Chapter 9: The Wolf in Wait

The day boy resolved to know the darkness, just as he resolved to know the night girl as his guide; for in the absence of his will, she had been his refuge; and when he spoke of darkness, her eyes glimmered to bring him light. In the wake of his own collapse, he struggled to his feet, determined to master his own bravery, and to sink his teeth into the prospects of the night.

But he, having resolved to wade through the hazards of the dark, took blow after blow from his efforts, brought low by his hazardous expeditions; the grand health, the blessed constitution over which the monster had taken such pains - blessing him with light, and showering him with favor - yielded, and he found himself in pain and misery, a victim of his own wandering. Each day he tried anew to bully his way through the darkness, gloried in his pride, only to find himself collapsed upon the ground, his enfeebled mind drifting helplessly to the night girl's eyes, bright as the sun itself against the punishment of dark.

Alas, he thought, shivering in the night; did his courage amount to but a trick of sunlight on his brain? Was he nothing more than a toy, tossed between the light and the dark? Oh he was, he thought, he was; and what a poor contemptible creature for it.


1998


"I still don't think this was a very good idea, Mione," Ron sighed, leaping to her side as he heard a crack from a branch nearby. "This isn't exactly my happy place."

"Well we didn't come to get happy, did we?" Hermione countered, nudging him with her elbow and flashing him a look of impatience. "You said you were bored, and anyway, I can't stand it anymore." She shuddered. "It's been a month, and nobody's - "

She broke off. Nobody's put him to rest, she thought, but couldn't gather the necessary strength to say the words. They felt heavy in her throat, sticky; a pill she would never manage to swallow. "Think about what he did for Dobby," she choked out, fighting the constant sting behind her eyes. "And how nobody has even thought to - "

Ron let his hand slip to her wrist, gripping it tightly. "You know I agree with you," he murmured quietly, letting his fingers twine comfortingly between hers. "You know I feel the same way."

She sighed, closing her eyes and forcing her grief aside.

"I know," she said finally, removing her hand from his and straightening briskly. "I just wish you would stop complaining." He opened his mouth to argue and she cut him off with a firm slicing gesture. "I know precisely how many times you almost died here, Ronald, I do not need you to remind me - "

Ron cut her off with a whimper. "What was that?" he asked, craning to look through the trees. "Did you hear that?"

Hermione huffed indignantly, swallowing her nerves and channeling her pain into purposeful, brusque annoyance. "You'll have to stop hiding from your own shadow," she informed him, yanking him along behind her. "We can't spend all day here, you know."

Ron remained unconvinced. "I'm telling you," he insisted, "I heard something - "

"I'm sure you did," Hermione said, now starting to wonder if she also heard something, or if Ron was just needlessly infecting her with paranoia. "This is a forest, Ronald, I don't know what kind of atmosphere you are expecting, but noises are part of the - "

She cut off, hearing a loud crack, and Ron yelped, clinging to her side.

"Hermione," he began, "I really think we should - "

"Shh," she warned, squinting. She was beginning to rethink her decision not to use a disillusionment charm, which was followed by the commensurate pang she felt at the thought of no longer having the invisibility cloak.

No cloak only meant no Harry, and it stung every time to remember.

"Homenum Revelio," she whispered experimentally.

Nothing. She and Ron looked at each other.

"So very human of you," a dispassionate voice muttered, speaking low behind her; she and Ron jumped, clutching each other in alarm.

"Who's there?" Ron demanded, his voice a tad squeakier than usual.

A man's naked torso appeared from behind the trees as they turned. Hermione blinked in startled confusion, taking a moment to process firstly that it was a centaur, and secondly that it was someone she knew.

"Quite a limiting spell, don't you think?" Magorian prompted smoothly, his deep voice simultaneously impatient and indifferent. "Inconceivably arrogant of you," he added, as Hermione's gaze flicked from his haughty, proud face to his quiverful of arrows.

"Magorian," she broached anxiously, hoping - illogically, as she knew better - that he did not hold a grudge from the last time they'd seen each other. "How - how are you?"

"You know each other?" Ron whispered anxiously in her ear.

"Not well," she murmured back, biting her lip apprehensively. Magorian had been willing to spare her last time, two years ago, when he still considered her a child; but now, surely the same could not be said. He would not find her a foal by any estimation.

