood
before Dolohov's bound, bloodied form. Her fingers twitched at her side, weighted by a phantom
scalpel.

His eyes moved higher.

And reached her neck.

She burned with torturous fire as he studied every welt, every slight discoloration.

And his visage transformed yet again…

Into yet another mask she recognized.

Standing outside his bedroom, wielding a knife, adorned in finery.

Sequestered in the dark, doll and terror-drenched attic.

Hidden beside a stone mausoleum with only tombstones and the dead as their witnesses...

His gaze made a slow ascent of her face, lingering at her lips before at last reaching her eyes.

Her stomach clenched as something flashed in the depths of his swirling irises, clouds split by
lightning.

“This was a mistake.”

She glanced down, grabbing handfuls of hair and dragging it over her shoulders, concealing the
evidence of their folly.

She steeled her strength and met his gaze, taking a measured step back.

And watched something akin to worry mar his features, there one moment and gone the next.

Or perhaps it was hurt…

No.

He isn’t capable of either emotion.

She bristled, grinding her teeth before lifting her chin.

“Doctor.”

He blinked.

And then his eyes shuttered, spine straightening as the temperature around them dropped, the heat
that stole through her limbs washing away with cold dread.

“Ms. Granger.”

Her chest ached at the lifeless tone.

Heavy silence echoed off the marble.

She refused to squirm.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?”

He tilted his head. “I found the aftermath of your handiwork in Bath.” The corner of his mouth
lifted. “I’m quite aware of how you are.”

Her stomach tightened, bile rising in her throat.

“Is he…”

“Yes.”

Her heart stuttered. “How?”

“I set the building aflame.” His tone held no inflection but his eyes gleamed brightly. “I was
feeling nostalgic.”

She absently pressed a hand to her chest, gaze drifting. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” Her jaw
set. “I wish I had. But when the moment came… I couldn’t.”

He watched her closely, nodding shortly.

“I know.”

Her eyes lifted, hand dropping to her side, clenching into a fist.

“I knew the risk of leaving him alive. I put us all in danger.”

“We were in danger long before now.” He leaned in, barely a fraction, yet close enough to set her
nerve endings aflame. “And you saved a girl’s life.”

Her heart stuttered at the reminder, Padma’s face flashing before her eyes, the excitement and
dread of discovering the long-lost sister seizing her anew.

“He told you about Padma?”

His jaw tensed, eyes flickering as though debating his response.

“She came up.”

Hermione suspected there was more to the story but didn’t have the time or energy to pry for it.

He wet his lips. “Who is she?”

“Parvati’s sister.”

He blinked, and then raised his chin, shadows dancing along the hallows of his cheekbones,
transforming his face into a sinister mask.

“She suffers the same affliction as Dawn?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, you’ll need to examine her. She passed out earlier but seems stable-”

“There isn’t time.”

Her heart jolted, the dread spreading through every limb.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s unwise to keep all three witnesses under the same roof.”
She paled, gooseflesh racing along her skin.

“What do you suggest?”

"We need to separate them. In case Grimmauld falls."

She swallowed heavily, worst fears confirmed. “Then we need to move everyone out-”

“That will only draw unnecessary attention.” His voice brokered no room for dissent. “Enough
carriages have come in and out of here already. The last thing we need is a procession down the
street.”

“Where will you take them?”

“I know a place they will be safe.” His words were clipped, precise. “I’ll take Padma, I can
examine her after we arrive at our destination.”

“Like hell.”

The new voice echoed all around them.

Hermione spun on her heel, facing the landing. Parvati stood at the railing, both hands bracing the
banister, eyes narrowed and lethal. Blaise hovered at her back, leaning casually against the wall
with a look of careful indifference painting his handsome features.

Hermione stepped forward. “Parvati-”

“He isn’t taking my sister anywhere.” She shook her head, disheveled braid swinging like a rope.
“Not without me.”

Tom tilted his head, countenance calm, unaffected by her vehemence. “It is unwise for you to
come, Ms. Patil.”

“Then she stays.” She raised her chin, dark eyes flickering with flame. “End of discussion.”

Hermione heard Tom inhale slowly, no doubt preparing to further his argument.

So she turned and grasped his arm.

He immediately fell silent, eyes casting down, fixing upon her pale fingers.

He stared at their joined limbs for several beats before she felt the muscle relax beneath her touch,
the rigid lines of his posture easing.

And then he glanced up, meeting her eye.

She shook her head. His jaw tensed. A heavy look passed between them.

Until at last he nodded shortly.

She released him, arm dropping and palm burning at her side.

“It’s alright. Padma can stay here. Luna is sitting with her until she wakes.” She wet her lips. “So
we’ll take Dawn.”

His eyes turned molten, dangerous.

“There is no ‘we’. You are staying here.”

Hermione swallowed, spine lengthening and she drew her shoulders back.

“You were wrong earlier.”

He blinked. And then his face went blank.

She realized a moment too late the potential double meaning of her words.

Her pulse spiked, humiliation stirring in her gut.

She pushed the useless emotion back down, forging ahead.

“You said three witnesses.” She arched a brow. “But there are four.” She held his gaze, eyes hard,
unyielding. “Including me.”

She allowed her words to permeate the air with their weight before continuing, undeterred by the
blooming violence taking shape in his gaze.

“So it makes sense to split us in half. If you really trust the safety of where you’re taking us, that
is.”

Her body pulsated with the force of her heartbeat, expending every last ounce of energy and
resolve in maintaining his tempestuous gaze.

Until finally his eyes settled, though the darkness remained.

“I do.”

She nodded. “Good. Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

She turned her back to him, gazing up at Parvati.

“Will you and Hannah prepare Dawn for travel?”

Her friend released a troubled sigh. “Mione, are you sure you should-”

“Parvati.” A meaningful beat. “You said you would help me.”

She stiffened. And then nodded slowly, releasing the railing.

“I’ll have her downstairs in a few minutes.”

She awarded Tom with a calculated look before disappearing down the hall.

Blaise stood from the wall.

And lingered on the landing, gazing down at the pair.

The silence pressed heavy and oppressive, the air buzzing with it.

He tucked his hands in his pockets and smirked, paying them a cheeky wink.

“I see.” He started after Parvati, voice laced with amusement. “I’ll leave you crazy kids to it, then.”

She fought back a cringe, happy to see him go and yet desperately wishing he had stayed.
She continued to face the stairs, pulse radiating through every limb, unable to turn around.

Stop acting foolish! There are bloody lives at stake.

She inhaled deeply, holding it in her lungs as she slowly spun in place.

He watched her closely.

“Hermione.”

She released the breath, the sound of her name on his lips puncturing her lungs.

‘What happened before…”

Spots appeared before her eyes, blood pressure spiking until she was certain she’d faint at his feet.

“I-”

“There’s no need.” She swallowed heavily, blinking to clear her vision. “It was as you said.”

Her hands curled, nails piercing her palms until they punctured the skin. “A mistake.”

Her heartbeat was painful. A painful reminder of what being alive meant.

“And it’s in the past. Now we move forward.”

She straightened, hands unfurling, blood beneath her nail beds.

“I know who the Dollmaker is.”

She awaited his reaction with bated breath, anticipating a grand explosion to accompany such a
grand revelation.

Instead, he merely raised his chin, eyes falling hooded and malevolent.

“Angus Bumby.”

She jolted.

“How-”

“I was told in Bath.”

She blinked. And then swallowed heavily, darkness taking root in her mind, legs heavy and sore as
though forced to tread water all over again.

“He’s a monster.”

Her voice came out more brittle than intended, thin with emotion. With anger and sadness and
hatred.

She blinked, overcome, and suddenly Tom stood directly before her, moving so quickly she never
even saw him take a step.

“Did he hurt you?”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. She blinked them away, feeling angry and foolish to shed them here,
now.

“No.” Her eyes were unwavering. “I wouldn’t let him break me.”

His hands clenched, arms tightening, as though he was keeping them pinned at his sides. Despite
his tense demeanor, his voice was smoky and dark.

“I doubt he’s ever encountered an opponent as formidable as you.”

The corner of her mouth twitched with pleasure.

“He hasn't met you.”

Darkness flashed across his features, heavy and frightening.

“He has.”

She gazed up in bemusement.

"I visited the Asylum. You were already gone." He released a deep breath. It blew the stray curls
from her temple. "I should have known who he was. The pieces were lying right in front of me."
His jaw ticked. "But I was distracted."

She released a heavy sigh of her own, sensing the true intent of his words.

Or perhaps she was merely projecting.

But all the same, the gut-wrenching feeling prompted her to take a step back.

“Then let’s hope neither of us encounters any more distractions.”

A heavy beat passed.

Neither dared to look away.

And then Tom inclined his head, eyes bright and unblinking.

“Let’s hope.”

She glanced away first, thoughts and emotions caught in a violent storm centered at the very core
of her being.

“I want to finish this, Tom. The Dollmaker may not have broken my mind, but he poisoned it just
the same.” She gazed up once more, eyes brimming with conviction. “I’m as possessed as the rest
of his victims. Consumed as you are.”

He remained silent. Transfixed. The air burst to vibrant life around her, sparking through her
voluminous hair.

“Nothing will stop me from seeing this through.”

His eyes gleamed just as brilliantly.

“We’ll stop them.” His voice shook the marble, trembled the portraits. “We’ll kill him.”

She lifted her chin, steel lacing her spine. “I won’t hesitate again.”
Her chest cracked down the center, resolidifying as a metal cage. Protecting her heart from all
future onslaught.

"I will not compromise. Not until I've taken it all."

His gaze seemed to soften and harden at the same time. And then the floor fell away, leaving them
suspended above the dark abyss that hungered for them both since their first fateful encounter.

“You’ve finally learned.”

Sunlight slowly streamed in through the tall windows, illuminating half his sharp features, casting
the other side into darkness.

She turned her head, tracking the growing spread of orange across the violet sky.

“The sun is up.” Her shoulders lowered. “The Lestrange’s no longer have legal claim over me.”

She breathed in deep, savoring the taste on the back of her tongue, as though enjoying the sensation
for the very first time.

Sunlight struck her own face, the room rapidly brightening. She squinted and turned her head
away.

And became mesmerized by the look on his face.

She couldn’t begin to process what she was seeing, little less what she was feeling, but all rational
thought scattered as he slowly brought a hand towards her face-

There was movement on the landing, followed by the sound of twin footsteps.

They broke apart like a shotgun pellet, an endless chasm of space between them as Parvati
appeared at the stairs with a strange girl in tow.

Hermione swallowed, smoothing a hand over her skirt as she addressed him over her shoulder.

“Get the carriage ready. We’ll meet you outside.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look upon him but could sense the deep unrest radiating from his
form.

He continued to stand motionless for a short eternity before finally turning for the exit. She
released a sharp sigh of relief once the door closed at his back.

The light obstructed her vision. She struggled to calm her pulse as she held a hand before her eyes,
eager to glimpse her supposed doppelganger.

The pair were halfway down the steps before her face finally came into view.

Her gut clenched painfully.

They certainly did share many common features. Not nearly enough to pass as twins, but certainly
as sisters.

She imagined Draco spotting the girl from across a smoke-filled gambling den.

She turned away, closing her eyes and shaking her head as if to forcibly expel the vision from her
mind.

At last the duo reached the main level. Hermione pried her lids open and journeyed the short
distance to meet them.

“Mione, are you sure about this?”

She met her friend's gaze, accepting the traveling cloak she held aloft.

“No. But I haven’t been sure of anything in a long, long time.”

“How do you know you’ll be safe with him? He couldn’t stop you from being dragged off to the
asylum.”

“That wasn’t his fault.” She slid her arms through the garment, fastening the front. “Not entirely
anyway.”

Parvati sighed, face stricken. “We just got you back.”

“He’s right, Parv. It’s not strategic keeping all four of us under one roof. If the worst should occur,
someone needs to survive the fallout. Someone needs to put these animals in cages.”

“Fuck cages. I want them six feet under.”

Hermione fell still, holding her friend's dark gaze. “He killed Rabastan.”

Parvati reared back. A bevy of emotions raced across her features, everything from relief to
disappointment. Hermione understood them all.

At last she settled forward, eyes glittering with pent energy.

“Did the bastard suffer?”

Hermione arched a brow.

“Immensely.”

Parvati inhaled deeply, tipping her head back, relishing the news.

And then she gazed forward once more, a reluctant grin curving her lips.

“Alright. Riddle isn’t all bad I suppose.”

Hermione let out a short laugh, smiling to herself.

“I don’t know about that.”

She turned to face their third, silent companion, sidling in close, voice soft and measured.

“Hello, Dawn, my name is Hermione. We’re going on a little trip-”

“Don’t bother, luv. She doesn’t speak to anyone but Malfoy.”

She sighed with resignation, rubbing her eyes.

“Of course not.”

She reached down and grasped the girl’s hand, stomach twisting when she didn’t react in the
slightest, merely staring ahead blankly, eyes lifeless beneath the surface.

They reminded her of Padma.

She turned to face Parvati and saw a similarly troubled look marring her features, no doubt thinking
of her sister as well. Hermione reached out and squeezed her arm.

“We’re going to fix her, Parv.”

Parvati nodded. “One step at a time.” She gestured to the door with her chin. “Go ahead. I’ll
explain to the others where you are.”

“It’s safer if they don’t know the location.” She blinked, considering. “Then again, I don’t know
the location.”

“Just be…”

She trailed off, shaking her head as though overwhelmed by the possible descriptors.

Hermione fought back a grin. “Safe? Careful?”

Parvati smirked. “Yourself. Seems to be working out pretty well these days.”

Hermione smiled, nodding and releasing her arm. She then started for the door, gently pulling
Dawn along in her wake.

By the time they stepped outside the sun was fully above the horizon, the sky a clear blue.

Yet storm clouds raged above the carriage at the end of the drive, drawn by solid black steads.

Tom stood by the car, the door open at his side as he watched their slow approach.

She studiously avoided his gaze as they reached him, stepping back to avoid his offered hand. He
didn’t react to her snub, simply taking Dawn’s hand instead.

She started toward the driver’s bench as he helped get the girl settled. He stepped aside, blinking in
confusion when he didn’t see her standing beside the car.

And then his gaze found her at last, the surprise on his face deeply satisfying to her pride as she
situated herself on the raised seat, reaching forward to unwind the reins.

She glanced over her shoulder, raising a brow.

“Coming?”

He smirked, closing the door and moving to the front of the carriage, grasping the handrail and
hoisting himself up.

He settled into the other end of the bench, their thighs pressing, a scorching heat eating through the
heavy layers of fabric and flesh, charring the bone.

He held her gaze, holding up his palm. She placed the reins upon it.

And then he faced forward, urging the horses into motion, the corners of his mouth lifting into a
breathtaking grin as he spoke just loud enough for her to hear.
“Right beside you.”
 Ghost Story

Every picture tells a story.

Sometimes we don't like the ending.
Sometimes we don't understand it.
. . .

The carriage rolled a steady path along the embankment, the sound of lapping waves and crying
gulls filling the salt dampened air, broken intermittently by ship horns.

Hermione rubbed her palms together, interlacing her fingers and holding them atop her lap for
warmth, gazing idly around the morning bustle on the docks in the distance.

“We’re heading South of the Thames?”

Tom held the reins steady.

“Just North.”

She raised her chin, sitting straighter as she studied the mismatched rooftops along the opposite
side of the river, heart rate increasing as realization took root.

“You’re taking us to your benefactor, aren’t you?”

Tom continued to gaze ahead, though the corner of his lips turned up just slightly, eyes gleaming
with pleasure.

“And how did you deduce that, Ms. Granger?”

His use of her surname was often his means of erecting a wall. But this time he delivered it with a
layer of amusement, a private joke between them that caused warmth to race along her limbs,
condensing at her center. She fought the urge to squirm, though she couldn’t prevent her thighs
from pressing.

“We aren’t far from the warehouse.” Her gaze was caught by the sight of the morning sun glinting
off his dark hair. “You mentioned it was on a private dock. And you had the keys.”

She faced forward, running her hands along her skirts, curving around her knees. “I imagine they
were given to you by someone of power and means.”

Tom lifted his chin, tugging one side of the reins, seamlessly steering the horses around a shipping
supply cart.

“I know many people of power and means.”

“I’m sure.” She smirked in turn. “But you’d rather saw off your arm than ask a favor of anyone.”

He bristled, as expected, unnerved by anyone’s accurate assessment of his character. She continued
undaunted.

“You’d try to keep the list of those you’re indebted to as short as possible.” She watched as his jaw
set, grey eyes narrowed and fixed ahead. “Besides. You wouldn’t trust just anyone with such
valuable assets.”
He met her eye at last. His own glittered darkly, a swirling cosmos of burning stars.

“It is fortunate we are on the same side. I pity any man who attempts to keep a secret from you.”

She held his gaze, expression sobering.

“You still have your secrets.” Her fingers pressed into the soft fabric of her skirt. “The ones you
keep closest to your heart. They’ve been buried there so long you could hardly pry them free if you
tried.”

His eyes flashed, a supernova explosion, blinding in intensity.

"Secrets have kept me alive." His voice radiated with the same sinister energy. "For a very long
time, they were my sole companion, my only means of survival."

Her chest ached. She gripped her knees harder to keep her hands from pressing the wound.

“Then I am grateful for every one of them.” She kept her tone free of toxic sympathy. “But you
aren’t alone anymore.”

He held her gaze with suffocating intensity, her heartbeat deafening to her ears until at last his eyes
flickered to her mouth. She wet her lips on instinct, breathing a sigh of relief as he turned his head
forward in the next instant, the circles beneath his eyes appearing heavier and darker than
moments before.

“When is the last time you slept?”

“Sleep is the least of my priorities.”

The tone of his response provided all the answer she needed.

She gazed forward as well, having finally learned the concept of choosing her battles wisely.

Minutes later they were turning another corner, the docks long behind them. He directed the horses
past a private property line marked by flowering bushes. A handsome cottage-style home sat in the
distance, centered atop a green rolling field.

Anyone who could afford such a sprawl of land in the heart of London could easily afford to build
a mansion atop it. But the two-story structure was modest and quaint. The closer they proceeded up
the gravel drive the more architectural details came into focus.

Whoever dwelled within was someone of means indeed, though they obviously valued privacy
above reputation.

She studied the tall row of privacy bushes, squirming at last.

“Are you certain they won’t mind the disturbance?”

His visage instantly sharpened. “He is a disturbance." His eyes narrowed, voice laced with
derision. "Trust me, he'll be ecstatic to have a house guest. Be prepared for nonstop affirmations
and convoluted analogies."

She couldn’t help but smirk at his visceral reaction.

“You’re fond of him.”

He raised a dark brow.

“I detest him.”

“A bit of both I think.” She settled back in her seat, earlier unease melting away. “You wouldn’t
have taken me here unless you trusted him a great deal.”

His jaw ticked several times, as though chewing on words before swallowing them down, offering
no response.

She grinned, watching him direct the horses further along the drive before they finally rounded the
privacy bushes, giving view of the front door.

His shoulders squared off, spine rigid as a pole as he glared at the entryway, the heat in his eyes a
tangible smolder she could feel even from her end of the bench.

She swallowed lightly, reaching out on instinct, placing her hand atop his knee.

She felt him tense beneath her touch, but he made no move to dislodge her, eyes transfixed by the
entry.

“It’s alright, Tom.” Her voice was soft, coaxing the wolf from its den. “This hardship is nothing
compared to what you’ve already endured.”

He tore his eyes away, pinning her in place with a swift look. His jaw set once more before he gave
a shallow nod.

“Come on.”

Her heartbeat reverberated through her limbs as he reached down and grabbed her hand, removing
it from his knee, fingertips tracing along her palm before releasing her. He leaped from the carriage
a moment later, landing in a graceful pounce.

He turned, extending his hand for her to take. She stared at it for a long beat before glancing away,
reaching for the handrail instead.

She heard his low sigh and then she was gasping into the crisp morning air, his hands gripping her
waist as he lifted her off her feet, pulling her forward.

She braced her hands against his shoulders for purchase, nails digging into fabric and muscle as
their eyes locked. Her abdomen pressed his chest, his deep inhale chasing her swift exhale, and
then gravity seized her once more, his face drawing close as he lowered her.

Her heels clicked the ground and his hands fell away. She swayed on her feet as he stepped past her
towards the car, opening the door with fluidity, earlier rigidity long faded.

She straightened her cloak as he gently extracted Dawn from her hiding spot. By the time
Hermione gazed up he was already crossing towards her, the girl’s small hand encased in his own.

Her heart leaped.

Not in jealousy, but in pain.

She met Dawn’s blank gaze, wondering once more if she was conscious beneath the surface,
trapped in the shell of her own body, screaming desperately with every measured breath.
She wondered how many men had violated her. Whether she’d been cognizant during the attacks,
unable to fight back.

She wondered if the girl understood what was happening now, that she was safe, or if she was once
more resigned to a man’s manipulation of her body, yet another violation, regardless of intent.

Hermione swallowed the rising bile in her throat.

“I’ll take her.”

Tom’s steps faltered, the intensity of her voice drawing his focus. She stared once more at their
joined hands.

He followed her gaze, shoulders tightening imperceptibly.

She knew he understood the path of her thoughts as he immediately released Dawn’s hand,
stepping aside and allowing Hermione to take his place.

She gently grasped the girl’s palm, interlacing their fingers. Tom moved ahead of them, leading a
path to the porch. They followed slowly, Hermione studying her walking companion’s profile all
the while, unnerved at the similarities in their features.

“Dawn.” She kept her voice low, though she didn’t care whether Tom was listening. “In case you
can hear me, I want you to know that I’m going to do everything in my power to help you.”

She squeezed her hand. “I won’t stop until I find a cure.” Her eyes gleamed in the morning sun.
“None of us will.”

And then she blinked, sensing the stillness ahead.

Tom turned to stone at the door, not even seeming to breathe. Hermione paused at the bottom step,
unsure what to say, if she should even speak.

He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her eye and gesturing to his side with his chin, movements
sharp and precise like a bird of prey.

She bit her lip, leading Dawn up the four brick steps and across the wood slats before coming to a
stop at his right.

She watched silently as he tipped his head back and rolled it along his shoulders, neck cracking
loudly, causing her to cringe. Then he took a deep breath and held it, raising his arm and pounding
swiftly on the door with the side of his fist.

There was a long beat of silence, the world falling static and still.

And then a muffled shuffling sounded from inside.

Hermione held her breath as well, heartbeat erratic as she absorbed the tension radiating from
Tom’s body in visible waves.

There was a metallic click, a lock sliding.

The knob turned.

The door opened.

A face appeared.

She rocked back on her heels with the force of the impact.

“Tom.” The man’s voice was heavy with shock, yet remained soft and warm at the edges. “This is
a welcome surprise.”

Tom ground his teeth, fists curling at his sides, knuckles turning white. Hermione blinked, settling
back in place though her jaw continued to hang loose. The glacial eyes shifted at her movement,
latching onto her wide gaze and fixing her in place, rendering her breathless.

And then he smiled, the creases in his face deepening with the joyous expression.

“Ah, and you’ve brought guests, what a delight!” His eyes gleamed, bright and knowing. “Good
morning, Ms. Granger. I am so very relieved to see you have been safely returned to us.”

She blinked again, squeezing Dawn’s limp hand as though grasping at the final threads of her
sanity.

“I…” She swallowed, trying to moisten her dry tongue. “Thank you… Sir.”

She gazed at Tom’s rigid form, unsure how to proceed, how to process the information before her.
He sighed deeply, breaking from his rigid stance at last.

“I need a favor.”

His acidic tone did nothing to dim the aura of gentle cheer exuding from the doorway.

“I can see that.” Their host stepped back, gesturing their small party inside. “Let’s move this
conversation indoors, shall we? I’ve just put the kettle on and I’m sure I can wrestle up a tin of
biscuits.”

Tom made no motion to cross.

Hermione bit back a sigh of frustration, elbowing him aside as she entered instead, pulling Dawn
along like a wagon at her back.

“Thank you very much…” Her brows furrowed as she cast a nervous glance upward. “Admiral
Dumbledore.”

His eyes glittered like the Caribbean waters Harry so passionately described.

“Please, my dear girl, call me Albus.”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, pushing the disheveled strands from his eyes as he reached for
the doorknob-

Only for the barrier to give way before his hand could make contact.

He blinked, vision blurred by exhaustion as a hazy figure took form in the entryway.

“Parker? Why are you up so early?”

The butler opened his mouth, but another voice responded.

“He never went to bed.” A deafening beat. “Nor did I.”

Draco blinked again, paling as the eerie silence was cut by the sound of soft footsteps padding atop
the marble.

And then a new figure appeared.

“Mum-”

“Come inside.”

He swallowed heavily, rendered ten years old every time she crossed her arms and pinned him with
the full intensity of her motherly glare.

He stepped over the threshold, hands clenching and unclenching as he fought to maintain her steely
gaze without cowering. She was adorned in an ivory sleeping gown and silk robe, pale hair flowing
in twin rivers across her shoulders. Her head barely reached his collar, yet her petite form exuded
enough power to shake the floor and bring a giant to his knees.

Her eyes flashed, slippered feet crossing the Italian marble and stopping just before him, neck
craned as she studied his face with astute precision.

She grasped his chin, gripping it harder as he tried to avert his face.

“What happened? Who hit you?”

“It’s nothing-”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Mum, please-”

“You will answer my question, Draco!” She released him, eyes burning bright. “I’ve been pacing
the Manor all night waiting for you to turn up. You’re going to tell me what all this commotion is
about.”

His jaw set. “What commotion?”

“Don’t treat me like a fool. I heard you shouting in our father’s study from across the Manor.”

“I wasn’t the only one shouting!”

She shook her head. “Such a childish response.”

He scowled. “Mum, I’m not in the mood for this. Please, I just want to go to bed.”

She caught his arm as he attempted to stalk past. He fell still beneath the gentle hand, unable to
shrug her off.

“Draco, my heart, please tell me you aren’t in this state over Hermione.”

He swallowed heavily, a strange vertigo overtaking him. He scrubbed a hand over his face,
glancing over his shoulder.

“I’ve never heard you say her name before.”

Her hand dropped away. “Nonsense.”

He slowly turned, watching her carefully. “You call her Granger. Or Richard’s daughter.”

She blinked, lips parting but only breath emitting. A moment later they pressed thin, as did her
eyes.

He nodded, a familiar fire kindling in his chest. “Makes it easier, doesn’t it?”

Her pale brows drew. “Makes what easier?”

He lifted his chin, eyes hooded and focused as he peered down his nose at her. “To pretend she
isn’t a person.” He crossed his arms. “To pretend none of them are people.”

She tilted her head, searching his gaze. “Who are you talking about?”

He stepped forward, propelled by the intensity of his fear, black rot spreading with each heartbeat.

“Did you know?”

She huffed, blowing a strand of hair from her face. “Know what, Draco? Speak plainly, I can’t
abide doubletalk.”

His bitter laughter bubbled forth, unbidden, but not unwelcome. He basked in the absurdity.

“And yet you married the biggest bullshiter in all of England.”

“You will not speak ill of your father in my presence-”

“I don’t care about him.” He reached out and grabbed her arms, his hold gentle yet firm, the
motion itself enough to render her mute. “I want to know if you knew.”

She blinked, searching his gaze once more, all traces of ire erased from the smooth palette of her
complexion.

“Sweetheart, you’re frightening me. You’ve been gone for nearly two days. I’ve been worried out
of my mind. Now please tell me what’s going on.”

His fingers tightened, tall frame rocking precariously, a reed set to snap in the oncoming storm.

“I don’t think I could take it. If you knew. If you’re a part of this.” He shook his head. “I don’t
have the strength to come out the other side of this madness if my entire goddamn life has been a
lie.”

She went pliant in his hold, lifting her arm between them and cupping his cheek.

“Draco, what happened? Who hurt you?”

He blinked rapidly, vision hazed by tears and exhaustion.

“Just tell me you didn’t know. Tell me you could never be a part of something so vile. So evil.”

Her face crumpled. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about, my love.” She swept her
thumb beneath his eye, catching a tear he didn’t feel fall. “I want you to lie down. I’m sending for
the Doctor-”
“No.”

He jerked free of her hand, releasing her arms and turning away.

“Draco-”

“I’m fine.”

He wiped his eyes, frustrated by this useless outpouring of emotion. To finally fall apart here and
now was beyond pathetic.

“I’m…” He shook his head, trying to dispel the overwhelming shame, the bitterness. “Just tired.”

“You sound intoxicated. But I don’t smell any alcohol.” She took a step closer. “Have you taken
something?”

He tipped his head back and laughed anew, this round rich and dark, shaking the walls like rolling
thunder.

“I fucking wish.”

“Language, Draco!”

He closed his eyes, pushing the heels of his palms against his closed lids, sliding them out to his
temples, a dull throb drowning out the chaos of his mind.

“Language.” The word felt heavy on his tongue. “We must keep up appearances.”

She padded forward, approaching him swiftly from behind, placing a hand between his shoulder
blades.

“Please talk to me. Please tell me what’s troubling you so.”

He raked both hands through his hair, bloodshot eyes peeling open as he turned to face her.

“I’m fine, mum. Just exhausted.” His voice sounded distant, foreign to his ears. “I didn’t mean to
frighten you.”

She inhaled deeply, rubbing a hand along his arm, squeezing his shoulder before repeating the
motion.

“If you won't let me call the physician, at least let me give you a calming tonic.”

He set his jaw, biting back the argument, nodding with resignation instead.

“Alright.”

She released her breath sharply, deflating with relief. “Go on up. I’ll bring it to your room.”

He followed the command in silence, steps sluggish and slow as he made his way to the grand
staircase. He listed into the railing as he ascended, joints sore, the turmoil of his night setting into
his bones at long last.

He stopped halfway up, feeling her hawk gaze upon him.

Always watching. Always knowing.

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Mum.”

She tilted her head, hair and skin gleaming in the morning light streaming through the windows.

He took a shallow breath, grasping the banister until his knuckles cracked.

“I love you.”

She blinked.

And then smiled, the sunlight reflecting even brighter, as though magnified by her joy. A halo
burned above her head, beautiful and unnerving.

“I love you more than anything in this life, Draco.” Her voice was strong, eyes bright, face radiant.
“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

He nodded, lingering on the steps as she turned on her heel and headed for the hallway beyond.

He released the railing, spine straightening as soon as she disappeared from sight.

That’s what I’m counting on.

Astoria tilted her head, sliding hanger after hanger aside as she swept her eyes over each dress in
turn.

Finally, her hand hovered over something of interest.

She gazed up, lifting the hanger from the rod and tugging the gown free.

“What about this one?”

Daphne turned, arms still buried in the clothing rack before her. Her eyes did a rapid sweep of the
garment before flickering forward once more.

“I can’t bide the color.”

Astoria raised a brow. “It’s white.”

Her sister pushed dress after dress aside so rapidly it shook the display. “Yes. Shockingly so. I’ll
go blind staring directly upon it.”

Her movements paused for half a beat, fingers skimming a lacy collar-

Only to shake her head, sighing in frustration as she slung the hanger aside and continued her
aggressive hunt.

“Besides, it clashes terribly with my skin. I need something ivory.”

Astoria chewed on the inside of her cheek, carefully replacing the garment before grabbing up
another.

“Like this?”

Daphne cast another sharp glance over her shoulder, dismissing the second option with a look of
disgust. “I need a cool toned ivory. You know I can’t wear peach, Tori.”

Astoria slammed the hanger back down with force.

“Daph, you do realize you’ll only be wearing the dress for an hour or so, and only Greg and I will
see you in it?”

“And the minister.”

She rolled her eyes. "Well, in that case, we should spare no expense."

“Don’t get snippy with me, you’re the one who insisted on coming here.”

Astoria sighed, shoulders lowering as she pushed away from the rack. “We can’t get anything
custom made. It’ll take too long and father will see the charge.”

Daphne nodded shortly, scowling at the final gown on the rack.

“I know. I just can’t believe the state of these dresses. How do women shop ready made? They’re
absolutely ghastly.”

A throat cleared behind them. Astoria glanced over her shoulder, meeting the shopkeeper's eye.
The woman watched them from behind the counter as she threaded a needle, peering over her half-
rimmed spectacles.

Astoria smiled, having the courtesy to flush in embarrassment. And then she spun on her heel,
glaring at her shopping companion.

“Keep your voice down! The dresses are perfectly fine, you’re just atrociously picky.”

The door opened at the other end of the shop, the bell chiming softly. The owner glanced up,
setting her needlework aside.

“Welcome, my dear, can I help you find anything?”

“I already found what I’m looking for.”

Both sisters went stock still.

Daphne whipped around first, eyes wide.

“Pans?”

Pansy smirked, closing the door at her back. “As I live and breathe, it really is you.”

Astoria paled. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to take shelter from the impending apocalypse. Certainly hell has frozen over if the
Greengrass sisters are shopping at Lady LeBou’s.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “How did you find us?”

“I saw you sneaking in like a couple of criminals on the lamb. I simply had to see what all the
excitement was about.”

She stepped further inside, casually lifting the gauzy sleeve of a bright blue gown, smirk lifting
higher as she released the monstrosity and wiped her hand clean on her skirts.

“Is there a costume party I’m unaware of? May I guess the theme?”

Daphne closed her eyes. “Pansy-”

“Hobo chic? Dapper and destitute? Ritzy in rags?”

The shopkeeper huffed in outrage, shoving her work beneath the counter and marching behind a
hanging curtain.

Daphne shook her head, turning towards the dress rack once more. “Are you done?”

“Hm…” Pansy tapped thoughtfully at her chin. “I suppose I am, at least until I can think up more
clever rhetoric.”

She approached a nearby accessory display, crossing her arms and leaning against it. “It’s a bit
early in the day for me yet. Rest assured, I’ll be firing on all cylinders after a few more mimosas.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you up and mobile before noon.” Daphne shoved a dress aside with
enough force to knock it free of its hanger. “What’s the special occasion?”

"Lunch with my betrothed. He sent a messenger to my house bright and early to hand deliver the
request. And by request, I, of course, mean demand."

“How romantic.”

Pansy laughed, watching idly as Astoria replaced the discarded hanger, following at her sister’s
heels, tidying up the destruction as she went.

“I could say the same for you. Eloping is so very Shakespearean it brings tears to my eyes. Or
perhaps that’s the hayfever.”

The sisters turned to statues once more, mimicking the mannequins lining the shop window. They
shared a loaded glance in their frozen state before exploding to life.

“What are you-”

“How did you know?”

“Tori!”

Pansy laughed anew, face lit with pure amusement. "Relax, doves. It doesn't take Lovelace to
compute the data before me."

She lifted a pale green bonnet, twisting one of the laces around her finger.

“Both Greengrass sisters sneaking into a common boutique first thing in the morning, long before
the gentry’s had time to paint their extravagant faces and strut about town like tressed up
peacocks.”

She met Daphne’s narrowed gaze.

“Furthermore, you’re looking at gowns in varying shades of piss and jaundice.” She tilted her head,
brow arching. “I daresay someone is looking for a wedding dress on the hush.”
She glanced to Astoria, eyes glittering like gems.

“Now, I suppose the dress could be for either of you, seeing as you’re both all but sold to your
grooms-to-be.” She smiled, teeth gleaming just as brightly. “But the most glaring difference
between your shared plight is that dear Daphne actually wants to marry her beau, while Tori would
sooner run to the gallows than down the aisle.”

Astoria blinked, opening and closing her mouth before finally finding her voice.

“That… was impressive.”

Pansy’s dark eyes flashed. “How delightful. You’re the second woman to say that to me to-”

“Pans.” Daphne spared her a final glare before turning to the battered rack.

Pansy winked, tossing the bonnet aside and rising from the table. “Just having a bit of fun, Daph.
You might try it some time.”

“Keep in mind who your audience is, please.”

Astoria bristled, eyes narrowing on the perfectly styled pile of blond tresses. “I’m more offended
by your insinuation I can’t handle it.”

Pansy let out a delighted chime. “Hear that, luv? She can handle me just fine.”

“No one can handle you. Now please leave us in peace or get over here and help me find
something that wasn’t excavated from a circus performer’s grave.”

Pansy sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes as she approached. “I suppose I can be of assistance,
I’m not meeting Theo for another few hours yet.”

She tilted her head, slipping her hands between two dresses and parting the row, gazing idly at
either side.

“You’re wasting your time with this rack.”

“It’s the only white they have.”

Pansy smirked, meeting her friend’s eye over the display. “You’re having an unconventional
union, my dear. I think the occasion calls for an unconventional dress.”

Daphne released a dramatic sigh of her own, tipping her head back and tossing her hands up.

"At this point, I'm willing to wear a sheet over my head. I’m certain it will look more fashionable
than this.”

She lowered her gaze.

“What did you have in mind?”

Pansy let loose another round of laughter, deeper than before, her smile absolutely sinister in its
appeal.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Hermione spun in a slow circle, examining the Naval memorabilia on the shelves, the plaques and
framed certificates covering every inch of exposed wall space, her heart firmly lodged in her throat
all the while.

I’m standing in Albus Dumbledore’s living room…

She blinked, eyes fixing on the vibrant purple ribbon and gleaming metal of the Victoria Cross
caged in glass atop the mantle, portraits of dogs displayed on either side.

I’m standing in Albus Dumbledore’s living room.

She made a final scan of the space, eyes finally reaching Tom’s rigid form, hovering near the
windows with his arms crossed, face frozen in a mask of barely tamped hostility.

“I’m standing in Albus Dumbledore’s living room.”

He lifted a brow, holding her dumbfounded gaze another few moments before rolling his eyes and
gazing outside.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway.

“I do hope these biscuits aren’t stale.”

Hermione spun on her heel, rushing to the doorway as Dumbledore’s tall and narrow frame
emerged, gleaming tray in hand.

“Please, let me help-”

“Nonsense, child. You are my guest. Please, sit. It is a rare pleasure I get to enjoy the company of
someone who isn’t carrying a rifle across their back. I’ve dusted off the good china for the
occasion.”

She smiled, his jovial nature contagious.

“You mustn’t wait on us, Sir. We are guests in your home, please don’t trouble yourself.”

He crossed the room, setting the tray atop the table.

“It’s no trouble at all.”

He smiled brightly, setting the teacups right side up as his eyes drifted to the sole occupant on the
couch.

Dawn stared ahead, eyes fixed to a potted plant beside the window.

“Would you like some tea, dear?”

Hermione wrung her hands, glancing to Tom, jaw tensing when she saw he planned on offering no
assistance.

She swallowed, glancing back to Dumbledore and stepping forward.

“She doesn’t speak.”

He nodded, as though anticipating such a response, setting a saucer on the table before Dawn’s
knees.
“Do you know who commands her?”

Hermione blinked, glancing to Tom once more, then back to Dumbledore, pulse thrumming as she
realized his eyes were fixed upon her with unnerving intensity.

“Yes. We do.” She watched him gaze down at the tray, reaching for the steaming pot. “You’re
familiar with….” She wet her lips. “With this affliction?”

He began to fill Dawn’s cup, hand steady, steam rising up and fogging his spectacles.

"Affliction." He set the pot back on the tray, staring at Dawn. "I've never heard it described in such
a way." He turned at last, awarding Hermione the full weight of his focus. "But yes. Unfortunately,
I am quite familiar with it."

“You’ve seen it before?”

A weighted pause.

The air grew dense.

“Once.”

Tom turned sharply, meeting her eye over Dumbledore’s shoulder. Her heart skipped, an electrical
current chasing the sensation.

Of course.

Tom stepped forward, gaze darting to the back of Dumbledore’s head, voice edged in steel.

“I need to leave the girls here.”

The Admiral sighed, slowly rotating, sunlight glinting off his close-cropped beard and half-moon
lenses.

“While you do what exactly, Tom?”

Tom lifted his chin, sunlight silhouetting his frame and casting his visage into darkness.

“I know who he is, Albus.”

Dumbledore swayed back, eyes widening. Hermione held her breath, unable to look away. The
intensity of the men’s shared gaze was a palpable force, generating so much energy it shook the
very ground and knocked the plaques askew.

Tom wet his lips, eyes predatory and bright.

“Angus Bumby.”

Hermione swallowed. Dumbledore blinked.

“The name doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Nor should it. It’s likely an alias.”

“For what?”

“It doesn’t matter. I know who he is. Where he works. What he looks like.” He lowered his chin,
blown pupils swirling with a black abyss. “I’m going to kill him.”

Dumbledore sighed, eyes closing as he rubbed his fingertips along the creases in his forehead.

“And how certain are you this is truly the man you seek?”

Tom arched a dark brow. “Ask our witness.”

Dumbledore blinked. Hermione shifted, shoulders drawing back as he turned to face her. She met
his gaze, nodding once.

“It’s him.” She held his eye steady, despite the twisting eels in her stomach. “He spoke plainly
about his role as the Dollmaker in his office. And then he subjected me to treatment.”

Dumbledore’s eyes shone with blatant horror and concern. “Are you alright, dear?”

She nodded quickly. “Yes, I’m-”

“I need to examine her yet.”

She jolted, Tom’s voice brokering no room for argument. Her mouth ran dry as he met her gaze,
words dissolving on her tongue.

And then he looked to Dumbledore.

“I’d like to do so immediately. As well as get Dawn situated in a room of her own.” His eyes
narrowed. “That is, of course, if you’ll permit them asylum.”

Dumbledore was still facing her, a smirk lifting his lips. “Always so dramatic.” His eyes danced
with amusement. “Even as a boy.”

Hermione bit her lip, the urge to laugh nearly causing her to double over. Dumbledore winked
before slowly rotating.

“I am happy to open my home to these lovely young women, and even welcome the company.” He
met Tom's lethal gaze with a grin. “Under one condition.”

Tom ground his teeth. “And what is that?”

Dumbledore sighed, calmly folding his hands before him.

“You must rest, Tom. You are in no condition to go rushing off on an execution mission.”

Tom surged forward, the air crackling around him. “Out of the bloody question.”

“That is my condition.”

“Do you have any idea-”

“We’ll stay.”

Tom blinked, drawing up short as his eyes darted to Hermione. Dumbledore turned to the side,
glancing at her with obvious intrigue.

She stepped forward, spine lengthening.

“All of us will stay.”

She watched Tom’s fists curl at his sides. She forged on.

“Long enough for you to get some sleep.” She arched a challenging brow. “You need rest.” She
held his gaze, voice softening, lowering. “You’ve waited your entire life for this one moment,
Tom. Are you really willing to lose it all due to sheer exhaustion?”

He released a sharp breath, tearing his gaze away as he dragged a hand over his face, shaking his
head.

“Fine.”

Dumbledore raised a white brow, glancing between them until his eyes lingered on Hermione,
studying her with care. She squirmed, feeling a flush spread like spilled tea across her neck and
cheeks.

Tom lowered his hand, voice filled with resignation. “Only a few hours rest. Then I leave.” He
captured her gaze. “But I examine you first.”

The blush burned hotter.

“I’m fine-”

“That is my one condition.”

Dumbledore smirked, eyes drifting to the ground as though to afford their silent battle privacy. She
sighed deeply, the same resignation setting into her bones.

“Alright then.” She looked to Dawn. “I’d like to get her settled.”

Dumbledore lifted his head. “Certainly. Pick any of the guest bedrooms you’d like.” He flashed his
gleaming smile. “Tom will show you the way. He knows the layout of this house quite well.”

She nodded, stepping forward and extending her hand to Dawn. The girl didn’t budge. Hermione
leaned over, grasping her wrist and gently tugging. Dawn unfolded at once, meeting Hermione’s
eye without expression as she fell in step beside her.

They paused in the doorway, Hermione glancing over her shoulder to Tom. He continued to eye his
former benefactor, eyes hard, unyielding. She felt her chest tighten as Dumbledore’s eyes took on
the same lethal glint, an unnerving sight. She understood how he came to be the senior officer of
the most powerful militia in the world.

She gently cleared her throat, swallowing heavily when both sets of eyes darted to her.

“Thank you for inviting us into your home, Admiral.”

His expression softened at once. “It is a pleasure to have your company, my dear.”

She forced a polite smile, supreme awkwardness grating at her skin. But then Tom stepped forward
at last, providing an escape. She led Dawn into the hall and allowed him to pass, making his way
to the stairs.

He stopped at the base, clutching the railing and gazing up at the landing with a far off look.

“Tom.”

He jolted, casting a glance over his shoulder, eyes dark. “This way.”
She nodded, tongue pressing the roof of her mouth to contain the questions welling in her throat.

They made their way upstairs, navigating through a nautically themed corridor lined with
bedrooms.

He stopped at the first one, pushing the door open fully and standing aside, allowing them room to
pass.

Hermione stepped in first, casting a quick glance around before releasing Dawn’s hand and making
a beeline for the window, testing the lock and gazing through the pane, inspecting the side of the
brick, looking for hand and footholds.

She turned around at last, shoulders dropping, unaware Tom watched her from the shadows with
gleaming eyes. She gazed at Dawn instead, gesturing her forward, surprised when she did as bade
without physical prompt.

Her heart swelled with hope.

“You’re going to be safe here, Dawn.”

But then the girl perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the wallpaper with the same blankness
of before.

Hermione sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair and swiftly exiting the room, gently
shutting the door behind her.

She gazed up-

But Tom was nowhere in sight.

She blinked, crossing to the next bedroom and entering. She unfastened her cloak, the home’s
warm temperature causing her to perspire, and then gasped as movement appeared at the corner of
her eye.

Tom stood by the dresser, coat tossed haphazardly over the desk chair, the top of his shirt
unbuttoned.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-” She glanced away, willing her feet to move. “I’ll take the next room.”

“No. This is yours.” He began to roll up his sleeves. “I’ll examine you here. Get on the bed.”

Her heart thundered manically, knees locking.

He observed her reaction and blinked, scrubbing a hand over his face in obvious exhaustion.

“Sit on the bed.” He sighed, arm falling. “Please.”

Her heart skipped anew but her legs finally answered her command, carrying her across the narrow
space to the edge of the mattress.

She sat as gingerly as she could, straightening her skirts to occupy her hands and focus.

Tom stepped forward, stopping just before her, a dark mass filling her vision.

“Lestrange said his guard accosted you. Did he cause serious injury?”
She wet her lips, folding her hands and meeting his gaze.

“He tackled me.” His eyes darkened. She hastened to add. “I hurt my knee but it feels fine now.”

He tilted his head, eyes unblinking.

“Lift your skirt.”

Her hands twitched, unable to break his gaze as she slowly slid her hands down, gathering handfuls
of the pale fabric and dragging it up her calves.

His eyes darted down, tracking the motion. And then he lowered to his haunches, so fast and
sudden she reared back, dropping her skirt.

His eyes flickered up, their faces level as he grasped the hemline and dragged it over her knees.

She blinked, hands curling over the edge of the mattress.

“Which one?”

She wet her lips. “The left.”

He grasped the thin fabric of her stocking, pulling the black fabric down. She bit the inside of her
lip as cold air met her bare skin. His focus lowered to her leg, cold fingers gripping behind her
knee and lifting.

The skin was stained a deep and mottled purple, the bruise faded at the edges, giving way to pale
gooseflesh.

He gently prodded the joint for several seconds, gripping her ankle and straightening her leg, his
body situated between her knees as he tilted his head, absorbed in his work.

“Swelling and bruising seems to be the worst of it.”

He lowered her ankle, leaving her stocking beneath her knee but pulling her skirts back down.

“What else?”

She shook her head, struggling to breathe normally. “Nothing. I told you, I feel fine-”

“Let me see your arm.”

She sighed in frustration but did as bade. He rose to his full height and took her wrist in hand,
turning it over and rotating it in either direction.

She took a deep breath, holding it.

“I promised Dawn we’d find a cure.” Her jaw worked silently as she searched for the words. “I’ve
broken promises before. Promises I never intended to keep and shouldn’t have made in the first
place.”

Her eyes flickered up, watching him work.

“But this is a promise I’ll die to keep.”

His expression betrayed no discernable emotion, but his eyes glittered in the sunlight. She leaned
forward.

“We have to find a cure, Tom. For Padma, for Dawn, for all of them.”

He lowered her arm, holding his hand out for the other.

“We will.”

She swallowed, placing her wrist in his palm as she struggled to phrase the question.

“How did…”

She bit her lip as his fingertips pressed her pulse point. He met her gaze, raising a brow.

“How did my mother come out of it?”

She swallowed, nodding.

Tom’s jaw ticked, inspecting the bruises wrapping her wrist.

“I don’t know if she ever really did.”

He released her arm and stepped back.

"As I told you before, her mind was never the same after. I imagine many more young women will
be driven to self-harm and suicide if they're left in the same condition."

She sighed deeply, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes in frustration.

“How the hell does he do it, Tom? How does he brainwash them like this?”

He folded his arms, studying her carefully. “What do you remember of your treatment session?”

She shook her head, dropping her arms to her sides.

“Not much. I was forced to take a pill, some sort of hallucinogen that induced amnesia. I recall
water. The orderly told me I was in a sensory deprivation tank. But I don’t remember anything that
happened inside of it.”

“Are you certain?”

She nodded, brows furrowed. “I’ve tried. I only see bits and pieces, brief glimpses-”

“Such as?”

She blinked. “I…” Her eyes drifted to his chest. “It’s all muddled. I see colors. But I also see
darkness.”

She swallowed heavily, gaze lifting as her nails dug into the quilt. “What if the treatment worked?
What if the amnesia is a side effect of him altering my mind?”

He tilted his head, eyes piercing. “You told me he was upset.”

She nodded. “He wanted to know how I resisted the procedure. I had no idea what he was talking
about. I still don’t.”

Tom stared at her for another tense beat, his eyes cutting a path straight through her.
"He didn't break your mind. You'd show signs, symptoms. I see nothing to indicate he was
successful in his endeavors."

He released her from his thrall, glancing to her leg and wrists as he folded his arms across his
chest.

“I also see no physical ailments, aside from bruising.” His gaze lifted. “But you need rest as much
as I do. Especially after your heroic sweep of Lestrange and his men.”

She tilted her head, hands sliding forward as she leaned in. “What are you going to do, Tom?”

“I’m going to sleep, as conditioned.”

She shook her head.

“I mean after that.” She pushed to her feet. “Please tell me you aren’t just going to storm the gates
of the asylum.”

Tom watched her steadily. “He won’t be at the asylum. He’ll have discovered the mountain of ash
and debris awaiting him in Bath and gone underground, sending his minions to take care of the
dirty work for him.”

“How will you find him?”

His eyes flashed brilliantly, voice deepening. “I’ll find him.”

Her pulse thrummed. “But how-”

“Hermione.”

Her jaw snapped shut. He took a slow step towards her, shadows swelling at his back, bleeding
across the walls.

“I’ll find him. And I will kill him.”

He continued to advance, arms dropping to his sides, hands clenching open air, stopping only when
her knees hit the bed and she pressed a hand to his chest to balance herself.

She swallowed heavily.

“We should get some rest.”

He blinked twice, taking a step back as his expression seemed to register her presence, their
surroundings. He drew a hand over his face once more, lids heavy with exhaustion.

“I’ll be next door.”

She nodded, tangling her fingers in her skirt. “Alright.”

She watched him walk to the door. As he crossed the threshold she drew in a slow breath, lifting
her chin.

“Tom.”

He paused with his hand on the knob, glancing over his shoulder.
She wet her lips, eyes gleaming. “Sleep well.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

And then he smirked.

“Sleep well, Ms. Granger.”

They held each other’s gaze as he closed the door, at last disappearing from sight.

Parvati drew her knees in, wrapping her arms around her legs and tipping her head back, staring
forlornly at the ceiling.

Only to gasp as something large and soft hit the side of her head.

She toppled sideways, hands bracing the hall runner, eyes narrowed in outrage.

Blaise stood a few feet away, couch cushion in hand, twin to the one he sent hurtling at her face.

He smiled.

“Pillow fight?”

She sat upright, pushing the hair from her face and pressing back into the wall.

“I’m not in the mood, Zabini.”

He shrugged lightly, proceeding closer.

“Fair enough.”

He dropped his cushion beside her. She blinked, gazing up with a creased brow, then scowling as
he slid down the wall into a graceless heap atop the pillow.

She scooted away as their shoulders pressed. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Sitting.” He mimicked her previous pose, bending his knees and tipping his head back. “And
you’re staring.” He smirked. “Which is to be expected, I know it’s difficult tearing one’s eyes
away from such perfection.”

She shook her head, grabbing the offending cushion and shoving it between her back and the
unforgiving wood paneling.

“You’d look a hell of a lot better if you didn’t talk.”

“You may have a point.”

The corner of her lips started to turn up of their own accord. She crossed her arms, schooling her
expression.

“I appreciate the sentiment. But I’m not in the mood for your brand of entertainment.” She stared
forward. “And I’d like to be alone.”

He folded his hands behind his head, getting comfortable.

She scowled anew.

“Why must you torture me at every opportunity?”

“Because you look utterly ravishing when you’re plotting my evisceration.” He lifted a brow,
glancing sideways. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

She scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. I know you heard our conversation through the door.”

“Parts of it.” He shrugged, gazing forward. “You’re afraid she’ll have another episode if she sees
you?”

Parvati's shoulders dropped, jaw set as she dug her nails into the hardwood.

“I finally get her back. After three endless, agonizing years, I finally get her back and I can’t even
be in the same fucking room with her.”

She blinked rapidly, eyes gleaming as she leaned forward and turned away to wipe them dry, voice
thick and scornful.

“Please leave.”

He took a slow, deep breath, watching her closely as his arms fell to his sides.

“Tell me about her.”

She blinked, twisting around. “What?”

“Padma. Tell me about her.”

She shook her head. “I don’t-”

“Your hair is different.”

Her face fell blank. He rested his forearms atop his knees, grasping his wrist.

“Your faces, too.” He tilted his head, slowly studying her bemused expression. “Especially your
eyes.”

She glanced away, wiping said eyes once more, tears smearing across her temples.

“We were identical as children.” She swallowed past the constriction in her throat. “We used to fool
everyone in the neighborhood, switching places, pretending to be the other for a day.”

She wet her lips, gaze gleaming as the memories danced before her mind’s eye.

“I’m certain we could have fooled our father if it wasn’t for our eyes.”

“Not your mum?”

She leaned back, closer than before, only a few inches between them.

“Mum worked from home, was around us night and day. Knew every nuance, every habit. She
could tell us apart by the way we blinked.”

He smiled. “You were closest to her then?”

“We were close to them both. They were good parents. Loving. Attentive.”
She leaned her head against the wall, gazing at the white expanse above.

“But nothing compared to the bond we shared with each other.”

She picked idly at the edge of the hall runner. “We had the same breath. The same heartbeat. We
slept holding each other. For warmth and practicality. We shared a tiny mattress in the corner. It’s a
miracle we both fit.”

She wound a loose thread around her finger.

“We’d be pressed together, I could feel her heartbeat against my chest.” She smiled. “I was always
the big spoon.” And then bit her lip. “Our heartbeats would align. So did our breathing. It was a bit
eerie. But comforting.”

A beat passed.

“We were two halves of a whole. Our own person, and yet not.” Her jaw silently worked. “We
always thought we shared the same soul.”

The tears welled anew. She blinked and they over spilled her bottom lashes. She made no move to
dry them.

“Which makes what I did truly unforgivable.”

His brow creased. “What did you do?”

She wiped at her cheeks at last, movements tight and angry.

“I didn’t search for her.”

“You thought she was dead.”

She shook her head, face stricken.

“I should have known better.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “We share the same heart, the same
breath, the same soul.” Her face glistened with tears. “I should have known she was still alive. I
should have felt her. I should have looked for her. I practically gave her to that fucking animal-”

“Parvati.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, gripping tighter when she shifted forward.

“There’s no way you could have-”

“Don’t.” She jerked away, turning her back to him. “You can’t possibly understand what I’m
talking about.” She took a jagged breath, placing a hand around her neck. “Please just go, Blaise.”

His hand hovered mid-air, slowly curling into a fist before dropping to his side.

He stared at her back for a long moment, eyes fixed upon the dark river of hair flowing down the
center, wavy from her braid.

“My brother died.”

Her spine straightened, head whipping around. She searched his gaze, her own bloodshot and tear-
stained.
“Your…” She wet her lips, rotating fully. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

He shook his head. “Neither did I. Not until I was fourteen.”

She settled back into the cushion, watching him silently.

“My mother inherited her title after marrying Alessandro Zabini, Count of Padua.”

He rested his arms atop his knees, eyes drifting to the opposite wall.

“But he wasn’t my father. She was nine weeks pregnant when they married. She managed to
convince him I was premature, despite the fact I practically weighed a full stone at birth, fat little
fuck that I was.”

She smiled. He drummed his fingers along the air, tapping a rhythmic beat.

“When I was twelve she told me who my real father was. She was drunk and feeling nostalgic I
suppose, riding out the last of her high after killing lucky husband number three." He carded a hand
through his hair. "She said he was a horse breeder. Traveled throughout Europe selling
thoroughbreds. Turned a decent profit, but not nearly enough to maintain her long term affections.”

He wet his lips. “I spent two years searching for him. I had nothing to go on but his name and
occupation. But I was so bloody desperate to meet him. So eager to get away from her. Away from
this life.”

He sighed, head hitting the wall with a dull thunk.

“I finally tracked his location in Scotland. He’d retired, bought a house near Inverness with a
massive stable.” He gazed at a crack in the ceiling tile. “I showed up on his door one rainy day in
April. Heart in my throat, vision hazy, terrified out of my mind. I knocked and…”

His shoulders tensed. “A boy answered. Nearly my age. Wearing nearly my face.” He swallowed
heavily. “His name was Logan.”

He took a deep breath, holding it for several beats before releasing, slumping down further.

“My father showed up a few minutes later. Recognized me on the spot, despite having no clue I
even existed up until that point.” He smiled fondly. “He was bloody shocked. And then he was
thrilled.”

Parvati scooted closer, shoulder pressing his arm.

“He invited me into his home, asked me hundreds of questions about myself, about my mother.
Logan’s mum died in delivery, it had always just been the two of them.” He drummed his fingers
along the floor. “He invited me to stay. Permanently.” His jaw tensed. “And I wanted to. So
fucking badly.”

He shook his head, chin lowering, gaze dragging down to the wood paneling. "But I knew my
mother's wrath knew no bounds. If she discovered I'd tracked my him down, approached him
behind her back…"

He blinked.

“I was terrified of what she might do.” His hands flattened on the ground. “So I paid them visit in
secret. Pretended I was on holiday with friends throughout the year. Theo covered for me, he was
the only one I told.”

His lips curved up. “I was never happier than when I was at that ranch. Logan was two years
younger... and was in bloody awe of me.”

His expression sobered. “I’d never experienced anything like that before. People are always rolling
their eyes. Dismissing me as the inebriated tosser of the group. A court jester. Easily ignored.
Easily forgotten.”

Parvati’s brow creased as she studied his profile.

“But Logan thought I pissed liquid gold. Followed me everywhere I went. Became my shadow. We
became close. Closer than I was with my father.”

He tipped his head back once more.

“Closer than I’ve been with anyone.”

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. The silence stretched on. Parvati shifted, swallowing lightly.

“What happened to him?”

He didn’t open his eyes.

“He was taming a wild Arabian. His father told him to wait for him to come out and help… but
Logan was always trying to grow up as fast as he could. He took the horse out on his own.”

His jaw tensed, hands clenching.

“He was thrown. Hit the ground with his neck. Died instantly.”

His lungs burned. He realized he’d stopped breathing.

“He was fifteen.”

She blinked, tears falling. She let them drop to her lap, placing her hand over his own on the
ground between them, squeezing.

“Blaise…”

He swallowed heavily, eyes opening, fixed ahead, unseeing.

“My father found him. Carried him back to the ranch in his arms. Buried him by hand in the woods
just outside the house.”

His vision was blurred. He wiped his eyes absently with the back of his other hand.

“He went inside. Wrote a letter. Addressed it to me. Pinned it to the front door. Walked into the
stable with a revolver and shot himself.”

She gasped, hand clenching atop his. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, leaning in and wrapping her
arms around him. “I’m so very sorry.”

He let her pull him down to her, resting his hand atop her knee. “I only knew them for three years.
Only saw them ten times or so. But losing them still felt like losing a part of myself.”
He rubbed his eyes once more, head throbbing. He took a steadying breath, reining in his emotions,
the memories.

“My point is…” He turned his head, meeting her eye. “I didn’t know they were dead until the letter
arrived at my house.”

Her eyes sparked, realization striking, arms tensing around his back and chest.

“And I hated myself for it. I hated that I’d spent the last four days laughing and partying and
drinking and living my life as though I hadn’t just lost the most vital part of myself. I hated that I
didn’t know. That I didn’t feel the very moment it happened.”

He held her dark gaze steady. “Five years later and I still hate myself for it.” His hand squeezed her
knee. “Your sister is alive, Parvati. She’s here. She’s real. Don’t spend the next five years hating
yourself. Don’t lose any more time with her.”

She blinked, another tear rolling free.

“I won’t.”

They stared at each other intently. He raised a hand, running the back of his index finger along her
cheek, catching the next tear. Her eyes sparkled and danced in the gaslight, a bright beacon
drawing him forward like a ship at sea.

They leaned in, mouths aligned-

“Harry Fucking Potter!”

The voice echoed loudly through the hall, causing them to freeze in place, sharing stuttered breath.

“If you aren’t in this house I swear to Jesus Christ and all his disciples I’m going to wring your
bloody neck before bricking you into the cellar the next chance I get!”

They held each other’s gaze for another long beat, amusement dancing in their eyes.

And then his hand dropped to his lap. Parvati sighed, leaning back.

“Shite. I told them about Mione but I forgot to mention Harry as well.”

Blaise pulled away. “It’s alright, Black’s warpath will lead him up here soon enough.”

They continued to watch the other. She tilted her head, dark hair cascading over her shoulder and
brushing her thighs.

“You don’t have to wait with me, Blaise.”

“I know.”

She smiled, though it was clearly forced, tinged in sadness.

“I’ll be okay.”

He nodded, resting his head against the wall.

“I know.”
She swallowed lightly, expression falling as her eyes drifted to his mouth, only to glance away in
the next moment, smoothing a hand over her skirts.

He smirked, reaching out and looping his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side.

She rolled her eyes but gave no resistance, settling into his frame and laying her head against his
shoulder, making no move to dislodge his hand from her hip.

They both gazed ahead, eyes heavy and dark, lost to shared heartache.

Lost to the past.

Daphne pivoted on the dais, gazing over her shoulder into the three-way mirror, eyes skimming the
train of the gown.

“Well?” Pansy asked from the chaise, bare feet hanging over the rolled edge. “What do you think?”

The blonde faced forward, smoothing a hand over the front panel.

“It’s beautiful.”

Astoria tilted her head, examining the side cutouts. “And certainly unconventional.”

Pansy tipped her head back, dark hair spilling over the tufted velvet as she laughed at the ceiling.

“I do believe that one word encapsulates my entire existence.”

Astoria smiled. “The dress is stunning, Pansy, but perhaps a bit much for a simple ceremony-”

“It’s perfect.”

They both faced Daphne. She turned to the mirror, silk swishing around her legs.

“My wedding gown would have been chosen for me. A dozen others would have a hand in the
design.”

Her eyes gleamed brightly as she gathered handfuls of the voluminous skirts, lifting and fluffing.
"But this…" The fluttering silk settled like a cloud. "This one I choose for myself.”

Pansy smirked, swinging her legs over the side of the chaise and pushing to her feet.

“You look radiant. Hardly virginal, but I think Gregory will appreciate this far more.”

She winked at Daphne’s reflection, coming up behind her and tugging at the loose fabric in the
back.

“It will need to be taken in around the hips and bust.”

Daphne met her gaze in the mirror, eyes narrowed. “No one likes a bragger, Pans.”

“You’ve been blessed with plenty enough appealing attributes, darling, do allow me this small
victory." She let go of the fabric, stepping back. "Besides, the neckline looks better with a smaller
chest. It's why I could never wear it out. One false move and I'd spill right out.”

Astoria raised a dark brow. “You’ve never worn it? What a shame, it’s too magnificent to sit in a
closet.”
Pansy met her gaze in the mirror. “I’ve never worn it out.”

Astoria giggled. “But you’ve worn it about the house? Playing gin rummy?”

Pansy smirked wickedly. “More like tending the garden.”

“Alright!” Daphne raised her hands. “Enough discussion about the dress before I change my mind
about wearing it.”

Pansy laughed. “I assure you it’s well laundered.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

Astoria shifted in her chair, gripping the armrests. “So you’ve made up your mind? This is the
one?”

Daphne nodded, eyes bright as she gazed down at herself. “Yes, it is.”

Astoria burst out of her seat as though it were spring loaded. The other girls spun in place, startled
by the sudden movement.

“That’s great.” She pressed her hands together, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I actually have
an errand to run, so if you don’t mind I’ll just meet you back at the house later.”

Daphne blinked. “Errand?”

Astoria nodded cheeks pinkening.

Her sister arched a brow. “What errand?”

“For the book. I have to visit the publishing house.”

Daphne blinked again. “Oh. Well, hold on, let me change and I’ll go with-”

“No, that’s alright!” Astoria skipped forward, quickly crossing the room. “It’ll be faster if I go
alone. I’ll see you this evening.”

“Tori-”

“You really do look beautiful.” She paused in the doorway, meeting Pansy’s eye. “It was lovely
seeing you, Pans. Thank you so much for your help.”

“Of course, darling. You know you’re welcome here anytime.”

She nodded, clutching the frame. “I’m off then.”

“Wait, Tori-”

“Bye Daph!”

Daphne sighed heavily as her sister rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

Pansy turned around, brow arched and lips curved. “What a fascinating girl.”

“Don’t get me started.” She shook her head, grabbing handfuls of copious skirt. “Now help me get
out of this dress.”
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve hungered to hear you utter those very words.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hilarious.” She turned her back to the brunette. “So, what gardens have you
been tending to then?”

Pansy stepped forward, tugging the ribbons free and loosening the stays. “I see, you expect me to
give up all my secrets while you keep yours under lock and key.”

Daphne sighed, gazing at her own pale reflection. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret from you, Pans. I
only decided on elopement last night. I haven’t even discussed it with Greg. I doubt it would have
even occurred to me if not for Tori.”

Pansy hummed low in her throat, pulling the sleeves off Daphne’s shoulders.

“Tori brought it up?”

Daphne nodded. “She’s been… different. Since her book deal.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“I’m not entirely certain. Good, I suppose. It’s just…” She wet her lips, glancing down as she
pushed the bodice down her hips. “She’s finally grown. It’s hard accepting that sometimes.”

“You’re her sister, Daph, not her mother.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

She sighed anew, accepting Pansy’s offered hand as she carefully stepped free of the swaddling
fabric.

“I just want to shield her from the harsh realities I was exposed to. I know I can’t protect her from
everything.”

She hopped off the dais, stumbling slightly as Pansy helped balance her.

“But I would give anything to protect her from a broken heart.”

Pansy released her, reaching for the gown and shaking it loose of wrinkles.

“Broken heart? Is that what she’s in the midst of?”

Daphne walked to the chaise, grabbing her discarded slip. “I don’t know what’s happening with
her. She went to dinner at the Tonks and came home asking the strangest questions.”

“Do you think she’s seeing someone?”

“I don’t know when she’d find the time, she only visits the publishing house.”

Pansy smirked, draping the fabric over her arm.

Daphne blinked, stepping into her dress.

“What?”

“Nothing.”
“Do you know something?”

“I know a great many things, luv.”

“Pans-”

“You worry far too much, Daphne.”

Her jammed her arms through the sleeves, eyes narrowed.

“I just don’t want to see her disappointed.”

“She had a crush on Harry and is engaged to Draco.” Pansy hung the dress from the partition.
“Disappointment visited her door a long time ago.” She turned around. “But she’s worked past it
and created something of her own. And now she’s forging ahead with it, despite the obstacles.”

She crossed the woven carpet, stepping behind Daphne once more and tightening her laces.

“You’re right, she’s finally grown. And one day very soon, you’re going to have to let her go. For
both your sakes.”

Daphne pressed a hand to her stomach, sucking in her breath, eyes burning.

“I don’t know if I can.”

Pansy paused her motions, no doubt hearing the hitch in her friend’s voice. She placed a hand to
her shoulder.

“If you truly love something, you must let it go.” She squeezed. “I think you’ll find giving her
space will bring you closer than before.”

Daphne laughed lightly, wiping at her eyes. “That is very sound advice. And decidedly disturbing
coming from you.”

“It felt disturbing even saying it.”

She smiled, glancing over her shoulder.

“Thank you, Pans.” She placed her hand over her friend’s, pinning it in place. “For the dress, for
everything.”

The brunette tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “You deserve to be happy, Daphne. I’m glad you’re
finally taking control of your fate.”

Daphne searched her gaze. “I wish…” She swallowed. “I want you to be happy too, Pans. You
deserve it just as much as anyone.”

Pansy smirked, dropping her hand and glancing away.

“Not everyone gets a happy ending.” She stepped back several paces. “Which is just as well.
They’re easily forgotten anyhow. Tragedies are far more memorable.”

She raised her chin, turning towards the mirror. “I don’t have to be liked. I don’t have to be
accepted. But I will be remembered.”

She met her reflection’s gaze, holding it with steely intensity.

“Whether they like it or not.”

Harry dragged a hand over his face, pulling back from the window with an exasperated sigh.

Only to jolt as a familiar sight came into view ahead.

His heart leaped, fist pounding the roof of the car.

“Here!”

The driver directed the horses to the side of the road, pulling up behind another carriage, the street
crowded and bustling with the afternoon rush.

Harry pulled open the door, staggering out.

“Stay here-”

“Sorry, Sir. Peak hours, I can’t reserve the carriage.”

He groaned, raking another hand through his hair, pulling at the roots.

“I’ll pay you double.”

The man lifted his chin, clearly deliberating the offer. His eyes swept the state of Harry’s clothes,
disheveled but bespoke, and finally nodded.

“Fine. But I got to circle round the block, I’ll be fined for being stationary without a passenger
otherwise.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright, meet me back on this corner when you come round.”

He turned on his heel and charged ahead, dodging pedestrians as he went, eyes affixed to the
swinging Apothecary sign in the distance. He bit his tongue preemptively, already dreading the
conversation sure to follow.

He’d only encountered Snape in person twice in his life. Both occasions had been supremely
unpleasant.

Reflecting more on the matter, which Harry was reluctant to do, it almost seemed as though the
chemist harbored a deep seeded hatred for Harry, which made no sense whatsoever as Harry had
never been anything but perfectly polite, if not slightly rambunctious, during both of their brief
encounters.

How anyone could hate a child for any reason was beyond Harry.

But then again, some people were just arseholes.

Yet he'd face down the snapping bat once again if it meant finding Ron. Harry had been
unsuccessful in his hunt so far but felt hopeful his friend may have come to Hermione's place of
work in search of her.

He paused outside a food trolley, waiting for it to pass before proceeding for the front door of the
shop.

He was about to resume his path when the door opened.

And a familiar face emerged.

He reared back, heart thrumming, scrambling to regain his senses.

“Susan!”

She glanced around, spine straight, her eyes widening when they found him at last.

“Harry!”

He darted around the trolley, meeting her halfway.

“I’m looking for Ron, have you seen him?”

She nodded, placing a hand to her hat to keep it in place as a particularly strong breeze blew past.
“We parted ways about half an hour ago. He asked me to visit the Apothecary since Snape would
be more likely to speak with me.”

Harry blinked, grabbing her elbow and escorting her closer to the brick, out of the path of busy
pedestrians.

“He enlisted you to help him search?”

She must have sensed the unease in his voice.

“Don't worry, he told me everything you said. I didn’t tell my father, even though I really think-”

“Mione is fine. She’s at Grimmauld.”

Her eyes went wide once more, relief flooding her delicate features.

“Oh thank god! Ron was out of his mind with worry.”

He breathed his own sigh of relief. “I’ve been searching everywhere for him. I was terrified he’d
end up like-”

He stopped short, heart skipping anew.

“Sorry.”

She shook her head, glancing away. “It’s alright. You can say Cormac’s name. I won’t fall apart.”

His jaw tensed. “I know.”

“Harry!”

He spun around.

“Oh thank Christ.”

Ron appeared at the end of the street, red hair standing out like a fiery beacon as he waved his long
arm overhead. His cheeks turned ruddy as he jogged to where they stood.

“Please tell me you found her.”

Harry nodded. “She arrived at Grimmauld this morning.”

Ron dragged both hands through his hair, leaning back against the bookstore wall and catching his
breath.

“Shite! I’ve been all over the city, I was running out of places to look.” He gripped his side.
“Where’s that bastard? Where’s Rabastan?” His blue eyes raged like a turbulent sea. “Did he hurt
her? I swear to fucking God-”

“She’s alright, Ron.” Harry placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, but the muscle remained tense
beneath his palm. “She’s safe. You can see for yourself. I have a carriage on the way, I’ll take you
to Grimmauld.”

Ron nodded, standing away from the wall. Susan shifted at their sides, earning Harry’s attention
once more.

“Do you-”

“I’d like to come as well. Unless you rather go alone-”

"Of course not." Ron sidled closer. "You'll come with us." He reached down and grabbed her hand.
"I'm terrified to let anyone out of my sight anymore. I need to check on Gin-”

“Ginny is fine, Ron.” She laid a hand to his chest. Harry watched in fascination as he instantly
calmed beneath her touch, shoulders dropping. She smiled, voice soothing. “We saw her only an
hour ago at the Burrow.”

Ron inhaled deeply. “Okay.” He dragged his other hand over his face. “Shite, let me pop down the
street. Fred’s at the Tonks, I stopped in looking for her and got him all worked up.”

Harry nodded, stepping back. “Meet us on the corner when you’re done, we’ll be in the carriage.”

Ron continued to hold Susan’s gaze, leaning down and dropping a quick kiss to the top of her head
while she laughed. Harry glanced away, tucking his hands in his pockets while Ron squeezed her
hand and then dropped it, taking off down the street in another jog.

Susan stepped forward. Harry looked up, offering his elbow. She smiled, grabbing it with both
hands while he escorted her at a much slower pace.

She wet her lips, voice low.

“I’m glad she’s alright.”

He nodded. “So am I.” He gestured to the corner with his chin. “The carriage is down here.”

She easily kept pace beside him as he navigated them through oncoming foot traffic. He glanced at
her as they emerged from the crowd.

“Thank you for helping look.”

Her brow furrowed. “Of course. I’ll help any way I can.” And then her eyes darted forward, teeth
worrying her bottom lip. “Speaking of which… I’ve been meaning to tell you something but I
haven’t been able to visit Grimmauld.”

He tilted his head. “What?”

“I raided the record’s room at work. It took a few searches to find anything. I could never stay very
long, the office is so busy in the day and my father gets suspicious if I linger in the evening.”
His heart thundered. “But you found something.”

She nodded, straightening her hat once more. “Some cold cases that align with Lavender’s
murder.” She flexed her jaw, as though struggling to contain the words. “And something else.”

She met his gaze as they stopped on the corner, carriages rushing past in a flash of noise and wind.

“I looked up the Doctor. Tom Riddle.”

Harry sighed, shoulders lowering.

“It’s alright, Susan. I was suspicious of him back then, but I trust him now.”

She leaned in swiftly, speaking above the fray. “I think he’s very dangerous, Harry.”

He bit back a smirk, unnerved by his own morbidly amused reaction. “So do I.”

She opened her mouth, searching his gaze. “You don’t understand, I found-”

“Aye, Sir! You ready?”

They both jumped as a carriage came to a crashing halt along the curb just before them, the driver
pulling hard on the reins as the horses brayed and panted heavily. Harry nodded.

“We’re waiting on one other.”

The driver wound the reins around his hand. “Aye, Sir. Hop on in.”

Harry stepped off the curb, reaching for the golden handle and pulling open the door, offering her
his other hand. She stepped closer but made no move to enter.

“Harry, please listen, Dr. Riddle isn’t-”

“Oi!”

They both glanced up at the familiar timbre. Ron began his sprint down the street towards them,
red hair flying in the wind. He nearly collided with an old woman as his gaze remained fixed
ahead, earning the full wrath of her ire. He threw his arms over head, blocking the blows of her
parasol as she proceeded to beat him with it.

Harry used the momentary distraction to lean in, gripping Susan’s arm and regaining her attention.

“He isn’t what, Susan?”

She wet her lips, complexion pale. She glanced nervously to the side. Ron was heading straight for
them again. She gazed up at Harry, eyes frantic.

“I think it’s a very bad idea for Hermione to be alone with him.”

She grasped the handrail and hoisted herself into the carriage. Harry blinked several times, Ron's
shadow fast approaching from behind.

He gazed into the interior, meeting her eye and nodding with firm resolve.

“Then I’ll make sure she keeps her distance.”

Hermione rolled to her side, releasing a sharp sigh of frustration, inadvertently blowing a strand of
hair across her face.

She huffed in annoyance, forcibly pushing the curl aside as she gazed ahead at the wall separating
her bedroom from Tom’s.

She closed her eyes, rolling to her back and then glancing at the opposite wall.

Separating her from Dawn.

Bloody hell.

She gazed at the ceiling, raking her nails across her scalp and gathering her hair into a messy pile.

She couldn’t lie still. Couldn’t relax. Couldn’t slow her mind.

So she sat up, propped on her elbows and gazing at the sheer curtains ahead.

The light was slowly fading, heavy shadows cast across the walls.

Her eyes flitted to the door, lingering on the knob.

She bit her lip.

Don’t even think about it.

She sat up the rest of the way, swinging her legs over the side of the mattress.

You are a guest in this home, Hermione Granger!

She rose to her feet, bare soles padding softly across the wood.

Don’t. You. Dare.

She stopped outside the door, shifting anxiously.

Bloody hell, you’re a fool.

She grasped the knob with both hands, holding her breath.

Alright, let’s get on with it then.

She opened the door slowly, pressing her tongue to her teeth as she peered into the empty stretch of
hallway beyond, straining to listen for noise.

She glanced to her right, staring at Tom’s door.

No sound emitted.

She crept out, shutting her door behind her, leaving it barely ajar before rising to her tiptoes and
creeping in the opposite direction.

She paused outside Dawn’s room, pressing her ear to the wood.

Silence greeted her.

She briefly considered peaking in on the girl, but quickly shook her head, dismissing the notion.
Dawn deserved her privacy as much as any of them.

Her hands curled to fists, arms held aloft as she crept along the runner as though navigating a
balance beam, eyes narrowed in concentration as though she could see which wood slats would
elicit a groan.

She made it to the stairwell without commotion, releasing her breath in a powerful rush as she
clutched the banister and made her way down.

She paused at the bottom, glancing either way down the hall, unnerved by the silence at either end.

She wondered if Dumbledore was still home.

She sighed, heading in the direction of the kitchen, deciding a cup of tea would settle her nerves.

When the quiet finally shattered.

Rapid footsteps raced in the distance, light and soft, followed by a child’s sharp peel of laughter.

Hermione spun in place, eyes wide, heart leaping as she caught sight of blonde hair and white
skirts.

The little girl disappeared around the corner, pattering footsteps growing distant.

“Hello?”

Melodious laughter met her ears once more.

Hermione awoke from her momentary stupor, leaping forward and darting down the hall, slowing
only to round the corner, hand bracing the wall.

She gasped as a door at the end of the adjoining hall slammed shut, only the barest sliver of a pale,
smiling face taking root in her mind before the solid wood barrier filled her view.

“Hello?”

She carefully approached, heart racing as she stopped just before the door, pressing her hand to the
wood.

The girl’s laughter continued on, muffled and unabated.

Hermione reached for the knob-

“Good evening, my dear.”

She screamed, slapping a hand to her mouth and spinning around, back slamming against the
frame.

She blinked rapidly, pressing a hand to her chest and flushing brightly as she met a pair of startling
blue eyes.

“Admiral!”

He smiled, concern and amusement etching his face in equal measure. “I didn’t mean to startle
you. I thought I heard you speaking to me.”
She wet her lips, trying to catch her breath. “I was speaking to the girl.”

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming beneath the sconce light.

“Dawn?”

She shook her head, arms dropping, hand resting atop the brass knob.

“No, the-”

She paused, realizing with a cold wash of dread that she may not have truly seen what she thought
she saw.

She swallowed tentatively. “I thought I…” She shook her head, curls dancing across her shoulders.
“Nevermind.”

He smiled, voice patient. “Perhaps you saw a ghost.”

Despite his soothing tone, she felt her entire body tense, the knob rattling beneath her trembling
hand. “Perhaps.”

His eyes darted down, fixing upon her hand curled around the knob.

“That room has been sealed for many years.”

She released the brass handle as though it were red hot.

“My apologies.”

He met her gaze once more. “There is nothing to apologize for.” His smile turned brittle, the
creases deepening at the corner of his mouth and eyes. “It was my sister’s bedroom.”

She laced her fingers before her, standing away from the door. “I didn’t know you have a sister.”
She smiled amicably. “Does she live in London?”

“She’s dead.”

Her smile dropped like a dead weight. “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded slowing, studying her expression with unnerving precision.

“You are not unaccustomed to loss either.” He tilted his head. “My deepest condolences. Losing a
parent is never easy, little less both, and to such tragic circumstances at such a young age.”

Her body throbbed, pulse deafening. “Thank you.”

The silence lingered, coated their skin, corrosive as acid.

She wet her lips once more, gathering her nerve and opening her mouth-

But no sound emitted, questions flying through her mind far too quickly to grasp a single one.

His eyes gleamed, expression unnervingly knowing as he took a step back, allowing her room to
move beside him.

“Would you like some tea? I find that tea is always a good answer, no matter the question.”
She breathed a heavy sigh of relief, nodding quickly. “That’s actually what I came downstairs to
get.”

“Great minds think alike. Right this way, my dear.”

She sidled beside him, matching his slow and casual gate down the hall and peering sideways at
him.

“Thank you again for taking us in. I know you’ve said it isn’t necessary, but I must express my
deepest gratitude.”

“You are a very emotive girl.”

She blinked. He smiled, chuckling softly and gazing down upon her.

"I mean that as a compliment, I assure you. I find your disposition a breath of fresh air. Tom has
always worked so hard to conceal his emotions, likely in an attempt to convince himself he doesn't
have them."

She bit her lip, studying his profile as he led them around the corner and into the heavily shadowed
kitchen.

“You’ve known him since he was young then?”

He grinned, flipping a switch on the wall and triggering the gaslight on the ceiling.

“How much has he told you?”

She glanced away, trying not to fidget. “Not much.”

“Did he expressly forbade you from asking such questions?”

Her eyes flashed, shoulders drawing back, earlier trepidation forgotten.

“No. He knows forbidding me from something is the surest way to drive me towards it.”

Dumbledore’s melodious laughter filled the small space, bouncing off the tiled floor and
backsplash, a deep, soothing cadence that smoothed her hackles.

“Ah, it’s all starting to come together.”

She watched him open the cupboard. “What is?”

He removed a black kettle, walking towards the sink. “His attachment to you.”

She reared back, burning with fever and grasping the edge of the countertop for balance, fingertips
turning white.

“I- we aren’t- he doesn’t-”

He turned on the faucet, smiling all the while. “There is no need to be embarrassed, my dear. Tom
has a powerful draw. Very few can resist, regardless of their opinion of him.”

He set the full kettle aside. “However, I’ve never seen him keep what he captures.” He removed
two mugs from an overhead rack. “Until now.”
She swallowed heavily, heart beating so rapidly her vision hazed. “We’re working together to bring
the organization down. That’s all.”

“Just a simple life or death mission to save the world.”

His casual tone helped her breathe easier, the corner of her lips lifting of their own accord.
“Whatever you want to call it. We’re simply working together, as partners.”

He nodded, grasping the kettle handle once more. “If he agreed to a partnership, there is nothing
simple about it.” He set it atop the burner, sliding open the drawer and extracting a narrow box of
matches. “But I’m leading our conversation astray. You want to know how I came to be Tom’s
guardian?”

She blinked, thoughts caught in a chaotic cyclone. “I…” She watched him strike a match. “I
thought you were merely his benefactor.”

He lit the burner, shaking out the match. “I was that as well.”

A narrow strip of smoke rose into the air, twisting and bending before her eyes, stretching wide
as gaping eyes and mouths appeared, silent screams filling her head until the cloud dissipated into
thin air.

“I met Tom the day he was born. Alas, I did not hold him. Merope was far too protective to let
anyone come near.”

He set the matches aside, stepping away from the stove. “She was better in those days.” He turned
to face her. “Those early days. Her mind began to deteriorate as the years progressed. While her
obsession grew.”

He paused, shaking his head ruefully. “I’m getting ahead of myself.” He slowly approached the
opposite end of the island she hovered behind. “I should really start the story with Ariana.”

He read the confusion on her face.

“My sister. Nearly a decade my junior. And the absolute light of my life.”

He smiled fondly, leaning a hip against the counter. “Ari was…” His eyes drifted upwards,
sparkling otherworldly. “She was many things. I could go on for days singing her praises. But none
of that is relevant to the topic at hand.”

He crossed his arms, smile fading. “The relevant piece of information is that she was taken by the
Dollmaker. One of his first victims.”

She held her breath, unconsciously shifting forward, drawn by the powerful cadence of his voice.

"After her murder, I pursued him tirelessly. I won't disturb you with the details, but my hunt lasted
a great many years and took me a great many places, literal and figurative. I was a lost soul,
wandering the bowels of hell in pursuit of the devil himself."

His eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. “I never found him. Close as I got, he was always at least
one step ahead.” He met her eye, gaze intense, unyielding. “And then my search ended
permanently. The day I found Merope.”

She wet her lips, leaning into the opposite side of the counter. “Tom’s mother.”
“Indeed. She was pregnant at the time and somehow escaped her former Master. The Dollmaker
was hunting for her. A price was on her head.” He sighed deeply, glancing to the counter and then
back up, gaze dark. “It is to my endless shame I must admit to you, my very first thought was not to
protect her.” A heavy beat. “Rather, it was to use her as bait.”

Her heart jolted. He seemed to read the disquiet in her eyes.

"It was at that moment I realized the full extent of my transformation. I saw the creature I had
become. An animal driven by base instinct, rage, and hatred. A shell of my former self."

His jaw tensed, words course, grating. “I knew Ariana would be ashamed of the man I had become.
The legacy of death and destruction I left in her name.”

He raised his chin, light chasing away the shadows marring his sharp features. “So I took Merope
and gave up the hunt. I brought her into my care, my home, and helped finance her way after Tom
was born.”

His tone changed, seeming to soften and deepen at the same time, conflict evident in his eyes and
voice. "She became more able-bodied as time progressed. I purchased a home for her outside of
London. My Naval career began to take off and I visited less often. I knew there were difficulties,
but I never knew the full extent of them, not until it was much too late."

He scrubbed a hand over his face, scratching absently at his beard, staring thoughtfully at a cabinet
on the wall. “She thought she was in love with Thomas Riddle. A piece of conditioning that
refused to wear off I’d assumed, despite her ability to somehow break free of the worst of it.”

He sighed deeply, arms crossing tight over his chest.

“She abandoned the home I’d given her and moved to London. Took up residence near the docks,
refusing my assistance at every turn. Riddle had left Mungo’s by then and was deep inside the
Dollmaker’s pocket. I did my best to keep Merope and Tom hidden. But she became increasingly
unstable.”

His jaw tensed. “She finally tracked down Thomas’s whereabouts and sent him a letter, detailing
her location.”

Hermione clutched the counter anew, a tremor of dread seizing her.

“By the time I sailed back to London it was too late.”

She shuddered as darkness enveloped the room, taking them both under in a sudden, powerful rush.

“Merope was dead. Tom was gone.”

She closed her eyes, terrified of the tale to follow, but needing to hear it all the same. Every word.
Every detail.

“It took three months to find him. Thomas had taken him to the continent. They were nearly to
Asia by the time I-”

He broke off abruptly, eyes lost, face stricken. Her chest ached painfully. She pressed a hand to her
heart. The movement gained his attention, eyes darting to her, unfocused but intense.

“I brought Tom back to London with me. He was hospitalized for several weeks before being
released into my custody. He lived in this very house, though he ran away more times than I can
count, bursting with anger and resentment and confusion.”

He swept a hand over the countertop, brushing away invisible crumbs. “Merope and I had decided
to keep the story of his conception a secret. He found out the truth in the most horrific way
possible. And with his mother gone, he took out all of his frustration on me.”

He nodded, as much to himself as to her.

“Rightly so.”

He glared at the wood grain, but she knew who the true recipient of his derision was.

“I should have known better. I should never have left her alone.” He shook his head, hand curling
to a fist. “If only I had been more focused on what was truly important instead of my career, this
entire tragedy may have been avoided.”

A brief pause. An endless expanse of despair and heartbreak.

“Ariana may still be alive.”

She swallowed heavily, speaking without pause. “It’s not your fault she was taken.”

He blinked, eyes flickering up, as though once more registering her presence before him.

His expression softened, the flames in his eyes dimming. “It is useless to ponder now. But it still
haunts me. More often than I care to admit.”

The kettle began to steam.

“I was away when it happened. I’d just been promoted and was halfway around the world when I
found out what they did.”

She blinked.

“They?”

“Our parents.”

She blinked again. The kettle started to whistle.

“Ariana was not like other girls.” He backed away from the island, turning to the stove. “At sixteen
her mind was still as innocent as a child’s. She was intelligent, to be certain, but her mental
development did not follow along what doctor’s deemed a normal path.”

He grabbed a dishtowel, wrapping the handle and lifting the kettle from the flame. “My parents
were staunch traditionalists. Ashamed to have a child who was different. They feared their
reputation would be tarnished once she reached majority and could no longer be hidden.”

He turned off the stove, returning to the cabinet. “So they waited until I disembarked for my
longest assignment yet. And then sent her to a group home.”

He extracted a teapot, less decorative than the one he previously used to serve them.

“They claimed it was for her own benefit. To afford her round the clock care with professionals
who could help fix her. As if she was broken. As if there was something fundamentally wrong with
being wholly unique.”
He sighed heavily, pouring the steaming liquid into the pot.

“My apologies, my dear. It’s been some time since I’ve spoken on the topic. I get rather… heated,
as you can see.”

She shook her head, bracing the counter. “Don’t apologize on my account. You have every right to
be heated. What they did was truly unforgivable. Shipping away their own child.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I would love to say it was a different time. But I fear times have
not changed a great deal since.”

Her jaw set, eyes narrowed as she watched him slide a sealed jar of tea leaves across the counter.

“I was committed based on the hearsay of one person.”

He nodded, as though already knowing as much. “I am very sorry you had to endure such horrors.”
He gathered a pile of ground leaves with a wooden scoop, gracefully pouring them into the infuser.
“I am also sorry you’re entangled in this mess.”

Her shoulders lowered, hands unclenching. “None of us asked to be entangled. He abused the
people we loved and destroyed our lives. We had no choice.”

She wet her lips, eyes transfixed by his seamless ministrations as he sealed the jar and replaced the
lid of the pot.

“Did he…” Her brows furrowed, words jumbling in her throat. She forced them free, eager to
dispel them. “May I ask what became of Ariana?”

He tilted his head, placing his hands flat to the counter and glancing up, eyes bright and guileless
once more.

“I’d like to show you something.”

She tilted her head, sensing the weight of his words.

“Alright.”

He smiled warmly, pushing back from the counter and leading a slow path into the hallway.

She stopped in the doorway, watching as he paused before a small decorative table, running his
fingertips beneath the top and releasing a small hidden panel.

A gleaming key fell into his palm.

Her heart climbed steadily up her throat as he made his way to the sealed door at the end of the
corridor.

The bedroom.

She held her breath, taking a slow step forward, hands curling as he slid the key into the lock.

And paused.

He stood frozen for several moments, one hand on the key, the other flat against the wood.

He spoke to the barrier, voice low.

“I have not opened this door in a very long time.”

She paused a few feet away. “You don’t have to-”

“It’s alright. I just needed a moment.”

She nodded, though she knew he couldn’t see the movement. His shoulders drew in, back tight.

And then he released a long breath, turning the key.

The lock clicked loudly, jolting her.

He pushed open the door in the next moment, hovering at the threshold, outlined by the utter
darkness beyond.

She blinked, blood running cold as he stepped fully inside, the shadows swallowing his form.

She opened her mouth, no words emitting, pulse thrumming as she heard the faint movement
within.

And then he pulled a heavy curtain aside at the opposite end, beckoning forth the fading evening
sun, the room filling with pale orange light.

She breathed a heavy sigh, forcing her knees to unlock, crossing to the end of the hall.

He tied the curtain aside, a heavy dust cloud disturbed by the motion, thousands of tiny flecks
dancing in the light.

She blinked, the room slowly coming into view the closer she approached.

And then she reached the threshold.

And saw it at last.

She barely stifled a gasp, staggering back, clipping her shoulder against the wall as the blood
drained rapidly from her face and pooled at her feet, weighing her in place, cold and frozen, mind
driven wild by panic.

Yet only one thought emerged, clear and urgent above all others.

“Oh my god.”

Astoria hovered outside the brick wall, trying to regulate her breathing while compulsively running
her hands over the front of her skirts, smoothing invisible wrinkles.

She moved to her hair next, running fingertips through the dark locks, ignoring the tremor in her
hands.

She blushed when she caught sight of her reflection in the shop window across the alley.

Two gentlemen walked past, pausing their conversation to gaze upon her. They tipped their hats,
eyes roaming her figure and lingering on her curves, causing her heart to beat erratically, squirming
in place as she forced a congenial smile, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing away,
breathing easier once they rounded the corner.
She knew it was positively immoral for a young woman of title to be seen in public without a
chaperone. She could only imagine what her society friends would think of her, stricken with the
near crippling fear of a pedestrian recognizing her and reporting her wild antics to her father.

But then the door opened in the shop across the street and all thoughts fled her mind, fear included.
She stood straighter, rising to her tiptoes, hand hovering mid-air.

She swallowed, lowering it to her side as she watched him emerge into the bright sunlight, running
a hand through his hair and straightening his collar, blue eyes darting in either direction as he spun
a slow circle.

It was surreal, watching someone look for her.

It caused warmth to permeate her belly, spreading up into her chest and low into her-

She swallowed again, body throbbing with the force of her heartbeat.

No one had ever sought out her company, searched for her in a crowd. No one but Daphne.

And Fred Weasley was certainly not Daphne.

The light glinted off his auburn hair, freckles standing in stark relief on his smooth skin, shirt
stretched taut across his chest and arms as he rested his hands atop his head, continuing to search
the busy street from his tall vantage point.

She stepped forward, intent on ending his struggles-

And then his eyes found her.

She froze in place, going both rigid and boneless as his face split into a wide, uninhibited grin, eyes
sparkling brilliantly even from a distance.

He lowered his arms, gaze slowly tracking down her figure. It was a quick inspection, his eyes
didn’t linger as the other men’s had, but a brief look of unmistakable appreciation stole his features
and her remaining breath.

He waved to her and then sprang forward, focusing upon the passing carriages, long legs eating up
the cobblestone as he navigated his way across the busy road.

She flushed hotly, silently cursing herself and trying her damnedest not to fidget, to leave her dress
and hair alone.

She held her breath as he reached the curb at last, slowing his jog to a slow gait as he crossed the
sidewalk towards her.

Her hands clenched. She forced them to relax, craning her neck to hold his gaze as he stopped
directly before her, disarming grin still firmly affixed to his handsome face.

“Hey.”

She couldn’t stop her face from mirroring his expression.

“Hey.”

It was the most inelegant greeting she'd ever extended, and yet he appeared overjoyed by it, blue
eyes searching her face, lingering at her lips but never dropping below her chin.
“You look beautiful.”

Her flush turned into a fever, burning so hot she was certain she’d faint any moment now.

“Thank you.”

He laughed, shaking his head and holding her gaze, the sound melodious and infectious, causing
her smile to widen.

“I probably shouldn’t say those kinds of things. My manners are a bit wanting. Mum could never
get me or Georgie to sit still long enough to teach us anything of value.”

She tilted her head, eyes glittering. “You’re much too critical of yourself. There’s nothing wrong
with your manners.”

His smile stretched past his face. She laughed shortly.

“Alright, perhaps they’re a bit rusty." She felt her spine loosen, shoulders easing back. "But there
are far worse things to be lacking in."

“You’re far too polite, Miss Greengrass.” He bent his arm, holding it aloft. “Fancy a stroll,
milady?”

She laughed shortly.

“Only if you promise to be yourself.” She wet her lips, heart skipping when his eyes tracked the
movement. “And to call me Astoria.”

He nodded, meeting her gaze as she stepped forward to take his arm.

“Anything you want.” His eyes shone an unfathomable blue, brighter than the sky, freer than the
ocean. “Astoria.”

Pansy nodded to the host, sending him a wink as he pulled out her chair.

Theo rolled his eyes, retaking his seat as she lowered into hers. The young man backed away
swiftly, blushing as his eyes lingered on her form.

Theo cleared his throat and she met his gaze at last, the very picture of innocence. “What?”

He shook his head, replacing his napkin in his lap. “How nice of you to finally join me.”

“How nice of you to wake me up at the crack of dawn with a lunch invitation.”

“More like dinner now.”

She shrugged, grabbing up her own napkin and shaking it open. “I sent a letter informing you I’d
be late.”

He glanced down, tracing his salad fork with an idle fingertip. “I haven’t been home in a while.”

She hummed, smoothing her napkin. “Is that so? Is there greater entertainment elsewhere?”

“You could say that.”

She blinked, glancing up, dark eyes gleaming. “Do tell.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows
atop the linen and folding her hands beneath her chin. “I’ve been bored to tears, cooped up all
alone in my little shack.”

He arched a dark brow. “I highly doubt you’ve been alone.”

She glanced to the table, leaning back in her chair. “I haven’t had company for quite some time.”

He watched her brush imaginary crumbs from the linen. By the time her eyes lifted her expression
was schooled, voice carefully void of inflection.

“So, what’s on your mind? I assume you didn’t call this meeting simply to gaze upon your
magnificent fiance.”

He smirked. “I’ve always preferred your company to all others, Pans.”

She smirked in turn. “All others?”

He shook his head, barely suppressing an eye roll. “Most others.”

She folded her hands primly, spearing him through with her glinting gaze.

“Alright, you’ve sufficiently sweet talked me. What do you need?”

He folded his arms atop the table. “Just a small favor. But one of vital importance.”

“I’m intrigued.”

He opened his mouth, only to close it as their waiter arrived.

“Good day, Sir Nott, Lady Parkinson.” He bowed low, nose nearly touching the tabletop. “It is an
honor to serve-”

“There’s no need for that, darling.” Pansy waved a hand. “Just bring a bottle of your most
expensive red and keep them coming.”

He blinked. “Of course, Madam. May I take your food order as well?”

“I have a feeling I’m going to be drinking my dinner tonight.”

Theo sighed, nodding to the man. “Just the wine for now.”

The waiter bowed once more. “Right away.”

Theo watched her closely as the man departed. “Liquid dinner?”

"Don't pretend you haven't partaken in the same. Let's get back on the relevant topic-"

“That can wait.”

She tilted her head. “You just said it was vitally important.”

“It is. But so are you.” His eyes roamed her face. “You seem distracted. Has something
happened?”

Her jaw tightened, fingers drumming along the stem of her empty glass. “Nothing of interest.”

“So you’ve mentioned. Why is that?”

“I lead a very mundane life.”

“Since when?”

“I don’t want to discuss me, Theo. Either ask what you came to ask or-”

“Did your father do something?”

She went rigid in her seat, hand flattening atop the table.

“No.”

“Pans, I told you, if he comes to the house you send a message to me or Draco right away-”

“He didn't come to the bloody house! He doesn’t even know I took up residence there.” She sighed
deeply, shoulders drawing back as her eyes narrowed. “Fine, if you insist on sharing, why don’t
you tell me why you haven’t been home in so long?”

Theo sat back, holding her lethal gaze steady.

“I came out to my father.”

She jolted, knocking the glass over, pallor fading to deathly white.

The waiter emerged from the ether, bright smile affixed and bottle in hand.

“Here we are, Sir and Madam, our finest bottle of-”

He blinked, mouth opening and closing as he glanced between them.

“Our finest bottle of-”

“I’ll take it.” Theo reached out, grabbing the bottle by the neck and setting it on the table. “Thank
you, that will be all.”

The waiter nodded, quickly scurrying away.

Pansy continued to gape, seemingly oblivious to the man’s appearance and departure.

Theo rubbed his eyes. “I shouldn’t have sprung-”

“You what?”

He dragged the hand over his face, lingering at his mouth, meeting her wide gaze. “You heard
me.”

She leaned in swiftly, hands bracing the edge of the table as though preparing to flip it over.

“Are you insane? What the hell were you thinking? Goddammit, Theo!”

He glanced at the neighboring tables, several pairs of eyes darting in their direction, followed by
low whispers.

“Shh! Keep your voice down!”

“You must be the biggest fucking imbecile on the goddamn planet!”

“Pans-”

“He’ll kill you. It’s a miracle you’re still alive right now.” She shook her head, pressing a hand to
her temple, eyes darting around the table, glancing off every item in the place settings. “It’s alright,
it’ll be alright… we’ll think of something. You can deny the accusation, his testimony won't hold
water if we can-”

“Pansy, calm down.”

Her eyes flickered back up.

“Calm down?” Her nails dug grooves into the soft veneer, color infusing her cheeks. “Do you have
any idea what you’ve done? You’ve not only endangered your life but Potter’s as well!”

“Pansy!” He slammed his hand on the table, causing her to jump and his own glass to fall,
silverware bouncing in place.

He lowered his voice, well aware of the stares they were receiving. “Pansy, please, shut up for two
goddamn seconds.”

She blinked, setting back and lips pressing thin.

He wet his own, voice calm and steady. “My father isn’t going to report me.”

She opened her mouth but he held up a staying hand. “Pans, just listen.”

She sighed, crossing her arms and grinding her jaw, eyes burning in the low light.

“I didn’t plan on telling him. We got into a heated row and it just… slipped out.”

She scoffed. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Okay. It didn’t slip out. I told him quite deliberately. I wanted to piss him off.” His hands curled to
fists atop the table. “He was being more vile than usual, more violent.”

Her eyes darted to the faded bruise beneath his eye, brow creasing as though she was just now
seeing it, the shadows heavy in this corner of the restaurant.

“I hit my limit and I hit it hard. So I told him.” He swallowed heavily. “Actually, he already knew.
Thanks to Lucius Fucking Malfoy.” He released a deep breath. “But I confirmed it.”

Her brow flattened, jaw working silently for several moments before she spoke.

“I know your father is a right bastard. But you shouldn’t have given him the ammunition.”

“He won’t tell anyone.” He shook his head. “I’m his only heir. If I’m arrested it’ll disgrace our
family, him included. He’d never put his reputation at risk, no matter his hatred of me.”

Her hands slid into her lap, shoulders dropping. “I need a drink.”

He nodded resolutely. “I second that.”

He set their glasses right and poured hers to the brim. She picked it up before he pulled the bottle
away, wine splashing the white linen.

She had it drained by the time he finished filling his own. He raised a brow, impressed, and
emptied the bottle into her awaiting glass.

She watched the ruby liquid pour, eyes hooded.

“You can justify it all you want, Theo. It was still a fucking terrible decision.”

He nodded, setting the empty bottle aside. “I know.” He picked up his glass, bringing it to his lips
and taking a deep sip.

“But I’m hardly one to judge.” She licked her lips, tracing the rim of her glass with a delicate
fingertip. “I accidentally seduced the Weasley girl at my house.”

Theo choked on his gulp, sputtering into his hand as he set the glass down with force, sloshing
wine over the edge.

He wheezed a thin breath, eyes tearing.

“How do you accidentally seduce someone?”

She shrugged, taking another drink. “I’m not always in control of my magnetism.”

He rolled his eyes. “Now who’s trying to justify their terrible decision?”

She glared across the table. “It isn’t the same. You're supposed to be the rational one. I’m known
for being recklessly irresponsible.”

She pushed the glass aside, rubbing at her temples. “Christ. Your father is the least of our worries.
If Lucius knows then we’re completely up shite creek.”

“This isn't your problem, Pans.”

She glanced up sharply. “Your problems are my problems, idiot.”

“We aren’t married yet.”

“It has nothing to do with our engagement.”

He blinked.

She held his gaze, voice steady. “This is a right mess, we have to be clever about navigating our
way through it.”

His chest filled with warmth. He swallowed the feeling down, wetting his lips and forging ahead.

“Actually, I might have an idea on how to solve it.” He pushed his glass aside with care. “I didn’t
ask you here to discuss this. But the favor I need may serve a dual purpose. Two birds if you will.”

She tilted her head. “Now I’m most definitely intrigued.”

He smirked. “It also involves pissing off your father.”

Her lips curved into a crescent grin, teeth gleaming in the candlelight.

“Well then. Consider me sold.”

Hermione blinked rapidly, back and hands pressing the wall as she gazed into the open room
beyond.

The initial shock had finally worn off, but she still couldn’t bring herself to look away.

Or to step any closer.

It was a child’s bedroom, to be certain. The wallpaper decorated in soft floral print, the textiles
draping the furniture and floors in varying shades of pink and lilac, pillows and blankets lined with
ruffles and frills.

But what stole the breath from her lungs were the hundreds of eyes staring at her from the dozens
of shelves lining the walls.

Dolls.

Of every shape and size, make and mold, cast and color. And all bearing bulbous, glassy eyes that
fixed upon her with terrifying uniformity.

Dumbledore moved further into the room, knocking dust from the other set of curtains as he pulled
them back, illuminating the rest of the bedroom.

She gasped shortly as another startling sight came into view.

A massive dollhouse, situated in the corner.

Its shuttered windows staring at her like malevolent eyes.

She swallowed thickly, boneless with fear.

“Are you alright, dear?”

She blinked, jolting at the voice. Her eyes flickered up, latching onto Dumbledore in the center of
the room.

“I…”

He nodded shortly, visage calm. “I understand. I find the room just as unnerving. I’d forgotten
what a sight it made.”

She stepped away from the wall, forcing her feet forward, commanding her knees to bend.

“She…” She paused at the threshold, bracing either side of the frame, eyes wide and fixed upon the
shelves. “Liked dolls.”

He smiled wryly. "What gave it away?"

She laughed lightly, letting her hands drop to her sides as she at last breached the invisible barrier,
releasing her breath as no major calamity befell her.

She stepped further in, peering around at the furniture, the trinkets and baubles, everything covered
by a thick film of dust.

“The room looks undisturbed.”

He glanced around with idle detachment, hands resting in his pockets. “It’s just as she left it.”
Her eyes landed on a gleaming silver hairbrush sitting atop the dresser, strands of long blonde hair
still tangled in the bristles.

“Plus a few additions I made after inheriting the residence.”

She glanced up, gaze drawn by the deep seeded pain lacing his every word.

A siren call of misery her heart recognized no matter the forced ease it was delivered with.

“Where was she taken from?”

“The home.” He slowly made his way towards the bed, covered in stuffed animals and lace-
covered throw pillows. “They told me she ran away.” He shook his head, extracting a hand from
his pocket. “But I knew that wasn’t the case. She’d never leave behind Dree.”

Her brows creased. “Dree?”

He paused beside the mattress. “Despite her extensive collection of dolls, her most prized
possession was a rabbit.”

Her heart leaped as he leaned down and extracted a stuffed animal from the pile, holding it with
gentle care and adoration.

The creature caught the light, its full shape revealed to her eyes.

A white rabbit, furry face worn thin, floppy ears frayed at the lining and pink nose faded at the
center.

“Draíocht, she called him.” He smiled fondly. “Gaelic for magic.”

He turned the rabbit over in his hands, meeting its black eyes as he gently stroked a finger across
the muzzle, movements slow and methodical as though it were alive.

“She believed in magic. In a world outside of our own where fantasy bled into reality.” He traced a
long, dangling ear. “And she believed Dree and her dolls spoke to her.”

His eyes twinkled, spectacles reflecting the fading evening glow. “She carried on full conversations
with them. You could hear her laughter ringing down the hallway all night long. They told her
stories, jokes, fairy tales.”

He set the rabbit down with great care.

“She treasured every one of them. But she treasured Dree above all else. When I inspected her
room at the home and saw him on the floor beneath the bed, I knew.”

The sparkle transformed into licking flame, bright as hellfire.

“She was taken.”

He stepped away from the bed. “I searched night and day. I was a junior officer then and had far
less sway with the Yard. In addition, my parents refused to file a missing person’s report. I was on
my own, searching the vast city of London with nothing to go on. No leads to follow.”

His jaw ticked as he ventured to the bookshelf across the room.

“I failed.”
She stepped closer to the bed, grasping the carved wood spiral of the canopy.

“I failed her entirely.” He reached the shelf at last, eyes slowly roaming the titles printed across the
mismatched spines. “Her body was found floating in the Thames two weeks from the day she was
stolen.”

She pressed a palm to her chest, instantly thinking of Lavender, overwhelmed by images of her
friend’s boisterous laughter and welcoming smile.

“I can’t begin to imagine what horrors she suffered during that time.”

She glanced away, overtaken by the same crippling fear, the same unyielding despair.

“And yet I can’t help but imagine. Every day. Every night.”

She wet her lips, venturing forward, voice tentative but strong, the common bond of their grief
giving rise to boldness.

“How do you know she was taken by the Dollmaker?”

A brief, contemplative pause.

“I didn’t. Not at first.”

He traced a finger along the edge of a thick book. Her eyes tracked the movement. Grimms’ Fairy
Tales.

“I’d never heard of the Dollmaker. Certainly not of this Angus Bumby, or whatever identity he’s
fashioned for himself.” He tilted his head, examining another title. “I only knew an animal had
taken my sister. Had committed unfathomable evils against her. And then discarded her like an
empty tin can.”

His fingers drummed along the shelf. "So I hunted. Pursued every lead. Became utterly consumed
by my pursuit. I took an extended leave from the Navy and devoted myself entirely to finding her
killer." His hand fell to his side."I never dreamed it would lead to a madman's door. To a crime
ring. To something so large, so depraved."

He scanned the items on the shelf below, gaze lingering on a glass jewelry box.

“Other cases started popping up, similar enough to Ariana to garner my attention. And then, one
day, I finally heard the name while scouring the underground.”

He gently straightened the heart-shaped lid.

“The Dollmaker. The creator of all evil. The Prince of Hell himself.”

He tucked his hand into his pocket, backing away once more. “I thought he was made up. A dark,
twisted fairytale created to scare young women into staying at their abuser’s side.”

He stopped before another shelf, lined with dolls but for a narrow strip containing picture frames.
“Alas, I discovered Merope. And I saw first hand exactly what he was capable of.”

He picked up a silver frame, sunlight glinting off the glass and obscuring the image displayed
within.

“I couldn’t save Ari. I couldn’t save Merope.”

His thumb traced along the image with methodical care. “And I couldn’t save Tom.”

Her hands clenched at her sides.

“Tom is still alive.” She stepped closer. “Because of you.” She stopped at the foot of the bed,
feeling the glass eyes upon her, tracking her every movement. “He’s a brilliant doctor because of
you.”

“He was brilliant long before my interference, I assure you.”

“Nevertheless, there’s no way he could have escaped the slums without a benefactor. There’s no
way he could have escaped his father without you finding him.”

Her chest burned, red hot with conviction. “You saved his life.”

Dumbledore was silent for several heartbeats, gaze fixed upon the photo.

“His life…” He tore his gaze away at last, setting the frame down, pushing it back. “Perhaps.” He
turned to face her once more. “His soul is another matter entirely.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond-

But her eyes caught sight of the photo in the silver frame beyond his shoulder.

And she was rendered mute.

She blinked, paling anew.

“Hermione, what’s the matter?”

Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click, though she could hear nothing over her racing heart
and surging blood.

“That…”

She inhaled deeply, feeling so light headed she was certain her feet levitated clear off the ground.

“That’s Ariana?”

He tilted his head, studying her pale complexion before glancing over his shoulder, gazing upon
the image once more.

"Yes." He grinned anew. "She inherited our mother's eyes. A much deeper blue than my own." He
faced forward. "They were always filled with such warmth. Every time she looked at you it was
like a physical touch."

She swallowed heavily, hands opening and closing at her sides, still unable to tear her gaze away
from the black and white image, faded as it was, pulsating bright as a beacon before her eyes.

“She’s very beautiful.”

He nodded, still watching her closely.

“She was.” The corner of his mouth lifted, an endearing quality she was beginning to find
commonplace on his handsomely worn face. “But she also possessed a sharp and cunning wit few
appreciated. The stories she told could keep a person entertained for hours. Her imagination was
truly endless.”

He sighed deeply, gazing at the ground for a brief moment before meeting her eye, his own
brimming with emotion.

“Thank you for allowing an old man to ramble. I visit this room once a decade at most. Always
alone.” His smile was warm and genuine. “But I am grateful for your company. It feels good to
share her memory with another. Even someone who never knew her.”

She blinked, tearing her eyes from the photo at last, her feet hitting the ground as gravity took her
in its unforgiving hold.

She met his glacial gaze, the hairs along her neck and arms lifting as she felt the familiar swell and
bend of air, an invisible force invading the room, surrounding her on all sides.

Cold and comforting.

“The way you describe her… it feels as if I do know her.”

He searched her gaze, eyes gleaming from the shadows as the sun slowly set. “You would have
liked her.”

Hermione nodded, lifting her chin as darkness bathed the room.

“I’m certain of it.”

Draco groaned into his pillow, rolling onto his back with a gasp of pain.

His hand went to his shoulder, rubbing the knotted muscle, the joint bruised and sore following his
illustrious journey through Bath.

He pushed into a sitting position, scratching his bare chest and rubbing his sleep-heavy lids. His
head felt cloudy, covered in white haze, far more than typical exhaustion permitted.

He glanced to the window, the sky beyond his balcony was a deep violet, the sun’s dying rays
fading beyond the horizon.

Shite.

He’d lost the whole day.

He dragged a hand over his face.

Not that I’d have spent it any other way.

If he hadn’t been unconscious, he’d have been thinking.

Which soundly positively deplorable.

The room fell into darkness as the sun finally set. He leaned to his side table and clicked on the
lantern, movements heavy and imprecise. His hand knocked aside a dark blue bottle. He blinked,
catching it before it rolled off the edge.

He sat straight, turning the bottle over in his hand, examining the label.
His mother informed him she watered down the tincture.

Obviously a lie.

He tossed the empty bottle to the mattress and reached for the glass of water she set beside the bed,
anger instantly abating. His mother had always been immune to his wrath, no matter the
circumstances. He wasn’t certain why this was, he simply accepted this universal truth and moved
on with his day.

He rubbed his temples, shifting forward and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He gazed at
the floor between his feet, absently rubbing his chest once more. It didn’t ache.

It just felt hollow.

She glanced down, raking her fingers through his hair. “What time is the train?”

He closed his eyes, basking in the sunlight and her touch, head pillowed atop her thigh.

“Not until eight. The last one out tonight.”

She smirked, nails scraping along his scalp. “Cutting it close aren’t we?”

His eyes slit open, body stretching lithe with cat-like pleasure. "Would you rather I boarded the
noon one?"

“Might as well of. You were already there, holding the ticket.”

“I was on the damn thing.”

She laughed, bells chiming all around him, making the hairs along his arms and neck rise.

“Were you really?”

He reached up, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She’d removed the pins after they settled
beneath the white oak, sequestered in this private oasis, free from the prying, judgemental eyes of
the outside world.

“Hm. You should have seen me scale the seats, rushing to the last car as it was pulling out of the
station. I had to jump through a window to make it onto the platform.”

“Liar.”

“It was all very dramatic, I assure you.”

Her eyes narrowed, leaning back into the bark, fallen leaves catching in her hair. “Your parents
didn’t notice you leaping from a moving train?”

"Obviously not. Otherwise, they'd have the entire Yard out looking for me."

She shook her head, resuming her idle ministrations, pale hair filling her fingers.

“Are you excited about Oxford?”

He sighed, eyes closing once more. “I’m resigned to it.”

“Don’t go in with that outlook. You have an opportunity very few are ever afforded, you must make
the most of-”

“Can’t you let me sulk for just a few minutes?”

“Is that what we’re calling being an obnoxious prick now?”

A beat.

Then two.

Draco burst to life with cunning speed and dexterity, eliciting a yelp of surprise from her parted
lips as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, grasping beneath her knee and tugging hard,
causing her to topple back into the grass, chestnut curls spilling across the field of green, sunlight
in her eyes and color infusing her cheeks as she laughed.

He grabbed her other wrist, pinning it beside her head and bracing himself above her, thighs
pressing as he slowly lowered his weight, relishing the sound of her breath hitching, the sight of
her pupils expanding.

“Are you going to miss me?”

She swallowed heavily, searching his silver gaze. “Probably not.”

He smirked.

“You’re supposed to lie, Granger.”

“Oh, terribly sorry. Yes, Draco. I’m going to be pining for you every waking moment of every
single day. I’ll gaze into the night sky, wondering if you’re staring at the very same stars-”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

“I'll light a candle for you at the window, praying for your safe return -”

“You’ve made your point.”

“I’ll cry into my pillow-”

He released her wrists, allowing his weight to press her fully as he began to tickle her sides,
catching her laughter in his mouth as she wriggled and squirmed, hands gripping his shoulders as
she seemed caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

He laughed along with her, face flush and eyes bright. “I’ll have you crying alright.”

“Stop! Draco!”

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, grin splitting her face in half. He grasped her hips,
driven by pure instinct as he captured her mouth in a kiss. It was soft, tentative, but quickly grew in
heat and intensity.

He pulled back for air several moments later, lips grazing her jaw.

“I’m going to miss you.”

She swallowed heavily, catching her breath, body lax beneath him. “You’ll hardly notice my
absence. You’ll be so busy with classes and new friends-”
“I’m going to miss you, Granger.”

She blinked, holding his unwavering gaze.

And then her lips curved into a radiant, breathtaking grin. She brought a hand to his face, gently
tracing his cheekbone.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

Draco stood from the bed, cutting a determined path to his closet.

He emerged onto the first level several minutes later, dressed and impeccable, all signs of
exhaustion and heartbreak hidden beneath his mask of aristocracy.

He slipped out through the garden entrance, wanting to avoid his mother and father, assuming the
latter was even home. He made his way around the outside of the Manor, carefully avoiding the
landscaping staff as he emerged onto the front drive.

Their coachman leaned against the side of the carriage, gazing into the star-filled sky as he puffed
steadily on a cigarette. He glanced to the side as crunching gravel filled the night air. He blinked,
squinting in the darkness.

And then his eyes widened, Draco's pale blonde head emerging from the shadows.

He quickly stood to attention, flicking the cigarette down and stomping it with the heel of his boot.

“Good evening, Master Draco.”

Draco buttoned the front of his coat, nodding once. “Good evening, Elijah.”

The man fumbled to open the door, clearly surprised by these turn of events but clever enough not
to question them.

“Where are we headed, Sir?”

Draco grabbed the handrail, voice steady.

“Grimmauld.”

Hermione burst into the room, skidding so quickly her bare feet nearly lost purchase on the
hardwood. She scrambled in place, clutching the dresser for balance before pushing off and
launching herself across the room once more.

She stopped just beside the bed, shin knocking the edge of the frame and earning a shocked gasp of
pain before she could stifle it.

She clutched the bruised appendage, biting her tongue and hopping on one foot.

Bloody idiot! Could you be any more clumsy?

She lowered her foot, shaking her head and reaching for the lump beneath the covers. The outline
was hazy in the dark, the only illumination filtering in from the low-lit sconces in the hallway, the
room awash in dancing shadow.

Her fingers pressed the bedding, heart in her throat.

“T-”

She gasped as the covers exploded to life, something iron and warm seizing her wrist in a bruising
vice, yanking her clear off her feet. She flew forward, collapsing atop the bed, scrambling for
purchase, free hand bracing the mattress.

Only it wasn’t the mattress.

It was naked skin covering hard muscle. Her throat went dry, convulsing as she tried to swallow
and breathe at the same time, unable to speak.

So she tried to gain his attention instead, assuming he didn't recognize her in the dark. But he didn't
allow her to pull back, his arm sliding behind her waist and flipping her onto her back.

Her spine crashed to the mattress, body bouncing, curls flying up and spilling across the pillow.

She opened her mouth to speak but instead croaked as he released her wrist and grabbed her neck,
squeezing.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as his grip turned painful, rapidly constricting her airway.

“Tom!”

His body went rigid, fingers flexing, then loosening at once.

“Hermione?”

His voice was deep, sleep thickened, nearly unrecognizable. She could barely see his face in the
blackness of the room, the curtains emitting no moonlight, but the faint glow from the hall revealed
dark, clouded eyes boring down upon her.

His hand went lax at her throat, followed by his entire body as he slumped into her, pushing the air
from her lungs and prompting her legs to part, trying to accommodate his weight.

“What are you doing here?”

The gravel in his throat made her nerves endings spark to life.

“I…”

Her mind went startling blank.

He scowled, hand clenching. “Never sneak up on me. Especially when I’m asleep.”

She wet her lips, scorched by the enraged smolder in his gaze. His eyes flickered down, tracking
the movement, flames dancing anew.

“I didn't…” Her pulse thrummed against his fingertips. “I’m sorry.”

He searched her doe-eyed gaze, oxygen rapidly depleting from the room. She couldn’t breathe,
couldn’t think. Her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, making out general shapes around them,
though only his half his visage was visible in the flickering light.

He continued to stare at her lips, eyes dazed, expression caught in some internal war for
dominance.
She braced a hand against his shoulder, fingers curling over the muscle, pressing heated skin.

“Tom.”

It came out more breath than word. She flushed with humiliation, well past mortified,
inhaling sharply and pushing on.

“You’re still on top of me.”

He blinked, eyes flickering back up. She became hyper-aware of his weight against her, pinning
her, restricting her movements. For a stuttered beat the ceiling dissolved, giving way to a star-filled
sky. The bed fell away next, grass sprouting beneath her.

His gaze rapidly cleared, the pad of his thumb stroking her pulse once more before his hand slid
down to the bed.

She gasped as the room came crashing into place around her, the walls trembling, her body
vibrating with the jarring impact.

She inhaled deeply as she was relieved of his weight. He rolled to the side, sitting up swiftly and
swinging his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes.

She scrambled back, leaning against the headboard, transfixed by the sight of his exposed back on
full display just beside her.

She stared upon the criss-cross network of scars, lungs constricting painfully, eyes burning at the
horrific sight. Even in weak lighting, the image they painted was overwhelming. Far more
unsettling up close than the night she first glimpsed them from a distance in his bedchamber.

She reached forward unthinking, recalling the sensation of mottled scar tissue beneath her
fingertips, pressing her palm-

He tensed, as though sensing her approach.

Her hand froze mid-air, breath catching, eyes wide, startled by her own attempt.

His muscles relaxed a moment later, his gaze fixed to the dresser as he leaned forward and braced
his forearms against his thighs.

“Did I hurt you?”

She blinked, fingers curling in.

“No.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, clearing the remaining gravel from his throat, though his
voice remained deep and ominous, creating a physical current that chased along her skin.

“How long have I been out?”

Her hand dropped to her lap, knees drawing in. “Most the day. The sun went down a little while
ago.”

He sighed deeply, spine straightening and hands bracing the edge of the mattress. She studied his
profile, forcing her eyes to stay clear of his back lest she made another foolish advance.
“Are you-”

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked, the question once more scrambling her thoughts. “Wrong?”

He gazed over his shoulder. “You burst in here like the hounds of hell were chasing at your heels.”

She inhaled sharply.

How could I forget?

Her eyes automatically darted to the wide expanse of pale flesh between his shoulder blades.

Ah. That’s right.

She blushed anew, leaning in and forcing her eyes up.

“I spoke with the Admiral-”

“Albus.”

Her mouth opened and closed. “Yes, Albus…” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, lowering
her knees as she perched higher. “He told me about Ariana, he showed me her room-”

“He what?”

She jolted as he pivoted quickly, leg bending as he faced her, knee colliding against her own,
pressing until she was forced to accommodate, resting her knee atop his.

“He showed me her room and-”

“He let you into her bedroom?”

She sat straighter. “Yes, but that’s not the important part.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes briefly closing.

“Alright, what’s the important part?”

She slid her leg away, bracing both her hands atop his knee. He went instantly rigid, hand freezing
upon his face. She pressed on, barely registering his reaction.

“It’s her, Tom.” She wet her lips, leaning forward, eyes bright. “It’s my white rabbit.”

He blinked, hand dropping. “Your what?”

She shook her head. “It’s a long story. But Ariana is the ghost I’ve been seeing. The one who led
me to the attic of the Home, the apparition I told you about.”

Her fingers curled around his trouser-clad thigh, voice high and animated. "It's all real, Tom. It's
not some grand, stress-induced delusion. I've been seeing honest to God ghosts. The Dollmaker's
victims are reaching out to me, guiding me."

He released a long breath, starting to turn away.

Her heart skipped. She released his leg and grabbed his shoulder. His Adam’s apple bobbed high,
muscles tensing beneath her hand, skin burning beneath her palm like a scorching brand.

"Please, believe me, Tom." Tears filled her eyes, unbidden. "I need you to believe me."

His jaw set.

She blinked, tears spilling free.

“Please.” Her breath stuttered. “I can’t handle it otherwise. All the rest I can bear, the other
dangers I can face.” Her chest tore to pieces, blood pouring out like a river, soaking her in a cold
wave. “But I can’t go on knowing you don’t believe me.”

He twisted in her grasp, facing her swiftly, causing her hands to lose purchase. She tipped forward,
gasping as his reflexes kicked in, large hands capturing her upper arms.

She expected him to set her back, so when he pulled her forward instead she went boneless with
surprise.

He pressed her into his chest, holding her face at eye level, their noses brushing as he watched her
with burning intensity.

“I believe you.”

Her heart jolted painfully, more tears spilling free. He held her gaze steady and pulled her closer
yet, until she felt the rhythmic thumping of his heart battling against her own rapid pulse.

“I believe you,” he repeated, voice low, warm breath glancing her lips.

She went limp in his hold, leaning against him completely. He released her arms, one hand sliding
around her back, bracing her waist, the other lifting to her face. He drew his thumb beneath her
eye, clearing away the wetness.

She swallowed heavily, throat tight.

“Thank you.”

He inhaled deeply, breathing her in, his chest expanding and causing her to rise atop it, arms
trapped between them.

“There’s no need to thank me.” He pushed the hair from her damp cheek. “We’re partners.”

She smiled. His eyes flitted to her mouth, jaw silently working for several beats.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.”

She blinked, tensing in his hold. The arm at her back pressed harder, storm clouds forming in his
gaze as he continued to stare at her lips.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone after the cemetery.”

Her skin burned with latent rage and embarrassment, longing and sadness, too many emotions to
process at once, sensation spilling over and leaving her an empty husk, weightless in his arms.

“I didn’t want you in the carriage with me. I needed to be alone.”

He tore his gaze from her mouth, fingers spreading along her hip, twisting in her skirt. “I shouldn’t
have touched you. I took advantage of the situation-”

“Stop that.”

Her voice came out louder, sterner than anticipated, startling them both. She quickly recovered,
spine lengthening, fingers curling in, digging into smooth muscle.

“Stop saying you took advantage of me. It implies you’re a monster and I’m a victim.”

Her eyes sparked. “I assure you, neither is true.” She searched his dark gaze. “You aren’t a
monster, Tom. No matter how badly you want to condemn yourself as one.”

Her chest burned with kindling flame. “Writing off your soul as forsaken is much easier than
facing the reality of exactly what you are, what you’ve become, what you hold in the palm of your
hand.”

The fire snapped and sizzled, bursting from the chambers of her heart. “You’re not a monster. You
could never be anything so evil. So simple.”

Her voice was calm and measured, but it held him enraptured all the same. “And I’m not a victim.”
She watched his pupils expand, black ink bleeding into grey. “I refuse to give anyone such power
over me, so therefore I will never be a victim. I will be a survivor.”

Her lips pressed with steely determination, body strung tight as a drawn bow.

He smirked, words vibrating against her lips. “As I said before. I pity any man who tries to impede
your path.”

She searched his gaze, the black never ending, pulling her forward with its gravitational force.

“I wish I could be there for it.”

He tilted his head. “For what?”

“The moment you kill him.”

His eyes flashed bright, lightning striking, his hand rising to encircle her neck once more. His
thumb traced along the hollow of her throat before tipping her chin up, their lips brushing for a
brief spark.

“Have I destroyed you, Hermione?”

Gravel filled his throat anew, yet it was honey that dripped from his lips. She swallowed heavily,
the motion pressing his thumb, and shook her head as much as his hand would allow.

“No.” She breathed deep. “The world destroyed me. You helped put me back together. Into
something stronger, better than before. Into more than just a survivor.”

His hand tightened at her throat. She relished the pressure.

“You taught me to hunt. To fight. To live.” Her voice turned low, unrecognizable to her ears.
“When I’m with you, I feel alive.”

The fingers at her nape dug in, pulling her forward. Her hands braced his chest, limbs turning plaint
in his hold as he crashed their lips together.
The kiss wasn’t tender or exploratory, it was hungry and frantic. Hard, violent and necessary.

Their teeth clanked, tongues slipping past lips as he dragged her fulling into his lap. She straddled
him as much as her dress would allow, frustrated by the barrier, the limitation.

She wrenched her head back, gasping into his mouth.

“I want to feel it, Tom. I want to feel alive.”

And then the world tipped on its axis.

Her curls flew past her face as he threw her down on the mattress. Her arms were already latching
onto his shoulders, clawing at his flesh, welting his skin in her frantic pursuit.

“Make me feel alive.”

He gathered her dress with both hands and tore it up, movements fast and furious, eyes burning
with quiet intensity, determination written across every hard line of his face.

She pressed her head back and gasped as he grabbed behind her stocking clad knees and pulled,
ripping her across the mattress until she was situated firmly beneath him.

Her back arched high, hips pinned. And then he descended, pulling her legs apart as he nestled
between her thighs-

A floorboard creaked in the hallway, echoing clear and loud through the gap between the door and
frame.

They both froze, poised to strike, lungs pumping furiously as they gazed at each other with blatant
hunger and absolute shock, as though waking from a shared dream at the same moment.

The sound of distant footsteps was quick to follow, slow and measured from the opposite end of
the house.

Her spine lowered to the mattress. Tom followed suit, once more sinking his weight upon her,
resting his forehead against her own.

The room fell silent but for their labored breathing and the creaking box spring.

He wet his lips, holding her gaze.

“You don’t need me to feel alive.”

His hands released her knees, fingertips tracing a burning path along her thighs and hips before
settling at her waist.

“You put yourself back together, Hermione. All on your own.” Despite his pressing weight, it was
his eyes that truly trapped her. “You don’t need me. You don’t need anyone.”

She continued to share his heated breath. “I know.” Her fingertips trailed along his shoulder
blades, tracing each scar they passed. “But I want you.”

His jaw ticked. She waited for him to push away.

And was rendered once more boneless with shock as he tilted his head down instead, kissing her
slow and passionate, pulling the air from her lungs and the marrow from her bones, sapping every
ounce of strength she’d ever gathered.

Her eyes burned. She wove her arms behind his neck, pulling him down, pinning him just as he
pinned her, recognizing the kiss, sensing its true meaning, feeling her heart rupture at the mere
notion.

She clung to him tightly, gasping against his mouth as he finally pulled back, teeth grazing her
swollen lips, eyes heavy-lidded and dark.

“We must finish our mission. We must kill the Dollmaker.”

She nodded, trailing her nails through the hair at his nape.

“I’m with you.”

He held her gaze for a short eternity.

And then he pushed back, prompting her arms to drop.

He carded a trembling hand through his hair, taking several steadying breaths as he once more
swung his legs over the side of the mattress.

“I’m going to Grimmauld. I need to check on Ms. Patil’s sister.”

She scooted up, pushing her dress over her knees.

“Padma.”

He stood from the bed, giving her a clear view of his prominent bulge. She flushed, glancing to the
quilt.

“Padma,” he repeated, voice void of any discernible emotion.

He turned away, adjusting himself briefly before reaching for the shirt laid across the back of the
chair.

“You’ll be safe here, Hermione.”

She picked at a loose thread in the blanket. "It's not my safety I'm worried about."

He slipped his arms into the shirt, folding down the collar and turning to face her.

“If I die, I will take him with me. I promise you that.”

Her eyes flickered up, chest tight. “I’d rather you lived to tell the tale.”

He watched her in the stillness.

She unfolded her legs and pushed to the edge of the mattress, rising to her feet and softly padding
across the floor.

“I know that when this is all over, nothing will be the same.”

His hands clenched at her measured approach.

“Neither of us will be the same.” She stopped just before him, the warmth of his body washing
over her front.
“If this is our final moment together, standing in these bodies, breathing this air, thinking these
thoughts, I want to take a piece of it. Something to hold. Something to remember when I’m a
different me, looking back on this night.”

She pressed a hand to his bare chest, centered over his heart. She felt it beat faster as she stood on
tiptoes, grasping him behind the neck with her free hand and pulling him down.

She kissed him slowly, lips barely pressing but softly lingering, sending an electrical current along
her spine with every breath.

“I know you never intended to survive this,” she whispered against his mouth, feeling a similar
tremor race through his tall frame. “I know you planned to drag him kicking and screaming into
the Underworld by your own bare hands.”

She swallowed heavily, pulling back, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

“Please. Survive this.” Her nails slid beneath his collar, gently scratching along his nape. “Even if
you don’t return. Even if I never see you again.” She released a trembling breath. “Please survive.”

He grasped her waist when she swayed, steadying her against his body, eyes burning brilliantly all
the while, twin flames lighting her way through the dark.

“I will.”

Her heart seized, rupturing at last, blood overspilling. She held his gaze a moment longer, nodding,
sealing the pact.

And then turned her face away, releasing his neck and lowering to her heels, hand falling lifeless
from his chest.

She stepped back, wiping her eyes dry, fighting to maintain composure as he picked up his
traveling cloak and turned for the door, floorboards creaking as he opened it the rest of the way.

The room filled with flickering candle flame, his silhouette stretching across the opposite wall.

Frozen in the doorway.

She sensed his eyes upon her, felt them like a physical touch.

She glanced over her shoulder, forcing her gaze up, forcing her throat to work.

“Goodbye, Tom.”

His chest rose high, the breath lingering in his lungs as though he were holding a piece of her in
with it.

“Goodbye, Hermione.”

She bit her tongue, vision hazing as he backed into the hall, holding her in his thrall until the final
moment when he turned away.

And then he proceeded forward, disappearing from sight.

She lingered in place until she heard him journey down the steps and out the front door.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, waiting for the tears to seize her, for the dam to break.
But the onslaught never came.

She exited the room slowly, feeling like a shell of her former self, void of any identity.

And discovered the hallway wasn't empty.

She peered up, sensing the presence before seeing it, recognizing the change in pressure, the
unnatural cold pressing upon her skin.

She wet her lips, eyes dancing with candle flame.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Harry watched the sun dip beneath the rooftops as the carriage pulled beside the rod iron gates.

He leaped out first, paying the driver while Ron helped Susan down.

As he unfastened the chain he felt a shift in the air, a pressure differential that set the fine hairs
along his neck on end.

He blinked, sliding open the lock and standing aside, glancing either way down the empty,
darkened street.

“Harry?”

He met Ron’s eye.

“Okay, mate?”

He wet his lips, glancing once more to the road, the air feeling denser, the sound muffled, like they
were encased in a bubble.

He nodded.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

He pushed open the gate, suppressing the unease, though his eyes continued to search the bushes
ahead, the street lamp, the empty bench.

He took his time chaining the gate, pulling it tight, testing its strength, wondering why he didn't
hear any insects or owls-

Get a grip.

He sighed deeply, spinning on his heel and following the couple to the house.

Sirius was already waiting for them in the doorway, arms crossed and hair a frightful mess, almost
as disheveled as Harry’s own chaotic mop.

“What the bloody fuck did you think you were doing, leaving the goddamn house like an
absolute-”

He blinked, eyes darting down, expression softening.

“Hello, Susan, dear, it’s lovely to see you again.”

She curtsied, smiling politely. “Lord Black.”

“I’m going to be doing quite a bit of swearing for the next five minutes or so.”

“Understandable. Don’t mind me.”

“Cheers, luv.”

He spun on Harry once more, visage twisting into a mask of unbridled rage. “As I was saying, you
must not even have half a brain in that fucking head of yours-”

“Sirius, I had to let Ron know Mione was alright, after what happened to Cormac I couldn’t risk
leaving him exposed.”

Ron blinked, glancing between them. “Cormac?”

Harry shook his head. “Let's just get inside and I’ll explain everything.”

Sirius opened his mouth to respond but was rendered silent as another sound filled the air.

Horses.

Several of them.

A goddamn stampede.

They all blinked, spinning around to face the gates.

The street beyond remained empty, but the sound grew nearer, deafening in volume, the ground
trembling beneath their feet.

Sirius surged forward, grabbing Harry and Ron’s shoulders, pulling them towards the house.

“Everyone inside.”

They dragged their feet, transfixed by the rapidly approaching storm.

“Now!”

They jolted, spinning around, Ron grabbing Susan and rushing her up the steps. Harry was just at
their back, Sirius crossing the threshold last, slamming the door and sliding the bolt.

They rushed to the windows, pulling aside the heavy curtains, jaws hanging loose as the horses and
their riders finally appeared.

A small army of men rounded the corner, beasts rearing high, screeching into the night as they
piled outside the gates.

“Who the hell is that?” Ron swallowed heavily, face pale as he pulled Susan close to his side.

Sirius watched on, eyes diamond hard.

“Fenrir Greyback.”

Ron jolted. “He’s real?” He leaned in, nose smudging the pane. “Fucking hell. What is he doing
here?”
Harry wet his lips, emeralds glinting in his gaze. “He’s here for the girls.”

“What?”

A massive black steed pushed to the front of the horde, the others parting to give way. Its rider was
the most massive creature Harry had ever laid eyes on, more beast than man.

His horse reared on his hind legs, bursting free from the pits of hell itself, hot steam pouring from
its nostrils and filling the dark sky in a dense cloud.

“Riddle! Show your fucking face!”

His horse landed with a crash, hooves cracking the stone. The creature pivoted, revealing
Greyback’s leg, heavily bandaged and stained dark with dried blood.

Footsteps pounded behind them. They all turned to the stairs, watching as the landing filled.
Parvati rounded the corner first, Blaise just at her back. She braced the banister, eyes wide.

Hannah and Luna emerged next, faces pale as they hovered near the wall.

Neville arrived in the next beat, charging in from the drawing room, grinding to a halt beneath the
archway, knees locked as Greyback’s voice once more filtered in from the end of the drive.

“I’m going to flay you alive you fucking bastard! I’m going to carve the meat from your
bones while you watch my men take turns with your little bitch! Then I’m going to slice her up,
too!”

Harry looked at Sirius, voice low and dangerous. “Where is she?”

“Riddle took her.”

His godfather held himself with measured poise, but Harry wasn't fooled. He exhibited the same
eerie calm every time they sailed into battle.

Harry spun to the window as Greyback dismounted, slowly limping towards the gate and snarling
like a beast.

“You’ve got till the count of ten to do it the easy way. Then we’re coming in and doing it the fun
way.”

His men erupted into unrestrained laughter, their horses riled and restless with commotion.

Ron swallowed heavily. “How many are there?”

Susan’s brows drew together. “At least a dozen.”

Harry drew a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“There’s only five of us,” Ron provided, voice edged with panic.

“Nine.”

He blinked, gazing up over his shoulder at Parvati. Her eyes glinted like onyx, knuckles white
against the railing.

“I’m not counting the girls.”

She started to respond but fell silent as Sirius dropped the curtain, spinning to address them all.

His spine lengthened, shoulders drawing back, eyes burning with fire.

“Everyone listen!” His voice echoed off the marble, surrounding them like the voice of God
Himself. “We only have seconds to prepare and no time to hesitate! Do exactly as I say and don’t
deviate so much as an inch!”

“Ten.”

"Harry, unlock the gun cabinet, give the girls long-range weapons, show them how to shoot-"

“Nine.”

“No need.” Susan stepped forward. “I’m a trick shot. I’ll show them what to do.”

“Eight.”

“Good lass. Take a pistol with you as well. I want the girls in the master bedroom upstairs,
barricade the door and shoot out the window if anyone tries to scale the brick.”

“Seven.”

“Ron, you stick with Neville, barricade the kitchen and back windows, take as many guns and
ammunition as you can carry.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Six.”

Sirius spun towards the stairs. “Can you shoot, Zabini?”

Blaise swallowed heavily. “I know which end is which.”

Sirius nodded. “Good enough.”

“Five.”

“You’re stationed in the hall outside the bedroom. You’re going to be the last line of defense if
anyone makes it upstairs. Do you understand?”

Blaise nodded quickly, face bloodless as he rested a hand at Parvati’s lower back.

“Four.”

“Harry, after you distribute the guns go into the study and get my locked box. Do you know the
one I’m talking about?”

“Three.”

Harry stood at attention, movements sharp and automated.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Grab my hunting blades as well. Bring everything to the main parlor, I’ll meet you there.”

“Two.”
Sirius faced them all, fists clenched at his sides. “Does everyone understand their role?”

They all nodded, some more frantically than others.

“Good. Now listen closely!”

“One.”

“These men didn’t come here to talk. They came to kill every single one of us.”

“Ready or not!”

“The police won’t make it in time to help. Not before all or most of us are dead. Our only chance of
survival is to fight for it.”

“Here we come!”

The sound of hammers and crowbars bashing the gate was near deafening, each impact radiating
off the walls and into their bones.

Sirius didn’t spare the commotion a glance, facing his godson instead, his next words piercing
Harry straight through the heart.

“Prepare for war.”

 Pandora
Chapter Notes

This chapter broke my brain.

In war, truth first!

There's always time for lies later.
. . .

The sound of metallic battering rang through the entire estate, filling every room from floor to
ceiling as the gate slowly gave way beneath the efforts of no less than fifteen men.

Harry ignored the chaos outside, pushing a rifle into Neville’s trembling hands. Ron stood just
beside them, strapping his own rifle across his back with one hand and flicking open a pistol
chamber with the other, bullets pressed between his lips.

Neville glanced sideways, tracking the man’s practiced movements, a tremor racing along his
frame as he clutched his weapon tighter.

Harry placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, causing him to jolt.

“Nev, breathe.”

He blinked twice, jaw hanging loose for several beats before sound was squeezed out.

“Right.”

He moved to strap the firearm around his shoulder but fumbled with the lanyard, nearly dropping
the gun before catching it with both bands.

Harry lowered his arm, cursing silently, wishing there was more time to comfort, to train.

But there wasn't.

He turned to the gun case as Hannah stepped forward, taking the rifle strap and directing it over
Neville’s shoulder with a gentle expression. Neville nodded in gratitude, too pale to blush, and
moved aside as Harry continued to distribute weapons.

“Susan.”

She broke away from the cluster, meeting his eye with confidence as he gestured to the contents of
the cabinet.

“You comfortable with long range?”

She nodded, scanning the row of gleaming barrels and walnut grips.

“My father took me hunting before I learned to read.”

He reached for a rifle. “Thank god for that.”

She took it with ease, strapping it behind her arm while admiring the bottom shelf of the case.

“Give me a 422 Mark.”

He raised a dark brow, glancing down at the revolver in question.

“It has a kick.”

“I know. I’ve used powder on the ranges.”

He nodded, picking up the gun and flicking open the chamber. She shook her head, holding out a
steady palm.

“I’ll fill it, just give me a box of lead.”

Harry snapped the cartridge shut and placed the firearm in her hand, grateful for her skill and
experience. She stepped back, ripping open a box of bullets with her teeth as she held the gun aloft.

He lost sight of her as Zabini moved in next. The man appeared remarkably composed, tanned
complexion free of the grey pallor it possessed on the landing.

Harry held his gaze.

“Ever use a gun before?”

“No. But I can fence.”

He was too far gone with adrenaline to discern whether the man was making a quip, so he merely
nodded, reaching into the cabinet.

“Perfect. This is practically the same thing.”

Zabini blinked. “Really?”

“No.” Harry lifted another rifle out of the rack. “But you’ll get the hang of it.”

He held the gun between them, gesturing to a switch on the side. “Here’s your safety.” He bent
open the chamber. “Here’s where you reload.” And snapped it shut with a powerful click,
extending the weapon.

Zabini grabbed the casing carefully, studying the barrel as though it was etched with a foreign
language. “Wait until I see the whites of their eyes?”

Harry shook his head. "The bullets curve on their trajectory, you can shoot for half a mile. If you
want something close range, use this."

He reached into the cabinet and extracted a double barrel shotgun.

“Pellets travel a short distance but cast a wide spray, doing most the work for you.” He wet his lips.
“Shoot for the heart. Even if your aim is shite, you’re bound to hit something of value.”

Zabini stared at the gleaming item for a long moment, making no move to take it. Harry tilted his
head, watching him carefully.

“Would you rather have a knife?”

Zabini’s jaw tensed, spine going rigid as he shook his head, at last reaching for the shotgun.

“No. This is fine.”

He took it by the grip, holding it at his aside and backing away on stiff legs.

Parvati and Hannah moved forward next, taking what Harry offered without hesitation or question.

And then they parted, making way for the final person in line.

His hand clenched over the case, heart skipping as she smiled serenely and folded her hands behind
her back, waiting patiently.

It felt like a gross violation against nature itself to supply her of all people with a deadly weapon.

The ethereal blonde tipped her head, blue eyes glittering beneath the sconces.

“I’d like a gun and a knife, please.”

He blinked. “A knife?”

“I use blades to prune the garden.”

He barely suppressed a grin, the frantic banging emanating from outside an incessant reminder of
all that was at stake.

“This is different, luv.”

He selected a narrow rifle, holding it out. She accepted it with both hands, weighing it carefully in
her palms before lowering the weapon to her side, doe eyes softly blinking.

Harry sighed, shaking his head as he reached into the drawer beneath the cabinet and extracted a
gleaming dagger.

“Hell, whatever you’re comfortable with. I’d give you a sword if I had it.”

He gripped the long blade, holding the ivory hilt aloft. She accepted it with another sweet smile.

“I prefer something I can use with one hand. That way I can shoot with the other.”

He couldn’t suppress a bark of laughter, handing her a pistol as well.

“Thank you, Harry.”

He nodded. “You’re welcome, Luna.”

His expression rapidly sobered as he directed his gaze to the women. “The master bedroom is-”

“We know where it is,” Hannah interjected patiently, still hovering at Neville’s side.

He pinned her with the full intensity of his gaze.

“Don’t come out for anyone, under any circumstance. No matter what you hear. No matter what
they say.”

She paled, rocking back on her heels as if to escape the ominous words.
Susan turned to Ron, grabbing his arm. He glanced up from his task, taking her wrist in hand and
drawing her towards the wall.

Harry watched as he grasped her chin, tipping her face upwards and pressing a fierce kiss to her
lips, drawing back a moment later to whisper against her parted mouth.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

She swallowed heavily, gripping his shirt with her free hand, eyes glistening, sucking in an uneven
breath as though to speak.

Harry beat her to it.

“There isn’t time for this.”

They froze, glancing sideways. Harry sighed deeply, expression sharpening as he held his friend’s
tumultuous gaze.

“If you want to keep her safe, let her go now.”

Ron’s jaw snapped shut with a click, another sweltering beat passing before he nodded, gazing
down at Susan and cupping her cheek.

“Go.”

She pressed forward. “Be smart.”

He smirked, sweeping his thumb across her lips. “Not my strong suit.”

“I know.”

He blinked. Before he could muster a response she stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to the
side of his lips, pushing back as she lowered to her heels.

Her skirts twirled around her legs as she spun around, breaking into a run for the entryway.

The rest of the women followed suit, weapons strapped across their backs and filling their hands,
dresses and hair flowing through the archway. Blaise nodded to him before dashing out of the
room in their wake.

Harry lifted his chin, glancing to the room’s two remaining occupants.

“Sirius wants you to barricade the back entrances, I imagine he’s trying to bottleneck them at the
front.”

Ron stood at attention. “We’ll join you after we seal the doors and windows.”

“Our number one priority is the stairs. That’s where I want you both stationed when you’re done.
Zabini will be the second layer of defense.”

“Why the hell is Greyback after the girls?”

Harry carded a hand through his hair, making the locks stand on end. "There's no time to explain.
But at this point, we're all targets. He won't leave behind any witnesses."

His gaze darted to Neville, watching as the man turned an alarming shade of green.
“Nev, you have to shoot to kill. Do you understand?”

His friend nodded tightly, clutching the rifle until it trembled in his grip. But his voice remained
low and steady.

“Yes.”

Ron started to back away towards the hall. “This way, Nev.”

Harry turned his back on their departure, grabbing the remaining pistol and tucking it into his
waistband before sliding open the drawer and selecting two blades, slipping them into either boot.
Then he stuffed a box of ammunition in his pocket.

He grabbed the last two rifles and slung them over his shoulder, closing the cabinet and sprinting
for the hall.

He barrelled into the study a moment later, glancing around the dimly lit interior frantically, the
pounding at the gate echoing his rapid heartbeat.

At last, he spotted his target atop the bookcase at the far wall, half hidden behind random trinkets
and decor.

He dashed forward and stood on his toes, pushing the impeding items to the floor with a careless
sweep before grabbing the handle and carefully sliding the leather box forward.

He blinked as it gave no resistance, nearly weightless in his grip as he tugged it free.

His examined the dust-caked lid and sides, fearful the case was empty. He wet his lips, reaching
for the metal clasps, only to freeze in place as a bone-jarring sound met his ears all at once.

Silence.

The relentless banging had stopped.

He clenched his fist around the handle, racing out of the study so quickly the rug gathered at his
heels.

He collided with a side table as he rounded the corner, on a warpath towards the parlor.

Blaise adjusted the precious cargo in his arms, mindful of the rifle hanging across his shoulder, the
barrel tapping his spine with every step.

Parvati threw open the double doors, leading the way into the master bedroom. He was tight at her
heels, making a beeline for the bed, carefully laying the comatose girl across its center.

Padma was unresponsive, blissfully oblivious to the ensuing chaos exploding to life around her.
Parvati reached forward, brushing dark hair from the girl’s lax face.

Blaise wet his lips and backed away, turning for the door.

Only to be pulled back by an unrelenting vice at his arm.

He glanced over his shoulder, briefly glimpsing the two blondes in the corner of the room, huddled
around the police chief's daughter as she showed them how to shoot.
But his gaze was fixed to the dark eyes directly ahead.

Parvati’s fingers tightened, causing his circulation to wane.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going into the hall. You need to push the wardrobe in front of the door-”

“You can’t go out there.”

He blinked. “That’s where Black wants me.”

“You’ll get killed! You’ll wait in here with us, we’ll all defend each other.”

He sighed, gently tugging his arm, but her grip held firm.

“No, I’m going to be in the hall.”

“Blaise-”

“There’s no time to argue!”

He gave up trying to escape, surging forward instead, taking her off guard as he grasped both her
arms and pulled her into his body.

He tilted his head down, leveling their gazes.

“I’ll be right outside the door.”

She went rigid in his hold. “You can defend us just as well from inside the room.”

He searched her face, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against his own with each breath.

“I’m not prone to following orders. But this is one I intend to mind.”

All of a sudden, the deafening banging from beyond the driveway ceased.

Silence rang, absolute and terrifying.

Susan moved to the window, drawing back the curtain.

“The gate is down! They’re coming through!”

Blaise squeezed Parvati’s arms, regaining her attention.

“Barricade the door. Kill anyone who makes it past me.”

Her eyes welled as she braced her hands against his chest, rearing up, tears overspilling the corners
as she sought his mouth with her own.

Blaise released one of her arms, capturing her face in his palm and pressing the pad of his thumb to
her bottom lip.

“Kissing before a battle is bad luck.”

She stilled in his hold, eyes flashing.

“Bullshite.”

He smirked, tracing the edge of her mouth. “Accost me after, when I’ve gallantly saved the day
and we can make a grand show of it in front of the others.”

She drew back slowly, settling onto her heels. “I can’t kiss you if you’re dead.”

“I’ll fight harder knowing what awaits me on the other side.”

He seized her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the center of her palm before she
could formulate a response.

And then he released her, watching as her hand curled around open air.

“Barricade the door.”

She wet her lips. “You’re a bloody idiot.”

He paused in the doorway, winking over his shoulder.

“That’s what you like most.”

And then he disappeared into the hall, slamming the door behind him.

Parvati swallowed thickly, staring at the wood barrier for a handful of fleeting seconds before
surging forward.

“Hannah, Luna, help me move this bloody thing!”

Susan lowered to her haunches before the window, removing the rifle from her shoulder as the girls
sprinted across the room and gathered around the massive wardrobe.

She slid the window open a narrow fraction, wedging the end of the barrel between the gap and
taking aim.

She licked her lips, settling into place, resting the stock upon her shoulder and closing one eye to
peer through the scope.

At last, she held her breath, curling a finger around the trigger as the wardrobe scraped across the
floor.

Her first target darted into sight, a dark smudge on an already shadowed landscape.

She squeezed the trigger.

The shot was deafening, echoing through her ears as the stock slammed into her clavicle.

She steadied herself, inhaling sharply and opening her eyes wide, watching her target bleed out on
the grass.

Her heart thundered, not in celebration, but in cold terror as a rapid succession of gunshots tore
through the air.

Coming from downstairs.

“Alright- one, two, up!”

Both men grunted with exertion, staggering to the side as they hoisted the china cabinet off the
ground and walked it towards the garden entrance.

They set it down with a deafening thud, rearing back and panting heavily.

Neville wiped the sweat from his forehead, studying the door.

“Tip it back.”

“What?”

He struggled to catch his breath, gesturing with his hands. “A door opens when force is applied at
center mass. We need to redistribute the opposing-”

“Bloody hell! English, Nev!”

“We need to push it against the hinges. There’s no way they’ll be able to pry the door open.”

Ron blinked, then nodded.

They pushed against the front of the cabinet, slowly rocking it onto its hind legs and wedging it
against the door. Plates and teacups fell, shattering against the back panel of the case.

They both staggered, panting anew as Ron reached for his rifle lying across the counter.

“We need to start on the windows-”

As if on cue, an explosion of shattering glass rang down the hall. They spun in place, Neville
stumbling back as Ron darted forward, charging into the dark corridor with his weapon in hand.

Neville blinked, frozen in place for another stuttered beat before regaining feeling in his legs,
grabbing up his own gun and following his friend's trail.

As he rounded the corner he heard Ron’s sharp gasp, whether in pain or exertion he wasn’t certain,
and then he burst into the dining room, utter chaos unleashed before him.

Two men had come through the busted window, one still crawling over the frame. Ron stood at the
other end of the table, rifle aimed high. Before Neville could think to speak or blink he pulled the
trigger, the man in the window flying back as the bullet struck him dead center.

The other man snarled in rage, charging forward and leaping on top of the table in a single bound.
Ron pointed the rifle upward but it was too late, his adversary gripped the barrel and wrenched it to
the side, swinging a powerful fist at Ron’s head.

He managed to duck the brunt of the hit, though the impact clipped his shoulder enough to send
him staggering to the side.

Ron rolled with the momentum, aiming a punch of his own upward, colliding with the man’s rib
cage and earning a satisfying shout of pain. His opponent crumpled, clutching his side.

Ron whipped his head around, eyes wide.

“Nev!”

Neville jolted, fumbling with the rifle in his hands. By the time he gazed back up Ron was kneeling
on the table, arm wrapped tightly around the man’s neck. His opponent thrashed and struck blindly,
fists glancing off Ron’s legs and sides as he struggled to maintain his chokehold.

Yet he continued to stare at Neville.

“Behind you!”

A second window shattered.

Neville spun around, adrenaline surging through every pore, clouding his vision and slowing his
thoughts even as his limbs jerked uncontrollably, the urge to run and hide nearly overwhelming his
senses.

Instead, he lifted the rifle and fired without aiming.

The bullet clipped the third window, causing it to shatter as well, glass raining upon the hardwood,
a gleaming lake of shards.

The man who attempted to crawl through ducked for cover, diving headlong into the bushes.

Neville blinked rapidly, spinning back to Ron, unsure what to do now that he’d lost sight of his
target.

Ron continued to grapple, though his prey’s movements slowed significantly as his brain was
deprived of oxygen. His attempts at escape became clumsy, face turning an impressive shade of
crimson, bloated and gleaming with sweat.

Within seconds the battle was over, all four limbs falling limp as his eyes rolled back in his head.

Ron slowly loosened his arm, panting heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the scuffed
table.

Neville watched on in numb silence, waking from his stupor only when Ron retook his rifle and
aimed it square at his chest.

“Down!”

Neville dropped his weapon, throwing his arms over his head and dropping to his knees without
hesitation.

Ron fired for a second time, hitting Neville’s previous target in the side as he once more attempted
to crawl through the window.

He fell into the bushes, screaming loudly.

More gunshots rang out in the distance, the shattered windows making it impossible to detect their
source.

Neville scrambled over the sea of broken glass, reaching for his gun, limbs going stiff as footsteps
pounded over pebbles and grass, drawing near.

Ron slid off the table, landing in a pounce beside him and gripping his shoulder, dragging him
forward.

“Neville, get your bloody gun!”

Neville blinked, eyes darting to the windows as more footfalls joined the fold, rapidly approaching.
“There’s too many of them!”

“We don’t have a choice.”

He wet his lips, eyes gleaming. “I have an idea.”

Ron ignored him, opening his weapon and releasing the empty shells from the chamber.

Neville reached out, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet.

“Come on!”

“What are you-”

“Just trust me!”

Ron shook his head, closing the rifle and slinging it over his back as he chased his friend out of the
demolished room.

Hermione’s fists clenched as she met the pale, translucent gaze hovering at the end of the hall.

“Hello.” She drew in a slow breath, pulse thrumming. “Ariana.”

The apparition gave no visible reaction to the name.

“That was you I saw running downstairs, wasn’t it? Some echo of your past?”

Silence greeted her. She pressed on, taking a tentative step forward.

"Your brother told me what happened. How you died. I'm so very sorry." Another step. "I
understand why you came to me. And I promise we're going to stop Him. Tom is on his way now
to-”

She broke off as Ariana hovered higher, nearly touching the ceiling.

And then drifted back toward the staircase. Hermione opened and closed her mouth, following
slowly.

“What…”

Her brows together as the girl faced forward and floated down the steps, steady and slow, allowing
Hermione to keep pace behind her.

She clutched the railing tight, words caught in her throat as she emerged on the first level, staring
into the darkness of the hallway beyond and losing sight of Ariana as she drifted into the shadows.

She scrambled for the side table, remembering the lantern she spotted earlier and breathing a sigh
of relief as her hands found the smooth glass, fingers fumbling with the dial and igniting the flame.

She gripped the handle tight, holding it aloft and gasping as she spotted the girl hovering at the far
end of the hallway.

In front of a familiar door.

Dread pooled in her stomach like black oil, congealing to thick sludge as the anticipation built.
And then, sure enough, Ariana began to drift through the barrier.

Hermione stepped forward, reaching out.

“I can’t-”

She disappeared from sight. Hermione’s hand dropped to her side.

“Float through walls.”

She bit her lip, shifting from foot to foot as she waged an internal war, holding her breath and
straining to listen for any signs of movement upstairs.

But the only sound to greet her ears was the house settling and a gust of wind whistling in the
distance.

She shook her head, lowering the lantern and shifting towards the side table, pushing down her
latent guilt as she pressed her fingertips along the bottom panel, searching for the catch.

She found the groove in the wood and slid it to the side, the panel falling open as a small gold key
dropped into her waiting palm.

She crept to the bedroom door on tiptoes, glancing over her shoulder as she gripped the knob,
staring into the darkness.

And feeling as though the darkness was staring back.

She swallowed heavily, gooseflesh spreading across her arms and legs as she faced forward and
hurriedly shoved the key into the lock, fingers trembling as she twisted the metal.

The bolt slid away with an echoing click.

She braced herself, muscles clenched in anticipation as she slowly turned the knob and pushed
open the barrier, cringing as the door groaned on its hinges.

A draft of cold air rushed past, blowing back her hair and stealing her breath.

And then she gasped, staggering away as a pair of gleaming eyes watched her from the darkness.

She raised the lantern, mouth agape, rendered mute with stilted shock and relief when the flame
revealed a pair of glittering glass eyes staring out of a pale, porcelain face.

She pressed a hand to her chest, settling back on her heels and forcing her gaze away from the wall
of unnerving toy spectators.

But the dread remained firmly rooted in the empty caverns of her heart and stomach.

For Ariana stood in the corner of the room, bare soles bracing the floor and long, pale hair draped
neatly down her back, no longer floating in an invisible current around her head.

But most jarring of all was her body.

It appeared solid. Real.

Alive.
Hermione stepped over the threshold, lantern trembling in her grip as she stared at the pale figure.

“This is your bedroom.”

She shook her head at the inane statement, still at a loss for words following the girl’s disturbing
appearance.

Ariana continued to face away, seemingly absorbed by the sight before her.

Hermione tilted her head, peering around her pale skirts to see what held her focus with such
rapture.

And then she saw the item quite clearly.

“Your dollhouse.”

Hermione drew closer, studying the detailed shingles framing the roof, the perfectly spaced bricks
along the exterior.

“It looks like the one in the attic of the Home.”

She wet her lips, faltering.

“All those broken dolls…”

She glanced to the wall once more, gazing upon each porcelain mask staring out from the shelves.

The dolls no longer faced the doorway.

They faced her. Watching in silence.

Her heart stuttered.

“Ariana.”

She inhaled deeply, light headed as she turned to the ghostly figure. “Were you kept in that room?”

The girl moved at last, lifting her chin to gaze at the wall, pale hair swaying softly at her back.

Hermione stepped closer, lifting the lantern.

“You were brought to the Home? The Dollmaker kept you captive in the attic?”

She held her breath as Ariana slowly turned her head, delicate profile coming into view as she
gazed upon her doll collection.

Hermione watched her carefully.

“I wish so badly you could speak. That you could communicate somehow.”

She closed her eyes, shaking her head.

And then opened her lids, gasping sharply as her gaze was met by an empty corner.

She blinked rapidly, spinning in a frantic circle.

“Ariana?”
Her heart thundered manically.

“Ariana!”

She charged the corner, glaring accusingly at the dollhouse as though it were to blame for the girl’s
sudden departure.

And just as suddenly as the apparition vanished, a cold breeze arrived, sweeping powerfully
through the room and causing her flame to flicker wildly.

She gazed at the closed window, lungs compressing.

And then the bedroom door opened, pulling her attention as light from the hallway spilled in.

Hermione spun on her heel, eyes wide, stomach twisting as she scrambled desperately for an
apology, an explanation as to why she broke into the sacred room.

But the words turned to smoke on the air when she saw who stood in the doorway.

“Dawn?”

The girl padded softly into the room, footsteps all but silent, a soft smile curving her lips as she met
Hermione’s wide, bemused gaze.

Hermione continued to gape, dumbfounded by the girl’s sudden appearance, wondering how she
failed to hear her journey across the second floor or down the stairs.

“Are you alright? Did I wake you?”

Dawn tilted her head, curls cascading over her shoulder and down her bare arm, and another draft
flooded the room, wrapping them both in its cold embrace.

Hermione blinked, a pang of familiarity striking her heart. In the vast sea of strangeness, this
encounter was particularly strange.

Which made her next question seem particularly normal.

“Ariana?”

The girl continued her slow approach, stopping only to clasp Hermione’s shoulder, nudging her
gently aside.

She jolted at the icy touch, stepping back to allow her room to pass, watching in equal parts
fascination and growing unease as she lifted her skirts and lowered to her knees before the massive
dollhouse.

And then she reached forward, gripping two shingles on opposite ends of the wall and pulling out.

The wall separated seamlessly, two halves of the panel sliding along their tracks in opposite
directions to reveal the dark interior.

Hermione stepped closer, lowering the lantern to illuminate the four levels and all their rooms. The
detailing along the floors and walls was astounding, but the true masterpiece was the miniature
furniture adorning each nook.

Hermione watched in silence as Dawn started moving pieces about, rearranging dishes and plates,
straightening a vase, folding over covers on a bed.

And then she caught sight of two dolls within the house, positioned inside a tiny bedroom.

One was kneeling in the corner, the other standing behind it, gazing down.

Hermione reared back, glancing behind her, eyes rapidly scanning the flickering shadows.

She took a deep breath, facing forward, alarmed to see Dawn’s head was tipped back and her
gleaming eyes were fixed upon on.

“Inside.”

Hermione jolted, nearly dropping the lantern.

“What?”

The girl faced forward once more, tying back the curtains in the parlor and nudging aside the grand
piano.

Hermione sidled closer. “Inside what, Ariana?”

Her companion smiled brightly, continuing to play.

“Inside.”

Hermione opened her mouth, intent on asking more questions.

And then realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.

“Inside…” Her eyes widened. “Inside the dollhouse.”

She gripped the lantern until the handle cut into her palm.

“You wanted me to find something inside the dollhouse in the attic.” She wet her lips, pulse
skipping. “But I got distracted.”

She ran a hand over her face, staggered by the revelation. “We’ll find it. Whatever it is. I’ll tell
Dumbledore, he can send-”

“You, Hermione.”

Her spine went rigid at the quiet intensity of the voice, arm dropping lifeless to her side as the girl
focused her sparkling eyes upon her once more.

The way they glistened in the oil lamp… they almost appeared glass.

“Why?” Hermione lowered to her knees just beside her, shivering as cold radiated off her form in
heavy waves. “Why must it be me? Why am I the one you chose?”

Ariana leaned in and slowly raising a hand to Hermione’s cheek. Her palm was so frigid the touch
was near painful, but Hermione held fast, refusing to pull away, to risk losing this moment.

“Only you.”

Hermione blinked back tears. “Please, just tell me-”

Dawn jolted forward as though struck between her shoulder blades, eyes rolling back in her head.
Hermione gasped, gripping her arms to steady her.

“No, Ariana, don’t go!”

But it was too late.

She felt the cold evade the girl’s skin, warmth blossoming beneath her hands as Dawn gasped for
air, lids fluttering open.

“Dawn, are you alright?”

She went rigid in her hold, wrenching free and falling against the side of the bed, legs splayed out
beneath her.

“Where…”

Her eyes landed on Hermione and went wide, as though registering her presence for the first time.
And then she surged forward, seizing Hermione in a steel grip.

“Please! Help me!”

Hermione paled, searching her gaze.

“Dawn?”

The girl released a broken sob, throwing herself into Hermione, clinging to her desperately as
tremors shook her frame.

“Please! Don’t send me back there!”

Hermione gaped, slowly wrapping her arms around her huddled form. “I won’t, you’re safe-”

She stiffened as Dawn began to seize, collapsing upon her lap in a jittering tangle of limbs.

“Dawn!”

Hermione struggled to hold her upright, pushing back her hair to reveal her pale face, only the
whites of her eyes visible as she convulsed uncontrollably.

“No!”

She lowered the girl onto her back, tipping her chin up in an attempt to open her airway.

Her chest wasn’t moving.

“Dumbledore!”

Her voice was broken, frantic, ringing through her ears. She began chest compressions.

“Dumbledore! Help!”

She heard a muffled thump from the floor above.

“Dawn.” Tears dripped from her face as she silently counted the compressions. “Please hold on.”

She grasped the girl’s chin once more, trying to pry apart her sealed jaw and blue lips.
“I promise I’ll get you out.”

She heard Dumbledore race down the steps.

“I’ll get you all out.”

Harry skid into the room, nearly losing his footing as he fought to slow his momentum. He
steadied himself, ducking low to keep out of view of the windows.

The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the tall glass.

“Behind the couch!”

Harry charged towards his godfather’s disembodied voice. He rounded the settee, dropping to his
knees beside the man.

“Everyone squared away?”

He nodded swiftly, lowering the rifles to the ground.

"Yes, Sir." He caught the slip-up, shaking his head. "Sorry. Sirius."

His admiral clapped him on the shoulder. "It's alright, lad. I need you in top form." He looked at
the windows. "Did you bring Pandora?"

Harry blinked. “Who?”

Sirius gazed at the items scattered between them, nodding to the leather box.

“Her.”

Harry wet his lips, pulling the box of ammunition from his pocket. “Christ, that sounds ominous.”

“Rightly so. Slide her here. Carefully.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He lowered the rifle and bullets and did as bade, jolting back at the
sound of approaching footsteps from outside.

“They’re coming.”

Sirius nodded, centering the box before him. “With the back blocked off they’ll be forced through
the front half of the estate.”

Harry gazed over his shoulder, watching his godfather’s movement. “That’s a lot of ground for
four men to cover, regardless of firepower. We should split up.”

Sirius shook his head, flipping open the gold clasps. “I plan on reducing the ground.”

Harry raised a brow, but before he could articulate a response his attention was drawn by the sound
of boots treading across the garden, gravel dispersing, twigs snapping.

Harry positioned the barrel of the rifle along the top of the cushion, leveling his gaze behind the
scope, ever watchful of the shadows dancing outside the pane, trying to distinguish swaying branch
from human limb.

Sirius flipped open the lid. Harry blinked, unable to quell the urge to gaze over his shoulder.
He peered inside the box and paled, nearly dropping the rifle.

“Holy. Fuck.”

Sirius smirked. “Precisely.”

“That’s Pandora?”

“The one and only. Isn’t she stunning?”

“You had that sitting on a goddamn bookcase in the study?”

“What, like I’d have books?”

The window shattered, glass exploding across the rug as a brick crashed into the floor, rolling to a
stop beneath the piano.

Harry whipped around, taking aim at the dark mass hurtling through the busted frame, pulling the
trigger and hitting his mark dead center, square in the heart.

The man flew back on impact, collapsing in a sprawled heap across the stone walkway, blood
rapidly pooling beneath his torso, running in streams through the grout.

Harry didn’t stop to contemplate he’d just taken his second life. Gunshots exploded upstairs and
across the property, pulling every ounce of his focus.

Windows shattered across the hall, deep male voices calling out to one another from the study.

He spun around as he glimpsed movement at his back, his godfather rising to his feet, holding a
rifle in one hand and the sealed box in the other.

“I’m setting her up in the library, cover me until the entry, then meet up with Ron and Neville.”

Harry nodded while a random, stray thought ran errant through his mind.

Relief that Hermione wasn’t here to see her beloved library utterly destroyed.

“Yes, Sir.”

He pulled to his feet, taking aim once more as another figure appeared at the parlor window,
leaping over the fallen body of his companion. But this man saw the rifle, ducking just in time to
avoid the oncoming bullet.

Harry cursed to himself, breaking open the action and fishing more bullets from his pocket.

“Down!”

He followed his godfather’s instruction without hesitation, collapsing to the hardwood like a
corpse, a bullet whizzing just past where his head once stood.

The outside invader had a pistol and frighteningly good aim.

Sirius set the box aside and began to raise his weapon. Harry caught movement at his back once
more, gaining speed down the hall, heading straight towards them.

“Behind you!”
Sirius bobbed out of the way just in time to avoid a blow to the side of the head with a large
wooden bat.

The room’s newest occupant growled in frustration, discarding his club and diving headlong into
Sirius instead, catching him around the middle and driving them both to the ground.

Harry had no time to pay their scuffle any mind, attention diverted to the man climbing through the
window, pistol leveled at his head.

Harry scrambled to refill his rifle but lost grip on the box of bullets, heart skipping in time to the
sound of each one hitting the floor.

“Shite!”

He ducked once more, following the casings’ path as he rolled along the rug and took shelter
behind the couch. Another shot tore through the air, the bullet exploding through the backing and
lodging in the wall directly ahead, fabric and stuffing cascading in its wake.

Inspiration struck.

Harry sprang to his feet, racing across the rug toward his godfather and the assailant he was still
grappling with.

“Down!”

Sirius didn’t hesitate, elbowing the man in the ribs and dropping to his knees as another shot rang
through the air.

Harry hit the ground at the same moment, the bullet flying overhead and hitting Sirius’s opponent
in the stomach.

The man clutched his abdomen, blood flowing past his fingers, thick and dark, dripping onto the
rug and across the side of Harry’s face.

Harry rolled beneath the piano as the man collapsed face first, hitting the ground so hard it shook
the floor beneath his hands and knees.

The shooter cursed, taking aim once more.

Directly at Sirius’s head.

Time sped up and slowed down.

Harry blinked, scrambling forward, crawling over the fallen body as the man pulled the trigger and
a deafening click filled the room.

Everyone jolted, staring at the gleaming weapon in disbelief.

Empty.

The shooter cursed again, flicking open the chamber and reaching into his coat while Sirius
crawled towards his discarded rifle.

Harry reached into his boot, withdrawing a hunting blade and rising to his knees, throwing the
knife with all his strength.
He watched it sail end over end with blurring speed, glinting brightly in the moonlight.

It struck home just as Sirius gripped the rifle, glancing up as the pistol hit the ground, bullets
raining down in a slow cascade as the box slipped from the man’s grip, his focus diverted to the
knife wedged deep in his neck.

He dropped to his knees, pulling the blade free with both hands.

Harry cringed, averting his eyes as a torrent of blood followed. He’d struck an artery, a crimson
fountain spurting out with each successive heartbeat.

The rest of the body hit the floor a moment later. Harry and Sirius rose to their feet, panting and
taking inventory of each other.

Harry didn’t realize how tense he was until his godfather stepped forward and clasped his shoulder,
squeezing hard, holding his gaze.

“Good job, son.”

His heart skipped once, twice, then thudded hard and painful against his ribs.

Sirius only called him that on rare occasions.

He swallowed heavily. “Go. I’ve got you covered.”

His godfather nodded. “I know you do.”

Harry leaned down, grasping his rifle as he watched the man strap his own around his back. Then
he picked up the leather box with meticulous care, charging headlong into the shadowed hallway.

Ron chased Neville down the hall with bated breath, footsteps pounding loudly in their wake as
they rounded the corner, leading the invaders on a cat and mouse chase through the corridors.

“Where the hell are we going?”

“The library!”

Ron blinked, pressing a hand to the wall to steady his path around another intersection.

“Why?”

“The ceiling’s domed!”

Ron opened and closed his mouth, watching in bemusement as Neville grabbed up a lantern from a
side table, barrelling ahead at full speed to the double doors at the end of the hall.

He sighed, shaking his head and finding his voice at last.

“Fucking hell!”

. . .

The four men charged through the doorway, piling up just beyond the threshold, glancing around
the expansive space.

“Where are they?”

“Maybe they passed-”

“No. I saw the cowards run in here.”

The man in front wet his lips, stepping forward, eyes fixed to the tall bookcases as he raised his
revolver.

“Come out, come out, ginger rat! I know you and your pretty lass are in here!”

Muffled shuffling sounded from the far end of the room.

He glanced over his shoulder, smiling broadly, yellow teeth gleaming in triumph.

“Scabior, go upstairs and get the women. We’ll make quick work of the girls down here.”

They all exploded into laughter. The man referred to as Scabior winked, backing towards the
doorway.

“Don’t have too much fun without me.”

He disappeared around the corner. The Leader nodded to the pair standing behind him, gesturing to
either wall with his chin.

They parted ways, flanking both sides of the room as he took the center aisle, quickly descending
upon the back of the library.

They glanced down each row they passed, guns aimed, smiling at each other as they approached
the final bookcase, pausing just before the end aisle.

The Leader held up a staying hand, silently counting down three fingers.

Then they sprang, leaping around the final row, weapons drawn and eyes bright.

They blinked, staring at each other over the open expanse of empty space.

“Now!”

Neville’s shout tore through the air, echoing all around them, its source indiscernible.

They spun in frantic circles, searching him out, jolting hard as the bookcases at the opposite end of
the room tipped over in a mighty explosion.

Hundreds of books rained down upon the tile as the two end cases crashed into their neighbors,
causing a domino effect down the twin rows.

“Move!”

They attempted to flee down the center aisle.

Neville darted into view, lantern held aloft.

One of the men took aim with his pistol, only to drop it a moment later, screaming as a gunshot
echoed loudly off the dome ceiling, amplifying the chaotic explosion of noise created by the
falling books and splintering wood.

Ron lowered the rifle, eyes gleaming as he watched the man clutch his bleeding hand, gaping at
the large hole in the center of his palm.

Neville leaped over fallen books and threw the lantern down, oil spilling across the floor and
igniting the pages, creating a path of flame down the center aisle.

The men scrambled back, pressing against the far wall as the final two cases crashed into the wall
on either side of them, splitting open the wood paneling and blocking their exits.

They gazed around frantically, then tried to scale the imposing obstacles to evade the growing
flame. But the cases were too high, the sides completely smooth, offering no handholds.

New footsteps pounded down the hall, rounding the corner at impressive speed.

Ron raised the rifle once more.

“Whoa!”

Sirius skid to a stop, books piling at his feet. He blinked, gazing around the utter destruction of the
room, eyes lingering on steadily growing inferno.

“What are you boys up to?”

The men began to scream as the flames reached them, clawing desperately at the wall.

Ron lowered the gun. “Bonfire.”

Neville stepped forward, panting heavily. “We’ve got three barricaded.”

Sirius shook his head, stepping over a pile of books towards the table in the corner.

“Not for long.”

He set the leather case atop the surface, turning it around and flicking open the clasps with his
thumbs.

Ron and Neville edged closer, watching in abject fascination.

Sirius opened the lid.

Ron blinked rapidly, jaw unhinging. “Holy-”

“-shite,” Neville whispered, leaning in to inspect the contents.

Sirius stood back. “You boys get clear, Harry will meet you at the stairs.”

Neville jolted as though electrocuted.

“The stairs!” He met Ron’s eye, panic etched into every line of his face. “They sent a man ahead.”

Ron paled.

“Fuck.”

They spun on their heels, racing out of the room, skidding on slick covers and broken spines as
they went, rounding the corner as the screaming reached new heights.

Sirius turned back to the table.

“Not to worry, gents. You won’t be burning alive tonight.”

He reached into the box and carefully extracted the dynamite, dark eyes gleaming with childlike
anticipation.

“In fact, I don’t think you’ll be feeling much of anything.”

Susan bit her lip, steadying the barrel along the window ledge and closing one eye as she took aim.

She released a short breath and pulled the trigger.

The explosion died away with the rest of the chaos surrounding them, her bullet tearing through the
dark night and clipping her target in the shoulder, blowing him clear off his feet.

His companion staggered back, glancing to the window and diving for cover as she pulled the
trigger a second time.

Her bullet sailed overhead, missing by several feet.

“Shite!”

She drew back, both eyes open as she watched the man scramble around the side of the building,
out of sight.

“I don’t have a clear shot.”

Hannah moved towards the balcony doors.

“What about over here?”

Parvati and Susan sprang forward at the same time, twin cries filling the room.

“No!”

The girl turned to stone, arm frozen, half extended towards the handle. Susan shook her head,
lowering the rifle.

“You’ll be exposed on the balcony, don’t open-”

An incoming bullet clipped the frame, splitting the wood and shattering the glass, knocking debris
into her hair.

They all screamed and dropped to the floor as more shots invaded the window, tearing through the
silk canopy and lodging in the wall and ceiling.

Susan perched on her elbows, eyes flickering up as the gunfire finally ceased.

“I need a mirror!”

Parvati sprang into action, grabbing a spare pillow from the bed and tearing off the ivory case,
wrapping it around her hand. She crawled to the dresser, lifting to her knees and driving her
covered fist into the mirrored backing.

It shattered around her cloaked hand, shards scattering across the surface of the counter.

She carefully selected the largest piece she could find, lowering to the rug and crawling to the
window with the jagged shard extended.

Susan nodded, accepting it carefully.

“Thanks.”

She took a steadying breath before raising the mirror overhead, turning it in either direction until
she caught the reflection of the hedges and the shooter hidden within.

“Northeast corner.” She wet her lips, lowering the mirror. “Alright, new plan.”

She glanced to Hannah, hovering nearby on her hands and knees. “Open the doors, stay low.”

Hannah blinked. “I thought you said-”

“It will distract him long enough for me to take the shot.”

The blonde looked hesitant but nodded all the same, swallowing heavily before turning in place
and crawling to the french doors.

“Tell me when.”

Susan inhaled deeply through her nose. “On the count of three.” She gripped the rifle at her side.
“One.”

She pulled it close, positioning her hand on the action and trigger.

“Two.”

She wet her lips, surging forward.

“Three!”

Hanah reached up, turning the handle and pushing both doors open as hard as she could. They
swung wide, hitting either wall with a bang.

Bullets tore through the air, zipping in from the balcony and tearing chunks out of the plastered
ceiling. Parvati scrambled to the bed, rearing up and throwing her arms over her sister’s head.

Susan took aim and fired, once.

The opposing gunfire ceased immediately.

“Got him.”

Parvati sank to her knees beside the bed, panting heavily.

“Bloody hell, you’re brill-”

Pounding footsteps charged down the hallway directly outside, followed by a single gunshot.

Parvati spang to her feet, racing across the room.

“Blaise!” She pounded the wall beside the wardrobe. “Blaise!”

“Parvati, no!” Hannah and Luna rushed to her side, grabbing her arms and pulling her back. “They
could shoot through the wall!”
“We have to help him!”

Susan rose up, peering through the shattered window once more.

“There’s more coming in!”

Parvati fought the restraining grip. “We have to help them! We’re sitting ducks in here! If we wait
for them to kill all our boys we’re as good as dead anyway!”

“Black said to stay-”

“Fuck what Black said!”

“It’s no use.”

Parvati stilled, all heads turning to Susan as she backed away from the window with a somber
expression.

“Whether we stay or go, we’re grossly outnumbered. We need backup and we need it now.”

Hannah blinked. “Backup? Like the Yard?”

“Precisely like the Yard.” Susan strapped the rifle over her shoulder. “I need to get word to my
father. He’ll have the cavalry here in no time.”

Parvati eyed her speculatively.

“How are we supposed to get a letter across town?”

Susan held her gaze. “This side of the house is clear.”

Parvati blinked. Then paled.

“You can’t be suggesting what I think you're suggesting.”

“The tree line is twenty yards from the property line, the coverage will conceal-”

“We’ll be shot before we make it to the bloody ground!”

“I’ll cover whoever goes.”

“No fucking-”

“I’ll go.”

Parvati’s jaw snapped shut as she spun on her heel, facing the source of the gentle voice.

She shook her head, shoulders drawing back.

“Luna, no-”

The blonde reached forward, placing a hand on her arm.

“She’s right. We need help. If I go now, fewer people will die trying to protect us."

Parvati grit her teeth, fists curling. “Then I’ll go.”

“And leave Padma?”

She blinked rapidly, eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Luna-”

Susan stepped closer. “If she’s going to do it, she has to do it now.”

Parvati closed her eyes, shaking her head and raking both hands through her plaster-strewn hair.

“Shite.”

She opened her eyes, surging forward and grasping Luna in a tight embrace.

“Here, take this.” Susan stepped beside them and pulled a gold ring off her finger, holding it out.
“It was my mother’s. Give it to my father. He’ll believe your story.”

The blonde nodded, accepting it carefully. Susan waited until she gazed up, blue eyes glittering
like topaz.

“I’ll cover you.”

They all ventured to the window carefully, standing alongside the wall before gazing upon the
grass, quickly scanning the side of the house.

Distant fighting could be heard but the gunshots had stopped, as well as the sound of approaching
footsteps.

Susan aligned the rifle along the frame, watching the swaying shadows with hawk-like precision as
Hannah and Parvati helped their friend over the busted sill.

“Luna.”

The blonde looked up, meeting Parvati’s dark gaze.

“Run fast.”

She smiled softly. “That’s wonderful advice, Parvati. Thank you.”

Parvati smiled in turn, shaking her head as she helped the girl swing her other leg over.

Luna adjusted her grip on the large stones framing the window, carefully sliding her feet into
grooves along the brick beneath.

And then began to climb down.

Hannah and Parvati watched closely, heads hanging out and hair blowing in the gentle breeze.

Susan tensed, spine straightening.

“Wait! I see some-”

The remaining words were swallowed by a deafening explosion.

The building shook, the foundation splitting with a powerful surge of energy. The girls all lost their
balance, Susan nearly dropping the gun as she fell to her knees, ears ringing with the aftermath of
the chaos.

She swallowed thickly, pulling up with a hand on the frame as Luna cried out. Parvati leaped
forward, nearly falling out of the window as she reached desperately for the girl hanging off the
brick.

“Luna! Hold on!”

She’d lost her footing, supporting her weight with only one hand.

Parvati leaned further down, reaching out as far as she could but barely grazing her fingertips,
watching in abject horror as they slowly slipped.

And then Luna lost her grip entirely, pale hair and skirts whipping out in front as she fell from the
second story to the hard ground below.

Parvati’s scream radiated through their bones.

Blaise held the rifle with both hands as he leaned against the door, nerves strung taught as the
sound of breaking glass and gunfire filtered into the hall from downstairs.

And then gunfire exploded to life behind him, followed by feminine screams.

He spun around, one hand bracing the wood as he prepared to call out.

But his words disintegrated to ash as footsteps pounded up the staircase.

He drew back swiftly and lifted the rifle, only to blink with uncertainty as he caught sight of the
shotgun in the corner.

Shite.

The footsteps came closer as their owner reached the landing.

He debated which weapon to yield, just how terrible his aim would prove to be.

But the decision was made for him as a body rounded the corner at the far end of the hall, a dirt-
smudged face glancing in either direction before its dark eyes landed on him.

The stranger smiled.

The girls screamed anew, glass shattering.

Blaise tightened his grip, shoulders tensed as the man stepped closer.

“Well, well, what do we have here? A brave knight guarding the fair maidens?”

Blaise fought to keep this grip steady but a powerful tremor ran through his entire body and along
his arms, causing the barrel to jitter as the man continued his slow approach.

“You know how to use that, laddie?”

“I know which end is which.”

The stranger laughed, withdrawing a pistol from his coat and holding it aloft.

"You've never killed a man before. In fact, I don't think you've ever held a gun before. Otherwise,
you'd have taken the shot by now."
Blaise wet his lips, vision clouding. The man’s smile deepened.

“You’re shaking pretty bad. It’s going to affect your aim.”

"Not any more than your incessant drivel affects yours."

He tossed his head back and laughed anew, his own hand perfectly steady as he continued to aim
the pistol.

“You don’t need to die over this, kid. Our quarrel isn’t with you. Stand aside and I’ll let you walk
free of this mess.”

Blaise ground his teeth as he heard muffled thumps and gasps from beyond the double doors.

“I’m not interested in such an arrangement.”

The man raised an intrigued brow.

“No?” He traced his crooked teeth with the tip of his tongue, savoring the taunting. “One of those
birds yours or something?”

Blaise licked his lips, aiming the weapon without peering through the scope.

“Or something.”

He pulled the trigger.

The man shouted as the bullet hit the side of the pistol, sparks flying as it flew out of his hand and
fell to the hall runner.

They both blinked in shock.

And then the man released a rabid snarl, charging full force ahead.

“You little fuck!”

Blaise backed up, firing again, missing by a mile.

In the next beat, the man was upon him, wrenching the gun from his hand and tossing it aside as he
caught him around the center, driving them both to the ground with a mighty crash.

He absently heard Parvati screaming his name, but his thoughts were quickly consumed by the
fists raining down upon him, battering his side and chest.

He threw his hands over his head, curling in on himself to protect his vital organs as adrenaline
flooded his system in a heady rush, slowing his mind and sharpening his reflexes.

He reached to the side, grasping desperately for something he knew was there but couldn't see.

His fingertips grazed smooth, cold metal. He knocked it over, jolting as it fell to the floor with a
loud thud.

He tried to reach out further-

A fist collided with his stomach, driving the air from his lungs. He curled inward, eyes tearing as
his adversary reared up, reaching for the shotgun instead.
Blaise swallowed heavily, driving his knee up and clipping the man in the ribs with enough force to
throw him off balance. As he tried to steady himself Blaise forced his body to unfurl, dragging
himself across the rug and grasping the hilt of the gun.

The man grabbed the back of his jacket and wrenched him back, causing his chin to clip the floor
hard enough to fog his vision once more.

But he kept his death grip on the weapon, rolling over and aiming blindly as sweat dripped into his
eyes.

He pulled the trigger, shuddering as it kicked powerfully in his hands.

The man flew back, hitting the opposite wall with a crack and sliding down in a heap. Blood
soaked through his shirt and streaked down the pale wallpaper.

Blaise panted, shotgun trembling in his grip as the man stared at the gaping hole in his chest,
absently patting the wound and though trying to stuff his missing parts back inside.

Blaise cringed, glancing away as the movements slowed, the man’s head finally tipping back and
hitting the wall with a dull thud as his arms fell limp at his sides.

More footsteps rounded the corner, quick and agile.

Blaise scrambled back on his bum, holding the shotgun aloft once more–

Weasley came into view, red hair flaming like a torch as his hands flew up.

“It’s us!”

Longbottom appeared a heaving breath later. Blaise sagged in place, dropping the weapon and
slowly pushing to his feet, knees weak.

Weasley studied him carefully. “You alright?”

He blinked, then nodded slowly, stepping away from the rapidly growing pool of blood spreading
across the floor.

“Yeah.”

He drew a hand over his face, cringing when it came away red. He scrubbed furiously at his
cheeks and jaw, unable to discern sweat from blood splatter.

Weasley nodded, staring at the body slumped against the wall.

“Good work. We’re going to guard the bottom of the-”

Blaise didn’t hear the rest, a massive explosion filling the cavernous void in his head.

The ground shook, dust falling from the ceiling as the plaster cracked.

He stumbled sideways, pressing against the wall to stay upright as the ground trembled with
aftershocks.

The silence that followed was as jarring at the explosion itself.

Blaise pushed away from the wall, finding his voice.

“What the fuck was that?”

Draco’s heart seized as the carriage rolled before the property line.

He stared at the remnants of the gate in sheer panic.

“Pull over!”

“Master Draco, surely-”

“I said pull over!”

He leaped out before the car came to a stop, running headlong for the mouth of the drive, only to
falter as he spotted a stable’s worth of horses tied to posts just before the entrance of the home.

Gunshots ripped through the night, each a deafening crack that sent him reeling.

He circled back, gazing at his driver.

“Elijah. Go straight to the Yard, get help.”

“Please, Sir, let me take you-”

“Now goddammit!”

He spun on his heel, running through the busted tatters of the gate, stopping short as another round
of gunfire echoed all around, prompting him to change course and run into the woods along the
perimeter of the property.

He paused as silence followed the resounding chaos, broken only by his pounding heart and
panting breath.

And then he caught motion from above.

He blinked, ducking low and peering beneath a branch, watching something move along the side
of the house.

He blinked again.

And then charged forward.

A girl was scaling the brick with her bare hands, blonde hair flowing in the breeze as she struggled
to find her footing.

He opened his mouth to call out but became distracted by the rifle pointed at his head.

He skid to a halt beneath the window, raising his hands and once more trying to speak, but his
words were drowned out by a ground-shaking explosion.

He staggered back, nearly toppling to the grass as Grimmauld shook on its foundation, the stone
walls cracking and releasing a large dust plume into the air.

The girl lost her grip, dangling by one hand, legs kicking the air in a panic.

“Luna!”
The brunette lunged forward, hanging half outside the window as the other two women watched on
in shock. She stretched her arm out, nearly reaching her–

And then the blonde slipped.

Draco dove forward, driven by pure instinct, arms thrown out just in time to catch her.

The sudden impact of her dead weight toppled them both to the ground in a graceless heap, long
tresses in his eyes and mouth as she landed atop him.

He fought to catch his breath, adrenaline buzzing through his veins and making his pulse skip to
the point he was certain he was having a heart attack.

“Oh my god, Luna!”

The cry from above broke him of the stupor. He blinked, leaning up on his elbows as he gazed
down at the girl still sprawled across his torso.

He pushed her hair out of his face, fishing it out of his mouth with a cringe and meeting her wide
gaze.

“Are you alright?”

She blinked slowly, looking equally shocked to be alive.

And then she nodded, smiling softly.

“I’m quite well, thank you.”

The prosaic response helped restore part of his sanity. He pushed up higher, offering a supporting
hand as she took to her feet, wobbling slightly. Once she was standing he followed suit, knocking
loose grass from his knees.

“Malfoy?”

He glanced up, meeting Parvati’s wide gaze. He stepped closer to the side of the building, which
now sat lopsided.

“What the hell is going on?”

She set her jaw, dark eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“Greyback.”

He paled, fists clenching. “Where’s Hermione?”

“She isn’t here.”

His heart skipped anew.

“Where is she?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. But she’s safe.”

He shook his head, supremely unsatisfied with that answer, but gunfire filled the air once more and
his priorities rapidly shifted.
He turned his gaze to the rifle one of the girls was holding.

“Toss me a gun.”

The blonde who accompanied them to Avery’s estate darted into the room and emerged a moment
later with another rifle in hand. She leaned through the frame and lowered it slowly, dropping it
when her arm couldn’t extend any further.

He caught it by the barrel, holding her gaze.

“How many men does Greyback have with him?”

“At least a dozen.”

The third girl shifted forward, gripping her own firearm tight. “Luna is going to send word to my
father.”

He nodded. “The rest of you should climb out, too. I’ll catch you.”

The glanced between each other, the one holding the rifle nodding and stepping aside.

“Go, I’ll cover the field.” She raised the barrel and pointed it ahead.

The blonde shifted forward first, standing closest to the frame. Parvati helped her over the ledge,
releasing her only when she started her shaky descent, knuckles turning white as she clung to the
gaps in the bricks.

Draco reached up, gripping her waist as soon as she came into range and lifting her off the wall and
over the bushes, setting her on her feet beside Luna.

He turned back to the wall, raising his arms once more.

“Hurry!”

Parvati shook her head, taking a step back. “I’m not leaving my sister.”

Her companion glanced at her sharply. “But–”

“Go, Susan.”

“You can’t stay!”

Draco growled under his breath, slamming a fist to the brick. “There isn’t time for this bullshite!”

The girl with the rifle nodded solemnly, strapping the weapon across her back and gathering her
skirts, carefully straddling the window frame and beginning her downward trek.

Draco sensed movement at his back. He tensed, glancing sharply over his shoulder, breathing a
sigh of relief when he saw it was merely one of the blondes stepping forward, gazing up at the
second story.

“Parvati–”

“I’ll be alright, Hannah. Please, the sooner you go the sooner this will all be over.”

Draco grit his teeth, snatching the brunette off the wall as soon as she came within arm’s reach and
setting her aside, reaching into his coat to extract his gleaming billfold.

“Go, take this for fare and anything else you need. I’ll cover you to the woods.”

The brunette accepted it, stuffing it in her skirt pocket as the others peered upward forlornly.

Parvati nodded once more and they finally relented, darting across the grass as Draco took aim with
his rifle, grateful his father insisted his only son become fluent with firearms at a young age.

His shoulders dropped as their flowing hair and skirts disappeared behind the dark treeline.

He started to lower the gun when he heard a branch snap to his right. He spun on his heel as
Parvati's cry echoed down.

“Behind you!”

A dark mass exploded from the hedges, rushing straight for him.

He took aim and fired, hitting his target in the leg.

The man wailed like a dying animal, skidding in the grass and falling flat on his backside as he
clutched his injured thigh, tipping his head back and screaming into the night.

“They’re getting away!”

Draco scowled, running forward, gun aimed at his head.

The man gaped, face red with exertion as he tried to pull himself back.

“Please! God please!” He raised his arms, hands trembling. “Don’t kill me!”

Draco’s heart thundered violently in his chest, battering his ribcage.

“Please!”

He shook his head, lowering the gun and flipping it over in his hands, driving the hilt into the side
of the man’s skull.

He slumped over in a dead heap, silent at last.

Draco panted, arms falling limp as he staggered back, vision hazy.

“Malfoy!”

He blinked, spinning around to face the broken window. Parvati eyed him carefully, expression
tense.

“You should go for help, too.”

He took a steadying breath, lifting his chin.

“No. I’m coming to get you.”

She blinked, slowly drawing back. “I told you, I’m not leaving-”

“I heard you the first five bloody times.”

She scowled, crossing her arms. “I’d really love to smack the shite out of you.”

“You’ve already done that, luv. Stay put, I’ll be right up.”

Parvati sighed, dropping her arms to grip the sill, watching the blonde dart around the corner of the
house and disappear from sight.

She shook her head, thorn-covered vines tightening around her heart with each successive beat.

“Famous last words,” she whispered, stepping back into the shadows and turning for the bed.

Oblivious to the dark figure in the trees, watching her through the window with slitted eyes and a
Cheshire grin.

Dumbledore released a weary sigh, rubbing his thumb and forefinger along his brow as he slowly
paced the front of the bedroom.

Hermione leaned over Dawn’s still form, the girl’s limp wrist encased in her hand. She watched the
seconds tick by along the clock on the side table, counting the frail beats beneath her fingertips.

At last she sighed, releasing her arm and laying it gently across her middle.

“Her pulse is weak.”

He dropped his hand, turning to face her.

“What can I do to help?”

She held his gaze. “Admit her to the nearest hospital.”

“Letting her out of this house puts her life in great danger.”

Her shoulders tensed, latent panic still knotting her muscles. “It’s amazing she’s alive at all. The fit
nearly killed her. She stopped breathing altogether. If she has another seizure her heart will most
certainly give out.”

He released a long breath. “What if I call for a private physician to come to the house?”

Hermione shook her head. “She needs around the clock monitoring, intravenous liquids… her
condition extends well beyond the scope of a house call.”

“If she’s recognized-”

“The Dollmaker doesn’t know she’s a part of this. As far as he's concerned she’s just another
product sold to one of his clients.”

She rubbed her palms along her dress, glancing down at the bed as she fought to keep her tone
unaffected. “But just in case, you should stay with her.”

A tense beat.

He shifted forward, drawing her gaze.

“I can’t leave you here alone. I’ll station men I trust outside of her hospital room.”
Her jaw clenched.

Good enough.

She nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll grab her traveling cloak.”

She stood from the edge of the mattress, casting a parting glance at the bed before walking past
him.

“Ms. Granger.”

She paused in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder.

He tilted his head, glacial eyes sparkling like clear water.

“Why were you in this room?”

She paled, fingers clenching upon the frame. “I’m terribly sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“I’m not upset. Merely curious.”

She wet her lips, gaze darting around the feminine space, caught by the accusing stares of the dolls.

Watching. Waiting.

“I…” She shifted uncomfortably, forcing herself to meet his unnerving gaze. “I felt compelled to
take a second look.”

He studied her carefully.

The silence was heavy, oppressive. Filling her lungs with white smoke.

And then his spine straightened, something indiscernible flashing in the depths of his stare.

“Sometimes, when the house goes still and quiet, I swear I hear her footsteps.” The corner of his
mouth lifted in a tragic smile. “On even rarer occasions, I feel her presence enter the room like a
warm breeze.”

He drew in a deep breath, chin lifting. “From the moment you entered this home, I’ve felt Ariana
all around me. Permeating the air more powerfully than ever before. I showed you her room
because I thought…”

He blinked, shoulders dropping.

“I hoped it was what she wanted.”

Hermione lowered her arms to her sides, heart fluttering beneath her breastbone. She swallowed
heavily, blinking away the burning sensation behind her eyes.

“It was.”

She held his gaze for another painful beat.

And then stepped back slowly.

“I’ll get Dawn’s cloak.”

He nodded, smiling once more.

“We’ll be waiting in the carriage.”

. . .

Hermione folded her arms, gaze affixed to the window, spine ramrod straight as she watched the
carriage slowly pull out of the drive and around the privacy bushes.

The air shifted at her back.

Her gaze flickered to the side as a pale face appeared in the glass, hovering at the opposite end of
the room.

She gazed upon the reflection for several moments before addressing it.

“The Dollmaker will be tearing the city apart for me. He’ll have people stationed to watch the
Home.” She set her jaw. “If I go there, I’ll be taken.”

She slowly turned in place, hands curled atop her arms. “It will be a miracle if I make it out
unscathed.”

The apparition made no gesture of response.

“Ariana, I can’t go back there.”

The ghost continued to watch her in the festering silence.

Until at last, she tipped her head in acknowledgment.

Hermione released a sharp breath, hands clenching as tears sprang forth, blurring her vision.

“What you have hidden in the dollhouse, it’s important?”

Ariana continued to bob gently, pale hair obscuring her face as it flowed all around her.

“Will it help us stop Him?”

Hermione’s breath caught as the girl hovered higher, drifting slightly closer. She wiped her eyes,
stealing her nerves.

“And I’m the only one who can retrieve it?”

Ariana tilted her head once more, eyes laced with such profound sadness it caused her chest to
throb anew.

She dropped her arms at her sides, tilting her head back to maintain the levitating gaze.

“If I’m taken, if I’m killed, will you appear to another? Luna has the sight. Parvati also believes.
They’ll be able to help you stop Him if I fail.”

Her mournful gaze lowered as Ariana drifted down, hovering at eye level.

Hermione nodded slowly, shoulders bracing the impossible weight set upon them.

“If the key to ending this evil once and for all is sitting in the attic, then it’s well worth my life.”
She wet her lips, eyes gleaming in the fading moonlight.

“Let’s go.”

Harry skid into the entry hall at his godfather’s side, earning the startled gazes of its two existing
occupants.

Ron lowered his gun upon seeing their faces, Neville doing the same a moment later.

Harry met the former’s eye. “Did anyone make it up?”

“Just one. Zabini shot him.”

Sirius stepped forward, watching the front door. “Good lad. The back is blocked?”

Ron nodded. “The library is gone?”

Their admiral arched a dark brow, reloading his rifle.

“Half the house is gone. Mother will be rising from the grave right about now. Perhaps her
poltergeist will help chase some of these tosspots off. Lord knows she did a good enough job of
that while alive.”

Harry’s jaw tensed as he reached into his pocket for a box of bullets.

“Brace yourselves, they'll be piling through the front any mo-”

The front windows shattered on either side of the door, decorative rocks scraping along the marble
as glass rained down in an impressive, glittering arc.

Harry retook his gun and began firing through the opening directly ahead, the others quickly
following suit.

He ran out of ammunition within seconds, cursing heavily as he reached into his pocket, pulling out
the box as a man barrelled through the open frame.

Harry blinked, gazing up just in time to see a fist swinging at his head.

He ducked low but lost his grip on the bullets, cringing as he heard the container hit the floor
between them.

He tossed the useless weapon aside, resorting to fists instead, driving one into the man’s side even
as he felt an iron band slip across his middle, someone grabbing him from behind and lifting him
off his feet.

He reared back with his head, relishing the satisfying crunch of cartilage and the wet, gurgling
scream of pain that followed.

The arm loosened enough for Harry to twist free, ducking as the first attacker charged him head-
on. He dived out of his path, watching as he barrelled into his partner, both men crashing to the
marble with bone-crushing force.

Harry picked up his discarded rifle and ran to their sides as they tried to right themselves, hitting
one over the back of the head with the hilt.
He collapsed atop the other man like a human blanket.

Harry began to point the rifle, only to grit his teeth when he recalled it was still empty.

He sighed, leaning down and extracting the second hunting blade from his boot.

The conscious man’s eyes turned to saucers, complexion waning as he desperately tried to throw
the restricting weight off and scramble back.

Harry advanced quickly, knife raised overhead–

A hand grabbed his arm from behind.

He spun with lightning reflexes, slashing out with the blade.

The man behind him reared back with millimeters to spare, colliding hard with the side of the
staircase.

“Fucking hell, Potter!”

Harry blinked rapidly, knife still poised to strike as he questioned his sanity.

“Malfoy?”

The blonde lowered his arms, stepping away from the railing with a furious scowl.

“Obviously. Jesus Christ, you nearly cut my bloody head off!”

He blinked again.

“Malfoy?”

Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the chaos continued to rage on around them.

“I don’t have time for this.” He met his eye. “Just stand aside, I need to get upstairs.”

Harry lowered the blade at last, turning his head as gunfire rang out. Sirius took aim and shot a man
attempting to climb through the frame even as another charged him from the side.

“The girls are up there.”

“The girls went out the window.”

Harry jolted, attention drawn forward once more.

“What?”

“Parvati and her twin are the only two left, now move.”

“What?”

“Christ! How many blows have you taken to the head tonight? You already had limited brain
function begin with!”

“Wait, where did they-”

Gunshots rang out anew. Harry sighed, spotting Neville with a pistol. He slipped his knife back
into his boot and reached for his rifle.

“Do what you need to do, I’ve got to help them down here.”

He turned away from the blonde, charging for the thick of the battle.

Draco cast a quick glance around the room.

“Potter!”

Harry dodged a punch to the side, rolling with the momentum and catching his attacker around the
neck, putting him in a chokehold.

He glanced up, emerald eyes gleaming.

Draco raised a pale brow.

“Where the hell is Greyback?”

Everyone froze as a feminine scream filled the air, drowning out the sound of panting breath and
pained groans.

Harry and Draco held each other's gaze.

“Shite.”

Hermione pulled her cloak tighter, lifting the collar over her face as she stepped free of the
carriage.

She paid the driver in silence, glancing over her shoulder at the ominous presence of the Home in
the distance, hissing gargoyles illuminated by moonlight, hollow eyes watching her from the
rooftop.

She swallowed heavily, stepping onto the curb as the carriage pulled away, the horses rounding the
corner a moment later.

The street was still and quiet.

She held her breath, making a dash for the nearest alley.

She stood at the mouth, keeping her face averted as she quickly scanned the street, heart leaping as
she spotted her target at last.

He was leaning against a nearby shop front, one leg propped against the brick as he puffed steadily
at a cigarette.

She pulled her collar higher yet and began a meticulous path towards him, mindful of her gait.

She tucked her hands into her pockets to hide her clenched fists, eyes fixed on the uneven
cobblestone as her heels clicked an unhurried path towards the shop.

She was upon him at last. He stood away from the wall, moving clear of her path and tipping his
cap in polite greeting.

"Evenin', Miss."
She glanced up, eyes gleaming in the orange streetlight.

“What did I tell you about smoking, Colin?”

His eyes widened to comical proportions, cigarette falling from his mouth, ashes raining across his
shirt and pant leg as he reared back.

“Mione?”

“Shh!” She glanced around frantically, clutching his arm and pushing him around the side of the
shop into the dark alley.

“What the hell are you–”

“Please, Colin, keep your voice down.”

His brows drew in. “Why? Are you in trouble?”

She wet her lips, facing forward. “You could say that.”

“What’s wrong?” He leaned close, casting his voice low. “Does it have to do with Luna? Dennis
told me she’s at Grimmauld.”

“Luna is safe, this has nothing to do with her.” She released his arm, tucking her hands back into
her pocket. “I just need to sneak into the Home.” Her jaw tensed. “Have you seen anyone watching
the building?”

He blinked. "There were a couple gents who kept walkin' past earlier. I didn't recognize them,
figured they worked for Umbridge."

Her shoulders drew in. “When was the last time you saw them?”

He shrugged. “Maybe an hour or so. They headed to the corner pub, I don’t think they’ve left.”

She bit her lip, glancing once more over her shoulder into the empty street beyond, only the edge of
the Home visible from their vantage.

“Mione, what’s going on?”

She released a heavy sigh, shaking her head as she turned to face him. “I don’t have time to
explain. But I need to ask a favor, a very important one, and I promise to repay you as soon as-”

“Don’t worry about that, luv. Just tell me what you need.”

She smiled, warmth spreading through her chest.

“Thank you, Colin.”

. . .

She clutched the bricks at her back, nails digging into the mortar as she carefully examined the pub
across the street.

The front of the venue was adorned with a massive window, revealing the dimly lit interior, tables
filled and bustling at this late hour.
She watched as Colin cut a quick and casual path across the street, leaping gracefully onto the
walkway and reaching for the door, slipping into the crowded venue with ease.

She blinked, losing view of him, standing on her tiptoes, lowering only when she caught sight of
his cap as he moved through the sea of patrons with agile swiftness.

She held her breath as he sidled close to a table centered just before the window.

Her eyes widened as she noticed the men seated at the small countertop.

They sat along the same edge, both facing the window, sipping from half full pints, their gazes
fixed upon the Home situated just across the narrow street.

She slipped deeper into the shadows, pulse thrumming as Colin turned in place, pretending to
count coins in his palm as he bumped the corner of the table.

Hard.

Both men reared back, nearly toppling off their stools as one spilled the contents of his glass down
his front.

She cringed as they pushed back from the table in rage, rounding on Colin. The boy raised his
hands in obvious supplication, feigning apology, though he couldn't hide the shite eating grin on
his face, shoulders rolling with pent laughter.

Dammit, Colin. I said distract them, not incite a bloody row!

She gasped as one of the men surged forward, grasping Colin by the lapels and wrenching him
forward, nearly lifting him off his feet.

The men became absorbed in their conflict, neither focused on the Home.

She took a tentative step forward, guilt plaguing her stomach as she continued to watch the brawl
unfold.

But it was a distraction nonetheless, and Colin’s efforts would be wasted if she didn’t seize the
opportunity.

She forced her gaze ahead as she darted out of the alley and into the street, making a beeline for the
garden side of the Home, well out of view of the pub.

Her hair fell loose of its pins, curls bouncing across her shoulders and neck as she ran with as much
speed as her skirts and heeled boots would allow.

She charged the tall gate, clinging to the rod iron and duking low, panting as she struggled to quell
her adrenaline. She glanced over her shoulder, barely able to make out the pub in the distance.

Colin burst free of the venue, laughing hysterically and flipping a two-fingered salute at the
window. The men watched on, red-faced and enraged, most likely over their inability to give
chase.

Instead, they retook their seats, one calling out to the barkeep while the other brushed broken glass
onto the floor, affixing his gaze to the entrance of the Home once more.

Hermione dropped lower, spinning on her heel and sliding further along the gate until she reached
the gap in the bars. She pulled her skirts tight around her legs as she slipped through, emerging into
the dark garden.

She rose to her full height, glancing at the night blooms and meticulously trimmed hedges.

Strange. She’d assumed without Luna there to tend it the overgrowth would run rampant.

She crept carefully to the kitchen door, gripping the handle and bracing herself. She couldn’t help
but think of Filch every time she stood before this particular entrance.

She turned the handle and breathed a heavy of relief when it gave way beneath her touch.

She pushed the barrier open, blinking quickly as light streamed out, blinding as she stepped out of
the darkness.

Laughter filled the air but cut off abruptly as she moved inside. She continued to blink, eyes
adjusting, the smell of freshly baked bread assaulting her senses in a satisfying gust.

Three girls came into view, one behind the sink holding a whipping bowl and whisk and two by the
ovens, rags and pans in hand.

They stood just as frozen as she, eyes wide and mouths agape.

Hermione closed the door at her back, forcing a smile.

“Hello.”

The girl with the bowl tilted her head, setting aside her frosting covered whisk.

“Can we help you?”

One of the girls at the oven stepped forward, nearly dropping her pan of raw dough.

“Wait, you’re Hermione Granger.”

The other two stood at attention, eyes widening as they roamed her figure from bottom to top.

“Um… yes.” She shifted awkwardly. “I am.”

“I knew it!” The girl slid the pan onto the counter and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Is he with
you?”

Hermione blinked.

“Who?”

“The Doctor!”

She opened and closed her mouth, glancing at each of their eager expressions in turn. “Doctor
Riddle?”

They nodded, eyes bright. Hermione shook her head, her own face warring between amusement
and utter confusion.

“No. He isn’t.” She raised a brow as they each deflated. “Why do you ask?”

The first girl set her bowl beside the whisk. "We wanted to thank him."
“For what?”

“Getting rid of Umbridge.”

Her heart skipped. “Umbridge? She’s gone?”

They nodded in unison. “And Filch barely leaves his room, it’s fantastic!”

Hermione braced her hands against the dividing island.

“Wait, who’s in charge?”

The girl still holding her pan shrugged.

“The older residents have been overseeing chores. Mandy’s sort of the leader.”

Hermione breathed a heavy sigh, hands falling to her sides.

“Everyone’s alright then? You have enough food and supplies?”

They nodded as one. Hermione couldn’t help but smirk at the image they made.

“Have there been any accidents, illness?”

They shook their heads. She opened her mouth to ask more questions but was distracted by sharp
laughter in the hallway as a group of girls rushed past, giggles echoing in their wake.

Her chest filled with warmth, pride lengthening her spine.

The girls were doing just fine on their own. Thriving even. She’d never heard such laughter fill
these corridors, not when everyone was focused on keeping their heads down as Filch made his
daily rounds.

She stepped back, eyes burning. She averted her face, embarrassed by the sudden onslaught of
emotion.

“Hermione, are you alright?”

She nodded quickly, smiling.

“I’m so very proud of you.” She met their gaze one at a time. “All of you.”

The girl with the bowl blushed lightly, playing idly with the whisk on the counter. “Would you like
to speak with Mandy? We can fetch her for you.”

Hermione shook her head, reining in her emotions. “Mandy and the others are doing a great job,
I’m not going disturb them.”

She started for the hallway.

“Hermione.”

She glanced over her shoulder. One of the girls by the oven shifted, hands tightly knotted at her
front.

“Will Umbridge be coming back?”

Hermione held her gaze, pulse thrumming.

“I don’t think so.”

They each rocked back on their heels with overwhelming relief, exchanging excited glances.

Hermione laughed softly, nodding to the oven.

“Don’t burn your bread.”

They shrieked, scrambling towards the metal door. Hermione imparted one last smile before
entering the corridor and turning the corner.

As she made her way through the intersecting hallways she passed by more clusters of residents,
laughter and conversation ringing through every open doorway.

She gazed at the swept floors, the smooth baseboards, the webless ceiling seams.

Everything was remarkably clean.

She was amazed the girls maintained their chore schedule in the wake of their matron’s absence.

She emerged into the entry hall a moment later, spotting a group of girls wielding feather dusters
and rags, talking animatedly as they went about cleaning the statutes and staircase.

Umbridge never allowed conversation, believing it pure distraction that deterred from work.

But it seemed the girls were working even more efficiently as they laughed and called to each other
across the room.

The cold, severe atmosphere that encased the Home like an ice dome was shattered. The air itself
felt warmer, less abrasive on her lungs as she made her way to the staircase.

A couple girls peered at her with wide eyes, falling silent as their work stalled. Hermione smiled,
nodding in acknowledgment. They blinked, snapping out of their daze and smiling in return,
glancing to each other before resuming their work.

She made her way up the steps, wondering why her presence should cause any sort of stir. No one
had seen her get carted off to the Asylum.

Unless Marietta had bragged about her accomplishment to others.

The rumor mill was a vicious, unrelenting machine.

She made her way to the landing undisturbed, picking up only a few additional stares as she
entered the hallway leading to the abandoned wing.

She picked up a lantern as she went, clicking it on as she entered the first of the darkened hallways
leading to her destination.

As the hum of conversation and laughter faded into the distance Hermione was left alone with her
own tempest of thoughts. They twisted like tentacles through her mind, rising from the dark sea
and wrapping her chest tight, pressing the air from her lungs.

She wondered what happened to Umbridge.

She wasn’t disturbed by the notion Tom killed her. She was disturbed by the disappointment eating
through her gut like acid.

Disappointment she hadn’t been there to see it.

She swallowed heavily, closing her eyes as she continued her trek through the cold hallway.

“Have I destroyed you, Hermione?”

The phantom whisper sent chills along her spine, knotting her stomach tighter, desire and revulsion
warring for dominance.

She suppressed the errant musings as she turned the corner into the final corridor, walking with
poise and confidence to the hidden door at the end.

The macabre portrait watched her approach, its faded eyes flickering in the candle flame.

Hermione nodded to the painting in greeting, sparing no thought for the insanity her life had
become as she set the lantern aside and jumped for the trick sconce.

She caught the metal hook on her third attempt, cheeks flush with exertion.

The panel clicked open, a cold draft rushing out, chilling her skin as the dark stairs greeted her.

She grabbed her lantern and took a stealing breath, jaw tightening as she slowly ascended the
narrow steps, heartbeat reverberating in her ears.

She paused outside the gleaming black door, hand clenching at her side before she forced it to grip
the knob.

She blinked as it turned beneath her hand of its own accord, slowly swinging open on rusty hinges
without prompt, groaning loudly and setting her nerve endings aflame.

She drew her shoulders back and stepped inside.

And then doubled over, caught off guard by the rancid smell invading her airway.

She wretched, nearly dropping the lantern as she struggled to keep the meager contents of her
stomach at bay.

It smelled like stale body odor and excrement, the small room overpowered with it.

She blinked rapidly, eyes tearing as she gazed around the floor, looking for the animal carcass that
surely supplied such foul odor.

And noticed the subtle differences in the room.

The broken dolls were swept into a pile in the corner, the fallen and discarded papers stacked or
wadded into a neighboring cluster.

She blinked slowly, drying her eyes and breathing through her mouth.

What the hell happened?

She stood to her full height.

It must have been Tom.

No one else knew about the room, after all.

She clutched her lantern tight and made a quick path to the dollhouse centered against the far wall,
forcing her eyes to stay upon the structure and off the haunting message written above it.

She dropped to her knees, setting the light aside and gripping the shutters, pulling the walls apart as
Dawn had shown her.

She held her breath, eyes wide and hopefully, expecting something profound to be waiting for her
within.

But the house sat empty.

She blinked, reaching inside the dark cubbies, searching out a key, a note, some gleaming beacon
of hope and freedom to cling to.

But there was nothing.

Her shoulders tightened as she ran her fingers along the smooth floors and walls, shaking her head
all the while.

“No…”

She leaned closer, eyeing the floors carefully, looking for notches in the wood, a trap door or
compartment, anything.

“No!”

She slammed a fist atop the roof, shaking the structure.

“Ariana!” She wet her lips, diving back in, searching desperately. “Where is it?”

Something caught her eye, a slight movement from above.

Her gaze flickered up.

The dollhouse had an attic, and there was something inside it.

She blinked, wondering how she missed the two dolls earlier.

She grabbed her lantern and held it aloft, illuminating the narrow cubby.

Her mouth ran dry.

The dolls were positioned quite strangely.

One was kneeling over, facing the far wall.

The other was standing just behind it, arms raised above its head as it wielded something in its
hands, poised to strike.

Her blood ran cold, fine hairs standing on end as the air shifted at her back, a cold breeze swirling
around her, lifting her curls and forcing more of the rancid odor into her lungs.

She spun around on instinct, sensing the presence behind her and knowing it wasn’t Ariana.
The figure above her raised the brick higher, smile gleaming feral in the moonlight.

“Hello, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione’s scream shook the walls.

Parvati balanced carefully on the edge of the mattress, arm hovering over her sister's unmoving
form before she finally reached down and took one of her hands between her own.

“Padma, I don’t know if you can hear me. I don’t know if you recognize my voice…”

She swallowed thickly, blocking out the sound of shouting and gunfire filtering in from downstairs.

“And I don’t know if I’m going to survive this night, or if I’ll ever have the opportunity to say this
again.” Her jaw tensed. “So I have to say it now.”

She took a fortifying breath, squeezing the limp hand tighter. “I’m so sorry I left you. That I wasn’t
there when you needed me most. I’ll never forgive myself for letting him take you. For not
searching. For not knowing.”

Glass shattered in the distance.

“But I need you to understand, none of it was your fault. You aren’t responsible for anything that
occurred over these last three years. You weren’t in control, you couldn't escape, and everything he
made you do-”

She cut off abruptly, throat swelling. Her eyes squeezed shut as she averted her face, sucking in a
sharp breath.

She released it slowly, forcing her eyes open and forward.

“It wasn’t your fault. You have nothing to feel ashamed of.” Her eyes flashed. “The bastard is
dead, Padma. Burned alive. He paid for what he did.”

She pulled the arm into her lap, gently stroking her wrist. “He hurt you. But he didn’t destroy you.
He didn’t take away who you are. All that you can be.”

She lifted her chin. “You’re going to survive this. I don’t care if it costs me my life. You will live
to see the morning.”

Her eyes burned fiercely, welling with tears, blurring her sister’s face. “And you’ll go on to do such
amazing things. You’re going to leave Lestrange behind in the muck and the dirt where he belongs
and you're going to thrive and succeed and become everything you ever dreamed of becoming.”

She wiped her eyes dry with her sleeve. “And if I’m not standing beside you, know that I’m still
there. I’m still with you. Forever and always.”

She nodded, as much to herself as to the girl lying beside her. “You’re my heart. My soul. And I’m
your heart. Your soul.”

She pressed the back of Padma’s hand to her heart.

“Death can’t change that. It can’t keep us apart.” And then lifted it to her face, turning it over and
pressing her cheek into the cool palm. “I love you more than anything.”
She closed her eyes, pressing it harder to her face. “If you only remember one thing about me,
please let it be that.”

“Well, isn’t that just beautiful.”

Parvati gasped, dropping Padma’s arm and springing from the bed.

She spun around, nearly losing her balance, voice caught in her throat as she met the gleaming eyes
of the Boogeyman.

“Sorry to interrupt, pretty one. Please, don’t mind me.”

He smiled like his wolfish namesake, stepping into the room from the window frame he straddled.

She retreated rapidly, knees colliding with the mattress as she glanced manically to the barricaded
door.

“Nah ah ah. It’s not polite to scream.” He licked his lips, rising to his full height, massive build
blocking the window frame and what meager light it cast.

“Besides. You’re not a runner. You’re a fighter. That’s what I like about you.” He tilted his head,
taking a casual step towards the bed. “I remember you now, poppet. I remember the first night we
met.”

He smiled with perverse fondness. “You did some handy work on the side of my head with a
brick.”

She grit her teeth, hands curling to claws at her sides. “You did some handy work of your own,
nearly tossing me out of the window.”

“Come now, luv. I wouldn’t have damaged merchandise as fine as you.”

Fury bled into her dark gaze, casting it red in the pale moonlight. “You broke into our flat to kidnap
Padma.”

“I meant to take you both.” He stopped just before her. “Until you put up such a fight, that is. Then
I decided to keep you for myself.” He reached up and gently stroked a claw along her cheekbone.
“Such a pity we were interrupted.”

She averted her face, shuddering with fear and revulsion.

“It was you.” Venom dripped from her lips, thick and heavy. “You stole her from the clinic. Paid
off the staff to tell me she was dead.”

He shrugged with nonchalance. “Lestrange liked the exotic ones. I knew I’d fetch a fortune, even
sick as she was. It was well worth the second trip.” His fingers continued their slow perusal
unabated, drifting down her neck. “I would have taken you, too, but you weren't there.”

He wet his lips, leaning down, searing breath scalding her face and burning her nostrils.

“You sweet sister was all by her lonesome, dying on a filthy cot like an animal put out to pasture.”
He smiled. “You should be thanking me. I saved her life. She’d be dead and buried if I’d left her in
your care.”

She blinked, tears tracking both cheeks beyond her control.

“So go ahead. Thank me.” His large hand gently encased her throat, squeezing against her frantic
pulse. “Make me believe it, and maybe I’ll consider killing you first. You won’t have to watch me
stick a knife through your sister’s chest.”

She tipped her chin back and spit in his face, relishing as he blinked in shock. “I promise you,
before this night is through, I’m going to cut out your heart.”

He blinked once more, hand cutting off her airflow for the space of a heartbeat.

And then his grip loosened, air flooding her lungs as he tipped his head back and laughed.

“Oh, what a waste killing you is! You’re something special, pet. I’d love nothing more than to put
you on a leash and chain you to my bed.” He shook his head, voice laced with mocking contrition.
“Unfortunately, orders are orders, and I can't leave either of you alive. But the manner in which
you die is completely up to you.”

His teeth gleamed as he bared them before her face.

“Riddle gave me the same offer. Seems only fair I pass it forward.” He squeezed once more,
raising her onto her tiptoes. “Now, tell me where he is and I’ll snap your neck. Quick and
painless.”

She held his gaze, sucking in just enough air to make her words intelligible. “Burn in hell.”

He sighed, shaking his head.

And then he lifted her off her feet by her throat, striding across the room.

She gagged and sputtered, feet kicking the air as she clawed desperately at his wrist, his arm, his
chest and face.

He laughed all the while, quelling her struggles as easily as subduing a kitten before slamming her
into the wall with enough force to knock the fight right out of her.

Her ears rang as stars shimmered before her eyes, pain splitting her skull in half.

Her spine and shoulder blades screamed in protest, heels scraping the wall for purchase as he
continued to hold her aloft.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, pretty one. And then I’m going to start cutting off sleeping
beauty’s fingers and toes.”

From the corner of her eye she spotted the chest of drawers situated beside her.

Inspiration struck, heavy and clouded in the oxygen-deprived fog of her mind, but actionable
nonetheless.

She released his wrist and reached out, stretching desperately for the broken shards of mirror still
littering the counter.

Greyback paid her struggle no mind, pressing in until her field of vision was overwhelmed by his
dark presence.

“Where. Is. Riddle?”

Her fingers gripped her prize, a jagged shard that cut into the flesh of her palm, blood welling in
her hand and dripping down her wrist.

She met his eye, her own bloodshot and glazed, and smile wickedly.

“Burn. In. Hell.”

She brought her arm forward, gripping the broken glass with all her strength, victory singing
through her veins as she felt the sharp edge make contact, slicing through skin and muscle as she
slashed his face open.

He let loose a deafening yell, more outraged than pained, and released her all at once.

She collapsed in a lifeless heap, desperately sucking in air, watching from the ground as he
staggered back and clutched his face. Bright red blood oozed between his fingers and cascaded
down his neck, soaking through his collar.

He drew his hand away slowly, gazing at the gleaming crimson coating his palm in shock.

And then his yellow eyes slitted, blood-drenched face turning upward as he pinned her with a
murderous glare.

“Stupid cunt!”

He charged forward like a raging bull, the ground shaking beneath his heavy stride.

Parvati pressed back into the wall and let loose a desperate wail.

Blaise spun on his heel as a feminine scream tore through the hallway, muffled but unmistakable.

His heart dropped to his stomach, cold sweat drenching him as he charged the double doors.

“Parvati!”

He turned the handles but the barrier wouldn't budge.

“Shite!”

He threw his shoulder into the wood, cringing as the impact radiated through his bones.

And then he heard it.

The deep, masculine growl on the other side of the doors.

Blaise roared, pounding his fists in a blind rage.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!”

He reared back, grabbing up the rifle and pointing the tip of the barrel against the knob, holding his
breath and pulling the trigger.

The brass fixture blew away, hitting the ground with a crash as chunks of wood flew in every
direction.

He tossed the gun aside and pushed again, but the wardrobe on the other side remained unmoved.

Parvati screamed again.

Blaise threw himself repeatedly into the door.

“Greyback! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Blaise!”

He blinked, spinning to face the new voice at the end of the hall.

His heart soared with renewed hope.

“Draco! Help me!”

The blonde ran to his side, testing the doors himself before nodding, meeting his eye.

“Together.”

Blaise nodded in turn, pressing his back to the center of the door, Draco following suit, shoulders
pressing as they dug in their heels and braced their weight.

“Push!”

They groaned, driving back with all their strength, grunting with pained exertion as the wardrobe
started to slowly give way on the other side.

Parvati screamed again and Blaise felt a renewed surge of strength overtake him. He released a
shout of fury and pushed back as hard as he could, stumbling over his feet as the wardrobe slid
faster and faster.

At last the doors crashed open, both men tumbling back, hitting the bedroom rug in a heap of
scrambling limbs.

Blaise found his footing first, scanning the bedroom with bated breath–

And then he saw her.

His heart stopped.

Greyback held her by the throat just before a broken window, moonlight illuminating their still
figures.

Even in the dim glow, Blaise could see the fire and determination in her eyes as she held his gaze
from across the room, standing on tiptoes as she twisted in the restraining grasp.

He swallowed heavily, taking a step forward.

“Don’t hurt–”

“Shut up.”

Greyback squeezed her throat tighter, eliciting a weak keen she fought to suppress.

Draco rose to his feet, watching the scene play out with unnerving calm.

“Greyback, surely you know who I am.”

