Chapter 12: Narrow Escapes
Potterverse
Draco had seen death before. He had seen it in a variety of ways, in fact. Certainly more ways than he'd ever wished to. Not once had he thought to himself I'd like to see what it looks like when a man bleeds out and yet, for so many months, that very thing had been as uncommon as Sunday breakfast. Draco had seen death by killing curse. Death by snake. Death by torture. Death by strangulation at least once or twice. They all looked slightly different, the deaths, but were ultimately the same in terms of symptoms. There was something of a dullness at the eyes, and it was a wonder he had never thought to consider even Lord Voldemort could make death look so frighteningly mundane.
The moment Hermione's knife had struck the Dark Lord square in the chest, he had staggered and dropped, and for whatever reason, Draco's brain thought it an apt time to flood him with recollections of Lucius, and specifically the way he had looked while recounting Lord Voldemort's resurrection. Lucius had been colorless and wide-eyed at the time, relaying the story to Draco in something like haunted wonder; the recounting of a gruesome, aberrant fairytale Draco couldn't stop listening to and Lucius couldn't stop telling. It had been a cemetery, Lucius had said, and the body seemed to have changed completely even as they stood there, watching the Dark Lord speak with precisely the same voice; the same terrifying presence none of them had forgotten. 'The body,' Lucius had repeated in an awestruck whisper; not his body, but the body, as if it were separate somehow from the man himself.
Perhaps that was why Lord Voldemort looked like a corpse even before he fell.
Draco leapt down from his makeshift crow's nest, stumbling forward to where the Dark Lord had fallen. He was breathing still, weakly, and Draco, half in a daze, reached forward and gripped the handle of the knife. Hogwarts hadn't covered anatomy all that thoroughly, but still, it was clear the edge of it had been buried in a lung; the Dark Lord was struggling to breathe, gurgling with a revolting, half-drowning sound as his arm reached out, struggling for his wand.
Draco wrenched the knife out of his chest, watching Lord Voldemort's eyes widen with a gasp, and then he slammed it back down, straight into the sternum. The Dark Lord reached up, his clawed hands aiming now for Draco's face, and in a panic, Draco tore the knife free and slammed it down again, panting now as the hand he'd pressed to the Dark Lord's chest began to saturate itself in mortality. Blood was never poetic in death, Draco knew. It was never red, never crimson, never scarlet. When death was waiting on the other side, it was in rivulets dark as mud, caked in Draco's nailbeds and masking the color of his skin.
"The carotid," he heard in his ear. "Would be quicker. Easier. If you want it to stop."
He struggled to glance up behind him, finding Hermione's hand on his shoulder, and she tilted the line of her neck with an appropriately grave solemnity, revealing the spot on her throat where he'd pressed his lips so reverently before.
"Here," she said, flicking a nail across it, and he glanced down, watching the Dark Lord choke on malfunctioning breaths. Somewhere above him, Draco catalogued hazily that Harry and Theo had come to a stop; in front of him, Death Eaters were raging, aiming curses; other faculty had joined in—perhaps even people who had not been there to start—but all he could hear was Hermione's voice, and the tiny motion of her finger against her neck.
He placed her knife against Lord Voldemort's throat; closed his eyes.
"Do it," came a voice above him, and Draco looked up, catching Harry's hardened glare. It was a callousness not directed at him, Draco knew, but at the man who was dying beneath him. Who would die, clearly—who could not possibly survive three stab wounds to the chest—but who wasn't gone yet. Who wasn't quite gone.
Draco jerked the knife, sliced it, and threw it down with a clatter, not wanting to watch. Immediately, he stumbled backwards into Hermione, her hand pressing firmly between the blades of his shoulders.
"Thank you," slipped from his tongue, tumbling headlong between his lips, because could he have done it, honestly? Could he have finished what she started, had she not begun it on his behalf? "Thank you, Hermione—"
"You wizards," she murmured in his ear, "are always forgetting there are so many other ways to bring a man to his knees."
