a/n: I apologize for the violence.

Chapter 26: Burn Fast

(10...)

"Dad," Draco said sharply, his footsteps thudding against the hardwood. "I need to talk to you."

Lucius looked up from where he stood in the boardroom doorway, his gaze seeming to travel a long way before his attention settled on Draco's approaching stride. "What are you doing here?" he asked, more gruff than startled. "I thought - "

"Did you know?" Draco demanded, not wasting time with pleasantries. "About Dumbledore. I know you were there, Dad," he snarled, and Lucius' expression stiffened, his mouth opening and closing in wordless denial. "I saw the medical reports and you were fucking there - "

Lucius looked over Draco's shoulder, furiously scanning the room, and then grabbed his arm, yanking him inside the boardroom.

"Watch your mouth, Draco," Lucius hissed, letting the door fall shut behind them. "Do you have any idea what you're saying?"

"You tell me," Draco snapped maniacally, glaring back at him. "You knew this whole time? About Dumbledore? And Scabior?"

"Scabior? Draco, what the fuck - "

"You were there," Draco shouted again, feeling helpless and empty and bitten by deception. "You were there - "

"Yes, I was there," Lucius snarled, gritting his teeth as his fingers tightened around Draco's arm. "Okay? Fine, I was there - but you getting all fucking worked up like this isn't going to help, Draco - "

"Did you help him do it?" Draco asked, feeling a cool rush of numbness spread through his bones as everything he'd trusted as true - trusted as real - suddenly fled his constitution, dissipating in the air between him and his father. "Who pulled the trigger?"

Lucius' eyes flashed, lines of guilt or greed carved hard into his cheeks.

"Tom," he said slowly, but resumed his grip, insistent. "But you have to understand that Dumbledore was letting this club fall apart, Draco - he was letting us drown, and Tom pulled us out - he made us fucking powerful again - "

"You call this powerful?" Draco demanded. "How many brothers have been hurt? Been killed? Dad, fucking wake up - "

"That's on Greyback, not us," Lucius said flatly. "That was Greyback, and he's dead."

"And what about Scabior?" Draco challenged. "If you knew this whole time who he was - if you knew he was working with Tom, why the fuck did you let us put our lives in danger? What did you let me," he heaved roughly, "put myself in danger? I'm your fucking son, Dad!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Lucius asked, blinking, and Draco stared at him, trying to gauge the truth of his reaction. "What do you mean he was working with Tom?"

"I know they're related, Dad," Draco spat. "I already know, so just drop the act, would you?"

"They're not related," Lucius parroted blankly, his hold suddenly loosening from around Draco's arm. "That's impossible, Tom doesn't have any family - "

The door opened, and they froze.

"You're right," Tom interrupted, and Draco reflexively stepped back, his hand floating cautiously to the Glock at his waistband. "I don't have any family, and I see now what a pity it is indeed. Hopefully you won't mind me intruding on yours," he mused, and then let his blue eyes flick to Draco's motion. "Oh, no, that won't do," he tutted quietly, shaking his head and gesturing. "Lucius?" he beckoned, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "If you wouldn't mind divesting Draco of his weapon. He doesn't look to be in the proper state of mind to operate it."

"That's," Draco began, his mouth suddenly going dry. "No, I'm not - "

"Lucius," Tom said impatiently, beckoning again, and Lucius' expression tightened, but he held his hand out, turning to Draco.

"Give it to me," he said, toneless, and Draco shook his head.

"Dad, I don't think - "

"Give it to me," Lucius repeated, more firmly this time, and Draco grimaced, reaching behind him to dislodge the gun and then placing it, unhappily, in his father's waiting palm. "He's just worked up," Lucius offered to Tom, shifting towards him in the room. "He had a rough night, and with Goyle gone - "

Tom said nothing, gesturing. "If you would," he said to Lucius, his gaze flicking pointedly to Draco's gun. "Please?"

There was a tiny crinkle of confusion in Lucius' brow. "Tom?"

"The gun, Lucius," Tom said flatly. "I think it will be better in my hands."

Draco opened his mouth, feeling a surge of panic, but the crease of concern had already been swept from Lucius' expression, and he dutifully handed it to Tom.

"Like I said," Lucius began, and Tom sighed.

