vague spoilers for movie 7 pt. 2 if you don't want to see them then just skip to the story okay?

I WENT TO THE MIDNIGHT SHOWING EVERYTHING WAS AMAZING EXCEPT THE PARTS THEY CHANGED. AHHH IT WAS BEAUTIFUL THERE WAS HARRY AND NEVILLE AND DRACO AND THE AWKWARD HUG OMG AND NARCISSA AND I DIDN'T LIKE ONE OF THE THINGS THEY CHANGED

but something got twisted around a little. There was a scene in the movie that renewed my love for the same scene in the book (aka the scene which starts off this fic and really affected me emotionally), which is something that I'm sharing only because we know now in movie-verse that Draco doesn't love Voldemort, he kind of loves his father, but the person who means the most to him is his mommy. D'awww.

That, um, affected this chapter.

Draco Malfoy was not very fond of the room under the drawing room. The Boggart they dealt with in short order this time, and Draco didn't even worry about Potter noticing the long yellow claws of the cloaked thing that swooped at them with too many arms and no head.

Lucius had been upset that Potter wanted to bring so many people, although possibly it was the fact that Arthur Weasley had been included that really undid his pride. Even now, Weasley and his son were looking around and practically gloating. If Draco'd had any say in who got to come, those two would have been the first ones crossed off the list, but he hadn't.

"Right," said Potter. "We're listing everything here today. We'll have to deal with it later, after we've done a bit of research on what everything is. If you can tell immediately what it is, write down its name. Do not touch anything, even if you think you know what it is. We already know there are curses on some of the objects."

Lovegood, too, was there, in all her madness.

"Good heavens," she said, pointing at something, "is that the lost Sheath of Wieland the Wary?"

"No," said Draco, "that's my grandfather's. Go right on ahead and touch it, if you want to die a horrible painful death."

She wrote something down on her clipboard. Draco watched her tuck a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear and frown at the parchment.

"Do you, by any chance, know the effects of the curse?" she asked.

"Er, no," said Draco.

Lucius had stepped into the room as well while they weren't looking. "Your skin will fall off," he said coolly.

"Ah," said Lovegood, writing something down. "Exotergum charm. Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

"I thought you said you didn't want to be here," said Draco.

"I didn't like the thought of... outsiders pawing through my things, unsupervised," said Lucius, and Draco knew he had originally meant, "blood traitors" but had refrained.

"Oh, I absolutely understand," said Lovegood sincerely. "I hate people going through my things, too, Mr. Malfoy. It is distressing, isn't it?"

Draco wondered if she wasn't mocking them. Lucius certainly thought so, his expression twisting into the sneer that was a tell-tale sign he was about to say something cruel. But there wasn't an insincere bone in her body, that much Draco knew. His father wouldn't know that, though. Potter, seemingly sensing the tension, put a hand on Lovegood's shoulder.

"Luna, Ron's doing this section of the room," he said. "D'you mind doing that corner? Malfoy... I guess I mean Draco, will go with you and help you identify things."

"Of course not," she said, smiling, and carefully stepping over a mirror that blocked her way. Draco stared at Potter in disbelief.

Weasleys Sr. and Jr. were about ten feet away, although in separate quadrants of the room, they were close enough to chat about what they were doing.

"Luna, at least, means well," said Potter. "I'll thank you to not antagonize my friends."

Lucius frowned after her, not apologizing, not even acknowledging Potter.

"Odd," he said, "I believe I went to school with her father... a most peculiar man. The resemblance is uncanny."

"Draco, are you coming?" called Lovegood. "Only I'm over here now, and you aren't. Harry was too polite to say he was sending me away from your father, I think, but he really did mean for you to come with me."

"I think you'd best go," said Lucius.

Draco made his way across the room to find her. She looked rather young, he suddenly reflected, not old enough to be away from school. Not that school was starting up until the year after next. Hogwarts would need to be rebuilt, protections put in place again. It was best, or so said the letter the students had all received, that they all take a break to be with their families again, to cherish the people they loved after the horrific events of the war.