"What are you doing here?" Magorian asked, crossing his arms. Hermione looked around nervously, catching the forms of four or five other centaurs as they appeared from behind the trees; she recognized Ronan, who had been among the more indulgent from their last encounter, but she also saw Bane, the hard-faced grey centaur for whom she had certainly not managed to say the right things.

"Um," Hermione said slowly, "I - " she broke off, looking at Ron, who nodded encouragingly. "I was just trying to, um - "

Ronan's gloomy, doleful voice cut in, disrupting her floundering thoughts. "Magorian," he said quietly, addressing the member of his herd, "do you not recognize her?"

At that, Hermione had to fight a painful gulp of fear. "I'm so sorry," she said quickly, "I know that the last time we encountered each other, I was somewhat" - she broke off, looking again at Ron, who was, predictably, no help at all - "er, ignorant, I suppose would be the best word - "

"You know as well as I the stars have changed, Magorian," Ronan continued mournfully, ignoring her. "Things are not as we foresaw."

"You think she is the girl?" Bane scoffed gruffly, drawing himself up and pawing agitatedly at the ground. "But this is not the boy."

"No," Magorian agreed, narrowing his eyes. "This is certainly not the boy."

"I don't know why," Ron whispered in Hermione's ear, "but I think I might be insulted."

"The truth is," Hermione ventured, shrugging free of Ron's grip on her arm and attempting to be gentler than she'd been in the past, "we are here because - "

God, it still hurt to think about.

"Because," she sighed, closing her eyes briefly as she took a preparatory breath, "we are looking for - "

"Hermione?"

Her eyes fluttered open, recognizing the voice.

"No," she whispered, reaching back for Ron; he, too, was dumbfounded, his arm limp in her grasp. "Ron," she said, forgetting the centaurs entirely in her breathless disbelief. "Ron, tell me that isn't - "

"Don't worry, guys," Harry said amicably to the centaurs, offering a small, respectful bow to Magorian before turning back to his friends, grinning. "I've got this one."


2005 (Present)


Hermione opened her eyes slowly; the fire had dwindled to ash, and Draco's shallow breaths were warm against her ear. For a moment she didn't move, rendered frozen by the amount of light that streamed in through the window; it took a moment for her to catch her breath, squinting as the sun warmed the carpet beside her.

Her initial thought upon adjusting to the light was to consider that the room was very much him. It was sparsely decorated, but every item in the room practically gleamed with wealth, all of it - from the richly embroidered rug to the jewel-toned upholstery of a set of Victorian looking high-backed chairs - nearly as gilded as he was.

Her second thought, which she made a point to cling to, was that she should not make the very foolish mistake of thinking she knew him well enough to make those types of assertions.

"Where do you think he was?"

She turned with a sharp inhale, meeting Harry's questioning glance.

"I don't know," she said slowly, glancing over Draco's sleeping form. "He did not feel the need to inform me."

"Surely you must have a guess," Harry suggested, reaching one hand out to nudge her encouragingly. He was sitting cross-legged beside her, his head tilted curiously. "It's not like you to not have some thoughts on the matter."

She sighed, making an effort to sit up. "Well," she ventured, glancing down at the fresh scar on Draco's abdomen as she propped herself up on her elbows, "given the wood, somewhere with trees, I expect."

She gave Harry a particularly impudent smirk and he, in exchange, offered her a withering look. "Enjoy that, did you?" he asked sarcastically. "Feeling clever?"

"Stupid question, stupid answer," she supplied, shrugging.

He chuckled. "It wasn't actually a stupid question," he informed her, giving her a knowing look.

She ignored him.

"I thought about the centaurs again," she said instead, remembering. She turned to look at Harry. "I'd forgotten what they said to me right before we found you."

"Which part?" Harry asked.

"The part where they knew who I was," Hermione recalled thoughtfully.

"You'd met before," Harry reminded her. "Umbridge, remember? And first year, with Hagrid."

"Right," Hermione agreed softly, nodding. "But they didn't seem to mean it that way."

He lifted a questioning eyebrow. "You think they meant, like" - he gestured unconvincingly - "prophetically? Like, the planets, or something?"

Mars is bright tonight, she thought, biting back a smile.

"Did they ever say anything to you?" Hermione asked, still trying to remember. "I didn't see them again after we set up camp."

"Initially they did," Harry said slowly, and Hermione recalled having discussed it with him once before; sometime during the good days, she thought with a sigh, picturing the three of them laughing beside the campfire.