“You can suck my cock, Malfoy. So can your father. I don’t give a fuck about you inbred
privileged shitstains.”
“You work for my Uncle.”

“Worked. Past tense. Rabastan is dead. At least according to this one.”

He shook her for emphasis, squeezing tighter and causing her to sputter, eyes squeezing shut as
tears over spilled her lashes.

Blaise stepped forward again, lungs squeezed in a vice, but froze in place as Greyback snarled,
dragging her up against the busted frame.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Our girl has many talents, but landing on her feet from a two-
story drop isn't one of them."

Blaise's eyes flashed. He opened his mouth to speak but Draco held up a silencing hand.

“You’ve been hired to kill her.” The blonde wet his lips, tone measured. “I’ll pay you ten times the
amount to leave her alive.”

Greyback let loose a high pitched laugh, near manic in quality, causing Blaise’s skin to prickle and
burn as though acid were being poured across it.

“This isn’t about money, you dumb fuck.” He dragged her further back, until her head and
shoulders were outside the window.

“Look at me!” He gestured to his bandaged leg. “Look what that fucking madman did!” Spit flew
from his lips, eyes gleaming wild. “I want my pound of flesh! And if I can’t carve it out of him or
his little bitch then I’ll take it out of her!”

He shook her again, dragging her further out until the backs of her knees hit the sill, her torso
exposed to the damp night air.

Blaise swayed in place with the force of his heartbeat, eyes fixed firmly to her shuddering form.

“Please.” He raised his hands, palms up. “Just tell us what you want.”

Greyback laughed anew. But this round was deeper. Sinister.

“What I want is simple, gents.” His teeth gleamed hungry in the moonlight. “I just want someone
to answer my question.”

He leaned back, pulling her further out. Her skirts caught on jagged shards of glass littering the
frame, the fabric tearing as she tried to scramble back inside.

“Where is Tom Riddle?”

Tom gripped the reins tighter as he felt a shift in the air.

He glanced around the empty street, hackles starting to rise, senses sharpening as the distinct
feeling of unease settled deep into his bones.

And then he saw it.

Just around the corner.

Smoke in the air.

His heart leaped as he urged the horses on, realizing two vital things as he drew near.

It wasn’t smoke. It was dust and debris.

And it was coming from the direction of Grimmauld.

He shouted to the horses once more, speeding ahead, at last nearing the outer gate.

It was in tatters, parted wide, allowing his carriage to speed through. As he advanced along the
drive he saw the horses milling at the entrance, absent their riders.

He abandoned his own carriage without tying it, unable to tear his eyes from the lopsided building,
gaze steadily lifting to track the dust cloud emanating from the back of the structure.

He was halfway up the steps when he heard the first shot of gunfire, followed by a pained battle
cry and the heavy tread of boots across a hard surface.

He pulled at the front door. It didn’t budge.

He blinked, seeing the windows on either side were completely exposed.

He shook his head, carefully stepping over the frame and into the entry.

He quickly counted four separate fights raging on across the pale marble, everyone engaged in
hand to hand combat despite the copious amount of firearms and loose bullet littering the ground.

He recognized Potter and Black immediately, though he had trouble discerning the other two men
embroiled in the fray. Luckily, the snatchers were easily distinguishable, each of them bearing a
roughed over appearance that made them stand out quite clearly from their opulent surroundings.

Tom stepped further in, glancing around the war-torn hall before treading on a body lying face
down before him.

He tilted his head, kicking it onto its back with his boot, quickly inspecting its front.

He leaned over, extracting the blade from the corpse’s chest, noting absently the bullet wound to
the head and wondering who saw fit to waste their time killing the man twice.

He tossed the blade in the air, watching it spin end over end before catching the handle and calmly
approaching the nearest brawl.

The sandy-haired boy looked overwhelmed, unsure what to do with his fists, taking the brunt of his
opponent’s hits on his head and sides, swaying precariously with the onslaught.

Tom stood casually, watching the fight play out for another few seconds before striking forward
like a cobra. He punched the snatcher in the side, causing him to bend at just the right angle for
Tom to wrap an arm around his neck, holding him steady as he drove the knife into the base of his
skull to the hilt.

He gurgled blood, eyes bulging before they rolled back in his head. Tom released the body,
stepping aside as it crumpled before him.

The boy staggered back, eyes wide and skin pale.

Tom held his gaze.

“You’d do better with a gun.”

He blinked, hitting the wall and jolting.

“T-Thank you.”

Tom cast his gaze across the room, watching Black skillfully fight two opponents at once. “Where
are the women?”

The boy remained silent.

Tom scowled, rounding on him quickly.

“Where are they?”

“The master bedroom!”

“Riddle!”

Tom blinked, turning once more. Potter met his eye from across the room, dodging a blow to the
head without even looking at his attacker.

“Upstairs! Parvati needs help!”

Tom’s fists clenched, gaze darkening as he leaned down to pick up a nearby pistol.

He flicked open the chamber, assuming it empty, raising a brow when he noticed two bullets
nestled within.

He set his jaw, flicking it shut against his thigh before ascending the stairs two at a time.

Once on the landing, the sounds of the entryway battle merged with faint voices on the other side
of the floor. Tom followed the low hum of masculine chatter, rounding a corner and spotting
shadows cast across the far wall from a set of double doors at the end.

He quickly and silently progressed, gun held at the ready, stepping over a corpse propped against
the wall, a thick pool of blood already congealed beneath.

He paused just before the doors, concealed by the wall, listening intently to the voices within,
shoulders tightening as he immediately recognized the deep brogue.

“What I want is simple, gents. I just want someone to answer my question.”

A feminine whine followed. Tom’s hand clenched upon the gun.

“Where is Tom Riddle?”

He shook his head, unable to suppress a dark grin of amusement as he rounded the corner and
entered the room.

“I see someone’s done their homework.”

The room’s four other occupants jolted at his sudden appearance. He raised a dark brow, staring
directly ahead at the hulking figure leaning half outside the window.

“You’ve asked around. I’m flattered.”

Greyback’s yellow eyes went wide, hand visibly tightening at her throat, causing her to gag and
scramble anew.

And then he smiled, eyes slitting with malevolent pleasure.

“About time you got here, Doc. We had to start the festivities without you.”

Tom eyed the new wound marring the man's face, a deep gash drawn with near-perfect symmetry
to the purple scar stretching across his other eye.

“I can see that.” He tucked the gun into the back of his waistband, movements slow and
methodical. “You might as well put the girl aside. We both know she isn’t the one you came for,
regardless of your orders.”

He smiled knowingly. “You came for me.”

“I came to destroy everything you hold dear.”

Tom tilted his head. “Then I regret to inform you, throwing Ms. Patil from the window won’t bring
you any closer to accomplishing that goal.”

Greyback smirked. “Of course not. You have your sights on another little bitch. What a shame she
isn’t here.”

“Why don’t you put the girl down so we can finish this like men.”

He arched a dark brow, glancing over his shoulder at the girl flailing in his grasp.

“Put her down?” He laughed shortly, meeting Tom’s eye with a careless shrug. “Sure.”

He opened his hand.

Parvati screamed, kicking her legs as she tumbled over the ledge and disappeared from sight.

The dark haired man at Tom’s side exploded to life, darting to the window like a shotgun blast
with Malfoy hot at his heels.

“Parvati!”

Tom had no time to pay them any mind, for Greyback launched himself across the room with a
thunderous growl.

Tom charged forward in the earth-shaking beat, meeting him halfway.

Hermione’s scream cut off abruptly as Umbridge sent the brink plunging at her head.

She rolled to the side, skirts tangling around her legs as the rock hit the floor with a deafening
crack, splitting the wood beam just beside her.

Hermione kicked out on instinct, boot cracking into the woman’s shin before scrambling back on
her hands, spine pressing the wall as the Matron tumbled over, screaming in pain and clutching her
leg.

She blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting to the darkness, gazing beyond the woman’s crumpled form to
the far corner of the room.
The curtain was laid out over the floor, a makeshift bed. She blinked again, casting her eyes to the
other corner and spotting a bucket, flies buzzing overhead.

And then Umbridge drew her attention down as she rolled onto her back and wailed.

“You vile little bitch!”

Hermione scowled, pushing to her feet. “You're lucky I didn’t break your leg.” She took a
steadying breath, raising a brow. “So this is where you’ve been.”

Umbridge growled and slowly lowered her leg, face blistering red.

Hermione smirked. "Tom must have been running low on time. Otherwise, you'd surely be dead."

The Matron's beady eyes glinted in the lantern glow. "It must give you great pleasure to see me in
such a state."

Hermione tilted her head, considering.

“Yeah. It does.”

Umbridge huffed, nostrils flaring as she pushed into a seated position with slow, pained motions.

Hermione noticed the gauntness of her cheeks, the heavy bags beneath her eyes and the waxy
pallor of her skin.

She pushed any remnants of sympathy aside, drawing her shoulders back. “You don’t look
surprised to see me.”

Umbridge pushed back her matted, sweat-dampened hair before smoothing the stained tatters of
her dress. "I knew you'd be back. You've been a thorn in my side from the moment you were
dumped in my lap. I'll never be free of you."

Hermione’s eyes flashed, gaze sharpening as shadows surged along the walls, collecting at her
back in a dark halo.

“How many of us have you shipped to Him, tied up in a ribbon?”

Umbridge glanced away. Hermione surged forward, fists clenched.

“Answer me!”

The Matron met her gaze once more, veins throbbing at her temples. “I will never answer to you!
You're nothing but a common trollop! A filthy degenerate!"

“You’ve been shitting into a bucket for the last three days. I hardly think you’re one to judge.”

Steal laced her spine as she continued her slow approach.

"You killed Lavender." The floor radiated beneath her feet. "You may not have drawn the knife
across her throat, but you killed her just the same." She stopped just before the trembling woman.
"And for that, you will suffer.”

Umbridge scrambled across the floor, movements slow and clumsy. Hermione followed.

“I know exactly why Tom left you alive. And I'm immensely grateful for his keen forethought."
Umbridge hit the wall, pressing her hands against the slats, trying to burrow through. Hermione
stood over her, shadows following in her wake, bleeding across the floor and ceiling like massive,
jagged wings.

“You’ll pay for every one of your crimes. You’ll answer for every innocent life you sold to those
monsters.”

She lowered to her haunches, leaning in close.

“And I’m going to be there, watching, basking in every moment of your misery.”

Umbridge blinked rapidly, searching Hermione's metallic gaze.

“You’ve changed.”

Flames burst to life within her chest, smoke billowing from her lips.

“You’ve no idea.”

She gazed upon her former Matron in disgust a moment longer, drawing back at last.

“But fortunately for you, I don’t have time to exhibit the full scope of my evolution.” She rose to
her feet. “Which is just as well. It’s a miracle you’re even coherent. You’ve been without food and
water this entire time?”

The Matron swallowed heavily. “Yes.”

Hermione turned, beginning a slow approach to the dollhouse. “The girls were cooking bread
downstairs. It smelled divine.”

Umbridge drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around her legs and burying her dirt marred face
into her skirts.

“Must you be so cruel?”

Hermione scoffed, stepping over the brick and picking up her lantern before lowering to her knees.

“Calling the kettle black, aren't we?”

She stuck her hands back inside the empty cubbies, searching for whatever Ariana intended for her
to find.

Umbridge began to weep softly, sobs wet and broken. Hermione set her jaw, doing her best to
ignore the pathetic keening.

But after thirty more seconds she couldn't bear the sound, groaning in frustration and leaning back.

“I’ll bring you bread and water before I leave.”

Umbridge jerked hard, elbow cracking the wall as she unfolded from her hunched position.

“Really?”

“Only if you promise to shut up.”

She blinked her bloodshot eyes, wiping tears from her face. "Why would you bring me food?"
Hermione narrowed her gaze, glancing forward and resuming her search. “Your soul is black. You
deserve to suffer. You deserve to starve. Wasting away alone in the attic with nothing but broken
dolls for company is poetic justice.”

Her shoulders tightened as she pulled at the toy flooring, wondering if something was written
along one of the panel seams.

“But my soul isn’t black. Not yet. And I won’t allow you to haunt me from beyond the grave when
I had the opportunity to prevent your demise.”

She bit back a sigh as the walls and floor held true, refusing to budge. “Besides. We need you alive
to testify before the magistrate when the time comes. Death is far too good for you.”

“We.”

Hermione blinked, glancing over her shoulder. Umbridge watched her carefully, sitting so still she
barely seemed to breathe.

“It’s always been ‘we’, hasn’t it?” She wet her lips, eyes slowly roaming Hermione’s bent figure.
“Always you and him.”

Hermione lifted her chin. “Nothing bonds individuals quite like mutual hatred.” She faced forward.
“Now shut up. I’m trying to concentrate.”

The silence lasted a blessed ten seconds before it was shattered to bits.

“What are you looking for?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, rising to her knees as she moved her search to the roof, inspecting each
shingle. "None of your business."

“I’ve already raided the house. There’s nothing in there.”

Hermione froze in place. “You what?”

Umbridge scrubbed a hand over her face. “I was desperate for food, for warmth, I was hoping to
find something, anything of use.” She released a pained sigh, arms dropping. “Alas, there was
nothing.”

Hermione lowered once more, gazing at her carefully. “You’re certain?”

The Matron tipped her head back, gazing at the cobweb-caked ceiling.

“I assure you, I was equally disappointed.”

Hermione gazed ahead, mind racing. “It doesn’t make any sense. She told me it would be inside
the dollhouse.”

She slumped into a sprawl, tapping her fingers along the ground. “There’s something I’m missing.”
Her eyes narrowed at the wall. “Unless I misunderstood her.”

Her gaze darted to the busted file cabinet in the corner, discarded papers still littering the floor
from her last visit.

A distant whisper echoed through her mind, indiscernible but familiar, insistent.
She sat up, pulled forward by an invisible thread.

“Of course.”

Tom and Greyback collided in a flurry of motion.

Tom ducked low, barely missing the mighty fist that whistled through the air, blowing his hair
back as it soared past his face. He twisted with his forward momentum, punching his opponent in
the side with as much force as he could muster.

Greyback barely seemed to register the impact, eyes clouded with pure adrenaline and rage.

Tom rolled along the ground, springing to his feet beside the bed, taking note of the unconscious
girl lying atop the bedding as he grabbed an oil lamp off the side table and spun on his heel.

Greyback was already charging. Tom brought the lamp crashing into the side of his head, liquid
and glass exploding everywhere, soaking them both.

The beast staggered back, blinking rapidly as he ran a hand across his mangled, bloody face, oil
seeping into the wound as fresh blood dripped from his temple.

He growled, launching himself forward. Tom had no room to move, blocked by the bed and its
helpless occupant.

So he reached for his pistol.

Greyback watched the movement, eyes flashing.

“Fucking coward! Can never fight me like a real man!”

He swung a mighty fist, punching the side of the gun with such force it flew from Tom’s hand like
a missile, crashing into the opposite wall and falling to the baseboard.

He caught hold of Tom’s wrist, twisting it.

Tom turned his body in the same direction, no stranger to this particular stronghold. As he pivoted
he drove his knee up with great force, slamming hard into his opponent’s gut and driving the air
from his lungs, causing him to double over and retch, loosening his hold.

Tom pulled free, driving his head forward as Greyback attempted to straighten. His heart swelled at
the sound of the cartilage shattering, blood cascading from his concave nose, coating his lips and
chin as he screamed with rage, driving his own knee upward in an attempt to copy Tom’s attack.

Tom crossed his forearms, blocking his torso from taking the hit, but the impact still sent him
staggering.

Greyback charged him once more, blood dripping from his chin in a thin stream as he pushed Tom
in the chest with enough force to send him airborne.

He flew halfway across the room, heart galloping as weightlessness took hold, dreading the crash
to follow.

He sensed movement and noise somewhere in his peripheral but it faded as soon as he collided
with the hard ground, skull cracking against the unforgiving wood and filling his vision with an
ocean of black.
“Parvati!”

Blaise charged the window, mindless of Greyback and the Doctor surging towards one another, the
air crackling with the impending storm.

His heart was lodged in his throat, blocking his airway as he skid to the window, gripping the ledge
and leaning over, eyes wide, dread weighing his limbs.

He braced himself for the body, the pale, twisted corpse and the pool of blood spreading across the
stone.

But it was another sight that greeted him.

A beautiful, magnificent sight.

“Parvati!”

“Blaise!”

She clung desperately to the wall, having somehow caught a handhold during her fall. Draco ran to
his side, peering over the frame and breathing a heavy sigh.

“I’ll go outside, catch her–”

“There isn’t time, she’s slipping.”

Blaise leaned back, eyes affixed to dangling her form as he shrugged out of his coat.

“Hold onto my waistband, I’m going to pull her up.”

Draco nodded, watching as Blaise bent over the ledge, slowly lowering himself further down as the
blonde took hold of his trousers, bracing his foot against the wall to steady his descent.

Blaise met her eye. She panted heavily, tears falling in a constant flood though her expression
remained tight with concentration.

“Hold on, luv.”

“Easier said than done.”

He nodded. "Good point." And then he reached out a hand, groaning as he strained to reach her
white-knuckled grip.

“Let me down more, Drake!”

“I’ll lose my hold!”

“Do it!”

Draco cursed lowly, letting him down lower.

Blaise’s heart soared as his fingertips grazed her wrist.

“Okay, okay,” he chanted, eyeing her hand like it was an oasis in the desert.

He wet his lips, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose and blood rushing to his head, filling his
head with the manic flutter of his heart.

His fingers wrapped her wrist, gripping it tight.

“I’ve got you.”

She blinked, dark lashes clumped with tears.

“He can’t pull us both up.”

“He can and he will.”

He inhaled deeply, shouting into the night.

“Drake, I’ve got her!”

Draco grunted, pulling him back with all his might. Blaise grabbed her wrist with both hands,
holding on like a steel vice.

Draco shouted, sliding forward beneath the drag of their combined dead weight. She screamed as
they sagged lower.

Draco called down, voice edged with frustration and panic.

“Fuck! You’re too heavy!”

Parvati choked back a sob as they slipped lower yet.

“He can’t pull us both!” She blinked quickly, tears streaming anew. “Let me go, Blaise.”

He shook his head, eyes narrowed.

“No.”

“We’ll both fall!”

“Then we both fall!”

She held his gaze, her own glinting like faceted crystal in the moonlight.

“You’re a bloody idiot.”

He smiled. They slipped lower.

“That’s what you like most.”

She swallowed heavily, nodding with resolve.

“Alright.” She glanced around the wall, studying the brick. “Hold me with one hand, push back
with your other, I’ll try and push up with my legs.”

“I might lose my grip.”

She met his eye once more. “I’ll hold on with both of mine.”

He nodded. “Okay.”
It took another few seconds before he removed one of his hands, the concentration on his face
turning his already sharp visage even more angular.

She immediately grabbed hold of his wrist with her other palm, squeezing until his hand turned
blue.

“Got it?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Alright. Push!”

They grunted with the effort, beginning a slow and arduous trek upward. Blaise pushed back with
his free hand, she scrambled up with her feet, Draco growling in the background all the while as he
pulled on Balsie’s legs.

His waist finally breached the sill, feet finding purchase on the hardwood.

Draco let him go, rushing forward and reaching down, taking hold of one of her arms. Together
they pulled until at last her hands reached the frame.

Blaise elbowed Draco aside, grabbing her waist and hauling her through with such force they
tipped back, toppling to the ground in a messy sprawl.

Parvati blinked, gazing down at him for several seconds, the only sound in the room the violent
combat happening several feet away.

And then she erupted into a fit of hysterical laughter, throwing her arms around his neck and
burying her face into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her back.

“I’ve got you.”

His head hit the floor as he collapsed fully, utterly spent, swallowing heavily as her laughter turned
into broken sobs.

“I’ve got you.”

He stroked her hair, sensing Draco’s movement at his side. He glanced at his friend, nodding his
appreciation, and then she drew back, reclaiming his gaze.

Her hands braced his chest.

“I think it’s time.”

He blinked. “Time for what?”

She wet her lips, eyes red and tear-stained. “The terribly ill-timed kiss.”

He smirked, brushing the damp hair from her face. “I couldn’t agree more.”

She leaned down.

And then reared back as Draco surged forward.

“Move!”
Blaise gripped her tight, pressing her close as he rolled them both to the side.

Just in time to watch the Doctor land with a crash atop the spot they’d laid moments ago.

Riddle blinked slowly, pushing up with a pained groan as he took in his new surroundings.

His eyes landed on Parvati.

“Ms. Patil. Glad to see you’re alive.”

She nodded from her perch atop Blaise. “So am I. Do you need help?”

He shook his head, slowly rising to his feet. “No. Everyone leave.”

“They aren’t going anywhere.”

Riddle met Greyback’s menacing eye from across the room. His expression turned dark, lethal, and
then he began to shrug out of his coat, dropping it to his feet and rolling up his sleeves, unaware a
small item concealed within the pocket slipped free, hitting the floor with a soft tink.

Parvati blinked, starting at the gleaming metal with raw hunger.

But her focus was drawn upward as the Doctor spoke.

“Everyone leaves at the first opportunity.”

They watched silently as the man charged headlong back into the fray.

Tom feinted right and then dropped low, dipping left and driving both fists into Greyback’s
kidneys, causing him to jolt forward, a roar of pain ripping from his lips, spit flying from between
his yellowed teeth.

Tom panted hard, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, still recovering from the impact to his skull.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy edge towards the bed, sliding his arms beneath the
unconscious girl.

He glanced up, as though sensing eyes upon him. Tom met his gaze, nodding once, then set to
work on luring Greyback away from the doorway.

He led the hulking giant towards the window, noticing a moment too late Parvati and the other
man were still in the corner.

He barely suppressed a growl.

“Go!”

But he could tell by the all-too-familiar glint in her eye she had no intention of leaving this room
while Greyback still breathed.

He shook his head, sensing the latter’s movement behind him, diving out of the way just in time to
avoid a hard collision as Greyback slammed into the busted window frame.

He shouted with rage, pivoting and giving chase as Tom rolled across the now empty bed, landing
on the opposite side and watching as Malfoy whisked the unconscious girl out of the room and into
the hall.
Greyback shouted anew, leaping onto the bed with such force it cracked the frame, the mattress
tipping down and depositing the wolf right before him.

Tom reared back, colliding with the wall, cornered once more and silently cursing himself for the
lack of foresight.

When he noticed the glint of metal from the corner of his eye.

The pistol.

Unfortunately, Greyback noticed the weapon in the same instant, both men diving sideways,
hitting the ground with bone-jarring impact. Tom bit his tongue, the metallic tang of blood filling
his mouth and overspilling his bottom lip.

They fought desperately, scrambling and kicking. Tom took a hard elbow to his side but refused to
crumble, howling with animalistic victory as his palm gripped the butt of the weapon.

He gripped it fully, pulling his arm down and firing without bothering to aim.

The shot was deafening, ringing through his ears and causing Greyback to jerk away, roaring,
though whether in pain or anger or some combination of the two was unclear.

And then the beast advanced anew.

Tom pointed with a steady arm and fired a second time.

Greyback fell back, panting hard and gripping his abdomen, red pouring out from between his
already blood-caked fingers.

“You… fucker…”

Tom blinked, vision clearing as his adrenaline dissipated, finally able to take in the full scope of
the damage.

He hit the man in the leg and stomach.

He pushed to his feet, back scraping the wall as he stood, wiping the blood from his chin and
tossing the empty weapon aside as he gazed upon his subdued prey.

“The stomach wound is fatal, though it will take a very long time to do the job.”

He dragged a hand over his face, pushing his sweat-soaked hair back. "Would you like to slowly
bleed out, or prefer me to end it now?"

“Fuck… you…”

Tom nodded.

“Bleed out it is.”

He stepped over him.

“No.”

He paused, glancing up.

Parvati stood in the center of the room, watching them intently, something narrow and gleaming
held tightly in her hand.

“It ends now.”

He raised a dark brow, pulse thrumming as he caught sight of the item.

Hermione’s letter opener.

He blinked, glancing to his discarded coat in the corner, meeting her gaze a moment later.

She raised her chin, eyes hooded with firm resolve. He nodded slowly, stepping aside.

She paced forward, every step slow, measured, watching her prey squirm on the ground with calm
calculation.

She lowered to her knees beside him.

He watched her through slitted eyes.

“You little…. bitch.”

Shadows played across her face as she tilted her head, eyes burning bright with hellfire.

“I made you a promise, Greyback.”

She gripped the letter opener tighter, raising it overhead.

“And I always keep my promises.”

She brought it plunging down, driving it through his chest, the soft crack of his sternum filling the
room, followed by a wet squelch as she pierced his heart.

He gasped, spine arching, driving the blade deeper, before violently twisting away. She rose on her
knees, leaning forward and holding the weapon fast with both hands, following him as he tried to
push back.

Blood welled around her hands, soaking her pale sleeves and bruised forearms.

It sputtered from his mouth, his gaze going wide and matte, the light rapidly fading from within.

She continued to hold the blade in place, panting heavily, tears dripping from her jaw as she
clenched her teeth, watching him with steady, unblinking eyes.

Tom watched quietly, seeing no need to rush the moment.

But the young man at the other end of the room thought differently, stepping forward and touching
her arm.

She jolted but made no move to dislodge him.

“Parvati, he’s dead.”

She gasped, eyes widening as she released the hilt of the blade, falling back into his legs and
glancing down at her hands as though waking from a deeply disturbing dream or richly satisfying
nightmare.
Tom stepped closer at last.

“Get her out of here.”

The young man nodded, offering his hand. “Come on, luv.”

She accepted it in a half daze, letting him pull her to her feet, only to sway heavily, knees weak.
She pressed a bloody hand to her stomach, breathing deep.

“I just need a moment.”

He nodded, helping her to the broken bed. She sat gingerly on the footboard, listing into the post.

Tom averted his gaze, affording her privacy while he placed a boot to Greyback's chest, leaning
down and pulling the blade free. It made a wet suction sound. He proceeded to wipe it clean on the
snatcher's stained shirt.

There was an explosion of noise outside. Horses, shouting, footsteps.

They all turned to face the open balcony.

The boy charged ahead, running outside before Tom had time to blink.

“They’re leaving! The rest of Greyback's men are-”

“Get down!”

He spun in place, pinning Tom with a bemused stare.

A single gunshot ripped through the dark, desolate night.

The boy’s eyes widened as he staggered forward.

Parvati blinked, gripping the post with both hands.

“Blaise?”

Tom held his breath, sensing what was to follow before seeing the evidence.

Within moments red began to blossom across his chest. He stared down at his shirt, blinking
slowly.

Parvati leaped to her feet.

“Blaise!”

She raced to the balcony as he dropped to his knees, a river of red soaking through the fabric,
dripping off the hem onto the tile.

She dropped to the ground, catching him as he collapsed.

Parvati clung to his shoulders with trembling hands, turning him slowly in her hold to see his face.
His complexion faded, pale as a ghost, blood rapidly soaking through the layers of her skirts.

“Parv…”
It dripped from his mouth. She shook her head.

“No!”

Her vision hazed, tears dripping from her eyes as she wiped the blood away with her palm, hand
trembling violently.

“Riddle!”

She sensed movement at her back, glancing up sharply, meeting his overcast gaze with raw
desperation.

He watched the scene play out before him with frustrating calm.

“Keep him conscious, I’ll be back.”

She blinked rapidly, watching him disappear through the doorway.

“Hurry!” She gazed down, pulling him further into her lap. “Blaise, please don’t die.”

He blinked slowly, trying to laugh, more blood bubbling forth, causing him to cough, stringing red
across his cheeks.

“I’m a… bloody idiot.”

She shook her head, wiping his face clean once more, her sleeve stained crimson.

“No, you aren’t.” More tears fell, unabated. “You aren’t an idiot. You aren’t a fool or a lush or a
court jester. You aren’t any of those things.”

The corner of his lips lifted, tinged blue. "Careful." He tried to wink but seemed drained by the
effort. "You almost sound… fond of me."

She laughed in abject misery, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

He turned his head into her stomach, inhaling her scent.

“Bad luck.”

She drew back, fingers curling behind his neck as she cradled his head.

“I don’t think our luck can get any worse.”

He met her gaze, his own appearing dazed and clouded. “I’ll fight harder... knowing what awaits
me.”

She swallowed heavily, tremors racking her frame as she clutched him tighter. “If you live through
this, I’ll kiss you, I’ll smack you around, I’ll do anything you bloody want.”

He smiled, roguish even in his bloodless state. “I’ll... hold you... to that.”

And then his eyes rolled back in his head, body going limp as his lids drifted closed.

She went rigid, heart skipping.

“Blaise!”
She shook him, watching his head loll.

“Blaise!”

Footsteps sounded behind her, rapidly crossing the hardwood.

Bodies emerged beside her a moment later but she barely registered their presence, screaming
outright when someone knelt down and tried to pull him from her grasp.

“Parvati.”

A gentle hand gripped her shoulder. She blinked, gazing up, lost, crazed.

Green eyes held her captive.

“Let us take him, let Riddle try and help.”

She blinked again, the words slow to process, taking root only when Malfoy appeared at her other
side, his face just as pain stricken as hers.

“Let us take him.”

She nodded, relinquishing her hold at last, watching as the men grasped his arms and lifted him
slowly, revealing the pool of blood beneath.

She watched them head for the doorway, clasping her blood slicked hands tightly before her.

“Take him to the dining room.”

She spun around, pulse thrumming at the deep voice.

Riddle moved past her without a glance, carefully watching the men progress.

She strode forward, catching his arm. “Can you save him?”

He paid her no mind, pulling away.

She surged forward, grabbing his shoulder with both hands and forcing him around, demanding his
attention.

“Riddle! Can you save him?”

He met her gaze at last.

“I don’t know, Ms. Patil.”

His eyes glinted as brightly as the blade she wielded moments before. Just as cold. Just as lethal.

She released him, arms falling limply to her sides as he moved quickly inside.

Only to pause in the center of the room, glancing over his shoulder.

“But I’m going to try.”

Bella took a deep breath, lingering at the threshold with her fingers wrapping the handle.
She raised her chin, dark eyes glinting as she finally opened the door, stepping over the threshold
and striding inside.

Only to be accosted with seconds.

“Mistress!”

Her lovely maid practically sprinted across the room, short skirt bouncing artfully around her
thighs and she threw her arms around her.

“Thank God!”

Bella smiled, running a caressing hand along her delicate nape and spine.

“Margo, darling, what’s wrong?”

“We thought-”

“Bella?”

She went rigid. Margo released her at once, scurrying back into the corner of the room as
Rodolphus emerged on the landing, panting wildly as though he’d run in from the outdoors.

He skid to the railing, grasping it tightly and staring over the edge, face pale and sunken, plagued
by shadows, contorting his sharp features into a hellish mask.

She blinked and the vision dissipated.

“Bella!”

He charged down the stairs with a ground-shaking stride, robe billowing behind him as he emerged
on the lower level, pulling her off her feet in a suffocating embrace.

“Thank Christ.”

She raised a manicured brow as he buried his face in her hair.

“I’m positively flattered by the heartfelt reception, love. And the chivalrous dramatics are simply
superb.”

He slowly lowered her to the ground, gripping her arms tight as he searched her face.

“Where have you been?”

“I told you in my letter.” She smiled, resting a hand upon his chest, centered over his heart. Her
nails pressed into the flesh. “I needed an emergency session.”

His jaw tensed. “You’ve been gone all night.”

“It ran late, I slept in a guestroom.”

From the corner of her eye she saw Margo glance to the floor, fingers knotted before her.

Bella inspected his face with as much care as he bestowed upon her, lifting her other hand and
cupping his jaw, inspecting the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“You were up all night?”

He swallowed heavily. “There’s been an accident.”

She blinked, tilting her head. “At the Club?”

“In Bath.”

She blinked once more. “Bath? At the Estate?”

“The Estate is gone, Bella. Burnt to the ground.”

She stiffened, pressing forward, prompting him to loosen his hold on her arms and weave his hands
behind her back.

“How? A kitchen fire?”

He shook his head, face tense. “The staff wasn’t on site. I’m still trying to track them down.”

“Then it is a miracle no one was injured.”

He wet his lips, voice lowering. “They found human remains.”

Her brows knitted together. “Burglars?”

“I don’t know.” He released a slow breath, gaze darkening. “Bella, I can’t get a hold of Rab. His
butler says he was heading to Bath with Selene, but his carriage was nowhere on the property.”

She sighed, shaking her head and dropping her hands.

“Fucking hell. What a mess.”

“I’m worried.”

She laughed shortly, twisting out of his holding. “About Rabastan? We’ve been trying to kill him
for a year.”

He released her with obvious reluctance.

“I’m worried about us. Dolohov dies in a fire only days ago, and now our home is targeted.”

She pulled her shawl free of her neck and shoulders. “This is our home. I hardly think our enemies
would venture to Bath to strike.”

“Bella, I don’t think you realize the gravity of the situation.”

She pinned him with a sharp glance. “I realize it just fine, my love. Just because I’m not providing
the reaction you want doesn't mean I don’t comprehend.”

He blinked, leaning away from the venomous cadence of her voice.

She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, allowing her nerves to settle in the resounding
silence.

And then smiled anew.

“Apologies, darling. You know how I get after a session.”

He watched her closely. “You need to rest.”

She released a delicate sigh, sidling closer to trace her fingertips along his arm. “That sounds
divine.”

Heat blossomed in his gaze, just as expected. He continued to stare at his wife even as he tilted his
head to address the maid.

“Margo, please turn down the bed-”

“I’d like Margo to help me change.”

He opened and closed his mouth, nodding slowly. “Certainly. I’ll turn it down myself.”

She hummed low, leaning up and kissing him softly on the mouth.

“Thank you, luv.”

He captured her against him as she began to pull away, speaking against her lips.

“I’m so happy you’re home. You’ve no idea how terrified I was.”

She caressed his jawline. “I’m sorry I worried you. But I’m here now. Everything is going to be
fine.”

He kissed the backs of her fingers. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

“Do you promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

She tilted her head, eyes sparking at the center.

“Hope to die?”

He blinked, silent for a beat before responding.

“Of course.”

She grinned, drawing back at last.

He continued to study at her, opening his mouth before ultimately shaking his head, turning for the
stairs instead.

“Roddy.”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. She folded her shawl in half.

“Before I forget, we’re to have a party on Sunday.”

He blinked, spinning around fully. “What?”

“The Doctor's orders.”

“I… he never mentioned this to me.”

She folded the fabric a second time, shrugging.

“It’s to be a last minute showing. Someone is sailing in from India.”

He took a step forward. “Bella, the last thing we need to worry about is entertaining–”

“Rodolphus.”

His spine went rigid at her unrelenting tone.

“One of two things has happened.” She held his gaze with quiet intensity. “Either the fire was a
freak accident and there’s no reason to delay our business.”

She arched a brow. “Or someone has, in fact, targeted us and is using the fire as a means of
instilling fear in our hearts."

The shawl bundled in her fist. “In which case, I refuse to give them the satisfaction of watching us
lock ourselves inside a gilded cage.”

She raised her chin, spine infused with steel. “We’re having a party at this house on Sunday
evening.”

Her smile cut glass.

“I’ll take care of the invitations.”

He stared at her for several moments, slack-jawed, before finally blinking, remembering how to
move.

“If you insist–”

“Splendid.” She clapped her hands together, turning on her heel and offering her back. “Thank you,
darling. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

He watched her for another endless beat before finally resuming his upward trek.

She continued to smile and play with her shawl as he reached the landing. He met her eyes once
more as he walked to the hall. She blew him a kiss and he smirked, shoulders easing as he finally
disappeared around the corner.

Her smile dropped like a corpse.

She turned on her heal, meeting the maid’s wide gaze and beckoning her forward.

“Mistress.”

“You did well, Margo.”

She reached out, running the backs of her fingers along the girl’s flushed cheek, watching her
decolletage pinken as the blush bled downward.

“You are my favorite. You’ve always been my favorite.”

The girl listed forward, breath shortening.

“Yes, Mistress.” And then she swallowed heavily, brows furrowed.

Bella lowered her hand. “What’s the matter, darling?”

Margo opened her mouth but stalled on the words, seeming to struggle with a response.
“Are you… alright?”

Bella tilted her head, handing over her rumpled shawl.

“Yes, dove.” Her smile radiated dark and perverse beauty. “I’ve never been better.”

Tom followed the pair of men and their unconscious cargo down the grand staircase, Parvati
nipping at his heels, blood-drenched skirts gathered in her hands.

He sent a sweeping glance across the body and wreckage-strewn floor, gaze caught by the tall
redhead near the door, clutching a rifle and watching their makeshift party descend.

“What’s going on?”

Tom ignored the boy’s inquiry, stepping ahead of Potter and Malfoy as he led the way across the
entry.

“Clear the dining table.”

The redhead blinked again, eyeing the empty landing with growing unease.

“Where are the others?” He started following. “Where’s Susan?”

“She’s fine,” Parvati snapped impatiently, brushing past.

Potter adjusted the limp arm around his neck, adjusting his hold as they made their way down the
hall.

“She got out, Ron. She’s safe.”

Tom paused in the doorway, fits clenching at the mess awaiting him.

“Clear the damn table!”

Black emerged at the other end of the corridor, pistol in hand.

“What happened?”

Tom strode inside the dining hall, leaning over and sweeping the surface clear of debris, the sandy-
haired boy he assisted earlier in the evening stepping forward to help.

“He’s been shot.”

“Then we need to take him to–”

“There isn’t time. I don’t see an exit wound. I need to remove the bullet before he bleeds out.” He
stepped back, gesturing the awaiting men inside. “Lay him face down.”

He watched as they did as bade, Black stepping aside and eyeing the injury with a steady gaze.

“What do you need?”

“Clean towels, hot water, needle and thread, scissors, your sharpest blade, and the strongest alcohol
you have on hand.”

Potter nodded. “I’ll start gathering it.”

The fair-haired boy backed away as well. "I'll help."

Parvati stepped forward next.

“What can I do?”

“Assist or stay out of the way.”

Her jaw tensed, senses seeming to return in phases. “I want to help.”

He spared her an assessing glance before nodding shortly. “Find a lantern. You’ll hold it steady
while I work.”

She turned on her heal, darting out of the room with an eager step, hair and dress trailing behind.

Malfoy shifted, bracing the table.

“Can you save him?”

Tom began taking the patient’s pulse.

“I can remove the bullet. Whether he’ll have enough blood left in his body to keep his heart beating
is another matter.”

The blonde gripped the table edge harder, fingertips turning white.

“What can I do?”

“Help me get his shirt off.”

They set to work stripping the saturated fabric from his torso, revealing a gleaming red back.

Tom sighed, the blood appearing black in the moonlight.

“Ms. Patil! I need light!”

“Coming!”

Soft footsteps pounded down the hall, her face emerging a moment later, glowing orange in the
lantern flame. He gestured her forward.

“Stand beside me, hold it at shoulder level.”

She nodded, stepping close and doing as bid.

Tom skimmed his fingers over the slick skin, inhaling slowly as he found the point of entry.

“It pierced his trapezius but missed the cervical vertebrae.”

Malfoy tilted his head, leaning in for a closer look.

“That's good?”

“Yes.”

Tom glanced to the doorway, eyes tracking between Black and the gangly redhead.
“I need supplies.”

The former nodded. “I’ll help the boys.”

Tom sighed in frustration, glancing over his shoulder.

“Ms. Patil.”

She stood at attention, elbows tucked into her sides as she fought to hold the light perfectly steady.

“Yes?”

“Hold still.”

She blinked again, then gasped as he lowered to his haunches directly before her, grabbing the
bottom hem of her skirt and lifting it to his face. She swayed on her feet but remained rooted in
place, watching with wide eyes.

At last he found a clean patch of fabric, grabbing the material with both hands and ripping a seam
up to her mid thigh, tearing out a pale chunk of fabric with easy skill.

He stood just as swiftly, folding the material until it fit into the palm of his hand.

She flushed, raising a dark brow.

“You’ve done that before.”

Tom barely heard the words, already wiping the site of the wound to get a better vantage point. He
paid no mind when Malfoy scowled and pushed away from the table, turning to face the windows
with tight shoulders.

And then footsteps rounded the corner, and he forgot either were even in the room with him.

Black led the charge, a pile of towels stacked high in his arms. Potter and his companion entered
just behind, hands full of supplies.

Black held his eye.

“Found some bandages and medical grade scissors. The perks of being in a military household.”

Tom gestured to the workspace he cleared on the edge of the table.

"I think those perks extend well beyond scissors if the heavy cloud of gunpowder lingering in the
air is any indication."

Black nodded, setting the towels down and stepping back. “We’ll stay out of your way, just shout
if you need anything.”

Tom began rummaging through the items without response, already absorbed in the task ahead.

He picked up the knife provided, testing its sharpness along the edge of fabric procured from
Parvati's skirt and sighing in resignation. Though not ideal, it was far from the worst he’d been
forced to make use of. He’d treated the injured and sick in war-torn villages across the globe. He
always found a way to make do.

“Malfoy.”
The blonde spun around, expression guarded. Tom met his eye without qualm.

“Do you want to continue assisting?”

The young man blinked and then stepped forward. "Yes."

“Clean his back.”

He set about his task silently, grabbing a towel off the top of the pile and soaking it in warm water.

Tom soaked a towel as well, using it to wipe his hands of debris before pouring alcohol over them,
drying them once more.

Then he began sterilizing the instruments.

He took a deep breath as he picked up the blade, flexing his wrist, the joint still sore from the
night’s repeated hand to hand combats.

Parvati began to tremble as he pressed the blade down, the tip dimpling the flesh as the light
jumped spastically.

“Hold the flame steady or give it to someone else.”

She swallowed thickly, drawing her shoulders back. “No. I’ve got it.”

He sighed, then proceeded to make a short but deep incision along the skin and muscle of the inner
shoulder blade.

Blood rose to meet the metal, spilling in thick rivulets across the pale skin, pooling along the
glossy wood.

Malfoy reared back, distracting him.

Tom shook his head, setting the knife aside and taking up the scissors.

“Malfoy, please wait outside. I’ll notify you if his condition changes.”

The blonde tensed. “I don’t–”

Tom glanced up sharply, eyes sparking like metal.

“Wait outside.”

The boy glared, chewing on words he undoubtedly planned to deliver in a pristine and scathing
aristocratic tone.

But then his pale gaze lowered, softening as it fell upon his friend laid out between them.

His shoulders relaxed, resignation heavy in his pointed features as he turned without a parting
word, exiting the room on stiff legs.

By the time he joined the entry hall with the others Tom had already forgotten about him,
completely focused on peeling back the muscle and following the path of the bullet.

He heard a feminine murmur at his back, not registering the words.

“What?”
She wet her lips, shifting closer. “I just said, he’s lost so much blood already.” She shook her head
mournfully. “Can you give him a transfusion?”

“I do not possess the implements to conduct such a procedure on site.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowed as he tracked the curved trajectory. “Regardless, transfusions
don’t always work.”

He continued on, barely processing his own words. “Likely some compatibility issue with the
blood. No one knows for certain. They have much higher success rate with pregnant women and
those with long-term illness.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “Hermione mentioned that once. I think. A study her father was
working on or something.” She released a deep sigh, the light bouncing with the motion. “Christ. I
wish she was here right now. She’d be a proper assistant, helping you operate.”

“You’re doing a fine job. Now be quiet.”

She rolled her eyes but did as bade.

The light shook once more. He bit back a growl, glancing at her sharply, but the words died on his
tongue as he noticed the brimming tears in her eyes.

Fucking hell.

He gazed forward, relenting.

If small talk would keep the lantern steady, so be it.

“I’ll attempt to stabilize him here, then we’ll transport him to Mungo’s.”

She blinked, studying his profile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

“No matter what happens, thank you for trying.” A weighted pause. “And thank you for letting me
kill Greyback.”

He raised a dark brow, skillfully clipping through another tissue layer. “It seemed only
appropriate.”

He set his jaw as the scissors bottomed out, hitting the final barrier with a metallic tink.

They both straightened.

“Found it.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, watching closely as he carefully pried the bullet loose with the edge
of the blade.

More blood rushed to the surface, overspilling his hand.

She cringed, glancing away.

“The light.”
“Shite! Sorry!”

She faced forward once more, holding it steady. The flickering flame danced in his eyes, chest
expanding as the bullet slowly worked its way out.

He wet his lips, setting the scissors aside and reaching in with his fingertips, feeling the hard metal
and gripping it carefully.

He ground his teeth, gaze narrowing as it finally became visible.

A few more seconds passed and it was out entirely, sitting in a pool of blood in the palm of his
hand.

He held it before the light, examining it for breaks, some indication there was another fragment
left inside the torso. Parvati stared at it with open scorn, watching as he tossed it into the metal
dish.

She opened her mouth as though to speak, hesitating, and then closed it, watching silently as he
cleaned his hands and wiped them dry, clouds of blood swirling in the water dish, tinging it pink.

He grabbed up the needle and thread, feeling completely in his element as he set about stitching
the flesh, every movement precise and effortless.

She spoke at last, softly, as though afraid to break the transient silence.

“That’s it?”

He nodded. "The basics, yes. However, the true hardships will be blood loss and infection."

“But is he…” She swallowed, shaking her head. “Can he hear us?”

He continued to hold the flesh together with one hand while stitching with the other. “It’s
uncertain. My general advice is to act as if they can.”

She nodded, stepping forward and reaching out a steady hand, tracing along the young man’s brow
and nose, then up along his forehead, smoothing his hair back.

Tom took idle note of her ministrations.

“A close friend, I presume?”

She smiled softly. “Not at all.” Her hand dropped to her side. “We met a few days ago.”

“What does one have to do with the other?”

She smirked, glancing up. “I forgot who I was talking to.”

Tom blinked, sensing the true meaning of her words and deciding to ignore them. He cut the end of
the string and began tying it off. She continued to watch the young man sleep, all trace of
amusement melting from her features, giving way to familiar haunted agony.

“I need to check on Padma.”

He nodded, setting the needle aside. "As do I. Has she had any more episodes?"

“She hasn’t woken up.” She glanced up, watching him clean the wound once more. “Is that bad?”
“I don’t understand the mechanics of her condition well enough to provide a meaningful answer.”

She tilted her head, examining him closely. “You don’t sugar coat things.”

He wiped his hands on a towel. “No. I don’t.”

She nodded. Setting the lantern aside. “I respect that.” She sidled closer, resting her palms atop the
table. “I didn’t trust you before. I told Mione to stay away from you.”

He blinked, focused upon his task.

She sighed softly. “I was wrong.”

“On the contrary.” He met her gaze. “You have no reason to trust me, which makes your advice
very sound.”

"I have reason now." She folded her arms, sleeves crusted with dried blood. "I trust you. I trust that
you're helping us and that you'll keep her safe."

Tom couldn't fight the smirk from curving his lips.

“Keeping Hermione Granger safe is a Herculean task no man can hope to conquer alone.”

She smiled. “It took you this long to figure that out?”

They shared a knowing look, the air suddenly clearer, lighter.

And then there was a knock on the door, shattering the moment like glass.

Tom glanced forward. “Come in.”

Black popped his head in, glancing around the dimly lit room. “How’s our patient?”

“Stable enough for transport. Do you have a carriage ready?”

“I have about two dozen.”

Tom blinked.

Black stepped fully inside, pushing the door open the rest of the way, revealing the entry hall at his
back.

“We have guests.”

Tom raised his chin, pulse thrumming as he eyed the dozens of police officers roaming the
property.

“Our backup finally arrived.”

Umbridge leaned forward, trying to glimpse whatever held Hermione’s focus with such intensity.

Only to rear back as Hermione gasped, bouncing on her knees as she at last found the file she
wanted, holding it aloft like a hard-won trophy.

“Got you!”
She lowered the pages to the lantern at her side, flipping open the top and reading the first paper
with careful veneration.

“Ariana Dumbledore. Admitted June 13, 1839.”

She blinked, pulse quickening. “Patient suffering from severe delusions, auditory and visual
hallucinations.”

Her gaze snapped up, pinning the Matron in place.

“This used to be a mental hospital?”

Umbridge set her jaw, leaning into the wall. “The Home has served many purposes since its
establishment.”

Hermione’s eyes flickered back to the paperwork. She turned the page, scanning the notes until she
found something of interest.

A staff entry log.

[July 1, 1839 … Patient doesn’t respond to hydro or light therapy. Medication has not reduced
frequency or intensity of delusions.]

She flipped another page, reading further.

[August 8, 1839 … Patient has stopped speaking. Communicates only through writing and hand
gestures. Refuses medicine and all meals. Force feeding and syringe dosing required twice daily.]

Pain and outrage tightened her chest. She clutched the pages tighter, blinking quickly to stave back
tears.

[September 25, 1839 … New physician specializing in adolescent mental health arriving in three
days time. Doctor has been briefed on patient’s rapid mental and physical decline.]

She turned another page, hand stilling when she noticed the change in script.

The new handwriting was precise, elegant.

And strangely familiar.

[October 1, 1839 … Patient had a successful first session, timid at first but became quite animated
when prompted about her dolls.]

[November 13, 1839 … Patient responds well to new treatment. Physical therapy sessions reduced
in place of hypnosis.]

[December 6, 1839 … Ariana has begun to speak. Only to me, and only during our sessions.]

She turned another page, heart skipping.

[January 11, 1840 … Ariana brought her toy rabbit to our session today. She let me hold it. Trust
is building, she has agreed to take her medicine orally in my presence.]

[February 3, 1840 … Increasing Ariana's hypnosis sessions to once a day. Canceling all other
therapy.]
[March 7, 1840 … Ari had a very productive session today, speaking in great length about her
delusions. She has constructed a vivid fantasy world in her mind, believing inanimate objects can
communicate with her.]

[April 2, 1840 … Ari is doing magnificently. She has resumed voluntary eating and speaks quite
passionately during our sessions. I have cut her medication dosing back as risk of self-harm has
substantially decreased.]

She swallowed thickly, gripping the file so tightly she nearly tore the page as she turned it.

[April 19, 1840 … Received notification I have been transferred to a clinic in Austria.]

Her eyes narrowed.

[April 21, 1840 … Put forth official request to bring Ariana to Austria in order to maintain the
progress of her treatment.]

[April 30, 1840 … Ariana’s transfer request denied.]

[May 3, 1840 … New physician will arrive in two week’s time. Ari became quite distraught when
informed of my impending departure.]

[May 6, 1840 … Ari has become withdrawn during our sessions, expressing a lack of appetite and
trouble sleeping. I believe she is experiencing anxiety over our upcoming separation.]

[May 8, 1840 … I fear for Ariana’s welfare under a new physician. I have scheduled a meeting
with her parents to discuss temporary guardianship.]

[May 10, 1840 … Ari has stopped eating and no longer responds to hypnosis.]

[May 12, 1840 … Ariana’s parents denied me temporary guardianship. They believe their son will
contest such an arrangement.]

[May 14, 1840 … Ari refused to attend her session today. It took several hours to coax her from her
room.]

Hermione blinked as she turned the paper, noticing the next page was torn out, the jagged seam
barely visible.

[May 16, 1840 … Ariana did not attend her session this morning. The nurses found her bedroom
empty and the window pried open. Several dresses were missing, as well as food and supplies from
the cupboard. A wide-scale search is underway.]

[May 17, 1840 … Ariana’s family was notified of her escape. They have decided to deal with the
matter privately rather than notify authorities.]

She pulled the page closer to her face, the next entry smudged.

[May 31, 1840 … Ariana was found-]

She squinted trying to discern the text, but the ink was smeared too heavily.

[June 1, 1840 … I depart for Austria this afternoon. Case file will now be sealed for records.]

She shook her head, a tremor running through her body, causing the papers to tremble in her grasp.
“Liar.” She wet her lips, glaring at the text as though it were an accomplice to the affront it
detailed. “She didn’t escape.”

She ground her teeth, casting an accusing glance around the room.

“She never left.”

She loosened her hold on the file, tipping it back and causing a stack of loose pages to spill across
her lap, fluttering to the dusty floor.

She set the file aside and began to carefully gather the papers, hand stilling as she caught sight of
something colorful.

She blinked, fishing the page free and holding it to the light.

A drawing.

Done by a skilled hand.

It showed a sprawling green field overrun by large blossoms, all encased beneath a rainbow sky.

Her pulse thrummed as a strange image took root in her mind.

And suddenly, vertigo seized her. She was free falling through the air, the sky dancing around her
like an iridescent soap bubble–

She blinked, gasping for breath as she returned to her body, seated upright on the floor, paper
clasped tight in her trembling hand.

She carefully set it aside, grabbing up the next drawing.

This one was a rendition of the London Bridge, flowers strung across the beams, the rainbow sky
shining brightly above, the colors so carefully blended they appeared to sway and dance and before
her eyes.

Hermione blinked, moving her thumb aside as she caught sight of cursive script at the bottom.

She tilted her head, brows drawing in as she read the strange name.

“Wonderland.”

The air shifted behind her. She sensed movement from the corner of her eye, keen awareness
setting in.

She set the bridge drawing aside and picked up the final colorful page.

It was a home, situated in the center of a field.

Not just a home… a cottage.

She blinked, holding the drawing closer to the light.

She recognized the front of the building, had seen it with her own eyes and stood upon its porch
only this morning.

She traced a fingertip along the front of Ariana’s childhood home, taking note of the large flowers
and colorful animals scattered across the grass.

A large white rabbit sat in the back garden, nearly the size of the door.

She smiled, at last studying the signature rainbow sky blanketing it all.

There was writing at the very top of the page, the same cursive from before.

Inside Wonderland.

She went rigid.

“Inside…” She swallowed heavily, lowering the page to her lap, eyes slowly drifting up. “Not
inside the dollhouse.”

The air swelled and crackled. She turned her head, glancing past Umbridge to the door.

Ariana hovered at the entrance, rendered translucent in the beams of moonlight cutting through the
circular window.

Hermione drew a deep breath, holding the girl’s haunted gaze.

“Inside Wonderland.” She set the drawing aside. “What you want me to find is inside
Wonderland.”

Her pulse quickened, thoughts racing frantically. She shook her head, slowly pushing to her feet.
“But it’s not real, Ariana. Wonderland was only in–”

She paused, limbs frozen.

“Your mind.”

Her hands curled in.

“The key to escape is inside their minds.” Her gaze flickered over the spilled pages at her feet,
lingering on the colorful artwork.

“The only way to save them is to become one of them.”

Her shoulders tensed. “But I resisted treatment before, I can’t–”

She paused once more. Ariana bobbed gently in place, hair twirling in a pale mass, obscuring her
eyes for half a beat.

“Is that why you chose me? Because I was able to resist treatment? Resist him?”

She took a tentative step forward.

“I stand a better chance of escaping.” She shook her head, expression tensing. “But what if I can’t?
What if I become trapped? Like Dawn, like Padma?”

“Who are you talking to?”

Hermione jolted, head snapping around as Umbridge shifted. The Matron glanced frantically
between her former charge and the open space before her.

Hermione glared.
“A ghost.”

Umbridge swallowed thickly. “You really can see them?”

Hermione raised her chin, fists tightening. “Yes.”

The Matron slid back against the wall, taking shelter in the shadows. "What do they want?" She
drew her legs up, glancing nervously at the seemingly empty wall. "Revenge?"

Hermione tilted her head, examining her closely.

“Justice.”

Umbridge closed her eyes, turning her face away. “I always wondered what became of my mother.
If she lingered in my presence after her death.”

Hermione raised a brow, turning to face her fully. “Were you responsible for her death as well?”

The Matron’s eyes snapped open, face tightening to a scowl. “I’m not a monster.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I never set out to hurt anyone. They told me those girls were being given to men of means and
power. Afforded luxuries well beyond their wildest–”

“Lavender was found discarded in the river with her throat cut. You knew exactly what life you
were selling them into. And let’s not forget, you tried to smash my head in with a brick only
minutes ago.”

Umbridge leveled her with measuring stare.

“I thought you came to finish the job Riddle started. I was merely trying to protect myself. We
don’t all have the pleasure of being handed our good fortune. Some of us have to fight for every
scrap we’ve ever clung to.”

“Don’t speak to me about fighting. My good fortune ran out the moment I set foot on these god-
forsaken grounds.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “But they aren’t haunted anymore. Now that you’ve been knocked
from your throne the girls are thriving like never before.”

She raised a brow. “They don’t need you. No one needs you. And most importantly, no one wants
you. Not even your precious Dollmaker.”

Umbridge shuddered, visibly shaken by the words. Hermione expected more of the same, flagrant
denial, pathetic justifications.

But the Matron’s next words shook her just as badly.

“You won’t escape Him. If you allow yourself to be taken under His thrall.” She wet her lips, voice
lowering to barely a whisper. “No one escapes.”

“She’s right, sweetling.”

Hermione jolted, arms lowering as she spun in place, spotting the owner of the deep voice in the
shadow-filled corner.
Dolohov leaned casually against the wall, dark smoke billowing around his legs, obscuring his feet.
But his charred skull was in full view, eyeless sockets watching her with steady intensity.

Her gaze narrowed.

“I didn’t ask for either of your advice.”

Umbridge shrieked, glancing to the corner with wide eyes. “It’s another one?”

Hermione sighed sharply, rounding on the woman once more.

“Just go.”

The Matron blinked, hands bracing the ground.

“G-Go?”

"You've failed your employer quite splendidly and made yourself a massive liability. I imagine he's
put a hefty price on your head." She raised her chin. "I doubt you'll survive the week. But if by
some miracle you do, the police will be searching for you night and day."

Flames danced in her eyes. “Your life is over outside of these walls. And in here, you’re just as
much of a ghost as your victims.”

She stepped aside, out of the path of the door. “The choice is up to you. Stay or leave. I couldn’t
care less.”

The Matron rose slowly, legs trembling, nearly unable to support her weight.

But she gathered the last stores of her strength and lurched for the exit, hands splayed forth as
though anticipating to find some invisible barrier blocking her way.

She paused in the frame, glancing over her shoulder wearily, meeting Hermione’s steel-hard gaze.

She opened her mouth–

Dolohov floated to her side, leaning down and blowing softly in her ear.

She let loose a blood-curdling scream, leaping out of her skin and launching herself down the
staircase so quickly it was a miracle she didn’t summersault the rest of the way.

Hermione shook her head in irritation as the former solicitor erupted with deep belly laughter.
Figuratively speaking, as his intestines currently dragged the floor in black tendrils.

He rose to his full, levitating height, turning to Hermione with languid movements, obviously very
pleased with himself.

She didn’t spare him a glance.

“Leave.”

“I just got here, dove.”

She crossed her arms, averting her gaze to the window, still cursed by his ghastly reflection in the
pane. Such a jarring contrast to the soft light emanating from Ariana’s glowing form.
“Now.”

She watched as he slowly faded from view.

“I’ll be seeing you very soon, sweetling.”

He disappeared entirely, taking the scent of smoke and burnt flesh with him.

Hermione sighed, leaning down to gather the fallen papers of Ariana’s file, still reeling from all
she’d uncovered this night and the general nightmare her life had become.

As she carefully stuffed the entry logs back into the folder she glimpsed the Doctor’s writing once
more.

And suddenly, realization struck with such a powerful force it nearly tore her off her feet.

“Oh my god.”

She understood why the penmanship seemed familiar.

Because I’ve seen it before.

At the asylum.

She fumbled to flip the folder back open, scanning the writing carefully, her entire body throbbing
in time to her rapid heartbeat.

She held her breath, flipping to the last page in the stack, granting permission to seal the file for
records.

The only page bearing the Doctor’s full signature.

She stared at it in abject horror and fascination, the ground trembling beneath her feet, the walls
cracking down the center as the roof gave way, falling to pieces all around her.

“You weren’t one of his early victims.” She ran her thumb across the neat cursive of the
Dollmaker’s true name. “You were the very first.”

She gazed up, meeting the apparition’s serene gaze. “The Dollmaker was your physician.” Her
heart swelled and shriveled at the same moment. “Ariana, I-”

But words failed her.

Nothing seemed appropriate, nothing brought her back to life or changed the current circumstances.

Words wouldn’t fix anything.

Only action.

She dropped the folder to her side, stepping forward.

“You believe in me? That I’m strong enough to fight Him?”

She fell still as Ariana drifted closer, slowly raising her arm and lifting a hand towards Hermione’s
cheek.

She held her breath, trembling as they made contact.

Her skin burst to life with warmth, a powerful current racing down her spine and through her
limbs, infusing her with a heady rush of strength.

Ariana lowered her arm as Hermione pulled away, inhaling sharply and blinking back tears.

At last, she nodded, shoulders drawing back as a beam of moonlight cut across her gaze.

“Let’s kill this bastard.”

. . .

Hermione marched down the main staircase, past clusters of residents dusting and waxing, paying
no mind to the obvious attention she gathered as she cut a path across the entryway.

She pulled open the front door and stepped outside with narrowed eyes.

Her heartbeat echoed through her ears, blood surging as she walked steadily down the stone steps
leading to the sidewalk.

The street was still empty and illuminated by gaslight, giving her an unimpeded view of the pub.

And more importantly, giving the pub's inhabitants clear view of her.

The men assigned to keep watch blinked slowly, lowering their mugs in dumbfounded silence
before finally glancing at one another, seemingly at a loss for words.

Hermione stepped onto the cobblestone, hands clenching repeatedly at her sides as she fought
against her own fight or flight response, violently suppressing every survival instinct within.

The men came to their senses at last, pushing their ale aside and scrambling for the door. They
burst outside a moment later, continuing to stare ahead with great hesitance.

She stopped in the middle of the street, forcing her body to relax as they slowly approached, eyeing
the Home and neighboring buildings carefully, as though awaiting an ambush.

They finally reached her, stopping several feet away, continuing to stare in equal parts shock and
anticipation. She put them out of their misery, calmly folding her hands atop her skirt and tipping
her head.

"Good evening, gentlemen. I'd like to speak to your boss."

They blinked, watching with blatant unease as the mask of demure innocence crumbled to ash,
falling to the damp stone beneath her boots, eyes glinting with predatory intent.

"Take me to Grindelwald."
 Itsy Bitsy Spider

You've gone quite mangy, Cat.

But your grin's a comfort.
. . .

Tom drew back from the doorway, muscles tensing as his eyes fastened to the plainclothes
detectives carefully side-stepping bodies in the entry. Movement at his side broke his focus,
allowing him to grip the reins of his rising panic. He turned to Parvati.

“Go to your sister, talk to no one,” he commanded, tone final.

She lifted her chin, holding his gaze without an ounce of trepidation. “I’m not leaving Blaise’s side
until I know he’s on a carriage bound for Mungo’s.”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as his thoughts surged and crashed, a threadbare plan
rising from the chaos of his mind.

“Very well,” he relented, dropping his hand and deciding this was one battle not worth fighting.
“You look like you’ve been dipped by your heel into a vat of blood. Stay out of sight.”

She nodded swiftly, taking the young man’s hand in her own as she sidled closer to his unconscious
form. Tom strode past the table and met Black’s astute gaze.

“We need to transport him immediately,” he instructed.

The Peer tipped his head in agreement, stepping over the threshold. “I’ll have the boys move him.”
His dark eyes glittered. “Bones wants to speak to me. He wants officers to interview everyone.”

Tom’s fists clenched at his sides. He took a steadying breath, forcing them lax. “We can’t tell them
anything.”

Black arched a heavy brow, gesturing to the demolished room at large, glass and blood coating the
floor in a shimmering carpet. "Riddle, look around you. There are four dead bodies in the entry hall
alone, not to mention the tiny fact half the mansion is scattered a hundred yards in every direction."

Tom held his gaze for another moment, thoughts grinding to a painful halt at the reminder. He
tipped his head back and glared at the ceiling, the mural above marred by blood splatter. “Shite,”
he muttered lowly, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Black nodded, seeming to share in the sentiment whole-heartedly. “I’ll follow your lead on this.
But my sway as a Peer can only get us so far, especially in these circumstances.” He wet his lips,
casting his voice low. “Bones is smart. He’ll see through the bullshite. And if his reputation is to
be believed, he can’t be bribed.” He waited until Tom met his eye to continue. “Might be a good
ally to have.”

Tom ground his teeth, shoulders squaring. “It seems I don’t have much choice.”

Black smirked, clapping him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.” Then nodded to Parvati as she
continued to stand guard beside the table. “But Zabini is our first priority.”

She swallowed heavily, clutching the limp hand tightly between her palms. Black released him and
stepped back, sweeping an arm towards the open doorway and smiling with enough enthusiasm to
set Tom’s blood to boil.

“After you, Doctor.”

Susan rose to her tiptoes, struggling to peer over the numerous heads blocking the doorway. She
pushed through the milling crowd of officers as her eyes desperately traced over every face in the
entry hall, heart lodged in her throat.

Please, God.

She turned in a circle, hands flexing aimlessly as she held her breath, gaze fastening to each pool of
red collected along the floor, streaming through the grout, staining the pale marble.

Please.

“Susan!”

She gasped, spinning on her heal and spotting him at once. She launched forward in the next
instant, tears hazing her vision and blurring his features as she gathered her skirts and leaped over
debris, mindless of the scene she made.

He met her halfway, catching her around the waist as she hurtled through the air like a cannon shot,
arms wrapping his neck in twin tendrils as she released a broken sob. He clutched her tightly,
burying his face in her hair while he held her off the ground for several stuttered beats. At last he
loosened his grip, allowing her to slide down his body until her boots clicked the floor.

She pulled back, meeting his eye. “Are you alright?” She asked, tears streaming down her face as
she carefully inspected his front for any signs of injury. He nodded, releasing her sides to swipe his
thumbs beneath her eyes, drying her cheeks.

“I’m fine,” he assured, voice deep and hoarse, though from strain or emotion she wasn't certain. He
searched her gaze, continuing to hold her face captive in his blood-caked palms. “What happened?
How did you get out?”

She clutched his shirt with both hands. “We climbed through the window. Malfoy helped us. But
Parvati refused to leave her sister.” She centered her palms over his heart. “Did anyone get hurt?”

His face tensed. “Zabini was shot. Riddle operated on him in the dining room. I don’t know his
condition.”

She closed her eyes. “We took too long getting back up here,” she whispered miserably, chest
aching with the guilt of his news.

He shook his head and took hold of her waist again, fingertips pressing the whale-bone lining of her
corset. “Greyback’s men were retreating when he was hit, it was bad luck and would’ve happened
regardless.”

She opened her mouth to reply but another voice filled the void, drawing her attention away.

“Susan.”

She gasped, and then smiled. “Harry!” Ron released her as she launched forward a second time,
ensnaring the laughing man in much the same way.

“It’s great to see you, too, luv, but you shouldn't have come back here,” Harry chided, gently
patting between her shoulder blades.

She released his neck, drawing back swiftly to meet his emerald gaze. “I had to make sure you boys
were alright.”

“Greyback might have still been here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I never back down from a fight.”

Harry smirked, dropping his arms. “Of course not.” And then he stepped away, taking in the
surrounding chaos and its sea of new faces. “Did you bring the entire Yard?”

She shook her head. “My father sent word to the CID. Every single officer here was hand selected
by him.” She turned in place, facing the room and watching the detectives work. “They can be
trusted.”

Harry sighed heavily, carding his fingers through his electrified hair and knocking bits of lingering
plaster to the floor. “Either way, we’re gonna have a hell of a time explaining this.”

She bit her bottom lip, peering up at his profile. “Harry.”

His eyes snapped to her, gleaming brightly at the trepidation in her voice. She swallowed, sensing
Ron's radiant heat at her back, watching every moment of their exchange.

“My father knows you visited Cormac in the morgue,” she continued slowly, each word a feat.
“There’s only two ways you could have possibly known he was dead. Someone with access to the
confidential file leaked information, or you were involved in his killing.”

Ron glanced between them, stepping closer. “Wait, what about Cormac?”

She grasped his hand without sparing him a look, keeping her focus tightly aligned on Harry. “I’m
going to tell my father the truth.” Her heart galloped painfully in her chest. “All of it.”

Harry tensed. “Susan–”

“No.” She shook her head, squeezing Ron’s palm tighter. “I’m not going to let you incriminate
yourself for me.”

Ron studied her profile. “Susan, what the hell are you talking about?”

Tears clouded her vision anew but she let them fall unabated, maintaining Harry’s steady gaze for a
short eternity before earning his nod of acceptance. He reached out, gripping her shoulder.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” he whispered, ducking his head and stepping away from the pair.

She released a shallow breath, glancing to her joined palm, fingers interlaced with a freckled hand.
“Ron.” Her voice was thick, unrecognizable to her ears. She forged ahead, lifting her watery gaze
with agonizing finality. “We need to talk.”

Bones rotated in a slow circle, taking in the shrapnel and gore adorning every surface of the opulent
entry. “I want everyone to come back to the station for questioning,” he announced, voice
decidedly calm yet resoundingly powerful.

Tom shared a brief but loaded look with Black from across the room, the message silent and clear.
Black gave an imperceptible nod of his head before stepping forward.
“Commissioner Bones, surely we can skip all this red tape. Imagine the scandal it would induce
should I be seen entering the Yard.”

Bones turned on his heel, eyeing the Peer with cool detachment. “You have ten dead bodies in
your home, Black. The back portion of your home also happens to be missing. I think the news is
bound to break one way or another.”

Black tipped his head, eyes flashing as he quickly changed tactics. “At least question us here.”

Bones gave his broad form a thorough once over, jaw tensing. “I don’t extend favors to members of
the peerage simply for being born with a title.” He met Black’s gaze once more, shoulders drawing
back. “But your promotion to Admiral was hard-earned, and I am willing to acquiesce out of
respect to your rank and service to this country.” He turned to face the rest of the hovering crowd,
voice rising high above the mayhem. “That said, I still intend to do this by the book. Everyone will
be questioned.” He arched a dark brow. “No exceptions.”

Black nodded, grinning with polished charm. “We’re willing to cooperate fully.”

Tom stepped forward, unable to linger in unbearable silence a moment longer. “There’s a young
man requiring immediate transport to St. Mungo’s. That’s our first priority.”

Bones turned his head, eyeing Tom carefully for the first time. “And you are?”

“A doctor,” he deadpanned, gesturing to the dining hall at his back. “You can attest to his
condition yourself, but in the meantime a carriage needs to be readied.”

The Commissioner studied him for a full beat more before calling the attention of two nearby
officers. "Dawlish, Robards, prepare a wagon." The men nodded, departing swiftly. Bones held
Tom's piercing gaze all the while. "Show me."

Tom turned on his heal, leading the man into the dining room as a small procession followed at
their backs unbidden, everyone eager to see the patient’s condition. He met Parvati’s eye as she
jolted out of her chair, setting the boy’s hand aside and stepping back to clear the way. Everyone
piled into the room, surrounding the table and its motionless occupant.

"We'll get him taken care of," Bones said, his expression the same as before he entered the room.
Tom suspected it took a great deal to elicit emotion from the man. A trait he understood well. “I’ll
send one of my men along.”

“I’m going as well.”

Everyone looked to the young aristocrat hovering at the head of the table, the sharp lines of his
face stretched taut as he gazed upon his friend’s still form.

Bones shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t permit that, Mr. Malfoy. I need to question you.”

The blonde’s visage twisted into a picture-perfect sneer. “You can question me after.”

“That’s not–”

“Respectfully, Sir, the only way to stop me is to arrest me.” He lifted his chin, pale eyes glinting
orange as the first rays of sunrise filtered through the shattered windows. “Then you’ll have my
father to contend with, and I assure you, allowing me to accompany my friend is the far less taxing
option for us all.”
Bones stood straighter, eyes narrowing at the blatant threat. “Fine. But I’m still sending one of my
men along to take your statement.”

Malfoy turned to Parvati. “Do you want to come?”

Bones glanced between them. “Wait a moment–”

“I do,” she stated plainly, ignoring the man as well. “But I can’t. I have to stay with Padma.” She
blinked quickly, tears spilling past her lashes as she gazed at the table with palpable remorse.

“I’ll go, Parvati,” a delicate voice offered from the back of the crowd. The men parted down the
middle to reveal the slight blonde hovering at the threshold, expression placid even with the
attention she garnered.

Parvati nodded, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands, soot and blood trailing in their
wake. “Thank you, Luna.”

Bones sighed, shoulders drawing back. “I’m sorry, Miss, but–”

“The officer can take her statement just as easily as Mr. Malfoy’s,” Tom interjected, annoyed with
this pointless delay. “But she must have around the clock guardianship, she may still be a target.”

Bones glanced at him sharply. “A what?”

A new presence entered the room, another officer appearing at the back of the crowd with a harried
look. “Sir,” he announced without preamble, earning the Commissioner’s attention as well as the
entire room. “There’s a bound and gagged man in the side parlor. Says he was kidnapped and held
hostage.”

Black released a sharp bark of noise, something between laughter and surprise, rocking back on his
heels and glancing to his godson. “Whoops, forgot about him.”

Parvati scowled, crossing her arms tightly. “He isn’t our hostage.” A beat. “He’s our prisoner.”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose as Malfoy voiced his thoughts aloud.

“Parvati, stop talking.”

Bones threw up his hands. “Everyone stop talking!” He took a steadying breath. “First we’re
getting the kid loaded into a carriage.” He glanced to Luna, still situated beside the doorway, and
then to Malfoy. “The two of you can accompany him but you aren’t to leave the hospital.” And
then he signaled a detective in the corner of the room, silently watching the shit show unfold.
“Stay with the girl. Don’t let her out of your sight.” Finally, he drew his focus back to the officer
lingering at the threshold. “Untie the man but keep him in the parlor.”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, eagle gaze sweeping across the room’s numerous remaining
occupants. “And everyone else stays exactly where they are.” He wet his lips, bracing his hands
against the edge of the table. “Now, who do I have the pleasure of questioning first?”

Some people shifted awkwardly, others went still as death. But in the end everyone turned their
head, eyes drawing to a common focal point.

Tom.

The detective blinked, tracking the movement and honing upon him in the next beat. Tom lifted his
chin, adrenaline surging as his mask slipped effortlessly into place, but he was helpless to quell the
flash of lightning in his gaze.

“I suppose that would be me.”

Hermione peered through the carriage window at the endless stretch of trees lining either side of
the road. The carriage ride took her into daybreak, sunlight spilling across the grey sky in pools of
orange and pink pastels, illuminating the vibrant greenery of the woods. She never imagined the
pathway to hell could appear so peaceful, so majestic and beautiful. But perhaps that was most
fitting, a suitable end to this particular tale.

One of her jailors sat across the narrow interior, wide frame taking up most of the bench. He took
great care to keep his knees from knocking against her, appearing the far more uncomfortable of
the pair. Both men donned the same perturbed expressions from hours before, gazing upon her in
utter shock and trepidation as she offered up her freedom on a silver platter. They’d since made the
entirety of the journey in silence, every passing minute putting her deeper into isolation, the woods
growing denser and wilder until sunlight could barely penetrate the canopy.

But at long last the road led to a tall gate, the carriage pulling to a stop as the guard sitting front
hopped down and pulled it aside. A moment later they were winding along a steep dirt road cut
along the side of a stone hill, trees to one side and a cliff drop to the other. She clutched the
window frame, knuckles turning white as she gazed into the open expanse of jagged rock,
watching the treetops pass several hundred feet below.

And then they were pulling into a tunnel carved into the earth and reinforced by bricks, darkness
overtaking them for the span of several breathless seconds. The path fed out onto a loose gravel
drive, the horses crunching along the final stretch of road leading to a sprawling structure ahead.
She drew in a slow breath as she took in the sight of the three-story mansion, heart stuttering as
they pulled to a stop before its steps. The driver leaped from his perch, tying the horses before
opening her door and holding out his hand. She ignored the offering, gathering her skirts and
jumping down without hesitation, propelled by her longing need to see the structure up close.

It looked like something straight out of a fantasy novel, the outer walls white limestone, giving it
the appearance of a castle off-set only by the black roof and shutters framing magnificent arching
windows. Ivy climbed along the side of the home and cut across the front in a diagonal path,
purple blossoms blooming on the vines, pairing splendidly with the bevy of rose bushes lining the
wrap-around porch, adorned with petals in every shade of red, orange and in-between.

She’d never seen any place so eye-catching, so mesmerizing at first glance. A candy cottage in the
middle of the wilderness luring lost children to its door.

Her chaperones stepped forward, wordlessly flanking her as they awaited her next move. She
swallowed lightly and stepped forward, a strange sensation ghosting across her skin the moment
her heel connected with the first step. The men were tensed at her sides, watching her carefully, no
doubt expecting her to bolt at any moment. She held her chin high and proceeded up the rest of the
stairs without submitting to the tremor in her limbs, the rapid hummingbird pace of her heart. One
of the guards opened the gleaming black door while the other stood aside and allowed her to enter
first. She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and crossed the threshold, adrenaline
suffusing her spine in a heady rush.

And then she was rendered breathless for the second time in as many minutes.

The entryway was another fairytale brought to life. The floor was a diamond checkerboard of white
and black marble, a grand spiral staircase dominating its center, black ivy carved into every rod
iron spindle, the detail magnificent. But what truly left her speechless was the circular skylight
overseeing the five-armed chandelier, sunlight refracting through the crystal and casting dozens of
rainbows across every surface, herself included. She raised her hand to the nearest prism, watching
the vibrant colors dance along her palm.

This can’t be real…

How could a monster possibly live in such a magical abode?

She was pulled from her awed reverie as one of the guards stepped beside her, waiting until he
gained her attention to speak.

“This way,” he instructed, turning on his heel without awaiting a response.

She blinked, remembering her situation all at once, face heating with anger and shame for allowing
herself to be distracted by the pretty rouse of the inviting interior. She recalled her words to Harry
the week prior, imparted as they wandered the garden outside the Home.

“Poisonous creatures always bear the most colorful skin.”

She drew her shoulders back and followed, allowing him to lead her around the staircase into a
large corridor hidden beyond, the second guard trailing a few paces behind. They journeyed
through a series of connecting hallways, each looking identical to the last, possessing the same
closed doors and crown molding but no decoration to set them apart. And just as suddenly they
stopped before one of the barriers, as unassuming in appearance as its predecessors.

Until she felt a pulse of dark energy emitted from beyond the barrier, raising the fine hairs along
her arms and nape and causing her knees to lock in place. She clenched her hands tight, scraping
together her final vestiges of courage as the guard raised his fist and knocked three times against
the wood.

She held her breath, blinking rapidly as the temperature around her seemed to drop. She desperately
wanted to look over her shoulder for Ariana but fought the urge, terrified it would be someone else
watching her from the shadows. And then a voice spoke from the other side of the wood,
effectively scattering her thoughts in every direction.

“Enter.”

Her spine stiffened at the familiar timbre, filling her chest with both fire and ice, their searing pain
the same. The guard reached for the knob but she elbowed him aside, gripping the handle and
opening the door herself, pausing at the threshold as the room came into view.

An office.

Spacious and brightly lit, a massive desk as its centerpiece and a familiar face and body inhabiting
its chair. She felt her muscles strain to the point of hypertension as she stared upon him.

He continued to peer down at the papers on his desk, pen moving fluidly along the parchment as
he wrote with great dexterity and speed. “What is it?” He asked with an annoyed edge, gaze still
averted down.

She lifted her chin, forcing her feet forward and speaking before her rational mind had the
opportunity to catch up with her madness. “Good morning, Grindelwald.”
Her heart skipped with satisfaction as he stiffened in place, the pen falling from his hand and
rolling across the wood as his head snapped up. His eyes burned with unearthly intensity, scorching
a path straight through her. And then he was pressing his palms to the desk, expression unreadable
as he pushed to his feet, never breaking her gaze.

“Good morning, Ms. Granger.”

One of the men shifted at her back. “We found her at the Home, Sir–”

“Leave us,” Grindelwald commanded, the words echoing off the bookcases and ceiling beams,
causing the men to stand at attention and back into the hall, closing the door in a rush.

Several moments passed in silence, time measured only by the racing of her heart and the steady
ticking of an unseen clock. She folded her hands across her skirts, struggling to keep her
movements slow and steady, knowing one tremor would unleash a torrent of bubbling hysteria. At
last he seemed to absorb the reality of her presence, lifting a graying brow and his eyes swept over
her person. “What an unexpected surprise.”

She tilted her head. “Is it? You had snatchers stationed outside the Home.”

“Indeed I did. But I never truly thought you foolish enough to return.”

Her eyes flashed. “It seemed only appropriate to go back to where it all began.”

He blinked. And then smiled. “You’ve been a busy girl.” He idly tapped his fingertips along the
desk, matching the pacing of the clock. “And so very clever. Learning my true name. Sneaking
into the Home undetected, and yet unable to accomplish the same task on your way out.”

She ground her teeth, gathering her skirts by the handful, desperate to exert her control over
something. “My luck had to run out eventually.”

He stepped away from the chair and began to round the desk, steps slow and methodical. “Or
perhaps you meant to be caught.”

“Now why would I do that?”

“Why indeed.” He continued his slow approach, his presence drawing the cold with him, causing
gooseflesh to erupt along her exposed skin. “You aren’t like other young women. In fact, I’m quite
certain you aren’t like anyone I’ve ever encountered before.”

She drew in a slow breath, channeling Ariana’s face in her mind for strength and resolve. “Are you
certain of that?”

He came to a stop a few feet away, folding his hands behind his back as he began to dissect her
with his eyes. “And what is it you think you know, my child?”

Her blood sizzled at the grating endearment. "I know who inspired your madness. Your perversity.
The first victim of your cruelty."

He blinked, expression tensing for the space between heartbeats. She felt her spine lengthen,
joyous to find the chink in his armor at last.

“Ariana,” she spoke aloud, knowing she struck gold as the name seemed to steamroll him entirely.
The color faded from his complexion in a powerful rush, his body falling so still he hardly seemed
to breathe.
Yet he still found the ability to speak, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve been very busy
indeed.” He searched her gaze, his next words delivered at normal volume, laced with burgeoning
aggression. “And you’ve obviously met Albus.”

She was helpless to mask her own reaction, body tilting away at the pronouncement in an attempt
to evade his assessment. His eyes darkened with the movement. “So that’s where Tom took you.
Interesting.”

She glanced away, desperate to escape the intensity of his eyes but helpless to avoid the rest of his
analysis.

“Yes, I know who set the fire at the Lestrange estate. He managed to orchestrate a rescue mission
in record time. I was deeply impressed.” He began to circle her with calm calculation, every strike
of his heel sending a pulse of revulsion and fear through her stomach. “I underestimated his
obsession with you. Foolish of me, knowing his predisposition for such weakness. It’s in his blood
after all.”

Her unease was cast aside with stunning swiftness by the force of her rage. “You brainwashed his
mother. She was only obsessed because you conditioned her that way.”

He smirked, slowing to a stop at her side. “I wasn’t speaking of Merope.”

Her hands curled into claws, nails threatening to shred the fabric of her dress. “Thomas Riddle was
as much of a monster as you.” Her words radiated such animosity she felt their vibrations all the
way to her toes.

“You speak with great conviction for one so ignorant,” he replied calmly, frustratingly unaffected
by her wrath. “But I suppose that is your greatest weakness... the uncompromising curse of youth.”

She bristled. “I’ve seen Tom’s back, just as I’ve seen Ariana’s doctored medical files. I know
exactly what I speak of. Thomas was a monster lacking a conscience and soul, same as you.”

She expected more lilting mockery, so when his eyes flickered she felt her shoulders tense, braced
for whatever madness was sure to follow.

“Albus told you I killed her.”

She blinked, unprepared for such an obvious statement. But she quickly found her footing,
followed by her anger. “Are you implying you didn’t?”

His face transformed into something deeply disturbing, for in the morning light it appeared almost
human.

“Ari was the purest soul to ever grace this godforsaken earth. A radiant light in the darkness. A
beacon in the raging sea.” His voice was firm in its conviction, swelling with an emotion that
caused her stomach to clench, unsettled by its impossible meaning. “In all my years, all my travels
and endless encounters, I’ve never come across her equal. Not even close.” His gaze reflected the
sun with unnatural brightness. “And I would have severed my own hands from my person before
doing anything to diminish that light.”

She swallowed thickly, searching for her voice, finding it hidden beside her hatred and resentment.
“You claim someone else is responsible for her death? Someone else dumped her in the river like a
pile of rubbish?”

His expression darkened. She fought back an indelicate scoff. “You really expect me to believe
that?” She asked instead, turning to face him fully.

His chin lowered, leveling their gazes. “It doesn’t matter what you believe, my dear. Because soon
enough your thoughts will cease to exist at all. You will cease to exist. Your clever repartee and
impassioned ideals will amount to nothing but a pile of ashes, mere dust in the wind, forgotten and
erased.”

And then he reached forward with surprising speed and agility, grabbing her by the throat. She
went rigid in his hold, too shocked to pull away, more unsettled by the gentleness of his touch than
the gesture itself. He didn’t squeeze, merely laid his fingertips along her throbbing pulse and tilted
her chin back with his thumb.

“I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees what’s become of his most precious
possession,” he muttered as though to himself, inspecting her face with glittering eyes and clinical
detachment, a terrifying combination.

“Haven't you done enough already?" She asked, swallowing past the constriction in her throat and
feeling it work its way past his fingertips. "Destroying his mother, handing him over to his beast of
a father? Why must you torture him so?"

He tilted his head, gaze latching onto hers with predatory swiftness, the corners of his mouth
curving up to reveal a row of white gleaming teeth. “Dear girl… who said anything about Tom?”

She blinked, swaying in place as her mind reeled, held aloft only by his staying hand. “I don’t
understand.”

He nodded slowly. “I know.” And then he released her, stepping back as the cold rushed in, the air
so frigid she was certain she’d see her breath on the next exhale.

"And what a disappointment that is. For the briefest of moments, I thought you truly solved the
puzzle. Saw the entire picture from your high pedestal.” A low sigh hissed past his lips. “But alas,
you’re just another child attempting feats well beyond your capabilities or fortitude.” A beat. His
eyes swept over her once more, calculating. “But perhaps you won’t be a total failure.”

He raised his hand, snapping his fingers. The door at their side swung open, the motion jolting her.
The guards entered, poised for his command.

Yet the Dollmaker only had eyes for her.

“Perhaps you’ll manage to impress me after all.” His smile returned, sharp and hungry. “Let’s see
if you can resist your second round of treatment.”

Tom leaned back in his seat, watching as the Commissioner dragged a hand over his face,
expression taut with obvious exhaustion. The dining table between them bore the evidence of the
bloody battle and subsequent surgery, though the body that once occupied the space was finally en
route to Mungo’s, allowing Tom’s mind to focus entirely upon his current situation. He couldn’t
dismiss the sick and dying assigned to his care no matter his personal difficulties, a frustrating trait
instilled upon him through rigorous medical training and years of wading through desperate
villages and war-torn regions.

But alas, all that existed in Tom's mind now was the man seated across from him, the unfortunate
recipient of a migraine-inducing backstory. The sun rose high in the sky as Tom regaled his tale
with skillful cunning, sharing enough to trigger the onset of investigation without incriminating
himself or those lingering outside the door. He also withheld key details pertaining to the
Dollmaker. Tom intended to kill the man by his own hand, the Yard would not take that victory
away from him.

But Bones was welcome to the rest of the organization. Tom couldn't care less about what
happened to the employees and clients. This mission had always been a personal score against one
man, the rest were merely an added bonus. But Tom never expected the privileged elite to fall with
the criminal empire. He always assumed they’d simply cut ties and seek refuge in their gilded
castles until the dust settled and their good names were restored.

But from this brief encounter, Tom garnered the strong impression Bones wasn’t easily
undermined by the Peerage or swayed by their promises of wealth and fame. Nor did he possess a
simmering resentment for their kind. Tom had never met a man who was truly neutral on the
subject of the Aristocracy, but perhaps the one seated before him wasn’t solely motivated by those
opinions.

Still, Tom was reluctant to trust anyone, little less someone he’d just met. Especially with this…
not when he was so close to finding the Bastard and ending his reign once and for all.

“So let me get this straight…” Bones began slowly, dropping his hands to the table. “A resident
from the Home in which you’re employed was found murdered, prompting you to take it upon
yourself to lead an illegal investigation to find her killer.” His eyes narrowed, glinting with canny
perception. “Who you suspect to be affiliated with an underground trafficking-ring operating
worldwide. The same organization which sent a small army of men to kill everyone here.” He
arched a brow. “Did I get all that right?”

Tom’s expression remained decidedly blank, unchanging throughout his colorful recollection of
the events leading up to the gruesome attack on Grimmauld. "Not quite. My investigation into
Lavender Brown's homicide was hardly illegal."

His fingertips drummed idly atop his knee.

Only my torture of Greyback and subsequent murder of Dolohov.

But those particular excursions were conducted while in the pursuit of Ms. Lovegood. So
technically he wasn’t lying to the man’s face just yet. The good Commissioner didn’t need to be
privy to all the details.

Bones tipped his head, studying Tom's still form as though sensing the thread of his internal
monologue. "Yes. I'm sure you did everything by the book. But what I can’t possibly fathom is
why you failed to bring this to the attention of authorities immediately following the girl’s death.”

“Murder.”

Bones leaned back. “Following her murder,” he repeated, tone measured.

Tom held his assessing gaze for another tense beat before responding. “I didn’t think the local
authorities had the resources or desire to conduct a thorough investigation.”

“That’s our job.”

Tom tilted his head, turning the appraisal back onto the detective. “She was a penniless orphan
found discarded in the river. Look me in the eye and tell me you would’ve devoted even a passing
second to finding her killer.”

The detective blinked. Tom cracked his neck, silently cursing himself for his momentary lapse. He
fought to hang the mask back into place, suddenly finding it ill-fitting and cumbersome. Fuck. At
this rate, he was going to make himself the center of the investigation.

“I can see where this conversation is quickly heading,” he stated, carefully treading the line
between deception and truth. “Rather than try to convince you further with my own account,
perhaps you’d be interested in the witness testimony of someone who can attest to the
monstrosities first hand.”

Bones drew back, his chair creaking with the movement. “You have a witness?”

“Technically I have three. But only Ms. Lovegood is able to articulate her experience at length.”

“And the other two?”

“Are the evidence.”

The Commissioner held his stare in the unwavering silence that followed. Tom fought the urge to
succumb to the discomfort, recognizing the interrogation tactic at once. But he refused to relent on
the matter. Until he knew without an ounce of doubt the man wasn’t yet another spy in the
Dollmaker’s pocket, Hermione’s name would not be going into any files.

“This is a lot to swallow,” Bones replied at length, crossing his arms over front. Tom sympathized
with the sentiment, but before either man could utter another syllable the door flew open, a young
woman charging in.

The detective reared back, eyes widening. “Susan, this is a private interview–”

“You have to believe him, Dad.”

His mouth opened and closed, seeming to process her words at half speed. “Susan, go outside–”

“He’s telling the truth.” She stepped closer to the table, hands twisting at her front. “I found
evidence linking the organization’s past victims.”

Tom blinked, examining the girl more closely, absently taking note of the young man hovering in
the hallway at her back, recognizing his flaming hair from the entry hall battle.

“Susan, what are you talking about?” Bones asked, leaning forward in his seat.

She swallowed heavily, swaying precariously as she spoke the words in a single breath. "I raided
the records room for killings similar to Lavender and found at least a dozen all performed within
the last few years."

Her father visibly paled. “You knew the murder victim?”

She shook her head. “Not personally.”

“Then why the hell are you going through records? How are you entangled in this?” His eyes
narrowed. “How did you even know Grimmauld was under attack tonight?”

She pressed a hand to her middle as though bracing herself. “Because I was here when Greyback
first arrived.”

The result was instantaneous.

“What!”
Tom raised a brow as the man sprung from his chair with enough force to tip it over. She drew
back, expression stricken. “Please don’t get distracted, Dad. I’m fine, but the other girls aren’t.”

“What other girls?” He strode toward her, voice rising with every step. “What were you even doing
here? How do you know Lord Black?”

She opened her mouth but another’s voice filled the room, a new figure appearing in the doorway.

“She was here because of me,” Potter announced, stepping inside with a determined expression.
“I’m her connection to this mess.”

The girl shook her head. “Harry–”

“And I’m the one who asked her to look through the records. I’m responsible for any laws that
were broken.”

Bones glanced between them, realization dawning in his eyes. “You told Potter about Cormac,” he
said to his daughter. “That’s how he was able to arrive at the morgue so quickly.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes.”

His gaze flashed. “You leaked confidential information regarding an active homicide investigation
to a civilian.”

“Yes.”

“Are you dating?”

She and Potter reared back.

“What?” She shouted, eyes widening to comical proportions. “No!”

“Don’t lie to me. Are you running around with this boy?’

Tom rubbed his brow, suppressing a groan.

Fucking hell.

“I’m not running around with him, Dad!”

The redhead stepped into the three-ring circus next, fists clenched at his sides. “She’s running
around with me, Sir.”

The girl cringed, covering her face with both hands while the boy flushed brighter than his hair.

“That didn’t come out right,” he quickly added.

Tom burst out of his seat, prepared to strangle the next person who spoke with his bare hands. “As
riveting as all these revelations are, there are a few more pressing matters to attend.”

Bones took a deep breath, seeming to fight the urge to throttle someone himself. “Agreed,” he
uttered, eyes firmly affixed to his daughter. “But we will discuss this later. In-depth."

She swallowed heavily, nodding. The Commissioner shifted his focus to the young man,
expression turning lethal. “And I’ll be speaking to you privately.”
The boy rocked back with the impact of the words. “Yes, Sir.”

After another tenuous beat Bones softened his stance, gazing upon the girl with more patience.
“You think you found related cases?”

She blinked, awakening from her stupor as she recalled the original purpose of her abrupt entry.
“Yes. I pulled them aside and locked them in my desk at the office.”

His jaw tensed, eyes taking on a calculative gleam Tom was beginning to recognize. “Get them.
Bring them directly to me.” He turned to the young man again. The boy looked terrified for his
life. “You go with her. And if she suffers so much as a broken nail before arriving back here I’ll
make you rue the day you were born. You understand me, son?”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

The detective nodded swiftly, stepping aside and releasing them from his thrall. “Take my marked
carriage.”

She smiled softly, reaching out to squeeze her father’s arm in a tender gesture that compelled Tom
to glance away. Within moments she disappeared through the doorway with the young man in tow,
leaving Potter behind in the wreckage.

Bones turned a sardonic scowl upon the boy. “Seeing as the locks have been shot off all the doors,
I suppose there’s little hope of conducting these interviews in private.”

Potter shook his head, looking far more amused than intimidated. “None. And the locks were
useless anyhow. We eavesdrop through the walls.”

Black’s disembodied voice filtered in from the adjoining room right on cue. “I’m doing it right
now! Remind me to thank Ron for the thrilling entertainment!”

The Commissioner pinched the bridge of his nose. "Wonderful. In that case, you might as well take
a seat beside the Doctor.”

Tom blinked, rapidly processing everything he’d gleaned over the last few minutes, watching
Potter undergo a similar dazed reaction from his peripheral.

Bones moved back to his fallen chair, setting it right side up and glancing between their unmoving
forms. “Well? What are you waiting for?” He sat down with a muffled groan, sweeping shards of
glass from the table with a no-nonsense expression. “We have an organization to take down.”

Hermione locked her knees, standing rigid as a signpost in the center of the unassuming parlor. The
guards flanked the doorway at her back, stone gargoyles defending their crypt.

“So.” A deep voice drew her attention forward. “Am I to be clued into the plan or will you surprise
me with some grand reveal when I least expect it?” Grindelwald asked as he crossed the room to
the opposite wall at a casual pace.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

He chuckled lowly, stopping before a glass cabinet. “Surely you came marching boldly to my door
with a clever scheme in mind. Some means to outsmart and overthrow my evil empire?”

She lifted her chin, fighting the urge to grind her teeth. “If I did I’d hardly be keen on sharing it.”
"Oh, how I do love a good mystery." He opened one of the doors, the beveled glass casting tendrils
of dancing light across the adjoining walls. "Perhaps you'll provide some much-needed
entertainment after all."

She folded her arms, glancing to either side of the richly furnished space. “And what's your plan,
Doctor? This room seems rather ill-equipped for a water tank.”

He opened the lid of an onyx box situated on the middle shelf and grabbed something small and
metallic from within, closing the cabinet door with a soft click. “I have something else in mind for
today. A method far less cumbersome for us both, and hopefully much more effective.”

He strode to a wooden bar in the corner. Her heart skipped as he slid the small item into a metal
plate in the center panel and twisted, causing the doors to part. She tilted her head and studied the
contents, a miniature apothecary in place of wine or liquor. Fascination and fear warred within her.
She didn’t recognize any of the labels, most of the text appearing foreign. His dexterous fingers
selected a short and fat bottle filled with a clear blue concoction, holding it before the light before
reaching for a crystal tumbler situated upon a lower shelf. He pulled the rubber stopper free from
the bottle and poured a finger’s width pool of liquid into the glass.

“I’ll be forgoing the pill as well,” he stated simply, recorking the bottle. “This tonic is far more
fast-acting and easier on the stomach.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “How considerate.”

He smirked and then turned to face her with the glass in hand, gesturing to his men. They stepped
forward as one, moving towards her in a straight line.

“There’s no need for restraint,” she said, holding out her palm. “I’ll take it.”

A wry grin distorted his features into a grotesque parody of amusement. “I find myself more
intrigued by the moment.” He handed her the glass as the guards halted their tracks.

“Then you’re easily intrigued.” She held her breath and tossed the liquid back with a cringe,
confident it would be unpleasant but non-lethal. The initial taste was bitter, the aftertaste distinctly
sour, like swallowing a cup of vinegar. Her mouth tingled. She swept her tongue across the backs
of her teeth, eager to dispel the sensation.

"Then again," she continued, meeting his eye, "I suppose it's rare for you to be in the company of a
woman who isn't begging for her life or staring blankly at a wall."

“Indeed.” He took the empty glass into his possession once more and strode back to the bar.
“You’re undoubtedly in rare form this morning, my dear. But I suggest taking a seat before
delivering your next bold quip. The effects will set in with near immediacy.”

She watched him set the tumbler aside and lock the cabinet door. Her ears popped. She swallowed
but the pressure remained. It grated her nerves to abide his commands, but as she turned her head to
glance at the window she knew sitting down was undoubtedly in her best interest. The curtains
swayed like a flowing river, the sunlight pulsing in time to her heartbeat. The colors in the room
appeared more saturated, shadows darker, reflections brighter. She staggered to the couch at the
center of the rug and collapsed in a graceless heap.

He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets and slowly approached. “Precisely.”

She could hear the smirk in his voice but was unable to make out his features as a beam of sunlight
struck her directly across the eyes. She cringed back, turning her face away. The room around her
swam, her stomach churning with it.

“Tell me,” she said tightly, pressing a hand to her middle. “How do you sleep at night?”

“Lying on my left side. An old injury prevents most other positions.”

She swallowed thickly, teeth pushing and pulling against her gums. “So I take it the drivel you
spout about improving the lives of the brow-beaten and impoverished is just for show?”

He stepped closer, standing between a pair of armchairs facing the sofa. “The drivel is what allows
my customers to sleep at night. The ones still possessing a shred of decency, that is.”

She shook her head. “No one decent could possibly involve themselves in something so evil.”

Her eyes moved past him, staring at the wisps of colors appearing in the air, dancing in the
sunlight like clouds of dust.

No, not dust…

Rainbows.

Hundreds of powdery rainbows cast across the room, emanating from the light reflecting off the
curio cabinet.

"Mankind is excellent at twisting the limits of morality to justify behavior," he continued on. "Look
at you, for example, using entrapment to kill Dolohov in his own home." He clicked his tongue.
"You no longer have high ground to stand on, Ms. Granger." Her eyes flickered forward. He held
her gaze fast. "Not that I judge you for such actions. I judge no one for their behavior. I merely ask
that they are held accountable."

She choked back a bitter laugh, toxic acid bubbling in her throat, threatening to pour down her
chin. “And do you apply that same logic to yourself? Profiting off the destruction of innocent
lives?”

“None of us are innocent.”

She gripped the cushions beneath her, talons piercing through the fabric. “Not even Ariana?”

The result was instantaneous and intensely satisfying. His pale eyes darkened, pupils expanding
outward in twin pools as his face flickered like a bunched film real.

“This has never been about financial gain. I couldn't care less about the money.”

Her heart skipped at his evasive response. She attempted to sit upright but succeeded only in
tipping further sideways. "Then why?" She wet her lips, blinking rapidly as his gaze continued to
darken until the sockets were gleaming vats of crude oil. "What's the purpose for all of this? The
simple pleasure of hurting others?”

He smiled, slow and sinister, sharp teeth glinting as brightly as the colors in the air. “Warmer, Ms.
Granger. But you’re still searching for answers down the wrong rabbit hole.” He tilted his head to
the side, watching her sink deeper and deeper into the cushions. Black sludge poured from his eyes
in rivulets, streaming across his high cheekbones and collecting upon the floor in undulating pools.
“Care to wager another guess while you’re still in control of your rational mind?”

She braced her hands beneath her, pushing back to place her head against the armrest, prisms
dancing before her eyes.

“Rational mind…” She laughed, high and delighted, edging on hysteria. “That’s funny.” She sank
down deeper, the cushions filled with sand, swallowing her torso and limbs, holding her immobile.
“I haven’t been in possession of that in a very long time, Doctor." She smiled to herself, sudden
weightlessness taking hold. "And I don't need to guess. She'll tell me everything I need to know
soon enough.”

He blinked, black tar hitting the wood in viscous globs. “Who?” He asked, voice harsh and distant.

And then the couch swallowed her whole, taking the room with it and sending her into freefall.

“Who will tell you?”

She could barely hear him, barely see him as he gazed down at her from the circular opening in the
floor. And then she lost sight of everything, darkness encasing her as she fell through the center of
the earth.

Susan fished the keys from her skirt, glancing over her shoulder at Ron’s wide form hovering
nearby. His entire body was strung taut, radiating a powerful tension as though awaiting an armed
assailant to drop from the ceiling.

She smiled, fatigued by the effort. “We won’t be attacked at the Station, Ron. You can relax.”

He drew a hand over his face, releasing a long sigh. “After the night I’ve had I don’t think I’ll be
able to relax ever again.”

She slid the key into her father’s office door, opening her mouth to respond when footsteps echoed
down the hallway, cutting short her thoughts.

“Morning, Susan,” the approaching figure said with a bright grin. “Not used to seeing you here on
the weekend.”

She stood straighter, forcing a smile. “Good morning, Lewis. I just came to grab a few things for
Dad.”

He slowed to a stop before her. “Working a case on his day off?”

“Is that surprising?”

His smile widened, eyes roaming her face. “Not in the least.”

Ron cleared his throat. Lewis blinked, glancing sideways, seeming to take in his presence for the
first time. “Oh. Hello, mate.”

Ron nodded his return greeting. Susan cringed, realizing he looked as though he’d just been fished
out of the river. His jacket covered most of the blood stains marring his shirt but his face and hair
remained filthy.

She shifted anxiously, eagerly drawing Lewis’s attention back to her. “Well I better grab the files,
don’t want to keep the boss waiting for too long.”

The young man nodded, eyes gleaming as he gazed upon her again, seeming to dismiss Ron's
presence without thought. “Of course. It was nice seeing you.” He wet his lips, shuffling back.
“Have a great day.”
She nodded, waving amicably, hoping he didn’t notice the slight tremor in her hand. “You, too,
Lewis.”

Ron scowled as he watched the man retreat around the corner. She sighed with relief, pushing open
the office door and slipping inside.

“Who was that?” He asked, following at her heels.

She raised a brow, shutting the door at their backs. “Forget his name already?”

His shoulders drew back as he watched her make her way across the room. “Do most of the men
here have a crush on you?”

She stopped before her desk, shrugging. “Probably.” She rolled her eyes as he crossed his arms.
“Ask a foolish question, get a foolish answer,” she replied simply, searching the ring for the key
she needed.

“We need to talk, Susan.”

Her heart skipped a painful beat, causing her to fumble the keys, the metal hitting the ground with
a clink. She leaned over to pick them up, unable to meet his gaze. "I know," she said softly,
clutching the metal tightly in her fist. "But not now."

She jammed the key into the lock and twisted with added force, watching him approach from the
corner of her eye.

“I don’t think it can wait,” he said, voice edged with determination.

She swallowed, vision clouding with rising panic. “It has to. Lives are at stake, Ron. Our personal
lives can hold.”

“Just answer me one question.”

She sighed, bracing her hands along the edge of the desk, studying the woodgrain. “Alright,” she
relented, closing her eyes. “What?”

A heavy beat. The silence was suffocating.

“Did you love him?”

Her eyes snapped open as she tipped sideways, catching herself against the chair. “What?”

“McLaggen.” His arms dropped to his sides, hands clenched tight. “Did you love him?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why keep it a secret? Why ask Harry to take you to the morgue instead of me?”

Her temples began to throb in time to her heart. “Ron…”

He advanced closer. “You said you were just friends, you heard about his death at the Station and
needed to see his body for yourself… but why wouldn’t you come to me?”

She released a sharp breath, tears stinging behind her eyes. “I…” She felt dizzy. Sick. The urge to
fill her lungs with bitter white smoke was overwhelming. Her shoulder ached from the recoil of the
rifle. She would still see the men bleeding out on the grass, fallen by her bullets.
It was too much.

Ron closed the distance between them in another long stride. “If you were involved with him you
can tell me. I won’t be upset.”

She gazed upon him in abject misery, devastated by the pain reflected back in his deep blue gaze.
His tone was calm, placating, but his eyes spoke the truth. He was terrified her heart already
belonged to another, a dead man no less. She stepped forward, intent on reassuring him of her
affections, but something else slipped free. A dark and sinister truth longing to break free.

“I’m an addict.”

She swayed back at her own words, overcome by crippling fear and relief, unsure which caused
her legs to go numb.

Ron merely blinked, clearly unprepared for such a response. “… what?”

She leaned into the desk for balance, hearing her voice as though from a great distance, floating
above her body to watch the horror show play out. “I’m an addict, Ron.”

He shook his head, searching her face. “I don’t...”

She swallowed, glancing away, eyes weighed down by shame. He drew back, expression falling
lax as he seemed to realize this wasn’t some failed attempt at a joke.

“Addicted to what?” He asked slowly.

Her entire body throbbed, terror seeping from her pores in a cold sweat as humiliation twisted her
stomach to knots. “Opium,” she whispered, throat too tense to speak at normal volume.

He rocked back, only to drift forward. “For how long?”

She inhaled sharply, tears overspilling her bottom lashes. She wiped them away, speaking quickly
to get it over with. Anything to put an end to this moment and the heartbreak that was certain to
follow. “A couple years.” She closed her eyes, nodding in desolation. “I’ve never been able to
admit it before now. But I’ve been addicted for years. No matter how much I tried to pretend
otherwise.”

She heard him shift.

“How often are you smoking?”

Her nails pressed into the wood at her back, palms sweating. “I had to smoke every other day to
keep the worst of withdrawals at bay. But for months I was at the den every afternoon like
clockwork. As long as I beat Dad home it stayed a secret. As long as it stayed a secret I thought I
was in control.” She bit her lip. “But I’ve been sober for a week now.” Her eyes snapped open,
fastening to his. “I tried to stop once I met you. It took a few days to get it right but… I’m clean
right now.”

Her entire body pulsed with the rapid pounding of her heart. The silence was crippling. She knew
she was going to lose him, had been resigned to the sorrow from the moment they met, but facing
the reality here and now was so much more painful than she ever envisioned.

He’s going to leave now. I’ll never see him again. I never deserved him in the first place. Why did I
pretend otherwise?
This is what she deserved. To be alone. Forever. Who could possibly want her? She was damaged,
dirty, pathetic–

“What can I do to help?”

Her thoughts stuttered. She blinked, hands flattening atop the desk. Surely she imagined the
question.

“What?” She asked, eyes wide.

His Adam’s apple bobbed high. “How can I help you through this? What do you need from me?”

She blinked again, a new wave of tears streaming down her face. She left them there, releasing a
sharp peel of laughter instead, overwhelmed by the words and the emotional relief they inspired.
She shook her head, struggling to regain control of her sanity. “I don’t need anything from you.”

He reached forward, gripping both her arms. “I don’t want you to face this alone. I want to help.”

She laughed again, but this time it quickly descended into a broken sob. He pulled her forward and
she collapsed against him without hesitation, burrowing into his chest as he pressed his nose and
mouth into her hair, taking a steadying breath she echoed with her own lungs.

“You already have,” she breathed out.

“What?”

She tilted her head back, meeting his eye. “You’ve already helped. You gave me a reason to want
to get clean.”

He leaned down, kissing her forehead, lips lingering at her temple. She forged on, desperate to
dispel all the toxins from her system.

“Cormac and I smoked together.”

His arms tensed at her back. She hastened to add, “We never slept together. I didn’t love him.” Her
hands gripped his lapels. “But I cared about him, in a strange, twisted sort of way. He was an arse,
but he didn’t deserve to be gunned down in an alley.”

Ron nodded slowly. “Harry knew about all this.”

“It’s my fault. I begged him not to say anything to you. He only agreed because I promised I’d tell
you myself.” She shook her head, voice pleading. “Please don’t be upset with him. I’m responsible
for all the secrecy.”

The corner of his lips turned up. “I’m not upset with him. I couldn’t be if I wanted. I’m pretty sure
he’s saved my life at least three times after last night.”

She laughed, eyes misting over at the reminder. “When I returned to Grimmauld I didn't see you. I
thought…” She trembled, expression rapidly sobering. “I thought I’d lost you.”

He drew her in once more. “I’m right here,” he gently assured, the deep cadence of his voice
breaking open something inside her. She pressed her hands over his heart, feeling the steady pound
against her palms.

“I’m sorry I lied,” she cried. “I’m sorry I’m like this. I wanted to be perfect for you. You deserve
someone perfect. You deserve someone pure and–”
“Stop.” His arms released her waist to grip her shoulders tight, forcing her back just enough to meet
the burning intensity of his gaze. “I don’t want perfection. I don’t want purity.”

She blinked.

He grinned with the full force of his boyish charm. “That all sounds boring as shite.”

Laughter bubbled from her throat, edged in sorrow. His smile faded but the light continued to
dance in his eyes.

“I want a girl who’s brilliant and clever and not afraid to show it. Who puts me in my place when I
deserve it and picks me up and dusts me off when I need it. I want someone who’s willing to ride
into battle to protect me and the people I care about without hesitation or fear.”

She swallowed thickly, laughter dying beneath the weight of his declaration.

“I want you,” he continued, fingers tensing upon her. “Only you. Just as you are. With all your
flaws. All your mess. All your beauty and brains and wits and chaos. I want it now and for the rest
of my life.”

She drew in a sharp breath, his words circling through her head on an endless loop. “Did…” She
blinked. And then blinked again. “Are you proposing?”

He stared at her in silence, seeming to replay the words in his own mind for a long beat.

And then he smiled.

“I think I am.” He lifted his chin. “No. I know I am.” His eyes glittered. “Yes, I definitely am.”

She opened and closed her mouth, heart swelling. “We’ve just had a deeply traumatic near-death
experience. We aren’t thinking clearly.”

“I tend to do my best thinking following deeply traumatic near-death experiences. Hence my

limited windows of intelligence.”

She laughed anew, reaching up and cupping his face with her hands. “Stop that! You’re brilliant.”

“Is that a yes?”

“We met eleven days ago.”

“Three times as long as Romeo and Juliet.”

Her brow furrowed. “How…”

“I might’ve looked it up in the event I decided to propose to you in the next few days.”

She tipped sideways with the onslaught of emotion. His arms captured her around the middle,
steadying her against his frame.

“My father just found out we’re secretly dating, announcing our engagement on the same day
might kill him.” She rested her hands atop his broad shoulders. “Or rather, he might kill you.”

“Is that a no then?”

She shook her head. “It’s a let’s-wait-until-all-this-chaos-blows-over-to-revisit-the-subject.”

“I’ll still feel the same.”

Her smile deepened. “Then waiting won’t matter.” She leaned upward, pressing a soft kiss to his
lips. He didn’t push for more, seemingly content with the gentle reassurance as he rested his
forehead against hers. “Let’s go,” she whispered.

He wasted no time taking her by the hand and turning for the door. She took a step forward before
freezing in place, digging in her heels.

“Crap, the files!” she hissed.

He blinked, glancing over his shoulder. “Obviously my window of intelligence has closed.”

She let go of his hand and darted to her desk, pulling open the bottom drawer. “That’s why you
have me.” She tossed him a cheeky wink and he awarded her with a handsome grin. Her heart
soared.

And then she glanced down at the contents of the drawer.

Her heart dropped to the pits of her stomach.

She carefully grabbed the stack with both hands. The papers turned to stone in her grasp, the
crimes they documented too horrific to think about. She started to pull away when she noticed one
file lingering at the bottom of the cubby. The name typed across the front pulsed before her eyes,
the bold lettering invoking images of the gruesome sketches contained within.

THOMAS RIDDLE, M.D.

She bit her lip, staring upon the cover for several moments until Ron’s voice drew her from the
haunting stupor.

“Everything alright?”

She nodded quickly, leaning down and picking up the file, tucking it beneath her arm with the
others. “Yeah.” She closed the drawer and reached for his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

Theo stopped in his tracks, blood running cold as he inspected the busted gate lying in tatters
before him. The carriage he arrived in pulled back onto the main road as he edged forward, the
lopsided mansion coming into full view.

He staggered forward several feet before taking off down the drive in a dead sprint, lungs pumping
furiously. A young man in uniform appeared from behind the sea of carriages, holding up his
hands at Theo’s rapid approach.

“Whoa, whoa, hold it–”

“What happened?” Theo shouted, skidding to a stop just before the entry, kicking up gravel in his
wake.

“You can’t be here–”

“What happened?”

“You need to–”

“Is Harry alright?”

“Listen, you can’t–”

“Is Harry Potter alive?” Theo practically screamed, surging forward, eyes wild.

“Please step back–”

“He’s alright,” a third voice announced.

Theo spun on his heel, spotting Black in the open doorway. The man nodded to the officer. “I can
vouch for the kid, let him through.”

“I’m not supposed–”

Theo charged past the officer without a backward glance, his focus directed solely upon the figure
at the entrance.

“Where is–”

“Inside,” Black responded without preamble, a smirk playing at his lips. “He’s fine, Nott.”

Theo swallowed heavily, shoulders dropping with the weight of his relief. “What the hell
happened?”

The man’s expression rapidly sobered, eyes darkening. “Greyback.” He tipped his head to the
interior. “Come on in, see the new layout.”

Theo followed him over the threshold, ignoring the sputtering protests of the officer at their backs.
He made it two steps across the marble before grinding to a halt.

The first thing that registered in his mind was that the front door wasn’t open. Rather, it was lying
on the ground in pieces, the frame busted to high hell. The windows on either side decorated the
floor with as much gusto, jagged shards and bullet casings floating in pools of congealed blood,
broken intermittently by the coal outline of bodies. An impressive crime-scene, to say the least.

Theo arched a dark brow, proceeding forward once more. “I see you hired a decorator.”

Black tossed a wink over his shoulder. “Please. I don’t even keep a butler on staff. I channeled my
inner feng shui and went to town myself.”

Theo tipped his head back, spotting the deep fissure along the ceiling mural. “With dynamite.”

Black slowed to a stop, smiling outright. “You have an eye for demolition. Impressive.

“I help oversee construction for the Natural History Museum. We blew apart the entire block to set
the foundation.”

The older man nodded, rubbing his chin as he pinned Theo with a contemplative look. “You’re just
full of surprises.”

Theo tucked his hands inside his pockets to hide their tremor, unnerved at the obvious analysis
taking place. “Where’s Harry?” He asked instead, knowing how damning the question was but
craving the answer even more.

Black dropped his hand, gesturing to a closed door beside the archway. “Having a little sit down
with the good Commissioner.”

Theo blinked. And then paled. “You left him alone to speak with the head of police?”

Black tipped his head back and laughed, eyes glittering with mirth. “Of course not. We’d all be
swimming in chains by now. Riddle is with him, likely fantasizing about killing the detective and
my godson while weaving a lovely little lie to cover all our arses.”

Theo gazed around the chaotic mess, watching strangers enter and exit with random items in hand.
“Seems I missed quite the party.”

Black’s lingering silence drew his attention forward. The man’s face held an uncharacteristic
somberness that was far more disturbing than the blood splatter decorating the walls.

“What is it?”

Black held his gaze, tone solemn. “Zabini was shot.”

Theo took a wide step back, glass crunching underfoot. Black raised a staying hand, continuing on.

“Riddle operated on him in time, got him stabilized. He was transferred to Mungo’s about an hour
ago. My little cousin is keeping him company.”

“I need to check on him,” Theo said immediately.

Black nodded. “I’ll tell Harry you stopped by.”

Theo shook his head, thoughts hazy. “I need to see him first.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken the
words aloud until it was too late.

Black eyed him speculatively. “Whatever makes you happy.” A beat. “I saw your name in the
paper a few days ago.”

Theo’s hands curled inside his pockets. “Probably an article about the Museum.”

“No.” The Admiral shook his head, focus unwavering. “It was an engagement announcement.”

Theo’s jaw clenched. “Or that.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he replied out of habit, caught by the man’s steadfast stare.

Black grinned, teeth gleaming proudly as he changed the topic with the delicacy of a mauling bear.
"Care to join me for a drink while you wait?"

Yes. Desperately.

Alas, the smell of most alcohol reminded Theo of his father as of late. His nerves were already
spent, and there was the sizable concern of Black’s perceptive gaze to contend with. The Patriarch
liked to play a lush in the public eye, but Theo knew better.

So he shook his head, forcing a smile of his own, face quaking with the effort. “I appreciate the
offer, but it’s still a bit early in the day for me to partake.”

Black arched a dark brow, grin somehow tugging higher yet. “Good lad.” And then he winked for
a second time. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Theo watched him depart around the staircase and enter the adjoining hallway, disappearing from
sight. He released a heavy breath, turning away.

And caught sight of another familiar face.

He tilted his head, questioning his sanity. “Longbottom?”

The man paused in the archway and glanced up. “Nott?”

“What are you doing here?” They both asked in unison.

Longbottom blinked, starting to approach. “When did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago. You?”

“I never left.”

It was Theo’s turn to blink. “You were here for all this?”

Longbottom swallowed, dragging a hand through his hair as he glanced at the wreckage strewn
before them. “Yeah.”

Theo eyed the man with a new appreciation. “Good job.”

Longbottom drew his attention forward. “Doing what?”

“Staying alive.”

Longbottom flushed, and then smirked. “Thanks. It was pretty touch and go there for a while.”

“I can only imagine.” Theo felt his chest tighten. “I heard about Blaise.”

His companion paled, all trace of amusement melting away. “Riddle got the bullet out. He was
unconscious when they loaded him in the carriage but his wound looked clean.”

Theo nodded, glancing around. “Where are the others?”

“Parvati and Hannah are upstairs with Padma, Luna and Malfoy headed to the hospital. I’m not
sure where Susan or Ron went.”

Theo tried to sort out each girl’s name in his head according to the brief but loaded conversation he
had with Harry over lunch a short millennia ago. "So it's just you wandering the halls?"

“And Sirius, wherever he is.”

Theo tipped his head towards the hallway on the opposite end of the room. “Raiding the bar.”

“Ah.”

“The police won’t let you leave?”

Longbottom shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets. “They took my statement, told me I was
free to head home.” A tense beat. “But…”

Theo lifted his chin, nodding slowly. “I understand.”

Better than he’d like to.

The door beside the archway flew open. Theo’s heart skipped, head turning and breath seizing in
his lungs. A familiar figure appeared in the center of the frame. Their eyes met. An electrical
current passed along his skin. And then...

“Theo?” Harry asked.

He rocked back on his heels, overcome by the sound of his voice, the proof of his survival.

Longbottom glanced between them, color rising high in his cheeks as he rubbed at his neck. “I’ll
um…” He shuffled back, neither man paying him any attention. “Just go then.”

Theo didn’t register his departure, every part of his mind and body attuned to the man across from
him. Harry stepped free of the dining hall and closed the door at his back. The sound awoke Theo
from his daze, setting him into motion. He charged across the long stretch of marble. Harry met
him halfway, both men stopping with only a foot of distance between them, swaying with the force
of the magnetism.

Theo tore his focus away from the glinting emerald gaze to search Harry’s front for any sign of
injury. “Are you hurt?” He asked, fists drawn taught to prevent himself from reaching out.

“No.”

“You weren’t shot?”

“No.”

“Or stabbed?”

Harry smirked. “Theo, I’m fine.”

“You weren’t injured in the blast?”

Harry lifted his arm without warning, placing a palm to Theo’s chest, directly over his heart.

“I’m fine.”

Theo wet his lips, body throbbing with the small gesture. “How do you always manage to escape
death with nothing more than God awful hair?”

Harry’s smile deepened. “And this moment had such potential.”

Theo swallowed heavily, leaning into the touch. “The gate’s smashed to hell. I saw the house from
the drive and…” His breath left him in a powerful rush, preventing the rest of his thought from
being shared. Uttering the words aloud would give them power, and the possibility of losing him
was too great to bear.

Harry’s gaze turned to smoke. “It’s okay. We got lucky.” His expression tensed as his hand fell
away, leaving Theo bereft of its warmth. “Except…”

“Black and Longbottom told me about Blaise.”

Harry sighed. “I’m so sorry, Theo. I was downstairs when it happened. He was shot on the
balcony.”
“Why are you apologizing? It wasn’t your fault.”

Harry searched his gaze, seeming to find what he was looking for within moments. “You want to
see him.”

It wasn’t a question, but Theo answered it all the same. “Yes.” His jaw tensed of its own accord, as
though fighting to keep the truth contained. “I just needed to see you first. With my own eyes.”

Harry smirked anew, devastatingly handsome even covered in blood, grime and soot. “Feast your
heart out.”

Theo's lips twitched at last. And then his rational mind turned off, their surroundings falling away
as he leaned forward. Harry followed suit, their gazes locked onto each other’s mouths–

The dining hall door opened again. They sprung apart, staggering back as two men exited the
doorway. Theo recognized the Doctor but not his companion, the latter of which eyed Theo with
equal parts surprise and annoyance.

“And who the hell are you?” The stranger demanded with enough confidence and authority to
suggest he was the Commissioner that Black had mentioned.

Theo held up his hands, backing towards the exit. “Just leaving.”

The man scowled. “Bloody fantastic. I should start selling tickets to the crime scene.”

But the rest of his words fell on deaf ears as Theo strode across the entry hall, glancing over his
shoulder one last time.

Harry met his eye.

They held each other’s gaze until the very last moment. And then Theo crossed the threshold,
losing sight of him.

Draco carded a hand through his hair and leaned forward, propping his arms on his knees as he
gazed upon the pale figure laid out before him. The staff had finally gotten Blaise settled into a
private room following his transfusion, nurses stopping in at regular intervals to check on his
condition and IV pump.

The door remained open, revealing the profile of the officer who escorted the trio to the hospital
and took Draco and Luna’s statements. Now he stood guard duty, though whether his greater
concern was keeping them contained or keeping others out was a mystery, one Draco hadn’t the
mental fortitude to ponder.

Luna adjusted in her seat, the movement silent. Draco had nearly forgotten she was there, still and
quiet as she was. She sat on the other side of the bed, just before the window. Sunlight streamed
through in a blinding ray, illuminating her pale head in a halo of migraine-inducing glare. He
rubbed his eyes, exhausted from the insanity of the night and subsequent surgery, unable to process
most of it at the current moment.

“Would you like for me to wait in the hall?”

Draco jolted upright at the soft voice, glancing in her direction once more.

“I’m happy to give you privacy,” she continued gently. “I just came for Parvati’s sake. I know how
torn she was about staying behind.”

He shook his head. “No. You could still be a target, you’re safer in the room.” And then he gazed
to the bed once more. “Besides, I don't need privacy. His condition is the same.”

“The doctors seem hopeful about his recovery.”

He fought back a scowl, failing miserably. “Doctor’s toss around the term ‘hopeful’ to cover their
arses when patients drop dead in the middle of the night.”

She tilted her head, seemingly unmoved by his scathing retort as she peered upon the cot with a
serene expression. Something about her perpetually calm demeanor soothed and incensed him all
at once. But what frustrated him the most was the damning silence saturating every surface of the
room. The muffled sound of voices filtered in the from the hallway every few minutes, an occasion
gurney wheeling past as the staff talked rapidly amongst themselves, but the moment they turned
the corner he was left with nothing but Braise’s labored breathing and his own damning thoughts.

He took a deep breath, speaking to fill the void, to distract himself from the rising shadows in the
room. “Blaise is a good man,” he began slowly, interlacing his hands between his knees, pressing
his palms until the bones screamed in protest. “We give him a hard time.” His jaw worked from
side to side, teeth grinding back and forth. “I’ve said things that…”

He swallowed heavily, Hermione’s face flashing before his eyes, superimposing Blaise’s image.

“You never thought of me at all.”

He shook his head, dispelling his own phantom voice in his mind. “I had no idea how easy it was
to lose someone. How fast they can be ripped away,” he concluded solemnly.

She nodded slowly. “It’s a painful lesson to learn.”

The obvious grief in her voice drew his gaze. “You’ve lost someone,” he stated.

“My father.”

His eyes raked across her slight form, truly taking her in for the first time. He’d been too
preoccupied during their first two encounters, just as she’d been busy with crawling through walls
and falling from windows. But now there was nothing between them but despondency and time.

“That’s why you’re at the Home,” he surmised. She nodded once more. His eyes lifted to her face.
“For how much longer?”

“I’ve just reached majority. It’s only a matter of time before I’m evicted.”

“What will you do after?”

She shrugged, eyes settling upon Blaise while her tone remained perfectly tranquil. “I don’t know.
I’d love to work at Kew. I also considered following in my father’s footsteps, not that I have half
the talent he did.”

Draco eased his shoulders back, embracing the conversation and the welcome distraction.

“What was his profession?”

She smiled, voice and movements becoming animated as she turned to face him. “Daddy was a
journalist. He worked his way up to lead editor for the London Chronicle.”
He smirked at the obvious pride in her voice, suspecting this was a topic she enjoyed discussing
but seldom found the opportunity. He also felt a deep irony in the subject matter.

She tilted her head, eyes sparkling. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Certainly. My father screams its name often.”

She blinked. He chuckled lightly.

“They’ve written some less than favorable pieces on the Gentry,” he explained. “One of the few
papers that can’t be bribed into submission, much to the mutual loathing of the Peerage.”

She nodded, a soft smile playing at her lips. “They aren’t alone in their dislike. Daddy certainly
received enough hate mail.” And then the smile faded. “A few death threats as well. Though the
police suspected the latter were merely sent to mislead the investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“Hm?” A beat. “Oh. He was murdered.”

Draco sat straighter. “How?”

“He was shot in his office.”

His heart skipped painfully. “When was this?”

“Four–” She gasped, cutting off abruptly to press fingers to her temples, cringing.

He leaned forward, brow creased. “Are you alright?”

She released a shaky breath, nodding shortly as her hands lowered to her lap. “Yes. I’m fine.”

He wasn’t so convinced. “What…” but the rest of his words faded to the ether as his focus was
pulled to the open doorway and the gurney wheeling past it.

He blinked, jaw hanging loose.

And then he leaped from his chair, racing across the pale tile and darting into the hall without a
parting word. The officer standing guard snapped to attention, starting to speak, only to fall silent at
Draco’s raised hand. His eyes remained fixed on the retreating figure ahead, laid out across the
narrow cot as the nurse pushed her along the corridor. They slowed at the corner to change
direction, her face coming into full view once more.

His heartbeat churned in his ears, body swaying in place as he spoke the name aloud.

“Dawn?”

But the girl remained comatose. And then he blinked and she was gone, the creaking wheels of her
gurney echoing from the adjoining hall. He surged forward, intent on following, but the officer
caught him around the arm.

“Sir, I’ve been instructed to–”

A sharp cry emitted from Blaise’s room. Both men turned to stone, gazing upon the doorway.
Another sob followed, pained and broken. Draco spun on his heel and charged forward, the officer
tight at his heels. He rounded the doorway and spotted Luna across the room, leaning over and
clutching her head, pale hair obscuring her face. He ran to her side, hunching low and grasping her
shoulders, helping steady her quivering form before she toppled to the floor.

“Luna? What’s wrong?”

She pushed the hair out of her face, visage twisted in acute agony as she tried to speak but only
succeeded in emitting another keening cry.

Draco glanced sharply at the officer. “Get a nurse! Hurry!”

The man staggered back, blinking quickly as he came to his senses and took off down the hall.
Draco gazed upon her again, at a loss for words. She continued to whimper, rocking back and forth
with her eyes squeezed tight. Her lips parted once more, he braced himself for another sob, but
instead she whispered something, so faint he could barely hear. He leaned in, shaking his head.

“What?”

She whispered it again, just as quietly, but he was prepared for it this time, hearing the name loud
and clear.

“Hermione.”

He nearly tipped sideways, clutching her tightly for balance, heart climbing steadily up his throat.
“Luna, what’s happening?”

Her eyes peeled open, wet and clouded, pulling forth the distant memory of when the mysterious
girl claimed to read his aura. He didn't take stock in such fantasy but couldn't bring himself to
dismiss this particular occurrence. Not when she spoke the one word that unlocked every possible
terror in his mind.

“Luna, why did you say Hermione’s name?”

She bit her lip until her teeth threatened to break the skin. “I saw her.”

His chest seized, searing pain lancing through his center. “What was she doing?”

The world tipped on its axis, the floor falling away at her next whisper.

“Falling through darkness.”

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`.`.`
`.`.`
`
down

down
 down

Her heart beat through her chest, eyes wide with terror as her body careened endlessly through
open air, flailing limbs and flowing hair plummeting closer and closer to a black abyss, a tunnel
cutting clear through the center of the earth, spilling out into endless space. Dirt, sediment and
roots filled her vision, damp soil filled her lungs.

down

down

down

And then the mud and rock turned to wood, polished and gleaming, and the wood turned to books
stacked neatly into rows along thousands of winding shelves. Fat books thin books old books new
books red books blue books the pages fluttered and danced and chased her through the air like
moths to a flame.

down

down

The books turned to knick-knacks and figurines and trinkets and baubles from all the lives she’d
lived and all the people she’d met. Gold pens from her father’s desk and yarn needles her mother’s
drawer and medals Sirius’s shelf and trophies from Harry’s bedroom and perfume bottles from
Lavender’s dresser and buttons and stamps and glasses and newspapers and shoes and scissors and
mallets and plates and candles and mirrors and ribbons and bells and eyeballs and laughter and
tears and blood and nightmares and sunshine and snow—

down

The swirling vortex of her memory gave way to simple darkness, whole and absolute, alive and
sentient, breathing upon her neck and running idle fingers through her hair and whispering sweet
nothings in her ear and seizing her by the throat—

“Oof!”

She hit bottom.

Her body bounced atop a soft, plush surface, ripping a shocked gasp from her throat as her hair
whipped across her face and filled her eyes and mouth. She coughed, pushing the strands aside and
curling in on herself, palms pressing her chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart within.

I’m alive?

She panted desperately, tears dripping along the sharp plains and valleys of her face and soaking
into the smooth fabric of the lumpy surface laid out beneath her.

I’m alive.

And yet darkness remained.

Open your eyes.

The voice jolted her, seeming to come from all sides and yet contained tightly within her own
mind. She followed the command without question, lids peeling open to reveal a blinding light. She
cried out, cringing back and burying her face in her palms.

What…

She felt strange. Or perhaps she always felt strange. Perhaps she felt normal.

Her hands slowly lowered, fingers pressing against her mouth as she carefully opened her eyes a
second time, braced for the painful blast of white. She squinted against the beam, head throbbing
with the strain, her discomfort fading to the far recesses of her mind as a fuzzy shape gradually
came into view.

A small box.

Made of glass. With gold filigree at the seams and floral etchings along the sides. Her head swam
as she placed her hands beneath her chest and pushed up so she could see it fully. The item was
situated atop a small table to her side. Mechanical gears were housed within, small pins attached to
a spindle connected to a wind-up lever at the back.

A music box.

Her brow furrowed with the revelation, prompting her to glance down, taking in the mattress and
bunched sheets beneath her huddled form. She gripped the edge of the quilt covering her lower half
and pulled it to her face, inspecting the design.

The patterns were the same. Exactly as she remembered.

Remembered? Remember what?

She blinked slowly, dropping the fabric and sitting upright, muscles sore and stiff. She rubbed her
shoulder as she took in the rest of her surroundings. They seemed to appear before her eyes in puffs
of smoke, furniture taking shape as she called it into being until at last she sat in the center of her
childhood bedroom, every item just as she left it.

Left… where did I go?

She ran a hand over her face, eyes narrowing as she tried to recall the thing she’d forgotten, grasp
the thread she’d released, speak the words she’d never heard.

What’s happening?

A soft scratching drew her focus. Her eyes darted to the side, falling upon a large bay window and
a tall oak tree hovering just beside it, overgrown branches tapping the pane as they swayed in the
gentle summer breeze.

She pulled the covers from her bare legs and stumbled from the bed, swaying precariously on weak
knees. She gripped the post for support, waiting for her vertigo to pass. Her pale nightgown fell
into place, the lacy hem brushing her bony knees as she stepped forward, bracing the window
frame at either side and peering out at the bright stretch of grass and sky. Birds chirped, clouds
tumbled, her pulse slowed.

She pushed back and crossed tentatively to the dresser against the wall, running her fingertips over
its surface and tracing the shape of books and bobby pins and barrettes. Movement caught her eye.
She glanced up, rearing back at the sight of the face in the vanity mirror. She swallowed heavily,
gripping the edge of the counter and leaning in, tempted to glance over her shoulder to search for
the true owner of the face and body peering back at her.
This isn’t me…

Of course it is.

She shook her head.

No… it can’t be.

Why not?

Because I… I’m not…

She slowly reached up, touching the side of her face.

A child?

Of course you are.

The voice was gentle, beckoning. She was far too exhausted to argue the matter. And then a soft
knock sounded at her door, jolting her from her thoughts and leaving her mind stunningly clear of
anything but fear. She gripped the lip of the dresser until her knuckles turned white.

“Hermione, are you awake?”

Her breath left her in a powerful rush as the voice met her ears, settling upon her thoughts in a
dense cloud. She pushed forward, crossing the room in eager bounds.

“Dad!” She cried out, throwing the door open with such force it hit the opposite wall with a bang.

She gazed up with wide eyes. He peered down with equal surprise. And then she launched
forward, grabbing him tightly around the middle, pressing her face into his stomach. His soft
laughter vibrated through her arms and chest and into her ankles and toes.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he mused, rubbing gentle circles into her back.

She bit back a half-formed sob, overwhelmed by the onslaught of emotion, unsure of its origin or
purpose. But one thing she knew for absolute certain.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

His smile widened, hazel eyes sparkling. "I missed you too, sweetling." But his expression quickly
sobered as he took a quick inventory of her distress. "Did you have a bad dream?"

She blinked slowly. “A bad…” The fog in her mind thickened and spread, obscuring her thoughts
and memories, everything tangible dissolving to smoke at the lightest touch. “Yes. I think so.” She
wet her lips. “I dreamed something horrible.”

His expression tensed, hand stilling between her shoulder blades. “I’m sorry, darling, what was it
about?”

She swallowed lightly, shaking her head. “I’m not sure.”

A sudden ticking filled the room, echoing loudly off the walls. She glanced over her shoulder,
searching for a clock.

“Well you’ll feel better soon enough, you have an exciting day ahead of you.”
Her head snapped forward, the ticking dissipating along with her memory of it. “I do?”

He chuckled, the soothing cadence causing her muscles to loosen even as a deep ache broke open
in her chest. “It’s Harry’s party, silly girl.”

“Harry’s party…” The words felt strange on her tongue, both familiar and foreign. “Yes, of
course.”

He tilted his head, inspecting her with a medical eye. “Are you feeling alright, Hermione?”

She nodded quickly, ducking away as he placed a palm to her forehead. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you–”

“I just need to get changed.”

He smirked, arm dropping to his side as she shuffled back.

“Alright, sweetling. Mum and I will meet you in the kitchen. She made your favorite.”

Her heart soared. “Poached eggs and grilled tomatoes?”

“With mushrooms.”

She bounced on the balls of her feet, a shriek of excitement tearing free. “I’ll be right down!”

Deep laughter surrounded her anew. “I thought that would cheer you up.” He backed into the hall
with a wink. “I’ll see you soon, sweetling.”

Her smile stretched from ear to ear as she watched him depart. But then he turned the corner and
her excitement disappeared with him, intense dread seizing her all at once, the overwhelming fear
of never seeing him again.

She shook her head, forcing herself not to follow.

Don’t be foolish, he’s just downstairs.

She glanced at her nightgown, gathering a handful of pale fabric.

Change, and then you can see mum, too.

The notion motivated her to close her door and sprint to her closet, wrenching it open with the same
enthusiasm as her bedroom door. She reached forward, intent on grabbing the first dress she
touched–

Only to withdraw her hand with a sharp gasp, staggering back in bewildered shock. For her closet
wasn't filled with garments and hat boxes. Instead, it opened to a vibrant green field and bright blue
sky. She blinked slowly, clutching the doorknob until it indented her palm.

“… Dad!” she called over her shoulder, hoping he was still at the stairs.

Echoing laughter answered, distant and distinctly childish. Her mouth parted wide as a group of
kids ran across the grass, shouting wildly as they brandished toy swords and pirate hats. But one of
the children was without the latter, his unruly mop of black hair recognizable at any distance.

She inhaled deeply, leaning forward and screaming with the full force of her lungs.
“Harry!”

He skidded to a stop as the other children continued forward, disappearing over the side of the
rolling hill. She watched him turn in a circle, emerald eyes searching. He spotted her within
moments, a grin splitting his face wide as he waved his fencing sword overhead in greeting.

“Mione!” He beckoned her with his free hand. “Come play!”

She laughed, releasing the door and charging ahead without further rhyme or reason. As she tore
across the field she became abstractly aware of the damp grass beneath her bare feet and the rapid
morphing of her attire. Her thin nightgown transformed into a satin day dress, navy skirts and long
hair flowing in her wake as she reached him at last. She left her momentum unchecked as she threw
her arms around his neck and embraced him tightly. They staggered for balance, barely staying
upright through their laughter. He stood two inches taller, limbs thin and frame awkward as he
stood at the very cusp of puberty.

“When did you get here?” He asked, pulling back to meet her eye.

She blinked, wondering that herself. “I don’t know.”

His smile deepened, unfazed by her cryptic response. "Well, you're just in time, mum's frosting the
cake."

The words pierced the heavy fog, settling in pieces over her psyche. And then she surged to life
once more, squeezing him tight again.

“Happy birthday, Harry!”

“Oh, is that today?”

“Harry!” A new voice shouted, equally familiar to her ears. “You still playing or what?”

She and Harry glanced to the top of the hill and spotted Ron at its peak, red hair flaming against the
blue sky at his back.

“Hey, Mione!” His smile revealed a bevy of missing and half-grown teeth. The sight pulled at her
heart as she waved back, emotion choking her of words. “Oi!” He continued, eyes bright with
elation. “Grab a sword and come over, our team needs another person!”

She nodded with just as much enthusiasm. “Alright!”

She peered around the grass, spotting nothing but green, then gazed over her shoulder, blinking
slowly as images began to materialize like mirages in the desert. A table phased into existence,
overflowing with food and party favors, a drink stand with pitchers and glasses followed, then a
dangling banner announcing the happy occasion… but no sign of the door she emerged through.

What door?

"There are extras on the porch."

Harry’s voice drew her back to reality, finger pointing to an empty patch of field in the distance.
She tilted her head, watching with dim fascination as a large two-story home appeared before her
eyes brick by brick, each shingle falling from the clouds into perfect alignment, the chimney
stacking higher and higher until a steady stream of smoke billowed from the top.
Her chest tightened as the Potter Estate came into full view at last. She spotted a pile of fencing
swords lying on the porch and took off like a shot. She passed several adults as she went, their
clothing colorful and heads featureless, each face nothing but a fleshy mask void of eyes and nose
and mouth. She gazed at them idly, pondering the sight–

“Oof!”

Her shoulder collided with a solid mass, the jarring impact knocking her clear off her feet and onto
the hard ground. Only… the ground wasn’t very hard. Rather, it was soft and warm and wriggling
beneath her. She blinked rapidly, pushing the hair from her eyes. A flash of silver iris and platinum
hair and flushed skin flitted before her eyes before her mind fully registered the identity of the
person beneath her, limbs tangled with her own.

“Oh! Sorry!” She cried, desperately trying to extract herself from the boy.

“You should be! Get off me!”

She froze, the scathing voice cutting her to the bone, causing her stomach to knot and her skin to
burn for reasons well beyond her comprehension.

“I said get off!” And then hands were gripping her waist, fingertips bruising her flesh as she was
forcefully thrown aside.

She gasped as her hip made painful impact with the ground. “Excuse you!” She snapped, pushing
up on her hands.

“Excuse me? It’s your fault!”

“You don’t have to be rude!”

“How dare–” He choked on his outrage, glancing down at his grass-stained trousers. “Great! These
were brand new!”

She rolled her eyes and pushed unsteadily to her feet, batting grass and dirt from her skirts. “Serves
you right. Where did you think you were going today? Parliament?”

He leaped to his feet in the next breath, fists clenched and teeth bared. "Maybe if you tied that rat's
nest back you could actually see where you were going!”

She gaped, utterly scandalized. “Pompous arse!”

His eyes widened, face flushing deeper. “Stupid cow!”

She reared back, black bile rising in her throat and expelling beyond her control. “I hate you, Draco
Malfoy! I’ll hate you forever and ever until the day I die!”

His jaw clenched tight. “Good! I hate you too and I hope you die tomorrow!”

“Draco!” A woman shouted from several feet away, quickly approaching. “What is all this?”

They both spun on their heels, facing Mrs. Potter with shared panic. Something about the woman’s
appearance gave Hermione pause, made her heart stutter and palms sweat, but she quickly pushed
the feeling aside, desperate to prove her innocence.

“Draco said he wishes I was dead!” She pointed an accusatory finger at his head.
“She pushed me!” He pointed his right back.

“It was an accident!”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

“Everyone calm down!” The woman demanded, reaching them at last. The other adults continued
to mill about in the background, nursing drinks and small plates and faceless masks. But Lily’s
visage was vivid in detail, beautiful and painfully comforting. She continued to glance between
them, hands perched on her hips. She opened her mouth with a pinched expression, clearly about to
deliver some measure of discipline. But then her emerald eyes lingered on Hermione’s arm and her
countenance softened.

“Hermione, your elbow is bleeding.”

Hermione blinked, glancing down at the wound in question. Draco did the same, and then he
peered down at himself. “Gross! You got blood on my shirt!” He shouted, wiping frantically at a
pea-sized drop of red on his white placket.

Hermione snapped her attention forward, flames reigniting. “You’re such a–”

“That’s enough. Both of you,” Lily commanded, voice brokering no room for dissent. “Draco, go
play with the boys on the hill. Hermione, come with me.”

Neither child made any motion to move, fully absorbed in their seething staring contest. Lily shook
her head, reaching down and grabbing Hermione's hand, gently tugging her along until their heated
gazes broke at last. Draco imparted her with one last meaningful look of simmering resentment
before picking up his sword and sprinting for the children scattered along the field. But his
message had been clear enough.

This isn’t over.

Hermione scoffed in outrage, but any comment she might have made fell by the wayside as Lily
escorted her across the porch and into the kitchen. Her eyes fell upon a three-tiered cake on the
counter, half-iced and modestly decorated, the sight rendering her breathless with déjà-vu. And
then they rounded the corner and entered the washroom. Lily directed Hermione to the narrow
bench beside the basin as she closed the door at their backs and silently set about gathering
supplies. She opened the cabinet beneath the sink and emerged with a bottle of clear liquid and a
rag.

“Alright, sweetheart, this will sting for a moment.”

Hermione nodded, holding her arm aloft as the woman began cleaning it. “I know. Alcohol kills
cells and as well as pathogens.”

Lily raised a brow, smiling. “I forgot I was speaking to a future doctor.”

Hermione felt a hot flush overtake her, followed by a low hiss as the compress was applied to her
torn skin. Lily tilted her head sympathetically, taking care to be as quick and gentle as possible.
Hermione lost herself to the motherly ministrations, feeling strangely deprived of such gestures,
and nearly missed the next words.

“So, you pushed Malfoy?”

Hermione drew back, heart racing. “It was an accident.”

Lily gave a contemplative hum, arching an auburn brow. “Pity. That boy could use a little pushing
around from time to time.”

Hermione blinked, caught between amusement and embarrassment, but then an ointment was
applied to the scrape and her thoughts scattered with the stinging pain. Lily added a thin bandage
and smiled at her handiwork. “Well, all things considered, I think you’ll keep the arm.”

Hermione smiled in return. “Thank you, Mrs. Potter.”

“Of course, darling. Now go have fun.”

She nodded with enthusiasm, standing from the bench and watching Lily gather the materials.
Guilt seized her, the chronic desire to help, to be useful and needed.

“Do you need help with the cake or–”

“Hermione.” Lily met her eye as she twisted the lid onto the bottle. “Go. Have. Fun.” Her emerald
eyes cut to the core. “You won’t be a child forever. Enjoy it while you can.”

Hermione swallowed heavily, struck by a strange and overwhelming melancholy. She sprung
forward without thought or warning, hugging the woman tight around the middle. Lily giggled
softly, stroking Hermione’s voluminous curls.

“And what is this for?”

Hermione shrugged against her. “Just because.”

Lily’s nails gently raked across her scalp. “If James and I had ever been lucky enough to give
Harry a sister, I would’ve wanted her to be just like you.”

Hermione pulled back, gazing up with tear-filled eyes, unable to escape the pressing weight on her
chest. “You still might.”

Lily smiled softly, sadly, and ran her fingertips along Hermione’s jaw. “Go play, sweetheart.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but became distracted by sudden wetness at her feet. She
blinked, glancing down. Water covered the bathroom tiles, cool and clear and steadily rising,
soaking the hems of their dresses.

“Mrs. Potter…” She released the woman, stepping back slowly, the water rapidly swelling,
covering her ankles, submerging her knees. “I think you left the faucet o–”

The rest of her thoughts were lost to a terrified scream as the floor disappeared beneath their feet,
Lily’s solid form dissolving to water as the walls fell away and Hermione’s head was lost beneath
the surface of the churning waves. Bubbles erupted from her mouth as she thrashed and kicked,
arms pushing desperately against the current, a dim beam of light guiding her way to the top.

But her muscles screamed in protest, heavy fabric tangling around her legs, slowing her movements
and causing her to sink deeper and deeper and–

A pale hand appeared from the murky abyss, gripping her wrist and yanking her upward. She
broke through the surface with a sharp gasp, sputtering and coughing violently, chest vibrating
with the force of her frantic pulse. Her limbs turned to dead weight as she continued to hack up a
lung and cling desperately to her savior. He trod water and held her aloft with easy skill, boyish
laughter filling her ears, revealing his identity before the water even cleared from her eyes.

“Sorry about that,” he said with deep amusement, undercutting the sincerity of his words.

“Harry!” She sputtered, pushing soaked hair from her face to meet his sparkling gaze. “I’m
drowning!”

He laughed again, her body absorbing the sound. “You aren’t drowning.”

“I am!” She slapped his bare chest as his laughter deepened. “It isn’t funny!”

“It is from my angle.”

She growled, dragging a hand over her face as her lungs finally drew in a solid breath. “You said
you wouldn’t let me go!”

“You were swimming on your own–”

“Clearly I wasn’t!”

“Alright, alright, I’ve got you now–”

“Take me back to shore!”

“We’ve barely–”

“Now, Harry!”

He sighed deeply, the arm at her waist tensing. “Fine.”

He began kicking with force, propelling them towards land with one arm. She held her breath, too
overcome by her near-death experience to offer any real assistance. Moments later he was helping
her stand from the water and cross the slick rocks to the pebbled beach.

“You’re going to have to learn to swim one of these days.”

"I don't see why," she snapped, releasing his arm at last. "Humans aren't meant to be in the water,
otherwise we'd have gills and fins."

He rolled his eyes but let the matter drop, walking back a few paces before plopping down, resting
his arms on his knees as he stared ahead at the endless expanse of grey sea. Hermione followed,
standing at his side and wringing out her hair as her bathing suit dripped steadily down her legs.
She’d long outgrown her first outfit and purchasing its replacement had been quite the chore. Her
father had insisted on a ridiculous getup that covered her from neck to ankle like a circus
performer. Her mother had finally got him to compromise on something that stopped at her knees
and elbows, tersely reminding him that the only male to see their daughter in such attire would be
Harry, the boy they’d long considered a son.

After a few more moments of twisting her hair she lowered beside him, the tide gently lapping at
their toes.

“It was supposed to be sunny today,” she stated idly, gaze sweeping the pale and lifeless sky.

Harry picked up a rock, turning it over in his hands. “It’s never sunny here.”
“It used to be.”

“Hasn’t been in years,” he clipped, tossing the rock into the water with a swift flick, causing it to
skip twice before sinking to the bottom.

She peered sideways at him. “What’s wrong?”

He picked up another rock, staring fixedly ahead. “Nothing.”

“Are you mad at me for almost drowning on your watch?”

He smirked, skipping the second stone with easy flourish. “You weren’t drowning, your head was
barely under for a second.” He brushed his palms together. “Besides, I’d never let anything happen
to you.”

She nodded slowly, studying his profile. “I know that. You’ve always taken care of me.”

He wet his lips, emerald gaze casting down to the water as his shoulders tensed. “I just want you to
be okay on your own.” A beat. “In case I’m not around.”

She tilted her head. “Thinking of going somewhere?”

He picked up a third rock, studying it closely, lips pressed thin. She blinked, leaning forward.
"Harry?"

“I plan to enlist.”

The words sounded foreign to her ears. She replayed them through twice to suss out their meaning.

“Enlist? In what?”

He raised a dark brow and glanced up at last, holding her bemused stare in silence. She paled,
drawing back as realization took hold. “The military?”

“The Navy, yes.”

Her pulse stuttered. She felt light-headed. “That’s… ludicrous! You can’t enlist, you’re only
seventeen!”

“For another month.”

She leaned in, grabbing his arm with both hands. “Harry, you can’t.”

“Why not?” He made no move to dispel her touch, continuing to speak with a steady calm that only
served to rattle her further. “Dad and Sirius joined as soon as they reached majority.”

“That’s– that’s different.”

His eyes narrowed. “How?”

“Because you’re nothing like them!”

He blinked, arm tensing in her hold. She swallowed heavily, shaking her head. “I didn’t…” She
sighed, releasing him and trying to slow her rapid-fire thoughts. “I only meant, you’re going to
Oxford. You’re going to get an education and–”
“Hermione, I’m not made for Uni. I could barely get through tutoring.”

“Because you’re easily distracted, not because you have an inability to learn.”

She edged closer, pebbles cutting into her palms. “You can’t throw away your chance at an
education, Harry. If you enlist now you’ll be stuck in the Navy for the rest of your career, unless
you’re killed on the sea!”

“I know you had your heart set on me attending Oxford but I think we both know it has less to do
with me and more to do with you.”

She reared back, stricken by the words. “What does that mean?”

He took a deep breath. She braced for something awful. “I’m sorry girls can’t attend–”

“That has nothing to do with it!” Heat blossomed to life inside her chest, working steadily along her
neck.

His eyes narrowed once more, effortlessly boring through her. “Doesn’t it?”

Her fists tightened, legs curling under as her spine straightened. “I’m not trying to live vicariously
through you, Harry! I’m trying to keep you from getting your bloody head blown off by a cannon!”

“Mione, I’ve given this a lot of thought and I’ve made up my mind.” His expression hardened,
taking on an eerily mature caricature. “Next month I’m heading to the enrollment office.” He wet
his lips. “Ron is coming with me.”

She swayed in place, nearly losing her balance. “Ron…” The fire in her throat erupted in a plume
of smoke. “He had better be coming to provide you moral support!”

Harry rolled his eyes and glanced forward, the careless dismissal angering her as much as the
revelation.

“You want to give Ron a gun?” She prompted, raising a challenging brow. “He’ll shoot himself in
the leg in the first five minutes!”

“Sailors are trained on weaponry, Ron will be fine.”

She shook her head, gazing numbly at the rolling waves. “This… this is insanity…”

A hand gripped her shoulder.

“Mione, it’s going to be okay.”

She leaned away from his touch. "No, it isn't! You're both leaving me!"

Harry scooted closer. “We aren’t leaving you–”

“You are!” She cried, vision blurred by tears.

He leaned into her side, placing a hand on her back. “We’ll come home between rotations, you’ll
see more of us than if we actually attended University.”

“If you went to Oxford I could visit you! I could sleep at night knowing you were still alive!”

He sighed deeply, warm breath ghosting across her shoulder. “Hermione, please stop crying.”
She sniffled, wiping at her eyes and meeting his gaze miserably. “How can you join the Navy,
Harry? You know how dangerous it is! Do you have a death wish?”

His fingertips pressed against her skin harder, a tremor seizing his hand. She swallowed thickly,
lifting her chin. “That’s it isn’t it?”

He pulled his arm back, shoulders tight. “You’re being a bit dramatic, yeah?”

“You’ve been utterly reckless since your parents died and now you intend to go out in some epic
battle on the high seas.”

“Scratch that, you’re giving Shakespeare a run for his money.”

“Stop making light of this!”

He carded a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back. “It’s hard to take you seriously right now.”

She scowled, taking a deep breath to continue on, but Harry rounded on her so suddenly she was
rendered mute.

“Mione, I know it’s difficult but stop thinking and just listen.” Her jaw clamped tight, teeth
clenching as he continued without pause. “I’m not enlisting to punish you or myself or anyone else.
I’m not suicidal, I’m not running away and I’m not abandoning you.” His hands curled, pebbles
and sand gathering in his fists. “I’m doing it because I need this. I need to get away from London.
From the Peerage. From the Potter and Black legacies. I need to figure out who the hell I am
without all those things boring down on me. And in order to do that, I need to get far away from
them." He searched her gaze, voice deepening with emotion. "Can you understand?"

She held his unwavering stare for several moments longer before swallowing heavily, nodding
with what was left of her strength. “Yes,” she whispered.

He smiled gently, reaching out to dry her cheek. “Please don’t cry.”

“I want to go with you,” she announced without preamble. He blinked. “To the enrollment office”
she explained. “I’ll provide the moral support. And make sure you both have your paperwork in
order.”

His smiled deepened. “I’d appreciate that.”

She took the damp sea air into her lungs, tasting salt against the back of her tongue.

“Harry, I won’t be able to look out for you anymore either. I can’t be your voice of reason from
across the globe. You’ll have to remember to stop and think before you act. And to keep an eye on
Ron, you know how he wanders about.”

“I promise,” he said, then awarded her with his boyish grin. “But you’ll always be my voice of
reason, Mione. I’ll ask myself What Would Hermione Granger Do before making any major
decision.”

She rolled her eyes, tensed muscles slowly uncoiling. “You’ll be discharged within the month.”

“Hardly. You’d make a great sailor. You’ve always wanted to travel and you’re the bravest girl I
know.” He shook his head. “Who am I kidding, you’re braver than the blokes as well.”

“I thought you were taking this seriously.”

“I am serious. You're just as tough as you are clever. You just tend to get lost in your head,
forgetting there's an outside world going on." He peered ahead, gaze fixed upon a gull circling in
the distance. "Promise me you won't close yourself off after I'm gone. You won't overthink things
and forget to enjoy life."

Her pulse slowed, then sped up painfully. “You’re talking like I’m never going to see you again.”

He turned his head, meeting her gaze. “Just promise me.”

… in case.

She read the last two words in his eyes. They sickened her, plagued her mind with darkness. But
she forced herself to nod, tone solemn. “I promise.”

He wove his arm around her back a second time. “It’ll be alright.”

His words stole away the last of her resolve. She tipped sideways, leaning her head atop his
shoulder and peering out at the gray horizon. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m not gone yet. Let’s enjoy what time we have left.”

They continued to watch the water in silence, content to simply enjoy each other’s presence. She
became lost to her thoughts, the rest of the world blotting away bit by bit until only Harry remained
in the swirling gray abyss. And then he spoke, pulling her from the endless melancholy of her
mind.

“Wanna head back for some lunch?”

She shook her head, pulling away from his side. “I want you to teach me how to swim.”

He glanced at her in surprise. “It’s alright, Mione–”

“No.” She pushed slowly to her feet, holding out her hand. “I want to learn.”

He chuckled, accepting her offering and rising beside her. “You’re going to have to put your head
under.”

Hermione nodded, tugging him to the water’s edge. “I’ll be okay. I know you’re beside me.”

He smiled, interlacing their fingers as they breached the tide, foam lapping around their ankles.

That’s it.

Clouds swirled in the sky above, birds circling overhead.

Good girl.

The water was at her hips when Harry released her hand, surging forward in a graceful dive and
disappearing under the rolling waves.

Show me all that you harbor dear.

She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, dropping her weight and sinking beneath the surface.

Give me everything.
Astoria tapped the side of her silver spoon along the lip of the porcelain, releasing a sigh of
contentment as a warm breeze swept past, catching strands of her hair in its gentle current. She
peered up, watching the azaleas sway back and forth as she brought the cup to her lips.

Happiness was an elusive bedfellow, one she’d learned to appreciate no matter the subtlety. The
back garden had always been an oasis in the desert, a safe haven their father rarely ventured into.
She and Daphne often sought refuge here, a bit of privacy they weren’t afforded within the walls
of their childhood home.

Alas, her current vantage point gave her clear view of a driveway. She watched his carriage pull
onto the main road, the servants closing the gates at its retreat. Her shoulders lowered, eyes
flickering across the table.

“He’s gone.”

Daphne arched a pale brow, stirring another spoonful of sugar into her cup. “Freedom at last.”

Astoria smiled. “Any big plans for today?”

“And I was about to ask you that very thing.”

She blinked, drawing back in her rod iron chair. “Me? I never have plans.”

“Is that so?” Daphne watched her steadily over the rim as she took a delicate sip. “What do you call
sneaking off at all hours of the day and night then?”

Astoria nearly dropped her cup, setting it into the saucer with fumbling hands and sloshing tea
across the table linen. “I don’t sneak off,” she supplied, focusing on the neutral tone of her voice. “I
visit the publishing house.”

Daphne’s eyes narrowed. “At seven in the evening?”

Astoria swallowed thickly, a deep flush overtaking her face and neck. She forced her gaze upward,
scrambling for a response. “Have you heard from Gregory?”

Her sister rolled her eyes. “For Christ’s sake. We have to work on your subversion skills, Tori. But
seeing as you’re clearly on the verge of eating your cup I’ll allow you a brief reprieve.” She set her
own cup down with effortless grace, aligning the handle to the notch in the saucer. “Yes, I received
another letter yesterday. He’ll be home on Wednesday.”

Astoria twisted the napkin in her hands. “Are you nervous about asking him to elope?”

Daphne tilted her head, blinking innocently. “Asking him?” And then her lips parted wide, soft
laughter bubbling forth. “I’m going to tell him the time and place and that’ll be the end of it.”

Now it was Astoria’s turn to roll her eyes. “I’d nearly forgotten, Greg’s been madly in love with
you his entire life.”

Her sister’s laughter faded abruptly. “What are you talking about? We fought like cats and dogs for
years.”

“Because you detested the match. He worked to hide his feelings by goading you.”

Daphne glanced away with dismissal, reaching for her cup. “Oh please.”

“It’s true. I saw the way he looked at you when your back was turned. It killed him that you didn’t
want him the way he wanted you.”

Daphne looked up, hand hovering above the steaming cup. “I…” She leaned back, hand dropping,
tea forgotten. “It wasn’t him. It was the arrangement itself. I was only nine when the contract was
made. I resented being a helpless bystander to my own life.”

Astoria nodded. “I know. And so does Greg. And you’ve both moved past all that now and are
stronger for it.” But it was too late for such sentiments. Their oasis had turned cold, the mood
heavy and somber. Astoria took a steadying breath, continuing on. “Are you prepared to leave
London if father tries to force an annulment?”

Her sister gazed forward, staring at a row of myrtle bushes. “I have some money set aside.”

Astoria’s palms flattened over her lap. “What?”

“A small nest egg, nothing extravagant.”

She searched Daphne’s face. “You’d just need enough to get by for a little while, until you get
settled somewhere new. How long have you been saving?”

"Not long," the girl replied evasively.

Astoria’s brows creased. “You were able to gather money quickly? Did you skim from father’s
accounts?”

Her sister laughed anew, but this round was saturated with bitterness. "Hardly. He manages his
balance books with an iron fist." She picked up her spoon, idly stirring her tea once more. "I sold a
few things."

Astoria inhaled slowly, sensing something far greater hidden beneath the simple statement. “Like
what?”

Daphne shrugged one shoulder, setting the spoon aside. “Last season’s dresses, baubles and
trinkets I had no use for, nothing of note.”

“You’ve been considering elopement since then?”

A heavy beat of silence.

“I was gathering money for you,” Daphne replied casually, taking another sip.

Astoria’s heart beat painfully against her ribs. “For me?”

“I knew father was scouting out your future husband. I had no idea what to expect, how bad it
would be. I wanted you to have another option if the need arose.”

Astoria wet her lips, gripping the edge of the small table. “You were going to help me run away?”

“I would have gone with you.”

She studied her sister’s profile, mind spinning. “What about Greg?”

Daphne shrugged once more, gaze still averted forward, but her voice exuded a sharper edge than
before. “He’d understand. I wasn’t going to stand idly by while you were sold to a man three times
your age.”
Astoria eased back into her seat, overwhelmed and at a loss. “You don’t have to take care of me,
Daphne. And you most certainly don’t have to arrange your life around mine.”

Daphne met her eye at last. “Our bedrooms are twenty feet apart, Tori, I’m not rearranging
anything.”

“You know what I mean.” Astoria tossed her napkin to the table. “How much of your stuff did you
sell?”

“Hardly anything.”

Her eyes narrowed. Daphne released an exasperated huff. “I rose the majority of the funds at the
track if you must know.”

Astoria opened and closed her mouth, the words slow to process. “The track? You mean the horse
track?”

“Hm.”

“You bet on horses? How do you even know how that works?”

“I don’t. I enlisted the help of a bookie.”

She paled, surging forward and nearly upturning the table in her haste. “What?”

“Don’t give me that look, I was perfectly safe.”

“Daphne–”

“Relax, Tori. I assure you my foray into the gambling underground is long behind me. I got what I
needed from the arrangement and I’m never setting foot in that godforsaken venue again.”

She settled back into her seat, pulse thrumming until she became dizzy with it. “What happened?”

Her sister scowled, tossing her own napkin into a pool of spilled tea. "The Cretan swindled me the
first time. I lost nearly every pence. After a few days, I mopped up my tears and went back to
demand the funds back."

“Are you insane? He could have–”

“He'd never risk harming a Peer’s daughter. Besides, I didn't have to speak a word. He practically
pissed himself at the mere sight of me.”

Astoria blinked. “Why?”

"Apparently he saw Harry and me interacting the time before and thought we were together.
Fletcher is terrified of Potter for some reason. Subsequently, he was more than happy to pay me
back my original bet plus a hefty interest."

Astoria shook her head, barely knowing where to start. “You spoke with Harry?”

Daphne crossed her arms tightly over front. "Briefly. He caught me in quite the state. I looked as
though I'd seen a murder and he was understandably concerned, however, I managed to extract a
vow of secrecy before we parted ways."

“He won’t say anything,” Astoria said with conviction.

Her sister nodded. “I know.” And then lifted a manicured brow, eyeing her warily. “Are you… do
you still…”

“I’m past my crush,” Astoria provided without shame, no longer embarrassed to tiptoe around the
subject. “Though I still plan to admire him in his uniform.”

Daphne smirked. “Has anyone else caught your eye?”

And just like that, her momentary bravado shattered to pieces. Astoria leaned back, reaching for
her napkin for the excuse to fold it into pieces, succeeding only in knocking over her cup. Tea shot
across the table in a torrent, spoon flipping through the air in slow motion before landing in the
grass at her feet. She gasped, leaning over to pick it up, stomach twisting at Daphne’s knowing
sigh.

Her fingers gripped the silver, body starting to rise when she suddenly caught sight of dark boots
treading between the privacy bushes at her sister's back. She blinked, jolting upright, clutching the
spoon to her chest like a shield.

Daphne tilted her head. “Tori?”

But Astoria's eyes were fixed ahead, complexion paling as a man rounded the foliage. And then his
face came into view… her shoulders drooped with relief. He smiled broadly, placing a finger to his
lips as he crept forward. Daphne blinked, starting to turn in an effort to follow her sister's
unwavering focus.

Astoria threw her spoon to the table with a clatter, causing Daphne to shriek and face forward, eyes
wide.

“Tori, what are you–”

“The biscuits are a bit dry, aren’t they?”

Daphne drew back. “What biscuits?”

The newcomer stopped directly behind the blonde’s chair, leaning over to place his hands over her
eyes. She shrieked again, nearly toppling out of her seat as he exploded into deep laughter.

“Guess who?” he asked, causing her gasp to turn into a squeal of delight. She sprang from her chair
so quickly the table shook, knocking over her cup as well, the pale linen soaked through.

“Oh my god!” She shouted, launching upward to cling from his massive frame with both arms. He
held her by the waist and spun her around, her powder blue dress fluttering in the summer air.
Astoria smiled as she watched their reunion play out, heart aching at the sight.

“What are you doing here?” Daphne asked as they came to a stop, her feet still hovering high
above the ground. “You told me you wouldn’t be home until next week!”

His smile stretched from end to end as he studied her face with slow precision, as though
memorizing every line. “I wanted to surprise you.” He gently lowered her to the ground. “Are you
happy to see me?”

She placed her hands on his broad shoulders, unable to quell her smile. “Not in the least. In fact, I
was looking forward to a few more days without you.”

He hummed low in his throat, bending to press a kiss to her forehead. “Terribly sorry to
disappoint.”

She bounced on the balls of her feet, jittery with excitement, and then gazed at his chest, taking in
his uniform. “Have you been home yet?”

He raised a brow, gazing at her like she’d grown a second head. “Of course not. I always come to
you first.”

She met his eye with a laugh, cupping his jaw. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, the intimate tone
causing Astoria to flush awkwardly, sensing what was to come.

“You’ve no idea, luv,” he replied with equal heat and longing, gripping her hips and drawing her
into his body as they sought each other’s mouths.

Astoria bit her lip and glanced away, unsure what to do. She really didn't want to be here for this
but feared breaking the spell with her departure. She hadn't seen Daphne so happy in months and
wasn't keen on cutting the moment short for her. So she did her best to block out the sounds of their
passionate kiss by studying the silver birch several yards to her right. A nest sat upon a middle
branch, a goldfinch hopping along its edge with a bundle of straw in its beak. Several seconds
passed, or perhaps it was minutes before a voice called her attention forward.

“Hey, Tori.”

She jolted, head snapping around. The couple stood side by side, arms interlaced.

“Welcome home, Greg,” she said with a genuine smile, her own heart soaring with his return.
She’d always liked her sister’s fiancé, thinking him a great match for Daphne’s strong-willed
tenacity.

He tugged said fiancé deeper into his side, glancing between them. “What are you girls up to?”

Daphne rested her head against his chest. “Plotting and scheming.”

He laughed. “Exciting. Can I join in?”

Daphne smirked, sharing a loaded glance with Astoria before lifting her chin and meeting his gaze.
“Actually, it’s funny you should ask...”

Tom flipped the page, eyes rapidly scanning the text. He’d blazed through six folders already,
twice as many as the other three men in the room. Bones rubbed his eyes, setting a file aside and
grabbing another, skimming over the pertinent details. His daughter had returned with the pile of
documents hours ago. The Commissioner wasted no time sequestering himself in the dining room
with Black, Potter and Tom to pour through the information.

Tom was lost to the horrors laid out before him, fifteen accounts of brutal assault and murder,
young women beaten, mutilated and dumped in random hovels throughout the city. Most were Jane
Does, the few who were successfully identified ascended from asylums and slums. His gaze
narrowed, mind lost in an autopsy report as a carriage pulled along the front of the derelict manor.
He didn't bother glancing up, assuming it yet another one of Bone's men coming or going.

But the pounding footsteps in the entry hall piqued his interest, primarily for their steady approach
towards the open doorway. He glanced up at last, the flash of white blonde hair registering a full
beat before the rest of the scowling face took root in his mind. Malfoy charged into the room,
muscles tensed and eyes murderous. Tom calmly set the file aside as the others glanced up.
“Where is she?” The boy demanded, slamming his hands against the head of the table, gaze
fastened to Tom.

Tom tilted his head, eyes sweeping over the man with insouciant disregard. “Safe,” he replied
simply, annoyed at the interruption.

“That’s not an answer.”

Potter set his own file down, rising from his chair and crossing towards the blonde. “Draco, calm–”

“Where is she?” The boy all but growled, slamming his fists into the wood with enough force to
vibrate the entire table.

Tom set his jaw, eyes narrowing. "The fewer people who know her whereabouts the safer she'll
be."

“Where’s Dawn?”

He blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in topic, recovering in the next moment, fighting his
own urge to stand. “Safe as well,” he replied instead, watching the flames explode to life in the
silver gaze.

“She’s at Mungo’s you bloody bastard!” Malfoy shouted, pushing away from the table and leaping
forward, swinging for Tom’s head. He leaned back, easily avoiding the fist as Potter seized the boy
around the middle, hauling him away.

“Wait,” Black spoke, still seated calmly at the other end. “Dawn is at St. Mungo’s?”

“Yes!” Malfoy yelled, eyes flashing as he struggled in Potter’s hold. “In a fucking coma!” He
redirected his fury onto Tom, settling at last, though his words radiated with sinister threat. “So I’ll
ask you this one more time. Where is Hermione?” His eyes glinted manically. “Take me to her
now.”

Potter glanced between them. “I’m going as well–”

“Me, too,” spoke a new voice, the gangly redhead entering the room, face tense.

“Wait just a goddamn minute!” Bones shouted, rising from his seat. “Who is Hermione?”

From beyond the doorway, Tom spotted the remaining residents peeking around the corner. The
girls hovered at the landing, clearly drawn by the commotion. He pushed back from the table and
stood as well, turning his focus to the Commissioner.

“The fourth witness.”

Bones drew back, eyes hardening. “I can’t help you if you refuse to work with me, Riddle.”

“Where is she?” Malfoy shouted again, stepping forward. This time Potter did nothing to deter
him, looking more likely to join the attack.

Tom raised his chin, fists curling at his sides. “I’ll check on her.”

“Like hell!” The blonde surged forward once more. Potter finally sprung into action, grabbing his
arm and pulling him back. “She’s only involved in this mess because of you!” Malfoy raged,
slipping free of his hold. The redhead leaped forward next, helping Potter subdue him. “You lured
her into your web of lies and death and evil and now the demented bastard has her!”
Tom stepped back, his craving for violence falling to the wayside at the dark words. Potter seemed
equally perturbed.

“Draco, what are you talking about?” The boy demanded, struggling to keep the blonde pinned to
the wood.

“Luna had a vision. Hermione is in trouble,” Malfoy bit out, teeth bared like an animal as he
twisted and thrashed, breath fogging against the veneer.

The young man at Potter’s side shook his head. “A vision? What does that mean?”

“Luna has a gift,” Parvati said loudly, voice carrying across the entry hall as she clutched the
railing, gazing through the open doorway at the chaos within. “Whether you choose to believe in it
or not we need to check on Hermione.”

Bones rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “Christ. Alright, just give me a moment
to–”

A knock sounded at the main entrance. Everyone turned to face the sound, blinking at the young
man shifting awkwardly in the busted doorway.

Bones tipped his head back, glaring at the cracked ceiling. “Fucking hell, is there no one posted
outside?”

The boy glanced from their bemused expressions to the glass and blood littering the marble. “Er…
good afternoon,” he hedged.

Parvati raised her brow, leaning forward on the balcony. “Colin?”

He glanced up, eyes widening. “Parvati?”

Harry released Draco, turning to face the entry hall. “What are you doing here, Creevey?”

The boy waved something in his hand, carefully stepping over the marked crime scene and
entering the dining room. “I’ve got a special delivery.”

Harry blinked, holding out his hand, mindless of his war-torn appearance. Colin’s eyes fixed to the
dried blood on his shirt as he shook his head.

“For the Doctor,” he spoke, eyes cutting to Tom.

“How did you find me?” Tom asked, stepping forward to accept the item.

“You weren’t at the Home so I asked around. A few of the residents said you were last seen with
Hermione and she told me she’s been staying here.”

Malfoy scowled as the boy handed over the parcel. Tom turned it over in his hand. An envelope.
Matte black and bound with a crimson ribbon. His heart leaped, dark energy radiating from the
parchment into his skin, racing along his arm and centering in his chest, squeezing his lungs.

“When did you speak with Hermione?” He demanded, voice sharp.

The boy wet his lips, stepping back. “Last night.”

They all went rigid. Potter recovered first, surging forward. “Where?”
Colin blinked rapidly, stepping back again. “Outside the Home.”

Malfoy rounded on Tom. “What did you do?”

Tom ignored him entirely, advancing on the delivery boy with predatory swiftness. “What did she
say?”

Colin’s back hit the wall, eyes wide. “She just asked me to distract a couple random blokes while
she slipped inside.”

Potter raked a hand through his hair, glancing to his godfather. Black drew a hand over his jaw,
uttering a simple summary of their collective thoughts.

“Shite.”

Tom stopped just before the frightened boy, towering over his huddled form. “Distract what men?”

“I-I don’t know. They were watching the front–”

“Did you see her leave?”

“Yeah. She went with them.”

Malfoy stepped to Tom’s side, anger taking a backseat in lieu of the newest revelation. “They took
her?”

Colin shook his head frantically. “N-No, she left willingly. I watched her wait for them to pull their
carriage round.”

The blonde glanced over his shoulder at Potter. “Why would she go with them?”

“Maybe she’s trying to lure the Dollmaker out of hiding,” Potter offered tentatively, shoulders
tensed.

Tom stepped away from the wall and its terrified occupant, mind overtaken by a familiar voice. An
echo of a time long ago.

“It’s all real, Tom.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, pacing towards the table.

“The Dollmaker’s victims have been reaching out to me, guiding me.”

He braced his hands against the wood, staring at the sea of files covering its surface. “No,” he
uttered lowly. He sensed the focus in the room shift, all eyes averting to him. He set his jaw, gaze
darkening. “She’s not luring him out.” His eyes lifted, meeting the Commissioner’s analyzing
gaze. “She intends to trap the spider in his own web.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Malfoy scathed.

Tom drew back, gazing down at the forgotten envelope in his hand. He tore the ribbon free,
ripping open the top with agile skill, pulse thrumming a steady tempo in his ears as he slid the
gilded cardstock free.

Potter edged closer. “What is it?” He asked, tilting his head to read the elegant silver script upside
down.
“An invitation,” Tom stated without inflection, fingertips turning white against the onyx paper.

“To what?”

His eyes flashed, death saturating his tongue. “A private party at Lestrange Manor.”

Hermione paced quickly past the pink Ranunculus and violet Delphinium, sparing the multi-
colored Alstroemeria a parting glance as she rounded the row. She slowed next to the scarlet
Anemone, rising on her tiptoes to peer over the large blossom to its neighboring bloom.

Her heart soared with victory and delight.

“Here it is!” She called out, carefully leaning under hanging vines until her face hovered above her
precious find. “The Chocolate Cosmos,” she whispered with bated breath, closing her eyes to
inhale deeply. She smiled, slowly rising to her full height and peering over the stands. “It’s
wonderful! Come over here, Ron, you must smell this one!”

He tossed his head back with a scoff. “Yeah right. I’m not falling for that again.”

She rolled her eyes, failing to contain her smirk. “I warned you about the Corpse Flower.”

“How’s it even possible for a flower to smell like a corpse? It goes against nature!”

She shook her head with a smile, gesturing to the vibrant bloom before her. “This will clear your
olfactory.”

He arched a brow. “My what?”

“I’ll smell it, Hermione.”

She shrieked, the new voice sounding directly behind her. She collided with another body as she
spun on her heel, pulse skipping in relief as her eyes settled on the familiar face.

“S-Sorry!” Neville stammered, hands raised in supplication.

She pressed a hand to her chest and laughed. “Don’t be, I didn’t hear you walk up is all.” Her smile
deepened as she stepped aside and gestured to the potted beauty. “Go ahead.”

His flush spread down his neck in a feverish trail as he edged closer, awkwardly bending in half to
smell the bloom. She heard his sharp intake of breath. “It smells like chocolate!” He uttered a
moment later, rising with a beaming grin.

She nodded, matching his expression. "Hence its rather imaginative name. The species is native to
Mexico but went extinct in its natural habitat. Now it can only be found in protected greenhouses. I
can't believe Kew was able to obtain a specimen."

His eyes darted between hers. “You know so much about everything.”

She blinked, taken aback by the statement, skin heating despite knowing her friend meant it as a
compliment. He seemed to notice her reaction, eyes going wide as he undoubtedly prepared another
round of apology. But her attention was drawn to the side, priorities rapidly shifting.

“Ron! I told you not to touch anything!”

He dropped the Amaryllis in his hand with a pointed glare. “It’s a bloody garden, Mione! What the
hell else am I supposed to do?”

“Admire its beauty with your eyes.”

He rolled said eyes, pacing back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “I think I’d rather admire
the food court. Coming, Nev?”

Neville shuffled awkwardly, glancing quickly at Hermione and blushing deeper. “Er… no, I’ll
hang back.”

Ron shrugged. "Suit yourself. If Harry and Gin circle round let 'em know where to find me."

“If they haven't already been kicked out,” she uttered with no small amount of annoyance.

Ron smirked. "In their defense, there was no sign that strictly forbade swimming in the fountain.”

“There is now. I’ve never been so humiliated.”

He winked, walking back towards the path. "Love you, Mione."

She waved him off. “You love to torture me, now get out of here.”

His laughter followed him along the trail before melding with the layered voices of other visitors.
Hermione turned to face her other friend.

“You don’t have to stay behind for my sake, Neville. Please, feel free to get some lunch.”

He swallowed heavily, throat bobbing high. “No, I’m interested in hearing more about the… erm,
stuff.”

“Yes, you sound positively riveted,” she laughed without mirth.

“No, really! You make it all sound so interesting.”

Her laughter settled. “You’re the only one I don’t have to drag to Kew kicking and screaming.” She
tilted her head, gazing upon the sea of vibrant petals laid out before them. “I should have let the
boys pick where to go. I just thought…” She released a long sigh, studying the intricate patterns of
a Hellebore. “I wanted our last outing together to be someplace meaningful.” She reached forward,
palm hovering over the bloom. “But I realize now it holds more meaning to me than them.”

A long beat followed. Neville eyed her closely. “I’m sorry you’re losing them.”

She blinked, glancing up. “I’m not losing them. Or you for that matter. You’re all embarking on
new adventures while I… stay here. But you’ll be back to visit.”

I hope.

She bit her lip, reaching for an easy transition. “Are you excited for Cambridge?”

He eagerly accepted the bait, smiling broadly. “Yes, I–”

He was cut short by a drop of water landing atop the center of his forehead, running down the
bridge of his nose. They both blinked, peering up. Her gaze narrowed on the grey swirling sky. “Is
that…” A drop hit her on the cheek.

“Rain,” Neville confirmed, grimacing as a drop landed in his eye.

She deflated in a rush. “Tosh. It wasn’t supposed to start until the evening.”

The milling visitors started to gasp and glance skyward, women opening their parasols and men
removing their jackets, holding them overhead as a steady drizzle began. Hermione placed her hand
atop her own head, cringing at the thought of her hair being subjected to the coming onslaught. Her
pulse skipped as she spotted a familiar sight ahead, a glittering beacon in the storm.

“Let’s head to the Palm House,” she instructed, already walking briskly towards the glass
enclosure. Neville nodded, and then lightning split the sky and thunder shook the earth. Hermione
shrieked, as did several others standing nearby. The heavens parted wide and a torrential downpour
began, rain falling in heavy sheets, rapidly pooling at their feet. She grabbed Neville's arm as they
darted forward, taking off at a dead run. But a moment later Neville dug in his heels, head snapping
to the side.

“Wait!” He shouted, barely audible over the monsoon. “I think I see Gin!” He pointed a finger to a
spot in the distance. Hermione followed with her eyes, spotting the girl in question but neither of
the boys.

She raised to her tiptoes, forming a megaphone with her hand and shouting as loud as she could.
"Ginny!"

But alas, Ginny didn’t even glance in their direction. Neville grabbed Hermione by the elbow and
shouted into her ear. “Go inside, I’ll grab her!”

She nodded quickly, squeezing his shoulder. “Thanks, Nev!”

He took off with a wet smile, both of them completely soaked through. She resumed her run to the
Palm House, sliding on the wet stone and catching herself against the door, breathing a sigh of
relief as she emerged into the warm and dry interior a moment later. Several others had taken
shelter there as well, families and couples collecting along the glass walls to watch the storm play
out. The manufactured jungle at the center of the massive structure went largely ignored except by
a few children running between the rows. Hermione slipped away from the perimeter, emerging
deep into the tropical paradise as she wrung out her hair with both hands. The pins had fallen loose
during her sprint, the locks heavy and saturated.

She warmed her hands beside a heating lamp and gazed upon the bright orchids on display. Rain
pounded the dome ceiling like hammers, the noise drowning out the conversation beyond the trees
and approaching footsteps at her back.

“My my, look what the cat dragged in.”

Her spine went rigid, recognizing the cringe-inducing drawl at once. She didn’t bother turning
around.

“Another drowned rat reference. How clever. Once again you astound me with your unparalleled
wit and intellect, Malfoy.”

His eyes narrowed as he stepped beside her, earning her attention at last. He was equally drenched,
charcoal suit appearing black in the dim light. His mercurial gaze roamed her rain-slicked face with
slow precision, seeming to linger at her mouth. She flushed, self-conscious and paranoid. But his
next words brought her back to familiar territory in no time.

“Wandering the Garden alone? Not surprising. You’re a walking encyclopedia filled with the
world’s most boring facts. It’s a miracle your friends stuck around as long as they did.”
Her spine lengthened, set in place by a steel rod. “I see you’re also here alone. Not surprising,
given the putrid cloud of cologne you emanate everywhere you go. It’s a miracle your friends
haven’t dropped dead from toxic exposure.”

His eyes danced with dark merriment, hands artfully arranged in his trouser pockets as he took a
step towards her. “I thought witches melted in water?”

Anticipation swelled within her chest, propelling her own feet forward. “An old wives tale. We
hold up quite well, as you can see. Though nothing can compete with a barrel of pomade. Tell me,
Malfoy, do you get nervous passing by open flame?”

“I heard the good news about Saint Potter and Weasel King. Congratulations.” He stopped just
before her, barely a foot of space between them. “They’d rather have bullets fly at their heads than
endure another minute of your delightful company. Impressive work, luv.” His gaze was
unrelenting, boring down upon her with a crushing weight. “Ah, struck a nerve, did I?” The corner
of his mouth lifted in sinister victory. “Rest assured, I merely jest. Weasley is much more likely to
drown than be shot.”

She swallowed thickly, struggling to keep her voice level. “Shut up.”

He searched her gaze, desperately pursuing the winning hand, always eager to inflict the greater
wound. "I can picture it so clearly… the Weasel falling overboard while attempting to harpoon a
whale with his salad fork, a true pirate of Penzance."

“I said shut up!” Her tone was higher than intended, edging on hysterics. Heat sizzled beneath her
skin, hairs rising along the back of her neck.

“I chose to ignore the command the first time, Granger. Perhaps a new strategy is in order.”

She scowled, fists curling at her sides. “What are you even doing here, Malfoy? You have an entire
Garden to terrorize, leave me alone!”

He shifted closer yet, the toe of his boot nudging hers as his eyes flickered to her mouth and back a
second time. “I’d love nothing more, but until the rain lets up I’m just as trapped as you are.” He
wet his lips, drawing her own gaze for the space of a stuttered beat. “But don’t worry, darling. I’ll
abandon you at first opportunity. Same as your beloved Dimwit Twins.”

The lashing heat broke free in a powerful rush. She reared up, pressing her chest into his as she
released a month’s worth of pent aggression, all the simmering anger she’d felt since learning of
her friends’ impending departure.

“I hate you, Draco Malfoy! I’ll hate you until the day I die!”

Lightning struck directly overhead, illuminated brilliantly against the glass ceiling, reflected
perfectly in his gaze.

“Good,” he hissed across her mouth, voice barely above a growl.

Thunder crashed, shaking the walls. He surged forward in the same moment, grabbing her by the
waist and pushing her backward with such force and speed she lost her footing, clutching his
shoulders to stay upright. She gasped as her back collided with a tree, jarring her mind blank.
Before her thoughts had the opportunity to resurface his body pressed along her front, driving the
air from her lungs and the cold from her limbs. And then his mouth descended upon her and
rationality was a long-faded memory.
His hands roamed her hard and rough and half-crazed, pulling her into his body to the point of
suffocation. She clung to him just as desperately, needing to suppress her raging thoughts and fears
and sadness. Anything to distract from the heartbreak of what was to come, anything to fill the
impending void.

He pulled away after several minutes, panting heavily into her mouth, lips swollen and cheeks
flush.

“Granger–”

“Shut up,” she demanded, running her hands through his perfect hair, taking great joy in mussing it
up before clutching the back of his head and pulling him down to her awaiting mouth.

He smiled broadly, voice rumbling along her tongue. “Happily.”

The rain continued to hail down in heavy sheets of white, blocking out the meager sun and casting
the Palm House and its inhabitants into a dark eclipse.

Such precious memories. So bittersweet. I can see why you covet them so.

Draco moaned into her mouth, pressing his lower half against her.

But these aren’t what I need...

Her pulse stuttered wildly, vertigo seizing her in a heady rush, his body the only thing keeping her
upright.

Show me what you’ve hidden.

The glass ceiling cracked beneath the onslaught of rain, fracturing into a massive spider web.
Dozens of arachnids scattered across the threads, red eyes glinting bright and fangs dripping golden
venom. She pulled away from Draco, shocked and terrified beyond measure, pointing above to
warn him–

The ceiling shattered into a million glittering shards, sharp and lethal and hurtling straight for
them. The water followed in a powerful rush, cascading down in a waterfall. She screamed,
clutching Draco’s shirt and glancing to him desperately.

Only to scream a second time.

For it wasn’t Draco standing before her, clutching her tightly.

The Monster grinned broadly, eyes cast red, sharp teeth oozing golden honey.

“That’s it, scream for me, luv.”

She beat his chest with her fists, thrashing wildly and pressing as far back as his claws would
allow. Her spine dug into the tree, sharp and painful. She paid the discomfort no mind, overcome
with adrenaline, numb to everything but horror. Deep laughter erupted from his mouth, as did
thousands of tiny spiders, crawling over his lips and chin and down his neck, spilling across his
chest in a river of undulating black, tiny legs scampering frantically, eager to get to her, hungry
mouths chomping at the air, desperate for her flesh.

His laughter ceased as he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers. She screamed against his
gnashing lips, muffled and crazed, millions of little legs crawling over her flesh as the creatures
leaped onto her dress. A massive army of spiders approached rapidly from across the floor, a dark
puddle spreading towards them. She pushed against his chest with all her strength, wailing
miserably as she felt his sharp claws grab hold of her skirt, pulling the heavy fabric up.

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so fucking long.”

Hands gripped her waist, squeezing painfully. Another grabbed her hair, tugging it back, another
seized her throat, squeezing.

“I’ve fantasized about being inside of you for years,” he hissed against her neck, fangs scraping
along her skin, leaving twin welts in their wake as his venom burned away her flesh like acid.

She screamed in horror, eyes wide as she gazed upon the eight massive spider legs towering above,
bent inward and clutching her tight, holding her immobile. The churning river of spiders reached
them at last, pouring across her boots and up her bare calves, millions of tiny mouths gnawing
away her flesh to the bone. She clawed at his face, realizing in the same moment her arms were
free.

She reached to either side desperately, fumbling for anything within reach as he kissed her again,
chewing on her bottom lip until it bled. She blinked in shocked confusion, tears soaking her face as
her fingers skimmed a flat hard surface. She wrenched her head back and glanced to the side,
mouth hanging wide as she spotted his office desk situated beneath a banana leaf tree, covered in
books and legal documents. Her eyes rapidly scanned the surface for the gleaming letter opener,
her key to freedom. It was nowhere in sight.

But something else was, aligned with the edge of the desk and pulsing a pale blue light. She
gripped the wooden handle of the butcher knife as one of his spindle legs lifted, revealing a hooked
talon at the end. The gleaming claw stroked along her jaw, tipping her face forward. She turned
silent in horror as his beaming visage was revealed. His red eyes had multiplied, covering the top
half of his face. They all blinked at the same time, her horrified reflection cast in the center of each
gleaming orb.

“You keep what you kill, sweetling. Didn’t he tell you that?”

His legs tightened upon her. His soldiers crawled under her dress and across her bare midriff,
beneath her camisole and over her chest, hungrily devouring everything in their wake, leaving
behind merely a skeleton covered in shredded flesh and hanging skin. He leaned forward for
another kiss, jaw unhinging grotesquely, revealing row after row of razor-sharp teeth.

Her legs went numb, or perhaps the spiders had eaten them all the way through. She paid the
notion little mind, a fresh wave of terror washing overhead as he leaned in, gaping maw wider than
her skull, ready to bite her head off. She inhaled sharply, holding it in her lungs as the spiders
ascended her neck.

And slashed forward with the knife, striking him across the face in a diagonal line.

“If you had used the same hand to slice his left side in a downward swing you would have easily
ruptured the eye beyond repair.”

The pulsing blade struck true, slicing through a row of red eyes, thick black ooze spilling from the
bleeding sockets.

He screamed, talons cutting through her dress as his legs squeezed her with bone-breaking force.
His gaping jaws gnashed the air in agonizing rage, golden spittle flying free. She cringed back,
clutching the blade to her chest as the spiders overtook her chin–

And then they froze, stopping in their tracks and shriveling up, legs curling as they fell in dead
heaps, tiny corpses piling at her feet. She blinked wildly, peering up as his death throes began. His
skin turned black, charred, falling away from the bone. His massive legs followed suit, turning to
ash and crumbling away. She staggered back with her hard-won freedom, gripping the hilt of the
blade with all her strength as she watched Dolohov crumble away chunk by chuck, bit by bit, until
only a charred skeleton remained, gleaming black sockets fixed upon her with startling intensity.

“I’ll be seeing you very soon, sweetling.”

And then his skull broke off his spine with a jarring snap, hitting the tile and breaking to pieces.
His body followed suit, ribcage cracking apart and scattering across the floor, femurs caving in and
pelvis breaking down the center.

She blinked, backing into the trees, headlessly shuffling over exotic shrubs and flowers until the
manufactured Amazon embraced her fully and overtook her vision. She spun on her heel and ran
towards the glittering walls of the Palm House, bursting through the trees at last, charging through
the clusters of visitors without sparing them a glance, distantly aware of the flesh masks affixed to
their watchful faces.

She reached the front door in a flurry of motion, dress shredded by claws and caked with ash and
stained by venom, wrenching the barrier wide, sprinting over the threshold–

And emerging into a dark kitchen.

She spun around in shock, turning back to face the door she’d just came through. But it led to a
large enclosed pantry. She shook her head, blade clutched tightly at her side. And then deep male
voices sounded from the hallway, filtering in from the open doorway.

“Once I find her I’m going to strangle the bitch–”

“You’ll do no such thing. She’s mine.”

Stones filled her throat and dropped to the pit of her stomach. She staggered back, spine hitting the
center island and jarring her from the dazed stupor. She darted towards the sink as large shadows
appeared on the corridor wall, growing darker and denser as the voices drew closer and louder. She
dropped to her knees and opened the cabinet, crawling inside and folding her legs up, shutting the
door just as the figures entered the room, footsteps echoing across the tile.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, butcher knife trembling in her other fist.

The kitchen’s new occupants slowed.

And their voices changed.

“I hope you will find the room satisfactory.”

Hermione blinked, hand falling away from her pale lips.

No.

“I appreciate your hospitality, Madam, especially at this hour.”

Oh my god.
She braced her hands beside her, pushing back against the far wall of the cabinet as the steady
tread of footsteps grew nearer and nearer, a shadow passing along the front of the door, blocking
the light. Her knees drew up, calves bare beneath her thin nightgown and threadbare robe,
shoulders pulling in as the cabinet door was pulled wide.

Tom appeared before her, dressed in pure pitch, tall frame and broad shoulders stretching to all four
ends of the wardrobe, blocking out the sun and moon and casting her into darkness. His eye burned
bright, twin torches in the night.

“My name is Doctor Riddle. And you are?”

His voice was a rumbling purr she fell vibrate through the shelf and into her core. “Hermione,” she
whispered, hands flattening against the back of the wardrobe, desperate to travel through it.

He tilted his head, movements slow and measured. She recognized that look. The gleam in his grey
eyes, sensing the violence to come like salt on the wind preceding a storm. She swallowed heavily,
body throbbing in time to her pulse as the silence stretched on…

And then he reached out with lightning reflexes, grabbing her bare ankle and wrenching her
forward. She screamed, nails raking across the smooth wood to no avail as her body was torn off
the shelf. He caught her around the waist as her feet hit the ground, drawing her into his body.

“You’re afraid,” he stated simply, ducking his head low, lips grazing her temple. “Hermione…” he
whispered, the sound rendering her loose and pliant in his hold. “I only mean to thank you.”

And then he was gripping her waist and spinning her around. She choked on a gasp as he threw her
backward, sending her airborne. She flailed, bracing for impact with the hard ground, only to
release a shocked breath as her body collided with a mattress. She bounced once, twice, hair falling
across her face in a thick carpet. She frantically pushed it away. Tom paced to the edge of the bed,
eyes glinting like metal.

“I don’t know what I’m most curious about, the contents of your right hand or your left.”

She peered down, expecting to see the butcher knife.

Instead, she saw a scalpel dripping blood, her hand and wist soaked red. She drew her gaze to her
other hand, spotting a broken doll, hair matted and eyes and mouth crossed out with red charcoal.

She blinked. “Oh. I forgot I was holding it.” And looked to him once more. “I can set it down.”

Her heart thrummed a call to war as he perched a knee on the foot of the mattress. He held her
gaze, drawing his other leg up and beginning a slow and agonizing crawl towards her.

“If you feel more comfortable wielding a blade in my presence then, by all means, continue to do
so.”

She watched his mouth as he spoke, hypnotized. Half his face was cast in orange flickering light.
She glanced beside them as his weight and heat settled upon her. Dolohov's Estate burned in a
powerful blaze a hundred yards away, black smoke filling the night sky above. She swallowed
heavily, glancing quickly to her other side, spotting a row of tombstones. The bed sat atop the
overgrown weeds, centered beneath the stars.

And then her attention was drawn forward by a hand at her throat, tipping her chin up and forcing
her gaze to follow. He held her eye with predatory focus, pupils blown wide, drawing her in with
their gravitational force.
“Have I destroyed you, Hermione?”

Her pulse stuttered against his fingertips, chest pressing his with every labored breath. “Yes,” she
whispered, tears overspilling her eyes and across her temples. “But I wanted you to.” She wet her
lips, focusing upon his mouth. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me.” He leaned in. “We’re partners in this.”

Darkness exploded overhead, blocking out the stars. Shadows expanded like massive wings at his
back, spreading wide and then folding in all around her, wrapping her in a deathly cold embrace as
his lips collided with her own.

And then his weight disappeared, body dissolving away in a cloud of smoke. She inhaled sharply,
breathing it in, choking on the toxic vapor. She coughed into her blood-stained fist, eyes tearing as
a blinding light filled her vision. She glanced to either side in confusion. She was no longer atop a
bed. She was on the floor. A wooden floor beneath a tall ceiling. Familiar furniture surrounded her.
A familiar heat lashed at her flesh. Her breath caught in her throat, terror seizing her anew.

Flames.

Everywhere.

No!

She reared up, screaming as the crystal chandelier broke off the ceiling and crashed to the floor,
exploding to shards and shaking the ground. She scrambled to her hands and knees, sweat dripping
from her face.

That’s it.

Glass cracked along the doors of the china cabinet, splintering out like grasping fingers, reaching
desperately as she staggered past.

This is the one.

Sweat and smoke burned her eyes, clouding her vision. She rubbed them futilely, smearing blood
and soot across her face. The staircase stood just ahead. She had to reach the staircase. She could
fix it all if she could just reach the staircase...

“Hermione!”

The voice clawed at her heart.

“Mum!” She screamed, dashing forward with renewed strength, only to stagger back as a beam
collapsed overhead, crashing before her in an explosion of glowing embers.

“Mione!”

She swallowed heavily, sobs catching in her throat. “Dad! I’m coming!” She gathered her skirts,
leaping over debris.

Show me.

“Mum! Dad! I’m here!”

A row of fire burst to life before the bottom step, blocking her path with a wall of dancing flame.
Faces appeared within the blaze, screaming desperately. She shook her head, doubling over and
retching black bile onto the floor.

No, please no…

She wiped the saliva away with her palm, forcing her spine straight. “I’m here!” She croaked,
voice weak. “I’m here.”

The flames snapped and sizzled, spreading towards her. She staggered back, narrowly missing their
reach. The wallpaper melted and curled, wood and plaster blackening as fire spilled across the
ceiling above.

“Please don’t leave me,” she cried, smoke billowing down and obscuring her vision. “Please don’t
leave...”

The entire staircase erupted to life with flame. She collapsed to her knees, releasing a keening wail.

Show me everything.

An arm gripped her waist, a body materializing from the smoke behind her, pulling her to her feet.
She blinked in confusion, glancing over her shoulder and spotting a featureless face, another mask
void of expression, of life. She shook her head, twisting in his strong grasp.

“No!”

He easily lifted her off her feet, tossing her over his broad shoulder. His fire brigade uniform came
into view. She gasped with relief.

“Upstairs! Please! They’re upstairs!”

He strode for the exit, taking her further and further from the stairs. She thrashed wildly, clawing at
his muscled back.

“No! They’re upstairs! You can save them!”

He quelled her struggles with ease, gripping her painfully as he continued to sidestep flames and
rubble. She watched in horror as the staircase crumbled to pieces, collapsing in on itself until only a
pile of splintered wood remained. The flames roared like a beast, a grinning face taking shape in
the hellish inferno.

“No! Please!”

They turned the corner and the malevolent face disappeared, along with the final vestiges of her
hope and sanity. They exited her childhood home a moment later, the entryway blackening before
her eyes, turning to ash before the fire even reached it. Tears streamed down her face in a river,
dripping off her jaw as they emerged into the dark night, smoke heavy in the air.

Her dark savior crossed the gravel drive and laid her onto the grass, walking away without a
parting glance. Then again, he didn't have eyes. She blinked numbly, watching her home burn. A
deafening snap filled the night, followed by a long groan. Plumes of flame shot upward as the
second-story caved in, crashing to the foundation. Her mouth hung wide, breath leaving her
entirely. Her lungs screamed in protest. She ignored their cry, eyes slowly drifting upward to
follow the smoke's steady ascent, wondering if her parents' ashes were contained within.

Only to blink, attention caught by the sky above.

For beyond the dense cloud of black she spotted a sea of swirling color, tendrils of green, blue and
violet dancing in undulating ropes. She wet her lips, pushing upright in the grass.

“Do you see it, Hermione?”

She nodded in response to the phantom voice. “Yes,” she whispered, throat raw and parched, lips
dry and cracked. “Is it heaven?”

“No, my sweetling, it’s called-”

"An Aurora," she finished, heart skipping.

Her shoulders drew back, chin tipping up as she watched the colors bleed across the black
backdrop, the majestic imagery providing a strange and distant sort of comfort to her decaying
heart.

Hermione.

Movement from the corner of her eye drew her focus. She glanced over her shoulder. A fire trolley
approached from the main road, faceless neighbors milling around the perimeter, pointing at the
fire, placing hands to the place where their mouths should be, miming shock and dismay.

Actors in a play.

Hermione, focus.

Something moved in the grass. She turned her head once more, spotting a flash of orange, gasping
as the mound leaped forward, landing deftly at her side. She blinked, mouth opening and closing at
the sight of the bushy feline, bottlebrush tail flicking side to side as it rubbed against her, its back
arching high as it released a rumbling purr.

Tell me what you see.

Hermione tilted her head.

I see…

Yes?

The furry creature mewled, amber eyes flashing red, reflecting the flames dancing before them.
She reached out slowly, running her fingers through its fur. The result was instantaneous. The cat
sidled closer, purring rhythmically as it eagerly kneaded her thigh through her charred dress, claws
prickling the fabric.

Hermione smiled, scratching behind its ears and beneath its chin.

“Hello, Cat.”

There was another loud snap. The porch caved in. She paid it no mind, leaning forward to card her
fingers through the thick fur.

Ignore the cat, Hermione. Focus on the Fire.

She wet her lips, shaking her head. “I don’t think I will.”

The cat stepped back, tail swishing with gusto as it held her gaze. Hermione read the message
contained within, pushing slowly to her feet, bits of glass and plaster falling from her dress as she
swayed in place.

And then the cat turned, sprinting across the grass with agile speed, stopping at the treeline to
glance at her.

Her fists tightened at her sides.

Hermione, stay where you are.

Her eyes narrowed, the smoke dissipating along with the dense fog in her mind. She surged
forward, kicking off her heels and gathering her heavy skirts as she tore across the grass.

Hermione!

She reached the treeline in several bounds, panting heavily as she stared down at her watchful
companion.

“Let’s go.”

The cat seemed to grin, tail flicking with flourish once more before it bound forward again, cutting
a quick path through the darkened, petrified woods. Hermione followed gracelessly, stumbling
with every other step, shoulders clipping trees and skirts snagging jagged branches. Rocks cut into
her soles, tearing at her bare ankles.

But her greater concern was the small army at her back.

The faceless neighbors charged after her, flaming torches materializing in their grasp as they gave
chase. She bit her lip to stifle a pained gasp as she tripped, falling to her knees and scraping the
heel of her palm against a log. Dead leaves crunched loudly at her back, the search party splitting
into groups, dutifully scouting the terrain.

You can’t escape me, foolish girl.

She crawled forward, trying to stay low as a faceless woman passed by her left, turning her head
from side to side as though able to see in the dark with perfect clarity. Hermione pressed her hand
to her mouth, waiting for the grotesque spectre to pass before searching for the Cat.

She spotted a flash of orange fur in the distance and swallowed her fear, leaping to her feet and
charging headlong after it. One of her pursuers spotted the movement, giving chase and drawing
the attention of the others. They barreled after her in a stampede, breaking through branches and
darting around trees with unnerving skill and strength.

No one ever escapes me.

She dug deep, reaching desperately for her final reserves of strength as she burst through the
treeline and emerged into a large clearing.

The sight before her was staggering. She wanted to stop and gawk at the obscene image but knew
such a folly would most certainly spell her doom. Her pursuers were right behind, close enough to
tackle her. One even tried, but she dodged to the side just in time, his body hitting the grass with a
dull thud. He leaped to his feet with inhuman dexterity, giving chase anew.

She continued to sprint ahead with all she had left, gaze fixed with steely determination on the
three-story home at the center of the clearing.
The mirror image of the Dollhouse in the attic.

The Cat darted up the steps, the front door swinging wide of its own accord, revealing a solid black
interior. Her heart soared with hope and terror, the pounding of footsteps deafening at her back,
rapidly gaining speed–

She reached the porch steps with a desperate wail, tearing across them so quickly she lost her
balance, tripping forward and catching herself against the slats. She cringed, a fresh wave of tears
blooming to life as she braced for hands to grab her, to wrench her back and drag her kicking and
screaming to the fire...

But the touch never came.

She blinked in confusion, glancing past the leaves in her hair to peer over her shoulder. Her army
of pursuers surrounded the perimeter of the home, fists clenched tight and torches held aloft as they
formed a perfect circle around the property, chests heaving.

She pushed to her feet, stepping higher along the steps until she stood on the porch. More and more
faceless apparitions appeared from the treeline, running to join their comrades and pile along the
invisible barrier. She swallowed heavily, forcing her attention away in order to cross over the
threshold, submerging herself in blessed darkness.

The door slammed shut at her back and the shadows lifted, revealing a moonlit interior. The home
now mimicked the Dollhouse in Ariana’s room, filled with the same decorations and furniture,
each piece enlarged to human scale. She paced further inside, adrenaline slowly ebbing and giving
way to rational thought.

Hermione!

The booming voice no longer emanated from within her head. Instead, it echoed from outside,
muffled by the walls of the toy home. Unable to reach her.

A soft thump drew her focus to the staircase. Her orange companion sat picturesque on the bottom
step, thick tail curled around its legs. Hermione smiled, stopping just before the astute creature.

“Hello, Lavender.”

Her pulse stuttered as the animal morphed in a rapid burst of movement and light, the girl
unfurling before her eyes, golden hair cascading over her shoulders as she tossed her head back
with a tinkling laugh.

“Hello, Mione,” she winked, amber eyes fading to warm brown. “Told you I’d be back.”

Hermione released a cry of joy and overwhelming relief, surging forward to embrace the girl
tightly, nearly knocking them both sideways. Lavender hugged her back, stroking a hand over her
hair.

“That was a close call,” Hermione whispered, drawing back to meet her eye.

Lavender smirked, gaze dancing with a cunning mischief Hermione recognized well and missed
terribly. “I knew you’d be able to give Him the slip. Cocky bastard’s been underestimating you
from day one.”

Hermione released her at last, stepping away to peer around the shadowed interior of their asylum.
“Where’s Ariana?”
A heavy pause.

Hermione glanced forward, stomach twisting at the tense expression that overcame her friend’s
pretty features.

“I’m going to bring you to her,” Lavender said, tone frightfully measured.

Hermione raised a brow, dread rising. “Bring me to her? Why can’t she come to us? We’re safe in
here.”

“She can’t leave the Castle.”

Hermione blinked, replaying the words twice but unable to grasp their meaning. “Castle?”

“And it’s on the other damn side.” Her friend sighed heavily, drawing an idle hand through her hair
as her eyes took on an introspective gleam. “Christ, getting there is such a pain in the arse. I need to
get you some hiking boots. And an axe."

Hermione shook her head, stepping forward. “On the other side of what, Lavender?”

The blonde withdrew from her thoughts with a blink, studying Hermione's face for several
agonizing seconds before her coy grin spread to life quick as flame. Hermione swayed back,
unnerved by the sight. Knowing her former roommate's proclivity towards trouble she could only
imagine what lied ahead.

“Follow me,” Lavender instructed, tossing her hair with dramatic flourish and spinning on her heel.
She led Hermione around the stairs and into a narrow corridor. The hall was adorned with fake
portraits painted directly onto the walls. They emerged inside a play kitchen, fully equipped with
mock appliances. But Hermione’s attention was focused squarely ahead, on a solid red door with
radiant light spilling in from gaps along the frame.

Lavender stopped just before the ominous barrier, turning to face her with glinting amber eyes.

“Hermione Granger,” she announced, gripping the knob and turning it swiftly. She pulled the door
wide, revealing the staggering landscape beyond. “Welcome to Wonderland.”
 Wonderland

I know their pain.

I would assist.
But is sanity required for the job?
. . .

Hermione’s arms dropped to her sides, limp and lifeless, jaw hanging loose as she took in the sight
before her. Lavender perched her hip against the frame, watching silently as Hermione struggled to
gain her bearings. After several moments more her senses returned. She took a tentative step
forward, crossing the threshold and submerging herself in radiant light.

Her bare feet made contact with smooth stone, pulse reverberating through every limb as she took
in the strange and glorious setting with unabated awe. For what laid before them was unlike any
dreamscape she’d ever encountered, a world beyond the measure of her imagination.

Hermione had always been an ardent student of science and medicine, law and reason. Frivolous
fantasy never blossomed to life within her mind, even as a child. Which meant their current
surroundings couldn’t be a hallucination or fever dream born from her own psyche. And yet such a
place couldn’t possibly exist… so what did that leave? Where did that leave? Was there a plane
between dream and reality? Fiction and fact? Illusion and invention?

Her mind reeled with the notion, the overwhelming implication it entailed, causing her toes to curl
against the cool rock. She stood atop a circular stepping stone as wide as she was tall. Several
others were laid across the vibrant grass, creating a path leading from the back door to the treeline
fifty yards ahead. But the terrain didn’t match the landscape she traversed to get here. There was
also no sign of the faceless henchmen that circled the property moments ago.

She glanced upward, blinking twice.

It was daytime now, the sky a pale violet covered by an iridescent sheen. The effect was magical
and yet appeared commonplace beside the mesmerizing sun. Or rather, twin suns blazing brightly
overhead.

She gaped at the magnificent sight, then released a shocked yelp as a massive dragonfly flitted
past, silver wings glinting like metal, tips sharp as knives. She followed the insect’s path with her
eyes until it disappeared into the brush. The trees were dense, their canopy thick and vibrant, the
imagery reminiscent of the Palm House but on a much larger scale. For the terrain before her was a
real-life jungle. Real being the relative term of the day.

Her heartbeat settled at long last, allowing the sounds of nature to swell all around her. She
registered the distant churn and crash of water, drawing her focus to a narrow waterfall a couple
miles off. It cascaded down the side of a steep and jagged cliff, a double rainbow rising high and
vibrant from the mist. She stared upon it for several seconds before raking her gaze over the
remaining landscape. Her pulse stuttered at the familiar outline of Tower Bridge to the left, its
bottom half lost to dense fog, the upper portion crumbled and decayed, overrun by climbing weeds
and vines, colorful birds perched along its rusted cables.

But the most staggering image of all lied directly ahead, at the impressive summit of a massive
hillside.

A blood red Castle, gleaming proud and sinister beneath the dual stars.
Hermione swayed at the sight, finding her voice at last. “That’s where Ariana is?”

Lavender exited the Dollhouse, hopping onto the stone Hermione stood upon before prancing to
the next with feline agility. “Yep.” She tossed her golden hair back and placed her hands on her
hips, watching the jungle with narrowed eyes.

“This place is incredible,” Hermione whispered, transfixed by the narrow towers jutting from the
heart of the Castle, their rooftops hidden in the wispy clouds.

Lavender tipped her head, sighing heavily. “It’s something alright.”

Hermione’s attention snapped to the girl, drawn by the edge in her voice. But before she could
formulate a question a thunderous roar erupted from the dense treeline, shaking the trunks and
vibrating the ground. Hermione staggered back, arms held aloft for balance.

“What–”

“Quiet!” Lavender hissed, leaping onto her stone and grabbing her wrist. She pulled Hermione
towards the open doorway, dragging her into the toy kitchen and slamming the door at their backs.

Hermione gaped at the red barrier, panting heavily as the bone-chilling sound rapidly faded into
the distance. “Lavender, what the hell was that?”

The blonde continued to brace the wood with both hands, as though prepared for something to
burst through. Her nails lengthened to lethal points, pressing tiny grooves along the surface as she
glanced over her shoulder, eyes glinting.

"Before we set out, there are a few things you should know."

Tom watched the Commissioner pace a tight path before the shattered windows, boots crunching
glass with every step. The man’s eyes darted aimlessly across the floor as his mind undoubtedly
ran through a lion’s share of information, rapidly processing the day’s many revelations.

“You’re certain this party is being hosted by the crime ring?” The detective asked without
bothering to lift his gaze.

Tom traced a fingertip along the sharp edge of the black cardstock, his own body held in absolute
stillness from his position behind the table. “Positive.”

“And why the hell were you sent an invitation?”

Tom lifted his chin, undeterred by the warning edge in the investigator’s voice. “I have an inside
connection to the organization.”

Bones scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tensing as he came to an abrupt halt, glancing up at last.
“Another fact you conveniently forgot to mention.”

The statement required no response, but Tom wasn’t afforded the option of making one either way
as the young aristocrat at their side surged forward, pale eyes reflecting the late afternoon sun like
twin flames.

“Who the hell is your connection?” Malfoy demanded.

Yet another rhetorical question Tom had no time to entertain. He glanced away, setting the blonde
into motion once more. The boy threw a chair aside, toppling it to the floor, whether in anger or
performance art Tom had little interest in discerning.

“I know Bella’s handwriting,” Malfoy continued, tone dripping with derision.

Tom overcame the urge to roll his eyes but was unable to quell the annoyance in his tone. “Then
you also know the answer to your question and have wasted both our time in asking.”

Malfoy scowled, color rising high along his cheekbones. “You son of a–”

“Enough!” Potter shouted, arms tightly crossed. His eyes darted to Tom. “Do you think Hermione
will be there?”

Tom dug the pad of his thumb into the invitation until it sliced through the skin, the flash of pain
satisfying and grounding. “I don’t know,” he replied lowly, though deep down he did know.

“Of course she’ll be there!” Malfoy shouted, tossing his hands up. “Brainwashed and sold to the
highest bigger!” He shook his head, eyes glinting. “Screw this. I’m going there now. I’ll tear their
fucking house apart if I have to.”

He turned on his heel, progressing towards the door. Tom glanced down at his hand, watching the
blood bead to the surface. “If you prevent the party from taking place, you’ll be sealing the fate of
every other young woman awaiting auction.” He sensed the reaction his words had upon the room
without raising his head. “You found Luna in a holding cell. There are countless others suffering
that same fate as we speak.”

A tense beat. Malfoy stood still as stone, shoulders tensed. Tom set the invitation aside, the onyx
finish stained darker with his blood. He looked up, meeting the Commissioner’s gaze. “They’ll be
brought to the party,” he continued, letting the detective suss out the rest.

The man did so immediately, nodding tersely. “We can do a clean sweep. Get the girls and arrest
the clients.”

The blonde exploded to life anew. “You’re saying we wait until tomorrow night to act? What the
hell about right now? We have to find Hermione!”

Potter drew a hand over his mouth, eyes hard-set as he stared into the distance unseeing. “Riddle is
right.”

Malfoy blinked, head snapping around. “What?”

Potter drew back, dropping his arms to brace the back of a dining chair. “This is a golden
opportunity to save the others. Hermione wouldn’t want us to let it slip away.”

“Just because she has a sick obsession with playing the bloody martyr doesn't mean we let her," the
blonde scathed, fists balled tight.

“We have no leads to go on, Draco. Nothing but this party. If there’s even a possibility she’ll be
there we have to allow it to happen.”

“This is bollocks,” Malfoy scoffed, acid dripping from his tongue. “You of all people are siding
with him?”

Potter held his gaze with unwavering calm and determination. “This isn’t about sides. This is about
maximizing our chances of finding Mione and helping his other victims.”
A heavy cloak of silence encased the room, weighing heavily upon all their shoulders. The Malfoy
heir shook his head at last, voice lacking the heat and anger of moments before, but his eyes
flashed with the same lethal intent. “I care about the other girls. I do. But not as much as I care
about her.” He took a measured step towards the doorway. “I’m not sitting on my arse until
tomorrow night.”

And then he turned on his heel once more.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Bones stated, causing the boy to halt in his tracks a second time. “Until I come to a
decision about how to proceed, you are not to reveal your knowledge of the party to your aunt or
uncle. If you violate this order I will have you arrested under obstruction of justice, regardless of
your father’s wrath or reach. Do you understand?”

The blonde tipped his head back to glare at the ceiling mural, refusing to face the detective.
“Perfectly, Commissioner. I also understand I’m the only one trying to save Hermione.” And then
his silver gaze cut to Potter. “You have fun playing the hero. Meanwhile, I’m going to find her.
Fuck the greater good.”

He stormed from the room in a puff of smoke and righteous fury. The Commissioner sighed,
stepping towards the door, only to draw up short as Potter raised a staying hand. “I’ll talk to him,”
the young man stated, pushing back from the table and following the snarling dragon from the
room.

Tom rubbed his brow, biting back a sigh.

Children. The lot of them. Terribly ill-equipped to deal with the final battle ahead. For the next
phase wasn't to be won with guns and knives and fists. It was a war of the mind, of cunning
strategy and systematic gameplay. An exercise in self-control.

Then again, Tom wasn't exactly the expert on that either. Not as of late.

“Well? Anything else you failed to mention during our previous discussion?”

Tom’s dropped his hand, attention drawn forward by the detective’s withering drawl. “I wasn’t
certain you could be trusted,” he responded without hesitation, holding the officer’s gaze.

“Well isn’t that ironic, because I’m experiencing the very same reservations as we speak. I could
have you arrested for purposely withholding information pertinent to an active investigation.”

Tom’s expression remained fixed. “You could, but you won't. You need my invitation to gain
access to the party.”

The Commissioner ground his teeth, the sound echoing off the bullet-ridden walls. “I can find
another way in.”

Tom arched a challenging brow. “And risk the entire operation for the simple pleasure of seeing
me behind bars?”

“There’s nothing simple about it. You’re really starting to piss me off.”

Tom nodded, the corner of his mouth curving up at the unexpected admission. “I’ve heard that
many times before. And I’ll provide you with the same response I offered the others. I couldn’t
care less about your opinion of me.” His visage sobered, shadows seeping into the hard-set lines of
his face. “I only care about stopping this evil at its source. You’re welcome to arrest me
afterward.”
The detective drew back, steel gaze carefully combing Tom’s face and person before he lifted his
chin and straightened his coat. “I have to speak to my men, get them up to speed. I’ll be back at
first light.”

Tom reached for the invitation lying on the table between them. “I’ll be waiting.”

“I know you will,” Bones said with a confidence that twisted Tom’s stomach. He watched the
detective lean over to collect the Jane Doe files. Tom tucked the invitation into his jacket lining
and departed the room without another word or glance. His mind was already concocting the next
step of his rapidly evolving plan, but his focus was broken as he entered the entry hall, the sound
and sight of two young idiots arguing in the center of the demolished room too distracting to
ignore.

Malfoy wrenched free of Potter’s restraining hand, a snarl permanently ingrained across his pointed
features. “I’m not going to let that bastard torture her for another day on the off chance we see her
at the party!”

“Draco, just listen–”

“I’m through listening! She could be dying!”

"He won't kill her," Tom interrupted from his watchful post across the floor.

The men sprang apart, rounding to face him, faces adorned with vastly different expressions.

“She’s only valuable to him alive,” he added calmly, speaking the words as much for his own
benefit as theirs.

“What does he want?” Potter asked, edging closer.

Tom lifted his chin, shoulders squaring. “Me.”

Malfoy rocked back on his heels with the simple declaration, only to rear forward with furious
momentum. “He took her because of you?”

Tom’s chest tightened at the words, even as he dismissed them in the next breath. “He wanted her
because of me, yes. But she went to him for the sake of the other girls. The ones we’re going to
liberate tomorrow evening.”

Malfoy started to stalk forward, bloodlust simmering in his eyes. Tom held his position, tracking
the boy’s steady advance without trepidation. “You are welcome to blame me,” he continued. “But
it brings us no closer to finding her. So if you were serious about not sitting on your arse, there’s
something you can do.”

Malfoy hesitated. Potter surged ahead. “What?”

“Find the leak,” Tom instructed. Both young men blinked, glancing at each other in bewilderment.
Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose, silently praying for patience. “Greyback knew Hermione and I
would be at Grimmauld. He also knew Parvati and her sister would be here. Which means you
have a spy among your ranks.”

The color rapidly drained from Potter’s tanned complexion, leaving him a ghostly apparition
hovering above the blood-stained marble. “That’s not possible.”

Tom arched a dark brow, glancing to the blonde. “Isn’t it?” They held each other’s gaze for an
endless beat before Tom steadily pushed on. “The only two people I know without a shred of doubt
would never betray her safety are you and Mr. Potter.” He straightened his shirt cuffs beneath his
jacket. “Find your leak, find your lead.”

And then he started for the door.

Malfoy took a step forward, sneer replaced by disorientation and anger. “Where the hell are you
going?”

Tom stepped deftly over the remnants of the busted door and then the threshold, bloodlust
blossoming to life within his own gaze. “To tie up a loose end.”

Hermione held her breath as she carefully progressed down the steep ravine, leaning back in a
futile effort to keep her head above her feet. She scowled as Lavender pranced down the slick grass
on the balls of her feet like a prima ballerina, seemingly weightless in each graceful movement,
before landing beside the water with a tinkling laugh. Meanwhile, Hermione lost her balance,
skidding down the hillside on her arse and skinning the heels of her palms.

Her friend helped pull her up with a wide grin. Hermione grimaced, brushing the grass and debris
from her skirts with a huff. She was wearing the same dress she'd traveled to Grindelwald's home
in, simple day attire, along with a pair of striking knee-high boots Lavender had somehow procured
from one of the Dollhouse's many closets. Silver buckles traveled the lengths of her calves, glinting
in the sunlight. She was grateful for the protection, the terrain unapologetically unforgiving.

When they’d first started their hike through the wild Hermione had found herself distracted by
every snapping branch and swaying leaf, unable to walk more than a few feet before stopping in
her tracks to gape at one magical anomaly or another.

The first item to draw her fascination was a flower. It stood taller than Lavender, each vibrant petal
larger than a human head. Its thick stem was covered in red-tipped thorns, razor sharp and
gleaming, the sight so sinister she was able to overcome her curiosity and remain a safe distance
away.

The second oddity to draw her undivided attention was a small creature that began to follow them
through the jungle, leaping from branch to branch with blurring speed. When she’d first heard its
movements from above she’d been terrified senseless, hiding behind Lavender as the girl inspected
the treetops with her feline vision. Then the blonde laughed, spotting the voyeur atop a palm tree,
half hidden behind a massive frond. Wide yellow eyes were framed by a green furry face, body
camouflaged against the leaves.

“What the hell is it?” Hermione had whispered frantically, still unable to see anything more than a
pair of hellish glowing eyes.

“A monkey,” Lavender replied breezily, leaning over to pick a squirming beetle out of the mud.
Hermione shrieked and staggered back, prompting Lavender to laugh heartily as she presented her
gleaming bounty to the air. “Come on, luv, I have a nice little snack for you,” she prompted gently,
amber gaze fading to brown.

Hermione gaped, there was nothing little about the black insect. But her dismay was quelled as the
tiny green creature began to rapidly descend, ricocheting between trunks with grasping paws. As it
approached the girls more details came to light. Its head was abnormally large for its tiny body,
which could undoubtedly fit in the palms of Hermione’s hands. And its eyes were abnormally large
for its head, giving it the doe-eyed caricature of a cartoon pet. But the most astounding detail of all
was the tiny outfit it wore, comprised entirely of woven leaves. Like Mowgli.

Hermione blinked as the creature pounced onto the ground, long green tail curling like a question
mark and flat nostrils sniffing at the air. Its yellow eyes flickered rapidly between them, pupils
dilating as they focused upon Hermione. She swallowed heavily, shocked into stillness as Lavender
stepped forward and extended the beetle.

The creature scampered back, releasing a distressed keen that pierced her through the heart. The
longer she stared upon the animal the cuter it appeared. Or rather, the longer she spent in this
strange place the further she descended into madness, for surely she had to be completely out of her
gourd to do what she did next.

Which was to step beside the blonde and hold her palm aloft, speaking words she never dreamed of
uttering in her lifetime.

“Give me the beetle.”

Lavender blinked, glancing sideways. “Really?”

Hermione nodded, never taking her gaze from the trembling ball of green fur huddled before them.
Her friend shrugged and held out the insect. Hermione took a steadying breath, carefully gripping it
along the back casing, copying her friend’s hold until she had it firmly in hand. And then she
lowered to her haunches, leather boots groaning as she carefully lowered to her knees, smiling
softly and extending her offering.

“Hello there. Are you hungry?”

The creature blinked twice, pupils expanding wide as it sniffed the air a second time, gaze flitting
between the bug and Hermione in such rapid succession she was amazed it didn’t tip sideways.

“It’s alright, there’s no need to be frightened.”

Her heart swelled with victory as the animal slowly padded closer, long toes curling into the grass
as it carefully approached. The insect sensed its rapidly encroaching doom, legs pedaling wildly as
the leaves softly crunched under the animal's paws.

At last the tiny creature stood just before her, rising swiftly onto its hind legs to put itself eye-level
with its meal. Hermione smiled as she took in its little loincloth and shoulder strap, wondering who
took the time to sew the attire and wrangle the furry creature into it. And then she yelped as the
beetle was snatched out of her grasp, his arm moving so quickly she barely registered the
movement.

The monkey hopped back, biting off the beetle’s head in a single chomp and chewing loudly,
cheeks swelling like a chipmunk as it held Hermione’s gaze.

“Well aren’t you a handsome fellow,” she cooed, hands curling at her sides to prevent from
reaching forward. As adorable as the wide-eyed creature appeared in its leafy little outfit, she
harbored no doubt it could still take a bite out of her and she fancied leaving Wonderland with all
of her fingers attached.

Lavender shifted at her back. “Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way, we should keep
going.”

Hermione blinked, glancing over her shoulder. “Got what out of the way?”
Her friend smirked, eyes darting to the animal. “Go scout ahead, alert us to any unwanted visitors.”

Hermione reared back as the monkey pounced forward, hopping onto her lap and using it as a
springboard to launch high into the trees, disappearing from sight in a flurry of motion. She
continued to gape, sprawled across the jungle floor as Lavender laughed anew.

“He likes you,” the blonde winked, offering her hand.

Fast forward an hour and what felt like a lifetime of marching uphill, here they stood, submerged in
the very heart of the jungle.

Lavender stepped back and started leading the way around a wide shimmering pool. They were
beside the waterfall now, the sight even more splendid up close.

Hermione slowed to a halt as she gazed upon it, attention caught by the glinting gemstones
embedded in the side of the cliff, sparkling bright and casting their multi-colored hues atop the
water until it shimmered every color of the rainbow. Bubbles frothed along the surface, dense and
foamy. But what drew her eye most of all were the bubbles floating high into the air, popping
softly with a burst of color.

She blinked, stepping closer to the edge of the water and gazing down. “Is that… soap?”

“Hm?” Lavender gazed over her shoulder, slowing her trek. “Oh. No. It’s bubble water.” She
changed direction, heading towards the fall. “And I’m almost out, thanks for reminding me.”

Hermione wiped the sweat from her brow, muscles throbbing with fatigue as she watched her
friend extract a small flask from her skirt and kneel beside the lake to dip it under, filling the
chamber and screwing the cap into place before rising swiftly.

“Here, you hang onto it,” Lavender said, holding out the container.

Hermione nodded gratefully, throat parched. “Thanks, I need some now.” She began to open it.

“No!” Lavender surged forward, hands raised. “Don’t drink it yet.”

Hermione blinked, freezing in place.

“We’ll come across a normal brook soon,” the blonde continued, settling back as though nothing
were amiss. “Save that for when you need it.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, gazing upon the flask with great apprehension.

And all at once, she came to a terrifying realization…

Her endless stores of logic were useless here. Her mind had always been her greatest asset, her
most formidable weapon. But the laws of physics and nature didn’t seem to apply in Wonderland,
leaving her utterly defenseless.

She sighed heavily, tucking the flask away and gazing at the endless stretch of trees ahead.
“Remind me where we’re headed.”

“I told you, to get weapons.” Lavender began cutting a path around the water’s edge.

Hermione’s gaze narrowed as she trudged forward, heels sinking into the mud. “Weapons,” she
deadpanned.
Lavender leaped gracefully over a moss-covered log. "I would've brought some to the Dollhouse
but I can’t exactly carry an axe in my paws.”

Hermione tried to crawl over the same log, awkwardly straddling the bark as she struggled to
gather her skirts and find her footing, barely able to process the bizarre sentence.

This was all madness. Complete and utter insanity. And most frightening of all, it was beginning to
seem normal.

“And why do we need weapons?” She prompted, standing free from the rotted trunk at last.

“The Dollmaker will send more of his arse-for-face minions. Anything to stop you from getting to
the Castle.”

