Chapter 21: It's Not You, It's My Enemies

In the rare moments that he was being honest with himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt had to admit that he was not overly fond of having power.

The problem, really, was that power (at least the kind wielded by the Minister of Magic) was a rather hazy, disingenuous illusion - which was what Albus had so often tried to tell him, as Kingsley now frequently recalled. For all the times Kingsley had asked his friend and mentor why he hadn't simply accepted the many, many calls for his campaign - all the many times that the wizarding world had pleaded for a leader, a hero like Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard who'd ever lived and the very vanquisher of darkness - he'd never gotten much more than a gentle, "It's not for me, Kingsley."

"But why not?" Kingsley had always protested. "Don't you feel some sort of responsibility to the rest of the world to lead it? Nobody else is as respected, nobody as revered - "

"Yes," Albus permitted, "but even if I were to presume those things deserved, reverence and respect are hardly prerequisites for service in the Ministry. I'm simply not made of the right materials for the job. Someday," he'd added, in what Kingsley had then considered a blissful benediction, "someday, Kingsley, you'll understand what I mean."

It was no secret, after all, that Kingsley aspired to the office. He'd tried to be as selfless as he'd believed Albus to be, but in reality there had always been something in him that had selfishly longed for it, beyond the measures of humble public service. Kingsley had served his career in the Ministry watching Cornelius Fudge flounder; watching Rufus Scrimgeour mishandle nearly every aspect of his pseudo-tyrannical rule; watching the government he'd worked so diligently to serve being taken over by puppets and Dark Lords alike; and eventually, Kingsley had to wonder if someone else were not more deserving of the post - or, more accurately, if the post were not deserving of someone rather like him.

Or, in fact, him.

To be chosen to lead the wizarding world after the darkness that had befallen it during Lord Voldemort's reign (indeed, not only to be chosen, but to be unanimously identified as the only satisfactory option) was an honor, and Kingsley had once worn it with pride. He imagined his friend and mentor, Albus Dumbledore, would have been beaming with pride on his behalf, and on the day he'd been elected, he could have sworn the sun had shone on him as indulgently as Albus himself might have done.

But oh, how wrong he'd been. Albus Dumbledore had not been selfless; in reality, he'd simply been much, much smarter. Each time that Kingsley was pressured against his better judgment by the Wizengamot or by the self-promoting bureaucrats he relied on to accomplish even the smallest tasks, he realized anew that Albus' indulgent smile had not been borne of pride.

You fool, it must have said. You stupid, stupid fool, Kingsley Shacklebolt, for ever believing you might have made a difference.

"You will have to speak to Ludo Bagman," the Warlock Ifan Hawkworth delivered unambiguously, accosting Kingsley in his office at an hour that was unreasonably late, even for a Minister, who already could not afford the luxury of sleep. "The Warlocks and I would like to see this resolved as soon as possible, Minister Shacklebolt, particularly as our annual Ministry address draws closer."

"Ifan, have you forgotten Ludo Bagman's history with this Ministry?" Kingsley asked bluntly, wanting very much to drag the too-proud Warlock straight into his pensieve to relive it as he had lived it; to see again the man who'd fled from gambling debts, who'd manipulated a child, who'd done everything in his power to flex his privilege only to subsequently embarrass the office he'd served and abandon it in the midst of a crisis. "Ludo may be informed in this field, but are you and I really going to pretend that's some sort of faultless knowledge? Or that indeed, the Wizengamot itself never once suspected him of a wide variety of wrongs?"

But Ifan, for all his stiff propriety, showed no evidence of shame.

"Not everyone can afford the reach of your memory, Kingsley," Ifan informed him stiffly. "Right now, there is panic in the Ministry. In all Ministries, in fact, and if you don't cooperate with the French Ministre, we will be seen as international antagonists. As fools, even," he scoffed, "who care less for the safety of our people than for our tired old grudges. Did you not run for Minister on a platform of enlightened reform? Of compassion for those who suffered beneath Lord Voldemort's reign?"

"Ludo Bagman is, and has always been, a liar and an addict," Kingsley reminded him. "He's hardly the demographic that campaign was meant to protect. Compassion is one thing, Ifan," he added sharply, "but fool me twice - "

"As I say, Kingsley," Ifan interrupted, "some of us have to deal with far more pressing fears. For example, the fear that one among us may be assassinated at any given moment," he trumpeted emphatically, "simply for doing our jobs. For keeping the peace. Is your personal vendetta against Bagman worth more than our wider peace of mind?"

Kingsley blinked.

Now it was a personal vendetta?

"No," he rumbled gruffly, "but - "

"But nothing," Ifan cut in sharply, taking a threatening step closer. "You are expendable, Minister," he reminded Kingsley quietly. "You can be recalled at any moment, and never more easily than once you refuse international cooperation and reject an opportunity to put your public at ease. Do you want to go down in history as the Minister who permitted an international criminal to go free simply because you didn't care for the source?" he prompted warningly. "Would you prefer another Warlock to die, Minister, simply because you can't forgive a man something as trifling as a gambling debt?"