"I had thought it was just that you had been kind to them in the past," Hermione said slowly, "but there was more, wasn't there?" She felt her pulse quicken, like she was tripping over something she'd forgotten. "There was something else, something about you - " she paused, looking sharply at him. "They helped you because they knew you were part of something, didn't they?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but promptly shut it as Draco stirred, his eyes slowly opening. Draco seemed startled for a moment, looking around like he'd forgotten where he was; he moved to sit up and promptly stiffened, wincing through his pain.

"Fuck me," he muttered, reaching to grip his side. "Fucking - ouch."

Hermione glanced warningly at Harry; he nodded his understanding, shifting behind her and fading from view.

"Here," she offered, reaching behind her for the small bottle of Dittany and handing it to Draco. "You'll want more of that."

"Thanks," Draco muttered, struggling to sit up. He looked around the room, looking a bit like his mind was still swimming. "Were you talking to someone?"

"No," Hermione said, not meeting his eye. No one here.

He looked for a moment like he might question her further, but was obviously distracted by his own discomfort. "Fuck, this is going to be a struggle," he said, grimacing in pain.

She offered him a sympathetic glance, but opted not to speak.

"If you feel inclined to be less incapacitated, now would be the time," he mumbled gruffly - though not unkindly, she noted. "Going to have to - " he broke off, tipping back slightly as he tried to force himself to his feet. "Or not," he sighed, thinking better of his efforts and instead opting to reach into his pocket for his wand.

Hermione's breath caught for a moment as he withdrew it; it had been so long since she'd last held a wand, she realized, her gaze drifting mournfully to the thin curves of the wood. She barely remembered the last spell she'd cast but she could never forget the feel of it under her fingers; it was always like the first time, like the day in Ollivander's, like the day she'd heard the words that changed her life - you're a witch, Hermione - and she ached for it, the magic rushing through her veins -

And to think, she realized, the thought bleeding slowly into her consciousness, the whole time, it was right there . . .

He seemed to feel her staring and he glanced at her, his grey eyes narrowing in a vaguely fearful curiosity. She instantly averted her eyes, hoping he had not chosen that moment to try legilimency on her. She suspected he would not appreciate the momentary visual she'd had - wand in her hand, air in her lungs, feet pounding on pavement -

Not that she could go anywhere. Not in this world.

Not without him.

For practical purposes, of course, she amended quickly, remembering life on the run with a hazy grimace. This was no longer a world she knew how to navigate.

She held her breath as he moved to raise his wand and stopped, his face contorting in pain as he made to push himself up and wave it in a single, disjointed motion; instinctively she reached out, resting her hand gently on his shoulder.

"Can you?" she asked softly, trailing off as his eyes met hers.

For a moment he simply stared at her, his expression etched with misery, hardened with pain and doubt; she met his gaze without looking away.

I can help you.

He said nothing. She spoke volumes.

I want to help you.

After a moment he seemed to soften, his eyes scanning her face like he was looking for meaning in it; for a moment he seemed to find it, and she wondered if he would.

If he would offer her the wand; if he would let her take it -

If he would close the space between them; she could feel already his breath ghosting across her lips. If he wanted to, he could just -

She blinked, unable to decide what she longed for more. She couldn't determine which of her wants was more enticing; couldn't distinguish which need had prompted the rush of blood in her ears or the shiver up her spine. She waited, breathless, wondering if he would.

And then there was a loud tap at the window behind them as an owl appeared, rapping its beak unceremoniously against the glass.

"Fuck," Draco swore, flinching at the interruption; Hermione pressed a hand to her chest, trying to soothe the vigorous thudding in her chest.

Foolish, she thought, scolding herself. The breath she'd been holding escaped her lips in a shallow, startled sigh that was, in a single exhale, both disappointment and relief.


Draco dragged his gaze away from Granger's lips and flicked his wand towards the window, grunting a little at the twisting motion but reminding himself he'd have no choice later on; he'd have to hide the injury if he meant to carry on without suspicion. The owl gave a low, disapproving hoot but consented to bring him the envelope, dropping it in his lap and then giving a haughty shake before departing.

He shouldn't have been surprised by its contents; in fact, perhaps he wasn't.

The Manor. This evening.

You had better be able to explain.

LM

He groaned, throwing the note aside. An explanation was the one thing he decidedly did not have, which meant he would have to track down Theo first.

