Chapter 9: The Exposure

a/n: Ask and you shall receive. Rated M for a reason.

Dudley Dursley knew something was wrong the moment his mother answered the door.

There was a man standing there, a very haggard looking man who appeared aged beyond his years, as though he'd long ago had all hope drained from his face and the color stripped from his prematurely grey hair. He was sporting violet circles under his weary, kind eyes, his pale skin host to countless thin scars across his face - and if his natural physical appearance weren't off-putting enough, Dudley could practically sense the movement of his mother's upturned nose in response to the man's shabby, abnormal clothing.

"Yes?" she asked coldly.

"Hello, Mrs. Dursley," the man said, his voice exceedingly gentle. "I wonder if I might be able to come inside and have a word with you and your husband."

Dudley watched his mother shift anxiously. "And who are you?"

"My name is Remus Lupin," the man replied steadily. "I'm a member of the Order of the Phoenix, an associate of Albus Dumbledore, and I was once a close friend of your nephew Harry's parents."

Petunia's body immediately went rigid. "That boy's not here," she hissed, "and I'll not have my home be taken over by any of your sort again."

"Mum," Dudley interjected, bounding quickly to the door. "Mum, I think we should see what he wants."

He eyed the man carefully, wary of his presence. Harry and the others had made it very clear that they had purposely chosen not to tell the Order of the Phoenix - whoever they were - what had really happened when they'd come back from that wizard school. But as much as Dudley worried this man's motives might be suspect, he felt it was worth the effort to find out.

It was a quiet night, after all.

"You must be Harry's cousin, then? I'm Remus," the man said politely, extending his hand.

Dudley frowned, but clasped the man's hand in return. "Dudley," he offered flatly.

Petunia glanced around guardedly, her brow furrowed over her watery blue eyes. "You can come into the living room," she said, her harsh tone serving as a warning. The translation was obvious: he was an unwelcome intruder, and the living room was, quite definitively, as far as he would get.

"That's more than fair," Remus replied kindly, and Dudley led him inside with a grunt, taking a seat in one of two matching armchairs while gesturing for the stranger to sit on their very formal, very floral couch.

There were several moments of silence before anyone spoke.

"You're looking for Harry," Dudley said pointedly. "Why?"

Remus looked uncomfortable. "Well - have you seen him recently?"

Petunia was perched on the arm of the other chair, looking as though she very much wanted to get the whole exchange over with. "Yes, about a week ago, I'd say," she told him impatiently.

"Was he with anyone?" Remus asked cautiously. "A redheaded boy, perhaps, or a girl with very curly hair?"

Petunia's eyes instantly narrowed. "But you're describing Duddy's friends," Petunia said, puzzled. "Those two, and the third, the boy - "

Remus leaned forward curiously. "Really? A third?"

"They're my friends," Dudley interrupted quickly. "Not Potter's."

"Yes, of course Duddykins," Petunia squawked immediately, her hands flapping.

"And you said they were here a week ago?" Remus prompted, and Dudley frowned. It seemed to him that the man was fishing for information, and frankly, Dudley didn't care for the feeling that he was being tricked.

"Yes, for a couple of days," Petunia said. "Funny, they left the same day he did - "

Dudley growled a little to himself in frustration over his exceedingly unhelpful mother. "Mum," he said loudly. "Would you mind getting some tea?"

She pursed her lips for a moment and looked hesitantly at Remus, who offered her an awkward, tentative smile, but made an eventual soft hum of agreement.

Only after she left did Dudley turn to face their guest.

"You're a wizard, aren't you?" he asked softly, hoping not to attract his mother's attention from the kitchen.

"I am," Remus replied, his voice colored with the faintest note of surprise. "And Harry was here with Hermione and Ron, wasn't he?"

Dudley didn't see the harm in divulging this information if it meant he might be able to ask questions of his own, particularly since his mother had essentially confirmed it already. "Yes."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "And the third friend your mother was talking about?"

This, Dudley knew, could be harmful. He distinctly remembered his cousin's warning to their funny little elf - You can't tell anyone, or give any hints - as well as Draco's early warning - It's really imperative that everybody think I'm dead.