It had been a darkly compelling point.

Too compelling, in fact, to argue it very successfully, and that had resolved to a powerless situation of its own.

"You can't possibly be thinking of summoning Ludo Bagman," Harry Potter demanded, storming into Kingsley's office and angrily slamming his hands on the wood of his desk. "Kingsley, you can't be serious!"

"It's done, Auror Potter," Kingsley exhaled, thinking once again how much easier Harry Potter had had it. Harry's actions, unlike Kingsley's, were never subjected to the fickle public's disapproval, and even if they ever were, Kingsley doubted anyone could bring themselves to disapprove. A young, charismatic war hero was an improvement on a weary lifelong politician, even if Kingsley had done more than his fair share for the restoration of their world. "My hands are tied, Harry, as they have been for this entire investigation. You know as well as I do that the Warlocks are getting restless. The Wizengamot wants a solution, and there is one available for them now, whether I like it or not."

In response, Harry's green eyes only narrowed, the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead splintering as his brow furrowed in disapproval.

"Ludo Bagman is not above tampering with things and you know it," Harry hissed. "Or didn't he try to influence the Triwizard Tournament? How do you know he's not simply working for someone he owes now," he ranted, "or covering his tracks, or - "

"I don't know for sure," Kingsley admitted, rubbing his temple, "but Harry, surely you know I'm going to keep an eye on him. And at least we have answers now," he added, though it was more for his own benefit, he suspected, as Harry did not look assuaged. "At least we can finally reassure the public that we've come to a reasonable conclusion - "

"Well, I think you're wrong on this," Harry retorted, with all his insuppressible youth. "This doesn't make sense. This Emmanuel Gagnon had nothing to gain by these assassinations, Kingsley, and something is off," he muttered. "Something is - it's just too easy, Kingsley - "

"Unfortunately, neither your intuition nor the conception of 'too easy' is enough of a reason for me not to call Ludo Bagman back," Kingsley sighed, having been up all night making the same argument to himself. "The potions have been confirmed to be magical adrenaline of Gagnon's creation, Harry. Everything Bagman has claimed has been correct, and at this point, knowing what we know, I have no choice but to close the invest-"

"NO!" Harry shouted, abruptly losing his temper. "You can't close the investigation, Kingsley! First of all, what about Auror Carnegie?" he protested. "She's still being investigated for the death of her father, which this Gagnon person couldn't possibly have been responsible for - "

"Harry, I know you like Aur- Miss Carnegie," Kingsley attempted, trying not to give another exhausted sigh, "but once again, my job isn't to clear her name. My job was to aid in the international assassinations, but having no actual victims, I can hardly insist the rest of the world keep looking when they already have the man responsible - "

"Your job, Kingsley, is to protect the wizarding world," Harry growled, his hands tightening to fists that swelled angrily atop Kingsley's countless other parchments full of worry. "Your job, Minister, is to do what's right - "

It was an accusation so close to home that Kingsley nearly flinched, his jaw tensing with frustration.

"I have to do what's right for this Ministry, not my personal conscience," Kingsley reminded him, rising sharply to his feet. "I have no choice, Harry, and my decision is final. Your partnership with Malfoy is over," he ruled angrily, leaning into an unusual fit of temper, "as is your employment of Miss Granger. Send them home, Harry, now."

"But what about Dionisia Trelawney's death?" Harry pressed, unyielding. "What about the attempt on Percy Weasley's life? Even if you remove Gagnon's potions from the equation, these things still don't fit together!"

At that, Kingsley's long-thinning patience finally snapped.

"That," he said coldly, "is your job, Auror Potter. My job is to afford your department its necessary resources, and given that the resources previously discussed for this investigation are no longer necessary, they are hereby rescinded. Malfoy and Granger are no longer under Ministry protection. They may no longer claim association with the Ministry in any capacity - "

"I can't do that," Harry cut in, brow furrowed with rapid calculation. "Malfoy's company is planning the Wizengamot's annual address, and their contracts have already been approved by the Ministry - "

"Fine," Kingsley permitted bluntly. "Then they are event planners and nothing else, Harry. No more sending Granger and Malfoy as ambassadors, no more involvement of them in this case, and certainly no more discussion of Ministry affairs with either of them. When their contracts are fulfilled, the Ministry's association with - with - "

"Deathstar Enterprises," Harry muttered sullenly.

" - is over," Kingsley finished. "Am I clear?"

He watched Harry Potter, the boy he'd once fought so tirelessly to protect and whom he'd so often been thankful for, grit his teeth in abject frustration.

"It seems the Ministry never changes, then, does it?" Harry remarked, glowering. "I thought we'd finally put someone worthy in this office - someone whose conscience couldn't be compromised," he accused, "but that's simply not the case, is it?"

Kingsley tried not to let the slight sting too badly, though in truth, it resonated sharply in the depths of his soul.