He shifted his weight away from Granger, trying to force himself upright; he managed to stand with an audible growl of pain, leaning onto an ivory Baroque side table that was about as sturdy as he was. Granger, for her part, watched him closely before coming to her feet. She rose shakily; but still, she managed it.

We always rise, he thought, watching the determination in her expression and trying not to openly marvel.

"I have some errands to run," he muttered, trying not to think of her fingers as they fluttered uncertainly towards her lips; either of them digging into his hips, embedding themselves in his skin, or resting delicately on his chest, held tightly in his. "If you can make it upstairs I'll bring you something," he added, a little hoarsely. His voice was gruff and chalky and he swallowed, forcing himself not to be distracted by the way she was looking at him.

Not that he succeeded. She stared, and he stared back.

"Yes?" he prompted.

She considered him for a moment before speaking.

"Don't apparate," she said, and something in him leapt at the instructiveness of her tone. For a moment he pictured her as he remembered her, in the scarlet gleam in her school robes; oddly, in the back of his mind he heard Slughorn's voice: take twenty points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger!

"Why not?" he asked, pointedly fighting a smile for purposes of experimentation.

She frowned. "You're hurt," she noted, making a tiny, delicate gesture to his wound. "You shouldn't apparate."

"Why not?" he asked again, stepping towards her. It was a challenge, he decided; he wondered again if she would rise, stopping inches away from where she stood.

"Apparition while injured is foolish," she mumbled, her brows furrowed, "you'll only - "

She looked up, recognizing his proximity to her and cutting herself off.

"Why not?" he murmured softly, holding his breath.

Her eyes met his. "You could get hurt," she whispered, raising a hand and placing it carefully on his chest.

For a moment he wondered if she would lean towards him; he half-swayed towards her as though a breeze in the room had compelled him but then she lightly nudged him back, pushing him away.

He stared after her as she walked, making her way slowly to the stairs. She only looked back once, a moment before ascending the first step, her face thoughtful and calm; he opened his mouth to say something - he didn't know what - but before he did, she'd turned away, leaning on the banister as she gradually disappeared from sight.


Hermione heard footsteps behind her and recognized the sound of his long, even stride. She closed her eyes, still fighting the pang of something sharp and painful in her chest.

"You know you can't trust him."

She sighed, turning away from their campsite to face him. "Bill," she offered quietly.

"Don't forget what he is," Bill warned, taking her wrist to pull her into his arms. "Don't forget what he's done," he said in her ear, his lips brushing against her hair.

"It wasn't him," she argued, but she consented to rest her cheek against his chest. "He wasn't the one who killed her."

Every thought of Fleur was filled with tension. Regret, always; she'd never particularly cared for the other woman. Followed by guilt.

Followed by envy, she thought, filling her nose with the sharp, oaky smell of him.

"He's got their Mark on his wrist," Bill reminded her. "He believes what they believe."

You cling to righteousness of blood, but in the end, don't you still bleed?

She pictured Draco's blood and fought a rush of something she couldn't identify; she chose instead to shake the thought away.

"I know you miss her," Hermione sighed tangentially.

She'd intended to be sympathetic, but Bill pulled away in fury, his face contorted in anguish. "I don't miss her," he spat, glaring at her like she'd said something unforgivable; like she'd deigned to make a triviality of his pain.

"A part of me died with her," he informed her, gripping her chin tightly in his hand. "A piece of me is gone because of her."

Hermione looked down, feeling the sting of what she'd always known. The twisted love of someone broken had never made anyone whole.

He, seeming to recognize the impact of his words, pulled her towards him again, softening. "Everything else I had I gave to you," he whispered to her, but by then she was stiff and rigid in his arms.

Imagine if that had ever been enough, she thought, but the idea was laughable. She said nothing.

"He may not have spoken the Avada, but he killed her," Bill continued, still intent on lecturing. "He and everyone like him. He and everyone who believed what they did." His voice was angry and cold.

"And me," he added softly, an afterthought. "For not being there."

An unhealthy view of things. Not that she thought it was worth anything to say so; not that she hadn't said so countless times before.

"Don't ask me to hate him," Hermione said instead, thinking of the iron flash in Draco's eyes, his breath on her lips.

"You should," Bill returned, his voice low with animosity. "If not for her sake, then for yours."

"Things are different," Hermione reminded him, pulling away to look him in the eye. "We are not the only ones who've suffered."

If she'd expected empathy, she could see she'd been a fool. She found none.