"My friend," Dudley grunted. "Not Potter's."

Remus seemed to be aware that Dudley was lying. "Was he - "

"Why are you looking for Harry?" Dudley interrupted. "Shouldn't you know where he is?"

The older man seemed agitated at the question. "Perhaps I should, yes," he admitted, inclining his head in defeat. "But unfortunately, Harry doesn't seem to have much faith in the Order of the Phoenix right now."

There was something about this man that Dudley inherently wanted to trust. He had the kind of haunted look in his eye that usually indicated the character of someone who meant no harm, whose desperation was driven by something other than malice. Dudley fervently wished he could ask one of the four wizards what to say - particularly the bossy Hermione girl, since she really seemed to have a handle on what they should do at any given time. Though, given Harry's ability to take control of a situation, Draco's cool head, and Ron's comforting assurance, any of them would have been useful. Certainly more useful than Dudley on his own.

He was not prepared for this, he thought, swallowing nervously.

"Has Harry told you about what's going on in our world?" Remus asked carefully. "Has he warned you of the dangers?"

"Dangers?" Dudley asked, leaning forward. "You mean, to me?"

"Yes," Remus said, nodding solemnly. "The dangers for mug- apologies," he said, correcting himself, "non-magic folk, are formidable. And as Harry Potter's only family, I would hazard a guess that you and your parents are singularly at risk."

This wasn't actually news to Dudley. His cousin had already mentioned it once.

"We're still safe until Harry comes of age," Dudley said stiffly, repeating his cousin's words. "We're safe until he turns seventeen."

"And then?" Remus asked, delicately skeptical. "Aren't you worried about what will happen after that?"

Dudley fidgeted uncomfortably. His cousin did not want to be found, he reminded himself. If he had, then he would have told this man where he was.

Right?

"No," he mumbled.

"No?" Remus repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You're not worried about your safety?"

He seemed to be watching Dudley closely. Too closely. Dudley found he could not look up, purely out of fear of revealing too much.

Despite this - or, perhaps, because of it - Remus's eyes seemed to illuminate suddenly, and Dudley recognized with a jolt that this signal of acute comprehension was not a good sign.

He stood abruptly, still avoiding the older man's gaze. "You should go - "

"You're not worried about your safety because you know that Harry's coming back here, isn't he?" Remus asked, his mask of exhaustion suddenly lifting as he took on the tone of a clever detective hot on the trail. "He told you he'd be back, didn't he?"

"You should go," Dudley repeated, walking briskly to the door. "Mum," he called loudly, trying to be heard in the kitchen. "Mum, nevermind the tea - "

"When is he coming?" Remus asked urgently, gripping Dudley's shoulders. "When will Harry be back here? His birthday?"

"I don't know anything," Dudley insisted irritably, wrenching the front door open. "Mum," he yelled again. "Remus is leaving - "

"Dudley, Dudley, listen to me," Remus said feverishly. His voice was hushed as he spoke, and his face was uncomfortably close to Dudley's. "Dumbledore - you've met Dumbledore before, right? Dumbledore is gone - and with Harry gone, the Order has no one - we have nothing - "

"I don't know where he is," Dudley said stubbornly. "I already told you - "

"Please, Dudley, you can trust me - "

"How do I know that?" Dudley asked, his eyes narrowed. "Why should I believe you?"

Remus's grip on him tightened. "I've known Harry since he was a boy, I was his father's best friend - I have nothing but his best interests at heart, I swear it - "

They were interrupted by a loud clatter behind them. "Take your hands off my son!" Petunia shrieked, coming into view with a frying pan held aloft in her right hand.

Remus instantly released his grip on Dudley's shoulder, his face mottled with panic. "Please - if you just tell me where he is, I swear, I could help - I could keep you safe!"

"You need to leave now," Dudley said matter-of-factly, giving the man a not entirely gentle shove out the door. "It was nice meeting you."

"Dudley," Remus pleaded, facing him and leaning into the doorframe. "Dudley - wait! "

But it was too late; Dudley shut the door firmly, turning to lean his head back against it and emitting a heavy sigh.