Draco's stomach turned, lurched; his blood ran cold, then stilled. Numbness washed over him and in the same motion, Harry landed beside him, footsteps quaking and ricocheting through the unsteady matter of Draco's rigid mind.
"Snape's dead," Harry said, and nudged him. "Wand up," he advised, and then hesitated, cutting his gaze to Hermione before fixing back on Draco. "Not that wand," he amended, and hurriedly reached around, grabbing Draco's wand from where he'd shoved it into his back pocket. "This one," Harry said, slapping it firmly in Draco's palm. "Don't let anyone else see the other one."
"The Dark Lord killed Snape?" Draco mumbled, muscle wading thickly through the motions of swapping wands. Harry was right to hide the Elder Wand, obviously, but Draco wasn't quite in the position to see things clearly. His Mark still tingled; he doubted the Dark Lord had any continuing control over his pain sensors, but still, there was no looking at his own left hand.
"No," Theo supplied, landing on his other side. "McGonagall did. Said something about him fucking up her school and just nailed him."
"Good for her," Draco said, swaying slightly, and as Harry prodded him upright, Ron finally joined them, looking aghast.
"What are we going to do about this?" he asked.
"Give him to the merpeople," Theo suggested, kicking at Lord Voldemort's unmoving foot. "Toss him in the lake?"
"Not him," Ron said urgently, pointing upwards. "Them."
In the midst of his relatively unplanned murder, Draco had failed to notice the swarms of Death Eaters had been met by a guerilla task force of Order members and older students—Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan, and a number of disappeared seventh years included. He realized with a sickening lurch that Bellatrix was falling limply through the air, the target of a spell coming from somewhere near the ground; beside him, Hermione went rigid at the sight of her, about to step forward until Harry reached around, grabbing her wrist and dragging her back.
"We should go," he said, to her and to the others. "They'll be fine without us now, and we should leave."
"Why?" Ron asked, his gaze snagging overhead on what was probably one of his brothers (Draco caught a glimmer of red hair and made a probably-accurate presumption), but Harry's jaw was gnashed together, his gaze flicking down to where Lord Voldemort's body lay still on the ground.
They were going to call Harry a hero. Draco understood implicitly that was precisely what Harry was trying to avoid, his hands curling and uncurling apprehensively at his side. They were going to say they were heroes, when Draco and Harry—and a Hermione who wasn't here, but whom Draco still felt unwilling to disappoint—knew the truth: that the job wasn't finished. Not yet. The job was only half-done. Only one of countless versions had been put to rest, his head lolling lifelike on the floor, while more of him remained.
In the same moment he realized it, a flash of silver caught Draco's hazy glance.
"Diadem," Draco said, recalling suddenly the message Hermione had told him to relay. "Is that—" He grabbed Harry, forcefully turning him. "Is this a diadem?"
"It's—" Harry blinked, reaching for it, and snatched his hand back, frowning. "Fuck, of course. Who has a diadem?" he asked, squinting at it. "Not Hufflepuff or Slytherin. Ravenclaw?"
"Yes," Draco said, hazily recalling his assigned reading from Hogwarts, A History and hoping the other two wouldn't notice that Hermione, who practically regarded the book as a religious text, hadn't been the first to say so. Luckily, Ron was too busy staring up at the ceiling, searching for a glimpse of someone familiar, and Harry was distracted by something else, his brow furrowed as he took the diadem in both hands.
"Come on," Harry said, turning to Hermione. "We have to go, we have to leave—"
"Harry, are you serious?" Ron demanded, launching himself in Harry's path. "Bloody hell, mate, this isn't over! They're still fighting—"
"I know that," Harry spat, looking torn, even to Draco. "I know, but we can do more elsewhere. We can get to the Chamber," he suggested wildly. "Basilisk venom. We can do that now—"
"Let's go, then," Theo said instantly, falling in step with Harry. "How do we get there?"