"No," he said, without elaboration. "You're dismissed, Auror Potter."

Harry's expression soured.

"Thank you very much for your time, then, Minister," he replied insincerely, and turned to storm out of his office, leaving Kingsley behind to let his head fall into his hands, considering once again how he should have listened to Albus Dumbledore.

"You might have just told me, Albus," Kingsley muttered to no one, "that there's no good to be accomplished in this office with politics tying both my hands behind my back. Should've just been Headmaster at Hogwarts, shouldn't I?"

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer.

"Albus, you too-clever bastard," Kingsley sighed, not for the first time.

Then he leaned back in his chair, marveling again just how much he'd come to loathe the utter powerlessness of having power.

12 Grimmauld Place
October 5, 2003
6:15 a.m.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Daisy said carefully, watching Harry pace the floor of his study. "Listen, Harry, I know it must seem like I'm just trying to protect myself, but my gut is telling me not to buy this Gagnon guy as a suspect. Not to mention that there's still a lot of unanswered questions here - "

"I know," Harry replied irritably, his hand rising reflexively to rub at the scar on his forehead. "I know that, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do now that Kingsley's closed the investigation. I still need something for you to consult on," he muttered to himself, his gaze flicking momentarily towards her, "plus the Club continues to be implicated in all of this, and I need some way to prove Ludo Bagman's up to something, although once again, I don't know what - "

"Easy," Theo declared, rising to his feet and unrepentantly positioning himself as an obstacle to Harry's pacing, forcing Harry to an unsteady halt. "You catch him in the act, Potter. He's an addict," Theo added. "A relentless gambler. My contacts say he was placing bets with them for years, long before he actually fled the goblins."

"Who are you again?" Daisy asked, glancing up at Theo, but he ignored her.

"Ludo Bagman is a gambler, Potter," Theo said again, placing both hands on Harry's shoulders. "Sooner or later, he'll come back to it. You just have to position yourself somewhere you can catch him slipping back into old habits."

"But what if I'm wrong?" Harry pressed, fidgeting. "Kingsley's right. Gagnon does seem to be the originator of the potions, and I have no resources now that the case has been closed. Just because I personally don't trust Ludo Bagman doesn't mean I have a reason to keep investigating the assassinations - "

"You mean Auror Potter doesn't have a reason to keep investigating," Theo clarified, prompting Harry to look up in surprise. "The Ministry has no reason to suspect him, but you do. So hire me," he concluded, shrugging. "You say it's personal, Potter? Then make it personal."

"I can't," Harry said, frowning. "That's - I can't - "

"As illegal as this so clearly is," Daisy agreed carefully, "this guy's got a point. You can't work within the Ministry, but only half your investigation was ever public, was it?" she prompted. "So just let things continue as they already have."

Harry glanced warily at Theo.

"I can't keep Hermione and Malfoy on this. At this point, they're too widely publicized, too closely watched - and if you get caught," he ventured hesitantly, "I won't be able to protect you, Nott. I can't keep you out of Azkaban if something goes wrong."

"Hey, I stayed out this long," Theo reminded him, shrugging. "Rather impressively, too, I might add - "

"Meanwhile, we do know the Club exists, Harry," Daisy reminded him. "We know more than the Ministry does, and you have the option to investigate the Club for suspected conspiracy, don't you? Any open investigation on an international scale would be enough to keep me here," she added carefully, "and then I could help you with this Ludo Bagman character. And I could help this guy," she added, glancing disapprovingly at Theo. "Who, again, is—who, exactly?"

"Theo Nott, person of ambiguous intentions," Theo supplied curtly, sparing her a disinterested nod. "I work for a company called 'Parties Parties Parties Part-"

"Nott," Harry growled warningly.

"Well, you did say we're event planners again," Theo drawled. "It really does not get more fitting than that. Though what do you think of this for a company name: 'Harry Potter and the Cursed Children,' or - "

"NOTT," Harry shouted.

"Fine, I'll fine-tune it," Theo assured him, but Daisy stepped forward, clearly toying with something unrelated.

"This Bagman guy," she said slowly. "He's a gambler, right? So where's somewhere he would go to bet on something? I'm not exactly well-known around here," she reminded him. "I mean, certainly not in London's less formal circles, so maybe if I went, you know, underground - "

"Underground," Harry echoed, recognition clanging, and glanced questioningly at Theo, who looked at once exuberant and satisfied. "We already have Cad, but you know how I feel about him - "

"Quite. So tell me, then, Carnegie," Theo purred, turning his sly grin on her, "can you fight?"

"Fight?" she echoed, looking startled. "I mean, I'm an Auror," she clarified. "I've passed all my physical fitness exams. Plus I have a fair amount of tactical training, and I do have quite a lot of experience with self-defense and - "

"Sure," Theo interrupted carelessly. "But can you fight?"

Harry waited, eyeing her for a response, and she exhaled slowly.