Hermione tripped over a shrub, catching herself against the side of a tree, clipping her shoulder.
The pain was an afterthought, overruled by shock.

“He knows about Ariana?”

Lavender moved aside a hanging vine. “Of course.”

Hermione shook her head, pushing forward. “But he didn’t seem to…” she trailed off, not seeing
the point in arguing the matter. “So, the Dollmaker controls Wonderland?” She asked instead,
hoping to fill in the gaps herself.

"Not all of it," the blonde explained, sidestepping a patch of vibrant orchids. "The Castle belongs to
Ari. It's a refuge to a lot of residents, myself included. She pulled me in as soon as I got here."

Hermione watched as a bright blue orchid closed upon an insect like a venus fly trap. The sight was
unnerving, prompting her to give the flower wide berth.

“The jungle is neutral territory for the most part,” Lavender continued, seemingly at ease in the
heart of the forest. “It’s too wild and dense for his followers to lay domain over. Most of the plants
are sentient. Most are lethal as well.”

Hermione paled, staggering away from what appeared to be a cacao tree. Its pods were unsettling,
the shells throbbing like individual heartbeats along the side of the trunk. “Please tell me you can
identify the latter,” she croaked, jogging ahead to catch up to her friend’s long stride.

Lavender tossed her hair and laughed. “Don’t worry, they only attack in self-defense.”

Hermione released a sharp breath, picturing the massive thorned flower she spotted upon first
breaching the jungle. “That’s hardly comforting. I’d like to know if the grass is going to stab me
for treading on it.”

“You’ll be fine, Mione.” Lavender slowed her gait so they could walk side by side. “Just stick with
me. And whatever you do, don’t eat any of the mushrooms, no matter what they say.”

Hermione glanced sideways at her, mouth agape. “I’ll try to resist.”

Lavender winked. “Good girl. Come on, we gotta keep moving.” And then she lengthened her
stride once more, effortlessly taking up the reins of navigator.

Hermione tilted her head, watching the girl traverse the wild landscape with effortless poise and
skill. She’d never considered Lavender the outdoorsy type, though she supposed that was mostly
based on rigid stereotyping on her part. Her former roommate had always taken care to style her
hair and sweep rouge atop her cheeks and dab perfume along her wrists, so, therefore, she couldn't
possibly possess a rugged survival aptitude...

But the more Hermione reflected on the matter, the more the girl’s current proclivities made sense.
Lavender had been crawling the walls of the Home from the very moment Hermine breached its
stone walls. The blonde was always looking for a chance to break free, to explore the city with or
without a male companion in tow. She introduced Hermione to all of the Home’s hidden escape
routes, the only resident astute enough to memorize all of Filch’s inspection rounds and avoid
detection nine times out of ten.

Perhaps she had always been a Jungle Princess, confined to a life that simply couldn't contain her.

The thought struck Hermione in the chest like an arrow. With how vibrant Lavender appeared
before her, it was easy to forget the devastating fact that she was still very much dead.

A haunting image flitted before her eyes. Lavender’s corpse on the cold metal slab. Bloated and
bruised. Her throat…

Hermione shook her head, forcing the memory back down into the murky depths of her mind. She
took a steadying breath, forcing her gaze up and her thoughts back to the here and now.

“You said he doesn't control all of Wonderland,” she prompted, watching her friend’s golden
waves sway to and fro with every step. “That means parts of it belong to him.”

Lavender stepped over a row of spiky red heliconia, one of the pointed petals catching the hem of
her dress and effortlessly slicing through the fabric.

“The City.”

Hermione jolted, forcing her eyes back up as she carefully avoided the wicked plant. “The City?”

“That’s what we call it. Mostly derelict buildings and ruins. It’s fallen apart during his reign.”

Hermione wet her lips, mouth barren as a desert even are her temples dripped with sweat. “And
where is this City?”

“On the outskirts. Beneath the red sky.”

She rubbed her eyes. Well, that sounded inviting. "Alright. So we avoid the City at all costs."

“Actually, we’re heading there now.”

Hermione stopped in her tracks, eyes snapping wide. “What?”

Her friend continued forward without missing a beat. “It’s the only place to get a decent weapon.
Tree branches aren’t going to cut it.”

“Lavender, you just said his evil minions will be hunting for us, why on Earth would we go into
their territory?”

The blonde slowed at last, spinning on her heel and causing her dirt-caked skirts to flutter around
her. The tear in the fabric created a deep slit that revealed her tanned leg to mid-thigh. Hermione’s
brows drew in as she caught sight of a black garter and something gleaming strapped beneath. But
her attention was quickly pulled upward as the girl continued on, tone uncharacteristically stern.
“Because we’re sitting ducks out here. But more importantly, they know where we’re headed. If we
don’t encounter them in the jungle we’ll most definitely meet them at the hillside.”

“I don’t think–”

“Hermione.” Lavender stepped forward, placing a hand atop her shoulder. “I know what I’m doing.
I haven’t been here long but I’ve been here longer than you. Please, trust me.” She held her gaze
with brimming intensity, irises taking on their feline gleam. “We want to be armed when we come
face to face with his creations.” Something about her phrasing made Hermione’s stomach tighten.
“Trust me when I say their lack of sight does nothing to slow them down.”

Hermione’s pulse quickened as she recalled her harrowing dash through the woods before seeking
shelter in the Dollhouse.

“They can’t see at all?”

Lavender twirled a lock of golden hair around her finger before releasing it, the spiral bouncing
once before falling flat to her side. “No. But they can hear. Everything. Which is why we need to
keep moving.”

Hermione swallowed heavily and nodded, allowing the girl to resume their winding path through
the endless maze of towering trees and terrifying plants.

After a few more minutes of traveling in relative silence, she heard the telltale pitter-patter of paws
across fronds. She glanced up, catching sight of yellow eyes as their furry companion leaped from
one tree to the next with blinding speed. His presence filled her with a strange sort of comfort, such
a jarring contrast to the fear she felt upon first encountering him. Hermione wondered what other
creatures dwelled within this unearthly rainforest, and how strange it was they had yet to encounter
anything else beyond insects and birds.

Which inevitably led her thoughts to one memory in particular. The silence dissolved in a rush as
her curiosity took unrelenting control of her mind. “At the Dollhouse you said I need to take cover
when I hear the roar,” she began, watching in fascination as Lavender’s spine turned rigid. “Why?”

A heavy beat followed. The chatty girl’s sudden avoidance couldn’t possibly bode well.

“It means He’s nearby,” her friend spoke at last, tearing through a vine in her path with surprising
strength.

Hermione trotted closer, only to get tangled in a neighboring vine. “But what causes that sound?”
She struggled to duck beneath it. “An animal?” She huffed in annoyance as her hair got wrapped
around it instead. “A wild beast?” Her eyes narrowed upon the dangling tendril, hands fumbling as
she fought to break it in half.

Lavender came to her rescue, slicing through the plant with gleaming claws that quickly retracted.

“It’s a train.”

Hermione nearly toppled over. “A train?” She repeated slowly, as though learning a foreign word
for the first time. She stood straighter, stepping over the shredded vine. “In the jungle?”

“The sooner you stop thinking of this place as Home the better off you’ll be, Mione.”

Hermione lifted her chin, preparing to argue the matter further, only to realize it was probably the
best advice she’d ever been given in her entire life.
“Alright,” she relented. “But what–”

Her thoughts and steps slowed as they rounded a cluster of trees, a massive structure appearing
before her eyes, the image staggering.

"Is that…" Her head tipped back, following the curving architecture and pointed towers to the very
top, their roofs level with the forest canopy. "Westminster Abbey?" She concluded lowly, voice
wispy with awe.

Lavender hummed, stopping beside her and twirling her hair again. “More or less.” A beat.
“Mostly less.”

Hermione gazed at the familiar structure in voiceless wonderment, overwhelmed by the

juxtaposition of the gothic design against the exotic backdrop. At last her thoughts calmed, the
most simple question bobbing to the top. “What’s it doing out here?”

Lavender raised a pale brow, eyeing her with amusement. Hermione shook her head, drawing a
hand through her hair and pushing the sweat dampened locks from her face. “I mean, shouldn't it
be in the City?”

“Technically it is in the City.” Lavender perched her hands on her hips, eyeing the church with a
mix of emotions Hermione was unable to discern. “It’s a conduit; a shortcut between Territories.
Like the Dollhouse. It’ll spit us out where we need to be.”

And then she set forward, gathering her torn skirts as she stepped onto the stone pathway leading to
the front doors of the church. Hermione followed at her side, holding her breath as her friend held
the barrier open, allowing her to enter first. She started to cross the threshold–

Only to stagger back with a gasp as a blur of green emerged from the trees above, dropping at her
feet. She placed a hand to her chest, heart thrumming against her palm as she gazed down at their
yellow-eyed companion. “Are you coming with us?” she asked, feeling like an idiot for talking to
an animal. He gazed upon her with quirked brows as though she truly was an idiot and then darted
between the gap in the doors, disappearing once more. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Lavender smirked, pulling the barrier wide and following at her heels as they submerged in the
shadowed interior.

Hermione was braced for another round of madness. Something wild and extravagant,
breathtakingly mesmerizing and terrifyingly abnormal. So when she gazed upon the layout her
mind reeled. For everything appeared just as it should. From the staggering pillars and curved
ceiling to the checkered tiles and endless pews, the Abbey was still… the Abbey.

And yet there was an unnerving sight to behold, beyond the structure itself.

The church was filled with dozens of patrons. Men and women milling about, speaking softly to
one another or sitting silently in prayer. She tilted her head, taken aback by their appearances. They
were all dressed so radically different. Some sported modern suits and gowns while others adorned
detailed period-costumes dating centuries back. But the most peculiar similarity they all possessed
were faces.

“It’s alright. They aren’t His,” Lavender whispered at her side, causing Hermione to release a
heavy sigh.

They edged further inside, slowly crossing the center aisle and gaining more than a few cursory
glances along the way. “Who are they?” Hermione asked.
“Residents, trying to find refuge.”

Her hands tightened at her sides, sinister energy settling upon her skin, turning her stomach inside
out. A truly disturbing notion began to take root within her mind, still too young to blossom
through the surface of her awareness. “Are they… like you?”

Lavender shook her head, their footsteps echoing off the tile. “Some of them are alive on the
outside. Some aren’t. This place is a catch-all for minds and spirits alike.”

Hermione’s eyes fell upon a young boy playing with toy logs in the corner. The monkey watched
him as well, perched atop the back of a nearby pew. He waited for the boy to look away before
darting forward and snatching a wooden spindle in his tail, dashing up one of the towering pillars
to examine his stolen prize with gleaming eyes.

The little boy glanced up, scowling at the troublesome creature before his pale face lowered, gaze
locking with Hermione’s. Something about his presence reminded her of Ariana, as though she
were staring upon another ghostly apparition. But the child appeared solid, real. She forced her
eyes to Lavender, dark tendrils seeping deeper and deeper into her psyche.

“So it’s not only a place for his victims?”

The blonde continued to gaze ahead, focused upon a door on the other side of the church situated
behind a raised dais. “Wonderland has been around a lot longer than the Dollmaker.” She drummed
her fingertips atop the marble as they rounded the structure. “It’s a bit over my head. Padma could
probably tell you more.”

Hermione jolted, tripping over her own feet and listing into the side of the platform. “Padma?
She’s here?”

Lavender met her gaze, expression unchanging. “She’s in the Library.”

Hermione surged forward, heart soaring with the word. “There’s a library?” She imagined the
endless rows of books lining the dark tunnel that led her to this place. “What is she doing there?”

Lavender slowed, bracing her hands along the edge of the dais. “She works in Record Keeping.”

At this point, such a statement was practically commonplace, barely registering in Hermione's
mind. "She's alright then?" she asked instead. The pause that followed was deafening. Hermione
leaned in, enthusiasm rapidly waning. “Lavender. Tell me.”

Her friend’s amber gaze drifted up. “The Library is in the City.”

The simple declaration provided all the explanation Hermione needed. She stepped back, shoulders
pulling wide as her fists clenched. “We have to get her out. We can take her to the Castle with us.”

Lavender sighed, crossing her arms. “I was told to bring you straight to Ariana. Any non-related pit
stops are a strict violation of orders.”

Hermione blinked as Lavender continued to hold her gaze with unyielding austerity.

And then the blonde squealed, hands flying high as her hair as she bounced in place with a
delighted grin. “Let’s do it!”

Hermione drew back with a laugh, followed by a deep flush as the surrounding patrons glanced
upon the commotion with stern expressions. She offered a wave of apology before sidling closer to
her friend. “I’ve missed you, Lav.”

The girl practically radiated spastic energy, teeth gleaming as she tossed her hair with dramatic
flourish. “Just wait until you see me swing an axe, luv.”

Hermione shook her head, face still etched with amusement. “What is this obsession you have with
axes?”

“What can I say?” Lavender shrugged. “I’ve found my calling in the afterlife.”

Hermione paled, lightness dimming as stones sank to the pit of her stomach. All the haunting
images she’d fought so hard to suppress came rushing back with crippling swiftness, overtaking her
mind until the radiant girl before her was cast in grey and black hues, limbs waxen and throat slit.
Hermione pressed a hand to her middle, fighting to regain her bearings. “Lavender, I–”

“It’s alright, Mione.” Lavender reached out, gripping both her arms and squeezing, seeming to
sense the source of her sudden melancholy. “We can talk about my awesome poltergeist skills after
we rescue the damsel and kill some real ugly bastards.”

Hermione couldn't help but smirk, pain lessening. “Sounds like a fairytale come true.”

Lavender released her with another signature wink and hair toss before crossing the remaining tile
to the back wall, stopping before an ornately carved door with red light emanating from beneath
the gap. “Ready?” She asked, reaching for the iron handle.

Hermione inhaled slowly, deeply, holding the breath in her lungs until they pulsed with raw flame.
“Always.”

Lavender nodded, opening the barrier and charging through without pause. Hermione lifted her
skirts and followed suit, adrenaline surging.

Only to stagger to an immediate halt, instantly overcome by her surroundings, one simple thought
able to surface before her mind went stunningly blank.

“Holy shite.”

Tom clenched and unclenched his hand, tongue pressing the roof of his mouth as his swollen
knuckles screamed in protest, skin broken and bloodied. He gripped his wrist tight, thumb tracing
the narrow scrap of satin wrapping his palm.

He'd managed to round the corner outside of Grimmauld's busted gates before the Red overtook
his vision. Heat surged through his veins like molten steel, the urge to inflict pain and damage
overwhelming his senses. He’d been perfectly content to unleash both dark compulsions upon
himself, promptly punching a hole through a fence post stationed along the roadside. He’d flagged
down the carriage once the bleeding had slowed and his blistering temper was once more
contained.

He didn’t remember taking the ribbon from his pocket, wrapping it around his hand. But alas, there
it was, cutting into his circulation with every heavy throb of his pulse.

He’d since mopped up the blood and inspected the injury as a means of distraction, knowing full
well nothing was broken. But his mind was once more submerged in swirling shadows before the
horses even pulled onto the main thoroughfare.
He wet his lips, eyes gleaming as he flexed his hand again, studying his blood-caked palm.

Hermione.

His knuckles cracked loudly as he curled his fist, ribbon cutting deeper into his flesh, threatening to
snap the fabric.

What were you thinking?

He loosened his grip, unwilling to destroy the narrow length of satin, this last tangible piece of her.

His pulse skipped with the notion.

He would find her. Of that, there was no question. No possible doubt. And when he did, he was
going to strangle her.

He closed his eyes, picturing it in stunning clarity. His broken and bloodied hands wrapping around
her pale and slender throat, squeezing until her eyes teared and her lips parted and her nails
clawed…

He surged forward, driving his battered fist into the wall of the carriage with a feral growl,
smearing red across the velvet upholstery.

Alright. Perhaps his anger wasn’t as contained as he first thought.

Because he would strangle her alright. As soon as he had her within his grasps. As soon as he could
feel her between his hands, warm and breathing and alive.

The Dollmaker wouldn’t take anything else from him. The Monster wouldn’t get the upper hand.
Not again. Not with her. No. He wouldn’t win this battle. This was Tom’s victory. And it was so
close he could fucking taste it.

But Hermione threatened to ruin it all with this little stunt, this self-sacrificing insanity, single-
handedly turning his carefully measured plan inside out yet again.

Don’t you dare blame her. This is your fault. You pulled her into this.

He had been weak, succumbed to his desires like a pathetic schoolboy, and now countless more
would suffer for it. And suffer they would. Because he was going to get her back. No matter the
cost. No matter the collateral damage. Even if it meant abandoning the other girls to the
Dollmaker's clutches. Hermione could riot against him all she wanted, beat his chest and call him a
heartless bastard, a hypocrite and a heathen. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding her
and killing the Dollmaker.

He just hoped neither was mutually exclusive.

His eyes flashed red, a film of blood overtaking his vision for a second time. He forced his head
back onto the seat, taking regulated breaths to rein in his bloodlust. He’d depleted every last ounce
of self-control at the mansion, needing to continue playing the part for the frustratingly astute
Commissioner. But now, free from the prying eyes of the law, there was no hope for it. It had been
many years since he’d suffered such a devastating loss of control. He’d sworn to never again
succumb to his dark impulses, gone to great lengths to ensure it would be so… and it was all
crumbling to ashes before him.

Breathe. Just breathe.

He needed to harness his rage, save it. Going on a homicidal rampage in the street wouldn’t bring
her or the Dollmaker any closer. If Tom stood any chance of finding them he needed to keep a level
head. There was a time and place for everything, and now was a time for strategy.

Think.

Hermione was clever. Terribly so. Her mind led her to danger’s door as often as her heart.

She went to Him for a reason.

She figured something out… something I missed.

That had to be it. Had to. She went to the Devil with a plan in mind. Something she felt the need to
harbor alone.

Something worth risking her life for.

“I’ve broken promises before. Promises I never intended to keep and shouldn’t have made in the
first place.”

His heart seized, thudding hard and painful against his ribcage.

“But this is a promise I’ll die to keep.”

He sat straight, glancing forward.

“We have to find a cure, Tom. For Padma, for Dawn, for all of them.”

The pieces were all there, waiting to be snapped into place, but he couldn't see the overarching
picture.

All he saw was Red, gleaming bright, glinting in the sun…

Stop.

He released a sharp breath through his nose and carded both hands through his hair, palms pressing
his skull as his brain tumbled in lazy circles, spent and useless. His previous night’s rest was
depleted, exhaustion heavy upon his limbs, making them as sluggish as his thoughts.

And then the carriage slowed to a stop and his mind went blessedly dark. He leaped out and paid
the driver, movements automatic, emotion rising to the surface only when he turned to face the
home that haunted his dreams and waking nightmares since his troubled youth. The place he had
come to know as Sanctuary and Prison in equal measure, the man within becoming his Savior and
Jailor and a source of endless vexation.

And now Tom was finally going to kill him.

He took the steps two at a time, banging a fist against the door without pause, blood smearing the
glossy white paint, her ribbon wrapping the torn and bruised appendage tight. Tom fixated upon
the sight, vibrating out of his skin, simmering rage barely tamped.

The door opened.

He surged forward, thoughts grinding to a halt as he looked upon the bastard at long last. Tom
blinked, realizing he’d crossed the entry and thrown the elderly man against the opposite wall
without registering his own movements. He continued to clutch the finely crafted jacket by the
handfuls, smoke billowing from his lips as he bared his teeth, beyond speech. They stood at eye
level. Tom was no longer forced to look up to the man. In any sense of the word.

Dumbledore held his gaze with aneurysm-inducing calm, brow flat and heavy as he made no
attempt to dispel Tom’s grip. Several moments passed in oppressive silence. And then Dumbledore
spoke, tension mounting higher.

“Words cannot convey–”

“Cut the sanctimonious bullshite,” Tom seethed, leaning in close to hiss into his face. “You had
one responsibility. One.” His knuckles turned white against the Admiral’s jacket, the same attire
from the day before. “Keep the girls here. And within mere hours you’ve cast them both to the
wolves.”

“Tom–”

“How is it the Queen herself has entrusted you with overseeing three dozen war vessels but you
can’t keep two young women underfoot? One of which is as docile as a fucking kitten!”

Dumbledore lifted his chin, eyes flickering with their signature gleam. “Because the other young
woman you brought to my door has the constitution of four dozen war vessels, as you well know.”

Tom released him and took a wide step back, face twisted with ire. “You were out-maneuvered by
a nineteen-year-old?”

“I was predisposed with saving the life of another young woman.”

Tom scoffed, pacing away to prevent himself from lunging forward again. “That’s your grand
excuse?”

“I don’t make excuses, Tom.” The Senior Officer straightened his collar. “I find solutions. I made a
grave error in leaving Ms. Granger unattended. I take full responsibility for her disappearance and
would now like to help rectify that mistake.”

Tom drew to a halt, bitter laughter erupting beyond his control. “Yes, of course you would.” His
expression turned lethal. “But I don’t want your help. I never have. It was I who made the grave
error. In coming here. In thinking I could actually depend on you to–” He shook his head, thoughts
stuttering alongside his pulse. "I was such a bloody fool. I should have never brought them to you."
He carded a hand through his hair, eyes flickering across the wood grain. "This is my doing."

“Tom–”

“Stop saying my name!”

Dumbledore raised his palms, slowly stepping away from the wall with a measured pace, poised as
though approaching a wild animal. “Alright. Dr. Riddle. Please, allow me to help–”

“I’m done with your help!” Tom shouted, the ribbon biting into his flesh as he balled his fists.
Emotion nipped at his resolve, turning him into an aggrieved teenager once more, engaged in a
rudimentary screaming match as his guardian caught him trying to run away into the dark night yet
again. “I’m done with you.”

“Then why did you come here? To look me in the eye and tell me one last time how much you hate
me? What an utter failure I’ve been to you?” Dumbledore lowered his hands. “I already know these
things, Tom, I assure you. And I’d give anything to go back and fix the past. Anything. But alas, I
am stuck upon this mortal coil the same as you, trying my utmost to learn from past mistakes and
forge ahead upon a better path, a right path.” His eyes gleamed with eerie brightness, holding Tom
still in their trance. “But I see now just how subjective such terms are. And at long last, I've
accepted that our paths are not the same. Nor will they ever be.” He inhaled slowly. “And it was
wrong of me to attempt to drag you onto mine. I am sorry.”

Tom swallowed thickly, stepping back. “I don’t want your apology.”

His former guardian and benefactor was undeterred. “You have it anyway. I am sorry, Tom. For
not looking after her more closely. For not being there when she needed me the most. When you
needed me the most.”

Tom paled, staggering back and knocking into a decorative table centered in the entry, rocking a
ship figurine onto its side. “This isn’t about her.”

Dumbledore tilted his head, stopping his advance. “It’s always been about her. And it always will
be for you. And me. The dead haunt us always, mind and soul.” He set his jaw, eyes hardening to
diamond points. “But I will not be responsible for another young woman’s demise. Please, allow
me to help.”

Tom raised his chin, grasping the reins of his anger and resentment once more, feeling a dark
comfort embrace him as he steeped in the toxic mixture. “Keep your men posted outside Dawn’s
room.” He presented his back, striding for the door. “I’ll deal with the rest. Same as always.”

He reached for the handle, pulling the barrier wide.

“She went to him willingly, Tom.”

He paused with one foot hovering over the threshold. Dumbledore continued on, unabated. “My
home showed no sign of break-in or altercation. She sent me away so she could go to him.”

A beat. Tom’s spine straightened, hands bracing the door and frame. “I know.” He glanced over
his shoulder, eyes reflecting the evening sun in a hellish blaze. “And if he harms her, I will kill
you.”

Dumbledore held his unwavering stare for several seconds more before nodding. “I know.”

Tom pushed away from the frame and proceeded forward, exiting the home amidst the same
raging storm he arrived with.

Hermione staggered across the cobblestone, knees quaking beneath the sight of the sinister red sky.
Crimson clouds churned before twin stars, fiery orbs ascended over Hell. Her gaze tracked lower,
taking in the City beneath.

London.

Parts of it, at least.

The buildings lining the road stood derelict, abandoned, windows busted and boarded over,
rooftops darkened by ash and caved by neglect. The skyline ahead was in tatters, smoke billowing
high from several spots, tinging the air in a toxic haze.

Their furry companion darted ahead, tail grazing the side of a rusted tin can, sending it rolling
along the curb. His green body stood in stark contrast against the gray background, everything
covered by a thick layer of soot. The street itself appeared empty, but a distant thump sounded
from an indiscernible location, prompting Lavender to grab Hermione’s hand and pull her into a
narrow alley across from the Church.

“Alright,” the blonde whispered, leaning in. “We’re heading to the Armory, we can find plenty of
toys there.”

Hermione nodded, careful to avoid the crumbling brick at her back. “What about Padma?”

“The Library sits in the same building, we’ll swing by after.”

Hermione harbored a sneaking suspicion they applied grossly different meanings to the term swing
by. “Okay. How do we get to the Armory?”

“Follow me.” Lavender stepped forward, glancing in either direction down the darkened street.
“Stick to the shadows. I’d like to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.”

Hermione swallowed, twisting handfuls of her skirt. “Lav… the faceless soldiers are fast and
strong, I don’t think I stand a chance at overpowering them.”

Her friend leaned back into the alley, turning to face her with a stern expression. “The Dollmaker
underestimated you, Mione. Don’t give him the satisfaction of doing the same.”

The words inspired a surge of confidence. Hermione drew her shoulders back, nodding once more.
“Let’s go.”

Lavender led the way around the corner and into the adjoining alley. They continued to weave their
way through the abandoned streets and darkened crevices with bated breath, spotting a faceless
resident at long last. The man was shoveling coal into the back of a wagon, sweat heavy on his
browless visage. They ducked behind a dumpster, monkey huddled between them, silently
communicating a route around the man without detection.

They crept along the sidewalk on tiptoes, mindful of every step, every piece of debris obstructing
their path and pausing whenever he tensed or glanced up, as though able to hear their very
heartbeats. But they made it to the end of the street without accident or injury, continuing their
slow and steady journey through the remnants of London for another several minutes before
rounding the corner onto the main thoroughfare, only to turn rigid with shock, rocking back on
their heels.

“Shite,” Lavender hissed, grabbing Hermione’s arm and pulling her behind a fallen Apothecary
sign. They peaked around the chipped brick, watching faceless men and women move along the
bustling street.

“We can’t get through that many,” Hermione whispered, pulse thrumming.

Lavender set her jaw, gaze narrowing as she glanced around, eyes casting upward, glinting amber.
A slow smile spread across her face, deeply disconcerting. “Then we go over them.”

Hermione followed her friend’s stare, hands clenching at her sides as she spotted the recipient of
the girl’s unwavering focus.

Disconcerting indeed.

They scaled the rickety fire escape in a slow procession, Lavender leading the way and Hermione
closing out the rear, the monkey effortless prancing from rung to rung between them. Halfway up
Hermione paused for breath, clinging to the metal bars with all her strength, limbs trembling as she
gazed at the twenty-foot drop beneath her. She hated heights.

Lavender stepped free of the last bar and swung atop the roof with feline grace, disappearing from
sight. Their green companion leaped over the edge by his tail, yellow eyes peeking over the wall a
moment later, continuing to watch Hermione’s slow progression as his tail twitched anxiously. His
concern touched her heart, further proof her mind was rapidly slipping into insanity, and fueled her
with enough motivation to power through the second half of her climb.

She scrambled over the last rung and onto the roof a few moments later, smiling down with a sigh
of relief. “I’m alright.”

He circled her feet and then dashed after Lavender. The girl stood at the other end of the roof,
inspecting the neighboring building. It sat at equal height, the gap between walls a few meters
across. Hermione started towards her, only to stagger to a halt as the blonde leaped off the edge,
transforming into a cat mid-air and landing atop the neighboring roof in a deft pounce.

“Lav!” Hermione hissed, scowling as the cat became a woman once more. “I can’t do that!”

Lavender straightened her skirts, glancing up. “Drink the bubble water.”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

“Trust me.” The blonde paced to the edge of the roof, glancing over the side at the crowded street
below. “Hurry!” She whispered, eyes gleaming.

Hermione arched a brow and did as bade, withdrawing the flask from her pocket and unscrewing
the cap. She took a steadying breath before filling her mouth with a tentative sip, the water cool
and refreshing against her tongue. She swallowed it quickly, desperate for more, but resisted the
urge, quickly twisting the cap back on and tucking the bottle into place.

Nothing happened.

Hermione glanced to Lavender, preparing to speak, but became distracted as her ears popped. She
swallowed, flexing her jaw, and then gasped as her center of gravity shifted, body tipping sideways
— But impact with the rooftop never came.

Instead, she began to levitate.

Her feet dangled beneath her swaying legs as she slowly rose, limbs feeling strange, weightless, as
if her very bones were hollowed out. Hermione blinked, mouth agape.

And then panicked, clawing at the open air, desperate to find purchase against something,
anything. Alas, she continued to rise higher and higher, rapidly gaining momentum in her upward
ascent.

“Bollocks!” Lavender cursed, watching Hermione have a mental breakdown fifty feet above the
earth. “Swim towards me!”

The instruction was bizarre enough to penetrate the thick fog of hysteria encasing Hermione’s
mind. She fought to regain control of her mounting hysteria, reining in the terror enough to
remember the movements Harry had taught her a lifetime ago. She began imitating the underwater
strokes, pushing against the air current and directing her body forward, across the alley.

Meanwhile, Lavender doubled over with muffled laughter, eyes tearing at the corners. Hermione
scowled, hovering above the correct roof at last.

“This isn't funny!”

“I beg to differ.” The blonde leaped up, grabbing hold of her ankle. The monkey did the same,
latching onto her skirts as they pulled her down to the surface. The wave of vertigo dissipated the
moment her heels made contact with the brink. She swayed in place, rounding on her still-laughing
companion with a huff.

“You could have warned me!”

“Shh!” Lavender hissed, all trace of amusement gone as the air pressure turned dense, the street
below falling eerily silent. “Get down!” she gasped, pulling Hermione low.

They crawled to the edge of the roof and peered over the edge, watching faceless men and women
of all shapes and sizes scurry in every direction as the ground beneath them shook. The building
they were perched upon trembled, jagged rock cutting into Hermione’s palms as she braced herself
for a stampede.

And then a familiar scream tore through the air, shrill and inhuman. But she no longer mistook it
for an animal. Now she recognized it for what it truly was.

A steam whistle.

She clamped a hand to her mouth as a massive black train barrelled through the stone wall of a
bank, chunks of rock exploding outward as dust rose high into the air, pedestrians running for the
lives, many crushed by falling debris.

The Train raced across the streets in a diagonal line, tearing through any and everything in its path
and leaving a trail of wreckage and gore in its wake. Red flames filled every window of the
locomotive, black smoke billowing out in large clouds, marking its journey through the City.

And then it rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, leaving behind copious amounts of
smoke, destruction and terror. The Train was a deeply sinister sight to behold. Its lapping flames
reminded Hermione of the Fire that stole her life away, a cruel taunt meant for her alone. Lavender
squeezed her shoulder, drawing her focus back to the rooftop.

“We’re almost there,” she whispered, pointing to a massive building across the way.

Hermione squinted, the black smoke slowly dissipating to reveal the sprawling structure ahead.
Her heart skipped, mind reeling anew.

“Parliament?” She glanced sideways, eyes going wide. “We’re heading to Parliament?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

Hermione blinked, and then smirked, unease cracking down the center. “Hilarious.”

“That’s what they tell me. Come on.”

They scaled down the fire escape, hovering in the trash-filled alley as Lavender inspected the
destruction beyond. Despite the wreckage and bodies littering the cobblestone, the faceless men
and women continued to stroll about business as usual, casually side-stepping rubble and corpses.

“We need to get you a disguise,” the blonde stated without preamble.
Hermione’s brows creased, gaze lifting from the deep rivets in the cement marking the path of the
Train. “Why? I thought they couldn’t see?”

Lavender sighed. “They can't, but there are other things to worry about inside."

Hermione pushed her hair from her face, dread sinking to the pit of her stomach. “Fantastic.” She
edged closer to the mouth of the alley, studying the men pacing along the steps of Parliament.
They were adorned in customary robes and wigs, carrying briefcases and gesturing to each other as
though holding a conversation. Yet the only sound they made was the tread of their boots and the
swishing of fabric. “Are they…” She shook her head. In all this madness, her curiosity seemed a
moot point. “Nevermind.”

Lavender turned in place, bending over and snapping upright, flipping her golden tresses in an
impressive flourish. And then she placed her hands beneath her bosom, pushing her cleavage
higher. Hermione blinked, opening her mouth but unable to articulate the proper question.

The blonde shrugged. “Habit.”

Hermione nodded as though that made perfect sense. And then a memory struck. All the times
she’d seen the girl perform the same maneuver before sneaking out of their room to meet Cormac.
The image inspired dark revulsion, realization setting in. She didn’t bother asking what the girl
intended, and her friend didn’t offer up an explanation. Instead she merely glanced over her
shoulder, imparting one last sentiment before disappearing around the corner.

“I’ll be back.”

Hermione pressed against the brick, inhaling leftover smoke. Her gaze lifted to the red sky, twin
suns lost to the rolling clouds. And then something brushed against the side of her boot, drawing
her focus down. Yellow eyes blinked. She bit her lip, too nervous to smile.

“Go to the roof, keep an eye on her for me.”

He took off in a shot of green, silently scaling the drainpipe. Several minutes passed before
Hermione heard the steady tread of footfalls pacing towards the entrance of the alley. She drew
back, frantically searching for a weapon, spotting only trash and debris. She ducked behind the
dumpster, bracing her hands against the metal as her heartbeat raced along her limbs, trapped
behind her knees. But soon after she saw the familiar flash of golden blonde and her pulse settled.

Only to hammer against her ribcage as a faceless man appeared at her friend’s back, dressed in dark
robes and a powdered wig. He held Lavender’s hand, allowing her to lead him into the alley. But
his passive countenance soon changed as the shadows encased them.

He grasped her by the waist and threw her into the wall, pressing his body along her front as she
gasped. Hermione started to rise, meeting her gaze over his shoulder. The blonde shook her head,
holding up a staying hand as he grinded against her skirts, nuzzling her neck as though kissing it.
Lavender keened in feigned pleasure, writhing in place, holding Hermione’s bewildered stare for
another stuttered beat before winking and kneeing him in the groin.

He staggered back, hunched over and grasping between his thighs. Lavender punched him in the
jaw, driving him into the opposite wall and knocking his wig loose. She sprang forward with feline
grace, grabbing his head and driving her knee into it, sending him sprawling onto his back. She
transformed into a cat, landing atop his chest and scratching at his face with gleaming claws,
drawing forth a patchwork of blood.
But he soon regained his bearings, grabbing her orange fur by the handful and wrenching her claws
free of his robes, throwing her across the alley with his sizable strength. She hit the side of the
dumpster with a bang, rolling deftly to her feet and sprinting after him once more, aiming for his
throat. Their green companion leaped down from the roof, landing atop the man’s bald head and
clamoring for purchase, paws clinging to the empty spot where his mouth should be.

Hermione sprang to her feet, gripping the edge of the dumpster and peering inside, eyes frantic.
She dug through mounds of useless garbage, tossing aside food containers and rotten newspapers,
desperate for anything solid or sharp. And then her fingers grazed a wooden plank, warped and
splitting down the middle, bearing two bent nails at one end. She pulled the weapon free,
struggling beneath its weight as she raced along the alley.

The faceless man spun in circles, both animals hanging onto his head and robes for dear life. He
managed to grab hold of a green tail, throwing the creature into the wall where it fell in a
motionless heap. Hermione released a feral snarl and swung the plank with all her strength,
cracking the man across the back of the knees, heart jolting at the sound of rusted nails puncturing
his thigh.

He dropped like a ton of bricks, head tipping back as though releasing a blood-curdling scream to
the smoke-filled sky. But he regained his senses with disheartening speed once again, grabbing the
plank and ripping it free from his flesh, tossing it aside and grabbing Hermione's skirt in the same
movement. He ripped her forward, knocking her off balance and onto the ground before him.

Lavender transformed into a human, her weight tipping him back as she straddled his chest and
reached for the discarded wood, gripping it with both hands and driving the blunt edge into his
skull. He thrashed as though in the midst of a seizure. She struck him again, and again, and again,
until Hermione heard the deafening crunch of a skull cracking and the wet squelch of brains
seeping out.

She shuddered, pushing upright on the damp pavement as the blonde tossed the bloodied plank
aside, panting heavily. Hermione rose slowly, edging closer, careful to avoid looking directly upon
the gruesome mess.

“Lavender.”

The girl sprang to her feet, movements so fast and fluid Hermione stumbled back to avoid a
collision. And then she remembered their third companion, spinning on her heel— but the brick
wall sat empty.

“Where…”

Hermione shrieked as something landed atop her shoulder from the rooftop above. She covered her
mouth to muffle the sound, eyes wide as she gazed at the small creature on her shoulder, yellow
eyes bright and clear. She released a delighted laugh, petting his head without hesitation. He leaned
into her touch like a cat. The notion drew her attention back to Lavender. The girl was casually
stripping the mangled body of its outer robes, appearing entirely unphased by the harrowing events
of the last few minutes.

“Lav… are you alright?”

The blonde nodded, stepping over the body to extract an arm from its sleeve. “Never better. Grab
the wig, would you?”

Hermione paced closer, stroking the animal’s paw as his long tail coiled around her neck. “Are you
sure you’re not hurt? He threw you hard.”

“Cats are mostly water. I’m fine.” Lavender pulled the robe out from beneath his dead weight,
shaking it free of debris. “The wig.”

Hermione nodded, leaning down to pick it up, knocking soot and pebbles from the tousled ringlets
while the monkey leaped onto the edge of the dumpster, watching them work. Hermione bit her
lip, glancing to her friend once more. “Was he really trying to have sex with you?”

Lavender arched a brow, folding the robe over her arm. “He certainly wasn't trying to sell me an
encyclopedia set.”

Hermione’s jaw slowly unhinged, the words coming to her in pieces. “But... he doesn’t… have a
face.”

Her friend smirked, stepping over the body to stand before her. “Still a virgin I take it?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, clutching the wig tight. “You know what I mean. He doesn’t have a
bloody nose, why on earth would he have a… a…” She felt her cheeks and neck heat. “It’s
ridiculous.”

“I don’t disagree. But considering he was designed by a man, I’m also not surprised.”

Hermione tilted her head. “Good point.” She accepted the robes Lavender held aloft. “Thanks.”
She began pulling them over her dress, shaking the sleeves loose. “Do you need one?”

Lavender gazed up from her task of dragging the corpse behind the dumpster. “No,” she grunted,
fighting to maintain her hold on his ankles. “I’ll be wearing fur.”

Hermione nodded. “Right.” She tucked her hair into the back of the robe and placed the wig over
top, doing her best to straighten it without the benefit of a mirror. “How do I look?”

Lavender dropped his legs with a huff, unfolding to her full height and smirking. “Like an uptight
knob. You’ll fit right in.”

Hermione smiled, rolling up the cuffs so she could free her hands. “Mission accomplished.” She
turned to face the mouth of the alley but couldn’t convince her feet to proceed.

“Mione.”

She bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder. Lavender paced in front of the dumpster, watching her
with steady intensity. “Remember, you’re heading in the front door because you belong there.
Walk with confidence. They’ll hear the fear in your footsteps otherwise.” Her eyes lightened to
burnt gold. “And most importantly, don’t speak.”

Hermione swallowed heavily, spine pulling taut and shoulders drawing back, nodding once before
proceeding out of the alley and onto the war-torn street. Lavender trotted alongside in feline form,
tail swishing against Hermione’s skirts with every step, a comforting gesture she suspected was
intentional. Their green companion ran ahead, darting around legs with agile speed until he was
swallowed by the crowd, disappearing from sight.

Hermione focused on placing one foot in front of the other, heart beating through her chest, the
surge of her blood deafening. As she carefully side-stepped broken bodies she was certain the
milling pedestrians could hear her pulse. More than one head turned in her direction. The urge to
run became overwhelming. But she managed to somehow keep her pace steady, mimicking
Lavender’s calm pace at her side.

Her vision swam as they crossed the remaining stretch of road, stepping onto the pavement in front
of the steps of Parliament. She pulled her robes higher, mindful of every movement, every click of
her heel, halfway up when a surge of adrenaline seized her.

Fucking hell. I’m actually doing this…

But her newfound confidence soon wavered as a faceless man in uniform opened the door for her,
tipping his head in deference. Her hands clenched at her sides, tongue pressing the roof of her
mouth as the automatic urge to offer gratitude hovered in her throat. She stared pointedly ahead,
crossing the threshold with measured steps and steady breath. Lavender weaved a path around her
legs, trotting across the tiles while Hermione gaped at the staggering architecture within. She’d
never set foot inside the institution before, if she could even consider this a true visitation, and
Draco’s descriptions of the famed building certainly didn’t do it any justice.

The domed entry hall was massive, red light spilling in from the tall windows lining the side walls,
illuminating everything in a hellish glow. The lobby was filled with dozens of men in varying
states of legal garb, the room itself containing a surprising amount of noise considering its
occupants couldn't speak. But every minute movement echoed tenfold off the high ceiling, creating
a chorus of sound that enveloped her whole.

Lavender led a path through the center of the room towards a wide corridor when a strange
flapping caught Hermione’s attention, drawing her gaze upward. She blinked, steps faltering at the
flash of vibrant color darting from one rafter to the next. It took her eyes a moment to adjust and
her mind to process, lips parting in silent shock.

Parrots.

And then, as if on cue, they released high and maniacal laughter, so reminiscent of a human it sent
chills along her spine. They flew in lazy circles, black eyes tracking across the floor below, as
though searching for something. She gazed forward, concealing her face and quickening her step.

A sharp sigh of relief escaped her as they entered the hallway, free from the colorful birds’
watchful gazes. Lavender navigated her along a winding journey deep into the heart of the wasp's
nest. The crowd slowly thinned until at last, the corridors ran empty, the tension easing in her
shoulders and neck. They turned the corner once more, entering a hallway that led to a single door.

Lavender shifted back to human form, spinning in tight circles with a tinkling laugh, twirling her
skirt and revealing a flash of black garter before the torn fabric settled around her legs. She skipped
the rest of the way down the corridor, imparting a cheeky grin over her shoulder.

“See? Easy peasy.”

Hermione wet her lips, focusing on not blacking out. “I never doubted you for a moment. You’re
sure this is it?”

“That sounded suspiciously like a moment of doubt.” The blonde stopped before the door, folding
her hands behind her back and falling uncharacteristically still.

Hermione moved beside her. “Problem?”

“Locked.”

Hermione blinked, edging closer to the barrier. “How do you know?”

“Me and locked doors go way back. Try it if you don’t believe me.”

Hermione did just that. The knob refused to budge. Lavender smirked, quirking a brow.

“I believed you.” Hermione glared without malice. “I just like to be thorough.”

Lavender laughed once more. “Trust me, I know. I still have flashbacks to the time you organized
my wardrobe according to fabric density.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring the quip and preparing to ask what the hell they were supposed
to do now, only to gasp as a flash of movement bound down the hallway, sending her reeling into
the wall.

The monkey stopped before the door, glancing between them. Hermione gaped, stepping forward.
“How did–”

“Move back, let him work,” Lavender instructed.

Hermione stepped away, blinking rapidly as the creature burst into an explosion of vibrant green
leaves, each one softly floating to the stone floor and sliding towards the door, piling along the
bottom seam and sliding one by one beneath the narrow gap.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered, glancing up at Lavender. A soft thump sounded behind the barrier,
followed by clanking metal and a loud click. Hermione and Lavender shared a smile before
bounding forward, pushing the door wide.

Hermione stopped at the threshold, heart thrumming as her knees locked in place. Lavender sighed,
grabbing her hand and hauling her forward, closing the door at their backs. The monkey did a little
flip of celebration before taking off down the center aisle, but Hermione paid him no mind,
distracted by the endless rows of hanging rifles.

Her head swiveled from side to side, overwhelmed by the sight. Surely there were enough firearms
on display to stock the entire English Navy and then some.

“I know, it’s a sight, huh?” Lavender spoke from behind her, pacing forward with her hands on her
hips, visage cast half in darkness and half in flickering light. The room bore no windows,
illuminated only by sconces along the walls, their dancing flame creating hypnotic patterns along
the stone walls. “I can’t abide guns, personally, but feel free to take one if you like.”

Hermione slowly shuffled forward, tearing the cumbersome wig from her head and dropping it at
her feet. “I can’t abide them either.”

Her companion nodded. “I didn’t think so.” And then glanced back, eyes gleaming. “You prefer
knives.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold at the knowing smirk that curved her friend’s lips. “That wasn’t…” She
swallowed lightly, shifting awkwardly. “It was all I had at the time.”

Lavender began to skip along the aisle, golden hair swaying side to side. "You made good use of
it," she called back and then beckoned Hermione forward with a wave. "Come on, there's
something here I think you'll like."

Somehow Hermione really doubted that. But she followed without argument, pulse skipping in
time to their clicking heels, row after row of firearms filling her peripheral until she was lost in a
sea of gleaming metal and glossy walnut grips. The long-range weapons eventually gave way to
cases of revolvers and finally, and perhaps most alarmingly, sealed barrels of gunpowder. She
caught flashes of green in between gaps in the shelves, flame reflecting off yellow eyes.

Lavender stopped at last, revealing an impressive display of glinting blades of all shapes and sizes.
Cleavers and sickles, daggers and paring knives, curved and serrated metal, a treasure trove of
death. Hermione's mouth ran dry, this selection somehow far more unsettling than the hundreds of
firearms at their backs.

Lavender led her further down, their destination made clear as a faint pulse of blue emitted from a
spot on the wall, a shining beacon in the darkness. Hermione edged closer, fingers twitching,
already anticipating what was to come. Her breath hitched as the blonde stood aside, revealing the
weapon at last.

A gleaming butcher knife.

The shape was the same, the handle unchanged, but the blade appeared different. Etched in flowers
and leaves, swirling patterns and fluttering dragonflies. Beautiful. Ethereal. A bead of blue light
rolled along the razor-sharp edge, reminding Hermione just how lethal pretty things were.

She stepped forward, gripping the handle with confidence, smiling at the feel of it in her palm. The
wooden base molded perfectly to her touch, nearly weightless. “Hello, old friend,” she whispered.
The knife pulsed bright, a tremor of energy racing along her arm as a phantom breeze blew past,
charged air swirling all around, tugging the hem of her skirt and lifting the ends of her hair, the
sudden rush dissipating with the next breath.

And then Lavender’s delighted laughter drew her gaze forward. “I’ll let you two get reacquainted.”
She winked before spinning on her heel and skipping to the adjoining wall, adorned in an
impressive selection of hatchets and battle axes. The blonde tapped a fingertip against her chin,
eyes narrowed. “Hm…” She reached forward, grabbing a large silver axe from its holder and
twirling it with impressive skill. The lethal tip whistled through the air, blowing strands of her hair
back. “Too heavy,” she concluded with a mournful sigh, setting it back into place.

She took up a smaller axe next, blade painted red, swinging a figure eight in quick circles before
shaking her head. “Too light.” She snapped it back into place and progressed further, fingertips
skimming a few more options before coming to a stop, smile cracking wide. She lifted the third axe
off the wall, solid gold from base to glinting tip, gripping it in both hands and testing its weight.
Her eyes flashed brightly. "Just right," she sighed with content, shoulders going lax. And then her
gaze darted up, sparkling with mischief. "Now for the fun stuff."

She rested the golden handle against the front of her shoulder and skipped past, rounding the
corner in a flourish of fluttering hair and skirts. Hermione followed along tentatively, gripping her
own blade tight, energy continuing to pulse along her limb. Their third companion appeared at last,
trotting behind Hermione's heels, eyes fastened to the glinting knife at her side. Then she rounded
the same corner and came to an abrupt halt, transfixed by the glittering row of glass cases lining
the wall.

She tilted her head, slowly stepping forward to study the strange assortment of items within, each
hovering above their velvet cushions and emitting a faint glow. A china teapot, a rabbit clock, a
wooden pepper grinder, a painted umbrella, a croquet mallet...

She stopped beside Lavender, gazing at the item that held her friend’s undivided attention.

A deck of cards, pulsing violet.

Before Hermione could think to ask what the object was the blonde gripped the handle of her axe
and drove the hilt into the center of the glass, shattering it in a single blow. She reached into the
case and grabbed the deck, tossing the sealed stack through the air to Hermione.

Hermione gasped, leaping forward and fumbling to catch it with her free hand, barely gripping the
edge before the pile clattered to the floor.

“Lavender!”

“Relax, Mione. They’re cards, not a bomb.” The blonde pointed her axe to a case several feet
away. “The rabbit’s a bomb.”

Hermione blinked.

Lavender continued on to the next case, shattering the glass with another swing, glittering shards
raining down and covering the floor in a shimmering carpet. She reached in and grabbed a pair of
glowing green dice from mid-air.

Hermione crunched over the fallen debris, cringing as the blonde smashed through a third case,
picking up a hammer pulsing with orange light. And then Lavender moved onto a fifth case,
breaking it with another graceful swing. But this time she made no move for the item hovering
within.

Hermione edged closer, exhaling slowly as the atmosphere changed, turning dense. Charged.
Alive.

Lavender shifted back, revealing a leather whip radiating a sinister red light, each pulse of energy
licking the air like tendrils of flame.

“What is it?” Hermione whispered, crimson reflected in her irises.

Lavender stepped further back, voice low and tinged with veneration. “Fire Whip.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, tasting phantom smoke on her tongue.

“You take it,” the blonde instructed. “It’ll respond better to you.”

Hermione shook her head, chest aching. “I can’t.” The blade hummed in her hand, absorbing her
anxiety like a sponge. “Not fire.”

Lavender glanced sideways, brows furrowed. “But Hermione…” A sweltering beat. Time seemed
to slow. “You are the fire.”

Hermione blinked, unsure what to say, but her thoughts were abruptly cut short as the doors across
the room crashed open with a deafening bang.

“Shite!” Lavender hissed, spinning on her heel and stuffing the hammer into her boot. “Quick, grab
the whip!”

Hermione did as bade, adrenaline overtaking her fear as her hand encased the braided leather, a
powerful jolt of energy sizzling through her arm and into her spine, racing down to her toes and
suffusing her entire body with a heady flood of warmth. She barely had time to process the
sensation before Lavender grabbed her wrist and dragged her into the gun racks for cover.

Her friend pressed a finger to her lips, signaling silence. Hermione nodded ardently, hunching low
as she waited for the sound of footsteps to follow. But instead of charging guards, they were met
with flapping wings and bright plumes of color, parrots darting into the room and circling high
above like vultures. Her heart thundered uncontrollably, there was nowhere to go, no place to hide
from the birds’ prying eyes. One parrot flew to the broken cases along the wall, another flew
directly over their heads, blowing strands of her hair with its trajectory.

“Intruder!” It screamed shrilly, wings pumping hard as is rose high into the air, its manic call
echoing off the ceiling. “Intruder!”

The other birds soon joined in, a chorus of cringe-inducing voices uttering the same word on an
endless loop.

“Run!” Lavender yelled, springing forward.

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. She leaped up with her weapons clutched tightly in both
hands, cards hitting her thigh with every heavy step as they bounced in her pocket.

They were almost to the door when a parrot dive-bombed their heads, its rapidly approaching
shadow and shrill voice their only warning before its glinting beak made contact with the backs of
their skulls. Its claws reached out, talon-tipped and fully extended. Hermione screamed, dropping
low as Lavender swung her axe, grazing its tail and shaving off a row of bright blue feathers. They
twirled softly to the ground as the bird cawed in outrage, prompting its companions to charge after
them with murderous screams.

Another parrot flew for Hermione’s head. She slashed out with her blade, but the bird changed
course at the last moment, narrowly missing a lethal collision.

The monkey appeared from the corner of her eye, perched atop a gun rack. She blinked and he was
leaping into the air, a flash of green, landing atop the back of a passing bird and gripping it by the
neck, toppling it to the floor in a tangle of rumpled feathers and tangled limbs.

“Come on!” Lavender screamed, pulling Hermione upright. They burst through the doorway and
into the corridor, skidding to a halt halfway down. Two faceless men in uniform rounded the
corner, blocking their exit and charging forward without pause. “Get ready!” Her friend hissed,
raising her axe.

Hermione braced herself, heart galloping out of her chest and down the hall in unbridled terror
while her feet remained firmly rooted.

A guard reached Lavender first. She swung her axe, the golden tip of her blade wedging firmly in
the side of his neck. Hermione staggered back as blood spurted from the wide gash in his throat,
cringing as Lavender withdrew the axe. A wet squelch filled the corridor, blood gushing in a
torrent as his spinal cord was exposed. He crumpled in a heap, landing in a puddle glistening red,
the dark ink filling the tile grout and rapidly spreading outward.

And then the second guard was upon Hermione, barreling into her body with enough force to send
her crashing against the wall, barely able to maintain hold of the knife. Her shoulder screamed with
the impact, throbbing with every labored breath. He continued forward, reaching for her throat.
She screamed, stabbing out with her blade, driven by pure survival instinct. She jolted at the
powerful surge of energy that sparked across her skin as the metal sliced effortlessly through his
flesh, cutting a clean path through his stomach and chest as though he were comprised of jelly,
stopping only at the obstruction of his ribs.

The guard reared back, gazing down as his innards spilled free in a glistening avalanche of organs
and intestines. He scrambled to catch them, hands saturated red as his liver fell from his grasp. He
peered up, and though he lacked eyes Hermione could feel his stare upon her, ants crawling over
her skin. He toppled backward a rapid heartbeat later, landing in a slow sprawl across blood and
guts and glossy tile, right foot continuing to twitch in a death spasm.

Hermione pushed away from the wall and retched, bending in half as her stomach somersaulted,
empty but for the acid burning her throat and nostrils. She dry-heaved for several moments more,
unable to breathe or see through the blinding haze of tears.

Wind blew past her face, parrots flying free of the Armory at high speeds, screaming all the while.
“Intruders! Intruders!”

Lavender wiped her axe clean on the first guard's coat, leaping over his bloodless corpse and
landing at Hermione’s side. “We have to go.”

Hermione dried her eyes with the back of a trembling hand, pulling to her full height and inhaling
deeply. "I… I didn't mean to…" She peered down at her bloodstained robe, bits of gore dripping
off the hem. She scrambled to tear it off, thrashing in her haste. Lavender helped extract her arms,
watching silently as Hermione threw the useless disguise to the ground. “That was horrific,”
Hermione whispered, pressing a hand to her mouth as the urge to vomit returned with force.

Her friend sighed, gripping her shoulder and squeezing. “Mione, he wasn’t real.”

Hermione lowered her hand, closing her eyes.

“None of this is real,” Lavender continued, releasing her and stepping back. “But you can still get
trapped here, same as us. So we have to keep going.”

Hermione took a steadying breath, the wretched smell of human entrails thick upon the air. She
opened her eyes, nodding slowly. “Let’s get Padma.”

Lavender smirked, gripping her axe with both hands and darting forward. “This way.”

They rounded the corner at full speed, hair and skirts flying behind, the corridor filled by their
rapid footfalls. And then the exit ahead was overcome by a sea of approaching shadows, a
stampede of boots overwhelming even Hermione’s deafening pulse. They skidded to a stop as a
small army of guards appeared, charging straight for them.

“Other way!” Lavender shouted, spinning gracefully while Hermione stumbled in place, quickly
following the girl in the opposite direction.

This side of the hall ended with double doors. Hermione prayed they weren’t locked, she had no
idea where the monkey had gone to and they certainly didn’t have time for him to pick the lock.

Both girls threw their bodies into the barrier, gasping with shared relief when it parted beneath
their combined efforts, doors swinging wide. Neither glanced at their surroundings, far more
concerned with shutting the doors at the backs. They pressed the barrier closed, frantically
searching for a lock.

“Shite!” Lavender hissed, and then gazed down at her axe. “Move!”

Hermione stepped aside as the girl jammed its golden body between the brass handles, effectively
barricading the doors. She stepped back, jolting as the crowd on the other side collided with the
barrier, pounding wildly against the wood. The noise was immense, but the axe didn’t budge.
They both leaned over, spent with relief and exhaustion, turning around at last.

Hermione’s heart skipped painfully, blood turning to ice as her spine snapped straight.

They stood at the bottom of a massive auditorium, rows and rows of benches lining the circular
room from floor to ceiling.

Each filled with men in robes, their faceless heads fixed upon the girls.

Hermione’s eyes flickered to the center of the floor, movement drawing her focus as her vision
tunneled in and out. A man in wig stood behind a large podium, gavel held tight, arm frozen mid-
air.

Lavender shifted at her side, releasing her breath in a powerful rush. “Whoopsie daisy.”

Harry crossed his arms tightly over front, eyes narrowed as they scanned the entry hall. “This is
ridiculous. There’s no way anyone here betrayed us.” He watched Neville and Hannah pass
beneath the archway, lost to hushed conversation and low laughter. “The girls were all targets, I
trust Neville and Ron with my life. I won’t consider it.”

"Agreed," Draco spoke from beside him. "Riddle is full of shite, as I've said all along. Clearly, he's
trying to distract us like a pair of errant toddlers.” He shifted restlessly. “We’re wasting time. We
need to look for Hermione.”

Harry shook his head, eyes still pinned to the retreating figures ahead. “He wouldn’t have said it if
he didn’t mean it.”

Draco scowled, teeth grinding. “Why the hell do you have so much faith in him? He’s a
manipulative bastard and the entire reason she’s missing in the first place!”

Harry sighed, slowly turning to meet his gaze. “I know you hate him, Draco. I know why you hate
him.” The blonde turned to cold marble before his eyes. Harry forged on, diving headfirst into the
raging sea. “And I understand. I’m sorry we have to work with him to get her back. But that’s what
we have to do. Work with him. He’s the only one with a grasp on what’s going on, how this
organization operates. And if she isn’t at the party he’s our only key to getting her back.” He held
Draco’s glacial stare. “You have to put aside your anger and hatred. For her.”

Silence fell upon the room for several agonizing moments before Malfoy relented, drawing back
and raising his chin, eyes glinting. “I don’t trust anything he says.”

Harry dropped his arms and raised a dark brow. “Do you at least trust that he wants to get her
back?”

Draco scowled, turning to face the hallway. Harry nodded. “That’s all that matters,” he concluded,
sensing the tension rolling off the man in waves.

“So you think one of your friends betrayed us to the organization?” Malfoy asked with cutting
mockery.

“Of course not. But someone did. We just have to figure out who.”

“Fine. Who did you run your gaping mouth to?”

“No one,” Harry scowled, rounding on him. “Who did you run your uppity mouth to?”
"Nott. But to my utter astonishment, he already knew all about the Dollmaker. He even
accompanied you to Bath. Fancy that."

Harry’s heart skipped, expression seizing. “I…”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Obviously Theo didn’t betray us. But my point is– people outside of this
home were privy to Hermione’s whereabouts.”

Harry released a weighted sigh, shaking his head and staring blankly at the floor, thoughts surging.
“One of the others may have said something, without malice,” he spoke aloud, running through
various possibilities in his mind and coming up empty.

Draco crossed his arms, face permanently frozen in a sneer of acute derision. “I still think this is a
huge waste of valuable time.”

Harry nodded, glancing up. “I know. But you’re going to help me anyway. For Hermione’s sake.
Then you can go on a warpath and get yourself arrested.”

The blonde scoffed dramatically, dropping his arms and pacing towards the stairs. “I’ll start with
Parvati.”

“I’ll meet you back here,” Harry replied, watching the man progress to the landing.

As soon as the blonde rounded the corner Harry turned for the hall, intent on getting Neville alone
for a few minutes. But the moment he faced the archway he gasped, staggering back as a figure
appeared directly before him with barely an inch to spare.

“Susan–”

“I need to talk to you,” she said sharply, face etched with anxiety as she glanced around the empty
room, shoulders drawn. “In private.”

Harry blinked, and then his gaze flickered to the item clutched tightly in her arms. A file. It looked
like one of the Jane Doe folders but the front was pressed to her chest, hiding the label.

“Alright,” he replied slowly, eyeing her carefully before stepping into the adjoining corridor. “Half
the study is still standing.”

He led her inside the demolished space, turning around and watching as she attempted to close the
door at their backs. It fell off its hinges and hit the floor with a crash, cracking down the middle
and raising a plume of dust and debris in its wake.

“The doors keep doing that,” he explained simply.

“Fantastic.” She carefully sidestepped the rubble, stopping just before him and falling into tense
silence.

He arched a brow, watching her closely. “What is it?” His body tensed in anticipation as she lifted
the file.

“I found this in the records room. I was going to show my father but…” She shook her head,
extending the folder. “I thought I’d leave the decision up to you.”

Harry took it slowly, expecting to find another homicide case within. But then the name came into
view, typed in bold black letters, and his spine straightened.
“Riddle?”

She linked her hands atop her rumpled skirts, holding his gaze. “Open it.”

He did as bade, reading the top page, eyes affixed to the date written in messy cursive at the top.
And suddenly Slughorn’s voice filled his mind, the memory hitting him with staggering force and
clarity.

“I always referred to him by Tom, most everyone did. I suppose he wanted to distance himself from
any association.”

“Association? With who?”

Harry’s pulse thrummed as he flipped to the next page. An autopsy report. He skimmed the
highlighted text, mouth running dry.

“His father.”

He turned to the next document. Crime scene sketches. Harry gripped the file tighter, knuckles
turning white. "This…" He turned to the next drawing. A close-up view. His stomach twisted to
knots, acid stinging his throat. He glanced up, searching her gaze. "Why are you showing me
this?”

She leaned in, flipping through the pages until arriving at one near the back, tapping it gently and
meeting his eye.

Harry glanced down, reading the report. And then his lungs deflated, breath ghosting across the
page and the horrible story it contained.

“Fuck.”

The men started leaping over the stands in droves, landing on the main floor and charging the
doors. Lavender leaned over, grabbing the hammer from her boot before pushing Hermione aside.

“Get back!”

Hermione staggered to the wall, holding her knife aloft with a trembling hand and gasping as a
barrage of faceless men leaped for her friend. Lavender swung her hammer, the ground trembling
as a visible shockwave of orange pulsed outward from the point of impact, sending her attackers
flying across the room into in a motionless heap.

But one man managed to escape the explosion of energy, darting for Hermione with an outreached
hand. She slashed with her knife, cutting cleanly through his fingers, each narrow appendage
hitting the ground with a soft thump. Adrenaline pushed her forward as more men leaped from the
stands in a flurry of limbs, spiders scurrying out of their web.

“Use the cards!” Lavender screamed above the fray, sending more men flying in every direction
with an orange blast.

“How?” Hermione yelled back, slashing wildly as men surrounded her on all sides. She glanced up,
watching in horror as a robed man grabbed her friend from behind, restraining her arms and
dragging her into a pile of faceless bodies. “Lavender!”

Hermione lost sight of the girl within moments, pulse thrumming as a man grabbed her own arm,
wrenching her off her feet. She released her whip to the ground but refused to relinquish hold of the
blade as she searched out the deck in her pocket. She pulled it free with a triumphant squeal, then
gasped as the blade was torn from her grasp by a large hand. Hermione held the cards aloft,
dodging a fist to the head as she fumbled with the top flap, tearing the case in her haste.

The cards burst free in an explosion of fluttering paper, folding into origami cranes and flying in a
tight circle overhead. Their necks twisted in either direction, as though taking in the lay of the land,
before dive bombing the men restraining Hermione. Her attackers released her at once, swatting at
the cranes as they pecked relentlessly at their flesh, beaks stained red with blood.

Hermione reclaimed her whip and knife from the ground and pushed her way through the wall of
bodies, slashing blinding as she went, hardly aware of her movements. Blood streaked her face and
dress as she chanted the same mantra over and over in her mind.

None of this is real none of this is real…

She reached her friend at last, stabbing a man in the thigh to get him to release the girl’s throat.
Hermione pulled Lavender to her feet, inspecting her front for gruesome injury, relieved to find her
in one piece.

“There’s too many of them!” Hermione shouted.

The blonde nodded, rubbing her bruised neck. “Use the whip!”

Hermione was terrified of the prospect but unwinded the coiled leather from her arm all the same,
gripping the handle tight and letting the leather tail fall to her feet. A small flame erupted from the
tip, licking hungrily at the air, desperate to be unleashed.

She set her jaw, drawing her arm back and swinging quickly forward, screaming as a wall of flame
exploded to life in the direction of the thong. The leather snapped back, slashing at her dress and
tearing a long slit in the fabric.

“Shite!”

Lavender pressed in close as the flames shot higher. “That was hot. Pun intended.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, watching as the girl retook her hammer and swung it with a feral growl,
knocking three approaching men off their feet.

“Move!” Hermione shouted, switching places with her friend and snapping the whip a second time.
But she was prepared for the recoil, dodging aside to avoid the sizzling tip. Red flames hissed and
groaned, rapidly spreading across the tile to merge with the first wall of flame, creating a barrier of
fire between them and their faceless audience.

The girls pressed back to back as the flames continued to move along the floor, encasing them on
all sides. One man attempted to leap through, only for the fire to engulf him in a mighty blaze,
charring his flesh black as he fell in a silent, thrashing heap.

“We’re trapped!” Lavender screamed, chest heaving.

Hermione’s gaze narrowed.

She refused to be bested by flames again.

Her eyes flickered up, the only direction left to go. A skylight stood fifty feet above. Her heart
soared.

“No. We aren’t.”

She tied the whip around her waist and tucked the blade into her boot, reaching into her pocket and
withdrawing the flask. She met Lavender's eye with a wry grin. “I hope cats can swim.”

Her friend laughed, high and delighted. “I can do anything I set my mind to. You go first.”

Hermione nodded, unscrewing the cap and taking a shallow swig, wanting to avoid a repeat of last
time. She quickly handed the flask over, watching Lavender take a small gulp. Her ears popped a
moment before her heels lifted off the ground. She pushed against the air in a graceful breaststroke,
directing her ascent towards the skylight as they ascended higher and higher.

Smoke from the fire rose even faster, choking them both. Hermione coughed into her fist, eyes
stinging with soot and blood and tears, focusing all of her will power on the red sky above. She hit
the ceiling at last, spine pressing flat as her body continued to try and rise. They both gazed down,
watching as the fire twisted along the floor like undulating tentacles, engulfing the faceless men
one after the other. The smell of burning flesh was overwhelming, knotting Hermione’s stomach.

But her attention was drawn back to the ceiling as Lavender shattered the skylight with her
hammer, glass raining between them, quickly swallowed by the snapping flames. They crawled
through the opening, holding tight to the frame as their weight slowly settled atop the roof, the
effects of the bubble water wearing off as their feet touched the stone.

An explosion followed.

They gazed into the auditorium. The doors had finally given way, torn clear off their hinges as
men from the corridor piled in, only to stagger back in horror, desperate to evade the hellish
inferno. But the flames were sentient, starving, and caught the fleeing men by the throats and
ankles, dragging them into the room and swallowing them whole.

Hermione reared back as something flew past her face, fluttering around her head.

The cranes. Stained red and burnt through at the corners.

She took a steadying breath, holding out her palm and grinning as they flattened back into cards
and settled in a perfect stack atop her hand.

Neat.

She tucked them into her pocket and glanced up, staring at Lavender’s smoke-smudged profile.

“Sorry about your axe.”

Her friend shrugged. “It’s alright. I think I like this better anyhow.” She twirled her hammer with
deft skill, tiny pulses of energy dancing across their skin from the movement.

Hermione smiled once more, eyes glinting red beneath the blazing sky. “Let’s get Padma.”

The sun dipped low on the horizon, spilling pools of orange and violet paint across the sky and
casting Parvati’s face into shadow. But her eyes continued to burn bright, sparking like flint as
steam billowed from her mouth.

“You’re asking if I shared our location with some random stranger, endangering the lives of my
sister, my friends and myself?”

Draco ran a hand over his face, glancing away as she raged on, leaning closer with every heated
word until she hovered above her sister’s prone form on the bed.

“Of course not, Malfoy. Because I’m not a bloody idiot. But I’m seriously starting to question
whether you are.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Her gaze narrowed to gleaming slits. "And who ordered you to act like a flea on a bull's arse?"

His jaw tensed, hand tightening upon his knee.

“Riddle then,” she concluded with a smirk, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.

Draco barely suppressed a scowl, eye twitching with the Herculean effort. Bloody hell. He was sick
and tired of hearing the Bastard’s name. The Megalomaniac wasn’t even on the grounds and his
influence could still be felt in every room, his dark presence thick on the air like a toxic cloud,
poisoning them with every breath.

“He’s trying to help,” she continued, watching him closely.

He lost the battle at last, self-restraint snapping with an audible crack as he rounded on her, hell
flame licking across his sharp features. "You're a member of his fan club, too, now? Fucking
fantastic."

She remained unmoved, posture calm and poised. “He saved Blaise’s life,” she stated simply.

Draco deflated in his chair, her words puncturing his lungs.

She raised her chin, fingertips idly drumming her narrow biceps. “Is he a good person?” She asked
rhetorically, lifting one shoulder. “I can’t answer that. About him or anyone else, myself included.
However, I can say this with absolute certainty: that man will do any and everything to get to
Hermione. Same as you.” She arched a brow, eyes piercing him to the core. “But you already know
that. It’s why you hate him.”

Draco blinked. And then glanced away, desperate for a reprieve. Several moments passed in
silence before she leaned in to take her sister’s hand in her own. The gentle gesture broke the
tension, allowing his lungs to expand once more, the sudden infusion of oxygen making him light-
headed, weightless.

“Did she…” He closed his eyes, the question lodging in his throat, pulsing in time to his heart. He
shook his head, drawing back. “Nevermind.”

He stood swiftly, heading for the door with a determined step.

“No.”

He stopped halfway to his destination, freedom in sight, but her voice wrapped him in chains,
forcing him still and captive to his own perverse curiosity. He swayed in place, glancing over his
shoulder with slow resignation.

“She never told me she loved him,” she continued softly, dark eyes filled with smoke. “She never
talked about him at all.”
The sun set at her back, shadows crawling through the broken windows and saturating the room,
darkness seeping into his vision and dulling his remaining senses until all he could hear was
Padma’s rhythmic breath and his own rampant heartbeat.

He nodded slowly, stepping back on numb legs. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

A crease appeared between her brows, her sharp features marred by genuine empathy. “I’m sorry,
Malfoy.”

He saw sadness in her eyes, but no trace of pity. For that he was grateful.

“I’m going to get her back,” he declared, voice low and steady, chest burning with a kindling
flame. “Regardless of the rest.”

Her eyes swept over his face, stuttering on the way back up as though finding what they sought.
“You really love her.”

He glanced away, intent on leaving, but his attention was diverted by Padma’s slumbering form.
He stared at the comatose girl for several beats, pain sharpening with every breath until he at last
found the strength to pull away from the room entirely, striding into the hall without a parting
word. He made it across the landing and halfway down the stairs before he was violently pulled
from the raging ocean in his mind.

He stopped mid-step, hands frozen halfway to his pockets as took in the sight of the busted
entryway and the man centered beneath the twisted frame.

“Nott?”

Theo glanced up, crunching over glass as he paced inside. “There you are. I thought you were at
Mungo’s?”

Draco blinked, descending the remaining steps in a graceful trot. “I was. Something came up. How
did you–”

“Theo?”

Draco scowled as Potter appeared in the archway, gaping like an idiot. “For fuck’s sake, are the two
of you psychically linked?”

Harry paled, jaw snapping shut as Theo rolled his eyes, pinning Draco with a bored expression.

“Would you like to continue making snide remarks from your Godly pedestal or do you want to
know how your friend is doing?”

Draco stood straighter, quickly crossing the ruined marble to meet him halfway. “How is he?”

"Stable. The Doctor's are confident he'll wake soon." His gaze flickered as Potter moved to their
sides. "Visiting hours for non-relations ended. I sent a letter to the Countess before I left."

Draco peered around him, glancing to the open doorway and the dark landscape beyond. “Where’s
Luna?”

Theo blinked, raising a brow and eyeing him speculatively. “She refused to leave Dawn. The
orderlies set up an extra cot in the room for her.”

“She isn’t safe there,” Draco snapped. “Neither of them are.”

“They have Naval officers stationed outside the door.”

Potter reared back. “Naval officers?”

Theo nodded, meeting his gaze. “I assumed Black placed them there.”

“He never said anything to me,” Potter replied with a shrug, seeming to dismiss the news as
quickly as it came.

Theo tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, glancing around the shadow and blood-strewn
room with idle detachment. “So, what did I miss?”

Draco’s face pinched, the innocuous question reviving his latent hostility like a match to a powder
keg. “Funny you should ask.” He glanced at Potter, raising a pale brow. “I assume you want to
handle Nott’s interrogation yourself?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Interrogation?” Theo asked, glancing between them.

“Riddle thinks someone here leaked Hermione’s whereabouts to Greyback,” Potter explained.

Nott stood taller. “Someone here? That’s impossible.”

“We’ve been through it already,” Draco drawled, shoulders tight. “We know it’s impossible but
we’re acting like fleas on a bull’s arse anyway.”

Potter and Nott blinked, staring at him for several beats before recovering.

“You’re wasting your time,” Theo declared, as though stating the obvious made Draco want to
punch him in the face any less. “Everyone here almost died. They’re not working for–”

He stopped mid-sentence, mouth hanging wide.

Potter tilted his head, eyeing him warily. “Theo?” Nott paled, prompting Harry’s face to darken.
“Theo. What is it?”

Nott swallowed heavily, sapphire gaze flickering to Draco with such intensity he swayed back with
the jolting force it invoked.

“Fucking hell, Nott, spit it out.”

His friend took a deep breath, drawing a hand through his perfectly styled hair while sidling closer
to Potter, the latter action seeming to occur beyond either man’s notice.

“Your father pays someone to watch Grimmauld.”

Draco blinked, each word striking him like a sucker punch to the gut. He forced his spine to remain
ramrod straight, knees locking and blood rushing through his ears. He opened his mouth to respond
but drew up short, thoughts stuttering on a faded memory of a time long ago, a discussion held at a
breakfast table many lifetimes past.

“I’ve heard from my contacts that you’ve made two visits to Grimmauld in as many days.”

His father’s deep cadence filled his head, setting off a skin-crawling sensation of fire ants feasting
upon his flesh.
“How do you know about that?” He asked, voice suddenly hoarse.

Theo held his gaze, jaw tensing. “My father.”

Draco blinked again, the simple explanation harboring a hidden complexity just beneath the
surface. His eyes flickered to Nott’s temple, lingering upon the discoloration, the faded bruise that
bled across the socket and into the inner bridge of his nose.

Draco swallowed heavily, dragging his focus back to the man’s steady gaze. “My father isn’t
involved in this.”

Theo continued to stare at him in silence. A short eternity passed. And then his friend nodded,
lifting his chin. "Alright," he began slowly, carefully. "But maybe the man he hired is. People pay
a fortune for information on the Peerage, anything they can print in a gossip rag or twist for their
own gain.”

Draco released a sharp breath, an immovable weight centered upon his chest, bearing down with
crippling force. “I’ll speak to him.” He started for the door without further word or thought, fists
clenched tight, entire body stretched to the point of snapping.

“Draco,” Potter spoke from behind him, waiting until he slowed his pace and met his emerald gaze.
“Remember. We find the leak, we find the lead.” His expression sharpened with clear purpose.
“Don’t forget what’s at stake.”

Draco felt his knuckles crack, blunt nails threatening to break the skin of his palms. “I’m the only
one who doesn’t need reminding.”

And then he turned on his heel and stormed out, desperately wishing the door was still attached to
its hinges for the simple and profound pleasure of slamming it in his wake.

Hermione followed Lavender over the sprawling rooftop of Parliament, carefully walking the flat
and narrow perimeter like a balance beam before scaling the sides of narrow towers blocking their
path. She clung to the brick with all her strength, forcing her eyes forward and doing her utmost to
pretend she wasn’t a hundred and fifty feet off the ground, hanging onto jutting stone for dear life.
Hermione wasn’t certain whether she could die in Wonderland... but she certainly had no desire to
find out.

Her pulse galloped as they navigated the edge of St. Stephen's Tower to a lower section of the roof,
the massive hands of Big Ben ticking loudly above, counting down her fate. Her heart felt as
though it would burst free of her chest at any moment.

“This one,” Lavender spoke at last as they neared an oval skylight.

They lowered to either side of the stained glass, leaning down to glimpse inside. Hermione saw
nothing but the tops of bookcases, so tall they nearly reached the ceiling. The Library must have
been at least three floors.

“The guards will be busy with the fire,” Lavender continued.

Hermione wiped the sweat from her brow, catching her breath. “Let’s hope.”

“We’ll drop onto the cases, use the ladder to climb down.”

Hermione rubbed her shoulder, still sore from its hard collision with the wall. “Sounds simple
enough, assuming we don’t miss the case and fall to our gruesome deaths.” She gasped, eyes
snapping up and flaring wide. “I’m so sorry, Lavender, I didn’t–”

“Calm down, luv. I’m not sensitive about my lifeless condition. Just don’t accuse me of stuffing
my corset. Besides, you can’t actually die here.”

Hermione blinked. Well, that was one mystery solved.

“What a comfort,” she deadpanned, glancing back to the skylight. “Alright, if we’re going to do
this we should do it now.”

Lavender smirked. “That’s the ticket.” She withdrew the hammer from her boot and slammed it
into the center of the glass, creating a web before the window collapsed inward. They both scooted
to the edge and swung their legs over. “I’ll go first,” the blonde said, tucking the hammer back into
place.

Hermione nodded, breath evading her in a rush as she watched the girl drop inside without a
moment’s hesitation, landing atop the bookcase directly below in a graceful pounce.

Lavender smiled, glancing up with amber eyes. “Easy peasy.”

“Says the cat,” Hermione muttered, taking a steadying breath and pushing off the edge with a surge
of adrenaline. Her heart leaped into her throat as her body plummeted in an endless freefall. She
was careening down the rabbit hole all over again, the walls rapidly caving in, eager to devour her
whole–

She gasped as her feet hit the top of the bookcase, staggering in place before pressing a hand to her
chest, checking to see if her heart survived the journey. "Holy shite."

"Nicely done," Lavender said, helping to steady her. "You made a ten-foot drop look like ninety.
I'd say you have a real future in theatre."

Hermione swallowed heavily, gulping in air. “I’m sure I’d take the stage by storm, but I couldn’t
abide all the fame.”

“Hm.”

Her pulse soon leveled, allowing her the steady resolve to follow her friend along the top of the
case, searching out the ladder. They found it halfway down, set atop rollers. Lavender descended
first, Hermione just above, moving with surprising speed until she glanced up, distracted by her one
true Achilles heel...

Books.

Hermione hooked her arm around the side of the ladder, standing in place and inspecting the
assortment of
spines on display. The bindings appeared old, worn, each of varying height and color. And each
lacking a title.

She blinked, reaching forward and extracting a tome at random, carefully turning it over in her
hand to gaze upon the cover. It bore no writing or label of any kind. She flipped it open. The pages
were yellowed with time, but completely blank. She turned to the last one. Nothing.

“What madness is this?”

“Mione, come on!” Lavender hissed from thirty feet below.

Hermione sighed, sliding the book back into its slot and continuing down. The case was comprised
of over twenty shelves, each filled to the brim with empty books. She reached the ground at last,
stepping free of the ladder and shaking her head with sorrow.

“What a tragic waste.”

Lavender rolled her eyes. “Only you.” She began a path down the aisle. “Let’s go.”

They tiptoed their way between the stacks and around the corner. The Library was a circular room
with bookcases lining the perimeter. A spiral staircase sat at the center, revealing two additional
levels below, each with a similar layout.

Both girls reached into their boots and extracted their weapons of choice, moving forward as a
single entity. They crept along the staircase railing and gazed over top, long hair dangling. There
was faint shuffling and movement from the bottom floor but the source wasn’t visible. The second
level appeared as empty as the books it contained.

They started down the steps, heels clicking softly, weapons pulsing with supernatural light, and
exited on the ground floor, quickly ducking for cover behind another case. This level was much
larger, brightly lit by a huge domed skylight at the far end.

Hermione gasped as something soft landed atop her shoulder. She spun around, slashing out with
her blade as the weight disappeared. Lavender reared back, giving Hermione wide berth as she
searched out the source. Her brain registered the animal’s presence before she spotted him perched
atop a shelf, watching her with wide yellow eyes. Hermione lowered the knife, pressing her hand to
her chest once more.

“Shite! You scared me, Mowgli!”

Lavender tilted her head. “Mowgli?”

Hermione shrugged, reaching up to scratch along his neck. “I want to call him something. And he
reminds me of the little boy from The Jungle Book.”

Her friend sighed, spinning her hammer. “Christ, you read too much.”

Hermione lowered her hand with a smirk. “Now is hardly the time to incite a row.”

They crept to the end of the aisle, peering around the edge to take in their first glimpse at the main
room. Hermione blinked, vision clouding over at the horrific sight it contained.

The large expanse was overrun with desks, every surface piled high with books and parchment and
each chair containing a single occupant. The men and women seated throughout the room were
dressed in rags, faces pale and gaunt, eyes empty and lifeless as they hunched over the tabletop,
writing furiously across loose papers.

Movement drew Hermione’s attention to the back corner. A girl tipped sideways from her perch,
the dark circles beneath her eyes visible even at this distance. Metal clanked. Her thin frame jolted
in place, hanging over the side of her chair, held in place by heavy chains around her middle.
Hermione’s lips parted, eyes lowering to the floor. Her ankles were bound as well.

Oh my god.
Hermione pushed forward, raising her knife, hissing as Lavender caught her arm and pulled her
back.

“Mione, you can’t.”

“I have to!”

“You can save her, you can save them all, but not here and not now.”

She opened her mouth to argue but was silenced by the intensity of her friend’s gleaming stare.

“If we’re discovered we fail everyone,” Lavender whispered, voice reverberating through
Hermione’s every limb.

She lifted her chin, falling still beneath the blonde’s touch, acquiescing reluctantly. “Do you see
Padma?”

Lavender released her, shaking her head. “No. We need to split up, cover more ground.”

“I'll head left,” Hermione said, drawing her shoulders back and stepping forward.

They rounded the bookcase and progressed in opposite directions, muscles strung taut and weapons
raised. Hermione’s hand was covered in dried blood. She imagined her face and neck were in
similar states of disrepair and silently pondered how many lives she had taken since arriving in
Wonderland, and whether thinking of the faceless entities as real or fake made her more or less of a
monster.

“You no longer have high ground to stand on, Ms. Granger.”

She shook her head to dispel the monstrous voice, adjusting her grip on the hilt as she paced along
the perimeter of the room, gaze rapidly sweeping across downturned faces, heart aching at the sight
they each made. Mowgli followed at her heels, staring out at the main floor as though searching as
well. She spotted Lavender across the way, the blonde fairing no better in her pursuit.

Shite.

The fire wouldn’t keep the guards distracted for much longer.

And then her heart jolted, feet locking in place, causing Mowgli to collide with her boots as
Hermione spotted a familiar river of glossy black hair several meters away, obscuring most of the
owner's face. But a faint glimmer of gold-flecked eyes was visible through the thick strands.

Padma.

Hermione released her breath in a hiss, glancing either way before darting forward, the neighboring
prisoners paying her no mind, deeply absorbed in their task. She reached her destination in several
bounds, leaning down to glimpse the girl’s face up close. Padma’s cheekbones were heavily
shadowed by malnutrition, lips pale and chapped, hair limp and lifeless. She blinked slowly,
seemingly dazed, and then glanced up, spotting Hermione at last.

Only to gasp sharply, dropping her pen and rearing back.

“Shh! It’s alright! It’s just me!” Hermione whispered, lowering the knife beneath the table to hide
it from view.

Padma opened and closed her mouth, gripping the edge of the desk as though preparing to push
away despite her restraints. “W-who are you?”

“Hermione. You don’t recognize me?”

Padma ignored the question, glancing to either side, chains rattling softly. “Where’s your desk?”

“I don’t have one.” Hermione’s pulse skipped, fire igniting in her veins. “And I’m getting you out
of here.”

Padma’s weary gaze snapped forward, brow furrowed. “We… can’t leave. It’s against the rules.”

Hermione lifted the knife, blade glinting bright beneath the skylight. “That rule is about to be
broken.”

Padma’s pale complexion waned further as she pushed back as far as the rickety chair would allow.

“It’s alright,” Hermione said softly. “I won’t hurt you.”

The bound girl swallowed thickly, fixated upon the knife. “We’ll be punished. Please don’t.”

Hermione sighed, quickly rounding the desk and kneeling beside her. “We’re leaving this place,
Padma. We’re going to the Castle. You’ll be safe there. With Ariana.”

“Who?”

“Ariana, she–”

“No, the other name.”

Hermione tilted her head. “What other–” Realization struck, rendering her motionless. “You
mean… Padma?” Her heart skipped. “That’s… your name.”

Padma inhaled slowly, eyes brightening. “It is?”

“You don’t remember who you are?” Padma shook her head. Hermione sighed, resting the knife
atop her thigh. “Do you remember Parvati?”

Padma went rigid in her seat. “Parvati,” she whispered, each syllable lingering on her tongue. “I…
I’m not sure.” She wet her lips, fingertips pressing against the chains at her stomach. “Who is she?”

Hermione reached forward, gripping the girl’s bony shoulder. “I’ll tell you all about her. But we
have to go, right now.”

Padma searched her gaze eagerly, turning as much as the restraints would allow and revealing the
pale slip she wore as a dress. “Is Parvati at the Castle?”

Hermione’s hand clenched. She blinked, nodding slowly. “Yes. She is.”

A heavy beat.

“Alright,” Padma whispered. “Let’s go.”

Hermione smiled gently, then glanced at the chains binding the girl’s chest. “Hold very still.”

Padma trembled as Hermione lifted the blade, turning it over in her hand as she rose to her feet,
edging to the back of the chair. She took a deep breath, holding her weapon tight and slicing
carefully at the metal. The links dented but held strong. Hermione stepped further back, lifting the
knife higher and slashing down with the strength of both hands.

There was a flash of blue, followed by a small shockwave that carried all the way to her toes. The
chains hit the floor in a crashing heap. Padma gaped, rearing forward and clutching her middle.
Hermione’s blood ran cold, terrified she’d cut the girl. But then Padma’s soft laughter flitted
through the room, drawing the attention of nearby prisoners. Hermione met their haunted gazes,
squeezing the blade until her arm shook. She pondered how many people she could free before the
guards arrived–

An explosive crash sounded across the room. She spun quickly, staring at the Library entrance.
The main doors were parted wide but no faceless guards were visible. Hermione moved in front of
Padma, raising her knife, heart skipping as she spotted a familiar flash of color from the corner of
her eye.

Parrots.

Stupid fucking birds.

She leaned down, cutting the binds at Padma's ankles and offering her hand to help her stand. The
girl swayed precariously, leaning into the desk as Hermione searched frantically for Lavender. She
spotted the blonde already en route to them as the newcomers began screaming loudly overhead,
announcing their prison break to the entire floor.

“Hurry!” Hermione shouted, pulling Padma along the rows of desks towards Lavender, Mowgli
racing beside them, hopping from desk to desk and earning shocked gasps from every chained
captive he passed.

They met Lavender in the center of the room, birds swooping low, wings flapping loudly.
Hermione reached into her pocket and grabbed the burnt, bloodied deck, releasing the cards into
the air. Her pulse soared as the paper cranes charged after the parrots, chasing them up the spiral
staircase and out of sight.

But it was too late.

Faceless guards emerged from the hall, racing into the Library. Lavender reached into her own
pocket and extracted something small, throwing the mystery item to the floor. Hermione grabbed
Padma, bracing for an explosion of light or noise, some cataclysmic affair. Alas, nothing happened.
She blinked, peering down at the object in question.

The glowing dice.

Lavender growled, reaching for her hammer and charging forward to head off the guards before
they reached the desks. “Keep trying!” She called over her shoulder, swinging her weapon in a
wide arc and catapulting a man into a bookcase, tipping the entire structure into the wall and
cracking the plaster.

Hermione shook her head. “Trying what?”

“For doubles!” Lavender yelled, ducking low to dodge an incoming fist.

Hermione blinked, slow to process the meaning of the words. And then it clicked, adrenaline
setting her into motion as she dived for the green dice, gathering them in her palm and dropping
them to the tile a second time.
Seven.

Damn!

She started to reach for the glowing objects again when a guard reached her, driving her back. She
slashed forward with her knife, mindful of the helpless prisoners bound to their desks, unable to
escape the unfolding battle.

“Roll, Padma!” She yelled, slashing low and cutting through his kneecap, toppling him to the
ground.

The girl dropped to her haunches, picking up the dice and shaking them in her caged palms.
Hermione heard them hit the floor but couldn’t see the roll. Nothing happened.

“Hurry!” Lavender screamed as more men raced into the room.

Hermione stabbed her new attacker in the gut, only to be pinned against a desk by his falling
weight, the hard edge of the counter digging into her spine as he slowly sank to his knees before
her, blood cascading across her front and soaking through the layers of her dress until she felt it
upon her skin. She pushed him away, just in time to see a third man leaping for her. Her knife
struck this one in the chest. She pulled it free, cringing as the blade cut cleanly through muscle and
bone until it tore from his shoulder, severing his arm completely.

Padma rolled the dice again.

The air pressure changed.

“Two!” The girl shouted from her huddled position on the floor. The dice flashed emerald green.
The same color as Harry’s eyes. Padma rose to her feet, glancing back. “Now wh–”

She screamed as a burst of light exploded from the ground, blinding in intensity, quickly followed
by a powerful surge of wind, the force knocking all of them off their feet and tipping several desks
sideways. Hermione scrambled onto her hands and knees, clutching her blood-soaked knife and
gaping at the glowing image before her. Green swirling light, framing a dark landscape at its
center.

A portal.

“Go!” Lavender screamed, racing towards her as a dozen men gave avid chase.

Hermione staggered upright, darting to Padma and grabbing her hand, dragging the girl through the
strange gateway at her side. Lavender barrelled through just behind them, colliding with their backs
and sending everyone sprawling atop the ground. Mowgli flew through the opening a heartbeat
later, landing atop Hermione’s back in a soft pounce.

Hermione rolled over, watching in horror as the faceless guards rapidly closed in upon the
shrinking portal. The man leading the charge leaped forward, arm extended, hand crossing through
to their side.

The portal snapped shut on the appendage, severing it clean from his body. The appendage landed
atop Hermione’s lap, fingers softly curling. She grimaced, leaping to her feet and batting it away,
watching it drop to the dark grass.

And then her gaze slowly lifted, taking in their new surroundings, starting with the remarkable sky.
For it no longer blazed red. Rather, it appeared solid black, void of any stars. Only the enlarged
moon and gaslights along the street provided illumination, revealing a gentle rain from above. It hit
her face, soft as a ghost’s caress. She rubbed her cheek, tickled by the sensation, eyes hardening as
her fingertips drew away black.

Ash.

Lavender cursed low, breaking her dark reverie.

“Where are we?” Hermione asked, dread festering as she gazed upon the thick layer of soot
covering the cobblestone.

Lavender pushed to her feet with a deep scowl. “Somewhere we really don’t want to be.”

Luna padded softly across the gleaming tile, fingers interlaced behind her back as she came to stop
before the door at the end of the hall.

The young man stationed before the barrier blinked, standing straight and flushing beneath her
undivided attention. “Sorry, Ms. Lovegood.” He cleared his throat, scratchy from hours of disuse.
“The nurse said visiting hours are over.”

She blinked innocently, head tipping to the side and cornsilk hair cascading over front. “I
understand, Officer Bryant. However, I was hoping you’d be willing to make an exception. I made
a promise to a friend earlier today and would very much like to keep my word, especially
considering the evening she’s had, nearly being murdered and assisting with emergency surgery.
Sitting at Blaise’s bedside is the least comfort I can offer them both.”

He opened and closed his mouth, leaning back. “I…” and shook his head, blinking twice. “Um…
okay.”

Her smile widened. “Thank you very much. I knew I could count on you.”

He glanced away with a small smile of his own, flush spreading to his neck as he stood aside,
giving her access to the door. “Erm… yeah, I mean, it’s not a big deal.”

She turned the handle, glancing up and holding his gaze as she stepped inside the room. “It is to
me.”

His grin stretched from end to end. She started to close the door between them and then hesitated,
seeming to reconsider.

“And you might want to notify the nurse that he’s awake.”

His smile dropped, eyes flickering to the bed and the pale, still body lying atop. “But… he’s still
unconscious.”

She tilted her head in the other direction, silken hair changing course, catching the light and his
eye. “Only for a few more minutes.”

His jaw hung wide. “Uh…”

She imparted a small wave before gently closing the door on his dumbfounded expression,
smoothing her palms over her skirt and turning for the bed. She pulled the chair closer to the edge
and lowered primly, leaning forward and lifting Blaise’s hand, gently pressing it between her own.
Four minutes passed in silence. She watched the dust clouds drift overhead, illuminated by violet
dusk and flickering lantern. And then the fingers encased in her grip twitched.

She smiled, glancing down and watching as his eyes flickered rapidly behind waxen lids, veins
standing in stark contrast beneath pale skin. Another two minutes passed, and then the lids slowly
parted, blinking weakly as his throat convulsed, Adam’s apple bobbing in place as he attempted to
swallow.

“It’s okay, Blaise,” she whispered softly, squeezing his hand and drawing his focus. “You’re at St.
Mungo’s. You’re safe.”

His eyes slowly roamed her face, distant and cloudy.

“Parvati?” He whispered, voice hoarse and faint. And then the corner of his mouth tugged higher,
lips pale and creased. “I dreamed of you.” His hand twitched, long fingers gently curving around
her palm. “Guess what you were wearing?”

She smiled sweetly. “I have a strong inkling. But I’m not Parvati. She wishes she could be here and
will be undoubtedly entertained by this story.”

He blinked, head tilting against the pillow. The dense fog settled atop his irises slowly dissipated,
recognition sparking in their depths. His hand twitched again, grip loosening.

“Luna?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

His smile lengthened, a faint hint of rose staining his cheeks and giving his deathly complexion the
illusion of life. “Sorry, luv. I was trying to seduce your friend with my debonair charm.”

She nodded once more, continuing to hold his hand against the mattress. “And would have been
wildly successful, I’m sure.”

His grin turned brittle, falling away piece by piece as memories undoubtedly took hold. His
forehead creased as the sun faded from the room, pale moonlight taking its place.

“Is she alright?” He asked, voice low and thick.

“Yes.”

He released a long sigh. “And Padma?”

“Her condition is the same, but no one else was injured in the attack.”

He tipped his head back, staring at the water stains on the ceiling tile. He started to speak but
erupted into a coughing fit instead, pulling his hand from her grasp to bring a fist to his mouth.
Luna stood swiftly, crossing to the side table and pouring a glass of water from the pitcher. She
waited until his convulsions settled to offer him the glass. He accepted with an appreciative nod,
only to fumble, nearly losing his grip entirely as water sloshed over the rim and onto the white
sheet.

The tremor in his hands extended to his torso, too weak to support his head as he tried to sit up.
Luna took the glass back and placed her other hand behind his neck, helping support its weight as
he leaned in and took a long sip. He soon began to chug with enthusiasm, emptying the glass in
seconds.
“Thanks,” he whispered, groaning in exhaustion and collapsing back to the mattress, head sinking
into the pillow like a sinking stone.

“Would you like more?”

He swallowed heavily, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I’m alright, luv.”

She nodded, moving to set the glass aside. His eyes snapped open, tracking down to his shoulder,
fixed upon the heavy gauze piled atop the entry wound and pale bandages wrapping his naked
chest.

“Strange. I barely feel it.”

“That’s not strange.” She moved once more to his bedside, hands folded neatly before her skirts.
“The nurses have been pumping you full of morphine since you arrived.”

“Ah. Explains the unicorns prancing around the room.”

She tilted her head, studying the wound with a still expression. “Most likely. Or you suffered a
brain hemorrhage and are starting to hallucinate.”

He smirked, color heightening as his blood surged with the recent exertion. "If only I could be so
lucky." And then he grunted low, digging into his meager energy reserves to scoot his body aside a
few inches, profoundly grateful for the morphine as his shoulder remained blissfully numb to the
movement. He glanced to Luna, patting the free section of the mattress with a smile. "So, what did
I miss, darling?"

She gathered her skirts and perched gingerly on the edge, turning to face him. “Not much.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Hm…” Her placid gaze drifted to the ceiling, finger idly tapping her chin. “Let’s see… well, after
you were shot Draco and Harry rushed you downstairs so Doctor Riddle could remove the bullet
while Parvati assisted. I arrived at the very end as the police commissioner sanctioned Grimmauld
an active crime scene and began questioning everyone. Parvati stayed behind with Padma and sent
me in her stead, after which Draco and I sat by your bedside until I had a vision of Hermione
falling through darkness and space and he discovered Dawn in a coma and understandably had to
depart. Theo arrived a while later and sat with you before sending word to your mother. Your nurse
is named Hilda and she enjoys humming show tunes. She also owns two terrier mixes called
Queenie and George.” She shrugged lightly, lowering her gaze to his. “That’s about all.”

He blinked.

And then grinned anew. “Well… consider me enlightened.”

She smiled softly, and then cringed, gasping and clutching her temples.

“What is it?” He asked, reaching forward to grasp her knee as she swayed in place.

She released a long breath, shaking her head as her eyes lost focus. “I haven’t had visions in months
and now they won’t stop.”

He wet his lips, hand clenching upon her skirts. “What do you see?”

“Quick flashes. It’s hard to be certain…” Her hands lowered to her lap, eyes fixed ahead, dazed. “...
I think I see…”

Blaise held his breath, unconsciously leaning in. She bit her lip, gaze narrowing as though trying to
read a faraway sign. "Dolls."

His head fell back to the pillow with a soft thump. “That sounds bloody terrifying.”

She swallowed heavily, shoulders drawing back as shadows bled across her face. “You have no
idea.”

Lavender wiped her ash-streaked palms along her filthy skirt. “The stupid bloody dice spit us out
on the wrong end of the City,” she muttered angrily, offering a hand to Padma as the girl struggled
to stand.

Hermione peered up at the starless night sky, flurries of ash catching in her lashes, rolling off her
cheeks. The moon was large and bright, much closer to the earth than she’d ever seen it before.
Every crater was visible in the powdery soft crust. Her arms tensed at her sides, the urge to reach
out and capture the glowing orb in the palm of her hand nearly overwhelming. She quickly
dismissed the errant notion, gazing either way down whatever dark, desolate road the portal
deposited them onto.

“We need to get off the street,” she stated simply, glancing to her companions as Mowgli took his
perch atop her shoulder. “Until we figure out our next plan.”

Lavender nodded, allowing Hermione to take the lead this time. She led them across the street,
heading for the largest building on the block. It appeared the most intact, the neighboring
structures caught in various stages of disrepair.

“Not in there,” Lavender interjected suddenly, voice low.

Hermione halted on the steps, glancing back. “Why not?”

The blonde wet her lips, eyes gleaming feline red in the darkness, an eerie sight to behold upon her
pretty, blood-splattered face. "You won't like what you see."

Hermione fought the urge to laugh. “Of course I won't. I haven’t liked anything I’ve seen here. But
we need a place to regroup.” She gestured to the two-story structure across the way, roof caved and
windows shattered. “This building has the best coverage, unless you have another suggestion?”

Lavender sighed, nodding her acquiesce. Hermione started up the steps once more, pulling open
the heavy metal door and glancing into the dark interior beyond.

The building appeared to be comprised of one industrial room, ceiling vaulted and windows high
along the perimeter, filtering in moonlight and streetlamps to reveal a work floor overrun with vats,
conveyors and machinery.

Hermione stepped fully inside, allowing her companions to enter behind her. “This is a factory?”

Lavender remained silent.

Hermione raised a brow, starting down the metal steps leading to the manufacturing floor. “What
does it make?”

Her friend sighed, responding at last, albeit evasively. “You’ll see.”

They padded quietly down the center aisle, conveyors on either side. Hermione slowed to a stop as
the conveyor to her left came into clear view, the items lying atop the belt a horrifying sight to
behold.

Human torsos.

She gasped, staggering into a metal vat, only to blink, studying them with a meticulous eye.

No… not human. They couldn’t be. There was no blood, no bone, no rotting flesh or withering
skin. Instead, they each appeared so smooth and flawless they hardly seemed real.

Hermione edged closer, knees quaking with every step, the rest of the room fading away as her
knife pulsed in her boot, heating against her calf. She braced her palms against the side of the
conveyor and leaned forward. The torsos bore a variety of flesh tones, the outer skin rigid. She
lifted a trembling hand, fingertips softly grazing the object centered before her. It was cool and
hard, yet delicate, almost like...

“Porcelain?”

Hermione gazed up, spotting the items situated atop the neighboring conveyor.

Legs.

She peered at the feet. All lefts. Her eyes moved further up, inspecting a row of right arms, limp
and lifeless, hands lying flat against the belt. Her body throbbed with the force of her heartbeat,
eyes continuing their arduous journey upward, tracking higher, higher…

She rocked in place, overtaken by a heady surge of visceral horror.

Bodies dangled from the ceiling above. Metal claws clamped their hairless heads, eyeless sockets
fixed blankly down, jaws hanging loose, torsos and limbs swaying limply. An endless row of life-
sized—

“Dolls,” Hermione whispered, voice as frayed as her sanity. She glanced over her shoulder, vision
hazed. “This is a doll factory.”

Lavender pressed her lips thin, eyes mournful. Padma edged away from the torso conveyor,
rubbing her bare arms, flesh covered in goosebumps. “I don’t like it here,” she stated weakly.

Hermione set her jaw, pushing away from the table. “Neither do I.” Mowgli tensed atop her
shoulder, paws clutching her sleeve tight as though equally affected by the disturbing imagery.
“Let’s get out. We’ll find another place to hide.”

The other two offered no argument, allowing Hermione to lead them back to the main door. She
gripped the handle.

Locked.

“Shite!”

Lavender’s eyes narrowed as she parted her skirts and extracted her hammer. “Stand back.”

Hermione grabbed Padma and moved aside as the blonde sent a powerful shockwave into the
metal barrier. But when she tested the handle it still refused to budge.

“Why would the door automatically lock from the inside?” Hermione asked, still clutching
Padma’s hand.

Lavender shook her head, stepping back with a scowl. "This entire place is a mindfuck. Who
knows."

“There’s got to be another way out.” Hermione peered back down at the factory floor, every
muscle tense. “Come on.”

They started down the main aisle again, completely silent but for their rapid footsteps and
quickened breath, halfway across when Hermione caught movement from the corner of her eye.
She froze in place, turning on her heel.

“What?” Lavender asked, halting as well.

Hermione shook her head, narrowed gaze sweeping across the rows of conveyors until reaching the
shadowed corner. “I’m not sure,” she spoke slowly, releasing Padma’s hand in order to extract her
blade. “Be on alert.”

They continued forward, crossing several more meters when Padma shrieked, jumping in place and
pointing to the opposite corner of the factory. "I saw something!"

Hermione lifted her knife, the metal pulsing blue, reflecting the moonlit across her face. “You
worked in Record Keeping?”

Padma nodded shortly, twisting her thin slip between her hands.

“What do you know about this place?” Hermione continued.

Padma glanced up nervously. “Nothing really. Only that it appeared at the same time as the
Infernal Train.”

Hermione paled, gazing at her sharply. “The wha—” She cut short as one of the dolls hanging in
her peripheral turned its head, staring right at her through black sockets. “We need to leave now.”
She grabbed Padma’s hand and pulled her along. “Run!”

Other heads began to turn, watching them progress across the floor. And then the sound of
screeching metal filled the air. The rusted cranes began to open one by one. Naked, half-formed
dolls dropped to the ground, landing upright on their feet.

“Stop!” Lavender screamed suddenly, throwing her arm out to halt Hermione and Padma beside
her.

Mowgli leaped from Hermione’s shoulder to the floor, backing up quickly as figures emerged from
the darkness ahead. A row of life-sized dolls, each in a state of disrepair, missing an arm, a leg,
faces cracked and clothing in tatters.

Except for one.

The doll at the center of the procession appeared perfect, flawless. Her silken hair gleamed bright
as her glass eyes, red lips standing in stark relief against porcelain skin, further offset by the black
velvet of her gown and the crimson ribbons wrapping her wrists.

She was stunning in her design. And painfully familiar to behold.

Hermione backed up slowly, pushing Padma behind her as the raven-haired doll stepped forward,
heels clicking atop the cement.

“Mione,” Lavender whispered at her side, hammer pulsing orange in her hand. “Are you seeing
what I’m seeing?”

Hermione wet her lips, heartbeat echoing through her limbs. “Yes.” She gripped her knife with all
her strength, preparing for war. “It’s her.”

“What about this, Madam?”

Bella turned on her heel, black lace trailing in her wake as she paced to the far wall, tilting her
head. “More to the right, darling. Don’t be afraid to stretch that tight stomach.”

She winked, watching as the butler flushed and tugged the satin curtain higher, taking care to flex
every visible muscle. She turned away, inspecting the remainder of the room with a meticulous
eye, focus lingering on two men moving a table into the hall. The ballroom was turning out
splendidly, lavish decor transforming the space into a grand showroom.

“Mistress, the florist arrived with the samples.”

Margo teetered in on high heels, balancing a massive vase in her arms. She crossed to a side table
and carefully lowered the crystal between two vases already on display, each baring a unique
assortment of white blooms.

Bella made her way to the woman’s side, gaze narrowed upon the selection as she edged closer to
the first bouquet, fingertips tracing the delicate petals and stigma. “Casa Blanca Lilies are the most
dramatic,” she pondered aloud. “And I do love a bit of flare.”

Margo smirked, gaze fixed upon her Mistress. “So I’ve noticed.”

Bella moved to the middle vase. “White Dittany. Interesting option. Wild and beautiful.”

“Also rumored to be an aphrodisiac,” her maid offered, eyes gleaming.

“Hm.” Bella gave a leaf a contemplative flick. “And how I do love a good rumor.” She stepped
before the third and final arrangement, brow arching as she leaned forward to inhale the heady
scent, releasing a breathy moan. “But nothing can compete with fresh cut Jasmine.” She drew
back. “Deliver my order to Sprout. Enough blooms to fill every room.”

Margo curtsied, skirt riding high atop her thigh to reveal more of her fishnet stocking. “Right away,
Mistress.” She turned gracefully, swishing away with exaggerated flourish. But Bella’s eyes were
once more fastened to the bouquet. She began to idly arrange the stems, releasing more of the
fragrance into the air, filling her lungs and sparking her memory.

His cologne held a similar note, rich and sensual. Along with deep woods and a hint of something
dark, something poisonous.

“What do you intend?”

She swallowed thickly, fingers pressing too hard, snapping a stem at its center.

“Exactly what you wanted, Madam.”

Her breath left her in a solid rush, vision tunneling, Jasmine circling her head in a kaleidoscope of
white.
“We’re going to play a game.”

She reared back, still clutching a bloom and dragging the vase forward, pulling it from the table. It
fell to the ground in an impressive explosion of crystal and petals. The staff gazed up sharply, the
hum of conversation cutting off abruptly. Two footmen began to cross towards her, brows creased
in alarm. She took a steadying breath, holding up her hands.

“Stop.”

They were rendered frozen by her glacial tone. She blinked, lowering her hands and smoothing
them across her tight bodice. “I’ve got it,” she said, voice carefully measured.

One of the men shook his head, starting for her once more. “Please, Madam, allow me to–”

“Continue moving the tables.”

He drew back, nodding reluctantly as she dismissed with him with a sharp glance.

She kneeled carefully, arranging her train around her legs before reaching forward to gather broken
shards. Her movements were slow, stuttered, past and present voices echoing in her head. She
traced the bottoms of her teeth with the tip of her tongue, desperately trying to tamp her thoughts
and emotions. Instead, she lost her concentration to a bit of glinting crystal. The chandelier
reflected brightly upon the faceted glass, drawing her in like a moth to a flame.

She reached for the piece tentatively, breath hitching as she took it in hand. The shard was jagged,
lethal. She traced a fingertip along the razor edge, hissing low as it parted her skin with ease, a thin
sliver of blood rushing to the surface.

“What sort of game?” Her own voice whispered in her mind, low and hesitant. She felt the wall
pressing her spine, saw the shadows swell in her peripheral, light rapidly evading the room as he
pushed her back, a slow and decadent grin curving his lips.

She gasped, clutching the shard tightly in her fist, blood welling along the seam of her palm and
fingertips. A thick bead began a slow and steady journey across the heel of her hand, curving along
the path of her wrist, wrapping her flesh in a red band.

She blinked, vision hazed.

And suddenly the ballroom dissolved from view.

Giving way to another blood-stained memory...

"This is ridiculous, I don't have any lapses in my memory." Her voice was edged in challenge, even
as her hands pressed flat to the wall at her back, nails digging into the paneling. "Trust me, I wish I
did."

The Doctor eyed her carefully, body so close she could feel the heat emanating from his form,
cascading down her front in voluptuous waves. “He helped you forget the miscarriage.” It wasn’t a
question. The sinister rumble of his voice served to calm and electrify her nerves all at once.

Bella lifted her chin, eyes slit. She'd rather be flayed alive than discuss this particular topic, but
considering that may very well be an alternative he was willing to consider, she opted for the path
of least resistance. "He helped me suppress my most violent emotions. Nothing more. I still
remember every moment of the trauma in stunning detail, I assure you."
His eyes flickered, something wild sparking in their depths, utterly captivating. “Then you won't
mind me asking you a few questions.” And then he stepped back, releasing her from his predatory
thrall. She blinked in confusion as he gestured to the pool table at their side. “Have a seat,
Madam.”

She gathered her skirts and edged closer to the assigned perch, limbs rigid with mounting dread.
"Are we going to play doctor now? Foreplay at last." She hoisted herself onto the edge of the
glossy Maplewood and leaned back, bracing her hands atop the felt lining and lifting her cleavage
high, the position helping to conceal the tremor in her arms.

Rabastan’s muffled screams filtered in from down the hall with added hysteria, a renewed surge of
energy overtaking the bound and gagged buffoon.

Riddle stepped closer, stopping just before her knees and clasping his hands behind his back with
casual repose. “I’m going to ask you some questions. Answer them to the best of your ability.”

She arched a manicured brow, smirking. “Kinky.”

His expression remained frozen, unreadable. “What’s your favorite color?”

She blinked, heart skipping as she processed the words. And then she leaned forward, high and
delighted laughter tearing free from her throat beyond her control. “You can’t be serious!”

He didn’t respond. Didn't move. Didn’t seem to breathe. But his eyes burned with a supernatural
intensity that quelled her amusement as quickly as it came. She crossed her arms tightly, face
pinched. “Jaundice yellow, isn't that obvious?”

"What were your parents' names?"

Her breath evaded her in a quick rush, arms dropping heavily to her sides as she gripped the edge
of the frame. “Why?” She clenched her teeth as he refused to respond once more, nails scraping the
glossy lacquer until they threatened to break. “Cygnus and Druella,” she offered without inflection,
glancing away to glare at the wall behind him.

“How did they die?”

She pressed her tongue to the sharp tip of her canine, refusing to meet his watchful gaze. “My
mother drowned and my father choked on his shriveled, black heart.” She exhaled sharply through
her nose, crossing her arms once more. “Satisfied?”

He tilted his head, the first bit of movement in minutes. The motion drew her attention, gaze
alighting upon him at last.

“Almost.”

The simple word held a sinister undertone, sending a deep vibration along the floor and into her
body, rattling her ribcage and jolting her heart.

“Tell me about your sister.”

She tensed, pulse throbbing. “I’ve already told you about Cissy.”

He gave a slow shake of his head. “Not her.” His irises turned molten, backlit by internal flame.
“The other one.”
She swayed precariously. “I don’t like to talk about Andy.”

“So you’ve said.” He stepped closer, the hem of his jacket brushing the tops of her thighs. “Try.”

She drew in a slow breath, gaze flickering to the doorway across the room.

“You’re too clever for that.”

Her eyes snapped back to him. His grin was perverse and beautiful, teeth glinting, hungry. "You
can't outrun me. You can't overpower me. Your only escape is through me.” He drew closer yet,
pressing into her shins. “Now tell me about your sister.”

She blinked rapidly, overwhelmed by his presence, his scent. Her mind spun, vertigo tipping her
sideways. “I…” She shook her head, struggling to remain upright, pressing a hand to her head.
“She’s…” The air pressure changed, or maybe it was the pressure in her skull, a balloon swelling in
her cranium, pushing aside her thoughts. “She left us.” She licked her lips, gaze tracking uselessly
over the oriental pattern on the rug at their feet, trying to grasp a tendril of memory, a wisp of the
past, but everything turned to smoke the moment she grasped its edge. “She left us… with…”

A throbbing pain erupted behind her eyes, blackening her vision. She cried out, leaning forward
and clutching her temples, hair falling loose. “I don’t like to talk about Andy,” she muttered,
strangely compelled to repeat the phrase.

The moment she spoke the words the throbbing pain ebbed, the clenching pressure releasing along
with a grateful sigh from her lips. She cringed, mortified to discover tears now filled her eyes. She
wiped them dry, anger easily overtaking discomfort and fear. She scowled and pushed forcefully
against the chest, preparing to slide down.

“This is pointless! There’s nothing wrong with my–” She blinked, heart stuttering. “Mind.”

Her mouth opened and closed, gaze fixated on the pale fabric of his shirt. His jacket was removed,
sleeves rolled up. She didn’t remember him…

Her gaze drifted to her hands still pressing his chest, claws fully extended, to focus upon the red
ribbon tied to her wrist.

“What…” She pulled back, grasping her forearm as though the appendage wasn’t her own,
horrified at the sight of the satin. “What is this?”

He tilted his head, embers glowing in the depths of his eyes. “Don’t you recognize it?”

Every vein throbbed, pulse surging painfully as she gazed up. “How did you…” Something heavy
and cold settled in the pit of her stomach, turning her intestines to stone and spreading numbness to
her legs and feet and toes. “No,” she whispered, tears overtaking her eyes once more. She inhaled
swiftly, frantically pulling at the ribbon, desperate to free herself of the blood red manacle.

Tom reached forward with lightning speed, muscles tensing along his forearm as he captured her
wrist, rough palm grinding her bones and trapping the ribbon in place. And then he leaned in,
pressing her back onto the table as his gaze sparked with hell flame, shadows cutting sharply across
his cheekbones. "Tell me the Dollmaker's true name," he whispered, the words snipping loose
something inside of her.

She thrashed against his iron hold to no avail. “I…” Fallen strands of hair danced across her bare
shoulders, chest quaking with every fractured breath. “It…”
Vertigo seized her anew, sight fading at the edges, his burning gaze centered amongst the dense
fog, latching onto her with unrelenting determination. And then that faded, too, her vision flashing
black for the space of a terrifying heartbeat. She blinked, senses returning in a dizzying rush. She
braced her free hand against his shoulder for anchor, opening her mouth to speak–

Words evaded her in a keening gasp. For he no longer held her arm captive in his hands. Instead,
his palms braced the maple frame at either side of her body, caging her in.

She glanced to her wrist, blinking in confusion. The ribbon was gone…

He continued to watch with unsettling stillness as she slowly raised her other arm and gaped in
silent tragedy.

The ribbon had migrated.

She leaned back, tears dripping off her jaw. “This isn’t… it can’t be...”

“It can and it is.” His voice was cold as death, fingers rough as he grabbed her hovering arm and
pulled the ribbon free, tucking it into his pocket in one fluid movement. “And I suggest you
quickly come to terms with that fact. Your employer and creator will be calling on you shortly.
What do you think he’ll do when he realizes you’re aware of your conditioning?”

Her tears evaporated in a steaming cloud, rage blazing a scorching trail across her flesh. “He isn’t
my creator. And he won’t be doing anything but writhing in a pool of his own blood by the time
I’m through with the bastard!”

“You can’t even say his name.” Cruel mockery dripped from his tongue, corroding her skin. “Do
you really think he’d allow one of his toys to bring him harm?”

“I’m not a toy!” She screamed, surging forward, chest pressing into his. “I belong to no one!”

Victory flashed in his gaze, unexpected and unsettling. “But you do, Bella.” His breath ghosted
across her lips, down her chin. “You’re owned by the Dollmaker and your husband before that, and
you shall remain their property as long as they continue to draw breath.”

She clutched her wrist, fingers pressing the indentation left behind by the ribbon. “Rod…” Her
voice was hoarse, unrecognizable to her ears. “He wouldn’t…” She shook her head absently, eyes
drifting. “He would never allow this to happen.”

Tom pushed back from the table, features brittle with some barely tamped emotion. “Your marital
affairs are far beneath my concern.”

She watched him carefully, thoughts finally settling into place. “You want the Dollmaker.”

His shoulders drew back, darkness swelling all around him. “Yes.”

She leaned forward, drawn by an invisible thread at her center. “I can help you.”

“Yes, you can.” His eyes narrowed, cold as steel. “And in exchange, I’ll spare your life.”

Her lips curved up in challenge. “You were never going to kill me.” His answering silence made
her heart soar. She forged on, emboldened by her rage. “I can’t speak his true name. I can see it in
my mind but the moment I try and utter it aloud the letters become a jumbled mess.” She pushed
off the pool table, landing deftly on her high heels. “But I know his alias. The one he uses to
practice medicine in England.”
He searched her gaze, the rest of his body falling unnaturally still as she stalked forward. “Tell
me,” he demanded.

She stopped just before him, lifting her chin with calm calculation. “Angus Bumby,” she
whispered, an electric thrill racing along her spine with every syllable.

He staggered back as though shot, eyes flaring wide before he turned away. “Bloody hell.”

She arched a brow, watching him idly. “You’re already acquainted I see.”

“I had him,” he muttered, seemingly to himself, rubbing a hand along his clenched jaw. And then
he strode forward, back tight, body radiating with palpable violence. She scurried out of his path,
jolting as he drove a fist into the wall, cracking the plaster. “I fucking had him!”

She stepped forward, pupils dilated, and placed a hand atop his shoulder, squeezing the undulating
muscle beneath. “I can put him in your path again,” she whispered, pulse thrumming when he
didn’t pull away.

Instead, he released a hissing breath, hands flattening against the wall as he glanced back at her,
eyes murderous. Hypnotic.

“And what exactly do you have in mind, Madam?”

Her lips parted wide with a wicked grin.

The memory shattered as loudly as the vase had, a jarring crash from across the ballroom snapping
her attention forward. One of the footmen dropped a stool, cursing lowly as he struggled to set it
right.

She blinked, eyes tracking back down, curiosity drawn by the sharp sting in her hand. Her fist was
still clenched around the broken glass, blood dripping a steady path onto the gleaming wood. She
gazed upon it for several moments more before raising her hand to her mouth and licking the blood
from her wrist.

Heavy footsteps sounded down the hallway, entering the room swiftly. She drew back, recognizing
the gait without having to glance the owner.

“Bella?”

She cringed, averting her face. Her husband glanced around the vast space, steps faltering as he
spotted her at last.

“There you–” He slowed, forehead creasing. “What are you doing on the floor, luv?”

She rose gracefully, keeping her sliced palm tightly clenched at her side. “A minor mishap, nothing
to draw your focus.”

He continued forward, steps long and confident. “You draw my focus.” He held out a palm. She
took it with her uninjured hand, allowing him to draw her into his body. “The house looks
marvelous. You’ve outdone yourself.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her temple. “They’ll
be talking about this party for years to come.”

“Yes, darling.” She offered him the same smile she gifted Tom, resting her head against his chest
and squeezing the jagged crystal tighter. Her blood pittered steadily to the floor, echoing his
heartbeat. “That’s the plan.”
Hermione took a wide step back, eyes focused upon the army of dolls ahead.

“Is that…” Lavender whispered, gaze widening.

Hermione nodded, her own jaw locking tight. “Yes. It’s her.” She wet her lips, pulse thrumming
along the back of her tongue. “Bellatrix.”

The Doll in question tilted her head, porcelain neck gently scraping at the movement as she
perched her hands on her hips, joints bending at perfect ninety-degree angles. "Have we met,
darling?"

Hermione shivered at the voice, uncanny to the real thing. “Unfortunately,” she replied lowly,
blade pulsing blue in her grasp.

Bellatrix tipped her head back, laughter emanating from deep within her throat, clicking with a
mechanical echo before skipping like a phonograph. But it held the same maniacal quality
Hermione had come to expect from the woman, making her skin crawl and senses sharpen. She
glanced over her shoulder at Padma.

“Hide.”

The girl nodded frantically, dashing away without further response. Hermione looked to Lavender
next, feet spreading in a battle stance. “Ready?”

Her friend smirked, eyes flashing amber as she twirled her hammer with showy flourish. “Always.”

They charged forward. Bellatrix’s laughter carried on, higher, more delighted, as her dolls sprang
forth from around her, riding into battle under their Queen’s silent command.

Hermione ducked beneath a swinging porcelain fist, slashing out with her blade, only to gasp as
another hand caught her by the wrist, restraining her against the side of a conveyor. She blinked
rapidly, glancing around, unable to see her attacker.

And then she realized it wasn’t a doll that held her immobile, but a loose arm on the belt, come to
life along with the rest of the amputated limbs. Hands scurried towards her like glass spiders,
gripping handfuls of her dress and hair, pinning her flat against the side of the machinery and then
dragging her up over the top, onto the belt, pinning her ankles and wrists and spreading her like a
virgin sacrifice on the altar.

She screamed as a one-eyed doll limped forward, its few sprigs of hair sticking out at odd angles,
the glass eye rolling aimlessly in its head before fixing upon her, glinting red at the center.
Hermione thrashed wilding atop the belt, unable to break free from the dozens of arms, their cold
porcelain fingers digging painfully into her flesh.

The one-eyed doll reached forward, gripping her by the neck and squeezing. Hermione gagged,
sputtered, face red and sight rapidly fading at the corners. But she was still able to see the flash of
green dart across her field of vision. Mowgli leaped onto her attacker’s head, clawing frantically at
the smooth surface. The doll released her, staggering back and trying to extract its attacker, unable
to gain purchase on the animal.

Hermione sucked in air greedily, chest heaving as she pulled weakly at her limbs. She heard the
distant sound of Lavender’s struggle but couldn’t see the girl. All she saw was the dark roof, metal
beams crisscrossing from one end to the other, supporting a massive pulley system. She blinked
quickly, following the ropes along the rigs with her eyes, tracking as they led down to a shaft
wheel. The trigger that operated the conveyor belt.

Inspiration struck.

She lifted her pelvis, thrashing wildly, heart soaring as she felt the cards slide along her thigh
through her pocket, the corners peeking out of the blood-encrusted fabric. She groaned with the
strain, continuing to twist every which way her limited range of motion would allow, gasping as
the deck finally slid free, landing atop her corset.

The cards shot out of the case in an impressive flourish, folding into cranes and diving for the
porcelain arms pinning her in place. They pecked mercilessly at the glass, but their combined
efforts were to no avail, the hands merely gripping her tighter and causing her circulation to wane.

“The wheel!” She cried out, tears spilling from her eyes and into her sweat-soaked hairline.

The cranes headed her instruction, soaring upward and slamming repeatedly into the wheel’s lever,
until finally the metal creaked, turning slowly, and then quicker, quicker, pulling the rope in and
setting the overhead gears into motion. The machine slowly yawned to life, the belt hissing
beneath her as it too was activated, rolling slowly along the bench.

The arms jolted, releasing her at once, the blissful sensation of freedom superseded by innate fear
as she watched the limbs scramble quickly over her body, desperate to evade something at the
other end. She rolled to her side, gazing forward, eyes widening as a huge metal press came into
view, its immense weight slamming into the table on three-second intervals, smashing the
porcelain to bits one arm at a time.

She rolled onto her back once more, sighing wearily.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

She attempted to sit, vertigo seizing her. Another arm scampered over her lap. She scowled,
grabbing it by the elbow and throwing it across the room before attempting to jump down—

The one-eyed doll surged forward, filling her vision as though appearing from thin air, grabbing
her around the neck and pressing her back onto the moving belt, walking alongside the machine to
maintain its hold.

Another doll appeared upside down in her swimming-vision, glass eyes two different colors and
hair a vibrant red. It was missing an arm but its existing limb was perfectly functional, as clearly
evidenced by its ability to pin her shoulder flat, further restricting her movement.

The crushing metal grew louder and louder, closer and closer, the massive stamp mere feet away
from her head. She pulled desperately at the hands encasing her neck, beating uselessly against
them, then clawed manically at the face above as blackness flooded her vision, spilling across the
room in pools of dark glossy ink. Arms jumped off the belt, shattering on the floor, passengers
leaping from a sinking ship, taking their chances in the raging ocean.

Bellatrix's laughter filled her head anew, the sound suffusing her with blinding rage and thoughtful
clarity. Hermione stopped fighting with the hands at her throat, feeling around the belt instead,
searching searching searching—

She sputtered a broken gasp as her palm made contact with the familiar handle. She gripped the
knife tight, energy pulsing through her arm and rattling her teeth as she swung it inward with all her
strength, stabbing the doll in the side of the head. Its face cracked across the middle, its sole eye
popping free and rolling across the belt, instantly crushed by the metal stamp.
The doll released her, clutching desperately at its destroyed visage. Hermione slashed backward
with the blade, slashing the doll behind her across the throat and severing its head clean off. The
heavy mass rolled onto her chest, continuing to blink as it settled atop her stomach. Hermione
turned to the side, watching the stamp make quick work of yet another victim, pounding the head
to dust in a single pass, mere inches from her own skull.

Hermione screamed, scurrying backward, only to be held in place by the stamp itself as the metal
clamped down, trapping the hem of her dress. She held her breath, silently counting to three as she
waited for the stamp to release, moments away from being crushed. It lifted at last, the belt rolling
her beneath two tons of crushing metal. She rolled sideways with a desperate shriek, steam hissing
all around her as the stamp dropped down with a deafening bang, rattling every bone in her body.

She hit the cement with a jarring thud, lying just beside the conveyor and watching the stamp crush
the space where her head once laid. She spared no time for celebration, gripping her blade and
scrambling to her feet, searching for Lavender. She spotted a flash of blonde and burst of orange
light across the factory. The girl was fending off three hulking dolls, each more deformed than the
last, the worst of them bearing legs for arms and arms for legs.

Hermione started for her and then gasped as something gripped her ankle tight, pulling her foot
back and tipping her forward. She crashed to the floor a second time, joints screaming with the
impact, chin and palms scraping the cement until the skin broke.

Her knife was knocked from her grip. She reached for it, eyes wide, frantic, and screamed as the
restraint at her ankle ripped her back, dragging her quickly over the floor as she thrashed. She
managed to roll onto her back as she was dragged beneath a conveyor, finally catching sight of her
attacker. A crimson ribbon. The satin was strong as steel as it maneuvered her across the factory
floor to its host at the other end.

Bellatrix.

The ribbons at her wrists burst free in flowing tendrils, undulating through the air like snakes. A
flash of crimson darted out and wrapped Hermione's other ankle, forcing her feet together as she
was pulled beneath a metal table and thrown into the wall, coming to a stop at last.

She released a pained yelp, sliding down to the cement floor in a heap, desperately trying to gain
her bearings. But she wasn’t afforded the opportunity, ribbons wrapping her wrists and pulling her
forward, flat onto her back, limbs splayed out once more.

Bella’s laughter washed over her in a dark wave, instilling Hermione with primal terror and
rendering her mind blank. The porcelain woman appeared above her a moment later, face upside
down and perversely beautiful, even in its coldness.

“My my, aren’t you simply delectable.”

And then her sentient ribbons were pulling Hermione off the ground and hurtling her into the wall
a second time, pinning her above the ground. Bella stalked closer, movements seamless and
sensuous, so life-like Hermione hardly believed her limbs were composed of rigid glass and metal
rods.

“So young. So pretty.” Bella leaned in and pressed her cold lips against Hermione’s parted mouth,
rendering her numb with shock. The woman tittered again, drawing her head back just enough to
gaze into Hermione’s terrified eyes. “I was young and pretty once.”

Hermione caught sight of her pulsing blade in the far distance, discarded upon the floor.
It might as well have been on the moon.

“I can help you,” Hermione whispered. “I can help all of you.”

Bella smiled, lips glossy with lacquer, bearing no evidence of their grotesque kiss, and pressed her
lower half into Hermione's skirts, body ice-cold even through layers of fabric. "Have you ever been
with a man, poppet?" She slid her hand between their bodies, pressing down down down until
reaching the apex of Hermione's thighs, rigid fingers bending forward. "Here?"

Hermione swallowed heavily, trying to cringe away, trapped between the unforgiving barriers of
the wall and Bella’s solid form. She peered over the woman’s shoulder, staring at her fallen blade
with such blatant longing she swore it rattled atop the cement, agitated by her silent plea.

“No?” Bella continued. “Good girl.” She removed her hand, stroking the backs of her fingers along
Hermione’s cheek, catching a stray tear along her fingertip. “Men ruin you. Body and soul. Tearing
you apart limb by limb, only to rearrange you to their heart’s content.” Her glass eyes gleamed
bright, drawing Hermione’s focus. “Their design. Their toy.”

Hermione searched her gaze, mind rapidly grasping for any tendril of hope, some means of escape.
“I know.” She fought to keep her voice level as the ribbons cut into her wrists. “But I can stop Him.
I can fix you.”

Bella tilted her head, blinking innocently, long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. “Fix me?” Her
smile deepened, teeth straight and white. “But I’m not the one who’s broken, darling.” She leaned
in, their mouth aligning once more. “You are.”

Hermione blinked, body going limp. Bella tipped her head back, her resounding laughter deep and
grating, causing Hermione's temper to return in a heady surge. She fought her bonds with all her
strength, screaming like a feral animal as her arms were dragged high overhead. Bella continued to
cackle, pale throat illuminated by moonlight streaming in from the windows above.

Hermione gazed upon her blade once more, calling it forth with every ounce of willpower left
within her soul, eyes tearing with the force of the effort. The ribbons at her wrists and ankles
threatened to sever the bone, the pain overwhelming, but nothing compared to the swell of relief
she felt as the knife lifted from the floor, glowing bright blue. She opened her palm, refusing to
blink, to breathe, every muscle tensed as the knife shot through the air, whistling its way across the
wide expanse and depositing itself seamlessly into her awaiting hand.

Bella’s laughter ended abruptly, head snapping forward as she caught the movement from the
corner of her eye. Hermione wasted no time aiming the blade down, severing the ribbon at her
wrist before slashing forward, catching her captor across the face. Bella reared back in time to
avoid having her head rendered in two, but the knife met enough resistance for Hermione to know
she left a damaging mark.

Bella staggered away, ribbons falling loose as she pressed both hands to her face, eyes blazing with
hellfire.

“Wretched bitch!”

Hermione dropped to the ground as her restraints released, leaning into the wall for support as she
unfastened the whip from around her waist. Bella continued to scream, her ribbons bobbing in
place like venomous cobras poised to strike.

Hermione pushed to her feet, cracking the whip forward and erupting a wall of flame between
them. One of the ribbons tried to breach the fire, instantly disintegrating to ash as Bella released a
sharp hiss of rage.

And then a second scream filled the air, belonging to neither woman.

Hermione spun in place, searching frantically, spotting Padma across the room, huddled in the
corner as an army of glass limbs scrambled towards her, porcelain hands reaching for her bare
ankle as she kicked desperately.

Hermione sprinted towards her, rolling over conveyors and beneath tables until she reached the
motley scene, kicking and stomping the wayward limbs until they scampered away like roaches to
the light. Hermione offered the girl her hand. Padma wiped the tears from her eyes as she rose,
starting to speak, only to be cut short by Lavender’s keening battle cry.

They both turned swiftly, spotting the girl atop a conveyor belt, dodging metal claws as they
reached for her, the machinery possessed.

“Lav!”

Her friend glanced up, leaping from the equipment as two deformed dolls chased after her. “The
windows!” The blonde screamed, changing direction and causing one of her pursuers to run into
the side of a metal vat, face splitting with a crunch.

Hermione peered skyward, gazing upon the windows near the ceiling. She nodded quickly,
reaching into her skirt for the flask— only to cringe. Lavender had it last.

She turned to Padma instead. “You have to climb,” she instructed, pulling the girl towards the
conveyor stationed beside the wall. Padma turned grey, shaking her head and frantically pulling
free of her hold.

“I can’t!”

Hermione reached forward again, gripping both of her arms tight. “You have to, come on.” She
dragged the reluctant girl to the rigging that fed up to the ceiling, the ropes connected to a circular
belt running the perimeter of the factory. “Hold tight, be careful.” She pushed the girl forward.
“But be fast.”

Padma nodded, eyes wide with unbridled terror.

“It’s alright,” Hermione added more softly. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She watched the barefooted girl slowly climb upward, gripping the rope tight and struggling to find
her footing along the wheel casing. Lavender came charging around the corner a moment later, a
headless doll staggering after her, arms sweeping the air aimlessly.

“Go!” The blonde shouted, leading the doll on a winding path until it tripped over its own feet,
crashing to the ground and breaking into pieces.

“No,” Hermione said, holding out a hand. “You go next. Give me the hammer.”

Lavender skid to a stop at her side, shaking her head. “No way–”

“You’ll be faster if you transform, now go!”

Her friend groaned, handing over the weapon as the fire blazed higher, rapidly spreading across the
floor, eager to consume everything in its path. “You had better be right behind me, Hermione
Granger,” she warned, visage illuminated red with flickering light.

“I promise! Hurry!”

Lavender dissolved away in a rush, falling to the ground in cat form, thick tail swishing as she
leaped onto the conveyor and began scaling the edge of the rigging. Mowgli appeared in a flash of
green, leaping onto Hermione’s shoulder, holding her panicked gaze.

“You next, go!”

He blinked once before darting after Lavender. Hermione leaned over, tucking the hammer into her
boot, opposite her blade, and climbed onto the belt, holding her breath as she gripped the rope with
both hands, grunting low and pulling herself up, boots kicking the air until she found her footing.

She began a slow and arduous climb, halfway up when Padma reached the circular track suspended
from the ceiling, Lavender tight at her heels. The feline unfolded into a woman once more, leaning
back and driving the heel of her boot into the window, cracking the glass. She kicked two more
times, shattering it clean through.

Hermione’s heart leaped, smoke rising high as the fire spread rapidly below. Neither girl on the
track crawled to freedom, turning instead to watch Hermione's steady ascent.

“Go!” She screamed, muscles burning with fatigue.

Lavender sighed deeply, directing Padma through the busted frame. Mowgli darted out next, but
the blonde was reluctant to follow. She made it halfway across the opening before stopping and
turning to face Hermione. She started to speak, but her words were lost to the terror in Hermione’s
mind as her ankle was seized tight, leg ripped back with such force she lost her grip on the rope,
free falling backward.

Lavender’s desperate shout filled her head, red flames filling her vision, adrenaline flooding her
veins as she braced for fatal impact with the ground.

But the death blow never came, a solid band catching her around the back, jolting her hard and
suspending her a foot above the cement. She gazed around in shock, heart lodged firmly in her
throat.

Ribbons.

Dozens and dozens of satin tendrils wrapping her limbs and waist, holding her tight. They lowered
her to the floor gently, only to pin her limbs like manacles, spreading her wide. She watched in
horror as the eyeless dolls staggered to the conveyor, ripping the rigging from the wall in an
explosion of debris and noise. She was distantly aware of someone screaming her name from
above, but a thick cloud of smoke hovered along the ceiling, blocking her view.

And then Bella appeared overhead, blocking out everything else.

Her once pristine face bore a deep fissure along the side, starting at her temple and ending at her
jaw. The fine porcelain cracked minutely along the groove, as though set to shatter at the slightest
touch. She stepped over Hermione, straddling her, and then sank down, weight pressing upon her
pelvis as she reached down and extracted the blue pulsing knife from Hermione’s boot.

She leaned forward, glass eyes turning red, reflecting the roaring flames surrounding them on all
sides. She tapped the flat end of the blade against Hermione’s cheek. The other dolls formed a tight
circle around them, watching with bated anticipation.

“My beauty is my greatest weapon,” Bella said lowly, gaining her undivided attention.

Hermione lifted her chin, skull pressing the rough cement as smoke filled her lungs. “And yet it
crumbled beneath my blade.”

Bella smiled, slow and sinister, teeth appearing much sharper than before. “Tell me, darling, how
do you think your pretty face will fare?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, pulling futilely against her binds. “Christ. Just kill me and get it over
with. You’re as unbearable here as you are in real life.”

Bella laughed again, high and delighted, saturated with an unsettling mania that turned Hermione’s
stomach inside-out. “Kill something so marvelous?” Her amusement faded, eyes narrowing upon
Hermione’s snarling visage. “No, darling. I’ll have much more fun playing with you for all
eternity." She pressed the blade harder, until the razor sharp edge bit into Hermione's flesh and
drew a line of blood along her cheekbone, mirroring the mark upon Bella's face. "You'll be my
favorite toy yet. Perhaps I'll carve my initials into your flesh so everyone will know exactly who
you belong to.”

Hermione screamed in outrage, blood sizzling in her veins, causing her entire body to flush red hot.
“You’re not a victim! You’re as evil as He is!”

Bella arched a dark brow, the motion causing a small piece of her face to chip away, falling into
Hermione’s tousled hair as she leaned in close. “No, my love.” She placed her rep lips beside her
ear, whispering low. “I’m much worse.”

Hermione seethed, channeling all her energy upon the blade, willing it back into her possession. It
glowed bright, trembling in Bella’s grip, eager to join its rightful owner. But its current possessor
held tight, drawing back with a feral grin.

“Na-ah-ah. It’s my turn to play." And then she lifted the blade high overhead with both hands.
"We're going to have such adventures.”

Hermione inhaled sharply, taking more smoke into her lungs, vision tunneling until her
surroundings became blurred, reality distorting like ripples over a still lake. She saw a chandelier
lying upon the factory floor, shattered to fine, sparkling dust. A wooden staircase appeared along
the wall, burning steadily, faces dancing in the flames. Her parents' disembodied voices filtered
down from the rising smoke, overlaid by Lavender's frantic screams.

The fire hissed at her back, her sides, above and below, red and enraged, the faces trapped within
the blaze twisting into demonic effigies.

She swallowed thickly, forcing her pulse to calm and her mind to focus. Her eyes reflected the
bright glint of the blade as it was aimed over her heart. And then Bella drove the knife down, her
porcelain thighs squeezing Hermione's hips tight until her pelvis was sure to break. But in all the
chaos, a single sound penetrated the deafening roar in her ears, louder than the flames, the
screaming, the rapid thrum of her pulse and surging pressure in her veins.

Lavender’s voice, clear as crystal.

“But Hermione, you are the fire.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed red as the knife continued its rapid descent, time slowing and speeding all
at once. Her skin sizzled, the only bit of warning she received before her entire body burst into dark
flames.

Bella gasped, rearing back as the fire surged, pulling the knife away with millimeters to spare. The
flames ignited her dress. She screamed, rolling away and batting the fabric as her dolls staggered
forward to help.

The flames burnt through the ribbons binding Hermione’s limbs, turning the satin to ash. She sat
up slowly, raising her hand before her face and studying the black fire dancing along her skin. A
mesmerizing sight.

Hermione inhaled long and deep, rising to her feet as the broken dolls scurried back, trapped by the
red flames created by her whip. They looked utterly terrified, cowering together. All except for
Bella, who continued to hold herself with steady poise even as her singed gown smoked at the
hem.

“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?” Bella’s voice was equal parts anger and intrigue.

Hermione’s hands flexed at her sides. “You haven’t seen the half of it.” And then she lifted a palm,
sending a rope of black flame outward, engulfing the cluster of misfit dolls in the corner.

Their screams were shrill, horrific, as though they felt the agony of burning alive as their bodies
shattered beneath the intense heat, clothing and hair scorched away as they collapsed into piles of
ash. Hermione rocked back on her heels, overcome with a heady rush of adrenaline, buzzing with
euphoria.

She turned her attention to Bella and held out her palm, eyes darkening to match the flames lapping
across her skin. “My blade.”

Bella lifted her arm and slowly relinquished the weapon, her gaze never straying from Hermione’s.
“This isn’t over, dove.”

Hermione grinned as her fingers wrapped around the familiar handle, profound comfort setting in
as the knife pulsed black.

“I beg to differ.”

And then she sent her flames forward once more.

Lavender scrambled down the side of the fire escape, movements stuttered and frantic as she
leaped to the ground, reaching upward to help Padma navigate the last few rungs. The moment the
girl set foot on the pavement Lavender spun on her heel and began racing around the building,
lungs pumping furiously as she called over her shoulder.

“Stay here!”

Red flames shattered the remaining windows, sending her pulse sky-high as she tore a path
towards the front door of the factory, Mowgli keeping pace close beside her.

“Hermione!” She screamed as glass rained down from above, slicing at her arms and tangling in
her hair. She started up the front steps, only to stumble back as the metal door exploded open with
such force it cracked the brick.

Lavender cringed back, black smoke billowing out in heavy droves, blocking her view of the
interior. She spotted flashes of red and orange flame, as well as something else… she squinted,
waving smoke away from her face as a faint silhouette took shape against the blazing background.

She stepped back onto the sidewalk, giving the entrance wide berth as the figure slowly emerged.
Her pulse skipped painfully as she caught sight of familiar tousled curls.

“Hermione?”

Black flames licked across her friend’s skin, gradually calming with every step until they
disappeared completely. Her flesh appeared unmarred, glowing pale and flawless in the moonlight.
Her blood-stained dress from earlier in the evening had transformed, now sleeveless and solid
black from corset to hemline.

Lavender blinked slowly, arms lowering to her sides. “Are you… alright?”

Mowgli was less apprehensive, leaping onto Hermione’s shoulder without hesitation, green tail
encircling her throat.

“Never better,” Hermione replied with a faint smirk, a plume of white smoke erupting from her lips
as she spoke. And then she stepped onto the sidewalk, boots clicking steadily as she progressed
along the pavement, stopping a few feet away to glance over her shoulder. “Ready?”

Lavender blinked once more, waking from her momentary stupor. "Always."
She paced to her side, eyes glinting amber. “We just have to figure out a way across Wonderland
undetected.”

Hermione lifted her chin, smile deepening as the factory collapsed beneath the onslaught of
wildfire. “Perhaps we should take a ride on the Train.”
 Infernal Train

Give yourself over, Alice.

Trade the tentacles for the train.
It’s altogether a better ride.
. . .

Harry glanced up as a soft knock sounded from the front of the room. Susan hovered in the open
doorway, silver tray balanced between her hands, tendrils of steam emanating from a dozen
mismatched mugs and teacups packed atop its gleaming surface.

“Breakfast,” she announced loudly, voice echoing off the cracked ceiling and dissipating through
the shattered windows. Her father glanced up as she entered the dining room, heels clicking across
the hardwood floor, freshly swept of glass and debris.

“Ah. Right. Come in,” the Commissioner beckoned, briefly rubbing his eyes with his thumb and
forefinger, papers scattered every which way before him. “We’ll take a break. Everyone back in
five.”

A few of the plainclothes detectives seated on his side of the table stood, eager to stretch their legs
in the wake of the early morning meeting. But Harry remained seated, rolling his shoulders back,
desperate to alleviate the tension in his spine. He wasn’t used to sitting still for so long, especially
in the aftermath of such violent chaos. However, today’s subject matter required brains, not brawn,
so he forced his mind to focus best it could at such an ungodly hour. Theo’s presence in the chair
beside him was a grounding comfort, keeping his outbursts in check as Bones methodically broke
down his plan for this evening’s mission.

They’d all gathered around the long and narrow dining room table at sunrise, wasting no time in
covering its scarred and blood-stained surface with files and a large map, the latter covered in red
and blue markings as the Commissioner laid out his strategy with steady poise. The sun was finally
above the horizon, orange rays streaming through the busted frames, illuminating the fatigued
faces of detectives and Grimmauld residents alike.

Susan began making her rounds, offering coffee and tea to each chair she passed, Ron trailing at
her heels, his own tray loaded with a pile of scones and biscuits that were surely stale as shite. She
conversed with easy confidence, knowing all the detectives by name, exchanging brief greetings
and inside jokes, eliciting grins from each. Ron looked far more hesitant in his task, though Harry
suspected that had more to do with the death glare the Commissioner pinned him with as he
watched the young man hovering at his daughter's side.

Susan approached her father next, selecting a chipped mug and setting it before him as he read over
a file.

“Here, Dad.”

He continued to thumb through the pages without an upward glance, gripping the handle with his
free hand and bringing the ceramic to his mustache.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

She nodded, retaking her tray and moving onto the next. Every chair was occupied, extras dragged
in from various rooms, but one person chose to stand during the duration of the meeting, leaning
against the back wall between two open windows, the sunlight framing his tall silhouette and
casting his face in shadow.

Riddle.

The man took everything in with brooding silence, asking no questions and making no comment,
much to Harry’s annoyance. He could see the mechanism turning behind the man’s turbulent gaze
but couldn't begin to imagine what he was thinking, what he was planning. The silence was a
festering rot. Harry refused to be out of the loop, especially where Hermione was concerned.

But at least the man was here, offering his dark presence to the room in frustrating calm and
stillness, which is more than could be said of Malfoy. The blonde was noticeably absent from the
meeting, an anomaly that left Harry and Theo both on edge, knowing the bloody ponce wouldn’t
skip anything pertaining to Hermione by his own free will. If he wasn’t here it was because
something prevented him from attending, and that was perhaps the darkest thought of all.

Harry's eyes were drawn to Ron as his friend held his tray of stale baked goods out to Sirius. His
Godfather raised a brow, plucking a scone off the plate.

“The kitchen's still standing?”

“About half,” Ron confirmed. “Ironically, the china cabinet survived the blast just fine.”

“Wonderful.” Sirius broke the rigid pastry in half, crumbs scattered before him. “There’s nothing
more therapeutic than shattering hand-painted cups against the wall.”

Susan approached Harry next. He accepted a cracked mug with a smile.

“Thanks, Susan.”

She nodded, appearing remarkably composed. But the dark circles beneath her eyes matched his
own. He hadn’t been able to sleep more than a couple hours at a time, tossing fitfully before
awakening violently at every creaking floorboard and rattling pipe. He watched as she offered her
tray to the man seated beside him. Theo declined with a shake of his head, arms folded atop the
table. Harry met his eye, arching his brow in silent bemusement as he took a sip of much-needed
caffeine.

“I can’t eat or drink right now,” Theo explained, his tone casual but the hard set of his jaw
betraying his nerves.

“Theo, you don’t have to do this.”

Theo rolled his eyes, sparing him a sideways glance that made his opinion on Harry’s intelligence
abundantly clear. “We’ve already been through it, Potter. If you’re going in, I’m going in.”

Harry took another heavy sip to mask the rising heat in his neck, warmth spreading through his
chest.

Then the idiot kept talking.

“Besides, you can’t be trusted not to sabotage this entire mission with your pig-headed hero-
complex.”

Harry shook his head, setting his mug on the table. “And the moment had such potential.”
He could see Theo’s answering smirk from the corner of his eye. Their voices were low enough to
not be overheard, if anyone had been bothering to pay attention— which they weren’t, everyone
absorbed in their own task of obtaining refreshments or looking over the map.

As Harry scratched the back of his head he saw Susan pass Riddle with a hurried step, her eyes
carefully averted. She didn’t bother offering him anything to drink, nor did he so much as glance in
her direction, seemingly oblivious to her appearance in the room at all. Harry released a weary
sigh, recalling the file she brought him the day before, her reservations about the information
contained inside. He rubbed his eyes. It was a problem that needed addressing. But not today.
Today was about the mission. Nothing else mattered.

A carriage drove by the Mansion in the distance, easily heard through the open frames. Harry
tensed, glancing out sharply, pulse quickening as the horses slowed before the busted gate. He
stared at the small window, hoping to see a flash of white-blonde hair. Instead, an elderly man
stuck his head out, gawking at the lopsided structure with a slack jaw. Another rubbernecking pain
in the arse. They'd been getting them all morning. The carriage drove past at last, gaining speed
before turning the corner, departing as all those before it.

And still, no sign of Malfoy.

But Harry’s lingering concern was forced aside as detectives began to filter back into the room,
taking their empty seats with coffee and tea in hand. Susan adopted the empty chair beside her
father, the seat left vacant in her absence as she set to work collecting breakfast.

Ron set his empty tray on the buffet and started for the chair on her other side. He gripped the
backing, freezing in place with a terrified expression as Bones’ hard gaze snapped up, lingering on
his hand in silent challenge. Ron cleared his throat, releasing the chair as though burned and
flushing to the tips of his ears. He shuffled back, taking post against the wall like a butler awaiting
summons.

"Alright," Bones spoke loud and clear, gaining the attention of the room and bringing side
conversations to a halt. "I made a last-minute change. Robards, you're going to be on the Northeast
corner as well. There's enough coverage for two lookouts.”

An officer at the end of the table nodded.

Bones swept his eagle gaze over the remainder of his men. “Does everyone understand their
positions?”

“Yes, Sir,” they spoke as one, causing Harry's spine to snap straight, shoulders back, instantly
transported to the ship and its ranking system.

Bones gazed forward, pinning Harry beneath the heavy weight of his undivided focus. “And do
you three understand your roles once you’re inside?”

“Yes,” Harry replied at once, voice clipped and confident. Theo nodded by way of response, Harry
suspected the man didn’t trust his own voice.

The Commissioner cast his gaze higher, above Harry’s head.

“Riddle?”

Harry glanced back in time to see the statue at the wall come to life, lips parting and chin lifting.

“The plan seems straightforward,” the Doctor stated evasively.

Bones seemed to detect the hidden meaning within the words as well. “Straightforward plans are
the most successful. This web is complicated enough. There’s no reason to tangle it any further.”

Harry took a steadying breath, facing the Senior Detective head-on. “There’s one problem.”

The Commissioner blinked, meeting his eye with a guarded expression. “And what’s that?”

“Draco will insist on coming, you must assign a role for him.”

Bones crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat. “If he intended on being a part of this mission he
should have come to discuss it.”

Harry shared a loaded glance with Theo before continuing. “Draco is committed to helping.
Something important obviously came up—”

“Be that as it may, three insiders is more than enough.”

Theo spoke up at last, “You’ll have to put him in chains to keep him out.”

“I’ll happily oblige.”

Susan squirmed in her chair. “Dad—”

“Sweetheart, you’re involved way too deeply in this mess already. I know what I’m doing.” Bones
pinned them all with a narrowed gaze. “I’m in charge of this operation. I say who stays and who
goes.”

“I think we can benefit from all the help we can get,” Harry responded, trying hard to keep the
insolence out of his voice.

“Malfoy’s got too many ties to the main targets as it is,” Bones continued, unaffected by the
opposition. “I wasn’t even comfortable with him attending this meeting. Nevertheless, his absence
speaks volumes. He’s not going in.”

“Malfoy has demonstrated on numerous occasions where his true allegiance lies,” Riddle spoke
suddenly, drawing all their gazes with rapt focus. Harry got a cramp in his neck from spinning his
head around, the steady cadence of the man's voice a type of hypnosis. "And it is his very ties to
those at the helm of the organization that makes him an invaluable asset to our mission. He can
provide a level of subversion unattainable to the rest of us. At the very least, he can prove a useful
distraction.”

“I can vouch for that,” Sirius added from his spot a few chairs away. “There's nothing flashier than
a Malfoy. Peacocks, the lot of ‘em. Lucius practically struts when he walks.” He turned to Bones
with a wry grin. “The boy's a good distraction. Unless you’d like to borrow some dynamite?”

“Thank you for the generous offer, but I prefer taking a more subtle approach,” Bones replied
steadily, eyes still lingering on Riddle. “If Draco Malfoy is willing to meet with me before the
mission I’ll consider letting him in. But the final call is mine to make. I won’t have an agent going
rogue on the inside.”

Harry leaned back, impressed with Riddle’s powers of persuasion and offended by the fact he
seemed to have far more sway with Bones than the rest of them. Sirius quickly drew him out of his
conflicted reverie.

“My Godson, Naval Lieutenant and Secret Agent at the tender age of twenty-two. I couldn’t be
prouder.”

Harry shook his head. And then Riddle stepped away from the wall, drawing their collective gazes
once more.

“Might I make another suggestion.” He didn’t even try to phrase it as a request.

Bones rolled his eyes. “I can’t wait.”

"I think it wise to include Ms. Patil in this endeavor."

Harry stiffened, glancing back in confusion. “Parvati?”

Riddle met his eye, five o’clock shadow making the angles of his face even sharper.

Harry blinked a few times before realization dawned. He wanted to slap himself in the forehead but
settled for whipping back around, announcing his revelation to the room.

“That’s brilliant.”

Bones didn't seem to agree. "Enough young women's lives are at stake, I won’t be adding another
to the list.”

Harry gripped the edge of the table. “You don’t understand, she—”

"I'll do it," a feminine voice announced from the doorway.

Harry glanced sideways, as did everyone else, watching as Parvati entered the demolished room
with her head held high and her skirts held stiff with dried blood. Harry spotted Neville and
Hannah past her shoulder, hiding behind a pillar as they continued to eavesdrop, faces red at the
sudden attention.

“I hope you don’t mind us listening in,” Parvati said without a hint of shame or embarrassment,
planting her hands on her hips. “The doors were open so I assume you’re holding an open
meeting.”

Bones rolled his eyes, scooting his chair back to face her fully. “The doors are missing, but we’ve
already established that privacy is an abstract concept in this household.” His gaze swept over her
battle-worn attire. “I appreciate your willingness to—”

“Ms. Patil is our secret weapon,” Riddle stated plainly, poised as a suit of armor.

Bones glared at the interruption but ultimately took the bait. “Explain.”

Parvati swallowed lightly. “My sister is…” her arms lowered, hands opening and closing at her
sides. “She’s one of their…”

“Dolls,” Harry provided, sensing her struggle. She visibly cringed at the word. He met her eyes in
silent apology. She nodded once before turning her focus back on the Commissioner.

“We’re identical twins. And as far as they’re concerned she died in the fire that killed Rabastan
Lestrange.”

Bones blinked. “Rabastan Lestrange is dead?”

Riddle lifted a hand to his face, rubbing his brow as though tired or annoyed, likely some
combination of the two, while Sirius cleared his throat at the other end of the room, drumming his
fingertips along the scarred wood and uttering lowly, “Well, this is awkward.”

Bones shook his head. “Christ.” He glanced sharply at Riddle, as though already knowing the man
was responsible for his newest headache. “We’ll table this discussion. For now.” And then his
attention snapped back to Parvati, assessing her anew. “You’re willing to pose as your sister?”

She nodded without hesitation.

"From what I've been told the nature of their victims is highly subdued and submissive," Bones
continued, watching her closely. “You’re confident you can pull that off?”

She scoffed, tossing her braid and folding her arms, feet parting in a combative stance she hardly
seemed aware of. “I can pull off anything I set my bloody mind to.”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll practice her subdued and submissive face before
leaving.”

“See that you do,” Bones said, turning back to the table and its assorted occupants. “This many
civilians on the inside is highly risky. I’m going to be completely honest with you: I can’t
guarantee your safety once you walk through those doors.”

Harry nodded, indifferent to the news. But his Godfather didn’t take it on the chin as easily, all
traces of amusement fading from his hardened features.

“Hold on just a minute here,” Sirius snapped, leaning forward, “you have an entire bloody task-
force at your disposal, what do you mean you can’t guarantee their safety?”

“Sirius, it’s fine—”

"No, it isn't, Harry!"

Harry leaned forward as well, gazing past Theo to hold the man’s gaze steady. “I have to do this.
Whatever the cost, whatever the risk. We have to get those girls out. We have to find Hermione.”

Sirius blinked, jaw tensing as he no doubt chewed on whatever argument he'd been meaning to
unleash. Instead, he rounded on Bones, eyes gleaming with determination.

“I’m coming.”

Bones’ expression remained unchanged, as though he expected the outburst. “Not a chance.”

“I’ll wait outside with the second wave.” Sirius glared, fist slamming on the table, rattling their
cups and plates. “I’m a goddamn Admiral, Bones! I’m an asset in the field and you know it. I won’t
let my personal ties get in the way.”

A silent battle of wills commenced, the Senior Officers locked in a staring contest that left Harry
itching for a pocket watch to time the match.

“Bloody hell,” Bones snapped, looking away at last. “Fine.” He glanced around the room in
annoyance. “Alright, any other bombshells you’d like to share? Now’s the time to do it.”

For the first time in hours, silence prevailed. Harry was tempted to glance out the window and
check the sky for planetary alignment.

“Good.” The Commissioner's sharp voice drew his focus back. “This meeting is dismissed. We’ll
reconvene this evening.” He pushed away from the table, holding Riddle’s eye as he stood, Arthur
reigning over his Knights. “Let’s take these bastards down.”

The violinist began to play.

Astoria stepped onto the ream of silk, raising her bent arm with a smile. Daphne gathered her skirts
and moved beside her, holding her gaze as she took her elbow. A stuttered beat, a lifetime playing
out between them, and then they faced forward, starting down the aisle.

The silk roll extended all the way to the Minister at the other end. Greg stood tall and handsome to
the elderly man’s left, eyes fixed steadily on his bride-to-be, gleaming with love and awe. Daphne
met his rapturous gaze with a soft gasp, something between a laugh and a sob, quickly stifled with
her next breath. Astoria squeezed her sister’s arm with her own, earning her gaze once more.

Daphne was radiant, awash with joy and sunlight, an angel traipsing through the garden of the
small chapel. She looked so much like their mother it made Astoria’s chest ache. The train of the
bridal gown dragged softly along the runner, collecting scattered petals with each step. To say the
dress was unconventional was an understatement of the highest order. And yet there could be no
more perfect choice for the occasion.

The dove grey skirts were flowing and pleated, adorned with pink and white silk blossoms,
twisting ivy and curling leaves stretching to the second tier wrapping her waist, a magnificent sight
to behold, but it was the bust that drew the eye. Sheer grey lace shrouded Daphne like a second
skin, the back panel see-through and the front adorned with pink blooms from navel to boatneck,
petals sprinkled across the sheer lace sleeves. The design was as shocking as it was beautiful, the
muted colors palette balancing the exposed back and arms.

The Minister remained stoic as he gazed upon the bride, eyes focused upon her face. Astoria had
chosen the man herself, his reputation well known among the young Gentry for officiating secret
unions. She had no doubt he’d seen a vast array of formal wear coming through his chapel over the
years. But his discretion was his greatest selling point, the reason Astoria had paid him a small
fortune to accommodate this last-minute marriage. They couldn’t risk their father finding out what
transpired before they filed the marriage certificate on Monday morning.

Daphne gazed ahead, meeting Greg’s gaze, a long curl brushing her bare shoulder with the motion.
Her pale tresses were swept back in a simple up-do, pearl-tipped pins strategically placed across
the top, creating a subtle crown. She pressed the bouquet to her stomach as they approached the
end of the aisle, white lilies to match the bloom pinned to Greg's lapel. The flowers had been a last-
minute addition, courtesy of the same woman responsible for the bride’s one-of-a-kind adornment.
A loyal and devoted friend to the end.

Pansy stood beside Greg, taking the spot of best man and second witness to the secret union. She
wore a pale pink gown, form-fitting but modest, complementing the coloring in Daphne's dress.
Astoria held no doubt their friend had chosen something simple to keep Daphne as the centerpiece.

At long last, they reached the end of the aisle. Astoria inhaled sharply as the sole violinist ended
the song on a soft note, hovering beside a row of rose bushes. The minister smiled warmly, worn
hands folded calmly before his robes.

“Who gives away this bride?”

Astoria swallowed heavily, throat tight with emotion. “I do.” She met Daphne’s sparkling gaze.
“Her sister.”
Daphne leaned in, wrapping an arm around Astoria’s neck and hugging her tight, lilies pressing
against her nape as their heartbeats aligned, thrumming wildly. Astoria’s eyes drifted up, locking
with Greg’s. He waited patiently, cheeks dimpled by his wide grin. Astoria took a deep breath,
loving and dreading the moment in equal measure.

It was time to let her go.

She clung to Daphne a moment longer before loosening her hold, drawing back slowly. Her sister
laughed, the sound high and nervous before handing her bouquet forward. Astoria accepted it with
both hands, taking a step back as the bride gathered her skirts and turned, facing her groom. Greg
stepped forward until they were centered before the Minister, joining their hands. She tipped her
head back to maintain his towering gaze, bouncing onto the balls of her feet, the excited gesture
giving the Minister his cue.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the love and commitment of Gregory Gustaf Goyle and
Daphne Eleanore Greengrass.”

Pansy placed a white-gloved hand to her lips, smothering a laugh at the groom’s expense. Astoria
rolled her eyes even as her smile deepened.

“Love is a blessing bestowed to many but truly appreciated by so very few. To honor love through
the sacred bond of marriage is to honor God and each other. It is a precious gift to be cherished
with every breath. And in exchange, it shall grant structure, security, and meaning to your life until
your dying day.”

The Minister glanced between them. “I understand the bride and groom have prepared a few
words?”

Astoria blinked, knees locking. Shite! She forgot to tell him to use the ceremonial vows. She leaned
forward, lips parting, but Greg’s next words rendered her mute.

“Yes, we have.”

Astoria stilled, rocking back and meeting Pansy’s eyes over his broad shoulder. Her friend winked.

“Daphne,” Greg began, voice low and measured, words spilling free with ease. “I remember the
first time I saw you. We were at the Malfoy’s annual garden party.”

Astoria tilted her head, confused. She always thought the couple met at Daphne’s birthday party,
after which their father informed his eldest daughter she was engaged to marry the boy she’d only
met three days prior.

“It was hot outside and most of the guests were piled under the silk tents,” he continued, joined
hands rocking between them. “I couldn’t stand the crowd so I snuck away to the main house. I
didn’t plan on being inside long, but I got turned around and suddenly I was lost, panicking,
convinced I’d never find my way out… and then I heard it.” His eyes flickered between hers.
“Your voice.”

Daphne stiffened, as did Astoria, drawn in by the tale.

“You weren’t talking to me. You weren’t even in the same room. But the moment I heard you… I
knew everything was going to be alright. I followed the sound like a siren song until I reached the
library. The door was unlocked so I crept inside. I didn’t want to disturb you, didn’t want you to
stop talking.”
Astoria released a slow breath, squeezing the bouquet until the stems threatened to snap.

“I slipped past the cases until I reached the little reading nook at the back. I peered between the
shelves and there you were. Sitting on the rug, your skirts fanned around your legs in a perfect
circle. Your dress was white with light blue trimming and the ribbon in your hair was peach.”

Daphne rocked in place, clutching his hands tight, the intensity of his gaze seeming to steady her.

“Astoria was with you, seated a few feet away. You were reading to her. I can’t remember which
book; the moment I saw you I barely heard the words. But the story was filled with characters and
you threw your voice each time, high and low, giving life to each of them.”

Astoria felt tears burning behind her eyes, the memory taking solid root at last. She remembered
that day well. The book was Rip Van Winkle, and it was Daphne’s imitation of Dame Van Winkle
that had her in tears, gasping for breath with amusement.

“Astoria couldn't stop laughing. I had to bite my tongue to stop from laughing as well. I didn’t want
you to see me. I was afraid of ruining the moment. Somehow I knew… somehow I knew, even at
that age, something precious was happening. Something fragile and delicate.”

Astoria held her breath.

“Years later you told me the garden party was the first event you attended after your mother’s
death. Your father forced you to go. But the crowd was overwhelming and Astoria started to panic,
so you took her somewhere quiet and safe. Into the library. And then you read to her. To distract
her, and to make her smile the way your mother used to.”

Astoria blinked, tears overspilling the corner of her eye, dripping off her chin. She glanced away
from the couple, finding Pansy, catching the brunette covertly wiping her reddened eyes.

“When you told me the story I knew I was in love with you. But I realize now I loved you long
before then.” Greg wet his lips, stroking the backs of Daphne’s hands with his thumbs. “I’ve loved
you from the moment I first heard your voice, guiding me through the halls. From the moment I
first laid eyes on you between the shelves. Reading your book and acting out scenes, your sister
laughing at your knees and the peach ribbon swaying in your hair.”

Astoria hid her face behind the bouquet as she wiped her glistening cheeks. Greg’s voice radiated
with the same conviction of his eyes.

“And I promise to never stop loving you. Nothing will ever stop me from loving you.”

Daphne sniffled loudly, extracting one of her hands from his grasp to wipe her own cheeks, lashes
clumped with tears.

The Minister nodded fondly. “Thank you, Gregory.” His focus shifted to the quietly sobbing bride.
“Daphne?”

She returned her hand to Greg’s awaiting palm, cheeks flushed. “I knew you’d make me cry,” she
laughed softly, voice thick with emotion. “I should have gone first.”

Everyone followed suit, laughing quietly, an immediate and much-needed release of tension. Greg
lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing the back.

“Take your time,” he whispered.

Daphne exhaled slowly, visibly gathering her bearings.

“Greg… I…” Her shoulders drew back, the line of her spine visible beneath the sheer lace. “I
wasn’t always kind to you.”

Astoria swallowed heavily, dropping her gaze. But Greg’s focus never swayed, fixed steadily upon
his bride as she collected her thoughts.

“When my father told me about the contract…”

Astoria closed her eyes, the memory taking shape behind her lids with every word.

“We were seated at the breakfast table. He was reading the newspaper and never glanced up from
his article. He told me I was to marry someone I’d only just met and never even looked at me. It
was just after my birthday and I was still mourning my mother. I remember a strange coldness
settling over me. I remember because until that moment I’d been so completely numb. To feel
something again was both terrible and glorious, even if all I could feel was anger.”

Daphne took a deep breath, the words visibly draining even as they came faster. "I spent a long
time taking that anger out on you because I was young and foolish and so very selfish." A tear
rolled down her cheek, she made no move to remove it. "I know now I was also scared. Scared of
ending up like my mother. Trapped in a loveless union, finding solace only in her children,
knowing that someday they too would be taken from me. I was angry at my father for the way he
treated her, the way he treated his daughters. And I was convinced you would be the same because
he had chosen you.”

She squeezed his hands tight, pulling them into her chest, against her heart. “And then we got a bit
older. You started to call on me for walks and carriage rides and tea. The more time I spent with
you the more I realized you were nothing like my father. You were nothing like anyone I’d ever
known. You were kind and patient and...”

She shook her head, briefly closing her eyes before meeting his gaze with open fondness. “You’re
so much more than all the others I was forced to socialize with throughout my life. Your heart is so
much bigger, your love so unconditional. You made me feel safe. Even when we were fighting and
bickering I always knew you’d never cross the line, never seek to hurt me. I thought it had to be an
act, a person like you couldn’t truly exist. I couldn’t fathom that the man I was contracted to marry
just happened to be the greatest person I’d ever known.”

Her face began to crumple, try as she might to keep her emotions in check. “I wasted so much time.
I wasted so much precious time denying my heart and pushing you away. I wish so badly I could
go back and tell myself to let go of all the anger and bitterness and guilt. I wish I could change the
things I’ve done, the things I’ve said. You deserved so much more and I…”

She inhaled sharply, voice high, her own breath threatening to choke her. “I promise to never slip
back. To never shut you out or hurt you. I only want to love you, to build a life with you. I want to
keep moving forward, growing and changing as one, from now until forever.”

Astoria rocked back, overcome. Greg looked similarly affected, drawing their joined hands against
his chest and stepping closer until Astoria lost sight of the Minister beside them.

“I wouldn't change a thing,” he whispered fiercely, leaning his head down. “Everything we’ve been
through has led us to this moment, and it’s the happiest day of my life.”

Daphne smiled through her tears, rising up to meet him—

“Nah ah ah!” The Minister called with a laugh, gently grasping Greg’s shoulder. “We’re not quite
there yet.”

The couple burst into laughter, drawing back, hands still clasped.

“In light of such touching words I hardly consider mine necessary,” the Minister continued. “So we
shall move onto the exchanging of rings.”

Astoria hopped to attention, fumbling with the velvet satchel hanging from her wrist, attempting to
pull the drawstring loose and maintain her grip on the bouquet. A few moments later she managed
the task, pulling the golden bands free and carefully placing them in her sister’s waiting palm. The
rings were merely placeholders, a simple decoration that wouldn’t draw their father’s eye… should
he suddenly decide to pay attention to his daughters.

“Rings are derived from humble beginnings, an age-old tradition dating back as far as marriage
itself,” the Minister explained. “Gregory, please take Daphne’s hand and repeat these words… I
give you this ring as a symbol of our love.”

Greg reached out, taking Daphne’s left hand in both of his. “I give you this ring as a symbol of our
love.”

“For today and tomorrow and all the days to come.”

“For today and tomorrow and all the days to come,” he repeated dutifully,

“Wear it as a symbol of all that we have promised each other on this day.”

“Wear it as a symbol of all that we have promised each other on this day.”

“And know my love is with you always, even when I am not.”

Greg swallowed thickly. “And know my love is with you always, even when I am not.”

The Minister turned to Daphne, repeating the process until golden rings gleamed upon both their
fingers.

“And now I have one final question for you both.”

Astoria pressed a hand to her chest, heart fluttering, the moment surreal.

“Daphne, do you take Gregory to be your husband; to love, honor and keep him in sickness and in
health for as long as you both shall live?”

Daphne’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “I do.”

They adjusted their hold, palms pressing flat between their bodies.

“And Gregory, do you take Daphne to be your wife; to love, honor and keep her in sickness and in
health for as long as you both shall live?”

He mirrored her expression. “I do.”

Their fingers interlocked.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Gregory, you may now kiss
your lovely bride.”
They leaned in once more, Daphne rising onto her toes and Greg dipping low, their lips pressing
softly, tenderly. The tame gesture didn’t stop Pansy from wolf-whistling while Astoria burst into
wild applause, petals shaking loose and raining to her feet. The couple parted a few heartbeats later,
hands still joined.

The Minister clapped his palms together, grey brows raised as high as his smile. “I am proud to
introduce Mr. And Mrs. Gregory Goyle.”

Daphne laughed. “I’m Mrs. Gregory Goyle.” The words seemed to register in her mind, her squeal
loud enough to take paint off the walls. “I’m Mrs. Gregory Goyle!”

She threw her arms around her husband's neck as he took her by the waist, lifting her high and
spinning as they both laughed uncontrollably, her flowing skirts swishing all around them.

“You’re Mrs. Gregory Gustaf Goyle,” Pansy called to the distracted couple. “If you don’t use the
full title what’s the point?”

“Congratulations!” Astoria shouted, hovering awkwardly to the side with the battered bouquet in
hand.

Greg set Daphne on her heels a moment later. She tipped precariously, dizzy, catching herself
against his broad frame before pushing off and leaping for Astoria, embracing her tightly. Astoria
felt her sister’s body vibrate in her hold, joy seeping from every pore. Meanwhile, Greg hugged
Pansy, lifting the brunette off her feet entirely, much to her chagrin. He laughed as she punched his
shoulder, demanding he set her down lest he wrinkle her dress.

Astoria continued to hold Daphne close, realizing this wasn’t a fairytale, it wasn’t a dream, it was
real life and they had still managed to capture the happy ending her sister so deeply deserved.

We’ve done it.

Seeing Daphne risk everything for true love helped Astoria reach a stunning conclusion regarding
her own story. And at that moment, clinging to the laughing bride, she knew exactly what she had
to do.

Harry leaned against the grand piano, its gleaming lid littered with bullet holes, while Theo
straddled the narrow bench, both their gazes focused on the closed door ahead.

“Alright!” Harry called out. “Let’s see it!”

The brass handle turned, the door started to open, only to get stuck a quarter of the way, its frame
buckled from the explosion. A feminine grunt of exertion sounded from the other side.

"Son of a bitch!" She hissed, voice traveling into the parlor.

Harry and Theo exchanged a brief glance as she grunted again, throwing her weight into the
barrier, prying it open inch by inch. She growled low in her throat, stepping back and driving her
boot into the center of the wood. The door flew off its hinges, falling back with a mighty clatter,
causing both men to jolt. Parvati stormed into the room, chest heaving, blood-caked skirts trailing
her fiery path.

“Goddamn useless thing!” She glared at the offending door sprawled dead at her feet before
peering up, glancing between them. “Shite. Forgot my line.”
Theo rubbed the bridge of his nose. “An honor to make your acquaintance, Sir.”

Harry crossed his arms, releasing a deep sigh as Parvati chewed on the inside of her cheek.

“Oh. That’s right.” She forced a smile that only made her look more homicidal. “An honor to make
your acquaintance, Sir.” They watched her dip into a curtsy that would make the Queen shite a
brick. She straightened with just as much grace, raising an expectant brow. “Well? How was that?”

Theo leaned into the piano, propping his elbow atop the keys and hitting a low c-sharp, the steady
vibration summarizing their views quite succinctly.

“Not bad,” Harry uttered, dragging a hand over his face in exhaustion. “Let’s try it again.” He met
her gaze. “Except this time, when you kick the door off the hinges while screaming expletives, try
looking a bit more demure.”

She scowled. “It’s not my fault the fucking thing broke.”

“On second thought, the less you talk the better.”

She seethed, crossing her arms and stomping her foot.

Theo tilted his head, examining her at an angle. “Her silence doesn’t change the fact she walks like
a horse scraping shite from its hoof.”

Parvati turned her narrow gaze to the bench. “She’s standing right here, arsehole.”

“I’m well aware, luv.” He glanced at Harry. “This is going to take a lot of work.”

“Still right here!”

Harry smirked, meeting the man’s sapphire gaze over his shoulder. “Are you up for the
challenge?”

“That depends.”

Harry sighed. This couldn’t be good.

“I’ll help get Cinderella ready for the stripper ball on one condition,” Theo rotated to face him
fully, “You let me create your disguise.”

Harry blinked. “My disguise has already been picked—”

“Not the clothes.” Theo’s gaze flickered higher, just above Harry’s forehead. “The hair.”

Harry stood away from the piano, arms dropping. “My hair?”

“He’s right,” Parvati chimed in, kicking away stray debris before sauntering closer, hands perched
on her hips. “It's a dead giveaway. Anyone who’s seen you will recognize the rat’s nest from a mile
off.”

His gaze narrowed. “I’m not the one who compared you to a horse.”

“No. You told me to stop talking.”

He rolled his eyes.

“We’ve got to do something with it, Potter,” Theo continued, standing from the bench. “If you’re
discovered the entire mission is at risk.”

Harry released a weary sigh, reaching up and running his fingers through the thick locks, chest
aching at the thought of parting with them. But finding Hermione and freeing the others was far
more important. He’d cut off his arm to bring her back, hair was a trivial accessory.

“Fine. I’ll cut it.”

Theo rocked back as though struck. “Cut it? I never said anything about cutting it.”

Harry tilted his head in confusion as Parvati grinned widely. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Theo met her dark gaze. “Interested in helping?”

“You need all the help you can get.”

Harry glanced between the conspiring pair. “Wow. Thanks.”

Theo removed his coat, tossing it over the side of the piano and rolling up his sleeves, something
about the casual gesture devilishly sexy. Harry glanced away sharply, cheeks flushed.

Theo smirked, seeming to read the downward spiral of his lover’s thoughts with ease. “I have my
work cut out for me; but as God is my witness, I’ll have you both whipped into shape by this
evening.”

Harry set his jaw, the amused declaration doing nothing to quell the rising heat in his neck.

Parvati glanced between them, eyes flashing. “I never turn down a good whipping.”

Harry swallowed back a groan, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Where the fuck is
Malfoy? I can’t handle the pair of you alone.”

Theo and Parvatii exchanged an amused glance, grins deepening. Harry caught the silent exchange,
falling back against the piano with a sigh.

“God help me.”

Lucius Malfoy strode into his office with a heavy step, removing his overcoat and tossing the
garment over the back of a chaise as he cut a determined path for his desk. The room was dark,
curtains partly drawn, a thin trail of dawn painting a diagonal line across the gleaming mahogany.
He set his briefcase on the counter, leaning over to flick on the lantern.

The room was brought to life by the warm orange glow, as was the figure residing in the opposite
chair, watching with keen eyes.

“Bloody hell!” Lucius shouted, rearing back with a hand to his chest. He blinked several times,
face pulling tight with annoyance. “Draco! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” He glanced around
his office, then back to his son. “What are you doing sitting in the dark?”

Draco remained slumped in the wingback chair, pale hair disheveled and bloodshot eyes
unblinking. “Felt appropriate.”

His father shook his head, stepping forward and opening his briefcase. “In one of your dramatic
moods, I see.” He removed a stack of papers, tossing them onto the desk. “Shall I board the
windows and light the candelabra?”

“Maybe next time.”

“Ah. Sulking as well. A formidable combination.”

Draco caught a glimpse of the top document, reading the name printed along the bottom, upside
down but easily legible.

“Where have you been?”

“Working,” his father clipped. “A concept you will one day understand.”

Draco propped his elbows on the armrests, steepling his hands before his face. “How’s Uncle
Rab?”

At last, he elicited a reaction. Lucius stiffened, head snapping up. “Why do you ask?”

Draco peered at his own hands, spotting a bit of dirt under his fingernails. Or perhaps it was dried
blood. Hard to tell the difference at this point.

“I heard the most fascinating rumor.” His silver gaze drifted up. “Grimmauld was sieged.”

Lucius straightened. “Sieged?”

“Like a castle. The walls torn apart brick by brick. A massacre.”

“How did you hear this? Why isn’t it in the paper?”

Draco continued to watch him in silence.

“Draco, where have you been all night?” His father gritted his teeth, leaning down to brace the
desk with both hands. “I’m not playing whatever childish game this is! Tell me where you’ve
been!”

“Ask your spies.”

A beat. Lucius pushed back, rising to his full height. “You were at Grimmauld?”

“They must be behind on their reports. I suppose that’s understandable, there’s been a lot of action
there the last few days.”

His eyes carefully swept over his son. “Were you hurt?”

“As you can see, I’m quite well.” Draco’s hands lowered, grasping the armrest until his fingertips
turned white. “So is she, by the way.”

Lucius lifted his chin, peering down his nose. “So is who?”

“You signed over her guardianship because you thought she’d be dead by morning.”

His father blinked, expression falling carefully blank as Draco leaned forward, eyes bright, manic.

“It all makes sense now. Your sudden willingness to help in exchange for virtually nothing. I
thought we’d turned a corner. That I’d finally made you see reason… and all along you were just
trying to get me out the door so you could write a letter to Greyback.”
“Greyback?” Lucius hissed. “What are your dealings with that monster?”

“He knew the girls were hiding there. Someone with eyes on the house told him.” Draco gripped
the edge of the desk. “I’ve been sitting here for the last four fucking hours trying to convince
myself that one of your spies went rogue. Trying to convince myself you’re everything you present
yourself to be. Everything I want you to be.”

“Son, I don’t know what—”

“When I was a boy I believed every word you said. I thought you were invincible. The greatest
man I’d ever known.” His jaw worked silently, the circles under his eyes giving his face a haunted
quality. “And then I got older and I heard people talk. I learned there were those who didn't like
you. People who cursed your name. I assumed they were jealous. Bottom feeders desperate to
tarnish our family’s reputation for their own personal and political gain. I never believed a word of
it.”

Lucius searched his son’s gaze, the steady rise and fall of his chest unchanging. “And now?”

“Now I’m grown. And for the first time in my life, I truly see you.” Draco pressed his palms flat to
the wood, slowly pushing up. “I see you, father.”

Lucius’s lips pressed thin, nostrils flaring with a deep inhale as Draco stood to his full height, eye-
level with the man. “I see you for exactly what you are.”

“And what is that?” Lucius’s voice was full of poison, corroding the skin.

Draco refused to balk. “The head of the fucking snake.”

His father’s hands curled at his sides. “Tread carefully, boy.”

“Have you ever owned one?”

His father blinked, the question taking him off guard.

“Don’t waste my time feigning confusion,” Draco snapped bitterly. “Granger taught me a little trick
to tell when a person’s lying. Look into their eyes.” He leaned into the desk, staring deeply into the
gaze that so closely mirrored his own. “The pupils dilate when the mind has to work for a simple
response. And right now your pupils are the size of bloody olives.”

A heavy beat, the sound of Lucius’s measured breathing filled the room.

“Now tell me,” Draco continued, tone deceptively calm. “Have you ever owned one?”

A muscle in his father’s jaw tensed. “Have you told your mother—”

“Of course not,” Draco scowled, “Now answer the goddamn question!”

He counted his rapid heartbeats, seeing the surrender in his father’s eyes at last, his deep voice
filled with resignation.

“No. I’ve never owned one.”

Draco pushed back from the desk, victory a bitter poison on his tongue. “But you’ve fucked one.”

Lucius’s eyes sparked, filling with rage. “I won’t humor this madness any longer.”
“That’s a yes.”

“I’ve never been unfaithful to your mother!”

“But you don’t consider them people, do you, father? So fucking them doesn’t really count, does
it?”

“Bide your tongue!”

Draco lifted his chin in disgust. “Does she know?”

His father glared, lips pressing thin.

“Tell me! Does mum know?” Draco shouted, body radiating with fury.

“She has no idea,” his father responded slowly, as though in warning. “And she can never find
out.”

Draco carded both hands through his hair, mussing the strands even further as he backed away to
pace a tight circle along the rug.

Deep down he’d known the truth, known it from the moment they’d discovered Avery’s
involvement. But hearing the truth from the Serpent’s mouth was another matter entirely. Because
now it was real. The nightmares were given life, his entire life hemorrhaging before his eyes.

“You’re a monster.”

Lucius stepped out from behind the desk, hands raised. “Draco—”

“Don’t come near me!” Draco screamed, staggering back, hair and eyes lending him a feral
appearance. “And don’t you dare try to justify your actions!”

“I don’t need to justify myself to you, I’m your father! Everything you have in this life has been
given to you by these two hands!”

“Then take it all back! Burn it! It’s stained in blood!”

“Keep your voice down!”

Draco blinked, then began laughing hysterically. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He held his arms
wide, glancing around. “Who are we trying to keep up appearances for? The servants?”

“Your mother will hear you—”

“I want her to hear me! I want her to see what I see, to know what I know! Her eyes need to be
uncovered!”

“You’re not thinking rationally—”

“You’re part of a sex trafficking ring and I’m the irrational one!”

Lucius took a steadying breath, smoothing a hand over his pressed shirt, eyes glinting like daggers.
“I’m not a part of it, I merely knew about it—”

“How is that any different?”

“I never approved of the operation. I told them to shut it down countless times. They staunchly
refused.”

Draco raised a mocking brow. “Why didn’t you turn them in?”

His father clenched his teeth, shoulders drawing wide.

“Ah, of course,” Draco drawled, beginning a slow pace around his father’s statuesque form.
“Turning in your sister-in-law and her husband would result in scandal. God forbid anything
tarnish your sparkling reputation.”

“I was protecting you and your mother. Something of this magnitude would destroy our family
completely. We’d never recover from the fallout.”

Draco stopped beside him, expression twisted in disbelief. “Fuck our reputation! People are dead!
Girls are being taken off the streets and turned into sex dolls!”

“Draco—”

“But you never owned one. So your hands and conscience are clean.” Draco raked his gaze over
his father’s pristine form, his bespoke suit and perfectly swept hair, meeting his predatory gaze at
last. “Everything you did to Hermione, letting Dolohov take her, letting Rabastan take her… and
still, I was willing to forgive you." His stomach clenched violently, threatening to expel its meager
contents. "Still I held onto that final thread of hope that you would change. That we'd be able to
come back to… some semblance of normalcy. Of family.” He shook his head, taking another step
back. “But there’s no coming back from this darkness. This evil.”

His father turned to face him fully, eyes burning with a fire normally reserved for the Parliament
floor. “Contrary to the Chronicle satire section, I am not a God, nor do I consider myself to be one.
The organization responsible for these crimes has been in operation long before my time. It’s led
by a very powerful, very dangerous man. A man who will not hesitate to kill anyone who stands in
his way, Peers included.”

Draco lifted his chin in silent challenge. “The Dollmaker.”

His father blinked, complexion rapidly waning. “How do you know that name?” He demanded,
starting forward.

“I know everything. So much that I’ll never be able to sleep through the night again.”

“You mustn't cross Him, Draco, he has power and influence in every major government—”

“I’m not going to cross him.” Draco raised a staying hand, halting his father in his tracks. “I’m
going to kill him.”

“Son—”

“I’m not your son. Not anymore. I want nothing to do with this family or its blood-soaked
reputation. I never want to lay eyes on you again.”

“Draco, you can’t—”

“Where does he live?”

Lucius opened and closed his mouth, pupils constricted to pinpoints. “I have no idea.”
“Where does he keep his prisoners?”

“I don’t—”

“What do you know?”

“Nothing. I’ve worked very hard to keep a safe distance. I only know of him, as he knows of me.
We stay out of each other's way, that’s the extent of our relationship.”

Draco scowled. “So you’re not only a complacent monster but completely fucking useless as well.”

“You stand no hope of storming the gates and killing him—”

“I’m not interested in your advice. But I do have one more question for you.” He crossed his arms,
feet braced apart. “You mentioned the London Chronicle.”

Lucius blinked.

“A few years ago they printed a series of articles about one of the bills you were pushing.” Draco
tilted his head, gaze unrelenting. “You said it threatened to undermine the entire party. Then
suddenly, out of nowhere, the articles stopped.”

Lucius set his jaw, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the endgame. Draco lowered his chin,
shadows settling over the hallows of his face. “Did you have the Editor killed?”

“Of course not.”

“What’s the point in lying to me now?”

“Just because it’s not the answer you want to hear doesn’t make it a lie.”

“Tell me!” Draco yelled, feeling the tendons straining in his neck.

His father looked just as incensed. “If I had every person who ever wrote a critical piece about me
shot then the streets would be overflowing with blood! The Chronicle is a controversial publication
with numerous enemies, not to mention the fact their offices are right next to the bloody slums! I’m
shocked anyone survives working there longer than a year.”

Draco inhaled slowly, dropping his arms. “I never said he was shot.”

Lucius stiffened. “I just assumed—”

“Enough.”

“Please try and understand—”

“I suggest you start packing.” Draco turned, starting for the exit. “The fallout is coming.”

“I know you hate me right now, but think of your mother.”

Draco paused at the closed door, glancing back. “I’m too busy thinking about the girls living in
cages, trapped in the prison of their own minds and awaiting auction like cattle. Do you ever think
about them?”

“If you try to stop him he will kill you. I won’t be able to protect you.”
“If I don’t try to stop him I’ll never be able to live with myself, so it’s really all the same.” Draco
opened the door, holding his father’s desperate gaze. “And I don’t want your protection. I don’t
want anything from you ever again.”

He turned away, crossing the threshold and striding down the hall.

“Draco!”

His father rushed to the doorway, stopping in the frame as though hitting an invisible barrier.

“Draco! Get back here!”

Draco turned the corner, starting down the master staircase, sunlight spilling in from the two-story
windows on either side.

“Son!”

Draco threw open the front door, exiting the Mansion without a backward glance.

Hermione tipped her head back, squinting against the ash rain. The sky above was a treacherous
black, rolling clouds of smoke illuminated by red lightning. Thunder was quick to follow, radiating
through every bone in her body.

So there is a sky in hell.

She turned her gaze ahead, examining the inky outline of building in the distance, their path guided
only by the dim glow of street lamps and the oversized moon above.

“Have I mentioned I love the dress?” Lavender asked abruptly, breaking through the melancholy as
easily as swinging her hammer. “Because I’m really loving the dress.”

Mowgli darted gracefully across the cobblestone, weaving around their clicking heels and taking
the lead.

“You’ve mentioned it several times,” Hermione smirked. “I’m happy to switch you outfits.”

The blonde tossed her head with a laugh, the bright sound a jarring contrast to their somber
surroundings. “Thanks for the offer, luv, but black suits you much better than it does me. Besides,
it pairs perfectly with your ball-crushing boots.”

Hermione glanced down at her dark dress. “I’m guessing spontaneous outfit changes are par for
the course?”

“She asks the woman who spontaneously changes into a cat.”

Hermione laughed shortly, nodding. “Excellent point.” And then she cast her gaze to the woman on
her other side, lagging a few steps behind. “Are you alright, Padma?”

The girl nodded. “Yes. I think so.” She bit her lip, rubbing her arms. “I’m just… used to my desk.
It's very quiet in the library.” She smiled softly. “It's been an eventful day.”

Hermione fell into step beside her, placing a hand to her shoulder. “Have any memories come back
to you?”

“I’m… not sure.” Padma tucked a strand of limp hair behind her ear. “I haven’t really stopped to
take inventory.”

“Let’s just worry about getting to the Castle,” Lavender stated from her other side. “Then we’ll
have a nice, relaxing sit down over some tea.”

Hermione tipped her head back, releasing a deep sigh. “Christ, tea sounds lovely.”

Padma dropped her arms, fists tightening on either side of her ash-stained slip. “So… are we really
going to ride the Train?”

“Ride might be too tame a verb,” Hermione replied casually, staring at the haunted cityscape once
more.

Lavender snorted, skipping along. "I'm on board! Pun intended."

“I’m glad you approve. Now we just have to figure out how to summon the demon locomotive.”
Hermione glanced back at the mighty blaze in the distance, the factory reduced to its skeletal
frame. “I thought for sure the fire would signal it.”

“Not out here,” the blonde called from a few paces ahead. “The entire sky is filled with smoke, our
little bonfire hardly stands out.”

Hermione batted ash flakes from her hair. “Then we need to go someplace else. Are there any
conduits you know of?”

“Around here? No. But we can always use the dice.”

"Considering they dropped us right outside the nightmare factory I'm hesitant to use them again.
With our luck, they'll spit us out in the middle of a bustling crowd.”

Lavender smirked, glancing over her shoulder. "Well it's that or we walk. And as you can see, we
have quite the trek ahead of us. Besides, with your new superpower, those faceless bastards don't
stand a chance."

Hermione sighed. “I’m not sure how it works, if I’m even capable of using it again.”

“Then we’ll use our weapons.” Lavender shrugged, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “It was your
idea to ride the Train.”

Yes, it was. Goddammit.

“Alright. Give me the bloody dice.”

Lavender laughed, skipping back and reaching into her pocket, extracting the perilous pair and
dropping them carefully into Hermione's waiting palm.

“It there any rhyme or reason to the destination?” Hermione asked, staring at the innocuous-
looking toy.

Lavender tilted her head. “Is there rhyme or reason to anything in this place?”

Hermione inhaled deeply, stepping back and glancing between her two traveling companions.
“Brace yourselves.”

They took her advice to heart, running for cover and ducking behind an ash-coated bench with
Mowgli nestled between them, the animal covering his glowing eyes with his little hands.
Hermione glared at the trio. “Thanks a lot.”

“You have superpowers, you’ll be fine!” Lavender called back with a wink.

Hermione rolled her eyes, lowering to her knees in the middle of the dark street and clutching the
dice with a trembling hand.

Here goes nothing.

She released the pair, swallowing heavily as the clay cubes bounced atop the stone, glinting green
in the pool of street light before settling at last.

Six and two.

She released her breath in a rush, leaning over to pick the dice back up, giving them a quick shake
before dropping them a second time.

Five and eight.

Hermione blinked.

Eight?

She wet her lips, counting the dots once more.

“Lav… these dice are strange.”

A sharp laugh followed. “You’re just now noticing that?”

Hermione rolled again, heart skipping as symbols appeared in place of dots.

Skull and crossbones and a seven.

She leaned back. “It just got stranger.” And reached out a nervous hand, retaking the dice and
rolling them between her fingers before letting them loose.

A knife and a thirteen.

“I think we might be better off walking.”

Her eyes squeezed tight as she rolled yet again, braced for something catastrophic. She heard the
dice bounce along the stone, rolling rolling rolling, settling a few agonizing seconds later.

She peeled her lids open, leaning in for a clearer view, heart galloping as she saw a matching pair
staring back at her.

“Two teacups.” She glanced up, meeting her friends’ gleaming eyes between the slats in the bench.
“That can’t be bad, right?”

Lavender pushed to her feet. “I have an inkling it isn’t good.”

Hermione paled, but any response she might have made was swallowed by the portal exploding to
life. She tipped back, startled, hair blowing in the rush of wind it emitted. She steadied herself a
moment later, staring at the landscape on the other side of the gateway, searching for any signs of
danger. There was an endless expanse of tall grass beneath an iridescent sky, peaceful and still, no
faceless minions in sight.
“It looks clear!”

She rose to her feet, carefully stepping through the opening but still managing to topple in a
graceless heap on the grass. Parvati and Lavender followed, falling like sacks of grain beside her,
Mowgli the only one able to stick his landing.

The portal closed with a powerful hum, the dice landing atop the flattened grass. Hermione pushed
upright, glancing around, shoulders tensing as she spotted the edge of the jungle just ahead. The
Castle stood in the far distance, reigning over Wonderland from its steep hillside, separated by a
dense thicket of trees.

“Back to the jungle,” she muttered, limbs heavy with fatigue.

Lavender leaned down, extracting her hammer from her boot. "At least we have toys this time
around."

Hermione smirked, following suit and grabbing her blade before starting forward. Mowgli kept
pace beside them for a few minutes before taking off ahead, disappearing into the heavy brush. She
held her breath as they crossed the treeline, overwhelmed by the exotic and frightening beauty of
the terrain yet again.

Bluebells pulsed brightly, sparking like jellyfish, their leaves undulating like tentacles.
Snapdragons nipped at their heels and bark crawled across the tree trunks like insects. But the sight
that rendered her motionless were the red leaves fluttering off a tree en mass, flitting like butterflies
to the neighboring tree and filling its barren branches until it appeared lush with life. She took a
step back as one of the crimson leaves circled around her head.

“Oi! Watch it!”

Hermione yelped, jumping a foot in the air and spinning with her blade drawn, searching the
vibrant landscape for the source of the voice.

“Did you hear that?” She gasped.

Lavender sighed. “Unfortunately.”

Hermione blinked, following the blonde’s gaze to the forest floor, staggering back as a large
mushroom came into view, red-capped with three white dots. Her mouth ran dry as the dots
changed shape, acting as eyes and a mouth as the voice returned.

“You nearly broke me in half!”

Her mind reeled, blade-wielding hand dropping to her side. “Pardon me. I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah, you seem like the unobservant type.”

Hermione drew back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you look like an idiot.”

Her jaw dropped in outrage. “Excuse you! I said I was sorry, there’s no need to be rude!”

Lavender stepped towards her. “Mione—”

“No one’s talkin’ to you, bimbo!” The mushroom snapped, stalk bending to gaze upon the other
girl.
Lavender scowled. “I have a sudden hankering for mushroom soup.”

“Don’t pay him any mind,” a new voice spoke.

Hermione gasped, spinning once more, knees locking as she caught sight of a small cluster of
mushrooms in front of a rotting log. They were each capped in a vibrant shade, watching the trio
through flat white eyes.

“Carl’s a bit of an ass,” the blue-capped mushroom provided congenially. “That’s why we kicked
him out of our patch.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, unsure what part of the statement was most bizarre.

“The mushroom's name is Carl?”

“With a K,” the mushroom in question snapped from behind.

She pressed a hand to her throbbing temple. “I need to get out of here.”

“Didn’t think you were from around here, dearie,” the yellow-capped mushroom tittered. “We have
an eye for those things.”

Padma edged back slowly. Hermione barely noticed the girl, turning her attention back to the small
cluster.

“Well it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she glared at Karl, “most of you, anyway,” and
then tilted her head, considering, “You haven’t seen an evil train nearby, have you?”

“Don’t worry, dearie, the Infernal Train rarely comes around these parts.”

She deflated.

"The stupid bint looks disappointed," Karl laughed.

Hermione scowled, lips parting to deliver a trite rebuttal when Lavender cut her off, reaching up
and grabbing her arm.

“Mione, let’s go.”

“Are you looking for the Train? We’re happy to help!” The blue-capped mushroom called out.

She brightened. “Really?”

“Hermione!”

She jolted, turning to her friend.

“Don’t listen to them!” Lavender hissed.

“Why not?”

The blonde arched a brow. “Besides the fact they’re talking vegetables?”

“We’re fungi, genius.”

“Keep it up, Karl, I’m two seconds away from hammering you into a paste.”
“They’re toxic,” Padma said softly, drawing their gazes. She stood several yards away, perched
atop a small boulder and staring at something hidden from view.

“Poisonous?” Hermione asked.

“That too.” Padma glanced away from whatever held her focus, shuddering violently.

Hermione swallowed, feeling a stone fall to the pit of her stomach. “Padma, what is it?”

“Come down from there, dearie!” A mushroom pleaded. “You’re liable to fall and break your
pretty neck!”

Hermione started forward, carefully scaling the stone and standing beside the girl, gazing out at the
small clearing. It took a moment to process what she was seeing, what the shapes were. And then
she gasped, nearly falling backward, scrambling to keep her balance as Lavender climbed up beside
them, reaching out to steady her. Hermione covered her mouth with both hands, overcome by the
stench… but the sight was so much worse.

A sea of bodies laid before them, a carpet of blue and green corpses, their rotting limbs covered in
moss and tiny mushrooms. But their chests continued to rise and fall in shallow bursts, clouded
eyes staring lifelessly at the iridescent sky.

“What…” she shook her head, too horrified to continue.

Lavender set her jaw, staring down with a tense expression. “Ariana warned me about this.”

“What’s happened to them?” Hermione managed at last, nearly gagging at the pungent fumes.
“Are they dead?”

“No,” Padam whispered, her pallor grey. “The mushrooms need living hosts to fertilize their
garden.”

Hermione gagged, then raised her blade, starting forward with determination.

“No, please!” The cluster cried from behind them. “They’re just children! You musn’t!”

“Hermione, no!” Lavender caught her arm and pulled her back. “There’s no time! And even if
there was… they’re too far gone to save. Look at them. They’re half-rotted.”

Hermione met her friend’s gaze, shaking her head. “This… this is…”

“We need to go,” Lavender insisted, pulling her off the stone and into the grass, past the
mushrooms and into the trees. Padma climbed down after them, running to keep up.

“Please, stay a while!” The mushrooms called after their retreating figures.

"Talk to us!"

“Let us help you!”

“Let us take care of you!”

Hermione wiped her eyes dry and broke into a dead run, eager to escape their beckoning pleas, the
stench of death and decay. Her friends trailed after her, slapping away leaves and branches, leaping
roots and dodging stones. She wasn’t aware of how much time had passed or what direction they
were headed in, stopping only when she burst through the bushes into a second clearing, its
contents equally horrific as the corpse garden.

The man at the center of the madness glanced up at their explosive arrival, eyes gleaming
unnaturally as he met Hermione’s shocked gaze. He rose swiftly from his chair, straightening his
velvet coat before tracing the rim of his tophat with a gloved fingertip.

“Ah, pretty minx.” He smiled with sinister pleasure. “Just in time.”

Draco took the steps of Grimmauld two at a time, throwing open the front door with such force it
shook the battered frame. The entry hall’s sole occupant leaped a foot into the air, eyes wide.

“Malfoy!”

Draco narrowed his eyes on Longbottom, the unfortunate bastard the new recipient of his
simmering rage. “Where is everyone?” He demanded.

“Um…” Red stained Longbottom’s neck as he peered around the empty space, seeming to expect
someone to materialize out of thin air. “Scattered. They’re all getting ready.”

Draco strode past without another word, taking the steps in a quick march and side-stepping broken
glass on the landing, then starting down the hall for Potter’s bedroom. The double doors were
closed. He reached for the knob, only to halt with his hand in the air, the sound of feminine
laughter meeting his ears.

He arched a pale brow, intrigued by what he’d find inside, especially in light of Theo’s midnight
confession. Draco grabbed the handle and pushed the door wide, braced for an eyeful of glorious
blackmail material.

Instead, he blinked, arm dropping limply as he took in the image before him.

Potter held his gaze, looking equally perplexed by his abrupt arrival. The gaping idiot was seated
on the floor before the footboard, shirtless and barefoot. But it was the chaos of his hair that drew
the eye, standing straight on-end in a sleek mohawk, strands thickened with pomade.

Parvati was seated on the end of the bed behind him, wearing only a corset and bloomers, bare legs
framing Potter on either side as she scraped more goop from a tin, continuing to manipulate his hair
without an upward glance.

Draco blinked a second time. “Am I interrupting?”

Potter glared from his position on the rug. “Where the hell have you been, jackass?”

Draco stepped fully inside, starting to close the door, only for a pale hand to shoot out, wrapping
around the edge of the wood and pushing it open. Theo slipped inside, holding a vibrant dress aloft,
clothespins pressed between his lips as he shook out the narrow skirts.

“Alright, let’s see if you can walk more than five feet without tripping—” He blinked, glancing to
the figure hovering beside him and giving Draco a bored once-over. “Oh. It’s you.”

Draco glared at the lackluster greeting as Nott turned back to the bed, tossing the gown onto the
mattress beside Parvati while she carded her fingers through Potter’s hair, smoothing the mess
back.

Draco glanced between the three of them. “Well isn’t this disturbingly quaint.”
Parvati glanced up at last, dark hair loose around her shoulders. “We’re getting ready for the ball.
We have an hour to class ourselves up.”

Theo leaned against the bedpost, crossing his arms and watching her work. "As you can imagine,
I've been tirelessly working around the clock.”

She raised one of her hands and flipped him the bird.

Potter drew Draco’s focus back with his next words. “If you want to tag along you’ll have to talk to
Bones.”

Draco’s left eye twitched. Great. The Commissioner wanted a battle? He was happy to give him
one. Nothing would stop him from attending the party.

Nothing.

Theo seemed to read the darkness in his eyes. “He’s reluctant to include you as it is. Be on your
best behavior.”

“Wonderful.” Draco turned for the door, tension rapidly mounting as he strode into the hall.

“Draco!” Potter shouted at his back.

Fucking hell.

Draco took a steadying breath, fists curled tight as he turned, peering inside the room.

“Did you talk to your father?” The annoying codpiece asked.

Parvati stilled, glancing up, Theo following suit. Draco stiffened under their collective scrutiny,
heart thrumming in time to the Grandfather clock in the corner.

“He’s the leak,” Draco stated simply, never breaking the emerald stare, even as it became clouded
with pity. “But we already knew that, didn’t we?”

He turned on his heel without awaiting further response, rounding the corner and embarking across
the landing, down the stairs, returning to the vacant entry. He stopped in the center of the
wreckage, listening for signs of life and hearing the distant echo of male voices.

Draco followed the sound down the hallway and into the dining room, eyes fastening to Bones at
once. The Commissioner stood before the head of the table, back to the door as he read over
something in his hands. Draco opened his mouth but before he could utter a greeting the detective
shifted, revealing the man leaning over the other side of the wood, reaching for a file.

Riddle.

Draco’s jaw clamped tight, blood surging through his ears as the Doctor glanced up, meeting his
gaze. The bastard’s expression was void of any discernible emotion, seemingly indifferent to
Draco’s presence. Red flooded Draco’s vision, a whirlwind of base instinct sweeping through him
with destructive force, scrambling his thoughts and shattering any strategy he might have
constructed. He wanted to kill the man, regardless of how much they needed him—

“Mr. Malfoy,” Bones spoke, turning in place. Draco blinked, pulling his gaze from the Doctor and
shifting focus to his next opponent. “They told me you’d be making an appearance,” the
Commissioner continued, removing his reading spectacles.
Draco squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, the regal repose as natural as breathing. “I want to
help.”

Bones swept his gaze over the young man with slow concentration, as though reading some hidden
text printed across his front. “They told me you’d say that as well.”

“And they told me you’re reluctant to let me attend tonight’s main event.”

Riddle stood back from the table with a file in hand, opening the cover and proceeding to read,
eyes flickering rapidly, unhampered by the discussion taking place mere feet away.

“Surely you can understand my reservations,” the Detective continued, earning Draco’s attention.
“Your Aunt and Uncle are hosting the party. It’s hard to believe your loyalties lie with the Yard
over your own blood.”

“My loyalties aren’t with either,” Draco replied automatically. The Commissioner raised a brow.
"The Yard and my blood mean nothing to me. I care for my mother, but my loyalties lie with only
one person."

He held the Detective’s gaze steady, even as he sensed the sudden stillness in Riddle’s movements.

“Hermione,” Draco concluded, heart skipping at the mere sound of her name, even from his own
lips. “I’ll do whatever is in her best interest. And at the present moment, that includes assisting
you.”

Bones watched him carefully, awaiting more, or perhaps processing the words and weighing them
against his previous assumptions. Draco didn't flinch or balk, impervious to either man's judgment
or criticism. After all, if the Commissioner denied him Draco gave zero fucks about going behind
his back.

But first, he’d try playing nice. For her sake.

Bones released a heavy sigh, stepping back and relinquishing Draco from his assessment. “I’ll send
you in with Nott. He’ll fill you in on the details.”

Draco nodded, the tension in his back and shoulders loosening just a fraction. He started for the
doorway, eager to get the hell out of here before he saw red again. He’d brawled with the Doctor
once before and it had accomplished absolutely nothing but wasting precious time they needed to
search for Hermione. He wasn’t keen on repeating that particular mistake again, not when her very
life was at stake.

“Malfoy,” Bones called.

Christ.

Draco paused at the threshold, glancing back. The Detective slipped his glasses back into place,
staring out over the rim. “This is about more than just Ms. Granger. Do try to remember that when
you’re in there.”

Draco’s eyes flickered to the side beyond his control. Riddle watched him with steady intensity,
face shrouded in darkness, the sunlight glaring at his back. They held each other’s gaze for a
handful of fleeting seconds, each one a torturous eternity, before Draco faced Bones once more,
pulse throbbing in every limb.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He turned, exiting swiftly and relishing the crunch of glass beneath his boots.

The carriage hit a narrow ditch, rocking gently and causing Astoria to press into the wall. Her
focus remained fixed ahead, staring blankly out the window, lost in thought as she watched the
evening sun dip low in the skyline.

“You look positively glum, my dear.”

She blinked, facing forward. Pansy watched her from the opposite bench, the sunset illuminating
half her features in brilliant orange, the other side lost to shadow.

“Did standing on sacred ground for so long turn your stomach as well? Any longer and I’m certain
I would have burst into flame.”

Astoria smiled, glancing back to the window. “I think it’s just finally starting to set in.”

Her friend arched a dark brow, continuing to study her intently as Astoria folded her hands atop her
lap, gazing at the bubbling fountain at the heart of Sussex Square.

“It didn’t feel real before. We talked about the elopement for days. We rode to the other end of
town and got her laced into her gown. I walked her down the aisle and watched her take her vows,”
she swallowed lightly, “but it felt like a dream. A fairytale… until I watched her board the carriage
with Greg and drive away.” The roads evened out as they breached Kensington. “Now it’s real.
Now she’s really gone.”

“Just for the night,” Pansy supplied with a knowing smirk. “She has to return home or your father
will burn the city down searching for his prized hen.”

Astoria drew back from the window, pressing into the cushions. “She’ll come home for me. Until
my contract is sorted and she knows I’m taken care of. It could take months. Years if Father
decides to stretch out my engagement the same as he did with hers.”

Pansy nodded, reaching up to extract the pins from her hair. “She’s very protective of you.”

“And I of her. Which is why I can’t bear to watch her rot away inside that house another day,
separated from her husband, lost to the empty halls and enshrouded in their dark memories.”

Pansy dropped the pins to the seat without care, unwinding her braid from its artful coil. “You
were destined to write tragedy, darling.”

“Perhaps,” Astoria agreed, watching her friend go about her task. “But I refuse to live one.”

“Why Tori,” Pansy grinned wickedly, “I do believe you’re plotting something devious.”

“I’ve never had the opportunity to be devious. I’m not even sure I know how.”

Pansy played with the end of her braid, twisting dark strands around her finger. “The first time is
the most exhilarating; you’ll enjoy it immensely. And I have a sneaking suspicion you’ll be a
natural.”

Astoria released a slow breath, peering through the window once more. “I suppose I’ll find out
soon enough.”

Silence encased the interior as the sun sank lower, lamplighters making their rounds along the
street, poles in hand.
“I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” Pansy muttered solemnly, earning Astoria’s bemused focus.

“Do what?”

Her friend groaned dramatically, dropping her braid and narrowing her gaze. “Bestow a bit of
sisterly advice. It’s terribly draining worrying about the well-being of others, I’ve no idea how
Daphne managed for so long without developing a bald spot.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a natural.”

Pansy smirked, though her expression contained an uncharacteristic earnestness that held Astoria
rapt. “Whatever daring escapade you’re planning… sleep on it. For one night. If you still feel just
as strongly about it in the morning then dive head-first off your bridge, metaphorical or otherwise.
At least you’ll look well-rested when they fish your body out of the Thames.”

Astoria smiled. “As far as sisterly advice goes, that may be the best I’ve ever received.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Pansy retook her braid in hand, examining the ends for any
splits. “Then again, so will a train ticket.”

Astoria bit her lip, gripping the bench beneath her. “Do you think I’m mad?”

“Unquestionably insane. And I’m unbelievably jealous.”

“Are you going to tell Daphne?”

Pansy laughed, high and melodic, eyes sparkling in the muted light. “Storm into Claridge’s and
interrupt her honeymoon? As tempting as it is to catch her in such a state, I’ve no desire to see
Gregory Gustaf Goyle in the buff.”

Astoria shook her head with a grin, glancing at the indigo sky… when Pansy’s words rang through
her head a second time, a resounding echo that gave her pause. She blinked, decoding the riddle,
and then turned to face the woman in question.

Pansy held her gaze from the shadows, looking supremely amused as Astoria opened her mouth,
searching for the words and finding only one at her disposal.

“Oh.”

Pansy raised a brow. “Oh.”

Astoria fidgeted in place, flushing hotly. "You…" She continued to open and close her mouth like a
perplexed carp. "I didn't realize— that is, I never noticed—"

Pansy’s eyes danced with mirth, releasing Astoria from the net of her own weaving. She fell back
against her seat, sighing deeply. “I sound like such a child, don’t I?”

“There are far worse ways to sound when it comes to such topics.”

Astoria’s mind instantly drifted to her father. She shivered to think what his reaction would be if he
ever found out one of his daughters harbored such a secret.

“So you…”

Pansy’s lips twitched, waiting patiently.

“... like girls?” Astoria finished lamely, face burning feverishly as she cursed her own
inexperience.

“Hm…” Pansy hummed low in her throat, crossing her legs and leaning back with effortless grace.
“I enjoy staring at them, among other things. Liking them is another matter entirely.”

Astoria blinked; Pansy held her gaze; and then they both burst into laughter, tension snapping like
a rubber band. Astoria leaned forward, curiosity surpassing awkwardness at last.

“You’re not attracted to men at all?”

Pansy shrugged lightly. “On occasion. But it’s not the same. Not as it should be.”

“How should it be?” Astoria asked, voice filled with genuine interest. Daphne was her only source
of worldly information and they’d certainly never discussed such a topic.

"I've no idea," Pansy replied flatly, streetlights reflected in her gaze. "But according to proper
society and Parliament, I'm doing it all wrong. I suppose I was sleeping off a hangover the day they
handed out life manuals to the public.”

Astoria bit her lip, mind racing with questions. She started with the one at the forefront of her
mind. “So, Theodore?”

Pansy turned her gaze to the window, expression unreadable. “What about him?”

“You’re engaged.”

“Last time I checked.”

Astoria leaned back, a familiar ache unfurling deep in her chest. It felt similar to the times she’d
watched Daphne read one of Greg’s letters while he was overseas, seeing the pain hidden in her
sister’s eyes and being helpless to remedy it.

“Have you ever thought about leaving?”

Pansy exhaled shortly. “Many times. It’s my favorite fantasy to weave.”

“Why don’t you?”

Pansy fell silent. Astoria wondered if she’d gone too far, asked too much. She formulated an
apology in her head but before she was able to deliver it Pansy spoke, her response so unexpected it
rendered Astoria mute.

“I’m not brave like you.”

Astoria blinked several times, certain she’d misheard. “Me? Brave?”

Pansy faced forward, meeting her eyes, expression frightfully somber. Astoria shook her head,
leaning forward to better see the woman’s face in the dark.

“I’ve never even set foot outside of London, Pansy! Besides, you’re the bravest woman I’ve ever
known… you make heads turn every single time you enter a room, you have your own house and
you never care about what people think. Gossip rolls off you like water off a duck.”

Pansy chuckled softly as the carriage turned the corner. “I enjoy turning heads, yes. Fashion is one
of the few ways I’m able to express myself. But it’s a poor substitute for what I’m truly lacking.
There’s not enough gowns and accessories in the world to fill such a void.” Her eyes drifted back
to the street. “And the gossip doesn’t roll off as easily as you might think. Nevertheless, you’re
brave in a way I never will be. You're content with your own company. Your own mind." Her jaw
tensed. "I can never be alone. I can never sit in the quiet. I'm only tangible when there are eyes
upon me. The moment I'm alone I dissipate into thin air."

Astoria sat transfixed, the ache deepening until she was certain her rib cage would split down the
center.

“I need someone, Tori. Someone who will be there. Someone who will take care of me. Humor
me. Understand me.” A tense beat. “Theo will do all of those things, without an ounce of cruelty or
expectation. I need him. And he needs me for a variety of other reasons. It’s an unconventional
union but a necessary one all the same.” She sat straighter, turning to Astoria once more. “And I’m
willing to settle for that rather than venture into the deep dark unknown all by myself.” She leaned
forward, eyes filled with an intensity Astoria had never seen before. “Which makes you, Astoria
Greengrass, the bravest woman I’ve ever known.”

Astoria blinked, vision clouded with some strange emotion. She quickly wiped the corners of her
eyes, unused to so many upheavals in one day. Not since losing her mother. But she’d been only a
child then, resilient and ignorant to the ways of the world. Pain felt so much different now, wounds
healed slower, scars penetrated deeper.

At last she cleared her throat, meeting Pansy’s eye. “What are your plans for tonight?”

Her friend blinked, clearly not expecting the inquiry. She recovered in the next beat, adorning her
signature smirk and leaning back, recreating her careless sprawl. “I’ve yet to choose which mistake
I’ll be regretting come morning.”

Astoria peered through the window. Traffic thinned as they entered the private neighborhood.

“Since I’m taking a night to sleep on my own poor decision, perhaps you’d like to stay at the
house? Father is still out of town and with Daphne gone…” She bit her lip, glancing across the car.
“It’ll be nice to have company. If you’ve nothing better to do, that is.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed as she considered the offer, absently playing with her braid. “I suppose we
can have one last slumber party before you dive headfirst off your bridge."

Astoria grinned brightly, bouncing in her seat, much to Pansy’s amusement. Truth be told, she’d
been dreading facing the empty house alone, forced to confront her sister’s absence every time she
entered a room. She was grateful for the company, the distraction. But most importantly…

Pansy could help her pack.

Harry opened the carriage door, hopping down swiftly and turning for the car, offering his hand.
Parvati accepted, stepping out beside him with a groan as she pressed a hand to her side, cringing as
he closed the door.

“Christ, this corset is killing me. Remind me to break Nott’s kneecaps when all this is through.”

Harry handed their payment to the driver, glancing over his shoulder. “Just be glad he knows
women’s fashion. If it was me who went shopping you’d be wearing a fisherman’s suit.”

“Rubber overalls would be a welcome substitute to the knife sticking me in the ribs.” She tugged at
the front of her bodice, eyes narrowed. “Men are so bloody lucky.”
Harry smirked, returning to her side. “I know better than to argue.”

“Smart lad.”

They started forward as the carriage pulled away. She huffed loudly, blowing a loose tendril of hair
away from her face as she adjusted the bag over her shoulder. “I can’t believe your hair looks better
than mine.”

Harry glanced down, raising his brow. “You could break a brick over my head.” He lifted his hand
and knocked against the side of his scalp, the mass remaining solid as a helmet. “You used two
whole goddamn jars of pomade.”

“And I'd have happily used a third if Nott had purchased it.”

Harry rolled his eyes. "As I said, I can't handle both of you."

“Seems you can handle Theo just fine.”

Harry blinked, stumbling over the curb and nearly colliding with a streetlamp. He flushed hotly,
righting his path along the sidewalk with a heavy gulp. She watched the display with a small smile,
shaking her head as he fell into step beside her once more. “Thanks for the confirmation.”

He tried to card a hand through his hair but his fingers slid right off the barrier. “I—”

“Relax, Potter,” she laughed, waiting for a newspaper peddler to pass before continuing. “Love is
love. But you have to answer one question I’ve been dying to know all day.”

Harry’s mind reeled. Reality seemed like a distant dream. His old life, his old self unrecognizable
at this point. A few weeks ago he thought he’d be taking this secret to the grave… most likely after
dropping dead of a broken heart. Now he was discussing his secret love affair with a woman he
barely knew despite having survived two life or death situations alongside, in the middle of the
street on their way to infiltrate an underground sex trafficking ring no less. And even then, all
things considered, this was the most normal part of his day.

He rolled his shoulders back, tension uncoiling. “Alright.”

She grinned, sidling closer as they approached the corner. “Who made the first move?”

Harry blinked, glancing down sharply before laughing. “That’s what you want to know?”

“Trust me, I have plenty of questions, but we’ll work our way up to the others.”

He shook his head, gazing forward as they reached the corner at last, slowing to a stop beside the
row of privacy bushes.

“He did.”

She arched a brow. “Really?”

Harry smirked, leaning against the gate and tucking his hands into his trouser pockets. She crossed
her arms, leaning a shoulder against the bars.

“Did he woo you with some great, grand romantic gesture?” She asked, grin turning wry.

“We were drunk off our gourds. He hit on me outside the men’s room.”
She tossed her head back with a laugh. “Not as romantic as meeting at a high-end brothel, but it’ll
do.”

Harry smirked. “Fate has a pretty shite sense of humor.”

“You can say that again.”

He shared in her laughter before spotting the approaching group, stiffening at once. Parvati
followed his gaze, standing away from the gate.

“Ready?” He asked.

She opened her bag, lifting their masks off the top of the bundle. “Oh yes.”

She handed his over before slipping hers into place, eyes gleaming from the dark cutouts.

“Remember,” Harry warned with a facetious grin. “You’re supposed to be a waitress, then a doll.
Neither role calls for breaking anyone’s nose.”

“I’ll control myself.” She drew an x over her chest. “Cross my heart.”

Harry shook his head, standing away from the gate and pulling his mask into place. "Showtime."

They rounded the corner as the group passed, dressed in the same dark clothing and masks,
chatting animatedly amongst themselves as they approached the sprawling mansion. Harry and
Parvati fell in step behind them, seamlessly blending into the group as they all headed for the
servant's entrance at the back of the house.

The horses brayed at the front of the carriage, restless as they waited in the long arrival procession.
Draco kept his gaze carefully averted to the window, mask already in place, a silent message
informing his carriage mate he wanted nothing to do with a conversation.

So naturally, Theo ignored his wishes entirely.

“Are you going to brood the entire evening?”

“I was strongly considering it,” Draco replied evenly.

Theo sighed, stretching his legs in the open space before him. “What happened?”

“I told you what happened.”

“You told me the end result, not the conversation leading to it.”

Draco shook his head. “Fucking hell.” He set his jaw, refusing to speak on the matter any further.
He’d only just managed to staunch the flow of blood, there was no use poking at the festering
wound.

Theo dropped his head back against the seat, turning his face towards the window as they inched
along the circle drive. “I told my father,” he announced without preamble.

Draco bristled, annoyance growing.

“About me,” his sometimes-friend continued. Draco blinked, head snapping forward. Nott stared at
the sprawling home at the end of the brick path. “... and Potter.”
Draco’s shoulders sloped down, heartbeat slowing.

“He already knew, thanks to your father’s spies,” Theo added nonchalantly, “but I confirmed it.”

Draco’s eyes flickered to the faint shadow of a bruise beside his eye, bleeding across his temple
and fading into his dark hairline. “That’s why he hit you.”

Theo kept his eyes averted. “Yes.”

Draco leaned forward. “Theo, you’re in danger. The bastard could—”

“I’ve already been through it with Pans,” his friend supplied casually, facing forward and meeting
his troubled gaze.

Draco fell back against the seat. “You told Pansy?”

“Yes. She’s helping me dig my way out of my self-dug grave as we speak.”

Draco’s pulse skipped painfully. “I didn’t—” his hands tensed at his sides. “You should have told
me.”

Theo smirked, though the gesture only made his visage appear more melancholy than before.
“You’ve been distracted. Understandably so.”

Draco reached up and removed his mask, dropping it to his lap with a heavy sigh. He traced a
fingertip along its edge, jaw working silently as he gathered the words. The strength.

“My father knew,” he stated simply, already drained by the effort. Theo remained perfectly still
across the divide, waiting patiently. “He sent word to Greyback,” Draco continued, gazing up at
last. “In the hopes he’d kill Hermione.”

The carriage rocked gently as they started forward once more, one spot closer to the entrance of
hell.

“What are you going to do?”

Draco released a deep breath, until his lungs burned and his ribs rattled. “I’m going to find her.”

Theo inclined his head. “And then?”

The carriage pulled up further, the house in plain view as they stood next in line. Draco slipped his
mask back into place, holding his friend’s knowing stare all the while.

“I take it day by day.”

Theo smirked anew, except this time it reached his eyes. “A wise mantra, given the current state of
our lives.”

The carriage rocked to a stop, a masked footman stepping forward and opening their door with a
deep bow. Draco leaped out first, desperate to escape the claustrophobic confines. Theo
dismounted a moment later, falling into step beside him as they walked the red carpet leading to
the main entrance.

A couple stood ahead of them, dressed in jewels and finery, expressions lit with excitement as the
doormen opened the barrier wide. Draco wondered what they thought the party was for. Surely a
client wouldn’t have the balls to bring his wife or mistress to such an event. And he couldn’t
fathom a woman knowing about the organization and supporting its practices.

Well, except for his Aunt. But he hardly considered her a person.

The couple disappeared into the home as he and Theo reached the muscular bouncer standing
guard at the archway, wide shoulders nearly touching either column.

“Welcome, Sirs. Invitations, please.” His accent was heavy, consonants thick. Perhaps German.

“Malfoy,” Draco supplied in a bored drawl, carefully assuming an air of indifference.

The man blinked behind his mask, shoulders rolling back as he thumbed through the pages on his
gleaming clipboard.

“I see no Malfoy.”

Draco lifted his mask, pale brow arching high. “You don’t see me standing two feet in front of
you?”

The bouncer glanced up, eyes widening slightly. “I mean… you’re not on the list.”

“Not on the list,” Draco repeated slowly.

Theo shook his head beside him, no doubt sensing what was to come. Draco paid his companion
no mind, lost to the thrill of being able to crush someone underfoot at long last. He’d been making
a concerted effort to cut back on the practice, mostly to appease Hermione, but the bouncer had
unfortunately caught him on the wrong day. Besides, it would give him the opportunity to slip into
character before facing the lemmings inside.

Draco drew his shoulders wide, chin rising high as he glared down his nose at the fidgeting giant.
"You mean I'm not on the little paper attached to your clipboard? What a devastating travesty. And
yet you obviously recognize my name as well as my face.”

The man tugged at his collar. “… yes, Sir.”

“And you know my relation to the Hostess?”

“Well… yes, but—”

“My beloved Aunt employed you directly, did she not?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“So will you be the one to tell her you denied her only nephew entry into her home because his
name didn’t appear on your all-encompassing list?”

“I don’t— I didn’t—”

“Take your time, think about it. We have all night to stand here, baking in the heat.”

The bouncer cleared his throat, color rising high in cheeks and neck. “My apologies, Sir. Please,
enjoy your evening.”

“I intend to. Come along, Nott.”

Theo shook his head once more, falling in step behind him as Draco strode confidently for the
doors. The footmen scrambled to open them, having clearly overheard the exchange. Draco crossed
the threshold, stopping just inside the entrance hall to examine his surroundings and their lavish
decor.

“Beloved Aunt?” Theo asked at his side.

“Shut up.”

His friend rolled his eyes, sweeping his gaze over the bustling crowd. “Please, you practically put
on a one-man show for my benefit.”

Draco waved off a darkly clad waitress pushing a tray of champagne. “I may have gotten a bit
overzealous.”

“He nearly pissed himself.”

Draco scowled, starting forward. "It worked, didn't it? And just how the hell did you plan on
getting through the door without me?" He cast his voice low. "Bones wasn't exactly adamant about
my participation in tonight's events."

Theo straightened his sapphire cufflinks. “I’m a Peer as well, Malfoy. And while my family name
may not inspire the same amount of fear, it certainly commands respect. At the very least I could
have gotten the strapping buffoon to quiver.”

Draco raised his brow as they entered the main salon, the scent of liquor and jasmine heavy in the
air.

“Quiver?” He smirked, glancing sideways. “Is that how you seduced Potter?”

Theo kept his gaze carefully averted as they cut a straight path for the bar, silently agreeing hard
alcohol was in order. “Don’t start.”

“Are you blushing beneath your mask?”

Theo shook his head. “How are you so certain I did the seducing?”

“Because Potter is dense as concrete and nearly as charming to boot.”

“Perhaps he’s never had cause to charm you.”

Draco studied him as they passed the grand piano, its skilled musician halfway through
Schumann’s Arabesque, the notes easily disguising their low spoken voices from prying ears.

“Are you telling me that idiot made the first move?”

Theo paused as a waiter passed before them wielding a tray of mini tarte flambées, responding as
soon as the stranger passed.

“Why the sudden curiosity?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Good God… you let Harry Fucking Potter seduce you. You should be
ashamed of yourself.”

They reached the bar, a line of people blocking the counter, the murmur of conversation heavy.

“As I said,” Theo brushed invisible lint from his silk lapel. “You’ve never seen him when he’s
being charming. I was helpless to resist.”

Draco tucked his hands into his pockets, carefully scanning the milling crowd. “Please tell me you
were drunk.”

“We were both sober as a judge.”

“Which judge? I see two of them standing at the bar as we speak.”

Theo nodded, tilting his head. “I recognize quite a few others through their hap-dash disguises as
well.”

The crowd slowly dispersed with drinks and cigars in hand, the gleaming bar coming into full
view.

Lord only knows how deep the corruption runs.

Draco placed a hand along the edge of the counter as the bartender stopped before them.

"What can I get you, gentlemen?"

“Scotch, neat.”

Theo leaned into the bartop. “Armagnac.”

“Lush,” Draco murmured, continuing to scan the room. His friend rolled his eyes as the bartender
set to work.

“I believe I see Spalding by the windows,” Draco continued, wrapping his knuckles atop the wood.

Theo turned to face the room, propping his elbows against the bar. “Spotted him on our way in.
And that’s Allerton at the bookcase.”

“Bloody hell.” Draco’s gaze cut in the other direction, spotting the bushy mustache and beady eyes
through the sea of bodies. “He was just promoted to Head of the Children and Family Services
Division.”

“Not surprising. Perverts and psychopaths flock to positions of power and control.“

Draco cocked his head. “So which are we then?”

Theo stiffened.

“It was a joke, Nott.”

Theo stood away from the bar, expression tense. Draco’s brow creased.

“What?”

His friend opened his mouth— but he needn’t utter a word, because in the next heartbeat Draco
heard it.

The distinctive click of heels across the hardwood, echoing off the high ceiling and through his
head. His shoulders tensed in anticipation, spine rigid as steel.

“Draco?”
He took a steadying breath through his nose before turning, eyeing her cooly.

“Bella.”

She blinked, stopping just before him, head tipped back to maintain his gaze in blatant
bewilderment. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard there was a party.”

Her plum-stained lips pressed thin, eyes flashing behind the lace mask. “Who told you?”

“Uncle Rod,” Draco replied with ease, relishing her reaction.

“Rodolphus invited you?” she bit out, looking on the verge of a massive coronary.

Draco smiled guilelessly. "Should he have not?"

Murder flashed in her eyes. He bit back a laugh.

Child’s play.