"Good," Bill spat venomously, not looking at her. "Let him suffer too. Let him suffer like I suffered. Let him suffer like you suffered."

When his blue eyes fixed on hers she felt a slow, icy frost course through her veins, the force of it infecting her lungs and reducing her to silence.

"Don't you dare forget what you've been through," he reminded her, his voice just above a whisper. "Don't you dare forget everything they took from you. When you are adding the sum of his parts, don't you dare discount the brand of hatred he let them burn into his arm."

"I don't," she murmured, half-defensively. "I wouldn't."

Bill was watching her now; she waited, dreading whatever came next.

"I loved you," he said, and she felt a lurch in her chest at the words; it would have been hope, it would have been satisfaction, but the look in his eyes, piercing and cold, was chilling and ominous. He wasn't done, and she waited.

"I wasn't good to you or for you, but I gave you what I had," he said quietly, "and you took it." She shuddered, suffering the blow of the statement. "Don't forget that I taught you how to take."

"Bill," Hermione said, aghast. "How can you - "

"Take what you need and nothing else," Bill interrupted, pressing his lips to her cheek. "I know you can," he whispered, and she thought she might cry. "I taught you how."


Draco stepped out of the floo, teeth gritted; the pain had gotten worse throughout the morning and it was becoming increasingly clear that it would take more than Dittany to get him through this injury.

"Theo," he choked out, gripping the mantle and doubling over slightly. "Theo, get me - "

"For the pain, Lord Malfoy," Theo offered smoothly, rising from the sofa to hand him a small vial. "How are you?"

Draco shook his head miserably before removing the stopper, tossing his head back and grimacing as the potion trudged its way down his throat. "Tremendous," he determined grimly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"About as expected," Theo agreed, shrugging. "Did she use the Dittany?"

"You gave her that?" Draco asked, startled.

"Unless she brewed her own," Theo countered obnoxiously. Draco glared at him.

"Did you talk to her?" he demanded, feeling at once a rush of relief as the potion's effects settled in and a wave of dread at the idea that Granger would have withheld information from him. "Did you - "

"Let me interrupt you right there and remind you that not only did I save your fucking life," Theo declared, a little too smugly for Draco to fully appreciate the statement, "but I also dealt with our mess from yesterday." He looked pointedly at Draco. "And you didn't even think to bring me flowers."

"Thanks," Draco grunted.

"For?" Theo prompted, crossing his arms and waiting.

"For the life saving and the mess cleaning," Draco mumbled, sighing petulantly. "But," he began emphatically, remembering the knot in his stomach, "did you talk to her? Because - "

"Are you going to ask me about what I went through on your behalf yesterday?" Theo replied, looking more entertained at Draco's expense than Draco would particularly wish him to be. "Personally, I would have a few other things on my mind."

"Must not have been too difficult if you can sit here being all Theo about it," Draco muttered, moving past Theo to collapse on the sofa, already exhausted with the prospect.

"There were some falsehoods," Theo supplied, nudging him aside and taking a seat. "A number of half-truths, a bit of blatant fuckery - "

"What did you say?" Draco prompted, rolling his eyes. "Just - out with it, would you?"

"Lucky for us," Theo said obligingly, "One Blaise Zabini, Potionmaster Extraordinaire, was also not able to account for some of his time before returning to the castle. For personal reasons." His laughing gaze flicked to Draco's.

"Okay," Draco said indifferently.

"Because he was fucking Warrington," Theo supplied unnecessarily.

"I gathered," Draco sighed, shaking his head. "So, what then? You had Blaise lie for us?"

"Oh, don't make me sound so dirty," Theo sniffed. "It was a group lie. Mutually beneficial."

"I doubt Blaise was happy about necessitating a group lie," Draco commented, laughing inwardly despite the situation being fairly humorless.

"He decidedly was not," Theo agreed, shrugging. "I was able to get to him before anyone at the Ministry checked into the missed portkey, though. Bureaucracy," he added, shaking his head. "You'd think a despotic overlord would fucking speed things up a bit, but no."

"Theo," Draco warned.

"Anyway," Theo continued briskly, "I was able to alert Blaise that we had missed the portkey and apparated illegally from Hogsmeade, and he vouched for us. Said we'd all collectively lost track of time. Something real fucking smooth like that."

"And that's it?" Draco prompted. "What, a slap on the wrist?"