"Yeah," she finally admitted, folding her arms over her chest. "Yeah, I've been known to fuck shit up."

"Well, there we go, then," Theo declared blithely, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "And now, Daisy Carnegie, we can all be friends."

Le Château Perdu
Jardin des Tuileries
7:45 a.m.

"Malfoy!"

Draco groaned.

"Later," he muttered, burrowing his face in his pillow. "I'm sleeping."

"Listen, Malfoy, this is sort of urgent - "

"I respectfully disagree," he retorted. "And once again, Potter, now that we have successfully reestablished my continuing disinterest, goodbye forever - "

"MALFOY!"

"For fuck's sake, Pot- POTTER," he gasped in alarm, abruptly shifting in the direction he foolishly thought was upright. Instead, he smacked his head directly into something smooth and soft and itchy, discovering with an unpleasant lurch of recognition that it was Hermione's bare shoulder, her hair reaching in offensive little tendrils directly beneath his naively unsuspecting nose.

"Will you tell Harry to be quiet?" Hermione half-moaned, half-whined, burrowing herself deeper in the blankets. "I'm absolutely exhausted - "

"Think about what you just said," Draco hissed, jabbing at her spine with his finger, and she promptly bolted forward, pulling the covers over herself and hiding behind him with a shrill, oppressive squeal of dismay.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, blinking at where Harry's face manifested impatiently from the fireplace across from the bed. "We were just - I was, um - "

"Oh, spare me," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Are you both awake now? You sleep like the fucking dead, I swear - "

"Long night," Draco said, and immediately cleared his throat as Hermione smacked the back of his shoulder. "Long night of innocence, of course," he clarified. "I mean, I took drugs, but what else is new, right? Certainly nothing strange happened. Definitely nothing immoral, or anything premarital - "

"Or anything impressive, probably," Theo supplied, nudging Harry aside and appearing beside him in the fireplace. "Post-coital suits you, Granger. You've got a lovely glow."

"I'm dressed," she informed him, having at some point regained sufficient presence of mind to quickly and surreptitiously conjure clothes beneath the blankets, revealing herself to be wearing her usual sleep clothes. "Nothing happened."

"Right, cool, so on the subject of obvious lies," Theo began, only to be interrupted by Harry.

"Listen," Harry cut in, "you've both heard about Gagnon by now, right?"

"Yes," Draco replied curtly. "So is this you dismissing us, Potter? Because frankly, I'd have liked to be wearing appropriately somber trousers for my own unceremonious firing. Or, for that matter, any trousers," he remarked, scowling.

"Yes, right, well you've got to come home," Harry confirmed hastily. "You no longer have Ministry approval to be there, and you definitely can't go back to the French Ministre. Clear?"

"Crystal," Draco assured him, formally offering a hand to Hermione. "Well, Granger, it's been an experience, and one I shall not soon repeat - "

For a moment, her eyes widened, processing what he'd said; then, abruptly, they narrowed, becoming irritated slits of disbelief.

"Oh, believe me, Malfoy," she retorted, accepting his grip, "I for one will happily move on with my life. Thanks ever so much for being such an abominable bed-hog, by the way - "

"Yes, and thank you for always taking bites of my food," he supplied. "I will so loathe regaining autonomy of my own plate."

"Whereas I," she countered, "will similarly long for the days of having you critique my clothes, not to mention my books, my shoes, my hair, my taste in music, my cruel and heartless attempts to be helpful - "

"Right, helpful," Draco agreed, rolling his eyes, "which once you have gone I will gradually recall is not, in fact, a synonym for 'nosy' or 'over-involved' or 'annoying' - "

"STOP," Harry bellowed, the sound of his voice rattling around in the fireplace, and immediately, the entire room seemed bewilderingly frozen in suspension.

For a moment, they paused, thoroughly bemused, and Hermione turned to Draco with a frown, the abrupt absence of the wall clock's ticking pendulum becoming all at once eerily suspicious.

"Malfoy," she ventured uneasily, "is this - do Floo calls normally just - "

"Freeze?" someone asked from the corner, and Hermione gave a little yelp, gripping Draco's arm as Antioch Peverell manifested in the chair on the opposite side of the room. "Well, you know how unreliable reception can be sometimes. Terribly spotty when one's abroad, don't you think?"

"You're back," Draco noted, clearing his throat and mentally attempting to locate his wand before Antioch snapped his fingers, summoning both wands in a single motion and holding them up for the two of them to see.

"Yes, well, I needed to have another conversation with you both, unfortunately. Obviously I took precautions," he added, pointedly tucking their wands into his pocket, "though I do aspire to a time when neither of you feel the need to hex me immediately upon arrival."

"Likewise, we look forward to not being accosted in hotel rooms," Hermione returned bluntly, and in return, Antioch let out an unobtrusive laugh, as if she'd shared some charming little anecdote. "Is there something you need, then?"