She visibly gathered her bearings, releasing a slow breath filled with steam. “I need to have a word
with him.” And then she glanced to the man hovering at their side. “And who is this?” She tilted
her head, eyes gleaming. “My, my, could it be young Theodore I see before me?”

Theo bowed his head respectfully. “Madam Lestrange, a pleasure to stand in your radiant
presence.”

“The pleasure is mine, darling. Though I don’t recall sending an invitation to your home.” Her
teeth gleamed. “Perhaps my memory fails me, it certainly wouldn't be the first time.”

“He’s my guest,” Draco supplied casually. “I hope that’s alright; I hate attending parties stag.”

Her keen gaze flickered back to him. “You shouldn’t be here, Draco. Neither of you should be
here.”

He arched a pale brow, the very picture of innocence. He’d perfected the act during boyhood, able
to bend his mother to his will with hardly any effort. His father had always been the challenging
one.

Don’t think about the bastard. Not now.

"Why not?" He asked, curious about her response.

She bit her lip, wheels sparking behind her eyes before she settled on an evasive response. “It’s not
appropriate.”

Draco blinked, the understatement so massive it bordered on the obscene. The urge to laugh nearly
overtook him for the second time that evening.

“We’re old enough to drink.”

“That’s not—”

Her lips opened and closed, gaze caught by something just past his shoulder. Her countenance
rapidly shifted, something predatory sparking in her eyes even as color rose high in her cheeks.
Draco glanced back, eager to know what could cause such an intense reaction in such a wicked
creature. But all he saw was the mingling crowd, no anomaly of note.

He turned back around. Her eyes had drifted once more, unfocused, lost to some distant thought.

“Bella.”

She snapped to attention, gaze flitting back to his, something unnerving in its depth. “Draco,
darling, please listen to me.” His stomach twisted at her beseeching tone, the blatant panic in her
eyes, his entire body drawing taut as she reached out, gripping his arm like a vice. “You must—”

“Here you are,” the bartender announced brightly, setting their drinks on the counter before
glancing up, spotting his Mistress. “Madam, can I get—”

“No thank you, Sylas,” she snapped, nails piercing Draco’s arm through the layers of fabric.

The bartender stood straighter, nodding tightly before departing for the other end of the bar. She
turned back to her nephew.

“Finish your drink, Draco. Then leave.”

He held her gaze, the intensity of it making him lightheaded. “If you insist,” he replied at last,
ready to end this interaction.

She deflated before his eyes, pulling her talons from his arm. “I’ll make it up to you. Another party,
any venue of your choosing, open bar and whatever else your heart desires.”

He set his jaw, shifting back. “You’re too good to me, Aunt Bella.”

She swallowed thickly, searching his gaze. “You haven’t called me that in a very long time.”

“I’m feeling rather nostalgic.”

She studied him a moment longer before squaring her shoulders, adorning her dragonhide once
more.

“Enjoy your drink, boys. And remember, leave right after.”

Theo reached for his brandy, raising the glass in silent salute as she turned gracefully and departed,
the train of her gown chasing her heels like a trail of blood. Guests parted like the red sea, staring
upon their Hostess with open wonderment and fear.

Draco kept her retreating figure in his sights, deeply disturbed by the brief encounter. And then
another thought struck him, right between the shoulder blades, nearly tipping him sideways.

She may be holding Hermione captive at this very moment.

Fire stirred in his gut, rising high in his chest and filling his throat. Theo leaned back against the
bar, casually sipping his drink and watching Draco over the rim.

“She knows what’s coming. She’s trying to protect you.”

Draco lifted his chin, watching her round the corner and disappear from sight, silk train following a
couple seconds later.

“I know.” He grabbed his scotch, eyes blazing. “But I’m not going anywhere.” He took a heavy
swig, numb to its scorching heat. “Not until I watch the witch burn.”

The bouncer looked up from his clipboard.

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Riddle.”

Tom nodded, slipping his invitation back into his dark vest and proceeding forward. Footmen at
either side of the entrance opened the doors wide, bowing deeply. Tom crossed the threshold with
casual ease, flawlessly masking the hurricane raging inside him. He could barely believe he had
just entered the heart of the snake den, embarking on the final chapter of this dark tale at long last.

The air felt charged against his skin, laced with jasmine, the white blooms littering the main hall.
The extravagant arrangements paired marvelously with the eye-catching decorations. A waiter
passed, holding a sterling silver tray filled with glimmering crystal flutes, another with caviar. No
expense spared.

He started forward at a casual pace, fighting to keep his nerves in check. The crowd was dense,
much larger than he'd anticipated, and yet he was far from surprised. The Lestranges were one step
removed from royalty, no one would turn down their invitation, and it seemed no one had. The
guests were bedazzled head to foot in finery, diamond-studded cufflinks and necklaces catching the
light.

The busy room set him on edge. His hands twitched at his sides so he shoved them in his pockets,
stroking the frayed ribbon with his thumb.

“Can I take your coat, Sir?”

Tom stopped, glancing back at the young woman hovering at his side. He recognized her at once.

“Thank you, Margo,” his grin gleamed beneath the black mask, “but I think I’ll keep it. I may
catch a chill.”

The maid blinked, head tilting as she studied his half-hidden visage, then the rest of his darkly-clad
figure. He saw the moment recognition struck, her gaze smoldering, filled with intrigue and
seduction.

“Hello again, Mystery Man,” she smirked, voice a sultry purr.

He imparted a cursory glance around the large space. “Where is your Mistress?”

“Around.”

He glanced back, brow lifting at her vague response. She stepped closer, invading his personal
space. “But there’s no need to search,” she whispered, tipping her head to maintain his gaze.
“She’ll find you.”

He held her beckoning stare as she dipped into a low curtsy, signature fishnets on full-display.

“Have a good evening, Sir.”

He lifted his chin, smirking for reasons she could never comprehend. “I intend to, luv.”

The maid winked, turning on her heel and slipping into the crowd like a sensuous shadow. Tom
dismissed her without further thought, eager to escape the crowded entry where the majority of
guests seemed to linger, desperate to see and be seen.
He began to enter the main salon when he caught sight of white-blonde hair at the other end of the
room. He stopped beneath the archway, intent on changing course when the young man shifted,
revealing the figure standing before him.

She seemed to sense Tom’s eyes upon her in the same moment, heavy-lidded gaze alighting over
the boy’s shoulder and locking with Tom. Even at a distance, he saw the flames erupt behind their
lace mask.

He held her steady in his sights, nodding once, and then turned, heading in the opposite direction.
He chose a room at random, making it three yards inside before realizing it was the billiard’s
room. Card tables had been set up throughout the floor, mimicking a small casino, a fully stocked
bar at the back and pool tables in each corner. Smoke lingered heavy in the air, the majority of
gamblers puffing at cigars, emitting toxic waste with every breath.

Tom began to circle the perimeter of the room, intent on laying low and observing, curious who he
would recognize through their flimsy masks. He spotted quite a few women outside of the wait
staff, adorned in glittering jewels and lavish gowns. He gave each a rudimentary examination to
determine wife from mistress.

… and then wondered if any were dolls.

But they couldn’t all be. Most didn’t fit the profile. Which meant at least some of the women knew
the party’s true purpose and shared fully in their partner’s perversity. It seemed even the blackest
souls had their true mate. The thought sickened him beyond measure.

“Riddle?”

Tom halted abruptly, torn violently from his musing by the familiar voice at his back. He turned
slowly, eyeing the short, bald man with hidden reservation.

“Yaxley.”

“Holy shite,” the man’s eyes went wide and glassy behind his brown mask. “It really is you.” He
laughed loudly, too loudly, slapping Tom on the shoulder. “Long time no see, mate! How have you
been?”

“Quite well.” You have three seconds to remove your fat little hand before I snap your wrist in two.
“And yourself?”

“Ah, I can’t complain.” Yaxley dropped his hand with no time to spare, cheeks flush with drink.
“This is quite the soiree they're having. The Lestranges certainly know how to throw a party, don’t
they?”

Tom fought to keep both masks in place, red edging into his vision. “They set the standard.”

He didn’t have time for this nonsense. He started to formulate an escape strategy, polite or
otherwise, when Yaxley leaned in, voice low and breath pungent.

“You’ll never forget your first.” He winked, reveling in the shared conspiracy and rocking
precariously in place.

Tom’s blood sizzled, pulse churning in his ears. He knew exactly what the idiot was referring to…
but he wanted to hear him say it. Needed to hear it. The reminder of where he was and how far he’d
come.
“First what?” Tom asked evenly, breath stilling in his lungs.

Yaxley grinned like a jester, oblivious to the fact he was staring upon death itself. “Your first
auction, good man.”

Red overcame Tom's vision at last. For a brief moment, he lost control of his faculties, his other
taking the helm, that dark part of himself he kept dutifully caged and rarely fed. He blinked,
inhaling sharply as he retook possession of his mind and body. The slip couldn’t have lasted longer
than the space between heartbeats, and yet Yaxley’s complexion appeared waxy and pale, clearly
having seen the change overcome him.

Tom released his breath slowly, eyes bright. “Of course. I can hardly stand still for the
anticipation.”

Yaxley blinked quickly, unease giving way to confusion, seeming to debate what he’d just seen.
The drink in his system helped pave the way. He swallowed thickly, shoulders relaxing as he
settled back into the conversation.

“Then let’s put ourselves into motion,” he smiled somewhat nervously, raising his empty tumbler.
“I need a refresher and you need your first drink of the evening. I dare say a visit to the bar is in
order.”

Tom grinned with triumph. “A marvelous idea.” He fell into step beside the man, though step was
a generous term where Yaxley was concerned, stumbling mess that he was.

“Do you intend to bid this evening?” The jester asked, suppressing a burp with the back of his
hand.

Tom gazed down at his bald head, shiny scalp glaring in the lights. “It depends on what’s for sale.”

“Ah, a man of taste. Have your heart set on something special?”

A phantom hand pressed against Tom’s chest, warm and solid. His fist tightened in his pocket, the
ribbon wrapping his thumb without reprieve, cutting off the circulation.

“Indeed I do.”

Yaxley nodded as he stumbled over his own feet, an ice cube spilling free from his glass. “I don’t
bid much these days. I just like to keep apprised of new stock. I’ve heard the quality is top-notch
this season.” He glanced up with a wry grin. “Who knows, perhaps we’ll have our eye on the same
thing and engage in a bidding war, eh?” He laughed anew, elbowing Tom in the side.

Tom grinned. I’ll slit your throat. “That would be something.”

They were engulfed by a dense cloud of smoke as they passed a poker table. Yaxley balanced
himself against the edge of a chair, its occupant glancing back with a scowl. Tom shared fully in
the stranger's sentiments, spinning the vivid fantasy of Yaxley passing out and choking on a pool of
his own sick. Then again, the Persian rug looked hand-woven, one of a kind. It would be a shame
to ruin such finery.

They reached the bar at last, small but bustling, taking their place at the back of the crowd and
awaiting their turn to order. Tom wondered how many drinks he’d have to consume to make
Yaxley’s company tolerable.

“So, how is the Home treating you?”

He doubted there was enough alcohol in all of England.

“To echo your earlier sentiments, I have no complaints,” Tom replied evenly.

“I bet you don't!”

Yaxley slapped him on the back, jolting him forward. Tom tightened his fist once more, knuckles
popping. He took a steadying breath, reminding himself of the Plan and why killing someone in the
billiard’s room wasn’t going to further it.

No matter how satisfying it would be.

“Young beauties are practically a commodity to you. Lucky bastard,” Yaxley continued to ramble,
doing himself no favors. “Surprised you even bothered coming tonight. You no doubt have your
choice of company each evening.”

The fool's eyes practically glowed green. Tom maintained his casual repose, examining the bottles
on display along the top shelf.

“That I do, but I still couldn’t staunch my curiosity. I had to see the festivities for myself, just
once.”

Yaxley grunted low, tugging at his tight waistband. “Well, they definitely threw this little shindig
together in record time. Though I’m shocked they’re having it at all, given the tragedy.”

“Tragedy?” Tom glanced down, feigning confusion.

Yaxley raised a brow. “You haven’t heard?” His face lit with excitement, thrilled to know
something Tom didn’t. “There was a massive fire in Bath, Rabastan is presumed—”

“Spreading gossip, Corban?”

Yaxley whipped around so quickly he nearly fell sideways. “Madam!” He straightened, swallowing
convulsively. “I— I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Relax, darling,” her smile was delighted, her eyes poison, “It’s a party, there’s no need to discuss
such heavy subject matter.”

“O-Of course, I merely— Riddle was—” His throat continued to bob beneath his cravat, the pale
fabric stained through with sweat. “I shouldn't have said anything.”

Tom closed his eyes. Bloody hell, he was getting a headache. She cut Yaxley off at the knees at
long last, bored of playing with her food.

"The fire that befell our property was tragic to be certain, but no human remains were found in the
ashes and all of our staff are accounted for, thank god. A true miracle in the midst of such a
horrific accident." Her eyes gleamed behind their sheer mask. "Rabastan is no doubt lying on a
beach in Monaco surrounded by bare-breasted beauties. It wouldn't be the first time he's skipped
town without so much as a note."

Yaxley nodded so quickly his face blurred. “Y-Yes, I’m certain that’s what happened—”

“Excellent,” she tittered, licking her lips. “Then there’s no need to discuss it any further. Tonight is
a cause for celebration, after all.”

“Celebration indeed,” Yaxley agreed, face awash with perspiration. “I’m honored to have received
an invitation.”

"We are honored to have you." Her voice was honey-thick, drowning flies in its caress. "It's been a
pleasure as always, Corban, now if you don't mind, I'd like to steal the good Doctor away for a few
moments."

“I’m sure he’s eager to be stolen by one so beautiful as yourself.” Yaxley bowed, or attempted to,
spilling the rest of his ice to the floor.

Her eyes cut sharp. “You make me blush, darling.” And then she turned to Tom, meeting his gaze
for the second time that evening, pupils blown wide. Tom didn’t let her out of his sight, dismissing
the lingering nuisance without a glance.

“Goodbye, Yaxley.”

The idiot blinked, glancing at Tom, then back to the Madam, clearing his throat awkwardly as
neither paid him any mind.

“Oh. Yes, well, this bar is a bit barren for my taste,” he started to edge away, empty glass clutched
tightly. “I think I’ll visit the one in the lounge.”

He stumbled back to the tables, swallowed by smoke and the growing crowd.

“Bloody imbecile,” she hissed. “If he continues to run his mouth I’ll have to kill him. He’s hardly
worth the time it would take.”

Tom’s visage remained neutral. “He owns a paper mill, does he not?”

She raised a curious brow. “He does.”

“Might I suggest sending a bottle of his favorite drink to his place of work.”

She tilted her head, eyes glittering beneath the chandelier.

“Contract the hit for a day or two later,” Tom continued. “Have him thrown into one of the pulpers
after closing. Detectives will find the open bottle in his office and assume he was stumbling around
the factory floor. Without family to push the matter they won’t bother opening an investigation.”

She searched his gaze. “And here I was, willing to settle for silly poison.”

“Poison is a woman’s weapon, and the most effective ones are easily detected by pathologists.
Only a handful of apothecaries are licensed to carry toxic chemicals, purchase slips are easily
tracked. You’d be leading the Yard right to your door.” His eyes flickered across her face, her
throat, noting the flood of color blossoming across the slender column. “You’re better off turning
him into a pile of scraps. Killing someone in the open is often the best disguise.”

Her breathing hitched as she leaned forward, nearly pressing against him, voice a provocative
murmur. “How I’ve missed you.”

His jaw tensed, shoulder blades following suit. “Let’s continue this conversation somewhere
private.”

She grinned anew, teeth sharp and hungry. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hermione staggered back, eyes flaring wide at the absurd scene playing out at the center of the
clearing. A long and narrow dining table stood atop the overgrown weeds, mismatched chairs
lining either side of a confectionary assortment. And at the helm of the madness was a familiar
nightmare.

“Lestrange?”

He laughed around his cigar, red smoke billowing from his lips.

“In the flesh. More or less.” His laughter took on a hysterical quality, eyes seeming to lose focus
under the flat brim of his stage hat. “About time you got here, pretty one. I was beginning to think
you’d stood me up.”

She gripped her blade tighter. “What are you doing here?”

“Having tea, of course. Would you like to join me?”

He gestured to the china place settings… but her eyes were drawn to the soft whimper at his side,
heart rioting painfully as she spotted the bound and gagged figure in the chair to his left.

“Dawn?”

Lestrange tapped the ashes from his cigar before sitting it atop a crystal bowl. “Thought you could
do with a friendly face.”

“You know her?” Lavender asked, hovering at her side.

“Yes,” Hermione whispered, still in disbelief over the image before her. “Why is she captive?” She
demanded loudly.

“Well now, I needed to get your attention, didn’t I?” Rabastan took his seat in a casual sprawl.

“Mission accomplished. Now let her go.”

He laughed anew, reaching for the steaming teapot. “Relax, pet. Sit—”

“I’m not playing this game with you, Lestrange!” She took a menacing step forward, lifting her
knife. “Let her go or I cut off your head!”

He set the pot aside, clapping delightedly, a wild gleam in his eyes. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here! I
was getting so bored sitting by my lonesome—”

“Last warning.” She drew her arm back, preparing to throw the blade, confident it was sentient
enough to compensate for her piss poor aim.

Alas, he remained unaffected by her threat, reaching into his eggplant-colored coat with an
unhurried hand and extracting a gleaming pistol by its pearlized grip, pressing the barrel against
Dawn’s temple without overture. The girl cringed back as far as her binds would allow,
whimpering into the gag and closing her eyes.

Hermione faltered, frozen as a sculpture.

“Now, please,” he continued with an easy grin, “sit and have some tea.”

“That won’t kill her,” Hermione stated, voice thin with uncertainty. “She’s alive on the outside.”

“Hm.” He cocked the trigger. “Let’s test that theory, shall we?”
“No!” She cried, lowering the blade. “Don’t!”

“Toss the knife.” His eyes flickered to Lavender. “And the hammer.”

Hermione inhaled slowly, turning to face the blonde, exchanging a loaded glance before tossing
their weapons to the swaying grass. Hermione’s empty fingers curled, lost without the weight of
their favorite toy, and then she gazed to her other side, watching Padma sway in place.

Rabastan’s eyes followed, licking his lips with blatant hunger.

“Hello, Selene. You look…” His eyes slowly roamed her reedy figure. “Beautiful. As always.
Though I must admit, you looked far better when you were under my care.”

Padma swallowed tightly, eyes wide and sunken. “Who are you?”

“I’m your Savior—”

“Leave her alone,” Hermione snapped. “You’ve done enough to her already.”

Padma glanced at her apprehensively. “Who is he, Hermione? Why do I recognize his voice?”

“He’s no one. Nothing. Don’t let him upset you, he isn’t worth the energy.”

“I’m flattered, minx. Now,” he pressed the gun into Dawn’s temple until tears were dripping off
her jaw. “I’ll only ask once more. Then I make my point in a rather spectacular fashion all over the
white linen.”

Hermione forced her knees to bend, stepping towards the table with fire in her chest. “If you’ll
recall, the last tea party you invited me to didn’t end very well for you.”

“Oh, I recall in rather stunning detail.” His smile never wavered as he gestured to the chair on his
other side. “Selene, sit to my right, where you belong.”

Padma stiffened.

“It’s alright,” Hermione assured her, pulling out her own chair beside the girl as Lavender sat
beside Dawn.

“Excellent!” He shouted, startling them all. He glanced between Dawn and Padma. “The Pawn and
the Queen,” and then to Hermione and Lavender. “And the Virgin and the Whore. I’ve always
wanted one of each.”

Hermione gripped her armrests tight, willing the black flames to answer her silent pleas. “You can
lower the gun now, we’re unarmed.”

“You’re never unarmed, pet. But I can make it harder for you to get the upper hand.”

He snapped his gloved fingers and vines shot out from the ground, wrapping her wrists and ankles,
binding each limb to the chair. Hermione screamed, pulling against the restraints with all her might,
gasping as thorns dug into her flesh. She glanced to the side, seeing Padma similarly bound, though
the girl made no attempt to break through the green cords.

Hermione settled after a few moments, Lavender keeping up her struggles until blood overspilled
the armrests. Rabastan laughed all the while, red smoke billowing from his lips in a steady cloud
despite the fact his cigar remained untouched in the bowl.
“What do you want, Lestrange?” Hermione screamed.

His countenance rapidly sobered, eyes blazing as they met her in open challenge. “What I want it to
be treated with a modicum of respect.”

She glared past the colorful biscuits and cakes, holding his gaze with unwavering disgust. “You
were worshipped by lemmings your entire life and had your own personal slave. What more could
you have possibly wanted? The crown?”

He set the pistol beside his empty plate and lifted a teacup with a steady hand, taking a dainty sip,
watching her over the lip.

Hermione shook her head, realization finally setting in. “Oh, you really are pathetic.”

His eyes narrowed in warning.

“You wanted love,” she continued bitterly.

He slammed his cup atop the saucer, shattering the base. “Wanting love is pathetic? True affection,
unconditional devotion?”

“When it’s taken by force, yes!” She strained against the vines, cringing as the thorns sliced
through her flesh, blood rapidly welling. “You didn’t want love, you wanted ultimate control over
another human being, mind, body and soul. You aren’t a victim; you’re a monster, then and now!”

“You have no idea the loneliness I was made to suffer,” he hissed, leaning forward so swiftly
Padma drew back. “No idea what it’s like to be alone in a room full of people, to be invisible with
so many eyes focused upon you. To be ignored so completely, dismissed so easily, always passed
up for something better.”

“Your suffering isn’t special,” Hermione bit back. “Everyone has felt that way at least once in their
life—”

“Spare me.” He rolled his eyes. “You were an only child, adored by both your parents, so much so
that they allowed you to put your ambitions before their reputation.” His eyes glinted manic, more
terrifying than the hollow glass stares she faced in the factory. “Draco desired you enough to risk
his entire future, Dolohov was willing to give up his very life and Riddle has killed for you.”

She swallowed heavily, pressing back in her chair.

“So no, pretty one,” he continued calmly, “you of all people have no idea what it’s like to be
invisible.”

Her heartbeat throbbed in her torn wrists. “What does it matter now, Rabastan? You’re dead.”

“I assure you, that’s one detail I won't soon forget.”

“Then surely your priorities have changed. Look around. You don’t want to spend your eternity in
this place. No one does.”

He laughed ominously, shaking his head and drumming his fingers atop the bright linen. “You still
don’t get it, do you?” His unnatural eyes flickered up, ensnaring her. “Silly, silly girl. I chose to
come here.”

She blinked, mind rendered blank for several moments before lifting her chin. “Then you really are
mad.”

He leaned back slowly, tracing the handle of the gun with idle detachment. “Perhaps. And at the
present moment, I’m also tragically bored. I’d like to play a game.”

She watched his hand carefully. “I thought that’s what we’ve been doing.”

“Nonsense!” They all jolted for a second time. “We’ve been talking, pet. But now I want to have
some real fun. You know… like the fun you had with me playing hide-and-seek at the Mansion.”

Hermione watched him retake the weapon. Her breathing became labored, a great weight pressing
upon her chest. “If you want revenge then take it. I won’t fight you. Just let the others go, they
have nothing to do with this.”

He tilted his head, and then kept tilting it until his head was perfectly sideways. "But our game
needs players, silly girl.”

He sprang to his feet like a jack-in-the-box, head snapping straight and gun gripped tight.
Hermione swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Rabastan—”

“Enough talking, minx. I grow weary of your voice.” He tapped the barrel against the brim of his
hat. “The game is a simple one, my lovelies, and requires no skill or intellect on your part. Which
is fortunate,” his eyes cut to Lavender, grin rising high, “since I know some of you have so little of
either to go around.”

Lavender spit at him, the glob making it as far as the teapot. He carried on without pause. “It’s
called Duck Duck Goose. I’m sure you’re all familiar.”

Hermione exchanged a frantic look with Lavender, fear and confusion mirrored in the blonde’s
gaze, and then glanced to the head of the table as he paced to Dawn’s chair, standing just beside his
gagged prisoner and placing the gun to the side of her head once more. Hermione shook her head,
fighting her binds, opening her mouth to scream but before she could utter a sound he loudly
declared—

“Duck!”

He lowered the gun with a hearty laugh as Dawn trembled so hard the chair rattled, her lashes
clumped with tears.

And then he strode to Padma.

Hermione shook her head as he stood behind the silent girl, pressing the gun to the back of her
head.

“Rabastan!” Hermione yelled, eyes fastened to the gleaming barrel. “What are you doing? You
love her—”

“Duck!” He shouted with glee, doubling over with laughter as they all gasped.

Hermione pressed her lips thin as he crossed to her chair, holding her incensed glare with no small
amount of pleasure. She bit her tongue as he tapped the gun to her right temple, nostrils flaring
with the force of her exhale.

“My, my, I’ve never seen you so silent, minx.”

She maintained his gaze, certain she’d bite through her tongue as he lowered to his haunches
beside her, face hovering just before her own, the gun pressing a groove into her flesh.

“All of this can end, right here, right now,” he whispered, red smoke emitting in a vaporous stream.
“Just say the magic word.”

His eyes glowed like a cat in the dark. Her nose twitched, jaw popping as she forced it loose.

“Enjoy your eternity in hell, crazy bastard.”

He searched her gaze, lips curving in a satisfied grin as he rose to his feet. “That’s my girl.”

She closed her eyes, revulsion twisting her stomach to knots as tears overspilled her lashes.
Lavender had claimed Hermione couldn’t die in Wonderland… but she could get trapped here,
which was rapidly shaping to be the worst fate imaginable. The gun pressed harder, her body
swaying in time to her thundering pulse. She heard his swift intake of breath and clutched the
armrests, images flitting through her mind at rapid speed, summoned by a force beyond her control.
She thought of her parents, of Harry and Ron and Ginny and Parvati and Luna and Neville and
Draco and—

“Duck!”

Hermione released her breath in a powerful rush as the gun fell away, sagging in her binds, vision
blurred with tears, yet through the haze she spotted movement beneath the table.

She blinked quickly but her attention was drawn upward as Rabastan leaped onto the table in a
single bound, crushing a cherry pie underfoot before sinking to his knees before Lavender, placing
the lethal barrel to the center of her forehead.

Mowgli popped his head between Hermione’s knees, yellow eyes wide and glorious. She glanced
to her bound wrists frantically, pulse stuttering as he set to work gnawing through the blood-soaked
vines.

“It’s not looking too good for you, my Whore,” Rabastan stated conversationally, twisting the gun
back and forth as though trying to burrow through her skull.

Lavender held his gaze with incredible poise. “I’ve never seen a man overcompensate this much.
Your cock must be the size of a baby carrot—”

He withdrew the gun and slapped her, hard, the crack of skin loud and sharp. Her head snapped
right but her shoulders remained squared.

"Filthy trollop."

She faced forward slowly, blonde hair hanging across her eyes, the red imprint on her cheek bright
as the smoke he emitted with every breath. “I’ve been called worse by better.”

Hermione worked to assist Mowgli as best she could, pulling against the vines, numb to the thorns,
to the sight of her blood rolling along the wood and dripping to the grass. Rabastan’s dark chuckle
drew her focus.

“Still as fearless as ever, Ms. Brown.”

Lavender blinked.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked, reaching out to tenderly brush the hair from her
eyes.

Hermione felt the vines slowly give way, heart skipping as Mowgli worked dutifully.

“But I remember you,” he continued in a coaxing whisper, tracing a fingertip along her reddened
cheek to her throat. “And the pretty line I drew across your neck.”

Lavender held his gaze, trembling with the force of her bubbling fury. “You’re lying. You don’t
have the backbone.”

Hermione couldn't have agreed more. Still, it was a telling claim to make. How did he know her
cause of death? Her thoughts slipped away in a landslide as he lifted the pistol, pressing it back to
Lavender’s forehead.

“Let’s see, shall we?”

Lavender’s eyes flickered past his shoulder, meeting Hermione’s horror-stricken gaze. But the
blonde appeared perfectly calm, perfectly resigned. Tears streamed a continuous river down
Hermione’s face as she thrashed anew, willing to tear her arm off to break free—

“Goose!” he shouted.

“No!” Hermione screamed, her cry lost to the deafening blast of the gun and Padma’s desperate
wail.

Lavender flew back, her chair rocking, nearly tipping over as Hermione gaped, sanity lost to the
sight before her… for it wasn’t a bullet that exploded out of the weapon… but a live goose.

The animal squawked loudly, flapping its wings as it hopped from Lavender’s lap to the table,
supremely put out by all the commotion. The girls stared on with shock while Rabastan tipped
sideways with boisterous laughter, gripping his stomach and rolling onto his back, knocking plates
and trays to the floor.

Lavender came to her senses at last, watching their hysterical host in disbelief. “You fucking
lunatic!”

Red smoke billowed from his mouth in an endless rush until it covered the entire table, so thick it
hid everything from view, himself included. It spilled over the edge, ghosting across Hermione’s
lap; but she was still able to see Mowgli’s yellows eyes flash with victory as he gnawed through the
last of the vines.

She gasped, pulling her shredded wrist free and raising her trembling hand in the air, tears quelling
as her blade flew into her waiting palm. She sliced through the vines binding her other wrist and
stood, her bound ankles making her tip forward as she drove the knife into the center of the red
cloud, blinking rapidly as it met solid wood, splintering its smooth surface.

Hermione tore the blade free, crimson smoke rapidly dissipating to reveal the empty table before
her. She panted hard, glancing in either direction, seeing no trace of him. And then his maniacal
laughter filled the air, surrounding them on all sides.

“Care for another round of hide-and-seek, minx?”

She gritted her teeth, dropping back into her chair and cutting through the vines around her legs.
"Not a chance."
“Hm… seems I’ll have to give you a little incentive to play nice.”

Hermione ignored his taunts, launching to her feet and scrambling around the table for Lavender.
She was nearly to the blonde when Padma’s sharp gasp stopped her dead.

“Hermione!”

She spun, watching in horror as Padma’s hands turned to red smoke before their eyes. Padma gazed
up, tears streaking her face. “What’s happening?”

Hermione rushed forward, more and more of Padma dissolving away with every step. By the time
she reached her chair the girl was gone.

“Padma!”

“Hermione!”

She spun, facing the jungle, Padma’s cry emanating from somewhere deep inside the wild abyss.
Mowgli darted forward with blinding speed, disappearing past the treeline as Hermione ran back to
Lavender, cutting her binds.

“Free Dawn, stay with her,” Hermione spoke quickly, rising swiftly as soon as her task was done.

“I can help—”

“He’s trying to scatter us,” she twirled her blade with deft skill, turning to the jungle with
murderous eyes. “I can take care of him myself.”

Parvati took a shortened breath, whalebone squeezing the life out of her as she watched Harry
accept a tray of food, slipping out of the kitchen with a parting glance in her direction. She met his
gaze, nodding once before the butler door swung shut, stealing him from view.

She turned for the narrow hallway on the other side, starting forward and cursing the high-end
corset with every step.

“Oi!”

She froze at the deep male voice, glancing back with reluctance. A man in a finely pressed uniform
met her gaze, expression pinched in annoyance.

“Wrong door! And you need a tray.”

She clutched the strap of the bag over her shoulder. “I need the water closet.”

“Use the loo on your own time, you get a break in an hour.”

“I need the loo now or I’m about to have women's troubles all over your time.”

The bottom portion of his face turned deathly white, a startling contrast to the black mask. “Five
minutes, go.”

She nodded, turning on her heel and entering the servant’s quarters, breathing a sigh of relief as she
reached the door marked Watercloset, only to blink as the knob refused to turn.

She knocked quickly.

“Occupied!” A woman shouted from inside.

“Are you going to be long?”

“You can say that again! Find another one!”

Parvati groaned, tipping her head back. “Shite.”

She progressed deeper along the hall, turning the corner and reaching the staff residence. She kept
trying doors but each bedroom was locked.

Come on.

She adjusted her bag once more, hearing the swoosh of silk as she paused at the end of the corridor,
eyeing the staircase leading to the main floor, the muffled sounds of the party lying just beyond the
barrier. Parvati bit her lip, tapping her foot a solid three seconds before relenting.

She started up the stairs, heels clicking in time to her heart, taking a deep breath before opening the
door at top, the sound of conversation growing ten-fold. She slipped into the crowded hall, head
turned low as she closed the door softly, sticking close to the wall as she started searching for a
bloody loo.

Changing on the main floor is too dangerous. Someone will see you go in.

She released her breath in a rush, pausing beside a decorative table with a crystal vase of flowers at
its center. Her eyes darted around the bustling crowd, overwhelmed, pulse skipping as she took in
the size and magnitude of the event.

And then her eyes drifted up, spotting the empty landing above.

I need to get upstairs.

She pushed forward before she had time to second guess herself, but the moment she reached the
main stairwell a new obstacle presented itself.

A guard on the steps, hands folded behind his back and shoulders drawn wide.

Christ, here we go.

She grabbed the handrail without hesitation, making it up two stairs before he halted her with an
arm.

“No staff upstairs.”

Her thoughts fired so rapidly she couldn’t grasp a single one. And then a sharp laugh cut through
the fray, high and feminine, emanating from somewhere above. Parvati spoke the words as quickly
as they came to her.

“One of the Ladies asked me for a feminine item, she said to bring it upstairs for privacy.” She
started to open her bag. “Here, I’ll just give it to you—”

“No!” He practically shouted, drawing the attention of a few nearby guests. He shuffled aside,
raising both hands as though afraid she’d leap out and contaminate him. “Go ahead, take it
yourself.”

She smiled sweetly, grabbing the bannister once more. “If you insist.”
Parvati dashed up the steps with her heart in her throat, reaching the landing in a blur, unsure where
to go from there. She picked a direction at random, turning right and traversing the richly
ornamented hall. It was littered with doors, and each of them were locked. Son of a bit—

She gasped as the last handle turned, the door giving way beneath her touch. She held her breath,
barely suppressing the urge to jump for joy, peeking her head inside. A spare bedroom, filled with
extravagant furniture but no drunken guest in sight.

“Hello?”

She counted to five in her head, hearing nothing beyond the distant murmur of the party below.

Thank you, God!

Parvati slipped inside, shutting the door and rushing to the four-poster bed, setting her bag atop the
thick duvet and opening the top flap. She pulled out her gown for the evening, a vibrant vermilion
hand-selected by Nott. He’d proudly shown her his purchase, declaring it the perfect compliment
for her skin tone. And as much as she hated him for the corset he foisted upon her, she had to admit
the handsome bastard had a keen eye for fashion.

The dress was stunning, the most beautiful thing she'd ever held, little less worn. Low cut and
form-fitting through the bodice and hips, skirts flaring out at the knees, trailing behind in a silken
train, accentuating her hourglass figure and drawing the eye.

Well, that was the plan anyway.

The dress is merely a weapon. I still have to wield it.

She stripped out of her dark uniform and stepped into the gown, jittering all the while, unable to
contain her nerves. They were so close… and still so far away. There was no guarantee Hermione
was here. And even if she was, there was no telling what the evil monster had done to her. What if
he’d destroyed her mind, the same as Padma? What if there was no cure? No recovery?

She would have been better off dying in the clinic…

Parvati swallowed the rising bile, shaking her head and dispelling the treacherous thought. Her
eyes burned with trapped tears. And trapped they would remain. Crying solved nothing, and there
was certainly no time to waste.

She pulled the bodice into place, the sleeves capped and off-the-shoulder, before awkwardly
fastening the back. She bit her lip in concentration, the corset limiting her flexibility as she fumbled
with the closures. She padded barefoot to the dresser, using the mirror to guide her efforts, nearly
to the top when the bedroom door opened.

Her heart seized, terror choking her of breath. She cursed herself for forgetting to lock it, such a
foolish oversight.

A man appeared in the opening, a mask over his face and a drink in his hand. He was halfway
inside when he caught sight of her across the room, meeting her startled gaze in the mirror.

“Oh, pardon my interruption.”

Her arms dropped to her sides, fingers twitching as she took in his appearance, weighing the
possibilities. His suit was finely tailored. A guest.
Breathe.

“No worries,” she forced a smile. “I’ll be done in a moment, then the room is all yours.”

He tilted his head, giving her a thorough once over, eyes lingering on the unfastened hooks
between her shoulder blades and the expanse of flesh they revealed. His gaze darkened.

Parvati pressed a hand to her middle in an attempt to steady herself. She knew that look. Had seen it
more times than she cared to count. And it never boded well. As if eager to confirm her every fear
he stepped inside the bedroom, shutting the door with a wicked smirk.

And locking it.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he asked, voice an octave deeper than before.

She wet her lips, mouth dry.

“You have to be,” he continued, setting his drink on the side table and strolling towards her.
“You’re too exotic to be one of those pasty windbag’s wives. Unless you’re a mistress?” Her entire
body throbbed in time to her pulse. He stopped just behind her, breath dancing across her nape. “Or
did you wander away from your owner?” He gripped her hips, drawing her into his body. “Shall I
help you find your way back?”

He was warm, smelling of expensive cologne and top-shelf liquor, his frame tall and broad. If she
closed her eyes she could pretend it was Blaise…

Fuck that.

She held his gaze steady in the mirror, lifting her chin. “That would be much appreciated.”

His smirk grew. "I knew it." His face turned into her neck, lips brushing her skin with each word.
"Any man who lets you out of his sight is a bloody fool. You need a new keeper, pet."

Her eyes glinted, dark as onyx. “I have no keeper.”

“No?” His fingers dug into her hips.

“But I’m on the market for one.”

“Are you now?” He kissed her throat. “And how did you get so far removed from your sisters?”

Her pulse stuttered anew, causing her to sway. He easily steadied her, hands beginning to roam.

“The Lestranges sent me out to give guests a taste of what’s to come,” she stated calmly, fists
curling at her sides. “But it’s time I return.”

“Not yet,” he breathed into her ear, “I haven’t had my taste.” He wrapped a hand around her throat,
the gesture making her vision dim. But he didn’t squeeze, merely tipped her chin to whisper against
her lips. “Just a small sample should do.”

Her eyes remained open as he pressed an open mouth kiss to her lips, tongue invading her mouth
with preamble, filling it with the taste of stale brandy. Her stomach knotted tight as his other hand
groped her breast, fingers dipping beneath the top of her bodice, tracing the line of her corset.

She turned her head away, inhaling sharply. “If you insist.”
She spun in his grasp, wrapping her arms around his neck and tipping her head back, giving him
free access to her lips and throat, much to his delight. He dived in with enthusiasm, teeth scraping
her neck as he released a rumbling purr, gripping her backside, squeezing hard.

Parvati gathered her tight skirts in hand, pulling them up her legs, prompting him to practically
vibrate against her.

“Such a good girl.”

He helped her lift them until her bare legs were exposed. Such a gentleman.

“Thank you,” she breathed, smiling as she drew her leg back, afforded full mobility once more. He
reached a hand between them, seeking out her core, but before he could navigate past the bunched
fabric she drove her knee into his groin with all her strength.

“Oof!” The air exploded out of him in a violent rush, blowing back her hair before he crumpled to
his knees, clutching his battered manhood with both hands.

“Would you like another sample?” She asked sweetly, driving her knee forward a second time,
catching him under the chin and sending him sprawling back. His mask fell away, face a blistering
red, veins throbbing and eyes watering.

“Bitch!” he gasped, voice broken and strained. “I’ll have you skinned alive!”

“Not enjoying the taste?” She lowered her skirts, stepping to the dresser and picking up a bronze
horse statue.

“Perhaps your pallet isn’t refined enough.”

He held up both hands as she turned towards him, shaking his head manically.

“No! Please! I’m sorry!”

She drove the statute down with both hands, the flat base colliding against his temple with a
satisfying thwack. He slumped into a dead heap instantly, chest continuing to rise and fall as a thin
trickle of blood ran the length of his hairline.

She stumbled back, catching her breath.

“You couldn’t have afforded me anyway.”

She set the statue back into place and set to work rolling the pile of trash under the bed, panting
with exertion by the time she completed her task. Christ. Men were a piece of work even after you
beat them unconscious.

She carefully arranged the bed skirt before rising at last, wiping the sweat from her forehead and
crossing back to the mirror, pinning her hair into place and fastening the rest of her bodice. She
held her gaze in the mirror a moment longer before retrieving her heels off the rug and crossing for
the door.

“Oh, right.” She turned to the bed, dipping into a half curtsy. “An honor to make your
acquaintance, Sir.”

She slipped into her heels and then out of the room, dressed to kill and ready to hunt.
Harry wandered the lavishly decorated study in a blur, balancing a silver tray in one arm and a
folded cloth over the other. He tried to remember to keep his gaze averted. Besides the fact his
irises were one his most recognizable features, wait staff never made eye contact with guests
unless prompted. So many cocked up rules.

But he kept his ears perked, careful to eavesdrop on every conversation he passed, desperate to
learn something of value. Namely, where the hell the girls were being kept. They were
undoubtedly already on the premise but the mansion was huge and well guarded, there was no way
to search the entire property without detection.

And the auction would be starting soon.

Harry rounded the leather tufted sofa, hearing voices from every direction, their owners lost to the
sea of talking heads.

“The Lestranges certainly pulled out all the stops tonight.”

“Decorations are marvelous—”

“So last minute…”

“—can’t believe they invited Mathers.”

“Haven’t seen Rabastan…”

“Haven’t you heard? He’s missing!”

"—positively uncouth to hold a party but I can hardly complain—"

“And what do we have here?”

Harry blinked, rocking back on his heels as a hand appeared before his tray, stopping him in his
tracks. Three men stood before him, finely dressed and gazing at his platter with interest.

“Oh,” Harry stated, forgetting he’d even been holding the prop. He glanced down, studying the
contents of the gleaming tray for the first time since leaving the kitchen. He’d selected it at
random, a decision he now came to regret dearly since he had no fucking idea what he was looking
at.

The men gazed at him expectantly. Harry tilted his head in the hopes it would reveal some hidden
clue. Alas, the only ingredient his eyes could identify was cat food.

Don’t say cat food, Theo’s voice practically scolded in his mind.

“Er… this is… little pieces of bread, with...” cat food “orange… chunks. And…” cat food
“raisins?” He raised a dark brow, tilting his head the other way. “Maybe nuts.”

The men glanced at each other, then him.

“I believe those are pork rillettes,” one of them stated slowly, as though Harry was supremely dim.

Harry grinned brightly. “Precisely.” He met their eyes, holding the tray aloft. “And they taste just
like chicken.”

They blinked in unison. Finally one of the men reached up, selecting a small piece of rye and
staring at it oddly. Harry dipped his head, backing away eagerly. He started towards the bookcases
where a small crowd had congregated but was distracted halfway to his destination.

“—nearly had my arm broken for heading in the wrong door. You’d think they were guarding the
crown jewels up there.”

Harry slowed, turning in the direction of the voice. He spotted two men a few yards off, smoking
cigars before a massive painting of naked babies with wings. He started for them with single-
minded determination, so focused on his task he nailed some lady in the back of the head with his
tray. Her wig was so thick she barely felt the impact, glancing over her shoulder in confusion as
Harry leaped the ottoman like a gymnast, disappearing into the crowd.

He closed in on his targets at last, their conversation easily discernible.

“What were you doing up there anyway?” The fat one asked.

“The line to the loo wrapped around the bloody mansion,” the bearded one responded.

“You went upstairs to take a piss?” Fat guy asked sardonically.

Bearded pervert took a sip of his drink, smirking over the rim. "I did indeed. And perhaps I was
hoping to get a sneak peek at the goods while I was in the vicinity."

“Sneaky bastard.”

“Lot of good it did me. There’s a bloody guard wandering the floor.”

Harry’s chest tightened as he turned on his heel, making a dash for the exit, trying to formulate a
plan that didn’t involve slamming his platter over someone’s head.

He was nearly to the door when he spotted a familiar sight just beside the archway. Theo drew his
eyes like a magnet, his mere presence helping to calm Harry’s racing pulse. The crowd shifted and
Draco came into view. And then a third man.

Harry’s eyes narrowed, trying to glimpse the stranger’s face as he chewed on the end of a cigar.

Recognition sparked at last.

Harry released a slow breath, starting forward with renewed purpose.

Theo grabbed a flute of champagne off a passing tray with a weighted sigh. He'd finished his
brandy halfway through a tortuous conversation with Judge Thicknesse, narrowly escaped the
idiot's clutches moments ago. Draco emerged into the room a heartbeat later, both seeking refuge in
the study.

He took an eager gulp of his drink, relieved to have a bit of blessed solitude at last, only to choke
on his mouthful as a familiar voice thundered behind him.

“As I live and breathe, is that my future son-in-law I see before me?”

Theo coughed into his fist, lungs aflame as he sucked in a stuttered breath, turning slowly. He
gazed upon the man standing before him, smoke billowing from the cigar in his hand.

“Lord Parkinson,” Theo greeted evenly, shoulders drawing back.

“Good God, I didn’t expect to see you here.” The man’s gaze darted to the side, widening. “Draco,
excellent to see you, my boy!”

The blonde nodded indifferently. “Parkinson.”

The older man took no slight at the informal address, not from Lucius Malfoy’s son. He turned his
attention back to Theo, tilting his head in examination. “I must admit, I didn’t think you had it in
you, Theodore.”

Theo blinked, thoughts scattering as a cold sweat suffused his entire being.

My father told him.

His vision dimmed, the room spinning as the floor tilted beneath his feet—

“Planning to participate in tonight’s activities or are you going to stand on the sidelines and
watch?”

The world righted itself with jarring swiftness. Theo deflated, nearly dropping his glass in his
boneless relief. “The former,” he replied at length, still collecting his bearings.

"Really?" Parkinson raised a brow, a new appreciation gleaming in the depths of his black gaze.
"Perhaps I was wrong about you. A fortunate miscalculation, it'll take a firm hand to keep Pansy in
line. Maybe you're up to the task after all."

Theo straightened; Draco mirrored his movements.

“She’s half-wild, always has been. Gets it from her mother’s side. Something in the blood makes
the women go crazy once they start breeding. I only kept Moira around in the hopes she’d give me
an heir. A lot of good that did.” Parkinson took a few puffs off the end of his cigar. “Take my
advice, boy, get as many sons from her as you can, then ship her away. You’ll be better for it.”

The crystal stem threatened to snap in Theo’s grasp. He took a slow breath, collecting the words in
his mind before trusting himself to speak. “I appreciate the advice, Sir. But it just so happens I like
her half-wild.”

Parkinson chuckled. “I remember the days. It’s fun at first but it gets old fast. Trust me, you’ll be
moving your mistress into the house within a few years.”

Draco rolled his head along his shoulders, draining the rest of his glass in a single convulsive
swallow.

“It sounds like you’ve been quite burdened,” Theo stated evenly, eyes darkening. “How fortunate
I’ll be taking Pansy off your hands next spring.”

“I’m counting the days, my boy. Don’t be afraid to use a firm hand with her, either. She doesn’t
react to threats so you’ll have to—”

“Pork?”

Theo jolted at the bizarre interruption, heart galloping as a familiar face appeared front and center
of his field of vision.

Potter wedged himself between Theo and Parkinson, gleaming tray held aloft, bright smile hung
firmly in place. He met Theo’s eye, holding his gaze captive as though knowing exactly what type
of shit show he was walking into. Theo swallowed, heat washing over him as Harry’s smile turned
secretive.

Draco tilted his head, eyes affixed to the solid helmet of Potter’s hair. “Jesus Christ.”

“They’re rillettes actually,” Harry announced jovially, shoving the plate under the blonde’s nose
until he was forced to rear back with a scowl.

Parkinson took another puff, examining the tray through a cloud of smoke. “Looks like cat food.”

Harry lifted a brow, meeting the man’s gaze head-on. “My thoughts exactly.”

Theo rubbed his brow as Parkinson blinked.

Fucking hell.

“Thank you but we’re fine here,” Theo said, meeting Harry’s emerald stare once more. His heart
thrummed anew as his lover adorned the same smirk he wore when unfastening Theo’s pants.

“As you wish, Sir.”

Theo’s entire body throbbed. Draco rolled his eyes, pushing the tray out of his face and holding out
his empty glass.

“I could use another drink.”

Harry stared at the tumbler, then at Draco, smile deepening. “Then I suggest making a trip to the
bar.”

He backed away from the trio with a cheery nod, turning on his heel and departing as swiftly as he
appeared.

“What an unusual waiter,” Parkinson mumbled around his cigar.

Draco lowered his empty glass, continuing to glare at the retreating figure until he was swallowed
by the crowd. “I thought he was quite charming.” He turned back to Theo. “Didn’t you think so,
Nott?”

Theo clenched his teeth, fantasizing about breaking the blonde’s perfectly pointed nose. He
recalled the time Granger did just that, albeit by accident, though it was no less satisfying a
memory.

Then he blinked, sobered by the recollection. Hermione was still missing, likely in some storage
shed awaiting auction, as were countless other defenseless, brainwashed women.

Remember why you’re here.

He felt charged air graze the back of his neck, the tell-tale sensation of being watched. Theo
glanced up, already sensing the eyes upon him as he met Harry’s gaze from across the room. Potter
glanced up at the ceiling and then back to Theo, repeating the motion once more before Theo
nodded shortly, understanding the message.

Upstairs.

His pulse soared as Potter slipped into the fray and exited the room, disappearing from sight.
Parkinson launched into conversation once more, emitting smoke and bile with every word. Theo
ignored the bastard, meeting Draco’s silver gaze instead, the same thought passing between them.
Here we go.

Hermione stumbled over a raised root, catching herself against the side of a petrified tree.

“Hermione!” Padma screamed, guiding her forward.

Mowgli leaped from branch to branch, keeping easy pace beside her as she dodged trees and
shrubs, adrenaline filling every vein, blocking out the pain of her wrist and the twigs clawing at
her arms and face.

Rabastan’s laughter echoed behind her, floating high, dissipating into the dense canopy. She
staggered to a halt, turning, then rotating in a slow circle, taking in the endless blur of her
surroundings.

He’s messing with me.

She took a steadying breath before changing direction, running until she heard the familiar chirp of
coaxing voices.

“Hello, dearie!”

“Welcome back!”

“We’re thrilled you’ve returned!”

“Please stay with us!”

“Yes, stay!”

She stopped in the center of the patch, eyes glowing as brightly as her blade.

Lavender pulled away the last of the girl’s binds, then reached up to tug the gag from her chapped
lips.

“You alright?”

Dawn nodded, drying her face with both palms.

“Good.” Lavender stood, turning for the jungle. “Stay put, I need to help Hermione.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Lavender halted, glancing back. “You sure?”

The girl pushed from her chair, swaying slightly. “I want to see her kill the bastard.” She braced the
table with both hands. “Besides, I know where he’s hiding.”

Hermione paced along the rugged terrain, carefully edging around a pond that seemed to be filled
with acid, smoking carcasses bobbing along its surface.

She glanced down at Mowgli. “Split up. Don’t pay attention to his voice. Listen for Padma.”

He blinked once, yellow eyes reflecting a narrow beam of light before he leaped onto a rock and
launched into the trees, gone in an instant.
Lestrange’s rolling laughter lingered thick on the air, coming from all directions.

He wants to play?

She adjusted the grip on her blade, half her face reflected in the pulsing metal.

Let’s play.

“Rabastan!” She called out, slowing her gait to a midday stroll. “You’ll never guess who I ran into
earlier!” She wet her lips, turning in a leisurely circle, watching a pink frog navigate lily pads atop
the acid pool. “Bellatrix.”

His laughter instantly ceased, eerie silence echoing through the trees. She hopped over a narrow
stream, admiring the glittering stones beneath the water.

“What are the chances? Did you even know she was here?” She continued loudly, directing her
voice to the iridescent sky. “Or is she the reason you chose to come to Wonderland?”

A faint scratching drew her gaze downward. Vines slithered across the jungle floor, following her
steadily along her taunting path.

“Funny thing though…” She lifted her blade in warning, brow arching as they drew back swiftly,
disappearing into the bushes and trees. “She didn’t mention you.”

Red smoke began to seep from the soil and dead leaves, collecting like a dense rolling fog.

“Not once.” Hermione took a measured step back, watching the smoke closely, anticipation
building. “Then again, we didn’t get the opportunity to talk for very long.”

The smoke rose higher and higher, forming a hazy shape. Hermione wet her lips, blade at the
ready.

“I was too busy killing her.”

The smoke formed a face, its red lips parting wide and releasing a thunderous roar, blowing her
hair. She slashed forward with her knife, the smoke dispelling in a rush.

Hermione drew back swiftly, sensing movement at her back, only to have her feet pulled out from
beneath her as a vine wrapped around her ankle, tugging violently. She hit the ground with a thud,
gasping as more vines shot forward. She slashed out, severing the tendril wrapping her boot but
unable to dodge the one that seized her injured wrist, squeezing until she screamed, releasing the
blade beyond her control.

A vine took hold of her ankle again, dragging her across the forest floor in a heart-pounding rush.
She twisted and clawed, fighting for a handhold, screaming as she was pulled through the bushes
into a field of flowers. Hermione gasped, recognizing the deep purple blooms at once. Black
dahlias.

Red smoke oozed from the blooms like a poison gas, forming a cloud above her as she finally
came to a stop in the center of the field. The haze took solid form, lowering closer until it was
Rabastan settled atop her, sans hat, laughing shrilly as the vines pulled her limbs apart, spreading
her beneath him.

She screeched and thrashed, unable to throw off his weight, to free her arms or legs. She tried a
steadying breath next, trying to summon her flames, feeling her entire body heat at the mere
memory they evoked. But her concentration was shattered as he wrapped a hand around her throat,
squeezing in warning before lowering his mouth to hers.

Hermione cringed, trying desperately to turn away from the kiss, only to realize it was something
far worse. Red smoke billowed from his lips into her mouth. She tried to close it but he wedged his
thumbs between her teeth, forcing them apart. She gagged and coughed, smoke filling her lungs, a
searing poison that dimmed her vision and weakened her muscles. It reminded her of the sleeping
tonics doctors poured down her throat after the fire. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes,
past her temples and into her hair.

“That’s more like it,” he growled, gathering her skirt in both hands and dragging it up. “I’ve been
dying to know what all the fuss is about, how you’ve taken so many men under your spell.”

Cool air met her legs as she felt his fingertips at her bloomers. Time slowed and sped at the same
moment, prolonging her horror and deepening her revulsion, her limbs slow and clumsy as she
fought the effects of the smoke.

And then a flash of green appeared.

Mowgli leaped onto Lestrange’s head, holding tight with all four limbs. Rabastan roared, ripping
the scrambling creature free and throwing him across the field with considerable strength. A vine
shot out from the rippling sea of dahlias, trapping the animal tight.

“Enough!” He growled, eyes positively feral. “You’re mine now! Not Dolohov’s, not Rod’s, not
Riddle’s, mine!”

He fell atop her again, settling between her parted thighs and reaching for the band of her
bloomers.

“Tell me, minx, will I be the first?”

She watched him unfasten his belt with one hand, blocking out the sensation of greedy fingertips
sliding up her inner thigh.

“The first man I’ve killed for touching me? Afraid not. Once again you come in second place—

He reared up and backhanded her, blood heavy on her tongue, running down the back of her throat.
She swallowed it eagerly, desperate to dispel the aftertaste of the bitter smoke. He tugged at the
stays on her dress, dragging down her sleeves. Her heartbeat slowed as she tried to separate from
her body…

And then a flash of orange filled the sky, overtaking her vision as his weight disappeared all at
once. Her lungs decompressed, sucking in air desperately as she turned her head, watching as
Lavender's arms swung with the follow-through, her hammer gripped firmly in both hands.
Hermione coughed, expelling the last tendrils of smoke, muscles tingling.

“Mione? You ok?” the blonde asked, panting wildly at her side, bathed in orange light.

Hermione nodded weakly, rolling to her side as the vines loosened their hold.

“He’s getting away!” Dawn screamed from somewhere out of view. Hermione watched Rabastan
crawl through the blooms, his limbs slowly dissolving into red mist.

Lavender shook her head, stalking her prey with stealthy poise. “No, he isn’t.”
She crushed every flower in her path before reaching him, striking her blow between his shoulder
blades, knocking him flat.

“Where’s Padma?” She screamed, kicking him onto his back, his limbs solid once more. “Where is
she?”

She straddled his limp form, raising the hammer high overhead as he started to laugh.

“Worthless whore. You weren’t worth the trouble it took to cut your throat.”

Lavender screamed, poised to strike, pausing her downward swing as Dawn spoke.

“She’s in the caves.”

Hermione pushed upright, head spinning as she watched the girl point to the side of a mountain on
the other end of the field.

“That’s where he lives, where he kept me.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, staggering to her feet, bracing her hands to her knees to gain her
bearings. “Go get her.”

Dawn nodded, backing away slowly. Hermione started across the field for the pair a few yards
away. Her head swam with the aftereffects of his sedative but she could feel her faculties
strengthening with each step. She reached them at last, stopping at her friend’s side.

“Lavender.” The blonde glanced up. “Let me.”

Lavender took a deep breath before rising, knuckles white around the base of her hammer.
Hermione took her spot, half sinking, half collapsing atop his prone figure, straddling his middle
and bracing her hands atop his chest.

He smirked, eyes glinting. “About time you came around, minx. But I’m more than happy to take
you both at the same time—”

“You were right.”

He blinked.

“When you said I couldn’t possibly know how you feel,” Hermione continued.

His expression quickly sobered.

"I could never understand such loneliness. My life is filled with too many good people. People
who love me, who fight beside me, fight for me, people willing to risk their life for my safety."
She tilted her head, visage drained of all emotion. "But I've earned their love and devotion by
giving back as much as I ever took. I'm just as willing to fight beside them, to die for them. That's
what love is, Rabastan. True, unconditional love is selfless. That's why you've never had it."

He ground his teeth as he watched her reach into her skirt pocket.

“And now, you never will,” she muttered, extracting a red-capped mushroom. “Rabastan, meet
Karl. With a K.”

The mushroom writhed in her hand, white eyes and mouth turning down in a miniature scowl.
“Bloody hell, woman! I about smothered to death in there—”
“What is this?” Rabastan demanded, eyes widening beneath her.

“You want to be a part of Wonderland?” She smiled sweetly. “I’m happy to oblige.” And then
jammed the mushroom into his mouth, gripping him tight with her thighs as he bucked wildly,
twisting and thrashing. She pressed her hands over his lips as Lavender dropped down, pinning him
beneath their combined weight.

Hermione held his frantic gaze steady, seeing the moment the mushroom took effect, his limbs
falling still as his eyes turned glassy, dazed. And then there was nothing. No movement and no
sound beyond the faint rise and fall of his chest.

Hermione scrambled off him, tears burning behind her eyes for some inexplicable reason.

“Now you’ll be a part of Wonderland forever. Built into its very foundation.”

Lavender moved beside her, staring upon his comatose form in disgust. “He deserves far worse
than this, Hermione. For what he did to Padma, to me.”

Hermione shook her head slowly. “He didn’t kill you.” She turned, studying her friend’s profile.
“You know who killed you.”

Lavender swallowed heavily, inhaling long and deep as she met Hermione’s gaze. “Yes. I do.”

Mowgli burst through the stems, dead, withered vine dragging at his paws. Hermione helped
unwind them from his legs.

“Let’s grab the others, we need to—”

Her words were cut short by the sound of a steam whistle piercing through the air.

She stiffened, meeting Lavender’s amber eyes before they both launched to their feet, searching the
terrain.

The whistle sounded again. They spun to face the jungle, watching the treetops tremble, black
smoke billowing high over the green canopy.

Hermione lifted her hand, standing still and unflinching as her blade came zooming through the
field, the metal singing as it cut through the air at blinding speed. The handle collided seamlessly
with her palm, warmth infusing her arm as she lowered it to her side, watching the trees fall like
dominoes.

And then she grinned.

“Our ride’s finally here.”

Tom tipped his head back, gazing upon the spectacular domed glass roof. Madam Lestrange closed
the doors at their back with an echoing click, followed by the strike of her heels across the stone
pathway, drawing near.

“It’s marvelous, is it not?”

He nodded, taking in the lush greenery surrounding them on all sides. “Breathtaking.”

She stopped just beside him. “Rodolphus has his office, I have my conservatory. I’ve had many a
clandestine meeting within these glass walls.”
“Then I shall refrain from throwing stones.” He turned, facing her at last. Her eyes burned brightly
behind their lace shield.

“Are you pleased?” she asked.

He raised a dark brow, pulse quickening. “Pleased?”

“You wanted a gathering. I put this together for you. All of it’s for you.”

“All of this is to buy your freedom.”

“My freedom isn’t guaranteed. I’m putting my life and liberty at great risk.”

“That’s not the freedom I was referring to.” He bore down upon her. “You want to be free of the
Dollmaker’s hold once and for all.”

"There are other ways to accomplish that task without inviting spies into my home."

“You want to be free of your husband as well.”

She stiffened, eyes flickering. “I want him to suffer. I don’t want him dead.”

He tilted his head, tone mocking. “Plan on purchasing his freedom?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she lifted her chin, jaw tensing, “then again, I may be rotting in the cell
beside him, unable to better either of our situations.” She stepped closer, searching his gaze. “Do
you understand all that I’m sacrificing? All I’m putting on the line?”

“I’m more concerned with your prisoners.”

She released a short breath. “The girls are unharmed, just as promised.”

“They’re all here?”

“The ones not in circulation, yes.”

His teeth clenched at the flippant turn of phrase. “Good.”

She held his gaze with steady intensity.

“Your words are cold but your eyes give you away, Doctor. There’s a dark fire raging inside you,
desperate to be unleashed. Don’t hold back on my account.” She pressed closer yet, placing a hand
to the center of his chest, just beside his heart. “I’d rather die by your flame than a judge’s gavel.
Unleash your anger, your hatred, scream, riot, let me see the real you.” She wet her lips, voice
barely above a whisper. “Just once. Let me see the real you.”

He clutched her wrist with bruising force. She didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat, merely tipped her head
back, face just below his.

“The real me is the last thing people see before I take their lives,” he spoke across her lips. “And
the next life I intend to claim is that of your Maker.”

Her face crumpled as he squeezed her wrist tighter, threatening to snap the bone. He grabbed her
chin with the other hand, hissing into her parted mouth.

“Where is he?”
Parvati wandered the hallways with a light step and bated breath. The stranger’s words rang
through her head on an endless loop, pushing her forward.

“And how did you get so far removed from your sisters?”

They were here, behind one of these doors. She could feel it.

But the second floor was an endless maze of hallways and alcoves, littered with tables and antiques
and statues, the latter of which caused her pulse to skip every time she turned a corner, their life-
like gazes following her every move.

She pressed close to the walls, the sounds of the party growing more and more distant as she
journeyed deeper into the labyrinth. She had done her best to keep track of her route but had
quickly lost track, each priceless painting looking the same, every hallway runner identical in
shape and color. After several minutes she gave up hope of ever finding her way back. No matter.
There was no going back for her anyway. Not for any of them.

She started to round another corner when she heard the faint tread of footsteps, heavy but slow. She
stiffened, rigid as a board, clutching her scarlet skirts in both fists as she carefully peeked her head
around the wall.

Her heartbeat stuttered when she saw him. Another guard, dressed in the same attire and mask as
the man on the stairs. He paced the width of the corridor, a set of double doors at his back. Her
eyes gleamed at the sight. And then he started to turn, resuming his leisurely pace to the other side.
She drew back swiftly, dropping her head against the paneling and staring fixedly at the crown
molding.

She needed to get to those doors. But how to lure the wolf from his den?

Parvati bit her lip, formulating a plan.

Harry discarded his tray on a random table, darting between guests as he crossed the entryway for
the main staircase… only to pause halfway there, groaning as he caught sight of a man at the
bottom, standing guard.

Shite.

He spun in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings, a never-ending carousel of laughing faces,
clinking crystal, glittering gems and billowing cigars. His fists tightened.

There’s got to be a way up.

And then he spotted something beyond the glitz and glamor of the inebriated guests. A swinging
door leading to the butler pantry, two people exiting with drink trays in hand.

He stepped closer, overhearing their quiet exchange.

“Bloody lushes, we’re going to run out of liquor soon,” the waitress said with a harried sigh.

The waiter snorted, shaking his head as they rounded the archway. “No such luck I’m afraid.
They’re sending more up from the cellar.”

They disappeared from sight as Harry glanced at the swinging door, watching it settle into place.
And grinned.

Parvati held her breath, peeking around the corner as the couple stumbled down the hall with
laughter. The man was older, hair balding and grey, the woman young and buxom, no doubt his
mistress.

Or his doll.

She observed their path as they tipped into the wall, snorting at some unspoken joke before he
leaned in to kiss her on the neck. Parvati gripped her own throat, recalling the press of the
stranger’s lips on her skin, his hands gripping her hips, acid bubbling in her stomach.

She pushed the thought aside as the couple separated, searching the hall for an unlocked door.
They found one on their third attempt, the woman squealing with delight before he silenced her
with a kiss, pulling her inside, slamming the door at their backs and causing Parvati to jolt. She
continued to stare at the closed barrier for a handful of seconds before stepping free from her
hiding spot, creeping carefully the long runner.

A decorative table lined the opposite wall, adorned with an abalone shell vase. She picked it up
carefully, admiring its beauty. The Lestranges were a bunch of soulless perverts but they certainly
had good taste.

Parvati gripped the vase with both hands and started for the closed door, the muffled sound of
coupling emitting from within. She toed off her heels, counted to three in her mind, and then
launched the vase at the solid barrier with all her strength.

The explosion was fantastic, echoing down both ends of the hall and earning shocked gasps from
the room’s inhabitants.

She wasted no time celebrating, reaching for her heels and sprinting down the corridor as fast as
her tight skirts would allow, barely rounding the corner when the door flew open, the man
stumbling out with his shirt open, pants halfway undone. He scrambled to refasten his belt, eyeing
the shattered glass with an enraged expression.

“Bloody hell!”

Parvati grinned, sinking into the shadows as heavy footsteps started from two halls away, rapidly
closing in. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her rapid heartbeats as the man continued to eye
the destroyed face, glancing in either direction for some clue.

“Jesus! What the hell—”

“What’s going on?” A deep voice asked, rounding the opposite corner.

Parvati didn't bother looking to see who it was. She pushed away from the paneling and took off
down the long stretch of hall, away from the commotion in the adjacent corridor. She made another
left turn and arrived in the short hallway leading to the double doors. They stood tall and ominous,
but most importantly, unguarded.

She dropped her shoes and ran, gripping the handles and praying for a miracle—

But of course, it couldn’t be that easy.

They were locked, the solid wood refusing to budge. She dropped to her knees, heart galloping
wildly, system infused with enough adrenaline to drown out the murmur of voices a few halls
away. She reached a trembling hand to her hair, extracting a pin and prying it into shape with her
teeth, holding her breath in an attempt to steady her grip as she slid it into the lock.

Come on come on come on…

Her heartbeat sounded like a battle drum, shaking her entire body with every stuttered pulse. She
wet her lips, staring at the lock desperately.

Please please please please…

Sweat beaded along her forehead and nape until she was certain her heart would burst through her
chest at any moment, toppling her into a lifeless heap, the carpet saturated with blood, the perfect
complement to her gown.

Please God, just this once, please help me...

The pin slid in deeper, a loud click sounding as the lock gave way. Parvati gasped, pressing a hand
to her mouth to capture the sound as she gripped the handles, turning them—

“Who the hell are you?”

Parvati fell back from the doors, catching herself against the carpet and glancing up, eyes wide,
caught. The guard stood at the mouth of the hall, watching her steadily.

She swallowed, pushing to her feet, knees weak and mind racing. His fists tightened as he took a
menacing step forward, blocking off any chance of escape.

“I said, who the hell are you?”

Her pulse skipped until she swayed, pressing a hand to the wall for balance. She tried to think up
an excuse but her mind wouldn't cooperate. Instead, she spun back around, gripping the handles
and opening one of the doors.

The guard rushed forward.

Hermione stumbled over an uneven patch of ground, still gathering her bearings as they reached
the mouth of the cave, Mowgli chasing at their heels.

“Padma! Dawn!” Lavender called into the darkness.

A faint shuffling echoed from the shadows, followed by the sight of two hesitant faces as the girls
slowly emerged.

“Where is he?” Dawn asked.

“Incapacitated,” Hermione replied simply, catching her breath. “For good.” She glanced to Padma.
“Did he hurt you?”

The young woman shook her head, only to jump as the Train’s deafening whistle blared again,
louder, closer. Her frightened gaze flitted to the trembling jungle in the distance. “It’s here.”

“We need to hide!” Dawn cried, backing towards the stone wall.

Hermione met her frantic gaze. “Actually, we’re trying to board.”

Dawn blinked, opening and closing her mouth before finding her voice. “What?”

“There’s no time to explain.” Hermione pressed her hands to her temples, feeling their steady throb
and willing away the lingering effects of the red smoke. “We’re heading for the Castle. You’ll be
safe behind its walls, but getting there is very dangerous. I understand if you don’t want to come.”

Dawn tilted her head, pushing slowly off the wall. “I remember you.”

Hermione straightened.

“I think I saw you in a dream,” Dawn continued, barely above a whisper. “But I wasn’t asleep. I
never sleep, not anymore.”

Hermione’s heart skipped. “What did you see?”

“A bedroom… with dolls, so many dolls… and a toyhouse. We were seated just in front of it.”

Hermione took a steadying breath.

“I asked you to help me and you promised you would.” Dawn held her gaze intently. “Is that why
you’ve come? To help me?”

Hermione lifted her shin, nodding slowly, chaos and destruction growing at their backs. “Yes. I’ve
come to end this.”

Dawn stepped closer. “Then I want to help.”

Hermione grinned widely. "Welcome to the team." She turned to the others, the ground vibrating
beneath their feet. "It's almost here, any ideas about how to board?"

“It’s too fast to chase,” Lavender said, “even in my other form.”

Hermione’s pulse spiked as the hellish whistle sounded anew, splitting her skull with its shrill
pitch.

“It sounds like it’s headed straight for the mountain—” Hermione blinked, then glanced around
their rocky enclosure.

The mountain.

“Hermione?” Padma asked, worrying her hands in a knot. “What do we do?”

Hermione spun on her heel, eyes glinting in the sunlight. “We climb.”

. . .

She clung to the stone with all her strength, flashing back to the roof of Parliament. They’d been
much higher then but somehow this felt far more dangerous, more wild, more at stake.

“Hold tight!” Hermione screamed to her companions, barely audible over the sound of the Train
tearing through the jungle.

“I can see it!” Lavender called, clinging to the highest ledge with Mowgli atop her shoulder,
affording them the best vantage of the canopy. “It’s almost through the trees! Brace yourselves!”

“Remember, don’t hesitate!” Hermione yelled, meeting Padma’s terrified gaze a few feet away.
The girl nodded, pressing flat to the stone, knuckles white.

The Train burst through the trees at last, black and gleaming, a mighty steed fresh from the bowels
of the Underworld. It was far more spectacular up close, and much, much louder as it tore a path
through the dahlias, barrelling straight for them.

“Are you sure it isn’t going to drive straight into the mountain?” Dawn cried from below.

Hermione released a shortened breath, beyond certainty and beyond fear. “No.”

Lavender cackled sharply, golden hair whipping like a flag at her back. “Mortal peril makes it
more exciting!”

And it looked like they were about to be in just that.

The Train ripped through the ground, kicking up clumps of debris and leaving deep scars in its
wake, the mountainside vibrating beneath Hermione’s sweating palms.

It was right upon them now, so loud she couldn’t hear herself think, its smoke so dense she could
barely see. But she could feel its heat, a charging bull about to tear through the cliff and its clinging
inhabitants. She held her breath, impact imminent; Padma closed her eyes, turning away—

The Train changed direction as the last moment, clipping the side of the rock as its cars tipped
precariously, the sharp pivot digging deep trenches in the earth.

Flames whipped by as it sped along the side of the mountain, just beneath their dangling forms.
The wind it generated sent their hair and skirts flapping, Hermione’s curls obstructing most of her
vision. But she saw their opening appear and seized it without thought.

“Now!” she screamed, releasing the stones and plummeting into freefall, silenced only by her heart
as it lodged firmly in her throat.

She hit the roof of one of the cars in a breathless heap, rolling three times before gripping a bar
along the top, steadying herself. Lavender landed just beside her, managing to make the drop look
far more graceful as she rolled to a stop. Mowgli released her a moment before impact, slowing his
momentum by wrapping his tail around one of the bars.

Hermione pushed up on her hands, glancing back and spotting their remaining companions still
clinging to the mountainside.

Shite!

“Drop!” She screamed, wind blowing her hair violently. “Hurry!”

Dawn released her handhold at last, falling a few cars away and rolling to the side, catching herself
just before falling over the edge.

“Padma!” Hermione shouted, pushing to her feet. Lavender sprang into action, racing along the
rooftop and leaping the gap between cars with Mowgli at her side.

“Jump!” Hermione called desperately, the Train rapidly passing the mountain.

She watched in horror as the girl released the cliff at last, falling endlessly before hitting the final
train car. She rolled four times… and promptly disappeared over the edge.

“No!” Hermione screamed, gathering her skirts and struggling to her feet. She raced along the roof,
stopping at the gap, her legs too short to make the leap.

Lavender transformed into her feline form, darting over the cars before skidding to a stop at the end
of the line, turning back and peering over the edge. Hermione covered her mouth with both hands
to capture her scream. She’d forced Padma to leave the Library, had promised to keep her safe, to
care for her, and all she’d done is lead her to a painful and gruesome—

“She’s here!” Lavender called loudly, dropping to her knees and reaching over the edge with both
hands.

Hermione collapsed with relief, watching the blonde pull Padma up over the side, the latter
trembling violently from her near-death experience. At last they were all on the roof of the Train,
panting hard and taking inventory of their limbs. But their relief was tragically short-lived as the
Train blew its whistle once more, drawing their collective gazes forward.

The locomotive was headed straight for the jungle.

“We need to get inside!” Hermione called over the roaring engine.

“How?” Dawn called back, seated nearest to her. “The compartments are all on fire!”

Hermione shook her head. “Not all of them.”

. . .

They crawled quickly and kept low, the wind battering against their faces as the Train breached the
jungle once more.

Hermione stopped atop their destination, the leader of their small and daring procession, and
signaled Lavender to her side. The blonde scrambled forward, amber eyes glinting against the
green backdrop.

“Ready?” Hermione shouted.

“Born ready!”

They squinted against the wind, branches snapping against the side of the Train as Lavender
reached into her boot, extracting her hammer. They emerged into a boggy clearing and quickly set
to work.

Lavender edged to the side of the car and leaned over, head and shoulders disappearing from view
as Hermione and Dawn took hold of her hips, steadying her descent.

“Lower!” Lavender called back, wriggling in place.

Hermione bit her lip, starting to lower the girl when she caught sight of an upcoming obstruction.

“Tree!” She screamed, gripping her friend by the waist and hauling her back with millimeters to
spare. The Train broke through the center of the trunk, bark and splintered wood flying out in
every direction, shooting along the side of the cars like shrapnel.

The blonde laughed as she picked leaves from her hair. “That was close!”

Hermione shook her head in exasperation before helping lower her a second time.

“Lower!” Lavender instructed, kicking her feet as they gripped her thighs, slowly feeding her
down. “Lower!”

“Any lower and you’ll be touching the bloody ground!” Hermione shouted, pulse throbbing.

“Trust me!”

Hermione growled with exertion, helping to drop Lavender further, clinging to her calves. She
released her breath in a rush as she gazed up, spotting a massive boulder in their path.

“Lav!”

“I’m almost there!”

“There’s no time!” Hermione screamed.

“Hold on!”

Hermione clung tight as Lavender swung her hammer, shattering the windows in a mighty
explosion, glass trailing alongside the Train in a glittering arc.

“Let me down!”

Hermione swallowed thickly, watching the boulder draw rapidly near. “Hurry!”

The blonde gripped the window frame with both hands, slowly pulling herself inside the
compartment. Hermione and Dawn fed her calves down, then her ankles, until at last she
disappeared within.

The Train hit the boulder, the impact toppling them to the side as rocks shot past like meteors.
They ducked for cover, pebbles cutting into their skin and clinging to their wind-blown hair. Once
the dust settled Hermione peaked up, checking the route ahead.

“Lavender!”

“I’m in!” Came the muffled response.

Hermione pushed up, turning to Dawn. “You next.”

The brunette looked terrified beyond measure but gave no rebuttal, scrambling to the edge.
Hermione and Padma each took an arm to help guide her descent as she slowly swung her legs over
the side. She stepped onto the base of the window frame but lost her footing, kicking and
screaming wildly, nearly pulling out of their hold. Lavender reached through the opening and
grabbed her legs, hauling her inside.

Hermione wiped the sweat from her eyes, panting hard and turning to Padma. “Alright—” she
blinked, gazing past the girl. “Oh my god.”

Padma spun, eyes widening in turn. They burst through the tree line and emerged from the jungle,
entering a lush, tamed garden that was unmistakable to their eyes.

Padma gazed around dazedly. “Is this…”

“Kew,” Hermione replied, eyes fixed to the glittering giant ahead. The Palm House. The source of
so much turmoil in her life, eager to taunt her anew as it sat directly in their path.

The moment they hit the gleaming obstruction they’d be shredded to ribbons.
Hermione spun back to Padma. “Hurry!”

She helped the girl begin her downward climb, her long limbs affording her more stability as she
stepped atop the window ledge, clinging to Hermione’s hands as Dawn and Lavender gripped her
lower half and pulled her through.

“Hermione! Hurry!” Lavender screamed, peeking her head out and spotting her friend's rapidly
approaching demise.

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. She crawled to the edge, glancing to the roof’s remaining
occupant.

“Climb on.”

Mowgli leaped onto her shoulder, tail wrapping her neck as his paws clung tight. She held her
breath, unable to make her lungs obey as she gripped the bar and swung her legs over the side.

She was far too short to reach the window frame, kicking wildly over open air, feeling her grip slip
beneath her sweaty palms. Her arms burned, weak from scaling the cliffside and the rest of the
day’s physical exertions. Or perhaps it was the red smoke still lingering in her system…

Whatever the cause, Hermione lost her grip all at once, screaming shrilly as she plummeted
backward, feeling wind and tears on her face and Mowgli's paws digging into her collarbone—

Lavender’s hand shot out with lightning speed, catching her by the blood-caked wrist as the other
two women reached through the shattered opening, clinging to her skirts and pulling her through.

The Train hit the Palm House in a deafening crash, glass exploding inward, raining past the
windows in a glittering downpour. Hermione gasped her first full breath as they all fell backward,
sprawled across the floor of the car in a panting heap. Mowgli released her slowly, peering down at
her face from such close proximity she saw nothing beyond his yellow eyes.

The ground hummed gently beneath her limbs, lulling her into a false sense of calm. But Hermione
knew better than to fall for such deception. She pushed her hair out of her face and sat up, Mowgli
edging back as she took in her new surroundings for the first time.

As expected, the sight was absolutely disturbing.

“What is all this?” Lavender asked, pushing to her feet.

Padma tucked her legs beneath her. “A bedroom?”

Hermione steadied herself with a hand against the wall, gazing down at the dresser, then glancing
to the desk and chair in the corner, both pieces barren of decor.

She turned to face the centerpiece of the utilitarian room, a small cot at the center of the wall,
covered by a thin mattress and white bedding. The hand-knit quilt drew her eye, a soft lilac-grey,
the rooms only shred of color. But that wasn’t what stood out. No, what pulled the breath from her
lungs was the stuffed animal propped against the thin pillow.

Hermione pushed slowly off the wall, boots clicking as she edged forward.

“Looks like our room,” Lavender commented absently, inspecting the empty desk. “The furniture
anyway.”
Hermione stopped beside the cot, reaching out a trembling hand, fingertips hovering over the
velveteen ears. “Dree,” she whispered, taking the creature in hand at last.

“Hm?” Lavender hummed, glancing back.

Hermione stared into the large glass eyes, her own distorted image reflected back. “He’ll be
heading for the Castle soon. We don’t have much time.”

“Time for what?” Dawn asked, wrapping her arms around her middle.

Hermione traced the button nose with an idle finger, fire burning deep within her chest. “To
destroy the Train.”

Harry slid open the door with a grunt, panting with exertion as he toppled out of the dumbwaiter,
catching himself against a narrow table in the hall. His palms burned from the rope, muscles
fatigued with the strain of hauling himself up two floors from the cellar. Still, it had been a miracle
he’d fit inside the compartment at all.

He rose to his full height, stretching his compressed spine and sliding the door shut before turning
to face the corridor, straightening his vest and starting forward—

Only to stagger in place as an explosion of glass sounded in the next hall. He blinked, turning to
face the other end. Footsteps padded softly in the distance. A door opened.

“Bloody hell!” a man shouted.

Harry followed the commotion, drawing up short as heavy footsteps pounded down the adjoining
corridor. He ducked behind a decorative arch framing the nearest doorway as a man strode past,
shoulders tense as he entered the hall where the explosion had emanated from.

“Jesus! What the hell—”

“What’s going on?”

Harry held his breath as he heard the soft footsteps from before heading in the opposite direction,
turning his head in confusion.

“Someone threw a goddamn vase at the door!” the first voice shouted.

“Who else is in there with you?”

“That’s none of your business!”

Harry’s heart skipped as a figure darted past the intersection on the other side of the dumbwaiter.
He only caught a blur of motion before they were out of sight, but he recognized the brilliant red of
her dress at once.

Parvati.

“Sir, calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! I’m a guest, you’re a bloody employee, so do your goddamn job and
find whoever the hell just tried to maim us!”

A heavy sigh followed. Harry stepped forward, intent on following her, only to sink back into
hiding as the guard backtracked, quickly returning the way he came.

Shite.

Harry pushed away from the door, sticking close to the wall as he walked to the end of the corridor
and peeked his head around the edge. The guard's long strides made easy work of the distance; he
reached the end within a few seconds, starting to turn left, only to stagger to a halt, shoulders
drawing wide.

“Who the hell are you?”

A feminine gasp. The man stepped into the connecting hall, disappearing from sight. Harry started
forward at once.

“I said, who the hell are you?”

A staggering beat of silence. Harry walked faster. And then the man began to run, the heavy
impact of his steps shaking the floor. Harry followed suit, barrelling around the same corner a
moment later, shoulder clipping the wall as he checked his momentum.

The guard halted halfway down, spinning in place, eyeing Harry with surprise, then anger. Parvati
stood at the far end, pressed flat to a pair of double doors, gaze wide, a trapped animal.

Harry held the guard’s eye, given only half a second to choose his course of action. Theo would
talk his way out of the conundrum, Draco would bribe. Sirius would make it into one big punchline
while Bones would pull out his badge. But Harry was his own man, with his own tried and true
method of problem-solving.

He clenched his fists, shifting into a fighting stance. The guard read the message loud and clear,
reaching up and removing his mask. Harry did the same. And then they charged forward.

The guard was larger by at least two stone but Harry was faster, dodging a swinging fist with
millimeters to spare, sending his own punch into the man’s side, aiming for the kidney. The guard
howled, colliding with the wall as Harry weaved around him. He pushed off, swinging at Harry’s
head, missing once more as Harry dropped low. But before he could spring to his full height the
man caught him around the middle and drove him back, both men toppling to the carpet, shaking
the floor with their dual mass. Harry gasped, air driven from his lungs with the impact.

Parvati scrambled forward, eyes wide and frazzled as she edged around them, clearly looking for a
way to help. She shrieked, leaping back as they continued to roll across the floor, pummeling
anything they could reach on the other man.

Harry managed to drive an elbow into the man’s throat —he’d been aiming for the face but liked
this outcome much better— causing the guard to sputter and choke, rolling away with a heavy
wheeze. Harry took the opportunity to stand. Or tried to, only for a meaty hand to wrap around his
ankle, pulling him back down. He fell sideways, colliding with a decorative table and knocking a
crystal bowl onto its side. It rolled slowly across the gleaming wood, tipping off the edge and
plummeting to the ground. Harry caught it with grasping fingertips, baring his teeth with exertion
as the man dragged him backward by his leg.

Harry twisted in place, swinging out his arm with the bowl clenched tightly, smashing the crystal
over the man’s head. It shattered in every direction, beads of glass raining over them both. A shard
cut through Harry’s palm, blood quickly welling. The guard shook his head like a dog, appearing
unphased by the blow, though something wet gleamed in his dark hair.
Harry panted hard, adrenaline surging, sharpening his vision, quickening his movements. He
glanced around the hall frantically, searching out another weapon; but the table ahead sat empty.
Parvati met his eyes, hovering a few feet away, her own mask gripped tightly in both hands. She
started towards them, only to rock back as Harry held up his blood-soaked hand, shaking his head.

“Get back!”

He turned to his opponent, diving back into the ring. They continued to roll atop the cream runner,
leaving a trail of crystal and blood in their wake, scrambling for any advantage. Harry took heavy
blows to his side, his thigh, his arms and back. But he protected his head, patiently awaiting his
moment to strike.

It came at last. He drove his knee into the man’s gut, applying all his weight and driving him flat
before pinning his forearm to his neck, muffling his wet gasp. Harry pressed against his windpipe
with all his might but the angle was off.

Fuck.

He was beyond speech, beyond shouting. He acted on pure instinct, slipping into whatever trance
overcame him when their ship was attacked by pirates. He didn’t intend to take the guard’s life,
there were no instruments to do so even if he did, but one option was still at his disposal. He just
had to get into position.

Harry released the man from his chokehold and allowed him to roll onto his side, coughing
uncontrollably, before pressing his advantage at last. He wrapped an arm around the guard's neck
from behind and pulled back with his freehand for leverage, using all the strength left in his
exhausted frame to hang on as the giant thrashed and hit, swinging blindly with his fists, battering
Harry’s side black and blue.

But Harry maintained his grip, even as his vision dimmed with the strain. He clenched his teeth
until he was certain they would shatter, pressing against the man’s airway until at last his
movements slowed, his hits becoming weak, clumsy. And then, after another eternity and a half,
the guard went lax, eyes rolling back in his blistering face.

Harry inhaled sharply, releasing him in stages, waiting to see if it was an act. Alas, the man was
unconscious; but there was no telling for how long. Harry rolled onto his back with a cough,
cringing at the sharp pain in his ribs. He had no doubt some of them were fractured.

He stared blankly at the ceiling, catching his breath and face awash with sweat as a soft shuffling
filled his awareness, barely audible over the throbbing of his veins. Parvati’s face appeared a
moment later, upside down, blocking out the overhead light.

He wet his lips, holding her gaze. “How’s my hair?”

She laughed sharply, shaking her head in disbelief. “Still looks better than mine.”

And then footsteps filled the hall, echoing from somewhere out of sight but rapidly approaching.
More guards drawn by the commotion no doubt.

Harry sat up, crystal falling from his shirt and blood dripping from his hand. “Fuck,” he muttered
simply, voicing his thoughts aloud at long last. The footsteps grew louder, closer. He glanced at
the body lying beside him. “This should be fun.”

Parvati stepped around him, strapping her mask into place. “Stay here, I'll get rid of them.”
Harry blinked, glancing up. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, grabbing her heels off the floor and swaying in place as she struggled to pull them on.
“You’re covered in glass and blood, I stand a better chance of throwing them off the scent.” She
gestured to the other end of the hall with her chin. “The door’s unlocked.”

His heart skipped as he glanced back, eyeing the double doors, barely cracked to reveal a dark,
quiet interior.

He turned back around as Parvati started forward, pausing at the corner to collect herself before
rounding the wall, disappearing from view without a backward glance. Harry pushed to his feet,
biting his lip to keep from crying out. His ribs were definitely fucked. He glanced at his palm. It
needed stitches.

But none of that mattered.

He turned, facing the ominous doors with bated breath, knee popping as he started forward,
dripping blood every three steps. Harry finally reached the doors, hands trembling before the brass
handles. He gripped them slowly, pushing both doors wide—

Only for darkness to meet his gaze. The room’s curtains were drawn, the fabric heavy enough to
block out the moon and street lamps. He stepped inside, just past the threshold, and fumbled for
the switch, smearing blood across the smooth wallpaper. He found the dial at last, turning it as far
as it would go and flooding the room with gaslight.

Harry dropped his arm slowly, eyes fixed ahead with horror as the breath was ripped from his
lungs for the second time that evening.

Parvati took a steadying breath before rounding the corner, running her hands along the front of her
bodice, making sure her stomach was still inside her body because it sure as shite didn’t feel like it.

She heard the sound of approaching footsteps one hallway over and rushed to meet them, desperate
to give Harry as much time as possible. Hair brushed her shoulders, her updo loose after removing
the pin and scrambling after the men's tussling forms. She stopped at the head of the next corridor,
spotting shadows first, then two male figures rounding the corner, entering the hall and heading
straight towards her. She'd been hoping for two more guests, men she could easily seduce and lead
astray. But of course, she'd used up the last of her good fortune when she'd successfully picked the
lock.

Her heart thudded violently as she met the shorter man’s gaze, recognizing him at once, even
through his half-mask. He jittered and swayed just as he had done in the apothecary when they’d
first met, stopping dead in his tracks and prompting the guard at his side to do the same, expression
twisting with shock.

“S-Selene?”

She stiffened, mind rapidly recalibrating as the stuttering man edged closer, hands trembling at his
sides.

“How d-did you g-get here?”

Her own hands followed suit, clasping behind her back as she fought to suppress a full body
tremor.
“W-where’s Rabastan?” He continued, pacing slowly forward, the guard trailing a few steps
behind.

Parvati inhaled slowly, thinking of Padma, of Hermione. She had a role to play in this production
and was committed to playing it well.

“It...” Just breathe. “It was horrible,” she whispered meekly, dropping her eyes and drawing in her
shoulders.

The man stopped, blinking rapidly as he examined her at length, searching for something. Then he
glanced to the guard at his side.

“G-Grab her.”

Parvati swallowed thickly as the guard closed the distance between them, taking her arm in hand,
an iron manacle she had no hope of slipping.

They know.

She wanted to fight, to scream, but she held back, caging her instincts as though she were truly a
doll. The perpetually nervous man met her eyes once more, expression unreadable.

“C-Come on.”

He turned on his heel, starting back the way they came as the guard led her in a silent death march.

Tom gripped her chin tight, pinning her wrist against his chest and trapping her in place. “Where is
he?” He demanded, voice gravel-thick, sinister in its dark promise.

She released a pained gasp, tears pooling in her eyes. “He isn’t here.”

Lightning flashed in the depths of his gaze as she twisted, unable to shake his hold.

“I know,” he hissed, causing her to still at once, eyes widening. “But he’s close. I can practically
feel my skin crawling.” Tom leaned in, pressing fully against her trembling form. “You’re going to
take me to him.”

She swallowed thickly, a single tear overspilling her cheek. “I can’t.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You don’t understand, he—”

The conservatory door began to open. They broke apart like shrapnel. She inhaled swiftly, drying
her face and smoothing her skirts in a self-soothing gesture as her husband appeared in the
doorway, glancing around the moonlit garden and grinning wide.

“Ah, there you are.” And then his eyes flickered past her lace capped shoulder. “Riddle. Good to
see you again.” He glanced between them, shoulders drawing wide though his expression never
faltered. “I’ve clearly interrupted.”

She tittered softly, hips swaying as she sauntered forward, adorning her many masks with
admirable skill.

“Don’t be silly, my love. I was just briefing the good Doctor on what to expect this evening. We
don’t want him walking into his first auction blind.”

Lestrange strolled forward, meeting her halfway. “Always the perfect hostess.” He wrapped an arm
around her waist and drew her into his side. Tom watched the shutters fall across her gaze as she
pressed a hand to the center of her husband’s chest, mimicking the touch she’d pressed upon Tom
only moments earlier.

“I was thrilled you accepted our invitation, Riddle,” the man continued, adorning his wife like a
glimmering trophy. “You left our last gathering quite abruptly, I feared we’d scared you off.”

“Not at all,” Tom raised his brow, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, hands clenching with
unspent tension. “I enjoyed myself immensely; your scotch is unparalleled, as is the company you
employ.”

“We specialize in hospitality.”

“It’s no wonder you run the most successful club on the West End.”

Lestrange laughed deeply. Tom smiled, jaw locking with the effort. Another minute of this
bullshite and he was going to break a potted plant just to stab someone with the shard.

“So, do you plan on placing a bid this evening, Doctor?”

“Come now, darling,” his wife gently admonished, running her hand along his front. “It’s his first
auction, he’s merely here to watch.”

“On the contrary.” Tom held his Host’s gaze. “I’m looking forward to getting my hands on your
offerings.”

Tom saw her stiffen but refused to meet her needling gaze. Lestrange smirked.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

Tom’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “Actually, there is.”

She glanced away sharply, hand curling and falling to her side like wilted petals. Her husband
didn’t seem to notice the change in her countenance, absorbed in his own exchange.

“I must admit, Riddle, if there’s a more mysterious man in all of London I’ve yet to make his
acquaintance.”

Tom tilted his head, eyes unblinking in their predatory focus. “Perhaps you should expand your
circle.”

A weighted beat. Lestrange nodded, expression quickly intensifying. “Perhaps I should. The
Peerage is nearly overflowing with inbred swine at this point. I could benefit greatly from having a
man of your skill and intelligence in my inner circle.” He wet his lips, fingers drumming atop his
wife’s hip. “I hope to see more of you after tonight.”

Tom couldn’t contain his dark laughter.

I’ll see you in ruins.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

She pulled free from her husband’s grasp. He blinked, glancing down at last, clearly reading
something amiss in her gaze. But before he could voice his concerns the conservatory door opened
a second time.

They all turned to look.

Tom reeled at the sight, though he kept his reaction tightly contained, expression unchanging as the
trio entered the glass oasis.

Lestrange blinked. “Quirrel? What—” And then he caught sight of the girl standing between the
two men. “Bloody hell.”

He strode forward with purpose, eyes burning bright. Parvati swayed in place but held her ground,
even as the guard freed her from his hold. She glanced up, but not at Lestrange.

At Tom.

He held her stare for a fractured beat, time seeming to slow as he glimpsed something wild hidden
within. He knew she was a fighter, a free-spirit, more hunter than prey. All characteristics he
admired, especially in a member of the fairer sex. But at the moment her most formidable strength
was her greatest weakness, for the fiery eyes staring back at him were not those of a Doll.

Play the part he beckoned silently, praying the message would impart its way into her mind before
Lestrange got a closer look.

She blinked, jaw clenching tight as a war unfurled in her gaze. Tom understood the struggle all too
well. Playing a victim was a torturous exercise for their kind, second only to being a victim. But
their masks had to remain; it wasn’t time for the grand reveal. And timing was everything.

Lestrange reached her at last. Tom gave an imperceptible shake of his head. The second passed,
time speeding up once more. Her gaze fell, shoulders sloping down and knees turning in, her battle
stance giving way to meek submission. Tom drew in a slow breath, chin lifting with pride.

Good girl.

“Selene?” Lestrange grabbed her jaw, forcing her face up.

The Madam glanced over her shoulder, staring at Tom with narrowed eyes, her dark suspicion a
palpable force he ignored with ease.

“Where the hell have you been?” Lestrange demanded, lording over her cowering form. “Where’s
Rabastan?”

Parvati swallowed lightly, trembling with just the right amount of subtlety to read as believable.
Tom was deeply impressed. If Ms. Patil didn’t graduate into contract killing he suspected she had a
bright future in theatre.

Madam Lestrange glanced away sharply, speaking with flippant dismissal. “Obviously he’s
nearby, darling. I told you— a party is the best way to drive Rab out of hiding, he never misses an
open bar.”

Her husband ignored her, studying Parvati’s face carefully. She still wore her timorous mask but
her eyes displayed a depth of emotion, predominantly hatred.

“Where is he?” Lestrange demanded, gripping her chin until she cringed. Tom blinked, overcome
with déjà-vu. But the spell was broken as the twitching gimp trudged forward, nervously wringing
his hands as he addressed his Master.

“We f-found her upstairs, S-Sir. S-She was alone and we heard a c-commotion—”

“Selene,” Lestrange interrupted, never taking his eyes off her. She trembled anew, lips quivering,
though Tom suspected both were acts of revulsion rather than intimidation.

“Take me to him,” Rodolphus continued, releasing her chin only to grasp her throat instead. Tom
took an automatic step forward, hardly aware of his actions. The Madam followed suit, stepping
between Tom and her husband as though purposely impeding his path.

“Honestly, Rod,” she placed her hands on her hips, shaking her head in exasperation, “he’s likely
chained himself to the nearest poker table. No wonder she strayed, poor thing’s clearly bored out of
her mind. I’ll keep her entertained while you—”

“No.”

She stiffened at his definitive tone, claws lengthening. Lestrange tipped Parvati’s face back with
his thumb, fingertips trapping her pulse. “She’s going to show me where he is. Aren’t you?”

Parvati’s jaw worked silently. Tom inhaled deeply, hands tensing at his sides, preparing to let the
red flood his vision—

And then she spoke, barely above a whisper, in a dulcet tone he hardly recognized.

“I’ll take you to him, Sir.”

Lestrange continued to hold her gaze, searching for something. Everyone stood silent, frozen,
waiting…

Until he released her throat at last, stepping back and straightening his bespoke jacket as she
withered into herself, clutching her arms and dropping her chin.

“I’m going to kill him,” Rodolphus stated calmly, glancing up at his wife. “Skipping town without
a goddamn word. Self-centered bastard.”

She crossed her arms over front, arching a manicured brow. “Do your best to keep the impending
storm contained, darling. We’re still hosting a party after all.”

He smirked, gazing past her to meet Tom’s eye. “Riddle. I apologize for the untimely interruption.
We’ll continue this conversation later in the evening.”

Tom released his breath, hearing the beast rumble with dissent, eager to break free. “Certainly.”

Their Host turned back to Parvati, grabbing her arm and leading her from the glittering space
without further preamble. The other two men began to follow.

“Quirrell,” his Mistress stated with boredom, making a show of examining her gleaming nails.

He spun in place, bowing so low he nearly head-butted his knees. “Madam?”

“There’s no need to tag along. She’s frightened enough, it doesn’t take three men to escort her.”

“B-but—”

“Get a drink,” she glanced up, eyes flashing in clear warning. “Enjoy the festivities; you work hard
enough.”

He gulped audibly, nodding. “Y-Yes, Madam.”

He scurried from the room like a beetle, heading back towards the main hall while the guard
lingered behind, hands clasped calmly as he awaited his Queen’s command. Tom openly scowled,
already knowing she planned to use the mindless pawn as her shield. And true to form, she released
a dramatic sigh and turned to face him with another one of her impeccable masks in place. But her
eyes held the truth.

Anger and jealousy.

She was quickly collecting pieces of the puzzle, seeing the hidden image at long last. It was only a
matter of time before the rest clicked into place, and there was no predicting what she would do
when that moment finally came. Tom only knew it would be spectacularly violent. They were one
in the same, after all.

“It’s been a pleasure, Doctor. But I’ve deprived my guests of their Hostess for far too long. Now if
you’ll excuse me...” She smiled beautifully, and if she had been holding a knife he had no doubt it
would be lodged firmly in his neck. “I need to start preparing for the main event.”

She backed away towards the guard, holding Tom’s gaze until the last possible moment. Her loyal
foot soldier fell into step behind her, then moved to open the door, bowing as his regent passed.
But she paused at the threshold, glancing over her shoulder one last time, letting her mask slip for
Tom’s eyes alone.

Her gaze swirled with phantom shadows, pain and longing and ghosts. Until suddenly it narrowed,
the desolate emotions giving rise to something else… something wild and primal, a lethal
combination he was intimately familiar with. The seconds swelled. And then she faced forward
with her disguise in place, breaking the spell as she exited the glass cage with crisp and confident
strides, adorning the role of Empress en route to her loyal subjects.

But Tom had read the final message in her heated gaze, the challenge laid forth at his feet.

She wanted to be chased. Captured.

If only she knew… Tom was the last person she wanted catching her.

Dawn opened the door. Flames instantly shot forth, reaching out like grasping hands tipped in
sharp claws. She gasped, slamming the barrier shut with both hands. “This one’s on fire, too!”

Hermione grasped either side of her neck, tipping her head with a long groan.

Shite.

Trapped on either side by flame…

“We’re only two compartments away,” she breathed, slowly tipping her head forward. “There has
to be a way through.”

Lavender met her gaze. “I think I can make it to the other side, if I transform.”

“You can’t open a door with your paws,” Hermione replied, crossing her arms and resuming her
pace along the edge of the cot. Her mind raced through possibilities, a way out of this mess and off
this damn demon train. Her eyes flitted to the quilt, then the rabbit, lingering on the latter.

Her footsteps slowed, memory rising through her awareness like smoke from a wick.

“Is that why you chose me?”

She inhaled deeply, lungs burning with the pressure.

“Because I stand a better chance of escaping.”

She turned to face the others with renewed determination. “Open it.”

Dawn blinked. “The fire—”

“I know.” Hermione started forward, focused on the metal barrier. “They’re His flames.”

She stopped before the wall and glanced at Lavender. The blonde briefly searched her gaze before
shrugging, their friendship well beyond the necessity of explanation. She reached for the handle
and pulled the door wide, tendrils of flame lapping out like the tentacles of a sea beast, wrapping
Hermione’s limbs as they would a ship, attempting to drag her deep into the ocean’s depths. But
instead of burning through her clothing and searing her flesh from the bone they merely tickled her
skin, a moderate warmth she found oddly pleasurable. The flames hissed and roared, enraged by
her defiance. She glanced down, noticing the fire didn’t breach the threshold of the bedroom.

Of course not.

It was starting to make sense, though the final solution to the riddle still laid frustratingly beyond
her grasp.

“This room is safe,” she declared. “He’d never risk destroying it.”

She reached a hand into the adjoining car to illustrate her point, beckoning the fire, willing it to do
its worst.

Padma leaped forward, arms outstretched. “Hermione—” but fell silent as the flames danced across
Hermione’s limb in a scorching blaze, wrapping to her shoulder and licking at her chin before
giving up the effort, shooting back into the room with a sizzling snarl.

Hermione dropped her hand. “I’m impenetrable to them now.”

Lavender lifted a brow, watching her curiously before grinning. “Does that mean we get to play
with fire? I’ve always wanted to try my hand at arson.”

“Not quite.” Hermione closed the door and turned, meeting each of their gazes. “You all stay here
—”

“I’m coming,” Lavender said at once, stepping closer. “You’ll need help when you get there.”

Hermione held her stare, nodding. “Alright,” and then glanced to Padma and Dawn, “but the two of
you will have to wait here. Stay inside until we reach the hillside, then jump. I’ll do it once you’re
clear.”

Padma swayed back, clipping the dresser with her hip. “Jump?”

“You have to, Padma. You can’t hesitate. This is our only shot.”
Padma bit her lip, nodding reluctantly as Mowgli hopped onto the dresser at her side, placing his
front paws atop her shoulder as though in solidarity.

“Here,” Lavender announced brightly, tossing her hammer through the air to their newest member.
Dawn scrambled to catch the spinning handle, eyes wide. “Looks good on you,” Lavender
imparted with a wink.

Hermione turned once more, taking a steadying breath and bracing both palms to the door.
“Ready?”

Lavender's smile stretched to either end of her face. “You know you don’t have to ask, luv.”

Hermione wet her lips, gripping the handle tight and pulling the door wide as her friend shrunk to
the floor, gracefully leaping inside, orange fur lost to the raging flames as Hermione rushed in
after, slamming the door at her back before sprinting headlong between the flaming seats, gaping
in horror as she saw burning bodies strapped in place, reaching out desperately.

She screamed as a man seized her wrist, his skin charred black, his head merely a skull with
snapping jaws. She twisted around, managing to shake him off, only to fall into the opposite seat. A
woman in a grand ball gown wrapped her arms around Hermione from behind and pinned her in
place. The flames lapped high, overcoming her vision. She heard Lavender's feral hiss from
somewhere in the distance, no doubt dodging flames and grasping hands as well. Hermione
screamed anew, gripping the headrest for leverage as she gathered the last remnants of her strength,
pulling away from the iron hold. More hands reached out, a flaming parasol flew by her face while
a man fell into the aisle, dragging his twisted body after her with an outstretched arm.

Hermione collided with the exit door at last, glancing around frantically, crying with relief when
Lavender darted into view, pressing flat to her boots as the car’s inhabitants scrambled from their
seats, rushing forward like a crashing wave—

Hermione fumbled desperately with the handle before pulling the door wide, tumbling into the
next compartment without a glance at its contents. She was only aware of blue. Bright, pulsing
blue. Lavender slipped inside, allowing Hermione to slam the door on the burning faces, silencing
their strangled cries of agony. She panted and spun, ready to face the next horror. But this
compartment was free of thrashing passengers. Instead, it appeared to be another bedroom, a
child’s room, masculine in design. And most distinctly, it was drenched in blue flame.

Lavender led the way across the floor, darting between lapping tendrils with feline dexterity.
Hermione chased at her heels, knife pulsing in her boot as though akin to the blue fire. She gave
the room very little examination, pausing only when she saw an open medical book on the ground
near a pile of jacks, lying open to a diagram of the human brain. She backed away quickly, heart
thundering as she reached the final door, shouldering it open with all her strength, only to rear back
as a cloud of thick steam gushed out, choking her.

Lavender slid around her boots, boneless in her flexibility, and flashed back into human form,
blonde hair gleaming brightly in the darkness of the room. Hermione stepped through next,
recovered from her coughing spell, and shut the door, muting the blue flame and casting them in
absolute blackness. But the sound was deafening. They'd reached their destination at last.

Hermione clung to the vibrating walls, feeling for a seam in the metal, any type of window or door.
The noise was all-consuming, filling her head so completely it drove out rational thought.

And then, all of a sudden, there was light. A blinding amount of it. Lavender had found the door,
sliding it wide to reveal a vibrant, blurred landscape. Wonderland. Which meant they were in the
final compartment. The heart of the leviathan.

The Engine Room.

Sunlight illuminated the massive contraption situated between them, a roaring giant comprised of
rapidly shifting gears and a steady breath of steam.

“You know how one of these things works?” Lavender screamed over the chaos, pressed beside the
open door frame.

“Vaguely!”

“You know how to blow one up?”

Hm. That was the question, wasn’t it?

Hermione tilted her head, examining the rotating parts. “... I think so.”

She narrowed her gaze in concentration, trying to recall Neville's animated voice in her mind.
They'd discussed the application of the combustible engine during one of their many excursions to
Kew, excitedly discussing facts and figures while their friends swam through the fountain like
idiots.

She edged around the side, taking inventory of the parts while Lavender peeked her head through
the doorway.

“The hill’s coming up!”

Hermione inhaled swiftly, breathing in mostly steam. “I need to jam the flywheel! It’ll freeze the
piston and build pressure inside the cylinder!”

“Whatever you say!”

She watched the wheel spin in a rapid blur. Pure steel, capable of ripping the arm from a body or
rendering a person clean in half.

How to jam something so powerful?

Her blade pulsed anew.

Hermione jerked back, glancing at her calf. She reached down, gripping the familiar handle and
tugging the blade free. The metal glowed blue, reflecting her eyes as she stared upon the weapon
with a mix of emotions.

“You’ve been good to me, old friend.” The knife hummed in her grasp, sending a vibration of
warmth through her arm. “This will be our last adventure together, but the most important one yet.”

She set her jaw, lowering the blade and watching the spinning wheel. “Tell me when the girls are
clear!”

Lavender nodded, leaning further out, hanging half outside the Train. “The hill’s coming!”

Hermione closed her eyes.

Come on, Padma, Dawn, please jump…

“We’re right alongside the maze!” Lavender screamed.

Hermione’s eyes snapped wide.

Maze?

But before she could utter a word on the matter Lavender leaped in place. “They jumped!” She
spun around, eyes gleaming bright. “They’re out!”

Hermione raised her chin, gripping her blade with both hands. "Get ready to do the same!"

She raised the knife overhead, heartbeat throbbing in her wrists and neck as she sent a silent prayer
to whatever god ruled over Wonderland before driving the blade down.

The powerful collision radiated through her entire body, followed by a surge of energy that lifted
her feet off the ground and sent static crackling through the ends of her hair. But what overcame
her most completely was the blinding flash of blue, the burst stripping her sight for several
terrifying moments. Hermione released the hilt, pressing her palms to her lids until a deafening
rattle drew her gaze back. She blinked rapidly, vision slowly clearing, and spotted her handiwork.

The knife was wedged firmly between the spoke and the wheel housing, causing it to shake
violently, bolts rattling along the floor. Despite the power of the engine, her blade held true. A
shrill scream filled the air like a banshee cry, piercing through her temples. She shrank back,
covering her ears and watching the cylinder tremble as pressure accumulated inside.

“Jump!” She shouted as loud as she could, rushing for the doorway.

Lavender couldn’t hear her over the compressing steam but understood the message al the same,
leaping from the Train in an impressive fan of golden hair before disappearing from sight.

Hermione followed at her heels, jumping free as the world exploded at her back. Metal flew in
every direction, smoke and flames and green grass filling her vision as she plummeted to earth. She
hit hard, air pushed from her lungs as she rolled across the ground, hearing the remaining cars
careen off course, tipping sideways with ground-shaking force.

She rolled forever, flashes of grass and sky and fire flickering before her eyes like a stereoscope
reel until at last her momentum slowed. She gazed around frantically, watching the remaining cars
skid through the grass as they broke apart, some rolling end over end, snapping and crushing trees
beneath their solid mass. Her eyes flickered up, drawn by movement. A steel pole hurtled through
the air, slicing a straight path for her head. Hermione gasped, rolling once more, then jolting as the
pole struck the grass with a metallic hum, splitting the ground a foot from her face.

She pushed to her feet in a stupor, stumbling back, dizzy and drained as she watched the remaining
debris rain to the grass like fireballs, black smoke billowing high as the final car tipped on its side,
chaos settling.

Hermione drew both hands through her hair, nails raking her scalp as she spun a bewildered circle,
searching for her friends. She spotted Lavender first, the blonde pushing to her feet a few yards
away. Padma and Dawn stood further off, Mowgli perched between them, everyone watching the
Train come apart piece by piece. Seeing them all alive, in one piece no less, took the crushing
weight off Hermione’s chest. She doubled over, grasping her knees and closing her eyes.

They’d actually done it. Destroyed the Train and made it here.

… wherever here was.

She unfolded to her full height and took in their vibrant surroundings with a careful eye. The steep
hillside was a kilometer off, its cliff far more perilous up close, covered in jagged rock they had no
hope of traversing by hand. Her hope deflated further upon spotting the tall shrubs lining the base
of the hill like a privacy fence, too tall to jump and too thick to walk through.

But her spirits were restored by the magnificent sight rising high into the soap bubble sky. A
crimson Castle, gleaming beneath the dual suns as though drenched in blood, its twin towers
hidden in the fluffy clouds.

We’re here. We’re finally here.

She wanted to cry, could have happily burst into hysterical sobs and greatly benefitted from the
release, but Hermione tamped her emotions down, knowing there was at least one more battle
ahead.

There’s always one more battle…

Lavender arrived at her side, shaking grass from her skirts with a beaming smile as though they
hadn’t just narrowly escaped yet another fiery death.

“Almost there,” she chirped, more energized than ever.

Hermione sighed as she recalled her friend’s words in the engine room, facing the bushes with
fresh apprehension in her gut. “It’s a maze, isn't it?”

“Yep,” Lavender confirmed, crossing her arms as she inspected the springy wall. “But it shouldn’t
be too hard to navigate, not with that giant brain of yours.”

“I detest puzzles,” Hermione groaned with no small amount of bitterness. “I’d rather just fight our
way through.”

Lavender smirked, nudging Hermione with her hip. “It seems your dress isn’t the only thing to
undergo a dark revolution.”

Hermione blinked, shoulders drawing back. She knew Lavender meant the words in quip but they
disturbed her nonetheless… for they held a sinister truth she wasn’t yet ready to face.

Hermione pushed the reverie aside as she reached for her blade—

Only to remember.

Her chest tightened, feeling naked without her weapon. She glanced back, briefly considering
searching through the burning wreckage to see if the knife had survived the explosion. But there
wasn’t time.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Hermione signaled the rest of their party over before trudging forward, heading for the nearest gap
in the shrubs, only to lock in place as dozens of green buds stirred upon their branches. She held
her breath, braced for something awful, and was once again delivered a nightmare.

The flowers bloomed wide, filling her vision with red.

“Roses,” she whispered, eyes glinting crimson. “I hate roses.”

 The Secret Garden

Who in the world am I?

Ah, that’s the great puzzle.
. . .

As a child, Hermione had love puzzles. Her parents always purchased a vast array of games to keep
their precocious daughter entertained. She'd spent many a rainy afternoon piecing together picture
grids, mapping out logic games and flipping through riddle books. Her father had even
commissioned a puzzle box while traveling through India, filling each compartment with candy
and trinkets for her to discover as she worked her way to the center.

Hermione had thrived on the challenge, craved the competition within her own mind. She prided
herself on her problem-solving prowess, setting timers and keeping score. Puzzles were a staple of
her upbringing, the spark that ignited her passion for learning.

But all that seemed like another lifetime. Another girl. Because now, as Hermione breached the
perimeter of the sprawling hedge maze, she felt nothing short of deep-seated aggravation,
desperately wishing she could stab her way through to the other side and be done with it.

I miss my knife.

Her hand twitched as the others followed at her heels, Mowgli weaving between her boots and
climbing up Lavender's skirts, perching atop her shoulder as she stopped beside Hermione. They
studied their surroundings, necks craning to glimpse the top of the springy walls, easily twice their
height. The hedges were perfectly groomed, not a twig out of place, the greenery lush, a gardener's
dream.

Rosebuds bloomed as they passed, marking their trail in red petals, an ominous omen if Hermione
had ever seen one. She held no doubt the maze was brimming with traps and deterrents. Finding
their way out would likely be their greatest challenge yet. After all, puzzles were governed by
logic, and Wonderland was proving to be a lawless wasteland of insanity.

Hermione approached one of the walls, examining it closely. The bush was dense, leaves and
branches tightly packed, though a bit of sunlight peeked out from the other side. Still, there was no
slipping through the walls, not without a pair of cutting shears. She stepped back, gazing at the flat
top and debating whether it could support their weight.

“Any chance Ariana provided a map?” She asked over her shoulder.

“Fraid not,” Lavender replied, leaning in to inspect a red bloom. “Assuming there even is one, the
maze is the Castle’s last defense. Imagine if the Dollmaker learned how to bypass it.”

Hermione sighed. “Alright, can you hammer out a short-cut?”

Lavender tossed her hair with a wry grin. “Now that’s my kind of problem-solving.” She turned to
Dawn, taking back her hammer with an excited bounce, no doubt considering the weapon an
extension of herself. Hermione tightened her fist. She really missed her blade.

The blonde twirled the handle and spun, slamming the blunt end against the wall of green. A flash
of orange caused Hermione to flinch, lifting a hand to block the light. Leaves and petals exploded
outward, flying past her face and lodging in her hair. Her heart soared with victory as she turned to
the barrier, staring at the gaping hole at its center. She wet her lips, stepping forward, but before
Hermione could utter a single word the branches grew before her eyes, twigs and vines spindling
through the air and knitting together, leaves crawling down and buds parting wide, the wall just as
solid as before.

“Shite!” Hermione dragged her hands through her hair, scrambling for the next solution. She
turned to Lavender, addressing the yellow-eyed creature atop her shoulder. “Last shot… Mowgli,
can you scale over the walls?”

He blinked twice before turning to the hedge. Lavender leaned forward as he reached out with a
tentative hand. The roses seemed to pulse in warning. Hermione held her breath, dread rising as his
tiny fingers lingered over the branches. The wood rapidly thickened, thorns splitting through, easily
the size of Hermione’s palm and tipped in lethal points.

“Stop!” She cried, prompting him to quickly withdraw his limb, trembling at the sharp command.
“It’s okay,” she assured, glancing back to the wall and watching the thorns sink into the branches.
“Looks like our only way through is the old-fashioned way.” Hermione studied the unassuming
hedge with newfound trepidation. “Avoid touching the walls.”

Dawn and Padma nodded while Lavender lowered her hammer, clearly disappointed she wasn’t
going to be battering their way across.

“Which way, oh wise one?” The blonde asked.

Hermione glanced either way down the T-shaped intersection. “I don’t know.”

"Allow me," her perpetually cheery friend offered, rising onto the balls of her feet and flicking her
finger back and forth. "Eenie, Meenie, Mione, Moe," she glanced sideways, eyes bright. "Get it?"

Hermione humored her with an exhausted grin. “Very clever.”

“Right turn it is,” Lavender declared with a wink, leading the brigade with enough confidence and
pep to compensate for their lackluster response.

Hermione tipped her head back, gazing at the dual suns blazing behind the iridescent atmosphere.
They appeared to be in the same position as when she arrived. She wondered if they ever set, if this
part of Wonderland knew darkness. Without waning daylight as a measure Hermione had no idea
how much time had passed since she fell through Grindlewald’s couch and down the rabbit hole. If
felt like years… but perhaps it was only minutes. What if this haunting dreamscape was just that, a
nightmare born from whatever blue drug the Dollmaker had poured into her glass?

If I die, will I wake up? Or be lost forever?

The hedges led them along a curved path to the next fork in the grass. Lavender stopped, glancing
either way. “Should I just pick whatever direction the Castle is in?”

Hermione rubbed her eyes in frustration, utterly adrift without a plan or strategy. She couldn’t call
upon her strength of body or mind to overcome this sprawling maze, not without some hint to build
upon. She dropped her hands, biting back another sigh. “I suppose—”

There was a rustling in the leaves at their backs. They spun quickly, braced for attack. The wall
trembled, roses glistening wet. Hermione stepped between Dawn and Padma, spreading her arms to
draw them behind her as Lavender moved forward, hammer at the ready. And then, just as
suddenly, the shaking stopped. The leaves stilled and silence encased the hedges in eerie
absolution.
Hermione lowered her arms, shoulders drawing tight. “Let’s move,” she uttered, urging the two
women back. Lavender followed slowly, keeping her eyes on the shrubbery as they funneled into
the left pathway, continuing forward in tense silence and picking their turns at random, traversing
deeper and deeper into the twisting labyrinth.

Until finally reaching a dead end.

“Damn,” Hermione whispered, stepping back from the leafy barrier and turning to the group.
“Follow the roses to the last intersection—”

“Hermione?”

She blinked, focus shifting to Padma. The woman stared closely at a rose, tilting her head as she
examined the gleaming petals. “What’s it doing?” Padma asked softly.

Hermione’s pulse stuttered as she stepped forward, her companions following suit, Mowgli’s tail
looping Lavender’s neck as she leaned in close, watching red drip from the bloom like paint.

Or…

“Blood,” Hermione whispered, recognizing the scarlet hue a moment before scenting iron on the
air. The others drew back swiftly as Hermione edged closer, drawn to the morbid sight.

Lavender shifted nervously. “Mione—”

“Hang on,” Hermione muttered, raising a staying hand as she tracked the trickle of red from the
petals to the grass. Sunlight glinted off metal, a small object hidden in the blades. “There’s
something here.”

The girls closed in, hovering at her sides. “What is it?” Dawn asked.

Hermione lowered to her knees, pushing the grass aside to reveal a small brass plate bolted to the
ground. The face was worn and oxidized, something carved into the surface. She tilted her head,
palms bracing either side when a drop of blood hit the back of her hand. She fell back, frantically
wiping it clean on her skirts.

“Are you okay? Does it burn?” Lavender asked, dropping to her haunches and reaching for
Hermione’s wrist.

Hermione blinked, raising her trembling hand and reining in her panic. “No, it’s just… cold.” She
swallowed heavily, peering up at the weeping blooms. “Like death.”

“Initials.”

Hermione stiffened, head snapping forward. Dawn had lowered beside the plate, pushing back
grass to examine the writing.

“Or a word,” the girl added, glancing up. “But I don’t recognize it.”

Hermione shifted forward, glancing down. The symbols were clear to her now, faded as they were.
“C, L, I,” she read aloud, brows knitting close.

“Are they letter coordinates?” Lavender asked.

Hermione wet her lips. “Maybe, though I've never seen such a thing. I’m leaning towards roman
numerals.”
Dawn’s eyes widened hopefully. “You know how to read them?”

“Assuming that’s what they are, the plate says 151.” Hermione stood, brushing her palms clean on
her skirts. “Whatever that means.”

“Maybe the walls are numbered,” Dawn supplied, pushing up beside her.

“Perhaps,” Hermione agreed. “Still, it doesn’t help us get out of here, not without knowing how
many walls there are.”

Lavender rose last, edging closer to Padma who stood pale and silent, transfixed by the bloody
flowers.

“Let’s go,” the blonde stated, taking their quiet companion by the arm and pulling her away from
the ghastly sight. “These roses are making my stomach turn.”

Hermione nodded, just as eager to distance herself from the heady scent. It reminded her of the
surgical theatre at St. Thomas Hospital, the room saturated with the odor of blood no matter how
many scrubbings it took. They backtracked to the last intersection they passed, stopping only when
Dawn leaped with excitement, pointing to the grass.

“Look, there’s more!”

Hermione followed the woman’s direction, tucking her hair back as she leaned over, spotting
another brass plate on the ground. They must have passed it the first time. She wondered how
many others were overlooked along the way.

"There are two separate carvings on this plaque. They must be roman numerals, I don't know what
else the symbols could mean."

“What do they say?” Lavender asked.

“153 and 151.” Hermione blinked, pausing at her own words. “151… just like on the last plate.”

Lavender watched her closely, stroking an idle fingertip across Mowgli’s tail. “Please tell me this
makes sense to you.”

Hermione tapped her chin, feeling the distant stirrings of her old-self as she rummaged through the
possibilities. “I think it’s telling us what’s ahead, like some sort of guide.”

“But the numbers are useless,” the blonde stated rather unhelpfully.

“Yes,” Hermione conceded. “At the moment anyway.” She glanced ahead at the route they hadn’t
chosen the first time. “Let’s see what 153 has in store.”

She led the way, confidence restored by this newest discovery. Every clue was a stepping stone.
Perhaps there was logic to be found after all, hidden within the tall grass, beckoning her forward.
They reached the next fork. Hermione toed the grass aside, spotting another plate, tarnished but
legible. “190 and 196.” She grinned, pleased with herself. “Definitely numbers.”

Lavender groaned, tapping the side of her hammer against her thigh. “Christ, I hate numbers.”

Hermione nodded, glancing either way down the identical paths. “Me, too.”

“Really? But you’re a nerd.”

Hermione sent the blonde a withering look. “Be that as it may, numbers were never my passion. I
know basic equations for chemistry but this is a far cry from mixing acids and bases or performing
unit conversions.”

Lavender rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what any of that means, so I’ll merely suggest we continue
forward before the roses start squirting blood.”

Hermione cringed at the reminder and led them right, in the direction of the jagged hillside. They
followed around a ninety-degree corner before reaching the next fork.

“210 and 227,” Hermione read from the plate, forehead creasing. “The numbers are getting
bigger.”

Lavender scratched the side of her head with the hook of the hammer. “Slow down, Ada Lovelace,
I can’t keep up with your fancy permutations.”

“Fine,” Hermione snapped, folding her arms. “Let’s just keep wandering aimlessly.”

“That seems to be our strong suit. Reading the plaques slows us down. Besides, we have no idea
what the numbers mean or if they're even numbers at all. We’re better off trusting our instincts.”

Hermione lifted her chin, biting her tongue to keep her mounting frustrations in check. Dawn and
Padma shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the pair, causing Hermione’s cheeks to heat,
embarrassed by the squabble. Perhaps Lavender was right. Lingering at every turn was taking a
great deal of time, and they ended up picking their turns at random anyway…

“Alright,” Hermione relented. “We’ll try it your way.”

Lavender nodded, leading them left without a word. The path narrowed until they were forced to
walk in a single file line, the sound of running water meeting their ears a moment later. Their steps
quickened, eager to see what lay ahead. The walls led to a leafy archway that fed into a small
enclosure. Another dead end. But far different from those previously encountered… because at the
center of these hedges stood a massive fountain unlike anything Hermione had ever seen.

The stone was dark and matte, nearly black, hungrily absorbing the light like volcanic ash. The
basin was huge, large enough to swim through, but what truly captured her gaze was the massive
statue at the center of the display. A weeping woman, visible from the shoulders up, face crumpled
in unmistakable sorrow as tears streamed from her sightless eyes, twin rivers cascading over her
cheeks and into her hands, overspilling her palms and filling the pool. Liquid bubbled and frothed
where her shoulders emerged from the water, the rest of the basin clear and rippling.

Hermione bit her lip, transfixed by the sight, throat suddenly dry and mouth parched. She hadn’t
thought about food or drink since arriving in this strange land, her every day needs suspiciously
absent. She'd spared it no thought, thoroughly preoccupied as she was, but blissful ignorance was a
thing of the past.

Because now Hermione was thirsty. Wildly so. More dehydrated than she could remember ever
being. The grass turned to sand, blazing suns throbbing in time to her heart as she staggered
towards the oasis, mindless with need. Dawn and Padma followed, silently flanking her to the edge
of the fountain, each stumbling as though drunk.

Lavender lingered behind with Mowgli, blinking as they watched their companions lean over the
stone. “Maybe you shouldn’t—”

Hermione was deaf to the warning as she reached into the pool, cupping a handful of clear liquid
and bringing it to her face. She sniffed it carefully, proud of her forethought, and took a tentative
sip, pleased beyond measure to discover it was cool and flavorless. She let it pool in her mouth
before gulping it eagerly, relishing the sensation as it washed down her throat, extinguishing the
flames.

Hermione turned to her companions, watching her with expectant eyes as they awaited her
approval. “It’s regular water,” she declared happily, reaching for more as they copied her
movements.

Lavender glanced between them from the grass below, brows knitted with concern. "Are you girls
alright?" They didn't respond, consumed with the all-important task of filling their stomachs. Her
eyes narrowed, boot tapping the ground with impatience. "Am I the only one who thinks drinking
the hysterical lady's tears is a bad idea?”

Hermione lowered her hands, water dripping from her chin as she gazed down at the blonde.
“Aren't you thirsty?”

“I’m dead. I don’t get thirsty.”

Hermione blinked, the words stirring something deep within her chest. She turned to Padma and
Dawn, watching as they drank eagerly from their palms and splashed their faces, pouring handfuls
of water atop their heads until it soaked their hair and dripped from their cheeks, a disturbing
reflection of the statue weeping at their sides. Hermione gripped the edge of the basin, staring at
the rippling surface of the pool with a sinking feeling.

What am I doing?

The stone was so dark the water appeared bottomless.

“Something’s wrong—” Her words clipped short as the pool bubbled.

Lavender lifted her hammer, feline eyes glinting. “See? What did I say?”

Hermione stared at her distorted reflection as the ripples turned to waves, a dark shadow gliding
beneath the surface. She reared back, skirts tangling around her legs as she tried to scramble off the
edge.

“Padma, Dawn, get back—!”

She choked on a scream as something exploded out of the pool, water flying in every direction,
obscuring the creature from view. She fell backward, hitting the grass with a breathless cry as the
droplets fell, a slimy undulating limb appearing before her eyes. Hermione gaped, crawling
frantically as she tried to process what she was seeing.

A tentacle, deep purple and covered in suckers, an illustration straight out of a science fiction
novel.

Lavender marched quickly to her side, reaching down and hauling her up. “I’m really looking
forward to saying I told you so.”

Hermione scowled. “Perhaps this entire situation could’ve been avoided if you’d let me figure out
what the bloody numbers—”

“Can you please argue about this another time?” Dawn yelled, leaping from the edge of the
fountain as the tentacle rolled and curled, rising higher yet.
Another boneless arm emerged from the pool, slithering over the edge and chasing after Dawn as
she screamed. Hermione and Lavender raced forward as the tentacle wrapped around Dawn’s ankle
and pulled her down, dragging her through the grass towards the basin. They dropped to their
hands and knees, scrambling forward and catching her wrists. Dawn continued to scream, tears
streaming as the unseen beast dragged all three of them in.

And then a second cry tore through the air.

Hermione glanced up, watching in horror as a writhing tentacle wrapped around Padma’s middle,
pulling her over the edge and into the pool with a powerful splash.

“Padma!” She screamed, boots dragging across the grass as she clung to Dawn with all her
strength.

Water cascaded over the side of the basin in a massive wave as Padma disappeared. Mowgli leaped
onto the stone, tail hooking the edge as he slapped desperately at the water, searching for her. And
then a fourth tentacle rose, slithering over the wall and through the grass, heading straight for
them.

Hermione ground her teeth, releasing a strained cry as she dug in her toes, pulling back with all her
might. Dawn screamed in pain, the fourth tentacle wrapping her waist and making the struggle all
but impossible to win.

We’re going to tear her in half.

Hermione glanced sideways, meeting Lavender’s gaze through a cloud of tears. The blonde
seemed to read her mind, nodding sadly before releasing her hold. Hermione followed suit,
collapsing atop the grass as the tentacles wrenched Dawn away with blinding speed, her frantic
screams ringing through the air as she was carried over the edge and dragged into the dark pool.

Hermione pushed up on weak arms, watching the sole remaining tentacle sway in the air as though
bidding them farewell before slowly sinking below the surface.

The water settled, the statue’s tears softly trickling as Mowgli anxiously paced the lip of the basin.
Hermione rose to her knees, pushing damp hair from her eyes and glancing sideways. “Seriously?”

Lavender sighed, rising to her feet and tucking the hammer into her boot. “I’ll admit… this is a bit
much.”

Hermione staggered upright, trudging forward and gripping the edge of the fountain. Mowgli
darted to her side and pawed her shoulder.

“Stay here,” she instructed him, hoisting herself onto the ledge. Lavender copied her movements,
swinging her legs over the wall and submerging her boots in the water.

Hermione took a long breath, holding it deep as she pushed off the edge and sank into the pool like
a stone. Lavender dived in beside her, blonde hair and chestnut curls floating along the surface
until both women were lost to the dark abyss. A few bubbles appeared before the water went still
and calm.

Mowgli anxiously circled the edge, yellow eyes reflecting brightly off the surface as the suns
beamed down from the watercolor sky. The air grew static. He slowed his rapid pacing, peering
sideways as one of the hedges began to vibrate, vibrant leaves and bloody petals raining down. His
tail curved into a question mark, pupils dilating as the bushes stilled, revealing a pair of black,
glassy eyes between a gap in the branches.
The water bubbled.

Mowgli jumped at the noise, turning his focus to the pool as soft ripples appeared, followed by a
burst of orange light deep beneath the water. The waves grew heavier, faster, the weeping woman
rattling atop her base as a second and third flash of light illuminated the black pool.

He edged closer, only to leap back as the basin exploded upward in a powerful blast, stone
vibrating beneath his limbs. Mowgli clung to the edge as the water towered high above the hedges,
hovering in mid-air before beginning its rapid descent. He dove for cover, arms crossing overhead
as the wave crashed atop the courtyard in a heavy sheet, soaking the grass.

Mowgli blinked, carefully peering up to find a massive tentacle hanging over the side of the stone,
limp and lifeless. He scrambled to the ledge in time to watch a grasping hand emerge from the
darkness of the basin, followed by an arm, a shoulder, and finally a gasping head.

Dawn breached the surface, bobbing in place like a coughing, sputtering cork before paddling
weakly to the edge. Mowgli met her at the wall, tugging at her sleeve as she grasped the stone.
Padma appeared next, dark hair plastered across her face as she gasped for air, kicking and
thrashing against the water while daylight bled into her vision.

“It’s alright!” Dawn called back, reaching out a hand. “Padma, it’s okay! Swim to me!”

Padma blinked dazedly, swiping hair from her face and meeting Dawn’s steady gaze, finally
wading across. Mowgli backed away as they climbed over the edge, collapsing atop the sopping
grass in boneless heaps. Padma gazed down at her shift and cringed, the pale fabric stained through
with violet ink.

The pool rippled anew as a third figure surfaced. Hermione spit water like a garden spout, tipping
back and sucking in a breath, sunlight bathing her front as she kicked towards the wall. Lavender
bobbed up a few meters away, tossing her golden tresses like an illustrious mermaid before cutting
through the water with easy skill, reaching the stone at Hermione’s side. They clung to the wall,
treading water and breathing hard.

“Alright,” Hermione wheezed, resting her head against the black rock. “Say it.”

Lavender’s amber gaze narrowed as she pulled seaweed from her hair. “I… told you…” She trailed
off breathlessly, rolling her eyes and tossing her hammer over the wall. “Fuck it.” She hoisted
herself onto the ledge and reached down, grabbing Hermione’s hand and pulling her up. “You were
right, too, nerd.”

They tipped backward, limp with exhaustion, landing atop the grass with a splash. Lavender
imitated a dead starfish, watching the dual suns blaze overhead. "Let's figure out these goddamn
numbers."

Draco entered the billiards room with a scowl, his piss-poor disposition left over from yet another
unbearable conversation with one of his father's lemmings. Guests sought him out incessantly now
that they knew he was in attendance, men eager to gain his favor while their wives batted their
lashes behind oversized fans. He was ready to barricade himself inside the servant's quarters if he
didn't find who he was looking for in the next thirty seconds. Luckily, after a quick sweep of the
room, he did just that.

Smoke clung heavy on the air, the murmur of conversation a steady drone broken intermittently by
sharp laughter and boisterous guffaws. The poker tables were overrun while the bar sat surprisingly
empty, with the exception of one individual who leaned against the counter, half-empty glass in
hand.

Draco made his way across the room, sending a warning glare to anyone who so much as glanced
in his direction. He managed to avoid their inebriated advances during his two-minute trek through
the crowd. Draco emerged from the smoke cloud with a swift inhale, clinging to the edge of the bar
as though it was a life-preserver. The man at his side didn't so much as glance in his direction.
Typical. Draco eagerly turned his scowl upon him.

“Alright. What's your secret, Nott?”

Theo continued to stare into his low-ball glass, finding its contents far more interesting than their
bustling surroundings. "As of this evening, you know them all."

Draco rolled his eyes, snatching the tumbler from his grip. “How are you keeping the emulous
bastards at bay?”

"Avoiding eye contact is a keen method," Theo stated in a bored drawl, gaze narrowed as he
attempted to snatch his drink back.

Draco stepped out of reach. “That’s what I’ve been doing all bloody night.”

“You’re also sole heir to the most influential member of the House of Lords.” Theo collapsed
against the bar, relinquishing his glass. “The sheep may flock together for nefarious purposes but
they’ll slit each other's throats for the opportunity to lick your boots.”

Draco drained the brandy in a single gulp, handing the empty tumbler back. Theo accepted it with a
shake of his head.

“How generous.”

“So I’m told.” Draco peered behind the counter, no bartender in sight, before turning his focus to
the room and raising a brow. “Where the hell are the waiters?”

Theo tilted his head, deep blue gaze scanning the crowd. “They’ve left.”

They stiffened at the realization, exchanging a loaded glance. And then, right on cue, the steady
click of heels cut through the conversation like a heated blade. Draco turned to the bar, ducking his
head.

“Come on,” Theo whispered. “There’s a woman by the roulette wheel with a wig large enough to
hide us both.”

Draco followed his lead, slipping into the crowd as his aunt brought every conversation to a halt
with her mere presence alone. A guard followed loyally at her heels, mindful of treading on the
long train of her gown. Draco took shelter behind the monstrous wig in attendance, carefully
peering around the matted obstruction as Bella stepped atop a footstool, the guard extending his
hand before offering her a flute of champagne and a silver knife. The image of her wielding a blade
made Draco's chest tighten. She accepted the items with a beaming smile, Hostess mask in full
splendor as she faced her loyal subjects, tapping the utensil against the crystal as though the entire
room hadn't already been rendered silent at her arrival.

“Good evening, dear friends,” she announced in a voice that made Draco want to heave. “On
behalf of Rodolphus and myself, I welcome each and every one of you to our humble abode." The
crowd laughed as one, eager to bask in her favor. She absorbed their veneration with gleaming
eyes. "We are honored by your company and grateful for your continued support in our
philanthropic endeavors."

Draco bit back a scoff.

“Now, please allow us to express the depth of our gratitude by sharing a small token of our
affection. If you make your way to the theatre you’ll find a special surprise waiting for you.”

The crowd shivered with excitement, conversation reigniting with a passion as she accepted the
guard’s hand and stepped down. Draco turned away, grateful he’d handed the empty glass back to
Theo or surely it would be shattered in his hand.

“Where the fuck is Potter?” He bit out, watching the crowd part like the Red Sea as their messiah
made her departure.

Theo’s expression remained frustratingly calm, as though the entire fate of the mission didn’t rest
upon his idiot lover’s shellacked head. “Still upstairs I imagine.”

“What’s taking him so bloody long?”

“I’ve heard no gunshots or explosions; I suspect he’s still looking.”

Draco gritted his teeth. “His time is up. Go to the theatre, I’ll meet you there.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Draco shook his head. “We need at least one person stationed in the crowd and it can’t be me.
Auntie Dearest will be on the prowl.”

Nott appeared as though he wanted to argue but once again his renowned self-control won out. He
nodded instead, stepping back. “Be careful.”

Draco blinked, pausing his departure. “I could say the same. You almost sound fond of me.”

“Not in the least. I’m merely stating necessity; between you and Potter someone needs to exercise a
shred of common sense. Obviously, the responsibility falls to you."

“No argument there.” Draco started for the door. “See you on the other side.”

Harry released the dial on the wall, arm dropping heavy and lifeless as blood dripped off his
fingertips. His throat tightened as he cast his gaze from one end of the bedroom to the other, the
space brimming with ornate antiques and rich tapestries. But its most striking decoration was the
two dozen young women seated atop every upholstered surface.

Their identities were concealed by white veils draping their heads and torsos, vibrant skirts peeking
out from beneath the sheer fabric. But more disturbing yet was how still and rigid they sat. If it
wasn’t for the subtle rise and fall of the veils against their breath Harry could have easily mistaken
them for mannequins.

He started forward at last, focusing on the woman seated directly ahead of him on the foot of the
bed. Her skirts were pale cream with dark pink trimming, the veil thin enough to make out the
shadowed contours of her face. His hand trembled as he gripped a fold in the fabric, slowly pulling
it away, stomach clenching at the face that greeted him.

Her eyes remained closed, hands primly folded across her lap and posture so level a pile of books
could have balanced atop her head. Her coloring was healthy, features softly enhanced with
cosmetics, dark hair gleaming and styled.

Harry stood in shocked silence for several more seconds before carefully nudging her shoulder with
his uninjured hand. He swayed back as her eyes snapped open, wide and alert and fixed on the
wall. He wet his lips, clearing his throat. “Hello?”

She offered no response, expression blank and unchanging. Harry waved his bloodied hand before
her face, pulse quickening as she continued to stare past him. He dropped his arm and examined
her more thoroughly, searching for injury. She bore no bruises or blemishes, no jewelry or personal
decoration. His inspection led to her wrist, eyes narrowing on the red ribbon tied in a pretty bow,
attached to a large tag.

Harry leaned over, glimpsing text on the other side of the paper but unable to make it out. He
gently took her hand in his, turning it over to read the writing. Bile filled his throat.

Magnolia
Obedient
165 cm, 9 stones
Musically inclined, singing and piano
Sterilized
Starting Bid £18,000

He dropped her hand as though it was electrified, swallowing down acid as he staggered to the next
girl, perched low on the ottoman in a vibrant blue gown. He pulled the veil from her head without
ceremony. Strands of pale hair rose with the static but her expression remained neutral, eyes calmly
closed and hands neatly stacked. Red satin adorned her wrist. Harry grabbed her arm, tilting his
head to read the tag.

Iris
Free Thinking
160 cm, 8 stones
Artistically inclined, painting and calligraphy
Sterilized
Starting Bid £16,000

He inhaled slowly, deeply, holding the air in his lungs until they burned with white-hot flame.
Harry gently lowered her arm and stepped past her legs, focus shifting to the woman in the chair.
Her skirts were a vibrant emerald, nearly the same shade as Harry's eyes. His mother's eyes. He
pulled the veil away, swaying back as vibrant red hair came into view.

For a heart-stopping instant, he thought it was Ginny seated before him, dressed in the same silk
gown she wore to his party. He dragged a hand over his face, clearing away sweat and fatigue and
allowing him to see the stranger's face clearly. He didn't recognize her. A torrent of emotions filled
him to the brim, relief top among them, swiftly followed by crippling guilt and shame. He pushed
it all aside and reached for her tag.

Poppy
Assertive
172 cm, 11 stones
Athletically inclined, archery and riding
Breeding options at cost
Starting Bid £23,000
Harry dropped her hand, stepping back and rubbing his eyes, cursive lettering searing his mind like
an iron brand. He didn’t want to pull away any more veils or read any more tags. But he had to.

Hermione.

He rolled his shoulders back and set to work, removing coverings and studying faces, making it
through five more girls before he heard footsteps in the next corridor. Harry stiffened, spinning on
his heel and staring at the unconscious guard sprawled just outside the door. He limped closer,
mind racing as the footsteps grew louder, closer, leaving no time to drag the man inside.

Fuck.

Harry was in no condition to fight again but it seemed he had little choice in the matter. Only one
set of footsteps was headed his way, maybe even a guest. He stood a half-decent chance if he could
take the stranger by surprise. Harry glanced around the room, searching out a decent weapon. The
furniture was too cumbersome to lift and the trinkets were too small to be of use. Except…

His gaze settled on a crystal clock on the nightstand.

It’ll do.

His heartbeat drowned out the approaching footsteps as he snatched up the make-shift weapon and
raced to the dial on the wall, turning off the overhead sconce. The room fell into darkness and
adrenaline flooded his system in a heady rush, dulling the sharp edges of his throbbing ribs. He
held his breath as the footsteps entered the short hallway leading to the double doors, slowing
before the unconscious guard and then stopping altogether. A shadow appeared across the wall as
the tall figure knelt before the body.

Harry swallowed thickly, pressing flat to the wall as the stranger stood, turning for the open
doorway. The person paused just beyond the threshold, barely out of reach. An arm reached up,
fishing for the dial.

It was now or never.

Harry surged forward, lifting the clock high overhead as he charged the man, driving his weapon
down with a mighty roar.

Tom strode down the hall, hands twitching restlessly as his muscles tensed beyond measure. He
couldn’t wait any longer. He refused to wait any longer. He'd agreed to Bones' plan without
argument because he never intended to follow it, at least not entirely. Tom suspected the
Commissioner knew this glaring fact but chose to overlook it in exchange for Tom's invitation. But
the astute Detective couldn't have possibly known the full extent of his plans. Otherwise, Tom
would be confined to a jail cell at this very moment, safely out of the Yard's way.

But his subterfuge seemed to matter very little right now. Time was rapidly waning. He needed to
get out of here, needed to find the Dollmaker and vanquish this evil once and for all.

He needed to free himself of this curse.

But before any of those things could occur, he needed to calm the fuck down. Losing focus wasn't
an option, not here, not now. Fate had been working against him his entire life, the last thing he
needed to worry about was self-sabotage. And true to form, the Universe heard Tom's internal
struggle and replied with a dark laugh, dumping a fresh burden on his lap.
He exited the corridor and caught sight of a couple in the middle of the entry hall, the room’s only
occupants other than himself. Neither guest noticed his arrival, consumed by their one-sided
argument as the man dragged his companion behind a decorative column. They were lost to sight
but Tom could hear the stranger’s voice as though he were right beside him.

"Stop crying! What's the matter with you? You chose tonight of all times to defy me? You think
you’re safe from punishment because we’re in public?” A sharp slap echoed off the ceiling,
followed by a muffled sob. “Shut up! Dry your face! If you embarrass me in front of these people I
swear to god I’ll kill you, I don't care how much you cost!”

Tom lifted his chin, a familiar purr radiating through his chest as he started forward.

“Besides, it’s due time I invest in a newer model. From what I’ve heard the latest batch is
unparalleled in quality. You’re practically scrap metal at this point, I should have you harvested for
parts.”

His gaze darkened, footsteps calm and measured.

"I said stop crying! Do you want to leave now? Eager to receive your punishment behind closed
doors?"

Tom rounded the column, towering above the huddled pair. The woman was already cowered low,
seemingly oblivious to the new arrival, but the man appeared startled by the sudden interruption,
releasing her wrist and straightening. He raked Tom with his gaze in an obvious attempt to suss out
his identity, or rather, Tom’s power and station. His mind no doubt drew a blank but he plastered
on a strained smile all the same, meeting Tom’s eye with an air of impatience.

“Hello, mate, what can I do for you?”

Tom held his gaze without blinking. “Try not to bleed on the rug.”

The smile faltered. “Pard—”

Tom slammed the stranger's head against the column without preamble. The woman gasped as her
companion slid to the floor in an unconscious heap, limbs splayed in every direction. Tom leaned
over, grabbing the fool by the collar and inspecting his scalp. No outward bleeding. Good. With
any luck, the blow would lead to a hematoma or hemorrhage.

Wishful thinking.

Tom released him to the floor, standing straight and turning his level gaze on the second half of the
pair. She stared up through wide eyes but made no move to run.

“If you’re going to scream, do it now,” he instructed calmly. She swallowed and pressed against
the column. Tom regarded her carefully. “Can you converse free of his command?”

Her shoulders seemed to relax, just a fraction. “Yes.”

Tom smoothed a hand along his lapel, the release of pent-up aggression doing wonders for his
nerves. “Are you able to leave his side?”

“Only with permission.”

“What happens otherwise?”

She blinked, her keen gaze losing focus. Gone. Tom dismissed her, ignoring the twist of
disappointment in his gut. Instead, he gave the entryway a cursory glance and leaned down,
grabbing the back of the man’s jacket and dragging him across the shiny floor to the settee at the
wall.

Tom grunted low as he hauled the dead weight onto the cushion, positioning him upright, though
the head continued to hang forward like a corpse. The woman followed dutifully at Tom’s heels,
standing beside the settee and watching him work in silence.

He stood back at last, inspecting his handiwork and addressing her as an afterthought. “Tell anyone
that asks he had too much to drink. If you can’t lie—”

“The cognac was so smooth Andrew hardly noticed he’d had four glasses. Please, don’t worry
about us, we’re just waiting for the carriage.”

Tom glanced up sharply, brow arched. Her eyes appeared bright and clear once more. He
wondered the extent of her limitations. “How long have you been prisoner?”

She blinked, gaze drifting. He tilted his head, studying her anew. “How long have you been
together?”

Her countenance flipped like a switch, lips curving in a wide grin as she met his stare with bristling
eagerness. “Andrew and I met five years ago in Cannes; he was sailing along the coast while I was
walking on the beach. It was just before sunset when he saw me across the water—”

“Enough.”

She blinked, processing the command and settling back. Her smile continued to stretch to either
end of her face as a tear escaped from the corner of her eye. Tom watched its slow path to her jaw.

"Sit next to him," he instructed, "with any luck, you can watch him choke on his tongue."

She nodded, doing as bade. “Thank you for your assistance, Sir. Your kindness is much
appreciated. We’ll be quite fine here. Please, don’t let us monopolize any more of your evening.”

She perched on the extreme end of the cushion, as far from her Master as possible without toppling
to the floor.

Tom backed away slowly. “You won’t have to suffer his company much longer.”

Her smile tightened to the brink of madness, something in her eyes flickering. He turned away,
unable to gaze upon her a moment longer. The Dollmaker's victims were a sickening sight to
behold, not for their mannerisms but for the dark memories they pulled to the surface of his mind.

Tom strode for the archway at the other end of the room, determination renewed and hatred
awakened.

Parvati struggled to keep up with Lestrange’s long stride, the iron manacle of his hand allowing her
no reprieve. They slowed their pace as voices echoed from the next hall. He released her wrist as
they turned the corner and three men came into view, heading in the opposite direction. The trio
glanced up, halting their tracks with varying looks of fluster.

“Rodolphus! Good evening,” one of the men greeted, the first to recover.
“The same to you, Augustus. I hope you gentlemen are enjoying yourselves?”

They eagerly shuffled closer, stumbling over each other’s words.

“Most certainly!”

“Oh yes!”

“Marvelous party—”

“Such a fantastic turn out—”

“—splendid time—”

“—amazing as always.”

Lestrange’s visage remained fixed, barely tamped annoyance masquerading as amusement. “I do

believe my beautiful wife is gathering everyone in the theatre. I hope you all intend on partaking in
tonight’s main event?”

The three jackals exploded with laughter as if he'd delivered some side-splitting jest. Parvati fought
to suppress a full-body shudder, revulsion overwhelming her greater sense, and was awarded their
undivided attention. She shifted back, eager to escape their gleaming stares, hungry wolves
salivating at a cornered doe. Or what they thought was a doe. If there had been a hatchet lying
nearby she'd happily put it to good use.

“I say…” the shortest man spoke around his pipe, “is this a preview of what’s to come?”

Rodolphus glanced down at his silk-clad prisoner. “That it is. Though this particular item isn’t for
sale.” He placed a hand at her lower back, chuckling when she bowed away from his touch. “At
least not yet.”

Her heart skipped painfully.

“Such a pity,” the reedy man lamented. “She’s remarkable.”

“Indeed,” the fat one concurred. “Wherever did you acquire her from?”

Rodolphus turned his predatory gaze forward, the clear Alpha of the group. “You know we never
reveal the source of our treasures.”

“Are you offering anything else like her? The dark ones have always been my preference. Their
blood runs much hotter.”

Her stomach was in knots, the ache spreading and deepening until it took every ounce of strength
not to double over and wretch.

“I assure you,” Lestrange spoke lowly, prompting the others to lean close, eager to share in the
secret, “tonight’s offerings are unparalleled in quality and design, you shan’t be disappointed.”

They tittered like hens, nearly bursting at the seams as the fat one voiced their shared thoughts
aloud. “In that case, we must make haste to the theatre.”

"See that you do, the event will be starting at any moment."

“Say no more, my good man, say no more.”

They nodded their enthusiastic goodbyes and backed away slowly, desperate to linger in their
sovereign’s presence for as long as possible. Lestrange’s jovial expression fell away the moment
they rounded the corner, voices fading in the distance.

“Fucking clods. Not a single cock among them.” He peered down at her once more, something in
his gaze causing her to stiffen. Seconds passed with excruciating slowness, dread building inside
her until she was certain it would come pouring out of her mouth. “Rabastan isn’t here, is he?”

She swayed in place before shaking her head, not trusting her voice.

He studied her at an angle, his gaze rendering her more captive than physical restraint. "I believe a
private discussion is in order."

She assumed the statement was rhetorical, offering no response as he stepped across the hall and
pushed open a gold-trimmed door, gesturing her forward. Parvati inhaled deeply before stepping
inside, realizing with sinking finality this was the point of no return. Her heart felt like it might
explode when he crossed the threshold at her back, shutting the door with a deafening click.

They stood at the head of the dining room, the immense space dominated by an obscenely long
and narrow table, dark wood gleaming beneath three swooping chandeliers hanging in a row. But
what caught her attention above all else was the elaborate place settings, plates and spoons and
forks of every shape and size swimming before her eyes. Every chair sat empty, the room theirs
and theirs alone. Her hands curled tight to conceal their tremor.

When he first approached her at Amortentia she’d been startled but unafraid. There had been
hundreds of witnesses then, and Parvati knew he’d never invite scandal to the floor of his beloved
club. But here, now, everything was different.

She turned to face him of her own free will and was promptly met by a wall of muscled chest,
abjectly aware of his powerful frame and imposing height. Her breath hissed free in a rush as he
seized her arm and pulled her to the edge of the table, trapping her in place. His spine seemed to
lengthen, shoulders widening until he filled every corner of her vision.

“Where is he?” His voice was calm and measured, as though he wasn’t moments away from
strangling her.

Parvati forced her gaze up, meeting his eyes. “He left, Sir.”

“Left? The party?”

She’d discussed a cover story with Harry on the ride over but the conversation fled her mind
entirely now. Parvati didn’t waste time trying to recall Potter’s words, she lied better without
preparation anyhow. “London,” she replied simply.

Lestrange blinked. “Without you?”

She nodded with confidence before remembering she was supposed to be a doll, opting to glance
away and bite her lip instead. His hand tensed upon her arm. Parvati refused to flinch.

“And where did he go?”

Something in his voice sounded different than moments before. The overwhelming urge to run
made her calves tingle. Parvati ignored the sensation. She’d never run from a Monster in her life.
She chased them out of their caves and socked them square in the face with brass-knuckles.
"He didn't tell me, Sir." She met his penetrating stare once more, lashes fluttering. "There wasn't
time; it was a last-minute excursion, he seemed—" She broke off with a quiet gasp, hoping she
wasn't laying it on too thick.

“He seemed what?”

She read the challenge in his eyes, heard it in his voice. Perhaps she wasn't pulling this off as well
as she thought. It had been a while since she'd had to play such an outlandish role. The innocent
virgin wasn't her strong suit, even when she'd been one. Parvati was a creature of brash desire and
when it suited her cause, seduction. Perhaps it was best to use the tools she already had. So,
without further debate she stripped away her blushing lamb suit and pulled on another costume,
something well-worn and familiar, adhering to her like a second skin.

Parvati tilted her head and arched away from the table, pressing into his body. “He told me to come
here for safekeeping until he gets back.”

Rodolphus watched her closely, eyes glittering behind his mask. “Did he now?”

She placed a hand to his chest, fingertips resting along the seam of his placket, just beside his bare
skin. Victory sang in her veins as he scanned her face with blatant male appreciation, eyes
lingering on her mouth.

And then he spoke.

“You seem different tonight, Selene.”

Parvati’s vision hazed, figurative and literal masks slipping as he wrapped an arm around her waist
and jerked her forward. She wet her lips, scrambling to find her footing. “I do?” She tried sounding
coy but couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice, the weight of his arm pressing hard against her
spine.

“Hm.” A large palm stroked the exposed flesh of her back. “Outright peculiar.” His other arm slid
behind her hips, trapping her pelvis against the hard wall of his front. “When was your last
treatment?”

Her breathing turned labored, fight or flight instinct fully engaged. But there was no escape in
sight, no way to slip free of his iron hold. The only defense she had left was her wit but that too
seemed to fail her, words jumbling tight in her throat.

Calm down. You’ve gotten out of tight situations before. Sex turns men into idiots. You can salvage
this.

She tipped her head, offering up her lips and throat as her gaze turned hooded. “He told me to be a
good houseguest… in any way you desire.”

His eyes flickered to her mouth and back a second time. Her shoulders relaxed.

You’ve got this.

He released her hips and brought his hand to her face, grabbing the edge of her mask and lifting it
away. She deflated in his hold, utterly exposed without the flimsy shield.

“Those were his exact words?”

She nodded, trembling beyond control, hoping he’d interpret the nervous gesture as excitement. His
wandering hand slid behind her neck and into her hair, fingers splaying across her scalp as he
tugged her head back, smirking wolfishly. Tears burned behind her eyes as he pressed her into the
table, the hard corner cutting into the backs of her thighs.

“A valiant effort, luv.” He lowered his face until his lips hovered just beside her ear, his sinister
whisper cascading down her neck and bare shoulder. “But Rabastan would never share your sister,
least of all with me.”

Parvati seized as though electrocuted.

“Your imitation as a whole is impressive,” he continued casually, lifting his head. “But there are
tragic pitfalls to your performance that easily give you away.”

She bared her teeth, abandoning the charade to meet his gaze with open defiance. “Such as?”

His smirk only grew, seemingly delighted by her rebellion. “Selene avoids eye contact with men.
And she doesn’t call me Sir.”

Parvati inhaled through her nose, pulse throbbing in every limb. He released her hair in order to
remove his mask, tossing it beside hers on the table.

“Now that we have our disguises out of the way, I think it’s time you tell me who you are.” His
eyes darkened, their warning clear. “And what the bloody hell you’re doing here.”

Hermione kneeled in front of the plaque, wringing out her hair as she read the Roman Numerals
etched into the metal.

“666 and 613.”

“Bloody hell,” Lavender muttered, squeezing water from her skirts, “can we choose neither?”

Hermione tossed her damp curls back, rising swiftly. “Let me think…” she began to walk alongside
the hedge, Mowgli’s head swiveling back and forth as he tracked her movement. “Does anyone
remember what number the fountain was?”

Lavender groaned, dropping to the grass beside Dawn. "We're fucked."

“379,” Padma said from her seated position on Hermione’s other side. “The previous dead-end was
349, the one before that 227, and the first was 151.”

Her companions all blinked, Mowgli included, staring at her slack-jawed until she squirmed,
glancing between them. “What?”

“Padma…” Hermione raised a brow, watching her closely. “Do you have a photographic
memory?”

The girl in question blinked. “I don’t know.” She tilted her head, considering. “Do I?”

Hermione grinned. “I think so.” She replayed Padma’s words in her mind, setting back to work.
“Alright. 349, 227, and 151…” She rubbed her temples, resuming her distracted pacing. “All odd
numbers.”

“And prime.”

Hermione spun in place, droplets flying from her swinging skirts. “What?”
Padma folded her hands atop her lap, sitting primly in her battered and stained shift. “They’re all
prime.”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, exchanging a quick glance with Lavender before edging
forward. “Are you good with numbers, too, Padma?”

“I don’t know,” Padma replied without a hint of mockery. “Am I?”

Hermione couldn't contain her laugh of delight. “Let’s find out.” She crossed back to the wall,
peering down at the plaque to refresh her memory. “Is 613 prime?” She turned in time to see
Padma’s nod, pulse thrumming with the revelation. “The dead-ends are all primes.” She clapped
her hands together, grinning widely. “You’ve figured it out, Padma!”

Their resident mathematician smiled, though it lacked the palpable enthusiasm Hermione felt. “Not
quite, a few of the previous plaques didn’t feature a prime.”

Hermione deflated, hands dropping though her grin refused to wilt. “Well, avoiding dead-ends is a
start. Let’s see how far we can get.”

Apparently, not very. Five minutes later they stood before the next fork in the maze.

“713 and 703,” Hermione read aloud, glancing up hopefully.

Padma shook her head. “Neither are prime.”

“Are you sure?”

“703 is divisible by 37 and 19, 713 by 23 and 31.”

Hermione rocked back, rendered speechless.

“Holy shite,” Lavender muttered, clearly sharing in the sentiment.

“You just did that in your head?” Dawn asked, studying Padma as though seeing her for the first
time.

Padma nodded, shifting awkwardly under their undivided attention.

“Well, we’ve officially determined you’re a genius,” Hermione stated, causing the girl to blush,
“but do these numbers mean anything to you?”

Padma bit her lip, glancing at the tarnished plaque. “By themselves… no. I need at least three data
sets to see a pattern, if there is one.”

Hermione released a long sigh before nodding. “Okay. Let’s go left for now, in the direction of the
Castle.”

The path curved, roses marking their journey in a trail of blood.

“No dead-end, maybe we chose the right way,” Dawn called forward, voice full of bright
optimism.

Hermione didn’t respond, preoccupied with the next plate dividing their path. “863 and 861.”

“863 is prime,” Padma responded automatically.

Hermione’s grin stretched to either end of her face. “You’re bloody brilliant.”

Padma’s blush deepened as she glanced down, playing with the ends of her damp hair. “Numbers
are simple. No tricks, no room for interpretation, just straightforward right or wrong.”

Hermione nodded. “I can definitely see the appeal.” She squeezed the girl’s shoulder before
leading them right. They followed another curved wall before reaching a new anomaly. A three-
pronged divide, the first of its kind.

Hermione paced forward, watching the hedges with blatant mistrust as she toed aside the grass and
revealed the hidden plate. She lowered quickly, converting the roman numerals and reading the
numbers aloud.

“946, 947, and 948.” She glanced up, squinting against the glaring sunlight. “Three numbers, can
you find the pattern?”

Padma absently twisted her hair. “947 is prime.”

“Maybe the other two routes are good,” Lavender suggested.

"As you said before," Hermione stood, backing away from the plate, "the maze is the Castle's last
line of defense. Something tells me there's only one way out."

“Let me think,” Padma muttered, turning away from the group and lifting her hand. Hermione
tilted her head, watching with no small amount of fascination as the girl began writing across the
air with a fingertip, eyes flickering back and forth as though reading the floating calculations.
“Maybe if I…” She continued to write, tapping her bare foot. “No, that’s not right…”

She closed her eyes, swaying in place as she worked through the problem in her mind. But her
concentration was soon broken as the hedge at their side began to shake. They each spun, muscles
tensing as the leaves continued to vibrate.

Hermione wet her lips, “Lav—”

“On it.” The blonde started forward, hammer at the ready and Mowgli tight at her heels.

Hermione’s hands opened and closed at her sides, mourning the loss of her blade more than ever.
She glanced back at Padma. “Keep going.”

Padma met her gaze, a shudder running the length of her body as the wall rattled harder, bloody
petals raining down. But she nodded all the same, continuing to write through the air as Lavender
reached the trembling hedge and lifted her hammer. Hermione edged closer to Dawn, holding her
breath as the blonde leaned in, studying something in the branches.

“Holy shite,” Lavender muttered.

“What do you see?” Hermione asked, curiosity driving her forward.

Lavender glanced back, eyes wide. “It looks like a—”

The rest of her words became a startled shout as the hedges on either side sprang to life, branches
twisting through the air between them, leaves and thorns spilling across the barren sticks until a
solid wall stood between the two girls.

“Lavender!” Hermione rushed to the newly formed hedge, hands hovering as new buds began to
bloom.

“Mione!” Lavender’s voice sounded muffled.

Hermione reached forward and pressed a hand to the springy wall, only to hiss and stagger back,
fingers sliced by a jagged thorn. She stared at her parted flesh as the blood welled, wracking her
brain for a solution to this newest dilemma.

“Hermione!” Dawn suddenly cried.

She dropped her arm and spun, eyes flaring wide as the hedges repeated the process, a new wall
forming between Hermione and her doppelganger.

“No!” She rushed forward but the branches knitted tight, blocking her path. “Dawn! Padma!”

“What’s going on?” Lavender called from the other side of her barrier.

Hermione shook her head, staggering back. “The hedges are moving!”

“That’s fucking cheating!”

Hermione took in her modified surroundings, caged on all sides. “I’m pretty sure the maze doesn’t
care!” She could see a flash of movement through the gaps in the leaves. “Dawn, can you hear
me?”

“A little,” the girl called back. “It separated me from Padma!”

“Crap,” Hermione hissed, dragging her hands through her hair. “Tell her to keep working on the
numbers, Lavender and I will find a way through to you!” She set her jaw, eyes narrowed with
determination. “Don’t move!”

“I couldn’t if I wanted t—!” Her words dissolved into a shrill scream.

“Dawn!” Hermione rushed to the dividing wall and squinted through the branches, dread festering
as the scream faded into the distance. “Dawn!”

“Hermione!” Lavender called. “What happened?”

“I don’t know! I think something took Dawn!”

Another scream filled the air, further away and easily recognizable.

“Padma!” Hermione shouted, tears filling her eyes as she spun helplessly, trapped by towering
green walls. She jumped, trying to see over their tops, succeeding only in making herself more
breathless. She landed with a graceless thump, watching the hedges with trepidation.

“Lavender! Be vigilant! Something is—!”

Hermione released her own shocked scream as her feet were wrenched out from under her, ankles
bound tight and dragged through the grass, towards the wall. She crossed her arms over her face,
braced for impact with the thorny barrier when the branches suddenly split, creating an opening
just large enough for her to slide through.

Hermione blinked, gasping as she was hauled through another wall, and another, Lavender’s voice
fading in the distance as she called Hermione’s name. She twisted in place, catching sight of the
thorny vine wrapping her limbs, dragging her further from her friends, deeper into the maze.
She clawed the ground for purchase, soil collecting under her nails as she tore trenches into the
earth. Leaves and twigs caught at her skirts and hair, scratching at her face and arms. Hermione
lost all sense of time and direction, certain she was pulled across a thousand kilometers, through
rivers and across mountains, the journey would only end when she was thrown from the edge of
the earth—

A dark figure appeared in her peripheral, emerging from between the hedges as she was dragged
through another wall. Hermione gasped as she realized it was a person, something long and rigid
held over their head, poised to strike. Her lips parted but the scream was lodged too deep to pry
free, her mind lost to silent terror as the stranger surged forward, swinging their weapon down. She
twisted away and shielded her head, certain it was a faceless minion trying to crack open her skull
like a coconut.

But the impact never came. Instead, she heard something strike the ground near her feet. She rolled
to a stop, the vine severed cleanly by the weapon, twisting away with a dying squeal as though
sentient. Hermione drew her knees up, reeling with her sudden freedom.

The dark figure moved half a step closer, lifting the weapon anew. She scrambled back, pushing
tangled curls from her face and studying her savior. Their form was tall and broad and distinctly
male, but the dual suns glared brightly on either side of his head, casting his visage into shadow.

She squinted, relieved to see the faint outline of eyes, a nose, a mouth. Not an evil minion. Her
shoulders lowered, a heavy weight dissipating. And then her eyes drifted down, latching onto the
item in his hands. Hermione blinked, lips parting as her mind went startling blank.

For he was holding a bright pink flamingo.

She blinked again, questioning her sanity, then recalled where she was and decided this was far
from the strangest part of her day.

The large bird stood rigid as a club, which seemed to be its main purpose judging by the way it
was just used. Its black beak gleamed in the light, hooked and sharp as a scythe. The stranger
turned the petrified bird upright, resting it atop his shoulder like a cricket bat as he extended his
other hand. Hermione snapped out of her daze, settling into her senses with the polite offer. She
reached up with a smile, accepting his palm.

“Thank you,” she muttered, startled by the coolness of his touch.

“Oh, you’re quite welcome,” a familiar voice replied, fingers tensing around her wrist as she
gasped and wrenched back. He merely gripped her tighter, pulling her upright as she dug in her
heels, a scream bubbling forth at last. He leaned in closer, shoulders blocking the light, bringing his
sinister grin into perfect clarity. “Sweetling.”

Harry brought the clock swinging down with all his strength. The figure in the doorway drew back
swiftly, switching on the light as their hand slid away from the dial. Light flooded his vision in a
blinding rush, the intruder coming into view a second too late.

Luckily, Draco’s reaction time was decidedly better than his own. The blonde raised his arm to
block the hit, narrowly sparing his face from being split in half.

“Ah! Fuck!” Malfoy staggered back, clutching his injured forearm with a deep grimace. “Jesus
Christ, Potter! That’s the second time you’ve tried to bash my bloody skull in!”

Harry dropped the clock, gripping his throbbing side and catching his breath. “Don’t be dramatic. I
tried slitting your throat the last time.”

Draco scowled, flexing his elbow as he paced deeper inside the room. And then his silver gaze
found the girls and his injury was quickly forgotten. “... oh my god.”

Harry set his jaw, rising to his full height. “They’re wearing bloody price tags like a bunch of—”

“Dolls.”

Harry stiffened.

“Is she here?” Malfoy asked, seemingly past his initial shock.

Harry blinked, still trapped in the dark reverie. “I haven’t finished looking, I hid when I heard you
coming.”

The blonde started forward, reaching for the nearest veil. “Hurry, the auction is about to start.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He reluctantly joined the effort, tugging away veil after veil,
stomach curdling with every blank stare he revealed.

“Wait a second…” Draco muttered, earning Harry’s attention. The man lifted one of the veils,
inspecting a red stain marring the lace before glancing to Harry’s hand and scowling anew. “Great
job, fuckwit.”

"Pardon the mess, my liege, I didn't exactly get to strut in here as you did."

Malfoy shook his head, lifting the final two veils and stepping back. “I don’t see her.” He drew
both hands through his hair, eyes flickering anxiously. “This can’t be all of them. There must be
another room, we need to—”

“There isn’t time,” Harry interrupted. “Help me move the guard in the hall—”

“We have to find her!” Draco exploded, rounding on him with manic impatience.

Harry raised his hands, addressing the man as though coaxing a wild animal. “We’re going to. If
she’s anywhere inside the Mansion she’ll be okay.”

“And if she isn’t?”

“Then someone here will know where she is,” Harry continued with forced calm. “But if we’re
discovered the operation is blown and we lose our only chance at stopping this. Now help me
move the goddamn body.”

Draco openly seethed but finally relented, following Harry into the hall and helping him roll the
enormous guard onto the runner. They kicked as much broken glass onto the carpet as they could
before dragging the entire clusterfuck into the bedroom, panting with exertion.

“Where the hell do we put him?” Draco wheezed, releasing the edge of the rug.

“He’s too big to fit under the bed…” Harry glanced around the room, chest heaving as his gaze
settled on a bevel-mirrored door. “The closet.”

Stuffing the giant into the narrow space was almost more work than choking him out had been. But
they managed the task at last, slumping into the wall as they released his ankles.
Draco glanced around the room, focused on the floor. “You’ve gotten blood and glass everywhere
you fucking—”

A low murmur entered from the hall.

"Shite," Harry hissed, glancing at the women's' exposed faces. "The veils."

“There’s no time. Besides, half are drenched in blood.” Draco raced forward, collecting sheer lace
in his arms. “Help me, arsehole!”

Harry staggered forward, switching off the light and picking up two veils Malfoy had dropped
before piling into the closet behind the ponce.

Despite the expanded size of the enclosure the space was assuredly not designed to house three
grown men. But through the power of disgruntled teamwork, they made it happen, namely by
folding the largest and most unconscious member of their group in half and wedging him sideways
between the clothes racks. Harry contorted as best he could to maneuver all four limbs inside, but
he couldn't evade the shoe rack digging into his ribs. The torturous sensation caused stars to appear
before his eyes and blood to seep across his tongue as he bit down.

The voices were upon them now, paired with several sets of footsteps. Harry fought to close the
mirrored door but the guard’s limp foot stuck out too far. He didn't have room to lean down and
bend the man’s leg. Draco stood equally trapped, arms overflowing with bloody veils like some
serial killer groom. Harry pulled the door as hard as he could but it remained parted just enough to
give him a clear view of the main doorway.

Shadows appeared along the floor, the click of high heels unmistakable, as was the hourglass
silhouette dancing across the back wall. The small party entered at last. One of the guards switched
on the light, bringing his Mistress into clear view.

Bella swept her narrowed gaze around the room, brow lifting behind her lace mask.

“Madam,” one of the men spoke, “Elias should be posted at the door—”

“I assigned him to another task,” she replied succinctly, effectively silencing the matter.

Harry blinked, glancing sideways in question. Malfoy’s silver eyes glinted. And then movement
drew his focus back to the bedroom. Harry watched with growing unease as one of the guards
lifted his boot and inspected the carpet.

“There’s glass on the floor, Madam.”

“And blood,” another pointed out. Harry closed his eyes, braced for discovery. “Someone was in
here, we should—”

“Rodolphus gave a few select clients a private preview. One of the fools broke a glass,” she falsely
recounted with an air of boredom.

Harry’s gaze snapped wide, lungs seizing as her dark focus cut to the closet, piercing through the
shadowed interior. She was staring right at him, he was certain of it. Time slowed, his body
throbbing in time to his heart…

And then she glanced away, the terrifying spell shattered.

“Unfortunately, our guests are chosen for deep pockets rather than profound intelligence. Rod
obviously forgot to replace the veils in his haste to clear the room of such stupidity.” She sighed,
turning for the door. “Just as well, it saves us a step. Come along, my ducklings.” She clapped her
hands, disappearing across the threshold. “Follow mother to the pond.”

The girls all stood at once, eyes open and fixed ahead. Harry pressed back, alarmed by their
synchronized movement. Draco appeared similarly affected as he watched them exit the room one
after the other, falling seamlessly into line as though coordinating the configuration beforehand.
The guards departed last, casting final looks of suspicion around the room and joining the
procession in the hallway.

Harry released his breath like a punctured air balloon, slumping into a hat rack as he listened to the
marching steps fade. “What the fuck was that?”

Draco threw the veils aside, climbing unceremoniously over the body and bursting free from their
prison. “She knows,” he bit out, smoke rising in his pale gaze. “Fucking Riddle.”

Harry emerged a moment later, joints stiff from contorting. “He said he had someone on the
inside.”

“It just had to be her.” Malfoy tipped his head back, gripping either side of his neck and closing his
eyes. “She’ll partner with Bones for immunity, walking free from this mess with a gentle slap on
the wrist.”

“I don’t think Bones will let her sail into the sunset.” Harry shut the closet door at last. “But none
of that matters. The girls are accounted for.”

Except one.

Harry wouldn’t stop until he found her. But right now, they had to save the others. It was the right
thing to do, and it’s what she would want. So he set to work on the next phase of their mission with
fierce determination, glancing over his shoulder as he crossed the room. “It’s time.”

Theo struggled to maintain his easy poise, the urge to sink into the shadows causing his knees to
lock. He hated crowds in general and loathed this crowd in particular, trapped on every side by the
absolute worst society had to offer. Pungent cologne and stale body odor assaulted his nose and
clouded his senses. But his eyes remained fixed ahead, unable to part from the jutting catwalk or
the swaying red curtain at its head.

The chairs lining either side of the platform were quickly filled by preening elite, some of them
sporting compact binoculars as though preparing for a grand opera. The buzz of excitement was a
palpable force, static electricity crawling over his skin like fire ants. And still, there was no sign of
Harry or Draco. Theo drifted alone in a sea of dark perversion until a familiar presence surfaced.

Riddle entered the room, sticking close to the door as he posted against the wall, betraying no hint
of the unease and revulsion Theo knew could be clearly seen across his own features. He found the
man deeply unsettling for reasons he was hard-pressed to recall at present. All Theo knew for
certain was Riddle stood far and above every other guest currently residing in the theatre, making
him ideal company for the moment. Theo started on a path towards the elusive Doctor when the
room burst into vibrant cheer and applause, halting his progress and drawing his gaze to the
swaying curtains.

Bella emerged from between the crimson folds, waving to the crowd like the Queen on parade as
she crossed the runway. Theo shook his head as men seated beside the catwalk offered standing
ovations. He half expected them to reach out, desperate for her sacred touch. She stopped at the
end of the platform, smiling at the adoring faces below.

“Hello again, my darlings. Fancy seeing you here.”

The crowd exploded with laughter. Theo rubbed his forehead beneath his mask.

Fucking hell.

“Once again, allow me to express our deepest regard for your ongoing support and patronage. But
most importantly, for your friendship.” She pressed a hand to her chest, imparting a look of
devotion that caused the crowd to coo like deranged birds.

Theo glanced to Riddle, curious what his reaction would be to such ostentatious theatrics. The
Doctor’s expression remained stoic, unreadable beneath his ebony mask. But his body was poised
with such unnatural stillness Theo felt his own muscles tense, sensing something truly dangerous
in his midst. Still, better to be at a killer’s side than in his sights. Theo started across the room once
more, making good use of the crowd’s distraction.

“Tonight is all about you,” Bella continued from the stage. “We’ve given each of your comments
and requests careful consideration in order to create a product that’s completely unlike anything
you’ve seen before.”

Riddle seemed to feel the eyes upon him, straightening as he scanned the crowd, keen gaze stilling
on Theo. His expression remained unchanged as he tracked his steady approach.

“Tonight will be a one-of-a-kind experience you will not soon forget.” Something in her voice gave
Theo pause. “In fact, I’m certain this moment will stay with you for the rest of your life.”

He slowed, glancing over his shoulder to the platform. The rest of the crowd shifted, unnerved by
the intensity of her fathomless gaze. And then she blinked, releasing them from her thrall with a
ringing laugh.

“Now, enough of my droning voice. You’ve come for a show and we intend to give you one.” She
clapped her hands together, eyes gleaming. “Let the auction begin!”

Uproarious applause followed her down the runway. Theo turned, shouldering through the crowd
as she disappeared behind the curtain. As he drew closer he noticed that Riddle had created a small
clearing around his person through no effort of his own, guests offering wide berth as though
sensing the man’s dark aura. Theo breached the storm cloud with a heavy sigh, finding instant ease
in the Doctor’s presence. He leaned into the wall and faced the stage, imitating the casual repose
of the darkly-clad figure at his side.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Theo muttered.

The corner of Riddle’s mouth tipped up. “She certainly knows how to galvanize a crowd.”

“She knows how to stroke the male ego. A cunning art women are unparalleled at mastering.”

The Doctor continued to inspect the room with an air of boredom. “Where is your other half?”

Theo blinked, Harry’s face automatically taking shape in his mind. He quickly cast the image
aside, green eyes fading to smoke as he realized the Doctor was referring to Malfoy.

“Upstairs, looking for Potter. I imagine they’ll do it soon.”

Riddle tilted his head, gaze fastened to the crimson curtain as another figure emerged. A short,
spectacled man with a shiny bald spot and polished clipboard. The crowd exploded with a fresh
onslaught of excitement.

“I need a favor,” Riddle murmured, features sharpening as he held the new addition in his sights.

Theo glanced sideways, unable to mask his surprise. “... alright.”

“Find Ms. Patil. She was escorted away by our generous Host not long ago.”

Theo stood away from the wall, pulse quickening. “Do you know where he took her?”

“No. But it won’t be far.”

Theo nodded. “I’ll find her.” He started for the doorway, only to pause, glancing back. “What
about you?”

Riddle arched a brow, the gesture just visible over the top of his mask. Something sinister lingered
in his gaze, the swelling intensity rooting Theo to the floor.

“I’m going to enjoy the show.”

Tom watched the young man exit the theatre with haste, clearly eager to escape its oppressive
confines. He trusted that Nott would take care of Parvati in his absence. The Peer seemed to
possess a moral compass and level-head that was rarely found among his blue-blooded ilk. Tom
left the boy to the task, facing the stage as the bald man cleared his throat with cringe-inducing
exaggeration, calling the attention of the squalling crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is truly an honor to be in your esteemed presence this fine evening. Now
without further ado, we shall begin our leisurely stroll through the Garden of Eden with the
exquisite Violet.”

Tom’s shoulder blades turned to unforgiving stone as a slim figure emerged from behind the
curtain, adorned in a silk gown the same color as her namesake. Her face bore no mask beyond a
manufactured smile, the gesture falling tragically short of her dead eyes. Pearl-tipped pins
decorated her hair and a satin ribbon tied her wrist, a card dangling beside her palm.

“Violet is a studious creature, as curious as she is beautiful, adept at learning new skills and
especially talented with her tongue.”

Deep male laughter followed the announcer’s description. The man smiled, seemingly delighted by
his ability to elicit canned reactions from the crowd.

"That is, she's trilingual in English, French, and Italian, making her a superb addition to your
travels. Rest assured, like all of the offerings in tonight’s showcase, Violet remains active and
responsive outside of your presence, allowing you to breathe easy when venturing into public
venues.”

The young woman started down the runway. Her steps were evenly paced and her gaze steadily
fixed ahead, likely on some random patch of wallpaper. The eerie smile never wavered, even as the
crowd hollered and whistled as though in the midst of a raunchy striptease.

“And of course, she is fully customizable. You may create your own backstory and command
codes or keep the preset information.”
Tom stiffened, eyes darting to the head of the stage.

Command codes…

The announcer guffawed like a circus clown as she reached the end of the platform and performed
a graceful spin. The audience clapped and tittered, delighted by her twirling skirts.

“As you can see, Violet is the perfect complement to the cultured traveler. And though she isn't a
breeder, you will undoubtedly share plenty of other unforgettable adventures together."

Tom slipped his fists into his pockets, knuckles strained white.

“The bidding will now commence at £17,000.”

The room came to life with movement, men and women raising hands and fans as they called their
offers aloud.

“Sevent—”

“Eighteen!”

“Twenty!”

“Twenty-one!”

“Don’t we get to see the undercarriage?”

An explosion of laughter followed. The announcer cringed, trying to keep up with the rapid shouts.
“Please, Sirs, bids only—”

“Twenty-three!”

“The current high is at twenty-three to the gentleman on my left, do I hear any more?”

The room was filled with low murmurs, no other hands lifting.

“Very good, Sir!” The announcer bounced on his heels, light reflecting off his lenses. “You are
now the proud owner of this vibrant and stunning flower. As standard, please venture to the study
at the conclusion of the auction to finalize your purchase.”

She began walking towards the curtain, seemingly oblivious to the evil just taken place.

“Thank you, Violet,” the announcer said as she drew near. “Blow a kiss to your new Master, pet.”

The girl blinked, falling unnaturally still for the space of a heartbeat before turning to face the
crowd. She sank into a low curtsey and blew an enthusiastic kiss to the white-haired man who just
acquired her soul for the bargain price of £23,000. He lifted his hand and pretended to catch it in
mid-air, pressing it to his heart with a wink and a laugh, causing the surrounding guests to erupt
into amused applause.

“What a darling!” The announcer brightly declared as she slipped through the curtain and
disappeared from sight. “I can see the two of you are going to get along just fine.”

More laughter ensued, as well as a bevy of dull and unimaginative innuendos that made Tom
realize some of these guests purchased companionship not out of preference but necessity.
“Now, we arrive at one of our most exotic offerings of the night…”

The front rows vibrated with anticipation, murmuring excitedly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, prepare to be intoxicated by the rare and foreign beauty of the Lotus
flower.”

A new figure emerged, slender frame wrapped in a vibrant red qipao with lips painted to match.
Several men and women gasped at the striking image she made, squirming in place as they awaited
their chance to bid.

“This exquisite creature hails all the way from the Silk Road of China, a must-have trinket for any
collector worth his or her salt.”

She started her blank-stared walk down the runway, offering no smile to the eager crowd. Alas, her
countenance appeared much more subdued than her predecessor.

“Her English might be subpar but fret not, this wild beauty is highly verbose in the language of
touch.”

The announcer gave an overstated wink and a drunken man nearly toppled from his chair with
boisterous laughter. Tom inhaled slowly, rolling his neck atop his spine.

“Despite her linguistic limitations, Lotus still possesses the standard range of command codes in
English. And while she’s programmed to interact minimally in public, this kitten becomes a
Tigress behind closed doors, all with the simple utterance of a word.”

Tom wet his lips, tipping his predatory gaze forward.

They’re triggered by words.

She reached the end of the aisle and pressed her palms together, offering a low bow in lieu of a
spin. The demure gesture made the audience lose control of their already limited brain function,
shouting out bids before the announcer even set the price.

“You don’t have to travel to the far East to sample its delicacies!” The idiot shouted over the
commotion. “Lotus is certain to feed the yearning hunger in your heart! We will start the bidding at
£21,000!”

“Twenty-three!” A woman in the back row screamed without preamble, waving her fan as though
flagged down a carriage in the rain.

"Twenty-five!" A rotund man shouted from the other end of the room, spitting food as he clutched
an overflowing plate of hors d'oeuvres.

Others joined in, the room lost to chaos. Tom set his jaw, the world cast in red—

“See anything to your liking, Doctor?”

He went rigid, turning swiftly. The evening’s Hostess stood just behind him, dark eyes focused on
the stage.

“To my liking… “ Tom repeated, disdain heavy on his tongue.

She smirked, still gazing beyond his shoulder. “Of course not. What a silly question. You’re a man
of very particular taste.” Her eyes flickered up, meeting his at last. “Nothing appearing on this
stage will quench your thirst I’m afraid.” He held her glinting stare, heartbeat reverberating
through every limb as she smiled with cruel delight. “Lucky for you, I know exactly what you
want.”

She backed away slowly, another challenge laid forth, and then exited as suddenly as she appeared.
Tom stared after her for several moments, forcing a muzzle on his baser urges as the roar of the
theatre faded to the background of his mind.

Once he was certain he had control of his faculties he followed, taking care to maintain a calm and
unhurried gait as he passed two guards outside the doors. He trailed the echo of high heels around
the corner, spotting her at the end of the adjoining corridor, facing the wall.

She didn't wait for his approach or spare him a glance. Instead, she pressed her hand to the wood
and pushed. A sharp click and the panel swung inward, a dark passage revealed. She stepped inside
without pause or flourish, lost to the shadows. Tom glanced over his shoulder, no witnesses in
sight, and followed.

The tunnel was dark and narrow, every footstep echoing off the cold stone. Another mechanical
click and the wall at the opposite end swung free, a pale glow flooding the enclosure. She stepped
into the connecting room, the edge of a tall bookcase just visible. Tom emerged a moment later,
giving his new surroundings a quick assessment.

The library, massive and elegant. Bookcases stretched from floor to ceiling, illuminated by bright
moonlight streaming down from a glittering skylight.

“I recently paid a visit to Rabastan’s Estate,” she began, regaining his attention as she slipped
around the side of the nearest case. “His butler provided me with his unopened correspondence. A
letter arrived the morning after the fire, addressed from the courts.”

Tom closed the panel at his back before starting forward.

“Thicknesse wrote to inform my beloved and departed brother-in-law that his guardianship over
Hermione Granger was overruled, effective immediately.”

His chest tightened as she spoke the name aloud, rounding the bookcase in time to see her cross
into the next row, silk gown trailing at her heels.

“Imagine my surprise. What connection did Rabastan have to the Grangers? And then I
remembered… he was poor Dolly’s beneficiary.”

Tom kept his steps slow and methodical, mirroring her pace.

"Still, I filed the letter away without a passing thought. The Grangers are dead, their daughter
means nothing to me or my family. With Dolly gone I was certain she meant nothing to anyone."
Bitter laughter echoed all around him, bouncing off the domed glass and endless shelves. "How
foolish I was. How blind. For now, I see it all in stunning clarity."

He caught sight of black lace and gleaming eyes before she rounded the next stack, a pale, slender
neck visible over the tops of the books.

"You were looking for someone in Bath. Someone you thought Rabastan was in possession of.
Clearly, it wasn't Selene."

Her footsteps stopped. Tom circled the end of the final bookcase, coming face to face at last.
“You were looking for her.”

He stood at the end of the row, holding her gaze. “Yes.”

She started toward him slowly. "You met her at the Home."

He offered no reply, for none was needed. She read the answer in his eyes, her face curling with
revulsion.

“So much for keeping a professional distance. She’s a fucking child.” Venom dripped from her lips
as her pace quickened. “And you’re just like every other man, desperate for something young and
tight to plunge your cock into!”

She tried to slap him but Tom caught her wrist and pushed her against the towering case, books
knocked sideways on their shelves. As anticipated, she went wild, scratching and thrashing until he
pressed forward, easily pinning her beneath his weight.

“I am nothing like your clients.” He squeezed her wrists until she keened. “And don't get light-
headed atop your moral high ground just yet, people are still being auctioned like cattle in the next
room.”

A shrill scream locked in her throat. “I risked everything so you could fuck some little girl! All of
this because you want her—”

“I want him.” Tom squeezed harder, her bones threatening to snap beneath his touch. “I want him
with a hunger you could never begin to imagine. And you’re going to take me to him, Bella, right
now.”

She blinked, visibly startled to hear him speak her name for the first time. Her struggles ceased.
“He has her, doesn’t he? That’s why you wanted this party.”

“This party gathers his victims and clients in one place.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Tom wet his lips, loosening his hold. “Yes, he has her. He also possesses the cure. Two things I
intend to take before tearing him apart.”

Her trapped hands curled into fists. “Someone was upstairs with the girls. You didn’t come here
alone.”

“Plans changed beyond my control.”

“This is it then?”

"For them, yes." His gaze swept over her face. "But for you, it can be the beginning. Take me to
him and you'll have the cure as well."

Her jaw clenched tight. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you’ll finally get what you want.” Shadows bled beneath his cheekbones, across his brow.
“To see the real me.” Moonlight filtered through the shelf, illuminating his eyes in a bright strip.
“And I promise, you won’t enjoy a single moment of it.”

She sank back, arms going limp in his hold. “We’ll take my private carriage.”
Parvati swallowed thickly, trapped between the solid wall of his body and the unforgiving table.

"I think it's time you tell me who you are," Lestrange stated with an eerie calm. "And what the
bloody hell you're doing here."

Her mind raced. “I came to offer a trade.”

“A trade?”

What the fuck am I doing? “Myself, in exchange for my sister’s freedom.”

He tilted his head. “How did you discover her? She’s rarely out of Rabastan’s sight.”

Parvati lifted her chin, focusing all of her energy on keeping her voice level. “Greyback.”

Something dark sparked in the depths of his gaze. “I see. And where is the mongrel dog?”

“Outside, awaiting payment. He brought me here, said I’d fetch a fortune.”

His jaw ticked. “A ridiculous tale, and yet Greyback is witless enough to make it possible.” A
tense beat. “Still, you couldn't have possibly thought my brother would release her.”

“I didn’t know what else to do, I have nothing to offer but myself.” She drew her shoulders back.
“But I’m not stupid. I know he’ll end up keeping us both. At least I’ll be with her.”

Rodolphus appeared contemplative, the anger in his eyes giving way to something far more
disturbing… fondness. “You’re either exceedingly foolish or incredibly brave.”

She leaned back as far as the table would allow, the sharp corner digging painfully into her thighs.
“Is there a difference?”

He leaned forward in turn, hands bracing the table at either side of her body, caging her in. “You’re
different from your sister.”

“You would know better than I,” she fought back a scowl, tone deceptively level. “It’s been three
years since I’ve seen her.”

Rodolphus smirked, as though seeing straight through her ruse. “Rabastan pulled her from the
clutches of death, he even hired an at-home physician to tend to her bedside day and night. I’ve
never seen him so adamant about anything in my life.”

Parvati swallowed the bile threatening to erupt with her next words. “I’m grateful for all he’s
done.”

“Are you?” He lifted a hand to her face, sweeping his thumb along her cheekbone. “For I see a fire
burning in your eyes that was never present in Selene’s, even before her treatment.”

“Padma,” she snapped automatically, unable to quell the venom in her voice.

He grinned, delighted by her slip. “There it is.” His hand lowered to her throat, gently encircling it.
“I saw it in you the moment Quirrell limped out of the way, I knew even then you couldn’t possibly
be my brother’s caged bird.”

She clenched her teeth, vision tinged red as he tipped her head back with a thumb beneath her chin.

“It’s the same fire I witnessed at Amortentia. You were on the hunt then, too, weren’t you?”
She swallowed tightly, feeling the lump work past his fingers. “Yes.”

He leaned in further. Parvati bowed back as far as her spine would allow until she was forced to sit
atop the edge of the table, his hand never leaving her throat, a gentle promise of great and terrible
violence.

“You're not here to trade yourself, are you?”

She trembled atop her perch, stripped bare by rage. “No.”

His eyes gleamed. “Why did you come, little one?”

She released her breath on a slow and satisfying gust, letting the flames bloom to life at long last,
holding nothing back as she whispered the simple truth aloud.

“To kill you.”

Parvati wasn't certain how she expected him to react, demented as he was, so when heat and hunger
flared to life in his gaze she was hardly surprised. He pressed her back until she was nearly flat on
the table, her arms spread to either side to keep her weight balanced.

"Christ, you remind me of her," he muttered, searching her face while lost to some long-faded
memory.

Her hands splayed wide, pinky finger brushing the edge of a gleaming place setting.

“When we first met, all those years ago. Another lifetime it seems.” His eyes flickered to her
mouth as he forced her completely flat, fingers tightening at her throat.

Parvati gripped the utensil at the end of the setting, running the pad of her thumb over the tip, two
sharp prongs dimpling the flesh. She hadn’t the faintest fucking clue what she was holding.
Probably some ornate fork used to eat endangered jaguar brain or whatever the hell rich twats
wasted their gold on.

“I saw her from across a crowded gala and then I saw nothing but her. Nothing but the black flames
licking in her eyes, turning the rest of the world to smoke and ash and ruin.” His thumb traced
along her jaw, then her bottom lip, his weight settling down and driving the air from her lungs.
“She spoke with such passion and conviction, always longing for dark and wicked things. I would
have happily cut the heart from my body just to watch it bleed into her hands.”

Parvati inhaled slowly, breathing strained. "How romantic. You're a regular Albert and Victoria if
Albert and Victoria were fucking psychotic."

He smirked, stroking her lips fondly. “Once upon a time, perhaps we were. But so much has
changed. So much lost. I’d nearly forgotten how it felt. But you…” He pressed down further, a
muscled arm bent beside her waist to keep from crushing her entirely. “You’ve given it back to me.
Just for a moment.”

Intent was clear in his covetous gaze. Parvati tried to turn her head away but he gripped her throat
tighter, stealing the kiss as she expelled her next breath. She pressed her lips thin, denying his
tongue entry as it traced the seam of her mouth, her fingers clutching the dual-pronged fork until
her knuckles cracked.

Lestrange pulled back as tears burned behind her eyes.

“But you’re only an illusion,” he muttered against her lips, eyes drifting to some dark facet of the
past. “Just like the dolls. Just like everyone and everything in this godforsaken life.”

“Not that I don’t love an existential crisis as much as the next girl,” Parvati grit her teeth, “but get
the fuck off me!”

She drove the fork into his arm with all her strength, veins singing with satisfaction as she heard
the prongs puncture layers of fabric, pierce through skin and plunge into muscle. He released a
shocked yell, releasing her throat and rearing back, fumbling for the utensil.

“Be glad I couldn’t reach the salad fork,” she hissed, scrambling back onto the table.

He pulled the pronged dagger out of his arm with a feral growl, throwing it to the floor and lunging
forward with murder in his eyes. Parvati rolled off the table, staggering on her feet before bolting
for the door at the other end. Lestrange rounded the table with a mighty roar, tossing chairs aside as
he thundered in her wake, crystal and china rattling with every heavy stride. Parvati reached the
door with a desperate cry, gripping the handle with both hands—

But before she could pull it open he grabbed her by the hair and tore her back. She hit the floor
with a choked gasp, sliding across the hardwood and hitting the table leg. He followed her path but
she slipped between the chairs, taking shelter under the table.

“You little bitch!” He yelled, blood saturating his sleeve.

“I thought I was your burning flame,” she mocked darkly, scrambling over the plush rug.

He tracked her carefully, pacing along the edge of the wood in time to her movements. “And here I
was, ready to generously reunite you with your sister. Instead, I think I’ll have the good Doctor
erase her from your memory entirely. How does that sound?”

Her eyes narrowed on his boots. “As long as he leaves behind my memory of killing Greyback, I
can’t complain.”

His steps paused. “Greyback’s dead?”

Parvati smiled, crawling out on the opposite side. “As a doornail. Same as your brother.”

His shoulders parted wide as she braced the table with both hands, meeting his enraged stare head-
on.

“Don’t you get it, Lestrange?” She wet her lips. “Padma is safe. You’ll never lay a hand on her
again. And now you’re the one without a bargaining chip; there’s nothing you can threaten me
with, nothing that will make me cower.” Her eyes gleamed with desperate hunger. “I couldn’t
watch Rabastan burn so I’m settling for you, and I’m not leaving until you’re drowning in flames.”

He roared, leaping the narrow table in a single bound as she spun on her heel and ran, tight skirts
slowing her escape. She tipped a chair in his path to buy herself some time, pulse hiccuping as he
tripped, catching himself against the china cabinet and throwing the obstruction across the room
with a thundering growl.

But Parvati was already at the door, wrenching it wide and charging headlong into the hallway
without a single thought or plan.

She made it ten whole paces before he caught her.

Hermione rioted against his hold, feral in her desperation, wrenching free with a wild tug that sent
her sprawling onto her backside.

Dolohov stepped forward, reaching out. “Hermione—”

“Get away from me!” She screamed, scooting back and pushing to her feet, turning to run but faced
with a wall of solid hedges. Hermione spun, eyes wide, frantic, the only exit situated directly
behind him. “Get the hell out of my way!”

He raised his palm in surrender, the other hand still clutching the flamingo. “I don’t intend to
impede your path, little one, I merely came to offer my assistance—”

"Spare me!" She stormed past, their shoulders grazed and Hermione experienced a full-body
cringe. Dolohov began to follow, making it three steps before she rounded on him, breathing
flames. "Don't you dare!”

“Hermione, please—”

“Stop saying my name! Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me—”

“You need my help—”

“I need nothing from you!” Her skin burned with a powerful fever. She tried calling upon her black
flames but couldn't muster the concentration, overwhelmed with terror and revulsion.

“Please, let me explain.” He spoke so calmly, so earnestly. She wanted to tear off his face.

“I told you in the attic: I don’t care about anything you have to say.”

“And I told you I’d be back. I always make good on my promises.”

She shook her head, turning away and continuing forward. “You were foolish to come here,
Dolohov. Wonderland is surely worse than hell.”

"I didn't come to escape my judgment. I came for you."

“Then you’re twice as foolish. I hate you.”

“I know.” He continued to follow a few paces behind. “I deserve your hatred and have no intention
of swaying you from it. I’m merely here to lend assistance however I—”

“Stop!” She raked her nails across her scalp, pulling her hair at the roots. “Just stop!”

Tears burned behind her eyes but she refused to let them surface, following the curved path to a
fork in the hedges. She chose a direction at random, too far gone to care about the bloody numbers.

“You’re a monster! You murdered my only family and tried to rape me! You hired someone to
kidnap me and attacked my friends! Stop acting like you care, like you’re some great protector!”

Hermione stopped in her tracks and spun, sickened by the stricken look on his face. She missed his
burnt, skeletal version, unsettling as it was. At least it had shown him for what he truly was,
stripped of the handsome mask he now attempted to hide behind. But Hermione wasn’t fooled.
She’d never be fooled by a wolf in sheep’s clothing again.

“You’re the cause for every terrible thing that’s happened in my life. If my parents were alive I
would’ve never set foot inside the Home, I wouldn’t be entangled in this mess!”
“That may be true. But this mess would still be going on, you’d simply be ignorant to it.” He wet
his lips, eyes lit by a knowing gleam. “Tell me, Hermione, would you really prefer living a life of
peace and solitude while evil continues to prosper unabated?”

She rocked back, staggered by outrage. “How dare you ask me such a thing when you’re a part of
that very evil!”

“Indeed I am,” he swallowed thickly, “but I’m trying to set things right—”

“There’s no setting it right. There’s no bringing them back or reversing my trauma. The damage is
done and you’ll forever be my enemy.”

He lifted his chin, poise unshakable. “As I said, I didn’t come to earn your forgiveness—”

“Good! Because you aren't getting it!”

“—I came to help you reach the Castle. That is all.”

Hermione closed her eyes, turning away as a tear spilled from the corner. She wiped it away, voice
hollow. “If you really want to help, leave me alone.”

She stormed ahead, rounding the wall with a determined step, desperate to be free of him, but a
dead-end cut her escape short.

The shift in the air was her only warning.

Hermione reared back as thorns shot from the branches like poison darts, zipping past her head.
She stumbled over her feet, losing balance and toppling to the grass as more thorns were launched
free, whistling through the air as they hurtled for her face. She gasped, cringing back from the
imminent impact—

Pink flashed before her gaze, neon feathers filling her vision. Hermione blinked dazedly, eyes
crossing as the flamingo appeared just before her face. Her heart skipped as she realized the bird
was staring back, its onyx eye blinking calmly as a dozen thorns lodged deep into its side, sparing
her from being skewered alive.

Dolohov stood just behind her, shins pressing her back as he lifted the bird as swiftly as he swung
it forward. She tipped her head, releasing her breath in a dizzying rush before meeting his dark
gaze.

“Please…” He plucked the thorns free, tossing them over his shoulder. “Let me help you.”

Hermione vibrated with the force of her rage. “Fine.” She rose with a scowl, marching past without
a backward glance. “Perhaps I’ll get the pleasure of watching you die a second time.”

Lavender bounced on the balls of her feet, calling into the hedges.

“Hermione!”

Mowgli paced the perimeter of their leafy enclosure, eyeing the towering walls with trepidation as
she spun in a circle, trying to follow the direction of Hermione’s voice as her scream faded into the
distance.

“Shite!” Lavender gripped her hammer tight and jumped, lifting her chin to glimpse over the top
but she couldn’t see a thing, landing with a huff. “Fuck!” She turned to Mowgli. “Any ideas?”
He paused his rapid pacing, blinking once. She exhaled in a rush, dragging a hand through her hair.

How the hell am I supposed to get out of here?

She tipped her head back, groaning at the pastel sky. “Hey, God? Some assistance would be real
great.”

The bushes began to rattle.

Lavender spun with her hammer held high, poised for battle.

She’d seen something peeking through the leaves moments before her group was separated.
Something… strange. Though in Wonderland that really wasn’t saying much. Still, when the foot-
high garden gnome leaped out of the branches and landed at her feet Lavender blinked and
promptly questioned her sanity.

The elven creature watched her through large ceramic eyes, the chipped paint on his hat and
suspenders giving him the appearance of a wind-worn statue. But his limbs moved with life-like
flexibility as he reached behind his back and extracted a miniature garden spade from his pocket.

The hedge trembled anew, leaves and petals rustling as a dozen more gnomes fell to the grass with
trowels and shears and hoes and rakes, each weapon tipped in gleaming metal, sharp points
catching the light. They turned their miniature scowls upon her, weapons raised in the pre-stab
position as they hobbled forward.

Lavender blinked a second time and glanced back to the sky, certain she could see a laughing face
in the clouds. “Very funny, God.”

Padma’s frantic scream cut off abruptly as the vine released her ankle, depositing her inside a cage
of bent and twisted branches, each one thick as rope and covered in thorns. The entrance sealed
shut as she rose to her hands and knees, studying the enclosure and catching her breath.

“Padma?”

She jolted, head snapping around. Through the gaps in the dried wood she was able to make out
another cage beside her own, a familiar face inside.

“Dawn! Are you okay?”

The woman in question nodded, leaves and twigs lodged in her hair. “Yes, for the most part.” She
lifted her hand, blood dripping from her palm. “Don’t touch the walls, the thorns are sharp as
knives.”

Padma blanched. “It’ll be okay, Hermione and Lavender will come for us.”

“What if they’ve been taken, too?”

“They’ll find a way out.” Padma held her companion’s gaze through the twisted bars of their cells.
“They always do.”

She sank back on her heels, taking a steadying breath and lifting her hand, drawing shapes in the
air, calculations spinning through her mind.

“What are you doing?” Dawn asked.

Padma set her jaw with determination. “Solving this bloody maze.”

Hermione’s thighs burned with fatigue, walking so quickly she practically sprinted, desperate to
keep ahead of Dolohov’s long strides. It was well worth the effort; if she stayed in front she didn’t
have to look at him. But their positioning reminded her of his welfare visit to the Home, trailing her
through the halls like a demonic shadow.

She’d been terrified of him then, a helpless damsel relying on Tom to save her. Now she was
merely disgusted and annoyed. She’d already gone through the trouble of killing him once; she
wouldn’t have bothered if she’d known her only reward was a lifetime of hauntings. The universe
was clearly having a laugh, punishing Hermione for some atrocious crime committed in a past life.

Ever eager to further that punishment, Dolohov cleared his throat, keeping easy pace behind her.
“The vines actually did you a favor, you’re much closer to the Castle—”

“I’m not leaving without my friends,” she snapped, eyes fixed ahead.

“I wasn't implying—”

“There’s no need to make small talk either. In fact, I’d prefer if you stopped speaking altogether.
Feel free to add breathing to the list as well.”

He smirked, following her around the sharp curve of a hedge. “You really have changed.”

She clenched her fists, arms stiff at her sides.

“I thought it was simply Riddle’s influence over you,” he continued conversationally, “but I see
now the evolution is all your own.”

“Is there anything you love more than the sound of your own voice?” As welcome as his
answering silence was, it also gnawed at her bones. She heard the double meaning of her question
and cringed. “Let’s not travel down that imaginary road again.”

“My feelings for you were anything but imaginary,” he replied fiercely.

“I agree. They were twisted and vile.”

“My actions were regrettable—”

Hermione tossed her head with a scoff.

“My actions were selfish and cruel,” he corrected, undaunted by her hostility. “Inexcusable and
unforgivable, but they were motivated by true devotion.”

“That’s what makes them twisted and vile.”

“Why?” His steps quickened, drawing him closer. “Because of our age difference? Riddle is your
senior as well.”

She reached another T-shaped fork, turning left at random. “You’re the same age as my parents.
You were also their trusted friend, a relationship you fostered for the sole purpose of getting closer
to their child.”

“I was never inappropriate with you.”

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, glancing over her shoulder and pinning him with a scorching
glare.

Dolohov sighed, averting his gaze to the flamingo mallet in his hand. “When you were a minor,” he
elucidated.

“Yes,” she faced forward once more, “your moral fiber is as fortified as chainmail.”

He continued following at her heels. “My attraction didn’t begin until you were nearly of age—”

“Stop talking.”

“I’m not proud of myself.”

“Well at least there’s that.”

“I had control over my actions, not my desires. Surely you of all people can relate.”

Hermione scowled, refusing to meet his pleading stare. “How did you find me anyway?”

“You told me you’d be visiting the Dollmaker, I knew you’d end up here.”

“How did you know I’d make it to the maze?”

“When you set your mind to something, nothing can stop you.”

She shook her head, rounding another wall without rhyme or reason, unable to formulate a plan
beyond the driving need to stay in motion.

“You should know…” he studied her profile, much to her annoyance, “I’m not the only one who
anticipated your excursion into the maze.”

“The Dollmaker doesn’t scare me.”

“As you’ve proven. But I wasn’t referring to him.”

Hermione blinked, gait faltering as she peered sideways at last. “What do you—”

“Mind your step.”

She whipped her head forward, gasping sharply as she stumbled around a skeleton in the grass.
Hermione reared back, colliding with Dolohov’s chest. He gripped her arms to steady her, causing
her to shriek and jump again, twisting violently out of his hold. He raised his hands in peace as she
clutched her middle, struggling to regain her bearings as she studied the body at her feet.

It was perched against the hedges, legs stretched out and boots still laced. The bones were withered
and dry, scraps of cloth clinging to the torso and hips. Its frail condition suggested it had been here
a very long time. Alas, the remains appeared undisturbed, unnervingly peaceful in death.

“What do you think killed him?” Hermione asked, tilting her head as she continued her inspection.

“Nothing.”

Her eyes snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“Things don’t really die here,” he stated gravely. “They just… change.”
As if on cue, the sound of rattling bones filled the air.

Hermione staggered back as the skeleton came to life, brittle femurs lifting and kneecaps grinding
as the legs bent. Her jaw hung wide as the body pushed to its feet, swaying precariously as the
skull turned in either direction, seeming to take in its surroundings. The frail arms lifted overhead,
narrow fingers interlacing and spine arching as it stretched non-existent muscles. And then the
skeleton turned to face her, eyeless sockets rendering her breathless.

Hermione stood transfixed as the skull tilted, gazing upon her with an air of contemplation before
the body started in motion. She moved aside as it strode past, arms swinging and bones clacking
with every step. She watched it casually stroll down the path and felt her sanity slip further yet.

“... I need to find my friends.”

Dolohov shifted closer, neon flamingo propped against his shoulder. “We need to get to the
bridge.”

She turned. “Bridge?”

His eyes drifted up, focusing on something over the tops of the hedges. Hermione spun once more,
catching sight of gleaming metal in the distance.

“It oversees the entire maze,” he explained, hovering at her side.

Hermione backed away, skin crawling. “Do you know how to get there?”

“I do.”

Her jaw clenched. “Good.” She gestured forward. “Then you can lead the way. Silently.”

He grinned broadly, swinging the flamingo like a parasol as he fell into step. “Happily. Though we
really should hurry, it doesn’t stay put for very long.”

Hermione stared at his back, the cryptic words thrown atop the ever-growing mountain of insanity.

“Wonderful,” she muttered, following at last.

Draco slipped back into the room, eyes adjusting to the darkness. “The auction started, the front of
the house is empty.”

Potter nodded, rising from the edge of the bed where Draco had left him, nursing his side like a
worthless cripple.

“You look like shite,” Draco scathed.

“You’re just jealous of the hair.”

“Your head could deflect a knife.” Draco spun in a circle, searching his surroundings to no avail. “I
don’t see a lantern.”

Harry grit his teeth, limping to the window. “We don’t need one.”

“I thought Bones said to put a light in the pane?”

“If his men are watching, they’ll see us.” Potter pulled the curtain apart and attempted to slide the
glass open, cringing with the strain. “Christ.”

“Move aside, invalid.” Draco strode forward and elbowed him out of the way, grabbing the handle
and pulling. But the metal latch refused to budge. His face twisted with effort before he finally
gave up the struggle. “Fuck! It’s welded shut.”

He took a steadying breath before trying the next tactic, waving his arms overhead as though
signaling a ship at sea. Draco looked past his own reflection in the glass to watch the dark and
silent lawn below. After several moments he dropped his hands, eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“I don’t see the cavalry galloping in on white steeds.” He clenched his fists, backing away. “Let’s
find another room—”

“No,” Potter clipped. “This ends here and now.”

Draco blinked, watching in dumbfounded silence as Potter leaned down and gripped the sides of
the nightstand, teeth bared and veins throbbing with exertion.

“They want a signal…” Potter hoisted the table atop his knee with a pained groan. “I’ll give ‘em a
signal.”

Draco reared back as the idiot shoved the nightstand into the pane with a shout, glass shattering in
a deafening explosion as the table flew over the edge, plummeting two stories to the stone patio
below.

Potter collapsed against the bedpost as Draco surged forward, gripping the broken window frame
and peering down.

The nightstand hit the ground with a heavy crunch, legs buckling and sides splintering as wood
fragments scattered in every direction. Footsteps were quick to follow, accompanied by twin
shadows as two guards ran outside, circling the demolished table with matching looks of
perplexity.

Draco leaned inside before they decided to glance up. He turned, inspecting Potter with a
newfound appreciation. “Well… that should do it.”

Theo turned the corner, glancing down another empty hall.

Where the hell are they?

He started forward, trying each doorknob he passed, the sound of the auction fading in the distance
as he neared the front of the estate. He kept his eyes peeled for Parvati’s vibrant dress, an easy
marker in any space and the very reason he’d chosen the bright shade. She was the most at risk, the
bravest of them all for agreeing to come. He and Harry had vowed to protect her, whether she
wanted that protection or not. If anything happened to her Theo would never forgive himself or be
able to look Blaise in the eye.

He passed beneath the oversized arch leading to the entry hall, pausing in the center of the vaulted
space. A faint shuffle sounded to his left. Theo crossed the hardwood to the nearest doorway,
gazing into the empty receiving room. The noise sounded again. He turned, traversing further
along to the billiards room, starting to peek his head in when a voice startled him from behind.

“Can I help you, Sir?”

Theo jolted, struggling to regain an air of calm as he spun. A scantily clad maid stood before him,
auburn hair pulled into a pristine bun and lips painted a cherry red.

“I seem to have misplaced something of intrinsic value,” he replied simply, causing her eyes to
spark.

“Oh, my…” She smirked, giving Theo a thorough once over that amused him greatly. “Then you
simply must allow me to help you search." She wet her lips, folding her hands behind her back and
pushing her chest forward. "Perhaps we should check upstairs? There are many empty rooms,
things can go missing quite easily."

Theo raised a dark brow, suppressing a grin. “That won’t be necessary.”

She blinked, seemingly thrown by his casual rejection. By the time she tried to respond a heavy
pounding emanated from the front door. She glanced to the disruption warily, departing his
company without a backward glance.

Theo braced himself as she reached the barrier, sliding the lock and grasping the handle. The wood
started to part, he readied himself for chaos…

But it wasn’t Bones on the other side of the threshold.

The maid rocked back, eyes wide. “Lord Malfoy—”

“Where is she?” Lucius demanded, striding in without invitation. Theo stiffened, frozen in shock.

“Sir?” the maid asked, still clinging to the handle.

“Your Mistress,” he snapped, towering above her. “Summon her. Now.”

“She— she’s hosting—”

"There are enough horses outside to fill a bloody ranch, I know exactly what she’s doing. Now
bring her to me or I’ll drag her off the goddamn stage by her hair.”

The maid nodded quickly, staggering back on obscenely high heels. “Yes, Sir.” She closed the
door and darted for the corridor, nearly tripping in her haste.

Theo released a slow breath, chancing a backward step, just as eager to flee. But the movement
drew the hawk’s keen gaze. Lucius turned, silver eyes glinting as he spotted Theo from across the
room. Theo was rendered ten years old beneath the blistering stare, helpless to evade the oncoming
storm as recognition flashed across Malfoy’s sharp features.

“Theodore?” Lucius blinked, expression twisting into something resembling shock. “What the hell
are you doing here?”

“I…” Theo trailed off, swaying in place as Lucius cut a quick path across the room, boots striking
the floor like steel mattocks.

“Have you spoken to Draco?” He demanded, fully recovered from his consternation. “Do you
know where he is?”

Theo rocked back as Malfoy stopped just before him, standing at eye level. He hadn’t realized they
were finally the same height, so used to a lifetime of peering up at the man.

“Theodore, where is Draco?”

Theo wet his lips, trying to snap out of the daze. But it was too late. Lucius read the truth in his
gaze, ever the masterful politician.

“Bloody hell,” Malfoy whispered, complexion waning. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Theo finally broke free of his stupor, stepping back, only for Lucius to catch his arm and pull him
forward. “Take me to him, it’s imperative we speak at once—”

An explosion of glass echoed from the floor above, traveling across the landing and down the
master staircase. They glanced up, staring at the ceiling in shared bewilderment.

“What on earth…” Lucius muttered.

But only one thought entered Theo’s mind.

Harry.

He shrugged off Malfoy’s hand and raced for the stairs, Lucius following a step behind when a
feminine scream pierced the air.

Theo staggered to a halt, nearly tripping over his own feet as he turned to face the hall. “Parvati!”
He shouted, changing course without a second thought.

He heard her cry ring out from somewhere in the distance, muffled and enraged. Theo followed the
sound of footsteps and wheezing breath, pulse stuttering as a male’s deep growl joined the violent
orchestra. He rounded the corner and stopped, trying to process the scene before him.

The scarlet gown caught his attention first, tangled around her legs as she scooted across the floor.
Rodolphus stalked towards her, hatred in his eyes and blood drenching his sleeve.

“Get away from her!” Theo shouted, forcing his feet forward.

Lestrange jerked to a halt, head snapping upward as he spotted Theo at the mouth of the hall. He
blinked in confusion, forehead creasing as realization dawned.

“Nott?” He stood straighter, posture calm and statuesque, as though he wasn’t moments away from
throttling a woman. “What are you doing here?”

Parvati used the wall for leverage as she pushed to her feet and staggered towards Theo.

“This doesn’t concern you, Theodore.” Lestrange’s tone was light but his gaze was saturated in
darkness. “Go back to the theatre and enjoy the show, I’ll find you later and explain everything—”

“I think I’ll stay here.”

Rodolphus blinked, puzzlement clear. And then he glanced between them. “You know each other.”
His jaw worked silently before his lips parted in a wide grin, ominous laughter seeping forth. “Of
course… you’re the one who brought her here, aren’t you?”

Theo tightened his fists as Parvati slipped behind him.

“Don’t be foolish, Nott,” Rodolphus continued, edging closer. “She isn’t worth it. I can get you
another one, just as beautiful. Or better yet, you can have her back, new and improved. Just give
her to me for a few days.”

“A generous offer, Lestrange, but I’m afraid I must decline.”

Rodolphus stopped, shoulders drawing level as he inspected Theo anew. “Look at you…. little
Theodore, wrapped up in some cheap cunt. A right of passage for every man, I suppose. I’m
almost proud.”

Lestrange met Theo’s eyes, something wicked unfurling in his gaze. “You know, Rab was
convinced you were a sodomite.”

Theo’s heart jolted painfully. Rodolphus lifted a brow.

“Claims he never once saw you glance in a bird’s direction. But I wasn’t so easily convinced.” He
began a slow, methodical pace forward. “Perhaps it’s because I see a great deal of myself in you.
The focus, the determination and drive. Overcompensating for the shortcomings of an alcoholic,
piece-of-shite father.”

Theo swallowed heavily, vision hazing at the edges.

“Men like us don’t settle for cheap thrills. We want it all or nothing, only turning our heads for
something special. Something worthwhile.” His voice was smooth, coaxing. “I can see why she
turned your head. But trust me when I say there’s no future in it, son. You’re a Peer. There’s only
one way you can be with her.” His eyes gleamed beneath the sconces. “I can turn her into the
perfect mistress. Everything you could ever imagine… and pleasures you could never dream of.
The ultimate secret.”

Theo lifted his chin. “I’m already full-up on secret lovers at the moment. Once again, I’ll have to
decline.”

Lestrange tilted his head, giving Theo a final inspection before nodding shortly. “Very well then.”

He charged forward without further ado, driving Theo into the wall and crushing the breath from
his lungs. His mass was easily twice that of his younger opponent, keeping him easily pinned as
Theo swung blindly at the giant.

Though Theo had never been in a physical altercation he was certainly no stranger to violence,
taking countless wallops from his father over the years. But he'd never struck back. Not once. After
all, his father's true intent had always been clear.

He wanted to break his son, doing his utmost to infect Theo’s heart with the same rage and hatred
that was slowly eating him alive. So Theo made a silent vow to never raise a hand in anger, to
never give his father the satisfaction of turning into the man he despised more than anything and
anyone. He’d carefully avoided schoolyard scuffles as a boy and rowdy pub brawls as a man, never
faced with the task of fighting his way out of a situation.

Until now.

Which was just as well. Because Theo was tired of talking, tired of turning the other cheek and
taking the high road. Just once —just once— he wanted to fight back, to unleash even a morsel of
the pent aggression stifled deep within his soul.

He aimed his shots high, recalling one of many random conversations he shared with Potter while
lounging in bed. Harry had said the best way to incapacitate an opponent was to strike above the
neck. Theo didn’t harbor any grand delusions of overpowering Rodolphus entirely. But he’d
happily settle for breaking the arsehole’s nose. He managed to clip the giant in the jaw, cringing as
his knuckles cracked on impact.

Lestrange didn’t appear fazed, merely impressed. “Not bad,” he muttered, grinning wide and
driving his fist into Theo’s gut, ripping a strangled gasp from his lips as he buckled in two and sank
to the floor, mask falling away. “Stay down, Theodore.”

Theo blinked, tears gathering in his eyes and body throbbing in protest. He clutched his abdomen,
feeling the ground tremble beneath him as Rodolphus started down the hall for Parvati. Theo
growled and launched forward, seizing Lestrange by the legs and pulling with all his remaining
strength. Rodolphus hit the floor with a seismic tremor, releasing a shocked yell and delivering a
powerful kick. Theo rolled, avoiding a blow to the head and absorbing it on the shoulder, grunting
low as the joint popped in the socket.

Fuck! Was fighting always this painful and exhausting? No wonder brawlers were usually drunk
off their gourd.

Rodolphus pushed upright. “You’re going to make me kill you, aren’t you?”

Theo grit his teeth, scooting back and clutching his shoulder. “I hadn’t given it much thought.” He
pushed the hair from his eyes, sweat pooled along his temples. “But I suppose I am.”

He threw a punch with lightning speed, acting on pure adrenaline.

The shot took them both off guard. Rodolphus had no time to react, head snapping back as he took
the fist square in the face. Theo felt a satisfying crunch beneath his fingers, followed by the sharp
scrape of teeth against his knuckles, tearing the skin. He hissed, dropping his bruised hand.

Blood dripped from Lestrange’s nose and mouth as he staggered back, blinking in shock. “Not bad
at all,” he muttered at length, licking the red from his busted lip and launching forward.

Theo twisted out of his direct path but the hallway was too narrow to avoid him entirely.
Rodolphus caught him by the throat and threw him against the wall, squeezing hard. Theo choked
and gagged, feet scrambling as he clawed at the vice strangling his airway. Tears blurred his eyes,
erratic pulse filling his ears.

Harry.

The name filled his being for the second time that evening, echoing through the empty caverns of
his mind as his vision began to fade. His arms dropped heavy and useless to his sides, muscles
burning for oxygen.

Theo tried desperately to conjure an image to go along with the name, but as his sight turned black
the last thing he saw was Lestrange’s snarling face above him.

Harry listed against the wall, the invisible knife in his side twisting deeper with every step. Malfoy
was already half a hallway ahead, only stopping when he realized Harry was no longer at his side.
The blonde turned with a venomous scowl.

"Any slower and you'd be going backward!"

Harry pushed away from the panel with a groan. “Feel free to overpower the next guard, Lancelot.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and turned the corner of the landing, then quickly staggered back,
expression wrought. Harry stiffened, casting his pain aside and charging forward. Footsteps
pounded up the steps. His fists clenched, assuming it another guard.

“Draco!” A deep and familiar voice echoed from behind the wall.
Harry nearly collided with a decorative table, dodging around the edge before rounding the corner,
slowing to a halt beside Draco and coming face to face with Lucius.

The elder Malfoy blinked, pausing halfway up the stairs as he processed the new arrival. “Potter?”

Harry glanced sideways. Draco appeared bloodless and dazed, lips parting at last. “Dad? How did
you—”

A figure appeared at the bottom of the staircase, dress vibrant as blood, feet bare and hair loose.
She glanced around the entrance hall with wild eyes before spotting the trio hovering above.

“Harry!”

He started down the steps, passing Lucius without a glance. “Parvati, are you alright?”

“Theo needs help!”

The knife in his side dissolved in an instant, nothing existing beyond the raw panic that seized him
by the throat. Harry jumped the bottom two steps and took off at a dead run, the Malfoy men
disappearing in his peripheral as he followed Parvati through the archway and into the corridor.
Her tight skirts slowed her steps. She groaned in frustration, stopping to rip the slit higher along
her thigh and gesturing him forward.

“Take a left!”

Harry nodded and sprinted ahead, shoulder clipping the wall as he swung around the corner, nearly
wiping out on a suit of armor. He dodged around the gleaming obstruction, following the sounds of
a scuffle in the adjoining hallway.

There was a sudden commotion in the entrance hall at his back. Harry assumed it was Draco and
his father having it out, paying the distraction no mind as he skidded around the next wall, met
with the sight of Lestrange’s wide back. He blinked, searching for Theo, and then heard a soft
gasp.

Harry moved forward, heart set to burst as Rodolphus shifted out of the way and revealed Theo’s
reddened face. His eyes flickered lower, spotting the hands wrapping Theo’s neck, his feet
dangling off the ground and spine pressing the wall, eyes closed and arms limp.

Harry released a strangled shout, unable to silence his rage as he charged forward, colliding against
Lestrange’s side with all his weight and sending them both crashing to the floor. Stars exploded
before his eyes, the pain in his ribs excruciating as a black tooth, every nerve ending seared raw.

Rodolphus tossed Harry aside as Theo sank to the floor, eyes fluttering and lungs gasping, tugging
at his collar with trembling fingers. Harry rolled across the unforgiving floor until he hit the
opposite wall with a groan. Meanwhile, Parvati rounded the corner at last, staggering to a halt as
she took in the chaotic scene.

Rodolphus processed the newest attack in stride, grabbing Harry by the jacket and dragging him
forward before drawing back a meaty fist, poised to cave in his skull. Harry tried to twist away, a
silver burst of light filling his vision as pain radiated through every cell in his body, but the death
blow never came. Instead, the fist fell away as Harry was pulled closer.

“Holy shite. Potter?” A line appeared between Lestrange’s heavy brows. “What the fuck are—”

Theo surged forward, knocking the man sideways and freeing Harry from his grasp. Rodolphus
growled, driving an elbow into Theo's collarbone and slamming his hands against his chest, easily
casting him aside. Lestrange's eyes gleamed ferally as he staggered to his feet, blood glistening
across his upper lip and chin.

“Rats. I hate rats,” he scathed, lifting a heavy boot above Theo’s head.

Harry dug deep for his final reserves of strength, intent on tackling the giant’s legs. But then he
caught sight of the approaching sea of red and rolled away, grabbing Theo’s lapels and dragging
him along for the ride.

Parvati released an impressive battle cry as she struck, driving something heavy and blunt into the
base of Lestrange’s skull. He swayed precariously, seemingly dazed, yet somehow managed to stay
upright. She staggered breathlessly and dropped her weapon —a miniature bust— to the floor
while Rodolphus slowly turned. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she met his bewildered
stare.

His face split with a crescent grin before he collapsed to his knees. "Just like her," he muttered,
then fell face-first at her feet.

Parvati rocked back, leaning into the wall with a tremor while footsteps pounded down the
neighboring corridor. They turned to face the mouth of the hall, frozen in the wake of their shared
plight and watched as a familiar face materialized from the smoke and ether.

Harry exhaled swiftly and slumped against the wall, head hitting the plaster with a dull thud as his
godfather cut a quick path towards them, gun in hand.

“Thank Christ!” Sirius hissed, tucking the weapon into his waistband as he rushed to Harry’s side,
stepping over the unconscious body with a raised brow. “I see you kids got the fun started without
me.” He stopped before his godson, extending a hand.

Harry clasped his palm with a grin. “Don’t worry, we saved plenty of excitement for you.”

“Good lad.”

Sirius hauled him up with surprising ease. Harry bit his tongue to stifle a gasp, clutching his ribs.
His godfather followed the motion with narrowed eyes.

“You saw my signal,” Harry said, eager to change focus.

“You threw a bloody table through the window.” Sirius remained undeterred, lifting his arm and
inspecting the injury.

Harry cringed, gritting his teeth as fingertips probed his bruised and battered flesh. “A nightstand.”

“That still qualifies as a table, smartarse. The point of the lantern was subtlety.”

Harry wet his lips, lowering his arm as Sirius stepped back. “Then Bones assigned the wrong man
to the task.”

His godfather smirked, turning to the opposite wall where Parvati had taken up residence. “Hello,
pretty lass. Don’t you look delightfully lethal.”

“You should see me with a fork,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her middle as she gazed upon
Rodolphus with a haunted look.
Sirius glanced between the trio. “Bloody hell, you all look like you could use a stiff drink.”

Harry couldn’t have agreed more. But there were more pressing matters to see to at the present
moment, starting with the man currently slumped against the opposing wall. Harry crossed the
narrow divide, gazing down. “You alright?”

Theo cleared his throat, cringing with the effort and rubbing his neck. “I think so.” His voice was
hoarse, eyes bloodshot as they flickered up. “I thought that demented bastard’s face was the last
thing I was ever going to see.”

Harry smirked, offering the hand on his slightly less-injured side. “Not a chance. I’ll be the one
standing over you when you die.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Theo took Harry's hand and rose with a grunt, their fingers lingering until new
footsteps echoed from the mouth of the hall.

Harry shifted in front of Theo, subconsciously shielding him as a sea of bodies rounded the corner,
armed and stoic. Bones led the charge, a familiar shock of platinum hair appearing at his back. The
Commissioner raised a signaling hand, halting his men as he stopped before the small gathering.

“Everyone alright?”

Harry curled his fist to conceal the dried blood. “Never better.”

Bones tilted his head, studying the massive heap on the ground before rolling the body onto its
back with the toe of his boot. He raised a dark brow, glancing between Harry and Theo. “Which of
you incapacitated Lestrange?”

Harry smirked as Parvati stepped away from the wall.

“That would be me, Sir.” She swept the hair from her face. “I may have also stabbed him.”

The Detective blinked, giving her an appreciative once-over. “Impressive work, Ms. Patil. You’re a
prime example of why women should be allowed on the force.”

The words seemed to dispel whatever dark cloud lingered above her. She absorbed the praise with
a faint smirk, watching as Bones turned to his men and uttered quick instructions.

“Ogden, Redfield, get Lestrange cuffed and loaded. Take him straight to booking, I want him in a
cage by the time he comes to.” His shoulders drew wide, lips rising at the corner. “As for the rest
of us, I think it’s due time we crashed the party.”

“They’re in the theatre,” Theo supplied, voice broken and strained.

Bones turned to him sharply. “Lead the way, Mr. Nott.”

Theo grinned, twin sapphires burning in his eyes. “With pleasure.”

Lavender took a measured step back, tightening her grip on the hammer as the gnomes formed a
sinister circle around her and Mowgli.

“So you’re the ones who’ve been shaking the hedges.” She arched a brow, smirking down at the
spade-wielding leader. “Tell me, what do you boys get up to in those bushes?”

“Patrolling the maze,” he growled, voice surprisingly deep.

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

His plaster brows drew tight and incensed. “Kill her.”