"The father and son dynamic is very touching, isn't it?" he asked, and glanced pointedly at Draco. "You'll have to let me know later what this feels like. For science," he added, his lips curling into a darkened smile.

"No," Draco rasped, his voice trapping in his throat. "No, I - you can't - "

"Tom," Lucius ventured uncertainly, frowning, and Tom raised the gun, tearing his gaze from Draco's face to look into the near-identical eyes of the man beside him, his tireless lieutenant.

"Sorry, Lucius," Tom lamented softly, and pulled the trigger, the sounds of gunshots and Draco's pounding heart ricocheting in the room as his father dropped, broken, to the floor.

(9...)

"Lucky I've got these," Hermione sighed, tying her hair in a ponytail and brushing some non-existent dust from the spare scrubs she kept in her locker. "Here," she added, handing Padma back her lab coat and pulling out her own, shrugging it on over her shoulders. "So you really think you can do this?"

"I'm insulted you'd even ask," Padma sniffed, rolling her eyes. "I've done far more difficult things, you know. I was valedictorian three times, and - "

"I get it, you're a genius," Hermione assured her, and then shuddered slightly, reminded of her impending escape. "God," she groaned, "I can't decide whether it would be worse to get murdered or get caught by Pomfrey, honestly."

"Pomfrey," Padma assured her. "You'd get to keep on living, but it wouldn't be worth it."

"Grim," Hermione muttered, taking a steadying breath and then aiming herself at the door. "You're sure about this?"

Padma nodded. "There's an exit outside the restricted corridor by OR-2. They use it to bring in equipment," she clarified. "Hospital staff only."

"Okay," Hermione confirmed breathlessly. "Okay, and - "

"Are you sure you need to do this?" Padma urged, reaching out to grip her wrist. "I know you said that guy's watching you, but you don't actually think he would try anything here, do you?"

Not exactly, Hermione thought, chewing her lip; though, in fairness, she couldn't be sure.

"It's not really about me," she eventually replied. "It's kind of a long story, but - "

"Who is this about, then?" Padma pressed. "I mean, is your license at risk here? Is mine?"

"I don't think so," Hermione said, and then grimaced. "At least, I hope not."

"Well," Padma muttered, "it better be important - "

"It is," Hermione assured her. "Really. And I swear, I won't make you do this again, and I'll make it up to you, I promise - "

"Oh, shut up," Padma grumbled, shaking her head. "You're like, my friend. Or whatever," she amended, waving a hand carelessly.

"I'm your friend," Hermione echoed, disbelieving, "not just your social consult?"

"Eh," Padma confirmed evasively, and then cocked her head, nudging Hermione toward the door. "Ready?"

Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath and then shoving the door open, catching sight of Rowle where he sat, still patiently observing the corridor, as she headed into the lobby.

"Dr Granger," Dean called, flagging her down as she passed. "They need you in surgery."

"Thanks, Dr Thomas," she returned, nodding once. "The bladder cystectomy?"

What do you mean 'ew'? Dean had said when he'd suggested it. It's like, one of the top ten hardest surgeries - you'd be at it for hours -

Still, Hermione said. Ew.

"Yes," he confirmed curtly, and then turned to Padma. "And they're waiting for you in OR-3, Dr Patil."

"Thanks Dr Thomas," she said smoothly, and she and Hermione proceeded to turn towards the surgical wing, Hermione's heart resounding loudly in the hollow of her chest as she strained to hear what was happening behind her.

"Sorry, sir, but you'll have to wait out here," she heard Dean say. "The operating rooms are restricted."

"How long?" Rowle asked gruffly. "I'm nervous about that, um, bladder thing - "

"Several hours, I'm afraid," Dean replied, "but Dr Granger will be out as soon as it's over to reassure you, I promise - "

"Fine," Rowle grunted, taking a seat, and Hermione felt her breath quicken in relief, picking up the pace as she and Padma passed through the doors, delivering her to freedom.

(8...)

"This is that guy, isn't it?" Ron asked. "That goon from Knockturn who was at Rosmerta's," he recalled, and Harry nodded. "Damn," Ron muttered, shaking his head. "He's put on a few dozen pounds of bicep since this was taken, eh?"

"It's definitely Scabior, yeah," Harry confirmed uneasily, leaning into a sharp right turn. "I can't imagine what that means for the Death Eaters."

Ron frowned. "How do you know it's related?"

