Chapter 10: Constant Vigilance
Nott Manor
September 28, 2003
12:13 p.m.
"Cadmus Peverell," Harry repeated, gaping at him. "Is that - how is that - "
"Fuuuuuuck," Theo exhaled, and beside him, Daphne nodded numbly, her lovely face going worryingly pale.
Cad, for his part, felt oddly invigorated; once the confession of his identity had left his lips, he felt slightly freer, though he doubted that would last.
"Probably best we all sit down," he offered, waving a hand. "This one might take a while."
Cadmus Peverell had had many enemies in his life, not the least of which was himself. He found, however, that self-loathing was an unaffordable luxury, considering he was bookended by two brothers who were so unquestionably worse. Should Cadmus have had centuries for introspection (which you would think he would have, but you'd be wrong) he might have taken the time to delve into his psyche, poking holes in his conscience and waiting to see what bled out; but as it was, there was simply no time for such things. Not when there were Antioch and Ignotus to keep track of.
Well, by this point, one might wonder: what are the requisite facts?
Facts are important to Cadmus, and in this case, they are these:
Fact one: Cadmus Peverell was presently twenty-eight years old. How long had he been twenty-eight? Well, that depends how caught up in trivialities a person wishes to get. Besides, the more appropriate question would be how many times Cadmus Peverell had been twenty-eight years old, and the answer would be at least thrice. Possibly more, but he hadn't confirmed either way.
Fact two: Cadmus Peverell was the second brother of three. He was preceded by Antioch, a sharply cunning too-handsome man possessing a volatile combination of ambition and aggression, and succeeded by Ignotus, a somber, studious shadow of the other two who maintained his boyish looks well past their expiration. Where Antioch was loud, charismatic, and magnetic, Ignotus was quiet, brilliant, and earnest, and Cadmus was somewhere in between; as sharp as his brothers, and as troublesome as Antioch, but in more of a fox-like way. He was prone to trickery and had spent much of his childhood pitting his brothers against each other, watching one try to outdo the other and then quietly learning their tricks.
Fact three: When Cadmus Peverell was born in the early thirteenth century, the world was a considerably different place. Morality is a facet of its time, as Cadmus often made a point to consider, and what seems immoral now was simply a daring advancement then, or so he and his brothers had believed. At the time of Cadmus' birth, wizards were rare and rarely organized. There was hardly a cohesive Ministry around to slap them on the wrist when they got a bit carried away - and they did get carried away. They had been blessed (or cursed) with not one, not two, but three clever minds, and here is something true in all worlds -
Fact four: clever minds bore easily, and boredom can give way to strange things indeed.
The Peverell brothers were attractive, intelligent, and influential, and they - and their boundless exploration of wizardry - were, at first, widely admired for their ingenuity and skill. But when it seemed that the Peverells could do and become and create things that other wizards could not (when it became less 'look at this lovely flying bauble' and more 'this bauble, if worn, can blacken a man's heart from the inside out') their watchful neighbors transitioned from admiration to skepticism, and leapt from there to suspicion. Once the other villagers in Godric's Hollow warily began to question what the Peverell brothers were up to, it occurred to Antioch, the eldest, that perhaps they'd be better off continuing their experimentation with the magical arts in quite another place altogether.
"Do you have something in mind?" Cadmus prompted dubiously.
"Yes," Antioch replied. "Death."
"Death," Ignotus repeated, his voice notably anxious. "Are you quite sure that's necessary?"
"Not actual death," Antioch scoffed, glaring at him. "But I'd get a lot fewer questions from the baker's daughter if she thought I were dead."
"Funny," Cadmus remarked, propping his feet up on the table. "You don't seem to mind when the baker's son asks questi-"
"If we're to continue our experiments," Antioch cut in loudly, clearing his throat, "we need the freedom to pursue other magics without the speculation of our small-minded neighbors."
"Couldn't we simply leave?" Ignotus prompted, to which Antioch scoffed.
"You know perfectly well we're onto something," Antioch reminded him, holding up the knotted elder wand. "Many things, even. If we succeed in our pursuits, we may never die - and wouldn't it be easier," he murmured, placing a comforting hand on Ignotus' shoulder, "if we didn't have to explain that to anyone?"
"He means we're going to get up to some vile things," Cadmus informed Ignotus, who blanched.
"I thought you said no dark arts," Ignotus ventured, and Antioch glared at Cadmus, who shrugged, innocently eyeing his boots. "You said what we were doing was purely academic, Antioch - "
"And it is," Antioch cut in irritably. "But what we consider academic, others might consider, you know - "
"An assault on decency," Cadmus supplied. "A loathsome, abhorrent, mutilati-"
"Faking our deaths would be simple enough," Antioch interrupted, gifting Cadmus a silencing glance. "If we work together, I'm sure we could come up with a feasible plan. For example, I could 'die' in a duel," he suggested. "You two would simply have to stun me and pronounce me dead, and nobody would be any the wiser."
"True," Ignotus agreed. "Everyone would believe that."
"And what of me, then?" Cadmus drawled, leaning back in his chair. "How am I to die?"
"Strangled by an unsatisfied lover," Antioch told him. Cadmus pursed his lips, displeased.
"Unsatisfied?" he repeated dubiously. "Good luck finding someone who would testify to that."