"Well, Lovegood," he said, "what first?"

"Luna," she said. "Nobody calls me 'Lovegood.' It's not very pleasant, I don't care for it."

"We're not friends," Draco reminded her.

"No," she said thoughtfully. "But all the same, I prefer to be called Luna, if that's all right with you."

She re-tucked her hair behind her ear, and Draco saw that she was agitated. He wouldn't say nervous, because Love- Luna didn't get nervous or frightened. Just uncomfortable. He remembered that at school she'd always been rather unliked, and just weird. She had begun to write down in the "description" column on the far right of the parchment she was keeping on the clipboard, because Draco hadn't said anything.

"I don't like it here," she confided, breaking the silence, smiling suddenly and gesturing (such small hands, Draco thought) to the piles of Dark artifacts surrounding her. "It's unpleasant. It has a bad feeling to it, don't you think? Rather like everything in here wishes you were gone."

"This was my favorite place to explore as a child," Draco told her bluntly. "But it's creepy," he added. "And after a while, not being able to touch anything is sort of boring to an 9 year old. I haven't been down here in years."

She nodded.

"I think I've catalogued the descriptions of several of these things," she said. "Why don't you tell me if they have names, and curses?"

"Okay," said Draco.

She pointed things out, and Draco explained to her all the gruesome punishments for touching each of them in turn, if he knew them, and if he didn't, she made a note to ask Lucius about them in the form of a small, odd shape next to each of the descriptions.

"How do you know all of this?" she asked.

"My dad," said Draco. "There used to be a list, but when he was beginning to be suspected of having this place- long back in my second year, I think- he burnt it."

"Ah," said Luna. "Very clever."

She began to write down more descriptions.

"Harry tells me he's teaching you how to create a Patronus," she said conversationally. "Very ambitious of you. It took me weeks to learn. That was in fourth year, though, so it wouldn't be very difficult for you, I expect."

"Is he telling everyone?"

Luna thought, which apparently involved tilting her head to the side and looking up at the ceiling.

"Well," she said, "everyone who matters. Don't worry, though, we're all quite impressed."

Draco scowled. He didn't really know how to explain to her that he didn't give a rat's arse if they were all impressed, and more importantly, he didn't really want to explain it. Potter had been right when he'd said that Luna was completely sincere. Draco would have once taken this as a reason to be absolutely cruel to her, and indeed had on more than one occasion, but at the moment, "bonkers but courteous" ranked more highly on his list of people to be polite to than "hates my guts."

It's just good politics, Draco told himself. A way to gain respect back. Not that Luna respected him, far from it. But she didn't hate him, and that was a better place than most to start.

"So," said Luna, "I need you to start telling me the names of things again. Let's start with that shield over there."

They worked in this way for quite a while, with Luna occasionally asking him if one of the things she pointed at was some rare mythical mad-sounding object. It never was, of course, but she kept asking.

Lunchtime came and went, sandwiches in the kitchen that Granger had procured from some Muggle shop she'd Apparated to. Draco had been hesitant at first, but was won over by the fact that the sandwiches were delicious.

"Where'd you get these from, 'Mione?" asked Potter. "They're amazing." She smiled, catlike, and Draco was dismayed to notice that the dental problem he'd teased her about for years was suddenly gone. When had that happened?

Luna inspected her sandwich thoughtfully, peeling back layers of lettuce and tomato

"Not telling."

"Can I know?" said Weasley, around a rather large bite.

Granger glanced at him coyly. Enough was enough. Draco had to take a stand.

"Eurgh," said Draco. "None of that while we're eating. Granger, Weasley, take your torrid love affair away from the table."

The atmosphere suddenly went frigid, and Draco felt vindicated. Things had been getting too... homey.

"Don't like it, leave," said Potter, not even looking at him.