"Well, aside from owing Blaise favors for the rest of my surely unpleasant life, I think we managed," Theo confirmed. "Only," he added, his green eyes suddenly uncharacteristically serious, "if nothing else contributes to our folder of misdeeds."

"'Folder of misdeeds'?" Draco echoed dubiously. "Is that a thing?"

He expected a continuation of Theo's usual banter - there was a folder and some fucking misdeeds, so yeah, Draco, I think the phrase is appropriate - but was surprised to find the other man had sobered considerably, and was now leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Draco," Theo said. "We can't fuck up again."

Those words coming from Theo had a silencing effect; Draco said nothing.

"Wherever you look next, I can't be there," Theo said, turning to look at him. "I'm sorry, but there were a lot of fucking lies. A lot of fucking suspicion, and that's before they work out the timing of Smith's disappearance. Though that may not be for a while," he admitted. "Fucker's not exactly top priority."

"This is a jarring change in attitude," Draco commented uncomfortably.

"There's eyes on us now," Theo said flatly. "We dig ourselves any deeper and we are not coming out of this unscathed."

Cursed from birth, and we taught ourselves to hide.

"So that's it, then," Draco sighed, leaning his head back. He'd tried, hadn't he? Redemption was a privilege, not a right. He supposed he should be satisfied with the effort. Dreamless sleep potion could do the rest.

"Not for you," Theo scoffed.

Draco turned his head sharply. "What?"

"This isn't it for you. You heard those centaurs," Theo noted with a grimace. "It is foretold," he mimicked, his voice low and gloomy.

"I didn't hear anything," Draco corrected, sitting up sharply. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"That's why they let us go," Theo said, eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You really didn't know?"

"I wasn't exactly fucking functional at the time," Draco returned, scowling. "They let us go?"

"Did you think I just muscled us out of there?" Theo asked, throwing his head back with a loud, barking laugh. "Oh, that's excellent. Fucking excellent."

"Would you quit twatting around and tell me what the fu- "

"Grey horse told brown horse," Theo began, then paused. "Or no, wait, maybe the other way around - "

Draco glared at him.

"Right," Theo said. "So. One of them showed up and said they couldn't kill us because you were part of some kind of - I don't know, prophesied event," he ventured, shrugging. "Something about being steeped in sun, and things being written in stars - "

"Steeped in sun?" Draco repeated. A boy, so steeped in sun -

"Inaccurate, I think, considering you're pale as fuck," Theo said impassively, "but yes. So they let us go." He paused thoughtfully. "Well, there was some muscling on my part, as they hadn't fully decided on it, but the call for pause was really the important thing."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Draco asked impatiently. "Why would that mean that I have to - "

"Draco, you are written in the stars," Theo repeated adamantly, not that Draco found the repetition helpful. "These centaurs, they read planets - they fucking, I don't know, see the future," he said emphatically. "You're fucking prophesied, you're - you're fucking foretold - "

"Then I'll still be foretold, whether I chase the ghost of Potter or not," Draco grunted back. "You can't possibly think this is helpful," he added, making a face.

"You found Granger," Theo reminded him. "You stumbled on her, and then she led you to the Forbidden Forest - "

"To a death trap," he mumbled.

" - to a near death trap," Theo corrected, "where a bunch of future-reading centaurs spared your life - "

"Fucking centaurs - "

" - because you're part of something," Theo determined firmly. "Foretold, Draco. You know what else was foretold?"

Draco sighed. "What?"

"The Chosen One," Theo concluded triumphantly, with the highly deluded air - in Draco's opinion - of someone having woven something of substance together. "Potter. You've got to be part of something with Potter."

"That's a leap," Draco pointed out instantly. "You don't know that. They didn't say that."

Theo shrugged. "I inferred."

"Possibly incorrectly," Draco countered. "You're not a centaur. Your view on the future is bollocks at best."

"I'm also brilliant," Theo reminded him, and Draco rolled his eyes. "And onto something."

"Questionable," Draco muttered, though he paused, considering it. There was a certain curiosity involved; and the phrase, the same one on Granger's lips - a boy so steeped in sun -

Theo waited, smirking. Clearly he thought he'd been convincing. Draco sighed impatiently.

"I'd have to know what the fuck they foretold," Draco said slowly, not wanting to spare Theo any credit. "And there's no way I can go back there."

"No, you definitely can't," Theo agreed. "Not without raising a thousand red flags."