"Yes, actually," Antioch confirmed, glancing at the Floo. "Ah, I see you're already speaking to Harry Potter," he noted. "Well, a pity his resources have been rescinded from the Wizengamot case - the two of you included. However, all the more convenient for me that your services no longer require the Ministry's oversight," he assured them, "seeing as I now have your full attention."

"What for?" Draco prompted with a grimace. "The killer's been caught, hasn't he?"

To his surprise, Antioch's expression immediately went sour.

"Emmanuel Gagnon is almost certainly not the killer," Antioch pronounced brusquely, as if it were an insult to him that Draco could suggest such an obvious misconception. "He's a potioneer, and hardly a master at that. He's greedy, certainly, but not a killer, and more importantly, he has no conceivable connection to - or grudge against - the Club. Which means that the true killer is likely still out there." He paused, indiscreetly eyeing his fingernails before continuing. "Regardless, I do believe it is in the best interest of the Ministries to close the case and move on, dismissing this mess from public speculation. Meanwhile, we can continue the investigation privately. And by we, I of course mean - "

"Us?" Draco supplied, feeling Hermione tense beside him. "How exactly are we supposed to do that if you want Potter to close the investigation?"

"You'll have Club resources, of course," Antioch assured them. "Obviously."

"Really," Hermione challenged, her mouth tightening. "So we'll have Club resources just like Emmett Carnegie had Club resources, then?"

"Emmett Carnegie was a hapless fool," Antioch informed her, as if the man's life (and subsequent death) had meant nothing. "He was ambitious and wealthy, yes, and a valuable card to play in the American wizarding world, but beyond that, he was hardly any degree of useful. Stay useful to me," he beckoned with a slow, sly smile, "and you'll have nothing to worry about, Miss Granger."

"Useful to you?" Draco asked skeptically. "Or useful to the Club?"

Antioch shrugged, rising to his feet. "One and the same," he assured them, and though Draco felt it highly necessary to argue, he clamped his mouth shut, exchanging another apprehensive glance with Hermione. "Now, on the subject of your engagement - "

"Our what?" Hermione asked, tearing her gaze from Draco's with a frown. "Isn't that whole thing irrelevant now?"

"Hardly," Antioch told them, scoffing. "You'll both have to continue operating in public, which means that likewise, I need your engagement to continue. In the same house, ideally," he added, "which is probably best, Miss Granger, as I'm aware you're currently homeless."

"That's - " she began, and frowned. "That's hardly a pleasing way to put it," she murmured to herself, sulking a little, and Draco straightened.

"You're not actually suggesting we move in together, are you?" he demanded. "That's crazy. And what are we supposed to tell Potter? That we've just… magically fallen in love, and that's that?"

"Yes," Antioch confirmed, without a trace of hesitation. "You've managed a fake relationship this long, haven't you?" he prompted knowingly. "What's one more element of deception?"

Draco grimaced. "Does 'I don't want to' work for you as an argument?" he asked impatiently. "Just covering my bases, you know, seeing as I try very diligently to be thorough - "

"Let me put it to you this way," Antioch cut in, advancing another step. "I have enough power to ruin both your lives. I can put your father back in Azkaban," he informed Draco, and then permitted his gaze to slide to Hermione, "just as I can ruin Harry Potter's career and blacklist him from the Ministry. You saw me do it to Carnegie," he added, "and I can do it again, easily, without batting an eye. I can make sure that everyone you know is made to suffer, implicated in a terrible, treasonous crime, or I can make sure that your friends," he ventured, turning back to Draco, "are finally punished for theirs. Heroes though you may be - or at least one of you," he acknowledged to Hermione, "I know perfectly well the many ways I can destroy you by destroying the ones you love. I can break you, bit by bit, by shattering the world around you."

Antioch paused, half-smiling.

"But I wouldn't, of course," he continued smoothly, "because you're both going to help me, aren't you? You'll both continue to investigate the Wizengamot assassinations and quietly turn the true killer over to me, and this won't be a problem at all, will it?"

Draco felt Hermione swallow hard, her shoulders tensing against him.

"How are we supposed to convince Harry that this is real?" she asked quietly. "He's my best friend. I've never lied to him before. I've never had to."

At once, Antioch returned to a state of complete, undisturbed ease, giving her a self-satisfied glimmer of a smirk.

"Just tell him you're - oh, what is it? Ah yes, 'Dramione,' that's it," he facetiously recalled, shrugging. "You fight, you falter, you fuck - it's what you do," he declared with a laugh. "Frankly, I doubt he'll have a hard time believing it, and in the meantime, be sure he actually does close his investigation. I no longer want the Ministry edging into our business, and that includes Harry Potter's famously insuppressible hunches."

"But what about the other crimes the Club's implicated in?" Draco prompted. "Are we supposed to convince him to look the other way on those things, too?"

Antioch arched a brow. "I presume you're referring to Lady Revel's murder?"

"And the theft of her secrets," Hermione contributed. "Is that not the Club's doing?"

For the first time, Antioch seemed caught off guard, though he recovered quickly.