"Well," Ignotus ventured gently, "you've been a bit out of sorts since Isabel died."
Cadmus felt his own expression harden.
"Leave Ibb out of it," he growled, which seemed to only bolster Antioch's enthusiasm.
"Well, there we go, then," Antioch judged. "Cadmus, having long concealed his feelings for a woman he could never have - "
"Ha," muttered Cadmus. "Hardly."
" - he hanged himself," Antioch finished, and then glanced at Ignotus. "Hung?"
"Hanged," Ignotus confirmed, shrugging. "Odd quirk of language."
"Excuse me," Cadmus announced, "but nobody's going to believe I killed myself over Ibb." He scoffed, irritated. "That's ridiculous. I was with Eda last night," he reminded them, ignoring Antioch's unflattering eye roll, "and everyone knows that if I'd ever wanted to be with Ibb Leofwine, I could have been - "
"Well, sure," Ignotus permitted, though he looked less than convinced. Antioch, meanwhile, seemed thoroughly disinterested in Cadmus' version of reality.
"Watch out for Eda," Antioch warned tangentially. "She reeks of instability."
"Well, as do you," Cadmus reminded him. "As you're currently plotting our highly unlikely deaths, in case you'd forgotten - "
"The fact that you've slept with every girl in Godric's Hollow doesn't disprove anything," Antioch countered, pursing his lips. "You and Isabel have been inseparable since you were children, and whether you were actually lovers or not, anyone would believe it at least a possibility."
"I agree," Ignotus ventured, nodding solemnly despite Cadmus' groan of disbelief. "If someone told me you killed yourself for Isabel, I'd take it as true."
"Well, you're an idiot," Cadmus informed him, and Ignotus made a face.
"I'm not," Ignotus countered. "I'm quite literally the smartest person in this room. Which is also why I think of the three of us, I'm also the least likely to die," he lamented. "Is there anything you think would be believable for me?"
"Personally, I think a slow death would be best for you," Cadmus told him neutrally, as Antioch paused, considering it.
"Well, perhaps it would be overly suspicious if we all died," he decided. "Maybe you should stay behind, Ignotus. That way we have a place to keep things, you know, and you can continue to work while we travel."
"While we do the dirty work, you mean," Cadmus corrected.
"Nobody asked you," Antioch retorted, rather snottily, but rather than take Cadmus' side, Ignotus was lost to contemplation.
"Well, I would like to continue working on the cloak," Ignotus remarked, tapping his mouth. "I have some ideas for a charm that might do just as well, and I'd like to perfect the holographic stone - "
"Of course you would," Cadmus sighed, but as usual, despite his opposition, his brothers had already made up their minds.
And so it was determined that Ignotus would remain behind, and Cadmus and Antioch, having convincingly fooled the other villagers, set off in search of other wizards who, like themselves, might have uncovered something of interest.
They ran into Herpo the Foul (a rather inapt name for the mostly-normal inventor of the horcrux) in Greece, where he still lived, having changed identities several times over the course of nearly a millenia. Over a series of too many drinks and a bit of something suspicious between not-unattractive Herpo and irritatingly-handsome Antioch, the two Peverells conceded that they would attempt his methods, if only for the purposes of knowing that such a thing could be done.
The morality of this decision must be examined within a particular frame, of course, because the thing about it was that murder was quite a different crime altogether in those times. In fact, it was difficult to get through the day without murdering someone, as there was so little order in the world during the Dark Ages (and travel within it so thoroughly perilous) that on any given day, someone was nearly guaranteed to die. The process of creating a horcrux was gruesome, but seeing as it was only intended to be one gruesome experiment among many, the campaign for expanded magical arts continued, halting every year or so for the elder Peverells to check in with Ignotus.
"Eda had your baby, Cadmus," Ignotus informed him, shaking his head in disapproval upon their first return. "Could you not have used a spell?"
"Well, I'm dead now," Cadmus reminded him stiffly, "so I don't know what you want me to do about it. Is it a boy or a girl?"
"Girl," Ignotus said. "Iseult Peverell."
"Oh," Cadmus said, considering it. "Well, it wouldn't be my choice, but I've heard worse."
"She took his name?" Antioch asked, frowning, and Ignotus shrugged.
"Well, according to Eda, after she and Cadmus wed in secret he was haunted by Isabel's ghost," Ignotus explained, "thus driving him to madness and prompting him to take his own life."
"And you allowed her to tell people that?" Cadmus demanded, gaping at him.
Ignotus shrugged again. "Hardly seemed my place to say otherwise," he said innocently.
Down the line, Antioch and Cadmus learned how to stop aging from a handful of druids who had been taught by Merlin himself. Eventually, having been left behind for long enough to reach a considerable (for the thirteenth century, that is) age, Ignotus began to look far older than either of his elder brothers, which was quite an incredible reversal.
"You realize you leave behind a string of bodies," Ignotus informed them, seeming to have grown irritated with his domestic life. "Some tampered, too. It's getting very hard to clean up, frankly," he lamented, folding his arms over his chest. "People are starting to think I'm up to something, and my wife won't leave me alone."
"We never told you to get married," Cadmus reminded him, making a face.
"Oh, sure, because growing old alone wouldn't have been suspicious at all," Ignotus retorted.