"It's—second floor, we have to get downstairs—"
Ron gritted his teeth, not budging from where he stood. "But Harry—"
"Stay if you want to stay," Harry told him flatly. "It wouldn't be the first time, would it?"
Even Draco could see that was a shot Ron hadn't been expecting.
"You can't keep holding that against me," Ron insisted, mouth tightening as above them, spells mixed with broken slabs of stone, and rubble continued to fall. "You can't hold it against me, Harry, that I was worried about my family, that I had doubts—"
"Do you have doubts?" Harry posed brusquely to Theo. "Or you?" he asked, rounding on Hermione. "Do you want to follow me—to trust me," he said, finally fixing a glance at Draco, "or do you want to stay behind?"
"HARRY!" came a voice across the room, and just as abruptly, Harry's entire posture went rigid with obvious recognition.
At the entrance to the room, more of the students who'd disappeared from school were scrambling in from elsewhere in the castle. From afar, Draco could see the shout had come from Ginny Weasley, her gaze falling magnetically on Harry from where she stood, a mix of adoration and relief on her face.
"Harry," she called again, taking a step towards him, and Harry took a hasty step back, glancing at Ron again.
"We have to go," Harry said hoarsely. "We have things we still need to do, Ron. We have unfinished business."
Theo, Draco knew, wasn't in a position to know what he was talking about, and yet his hand fell staunchly on Harry's shoulder.
"If you want to go, then fucking go," Theo growled, throwing up an Arresto Momentum to slow the falling bits of ceiling. "But either we go or we fight. This little pep talk between the two of you is going to have to end," he advised, challenging Ron with a look, "and soon."
"We're going," Harry said firmly. "We can do more good destroying horcruxes than we can here. Only we can really end him. Are you coming or not?" he asked Ron, who glanced at Ginny. She had clearly caught the signs of Harry's impending departure and paused, frozen, evidence of dismay obvious even from across the room as her lips paused around the shape of Harry's name.
"I'm not done," Harry told Ron again, tearing his gaze away from her. "I can't go back. I'm not finished."
Theo and Hermione stood on either side of him. Of the four of them, two had chosen a side, standing firm on one side of Harry's invisibly-drawn line. Draco glanced down, eyeing the blood pooling on the floor, and took a carefully measured step towards Harry, leaving Ron to stand alone and stock-still, hands spread helplessly at his side.
"If you want to stay, stay," Harry told Ron, voice hard. "Protect them. I'm not alone. I'll be fine."
Come on, Draco thought. If you take a step back, it's over—
"I found you before," Ron said, swallowing decisively. "I can do it again."
At that, Harry turned without a word, spinning in place and walking away. Theo, the most loyal person Draco had ever known, gave Ron a rigid stare, and Hermione only faltered for a moment before following.
"Hermione," Ron called after her, pained. "You understand, don't you?"
She shook her head, wordless, and gave Draco a nudge before turning after Harry.
"I—" Draco started to say, and then grimaced. "Sorry," he finished with a final glance at Ron, not entirely certain what he was apologizing for, and then he turned to follow Harry, Hermione, and Theo, suddenly acutely conscious of the wreckage they had left behind.
Grindelverse
Only one thing was obvious to Hermione, which was extremely disappointing. Usually a number of things were obvious to her (considering she was highly logical and therefore able to discard extraneous detail that clouded other people's concentrations) but in this instance, she was only able to think about the diadem tucked into Remus' pocket; worse, she could draw only one conclusion. She could not, under any circumstances, permit the diadem to be transported back to Tom Riddle—particularly if it was what she thought it was.
Could Remus have any idea? It seemed unlikely. He hadn't expressed anything in particular after having procured it, though the satisfaction of having completed an errand seemed to leave him in slightly higher spirits. He stepped onto the staircase without any particular look of illness this time, and as he seemed more than willing to take the lead, Hermione leaned over to speak to Draco, keeping her voice low.