"Come on, Ron," Harry scoffed, eyeing him. "Aren't you the one who told me Thicknesse is in Riddle's pocket?"

"Yeah," Ron confirmed, shrugging. "But I thought that's why you dropped Malfoy's name."

"Well, that was probably a mistake," Harry muttered. "I'd be willing to bet that the phone call Thicknesse made was to Tom. I mean, it's not like it's that hard to unseal a juvenile record," he explained uneasily, "and there's nobody conceivably above Thicknesse to call, so - "

"So say he called Tom, then," Ron suggested. "What happens now? Doom and gloom?"

"If Thicknesse called Tom," Harry pronounced slowly, "then there's definitely something to this. It's not a coincidence that Tom's emptying the Manor right after taking that call," he ruled gruffly. "Can't be."

Ron arched a brow. "You sound pretty fucking sure about that."

"I am," Harry admitted. "I just - I know I don't have anything concrete, but I'm going with my gut on this one." He chewed the inside of his cheek, one hand tapping restlessly against the steering wheel. "Tom Riddle isn't like other people," he said, and Ron turned, glancing at him. "He's not even like other criminals. He's going to do the unthinkable, and he's going to get away with it, whatever the unthinkable ends up being at the time."

Ron blanched, perturbed. "You seem to have his number," he remarked pointedly, and Harry sighed.

"Yeah, well, I hope I'm wrong," Harry muttered under his breath as he slowed through a busy intersection, the sound of the siren wailing as he weaved past traffic. "I really fucking hope I'm wrong."

(7...)

"There you are," Cedric hissed, joining Hermione outside as she snuck out of the OR corridor. "What the fuck have you been doing dancing around in there?"

"Were you following me?" she asked, making a face, and he rolled his eyes.

"Bounty hunter," he reminded her, gesturing pointedly to himself, and then grimaced. "I mean - highly skilled accountant," he corrected.

"Yeah, that ship has sailed," Hermione assured him, heading for the parking lot. "Can you keep an eye out?" she asked, gesturing around as she darted through the line of cars.

"I've got both eyes out," he said, doggedly following after her, "but where the hell do you think you're going, princess? You got what you need," he said firmly, "so come on, I have to get you back to - "

"What I need is my car," Hermione interrupted, scanning the parking lot quickly and then heading to where she'd parked it.

Cedric lunged forward and spun, cutting her off. "Why?"

Hermione groaned, pushing him aside. "I just do, okay?" she said. "And don't waste time, I'm trying to get out - "

"Hermione," Cedric said firmly, taking hold of her arm and stopping her just before they reached her Subaru. "Why are you doing this?"

"I just - I have a bad feeling, okay?" Hermione returned uneasily. "I just - I need to see Draco. I need to make sure he's - " she broke off, grimacing. "I just need to get to him."

"You're risking your fucking life," Cedric informed her, looking uncharacteristically serious as he forced her to a stop again. "Something I'm pretty fucking sure he wouldn't want you to do, by the way - "

At that, she almost laughed. Standing there, frozen in the hospital parking lot and staring at her Subaru, she almost laughed at how wrong Cedric was; at how consummately clueless he could be.

I wanted to be a doctor because I wanted to do some good in the world, she'd told Draco when they'd met, but I chose surgery because I like the thrill. People don't expect that from me. They find me bookish and odd, or assume that I'd be happy sitting at a desk and doing what I'm told. But the truth is -

You want adventure, she heard him whisper back to her, the sound of his voice as natural in her ear as though he were standing beside her, his grey eyes full of meaning and longing and her. I know what that's like.

"Adrenaline junkie," she murmured under her breath, and shook herself of the thought, turning back to Cedric. "Look, just go with it, okay?" she said. "I'm fine. I'll just find out where he is, and - "

She reached into her pocket and grimaced, realizing she'd left her cell phone in Padma's lab coat. "Oh, for hell's sake - "

"What?" Cedric demanded. "What stupid thing have you decided to do now?"

"Nothing," she told him, and nudged him out of the way. "I just have to - "

"Hey," she heard behind them, and turned to see Rowle approaching from the hospital's main exit. "Where're you in a hurry to get to, darlin'?"