"What did he want, Duddy?" his mother asked, fretting over him as usual. "Did he upset you?"

"No," Dudley said sluggishly. "I just couldn't help him, that's all."

He felt bad for the man, this Remus person. He seemed sincere, but what did Dudley know? He thought nervously back to the conversation he'd had with his cousin.

"Look," the dark haired boy had said, "We've got to go back to Hogwarts."

"Can't you all just stay here?" Dudley had asked, though he immediately looked away, embarrassed by the unexpectedly pleading lilt to his voice. "Didn't that Dumbledore person say you were safe here?"

Harry frowned. "Well - yes, we're safe here - and you're safe here, at least for now - but still, I can't stay. People will be looking for me here."

Dudley stared at him. "Why? Why do they want to find you?"

Harry hesitated. "It's - it's complicated, Dudley." He gave his cousin a wry smile. "I'm surprised you wouldn't rather be rid of me, honestly."

Dudley shrugged. "You saved my life," he replied easily, a bewildering, naked exposure in his clear and unwavering voice.

"Well, I didn't save your life, I saved your soul - but, that's not the point," Harry said hurriedly. "The point is you're safe here until I turn seventeen. And then I'll come back and make sure you get out of here, okay?"

"But that's in a month," Dudley said, beginning to grow anxious. "What if that Lord Voldy-thing comes here before you're back?"

"He won't," Harry said quickly. "He can't - at least not until I'm of age." He paused. "I'll be back, okay? I promise."

Dudley wished he'd thought to ask more questions. Why hadn't he asked his cousin what to do if one of the Order showed up? He wished he could just call one of them, just to make sure. Had he already given too much away?

He felt helpless, uncertain.

Still - it was a lot better than the usual boring summer in Little Whinging.


There was a crack as Theo appeared out of thin air, taking off at a run through the neatly polished lawn of the Greengrass Estate. He was headed straight for the balcony on the second floor, the one he'd visited so many times before, and had not stopped running since he'd left the Dark Lord's side.

"Pity," the Dark Lord had said, tutting after Gregorovitch's body had fallen to the ground. "I was rather hoping to keep him around a bit longer."

"Why," Theo had intoned blankly, unable to garner the energy to properly phrase the question. "You already had everything you were going to get from him, didn't you?"

"Theodore," the Dark Lord had said, fixing him with a darkened stare, "Do you recall me telling you that your heart wasn't in it?" He'd glided forward, stepping gracelessly over Gregorovitch's contorted form. "I can't put faith in you if I doubt your intentions. It is important that I be able to determine what you are capable of."

"And are you pleased with the result?" Theo had asked through gritted teeth. "How have I fared, then, in the eyes of my Lord?"

"You are pragmatic, Theodore, and that's useful to me," Voldemort had commented offhandedly. "You are willing to do what is necessary, and that is what puts you in our ranks."

Theo's stomach churned now, thinking about it. That is what puts you in our ranks.

Our ranks.

He'd vomited twice before disapparating.

He levitated himself onto the balcony, putting both feet gingerly on its wide railing. It was a cool summer evening, and she'd left her bedroom door open.

"Daphne," he said quietly, stepping down onto the hard floor of her bedroom and padding softly inside. He spotted her suntanned arm, tossed carelessly across her crisp white bedding, and sighed with relief when he saw her raise her hand to her face.

She sat up swearing. "Shit, Theo," she exclaimed, breathing hard. "Is that you?"

"I can't be alone tonight," he said, standing a few feet away from where she lay in bed. "I - I need you."

She sighed deeply, tossing her thick auburn hair over her shoulders. "Theo, it's the middle of the night, you can't just show up here. Honestly, my parents would kill you - "

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," he said, his voice breaking. "Please, Daphne. Please don't let me be alone tonight."

He could see the outline of her slowly blinking lashes, even in the dim moonlight of her doorway. "What do you mean, Theo?" she asked, her voice breathy in the quiet room. "What happened?"

He could feel hot tears welling up behind his eyes but willed himself to stay in control. "I did something terrible," he told her, his lower lip starting to tremble. "I've made a terrible mistake."