"Where did things change in this universe?" she whispered to Draco, who frowned with confusion. "I mean what exactly was the linchpin change from my universe to yours? I know you know what it is," she added warningly, and his mouth twitched with amusement. "You know everything else, don't you? There's no possible way you didn't try to figure it out."
"Thank you for that vote of confidence," he said, sparing her a vaguely smug look of satisfaction, "and yes, I do know. It's the duel," he supplied. "Between Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. In my universe, Grindelwald won and Dumbledore was killed. In yours…"
He trailed off, making a vague gesture to her universe's particular breed of devastation.
"What year was that?" Hermione asked, frowning. "1945?"
Draco nodded curtly.
"So Tom Riddle was…" She quickly sorted through what Harry had told her of his life. "He was in his seventh year at Hogwarts when Dumbledore was killed. That's after he learned how to make a—" She hesitated, dropping her voice even lower and tugging him closer. "Do you know what a horcrux is?"
"Yes," Draco said. "Of course."
She blinked, startled. "What?"
"It's part of standard Durmstrang curriculum. I think we covered them in, I don't know. Third year?" he mused, brow furrowed. "Third or fourth year of Mortal Arts, I would say."
"You mean 'defense against' them?" she asked optimistically, and he turned his head to give her another of his terrible laughing glances.
"Sure," he said, as the staircase finally delivered them back to the third floor. "Something wrong?" he prompted.
In response, Hermione gestured vaguely to where Remus was sauntering ahead of them.
"Ah," said Draco, making a face as he made the connection. "So that thing's a horcrux? Well, that's stupid."
"What?" she hissed. "That's hardly a reasonable response, is it?"
"Well, part of the benefit to learning about the dark arts is learning the pitfalls of using them," he remarked, which struck Hermione as surprisingly salient commentary. "Horcruxes cost far more than they provide. It's a grueling, perverse bit of magic to make one, and the so-called 'immortality' you gain after making one is hardly the same as living."
It was an excellent point, considering what she'd seen of Voldemort; he didn't look human anymore, and how long had that been the case? If anything, the stage he'd lived in between 'death' and resurrection had seemed particularly bad, too. What if nobody had ever brought him back? Would he have existed as less than a ghost forever?
Hermione shivered at the prospect. That would be no life at all.
"Only a sadist would make a horcrux," Draco said darkly, echoing her thoughts, "and only a psychopath would want to use it."
"Well, welcome to my universe's Tom Riddle in a nutshell," she murmured as Remus turned over his shoulder, eyeing them with something between contempt and suspicion.
"What are you two conspiring about?" he demanded.
"If I want to speak privately to Hermione, that's really none of your concern," Draco replied coolly, pointedly reaching out to tuck an errant curl behind Hermione's ear. He let the backs of his fingers linger against her cheek, his thumb brushing just below the shape of her mouth, and though she knew it was an excellent cover for what they had been discussing, she fought a shiver anyway, pulling delicately out of his reach just as Harry and Theo turned the corner with Ron.
"—and it's like, okay, so I'm Head Boy," Ron was saying, "but so was Percy, right? And so was Bill, so it's nothing new—"
"You know what you should do," Theo suggested gravely. "You should kill someone. That would set you apart."
"He's joking," Harry assured Ron, not even batting an eye. "Ignore him."
"No, actually, I'm serious," Theo corrected, which seemed to be a surprise to both parties. "Don't just kill anyone, though, I mean. Be selective, at least. For example, have you ever tried to kill—oh, I don't know. Some sort of militaristic dictator?" he mused aloud, as Ron's face paled.
"Are you," Ron began, and stammered to a halt. "Are you talking about an assassination?"
"Oh no," Draco exhaled under his breath, shaking his head as Theo grinned broadly.
"Of course not," Theo said. "That's crazy."
"You just winked," Ron noted slowly, "so I'm genuinely not sure what's happening."
"Did I?" Theo prompted.
"It would set you apart from the rest of your family," Harry noted, his tone artfully uninterested. "Then again, so would a great number of things. You could simply color your hair, for example, if that sounds easier."