"So what, then?" Draco demanded. "What am I supposed to do with your insane fucking theory if I can't even - "

"They're not the only ones who can read the future," Theo interrupted. "They're not even the only centaurs." He was looking meaningfully at Draco. "Perhaps," he added brightly, "there might be someone else who could divine some answers."

Draco rolled his eyes. "What, you mean the Divination instructor?" he scoffed. "Firenze?" Theo nodded, still inappropriately smug. Clearly he had been thinking about this, and to Draco's obvious detriment. "Where would I even find him?"

"Don't know," Theo supplied unhelpfully. "It's a quest."

"Fuck you," Draco said instantly, a gut reaction; then paused. "You really think he's still alive?"

"They seem like a clever bunch, centaurs," Theo offered, shrugging. "I don't see why not."

In spite of himself, Draco looked down in thought. "You don't think - "

" - Granger knows where he is? Don't know," Theo said, grinning mercilessly. "But it seems worth finding out, don't you think?"

Draco sighed, wondering if Granger might have somehow already told him in her cryptic way. Princesses, monsters, fairies; he was starting to lose track of the pieces. He bent over, resting his head between his knees and groaning.

"You should go," Theo realized, glancing up at the clock. "Lucius will be waiting."

"Fuck Lucius," Draco muttered. "I have no fucking idea what I'll tell him."

He pictured Granger's face, her hesitation on the stair, before seeing his father's sneering glare waver at the forefront of his mind. Fail, and you're no son of mine.

"Hey," Theo said, nudging him with his shoulder. "Another thing: don't get attached."

"What?" Draco asked, raising his head and frowning.

"Don't get attached," Theo repeated. "You know who she was. She's not stupid."

Ah, Draco thought. Granger. He remained silent, thinking of her hand on his chest, the light in her eyes. Her fingers, so cool and comforting in his.

"She's not stupid," Theo said again, standing up and gripping Draco's shoulder, pulling him to his feet. "She was smarter than you in school, and now she's seven years older and she's lived through hell. There's a very real chance that it will come down to her life or yours, and you don't know who she is," he warned. "You have no idea what she's made of."

Draco shivered a little at the words.

Yes, fucker. We always rise.

He thought of her fingers digging into his hips. The cold flash in her eyes. The lingering hunger when she looked at his wand.

This is a woman, not a girl.

This is a woman, and someone made her cold.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, the pain in his side beginning to resume its ache. "What makes you think I'd get attached?" he asked airily, aiming for indifference.

Theo grimaced. "Ask me again if I spoke to her," he suggested.

Something in Draco's chest roared angrily at the thought and he looked away, sickened. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Theo smile.

"I didn't," Theo supplied, crossing his arms over his chest. "But consider my point made."


Hermione curled around herself in her bed, staring into darkness.

"Don't tell me you chose to be here," Harry said, looking around the room.

"I did," she replied flatly, burrowing deeper in the blankets and breathing in the faint gardenia scent. "I don't want to remember anything right now."

"You'll have to," Harry said, firm in his gentle way. "You know that."

She sighed. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Who then?" Harry asked.

She shut her eyes. Someone real.

Draco.

"No one," she replied, but then looked up, seeing sorrow stained in his bright green eyes. "I didn't mean it," she amended after a moment, and he nodded.

"It's okay," he said softly. "It's hard for you."

"I miss you," she informed him. "But - "

"I know," he agreed. "I know."


Draco's jaw ached from grinding his teeth in pain; he held his hand tightly at his side, fist clenched.

"Draco," Lucius continued, still pacing the floor, "you have no idea the mess you have created, by virtue of your idiocy, you cast doubt on my own tireless service - "

"It was careless," Draco provided, barely able to speak through the dull, throbbing ache. Did he have potions at home? Surely somewhere. "Irresponsible, yes, but nothing for you to concern yourself with over your reputation, Father - "

"Do you think me a fool, Draco?" Lucius snapped, rounding on him. Draco flinched, looking away. "Do you think there is even a breath you take that does not serve to threaten my reputation?"

Draco swallowed an angry retort, shoving brusquely at his festering resentment. "No."

"And furthermore," Lucius continued, ranting loudly, "do you think I don't see a connection between you claiming the mudblood and then stirring things at the Ministry?" His grey eyes hardened. "Only a week later, Draco, and you think I don't notice?"

"If you see something that concerns you," Draco managed, trying to inconspicuously lean into the pain at his side, "by all means, share."