Mowgli pressed against her boots as the pint-sized army took a menacing step forward. Lavender
twirled her hammer with a bright grin. “Before we get started, you fellas should know I’m mighty
skilled with this doodad.”

The leader scowled beneath his coned cap. “I’ll be sure to bury it with your corpse.”

The gnomes descended. Mowgli took shelter beneath her skirt, clinging to her leg as miniature
tools stabbed into the fabric, unexpectedly sharp and easily shredding the layers. Lavender
staggered back, kicking ceramic limbs aside, the toe of her boot snapping one of their arms clean
off. The gnome gave no reaction, continuing forward with a thin rope gripped tight in his
remaining hand.

Her spine hit the hedge and caused thorns to sprout from the branches, gouging her skin and
catching her hair. She lurched forward to escape their razor clutches, shuffling through the sea of
elven invaders and swinging her hammer wide, growling in frustration as they scattered with agile
reflexes.

Something sharp pricked the back of her calf, threatening to break the skin. She twisted around,
kicking pruning shears from a pair of tiny hands before stomping down on the coned head,
crushing the gnome to pieces. The broken limbs continued to move, scurrying across the grass in
different directions.

Lavender spun once more, only to feel a pressure draw tight around her ankles. She glanced down,
watching as a gnome raced past with the end of a rope clutched tight. She tried stepping back, only
to discover her feet had been bound. The gnomes lined up, clutching the rope and pulling. The
pressure on her ankles increased, locking her heels tight.

“Little bastards—”

They pulled harder, the combined effort tipping her off balance. Lavender screamed, hitting the
grass with a thud, breath escaping her in a pained oomf.

Mowgli shot out from beneath her skirts, leaping onto the first gnome he encountered and tipping it
onto its back. The gnome kicked its stumpy legs, arms flailing as it tried to right itself, too short to
push up. Mowgli darted to the next one, narrowly avoiding a shovel to the head.

Lavender kicked with her bound feet, straining to pull her ankles apart, skirts slipping high as she
bent her legs and thrashed. Gnomes drew in on either side, weapons at the ready. She growled low
in her throat but became distracted by Mowgli’s keening whimper, twisting around to see his limbs
bound tight, ropes staked to the grass.

A gnome leaped atop her chest with a tiny pitchfork in hand. The spokes were an eye’s distance
apart, a fact she became glaringly aware of as the evil elf pointed the weapon at her face,
threatening to blind her. She screamed in frustration, giving up on her ankles and rolling to the
side, dislodging the creature a heartbeat before her eyes were gouged from the sockets.

As Lavender turned onto her back she felt rope brush against her wrist. She tried lifting her hand
away but it was too late, the lasso tightened, dragging her arm away from her body. She twisted
around and swung her hammer with her only free limb, only to be stabbed in the hand with a spade.
Lavender cried out, jolting with the impact and dropping her weapon to the grass. She blinked and
scrambled for the handle but one of the gnomes got to it first, dragging it out of reach.

Really?!

She’d never be able to find peace in the afterlife knowing a gang of tacky lawn decorations bested
her.

She pulled on the rope tying her wrist, cringing as her skin rubbed raw, the restraint pulling tighter.
The leader stepped up and swung his spade with blurring speed, hitting her square in the forehead
with a resounding thwack, the blow more shocking than painful. She rolled back and her skirts
pooled around her waist, baring her legs to their murderous gazes as they closed in, weapons
poised at the ready.

Lavender closed her eyes, braced for skewering.

“Wait!” the leader shouted, halting his men.

Her lids peeled open, eyes crossing as the tip of his spade poked her nose.

“Where did you get that?” He demanded, tiny teeth bared.

She blinked, blood rushing through her ears. “What?”

He pressed the spade harder, driving her head back as he gestured to her legs. “Where did you get
it?”

Lavender opened and closed her mouth, thoughts scattering until she felt the edge of a rake graze
her calf. Her heart skipped painfully, realization setting in. She cringed away from the spade and
glanced down, inspecting the black garter wrapping her thigh and the gleaming item secured
beneath.

He recognizes it?

She turned back to the leader, frustration giving way to curiosity. “Ariana.”

His eyes flared with mounting rage as he swung his spade like a sword, whacking her shoulder.

“Ow! F—”

“How dare you speak the name of our beloved Queen, you wretched girl!”

Lavender grimaced, rubbing her bruised muscle. “Your dirty talk could use some work but it’s got
potential. How are you with accents?”

“Enough, insolent child!”

“Not bad, now say it in French.”

He growled anew, surging forward with another swing. Her bound limbs kept her trapped, forced
to take the blow on her clavicle.

“Who did you steal it from?”

She hissed in pain, shrinking back. “I don’t steal.”

“A thief and a liar, I should cut out your tongue.”

Lavender held his glare. “You called Ariana your Queen—”

“You’re not worthy to speak her name!”

She rolled her eyes. “We’re on the same side, Ebenezer.”

“Ha!” He barked, lifting the spade above her face, poised to break her nose.

“She sent me here!” Lavender shouted, pulling desperately at her binds. He adjusted his grip on the
tool, readying the strike. She swallowed thickly, meeting his gaze. “How else would I have the
key?”

“That’s what I want to know. And after a few hours of torture, you’ll tell me.”

She wracked her brain for an out, finding no other option but the last resort.

“Abracadabra,” she whispered sharply, fingernails digging into her calloused palms.

He swayed back at the utterance, eyes wide and unblinking. The spade dropped to his side.
“Release her.” The gnomes glanced between each other in confusion. “Now!” He yelled, causing
them to scurry like mice, sawing through the ropes with haste.

Lavender breathed a heavy sigh as her ankles were freed, followed by her bound arm. She sat up,
clutching her battered wrist to her chest as they cut Mowgli loose.

“You should have identified yourself sooner,” the leader stated gruffly, ceramic arms crossed.

She stroked a hand along Mowgli’s back as he climbed into her lap. “I didn’t realize she had allies
in the maze.”

The gnomes gathered behind their leader, clutching tools and severed limbs.

“We’ll see you safely through,” he announced simply, gesturing to the hedge.

Lavender blinked, staring at the solid wall in confusion. And then the leaves began to rustle, roses
shedding their petals as the branches snapped and receded, an archway taking shape.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” she muttered with a grin, pushing down her skirts and rising
to her feet. “I need to find the people I entered with.”

“They’ll be in cages.” He started forward, his men following in a row. “If they haven’t already
been torn apart.”

Lavender and Mowgli fell into step behind the miniature procession. “It’ll take more than vines to
stop my girls.”

The leader paused, glancing back with a grave countenance. "There's a lot more than vines trying
to stop them."

Hermione followed Dolohov around another hedge, noting as he made each turn with silent
confidence, not bothering to glance at the plates. She released a hissing breath, more willing to
chew off her arm than converse with him. But she needed to know what he knew, and there was
only one way to go about obtaining that information.

You’ve faced far worse battles in Wonderland than him. Besides, nothing is more important than
reaching the Castle.

She inhaled slowly, lifting her chin and addressing the back of his head. “Do you know how to
navigate the maze?”

His shoulders drew tight, undoubtedly surprised she was speaking to him of her own volition. “No,
I merely stumbled upon the bridge. That’s how I saw you being dragged off by vines.”

Her eyes narrowed on the bright pink weapon in his hand. “Is that a real flamingo?”

“Define real.”

Hermione could hear the smirk in his voice. She rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know how I’m going to
return to my normal life after this.”

He glanced over his shoulder with a wry grin. “Your life was hardly ever normal.”

She glanced away, stomach knotting at his casual banter like they were old chums strolling through
the garden, reminiscing about old times. Her hatred for him bubbled like acid in her gut. Hermione
refused to engage in anything that wasn't absolutely pertinent to the mission.

“What did you mean earlier?” She asked, tone frigid.

He blinked, still searching her face. “Pardon?”

“You said you aren’t the only one who knew I’d be in the maze.”

He nodded shortly, glancing forward as they continued between the bushes, roses blooming in their
wake. “You have enemies beyond the Dollmaker.”

“I’m painfully aware.”

He led them around a tight corner, resting the flamingo across his shoulders. “Who else have you
encountered here?”

Blood was thick in the air as they emerged from behind another wall. The roses lining the path
ahead were already bloomed and dripping. “Bellatrix and Rabastan,” she muttered, wondering if
one of her friends had come this way.

Dolohov paused his tracks, causing her to stumble to avoid a collision. “How did you get away?”

She stepped back, careful to maintain their distance. “I killed them.”

“I told you before, people don’t die here.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Rabastan is in a coma.”

“And Bella?”

“Equally incapacitated.”

Per usual, the universe was ever eager to illustrate the depths of its cruel humor. No sooner had she
spoke the words than shrill laughter echoed through the branches, manic and unmistakable.

Dolohov met her stupefied gaze, lifting a dark brow. “You were saying?”
Hermione swallowed heavily, tasting copper on the back of her tongue. “There’s no way…”

She marched past his still figure, beyond fear and even further from reason as she searched out the
source of the tell-tale cackle. Hermione turned right, then left, stopping dead before a four-way
intersection and the woman standing at its center.

Ribbons streamed through the air in an invisible current, creating a vortex around her hourglass
figure. The satin tendrils emerging from her wrists were charred and frayed, the only visible
evidence of a burning factory collapsing atop her head. Her porcelain flesh showed no signs of
damage, her previously shattered face now flawless and smooth and her singed gown perfectly
restored. But her glass eyes told a story as old as time. A tale of violence and betrayal, of dark
longing and obsession. A tale Hermione knew well, seeing as it was the ongoing narration of her
life.

“Hello again, darling,” the sultry voice greeted, lacquered lips curving in an ominous smile.

Hermione blinked slowly, trying to make sense of this madness. “How…” She shook her head, at a
loss. “I watched you burn.”

“Ah, yes,” Bella chuckled, holding Hermione’s gaze captive, “I remember your malevolent little
grin hovering above me as the flames took my sight.” Roses dipped all around them, their scent
heady and overwhelming. “But surely you didn’t think he’d leave me in such a state. I’m his
favorite.” Her smile widened to reveal a row of perfect gleaming teeth. “He always puts me back
together again.”

“The Devil’s favorite toy,” Hermione said, lifting her chin. “A curse I wouldn’t wish upon my
worst enemy.” She arched a brow. “Which you also happen to be.”

Bella smirked, blackened ribbons dancing between them. “You made quite the impression during
our last encounter, dove, but I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t recall your identity until after our fateful
farewell… Hermione.”

Hermione’s shoulders drew back.

“I must thank you,” Bella continued. “When you cracked open my face you knocked a few
memories loose. It’s been wildly entertaining reliving my past sins… as well as catching up with
my Outer Self.”

“I’m thrilled I could be of assistance.” Hermione clasped her hands innocently behind her back.
“Would you like for me to knock some more of them free?”

The possessed doll tipped her head back and laughed anew, clapping her palms with delight. “I’ve
never been so pleased to be so very wrong.”

“Is that a yes?” Hermione asked sweetly.

Bella sighed in contentment, chin dropping as she met Hermione’s gaze once more. “To think I had
you pegged as an uptight little prude, preaching self-righteous fodder from atop your decrepit
soapbox.” Glossy eyes tracked across Hermione’s face, along her neck and chest. “But I see you
clearly now, pretty one. Cunning as a fox, lethal as a scorpion, cloaked in wool and tied with a
pretty bow.” Her gaze flickered up. “How ever did he trap such a creature here?”

“He didn’t.” Hermione’s expression darkened. “I came to free his prisoners.”

Bella’s artfully sketched brows drew in, confusion etching every line of her porcelain visage. “You
can’t. Even if you make it to the Castle, there’s no way out.”

“Is that why the Dollmaker tore Wonderland apart trying to stop me?”

Bella’s eyes sparked at the center. “I assure you, fox, there’s no exit.” A loaded pause. “I’ve
looked.”

Hermione tilted her head. “Eager to leave?”

"Not at all. I've merely explored the landscape to my contentment. Nothing is off-limits to me."

“Except for the Castle,” Hermione supplied with a smile.

Bella’s expression turned acrimonious. But whatever response she might have offered fell to the
wayside as footsteps sounded on the other side of the wall. They both turned to the hedge a
moment before Dolohov appeared. Hermione blinked, realizing she’d forgotten all about him in
the wake of Bella’s arrival. He stepped between the two women, twirling the petrified bird like a
cricket bat.

Bella tilted her head, porcelain scraping with the motion. She examined him carefully, recognition
blooming alongside a sharp cackle. “Dolly? What on God’s pitiful earth are you doing here?” She
glanced over his shoulder to Hermione, laughter deepening. “Oh, you poor pathetic soul! All this
for a woman who despises you? If I’d known what a devoted masochist you were we could have
been such good friends.”

He rolled his shoulders back, gripping the flamingo with both hands and bracing his feet apart.
“Hermione, go.”

She blinked, staring at his back.

He glanced over his shoulder, expression taut. “Now!”

Bella’s laughter tapered off, though her eyes continued to dance with merriment. “Don’t run far,
darling, I’ll make quick work of your beloved.”

Hermione’s gaze held a wicked gleam of its own. “I’ll be waiting,” she vowed, then spun on her
heel, dashing through the hedges.

Bella’s sharp amusement chased at her heels, the sound met by Dolohov’s low grunt. It was
probably too great a wish that they destroy each other, leaving nothing behind but a pile of loose
limbs in the grass. Hermione just hoped he lived long enough to give her a decent head start.

She kept her eyes on the curve of the bridge ahead, turning corner after corner and meeting dead-
end after dead-end. The structure grew larger, closer, until at last she rounded the final hedge,
staggering to a halt.

The bridge was a massive arch of gleaming copper, simple in construction yet ornate in design.
The spokes of the handrail were covered in metallic ivy, reminding her of Grindelwald's spiral
staircase. The slats comprising the walkway were thin and tightly packed, appearing almost as one
solid piece.

Hermione stepped forward and gripped the railing, heart fluttering as a subtle vibration met her
palm. She paid the sensation little mind, lifting her skirt and leaping onboard, inhaling swiftly
before racing for the summit, thighs burning at the steep incline. She was panting by the time she
reached the apex, clutching the rail with both hands as she admired the landscape below. The sight
was mesmerizing, even if it was disheartening in equal measure.

The maze was truly endless. Its springy walls twisted and turned in dizzying patterns, the glare of
the twin suns adding to the puzzlement and disorientation. Hermione searched the winding terrain
for her friends, for movement, for anything, but all she saw was the neatly trimmed hedge tops.

“Shite!” She hissed, pounding her fists on the rail.

Something clicked, loud and sharp, and then the entire bridge began to vibrate, the slats rumbling
as though an engine sat beneath her feet.

For the love of Christ… what now?

Hermione staggered back, colliding against the opposite rail with a shriek as the floor began to
shift, narrow gaps appearing between the copper slats and expelling bursts of steam. She scurried
away from the heated clouds, only to lose her balance as the entire bridge began to undulate like a
mechanical snake, the massive structure slithering forward.

Hermione dropped low, grabbing the spindles as the metal monstrosity oscillated over the hedges,
the slats contracting and expanding like vertebrae, lending the bridge its serpentine flexibility.
Steam continued hissing through the gaps in the floor, nearly scalding her flesh as she rolled to and
fro, frantically dodging their scorching blasts. The grinding of hidden gears was deafening,
trembling the bushes as the steam-powered beast slipped over and around the walls at unsettling
speeds.

Hermione clutched the ivy-covered spindles with all her might, finally rooting herself in place as
the floor continued to undulate in deep waves. The bridge jolted hard, picking up speed and
changing direction as though truly alive. She had no idea where it was heading and seemed to have
little choice in the matter, the latter far more annoying than the former. But wherever Hermione
was going at least one thing was abundantly certain…

Nothing would stop her from reaching the Castle.

Lavender twirled a strand of pale hair around her finger as she journeyed beneath another archway,
the hedges parting wide every time the head gnome waved his little hand.

“Damn, I wish you boys had attacked sooner, might’ve saved us from a skinny dip with the giant
squid.”

The leader glanced back, plaster brows disappearing beneath his cap. “You traversed the Fountain
of Temptation and Woe?”

She spun her hammer with idle skill, watching as Mowgli darted between the shrunken creatures to
study them close, much to their grumbled dissent.

“What idiot named it that?”

The leader glanced forward once more. “I did.”

Lavender blinked, nearly losing grip on the twirling handle. “Oh.” She lowered the weapon to her
side. “Great name. It’s really… poetic.”

One of the middle gnomes batted Mowgli in the face with a scowl. The monkey flinched back,
rubbing his nose and turning to the next plaster elf, examining it anew.
“You and your companions are skilled warriors,” the leader continued, waving his hand before a
hedge. “The Queen was wise to entrust the key to you.”

Lavender grinned with pride as another archway formed. "I guess we are, huh?" She followed
through the opening, eyes drifting. "And to think, it took dying to really live…" A sudden weight
pressed upon her chest. She pushed the burden aside, turning her focus on her traveling
companions. "What's your name anyway?"

The head gnome led them around a wall. “Caedmon.”

“Caedmon,” she repeated with a smirk. “Mind if I call you Cade?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes, then stiffened as frightened breathing met her ears, feminine and distinct.
Lavender charged ahead, leaping over cone hats and raising her hammer aloft.

Her boots slid across the grass as she rounded the hedge, staggering to a halt in the middle of
another enclosure. This one was even more disturbing than the last. Branch cages lined the
perimeter, each of varying size and shape. There was movement in the corner. Lavender turned,
spotting a flash of hair and skirts between the jutting thorns of two large prisons.

“Padma! Dawn!”

“Lavender!” The girls shouted in unison, scurrying closer to the bars of their cells.

Lavender darted forward, Mowgli chasing at her side as she reached for them.

“Don’t touch the branches!” Dawn warned.

Lavender stopped before their cages, the soft patter of footsteps entering the courtyard at the same
moment. "No worries, I brought reinforcements."

Dawn tilted her head, glancing past Lavender’s shoulder and blinking twice. “Are those…”

“Cade and the Gardeners,” Lavender supplied breezily.

The scowling leader himself stomped to her side, boots leaving no imprint on the grass. “Get
back,” he ordered, lifting his spade.

She moved aside as his men closed in, sawing and hacking through the branches with
determination.

“Where’s Hermione?” Padma asked over the snapping of wood.

“I was hoping you’d know.”

“We haven’t seen her,” Dawn said, nursing a bloody hand.

“We’ll find her,” Lavender stated with confidence, “or she’ll find us.”

Her assurances fell flat as the ground began to vibrate.

Dawn edged back, gazing at the trembling grass. “Do you feel that?”

Mowgli sidled closer to Lavender, clinging to her skirts as a distant roar filled the air, steady and
repetitive like the grinding of gears, becoming louder as the ground shook harder.

“What is it?” Lavender asked, glancing to Cade.

He hacked dutifully through another branch, pushing aside dagger-sized thorns with a chipped
hand. “Something on its way to tear you limb from limb, no doubt.”

Lavender tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Probably. Don't know why I bothered asking.”

At last, an opening appeared at the base of Padma’s enclosure. She dropped to her knees, crawling
forward. Lavender helped pull her through as the gnomes set to work on Dawn’s cage. All the
while the ground continued to quake, the noise mounting higher and higher.

“You okay?” Lavender asked.

Padma nodded, stray twigs catching her hair as she finally emerged. Lavender gave her arms a
reassuring squeeze before pushing up and stumbling to the neighboring cell. She started prying
branches apart with the hook of her hammer, chest rumbling with the earth’s vibration. By the time
Dawn staggered free Lavender was certain the ground would split wide.

“Run!” Cade shouted, his men dispersing in every direction as they hobbled for the hedges,
leaping headlong into leaves and glistening flowers.

Lavender tucked her weapon into her boot and reached for Dawn’s hand, then turned for their third
member.

“I figured it out!” Padma yelled.

Lavender jolted with the unexpected announcement. “What?”

Padma bounced eagerly, seemingly oblivious to their impending doom. “The numbers! I know
what they mean!”

Lavender nodded, reaching out and taking her hand. “That’s super fantastic! You can tell us all
about it while we’re running for our lives!”

She smiled brightly and turned on her heel, dragging her companions through the nearest gap in the
hedges, Mowgli tight at their heels.

Hermione reached up, clutching the handrail for dear life as her legs flailed aimlessly, unable to
gain her footing atop the serpentine slats. The concealed engine was deafening, its mechanical roar
radiating through every bone in her body. She tried to keep her gaze directed through the ivy
balusters but her grip kept slipping, focus drawn in every direction at once.

Hedges rushed past in rapid succession, the copper snake traversing the maze in record time. The
bridge could prove a vital resource if only she knew how to control the damn thing. Alas,
Hermione was barely able to avoid the steam hissing through the floor. She imagined this was
what it felt like to be trapped atop a runaway horse, knuckles white around the reins and a
desperate prayer on her lips.

She peered over her shoulder to inspect the hectic landscape, seeing only a blur of green and
intermittent flash of red until finally, another sight graced the canvas. Pale fabric and golden hair.
Hermione pulled to her knees and screamed over the railing.
“Lavender!”

The snake cleared another wall and brought the others into view, skirts and hair fluttering a few
paces behind their darting figures.

“Padma! Dawn!”

They didn’t turn their heads or flinch, Hermione’s cry lost beneath the mechanical grind. She
sucked in a desperate breath and dodged another blast of steam, reaching for the rail and trying one
more time.

“Mowgli!”

Their furry companion stumbled, rolling twice before springing to his feet and turning around. His
yellow eyes glinted like coins as he stared upon the slithering bridge, mesmerized and frozen, until
finally spotting Hermione through the copper spindles.

He held her gaze for another frantic beat and then chased after the girls, pouncing through the air
and grabbing onto Lavender’s skirts. He crawled up her side and clung to her shoulder, tugging
wildly at her sleeve. The blonde slowed her steps as he pointed, prompting her to turn as well,
finally glimpsing the undulating structure for herself. Her shock was palpable, a staggering force
that tripped her sideways.

Hermione raised her arm as her friend tumbled to the grass, waving madly before clutching the
railing once more, jostled along the slats with bone bruising force.

Padma and Dawn stopped to assist their fallen comrade, then followed the direction of her wide
gaze, gaping at the rumbling giant.

“Mione!” Lavender screamed, pushing to her feet.

Hermione tried to muster a response but was rendered breathless as the bridge changed direction
without warning, moving away from her friends.

“Can you stop it?” Lavender yelled.

Hermione shook her head, trying to pull upright.

“Jump!” The blonde called, the distance between them stretching.

Hermione blinked, gazing upon the vast maze beneath her, every branch littered with razor-tipped
thorns. “I’ll be shredded!”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Hermione racked her brain, groaning as the slats undulated beneath her boots. “No!” Goddammit.

She dug deep and wrenched herself up, swinging a leg over the rail and straddling it tight, nearly
falling sideways as a powerful wave traveled the length of the bridge. Once the center leveled out
she swung her other leg across, eyes narrowing on an unassuming patch of grass ahead. If
Hermione could just clear the hedges she could avoid injury… Probably. Maybe.

But before she could formulate the rest of her plan the bridge changed direction without warning,
swinging a hard left. Her hands slipped, the railing disappearing from her grip as she fell down
down down—
And landed atop a row of hedges.

Hermione screamed at the piercing sting in her arm, rolling sideways with the momentum, thorns
tearing her dress as leaves tangled in her hair. She hit the grass with a heavy thud, blinking against
the glare of copper as the bridge slithered past, the hiss of steam and roar of gears slowly fading in
the distance. The trembling ground settled at long last, prompting her to push up with a pained
groan, shoulder and arm throbbing in time to her heart.

“Hermione!” An unseen voice called.

Lavender.

She exhaled sharply. “I’m here,” she wheezed, rolling to her knees.

“Mione!”

She staggered upright, spotting the blood on her arm. “Over here!”

“I hear her!” Dawn announced.

“This way!” Lavender’s voice sounded louder, clearer. “Marco!”

Hermione blinked, swaying in place, then smiled, taking a steadying breath and tipping her head
back. “Polo!”

“Turn right!” Padma yelled, their footsteps finally audible through the branches.

Hermione trudged forward, red dripping from her fingertips with the same pitter-patter as the roses
at her sides. There was movement between the leaves. “I can see you!” She cried, running in as
straight a line as she could manage, equilibrium tipped on its head.

They reached the end of the hedge a heartbeat apart. Mowgli darted around the wall first, leaping
onto Hermione's skirts as her friends came skidding through, colliding in their haste. Hermione
rocked with the impact but was held upright by arms looping her waist and neck and shoulders, the
four women embracing tight until it became impossible to tell limbs and hair and breath apart. She
took comfort in their warmth and shared laughter, sagging into their hold as her muscles turned
strangely lax.

And then Padma gasped, drawing away sharply.

“Hermione! You’re bleeding!”

Hermione glanced down, carefully extracting her arm from the group hug. The laceration across
her bicep was deeper than she thought, the blood refusing to clot. “It’s just a scratch,” she assured,
waving a hand to further her point. A cut wasn’t going to slow her down. Not now.

“We’ll patch you up at the Castle,” Lavender said. Her voice sounded like she was in a tunnel.

Hermione rubbed a hand over her face, feeling Mowgli press into her shoulder as his tail grazed her
throat. “Terrific,” she mumbled.

Lavender’s expression tensed. “Shite.”

Hermione blinked away spots from her vision. “I’m fine—” The pastel sky filled her sight as she
fell back, knees turning to rubber. Dawn and Padma rushed forward, catching her half-way down
and lowering her to the grass.
“Mione!” Lavender dropped before her, Mowgli landing at her side.

“Oh my god,” Dawn cried, “she’s bleeding out!”

Lavender met Hermione’s clouded gaze, her voice steady despite the obvious fear in her eyes.
“What do we do?”

Padma placed Hermione’s head in her lap before pressing her hands against the wound, slowing
the heavy outpour.

“I may have nicked my brachial artery,” Hermione stated evenly, an eerie calm settling overhead
even as her toes and fingers turned numb with cold. Red seeped out from between Padma’s hands,
glistening atop the grass. “We need to apply a tourniquet.”

Lavender blinked quickly. “Okay… okay okay okay…” She nodded to herself with each word,
searching the ground as though waiting for the items to materialize. “We need fabric—”

“Two strips,” Hermione said. “And a stick.”

Lavender’s eyes flickered up. “A stick?”

“A strong one.”

Mowgli darted to the hedges and reached for a branch. Thorns sprung forth in warning, nearly the
size of his head and halting his attempt. Lavender reached into her boot, extracting her hammer and
spinning it around, presenting the handle. “Will this work?”

Hermione wet her lips, mouth dry. “I’ll need to wear it, you won’t be able to use it anymore.”

“I’ll destroy my enemies the old-fashioned way,” the blonde replied without missing a beat, setting
the hammer aside as Dawn tore fabric from her dress, holding the material aloft.

“Is this okay?”

Hermione nodded, head swimming with the effort. Dawn handed the strip to Lavender before
gathering her skirts and starting on a second.

Padma met Hermione’s eye from above, face upside down and stricken, tears in her eyes as she
faithfully pressed against the wound. Hermione wanted to assure the girl that everything was fine.
But time was of the essence and both their energy was better spent on other tasks.

“Alright…” Hermione muttered, fingers curling in the grass. “Lift your hands, Padma.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, we have to work fast.”

Padma nodded and did as bade, a fresh wave of blood gushing free from the parted flesh, eager to
escape her veins. Hermione met Lavender’s eyes, the blonde’s visage pulled tight with
determination.

“Just tell me what to do,” her friend stated, gripping the first strip tight around her palms.

“Wrap the fabric above the highest gash and tie it off with a square knot,” Hermione instructed,
“make it as tight as you can.”
Lavender moved quickly, hands steady even as her fingers turned slippery with blood. Hermione
gestured to the hammer. “Place the handle flat against the band. Secure it in place with another
square knot, does that make sense?”

The blonde nodded. “I think so.”

Hermione watched her work. “Yes. Like that.” She took a deep breath, losing feeling in her left
hand. “Now turn the hammer. Tighten the band as much as you can, don’t worry about hurting
me.”

Lavender did as bade, eyes unblinking in their concentration. “That’s as far as it will go.”

“Tie the hammer in place with the second strip.”

Lavender accepted the fabric from Dawn, wrapping it tight around the injured limb before securing
the handle with a knot. “How do we know if it’s working?”

“Press two fingers to my wrist,” Hermione whispered, skin flushed and clammy. “Can you feel my
pulse?”

Lavender shook her head, glancing up hopefully.

"Good," Hermione breathed. "Help me up."

Padma scooted back, supporting her shoulders as Lavender grasped her uninjured arm, pulling her
upright.

“Hermione Granger.” Lavender grasped her hips to steady her. “If they don’t let you into medical
school I’m going to haunt every goddamn hospital in England.”

“That’s the nicest offer anyone’s ever made me.” Hermione smiled, leaning into the blonde’s side.
“And if we don’t find a way out of here in the next hour I’ll be haunting them with you.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“It isn’t a joke.”

“I can get us out,” Padma stated abruptly, earning their collective gazes. “I figured out the key to
the numbers.”

Hermione searched her face. “What is it?”

Padma grinned, taking a breath, but it was another voice that responded.

“Yes, darling, do share with the rest of the class.”

They each turned to stone beneath the Gorgon’s lethal stare as Bella stepped out from behind the
hedge.

“I’ve been dying to know the secret of this maze for some time. Puzzles never suited me, you see.
I’ve no patience for such things.” She wet her lips, sunlight glinting off her eyes. “When I see
something I want, I simply take it. But when my desires elude me I become… unpleasant.”

Lavender lifted her chin, rigid as a plank against Hermione’s side. “Your desires must elude you all
the time.”
Bella tilted her head, grin widening. “Lavender Brown…” Her hips swayed as she sauntered closer.
“I remember you now, darling. The golden butterfly. Metallic wings fluttering through the halls,
catching everyone’s eye. We received countless requests for you at the Club. You would have
made a killing with us.”

Lavender scowled. “Fascinating choice of words.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still holding a grudge about that.” Bella sighed dramatically. “You knew too
much, butterfly. There was nothing for it. Still, I tried to spare you. We offered you a way out of
that ghastly orphanage, a chance to be a part of our family, a chance at a full life. You could have
been one of my girls. I take excellent care of what’s mine. Alas, you refused, sealing your own
fate.”

Lavender surged forward “And now I get to seal yours—”

She stopped short at Hermione’s strangled gasp, the swift movement causing Hermione to lose
balance. Lavender stepped back into place, acting as a human crutch.

The brief exchange caught Bella’s attention, her dark eyes fastening to the make-shift tourniquet
and river of crusted blood. “Oh, my. I daresay that will leave behind a wicked scar.”

"Good," Hermione replied. "Every time I see it I'll think of the time we finally defeated you." She
addressed her companions without taking her eyes from the threat at their front. "Dawn, Padma, go
now. We'll catch up."

Dawn shifted nervously. “But—”

“Go,” Lavender said, gaze fixed ahead.

Padma and Dawn exchanged a frazzled glance before edging back, turning for the nearest opening.

Bella tisked. “Running off so soon? I think not.” She lifted her hands, the frayed ribbons at her
wrists shooting forth and seizing the two women by their necks, dragging them in. “I insist you
stay.”

Lavender released Hermione and lunged forward with a hiss, only to be silenced by a ribbon
around her throat as well, choking on a gasp. Mowgli darted in next, grasped mid-air by a satin
tendril around his middle, binding him tightly with a bow.

“Don’t you get it?” Bella cooed, running a porcelain finger along Lavender’s flushed cheek,
indifferent to her wild struggles. “You can never win, no matter how badly I’m damaged he’ll
always put me back together again.”

“You call that winning?” Lavender croaked, voice thin and eyes bloodshot as she clawed at her
noose.

Hermione staggered forward, anemic and dizzy but no less determined to help.

“You all belong to me.” Bella’s eyes cut to her uneven approach, black ribbons quickly followed
suit and coiling around Hermione’s neck, choking off her airway and dragging her across the grass.
“I’m the true Queen! Wonderland’s true ruler! Not that frail little bitch hiding behind her stone
walls!”

“You’re nothing but a toy,” Hermione spoke between stuttered breaths, clawing at the constriction
around her throat. “A doll he created in her image. All of this is because of Ariana. Don’t you see
that?” She dropped her arm, giving up the struggle and fixing Bella with her full attention. “Let us
end it, once and for all. Let go of this place. Let go of him. You’re alive on the outside, you can
still be free.”

Bella’s expression tensed, grooves appearing along the delicate porcelain. “I need him.”

“Why?”

“He puts me back together. Always.”

Hermione swallowed, the ribbon loosening just enough for her to inhale swiftly. “Sometimes it’s
better to break. To discard the pieces and start anew.”

Bella loosened her hold on the others, their struggles waning, but her glass eyes remained fixed on
Hermione alone. “You’re just a little girl.” Her ribbons slid away entirely, dropping limp and
lifeless to the grass between them. “You’re all just children, locked away in a fantasy world.
Forever young. Forever beautiful. You couldn’t possibly understand the crippling ache of time.”

Hermione rubbed her neck, feet rooted to the spot even as the others staggered back. “Each of us
has experienced enough crippling ache to last a lifetime.”

Bella considered her intently, searching her face for something Hermione couldn’t begin to
comprehend, too exhausted to reason her way any further. Bella’s lacquered lips parted, gaze
flickering, but before she could respond the hedges on either side of them began to violently rustle,
droplets of blood shaking free from the petals.

And then, much to Hermione’s intrigue though hardly her shock, garden gnomes began crawling
out of the leaves and dropping to the ground, striding forward with lifelike motion.

She blinked twice before rubbing her eyes, just to make certain this wasn’t some hallucination
contrived by her oxygen-deprived mind. Alas, when she glanced back down the gnomes remained.
Her companions appeared unfazed by the new arrivals. Bella merely looked annoyed.

“I’d nearly forgotten about you lot,” Bella greeted with an unwelcoming grin. “I do hope she’s
given you decent weapons this time.”

They each scowled in turn, faces flushed and mustaches twitching as they held their miniature tools
aloft.

Bella tisked anew. "She takes terrible care of you boys. If you were mine I'd equip you the finest of
instruments."

“Our Queen detests violence,” one of the gnomes growled. “But we’re willing to make an
exception for you.”

Without further ado or command the gnomes surged ahead, weaving around Hermione en route to
Bella, releasing shrill battle cries as they stabbed at her silk skirts. Hermione stepped back, wasting
no energy on trying to process the latest oddity. Instead she turned, or tried to, losing her balance
halfway around and collapsing in a heap. Lavender rushed forward, dropping at her side.

“Go now!” The gnome demanded. “Protect our Queen!”

Hermione tried to push upright but her arms could no longer support her weight. Lavender
struggled to maneuver her. “Help me lift her!”
Dawn and Padma ran forward, Mowgli outpacing them, the three women working together to pull
Hermione to her feet without disturbing her injured limb. Lavender looped as an arm around
Hermione's waist and met Padma's eye.

“You figured out the numbers?”

The brunette nodded, eyes bright. “Triangles.”

Lavender blinked. “Huh?”

“We were hung up on primes because they denote a dead end but the key was always to choose the
sum of the units in an equilateral triangle—”

“That’s brilliant, Padma,” the blonde cut in, carefully taking Hermione’s weight against her side,
“can you work your magic now?”

Padma nodded again, spinning around and charging for the plate bolted to the grass, carefully
examining its face before glancing back. “Hermione?”

Hermione dug deep, meeting her gaze. “Read them to me.”

Padma gazed down once more. “C, M, I, X.”

“909,” Hermione whispered, feeling nauseous and faint at the same time.

“C, M, three I’s.”

“903.”

Padma shot to her feet. “903 is triangular!” She bounced in place before launching towards the
exit. “We need to go left!”

Dawn ran to her side as Hermione staggered through the grass with Lavender’s guidance, the pair
nearly through the opening when Bella screamed gleefully at their backs.

“I slit your throat myself, butterfly!”

Lavender rocked to a standstill, halting Hermione alongside her. The sound of the scuffle swelled
all around them, the gnomes diligently keeping their shared enemy at bay. Hermione studied her
friend’s profile, the tight set of her jaw and amber gleam of her eyes, wondering what she would
do. Lavender briefly met her stare, a silent and powerful message conveyed between them, and
then slowly turned around, prompting Hermione to do the same.

Bella watched on with barely tamped amusement, easily sidestepping pitchforks and shovels before
kicking a gnome’s head clean off as it tried to lasso her wrist.

“Once upon a time, I actually admired you,” Lavender stated calmly, causing Bella’s eyes to
flicker. “Back when I thought you were cunning and strong. Before I knew you were nothing more
than a hollow shell of glass, so terrified of facing reality you’ve turned yourself into a puppet,
willingly manipulated and controlled by anyone within reach of your strings.”

Bella fell still and silent, all traces of amusement long faded.

“My life was taken from me,” Lavender continued, chin held high. “You gave yours away.” She
gave the doll a flippant once-over. “You’re too pathetic to hate.”
Bella swayed back with the force of the words, seemingly oblivious to the rope being wrapped
around her legs.

Lavender reached for Hermione, supporting her weight and directing her to the exit. Padma
awaited them with a proud smile, turning on her heel and leading the group around the hedge.
Dawn and Mowgli followed next while Lavender and Hermione closed the rear, stumbling several
paces behind.

No one spared Bellatrix a backward glance, much to the doll’s chagrin. Her feral scream was
blood-curdling, following them around the wall and up the winding path.

Parvati directed them along a curved hedge before drawing up short, glancing back with panicked
eyes. Hermione blinked through her fatigue, trying to discern the problem. She finally spotted the
obstacle as Padma and Dawn moved aside, revealing a body in the grass. She dug in her heels,
prompting Lavender to do the same, each of them staring down at the twisted form of Dolohov.

He was crumpled rather strangely, though nothing drew the eye quite like the sight of pink
flamingo legs twisted around his neck, choking out his life. Figuratively, it would seem,
considering his chest continued to rise and fall in shallow successions.

Lavender tilted her head. “I must say, of all the weird shite we’ve seen, this really takes the cake.”

Padma edged around his unconscious form. “Should we try to wake him?”

“Let him rot,” the blonde snapped with venom.

Dawn stepped around him next, studying his face and paling. “Who is he?”

“Another no one.” Lavender glanced sideways. “Right, Mione?”

Hermione swallowed heavily, too drained to make sense of the sharp pain in her chest. “Right,” she
muttered, staring pointedly ahead as Lavender helped her forward.

Mowgli followed close behind, opting to run over Dolohov’s limp body, stepping on his face and
pouncing to the grass.

A low groan filled the air, transforming them into ice sculptures until a pained gasp drew their
attention back.

Dolohov started coming to, raising a hand to his face but unable to reach past the flamingo. He
blinked, awake at last, taking in his rather peculiar predicament before prying the stiff legs apart
and casting the bird aside, coughing as he sat up.

Mowgli tilted his head as he watched the show, scratching his ear with the tip of his tail, the
motion catching Dolohov’s eye. And then his gaze tracked higher, finding the feminine forms
hovering beside him. He glanced between them in confusion until he reached the end of the row.

“Hermione,” he breathed, causing her to shudder. “I knew you’d make it—”

“Shut up,” Lavender ordered. “And stay down. If you try to follow us I’ll break both your legs.”

He smiled, unfazed by her murderous ire. “I don’t believe we’ve met—”

“I know exactly who you are, Dolohov.”

Dawn stiffened at their sides, moving back a step.

“And I know everything you’ve done,” the blonde continued, eyes bright with menace. “Like I said
— Stay. Down.”

Hermione was grateful for her friend’s defense, too weak to muster the words herself. Dark
memories stirred as his gaze lingered upon her, the sharp pain returning. And yet… something else
was unsettling her. Something she couldn’t quite place but was desperate to put to rest once and for
all.

Dolohov’s appearance in Wonderland was perhaps a greater puzzle than the cursed maze itself.
And while Hermione had no great interest in solving this particular riddle, she’d make use of his
presence if it meant furthering their mission.

“It’s alright, Lav.”

Her friend glanced at her sharply. “What?”

“He wants to help us reach the Castle. Until we’re clear of the maze we may need him.”

“For what? A human shield?”

“Precisely.” Hermione met her amber stare. “Bella might escape again.”

As if waiting for that very moment to illustrate her point, the echo of shrill screams and shattering
gnomes drifted in from a distance.

Lavender ground her teeth, directing her glare forward as Dolohov pushed to his feet. “Fine. Keep
your mouth shut and stay out of our way. If you try anything I’ll—”

“Break both my legs?” He provided airily, brushing grass from his trousers.

“No.” Her hands curled, razor claws extending. “I’ll take one of those branches and jam it up your
—”

“Lav, please.” Hermione listed heavily against her, the earth tilting beneath her feet. “We have to
go.”

Dolohov tensed, seeming to notice the tourniquet for the first time. “You’re hurt.”

“What did I say about keeping your mouth shut?” Lavender hissed before turning to their
companions. “Keep going, Patil.”

Padma blinked, processing the words before grinning broadly. “That’s my last name!” She hopped
on the balls of her feet. “I remember!”

Lavender smirked. “That’s great, Padma, but—”

“Right! The numbers!” Padma turned on her heel, dashing to the wall ahead and studying the
plaque. “M, three X’s and three I’s.”

Hermione wet her lips, dropping her forehead to Lavender’s shoulder. “1033.”

“Prime,” Padma muttered with a shake of her head. “M, three X’s and a V.”

"1035," Hermione replied, determined to stay conscious long enough to escape this thorny
Tartarus.
Padma spun, dark hair fanning her shoulders in a wide arc. “Triangle!”

She led them right. Dawn was quick to follow, though not before glancing nervously over her
shoulder, eyes lingering on Dolohov as she disappeared around the corner.

Lavender pulled Hermione forward, sparing no mind for the man at their backs. But Hermione was
hyper-aware of his boots treading only a few paces behind, the low wheeze of his breath. She
closed her eyes, focusing on her own stuttered heartbeat until Padma stopped at the next plate and
called out more roman numerals. Despite the simplicity of her task, Hermione felt her strength
waning with every conversion, grateful they had Padma to do the heavy mathematical lifting.

By the time they crossed their fourth intersection, Lavender was dragging her alongside them.
Padma steered clear of dead ends, leading them steadily closer to the heart of the labyrinth. The
hillside grew larger with every turn, practically right on top of them now, the gleaming Castle a
magnificent sight Hermione was helpless to look away from.

“M, C, C, X, X, V,” Padma recited.

“1225,” Hermione muttered, eyeing the glistening red stones of the Castle and wondering if it too
was dying of blood loss.

“Left!”

Another two turns and Hermione caught her second wind even as her boots dragged behind her.
For the scenery had changed at long last. They stood at the mouth of a stone walkway, the narrow
path leading to an arched hedge, its leaves and petals framing a close-up view of the jagged
hillside.

The end of the maze.

Everyone gasped, halting their tracks and swaying in place, no one believing their eyes. Mowgli
broke their shared daze by darting ahead, bouncing off the stones like a jackrabbit on speed. Dawn
and Padma burst into excited laughter and dead runs while Lavender tightened her grip on
Hermione’s waist, dutifully hauling her to freedom. Hermione did her best to assist, using her
newfound adrenaline to shuffle along, though she mostly succeeded in making Lavender swerve to
and fro like a drunkard. Dolohov kept slow and even pace behind them, always the shadow she just
couldn’t seem to shake. Hermione could feel his gleaming eyes upon her but refused to spare him a
glance. Nothing would ruin this moment.

They stumbled free at last, emerging from the center hedge and arriving at the very foot of the hill.

“You did it, Padma!” Dawn cried, hugging her tightly.

“We all did it,” Padma replied with a beaming smile.

Hermione nearly burst into tears, relieved beyond measure to be free of the rose-addled prison. But
she suppressed her own celebration in lieu of facing the rock wall, head tipped back as she
inspected the steep drop. It seemed there was still one challenge left, insurmountable in the
extreme. Because even if Hermione had use of both arms and all her strength, there was absolutely
no way she could scale the massive cliff. None of them could.

“Hold on,” Lavender stated to no one in particular.

Hermione blinked, glancing sideways. “Hold on to wh—”

The ground quaked, hard, causing everyone to stagger. Hermione clung to her friend, glancing up
in panic as stones and rocks dislodged from the hillside, raining down like missiles. Mowgli darted
to her side and held tight to her leg, trembling in time to the seismic tremors. The others shuffled
back nervously but Lavender didn’t flinch, her feline gaze fixed ahead with eager anticipation.

“This is my favorite part.”

Hermione’s stomach clenched with the ominous declaration, dread mounting as more boulders
were dislodged.

It was then she noticed the hill was trembling harder than the ground, a deep horizontal fissure
appearing along its center. The crack splintered and spread, rocks falling faster, a cloud of dust
forming along the opening as stone seemed to disintegrate around it.

And suddenly, Hermione came to a stunning realization.

The hill was pulling apart, the top lifted by some invisible force, levitating the Castle with it.

Mowgli crawled up her side to perch atop her shoulder, mirroring her dumbfounded expression as
the upper portion of the hill rose higher and higher, revealing a hidden structure within the rock.
Hermione collapsed against Lavender's side as the last of the boulders fell, the dust finally clear.

The Castle sat like a gleaming lid atop a massive teapot, the bulbous base decorated with the same
ornate scrollwork as her lost blade. Dark brown liquid began pouring from the spout like a
waterfall, cascading down what was left of the hillside to pool along the dip in the earth, forming a
steaming and fragrant moat of tea. The pot continued to rise, the gleaming Castle lifted into the
wispy clouds, lost to sight.

Hermione blinked, swaying in place with only one thought remaining. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Draco turned his head, blinking at the empty space beside him before turning with a scowl.

"Any slower and you'd be going backward!"

Potter glared from his slumped position against the wall. “Feel free to overpower the next guard,
Lancelot.”

Fucking ponce.

Draco rounded the corner with a determined step, glancing forward and reaching for the bannister,
only to stagger to a halt, chest seizing at the sight before him.

“Draco!” The apparition on the stairs shouted.

Potter pushed off from the wall, face strained as he hurried to Draco’s side.

“Potter?” His father whispered, rocking back a step and dispelling the final hope he was merely a
hallucination.

Draco shook his head, breaking free from his stupor. “Dad? How did you—”

He lost his already disjointed train of thought as Parvati burst onto the scene like a carriage crash
victim. She slid across the hardwood, bare feet losing traction as she frantically searched the room,
spotting the men on the steps a moment later.
“Harry!” She cried.

Potter shouldered past. “Parvati, are you alright?”

“Theo needs help!”

Draco’s heart skipped, feet following the pair on instinct. His father caught his arm, pulling him
back as Potter and Parvati disappeared from sight, their footsteps fading down the hall.

“Draco, please come with me—”

“I don’t have time for this,” Draco scathed, pulling free from his hold. His father shifted down a
stair, blocking his path. “Let me pass—”

“Listen to me!” Lucius shouted, gripping Draco’s shoulders and forcing their eyes to meet. “You
can’t associate yourself with these people, not like this. It’s a path of darkness you’ll never find
your way back from—”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Yes, goddammit!”

Draco blinked, rendered silent by the uncharacteristic display of emotions morphing his father’s
stoic features.

“Please do not repeat my mistakes, Draco. Be a better man, a wiser man. Walk away from this
place and never look back.”

Draco searched his father’s silver gaze, trying to determine if this was just another act, some new
and creative manipulation. He wondered if he’d ever spoken to the real Lucius Malfoy, whether the
original version even existed anymore.

“I can’t.”

Lucius squeezed his son’s shoulders tighter. “You can—”

“You’re not listening to me; I’m not leaving without her.”

Lucius bowed back with the force of the declaration, eyes flickering as he no doubt tried to process
the meaning. “Hermione,” he muttered at last, hands dropping away. “They have her.”

Draco’s heartbeat reverberated through his limbs as his father shook his head, expression
mournful.

“Then she’s already gone, son.”

“Enough!” Draco marched past, stomping down the steps in the hope they’d break underfoot. “It
seems we’re both obstinate bastards. You should have taken my advice and left town.”

Lucius stiffened, following at his heels. “What have you done?”

Draco had no intention of responding but was spared from further rebuke as the front door swung
wide, an army of men sailing through with a familiar face at the helm.

Lucius rocked to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. “I see,” he whispered, silver gaze fastening to
the man in front. “Commissioner Bones.”
“Lord Malfoy,” Bones stated with an air of authority that surpassed even the formidable Lucius
Malfoy. “I must say, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Lucius maintained his effortless poise, betraying not a hint of the desperation he’d bared to his son
only moments ago. “At the home of my sister-in-law and her husband? Is such an occurrence truly
newsworthy?”

Bones lifted a dark brow, stopping a few paces away from the Malfoy duo as the last of his men
trickled in. “I think we both know what the morning headline will read.”

“I’m afraid I don’t catch your meaning, Commissioner. Regardless, I merely stopped by to fetch
my son. I’ve encountered no one else.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Draco admitted reluctantly, “for once in his life.” He avoided his father’s
narrowed gaze. “He really did just arrive.”

“We’ll clear it all up at the station.”

Lucius scoffed. “You can’t seriously intend for me to go to the Yard—”

“Let’s skip this song and dance, shall we?” The Detective interrupted. Draco had never seen
anyone address his father with such flippant dismissal. It was immensely satisfying. “We’re not in
Court and I have a long and monotonous evening of arrests ahead of me. You have one of two
options, Malfoy. You arrive at the station in a private carriage as a free man or you arrive in the
back of a paddywagon with the other guests wearing chains.”

Lucius drew his shoulders level, eyes glinting as he straightened his diamond-studded cufflinks.
“Point the way to the carriage.”

“Marvelous choice,” Bones deadpanned.

Lucius turned to his son. “And you, Draco?”

“I’m staying.”

His father eyed him in silence, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. Draco braced for another
battle, brow creasing as Lucius glanced to the Commissioner instead.

“You’re going to get my son killed, Bones.”

The Detective maintained his steely gaze for a sweltering beat before turning to one of his men.
“Dawlish, please escort Lord Malfoy to the Yard via carriage. Keep him in a private room until I
arrive.”

“Yes, Sir,” the man replied, stepping forward as Bones strode across the main hall, team falling
into formation at his back.

Lucius turned once more, voice lowering. “Draco, please heed my words.”

Draco stepped back, out his father’s reach. “Obstinate bastard, remember?”

He turned on his heel without a parting glance, overhearing the detective escort his father to the
door. Draco’s long legs allowed him to catch up to Bones in a few hurried strides. As they rounded
the corner a uniformed guard came into view, face half concealed by a black mask. The man
staggered to a halt in the corridor, panic twisting his features.
“Stop right where you are,” Bones commanded, reaching into his coat. Draco tensed, expecting a
gun, breathing a sigh of relief when he sighted the gleam of a badge instead. “Huxley,” Bones
called one of his men to attention, “take him outside and stand watch, we’ll begin collecting
employees on the grass.”

“Yes, Sir.” The detective came forward, detaining the shell-shocked guard before leading him back
the way they came.

Bones continued forward, Draco maintaining stride a few paces back until they reached the end of
the hall. The Commissioner lifted a staying hand as muffled voices reached their ears.

“Leighton, Northcott, Kent,” he whispered sharply, dropping his arm, “patrol the halls, send
employees to the lawn and arrest any guests trying to flee.” The detectives nodded, breaking off
from the group without a word. “The rest of you, come with me.”

Draco swept his gaze over the faces in the corridor, realizing they were missing an integral
member. And just as suddenly as curiosity struck, an answer was provided— a sharp and
distinctive bark of laughter filtering in from the adjoining hall.

“Why isn’t Black with you?”

“When the table came crashing through the window he lost what little self-control he had,” Bones
replied with no shortage of aggravation, starting forward once more. “He insisted on coming
through the back to search out Potter himself. It was less trouble letting him off the leash.”

They rounded the wall, steps faltering at the bizarre welcome party awaiting their procession.
Draco’s gaze fastened to Parvati first, her vibrant gown a pulsing beacon from any distance. Then
his attention shifted to Potter and Theo, watching as the former helped the latter stand, both men
appearing as though they’d been spit out of a wood chipper.

“Everyone alright?” Bones asked, approaching the group.

The rest of the conversation dissolved away, outside voices buried beneath the rhythmic thrum of
Draco’s pulse in his ears. His gaze remained fixed upon the unmoving lump on the ground. His
uncle’s limbs were twisted, hair a mess and sleeve soaked through with blood. The man had
already fallen so far, in every sense of the word, and gazing upon him now only made Draco think
of his father, wondering if he’d be made to suffer the same fate.

Lucius Malfoy deserved to be punished, needed to be humbled. But the sight of Rodolphus crippled
and discarded on the floor made Draco’s stomach turn. He was furious with his father, he may
have even hated him… but was he ready to see him completely destroyed? Dark reveries plagued
his mind until Bones pulled his attention back with his next statement.

“As for the rest of us, I think it’s due time we crashed the party.”

Draco blinked, recalling his surroundings, the mission.

“They’re in the theatre,” Theo supplied.

The Commissioner grinned. “Lead the way, Mr. Nott.”

Theo smirked. “With pleasure.”

They continued through the halls like an undulating snake, Nott its guiding head. Muffled
conversation and laughter grew louder with every step, until finally they reached the back of the
sprawling estate, closing in on a set of double doors. A few detectives brandished their weapons as
two more guards came into view, both men promptly detained and hauled away.

And then Bones gestured a very eager Black forward, bestowing upon him the supreme honor of
opening the theatre doors. The Admiral performed the task with great flourish, earning a laugh
from his godson and an eye roll from the Commissioner as the barrier finally gave way.

The explosion of noise caused Draco to rock back on his heels, nearly colliding with Parvati. Bones
gave no discernable reaction as he entered, steps poised and calm, inducing the rest of them to
follow.

The room was packed, the sea of masks overwhelming, but Draco’s attention was fixed to the
narrow runway and the young woman walking across it. A short man stood at the head of the
platform, holding a clipboard and speaking above the commotion with a jester’s enthusiasm.

“—a rare gem indeed, as skilled in the kitchen as she is in the—” His words cut short as he caught
sight of the new arrivals. “I’m sorry, are you gentlemen joining the Auction?”

Conversation tapered off as heads began to turn, a scattering of sharp gasps echoing off the tall
ceiling. Several people backed away as though evading a fire, desperately searching out an exit.

Bones smiled, reaching into his vest once more. “Afraid not. But I’m flattered by the warm
welcome.” He held his badge high for all the crowd to see, his voice cracking like a whip over the
ripple of shock and outrage. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. For those of you who don’t
know me, my name is Edgar Bones, I’m Chief Commissioner for Scotland Yard and Head of the
Criminal Investigation Unit.”

The few remaining hold-outs went wild, everyone joining in the chaos by either clustering together
or abandoning ship, stepping over each other as they scrambled for the exit at the other end of the
platform.

“There’s no need to rush,” Bone stated jovially, tucking his badge away. “I promise to make time
for each and every one of you down at the station.”

Men and women piled onto the catwalk in a graceless frenzy, throwing elbows as they fought to
reach the door first. The grand winners were met by four detectives waiting patiently behind the
curtain. The announcer leaped from the stage, tossing his clipboard into the back of a man's head as
he frantically sought an alternate escape route. The young woman stood atop the end of the
catwalk all the while, watching the riot unfold with blank detachment.

Voices swarmed over Draco from all sides, indistinguishable in their panic.

“This is outrageous—”

“—where is Lestrange?”

“Find Bellatrix—”

“—really police?”

“—can’t go to jail!”

“If my wife finds out—”

“—must be some mistake!”

Bones rubbed a hand across his brow, annoyance seeping from every pore, a stark contrast to the
utter delight coloring Black's expression as he watched a man and woman topple backward off the
stage and into a pile of chairs.

"Everyone shut the hell up!" Bones exploded, voice radiating off the walls like thunder.

The crowd instantly settled, shocked still by the deafening command. Draco’s opinion of the
Commissioner continued to climb.

“There’s no window to break or secret hatch to crawl through. Your only way out of this room is
through one of the two doors my men are currently guarding. Each of you will speak to us. No
exceptions.”

A visible ripple traveled across the sea of faces, desperate eyes flickering behind gaudy masks as
the white-gloved gentry scrambled for the upper hand. A dozen well-suited guests surged forward,
lips parting. Bones shut them down with a single warning glare.

“And before you waste my time: No, I don’t give two shites about who you are or who you know.
Your rank and title mean nothing to me. Your wealth and connections mean nothing to me. Your
threats and bribes— that’s right, you guessed it— mean nothing to me.”

Black’s shoulders trembled as he fought to keep his laughter contained.

“The only bit of collateral any of you have is the truth,” the Commissioner continued, casting a
meaningful glance around the room. “So, if you’d like to avoid a Conspiracy to Commit Sex
Trafficking charge— along with a litany of other offenses, including but not limited to pissing me
the hell off— I suggest you leave your lies and ego at the door.”

The guests blinked, glancing between each other like gaping fish.

“Do I make myself clear?”

The room fell shockingly silent for the first time since they entered. The eerie ambiance lasted
another three seconds before all hell broke loose. Except this time, instead of clamoring for the exit
the guests battled for the Detective's mercy, shouldering each other out of the way as they hurried
towards him, shouting to be heard.

“It wasn’t my idea!”

“—didn’t even want to come!”

“—practically dragged me here—”

“No clue what any of this was—”

“—outraged by such things—”

“Only came to see for myself—”

“—tried putting a stop to it, you see—”

Bones groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is going to be a long bloody night.”

“Well done, Commissioner,” Black congratulated, clapping the Detective on the shoulder. “By the
way, I’m nicking that Two Shites speech the next time I’m called before the Queen.”
Bones rolled his eyes, ignoring him as Parvati edged forward.

“What about the girls?” She asked loudly, the crowd reaching deafening hysterics.

The Commissioner turned to face her. “Get them as far from this circus as possible. Once they’re
settled have Riddle take a look—” He blinked, stopping short and glancing around. Draco came to
the same realization, searching the surrounding masks as Bones voiced their mutual thought aloud.
“Where the hell is Riddle?”

Tom tightened his grip on the reins, directing the horses further along the dirt road. Woods encased
them on either side, moonlight cutting through the trees in narrow beams, illuminating their path.
His bench mate adjusted in her seat, having moved to the front as soon as they left the city, citing
the dark interior as claustrophobic.

“We’re nearly there,” she stated, glancing at the black silhouette of trees in the distance. Tom
continued to stare ahead, offering no response.

"The path looks so different at night," she continued, undaunted by his silence. "I've only traversed
these woods in daylight, once a month to receive my therapy. That's what Angus called it. Though
sometimes he would be out of town, traveling abroad or otherwise detained, and I'd have to skip a
session." She faced forward and tipped her head back, gazing at the star-filled sky. "Years ago,
sheerly out of curiosity, I purposely skipped two treatments in a row… The nightmares were
positively unbearable. I woke screaming every night. Rodolphus had to restrain me one evening,
said I tried climbing through the second-story window. I remember none of it of course; just
another black spot on the tapestry of my mind."

She swallowed lightly, chin lowering. “I wonder what will become of me now, without the
Doctor’s influence in my life.” Her dark gaze cut to Tom. “What will become of you, once you’ve
killed him?”

His fists tightened, as did his jaw.

She tilted her head, studying his profile. “You cannot bear to look at me. Tell me, what have I done
to offend you so?”

Tom watched the treeline turn thin as the path became rocky, wheels groaning across the wild
terrain.

“Earlier tonight, a notion occurred to me,” he said at last, voice low and contemplative. “I
wondered if my mother was made to walk the stage when she was young, a price tag dangling from
her wrist while men shouted their bids from the seats below. If my father was the one to purchase
her or if she was passed around first.”

The horses followed a curving trail, leading them out of the woods and towards a narrow stone
pass.

“I know nothing of her history. Her memories were stripped away and a false backstory never
implanted. Her mind was so damaged she forgot her own name most days. Then again, Merope
was likely the name he assigned to her. No wonder she refused to answer to it.”

They traveled along a rocky hillside. A steep drop off stood just beyond his shoulder, loose debris
falling over the edge, echoing off the bottom of the ravine.

“He’s obviously perfected his technique in the three decades since then. Look at you. Able to retain
your natural disposition and the bulk of your memories with seamless precision.”

“Is that why you hate me? Because I’m one of them? A better version?”

They passed the hill and arrived before a set of tall gates, the rod iron barrier standing wide open.

“Being one of them was the only thing that kept me from killing you,” Tom stated simply, urging
the horses forward while carefully watching the surrounding trees.

She inhaled slowly, gripping the seat. “Then perhaps I am better off staying as I am.”

His pulse quickened as they rounded the curve and a house appeared in the distance, situated at the
end of a long cobblestone drive. Its pale walls and twisting ivy were barely visible in the darkness
but Tom was certain he could see the rippling outline of its sinister aura.

“My mother escaped without the cure. Her mind steadily deteriorated until she was no more than a
shell resembling a person.”

She continued to watch him, moonlight gleaming in her eyes. “I know the feeling well. My
miscarriage left me similarly afflicted.”

“I won’t force the cure upon you. The choice is yours alone.” His shoulder blades tensed as they
reached the mouth of the driveway.

She appeared equally perturbed, sitting straighter as her gaze fixed upon the whimsical architecture
ahead. “I want to face him. I need to face him.”

Tom pulled the horses to a stop, staring at the darkened windows. "Remain here." He leaped down
swiftly, rounding the back of the carriage and starting for the steps. "I'll send for you when I'm
ready."

“Tom.”

He stiffened, turning slowly and meeting her gaze for the first time since leaving her Estate.

“When I’m cured, what do you intend to do with me?” Her expression remained calm, posture
eased, but the tremor in her voice betrayed the inner workings of her mind.

Tom held her stare. “I intend to do nothing.”

She blinked.

“Your husband is in custody, your fortune frozen. The power and influence you once held in the
palm of your hand is nothing but a distant memory.”

She bristled, flames igniting in her gaze.

“You undoubtedly have offshore accounts and unlisted property on the continent,” he continued. “I
highly suggest liquifying everything. Create a new identity and never return to London.”

Owls and insects filled the festering silence that followed. She searched his gaze, then his face,
desperately hunting for something Tom knew she wouldn’t find.

“I assume asking you to come with me is a foolish question,” she all but whispered, fingernails
pressing grooves into the bench.
He tilted his head, eyes unwavering in their focus. “Two monsters cannot find peace together,
Bellatrix. Surely you’ve learned this by now.”

She glanced away, wiping her glistening cheeks and nodding. “I still had to ask, otherwise the
fantasy would haunt me for the rest of my days.” She inhaled deeply, falling against the seat before
glancing down at him. “Creatures like us are destined to be alone, aren't we?”

His hands twitched at his sides, a heavy weight settling upon his chest. “Yes.”

“Good.” She wet her lips, features sharpening. “Then she won’t have you either.”

His heart battered against his ribs but his countenance remained unchanged. “Stay here,” he
repeated, then turned for the stairs and quickly ascended.

The iron gates leading to the property had been propped wide, the home’s interior void of light.
Tom harbored no delusions about taking the man by surprise. The Dollmaker was expecting him,
going so far as to set the stage for his arrival. Tom could only imagine what awaited him inside.

Dark anticipation stole down his spine as he opened the front door, unsurprised to find it unlocked
and unguarded. He crossed the threshold and closed the barrier, met by a dizzying array of
checkerboard tile underfoot and an extravagant chandelier overhead. The crystal glittered in the
moonlight, pale beams filtering through the circular skylight. Yet it was the spiral staircase that
drew Tom’s undivided focus, ornate and grand, the unmistakable centerpiece of this fairytale
haunt.

He paused before it, inspecting the shadowed landing and listening for signs of life. Alas, only
silence greeted him, unnatural and absolute. Not a single floorboard creaked nor pipe settled. Tom
edged back, glancing at the empty doorways lining either side of the foyer, each room cloaked in
darkness. A trap awaited him, carefully set and strategically hidden somewhere within the
labyrinth.

Tom couldn’t wait to find it, to systematically dismantle each part.

And then he’d tear apart its creator.

He turned, guided purely by instinct, inexplicably drawn to the right hallway. Static danced across
his nape as he passed beneath the archway, keeping close to the wall as he edged past a series of
open doors. The rooms beyond were bathed in shadow and moonlight, every curtain pulled wide,
every chair and portrait and trinket on full display to the outside world.

His steps slowed as he reached the end of the corridor, a flickering orange glow reflected on the
hardwood. Tom’s vision sharpened, tension coiling in his arms and back as he rounded the corner
and came face to face with another stretch of hall, every door opened wide.

Except for one.

The room at the very end stood closed, facing him in silent challenge. Light emanated from the gap
beneath the door, casting long shadows across the ceiling and walls. He inhaled slowly, holding it
deep in his lungs as he dived headlong into the steel-toothed trap.

Tom kept his footsteps close to the baseboards, making barely a sound as he slipped between
shadows. He didn’t bother searching out a weapon. He knew there were no guards on sight. Just as
he knew the Dollmaker wouldn’t kill him, not without a proper send-off. He’d had the opportunity
to murder Tom for decades now. He left the boy alive knowing he’d one day grow into a relentless
hunter. The Dollmaker craved this moment as much as Tom, and that simple truth haunted Tom
more than any other horror he’d been made to suffer.

His pulse was deafening by the time he reached the ominous barrier, chest aflame as he gripped the
knob. Time slowed to a crawl. He turned the brass fixture and the latch clicked, loud as a gunshot
to his heightened senses. Tom exhaled swiftly, pulling the door wide. Bright light flooded the
corridor, bathing his front in flickering orange. He blinked quickly, sight adjusting to the warm
glow.

He’d had no idea what to expect on the other side beyond the certain knowledge it would be
wholly unpleasant. But the scene carefully staged in the middle of the floor trumped every
nightmare his broken mind had ever contrived, made ever more terrifying for its cruel simplicity.

The room was cleared of all furniture and decor save for a circular rug and a single chair at its
center. A figure was seated atop the cushion, a white veil covering their head and body. The frayed
hemline hung a few centimeters above the floor, revealing a pair of bare feet. The fabric was sheer
enough to make out the feminine features beneath, though the slight frame was the biggest give-
away, making her identity easily discernible.

She sat stock-still, frozen like a mannequin on display and lending no reaction to his arrival. Tom
stepped inside, casting a quick glance around the otherwise barren room before crossing the rug
with measured steps. He held out hope she would dissolve to smoke before his eyes, proving once
and for all her hallucinations were in fact contagious and none of this was really happening. Alas,
he finally reached the chair and solid she remained.

His fists balled tight but he forced his fingers to loosen, reaching for the veil in slow motion. He
grasped a delicate fold, pulling the fabric away with a hard tug. But seeing her without the
obstruction made it even worse. Made the moment real. Inescapable.

Her eyes were closed, face lax and peaceful as though trapped in eternal sleep. Yet her posture was
too pristine for such a dark fantasy to hold weight, her shoulders evenly squared and hands neatly
folded, the set of her spine so straight it looked painful. Her statuesque countenance was unsettling
to be certain, but her attire was more disturbing yet.

Her thin frame was adorned in white lace, the gown fitted through the sleeves and bodice and
flowing through the skirts, giving her an almost bridal appearance. Her hair was loose around her
shoulders, brushed and gleaming under the gaslights. Someone had seen to the task of sweeping
rouge along her cheeks and painting her lips, going so far as to line her eyes and tint her lashes with
coal dust. The effect was unmistakable.

A living, breathing doll.

Tom swallowed past the rising pressure in his throat, unable to blink, to look away from the
monstrosity. He wet his lips, whispering her name at last.

“Hermione.”

Her eyes snapped open, hazel irises fixed blankly ahead. Tom dropped the veil.

“Hermione,” he repeated, voice harder, deeper. “Look at me.”

Her gaze flickered up though her head didn’t move, body eerily still. He dropped to his knees,
grasping her face without breaking her stare. Her eyes lacked their usual vibrancy, the keen
intelligence and burning passion that gave them life.

“No.” His chest vibrated with the force of his rage. “No!”
Tom released her before he lost control, bolting to his feet and tearing through the room in a blind
fury. His hands opened and closed continuously, desperate for something to mangle, to break. But
the empty space offered no reprieve, as though every item had been carefully removed to deny him
even the simplest of pleasures.

He slowed his rapid pace before her chair, dragging both hands through his hair and forcing his
mind to calm. “I’ll fix it,” he vowed, staring down at her for several fractured beats before
dropping to his knees once more, grasping her arms and rocking her. “I’m going to fix everything.”

Her eyes remained set just past his shoulder. Tom studied her face, looking for any hint of reaction,
any shadow of awareness. When she offered none he released her arms and took her hands,
pressing her palms to his chest until his heartbeat thundered against her fingertips.

Her touch was cold, limp and lifeless. His jaw ticked, eyes churning as he stared into her tepid
gaze.

“Why did you leave the house? Why did you come here?”

He squeezed her wrists, feeling the slow thrum of her pulse against his thumbs as he leaned into her
palms.

“Why!”

The force of his outburst shook the chair and knocked her off balance. She tipped sideways,
making no attempt to right herself. Tom dropped her wrists and grabbed her waist, steadying her
before she toppled over.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, fingers pressing into the lace at her sides. Her face remained blank,
unchanging. Tom closed his eyes, dropping his forehead into her lap, whispering against her pale
skirts. “I’m sorry.”

A floorboard creaked at his back.

“Dear god. It’s like watching ghosts.”

Tom reared back, rising swiftly and pivoting, shadows filling his gaze. The Dollmaker stood in the
doorway, calm and seemingly amused, pointing a gleaming pistol as though in afterthought.

Tom’s eyes flickered to the weapon, indifferent to the threat. “Put the bullets where they count.
It’ll take more than a flesh wound to keep me down.”

The bastard grinned, stepping fully inside. “You truly are your father’s son. Tell me, how did it
feel cutting him into pieces?”

“Not nearly as satisfying as when I do the same to you.”

Deep laughter rang out, bouncing off the barren walls and vacant floor. “Oh, my…” The
Dollmaker dried the corner of his eyes with a delighted grin. “This is the meeting I’ve been
longing for. Our interaction at the asylum left much to be desired.”

“You should have told me who you were, I would have happily obliged.”

“Undoubtedly. But the timing wasn’t right.” He stepped closer yet, the barrel of the gun shifting
focus. Tom shifted with it, blocking Hermione from its path.
The Dollmaker’s smile only deepened.

“My name is Doctor Gellert Grindelwald,” he announced simply, and Tom felt the earth shift
beneath his feet. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance at long last.”

Tom’s eyes glinted in the orange light. “There’s as much pleasure as there is acquaintanceship.”

“Hm… I suppose that’s true.” Grindlewald’s expression became unnervingly solemn. “Our history
is long and deep. I dare say we’re more connected to each other than ourselves.”

Tom fought back a scowl, unwilling to show how deeply affected he was by such a notion. “I
wouldn’t go that far.”

“Why not? You’ve spent the majority of your life thinking about me above all others, have you
not?” His grey brows lifted, gaze lit with something akin to fondness. “I couldn’t have designed it
better myself. I’ve come to consider you my finest creation, Thomas. The boy who was never
meant to be, now the man at the center of it all.”

Tom’s stomach turned, acid bubbling in his gut.

“Such cruel irony,” Grindlewald continued in a contemplative tone. “You’ve devoted all of
yourself to stopping me when it’s your very existence that keeps me going.”

Tom drew closer to Hermione, pressure building in his spine. “What are you talking about?”

The Dollmaker chuckled darkly. “Twenty years. Twenty long years you’ve spent hating me,
hunting me, torturing yourself over me, and still, the truth eludes you." He tilted his head,
considering Tom at an angle. "Then again, it isn't entirely your fault. Albus is a masterful liar, after
all, unparalleled in his deceit. And he's worked so very hard to keep you ignorant, perfectly
malleable to his will. Some days I think he’s actually convinced himself of his own sanctimonious
bullshite.”

Tom blinked. “Albus…” The bile rose higher, searing his throat. “You know Albus?”

Another round of laughter seeped forth, dragging across his nerve endings like a rusted hook.

“Poor, foolish boy. You think you’re the gamemaster, cleverly controlling the board and all its
pieces. But you’re merely a knight protecting an old, useless king, forever moving from square to
square in a battle that can't be won.”

“Your metaphors are just as unbearable as his.”

Grindelwald nodded with a self-deprecating smile, the gun never wavering. "I suppose we do have
a great deal in common. More than I'm willing to admit most days. But I'm afraid he'll have to fill
you in on the details; I've no patience to rehash the past this night." His eyes flickered down.
"Hermione."

Tom stiffened as he again tried to block her from view. But it made no difference.

“Èirich,” the Dollmaker uttered in a language both foreign and familiar to Tom’s ears.

She stood swiftly and silently.

Tom whipped around, carefully taking inventory of her front, searching for injury. “What did you
do to her?”
“Not nearly as much as I would have liked,” Grindlewald lamented. “Ms. Granger proved by far
the most difficult subject I’ve ever encountered. I knew she possessed a keen intellect but I never
anticipated the strength of her mind.” He took another slow step forward. “She protected her
identity by escaping deep into her subconscious, someplace I was unable to follow. Such a clever
girl.” The corner of his mouth lifted as Tom met his eye. “But fret not. I was still able to make
proficient use of our time together. While she was busy fortifying the walls of her memory the rest
of her mind was left helpfully unguarded.”

Tom’s hands twitched, unable to keep his animal caged any longer. He started forward with a low
growl, mindless of the gun, red overtaking his vision—

A floorboard creaked as a new face appeared in the doorway, stopping him in his tracks. Tom
rolled his shoulders back, registering her presence and redirecting the force of his anger. “I told you
to stay outside.”

Bellatrix blinked, gazing at him strangely. “I don’t remember coming in.”

“You still don’t get it, do you, Riddle?” Grindlewald asked, calmly situated between them.
“Rodolphus isn’t her Master.” His eyes flashed. “I am. And I told her to bring you to me, isn’t that
right, my darling?”

She blinked again, pressing a hand to her temple as her eyes drifted to the floor. “I don’t… I don’t
remember—”

“Geamhradh,” the Dollmaker uttered in a guttural tongue.

Her hand dropped, eyes snapping forward as her spine lengthened.

“Prepare the carriage,” Grindlewald instructed without a glance. “We’ll be departing shortly.”

Tom watched her spin on her staggering heels and depart, swallowed by the same darkness that
birthed her. “So you make toys for yourself as well.”

“On the contrary. Bellatrix is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a daughter, my most aspiring
protégée. I brought her back from the brink of madness and made her whole.”

“Made her to your specifications.”

Grindelwald laughed as though the mere notion was delightfully absurd. "I assure you, I left her
just as she was, minus the trauma of her tragic loss. I merely instilled a fail-safe in the event I
needed a quick departure. Her fortune and connections make for an ideal traveling companion."

“She wants you dead.”

“Naturally. Bella is a creature of passion, always in pursuit of immediate gratification. Her mood
will cool and she’ll move onto her next obsession in a day’s time. Perhaps it will be killing you.”

Tom lifted his chin, eyes gleaming with sinister longing. “You can’t run forever, Grindelwald, and
you certainly can’t hide. Now that I’ve seen your face it’s only a matter of time until I find you
again.”

“Hm,” the monster hummer anew, tucking his free hand into his pocket. “You’re absolutely
right… seems I could use a head start. Perhaps Hermione can assist.”

Tom’s fists tightened.

“You see, I made her special for you, Tom. Just as I made Merope for your father.”

His breathing slowed, vision hazing at the edges.

“Hermione, say hello to your new Master.”

She came to life like a wind-up toy, eyes sparkling as she turned her gaze upward, lips curving with
a bright grin.

“Hello, Tom,” she greeted, succinct and polite as though meeting him for the first time.

He fought back a shudder, rage and revulsion filling his veins like poison. Grindlewald watched
their exchange closely, eager anticipation swirling in his gaze. “Now give him a proper greeting.”

Hermione stepped forward, movements so quick and seamless his mind was rendered perfectly
blank, knees locking as she pressed her hands to either side of his chest and pushed up on her toes,
seeking his lips with her own. Tom woke from the dark stupor when her warm breath filled his
mouth on a soft exhale. He caught her arms and pressed her back on her heels before she made
contact.

Her brows pinched, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as she struggled against his iron hold,
gaze centered upon his mouth with unshakable purpose. He held her at arm’s length and met the
Dollmaker’s watchful gaze above her head as she grew more desperate.

“You’ll die screaming,” Tom vowed, his voice laced with the same poison pumping through his
heart.

“Funny you should mention that,” Grindelwald laughed, lowering the gun to his side. “Hermione.”

Her movements instantly stilled, expression falling lax. Tom continued to grip her tight, bracing
himself as the Dollmaker uttered the next command.

“Marbhadh.”

She turned rigid as stone, face transforming into a striking mask he’d only seen once before.

At Dolohov’s estate.

The order was clear, but Grindlewald proceeded to translate for his own amusement.

“Kill him.”

Tom’s pulse stuttered in anticipation. Her gaze radiated a searing heat that stripped his flesh to the
bone. He expected her to go wild, clawing like a feral cat and thrashing against his hold. But no, of
course not, because even in her brainwashed state Hermione Granger proved the ultimate enigma.

She made no attempt to pull free of his grasp or attack. Instead, she tilted her head, calm and
contemplative as her curls cascaded over her shoulder and across his hand. He almost missed the
movement of her hand, slow and steady, reaching into the hidden pocket of her skirt.

His entire body throbbed when she extracted the gleaming dagger, beveled rubies set in the handle.

“My dolls always come with accessories,” Grindlewald stated proudly.

Tom released her at once, rearing back as she slashed forward, every one of her movements quick
and confident as though knife fighting was her favorite pastime.
“She’ll only stop with the proper command,” Grindlewald continued, strolling leisurely for the
hall. He paused in the doorway, merriment clear across his features as he met Tom’s gaze one last
time. “Enjoy your present, Thomas.”

Hermione blinked slowly, vision and spirits dim as she watched the massive teapot levitate high
over the broken hilltop. Steam rose from the tea-fall in billowing clouds, the moat forming a
boiling ring around the stone. She licked her lips, mouth parched as the fragrant aroma filled her
airway.

“How the hell are we supposed to get up there?”

Lavender glanced sideways. “What, no appreciation for aesthetics?”

“My appreciation seeped out with my last liter of blood.” Hermione leaned away from the blonde.
“Seriously, how do we get up that high?”

“With a little magic.” Lavender winked, then glanced over her shoulder. “Take her for me.”

Dawn nodded, stepping forward and swapping places at Hermione’s side. She looped an arm
around her waist and took on her weight as Lavender leaned over, gathering the hem of her skirts
and lifting the fabric to her knees. She froze, glancing up with a scowl for their male traveling
companion. “Turn around, pervert.”

Dolohov glared, grinding his teeth and reluctantly following instruction, offering the women his
back. Hermione felt Dawn stiffen at her side but her attention was drawn back to Lavender,
watching as she continued to hike up her skirts.

A black garter was revealed, the same one Hermione had glimpsed in the jungle. Something was
strapped beneath the lace, silver and gleaming, but she couldn’t identify the mystery item until the
blonde pulled it free and held it to the light.

A teaspoon.

Hermione blinked, curiosity brimming as Lavender started towards the sizzling moat, pausing at
the edge of the stream and glancing back. “Shield your eyes.”

Hermione exchanged a bemused glance with Dawn before doing as bade, the others following suit
while Mowgli buried his head in the dense shelter of Hermione’s hair. She peeked through her
fingers as Lavender dropped the spoon into the moat with a wet plop. The girl immediately spun
away and covered her eyes. Hermione did the same, just in time.

A blinding flash of light burst behind her lids, causing her to cringe back. The brilliant explosion
faded as quickly as it appeared, the roaring crash of tea filling her senses once more.

Hermione peeked open one eye, lowering her hands as Lavender skipped to their sides. "What
now?"

“Give it a moment.” Lavender grinned, perching her hands on her hips and gazing up.

Hermione tipped her head back, unsure what she was supposed to be seeing until she heard the
distant grinding of gears. Her eyes narrowed on the clouds, subtle movement visible through their
wispy edges.

The Castle had begun to lower its drawbridge.

It took several minutes for it to drop, everyone looking on in silence. Once the barrier was fully
extended a long row of objects began to float free, flat and disc-shaped, like—

Plates.

Hermione’s lips softly parted as the discs floated down down down, staggering their approach as
they neared the grass, close enough to identify at last. They weren’t simply plates, they were
decorated saucers, hovering in place like a floating staircase.

Hermione smiled. “Okay, my appreciation for aesthetics is restored.”

Lavender chuckled, stepping to Hermione’s other side and helping Dawn steady her. Padma
hovered awkwardly at their sides, staring at the saucers apprehensively.

“It’s alright,” the blonde assured. “They’re just steps.”

Padma swallowed tightly before nodding, carefully climbing atop the first plate, arms held aloft as
she led the way up. Lavender and Dawn helped Hermione onto the bottom saucer, and then
Dolohov stepped forward.

Lavender whirled around, eyes sparking with hell flame. "You aren’t coming.”

He lifted his chin, shoulders drawing wide. “I can help—”

“News flash: we’re perfectly capable without your help, arsehole.” She leaned forward, the saucer
putting them at eye-level. “You said you wanted to get her to the Castle, well mission fucking
accomplished. Now stay the hell back. The Castle will retaliate if you try and breach its walls. So
will I.”

He paled, leaning away.

“Exactly,” she clipped, imparting one last look of revulsion before leaping gracefully to
Hermione’s side. They continued forward, ignoring his lingering presence at their backs. Mowgli
climbed with agile skill, waiting patiently for the girls to catch up before proceeding to the next
level.

They were seven saucers off the ground when Hermione felt a powerful wave of vertigo take hold,
missing the next step. Her heel slid off the edge of the porcelain, instant panic taking hold as she
reared back and lost her balance entirely.

The sharp movement caused Dawn and Lavender to fumble their grip. The latter spun, reaching out
with feline reflexes, catching Hermione’s injured arm in a vice. The pain was immediate and
absolute, as blinding as the previous flash of light.

Hermione screamed shrilly, mind wiped stunningly clear of rational thought. Her identity was lost,
nothing existing beyond the white-hot flames searing her nerve endings raw. Lavender released her
with a gasp, startled by the desperate wail, and Hermione launched backward.

She was too shocked to scream, sky and grass spinning before her eyes as she bounced and rolled
down four plates, leaving a trail of blood behind on each. Her skull clipped the edge of a saucer as
she slowed to a stop at last, ears ringing with the impact.

“Mione!” Lavender screamed, the sound muddled and underwater.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione watched Dolohov surge forward, leaping onto the bottom
step as he charged after her.

“No!” Lavender yelled, the raw panic in her voice overriding the throbbing pain in Hermione’s
arm. “Get off!”

But it was too late.

Everyone yelped in terror as the plates began to rotate and wobble, the invisible force holding them
immobile dissolving away. The ground became smaller as the saucers drifted higher, pulled
towards the Castle by an unseen rigging.

“Shite!” Lavender hissed from somewhere above. “Stay on the center!”

Hermione cringed as she tried to sit upright. But the movement caused her plate to tip sideways,
discarding her like spoiled food into the rubbish bin. She let loose a blood-curdling scream as she
fell through open air, then keened sharply as she hit the plate below, landing atop her injured arm.

The second saucer wobbled dangerously but held true. Hermione groaned, rolling onto her back
and trying to sit up again.

“No!”

She shrank back at the booming voice so close to her head.

“Don’t move!” Dolohov continued, hands raised to still her movements. She slowly turned to face
him, their tight confines offering no reprieve. He was perched on the other end of the plate, weight
acting as a counterbalance to her own. “If you move the saucer will tip and we’ll both fall.”

She swallowed tightly, trapped lying on her side.

“Hermione!”

She turned her face upward, seeing the hazy outline of her friends floating above, each clinging to a
saucer of their own.

“It’s okay!” She called back, voice hoarse from screaming her head off. The plates continued to
spin, dizzying to look at and nauseating to feel. “I'm going to be sick,” she muttered, pressing a
hand to her middle.

“The saucers are heading for the drawbridge,” Dolohov said as though the comment was meant for
him. “It won’t be long.”

She closed her eyes, unsure what was causing her stomach to somersault, the incessant spinning or
his incessant presence.

“I must have been an evil tyrant…” Hermione whispered to the air, rocking gently as the plate
levitated ever higher.

“What?”

She didn’t bother responding, opening her lids in time to see Dawn’s face drift by from several
levels above. Hermione offered a weak grin of assurance but the woman’s eyes were fastened to
Dolohov, her complexion waning until she disappeared from sight, their saucers rotating in
opposite directions.

Hermione braved a sideways glance, watching him shift uncomfortably beneath the young
woman’s stare until he too lost sight of her. Dread festered in her gut. His gaze drifted down,
shoulders tensing as he realized she had caught the silent exchange. His neck flushed, eyes
flickering as he blatantly scrambled for a change in topic.

“Are you in pain?”

She continued to watch him from her prone position. “Not anymore.”

He nodded, gaze raking over her bloodied arm. “You’ve been marked.”

Her focus lifted to the purple scar marring his own flesh, fingers twitching with the memory. “I
was marked long ago. Though I much prefer wearing my scars on the outside.”

Dolohov stiffened. “Hermione—”

“You commissioned her, didn’t you?”

He blinked, perplexed.

“Dawn,” she stated, knowing she’d struck gold when panic unfurled across his regal features.
“That’s how they found her so soon after Draco’s request, how they conditioned her so quickly.”
She tilted her head, watching a vein throb at his temple. “She was already a doll. Already on
standby. For you.”

He swallowed thickly, lips parting as though to speak.

"That's why you sent Greyback to kidnap me," she continued evenly, the epiphany striking in real-
time. "The Lestranges gave her to Draco and you couldn't stand being empty-handed."

“I don’t—”

“Look at where we are, Antonin.” His spine snapped straight as she spoke his given name.
“Trapped between life and death, fantasy and reality. The time for lies is long past.”

Seconds bled away with excruciating slowness, the saucer rocking precariously as they neared the
raging spout, steam clouding her vision.

“They promised I could have you,” he replied at last, barely audible over the powerful cascade of
tea. “It’s the only reason I joined the organization. Not for women or power or money. For you.
And then they went back on their word, denied me the same way your bloody parents denied me,
Rodolphus always offering up some weak and flimsy excuse about why you couldn’t be taken.”
His chest heaved. “But I knew the truth. You were the carrot they loved to dangle over my head.
The leverage they needed to keep me in line. Until I finally threatened to leave… and then they
offered me some random chit with curly hair, as though all I care about is the way you look. As
though there’s any substitute for you.”

Hermione’s breathing turned shallow as steam filled her lungs, artemisia and pepper saturating the
back of her tongue.

"And in the end, they took her back anyway," he hissed. "Lied to my face and humiliated me
openly just so they could give her to that prepubescent tosspot!" His knuckles turned white. "I was
tired of begging for scraps like a dog at their feet. Tired of settling and compromising only to come
in second place to inferior men." He leaned forward, the plate tipping with the gesture, causing her
to slide forward. "I never cared about the other girls, about the auctions or Amortentia. I never
wanted a slave. I only wanted you, Hermione. Your mind, your heart."
Hermione arched away, gripping the edge of the saucer with her good hand. “You’ve never known
my heart.”

“Because you’ve relentlessly denied yourself to me! Eager to give everything away to Malfoy and
Riddle —a useless boy and a depraved psychopath— but no room in your life for the only man to
ever love you more than himself!”

She pulled herself to the opposite end as a single tear spilled free, running the length of her nose
and splashing against the glazed surface. “If only I had killed you sooner. I might have spared
Dawn this awful fate.”

“That’s all you have to say to me?” He demanded, face stricken. “After everything we’ve been
through? Everything we’ve shared?”

“No, it isn’t.” Their plate floated high above Wonderland, breaching the bottom of the clouds. “I
also want to thank you.”

He blinked, falling perfectly still.

“Thank you, Dolohov, for freeing me from this curse at last.” Her eyes narrowed, their
surroundings turning hazy. “Your shadow was trapped inside me like a black rot, the pain and
trauma of the past holding me captive with every breath. But seeing you again, so worthless and
pathetic even in death, I’m finally able to let go. I’m finally ready to move on.”

The saucer rocked as he surged forward with a vengeance. “I gave up everything for you! Do you
really think they would do the same? Neither selfish bastard will abandon his birthright! Malfoy is
devoted to his riches and Riddle to his revenge, you’ll always come second, always be eclipsed by
their one true love!” He panted with the vehemence of his words. “You’ll find no happy ending.”

She clung to the edge of the plate with all her strength, refusing to slide into his clutches. “You
assume I need a man to find my happy ending.”

He shook his head, gaze unrelenting. “The outside world is cruel and merciless—”

“Much like yourself.”

His eye twitched. “What I did was unforgivable—”

“But I do forgive you.”

He reared back, nearly rolling off the side before catching himself. “You do?”

“Not for the benefit of your soul.” The atmosphere turned thin as clouds surrounded them on all
sides, nothing existing beyond their wobbling saucer. “I forgive you for the benefit of mine. I won’t
let any piece of you linger behind. My hatred allowed you to haunt me long before you were dead.
But it ends here and now and forever.” She pulled herself to the very edge, spine molding to its
curve. “So I must forgive you, Dolohov, so that in time I may forget you, and then it will be as if
you never existed at all.”

He searched her face desperately, eyes glistening as he found the final answer. “Please, sweetling
—”

“Goodbye, Antonin.”

“No!” He screamed, diving forward as she rolled off the side. But he was too late.
Hermione hurtled blind and deaf through the opaque clouds, limbs twisting to and fro as her hair
snapped violently against the wind. She didn’t have the strength or mental fortitude to feel any
measure of terror. Instead, she was infused by an exhilarating rush, her weakened pulse thrumming
strong as she plummetted through the atmosphere.

And then she struck bottom. Or rather, another plate a dozen meters below, the impact forcing the
breath from her lungs.

Dolohov wasn’t as fortunate.

His rapid descent was measured by a sharp and desperate wail, limbs thrashing wildly as he fell
past her plate. He met her gaze for a suffocating beat before the clouds swallowed him whole.
Hermione pushed through her pain and fatigue as she maneuvered atop the saucer, laying flat
across its center as Dolohov’s screams grew more and more distant, finally cutting off altogether.
She cringed, turning onto her back.

“Mione!” Lavender shouted from somewhere above.

Hermione rested her cheek against the cool surface, breath fogging the porcelain as she replied with
a whisper. “I’m still here.”

She levitated higher and higher until the Castle reappeared at last. It was a staggering sight up
close, massive and glimmering, springing forth from the clouds with an iridescent sky as its back.
The twin suns were blinding overhead, appearing close enough to reach out and touch. Her saucer
rotated slowly as it was pulled atop the drawbridge by an unseen hand. The colorful sky gave way
to red stone as she floated beneath an archway, her friends coming into view as her plate gently
settled atop a stack.

Lavender rushed forward, taking Hermione’s hand and helping her down. Her amber eyes scanned
the empty space beside her, lips curving in a satisfied grin. “You should have let me rip him apart
in the maze.”

Hermione shook her head, feeling many things at once but unable to identify any of them. “I
needed closure.” And then her gaze cut to the woman standing behind the blonde. “I’m sorry,
Dawn.”

Dawn blinked, shoulders drawing back. “For what?”

Hermione took a steadying breath, moving away from the stack as more plates levitated in. “You
were chosen because you looked like me.”

The young woman paled, swaying in place before responding softly. “I belonged to that man,
didn’t I?”

Hermione’s jaw tensed. Among others. But she didn't think that detail was pertinent at the moment.
“Yes.”

Dawn nodded, pacing forward. “It’s not your fault.” She reached out, grasping Hermione’s hand.
“You brought me to the Castle. I’m grateful.”

“We got each other here,” Hermione stated, squeezing her palm. “And now we’re going to find a
way out of this never-ending nightmare for good.”

Dawn nodded, wiping her eyes as Lavender edged in, wrapping an arm around Hermione’s middle
and helping her forward. It was only then Hermione spared a glance for her surroundings.
They stood in the center of a diamond-shaped courtyard, red walls towering on every side as the
watercolor sky swirled above. The ground was composed of large, shimmering slabs, hard and
crystallized like massive quartz. Mowgli slipped along its shimmering surface, staring at his
reflection.

Footsteps echoed in the distance.

They slowed to a stop as a figure emerged from a clover-shaped opening in one of the walls. A
woman, tall and slender, her face a blur.

Hermione blinked, rubbing her eyes. It was only then she realized she’d collapsed, sprawled across
the crystal floor with Dawn and Padma at her sides.

“Lavender?” The woman called, voice soothing but unfamiliar.

“We have a problem!” Her friend yelled back, lowering to her knees in front of Hermione.

The stranger drew closer, steps quickening. “What happened?”

“The bloody thorns.”

"Let me see." The woman lowered behind Hermione, out of her sightline, and placed firm hands
upon her arm, turning it upward. Hermione hissed, flinching away.

“It’s alright, Hermione,” the woman softly assured, rubbing circles between her shoulder blades
until she settled. “You’re safe now.”

Hermione’s senses tunneled in and out, vision rapidly fading even as noises became amplified,
every gentle touch sending an electrical zap along her nerve endings. She tipped her head back,
trying to glimpse the stranger’s face up close.

“I need… to see… Ariana…”

The woman nodded. “She’s been waiting for you, we all have. But right now we need to get you
fixed up.”

Hermione squinted. The facial features above her were out of focus, and yet something about them
seemed… familiar.

“Who… are you?” She breathed, feeling her consciousness slipping like sand through her fingers.

The stranger grinned and was instantly transformed into an image Hermione had surely seen
before.

“I think you already know.” The familiar smile deepened, as though the evasive response was
some private joke between them.

It was then, in her last coherent moment, realization struck like a freight train. She screamed it in
her mind, lips parting on a whisper—

But by the time Hermione spoke the name aloud she was hurtling through the black vacuum of
space alone.

Harry leaned into the pillar, pressing a hand to his side as he watched the last of the guests be
escorted out. The theatre appeared twice as large in their absence, every footstep echoing endlessly
without the wall of bodies to absorb sound.

Bones released a weary sigh from across the room, dragging a palm over his face as he turned to
his only remaining detective, the rest of his men en route to the Yard. “What’s the final count?”

The man flipped through his notepad, making a mark along the margin before reading from the
page. “One hundred and twenty-eight guests, a dozen guards and twenty-six employees, Sir.”

The Commissioner rubbed his brow. “Christ, it’s going to take a week to question them all.”

“Keep in mind,” Sirius declared from his casual sprawl atop the catwalk, “some of the guests are
likely his victims as well. A couple of those women looked more dazed than frightened.”

“We’ll separate them at the station,” Bones said, attention drawn to the door as Theo walked in.
“Any updates?”

“The girls are still unresponsive,” Theo replied, cutting a path across the room that just so
happened to lead in Harry’s direction. “Parvati is with them in the parlor.”

Bones turned back to his sole detective. “Go ahead to the Yard, Williams, I’ll be right behind you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Another man stormed in just as the detective was leaving, their shoulders clipping in the doorway.
Draco tore a fiery path ahead without a word of apology, glancing around the room with a scowl.

“Fuck!”

Sirius drummed his fingers atop his knee. “No luck I take it?”

“I’ve looked everywhere,” Draco snapped. “He’s not here.”

“What about Bellatrix?” Bones asked.

“Gone, too.”

The Commissioner sighed anew, head tipping back with clear exhaustion. “I knew Riddle was
planning something behind my back, I just didn’t have time to suss out what it was.”

“He helped her escape,” Draco bit out, eyes narrowing, “meanwhile I’m the one you tried banning
from the mission.”

Harry pushed away from the wall as Theo arrived at his side. “Bellatrix and Riddle aren’t the only
people we’re missing.”

“Hermione wasn’t with the girls,” Theo supplied, attention fixed to Harry’s injured ribs.

Sirius sat upright, swinging his legs over the side of the platform. “And unless he’s disguised as
one of those balding cocks in the back of the wagon, the Dollmaker bailed on his own bash.”

Bones absently stroked his chin, gaze drifting in thought. “Riddle was very adamant about getting
his hands on the ringleader.”

"He's using Bellatrix to find them," Harry concluded, leaning back into the pillar at Theo's insistent
glare.
“While purposely subverting the law,” the Commissioner added with great irritation. “If the
Dollmaker flees the UK we lose our only chance at collaring him.”

Sirius hopped down from the runway, casually strolling to Draco’s side. “Riddle’s a capable man.
He’ll stop at nothing to catch the bastard.” He set his hand on the enraged blonde’s shoulder, a rare
sincerity lacing his words. “Hermione is probably there as well. She’s safe with him; everything
will be just fine.”

Tom ducked low, narrowly avoiding decapitation as Hermione struck out with her blade, quick and
agile. The latest attempt on his life made it abundantly clear she wasn’t merely trying to injure him.
She was all in.

He dodged left as she dove forward, metal glinting in his peripheral as he edged towards the door.
The room’s only piece of furniture was the chair she’d been seated upon. Tom grabbed it by the
backing and held it between them like a lion tamer, meeting her determined gaze over the top.

“Hermione.”

She didn’t react to her name, merely slashed at the chair, carving a deep groove in the wood.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he continued evenly, wetting his lips as her steps finally faltered. “Come
with me now and I’ll let you kill me later.”

She blinked, slowly lowering the blade to her side. Her analytical mind seemed to yawn and stretch
as it considered his offer.

“That… doesn’t work,” she stated at length, tone calm and contrite. “I’m terribly sorry, but I have
to kill you now.”

Tom couldn’t contain his smirk, helplessly reminded of the night she visited his bedroom with a
massive kitchen knife in hand, hardly aware of the weapon she donned. The memory was certainly
a far cry from their current predicament, but it held a great weight over him all the same.

“I understand,” Tom conceded, coming to a stop as he reached the door. “Tell me, how will you do
it?”

Her brow creased, as though the answer was obvious. “I’m going to use this knife.”

His eyes gleamed. “Yes, but how do you intend to wield it, Ms. Granger?”

She rocked back, his formal address seeming to trigger something deep within, causing her gaze to
spark at the center. “I’ll stab you in the heart, aiming for your aorta to stop the flow of blood to
your coronary arteries. That seems to be the most efficient method for ensuring quick and
imminent demise.”

Tom slowly reached back, gripping the doorknob and searching her face, the chair wedged firmly
between them. “Indeed it does.” He recognized her change in tone. It was the same voice she used
when speaking about some scientific discovery or medical breakthrough. She’s in there,
somewhere. He slowly turned the knob, lips curving up. “Hold that thought, luv, I’ll be right back.”

She slipped back under the dark waters of her mind as he pushed the door wide, releasing a feral
scream and stabbing through the seat, the blade stopping mere centimeters from his face. Tom
pulled the chair forward, tearing the knife from her grasp and slamming the door in her face.
He gripped the knob tight as she fought to open it, carefully maneuvering the chair until its slats
were wedged on either side of the brass, preventing it from turning. Hermione screamed anew, the
shrill and desperate wail cutting to the bone. He stepped back as she threw her weight against the
door, rattling the hinges and clawing the wood like an animal.

Tom ripped the knife from the chair and turned it over in his hand, considering. Harming her
wasn’t an option. A sentiment she clearly wasn’t eager to return. The gaping disparity left him with
very few options.

If only he knew the bloody command codes.

Tom replayed the foreign words in his mind, trying to place them. Upon careful consideration, he
was certain the Dollmaker had been speaking Gaelic. Unfortunately, Tom was poorly versed in the
language beyond a handful of colorful curses he'd acquired during his slum upbringing.

He tossed the knife into the air as she continued to riot against the door, screaming as though
possessed.

I can’t hurt her…

He watched the blade spin end over end.

I can’t command her…

Tom caught the handle, tracing a ruby accent with his thumb.

Let’s find a third option.

He turned, idly tossing and catching the knife as he embarked across the dark hallway. He glanced
into every room he passed, pausing only when he reached what appeared to be an office at the
other end. Tom entered, flipping on the gaslight as her feral cry faded to the background of his
mind.

The room had been stripped of paperwork, cabinet doors left open and drawers pulled wide, each
compartment bare. Tom drove the knife into the gleaming surface of the desk, bristling with silent
fury as he strode from the room without a parting glance.

He briefly explored two more doorways before crossing the entry and embarking down the
opposite hall. He peered into the first open room and paused.

The parlor.

The space itself offered little in the way of assistance, but one item in particular caught his eye.

A decorative cabinet in the corner, a wooden starburst adorning its front and a metal plate sealing
its doors.

Tom blinked, a strange lightness taking hold. He swayed in place, pressing a hand to the wall and
rubbing his eyes as a powerful déjà-vu took control of his senses. His vision hazed as he stared
upon the cabinet, the rest of the room fading to smoke.

A child’s pale hand reached out, tracing each groove of the sun pattern with a curious fingertip
before pressing a small palm against the plate. Tom’s own hand twitched, feeling the cold bite of
metal against his skin. He blinked again and his surroundings rapidly resurfaced, though the
haunting memory continued to linger, strengthening in detail as Tom moved across the room, each
step tentative.

He stopped before the ominous cabinet, eyes unblinking as he reached forward to trace the pattern
for himself. Flames ignited in his gaze as he felt the smooth veneer beneath his fingertips, the rigid
edge of the plate against his palm. Memories bobbed along the surface of his awareness, easily
drowned as Tom set to work trying to pry the doors apart. Alas, he gave up the attempt within
moments. They refused to budge, seamless in design.

His heartbeat echoed off the walls and ceiling as he stepped back, studying the cabinet with the
same determination Hermione employed when trying to cut off his head. He began to turn away,
intent on retrieving her blade to break the doors apart, when he spotted an onyx box on a shelf
beside the cabinet, the decorative piece situated at eye level.

Unsettling vertigo overcame Tom a second time.

He leaned closer, carefully lifting away the lid and reaching inside the dark interior. His breathing
hitched as his fingertips grazed something small and narrow, metal clanking against the side of the
box as he fished the item free, extracting it at last. The atmosphere came alive as he studied the
object in his palm.

A circular token, comprised of the same metal as the plate.

Tom returned to the cabinet with an eager step, examining the front with care. He traced the edges
of the plate, vision sharpening as he felt a narrow opening along the top. He aligned the token with
the slot and let go, pulse thrumming as it clicked into place. The sound triggered something within
him, a buried knowledge guiding Tom’s hand as he rotated the plate clockwise, performing the
task in a dark haze. Another click followed and the inner latch released.

The starburst split down the middle.

He drew back, breath trapped in his lungs as he pulled the doors wide. The size of the piece
suggested a liquor cabinet, but somehow Tom knew it contained much more. His gnawing
suspicions were confirmed as the contents were revealed to the room.

A vast medical pantry.

His first and likely only lucky break of the evening.

Tom began rifling through the stores, lifting bottles to the light and examining their faded labels.
Most of the text was foreign, the manufacturing seals unrecognizable and their contents just as
strange. His gaze lingered on a particular vial of pale blue liquid. He carefully extracted the vessel
and tipped it on its side, studying the viscosity. Between his work in Europe and the Middle East,
Tom had encountered nearly every medication and tonic known to man. But he’d never seen
anything like this.

Which meant it was worth taking.

He slipped the bottle into his pocket and reached back inside the cabinet—

Only to realize the room was utterly silent.

Tom stiffened, turning to the open doorway and the dark stretch of hallway beyond.

He couldn’t hear Hermione.

But he knew her well enough to be certain she hadn’t given up, she wouldn’t give up, not until one
or both of them were dead. The thought inspired a twisted sense of pride.

Tom cast the thought aside and returned to the cabinet, rummaging through glass and paper and
gauze until a welcome sight greeted his eyes. He snatched up the bottle and held it to the
moonlight, reading the label and grinning slowly. Perfect.

Now for the fun part.

. . .

Tom approached the barricaded door with a methodical gait, making certain she could hear each
and every one of his footsteps from inside the room. He was curious if the sound of his steady
approach would rekindle her mania or if she’d already learned to harness it. He was leaning
towards the latter, given the permeating silence that greeted his ears.

The light beneath the door remained unchanged as he carefully removed the chair, electricity
racing down his spine as he opened the door and braced for attack.

Alas, all that awaited him was a circular rug.

Tom stepped inside, giving the vacant room a sweeping inspection before turning his attention to
the open window, its gauzy curtain billowing in a summer breeze. His eyes gleamed.

Clever girl.

He ignored the flutter of excitement beneath his breastbone, stepping into the hall and making his
way towards the entry with heavy strides.

A floorboard creaked from a direction he couldn’t discern.

Tom paused, waiting patiently, but only silence answered. He licked his lips, blood heating as he
moved from shadow to shadow, progressing ever steadily towards the foyer, only to halt beneath
the archway as dried leaves and withered petals scattered past his feet, carried across the
checkerboard tile by a gentle gust.

The front door stood wide open.

He lifted a brow, staring through the doorway at the dense woods beyond, a simple truth
confirmed.

She’s hunting me.

His entire body throbbed, muscles tightening with anticipation. Tom knew she couldn’t control her
actions but he was just as helpless to quell the rumble of satisfaction in his chest, base urges stirring
at the promise of a worthy opponent. His eyes darkened above a rising grin.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Ms. Granger.”

He turned, tilting his head as he peered down the opposite hall, pitch black but for a single room at
the very end, its doorway brightly lit. Tom hadn’t made it through the entire corridor on his first
exploration but he knew with certainty the light had been off then.

He started forward without hesitation, eager to see what she had in store, what lengths she’d go to
and just how far the Dollmaker’s reach extended. He was surprised when he made it to the end of
the hallway without attack, having expected her to leap from a darkened alcove with a weapon in
hand. And yet all remained silent and still. Unnaturally so.

Tom stopped before the study, staring into the illuminated space, detecting no sign of movement.
He entered slowly, holding his breath and listening carefully, hearing the faint creak of floor a
heartbeat before her sharp intake of breath.

He spun just in time to watch her pounce from her hiding spot behind the door, wielding a marble
bookend in both hands. She swung it down with all her strength, aiming for his head. He dodged
out of her path but she anticipated the aversion, adjusting left and clipping his shoulder with
surprising force.

Tom hissed, rolling with the momentum and evading her reach, rubbing the bruised muscle as she
screamed and swung again. Her movements were slower, clumsier in her aggravation. Tom easily
caught the blunt object, wrenching it from her grasp and throwing it aside. She growled, eyes
flashing, the combination making his pulse quicken as she attempted to dart past for the mantle, no
doubt on her way to grab another heavy decoration to bludgeon him with.

Tom caught her around the waist and hauled her off her feet, trapped against his body. Instead of
fighting his hold she clung tighter to his arm, leveraging all her weight against his frame in order to
drive both heels into his shin.

The sudden strike took him off guard, as did the blinding flash of pain that was quick to follow.
Light burst behind his lids as he grunted low, squeezing his arm against her waist until she keened
and reared back in an obvious attempt to headbutt him. Tom released her to avoid the collision,
impressed and frustrated in equal measure as she darted out of the room the moment her feet hit the
ground.

His chin lowered, fire blazing a searing path through his chest as he gave chase.

His long stride easily negated her head start. She was barrelling for the stairs when he reached her,
gauzy lace fluttering at her heels. Tom bore down, intent on taking her from behind to minimize her
attack— and then she dropped low, causing him to abruptly change course to avoid tripping head
over heels.

He slid across the tile, turning as she reached the spiral steps. Tom growled, lost to the thrill of the
chase, only to blink in confusion as she began crawling up the stairs. Then he realized she wasn't
crawling… she was reaching for something on the fifth platform.

No sooner had the truth dawned than he was dropping to the ground to avoid sudden death. The
metal rod whistled through the air where his head had once resided. The skylight flooded the room
with moonlight, illuminating the iron poker in her hands, the tool easily camouflaged on the steps.

She hid it there and then drew me in.

His heart skipped every other beat, overcome with the knowledge, the pride and the hunger.

Hermione hissed with frustration, eyes narrowed to menacing slits as she swung the rod like a
lumberjack, causing Tom to tip off balance as he staggered back. He hit the ground with a
breathless crash, splayed out like game for slaughter. Her eyes sparked with victory as she raised
the rod high overhead, then plunged it down like a sword.

Tom rolled away, the pointed tip cracking the tile just beside his head. She screamed, lifting it up
and stabbing again, and again and again, stomping her foot as Tom rolled beneath the decorative
table at the center of the room.

He scrambled out through the other side as she drove her weapon across on the wood with a
mighty thwack, shattering an enormous vase at its center, glass and petals exploding in every
direction.

Tom gripped the edge of the wood and met her wild gaze from across the narrow expanse. They
both were panting hard, adrenaline buzzing. And then he grinned, prompting her to hiss like a viper
and slide her weapon free, giving chase around the table.

Tom’s laughter was deep and sinister as he darted up the spiral steps, easily outpacing her shorter
strides. Halfway up the poker hooked on one of the spindles, delaying her further. By the time she
pried it free Tom was already out of sight, swallowed by the shadows on the landing.

He entered the hallway to the right, blood pumping hard as he made his way to the end of the
passage, opening the last door and slipping inside. He kept the light off, examining his
surroundings in the darkness.

A bedroom.

He was nearly to the mattress when he heard her tear around the corner, chest heaving as she
clutched her weapon in both hands, spinning a tight circle before spotting the open door and
charging forward with a snarl.

Tom grabbed a pillow off the duvet and braced his feet apart, shadows undulating as she burst into
the room like an avenging angel, the moonlight reflecting off her white gown and pale skin
creating an otherworldly glow.

Hermione slowed, eyeing him with a bloodlust he was only accustomed to seeing in the mirror. She
circled him carefully, bare feet silent on the carpet. He held her gaze steady, beckoning her
forward with his hand.

“Come on,” he murmured, voice mostly gravel.

She answered the challenge without hesitation, racing forward and swinging the poker with all her
might. Tom lifted the pillow, blocking the bone-cracking strike and catching the rod. He twisted
the bundle to loosen her hold and pulled, his strength easily surpassing her own as he ripped the
weapon from her white-knuckled grasp.

The sharp tug pulled her entire body forward into his. He tossed the poker aside and looped an arm
behind her waist, trapping her against his chest and striding forward. Her toes dragged the carpet as
she scrambled for purchase, finding none before she was pressed into the wall with enough force to
jolt her limbs.

Tom made use of her momentary distraction, grabbing both her wrists and pinning them over her
head. She screamed anew, twisting frantically.

“Stop,” he growled, pupils blown wide as she attempted to buck him off with her hips. He squeezed
her wrists tighter, pinning her flat until she could barely draw a full breath against the wall of his
chest.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he continued, though he might as well have been talking to the
wallpaper for all the good it did.

Her legs continued to scramble, the only bit of movement she could manage in her current state. He
drove a knee into her skirts, pressing his thigh between her legs to pin her pelvis flat. She keened,
fully immobile, and then her entire body began to vibrate as though the stagnation would cause her
to explode.

“Hermione,” he whispered, trying to capture her panicked gaze.

“I have to kill you!” She cried, tears overspilling her bottom lashes, tracks of coal liner dripping in
their path.

He searched her face but her eyes instantly drew him back, frantic and lost as they were. He pulled
her wrists higher, drawing them together and repositioning his hold until he grasped them in one
hand. He dropped the other to her neck, fingertips pressing her thrumming artery. Her pulse
skipped erratically, dangerously overtaxed as powerful tremors wracked her slight frame.

“I have to, Tom!” She continued manically. “I have to I have to I have to—”

Base instinct took hold as he surged forward, silencing her lips with his own.

He kissed her with raw desperation, overwhelmed by the driving need to silence her, to calm her,
just for a moment.

Tom expected her to stiffen and fight, so when she pressed forward and answered his mouth with
her own wild hunger his mind went dangerously blank. His fingertips slid from her neck to her
nape, thumb tracing the curve of her jaw and over her chin, grazing her bottom lip as he drew back
at last, sharing her searing breath as he whispered into her mouth.

“When all this is over I’ll let you drive a blade through my heart.” He swallowed thickly, holding
her bright gaze. “Until then…” His knuckles inadvertently skimmed across her lace-covered front
as he dropped a hand between their bodies, reaching into his vest. “We have work to do.”

Hermione blinked, eyes clouding over as the dark spell took possession of her once more. She
thrashed and screamed with a newfound fury as he pulled the syringe free.

Tom lost grip on one of her wrists as he tried to position the needle. She seized the opportunity
with gusto, driving the heel of her palm into his jaw and bending back his head. He was forced to
release her, or so he pretended before attempting to spin her face-first into the wall.

He was bitten for his efforts, blunt teeth breaking the skin of his forearm. The feral attack took him
off guard, giving her the opportunity to lunge for his neck, fighting for all she was worth and
knocking the syringe out of his hand.

Tom was deeply impressed. He was also on the verge of throttling her, the last of his patience
dropping away with the needle.

He caught her around the middle and lifted her off the ground without preamble, past the point of
holding back. A gentle hand wasn’t doing him any favors, it was time for Plan B. He tossed her
over his shoulder like a sack of grain, striding for the silk chaise in the corner as she kicked the air
and pounded at his back.

Three strides later and she was dumped unceremoniously onto the cushions. She bounced and
rolled to the floor with an outraged huff that sounded so much like the normal Hermione that Tom
nearly forgot the reason he was trying to knock her out in the first place. And then she scrambled to
her feet and lunged forward with an animalistic snarl that brought everything back to stunning
clarity.
Tom extracted the syringe from the carpet and turned, catching her wrist as she tried to scratch out
his eyes. He twisted her arm behind her back and grabbed her around the waist, half-dragging, half-
carrying her to the bed. Her free hand flailed for anything within reach, catching the edge of the
side table and scrambling for the lantern.

Tom wrenched her back without expression, tossing her face-first onto the mattress. Her grunt was
smothered by the plush bedding, hair spilling in every direction like a gleaming blanket.

He held the syringe between his teeth and seized her hips, flipping her over before she had the
chance to regain her bearings. Curls wrapped across her face, hiding her scowling visage from
view. She scrambled to push the locks away as Tom perched his knee beside her, biting off the
syringe cap and spitting the lid aside as he grabbed her left arm.

She tried to roll away but he pushed her back, bringing his other leg up to straddle her hips as he
drove the needle into her bicep. Hermione gasped, eyes flaring wide as he pushed down on the
depressor. She reached up and grabbed his shirt in both hands, crying softly.

“Shh,” he murmured, withdrawing the needle and rubbing her arm through the lace to alleviate the
burn in her muscle. “It’s alright.” Her lids grew heavy as tears streamed past her temples,
disappearing in the dark shadow of her hairline. “I’ve got you.”

Tom held her gaze as her body relaxed beneath him, the fingers twisting at his shirt loosening. He
grabbed her wrist and took her pulse, watching as her lids fluttered shut, dark lashes resting atop
rouge and tear-stained cheeks. She looked so docile, so peaceful. Like a kitten. A kitten that spent
the better part of an hour methodically trying to kill him. Tom lowered her wrist and drew a hand
through his hair, tiny shards of glass falling free with the motion.

He climbed off the bed with a groan, rolling his head along his shoulders until his neck gave a
satisfying crack. Her chest continued to rise and fall in even measure as he leaned back down,
grasping behind her knees and pulling her across the mattress until he was able to maneuver his
arms beneath her. He rose to his full height, tipping her against his chest and starting forward.

Her head lolled, long hair swaying back and forth as he made their way down the hall. As they
descended the spiral staircase Tom adjusted his hold, gazing upon her with a newfound
appreciation.

“Good show, luv.”

Her answering moan caused his grip to tighten.

 Devil's Breath

When you can’t look on the bright side,

I will sit with you in the dark.
. . .

The indigo sky bled into tarnished gold, signaling the long-awaited arrival of dawn. The horses
softly brayed as Tom pulled the carriage to a stop beside the lopsided structure. He dropped the
reins and rubbed exhaustion from his eyes, rotating his shoulder to alleviate the tightness in the
muscle, his entire body stiff and sore from the night’s physical exertions. He dismounted with a
heaving sigh, turning his attention to the car and approaching with a tentative step. The handle was
cold beneath his palm, damp with condensation. His reflection stared back at him from the
window, eyes dark and sunken, brow heavy, a malevolent apparition wearing his likeness as a
mask. He opened the door and dispelled the haunting mirage, unveiling a shadowed interior filled
with rhythmic breathing.

Weak sunlight filtered past his shoulder, falling across the side of her face and glinting off the
curls spilled across the bench. Her eyes flickered behind closed lids, fingers resting beneath her
chin. He gripped the sides of the frame and pulled himself into the compartment, moving the
blanket aside to uncover her bound wrists, a safeguard in the unfortunate event she awoke before
their arrival. He crouched beside her sprawled figure and lifted a palm to her mouth, pulse
throbbing as warm breath ghosted across his fingertips. They twitched before lowering to her jaw,
skimming its curve and pressing against her thrumming pulse, counting the beats.

“Hermione.” Her breathing changed but her lids remained closed. He carefully worked his arms
beneath her limp body, lifting her into a seated position and sliding her forward until she tipped
against his frame, head resting atop his shoulder. “I know you can hear me, wherever you are,” he
murmured in her ear, one hand gripping her waist while the other swept her hair back, smoothing
the locks down her spine. “I'm going to find him. Even if I have to burn this city to the ground.”
His chest expanded, feeling the pressure of her bound wrists resting between them. “And then I'm
going to kill him.” He studied her downturned lashes, the dried tears marring her cheeks, dark liner
smeared in heavy tracks, cutting through faded rouge. “But I need you to keep fighting while I find
the cure.” His fingers skimmed the lace of her bodice, tracing whalebone. “Don't let go.”

Tom gazed upon her for several moments more, silence tense and all-consuming as he pulled her
off the bench and into his lap, repositioning his hold until she was situated fully in his arms. He
carefully maneuvered their bodies through the doorway and leaped out, gravel crunching underfoot
as he tightened his hold and strode for the entrance.

The shattered windows had been boarded over, the stairs swept clean of glass and debris. He took
them quickly, feeling the gentle brush of her hair with every step. Knocking on the door was an
impossibility in his current predicament so he opted to tap it with his boot instead. But the moment
his foot made contact the barrier came unhinged and fell backward, hitting the marble with a
mighty bang. Tom set his jaw, annoyance palpable as he lingered beneath the warped frame.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, no doubt summoned by the commotion, and then Black
appeared, signature grin in place. “Ah, I thought I heard someone ring the bell.” His jovial voice
bounced off the vaulted ceiling. And then his bright gaze lowered to the bounty in Tom’s arms and
his expression sharpened to a point. “What—”

"Hermione!" Potter's voice rang from the landing as he pushed off the banister and raced down the
master staircase, shirtless and bandaged. Nott materialized behind him, clutching the railing as he
watched the show play out below. Tom crossed the threshold, sidestepping the fallen door as more
footfalls pattered from various directions, faces appearing beneath the archways.

“What happened?” Shouted the redhead Bones planned on murdering. “Is she hurt?”

“What the hell is she wearing?” Parvati called next, bounding across the tiles.

Potter leaped the bottom step and charged forward, skidding to a barefooted stop. “Why is she tied
up?” He demanded, eyes narrowed on her bound wrists as Black approached from behind. The boy
attempted to grab her but Tom stepped back, tightening his grip with a warning look. Potter's face
darkened, body coiling with tension as though preparing for a fight.

His godfather placed a staying hand on his shoulder, the gesture more restraining than assuring.
“I’m sure Riddle has a perfectly bizarre explanation he’s simply chomping at the bit to share.”
Tom imparted his most withering glare but the Peer remained undeterred. “Let’s get Hermione
settled so we can hear it.”

Parvati stopped beside them. “Lay her next to Padma—”

“No,” Tom clipped, earning everyone’s undivided attention. He elected to hold Black’s gaze,
recognizing him as the de facto leader of the ragtime group. “She needs to be confined until the
compulsion wears off.”

Potter blinked. “Compulsion? What…” The young man paled, realization choking him of words as
he took in her pristine gown and haggard make-up. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head as Nott
started down the stairs. “No,” he repeated, louder, angrier.

The redhead swallowed thickly, skin deathly pale. “She’s… she’s…”

“Did she have a seizure?” Parvati interjected, elbowing aside her dumbfounded neighbor for a
closer look.

“Has she been drugged?” Inquired the sandy-haired boy lingering awkwardly at Tom’s other side.

Ms. Abbott joined in next, wringing her hands anxiously. “Maybe we should—” Her words were
drowned beneath a swell of voices as everyone began talking at once, edging closer until they
triggered Tom’s fight or flight instinct. His gaze turned sinister, the urge to take Hermione and run
nearly overwhelming his greater sense.

“Enough!” Black shouted, rendering the crowd silent. Tom held still, rigid as a statue, inhaling
deeply as he talked himself down from a violent precipe. “Is she a danger to herself or others?”

Tom blinked, recalling Hermione’s feral hiss as she plunged the knife through the chair, her
answering growl as he wrestled the weapon away, the predatory gleam in her eyes as she swung the
marble bookend at his skull and the high-pitched whistle of an iron poker sailing past his head.
“You could say that.”

The young ones glanced between each other, unsettled by the simple but loaded declaration. Black
sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with resignation. “Let me grab the keys.”

“Keys?” His godson echoed, confusion evident on his face. And then he reared back, shaking his
head as some dark conclusion was drawn. “We can put her in my room—”

“Your ceiling is cracked,” Black stated evenly. “Reggie’s room survived the blast and is better
equipped.”
A heavy look passed between father and son. Tom’s shoulders drew wide, unnerved by the silent
exchange. “I'm not putting them on her,” Potter vowed with determination.

“It’s a last resort,” the Admiral assured patiently, though the emotion wore thin as the young man
remained unmoved. “Harry,” he uttered in warning. Potter stiffened but ultimately relented,
glancing away in acquiescence. Black nodded, backing towards the corridor. “I'll be right behind
you.”

The Admiral disappeared around the wall as Potter’s gaze snapped to Tom, burning with intensity
before lowering to the body in his arms and softening considerably. “Follow me,” he instructed,
tone tight and foreboding as he led a path for the staircase.

Despite his misgivings, Tom fell into step behind the boy, knowing Potter would never bring harm
against his childhood friend. As they ascended the small procession trailed eagerly at their backs,
clomping the stairs like lame mules. Tom ground his teeth, hands clenching upon her dress as his
final nerve gave way with an audible snap. He halted on the landing, turning to the gathering with a
malevolent glare.

“Stop,” he seethed, tone more forceful than intended but effective nonetheless. They took a
collective step back, herding together like trembling sheep before a snarling wolf. Tom forced a
steadying breath and ransacked his mental stores for a less terrifying mask. “It doesn’t take ten
people to put one unconscious woman to bed.”

Judging by the wary looks on their faces, he wasn't successful in his endeavor. Potter gripped the
banister, addressing the group with a far gentler hand. "Give us a few minutes, we'll meet you in
the front parlor."

Tom strode for the hall without awaiting their response, knowing they’d followed instruction when
Potter joined him sans entourage. The young man easily matched Tom’s long gait and provided a
close-up view of his bandaged side, arms and chest littered with abrasions and bruises.

“Looks like you fought a glass sculpture and lost,” Tom drawled.

“Feels like I was hit by a battering ram.”

Hermione moaned, brow furrowed as she turned her face into Tom’s arm, warm breath soaking
through his shirt and erupting chills along his spine.

“Did he hurt her?” Potter asked, eyeing him closely.

Tom remained unmoved by the inspection. “Meaning?”

“You know what I’m asking.”

He continued gazing forward, vision cast red at the mere prospect. “He’s not interested in their
bodies.”

“Just destroying their minds,” Potter muttered, voice dripping with hatred. His focus stayed on
Tom, taking in his rigid posture. “He’s still alive.”

“Not for long, I assure you,” Tom vowed, grip tightening on her warmth.

Potter studied him a moment longer before tipping his chin at the upcoming corner. “Make a left.”
Tom adjusted his grip as he sidestepped a decorative table, vases intact despite the crumbling walls
on either side. “Where's Bellatrix?” The boy asked, following him around the turn.
“I’ve no idea.”

“Bones will breathe fire.”

“Then I did him a favor. Incinerating the conspirators will save countless hours of interrogation.”

“Undoubtedly,” Potter agreed, leading them into another wreckage-strewn hall. “The jail’s
overflowing, his team will be buried for weeks.”

“At least half will post bail by tonight.”

“They’ll still be tried, reputations destroyed, a fate worse than death for most of them.”

Tom kicked aside a chunk of fallen plaster. “There are a number of fates much worse than death.
I’ll happily introduce them to my personal favorites.” The night’s success was a hollow victory
without Grindelwald’s head on a pike. The only way to truly stop the organization was to kill its
creator.

The hallway came to a dead-end with a black lacquer door at its head. It was an ominous sight to
be certain, Hermione’s soft breath the only thing keeping him grounded and calm. Footsteps
sounded at their backs. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting Black with a set of brass keys in
hand. “Where are the women?” He asked, stepping aside to allow the man room to pass.

“Bones secured a private wing at Mungo’s,” Black replied, searching the keyring. “Minimal staff
and maximum security.”

Potter moved away from the door, eyes on Hermione. “Should we take her there?”

“They can’t do anything for her.” Tom watched the Peer unlock the barrier. “She’s safer under
your care.”

“I take that to mean you aren’t staying?” Black inquired as he turned the knob and pushed, a cloud
of stale air bursting free as he led the way into the dark room.

Tom didn’t bother replying, consumed by his inspection of the shadowy interior. The Admiral
marched across the finely-woven rug, shoulders tight and gaze solemn as he pulled open a pair of
dusty drapes. Daylight filtered inside, illuminating the antique furniture and muted decor. Despite
the gloomy aesthetic, it appeared to be a child’s room, complete with a toy chest and miniature
cricket set, or perhaps a young teenager’s abode judging by the full-sized bed. But what stood out
above all else were the leather straps hanging from each bed-post, claw marks marring the wood.

He pulled Hermione to his chest and stepped back. Black released a long sigh, staring at the
ominous restraints with a haunted visage. “My brother suffered night terrors as a boy.”

“They caused him to sleepwalk?” Tom asked, watching the man lift a strap and study it with heavy
disdain.

“They caused him to sneak into my room trembling out of his skin. Our mother found him curled
up on the floor beside my bed one morning and had the binds installed that afternoon. She claimed
the only way to overcome fear was to endure it.”

The silence following his melancholy tale was heavy and oppressive. Tom pushed through,
treading forward and carefully lowering her to the mattress. “How deeply maternal of her,” he
muttered, rising to his full height. Cold settled into his bones as her warmth fell away. Potter
moved to the opposite side of the bed as Tom set about arranging her limbs, resting her bound
wrists atop her chest and smoothing the rumpled skirt over her knees. The boy awarded him a
warning glare that Tom easily ignored, stepping back only when she was settled.

“Mum had a gift,” Black lamented dryly, crossing his arms and leaning into a post. “But enough
about my cheery upbringing. I’d much rather hear about your night.”

Tom watched her eyes flicker beneath her lids. “Ms. Granger tried to bash in my brains and cut off
my head. My Gaelic is rusty so I injected her with chloral hydrate.”

"Ah," Black mused. "Well, that explains it."

“Unfortunately I'm a bit slower on the uptake,” Potter clipped. “You'll have to fill in the gaps.”

“There isn’t time,” Tom stated evenly. “I have to find the Dollmaker before he flees London.”

“Then we need to send word to Bones—”

“The Commissioner has his hands full.” Tom's blood heated, his next words unleashing beyond his
control. “The Dollmaker is mine.”

Potter narrowed his gaze. “So we're just supposed to sit here and do nothing?”

“Not quite.” Tom reached into his pocket, earning his audience’s undivided attention as he
extracted the vial. “You're going to find out what you can about this.”

He tossed it over the bed. Potter snatched it from the air with honed reflexes, examining the blue-
tinged contents. “What is it?”

“That's what I want to know. I took it from the Dollmaker’s private stores. With any luck, it holds
the key to a cure.” Their gazes flickered to Hermione. She continued to slumber like the dead. “He
programs their minds with triggers. His final command was to kill me. I strongly advise keeping
her restrained until you can ascertain her mental state. Her cunning and determination make her a
force to be reckoned with.”

“Mione’s always been that way,” Potter stated with pride.

Tom glanced up. “Then you know the threat she poses. Imagine if unstoppable bloodlust took the
place of her unshakable principles.”

Potter leaned back, bowed by the force of the notion.

“We’ll take care of her,” Black vowed, then tipped his head at the doorway. “Come on, I’ll show
you through the back.” Tom met his eye in silent inquiry. “I imagine you want to avoid the
Inquisition party downstairs,” the man explained. “There’s a side exit you can use, perfectly intact.
Greyback and his men were too stupid to find it.”

Tom nodded, unable to stop his gaze from drifting to the bed as he stepped back. Potter sidled
closer, perching on the edge of the mattress and smoothing a hand over her hair before reaching for
her wrists and slowly unfastening the knots. Tom closed his eyes and turned, only to find Black
standing just before him, expression far too knowing and amused.

“This way,” the Peer prompted, exiting without further ado.

Tom followed him into the hall, pausing halfway down as the man opened a secret panel in the
wall. Then they were descending a dark and narrow staircase and emerging in the servant's
quarters, the dusty and barren space appearing uninhabited for the better part of a century. The
chilling silence was a welcome reprieve from the raging bloodlust of Tom’s thoughts. But like all
good things in Tom’s life, it was stripped away far too soon.

Black opened a door to the backyard and paused at the threshold, blocking the path to freedom.
Tom’s jaw clenched, body coiling tight. The Admiral rolled his eyes, unaffected by the threat.
“Christ, you’re worse than Harry. I’m not going to chain you in the cellar. I just want to thank you
for bringing our girl home.”

The admission took Tom off-guard. He quickly tried to mask his uncertainty, unnerved by the
direction the conversation was heading. “It’s my fault she was targeted in the first place.”

“That’s highly debatable. Regardless, you could’ve easily left her behind to chase down the
Dollmaker. Instead, you kept her safe. I know what the delay cost you." Tom held perfectly still,
tongue pressing the roof of his mouth as he searched his mind for a suitable response. Black
regarded him carefully all the while, undoubtedly sensing his companion’s supreme discomfort
and laughing shortly. “As I said, I just wanted to thank you. There, the painful part’s over.” He
paced back, emerging onto a stone path bordered by a trodden vegetable garden. “So,” he
continued, watching as Tom fell into step beside him. “How are you going to find him?”

“I have a lead,” Tom replied evasively, eyes fixed ahead.

“And if it falls through?”

Tom lifted his chin, lips forming a narrow line. Black nodded, absently kicking a bullet casing out
of his way as the path ended. Tom continued across the grass without a parting word, mind already
onto the next phase of his mission.

“I finally remember,” Black called to his retreating figure. Tom paused, shoulders tense with
annoyance. “When you first came here looking for Hermione I knew I recognized you," the Peer
continued, addressing the back of his head. "But it didn't register until tonight. Christ, it must've
been over a decade now." Tom stiffened, dread weighing his limbs as he slowly turned. Black
tucked his hands into his pockets, posture as carefree as his voice. “I visited the Admiral and heard
shouting from inside his office. I’d never heard Dumbledore so much as raise his voice before that
day. I stood in silence until the door flew open and you stormed out.”

Tom swallowed thickly, tearing apart his mind for the scene, detesting any trip down memory lane.
But he’d engaged in so many shouting matches with Albus over the years it was impossible to
pinpoint a single one. “I didn’t ask questions and he didn’t volunteer answers,” the Peer relayed.
“In all the years since he’s never mentioned you once. So I know you’re someone important to
him.”

Tom inhaled slowly, pressure mounting in his chest until he was certain his ribcage would split
wide, three decades worth of rage spilling across the grass like a torrent of blood. “You don’t have
to tell me,” Black added, toeing aside the remnants of a shattered flower pot. “The details don’t
matter. But if you have any leverage with the man, now’s the time to pull it.”

Tom’s eyes glinted in the morning light, a storm brewing in their depths. “I intend to.”

Black nodded. “Good.”

Tom stepped back on stiff legs, eager to escape the claustrophobic confines of this conversation.

“Riddle.”
Bloody hell. Tom stopped again, rolling his head atop his shoulders, desperate to alleviate the
tension in his spine.

“We all have demons.” The Admiral’s voice sounded different from moments before, deeper, more
somber. “Yours just happens to be real.” For the first time in many years, Tom found himself
trapped by another's stare, held captive by the sheer intensity of it. “Vanquishing him doesn’t have
to be the final chapter of your story.” Black closed the distance between them and placed a hand on
Tom’s shoulder. “Trust me when I say it’s never too late to start again.”

Tom rocked in place, disturbed by both the words and the physical gesture. He hated being
touched, had avoided contact since boyhood. But now he found himself rooted firmly, the urge to
duck away strangely absent. “That sounds suspiciously like one of Albus’s shiny pearls,” he
muttered.

"This one's all mine," Black smirked, squeezing his shoulder before dropping his hand. "I've been
trying to think up some grand and fatherly wisdom for Harry. What do you think?”

“I’m sure it will be a great hit.” Tom edged back. “Unfortunately, I’m long past fatherly wisdom.”

“Then consider it friendly advice,” Black mused, nodded his farewell. “Godspeed, Doctor.”

Tom turned away before the weight of the man’s stare could crush him. He cut a quick path across
the trodden lawn and pushed the unsettling encounter to the back of his mind, focused solely upon
the task ahead. It was time to end this nightmare once and for all, and to do that he needed answers.

Fortunately, Tom knew just where to find them.

Draco gripped the handle tight, bracing for the madness inside, but as he opened the door and came
face to face with the raging crowd he realized how grossly unprepared he was. It was like stepping
back inside the auction room, a sea of faces shouting to be heard, though this time they were
constrained to their seats by chains and manacles. Scotland Yard was overflowing in every sense of
the word, paddywagons piled out front and bodies pressed tightly within. He took a steadying
breath and strode inside, searching the finely dressed prisoners for a recognizable face, only to
realize with a sickening jolt he recognized them all.

“Draco!”

He turned, seeking the source of the familiar voice. The benches lining the walls were jam-packed,
the majority shouting at employees and detainees alike, eager to transfer their guilt to someone
else. Their masks were all removed, faces red with rage or bloated with tears. Officers passed back
and forth without a glance. But one man caught Draco’s attention, ironed wrists lifting high as he
tried to wave, much to the chagrin of his neighbors who were bound by the same length of chain.

“Yaxley,” Draco muttered, though his dull response did nothing to diminish the bald pervert’s
excitement.

“Oh thank God! You have to tell them this is a mistake—”

“I’m looking for my father.”

The idiot blinked. “Lucius is here? I didn’t know he…” His only remaining brain cell snuffed out
like a candle flame. “I thought he sent you to post bail for his party members.”

“You know better than that, Corban,” Draco narrowed his gaze, sidling closer. “You tendered your
resignation the moment you were loaded into the wagon.”

Yaxley pressed back, face whiter than chalk. “This is merely a misunderstanding, surely it’ll be
cleared up by morning—”

“Then you don’t need my assistance,” Draco clipped, striding past to examine the kaleidoscope of
disgruntled faces until finding one that didn’t inspire disgust.

Susan knelt before a woman in cuffs, saying something he couldn’t hear over the incessant drone
of the crowd. Then she stood swiftly, glancing around the room for something or someone before
spotting him and blinking. “Draco?” He couldn’t hear his name but read her lips, promptly
crossing the lobby while avoiding the desperate stares and pleas of his father’s associates. Her eyes
flared wide as he reached her at last. “What are you—”

“Where’s my father?”

“I—”

“This is illegal detainment!” The man seated beside them shouted, attempting to stand. “I’m going
to sue this place into the dirt! You have no idea—”

“Shut up, Farley,” Draco clipped. “You have a dozen bench warrants for sexual misconduct alone,
a courtroom is the last place you want to step foot.” The man opened and closed his mouth, sinking
into the bench like a dead weight. Draco silenced any further outbursts with a scowl and then
turned to Susan, arching a pale brow. “My father,” he prompted.

“He’s in one of the interview rooms.”

“Show me.”

She sighed, glancing away. “Hold on.” Her eyes flickered around the room before settling on an
officer seated behind the front desk. “Kent!” She shouted, waving the man over. He left his meter-
high stack of paperwork to cross the crowded floor. “I found another,” she informed him, gesturing
to the woman she’d previously been speaking to. Draco examined the stranger, taking note of her
expensive gown and diamond necklace. A party guest, but the faraway look in her eyes wasn’t born
of shock or fear. “Please escort her to the back,” Susan instructed. The officer nodded and began to
fish keys off his belt.

The man seated beside the young woman stirred, lifting his bound wrists as the Officer unlocked
her cuffs. “This is outrageous! I need medical attention! Some lunatic assaulted me in the bloody
entry hall!” The Officer ignored him, removing her chains. “Where the hell are you taking her?
You can’t do this!”

“I assure you, we can and we are,” Susan stated firmly, voice as cold as death.

Draco watched the Officer take the woman by the elbow and direct her to her feet. But the moment
he urged her forward she began to panic, screaming and slapping in a hysterical fit. Susan stepped
back, gaze wide as the woman swung wildly, frantic in her struggle. The Officer captured her
wrists as she unleashed a banshee cry, so piercing the room fell silent, hundreds of eyes falling
upon the scene.

“Stop!” Draco shouted, startling the Officer into losing his grip on one of her arms, her palm
cracking across his cheek in a blistering slap. Draco rounded on the man seated before him. “Give
her the command.”
The stranger gulped, pressing back as Draco surged forward. “I’ve no idea what—” His denial cut
short as Draco punched him in the mouth, snapping his head back and causing his neighbors to jolt,
chains rattling.

“Give her the command,” Draco repeated, eyes burning bright.

“This is barbaric!” The man wailed, voice muffled behind his hands as blood spilled past his
fingers. “I have rights!”

Draco grabbed the fool by the lapels and dragged him to his feet.

“Draco…” Susan murmured, but her warning fell by the wayside as he pulled the man closer, voice
low and lethal.

“Give her the bloody command or you’ll suffer the Commissioner’s wrath as well as mine. I assure
you, there won’t be a single shilling left to your name by the time I’m through.”

The stranger swallowed convulsively, eyes darting past Draco’s shoulder, focusing on the
trembling young woman struggling against the Officer. “Vivien, darling, it’s alright.” She blinked,
falling so still the Officer swayed back, unnerved at the sudden change. “Let the man take you,” he
continued, blood dripping from his busted lip to the crisp white cravat.

She blinked again, shoulders squaring as her gaze cleared. “Goodbye, Andrew,” she uttered
sharply, then turned away in dismissal. The man gaped at her back as the Officer gestured her
across the lobby and into the hall. The crowd erupted into chaos once more, voices filling the void
left behind by the ominous silence.

Draco released the bleeding idiot, leaving him to stare forlornly at his date’s retreating figure.
“Let’s go,” he muttered to Susan.

She tilted her head, bestowing him with a look of appreciation. “This way.”

They started down another hall, the roar of the crowd fading as he followed her around the corner.
“Has he been questioned?”

“I have no idea,” she replied over her shoulder. “I’ve been in the lobby all night.”

Draco rubbed the back of his neck, stepping aside as an Officer strode past with a struggling man in
custody. He spared a glance for his own suit while waiting for them to pass, the fabric wrinkled
and creased. His mother would drop dead if she saw him in such a state.

“Haven’t been to bed either?” She asked, drawing his focus.

“Sleep is the least of my worries.”

She nodded, the dark circles beneath her eyes a badge of solidarity, then started forward again,
leading him to the end of the hall and pointing to a door on the right. “In there.”

Draco inhaled deeply, holding it for several beats before releasing it. "Thank you.”

“Good luck,” she offered, patting his arm and heading back the way they came.

He stared at the scuffed door, head pounding in time to his heart. His hand twitched as it gripped
the knob and turned, striding forward before his nerve failed. He found his father at once, the
barren room offering little distraction beyond a table and two chairs.
"Draco?" His father pushed back from the desk, chair scraping across the chipped tile. "What are
you doing here?"

He stepped fully inside, closing the door. “I came to see if you’ve been charged.”

“I haven’t even been spoken to. I’m beginning to think I’ll be sitting here into next week.” Draco
scowled, refusing to succumb to the man’s effortless manipulations. Lucius remained undeterred.
“Would you like to sit—”

“No.”

His father sighed. “You need to speak with your mother before someone else does. Lord only
knows the rumors circulating.”

“Yes.” Draco paced closer, gripping the back of the empty chair and staring down his nose at the
man who raised him. “Imagine if she’s told her husband was apprehended at a sex-slave auction
hosted by her dear baby sister.”

Lucius affected an air of boredom, fingers idly drumming the desk. “Is this why you came? To
work in one last shot before I’m dragged before the magistrate?”

“Bones is spread thin enough, he won’t waste his resources on you. It’s Rodolphus he wants.” He
ground his teeth, forcing the rest free. “Bella is missing.”

His father flattened his hand on the table. “She escaped?”

“With help,” Draco scathed, shoulders rolling with tension. “I need to know what other property
she owns, off the record.”

“You intend to turn her in?”

“I intend to question her.”

Lucius studied his son’s face, reading it like an open book. “Hermione wasn’t at the Estate.”

Draco fought back an instinctual shudder. Hearing his father say her name was a sacrilege. “Tell
me what other property she owns.”

“Your aunt is a survivor. She won’t be foolish enough to return there alone.” A tense beat. “She’ll
be with the Dollmaker.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

Lucius shook his head, gripping the edge of the desk and pushing to his feet. “Draco, please see
reason—”

“We’ve already had this discussion. Give me an address or I’ll get it from mum. Then I’ll tell her
why you’re sitting in an interrogation room at Scotland Yard.”

His father dragged a hand over his face, shoulders slanting with exhaustion and defeat. “Parish
Street, Horsleydown.”

Draco’s brows knit together. “Bullshite.”

“She owns the building across from a grammar school. Not even I am creative enough to make up
such an outlandish tale.”
“We'll see about that. If you’re lying, I’m telling mum everything.”

The eagle gaze darkened with challenge. “Your mother and I have weathered many storms. This is
no different.”

“Then you deserve each other,” Draco snapped, pushing back from the chair with disgust.

“We understand each other. But more importantly, we understand sacrifice. That’s what love
requires, Draco. I’ve sacrificed a great deal to ensure my family’s happiness.”

“Obviously. I’m positively giddy with joy.”

“You’ve wanted for nothing your entire life.”

“You were born into the same wealth. Don’t pretend you sacrificed for our benefit. You did it for
your mighty reputation, a fact you proved when you threatened to discard me to protect it.”

“I threatened to cut you off, not kill you. Though I'm sure in your mind it's one and the same."
Lucius edged closer, affecting the same mannerisms he exhibited on the floor of Parliament,
circling his prey, awaiting the moment to strike. "Nevertheless, I knew you'd never walk away
from your inheritance. You don’t know how to survive in this world on your own.”

“And whose fault is that? You never once—” Draco closed his eyes, cursing himself for being
lured into the trap. “This is a waste of time. You’re never going to change, and I’m past the point
of hoping.”

“No matter what has transpired between us, you are still my son.”

Draco opened his eyes and turned for the door. “You can choose another heir.”

“Screw the Title!”

He stiffened at his father’s vehement outburst, glancing back.

“You are now and forever my son,” Lucius declared, stepping around the table. “I’ve made many
bad decisions in my life, but I regret none of them when they were made with your best interests at
heart. You’ve always been my first priority. Watching you grow into a man had been my greatest
joy. And of everything in this life, you are my proudest accomplishment.” He stopped just before
him, holding his gaze intently. “And while I can’t take credit for the principals you’ve adopted, it
doesn’t change the fact I know you better than you know yourself. Wisdom and experience afford
me the luxury of viewing the world through a wider lens. I can see beyond today and tomorrow, I
know how this all turns out.”

Draco swallowed thickly, searching the silver gaze for the duplicity he was so used to seeing. Alas,
all he found was a naked vulnerability that left him speechless and rattled.

“And despite all this, I also know I must allow you to make your own mistakes,” his father
continued, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “The only way to keep you is to let you go.”

Draco pressed back, searching for his voice. “I’m not coming back,” he whispered.

“You will eventually. After you realize your feelings for her are held aloft by two simple pillars: a
desire for the unattainable and a need to rebel.”

Draco shook the hand away, senses returning in a flare of heat. “I’m honored you think so highly of
me.”

“It’s not an insult. You’re young—”

“Too young to be in love?”

“Too young not to be,” Lucius stated calmly, making his son want to strike him all the more.
“Falling is the easy part. Making it last through hell and heartache is another. Your relationship is
in the honeymoon stage, it has yet to be tested—”

“Tested?” Draco scoffed, gesturing to the sterile interrogation room. “We’re standing in Scotland
Yard!”

“You’re standing in Scotland Yard, you were at the auction—”

“You’ve no idea what she’s been through!”

“I don’t doubt it. But it doesn’t change the fact you’ve been fighting this battle separately.” Draco
blinked, rendered numb. “Trauma can bring people closer together,” Lucius stated patiently, as
though coaxing a wild animal from its den, “or it can drive them further apart.”

“Just because we’re apart doesn't mean we're separate."

His father sighed, rubbing his brow. “She’s the first girl to ever catch your attention. Are you truly
prepared to leave your entire life behind for her?”

Draco’s blood percolated, the sizzle and snap overpowering his thundering heart. “I’m looking
forward to it, starting right now.” He reached for the knob but it turned before he could grasp it,
the door swinging wide to reveal a familiar face, spectacled eyes focused on a stack of paperwork.

“Lord Malfoy, I apologize for the delay. As you can imagine, we have a bit of a full-house—”
Bones glanced up, blinking twice. “Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco lifted his chin, shoulders drawing level. “Commissioner.”

“I thought you were at St. Mungo’s.”

“I was.” The muscles in his jaw clenched. “The women are settled in the private wing. I came to
see if there’s anyone else needing transfer.”

“Check with Susan,” Bones instructed, glancing back to the file in his hand. “She’s interviewing
party guests in the lobby.”

Draco nodded, starting forward.

“Draco,” his father said. He sighed, stopping in the doorway and glancing back, well aware the
Commissioner was listening to every word with a detective’s ear. “Don’t forget about your mother.
She needs you.”

A beat. Then two.

“So do others,” Draco replied with calm indifference, taking a note from his father’s playbook and
relishing the flash of anger it elicited. “She’s safe at the Manor. I’ll speak to her when I have
time.”

He strode into the hall, exchanging a brief but tense look with Bones before leaving both men to
their interview. He crossed the lobby with determination, deaf to the men and women calling his
name in a desperate bid for pardon. He only acknowledged Susan, catching her eye on his way out
and nodding farewell, feeling no guilt in abandoning the three-ring circus. Someone else could
escort the remaining dolls to the hospital.

Draco had a witch to burn.

Hermione wandered through endless darkness, an empty abyss of space and time. The floor rippled
with every step as though wading through a sea of ink. Her feet were wet and cold but her arm
drew the whole of her awareness, the muscle tender and sore like she’d been punched. It reminded
her of the vaccinations she’d received as a child, her mother holding her hand as the Doctor drew
near, gleaming needle reflecting the light. She would stare at her mother's face the whole time,
focusing on the woman’s gentle smile and soothing words. The puncture would make her cringe
but she kept her tears at bay, eager to prove how strong she was, how grown-up. She remembered
her mother’s laughter afterward, the evident pride in her voice. She remembered her mother’s shrill
screams as she burned alive.

Hermione closed her eyes, shaking her head and breathing deep, trying desperately to dispel the
images, the sounds. Flames lapped behind her lids and smoke filled her lungs, floorboards
groaning beneath her curling toes.

It’s over, you aren’t there anymore… Her eyes snapped open, vision hazed, but the blurry
landscape appeared just as it had before. Dark and vacant. Am I dreaming? She had no idea what
was real anymore, only that she couldn’t bear the eerie nothingness a moment longer.

“Hello?” She called, voice echoing all around, bouncing off unseen barriers. I’m sleeping. But how
to wake up? Did the darkness have an end? Was there nothing but a blinding ocean of white on the
other side of the veil?

“Hermione.”

Her heart skipped violently. She spun a frantic circle, searching the ink-drenched landscape for the
source of the familiar voice. “Tom?”

“I know you can hear me, wherever you are.”

Phantom breath ghosted across her neck, low-spoken words filling her ear. “Tom!” She turned, no
one behind her.

“I'm going to find him. Even if I have to burn this city to the ground.”

A warm pressure at her waist drew her gaze. She held her breath, invisible fingertips tracing her
side.

“And then I'm going to kill him.”

Tears welled. She pressed the heel of her palm to her mouth and bit back a sob, detesting this
feeling of hopelessness, trapped in a prison of desolation.

“But I need you to keep fighting while I find the cure.”

She felt the gentle glide of fingertips across her jaw, down her neck, lingering at her pulse. She
placed her hand over the spot, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly.
“Don't let go.”

Her throat stuck. “I won’t,” she whispered into the darkness, voice steady with resolve. “I’ll never
stop fighting.”

The phantom touch melted away but his words lingered behind, stoking the flame inside her. She
remembered then and there where she was and why she had come. The secret to unlocking
Grindlewald’s dark magic lied within this fantasy world and she wouldn’t leave without it. But
first…

“I have to get out of this place.”

She continued ahead, blind and directionless as dark water splashed at her heels, slowing when a
grey mist rose from the ether. Tendrils swirled through the air and wove together until they formed
a humanoid shape, void of details. She tilted her head and drew closer, curious and tentative,
gasping as features appeared upon the smokey face until it became as recognizable as her own
reflection.

“Harry!”

His mist-filled likeness darted forward, cloudy wisps trailing his path. She sprinted to meet him
halfway, stumbling when he ran through her, dissolving upon impact and reforming just behind
her, continuing his jaunt as though oblivious to her presence. She spun around, watching in
bewilderment as he came to a stop before two more smoke-figures. Tom… and herself. Though she
appeared to be unconscious, held tightly in his arms.

“What?” She muttered, watching the strange scene play out in silence. Their mouths moved but no
sound emitted. She gathered her skirts and ran to their sides. “Tom! Harry!” More smoke rose from
the ground, twisting and folding until it formed more ghostly figures, equipped with pale and
familiar visages that cut through her heart. “Parvati! Can you hear me?” She waved her hands
before the woman’s face, chest aching as she moved through Hermione without blinking.
“Neville!” But he too remained oblivious to her presence. She sank back on her heels, arms
dropping. “It isn’t real.”

“They’re real.”

Hermione gasped, staggering back as a feminine voice echoed from above.

“But you aren’t real to them.”

Her eyes narrowed on the endless black sky, a cosmos void of stars. “Where am I?”

“Limbo.”

Limbo? Wonderful. “How do I get out?”

“Follow my voice.”

Hermione sighed, glancing around as her friends continued about their ghostly business, mist
hovering over their figures like foggy auras. “Your voice is everywhere.”

“That means you’re close.”

She relented, leaving the mirages behind and journeying deeper into darkness. She cast one last
wistful look over her shoulder and watched her friends collapse like sand, white mist sinking into
murky damp. Her heart seized at their abrupt departure. Alone again.

“It’s alright, Hermione, I’m with you.”

“Where?” She continued to search the darkness aimlessly. “I can’t see anything.”

“Follow the light.”

“There is no—”

She swayed on her feet as a faint shimmer of gold appeared above, pulsing like a star. The glowing
orb lowered slowly, growing in size until it seemed to hover just above her, the size of a fishbowl,
brimming with an ethereal light. Breath-taking. Hypnotic. Her hand lifted on its own accord,
fingertips bathed in its warm glow. But before she could touch the gleaming center the orb lifted
out of reach and drifted forward, a lantern caught in a breeze. Hermione gave chase without
thought, drawn like a moth to a flame.

“That’s it,” the gentle voice coaxed. “Just a little further, sweetheart.”

The casual endearment dispelled the cold desolation of her surroundings, reminding Hermione of
her mother. And then the orb dropped low, hovering before her eyes, blinding in its brilliance. She
cringed, glancing away and lifting a hand to block the glare. The orb burst without warning, the
explosion silent but intensely bright, causing her to jolt back in shock.

“Hermione.” The voice still emanated from above but sounded closer, more tangible. “Open your
eyes.”

She blinked against the glare, vision slowly adjusting. Shapes took form, hazy and shadowed,
details bleeding down the walls and across the furniture until a room sprung to life around her, free
from the ink-drenched prison at last. She breathed a heavy sigh, then blinked in confusion as she
realized she was lying atop a plush surface. Sunlight filtered through an arched window, reflecting
off a gauzy canopy overhead. Her hand skimmed the velvet throw covering her legs before her
attention was stolen by a soft exhale that wasn’t her own. The mattress shifted as she faced a blurry
figure seated beside her. Curved and feminine.

“Mum?” She whispered without thought, voice hoarse from disuse. Her lids fluttered, eager to
bring her mother’s features into clarity. She reached out with child-like anticipation and gasped,
distracted by the thick bandage covering her upper-arm. “What happened? Did I get a shot?”

“No, darling.”

She glanced up quickly, disappointment resting heavy in her gut. The voice was both familiar and
foreign. Hermione sank into the pillows as her vision slowly sharpened, the woman’s identity
coming into view at long last. Decidedly not her mother.

Of course not. Mum’s dead. I’ll never see her again.

The dark acknowledgment released the floodgates of memory, images flashing through her mind as
ice-water filled her veins. Flames climbing the walls of her childhood home, beams snapping
overhead, glass exploding in every direction. The towering black doors of the Home parting wide.
Umbridge glaring down her nose and leading the way through dark and twisting corridors. Cold
breath ghosting down her neck. Ghastly apparitions hovering beneath shadowed doorways.
Lavender dead on the slab. Parvati unconscious on the floor. Hannah trembling in the corner.
Waking up in the asylum, the suffocating constraint of the straightjacket, the weightless dark of the
water tank. Dawn seizing before the dollhouse. Falling down the rabbit hole, running through the
woods as faceless soldiers gave chase. The factory and the tea party and the maze, shrill laughter
and talking mushrooms and floating Castles. Every tear and scream she’d suppressed for the last
three months fighting for release, the pressure building and building until she split at the seams and
exploded like a supernova, pressing her face to the pillow and screaming with all her might.

The piercing wail tapered off with her breath, descending into broken sobs that wracked her body
and shook the bed. She clutched the duvet by the fistful, desperate for an anchor in this sea of
overwhelming misery. A hand pressed gently to her back, rubbing slow and soothing circles
between her shoulder blades.

“It’s alright,” the voice from the darkness murmured. Not mum not mum not mum. “You’re safe
now.”

Hermione shook her head, cries dying into weak and gasping sounds. “No, I'm not.” She inhaled
sharply and lifted her face, skin heated and wet, eyes swollen and sore. “Nowhere is safe while
he’s still alive.”

The stranger took Hermione’s hand and held it between warm palms. “You’re going to stop him,”
she stated with a firmness that earned Hermione’s gaze. “And we’re here to help. You aren’t alone
in this, Hermione. You’ve never been alone.”

The twin suns reflected off the beveled glass of a standing cabinet, illuminating the woman's face
with strips of dancing light. Hermione swallowed thickly, forcing it past the tightness of her throat
as she studied her companion with care. She was quite beautiful, features regal and warm, body
long and slender but with healthy vitality. Mushroom-brown waves fell loose around her shoulders,
reflecting a blue-tone in the light. But the one feature holding Hermione’s attention rapt was her
gaze, storm grey irises haunting and unmistakable.

Hermione pushed into a seated position, blessedly lighter in the wake of her release. “Thank you,
Merope.”

The woman smiled and her face transformed, so much like her son’s it rendered Hermione
breathless. “It’s me who should be thanking you. You’ve done more than I could have ever hoped
for.” She tilted her head, the tips of her hair grazing the top of her lap. “You kept my boy from
losing himself to the darkness.”

Hermione blinked, pulse quaking at the words. “You remember Tom?”

“Of course,” Merop laughed softly, eyes sparkling. “Tom is my greatest joy, even in death.”

The admission took Hermione off guard, the woman seated before her nothing like she imagined
from Tom’s sorted recollections. But it didn’t seem appropriate to prod that particular wound. At
least not yet. Hermione cleared her throat, searching her mind for a suitable response. “Padma
forgot who she was, I assumed the longer you’re in Wonderland the more your memory fades.”

“Padma is still alive on the outside. Her mind is under the Dollmaker’s control, same as yours.”

Hermione pressed into the headboard, eager to evade the possibility. “But I remember who I am.”

“Because you protected your memories,” Merope’s smile deepened, genuine and vibrant. “just as
we knew you would.”

A bevy of questions bobbed to the murky surface of Hermione’s mind, crowding together until her
temples throbbed. She rubbed her eyes and felt the press of the bandage on her arm. Her body
tensed as she relived the searing memory of leaping from the bridge and slicing her artery on the
hedge. She carefully lifted the edge of the gauze and peeked inside, only to pull the wrapping away
with a quiet gasp. Her skin was slightly discolored and marred by a long and narrow scar, but the
flesh was knitted over as though the wound was months old. She traced the raised mark with a
fingertip and glanced up, voice brimming with awe.

“You healed me?”

“I stitched your wound. The magic of Wonderland healed you. You’re as connected to it as any of
us now, you can draw from its power.”

Warmth bloomed inside her chest, the explanation inspiring a rush of pride despite knowing it was
just as much a curse. Hermione pulled he velvet throw aside and glanced around the room, taking
sweeping inventory of the eclectic decor. “Is this your bedroom?”

“Yes.” Merope leaned into her upholstered chair. “I would’ve put you in a spare room but they’re
all occupied at the moment.”

“Are there many people living in the Castle?”

“Not nearly enough, we offer sanctuary to as many as we can but as you well know, traversing the
landscape is a harrowing feat. Few show up at our doors anymore.”

Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble forth, harrowing feat such a gross understatement it
bordered on the comical. Hermione tamped her reaction, suspecting her sanity was more out-of-
sorts than she realized. She glanced at Tom’s mother, held captive by her swirling gaze. “Where
are my friends?”

“Safe within the Castle. I’m sure Padma and Dawn are exploring the grounds while Lavender
searches for adventure where she can find it.”

“I’d think she had her fill by now.”

“It’s Lavender we’re talking about,” Merope replied wryly, lips curving into another phantom
reflection of her son.

“Good point,” Hermione agreed with a smile. But it was quickly vanquished as a new realization
took hold. “You’ve been here all this time?”

Merope’s expression sobered. She gripped the armrests and straightened, posture so pristine
Hermione wondered if she was afforded a governess as a child. “I’ve been here since my first
treatment at age 23. But my mind wasn't fully restored until after my suicide.” Hermione’s stomach
turned at the calm description. Merope remained stoic, though her eyes displayed an intensity of
emotion that held her audience rapt. “My mind was greatly divided,” Merope continued. “I no
longer knew which reality was real, if anything I saw or experienced was real. The uncertainty
prevented me from truly living on either side of the veil.”

Hermione inhaled slowly, heart aching at the tale, relieved she had no tears left to shed. “It’s such a
pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine. I’ve been eagerly awaiting this moment since—” Merope stopped abruptly.

Hermione leaned forward, drawn by an invisible thread. “Since?”

“I should let Ariana do the honors,” her companion replied evasively. “Are you feeling up to—”
“I’m ready,” Hermione stated firmly, legs swinging off the side of the bed.

“Of course you are,” Merope laughed softly, rising swiftly and offering a helping hand. “We’ll take
a shortcut to the throne room.”

Hermione accepted the palm and rose with far less grace, swaying precariously as a powerful
headrush took hold. “She’s really Queen of Wonderland?”

“Indeed.” Merope gripped Hermione’s shoulders until she was steady on her feet, then stepped
back and gestured for her to follow. She led the brief trek to the door and opened it for her guest.

“What’s your role here?” Hermione inquired as she passed, entering a lavish hallway and blinking
with awe. The walls gleamed with lacquer and gold filigree, quartz slabs sparkling on the floor.
Carved onyx composed the baseboards and molding and golden tile paved the ceiling, polished to
such perfection they reflected Hermione’s bewildered expression with stunning clarity.

Merope entered without a glance, unaffected by the mesmerizing design as she offered a simple
response to the question Hermione had forgotten she asked. "I serve many purposes, but mainly I
—"

“Hello Merope,” a passing woman greeted.

Merope smiled brightly, closing her bedroom door with a soft click. “Hello Justine, how are you
feeling?”

“Much better,” the woman replied, stopping before them. “The headaches went away.”

“I’m so relieved. Let me know if they return, I’m happy to brew more tonic.”

“I will, thank you.” The stranger nodded a polite farewell and continued on her way.

Hermione stared at her retreating figure before glancing sideways. “You brew tonics?”

“Only the basics,” Merope provided shortly, starting down the gilded corridor and prompting her
companion to follow. But Hermione refused to let the subject drop, sensing something greater
hidden beneath the basic answer.

“Are you interested in medicine?”

“I suppose you can say that.” A pregnant pause. “I was a nurse, for a very short while.”

Hermione stumbled, falling into Merope’s side. “Really?” She flushed hotly before veering back
on course. “Tom never told me that.”

“He doesn’t know.” The statement was simple yet inspired a profound sadness that pierced to the
core. They turned the corner, a new face appearing before Hermione could form a response.

“Maggie,” Merope greeted, “it’s good to see you up and about.”

“I’m up, still working on the about,” the stranger replied gruffly, slowing before the pair.

“May I see?” Merope prompted.

“Sure.” The woman hiked her skirt as Merope leaned down to inspect her bare ankle.

“The inflammation has gone down,” Merope hummed idly, straightening with a smile, “the bruise
should fade within a day.”

The woman released a heavy sigh and dropped her skirt. “I can’t believe I sprained it mopping a
bloody floor.”

“I think you were doing a bit more than mopping, but it's our little secret.” Merope winked.

“I appreciate that,” the stranger stated with amusement before turning her attention to the hallway’s
third occupant. “Hello, hon, I don’t believe we’ve met. Name’s Margaret, friends call me Maggie
and everyone else calls me a—”

“Spirited conversationalist,” Merope hastily interjected.

Maggie smirked. “Yeah, and then they compliment my delicate grace and perfect manners.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maggie. I’m Hermione. My friends call me Mione, though I’m certain
they use an assortment of nicknames when I’m not around.”

Her new acquaintance blinked twice, jaw unhinging. "Hermione…" She glanced at Merope. "She's
the one?”

Merope’s expression remained unchanged. “She is.”

“Holy shite.” Maggie sprung forward with surprising dexterity, seizing Hermione in a tight
embrace. “Get over here!” Hermione stiffened in her hold, glancing over her shoulder at Merope
for some clue.

“We mustn’t overwhelm her, Maggie,” Merope gently admonished. “She hasn’t had the
opportunity to speak with Ariana yet.”

“Oh!” The exuberant woman released her with a laugh. “And here I am rambling like a nutter.”

“Not at all,” Hermione assured, awkwardly tucking a curl behind her ear. “Though I haven’t done
anything to earn such a warm welcome.”

“You came to save us,” Maggie said as though it were the most obvious fact in the world.

The weight of the declaration pressed upon Hermione’s chest, expelling her breath. “All I’ve
managed to do so far is nearly get myself killed in new and exotic ways.”

The woman shrugged. “I busted my arse dancing with a mop, we all have our off days.” The
uncandid admission inspired a fit of laughter, Hermione’s shoulders trembling with the glorious
release. “Besides, our Queen believes in you,” Maggie continued, taking pleasure in her reaction.
“That’s good enough for me.”

Hermione settled, chest tightening anew. But the colorful resident spared her from having to
respond, clapping her hands in delight. “Well, I’m off to the kitchens,” she announced animatedly.
“Figured I’d try to make amends with the uppity bitch.”

“I’m certain Lorraine will appreciate the assistance,” Merope said, “even more so if you refrain
from calling her an uppity bitch.”

“She won’t bat an eye at that. Now when I tell her she has a fat arse she’ll throw a cleaver at my
head. Should be quite a show if you’re interested.” Merope shook her head, rubbing the bridge of
her nose. “What?” Maggie batted her lashes innocently. “I've got to break up the monotony of
eternity somehow.”

Merope sighed, offering no response.

“Relax. I promised Ariana I wouldn't start any more trouble. I keep good on my word."

“I know,” Merope stated at last, eyes gleaming with amusement as Maggie started to back away.

“Good luck, hon!” She called with a wave. “Give that evil bastard hell!” Hermione returned the
farewell gesture with a grin, arm dropping as the woman disappeared around the corner.

“The Castle is asylum to a diverse group of inhabitants,” Merope explained as though it wasn’t
glaringly obvious.

“It reminds me of the Home,” Hermione mused, “except it floats in the sky and isn't ruled by an
evil tyrant, so all-in-all it’s greatly preferable.”

Her companion laughed, deep and melodic, before continuing their forward journey. They passed
several more residents as they navigated the halls, men and women of varying ages and demeanors,
though they all appeared well-cared for and bright-eyed, a jarring contrast to the dirty and fatigued
residents taking shelter in the Abbey. A few people sought an audience with Merope to exchange
pleasantries or ask advice. She replied to each one with steady grace and unwavering warmth,
genuine fondness in her voice. It soon became evident her maternal nature wasn’t an act for
Hermione’s benefit. Which made the fact Tom had been denied this version of his mother all the
more tragic. But Hermione quelled such thoughts, eager to stay on topic and complete her mission.

“Did all these people travel through the hedge maze?” She asked, keeping pace beside her
statuesque guide as they traversed another glittering hall, this one filled by decorative tables and
overflowing flower vases.

“A few, when it was less lethal and more scenic. But the majority were transported directly
following their arrival before Gellert took control." The casual utterance of his name somehow
made it all the more sinister, summoning forth his image like a ghost in her mind. “Ariana wanted
to bring you here via the same means,” Merope continued, effectively dispelling the malevolent
vision, “but she’s very weak. Lavender insisted on fetching you instead. It’s vital Ariana conserve
her strength. Wonderland will fall to ruins without her.”

Hermione wetted her lips, eagerly absorbing the information. If Ariana had the power to send
entities back and forth it could only mean one thing… "She plans to send me home," she surmised
aloud.

“Yes,” Merope confirmed, idly straightening a bloom as they entered the next gleaming corridor.

“How?”

“Ariana can explain it much better than I,” Merope replied without shame, casting a sideways
glance. “She’s very excited to meet you.”

Hermione released her breath in a rush, mind spinning with the task ahead. “The feeling is mutual.”
And then a new piece of the puzzle surfaced, eager to be put in its rightful place. “I’ve seen
Ariana’s apparition several times, has she sent you back as well?”

The grey eyes flickered, no doubt sensing the true meaning behind the question. “A handful of
times, but I’m embarrassed to admit it was purely for selfish purposes. I can only see him when I
cross over.”
Hermione’s heart skipped. “You’ve visited Tom?” She was instantly transported to the haunted
attic of the Home, recalling the night she first revealed her ghoulish visions to him. He'd been
refreshingly open-minded but gave no indication of undergoing a similar experience.

“I’ve checked in,” Merope divulged, gaze so penetrating Hermione was certain she could see the
attic-scene play out in her mind. “But he’s only ever seen me once. By accident.”

The memory collapsed like smoke, replaced by a chronic ache. “I’m so sorry, Merope. I can’t
imagine the pain of being separated from your child, only able to see him from a distance.”

“The fault is my own,” Merope uttered tightly, glancing forward.

Hermione shook her head. “No, it isn’t. You weren't in control of your actions.”

“Nevertheless, it was my job to protect him.” A tear overspilled her dark lashes, quickly swept
away. “I failed in every way imaginable.” Hermione’s lips parted but no comfort came forth. She
hadn’t the faintest clue how to remedy over three decades of misplaced guilt. “He’s been alone for
so long. From the very day he was born.” She glanced at Hermione, eyes shimmering with
emotion. “I’m so happy he found you.”

Hermione stumbled over her feet, catching herself against a narrow table and knocking a vase on its
side. She scrambled to catch it before it shattered on the quartz, salvaging the decoration but not
her pride. A fever burned a steady path across her chest and neck, spilling over her cheeks like
wildfire. “He has the Admiral as well,” she said quickly, carefully stepping around the furniture.
“Dumbledore cares for him like a son.”

Merope nodded, resuming their journey. “Albus is a good man. He did his best to steer Tom away
from this path, to offer a positive influence.” A shadow passed over her delicate features,
transforming them into a chilling mask. “But the curse is in the blood. There’s no escaping it.”

Hermione’s pulse swelled. “What do you—”

"Hello, Merope."

Hermione gasped, startled by the interruption.

“Rachel,” Merope greeted kindly as the woman passed, waiting until she was out of earshot before
picking up the fallen reins of their conversation. "Albus has given Tom a great deal, but he never
stood at his side to fight this battle. That's what sets you apart."

Hermione rubbed her palms along her skirts, overcome by the urge to fidget. “Tom has done most
of it on his own—”

“Don’t be modest. I’ve seen you together.”

She stumbled again, placing a hand to the wall for balance as her heart exploded in her chest, death
imminent. “What…” Dear God. “What were we doing?”

Merope reached out a steadying hand, inspecting her as though searching out the source of her
clumsiness. “Having a conversation.”

“Oh. Right.” Hermione deflated, then attempted to disguise the motion by smoothing both hands
down her front. “We… converse often.” Stop talking.

Merope guided her forward, interlocking their arms in an obvious attempt to keep her upright. “I
knew you’d stop at nothing to bring this evil to an end. You’re the partner Tom needs to see this
through.”

Hermione felt her blush deepen and silently cursed the juvenile reaction. But she was spared from
further mortification as they arrived before a set of gilded silver doors. They made a magnificent
sight, covered from floor to ceiling in intricate filigree, reminiscent of her lost blade. Her fingers
twitched with the memory, still calling out for their lost companion.

“Hermione,” Merope spoke lowly, drawing her attention, “before you go inside, there’s something
you should know about Ariana.” Hermione held her breath, sensing the weight of the information
to follow. “She…” Her lips formed shapes but the words refused to come, silence stretching thin
before she sighed and shook her head. “On second thought, nevermind. There’s really no
describing her.” She imparted a gentle smile before reaching for the curved handle and pulling the
door wide.

Hermione felt a sudden rush of anxiety, nervous to enter. But she forced her knees to bend,
reminding herself of all the battles she’d faced and won, all the danger and mayhem she'd braved
in order to arrive at this very moment. Her shoulders drew back with confidence, stride
lengthening, yet she’d barely made it past the threshold before she was staggering to a halt,
overcome by the unexpected scene.

The room was a sight to behold, every corner worth close inspection. The domed ceiling was a
kaleidoscope of stained glass, casting rainbows across every surface, reflected most brightly in the
gemstone tile. A black velvet staircase led to a solid gold throne, empty save for an assortment of
silk pillows piled atop the cushion, others scattered around the chair to accommodate a seated
audience. Behind the gleaming centerpiece was a massive water display covering the entire wall,
liquid cascading from copper pipes in the ceiling, emptying into a coral-filled pond of tropical fish.
A modest garden took up the back portion of the room, gleaming tile giving way to dark soil and
flowering bushes, fruit trees sprouting from the floor. A huge clock hovered on the wall above,
metallic hands slowly ticking away. The face read five o’clock, prompting Hermione to search out
the dual suns behind the stained glass, wondering just how long a day lasted—

The leaves rustled in the garden, barely audible over the crash and froth of water. Her gaze
flickered to a trembling bush of yellow hellebores and her hands curled on instinct, preparing for
the next battle. But her fears were dispelled as a snow-white lop emerged from the foliage, leaves
and petals trailing its path as it bounded forward, pink nose twitching. It landed before her in a
mound of fluff, long ears dangling and deep blue eyes staring up.

Hermione smiled at the creature, shoulders easing. "Hello, Ariana."

A flash of silver light followed, bright and dazzling, absorbing the shape of the rabbit and
illuminating the silhouette of a girl as she unfolded from her crouched position. Pale hair caught
Hermione’s gaze first, the near-white locks reflecting the rainbow prisms from above. Her dress
was the same shade as her royal blue gaze, skirts lavish and full, bodice stitched with silver thread
and gemstones, a design befitting a queen. And the face smiling back at her was exactly that, regal
and radiant, but most astoundingly, full of life. Her lips parted and all of Wonderland held its
breath, clinging to every word. "Hello, Hermione."

Astoria smoothed her hands along her front, straightening the seams of her bodice and fluffing her
skirts, desperate to dispel this twitching anxiety before entering the shop. Alas, she couldn't delay
the inevitable any longer without attracting unwanted attention from early morning passers-by. Her
father was well-connected and several of his business associates were known to frequent this
neighborhood; she was too close to freedom to have it ripped away now. So with a deep breath, she
reached for the handle and tugged the door wide, striding inside before talking herself out of it.

The scent of leather and parchment flooded her senses, calming her nerves. That is until she caught
a movement behind the counter and a damning blush spilled across her face like ink.

“Good morning, how can I—” he glanced up, spotting her and grinning wide. “Astoria. Well, now
it’s a fantastic morning.”

She laughed softly, flush deepening as the door settled at her back. “Good morning, Fred.”

“I didn’t know you were coming today.” He folded his arms atop the counter, eyes gleaming as she
began a tentative approach.

“I came to speak with Andromeda.”

“She’s in the back, let me grab her.” He pushed away from the table and started to turn.

“Actually…” Just breathe. “I came to speak with you as well.”

He settled back into place, grinning anew. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She stopped before him, sweeping invisible hairs from her face to keep from fidgeting. “I…” Just
say it. “I’m leaving.”

He blinked, then arched an auburn brow. “Leaving?”

“London,” she supplied, gripping the edge of the counter for balance.

“Oh.” His smile faltered. “Is your family going on holiday?”

“Not quite—” The door at back swung open, startling them both.

“Ah, I thought I heard a familiar voice,” Andromeda announced, emerging from the backroom like
a vibrant beam of sunlight. “Good morning, dear, how are you?”

“I’m quite well, thank you, Madam.” Andromeda glanced between the room’s young occupants,
her astute inspection causing them to shift awkwardly, giving rise to her knowing grin. Astoria
cleared her throat, eager to dispel her growing mortification. “I just wanted to provide you with my
new account information.” She reached into her pocket and extracted a slip of paper.

"Oh, splendid," Andromeda chimed, accepting the offering. "I'll update our books." She read the
information scribbled across the parchment, tilting her head. "CaixaBank?"

“It's in Barcelona.” Astoria swallowed as Fred and Andromeda directed their full attention upon
her. Don’t squirm. “It's actually a friend’s account. She's letting me use it until I can set up my
own.”

“You're moving to Barcelona?” Andromeda asked, Fred still as a statue at her side.

Hearing the words spoken aloud caused a similar reaction in Astoria, heart galloping as she felt the
weight of her decision for the first time. “I am.”

But the mounting tension snapped like a band as Andromeda squealed with delight, quickly
rounding the counter with extended arms. “How wonderful! I'm so excited for you, darling!” She
embraced Astoria warmly. Astoria returned the gesture with a bright smile, and then her eyes
drifted to Fred and her pulse stuttered anew. He was sporting his signature grin but his eyes
contained an emotion she was afraid to ponder. Andromeda leaned back but continued to grip
Astoria’s arms, holding her gaze intently. “When are you leaving?”

“My train departs in a few hours.”

“My goodness!” The Madam released her at last, stepping towards the counter with the bank slip in
hand. “Wait right here, I'm going to write down our telegraph information.” She turned on her heel
and departed into the backroom, leaving Astoria to bite her lip, the silence stifling.

“Barcelona,” Fred finally mused.

She released her breath with a torrent of words. “I would have told you sooner but I only recently
came to the decision—”

“Astoria, I'm happy for you.” She swayed in place, gripping the counter tighter. “You’re destined
for so much more than a lifetime behind doors,” he continued, the lightness of his expression
undermined by the burning intensity of his gaze. “You're meant to explore the world.”

She laughed, voice sharpened by relief. “I thought I'd start with Spain and see how it goes. I'll
probably come back within—”

“You won't come back,” he asserted, causing her heart to skip violently.

She settled back, shoulders sloping as she spoke the truth aloud. “No,” she whispered. “I won't.”

He swallowed thickly, throat bobbing beneath his pale collar. “Good. Your father never deserved a
daughter like you.”

“I'm sure he would agree.”

“He's a bloody fool.” The conviction of his voice made her smile, and his following question made
it drop like a lead brick. “Is Daphne going?”

Her stomach tightened. “She doesn't even know I'm leaving.” He shook his head with a laugh,
prompting her to do the same. “She’ll be cross. Very cross,” Astoria mused. “But she'll eventually
come around and understand why I couldn’t wait. Then she’ll insist on visiting. It’ll force them to
take a honeymoon so she can't stay angry for too long.”

Fred blinked. “Daphne’s married?”

“It's been a busy two days.”

His eyes drifted down, lingering at her mouth. “I can see that.”

She took a steadying breath, speaking without thought. “I'm so very happy I met you.”

His eyes flickered up. “Me, too.”

The rumbling cadence of his voice made her feel dangerously light-headed. “If you're ever in
Barcelona—”

“I'll find you,” he vowed.

She nodded, smiling through her blush. “I hope so.”

Footsteps echoed behind the wall. They leaned away from the counter as the door opened,
Andromeda emerging with a smile. “I just telegrammed our bank,” she announced, handing back
the slip of parchment. “The rest of your advance has been deposited, as well as a small something
from Ted and me.”

“Oh, I couldn't possibly accept—”

“We insist, and it's already been transferred. Consider it a thank you for selecting us as your
publisher. I've no doubt your novel will be a bestseller.”

Astoria’s vision blurred, throat tightening. “You've been so very kind to me.”

Andromeda stepped out from behind the counter and lifted her hand, sweeping a fallen tear from
Astoria’s cheek. “As I said, I was friends with your mother growing up. She did a great kindness
for me then. I confided in her my plans to leave and she never told a soul, even when my father
went on his rampage and threatened everyone I knew. It was always my deepest regret I never
repaid Emmeline in her lifetime. But I believe she led you to me. In fact, I’m quite certain of it.”
There was no helping it now. Tears poured in an unstoppable rush, much to Astoria’s
embarrassment. “She would be very proud of you,” Andromeda continued. “I know that I am. You
always had the strength within you, and now that you've found it there's no limit to what you can
accomplish.”

Astoria inhaled deeply, struggling to find her voice. “Thank you, Andromeda.”

They leaned in, embracing once more. She rested her chin on the Madam’s shoulder and closed her
eyes, pretending for a fleeting moment she was safely encased in her mother’s arms. The fantasy
was short-lived but deeply comforting. And then they pulled back, laughing through their shared
tears.

“Well, don't let me keep you,” Andromeda said, drying her face. “I'm sure you have plenty still to
do before departing.” Astoria nodded. “Oh, take this,” the woman added, holding out another slip
of paper with a string of numbers scrawled across the front. “Our telegraph. Reach out any time.
We're always here for you.”

Astoria held the slip with both hands, tracing its edges. “I’ll forward my telephone number once
I'm settled.”

Fred laughed, earning a heatless glare from his employer. “Don't start with me, Fred Weasley.”

He ignored the warning, meeting Astoria’s curious stare. “Andy refuses to install a phone.”

“They’re a waste of money,” Andromeda snapped, folding her arms. “Why would someone choose
to talk when they can simply type out a message instead? Telephones are a passing fad, mark my
words.”

He shook his head. “I'm amazed we don't chisel our books onto stone tablets.”

“The boys tease me relentlessly,” she lamented with a wry grin. “Please send word when you
arrive, dear, let us know you made it there safely.”

“I will.” Astoria took a deep breath. “Thank you again… for everything.”

“It's been my pleasure.”

She wet her lips, glancing at Fred. "I—" The words lingered on her tongue but he seemed to
interpret them all the same.
“You're about to start the rest of your life,” he said. “Don't waste a minute of it looking back.”

Andromeda propped her hip against the counter. “Very sound advice, Mr. Weasley. Though there’s
never any telling what the future holds.”

Astoria held his gaze. “Goodbye, Fred,” she whispered.

His jaw ticked. “Goodbye, Astoria.”

Their eyes held a moment longer. She looked away first, imparting a farewell nod to Andromeda
before turning for the exit. Her legs felt stiff as she crossed the shop, stomach twisting when she
reached the door. She gripped the knob and hesitated, staring through the inlaid glass at the
bustling street beyond. And then she met her reflection’s solemn gaze and blinked.

This is it. You did it.

Her lips curved upward, bubbling laughter trapped in her throat as she pulled the door wide. The
London smog felt crisp and clean against her lungs, the bustling chaos of the city matched only by
the thundering of her heart. She shared a parting wave over her shoulder before stepping onto the
sidewalk and embarking on the first stage of the rest of her life.

Harry leaped back as a wagon barreled around the corner, wheels scraping the curb as the driver
flipped him the bird. He shook his head and continued across the street, carefully navigating
morning traffic with Ron trailing like a sluggish shadow. They stepped onto the sidewalk, weaving
around lamp posts and pedestrians alike.

“Tell me what we’re doing here again,” Ron groaned, pausing to allow an elderly man with a
newspaper-trolley to pass.

Harry squeezed the vial in his pocket. “Trying to figure out what’s in this bloody bottle.”

“I mean what are we doing here?” His friend gestured to the sign hanging above.

Harry sighed, slowing before the shop door. “He’s the best.”

“He’s an arsehole. There’s no way he’ll help us.”

“Have some faith,” Harry muttered, struggling to follow his own advice.

Ron tilted his head, expression dubious. “Is that a joke?”

“Hermione vouched for him.” Harry reached for the handle. “He must have a soul.”

“She also vouched for Riddle, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Harry rolled his eyes, opening the door and crossing the threshold, eager to get the tedious task
behind them.

“Welcome,” clipped an unwelcoming voice. “What do you want?”

Harry glanced at the front of the store, spotting the tall and slender man standing behind the
counter scribbling furiously atop a stack of ledgers. Between his pale skin and gaunt features, he
appeared more undertaker than Apothecary owner.

“Mr. Snape,” Harry greeted awkwardly, causing the man to seize in place, pen stalling in his hand.
“Good afternoon.”

Snape’s head tilted up in slow motion, eyes dark and gleaming as they bore holes through Harry’s
skull. “Mr. Potter,” he uttered slowly, precisely, each syllable curdling like acid on his tongue.

Harry straightened, unnerved by the chilly reception. “I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me.”

Ron slipped inside and flattened to the wall as though attempting to hide between the display cases.
Snape’s prominent nose twitched, bat-like gaze affixed to Harry. “You bear an even greater
likeness to your father than the last time we spoke. How unfortunate.”

“I’ve learned to make do.”

“I assume you’re here to explain Ms. Granger’s prolonged absence.”

Harry took a deep breath, squeezing the vial anew. “Not exactly.”

“I never took her as the grossly irresponsible type. Alas, the fault is my own for thinking her
capable of more than talking incessantly.”

Ron surged forward, abandoning his foxhole in his rage. “You don’t know what you’re talking
about—”

“Ron,” Harry warned, gripping the man by the shoulder and pulling him back.

“Listen to your friend, Mr. Weasley. Dumbfounded silence best suits a face such as yours.”

Ron flushed a brilliant shade of red before turning to Harry with a scowl. “What did I tell you?
We’re wasting our time. Let’s head to Bloomberg’s, they have more business anyway.”

Snape resumed his writing, speaking in a bored drawl. “The staff at Bloomberg’s are uniquely
qualified at generating repeat business by poisoning their clientele. If you’re looking to make a
purchase for your own personal use I do hope you’ll pay them a visit.”

Ron spun to the counter with clenched teeth. “Why don’t you wait outside,” Harry suggested,
though it was less request and more demand as he pulled his friend towards the door.

Ron shrugged out of his grip but posed no fight. “Make it fast,” he grumbled, storming out of the
shop and slamming the door for good measure. Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and
cringing, the gesture igniting a white-hot burst of agony in his battered side.

“A convincing performance, Mr. Potter,” the Chemist stated corrosively, never halting his pen.
“But wholly wasted on me. I refuse to supply my establishment with opium or morphine. You can
get your fix in a back-alley den.”

“I’m not here for that,” Harry muttered, biting back his discomfort and crossing the floor with
shallow breath. “I’m here for this.” He reached into his pocket and extracted the vial, setting it on
the counter and sliding it across the glossy wood.

Snape released an annoyed sound, refusal clear in his dark eyes, and then he caught sight of the
blue liquid and turned to stone, pale complexion waning further. “Where did you get that?” He
demanded, voice low and ominous.

Harry leaned forward, pulse throbbing in his side. “You recognize it?”

“Where?”
“Someone gave it to me, but I have no idea what it is.”

The bat eyed him warily. “What are you involved in, Mr. Potter?” Harry’s lips pressed thin. “I see.
In that case…” Snape pushed the vial away with the tip of his pen. “Take it, destroy it, and never
speak of it again. That's the only help I can offer.”

“Mr. Snape—”

“Good day, Mr. Potter.” He started writing once more, knuckles white.

Harry swallowed thickly, cutting through the bullshite. “Hermione’s life depends on finding
answers.” A tremor ran the length of Snape’s hand, the nib jumping across the page and trailing
ink, pristine lettering ruined. “So do the lives of many others,” Harry pressed on, sliding the vial
back across. “And you’re the only one who can help.”

The pen slammed onto the counter. “If what you say is true, you should be having this
conversation with an Officer at Scotland Yard.”

“An Officer can’t tell me what’s inside this bottle.”

“I’m flattered by your faith in my abilities.”

He didn’t sound the least bit flattered, and Harry wasn’t the least bit interested in blowing smoke
up his lily-white arse. “The faith is borrowed,” Harry admitted, leaning into the counter as the man
before him blinked in confusion. “My mother always claimed your tonics were unparalleled in
quality. She would only purchase from you. She also said you were an old friend. I assume that’s
why you came to the funeral.” He raised a dark brow, wondering why Snape looked like he’d just
been stabbed in the gut. Stay focused. “You’ve earned Hermione’s trust as well. So now you have
mine. And for better or worse, we need you.”

The silence that followed was eerie and absolute, the hum of the city fading away as they held each
other’s gaze for a tense eternity. Finally, Snape reached for the bottle with a hesitant hand, grasping
it between his thumb and forefinger and holding it to the light to examine the contents. Harry
released his breath in a rush, unaware he’d been holding it.

“Tell me how you came to possess this vial,” Snape demanded. “I need to know what enemies to
expect at my door.”

“Someone stole it from…” Shite. “a medical cabinet.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Telling you anything more puts your life in danger. There isn’t time to get into the full story.”

The Chemist sighed, setting the bottle down. “Ms. Granger ingested it?”

Harry stiffened, fingers curling atop the wood grain. “I think so.”

“Is she still in a trance?”

He rocked back, the question taking him off guard. “She was. Now she’s sleeping off a
tranquilizer.”

Snape’s jaw ticked, as though he detested the information he was about to divulge. “It’s called
Devil’s Breath. Otherwise known as scopolamine, derived from the flowers and bark of a rare
species of nightshade. It’s long been used in Pharmacopoeia as a remedy for motion sickness. The
Navy used to give it to sailors before long sea voyages. In small doses, its effects are mild and
manageable.”

“And in large doses?” Harry prompted, easing forward with every word.

"It strips a person of their free will and memory, inducing hallucinations before turning them into a
lifeless shell."

The ground shook beneath their feet, though the traffic outside the window appeared unaffected.
“We’ve been calling them Dolls,” Harry muttered, fire erupting along his side as he thought back
to the veil-covered figures awaiting auction.

“I suppose that’s an apt description,” Snape assented. “Those suffering its effects remain awake
and alert without any instinctual reaction to their surroundings.”

“Are they suggestable?”

"Extremely. Hence its widespread abuse. Victims are easily persuaded to surrender their bank
accounts, bodies, and even lives without an ounce of struggle or hesitation. Afterward, they
remember nothing."

Bloody hell. Harry gripped the edge of the counter. “What’s the cure?”

“There is no cure,” Snape stated coldly. “Once it reaches the bloodstream the drug must run its
course. Side-effects can be reduced through the application of sedatives, though it seems you’ve
already taken care of that where Ms. Granger is concerned.”

“How long does it stay in someone’s system?”

“The range varies.” Snape straightened his parchment, seemingly at ease discussing such macabre
subject matter. “Anywhere from a few hours to a few days.”

“Days?” Harry parroted with a shake of his head. “Some of these girls have been under for years.”

The dark void in the man’s gaze swallowed him whole. “There’s no drug with such long-lasting
effects.”

“What if they’re redosed?”

“Nightshade is an anticholinergic.”

Harry blinked. “Meaning?”

“Your mother was a skilled Chemist in her own right, surely she taught you the basics.”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, once more tipped off-balance. “I was twelve when she died,”
he said at last, unsure what point was being made.

“Lily was brewing tonics by age ten.” Harry’s mind reeled anew, clueless on how to respond.
Snape pressed forward with tight agitation. “Anticholinergics wreak havoc on the heart and central
nervous system. Continual redosing would result in seizures and cardiac arrest. No one could
survive a steady diet of it for years.”

Harry struggled to consolidate the information with the horrors he’d witnessed first-hand. “What if
it was combined with brainwashing?”
“Pardon?” Snape cocked his head like massive a bird of prey, staring down his beak as though
Harry were a fucking idiot.

“The Devil’s Breath makes them suggestable,” Harry began, undaunted by the man’s acidic tone,
“could the mind be altered in such a state to make the effects permanent?”

“From a theoretical standpoint, that sounds profoundly moronic.” Harry sighed, leaning away from
the counter with a roll of his eyes. “Hallucinogens alter one’s perceived reality,” Snape continued
succinctly. “Deliriants more so. Some patients suffer psychotic breaks while under the influence.
So from that regard, yes, the alterations to the brain may prove long-term.”

“These women aren’t psychotic,” Harry explained. “They’re trapped.”

Snape released a terse breath before lifting the bottle between them, studying it anew. “The
coloring is unnatural. A dye has been added.”

“Why?” Harry narrowed his gaze, watching the blue-liquid swirl behind the glass.

“It serves no functional purpose. My educated guess is it’s a warning to denote potency. Or a
calling card.”

The final words sent a chill through the air both men seemed to feel, tensing where they stood.
“For who?” Harry asked, meeting the dark gaze over the top of the bottle.

Snape’s visage darkened, taking on a skeletal quality. “Its creator.”

Harry fought back a shudder, ribs throbbing in time to his heart. He watched the Chemist set the
vial on the counter and a new thought occurred. “How did you recognize it if the color’s been
altered?”

A trolley passed by the window, its bell ringing loudly. Snape’s shoulders drew level, as though
bracing for the recollection. “I’ve seen a vial like this once before, many years ago in Germany. Its
purpose was explained to me but I was never told the origins.” Harry opened his mouth to speak
but Snape cut him off, dark eyes gleaming. “There’s been no reported cases of scopolamine abuse
in the UK in many decades. I advise questioning the person who stole the vial and working
backward to the source. I know nothing more. Good day.” He glanced away, retaking his pen and
returning to his ledger.

Harry took a deep breath before grabbing the vial, too exhausted to challenge the dismissal. “Good
day. And thank you,” he relented, nodding his sincerity and turning for the door.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry paused, glancing back.

Snape peered up from his task, eyes narrowed. “When Ms. Granger recovers from her extended
mental holiday I expect her back at work immediately.” A sardonic beat. “Excuses are
unacceptable.”

Harry couldn’t contain his smirk. “I’ll be sure to pass along your message.”

“See that you do.” The ghostly face peered down, long fingers scribbling along the page as though
the last five minutes never occurred. Harry shook his head and opened the door, stuffing the vial
into his pocket and stepping onto the crowded sidewalk.
“Christ, took you long enough,” Ron bellowed, pushing away from the wall. “Thought the twisted
bastard murdered you and harvested your parts for ingredients.” He fell into pace beside Harry.
“Find out anything useful?”

“We know what it is,” Harry said, thoughts churning as he strode for the intersection head. “Now
I’m going to use the Dollmaker’s own creation against him.”

Ron sidestepped a post before shooting him a perplexed look. “How?”

Harry inhaled deeply, relishing the burn of factory smoke against the back of his throat. “By
trapping a rat.”

Tom took the porch stairs two at a time, blood rushing through his ears, drowning the violent tirade
in his mind. He charged the door and pulled viciously at the knob, pounding the wood with the
side of his fist until it rattled against its hinges. He was moments from kicking the blasted thing
down when a faint shuffling emitted from within, the curtain of the bay window pulled aside to
reveal a pair of ice-blue eyes. Tom scowled, making no effort to conceal the murder in his gaze.
Yet the door opened anyway, the man before him breathing a sigh of relief.

"Tom, thank god—" Tom gripped the bastard by the front of his robe and drove him back, the tall,
elderly frame posing no resistance as it was pressed flat to the wall. Despite the abrupt seizure,
Dumbledore's face remained frustratingly stoic. "I'm having déjà vu—"

“Shut up,” Tom growled, baring his teeth and tightening his grip. “What aren’t you telling me?” A
silver brow arched, no response issuing forth. Tom saw red. “Talk!”

“So I’m allowed?”

“I’m tired of your games, tell me who Grindelwald is!”

The Admiral turned a startling shade of white, sinking into the paneling. "Where did you hear that
name?"

“Are you working with him?” Tom demanded, unrelenting in his hold.

“What?”

“No more lies! Are you working with the Dollmaker? Is that how he evaded authorities for so
many decades?”

The pale blue gaze drifted, lost to some internal thought, indifferent to Tom’s explosive rage.
“Angus Bumby is Grindelwald…”

“I know that!” Tom shouted, every vein throbbing. “Just like I know you’ve been working with
him!”

Dumbledore met his gaze once more, face guarded. “I don’t know what Gellert told you—”

“He told me you’re a master manipulator who’s not to be trusted.”

“And you believe his word over mine?”

Tom gritted his teeth, black seeping into the corners of his vision. “Right now, I’d happily watch
you both burn.”
“I can explain everything, Tom, but it’s a rather long story and I’d rather not relay it whilst pinned
to the wall.”

“Tough shite,” Tom hissed, pressing the man harder for emphasis. “Start talking.”

The Admiral released a long breath, shoulders slanting down. “He was Ariana’s doctor at the group
home. And then he murdered her. You may doubt my loyalty to you but surely not to her. If I’m
working with him I was also complicit in her gruesome demise.” Tom set his jaw and searched the
haunted gaze, body coiling tight as he forced his grip to loosen. Dumbledore sighed, smoothing a
hand down his shirt. “Thank you—”

“Don’t.” Tom crossed his arms and braced his feet apart, forming an impenetrable wall. “I have no
faith in you, I just want to get the entire story in under an hour.”

Dumbledore tilted his head, gaze sparkling beneath the entryway chandelier. “In that case, might I
sit?”

“You’re pushing your luck.”

“I ran out of luck long ago,” the Admiral mused, stepping around his former charge as though he
wasn’t moments away from being throttled. “I was in the Meditteranean when my parents told me
they’d sent her away. Ari had been in the home for nearly two months when I first visited.” He
paced to the front door, shutting it with a jarring click. “When I first met him.” He glanced up,
meeting Tom’s watchful stare. “I should have begun the legal proceedings to take custody of her
then and there. But I was young and selfish, more concerned with my career than her well-being.
He played on that selfishness while dispelling my skepticism, assuring me he could rid her of
Wonderland.”

Tom blinked, quickly sorting through the information, trying to see ahead to the final chapter.
“Wonderland?”

“Her ongoing delusion. A fantasy world she claimed—” Dumbledore broke off with a sigh,
shaking his head and glancing away. “It doesn’t matter.” He turned for the narrow hall. “He said
he’d developed a special form of therapy to address her mental affliction, painless and effective.
He seemed to genuinely care about his patients, and Ariana appeared comfortable with him.” The
creases in his forehead deepened as he entered the bright room. “So I left her there. I had the
opportunity to save my sixteen-year-old sister and instead I left her with the man who would soon
become her murderer.” Tom followed in tense silence, anger and pity warring for dominance. “The
day I said goodbye was the last time I saw her alive,” Dumbledore continued, voice barely above a
whisper. He cleared his throat and glanced away, sunlight glinting off his spectacles. “He sent me
weekly status reports on her progress. We even communicated via telegram when I made port. I
stayed closely apprised of her condition to alleviate my festering guilt. I was in Tel Aviv when the
first warning sign became apparent.”

His slippers tread a silent path to the couch. Tom elected to linger in the doorway, tension
mounting as they waded through the cobwebs of history. "He'd begun calling her Ari. I chalked it
up to careless shorthand," the Admiral continued, adjusting the tie on his robe. "But the subsequent
letters took on an increasingly intimate tone. After a couple months, I contacted the Home's
administration and requested Ariana be transferred to another doctor. They refused my request at
first, citing I wasn't her guardian. So I told them I had proof of Grindelwald's unprofessional
interest in my sister. Instead of challenging the accusation and demanding to see the letters they
folded immediately, further proof of how obvious his obsession was. To avoid scandal they agreed
to have him sent away."
He lowered to the cushions, knees cracking with the motion. “They never told him I was the one
who complained, made evident a week later when he wrote to inform me that he was being
transferred to Austria and asked for my blessing to take Ariana along. I can only assume he’d
thought I’d stand in adamant agreement and help convince our parents to sign the waivers. When I
refused outright he cut off all communication.” A heavy sigh. He removed his glasses to rub his
eyes. “I set sail for London immediately, fearing he’d abscond with her anyway. I also wrote to my
parents, threatening to disown them publically if they signed any release papers. But by the time I
arrived… Ariana was already gone.”

Tom paced the edge of the rug, too restless to stand still. Dumbledore replaced his spectacles and
tracked his gaze around the room. "Naturally, Gellert was my first and only suspect, regardless of
what the authorities claimed. But he stayed locked in the Home and I wasn't allowed entry after the
initial inspection of her room. After she was found dead I broke into his office, only to find it
empty. He'd left for Austria, so to Austria I followed. It took six days to track down his flat. When I
arrived it was labeled a crime scene. The landlord told me Gellert committed suicide two days
prior." He braced his hands on his knees, as though preparing to stand but unable to muster the
strength. "I assumed the horror was over, that Ariana's killer had taken his own life and saved me
the trouble. And then I returned to London and discovered new bodies were turning up in the rivers
and alleys. A killer on the loose. I had no reason to suspect Grindelwald was still alive, that his
obsession ran any further than Ariana. Instead, I began hunting the ghost known as the Dollmaker,
never connecting the two."

Tom shook his head, coming to a stop on the other side of the tea-table. “You expect me to believe
you had no idea Grindelwald was the Dollmaker until I told you just now?”

“I didn’t suspect until well over a decade later. And even then, I was uncertain.” Tom squared his
shoulders, sensing a heavy weight about to be dropped upon him. True to form, Dumbledore didn’t
fail to deliver. “There’s something you need to see,” the Admiral stated ominously before rising
with a quiet groan. “Though it pains me to show you.”

Tom swayed back to evade the portending words, watching his former benefactor cross the room
and proceed towards the wall. Shadows dripped from the crown molding as he grabbed a seascape
painting by its frame and lifted it from the hook, carefully setting it on the ground to reveal a
gleaming safe set into the paneling. He began spinning the dial back and forth, fingers aged but
agile. The lock clicked as the door swung free, unveiling a spacious compartment full of random
items. But the Admiral wasted no time shuffling through trinkets, reaching towards a stack of
documents in the back and extracting a scrap of paper without hesitation.

An invisible force compelled Tom forward until he stood like a suit of armor beside the safe.
Dumbledore examined the parchment in silence, the chronic gleam in his eyes clouded by smoke.
At last, he relinquished the slip without an upward glance. Tom held his breath, holding the corner
of the wrinkled paper and trying to read the elegant script along its front. The cursive was worn,
ink faded. "We read of…" he muttered aloud, squinting in a futile effort to decipher the next word,
a heavy stain obscuring half the letters.

“We read of Lancelot, by love constrained,” Dumbledore recited, eyes focused on the window
across the room.

Tom arched a dark brow, the words bearing no significance. “What does it mean?”

“It’s a quote from Inferno.”

“I’ve never read it,” he admitted, frustrated by his ignorance. It was a seldom hindrance and
terribly infuriating.
The Admiral nodded, meeting Tom’s gaze at last. “I refused to let a single copy of Dante enter this
house. The line is spoken in reference to a pair of lovers condemned to eternal damnation for their
passion, forever plagued with longing. It’s an allusion to the consuming force of desire, its power
over a man’s actions and the fate of his soul.”

Tom straightened, helpless to quell the feminine whisper in his mind… “Forever out of each
other's reach. Forever cursed by their desires." He shook his head and glanced away, forcibly
expelling her voice, though the pain in his chest refused to ebb. “What does this have to do with
me?”

“I discovered the note twenty-one years ago.” The ice-cold eyes turned piercing, rendering Tom
frozen. “Clutched in your hand. You were holding it the day I found you in Kazan. It’s stained with
your blood.”

Tom rocked in place, nearly crumpling the note in his fist. “Grindelwald was there?” He
whispered, voice buried beneath an onslaught of horrific memories.

“I believe he watched as your father tortured you.” Tom’s shoulder blades drew tight, scar tissue
heating. Dumbledore released a hissing breath, gazing upon the parchment. “The note was a
mystery. I wracked my brain trying to make sense of the message—”

“He blames you for withholding Ariana, he thinks she desired him and you prevented their union.”
Tom ground his teeth, refusing to discuss his sorted past a moment longer. “It seems quite
straightforward.”

“Keep in mind I thought the man long dead.”

“And then you kept his identity a secret for an additional twenty-one years,” he scathed.

“I only suspected. The note was ambiguous. I searched for Grindelwald throughout Europe but
found no trace after his supposed suicide.”

“Why didn’t you share your suspicion with me?”

The Admiral imparted a look of fatherly concern that made Tom homicidal. “I hoped to deter you
from this violent path. The less you knew, the better chance you stood of forgetting—”

“My scars prevent me from forgetting a single moment of what occurred.”

“I wanted you to move forward with your life,” Dumbledore amended. “I knew the hunt would
consume you. Grindelwald was a dead-end, he’d long changed his name by the time you were
kidnapped—”

“I wasn’t kidnapped,” Tom snapped, hardly aware of his words. “I left with my father willingly.”

The Admiral blinked, drawing back as though delivered a physical blow. “You never told me that.”

Tom’s eye twitched, more furious for the slip. “You still possess the lion’s share of secrets.”

The air soured between them, bitter as a poison cloud. “I only wanted to protect you,” Dumbledore
said at last.

Deep laughter filled the air, bubbling from the rising pressure in Tom’s chest. His fist clenched,
crumpling the blood-stained parchment. “He’s destroyed everything I’ve ever cared about because
of you!”
The Admiral lifted his chin, absorbing the blow with a soldier’s stride. “Grindelwald knows
watching you suffer is my greatest pain, yes.”

"Everything he's done, all the lives he's destroyed, it's all about getting even with you… And yet
you've sat back for the last thirty years and washed your hands of this mess?" Dumbledore closed
his eyes, averting his face. "You created the Dollmaker," Tom pressed, taking a menacing step
closer. "He's your monstrosity and you left him to run rampant!"

“I never thought—”

“Every life that’s been lost, every mind that’s been erased, it was all preventable. You had a lead
and you hid it away in your bloody safe.”

“I didn’t know how to hunt a ghost.”

“No, you just didn’t want the responsibility. So you left it to me.” Tom stalked closer but his prey
refused to balk. “For all your claims of wanting to spare me this awful burden, you’ve ensured I’ll
never escape its shadow.”

Dumbledore met his enraged stare, holding it steady. “I didn’t think it would bring you any closer
to finding him, the note would only stoke the flames of your obsession—”

“You left Ariana with him,” Tom recounted darkly, relishing the pain his words elicited.

Dumbledore swallowed thickly, face awash in misery. “I didn’t know who he was back then—“

"You left Austria and gave him free rein to become the Dollmaker, to turn my mother into a
pervert's toy." The Admiral fell silent as Tom pressed in, their burning gazes level. "And then you
allowed Hermione to go to him. She's one of them now. Held prisoner inside her own mind."

Dumbledore inhaled swiftly, breath catching. “I can never make amends for my sins or atone for
my mistakes—”

"We've had this discussion. I'm bored with your excuses and don't have time for useless apologies."

“What can I do?”

“He’s fleeing London,” Tom stated, tracing the frayed edge of the note with his thumb. “I need
men stationed at every train station and port.”

“I’ll send word to my sailors.”

Tom stepped back to perform a careful examination of the man from hairline to slippers, shaking
his head in disgust before holding out the bent parchment. “Your memento. Perhaps you should
frame it.”

Dumbledore accepted the missive with a sigh of resignation. “I’ve spent my career protecting a
nation of strangers from foreign threats. In return, I left the people I love most exposed to the
dangers at home. If I could go back—”

“You wouldn’t change a thing. There’s no need to lie to yourself as well as me.”

“Learn from my mistakes, Tom,” he urged quietly, eyes regaining their eerie brightness. “You’ve
made a career of hunting a madman, don’t let it cost you the one thing you’re trying to protect.”

Darkness bled into Tom’s face as he backed away slowly, body vibrating with the battle to come.
“Goodbye, Albus,” he uttered with finality.

Dumbledore watched him stride for the doorway and muttered his own farewell, barely audible
over the heavy tread of his boots. “Goodbye, Tom.”

Hermione held her breath, the intensity of the moment radiating through every bone even as it took
on a dream-like quality. Ariana broke the transient silence first, reaching out and seizing Hermione
in an unexpected hug.

“You’re finally here,” she whispered excitedly, sounding every bit the sixteen-year-old girl her
youthful face suggested. Hermione blinked, rigid in surprise as she met Merope’s calming stare
over the blonde’s shoulder. The woman wore a secretive smile so closely resembling her son
Hermione had to avert her eyes lest she be swept away on a tidal wave of emotion.

She turned her focus back to the girl embracing her tightly, pale tresses littered with petals and
pearls that seemed to adhere to her locks without pins. Hermione held her breath and felt the
rhythmic rise and fall of Ariana’s chest, the warmth of her skin and floral scent of her hair, every
aspect so startling alive it was impossible to imagine her levitating silently through the dark halls of
the Home.

“I’m… sorry it took so long,” Hermione whispered, scrambling for her grip on reality.

Ariana leaned back, gently gripping her arms and holding her gaze. “You were worth the wait. I’m
grateful you came.”

Hermione flushed with the compliment. Though Ariana appeared a teenager she emitted an aura of
greatness akin to royalty, her stature so effortlessly regal it was easy to see why Wonderland’s
inhabitants deemed her their Queen. “It’s strange hearing you speak,” Hermione admitted before
casting her gaze lower. “... and seeing your feet on the ground.” She shook her head ruefully. “Of
course you’re still taller than me.”

Ariana laughed brightly, the sound delightful and bizarre after being subjected to her mute
apparition for so long. She grabbed two handfuls of silk and lifted her skirts above her ankles. "Not
everything's changed; I still go barefoot." Hermione smiled at the familiar sight, prompting the
young Queen to drop her skirts and tilt her head. "I should have decorated," the blonde lamented as
she glanced around the splendiferous room. "I wanted to throw a party to celebrate your arrival but
we lack the proper ingredients for a cake and without cake, it simply isn’t a party.” Her eyes flitted
to the empty space at her side. “I haven’t forgotten, I intend to ask her that next.”

Hermione blinked and glanced at Merope. Tom's mother read the question in her eyes and began to
mouth something but Ariana called their attention before Hermione could make sense of the
message.

“How is your arm?”

"Oh," Hermione pushed the strange encounter aside and glanced at the appendage in question.
"Healed. I can barely see where I was scratched."

“It was substantially more than a scratch,” Merope interjected.

The Queen sighed, expression tense. “The maze has turned increasingly aggressive, I’m terribly
sorry you were injured.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Hermione assured, arm tingling beneath their attention.
Ariana shook her head. “I should have—” Her words cut short as she swayed like a reed. Merope
stepped forward with raised hands but Hermione reached out first, gripping the girl’s arms and
steadying her.

“Ariana?” She asked worriedly.

“I’m alright,” the blonde whispered, pale lips forming a narrow grin. “Thank you, dear.” It felt
strange hearing such an endearment from one appearing younger than herself, but Hermione soon
recalled just how long Ariana had resided in Wonderland, a mature mind trapped in a girl’s body.
“I would have opened a portal for you but, as you can see, my strength is waning.”

Hermione studied her waxen complexion intently. “Is it the Dollmaker?”

“Defending Wonderland over the decades has been a substantial drain on my abilities,” the young
woman admitted, appearing stable on her feet despite the thready quality of her voice. Hermione
released her, biting her tongue to keep from drowning her overtaxed host beneath a flood of
questions. But Ariana seemed to read the dilemma in her eyes, quelling her struggle. “You may ask
me anything you’d like, Hermione, you’ve certainly earned that right.”

The temptation was too great to bear, curiosity threatening to split her wide. Hermione took a deep
breath but before she could utter a single word Ariana glanced at the empty space beside her again,
brow pinched.

“Pardon?” She inquired of the air, then cocked her head as though listening to a response. “Oh,
what a marvelous idea!” Excitement revived her rosy glow as she faced forward. “Let me give you
a tour of the Castle! It’ll be such fun.”

Hermione scrambled to keep up. “That’s not nec—”

“I insist.” The Queen looped their arms and stepped into her side, voluminous skirts pressed
between them. “You can ask your questions and I can stretch my legs. I’ve been on bed rest for
several days, forced I might add." She sent a heatless glare to their third companion.

“With the best intentions,” Merope elucidated with a saccharine smile.

“Merope is our resident mother hen,” Ariana explained fondly, propelling them towards the gilded
doors. “She’s exceptional at making certain we're all in good health.”

“She certainly took excellent care of me,” Hermione agreed. “Though I know from experience how
frustrating bed rest is; every day feels like a year.”

“Truer words were never spoken, especially when time doesn’t exist.”

Hermione arched a brow, glancing over their shoulders at the glittering timepiece suspended above
the garden. “What about the clock?”

"Hm?" Ariana followed her line of sight. "Oh, that doesn't tell time. It moves forward and
backward on its own accord, and sometimes it stops ticking altogether." She glanced to her other
side, addressing dancing prisms emitted by the skylight. "Oh, don't be silly." Hermione tilted her
head as they crossed the threshold, Merope following at a leisurely gait. She was no longer
disturbed by the peculiarity, merely curious as she watched the young woman engage in a muttered
conversation with the air. A few moments later she turned her attention back on Hermione with a
radiant smile. "I'm sorry, dear, I sometimes talk to people who aren't there, I hope it doesn't upset
you."
They turned a corner and reached a grand staircase, dark wood decorated with silver filigree. “Not
at all,” Hermione replied. “And just because I can’t see them doesn't mean they aren’t there.”

Ariana beamed, leading them up the artful steps. "That's what my brother always said." Just then
the staircase began to move, disrupting whatever thoughts occupied Hermione's mind the moment
before. She was instantly reminded of the undulating bridge, panic taking hold as she clutched the
railing in a death grip. "Don't be alarmed, dear," Ariana gently assured. "The stairs have a mind of
their own but are harmless enough. Though they do enjoy pranking a resident every now and then,
taking them everywhere but their desired destination.” She gently patted her hand. “We’ll visit the
observatory first, I simply know you’ll adore it.”

The staircase connected to a new landing with a jarring click, causing Hermione’s knees to wobble.
She swallowed heavily, regaining her bearings. “I’d love to…”

A petal drifted from the Queen’s pale hair to the sparkling floor as they disembarked. “But?”
Ariana prompted.

Hermione met her curious stare. “Shouldn’t we discuss our plan to stop the Dollmaker?”

“We can do both,” the Queen replied merrily, urging them onward as Merope paced quietly at their
backs.

The hallways all looked the same apart from their curious decorations, including an upside-down
fishbowl that somehow retained its water and a vase of articulate flowers engaged in a lively debate
about deforestation practices. And yet the greatest enigma remained Ariana herself. Hermione
studied her profile as they progressed, knowing it was rude to stare but unable to muster an ounce
of shame. Past her initial shock of seeing the girl alive —relatively speaking— Hermione was able
to discern features not readily apparent in her ghostly form. Despite the Queen's perpetual state of
adolescence, her skin was finely-milled as porcelain, not a spot in sight. Her eyes were large and
glassy, so blue they looked like gemstones. The effect made Hermione's heart skip, the final piece
clicking into place.

“He designs them in your image,” she whispered.

Ariana continued to peer ahead, needing no clarification. "Unfortunately, yes." And then she
glanced over her shoulder to the empty space beside Merope. "I know," she mused with a wry grin
before gazing sideways. "Bernard says you're terribly clever."

Hermione gazed back, meeting Merope’s amused stare before addressing the open air. “Thank you,
Bernard.”

The corridor ended, feeding into a landing dominated by a series of paintings. Their pace slowed,
giving Hermione ample opportunity to study the images. And then they came to life as though
awakened by a silent command. Clouds rolled across watercolor skies while children ran through
budding fields, every blade of grass and smiling face composed of skillful brushstrokes. Some
images moved to the edge of their frame and disappeared entirely, only to emerge in the
neighboring painting until every canvas became an eccentric mix of subjects and styles.

Hermione tilted her head, watching an impressionist girl chase a Japanese crane over a cubist
background and thinking it a fitting tribute to the beauty and insanity of Wonderland. “How do his
victims end up here?” She asked, still tracking the girl as she flitted from frame to frame, disrupting
schools of fish and a circle of wood nymphs in her mad-dash pursuit. The child acquired a butterfly
net along the way and swung it at the crane, capturing a star from the night sky instead.
Hermione’s gaze lingered until the final moment when they turned the corner and the wall of
paintings was lost from sight.

“He casts their minds into darkness,” Ariana explained, regaining her focus in an instant. “And I
lead them to the light.”

Hermione thought of the empty abyss, ink lapping her ankles as smoke filled her lungs. “Limbo,”
she whispered.

The enigmatic Queen nodded, gliding effortlessly at her side as though levitating once more.
“That’s what many have taken to calling the void. I simply can’t abide the thought of anyone
wandering aimlessly through the dark, terrified and alone, staring at ghostly reflections of a life
they can no longer reach.”

“So you bring them here?”

“Those I can sense. But limbo has been around since long before my time, as has Wonderland. I’m
merely a guest, many have resided here far longer than I.”

Hermione’s interest piqued. She supposed that explained why she saw men and women wandering
around in period clothing. Still, she pondered why Ariana was chosen as Queen above all others,
hoping the question didn’t offend. “How did you come to be its ruler?”

“I do detest such titles,” Ariana lamented with a shake of her head. “Wonderland chose me as its
protector and granted me with special abilities in order to fulfill that duty, namely the power to
draw people in and cast them out. I do all I can to keep us safe from Gellert’s influence. It is my
responsibility, after all, seeing as I brought him with me.”

Hermione paled, certain she would trip if not for Ariana’s unshakable poise and Merope’s
reassuring presence. “He’s in Wonderland?”

“A reflection of the Dollmaker haunts this land and all its inhabitants,” the blonde confirmed,
leading them around another corner. A man and woman occupied the new hall, bidding their group
a passing hello.

“But you’re unable to cast him out?” Hermione inquired once they were out of ear-shot.

“His power has grown substantially, I can no longer fight him alone. Not while he’s alive on the
outside, fueling his Wonderland counterpart.”

Her heart jolted, a painful kick against her ribs. “That’s the key then? Killing him?”

“His death will weaken his power over Wonderland, but it won’t free the minds of those trapped
within. Only you can do that.”

Hermione released a slow breath, pulse quickening as she finally asked the question burning away
the edges of her soul. “Why me?”

Ariana’s eyes sparkled like glass as she led them around the final corner, a pair of golden doors
appearing at the end of a short corridor. “Many have been affected by Gellert but few have ever
truly stood against him. Even fewer stood a chance at stopping him.” They reached the gilded
barrier and Hermione noticed the constellations carved across its surface, some recognizable, some
not. “My brother came close to finding him once,” the blonde continued in a measured tone. “But
the timing wasn’t right. So I set Merope in his path. I knew he’d give up his obsession to protect
her.” She waved her hand and the massive doors slowly parted, attuned to her bidding.
At the same moment, Merope sidled closer, earning Hermione's attention. "After my death, we'd
hoped Albus could spare Tom from following down his dark footsteps, but as you know better than
most, Tom is uniquely headstrong."

A sharp laugh escaped Hermione’s lips unbidden. She flushed beneath their knowing gazes.
“That’s one word for it.”

Ariana spared her from further embarrassment by tightening her grip and escorting her into a
shadowed passage, another set of gilded doors at its end. “Once we knew there was no deterring
Tom from his mission, we decided to help him conquer it,” Merope stated, following closely.

Hermione glanced back, squinting against the darkness. “You picked me so I would help Tom?”

“You were already chosen, Hermione,” Ariana replied. “Marked by death and tragedy, barely
surviving a brush with the Reaper primed your ability to see the in-between. I cannot appear to
those who aren’t open and willing to see me.” With a wave of her hand, the second set of doors
gave way. “Encountering Tom was fate’s doing. Your paths collided so loudly we heard the echo
ring through these very halls. And then we knew.” A kaleidoscope of colors bled into the hall,
illuminating their faces in red and gold and violet. “You were the one we needed.”

Hermione’s chest burned with the knowledge, the memories invoked. She felt the wardrobe
pressing against her spine, saw a sliver of light peeking through the doors and heard the steady
tread of footsteps as a presence drew near. But the scene scattered like dust in the wind as they
crossed the threshold and entered vast and open darkness, a magnificent light show at its center.
“Oh my god,” she breathed.

Ariana smiled, watching her closely. “Do you like it?”

“It’s… incredible.”

The blonde untangled their arms, allowing Hermione to wander forward in a stupor, multicolored
lights reflected in her wide gaze. The domed roof was painted black, the perfect backdrop for the
three-dimensional apparitions spinning through the air, a miniature cosmos at her disposal. Planets
slowly rotated and stars pulsed bright, comets zipped past and dust clouds shimmered like jewels.
It wasn’t long until Hermione realized the display moved relative to her position, triggered by
motion. She raised her arms and laughed, images zooming in and out at the command of her hands.

An interactive map. Her heart skipped wildly, overwhelmed by the splendor, lost to exploration.

“You’ve been subjected to all the horrors Wonderland is plagued by,” Ariana stated from her
position near the wall. “I thought it due time you experienced some of its beauty.”

Merope folded her hands and waited patiently beside her Queen as Hermione twirled in graceless
circles, waving her arms like a windmill and laughing excitedly as she journeyed through the rings
of Saturn, past the moons of Jupiter and through an asteroid belt, chunks of ice whizzing past her
hair. Astronomy had long been her favorite pastime, second only to her devotion to medicine. Ever
since her father took her onto the roof and pointed to the aurora she felt the overwhelming relief of
belonging to something larger than the life she knew. The knowledge that no matter how much of
an outcast she was made to feel, she would always belong to something magnificent.

“Frightening, is it not?”

Her arms lowered as the memory sprouted fangs, plunging deep into her veins. "No. It's liberating,"
she whispered to the shadows, certain she could see his eyes watching her from the corner, red as
burning coals. She blinked and the phantom crumbled to ashes, absorbed into the darkness from
which it was born. She glanced at the head of the room and realized she had another audience, both
women observing her with barely tamped amusement. Her cheeks flushed as she envisioned the
spectacle she'd made, skipping across the floor like a child playing in the rain. But they didn't seem
to mind, making no attempt to rush her along.

“Thank you,” she offered with deep-felt gratitude. “This was… I’ll never forget this.”

"Of course," Ariana replied, stepping forward and prompting the light display to lift, hovering close
to the ceiling and reflecting off their hair. "There are other rooms you'll enjoy just as much."

Hermione shook her head, staring dazedly at a swirling pinwheel galaxy. “I doubt it.” Merope
laughed softly, grey eyes cast silver beneath the stars. Hermione straightened, the gravity of the
situation returning full-force as the universe continued to float nearby. “Why not enlist Tom
instead?” She asked as a supernova burst overhead, blue light bathing their skin. “He already knew
about the Dollmaker, surely it would have been less complicated.”

Merope took a steadying breath, features sharpened by shadows. “Tom is ruled by hatred and
bloodlust. Because of what his father did, because I failed to protect him, when he’s face-to-face
with Gellert all he sees is red.” Her eyes flashed violet beneath the morphing lights. “He’d never
allow himself to be taken under, to fall into the darkness, helpless and exposed.”

Ariana waved her hand, signaling the doors and prompting them forward. “We knew if we gave
you the pieces you’d put them together and come to us willingly, even if it meant surrendering to
Gellert’s methods.”

A cold weight settled in her gut as she followed the women through the second set of doors and
into the empty hall beyond. The quiet felt oppressive, the stillness unnatural, and despite the
Castle’s undeniable beauty she realized it was no different than the Home, a mausoleum of broken
souls. “How does he do it?” She asked in desperation, the magic of the cosmos long-faded from her
mind. “Is the key in the drug?”

“Devil’s Breath is only temporary,” Merope replied. “It primes the mind for his therapy, or so he
likes to refer to it.”

“He’s performed it on both of you?”

“Merope was subjected to something far more brutal than either of us,” Ariana said with something
akin to venom, a startling departure from her bright countenance. “But that is another matter
entirely,” she added in a gentler tone, eyes soft with empathy as Merope glanced away, no doubt
eager to suppress the dark memory. “He used his earliest method on me. A pale imitation of his
current practices.” She started forward with her hands linked behind her back, resting atop her
bustle. “Of course, his intent was never to turn me into one of his creations, that design would
come later. Back then he was merely trying to rid me of my so-called delusions.”

Hermione fell into step beside her, feeling the pain of those words on a profoundly personal level.
She knew what it was to be wrongfully accused and misdiagnosed, shoved into an asylum and
force-fed drugs, subjected to frightening treatments with no regard for her welfare, everyone deaf
to her pleas. She would never forget the terror, the loneliness and self-doubt as she began to
question her own mind, stripped of her greatest asset and most basic identity. “Have you always
known of Wonderland?” She asked, Merope flanking her other side as they approached a roaming
staircase.

"I've had visions all my life," Ariana began, gripping the banister and gracefully descending. "As a
child, I thought everyone saw Wonderland. It wasn't until my parents forbade me from ever
speaking of it aloud that I learned such wasn't the case." The staircase clicked into place, settled by
her touch. "They told me my mind was broken —that I was broken— then took me to the home
and said they wouldn’t come back until I left the fantasy behind. I couldn’t understand their
reasoning. If Wonderland was truly in my mind, how could I leave it behind? My mind was a part
of me.” She emerged onto the main floor, residents bowing their heads or openly gawking as they
passed. “Then I met Gellert. He assured me I wasn’t broken, I didn’t need fixing. He reminded me
of Albus. I felt safe with him… at least for a short while.”

Hermione tensed, bracing for the turn she knew was to come.

“When he confessed his love I realized just how different the two men were. Albus told me he
loved me all the time, but my brother's eyes were filled with lightness and joy when he said it.
Gellert’s were filled with pain. The same as my parents when they left me behind. I knew then that
his love was the same as theirs.” Her voice remained steady, face radiant as she smiled at passing
faces, leading a diagonal path across the great hall. “Conditional.”

“What was the condition?” Hermione urged, hanging on every word.

"I love him more than the world inside my mind." They traveled under a two-story chandelier,
crystal cut in intricate patterns that caught the sunlight at every angle, casting dizzying patterns on
the walls. "But as you've surely realized, there's nothing quite as magnificent as Wonderland."

Hermione rarely agreed so readily, but there was simply no denying the land’s fantastic luster
despite its gleaming claws. She followed her hosts beneath a stone archway, the connecting
corridor feeding out to another pair of carved doors, parted wide. But the room beyond didn’t
become readily apparent until they were right upon it. Hermione rocked to a halt, unable to cross
the threshold without tipping sideways in awe.

A three-story library sprawled in either direction, unlike anything she'd seen before. Whereas the
library in Parliament had been a perverse mockery of everything she loved, this was a private
paradise born from a dream. Bookcases covered the walls, stretching up up up, shelves stacked
endlessly, accessible by rolling ladders. A series of spiral staircases led to more shelves and stacks,
as well as private reading nooks equipped with plush chairs and ottomans. Desks were scattered
across the main floor, awash in the soft glow of lantern light as people read and wrote in peaceful
silence. More chairs and sofas were arranged around a massive hearth, violet flames licking at the
black stone. Children lied on the rug, coloring parchment with wax sticks. A rainbow skylight
adorned this room as well, casting familiar prisms across the floor and stacks, illuminating pages
and faces alike. Colorful birds fluttered between the upper cases, nesting in the open beams. The
library might not have harbored the supernatural wonder of the observatory but it inspired just as
much joy in her heart. An oasis in the desert, a safe haven she would happily spend her eternity
wandering through, making it her personal mission to read every title contained within.

And yet, beneath the glittering illusion lurked a dark and sinister truth. “He designed his home
after Wonderland,” she stated aloud, gaze fixed to a spiral staircase.

“He built it for me,” Ariana confirmed. “He said we’d live there someday, far away from the evils
of the outside world.”

Hermione stiffened, the admission taking her off guard. She studied the innocuous blonde,
wondering what dwelled beneath her shell. “Were you…” But the words refused to come. The man
had murdered her, yet Hermione also knew Ariana had been only sixteen at the time, trusting and
vulnerable. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to imagine an attraction developing, a crush on the
authoritative figure in her life, especially one who showed her preference above all others.
Hermione took a steadying breath, ripping off the bandage. “Did you ever have feelings for him?”

If the question caused offense neither Ariana or Merope showed it, both unshakable in their poise.
“I confided all of my secrets in him,” Ariana replied calmly. “My deepest desires, my greatest fears,
my hopes and dreams and regrets.” She sighed, shaking her head and starting forward, crossing the
gleaming tiles with measured steps. Hermione followed at her heels, careful not to tread on the
flowing train of her gown. “And then he used every single one of them against me, telling the
medical board I was insane, convincing them I was a candidate for lobotomy.” Hermione gasped in
horror, colliding with the edge of an empty desk. “He assured me he'd never allow such a barbaric
procedure to happen… as long as I stayed by his side.”

Hermione glanced at Merope, sharing a tense look before speaking their shared thought aloud.
“Ariana, I’m so sorry…” But the sentiment felt grossly inadequate. She pressed on, searching for
the words. “I’m sorry you were alone. That no one believed you. That you were made to suffer in
silence for so long.”

“My suffering has ended,” the Queen stated simply, turning to her companions. “But others are still
trapped. It’s for them we continue fighting.”

Hermione nodded. "Just tell me what to do. Whatever it takes, I'll free every single one of them if it
kills me." There were far worse fates than spending her afterlife in a library, after all. But her
macabre musings were cut short as a new voice rang out, tentative and familiar.

“Hermione?”

She spun with bated breath, pulse leaping. “Padma!”

The brunette stood from her desk, books neatly stacked upon its surface. “Are you alright? I wanted
to visit but Merope said you were sleeping and I didn’t want to—” Her words dissolved into
laughter as Hermione darted forward and seized her in a tight embrace, immune to the curious
stares they garnered.

“I’m much better,” Hermione breathed, overwhelmed with relief. Though she vaguely recalled
arriving with the others, her fears wouldn't subside until she personally accounted for each of them.
It was then she felt the press of silk and registered friend’s striking appearance. She pulled back,
taking in the sight. A turquoise gown hung perfectly from Padma’s lithe frame, skirts full and
flowing. Her dark hair was braided to the side, snowdrop blossoms tucked between the gleaming
folds, their centers vibrant and fragrant. Hermione smiled from ear to ear, voice light with joy.
“Padma, you look beautiful.”

As expected, her friend flushed a bold shade of crimson and tucked a loose strand of hair behind
her ear. “Ariana was kind enough to lend me a dress.”

“It’s not a loan, the dress is yours,” the blonde stated firmly, observing their reunion from a
respectful distance. “It suits you much better. I have several others I’d appreciate you taking off my
hands as well.”

The brunette blushed deeper yet. “You’re too generous.”