"I don't understand," Ron said slowly. "Are you—are you two trying to kill Grindelw-"
"—yes, thank you so much," James was saying, striding out from the Headmistress' office. "I very much look forward to parting with such a totally undesirable percentage of my family fortune," he muttered through gritted teeth, flashing a glare at Harry before raising his voice again, "so thank you so much for the opportunity!"
"And may I say, you look delightful, considering," Sirius said, stepping jauntily out after him. "What are you, thirty? Thirty-five?"
The door slammed in his face.
"I think she liked me," Sirius ruled smugly, smoothing down his robes before turning to the others. "Well, shall we, children? You're not one of ours," he noted, frowning slightly at a still-bemused Ron. "Are you? I don't know anymore. I can't keep track."
"Me? No," Ron said hastily. "I'm just—I was just leaving—"
"Well, owl us if you change your mind," Theo said, eyeing his fingernails. "Or if you get bored and want to experiment sexually."
"That he's joking about," Harry told Ron firmly, flashing Theo a silencing look of warning.
"I'm easing the tension," Theo assured him. "Though you have to admit, that's just another thing on the list, isn't it?"
"I have to go," Ron said, awkwardly hurrying away as Draco gleefully waved after him, cutting a doubtful glance of disapproval at Hermione as he went.
"Oh, just drop it," she whispered to him. "I told you, he and I aren't a thing."
"Mm, well, I'm not afraid to work a little harder, you know," he murmured back. "If you still have doubts?"
His gaze swept pointedly over her before refocusing beneath a suggestively arched brow.
"Stop," she managed to exhale, swallowing, and Remus cleared his throat.
"Well, I have what I needed, and while it's been a delight to get to know all of you horrible people," he said, "I now very much wish to leave. So, if that's all—"
"Wait," Hermione blurted unexpectedly, hand shooting out as she launched herself between Remus and the exit. "You—you can't leave yet. He can't leave," she said emphatically, whirling around to face Draco while frantically trying to pantomime the diadem. "Right? Because, um…"
Recognition (thankfully) registered, and Draco straightened. "You can't leave, Remus, because James told me he wanted to get a drink before we left. Didn't you?" he asked James, who looked consummately horrified.
"I did?" James asked weakly, motioning for Draco to immediately desist. "Because I really feel that I did not."
"Come to think of it, I heard you say that, too," Harry remarked, leaning against Theo's shoulder with a look of rebellious smuggery. "I think he likes you," Harry added to Remus, who turned to James with a prompting glance.
"Well," James began, and withered. "I mean, I suppose I could have one drink, if everyone else wants to join—"
"So, let me get this straight," Remus noted doubtfully to James. "You want me to get a drink with you, your platonic life partner, and all of these teenagers—none of which are technically yours."
"Ah," James said, exchanging a glance with Sirius. "Well—"
"I'm coming," Sirius said with a hint of challenge, "and I'm apparently responsible for all of these children, so yes. Correct."
"We can go to the Three Broomsticks," Hermione suggested, as Theo nodded along, obviously sensing mischief afoot and immediately leaping to further its progression. "It's just, um—just this way, in Hogsmeade—"
She tugged Draco along after her, beckoning for Harry and Theo to catch up as behind her, James made noncommittal noises that were met equally with low drawls from Remus and indignant huffs from Sirius.
"We have to get the thing from Remus," she whispered to Harry, who had materialized firmly on her right the moment he suspected a brewing plot. "It's a horcrux. I think."
"Stupid," Harry said, glancing across Hermione to Draco, who haughtily nodded his agreement. "But yeah, sure, okay. Why, again?"
"Because," Hermione sighed with exasperation, "do you really want to have a Lord Voldemort to deal with after you've gotten rid of Grindelwald?"
"How do you know Tom Riddle would do the same thing?" Harry asked her. "He's gotten older here. Maybe he, I don't know. Fucking learned something." As he said it, he grimaced, and held up a hand even before Theo opened his mouth. "No, you're right. Nevermind."