"Can't," said Draco. "House arrest, remember?"

"Get up," said Potter. "Malfoy, we're going to have a chat outside."

"Ooh," said Draco, "quaking in my shoes."

But he followed Potter out. They walked far enough down the hallway that they couldn't be heard from the kitchen, though he saw as he was leaving that Weasley and Granger were fishing out of their pockets interesting-looking artifacts that he recognized from the Weasley's prank shop, little ear-shaped things with strings. If he squinted, he could just see them poking out underneath the door.

"What," said Potter flatly, "is your problem?"

"You know my problem," said Draco, inexplicably pleased at how mad he'd made Potter. "It's the same as it's ever been. I can't stand you or your little troupe. It's maddening that you're in my house. To be fair to Granger, though, those sandwiches were impressive."

"Good thing you think so," said Potter, "your parents paid for them."

"Oh," said Draco, finding that this did in fact deflate his spirits.

Although flushed and upset was a fabulous look for Potter, Draco thought. It made his cheeks pinker, and that set off his eyes rather impressively. Which was not to say that his eyes weren't impressive under normal circumstances, startlingly bottle-green the way that they were. And Potter was all too close, hands balled into fists at his sides. God, Draco thought, his bosom's probably heaving under all those robes... hilarious. He even gets pissed like the main character of a romance novel.

Out loud, he said, "So what are you going to do, Potter? Are you going to up my security? Invite more disasters like Longbottom to guard over me? Or are you going to quit giving me Patronus lessons?"

"No," said Potter. "I'm not going to do anything to you. I've already informed you. You're on thin ice, Malfoy. You seem to be determined to go to Azkaban. You talk a good game, but you wouldn't like it there, I can promise you that. But being rude isn't illegal, and I can't do it."

"I don't know," said Draco, having found a place to pick at and unable to keep himself from picking at it. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he berated himself, but for the moment, he just couldn't shut his mouth. "I mean, I'm actively causing you problems and hindering you from doing your jobs. I haven't done anything to help you- " except that time I didn't explain to Aunt Bellatrix who you were, and that doesn't even really count- "so really it's just my mom keeping me out."

Potter glared at him.

"Your mum lied," he said, and that threw Draco off. "For me, during the battle. I don't know why she didn't want to tell you."

"What?" Draco asked stupidly.

He was unsettled and unsure if he wanted to continue this line of discussion. Potter's mouth twisted into an upset rather than angry frown, and he wasn't glaring so much anymore as looking guilty.

"You weren't there," said Potter. "Voldemort... killed me, or tried to."

Draco stared at him, uncomprehending. Avada Kedavra had failed a second- no, third time?

"Protective magic," said Potter, "because my mother died for me. But your mother was just as brave. She lied to Voldemort for you, to the most accomplished Legilimens in the world. So Voldemort didn't know until later that I wasn't dead. She wanted to be able to get back to the castle as part of the conquering army, so she could find you."

Draco sank to the floor, crouching against the wall, unable to stand anymore. He'd seen what happened to those who lied to the Dark Lord. He didn't just kill them, he tortured them, until they were screaming and bleeding and begging for death, and even then, he kept them alive as an example.

His mother had seen it, too. They'd seen it together, cringed at the horror of it.

He closed his eyes, trying very hard not to picture what would have happened if his mother hadn't been a good Occlumens.

"I know she didn't want to tell you," said Potter, "but I don't know why."

"You wouldn't understand," snapped Draco, all the anger from before rushing back. "She didn't want to tell me because she knows I'm angry about how things went. She didn't think I was a full-on Voldemort supporter at the time, but she knew I agreed with some of it. She didn't want to tell me because she doesn't know that by the end of it, I was at least as sick of it as she was, because I couldn't tell her, you see? She didn't want to tell me because she thinks I'd be angry if I knew that she'd turned against Voldemort in the end, and that she'd basically put us in the situation we're in now."

Potter, who had sat down next to him, looked stunned. He stared at Draco, slack-jawed.