"Well, perhaps it's time to die then," Antioch suggested, and so Ignotus 'died,' gifting his eldest son the silly cloak he'd been toying with for so long and joining the other two on their travels.
By that time, it was getting increasingly obvious that as wizards who had little concern for what kind of magic they were using save for whether it worked or not, death was highly optional. The Peverells kept in touch with Herpo, who in turn led them to other powerful wizards (and the occasional witch, though most witches had little interest in their pursuits; likely because women of the age had their own problems, or were simply cleverer in the long run) and brought them the discovery that should they choose to live forever, they very easily could.
"Maybe there's some organizing to be done here," Antioch suggested one day. "What if we started some sort of society of like-minded wizards, led by us?"
Cadmus grimaced, unsurprised by the proposition.
"You would," he judged flatly.
By the time Antioch had brought it up, the brothers had reached a certain level of infamy. Around the time that Ignotus had slipped away from Godric's Hollow, a man named Beedle the Bard had been traveling through the village and, being inspired, they supposed, by the odd goings on of the town, had written a few silly tales, including one in which three brothers defeated Death. Which they had, certainly, over time; but the wand, the stone, and the cloak were hardly their greatest inventions. They were simply among the earliest.
Each of the Peverell brothers had their particular specialty. Cadmus had the best and most precise spellwork; it was he who recognized that magic spoke a language, and it wasn't necessarily the bastardized Latin that was taught at Hogwarts (which, at the time, had not had any regulated curriculum and was little more than a sanctuary for persecuted wizards; Antioch and Cadmus spent a brief amount of time there, but found it largely useless to their greater pursuits). Cadmus, developing an understanding that magic was an entity of its own, with a bidding of its own, could do more with charms and enchantments. Antioch had an uncanny dominion over physicality, imbuing objects with power or transfiguring things around him to bend to his specifications. Ignotus, meanwhile, would disappear for days at a time to test an unintelligible theory and would return having unlocked the secret to wandless flight.
Combined, they were a force to be reckoned with; at least, they were for those who drifted in more accomplished circles. Beedle, the idiot, had made them immortal in his own ridiculous way, but the Peverell brothers were hardly without legitimate cause for admiration - which was a fact that Antioch was particularly sensitive to. After a certain point, it was no surprise to Cadmus that Antioch would believe himself deserving of a cult.
"Let me guess," Cadmus sighed. "This is Herpo's idea?"
"Nico's idea, too," Ignotus contributed, though he looked to Antioch for approval. "Says we should consider stepping into another venue."
"What venue are we currently in?" Cadmus prompted. "And who gives a damn what Nicholas Flamel thinks, either? Anyone can make a magic rock," he grunted, disapproving. "I hardly think he merits involvement in this."
But, of course, the other two hadn't listened. Soon, Antioch and Herpo were joining up to recruit followers, infiltrating the fledgling Ministries and influencing policy on both wizarding and muggle political stages. As European monarchies began to face problems around the world, Antioch was quick to pick up the pieces, stepping in and leveraging threats as international Ministries began to push reform, pulling strings for alliances in exchange for wealth and favors.
"You don't feel there's something corrupt about this?" Cadmus asked his eldest brother, observing Antioch as he signed off on the magical assassination of a muggle lord responsible for local tithes.
"No," Antioch replied, not looking up from his stockpiles of gold.
The more that the League of Eternality - eventually nicknamed the Infinity Club, or simply the Club - expanded its reach, the more Cadmus began to grow uneasy in the presence of his brothers, recognizing that Antioch and Ignotus had very little need of him. Ignotus had always looked to their eldest brother for approval over Cadmus, and despite the Club being democratic in nature, Antioch was the uncontested de facto head. Over time there were eager, newer minds as brilliant as Cadmus' that were far less squeamish about how Antioch's rivals for influence were removed from power, and it seemed to Cadmus that it was only a matter of time before he became burdensome to his brother's agenda.
Cadmus, then, began to squirrel away pieces of his life, discreetly visiting his many heirs (his daughter Iseult, whom he'd kept an eye on from afar, had married a man from the Gaunt family, bearing nearly a dozen sons and daughters before her death) and his efforts were justified none too soon.
The first time Cadmus' brothers betrayed him was somewhere in the midst of the American Revolution. Cadmus, who'd gotten in a heated argument with Antioch regarding the crude deposition of the British monarchy (not to mention the utter waste of perfectly good tea) had made the mistake of drawing his wand, stupidly presenting himself as a threat.
"You're a liability, brother," Antioch warned, knife in hand as Ignotus held Cadmus' arms. "If you still refuse to see what we're attempting to do - "
"I see it," Cadmus spat furiously. "I'm not a fool. I simply question what gives you the right, Antioch. If you truly wanted to help people, you'd simply conjure funds, not incite them to kill each other - "
"The laws of nature still apply," Antioch said stiffly. "Magic has a cost, Cadmus. You know this."
"Yes, and it's a cost you've never had to pay," Cadmus reminded him. "Do you not fear your sins will catch up with you?"
Antioch's expression hardened as he glanced at their youngest brother. "Do we, Ignotus?" he asked, and Cadmus felt his younger brother stiffen behind him, uncertain. "Do we fear our sins?"