"How do you want to get it, then?" Theo asked Hermione, neutrally traipsing beside Harry down the main stairs to the front double-doors. "Brute strength isn't really my department, but I'm always up for trying something new and inadvisable."
"I—" Hermione began, and paused. "Just out of curiosity, what would brute strength look like?"
"Headlock," Theo said, ticking it off on his finger, "followed by, I don't know. Left hook. That's a thing, isn't it?"
"The man's a fucking werewolf," Harry reminded him.
"Right, so, I'll keep an eye on his teeth," Theo said with a shrug, as Hermione sighed, beckoning them through the creaking doors and onto the path to Hogsmeade.
"Let's rule that out," Hermione suggested. "Anyone else?"
"I nominate James for a seduce and destroy mission," Harry said instantly.
"Rejected," Draco told him from Hermione's left, "on the basis of he won't."
"So I happen to be glorying in my father's discomfort," Harry replied with a mocking drawl, moodily dropping his voice as he spoke. "Is that a crime?"
"It's not great," Theo said grimly, "and that's coming from me."
"Actually, I'm surprised Remus seems interested in James at all," Hermione remarked, glancing over her shoulder to see the three men following at varying degrees of willingness behind them. "I mean, I never knew for sure, but in my universe I always thought he was sort of in love with—"
She broke off, hesitating, as Harry, Theo, and Draco all turned expectantly towards her.
She gestured wordlessly over her shoulder, and their eyes widened.
"No," Draco exhaled. "Sirius? Really?"
"But Sirius is so…" Theo cocked his head, frowning. "Invested in tits, I always thought."
"You know, speaking of—well, not tits," Hermione amended quickly, as Draco stifled a laugh. "I've been meaning to ask—who's your mother supposed to be?" Hermione asked Harry, and he paused, considering it.
"He told me she died," he said simply. "I didn't ask too many questions, actually. Dad does have a lot of women around from time to time," he mused, tilting his head in thought, "but it never bothered me because James was always there. I've always had—"
"Two parents," Theo cut in quietly, and for once, Harry looked something close to sheepish.
"Sorry," Harry said, his hand slipping down to brush the tips of his fingers against Theo's.
"Don't say sorry to me. Be sorry you tried to throw James to the literal wolves," Theo advised drily, lifting his chin. "But none of this helps, does it? Unless Sirius is the one you want to charm the pants off Remus—"
"I told you, it was just a guess," Hermione reminded them hurriedly. "Nobody is charming the pants off anyone. The point is," she continued, leading them to the entrance to the Three Broomsticks, "we just need to make sure Remus doesn't take that diadem back to Tom, so we can't let him leave until—"
"Holy fucking shit," came a voice behind her, and she turned, startled, to find James Potter with his jaw halfway to the ground, staring at something inside the tavern. "Is that—am I—is anyone else seeing this, or—?"
"I'm seeing it, mate," Sirius whispered hoarsely.
Hermione spun, bewildered, to find that a pretty woman with a long red plait tossed over one shoulder was shuffling between tables, pausing to wipe sweat from her brow before her gaze snagged on where they stood in the doorway.
"Just a sec-" she began, and then her eyes widened, "-ond. James?" she choked out, dismayed, and James stepped forward, nudging Hermione aside to step closer, as if that might have helped him to be sure.
"Lily?" James asked her, his entire body rigid, and beside Hermione, Harry blinked, his brow furrowing with disbelief as Theo's hand clapped instantly on his shoulder.
"Fuck," said Lily Evans.
Then she turned and sprinted out the back.
a/n: For beviant, who is always the Most Enthusiastic. Meet back here Monday? Also, some things: new WIP (The Commoner's Guide to Bedding a Royal) just posted chapter 2, new one-shot coming this weekend in Amortentia, and exclusively on AO3, Aurora's birthday gift of five stories for a surprise fandom will also begin posting Monday.