"Oh, do go on looking like a stunned deer," said Draco frostily, "it's ever so charming. Excuse me."

Renewed, he leapt to his feet. Potter followed, and Draco took off down the corridor. Potter tried to follow him, but as Draco was much taller and had a much longer stride, he had a difficult time of it. He was practically jogging by the time Draco realized he didn't want Potter to follow him. He stopped.

"No," said Draco, "you stay here. Go talk to Weasley and Granger and tell them I'm very sorry or something. Thank Granger for the sandwiches for me, I don't even care, tell them we're besties and planning a bloody sleepover. I have to go talk to my mother."

Potter gaped at him. Draco began to walk again. Potter called after him.

"You aren't... angry at her, are you?"

"Not at all," said Draco. "Promise. Honest to God, no sarcasm here. I am off to thank my mother."

He glanced back at Potter, who was staring at him with a bemused smile on his face, like he didn't really know why he was smiling or even if he ought to be.

Huh, Draco thought, never seen that one before.

"Are you actually sorry?" asked Potter, although Draco was almost out of hearing range.

"Sure, why not," Draco called back loudly. "Maybe the Blast-Ended Skrewts will even fly someday, who knows?"

"Mum," said Draco, flinging open the door to the room where she usually was during the day and catching her and Lucius in a kiss. "Oh, God! Disgusting!"

They broke it off, rolling their eyes. If Draco was completely honest with himself, it was nice, he supposed, that they were still so in love. But on the other hand, they were also old. And his parents.

"Draco," said Narcissa disapprovingly, though she and Lucius stepped apart.

"I just wanted to say," he said, "Potter just told me. About what you did at the Battle of Hogwarts."

She went pale.

"Thank you," he said, and he meant it, more than he'd ever meant anything else. "Mum, I really... I really don't know how to thank you enough. It was brave of you and you saved us all. God, you're practically a Gryffindor. That might've been the bravest thing a Malfoy's ever done. And, you know, it's a good thing, when the Malfoys do that. Not like when the Potters do it, when it's just Gryffindor posturing."

His parents raised their eyebrows at one another. Lucius sighed, and Narcissa stifled a snort.

"I'm of the noble house of Black, darling," his mother reminded him, though she was beginning to cry.

"The bravest thing a Black's ever done, then," Draco amended. "I mean it, Mum, you shouldn't have been afraid to tell me about it. I really- you knew about the things he'd done, the way he dealt with liars- and you did it anyway."

She swooped down on him in a hug.

"Mum," he whined, pushing her off and then deciding, oh, why not. He hugged her back. She seemed so small, suddenly, not like when he was young. Lucius caught his eye, and smiled. They were on eye level, Draco realized. That, too, had happened in the last year.

"In the end," said Draco, "I guess- I couldn't tell you, because, you know, he was there, but it was awful. I hated it. I hated him. I don't like Mudbloods much either, but I'll take my chances with Granger any day."

"I feel the same way, darling," said Narcissa.

They let go.

"Right," said Draco, "so that's settled then. That's all."

He left them as suddenly as he'd come in.

Back to the room under the drawing room, he found Luna hard at work again. Lucius, too, was back, and talking with the Weasleys. He was sneering and posturing, and Draco felt it best to stay away. He really did hope his father wouldn't get into another fight, though, but mostly because it was pretty likely that in here a particularly strong punch would get someone knocked into something that would melt their brain out their ears.

Luna, on the other hand, was chatting incessantly.

"This is absolutely fascinating," she said, "I recognize these pieces. That's a 14th century carving from Agapetus the Apt, who once bit his own toe off in order to spare himself from the frightening Toe-Eating Gurglytum, and that's a 17th century work by Damiana the Daring, who modelled it after the chimaera she'd fought in her hometown when she was five."