"If we have power, we must use it," Ignotus replied slowly. "Nico says - "
"Oh, think for yourself, you vapid twit," Cadmus snapped, twisting to glare at him. "What's the point of being brilliant if you lack the sovereignty of your own mind, Ignotus?"
"Sovereignty," Antioch scoffed, silencing Ignotus before he could answer. "Poor choice of words, don't you think, Cadmus?"
"God, you're a brute," Cadmus snarled, and wrenched away, glaring at his younger brother. "You're going to have to live a long time with my blood on your hands, Ignotus," he warned, watching Antioch's fingers tighten around the handle of his dagger. "Can you manage it?"
Ignotus said nothing. Antioch slit Cadmus' throat.
Luckily, Cadmus had seen this coming. He'd left instructions with one of his heirs, the young but clever Owain Gaunt, and was revived from one of his aeva (singular being aevum, or, essentially, a golem from which he could be resurrected) shortly after. Antioch and Ignotus had begun using the lemniscate by then; Cadmus caught the symbol's appearance in important political documents or embedded in international treaties. It was easy enough to follow, though he forgot that they, knowing his tricks as they did, would eventually know he was following.
The second time his brothers betrayed him was in the throes of the French Revolution.
"What is your goal?" Cadmus demanded as Antioch and Ignotus cornered him again, trapping him inside Versailles. "What good does it do you disposing of muggle kings?"
"Oh, think bigger, Cadmus," Antioch snapped. "To indulge the monarchy is to luxuriate in a system built on ego. Not one of these kings earned their lands; they were simply born into their role. In order for the world to move into the future, their governance must do the same, and the Club will have a hand in advancing society."
"The Club is hardly the beacon of enlightenment that you think it is," Cadmus retorted, furious. "You may live forever, Antioch, but you'll no more be able to see the future than you can rid yourself of the past."
"Seeing what you've done to be able to return, Cadmus, I fail to see your moral high ground," Antioch replied, unblinking. "Or do you think it's natural to resurrect yourself as you've done?"
Cadmus ignored him in favor of glancing at Ignotus, his last hope. "You," he muttered stiffly, as the youngest Peverell brother carefully avoided his eye. "You approve of this? Of killing me again?"
"Your death haunts me," Ignotus said solemnly, shaking his head, "but if I'm to feel that taking part in it served a purpose, you have to stay dead, brother."
"You're a dumb cunt," Cadmus informed him, right before Antioch slit his throat again.
The third time, following the Spring of Nations in 1848, Cadmus should have known he was following a false trail, but once again, he didn't.
"You'll simply burn the world to the ground, won't you?" Cadmus demanded, struggling against his restraints. "Do you even care anymore who lives and who dies?"
"We live," Antioch said flatly. "You die."
And then Ignotus, having destroyed all of Cadmus' means for survival, stabbed him in the heart, finally ridding the world of the second Peverell brother.
Or so they'd thought.
"Who are you?" Cadmus asked groggily, sitting upright in the midst of a pile of rubble, the sun shining too brightly against his reconstituted eyes. A man, or what might have been a man, stared down at him with red-slitted eyes.
"Are you Cadmus Peverell?" he asked, his voice a low and deeply disconcerting hiss. Cadmus frowned.
"Yes," he said. "Who are you?"
"A descendent of yours," the man-thing answered, and Cadmus slid backwards, yelping in alarm at the appearance of a large snake from beside what appeared to be a fresh corpse, presumably employed for use during his resurrection. "I uncovered the whereabouts of your horcrux from the inscriptions in Gaunt family heirlooms."
Cadmus blinked, tearing his eyes from the body and forcing himself to focus.
"You brought me back from a horcrux," he said slowly, thinking. "That means I'm dead?"
"Do you not remember?" the man-thing prompted impatiently. Cadmus shrugged.
"If you brought me back from the horcrux I made when I was twenty-one, then no, I wouldn't remember much," he replied, trying to force his way back through his memories. "I remember coming to Greece with my brother - "
"It's your brother I want to talk to you about," the man-thing said, crouching at his feet. "Antioch Peverell. He came to me once when I was younger," he explained. "Asked if I wanted to be part of some sort of Club. I declined."
"Probably a good call," Cadmus said tentatively, ignoring the snake as it slid around the man-thing's ankles. "But if you need information about my brother, I'm not sure I can help. I could ask him, certainly, but - "
"Actually, you can't," the man-thing corrected, pursing his reptilian lips. "Your brothers have already killed you three times."
"They kil- I was - three times?" Cadmus echoed, stammering. "That's a bit excessive, don't you think?"
"I sort of have problems of my own at the moment," the man-thing muttered irritably. "I was hoping you'd have information about the Club, and whether they'd be of much help." He paused. "Do you know anything about how to defeat hairy potter?"
"Which hairy potter?" Cadmus asked.
"Or the wand," the man-thing pressed. "Are you certain it's unbeatable?"
"What wand?" Cadmus asked, rubbing his temple. "Whose wand?"
"I know the Deathly Hallows are a myth," the man-thing continued. "Your brother told me so years ago, but still, the wand - it can't be worthless, can it?"
"Hold for a moment," Cadmus said. "Who are you, again?"
The man-thing rose to his feet, shaking his head. "I suspect you're going to be useless," he said, "but you can call me Lord Voldemort. By the way," he added, waving a hand at the rubble, "do you realize how hard it was to bring you back from an 'off-colored rock'? Took me hours to find it."