“Hardly,” their host laughed, “you’ll be doing me a favor. Our residents enjoy a vast array of
hobbies, sewing among them. My closet is positively bursting at the seams with their spectacular
creations. Unfortunately, I doubt I’ve even worn half. It’s an absolute waste for such beautiful
garments to collect dust on hangers.”
Padma nodded shyly. “In that case, thank you.”

Hermione peered around the copious turquoise skirts to inspect the overflowing desktop. “What
are you reading?”

“Oh,” Padma bit her lip, shuffling as though to block their view. “Just a few books to pass the
time.”

Tilting her head, Hermione read the first title on the stack. “ Calculus and Differential Equations
on the Application of Engineering.” Her eyes flickered up, smirk forming. “A bit of light reading
then?”

Padma laughed in response, shifting aside to reveal her bounty to their curious stares. “I know a
library is the last place I should want to be, but I find the scent of binding and ink comforting.”

“If a book came to life and tried to kill me, I'd still want to read it,” Hermione stated without
shame.

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” Merope chirped merrily. “The titles in our Restricted
Section do just that.”

“How delightful, if there’s time left over after killing the Dollmaker perhaps I’ll take a stab.” They
shared a wry grin before Hermione turned to Padma. “Have you seen the others?”

“Dawn was here for a little while, then she left for the kitchen. Lavender said she was going to
drum up excitement somewhere without a noise policy.”

Hermione sighed with amusement. “Let me guess, she took one look at the peace and quiet and
ran?”

“With Mowgli chasing at her heels. Apparently, he isn’t a proponent of calculus either.”

Ariana glanced between them. “Mowgli?

“They attracted a forest sprite,” Merope said tightly, annoyance clear in her tone.

“Sprite?” Hermione repeated, brain itching at the term. It sounded familiar, but it wasn’t until she
looked at Ariana that the knowledge came flooding back. The Queen’s pale locks and gentle
demeanor summoned Luna’s image to mind, along with the memory of their private discussion on
the bedroom floor. “Elemental fae spirits,” she murmured. Padma studied her curiously. “A friend
told me,” Hermione explained, trying to shake her sudden melancholy. Thinking of the outside
world was like remembering a dream; the more time she spent in Wonderland the less real her
previous life seemed.

Merope huffed. “They look like monkeys to me. Troublesome little bastards, always making a
mess—”

“All of Wonderland’s creatures are welcome here,” Ariana interrupted with an indulgent grin.
“Especially if he assisted in their journey.” Merope sighed, offering no further argument. And then
their ethereal host clapped her palms, expression bright with inspiration. “Well, I do think a visit to
the kitchen is in order.”

Hermione glanced to Padma. “You go ahead,” the brunette offered. “I’ve got plenty to distract me
here.”
Hermione stiffened, instinctively shifting closer. “But…” She flushed beneath their collective stare.
“I think it’s best if we stick together. Just in case.”

“There’s no cause for worry,” Ariana assured. “The Castle is the safest place in all of
Wonderland.” She tilted her head, considering. “Unless it’s harm our residents inflict on one
another. They do get rowdy from time to time. But violence is strictly forbidden within these walls.
I abhor bloodshed.”

Hermione blinked, memory awash with red as she recalled slicing a faceless attacker down the
center with her glowing blade, organs hitting the floor with wet splats. “The kitchen it is.”

“Marvelous!” Ariana sidled closer, looping their arms anew. “Don’t worry, we’ll come back so you
can make a proper goodbye.”

The reminder that she would soon be departing Wonderland filled Hermione with equal parts
anticipation and guilt, the weight settling into the pit of her stomach. She glanced over her shoulder
as they started for the doors. Padma gathered her skirts and retook her seat behind the desk,
eagerly grabbing another book off the pile. Hermione smiled, lightened by the image as Ariana and
Merope led her into the hall.

Rapid footsteps echoed off the walls and ceiling, followed by childish squeals of laughter as two
girls rounded the corner. A boy appeared a heartbeat later, chasing them with a frog outstretched in
his hands. The trio darted past without an upward glance, disappearing around the wall in a swirl of
movement and noise. Hermione’s grin faded along with their voices, recalling that Wonderland
was home to more than just the Dollmaker’s victims. The thought pulled at a thousand other
threads; how were Wonderland’s occupants determined? What the hell was this place? How long
has it been around and were there others like it?

"Curiouser and curiouser," a male voice whispered in her ear, prompting her to whip around with a
gasp, searching the empty space at her side. She glanced at Merope for assistance but the woman's
gaze was fixed to the spot the children had last appeared, a faraway look in her eyes. Hermione
turned to Ariana instead. "Did you hear that?"

The blonde sent a heatless glare over Hermione’s shoulder. “Don’t mind Bernard, he thinks he’s
being funny but is sorely mistaken.”

Laughter vibrated across Hermione's skin, emanating from an unseen source. But the longer she
studied the paneling the more certain she became a phantom grin hovered in mid-air, the hazy
image dissolving like smoke. "What—" A short and stocky figure flew around the corner and
collided against her middle, forcing the occurrence from her mind and the air from her lungs.

"Oomph!" The boy gasped, hitting the quartz in a splay of limbs.

Hermione staggered before reaching down. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, M-Miss,” he stammered with a flush, “s-sorry, Miss.”

She smiled, offering her hand. “Please, call me—” then hesitated, wanting to avoid another stir
should he recognize her name. “Mione,” she settled on. Wow. Quick thinking, genius.

He swallowed thickly, though it seemed to be in reaction to her close proximity rather than her
identity. Merope broke the awkward spell with a soft laugh. “Come now, Leo, unless you plan to
take up permanent residence in the corridor as a rug?”

The boy scrambled to his knees and accepted Hermione’s waiting hand, palm clammy against her
fingers as she hauled him to his feet. “Are you looking for your friends?” She asked, biting back a
grin as his grasp held tight. “They came running by with a frog in tow a few moments ago.”

“It was a toad, Miss— err— Miss Mione.” He spotted their joined palms and blushed feverishly,
pulling back his arm as though electrified.

Merope edged forward, hands perched on her hips. “Did Lucas and the others take Vulcan from
you again, Leo?”

He bowed his head, toeing the quartz. “They’re just borrowing him.”

“Without your permission?” She leaned down until their eyes drew level. “What did I tell you
before?” Her hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “You must stand up for yourself,
sweetheart, never let anyone take advantage of you.” The endearment caused Hermione’s heart to
flutter, even as it made her stomach knot. Here and now, watching the scene play out before her
eyes, she finally understood the depth of Tom’s loss, the driving force behind his hatred and rage.

“If I don’t let them play with Vulcan they won’t play with me either,” Leo mumbled, staring at his
shoes.

Merope sighed and leaned up, seemingly at a loss. Hermione bit her lip and glanced at Ariana. The
Queen read the question in her gaze, nodding once, a secretive smile playing at her lips as
Hermione stepped closer to the pair. “May I asked why you named him Vulcan?”

His eyes snapped up, cheeks coloring bright. “I… thought it sounded neat,” he mumbled, shuffling
awkwardly as Merope rose to her full height beside him.

“He’s being modest,” she said, pride evident in her voice. “Leo is an excellent builder. He
constructed Vulcan’s enclosure by hand, everyone comes to him when they need something put
together from scratch.”

Hermione arched a brow. “Then you’re as skilled as Vulcan himself.” His face was on the verge of
igniting but he managed a bashful smile in response. “Surely you’re familiar with the fire diety’s
greek counterpart?” She prompted.

“Yes, Miss.”

“So you know Hephaestus was a formidable god in his own right, peaceful and reserved but willing
to stand against injustice no matter the opponent. He challenged the King and Queen of Olympus
and even the God of War himself, surmounting his adversaries with level-headed cunning. Every
immortal relied on his craftsmanship and respected his mettle.” He listened with rapt focus,
enthralled by every word. “Those of us who know our myths must protect their legacies by sharing
their tales and embodying their lessons, breathing life into history and making legends truly
eternal.” Merope edged back, allowing Hermione to step forward and grasp his shoulders in her
place. “Hephaestus and Vulcan are relying on you to honor their tale, do you think you can handle
the responsibility?”

“Yes, Miss,” he breathed.

“Excellent.” She beamed down, hands lifting away as turned on his heel and bounded down the
hall with renewed purpose, pausing only to shout a hasty farewell, stumbling in the process.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Mione!”

She laughed, waving at his retreating figure. “You too, Leo!” Her arm fell as he rounded the
corner.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Merope said earnestly, eyes brimming with emotion, heart-break top
among them.

Hermione hadn’t thought it possible to hate the Dollmaker any more than she already did, but her
rage and disgust took on a new intensity as she turned to Ariana. “Gellert targeted Tom to hurt your
brother,” she posed as fact, another piece falling into place, the final image nearly revealed.

“Tom is the closest thing Albus ever had to a son,” Ariana confirmed with sorrowful eyes. “Albus
shares in his suffering. If he could take Tom’s pain as his own, he wouldn’t hesitate.”

Another twisted revelation spiraled through Hermione's mind, weaving together the final threads of
a bloody tapestry. "Grindelwald didn't kill you, did he?"

Ariana held her gaze. “No.”

“You jumped into the river to escape his control and the threat of lobotomy.”

“I jumped to come here. The only place I’ve ever belonged.”

The pieces fell faster, Hermione swayed, desperately lunging for each. “He blames Albus for your
death. He thinks you committed suicide because your brother stood between you. The dolls are
created to punish him….” She shook her head, rubbing her throbbing temples. “No. That’s just
what he tells himself. Anger distracts from pain.” She peered up, holding the blue gaze steady. “He
creates the dolls to feel closer to you, desperately hunting for pieces of his lost love inside his
creations. Something to cling to, a fantasy to keep hope alive. But the more victims he claims the
further away he drifts and the blacker his soul becomes, which in turn causes his shadow to fall
across Wonderland.” She swallowed heavily, hands dropping. “You’ve both been haunting each
other this entire time.”

Ariana glanced at the empty space beside her. “I told you she was the one.”

The fine hairs rose along Hermione’s arms and nape as unseen eyes fixed upon her. It was the least
unnerved she'd felt all day. “What do we do now?” She asked, eager for the next problem to solve,
the next battle to wage. Stagnation meant death.

Yet Ariana’s answering smile was the antithesis of clawing urgency. “Now, we visit the kitchen.”

Hermione blinked, settling back on her heels. “Alright.”

They continued along the winding maze of corridors until a stone archway appeared, granite
countertops and stone basins on the other side. The workstations were occupied by a baker’s dozen
utensil-wielding cooks in matching aprons, everyone busy at work or deep in conversation, too
preoccupied to notice the new arrivals. Hermione paused at the threshold, the smell of freshly
baked bread overtaking her senses. She searched for the ovens and soon discovered a familiar face
smiling at her from across the room. Maggie waved with enthusiasm, broom in hand as she swept
loose flour into a pile, streaks of powder decorating her apron and face. Hermione waved back, the
movement drawing the attention of a few other residents. A soft gasp emanated from the corner of
the room, a metal spoon clattering to the floor. Dawn stared at her through wide eyes, apron
draping her middle and bandana securing her curls.

“Hermione!” She rushed out from behind the counter, abandoning a large metal bowl. Hermione
flew forward in the next beat, meeting her halfway and embracing her tight. “Are you okay?”
Dawn asked, words muffled against her hair. “I was so worried!”
Hermione nodded, slowly unwinding her arms and leaning back. “I’m fine. What about you?
How’s your hand?”

“Healed.” She held her palm aloft, revealing a thin red scar. “Pretty nifty. If only we mended as
quickly in real life.”

"If only," Hermione agreed, then took in her doppelganger's appearance, curiosity piqued. "What
are you cooking?"

Dawn flushed and gripped the hem of her apron, affecting the same posture as Padma when
questioned about her books. “Nothing fancy. I have some brioche in the oven while I whip up a
small batch of Bechamel for the potatoes—”

“You know how to cook?” Hermione interrupted, unable to quell the surprise in her voice.

“Snippets have been coming back to me.” Dawn bit her lip as though embarrassed by the
admission. “I think my father was a chef. Or maybe my grandfather. I can’t see his face clearly, I
just remember standing in a kitchen while a man showed me different recipes. We’re both
laughing. It seems like a good memory.”

Hermione felt lightened by the news. “The rest will return once you’re awake. Then you’ll be
cooking real food in your own kitchen.” Far away from whatever brothel or gambling hall you
were forced to seek employment in.

Dawn’s answering grin rippled with an undercurrent of sadness, as though able to read the
unspoken words in Hermione’s gaze. “Have you spoken to the others?” She asked, diverting the
subject.

“I just saw Padma in the library.”

“Has she discovered a new law of physics yet?”

“Soon, right after she solves the mystery of the pyramids, triangles seem to be her forte.”

“Triangles are so very fascinating,” Ariana mused, startling them both as she appeared at their
sides, stealthy as a rabbit. “The strongest shape in nature and ever so beautiful.” She tilted her head,
listening to the air and sighing with exasperation. “Oh for goodness sake, Bernard, no one knows
what a catenary curve is and neither do you. I saw you rifling through Padma’s book. Don’t act
clever simply because you memorized a chapter header.”

Dawn blinked, glancing around for the invisible man. And then the air shifted around them, wild,
frantic, sparking with energy. Hermione stiffened, goosebumps racing down her arms. Ariana
appeared similarly affected, complexion paler than snow, but the kitchen’s remaining occupants
went about their business without interruption.

Merope didn't seem to feel the atmospheric shift, though she noticed her Queen's chalky visage and
shifted closer. "Ariana? What's wrong?"

Hermione rubbed her arms to dispel the chill, shoulders bunched tight.

“Hermione?” Dawn asked, brow creased with concern. “Are you okay?”

Yet it was Ariana’s glacial stare that pulled her focus. “You feel it, too.”

Hermione nodded, eager to know what the hell was happening, but before she could muster the
words a monstrous roar erupted from outside the Castle, shaking the walls like thunder. Everyone
froze, whisks and spatulas dripping batter on the floor as they turned rigid with terror, heads
swiveling to the windows along the back wall. A second roar jolted them from their shocked
stupor, prompting some to drop their utensils and run for the door while others raced to the
shutters, pulling them wide. The onlookers screamed shrilly, stumbling back in horror as the room
was cast into shadow, a massive figure hovering before the windows, blocking the light.

Hermione tried to gulp but choked on the attempt. “What is it?” She whispered, seeing nothing but
ominous darkness.

Ariana folded her hands before her flowing skirts, serene voice delivering a simple and terrifying
answer. “The Jabberwocky.”

Theo watched Parvati wear a hole into the floor, skirts rustling with every step. She’d bounced
between this room and her sister’s for the last two hours, her frantic pacing only adding to his
anxiety. Harry was still gone and she was proving far from a helpful distraction. He released a
hissing breath as she completed her fiftieth rotation. “Christ, Patil. Take some laudanum. You’re
giving me motion sickness.”

“This is ridiculous,” she snapped, steps unfaltering. “We’re supposed to just leave her tied up like a
mental patient?”

“Riddle said she was dangerous.”

Her brows knitted in a scowl. “This is Mione we’re talking about.”

“Exactly.”

She rolled her eyes as footsteps echoed down the hall. They glanced at the door as Black strolled
in, hands in his pockets and grin in place. "Ah, here you kids are." He turned his gaze to the bed.
"How's our mental patient doing?" Parvati arched her brow, shooting Theo a pointed look. Black
glanced between them, smiling despite his obvious exhaustion. "Why don't you both get some rest?
Hannah's sleeping on a couch in Padma's room and Neville's passed out in the lounge."

“I’m wound too tight,” she clipped, beginning a fresh lap around the rug.

“That’s a massive understatement,” Theo deadpanned. “Give her some laudanum.”

Black tipped his head towards the hall. “There’s a bottle in the—”

“I’m not taking anything, not when Mione and Padma are defenseless.”

"You aren't helping anyone if you're dead on your feet, poppet."

She sighed, slowing her steps and swaying in place as though the words themselves triggered her
fatigue. “I suppose I can lie next to Padma, just for a little while.”

“Good girl.” Black stepped away from the door. “I’ll wake you if Hermione’s condition changes.”
Her shoulders slanted down as she trudged for the corridor. Black dipped his head in farewell
before turning to Theo. “You, too, kid. There’s a spare bedroom down the hall.”

“I’m fine here.”

“Standing around won’t change—”

“I promised Potter I wouldn’t leave her side,” Theo uttered without thought, then stiffened,
instantly regretting the words. “I mean—”

“I’ll bring in a chair from across the way,” Black responded casually. “There’s no telling how long
she’ll be out; you can rest and stand guard at the same time.”

Theo nodded, spine easing. “Thank you.”

Black started to leave but paused in the doorway, glancing back with a keen intensity that made
Theo’s chest tighten with dread. “Your father know where you are?”

The innocuous question scrambled his thoughts. “I doubt he even knows I’m gone,” Theo
admitted.

Despite the morose response, Black smirked. “Sounds like my old man,” he muttered, eyes shining
with affinity. “I’m glad you’re here, Nott.”

Theo nodded shortly, leaning into the wall for support. Black tapped the doorframe with the side of
his fist and entered the hall, disappearing around the corner. Theo exhaled in a rush, scrubbing a
hand over his face and questioning his sanity.

A soft moan filled the air, shattering the silence like a sledgehammer. He transformed into a suit of
armor as Granger stirred on the bed, curling in until her bound wrists restricted her movement. Her
lids slowly parted, lashes fluttering against a strip of sunlight. Theo swallowed thickly and her head
snapped to the side, stopping his heart. She’d made quite the sight upon her arrival, splayed like a
ragdoll in the Doctor’s arms. But nothing was quite so horrible as feeling the flatness of her gaze
pressing against him. Her dripping eye make-up only enhanced the eeriness of her dead stare.

His knees locked tight as he stood away from the wall, a cold sweat chasing down his spine as she
tracked his every movement. “Hermione?” He asked tentatively, desperately wishing Potter was
here and grateful he wasn’t.

The sound of her name seemed to trigger something. She gripped her binds for leverage and pulled
into a seated position against the headboard. Her white gown and spread arms gave her the
appearance of a virginal sacrifice, made all the more disturbing when she crossed her feet at the
ankles and smiled brightly. “Hello, Theodore.”

He paused his approach, unsure how to proceed. “Are you… how are you?”

She blinked again, the only movement beyond the gentle rise and fall of her chest. “I’m quite well,
thank you for asking. How are you?”

Bloody hell. Harry had warned him she may turn violent but he’d gladly take a shovel to the head
over this. He staggered to the door. “I’ll… be right back.”

Her gaze remained calm, yet as he entered the hall it took on a calculative gleam that made his
pulse quicken. He held his breath and tore down the corridor, following the shuffle of furniture and
coming face-to-face with Black as he rounded the corner. The Admiral battled an upholstered
chair, a string of colorful curses spilling free as he wedged it between the wall and table, pausing
his struggles when he caught sight of Theo’s pale complexion.

“She’s awake,” Theo announced without preamble. Black fell perfectly still, a grandfather clock
ticking loudly in the background, and then he burst into action, scrambling over the velvet cushions
and launching into a dead run before flying into the bedroom like a shot. Theo chased at his heels,
panting as he charged inside. Hermione remained perfectly still at the center of the mattress,
unaffected by their abrupt arrival.

“Kitten,” the Admiral greeted in a light tone, even as he inspected her with military precision. Theo
took station beside the door, content to keep his distance. “How are you feeling, luv?” Black
stepped to the footboard and crossed his arms.

“I’m quite well, thank you for asking.” Theo shuddered at her animated tone as she regurgitated
the canned response. “How are you?”

“I’ve seen better days. Worse, too, so I can’t complain.” Black tilted his head, standing tall against
her unsettling gaze. “We’ve been worried about you.”

“How considerate. But there’s no cause for concern.”

“I’m not so sure.” His jaw ticked. Theo’s shoulders tightened with anticipation. “Do you know who
I am?”

She tilted her head, mirroring his movements. “Of course, Lord Black. You’re an esteemed Peer
and the last of your bloodline. But most notably, you’re a well-respected military leader in Her
Majesty’s Royal Navy, recently promoted to Admiral, fast-tracked to becoming Admiral of the
Fleet, the highest and most coveted rank on the sea.”

Theo exhaled swiftly.

“Christ,” Black lamented. “I had no idea I was so boring.” He tucked his hands into his pockets
and paced around the side of the bed. “Tell me, poppet, do you feel like hurting anyone?”

Her smile only brightened. “Certainly not.”

“What about Tom Riddle?”

“I don’t want to hurt Tom. I just need to kill him.”

Black raised a dark brow, glancing over his shoulder. “Sounds perfectly reasonable to me.”

“What do we do?” Theo asked, unable to think of anything but Harry’s utter devastation when he
returned. Losing Hermione would shatter him beyond repair.

Black sighed, facing her with uncharacteristic somberness. “Alright, luv. Let’s get to brass tax. If
we untie you, what will you do?”

Her knees drew up, body tilting towards him. “Whatever you want me to do, Lord Black,” she
purred, the seductive flip in her mannerisms as jarring as the words themselves. She sank into the
pillows, curls spilling like inky brown tendrils over the pale fabric.

Black turned to stone, features solidifying into a mask of anger and horror. “I want you to wake
up,” he stated plainly, so tense he looked poised to break. He paced backward on stiff legs, turning
on his heel and storming for the door. “I need a minute,” he growled.

Theo lingered awkwardly, torn between a desire to flee and wanting to afford the man his privacy.
Then Hermione met his gaze and straightened, the gleam in her stare assessing and lethal, as
though daring him to come closer. His stomach twisted painfully. Hallway it is. He slipped into the
corridor, eagerly closing the door. Black stood a meter away, leaning against the wall and dragging
a hand over his face.
“Are you okay?” Theo asked, unable to bear the silence.

Black groaned, tipping his head to glare at the cracked ceiling. “I never knew such evil could
exist.” He closed his eyes, face creased. “It didn’t seem real before. I heard the stories and read the
case files, saw the girls at the auction... but witnessing it up close like this, on someone I know…
it’s a waking nightmare.” He swallowed thickly before staring ahead. “Christ, I can’t imagine what
Mione’s going through, what she’s thinking. Trapped inside her own mind, her own body. When I
get my hands on the bastard who did this I’m going to—”

There was a shuffling downstairs, followed by the explosive crack of the front door hitting the
marble for the second time that morning. “Fucking hell…” a familiar voice scathed.

Black rubbed his brow. “I should really get that doorbell fixed.”

Theo gazed down the hall. “It’s—”

“I know. Cut him off at the pass. He doesn’t need to see her like this.”

“I won’t be able to stop him.”

“Try,” the Admiral commanded, voice radiating a natural authority that made Theo stand at
attention. Still, it wasn’t enough to overcome his loyalty and obligation to his childhood mate.

“He deserves to know.”

Black held his gaze, striking a chilling compromise. “Then tell him to brace himself.”

Draco leaped from the carriage and staggered his landing, clumsy with exhaustion. His father's
words had plagued his mind the entire ride over, gnawing at his gut and preventing even a
moment's rest. It was only after the horses stopped he realized his bristling anger had distracted
from his festering dread. The brief reprieve wasn't entirely unwelcome, even if he wanted to
throttle the next idiot who looked at him. He carded a hand through his hair, eager to dispel this
hornet's nest of emotions, glancing at the driver in annoyance. "Stay here."

“Sorry, mate, I’m needed at—”

“Here’s a pound to shut up.” Draco reached into his vest and extracted his gleaming billfold. “You
get another to sit on your arse for the next ten minutes.”

The stranger blinked, eagerly accepting the note. “Whatever you say, mate, whatever you say.”

Draco turned, facing the lopsided structure with a scowl. He could think of no place he’d rather be
less, aside from Scotland Yard and perhaps Hell itself. He climbed the steps and reached for the
door, but the moment he gripped the handle the fixture broke off and the barrier fell inward, hitting
the marble with a jarring slam.

“Fucking hell…” he hissed, tossing the brass aside and stepping over the wreckage. He’d grown
accustomed to seeing the mansion overrun with miscreants and police, hardly recognizing the
entryway without bodies strewn across its floor.

Footsteps drew his eyes to the landing. Theo appeared from the shadowed hall, bracing the banister
with both hands. "Draco."

“Where the hell is everyone?”

“Sleeping off two days of exhaustion.”

“Sleeping?” Draco scowled, aiming his animosity upward. “There’s still work to—”

“Potter’s scouring the underground drug scene as we speak.”

Draco blinked, unsure how to unpack such a statement and too tired to figure it out. Fuck it. “I
guess I’m stuck with you then. Let’s go.”

Theo crossed his arms, feet firmly planted. “And where am I being so kindly invited to?”

“Bella’s secret lair. I would go alone but on the very likely possibility I’m murdered, you get the
honor of throwing water on the bitch.”

“I believe you mispronounced witch, and we both know she won’t kill you.”

“Probably not,” Draco conceded, impatience fusing his vertebrae. “However, the Dollmaker won’t
hesitate to dice me into ribbons and display me across his mantle like holiday garland.”

“You think he’s there?”

“My father does. And no, I don’t care to elaborate. We should have left thirty seconds ago.” He
started for the door, casting a glare over his shoulder as the bastard continued to imitate a lawn
statue. “You can look perplexed in the back of the bloody carriage! Now move your sodding arse
—”

“Riddle was here.”

Draco stumbled, certain he’d imagined the words. “What?” He whipped around, searching Nott’s
loaded gaze for confirmation. “Was here? Did—”

“Upstairs,” the man stated simply, as though he hadn’t just lit the fuse in Draco’s chest.

“Christ, Nott!” Draco bolted for the steps, taking them two at a time. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just did.” Draco scowled, knocking shoulders as he passed him on the landing. But his arm was
caught in a snare before he made it to the hall. “Draco, wait—”

“What the hell, Theo?” He forcefully shook the restraining hand but the incessant prick remained
undeterred.

“There’s something you need to know—”

“I don’t give a shite!” Draco yelled, storming into the corridor.

“She’s one of them.”

He braced a hand to the wall, steps faltering as the bomb detonated, turning his heart to ash. His
breath evaporated in his lungs, vision going dark. “Take me to her,” he demanded, hardly aware of
his words.

“She isn’t—”

“Now, goddammit!”

Theo sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Follow me.”

Draco did just that, riding his heels until Black came into view in the middle of the hall, arms
crossed and feet braced apart like a human gate. Draco clenched his teeth, attempting to veer
around the obstacle.

“Just a moment, kid.”

“I’m fresh out,” Draco growled.

His moronic cousin sighed, grabbing him by his jacket and wrenching him off his feet before
slamming him into the wall with practiced skill, expression placid as a frozen lake. “Then I’ll lend
you some of mine.”

Draco hissed, thrashing against the iron-hold. “You can’t keep me from her!”

“I don’t intend to,” Black tightened his grip, eliciting an enraged snarl. “But right now, you’re
going to listen.” Draco exhaled steam but forced his limbs still, eager to get the ridiculous scare
tactic over and done. The Admiral nodded, loosening his hold but continuing to pin him in place.
“Hermione isn’t herself at present.”

“So I’ve heard.”

"Then you also know she's highly suggestible."

The warning was clear in his voice, as was the threat in his eyes. Draco bared his teeth at the
insinuation, ready to spit acid. “I would never hurt her.”

“Famous last words. Now here’s what’s going to happen. First, you’re going to calm down. Next,
you’re going to think before you speak. And last but certainly not least, you’re going to leave her
tied to the bed.”

Draco blinked, unable to stop the images from forming in his mind. “I have absolutely no problem
with that.”

Black glared. “You’ll also keep your hands to yourself.”

“I thought bondage was the last rule.”

“Don’t be a cheeky bastard.”

“Perhaps I should start writing these down.”

The Admiral sighed into his face, releasing him at last. “You’re only young and stupid once. I’m
glad to see you’re making the most of it.”

Draco straightened his jacket and shouldered the man aside, striding to the closed door and staring
at the knob. His body throbbed with the force of his heartbeat. He reached for the fixture and
glanced over his shoulder, unsure what he was looking for. But Theo seemed to read the
desperation in his eyes, holding his gaze steady and nodding once. Draco gazed forward with the
assurance, opening the door swiftly and crossing inside before his thoughts could catch up.

Pansy gripped the silver knocker between delicate fingers and gave it a dainty slam, sparing the
geraniums an annoyed glance as she settled back on the stoop. Considering the household staff, she
wouldn't be surprised if they withered and decayed before the door opened. Still, the look of horror
she received when the barrier parted was well worth the monotonous wait.
“Lady Parkinson—”

Pansy flattened her hand to the wood and pushed it wide, causing the woman to stagger back.
“Please, Louisa, call me Her Royal Highness. Lady Parkinson is my dearly departed mother.” She
strode inside and gave the entry a sweeping once-over, fighting back a shudder as the maid scurried
to close the door.

“But… your mother isn’t dead.”

"Hm. Then who am I thinking of?" She crossed the Italian marble en route to the master staircase,
the insufferable cow chasing at her heels.

“Miss Pansy, is there something I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually. I need to remove a rather large bloodstain from a silk rug, any suggestions?”

The woman glared, following her up the steps. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Honestly, darling, if you’re going to play the part of a maid you should at least learn to clean
more than my father’s shriveled c—” Pansy lost her train of thought as she reached the second
level, a striking figurine catching her eye. A topless mermaid cast in gold. “Oh! How delightful.”
She picked it up, turning it over in her hands to inspect it in the sunlight. “This looks just like a
lovely librarian I once knew. Minus the tail.” She tucked it under her arm, continuing for the hall.
“I’m borrowing it.”

The tart opened and closed her mouth before trailing after her. “Perhaps I should fetch your mother
—”

“You’re sure she’s still alive?” They arrived outside a pair of double doors. Pansy gave the handles
a cursory tug, unsurprised when they refused to budge.

“His office is locked,” the amoeba announced, lifting her chin as though responsible for the
obstacle.

“Perhaps you can be of assistance, pet.”

“No one is permitted entrance—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Pansy drolled, grasping the mermaid. “I’m talking to her.” She flashed
the figurine a cheeky wink before bashing it against the handles in rapid succession, squealing with
delight as the fixtures broke from the splintered wood and hit the floor with a bang. The maid
gasped, startled by the violent outburst. Pansy twirled the statue in hand, meeting its golden gaze a
second time. “Saucy minx,” she commended before glancing sideways. “Heads up.” The mermaid
cut a gleaming arc as it flew through the air. The maid scrambled to catch it while Pansy slipped
her hand inside the gap, feeling for the latch and pushing it down, swinging the doors wide.

The maid clutched the figurine to her chest, eyes bugged in outrage. “You’re not allowed inside!”

“Something tells me that's the first time you've uttered those particular words in that order,” Pansy
mused, cutting a quick path for the desk. She gripped the top drawer and pulled. Locked tight.

“His private files are off-limits,” came the scathing retort from the doorway. The maid lingered at
the threshold as though unable to cross. The sight gave Pansy pause.

“Do you need a formal invitation like a vampyre?” She closed her eyes, hands flattening on the
desk. “You’ve read Polidori?” She shook her head, dispelling the phantom voice and resuming her
attempts at prying open the drawers. “Tell me, Louisa, does my father hire a real maid to wipe
down the hard surfaces after you’ve finished humping like sweaty baboons?” The woman blinked,
jaw hanging wide. “My, my,” Pansy muttered, tugging fruitlessly on the lower compartment, “no
wonder you got the job.”

The maid huffed, turning beat red. “I’m telling your father.”

“Enjoy the conjugal visit.” Pansy waved her hand as though shooing a fly. “Off you go.”

Her companion released an indignant huff before stomping away with the mermaid in tow. Pansy
basked in the radiant glow of victory a moment longer before dropping to her haunches and pulling
a jade-tipped pin from her hair, biting open the end and inserting it into the lock. Her eyes
narrowed in concentration, no stranger to picking locks in her childhood home, though she’d never
dared to step foot inside her father’s office in her youth. He’d been an intimidating figure back
then, full of wrath and top-shelf liquor, eager to inflict corporal punishment for the most trivial
offense. Pansy had been terrified. Now she felt shame and disgust when she managed to feel
anything towards him.

The locked popped with a click, the compartment giving way and triggering the others to unlatch.
She smiled at her handiwork, rising swiftly and pulling the drawer open to reveal an assortment of
paperwork. She grabbed a handful off the top and began thumbing through the pages, scanning the
headings as a shuffle emanated from the hall, followed by a muffled collision and annoyed grunt.
Pansy rolled her eyes, continuing to flip through the stack.

“Ethan?” A feminine voice grumbled. “Ethan -hiccup- what happened to the Massougnes? I told
you -hiccup- that bottle was -hiccup- not to be—” A thump and a crash, shattering glass ringing
through the corridor. “Fucking hell, who put this -hiccup- dreadful thing here? Ring your little
whore to -hiccup- clean this mess up.”

Pansy hummed under her breath. “Let’s hope her knees aren’t too bruised to perform the task.”

A slim figure lurched into the doorway, adorned in a silk nightgown and emerald necklace,
diamond tiara resting lopsided atop a messy bun. “Oh. It’s you.”

Pansy licked her fingertip and turned the page. “Good to see you too, mummie.”

“Where’s -hiccup-,” her mother swayed, gripping the frame, “your father?”

“Scotland Yard.”

She blinked, slumping sideways. “Whatever is he doing there?”

“Daddy went and got himself arrested, the silly pervert.”

“Is that another one of your jokes?”

"If I were making a joke I'd say he was at Church fondling the altar boys." Pansy glanced up,
arching a manicured brow. "It's funny because he'd obviously be molesting the nuns."

“You’re pretty, darling, -hiccup- there’s no need to attempt humor as well. Men don’t like -hiccup-
funny women.”

“How devastating,” Pansy muttered, resuming her task.

“I need another drink.” Her mother wobbled inside, bare feet silent and clumsy on the rug. “If your
father’s gone -hiccup- I’m raiding his private stores.”

“You might consider raiding his private accounts instead. Are you still sleeping with the manager
at the bank?”

She opened the liquor cabinet against the wall. “His wife popped out another screaming brat and
-hiccup- they moved to a farm on the continent.”

“My condolences to his wife.”

Her mother snorted, swaying precariously before reaching for a crystal decanter and pulling the
stopper with a soft tink, taking a swig directly from the spout. Pansy sighed, tossing the paperwork
aside and reaching for the second drawer.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Her mother asked, setting the decanter down with a bang and
a splash.

“Looking for something that can lock daddy away for the rest of his wondrously decrepit life.”

“Hm. Look in the top -hiccup- right drawer, beneath the false bottom.”

Pansy blinked, glancing at the designated compartment. "Cheers." She reached for the handle.
"Angostura."

Her mother scratched the side of her head, knocking the tiara further askew. “Pardon?”

“Angostura will cure your hiccups,” Pansy explained, reaching inside the cubby and feeling along
the base.

“I taught you that.”

“I know.” She smiled as she found the crescent groove, pulling the bottom panel away. “Though
you aren’t supposed to give bitters to children.”

“Nonsense -hiccup-,” her mother turned back to the cabinet, running a fingertip along the faded
labels. “You always loved having a sip of my evening cocktail.”

“I loved spending the evening in your company. And you make a divine cocktail.”

“The secret is—”

“Adding a dash of sherry. Yes, you taught me that as well.”

Her mother selected a small and narrow bottle, nearly dropping it as she unscrewed the top. “I’m
sorry about the contract, darling.” Pansy stilled, glancing up from her half-bent position. “By the
time I found out, Ethan and Nott -hiccup- had already signed.”

Pansy swallowed thickly, watching the woman pour a drop of bitter onto the back of her hand and
lick it clean, face twisting at the tartness.

"Ugh," her mother gagged, smacking her lips with a shudder. "God awful." She set the bottle aside
and resumed her leisurely inspection of the cabinet. "Theodore may not sweep you off your feet but
he won't knock you through a wall either. That's the most any woman can hope for." She tilted her
head, selecting a vintage Bordeaux and attempting to read the label through double-vision. "And
he's certainly attractive, those eyes alone… lying beneath him won't be a chore. Once you give him
a son you can take a lover, I doubt he'll care. He doesn't seem the possessive type."

Pansy glanced away, reaching inside the false bottom and extracting a narrow folder, spine tingling
as she flipped the cover and scanned the first page. Excellent.

“Your father isn’t really going away, darling.” She glanced up, surprised to find her mother facing
her, gaze mostly focused. “Men like him always ensure someone else is standing nearby to take the
fall.”

Pansy closed the folder with a hum. “If I can’t bring him down, I’ll string him high.” She closed
the drawer with her hip and started for the door. “Toodles, mummie.”

“Ta-ta, darling.” Her mother pulled the cork from the bottle, sniffing the contents. “And you really
shouldn’t wear an empire waist, it makes you look bloated.”

Pansy faltered at the threshold, gritting her teeth. “Always a pleasure.”

Shadows crept high along the brick, bathing the kitchen and its wide-eyed occupants in darkness.
“What is it?” Hermione whispered, terror tightening her throat.

Only Ariana remained poised, standing her ground as the room quaked with fear. “The
Jabberwocky.”

“The what?” Another thunderous roar shook the Castle walls, erupting screams across the kitchen
as men and women fled from the windows. “Can it get in?” Hermione asked, hands curling at her
sides.

“No,” Merope replied, then looked to her Queen. “Can it?”

Ariana tipped her head in thought, unphased by the mounting hysteria. “It’s never tried.” Her pale
gaze shifted to Hermione. “Gellert knows we have a special guest.”

“He sent it after me?” Hermione asked, jolting as the shutters rattled in a mighty gust of wind.

Dawn clutched her stained apron with both hands. “What should we do?”

Ariana took a deep breath, fortifying herself for the task ahead. “I can defend the perimeter—”

“You haven’t the strength to reinforce the walls and open a portal,” Merope stated tersely.

“Protect the Castle,” Hermione urged. “Lives are at stake.”

Merope shook her head. “More lives will be lost if we don’t send you back.” She turned to the
blonde. “Open the portal.”

Ariana held the woman’s gaze, a silent exchange passing between them before she shared her
thoughts aloud. “It will take time to harness enough energy. Gather the residents in the main hall,
barricade the doors. I’ll use the throne room.”

“I’ll lead the Jabberwocky to the other side of the Castle,” Hermione volunteered, eager to do
something, anything but stand here in useless panic.

“It’s too dangerous,” Merope argued. “We can’t lose you.”

"It's here for me, I won't let anyone else get hurt." Hermione turned to her host with resolve.
"Wonderland chose you for a reason, Ariana. And you chose me. It's our job to protect them." Her
heart skipped wildly as another powerful gust whistled through the windows, knocking empty pots
to the ground and eliciting terrified shrieks from those nearby. But her gaze remained fixed upon
their ethereal Sovereign, deferring to her judgment.

Ariana nodded at last. “I’ll send word when I’m ready.”

Hermione sighed with relief, squinting against the burst of silver light as the blonde dissolved
away and a snow-white hare appeared in her place, bounding for the hall in graceful arcs. Merope
shifted closer, gaining her attention. "You're very brave, Hermione, there's no doubting that. But
—"

“There isn’t time to argue, Merope. If you’ve really been watching me these last few weeks you
know I’m just as hard-headed as your son. I’m doing this.”

Merope set her jaw but ultimately relented, turning to address the frantic room. “Everyone— head
down to the main hall, no detours!”

“I’ll help spread the word,” Dawn offered, falling into step behind the departing residents at
Merope’s nod.

And then Tom’s mother turned her hauntingly familiar gaze on Hermione. “Please be careful.”

“You, too,” Hermione breathed, watching the woman usher the last few residents through the door
before following them out.

And then it was just her.

She wasted no time searching out a weapon, dashing through the empty kitchen as the wind grew
louder, harder, beat into a frenzy. She picked up pots and pans but they felt heavy and burdensome.
The butcher block called to her, wooden handles pulsing in the dim light. She reached for a carving
knife and sagged with disappointment, the blade no substitute for the one she had lost. But her
thoughts were effectively smothered as the windows shattered in a powerful explosion.

She dropped low, covering her head as glass rained down, blanketing the stone and lodging in her
hair. The air pressure changed as something massive swooped into the room, a blur of glistening
black. And then steam billowed down in twin clouds, burning her skin. Her limbs twitched with
adrenaline as she peered up tentatively, realizing the steam was hot breath pouring from flared
nostrils. Her gaze locked with a pair of blood-red eyes, her pale face reflected in the slitted pupils,
and only one thought came to mind.

“... holy hell.”

Lavender tilted her head, examining the ceiling mural for the six-hundredth time, still unable to
determine exactly what the hell was going on in the scene. Granted, the image constantly changed
which certainly didn’t help matters. Subjects from other canvases crawled out of their frames to
join whatever Renaissance toga party was happening in her room. There was no sound but it didn’t
stop the painted figures from dancing their asses off, stopping only to eat and drink and get frisky.
Damn, if she’d known artwork could be so interesting she might’ve visited a museum or two in her
lifetime. The longer she stared the more she wished she could dissolve into a puddle of ink and join
the two-dimensional festivities. They had a bloody wine fountain for Christ's sake. Meanwhile,
she'd searched this floating fortress high and low and still couldn't rummage a drop of decent
booze. Surely she wasn't expected to spend the rest of eternity sober. Lavender Brown didn't live
like a saint and she certainly had no intention of becoming one in the after-life.

She separated a tendril of golden hair and twirled it around her finger. “Fuck I’m bored,” she
muttered, sprawled across her bedroom rug. The lump beneath her dress moved, fabric bunching
around her hips as a head popped free.

“Seriously?” Cormac scowled, dropping her leg from over his shoulder and wiping his mouth. “Am
I doing your taxes down here?”

“It’s not you,” she sighed, pushing her skirts down as he sat back on his heels. “I can’t just lie
here.”

“Then writhe around.”

“That’s not the point. There’s too much going on, I can’t concentrate on this.”

“On me you mean.”

“Don’t whine, it causes premature wrinkles. Or impotence. I can’t remember which.”

“Let’s pray for the former.” He tipped his head back, staring boredly at the orgy above. “If you
won’t let me eat you, I’m going to the kitchen for some real food.” He pushed to his feet with a
groan, glancing down. “Coming?”

“I wasn’t even close.”

His gaze narrowed on her smirk. "Fucking hilarious. Just for that, I'm not bringing you back
anything."

“I don’t want anything.”

“Good,” he called over his shoulder, halfway to the door. “Because I’m not bringing you anything.”

“Good.” She started braiding her hair. “Oh, bring me back some baps.”

He rolled his eyes, reaching for the handle. Just then a monstrous roar radiated through the walls,
trembling the window in its frame. “What the hell is that?” He asked, complexion paler than
marble.

Lavender bolted upright like a spring. “My kind of action.” She darted to the pane and searched the
sea of pastel clouds to no avail. Her skirts billowed as she raced for the door, pushing Cormac
aside with a cheeky grin. “Coming?”

“Fuck no.” She shrugged, turning the handle and continuing ahead. “Lav!” He surged forward,
grabbing her arm. “You can’t seriously be running towards the terrifying noise?”

She met his bewildered stare with a bright grin. “What’s the point of an afterlife if you’re not going
to live a little?” The question lingered in the air even after she slipped from his grip and sprinted
down the corridor.

Cormac shook his head. “Crazy bint,” he muttered to the empty room, then promptly set off after
her.

Crinkling parchment and turning pages lulled Padma into a trance, time fleeting as she lost herself
to towering stacks and endless equations. She was about to start the newest chapter of her latest
selection when a flash of green appeared in her peripheral, the desk gently rocking. She reared
back on instinct, transported to another library, another desk, chains wrapping her middle and
manacles binding her feet as faceless soldiers patrolled the floor. And then she met a pair of
gleaming yellow eyes and exhaled sharply.

“Mowgli! You gave me a fright,” she laughed, high and nervous, scooting in to scratch beneath his
chin. “Did Lavender’s company prove too exciting?” He leaned into her touch, wriggling with
contentment. “Merope says you’re a sprite,” she mused idly, watching his tail curl around her
wrist. “Perhaps I can find a book about your kind, learn what sorts of things you like to eat and
do…” She cast a sweeping glance around the towering shelves. “There has to be one lying around
here somewhere.”

Mowgli stepped onto the edge of her open book, head tilting in either direction as he examined the
page upside down. Padma smiled, spinning it towards him. “I’m learning about deformation theory
in relation to topology.” He met her gaze and blinked, prompting her to cross her arms with a
laugh. “Don’t give me that look, it sounds far more complicated than it is.”

A sudden commotion at the entrance drew their focus. Two women ran inside, cheeks flushed.
Padma stiffened in her chair, recognizing one half of the frantic pair.

“Everyone!” Dawn shouted, earning the collective gaze of the room. “The Castle is under attack!
Gather in the main hall!”

People sprung from their desks, dropping pens and books and overturning chairs in their haste.
“Under attack?” A man shouted, inspiring others to join in.

“Ariana said we were safe—”

“—why the main hall?”

“—need to send word—”

“What will we do if—”

“Did you lot miss the part about us being under bloody attack?” The woman beside Dawn cut in,
eyes blazing as she pointed at the door. “Everyone shut the hell up and haul arse!” The gentle
reminder triggered the crowd into action, the library’s inhabitants abandoning their books and pens
and running for the hall like their lives depended on it, pausing only to grab the younger children.

Padma stood from her desk as people rushed past. “Dawn!”

The girl jolted at the sound of her name, searching the sea of faces. “Padma!” She navigated
against the surging traffic, dodging frantic elbows to the face. “Come on, we have to go!”

“Who’s attacking?” Padma asked, meeting her halfway.

“One of the Dollmaker’s creatures. I didn’t see it but it sounds big. And angry.”

“Oh my god,” she breathed. Mowgli clung to her skirt, round eyes darting between them. “Where’s
Hermione?”

“Acting as bait. She’s trying to lead it to the other side of the Castle.”

“Of course she is.” A colossal shatter caused the library’s remaining occupants to scream and
holler, quickening their pace. “It’s inside,” Padma muttered, facing the doorway as the final
resident disappeared from sight. “We have to help Hermione.”

Dawn inhaled slowly, the colorful skylight reflected in her eyes. “Let’s go.”

They fled for the doors without further discussion, Mowgli hanging on for the ride.

Hermione tore down the hall as though the chariots of Hell were in pursuit. Her high-heeled boots
echoed loudly off the quartz, as did skidding claws and rabid snarls. Yet when she rounded the
corner and emerged into the next corridor residents continued to stand and gawk like lambs
awaiting slaughter.

“Run!” She screamed. A feral growl rumbled behind the wall, emphasizing her point. People
staggered back, faces stricken with horror. “Hide!”

They continued to blink, too startled to react. And then the Jabberwocky came crashing around the
corner and they happily followed instructions. Screams erupted as the creature scrambled for
traction on the glossy floor. The residents scattered like mice, desperately funneling into any
unlocked room they could find. The beast regained its footing, talons screeching across the
gemstone as it charged ahead, leathery wings scraping either wall, knocking mirrors and portraits
from their hooks until busted glass and splintered frames littered its path.

Hermione sprinted, lungs pumping furiously. She tasted smoke on the back of her tongue and
dropped, swallowing a keening cry as her knees slammed the tile with a crack. A bolt of bright
flame shot overhead, blackening the walls and ceiling before dying away with a sizzle. She
scrambled to her feet as the creature ran out of breath and staggered for the nearest open doorway.
The frame was too narrow for the creature to fit through and the walls were stone, surely lending
her enough time to find a weapon.

At first glance, the room appeared empty of inhabitants, but the moment she set foot inside she was
met by muffled gasps and whimpers. She stiffened, searching the room in a panic, and caught sight
of half-hidden faces behind the cabinets and chairs, terrified eyes fixed upon her.

Damn damn damn!

The Jabberwocky released a shrill scream, charging the doorway. "Stay where you are," she hissed,
spine taut as a bowstring, "don't call its attention." She ran for the door on the opposite wall and
fumbled with the handle, tearing it open with a shocked cry as the creature exploded into the room,
breaking the frame in half and tearing bricks from the mortar, dust and rubble flying in every
direction. A woman screamed, drawing its glowing red eyes to her huddled figure behind the
loveseat. Its pupils expanded, forked tongue darting between a lipless mouth.

“Hey!” Hermione screamed from the opposite doorway, waving her arms. “Over here!”

Smoke poured from its nostrils as it pawed the ground like a bull about to charge, head tilting
down, watching her through narrowed eyes. She staggered into the hall and broke into a dead-run,
glimpsing a familiar painting on the wall ahead. Its inhabitants fled, disappearing beyond the edge
of the frame. Her pulse skipped, a rickety plan taking shape in her mind, set to collapse at the
slightest nudge. But it was the best she could do in the midst of running for her life so she set her
course for the observatory, propelled by a blinding surge of adrenaline as the Jabberwocky broke
through the second door frame like a wrecking ball.

The rapid thrum of her heart was smothered by the creature’s pounding steps, snarling breath
drawing close. Her only saving grace was the slick floor, its reptilian feet losing traction on every
turn, allowing Hermione to maintain her head start. She veered around another wall, hope sparking
in her chest as the constellation doors appeared. She ground her teeth and charged full-steam
ahead, unable to check her momentum before colliding against the barrier like a human battering-
ram.

“Ow! Fuck!” She bounced with the impact and fell into the opposing wall, groaning low and
pushing off, shoulder throbbing in time to her heart. She gripped the handles and pulled with all her
strength but they refused to budge. “Come on!” She slammed a fist to the cold metal, hissing in
aggravation before stepping back and lifting a trembling hand, waving like the Queen on parade,
desperately trying to imitate Ariana’s eloquent gesture with zero success.

She could hear the Jabberwocky in the next hall, talons clawing grooves in the floor as it collided
with something heavy, sending it crashing with a bang. The creature growled in frustration, a
sentiment she felt down to her marrow, and then a vibrating croak echoed through the hall, close
enough to warrant immediate concern.

She stepped away from the doors, glancing in either direction until something moved near her feet,
pulling her gaze with it. A frog sat beside her boot, fat leathery body perched atop stumpy brown
legs. Glossy eyes stared back at her as a balloon swelled in its throat, deflating with a rusty groan.
She tilted her head, wondering if all frogs sounded like old rocking chairs.

It’s not a frog… Her shoulder blades tightened with the realization. “No,” she whispered, shaking
her head. No no no no no no—

“Get back here, Vulcan!” Footsteps resonated a heartbeat before the boy materialized, wide-eyed
and flushed. “Miss Mione! I didn’t—”

“What are you doing here, Leo?” She asked frantically.

"Vulcan escaped—" The Jabberwocky barrelled around the corner, dagger-sized teeth bared and
gleaming. Red eyes flickered between them, nostrils flaring with steam, and then it was surging
forward, tiles cracking with every pounding step.

“Go!” She screamed.

Despite his obvious terror Leo possessed the mental fortitude to scoop up his pet before running
for his life. Unfortunately, the benefit of youth didn’t apply to his athleticism. He tripped in place
more than he moved forward, movements so stuttered Neville seemed graceful by comparison.
Hermione kept pace beside the boy, hauling him upright and silently cursing the Fates as she
racked her mind for what to do. Neither could outrun the beast and she couldn’t linger beside him
much longer. The Jabberwocky was after her, anyone in her vicinity was a target.

“Keep going,” she muttered between breaths, pushing him forward. He staggered, making it two
more steps before he realized she wasn’t following.

“Miss Mione?”

“Go!” His mouth puckered like a guppie, Vulcan clutched tight to his chest. She swallowed thickly,
carding both hands through her hair as the ground shook beneath their feet. “It’s alright, Leo,” she
offered with forced calm, tears burning behind her eyes. “Please… run.”

Terror and confusion were clear on his face, even the toad looked at her like she was mental, and
then the Jabberwocky’s scream filled the hall with a visible soundwave that left them staggering.
Leo lurched backward as the creature bounded forward, rapidly closing in. Hermione turned, rigid
with horror as the dark mass bore down upon her, smoke curling between its fangs and jaws parting
wide, embers flickering at the back of its throat. Sweat dripped down her spine like melted wax as
she braced for the fire, no weapon or shield in sight. The creature inhaled deeply, chest rumbling,
and then it unleashed its tell-tale roar, a river of flame chasing the deafening cry.

Hermione screamed beneath the searing heat, too frazzled to realize the burning was coming from
within. It wasn’t until she saw the wall of orange careening overhead that she thought to look
down, watching her black flames sizzle and dance across her skin, deflecting the Jabberwocky’s
fiery breath. She studied her hands, dark flame licking across her palms and collecting in heaps
until a burning sphere formed. The Jabberwocky’s cry rapidly tapered, flames swallowed by a
grunt of surprise. The red eyes studied her anew, clearly taken aback by her scorching
transformation.

She struck before it came to its senses, casting her flames forward in a powerful surge, fingertips
tingling as the Jabberwocky scrambled back. Its gleaming scales were impenetrable to fire but the
shock of her attack pierced deep. She paced forward, driving the creature back with a steady torrent
of flame, stray tendrils lapping through the air like undulating shadows. She made it to the
observatory doors before feeling the first warning sign of fatigue, but once it entered her awareness
there was no stopping it. Her muscles burned with exhaustion, knees threatening to buckle. And
then her black fire withered and died all at once, smothered by an invisible hand. Violet sparks
emitted from her fingertips as she desperately tried to summon the flames back. But her strength
was completely tapped, light-headed to the point of slumping against the doors, breathless and
dazed.

The Jabberwocky eyed her with narrow suspicion as though awaiting her next attack. But the after-
shock wouldn’t last forever, and when it decided to strike again she’d be completely defenseless.

"Abracadabra!" A voice hissed from the end of the hall. Hermione pushed the hair from her eyes,
meeting Leo's wide gaze as he peeked around the corner. "Abracadabra!" He repeated, gesturing
wildly with a toad in his hand, though it took her exhausted mind another five seconds to process
his meaning.

She pushed upright with leaden arms, giving the doors a doubtful examination. Surely it couldn’t
be that simple, that ridiculous… “Abracadabra,” she muttered, staggering back as the doors began
to silently part.

Seriously?

Her surprise was disrupted by a low-throated growl as the Jabberwocky regained its senses, red
eyes narrowed on the silver barrier. She bounced anxiously on the balls of her feet, willing the
doors to open faster, hinges folding at a snail’s pace. The creature hissed and lunged, jaw snapping
beside her head as she turned sideways and squeezed through the narrow gap, sucking in her breath
and choking down a scream. It clawed at the doors, screeching in rage as she staggered into the
connecting hall and darted out of reach. Hermione wasted no time before shouting the command at
the second set of doors, swaying precariously as they began to part at the same glacial speed.

The Jabberwocky attempted to wedge inside the narrow corridor, managing to fit its head and arm
through the expanding gap, swiping a lethal claw like a cat with its paw in a birdcage. A razor
talon caught the edge of her skirt and shredded the fabric like tissue paper. She scrambled forward
and tried to pry the second pair of doors apart with her hands. At last, the gap was wide enough for
her thin frame to slip through, the squeeze so tight she fell face-first into the main room. The
cosmos burst to life all around her, incandescent shapes swirling past her head and spinning
through the air at dizzying speed as though attuned to her rapid heartbeat. She pushed to her feet
and staggered through a series of moons, each shape dissolving to stardust and reforming at her
back.

By the time she reached the center of the room, both sets of doors were wide enough for the
Jabberwocky to fit through. It swept inside on an enraged huff, smoke billowing from its mouth as
it pushed off the ground and took to the air. Its massive wings turned the room into a wind tunnel,
lifting her curls into a frenzy. She pressed flat to the wall as it circled overhead, searching the
ground for its prey. Its long tail swooshed from side to side and triggered a disc-shaped galaxy to
form in its path. The creature snapped its powerful jaws at the bright lights, shaking its head like a
dog as it flew through the swirling shapes. The images scattered to dust before coalescing at its
departure, unfettered by the attack.

Hermione backed into the shadows, doing her level best to fade from view as the Jabberwocky
circled the dancing shapes, trying to take a bite out of a passing comet. Its tail flicked, summoning
a blue planet to expand until it overtook the creature's vision. She crept steadily towards the doors,
keeping the creature in sight as it attacked the floating displays, growling in frustration every time
its teeth met open air.

She bit her lip, rising on tiptoes to minimize sound. And then a brilliant flash of light rendered
them frozen, blinded by a supernova explosion. Every corner of the room was illuminated in blue,
green, and magenta, light crashing and merging until the energy started to fold in on itself, the
explosion rapidly shrinking as though playing the scene in reverse. Spots danced before her eyes as
they adjusted to the darkness. The Jabberwocky circled the dying star, startled and fascinated by
the show.

Hermione seized the opportunity before it slipped through her trembling fingers, pushing off the
wall and racing for the doors, staggering in a zig-zag pattern as she fought to maintain her balance,
light-headed from exhaustion. The creature caught sight of her mad-dash and released a high-
pitched scream that rivaled the Infernal Train, wings folding back as it cut like a bullet through the
air. She stumbled into the connecting hall and lost her balance, catching herself against the doors
and gasping with relief as they moved beneath her touch. Sweat burned her eyes as she clutched the
handle and pushed with all her strength. The Jabberwocky's momentum was slowed as an aurora
flared to life, crashing like waves over its face. By the time it recovered, she was pressing the doors
shut with a resounding click, no time to spare.

The beast charged the barrier, causing the doors to bow under the impact. She staggered back as a
blood-curdling roar filled the air, followed by the ground-shaking boom of the beast ramming the
doors. The hinges groaned, threatening to snap. She backed into the main corridor and pushed the
silver doors closed, noting the jagged claw marks in the metal. The moment the latch clicked she
dropped to her knees, bracing the floor and panting heavily.

“Miss Mione, are you okay?”

She gasped, falling back at the soft-spoken question. “Leo…” Her heart felt like it would explode.
“I told you to run.”

He shrugged, glancing at the bored-looking toad in his hands. "You didn't say how far to go."

Despite her exhaustion, a weak laugh bubbled forth, dispelling a few ounces of crushing weight
pinning her to the floor. "Clever boy," she muttered, grasping the scorched wall for leverage and
pulling upright. "But seriously, head to the main hall. I'm going to—" A muffled bang made them
both jump, the interior barrier finally giving way as the Jabberwocky escaped the observatory and
began ramming the constellation doors, snarling and scratching. The walls trembled, hinges
rattling loudly. The lump in her throat dropped to the pit of her stomach. "The doors won't hold.
Shite." She gripped her hair by the roots. "If I can't trap it, I have to kill it."

“What about the Cathedral?”

She blinked, glancing down. “Cathedral?”

Leo nodded. “It’s big enough to hold it and separate from the Castle. You just have to destroy the
bridge.”

There wasn’t time to sort the information, only to act. She turned to face him, the intensity of her
gaze pulling a vibrant flush to his round cheeks. “How do I get to the Cathedral?”

Lavender bobbed and weaved through the heavy traffic filling the halls. Shrill screams bounced off
the walls and ceiling until she couldn’t hear herself think, yet Cormac’s voice resonated above the
fray as he called her name, shamelessly throwing elbows to cut to her side.

“Lav, shouldn’t we be running with the hysterical crowd?”

She pointedly ignored the question, attention drawn to the end of the corridor.

“That’s right, fishies, keep swimming!” A familiar voice shouted, bringing a smile to Lavender’s
face.

She narrowly dodged a frantic couple, nearly clotheslined before twisting out of their path. Bloody
lunatics. Lavender flipped her hair and continued forward. “Maggie!”

The woman's eyes flickered up, face split with a grin. "Lav! I thought you'd be riding the
Jabberwocky like a bull."

"Jabberwocky?" Lavender weaved around a hysterical man in a three-piece suit before arriving at
Maggie's side. "What the hell is that?"

“I don’t know, but it roars like a sonofabitch and has a pair of wings to match.”

Lavender’s heart soared. “We’re under siege by a dragon?” She bounced in place, bursting at the
seams with excitement. “The afterlife is finally shaping up!”

"I'm glad someone's enjoying it," her companion mused, waving residents forward and pointing
them down the connecting hall. A young girl rushed past, a sobbing mess. Maggie eyed her with
boredom. "That's right, dear, take the crazy downstairs, share it with your friends."

The words reminded Lavender of her original mission. “Have you seen—”

“Hermione?”

She blinked. “I was going to say Merope. You’ve met Hermione?”

“Adorable little thing, isn’t she?” Maggie smirked, then tilted her head in thought. “Shorter than I
thought she’d be.”

“Her hit count stacks higher than she does, I assure you.” Neither woman reacted as Cormac
stumbled to their sides, hair a rumpled mess from dodging flailing limbs.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Maggie conceded. “It’s always the sweet and innocent ones you gotta look
out for.” She eyed the new arrival with a cheeky wink. “Ain’t that right, handsome?”
Cormac rolled his eyes before turning a disgruntled look on the object of his mounting frustration.
“Alright, you’ve had your little adventure. Now can we please run screaming to the main hall?”

Lavender barely heard the question, her selective listening only strengthening in death. “Any idea
where Mione went?” She asked the other woman.

Maggie shook her head. “Sorry, hon.”

“If she has any sense she’s taken cover,” Cormac inserted. “Which we should be doing. Right
now.” The trio moved towards the wall as a large group swarmed past, arms overflowing with
personal effects as though they were preparing to vacate the floating fortress without plummeting
to an explosive death.

“Hermione isn’t hiding,” Lavender said with conviction. “She’s hunting.”

The hall ran dry at last, the final resident rounding the corner and disappearing from sight.

“Sorry to gab and dash,” Maggie lamented with a wry grin, stepping away from their cluster. “But I
need to join Merope.”

“We’ll send any stragglers your way,” Lavender said.

“Have fun kids.” Their boisterous companion offered a salute and a parting wink, the latter aimed
at McLaggen, and promptly chased after the fleeing crowd.

Cormac ignored the teasing gesture, turning to Lavender with a pinched expression. “We?”

“I don’t have time for this.” She pushed off the wall, continuing towards the center of the Castle.
“If you want to go to the main hall then go. I won’t think any less of you.”

“I’m not leaving without you,” he snapped, keeping pace at her heels.

“I’ll be fine—”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

She paused to glance over her shoulder, recognizing the haunted shadow darkening his features. “I
already told you, Cormac, what happened wasn’t your fault.”

“You’d still be alive if it wasn’t for me,” he stated firmly.

“That’s a big leap.” She smirked. “I’ve always had a penchant for finding trouble.”

His expression gradually eased until it mirrored her own. “I’m well aware. I didn’t know what fun
was until I met you.”

She tipped her head with a laugh, the sound swallowed by a ground-shaking roar from somewhere
deep within the Castle walls. Their countenances instantly sobered, gazes still locked. “I can’t
promise this will be fun, though I can certainly guarantee adventure.” Her boots clicked softly as
she backed away. “But you’re the one who has to take the leap.” She held his stare a moment
longer before turning on her heel and breaking into a run, cringing at the sting of disappointment
when he didn’t follow. And then she turned the corner and her thoughts were scattered by a flash
of green in the distance.

“Mowgli!” The creature skidded to a halt, waiting out her rapid approach. “Where are the girls?”
She asked between labored breaths. The yellow eyes blinked once before he continued his mad
sprint ahead. Lavender grinned, picking up speed and giving chase.

The setting sun breathed new life into the foggy streets, offices closing their doors as restaurants
parted their shutters, ushering in hungry pedestrians with the heady aroma of freshly baked bread
and roasted meat. Harry’s stomach clenched as he passed a particularly bustling eaterie, partly
since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten but also because it was the same bistro where
he’d met Hermione barely a month prior. Back when his most gnawing concern was her welfare at
the Home. Before murder and kidnapping, brainwashing and slave auctions. Another lifetime,
another man.

He shook his head, continuing past the beveled glass without pause. Nothing would deter him from
his mission ahead, not hunger and certainly not melancholy. He refused to rest until the evil was
vanquished at its source and all its victims released from their mental prisons. Which meant having
a private chat with someone Harry was loathed to converse with. And after his morning heart-to-
heart with Snape, that was really saying something.

He’d been scouring the streets for the urchin since departing the Apothecary, finally parting ways
with Ron an hour prior. He’d sent his friend to Scotland Yard in the hopes their record room would
possess information on Devil’s Breath. With any luck, there were prior arrests for possession and
distribution, giving them some idea just how far back the drug dated and whether the Dollmaker
was its sole supplier.

He turned the corner, exiting the neatly paved path and venturing onto rocky cobblestone. Building
by building the atmosphere turned darker, grimier, rowdier. London possessed several
Underground scenes and the one he sought tonight was an elusive creature. But his inexperience
did nothing to diminish his focus; after the last forty-eight hours a gun to the head wouldn’t rattle
him. He passed a rat-infested pub, windows caked in filth, but the dreary interior did little to
dissuade its patrons from enjoying its offerings. The bar was overflowing with ale, every shaky
stool and cracked booth filled. A man played the piano in the corner while a woman sang along
from her perch on the lid. Her off-note, suggestive lyrics followed Harry down the sidewalk, as did
the whistling catcalls and drunken guffaws of her audience.

As he neared the next street a group of children rushed past, grey with soot and laughing toothily.
He noticed the boy at the helm held something glittering in his hands. The group darted into the
nearest alley and were promptly swallowed by its shadows. Pounding footsteps caught his attention
next. A man in a bespoke suit sprinted around the corner, face red with exertion. “Get back here,
you filthy miscreants!” He shouted, searching the street. “That pocket watch is worth more than all
your miserable lives!”

A prostitute on the corner laughed at his plight, hiking up her skirts and straightening her torn
stockings. Harry rubbed his eyes, continuing on. A few minutes later he heard the tell-tale creak of
an overloaded wagon, joints groaning and bolts rattling. He straightened, turning his head in either
direction before determining the source of the commotion, following the screeching wheels into a
nearby alley and pausing at the mouth as he caught sight of his rat at long last.

The man slowed, leaning against the side of his cart to light a cigarette. Harry tucked his hands into
his pockets and started forward. Fletcher glanced up, cherry burning orange as he took a long drag,
expelling a torrent of smoke with his jovial greeting. “Oi! Hello, mate. What can I help you with
this fine summer evening?”

“I’m looking for a tonic,” Harry replied simply, stopping a meter from the covered wagon and its
pied-clad owner.
“Then you came to the right place.” Fletcher’s grin widened to reveal a row of crooked and
missing teeth. “I have every tonic and tincture under the sun at only a fraction of what those high-
end apothecaries charge.” He took another drag before flicking the cigarette aside. “Utter robbery
what they do, pushing up prices and watering down their stock. Don’t know how they sleep at
night, evil bastards.” He grabbed the corner of the tarp, giving it a quick tug and unveiling the
overflowing contents within. “I’m proud to say I only carry the finest products in all of London.
You can rest assured that every bottle contains nothing but the highest quality ingredients sourced
from all around the world.”

Harry rubbed his forehead, temples throbbing with every word.

“Alright, kid, what are you looking for?” Fletcher droned on, gesturing to the plethora of unlabeled
bottles and boxes. “Uppers, downers, tinglers, flashers?”

Harry tilted his head, curiosity overriding exhaustion. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with those last
two.”

His companion's oily grin seeped higher. “Oh you lucky, lucky boy, you’re in for a real treat! I just
got a brick of heroin delivered fresh from the Silk Road, it’ll leave you buzzing from your toes to
your teeth and give you the best night’s sleep of your life. Only £5 a gram. You won’t find a better
deal anywhere on the island, I promise you that.” Harry sighed, starting to speak, but his words
were smothered by the peddler's unstoppable sales pitch. “What am I saying? A strapping young
buck like you doesn’t want to sleep into oblivion! You want to have a good time, perhaps share
that good time with a few buxom beauties, am I right? I’ve got some peyote that’s so out of this
world you’ll think you’re sailing the rings of Saturn.”

Fuck, did he have an off switch?

Fletcher tilted his head, seeming to sense his client’s mounting annoyance. “No?” He quickly
changed tactics. “Then tell me your woes and I’ll tell you the remedy. I’ve got it all and more.” He
turned to the wagon and began tapping lids and rubber stoppers. “Nitroglycerin for migraines,
cocaine for anxiety, opium for constipation, arsenic for anemia, laxatives for the pox, strychnine
for indigestion, chloroform for insomnia, cannabis for asthma, belladonna for a sore throat, hell, I
even got leeches for earaches.” He held up a jar and turned it towards the yellow glow of a
streetlamp, revealing its plump, writhing contents.

Harry arched a dark brow. “None of that sounds right.”

“That’s what the doctors of the West End want you to think,” Fletcher replied with a sour scowl.
“Silver spoons shoved so far up their shiteholes they wouldn’t know good medicine if it bit them in
the arse!”

“Well, I imagine their bums are numb from the silver suppositories.”

The back-alley vendor lifted his chin, turned the jar of leeches over in his hands while examining
Harry with careful calculation. “You’re obviously a smart, healthy young lad. Surely you know
your body better than those quacks trying to shake the gold from your pockets.” He gestured to his
cart as though unveiling a work of art. “So, what’s it going to be?”

“I’m looking for something quite distinctive,” Harry began, too fatigued to beat around the bush.
“A depressant that turns the mind into porridge and the body into a marionette.” He let the words
linger in the air, noting the man’s every reaction. “I believe its street name is Devil’s Breath.”

Fletcher reared back, colliding with his cart and knocking several bottles to the ground. He cursed
low, dropping to his haunches and scrambling for the glass containers. “Sorry, kid, never heard of
it.”

"No?" Harry tilted his head, edging closer. "I thought you pedaled everything under the sun."

“Wish I could help.” The man rose up, tossing the fallen bottles into the wagon and tugging the
tarp into place. “Unfortunately, I have somewhere to be—”

“Perhaps your unfamiliar with how it looks, maybe this will refresh your memory.” Harry reached
into his pocket once more, extracting the blue vial and holding it aloft. Fletcher paled, the bags
beneath his eyes casting shadows across his haunted visage. Harry grinned. “Ah, I see I’ve finally
rung a bell.”

The vendor swallowed audibly, pressing flat to his cart. “I don’t…”

Harry narrowed his gaze, sensing what was to follow but too worn to prevent it from happening. As
expected, Fletcher abandoned his inventory and took off at a dead sprint down the adjoining alley
of brownstones. Harry groaned, shaking his head and replacing the vial. “Here we go.”

He took off after the peddler, ribs screaming with every footfall, absorbing the shock like a
sledgehammer to glass. The pain was too much. He ground his teeth in frustration and paused
beside a dumpster, grabbing a wooden crate from a stack and throwing it with all his strength. It
cracked Fletcher in the back, bull’s eye center, knocking him off his feet. He fell into a cluster of
metal rubbish bins with a pained gasp, upending their contents and sprawling atop the rotten pile.
Harry stalked forward, a menacing sight to behold if his prey’s reaction was any indication.
Fletcher scrambled through spoiled fruit rinds and sour milk containers, hands trembling as he
lifted them in a sign of peace.

“Look, kid, I don’t want any trouble—”

Harry leaned down with a hissing grown and grabbed the man by the frayed lapels, hauling him to
his feet and slamming him against the brick. "That's good to hear because I've had a really long
week and your sales pitch just burned through my last ounce of patience. So let me cut to the chase.
I'm going to ask a series of very simple questions and you're going to provide a series of very
detailed answers. If you deviate from that system, I'm going to hurt you." Fletcher blinked rapidly,
teeth chattering. Harry continued calmly. "You should know that while I'm not a proponent of
physical violence, I'm exceptionally good at inflicting it. Now, tell me everything you know about
Devil's Breath."

“I don’t know what that is—” the air left the peddler's lungs in a sharp burst as Harry’s fist
connected with his gut. He gripped his abdomen, starting to double over until Harry braced a
forearm to his neck and pinned him flat.

“Try again.”

“I really don’t—” Harry drove a second fist into the man’s stomach, causing him to wheeze
violently, face a blotchy patchwork of red and violet, eyes streaming. “Stop! I’ll tell you, I’ll tell
you!” Fletcher gasped between labored coughing fits. “I don’t sell it—”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It makes people docile, easier to handle, easier to manipulate.”

Harry’s expression sharpened. “It’s being sold on the streets?”

“No, not on the streets.” The peddler cringed, as though revealing too much.

Harry’s nose twitched, anticipation clawing at his patience. “Go on.”

Fletcher wet his chapped lips, eyes filled with weary resignation. “It’s only available for private
buyers.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know, I don’t handle the sales.”

“But you handle something, don’t you, Fletcher?” The man in question set his jaw, jagged teeth
grinding. “Tell me,” Harry demanded.

“I’ll be killed.”

“By who?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never met him—”

“The Dollmaker isn’t concerned about you,” Harry scathed. “Someone like you doesn’t even exist
to him.” His rat turned an alarming shade of grey upon hearing the forbidden name. Harry pressed
on. “Furthermore, you shouldn’t be worried about him, not when the greatest threat to your life is
standing right here.”

Fletcher gulped, sagging into the brick. "I oversee the shipment. That is, I'm one of a few men who
oversee it. But I'm there for the other cargo, products I can pedal. Someone else takes the Devil's
Breath."

“Who?”

"A man named Quirrell, real nervous-looking, like he's about to piss himself at any moment.
Stutters, too." His words came faster, more eager. "He packages it for delivery but I don't know
where he takes it, I swear."

Harry searched the grime-covered face for signs of duplicity, seeing only unbridled terror. “Where
does the shipment come in?”

“It’s private property.”

“Where?”

Fletcher pressed further back, nearly merging with the brick and mortar. “St. Katherine Docks,
west side.”

Harry’s emerald gaze flashed in warning. “If you’re lying—”

“I’m not!” Fletcher sputtered. “I know you'd track me down and I really don’t want to see you
again.”

Harry nodded, removing his restraining arm and stepping back. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”
He watched the man crumble to the damp pavement, folding in around his bruised middle.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Fletcher.” He turned to the mouth of the alley, straightening his
coat and feeling for the vial, its weight and shape a familiar curse in his pocket. His steps
quickened as the sun finally dipped beneath the horizon and darkness swept the land.
Tom narrowed his gaze, vision adjusting to the shadows as he paced the platform for a second time,
carefully examining every face he passed. He was met by withering glares and suggestive winks in
equal measure, unable to tamp his aura of dangerous intensity as he traveled from station to station,
frustration and bloodlust mounting with every failed search. But he held true to his plan, deducing
the most logical escape routes out of the city.

The Dollmaker knew Albus had the Navy under thumb, ruling the Thames as Poseidon ruled the
sea. As such, he was far more likely to take an overnight train to the coast and charter a private boat
across the Channel. London was bursting with stations, but only a handful offered direct routes to
port destinations. Tom had spent his day steadily ticking each one off his list and was preparing to
depart empty-handed yet again when a hobbled figure caught his eye, bundled in a tattered quilt
and nestled in the shadows. The cloaked figure kept their face carefully averted from the crowd,
but Tom knew their identity just the same. His footsteps tapered to a halt, shoulders drawing wide.
The incoming train whistled in the distance, black smoke billowing into the inky sky. The huddled
form shivered as though bursting with anticipation, eager to board, pale face tipping up.

Tom’s eyes flashed, gums throbbing with predatory hunger. His prey bristled, seeming to feel the
weight of his dark focus. Her eyes flickered in his direction and latched onto his still form in the
same moment, bugging so wide he half-expected them to tumble out of her head and roll to his feet.
Her complexion turned ghostly white, the purple shadows beneath her lashes standing in stark
relief as her thin lips quivered. And then she was tossing the quilt aside and springing to her feet,
racing for the stairs.

Tom gave chase but was slowed by the surging crowd as the train pulled into the station, steam
whistle deafening. He hissed in annoyance, roughly shouldering aside bodies without a glance in
their direction until reaching the steps. She was already at street-level by the time he grabbed the
railing but he heard the unmistakable clicking of heels and ascended like a dark shadow, honing in
on the sound as he emerged on the sidewalk. He carefully dissected the explosion of noise,
ignoring the clop of horses and medley of voices, nothing existing beyond the distant click click
click. He scanned the street ahead, searching out his prey with calm determination, pulse throbbing
when he caught sight of a round shadow darting into a nearby alley. Splendid.

He took off at a quick run, indifferent to the attention he drew as he weaved around the bustling
traffic towards the dark gap between buildings. She was crouched behind a dumpster when he
entered, trembling hands easily visible beyond the mountain of rubbish. She squealed with terror
when his glittering gaze fell upon her, leaping out of hiding in a haphazard attempt to dart around
his broad figure. He caught her by the arm and dragged her deeper into the shadows with a chilling
greeting.

"Hello, Dolores."

A feral cat hissed in annoyance, darting past her scrambling feet as he pinned her flat to the brick.
“Don’t kill me!” She begged, voice just as grating as the first time he heard it.

Tom stared down with cool calculation. “How did you get out?”

“She let me go! It was her decision, I didn’t do anything wrong—”

“Who?” He snapped, squeezing her arm while envisioning it was her neck.

“Granger!” She cringed and tried to twist away, prompting him to tighten his hold until she
released a keening sob.

“You’re lucky she bears a conscience. I was content to let your skeleton decorate the attic for
decades to come.”

She shook violently, shrinking back as far as their confined space would allow. “P-Please, I haven’t
said anything to the police—”

“You haven’t told them you single-handedly kept a sex-trafficking ring in business for years? How
strange.”

Her fear rapidly gave way to hatred, beady eyes turning thin. “As you said, I can’t go to them.
About anything. Your secret is safe with me.”

“And yet you remain profoundly unsafe with me.”

“What do you want?” She pled, caught between outrage and terror. “I left the Home! I’m leaving
London! You’ll never see me again—”

“I could accomplish the very same outcome by killing you where you stand.” She choked on a
gasp, glancing around desperately. “No one will help you,” Tom informed her simply.

Her face twisted, eyes darting up in defiance. “I know. I stopped relying on other people for my
survival when I was thirteen.”

“What a tragic tale. How unfortunate I left my violin behind.”

“Bastard!” She hissed, then tried to slap him.

Tom caught her wrist with ease, grinding the bones in his hand until she wailed miserably, sinking
into the brick. “As your luck would have it,” he began calmly, “I’m not here for you.”

“Then let me go,” she whimpered, tears dripping fast and heavy.

“Not before you tell me where he is.”

She shook her head. "I don't know." He squeezed until the joint popped between his fingers. She
screamed, knees buckling, body held aloft by his iron-grip alone. "I don't know! I've never even
seen him in person! I've only met with the Lestranges—"

“Where?” She blinked dumbly. “Where did you meet them?” He repeated, fire kindling in his
chest.

“I can't—” he squeezed again. She gasped, writhing in pain. “Their house!”

His brow tightened in a scowl. “They would never let you cross the threshold.”

“It wasn’t their main estate,” she panted desperately. “It's a side property, small and modest.”

Tom examined her as he would a virus beneath a microscope, body pressing in until he filled every
corner of her vision. “What's the address?” He rumbled, leaving her a gasping, sputtering mess.

“I d-don’t r-remember—”

“Try again.” He bent her hand back, stretching the tendon until it was poised to snap. Tears flooded
her eyes anew, face a blistering red.

“It's in Horsleydown, near St. John!”

His heart skipped painfully, the unexpected announcement uprooting a burial ground of memories.
He pushed the traitorous thoughts aside and bore down upon her until his burning eyes became her
only light in the darkness. “Show me.”
 Abracadabra

We all must play our assigned roles.

Are you a pawn or a queen?
. . .

A steady pounding filled the corridor. The wall radiated with the impact, stones trembling as
cracks split across the mortar. The Jabberwocky continued throwing its weight against the metal
barrier, the doorframe slowly giving way. Hermione’s pulse throbbed with each collision, fists
curled and heels locked against her instinctual need to run. Her strength was sapped from the
unexpected firefight and every precious second counted, but there was no point in getting a head
start. She needed the Jabberwocky to see her. She needed it to follow.

A jarring crash made her jolt, the doors starting to buckle beneath the onslaught. Gravel began
falling from the crumbling frame, debris piling at the threshold as the hinges slowly bent, the
doors bowing out before falling forward. She leaped aside as the metal hit the quartz with a
deafening boom, a dark shadow swooping free. The beast collided against the opposite wall with
an enraged snarl, bouncing off the stone and shaking its head like a dog. Her lungs rapidly deflated
as its red eyes narrowed, spotting her through the cloud of debris.

Time to go.

She pivoted, staggering with vertigo, and took off at a dead run, lungs and arms pumping furiously
as she led the creature along the path Leo had carefully described. A right at the painting of fae
creatures, the pointy-eared nymphs scattering behind bushes and trees as she brought the beast
charging at their canvas. Left at the rose-gold suit of armor that promptly dived for cover behind a
pillar. Another right at the forked path, flowers bending at the stem to hide inside their vases. Tiles
cracked beneath pounding steps, growling breath growing ever closer until, at last, she found the
bridge, bright with sunlight from circular windows lining either side of its interior.

Clouds spread in either direction like rolling hills, a nausea-inducing reminder of just how high
they hovered. The stone path connected the Castle to a floating tower with a domed roof, a
gleaming spire at its apex. She darted forward, boots clicking across the stone as she continued to
study the structure ahead. Stained-glass covered its walls, making its purpose clear enough. Still,
when she threw open the doors and emerged inside the massive Cathedral her breath stuttered,
sight overtaken by ornate woodwork and stone carvings. Her gaze tracked upward to the curved
ceiling and detailed buttresses. And then the Jabberwocky burst inside, wings creating a vortex of
wind that whipped her hair and skirts into a frenzy.

It soared to the vaulted ceiling and circled like a vulture, smoke billowing from its nostrils before
inhaling sharply. She dove head-first behind a pew as it breathed flame. The seat caught fire, wood
blackening. Hermione crawled forward and heard the unmistakable pitter-patter of footfalls in the
distance, followed by a feminine gasp. She glanced at the doors and spotted Padma at the
threshold, eyes fixed upward in horror. Dawn appeared over her shoulder a stuttered beat later.

“Get out of here!” Hermione yelled, earning their attention.

But it was too late. The Jabberwocky caught sight of the new arrivals and wasted no time turning
its flames upon them. Hermione scrambled into the center aisle as her friends ducked into the
bridge, seeking shelter behind the dividing wall. She used the momentary distraction to frantically
search the Cathedral for a weapon, waiting for a plan to take shape. Alas, the beast ran out of
breath before inspiration could strike. It continued to circle, wings scraping the starburst-patterned
roof. Hermione tried keeping it in her sights but became distracted by her friends peaking their
heads in.

“What are you doing? Go to the main hall!”

Even as Hermione shouted the command she knew they had no intention of listening, gazes fixed
to the ceiling as they tracked the creature’s swooping movements. She shook her head, sensing the
terrible decision to come a moment before her fears were brought to life as the pair darted inside,
dropping behind the charred pew. Hermione choked back a protest and copied their movements,
crawling to meet them. “Padma—”

“We’re here to help!”

“You can help the others.”

“Seems you’re in more of a pickle at the moment,” Dawn replied breezily, watching the
Jabberwocky through the splintered wood. Hermione didn’t waste time arguing, if they insisted on
helping she’d make the most of it.

Besides, they got shite done as a team.

So she set her sights on the creature, watching it bang off the stone in anger. Bricks cracked but
otherwise held. “The Cathedral is strong enough to contain it…” she mused, eyes narrowed in
thought. “But that does us little good when it can fit through the bloody doors.”

The Jabberwocky screeched before plunging low. They sank to the ground, black scales rippling
like dark water as it sailed overhead, snapping its jaws and taking a chunk out of their shelter.

“Can we can barricade the doors?” Padma whispered frantically.

Hermione watched it circle back, swooping down from their exposed side. “I doubt we’ll be
afforded the opportunity.” It opened its mouth wide, chunks of wood lodged between its teeth.
“Move!”

They scrambled under the rickety pew as flames erupted in a searing ribbon at their backs, smoke
burning their eyes and throats as they pulled themselves across the stone. The Jabberwocky's
shadow glided past as they emerged from beneath the row, Dawn and Padma searching the air
while Hermione watched a familiar figure materialize in the entrance.

“Holy hell!” Lavender hissed, echoing Hermione’s earlier sentiments as she reared back with
Mowgli on her shoulder. The Jabberwocky roared, turning its blood-red focus on the blonde.
Hermione sank back on her heels and closed her eyes, attempting to summon her flames before the
creature mounted its next attack. Embers sparked across her fingertips, gone as quickly as they
came. Her muscles burned in protest, clenching tight as she tried again. Her skin heated, sweat
rolling down her nape, but the effort was for naught. Her breath released in a hissing rush as she
gave up the struggle, resolved to finding another plan of action.

The Jabberwocky swooped low and blasted the doorway with roaring flames. Lavender dissolved
in a burst of golden light before bounding across the floor in feline form, Mowgli keeping pace at
her side. They landed beside the group in another spectacular flash. The light faded and Lavender
appeared with a vibrant grin. “Seems poetic I burst into flames entering holy ground.”

Hermione smirked. “Glad you decided to join us.”

“Sorry for the delay. Took the scenic route. Also, I thought you were still sleeping off your latest
near-death experience.”

“Please, I’ve had two more in the last twenty minutes.”

The blonde tossed her wavy tresses. “Then I have some catching up to do.”

“Hate to interrupt,” Dawn hissed from her crouched position, “but are we going to slay this dragon
anytime soon?”

“Hm,” Lavender hummed, glancing upward. “I suppose someone has to, and my afternoon is wide
open.”

Padma crawled to their other side, Mowgli already perched on her shoulder. “Do we have a plan?”

A shadow passed overhead, casting their faces into darkness. Hermione peered up and instantly
tensed. “Yes, run!”

Flames blackened the stone at their feet as they scattered to opposite corners of the room.
Hermione grabbed a hanging tapestry with both hands and ripped it from the wall, holding it
before her like a shield as the Jabberwocky directed its breath upon her. She yelped as the edges
caught fire, singing her fingertips, dropping the smoking fabric and staggering back. She pressed
flat to the wall and felt the air shift, skin prickling as though a presence stood beside her. And then
a low whisper filled her ear, body locking tight.

“Catenary.”

Hermione blinked, staring at the vacant space. “...Bernard?” Yet all she heard in response was the
frantic beating of her heart and the steady roar from above. She turned her attention to the room,
watching Lavender dive headfirst over a pew, narrowly avoiding a torrent of fire. “Does catenary
mean anything to anyone?” Hermione called out.

“What, like the friar and the nun?” The blonde replied from behind the barrier.

Hermione shook her head. “That’s The Canterbury Tales—”

“Of course!” Padma exclaimed excitedly, running down the center aisle to escape a wall of flame.
“The vaults!”

“Vaults?” Hermione echoed.

The girl emerged at the head of the room, bracing her hands against the ceremonial dais and
peering up. “The ceiling is an inverted catenary arch!” Hermione held her breath, waiting for the
discovery to give rise to something tangible. “Mathematically it can only sustain its own weight!”
Padma declared brightly.

“Okay?” Dawn prompted, finding shelter behind a jade statue as the Jabberwocky took aim at her
corner of the floor.

"With a rough measurement of the room, I can derive a differential equation for the curve and
approximate a force variable, accounting for acceleration of gravity—”

“Patil!” Lavender shouted, rising to her feet. “Play to your audience!”

Mowgli hopped atop the dais, yellow eyes reflecting Padma’s wide grin as she shouted her
conclusion aloud. “If we add enough pressure to the right portion of the roof we can bring the
entire thing crashing down!”

“I should’ve known you lunatic lot would find a way to make things more dangerous,” a male
voice announced from the doorway.

Hermione spun on her heal, reeling at his sudden appearance. “Cormac? What the hell are you
doing here?”

“Debating my sanity.”

“Sounds boring!” Lavender called, swinging a candlestick holder like a cricket bat as the
Jabberwocky soared past.

Hermione shook her head, still trying to process their newest arrival. “I mean: why are you in
Wonderland?”

A thundering roar echoed off the ceiling, pulling everyone’s gaze with it.

“I was killed by the Dollmaker, what’s your excuse?” His shoulders drew tight as the beast slashed
a buttress with its talons, plaster and debris raining down.

“Are we caving in this roof or what?” Dawn shouted, peaking around the statue’s arm.

Hermione snapped to attention, grateful they had someone to keep their easily-distracted group on
track. “What do you need, Padma?”

The Jabberwocky braced its hind legs against the wall and pushed off, cracking the brick in a
spiderweb pattern. “Help measuring!” The girl in question replied, grabbing Mowgli around the
middle and dropping behind the dais.

Hermione nodded, taking a note from the creature's playbook and pushing off the wall for a burst
of speed, staggering away from the path of the flame. "Dawn?” She called, smoke filling her lungs
as powerful wings beat overhead.

“On it!” Came the disembodied response.

“Lavender, Cormac—” She dived behind a pew as flames erupted at her back, singeing the hem of
her skirt. She groaned at the impact, rolling over to beat the scorched fabric. “Mind keeping the
Jabberwocky distracted?”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult!”

“Yes I fucking mind!”

“Great, thanks!” Hermione called back, scrambling on her hands and knees to the end of the aisle.
Her legs wobbled when she pulled upright, threatening to buckle as she took off for the doors.

“Mione, heads up!” Lavender shouted.

Hermione’s steps faltered, spine compressing as she braced for attack. When no slashing claws or
gnashing teeth appeared she glanced over her shoulder in question, realizing the words hadn't been
spoken in an ominous warning. Rather, the blonde waved her trusty hammer overhead before
tossing it across the expanse. Hermione reared up and caught the tumbling weapon by the handle,
an electrical current infusing her limb the moment she gripped the blood-stained wood. She
lowered her arm and gave it a twirl, the blunt-end catching the light, reflecting in her gaze. While it
was certainly no replacement for her beloved blade, there was no denying the hammer was one
versatile tool. Hermione nodded her appreciation and continued for the exit, the Jabberwocky
unleashing a feral scream at her back.

“Where the hell are you going?” Cormac demanded from his rigid post beside the doors.

“Up.”

“Up?” He stared after her retreating figure as she entered the bridge. “With a hammer?”

She paused halfway across, leaning over to tuck the handle into her boot before hoisting herself
onto the nearest circular window frame. "With a hammer," she confirmed, glancing up. "By the
way, I was sorry to hear about your murder." She swung her legs over the side, boots touching
clouds as the wind whipped through her hair. “But it’s good to see you.” She smiled, then pushed
off the stone and dropped out of sight.

Cormac blinked, staring at the space she once occupied and shaking his head. “I’m surrounded by
crazy bints.”

Draco swayed, light-headed the moment he crossed the threshold. He couldn’t breathe, couldn't
blink, couldn’t tear his eyes from the bed and its sole, silent occupant. He’d dreamed of this
moment, this joyous occasion when she was safely returned to him at last. But the reality of their
reunion was far removed from the fantasies he’d desperately spun. This was a nightmare, more
grotesque than anything he could have possibly imagined on his own. For her startling blank
visage spoke volumes, telling a story he was terrified to hear.

“Hermione?” He asked tentatively, closing the door on Black’s watchful stare. She offered no
response, bound wrists hanging limp in their binds. He edged forward, afraid to startle her but
desperate to get closer. “Can you hear me?”

She tilted her head, holding his gaze as he drew near. “I can hear you perfectly, Draco.”

His heart skipped at the even pacing of her voice, the hollowness of his name on her tongue. “You
know who I am,” he murmured, feeling no measure of relief.

“Of course.”

He paused beside the bed, unable to break her eerie stare. "Did…" A deep breath, though it did
little to alleviate the crushing weight from his lungs. "What did he do to you?"

“Who?” She asked innocently.

His brows creased. “The Dollmaker.” The air turned frigid as her eyes clouded over, drifting to a
patch of wallpaper in a perfect imitation of Dawn’s faraway stare. He dragged a hand over his face.
“Are you…” Where to even start? “Tell me how to help you, Hermione.” He sank into the chair
beside the bed. “Please, tell me what to do. You always know how to fix things. I’ll do whatever it
takes. I just need to know where to start.” He searched her face, the tracks of coal liner staining her
cheeks, the pale line of her mouth. “Is there…” Then his attention drifted to her bound wrists and
his shoulder blades pulled tight. “Christ. I can’t talk to you when you’re tied to the bloody
headboard.” She appeared lifeless as a mannequin, posing no physical threat. And even if she were
out for blood, her slight frame was easily overpowered. He set his jaw with determination, decision
made. “If I loosen the straps, can I trust you to stay put?”

The words triggered her like a wind-up toy. She sat straighter and nodded sweetly, eyes sparkling
as her toes wiggled in anticipation. Draco sighed, fingers flexing on his knees. He knew full-well
this was a direct violation of Black’s First Unbreakable Commandment. He just couldn’t bring
himself to care. So he leaned forward, holding her hazel gaze as he carefully loosened the buckles
on the first strap, feeding the leather through until her slender wrist dropped limply to her side. He
watched her fingers softly curl and exhaled, tension ebbing as he reached across the bed for her
other wrist. She held perfectly still, staring at his profile while he worked. It was then he noticed
the straps were soldered to the frame, a permanent fixture. He shook his head, trying not to think
about their purpose or the last time they were used. The sooner he got her freed, the better. And
then her second hand fell into her lap and he sank back, studying her intently.

“Do you remember your parents?” He asked, eager to maintain her spark of awareness.

“Yes,” she replied simply, the corners of her mouth tipping up a small fraction. “Why?”

“He usually takes those memories.” Draco regretted the words as soon as he said them, watching
the life drain from her limbs, body lax as a doll. He sighed, searching his mind for a topic that may
awaken her. “You remember Potter? Weasley?”

She sat straighter, expression brightening. “They’re my best friends.”

His chest tightened, hope and fear warring within him. Don't ask, it doesn't matter, don't ask—
“Am I your friend?” Fucking wanker.

Her lips parted as something in her expression tensed. “I…” Draco held his breath, watching her
eyes flicker. Yes, I see you, luv. I know you’re in there, somewhere. “I don’t know,” she uttered at
last, seeming perturbed by her response.

He leaned forward, forearms bracing his knees, taking care to maintain a light and unaffected tone.
“Are we enemies?”

Her eyes drifted anew. But this time they held their focus, lost to thought rather than the blank
abyss. His heart skipped dangerously as he wondered what memories she was accessing, cursing
himself for wasting so many years goading and tormenting her like a fool. She bit her lip. He held
his breath, poised on the edge of sanity.

“... no,” she concluded at last, meeting his unblinking stare. “Not enemies.” A beat. “But we aren’t
friends either.”

He fell back in his seat. "What are we then?" When she offered no further response he opted for
another tactic. "Do you remember when we first met?"

The lines in her face smoothed, the words coming easily. “At Harry’s twelfth birthday party.”

“Do you remember when you broke my nose?” He asked with a smirk, pulse quickening when she
mirrored his expression.

“At Harry’s seventeenth birthday party.”

Draco laughed shortly. “You sure we aren’t enemies?”

Curls spilled across her shoulder as she tilted her head, each strand glimmering in the light. His
eyes lingered on the sight, admiring its beauty even as his body tensed at the thought of the
Dollmaker removing her pins and running his fingers through the strands as she sat still and lifeless
at his feet. “It felt good to hit you. At least for a moment,” she began, the clarity of her voice
calming the brewing storm in his chest. “Until I saw the blood and felt terrible. I gathered ice in my
handkerchief but you refused it and stormed away. I followed and let you yell at me some more
and then offered the ice again. You ripped it out of my hands and told me to bugger off. But no, I
don’t think we’re enemies, despite what you said afterward.”

He swallowed thickly, her succinct recount unleashing a bevy of emotions he was ill-equipped to
deal with. More unsettling, she remained profoundly unaffected. “What did I say?” He whispered,
certain he didn’t want to know but eager to complete the memory in all its gruesome detail,
needing to share in this moment with her. She tensed, lips pressing thin. “Hermione?”

Her shoulders drew tight before she cringed, grasping her temples. “You said…” she uttered
through a broken gasp, “You said—”

“It’s alright,” he interjected, reaching for her arm. “You don’t have to tell me.” He wanted to bring
forth whatever was buried but not at the cost of a seizure. Seeing her like this was painful, seeing in
her in a coma would end him.

Her gaze flickered up, bright and alert, voice steady and firm. “I gave Harry a book about
carpentry. You said I should keep it for myself and build a husband since no man would ever have
me.”

He closed his eyes, hand dropping to her side as he grabbed a fistful of bedding. “I didn’t mean it,”
he muttered, shaking his head in silent rage before meeting her placid gaze. “I was jealous of your
friendship. Your bond. I wanted your attention and became a sodding prick to get it. You should
have beaten the shite out of me. I certainly deserved it.”

Her expression flickered anew, a familiar spark he’d witnessed countless times before. He braced
with anticipation, breathless with hope. “Don’t fret, Draco,” she said wryly, the corner of her mouth
tilting up, “the night’s still young.”

He released his breath on a stream of deep laughter, unable to contain his relief, this small token of
joy. Her eyes warmed at the sound and for just a moment, a handful of fleeting seconds, she was
just as he remembered. Brilliant and beautiful and scintillating. And then she blinked and her
expression faded like a worn photograph. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as he watched
her slip beneath the murky waters, a visible ripple distorting her features into a stranger’s mask.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m so bloody sorry.” The silence swelled, pressing in from all sides. “I have
to replace your binds, luv. Black will toss me from the window if he sees you like this.”

She leaned into the headboard. “Well, we can’t have that.” Despite the playfulness of the words,
they were delivered without a hint of teasing cadence.

He set his jaw, leaning forward and grasping her wrist, raising it to the post and slipping it inside
the bind. “No,” he agreed just as flatly. “We can’t.” His thumb swept across her palm, tracing the
creases until reaching the delicate expanse of her wrist, feeling the steady thrum of her pulse, the
warmth of her skin. “Hermione…” He swallowed, throat bobbing heavily. “Give me a hint, luv.
Something. Anything.” He searched her face in desperation. “I know you’re in there.”

She tilted her head, blinking innocently. “I’m right here, Draco.”

The words hollowed his chest until his heart dangled by a thread in the dark, empty cavern. He set
to work binding her other wrist, a tremor running the length of his body as her warm breath
ghosted across his cheek. “We’re going to find the cure,” he stated, voice deepened by conviction.
“For all his victims. I won’t leave anyone trapped.” He rose from his chair, fists clenched. “The
next time you see me… I’m going to wake you from this nightmare.” She sank into the headboard,
lids drifting shut like a doll tipped on its back. His gaze lingered on her still form. “I promise.”

. . .

The door closed with a soft click.

She opened her eyes, searching the empty room without expression as voices filled her mind,
distant and muffled.

“Where the hell are you going?”

Her fingers curled tight, nails digging into her palms.

“Up.”

Her pulse stuttered, phantom wind on her face and a kaleidoscope of color filling her vision as
fantasy overlaid reality. She strained against her binds, adrenaline infusing her system. The leather
groaned, cutting into her flesh. And then her gaze cast higher, to the ceiling, and a methodical grin
stretched to either side of her face.

“Up.”

Hermione grimaced, boots and fingertips clinging to grooves in the stone as she pulled herself onto
the roof of the bridge. Wind swept her hair into a tangled frenzy, the atmosphere slowly churning
as though gathering a storm. The clouds looked like whipped topping and blocked her view of the
ground, the fluffy layer reflecting the suns in every shade of pink and orange. The sherbert sea
extended to the horizon, only one structure peaking through. The very top of Tower Bridge, rusted
cables overrun with vines and wildflowers, a desolate relic of a world long-forgotten.

Poised atop a floating fortress in the middle of nowhere, the precariousness of her situation hit her
all at once, delivering with it a powerful sense of disconnect that left her shaking her head,
separating from her body for a terrifying beat. She clung to the smooth stone and focused on her
breathing, the floating sensation ceasing as quickly as it arose. She took a moment to steady herself
before slowly standing, bracing her feet apart as another treacherous breeze caught her skirts like
wind in a sail.

The domed cap of the Cathedral stood just ahead, its apex reaching ten meters higher than the
bridge. She searched for a decent foothold along the curved surface but was distracted by the
Jabberwocky's bone-piercing scream, the sound immediately chased by Lavender's tittering laugh
and the rapid pounding of boots.

“Mione!” The blonde shouted from the bridge. “How’s it going up there?”

Hermione sighed, moving towards the dome. “It’s going,” she groaned, carefully climbing onto the
perimeter ledge. And then a glass-shattering shriek filled the air and she promptly dismounted,
pacing to the edge of the roof. “Who’s screaming?”

Lavender popped her head through the circular window, hair flowing in the breeze, surrounding
her smiling visage like a golden aura. “Cormac.”

“Oh. Good.” Hermione gathered her billowing curls over one shoulder, trying to contain the chaos.
“Are we stressing him out?”

“Just a bit. No worries, he loves the attention. Also, Padma worked her genius and figured out the
targets.”

Hermione raised a brow. “That was fast.”

"I know. So naturally, she's upset it took so long." Lavender leaned out further, shouting above the
explosive sounds from inside the Cathedral. “Aim for the keystone voussoirs—” Her words were
smothered by another wail of terror. Smoke seeped from the windows, floating up and making
Hermione’s nose twitch.

“Bloody hell!” Dawn’s voice carried on the pungent cloud. “Must you scream directly into my
ear?”

“You’re all out of your bloody minds!” Cormac scathed.

Hermione ignored the interruption. “What’s a keystone voussoir?” Lavender shrugged in response.
“Shite,” Hermione hissed, rubbing her forehead. “We need Hannah, or an architectural glossary.”

“Just a tick!” The blonde called cheerily before disappearing from view. A faint hum filled the void
of her absence, drawing Hermione’s gaze to the clouds. Her body grew tense as she searched for
the source of the sound, seeing nothing beyond the swirling clouds. The noise grew louder,
coarser, purring like a massive cat —or an engine, a distant part of her mind whispered— and then
it faded with the wind. She released a slow breath, fingers curling tight as the sky darkened to a
deep rosy hue.

“Hermione?”

She gasped, concentration broken by a new voice. “Above you!”

A faint shuffling and then Padma's head and shoulders emerged from the same window Lavender
had occupied. "There are two target points," the young woman began, "start with the center rise so
you don't fall in."

Hermione sighed at the prospect. After her tumble on the floating teacups, she was quite fond of
keeping her feet on the ground. "In that case, use small words so I don't screw up."

“Aim a blow for the middle of the crown where the stones meet,” Padma explained. “The vault
will crack but the mass of the abutment will hold. Navigate back to the bridge and aim a second
strike to the springer.” She interpreted the blankness of Hermione’s stare correctly, laying forth
what she obviously considered layman’s terms. “Hit the first stone above the pier. This will
counteract the lateral thrust at the haunches and buckle the dome from the center.”

Hermione blinked, swaying with the wind. “Padma… how are you so bloody smart?”

“I read a lot,” the girl replied with a delicate blush.

Hermione shook her head in awe, carefully sorting through the instructions as she edged closer to
the roof. “You’re sure it will hold after the first blow?”

“If my calculations are correct.”

It was all the assurance needed. Padma wielded numbers like Tom wielded a scalpel, instilling
Hermione with absolute faith in her friend’s plan. Now she just had to execute it without killing
anyone, herself included. “After the first strike I want you all on the bridge,” Hermione called
down. “I’ll aim the second blow before the Jabberwocky can follow.”
“Be careful,” Padma warned. “The roof will tear down the buttresses and part of the wall may
follow.”

Hermione turned to the dome, directing her words over her shoulder. “Make sure to tell the others.
Though you may have to write it down for Dawn, Cormac likely shattered her eardrums.”

“See you soon,” Padma bid with a reluctant grin before charging headlong for the battle raging
inside.

Hermione pressed her hands to the Cathedral roof, the stones cool beneath her palms. And then she
listed forward, overtaken by the strange and weightless vertigo from earlier. She closed her eyes,
lungs hitching as a vivid image flashed behind her lids, a dusty and desolate bedroom crawling
with shadows… The image dissolved with a sharp inhale and her eyes snapped open, blinking
dazedly at the smooth brick. As tempting as it was to linger on the anomaly, she pushed the
disturbing occurrence aside. One crisis at a time.

The Jabberwocky continued to rage, banging off the walls with a muffled roar. The commotion
faded to the background as she gripped the stone ribbing and began a slow upward crawl. Her thigh
muscles were twitching by the time she reached the halfway point. She released the brick, taking a
moment to catch her breath and flex her fingers before resuming the climb. The summit was
adorned with a narrow metal spire. She kept low and squinted against the wind until reaching the
gleaming apex, holding her breath and carefully extracting the hammer from her boot. Her lungs
burned as she raised it overhead, swaying with the force of her heartbeat.

Three… two…

She drove the hammer down with all her might, hitting the base of the spire and snapping it clean
off in a blinding flash of orange. The rod hit the stone with a heavy thud and began to roll, scraping
loudly before falling off the side of the roof and plunging into the clouds. Hermione sighed, rolling
her shoulders back and winding up a second strike, bracing her knees apart before hitting the dome
dead center. She gasped as cracks appeared along the smooth surface, bricks shifting beneath her
weight, and held perfectly still, afraid to exhale.

Shite shite shite shite shite…

Seconds bled away with agonizing slowness. But the roof held.

“Okay…” she whispered through clenched teeth. “It’s okay.” Her fingertips were white against the
wooden handle, ankle twitching as she carefully unfolded her legs and positioned a foot atop a
smooth portion of the roof. Every movement was slow and measured as though gliding across a
frozen lakebed, the ice set to shatter at the slightest provocation. Her eyes flickered down, debating
the swiftest and least idiotic route to the bridge, but her plans were violently curtailed by the voice
filling her mind without warning, so clear and distinct she was certain he stood on the roof beside
her.

“We’re going to fix this, Hermione. For all his victims. I won’t leave anyone trapped.”

She shrieked, losing her footing in shock and skidding down the curved surface, hammer slipping
from her grip. Her lungs seized, strangled by a silent scream as she landed atop the perimeter
ledge, clinging desperately before she could topple over the side. The hammer wasn’t so lucky,
bouncing off the stone and plummeting for the clouds. She lunged on instinct, grasping for the
spinning handle and catching the very end with the tips of her fingers. Her chest ached as she
released a hysterical laugh, hanging halfway off the ledge and clutching her prize with both hands.
The wind turned violent, blowing her hair across her face in a thick carpet. She pushed the curls
away to stare at the churning clouds, certain they were growling in outrage over being denied their
meal. “Not today,” she muttered to the charged air before turning her attention to the bridge. She
couldn’t draw a proper breath until Dawn and Cormac appeared, Padma and Lavender
materializing a heartbeat later with Mowgli in tow, the wayward group cutting a blurring path past
the circular windows. A vibrating roar chased at their heels, orange flames reflected across their
backs as the Jabberwocky’s fiery breath erupted from the doors of the Cathedral.

Hermione reared back from the ledge, clutching the hammer with both hands and frantically
searching out the second strike zone. The first stone above the pier the first stone above the pier…
What the bloody hell is a pier? She shook her head and braced her knees apart before swinging the
hammer with all her strength, shattering what she hoped was the correct brick to pieces. The result
was instantaneous. Deep fissures appeared from the base of the dome to the summit in lightning
bolt patterns, the stone-shell cracking like an egg. The brick began to fall inward from the center as
though pulled by a rip-cord, creating vibrations from her ears to her toes. The explosion was
deafening, masking the Jabberwocky’s shrill cry as boulder-sized stones crashed and split, dust
rising like smoke in the air.

Hermione scrambled back but the debris clouded her eyes and airway, choking her lungs and
blurring her vision until she nearly toppled off the side of the ledge in her blind haste. The wall she
perched atop trembled, its only warning before folding like a house of cards, Hermione toppling
with it.

She dropped like a dead weight, screaming and scrambling desperately before accidentally turning
the claw of the hammer into a pickaxe, effectively slowing her descent down the crumbling wall.
She caught a foothold on a chunk of wreckage and gracelessly toppled onto the rubble. The dust
cloud was so thick she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face or hear beyond the blood surging
through her ears. She was only certain she’d reached the bottom when her hair fell across her
shoulders and her skirts fanned around her legs.

The rest of the debris slowly settled, everything eerily quiet and still. She glanced around
frantically, one hand gripping the hammer while the other pressed flat to her chest, centered over
her thrumming heart. She was sprawled at the center of the Cathedral, sunlight filtering through the
dust in thin beams, illuminating mounds of stone and wood. Stray rubble continued to fall, loose
bricks hitting the piles with echoing cracks. The mound beside her began to undulate. She
swallowed heavily, throat stinging with dust. A rumbling groan filtered through the jagged bricks,
low and strained, the whine of a dying animal. Her chest felt tight, the pollution suffocating as she
spotted a pair of red eyes at the base of the mountain, glowing from the shadows. She held its gaze
and listened to its labored breathing, watching the bricks rise and fall with every pained exhale.
The sound turned shallow, slower, until a final hiss of steam escaped its nostrils and the rocks
settled at last. The glow faded from its crimson gaze, pupils rapidly expanding.

“Mione!” Lavender called from the bridge. “Where the hell are you?” Hermione drew in a gasping
breath, still fixated on the dull red eyes when a large shadow passed overhead, rippling across the
stones like a dark wave. “Hermione Fucking Granger, answer me this bloody instant!”

Hermione glanced up, gaze narrowed against the sun and dust-drenched sky, braced for whatever
madness the Dollmaker had in store for them next. Stones toppled in the distance as her friends
scrambled over the rubble. "Over here!" She called at last, still searching the clouds.

“Christ!” Lavender yelled. “You had me scared shiteless!”

Hermione tensed, spotting the edge of a black shape against the pastel backdrop. She pushed dust-
ridden curls from her face, hoping to clear her sight. Yet when her vision settled the object
remained, slowly moving across the sky in an unmistakable silhouette. “Oh my god,” she
whispered, wondering if she’d suffered a blow to the head on her way down. But the possibility of
a hallucination was quickly dispelled by Cormac’s shocked utterance.

“It can’t be real.”

Rocks tumbled and bounced as Lavender navigated the wreckage, making her way to Hermione’s
side while peering through the open roof. “Mione…” she breathed, sounding properly floored for
the first time since arriving at the Castle. “Are you seeing this?”

Hermione braced her knees and attempted to stand, never taking her eyes from the massive airship
sailing overhead. Black smoke billowed from its steam engine, gears purring loudly as wind bowed
its massive sails. Once it was in position above the Castle it began to hover, movement appearing
on deck. Hermione swayed, steadied by Lavender’s hand on her arm, watching in silent horror as
faceless soldiers piled out of the cargo-hold and crowded the railing.

“Everyone,” she announced without ceremony, the massive shadow overtaking their faces,
“prepare for battle.” The soldiers began climbing over the side of the ship and jumping overboard,
careening into freefall before pulling the cables attached to their packs. White parachutes burst free
and filled the sky like snowy feathers, guiding their descent to the Castle grounds. Hermione set
her jaw, eyes burning in the darkness. “We’re under siege.”

Padma gathered her voluminous skirts in both hands and tore down the hall, Dawn and Mowgli
keeping pace beside her. As they flew around the corner she caught sight of the window ahead,
view overcome by parachutes. “This is it,” she panted, slowing before the glass to watch faceless
men drop from the airship in droves. “He’s brought them all. This is his final push. He won’t hold
back.”

“Then neither will we,” Dawn stated with conviction.

Padma nodded, feeling Mowgli scale the torn and scorched fabric of her once-immaculate gown.
“Warn Merope,” she instructed, shoulders drawing level as he perched atop.

“What will you do?”

Padma smirked, meeting her companion’s curious stare. “Put my books to use, of course.”

Hermione charged past the circular windows and stumbled in her haste, en route to breaking her
fall with her face when a hand pulled her upright. She glanced sideways, expecting to see
Lavender, blinking in surprise at Cormac’s annoyed visage. “Thanks,” she muttered, taking a quick
inventory of his burnt and shredded attire, sweat glistening across his face while dust and debris
cast his hair gray.

“Happy to assist,” he scathed, releasing her arm to wipe his palm clean on blood-stained trousers.
“Also, you owe me a new suit, assuming the resident tailor hasn’t been eaten. Now can we please
run for our lives?”

She exchanged a loaded glance with Lavender, the girl waiting for them at the mouth of the bridge
after sending Dawn and Padma ahead to warn the others.

Cormac glanced between them, eyes narrowing. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“There’s nowhere to run,” Hermione stated plainly, gesturing to the rapidly descending parachutes
beyond the windows. “Once they get inside our only option is to fight or die.”

“Die multiple times, actually,” Lavender offered brightly. “Thanks to Wonderland’s whimsical
power of resurrection. Unless we end up in limbo, aimlessly wandering through darkness for all
eternity.”

He rubbed his brow. “Why couldn’t I have just gone to hell? Surely it’s less of a mind fuck.”

“Undoubtedly,” Hermione agreed, withdrawing the hammer from her boot and holding it out to its
rightful owner. “Now pick a weapon or a hiding spot. Just do it fast.”

He shook his head as Lavender skipped forward and accepted the handle, giving it a deft twirl
before bouncing excitedly. Hermione paced back to the mouth of the Cathedral, barricaded by
debris, and set to work searching for a suitable means of defense. She settled on a portion of busted
window frame, a jagged chunk of glass still attached to one end, curved and catching the light. She
weighed it in her palms, giving it a few cursory swings to make certain the glass held in place,
feeling like the grim reaper wielding his trusty scythe.

“You used to be terrified of your own shadow,” Cormac mused, watching her slash the air.

She lowered the weapon to her side and met his gaze. “It wasn’t the shadows I feared, it was the
monsters living inside them.” She paused, contemplating her words. “Now the monsters fear me I
suppose.”

He tilted his head, inspecting her anew. And then Lavender’s booming announcement filled the
bridge. “Incoming!”

Their heads snapped up as feet struck the roof, a discarded parachute slipping over the side and
falling past the window. Another set of boots followed, quickly pacing to edge as their owner tried
scaling the wall. Hermione and Lavender burst into action, moving in silent tandem as they poised
on opposite sides of the corridor and readied for battle. More jumpers landed, trying to climb
through the circular windows only to have their efforts met with a hammer to the kneecap or glass
shard to the ankle. They lost their grip one by one, thrashing limbs swallowed by the darkening
clouds.

Yet in all the chaos a soldier managed to slip inside, Cormac’s panicked shout alerting Hermione to
his arrival. She promptly abandoned her post, spotting McLaggen pinned to the wall by a hand to
his throat, face blistering as he gasped and sputtered for breath. She rushed to his aid, slashing his
faceless attacker across the back with her makeshift scythe, cringing as the jagged-edge scraped
against spinal cord. He dropped like a sack of bleeding grain, spraying a crimson mist on his way
down. Cormac pushed away from the wall, coughing violently as he staggered around the body,
face and chest glistening with blood splatter. His eyes flickered to Hermione, voice thin with strain.
“Now you definitely owe me a new suit.”

Lavender dashed past in a blur of flowing hair and skirts, aiming a well-placed hammer strike to a
faceless man’s chest and launching him through the window. “Fight or hide, babe,” she told her
sometimes-beau with a twirl of her hammer. “Either way, stop talking.”

He scowled in response, rubbing his bruised throat and sagging against the wall. The bridge stood
clear, its roof silent. A quick glance through the window revealed why. The parachuters set their
sights on the courtyard at the heart of the fortress. Hermione gripped the ledge and watched them
land by the dozens, packs abandoned in a heap before scurrying through one of the many
doorways. “We have to get down there,” she announced, turning on her heel and running for the
Castle, Lavender giving immediate chase.

“Wait!” Cormac shouted from the wall, both women ignoring the command.

“Hide, McLaggen!” Hermione called over her shoulder.

“I know a secret passage!” Their steps faltered at the unexpected announcement, heads turning at
last. “You can come right up from under the ugly bastards,” he continued, rubbing his throat all the
while. “Assuming you’re committed to dying horrifically.”

The girls shared a brazen glance and wide grins to match. “Alright, babe,” Lavender relented,
facing forward with an arched brow. “Keep talking.”

Dawn staggered into the crowded main hall and leaned against a pillar, struggling to catch her
breath. A few residents eyed her warily before returning to their conversations, the buzz of
overlapping voices louder than a swarm of hornets. “What’s going on out there?” A man asked,
sidling closer.

She ignored the inquiry, searching the sea of faces for the one she needed to relay the information
to. “Where’s Merope?”

“Right here,” a familiar voice announced. The crowd parted down the center, making way for the
woman in question to appear. “Dawn? What happened?”

“We trapped the Jabberwocky under the Cathedral,” she explained without flourish, pushing off
the pillar and pacing closer.

The surrounding faces gasped while the man from earlier stared at her as though she’d grown a
third arm. “Did she say under?”

Merope raised a staying hand to the crowd, stifling the flood of questions sure to follow. “Where’s
Hermione?”

Despite her obvious attempt to keep the conversation on track, her words inspired a fresh ripple of
shocked gasps as dozens of heads swiveled in their direction. “The girl’s here?” Someone asked
sharply, followed by a surge of voices from all directions.

“When did she arrive?”

“We're saved!”

“Not if she’s dead.”

“Don't say that—”

“— really think it will work?”

“Quiet!” Merope shouted, the intensity of her tone snapping like a whip. The drone of voices
instantly faded as she gestured to Dawn. “Please, continue, dear.”

The gentle prompt made Dawn squirm, sweating beneath the collective gaze of the room. “We’re
under siege,” she began tentatively, the words sending a shockwave through the crowd. “The
Dollmaker brought an airship. His followers are parachuting down all across the Castle.” She
maintained Merope’s steady gaze as the rest of the hall exploded in terror, voices ringing high off
the ceiling. “We have to fight. All of us.”
“That’s ludicrous,” Merope replied with a shake of her head. “We aren’t equipped for such a battle.
I need to speak with Ariana—”

“Merope.” Dawn reached out and grasped her arms. “You know what has to be done. They’ll listen
to you.”

Residents pushed and pulled in their haste to flee the room, unable to agree on an exit strategy.
Arguing erupted across the floor, broken only by screams and gasping sobs. Merope remained
poised and statuesque despite the apprehension in her gaze. She lifted her chin, nodding with
resolution before turning to face the insanity of the hall. “Everyone, listen carefully—” But they
remained deaf to her words, lost to the mounting hysteria.

An indelicate scoff caught Dawn’s attention. She watched as Maggie climbed onto a table and
placed two fingers in her mouth, a piercing whistle cutting through the chaos like a blow horn.
People blinked, mouths agape as they searched out the source of the shrill noise. Merope seized the
opportunity, gathering her skirts and stepping before the table, nodding her appreciation to woman
poised atop its gleaming surface before addressing the bewildered room.

“You heard correctly,” she stated loudly. “Ariana and Hermione are working towards bringing the
cure to the outside world.” More murmurs erupted but she silenced them with her next words.
“However, that won’t happen unless we defeat the Dollmaker here and now.” A ripple of anxiety
traveled the length of the hall. Merope raised her palms in a calming gesture, voice steady and
patient. “I know you’re scared. I am, too. It feels like being trapped in a waking nightmare. Easier
to hide, easier to surrender. But you know the fate awaiting us under his rule. Many of you
experienced it first hand before finding sanctuary behind these walls.” The lingering conversations
faded, all eyes focused upon her. “And for those of us who are already dead, Wonderland is our
permanent home, our only reality. We must defend it at all costs. Ariana and Hermione can’t do it
alone.” She lowered her arms, remaining the focal point of the room. “This is our final stand for
our final resting place. This land belongs to us, not to him and not to his faceless followers. We
must fight to protect our future, we must fight for all the innocent souls to come.” Several heads
bobbed in adamant agreement while others remained frozen in terror, yet no one voiced a word of
dissent. “If we stand together we can defeat him, that I promise you. But you must stand. You must
fight. Every single person must give it everything they have.” She inhaled deeply, holding it for
several beats before casting a meaningful glance around the room. “Can I count on you?”

Residents fidgeted nervously, shuffling in place as awkward silence festered. And then Maggie
exploded to life on the table, her booming voice shocking the crowd into stillness. “Hell yes! Let’s
kill the bastard!”

A beat. Then two. And all at once the room erupted into a fit of wild cheers, voices high and
nervous but eager nonetheless. Merope laughed, clapping her hands in relief and meeting Dawn’s
eye. Their expressions instantly seized as the same silent thought passed between them.

What the hell do we do now?

Padma tore around the corner, lungs burning as she staggered to a halt. Mowgli promptly followed
suit, tripping into a forward roll before springing to his feet with boneless flexibility. They shuffled
backward, watching in horror as a group of faceless men exited a room, steadily filling the hall.
She pressed a hand to her mouth and backtracked around the corner she'd just turned, pressing flat
to the paneling while Mowgli burrowed into her skirts, hiding behind its silk folds. She took a
steadying breath and carefully peeked around the wall. The library entrance stood just ahead,
halfway between her hiding spot and the congregation of evil minions. Her heart thundered so
loudly she was certain they could hear it.
But they can’t see me. She gathered the fabric of her dress and carefully stepped out of her shoes,
toes curled and shoulders drawn tight. This is insane. I’m going to die…

“Don’t you dare say that.”

Padma jolted, stricken by the words. She glanced around anxiously, the hallway empty in either
direction.

“You’re not going to die. I won’t let you.”

It was then she realized the voice was emanating from inside her mind, so familiar it made her
brain itch.

“I’ve almost got the money saved for the clinic, they’re going to cure you.”

She placed a hand to her chest, a sharp pain alighting at its center though she hadn’t the faintest
clue why.

“But I need you to keep fighting, Padma. You can’t give up on me.” She held her breath, waiting.
“Promise me you’ll keep fighting.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, absorbed by her bodice. “I promise,” she whispered, warmth
infusing her limbs like a comforting embrace. She glanced down, meeting Mowgli’s intelligent
gaze. His yellow eyes flickered before obeying the silent command, scaling the side of her body to
her shoulder and gripping tight. She splayed her hands flat to the wall and pushed off, rising onto
tiptoes and slowly creeping around the corner, breath trapped in her lungs. The faceless men were
clustered together, leaning close as though engaged in conversation. Padma had barely breached
the corridor when their heads lifted and turned, fleshy masks fixed in her direction.

Shite.

Mowgli buried his face in her neck as the men started in her direction, brandishing an assortment
of crude weapons. Her pulse turned spastic, gaze darting to the library, its doors propped wide in
silent beckoning. So very close, and yet so far away. She bit her lip, tense with indecision, the urge
to make a break for it causing her muscles to twitch with anticipation. And then her eyes flickered
to a man wielding an oversized mallet and her knees locked.

The group drew closer, spreading the width of the hall, footsteps echoing through her skull and
creating a countdown to her doom.

I should have run. Why didn’t I run?

Her hesitation had cost her greatly. Soldiers passed before the library, blocking its entrance. She bit
her tongue to stifle a gasp as a man walked directly before her, lead pipe resting against his
shoulder. The featureless mask turned until it pointed in her direction. He stopped walking less
than a meter from where she stood. Mowgli’s fingers dug into her flesh, tail grazing her chin as he
pressed into her neck.

“What happened?” Her arm twitched, nerves sparking as another voice filled her head. This one
sounded suspiciously like her own, though a much more frail and hoarse version.

“Someone broke in.” The first phantom responded. “He tried to take you.”

The man twirled his pipe, idly tapping his foot before continuing down the corridor, passing her in
a few strides. She exhaled slowly, light-headed with adrenaline.
“So I stopped him.”

She gathered her skirts and bolted, Mowgli clinging for dear life as she charged the doorway and
took them by surprise, barrelling past. Her shoulder clipped a man with a heavy chain. He swung at
the space she previously occupied, bashing a dent in the wall. The commotion alerted the others,
everyone giving chase. Dozens of boots thundered in her wake as she cut a quick path across the
floor, weaving between desks in a desperate attempt to slow them down. The strategy was
marginally successful, a few men tripping on table legs and stumbling over chairs before
overturning the obstacles in rage.

Her heart lodged in her throat as she reached the winding metal staircase, pausing at the base to
duck beneath the rope extended between the handrails, its dangling sign smacking Mowgli in the
forehead. He shook off the blow and glared at the bold lettering.

Restricted Section

The sprite leapt forward as she began her rapid ascent, bounding up the spiral steps in a flash of
green. Padma was slowed by a second hanging sign reading Caution, carefully ducking under the
warning while her adversaries reached the stairs, plowing through the rope and shaking the entire
structure in their heavy-footed pursuit. She kept her eyes focused ahead, clutching the railing with
both hands as she continued up up up, dropping low to duck beneath a third sign.

Danger Ahead

No sooner had she straightened than she was facing a fourth warning, strung so close to her face
she nearly went cross-eyed reading it.

Seriously, I warned you.

Her breath escaped in a rush as she journeyed on and reached the top of the stairs at last, facing the
fifth and final sign written in the same eloquent script.

Suit yourself. Don’t bleed on the books.

She dipped beneath the rope, emerging onto the second-level where Mowgli was calmly waiting,
falling into step beside her as she raced past towering bookcases, frantically reading their plaques.

Alchemy, Anthropology, Horticulture, Medicine, Occult, Zoology…

Her body quaked as she turned into the final row and footsteps flooded the landing, signaling the
moment her pursuers reached the top floor. She peeked between a gap in the shelf and watched the
man in front signal the others. The group split, bodies heading in either direction with weapons
poised. She crept softly down the aisle, fingers twitching as she scanned the books at eye-level,
eyes narrowed on their titles. She began to reach out several times, only to shake her head, waiting
to discover a more suitable candidate, unsure what to expect beyond the ominous warning signs.

And then a floorboard creaked beside her and caution was thrown to the wind. A man had entered
her row, sporting a wooden bat riddled with bent nails. She staggered back at the sight and clipped
the case with her hip, books gently rocking. Yet the subtle motion was more than enough to alert
him to her presence. He lifted the bat and charged. She shrieked, scrambling for the first book she
could get her hands on and ripping it from the shelf, screaming outright as the bat swung past her
head, twisted nails sailing past her face as opened the tome to a random page and held it like a
shield.
A torrent of water shot forth with such force it drove her attacker off his feet, followed by a
powerful gust of hurricane wind that sent him tumbling across the floor. The book trembled in her
grasp, alive with the storm. She held onto it with all her strength, arms locked in the outright
position as the pages rapidly turned of their own accord, lightning striking the floor and splitting
the slats wide. She gasped and leapt back as thunder crashed, causing the entire bookcase to
tremble, walls vibrating with the rumbling echo.

The faceless man clung to the shelves, feet slipping over water and kelp while he fought to pull
upright. But his struggles were short-lived as a whaling harpoon shot out of the pages, striking him
in the chest and impaling him through the center. Padma gaped, arms quaking as she forced the
book shut with a jarring snap, staggering in place as it continued to riot in her grasp, sentient and
angry as she struggled to shove it back into its dusty slot, finally succeeding with great effort. She
sagged against the wood, resting her forehead on the lip of the shelf and peering sideways to meet
Mowgli’s wide stare. And then three faceless heads appeared at the mouth of the aisle, boots
splashing as they sidestepped the body of their skewered comrade.

She staggered anew, losing her balance over a ladder set on casters and toppling to the ground with
a scream. They descended upon her, knives and mallets and clubs raised high. Mowgli launched
forward, landing atop a fleshy mask and clawing ruthlessly. His prey reared back and collided with
his compatriots, distracting them long enough for her to scramble for another book, selecting a title
at random and opening it wide.

Snakes tumbled out. Ten, twenty, thirty, each of varying size and markings, some as short as her
hand and others as long as an ox. They slithered and coiled, striking out with blinding speed. A
black serpent plunged its dripping fangs into a man’s thigh, instantly crippling him, while a
massive white snake dislocated its jaw and engulfed a faceless head whole, slowly working its way
down the shoulders and chest as its victim thrashed and twitched. She snapped the book shut with a
breathless shriek and scrambled backward on her bum, skin crawling with terror as a cobra coiled
around the third man, drawing tight, tight, tighter until his ribs broke with a deafening crack that
caused her stomach to flip inside-out.

Something soft brushed her hand.

Her scream was piercing, hysterical with unbridled terror, senses only returning when Mowgli
leaped onto her chest and took her face between his hands, holding her gaze until the desperate wail
died in her throat. And then more foot soldiers came running, awakening her frazzled mind the rest
of the way. The smaller snakes scattered in every direction, some winding up the newcomer’s legs
while others slipped into the shelves. Padma pulled upright on trembling legs, reaching for book
after book and cracking them open before throwing them at the approaching brigade. A menagerie
of creatures sprang forth, some majestic and whimsical, others elusive and terrifying, yet the one
trait they all seemed to share was gnawing hunger pains.

Within minutes blood soaked the floor and gore splattered the walls. One title sprouted teeth mid-
air, colliding with a faceless head and chomping down like a bear trap. The man thrashed and
bucked, toppling over bodies and books until colliding with the metal railing and plummeting to
the first floor. Padma continued grabbing and throwing titles until a rainbow-striped tiger let loose
a bone-rattling growl and turned its sights on her, saber teeth gleaming with blood.

She screamed and hit the ground as oversized insects buzzed overhead, stingers the size of steak
knives. Mowgli helped her push the books on the bottom shelf out of the way until she was able to
crawl through to the other side, emerging in an empty aisle. She pulled to her feet and sprinted for
the end of the row. And then a minion appeared in her path and she was forced to change tactics,
reaching for a book as he swung a chain at her head. A demonic arm shot out of the pages, taloned-
tipped fingers catching the weapon and winding it around a scarred wrist before tugging hard and
drawing the soldier forward, catching him by the throat. The jagged nails pierced the skin and
ripped his trachea clean out, spraying blood in every direction. Padma cringed, face and gown
speckled red.

Well, that’s enough reading for me today.

She dropped the title as the arm continued to tear apart the body, edging around the gruesome
scene while Mowgli swung from the shelves, landing atop her shoulder as she tore around the end
of the bookcase— only for something to grip her ankle and pull, sending her crashing to the ground
with a blood-curdling scream. Her cry was cut short upon impact with the hard ground, the air
pushed forcefully from her lungs. She kicked and thrashed but only managed to get her dress
captured as well, something gripping the hem of her skirts as she screamed anew. Two more arms
had sprung from the book, looking as though they were all attached to the same scarred, demonic
creature. Razor talons tore through her gown and shredded her stockings as they pulled her across
the floor. She scrambled helplessly, clawing at the slats until her nail beds turned bloody. Mowgli
attempted to help but the mangled flesh was immune to his blunt teeth and nails.

Her cries took on a new pitch as a fourth arm emerged, reaching over her body and grabbing a
fistful of her hair, pulling her head back until her spine was stretched like a bow set to snap in half.
She was dragged over the shredded corpse of her faceless, throatless attacker, bodice and hands
soaked red in his warm blood. And then Mowgli darted away, bounding around the corner and out
of sight. She gasped for breath, tears streaming as her scalp burned in protest, certain it was about
to rip away. She scrambled desperately with her hands, reaching for another book, but a fifth arm
emerged and took her searching wrist captive, bending the limb behind her back with brutal force.

She was nearly to the open pages now and wondered if the demonic entity had the ability to pull
her inside, knowing her fate would be forever sealed. So this is it…

“You can’t give up on me.”

Her heart stuttered, vision turning dim as the arms hauled her through the pool of blood, the edge
of the book grazing her ankle–

A low-throated growl rumbled across the floor, followed by a lipless hiss that made her clench
tight. She blinked through her tears and terror, mouth hanging wide as Mowgli came tearing around
the bookcase, skidding across the wood on a collision course straight for her. The ground vibrated
beneath her body as a stampede of beasts appeared at his heels, eagerly chasing their furry meal
with the rainbow saber-tooth at the forefront of the pack. The colorful feline caught sight of Padma
and licked its gore-covered chops, quickly changing targets. She closed her eyes as the creature
pounced, landing atop her with bone-crushing force. But its fangs plunged into a demonic arm
covering her back, paws clawing the ground for traction as the entity tried to pull free, a tug-of-war
ensuing with her helplessly trapped beneath.

A massive serpent slithered past, forked-tongue grazing her blood-splattered cheek before turning
its slitted sight on an arm trying to withdraw into the book. Its scaled body wrapped the limb like a
manacle, fangs plunging into the wrist. The book trembled, releasing Padma to focus on fending
off its attackers. She crouched low and crawled frantically, pressing into the opposite shelf as a
flaming arrow shot past her face and lodged in the ground beside her thigh. Her breath lodged in
her throat as the remaining entities turned their focus upon her, teeth and claws bared as they
rapidly closed in, filling the air with hair-raising sounds. Mowgli scrambled into her lap and
pressed his face into her middle as they closed their eyes and cringed, awaiting imminent slaughter.

And then, all at once, the world fell silent.

Her gaze peeled open, wide with shock as the monstrous creatures turned to literal stone, bodies
black as charcoal, caught in mid-pounce positions with fangs and claws extended. She drew her
legs up and accidentally grazed a snake with her boot, causing it to crumble into a pile of ash. Her
breath escaped in a rush, blowing against a frozen wolf and rendering it into a heap, dust floating
away like dandelion fuzz.

Mowgli slowly uncurled, relinquishing his death grip on her skirts to slide off her lap and pace
tentatively towards the stone tiger, locked in an eternal battle with the five-armed demon. His paw
twitched before poking at a single whisker, the beast and arms collapsing into charcoal mounds
before them. The book that unleashed the arms slammed shut abruptly, launching Mowgli a meter
off the ground like a startled cat. Padma shrieked as well, the sound jolting her into motion. She
crawled through the sea of ashes until reaching the end of the row and glancing either way down
the main aisle, dazed at the sight.

“You stopped him all by yourself?”

Faceless bodies littered the floor, propped against bookcases and stuffed between shelves, twisted
and mangled with piles of ash surrounding them.

“Course not. You were with me the whole time.”

She crawled to the railing overlooking the bottom level, peering through the bars and spotting
more corpses below. Mowgli peaked through as well, large eyes blinking as she sank back on her
heels.

I did this… Her chest tightened with a twisted sense of pride. “But I was asleep.” The phantom
voice of her former-self uttered weakly.

“Doesn’t matter. Awake, asleep, we’re always together.”

And suddenly, without warning or prompt, a dam broke inside her. Padma curled forward,
overwrought by the images flooding her mind, so vivid in detail she couldn’t discern where
memory stopped and reality began. She saw cracked plaster peeking out from torn wallpaper, black
mold festering at the edges; felt the thin, musty cot beneath her frail body as dirty sheets tangled
around her legs; smelled the taint of sickness and death on the air; tasted dust and bitter medicine at
the back of her throat. But most importantly, she saw dim candlelight flicker across her sister’s
face.

She tipped sideways with the force of the memory and the floodgates it unleashed. “Parvati,” she
whispered, tears filling her eyes anew. “I’m awake.” Her hands sought the railing above, gripping
it tight before pulling to her feet. “And I’m coming home.” She started down the main aisle with
determination, leaping a headless corpse with a bright grin. “Come along, Mowgli,” she instructed,
watching the sprite pounce over a severed arm. “Let’s see what the others are up to.”

“Down!” Hermione called, prompting Cormac to drop like a corpse while she swung her sickle at
the charging soldier, striking dead center of his empty face. Glass punctured the skull with a
sickening crunch, blood spurting like juice from a burst melon. Chunks rained across McLaggen
with wet splats as the body continued to stagger, caught on the curved blade.

“Fuck!” Cormac shouted, scrambling out of the splash zone as she struggled to wrench her weapon
free. “Could this be anymore gratuitous?” He frantically wiped blood from his eyes and mouth
before gagging.
The body hit the ground with her scythe still attached. “You really want to find out?” She panted,
placing her boot to the forehead and ripping the blade free, gooey contents trailing the motion in a
gleaming arc. She met his disgusted countenance and cringed sympathetically. “You get used to it.
Then it hardly seems real.” She wiped the glass clean on the dead man’s jacket. “Or perhaps I’m
just in a prolonged state of shock.”

Cormac peered down at his gore-drenched shirtfront, expression pinching tighter. “I’m leaning
more towards psychosis.”

She shrugged, figuring the diagnosis was as much a possibility as anything else at this point, and
pivoted swiftly, swinging her weapon anew. The hook of her sickle struck a faceless fighter in the
neck, crimson showering the wall and floor. Lavender darted by, losing traction in the glistening
pool until she was gliding past like a skater on ice. “This Castle really wasn’t designed with epic
battles in mind,” the blonde lamented before hammering a shockwave strike that catapulted her
advancing foe a dozen meters through the air.

“Decidedly not,” Hermione agreed, slicing a man in the stomach as he swung a wooden bat at her
head. His entrails spilled free like dead snakes from a ripped sack. Cormac dry-heaved at the sight,
holding the wall for support.

Since popping up from the winding underground passage the fighting hadn’t ceased. There was
only a handful of parachuters left in the courtyard by the time the trio arrived, the vast majority
swarming through the Castle like locusts.

“Any chance there’s another tunnel leading to a heavily stocked artillery?” Hermione mused
between labored breaths, wiping sweat from her eyes with an equally sweaty forearm.

“Don’t look at me,” Lavender called, leaping a swinging chain like a jump-rope. “Cormac is our
resident Secret Passage Tour Guide.”

He heaved once more before wiping his mouth on his collar, cringing at the red-stained fabric. "I
only know of the one. I found it by mistake while looking for a place to—" He stopped abruptly,
prompting both women to quirk a brow. "Nevermind," he finished promptly.

Lavender rolled her eyes, cold-clocking a man upside the chin with her trusty tool. “Christ, I was
only gone for a day.”

“The bloody suns never set,” he scathed. “It’s always the same d—” His eyes shot wide. “Mione,
look out!”

She whirled around as a faceless mass charged, toppling her to the ground before she could
maneuver her scythe. He grabbed the handle and wrestled the weapon away, tossing it aside and
reaching for her throat, squeezing so hard she was certain he’d pop her head off with brute strength
alone. From the corner of her fading vision she saw Lavender barreling towards her, shouting
something she couldn’t hear over the throbbing in her ears. Two adversaries appeared from the
ether, tackling the blonde before she reached her destination.

Hermione’s lips moved soundlessly, desperately seeking air as she beat her attacker with closed
fists, muscles burning from oxygen-depletion. Pressure welled in her skull, eyes bloodshot, set to
burst. A withering gurgle managed to work past the tight constriction, lips turning blue as her arms
dropped heavy and limp. And then the weight straddling her thighs jolted forward and his hands
fell away. She inhaled sharply, arching off the floor and eagerly filling her lungs. Her lids fluttered,
vision hazed and lashes clumped as the man above her swayed precariously before tipping
sideways. She frantically pushed the dead weight off and scrambled back, gaze flitting up.
Cormac held her discarded sickle in both hands, standing so stiff and pale he resembled a
bewildered statue. Blood dripped from the blade to a growing puddle at his feet. “I killed him,” he
muttered through frozen lips, putting trained ventriloquists to shame. “I killed him…” He dropped
the weapon as though burned by its touch, gaze unwavering from the body.

Hermione rubbed her throat, overcome with sympathy for the faraway look in his eyes. “I saw.”
Her voice was strained, each syllable a feat. She stood carefully. “You saved my life… relatively
speaking.” His shoulder twitched as she braced it gently, waiting for his gaze to meet hers. “Thank
you, Cormac.” She held his stare a moment longer before searching for Lavender, already certain
the girl had bested her attackers. The knowledge was confirmed when a bright laugh filled the
other end of the courtyard. Sure enough, the blonde was happily bashing in a skull, another body
lying in a twisted heap nearby. Hermione’s eyes flitted over the remainder of the outdoor
sanctuary, a dozen corpses scattered across its sparkling floor. “I don’t see how I can return to
normal life after this.”

“I’ll happily take your place,” McLaggen murmured, still sounding a bit dazed.

Her shoulders tensed. “I’m sorry, Cormac. It’s easy to forget you’re…”

“Dead?”

“What? Like that’s a bad thing?” Lavender chirped as she skipped to their sides, an illustrious flag
of golden hair flying at her back. The gleaming strands made Hermione all the more aware of the
bird’s nest dwelling atop her own head.

Cormac shook his head. “Not everyone enjoys having their soul violently sucked from their body.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

Hermione cringed at their matching smirks. “Okay, that’s more than enough.”

“That’s more than enough?” He repeated, tone steeped in disbelief. “You’re covered in some poor
sod’s brain matter.”

“It’s intestines if you must know. Now can we please stay focused?”

“On?” Lavender prompted with a twirl of her hammer.

Hermione started to respond but a distant explosion swallowed her words. One of the walls
trembled, vibrations ghosting across the floor and up her calves. “That!” She shouted, running for
the clover-shaped doorway. Lavender darted after her, gracefully leaping bodies while Cormac
glared at their backs.

“Bloody hell, what now?” He groused, trailing with great reluctance.

Lavender drew up beside her as they entered the corridor. “I think it came from the main hall,” she
stated. Hermione’s heart skipped, imagining the residents piled together like sitting ducks. “I know
a shortcut, this way!” The blonde continued, guiding them around the bend. Cormac’s long legs
negated their head start, allowing him to catch up in the next hall as Lavender led them to a vibrant
red door, shockingly out of place among its dark and gilded surroundings. She began reaching for
the handle when footsteps pounded around the corner. One of the Dollmaker’s disciples appeared,
machete in hand. “You two go ahead,” the blonde instructed calmly, watching his approach
through gleaming eyes. “I’ll catch up.”

Hermione nodded, more than confident in her friend’s ability to hammer the goon into a smooth
paste. She gripped the knob as the girl charged, eager to land the first blow. But when Hermione
threw the barrier wide another door stood in her way, glossy black and slightly smaller than its
predecessor. She blinked, turning the second handle and giving it a tug, nose twitching at the green
door standing before her. “Goodness gracious,” she muttered, shaking her head and turning the
third knob, a white door appearing. “Why?” The next was blue, followed by plum, then orange,
each shorter and narrower than the last.

Cormac dragged a hand over his face as Lavender struck her machete-wielding opponent in the
kneecap. “I really fucking hate this place.”

Hermione dropped to her haunches and reached for the eighth knob, gritting her teeth and fully
sharing in the sentiment as yet another barrier materialized. She teetered on the verge of fuck it,
let’s take the long route when, at last, she turned the ninth and final handle and the adjoining
corridor appeared on the other side. She breathed a heavy sigh and slid her scythe through the
opening. "Well, it is a shortcut.”

“Come on, Granger. You’re better than that.”

She braced her hands to the floor and began crawling. “It’s all I could think of on short notice.”

“Please stop.”

“Why the short fuse?”

“Fucking hell.”

Laughter bubbled from her lips as she rose in the next hall, retaking her weapon and patiently
awaiting Cormac, his larger frame posing a greater logistical challenge. But after several failed
attempts he managed to maneuver his shoulders through, rising with a groan and beating invisible
dust from his blood-caked attire. She rolled her eyes and started headlong down the corridor,
Cormac remaining a few paces behind despite his much longer stride. No doubt he was perfectly
content with her steering the ship if it meant doubling as a human shield.

“Which way?” She prompted at the end of the line, glancing in either direction, unfamiliar with the
decor.

“Hm…” He scratched the back of his head and examined the artwork. A girl leaned against the
inside of her frame picking petals from a flower and tossing them over her shoulder, the delicate
buds flying off the canvas and drifting to the floor like feathers. “Left.” They proceeded in the
designated direction until reaching another intersection, its wall dominated by a massive oil
painting of a buxom brunette in a loosely-draped toga. She winked at their arrival. “There she is.
Rosalind.” Cormac smirked. “If you ask nicely she’ll drop the sheet.”

“I’m glad you’re such a devoted patron of the arts. Which way now?”

“Head right to the staircase, it’s a straight shot from there.”

She nodded, continuing on until the sound of muffled chaos met their ears. Her grip tightened on
her sickle as they reached a staircase, making it halfway down when it began to move. Cormac
staggered, startled by the sudden motion, clinging to her for balance. She suffered his grip until it
began to wander, earning a pointed glare over her shoulder. He adorned a rakish grin and raised his
hands in surrender. “Some things never change, I suppose.”

"Your supposition is correct," she replied crisply, batting her scythe against her palm as the
staircase clicked into place. They flew down the remaining steps, guided by the symphony of the
battle ahead, strides lengthening as they neared the towering archway. Cormac reached the
threshold first and skidded to a halt, mouth gaping wide as Hermione arrived at his side, stricken
by the same reaction.

The glittering entry hall had transformed into a war-zone.

Men and women defended themselves with anything they could lift, sconces and candlestick
holders, coat racks and brooms, chairs and stools, pots and curtain rods. The make-shift weapons
were wielded clumsily, residents backed into corners and forced to fight for their survival. Though
a select few switched to offensive measures, zealously pursuing faceless invaders over tabletops
and under staircases.

But the true focal point of the chaos was a pair of jerry-rigged catapults situated against the back
wall, manned by a group of wild-eyed children. From a distance, the framework appeared to be
composed of bent floorboards, men's suspenders and lady's bloomers creating the sling. She
watched in disbelief as two children labored beneath the weight of a watermelon, hefting the
sizable fruit into the silk pouch. Three others held the release rope steady while a fourth shouted
instructions to guide their aim. Hermione blinked, realizing the fourth child was one she
recognized.

Leo’s cheeks were flushed, eyes narrow as he lined up the trajectory and dropped his hand to signal
the launch. The children released the rope and the counterweight crashed down, swinging the arm
in turn. The green projectile shot past at impressive velocity, exploding against a faceless target
and knocking the man clear off his feet. The woman he’d been attempting to maim with a pipe
scrambled free, seeking shelter in the sea of grappling bodies. The children cheered in triumph,
their joyous calls endearing and disturbing amid such violence. But Leo didn't waste time
celebrating, focused instead on directing the second catapult. He carefully steered the arm into
position, finally giving the release signal. The watermelon shot out of the sling with a sharp
whistle, exploding across the floor a meter short of its target. “We need more counterweight!” He
shouted, running to a pile of random items in the corner.

“This is madness,” Cormac whispered at her side.

“This is Wonderland,” she declared, watching the children drag a broken chandelier across the
floor. “Cormac, go help them.” She readied for argument as he followed her gaze, taken aback by
his boyish grin.

“Actually, it looks like fun.”

She smirked as he bounded forward with pep, then rapidly sobered as two women screamed shrilly,
flimsy weapons ripped from their grasps by a faceless attacker. Hermione raced to their aid,
swinging her scythe as soon as she came within range, aiming for his thigh to minimize the mess.
The women seemed traumatized enough, no need to hose them down with blood. He folded like a
newspaper, thrashing in agony as she tore her weapon free, dark red seeping from the severed
artery. The women gasped, watching in abject horror before regaining their senses and nodding
gratefully. And then a familiar voice rose above the commotion, earning the whole of her focus.

“Hermione, duck!”

She dropped without hesitation, the end of a flyaway curl sliced cleanly by a swinging sword.
Hermione replied in kind, severing his foot at the ankle with a slash of her sickle and rolling away
before he landed on top of her. Her thighs burned when she launched upright, adrenaline turning
her jittery as she searched out the owner of the voice, spotting Dawn halfway across the room with
Maggie at her side, both women perched atop a table. Hermione lowered her scythe and set off to
meet them, noticing the curtain rods in their hands. They used the raised vantage to their benefit,
aiming jabs at faceless foreheads and knocking enemies unconscious in a single blow.

“How are you girls holding up?”

“Never better!” Maggie supplied cheerfully, delivering a mighty thwack to the side of a featureless
head. The body went airborne, nearly horizontal before dropping in a heap. She smirked at her
handiwork and glanced up, eyes gleaming at the sickle. “Oh, nifty. Where can I get one?”

“It’s a custom build,” Hermione responded breathlessly, then caught sight of a rapidly approaching
item in her peripheral. She reared back, going cross-eyed as a ming vase zipped past her nose,
shattering against the wall several meters away.

“Head’s up, Granger!” Cormac shouted from the catapults.

“You’re supposed to say that before it almost kills me!” He shrugged, preoccupied with filling the
next sling while the children crowded around him in adoration. She glanced forward. “Have you
seen Merope?”

Dawn cast a searching gaze across the room, able to see far beyond what Hermione’s limited height
afforded. She quickly straightened, pointing to the corner. “Over by the tapestry!”

Hermione followed her direction and cut a determined path through the center of the room, sickle
at the ready. She ducked stray fists and swinging chains, staggering to the wall as a young woman
charged past with an oil lamp in hand, shattering it over a faceless man’s head as her male
companion tossed a lit sconce into the mix. The flailing figure ignited at once. Hermione looked
away from the blaze with a wave of nausea, scanning the appointed corner for a familiar face. But
her view was blocked by a dozen suits of armor standing in a row, posed like medieval knights. She
edged closer, then froze as one of the Dollmaker’s ilk rushed the line of shields with a hatchet, only
to be promptly disarmed. Literally. If his face bore eyes she harbored no doubt they’d be blinking
in shock as his severed appendage hit the floor. The empty suit sheathed its sword as the man
collapsed to his knees, blood pooling around him.

Right.

She stepped back, keen on searching elsewhere until she caught a glimpse of pale skin behind the
metallic guards. “Merope?” She called, gulping when the gleaming helmets pivoted in her
direction, empty eye-sockets fixed upon her.

“Hermione?”

Her lungs deflated in a rush. She took half a step closer and a dozen swords pointed in her
direction.

"Let her through," Merope commanded brusquely. "And for the last time, stop defending me and
help the others!" She forced her way between two rigid suits. "Are you alright, dear?" Hermione
nodded, edging forward with slightly more confidence. "Thank god," Merope remarked,
unflinching as a man charged their corner with a meat cleaver. She grasped Hermione by the elbow
and calmly pulled her aside as her knights descended, running their would-be-attacker through with
a dozen swords. "You need to get to the throne room," she continued, turning Hermione around to
spare her the sight of the body hitting the ground in two pieces.

“I’m not abandoning you when the Castle’s under siege.”

“You aren’t abandoning us, you’re continuing the fight on the outside—” She broke off as another
faceless soldier sprung his attack.

“For heaven’s sake,” Hermione lamented, taking care of the nuisance with her sickle before the
hollow knights could intervene.

“Go now,” Merope urged, watching her young companion wrench the scythe from a spurting neck.
“Ariana should be ready.” Hermione opened her mouth to argue. “It’s alright,” Merope assured,
“we can defend ourselves. But all of this means nothing if the Dollmaker continues to thrive in the
real world.”

The weight of Hermione’s burden returned with crushing swiftness. “We’ll stop him,” she vowed.

Merope smiled. “Between you and my son, Gellert doesn’t stand a chance.”

The statement burrowed under Hermione’s skin, as did the penetrating gaze it was paired with.
“I…” How to say farewell? “I’ll tell Tom about you. As much as I can without sounding insane.”

Merope’s smile tightened, a film of sadness clouding her eyes. “I know you’ll tell him what you
remember. Thank you, darling.”

Hermione blinked. What she remembered? But before she could voice her confusion Merope
nodded to the crowd.

“Go now or it’ll be too late.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, pacing backward and holding the grey stare as long as she could
before rejoining the battle. She navigated the fray with careful steps, slipping around grappling
bodies and leaping fallen corpses, nearly to the archway when golden hair appeared, stalling her
tracks. Lavender burst into the hall with a beaming grin, arms overflowing with weaponry. “I
brought toys!” She called loudly, winking at Hermione as she dropped her bounty to the floor with
a mighty clatter. “Gather round, children, pick your poison!” A handful of residents clustered
around the pile, eagerly picking through the sharp and bloodied offerings. Lavender gazed on
fondly, St. Nicholas spreading Christmas cheer to the good boys and girls.

“Where did you get all these?” Hermione asked, approaching the lethal selection.

The blonde tossed her hair and picked out a medieval morning-star, graciously handing it to a
wide-eyed young man with a spotted complexion. “Picked ‘em off some dead arseholes in the hall.
Seemed a shame to leave them there.”

A fit of childish laughter drew their attention. The catapult-crew celebrated another successful
launch, clapping one another on the backs and jumping excitedly, McLaggen’s boyish shouts of
victory ringing the loudest. His young comrades tittered as he mussed their hair in praise.

“Seems Cormac’s found a new hobby,” Hermione observed. “Along with a few new friends.”

“Thank god,” Lavender sighed. “Maybe now I can go more than ten minutes without having to pry
his head from between my thighs.”

Hermione raised a contemplative brow. "Imagine all the free time. You can finally take up
knitting."

“I suppose the needles can double as daggers in a pinch.” The feline gaze turned speculative.
“Going somewhere?”
Hermione stood firmer, humor fading in a heartbeat. “To see Ariana.”

Realization rippled across her friend’s features. “You’re leaving,” Lavender concluded. The silence
swelled like a balloon, its delicate shell burst by a morning-star swinging between their faces. They
staggered apart as the boy entrusted with the weapon was tackled to the ground. He emitted a string
of broken pleas, slapping desperately at his attacker and screaming outright when the man raised a
knife overhead.

Lavender rolled her eyes and reached inside her boot, extracting her hammer and driving it against
the fleshy mask in a fluid swing, the accompanying burst of orange light blinding onlookers for
several blinks. By the time Hermione’s sight recovered Lavender was kicking the body aside and
offering her hand to the stammering young man. “Why don’t you go help with the catapults?” She
suggested patiently, causing his blush to deepen and spread even as he nodded in adamant
agreement. Her gaze returned to Hermione but before she could speak Padma sprinted through the
archway, Mowgli on her shoulder and arms full of—

“I’ve got books!”

Hermione’s brow pinched at the jovial announcement, exchanging a bemused glance with
Lavender before gently addressing their newest arrival. “That’s great, Padma, but you’re better off
with something a bit sharper.”

Lavender leaned down and extracted a spiked mace from the dwindling pile. “Here, luv, try this on
for size.”

Padma shook her head. “Trust me, these pack a much stronger punch.” She carefully lowered the
stack without dislodging Mowgli. It was then Hermione noticed the state of the woman’s turquoise
gown; the vibrant silk covered in grey ash as though she’d been climbing through chimneys. She
quickly cast the speculation aside and watched her select a book off the top, holding it out.
Hermione set down her scythe and accepted the offering, curiosity piqued by the faded title. Then
she started opening the cover.

“Don’t!” Padma gasped, palm flattening over the front. Hermione stiffened, nearly dropping the
tome in her surprise. “Aim the pages at his soldiers,” the girl explained, hand sliding away.
Hermione exchanged another loaded glance with Lavender before facing the crowd and searching
for a suitable target, finding one quickly and raising the book with both hands. “Hold on tight,”
Padma muttered, bracing her feet apart while Mowgli closed his large eyes.

Hermione wetted her lips and followed the command, opening the cover with the pages faced out.
No sooner had she parted the spine than thorn-covered vines shot free, spiraling through the air
and slinking across the floor like serpents. She gaped in silence, fingertips turning white as the
book jerked wildly, vines spreading further, faster. "Watch out!" She called to nearby residents,
prompting them to glance back and shriek, scrambling away from the spiked tendrils. But two
faceless adversaries didn't see the threat or heed her warning, treading forward with nary a care.
The vines coiled around their ankles and winded up their legs like tentacles, fastening around their
waists and hauling them off their feet. They thrashed and clawed for purchase as the vines rapidly
retracted, pulling them towards the possessed book and a very speechless Hermione.

“It’s okay, just hold on,” Padma instructed with unshakable calm, gripping Hermione’s shoulder to
lend assurance to her words. Hermione dug in her heels, rocking hard as the vines began pulling
their captives into the pages, defying every law of physics known to man. Their limbs stretched
like rubber until they were easily squeezed through, bones dissolving and legs flopping. She locked
her arms at the elbows as the book hungrily devoured its meal, only their boots remaining. Another
hard jerk and those were gone, too. “Now!” Padma shouted.
Hermione snapped the cover shut and tipped sideways, steadied by her friends on either side.
Lavender stared at the tome with a mixture of awe and disbelief, lips silently parted. Hermione
mirrored her expression before turning her wonderment on the smirking Padma, Mowgli appearing
equally smug atop her shoulder.

“Told you,” the brunette stated.

Lavender grinned. “Brilliant as always, Patil.”

“Brilliant and deadly,” Hermione agreed, returning the book to its rightful mistress with a heavy
heart. “Hand them out to the others.”

Padma accepted the tome with questioning eyes before quickly solving the puzzle. “You’re going
back.”

Hermione’s pulse skipped erratically. Departing had been her primary objective since arriving, the
entire point of her visit. When she first fell through Grindelwald’s couch she expected to find
Ariana waiting for her at the bottom with the cure in hand. Never could she have anticipated the
battles ahead or the bonds she’d form with the women fighting alongside her. “If all goes according
to plan,” she replied, unable to mask the melancholy in her voice.

Padma nodded. “I guess I’ll see you on the other side then.”

The gentle reminder lessened the sharpness in her chest until she cast her gaze to the blonde on her
other side and the pain returned with a vengeance. Words piled in her throat, tamping down an
emotional outpour. "None of that," Lavender demanded, silencing anything Hermione might have
said. "Just go home and kill the evil bastard."

Hermione laughed at the abrupt and fitting farewell, yet before she could move a muscle a
thunderous roar swept the room, overpowering the cry of battle. She recognized the ominous
rumble at once, glancing at the entry wall seconds before it exploded. Screams and flying stones
filled the air, residents racing for cover as something massive pushed through the crumbling brick.
The dust slowly settled, revealing the hazy outline of a ship, rippling sails casting dark shadows
across the hall and its shocked occupants. Pounding footsteps hit the deck. Hermione tensed as a
flood of bodies emerged from the cargo hold, flesh-covered faces surrounding the rigging and
lining the stern.

She braced, waiting for them to leap the side of the vessel with weapons drawn. Instead, half a
dozen rope ladders were tossed over the handrail. The faceless invaders already scattered
throughout the entry hall abandoned their fights to flee for the mothership. Her lips parted,
rendered speechless as men ascended the ladders like crawling ants, their colleagues swarming the
deck and adjusting the sails. The Castle residents appeared equally shell-shocked, watching in
bewilderment as the steam-powered vessel released a heavy cloud of smoke and slowly reversed.
The toxic cloud spread, choking onlookers. Hermione coughed into her fist and waved her vision
clear as the ship pulled back, scraping across wreckage and felling loose bricks. The final soldier
reached the handrail and the ropes were pulled up, the engine roaring in farewell. Wind filled the
sails as it disengaged from the wall, leaving behind a gaping hole framing a sherbert-tinted sky.

The ship grew smaller and darker as it progressed towards the dual suns, black silhouette finally
swallowed by the swirling clouds. The rhythmic grinding of gears could still be heard several
minutes later until it too faded into the distance, leaving behind a perfect silence that encased the
hall in eerie absolution. The room’s inhabitants continued to stare at the opening, weapons clutched
tight as though awaiting the vessel’s sudden return. And then Cormac’s voice filled the void, the
first to recover from the mass-induced stupor. “The cowards tucked tail! We won!”
The hall exploded to life as though a curse had been lifted, cheers and joyous hollers creating a
deafening chorus. The children screamed the loudest, jumping in circles with McLaggen at their
center. Yet Hermione continued to watch the raspberry sky in dubious silence. Lavender and
Padma seemed to share in her doubt, flanking her like statues while the rest of the room danced in
triumph.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Lavender finally expressed aloud, barely audible over the celebration.
“We stood our ground but they could’ve done a lot more damage.”

“Maybe they’re bringing back reinforcements?” Padma suggested, sounding unconvinced.

Hermione exhaled slowly, eyes fixed steadily ahead. “I think it’s much worse.”

“Really?” Lavender glanced at her warily. “What do you mean?”

A frigid draft swept through the hall, shadows chasing its heels as the sky darkened to a deep
cabernet. The churning clouds slowed until stilling completely, turning the view as static as a
portrait background.

“He’s here,” Hermione muttered.

Lightning struck, the silver bolt filling the sky with a brilliant flash that illuminated the entire
room, earning everyone’s undivided attention. Voices tapered off, smiles turning brittle as another
bolt cut through the ruby backdrop, followed by a crash of thunder so intense it shook the floor. A
few people screamed while others shuffled back, eager to distance themselves from the angry sky.
The thunder gave way to a bone-rattling thump, each impact growing louder, drawing closer. The
room held its collective breath and strained to listen. The noise came from far below, something
massive shaking the ground with seismic tremors. It was directly under them now, centered
beneath their floating abode.

“Knock knock…” The masculine timber emanated from the hellish sky like the voice of God.
“Anyone home?”

Hermione’s mouth ran dry as a dark mass passed before the gaping hole in the wall, blocking its
meager light. The room erupted with terror as a massive eye appeared, inspecting the chaotic scene
at leisure until spotting her rigid form at its center.

“Ah, Ms. Granger.” The pupil dilated, swallowing a pale iris. “There you are.”

Draco scrubbed a hand over his face, heavy footfalls echoing off the cracked ceiling as he trudged
downstairs. A familiar sight awaited him at the bottom, though Theo's attention remained fixed to
the busted front door rather than the labored descent at his back. He looked as despondent as Draco
felt, and Draco knew at that moment they were plagued by the same crippling fear, albeit for
different people.

The realization was accompanied by a heavy burden of guilt. Draco wondered just how in the hell
he’d missed the obvious for so long. Theo had been acting differently for weeks, perhaps even
months, yet Draco had been too consumed with personal strife to pay his childhood mate a closer
eye. Hindsight made him feel like a fool. Each tense interaction, every cryptic statement and rapid
mood swing was finally brought into startling clarity and made one truth abundantly certain…
they’d both been plagued by heartache for a very long time.

Christ. Love was bloody awful.

"Seems neither of us is having an easy go of it," Draco announced, causing the man to jolt from his
stupor.

Theo turned, watching his friend’s steady approach, asking for no clarification. “How the hell do
other people make it look so easy?”

“They’ve settled.” Draco disembarked the final step with a sigh. “Nothing worth having is easy.”

His companion studied him anew. “Speaking of which, I thought Black was going to have to drag
you out of her room.”

“I don’t want to leave her side. But I won’t find the cure at Grimmauld.”

“You’re still going after Bella?”

“She’s the best bet we have. Or rather, the only bet.”

Theo tipped his head. “I’m just surprised. You were obsessed with finding Granger. Nothing else
mattered.”

Draco glanced away, plagued by images of Dawn and Padma, the veiled dolls awaiting auction and
the woman chained to her Master at Scotland Yard, the dark void in their eyes, helpless and
trapped. “This is about more than Hermione,” he uttered at length. “More than me. I see that now.”

The corner of Theo’s mouth lifted. “Not so young and dumb anymore.”

“Don’t tell Black. I won’t give the bastard the satisfaction.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

The words were spoken in jest but held a greater meaning at that moment, one Draco felt
compelled to make clear. "And yours is safe with me."

Theo’s smirk faded. “I know,” he replied simply, then effortlessly side-stepped topics. “I’ll come
with you.”

“What about your promise?”

“I didn’t cross my heart and hope to die. Besides, there’s plenty of people here to look after her.”
He lifted his chin, decision made. “You need me more. Potter will understand.”

Draco didn't waste any more time. "Let's go." He led the way across the marble, each tile framed
by blood-stained grout. Then horses brayed in the distance, carriage wheels grinding up the
pebbled drive. "Bloody hell, is my driver still here?" He swung the door with a careful hand,
mindful of ripping it off the hinges, and by the time he maneuvered it open a carriage was pulling
before the mansion, its sole occupant leaping down as the horses came to a stop.

Theo staggered back, exhaling swiftly before launching forward with a frustrated growl. “Where
the hell have you been? You said you’d be gone for a couple hours!”

“I followed up on a lead,” Potter replied without a hint of remorse, then paid his driver. Theo’s
eyes narrowed, primed for a row.

“Lead?” Draco asked first, propelled by the news. “On what?”

Potter turned to the house as the carriage pulled away. “Devil’s Breath. When did you get here?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Draco clipped. “What the hell is Devil’s Breath?” The annoying bastard
rolled his eyes and reached into his vest, extracting a vial of blue liquid that gleamed in the
moonlight. Draco inspected the contents with avid fascination, reaching for the bottle on instinct.
Potter shifted back, pocketing the item with a swift hand. Draco scowled. “Where did it come
from?”

“The Dollmaker’s private stores. Riddle brought it.”

He forced himself to remain unaffected. “What does it do?”

“Turns people into mindless shells,” Potter replied flatly. “At least for the short term.
Brainwashing takes care of the rest. I’m hunting down its source. Interested in tagging along?”

Theo shook his head. “You’re injured—”

“I’m fine,” Potter stated firmly, looking like the victim of a lightning strike. “I only came back to
check on Mione, then I’m headed out.”

Theo scoffed, gearing up for battle. Draco beat him to the punch once more. “Where?”

“Katherine Docks.”

He blinked, chest pulling tight. What were the chances? Certainly it was no coincidence. “That’s
just across the river from where I’m going.”

“Which is?”

“Bella’s secret abode.”

“What? Why does Bellatrix matter?”

Draco reared back. “Did you get kicked in the head by a horse tonight? She’s the Dollmaker’s
right-hand woman. She’ll know where he is.”

“Knowing is one thing, telling you is another. And that’s assuming she’s even there. The docks are
our first priority. He’ll need to make contact with his suppliers before fleeing.”

“You don’t know that,” Draco scathed. “I’m going to Bella’s.”

“You’re wasting time—”

“It’s mine to waste.”

“—and risking your life by going alone. Come with me to the dock and then we’ll swing by her
house.”

“Come with me to her house and then we’ll swing by the stupid fucking dock.”

Potter ground his teeth. “Think with your head, Malfoy.”

“As opposed to what?”

"Your hatred. I know you want to see Bellatrix in chains but there are more pressing concerns."

“That’s not what this is about—”

“—no idea what this drug is capable of—”

“—couldn’t care less about the bitch—”

“—need to get it off the bloody streets—”

“—a very real chance he’ll be there—”

“—our best hope at finding the fucker!”

“—ridiculous not to look for ourselves!”

“Shut up!” Theo shouted, effectively silencing them both. His head was tipped back, eyes fixed
upward. “Please tell me I’m hallucinating.”

Draco stiffened, following his gaze. Vertigo seized him by the throat, body swaying in time to his
heartbeat.

“Oh my god,” Potter whispered, proving it wasn’t merely a cruel trick of the moonlight.

A gust of wind swept past, ruffling their hair and catching Hermione’s billowing skirts. She
swayed precariously, perched atop the very edge of the roof, gaze set blankly ahead as moonlight
illuminated her pale figure. Draco held his breath, time slowing, pulse deafening.

She lifted her knee, foot extending over the two-story drop.

They shouted desperately, rendered mindless in shared panic. Potter recovered first, making a mad
dash for the front door and spurring Draco into action, Theo chasing at his back as they raced
inside.

Hermione swayed, lungs squeezed in a vice as the giant eye narrowed, her pale reflection centered
in its pupil. “Run,” she whispered hoarsely.

Lavender stood equally transfixed, unable to tear her gaze from the monstrous sight. “What?”

“Run!” Hermione repeated with a shout. It had the desired effect upon the speechless crowd, men
and women charging the archway in a frenzy. She grabbed Padma and pulled her out of the way
while Lavender sought shelter on the other side of the stampede.

Deep laughter filled the air as the eye lifted from view, wind whistling past the opening before a
giant arm swept inside, hand skimming the floor with black, jagged nails. The crowd grew more
urgent, shrill cries ringing off the walls as they pushed and pulled, desperate in their haste. The
hand carelessly flicked aside bodies in its path before grabbing a woman around the middle and
lifting her off the ground. She screamed and kicked, beating uselessly at the fist. Hermione
searched the ground for her scythe but couldn’t spot it amongst the grappling crowd. She grabbed
the discarded morning-star instead, chasing the arm as it rapidly withdrew from the gap. She
swung the weapon overhead and drove its spiked weight against the back of the hand. The wrist
jerked, fingers springing open as blood dripped from the wound, a disembodied hiss filling the air.
The girl fell to the ground in a sobbing heap. Hermione grabbed her by the arm and hauled her
upright, pushing her towards the archway without a word of comfort.

The bloodied hand formed a fist and pounded the ground just beside her. She scrambled back as it
lifted and moved, poised above a gaping man. Lavender darted forward, pushing him out the way
as the fist slammed down, causing them both to fall on their arses. The blonde started crawling
backward but the fist uncoiled and grabbed her by the leg, dragging her towards the opening.
Padma and Hermione rushed forward, leaping bodies and debris in their mad pursuit. Lavender
scrambled, teeth bared as she lost grip of her hammer. She was almost to the wall, moments away
from being hauled into the red sky. Hermione bit back a scream, lungs burning with the pressure.
And then there was a familiar flash of light and the girl dissolved in a rush, an enraged cat taking
her place. The bushy feline twisted in his grasp and turned feral, claws and teeth shredding his pale
flesh until the hand was desperately trying to shake her off.

“Little bitches!” He bellowed, managing to grip her lithe body between his thumb and forefinger
and flick her across the room like an errant crumb. He reached out blindly, blood dripping from his
fingertips as he grasped the first body he encountered, another flailing man. Hermione charged
with her weapon but the arm tore back in a blur of motion.

Padma fumbled with her book, dropping it twice before managing to get the cover open, vines
springing forth in an undulating tangle. Thorn-covered tendrils wrapped the giant wrist, tugging it
closer. The voice roared and the arm jerked back, snapping the vines as easily as rubber bands.
They squealed like dying animals and scurried back inside the book, slamming the cover shut
beyond Padma’s control as the hand pulled free of the wall with its hostage in tow. Hermione raced
to the opening, clutching broken stones along the edge to avoid falling over the side, rendered
speechless at the scene before her.

The Dollmaker stood a hundred meters high, visible from the shoulders up as though emerging
from the clouds. But, much like Bella, this Wonderland embodiment didn't quite match the real-
world version. His normally pristine hair was a rumpled mess, brown flecked with silver. His face
appeared younger as well, bordering on handsome, though the effect was dulled by the heavy black
stitching holding his flesh together like cloth. A diagonal seam ran from temple to jawline, another
from the corner of his mouth down his neck. His clothing was tattered and singed, heavily patched
with the same thick black threading. And yet, despite his ragged toy appearance, his movements
remained fluid and life-like as he lifted his captive by the ankle and inspected him upside-down,
scowling deeply. Her heart seized as the man was carelessly discarded over the massive shoulder
like a flimsy doll, body careening through the red sky before disappearing under the clouds.

“No!” She screamed, face stricken as the Dollmaker turned his sights on her. The suns burned
brightly behind his head, creating a sinister halo that cast his face into shadow. But the gleam of
his smile was unmistakable, even in darkness.

“You’ve been wreaking havoc through my land.” The rumbling cadence caressed her skin like
claws.

“Wonderland isn’t yours,” she called into the red void. “You’re nothing but an infestation, a weed I
intend to exterminate.”

Laughter vibrated the clouds like thunder. “I must say, I’ve never looked forward to killing
someone quite so much.”

“The feeling’s wholly mutual.”

His amusement turned bitter, voice following suit. “You won’t be leaving this place alive, my dear.
That I promise you.”

“We’ll see.” She stepped back, eyes glinting from the shadows. “Afterall, you have to catch me
first.”

Lightning danced across the sky in spiraling ribbons as she sprinted across the floor, his answering
growl pricking at her heels.

Harry led the charge upstairs until a stabbing pain in his side slowed his steps, allowing Draco to
outpace him on the landing. He clutched the banister and gripped his ribs, biting back a hiss. Theo
grasped his shoulder but he shrugged off the comforting touch, pushing on with determination.
They were halfway down the hall when Sirius popped his head out, eyes bleary and voice
thickened by sleep. "Harry? Thought I heard a carriage—" The trio darted past, causing him to
straighten with alert. "Let me guess: another life or death crisis?"

“Granger’s on the roof,” Theo stated simply.

Sirius took after them like a shot. “What? How in the hell—” His eyes narrowed on the blonde
head leading their brigade. “Malfoy, you stupid little shite!”

Draco rounded the corner with a scowl. “I put her binds back on!”

“Obviously not tight enough!” Harry scathed.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Theo spoke, ever the voice of reason. “We need to figure out how to get
her down—”

“Get who down?” A feminine voice inquired. Harry glanced over his shoulder as Parvati exited her
bedroom and chased after them. They burst into Regulus’s bedroom a moment later, the bed
glaringly empty. “Oh my god,” Parvati whispered. “Where is she?”

Draco was already at the open window, pushing aside its sheer curtain and gazing into the dark
night. Harry elbowed him aside and stuck his head through, barely able to see the hem of her gown
as it lifted in the breeze. She must have crept along the decorative trim like a tightrope, clinging to
the side of the house until reaching the lower portion of the roof. He couldn’t begin to guess her
motivations and wouldn’t waste time trying. He started climbing through. Draco shared the same
idea, their long limbs wedging in the frame as they adorned matching grimaces.

“You can’t both go!” Theo stated in a tone suggesting they were idiots. He gripped Harry’s
shoulder and hauled him back, indifferent to his biting snarl.

“He’s right,” Sirius agreed. “She’s not thinking clearly, if you overwhelm her she’s likely to lose
her balance or jump outright.”

“I’ll go,” Draco and Harry declared simultaneously, quickly rounding on each other.

“You can barely lift your arms, moron,” the blonde challenged. “How the hell are you planning to
wrangle her inside?”

Harry clenched his teeth, ready to stand his ground—

“Let him go, Harry.”

He stiffened, flashing an accusing glance over his shoulder.

“If you love her you’ll stand aside and stop wasting time,” Theo continued calmly. Harry deflated
beneath the weight of the sapphire gaze. Draco saw the defeat in his posture and easily pushed him
aside.

“What's going on?” Neville asked, entering the bedroom with a yawn.
“Jesus Christ,” Draco snapped, shrugging out of his coat. “Are we selling tickets to the show?”

“Don’t mind him, Nev,” Sirius assured with a pointed glare. “Little Drake’s just feeling the
crushing guilt of letting the kitten slip her cage.”

Parvati turned on the blonde in a blaze of fury. “You let her out?”

“I didn’t let her any—”

“Is everything alright?” Hannah asked softly, wandering in behind Neville.

Draco threw his jacket on the floor in a grand display of stupidity. “Will someone lock that bloody
door!”

“Enough!” Harry shouted, fighting through the throbbing agony in his side. “Malfoy, get the fuck
out there or stand aside!”

“Bloody hell,” the blonde hissed, turning to brace the frame with both hands.

“Wait!” Neville called, earning their collective gaze. “You need a safety rope.”

“What a marvelous suggestion, Longbottom.” Draco swung a leg over the sill. “I don’t suppose
you have one stored up your arse you can whip out at a moment's notice?”

Neville clenched his fists, neck and cheeks reddening. He started to speak but Hannah silenced him
with a hand on his arm, addressing the blond aristocrat in his stead. “I’m not certain what’s going
on, but if you’re thinking of heading onto the roof a safety rope is a wise precaution.”

Draco shot her a withering glare, another cutting remark poised on his tongue. Parvati responded
first, undeterred by his rising hostility. “There isn't time, Hannah. Mione’s on the edge, she could
fall any second.”

“Which side?” The young woman asked, stuttering Harry’s thoughts. “Which side is she on?” She
repeated with force, walking towards the window.

Harry moved out of her way. “East.”

“What does it matter?” Draco snapped, eyes narrowing as she leaned past him to inspect the side of
the building.

"The ledge can support ten stones weight at most," she stated evenly, eyes fixed to the brick,
"assuming its structural integrity wasn't weakened by the blow. Either way, you're too heavy to
walk the perimeter so you'll have to climb." Draco blinked as she pulled back and met his gaze with
confidence and poise. "When you reach the buttress you can cross it like a balance beam and scale
down the pier, or you can descend the clerestory wall to the triforium. However, that section of the
roof isn't reinforced so if you step between the beams you'll most certainly fall through. Which
also means if you fall off the buttress and land atop the triforium you'll plummet to your death."

Stunned silence permeated the room. Harry broke it first. “Get a safety rope.”

“There still isn’t time,” Draco argued, tone lacking the acidic bite from moments ago. “I’ll be
careful—”

“You’ll have Mione in tow on the way back, you can transfer the rope to her and break your neck
for all I care.”
Malfoy’s jaw ticked. “Fine.” He swung his leg back over, stepping away from the window. “Get
me a goddamn rope. Fast.”

“There’s one in storage,” Sirius replied, already en route to the door. “Nev, help me haul it up.”
Neville quickly followed him out, both men breaking into a run.

Harry dragged a hand over his face, skin crawling from the inactivity, the helplessness. Draco
seemed similarly affected as they stared forlornly at the window, silently counting the seconds.
And then a faint noise drifted in, causing them both to stiffen. “Do you hear that?” Harry muttered.

Draco tilted his head. “It’s her.”

“What’s she saying?” Parvati asked, moving closer.

Harry braced the edge of the frame and held his breath, listening carefully. “I think…” He turned
to the group, all eyes upon him. “... she’s rhyming.”

Hermione tore around the corner, body kept aloft solely by adrenaline. She navigated the empty
halls with questionable memory and sheer luck, praying Ariana was ready for her. Time was up
regardless.

The Dollmaker’s rumbling laughter chased her at every turn, radiating through the ceiling and
making it impossible to discern his location. It was only after she heard the distant crash of stone
she realized he was punching holes through the retaining walls, destroying the Castle from the
outside in. She slowed to a stop, breathing hard and gathering her hair in both hands, lifting it off
her neck and trying to think. The residents were being evacuated through the courtyard, she had to
buy them time. There was only one thing for it.

She’d have to act as bait. Again.

Bloody hell. She dropped her hair with a huff, shoulders slanting down. I may as well be a worm on
a hook at this point. She inhaled sharply, intending to holler for his attention, stalling her attempt as
muffled screams rang out. He was close to the courtyard. He’ll tear them apart with his bare
hands. She pressed her hands to her temples. Do something! Now!

“Polly, Pretty Polly, please come with me,” she recited loudly, grasping the first random thought
off the nonsensical pile, “before we get married there’s so much to see. She got up behind him and
away they did go, over hills and mountains into valleys so low.”

His ominous laughter cut off abruptly. She wet her lips and stared at the ceiling, tense with
anticipation.

“They rode a bit further and what did she spy? A newly-dug grave with a spade lying by.”

“Stupid, selfish child…” The deep timber rattled her bones, vibrating the golden tile. “There’s no
escaping me.”

“Polly, Pretty Polly, would you think me unkind to sit down beside you and tell you my mind?”
She resumed her quick pace through the corridors. “My mind is to marry and never to part, for the
first time I saw you it wounded my heart.”

“I rule Wonderland and everything in it,” he growled, the declaration triggering a tar-like substance
to ooze from the molding, running down the walls in thick rivulets, knocking portraits from their
hooks. Others were swallowed by the corrosive sludge, painted subjects fleeing their frames in
silent terror. “You’re already mine.”

"But to keep you forever I must keep you here, there's no use in crying and no use in fear." A
staircase waited around the next bend. She quickly ascended, panting with exertion. "Peter, dear
Peter, please spare me my life! But deep in her bosom he plunged his sharp knife." She reached the
upper-level seconds before a monstrous growl emanated from above. The walls trembled as a
portion of the ceiling ripped away like tissue paper, massive stones raining down. She ran for
cover beneath an alcove, shielding her head and shouting through the destruction. "He stabbed
through her heart and her blood it did flow, then into the grave Pretty Polly did go!"

“Stop that incessant ballad!” He roared, sticking his arm through the hole and feeling blindly,
jagged nails scraping the gemstone floor.

She lowered her arms as the rubble settled, carefully side-stepping the searching hand and sprinting
for the archway. “He threw flowers beside her and turned to go home, and into the darkness her
voice it did moan: Mother warned me, dear Peter, she saw evil in your eyes. So she told me, dear
Peter, to pack a pistol last night.”

The arm retracted, his snarling visage taking its place, the red sky reflected in his eyes. She met the
demonic gaze and smiled, eagerly concluding her tale.

“Peter turned with his dagger and Polly pulled out her gun, she shot through his heart and his blood
it did run. In the grave dug for Polly is where Peter fell. Now he lies just beside her while his soul
burns in hell.”

He bared his teeth and smashed both fists through the roof, caving in the stairs and reducing the
wing to rubble. Hermione ducked into the empty corridor and laughed, confident she had his
attention for the remainder of her stay.

“Come on!” Lavender shouted, waving the next in line forward. “Hurry!”

A young woman stared at the lip of the saucer with trepidation. “It’s alright,” Merope coaxed,
gently leading her towards the stack. “They’re perfectly safe.”

The girl bit her lip, inspecting the porcelain surface with care. “Are you su—!” Her words careened
into a startled shriek as Lavender pushed squarely between her shoulder blades and toppled her
onto the saucer.

“Off you go!” The blonde dismissed impatiently, already waving the next in line along. The girl
scrambled for purchase as the plate began to levitate, gliding smoothly into procession with the
other floating dishes.

“Lavender!” Merope hissed.

Lavender ushered a man onto the next saucer, unphased by the sharp admonishment. "There isn't
time to coddle," she explained tersely, signaling to a young woman standing nearby. "Come on!
There's room for one more!" Her feline gaze narrowed as the girl slowly shuffled forward.
"Mione's risking her neck keeping that bastard distracted, the sooner we empty the Castle the
sooner I can help her."

“I’m coming with you,” Padma called from the next row, assisting children into the teacups. Other
adults helped her along, Dawn included.

Lavender shook her head. “No, they need you to lead them through the maze. You too, Dawn. It’s
too many for Padma to herd by herself.” Her friends exchanged looks of reluctance. She took a
steadying breath, affecting as light a tone as her nerves would allow. “It’s okay. I just have to vex
him long enough for Mione to get to the portal.” Her lips quirked. “I can be quite vexing.”

“No one can argue that,” Merope readily agreed. “But I’m tagging along all the same.”

Lavender turned, meeting the woman’s steadfast gaze with a nod.

“Tagging along?” Cormac parroted, materializing from the crowd to torture her. “Tagging where?”
She opened and closed her mouth, his accusing tone seizing her with inexplicable guilt. “You can’t
seriously be thinking of going back inside!” He fumed.

“Cormac—”

"The bloody Castle's falling apart! Look at it!" He gestured to the trembling structure at their
backs, chunks of rock wall crumbling like sand. "It'll be a miracle if we can evacuate everyone in
time!"

“Hermione needs my help.”

"No, she doesn't. Between her giant brain and penchant for violence, she's perfectly capable of
finding the bloody portal by herself."

She grasped his shoulder. “Get to the maze, help the others—”

“This isn’t about me!” He shrugged off her hand and grabbed her arms, pulling her into his body.
“Lav, don’t go back inside.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not asking for permission.”

“And I’m not forbidding. I’m begging. Please come with us.” He swallowed thickly. “With me.”

Her expression softened. “Cormac, the worst that can happen has already happened. To both of us.”
She overlaid her palms on his chest and pushed back. “I’ll meet you on the ground when all this is
finished.”

His jaw ticked, hands falling away. “You could wind up in limbo.”

"Then I'll count on you to lead me out." She leaned up to peck him on the lips. "Help them board
the saucers." He sighed with resignation, letting her go at last. She turned to Merope. "Ready?" She
prompted, starting forward at the woman's firm nod. And then a shocking yelp caused her to spin
back around, halfway to her hammer when she spotted the source of Merope's distress.

Mowgli was perched upon her shoulder, blinking innocently at her pinched expression. Lavender
straightened, smirking at the pair. “Trust me, he’s handy in a fight.” She tipped her chin to the
Castle, resuming her quick path inside. “Let’s go.”

Black oil seeped from the walls, corrosive and thick, acid burning through the paneling. It
appeared in every hall Hermione entered, rolling over baseboards and pooling at the center,
flowing through the corridors like a sentient river. The Dollmaker’s feral growl wasn’t far behind,
rising in pitch after she lost him three turns ago, doubling-back in the hopes of buying herself a few
uninterrupted minutes with Ariana. He continued punching holes through the brick in his
murderous pursuit, a frustrated shout following every ground-shaking explosion. Hermione silently
prayed the residents had made it out in time and that Padma had followed. They stood no chance of
navigating the maze without her.

The throne room appeared around the next turn. She sent a second prayer of thanks to whatever
omniscient power was watching her misfortune unfold and sprinted ahead with renewed purpose,
throwing the doors wide on a surge of adrenaline and rushing in. No sooner had she crossed the
threshold than she was staggering sideways with her hands raised, desperately shielding her eyes
from a powerful beam of blue light. The room was flooded with it, her senses overcome, but her
pulse soon settled and her vision adjusted, allowing Hermione to pinpoint the source of the
brightness.

A large portal of swirling light hovered in the corner, emitting sound like a massive wind-tunnel,
though neighboring objects remained still and unaffected. The glow was mesmerizing, crystal blue
and aquamarine rapidly circling a silver core. The vortex reminded her of the green dice except she
couldn't see what dwelled on the other side, the mystery of the unknown making it all the more
terrifying despite its beauty. It was then Hermione realized she couldn't see the woman responsible
for its creation.

“Ariana?” She called into the vaulted space, quickly pacing inside. Prisms from the skylight
danced across her blue-tinged flesh like colorful fish in a sea. The clock ticked loudly overhead.
She gazed up, noting the position of the metal hands. Five minutes to twelve. “Ariana!”

Labored breathing could be heard near the portal. Her focus darted to the garden, pale skin peeking
out between the leaves. She raced closer, pushing aside stalks and branches before lowering beside
the unconscious figure in the soil. Ariana’s visage was pallid and gaunt, more ghoulish than her
ghostly counterpart.

“Oh my god,” Hermione whispered, pushing blonde hair from her waxen face. She felt cool to the
touch, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. “Shite.” Hermione’s fingers were stiff and clumsy
as she gripped the young woman by the shoulders and gently shook her. “Please wake up,” she
begged. Ariana furrowed her brow, pale lips moving soundlessly. Hermione inhaled sharply.
“Ariana!” Her grip tightened as she rested her thighs beneath the girl’s back to prop her head up.
The jostling movement caused her to stir, bruised lids fluttering open. “Ariana, can you hear me?”

The woman in question blinked, meeting Hermione’s upside-down stare with a dazed look.
“Hermione…”

Hermione nodded eagerly, tucking a fallen curl behind her ear. “I’m here.”

“The Jabberwocky…”

“We took care of it,” Hermione assured, struggling to keep the mounting hysteria out of her voice.
“Then the Dollmaker took its place, he’s destroying the Castle.” Ariana stiffened, deep blue gaze
sharpening. “The residents are being evacuated,” Hermione continued. “I led him on a winding
path but it won’t be long before he finds me.”

Her companion glanced around, eyes lingering on a bushel of magenta buttercups drooping
overhead. “I… must have fainted.”

“You’re in the garden,” Hermione confirmed. “Were you trying to transform?”

The Queen shook her head and rubbed at her throat. “I was getting water.” She attempted to sit,
cringing with the effort and clutching her head.

Hermione steadied her. “Stay here,” she instructed, rising swiftly and searching the glittering
terrain. It was easy to spot the magnificent Fabergé egg perched on a nearby pedestal, beckoning
her closer. The enamel shell was decorated with golden beads and faceted emeralds, the pain-
staking detail so breathtaking she almost felt guilty touching it.

Almost.

Her fingers twitched before carefully tipping back its lid. The hinges bent with a click, revealing a
solid gold interior and chestnut-sized diamond nestled at the center. She extracted the priceless
gem and set it aside with nary a thought, taking the egg from its stand and rushing to the cascading
wall of water. Cool liquid splashed across her front as she held the base beneath the raging fall,
filling it to the brim. Then she was jogging to Ariana’s side and lowering the golden chalice to her
trembling grasp.

“Thank you,” the blonde whispered hoarsely, taking an eager sip. Hermione chewed the inside of
her cheek as she watched her companion gulp down the contents, certain she’d burst through her
skin with impatience. Time was fleeting, each second precious. But she couldn’t bring herself to
voice such concerns aloud. Ariana was Wonderland’s protector, driven to such a state in her
attempt to help Hermione escape. She needed no reminder of the stakes. The young woman
glanced up a moment later, smiling softly. “Let’s get you home.”

Hermione nodded her adamant agreement and offered a helping hand, fingers tightening when her
host swayed precariously. “Ariana?”

“I’m quite alright,” the blonde assured, pulling free of her grasp. “Just a bit light-headed, nothing
to worry about.”

Hermione wasn't so sure. The young Queen looked frightfully drained, pulsing blue light
magnified in her chalky pallor. The swirling glow throbbed like a heartbeat and suddenly
Hermione understood. "The portal is siphoning your strength…" Her expression tensed. "It's killing
you."

Ariana grinned faintly, strained by the effort. “It’s a cause worth dying for, as you well know.”

Yes, she did. Still, Hermione wasn’t certain Wonderland could survive losing its chosen sovereign.
“What happens if…” She swallowed thickly, unable to voice the possibility aloud. “Will you go to
limbo?” She inquired instead.

“I honestly don’t know,” Ariana replied breezily, even as she tipped sideways, steadied with
Hermione’s assistance. “Nor am I terribly concerned. Protecting Wonderland is my entire purpose
for being. I’ll do whatever it takes to accomplish that task.”

Hermione took a deep breath, nodding resolutely. “I understand.”

The portal hissed at her back, light flickering while its sputtering grew. Ariana cringed, clutching
either side of her head. “It’s becoming unstable, I can’t control it much longer.”

“Tell me the cure,” Hermione urged, heart skipping as the blonde began to speak— but the words
were drowned out by a deafening chime. They jolted, glancing to the clock. Both hands pointed to
the massive ruby at top. Twelve. The mind-numbing ring continued to count down. To what,
Hermione hadn’t the faintest clue, but she had a strong inclination it wasn’t good. She reached
forward, gripping Ariana’s shoulders and earning her tired gaze. “Hurry. The cure.”

The blonde nodded, speaking above the rhythmic chime. “You need to—”

A dark mass passed above the skylight, smothering the prisms and bathing the room in shadow.
They glanced up, mouths parting wide as a massive fist filled the glass. Hermione pulled Ariana to
the wall as the hand burst through, shattering the kaleidoscope in an explosion of noise. Shards of
every size rained down, pointed and lethal, smashing against the floor and scattering like crystal
raindrops. The Dollmaker’s enraged face appeared in the opening, casting a menacing glance over
the room and baring his teeth when he spotted Hermione. And then his gaze flickered to the
ethereal blonde at her side and his expression morphed into something far more unsettling… love
and hatred, anger and longing, the amalgamation pulling taut the black stitching holding his flesh
together.

“Ari,” he breathed, voice haunted by a lifetime of unrequited obsession.

The object of his desire pushed off the wall and carefully paced forward. Hermione tried to reach
for her but the young woman signaled for her to stay put, bare feet crunching broken glass. Bloody
footprints marked her path until she stood directly beneath the broken skylight, holding his dark
stare with effortless calm. "Hello, Gellert."

Draco scowled, smacking Longbottom's hand from his waist. "For Christ's sake, how long does it
take to tie a bloody knot?"

The bumbling idiot shot him a withering glare before stepping back and tossing Draco the spare
end of the rope. “Make sure to get this around Hermione, then feel free to take the scenic route
down.”

“Yes, everyone is keen on seeing me swan-dive off the chimney, I’m well aware. Now move.”

Potter ignored the demand and crossed his arms, blocking the window. “Don’t rush her—”

“I know,” Draco snapped, trying to navigate around the human impediment.

“She’s not herself—”

“I know.”

Potter mirrored his expression. “Then get out there.”

“Bloody imbecile,” Draco growled, shouldering him aside at last. He gripped the edge of the pane
as Theo, Black, and Longbottom took hold of the rope, forming a procession. He sat on the frame
and fed his legs over the side, carefully toeing the ledge below.

“Remember Hannah’s warning,” Parvati instructed, hovering beside the curtain.

Draco clenched his teeth, trying to concentrate. “How could I forget?”

“Don’t put your weight on the ledge,” she stated anyway, basking in his annoyance. He ignored her
words, searching out Hermione. She stood in the same spot, staring at the dark treeline bordering
the property. A cloud passed before the full moon, dimming her otherworldly glow. He sighed
deeply and turned his attention to the bricks, searching for decent a handhold before beginning his
slow and arduous ascent. The rope chafed his waist with every movement but he felt distinctly
grateful for its pretense. Still, he’d rather crack his head open on the stone below than admit such
thoughts aloud.

His breathing hitched as he stepped off the ledge and clung to the wall like a cat with its claws in
the curtain, limbs locked tight, fear holding him immobile. And then Hermione’s soft murmur
drifted over the swooping rooftop and imbued him with a fresh bolt of adrenaline. His jaw ticked,
fingers sliding higher, feeling the shape of the bricks before finding his grip and stepping up. On
and on it went, determination driving each motion until the buttress was within reach. He slung his
arm over the top and hauled himself onto the ledge with a low grunt, shoulders burning with
fatigue as he tried to catch his breath. Her feminine hum drew his focus, prompting him onto his
hands and knees. She remained in the same spot but the rope prevented further progress. He
scowled, giving it two quick tugs for more slack.

Potter stuck his head out of the window, ghastly hair sticking in every direction. “He’s made it to
the buttress!”

Draco wiped the sweat from his eyes as more rope was fed through. Hermione remained centered
in his visual, swaying between the gargoyles as he crawled the narrow ledge. He reached the
clerestory wall within a few moments and carefully climbed onto the brick. But the moment his
weight settled his foot slipped, hands clawing the mortar as he slid to the nave rooftop. His foot
broke through the thin covering, fire shooting up his calf, rope cutting into his waist. “Shite!” He
hissed, leaning into the wall to relieve the roof of his weight. Hermione stiffened, glancing over her
shoulder as he pulled his foot free, broken tiles tumbling down the incline and spilling off the
edge.

“Malfoy!” Potter yelled.

Draco turned from the wall with an agonizing growl. “I’m fine!”

His ankle screamed in retaliation when he tried stepping forward. Goddammit. He shook his head,
glancing up, but the space between the gargoyles stood empty. Terror flooded his system,
overriding the pain.“Hermione!” He shouted into the night, heart galloping wildly as he lurched
forward without thought and stepped between the stone ribbing. His breath cut short as the shingles
cracked, collapsing onto the flimsy wood frame beneath. He glanced down, watching a line form
around his feet like a crack in a frozen lake. “Fuck,” he muttered simply.

And then the bottom dropped out, Draco plummeting with it.

The decorative molding cut painfully into Hermione’s spine as she watched the eye of the storm
circle above, the eerie stillness foretelling great violence to come.

“Hello Gellert,” Ariana greeted serenely, her unshakable calm prodding at Hermione’s sanity.

The Dollmaker lifted a hand to his face, tracing its heavy stitching with bloody fingertips. “You
must forgive my appearance,” he uttered lowly. “The years have not been kind to me. And now I
see why; they’ve paid all their favor to you.” Hunger burned in his gaze, deepening his voice. “You
look beautiful, Ari. As always.”

“Wonderland gives as it receives,” she replied evenly. “If you drench it with poison it will bestow
the same unto you.”

His smile reflected the churning sky, teeth glinting red. “I provide much-needed structure to a
lawless dreamscape. Safety and reason where there was only violence and insanity. I single-
handedly stopped Wonderland from destroying itself.”

“By subjugating its people,” she summarized curtly.

“By demanding loyalty and respect, as any good leader should.”

Hermione bit her lip, watching the exchange as closely as Grindelwald watched Ariana. The young
Queen garnered every ounce of his attention, turning Hermione into nothing more than a
background shadow. She seized the opportunity by rising on tip-toes, fingertips skimming the wall
as she crept towards the portal.

“A good leader is loved, not feared,” Ariana challenged.

Patronizing laughter rolled like thunder from above. “You know very little of the world, my dear.”

“That once was true,” she acceded with a tilt of her head, pale hair spilling down her shoulder,
drawing his feral gaze. “And then I endured far too much of the world for one lifetime. But none of
those lessons live here. Wonderland has always been a part of me, and I part of it.”

He swallowed thickly, entranced by the play of light across the white-blonde strands. “Just as
you’re a part of me.”

“You possess no piece of me.”

His eyes snapped up, narrowing at the rebuke. “Of course I do. How else could I have found you
here? How else could we stand together, even in death? Your soul called and I answered.”

“You are mistaken,” she stated simply. The grind of teeth echoed off the vaulted ceiling, making
Hermione cringe. She was halfway to her destination, concentration wavering between the swirling
blue vortex and rapid-fire exchange unfolding at her front.

“Why do you deny it?” He demanded. “There’s no shame in what we shared, no truth in the
vicious lies Albus concocted to tear us apart.”

“The only one appearing torn is you.”

Ariana’s serene disposition only served to agitate him further. He placed a palm over his cheek,
hiding the stitching from view. “Because this wretched land has turned on me! Just as your
heartless brother set you against me!”

“I jumped long before speaking with Albus. I knew he’d never reach London in time to save me.”

“Save you?”

Hermione paused beside a crystal sculpture to grant the conversation her full attention, unable to
look away.

“I cared for you once, Gellert,” Ariana began slowly, as though choosing each word carefully.
“Deeply and truly, without condition or expectation. But it was never the love you so desperately
craved, the love you demanded.” She folded her hands over her voluminous skirts. Hermione
exhaled slowly, watching the color drain from his complexion with each word, black thread
standing in stark relief. “I was flattered by your adoration, and then I was terrified of it. I never
wanted to be the object of such desire. And I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life pretending to
share in those feelings for the trivial sake of survival. I jumped, Gellert, to rid myself of you.”

Silence permeated the room like a toxic cloud. Hermione stood in rigid stillness, waiting for all
hell to break loose, but Ariana remained perfectly indifferent to the dangerous tension thickening
the air.

“I…” He muttered after a short eternity. “That doesn’t—” His features darkened. “I came here for
you! Everything I’ve ever done has been for you!”
“You kidnapped and enslaved countless men and women for your own twisted pleasure.”

“That wasn’t me, that was Him! I’ve been here all this time, trapped and decaying, waiting for you
to come out of your bloody Castle!”

“And therein lies your biggest mistake,” her tone sharpened at last, the air pressure changing with
it. “Wonderland provides for those it invites. But you’re an intruder. A trespasser. You’ve violated
the natural order of things and now it’s time for you to go.”

Movement drew Hermione’s gaze to the opposite wall. Black oil oozed from the ceiling, rolling
down in thick rivulets. She craned her neck, spotting the corrosive tar above her head and pushing
away from the wall just in time, watching it drip to the floor with a smoking hiss, eating through
the gemstone. She glanced to Ariana, intent on warning her, but her focus was stolen away by the
Dollmaker’s grotesque transformation. Gleaming tar poured from his mouth and spilled past his
chin, dripping through the broken skylight in tacky strings. Ariana calmly stepped aside as his eyes
turned black, oil seeping from the corners like tears, running along his stitching and off his jaw,
joining the growing pool on the floor.

Hermione staggered forward, intent on pulling the blonde away, but the sludge moved as though
alive, cutting off her path by forming a circular moat around the girl. Her pulse thrummed as she
searched the room for some means of assistance.

“Hermione!”

She gasped at the familiar voice, glancing to the portal in disbelief. “Draco?” She whispered,
wondering if she imagined the outburst. And then her surroundings fell unnaturally quiet and still,
drawing her gaze up. The Dollmaker’s horrifying countenance was fixed upon her. “The fairer sex
indeed,” he hissed like a viper, oil oozing thicker, faster, propelled by his rising ire. “Treacherous
liars, the lot of you.”

Hermione glanced to Ariana, calling desperately. “Tell me the cure!”

“Enough!” He roared, reaching down and backhanding the blonde sideways. Ariana went airborne,
too weak to coordinate her fall as she skidded into the garden, uprooting flowers and ferns before
rolling to a halt at its leafy center. Her body remained twisted in a motionless heap as the portal
squealed, blue light strobing frantically.

The Dollmaker set to work tearing a wider hole in the ceiling, debris raining down like
cannonballs. Hermione darted for the garden while dodging falling stones when a massive hand
reached down. She ducked out of its path only to slip in a pool of oil, falling on her bum and
scrambling for purchase as monstrous fingers seized her ankle.

“As I said…” He dragged her through the rubble and sludge before lifting her off the ground
entirely, watching her claw desperately at the air with a cruel grin. “You won’t be leaving this
place alive.”

Draco’s breath escaped in a strangled shout, lost to the wind rushing past his face as he hurtled
down the two-story drop. He closed his eyes, braced for a bone-crushing impact that never came.
Instead, it felt as though he was being cut in half, the rope pulling tight and halting his plunge
halfway to the marble floor. He rotated slowly, legs dangling in the open-air as he clutched the rope
and struggled to breathe, certain his heart would explode.

Distant shouts drifted through the hole in the ceiling, lost to the surge of blood in his ears. He
swallowed thickly, staring at chunks of roofing on the ground as the men started hauling him up
one jerking tug as a time. He leaned his forehead against the rope, erratic pulse settled by the time
he reached the opening, hands fumbling for purchase as he grasped the edge and pulled, feet
scrambling over the side, lungs pumping with exertion.

“I’ve got it,” he muttered, coughing into his fist. The rope continued to draw tight, dragging him
over the slanted roof. “Stop!” He yelled, gritting his teeth as the tension eased.

“What the hell happened?” Potter called.

“What the hell do you think?” Draco snapped, then blinked as something wet hit the side of his
face. He glanced to the black sky, realizing for the first time he couldn’t see a single star. Thunder
rolled in the distance, raindrops dripping across the stone in a relentless patter. “For fuck’s sake…”
He cast a sweeping glance along the edge of the roof, no brainwashed women in sight.
“Hermione?” He rolled to his knees, carefully positioning his feet atop the beams and rising. His
sprained ankle throbbed in time to his heart but adrenaline curbed the worst of the pain. The rain
fell faster, louder. He formed a megaphone with his hands. “Hermione!”

Nothing.

He navigated the incline with quick, nervous steps, checking his momentum against a gargoyle and
clutching its wings for balance as he peeked over the side of the roof, unsure how to prepare
himself for the sight of Hermione's twisted corpse. Rain glistened across the decorative stones,
moonlight turning the lawn into a rippling sea. But no broken body lay atop its surface, beckoning
such a powerful surge of relief he nearly toppled over, leaning into the sculpture to stay upright.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of white. He whipped his head around to find
Hermione tiptoeing along the edge of the pier, damp skirt clinging to the brick. He pushed off from
the gargoyle and began to follow, the rope jerking him to a halt after only a few steps. He pulled
twice but instead of slack, he received Theo's frustrating announcement.

“We’re out!”

Draco rubbed his brow, rain dripping down his nape and soaking his collar. Getting the rope
around her waist was a priority. He watched her edge further and further away, nearly to the corner
where she’d certainly change direction and slip out of sight. “Please,” he breathed, body pulsing
with every heartbeat as he called over the rain. “Hermione Granger!”

She stepped off the ledge and onto the roof, glancing over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” He yelled.

She tilted her head, hair glistening with rain. “To the blue light.”

Draco blinked at the unexpected response. “What light?”

“It’s dimming.”

He hadn’t the faintest bloody clue what she was on about. And as her eyes started to drift, he
suspected she didn’t either. No matter. He’d gotten her attention, and most importantly, he’d gotten
her to stand still. Now to keep her distracted long enough to reach her side. “It sounds… beautiful,”
he offered, fumbling with the knot around his waist. “I’d like to see. Will you show me?”

Her eyes flitted to him, flat and lifeless.

“Stay there,” he instructed, forcing his tone to remain unaffected. “I’ll come to you and we can
look at it together.” The knot refused to budge, the complicated loop alluding his frazzled mind and
rain-slick fingers. Fucking Longbottom. Panic set in when she turned away. “Do you want to know
a secret?” He called desperately, heart battering his ribs as she rocked to a hard-stop and gazed
back a second time.

“Secret?” Her voice held a familiar curiosity that tightened his stomach. He continued to struggle
blindly with the rope, holding her gaze over the snarling gargoyle head.

“Yes. I made a vow I’d tell you once we were reunited. But when I found you in the woods I came
up short yet again.” He felt a portion of the knot loosen, hope restored. “Then I meant to tell you at
Grimmauld but I started a row and stormed out instead. Terribly clever, aren’t I?” He unfastened
the top loop and ground his teeth anew, another cluster of knots dwelling beneath.

Fucking hell. I’m tethered tighter than a ship at port.

“I’ve always been afraid of the words. Now I’m terrified of wasting another second leaving them
unspoken.” The rain grew stronger. He took a deep breath, clinging to his last vestige of patience.
“I had this idea of you in my mind. An idea of our future. An escape from my life, my title and
burdens.” Bitter laughter drifted from his lips like smoke, quickly absorbed by the storm. “Always
me.”

She turned to face him fully, perched on the narrow edge like a bird. Water dripped from the ends
of her hair and pooled at her toes, dress soaked through.

“I assigned a role for you in my mind and blamed you for not meeting the expectations you never
agreed to. I clung to fantasy for so long… but it was a pale reflection of the real thing. A life
together requires compromise. Sacrifice.” His father’s stricken expression flashed before his
mind’s eye, causing his fingers to fumble the rope. He shook the image loose, rain streaming from
his chin. “I was never willing to meet you halfway. It was always all or nothing. What I wanted or
nothing. I see that now. And I’m sorry.” Thunder rolled overhead, closer, vibrating the stone
beneath their feet. “I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

The noise settled as a cloud passed before the moon, plunging the city into darkness. His pulse
spiked, desperation growing as he battled the never-ending knots.

“You’ve already apologized tonight,” she spoke from the shadows.

His shoulders sloped as the rain came faster, attempting to drown him in his own misery. “I have a
lot to amend for.”

The cloud dissipated, moonlight illuminating the downpour in a white, pounding sheet. “As do I,”
she replied evenly.

The words were baffling. He shook his head. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I’m failing them.”

He didn’t bother asking who. “You saved them, Hermione. We stopped the auction, the girls are at
St. Mung—”

“The light is fading, I have to go.”

He surged forward as she turned on her heel with surprising dexterity, as though scaling roofs was
her favorite pastime. The rope yanked him back like a ripcord. “Please stay,” he begged, tugging
the knot with both hands and fantasizing about strangling Longbottom until the life drained from
his dumbfounded eyes. “I need your help getting back.”

She placed her hand to the side of a buttress, staring at him in a way that read far too knowing for
his comfort. “You made it here on your own, Draco. You don’t need me to show you the way.”

He swallowed thickly, working his fingertips between the center loop. “I got here by following
you.”

She studied his face with slow precision, the examination rendering him motionless, stripped bare.
And then she found whatever she was searching for, a gentle sadness rippling across her features.
“Goodbye, Draco.”

"Wait!" He reached forward, tripping over the base of the gargoyle in his haste. Her skirt left a trail
of wetness as she dashed along the ledge and turned the corner, disappearing behind the sloping
arches. "Fuck!" He growled, dragging a hand over his face to clear his vision. His shoulders rolled
with tension as he directed the entirety of his focus upon the damned fucking knot, knuckles
cracking while his fingers set to work, absorbed in their task.

The final loop came loose at long last, rope uncoiling like a snake before dropping to the stone with
a splash. He took a steadying breath and passed the gargoyle, stepping onto the raised ledge with a
quiet groan, his ankle protesting the motion. But there wasn’t time for fear or apprehension, only
decisive action. He held his arms aloft and started along the narrow perimeter, rain battering his
shoulders as the unforgiving stone watched him from below.

Hermione thrashed and clawed at the air, the pressure on her ankle so great she was certain her foot
would sever. The portal flickered wildly, blue light painting the tar-coated walls in frantic bursts.
“Ariana!” She screamed, craning her neck to peer at the garden. She could only see bare feet lying
pale and motionless atop the grass.

“Ari needs her beauty rest.” His grating laughter spilled down her spine like ice. “You’re all alone,
my dear. Whatever will you do without your friends to save you?”

She met the Dollmaker’s black gaze as he lifted her towards the skylight. “I’m never alone.”

“Is that so?” He made a grand show of glancing around the otherwise vacant room. “Well then,
where are—”

“I’m here!” Came the bright announcement from below. Hermione glanced to the doorway with a
wide grin as Lavender charged inside like a Valkyrie to war, Mowgli galloping at her side.

“Perfect timing as always,” Hermione mused, blood pounding in her ears as it pooled in her head.

“What did I miss?”

“Oh, just the usual.”

“Are you both always this unbearable?” He hissed.

“Yes,” they replied in unison. Lavender smirked, stopping beneath Hermione’s dangling form and
twirling her hammer. “And we’re just getting started,” she said before throwing the weapon with
all her might. It spun end over end, glinting in the blue light before hitting his knuckle with a loud
thwack. A shocked gasp escaped his lips, along with a torrent of crude oil as his fingers sprung
apart on reflex, sending Hermione hurtling for the gemstone floor.
She screamed, unable to break her fall with anything but her neck. Lavender dove to catch her but
before they could make contact the Dollmaker snatched her kicking foot from the air and hoisted
her up again. Lavender leaped with a graceful flourish, catching her flailing hands. Hermione
grimaced, spine stretched thin as both girls were lifted off the ground. Mowgli darted to the wall,
scaling shelves and clinging to brick as he made his way to the ceiling. Hermione met her
companion's amber stare as they ascended.

“Sorry,” Lavender offered.

“No worries, I love hanging out with you.”

The blonde smirked. “That’s not what I’m apologizing for.”

Hermione raised a curious brow before gasping as Lavender transformed before her eyes, soft
orange fur filling her hands. And then claws took their place, scrambling for purchase against
Hermione’s flesh. She bit her tongue to smother an anguished cry as Lavender scaled her arms and
bodice, nails gouging like knives, leaving bloody tracks in their wake. The dexterous feline
crouched low, using Hermione’s hip like a springboard to the massive hand. She wasted no time
reopening every wound and leaving new scars to match, shredding the pale flesh with a feral snarl.

The Dollmaker released a string of expletives along with a river of black slime, Hermione twisting
like an acrobat to avoid the downpour. Meanwhile, Mowgli reached the ceiling at last, swinging
from the beams as though traversing the jungle canopy, arriving at the scene of the crime in a blur
of green. He leaped for the oversized arm, scaling the blood-stained fabric to join Lavender in the
attack. The Dollmaker hissed and spat, trying to shake off his attackers without relinquishing hold
of his captive. Hermione pressed her hands to her mouth, desperately quelling the urge to vomit as
she was tossed about like a ragdoll.

She kicked with her free leg, heel jabbing his knuckle like a spike until finally, he released her. It
wasn't until she was plummeting to the ground that she realized the folly of her plan and screamed
anew, crashing atop the pillows at the base of the throne. Her lungs deflated with a grunt as she
bounced and rolled down the velvet steps, landing at the bottom in a breathless heap. The
Dollmaker roared overhead and flung his fur-covered attackers across the room. Lavender twisted
mid-air and landed in the pond while Mowgli tumbled into the garden in an explosion of leaves
and petals.

Hermione sat up with a groan, aching down to her bones as she watched a blonde head emerge
from the stream. Lavender gripped the edge of the pool with a narrowed gaze and hoisted herself
out, sopping wet from hair to hemline. She staggered to her feet and wrung her long tresses, water
splashing her boots. Hermione tried pushing to her feet but the sting across her arms slowed her
progress, claw marks raking her flesh in angry red lines. “Ow,” she uttered pointedly.

Lavender glanced up with a sympathetic cringe. “Sorry again.”

The Dollmaker growled and tore at the skylight to enlarge the opening. More stones rained down,
cracking atop the floor and exploding in every direction like shrapnel. Both women scrambled
back, taking cover on opposite ends of the room. Mowgli raced to Hermione’s side, finding shelter
behind her boots as footsteps raced down the hall. A moment later Merope charged inside, then
staggered to a halt as she took in the destruction before her. The Dollmaker turned his oil-slick gaze
upon her and smiled obscenely, chin gleaming black. “Ah, Merope. I’d nearly forgotten what a
vision you make.”

Her eyes burned with hatred.

“Tell me,” he goaded, “how is your darling boy these days?”

She scowled, murderous visage so reminiscent of her son Hermione was rendered speechless until
the grey eyes were turned upon her, piercing to the core.

“What are you still doing here?”

Hermione blinked, then gestured to the hundred-meter madman. “I ran into a bit of a roadblock.”

He reached his hand inside the room, the hole large enough to fit his arm up to the shoulder.
Merope evaded his reach by ducking into the hall while Hermione bolted for the steps, Mowgli
taking off in the opposite direction.

“Get to the portal, Lavender and I will distract him!” Merope shouted, peeking around the wall as
Hermione dived behind the throne.

“No, Lavender and I will distract him while you wake Ariana. She hasn’t told me the—”

“Stop talking about me like I’m a bloody child!” He screamed, grabbing the throne and tossing it
across the room like a toy prop. The chair exploded against the clock, snapping off its hour hand
before hitting the ground in pieces. “I am your Master, your Creator, your God! You’re nothing but
—”

“Bloody hell, does he have an off switch?” Lavender called from the waterfall, gaze sweeping the
rubble in search.

Hermione skidded down the steps as his hand closed in behind her. “I’m sure cutting out his heart
will do the trick.”

“That’s assuming he has one.”

“I intended to kill you quickly,” he growled. “Now I plan to torture you one at a time while the
other watches.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, the threat meaningless and uninspired. And then she caught sight of
what Lavender was searching for.

The hammer.

The blonde spotted her fallen weapon in the same instant. They both raced forward, only to scatter
back as he reached inside with his other hand, black fingernails skimming their skirts. Lavender
evaded his clutches by transforming, easily out-maneuvering him in feline form. And though
Hermione didn’t have the benefit of shrinking on command, she managed to dodge his clutches by
accident, slipping in a pile of dark goo and sliding on her bum. She kept the momentum going by
rolling sideways and springing to her feet, changing direction before he had time to intercept.

As the Dollmaker remained preoccupied with rendering them limb from limb, Mowgli took the
hammer in his tail and Merope slipped inside, the latter remaining undetected until the sprite
sprinted past her still figure and drew the Dollmaker's black gaze with him. The giant growled
under his breath and reached for her. Merope froze, lost to terror. Hermione paused her frantic
sprint to search out a weapon as Lavender transformed back, taking her hammer from Mowgli and
charging to the woman’s aid. But before she could offer assistance he backhanded the blonde with
careless ease, knocking her off her feet and into a stone slab. Her head cracked against the solid
barrier, hammer dropping as her eyes turned dazed. And then he turned his sights back on Merope.
She sank to the floor as his massive palm closed in, fingertips grazing her bent knees as Mowgli
leaped to her rescue, landing on the oversized thumb and breaking the skin in one clean bite. The
Dollmaker hissed and flicked his wrist, dislodging the sprite into Merope’s lap. She grabbed the
creature around the middle and scurried sideways, taking shelter behind the waterfall.

“I grow tired of these mindless games,” he uttered darkly, oil glistening across his lips like blood.
“It’s time to finish this.”

“Then let's finish it!” Hermione shouted, earning his attention quite effectively. He drove both fists
down, cracking the floor. She leaped away, narrowly avoiding the blows, staggering sideways as
he raised his arms and struck again. She dodged back and forth as his bloody and bruised fists
rained down, trying to predict his movements like a mouse evading a shovel. Then Lavender
stumbled forward like a drunk, concussed and armed. Hermione shook her head. “Stay back!” She
yelled, refusing to lose her friend to the monster a second time.

As expected, the blonde refused to balk. "Fat chance," she muttered, tipping sideways with vertigo.
From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Merope crawling towards the garden, and then a fist
came swinging at her head and she was forced to dive, teeth clacking with the crash. Mowgli
attempted to distract him like a green shoo-fly while Lavender swung her hammer so hard she fell
over, but not before breaking the Dollmaker's little finger with a satisfying crack. He howled in
agony, ripping the injured hand away and reaching for her with the other. Lavender scrambled
back, too disoriented to evade his grasp. He seized her round the middle with her arms trapped at
her sides, hammer pinned uselessly to her thigh.

“No!” Hermione screamed, watching in horror as he lifted the blonde off the ground.

“Insolent whore,” he hissed, squeezing tight. Lavender grimaced, face turning a blotchy red as
every bone threatened to shatter.

Hermione began rummaging through the rubble for anything she could wield, yet all she found
were chunks of rock too heavy to throw. She glanced to the garden in despair, spotting Merope
with an unconscious Ariana in her arms, a sputtering vortex at their sides. Merope held her gaze,
lips forming a simple, silent plea.

Go.

Hermione fell still, mind reeling. Go?

Absolutely not.

She closed her eyes and tried to summon her flames, praying they would save her once again.
Come on, please, I need you… Sparks licked at her fingertips but Lavender’s keening cry broke her
focus. She gazed up, a glint of metal catching her eye. “Drop the hammer!” She shouted, springing
to her feet and reaching out desperately.

But Lavender couldn’t loosen her grip. Hermione wracked her brain, thinking of her blade and how
it responded to her silent bidding. She didn’t bear the same connection to the hammer but was
willing to try anything, so she focused all of her energy upon the tool, pulse leaping as the handle
twitched, though she suspected it was the result of Lavender's arm spasming as it broke.

The blonde screamed shrilly, tears streaming down her flushed face. Hermione cried as well,
tortured by her helplessness. But she forced her mind to focus on the hammer, beckoning the
weapon with every fiber of her being. She rose on tiptoes, stretching her body as high as possible
without dislocating her joints. Every cell became attuned to obtaining the tool. Nothing else
mattered.

Lavender’s choking gag echoed above, lungs strangled in a vice and head lolling, blonde hair
dripping down his fingers as her lips turned blue. Hermione closed her eyes, clinging to her final
thread of sanity.

Please come. Please come to me.

Her ears perked as a faint whistle started in the distance.

Please, I can’t fail them.

The whistling grew louder as Lavender’s breathing became fainter, both sounds fading to the
background as she sent one last desperate plea to the ether.

I need you.

The whistling turned piercing, painful, making her eyebrow twitch and shoulder blades tighten.
And then something smacked against her palm, long and slender, signaling her fingers to curl on
instinct. She rocked back with the force of her shock, recognizing the feel of the handle as
intimately as her own face. The electrical current that followed was just as familiar and staggering.

She opened her eyes.

Her blade stood proudly in her grasp, its handle scorched and filigree blackened. But the metal
remained strong, flawless, gleaming with a vibrancy that rivaled the portal. It sang in her hand as
though bidding her greeting, a low hum that radiated down her arm and into her chest, unleashing a
flood of warmth that seeped down to her toes.

"Welcome back, old friend," she whispered fondly, then flipped the blade with effortless skill,
predicting its movements as though controlling them herself. She caught the handle and threw the
knife into the back of the hand imprisoning her friend. It struck deep, slicing through muscle like
warm butter before wedging firmly between his metacarpals, blood oozing. Her eyes narrowed and
the blade sunk deeper, striking a nerve. His hand sprang open like a steel trap, its prey falling to the
ground in a sprawl.

Hermione summoned her blade and raced to her friend’s side, gripping her shoulders as she
attempted to rise. “You’re done fighting.”

“Fat chance,” Lavender breathed thinly, ribs clearly fractured.

Hermione set her jaw, prepared to argue the point further when the portal groaned and flickered,
startling Mowgli to their sides. “Ariana’s fading,” she stated gravely, turning to the garden as a
familiar voice called from the blue light.

“Do you want to know a secret?”

She stiffened, more alarmed by his anguished tone than the actual words. “Secret?” She echoed,
spots appearing across her vision the longer she stared into the glowing abyss.

And then the Dollmaker’s enraged snarl shook the ground and ensnared her attention completely.
Blood dripped from the bone-deep gash in his hand, flowing down his wrist and darkening his
sleeve. “Vicious bitch!” He roared.

Hermione stood swiftly, boots braced apart. “Oh boy do you have that right.” She held her knife at
the ready and smiled, gaze reflected in the glittering blade. “And we’re just getting started.”

Draco bit his tongue to stifle a groan, ankle grinding with every agonizing step. The rain muddled
his view, overpowering his senses but for the blood pounding in his ears. The roof appeared
different without the weight of the rope, corners sharper and arches steeper, a curving deathtrap
glistening in the pale moonlight. Hermione stood equally transformed at the other end of the wall,
posture brimming with confidence that confounded all logic, for it came paired with a suicidal
longing that seemed to grow the longer she stared at the hard rocks below.

“Jumping won’t solve anything!” He called, causing her to glance up. “And it certainly won’t help
his victims! They need you alive and fighting in their corner, your friends need you, I—” He
sighed, shaking his head and proceeding carefully as though approaching a skittish mare. “You
aren’t thinking clearly, luv. There’s nothing up here. No blue light.”

Her eyes shone clearly through the downpour, steady with resolve. “I’m going, Draco. You can’t
stop me.”

“I’m willing to let you go,” he acceded, eager to keep her engaged. “But not like this. You deserve
a future, Granger. And if I’m not a part of that future, so be it. I want you to lead your life however
you see fit. As long as you’re happy, as long as you live.” She blinked, expression tensing as though
his words had breached the surface of her glass prison. He wet his lips, pulse throbbing with every
step. “People keep asking if what I feel for you is real… and deep down I was never truly certain
of the answer. Until now.” He filled his lungs slowly, approaching another gargoyle and using its
pedestal as an anchor. Telling her like this seemed a cruel mockery of the words themselves. But
she watched him with steely focus and he’d do anything to keep her from taking another step. “I
love you, Hermione.”

He felt light-headed with the release, injury long-forgotten as his consciousness floated above the
scene like a phantom, cursed to watch but unable to intervene. Her shoulders drew level at his
admission, hazel eyes flickering. He let go of the gargoyle and started across the final divide,
words spilling free beyond his control. “It may have started as infatuation and obsession but it’s
changed, just like I’ve changed. I see things clearly now and I love you for who you are, not what
you might be. I love you enough to say goodbye. Because simply loving you makes me want to be
a better man and I’ll carry that with me wherever I go.”

Rain saturated his vision. He wiped at his eyes, fire burning behind his lids and inside his chest,
but her blurry figure remained his beacon in the storm, guiding each shaky step forward. Water
poured off the roof in a deafening cascade. He shouted above the crashing waves. “But please
don’t deny yourself a future. Don’t deny yourself the chance to fulfill your dreams. You deserve
happiness more than anyone.” Barely two meters stood between them. His knees quaked with the
urge to leap for her but he stayed the desire with every last ounce of willpower. “Don’t jump.”

Her face crumpled, cheeks ruddy beneath the downpour. He held his breath for a second time,
close enough to touch her, to hear her pained whisper— “At least it can’t get any worse.”

His heartbeat echoed the rolling thunder as she spun on her heel and leaped off the roof.

Hermione grinned with dark anticipation as the Dollmaker swung a fist at her head, slashing
forward with blurring speed, weapon weightless in her grasp. The blade sliced into his index
finger, scraping the bone like a whetstone before cutting straight through, severing the appendage
in a clean snap. It hit the ground with a dull thunk, curling softly before blackening with decay. He
howled with agony, pulling his hand away as dark blood spurted forth, splattering the floor like a
fountain. She sprinted through the mist, leaping rubble and glass on wobbly legs, vision clouded
by adrenaline, balanced only by the blade in her hand.

The air pressure changed, red droplets raining down as a heavy shadow descended. His thunderous
growl announced the incoming hand, the acrid tang of blood filling her mouth as she braced for
impact. But she was charged from the side instead, knocked off her feet and pinned flat by a soft
and heaving weight. The fist sailed overhead, knuckles breaking against the wall, plaster
crumbling.

“Get to the portal!” Merope demanded, long hair spilling across Hermione’s face as she sputtered.

“Ariana never told me the cure!”

“You just have to say—” her words dissolved into a scream as the Dollmaker snatched her up like a
ragdoll. She bared her teeth and beat uselessly at his iron grasp.

“Oh Merope, still a thorn in my side,” he pondered menacingly, black sludge trailing across his
face like tears. “You’ll do well to recall what happened the last time you stood in my way.”

“You’re a monster,” she hissed.

“Sticks and stones, my dear.” He tilted his head, teeth and tongue stained black. “What did you
think would happen? You’d actually get married and live happily ever after?” She scowled in the
face of his mocking laughter. “So naive. I did you a favor. You were nothing but a lowly nurse
chasing him through the halls like a lovestruck fool. I made you interesting, set you apart. If not for
me, Thomas would have grown bored within a week’s time.”

Merope quelled her struggles. “Is that why you gave him the ultimatum?”

His eyes flashed, amusement draining as quickly as the blood from his hand. “You know nothing
—”

“I know everything,” she challenged, leaning forward with the strength of her conviction. “You
denied my every chance at happiness and any possibility of being a mother. But you won’t deprive
me of revenge. You will burn, Gellert, alone and miserable like the pathetic excuse for a man you
are.”

"Perhaps," he conceded darkly, the red sky reflected across his black gaze. "But you won't be there
to see it." His nose twitched as he tossed his captive like a discarded rag.

“Merope!” Hermione screamed, playing helpless witness as the woman careened through the air
and collided against the opposite wall, hitting the ground in a slumped heap, blood running from
her temple. Hermione took a step closer before narrowly dodging a massive fist as it made ground-
shaking impact beside her head. She struck with her blade, slicing along the heel of his palm
before he smacked her sideways like a gnat. She rolled half a dozen times, losing hold of her blade
as glass cut into her arms, a pile of bricks halting her momentum. Her teeth snapped with the
impact, a faint ringing in her ears. She blinked away the double-vision in time to catch a flash of
green.

Mowgli intercepted the bloody fingers before they reached her, landing atop the severed knuckle
and biting deep, drawing forth a sharp wail that trembled the walls. The Dollmaker ripped the
sprite away by his tail and slung him across the room as Hermione struggled to sit upright,
equilibrium shot. He tightened his blood-crusted fist and raised it over her head, chest heaving like
a bull. She tried to scramble back but tipped sideways instead, curling into the fetal position as his
shadow fell upon her.

“Gellert!”

Hermione gasped, peeking through her arms as Ariana staggered out of the garden, face whiter
than chalk, hand trembling against her middle. “Please don’t do this,” she implored.

The Dollmaker withdrew his fist, Hermione forgotten in an instant. “You think you have any sway
over me now? After everything you’ve done?”

“What have I done?”

His black lips opened and closed, stitching frayed by outrage. “What have you done? You led me
on, stoked the flames of my desire to receive special treatment!”

“You threatened to lobotomize me and trapped me in the attic.”

“And you’ve trapped me in this hell for half a century!”

Hermione slowly uncurled, fingers twitching as she reached across the floor, silently calling for her
blade.

“The key to escape has always been in your hands,” the ethereal blonde continued. “It’s your
obsession that keeps you prisoner, not I.” She allowed her words to sink into his mangled flesh.
“Let me go, Gellert, and set yourself free.”

“Let you go?” He echoed with an acidic grin. “You are mine, Ariana, and I’ll tear apart your pretty
Castle and burn this cursed land to the ground before I bow my head in surrender!”

His words snapped like a whip but Ariana remained unmoved. “So be it,” she uttered calmly,
folding her hands behind her back. “If you won’t bow your head in surrender, you’ll do so in
death.”

He snarled and reached forward. She made no attempt to evade his shredded fingers, merely held
his narrowed gaze as Hermione’s blade slid into her waiting palm. She gave the handle a reassuring
squeeze before launching it at the skylight with all her strength. The blade pulsed blue, powered by
its own magic, and completed the journey of its own accord, spinning rapidly before lodging to the
hilt inside the Dollmaker’s chest, piercing his breastbone with a crack and plunging into his heart.
He sputtered, body seizing as he peered down with wide eyes.

“Goodbye, Gellert,” Ariana said.

He screamed, lifting his hand as though to backhand her. Hermione clenched her jaw and stood,
lifting her hand and summoning her weapon. It sliced down his chest before dislodging, carving a
wide gash. He pressed both hands to the wound, trying to staunch the flow to no avail, fingers
drenched in red.

The portal hissed as Ariana fell to her knees, bracing her hands to the floor and gazing up with
bloodshot eyes. “Finish it,” she panted, fighting to stay conscious.

Hermione caught her blade with a nod, then cast her glare upward, watching blood and tar ooze
from his gaping maw, trailing down his neck and chest. She took a steadying breath and beckoned
her flames, feeling the embers stir in her chest, aware of her call but unable to ignite.