"Disregarding the fact that neither of those stories are true," said Draco, who knew for a fact that the first carving was from the 18th century and the second from the 11th, and that wasn't even considering the ridiculous stories that Luna had told about the made-up creators, "why would he have bitten off his own toe in order to spare himself from the Toe-Chomping Whatsit? Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose?"

Luna stared at him with large, astonished eyes.

"Of course they're true," she said, sounding wounded, and then he actually felt bad. It was all of this Gryffindor bravery going around in his family. Evidently you could catch morals like they were the flu.

"Er," said Draco, "all right. Um. I'll just tell you the curses on them then, shall I?"

"That will do," said Luna, although she still didn't look completely sure if she wanted to listen to him, and that was fair, he supposed.

This continued for the rest of the day. By the end of it, Draco was exhausted, and Luna was beginning to look rather drained, too.

"I had a lovely day," she said, yawning, "but I really think that I'll have to eat dinner and go to bed."

"Same here," said Draco, and then he was surprised that he was making small talk with her, and that he actually had gotten to the point where he'd enjoyed her company. Though honestly, he wasn't sure if she was lying about the "lovely day" part, except that this was Luna, and Luna and lying were alien concepts to one another. Draco hardly knew the girl, but he could tell that much.

"I mean it," said Luna, and then he panicked a little, wondering if she'd read his thoughts. "Mostly, you're extremely unkind, but you really ought to try being nice for a change. It would probably suit you very well. It does suit most everyone, anyway, and I hardly think you're as different from the rest of us as you like to think you are."

She smiled at him, and he wasn't sure what she was expecting. An apology? A promise that he would be nicer?

"Er," he said, "thanks, I guess."

"See?" she said, still smiling. "Anyway, let's call it a day."

He followed her out of the room in silence.

Fenrir sat in the dingy little pub, a little too early, he fancied, because Mulciber wasn't here yet. Edward served him plenty of drinks during the wait, and there were plenty of stains on the walls and floor to wonder about, and werewolves to talk to and buy drinks for. He was quite drunk by the time Mulciber got there.

"Hello," said Mulciber. "So. You saw it?"

"Yeah," said Fenrir. "A Theri- "

Mulciber put out an arm, and Fenrir realized too late that he'd been quite loud.

"Not here," hissed Mulciber.

"Right," said Fenrir. "Listen, I'm in."

Mulciber straightened up, looking cheerful. "Really?"

"Yeah," said Fenrir.

"We can even get... the boy, too, while we're at it," said Mulciber.

Fenrir raised an eyebrow. It was quite a menacing gesture, he knew, he'd practiced it in the mirror. Mulciber shrank back appropriately. Fenrir smiled, knowing that this, too, was frightening.

"Malfoy or Potter?" he asked, in a low whisper. "You can say their names. Like as not, the people in this bar will be supportive. Half of them I'll try to recruit for my army."

Mulciber relaxed a little.

"Both, if you want."

"Oh," said Fenrir, "I do want to. Mostly the Malfoy boy, though."

Mulciber shivered a little.

"Don't like my tastes, do you?" asked Fenrir, genuinely curious, though it did have the effect of Mulciber shaking his head furiously, and that wasn't all bad. "Find them... horrific? Disgusting? Disturbing?"

"No! No, nothing wrong with them, not at all- "

"Oh," said Fenrir, "would've thought differently, should've seen the horror on your face. Maybe you should tone it down a bit. Might give a man the wrong idea. Make enemies where you don't necessarily want 'em."

"Wouldn't want that," said Mulciber.

"Not at all," agreed Fenrir. They stared at each other for a moment in silence. Other normal humans, Fenrir thought with disdain, probably thought Mulciber looked big and frightening. But if you were Fenrir Greyback, you knew that they were all the same, all small and all cowardly, all painfully normal, frightened of anything bigger or stronger or better than them in any way.

"So," he said, feeling bigger and stronger and better than the man sitting before him, "tell me the date, and I'll be there."

He grinned his most feral grin. Mulciber audibly swallowed.