"Well, that's the idea, isn't it?" Cadmus prompted, dragging himself unsteadily to his feet. "Why would you make a horcrux easy for people to find?"
"I - " Lord Voldemort broke off, pausing. "I should think there would be benefits."
"Doubtful," Cadmus replied, wondering what he'd landed in.
Luckily, he was of almost no use to Lord Voldemort, and when the Dark Lord's war became consuming, Cadmus had simply slipped away, aiming to retrieve his former possessions and searching them for information about what had gone wrong. But given Cadmus Peverell's experience with enemies - and having the worst of them be blood, of all things - he was certain that there was at least one fact remaining to be considered.
Fact: Antioch and Ignotus Peverell were almost certainly still alive, and it was Cadmus' turn to give them the deaths they so richly deserved.
4:27 p.m.
"Well, hold on a minute," Harry cut in, jarring Cad back to the present. "You're saying Voldemort brought you back? You've just been wandering around for seven years?"
"I don't appreciate the interruption," Cad informed him, "but yes, essentially. I really was no use at all to him. I really don't care for politics. My brothers, though, they clearly do," he said. "The lemniscates found with the Wizengamot poisonings scream Antioch, though I can't figure out why he's doing it."
"How did you learn about the rest?" Theo prompted. "You know," he said, waving a hand. "Your other lives?"
"I left several notes for myself," Cad replied, shrugging. "They've taken me quite a long time to track down, but I think I have most of it."
Harry and Theo exchanged glances, consorting wordlessly about the information they'd just received, and Cad's gaze slid to Daphne, catching her eye and waiting.
"What about me?" she asked quietly, as he'd figured she would. "Am I just some sort of pawn?"
Cad's mouth twisted, accommodating a remorseful smile.
"No," he told her. "You just remind me of Isabel."
The Harkaway
Woolworth, New York
9:30 p.m.
" - I'm just saying," Draco continued, releasing Hermione once she'd used the portkey into their hotel suite. "It seems unnecessarily colonial to call the restaurant 'The Independence.' The food was fine," he added, "but really, why cling to such a foolish revolution?"
"I had no idea you were such a patriot," Hermione remarked skeptically, shaking her head as she set the key down on the coffee table. "Were you in the business of re-imperializing the world while we're abroad?"
"I mean, if the opportunity arises," he sniffed, following after her as she wandered into the bedroom. "So where are you sleeping?" he asked casually, hiding a laugh as she pivoted to glare at him, tightly clenching a fist.
"Are you really that much of a dickhead that you'd suggest I sleep on the sofa?" she prompted, pointedly falling back against the bed. "And here you were the one telling me not to underestimate your breeding."
"My breeding has nothing to do with it," he informed her, picking up a piece of chocolate that had been left on the pillows. "Oh, look," he remarked, peeling off the wrapper. "Mint."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really?" she asked, watching him pop it in his mouth. "We go to one of the nicest restaurants in Woolworth and you deem the whole thing 'fine,' but pillow mints delight you?"
"What, because I'm rich I'm not capable of being delighted?" Draco prompted, scoffing. "My goodness, Granger, is there no limit to your unrelenting misconceptions?"
She sighed.
"In any case," Hermione ventured tangentially, "you are mature enough to just sleep without making this" - she waved a hand, gesturing between them - "a thing, right?"
"My maturity is laudable," he told her. "And on a less relevant note, I should think I can handle not being seduced by your boundless insanity." He brought his hand to his top button, quickly slipping out of his shirt, and Hermione sat up, staring at him.
"Why," she began, "are you taking your clothes off?"
"Well, as I told you when I put it on, it's handmade, Granger," he reminded her pointedly, yanking it back from his shoulders and flicking his wand, charming the shirt onto a hanger. "I'm not just going to sleep in my clothes like some sort of animal - "
"Oh, and your pants, too?" she mocked, watching him remove his belt. "What is this," she demanded brusquely, "some sort of sexual plot device?"
"Are you really planning on sleeping in that?" he countered, gesturing to the dress she was still wearing from dinner. "Your modesty is admirable, Granger, or whatever," he amended, rolling his eyes, "but I think I can stand to contain myself, being very much inescapably opposed to you."
"You say this," she told him, turning red and averting her eyes as he inelegantly divested himself of his trousers, "and yet you're the one apparently comfortable enough to strip in my presence - "
"What, does Dionisia have to be here for that to be okay?" he prompted drily, summoning the book he'd brought with him and placing it on the nightstand. "If you can't handle sleeping in the same bed with me," he told her, tossing the duvet aside and falling back against the sheets, "that's your problem."
"You're not trying to sleep with me again, are you?" she prompted, and he paused, shifting to glower at her.
"Again?" he echoed, scowling. "If I tried, believe me, I'd have succeeded."
"False," she told him, her voice clipped. "You did try. After - " she grimaced, and with a sharp clang of recollection, he remembered what she was talking about. "You know. After my - " she faltered. "My wedding."
There was an awkward silence, which Draco (very graciously, in his mind) made an effort to cover with a loud, obtrusive cough.
"I'd hardly call that particular moment of sympathy 'trying' anything," he informed her stiffly. "Trust me, you'll know when I'm trying, Granger."