The portal whined again, dimming as the edges shrunk, Ariana trembling with the strain. The noise
drew the Dollmaker’s gaze, followed by his rage. He gave up his futile efforts at mending the
wound and reimagined his goal of smashing Hermione to a fine powder. She dodged his mighty
swing as a voice tumbled free of the dying portal.

“I love you, Hermione.”

She gasped, stumbling in her shock and falling to the ground. The words continued, echoing from
the bottom of a well.

“I love you enough to say goodbye. Because simply loving you makes me want to be a better man
and I’ll carry that with me wherever I go.”

She straightened with determination, calling her flames again. “I’m coming home,” she vowed
before igniting like a match, black flames encasing her in a shadowy aura.

The Dollmaker swung his fist, catching sight of her transformation a moment too late. He tried to
withdraw but his oil-coated fingers made contact, lighting like a wick. He yelled frantically,
attempting to beat out the fire with his other hand. But her flames hungrily consumed all in their
path, feeding off the black tar until his entire body was engulfed. She cringed at his shrill cries,
unable to look away as he clawed at his face, tearing the stitching wide. His flesh peeled away like
burnt cloth, revealing a charred skull beneath, jaw chattering in agony.

A crunch sounded behind her. Hermione spun, blade and flames lifting high. Lavender raised her
uninjured hand, Mowgli blinking owlishly on her shoulder. “It’s me,” she announced, giving
Hermione’s flickering aura an appreciative once over. “Show off.”

Hermione grinned, lowering her weapon. “What’s the use of superpowers if you can’t kill a few
people?”

“Deeply philosophical.”

She extinguished her flames, quickly sobering. “Is Merope—”

“Alive. Just knocked out cold.” Lavender grabbed Hermione’s elbow and edged her aside as the
Dollmaker collapsed over the wall, torso hanging limp as the flames lapped across his skeleton.

The skull pivoted, black sockets fixed upon her. “You… haven’t… won,” he muttered, words
awkward and clipped without the benefit of lips.

Hermione raised her chin, maintaining his sightless gaze. “It was never about me winning. It was
about you losing.” A meaningful beat. “And you just lost.”

He ground his teeth as though preparing to speak but his jaw snapped off before making a sound,
hitting the floor and cracking in half. But their victory was short-lived; the portal sputtered and
coughed, shrinking further.

“Ariana!” Hermione called, rushing to the young woman as she tipped over, breathing strained.
Mowgli reached her first, pawing anxiously at her arm while Hermione collapsed at her side,
tucking the blade in her boot and taking her face in hand.

“Thank… you,” Ariana whispered, lids heavy. And then her eyes rolled back in her head and her
body fell limp.

“No,” Hermione uttered, shaking her head. “I need the cure!” She tightened her grip, searching the
slackened features in panic. “What do I say? A trigger word? A phrase? Ariana!”
Lavender reached their side, watching the scene unfold. “She didn’t tell you?”

Hermione glanced up, desperation shining in her eyes. “Do you know it?”

“She only confided in Merope.” Her friend glanced across the room. “But she’s out of
commission.”

“We have to wake them,” Hermione stated firmly, dread tightening her throat. “I can’t go back
without it.”

“There isn’t time, the portal is closing.”

Hermione shook Ariana again, heart sinking as her pale head lolled. “I can’t go back without the
cure! It's the entire reason I came!”

“You don’t have a choice!”

“I can’t leave them trapped!”

“We’ll figure out something else but if you don’t leave right bloody now you'll be trapped.”

“Ariana can open another portal when she has the strength—”

“It took her years to harness the strength for this one!” She grabbed Hermione’s elbow and hauled
her to her feet. “You aren’t wasting away here! You aren’t dead!” She began dragging her towards
the whining vortex as Mowgli gazed on nervously.

“I’m not going back!” Hermione challenged, digging in her heels.

“Yes you are, I don’t care if I have to throw you into the bloody light myself!”

The portal grew louder the closer they stumbled, a sputtering engine about to die. Hermione
choked back a sob, tears streaming as she attempted to reason with her jailer. “I can’t fail them,
Lavender. I’d rather be trapped inside Wonderland than return empty-handed. I don’t deserve to go
home if I can’t offer them the same freedom.”

Lavender slowed, expression softening though her grip remained iron-strong. “You’ve done all you
can for them here, Mione. Outside you still have a chance at finding the cure and killing the real
Dollmaker before he takes any more victims." Hermione swallowed thickly, each word stabbing at
her heart. "The final battle sits on the other side of that portal. You have to return."

Hermione closed her eyes as the fire popped and crackled at their backs, his skeleton roasting like a
dry log. “... alright,” she breathed, tasting smoke on the back of her tongue. “I'll go.”

Something tugged at her sleeve. She assumed it was Mowgli, dismissing the sensation and taking a
mournful step towards the portal until chills erupted down her nape, a deep whisper grazing the
shell of her ear.

“The cure is simple, so plain it’s sublime; say the magic word, repeated three times.”

She gasped, twirling around in time to see a sharp smile dissolve into mist. “What’s the magic
word?” She frantically asked the air. Lavender released her as she spun in aimless circles. “What’s
the magic word, Bernard?” Her fists balled tight. “Get back here, you invisible bastard!”

“Mione,” her friend murmured. “I think you might have finally cracked.”
“There’s no might about it,” Hermione agreed flatly, rubbing her temples. “I need to get home
before I start naming the rocks.” The blonde nodded, taking her hand as they rushed to the
sputtering vortex.

The opening had shrunk so much they had to lean over to peer inside. And as Hermione watched
the colors swirl and coalesce an unshakable fear gripped her. She struggled to make sense of the
anomaly as Mowgli took perch on her shoulder, no doubt sensing her fraught nerves. Entering the
portal was the least harrowing experience she’d faced since arriving in Wonderland. But this was
the first task she’d be forced to undertake alone. Hermione was used to having her friends at her
side, it felt strange embarking without them now, venturing somewhere they couldn’t follow. Her
face creased with distress. Lavender read each line like an open book. “None of that, we already
agreed—”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye when you were alive,” Hermione argued. “If I don’t do it now it’ll
haunt me forever.” The blonde set her jaw in frustration but Hermione didn’t take offense,
knowing Lavender was merely trying to tamp her own rising emotions. “I couldn’t have done any
of this without you, Lav,” she continued earnestly. “Thank you for everything. From taking me
under your wing at the Home to guiding me across Wonderland, you’ve always looked out for me.
When my life was flipped upside down you helped me catch the falling pieces and turn them into
something new, something that felt like home. You're a light in the darkness. I’m grateful I met
you and honored to call you my friend.” She wiped her eyes with trembling hands, Lavender’s gaze
equally faceted, lashes brimming with tears. “I’m furious your life was taken so soon, so violently,
and not a day will pass when I don’t think about you. You’ll live on forever in my heart, and when
it’s my time to go I hope to end up wherever you are. I love you.”

Lavender’s expression pinched as she leaned in and embraced Hermione tightly. “I love you, too.”
She exhaled sharply, keening in pain as Hermione squeezed her in turn.

Hermione reared back, eyes wide with apology. “Shite, sorry!” She glanced at her injury. “Your
arm—”

“Wonderland will heal me, just like it did for you.”

“But Ariana—”

“Needs time to recover, then she’ll start putting Wonderland back together as it should be.”

Hermione swallowed nervously. “Merope—”

“Will forget all about her aches and pains the moment she sees the Dollmaker crackling like a
campfire.” Lavender gripped her shoulder. “We’ll be fine. Now go home and—”

“Kill the evil bastard,” Hermione stated in sync with her friend. They erupted into laughter, tension
uncoiling in her spine as something soft grazed her throat. She peered sideways, meeting Mowgli’s
keen yellow gaze. “I’m afraid you can’t come with me either,” she informed him sadly, holding out
her palm. He stepped atop, eyes glinting like coins as she brought him before her face. “Thank you
for all your help, Mowgli. You saved me more than once. You’re the bravest sprite in all of
Wonderland.” She leaned in, nuzzling his soft fur as he swept her cheek with his tail. “I’ll miss
you,” she murmured, pulling back. “Look after them for me.”

He blinked in response and leapt from her grasp, landing atop Lavender’s shoulder, both staring at
her with doleful expressions. And just like that, the weight of the moment returned with crushing
swiftness. Hermione rubbed her aching chest, knowing this was the last time she’d ever look upon
them. There was more she wanted to say, words evading her exhausted mind that would certainly
occur to her later, plaguing her for the rest of her days. But time was fleeting, as was the portal. So
she turned with a deep breath, focusing her attention on the pulsing light as a faint murmur issued
forth.

“Sounds like you have someone waiting for you,” Lavender said, face illuminated by the swirling
glow.

Hermione leaned down until she was level with the opening. “He’s been waiting for a while.”

“You’re worth it.”

She heard the humor and conviction in her friend’s voice and glanced sideways, making one last
vow. “I’ll see you again, Lav.”

“Every night in your dreams,” the blonde winked.

“Don’t jump.”

They gazed forward, Draco’s desperate bid swallowed by the roar of the collapsing tunnel. The
light surged and flickered, caught in its final death throes. Hermione gathered her skirts and bent
her knees. “At least it can’t get any worse,” she mused, then sprang headfirst into the raging vortex
a heartbeat before it blinked out of existence.

Draco leaped, following her over the side of the roof with nary a thought or plan, falling three
meters before crashing atop the buttress. Pain alighted through his limbs, blood filling the back of
his mouth as his hand shot out, catching her narrow wrist. She dangled from his grasp like a
mannequin, heavy and lifeless. He blinked to clear the rain from his eyes, water dripping off the tip
of his nose onto his hand, loosening his grip. He grabbed on with his other, nothing to anchor
himself to the narrow ledge but his feet, the strain alighting fire through his calves.

She remained limp in his hold, making no attempt to assist or break free, her deadweight igniting
sharp pain across his shoulder blades. Even soaking wet she was a slip of a thing, but he lacked the
necessary leverage to haul her up without plummeting over the side himself. There were no more
ledges to land on, no more second chances or lucky breaks to be had, only hard cement and
drowned shrubbery awaiting hard impact.

She began to slip.

He grunted low, stomach muscles pulling tight as he held on with all his might. But strength was
no contender for the rain, Mother Nature herself attempting to rip them apart. “Hermione…” he
whispered, unable to draw a full breath against the stone. He waited until her barren gaze flickered
up to make his final plea. “Wake. Up.”

Hermione choked on her scream, though she wouldn't have been able to hear it over the deafening
roar of the portal. Blue light pulsed on all sides, overloading her senses as she tried to make sense
of what was happening. She'd expected to fall down but it felt as though she was being sucked up,
flipping and spinning through an endless tunnel. The sensation reminded her of facing backward on
a speeding train, unable to anticipate the twists and turns ahead.

A black hole resided at the very end of her path, drawing closer every time her body completed a
breathless rotation. The glowing walls vibrated, humming so loudly she glanced over her shoulder
to make certain a swarm of bees wasn’t at her back. The sound swelled before fragmenting into a
windfall of voices, folding in from all directions.
 “He programs their minds with triggers.”
“—feel like hurting anyone?”
“A fate worse than death—”
“His final command was to kill me.”
“—the hell is she wearing?”
“—strongly advise keeping her restrained—”
“The Dollmaker is mine.”
“Where are the women?”
“—cunning and determination make her a force to be reckoned—”
“Feels like I was hit by a battering ram—”
“—not interested in their bodies.”
“—needs to be confined—”
“Bones will breathe fire.”
“—usually takes those memories.”
“Where's Bellatrix?”
“Ms. Granger tried to bash in my brains and cut off my head.”

The light dimmed, shadows ghosting behind the walls like monstrous creatures as the black abyss
yawned ever closer, massive jaws eagerly awaiting her arrival. It was limbo, she was certain of it.
She’d waited too long to enter the portal and would be cursed to wander through the darkness for
all eternity. Terror gripped her in its throes as one voice rose above the others.

“I was jealous of your friendship.”

“Are we enemies?”
“I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m so bloody—”
“—when we first met?”
“I know you’re in there.”
“—clung to fantasy for so long—”
“A life together requires compromise—”
“—trust you to stay put?”
“I’ve always been afraid of the words.”
“You saved them—”
“—a lot to amend for.”
“I’m willing to let you go—”
“You deserve a future, Granger.”
“—all or nothing—”
“As long as you’re happy, as long as you live.”
“—want to know a secret?”
“I love you, Hermione.”
“The next time you see me… I’m going to wake you from this nightmare.”

Her time was up. The portal spat her into the black expanse before folding in on itself, shriveling
into a gleaming speck that fizzled away, leaving her in absolute and total darkness. Her body turned
weightless, floating debris in space.

“Hermione…”

Draco shattered the silence with a deafening boom, his words caressing her skin like static.

“Wake. Up.”

Gravity returned with a cold wind, wrapping her in its suffocating embrace before ripping her
down. She rocketed through space-time, a shrill scream escaping her lips at last.
 .
.`.`.
.`.`.`.`.
.`.`.`.`.`.`.
.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.
.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.
.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.
.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.
.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.
.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.
.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.

The invisible hand of fate plunged her into a frigid sea, flailing limbs swallowed by its powerful
current. Moonlight shone across the rippling surface, her only way to distinguish up from down.
The more she thrashed the faster she sank, lungs starved for oxygen. And then a pale hand broke
through the dark, an anchor to cling to.

She kicked with all her might, reaching desperately. The fingers seized her wrist in a bruising vice
and hauled her swiftly from the inky depths. She breached the surface with a gasp, gulping air as
thunder rolled overhead. She blinked the water from her eyes, making out a blurry face above. She
blinked once more and his features solidified, her shock echoed in the growling sky above.

“Draco?” His face was pinched in distress. Her mind reeled, wondering if this was another
hallucination, some cruel variation of limbo. It was then she realized she was no longer treading
open water but dangling in mid-air, toes curled against the rain. She turned rigid as a post, feeling
her palm slip from his grasp. “Draco!” She thrashed wildly, lost to a wave of terror.

He clenched his teeth against the strain, arms fully extended as he clung for dear life. “Stop
squirming!”

“What’s happening?” She called, barely able to hear him over the rain.

His brows creased as he searched her face. “Hermione?” She gazed at the stone walkway two-
stories below, dizzy with adrenaline. “It’s going to be okay, just don’t look down,” he offered by
way of assurance, voice too tightly contained to sound genuine.

She swallowed thickly, breathing through her dread. “Sound advice,” she murmured, squinting
through the storm and attempting to formulate a plan. “You need to roll.”

“What?”

“Onto your back. You’ll gain leverage by pulling across instead of up.”

He shook his head as much as his precarious position would allow. “If I roll I’ll drop you.”

“You can do it,” she urged, holding his gaze as the rain fell. “It’s going to be okay.”

Thunder growled overhead, vibrating their bones, followed by his hiss of resignation as he rolled
onto his side and released her with one hand, gripping the edge of the buttress for leverage and
pulling with all his strength. She scrambled for purchase before being hauled across his body like a
sack of grain, sagging against him in a sopping heap. She braced her hands to his chest and pushed
up, wet hair curtaining their faces as she laughed sharply, the outburst quickly dissolving into
hysterical giggles.
He turned to stone beneath her, face twisted in abject shock. “Hermione?”

“It’s me,” she managed through the laughter, wiping away tears as a sob welled in her throat. He
gathered her hair and pushed it back, allowing moonlight to cut across her bloodshot eyes. And
then he joined in her chaotic laughter, pulling her flush to his front in a tight embrace. Hermione
melted against him, clinging desperately, terrified he’d evaporate beneath her touch. She felt the
rapid flutter of his heart, the warm cascade of breath upon her ear, grateful for each detail that gave
the fantasy life. Once she was certain he wasn’t an elaborate mirage she chanced an upward glance
at their surroundings, blinking curiously. “We’re on Grimmauld’s roof?”

“We are indeed.”

She hummed low in her throat before meeting his gaze. “You should really be wearing a safety
rope.”

He stroked her jaw, grin widening. “I missed you,” he muttered, studying her face as though
memorizing every detail.

She laughed shortly before peering at the saturated lawn below. “Getting down should be a trick.”

“If we take it slow we only stand a 50/50 chance of dying horrifically.”

"Better odds than usual," she mused, leaning up and carefully shimmying back. He sat up,
watching nervously as she began a methodical backward crawl along the narrow buttress. Once she
was clear of his legs he began to follow, acting as her eyes.

“You’re nearly there,” he offered. She nodded, halting her movements when her toes grazed the
brick. She glanced over her shoulder at the wall, the roof exceeding her limited reach. “I’ll give
you a boost.”

She pressed her palms to the brick and carefully rose, Draco unfolding before her, grasping her
hips and lifting her up. She grabbed the edge as he fed her over the side, clamoring onto the level
surface with a heaving breath. As she collapsed behind the wall her glaringly white gown became
ever more apparent beneath the moonlight. She grabbed a handful of gauzy fabric and inspected it
with disgust, bearing no memory of the garment but knowing with certainty how it came to be on
her person.

Draco jumped, catching the lip of the roof. She scrambled to her knees and grabbed his arm,
helping pull him up. He collapsed beside her in a panting heap. “Christ,” he muttered, slicking his
hair back. “Scaling tall buildings isn’t nearly as glamorous as the novels make it seem.”

She leaned into the ledge beside him. “Try crawling over Big Ben in heels.”

“Pardon?”

“Just reminiscing.”

He quirked a pale brow, peering down at her as their shoulders pressed together. “Please hold your
sanity together until we make it back inside, Granger, I’ve had my fill of adventure for one
evening.”

“I’ll do my best. Do you know the safest route back?”

“Not at all.” He stood with a groan, offering his hand. “But I know the quickest.”
She slid her palm into his. “Even better.”

The rain began to ebb as they navigated the narrow ledge. “Stop at the next gargoyle,” he
instructed. She did as bid, spotting a discarded rope at its clawed feet. Draco leaned down to grab
it, gesturing for her to face him. She bit her lip, trying not to wobble as he began tying it around her
waist, finally placing her hands on his chest for balance. His skin was warm through the wet fabric,
a minor comfort from the cold damp. But her relief was short-lived, attention drawn to the
indentations on her wrists.

Draco sensed her distraction, following the direction of her gaze and tensing beneath her touch.
“We had to—”

“Restrain me,” she finished. “I know.”

His eyes snapped up. “You remember?”

“Only snippets.” She attempted to pull forth the memory of the glowing tunnel but the more she
tried to concentrate the more her nape tingled. She rubbed it absently, abandoning the effort.
“Voices… I think.”

His fingers fumbled the rope as he attempted to tie a knot at her front. “Did you…” She tilted her
head as his words trailed off, shoulders turning stiff. He cleared his throat, carefully focused upon
his task. “Did you hear anything I said?”

She didn’t prolong his agony by asking for clarification. “Yes.” He nodded shortly at her reply,
tightening the rope. “It’s alright,” she offered gently. “You were trying to keep me from jumping.”

“I meant every word,” he affirmed, meeting her stare.

She smiled, feeling his heart thrum beneath her fingertips. “I know.” Rain pittered softly as the
clouds broke apart. “I love you, too, Draco. I always will.”

A pensive smile curved his lips. “I waited too long.”

She shook her head and took his face in her hands. “Actions speak louder. I knew what you felt but
chose to hide behind those same three words. Neither of us was willing to compromise. We led
each other to this point.” She took a steadying breath, words coming easily, speaking them a feat.
“I’m your first love and you were mine. Nothing can take away what we shared. But the reality is
neither of us are who we were back then. I see the changes in you and am so very proud because
they have nothing to do with me. This evolution came from you, Draco. Your conscience, your
choices. That’s what makes it so incredible. You made yourself into a better man.” Her hands
lowered to his shoulders, bracing them gently. “You’ll always possess a piece of my heart and I’d
give it to you again because I know you’ll treasure it. Loving you changed me for the better. You
saved me from loneliness and despair. We were what each other needed.” She blinked quickly,
tears refracting the moonlight. “But you don’t need me anymore... and the girl you fell in love with
is long gone. I need to find out who she’s become before I can offer you or anyone else a
meaningful connection.” She swallowed thickly, the motion sticking in her throat. “Do you
understand?”

His eyes glistened through the mist, hands lingering on her waist. “I understand,” he replied
hoarsely, throat bobbing with the motion. “And when the time comes, I look forward to meeting
the new Hermione Granger.” She smiled, tears overspilling her eyes as he pulled her into his body
and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was slow and tender, seeking nothing but her presence, her
participation. She understood the message conveyed by the simple gesture and responded to his
touch with her own painful farewell. They broke apart several moments later, the last of the rain
continuing to patter off the stone as their foreheads rested together.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess,” she whispered.

His thumb swept beneath her eye, clearing the damp. “You’re worth jumping off a roof for.”

She laughed softly, fighting back fresh tears. His jaw ticked, the only sign of outward struggle
before he tipped his head back to gaze at the cloudy sky. “Of course the rain stops now.”

“Us and our spectacular timing.”

“Let’s get inside,” he responded, offering his hand once more. “I have a feeling the storm isn’t
over.”

Her expression sobered, reality settling in with chilling swiftness. "Not even close.” Their fingers
intertwined as he led the way across the ledge. She noticed his limp and was about to ask what
happened when they reached a sloping section of the roof, its wide hole solving the mystery. Water
dripped into the darkness, echoing off the marble floor below. She glanced over her shoulder with
a raised brow.

“Stick to the beams and you’ll be alright,” he said.

“What about you?”

“I’ll cross afterward, our combined weight may be too much.”

Her shoulders drew level, unsettled at the thought of him traversing the hollow surface without a
safety fail. She took in their location atop the east side of the property, glancing back with a smirk.
“I have a better idea.”

He rubbed his brow. “God save us.”

A few minutes later Hermione released the vine-ridden lattice, dropping onto the balcony outside
the master bedroom. Draco stepped down with far more ease, long limbs affording him greater
range. He reached for her waist and began untying the rope as she inspected the broken glass at her
feet, blood congealed in a dense pool at the center of the floor. “What happened here?” She asked,
paling at the sight of the busted french doors.

“Greyback,” he responded with a low growl.

She reeled back, the rope falling away. “What?”

“Everyone survived,” he stated calmly. “Everyone we care about anyway. Which is a miracle in
itself; the battle was epic, you’ve never seen anything like it.”

Hermione blinked, hearing the phantom explosion of a ship bursting through a Castle wall. “I
wouldn’t be so certain,” she muttered, the memory fading at the edges like a worn photograph. She
shook the image free before it slipped away entirely, unwilling to face the prospect of forgetting
her harrowing adventure.

Her heart thrummed as she side-stepped debris and entered the bedroom, the hardwood equally
littered. She passed the rumpled mattress and shattered mirror, more desperate to see her friends
than ever. Draco trailed several paces behind as they followed the murmur of conversation to the
other side of the house. She turned the corner and faced a black-lacquer door at the end of the hall,
parted halfway. The voices were clear and familiar now, spurring her into motion. The hinges bent
silently as she pushed the barrier wide. Her friends clustered around an open window, facing away.

“Anything?” Neville asked, pulling the loose rope inside.

Harry shook his head, leaning forward and calling into the damp night. “Malfoy!” He settled back
on his heels with a scowl. “Fucking tosser! I’m going to wring his bloody neck.”

“Something’s happened,” Parvati muttered, stepping away. “I’ll check outside.” She spun for the
door, spotting Hermione and gasping sharply. “Shite!”

The others whirled around, equally shell-shocked. Harry emerged from the press of bodies first.
“Hermione? Are you alright?” Her eyes welled at his approach, feet carrying her forward on
instinct. She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest, feeling his
muscles tense. “Mione?” He hedged carefully. She sniffled loudly, burrowing into his collarbone.
But he interpreted her non-verbal response just fine, embracing her at last, voice thick with
emotion. “You’re back.” He smoothed a hand over her hair as Draco reached the doorway, joining
their silent audience. “How—”

“Later,” she bid, untangling their arms and stepping back. “I need to do something.” She glanced
around his shoulder and met Parvati’s astonished gaze. “Where’s Padma?”

. . .

She charged into the bedroom, trailed by water droplets and dumbfounded faces as she kneeled
beside the mattress and grasped Padma’s limp hand, her skin pale and cool to the touch. Her
friends hovered at the threshold as she closed her eyes and ransacked the tattered chaos of her mind
for the one memory she needed, grateful to find it unblemished in the wake of her dwindling
recollection.

“The cure is simple, so plain it’s sublime; say the magic word, repeated three times.”

She wet her lips, leaning forward as Parvati drew close, the others lingering behind, exchanging
looks of bewilderment. “Abracadabra, abracadabra, abracadabra,” she whispered lowly, opening
her eyes to find Padma’s condition unchanged. She straightened, gripping the lifeless hand tighter
and repeating the mantra with volume and force. “Abracadabra. Abracadabra. Abracadabra.”

Nothing.

There was a faint shuffling from the hall. Neville cleared his throat awkwardly. "Er… Mione…?"

Parvati sank to the floor beside her. “Hermione, what are you doing?”

“Why isn’t it working?” She muttered, releasing the young woman’s hand to card fingers through
her hair in frustration. “Where’s Dawn?” Silence permeated the room, causing her chest to tighten
with dread. “Where is she?” She repeated, rising swiftly.

“At St. Mungo’s,” Draco replied, triggering Hermione’s memory of the girl seizing before the
dollhouse, the concern etching Dumbeldore’s face as he loaded her into the carriage.

She sighed heavily, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. “The cure is simple… so plain it’s
sublime…” her lids peeled open, everyone staring at her like she’d sprouted a second head. “Say
the magic word, repeated three times.” Her brow creased, undeterred by their reaction. “What’s the
magic word?”
Sirius scratched the back of his neck, electing to speak for the group. “Listen, kitten—“

“I’m not crazy,” she hissed.

“I value the arrangement of my face far too much to make such a claim. But the fact of the matter
is you’ve been through a very harrowing two days—”

“And up until fifteen minutes ago you were still batshite crazy.”

“Harry, stop trying to help,” his godfather admonished, turning his attention back on Hermione.
“The Dollmaker did a number on your mind, luv. There’s no telling what ideas he’s planted, you
need time to recover—”

“His name is Gellert Grindelwald and he’s a man, not a wizard. I just need time to think.” She
gripped either side of her head and rotated slowly. “Bernard never said it… so I must already know
it.”

Parvati stood. “Know what?”

“Who the hell is Bernard?” Draco asked with narrowed eyes.

Theo gazed at him like he was an idiot. “The spotted monkey on her shoulder. Why are we
entertaining her ramblings? She needs rest—”

“The monkey was Mowgli,” Hermione stated firmly. “And he was green, not spotted.”

"Ah, I see. Well, thank you for proving your tight-laced sanity, Granger." He glanced at Harry.
"Put the restraints back on."

“Magic word?” Parvati repeated. “Like a trigger?”

Hermione faced her. “Exactly like a trigger.”

Her friend nodded, glancing at Draco. "What did you say to release her?"

“Nothing. She released herself.”

“But she was still programmed,” Harry added.

Hermione glared. “She’s standing right here.”

“We never knew your triggers,” Harry said without chagrin. “You were unconscious when Riddle
brought you in and he never said anything.” Hermione had already noted Tom’s absence but felt
her spine tighten at his mention.

“Actually,” Sirius drawled, earning everyone’s undivided focus. “He said one thing…” He met her
hopeful stare. “Your triggers were in Gaelic.”

The fine hairs along her arms stood on end. “Gaelic,” she muttered, blinking slowly as her mind
yawned with memory. And then Dumbledore’s deep brogue filled her head unbidden. “She
believed in magic. In a world outside of our own where fantasy bled into reality.” The wallpaper
melted before her eyes, revealing the padded walls of a cell. She was lying on her cot, arms bound
by a straitjacket as she traced patterns in the rigid fabric with her eyes. “White rabbit.” She blinked
again, the asylum walls blackened by a powerful blaze, fire rushing past the window as the
Infernal Train tore across the forest floor. “Looks like our room,” Lavender muttered, eyeing the
stuffed animal on the utilitarian bed. “The furniture anyway.”
Her fingers twitched, recalling the weight of the file, the crinkle of pages as she read the hand-
written reports from the shadows of the attic. Ariana brought her toy rabbit to our session today.
She let me hold it. Trust is building… She stood in a dark room, hundred of glass eyes focused
upon her. The dolls held their collective breath in silence, porcelain faces warmed by lantern glow.
“She treasured every one of them. But she treasured Dree above all else. When I inspected her
room at the home and saw him on the floor beneath the bed, I knew.” She picked up the velveteen
rabbit and traced its ears with a fingertip, meeting her upside-down reflection in the fathomless
black gaze. “Draíocht, she called him.” Her lungs deflated. “Gaelic for magic.”

Hermione pressed a hand to her chest and rushed to Padma’s bedside, dropping to her knees once
more. Theo sighed from the hall. “This is getting ridiculous, she needs a hospital—”

“Shut up, Nott,” Parvati snapped, watching her closely.

“She’s been through a fucking trauma and should be with the others—”

“Shut up, Nott,” Harry echoed. Theo sighed dramatically but offered no further objection, the room
falling perfectly silent as Hermione took Padma’s hand and interlaced their fingers. Parvati hovered
at her side, hope and desperation radiating off her in waves.

Hermione swallowed tightly, pulse quickening. “Draíocht…” she whispered, staring at Padma’s
downturned lashes, “draíocht…” a lump formed in her throat, “draíocht.” She braced for something
cataclysmic, for lightning to strike the roof as Padma sprang off the bed like an acrobat.

Alas, nothing happened.

Hermione slumped into the mattress, tears filling her eyes as hopelessness tore through her chest,
stealing her breath. Parvati deflated at her side, boneless in her despair. Hermione gazed up, sharing
in her misery. “Parvati, I’m so sorr—”

Padma awoke with a sharp gasp, surging upright as though breaching the surface of a frozen lake.
The others turned rigid with shock as Hermione steadied her with trembling hands. “Padma! It’s
okay, you’re safe!”

The young woman blinked rapidly. “H-Hermione?” She mumbled, voice rusty from disuse.

Hermione smiled widely, tears overspilling her eyes. “Welcome home.”

Padma opened and closed her mouth. “Home?” she repeated slowly, as though trying to recall the
meaning of the word. And then a soft whimper drew her gaze higher and her breath escaped in a
rush. “Parvati?”

Her twin sobbed, reaching out in desperation. Hermione rose from the bed as they embraced atop
the rumbled blankets. “I’m here,” Parvati cried into her sister’s hair. “I’m so sorry I left.”

Padma swallowed heavily. “But you were with me the whole time.”

Hermione wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned for the doorway to afford them privacy. The
hallway’s occupants stared at her in various states of disbelief, Theo breaking the silence first. “My
apologies, Granger.”

She entered the corridor, softly closing the door at her back. “Apology accepted.” Her eyes flitted
to Harry. “What did I miss?”

“I assume you want the abridged version?”

“Headliners, preferably.”

He tipped his head, listing them on his fingers. “Greyback attacked the house so Sirius blew it up,
Bellatrix threw a pervert party and we gate-crashed in fabulous outfits, Bones arrested half the
groveling Peerage while we rescued the brainwashed girls, Riddle found the Dollmaker’s top-
secret hideout where you tried cutting off his head, I wandered the city looking for drug smugglers
while Draco untied you like an idiot and you climbed onto the roof.” He blinked. “Wow, didn’t
think I’d fit it all onto one hand.”

“Impressive,” Neville commended.

Draco scowled. “For the last goddamn time, I put her binds back on—”

“Drug smugglers?” Hermione interrupted. “I need the abridged version for that one.”

Harry reached into his vest. “Riddle brought this with him.” He extracted a vial, holding it before
the gaslight. Hermione staggered, colliding with Hannah.

“Mione?” The young woman asked with concern. Hermione quickly recovered, taking the bottle
from his hand and studying it through a narrow gaze. Harry didn’t miss the disgust curling her lip.

“You remember being drugged,” he surmised darkly.

She tipped the vial, watching the blue liquid slosh behind the glass. “I took it willingly, but yes.”
Harry blinked, confusion muddling his features as she handed the bottle back. “Did you find the
source?” She asked.

He pocketed the item with care. “I was on my way there when you took up stargazing.”

“Correction: you and Malfoy were engaged in a moronic row when she took up stargazing,” Theo
clipped.

“And we settled the matter,” Draco said. “Potter’s going to wander the docks like a useless fool
while I drag Bellatrix to Scotland Yard.”

“She got away?” Hermione inquired sharply.

Draco held her gaze intently. “She left the auction with Riddle.”

She struggled to contain her reaction, fire burning an agonizing path from her throat to her stomach.
She knew there must have been a reason, Tom never did anything without forward purpose, but the
thought of them absconding together overrode her greater sense. “Both are worthy causes,” she
stated at length, eager to change the subject. “I understand your dilemma. Luckily, there’s enough
of us to execute both tasks at once.”

"There are enough detectives as well," Sirius added. "We've played our parts in this mess, the rest
is up to Bones."

Draco shook his head. “Bones isn’t leaving the station before sunrise. He’s up to his elbows in
arrests, the lawyers will make ten times the paperwork for him.”

“Then our Navy will step in. Sailors are dispersing throughout the city as we speak.”

The others appeared confused but Hermione connected the dots immediately. “Tom went to the
Admiral,” she muttered, thoughts racing with the revelation. Tom would only enlist his former
benefactor’s aid as a last resort. Something had made him desperate, a chilling prospect indeed.

Harry stiffened. “The Admir— you mean Dumbeldore?” He rounded on his godfather. “How the
hell—”

“They’re closely acquainted,” Hermione disclosed vaguely, urgency propelling her forward.
“Sirius, can you check in with him? See where he’s stationed men and if there’s been any
headway?” She took his heavy sigh as acquiescence and turned to Draco. “Find Bellatrix. Nott, go
with him.”

Theo smirked, gaslight illuminating his handsome features and making it clear how he came to
possess her best friend’s heart. “I was planning on it, luv, but I’m thoroughly enjoying this side of
you.”

"She's always like this," a voice spoke from behind the door. They moved aside as it parted softly,
both women appearing at the threshold. "Good to have you back, Mione," Pavarti said, cheeks
flushed from crying. She glanced to her sister. "It's good to have both of you back.”

“How are you feeling, Padma?” Hermione asked.

The young woman smiled weakly, listing heavily against her sister’s side. “A little out of sorts.”

“She’s dehydrated,” Parvati stated, holding her twin aloft. “I’m taking her to St. Mungo’s.” She met
Hermione’s gaze. “You should come with us, have a doctor take a look at you, then try to wake the
other girls.”

“I’m needed elsewhere, but anyone can say the trigger words.”

“I’ll go,” Neville volunteered, stepping in to help support Padma’s weight.

Hannah shifted forward. “Me, too.”

Parvati nodded her thanks while Hermione glanced at Harry. “I’m coming with you to the docks.”

He raised a dark brow, amusement sparkling in his emerald stare. “I know better than to argue.”

“Thank goodness for that.” She gathered her sopping skirt. “Should give me enough time to burn
this horrid dress.”

Sirius scrubbed a hand over his face, voice weary. “Not to sound like the old man I’ve so obviously
become, but what happens if one of you kids actually finds the Dollmaker?”

The corridor fell silent, all eyes on Hermione. She tilted her head, answering simply. “We kill the
evil bastard.”
 Red Queen

I fear nothing.
. . .

Streetlight glistened off the cobblestone as factory smoke darkened the air once more, the storm
settled at long last. Tom wasted no time navigating the damp streets, lightning splitting the sky in
frantic bursts. The majority of residents had taken shelter from the downpour, taverns packed and
shutters drawn, but ships continued sailing in the distance, their echoing horns reminding him of
times long past.

Every dark alley and derelict building assaulted him with memory, bringing forth images of the last
time he'd traversed these roads. Ducking and diving around newspaper trolleys and lampposts,
horses squealing as he narrowly avoided a collision. Carriage drivers aiming rotten fruit at his head
while he gestured offensively and laughed, indifferent to their threats. They'd called him a filthy
street rat and he'd worn the title with pride, doing his utmost to become the most successful little
pick-pocketer Horsleydown had ever known.

He was pulled from the reverie by Umbridge’s exhausted huff. His teeth clenched, the uneven click
of her heels stabbing through his mind like an ice-pick, rational thought fleeting.

“Walk faster,” he demanded.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” She snapped, annoyance outpacing fear as she gathered her skirts and
attempted to jump a puddle. Her short legs flailed, landing in the center with a wet splash and
outraged squeal.

Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. He’d allowed them to take shelter from
the worst of the storm, knowing Grindelwald would be forced to do the same, but he refused to
slow his pursuit now. “You certainly know your way around these parts,” she continued, wringing
her sopping skirts with a cringe. “I don’t see why you need me.”

Tom exhaled, keen on strangling her when a woman called out from the other side of the street.
Her silhouette was framed by orange streetlight, cleavage ample and curls matted. He blinked
quickly, overwhelmed by random memory, the recollection so intense he was suddenly ten-years-
old again, racing along the same ash-caked street as evening faded to dusk above a smoking
skyline. He tore through a gutter trench, splashing mud over the curb and across the tattered skirt of
a woman hovering nearby.

“Oi! Slow it down, Tommy!” Her jagged voice called. “If I wash this dress one more time it’ll split
into rags!”

He flashed a boyish grin over his shoulder. “I’ll buy you a new one, Ms. Goldie!”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say before running in the opposite direction!” She craned her
neck as he charged up the street. “And steer clear of Jefferson’s shop! Man says he’ll tan your
thieving hide the next time he sees ya!”

The memory dissolved on the sound of childish laughter, untainted by the horrors yet to come.
Back in the present, the woman across the street followed his progress, flicking her cigarette and
exhaling a torrent of smoke.

“Hello, handsome. Looking for some fun?” Her kohl-lined gaze shifted to his scowling
companion, sharp laughter cutting through the night. “I’m rarely one to judge, luv, but I think you
can find a damn sight better company than that.”

Umbridge bared her teeth, staring forward. “I don’t take offense from a clap-ridden whore.”

“Why don’t you say that to my face, bitch?” The woman challenged, stepping off the curb.

“I can’t see it beneath ten-stones of spackle and modeling clay!”

Tom shook his head as they hissed like feral cats, grabbing Umbridge by the arm and dragging her
away. “Enough.”

She thrashed in his grip, unable to wrench free. “I won’t be spoken down to by a simple-minded
harlot!”

"Your stupidity never ceases to amaze me."

Her face puckered as he released her. “What am I even doing here? You obviously know the area,
you can find the house on your own!”

“You need to identify the property.”

“It was long ago,” she muttered, adjusting her tattered gown. “During the night no less. I’m not
certain I recall what it looks like.”

“Let’s hope your memory revives in the next few minutes. It’s the only thing keeping you alive at
present.”

She raised her chin in defiance. “If you intended to kill me you’d have done so already.”

“I intended for starvation to kill you in the attic.” He quelled a satisfied grin as she stumbled,
complexion paling at last. “Don’t test me,” he warned for good measure, solidifying her silence.
Alas, the blissful reprieve only lasted a few seconds more; they rounded the corner and more
women appeared, clustered before a condemned building in pursuit of dry ground.

“Filthy trollops,” Umbridge muttered, teetering around a puddle. “Crawling the streets like
cockroaches. You could catch disease just by treading in their shadow.”

Tom gazed ahead, tone evenly measured. “Most are murdered before sickness takes them.”

“A small blessing,” she mused. “Less opportunity for their vile infection to spread.” The muscle in
his jaw clenched but she remained ignorant to the effect, eyes fixed to the group with contempt.
“Only appropriate they should die here. Horsleydown, where whores lie down. This entire place
should be raised to the ground like Sodom and Gomorrah, eradicate all the vermin in a lake of
fire.”

“Horsleydown derives from horses lie down next to the river, named for its epicenter of trade
between the Thames and the railway. Once competing ports opened the family-owned businesses
went bankrupt and the factories moved in.”

"Of course," she laughed sharply. "And where there are hourly workers there are whores. They
flock to the smoke, spreading their legs before the gates even open."

He exhaled slowly. "Prostitution doesn't afford the luxury of travel. The majority are born where
they work, forced to alleys to make ends meet."
"Laziness, pure and simple." She scowled at the gathering before following him onto the adjoining
road. "They could get a job if they tried. It's not a stroll in the park, I can certainly attest to that, but
hard work pays off. Instead, they're eager to take the easy way out, lying on their backs while
counting their filthy coin."

He rolled his head atop his shoulders, neck cracking as the image of Goldie’s black eye resurfaced,
lid swollen and hand trembling as she took a drag from her cigarette, watching him over the
burning tip. “It ain’t as bad as it looks, kid,” she’d muttered through the blue-tinged smoke.
“Besides, I got him back. Bastard won’t be pissin’ straight for a week.”

“I doubt they view their lives as easy,” Tom uttered, dispelling the shadow from his mind. “The
factories don’t hire women, it’s spread their legs or watch their children starve.”

“More like natural selection,” she clipped. “The children are just as burdensome on society.”

He dismissed her words like rubbish in the street. Still, try as he might, he couldn’t shake the
weight of his past, the sensation of Albus’s hand on his shoulder returning like a dark phantom.
Women had gathered on the balcony above, watching the famed-Admiral guide the scarred and
battered boy up the street towards his private carriage. They’d called down with smiles and waves,
colorful farewells overlapping, but Goldie’s voice had risen above the feminine commotion.

“Oi, Tommy!”

He’d paused, glancing up through dead eyes to meet the sunken gaze, her complexion sallow from
whatever wasting sickness had taken hold. “Make something of yourself, kid. See the world, go
wherever it takes you, but never set foot in this place again, you hear?”

He’d held her stare, shouts and guffaws from the corner tavern filling the silence as he nodded
shortly and allowed Albus to lead him the rest of the way. He’d been too exhausted to fight his
guardian that afternoon… but he’d certainly felt up to the task that weekend, running away for the
first of many times. He’d crossed the entire city by foot just to sit inside the moldy shed behind his
old house, hours passing on end as he watched the rotten beam and pondered her final moments,
wondering if she’d thought of him, if she’d thought of anything at all. Dirt and sweat had coated
his back, wounds itching deep beneath the scarred surface, but he’d refused to budge until the
throbbing ache rang through his entire body, every cut reopened with methodical care—

Enough. He treaded through a puddle as though destroying the memory, watching the murky
images ripple to the far recesses of his mind.

"You've done enough talking for one evening, Dolores," he growled. "I don't want to hear your
voice unless it's providing direction." She released a grating sound but offered no complaint,
following with a trudging step as they neared the wharves.

The Thames shone black in the moonlight, an inky serpent beckoning him with its rhythmic tide.
His hand slid into his pocket as the sound increased, fingers tracing the frayed ribbon while he
navigated the uneven pavement. A breeze followed at his back, carrying notes of grease and
saltwater, the familiar combination making his shoulder-blades tighten, dead nerve-endings
yawning to life. And then a figure emerged from the alley ahead, ensnaring his interest like a rabbit
before a fox.

The new-comer was headed in the same direction, face concealed, but his jittery movements were
strikingly familiar. Umbridge’s breath caught and Tom knew he wasn’t imagining it. “Who is he?”
He muttered, watching the retreating figure with predatory focus.
She inhaled shakily. “He was in the company of the Lestranges the last time I was here. I don’t
recall his name but his mannerisms are unforgettable.”

Tom lifted his chin as yet another memory stretched at the back of his mind. A pointed face and
nervous stammer, the name Rodolphus had used in the conservatory… “Quirrell,” he recalled
aloud.

“Yes, that’s it,” she whispered. Tom halted and turned without warning, directing his gleaming
gaze upon her. She staggered in surprise, sweat beading across her brow and upper-lip as she
stumbled backward. “W-what?”

“You’ve just exceeded your usefulness,” he replied simply, stalking after her. “I no longer require
your services.”

“Please,” she begged, lifting trembling hands. “I tried to help, I did everything you—” she gasped,
colliding with a lamppost, its pulsing light reflecting off her damp cheeks.

Tom stopped just before her. “I won’t reverse Ms. Granger’s stay of execution. She intended for
you to leave London so that’s what you’ll do.” She sagged with relief, only to stiffen with dread as
he leaned forward, speaking so low she had to hold her breath to hear the words. “But I never want
to see your face again, Dolores, in this city or anywhere else I set foot. If you have the great fortune
of spotting me first: run. Pack your bags and get far, far away. Because if we ever cross paths after
tonight I will kill you, without a shred of hesitation or remorse.”

She swallowed convulsively. “I—“

“Don’t speak. Just go. Now.” He didn’t have to tell her twice. She pushed away from the post and
bolted up the street as fast as her legs would allow, heels clicking across the stone and fading
around the corner.

Tom released a slow breath and turned his attention to the other end of the street. Empty. His eyes
gleamed as he ducked out of the streetlight and slipped into the nearest alley, cutting a determined
path down its center. Vagrants lingered inside, eyeing him warily. He took no offense, knowing he
was too well-dressed to pass as a resident and too confident in his mannerisms to pose as a client.
They sized him up, one pulling a tarnished blade from his pocket, but made no advance in his
direction. Tom stalked by without a glance, making it clear they weren’t his prey for the evening.
Within seconds he emerged on the other side, greeted by even more decrepit scenery. The majority
of shops were boarded and vandalized but he paid his surroundings little mind, knowing the layout
of this neighborhood like the back of his hand.

His attention fastened to a reedy shadow in the distance, twitching and jerking across the brick
before fading from view. He quickly righted his course, pulling his collar high and rounding the
corner, coming face-to-face with another group of street-walkers. His determined step and
murderous glare did nothing to deter their enthusiasm, each accustomed to life-threatening
situations on a nightly basis. They continued to preen and display, calling out as he strode past.
One woman reached for his arm, glaring when he veered out of her path. “Fucking arsehole!” She
screamed, throwing her cigarette at his coat. “Get out of our neighborhood, buggering prick!”

He smirked at her bravado, following the shadow around an abandoned rubber factory. Quirrell
appeared halfway up the street, glancing over his shoulder as Tom joined him on the dark and
desolate stretch of cobblestone. The jittery man blanched, facing forward and quickening his pace.
Tom continued calmly, watching him bob and weave around rubbish like a nervous cat before
glancing back a second time, stumbling over his feet. Tom bit back a sigh, knowing the stupidity to
follow. True to form, Quirrell gazed back a third time, eye spasming as he burst into a dead run,
fleeing across the pavement with a high-pitched yelp.

Tom ground his teeth and gave chase, reaching the flailing figure in only a few bounds. He caught
Quirrel by the jacket and wrenched him back as he tried darting inside an alley, throwing him into
the wall and pinning him flat with an arm across his throat.

“P-please!” The man begged. “Take my b-billfold! It’s in my v-vest, I w-w-won’t say any—“

“Shut up.”

Quirrell’s jaw trembled, broken pleas bubbling behind pursed lips. Tom raised a brow, impressed
he was able to contain himself. “You don't recognize me,” he mused, causing his prey to shudder.

“S-should I?”

“You’re on your way to Madam Lestrange.”

Quirrell gulped, the motion obstructed by the pressure on his throat. His eyes tracked over Tom’s
face carefully, recognition sparking. “You w-were at the auc-c-ction—”

“Very good,” Tom clipped, eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Now take me to them.”

“T-Them?”

He pressed his forearm down. Quirrell sputtered, squirming like a worm on the hook as his face
turned a blistering red. "I know she's with the Dollmaker," Tom growled.

“She’s m-meeting him… at the d-docks—“

“Docks?” His heart rioted. “He’s leaving by ship?”

Quirrell’s eyes started to bug, forcing Tom to relinquish his pressure before they popped out of his
head and rolled down the alley. “I d-don’t know,” he wheezed. “S-she just t-told me to b-bring her
c-c-cash—“

"Show me," Tom demanded, stepping back as Quirrell trembled violently, snuffing his resistance
before it could kindle. "You're a sheep who's spent a lifetime among wolves; you know how to
survive in this world." His chin lowered, shadows creeping along his face as clouds converged
above. "Give me what I want and you'll live to see the morning."

Quirrell nodded with a whimper. “She’s a f-few streets ov-ver—“

“Bella’s no longer a part of this.” Lightning spilled across the sky, illuminating Tom’s metallic
gaze. “Take me to the docks.”

Padma cringed back as the needle pierced her skin, sinking into the vein with a soft pop.

“Hey!” Parvati shouted, rising from her chair. “Watch it!”

Padma sent her twin an exasperated look over the doctor’s shoulder. “It’s just a shot, Parvati. I’m
fine.”

Her sister crossed her arms, eyes narrowed on the syringe. “What are you injecting her with?”

“A simple saline solution,” the physician explained, unaffected by her outburst. “This should help
restore intravascular volume.” He withdrew the needle, placing a cotton ball at the injection site.
“Once your fluid levels are corrected we’ll move onto a maintenance course of treatment.”

Padma nodded, pressing her fingers to the cotton as he stepped back. “Thank you, doctor.”

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me or one of the nurses,” he offered, removing his
gloves and tugging the privacy curtain wide. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed across the
hall.”

“Of course,” Padma muttered, distracted by the rows of cots revealed through the parting in the
fabric. Every bed was occupied by a gown-clad patient, painted eyes fixed blankly ahead while
their bodies sat propped with coma-like stillness. Nurses moved between the rows, eyeing their
charges warily, each at a loss. Parvati noticed the direction of her sister’s gaze and strode to the
curtain, tugging it closed.

“No,” Padma argued, sitting straighter. “We need to wake them.”

“Neville and Hannah are taking care of it. They’ll make it to our room soon.”

“It’s cruel to make them wait.”

Parvati's jaw twitched, chewing on the words she undoubtedly wanted to say before relenting with
a sigh, reaching for the fabric once more. Padma rose from the exam table, swaying with light-
headedness. “Whoa!” Parvati shouted, rushing to her side and steadying her shoulders “You need
to rest—“

“I’ve been in a coma for three days, I‘m full-up on rest.”

“Padma—“

“Parvati.” She returned her sister’s grip, squeezing in reassurance. “It’s okay. I’m okay. But the
others aren’t. They need us.”

Parvati searched her face before releasing another frustrated breath. Padma smiled, pecking her
twin’s cheek before edging past, still a bit wobbly but far-removed from the mind-numbing fatigue
she’d felt upon waking.

"You start with the girls here."

“Where are you going?” Parvati asked.

Padma pushed the curtain aside. “Down the hall.” She fought back a shudder as she navigated a
row of frozen dolls. “I need to wake Dawn.”

Parvati arched a brow. “Have you met her before?”

“We go way back,” Padma muttered, reaching the door and slipping out before her sister could
respond.

The hall was void of movement but alive with voices, the steady buzz emanating from an open
room to her right. She peeked inside and a dozen more cots appeared, their mattresses unoccupied,
blankets wadded and thrown to the ground as young women paced in circles and nurses wove
anxiously between them, everyone equally perplexed.

Padma journeyed past the chaos and turned her inspection to the uniformed officers guarding the
private wing. One of them glanced her way, nodding in silent greeting before resuming his rigid
post. She returned the gesture and inhaled slowly, arriving at a closed-door at the end of the hall.
She reached for the handle— only to gasp as it twisted of its own accord, the barrier parting swiftly
to reveal a slight blonde wearing a serene expression.

For a heart-stopping moment, Padma thought it was Ariana and she was instantly transported back
to Wonderland, the last two hours merely a dream, a cruel hallucination, reality fraying at the
seams—

“Hello, Padma,” the young woman greeted. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Padma blinked, the girl’s features gaining clarity before her eyes. “Oh…” she muttered, crawling
back inside her body. “I’m sorry, I don’t—“

“Luna,” the girl supplied. “I’m a friend of Parvati. I met you a few days ago, we read Gulliver’s
Travels while I plaited your hair, then we were shot at and I picked glass out of your dress. I wish
I’d had flowers.”

Padma blinked again. “Flowers?”

“For your hair. I think hyacinth would pair beautifully with the color.”

The words settled over her mind like a dense fog. Padma took them in stride, returning the blonde’s
welcoming grin and entering the room. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Luna.” And then her
gaze fell on the room’s third occupant and her expression seized.

Dawn appeared different on the outside of the veil, almost unrecognizable to her dreamscape
counterpart. Her pale limbs blended into the sterile linens, features sallow and gaunt, lacking the
usual vibrancy Padma had grown accustomed to seeing. She was terrified to imagine what the girl
had experienced in the real world. Then again, she wasn’t eager to ponder what her own body had
been through these last three years. Her hands pressed her middle, stomach knotting.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Luna offered, hovering at the doorway.

Padma glanced sideways. “Thank you,” she whispered, teetering nervously as the young woman
left, shutting the door with a soft click and enclosing Padma with the lifeless body of her friend.

She approached the bed with a tentative step, perching gingerly on the edge and reaching for the
girl's hand. Dawn’s fingers felt as cold and frail as they appeared. Padma’s chest burned, emotions
multiplying until she was fit to burst, terrified the cure wouldn’t work. That this would be the one
exception, the continuation of her punishment for some terrible sin committed in a past life—

She shook her head, refusing to entertain the possibility. Dawn would wake and they’d find a way
to heal from this nightmare together, neither woman alone in her suffering. She pressed Dawn’s
palm to her chest and leaned down, speaking low and clear, voice unwavering.

“Draíocht… draíocht… draíocht.”

She held her breath and fell as still as the body laid beneath her, counting backward from ten to
three before the fingers twitched in her grasp. Padma straightened, heartbeat quickening. “Dawn?”
She prompted.

A soft moan permeated the air as Dawn’s lids fluttered, eyes dazed and fixed to the ceiling.
Padma’s heart sank at her blank countenance, wondering if something went wrong. “Dawn… it’s
Padma.”
The empty gaze flickered down, narrowing imperceptibly. “I’m still dreaming,” Dawn whispered,
hoarse and low.

Padma shook her head, pressing the borrowed palm over her heart so she could feel its pounding
beat. “It’s real,” she supplied, searching the faraway expression. “You’re awake. This is home.”

Dawn blinked again, gaze widening. “Padma?”

Padma smiled, then laughed as Dawn sprung upright, coming to life like a jack-in-the-box to
embrace her. She didn’t make a sound, only trembled as Padma tightened her grasp, understanding
the need for silence. Padma released her when she felt her companion pull back, untangling their
arms and drying her cheeks as Dawn glanced around the barren room.

“Where’s Hermione?” The girl asked, rubbing her throat as her voice cracked.

Padma folded her hands and smiled brightly. “Killing him for good.”

Hermione followed Harry across the wet cobblestone, their footsteps mirroring the path of the
gutter as it drained towards the river. Ship horns blared in the distance, the Thames glimmering
behind rows of factories and warehouses. The buildings appeared derelict and grimier the closer
they got to the water, pedestrians turning less curious and more hostile. But unlike their memorable
excursion to All Hallows, Hermione didn’t feel the instinctual need to cling to her friend’s side this
time around.

She maneuvered the streets with steady confidence, hand clenching for a phantom blade she knew
wouldn’t materialize. She remembered the weapon vibrantly, its pulsing blue light and vibrating
hum one of the few memories yet to slip through her fingers like sand. Alas, Hermione knew it was
futile clinging to her adventures in Wonderland. Law and reason dictated her life once again, she
couldn’t very well cut off a person’s head for crossing her. A shame, really.

She sighed, earning her companion’s sideways glance.

“Are you sure—“

“I’m fine, Harry,” she replied without scorn.

“I can see that,” he smirked. “I was going to ask if you wanted the gun.”

She met his gaze as they rounded the corner, awaiting the punchline. “Very funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

She arched a brow. “You trust me with a gun?”

“As much as any sailor. You’ll only shoot to kill, and most importantly, you know who needs
killing.”

Her lips parted, seconds passing as she processed his words. “A few weeks ago you refused to take
me to the morgue.”

“A lot has happened since then,” he admitted, hands slipping inside his coat as a cool breeze swept
past. “I see how capable you are. I’m sorry I ever doubted it.”

Hermione grinned, chest warm despite the autumn chill. “Thank you,” she whispered, navigating
around a busted wagon. Its contents reeked of rotten fish, causing her to gag and quickened her
pace. “But I trust your aim far better than mine,” she continued, gasping for clean air. “At least
from a distance. Point blank shouldn’t be a problem.”

He shook his head with a laugh. “Perhaps one of us should have gone to Horselydown. I don’t
think Theo and Malfoy share our violent enthusiasm.”

“They won’t need to. Grindelwald isn’t there.”

Harry's expression rapidly sobered. “How do you know?”

Her focus drifted to the river as the tide increased. “I just do.” She forced a deep breath, algae and
grease coating the back of her throat. “Which makes Draco the perfect choice. His aunt would
never harm him.”

“I think the feeling is mutual,” Harry reflected, following her stare to the dark water.

“Draco will do what’s right, Theo will give him the strength to follow through.” She slowed before
a cement blockade. “Just like us.”

“What a pair,” Harry grinned, lifting the chain.

She ducked beneath the heavy links with a nod of appreciation, rising on the other side as he
followed suit. “I mean it, Harry. I can’t finish this without you, without all of you. The girls are
safe. What you did was incredible.”

He emerged beside her on the wharf, slats creaking as they started down the desolate dock. “I just
thought about what you’d have done in my situation—”

“No,” she interjected, grasping his arm. “You’ve always been this way, brave and selfless. I’m
sorry it took me so long to appreciate.”

He gazed at her strangely, waves lapping the embankment as the wind increased. “You’ve always
appreciated me.”

She released him to stare at the path ahead. Ships pulled on their tethers, hulls groaning loudly
before bumping the edge of the dock. “I think I’ve fallen short in that regard many times,” she
admitted. “I never understood the strength of teamwork until recently.” Her gaze drifted to Tower
Bridge, carriages traveling back and forth beneath the fog. “I was raised an only-child, forced to
tackle problems alone. Then somewhere along the way necessity became preference. I thrived on
independence and snubbed help when it was offered. It was selfish and prideful but mostly, it was
terribly lonely.” She released a weary breath, turning to face him. “But I’ve learned some problems
are too big to face alone. And what’s more, I don’t want to. I trust my friends with my life, I can
certainly trust their commitment to seeing this night through.”

Harry grinned and snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side heedless of his battered
ribs. She felt the rigid outline of the pistol in his waistband and found comfort in its presence.
“Look at us,” he declared. “Growing and changing in the midst of calamity.”

“Growing and changing mean the same thing.”

"Well, it was good while it lasted."

She slipped free of his hold with a laugh and eyed the wooden fence ahead, four-meters high with
trespassing signs scattered across its front. “Stop distracting me, Harry Potter. We’re on a mission.”
“Apologies. It’s just good to have you back.”

Her skin twitched, feeling the unspoken question hanging in the air. “I really am fine,” she assured
him, knowing he needed to hear the words one more time.

“I’d rather you were happy.”

She stopped before the fence, considering. “Talk to me after the sun comes up.”

Harry grinned but before he could respond a flourish of voices emanated from a nearby building.
“Shite!” He hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her behind a stack of shipping containers.

A group of men emerged from the darkness, strolling at a leisurely drunken gait. She held her
breath from her crouched position as one of them stopped to pee off the side of the dock, stream
echoing loudly. Finally, they continued on, stumbling beneath the barricade and disappearing up
the street.

Harry rose carefully, inspecting the empty wharf before turning his attention to the wooden fence
blocking their path. A chain bound its gate, heavy padlocks sealing it tight.

“Ideas?” She whispered, rising beside him.

“Shooting the locks will draw too much attention.” He drew a hand over his mouth, eyes lifting.
“We’ll have to go over the top.”

She bit back a groan. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

“I don't know why you’re complaining, you get the boost.”

“Good point.”

The slats groaned as Harry dropped to one knee and created a basket with his hands, cringing when
she stepped into it. She bit her lip and pressed forward, eager to alleviate his cracked ribs of her
weight, scrambling for the top of the barrier as he lifted her up.

“What’s on the other side?” He grunted.

Her hands finally found purchase, arms trembling as she peeked over the side. “A stack of shipping
crates, I can use them to descend.” She pulled up with all her might, unable to hoist herself the
remaining distance. “Just… a bit… more…”

“Get ready.”

“For wha—!” She shrieked as he launched her like a rocket, limbs flailing before her legs straddled
the top, hands clinging for dear life. “Harry!”

“Sorry,” he panted, leaning against the fence and clutching his side.

“Oi!” They jolted at the deep brogue, orange light washing over their shocked faces. “What in the
hell?” The voice continued, a wide-shouldered deckhand stepping out of the shadows with a
lantern. He lifted it higher, shining it in Harry’s eyes before his gaze drifted to Hermione, flashing
with rage. “This is private property! Get down!”

Her attention shifted to his other hand, spotting a metal pipe. She rocked precariously, fingertips
turning white against the fence. “Harry…”
“Go,” he instructed calmly, straightening against the barrier as he adorned his Lieutenant skin. “I’ll
catch up.”

She shook her head, clinging tighter to her narrow ledge. “But—“

“Find him.” He glanced up, meeting her hesitant gaze. “Finish it.”

Her throat felt tight but she nodded all the same. “I will.”

She forced her gaze away as Harry started forward, swinging her leg over the side and dropping
nearly a meter before hitting the containers. A muffled altercation drifted through the fence as
Hermione began her careful descent but she pressed on, trusting her friend’s ability to take care of
himself. Her boots hit the private dock with a thud, wind whipping through her hair as she ran for
the empty ships ahead. And as she slipped into the welcoming darkness she couldn’t help but wish
she’d taken up Harry’s offer to carry the gun after all.

Draco ground his teeth with every step, sweat pooling at his nape as electricity sizzled through his
calf.

“Christ,” Theo muttered. “Look at you. We should have taken a—”

“We don’t need a bloody carriage.”

“You look like a vagrant who was mauled by wild hogs.”

“I had to scale a fucking roof, what’s your excuse?” Draco hissed.

“Guilty by association.” Theo’s gaze lingered on the blonde’s swollen ankle. “We can slow—”

“Stop talking.”

Theo shook his head. “Happily.”

They passed a group of women on the corner, the majority focused on the churning sky above and
muttering about their hair, but one broke away from the gathering, sidling towards them with a
toothy grin.

"Hello gents," she greeted boisterously, looping an arm around Draco's shoulders. She reeked of
cheap wine and body odor, the noxious combination intensifying the stabbing pain in his limb.
"My, my, aren't you a pair. What brings you pretty lads round these parts?" She leaned into his
side, exuding confidence he would have found amusing on any other night. But on this particular
evening, his foul mood clung to him like a shadow, enveloping him fully as they neared the end of
the street.

“Sight-seeing,” he clipped, shrugging out of her hold.

She kept pace beside them, unfettered by the rebuke. “We’re a popular tourist destination.
Anything you’re looking for in particular?”

“Parish Street.”

She laughed sharply, causing him to cringe. “Why bother, luv? The tarts on Parish can’t offer you
anything I can’t. Don’t waste your time.”

“I think I’ll look for myself.”

She scowled, lingering on the curb as they continued forward. “Fine! I’m charging double when
you come crawling back!”

“Brilliant business acumen!”

“Fuck you!”

“Change of heart already?” Draco shouted into the damp night.

Theo shot him a pointed look as they rounded the corner. “Don’t start,” Draco hissed, scrubbing
his face in exhaustion. “It’s been a long night.”

“And it’s about to get longer,” his friend announced. “We’re on Parish.”

Draco halted and searched for the street sign, exhaling swiftly as he confirmed their location. A
scantily clad woman slipped into an alley with her client, the rest of the street overcome by fog.
But a steady creaking drew his notice, the sound emanating from beyond the mist. He limped
forward, pulse thundering as he breached the cloud and journeyed through the sea of grey, a broken
swing-set materializing at the end of the road. Its rusted chains swayed in an invisible current, the
neighboring garden dead and decayed. The building situated behind the tarnished structure
appeared equally haunted, children’s drawings decorating the busted windows while dark shutters
slammed the scarred siding.

“The Grammar School,” Draco muttered, stopping before the rod iron fence, overgrowth crawling
its posts. “Which means…”

He and Theo slowly turned, tension mounting as they faced the brownstone across the street. It
was in better condition than the majority of properties sharing the block but a far cry from any
place he could imagine his Aunt stepping foot in. He leveled his shoulders and approached, spine
tightening when he found the gate unlocked, ancient hinges groaning as he parted the barrier.

“Draco—”

“Wait down here.”

“Not a chance,” his friend responded, following him along the gravel path. Draco didn’t bother
arguing, retaining every ounce of energy for the battle ahead.

A note was pinned to the front door, elegant script recognizable at any distance. He ripped it free,
reading its message before crumpling the paper in his fist.

Come up.

He tossed the scrap into a withered bush and wrenched the door wide, promptly met by a narrow
stairwell leading up. Every step was another lash of agony to his brittle nerves, jaw locked and
body trembling by the time he reached the second door. The handle refused to budge so he resorted
to using his pounding fist, eager to dispel his pent aggression. There was shuffling from inside, the
lock sliding loudly as his Aunt’s shrill greeting filtered free.

“About bloody time! You should have been here hours—” The door cracked open, dark eyes
widening on the other side. “Draco?” Her lips puckered like a fish. “What are you—”

He shouldered the barrier open, driving her back and storming inside, pain washed clean by a flood
of adrenaline. “Where is he?” He demanded.
She shook her head, blood draining from her complexion. “You shouldn’t be—“

“Where is he?” He shouted, turning in circles to inspect the filthy room, waiting for the monster to
materialize from the shadows.

“Where is who?” She asked, attention shifting to Theo as he paced inside and closed the door.
“What is—”

“No more games,” Draco growled. “Where is the Dollmaker?”

Something sparked in the depths of her gaze, a struck match that failed to ignite. “So that’s why
you snuck into the auction,” she whispered, wobbling backward as Draco drove her towards the
warped mantle.

“I went for Hermione,” he revealed, taking sinister pleasure in her reaction.

The air pressure changed along with her countenance, her blossoming rage a seismic force that
shook the foundation of the hovel. He felt the vibration in his heels and stopped his forward
charge, unsettled by the murderous gleam in her eyes. And then she opened her mouth and a feral
scream rang forth, piercing enough to shatter glass. Draco covered his ears and staggered back,
glancing at Theo for guidance. But his friend appeared equally dumbfounded—

And then the torturous wail died all at once, silence ringing with an eerie hum. Draco lowered his
hands while Bella smoothed her hair, her bodice, her skirts, pupils blown wide as she watched them
with calm calculation.

“My, my,” she mused, expression smooth as fresh snow. “It seems half the guests were in
attendance for the lovely Hermione Granger. Whatever did she do to earn the favor of so many? I
simply must know.” She began stalking forward, Draco her prey. His fists clenched, eager to stand
his ground, but the malevolence of her voice propelled him back. “I’ve spent my entire life at the
mercy of another’s will, another’s perversion, and yet an unremarkable little girl has a string of men
wrapped so tightly around her finger they can barely breathe outside of her presence, little less
think. So please tell me, Draco, my darling, what makes her so special? What makes her the center
of your entire universe?”

He stumbled over a sun-bleached stool and collided with a side table, knocking a lantern to the
ground. The glass shattered, oil spilling across the warped slats.

“I must learn her secret,” Bella continued, eyes gleaming with manic light. “How to accomplish so
much with nothing, how to want for nothing. Surely it’s the key to escaping this waking nightmare
once and for all.” She sprung her attack, grasping his lapels and jerking him forward. “Tell me!”

He wrenched her off with a hiss. “You can share your sob story with the jury. It won’t work on
me.”

“Sob story?” She tipped her head and cackled, the sound scurrying down his spine like spider legs.
“You know nothing about my story. Nothing.” She lunged again and he ducked aside, narrowly
avoiding her painted talons as he collided with Theo, both men staggering with the impact.

“You were raised in the lap of luxury beside your sisters,” Draco growled. “I know your history as
well as theirs.”

Her eyes flared with outrage. “They have no idea what I went through! All I did to protect—” she
gasped suddenly, lids pressing tight as she clutched her head and doubled over, spasming violently.
Draco barely had time to blink before her arms went limp and her body toppled sideways, hitting
the ground with a thud and seizing immediately.

“Draco?” Theo urged. “What—”

“I can’t!” She sobbed, eyes slitting open to gaze at the ceiling in abject horror. “I can’t I can’t I
can’t I can’t—” Her words tapered as her jaw locked, eyes rolling back and limbs jerking.

“Fucking hell,” Theo muttered, carding both hands through his hair. “Is she one of them?”

Draco’s mouth hung wide, heart racing towards a stroke. “She can’t be,” he whispered. “She
can’t…”

“We need to do something or she’s going to die.”

“It isn’t possible, she’s faking—”

“Draco!” Theo shouted, earning his dazed stare. “She’s fucking one of them! Say the bloody
trigger!”

Draco’s thoughts continued to spiral as he lowered to his knees, hands trembling as he struggled to
pin her shoulders flat. “Draíocht… draíocht…” he hesitated, watching the frantic throb of her neck.
“Draíocht,” he concluded, turning rigid as she fell perfectly still, limbs splayed like a corpse.

“Fuck!” Theo shouted. “Is she dead?”

Draco stared at her chest, unable to see it move.

“Check her pulse—”

“Get down here and help me!” Draco demanded, prompting the man to drop beside him in sullen
silence.

Draco took a steadying breath and reached for her neck, fingers twitching, but the moment he
pressed the heated flesh she burst to life, jolting upright as though the floor was spring-loaded. The
men fell back, watching in mutual shock as she panted desperately and clawed at her throat,
tugging at an invisible noose. Her eyes maintained a dream-like quality as they flitted around the
room, absorbing nothing until reaching her astounded audience.

“Draco? What are you doing here?” She muttered feebly, fingers encasing her neck as her eyes
drifted sideways. “Theodore? How—” She cast her searching gaze back to the room. “Why are
we….” Her lids fluttered, shoulders easing as her hands fell into her lap. “I’m dreaming,” she
whispered.

Draco scowled, senses returning in a feverish rush. “You can save the performance for the
magistrate.”

“I don’t think it’s an act,” Theo muttered, continuing to watch with a grave expression.

“She’s a talented liar,” Draco declared, pushing to his feet and straightening his coat. “Hermione
and Padma came back without any memory loss.”

“Maybe she—”

“You must go,” Bella announced suddenly, staring at the front door with ominous concentration.
“He’ll be here soon.”
Draco tensed.

“The Dollmaker is coming?” Theo prompted, sitting on alert.

“I fucking knew it,” Draco muttered, heart soaring triumphantly. “Potter’s a bloody fool.”

“You must go now,” she hissed, wringing her skirt like a rag. “Stay in your room and don’t make a
sound, no matter what you hear.”

Draco paused, glancing down. “What?”

She rose swiftly. Theo shifted back, weary of her movements, but Draco stood his ground, certain
of her duplicity — until she stood centered before him and his stone resolve wavered, the torment
in her gaze so raw and absolute he felt robbed of breath, swaying back to escape its cold vacuum.

“It’s alright, Cissy,” she murmured, reaching up to take his face in her hands. “Please don’t cry.
Andy’s gone but I’ll protect you.” He opened his mouth but no sound emitted. Then her touch
retreated as quickly as it came. “Shite!” She gasped, spinning to the door. “He's here!”

Draco and Theo gazed at the barrier with mutual apprehension, tension mounting with every
stuttered beat as her bristling terror became contagious.

“Go in the closet!” She yelled, grabbing his elbow and dragging him back. “Shut the door and
cover your ears! Hurry!”

Draco staggered beneath her insistence, reaching for her arm. “Bella—”

“Don’t touch me!” She screamed, releasing him as though burned and falling in a heap. Her arms
wrapped her middle as her face pressed her knees, shoulders wracked by silent sobs.

Draco blinked quickly, questioning his sanity as much as hers. “I… I’m your nephew… Draco.”

Her frantic breathing stilled. “Draco?” She echoed softly, glancing up through clumped lashes. Her
features turned smooth, recognition slowly dawning. “You’re so handsome… just like your father.
But your mother on the inside, where it counts.” Her dark eyes drifted, watching an unknown scene
play out in a dust cloud. “I wonder if Saros would have been the same. Rodolphus’s beautiful face
and my black, decaying heart.”

Draco swallowed thickly and looked at Theo but before his friend could lend assistance her words
drew them back like a ripcord.

“It was foolish to name him. Selfish, really. But that’s what I am. A vain, selfish creature… The
doctors all warned me against it, with my injuries the chances of making it to term were so slim.
But after six months I gave in. I couldn't help it.” She tilted her head, hair spilling across her
shoulders in dark tendrils, escaping its fallen pins. “I was decided on Caleb for weeks,” she
continued in a hollow voice. “Not because it held any particular meaning or glamour, simply
because it broke from tradition. A name outside the cursed galaxy of our bloodline. A fresh chapter
in a new book. And then I stumbled across the most beguiling little article and fell completely head
over heels with Saros. I began embroidering his blanket that same afternoon.”

She glanced up, meeting Draco’s gaze with unnerving calm. “It means eclipse repeating. Such
beautiful imagery, no?” Tears over spilled her lashes. “I didn’t realize what I’d done. Condemning
my baby to the never-ending eclipse of my life. The day I finished his blanket was the day he
stopped breathing.”
Draco swayed with the force of his heartbeat.

“The Doctors told me he was dead but I didn’t believe them. I could still feel him moving inside
me.” Her hand drifted to her middle, pressing flat. “Sometimes I still feel him. Then the eclipse
passes and I’m standing alone in the dark… always alone,” she whispered, rocking back and forth
in a narrow strip of moonlight. “Always in the dark.”

The silence pressed upon them like a dense fog, numbing Draco’s thoughts. Theo appeared
similarly afflicted, slowly gathering to his feet and watching her carefully, unable to look away.
But Bella made no further comment or advance, seemingly oblivious to their presence as she
rocked in place and stared into the shadows.

“What should we do?” Theo inquired softly.

Draco tilted head, examining her at an angle. “Head to the wharf.”

“What about Bella?”

“Leave her,” Draco replied without inflection, breaking his rigid stance with a backward step.

“Do you want me to take her somewhere?”

“No,” he replied, starting for the exit. “She’s right where she needs to be.” He glanced over his
shoulder, met by Theo’s reluctant stare. “Let’s go,” he instructed, gaze drifting to her moonlit
figure. Her stare harbored the same hollowness as his chest, a cavern of echoes. Draco turned for
the dark corridor, swallowed by an eclipse.

Harry edged forward, a knife twisting his ribs with every step. The pain was absolute, though it
paled in comparison to a lead pipe bashing his skull. “I don’t suppose we can settle this with
peaceful conversation?”

The deckhand continued his approach, batting the weapon against his palm.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Harry muttered, side throbbing as he shrugged out of his coat. He braced
for attack as the man charged, pipe whistling through the air like a cricket bat. Harry veered out of
its path, stumbling with a grunt as red painted his vision, nerve-endings pulsing white-hot.

“You kids picked the wrong dock to pilfer,” the hulking wall of muscle scathed. “Your pretty
girlfriend will be shot on sight, and that’s if she’s lucky.”

Harry struggled to maintain his footing. “We’re not here to—” he ducked low, narrowly avoiding a
blow to the head as the pipe sailed past his ear. His attacker growled in frustration, baring his teeth.
“Screw it,” Harry murmured, charging the man headlong before he could launch his next assault.

Quirrell stumbled over a crack in the pavement, colliding with his captor’s shoulder. Tom scowled,
gripping him by the collar and wrenching him forward, causing the imbecile to sputter and gasp as
he stumbled across the cobblestone.

“Bloody hell. You’re more useless than Umbridge.” Tom pushed him forward. “Trying to delay
me won’t end well for you.”

“I’m n-not!” Quirrell’s entire body twitched as they turned the corner, a large gate appearing
ahead. “T-This is it,” he supplied, terror illuminated by the lanterns bordering their path. Tom lifted
his chin, reading the sign arching above the entrance.

St. Katharine Docks

Fire unfurled in his gut, spreading across his chest and licking up his throat, eager to incinerate
everything in its path. “Keep going,” he instructed calmly, causing Quirrell to shudder and trip
over a tin can.

“B-But… I sh-showed you where—”

“Your sole purpose is getting me inside, I highly suggest you continue proving useful.”

Quirrell gulped and nodded frantically, falling into step without further discourse. Tom turned his
attention to the dock and the two men guarding its entrance, both appearing supremely bored and
well-armed. He felt the weight of the pistol on his hip, metal pulsing warm against his skin. But
reaching for it now would result in a bloodbath, alerting Grindelwald to his arrival and destroying
any chance of overtaking him. So Tom maintained his facade of indifference, hands calm at his
sides as an inferno raged beneath his skin.

“And what’ve we ‘ere?” One of the men asked, cigarette dangling from his lips and rifle slung over
his shoulder.

“H-H-Hello, g-g-gentlemen—”

“Fuckin’ hell,” the other guard muttered, rubbing his brow as Quirrell flushed crimson. “Gives me
a migraine every bloody time.”

Tom’s shoulder blades merged as he waited for Quirrell to provide their cover-story. Alas, the man
continued to jitter and twitch like a useless bastard, leaving the responsibility to Tom.

“Who the hell are you?” The second guard asked outright, eyeing Tom with open suspicion.

Tom turned his gaze upon the stranger, mask firmly set. “An associate of Mr. Quirrell.”

“Squirrel fetches nuts by himself.”

“Tonight he has company.”

The guards bristled, continuing to examine him at length. Tom maintained his composure as time
bled out with agonizing slowness, the Dollmaker slipping further from his grasp with each passing
second.

“The boss okayed this?” The first guard inquired around a stream of smoke.

Quirrell nodded spastically. “Y-y-y-yes.”

Tom rubbed his forehead and prayed for patience, the urge to snap the man’s neck overwhelming
in appeal. “He’s leaving the country tonight,” he supplied tersely. “If we’re late with delivery it’ll
cost us all our heads. I don’t know about you gentlemen but I’m rather attached to mine.”

The guard responded by blowing smoke in his face. Tom glanced away, fingers curling as he
reconsidered a Wild West-style shoot-out. "Well then," the stranger muttered at length, smiling
wide to reveal a row of yellow teeth. "Off you go."

The guards stepped to the gate and removed the chains in tandem before hauling the barrier aside.
Tom eyed their rifles closely as he slipped through the gap, pausing only to yank the sputtering
idiot through behind him. Quirrell yelped and hiccuped, much to the guards' amusement. Their
loud guffaws continued long after the barrier closed at their backs.

Tom glanced either way down the wide stretch of warped slats, gaze lingering on Tower Bridge
above. Fog hung heavy over the cables, traffic muffled by rushing water and the steady pounding
of his heart. “Which ship?” He prompted.

A strong gust of wind knocked the tethered ships against the dock, creating a cacophony Quirrell
had to shout over. “The v-very end, on t-the right!”

Tom narrowed his focus in the appointed direction. “We’ll see,” he muttered, continuing down the
path at a determined pace.

Quirrell struggled to keep up, too terrified to attempt an escape, little less a lie. Sure enough, Tom
knew he’d struck gold when he came upon a medium-sized vessel being unloaded at the end of the
wharf, three men hauling crates down a ramp as lanterns burned softly at their feet. Their
movements halted as the new arrivals drew closer but Tom’s gaze remained fixed to the ship, heart
skipping as he read the elegant calligraphy painted along the starboard panel.

Guinevere

His chest tightened with anticipation, certain his prey was near. Quirrell detected the change in his
countenance, vibrating out of his skin. “P-Perhaps we sh-should—”

“Shut up,” Tom commanded, focus shifting to the deckhands as they gathered around the stack of
crates in the middle of the dock.

“Quirrell?” One of them asked, appearing older than his associates. “Who’s this?” He glanced at
the empty space behind them. “Where’s Mistress Lestrange? I thought you were bringin’ her.”

“Y-Yes, well, y-you see—”

“There’s been a change in plan,” Tom replied flatly, tired of the bullshite. “Madam Lestrange sent
me to deliver a message directly to our employer.”

The deckhands glanced at each other before their leader spoke, skepticism tinging each word.
“Yeah? And what’s the message?”

Tom slipped his hands into his coat to resist reaching for his gun. The ribbon looped around his
thumb, barely tight enough to keep him contained. “As I said, the message is for his ears alone.
Where is he?”

The younger deckhands opened a flask, clearly uninterested in the exchange, but their Leader
watched Tom with rapt focus, crossing his arm and bracing his feet apart. “I’ve never seen you
before.”

“I’m a trusted associate of—”

“Mistress Lestrange. So you’ve said.”

Tom inhaled slowly, tension radiating through his shoulders and neck.

“Strange her sendin’ you here and all,” the man continued, solidifying his battle stance.

“And why is that?” Tom drawled, resigned to the fate of his evening.
"Bumby swung by earlier, see. Said we may be gettin' a late-night visitor… a tall, dark, and
handsome fella."

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be.” A frigid breeze whistled past, spraying water across the dock and their boots.
“He spoke very highly of you, said you were the most dangerous man in all of London and we ain’t
to trust a word out of your mouth.”

“Did he now.”

“That he did.” The deckhands emptied the flask and turned their attention forward. “Funny how
not thirty minutes later, Quirrell shows up with a stranger in tow, tellin’ us Mistress Lestrange sent
him on a top-secret mission to speak with the good Doc all by himself. Now surely you can see the
situation that puts us in.”

Tom’s blood surged with the knowledge Grindelwald had departed only half an hour prior. “My,
that certainly is a funny coincidence.”

“Hm,” the stranger lamented. “Unfortunate thing is… I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Understandable,” Tom conceded, removing his coat. “Quite similarly, I don’t believe in mincing
words.” He tossed the garment aside, landing it across Quirrell’s head. The man jolted and wailed
like a ghost as Tom began rolling up his sleeves. “And since I highly doubt you’ll volunteer the
Dollmaker’s next destination, I propose moving onto phase two of our cordial exchange.”

The Leader smiled, his spot-ridden companions sharing looks of unease. “Proposal accepted.”

“Quirrell,” Tom prompted.

The trembling coat-rack peeled the fabric from his face. “Y-Y-Yess?”

“Leave,” he growled before launching forward, his three adversaries following suit.

Their numbers lent them a greater advantage but Tom knew the green deckhands would defer to
their boss for instruction. As anticipated, the Leader swung first, his sizable build creating a wide
canvas for Tom to paint black and blue. He dodged the meaty fist and delivered twin blows to the
kidneys and gut, forcing the air from his opponent's lungs in a powerful whoosh. The senior
deckhand wheezed, grasping his side and hitting the ground like an anchor. The moment his knees
cracked against the slats his companions rushed forward, taking it as their cue.

Tom readied his fists, satin cutting across his thumb as he ducked a wide right hook, narrowly
avoiding the blow to his ribs. He swiveled to keep his gravity low, searching out an advantage.
Sparring was exhausting and time-consuming but he was committed to seeing it through without
the gun. He couldn’t afford lending Grindelwald another head start, nor was he particularly keen
on killing teenagers caught in a web they couldn’t possibly comprehend.

He became distracted when Quirrell toppled sideways into a cluster of barrels, sending the heavy
containers crashing and rolling into the river before charging the deck like a goat on cocaine. Tom
ignored the spectacle, preoccupied with avoiding a crowbar to the skull. The flash of metal
reminded him of Hermione’s faithful poker, her clever strategy and feral bloodlust far more
impressive than the disjointed attempts of the inebriated teenager staggering his way.

And then the second deckhand joined the attack and Tom knew it was time for the firearm,
refusing to waste another ounce of energy on this fool’s errand. He reached for his waistband and
withdrew the pistol before spotting the Leader in his peripheral, back on his feet and pointing a
shotgun at Tom’s head. He dropped low, realizing too late it was merely a diversion. One of the
deckhands charged him from the side, knocking him flat and reaching for his weapon. Tom took
advantage of the boy’s position, kneeing him in the groin and rolling his weight aside before
sitting up and taking aim—

The first deckhand reappeared, swinging the crowbar like a cricket bat and hitting the side of the
pistol. The weapon went off before flying out of Tom’s hand, the bullet striking the ship’s stern as
the pistol spun end over end, hungrily consumed by the raging river.

“Goddammit,” Tom hissed, rolling sideways as the crowbar sailed past his face and split the wood
beside his head, lodging deep in the splintered beams. His would-be-executioner growled,
struggling to free the hooked-end as his companion clutched his crotch and howled in misery from
the fetal position. Tom paid their antics little mind, more concerned with the shotgun centered on
his head for the second time that night.

The wharf was wide open, the crates too far away to provide shelter. The only possible cover was
offered by the ship itself so he hauled upright and charged the ramp, knowing he was out of range
when the disgruntled shooter released a colorful string of curses. But relief was fleeting as the
deckhand finally managed to wrench his crowbar free, eager to spill Tom’s brains across the wood.

Tom emerged inside the cargo hold and darted to the nearest open crate, grabbing its lid and raising
it like a shield, blocking the bone-shattering strike before the bar cracked his skull like an egg. The
hooked-end burst through the slats, wedged firm. Tom twisted the lid and wrenched the weapon
from the sputtering teen’s grasp before delivering a swift kick to the side of his knee, dislocating
the joint and causing him to buckle. His shrill cry filled the night as Tom drove the edge of the lid
against the back of his head, rendering him unconscious in a single blow.

Footsteps echoed up the ramp, prompting Tom to toss the busted lid and dive for shelter as the
Leader took aim and fired. The explosion was immense but easily matched by the ground-shaking
collision of ships slamming the wharf while the tide raged on. The pellets cast a wide spray,
lodging in walls and crates and soft flesh, indiscriminate in their destruction. Tom hissed and rolled
away to take inventory of his shoulder, blood saturating his arm in a warm trail, fabric and muscle
shredded. Just a flesh wound, barely worth cataloguing. He kept low and continued navigating
around the stacks, moving deeper into the cargo hold.

“Your luck just ran out!” The shooter called, boots scraping the bowed floor. “There're no weapons
on the ship! Come out nice and quiet and I’ll consider shooting you in the head, quick and
painless!”

“A very generous offer,” Tom conceded, reading labels as he went. “But I’m afraid I must decline.”

The deckhand searched the rows like a seething bull, shotgun at the ready. “Then you’re not the
most dangerous man in all of London. You’re the stupidest.”

Tom shook his head, lamenting he had no one to share the irony with, and then he found the crate
he wanted and rapidly recalibrated, gripping the sides and heaving it off the stack with a grunt. The
lumbering giant heard the commotion and turned, firing without taking aim.

Tom ducked, pellets and wood raining overhead as the ship tilted precariously, seemingly
affronted by the assault. The lanterns swayed in turn, casting dizzying patterns across the ceiling
and walls as the deckhand cursed anew, shouldering boxes aside to get a better shot.

Tom seized the distraction, lifting his chosen crate and aiming it at the ground before dropping it
with a grunt. The corner smashed hard, wood splintering as the frame began to buckle. He growled
and bent low, repeating the motion until the walls started to cave, then stomped the lid until the
box fell apart, loose straw and dark bottles spilling free.

He heard the racking of the shotgun and crouched low, another explosion ringing through his skull
as buckshot tore a hole in the panel above. He reached for a bottle when his opponent growled,
empty shells hitting the floor.

“Fucking with my staff is one thing,” the man scathed, pulling fresh casings from his pocket.
“Fucking with my liquor is another!”

Tom rotated the bottle and inspected the label. “Bourbon,” he read aloud, arching a brow.
“Smuggling American liquor in and trafficking brainwashed women out. An entrepreneur at heart.”

“I don’t know anything about any women,” the stranger hissed, pumping the barrel and continuing
forward. “I just unload the ship.”

“Then my quarrel isn’t with you.”

The deckhand shook his head and stepped around the remaining stack, aiming the barrel—

But all he found was the busted crate and discarded bottles, straw flung in every direction. He
bared his teeth, roaring above the howling wind. “You ain’t getting out of here alive! I suggest
enjoying a final drink and facing your fate like a good lad!”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He turned, pointing his gun at the back wall and following the sound of Tom’s voice.

“Do you know why alcohol is measured by proof?” Tom prompted from the shadows. “The term
dates back over a hundred years. British sailors would test the potency of rum by dropping it in
gunpowder. If the wet powder still ignited it was proof their alcohol was strong enough to tax at a
premium.”

“Sounds to me like they just wanted to get loaded,” the stranger replied, pivoting at Tom’s low
laughter, smirking as he spotted a flash of movement between the stacks.

“I don’t disagree. And it seems Americans kept with the tradition. No doubt you're smuggling this
brand because it contains nearly twice the legal limit of ethanol.”

“Are you done talking yet?” The deckhand raised the barrel and leapt around the stack with a wide
grin, but his expression soon fell when he found an empty row stretching before him. “Slippery fu
—!” His words dissolved into a shocked bark as Tom emerged from between the crates and
slammed the bottle over the shotgun, glass and liquor drenching everything in their path.

Tom hit the deck as another shot rang out, pellets assaulting the floor and lodging in his hip. But
his growl of pain was swallowed by the man’s wail of agony as his hands went up in flame,
gunpowder residue igniting the bourbon in the heat of the blast. He threw the shotgun with a
strangled wail, flames crawling up his arms as he staggered down the ramp and pushed past a
bewildered junior deckhand in his mad pursuit of the water.

Tom rolled with a groan, blood soaking his pant leg as he reached for the discarded gun, pulling it
into his lap and snapping open the chamber.

Empty.
He sighed, resigned to fishing the remaining ammunition from the man’s pockets—

A loud splash, followed by a bubbling gurgle as the shrill scream sank beneath the waves. Tom
closed his eyes, shaking his head and tossing the useless weapon aside before hauling himself
upright and limping out of the cargo hold. The young man stood at the water’s edge, watching his
boss float face down atop its dark surface.

“I recommend fishing your associate from the river before he drowns,” Tom muttered, inspecting
his throbbing side with a clinical eye. “If you’re quick about it, he has a chance of surviving
infection.”

The boy watched him disembark with a nervous gulp, raising his fists as Tom started across the
deck. “I-I can’t let you leave.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Tom advised, losing patience faster than blood. “We both know how this will
end.”

The deckhand swayed, fists shaking. “B-Bumby will kill me if I don’t try.”

Tom rolled his neck atop his spine and glanced at the sky, watching a shooting star sail overhead
and wishing it would strike the dock, ending this farce at last. Resolved to being alone in the
universe he cracked his neck and turned his dark gaze forward. "Let's get on with it then."

He started in as the young man passed before the stack of crates, immediately pausing as
something emerged from behind the pile, blocked by the teenager’s wiry frame. Tom’s shoulders
drew wide as the deckhand staggered in place, eyes flaring wide and arms falling limp, the rest of
his body following suit as he collapsed in a heap. Tom spared the boy no mind, the entirety of his
focus possessed by the figure standing before him.

She panted hard, cheeks flushed, dropping the loose plank at her side without breaking his gaze.
His blood surged, every vein throbbing as electricity spiraled through the air, rolling down his
spine and snapping at his skin. She licked her lips and inhaled softly as though to speak; he held his
breath and leaned forward, sanity hinging on her next words—

And then her eyes tracked lower, spotting the red painting his shoulder. “Oh my god, you’ve been
shot!” She cried, rushing in until she stood just before him, fingertips hovering over the shredded
fabric, warmth radiating from her palms. “Did the bullet go through?”

He couldn’t process the question, couldn’t feel his torn flesh or cold, bloodless limbs. He could
only watch the play of lights across her hair, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her breath
quickened—

“Tom?” She prompted, gazing up, face centered beneath him. “Did you hear me? We need to
irrigate—”

He wasn’t aware of his actions, surrendering to the animal clawing beneath his skin as he grabbed
her arms and hauled her forward, abdomen tightening when their bodies collided, warm hands
twisting his shirt as he searched her face. “You’re awake,” he whispered.

Her breath escaped in a rush, trailing across his chin, down his throat. “Oh, yes, right…” she
uttered, blinking innocently. “Well, it’s rather a long story but—” The words died with a gasp as he
gripped the back of her neck and descended upon her.

The crate exploded on impact, wood scattering in every direction as Harry hit the pile like a
wrecking ball. Busted slats dug into his back, an incessant ringing overtaking his senses as he tried
summoning the strength to move. His opponent stalked forward, lip split and eye blackened,
prompting Harry to scrub an exhausted hand over his own battered face, wishing he’d kept the
bloody pipe handy after wrestling it from the man’s grip.

No. He bared his teeth, struggling to sit upright. No more death.

He wasn’t keen on killing anyone but the Dollmaker tonight, no matter how tempting the gun felt
at his side, beckoning his hand. And then the stranger was upon him, pressing a boot to his
shoulder and pinning him flat. “I was supposed to be at the pub by now,” he scathed, wiping blood
from his chin.

Harry grimaced, ribs stabbing into his lungs. “Don’t let me keep you.”

The deckhand began cracking his swollen knuckles when a third voice greeted them.

“Well, well… what do we have here?”

They glanced sideways, groaning in mutual frustration as two police officers appeared with
lanterns in hand.

“Fuck,” the stranger hissed, lifting the boot from Harry’s chest to face the officers. “Evening,
gentlemen. Fine weather we’re having, no?” He smiled, erupting blood down his chin in a fresh
trail.

“What did we tell you about disturbing the peace, Martin?”

“I wasn’t disturbing nothing! I caught this little pissant and his girlfriend scaling the bloody gate,
I’m just doing my job!”

“Your job is to notify us.”

“I didn’t think it was worth you fine gentlemen’s time. Surely you have better things to do with
your evening ”

“Funny you should mention that,” one of the officers mused, reaching into his jacket. “As it so
happens, we planned on spending our evening with you regardless.” He extracted a notepad and
lifted the cover, skimming the page. “Does the name Jimmy Belmont ring any bells?”

The man lifted his chin, shoulders drawing tight. “Can’t say it does.”

“Hm. That’s strange.” The officer closed the pad, stuffing it back inside his uniform. “Mr. Belmont
claims to know you real well. Says you quarreled with him over cards before busting a chair over
his head and clearing his pockets of everything he owns.”

“Wow, that is strange.”

Harry rubbed his brow as the officers exchanged bracing looks. “It is indeed,” one of them
deadpanned, slowly reaching for his baton.

“Poor sod is obviously mistaken.” The deckhand smiled anew, carding a hand through his hair.
“I’m told I have a very familiar face.”

“You don’t say? Well, how’s about we swing by the Yard and see if anyone else recognizes it?”

The first officer extracted his baton as his partner reached for iron manacles. Harry drummed his
fingers atop his knee, watching as the deckhand bolted for the street.

“Fuck!” The officer dropped his lantern and gave chase, the howling wind smothering their
pounding footsteps up the dark stretch of road.

“Don’t you hate it when that happens?” Harry mused, sitting upright with a grimace.

The remaining officer glanced down. “Eh, almost forgot about you.”

“I’m perfectly content with that arrangement.”

“While normally I’d be compelled to look the other way, we’ve been given strict instructions to
keep our eyes on the docks tonight.” The officer crossed his arms. “Alright, kid, what did you come
to steal?”

“Nothing.” Harry leaned over, spitting blood on the cobblestone and wiping his mouth. “As I tried
telling Martin, this is all a simple misunderstanding.”

"I see. Well, unfortunately, your simple misunderstanding occurred in a complicated part of town.
I'm going to have to verify your identity and collect your statement at the Yard."

Harry rubbed his eyes, wishing he was in any condition to make a break for it. “What if I told you
there’s a sadistic madman prowling the streets and the only way to stop him is to let me through
those gates?”

“I’d tell you that’s the third most entertaining story I’ve heard tonight. The first being Mr.
Belmont’s, of course.”

“Naturally. And the second?”

“A pretty lass near St. Mary’s, drunk off her gourd. Claimed the plants were trying to provoke her.
Caught her hacking away at a maple for calling her a cow.”

“Wow. That is pretty good.” Harry scratched the back of his head, scalp tender. “Is Commissioner
Bones still at the station?”

The officer blinked, lantern swaying at his side. “Yeah, he’ll be there all night.”

Harry nodded. “In that case…” he staggered to his feet with a low groan, wood and gravel raining
from his coat as he faced the man with a strained grin. “Arrest me.”

Parvati smoothed a hand along her front, fluffing her skirt and taming her hair, certain she looked
like the victim of a rock-climbing accident. Her hands opened and closed at her sides, breath
shuddering as she stared at the closed door, counting backward from ten and turning the knob at
nine, unable to tolerate the wait. She strode inside without a knock, rounding a pillar and stopping
in her tracks.

Blaise stared at the ceiling, scratching the skin around his bandaged shoulder. "I already told you, I
don't want any more morphine—" his eyes flickered down, body tensing before pushing upright.
"Parvati."

“Turning down morphine?” She asked, struggling to keep her voice unaffected as she closed the
door. “I didn’t know blood loss caused brain damage.”

“On the contrary. I like to be lucid during my sponge baths with Ingrid.”
“I hate to interrupt,” she clipped, crossing her arms and pacing to the center of the room. “Perhaps I
can fetch Ingrid for you now.”

“That would be great. She’s an elderly German with a unibrow and sultry limp, you can’t miss
her.”

She tried containing her smirk but found it a lost cause. “You look like shite.”

“You look beautiful,” he replied, roaming her figure at length. She fidgeted beneath the inspection,
dropping her arms and smoothing her skirts while silently scolding herself. “I heard everyone made
it out okay,” he continued.

She abandoned her preening with a nod. “We were all clever enough not to get shot.”

His laughter was rich and deep, causing her to flush. “I’m a bloody idiot.”

“I know,” she agreed readily. “That’s what I like most.” His grin stretched wide, transforming his
features. She linked her hands, squirming beneath his penetrating stare. “I meant to come sooner
—”

“You were busy saving the world. How’s Padma?”

She started forward, butterflies settling in the pit of her stomach. “Awake.”

“No more seizures?”

“I mean awake awake.” She pulled the chair closer to his bed, making a concerted effort not to
stare at his bare chest. “She’s out of the trance.”

“How?” He asked, reaching out and grabbing her wrist to pull her towards the cot.

She bit her lip, perching on the edge of the thin mattress. “Hermione discovered the trigger. The
girls are lucid and the staff is running around like headless chickens. They don’t know what the
hell is going on.”

His palm settled in her lap. “Do we?”

“Not in the slightest,” she affirmed, resting her hand over his.

“Hm. Back to normal then.” He interlaced their fingers. “How are you making out in all this?”

Her grin turned brittle, chipping away in pieces. "Padma's return still feels surreal. I was so afraid
to let her out of my sight, certain she'd disappear the moment I glanced away." She released a
strained breath, idly tracing his thumbnail. "But she's fine without me. Better off even. I couldn't
protect her the first time—"

“Enough of that,” he gently admonished.

“I know, I just…. it’s a lot to process and I haven’t had time to really…” She shook her head,
unsure how to continue.

“You both have a long road ahead. At least now you get to walk it together.”

She laughed shortly, covertly wiping her tears. “That was lovely.”

“I have my moments.”
Her attention drifted to his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Like absolute shite up until a few minutes ago. Now I’m bloody fantastic.”

She rolled her eyes, grinning despite her best efforts. “Does your mother know what happened?”

“Theo wrote a letter and sent a telegram,” he replied flatly, the glimmer in his eyes snuffed out like
a candle flame.

“She’ll come, won’t she?”

“After untangling herself from whatever rent-boy she’s procured along her travels, maybe. It’s hard
to predict her movements. I stopped trying years ago.”

Parvati nodded, unsure how to respond after knowing only love and affection during her own
upbringing. The silence stretched thin as she worked up the nerve to continue.

"Blaise, I—" She glanced away. "When you were shot I didn't know what to do. It all happened so
fast and then you were bleeding in my arms. I thought you were going to die." His grip tightened.
"There are things I wish I had said but my mind went blank—"

“I remember everything you told me,” he stated, tracing her knuckles. “I clung to every word.”

“I meant it.” She glanced sideways, their features illuminated by lantern glow. “You aren’t a fool
or a lush. Those are just the masks you wear to keep people at a distance. I know because I do that,
too. It’s safer, less painful. But you don’t have to pretend with me. I won’t treat you like your
mother.” She wet her lips. “I won’t use you.”

His thumb skimmed the inside of her wrist. “I know,” he whispered, then awarded her his most
roguish grin. “But those weren’t the words I was referring to.”

She blinked in confusion, drying her eyes.

“I believe you made me a promise,” he continued. “If I lived, you’d kiss and smack me around.”

“Or anything you bloody wanted,” she whispered, tipping her head with a laugh. “I suppose I did
say that…” she arched a brow. “So, what is it you want, Blaise Zabini?”

His eyes glimmered. “Lie beside me and I’ll whisper it in your ear.”

She sighed dramatically and rose from the cot as he adjusted on the pillows, sitting against his
uninjured side and lifting her legs. Such intimacy was unfamiliar but she quickly acclimated to his
warmth, canting towards him as his weight dipped the cot. He slid an arm behind her back and
pulled her the rest of the way, his scent enveloped her.

“Well?” She prompted.

“Hm…” he mused with a widening grin. “I’ll tell you later.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m beginning to think this was your plan all along. Get yourself shot and
guilt me into falling into bed with you.”

“Brilliant, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. A few shots of vodka are equally effective.”

“Remind me to swing by the distillery when I’m discharged.”

Parvati smiled, resting her hand atop his bare chest and feeling the steady pounding of his heart.

“I look forward to meeting Padma,” he murmured.

She laid her head on his shoulder. “And I can’t wait to meet your mum.”

His laughter shook the cot until silence pulled them into its tranquil waters, his fingertips tracing
slow patterns on her hip. “It’s time, Parvati.”

The intensity of his words gave her pause. “Time for what?” She asked, pushing back to meet his
gaze.

His eyes flickered across her face, lingering at her mouth. “The terribly ill-timed kiss.”

She blinked twice before bracing his chest. “I couldn’t agree more,” she whispered, melting into
him as the lantern continued to burn.

Hermione gasped, sharing the steam of his breath as he directed the angle of her head, calloused
fingertips pressing her nape. Her hands slid to his neck, tracing the steady throb of his artery,
skimming the stubble of his jaw, their teeth colliding like hungry animals, desperation growing.
And then his arm slid around her waist, a steel band pressing her forward and up, dangling her feet
above the dock as her weight settled against him.

Her fingers moved into his hair, raking his scalp. His entire body twitched like a heartbeat, arms
tightening painfully while his groan echoed inside the caverns of her mouth. She gripped his
shoulders, dizzy and breathless as he hissed, lowering her so abruptly she staggered with the
impact, gasping and dazed.

Then she saw the red glistening across her palm and reality returned with crushing swiftness.

“I’m so sorry!” She panted, trying to steady her thoughts as a fever raged beneath her skin. “You’re
still bleeding. We need to—”

He grasped her chin and tipped her face up, pupils blown wide. “How?” He asked, voice so thick
she barely recognized it.

Hermione swallowed tentatively. “It’s… complicated,” she hedged, unsure what to divulge without
sounding insane. “I discovered the trigger to release their minds. The women from the auction are
being revived at the hospital. They’re free.” She reached up and skimmed his jaw, eyes drifting to
his lips. “There’s so much I want to tell you—”

She wasn’t given the chance, jerked forward for another kiss she was happy to reciprocate,
moaning against his mouth and gripping his waist, mindful of his shoulder. But as she brushed his
sides he groaned anew, the sound rooted in pain rather than pleasure. She felt his body tense and
stepped back, warmth bathing her hand as it received a fresh coating of blood.

“Your side!” She gasped.

“I’m fine.”

"Tom—" She fell silent as he reached for her again, masculine purpose clouding his visage. She
shifted out of his path, spotting red on his thumb. At first, she thought he was cut, but upon closer
inspection she realized it was satin, a frayed and familiar ribbon wrapping his palm. Her pulse
skipped, gaze lingering on the sight until he tightened his fist and dropped his arm.

"I have to finish this, Hermione. I have to find him." His eyes gleamed as dark as the water beside
them. "I'm too close to turn back now."

“I’m here to help you,” she vowed.

He continued to search her face as though still trying to reconcile her appearance. “He’s nearby. I
can feel it.”

“I saw Quirrell running past me, you might be able to catch—”

“He’s useless,” Tom declared, stepping back and turning for the river. “We'll cover more ground
without him.”

She watched him pace the edge of the wharf, staring at ships in the distance. “Dumbledore
deployed sailors at every bridge and checkpoint,” she explained. “Even with false papers, they’ll
have his physical description.”

“Grindelwald is a snake, he’ll find a way to slither past.”

Her gaze drifted to Tower Bridge, their bodies encased by its massive shadow, and for a heart-
stopping instant she saw wildflowers and vines crawling over its rusted cables, glowing eyes
watching them from the mist. She blinked and the image dissolved, nocturnal eyes replaced by
lanterns in the fog.

Carriages traveled in either direction, oblivious to the violence over forty-meters below. The
howling winds and whirling engines had surely masked the gunfire but the dock was still exposed
to prying eyes from above. And if there was one thing Hermione knew with utter certainty, it was
that Grindelwald hated having an audience.

“Hermione?” Tom prompted, drawn by her prolonged silence.

“A snake…” she whispered, sensing his eyes upon her. “Snakes burrow underground to evade
predators.”

He followed her stare across the water. “There’s no subterranean path.”

“Not here,” she affirmed, lightning illuminating the sky as she met his gaze. “But the Thames
Tunnel is only two kilometers away.”

Electricity danced in his eyes. “Let’s go,” he said, thunder crashing as he strode past, taking her
hand and breaking into a dead run.

Daphne bit her lip and opened the door, grimacing as the hinges groaned. She held her breath and
counted to three before creeping daintily over the threshold with her shoes in hand.

A lumbering mass entered at her back, promptly colliding with the entry table and knocking its
contents to the floor, a vase shattering across the marble.

“Greg!” She hissed, whirling around.

“Fuck! I didn’t see it!”

“You’re worse than a bull in a china shop!” She held his gaze before erupting into laughter, her
husband quickly following suit. Their hushed exchange was cut short as footsteps proceeded down
the hall. “Shite!” She whispered, pushing him towards the door. “Go! Wait outside!”

“But—”

“I’ll be out in twenty minutes! Hurry!” She shut the door in his face and turned, face awash in
candlelight as the elderly butler rounded the corner.

"W-Who's there?" He called. "I warn you, I'm armed!" He entered the foyer, shadows magnified in
the hallows of his face as he lifted the lantern. "Lady Daphne!" He gasped, pressing a hand to his
chest. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

“Terribly sorry, Leopold,” she offered sweetly, stepping away from the door. “But I’m touched you
were prepared to defend our household with salad tongs.”

He glanced down, inspecting his weapon of choice. “They were sitting on the table, I thought I
might pluck the burglar's eyes out.”

“I’ve never felt safer, or had a greater craving for olives.”

His eyes drifted to the floor, widening anew. "Oh, dear! Do mind the glass, Miss Daphne. I'll get
the broom—"

“Don’t bother,” she said quickly. “Go to bed, Leopold, I’ll take care of the mess.”

“Please, allow me—”

“That’s an order, made with affection.”

He studied her curiously. “Of course, Miss Daphne. I’m relieved you made it home soundly. The
staff was quite worried about you and your sister, we thought perhaps you joined your father in
Rome.”

“Astoria isn’t home?”

“She departed early this morning with several suitcases in tow.”

“What?” She yelled, causing the poor man to turn an alarming shade of grey.

“Goodness, should I notify the authorities?”

Her mind spun. “No, I…” she placed a hand to her neck, dread creeping up her spine. “Dammit!”

“Quite right, Lady Daphne.”

She rushed to the door and flung it wide. “Greg, get in here!”

He glanced up from the rose bushes, blinking in perplexity. “I thought you said—”

“Now, please!”

The butler sputtered like a dying engine. “Miss Daphne, I hardly think it appropriate for a
gentleman caller to pay you a visit at such an hour—”

“He isn’t a caller, he’s my husband.” She jolted as Leopold dropped the lantern, glass shattering at
his slippered feet. “Greg, luv,” she prompted calmly. “Would you please sweep the marble while I
run upstairs?”

Greg glanced between his wife and the ghostly butler. “Of course, is everything—”

“Husband?” Leopold gasped.

“I know, it’s a lot to process,” she sighed, already halfway up the staircase. “Sit down if you begin
feeling faint. I’ll be right back.”

Greg shuffled awkwardly, clearing his throat to address his elderly companion. “Um… where do
you keep the broom?”

“Did she say husband?”

Their voices soon faded, replaced by her harried breath as she emerged on the second floor,
dropping her shoes and rushing for her sister’s bedroom. The door stood ajar, the inside dark. She
clicked on the gaslight, pulse stuttering when she wrenched open the wardrobe and found it empty,
wooden hangers knocking together. She moved to the dresser, pulling open drawer after drawer,
moonlight illuminating their barren interiors.

She left… Her vision swam. Did something happen? Where did she go?

She spun in a frantic circle, stumbling to a halt as a flash of white appeared on the duvet. A piece
of paper, neatly folded. Her fingers trembled as she peeled it open, blinking at the two simple
words it contained.

Your nightstand.

She crumpled the note and raced across the hall, clipping her shoulder against the doorframe en
route to her side table. Its drawer was ajar, a piece of parchment waiting inside. She clicked on her
lantern and sank to the floor, reading the missive by its warm glow.

A soft rap sounded at her door.

“Daph, luv?” She gazed up as Greg peeked his head in. “Are you alright?” He asked, concern
etching his features.

“Tori’s gone,” she whispered.

He stepped inside. “Where did she go?”

“Barcelona.”

His step faltered. “How did she manage that?”

“Pansy gave her access to her accounts,” she muttered, bringing the letter to her lap. “Tori
deposited her book advance. It’ll tide her over until the first printing sells.”

He lowered to the floor beside her. “Want to go after her?”

“No,” she murmured, leaning into his side. “We’ll let her get settled, enjoy her independence.
Then, when she least expects it, I’ll pay a visit and make her life absolute hell for leaving me with
a bloody note.”

He grinned, lips pressing her temple. “Sounds like a plan. We’re still honeymooning in Paris
then?”

“I don’t think so,” she sighed. “Let’s just move there.”

He tilted his head, considering. “I love baguettes,” he mused. She laughed, grabbing his shirt and
pulling him in. “Do you think they call French toast ‘toast’?” He pondered against her lips.

She shook her head and started to rise. “Help me pack.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her into his lap. “What do they call regular toast?”

More laughter bubbled forth as he continued prattling questions, her only recourse to silence him
with another kiss.

Sirius arrived at the stoop with a heaving sigh, rubbing his nape as he waited for the other boot to
drop. The last few days felt like a fever dream, the kind of madness found in books and gossip rags.
His life had never followed an ordered path but this was proving excessive even for him. Alas, he
was grateful to escape the demolished confines of Grimmauld for a few hours, the change of
scenery helping clear his mind.

He rapped softly on the door but it flew open as if he’d kicked it in, Dumbledore appearing on the
other side in a whirlwind. “Sirius,” he greeted, sounding both relieved and disappointed.

“Albus.”

The Senior Officer released a weary breath, shifting back. “Do come in.”

Sirius did as bade, casting a sweeping glance around the room. He’d known the Admiral for more
than two decades but had never stepped foot inside his home. It felt strange seeing the quaint
decorations adorning the walls, almost as strange as seeing the infamous Naval Commander in a
robe and house slippers. He noted the white stubble marring his jaw, shadows framing his eyes.
The most unkempt he’d ever appeared, even after months at sea.

“I see you’re faring about as well as me tonight,” Sirius mused.

Albus nodded solemnly, closing the door. “You know then.”

“Enough to give me nightmares for the rest of my life.”

“I thought you might be an officer come to tell me Tom is dead.” He rubbed his eyes beneath his
spectacles. “Not that they’d think to come here. It’s been many years since I was considered…”
His hand dropped, gaze turning distant. “If I didn’t hear anything by morning I was resolved to
visit the morgues. The thought of—” He shook his head, features tense with chagrin. “Apologies. I
find myself rambling like an old fool more often these days.”

“Not an old fool. A concerned parent.”

Dumbledore chuckled, the sound lacking warmth. “I’m far removed from such a title, I assure
you.”

“It’s not just about blood.”

“My bond with Tom is nothing like what you share with Harry.” The Admiral started across the
room, glancing over his shoulder as he entered the hall. “Please, come and sit. I would enjoy the
company. Would you like some tea?”
Sirius shook his head, following him into the den. “I can barely keep water down.”

“I am similarly plagued,” Albus sighed, folding into a plush chair.

Sirius took perch on the couch, knees popping with the motion. “Christ,” he groaned. “Aging is
bloody awful.”

“Hm. I thought the same at your age.”

“And now?”

“I’ve come to appreciate the natural cycle of things. Youth is as much a blessing as a curse. But
with age comes a treasure trove of memories, which is perhaps the most precious gift of all.”

Sirius leaned into the cushions, boot propped against his knee. “I can think of a few I wouldn’t
mind tossing into the rubbish bin.”

“Forgetting is merely a form of denial. Our minds cling to the worst of our sins. Pain is built into
our design from birth.” The Admiral tilted his head, fingers drumming the armrest. “I think my
senility just evolved into existential melancholy.”

“I’m sure they have a tonic for that,” Sirius mused, foot tapping the floor.

“You seem restless,” Albus observed. “I suspect you didn’t come here to sit with an old man.”

“No,” Sirius stated plainly. “I came for a game of whist. I heard through the grape-vine you’re an
undefeated champion.”

“Of all the rumors surrounding me, that may be my favorite.”

“Happy to brighten your night.” Sirius leaned forward, glancing around the room. “Have a deck
handy?”

“Sirius.” The deep cadence caused him to straighten. “Why did you come?”

“I heard you stationed sailors around the city,” he admitted, sinking back. “Figured you’ll be the
first to know if… anything develops.”

Dumbledore absorbed the words with stoic indifference. “Where is Harry?”

“Breaking into private property,” Sirius replied, foot restarting its incessant tapping. “He took a
gun. And Hermione.” He rubbed a hand across his mouth. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,
Albus. I don’t know how to be a father. I was never meant to be one. That was James’s job. He’s
supposed to be the one saying No, Harry, you can’t go stalking a mad man through the streets. It’s
a weeknight.”

The Admiral watched him over the top of his spectacles. “You’ve done your best.”

“My best isn’t good enough. I wasn’t there when his ship got attacked and I’m not with him now. I
just handed him the gun and watched him walk away… then I let the others do the same. They’re
only kids.”

“Harry’s a lieutenant who’s proven himself in battle countless times. And from what I’ve heard,
the victory at Grimmauld was no less impressive.”

Sirius blinked. “The attack made the newspaper?” He asked. Albus’s glacial stare glittered in
response. Sirius laughed shortly, shaking his head. “‘Course not. Forgot who I was talking to.”

“You’re as much a father to that boy as James was,” Albus continued. “Further proven by your
doubts. He was plagued by the same misgivings at one time or another, as I’m sure you recall.”

The words were spoken in assurance but did little to dispel the burning ache behind his eyes. “I feel
like I’m failing him,” Sirius whispered. “When Harry was a boy he told me everything. Now he
tells me nothing.”

“Then you truly are a parent.”

Sirius tried to smile, drained by the effort. “I don’t think he trusts me.”

“Surely you jest.”

A tenuous beat. Sirius rubbed his brow before linking his hands and staring at the floor. “He trusts
me with his life, but not his secrets… I’m afraid he thinks I’ll be ashamed of him. But there’s
nothing that would stop me from loving him, nothing that would make me turn my back. And if he
doubts that for even a second, then I’ve done a shite job.” He closed his eyes, jaw tensing. “Bloody
hell, I’m rambling. Senility must be contagious.”

“Someone once told me it’s called being a good parent.”

“Sounds like a real dumbarse.”

“That’s one of his many nicknames,” Dumbledore mused. Sirius smirked, heart thrumming against
the hollow drum in his chest. “You’re a fierce sailor,” Albus continued. “You were an excellent
Captain and I’ve no doubt you’ll make a wise and competent Admiral. But all your Naval
accomplishments pale in comparison to your success as a father. Harry is lucky to have someone so
devoted, so invested, and he knows it. I see the love and admiration shining in his eyes every time
he looks at you. He trusts you implicitly, and if he’s keeping a secret then it’s par for the course of
youth. He’ll come around in his own time, and that moment has far less to do with you than it does
him.”

Sirius blinked. “Thank you, Albus,” he whispered, throat inexplicably tight. “And… I’m so sorry
about what happened to your sister. I never knew.”

Dumbledore tilted his head, eyes flickering. “I assume Ms. Granger informed you?”

“Only to explain your connection to this mess. She never mentioned your relationship to Riddle.”

"My connection to Tom evades even me," Dumbledore uttered, glancing at the rain-specked
window. "The reason I know you haven't failed Harry is because I know what failure looks like. I
see it staring back at me from the mirror every morning."

Sirius opened his mouth but was silenced by a staying hand.

“It’s alright,” Albus assured him. “I’ve come to terms with my mistakes. And though it’s too late
for me, I hope passing this knowledge forward will spare you from future heartache.”

Sirius gripped his knees, rendered motionless by the intensity of his mentor’s voice.

“Love them for who they are, not who you want them to be. The present is the only thing that’s
real, the only thing truly worth protecting.”
Sirius watched him in silence, sinking back with a weary sigh. “Christ. You sure you don’t want to
go a round of whist?”

“I think I prefer the quiet,” Dumbledore smiled, glancing back to the window.

Sirius copied his movements, watching droplets cut across the pane. “Me, too.”

Tom cringed, fire blazing a searing path across his hip and shoulder, a jarring contrast to the brittle
cold saturating his limbs. His grip tightened on Hermione, her pulse thrumming against his palm as
they navigated the desolate riverbank. She moved with speed and determination but was unable to
match his natural gait. He slowed his step to accommodate her, refusing to relinquish his hold,
certain she'd dissolve to smoke the moment his back was turned.

“Shite!” She hissed, tugging her arm away. He spun quickly, shoulders easing when he identified
the source of her frustration, the sewer grate trapping her heel. He moved in, wrapping an arm
around her waist and lifting her up, freeing her shoe while she gripped his shoulders. “I can see it,”
she murmured beside his ear.

He set her down and turned, spotting the tunnel in the distance, its dark opening impeded by
barrels and ropes, a large sign denoting maintenance work.

“It’s closed,” she observed, retaking his hand as they drew closer. “Shouldn’t there be a guard on
duty?”

“Yes,” he muttered, eyes narrowed on the abandoned post. “Unless he was paid to stand down.”

She gripped his arm as he led her through the blockade. “Grindelwald is in there,” she declared,
voice firm with certainty. Tom stopped before the entrance and glanced down, but before he could
utter a syllable she bristled. “Don’t even think about telling me to wait out here.”

His eyes tracked across her face, amusement easing the pain in his mottled flesh. “I wouldn’t waste
my breath,” he murmured, lips twitching as he released her hand. “Stay behind me.”

He was prepared for further argument but she relented without debate, following at his back as they
embarked up the cement path. Darkness encased them like a shroud, as did the echoing churn of
the river, the sound growing louder the further they journeyed.

A lantern was strung every few meters, creating a narrow bubble of orange light alternated by
dense shadow. The tunnel dipped and the temperature dropped, a collection of tools appearing in
their path. Hermione edged around a saw and tripped over a wheelbarrow, falling sideways with a
gasp. Tom caught her before she made jarring impact with the ground, hauling her upright by the
waist.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He nodded, features obscured by darkness as he guided her around a lumber cart, five meters
passing before he heard the telltale scrape of stone. The light ahead was blocked by crates but legs
extended beyond the boxes, a man seated upon a lid, face hidden by the stack. Tom’s eyes blazed,
steps echoing loudly on approach.

“Bella?” A familiar voice asked. “What took so bloody long?” The figure stood, rounding the
crates. “We were supposed to leave an hour—” Gaslight illuminated Grindelwald’s face, capturing
his flash of shock in bright clarity. “Tom,” he muttered, arching a gray brow. “Impressive.”
And then Hermione emerged in the light and he staggered back.

“It’s not possible,” he whispered, shoulders drawing level. “Hermione, marbhadh,” he hissed. She
crossed her arms, standing at Tom’s side. “Marbhadh!” He shouted, voice cracking like a whip in
their brick confines.

She tilted her head, candlelight burning in her gaze. “Sorry, Gellert, that’s not the magic word.”

His countenance paled. “How…”

“I told you when our session began, she’d tell me everything I needed to know.”

Tom hadn’t the faintest bloody clue what she was talking about but Grindelwald seemed to
understand perfectly, the look on his face indescribable. Tom didn’t waste time trying to solve the
puzzle, eager to finish this game of cat and mouse once and for all, but no sooner had he shifted
forward than a revolver was pointed in his face.

He clenched his teeth, halting abruptly. “You’d be a fool to fire that in here.”

“Desperate times. Better to be deaf than dead.” Grindelwald tilted his head in contemplation. “I
take it Bella won’t be joining us?” Tom’s eyes narrowed. “What a shame,” the Dollmaker
continued. “I was counting on that money. Seems I’ll have to start selling products abroad sooner
than expected.”

“It ends tonight,” Tom vowed.

“Yes.” Grindelwald aimed the gun at Tom’s head. “It does.”

“No!” Hermione shouted, attempting to intercede. Tom caught her arm in a bruising vice and
dragged her back.

“Tell me one thing,” Grindelwald bid with gleaming eyes. “Did Albus finally confess his sins?”

“He showed me the note,” Tom scathed, maneuvering Hermione’s struggling form behind him.

Grindelwald’s gaze flickered. “He saved it? How glorious. Of course he did.” Bitter laughter
erupted from his mouth, giving way to a sinister wistfulness. “So, do you remember now?”

“I’ve never forgotten,” Tom muttered, rooted in place by Hermione’s hands on his back, fingers
twisting in his shirt.

Grindelwald searched his face, a slow smile curving his lips. “No, I see the mist still hasn’t
cleared.” He tilted his head, idle in his inspection. “You may not recall my presence but surely the
coin-lock shines brightly in your memory.”

Red overtook Tom’s vision, unamused by the tedious small talk. “I’ve no idea what—” he stopped
short, recalling the golden token he’d found at the Dollmaker’s house. “The cabinet,” he muttered,
heart hammering against his ribs.

“You were so fascinated by the engineering, so devoted to cracking it. Such a clever boy.”

Tom blinked, images rising like ghosts from the graveyard of his mind, triggered by the simple
flash of gold. He blinked again and was eleven-years-old, lying on a filthy floor as a pair of boots
retreated from his bleeding, broken body. He’d fought the urge to faint; unconsciousness spelled
death and Tom was determined to survive. His mother needed him, would always need him, unable
to survive in this world alone.

The man who’d spent hours methodically beating and torturing him collapsed to his knees at the
center of the room, wracked by violent shudders and dry-heaves, blood-drenched hands trembling
against the floor. “Please, no more…” he’d begged, face hidden from Tom’s view.

“Oh, Thomas,” a deep voice sighed from the shadows. “Such a disappointment." The Dollmaker
emerged from the darkness like the Grim Reaper himself, pacing to a starburst cabinet against the
wall. The ornate design stood in stark contrast to the shredded wallpaper and stained baseboards.
"At this rate, we'll run out within a week's time," the demon lamented, dropping a shiny coin inside
the plate and rotating it sideways.

Young Tom swallowed weakly, hypnotized by the treasure trove of glistening bottles found inside.
But the Reaper reached for one vial in particular, the same he’d been grabbing all day, a pearly
blue liquid that shimmered like a jar of marbles. It was the last coherent thought Tom managed
before succumbing to his injuries, awaking days later in a hospital bed with Albus’s grave face
above him.

Tom shook his head, dispelling the memory like a cloud of smoke. “I don’t understand,” he
muttered, stomach twisting in knots.

"I think you do," Grindelwald replied with a knowing grin, the same one he'd worn throughout
Tom's involuntary trip down memory lane. "Your father was a brilliant doctor, but even the most
disciplined minds are laid to waste by the whims of a beautiful woman. You and I know better than
most."

Tom lifted his chin, shoulder blades drawing tight at the warm press of her palm.

“Your mother distracted him at every turn like the nuisance she was,” Grindelwald continued.
“Capsizing his unlimited potential for the simple pleasure of leading him astray. Then she
attempted to trap him with an unplanned pregnancy, demanding they leave England and curtailing
my every attempt at raising him to greatness. He was my greatest student, the one to inherit my
legacy, I refused to lose him to some backwoods harlot.”

“She was pregnant before you turned her?” Tom muttered.

“Merope was a nurse,” Hermione replied, earning both men’s gazes. “She worked at the hospital
with your father and was passionate about helping people, everyone loves her.” She blinked,
shaking her head. “Loved her.” Her gaze shifted to Grindelwald, rage darkening her features. “You
made her into a doll to keep Thomas tethered to your side.”

“I agreed to reverse the treatment if he stayed with me for a year,” he replied, holding the revolver
steady. “I knew I’d be able to spark his passion in the field. But he released her like a fool,
claiming she escaped. I knew he planned on joining her later, thinking he could reverse the effects
himself… but he didn’t know the cure. I’ve never told anyone the cure.” His jaw twitched, eyes
narrowing. “Alas, he became entirely useless after that, stifled by his obsession with finding a
whore and her bastard. There was only one thing for it.”

Tom exhaled, the tunnel walls closing in. “You made him into one of your creatures.”

“It wasn’t an easy task,” Grindelwald confirmed with chilling indifference. “Though certainly less
challenging than treating Ms. Granger. Unfortunately, he was never quite the same afterward.
Brilliance limited by the mental blocks necessary to prevent him from exposing our operation. My
only remaining option was to kill him… until one magnificent day when a parcel arrived.” His eyes
gleamed with malevolent delight. “Dear Merope had written, detailing your whereabouts and
begging Thomas to come play house. I researched the deed and realized fate was truly a conniving
bedfellow; Dumbledore had purchased the home and assumed the role of great protector. Killing
you became as much for me as it was for Thomas. Only your death could free us from the
consuming burden of obsession.”

Tom swayed in place, numb to Hermione’s steadying hands.

“Alas, when the moment finally came, he refused,” Grindelwald recounted, voice tinged by the
same disappointment Tom had heard in his memory. “No amount of treatment could have sway
him and one more drop of Devil’s Breath would’ve surely stopped his heart. So, I made him a deal:
you could continue living under the sole condition he never speak to you again. Needless to say,
Thomas accepted, holding true to our bargain for nearly ten years… until the day you arrived at his
door.” His smile widened. “I saw the pictures of the crime scene. A truly spectacular work of art. I
daresay you received revenge with sizable interest.”

Tom curled his fists, recalling the warmth of his father's blood saturating his hands and forearms, a
striking contrast to the desolate cold permeating his bones that dead autumn morning a decade past.
Hatred and disgust boiled inside him, a feral growl escaping as he charged, catching the
Dollmaker’s wrist as the trigger went off. The explosion was deafening, Hermione’s shocked gasp
overtaken by the ringing in his ears.

“Get down!” He yelled at her, wrestling for the weapon.

The revolver fired a second time, the bullet ricocheting off the curved ceiling. Hermione screamed
and fell to the ground in a heap, blood splattering the stone. Tom's heart skipped as he abandoned
his efforts and rushed to her side, dropping low and pulling her towards him.

“Let me see,” he commanded, voice tightly contained as he searched for the bullet wound.

She sat up slowly, clutching her arm. “I’m okay,” she muttered, tears in her eyes and red on her
fingers. “It just grazed me.”

Footsteps echoed behind them. They turned as the Dollmaker aimed the gun down.

“Just leave,” Tom hissed at him, attempting to shift in front of her.

“Leave?” Grindelwald laughed. “I thought you were keen on finishing this here and now?”

“Then shoot me,” Tom demanded. “Settle your score with Albus and go—”

“No!” Hermione screamed, trying to scramble forward.

“You have no reason to kill her,” Tom continued, ignoring her protests. “She’s no threat to you
outside of London. Letting her live only prolongs your legend, your infamy.”

“Very persuasive, Tom. No doubt a skill inherited from your silver-tongued mother. But I’m an old
man with no interest in legend or infamy, only peace and solitude as I live out the remainder of my
days.”

“Everything you've ever done has been about creating a name for yourself!” Hermione scathed,
still attempting to surmount Tom’s physical blockade. “It stopped being about Ariana long ago.
You didn’t commit your crimes in her name, you did them in the Dollmaker’s.”

Hatred flared in his eyes. Tom’s heartbeat slowed, an eerie calm suffusing his spine as he held the
Dollmaker’s gaze over the barrel.

Hermione wasn’t so easily quelled, surging forward with one last Hail Mary attempt at prolonging
Tom’s fate. “Don’t you want to know how I broke free of the trance? If you kill him I’ll never tell
you!”

Grindelwald arched a brow, focus unwavering from his target. “Then it’s one more disappointment
I’ll have to live with,” he rued, pulling the trigger and shooting Tom in the chest.

Draco disembarked Tower Bridge with a weighted sigh, Theo flanking him in silence. They'd
navigated the streets in the same sullen formation until reaching the checkpoint, forced to identify
themselves to sailors stationed at the crossing. The men had held lanterns to their faces and
examined them with care, dutifully hunting a ghost. Eventually, they'd allowed them to pass,
moving their inspection to the next round of foot traffic on the bridge. But the path beside the
riverbank was static and gray-washed as a photograph.

Theo lifted his chin, watching fog settle over the Thames in a thick cloud. “Do you really think we
can stop it?”

Draco glanced over his shoulder at the unexpected inquiry.

“Stop him,” Theo clarified, voice smothered by the frigid wind. “This evil runs deep and spreads
far… is it really possible to end something rooted in the depths of so many souls?”

Draco blinked, contemplating the words, spared from providing a response as a jarring crack
echoed through the stillness. They jolted, Draco turning for the water as his companion gazed up.

“Thunder,” Nott muttered, staring at the starless sky.

Draco shook his head. “I didn’t see any lightning.” He gripped the handrail and gazed at the
frothing tide below, ships banging the wharf in the distance.

“Was it—”

“I think so.”

Theo swallowed thickly, panic framing each breath. “Harry has a gun.”

“So does half the neighborhood,” Draco muttered, shoulder blades aching with the same gnawing
fear as he pushed back from the railing. “Come on,” he instructed, breaking into a dead run. “It
came from the east.”

Time slowed as the shot rang out, a sonic blast ringing in her ears as Tom jerked with the impact,
falling into her body.

“No!” She screamed, reality speeding up as blood flowed down his chest in a narrow river. She
pressed her hands to the wound, bones shifting beneath her trembling fingers as Grindelwald turned
his sights on her, aiming the revolver at her head. Her lips parted on a breathless gasp, mind
rendered utterly blank in her final moments.

Tom surged forward with a pained grunt, knocking her flat and shielding her body with his own as
the trigger went off a third time. She cringed, awaiting the agonizing blast but hearing only a
hollow click, the chamber rotating to no avail. Tom’s weight pressed heavy upon her, his labored
breath in her ear as another click click click echoed off the stone.

Grindelwald cursed low and threw the empty gun aside, prompting Tom to push away, at last,
complexion bloodless as red saturated his front, glistening across her chest and bodice. She cried
out, reaching for him as he collapsed at her side.

"Well," the Dollmaker lamented. "Seems I granted him his final wish after all. Enjoy life, Ms.
Granger. You've certainly earned it." His focus shifted to the pale figure at his feet. "In the end, I
was wrong about Thomas… but not about you. You're extraordinary, Tom. Thank you for proving
a worthy adversary. It was entertaining while it lasted." He backed away slowly, fading into the
shadows before continuing down the tunnel, leaving Hermione to tremble over Tom's sprawled
body.

“Go after him,” he hissed, breath shuddering.

She shook her head, frantically searching for the entry wound. “You’ll bleed to death.”

“Hermi—” he gritted his teeth, tendons straining in his neck as she pressed down on the source.
Blood rushed past her fingers, a spongy mass dimpling beneath her touch.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, removing her hands to feel beneath his collar. She grazed the jagged
bone, causing him to growl like an animal. “The bullet split your clavicle.”

“That explains the crunch—” he grunted as she continued her gentle prodding, each touch a
desperate bid to prove her suspicions wrong.

“It travelled through the pectoral and entered the top of your lung,” she muttered, unable to deny
the grave truth.

He set his jaw and held her gaze, both parties sensing what the other wanted and equally put out
about it. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t—”

“I thought you knew better than to waste your breath,” she huffed, removing her coat with
determination. “You know as well as I do what happens if the lung collapses. I have to plug the
wound before air gets in.” She grabbed her sleeve and tugged violently, ripping the seam.

Tom coughed, dry and whistling. “There isn’t time—”

“If the pressure migrates to your pleural cavity you'll go into cardiac arrest. I’ve seen it happen
before, it took the man half an hour to die and the pain looked excruciating.” She pulled the
material away, wrapping it around her hand and pressing it to the wound.

Tom hissed and flinched back, baring his teeth. “He’s getting away—”

“You’ll find him again, which will be exponentially easier if you’re alive.”

“He’ll go underground, take more victims—“ another sputtering cough.

Her eyes burned, hands shaking harder. “I’m not letting you die, so either talk me through what to
do or watch me stumble along while he boards a ship to America!”

He awarded her with his most withering glare but she refused to balk. “Sit me up,” he finally
relented, aggravation carving trenches in his face. “Gravity will help keep the lung open.”

She nodded, shifting behind him to maneuver her knees beneath his back, gripping under his arms
and hauling him upright with a groan. His weight was immense, muscles rigid as he growled
beneath her, using his legs to help propel his mass across the floor. She released him with a gasp,
propping him against the wall and panting hard.

“Rip your skirt,” he instructed, voice tight with misery. “Long strips to create a binding.” He
erupted into a coughing fit as she lowered beside him and set to work, gathering her skirt and biting
into the hem, feral in her haste. He watched as she tore it to shreds, face paler than chalk.

“Will it be tight enough?” She asked.

“It’ll do.”

She remained focused on her task, trying to pretend he was just another patient, another
opportunity to learn. But the delusion refused to take shape, blown apart by his every strained
breath. “I need to find a medic—”

“If I remain seated I’ll be fine.”

“You’re still bleeding out,” she argued.

His chest deflated, a torrent of air whistling free. “I have an hour.”

Hermione shuddered, tears blurring her vision as he coughed again. She leaned forward with the
fabric, stretching it across his chest.

“I can tie it,” he muttered. “Go now.”

“Tom—”

He grabbed her hand, his blood filling the cracks of her palm. “Please, Hermione.”

She swallowed convulsively, rendered helpless by the anguish in his voice, the determination in
his eyes. “If you die, I’ll never forgive you,” she whispered, tears overspilling her lashes.

His thumb stroked across her wrist before he reached for the binding. “The pistol,” he groaned,
fumbling with the knot. “Take it.”

She leaned back, drying her face. “It’s empty.”

“Check.”

She sighed but did as instructed, limbs trembling as she searched the dark ground, finally
discovering the weapon beside a folded tarp. She scurried back to Tom with her prize, opening the
barrel against her palm and blinking at the chambers. "There are two bullets left."

“It must have jammed,” he muttered.

She closed the cylinder, not as certain, but her musings were interrupted when Tom glanced up, the
intensity of his words falling heavy on her shoulders. “He can’t leave London, Hermione.”

Her eyes flashed. “He’s not going anywhere,” she vowed, watching him tie the binding with her
ribbon encircling his thumb, satin dark with blood.

“How did you know she was a nurse?” He murmured.

Her gaze flickered up, pulse quickening at the steady focus of his stare. “Keep breathing and I’ll
tell you everything,” she promised, lowering the gun and bracing a hand to his knee. “I’ll be back
soon.”

He swallowed heavily as she pushed away, leaning his head against the brick and watching as she
took off down the tunnel, blood-stained dress washed clean by darkness.

Susan tucked the girl’s arm into the compartment and stepped back, making certain the silent
passenger was cleared of the door before closing it. She paced to the front of the carriage and
glanced at the officer. “She’s the last. Are there any beds left?”

“Lots,” he replied, adjusting the reins. “As soon as the girls wake up they’re moved into—”

“Wake up?”

“You know, come out of the trance.”

Susan blinked. “They’re recovered?”

“Yeah, it’s a madhouse over there.”

She backed away quickly. “Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”

The officer nodded, urging the horses forward as she flew up the steps and into the station. The
lobby was finally empty of detainees, party-guests funneled into cells and nearby holding facilities
as dawn approached. She darted across the floor, spotting a familiar figure leaning against the front
desk.

“Ron!” He glanced up, eyes red with exhaustion. “Have you seen my father?” She asked.

“No, thank god,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “Every time he looks at me it’s
like he’s fantasizing about using my head for target practice.” He shrugged tiredly. “I dunno,
maybe that’s just his face.”

“No,” she dissented, arriving at his side. “He’s thinking about killing you.” Ron blinked as she
leaned up and pecked his cheek. “Stay here,” she instructed, hurrying into the hall and glancing
into every open doorway she passed. “Dad?” She called, trotting down the steps and emerging into
a dark corridor.

“Dad?” She repeated, biting her lip and peering into the first room. A man glanced up from his
chair, adorned in a suit and chained to a desk. His eyes widened with hope, lips parting— She
ducked away before he could speak, quickening her pace before halting outright as a door flew
open at her side.

She staggered back with an apology at the ready, only to discover Rodolphus Lestrange towering
above her, dried blood staining his collar and neck. Susan paled and collided with the wall,
exhaling swiftly when she caught sight of his bound wrists. An officer directed him forward,
hidden behind the wide-set of his captive’s shoulders.

Rodolphus entered the corridor and drew even closer, causing her heart to stutter as she flattened
against the panelling. “Is she here?” He asked, voice deepened by fatigue.

Susan blinked, pulse skipping wildly as her father emerged from the same interview room. “As I
told you, Mr. Lestrange,” he replied evenly, “your wife is still missing. But rest assured, we’ll find
her.” Rodolphus scowled over his shoulder, not phasing the Commissioner in the slightest. “Take
him back to his cell.”

The officer nodded, pushing the giant forward. She watched their progress closely, waiting for
Lestrange to overpower the man. But he trudged along in sullen silence until reaching the end of
the hall, flashing her one last murderous look before rounding the corner.

“Hello, sweetheart,” her father said, jarring her from the haunting encounter. “I thought you were
heading to the hospital.”

Susan peeled off the wall, eager to dispel the acid from her skin. “I am,” she replied, rubbing her
arms. “I just came to tell you the girls are recovering.”

“Really?” He lowered the folder in his hands. “How?”

“I’m not—”

"Sir?" A new voice hedged. They glanced at the stairs, a uniformed officer appearing at the
bottom.

“Rutter?” Her father asked. “I thought I stationed you on patrol duty.”

“You did, Sir. But there’s—”

“Bloody hell!” Ron shouted from the lobby, causing Susan to stand at attention while her father’s
eye twitched.

The officer gestured to the ceiling. “We have a situation upstairs.”

“We have a situation everywhere.”

“I understand, Sir. But I made an arrest at the riverbank, two men were fighting—”

“Release them,” the Commissioner sighed, returning to his paperwork. “We’re overrun with
perverts, there’s no room for the drunks.”

“I issued a warning and told him he could go,” Rutter continued, shifting awkwardly. “But he
insists on speaking to you.”

Her father tensed, gaze sharp as he asked the obvious question. “What’s his name?”

“Harry Potter.”

Susan darted for the stairwell while her father followed at a calmer pace, the officer dodging out of
her path as she charged up the steps and entered the lobby on a breathless huff. As usual, she
spotted Ron first, his flaming hair beckoning her forward as he talked to someone near the door.
He heard her arrival and turned, revealing his companion to her eager gaze.

“Oh my god!” She gasped. “What happened to your face?”

Harry blinked, confusion rippling across his swollen features until touching his bruised eye,
seeming to recall his beaten-to-hell appearance. “A slight misunderstanding,” he deadpanned.

Her father finally arrived, pacing across the checkered tile to set his file on the desk. “It seems
you’ve had another eventful night, Mr. Potter.”

“I tracked the source of the Devil’s Breath,” Harry declared without preamble.
“Devil’s Breath?”

“I thought it was an urban legend,” Susan whispered, recalling the outlandish tales she’d overheard
in the smoky halls of the opium den.

Harry’s gaze cut bright with intensity. “Unfortunately not. And it’s being smuggled into London by
the boatload.”

“I assume it’s a street-drug relating to the Dollmaker?” Her father mused, taking the announcement
in stride.

“His name is Gellert Grindelwald.”

Ron laughed, propping against the counter. “Grindy-what? Sounds like a shabby cartoon vill—“ he
trailed off as her father pressed him with a narrow stare. He cleared his throat, face and ears
blistering. “Sorry.”

Her father glanced forward. “Come to my office, I need to make a record of this conversation.”

“There isn’t time,” Harry argued. “I sent Hermione ahead—”

“You found her?” Ron asked sharply, embarrassment forgotten in wake of the news.

Her father appeared equally affected. “Where’s Riddle?”

“I’ve no idea, but Grindelwald will be using his connections to set sail from London tonight.”

Her father nodded, already en route to the door. “Lead the way.”

Tom tipped his head back to stare at the domed ceiling, cringing with the motion. The fire raging
through his chest wasn’t the worst pain of his life but it certainly was the most insistent, each
searing breath a countdown to the end. His vision began to dim, oxygen and blood depleting with
every sluggish beat, the pressure immense.

“Keep breathing and I’ll tell you everything.”

Red continued to pour from the wound despite his best efforts to mitigate the flow. No matter.
Better out than in, he'd rather die from exsanguination than choking on his own blood.

He’d lied about the hour. Anything to get her to leave. Still, he had no intention of making her slay
the demon alone.

“Learn from my mistakes, Tom. You’ve made a career of hunting a madman, don’t let it cost you
the one thing you’re trying to protect.”

He reached for the neighboring cart with a groan, gritting his teeth against the stabbing ache of his
shattered clavicle. The heat in his lungs intensified as he hauled upright, vision tunneling.

“If you die, I’ll never forgive you.”

The shadows deepened, walls descending as he listed against the brick, taking in just enough air to
stay conscious. His shoulder throbbed, blood marking his path as he stumbled forward, pausing
every meter to press his forehead to the cool stone, hands curled against the brick.

“We read of Lancelot, by love constrained,”

He shook his head, pushing off the wall with a blood-slick hand. “No…” he growled. “Get out…
of my head.”

If this was to be his last night on earth, Albus would not be the final voice he heard.

“I only wanted to protect you.”

“I know,” he replied to the darkness, staggering on. “But this… was always… my ending.”

“Vanquishing him doesn’t have to be the final chapter of your story. Trust me when I say it’s never
too late to start again.”

He tripped over an unseen obstacle, catching himself against a stack of crates with a pained shout,
pressure increasing ten-fold.

“Please. Survive this.”

He closed his eyes, pressing a hand to the binding, fresh blood rolling past his fingers, propelled by
the disjointed thrum of his heart.

“Even if you don’t return. Even if I never see you again.”

He opened his mouth, fighting for breath.

“Please survive.”

His vision clouded as his knees gave out, body hitting the ground like a bag of rocks. He was too
breathless to howl with the impact, excruciating as it was, possessing only the energy to roll onto
his back in a vain attempt to open his airway.

“Tom,” a voice echoed, no longer distinguishable from dream or reality. “Get up.”

He glanced sideways from his sprawled position, sweat dripping into his eyes as the faint
silhouette of a woman swayed in the distance. Lanterns burned behind her head, casting her
features into darkness. His heart rolled inside his chest, unable to manage a full beat. “Hermione?”
He muttered, tongue heavy in his mouth.

“Can you feel it?” She asked, voice distorted when it reached him. His lips parted as a cool breeze
caressed his face, carrying the scent of grease and salt. “You’re almost there,” she urged.

He wanted to scold her for coming back but hadn't the energy, gathering the last of his strength to
roll onto his less-injured side, pushing up with trembling arms. By the time he made it to his feet,
he was certain his heart would explode.

“Brace the wall,” she instructed. He did as bade, taking strange comfort in the simple directive, the
calm certainty. “That’s it. Now walk.”

He tried to swallow, mouth frustratingly dry, and trudged towards her, supported by the wall. The
bricks felt like ice, cold as the sludge churning through his veins. He grew eager for her warmth,
even as a distant part of his mind registered the absurdity of her presence. The real Hermione
would be at his side by now, hauling him up with every last ounce of her strength before proudly
displaying the Dollmaker's severed head. His limbs grew heavy as he accepted the probability this
was merely a hallucination.

“Does it matter?” She asked, starting a slow backward pace.

He released a strained breath, supposing it didn't and continuing onward, determined to make it out
before his chest burst like an overheated grape.

A few more meters and moonlight appeared, shining in narrow strips across her figure. His breath
came faster as her outline solidified, unrecognizable yet startlingly familiar. He shook his head,
shoulder clipping the wall as his pace quickened, a distant voice whispering incessantly at the back
of his mind.

He pushed off the brick and stumbled to the center of the tunnel, the pressure in his torso
surpassing the pain. The lung would collapse soon, his only chance of survival was making it out.
Perhaps a pedestrian would find his body and call the police after robbing it. There was little
chance he’d arrive at a hospital in time but at least Hermione and Albus would have closure—

“Don’t say that,” she commanded sharply.

He blinked, lips parting. “I… didn’t.” Another step. “Who… are you?”

She stopped her slow retreat at the exit. The closer he approached the more she came into focus.
The wave of her hair, the line of her neck and curve of her shoulder, the shadows on her face
rapidly receding. His eyes stung, head swimming like a drunk. “You… aren’t… real…”

“Perhaps not, but I’m still your mother. Now keep walking.”

His throat burned, drawn tight by an invisible noose as he staggered forward, reaching out a
trembling hand—

The lung collapsed, taking his body with it. He hit the ground in a choking fit, blood spilling across
the ground and pouring into the cavity.

“Shh, it’s alright,” she murmured, dropping beside him. “Move onto your side, darling. It’s going
to be okay.” He rolled through the force of his convulsions, staring at the faded patterns on her
skirt. “Put your arm back, open your other lung.”

He tried to obey but his limbs refused to respond, muscles starved for oxygen. Then her hands
lighted upon him, colder than the cement beneath his cheek, maneuvering his body with confidence
and ease. His eyes drifted up, watching concentration mold her features as she worked. Her skin
glowed pale in the moonlight, eyes sunken and bruised, throat violet with rope burn. She was even
adorned in the same outfit he’d found her in, feet bare and filthy as the day they’d swayed above
his head.

He struggled to wet his lips, to form a comprehensive thought. “You’re… dead.”

“Yes,” she affirmed, adjusting his arm until his ribs no longer felt like they were cracking down
the middle.

“Am I?” He asked.

“Don’t be silly.”

He fell pliant beneath her touch as she positioned him at just the right angle to allow a shallow
breath to pass, shuddering on the exhale.

She leaned back and met his watchful stare, fingertips resting on his arm. “You were with me in
my final moments, Tom. I thought only of you.” He fell perfectly motionless as she laid a hand to
his cheek, unable to escape the hallucination, unsure if he wanted to. “I’m so sorry, my darling,
more than I can ever amend for. But know I loved you with every breath, including my last.”

Something cold and wet ran from the corner of his eye to his temple, quickly swept away by her
thumb. “I’m sorry I let go,” she whispered. “But you have to keep fighting.”

The pain in his chest spread to each limb. “I tried… to stop him…” his breath faded as red pooled
beneath him.

“You did good, my love. I’m so proud of you.” Her tears rolled freely, speckling the cobblestone
between them. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out but lacking the strength.

“Stay…” he muttered, not fearing death but getting lost in the darkness of whatever came after.

“I’m here.” Her fingertips stroked a soft path from cheek to temple, gliding through his hair. “I’m
with you always,” she murmured, then began to hum.

He wanted to watch her face but the sky beyond became distracting, the night awash with brilliant
light. A kaleidoscope danced across the atmosphere, dispelling the fog in a spectacular burst.

"I saw an explosion of color. Greens, blues, purples, and reds, crashing like waves over the stars. I
thought I was seeing the gateway to heaven."

His eyes drifted shut, bright patterns coalescing behind his lids.

“You don’t belong here, Hermione.”

He saw her face in his mind, a gentle humming encasing him as he sank into the earth.

“Neither do you,” her phantom whispered. Then the darkness took him under and both women
were lost to the abyss.

Hermione raced along the riverbank, lungs pumping furiously, determined to make it back to the
tunnel before Tom bled out or suffocated. She’d given him her word and intended to keep it,
propelled by the knowledge more than just their lives were at stake. If the Dollmaker fled London
he’d take new girls. His future victims depended on her, as did Ariana, Lavender, and every single
resident of Wonderland. Turning back wasn’t an option, was never an option, so she continued her
chase, committed to seeing this nightmare through to the end.

The wharfs stood abandoned, factories closed and gas lights extinguished, the rolling tide and pale
moonlight her only companions in the desolate dreamscape. Her steps slowed as the path ended,
the London Docks standing just ahead, a faded sign and parted gate inviting her forward.

She slipped inside with bated breath, gun heavy in her hand. Despite the shadowed terrain she
required only a sweeping glance to find him at the water’s edge, a dark silhouette staring intently at
the glimmering depths.

“How predictable,” she muttered, causing him to glance sideways with a jolt. “Don’t look so
surprised. Criminals always return to the scene of the crime.” The slats creaked loudly beneath her
feet. “So this is where she was found.”

His spine drew rigid, moonlight reflected across his narrow gaze. “Albus told you.”

“He didn’t have to. She jumped from Tower Bridge, I just had to follow the current downstream.”
Waves lapped over the dock, soaking her torn hem.
“Clever girl,” he muttered, turning to face her fully. “I take it Tom has taken his last breath?”

Her fingers tightened around the revolver. “He isn’t going to die.”

“We all must go eventually, my dear. There’s no denying the hand of fate.”

“Is that what you call driving a sixteen-year-old girl to suicide?”

His jaw clenched, throat bobbing beneath his collar. “I wasn’t the reason—”

“Of course you were, and deep down you’ve always known it. It’s the torch burning inside you, the
catalyst igniting your hatred for Dumbledore and your obsession with Tom. Anything to distract
from the mind-numbing guilt, the crippling shame.”

His breath came quicker, eyes murderous as she stopped with barely two meters between them.

“And don’t bother telling me I’m a child too ignorant to understand the ways of the world. I’ve
seen things you couldn’t begin to comprehend, I’ve fought battles you’d shudder at the mere
description of, and I survived it all without losing any part of myself.” The dark water surged, tide
driven by her words. “You’re withered and broken by denial, stitched together by lies and delusion.
But you're coming apart at the seams, Grindelwald. All your poison and bullshite is spilling out and
tonight it’s going to drown you for good.”

He strode forward, bloodlust transforming his features into a demonic mask until she leveled the
revolver, halting him in his tracks. He rocked in place, staring at the weapon before grinning
widely. “If you’re going to wield an empty gun at least—”

She shifted her aim two centimeters to the left and pulled the trigger. The bullet exploded from the
chamber in a puff of smoke and sparks, whizzing past his head. She arched her brow, returning the
barrel to his chest as he staggered. “You were saying?”

His palms raised in surrender while his voice shone with appreciation. “My, my,” he murmured.
“You certainly were reborn from the flames.” He lifted his chin, bestowing her with a quick and
thorough appraisal. “To get back up to the shining world from there, my guide and I went into that
hidden tunnel—“

“Some of the beautiful things that Heaven bears, where we came forth and once more saw the
stars,” she concluded.

He blinked twice, hands dropping. “You know Inferno.”

“It’s Dante. Of course I know it.”

His low laughter carried on the breeze. “If you weren’t so dead-set on killing me we could have
formed a brilliant partnership.”

"Dante ascended to Virgil's spiritual level and surpassed him. Which explains your penchant for
turning partners into dolls. God forbid anyone surmounts your genius." His jaw ticked, intrigue
fading as she leveled the gun at his black heart. "You were never my guide through fire and
brimstone," she divulged. "I am the flames, the inescapable hand of fate, and I’m here to drag you
to the pits of hell where you belong.”

He tilted his head, seemingly indifferent to the venomous declaration. “Before pulling the trigger,
will you tell me? How you learned it was draíocht.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You already know.”

“You truly saw her?” He whispered, edging closer. “I’ve spent half my life trying to summon her
voice, her image. I speak to her every night but I’ve never received a response.”

“Because she has nothing to say to you,” she replied calmly, relishing his gutted expression.
“You’re the reason she’s dead, the plague of Wonderland, a blight on humanity.” His lips pressed
thin, urging her on. “Too pathetic to even haunt—”

He emitted a feral growl and charged, catching her wrist and jerking it sideways as she screamed
and pulled the trigger, the final bullet cracking through the night, lodging in a rotten beam.

She released the weapon with a hiss, glaring murderously as he took aim at her chest and pulled the
trigger half a dozen times, finally abandoning the effort with a roar. The gun hit the water with a
heavy splash, sinking to the bottom of the river as he surged for her neck, driving her backward in a
choking vice. She stumbled over uneven slats until he pinned her flat to the brick, blinking through
a haze of tears and grinning slowly.

“Why are you smiling?” His grip tightened as she exhaled a shuddering laugh. “What’s so
goddamn funny?” He demanded, too preoccupied with shaking her like a ragdoll to notice her
hands dipping for his pockets.

Her lips moved soundlessly, prompting him to release her, eager for a response. She sucked down
a hungry breath and held her bounty to the moonlight, eager to share. “This.”

He gaped at the pale-blue liquid shimmering behind the glass, patting his empty vest in
bewilderment. Before he came to his senses she pulled out the stopper and upended the bottle in his
face.

He sputtered and gasped, staggering backward in a fit.

“I never planned on using the gun,” she admitted, tossing the empty bottle aside. “You’re not mine
to kill.” He shook his head, trying to dispel the drug like a mutt shaking water from its fur. “You
belong to them,” she continued, following his stumbling path. “And they’ve been waiting a very
long time for you.”

He growled and surged for her again but lacked the coordination to connect, falling sideways and
rolling off the wharf. Water splashed the deck in a wide arc as he hit the surface, breaching its dark
depths.

“The effects set in with near immediacy,” she stated calmly, pacing to the edge of the dock and
peering down. He thrashed and howled, eyes dazed as he met her glittering smile. “Enjoy the ride.”

Gellert slapped at the waves, kicking in a desperate attempt to propel himself to the dock. But the
closer he moved the further the structure drifted, sinking back on the horizon until it was a hundred
kilometers away. He sputtered desperately and turned his focus on the endless stretch of river, its
waters black as ink and cold as death, coating his skin and soaking his marrow.

“Help!” He cried, choking on salt as the fog thickened above, banishing the moonlight. “I’m
drowning! Help me!”

Something brushed his ankle. He shouted anew and jerked the limb away only for the object to
graze his other side. He gasped sharply, catching sight of a massive shadow gliding beneath the
surface.
“God in heaven…” he whispered, treading wildly. “Do you see it?”

From his peripheral he watched the wretched girl pace the wharf at a leisurely stroll, her voice
reaching him above the waves. “You must embark on the path of descent to find salvation.”

He shook his head and balked, the dark mass rapidly rising towards the surface, water rippling as
terror seeped from his every pore.

“To get to heaven one must first traverse through hell,” she recited dutifully, lending no reaction
when the glistening tentacle emerged from the inky depths, curling beneath the starless sky. “And
you’re about to tour all nine circles.”

“Hermione—”

He glanced sideways, intent on begging her mercy, spouting whatever lie would provoke her
bleeding heart, but instead was rendered silent at the sight she presented. Her body burned like an
effigy, encased in black flame, hands folded primly at her back as her gaze shined with feral
pleasure.

“Goodbye, Gellert.”

A tentacle drew tight around his ankle and yanked him under, muffling his screams with the
churning tide. The beast dragged him down, further and further from the moonlight, closer to the
pits of hell. Its body was immense, slick flesh camouflaged by the inky sheen of their surroundings.
But its wheel-sized eye stood in stark contrast, holding Gellert’s horrified gaze while he thrashed
like a man possessed, kicking and clawing until his struggles ceased abruptly.

The tentacle released him but he made no move to resurface, lungs burning as a single beam of
moonlight cut through the shadowed abyss, illuminating a still figure in the water.

“Ari?” He muttered, bubbles escaping in a stream.

Pale hair encircled her like a halo, skirts dancing around her slender frame as her arms floated at
her sides. His heart skipped painfully, his entire being burning for oxygen, for her, the universe
centered on her face as it slowly tipped up, silvery tendrils parting to reveal an angelic
countenance. She was stunning, more beautiful than any of the memories he’d clung to so
relentlessly. Tears seeped from his eyes, lost to the murky depths as she tilted her head, lips parting
softly. He emerged from his daze, swimming towards her with determination, propelled by longing
and desire.

She continued to hover, watching his clumsy approach with a serene expression until, finally, he
was upon her, reaching forward with a joyous laugh.

But before he could make contact something grabbed his ankle and halted his movement, drawing
him back. He grunted and kicked, glancing down and screaming into the darkness. For it wasn’t a
tentacle cutting off his circulation but a hand, as withered and decayed as the corpse it belonged to.
He stared upon the eyeless girl, aiming the heel of his boot at her skull. But his foot was seized by
another hand, another mangled corpse emerging from the shadows. He glanced at Arianna,
reaching for her desperately, but more hands continued to appear from the abyss, clinging to his
calves, his knees, his thighs, dragging him down down down.

He sank like a stone, arms scrambling as Arianna hovered calmly above, watching the scene
unfold through guileless eyes. He screamed her name, the final syllable taking the last of his breath
as hands grabbed his arms, his chest, his neck, bloated bodies floating all around, skeletal faces
pressing in until Ariana disappeared entirely.

Their huddled bones blocked the moonlight, ink spreading, and then a hand reached for his face
and took his sight entirely. Gellert screamed into the darkness, icy water filling his mouth, throat,
and lungs, racing to every fingertip and toe until he was just another corpse sinking to its watery
grave.

The ripples slowed, the final bubble surfacing with a soft pop. Hermione lifted her chin and inhaled
the cool night air, waiting to make certain his ghost didn’t emerge. The water finally settled and
she gathered her skirts, racing across the wharf like it was on fire. Blood pounded in her ears, lungs
working in frantic bursts, one simple thought playing through her mind on an endless loop.

Please be alive please be alive please be alive…

She rounded the gate and started down the riverbank, stumbling as a line of carriages appeared on
the other side of the Thames. The sky began to lighten, dawn slowly breaking, reflecting off the
golden Scotland Yard insignias on the compartment doors.

“Help!” She screamed, charging the handrail overlooking the water. “Over here!” Her arms waved
wildly. “Help us!”

One of the drivers pulled on the reins, calling over his shoulder. “Sir!” He banged on the roof of
the carriage. “There’s someone—”

“Hermione?” An unseen voice called.

She gasped, watching a familiar face appear in one of the windows. “Harry!”

“Stay there!” He yelled, leaping from the compartment before it could fully stop. “We’re coming!”

“No! Meet me at the Tunnel! Hurry!”

“Wait!”

She dashed off without a backward glance, the sky a pale violet by the time she reached the tunnel.
Her steps faltered, a dark mass sprawled beneath the archway.

“Tom…” she breathed, shaking off her encroaching fear and racing forward, navigating around
barrels and ducking under rope before dropping to her knees beside him.

“Tom!” His chest didn’t move, a pool of blood surrounding him like a crime-scene outline, soaking
her skirts. She touched his face, fingers trembling, his skin pale and cold as marble. She brought
her other hand to his mouth, feeling for breath, then to his neck, tears overspilling her lashes as she
searched for a pulse.

“No!” She cried, swallowing desperately and searching again. She held her breath and closed her
eyes, concentrating…

There!

Her lids snapped wide, a sob bubbling forth as she discovered the faint, slow thrum beneath his
jaw. “Tom!” She grasped his face in both hands and leaned down, exhaling with a shudder as his
lips moved soundlessly. She turned her head sideways, hair spilling across his face as she listened
to the weak murmur.
“Hermione…”

She nodded frantically, pulling back as his bruised lids parted. “I’m here,” she whispered, cradling
his head. “He’s dead. We did it.” She watched the impact of her words settle over him, clearing the
fog long enough for the mirrors to flicker behind his eyes.

“Are you… cert—” He erupted into another coughing fit, blood seeping from the saturated
binding.

“Hold on, I’ll find a medic—”

“No,” he murmured, grabbing her wrist when she tried pulling away, smearing blood across her
forearm. “Stay.”

She trembled uncontrollably, recognizing the dark acceptance in his gaze, knowing what it
signified. “Please let me get help,” she cried. I can’t watch you die. I can’t.

“I saw it,” he muttered, complexion bloodless beneath the dusky pastel sky.

She shook hard, struggling to affect a soothing countenance. “Saw what?”

“The aurora.”

Her heart rioted as his eyes lost focus. She lowered a hand to his face, sweeping it across his cheek.
“Was it beautiful?”

“Yes,” he whispered. She closed her eyes and leaned in, resting her forehead against his.

Footsteps echoed in the tunnel.

She jerked upright, pulse thrumming with hope. “Help!” She screamed into the darkness. “We’re
over here!”

“Hermione!”

She gasped, tears streaming. “Draco!”

“We’re coming!”

“No!” She yelled, shaking her head as though he could see her. “Find a medic!”

“What’s wrong?” His words echoed closer, more frantic.

“Tom’s been shot! He needs help! Hurry!”

The pair of footsteps faltered. She held her breath, swaying with the force of her heartbeat.

“We’ll be back!” He replied, voice receding. “Stay there!”

The weight of her relief nearly knocked her sideways. She slid her hands behind Tom’s neck and
lifted his head, setting it in her lap and sweeping the damp hair from his eyes.

“Help is coming,” she stated, needing to hear the words aloud. “You have to keep fighting. Don't
let go.” His breath shuddered as the sun neared the horizon, water sparkling like a million tiny
crystals. Her heart sped, eager to flee her vacant body. “I held on for you, now you have to hold on
for me.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed slowly. “I knew… when I found you… in my wardrobe…”

She leaned closer with every word. “What did you know?” She whispered, certain the answer
would break her apart.

His body seized, overtaken by a wet cough, red spilling past his lips.

“Tom!”

He gagged, red streaking his cheeks, his chin.

“No!” She gasped, tipping his head back to stretch his airway. Breath whistled from his throat,
ending sharply as his eyes closed. “Tom?” She rolled him onto his back, clutching his face and
watching his chest still. “Tom!”

Her fingers twitched as she drew his arms back and lifted his chin, forcing a deep breath and
expelling it into his mouth, waiting until his chest expanded before pulling back with a determined
growl, beginning chest compressions. With the nature of his injuries she wasn’t certain if she was
doing more harm than good, only that she couldn’t sit by and do nothing.

She pumped his sternum furiously, threatening to break his ribs. “Don’t do this!” She yelled as his
body rocked lifelessly, head lulling. “Wake up!” She gulped in more air before tipping his head
and plugging his nose, repeating the process against his cold lips.

A siren wailed in the distance, powered by a wind-up crank, but her focus remained on keeping his
blood moving, keeping his organs alive. “Tom!” She cried, pumping until her arms buckled at the
elbows, body collapsing forward. “Don’t you dare…” she sobbed into his chest. “Don’t do this to
me! Not now!”

Horses brayed along the riverbank, carriages drawing closer, sirens growing louder. She blinked
through the watery haze while the sun breached the horizon, encasing Tower Bridge in a golden
halo. Footsteps pounded the pavement, voices calling out, indistinguishable over the rapid thrum of
her heart. She pushed up slowly, reaching for his face and turning it forward.

“I knew it, too,” she whispered, stroking his lips. “I’ve always known.”

The voices were upon them now, dozens of shouts overlapping as the sunrise illuminated
everything in its path, stopping just short of the tunnel.

“Sadness cripples. Anger motivates.”

She set her jaw, gaze hardening.

“No,” she muttered around a trembling breath, “you most certainly do not get to do this.” She
tipped his head and fused their mouths together, forcing air into his lungs with furious resolve,
outraged by his audacity. “You have to answer to me, Tom Riddle, and I don’t give you permission
to die.” She stacked her palms atop his chest and laced her fingers tight, beginning another round of
compressions.

“Where is she?” Someone shouted in the distance.

“—has to be nearby.”

“— saw her running—”

“Mione!”

She remained deaf to their voices, arms locked and elbows aligned as she pushed with all her
strength, movements quick and pristine.

“Your anger will take you places, Hermione.”

The task consumed her mind, body, and soul, numbing the ache in her wrists and shoulders.

“You must learn to control it, but never eradicate it from your arsenal.”

She counted each compression dutifully, palms slipping between the parting in his shirt, centered
over his heart.

“Some things in life are so important they must be taken.”

A faraway humming filled her ears, colorful lights dancing before her eyes.

“Do not compromise. Take it all.”

His head continued to rock lifelessly, lips blue and skin translucent.

“I trust you.”

Tears rained from her jaw in a constant downpour, words hissing free with every compression.
“Wake— Up—” her heart thundered “Right—” his rib cracked “Bloody—” a desperate sob “Now!”

He came to life with a sputtering gasp, spine arching off the ground as though electrified. She cried
out in sharp relief and abject shock, fingers trembling over his sluggish pulse as he erupted into a
coughing fit, twisting and shuddering.

“Hermione!” Harry called from the riverbank.

She gripped Tom’s shoulders and helped him onto his side, arms limp with exhaustion. “Here!”
She shouted breathlessly. “We’re over here!”

“This way!” Someone yelled. “Keep going!” Another called, footsteps coming quicker, closer.

Tom settled beneath her touch, lids narrowly parting to meet her watery gaze. “You broke…” a
heavy wheeze “my rib.”

“Yes,” she swallowed thickly. “And I strongly considered breaking your neck for good measure.”

His eyes flickered across her face, the corner of his mouth tugging higher as she placed her hand
across his neck, skimming his Adam’s apple, feeling it tremble beneath her fingertips.

“Mione!”

She gasped, turning to the mouth of the tunnel. “Harry!” She cried, watching the crowd draw near.

"Clear the patient!" A stranger at the front shouted, leather satchel in hand. She leaned back as he
sank to his knees beside them and opened his case. "What happened?" He inquired sharply.

“He’s been shot,” she muttered, a dream-like fog overtaking her senses. “His lung—” her vision
dimmed.
Harry grasped her arms and hauled her upright, taking close inspection of her blood-drenched
front. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and twisted away, more concerned with watching the medic work. “The bullet
is still…” she trailed off, slumping into Harry’s side.

“Mione?” He steadied her. “What’s wrong? Were you—”

The rest of his words dropped like pebbles down a well, shadows rising as her limbs turned
weightless, careening in familiar freefall. Harry’s pinched expression remained centered in the
opening above, turning smaller and smaller as gravity became fleeting.

“Thatta girl,” a feminine voice rang off the walls of the tunnel. “No grand finale is complete
without a dramatic swoon.”

Hermione scowled, or tried to, reaching for Harry as she sped further and further away. “I’m not
swoon—” She fainted before completing the thought, Lavender’s contemplative hum guiding her
descent.

“Hm. The medic’s rather fit, isn’t he?”

Hermione exhaled on her friend’s echoing laugh, welcoming the all-consuming darkness for the
first time in her life.
 Epilogue
Chapter Notes

Thank you for all the love and support you’ve shown me, I appreciate each of you so
much and wish you all the best in everything you do ❤︎

If you don’t know where you are going,

any road can take you there.
. . .

Stripped to its barest essentials, plummeting to one’s gratuitous end was a rather tedious affair. The
dazzle of an explosive, gruesome demise turned outright boorish after the first few nosedives,
leaving the experience akin to waiting atop a speeding train for a stern lecturing, the punishment
tripled as it otherwise ruined a perfectly good hair day. The Reaper was certainly a cruel and
unusual sort.

“And evidently bald,” a feminine voice echoed. “Which I suppose makes sense, being a skeleton in
robes.” A speculative hum shook the earth. “Wait, how does he play chess without eyes?”

The quandary was most fascinating, Hermione mused, at least to a captive audience. But her mind
quickly wandered to the slightly more pressing issue at hand, namely, the mechanics of a high-
velocity impact with the high-density ground. Certainly the most feasible outcome dictated by
physics would be splitting apart like a store mannequin chucked from a ten-story roof. An eternity
spent in a dozen pieces was undoubtedly a dozen times more monotonous. Or perhaps her head
would roll itself along until crossing paths with someone kind enough to sew it back on.

“You could use your tongue to scoot along,” Lavender mused from the black clouds converging
above. “Just don’t come to me. I’d definitely stitch it on backward.”

“Then I could see everywhere I’ve been. How sentimental,” Hermione contemplated over the wind
whipping through her skirt. And as the opening above became but a flickering ember she felt her
limbs shrink in turn, until she was no more than a grain of sand falling through a colossal
hourglass, identical to the thousands who came before and the countless who would surely follow.

She braced for final impact when a familiar monstrosity reached up from the dark sands, massive
tentacles twisting free from the shadowy dunes and slithering across the terrarium walls, coiling
upward until they overtook her vision in a writhing patchwork.

“I know you miss me desperately,” her disembodied friend lamented. “I have that effect on people,
even the ones who try to murder me. But it’s much too soon for your return appearance.” The
undulating limbs began to lower, slick, grasping eels illuminated by flashes of lightning, electricity
skittering across the glass as smoke swirled behind the translucent dome. “Up you go.”

The cryptic words proved a valid warning but did little to prepare her for the powerful energy surge
from below. Hermione screamed at last, catapulted like a flailing cannonball and soaring through
the writhing crosshatch with a shocked cry. The roof shattered in a spectacular burst, glittering
shards chasing her trajectory in a wide arc.
“Mione!” A man’s voice rose above the fog, somehow audible over her piercing scream as she
clawed the mist for purchase. “It’s alright! You’re safe!” Large hands seized her shoulders,
bringing her spinning orbit to a jarring halt. “Just breathe,” he coaxed, the simple instruction
smothering the steam whistle in her throat.

Her lungs obeyed with astounding ease, a satisfying exhale weighing each limb until she was
twirling to the ground like a feather, hollow bones landing atop rickety springs.

“Hermione?” He whispered, touch migrating from her shoulders to her neck, fumbling for her
pulse. “Can you hear me?”

Her eyelids parted, a blurry mass outlined by white light. “H-Harry…” she attempted, voice
cracking beyond recognition. His features bled into focus, cinched tight with relief. She reached
out, desperate for a tether to whatever reality this was, but her arm refused to budge, throbbing in
time to her erratic pulse.

“It’s alright,” he assured her, drawing focus to the thick bandage encasing her limb. “They sewed
up the gunshot wound—”

“Where’s Tom?” She managed to ask through a mouthful of sand. Harry glanced away. “Where is
he?” She repeated with force, grit turning to bitter poison in her throat. “Tell me!”

He gripped her shoulders when she attempted to rise, the morphine haze turning gravity on its head.
“He’s still in surgery,” he replied calmly. Too calmly.

“I need to see him,” she breathed. “Take me right now.“

“You need to rest. You lost a lot of blood, they weren’t sure you’d—”

“Now, Harry!”

“You can’t see him. No one can.”

Her heartbeat migrated behind her eyes, thrumming erratically. “Please take me—”

“You’ve done all you can, Hermione. You saved his life in the tunnel.” He brushed the hair from
her face as she collapsed into the pillows. “I’m so sorry. It’s up to the doctors now. We have to let
them work.”

She turned her face away, wracked by painful sobs. They’d come too far, survived too much. She
couldn’t lose him now, not in these final moments and not to a surgeon’s blade.

The door to her room opened. She surged upright with frenzied hope, blinking rapidly at the tall
figure in the doorway.

“I heard talking,” the new arrival announced. “She awake?”

Disappointment was swift and crushing. “Give us a moment, Sirius,” Harry muttered, rubbing
soothing circles down her spine as she curled at the edges.

“Of course. I just needed to see for myself. The Doctor scared the shite out of me, said she might
die in her—”

“She’s alright,” her best friend asserted, resting his hand over hers. “Everything’s going to be
alright…”
The rest of his words were lost to the deafening churn of her heartbeat, the world folding in on
itself until only darkness remained.

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`

Hermione gathered her skirts and bounded up the steps like a woman on fire, heart housed firmly in
her throat as she stumbled on the landing, drawing steady against the massive doors and pulling
them wide. The drone of street traffic was promptly swallowed by the chatter of the crowd within,
every corner of the opulent lobby filled to burst. She inhaled a fortifying breath before braving the
masses, shouldering her way through a sea of finely crafted suits and billowing skirts in her mad
dash to the center. The buzz of conversation filled the void as her eyes drifted upward, latching
onto the star-burst rafters.

The parrots are watching.

She blinked, taken aback by the outlandish notion. Her thoughts tended to wander these days,
strange sights plaguing her daydreams since her release from St. Mungo’s weeks prior. The doctors
claimed they were a likely side effect of the mysterious chemical cocktail she’d ingested, sure to
fade with time. Truth be told, she wasn’t certain she wanted them to, the surreal visitations a
welcome reprieve from the dark and lonely caverns of her mind. But for today, her focus was
needed in the present, each distraction threatening to upend reality.

She rose on the balls of her feet before jumping in place, briefly glimpsing a world beyond the wall
of heads and shoulders. A curl escaped its confines when she landed, swaying between her eyes
like a mocking pendulum.

“Mione! Over here!”

She spun on her heel, smiling in relief. “Sorry,” she called, starting for the small gathering at the
wall. “There was traffic on the thoroughfare, half of London must be here. You didn’t have to wait
for me.”

“We just got here,” Padma replied. “Our flat is ten minutes away, it’s an easy walk.”

“I thought you were staying at the posh hotel downtown?”

Parvati crossed her arms on Hermione’s approach. “Blaise was paranoid I’d get bored and hump a
bell-boy, so he’s locked us inside one of his ostentatious townhomes instead.”

“He’s trying to impress her,” her twin sighed. “He even hired staff for her to boss around.”

“And I sent them all home with full pay. I’m not some kept tart.”

“You were happy to redecorate the east wing.”

“Because I have eyes! If I’m forced to stay there I’m not staring at piss-yellow wallpaper each
day.”

Hermione shook her head before turning her attention to the third member of their trio. “Hi Dawn,
you look beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“A lot better,” the woman in question replied softly. “The doctors released me sooner than
expected.”

“Where are you staying?”

“With us, of course. We’re painting her bedroom tomorrow.” Parvati glanced at the barren space
beside Hermione. “Where’s Luna?”

“Neville said he’d bring her with Hannah. You know how punctual he is, they’re probably already
seated.”

Padma linked her arm through Dawn’s. “Let’s go then.”

Hermione nodded, falling into step beside Parvati as they followed the bustling procession down
the corridor. The press of strange arms made her skin itch, perspiration beading at her nape. Parvati
peered sideways, taking Hermione’s hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze. “Nervous?”

“Terrified,” Hermione muttered, leaning into the woman’s side to avoid bumping a man to her left.

“It’s going to pass,” Parvati declared confidently, the echo of conversation reaching dizzying
heights. “And if it doesn’t, we’ll break into the rich bastards’ homes and set fire to their toupees.”

“Hm. I was leaning towards sending a strongly worded letter, but your idea sounds much more
satisfying.”

“I should go into politics.”

Hermione grinned as they passed beneath an archway and entered the massive theatre, footsteps
radiating from every corner as audience members climbed the stands, benches steadily filling.

"There’s seats over here," Parvati yelled above the cacophony, pointing in a direction Hermione
was too distracted to follow. Her attention was fixed upon the center of the room, searching out a
familiar shock of white-blonde—

“Mione!”

She turned with a jolt. Harry waved from across the room, Sirius to one side and Ron and Susan to
the other. He’d reserved the space to his right but there was no room for the remaining girls. She
smiled and shook her head, gesturing to the bench Parvati had successfully claimed through
questionably violent means. She smoothed a hand along her front before perching gingerly between
the sisters, eyes flickering about the room as bodies continued filtering inside, each bench packed
within minutes.

Stragglers darted beneath the archway with seconds to spare, seeking refuge against the wall as the
massive doors pulled shut with a final click. Her foot bounced restlessly, the incessant tapping
devoured by the commotion of the crowd. The swarm of voices drove away complex thought until
but one simple truth remained.

A group of strangers was about to decide her fate, altering the course of her life forever.

Draco thumbed rapidly through his notecards, sweat pooling across his brow and lower back as he
hunted desperately for the fucking percentage—

“There’s our little study bee,” Blaise announced jovially, clapping his friend on the shoulder and
jolting him forward. Draco scowled, nearly dropping the stack.

“I think you mean bookworm,” Theo mused, strolling in from his other side. “Nevertheless, neither
endearment applies here seeing as Kingsley’s team provided all the research.”

“I did a shite-load on my own, arsehole.”

Theo leaned against the desk while Blaise gripped the back of Draco’s chair. “Nervous?” The
former inquired.

“I’m about to spew like a firehose if you must know.”

“Fantastic. Aim for Matherson’s wig,” Blaise encouraged, eyeing the matted monstrosity from
across the room. “I want to see if crows fly out.”

“I’m leaning towards bats,” Theo contended. “Or whatever remains of his dignity exploding in a
puff of talcum powder—”

“Do you idiots mind? I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Want us to quiz you?” Blaise offered.

“This isn’t a multiple-choice exam.”

Theo tilted his head, viewing Draco at an angle that undoubtedly made him appear more unhinged.
“Don’t worry, Malfoy. You’re going to be brilliant.”

Draco’s shoulders eased a fraction, fingers loosening upon the cards. “There’s no point in talking
about it,” he clipped, the succinct response as close to a thank you as he could manage in his
present state. But Theo seemed to interpret the hidden message just fine, offering a parting nod
before starting towards the viewing stands.

Blaise began to follow, pacing backward as he spoke. “If you forget your lines start quoting
Coriolanus, half the Committee’s too deaf to notice and the audience is uncultured swine.”

“Do you know anything from Coriolanus?”

“Course not. I’m the audience.”

Draco scrubbed a hand over his face. “Someone, please gag him.”

“We tried that years ago,” Theo called back. “He liked it too much.”
Draco shook his head and returned to his notes, engrossed in his opening statement when a halting
shadow stretched across the desk, obscuring his hurried scrawl. He glanced up with a scowl but the
accompanying curse died on his tongue, a welcomed sight towering above.

“How’s it coming along?” Kingsley inquired with easy confidence, completely at home in their
gilded prison.

Draco swallowed tightly, on the verge of fainting. “Fantastic,” he muttered, a bead of sweat gliding
past his temple. Kingsley smirked as Draco wiped it away, clutching the cards until his knuckles
turned white. “I’m ready,” he asserted, feeling his heartbeat in his heels. “... I think.”

The Party Leader tipped his head and laughed, the rumbling baritone a soothing balm to his nerves.
“You’ll be great, kid,” he offered warmly. “I have complete faith in you.”

The words sat heavily on his shoulders. Draco sank back in his chair, plagued by admiration and,
most inexplicably, guilt. But before he could ponder the dichotomy another wave broke against the
doors, a fresh surge of bodies flowing past. As per ritual, he scanned every face that entered, pupils
dilating when he spotted her at long last. She was nestled among the faceless masses, visible only
in pieces, but even the briefest glimpse of loosely plaited hair and periwinkle skirts leveled his
staggering pulse enough to regain sensation in his legs.

He followed her progress until the stairs, some knuckle-dragging idiot blocking her from view.
Draco faced forward with a heavy sigh, only to find Kingsley’s golden gaze fixed upon him.

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

Draco blinked, halted by the question. “Positive,” he replied on instinct, terrified beyond measure
but no less confident in his answer.

Kingsley lifted his chin, grin reigniting. “Then give ‘em hell.”

Draco deflated with an exhale, taking the man’s departure as his cue to begin. The Moderator
seemed to do the same, shouting above the hailstorm for everyone to find their seats. Draco started
for the front of the room, the dense fog of conversation gradually lifting until his pounding
heartbeat became the only sound in the universe.

The five stairs leading to the podium felt endless, exacerbated by a thousand needling eyes pricking
his flesh from all sides. When he finally reached the summit a tremor seized his hand until he
clutched the podium tight, facing the room and trying to recall how to breathe. He’d spoken at
political gatherings before but never one so large, never for something so important and well-
publicized. And never with her eyes upon him.

His father’s former Party members glared daggers from their table below, at least those who were
present and awake. The group had thinned significantly these last few weeks, many under house-
arrest while pending investigation, but the remaining bastards still had the numbers for a majority
win, a fact Draco remained distinctly aware of as he centered his cards on the podium and turned
his gaze upon the crowd.

His eyes sought their target on instinct, time fleeting when he spotted her encouraging grin in the
third row. The Moderator’s droning introduction fell on deaf ears, the rest of the room coming
back into focus only when she signaled him covertly.

Draco straightened, flushing as a member of the Opposition snickered from below. He ignored the
slight and turned his focus outward. The crowd stared back with blatant expectation, his team
included. He forced a grounding breath and lifted his chin, doing his utmost to emulate his father’s
innate confidence.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he greeted at stage-volume, voice echoing off the domed-
ceiling. “I’d like to extend my sincerest gratitude to Kingsley and his team for allowing me to
speak at today’s session. The final gathering no less.”

Kingsley nodded from his chair below, lips quirked in amusement.

“Bloody traitor,” a member of the Opposition hissed, just loud enough for all the room to hear.

Draco’s stomach clenched but he refused to acknowledge the barb, focused on maintaining his
steady volume. “To begin our discussion, I ask everyone to close their eyes.”

The reaction was as anticipated, the Opposition scoffing dramatically as the crowd exchanged
glances of confusion. Draco loosened his death grip on the stand, tension easing with each passing
second.

“I assure you, no one’s being assassinated today. At least not before the vote.” Laughter rippled
through the stands as the audience followed his instruction at last. His gaze sought Hermione’s
downturned lashes through no conscious decision of his own. “Now… picture London,” he
prompted, eliciting a new wave of murmurs. “It’s not a trick. Imagine whatever comes to mind.
The name alone should invoke a multitude of sights, sounds, and emotion unique to every one of
us, wholly dependent upon our—”

“What’s the point of this moronic exercise?” One of his father’s protégés hissed. Hermione’s lids
parted narrowly, searching for the disgruntled arse who interrupted.

“The point is that our city is rapidly evolving and ever-changing,” Draco replied civilly. “Adorning
the identity of every age, ethnicity and gender found the world over. The Industrial Revolution
ushered forth a new era of labor and our economy flourished from the soil of a diverse workforce,
allowing us to become the most prosperous nation in the world.” The Opposition Leader,
Matherson, crossed his arms, awarding his young adversary a patronizing stare. “But our position
is a precarious one,” Draco pushed forth. “For a country is only as strong as its health allows which
makes it imperative for medicine to remain at the forefront of innovation. We mustn't deny
ourselves the next breakthrough, the next brilliant mind. Death and disease don’t care about race,
gender, or upbringing and neither can we. Limiting our admission pool by half the population ties
one hand behind our back in the endless fight against—”

“I can tell you spent a lot of time rehearsing this pretty little speech in front of the mirror, but let’s
just cut to the chase, shall we?” Matherson drawled. “Women aren’t equipped to be doctors. It’s
not a matter of preference or discrimination, it’s the scientific disposition of their birth.”

“He’s right,” another wig-adorned Lord spoke. “Women simply aren’t built for life or death
situations, they crumble under stress. It’s the way nature made them, soft and delicate. Flowers to
be treasured, not dunked in gallons of blood.”

“Women are already in the medical field,” one of Kingsley’s men argued. “They comprise over
eighty-percent of the nursing workforce—”

“They aren’t holding a scalpel! There’s a difference, I assure you.”

Draco glanced at his cards. “The majority of British nurses are trained to assist during surgery and
can even lead emergency operations during wartime—”
“We aren’t at war, young man.”

“Furthermore, the delicate nature you speak of has been thoroughly researched in the field of
medicine. It’s known as empathy and allows for stronger bedside-manner and highly effective
communication. Nurses also exhibit patient-centered care which lends towards fewer mistakes and
reduced negligence—”

“This sounds like the type of liberal bullshite they’re pedaling out west. Did you borrow your
speech from a Reconstructionist? Pretty soon you’ll be handing our jobs to foreigners because it
promotes a sense of diversity.”

Draco ground his teeth, eyes narrowed on the row of scowling faces below. “There’s a gross
shortage of qualified doctors in this country, opening our admission process is necessary to meet
the rising demand of a growing population. If we refuse to educate half of our population then we'll
be forced to turn to foreign aid for help.” More men scoffed, averting their attention with bellowing
laughs. Draco brushed his notes aside and braced the podium, seized by a wild thrill. “Or perhaps
the real problem is you don’t trust women?” A ripple of murmurs traveled the length of the room
while the Opposition squirmed like beetles in their chairs. “Of course not,” Draco smiled darkly.
“They’re only good for preparing your meals and raising your children—”

“I don’t want a woman to see me naked!” Matherson growled.

“And your wife is grateful to be spared the horror,” Draco said crisply, the room exploding with
laughter as Matherson flushed to the tips of his ears, face twisted in disdain. “And what about
women who aren’t comfortable with a man seeing them naked? What alternatives are they
afforded?”

“That’s not the same thing—”

“For the record,” another Opposition member drawled, “I wouldn’t mind a pretty lass poking and
prodding me with all types of instruments. Hell, I might actually look forward to my annual check-
up. But this isn’t about proving themselves strong and independent, it’s about taking responsibility.
Women belong with the family. Men can’t be mothers.”

“Thank you for that reminder, Patrick,” Draco replied drolly. “But not all women are mothers.
Regardless, having children and maintaining a career aren’t mutually exclusive. Mothers and wives
become teachers and nurses every day and no one bats an eye. Low-income households depend on
dual—”

“There’s a difference between pulling levers at the saw-mill and cutting open a man’s chest.”

“And most can barely manage that,” Matherson readily agreed. “Accidents are through the roof
since factories started letting women inside.”

“The majority of accidents are attributed to male workers,” Draco supplied flatly.

“Because women are bloody distractions!”

“In that case, we shouldn't trust male physicians with their female clientele. Certainly they’ll lose
control every time they see a pair of breasts—”

“Draco,” Kingsley warned from below, earning his gaze. The enigmatic leader shook his head, the
message clear. Stay the course.

Draco exhaled swiftly, reining in his self-control before turning his attention to the bristling crowd.
“This isn’t an avant-garde social experiment. We’ve been admitting women into nursing school for
hundreds of years and America began accepting female medical students over two decades ago.
Every single one of them has graduated with top honors and moved into a successful career—”

“America! Ha! Their doctors couldn’t stitch two napkins together!”

“— with no scandals or malpractice suits to speak of,” Draco concluded loudly, patience rapidly
dwindling.

“Women still too delicate—”

“— vengeful and irrational!”

“Which is it?” Draco called over the riot. “Delicate angels or viscous harpies?” The Opposition
exploded alongside half the crowd, voices merging into a single, mind-numbing hum that filled
every corner of his skull. Draco rubbed his temples, wondering how his father endured the circus
for so many years, how anyone could thrive off such insanity.

“I understand your fear!” He shouted, cutting through the dense chatter. “Change is terrifying. The
course of my life has altered so drastically these past few months I barely recognize myself or the
world around me.” He resisted the urge to look at Hermione, certain he felt her eyes upon him.
“Yet everything that’s happened has allowed me to understand your dispositions. Power is limited.
In order to wield it, one must take it from the hands of another. You think empowering women will
deny you and your sons. But this isn’t a war waged against faceless strangers, there’s no enemy at
the gates. These are your daughters, your nieces, and wives. The girls you raised and the women
you love, members of your family and trusted inner-circle. The ones you educated and shaped and
swore to protect. Are you truly so terrified of them? Or are you afraid they’ll abandon you? Have
you given them a reason to?”

An all-consuming hush swept the room as every eye set upon him. He met the challenge without
fear, wings born from adrenaline.

“You fear women will turn away from the role of caretaker when medicine is designed for such
proclivities. Child-rearing is a sacred, thankless duty requiring endless devotion and sacrifice. Who
else would we want to treat our sick? We trust nurses to amputate limbs and midwives to deliver
infants, we know they have the skills and fortitude to perform life-saving tasks. There’s no
denying such a simple truth. Women have prospered in every discipline they’ve been allowed to
enter. Their limitations lie not in their god-given nature but in their country’s government.” He
turned to the Opposition, ripping a page from his father’s playbook and striking for the jugular.
“Don’t be an artifact of the past, a footnote on the wrong side of history. The world is advancing
and the only way to remain ahead is to take the first plunge. This vote will eventually pass, deep
down you know it’s merely a matter of time. The only question is whether you want to be the brave
Reformers who made it all possible or the faceless Dissenters no one remembers in thirty years.”

The aging Party glanced between each other, tension creasing their faces another decade. Draco
tasted victory on the back of his tongue as Matherson’s prominent nose twitched. “Says the boy
with no wife or daughters of his own,” the man relayed corrosively. “Rumor has it you’re only
standing here to impress a girl who wants nothing to do with you.”

The blow struck its mark with lethal precision but Draco refused to yield. “I’m standing here
because it’s what I believe in. Everyone should be free to journey their own path. As it stands,
women have the choice of starting a family or joining a nunnery. It’s unacceptable. You don’t have
to share my sentiment to support the cause. Truth be told, this bill affects your personal lives very
little.” He leaned into the podium and launched his next assault where it surely counted the most.
Their egos. “But the impact on your political careers is far-reaching. If this vote fails, picketers
will gather on the steps outside your offices come rain or shine. Eventually, the Suffragettes will
catch wind and then you'll really be in for a treat.” A sea of groans followed. Draco smirked.
“Then there are the discrimination lawsuits to consider. You’ll be in and out of court for years and
the migraine will last for decades longer. On the reverse, if this Act prospers with your names
attached you’ll be guaranteed renewed funding for the projects you’re truly invested in.” He arched
his brow, apprehension a faded memory. “The future is coming, gentlemen. Today’s vote simply
decides whether you’ll stand atop it or be crushed beneath its weight.”

A tremor of anxiety rattled the Opposition table as the crowd tittered with excitement, whispering
animatedly. Matherson blinked, inspecting his fellow members with thinly-veiled disdain. “You
can’t seriously be considering this nonsense?”

His associate at the end of the row scratched beneath his wig. “He makes a good point—”

“Female doctors? Are you out of your bloody minds?”

“The vote will eventually pass, John,” another member sighed. “If not today then in another few
years. America’s admitting women across the country, Harvard just accepted their first female
applicant—”

“I won’t consider it! This is a child’s game and I’m done entertaining its ludicrousy!”

Draco gripped the sides of the podium, nails digging grooves into the wood as he forced his gaze
upward, seeking her out before ripping the stand from its bolts. She shook her head once, patient
countenance easing the violent urges burning through his stomach lining.

“We’ve heard your thoughts on the matter, John,” Kingsley stated calmly, rising from the head of
his table to face all the Lords. “Let’s take a preliminary vote, shall we?”

Matherson huffed, sinking into his chair as the Moderator stepped forward and slammed his gavel,
earning the collective gaze of the room.

“All in favor of allowing the Medical Act to pass, raise your hand!”

Naturally, every arm behind Kingsley lifted, Draco’s included. The other side glanced around
warily, no one wanting to make the first move until finally, slowly, a tentative palm rose, followed
by another and another until, by some profound miracle, half the Opposition sat in agreement.
Draco blinked, his stuttering pulse overtaking Matherson’s colorful string of expletives.

“The majority has spoken,” the Moderator announced, slamming his gavel with finality. “The
Medical Act passes, repealing all previous legislation on the matter. Every accredited medical
university is enabled and required to grant qualifications to all people without the distinction of
sex, effective immediately.”

Draco slumped into the podium as the crowd burst from their seats, a lion’s roar of shouting and
applause vibrating the floor. But his gaze sought the same corner of the room, searching her out
from the frenzy of movement and noise. She was embracing Parvati, their clinging bodies rotating
until her reddened gaze met his. She grinned over her friend’s shoulder, a tear slipping from the
corner of her eye. Draco swallowed thickly, crossing his arms over the podium and mirroring her
expression.

Harry’s applause tapered off as the crowd broke apart, everyone clustering together as they
migrated for the doors. He met Hermione’s eye from across the room, laughing as she was seized
in yet another hug.

“About time we had a doctor in the family,” Sirius spoke from beside him, arms stretching
overhead. “I wonder how soon before she can start writing prescriptions.”

“We should let her get her medical license first, then we can focus on making her lose it.”

“Fair enough. Let’s grab some dinner to celebrate, everyone’s invited.”

Harry nodded absently, attention drifting. “Sounds good,” he murmured, finding who he wanted in
seconds. His pulse throbbed as Theo turned swiftly, seeming to feel the eyes upon him. Sirius
arched a brow, following the direction of Harry’s focus.

“You round up the troops,” his godfather instructed with a smirk. “I’ll hail a couple of carriages.”

Harry nodded, dropping his gaze with a flush. “Sure. I’ll meet you out front in a few minutes.”

His godfather chuckled, joining the sea of foot traffic on its way out. Harry counted to ten, waiting
until he lost sight of the man before turning on his heel and cutting a determined path across the
room.

Draco stifled a groan as another eager hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Brilliant work,
Malfoy!” Another passing idiot clapped his back, jolting him forward. “Great job, young man!”

He pasted on a brittle smile and dodged the next unwelcome hand in his path, seeking refuge at his
desk.

“Impressive, kid,” a deep voice commended.

He gazed up from the task of gathering paperwork, smile turning genuine. “Thank you, Sir.”

“You made me proud today,” Kingsley continued, leaning against the edge of the table. “You’ve
made your father proud as well.”

The air quickly soured. Draco averted his gaze, crumpling a loose page. “I highly doubt that.”

“Lucius doesn’t give two-shites about women entering the medical field. He doesn’t care about the
majority of cases he argues. He just loves to argue, almost as much as he loves to win.”

“You know him well.”

“Since we were boys. He’s a skilled tactician, a natural-born leader. And he’d be immensely proud
to know his son is following those same footsteps.”

“I don’t think this life is for me,” Draco admitted, stuffing parchment into his briefcase. “I can’t
stomach the bureaucratic bullshite, no offense to your chosen profession.”

“None taken,” Kingsley chuckled. “The red-tape is frustrating at the best of times, I’ll admit. But
unlike the majority of legislators, you actually care about the issues. You’re the type of person
who should go into politics.”

Draco closed the lid, staring fixedly at the clasps. “I care about this issue.”

“The Medical Act bleeds into a dozen other policies, so on and so forth. You care about one, you
care about a hundred others. That’s how it works.”
“I lack the adequate emotional capacity for such an endeavor.”

Deep laughter followed his words. “You’re young, you have too much emotional capacity.”

“So I keep hearing,” Draco muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Kinglsey tilted his head. “Like it or not, Parliament is in your blood. When you’ve explored and
exhausted your other options, there’s a spot waiting for you on my team.”

Draco rocked back, floored by the generous offer. “I… I’m honored, Sir.” His mind outpaced his
heart, words difficult to find. “But…” Kingsley folded his arms, waiting patiently. “I couldn’t set
foot in this place every day. This was my father’s kingdom, there are too many ghosts roaming the
halls.” He peered sideways, met by a half-dozen glares. “And most of them are sodding arseholes.”

Kingsley followed his gaze, offering a smile and nod to the irate Lords lingering in the Theatre.
“There are positions outside of London, outside of England. In fact, I’m looking for someone to
help out at our Italian embassy. They’re having issues with their general election, the Prime
Minister—”

“What about America?” Draco voiced, taken aback by his own eagerness.

Kingsley’s attention snapped forward. “Have your heart set on anything in particular?”

“Tilden and Hayes are running a controversial campaign and the electoral college is a shite show.
It’ll all come to a head in November, there’s going to be a lot of policy to iron out.”

“You follow American politics?”

“I find it fascinating,” Draco confessed, pulse racing as Kingsley’s grin caught flame.

“Well, then. You’re going to love Washington.”

Hermione gasped, shaking with laughter as she was hauled into yet another tight embrace.
“Congratulations!” Hannah squealed into her hair. “I’m so excited for you!”

“A doctor,” Padma beamed, clapping her hands in excitement. “This is incredible!”

“A lifetime supply of heroin,” her twin mused. “I’ve never been so proud.”

“Let’s not forget cocaine,” Blaise added, strolling in behind Parvati to loop his arms around her
waist. “A balanced diet is the key to good health. Isn’t that right, Dr. Granger?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, gently untangling from Hannah. “The Act doesn’t make me a doctor. I
still have to attend medical school, if I can even—”

“You’ll get in,” everyone deadpanned at once, infusing her chest with warmth.

Parvati leaned into Blaise, only to twist from his hold as his chin rested atop her head. “You’ll
flatten my hair!”

“You were happy to flatten it last night,” he murmured, nipping her neck. “And twice this
morning.”

“I see enough hair-flattening at the house,” Padma sighed. “I’m going to get some fresh air.
Congratulations again, Hermione.”
“Thank you, Padma, but this win belongs to all of us.”

“Christ, you’re as bad as Malfoy,” Blaise groaned. “Pretty sure the arrogant bastard’s gunning for
sainthood.”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, searching the tables. “I need to—”

"Thank him properly," Parvati concluded, settling into her beau’s embrace. "You most certainly do.
There are some curtains near the back, if you keep the volume down you can probably—"

“Thank you, Parvati!” Hermione snapped, already en route to the stage. “And I highly suggest
having your drapes steam-cleaned!”

Her friend’s laughter faded to the backdrop as she crossed the floor, slowing when she spotted
Draco and Kingsley in deep discussion. She squinted in a half-hearted attempt at reading their lips
but her subterfuge was soon discovered. Kingsley beamed over his protégés’ shoulder, waving her
forward. “Ms. Granger. I was pleased to see you in the audience today. I imagine you have a busy
autumn ahead of you now.”

“Indeed,” she replied, smiling politely. “Though it still feels a bit surreal. I think it’ll really set in
when I submit my application.”

Draco shifted at her side, taking a subtle step back. Kingsley caught the movement, glancing
between them with a widening grin. “Well, I’m off to bask in the tears of our fallen enemies.” He
winked. “Feel free to join me later, Malfoy.”

“Sounds marvelous,” Draco replied, shaking the man’s hand and watching his departure. Hermione
shuffled awkwardly, clearing her throat as the silence stretched thin.

“You were incredible, Draco. Thank you so much for—”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, facing her slowly. “It was the right thing to do.”

“That doesn’t make me appreciate it any less. Thank you for believing in the words and having the
courage to speak them aloud. You’ve helped change history.”

“I only delivered the final argument. The Bill belongs to all the people who spent years—”

“Bloody hell, you take a compliment worse than me.”

His wry grin made her breathe easier. “How are you?” He asked, the sudden shift throwing her for
a loop. Then she noticed the direction of his gaze and straightened.

“Oh!” She peered at her arm, skimming the sleeve and scar tissue beneath. “Fine. Just a scratch.”

“They wouldn’t let me visit you at St. Mungo’s.”

Her gaze snapped forward, regret heavy in his voice. “I know. The police were in and out at all
hours, they must have taken my statement a hundred times. Only Harry and Sirius were permitted
entry. But they told me you stopped by—”

“Every day.”

“Every day,” she echoed, smiling softly. The tension between them continued to linger, making it
as good a time as any to ask her next question. “Where’s your father?”
He released a heavy sigh, propping against the table and crossing his arms. “Barricaded in the
mansion. He holds his House Chair as a formality, he won’t be showing his face in public for
months.”

“Is that how long it takes the world to forget?”

“Unfortunately. The public will be onto the next scandal in a week’s time.”

She shook her head, absently palming her scar. “And your mother?”

“You don’t have to pretend, Hermione.”

“There’s no love lost between Narcissa and myself,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I wish
her to suffer. She’s important to you.”

He rubbed his eyes, fatigue palpable. “Mum refuses to leave her bedroom and only eats when I beg
her to.”

“I’m so sorry, Draco.” She started reaching forward, halting the gesture when he leaned back. Her
hand dropped, curling at her side. “Is there anything I can do?”

“There’s nothing to be done. She has to find her way through, same as the rest of us.”

She sensed the finality in his voice and knew it best to drop the matter. Her fingers interlocked,
eager to fidget. “So…” she began tentatively. “I couldn’t help but overhear the tail end of your
conversation with Kingsley…” He tilted his head, watching her steadily. “America?” She asked.

“We were just talking. I doubt anything will—”

“You should do it.”

His gaze sparked, sharp and accusing.

“You need to get away from your father’s shadow without sacrificing your career,” she explained
quickly. “You were brilliant today, Draco, imagine all the good you could do in government.”

“You think I should move to America?”

“Not permanently,” she clarified hastily. “But a temporary post may do you good. I’d like to get
away, too. I’ve never been so jealous of Harry’s assignments.”

His agitation calmed, pale gaze raking her face. “They have medical schools in America, you
know.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” she admitted.

He laced his hands over his thigh, shaking his head. “No. You’ve fought too hard to leave now.
This Act belongs to you, it’s only right you be the first to take advantage of it.”

“I still have to get in—”

“You’ll get in.”

She bit her lip, cheeks flushing when he stared at her mouth. “Will you come to dinner with us?”
She asked.
“Thank you for the offer.” His jaw ticked. “But I need to check on mum.”

“Perhaps afterward—”

“It’s alright, Hermione. Go celebrate. Don’t worry about me.”

Her brow creased, body canting forward. “I’ll always worry about you, I lo—”

“Don’t,” he whispered sharply, eyes glinting in warning. “Don’t say it.”

She swallowed thickly, the murmur of the crowd falling away as the room slowly cleared. “I’m
sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he breathed, carding fingers through his hair. “I just… need some time.”

“Of course—”

“You should go,” he said, staring at the reflection on his shoe. “They’re waiting for you.”

Her hands twisted in her skirts. “Will I see you soon?”

“Undoubtedly.” His eyes flickered up, silver grin handsome and forced. “It appears all of our
friends are dating.”

Despite the hollowness of his tone, she laughed at the statement. “Seems we’ve all gone mad.”

His smile cracked, the burden too great to bear alone. Her arm throbbed as he pretended to fuss
with the briefcase at his side, overcome by a warring need to provide comfort and slap the shite out
of him.

“Draco… whether I say it or not… I still feel it.”

His jaw clenched so tightly it was amazing his teeth didn’t shatter. “I know,” he murmured, throat
bobbing high as he traced a gleaming clasp with his thumb. “I just wish you felt it like I do.”

Tears pooled behind her eyes, as trapped as the words in her throat.

“Goodnight, Hermione,” he replied in her stead.

She inhaled for as long as she could, wishing it was possible to drown on air. “Goodnight,” she
repeated, studying his profile like so many times before. He appeared the same yet, somehow,
vastly different. She wondered if there would come a day when she didn’t recognize him at all.

The notion pained her as she forced a step back, and then another and another until her knees took
up the motion of their own accord. Her thoughts became clouded with all the things she didn’t say,
couldn’t say, and when she reached the towering archway she slowed, desperate to look back. But
she managed to overcome the urge, certain Draco would read the guilt in her eyes and know the
truth…

Her next destination wasn’t the restaurant.

Harry watched Theo’s steady approach, unable to contain his grin. The majority of the room was
preoccupied, lost to celebration or tense debate. Though if eyes were upon them, he certainly
wouldn’t have noticed or cared, the rest of the world falling away the moment Theo arrived before
him.
“Quite the turnout,” Harry mused, grasping for an easy topic. “I didn’t know so many people cared
about medicine.”

“They don’t. They care about history being made.” Theo’s sapphire gaze drifted to the front of the
room where Hermione engaged Kingsley and Draco in a discussion. “Granger looks happy.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her like this.” Harry warmed at the sight. “She deserves
something good, something to call her own.”

“I think we’ve all earned that,” Theo sighed, earning his companion’s gaze. “Freedom,” he
continued.

Harry watched him carefully. “Thank you, Theo.”

The man peered sideways. “For what?”

“Everything,” Harry stated earnestly. “I couldn’t have gotten through any of this without you.”

“I beg to differ. I only joined your little adventure club at the ninth hour—”

“You were with me long before then.”

Theo’s eyes glimmered, voice canting low. “Father’s gone,” he divulged, leaving Harry to blink
slowly. “Still alive, unfortunately. Though he’s currently in the Alps so it’s only a matter of time
until he chokes to death on clean air.”

“He went to Switzerland?”

“Left for the retreat last weekend, tail tucked firmly between his legs.”

“For how long?”

“The rest of his life, if he has any functional brain cells left. Which is debatable. Scotland Yard is
dying to drag him before the magistrate.”

Harry’s shoulders drew level. “He was a part of the trafficking ring?”

“Please,” Theo scoffed. “He isn’t sober long enough to shave, little less conspire. In his
formaldehyde-soaked haze, it seems he forgot to pay his taxes. For two decades.”

Harry lifted a brow. “I thought you handled the finances?”

“I did, using the doctored books Parkinson provided. He’s been our accountant since I was born
and skimming money off the top since I learned to walk.”

“I read about his arrest,” Harry muttered, scratching his head as he summoned the memory of the
bold headline. “Felony tax-evasion and grand larceny?”

“Pansy collected evidence of his off-shore accounts, then convinced her mum to drain their
remaining funds before he posted bail.”

“Clever girl,” Harry commended. “I suppose this postpones the engagement party? A shame. I
bought you a swan-shaped gravy boat, real classy shite. I guess I can—”

“The wedding’s off.”

Harry’s grin faded as static filled his ears. “What?”

“Pansy and I burned the contract, lit cigars, and got blitzed in celebration.”

“Her father may beat the charges—”

“He’s in financial ruins, same as mine. Their leverage is gone.” Sunlight radiated from Theo’s
limbs, spilling from his mouth. “We’re free.”

Harry exhaled, something heavy pressing his chest. “Congratulations on not getting married.”

“Thank you, we’re very excited.”

Harry laughed, light-headed and dazed. “So—” he scrambled for coherent thought. “What’s your
plan now?”

“For the rest of the day or the rest of my life?”

“Either.”

“They’re one and the same.”

Harry blinked, mood rapidly sobering as Theo edged closer, the temperature rising until the walls
caught flame and scorched earth laid at their feet. But a sharp laugh near the doorway brought
reality crashing overhead, reminding him that they weren’t alone, were never alone, and a broken
engagement brought them no closer to finding peace and solitude.

“I’m leaving,” Harry announced abruptly, halting Theo mid-step. “In two days,” he clarified,
shoulders aching with the weight of each word. “A twelve-week tour of the Ivory Coast, with a
likely extension afterward.”

Theo’s throat bobbed, jaw working silently before speaking the question aloud. “Is it dangerous?”

“Not really. There’s been some civil unrest since France withdrew. The trading posts are being
raided, locals executed in the street, we’re going to help sort it out.”

“So by not really you mean yes, extremely.”

Harry’s cheeks dimpled. “I feel guilty cashing a paycheck if I’m not being shot at.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“Suppose you have to be there.”

Theo shook his head, carding a hand through his dark locks. “Two days?”

“Two days.”

His lover nodded, gaze drifting in avid thought. “Guess I’ll have to endure your snoring until then.
We’ll stay at mine.”

Harry’s abdomen tightened. “I don’t snore.”

“You sound like a tuba that’s been fished out of a collection bin.”

“I see. Well, at least I don’t chirp.”

Theo rocked back at the accusation. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You turn into a dying parakeet when you sleep on your back.”

“You're an arse.”

“I thought I was a defunct brass instrument played by hobos in the street?”

"That too," Theo smirked. "Alright, neither of us is allowed to sleep tonight."

Harry’s grin threatened to split his face in two. “Somehow, I think we can manage.”

Hermione crossed the checkerboard tiles two at a time, stopping before the reception desk with a
carefully-crafted grin. “Good evening,” she greeted, pretending not to hear the answering groan.
“I’m here to see—”

“We’re all very aware, Ms. Granger,” the nurse replied tersely.

She folded her hands primly, cheeks tinging pink. “I apologize for the other night, Ma’am. I realize
you were simply doing your job—”

“He’s been cleared for visitors.”

She gripped the counter for purchase. “Really? But yesterday—”

“The Doctor approved the order this morning.”

“Thank you!” She cried, sprinting for the hall before the woman had even finished speaking.

“Visiting hours end in forty-five minutes!” The nurse yelled, her warning falling on deaf ears as
Hermione burst through the double doors and narrowly avoided collision with an empty gurney.
She rounded the corner in a blur, counting off rooms until reaching the door at the end, the barrier
ajar with faint movement inside. She lifted a hand but hesitated, heart thrumming as she knocked
gently.

“Enter,” a feminine voice replied. Hermione blinked, wasting no time pushing through.

A nurse stood at the window organizing a pill tray, the evening sun stretching her shadow across
the far wall and illuminating the bed in golden hues. Hermione struggled to breathe, invisible
hands wrapping her throat as she laid eyes upon him for the first time in a fortnight.

“… Hello,” she offered softly, rooted to the floor by his gleaming stare.

“Ms. Granger,” he murmured, mouth curving upward as though privy to her frenzied sprint down
the hall. The sleep-thickened greeting pulled warmth to her neck, wrists throbbing at the intimacy it
conveyed. Her gaze alighted to his overgrown locks and darkened stubble, hands fidgeting with the
effort of keeping her focus above jawline. The endeavor was worsened by his exposed chest and
abdomen, bare skin affording easy access to the thick bandages stacked beneath his shoulder and
waist. But his partial nudity didn’t seem to phase him in the least, smirk tugging higher before
shaping the rest of his greeting. “I’ve been expecting you.”

The nurse looked up, hearing something in the gravel of his voice that caused her to flush and
glance between them. “I’ll… be back in a little while,” she announced quickly, setting her tray
aside and scurrying for the door. Hermione moved out of her way, nodding politely as she strode
past, the door shutting with a loud click.
And then there were two.

She rotated slowly, the room growing impossibly small as the current continued to rise, washing
away everything but his immovable presence at the center. “I tried coming sooner but you weren’t
allowed company,” she whispered, eager to hear him speak again.

“I know. I heard you arguing with the staff outside my room.”

“How strange. You must have been dreaming.”

“Hm.” He leaned into the pillows, eyes cast violet by the evening sun. “I must have been.”

She laughed softly, unaware her sight had betrayed her until it was too late. Amusement melted
behind her tongue as she stared upon his lips and chin, following a trail of dark stubble over his
jaw, past the swell of his Adam’s apple, propelled by a primal force she was helpless to out-reason.
Shadows pooled in the hollow of his throat and across the ridge of his collarbone, into the narrow
valley between his pectorals. She came to her senses when the bandages met her path, upturning a
pitcher of ice water down her spine.

The dressings were clean and white but invoked blood-soaked memories with an artist’s palette.
The crime scene was carved into their flesh, a mapwork of trauma impossible to decipher. But
Hermione didn’t need to retrace their scars to relive the horror of that night; it played before her
eyes every time she drew the curtains and turned out the light. The scenes often rearranged
themselves but the opening act was one and the same, a deafening gunshot ringing through her
skull like a cannon blast, its ground-shaking force driving her to her knees. The ghost of labored
breathing would rise from the floor and a cold mist would fill her lungs, warm blood dripping
between each finger—

“Your final surgery was a success,” she breathed, scrambling out of the well before the darkness
took her completely. “They recovered all the shrapnel.”

“So I’ve heard.” He peered at the largest bandage with little interest. “Seems I have a fetching new
scar to add to the collection.” His eyes lifted to her sleeve. “As do you.”

She placed a palm to her wound, severed nerves masking the touch. “I do hate being left out.”

“A lesson I learned the night we met.”

She pressed down firmly, red light glinting off the pane as the sun slowly set. The silence returned
with a comfortable embrace, bringing to mind the relief she felt upon emerging from his wardrobe
after narrowly avoiding her Matron’s wrath. The first time she saw him, fully and truly, encased in
moonlight with a silver grin.

“Well?” He prompted, plucking her cleanly from the memory. “Don’t leave me in suspense.” The
sun sank lower on the horizon, causing him to turn the dial on the bedside lantern. “How did they
vote?”

“Oh!” She grinned, launched forward by excitement. “The Act passed!”

“Congratulations.” He sounded pleased, watching her drag a wooden chair towards the bed.

“I haven’t accomplished anything yet. I still have to get into medical school—”

“You’ll pass your exams with soaring colors.”

His tone brokered no room for dissent. She lowered to the seat, heat prickling behind her neck.
“I’ll still need a sponsor.”

“Doctors should be queued around the block for the honor. But if they’re too foolish to recognize
your potential, I’ll volunteer for the task.”

The casual offer triggered another flood of warmth. She shook her head. “I would never ask you to
—”

“We’re past that, Hermione.” The lantern flickered, its orange flame burning steady in his gaze.
“Come here.”

The chords of his voice slithered off the bed and across the floor, dark tendrils coiling around her
ankles and winding up her calves, propelling her out of the chair before her mind could even
process the command. Her senses returned when her knees bumped the side of the cot, an
embarrassed gasp flitting past her thundering heart.

“Closer,” he beckoned, low and amused.

“You’re still recovering—”

“Doctor’s orders.”

She met his gaze and promptly froze, higher reasoning fractured by the scene presented before her.
His lips were quirked in a sleepy, secretive grin, pupils blown wide beneath heavy lids and pillow-
mussed hair. His linen pants were wrinkled and bunched, shoulders loose and throat bared. Simply
put, Tom Riddle was completely undone, and what’s more, he appeared completely unaffected by
that fact.

She blinked quickly, struggling to consolidate this portrait with the one she carried in her mind. But
the longer she stared the more deeply the image embedded until it became the only version she
recognized, dark suits and brooding stares overwritten by warm skin and tangled sheets.

The spell was broken by fingertips grazing her wrist. His eyes shone dark with expectation, the
dare laid at her feet. She relented with a sigh and perched on the far edge of the mattress, a sneeze
away from toppling to the floor. Her stubbornness only served to entertain him further, gaze
tracking down her body with agonizing slowness. The leisurely path of his focus made her hyper-
aware of her haggard state, hair tangled and dress askew from her cross-city dash.

“You saved me,” he murmured, the unexpected admission nestling in her spine. He reached
forward, skimming her corset as she struggled to form an adequate response.

“I just kept you stable long enough for the medic to arrive.”

“You brought me back to life.” Calloused fingertips traced invisible patterns across the whalebone
netting. She watched their movements carefully, wondering if this was merely a side effect of too
much morphine.

“It wasn’t difficult,” she whispered. “Your time wasn’t up.”

“I suppose it wasn’t.” He hummed deeply, hand settling atop her lap. “After all, I promised you
could drive a blade through my heart.”

Her gaze flickered up, catching the spark in his grin. “An offer I fully intend to seize,” she vowed,
pleasure splintering outward as his laughter shook the cot. But the moment was short-lived,
dimmed by a familiar stormcloud passing overhead.

“Tell me what happened,” he said, not bothering to sand the edges into a request. Once upon a
time, the razor’s edge in his voice would have frightened her. Now she leaned closer, tasting the
same metal at the back of her throat.

“He died screaming. Choked by his own poison.”

His chest expanded, savoring the sting of each word. “You’re certain?”

“Positive. But we can have the river searched if you’d—”

“The current was strong that night, his body could be halfway to Hampton.”

His frustration was readily apparent. She grasped the hand in her lap, squeezing in assurance. “He’s
dead, Tom. I promise.”

Long fingers twitched as she traced the lines on his palm. “Tell me the rest,” he beckoned, calmer,
deeper. As much as her gentle caress soothed him, his request infused her entire being with dread.
She’d known the question would find her eventually and was given adequate time to prepare, but
whenever she’d tried formulating a response the words refused to come.

The same tug-of-war wreaked havoc upon her now, inadequate lies and condemning truths pulling
her apart. She released his hand and glanced away, only to be captured by those same fingers on
her chin. The blurring reflex startled her, dispelling any doubts concerning his sobriety.

“Tell me,” he repeated, patient and firm.

“You’ll think I’m mad,” she whispered.

“Perhaps.” The pad of his thumb stroked her jaw, stopping at the edge of her mouth. “But I’ll still
believe you.”

She leaned into his touch like a cat starved of affection, though it was understanding her heart
hungered for most. In the days following her release, she had shared her broken dreams with
Padma and Dawn, desperate for answers, for credence. But it was quickly made apparent such
hope was hers alone, neither girl eager to retrieve their lost time. Hermione didn’t blame them in
the slightest, their experiences deviating so greatly from her own. Were the tables turned,
Hermione knew she would covet her amnesia as much as she detested it now.

So, out of respect to their recovery, she had taken up a spade and buried the past. But denying the
memories didn’t free her of their presence, it merely encouraged them to warp and distort, shaping
to fit whatever dark corner of her imaginings they could find.

“I don’t always believe it myself,” she confessed. “The images are faded. They come over me like
flashes in the dark, gone before I can make sense of them. It’s a fantasy within a dream, so many
layers to peel back. But with the things I’ve seen, I’m not certain I want to find what’s at the
center.”

His hand lowered. She leaned forward, instinctually chasing its warmth. “You saw her,” he
prompted, exposing the beating heart of his curiosity. The question brought to mind an inexplicable
oddity. A golden orb, blinding even in memory. She turned to face him fully, legs folding over the
bed until her knees rested atop his thigh. They sat in the belly of the leviathan, walls buckling with
the creature’s every breath. But their gazes held, blind to the world beyond the four corners of their
mattress.
“I don’t remember what I saw… I can’t recall if it was something I read… I only know the
certainty, the overwhelming feeling of it.”

He watched her carefully, chest barely moving. “Of what?”

“A mother’s love.” She leaned closer, hands stacking atop his knee. “I know she adored you, Tom.
You were her purpose, her strength, the only reason she held on for as long as she did.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and tipped his head back, staring at the chipped ceiling as though
it revealed some profound insight. “I killed my father,” he said at last, barely above a whisper.

She nodded slowly, absorbing the admission in stride. “I know.”

“Brutally.”

Her throat grew tight, too narrow for speech. She squeezed his knee instead.

“I murdered an innocent man,” he continued, tone flat and eyes clouded.

“He wasn’t innocent,” she amended firmly. This would not become the next albatross around his
neck. “Your father wasn’t under Grindelwald's influence in the beginning. He could have reported
the treatments when he first learned about—”

“He was trying to protect her.”

Hermione set her jaw, sensing a fruitless argument in her midst. Riding into battle at his side was
an idle pastime she was happy to partake in, but inner-demons were his to conquer alone. “You
can’t dwell on this, Tom. Let the past die and vanquish the Dollmaker for good. It’s what your
parents would want. It’s how you can honor their memories.”

He brought his eyes forward, familiar and comforting darkness housed at their center. “More are
out there.”

“More?”

“Dolls.” The sun finally sank beneath the smoke-stack skyline, its dying rays painting the city red.
“He sold them for decades. Only a fraction were at the auction.”

“I thought about that, too,” she confessed. “Perhaps Bones can help locate earlier victims.”

“Scotland Yard recovered the Lestranges’ purchase logs. They contain dozens of names and
addresses from across the globe.”

“Bones visited you?” She straightened. “When?”

He turned his attention to the window, unaffected by her rising agitation. “A couple of days ago.”

“They let him inside but I was banned?” Her eyes narrowed. “That’s ridiculous! I filled out a visitor
request form every single day—”

“Focus,” he murmured, fingers slipping behind her wrist as he watched the street lamps ignite
below.

“Right.” She flushed, realizing just how foolish she sounded. “I’m glad you were allowed at least
one visitor. Well then, I suppose we should start by contacting the governments in each—”
“It’s too much red tape. We’d be risking the women’s lives by getting the authorities involved. We
don’t know who to trust at home, little less abroad.”

“Then we’ll send officers—”

“I’ve discussed it with the Commissioner.” His tone was bracing, expression carefully blank when
it faced her again. “He doesn't have the manpower to spare. Neither does Albus, not without the
Queen’s approval. And getting the Crown involved would cause a legal hailstorm.”

She drew back, knowing exactly where this was headed but needing to hear it aloud. “What are
you suggesting, Tom?”

“I’m going,” he answered simply, stroking her wrist to soothe the blow. But the coaxing touch did
nothing to silence the ringing in her ears, the prospect so obscene her nose twitched with the rising
pressure.

“You’ve just had major surgery!”

“I’ll be released soon.”

“That’s irrelevant! You’re in no condition to travel!”

“My lung is healed—”

“But your ribs aren’t, not to mention your other wounds! You’re at severe risk of infection and
your stitches haven’t even—”

“Someone has to do it, Hermione.”

His calm demeanor only riled her further. She breathed deeply, switching to another tactic.
“Alright, fine. At least let me come with—”

“I want you to focus on medical school. I’ll have a much easier time maneuvering the streets
alone.”

She pulled her hand from his grasp. “So that’s it then? You’re just going to embark on an
International Liberation Spree whilst trying to avoid pneumonia and murder?”

“I wouldn’t have put it so eloquently—”

“This isn’t a joke!”

“Then I’ll refrain from laughing.”

She rubbed her throbbing temples and turned away. “I can’t—”

“Hermione.” She closed her eyes. “You know it has to be done,” he continued, palm resting above
her knee. “And you know I’m the most capable of doing it. Bringing detectives up speed will cost
more innocent lives.”

His words sucked up all the oxygen. “How long will you be gone?” She asked, faint and breathless.
“Months? Years?”

The hand at her knee squeezed. “I’ll send word while I’m away.”

“We’ve known each other for twelve weeks. You don’t owe me anything.” No response could
have remedied the brutal ache but his silence only magnified it. “You almost died. I was pushing
on your chest and—” Her eyes opened, red dripping down the walls. “There was so much blood,
Tom, so much blood. Your lips turned blue and your lungs went still and then— and then you died.
Right there in front of me. Right there in my arms.” Her hands shook violently, wiping uselessly at
her cheeks. “I tried so hard but I couldn’t stop you from leaving. I couldn’t stop you from going.”

He leaned forward, curving an arm around her waist and drawing her into his body without a word.

“But I brought you back,” she cried, tears dripping to his chest. “I refused to leave the tunnel alone.
If I wasn’t there you wouldn’t be here—”

“I know,” he murmured, tone a calming hush. “I know what you did for me.”

“That’s not—” Her skull pounded. She tried pushing back for air but the arm tightened at her
middle, strength unimpeded by his injuries. She sighed and settled into his hold. “What if I’m not
there next time?” She posed, shuddering at the prospect. “You can only chase death so far before it
turns around and reaches back. You’ve been marked, you won’t escape a second time.”

He hummed low in his throat, her body absorbing the soothing vibration. “I’m not chasing after
death, Hermione. Not anymore. I’m after the final remnants of his legacy. He isn’t vanquished
until every victim is recovered.” He stroked her spine in a coaxing pet. Her head dropped to his
shoulder.

“I know,” she murmured, exhaling across his throat. “You have to go…. and I have to say
goodbye.”

His hand stilled. “Thank you,” he offered abruptly. She glanced up, wondering what she’d missed.
“For returning to the tunnel and lending me your breath. For stopping him when I couldn’t. And
for staying until the end.”

She swallowed thickly. “Don’t forget, I also broke your rib.”

A smile curved his lips, tension uncoiling with the gesture. “Trust me, I didn’t forget.”

She laughed softly and sniffed the remainder of her tears away, only to realize she was practically
sitting in his lap, tucked firmly against his unbandaged side.

“Sorry!” She flushed, trying to scramble away without jostling him. His amusement returned upon
watching her many failed attempts at maneuvering out from under his arm. “Tom—” she huffed,
realizing he was intentionally keeping her trapped. “You’re hurt, this is only making it worse.”

“I beg to differ.”

She awarded him a narrow glare, their faces so closely situated it was easy to forget her original
mission. “Just promise me one thing.”

“I’m listening,” he murmured, undoubtedly the most entertained he’d been in weeks.

“Don’t kill anyone.”

His fingers sketched idle patterns on her hip, the air brimming with silence.

“Tom.”

“I promise it will remain a last resort.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then at least tell me you’ll write. I’d like to keep apprised of the
investigation.” Every night I don’t know you’re alive will be pure agony.

“I can do much better,” he vowed, head dipping low until his lips hovered at her shoulder. “I’ll
send you their heads in Christmas wrapping.”

Her laughter bubbled over like a boiling pot, delighted and half-crazed. “I appreciate the
sentiment,” she replied, a sob buried deep in her throat. “But letters will save us a fortune on
postage.”

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`

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`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`

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`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`.`.`

`.`.`

Harry disembarked from the passerelle with a quick step, eager to escape the pungent cloud of
barnacles, grease, and body odor, the noxious cocktail of two hundred men living in confined
quarters for weeks on end. The sun beamed brightly overhead, seagulls squawking at the gathering
crowd on the dock, eager for a scrap of food or finger to nip. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder,
watching families reunite on the wharf below, stomach twisting at the sight of lovers embracing—

“Take it easy, Lieutenant,” a sailor bid from the next plank.

“That’s the only way I know how.” Harry grinned. “Travel safe, Douglas, I’ll see you in the fall.”

Laughter sounded behind them, another crew member listening in. “If he doesn’t get a
dishonorable discharge first. I’ve never seen someone make the Captain’s shite list so fast.”

Harry smirked. “Steer clear of dive bars and beautiful women and you’ll be fine.”

“Easier said than done,” the junior sailor lamented.

“Yeah right,” his mate jeered, slinging an arm around his neck. “I’ve seen the sea witches you bed
at port, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble following Potter’s advice.”

“Oi, show some respect for your mum.”

His friend growled and threw an elbow, both men stumbling atop the narrow walkway as they
proceeded to wrestle. Harry rolled his eyes and continued. “I'll see you gentlemen next month!” He
called over his shoulder, watching them topple over the rail and splash into the water. “Try not to
get arrested before then!”

He stepped onto the wharf and promptly cringed, the press of bodies unwelcome after so many
months of close confinement. Sailors continued pouring out of the ship to the delighted cheers of
friends and relatives, the crowd in a constant state of flux. He watched a superior officer scoop a
young boy into his arms, balancing the tot atop his shoulders before kissing a woman with an
infant on her hip. He grinned at the sight. Being apart from his friends for a quarter of the year was
grueling, he couldn’t imagine being away from one’s children.

He continued along the dock, ducking and diving elbows and shoulders as bodies scrambled for
embrace. He was nearly free of the commotion when a familiar voice called out, carrying above
the delighted chatter.

“As I live and breathe!”

Harry shook his head and turned, searching the sea of grinning faces until finding the one focused
upon him. His godfather stood against a lamppost, oblivious to the heated stares he garnered from
women awaiting their beaus’ arrivals.

He watched Harry change direction, carding a hand through his overgrown locks before starting
forward. “Could this strapping young lad be my adopted pain-in-the-arse?”

“Stop, you’re embarrassing me.”

Sirius smiled wider and drew him into a firm embrace. “Christ, look at you, how the hell are you
still growing?”

“We got a lot of exercise running for our lives through the jungle.”

“They didn’t give you a machete to shave with?”

“Beards are natural bug repellents.”

“I thought you’d disguised yourself as a gorilla.”

“That’s what scared away the insects.”

Sirius took his bag with a bark of laughter. “Looks like we’ll be making a pit stop at the hotel, I
have a feeling the Church bans heathens at the gate.”

Harry scratched his beard. “I thought I looked dashing.”

“Obviously they threw all the mirrors overboard.”

Harry shrugged, falling into easy step beside his former captain and lifelong mentor. “You’re
staying at a hotel?”

“For the last month. Grimmauld’s turned into a drunken symphony of bad music.”

“You’ve taken up the clarinet again?”

“Hilarious. And I’ll kindly remind you that I was merely fulfilling a party dare like any good
patriot.” Sirius led the way to a rented carriage, heaving the bag into the cargo hold.
“Construction is still happening?” Harry asked.

“They’re nearly finished, thank you, god. If the designer asks me one more question about
Venetian molding I’m going to decorate the alabaster tiles with my whiskey-soaked brains.”

Harry opened the compartment door. “Alabaster?”

“Not to be confused with eggshell, chantilly lace, frost, or downy.” Sirius hoisted himself inside
and sprawled sideways on the bench.

“In that case, I’m amazed you haven’t already blown your head off.”