She tossed her thin duvet aside, stretching out her long legs and walking towards him as her thin nightgown clung to her elegant form.

They'd always been an odd pairing, Daphne and Theo, and everything that had happened between them had mostly been scattered and furtive. He had never been the most desirable in his year, despite his birth and status. He had always been too skinny, too introverted, too unpleasant for a girl like Daphne, who unquestionably belonged on the arm of someone like Draco - someone with charm and finesse, and who was heir in more than just name and coffers. This, their sporadic affair - this was not true love. There would be no cleansing, no healing here.

But fuck, did he need to be touched. He just needed to forget himself, to not be a monster, and at the moment, Daphne Greengrass was the only escape that came to mind. She would forgive him the indiscretion. She always had.

"What have you done, Theo?"

He lifted his left wrist, where he'd already pulled his sleeve to his elbow. The Mark was raw and red and he realized he'd been digging into it with his fingernails, clawing at it to stop the pain that emanated from within it.

"Why?" she cried, running forward to catch his wrist in her hand. "Why would you do this? After everything? After Draco - "

"Because of Draco," he snapped, yanking his hand out of her reach. "And that's not why I'm here. I don't want to talk."

She glared at him. "I'm not here for you to use, Theo, I never have been - "

"I know," he said wearily. "I know. I'm - I'm asking." Unexpectedly, he knelt at her feet, collapsing out of a mix of exhaustion and fear, and wrapped his arms around her knees. "Please. Please, Daphne, help me - "

"Theo," she said, a warning tone in her scratchy alto.

"He's not dead," he whispered against her thighs. "He's not gone, I have to find him - he saved my life, he saved me, all I have to do . . . all I have to do for him is find him . . . "

"What happened tonight?" she asked, her voice low.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "The Dark Lord asked me to - to torture someone, and - and I couldn't. But I couldn't stop him, either, I was - "

He swallowed hard. "I was afraid," he murmured, and he sighed deeply as she started to let her hands run through his hair, her cool fingers scraping lightly against his scalp. "He wanted me to torture someone, but I - I killed them instead. I just - I wanted to end it, I wanted to end the pain, but - but I - "

He pressed his hands to his cheeks, feeling moisture, and it took him a moment to realize that the combination of this revelation and his inability to speak meant he was crying, detonating, erupting with pain, his hasty breaths a hurricane against her slender frame.

Somehow, he was fully exposed.

She sank to her knees beside him and held him for several moments, allowing him to ride out the last of his convulsions with his head against her neck, his lips pressing shakily against her skin as he gradually careened to a quiet, desolate stillness.

Daphne took his hand, raising it quietly to the thin strap on her shoulder and using his fingers to brush it away, letting it fall against her arm and cause the neckline of her nightgown to drape against her breasts.

"Take what you need from me, Theo," she whispered to him, and he crashed his lips to hers.


Hermione held her breath before opening the door.

"What are you expecting?" Harry asked her curiously, his eyes dancing.

"I don't know," she said, exhaling loudly. "Carnage, I suppose."

He shrugged. "Certainly a possibility."

She took a deep breath before pushing on the door. "Okay, here we go - "

Of all the possibilities she'd expected, this had not been one. Ron and Malfoy were lounging comfortably in the armchairs that the room had put in the common space between their tents, both seemingly absorbed in the other's company. Ron was draped casually over his chair, his legs hanging off of its arms, while Malfoy had his chin propped up lazily on his knee.

"Oh," Ron said brightly, turning to face them. "You're back."

Hermione looked quickly to Harry, who also seemed to be temporarily dumbfounded.

"Hi," he replied uncertainly, while Malfoy rose to his feet, coming to Hermione's side and kissing her coolly on the cheek.

"Well," she said breathlessly, "how did it go?"

"Reasonably well," Ron said, his mouth twitching.

"Actually," Malfoy said, slinging an arm around Hermione's shoulders, "Weasley here is a criminal now."

"Malfoy!" Ron exclaimed irritably, crossing his arms. "You little shit."