She arched a brow smugly. "Oh, will I?"
Draco, irritated, very much wanted to hex the little smirk of satisfaction off her face.
"Shut up," he snapped. "You know what I mean."
"Oh, I don't know, Malfoy," she mused, mocking him with a coquettish glance. "Do I?"
"So how was it, anyway?" he asked her, picking up his book and ignoring her taunts. "Seeing Weasley, I mean."
She shrugged, indifferent. "There's not really anything emotional left," she reminded him. "I mean, sure, it's awkward, but it feels like ancient history. Unlike you and Katie," she added slyly, and Draco set the book in his lap, glaring at her.
"Must we do this?" he prompted. "Is it necessary?"
"Consider it a teamwork exercise," Hermione suggested. "Like a trust fall."
"A what?"
"Nevermind," she amended, shaking her head. "But yes, I want to know. I had to cover for you," she reminded him. "I had no idea you two even dated."
"Well, spoiler, we did," Draco said. "And, additional spoiler, we didn't exactly work out."
"You still have feelings for her," Hermione noted, and Draco threw his head back, groaning.
"I don't," he snapped. "It just didn't end well, and I don't fucking appreciate her continuous - "
"Kindness?" Hermione supplied obnoxiously. "Warmth?"
"Yes, actually," he retorted, shuddering. "It's terrible. It's giving me gallstones."
"Would you rather she be cruel to you?" Hermione prompted, and he sighed, exasperated.
"Yes, Granger, I would," he said flatly, summoning his reading glasses and putting them on so furiously he nearly jabbed himself in the eye. "Everyone else is, and I find it much easier to dismiss that than people who continue to foolishly care about me when they know perfectly well I'm not capable of - "
"Hold on," Hermione interrupted, staring at him. "You wear glasses?"
"No, Granger," he drawled, sliding them down the bridge of his nose and glaring at her. "I'm just holding them for a friend."
She ignored him.
"You know, they make you look," she began, and paused. "Bizarre."
"Well, marvelous," Draco returned. "And to think, we were just having a highly unwelcome personal conversation - "
"You can't just dislike people for being nice," she cut in, abruptly shifting topics. "I mean, presumably she cared about you, and that doesn't just go away."
"Well, it should," he replied. "People break up. Relationships end. It's been years, and personally, I think it's high time she recognize we're better off with an arrangement where we never speak again," he exhaled bitterly, "wherein we mutually agree not to acknowledge each other's existence until one or both of us dies."
"Yikes," Hermione said. "That's bleak."
"That's life," he corrected, and then glanced at her, questioning. "And you're not actually sleeping in that, are you?"
"If you're hoping I sleep in my underwear, I don't, Malfoy," she told him, flipping open her suitcase and withdrawing a pair of athletic shorts and a grey t-shirt. "Close your eyes," she added, pulling the shorts on under her dress. Rather than obey, however, he simply made a face, folding his arms over his chest.
"It's nothing I haven't seen before," he reminded her, and she sighed. "You fought Hawkworth while wearing basically nothing, in case you forgot."
"Don't tell me your fragile sensibilities were offended," she muttered irritably, pulling the dress over her head. Draco stubbornly forced himself not to avert his eyes as she reached over, carefully swapping the dress for the t-shirt and then slipping her bra out from under it. "The Malfoy doth protest too much, methinks," she murmured; rather unpleasantly, in his opinion.
"Tell me, how goes your courtship?" he prompted, opting for a jab of his own. "Has Hawkworth graduated from longing glances yet?" he mused, watching her cheeks burn tellingly. "Or are you still not recovered from kissing me?"
"I told you," Hermione said flatly, averting her gaze as she sat on the bed with her back to him, "my relationship with Rhys is none of your business."
"Ah, so something did happen," Draco declared, tossing his book aside. "It's a 'relationship' now, is it?"
She turned, glaring at him. "Stop it," she warned. "You're doing the thing."
"What thing?" he asked innocently.
"You're baiting me," she judged, displeased. "I don't like it."
"Oh please," he told her. "If I really thought this thing with Hawkworth was serious - "
"It is," she interrupted, crossing her arms. "He's - I like him, okay?"
"Sure you do," Draco permitted facetiously. "After all, what's not to like?" he drawled. "He's muscular, he's the son of a Warlock, he has muscles, his father's a Warlock - "
"Oh, you're one to talk about fathers," Hermione scoffed. "Or have you actually forgotten the addendum to the Malfoy motto, 'my father will hear about this' - "
"Deflection," Draco noted sourly. "How utterly unsophisticated of you."
"Are we really going to do this?" she demanded. "Is this going to be a week entirely filled with arguing?"
"Of course not," Draco sniffed. "Presumably there will be sleep involved, or pause for food, at the very least - "
"You know what I mean!" she snapped. "Can't we just manage to coexist," she growled, "for one bloody minute?"
He paused, considering it.
He cleared his throat. She waited.
"What are you reading?" he asked eventually, gesturing to the book in her hand. Hermione exhaled slowly, briefly closing her eyes before resigning herself to politeness.