“What can I say, I’m a totem of self-control.” His godfather yawned, managing to close the door
with the toe of his boot before banging on the roof, signaling the driver into motion. The carriage
lurched, wheels creaking atop the uneven brick. “We don’t have to be at the church for another
hour,” he mused, awarding Harry with his signature grin. “Let’s get loaded.”

Hermione exhaled slowly, unable to avoid the frustrating procession of steam traveling through her
mask and adhering to her magnifiers. She glared through the condensation, waiting for the lenses to
clear before diving back in. No sooner had she regained her sight than a tendril of hair uncoiled
from its pin, dangling between her eyes in blatant challenge.

Son of a— She swatted the offending curl with a gloved hand, rubber groaning between her fingers.
Get it together, Granger. Life and death don’t wait for a good hair day. She narrowed her sights
and positioned her scalpel over her four-legged patient, determined to see this through.

Human cadavers were expensive to obtain and controversial to use, even upon explicit donation.
But the veterinary college shared their overflow at an affordable rate, the dead sow on her table
one of many from last night’s delivery. She aligned her blade over the stomach cavity, sunlight
spilling through the windows as she pressed down. The skin dimpled but refused to break,
toughened by a week-long chemical soak. The school-issued scalpel certainly didn’t help matters
along, blunt from years of practical exams, more useless than a jam knife.

She huffed with annoyance, glasses fogging anew, and added additional pressure. The thick hide
punctured with a pop and a hiss, a cloud of pungent gas escaping the grey dermis. She held her
breath and drew the blade down, concentrating on the initial incision before setting to work on the
diaphragm. Bone split and she became lost in her task, consumed with removing the intestines and
bladder to allow more room to maneuver.

Dissecting a dead pig was a far cry from Monday’s procedure but she took the task just as
seriously, lifting away the miniature gallbladder with tender care, grinning at the clean cut. Her
eyes and nose burned with the chemical stench but the triumphant pounding of her heart refused to
be dissuaded. She bounced in place, setting the organ in a metal dish and returning to her
handiwork, but halfway through examining the heart the odors overwhelmed her. She gripped the
table for balance, staring at a random patch of the floor until the dizziness passed.

“Noxious beast,” she muttered, setting the toy scalpel aside.

“Do cut the sow some slack—” she screamed, metal clattering as she spun to face the door “—
she’s been soaking in formaldehyde for weeks, after all.”

“Doctor Slughorn!” She gasped, pressing a shiny glove to her apron.

“Terribly sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He started down the theatre steps with a
boisterous grin. “Though I suppose we should be thankful the patient was already dead when you
dropped her spleen.”

“Small blessings,” she agreed, leaning down to retrieve the upturned dish. “I thought the surgical
wing was empty today.”

“As did I. I was overseeing the installation of our new X-Ray contraption when I heard tinkering
from the theatre. I’d narrowed the list of suspects to our best and brightest student or a very
persistent mouse.”

“As you can see, the mouse is at it again.”

His laughter bounced off the circular wall. “You’re far too modest to be a surgeon.”

“I’d happily trade modesty for a sharper blade. These school-issued knives are a travesty.” She
glanced up. “No offense.”

“None taken.” His hands rested atop his stomach as he reached the slab. “I remember the days of
carving through livestock with a hacksaw. You’ll get the real thing on Monday.”

“Little good that does me today,” she muttered, removing her magnifiers to see him clearly. “Not
that I’m complaining. It’s terribly exciting.”

“Clearly.”

“And a bit nerve-racking,” she admitted, unwinding her mask and reaching for her sewing kit.

He tilted his head, watching her struggle to thread the needle with unbridled amusement. “You
look on the verge of a massive coronary.”

“A stroke, more likely.” Her eyes narrowed on her task, wishing someone would invent a pair of
gloves that actually conformed to one’s fingers.

“I remember my very first surgery like it was yesterday,” he mused, always eager to bestow her
with an unsolicited stroll down memory lane. “Of the thousands I’ve conducted, that one shines
brightest in my mind. Funny how our firsts stay with us through the years… I digress.” He shook
his head with a laugh before turning his attention to her sutures. “I was terrified beyond measure. I
couldn’t sleep the night before, couldn’t eat or hold a conversation. I couldn’t even keep my hands
steady. I was convinced they’d throw me out before the operation even commenced.”

Hermione grinned, carefully spacing her passes through the spongy flesh. “How did you get
through it?”

“I embraced my fear until I became one with it. Just before the procedure began a powerful sense
of calm washed over me. I suddenly realized I had no choice but to trust in my skills and education,
rely upon natural instinct and rigorous training. Whatever the outcome, it was meant to be. As soon
as I accepted my fate, the panic dissolved and astute focus took its place.”

She smirked, rotating the sow’s leg for a better angle. “Sounds too good to be true.”

“Yes, well, a thimble or two of scotch may have also been involved.”

“Ah, it’s all coming together.”

"It was a different time, mind you. Much has changed since then, for the better, I might add. You're
the keenest student to grace our halls in years."

“You’re very kind, Doctor.” She tied off the final loop with practiced skill. “And very biased.”

“Please,” he huffed. “My sponsorship bears no weight on the matter. You’re a prodigy with the
blade, I can only imagine the havoc you’d reap with a kitchen knife.”

She paused with a hand half-way to her case, rendered motionless and breathless. There was a
glimmer of blue in her peripheral, an itching deep between her eyes, but when she turned her head
both sensations had passed, the world gray and three-dimensional once again.

“I’m long past the age of being considered a prodigy of anything,” she rued, removing her gloves
and flexing her fingers.

“Dear girl, never complain about old age to someone who’s actually old.” He straightened,
seeming to recall something. “Speaking of which, today isn’t your birthday, is it?”

“No, not for another week,” she smiled, reaching for a clean rag. “But I’m honored you
remembered the month.”

“This harried mind can’t take all the credit, I’m afraid. I saw the gift in your delivery bin and made
the assumption.”

“Gift?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. A courier likely dropped it by last night.”

She wrung the cloth in her hands, curiosity taking hold. Why send a gift to the school a week in
advance? Her friends knew her address, unless they feared she wouldn't be home to receive the
parcel. It must be Harry sending trinkets from abroad, lord knows what he’s found this time. I just
hope it doesn’t require air holes. Or perhaps it was courtesy of Sirius, eager to embarrass her in
front of her peers with something equally outlandish and extravagant.

Her musings scattered as a soft thump emanated from the benches. They glanced up, sparing a
mutual grin for the resident feline trotting across the desks, pausing to arch its back with a silent
yawn.

“A cheeky bugger, isn’t he?” Slughorn laughed. “Roams the halls with more confidence than half
the staff.”

Hermione tilted her head, watching the colorful Persian groom its bottlebrush tail without a care in
the world. “I think it’s female—” Her words cut short as she caught sight of the clock mounted to
the wall above. “Oh my god!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Time got away from me, I’m late!” She fumbled with the ties of her apron, fingers frantic. “Shite
shite shite!” Warmth stained her cheeks as she met her sponsor’s bewildered stare. “I mean—
Shite, sorry!”

“Not to fret, the sow and I have heard much worse.” He watched her scramble around the table,
struggling to gather knives in one hand and wipe down the counter with the other. “Are you
meeting friends for brunch? I’m certain they’ll pardon a few minutes tardi—”

“A wedding,” she stated in a panic. “I’m late for a bloody wedding— which I also happen to be in.”
His brows rose to meet his receding hairline. “My word… well, that certainly changes things.” He
stepped forward to pry the rag from her clenched fist. “Run along, dear, I’ll lay the hog to rest.”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to—”

“You didn’t, I offered. Now off you go.”

She hesitated. Leaving work for someone else went against every principle she held dear. Then
again, if she showed up late to the wedding those principals would be buried alongside her in a
very shallow grave.

“Thank you, Dr. Slughorn,” she said earnestly, tossing her apron on the table.

“Think nothing of it, you have enough on your mind this weekend.”

She was already en route to the door, bounding up the steps and calling over her shoulder. “I
appreciate the surgical advice as well!”

“That’s what a sponsor is for!” He hollered back. “I’ll see you on Monday morning!”

“Bring an extra thimble!” His laughter trailed her down the hall until she rounded the corner in a
whoosh of skirts, nearly toppling head over heels in the process.

She made it to the end of the corridor and skidded to a halt, blinking at the bushy sight awaiting
her. The orange cat sat upon the reception desk licking its paw with an air of superiority intrinsic to
its species. She glanced back the way she came, wondering how it managed to beat her to the
lobby, then recalled such creatures weren’t constrained by the laws of physics.

She journeyed on, nearly to the exit when the feline pounced atop the mailbox cubbies, reminding
her of Slughorn’s words. She changed course at once, racing for the wall and seeking out her
plaque while the creature tracked her movement with gleaming eyes. Hermione relented,
scratching behind its neck while continuing her search; a deep, rhythmic purr filling the hall.

She finally spotted her parcel. The bundle was tucked into the compartment so tightly she had to
shimmy it free with both hands, mindful of tearing the dark paper. She worked it loose with careful
tugs, grinning as it emerged with a final yank. There was no card attached but the sender’s identity
was made obvious enough thanks to the distinctive wrapping. She traced the red ribbon with a
delicate fingertip, pulse fluttering beneath her tongue.

The grandfather clock chimed loudly from the corner, jolting her higher than the cat. The feline
shook its whiskered face, embarrassed on her behalf.

"Those who lick between their toes shouldn't judge others," Hermione rebuked, tucking the present
firmly underarm and lifting her chin high. The animal flopped onto its back, hind legs spread as it
watched her upside-down figure flee the hospital in a graceless dash.

Sunlight glinted off the stained glass, casting prisms across every blade of grass and smiling face
alike. Bees flitted between fragrant bushes, buzzing merrily as children rushed past in a stampede
of laughter and squeals. The scene was picturesque, serene, the perfect setting for two people about
to profess their true and eternal love to the world.

Draco cracked his neck with a groan, eyeing a mouthy nightingale in the flowering tree above. “I
need a drink.”
“Christ,” Theo muttered at his side. “We just got here, how are you already a miserable bastard?”

“Obviously this is your first wedding. They’re notoriously awful without alcohol. And don’t curse
inside a church, heathen.”

“We aren’t inside yet, Pope Pius.”

Draco started up the steps at an unenthused pace, pausing half-way when he realized no one was
beside him. He glanced back, arching a brow as Theo searched the circular drive.

“Waiting for something?”

“Yes, actually. My date.”

Draco turned fully. “Your what?” He moved aside as two women ascended, their oversized hats
forcing him to duck or lose an eye.

Theo paid his plight no mind, tilting his head as a new carriage pulled past the Church gate and
stopped at the end of the row. The driver hopped down, opening the gleaming door and assisting a
young woman to the ground. Draco descended quickly. “What the hell is Pansy doing here?”

“Her boat arrived late last night, she preferred meeting—”

“She’s your bloody date?”

“Don’t curse inside a church.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Why did you invite her?”

“Because going stag to a wedding is pathetic.”

He scowled at the back of the idiot’s perfectly styled head. “So you won’t be shagging the Best
Man behind the vestibule later?”

“Keep your sodding voice down!” Theo hissed, glancing at a flock of children playing on the steps.

“Seriously, how did you rope her into this?”

“No one ropes Pansy into anything. Exception bondage, which is usually her idea." Theo turned
his attention back to the driveway. "The wedding was her idea if you must know. She has a
penchant for bridesmaids."

Draco scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re both unbearable.”

“Thank goodness there’s an ocean between us.”

Despite their casual utterance, Draco felt the prick of each word needling into his skin. But before
he could wrench the metal free Pansy arrived before them, waving an oversized fan of golden
ostrich feathers.

“Hello, boys. We meet again.” She unfastened the silk shawl wrapping her torso and let it hit the
ground with ring-leader showmanship, the plunging neckline of her gown causing a nearby
footman to choke on his spit.

“Fucking hell, Pans,” Draco muttered, a searing migraine fast approaching. “You’re going to burst
into flames crossing the threshold.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult?” She winked at an elderly guest embarking up the steps, tongue
dragging the pavement at his feet. “Speaking of fabulous appearances, don’t you look like dog
shite. Do people not sleep in Washington?”

“I’ve been transferred to New York and no, they don’t.”

“Hm. That would make a delightful catchphrase if you weren’t so very British.”

“I’ll be sure to write the governor.” He dropped his hand to direct his latest glare forward. “Also,
behave yourself today.”

She slapped the fan against her palm, closing it with a snap. “Per usual, I'm shocked and offended.”

“You made a spectacle at the last wedding we attended—”

“I was twelve! Besides, that little bitch had it coming.”

“You set her on fire.”

“She told everyone my earrings were glass!”

“Shagging a bridesmaid is exponentially worse than trying to murder the flower girl.”

“It really depends on how loud they scream. But once again, I have no idea what you’re talking
about. It seems you’ve mistaken your intentions for mine.”

He rocked back, unprepared for the uppercut. “I’m not here to—“

“Let’s take this cheery reunion inside, shall we?” Theo prompted, eyeing an approaching group in
their wedding finery.

Pansy lifted her chin to glare down her nose. “Not until he apologizes for being a controlling, self-
righteous twat with a massive stick shoved up his—”

“We get the idea,” Theo muttered, grinning politely at a young couple and their child.

Draco held her incensed glare as the family passed. “Do I really look terrible?”

She rolled her eyes, hostility giving way to annoyance. “Like an exhausted Greek statue. Stop
fishing for compliments.” She smoothed a hand across her cinched bodice. “Do I really look like I
could burst into flames?”

“Faster than a flower girl.”

She smirked, stepping forward to weave a hand around Theo’s arm. “Apology accepted. Shall
we?”

“I’m going in through the side,” Draco responded. “Can’t let everyone see I’m stag.”

Pansy tipped her head with a melodic laugh. “There, there, darling, I’m sure you’ll find a pretty
little bridesmaid to stroke your poor neglected ego.”

He shook his head as Theo escorted her to the main doors, guests sidestepping the obscene train of
her gown while Draco embarked for the second entrance. He wasn’t keen on new arrivals watching
him slink through the bushes like a burglar but battling his way through the thorned branches
wasn’t a silent endeavor.
He was picking stray petals from his hair when the air shifted on a breeze, pulling his gaze with the
current. A familiar mirage took shape in the distance, unmistakable in its outline. A feminine figure
raced barefoot through the grass, shoes in one hand and a flowing gown in the other. Hair fell
across her eyes as she reached the quaint building behind the sprawling Church, fumbling with the
door before hauling it wide with her toes, disappearing into the shadowed interior before he could
blink.

He exhaled slowly, wedged inside the bushes like a forgotten scarecrow until the cursed
nightingale took perch on a nearby branch and launched its shrill song in his ear. Draco emerged
from the trance with a low groan, knocking leaves from his coat and hauling himself through to the
other side, determined to get this bloody day over with.

Portraits vibrated in their frames as a piercing wail shook the plaster, the cringe-inducing pitch
causing Harry to fumble his cufflink, cursing at it rolled under the chair.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered, battling his cravat. “Is someone being slaughtered?”

“We wanted to surprise you,” George spoke from the chaise. “We killed a dozen goats to bring
about good fortune.”

“Don’t say we never did anything for you,” his twin added, buttoning his placket across the room.

“What sort of fucked-up old maid’s tale is that?”

“Ignore them,” Harry muttered, plucking the silver bauble from the carpet. “It’s just your mum
crying in the bridal suite.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ron groaned. “She’s going to ruin this for me. Susan will come to her senses before
the ceremony even begins.”

“I think seeing you naked will take care of that tonight,” George supplied cheerily.

“You two,” Charlie snapped, scolding the twins from the doorway. “Shut up. You got in plenty of
jabs during the ride over. Now’s the time to be good big brothers and help me get these annoying
arseholes seated.”

“No!” Ron shouted, causing Harry to drop the stupid fucking cufflink a second fucking time. “We
agreed to keep them away from guests. I won’t have them pulling some god awful prank on
Susan’s great-aunt.”

“Sod off,” Fred replied. “We aren’t animals. We’re pranking her father.”

“We only have the Church until noon,” Charlie reminded everyone. “There’s no time to scrub
blood from the walls after you idiots get shot.”

Neville rose from his chair. “I’ll help seat the guests.”

“Thanks, Nev.” Charlie clasped his shoulder as he passed. “Touch base with Perce, will you? He’ll
have an aneurism if you deviate from his chart.”

“Can’t wait,” Neville muttered, turning to Ron on his way out. “See you out there, mate.”

The groom nodded, glowing a toxic shade of green. Charlie raised a brow, glancing between his
youngest brother and the Best Man. “So, how’s it going in here?”
Ron scrubbed a hand over his face, cringing as his palm came away wet. “For fuck’s sake, I’m
sweating like a—”

“Heffer?” George offered.

“Horse?” Fred joined in.

“Hippo?”

“Walrus?”

“Whale?”

“Do whales sweat?”

“Hm, excellent inquiry—”

“New rule,” Charlie clipped. “Neither of you are allowed to speak until after the ceremony.”

George rolled his eyes. “Come on, lads, loosen up a bit.”

“It’s your wedding day, Ronnie, try smiling.”

“Don’t be cruel, Freddie, that would send Susan running for the hills faster than his small cock—”

“The sooner Ron takes his vows the sooner you can board your train,” Charlie informed Fred
pointedly. “Maybe try helping things along, eh?”

The reminder turned his brother an alarming shade of red, much to Harry’s curiosity and
amusement. “Train?” He asked, finally fastening the cufflink into place.

“You don’t know?” George erupted into laughter at his twin’s budding discomfort. “Freddie’s
abandoning us for some high-society chit—”

“I already told you,” Fred interjected. “I’m brokering a deal with a press manufacturer while you
manage the business at home.“

"There are press factories in London."

“Spain has cheaper operating costs.”

“Christ,” George groaned. “You’re as bad as Ron. Is this what love does to a man?”

“You’d have to ask Bill,” Charlie sighed, straightening his collar in the mirror. “He’s waiting for
Fleur outside the water closet with her purse and shawl in hand.”

“How the mighty have fallen.”

“George, enough,” Harry commanded, watching Ron’s downward spiral with the tie. “Love is
wonderful. If you can’t feel the warm glow go drink yourself under the bar at the reception hall.
You won't feel much of anything then.”

"Finally, a man of reason." George rose from the chaise with a groan. "I'm going to find dad, try
not losing your pretty bride before the ball and chain are firmly attached to her ankle."

“Wanker,” Ron scathed, immediately choking himself with the cravat. “This fucking thing!” He
ripped the fabric away with a growl before tossing it to his feet. “We should have eloped. I could
be wearing pajamas right now.”

“Yes, I’m sure Susan is kicking herself for not thinking of that,” Harry muttered, retrieving the
battered silk. “Charlie, do you mind? Ron’s liable to kill himself.”

“Can’t have that, the caterer is already paid for.”

Harry handed over the length of fabric before setting off for the door. “I’ll have a chat with the
Priest, let him know we’re nearly ready.” He paused at the threshold. “And Ron?” He waited for
his friend to glance up, meeting his frantic gaze in the mirror. “Remember to breathe.” He offered
a parting wink before slipping into the hall.

Hermione turned the knob with a cringe, peeking inside as the feminine chatter came to an abrupt
and jarring halt. All eyes flickered to the door but Hermione’s focus remained captured by one
thing. The bride stood atop a raised platform in all her finery, cream skirts spread across the floor
in a mesmerizing display.

“Susan! You look—”

“Where have you been?” The woman shouted, nearly topping sideways with the outburst. “We
were getting ready to send my father’s detectives looking for you!”

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione offered, slinking inside like a scolded pet. “I was at the hospital
removing a pig’s intestinal tract—”

“Honestly, Hermione, not in a church,” Molly huffed, dabbing her reddened eyes with a
handkerchief.

“Sorry, Mrs. Weasley.”

Susan smoothed a hand across her middle, inhaling deeply. “It’s alright, I’m just glad you’re okay.”
And then she took in the new arrival’s wind-swept appearance more carefully. “Though I’d prefer
if you were dressed as well.”

Hermione nodded, darting for a privacy partition in the corner. “Give me five minutes!” She called,
dropping her shoes atop an upholstered chair.

“Do you need help?” Hannah asked from the vanity.

“I can manage, thanks.” Hermione draped her gown over the panel and peered around the frame.
“By the way, you look stunning, Susan.” She watched Ginny thread a needle from her spot beside
the platform. “Is something wrong with the dress?”

“Just some minor adjustments. I lost a bit of weight, all the stress from planning I suppose.”

Ginny smirked, pins pressed between her lips. “At least we know it’s not a shotgun wedding—”

“Ginevra!” Her mother scolded before turning her sights across the room. “Hermione, dear, we
really must do something with your hair.”

“I can help with that,” Luna offered, loose petals and twine scattered across the rug at her feet.

Molly smiled thinly, inspecting the blonde’s messy braid and flower crown. “Er, thank you…
Luanne, was it?”
“Luna, ma’am.”

“Right. No offense, dear, but I think it would be much better if—”

“That would be great, Luna,” Hermione spoke through the wicker, frantically tugging the stays on
her dress. “And I’d love to wear one of your crowns.”

“Luna made them for all the girls,” Susan announced, inspecting her bodice in the full-length
mirror. “White for bridesmaids, pink for Gin.”

“Actually…” the latter muttered, hiding behind the bride’s lacy skirt. “I changed mine to purple.”

“What?” Susan whirled around again, barely keeping her balance.

“Pink looks horrific with my hair. Besides, purple brings out the indigo in the dresses—”

“Fine,” the brunette sighed, massaging her temples. “Just no more surprises, please. My nerves are
stretched thin enough.”

Hermione bit her lip, pushing rolls of fabric past her hips. “Not to pull them any tighter but…
where’s Parvati?”

“Last I saw she was slipping into a water closet with Blaise,” Ginny volunteered.

Molly pressed a hand to her chest, complexion ashen. “Do tell me you’re joking.”

“She had better be,” Susan warned. “I’m not paying the clean-up fees.”

“I can’t listen to any more of this!” Molly rose from her chair with a huff. “I’m going to find
Arthur.” She paused to inspect Susan from bottom to top, smiling proudly. “You look beautiful,
sweetheart. Good enough for one of my boys. Well, Ron at least.”

She exited the suite with a beaming grin while Susan blinked and Hannah covered her mouth,
barely smothering a laugh.

“I’d apologize, but this is pretty much her baseline,” Ginny offered, fluffing Susan’s train. “At least
she stopped weeping like a banshee—” Hysterical sobbing started in the hallway right on cue.
Ginny cringed. “Welcome to hell. Aren’t you glad you met us?”

“Immensely,” Susan muttered, leaning over to help Ginny spread the fabric. “We need to wrangle
Parvati before she desecrates any more corners of the Church.”

Hermione slipped her arms into the sleeveless straps, eyeing the raised scar across her bicep. “I’ll
find her, just lace me up—”

“I’ll go!” Ginny shouted, popping to her feet like a jack-in-the-box. The room fell silent, every
head turned in her direction as she pulled the measuring tape from behind her neck and shuffled for
the door. “I mean I was the one to see her last so I can probably find her again faster than any of
you it shouldn’t take me long be right back!”

She disappeared from the room in a whirl of silk. Hermione glanced at Hannah. “Did you catch
any of that?”

The blonde shrugged, standing from her chair and crossing for the partition.

“All finished!” Luna announced, raising her floral creation for all to see.
“Thank you,” Hermione said, lifting her hair as Hannah laced the back of her gown. “Are the
flowers from your shop?”

Luna nodded, approaching with the delicate crown in hand. “Yes. The bouquets, too.”

“They’re beautiful,” Hermione breathed, dipping low so Luna could pin it in place. A heavy sigh
sounded from the front of the room, earning their gazes. “Susan, are you alright?”

The bride in question nodded, gathering her skirts and attempting to disembark. Hermione pulled
free from her friends’ busy hands and rushed to steady her. “Thank you,” Susan mumbled, eyes
averted.

Hermione squeezed her fingers. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just a bit overwhelmed.”

“Cold feet are normal—”

“I don’t have cold feet,” Susan replied at once. “I love Ron more than anything, I want to be his
wife.”

“Then it’s going to be a wonderful day.”

“I know. I just…” she shook her head. “Some days it feels so surreal. Like I’m waiting for the other
shoe to drop. Things can’t possibly be this normal, this peaceful, not after everything that’s
happened.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, a lump rising in her throat. “I understand.”

“Then I feel selfish for questioning it. We’re all so lucky to be alive, I shouldn’t be dwelling on the
past, thinking about what-ifs.”

“You’re a police chief's daughter, it’s in your blood.”

“—or I feel selfish for not questioning it enough, not thinking about it more, all those faces in the
crime scene sketches, so many people—”

“Susan.” Hermione grasped her shoulders, giving them a gentle shake. “Everything’s okay. Just
breathe.” The bride followed instruction, swaying on the exhale.

“Perhaps a bit of gin will soothe you?” Luna offered, drawing near.

Hannah raised her brow. “The Church has liquor?”

“Parvati smuggled in a flask.”

“Thanks,” Susan smiled, carefully drying her eyes. “But I’m still trying out this whole sober thing.”

“You don’t need alcohol,” Hermione affirmed, rubbing her shoulders through the delicate lace.
“You need Ron and family and friends. Love and support got us this far and will carry us the rest
of the way. The past can never change but it doesn’t have to color our future. We survived, now it’s
our responsibility to live for all those who didn’t.”

Susan sniffled, dabbing her eyes anew. “Did I ruin my lashes?”

“You look perfect,” Hermione replied, leaning in for an embrace. The others followed suit, mindful
of her flowing gown. But Susan didn’t seem nearly as concerned with the garment’s welfare,
opening her arms and pulling them in close until they were tripping over each other’s feet and
laughing vibrantly.

“Still…” the bride pondered aloud. “We definitely should have eloped.”

Hermione adjusted her lopsided crown and nodded readily. “Oh, that’s without question.”

Ginny slipped inside the Church on nimble tiptoes, padding close against the walls and weaving
behind tapestries with a ninja’s stealth. But her espionage skills were wasted on this particular
occasion, the ever-growing sea of laughing faces lost to their own diversions. The guest-list was
long and varied between the merging families, though it seemed the one quality they all shared was
a love for boisterous conversation.

She stepped out of the shadows and into the pews, pulse leaping at every bright plume of color that
crossed her path. But her hunt was cut short by a high-pitched squeal and atrociously decorated hat,
a round and sturdy figure charging her like a cricket player about to score the winning point. Before
Ginny could so much as yelp she was hauled into a bone-jarring hug that left both parties
staggering.

“Ginevra, darling! Don’t you look magnificent!”

Ginny spit out a feather, spine bowed. “Aunt Muriel, I can’t breathe—”

"Oh, sorry, sweetheart!" The woman leaned back but refused to relinquish the grip of her captive's
arms. "Look at how big you've gotten! My my, it'll be your turn to walk down the aisle soon! And
that beautiful hair, you're the spitting image of me when I was your age!" Ginny looked to the
massive crucifix on the wall, praying for it to break loose and end them both. "Quite a party they
have going," her aunt continued. "Do tell me, dearest, did the bride's father pay for all this?"

“Oh, I really don’t—”

“That is the proper way of things, you know. I don’t care what they consider modern and
progressive these days, poor Arthur can’t afford—”

“Sorry, Aunt Muriel.” Ginny tried pulling away. “The ceremony is going to start soon and—”

“Can you believe little Ronald is the first to get married? I never would have believed it! He could
barely walk a straight line as a boy, he must have swept the girl off her feet by tripping into her!”

“That’s pretty accurate, actually. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really need to—”

“I just met Bill’s pretty little fiancé. French. Dear lord. Thank goodness she's beautiful. I do hope
she doesn't drag him back to that God-forsaken—”

“Gotta go!” Ginny all but yelled, wrenching free at last. “Enjoy the wedding!” She called over her
shoulder, darting for freedom.

“We’ll catch up later! Tell your mother—” the rest of the woman’s words were lost to the churn of
voices as Ginny slipped back into the throng, a heady cloud of cheap cologne and overpriced
perfume making her head pound.

And then she heard Her voice and the rest of the room went quiet, the hush traveling across land
and sea, to the outer reaches of time and space, nothing existing but the stars above and the radiant
laughter at her back. Ginny rocked in place before rotating carefully, a slowly pivoting statue
inspecting the room frame by frame.

But it didn’t take long to find the source of the vibrant melody. Pansy was, as always, patently easy
to spot, the bustling floor posing little challenge. Ginny watched her converse before a colorful
mural of the sky, positioned in such a way she seemed to descend from the heavens and emerge
from the painting itself, the most provocative artwork any Church had ever housed. Ginny gripped
the back of a pew and studied her intently, retracing every line and curve before making her way to
her lips and cheekbones, nose and eyes—

She staggered, caught by the glinting stare. Pansy watched her with an intensity that made every
vein dilate. Ginny exhaled in defeat, knowing her flush gave her away. She tried disguising her
mortification with a small wave, instantly cursing her stupidity as it caught the attention of Pansy’s
male companions.

Strike me dead.

She spun on her heel before the men could spot her, dreading their laughter, their knowing smirks
and silent judgment. She made a beeline for the exit, shouldering her way through bodies
indeterminately until tripping over a foot and collapsing into its owner's side.

“Shite! Sorry—” She reached out a steadying hand, catching sight of his face and rolling her eyes.
“Oh. It’s you.”

“Ginevra,” Percy clipped, straightening his rumpled coat. “Happy to see you’ve hosed yourself off
for the occasion.”

“Happy to see you can still walk with a gavel shoved up your arse.”

“I’m on the International Trade Commission, we don’t use gavels.”

“I assume it’s from your own personal collection.” She smiled sweetly, crossing her arms. “How’s
Ron doing?”

“Still alive, according to Charlie.” He inspected the decor with little interest. “Let’s hope it stays
that way, otherwise I’ve taken off work for nothing. How’s the bride? Sandra, is it?”

“Well, this has been fun,” she stated, bumping his shoulder as she passed. “Let’s do it again in a
few years.”

“Gin!” He called, prompting her to turn with a groan. The corner of his mouth lifted. “You clean
up half-decent.”

Her nose twitched, barely stifling her urge to seek out the living artwork in her peripheral. “If you
came around more often you’d know that.” Her terse expression softened with a smirk. “I’m glad
you’re here.” She slipped into the press of bodies before awaiting his response, wishing she’d
never left the bridal suite in the first place.

However, when she made it to the exit she found herself glancing back anyway, eager to plunge
the knife deeper, anything to drain this painful obsession from her heart. But when the crowd
parted the mural stood empty, drab and forgettable without its striking centerpiece. Ginny pressed a
hand to her chest and opened the door, in dire need of a dark place to hide.

Flushed, beaming faces filled every corner of the Church, its walls vibrating with conversation and
laughter, barely able to contain the joyous overflow. Draco rubbed his aching brow, wondering not
for the first time why the hell he bothered leaving his hotel room this morning.

Why board the ship at all? I should have sent an overpriced gift and avoided them for years to
come like a proper gentleman.

His fingers moved to his nape, tension radiating through his shoulder blades after a sleepless
fortnight at sea. Still, when the doors at the entrance parted his eyes were quick to follow,
narrowing on the new arrival meandering through in an oversized cane and top hat. His stomach
twinged, seeds of disappointment taking root.

“So,” he muttered, eager for distraction. “How’s business?”

“Are we really reduced to such mind-numbing small talk?” Pansy bemoaned.

“He’s been gone for ten months,” Theo recounted drolly, inspecting a cluster of questionably
dressed wedding guests. “We’re obligated to engage in vacant pleasantries for at least a few
minutes.”

Pansy rolled her eyes and leaned into his side. “Fine. Get on with it then.”

“The Nott Estate is flourishing,” he began, tone plagued by boredom. “The museum is still our
largest investment, obviously, the frame completed construction this spring and brought a flurry of
new investors.”

“Is your father involved?” Draco inquired, ignoring Pansy’s theatrics as she pretended to fall asleep
atop Theo’s shoulder, snoring heavily.

“Your question implies he was ever involved in the first place. I’m working on getting his name
scrubbed from the legal documents, it’s a nightmare to contend with but far more agreeable than
dealing with the man himself.”

“Is the troll still terrorizing picturesque mountainside villages?”

Theo shrugged, dislodging a disgruntled Pansy in the process. “That’s where I send the monthly
cheques. Someone’s been cashing them, can't say I particularly care who.”

“Speaking of cheques…” Draco shifted focus to the most boldly clad leg of their tripod. “How are
you doing for money?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he asserted, immune to her venom.

“You aren’t my husband or ex-fiancé, Malfoy, my finances are none of your concern.”

“I know your father’s accounts are frozen. How are you and your mum supporting yourselves?”

“You can’t take a hint, can you?”

“Oh, he can,” Theo assured her, picking invisible lint from his lapel. “He just chooses not to.”

“I’m not trying to piss you off,” Draco snapped. “I just need to know you’re taken care of.”

Her face scrunched as though detecting a sour odor. “Gross. What did America do to you?”
“Introduced me to a glorious delicacy known as peanut butter. How are you funding your European
tour?”

“They churn peanuts into butter?” Theo asked, grinning at Draco’s pointed glare. “What? You
brought it up.”

“Since you obviously won’t shut up about it,” Pansy scathed, “Theo put me in touch with a very
knowledgeable investor who’s managed to turn my mother’s modestly-sized nest egg into a golden
goose. We're perfectly comfortable so please feel free to dump your testosterone-fueled knight-in-
shining-armor bullshite on some other hapless maiden’s lap.”

“I don’t think anyone’s accusing you of being hapless or a maiden— ow!” Theo jerked sideways as
she stomped his foot.

Pansy huffed, straightening her satin belt when something caught her eye from across the room, the
heat of her focus drawing their amused stares with it. Draco skimmed a patchwork of unremarkable
faces, curious to see which doe-eyed beauty would become her latest weekend conquest.

Pansy's taste ran excessive in all things, she'd never settle for less than the most attractive creature
in the room, which was why the current selection left him vexed. The prettiest thing in his eye line
was undoubtedly the Maid of Honor, already half-undone in her rumpled dress and lopsided floral
crown, but surely the extenuating factors of her birthright took her out of the running, beauty be
damned.

She was a Weasley for Christ’s sake, and not some distant cousin twice removed. This was the
baby sister, cherished and chained. Whatever brave and fortunate soul spent a night between her
legs would find himself manacled to the rest of the hog-wrestling clan come morning. Draco had
suffered many humiliations throughout his short and eventful life but nothing whispered rock
bottom quite like donning a Molly Weasley hand-knitted Christmas sweater in public.

As such, he was perfectly keen on passing the cursed forest nymph over when she gave their corner
of the Church a little wave, her pretty, mortified face glowing brighter than the hair framing it.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, turning back around. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Ah,” Pansy hummed, still looking past his shoulder. “You’ve transformed back into an arsehole.
Thank goodness.”

He arched a brow, the comedy of her predicament quickly outpacing the tragedy. “I thought you
preferred blondes.”

“Get over yourself.”

He shook his head as Theo took the reins of their derailed conversation. “Speaking of which, who
last spoke to Daph?”

“I sent her a letter at the end of August,” Draco supplied.

Theo smirked. “Pity you. I received a letter last week.”

“And I exchanged telegrams with Greg last night,” Pansy relayed, finally tearing sight from her
evening’s prey. “I win.” Her grin stretched obscenely as they donned matching scowls. “My
beautiful godson is perfectly healthy. His mummie and daddy take turns sleeping atop whatever
surface they land upon and couldn’t be happier.”
“I can’t believe they made you the sodding godmother,” Theo muttered.

“One of them at least,” she simpered. “Seems Tori and I are the only suitable candidates they could
think of for such a sacred and vital role.”

“Greg said I would’ve gotten it if I didn't work so bloody much.”

“Green may be your favorite color, darling, but it clashes terribly with your pallor.”

“You detest children.”

“So do their parents.”

“And to think you almost became the mother of my offspring.”

"I dodged that bullet for everyone's sake. Your head is far too small for your body, our progeny
would have to wear hats year-round. Hats, Theo."

“Is Astoria with them?” Draco interjected, rubbing his pounding brow with a thumb and forefinger.

“She returned to Barcelona last Wednesday,” Pansy regaled, straightening a velvet glove. “Last we
spoke she was elbow deep in a bucket of filthy mop water, scrubbing her lovely fingers to the
bone.”

Draco dropped his hand. “Mop water? Why doesn’t she have a maid?”

“Cleaning calms her nerves. Besides, she always insists on hosting guests atop sparkling floors.”

“Tori’s having a party?” Theo slumped into the wall. “Bloody hell, I can’t remember the last time I
went to anything that wasn’t a tax write-off.”

“It’s more of an intimate soirée with a private floor show at the end,” she drawled, admiring her
ruby bracelet in the light. Theo glanced sideways, smirk rising as the last member of their trio
blinked like an idiot.

“Wait— Tori met someone?” Draco probed, the final piece clicking into place.

“Why do I even bother?” She groaned, tossing her hands and pushing off the mural. “I’m off to
find whatever passes for entertainment among these circus carnies. Do avoid expiring from
boredom in my absence, I’d like to split the hackney fare to the hotel.”

“Happy hunting,” Theo bid. “Perhaps you’ll stumble upon your missing soul in the process. This
being a Church and all, I’m sure they keep a few spares in the back.”

“Missing? Silly boy,” she cooed with delight. “I keep it in a shoebox beneath my bed like a proper
lady. It’s how we fit inside our corsets. And plot violent world domination without a shred of
remorse.”

Draco shook his head as she departed with a final twirl, nearly upending a distracted usher in her
flourish. “You introduced her to a money manager,” he iterated slowly, leaning against the wall.

“Indeed,” Theo confirmed. “A brilliant financial strategist with a keen investment portfolio. Great
hair and devilishly handsome to boot.”

“And the modesty of a baboon’s flaming red arse.” Draco peered sideways. “I take it she has no
idea you’re filling her coffers from your own private accounts?”
“Her pride would never survive it. So keep your mouth shut.”

Draco straightened, wounded at the slight. “I didn’t plan on telling her.”

Theo sighed, something akin to regret flashing in his eyes. “If we’d married I’d be doing the same
thing. At least now I don’t have to entertain her mother during the holidays.”

“A shame,” Draco lamented. “Lady Parkinson is an utter delight after a gallon of eggnog and rum.
My fondest holiday memory is the night she tacked Macnair’s toupee to the wall and called it
mistletoe.”

Theo erupted into laughter. Draco grinned, basking in the shared camaraderie of a past life, but
their momentary reprieve folded like a cheap table when the Church doors pulled wide and a
familiar figure emerged. Green eyes searched the busy terrain while Theo performed a stunning
rendition of a fish being gutted. Draco glanced between the pair, unable to deny his utter
fascination.

“Trouble in paradise?” He inquired lightly, hoping to break his friend of the dark beguilement.
“What could possibly drive a wedge between such happy roosters? Don’t tell me, Saint Potter
nicked your favorite bath oil to shine his World’s Smallest Cock trophy.”

Theo continued to track the Best Man’s movements from across the room, deaf to the blonde’s
goading. Draco rolled his eyes, relenting with a sigh. “Seriously, Theo, what’s going on? Is Potter
upset you brought a date? I thought he knew about you and Pans—”

“Drop it,” Theo demanded.

Draco smirked, relieved to have elicited a response, however curt. “I don’t think I will. Is the
Golden Boy actually jealous you invited your ex-fiancé to his best mate’s wedding? You’d think a
man who’s never owned a comb would be a little less tedious.”

Theo tore his gaze away, scowl cutting deep. “Christ, where do they keep the sacramental wine?”

Draco’s smirk faded, watching the man quake with barely tamped frustration. “I was joking, Theo.
Is Potter really jealous?”

“Of Pansy?” His friend scoffed indelicately. “Bloody ridiculous.”

“Of someone else then?” Draco put forth, curiosity mounting. “Did you meet another—”

“Stop reading into things.”

“I know when you're lying.”

"Well, maybe you don't know me as well as you used to," Theo bit, teeth scraping bone.

Draco flinched, then glared, refusing to swallow another helping of passive-aggressive bullshite.
“You’re really upset I went to America? You travel for business all the fucking time!”

“Yes,” Theo scathed, just as eager to have it out. “And I send word during extended visits so my
friends know I haven’t been hacked to bits and tossed into a dumpster. Meanwhile, you’re gone for
ten bloody months and send half a letter from Ellis Island the week of your arrival!”

“The other half was written on the back.”

Theo shook his head. “Hilarious.”

“Look,” Draco sighed, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. “I was swamped with work and didn't have
time to write to anyone. Mum won’t let me hear the end of it either.”

“I’m not complaining,” Theo asserted, glaring pointedly at the Best Man’s suited back. “Do
whatever you want, I have plenty to occupy my time beyond wondering if you’re dead in a filthy
alley or imprisoned by some underground fight ring that requires men to kill each other in a dark
pit to earn their freedom.”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“I don’t know what kind of twisted shite the Americans are into!” Theo roared, crossing his arms
and pivoting away like the ten-year-old they so passionately imitated.

Draco blinked at the rigid lines of his shoulders before noticing the curious stares and whispers
they’d garnered. “Theo…” he hedged, speaking low to deter their audience. “I had to cut ties with
everyone, alright? You, Blaise, Pansy… it was the only way.”

Theo continued to avert his face, tone sharp. “The only way to what?”

Draco massaged his forehead, wondering if there was time to work in some much-needed shock-
therapy before returning to New York.

"Let go," he muttered simply, tendering no further explanation. Of everyone in his frayed and
disjointed life, he trusted Theo to understand the most when given the least. Still, waiting for a
response was agonizing, the violet gaze shifting back slowly, softening after a few blinks.

“Did it work?”

Draco’s lips parted on a breathless laugh, dry and bitter as smoke. “Why do you think I’m here?”
He posed, staring out at a whirlwind of faces but seeing only one in his mind. “I’m about to find
out.”

Luna slid a golden pin into place, securing another bloom in Susan’s hair while Hermione adjusted
her lacings, both tasks made all the more difficult by the bride’s incessant fidgeting.

“Shite!” Susan exploded, causing Hannah to drop her brush with a clatter. “Where are they? Ginny
left ten minutes ago!”

Hermione reinforced the bow before starting towards the door. “I’ll find them.”

“No,” the bride groaned. “You'll just go missing, too. There’s obviously a portal to some parallel
universe in the sodding lavatory.”

“I think it’s safe to assume we’re already inside the parallel universe and the toilets are the gateway
to freedom.”

Susan slumped into a velvet chair. “In that case, please stuff me inside one.”

“Wedding first,” Hermione instructed, reaching for the knob. “Then we drown ourselves.”

Susan’s weary sigh followed her into the corridor, making Hermione all the more determined to
remedy the situation. She’d ensure this was the most magical bloody day of her friend’s life if she
had to kill someone to obtain it. So, with bouquets and bloodlust in mind, she toed off her heels and
gathered her skirts, dashing down the hallway and through the door, across the grass and up the
stairs, pausing only when glittering stained glass obstructed her path. A man stepped forward to
open the door, earning a nod of appreciation before she paced barefoot inside the Church.

The crowd was staggering. It seemed half the city had come to celebrate the happy occasion,
filling every pew until they were certain to buckle. The swarm of bodies made it difficult to get a
clear view of any one person, though she suspected neither missing girl was engaged in congenial
small talk over cake toppers. She started along the rows, smiling and tiptoeing her way through the
masses until reaching a closed door at the end, mercifully unlocked, its connecting hallway dark
and empty. She slipped inside with an eager huff, savoring her newfound shelter until she closed
the door and felt the pins in her hair shift dangerously, her cross-garden sprint threatening to upend
all thirty-eight minutes of Luna’s meticulous styling.

“Don’t even think about it," she threatened the rebellious curls before treading the floor like a
balance beam, mindful of her teetering updo. Unmarked doors lined either wall, lending poor
guidance to her hunt. "Parvati? Ginny?" She called, holding her breath and awaiting a response.
When only silence greeted she began trying knobs, the last in the row giving way beneath her
touch.

"Hello?" She uttered, hope restored as a muffled thump responded from the other side. "Is someone
in here?" She parted the door just wide enough to peer through, a large sacristy revealed. Crates
and boxes filled her view, antique furniture, and seasonal decor dispersed intermittently. "Parv,
Gin? Susan will eat her bouquet if we're not back in the next—" A loud creak emanated from
somewhere deep inside. She crept forward, navigating the narrow aisles between towering stacks
and overflowing bins, thin strips of sunlight cutting through the shutters to illuminate her path.

The center of the room housed a collection of life-sized statues concealed by sheets. A breeze
whistled through the vents, billowing the fabric like wind in a sail and bringing the marble to life.
The pieces slowly animated, shifting beneath their pale coverings as they prepared to converge.
She grabbed the nearest veil and ripped it away, eager to dispel the haunting illusion, but the image
presented ignited a new savage fear. The effigy’s front was heavily damaged, missing both arms
and the entirety of its face, possessing only shallow craters where the eyes and mouth used to be.
She twisted the sheet between nervous palms as another hiss echoed through the grate, its metallic
moan amplified from deep inside the wall.

Something scraped the ground at her back. She whipped around with the fabric drawn tight, braced
for attack. Dust particles scattered in the light, disturbed by the startled motion, nothing amiss but a
swaying curtain ahead. Heavy velvet hung from the rafters, concealing the far back corner of the
room. She closed in on the ominous decoration, leaving the sheet to pool at her heels as the
rhythmic pounding returned with fervor. A tribal drum paced her every step until the curtain stilled
and the air grew thin. But Hermione remained undeterred, grabbing the moth-chewed fabric by the
fistful and throwing it wide, refusing to offer the burgeoning paranoia a foothold.

A striking cabinet towered above her, ornate carvings doing nothing to insulate the racket within.
The structure rocked on its base, scraping the floor with increasing volume and speed until it
became difficult to hear her own befuddled gasp. She blinked twice, finally recognizing the
embellished structure for what it was. A confessional.

No sooner did the epiphany strike than the next one smacked her between the eyes.

“Oh my god…” she uttered in horror, watching the stall door rattle on its hinges. “Parvati!”

“Shite!” A panicked voice hissed, followed by a thud. “Stop, Blaise!”

“Ow— Damn, fuck!”

“Move your elbow!”

“You have to move your leg first!”

“Your giant head’s in the way!”

“I didn’t hear you complaining a minute ago—”

“Enough, both of you!” Hermione shouted. “You should be ashamed of yourselves, shagging
inside a bloody church!” She tossed her hands up, head shaking at the rafters. “And now you have
me cursing inside the bloody church—” She slapped a palm over her mouth, eyes flaring wide.
“Dammit!”

Parvati struggled to catch her breath. “Just a minute—”

“No, right now!”

“Trust me, luv,” Blaise drawled. “You want to give me a moment.”

Hermione rubbed her temples, heat crawling up her neck at the unwelcome visual. “Fine. One
minute.”

“Can you make it three? It was my turn next—”

“Shut up!” Parvati scolded.

Hermione glared at the booth. “I thought the honeymoon phase ended with the actual
honeymoon?”

“Don’t look at me, he’s the insatiable one.”

“Please, I have to pry her off each night with a crowbar—”

“That’s it!” Hermione called, already en route to the hall. “Five minutes! Then I expect to find you
both in your assigned positions and I’m not referring to illustrations from the Kama Sutra!”

Boyish laughter slipped between the macabre decor. "Thanks again for the book, Granger! It was
our favorite wedding present of the lot!"

“It taught him how to read!” His wife called merrily.

Hermione emerged from the dust-addled prison with a groan, silently praying she wouldn’t find
Ginny similarly engaged. “Bloody hell,” she muttered, immediately peering skyward with a cringe.
“Sorry!”

Harry made it one step past the threshold when the shockwave bowed him in half, incessant chatter
and screeching laughter scraping his spine like rocks on a stern. He'd finally grown accustomed to
the glaring lack of privacy at sea and port, the temptation of a quiet, watery grave enough to send a
man overboard. But now it seemed that peaceful solitude was reduced to a poor man's fantasy even
at home. He was thrilled for Ron and honored to stand by his side, but Harry would be overflowing
with horse shite if he claimed his greatest desire was anything but passing the fuck out in his hotel
room with a bottle of whiskey clutched firmly in hand. The pipe dream seemed attainable enough,
assuming the wedding actually took place before sundown. So, with a bracing sigh, he gathered
every spare ounce of military conditioning and journeyed on, embarking for the vestibule at the
back of the Church.
Halfway en route he nearly committed the cardinal sin of raking a hand through his hair, avoiding
utter catastrophe with sheer millimeters to spare. It had taken ninety minutes of painstaking
grooming to get the hornet’s nest lying flat, a taxing feat he wasn’t keen on repeating before the
turn of the century. Relieved, he shook his artfully-sculpted head and resumed the hunt, determined
to find the sodding Priest before they all dropped dead.

But it didn’t take long for his pursuit to fly off the rails, his Godfather's vibrating laughter too
entertaining to ignore. It seemed half the guests were similarly entranced, men and women peering
sideways with blatant interest, eagerly awaiting their chance to sidle closer. His bespoke suit and
wild abandon only testified to his rakish charm, intrigue magnified by the increasing likelihood this
was the closest Lord Black would ever stand to a marriage altar. Green-eyed vipers swarmed their
prey but none were brave enough to strike, reluctant to interrupt the famed Admiral from his lively
discussion with the Father of the Bride.

The unlikely pair stood beside a vat of holy water, inspiring a superbly entertaining notion. Harry
smirked, envisioning the ever-stoic and always terrifying Commissioner drowning the Weasley
twins in the golden basin after whatever failed high-jinks were certain to follow the ceremony. The
fantasy trailed his thoughts down the aisle and across the altar when lightning struck.

He staggered, every cell electrified, muscles clenched. His skin flushed hot, then cold, nerve-
endings sparking as the press of eyes melted across his spine. The caress was a familiar one,
welcomed and necessary after so many grinding, lonesome months of deprivation. There was a
special form of suffering that accompanied a laughing crowd, surrounded by a thousand grinning
faces but never the one you wanted most. The only one he ever wanted…

But now he felt it. The heady thrill of being watched, studied, memorized. Blunt teeth pressing the
skin, fingertips digging into his thighs. He turned swiftly, searching the room with the full force of
his Naval training, carefully scoping the perimeter, starved for even a glimpse—

His chest deflated with a low hiss, punctured by a glinting stare from across the room. Theo
watched him with a chilling calculation that did nothing to contain the explosive wildfire raging
between the pews, heat and destruction reflected in their shared gaze. Harry’s mouth went dry,
heartbeat centered behind his knees, willing him forward with every painful throb. Yet his heels
remained locked, the swarming crowd a powerful deterrent even in his fever-driven madness. The
object of his every desire stood only twenty meters away but there might as well have been an
ocean between them, smiling guests swarming the murky depths with razors in their mouths, eager
to shred them apart at even the slightest whiff of scandal.

But still, their gazes held, Harry content to stand like a gaping fool for the rest of his days if it
meant keeping this view. And then the fire extinguished as quickly as it set, Theo’s eyes flashing
as he turned away, dismissal written across the rigid line of his back. Harry blinked, rusting over
like a bronzed statue until anger brought him to life. Longing transformed into a sickening growl,
deep, furious, hands trembling with the brewing storm.

His feet started forward of their own volition, perfectly content to have it out here and now before
God and all his disciples. But the final thread of his common sense plucked like a harp string,
urging him in the opposite direction before he brought the wrath of heaven crashing down. He
ripped open the door behind the altar and tore through the empty hall like a man possessed, unable
to enjoy the blessed solitude he'd finally managed to acquire. He dragged clawed hands through his
hair, scrubbing them furiously, eager to destroy the pristine work, every strand set with meticulous
care for Him. Stupid fucking knob.

Bloody hell. Harry swiped a hand over his mouth, hot breath pouring between his fingers. Get a
grip, this day isn’t yours. He closed his eyes, fumbling for his sanity. Don’t ruin it for Ron, you
selfish prick.

He cracked his neck and strode to the nearest closed door. “Father?” He called, barely able to
unclench his teeth. Before he could listen for a response the door at his back opened, a dense cloud
of voices flooding the narrow hall as a lithe body slipped inside, promptly shutting it once more.

Harry straightened, shoulders drawing level as Theo raked him through the coals with a searing
glare. Blatant hostility aside, the man cut an impressive sight up close, styled and tailored to pulse-
pounding perfection. The intensity of his features was matched only by their beauty, lips full and
lids heavy. Harry swayed, realizing not for the first time what a pale imitation his imagination
spun.

All those drunken, monotonous nights at the port when his crew swarmed the local taverns and
inns, hungering for a moment's respite in a stranger's bed while Harry crept aboard the ship like a
thief in the night, seeking solace in his empty dorm. Eyes closed and knees bent, hand creeping
beneath the sheet with slow anticipation, determined to make it last, to summon the fantasy with
care. It didn't always work, his mind too preoccupied, body too spent, but on the nights it did…
nothing was quite so glorious.

A tentative few strokes and the mattress would dip at his side, warm skin pressing his shoulder, his
thigh, steam exhaled across his throat. Theo’s scent would envelop him completely and a guttural
whisper would fill his ear, filthy demands and passionate declarations consuming every fiber of his
being until Harry was pumping his hips like a rutting beast, a ragged growl tearing through the
corridor before he collapsed in a panting heap, seed dripping down his abdomen and pooling in his
naval.

The buzzing afterglow was even more satisfying, fingers in his hair and lips at his jaw, blunt teeth
scraping his pulsing artery. If he was lucky the phantom caress would follow him into sleep, but
more often than not a drunken sailor would stumble on board with a mighty clatter, forcing his eyes
open and the fantasy at bay.

He’d spent many a night in that cold, empty bed surrounded by the chorus of snoring men and
hissing pipes, sailing to the edge of the earth with only one hope in his heart. To make it home
alive. To make it back to him. But now, drawn and quartered by that same violet stare, Harry was
confronted by a simple, painful truth. Theo was indeed a living masterpiece befitting the halls of
the Louvre, and just as unattainable as the rest of its treasures.

“If looks could kill we’d both be dead,” Harry stated at length, crossing his arms to face down his
adversary. “Susan will scatter your limbs for leaving her wedding party a member short.”

Theo didn’t so much as blink, his brooding glower putting Heathcliff to shame.

"Alright, I get it," Harry continued, agitation steadily rising. "You've obviously pissed about
something. So let's have it out here and now and get on with our merry day, shall we? There are
idiots in the next room trying to celebrate love." The stillness was absolute, suffocating. "The
Silent Game. Lucky me. You finally got me something I wanted." He rocked in place, overcome
by his own thundering heart. "Honestly, Theo, this is the type of dumb shite I'd expect from Sirius.
What the fuck happened? I haven't seen you in months and this is the greeting I get? You're a real
piece of work." The last of his patience was buried beneath a deepening scowl. "Fine, arsehole," he
muttered, stalking forward with sinister intent. "I'll play along."

At last, Theo showed the first sign of reaction, a rosy flush staining the high bridge of his cheeks
and nose as he staggered into the door, pressing flat to the wood but making no move for the
handle. Harry’s chest rumbled with satisfaction, hands slamming the barrier on either side of his
prey, effectively caging his body with his arms. “I like games, too,” he breathed, head dipping low
to purr in his ear. “We’ll see how long you can keep that smarmy mouth shut when I bend over a
pew and pry your thighs apart—”

“We’re in a Church,” Theo hissed, shuddering despite his words.

“Really? No wonder I can’t find the buffet.” Harry smirked as Theo bared his teeth, no doubt
longing for a weapon within reach. “So you can speak, you’re just choosing to be an uptight twat.”
He leaned in close, taking the idiot’s scent deep into his lungs as the pale throat bobbed
convulsively. “Theo,” he breathed, pressing forward for a kiss, growling as the stubborn prick
averted his face. “Seriously— what the fuck crawled up your arse and died?”

Theo’s gaze snapped forward, bright and incensed. “I don’t know why I bother!” He scathed,
dislodging Harry with a mighty shove. “Waste of my sodding time—”

“What the fuck’s your problem?”

“What’s my problem?”

“Great question, wish I’d thought of it.”

The deep blue gaze pulsed red with outrage. “My problem is you’re denser than a block of bloody
cement!”

“And? You knew that when you approached me at the pub.”

Theo reared back, scandalized. “Are you daft? You seduced me!”

“After you made the first move!”

“I tripped and stumbled—”

“Oldest tactic in the book,” Harry challenged, taking immense pleasure in winding the cogger up
like a toy soldier. The release of pent aggression was a far cry from the relief they normally
provided each other but nearly as satisfying.

“If you’re going to treat this like a farce I’m leaving,” Theo warned, reaching for the door.

“The fuck you are.” Harry surged forward, grabbing his arm and spinning him around. “You’re
staying right here until we sort this out. Are you mad my assignment ran long? The ship had a
fueling issue in Santander—”

“Are you really so obtuse?”

“Fancy words don't make you any less of a dumbass.”

“Forget it,” Theo muttered, wrenching free from his grasp.

Harry stepped back to retrieve a fold of parchment from his vest, creased and softened from
constant handling. “Does it have anything to do with this?”

Theo peered sideways with casual contempt, blinking quickly. “What…” He blanched. “You have
it on you?”

“Always,” Harry stated, unfolding it with care. “It hasn’t left my pocket since San-Pedro.”
Theo continued to stare at the back of the page, lips working soundlessly. “All that time and you
never responded…” His senses returned in a flare of heat. “The least you could have done was—”

“I never responded because the words needed to be spoken in person. Honestly, I should be the one
who’s pissed.”

“What?”

“You said you love me for the first time through a stupid fucking letter! On the very last fucking
line! Like a careless afterthought just to shut me up—”

“I was trying to be romantic, you useless sodding cow’s arse!”

“You should have told me to my useless sodding face!”

“I wanted to but you weren’t here, were you? You’re never fucking here! You’re gone nine months
out of the year and I’m left wondering if you've been shot or stabbed or thrown overboard and
sucked into the bloody ship propeller! All I have for company are the daily reports of riots and
executions in the streets. I spend my nights searching through every paper on the stand for any
mention of your crew, I check the death reports ten times an hour just to convince myself it’s okay
to breathe. I told you how I felt in the stupid fucking letter because I was terrified it would be my
only chance to tell you!”

Harry blinked slowly, pressure swelling inside his chest like a balloon. “Theo…” he squeezed the
parchment. “You shouldn’t be reading those reports, the news is sensationalized—”

“That isn’t the point! Every time you set sail it feels like losing a part of myself. I forget what being
whole even means until you wander back home with your oblivious fucking grin and I fucking hate
it. I hate the control you have over me. I hate your stupid clothes. I hate that you throw yourself in
the path of bullets for complete strangers. I hate how the thought of losing you terrifies me more
than anything in this life and I hate hate hate that I fucking love you.” He scrubbed trembling
hands over his face, wetness smearing his temples. “I love you, Harry. And it’s fucking
unbearable.”

Harry rocked in place, heartbeat trapped in the base of his throat. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

"Bloody hell." Theo rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I've never wanted to kill someone so much in
all my life. Rodolphus included."

Harry chanced a step closer, breath expelling when Theo made no retreat. “You can hit me. You
can set fire to my closet. I really don’t give a shite. As long as you’re with me.”

Theo gazed up through swollen eyes, voice steeped in anguish. “I haven’t ruined it?”

“You could never ruin it.”

“It’s all I’m good at. I do things wrong and people leave. My mother, my father—”

“Your mother wasn’t your fault, Theo. And your father is a useless piece of shite who couldn’t find
his own arsehole with a lantern and a map.” Harry gripped his shoulders and held his gaze intently,
needing him to listen and hear, to take every word deep into his soul. "I love you, Theodore Nott,"
he declared firmly. "I've never been so certain of anything in all my life. My title, my career, half
my relationships, they're all haunted by the same ghost. But with you, there is no doubt. I'm not
confused. This isn't a phase. This is what artists and poets spend their entire lives trying to capture.
The beginning and end of everything. I've loved you for so fucking long I can't remember what
came before. It's always been and always will be and there's nothing that can stop it. Not God, not
Parliament, not even you. And long after I’m sucked into a propeller and sprayed across the
afterlife, I’ll still be madly in love with you.”

Theo shook his head, vibrating with unspent laughter and tears. “And the moment had such
potential.”

Harry smiled and cupped his jaw, then grasped his waist and pulled him close for another attempt.
Theo didn't turn away this time. Their mouths pressed tenderly, savoring the feel, each touch
lingering.

“Say it again,” Theo whispered.

“I love you,” Harry repeated against his lips.

“Again.”

“I love—” the remaining syllable was promptly devoured, a feral switch flipped in both their
bodies. Low moans filled every corner of the hall, shoulders bumping portrait frames as they
stumbled aimlessly, drunk with mounting need. Blunt nails raked across Harry’s scalp, pulling his
hair and clawing his back. He reciprocated with a low-throated groan, pinning Theo flat to the wall
and grinding their pelvises with shameless desperation. The friction drove them to madness, teeth
scraping, panting into each other’s mouths when the door at their side began to open.

They flew apart like a powder keg, colliding into opposite walls with eyes wide and pupils blown.
Harry trembled with the shock, straightening his shirt and jacket, erection throbbing heavily
between his legs.

“Oh, hello gentlemen,” an elderly voice greeted. The Priest emerged from a side room, offering a
smile to their flushed and horrified faces. “I was just coming to check on the bride and groom. I
believe it’s time we move things along.”

Harry nodded eagerly, able to feel each hair standing on end. “Yes. Great. Let’s do that. That great
idea. That you had.”

The man raised a white brow, glancing between them with more care. “My word, are you boys
alright? You look positively feverish.”

Theo tugged at his collar, revealing twin welts left by Harry's teeth. “We just got a bit warm
searching for you.” He cleared the gravel from his throat. “The Church is bigger than it looks.”

“All the better to celebrate our Lord.” The Priest grinned anew, patting their shoulders as he
passed. “Excellent. I’ll inform the violinist it’s time.”

Harry nodded, deflating with a hiss the moment the door closed between them. And then he made
the monumental mistake of glancing across the hall, cock pulsing hot when Theo adjusted his own
turgid length through his pants. Harry ground his teeth and closed his eyes, counting backward
from ten before he gave standing at the altar an entirely new meaning. His erection remained
uncomfortably stiff when he reached the end of the timer but, to his boundless surprise and relief,
their lord and savior came to the rescue.

An oversized portrait of Jesus hung directly ahead, glowing halo and watchful eyes instantly
softening the matter. Harry blinked and tilted his head, realizing the son of God looked remarkably
like his Godfather when the latter forgot to shave for a few days. Best to keep that particular
anecdote to himself, he mused. The last thing he needed was Sirius running off to start his own
religion, leaving the remainder of Grimmauld’s construction to his supremely uninterested heir.

“Dear God,” Theo muttered, pulling his focus. In the thirty seconds Harry had spent collecting dust
his companion had successfully converted his lust-ravaged appearance into debonair charm. “Don’t
tell me you’ve found the Holy Spirit.”

“And what if I have?” Harry posed, smirking as Theo pushed off the wall to pace closer.

“I’d say our names were officially smote from Heaven’s gate the night we celebrated your birthday
in Waterloo.”

Harry grinned at the memory. “The fate of my soul never concerned me much,” he reflected,
lifting his chin as Theo straightened his collar. “If God really is up there, he’s got a few bigger
concerns than who I’m fucking.”

“Such a romantic.”

“I have my moments. Besides,” Harry groaned with pleasure, eyelids weighing heavy as nimble
fingers combed his hair into a manageable pile. “If he didn’t intend for me to want you, he
wouldn't have set you in my path.”

Theo paused, palms warm against his nape as he met Harry’s hooded gaze with a faint blush.
“Alright, that actually was a bit romantic.”

“He also wouldn’t have made me so bloody attractive—”

“And we’re back.”

“— impossible for you to resist hitting on.”

“For the last bloody time, I tripped over a stool.”

Harry grabbed him by the waist and leaned into the wall, tipping their bodies flush. “There was no
stool,” he recounted against Theo’s lips. “We were queued outside the gents.”

Theo blinked, blush melting down his neck even as his lips curved wryly. “Hm. That’s right. The
stool was Plan B, in case you were too dense to notice me tripping over air the first time round.”

Harry laughed into his mouth, hands smoothing up his spine. “That’s funny. I distinctly remember
tripping you on purpose.”

“You’re an arsehole.”

“That’s what you said when I threw you into my carriage.”

Theo shook his head and pressed a kiss to Harry’s mouth, stroking his jaw and whispering softly.
“Come home with me tonight.”

Harry searched his gaze, bluer than any ocean he'd ever sailed. Halfway around the world and back
again, Harry had known every adventure and thrill a boy could imagine. The sea meant freedom,
escape, but never quite home. And now, standing in the narrow vestibule of a Church, Harry
finally understood why. Home wasn't a place or a person, a memory or a dream. Home was the
present moment. Home was here and now.

He laid a hand on Theo's chest and smiled against his lips. "Where you go, I go."
Pansy straightened her gloves, smoothing the velvet between her fingers and admiring her emerald-
cut ring beneath the stained glass. Prisms reflected across her dress, a dazzling display of light and
color that attracted the gasps of children playing in the pews. They giggled and pointed, rushing in
for a better look. Pansy grinned, limbs solidified by their wondrous stares. They gathered before
her like ducklings in a pond, squealing with delight as she fluffed her voluminous skirts.

“Do you want to see a magic trick?” She whispered, magnifying their enthusiasm ten-fold. They
nodded eagerly, scooting back at her silent ushering. Once she had ample clearance she lifted her
arms and bent her leg, twirling in place like a spinning top. Her skirts expanded in a pinwheel
design, layered petticoats creating satin ribbons of contrasting colors. The children fell silent,
several adults facing their way by the time her momentum ebbed. She staggered on the dismount,
dizzy and breathless but enervated just the same. Her captive audience exploded with cheer, sidling
close with a flurry of questions.

“Are you a ballerina?” A child asked, voice rising above her peers.

“Aren’t you precious,” Pansy cooed, tapping the girl’s nose as she would a beloved pet. “Alas, no.
Unfortunately, I was born with a rib cage.” She straightened her belt, grinning fondly at the
memory. “Though a ballerina did teach me that move. Then I taught her one of mine.”

A livid gasp cut through the excited chatter. Pansy glanced up, grin fading as a woman stormed
towards their gathering. “Katrina! Come here this instant!” The little girl blinked, confused by her
mother’s ire. “Now!” The cow demanded, summoning the child into motion and drawing more
eyes to their corner.

Pansy drew back, skewered by the glares of a dozen perfect strangers. Their whispers were quick to
follow, as per tradition, assaulting her from every angle but up.

“The nerve!”

“Who is that?”

“—can’t believe someone would wear that to a wedding—“

“Looks like a harlot—”

“She has a reputation, you know.”

“Stop staring, John!”

Her eyes flickered left just in time to watch a shrill hen drag her husband away. He gazed on
appreciatively, casting a wink over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd. Pansy sighed,
gathering her skirts and cutting through the scandalized onlookers until reaching the side exit,
bursting through the door and emerging into a picturesque garden.

She slowed her furious steps in the middle of the grass, tipping back her head and willing the
sunlight to cast her invisible again. It was a strange desire, one she hadn’t grown entirely custom to
just yet. Solitude was a rather vexing bedfellow, suffocating at times and energizing at others, as
ever-changing as her shoes. But the last twelve months had taught Pansy many things, the
restorative powers of transformation chief among them. Recreating oneself offered more than a
perfectly reasonable excuse to overhaul one’s wardrobe. It was a survival imperative, the only
thing that kept her rolling out of bed each morning, ready to face the judgemental eyes of the
world.

Still, there were simply days when rising from one's mattress proved far too great a chore. As such,
Pansy's second epiphany came to blossom. Idiots couldn't judge what they couldn't see. And at
present, that particular tactic seemed by far the most practical. Though Pansy never shied away
from a healthy scandal, she was a Lady first and foremost. Today was about the Bride and
whatever trivial boor she'd settled upon, Pansy would remain on her best behavior for the poor
chit's sake. It wasn't every day a young woman got to celebrate her complete and total loss of
autonomy with family, friends, and a cake she couldn't eat. Far be it for Pansy to ruin the
merriment. No matter. She hadn't come for the festivities. Speaking of which…

She turned to face the Church, wilting in its shadow. This was undoubtedly the most ridiculous
length she’d gone to for something rare and beautiful, and that included impersonating a member
of the Imperial Court to get her hands on a Fabergé locket. Solitude had obviously turned her mad.

You’ve come this far. She sighed, trudging back the way she’d fled. Off to make a bigger fool of
myself. On the bright side, she now had the perfect remedy when it came time to mend her broken
heart. She wondered if Katrina would enjoy watching her mother’s atrocious dress catch flame,
lost to the idle musing when a muffled sneeze sounded at her back.

She spun swiftly, searching the scenic green. Bees flitted between flowering bushes and leaves
rustled in the breeze while Pansy stood in perfect stillness, holding her breath and listening
carefully.

Grass crunched to her right, behind a row of privacy hedges. Her eyes narrowed, flashes of color
appearing between the branches. Her feet were in motion before her mind could think up what to
say. The perfume of nectar and pollen carried on the breeze, her nose twitching as another sneeze
carried through the foliage.

Pansy neared the edge of the barrier, slowing to a stop as a strange and sudden anxiety took root. It
started in her stomach and spread through her chest, vines growing in her throat until she could
barely exhale. It had been many years since she’d felt so afflicted but the bitter taste was familiar.
A blink of her eyes and she was ten years old again, peering through her bedroom keyhole as her
father stormed past in a blaze of fury. The heavy vibration carried through the floor and into her
ribs, turning each breath into a shuddering hiss.

A third sneeze shattered the black and white image, the garden reappearing like a watercolor
portrait in her mind. She shook the lingering splinters from her hair and stepped through the frame,
emerging on the other side of the hedge.

Auburn hair burned copper in the sunlight, Pansy learned, a striking contrast to the violet silk
pooling in the grass.

“Parvati?” A melodic voice called, moving in the opposite direction with a sniffle. “Are you back
here? Please don’t be connected to Blaise…”

Pansy smirked, admiring the long line of her back a moment longer. “My, my,” she spoke, eliciting
a shocked yelp of response. “This just got interesting.”

Ginny whipped around so quickly she nearly toppled into the hedge. “Pansy!”

“You remembered, I’m flattered.”

“Of course I—” Her eyes flickered to Pansy’s rueful grin, cheeks tinging pink. “Right. Sorry. I
wasn’t expecting… I was hoping to catch the bridesmaid shagging her husband in the bushes.” She
blinked twice. “That isn’t— I mean I don’t— I didn’t want to see it, the wedding is about to start
and we can’t find—”
“Take a breath, Ginevra.” Ginny swallowed thickly. Pansy tilted her head, watching warmth spill
down the pale column of her throat. “There’s no shame in a bit of voyeurism. It’s an excellent way
to learn the true nature of others. And yourself.”

Ginny laughed softly, tension ebbing. “I’ll have to give it a go sometime. Preferably not in a
Church.”

“Why not? I can think of no better locale for a scandalous tryst.” Pansy started forward at a
leisurely pace, flicking leaves as she neared. “You didn’t look surprised to see me earlier.”

The pretty fox shuffled in place. “I heard a rumor you might be coming,” she muttered, the quiet
admission making Pansy’s heart skip.

“Is that so? And what else did the gossips say?”

“Nothing,” Ginny added hastily. “I mean nothing bad. Nothing at all, really, but definitely nothing
bad. I wouldn’t have listened otherwise.”

Pansy grinned, helping her out of the fire and into the flame. “You look marvelous.”

Ginny blinked, blush spreading faster as she registered the compliment. “Thank you. So do you,
obviously. You always look—” Her lashes fluttered, eyes bluer than the sky above. “That dress
is… wow.”

“What, this old rag?” Pansy’s grin unfurled with pleasure, slowing her step to build anticipation. “I
designed it myself. You inspired me, actually.”

“Me?”

“Naturally. It’s based on the cut of your emerald gown. Though I suppose I added a few minor
adjustments.”

Ginny tipped her head and let loose a peal of laughter so genuine and unrestrained Pansy forgot
what brought it about, distracted by the motion of her throat as the sound danced all around them.
"Bloody hell!" Ginny spoke around gasping breaths. "I'd say so. I could never pull off something
like that."

“Of course you could.” Pansy stopped a full pace closer than proper etiquette permitted, pleased
when her still-laughing companion made no retreat, pins loose and crown askew. “Your flowers
are different from the other girls.”

“W-what? Oh.” Ginny touched the petals with a dazed look. “Mum wanted me to wear a different
dress at first, said it was tradition. But it didn’t feel right. We’re all the Maid of Honor, really. I just
got the title because I’m also the sister-in-law.”

Pansy reached up, arranging the blooms and securing them in place. “Who chose morning glories?”

Ginny’s breathing turned shallow, warming Pansy’s wrists as she performed her task. “I did,” she
whispered.

“Hm. They suit you.” Pansy adjusted the final pin, meeting the blue gaze centered before her.
“There. Perfect.”

Ginny swayed, barely seeming to breathe. “Where’s your fan?” She asked suddenly, leaving Pansy
to blink.
“Oh.” She grinned. “I donated it to a statue in dire need of accessorizing. Poor thing was wrapped
in a table linen.”

“I’m sure the Virgin Mary has never looked better.”

Pansy laughed, a quick and sharp sound she wasn’t entirely in control of. Frigid crones among the
Peerage would have swooned at the indelicacy but Ginny seemed to bask in it, proud of being the
one to draw it forth.

“How was your trip?” Ginny inquired, taking her companion by surprise once again. But this time a
flood of warmth accompanied the words, spreading outward with every pulse of her heart.

“You really have been asking about me.”

Ginny glanced down, bare feet toeing the grass. “Maybe more than a little,” she confessed, biting
her lip in a manner that admitted to so much more.

Pansy’s hand lifted, possessed by a force much greater than herself, gently tapping Ginny’s chin
and tilting her face up. Their gazes held, lungs expelling a gust of steam that rose between them.
Pansy leaned in, hardly aware of her actions, and then Ginny mirrored her movements and she
stopped thinking altogether.

“Ginny?” A voice called from outside the Church.

“Shite!” Ginny hissed, lurching back in a panic. “It’s Mione!”

“Of course it is,” Pansy muttered, gloves smoothing along her front.

“I have to—”

“I know.”

Ginny paced back slowly. “I’ll see you after the ceremony?”

“I’ll be hard to miss.”

The Maid of Honor stopped at the end of the hedge, examining Pansy with the same artful
precision she’d been subjected to earlier. Pansy shifted, the seed of uncertainty stirring again, but
her companion’s radiant grin quickly stomped the weeds to rest.

“You always are,” Ginny replied, departing on a graceful spin.

Pansy watched her circle the end of the row and leaned into the branches, light-headed in the wake
of their encounter. Sunlight glowed warm on her skin and a rapid fluttering filled her stomach but
both sensations were lost to her next great epiphany. No eyes were upon her, and yet she still
remained whole.

Harry knocked twice before opening the door and peeking inside, promptly searching the floor for
bodies. Alas, the Groom had managed to remain upright, pacing the rug like a frantic horse and
sweating just as profusely.

“It’s time,” he announced, fighting down a grin as the man turned whiter than the flower on his
lapel.

Ron scrubbed a hand across his face and gulped audibly. “Bollocks.”
Susan stared at her reflection in the vanity, silently counting down the seconds until the next major
catastrophe while Luna hummed merrily in the corner. If she made it to zero, the bride decided she
would strip off her gown and charge the streets in her skivvies, as logical a plan as any she was
used to making, but rapid footsteps in the hall spared her the effort.

The room’s remaining inhabitants spun to face the door as it burst wide, Hermione nearly face-
planting over the threshold. She’d barely managed to recover her slip when Parvati and Ginny
skidded in from behind, the trio toppling to the rug like dominoes.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Susan shouted, springing from her stool. “Where the hell have you lot
been? I could be onto my third husband by now!”

“I just spoke with the Priest,” Hermione panted, gripping the knob to haul herself up. “They’re
ready for us.”

Susan gripped her pale skirts by the fistfuls. “Bollocks,” she whispered, rushing to the standing
mirror. “Help me with the veil!”

The next ten minutes were a blur of fluttering lace and flailing limbs, but once the dust settled she
somehow found herself standing in the Church lobby, bridesmaids stacked neatly in a row and
everyone struggling to catch their breath.

Susan rocked back and forth as the guests took their seats, toes already swelling in the strikingly
beautiful and terribly impractical heels Ginny had chosen for her. Until, finally, the pews were
filled and a collective hush swept the room, stifling the rest of her thoughts.

The sole violinist began to play, his elegant melody signaling the doors to open. Susan swayed,
overcome by a blur of faces, the sea creature with a thousand blinking eyes. The flower girl wasn’t
so deterred, beginning her joyful skip down the aisle to the attention and delight of all. She threw
petals in the air and stuffed a few in her mouth, abandoning the basket halfway down to play with a
ribbon in her hair. Luna hurried forward as the crowd shook with laughter, retrieving the fallen
prop and escorting the girl the rest of the way. Susan exhaled swiftly, spots appearing before her
veil-covered eyes.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” her father murmured at her side. “So much like your mother… I
wish more than anything she could be here today.”

She clutched his arm tighter, spots slowly fading. “Me, too,” she whispered, watching Parvati
depart next. Try as she might to keep the tremor from her voice she felt the inescapable weight of
his gaze upon her.

“Are you sure about all this?” He asked, voice cast low so the others wouldn’t hear.

“Of course,” she replied quickly, glancing up. “I thought you liked him?”

“I like anyone who makes you happy. Weasley’s a good kid and I can tell he loves you but that
doesn’t mean you have to—” He sighed, eyes briefly closing. “What I mean to say is… you don’t
owe anything to anyone. It’s never too late to change your mind.”

The corner of her lips turned up, concealed by the veil. “I think three hundred guests would stand
in adamant disagreement.”

“I have zero reservations about tossing these freeloading bastards out on the street.”
She snorted, tension easing from her limbs. “Would I have to return the gifts?”

“I’ll buy you anything you want.”

Her smile unwound fully as Hermione journeyed forward. “Thank you, Dad, but I’m exactly where
I want to be.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I promise.”

He nodded curtly and dropped a kiss to her temple. “Good.” They watched Ginny depart, the last of
her party to go. He lifted his chin, speaking at normal volume. “But if my idiot son-in-law does
anything to make you unhappy, come straight to Daddy. They’ll never find the body.”

She smothered a laugh inside her bouquet, feeling the vibration of his silent amusement against her
side. “Perfect, it’ll save us the hassle of a prenup.”

The violin stopped, its final chord echoing through the hall as the crowd stood as one to face the
doors with expectant grins.

“Ready?” Her father inquired gently.

Susan swallowed thickly. “Ready.”

They started forward. The arm beneath her grip remained rigid, as if he knew she needed all the
help she could get to stay upright. He slowed his natural gait to accommodate her limited stride,
dense skirts and narrow heels reducing her mobility to a slug’s gallop. Their limited pace only
prolonged the agony of three hundred stares pressing in from all sides, an affectionate pillow
smothering her face. She’d never been more grateful for the cumbersome veil, her only shield from
the penetrating eyes.

It was then she realized the depth of her transformation. Years of addiction had sewn deep-seated
mistrust in her heart until she knew only one thing to be true, attention was never good. The
paranoia she once felt buried beneath her quilt at home had become second nature to her now. Her
pores twitched and her palms itched as her body cried out for a cure it hadn’t tasted in over a year.
The opium had been her remedy for so long, the solution to every woe, her mind still reached for it
like a phantom limb.

It’s just the stress, the moment will pass. It always does.

Her gaze flitted to the crowd and landed on an old woman she didn’t recognize, one of Ron’s many
relatives. The stranger leaned towards the man beside her and whispered sharply, he nodded his
head and murmured something back, neither taking their eyes from the passing Bride. Susan
quaked, certain they knew the truth. More whispers filled her ears. She glanced to her other side
and found the entire crowd engaged in hushed conversation, their stares narrow and accusing. They
all saw it, every sin and tragedy written across her face.

Stop this.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, allowing her father to guide her steps until she was
confident her heart wouldn’t tumble free from her mouth. When she opened her lids the madness
had passed, reality knitting together a quaint and peaceful scene of love and adoration. Her pulse
settled, the happiness on everyone’s faces reminding her of the source of her own. She gazed to the
altar, overcome by the sight of him.

Ron stood tall and handsome in his pressed uniform, shoulders broad and hands clasped behind his
back, likely to hide their fidgeting. She grinned at the thought, the shared exhilaration binding their
hearts. His grin stretched to either end of his face, proud and gleaming, while his eyes shone with
the same brilliance as the precious stones in her necklace, borrowed from Parvati to keep with
tradition. She’d drawn the line at putting a sixpence in her shoe.

Their gazes held steady as she continued her forward journey, even when Harry clasped his
shoulder and spoke quietly in his ear. Ron’s grin somehow widened, medals gleaming on his
breast. The aisle seemed to go on forever and yet remained impossibly short. A blink and a
heartbeat and she stood before him, breathless and dazed.

“Who gives away this bride?” The Priest asked, voice echoing through the rafters.

The immovable presence at her side shifted. “Her father,” he replied, arm tensing before falling
away. She turned to face him as he carefully lifted the veil, meeting her gaze just long enough to
convey a message of tenderness. She blinked quickly as he kissed her cheek, tears burning behind
her eyes when he moved to face the Groom.

Ron’s grin wilted at the edges, a slow blister creeping its way up from beneath his collar as the
famed Detective pressed him with a narrow stare. His groomsmen looked amused but Ron
managed not to squirm, holding his ground with a scarlet flush until her father laughed, signaling
the rest of the room to join in. He offered his hand in truce and Ron accepted it eagerly, sunlight
filling the Church.

And then her father headed for his seat and she felt the weight of his absence all at once, ground
shifting beneath her feet. She desperately wished her mother was here, longing for the woman
more than ever, but Ron stepped forward and the shadow passed.

“Hi,” he whispered, a touch nervous.

“Hi,” she echoed, regretting their decision not to elope.

He leaned forward, reading her mind and speaking low. “There’s still time to run away, you
know.”

“Our deposit on the reception hall is non-refundable. Might as well go through with it.”

His amusement cut short when the Priest cleared his throat. “Ahem.” They spun forward like
naughty school children. “If the bride and groom will please join me.”

They did as bade, Harry winking when they passed and Ginny rushing forward to straighten her
train over the steps. “You’re so beautiful,” Ron murmured, watching her intently. “I can’t believe I
get to marry you.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.” Warmth bloomed across her chest. “You’re quite lucky.”

His smile radiated a fondness that took her breath away, which was just as well since the Priest
responded first. “Are you two about ready?”

Her laughter chimed high and delighted as she tossed her bouquet to Ginny and reached for her
Groom. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hermione ducked behind her bouquet, drying her eyes as the Priest’s jovial announcement filled
the Church.

“It is with great joy I declare you Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Billius Weasley, you may now kiss your
bride.”
Ron perched his hands on Susan’s waist and leaned in, pecking her lips chastely as the audience
erupted into rowdy, unrestrained cheer. Hermione tucked her bouquet underarm and clapped,
joining in the crowd’s delight when Susan threw her arms around his neck to instigate a far more
passionate exchange.

They complimented each other perfectly, she thought, watching Ron emerge from the kiss flushed
and grinning. She recalled the boy she’d once known, toothless and grass-stained, tearing through
the house with a wild scream as the twins chased him with a spider. The man before her now stood
broad-chested and proud, gleaming medals on his chest and a beautiful wife in his arms. Tears
spilled forth with vigor, blurring her view of the newlyweds embarking down the aisle. Shouts of
praise and congratulations echoed louder than bells, following them through the doors.

The crowd rose to follow, the pews slowly emptying as conversations began and children took
leave of their parents, eager to expel their pent-up energy. Hermione turned away to dry her cheeks
once more, embarrassed by her outpour, and felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. She spun back
around, searching out the source, watching bodies gather in clusters and migrate for the doors.
Except for one.

He lingered in the back row, silver gaze fixed upon her. The image he cut was distinctly
overwhelming, handsome and impeccable, just as she remembered. But there was also a shadow in
his eyes she couldn’t quite place. It did nothing to diminish their intensity, their weight, though it
emitted a mushroom cloud of uncertainty she was hesitant to breathe.

“Mione?” A hand touched her arm, causing her to jolt. “Are you alright?” Hannah asked.

Hermione met her gaze, blinking quickly. “Oh. Yes…” She looked back to the pews. Draco had
vacated his seat, en route to the exit. “Wonderful,” she muttered, turning back to her fellow
bridesmaid. “Let’s go stuff our faces with cake, shall we?”

Hannah nodded with enthusiasm, linking their arms. “Until they have to cut me out of this dress.”

Parvati laced her fingers behind her husband’s neck, leaning into his hold as he guided her across
the dance floor. “Did you know,” he rumbled, fingers tracing down her spine. “You’re the most
beautiful woman here.”

“Hm.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to keep casting lines, Byron, you’ve already locked
this down.”

“Perhaps,” he murmured, dipping his head to kiss the side of her neck. “But you could still slip the
restraints. A good husband keeps his wife tightly ensnared at all times.”

“You did not just say that.”

“I know you love it.”

“Don’t get too complacent. I still have loads of mystery up my sleeve.” She winked. "And by
mystery, I mean psychotic episodes. I'm just waiting until the documents finalize to unleash them."

“Funny you should mention that…” He grinned broadly. “The paperwork arrived today, you’re
officially entitled to half of everything I own.”

“A tempting prospect.”

“Why settle for half when you can stand by my side and have it all?”
“Bloody hell,” she groaned. “How did I fall for these god awful lines the first time around?”

“You were drunk.”

“Ah. That’s right.”

He spun her in a flourish and pulled her back with a roguish grin, nearby couples gasping with
delight. Unfortunately, his next question unraveled all of life’s happiness with six simple words.
“How was your afternoon with mum?”

Her eyes narrowed, bristling before she began. “Less than an hour in I wanted to stab us both in the
throat. They closed down the entire department store so she could shop undisturbed, half a day of
browsing and she buys a bloody cigarette case.”

“Sounds about right. Did she order lunch for you again?”

“Yes! Like I’m some cross-eyed illiterate who can’t read a fucking—” An elderly couple peered
sidelong at her outburst, mouths puckered in scandal. She smiled sweetly, resting her head on his
shoulder. “Beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it?”

The pair aimed their waltz in the opposite direction. “Thanks for taking the bullet, luv,” Blaise
sighed. “It was too soon after the last visit for me to endure her company again.”

“What’s she doing back already? I thought you said she spends one week a year in London.”

“I’ve no sodding clue.” He cracked his neck on a harried groan. “She’s never paid me this much
attention in all my life. It’s utterly terrifying. My guess is she’s sniffing around for grandchildren.”

Parvati laughed derisively. “I can’t picture her as Grandma.”

“Oh, she’ll make them call her Countess but she wants them nonetheless. Anything to set her above
the venomous shrews in her gilded social circle. Healthy heirs are like red diamonds to them.”

“Great,” she muttered, scrounging for a silver-lining. “At least she isn’t trying to split us apart
anymore.”

His eyes lit with mischief, mood easily restored; one of the many qualities she adored in her other
half. “Seems your previous message was received loud and clear. No one’s ever thrown her from a
moving carriage before; you’ve sufficiently won her over.”

She skimmed his jaw with a contemplative hum. “So that’s where you get it from.”

“I've no idea what you’re talking about, heart.” He blinked innocently, hands invoking scandal
along her hips.

She jabbed his ribs in warning but only succeeded in switching on his laughter. The steady
vibration dueled with the tempo, earning irritable whispers from the more serious dancers on the
floor. Parvati grinned, unconcerned by their opinions. The world contained between Blaise’s arms
was small and filled with treasures, a narrow paradise no outsider could breach. She wasn’t so
naive as to think the pink-haze a permanent fixture in their lives. The glass dome would eventually
lift and the fog would dissipate along with it, reality materializing piece by piece or with crushing
swiftness.

She’d learned life’s simple truths young and held each one close to her heart. The hotter wood
burned the faster it turned to ash; what went up must come down; and, her personal favorite,
nothing good could last. These universal constants had protected her thus far and yet, when Blaise
had dropped to one knee and pulled the ring box from his pocket, she hadn’t hesitated to scream
yes before he’d even completed the question, her own bit of existential knowledge supplanting all
the rest: their worst day together was far and above her worst day alone.

“Are you tired of me yet?” She asked, the sincerity of her tone ending his laughter abruptly.

“Never,” he declared firmly.

She nodded, tracing idle patterns along his nape. “It’s just… we eloped six months ago and you’ve
already paid for my sister’s math courses, her best friend’s culinary program, and their flat in the
city. Not to mention building me a bloody mansion from the ground up—”

“Sound investments for a return of domestic bliss. What else would I be spending the money on?”

“I’m certain I don’t want to know.”

“Probably for the best.” He drew her flush to his chest and pressed their foreheads together. “A
man’s fortune is meaningless in the face of love.”

"Dear God," she cringed.

“Behold beauty and witness a lifetime of—”

“Where the hell are you getting this shite?”

“Longbottom dropped his poetry journal during his visit with Hannah.”

Her brow creased. “That poor thing.”

“You’re referring to Hannah?”

“Obviously.”

His gaze drifted to her hair, admiring the refraction of light across the dark pool. “I thumbed
through a few pages for blackmail material and stumbled across his proposal speech.”

Parvati blinked, processing both ends of the statement before gasping with Shakespearean finesse.
“Our little Hannah, a blushing bride! The house will feel tragically bereft without her.”

“We still have Luna.”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “Luna practically sleeps at her shop, I barely see her anymore.” A
new thought occurred, shared only in half-jest. “I’m going to get empty-nest syndrome.”

His eyes narrowed above a wolfish grin, a formidable combination that sent a bolt of heat directly
between her thighs. “There’s an all-natural remedy for that, you know.”

“I do care about the environment,” she mused. “I fed a swan last week, annoying fucker shite all
over the lawn. Majestic my arse—”

“We could refill the nest with actual offspring, as opposed to young women we off-handedly refer
to as our children.”

Parvati blinked, sober as a gunshot blast. “You still want kids?”

“Of course,” he replied at once. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, I’m just relieved you brought it up first because I wasn’t sure how to tell you—”

“Ready to get started?” He smirked, arm tightening at her waist. “The ledge in the water closet
looked sturdy enough to—”

“I’m pregnant.”

He froze in place, forcing an adjacent pair to stumble wildly, narrowly avoiding a collision. Parvati
ignored their plight, focusing on his face and holding her breath. Her eyes burned at the prolonged
silence, the swift disappointment.

“What?” He finally whispered, searching her face. “You— you’re… you’re certain?”

She swallowed thickly, exhaling the words in a rush. “Positive. The doctor confirmed it yesterday
—!” She squealed as he seized her waist and lifted her off the ground. “Don’t make a spectacle,
we’re still at a wedding!”

“I don’t care!” He bellowed, spinning in rapid circles while she held on tight. “Shite!” He hissed,
rocking to a halt. “Is this bad for the babies?” He lowered her abruptly, staring at her middle as she
clutched his shoulders for balance. “Are you okay? Did I scramble his brain? Will she need glasses
now?”

Parvati blinked, the world tilting sideways, and then his words caught up to her and she exploded
with laughter, half the dance floor watching with curiosity and amusement.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said.

“How many kids do you think are in there, Blaise?”

He scratched the side of his head. “Twins run in the family, right? Wait—“ His arm fell. “I thought
you smuggled a flask into the Church?”

“I brought it for Susan,” she relayed between breaths. “Marrying a Weasley can’t be easy, figured
she’d need to get loaded at some point.”

His smile bordered on the obscene as he cupped her face and kissed her passionately, causing even
the band to stare outright. “So thoughtful,” he murmured against her lips. “You’re going to be the
best fucking mum ever.”

“Bet your perfect arse I will.” She wove her arms around his neck and melted into his embrace.
“And you’re going to be a bloody fantastic dad to our quintuplets.”

He laughed against her temple and retook her waist, leading them into some semblance of a waltz,
neither paying any attention to the music. “We’re definitely going to screw this up.”

"Without a doubt," she sighed, fingers carding through his hair. "But that's what firstborns are for."

Harry turned his head and exhaled, smoke billowing downwind of the patio and its fellow
inhabitants. The scattered guests found solace along the railing, breaking from indoor festivities to
converse in the summer air.

“Can’t believe little Ron was the first of his brothers to walk the plank,” his godfather mused,
clipping the end off a second cigar. “Hell. He beat you, too, kid.”
Harry grinned, watching the evening’s final rays shimmer across the lawn like sunset over the
water. “Don’t exclude yourself from the line-up, old man. There’s no ring on your finger either.”

“That prospect sailed from my horizon many moons ago.” The laughter following his declaration
lacked the vibrancy Harry had grown so accustomed to hearing. He brought the cigar to his lips
and peered sideways.

“Never say never. Love has a way of creeping up when you least expect it.”

Sirius tipped his head and breathed out, a blue cloud tinging each word. “I suppose it does.” A
tenuous pause settled between them, the distant murmur of conversation and music filling the void.
And then Sirius started for the grass, speaking over his shoulder. “Let’s take a walk, catch up a
bit.” Harry rolled the cigar between his fingers, hesitating until the Admiral stopped to peer back.
“Coming?”

The sky burned warm tangerine when Harry arrived at his side, the hue reflecting across the grass.
They strolled through the lake of fire in silence, Sirius watching the treeline and Harry watching
him, ashes flicking in their wake.

“Alright,” Harry spoke at last, stopping in the middle of the field. “What’s happened?”

Sirius glanced up, blinking curiously. “What makes you think something’s happened?”

“The last time you asked me to take a quiet walk you didn’t exactly have good news to impart.”

His godfather stood straighter, eyes darkened by the memory. “Christ, Harry, I didn’t…. This is
nothing like that. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“I’m not scared. Everyone I love is either drunk at the bar or drunk on the dance floor. But you
have that same look in your eyes. I can tell something’s wrong.”

His godfather sighed, turning his focus to the end of his cigar. “Nothing’s wrong. Quite the
opposite in fact. Seeing Ron get married just got me thinking…” His breath went the way of the
gently curling smoke, absorbed by a rust-colored cloud.

“Got you thinking…?” Harry prompted.

“It got me thinking that maybe, sometimes, there isn’t always a… you can’t always know… it’s not
always easy to—” He rubbed the bridge of his nose while Harry took a long drag, thoroughly
entertained. “Let me start again. When you were young I always thought you would… no, that’s
not— what I meant to say is, there wasn’t always a good way to—”

“Are you always this poetic or did you practice just for me?”

“Don’t be a cheeky bastard,” Sirius muttered.

“I always know how to lighten the mood.”

“Harry.”

“Sorry, I’m always interrupting—”

“Are you quite done?”

“Are you?” He grinned around his cigar. “I promised Hermione the next dance, if I stand her up
she’s liable to turn me into a practice cadaver.”
“I’ll have you back to your deadly lass by the next song,” the man assured, uncharacteristically
pensive. “I just wanted to say… marriage is a wonderful thing.”

Harry arched a brow, pungent smoke seeping from the corners of his mouth. “Wow. Thank you,
Sirius.” He took a step back. “I’m going to reflect on that inside—”

“Stop right there,” the Admiral demanded. “And don’t give me that look. I haven’t seen you in
months, the least you can do is stand still and pretend to listen for five bloody minutes.” Harry
relented with a groan. “Good lad. Now, where the hell were we… ah, marriage. It’s a wonderful
thing—”

“So I’ve heard.”

“— but it isn’t the only thing.” The unexpected conclusion left Harry blinking, curiosity piqued. “A
man’s got plenty of options these days,” his godfather continued, casual tone belied by his steadfast
gaze. “Some are getting married older, some not at all, others settle for the company of a full-time
— well, you get the idea. Remaining a bachelor is what suited my life and I’ve never regretted—”

“Sirius.” Harry stubbed out his cigar on the sole of his boot and swallowed the bitter cloud it left
behind, realizing this speech had, in fact, been rehearsed before today. “It’ll be far less tedious if
you just say it.”

The treeline hovered closer than before, the field rapidly shrinking at their feet.

“It’s okay to want things that other people don’t,” Sirius began, finding his poise at last. “And it’s
okay to not want the things they all strive for. No one else can lead your life and no one can feel
the weight of your heart. Anyone who tells you differently doesn’t really see you, Harry, and more
importantly, they don’t want to. They’re trapped in a world of mirrors and anything that doesn’t
look and act exactly as they do scares the hell out of them. But that’s their cross to bear, not yours.”

Harry straightened, the weight of the moment finally seizing him. This wasn’t a conversation he
was entirely ready for, nevermind how many times it played through his mind, but he was grateful
Sirius had lured him outside to attempt the feat. A fortress couldn’t contain the storm inside his
chest.

"There will be moments of doubt," his godfather continued intently. "Moments when you'll wonder
if it's better to just pretend. That maybe with time you'll grow to like what they like and love what
they love. Life behind a mirror seems easier, a place where judgment and heartache can't find you.
But every time I stepped behind it, I was the one to shatter. I broke myself again and again in the
hopes I would reform into something they wanted but all I became was a useless pile of shards,
carelessly swept and thrown away."

The sun dipped behind the trees and pulled a violet blanket across the earth. Harry held his breath,
absorbed by its shadow.

“After James and Lily…” Sirius glanced away, expression pained as he tried again. “The day I
signed your adoption papers I made a vow to your parents and to God I would do everything in my
power to protect you. No matter the cost, no matter the situation, I would never ask you to hide
behind a mirror.” His eyes flickered, ferocity simmering in their depths. “Whatever you decide for
your future, Harry, I’ll always support you. I’ll always fight for you. And I’ll always love you.”

Harry swayed, trapped by the thrall of his words. “Thank you, Sirius.” He cleared his throat, voice
thick. “I’m sorry I didn’t— I meant to tell you sooner. I was going to tell you sooner but I
thought… maybe…”
“I’d stand against it.”

“No,” Harry spoke at once. “Of everyone in my life, you’re the most accepting, the most forgiving.
But I don’t want that same devotion to cost you everything. If I’m caught they’ll strip me of my
rank, title, and freedom. I won’t have them doing the same to you.”

“I don’t give a shite what they do to me—”

“But I do,” Harry insisted. “You’re all I have left of them, I can’t lose another parent.” Sirius’s jaw
locked tight, fight smothered at the earnest declaration. “I don’t shy away from much in life,”
Harry reflected. “I’m happy to make a complete arse of myself and face rejection afterward. I don’t
see the point in pleasing everyone when I don’t like most people to begin with. But when it comes
to protecting the people I love there can be no compromise. I’ll do everything in my power to keep
them safe. And in this case, silence is my greatest weapon.”

It felt good to free himself of the words, even if they darkened the air around them. “But I’m not
ashamed,” he insisted. “Someday, somewhere, things might be different. But it won’t be in my
lifetime. So I keep it locked away inside and pretend that it’s enough because it has to be, and I’m
tired of living with disappointment.”

Sirius exhaled slowly, fist curled at his side. “Harry, I…” He forced the hand to loosen, bringing it
to Harry’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, son.” Harry glanced away, chest tight, but when he moved to
pull back the hand clasped tighter, halting his retreat. “I’m proud of you,” his godfather
proclaimed. “Of all you’ve accomplished, all you’ve overcome, the life you’ve built after losing so
much. You’re an incredible sailor, a fierce and loyal friend and the best son a man could possibly
hope for.”

Harry breathed the words in slowly, taking them deep into his heart.

“I wish so badly the world was a different place for you,” Sirius whispered. “I wish you could… I
wish you could lead any life of your choosing without fear or apology. I want you to have so much
more than I ever did. But you’re right. This isn’t going to change in our lifetime, not enough to
count. Which is why you need to keep a very small circle of trust and never let anyone outside of it
ever suspect—”

”I know,” Harry breathed, the fingers on his shoulder pressing in. Sirius cringed.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I don’t want to say these things, I hate myself for saying them. But I can’t lose
you. I won’t. I’ll cut down anyone who tries to take you—”

“Sirius—”

“— bastards will have to get through me, I don’t give a shite if they bring the entire goddamn
cavalry—“

“Sirius!” Harry reached forward, dislodging the bracing touch to offer one of his own. “That won’t
happen,” he vowed, holding his godfather’s faceted gaze steady. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

“I know you will,” Sirius muttered, shaken from the stupor. “I’m sorry I… I’m glad you told me.
You can tell me anything.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. Harry’s hand fell away. “Christ. It
feels like I’m constantly on the cusp of losing you to some grave and mortal peril.”

Harry found himself grinning. “I’ve never heard love described quite so accurately.”

Sirius lowered his arm, eyeing him intently. “You’re that far gone for this one?”
“Yes,” Harry replied without hesitation, the heat of the letter pulsing through his vest.

Sirius nodded, stubbing out his forgotten cigar with a deep inhale. “Same thing happened to James.
Practically fell out of his chair the first time your mum walked by, then went cross-eyed each time
after that. Though I suppose that was more to the fact he always took his glasses off when she
came ‘round. Thought it made him look dashing.” His laughter rolled across the field on a cool
breeze, eyes drifting with the memory. “Blind idiot walked into a lamppost and broke his bloody
nose. Gushed like a fucking firehouse, sprayed some poor old bat and her yapping dog while Rem
and I laughed our arses off. Lily scolded us for being brutes and took him to the clinic, held his
hand while they bandaged him up.”

He paused his recollection to gaze up at the sky, stars winking from their indigo backdrop. “Clever
man. Always with his eye on the long game. That’s what made him such a damn good Captain.”
His words dissolved with a sigh before ending in a whisper. “I miss them.”

Harry nodded, tipping his head to stare at the lavender moon. “Me, too,” he affirmed.

Sirius broke from the reverie first, tossing his cigar and kicking up grass. “I take it you aren’t
returning to the hotel then?” The innocuous question took Harry off guard, its meaning catching up
a moment later. His full-body flush glowed beneath the moonlight. “Fair enough,” the cheeky
arsehole smirked. “I won’t say anything more. Except, of course, have fun and don’t do anything I
—”

“Stop talking.”

“All that matters is you’re safe about— wait,” Sirius paused, scratching his chin in thought. “Hm.
‘Spose that doesn’t really apply here. One less thing to worry—”

“I’m going inside now,” Harry declared, backpedaling for the patio.

“Trust me, it’ll save you a mountain of stress in the long run!” His godfather called, strolling in his
wake. “And since I know you value my opinion above all others, I think you picked a good one!”

“One humiliating conversation a day! You’ve reached your quota, old man!”

“The clock resets tomorrow, you little shite!”

Harry shook his head and bounded up the steps, unable to contain his grin.

Draco swirled the meager contents of his glass, watching the melted ice mimic the spinning galaxy
taking shape on the dance floor. Each joyous couple clung together like twin stars rapidly circling a
black hole, i.e. the love-struck bride and groom poised at the center of the colorful spiral. The
newlyweds stared deeply into each other's eyes and whispered sweet nothings into each other's
ears, giggling secretively all the while. Fucking adorable.

He rotated his neck in either direction before emptying the tumbler and pushing off the bar, eager
to find less claustrophobic confines. He made it half a step before colliding with a feminine body
just to his right. “Shite, sorry—” He reached out to steady her, thoughts jolted by the familiar face.
“Luna.” He blinked. “Hi.”

“Hello, Draco. I was just stopping by to exchange pleasantries. And to ask your opinion on the
colcannon. I thought it was a bit heavy on cabbage but the seasoning was just right.”

He released her arms to rub his brow, a dull throb gaining momentum at the base of his skull. “I’ll
take your word for it,” he muttered, equally vexed and relieved by her company. “The flowers look
great by the way,” he remarked, opting to linger a moment longer. “You furnished the entire venue
yourself?”

“Hannah and Neville helped with the delivery but otherwise, yes.”

“Impressive.”

“If you say so.” She smiled, playing idly with her plait as the band concluded their latest song,
offering a brief reprieve from the deafening tempo.

“I’m glad I ran into you,” Draco continued, seizing the opportunity silence provided. “We need to
discuss a potential new investor—”

“I should have strung hollyhock around the columns,” she mused, eyeing the support beams before
meeting his blank stare. “To promote fertility,” she explained patiently while somehow managing
to make him feel like an idiot.

“I don’t think the Weasels need any help reproducing,” he replied flatly. She hummed in
contemplation, revisiting her dreamy inspection of the room. “Listen, Luna,” he pressed on. “A
new opportunity arose and I think it’s worth your while—”

“How much is a while worth?”

His eye twitched as the band started anew, a lively polka drawing couples to the dance floor like
flies to honey. “Depends on the person,” he spoke above the stampede. “I usually charge by the
minute.”

She stepped out of the path of the surging crowd before returning her gaze to the intricate plait.
“You’re my investor, why should I need another?”

“More investors mean more money.”

“I don’t want more money.”

He cringed as a drunken arsehole clipped his shoulder with a grating laugh. “More inventory then.
You can expand to other stores, hire staff and manage the whole lot.”

“I like working alone. It’s peaceful.”

A woman stepped on his foot. He inhaled slowly, stifling the urge to rip the gaudy fascinator from
the oblivious bint’s head. “The boutique performed admirably during its first quarter,” he chose to
explain instead, “far more profitable than expected, this is the time to strike.”

“You seem agitated,” she observed serenely. “Perhaps some gerbera will soothe you, I’ll send a
bouquet to the hotel.”

“Luna, listen to me. It’s good for you to have more than one investor, you can’t keep all your eggs
in my basket.”

“Why not?”

“I may drop dead of an embolism. During this conversation.”

She adjusted the petal crown atop her head. “Then I’ll provide the floral arrangements for your
funeral and apply for a job at Kew.”
“I’m touched.”

“You also think about business too much.”

He took her elbow and steered them from the path of galloping buffoons. “I didn’t back your shop
out of the kindness of my heart,” he recounted sternly.

“Of course not. You did it out of guilt.”

He reared back, releasing her arm as though burned. “What?”

"You feel responsible for my well-being since your family most likely contracted my father's
homicide." The prosaic response cast a noose around his neck, drawing tighter with every word.
"But their misdeeds aren't your own, Draco. I'm not your burden or your responsibility."

He stared at her pale crown for several moments, unwilling to breach that particular floodgate
during a sodding celebration party. "No, you're my investment," he muttered at last. "It's in my best
interest to help you succeed."

“And I have,” she replied evenly, finally peering up from her hair. “I’m quite content with the way
things are. I like running the shop by myself, it’s the only thing I’ve ever called my own.
Everything else has been torn from my grasp or withered away and died while I was forced to
watch. But this, this is finally mine. I won’t let anyone take it from me.” She tipped her head
innocently, eyes gleaming with calculation and certainty.

“More investors means less control, something I’m not willing to relinquish for anything on this
earth, little less money. I don’t want to expand. I don’t want to acquire more. I want to treasure and
cultivate what I have. Can you accept that?” He blinked twice, unable to formulate a response
before she continued. “If you prefer to withdraw as an investor I understand. I’m quite happy
purchasing your shares at the current market value—”

“No,” he stated firmly, finding his voice behind latent shock. “I don’t want out. We’ll keep things
as they are, low risk and high liquidity.” He cleared his throat, watching as she resumed playing
with her braid. “Besides, expanding now would cripple us in overhead. Better to corner the niche
market and keep demand high.” His eyes narrowed, examining her with a new appreciation. “You
have an impressive knack for business, Lovegood.”

“Not really. I just recognize a flower from a weed.”

“Good. Then you know how to poison the latter.”

“Poison threatens the entire root system. I prefer setting them on fire.”

He arched a brow, staring at the back of her head as she turned to face the dance floor without
further ado. But the lively crowd soon drew his notice as well, jerking limbs and twirling skirts
settling as the polka came to its grand conclusion. The guests erupted into cheer and applause,
sweating couples dispersing for chairs and refreshments while others filled their vacant spots.

His chin lifted as Potter emerged from the colorful sea, escorting his partner to the middle of the
room.

“She looks quite lovely, doesn’t she?” Luna inquired.

Draco blinked, recalling her presence at his side. “What?”

The band opted for a slower melody this time, encouraging dancers to press close and drift
languidly. His eyes affixed to her back, watching as she rose on tiptoes to loop her bare arms
around the grinning idiot’s neck.

“You should ask her to dance,” Luna continued.

“Should I,” he deadpanned, lacking the patience to feign confusion.

The bridesmaid hummed, unfettered by his derision. "Perhaps it will lead to the answer you're
searching for."

His heart skipped dangerously, eyes tracking sideways as she backed away with a placid grin. “Of
course, you already know it. But it’s fun pretending, isn’t it?” He swallowed past the rising knot in
his throat. “Have a pleasant evening, Draco. I look forward to your next pen-pal letter.”

He glared at her retreating figure. “They’re monthly risk mitigation reports!”

The pale gleam of her hair was swallowed by the press of bodies, guests swarming across every
surface like ants at a picnic. He rubbed his pounding temple before turning back to the main floor,
watching Potter dip his head and murmur something in her ear that triggered a flood of laughter,
the canary song rising high and spreading wide, pale smoke on the horizon. Draco inhaled it deep
into his lungs while Luna’s voice filled every corner of his skull.

It’s fun pretending, isn’t it?

He started forward with determination, smoke seeping from his lips as he shouldered aside
laughing strangers on his way to the happy pair.

Hermione clutched Harry’s arms for balance, tipping sideways with laughter as he steadied her
waist. A boyish grin lit his features until the flashbulb burst, the moment captured in black and
white and imprinted on her mind for all time. And then the clock rapidly reversed, images speeding
backward until they were children again, stumbling wildly across the dance floor without care or
concern. Alive only for the space between heartbeats, untouched by sin and uncertainty, tragedy
and doubt.

She basked in the transformation, leaning against his chest with a smile. “Oh, poor George,” she
gasped, drying her eyes at the corners. “Do you think he’ll ever get the dye out?”

“After a week of soaking in vinegar… probably not.”

She lifted her chin and met his gaze, a sardonic beat passing before they exploded with laughter
anew. “And where was Fred in all this?”

“He left after the ceremony. George set it all up by himself, apparently.”

“Further proof they’ll never survive apart,” she mused, barely able to hear the music over the
throbbing of her heart. “Did the Commissioner get hit in the blast?”

Harry directed her in a spin several beats too late, equally distracted by the tale. "He spotted the
trip-wire and reverse-engineered the rig without George ever noticing. The dye exploded in the
opposite direction, he's totally spotless."

She pressed her face into his shoulder to stifle another outburst, vibrating out of her skin with the
effort. “This is undoubtedly my favorite prank of all-time,” she wheezed. “Nothing will ever top
it.”

“I’m sure George will work tirelessly at proving you wrong.”

“God, I hope so.” She placed her head against his chest as they changed direction, following the
cues of fellow dancers. She lost herself to the repetitive rhythm and steady drone of background
conversation, blessedly weightless until he ripped her down in one fell swoop.

“Are you excited about Monday?” He asked, the innocent question shattering whatever spell had
taken hold. Time raced forward until they emerged in their old skin, scarred and weathered by the
burdens of youth.

“You just had to ruin it,” she groaned.

He grinned knowingly. “Nervous then.”

“I’m cutting someone open, of course I’m nervous.”

“You’ve performed surgeries before, we watched you slice into that man’s knee. Ron nearly lost
his lunch all over the stands.”

“Yes,” she recounted. “I remember his impressive retching noises as they escorted him from the
theatre. But I was only assisting then, handing over tools and dabbing sweaty foreheads. This will
be the first time I take the lead.”

His eyes shone with pride. “What kind is it?”

“A cholecystectomy.” Harry blinked. “Removal of the gallbladder,” she clarified, stomach twisting
at the thought.

“Removal?” He echoed. “Won’t he be needing it?”

"The gallbladder stores bile between meals. Without it, the liver supplies waste directly to the
intestines. He'll experience frequent diarrhea but far less sudden death."

“So glad I asked.”

“Wait until you see the incision!” She beamed, bouncing in place and stomping his toe on the
landing. “I’ve been practicing for weeks— oh, sorry!” She cringed sympathetically as he hissed.
“You still plan on attending, right?”

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” he groaned, shaking his bruised foot. “I’ve made a giant
banner to hold above my head while you’re carving away.”

“Just leave the foghorn at home, please.”

“The foghorn sets the mood.”

She shook her head as he launched her into another breathless twirl, the motion completely out of
sequence with everyone else on the floor. “So,” she laughed upon revisiting his hold, “other than
getting me kicked out of school, what are your plans while you’re home?”

He shrugged casually, overselling it with an impartial sigh. “Grimmauld’s still under construction,
figured I’d lay around the hotel getting fat on room-service and throwing darts at the wall.”

“Uh-huh.”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t uh-huh me.”

“Would you prefer I bop you on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper for lying to my face?”

“Alright,” he conceded, looking far too amused. “I may leave the room every now and again to get
fat inside the restaurant—”

“Why am I bothering with newspapers? I have access to hundreds of needles—”

“Fine,” he relented. “I plan on leaving here in his carriage. Happy?”

She linked her hands behind his neck, grinning broadly. “Only if you are.”

Gemstones glimmered in his eyes, a comforting reflection of the past. “I’m the happiest I’ve been
since before losing my parents,” he admitted tentatively, seemingly shocked by his own admission.
“Everyone I love is here, alive and safe. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She swallowed thickly, fighting down a sudden and inexplicable wave of emotion. “You deserve
this, Harry,” she whispered, truth laid bare as he searched her face for something more. She knew
his next words long before they came to fruition, the same question plaguing all their hearts.

“Then why do I feel so guilty?”

She pressed a hand to his chest, wishing a needle and thread could mend more than torn flesh and
arteries. “Because that’s who you are, Harry, but you mustn’t cling to this weight any longer. It’s
just like you taught me all those years ago; you can either hold on and float aimlessly or let go and
swim to shore.”

His breath released slowly, folding down the edges of their shared melancholy until it shaped
matching grins of endurance. The sensation trickled to her heart when familiar laughter drifted
overhead, drawing their sideways glance to a neighboring pair. Neville and Hannah waltzed
slowly, oblivious to the vigilant eyes of the outside world as they conversed animatedly within
their own.

“Did he show you the ring?” Harry muttered, watching their childhood friend dip his partner with
confidence.

“Yes,” she replied, smile pulling higher. “Said it belonged to his mum.”

“He’s proposing after winter break, something wildly romantic and distinctly over the top.”

“Good,” she affirmed, content to watch the happy couple for the rest of the night. “Hannah
deserves to be the center of attention for once.”

Her best friend sighed, his low hiss trapped between resignation and discontent. “Feels like
everyone’s settling down,” he bemoaned.

“Why do you say it like that?”

“They’ll all need babysitters. I won’t have a weekend to myself for the next fifteen years.”

Amusement bubbled in her throat. “Excellent point,” she conceded. “We should divide the labor
now. I’ll handle skinned knees if you change nappies.”

“Nice try,” he scoffed. “You’re not sticking me on piss duty.”

“Oh, I just thought you’d be more comfortable.” Her lashes fluttered innocently. “Considering you
wet the bed until you were seven.”

“Bloody hell.” He reared back at the brutal assault. “You’re not taking any prisoners.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And I’m not changing nappies.”

“Good evening,” a third voice spoke.

The sudden interruption caused her to gasp and stumble, held aloft by Harry’s tightening grip on
her waist. She peered sideways and flushed, Draco’s gleaming stare awaiting her in perfect
stillness. He posed with textbook symmetry, shoulders an angular square and hands clasped calmly
behind his back. And yet, for all the rigid confidence his posture exuded, his eyes burned with an
impatience she recognized as well as her own reflection.

“May I cut in. With the lady’s permission, of course.” It wasn't phrased as a question, nor did he
bother glancing in Harry’s direction. The remaining dancers weaved unsteady paths around the
stationary trio, offering a variety of murmurs and huffs that went easily ignored.

Harry glanced between the eye-locked pair, unable to keep the sheer unadulterated joy off his face.
“Depends. I’m sure Dr. Granger discourages any strenuous activity with a pole protruding from
your—”

“Harry!” She scolded.

Draco broke from his inflexible stance to glare sideways. “Idiot.”

She shook her head at Harry’s answering grin and twisted free of his hold. “I’d be delighted,
Draco,” she replied with measured politeness, hands smoothing across her skirt of their own
volition. “Thank you for asking.”

Metallic eyes flitted back, softening imperceptibly as she wetted her lips and silently debated how
to proceed. Harry eased into a comfortable viewing position. “This I’ve got to see—”

“Shut up,” they spoke in unison, eyes fixed upon each other.

Her best friend raised his hands in mock surrender, backing away slowly. “If you insist. Have fun,
kids.”

Hermione exhaled swiftly, ignoring his departure in lieu of composing a more adequate greeting.
“Hi,” she chose with wild abandon, feeling like a complete and utter fool.

Draco’s lips quirked, gaze trailing the rosy stain on her cheeks and throat. “Hello, Hermione.”

She laughed softly, tension miraculously ebbing as he stepped close and extended his hands in the
first position. She placed her palms in his and held her breath, allowing him to draw her forward,
stopping only when their bodies stood a hairsbreadth apart. His precise structuring was a glaring
departure from Harry’s full-contact approach, for which she was immensely grateful, at least until
she lifted her chin and realized how closely their faces were situated.

Her pulse skipped, throbbing in her wrists and neck as he urged her back on precisely the right
beat, guiding each step until they were seamlessly immersed in the blooming kaleidoscope of
twirling silk.
Susan grinned, admiring the concentration mapped across her husband’s features as he navigated
them through a slow and simple waltz. The perplexity of the notion registered in her mind a short
moment later, heart swelling at the reminder that she was, in fact, someone’s wife and the man
trying his utmost not to step on her foot was, quite surely, her husband.

His eyes flickered up in time to see the epiphany ripple across her face. “Are you happy?” He asked
suddenly, prompting her to stumble. She took a moment to regain her footing before offering a
reply.

“Yes, of course.”

A deep rivet formed between his brows, cutting and sharp.

“What?” She asked.

“You hesitated.”

Susan blinked, nearly stumbling again. “I did not!”

“You did, I heard it—“

“Ron, seriously, these shoes are killing me and I can’t stop thinking about all the things we have to
do before we leave for the honeymoon—”

“Susan, luv.” His arm tightened around her waist. “Please, let me enjoy this momentous occasion
just a little while longer.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled anew, relaxing in his grasp. “Such a sap.”

“I meant the fact your father hasn’t threatened to maim or dismember me in over twenty-four
hours.” His eyes shone with pride. “I think I’ve finally grown on him.”

“Or he’s deeply preoccupied with digesting your mother’s cooking. She uses an alarming amount
of butter, Ron, the chicken slid out of the broiler.”

“It slides out of more than just the broiler but I don’t think that’s it. We’ve finally turned a corner.”

She cringed at the visual but patted his arm just the same. “Whatever you say, my love.” The
corner of his mouth lifted before he drew her in for a kiss, the casual intimacy igniting warmth
throughout her entire body.

“Ello, darlings!” The distinctive greeting broke them apart. Bill and his fiancé appeared at their
sides, the most striking pair on the dance floor. “Don’t you look marvelous together! Ze ceremony
was trés romantique.”

“Thank you, Fleur,” Susan replied. “We’re so happy you’re here to celebrate with us.” Her focus
shifted back to Ron, grinning at the sight of his blistering complexion.

“Ronald, you must teach your big brother to be more impulsif,” the buxom nurse pleaded, running
a hand along her partner’s chest while nearby guests looked on shamelessly. “We have been
engaged for over a year and still he refuses to pick a date!”

“I refuse to spend a fortune on something that lasts a few hours and supplies my estranged relatives
with booze,” Bill defended drolly, then glanced at Susan with chagrin. “Shite, no offense.”

"None taken," she assured him. "And for what it's worth, my father got a steep discount. He just
had to expunge a few misdemeanors and overlook a murder."

“Then he’s a welcome addition to our family,” he laughed, amusement cut short by Fleur’s
dramatic gasp.

“Ze bouquet!” The blonde shouted, wrenching free of her date’s hold to round on the bride. Susan
blinked, taking a moment to process the outburst before glancing to the front of the room.

“It’s on the table—”

“No, no!” Fleur shook her head, arms flying like propellers. “You must, how you say— lancer le
bouquet— it’s tradition!”

Susan glanced between the brothers for assistance, receiving only looks of befuddlement before
registering the meaning on her own. “Oh, throw the bouquet!” Susan laughed, turning curiously to
the blonde. “You know only single women try to catch it, right?”

The nurse humphed and lifted her left hand between them, rotating it in either direction. “I see no
ring on zis finger, do you?” She cocked her chin, dutifully avoiding her date’s exasperated stare.
“Perhaps ze bouquet will inspire my fiancé to actually get married, it seems I need all ze ‘elp I can
get!”

Bill rubbed his brow. “Bloody hell, we can swing by the courthouse on our way to the hotel—”

“Ze courthouse?” She squawked, boring down on him like an illustrious bird of prey.

Susan leaned into her groom, settling in for the show as the vehement French tirade began. “I just
remembered,” she muttered brightly, face tipping up. “It’s time to toss the bouquet.”

“Excellent idea, luv.” He dropped a kiss to her forehead, smiling dotingly. “My brilliant wife.”

She rose on tiptoes to peck his lips before untangling from his hold. “Better round up the girls.”

“Mione will chew her arm off before participating,” he warned, watching her pace away.

"Then she'll have to chew through both," Susan replied over her shoulder. "She's doing it." His
laughter embraced her warmly as she continued, making it to the edge of the dance floor before he
called her back to attention.

“Susan!”

She turned around, the rest of the crowd distracted by Fleur’s impressive display. She could barely
hear Ron over the string of French expletives, opting to read his lips instead.

“Where the hell is Gin?”

Ginny tossed her head with a wild laugh, the untamed melody carrying through the branches and
scattering the birds until their soaring figures cut black against the topaz sky. “Wait,” she gasped
between breaths. “Bulls run in the actual street? Like with shops and restaurants?”

“Mmm,” Pansy hummed, preoccupied with watching the convulsions of her companion’s throat.
“Though most close down for a few days, likely because their owners are passed out shirtless in the
gutter.”

Ginny grinned wider. “Are there many injuries?”

“To the drunks or the bulls?”

Her exuberance faded at once. “The bulls get hurt?”

“Of course,” the brunette replied, eyes lifting from Ginny’s flushed neck. “There’s always some
fool wielding a broken bottle or knife.”

“That’s vile.”

Pansy smiled indulgently. "Rest assured, luv, they're usually rewarded with a razor-sharp horn to
the arse."

Ginny’s despair lightened, even as her heart skipped wildly at the casual endearment. “You root
for the bulls?”

“Naturally.”

“It sounds incredible,” she whispered, gazing at the violet clouds. “I can’t imagine that kind of
energy, bulls running through the city while people watch and cheer… it’s like a dream.”

Pansy hummed anew, plucking a fragrant bloom from the neighboring bush as they continued their
leisurely stroll through the grounds. “You should come to next year's festival.”

“Yeah,” Ginny scoffed. “I’m sure mum would love that.”

“Tell her you’re taking a cultural excursion, lots of young women travel between Seasons.”

Her head whipped sideways with a blink. “Really?”

“Oh yes,” Pansy mused, flicking torn petals to the grass. “Men love a well-rounded bride. It makes
locking them away for the rest of their natural-born lives far more satisfying.”

Ginny gazed forward with a knot in the pit of her stomach, the pressure intensifying when Pansy
lifted a hand to her cheek, tucking a fallen strand of hair into place while Ginny’s knees quaked.
“Mum would never buy it,” she whispered, trying to hide the shudder of her breath. “I’m not the
well-traveled type.”

“All the more reason to start now. Tell her you applied to a finishing school on the continent.”

“I…” Ginny shook her head, thoughts scattered among the leaves at their feet. “That’s much too
elaborate, she knows we could never afford it—”

“We’ll fake a scholarship. I have a forgery bloke on retainer, excellent penmanship, he can send an
acceptance letter to your house.”

Ginny bit her lip, titillated at Pansy’s choice of pronoun before registering the second half of her
statement. “Wait, you have a what bloke?”

“— now that I think about it, there’s a school in Barcelona that caters to English aristocrats, we can
use their crest—”

“Pansy, that's very sweet but very insane.”

The brunette arched a perfectly-shaped brow. “Why ever so?”

“Because even if we somehow manage to fool my parents it doesn’t change the fact I’ve no money
for actual travel. And what am I supposed to tell them when the fantasy trip is over? I got expelled
from an elite school and lost my imaginary scholarship? Mum would bludgeon me with a pan.”

“I’d pay your way, obviously,” Pansy stated boorishly, tossing the corpse of the flower aside. “And
you’d return home between semesters, same as any student.”

Ginny slowed, hands curling at her sides to stop them from trembling. “So I’d… I’d take the trip…
with you?”

Her companion glanced at her sharply. “What did you think I meant?”

“I didn’t— ” She stumbled over a seam in the brick path, a flush rapidly overtaking her chest and
neck. “I-I’m not sure,” she admitted. Pansy tilted her head, eyes gleaming as Ginny struggled to
gather a coherent sentence. “I don’t think— that is, I’d love to, truly, but… I couldn’t possibly
accept such an extravagant gift.”

“It’s actually quite practical,” her companion relayed pointedly. “I’ve been traveling alone since
Astoria began her third novel. It’s terribly uncouth, even for a woman of my reputation. You’d be
doing me a favor.”

“Your reputation?” Ginny echoed, shoulders tensing as Pansy tittered with laughter, acidic and
bitter, erupting from her lips in a dark cloud.

“Between my broken engagement and father’s arrest, I’m not exactly topping many guest lists
these days. Unless I’m invited as a sideshow attraction. Most simply assume I’m scouring Europe
for a rich husband outside the gentry. Others think I’m a high-end prostitute.”

Ginny reared back, nearly tripping over a shrub. “What? Are they fucking daft?” She cringed at her
outburst, covering her mouth as Pansy laughed again. But this version was just how Ginny liked it,
full of warmth and passion, drawing life to her cheeks and light to her eyes.

“Honestly, darling, I don’t mind the latter,” Pansy assured, stepping close to link their arms. “It’s
the hunting rumor I can’t abide. Women wrench their husbands from my path as though I’ll lie in
the middle of the road and spread my legs for their bald and gout-ridden abominations, only for
those same perverts to proposition me the moment the miserable shrews turn their heads. It’s all
terribly tedious.” She sighed wearily, steps unfaltering as she led their way down the garden path.
“So, as you can imagine, a young female traveling companion would do wonders to quell the
rumor mill.”

Ginny stared at their joined arms and inhaled deeply, alyssum coating the back of her throat. “But
— isn’t it— won’t they think—” Pansy drew her in until their shoulders pressed flush, then
proceeded to gaze upon her mouth as though daring it to speak the question aloud. Ginny
shuddered, body twitching like a heartbeat as she forced the words free. “Won’t people say it’s
improper for us to travel alone together?”

Pansy’s russet gaze lifted, the corner of her mouth following suit. “No,” she replied simply,
guiding them around a pair of fruit trees. “Women are rarely suspected of such lawlessness. Men
have it much worse in that regard, one of the only benefits our gender bequeaths us. Besides,” she
lowered her chin, eyes darkening beneath the setting sun. “There’s nothing to suspect. We’re
friends, right?”

Ginny’s heart kicked painfully. “Yes,” she whispered, cheeks aflame. “Of course.” She was
grateful for the shadows, anything to conceal her reaction as Pansy grinned with wicked delight.
“The choice is yours, Ginevra. Stay or go. Jerez will likely be my next stop—”

“Jerez?” Ginny parroted, straightening like a reed.

“Hm.”

“Jerez?”

Pansy smirked, stopping their stroll behind a pair of sprawling hydrangeas, leaves and petals
extending half a meter above their heads. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Their stables are famous!” Ginny practically yelled, unweaving their arms to gesture wildly. “The
riding schools are ranked top in Europe, only the elite get in, the competition is fierce —usually
scandalous as well— not to mention the races themselves, journalists flock there for the gossip,
then there’s the underground betting…” Pansy leaned against a neighboring plum tree, pink petals
dripping from its branches as she absorbed the exuberant rant with silent amusement.

The sun slowly set, their surroundings illuminated by the scattered glow of outdoor torches and
moonlight. Stars began to emerge from behind the indigo curtain when her speech finally reached
its conclusion. Ginny caught her breath and paced closer, unable to see her companion in the
shadows until, as if attuned to her heart’s desire, the clouds parted and pale moonlight filtered
through, cutting across Pansy’s face in a narrow beam. Ginny rocked in place, veins dilating as she
watched the brunette pick a stray petal from her between her bust and blow it from her fingertip
like a fallen eyelash.

“My, my,” Pansy mused, voice a languid purr. “Who knew riding a horse in circles could be so
utterly fascinating.”

Ginny swallowed thickly, thoughts grinding as her pulse raced uncontrollably. “If you didn’t know
any of this, why are you going there?”

“I heard they mix an excellent cocktail. Coffee and liqueur, can you even imagine? Needless to
say, I simply must investigate. If you decide to accompany me perhaps you can enroll in a riding
course or two. Find a scandal to embroil yourself in, place a few illegal bets. We’ll blend right in
with the locals.” Ginny smiled, too overcome with excitement to feel even a twinge of self-doubt.
“It would certainly minimize the lie to your parents,” the woman added, reviving Ginny’s senses
like a physical slap.

“I don’t like lying to them at all.”

“I know,” Pansy murmured. “But we all must lie eventually, darling. If not to others, then to
ourselves. It’s necessary to survive in this life.”

“It sounds miserable,” Ginny admitted, watching the torchlight flicker across her companion’s
vibrant skirt and bare skin.

“We're all perpetually miserable, it’s the only experience common to the human race. Unless
you’re fortunate enough to find someone to share your true face with, to bear the heart and soul of
your greatest secrets and fears.” Pansy exhaled sharply, pushing off from the tree. “Or so I’ve
heard,” she clipped, brushing bark from her palms. “Personally, I’ve yet to encounter such a thing.”

“You’ve lied to me?” Ginny asked.

Pansy took a deep breath, continuing to inspect her gloves. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“As I told you before, I’m terribly selfish.”

Ginny shook her head, refusing to settle for such a lackluster response. “No, you aren’t. You just
have shite parents.” Pansy blinked, gaze snapping up as Ginny paced closer. “You don’t have to go
through life this way. You just need to surround yourself with unconditional love.”

“Oh, is that all?” Pansy rued. “I’d no idea it was so very simple—”

“Love is simple,” Ginny affirmed, moving forward another step. “It doesn’t even require words.
Just a glance can sweep you away. A simple brush of the arm.” She reached up and skimmed a
purposely line from Pansy’s shoulder to wrist, their eyes locked throughout her fingertip’s arduous
journey across the bare expanse. Pansy’s chest stuttered, breath held tight as Ginny grazed her
palm, tracing its heel to her trembling fingertips, velvet warm to the touch.

“You don’t need to lie to me,” Ginny murmured, closing the last step between them. “You can lie
to others if you want, lie to the entire world if it makes you happy. But not to me. Please, never to
me.”

Pansy licked her lips and tried to swallow, the motion sticking in her throat as she interlaced their
fingers. “I chose Jerez for you,” she whispered sharply, features drawn tight as though the
admission pained her. “I returned to London for you.” She blinked quickly, a tear slipping from the
corner of her eye. “We aren’t friends, Ginevra. I could never be your friend. And I never want to
be.”

Ginny swayed in place, sick with longing and seized by madness. She leaned in without reason or
thought, gripping Pany’s waist and drawing her flush, fusing their mouths in a wild, passionate bid
at satisfying the raging hunger consuming her from the inside out. A feral beast lived under her
skin, devouring all in its path to get to Pansy, refusing to settle for anything less than every single
piece of her.

Pansy answered the howl with frantic fervor, fingers raking through Ginny’s hair and directing the
angle of her head to allow her tongue entry. They pulled and clawed, bruised and bit, stumbling
blindly into the tree and falling to the grass with breathless gasps.

Ginny opened her eyes, blinking dazedly as Pansy sprawled beneath her, hair full of leaves and
dress stained with plum juice. “When can we go?” She panted, picking a twig from the woman’s
bodice.

Pansy smiled, reaching up to trace Ginny’s swollen lips. “How soon can you pack?”

Hermione tensed in her partner's hold, feeling like a graceless cow as he led her through a tight box
step with effortless skill. Beyond a handful of customary dance classes in her youth, Hermione
hadn't many occasions to exercise ballroom etiquette. She'd attended numerous parties to be
certain, back when such trivialities had seemed commonplace, but her dance card was always
folded in half and tossed aside at the earliest opportunity, the bulk of her evening steeped in lively
conversation and debate. A decision she now came to regret with red-hot fervor.

Granted, the majority of wedding guests were three-sheets to the wind and stumbling across the
floor, but their disjointed display only made her partner’s innate abilities all the more obvious. The
unwavering intensity of his gaze certainly didn’t help matters, the scorching heat in her neck
causing her to fumble her next step, spine taut with embarrassment.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.

She looked away, trying to force the stiffness from her limbs. “Nothing. I just… this is the first
time you’ve asked me to dance.”

Draco blinked. “We’ve danced before.”

“During partner switches. You’ve never approached me openly before tonight.”

He watched her for a long moment, breaking the silence with a low sigh. “I was an idiot back
then.”

“I don’t disagree,” she replied readily, catching sight of his answering smirk a moment before he
retaliated. She laughed, launched into a breathless spin without warning, ending the twirl by
stumbling into his body.

His grin widened, the subtle gesture transforming his face. “I suddenly recall why I never asked
you to dance.”

“As if I would have accepted,” she huffed, bracing his shoulders for balance while his hands
steadied her waist.

He shook his head ruefully. “So,” he drawled, casting his gaze to the main table. “The Weaslebee
got married. Susan must have the patience of a Saint.”

“Evidently. She invited you.” Her chest warmed with his answering laughter, relieved it sounded
just as she remembered.

“Touché,” he conceded, adjusting his grip before guiding them through a quick-stepped
promenade. She bit her lip with concentration, flushed and panting when the beat finally calmed.
Their childish energy depleted with it, a ruminative cloud settling overhead. “How are you?” He
inquired, drawing her close so no one could eavesdrop.

“You would know if you’d read my letters,” she asserted.

“I read them.”

“Hm. So you were just too busy to write back and let me know you were alive?”

“You knew I was alive,” he replied coolly. “Just as you knew my address every time it changed,
miraculously.”

“We had to get our updates through Luna. If your envelopes weren’t postmarked we’d have no
idea you transferred to New York.”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning,” he drawled, sparing a bored glance for a neighboring pair of dancers.
Hermione reared away, or tried to, annoyance doubled as he tightened his grip and drew her back
in.

“You’re working with the Indian tribes, that’s certainly worth mentioning!”

His gaze snapped forward, shoulders tense. “How did you—”

“I’ve been following every piece of news I can find. It’s the only way I can keep track of you.” She
flushed with the admission, glancing away before his reaction could reveal itself. “The last article
mentioned a land dispute.”
He sighed heavily. “Gold was discovered in the Black Hills area, a small and isolated mountain
range in South Dakota.” His voice deepened as they glided past the stage, tempo vibrating through
the floor. “The U.S. Government wants to lay claim but the Sioux and Cheyenne refuse to cede
ownership. It’s resulted in exorbitant bloodshed.” He searched her gaze. “I'm sure you heard about
the Battle of Little Bighorn?”

“Yes, the military was defeated.”

"They were crushed," he corrected, eyes gleaming from above. "Obviously, the Americans weren't
pleased. That's when they began tapping other countries for aid and counsel, including ours. My
team is evaluating the territory claim from a legal standpoint. The U.S. handles property law far
differently from England. It's quite primal."

She released a slow breath, carefully considering her next words. “Can you get injured?”

“I’m based in New York.”

“So New York isn’t dangerous?”

He rolled his eyes, steps unfaltering. “It’s a danger I’m quite familiar with thanks to all the people
who tried to murder me in London.”

Her lips pressed thin, unable to argue that logic. “Do you like your job?” She posed instead, hoping
to dispel the growing tension in his arms.

"I'm finding greater purpose in it. The American Indians find themselves in a precarious position.
They've been residents of the continent as far back as their lineage can be traced yet bear no legal
claim to it. They're forced out and cast aside at the whim of a government they don't recognize and
constrained by laws they have no ability to change. And now the land itself is being demolished by
goldmines and lumberyards. It's utter chaos."

The conviction of his words gave her pause, a terrifying seed taking root. “Draco… surely you're
not standing against the U.S. government?”

“Surely you don’t stand with them?”

“Of course not, what they’re doing is barbaric, but they’re known for corruption and murder—”

“So is everyone else.”

“And I’d strongly advise you from opposing Parliament as well. Arguing for the Medical Act was
one thing, it bruised the egos of a declining political party, but the American Indian War is another
matter entirely. This comes down to money, property, and nationalism, thousands are being killed
—”

“I’m well aware, I see the daily reports,” he clipped, eyes sparking as he forced a calming breath.
“The tribes are helpless, Hermione, they need legal counsel to protect their lands—”

“Does Kingsley know you’re helping them?”

“Yes,” he muttered, quick and stubborn.

“And let me guess, he told you to back down immediately.”

“Honestly, do you tell Potter not to get involved in political matters?”

“Harry’s a soldier, it’s his job to get involved at Her Majesty’s bequest. He has a fleet of warships
and a kingdom at his back. You’re a junior legal aid working on temporary assignment in a country
that just tried ripping itself in half!”

“So if it’s not my nation I shouldn't give a shite?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” She hissed, cringing at his near-painful grip on her waist. “You
absolutely should care but you can’t take a stand like this without serious help. You’ll get yourself
shot before you can make any worthwhile contribution—”

“If I was a stranger you’d be rooting me on.”

“If you were a stranger I’d think you were terribly brave and tragically foolish, and when I read
about your inevitable killing I’d feel saddened but not completely destroyed. You need to go to
Kingsley before the target on your back gets any larger.”

His eyes flickered, exhaustion warring with annoyance, as though this wasn’t his first time
defending the matter. “I can take care of myself.”

"Obviously," she deadpanned, cataloging every crease and shadow on his face. "You look like you
haven't slept in five days."

“Six, actually, and that’s because I dreaded seeing you.”

She tripped over his feet, gasping as he righted her course before she toppled over. “What?” She
breathed, watching his throat bob beneath the starched cravat. “Seeing me? Why?”

His jaw tensed, aggravated by his own slip. “I wasn’t sure I could handle it,” he admitted, purging
his soul of the rest.

“That’s why you never wrote back?” She shook her head, heart skipping with the notion. Almost a
full year of separation, of distraction and personal growth, and yet they somehow ended up right
back where they started. “What about the others? Theo and Blaise never got a response either.”

“I needed a break from my life, Hermione.”

The words cut into her ribs, en route to puncture her heart. “I understand,” she muttered, clearing
her throat to alleviate the strain. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is. I…” Her airway closed despite her best efforts, which was just as well considering she’d run
out of things to say. He picked up the fallen reins in her stead, remarkably composed in light of the
topic.

“We both needed space,” he spoke calmly. “And you were right, the post in America allowed me
to escape my father’s shadow. No one knows the Malfoy name there. His reputation isn’t tacked to
my forehead every time I enter a room. I can build my career upon the platforms I want to climb,
my successes and failures are solely my own. I can start again.”

She blinked back tears, squeezing his hand as he directed her through the final turns of the song.
“That’s wonderful, Draco, and everything I ever wanted for you… but, I didn’t mean you should
abandon your old life entirely. Your friends love you. I understand why you didn’t reply to me but
please stay in touch with them. They deserve more.”
“I already went rounds with Theo,” he lamented. “I’m going to write more often.”

“And will you please speak with Kingsley?” She requested, placing a hand to his chest to stall the
inevitable groan. “Not because I don’t have faith in you, I know you’re capable of anything you set
your mind to. That’s why I want you to go to him. If anyone can lead the charge for the tribes it’s
you, which is why it’s paramount you stay alive long enough to help them. There’s no shame in
admitting you need backup to face down the American Government. I know you can win this with
the right resources.”

He released a grunt, weary and defeated, while his gaze lingered on a curl swaying beside her face.
“I’ll touch base with him tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she beamed, making no move to disengage as the next song began to play, slow and
melodic. Instead, she stepped away from the cliff's edge and breached a new, hazardous terrain.
“So… how’s Narcissa?”

He took the abrupt segue in stride, merely rubbing his brow in exhaustion. “Better,” he muttered.
“Or so I hear from the staff. She leaves the house once a month to visit the market.”

Hermione bit her tongue to stifle a scoff, trembling with the mounting pressure. The market! Does
she even know what an uncooked vegetable looks like? Perhaps she thinks all carrots are made of
gold…

She shook the derisive thought from her mind, scolding herself for such unwarranted cruelty.
Backhanded compliments and chiding criticisms aside, Narcissa had never caused Hermione true
injury. If her greatest fault was loving a man to complete and utter stupidity, it certainly wasn’t
Hermione’s place to judge. Unfortunately, willful ignorance wasn’t a crime, merely a black mark
on the soul.

Still, the idea of the ever-stunning Lady Malfoy bartering over the price of goats in her diamond
bracelets and mink stole was undeniably priceless.

“I reacted similarly,” he mused, eyes glittering as though the fantasy was projected between them.
“The thought of my mother stepping foot in the grocer is distinctly bizarre. I don’t think she could
distinguish a couchette from a cucumber to save her life. But if it gets her out of the Manor for a
few hours, so be it.”

“That’s wonderful,” Hermione replied in earnest. “Maybe she’ll take up a new hobby.”

His laugh was short and bitter. “Yes, Narcissa Malfoy discovers how to light a stove. Alert the
Tribune.”

“You’re angry with her,” she surmised, cringing beneath the heat of his stare.

“She should have left him. He’s the black cloud hanging over her head, the reason for every
sobbing night and gloom-filled morning.”

“They’ve been together a long time, I can’t imagine how difficult—”

"Don't give her the benefit of the doubt, she certainly never extended it to you." His tone was final,
the warning clear. Hermione side-stepped the barricade with the grace of a cat in ice skates.

“Love isn’t a switch, Draco, it can’t be turned off overnight.”

“I’m well aware.”

His eyes pulsed, the curve of his jaw sharp and unforgiving. She looked away and flushed, cursing
her stupidity.

“Your mother built her whole life around him,” she continued slowly, an unspoken apology woven
in her gentle tone. “Then she expanded those walls to fit you. Her family wasn’t just the most
important thing, it was the only thing. Her identity, her purpose for being, it all revolved around
being the perfect wife and mother to the perfect family. And in one night, beyond her reach or
control, that entire world was shattered.” Hermione shook her head, wondering if they were
building snowmen in hell while she defended Narcissa Malfoy’s honor and dignity to her son.
“Now she has to start again, build something new with the broken pieces of what’s left behind. I
can’t imagine how terrifying that must be, especially for a woman without any means of supporting
herself independently.”

“She still has a claim to the Black fortune,” he scathed, face darkened by her impassioned defense.
“Sirius would’ve given her access to the accounts. He offered to buy her a house as well. She
refused his assistance on all counts. Not because she’s a shivering leaf afraid of facing the big bad
world on her own, she stayed because she’s complicit in his bullshite and would rather spend
eternity haunting the Manor like a weeping ghost than live a single day without him.”

Hermione deflated in his arms, long abandoning the pretense of dancing. They’d disengaged from
the beat several minutes prior, rotating in distracted circles as fellow dancers exchanged partners
around them.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” She asked.

“He writes every week,” Draco divulged, glaring over her shoulder as though his simmering
resentment had summoned the man to the dance floor. “I’ve yet to open a single letter. With any
luck, I’ll never speak to him again.”

“I think you need closure—”

“I don’t need anything from him,” he stated firmly.

“Okay…” she muttered, contemplating her next move. Defending Narcissa had been a bitter pill to
swallow, one she’d willingly suffered for Draco’s sake. There would come a day when he’d need
his mother, crave the comforting touch and reassuring voice only she could provide, and her
absence from his life would only deepen the wound. But Lucius Malfoy was another poison
entirely, a taste far too rancid to stomach. “You’re right,” she conceded, weaving her hands behind
his neck. “You’re much better off without him. I’m sorry I brought it up. Let’s talk about
something else.”

Draco blinked, the unexpected surrender taking him off guard. He searched her face, brow heavy
with suspicion, and then his pale gaze reached her lips and the harsh lines blurred. The muscle in
his nape unclenched, loosening the cord through his shoulders and arms until his hands slid around
to her lower back.

“I hear you’re cutting a man to pieces on Monday,” he deflected without ceremony.

She blinked twice before bouncing in place. “You did read my letters!”

“Carving out some poor sod’s gallbladder,” he lamented dryly, smirking at her reaction. “I think
death would be preferable.”

“Undoubtedly. Then again, I may kill him on the table—”

“I was joking. You’re going to be a smashing success.”

Hermione bit her lip, his candid sincerity coaxing a dreaded admission from her heart. “I’m
terrified,” she whispered.

“Of course you are. But you’ll gain confidence with time, same as everything else you’ve
conquered.”

She smiled half-heartedly until a new thought occurred. “Can you attend the surgery?” His
expression fell, the answer housed in his shuttered gaze. “It’s alright,” she added, embarrassed she
even asked. “I didn’t mean— I shouldn’t have assumed— obviously you have plenty to do while
you’re home—”

"It's not that," he explained. "I want to attend, badly, but my train departs Sunday evening. I'll
already be on the Atlantic when you're elbow-deep in viscera."

She leaned back. “You’re heading back that soon?”

“The Black Hills dispute is raging, every hour counts—”

“I understand,” she muttered, rocks piling in her stomach. “Lives are at stake, you need to be
there.”

His palms burned warm against her bodice. “What you’re doing is just as important, more so, I just
have to be—”

“I understand, Draco. Really, it’s okay.”

The silence turned brittle, shattered by a chorus of drunken laughter from the edge of the stage.
They stared at the small and boisterous gathering, Draco voicing their shared thought aloud.

“It doesn’t feel real, does it?” He pondered gravely.

The words weighed heavily on her shoulders. “No. Some mornings I just stare at the ceiling,
certain I’m still asleep.” She closed her eyes, the Dollmaker’s sputtering pleas echoing through her
mind, the moment before he slipped beneath the dark waves, pale hands clawing the glassy surface
as the gaping maw devoured him alive. “I keep the article on my nightstand. I read it once a day to
remind myself it really happened. To convince myself.”

“The one with Rodolphus’s sentencing?”

“Naturally.” She opened her eyes. “The artist did an incredible job recreating his enraged snarl. I’d
love to commission a full-length portrait of him slowly decaying in a cold dark prison cell.”

“It would certainly spruce up the water closet.”

She smiled, then tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Has there been any progress on the hunt
for Bellatrix?”

“Not yet,” he muttered, gaze drifting in ominous contemplation. “But I have a feeling she’s
suffering wherever she is.”

“Not nearly enough,” Hermione declared, malice burning in her heart. She knew he dragged a
heavy anchor regarding his aunt and did her best to respect that burden. But Hermione suffered no
such ambivalence with her own feelings. In fact, her position was quite clear. If she ever had the
great fortune of crossing paths with Bellatrix Lestrange again, her only internal struggle would be
turning the murderous bitch over to the authorities instead of striking her dead where she stood.

Alas, nothing healthy could bloom from a bed of ashes, so she set her anger aside and reached for
another topic. The words that surfaced had been sitting on her tongue for quite some time, easy to
speak, easier yet to mean. “I’m so proud of you, Draco. Of all you’ve done and all you hope to
accomplish. It’s very admirable.”

He raised a brow, crafting a handsome mask of indifference, but he couldn’t conceal the flash of
emotion in his eyes, pleasure warming the silver. “Says the doctor who saves lives.”

“I’m not a doctor yet,” she reminded him. “And even if and when that day comes, I’ll still feel the
same.”

His mask slipped, just for a moment, but she witnessed his true expression beneath and felt her
heart kick painfully.

The current song drew to a close. The band rose from their chairs, bowing to the applause of the
crowd before stretching their limbs. Guests began dispersing for food and conversation but
Hermione and Draco remained rooted in place like dancers in a music box, frozen by their spring.
He studied her carefully, hands pressing warm and firm against her sides until suddenly they
weren’t. He stepped away just as abruptly, expression shuttered behind an invisible wall.

“Thank you for the dance,” he bid politely, going so far as to bow at the waist like an asshat. Her
chest seized as he glanced away, dismissal clear in his eyes.

“Draco—” She blurted quickly, unsure how to proceed. His gaze flickered back, tense and guarded
as though sensing the trembling floodgates in her throat. “Would you like to have lunch
tomorrow?” She continued. “I know your train departs sometime in the evening but we could take
a walk around the park and you could tell me more about the Black Hills case—”

“Hermione.”

Her lips clamped shut, pulse hammering wildly as he offered a patient, tired grin. “I can’t have
lunch with you.”

“Brunch then,” she forged on, blinking quickly to dispel the awful burning in her eyes.

“I can’t sit across a table from you, just the two of us. Not yet.” His jaw clenched, voice barely
contained. “Maybe someday… or perhaps in another life. But right now it’s just pretending and... I
can’t pretend with you.”

A tear slipped free. She wiped it away quickly, nodding to calm her nerves. “Will you at least
write?”

“Yes,” he whispered, electricity sparking in his gaze. “It was wonderful seeing you again.”

She smiled in return, face pained by the effort. “It really was. I’ve missed you, Draco. Welcome
home.”

He examined her slowly, carefully, noting every detail as she swayed on her feet and inhaled—

“There you are!” She jolted when a hand accosted her arm, pulling her sideways. “I’m tossing the
bouquet!” Susan announced with dark glee. “Come on!”
Every ounce of blood drained to her feet as she was hauled to the gallows. “Oh God, please no—”

“It’s tradition, you’re doing it! Now move your arse!”

She flailed helplessly in the bride’s death-grip, glancing at Draco with pleading eyes.

“Don’t be afraid to throw an elbow, Granger,” he suggested with a grin. Prat.

“That’s the spirit!” Susan chirped, ignoring the spiteful glare at her side. Another yank and her
unwilling volunteer was deposited front and center of the dance floor alongside her fellow victims.

Hermione rubbed her arm and cringed, renewing the circulation while hunting for an escape route.
A gap appeared among the cluster of unwitting maidens but Fleur soon blocked the way, rubbing
her palms in eager anticipation of the competition to come. The blonde evaluated her opponents
with a calculative gleam while Hermione massaged her temples and muttered under her breath.
“Kill me now.”

“Let’s make it a murder-suicide,” Hannah suggested, emerging from the gathering with a look of
resignation.

The band reunited for the travesty, playing a lively tune as Susan tossed more young women into
the pile, each more mortified than the last. Her antics drew the attention of surrounding guests,
curious and amused faces appearing along the perimeter until the crowd presented a physical
blockade. They shouted out suggestions on how to catch the bouquet, blurring the line between
quaint tradition and rowdy street brawl.

“Alright, ladies!” Parvati shouted from a nearby table, perched atop her husband’s lap. “I want to
see some good old-fashioned gut punches and hair pulling!”

Hermione groaned as Luna appeared at her side, idly picking apart a dinner roll as Susan launched
her forward with a gentle shove. Three more women were herded into the mix before the bride
gathered her skirts and climbed atop the stage, kicking off her shoes and signaling the band to
silence. Fleur pushed her way to the front of the group, eyes teaming with blood-lust.

Hermione caught Harry’s gaze from across the room and twitched her nose, unamused by his
uncontrollable laughter. Conversations tapered off as Susan faced the wall with her bouquet
gripped tightly, the audience joining in her countdown.

“3... 2… 1!” She launched the flowers overhead with an impressive wind-up, wilted petals raining
from above while the crowd cheered wildly.

Hermione’s heart stuttered as the bouquet began its downward arc, rapidly descending for her
head. Her knees locked with terror, time slowing to an agonizing crawl as leaves scattered in her
hair. She returned to her senses with no seconds to spare, stems grazing her cheek before she
ducked sideways with a gasp, colliding hard with Luna. The slight blonde lost her balance and fell
into her neighbor, creating a domino effect among the tightly packed cluster. The crowd erupted
into hysterics as the woman fell into a kicking heap of silk, Sirius clutching a chair and struggling
to breathe.

Fleur dove head-first over the pile of bodies and reached desperately for the fallen bouquet, only
for it to bounce off her forearms, smacking an innocent bystander in the head. The Frenchwoman
rolled with a feral growl, smacking the floor before scrambling to her knees, searching out her lost
bounty with a half-dozen others. She spotted it beneath a table at the same moment as another
guest, both women racing forward to engage in a furious tug-of-war that attracted two more to their
plight. The four-person battle upended the table and knocked over chairs, the flowers somehow
launching skyward as arms flailed in every direction.

The bouquet soared overhead a second time while Hannah assisted Hermione to her feet, the crowd
scrambling for a better view when the flowers fell at the back of the room. Hermione reached
down, hauling Luna from the pile of grappling limbs as everyone shuffled in for a closer look.

A trail of torn petals parted the audience down the middle, leading to a very bewildered, very red-
faced Aunt Muriel, bouquet clenched tightly in her trembling hands. The woman blinked several
times, ruby flush spreading when the room erupted with drunken enthusiasm, a sea of voices
showering the unwitting victor with praise.

Fleur staggered upright, clutching her broken dress strap and stomping towards her fiancé. He
looped an arm around her waist and whispered against her temple before leading her towards the
water closet with a grin. The spectators converged on his aunt, leaving Hermione to bat debris from
her skirt as the others limped away, off to find some quiet corner to lick their battle wounds. One
poor bystander sported a scuffed and bleeding elbow, the glistening sight luring Hermione forward.
But before she could offer her assistance she felt a familiar caress at her back and turned to face the
opposite side of the room.

The floor vibrated with a steady percussion of music and conversation but the world quaked at
Draco’s smile, the simple gesture relieving the lingering weight upon her heart. The knot in her
stomach loosened in turn, giving rise to her own amused grin as the hum of chatter rose, the night
alive with celebration. And for the first time since standing before her parents’ shared tombstone,
Hermione felt the calming certainty that everything was going to be alright.

. . .

“You’re sure you don’t want to come?” Susan asked, fingers curled over the window frame.

Hermione stepped away from the carriage with a shake of her head. “I need to prepare for Monday
—”

“Honestly, Mione, it’s only surgery! Come to the pub with us!” Ron called from beside his wife,
flushed with drink and smeared with frosting. Susan rolled her eyes, picking cake from his collar
and flicking it aside.

His brother stretched across the opposite bench, stained blue from head to waist as though dipped
upside-down in an inkwell. “Better pace yourself tonight, Ronnie, or you’ll be too drunk to find
your cock—”

“George Weasley!” Hermione scolded. “Your little sister is—” She blinked, scanning the barren
interior. “Wait. Where’s Gin?”

"She's been M.I.A all night," he grumbled, loosening his dye-soaked cravat. "Can we get a move
on, please? I have a long night of soaking in vinegar to look forward to."

“I saw her half an hour ago,” Ron yawned. “She was in a rush to get home. And I think you should
keep the blue, George, it’s a vast improvement on your face.”

“You’re lucky it’s your wedding day, you knobless little prick—”

Hermione shook her head, ignoring their barbs and facing the bride. “Congratulations again. I’ll
talk to you tomorrow, unless I’m asked to post bail tonight.”
“Better stay by the telegram, luv,” Susan muttered before elbowing her husband in the side. “Am I
the only one eager to get our honeymoon underway?”

His eyes flared wide, fist banging the roof in a fury. “Oi, driver! Get us the hell out of here!”

Hermione laughed, stepping back with a parting wave as the carriage lurched into motion. Their
echoing laughter followed them up the winding drive, lingering on the summer air long after they
turned the corner and disappeared from sight. She dropped her hand and peered at the waxing
moon, its pale glow dimmed by a film of clouds.

“Evening, lass!” A nearby driver called. “Need a ride?”

She tore her gaze from the sky and grinned anew. “Yes, actually,” she replied, adjusting the bag on
her shoulder and starting for his carriage. “The Girl’s Home on Bromley, please.”

. . .

She traced the edge of the package with an idle fingertip, winding the satin bow around her thumb
as the carriage rocked from side to side gently, the repetitive motion and shadowed interior lulling
her into a trance. The steady clop of hooves was broken by the driver’s shout, horses braying as he
pulled on the reins.

“Here we are!”

Hermione blinked, peering through the window at a familiar sight beyond. The Home stood as tall
and imposing as ever, its striking architecture cutting a bold silhouette against the foggy skyline. Its
stained glass sparkled in the dim moonlight, the dark garden rustling behind curved iron gates. The
scent of dahlias carried on the breeze and brought to mind a frightful dream, half-formed in a haze
of sleepless nights. She pushed the notion aside with all the others, reaching for the handle and
hopping to the gravel path.

“You live here, Miss?” The stranger inquired, inspecting the property with a wary eye.

“Just paying a visit,” she hummed, opening her coin purse. “Thank you for the ride.”

“I can wait here until you’re done.”

“That’s not necessary.”

He nodded, accepted her payment with a grave expression. “Be careful, lass. Rumor is this place is
haunted. Lotta bad things happened beyond them gates.”

“It isn’t a rumor. But the ghosts aren’t out for blood anymore.” She tilted her head, considering.
“Well, not buckets anyway. Have a pleasant night.” He blinked at her parting grin, waiting until
she was slipping through the gate to urge the horses forward.

The rod iron groaned beneath her touch, its metallic squeal reminding her of time’s long past,
memories bobbing in rapid succession as she followed the narrow path through the garden and up
the steps, the Home doubling in size the closer she drew. The very walls seemed to shift, exhaling
upon her arrival, recognizing the return of an old friend. The knocker remained cold and heavy in
her hand, each strike piercing the still night.

An owl hooted from a nearby branch, large eyes glinting in the darkness. She held its burning
gaze, gasping as another glowing stare appeared beside it, materializing from seemingly nowhere.
A third was quick to follow, then a fourth, the branch buckling beneath their feathered weight,
razor-sharp talons carving deep grooves in the wood.

The door swung open, eliciting a shocked yelp from her throat.

“Ms. Granger. We weren’t expecting you this evening.”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “Darius! You startled me…” Her eyes flickered sideways, blinking
quickly at the empty tree.

“Ms. Granger? Is everything alright?”

She rubbed her temples and slowly turned. “Yes. I… I was just passing through the neighborhood
and thought I’d pay a quick visit. Is she still awake?”

“Indeed. The Madam is finishing an appointment as we speak.”

“I’m happy to wait,” she offered, black box pressed firmly between her palms as he took a step
back and gestured her forward.

“Please, do come in.”

She held her breath and crossed the threshold, static lifting her hair as she gave the shadowed
entrance a cursory inspection. “You replaced the chandelier,” she observed.

“Hm. The Madam deemed the previous decor far too macabre.”

“I agree. This is much more fitting.”

Her focus lingered on the modern fixture until his throat cleared, drawing her gaze to the archway.
She stood at attention, realizing he’d crossed the floor in her absence. She hurried to follow, their
footfalls echoing across the stone as he led her down the corridor she’d once been dragged
through. Her wrist throbbed, cobwebs torn apart at the memory, but the sound of childish laughter
dulled the ache, muffled voices drifting through the vents as residents scurried around the upper
floors.

“They never sleep,” the groundskeeper sighed. “Any suggestions on getting them to stay put?”

“I’m the last person you want to ask that question, trust me.”

He shook his head in exasperated before directing their path to the door at the end of the hall. “Just
a moment, I’ll announce your arrival.”

“Thank you.”

He rapped softly on the wood, waiting for the faint and succinct beckoning before slipping inside.
Hermione rocked back on her heels, eyeing a crack in the wood panel as she waited. The lightning
bolt pattern reached the ceiling, splitting the tile before disappearing into the seam. The gaslight
stationed beneath suddenly flickered, its flame dancing wildly before snuffing out with a faint hiss,
smoke curling upward, drifting into the dark gap. She stared into the black void, her peripheral
fogging as a faint whisper filled the air, drifting not from the vents but the ceiling crack overhead.

The voices were too low to discern but she knew they didn’t belong to any child living under this
roof. The temperature soon dropped and the shadows deepened, goosebumps erupting down her
limbs as the whispers grew in volume, voices overlapping. A floorboard creaked behind her, a
haggard breath sounding at the mouth of the corridor.
Hermione lifted her chin and felt a presence rapidly descend at her back, toes dragging the carpet.
“Stop that,” she clipped, eyes narrowed on the closed door ahead. The air went still and silent, the
whispers ending abruptly at the stern command. The entity at her back breathed across her neck,
daring her to turn around. She crossed her arms and planted her feet. “I’ve no plans to entertain
your theatrics. I suggest finding another venue to haunt. Perhaps an actual theatre, actors do love a
good ghost story.”

The specter exhaled, the frigid gust traveling the length of her spine as low, wet laughter emitted
from a torn, mangled throat. Hermione straightened, fists curled at her sides until, just as suddenly
as it appeared, the apparition vanished, leaving behind only a bitter tinge of smoke and blood on
the air. The shadows lifted like a curtain as the gaslight sparked to life, flame standing tall and
proud as the door opened at her front.

“Ms. Granger,” Darius announced, searching the empty corridor at her back. “Were you talking to
someone?”

“Not at all.” She smiled. “You must be hearing things.”

“Evidently.” He arched a graying brow and stood back. “You may enter.”

“Thank you,” she replied, proceeding forward with confidence.

Stepping inside this particular office had been a taxing feat upon her first check-in, her heart
pounding with dreaded anticipation while she'd waited in the hall. Seeing the desk free from cat
sculptures had certainly helped calm her nerves, but surely it took more than a fresh coat of paint to
exorcise a demon from its lair. Alas, it appeared the new layout bore more than just new decor, it
also came equipped with a glaring pair of eyes that followed her every movement.

“Mr. Snape,” she startled, straightening beneath his narrow gaze.

“Ms. Granger,” he returned flatly, turning up his nose before concluding his inspection. “You have
a stain on your dress.”

Hermione blinked, peering down. “Oh!” She laughed, sweeping the remnants of frosting from her
bodice. “I must have taken some wedding cake home with me, most of the guests did. Ron stuffed
a piece into Susan’s mouth and she retaliated by dumping the top tier over his head—”

“A riveting story, if there ever was one.” He rose from his chair swiftly, buttoning his floor-length
frock with supreme boredom. “On that note, I believe it’s time to take my leave.”

She shook her head, edging forward. “Please don’t depart on my account, I’ve clearly interrupted
—”

“You aren’t interrupting,” replied a stern voice from behind the desk. “Severus and I enjoy a cup of
tea after his weekly deliveries, but the hour is late and I’m sure his shop needs attending.”

Hermione glanced between the unlikely pair, suppressing a grin as a rosy flush warmed the
translucent pallor of his skin, no doubt born from the woman’s casual address.

He caught Hermione staring and scowled, spine somehow aligning straighter. “Quite right,” he
clipped, nodding to the Headmistress in deference. “Minerva.”

McGonagall lowered her chin to gaze over the top of her spectacles. “Goodnight, Severus. And do
make an effort not to growl at my girls.”
His lip curled. “The sky doesn’t rain sugar cubes and daffodils, the sooner they learn this the
better.”

“But it does emit sulfur and nitrogen oxides,” Hermione volunteered with a smile, “which
combines to form an acidic vapor that’s surprisingly simple to condense and bottle.”

“Thank you, Ms, Granger, I do love arts and crafts.” The Headmistress redirected her narrow gaze
forward. “However, the issue is not with London precipitation. It seems some of our older
residents revel in your disdain, Severus, and have developed hopeless crushes in the process. A few
even write poetry about the brooding Chemist wandering our halls.”

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth, barely able to smother her laughter in time.

“These children are disturbed,” he spoke in sheer and utter horror.

“Then we’re agreed. Travel safely, young man.”

He shook his head in disbelief but offered a bow of respect before turning to Hermione. “Horace
informs me you were selected to perform surgery next week.”

“Y-Yes,” she replied, surprised and flattered by the inquiry. “A cholecystectomy on Monday
morning.”

“Hm.” His prominent nose twitched. “Do try not to kill your first patient, Ms. Granger.”

“That’s number two on my list. After finding a stylish pair of operating gloves, of course.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I anticipate Tuesday’s report with bated breath. Good evening,
ladies.”

Hermione nodded her farewell, watching him glide into the hall like a surly shadow before turning
to face the room’s remaining occupant. “Madam McGonagall,” she greeted, dipping into a polite
and tragic curtsy.

“Enough of that. Take a seat, my dear.”

Hermione did as bade, setting her bag on the ground and the present in her lap.

“So,” the Headmistress continued, retaking her place behind the sprawling desk. “To what do I
owe the pleasure of your company this time, Ms. Granger?”

“I just wanted to see if you needed any more supplies before the next shipment is delivered—”

“We have plenty from your last haul. Please tell me you aren’t stealing from the hospital supply
pantry, I won’t be the cause of your expulsion.”

“Certainly not,” Hermione laughed, easing into her chair. “There’s a designated allotment for
donation and they know I deliver to the Home. Anything beyond that I purchase myself.”

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “You also supply a personal cheque each month, there’s no need to
purchase bandages and tinctures as well.”

“But I’m happy to do it. I was a resident beside many of these girls not long ago, their well-being is
important to me.”

The Headmistress regarded her carefully. “Tea?”

“Pardon?”

The woman gestured to a gleaming tray on the corner of her desk, a dead ringer for the set
Hermione had weaponized at Rabastan’s estate. She blinked, doing her utmost not to fidget. “No,
but thank you.”

The Madam retrieved her cup and took a delicate sip, watching her young companion over the
porcelain rim. “Severus mentioned an upcoming surgery, I believe?”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said, seizing the distraction. “I’m quite nervous, truth be told.”

“Are others in your class operating?”

“Just me.”

“Clever girl.” McGonagall restored the cup to its saucer with a soft tink. “I’ve no doubt you have a
natural affinity for slicing men open.”

Hermione stroked the satin ribbon in thought. “I suppose I do.”

"How fortunate to find one's calling so young." The Madam's keen gaze shifted to the black box in
Hermione's lap. "Did you steal a gift from the wedding?"

Hermione peered down with a smile. “I left Ron and Susan all the stemware. This is just an early
birthday present.” She tilted her head. “At least I think.”

“I see,” the woman mused, fingers tapping along the polished wood. “Clearly you’ve had an
eventful day. Something tells me you’ve extended it even longer for more than just a friendly
visit.”

Hermione swallowed tightly, forcing a bright smile. "Honestly, I just wanted to check-in."

Aged hands folded atop the gleaming surface of the desk. “To make certain Dolores Umbridge
hasn’t returned,” McGonagall surmised calmly, the simple statement absorbing any lie Hermione
may have concocted.

“I have nightmares that she’s living in the walls,” Hermione whispered, shuddering at her own
admission. “Perhaps Darius can do another sweep of the grounds, particularly the attic—”

“The attic has been sealed, my dear. The doll room included.”

Hermione glanced away.

“I assure you, Ms. Granger, Dolores Umbridge is nothing but a faded memory few are cursed with.
Most of the older residents have moved on from this place and the younger girls hardly recall their
former Mistress. Her stain has been scrubbed clean from these walls and burned from the record
books.” Hermione nodded, looping the ribbon around her finger until the tip turned blue.
McGonagall tilted her head. “Is something else troubling—”

“Have you found a new physician yet?” Hermione blurted in a rush, cheeks heating with the
outburst.

The Matron’s perpetually arched brow pulled higher. “I’m still reviewing applicants. I take the
appointment very seriously and will settle for nothing but the best.”

“Are you double-checking references? There have been forgeries in the past—”
“I have been running youth shelters for many decades, dear girl. I know exactly what types of
wolves come sniffing at these doors and won’t allow a single one past the gates, I assure you.”

Hermione exhaled slowly, easing back. “Then I look forward to meeting whomever you choose.”

The Madam narrowed her gaze, undoubtedly sensing her guest’s lingering disappointment tinging
the air. “Would you be interested in assisting with the interview process?” She inquired, the offer
so unexpected Hermione nearly toppled from her seat.

“Really?”

“A second pair of eyes and ears is always helpful, especially those of a trained physician.”

“I’m not—”

“I’ll send word when I’ve narrowed the selection,” McGonagall declared, settling the matter and
reaching for her tea.

Hermione sat straighter, mood soaring at the prospect. “Thank you, Headmistress.” McGonagall
smirked behind the cup before finishing its contents with a slow sip. “Well, I suppose that’s all
then,” Hermione mused, sliding to the edge of her cushion. “Thank you very much for hosting me.
I’ll allow you and Darius to return to your evening.”

“Enjoy your weekend, dear.” McGonagall watched her rise. “And good luck on Monday. If my
schedule permits, I’ll join the audience in the surgical theatre.”

Hermione’s heart skipped, touched by the thought. “That would be wonderful, if you’re able.”

“Very good.” The Madam slid her saucer aside and reached for a stack of parchment, quill already
in hand.

“Goodnight, ma’am,” Hermione bid, en route to the door.

“Goodnight, Ms. Granger. Travel safely.”

Hermione thought of Snape’s reaction to the same farewell and laughed softly, entering the
corridor with a lightened step. She made it to the entrance hall unencumbered by grisly apparitions
and mocking spirits alike, encountering only the sharp laughter and racing footsteps of children as
they tore through the upstairs dorm.

She paused at the bottom of the staircase when two girls emerged on the landing above, delighted
squeals announcing their presence before they sped around the corner and disappeared into the
next hallway like a shot, bare feet silent on the runner. Their appearance was no more than a
dream until Darius arrived a moment later, panting and flushed.

"Which way did they go?" He asked between labored breaths, clinging to the banister.

Hermione shrugged innocently. “I didn’t see a thing.”

“Heavenly Father, you're just as incorrigible. Please vacant this residence before you give the
children any ideas.”

Hermione backed away with a laugh, offering a parting wink to a little girl hiding behind the
drapes, toys stacked across the windowsill.

The temperature outside had dropped considerably since her arrival, leaves flickering in the cool
breeze and trailing her steps to the gate. Low branches stroked her hair as she paused at the curving
bars and turned back around, the same silent beckoning drawing her gaze each time. Clouds parted
before the moon, illuminating the sprawling property in all its glory.

The attic window glinted above, the Home’s all-seeing eye watching her through a foggy lens. The
circular glass blinked its farewell while the chevet grinned in eager anticipation of her return. After
all, the truth was abundantly certain, though Hermione had escaped the clutches of her former
Matron, she would never be free of this place, a piece of her soul forever trapped behind its walls,
sealed away with the rest of the broken, abandoned dolls. And someday, when the building was
inevitably demolished to make way for something modern and shiny and new, the ashes of her
former self would join the rubble while its ghosts wandered the earth in restless pursuit of their
graves.

But all of those things mattered little to her on this night, the weight of her past a familiar burden
she'd long grown accustomed to. Instead, she turned to face the gate and slipped through its narrow
parting, eager to put her evening to rest.

The tavern across the street was bursting with music and laughter, the clink and shatter of glass
carrying through the whole neighborhood, deterring carriage drivers from entering. A hefty tip
from a drunken passenger was hardly worth the chore of scrubbing their vomit from the
floorboards all evening. Resigned to her plight, Hermione tucked her present underarm and
journeyed onward, confident she’d find a ride on the next road over.

Alas, when she rounded the last building in the row an empty stretch of cobblestone greeted her.

"Damn," she muttered, wishing she'd accepted her driver's offer to wait outside the Home. Her feet
throbbed as she continued across the unforgiving brick, carefully steering her path through the
orange glow of street lamps. The package crinkled with each step, a nagging temptation in the
wake of her growing annoyance. But the distraction was short-lived, thoughts rapidly fleeting when
she passed the mouth of an alley and a heavy scrape emitted from the darkness.

She stumbled into a nearby post, gripping it for balance and staring into the gaping maw, unable to
distinguish shapes from shadows. The scrape sounded again, closer, louder, metal dragging
cement. Glowing eyes appeared in the blackness, bright amber framing slitted pupils. Hermione
shrieked as the feline pounced, orange fur zipping past her face before it landed in the middle of
the street and gave a leisurely stretch. She placed a hand to her neck, the rapid thrum of her artery
overcome by her laughter, pitch rising with relief and embarrassment.

The bushy creature trotted to the bench and perched atop its narrow slats, standing still and
picturesque as it watched the ridiculous human erupt like a hysterical idiot. Hermione wiped the
corners of her eyes and continued her search, pausing only to cast a pondering glance over her
shoulder. The feline looked remarkably familiar… Don’t be ridiculous, we’re nowhere near St.
Mungo’s. She shook her head and journeyed on, its red gaze following her around the corner.

The next street began at the top of a hill, the downward incline lightening her mood considerably
until she was halfway down, the eerie stillness finally setting in. She paused, peering around her
dark encapsulation for any sign of life. The shops bordering her path were shuttered and gated,
crumpled newspapers rustling in the wind, the only movement she could discern until footsteps
sounded in the distance.

The steady gait echoed from the bottom of the street, drawing ever closer and louder until their
owner appeared, a lanky man in a trench coat, collar flipped high and hat pulled low. Hermione
blinked, edging backward as he started an upward trek towards her, long legs making quick work
of the pavement. His face was tipped down, identity safely hidden in shadow. She glanced around
quickly, considering crossing the road to avoid his path.

Stop being paranoid.

She released a shallow breath before continuing down, sidling close to storefronts to afford him a
wide berth. He was right upon her now, close enough to touch. Her shoulder blades merged, steps
quickening—

And then he was striding past without a glance in her direction, boot clicks rapidly receding in the
distance. Hermione exhaled swiftly, slowing at the end of the sidewalk to collect her bearings. The
man was at the top of the hill by the time she glanced back, tall figure rounding a shuttered cafe,
lost to sight. His pounding footsteps soon faded with him, the entire encounter over before it began.

She tipped her head back and sighed, taking solace in the pulsing glow of the moon before tucking
the present into her bag and turning onto the next avenue.

A streak of orange darted past her feet, launching her a meter off the ground while her shriek
echoed off every boarded window on the block. No sooner had she staggered her landing than the
shock of fur came circling back, amber eyes glinting wild and bushy tail standing on end. She
spared the meddlesome creature an annoyed glare before continuing forward, or at least attempting
to, making it another step before the whiskered beast charged her with a menacing hiss.

“I’ve had just about enough of you!” Hermione scathed, stumbling sideways to avoid being herded
back the way she came. “Wretched pest!”

Dagger claws swiped at her ankle, snagging the hem of her dress. She shook the offending paw
loose, lips parting with a venomous rebuke when a new sound filled the vacant street and stole the
words from her throat. She halted all movement, rocking like a mannequin and sharing the feline’s
panicked gaze.

Voices echoed, loud and disorderly, laughing like jackals and slurring their words. Her breath
stilled as scraping footsteps rounded the end of the Avenue. Three men appeared, caked with grime
and glistening with sweat. One smoked a cigarette while another clutched a jug of dark brown
liquor, the third lucky to even be upright in his inebriated state. She edged back slowly, praying to
evade their notice, making it barely a stone’s throw before their glassy eyes turned up, laughter
dying abruptly.

“Oi!” The bottle-wielder declared. “What’ve we got here, gents?”

The feline announced its presence with a low-throated mewl, hackles rising as it stalked between
Hermione and the new arrivals. But its threatening advance went easily ignored, their gleaming
stares unwavering.

“‘Ello, poppet, what you doing out here all by your lonesome?”

Hermione took another tentative step backward. “I was just asking myself that very question,” she
replied, careful to maintain an unaffected tone. “Good evening, gentlemen. Allow me to get out of
your way.” She spun on her heel and strode briskly for the corner she’d just vacated, heart
tumbling inside her ribcage as they continued to call out.

“Oi, hold up now!”

“Don’t be like that, luv!”

"Pretty little thing, ain't she?"

“Fast, too.”

“Ah, poppet’s just nervous. We best introduce ourselves like proper gents, let ‘er know what good
company we are.”

She broke into a dead run as pounding steps sounded at her back, flying around the corner and
gasping for breath. Her bag weighed a metric ton, slamming her hip with every heaving stride. She
started to drop the load but quickly reconsidered, realizing it may be her only means of defense in
the next few minutes. Her knees trembled, struggling to keep balanced atop narrow-stacked heels.
She kicked them off without hesitation, continuing her uphill sprint barefoot and frantic.

The incline was brutal, nearly twice as long as she remembered. They'd catch her long before she
reached the top, Hermione knew, aided by superior height and a bloodstream full of bourbon. She
changed tactics, darting for the nearest alleyway instead, tiptoeing past soiled food containers and
moldy newspapers while her pursuers arrived at the bottom of the street, panting like racehorses.

“Where’d she go?”

“No way she made it up there that fast.”

“She’s hiding.”

She reached the other end of the alley, a two-story brick wall blocking her escape.

“Prolly behind one of these shops. Spread out, find her.”

“Come on, Jackie, it ain’t worth it—”

“I said find ‘er!”

She sank behind the dumpster as they dispersed, holding her breath when their shadows moved
across the brick at her side. They continued past, rattling gates and kicking bins, laughing all the
while. The boisterous taunts transported her to Rabastan’s narrow cupboard, limbs curled tightly as
she listened to his guards tear apart the house in mad pursuit of their prisoner. But the terrifying
memory provided a twisted comfort, reminding her of the daring escape she’d managed with far
less at her disposal. Now, in the heart of the city, her worst enemy was the vacant road. She just
needed to go a little bit further…

Easier imagined than enacted.

A gentle thump on the dumpster lid made her gasp and scramble back, heartbeat stuttering behind
her tongue when a familiar creature leaped to the pavement at her feet.

“What are you doing here?” Hermione whispered, relieved to not be alone, even if said companion
began anxiously pacing the damp ground, scouring the alley in avid search of something.

Food scraps, undoubtedly. It has eight more lives to spare, I’m the least of its worries.

She rubbed the crease between her brows, a dull throb forming behind her eyes. “Why do people
always try to kill me on the weekend?” She pondered aloud. “I have so little free time as it is.”

The cat paused its determined hunt to pin her with a deeply unamused stare. She bit her lip,
properly scolded, sighing as the creature bounded for the street without further ado, content to
abandon the foolish human to her fate. She felt an inexplicable pang when its tail disappeared from
sight, alone again, but her disappointment was short-lived as another startling realization made
itself known. The banging and hollering had stopped, the street silent as a prayer.

It’s now or never, she urged, knowing doom would follow on swift wings if they circled back and
discovered her here. She rose carefully, pressing the bag motionless to her side and creeping to the
mouth of the alley. A cursory glance in either direction revealed a still and empty row of
cobblestone. She held her breath and edged forward, staying close to the dark storefronts and
proceeding downhill.

A sudden rustling caused her to shriek, the noise captured in both her hands before it could fill the
air. An open newspaper tumbled down the sidewalk and climbed a lamppost, flapping innocently
in the breeze. She swallowed thickly and rounded the final shop, assaulted by a foul odor the same
moment two faces materialized from the darkness.

“There she is.”

She screamed, dropping her bag and scrambling away as the pair emerged from behind an
announcement board.

“Don’t be scared, poppet,” the man with the sloshing jug laughed. “We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

She turned quickly, primed to renew her mad dash when their third associate appeared a few
meters up the street, pacing the brick like a dog on a leash, eager for her to try it. She backed
towards the opposite sidewalk, rapidly debating her options.

“What do you want?” She asked, on the off-chance reason might prevail. The man with the bottle
leered, quickly dispelling such hope. “And I implore you to think long and hard about that
question,” she continued. “If it’s companionship you’re after, there are far more agreeable options
to be had. Some of who may not even charge you for their services.”

“Long and hard,” the second man snickered. “You hear that, Jackie? She said—” He keened like a
mutt when his partner smacked him upside the head.

“I got two ears, don’t I?”

“Perhaps I overestimated your perspicacity,” Hermione muttered, stealing covert glances over her
shoulder to guide her path.

“Pesit— blood ‘ell, lass, you makin’ up words?”

His companion rubbed his smarting head. “Must be a writer.”

“She’s an actress,” their remaining member spoke, rejoining his pack. “I recognize her from the
paper, she’s famous or something.”

The other two studied her anew. “That true?” Bottle-man asked, eyeing her intently.

She rose onto the sidewalk with a careful step. “If I say yes, will you leave me alone?”

“Pretty and clever.” He grinned. “What’d I do to deserve such a dame?”

“We can rule out bathing.”

His expression fell while his comrades exploded with laughter, anger surfacing alongside a scarlet
flush. “Mouthy bitch, I don’t give a fuck who you are, come here.”

“I’m afraid I must decline,” she breathed, quickening her backward pace.
“Afraid? You ain’t afraid.” He chuckled menacingly as she collided with a wall, the obstruction
unseen in her peripheral. “Not until you’re screaming,” he growled, rapidly closing in.

She pressed flat to the brick, searching the ground for anything she might wield in defense. A
narrow alley stood just to her right, dark and ominous. She supposed they’d try dragging her inside
of it, maybe she’d get lucky and find a lead pipe—

Tobacco-stained fingers filled her vision, jagged nails curling like claws. She averted her face with
a shuddering breath, preparing to deliver a blood-curdling scream that would shatter the palace
windows in Kensington, but before she could so much as blink an arm emerged from the alley with
blurring speed, capturing the offending hand and twisting it back until the wrist snapped.

Her attacker’s shrill scream put hers to shame, the agonizing wail piercing her eardrums until his
body folded like a newspaper, knees cracking against the pavement. His bottle dropped, base
shattering and liquor splashing in every direction.

“My,” a sinister voice spoke. “What an impressive sound.” A tall and imposing shadow emerged
from the darkness, lording over his prey. “You literally shattered glass.” He continued bending the
offending wrist until an inevitable crunch filled the night. The three on-lookers cringed as jagged
bone punctured the skin, blood spraying the wall. The drunkard wailed anew, baring his teeth and
thrashing helplessly, caught in a steel-toothed trap.

Tom lifted his chin, stone-mask splitting down the center to reveal a far more chilling grin beneath.
“I suppose by your own logic, that must mean you’re terrified,” he reasoned calmly, eyes glowing
with feral pleasure. Her sharp intake of breath caused his spine to straighten, gleaming gaze
tracking sideways.

“Ms. Granger,” he greeted, the intensity of his stare driving her further into the wall. “Once again, I
discover you somewhere you shouldn’t be.” He examined her with unhurried satisfaction, taking in
each and every detail until arriving at her feet. She blushed, toes curling beneath her skirt. “And
barefoot as always,” he observed, grin curving higher.

She folded her arms, pushing past the shock and terror of the last ten minutes to arrive on the other
side of madness. “Perhaps if ladies shoes bore a practical design we could perform more violent
tasks in them.”

“Practical indeed,” he murmured, eyes lingering on her throat. She swallowed thickly, perfectly
motionless and profoundly dizzy.

“Oi!”

They glanced forward.

“Let go of him!” The speaker edged back, hollowing out the demand.

“Y-Yeah,” the remaining man sputtered, gazing at the blood in horror. “We d-didn’t do nothin’ to
you!”

It was as if the wind had spoken for all the attention Tom paid them, focus turning downward
instead. Hermione gripped the stones at her back as bloodlust bloomed to life across his face,
crimson petals unfolding in a pattern she recognized well.

“Did any of them touch you?” He asked her, eyes and grip firmly affixed to the man on his knees,
currently retching all over himself.
“No,” she whispered, clearing her throat. “Come morning they’ll be too hungover to remember my
face.” She tracked the steady drip of blood pouring from the exposed muscle and tendon. “Though
something tells me they’ll have no trouble recalling yours.”

There was a sharp scrape, a flash of movement.

“Tom, look out!” She screamed.

He dodged back as the man slashed forward with the neck of the broken bottle, aiming for Tom’s
throat and catching his forearm. Tom hissed as the jagged edge sliced through his sleeve, blood
spilling across his hand.

“Fucker,” the stranger wheezed, tipping sideways with blood loss. “What are you dumb fucks
standing there for?” He yelled at his motionless companions. “Kill the bastard!”

They continued imitating dumbstruck owls until one of them finally worked up the courage to step
forward, fists balled and feet clumsy. Tom met him halfway without expression, ducking a blow to
the head and awarding him one to the jaw. The man staggered, pressing his bruised face as Tom
kneed him in the stomach, promptly crumbling to the curb and clutching his middle.

Tom shook the blood from his hand and turned to face the final member of the trio, patiently
awaiting his drunken attempt. The man released a terrified shout and fled in the opposite direction,
frantic footsteps fading in the distance.

“One out of three bears a brain,” he muttered, flexing his swollen knuckles with a crack. “Perhaps
there’s hope for mankind after all.”

“Always the optimist,” she replied, rushing to his side. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine—”

“Tom.”

He lifted his arm with a tired sigh, holding still for her inspection while his fallen adversaries
crawled up the street with pitiful moans.

“Come with me,” she beckoned, tugging his sleeve. “I have supplies in my bag.”

By some miracle he let her haul him to the corner without argument, continuing to watch in silence
as she dropped to her knees and rummaged through her belongings. The red ribbon was the first
sight to greet them upon opening the flap, the pristine bow stalling her thoughts until he spoke.

“You haven’t opened it.”

“It isn’t my birthday yet,” she replied matter-of-factly, ignoring his grin in her continued search for
bandages. Alas, all she uncovered was her outfit from earlier in the day, supplies removed to make
room for a change of clothes.

“Shite,” she hissed.

“That’s quite the supply closet.”

Hermione blinked, following his gaze to the item in her hand. A satin chemise. She rose swiftly,
determined to make do. “It’ll work,” she muttered, folding the sheer fabric lengthwise and winding
it around his bloodied forearm. “We need to get you to a clinic.”
“There’s no point.”

“You may need stitches.”

“If only I could find a trained professional at this hour.”

She met his gaze in challenge but the argument was quickly buried beneath clopping hooves. They
turned, watching a horse and carriage turn the corner at a leisurely gait. The driver took a swig
from his flask, catching sight of the wind-swept pair and coughing up his mouthful.

“Bloody hell,” he wheezed into the crook of his arm. “You kids alright?”

“We need a ride!” She called.

He eyed the make-shift dressing Tom wore, sleeve stained red. “You heading to the hospital?”

“No,” Tom asserted.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she relented, applying pressure to the wound and addressing the
driver. “We’re going to a private residence.”

. . .

The carriage hit an uneven patch of road, rocking hard. Hermione adjusted her grip on his arm, the
chemise starting to loosen. She tightened the knots as best she could in their dim interior, half-blind
despite the twin beams of his stare watching her from the opposite bench.

“I thought you weren’t returning until the fall,” she said, eager to fill the silence with more than
just her stuttered breathing.

“My business in Delhi concluded sooner than anticipated.”

“You found Divya?” She asked, glancing up. “Is she alright?”

“That depends on your definition. She’s at a facility recovering from malnourishment. They were
able to locate her brother, she’ll be released to his care after recovery.”

“And her captor?” She pressed on, desperate for any insight into his travels. “Is he with the
authorities?”

His eyes glinted red in the moonlight, the same as the cat in the alley. "He's being transported to
London for trial. I came to ensure an adequate verdict is reached."

“You didn’t kill him,” she observed, smiling despite the ominous threat in his voice.

“The option was strongly considered.”

“I’m still proud of you,” she declared, beaming beneath his rueful stare. “You’re finished then?”

“It’s possible the Commissioner unearthed more records. I’ll pay a visit to Scotland Yard
tomorrow.”

“You might give him a few days,” she advised. “His daughter got married this morning.”

“Hm. That’s right.” He inspected her at length. “Which explains the impractical shoes.”
Her heels pressed tight. “The sacrifices we make,” she muttered, head tilting in thought. “What
were you doing so far from the docks tonight?”

“I was on my way to the Home to meet the new Headmistress.” He leaned back, upholstery
groaning beneath his weight. “Then I was robbed and my plans changed accordingly.”

“What?” She surged forward, nearly dropping the chemise in shock. “Someone robbed you?”

“Indeed.”

“How the hell did they manage that?”

“I never saw him coming.”

“He got the jump on you?”

“It was more of a pounce, brutal and swift, followed by a rapid retreat.”

Hermione blinked. “You couldn’t catch him?”

“I didn’t stand a chance. Granted, he bore a great advantage over me.”

“What was that?” She asked, perched on the edge of her seat.

“An extra set of legs.”

Her lips parted, bizarre images taking shape in her mind until his glimmering stare regained all of
her focus, consuming her thoughts with moonlight on water. “You were robbed by a cat,” she
concluded.

He watched her intently, grinning with pleasure. “Your skills of deduction are uncanny as ever, Ms.
Granger.”

“Let me guess,” she continued, amusement growing. “Orange and outspoken?”

“Disturbingly uncanny.”

She returned to his injury with a laugh. “What did it steal?”

Silence followed, magnified by their dark surroundings. She glanced up to discover his gaze fixed
upon her mouth. Her knees pressed together. “Something quite precious,” he murmured. “But
perhaps it was time to let it go.” His pulse throbbed steadily beneath her thumb. “I followed the
little beast to Blackmore. It’s path led me straight to you.”

“How fortuitous,” she whispered.

“That’s one word for it.”

Their gazes held, bodies linked by her touch, and then the carriage rocked to a halt, the driver’s
voice filling the narrow compartment through the open window.

“We’ve arrived, Sir!”

Hermione blinked and peered sideways, recalling the world beyond their four walls. “Right then,”
she muttered, releasing his arm and clearing her throat. “The joys of no traffic.” She reached for
the door but his hand arrived there first, a teasing lilt to his voice.
“Come now, Ms. Granger. You know the rules.”

She pressed back in her seat. “Perhaps you should remind me, Doctor.”

He opened the door and slid forward, knees framing her thighs. “Men always exit the carriage
first,” he whispered, face open and innocent like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

She squirmed in place, fever rising as wickedness sparked in his gaze. “A rather archaic tradition,
is it not?” she posed, watching him disembark in a single leap.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, reaching inside without warning. She gasped when he seized her waist and
lifted her out, holding her so their faces drew level. “But I enjoy a bit of archaic tradition every
now and then, don’t you?”

She gripped his shoulders and succumbed to a full-body flush, feet dangling half a meter off the
ground when the driver coughed. She turned rigid with mortification, urging him to release her. He
complied with great amusement, indifferent to her abashed suffering as he lowered her gently and
extracted payment from his vest.

“Thank you, Sir,” the driver said, accepting the coins and tipping his cap. “By the way, this is a
nice place you and the Misses got. Good neighborhood for a young family.”

Hermione’s entire head ignited, smoke billowing from her ears as she tried to formulate a response.

“You think so?” Tom replied, demeanor relaxed.

“Absolutely. It’s not far from where we raised our boys. Decent schools, low crime, helps keep ‘em
out of trouble.”

“At least until they become teenagers,” Tom quipped.

The man erupted with noisy guffaws, clutching his side while Hermione glanced between the pair
of perfect strangers, questioning her sanity for the twelfth time that hour.

“You got that right!” The man choked between breaths. “Once they hit fifteen, god help us all!” He
adjusted his grip on the reins, eyeing Tom intently. “You got kids?”

“Just one.”

Hermione blinked.

“That’s good, that’s good,” the man nodded, drying the corners of his eyes. “Don’t worry, from the
looks of your wife you got plenty of time to make more.”

Tom stepped back, tacking on a pleasant grin. “Thank you for the ride, but I think it’s due time we
retire for the evening.”

“Oh, right, of course, of course!” The driver straightened with another tip of his cap. “Have a
pleasant evening, folks.” He glanced at Tom’s arm, cringing sympathetically. “At least better than
you’ve been having.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult,” Tom responded, perfectly carefree and completely perturbing.

The driver pulled the carriage around, winking in her direction as he passed. “I’m sure the Misses
will take excellent care of you.” He urged the horses forward with a parting wave. Hermione
watched his departure in stunned silence before turning slowly.
“... what just happened?”

Tom scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion taking the place of whatever mask he’d donned
moments prior. “Sorry,” he intoned deeply. “Force of habit.”

“Pretending to be a suburban dad?”

“If you agree with someone’s first assumption you won’t stand out in their memory. Makes hunting
people through crowded cities exorbitantly easier.”

“Ah. Delightful.” She paced closer. “Should I be alarmed that my pretend husband plans on
murdering me and fleeing into the night?”

He dropped his hand, staring down through dark and humorous eyes. “I would never leave our
pretend child motherless.”

She shook her head and stepped around his towering form. “The marriage is saved. Come along,
sweetheart.” His hum was low and smooth at her back, trailing them down the sidewalk and
through the picket fence. Halfway across the garden his gait slowed, lingering beside the flower
boxes.

“Oh, Luna planted those,” she said, fishing keys from her bag. “They were her housewarming gift.”

“Of course,” he murmured, following her up the steps and onto the porch, inspecting the lilac
shutters. “Very picturesque.”

"That was the selling point," she relayed with a grin, fumbling to unlock her door. "So, I wasn't
expecting— I mean, I didn't have a chance to clean up before I left. It's a bit…" She bit her lip,
feeling the warmth of his gaze on her skin. "I have a few things lying around, I'm sure."

“I thought I taught you to bury the corpses right away.”

The lock turned, door opening with the assistance of her hip. “I prefer soaking them in lye,
dissolves the bones in a tick.” Her hand scrambled for the dial on the wall, gaslight flooding the
quaint entry as she paced inside and dropped her bag on the ground, hyper-aware of the male
presence crossing her threshold and closing her door.

She turned around, static crackling as she took in the sight of him standing in her entryway, the
strangest daydream yet. “We should clean your cut,” she suggested, eager to bask in the comfort of
sewing flesh back together. “I’ll go… gather some things. If you want to have a seat… somewhere.
I’ll be right back.” He offered no response, opting to study her decor in silence, expression
indecipherable. “Right,” she muttered, backing away casually until it was safe to race down the
hall like a cat on a hot tin roof.

She paused a few steps down to retrieve a discarded nightdress from the floor, cramming it inside
her linen closet and scouring the rug for more incriminating evidence. Her hectic class load and
rotating training schedule left little time for errands and chores, or so she liked to tell herself. Upon
further consideration, she was quite certain she was just a lazy cow, late-night study sessions no
excuse for a messy roost. If he discovered a dirty pair of knickers lying about she was going to
guzzle a gallon of bleach straight from the bottle. Assuming there was even a bottle in the house to
chug… she certainly couldn't recall the last time she'd scrubbed the kitchen. How dirty can it be
when you’re never home to use it?

His footsteps echoed through the front of the house, meandering from room to room in silent
exploration while she kicked laundry under the furniture like a frantic loon. The water closet was
her next stop, panting breath filling the cupboard as she gathered bottles and towels in a neat stack.
By the time she made the careful trek back to the entry, her midnight guest was nowhere in sight.
She visited the den next, the cozy abode equally vacant. The air felt stagnant, eerie and still in his
absence.

“Tom?” She called.

“In here.”

She exhaled swiftly, following the vibration of his voice to the dark kitchen. Moonlight illuminated
the edges of tables and chairs, helping her navigate the shadows for the switch beside the pantry.
The light flickered once, twice, then bloomed to life in a spectacular burst, revealing the broad
figure directly at her side. She gasped and lurched away, blinking quickly as he continued to stare
through her window with profound fascination.

“You failed to mention the spectacular view in your letters,” he muttered, focus absolute.

She gripped the counter and returned to his side, following his gaze until the source of his
preoccupation became evident through the bushes. “Ah, yes. Mr. Dupont,” she relayed
thoughtfully. “The famed eccentric all the neighbors love to gossip about.” The elderly man
wandered through his backyard shirtless and barefoot, a lit pipe dangling from his mouth and
multiple wine bottles strapped to his hip.

“I’m sure he keeps them quite busy.”

“You’ve no idea,” she laughed, pushing away from the island and gesturing to the table in the
corner. “Please, have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”

Her cordial invitation broke his focus. He glanced sideways, eyes teaming with amusement, and
followed her instruction without further comment. She trailed a few paces behind, testing the
words in her mind before trying them on her tongue. “So, speaking of letters…” She watched his
long limbs fold gracefully in the chair, legs stretching to the far end of the table. “You only sent
two.”

“I was undercover,” he replied, tracking her movements to the neighboring seat. “My
correspondence could have been intercepted. The longer the investigation lasted the further my
reputation preceded me.” He laid his arm flat, awaiting her care. “I couldn't risk alerting my targets
or endangering their captives.”

“Right, of course,” she uttered quickly, unwrapping the blood-crusted chemise with nervous
fingers. She felt terribly foolish and decided to focus on the task at hand. His wound appeared far
less gruesome beneath the pulsing gaslight, the outpour already stemmed.

“It seems your stationary still went to use,” he spoke suddenly, prompting her to blink in confusion.

“Pardon?”

He nodded to a stack of letters on the island. “You have several admirers.”

Her heart kicked painfully. “You read them?”

“Only the envelopes. None of them bear a return address.”

“Those—” Hermione shook her head and reached for a towel. “It’s not anything you—” She
sighed, unfolding the terry cloth and smoothing it across the table. “They aren’t important.”
He watched her carefully, the rumble of his voice traveling up her spine. “I’m sure it’s none of my
business.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, hearing the silent beckoning behind the words. “If you say so,” she
muttered, grabbing the bottle of alcohol. When she leaned in for the cotton swabs a loose tendril of
hair brushed across his wrist. His arm twitched, fist curling beneath the warmth of her body. “It
looks like only your superficial flexor muscles were hit,” she assessed. “Your radial vein is fine,
thank goodness. A clean dressing should be enough to—”

“Who’s writing you,” he interrupted, words caught between question and demand.

She sat back, bracing for the storm. “Several people,” she replied, quickly unscrewing the bottle
cap. “I may even know a few.” He offered no reaction, continuing to watch in silence as she
worked dutifully. “They never sign their names. Bones thinks it might be former students but
there’s really no way of—”

“Bones?”

She soaked a piece of cotton in pungent solution, nose twitching with the chemical sting. “The
letters are… hate mail, for lack of a better term.”

“What?” He hissed, control giving way at last.

“It’s hardly worth mentioning—”

“We’re past that. Tell me what they say.”

She exhaled slowly, scrubbing away his blood with careful strokes. “Exactly what you’d imagine.
Small-minded idiots taking their far-reaching short-comings out on me.”

“In regards to what?”

Her fingers jumped, the specter arriving without warning. Wet, sputtering screams, splashing water
and rolling waves—

“The Medical Act,” she breathed, reaching for a jar of salve. “No one knows about my connection
to…” Her throat bobbed, gaze slowly lifting. His eyes were dark, concealing everything but the
anger on his face.

“Bones thinks it’s former students?”

She nodded, returning to her task. “A lot of people dropped out when the school announced my
acceptance. Others stayed enrolled but openly despise me—”

“I want their names.”

She scoffed without heat, prying off the tin lid. “I don’t think so.”

“Has anyone threatened you?”

“They aren’t creative enough to be a threat.”

"That isn't what I asked." His fist tightened when she applied a poultice to the narrow gash. "Is
Bones investigating this? You should have officers with you around the clock, especially in the
evenings."
“You sound like Harry.”

“I’m surprised Mr. Potter let you out of his sight at all. Your photograph was featured in every
major publication throughout London, you’re a walking target for every backwoods idiot with a
gun.”

She snapped the lid back into place with force. “Such is the way of forward progress. You aren’t
going to fix anything with violence.”

“Violence fixes everything,” he stated evenly, watching her with a predator’s focus. “Give me the
letters, Hermione. I’m going to track each of them down—”

“You’re not killing anyone!” She jolted with her outburst, knocking the bottle on its side. Alcohol
flooded the table and splashed the wall, dripping to the floor. She snatched another towel, shaking
it open with a scowl. “Just because they’re bumbling fools doesn’t mean they deserve to die—“

“Let me finish,” he continued, eyes wild as her jaw tightened. “I’m going to track them down and
then I’m going to break every single bone in their bodies until they can never hold a pen or lick an
envelope ever again.”

“Wow.” She pressed her weight on the cloth, mopping up the spill. “Thank you for curbing your
violent urges, Tom, I’m sure that was immensely difficult for you.”

“The key is taking it one day at a time.”

"Well, you've made excellent progress." She opened a roll of gauze with her teeth, ripping off
strips with the same feral pleasure. "While I appreciate the sentiment, I don't need your protection."
Her tongue pressed the roof of her mouth as his pointed stare pinned her in place. "Except for
tonight," she relented, biting through another strip. "When it was slightly beneficial. Otherwise, I’m
more than capable of taking care of myself.”

She faced him squarely and began wrapping his limb, pulling the knots as tight as possible.

“They say women have a gentle touch in medicine,” he muttered at length. “I see you’re committed
to refuting every stereotype in your path.”

Hermione blinked, gazing closely upon her handiwork to discover his fingers were blue. “Shite!”
She quickly loosened the knots, freeing his arm and massaging the grooves between muscles until
his fingers relaxed, veins pulsing hard as circulation was restored. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I can take it,” he murmured, arm going limp in her hold. She swallowed thickly and moved lower,
gently rubbing his wrist before prodding the meaty pad beneath his thumb, focusing on the
pressure points that throbbed in her own hand after a long day of wielding scalpels. His lids became
heavy, gaze distant and face lax. She continued her manipulations for another few minutes before
clearing her throat and adjusting the bandage.

“All done,” she announced quietly, causing him to straighten. She ignored the dazed look in his
eyes, focused on clearing the table. “Obviously you know the proper aftercare so I won’t waste
your time—”

“I could use the reminder,” he replied thickly. “In case I forget anything pertinent.”

Her thighs pressed tight, toes curling against the hardwood as she gathered soiled cotton in a pile.
“The initial dressing should be kept clean and dry and checked every hour,” she recited smoothly.
“From there it should be changed one to four times a day depending on drainage. Avoid irritating
the wound or engaging in any physical activity that promotes bleeding. The poultice should be
refreshed with every bandage change to encourage healing and help the gauze stay in place. If you
suffer any sudden increase in pain or discomfort notify your physician immediately. Keep close
watch of the surrounding skin and notify your physician of any discoloration or odor. And keep
closely apprised of sudden changes in energy, appetite, or temperature as these could also be early
signs of infection. Do you have any questions?”

He leaned back with a slow grin. “None at all. It seems I’m in very capable hands.” She shook her
head and mirrored his expression, pushing back from the table and rising swiftly. “Aside from the
occasional death threat,” he continued in her departure, “How is school otherwise?”

“Well, I haven’t been expelled, so that’s good.”

“Evidently,” he hummed, watching her dispose of the waste in the bin. “First years are rarely
selected to take the lead on live procedures.”

She spun quickly. “How do you know about that?”

“I may have stopped by the school when I first arrived,” he admitted without chagrin, carding a
hand through his hair and sprawling back. “You’d already left. I was on my way out when
Slughorn crossed my path.”

She leaned into the island, gripping its edge as the fantasy played through her mind. Tom roaming
the hallways in search of her, peeking his head into classrooms he’d once sat in as a student. Heat
pooled at her middle, working its way down. “Slughorn said you were selected to perform a
nephrectomy in your first year,” she shared, ignoring her body’s reaction.

“Hm.” He tipped his head back, gazing at the ceiling in recollection. “I’d nearly forgotten about
that.”

She laughed softly, still clutching the counter. “I look forward to the day when I have so many
successful procedures under my belt I can’t remember them all.”

“Oh, you remember them all,” he stated, chin slowly lowering. “The successful ones just go to the
bottom of the pile.”

Her heart kicked painfully, fingernails digging grooves into the wood. He seemed to sense her
rising dismay and assured her calmly. “You’re going to be wonderful, Hermione. There’s no one
more capable. They chose you for a reason, and all humbleness aside, you know what it is.”

She glanced down to hide her damning blush and caught sight of her dress, if it could even still be
classified as such, fabric stiff with dried blood and fondant. Glorious. Another gown laid to waste
by her vibrant social calendar.

“I should change,” she muttered, glancing up to meet his inscrutable stare. “Out of my clothes, I
mean.” His brow lifted. She quickly replayed the words in her mind, standing straighter. “Out of
these clothes— I should put on something more appropriate— clean. I’m going to find something
clean.” She pushed off the island and dashed across the floor, pausing at the threshold with a
sudden, undeniable curiosity. “Where are you staying?” She asked.

He turned sideways in his chair, long legs stretched out in front and hands folded across his
abdomen, supremely at ease in her tiny kitchen. "The Grand, most likely. I'm not particular, as long
as they afford me privacy I'll stay almost anywhere."

She licked her lips and picked idly at the molding. “It’s late, without a reservation they probably
won’t rent to you at this hour.”

He dropped his head back, resting it against the wall. “Then I’ll find a local tavern with rooms.”

Hermione stiffened, unable to stop the downward spiral of her thoughts, imaging the type of
people who frequented such establishments at this time of night. Working women, buxom and
seductive, eyes glittering when Tom entered the pub rough and wind-swept, exhaustion deepening
his voice and darkening his gaze.

“Stay here,” she said firmly, the acute focus of his stare making her wonder if spontaneous
combustion was covered in her medical books. “For tonight, I mean. I’ll make up the sofa. It’s very
comfortable. I sleep on it most nights.”

“What’s wrong with your bed?”

She rocked sideways, caught by the doorframe, speechless beneath his steady gaze. Another few
seconds of loaded silence and she realized the true, innocent meaning of his words. She burned
hotly, mortified by her misinterpretation. “Oh, of course, um, nothing, my bed is great— I mean,
it’s a normal bed, I suppose, I just study late into the night and…” She cleared her throat, airway
pressed by his knowing smirk. “I’m going to get changed,” she announced once more, eager to
escape their claustrophobic confines. “Would you like to stay for the evening?”

His pupils expanded, ever so slightly. “If you’re certain it’s not an imposition.”

“Indubitably,” she chimed. “Besides, you need someone to check your dressing through the night.
Doctor’s orders.”

“Far be it for me to argue with the sound advice of my physician.”

Her grin returned. “I’ll bring some extra linens,” she offered before scurrying into the hall,
stopping only to fetch her discarded bag from the entry.

She closed herself in her bedroom at the earliest opportunity, hands bracing the door and breath
shuddering. It wasn’t until she pushed away that she caught sight of the box nestled atop the other
items in her bag, its glaring temptation revived in an instant. The ribbon pulsed before her eyes,
begging to be unwound, but as she reached down a soft tapping echoed from across the room.

She glanced up, staring at her window as dark branches swayed behind the pane, scraping the
siding. She released a sigh and reached for the bag once more, grazing the bow when a monstrous
shadow rushed past her wall, sweeping her body like a physical touch. Hermione spun with a gasp,
frantically searching the empty room. Her window creaked, the scenery beyond unchanged. She
padded barefoot across the rug, breath steaming the beveled glass as she studied the garden below.
Leaves flickered and buds shivered but nothing seemed amiss—

A bushy mass landed on the sill with a soft thump, its arrival met by her shocked cry. She reared
back, falling against her nightstand as the feline balanced on the narrow ledged and pressed against
the glass with a rhythmic purr. Hermione’s hand encircled her throat, transfixed by the item in the
creature’s mouth. She rushed forward for a closer look, amber eyes tracking her progress as it
displayed its hard-won prize between miniature fangs. A worn, frayed ribbon, the same color as
the blood dried across her skirt.

She inhaled sharply, watching the cat leap to the grass and bat its toy through the shrubs.

“Hermione?”
She spun, gripping the curtain for balance. “Yes?”

“I heard a scream,” he uttered through the door.

“It was more of a surprised yip,” she replied, pushing the hair from her face and turning back to the
window.

“... what’s a yip?”

His muffled voice was overtaken by the pounding of her heart, a glaringly empty yard laid before
her. She leaned forward, pressing her nose to the pane and avidly searching the garden and grass,
the fence and trees—

“Hermione?”

“Nevermind,” she called, clutching the sill. “I’ll be right out.” Blunt nails raked across her scalp,
bedside clock ticking loudly as she sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening above or below,
kindly requesting that the final thread of her sanity remain intact for just one more hour.

The benevolent deity granted her three minutes, the timer going off as she paced her hallway with
blankets and pillows in hand, entering the den and discovering it empty. She set the pile on the sofa
and passed the doorway to her kitchen, surprised to find it vacant as well.

Perhaps he’s in the water closet.

Alas, another few steps found that door open, too. Continually losing a man twice her size in a one-
bedroom home was an impressive feat, but her rising dread outpaced her mirth.

“Tom?” Her front door closed. She changed direction, pulse steadily rising until she entered the
den and found him perusing medical books on her shelf. “Where were you?”

“Checking your locks,” he muttered, distracted by the heavy tome in his hands. He opened the
cover, skimming the table of contents.

“Oh.” She toed the edge of the rug, watching him replace the book and select another. “How did
they do?”

“Subpar at best. None of the windows are reinforced. And you could benefit from a dog.”

“A dog.”

He hummed, flipping a page and continuing to read. “They’re natural alarms and effective
deterrents for those bearing criminal inclinations.”

“I see.” She paced closer. “And I suppose you’d recommend I find one with three heads?”

He abandoned her book collection for the items lining her mantle. "Any snarling hellhound will do.
I'm not particular about the breed."

She tilted her head, studying the broad wall of his back while he inspected her eclectic decor, all
gifts received from her varied group of friends at one time or another. His hair shone black in the
moonlight, skin finely carved marble as he lifted the lid of a golden snuff box, the muscles in his
forearm outlined by shadow. She leaned forward subconsciously, licking her lips of her own
volition.

“Tom—” She flushed at the thickness of her voice. He turned around and she lost her nerve,
rapidly recalibrating. “In light of our colorful reunion, I forgot to mention… I’m glad you’re home.
Even if it’s only temporary.”

He rotated fully, watching the spill of heat down her throat. “Home,” he repeated.

She replayed the syllable in her mind until realizing her folly. “Back,” she quickly corrected. “I’m
glad you’re back in London.”

His attention lifted, holding her immobile as he began a slow and methodical stroll forward. “So
am I,” he said, hands slipping inside his pockets. Her chest stilled when he arrived before her,
basking in the warmth he radiated. “Now,” he murmured. “What were you really going to say?”

His eyes stripped her bare and his scent filled her lungs, overtaking every part of her. “Do you
ever…” Her mind stuttered like a bunched film reel but his patience never wavered. “Do you ever
see things?” She managed at last. “Things that aren’t really there, or perhaps weren’t real to begin
with?” Her heart hammered wildly, desperate to beat its way free.

“Yes,” he replied simply. She exhaled in a rush, rocking forward. He steadied her arms, voice
taking on a haunted edge. “I see Him. And sometimes I see my mother. But mostly, I see darkness.”

“What do you mean?” She whispered.

Shadows danced across the walls, trees stirring in a breeze.

“I found a girl in Moscow. I tracked her captor to the Cathedral but was spotted before making
contact. He took off running, just as the bells started ringing.”

She leaned forward, hearing the bells in her mind. “What happened?”

“I’m not entirely certain,” he muttered, eyes dimming with the retelling. “It’s like a dark wave
crashed over me. One moment I was chasing him through the crowded street, the next I was
standing in an alley over his bloody, beaten body.”

“Were you injured?”

His lips curved sardonically. “Only my fists.” She sighed with relief. “The same thing happened in
Luxembourg,” he continued. “Then again in Prague. I feared that maybe, somehow, he’d gotten
into my head after all. Programmed me with an invisible switch. I questioned if he was really dead,
if men like him can ever truly die. But then I would find another doll and the wave would pass. I
had something to focus on, to work towards. Nothing else mattered, even madness.”

She laid a hand to his chest, just beside the rhythmic pounding of his heart. “What happens when
all the women are recovered?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, chest rising at her touch. “I don’t know who I am without this
darkness in my life. I’m not certain I can exist without it.”

His pulse skipped. Her fingers curled as if to capture it. “The darkness will always be a part of you,
Tom, but it doesn’t have to define you. Grindelwald is dead. It’s time to bury his ghost.” She
reached up with her free hand, touching his jaw before cupping it. His Adam’s apple bobbed, its
shadow stretching all the way down his throat. She traced its curve, nails skimming the sensitive
flesh. His lips parted, body tensing as though every muscle was contracting at once. And then his
hands were on her waist, drawing her forward.

She held his gaze, fingers twisting in his shirt as his pupils blew wide and his head tilted down—
A trumpet filled the room, its high-pitched whine carrying easily through her non-reinforced
windows and sub-par doors. Tom blinked, pupils constricting in perplexity. “What the hell is that?”

She deflated in his arms. “Koenig.”

“Who—” His gaze tracked to the window as the orchestra joined in, clashing symbols and
thundering drums adding to the rising tempo. “It sounds like a marching band in the street.”

“It’s a phonograph,” she explained, gently extracting from his hold and starting for the entry.

“A music player?”

She nodded. “Mr. Dupont brought one back from America last month. It’s quite magnificent,
listen.” She opened her door and the song poured in louder, clearer, a piano adding to the lively
melody.

Tom grinned, absorbed by the marvelous feat of innovation. “Impressive.”

“Isn’t it?” She leaned into the frame, enjoying the free entertainment. “Unfortunately for Mr.
Dupont, the rest of the neighborhood doesn’t share in our enthusiasm. Wait for it…” She counted
down the seconds in her head, the song building to its climax as a bang sounded across the street,
signaling the start of the real show. “Come here,” she whispered excitedly, beckoning him closer.
“This should be good!”

He paced to her side, more amused by her reaction than the spectacle rapidly unfolding in the
street.

“Turn that bloody racket off, you French bastard!” A portly neighbor shouted from the sidewalk,
adorned in his robe and slippers.

“Oi!” Another voice joined in. “Your shouting’s worse than the fucking music!”

A light clicked on in an adjacent house. "Hey!" The owner screamed through her window. "There
are children in this neighborhood, watch your filthy mouths!"

Hermione pressed a hand to her own mouth to smother a snort, dimly aware of Tom’s presence at
her back, chest framing her shoulder blades.

“Some of us have to get up early for work in the morning!” Someone shouted.

“Stop screaming!”

“I’m going to smash that bloody thing over someone’s head!”

“Then I’m shoving the broken pieces up their arse!”

Hermione clutched her knob, tipping sideways with laughter. Tom shook his head from above,
steadying her with a hand on her lower back. “A great neighborhood for a young family,” he
mused.

She glanced up, eyes tearing at the corners. “Don’t tell me you want to move already?”

His smile widened at her uncontrollable laughter. She struggled to contain her outburst, face
burning hot, but after the chaos of her night the sudden release of tension felt glorious. She closed
the door with a click, breathless and light-headed, and turned to discover Tom stationed directly
before her. Amusement danced in his eyes and lightened his expression, turning back the clock to a
time when evil didn’t know his name.

Her hands curled against the door to stop from reaching forward, possessed by the same dark
specter. And then the spell shattered, shadows lifting from the floor to reclaim their rightful place
at his side. Intensity swelled in his gaze, once a frightening sight to behold, now a crushing
intimacy. She knew what it meant to be the sole recipient of his focus, the only target in his line of
sight. It drove her to the edge of an unseen precipice, one step away from plummeting into the
great chasm.

He stepped closer and she gripped the edge of the frame, knees turning weak until he leaned back,
breaking the connection with a jarring snap. She slumped against the door, boneless and dazed,
searching his face for the words she knew he'd never speak in the light of day. His eyes were
guarded, shoulders tense, and she wondered if this was fear she was seeing, his version of it. A
perpetual dread of the darkness taking him under while she was near. Indifferent as he liked to
present, Hermione knew that regret had plagued him his entire life. Perhaps the possibility of
harming her was one burden too many, the final risk he refused to take. But when her lips parted to
lay those fears to rest the clock in the den chimed loudly, announcing the hour.

She rubbed her chest instead, feeling something precious slip from her grasp. “You’ve had a long
day,” she whispered, exhausted in a way she’d never known before. “I’ll let you get some rest.”

The shadows converged, forming a mantle at his back. “Goodnight, Hermione,” he bid, stoic as a
knight.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, edging past and continuing down the hall.

Her bedroom door clicked softly at her touch but the sound rang definite through her heart. She
paced to her dresser, movements automatic, limbs mechanical, rigs and springs animating her joints
as she stripped off her gown and pulled on a chemise. Her limbs felt heavy, tethered to something
just beyond her reach until the weight of it pulled her to the floor. She leaned into the footboard
and tugged the pins from her hair, staring blankly ahead while the tendrils uncoiled down her back.
And then she caught sight of the forgotten bag and her gears shifted loudly.

She crawled forward, extracting the box and examining it beneath the moonlight, comforted by its
weight. This was a piece of him, unguarded to her touch, invoking memories both good and bad
but tangible and real. Had he still been abroad she would have happily waited until her birthday to
pull away the wrapping. But seeing as the Gifter was currently roaming her house in the hopes of
finding an intruder he could torture to the brink of death, Hermione felt inclined to treat herself to
an early present.

Her fingers traced the ribbon one last time before pulling swiftly, the satin floating to the ground in
a smear of red. She worked her finger under the seam and pulled the paper away in long strips,
revealing a plain box beneath. She pried its lid apart and pulled out a leather roll, finely-crafted and
supple, a folded card tucked beneath its tie. She slid it free with care, a simple message scrawled
across its center.

Something to drive through my heart.

She read it several times, heat dancing at her fingertips. The tie gave way with another tug and the
roll came loose, unwinding across her floor to showcase a row of gleaming scalpels, razor-sharp
edges aligned in an orderly row. Her breathing turned shallow when she held the bundle to the
window, metal glinting blue in the moonlight. Her eyes gleamed just as brightly, something dark
and wild taking possession of her levers. She was on her feet before realizing she’d tucked the
blades away and halfway down the hall without any recollection of opening her door.
Her footsteps were silent on the rug, drifting weightlessly into the den, but he sensed her apparition
just the same, glancing up from his brooding perch beside the window the moment she entered.
Her determination wavered in the face of this midnight version of him, vest removed and top
buttons unfastened, the dark line of his throat bared. He’d been far more stripped at the hospital but
the sight of rumpled fabric and rolled sleeves somehow made him appear more untamed.

He turned fully, studying her body with an acutely potent stare that reminded her of her own
meager attire, goosebumps erupting across her exposed arms and legs. She shuffled in place and his
gaze lifted, shoulders drawing perfectly level as he interpreted the message in her stare, making no
attempt to intervene as she leaped from the cliff with both eyes open.

“There’s undoubtedly some profound, emotionally-charged speech I could make,” she began, clear
and confident and absolutely mad. “About everything that’s happened to us, everything we’ve
faced together and how it’s changed my life. I could wax poetic about my feelings, say that you
bring me to life and haunt me in the same moment. That I’m fearless and terrified in your presence.
How just the sound of your voice overwhelms my head and my heart until I can’t recall my own
name. But I don’t think there’s much point in doing that, because what it all boils down to is quite
simple. I’m in love with you.” The tethers at her wrists and ankles broke away, body careening in
freefall. “An entire year apart with only blank postcards and buried memories to sustain me and
still, my feelings haven’t changed in the slightest. Every time I see you feels like the first time. It
takes my breath away.” She exhaled in surrender, far beyond saving. “I love you.”

Her final impact was met with absolute silence. His expression remained unreadable, motionless as
stone. “You don’t have to respond,” she continued, relief far outweighing fear. “I don’t expect
anything in return. I just needed to say it, even once, out loud. And I needed you to hear it in case…
I just need you to know. So the next time the dark wave crashes overhead you have something to
reach for, something to pull you to the surface and bring you back home.” She nodded to herself,
embarrassment breaching her armor when she felt wetness beneath her eyes. She dried her face
quickly and edged back. “Well, I feel much better,” she mused, laughing despite her nerves. “Sleep
well, Tom.”

She turned away, making it one step towards the hall when the heavy stride of boots shook the
floor. She’d barely begun to rotate again when a hand was hauling her back and spinning her
firmly, capturing her remaining arm as she collided with his body, neck craned to meet his
gleaming stare. The look on his face rendered her breathless, the anguish in his voice even more
so.

“I’m not the man you deserve,” he spoke thickly, chest rising and falling in powerful bursts as
though the admission took great effort.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” she replied brusquely. “Of which we know yours is highly skewed.
Regardless, you’re the one I want.”

“It’s easy to think that now—”

“I know my own mind, Tom. I think I’ve proven that. Just as I know I’ll never love anyone else the
way I love you. For as long as I live, no one will possess my heart as you do.” His eyes flickered,
the muscle in his jaw pulsing as she reached her hands between their bodies and framed his
heartbeat with her palms. “I don’t know how to describe it. More than want, greater than desire.
It’s a cord at my center pulling me towards you at every turn, a yearning that goes all the way
through. Don’t you feel it?”

His throat undulated, grazing the edge of his parted collar. “Yes,” he whispered, the stricken
syllable her only warning before he fell upon her. She gladly surrendered to the attack, melting into
his hold as he worked her lips apart with such exhaustive demand she felt the heat of it drip down
her thighs. She rose on tiptoes, hunger gnawing and reason lost when he pulled his head back and
whispered against her panting mouth.

“I wish I could split my soul apart.”

“What?” She muttered, blinking through the haze.

“To give you only the pieces that are good and worthy, to keep you from the darkness lurking
inside of me.”

She lowered her heels and gripped his shirt in both hands. “I don’t want pieces of you, Tom. I want
it all. Every last part.” Her face tilted up, seeking his mouth. “I can take it.”

He removed a hand from her waist to swipe a thumb across her swollen lips. “I’ve grown
accustomed to being alone,” he imparted quietly. “Every person who promised to stay has left me,
one way or another.” His touch slid to her throat, resting against her throbbing pulse. “Except for
you.”

“I won’t ever run away,” she vowed.

The corner of his mouth turned up, blistered from her feverish attention. “I’d find you.”

“We’ve tried that already,” she swallowed. “I nearly killed you.”

His eyes turned to smoke. “So I recall… in vivid detail. Quite often.”

She rested her chin between the parting in his shirt, their skin igniting on contact. “I don’t have a
fireplace poker lying about, but I’m quite certain I could bludgeon you with one of my textbooks.
They weigh at least two stones.”

He chuckled darkly, fingers slipping behind her neck and into her hair, luxuriating in the wild
tumble before using it as leverage to draw her forward. Her grin widened, body stretching up to
meet his demand halfway, but when their lips collided she felt an inexplicable sob well in the base
of her throat. She trembled with the effort of keeping it contained, his arms tightening until the
madness passed, replaced by a feral heat the likes of which she'd never known. Her hands explored
his body with a burgeoning hunger, smoothing up his chest and combing through his hair, raking
across his scalp until a low growl tore from his throat, triggering the switch in both their bodies.

The kiss deepened, his arm pressing her forward and his legs striding back. Had she been limp in
his hold brute force would have easily guided their path, but her frantic movements caused them to
stagger sideways and collide with her shelf, half its contents scattering to the floor. She kicked a
book on the circulatory system aside, kiss unbroken, moaning loudly when he seized her hips and
pinned them flat to the wall. The rest of her body followed suit, her shoulder pushing a hanging
portrait askew, its sharp edge digging into her skull. She released his neck to blindly claw the
wallpaper, ripping the picture from its hook and tossing it across the room without further
contemplation.

His mouth began to lower, skimming across her chin and down her neck, lingering at her frantic
pulse and kissing the hollow of her throat. She reached for the loose hem of his shirt and pulled,
driven purely by instinct, knees turning inward when he took the matter in hand and lifted it up and
over his head, tousling his hair and throwing the garment aside. Moonlight radiated at his back,
framing his dark silhouette and casting his bare chest into shadow. She roamed the warm expanse
with her hands instead, fingertips grazing the deep ridges of his abdomen, every muscle twitching
in her path and a low rumble stirring in his throat.

She reached a raised line and traced the scar with care, finding more along his side. His breath
sharpened when she pressed her lips to the deepest groove beneath his collarbone, the bullet
wound, nuzzling the firm muscle before continuing across the rest of his skin, hands gentle and
insistent. He lowered his face into the curve of her neck and exhaled, the steam traveling beneath
her chemise, thin fabric rendered translucent in the moonlight. She carded fingers through his hair
again, gently tugging the roots until his head lifted. He quickly interpreted the desire in her eyes
and willingly bared his throat, a deep purr radiating through his chest as she marked his flesh
between her lips and teeth. His hand lifted, nimble fingers sweeping the hair from her face before
directing her open-mouthed kisses where he wanted.

Moonlight reflected off his bandage, the pale dressing pulsing before her eyes. She went rigid as a
rolling pin, bracing his chest and pushing back. “Your arm!”

He blinked twice, lost to her outburst before its meaning registered across his heavy brow. “It’s
fine,” he growled, eyes clouded with single-minded need.

“This could cause further injury—”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

She shook her head, halting his advance. "But I really think we should—"

“I love you,” he declared, fierce and feral and gutted.

Her heart stopped beating. Just long enough to know what it felt like to perish in the arms of the
one you longed for most, how it must have been for him in the tunnel. The all-consuming agony
and hollowing departure as the ground shook beneath their feet. And then the same words brought
her back to life, spoken in a variation she cherished even more.

"I’m in love with you," he whispered beside her mouth.

Her breath came in shuddering bursts, tears welling behind her eyes as she committed this moment
to memory for the rest of her days and pressed forward, basking in the heat of his skin and
thorough coaxing of his mouth. He took control without hesitation, drawing a soft cry from her
throat and the air from her lungs. She leaned back several moments later, panting heavily through
swollen lips, head lolled against the wall. "I'm sure your arm will be fine," she muttered, staring
dazedly at the ceiling. His grin was slow and decadent, eyes darker than midnight as he dropped
his head and traced the marks on her throat with the same teeth that raised them.

The heat raged on, spreading quicker than flame until it unlocked an instinctual knowledge inside
of her. She linked her arms behind his neck when his hands slipped beneath her thighs, lifting her
feet off the ground and guiding her legs around his middle. Her chemise rode high, bare thighs
squeezing his waist and ankles crossing behind the curve of his spine. Their gazes drew level,
holding steady in the eye of the storm.

“Be certain,” she whispered, tracing patterns down his nape.

Recognition flashed across his face, raw desire giving way to deep affection. “I am,” he replied,
nearly indecipherable through the grit.

She ran the backs of her fingers across his temple and down his jaw, tracing beneath his bottom lip
before pressing it with a soft kiss. His chest rumbled with satisfaction, lazing in the tenderness of
her touch before starting forward with rugged purpose. Hermione gasped, the startled sound
muffled as he claimed her mouth again, long legs making easy work of the hall.

She clung to him tightly, dimly aware of a firm and insistent prodding just below the apex of her
thighs. It took her fevered mind another second to work out exactly what the protrusion was, the
realization triggering a flood of dampness and heat she was helpless to suppress. Her legs pulsed
on instinct, squirming restlessly when he tightened his hold and smothered a guttural moan against
her throat. But the maddening vexation was short-lived, a new anomaly demanding her attention in
the same harried breath.

Bright, frantic bursts of color called her eyes to the window in the den, visible just beyond his
shoulder. The scenery behind the foggy pane was unmistakable, mesmerizing, the night sky awash
with shimmering jewels, spiraling ribbons reflecting across the atmosphere in a kaleidoscope of
hues. More peculiar yet, the flat-faced feline was perched atop the sill, idly grooming its whiskers
while brilliant patterns coalesced across its fur. Hermione turned her gaze forward, eager to share
the discovery when he captured her mouth in a soul-searing kiss that reduced her higher-reasoning
to warm putty. Her body throbbed, thighs clenching rhythmically as he entered the bedroom and
kicked the door shut, continuing his resolute stride to the mattress.

And then the mounting pressure reached its limit and she ignited like a match, black fire spilling
from her fingertips in scorching trails that eagerly swallowed everything in their path. The sentient
heat snaked over the floor and lapped up the walls, climbing the curtains and spilling across the
ceiling until her bedroom burned brighter than Phlegethon itself. The ravaging blaze overtook her
vision when Tom laid her on the bed and parted her knees. And as his weight settled between her
thighs the fire spilled over the headboard and consumed them, too, devouring grasping hands and
pulsing cries and writhing limbs until nothing remained but the steady roar of flames everywhere.

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— The End —

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