"Lady Revel is not your concern," he told them. "Your job is simply to continue investigating the assassinations, and to ensure that another one does not take place. Seeing as the killer is likely still out there," he added ominously, "I wouldn't rule out the possibility of another Wizengamot death in the very near future, though I'll be certain you both regret it if one does occur." He paused, and then smiled again, absurdly unperturbed. "All clear?"

In response, Draco watched Hermione's fists tighten anxiously in the sheets, pulling them closer around her as she took in the magnitude of his threat.

"You do realize we've never been properly introduced," Draco ventured, returning his attention to Antioch's expectant smile. "Don't you think we deserve to know who we work for?"

Antioch tilted his head, letting out an indulgent laugh.

"You know perfectly well who I am," he informed them, and removed their wands from the pocket of his robes, holding them out in front of him. "And don't worry, we'll talk again soon," he assured them, winking once before disappearing.

Immediately, the fire convulsed into motion, their wands magically returned to their hands.

" - STOP ARGUING," Harry shouted, as if no time at all had passed. "I swear, the two of you are going to kill me - "

"Listen," Draco said hurriedly, noticing that Hermione's hands were shaking ever so slightly from Antioch's presence in the room. "Look, we'll come home, Potter. We get it. Our part in this is done."

"Yes," Hermione agreed carefully. "And, um, Harry, I think I'm going t- to stay with Malfoy," she added uneasily, glancing at him for reassurance. "So, um, nevermind what I said about staying at Grimmauld until Ron gets back."

"Oh," Harry said, looking sharply taken aback. "I mean, that makes sense, I suppose. Presumably he has plenty of rooms."

"He does," Theo confirmed. "Some of them are cursed, but it's nothing to worry about."

"Right, sure," Harry agreed. "And obviously I'll help you move, of course - "

"Not me. I'm busy, and on an unrelated note, I hate moving," Theo added. "But naturally, that has no bearing whatsoever on my previous statement - "

"Though, I can't help finding it odd," Harry cut in again, his brow furrowing as he looked from Hermione to Draco and back again. "Didn't you just say you were happy to be rid of each other?"

Hermione hesitated, glancing at Draco, and he let out a sigh.

"We're - " he began, and withered. "We're Dramione," he ultimately supplied, shrugging. "We fight, we falter, we - " he bit his tongue on the word fuck, not quite ready to admit the piece of Antioch's statement that was still so unnervingly relevant. "It's what we do."

He waited, half-hoping Harry would manage to catch the lie, but in response, he only shrugged.

"If you say so," he said, leaving Draco and Hermione to exchange a glance of muted disbelief.

The Underground
Diagon Alley
9:45 p.m.

"Hey," Cad said, nodding to Theo as he approached. "Who's the blonde?"

"Old friend," Theo supplied without hesitation, which Cad could see was almost certainly a lie. "Where's Daph?"

"Out with Mars," Cad supplied, gesturing vacantly over his shoulder. "Some sort of engagement dinner, I think."

"Explains why Wood looks like he's out for blood," Theo commented, glancing across the ring at him. "Glad I'm not Hawkworth," he added, watching Rhys smear blood and dirt from a shallow cut on his cheek, shifting to duck Oliver's quick, furious series of jabs.

"Yes, well, some people don't handle secrecy well," Cad remarked, winking at Theo. "But then again, some thrive with it, don't they?"

"Much as I adore your persistent antagonism, that's actually not what I came for," Theo told him, handing Cad a glass of Odgen's and settling down beside him. "We can keep this between us, right? By which I mean no Potter," he clarified, "and certainly no Daphne. She'd disapprove, and she does that whole - " he made a face. "You know. Disapproving thing."

"I'm a vault," Cad assured him. "Fully sealed."

Theo nodded, steadying himself.

"I was thinking," he ventured, "about how to get the Club's attention. You said that what impresses Antioch is some sort of flex of power, right?" he prompted, glancing at Cad for approval. "Specifically, some sort of manipulation?"

"Yes," Cad confirmed. "Show him how skillfully you can play your cards," he said, not for the first time, "and he's bound to keep watching the hand. Not unlike a child," he couldn't help adding. "He's not that complex. He's just seen quite a lot of tricks, and can tell a truly masterful one from the usual smoke and mirrors."

"Right," Theo agreed coolly. "Well, then I think we should pull off an assassination."

"Cool," Cad said. "Who are we killing?"

He paused, observing the slight twitch of disapproval from Theo's expression.

"Oh," he said. "Are we not actually killing someone?"

"No," Theo sighed. "But thanks for clearing up where you stand on murder," he added flatly, and then, with quiet uncertainty, "which I'm sure Potter would positively love - "

"No problem," Cad assured him, raising his glass to his lips. "So who's the mark?"

"I'm thinking we use Percy Weasley as a way in," Theo supplied. "Youngest member on the Wizengamot," he clarified, glancing at Cad for recognition, "and the one that Morrison tried to take out at the Ministry auction."