"It's actually rather fascinating," she replied neutrally, raising the book for him to see the cover. "It's this very poignant study on the complexities involved in the lives of the wizarding advisors who served under the Habsburg Emp-"
"Read it last month," he informed her flatly. "You called it 'poignant'?" he prompted, making a face. "Please. I think you mean 'banal,'" he suggested, "or possibly 'flavorless' - "
"GOD," she shouted, tossing the book at his chest and throwing herself down on the bed, promptly turning her back on him. "I'm just going to go to sleep, Malfoy," she muttered, "before I spontaneously murder you - "
"Oh, well, at least then you'd be doing something useful with your time," he told her, leaning over her to drop the book on her side of the bed. "Killing me would be far less cliched than this heinously self-pitying narrative - "
"GOOD NIGHT," she shouted, flicking her wand to put out the light.
He sighed, setting his glasses on the nightstand and laying back, closing his eyes.
"Good night," he replied crisply.
2:30 a.m.
Hermione's eyes fluttered open, suffering the inexplicable sensation of her body abruptly waking even as her mind struggled to process consciousness. She blinked, gradually recalling where she was, and pondered her view; in his sleep Draco had turned towards her, his expression placid and calm. His face was strangely appealing without his usual disdainful smirk.
It would be so easy to kill him in his sleep, she lamented, sighing.
She shifted away for a moment, frowning as she glanced at the time, and wondered what had woken her. Then she heard a sound; a crack from outside the bedroom, and she promptly bolted upright in bed, registering the presence of someone outside the door.
"Malfoy," she hissed, jabbing him in the ribs. He stirred, scrubbing at his eyes.
"What is it?" he muttered, and then froze as it happened again; a cracking sound from outside the bedroom. "Wait here," he said, throwing an arm out and scrambling to shift his legs from under the duvet. "Just - get your wand, and - "
"I can take care of myself," she snapped at a whisper, rising to her feet and following him as he crept to the door. "Is someone here?"
"I don't know, Granger, I can't see through walls," he gritted back, pressing his ear to the door.
"Do you hear anyth-"
"SHH - "
"Malfoy," they heard. "Hermione, are you there?"
They both exhaled, sharply relieved.
"Fucking Potter," Draco sighed, throwing the doors open and striding over to the fireplace in the suite's small living room, glaring down at Harry's head in the flames as Hermione hurried after him. "Do you have any idea what time it is, you tyrant?"
Harry tilted his head, considering it. "Early?" he guessed.
"Late," Draco corrected, scowling. "It's the middle of the fucking night."
"Well, I told you I'd Floo-call you," Harry replied, shrugging. "Hi, Hermione," he added, grinning up at her as she settled herself before the fire. "Having a nice time?"
"This better be important, Harry," she said wearily, and he nodded.
"Oh, it is," he assured her, and glanced up. "Malfoy, are you not wearing pants?"
"Oh sure, by all means, let's make that the issue," Draco muttered, lowering himself to sit in front of the fire. "What the fuck is it, Potter?"
"That note was really cryptic, Harry," Hermione contributed. "Telling us not to trust anyone is, you know." She chewed her lip. "Worrisome."
"Yes, well, it's worse than I thought," Harry told her. "Remember when you said we might be looking for a group of people?"
"Yes," she confirmed, exchanging furrowed glances with Draco. "Have you made some progress on that?"
"Sort of," Harry permitted. "Listen, this is going to sound crazy - "
"What, crazier than 'I should call them at 2:30 in the morning'?" Draco prompted irritably. "Doubtful."
" - but we have a lead on who it might be," Harry finished. "Have either of you ever heard of the Infinity Club?"
"No," Hermione said, frowning. "Should we have?"
"It's some sort of a secret society," Harry explained.
"Organized crime?" Draco suggested. "Some group operating outside the law?"
"That's quite a suspicious guess, Malfoy," Harry commented wryly, arching a brow, "but no. Worse, actually - a group operating inside the law," he explained, "which is why I'm now wary of what's going to happen when you both tour MACUSA."
"What happened?" Hermione asked, anxious. "Your note sounded like you uncovered something specific."
"I did," Harry confirmed. "I uncovered Cadmus Peverell, specifically."
"What?" Draco and Hermione exclaimed in unison, one slightly more dignified than the other.
"Like hell you did, Potter," Draco scoffed, looking supremely disgruntled as Hermione spared him a questioning glance, wondering whether he recognized the reference. "The Peverells are a long dead Sacred Twenty-Eight line," he pressed, leaning forward. "Any Peverell would have to be, what, five hundred years old? More?"
"He is," Harry said, his expression unchanging. "I mean. Sort of."
There was a pause.
"Great," Draco replied flatly. "Thanks for clarifying."
"Harry," Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "Are you sure? That's - "
"Impossible," Draco confirmed, apparently still indignant. "You might as well tell us that - oh, I don't know," he muttered, "the Deathly Hallows are real, or - "
"Well, they are," Harry informed him, shrugging in the fire, "but that's really not the issue at hand." Draco opened his mouth to argue but Hermione reached out, nudging him silent, and Harry continued. "Anyway, Cadmus Peverell is alive, and his brothers run some sort of group of people who've also been alive for centuries. Apparently," Harry exhaled, grimacing, "the Infinity Club makes it their business to influence politicians. They infiltrate Ministries all over the world and sway political decisions however it suits them."
Hermione and Draco glanced at each other, stunned.
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "So, presumably you see my issue, then."