Hermione frowned. The words were the same, but the tone of the exchange, somehow, was different. "I don't understand," she said slowly. "What happened?"

"Well, the Carrows showed up while we were there," Malfoy said nonchalantly, "and Weasley here" - he paused, jerking his head to reference the redhead - "decided it would be best to stun them, so he modified their memories, we broke the vanishing cabinet, and we might have found a horcrux."

Harry looked taken aback. "You found a horcrux?"

Hermione whipped an arm out, cutting him off. "Ron modified their memories?" she asked, her voice emerging at a significantly higher volume than she intended. "Ron did that?"

"Excuse me," Ron said with mock indignation. "I do not appreciate your tone - "

"How, though?" she asked. "Since when - "

"Malfoy taught me," Ron said with a shrug, and Malfoy nodded.

"I thought it was best that I not leave too many of my own magical traces," he said smoothly. "And Weasley did a relatively adequate job of managing to not completely fuck it up."

Her eyes jerked to Ron in anticipation of a predictably explosive reaction, but he only seemed vaguely amused, a half smile etched across his face.

"Which was, of course, due in large part to you taking a five minutes recess from being a bloody waste of space, Malfoy," he said musically, and Hermione watched as the pale blond merely tossed him an eye roll and a smirk.

"You taught him?" she repeated, her eyes wide. "You taught him, and - everything's . . . fine?"

"That we know of," Malfoy said with a shrug.

"Everything's fine?" she said again, blinking in disbelief.

Ron walked over and nudged Harry in the ribs. "Brightest witch of her age," he said solemnly, nodding to Hermione.

She whipped around to face Malfoy. "I need to talk to you," she said urgently. "Now."

His already colorless complexion seemed to pale significantly. "Okay," he said uncertainly, following her as she stomped into her tent.

Of course, he hadn't been able to see the smile that had spread across her face after she'd turned, and thus, was taken entirely by surprise when she threw her arms around his neck the moment the flap of her tent shut behind them.

She pressed her lips to his, kissing him deeply, and he brought his hand around, gripping the curls at the back of her head.

"What was that for?" he asked when they broke apart, eyes closed.

"For . . . I don't know," she said, her cheeks flushing. "For not killing Ron, I suppose."

"Well," he murmured, his breath dancing across her lips, "I suppose I can let him live tomorrow then, too."

She laughed, leaning away. "I just - I don't know, it can't have been easy," she said with a wistful smile. "I know you were upset, last night and this morning - so I - "

"About that," he said, his expression taking on a more serious edge as he reached for her hands. "I wanted to tell you something."

"What's that?" she asked, pulling him backwards to sit beside her on her bed.

He hesitated, his grey eyes flashing as he let his eyes flit over her face. "I - I just wanted to tell you that I love you," he said quietly, bringing the pads of her fingers to his lips. "I know that I don't make it easy - and that I don't like to talk about what's going on, even though I know you want me to - but I do love you, and I'm - " he sighed. "I'm doing the Hufflepuff thing again."

She laughed. "Why, because you have feelings?" she asked, poking his chest playfully. "I love you, you know. It doesn't have to be a big production when we say it. I know how you feel."

"I know," he said seriously. "But I don't want every time I say it to be the result of some life or death experience. I want you to know, without a doubt, that I would do anything for you, and not exclusively because we're constantly in danger."

She couldn't help but stare at him. There was an element of playfulness to his words, but even then his piercing grey eyes bore into her, an obvious hunger visible in them as he bared his feelings. Those eyes - despite everything, despite months of being tortured by them and devouring them and somehow finding meaning in them, she found she was not immune to them yet; even now, she felt a flicker of something in the base of her belly, watching his tongue drag across his lower lip.

She'd yet to lose the taste of him, but she wanted it all the same. She was in the mood to be worshipped - and he always did it right, that Draco Malfoy.

Hermione stood slowly, stepping in front of him and pulling her t-shirt slowly over her head.

He inhaled sharply. "What - "

"Be quiet, Malfoy," she said in a low voice, biting back a smile as she watched him shiver.