"I remember," Cad agreed, nodding. "So why him?"

Theo hesitated. "Not him, precisely," he amended. "More like, you know. Everyone."

Cad silently watched the ice in his glass, waiting expectantly for Theo to continue.

"I think," Theo went on slowly, "that if we really want to pull off something significant, we should allow the Wizengamot feel safe and then rip that security out from under them. Leave them to question what's real. Every important politician in Britain will be at the Ministry address," he remarked, with what Cad considered to be a rather intriguing inscrutability. "And we'll already have the ins and outs of the event, thanks to Pansy. If we just make them all realize they're at our mercy, that should be enough to get Antioch's attention, shouldn't it?"

"But nobody will actually die," Cad clarified slowly.

"No," Theo said. "And again, don't look so disappointed."

"So what are you saying, then?" Cad asked. "You want to almost kill the entire Wizengamot?"

"Yeah," Theo confirmed with a nod. "Get close enough to pull it off," he said slowly, "but ultimately refrain, thus simply proving a point. That's doable, right?"

Cad paused, considering it.

"It's terrorism," he remarked.

"Barely," Theo retorted.

"And also, wouldn't this be easier if you just included other people in your plan?" he asked. "Parkinson, for example, or Potter, even - "

"No. I'd endanger Potter's career, first of all, and more importantly, they'll both want to know why," Theo said bluntly, shaking his head. "You know I can't tell them why."

"Do you even know why?" Cad prompted, squinting at him.

"Of course. Have to get rid of those secrets," Theo replied, shrugging. "We all agreed that the cleanest way to both benefit from possessing them and successfully rid ourselves of them is to get the Club involved, didn't we?"

"Right, and the fact that you might be chosen for membership to the League of Eternality doesn't have anything to do with it, then, I take it?" Cad prompted dubiously, watching Theo's expression fail to shift. "You're sure that getting Antioch Peverell's approval is totally unrelated?"

It took a beat of hesitation, but eventually, Theo managed a shrug.

"You're the one obsessed with Antioch," he said. "I couldn't care less about your brothers."

"Well, sure," Cad permitted, tipping his glass of whisky back against his lips and draining the glass. "But," he pronounced flatly, setting the glass down on the bar, "just to clarify - you're not getting tired of playing for the heroes' team, are you, Nott?"

Theo looked like he wanted to laugh, but didn't.

Cad didn't laugh either.

"I don't like their rules," Theo said simply. "I like my rules."

"Which are?" Cad asked.

"Easy," Theo said, his gaze sliding purposefully to Cad's. "Just don't lose."

Rhys Hawkworth's flat
Diagon Alley
11:47 p.m.

"Hi," Hermione said softly, rising to her feet as Rhys stepped into his flat through the Floo.

"I - hi," he said, blinking momentarily when he saw her, and then immediately his expression softened. He let his bag fall from his shoulder to the floor as he took her in his arms, wrapping them tightly around her. "I wasn't expecting to see you - "

"I know, and I'm sorry it's so late," she offered apologetically, comforted by the feel of him before leaning back, meeting his eye. "But listen, I really needed to talk to you, after - you know," she sighed, "the papers, and everything - "

"Totally not a problem," Rhys assured her, pulling away to take her hand in his. "So do you need to stay the night, then? Did you find somewhere to live? Are you and Malf-" He broke off, glancing down at the unmistakable engagement ring on her finger. "Or, um," he stammered, frowning. "I - is this - "

"This is what I came to tell you," Hermione admitted uneasily, biting her lip. "I had kind of hoped that my work with Malfoy would be done by now, but it's going to have to keep going. And I - " she took a deep breath, sparing him a grimace of discomfort. "I'm going to have to move in with him."

Rhys took a moment before responding, clearing his throat.

"No offense, Hermione, but this," he said, eyeing the ring on her finger, "is the weirdest rejection I've ever personally witnessed."

"It's not a rejection," she urged him, fighting a wince. "I mean, I know this is crazy, I know - "

"Do you?" he asked quietly. "Because it doesn't seem that crazy to me. If you want to be with him, Hermione, you really only have to say so," he told her. "I'm not - it's not like I wouldn't - you know, understand, if - "

He broke off, frowning down at something on his side table, and she hurried to reassure him.

"Honestly, I have too much going on to really know what I want right now," she said, hearing how immensely selfish she sounded and persisting anyway, for lack of a better alternative. "I know it's a terrible thing to ask of you, Rhys, but I guess I just wanted to know if - "

"Who sent this?" he cut in sharply, picking up what appeared to be a brief handwritten letter. "Were you here when this was delivered?"

"I - what? No, I wasn't," she said, frowning. "Why, what is it?"