"Not that I'm saying I believe you," Draco ventured slowly, frowning, "but if that were true, then - "
"Then nobody at any Ministry could be trusted," Harry confirmed, nodding. "Exactly."
Draco, apparently overwhelmed, looked very much as though he wanted to lie down.
"You're saying this Infinity Club is responsible for the Wizengamot poisonings, then?" Hermione asked, disbelieving, and Harry nodded.
"The leminscate is their symbol," he explained. "The mathematical symbol for infinity that's been left with all the bodies. And it's not just the Peverells," he clarified. "Apparently this is a group that spans countries and history."
"But what sense would that make?" Hermione pressed. "Why chance revealing themselves now, just to go after low-ranking Wizengamot Warlocks?"
Harry shrugged. "Maybe they're trying for scare tactics," he guessed. "I don't know, and neither does Cadmus."
"Cadmus," Draco echoed, looking dazed. "Which one is he?"
"The second brother in the Deathly Hallows story," Harry supplied. "The one who killed himself. Only he didn't," he added. "In case that was unclear."
"None of this is clear," Hermione said, frowning. "Who are we supposed to trust at MACUSA if anyone involved could be tampering with evidence, or corrupting the investigation - "
"I guess you'll just have to keep an eye on anyone who inserts themselves unnecessarily," Harry said. "Not sure who that would be, but that's your job."
"What about Carnegie?" Draco asked, his brow furrowed. "She's pretty fucking enthusiastic, isn't she?"
"I don't know," Harry said, shaking his head. "I really don't. I mean, I don't necessarily mistrust her," he qualified, hedging, "but either way, you're at a disadvantage because she knows the truth about you, so - "
"We could still mislead her," Hermione said, glancing at Draco. "Right? It wouldn't be that difficult," she offered hurriedly. "We could always pretend that we're distracted from the case by each other. Make excuses to slip away," she suggested, and Draco nodded slowly.
"Presuming you're able to contain your disdain for me," he remarked, and Hermione sighed heavily.
"Malfoy, for the last time - "
"This sounds like something I'm not necessary for," Harry interrupted loudly. "Just keep an eye on everyone at MACUSA, would you? And try to get along," he added. "Have fun. Keep me updated. CONSTANT VIGILANCE," he barked, laughing sharply, and then his head disappeared, the emerald green sparks fading to ash in the fireplace as he went, the illumination in the room going with him.
For a moment, Hermione and Draco sat in silence. Even in the dark, Hermione could tell Draco was looking at her; she waited, biding her time, and eventually he gave in, speaking first.
"I don't mean to be difficult, you know," he ventured slowly, clearing his throat. "I legitimately don't know how to be anything else."
"Don't be ridiculous," she muttered. "You know perfectly well you're being intentionally horrible."
He groaned.
"FINE," he pronounced, throwing his head back. "But you make it so easy."
Hermione sighed, rising to her feet. "Come on," she said, blindly swatting at his shoulder and gesturing for him to follow. "Let's just go back to sleep and try not to kill each other tomorrow."
"In my experience, that's as much as you can hope for from any relationship," Draco mumbled, and Hermione came to an abrupt stop, prompting him to stumble awkwardly into her as she turned to face him.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, and in the dim light from the streetlights outside, she watched his pale brow furrow in confusion. "I'm sorry Katie broke your heart," she explained, holding up a hand as he opened his mouth to speak. "I'm sorry the rest of the world is so quick to punish you, especially for things I'm sure you regret enough as it is - "
Draco sighed heavily. "For fuck's sake, Granger - "
"No, listen," she cut in, stepping closer. She watched him hold his breath, his chest expanding sharply before halting in place. "You don't have to push me away," she told him. "Okay? I won't leave," she promised. "I'm not going to leave you."
He stared down at her, silent, and she swallowed hard, forcing a smile.
"I meant," she clarified emphatically, shaking herself of the odd moment of intimacy, "I'm not going to leave you because this is my job."
"I'm your job?" he echoed sarcastically, his voice somewhat hoarse, and she shook her head.
"No, this is my job, and you are my partner," she told him. "That means something. Right?" she prompted. "That has to mean something to us. We can't trust anyone else," she reminded him, sighing, "so we have to at least trust each other."
She waited for a reaction. For a moment - several moments - they both seemed startled; she by her own strange admission, and he by her offering, it seemed. They each managed to catch their breaths in concert, synchronizing in the communion of their space.
Then, slowly, Draco's hand shifted. He raised it, carefully, as though he might have set it on her shoulder, or her arm - or dear god, her cheek -
But then he simply pointed behind her, gesturing into the bedroom.
"We should get some sleep," he suggested, and she shook herself of her temporary paralysis, nodding her agreement as she turned. "Long day of trusting each other tomorrow," he added slyly.
She climbed into bed, sighing, and shifted to face him.
"You're the worst," she told him.
Draco reached out, patting her head.
"I know," he assured her.
a/n: dedicated to Estrunk, DameEsmeralda, arizonadaydreamer! Thank you to everyone for reading! For those who read my other works: Nightmares and Nocturnes is now complete, and expect a Nobility update in the next 24 hours.
Edit: Forgot to add that DrSallySparrow and I have started a podcast! Check it out at tinyurl dot com slash ep1-TPIS