She unbuttoned her jeans carefully, deliberately, pulling them slowly over her hips and sliding them down her legs, watching his eyes follow the curve of her arse and relishing the way his breath caught in his throat. She unfastened her bra, letting it fall gingerly from the tips of her fingers, before slipping out of her underwear and stepping between his legs.

She could practically see his heart pounding and she could feel her blood rushing in her ears, standing openly before him like she never had before. She might have expected to feel vulnerable, exposed at the very least - but she felt nothing but adored, coming to life with his eyes traveling over her.

He reached out for her waist, running his hands over her hips and her arse before bringing them up to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples gently as she bit her lip.

"Granger," he said, giving her name his usual growl. "You know how I feel about that."

"About what?" she managed, his thumb dragging from the flat of her stomach down to her clit, tracing circles around it as he slid his finger against her opening.

"That little lip bite you do," he informed her, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. His breath was hot against her neck and she moaned a little, thinking about how it felt on her lips, on her breasts, on her thighs. "Don't act like you don't know what you do to me."

She tilted her head back and he scraped his teeth against her throat, sucking lightly at her clavicle. "Tell me again," she gasped, grabbing his collar to pull his head against her chest.

She felt him grin as he brought his lips to her nipple, flicking it lightly with his tongue before taking it in his mouth, then pulling back to look at her. "Why don't I just show you?"

Her breathy moan turned into a whimper as he nudged her legs apart with his knee, slipping two fingers inside her and sliding his thumb against her clit. She arched her back to press herself against his fingers and he turned her suddenly, bringing her bare arse against his lap and kissing her neck and shoulders as he continued to pump his fingers in and out, teasing her each time. She could feel him under his trousers, his hardened shaft straining against the fabric, and she pushed his fingers away impatiently, turning around and yanking at the opening of his pants.

He wasted no time pulling his shirt over his head as she tugged his trousers and boxer briefs to the ground, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her to him, and she eagerly wrapped her legs around his hips, her breasts pressed against his chest where they sat at the edge of the bed, his tip poised at her entrance.

Her small cry of pleasure met his hiss of satisfaction as he slid inside her, instantly filling her as he took hold of her arse and slid his hand along the curve of her thigh. With him it was always rhythmic but now their syncopated motions were feverish, and with each thrust he brought her closer and closer as she ground against him, driving her to her climax as he tugged at her lips with his, his tongue dancing with hers before she pulled away gasping, burying her head against his neck.

He held her tightly around her ribcage as she came, her teeth sinking into his shoulder as she felt the explosion burst through her. The moment she relaxed against him, shuddering from the release, he stood, hiking her up on his hips and carrying her the short distance to the nearest wall, pressing her against the bookshelves. At this angle, with her leg hiked up over his hip, he was positioned perfectly - deliciously - against her clit and she threw her head back within minutes as a strangled cry ripped itself from her lips, her legs shaking perilously around him as she came a second time.

He pulled out of her, tossing her gently on the bed, but she could see in his eyes that he was almost there - there was always a rapturous moment where she could see the storm in his grey eyes settle into a delirious calm, and she knew it was because he was hers. There was always a clarity, a stillness that arrived in his stormy eyes, because body and soul - he was hers.

She locked eyes with him and watched his face, fascinated, as she felt the urgent throbbing inside her bubble to the surface for a third time.

"Draco," she breathed, writhing as he yanked her hips up and towards him. "Draco - oh - "

She came just before she felt him pulse inside her, his pale silvery hair falling into his eyes as he pressed his forehead against hers, groaning. They were sweaty and breathless and her two best friends were little more than feet away - but still, oh, the satisfaction. She smiled, knowing the moment could get no sweeter.

He pressed his lips to her ear. "I love you," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "I love you, Hermione Granger."

Well, she thought with satisfaction. She had been in the mood to be worshipped. And that Draco Malfoy - well.

He never disappoints.


a/n: For UnicornShenanigans, smut complimenter extraordinaire.

Also, for those of you who mentioned you don't normally follow WIPs, thank you so much for deciding to give this one a chance. I know it's frustrating to not be able to finish a fic all the way through, but there's still a pretty great experience to be had going through it together, and I promise to update frequently.