"It's - " he froze, skimming the note's contents. "I just, um - " he swallowed. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Only that I know it's unfair to make you wait for me," she continued hurriedly. "Look, I like you a lot, Rhys, but the truth is that I'm just not in a place for anything terribly serious. And if your feelings on this are of the, you know, 'all or nothing' variety, then - " She cut herself off as he raised his hand to his mouth, absently curling his palm around the visibly saddened line of it. "Rhys," she murmured, discarding her own soliloquy in favor of placing a hand on his arm. "Is everything okay?"

He immediately shook himself, abruptly turning back to her.

"Sorry, just - a letter from my brother," he explained, hurriedly tucking it into his pocket. "I just - it just reminded me of something I need to do. Anyway," he continued, fixing her with a radiantly wearied smile, "sorry, one more time. You said all or nothing?"

"Yes," she exhaled, frowning. "If you want all or nothing, I think I'm closer to nothing, unfortunately."

She waited, not sure what she was expecting; frustration, she thought, or possibly sulking, or even disappointment or possibly, if she were being truly egotistical, then perhaps a bit of anger.

Instead, though, he simply reached out, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"Hermione," he said, the sound of her name unquestionably lovely from between his lips. "I can do with some of you, if that's how it has to be for now. I don't want to be a source of frustration," he added, and floundered, looking momentarily agitated. "And for the record, if you wanted - not that you have to," he amended hastily, "but if you did want to talk about whatever's going on - " he trailed off again, grimacing. "Or even if there's something I can do for, um - whatever it is you're having to do for work - "

"I wish I could," she admitted, feeling more saddened than ever by the secrets she kept curled on her tongue. "Really, Rhys, I wish I could, but this - "

"Is it really so dangerous?" he asked, a sudden hint of urgency to his tone. "Whatever it is, Hermione, if you could just talk to me about what's really going on, maybe I could - or maybe, I don't know, we could - "

She bit her lip, helplessly eyeing her empty hands, and he stepped closer with a resigned sigh, taking her in his arms again.

"Nevermind," he assured her hastily. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll pass, Hermione."

She shut her eyes, leaning into him, and wasn't so sure that it would.

The truth was that walking back into Malfoy Manor was like opening the door to a terrible nightmare; like drowning in the midst of a pensieve, left to gasp for air in something she'd foolishly thought so far behind her. She felt a scream - a thousand screams, all of them once unleashed in this very room - bubble up in her chest and she'd frozen in place the moment she stepped through the Floo, paralyzed with apprehension.

She froze again, too, upon her return from Rhys' flat, closing her eyes as she entered and digging her nails into the heels of her palms, holding her breath.

She wanted more than anything to break something.

She squeezed her fists tighter, letting her nails bite into skin.

She wanted, more than anything, to break everything -

"Ahem," she heard, prompting her eyes to open.

And then, across the room, Draco looked up from his chair, catching her eye at her arrival.

"Oh good," he remarked, and for possibly the first time ever, his dry tone of skepticism served as a welcome change from the horrible crash of her memory. "I see you didn't run off with Muscles McWarlock, then."

She wanted to retort, but all possible cleverness died on her tongue.

"You didn't have to wait up for me," she said.

Draco opened his mouth to retort - to deny anything of the sort, most likely - but seemed to catch the look of anxiety in her eyes, instead opting to close his book with a sigh.

"It's a big house," he said, setting the book down and placing his glasses on top of it. "Wasn't sure if you'd be able to find your way back to the spare bedroom."

He rose to his feet, moving towards her, but paused just before reaching her, placing them an arm's length apart. He stood far enough to leave room for their trauma; to accommodate the tangible awkwardness of having once again gotten too close, too real, and in the wake of the constancy of their errors, having sprinted coltishly away.

It was close enough, though, that the words that crept from her lips could have been only audible to him, even if someone else had stood in the room.

"I hate it here," she eventually whispered, half afraid that if she looked up, she might be forced to relive it. "Malfoy, I just - I really don't want - to - "

"To sleep alone?" Draco prompted, and she looked up, meeting the grey of his eyes.

"Is that stupid?" she asked, and then shook herself. "Nevermind. Of course it's stupid. It's not like Bellatrix Lestrange is going to reanimate just to torture me again, or Voldemort - and anyway, if Antioch's going to randomly show up, it's not like you'll - it's not like I can - "

She faltered, and Draco took a step to bring an arm's length to a hair's width, tilting his head to look at her.

"You can stay with me tonight," he said quietly. "Tomorrow we can look for a flat."

"Malfoy," she exhaled, surprised. "You don't have t-"

"I have ghosts here too, you know," he reminded her. "You were right. I won't force you to - " he paused. "I won't make either of us go through it again," he amended. "Not after everything else."

She shut her eyes, leaning her forehead against his shoulder and letting out a sigh.

"Stop being nice to me," she whispered.

"Your hair is stupid," he replied.

She nodded, satisfied.

"Better," she murmured, letting him pat the top of her head.

a/n: Today, dedications for everyone. Happy Thanksgiving from the colonies! I am immensely grateful for all of you. Thank you for reading, thank you for your kind words, thank you for being in my life and in my heart and on my screen.