"I don't know if you are intentionally being obtuse or if you have actually surrendered your faculties to some unknown brain hemorrhage, but I have no patience for your games, Draco," Lucius spat angrily. "You have reflected poorly on me and I will not tolerate it. I cannot sit idly by and watch you - "

"I'm looking for Potter," Draco interrupted, sensing hopelessness and desiring beyond words to exit the conversation. "Granger mentioned he'd lived in the Forest and I was following his tracks."

Lucius paused, mouth still open. "What?"

"She's giving me information and I'm looking for him," Draco repeated, wondering if he was committing a terrible misstep, but choosing to forge ahead blindly. "I'm retracing his steps, and they started in the forest."

"Did you find anything?" Lucius hissed, at once visibly conflicted with his own perverse interest and his pre-existing anger.

"Not yet," Draco said lamely, bringing a hand to his forehead.

"So she's told you he's alive?" Lucius prompted, breathless.

"Yes," Draco lied. What are you doing, Draco; have you fucking thought this through?

Lucius's eyes glinted hungrily. "Have you tried - "

"I know what I'm doing, Father," Draco interrupted bluntly, deciding this was as good a time as any to make an unapologetic exit. He turned on his heel, heading for the fireplace.

"Draco," Lucius called after him. "Draco, if you fail me - "

He didn't need to hear the end of the sentence.

If nothing comes of this, I'll be the one to kill her.

Fail, and you're no son of mine.

Draco muttered his address into the Floo and walked into the fireplace, not looking back.


"He's home," Harry commented, looking up at the sound. "Are you ready?"

"I hate this," Hermione whispered, but held her breath as light flooded in through the door.


She was curled up on the bed and he wondered if he had betrayed her.

There's a very real chance that it will come down to her life or yours, and you don't know who she is.

You have no idea what she's made of.

Didn't he, though?

"It hurts," he told her, and she lifted her chin, looking at him. He waited for her to speak, but she didn't; instead she shifted over, making room for him on the bed.

He sighed, flinching as he moved to lie beside her, turning to look her in the eye.

"Once," she whispered, "there was a sweet little maid, beloved by all; she believed herself fortunate, and glorified in righteousness, and thought herself set apart by virtue, her bravery undiminished by trouble or circumstance."

"Gryffindors," Draco muttered, and he thought he caught a flicker of a smile.

"The maid had a dear friend whom she loved deeply, who lived a ways from the village; and one day, the maid set out to visit her. On her path, she came across a wolf; but knowing, as she did, an absence of fear, she bade him no greeting, nor spared him any concern. She knew well of wolves in the forest, but in her unfailing courage, did not mistake herself at risk."

Forests again, he thought, wincing as he shifted towards her; he pressed a hand to his side, determining he was no longer a fan of trees.

"The wolf, however, recognized her, and knowing of the maid by name. He sought her out, stalking her as she traveled, intent to set upon her as she ventured into the forest. He stole into the cabin in the woods, and ate up the maid's dear love, sparing no word, nor a breath of contrition. Then the wolf sat in wait, his true prize yet to be devoured."

She looked pained, as she always did, and he wondered for the first time how much these stories hurt her. You have no idea what she's made of.

"When the maid appeared in the cabin, she recognized immediately the presence of the wolf, for she was more than righteous; she was clever and cunning herself. As the wolf made to consume her, she turned cold, recognizing her loss, and she turned her anger at the wolf, slitting his throat in vengeance. But the spirit of the wolf entered her, and the maid grew withdrawn, and enflamed with contempt; and in her loss, she turned her life to the hunt, her heart cold as ice in her chest."

She sat up at that, and he mirrored her motion, something in her gaze drawing him towards her. Her hair rested on the thin frame of her shoulders and he reached out, twining a loose curl around his finger.

"I'm sorry," he said, emptied of everything but remorse and pain and a furious, maddening want.

"You should be," she murmured, before brushing her lips against his.

Alas, he thought, shivering in the night; did his courage amount to but a trick of sunlight on his brain? Was he nothing more than a toy, tossed between the light and the dark? Oh he was, he thought, he was; and what a poor contemptible creature for it.


a/n: special thanks to drsallysparrow, her friend Bonnie, and a box of Greek wine. Inspiration from Little Red Riding Hood by the Brothers Grimm. This chapter is dedicated to LittleChmura in honor of our Super Secret Thing™ . . . which you will be hearing more about soon.