"Shit," Hermione whispered, hastily unlocking her car and pulling the door open. Cedric shoved her gracelessly inside, his hand shifting to the gun he'd concealed in his jeans. "What are you - "

"Go," he snapped, slamming the door shut. "I'll take care of this," he called to her, and then he took off, strutting impatiently towards Rowle. "Hey, you listen up, you dick," she heard Cedric say, and didn't wait for the answer.

She put the car in reverse and took off, leaving the Death Eater and the breakfast enthusiast who was very much not an accountant behind to fight it out in the parking lot, blissfully managing not to hesitate as she aimed herself at the road and sped away.

(6...)

"Daph," Theo sighed into the phone, "I know I said I could do coffee today, but - "

"Hey, no, it's fine," she assured him. "You okay? You sound, you know. Bad."

Theo groaned. "I lost Draco's girlfriend. It's a whole thing," he muttered, and turned to Fleur, who hung up her own phone call with a grimace.

"Draco has a girlfriend?" Daphne echoed. "No way. Who the fuck is she?"

"I - listen, I can't right now, but - "

"Cedric's lost her," Fleur said flatly, her beautiful mouth forming a breathtakingly lovely frown of something gruesome, tempered brilliantly with rage. "She just took off from the hospital parking lot and she has no fucking cell phone, so - "

"Theo?" Daphne asked, and he remembered he'd been speaking into the phone. "Is everything okay?"

"I - " he cut himself off, pulling the phone from his ear as it buzzed in his hand. "Sorry, Daph," he said, returning to her phone call. "Your boyfriend's on the other line, so - "

"Yeah, yeah, go - "

He brought the phone down, hanging up with Daphne and answering Potter's phone call.

"What?"

"Are you at the Manor?" Potter asked, his breath audibly quickened with nerves. "Are you with Draco?"

"No," Theo said slowly, finding the conversation - even with what little had occurred - to be miles beyond unsettling. "Why?"

"Marvolo Gaunt is Scabior," Potter said quickly, and Theo opened his mouth to gloat that as usual, the police are the last to know, when he realized that would be wasting valuable time. "And Tom's got people leaving the Manor - "

"Draco's there," Theo realized aloud, and panicked; he checked his phone again, pointlessly, knowing with certainty he hadn't heard from Draco since they'd spoken earlier, and that that had been hours ago. "Draco's fucking there, Potter - "

"I'm on my way," Potter said, his voice clipped, and Theo didn't bother with goodbye.

"I have to go," he told Fleur, and she promptly stood, walking into the kitchen and tucking a pistol into the back of her jeans.

"Then let's go," she said, and Theo shook his head.

"Get Cedric," he told her instead. "Find the doctor."

She frowned. "But - "

"Baby, if you fucking bleed for me, I'll lose it," he told her, shaking his head. "Get Cedric, get the doctor, and get away, you got it?"

She grimaced. "Theo - "

He reached out, grabbing her face between his hands and kissing her, hard, before letting it melt, drifting to sweetness; to the honeyed delicacy of devotion, and to promises he wished more than anything he could keep.

"I love you," he muttered into her mouth, and walked out the door, making certain to not look back.

(5...)

Draco forced himself to tear his eyes away from where his father lay still on the ground, the blood seeping into the wood as Lucius' eyes stared blankly upwards, the contortion of betrayal still etched around his mouth.

"Pity," Tom sighed. "I'm really quite irritated I've had to do that." He turned, aiming the pistol at the center of Draco's forehead. "I liked him, you know, and this is more than a little inconvenient."

Draco took a step back, stumbling as his hip met the table. "Tom," he said, his voice slurred with pain and disbelief, "there's no way you're walking away from two murders."

"You have no idea what I've walked away from," Tom scoffed, and then tilted his head, amending the statement. "Well, some idea, I'd imagine," he corrected himself, running the fingers of his free hand along the lower swell of his lip. "Or wasn't that what you came in here yelling about to begin with?"

Draco blinked, traveling between worlds as he conjured the past five minutes to memory.

"Scabior," he croaked, and Tom sighed with irritation, shaking his head.

"So you do know about him, then," Tom commented grimly. "I'm most disappointed to hear that. The Potter boy, was it?" he asked, and Draco didn't answer. "I knew he'd be a problem," Tom muttered. "That was the entire reason for Slughorn's inane presence, but - " he shrugged. "I should have known better than to assume that spineless sycophant would be helpful for long."

Draco stared, struggling to process.

"You," he managed. "You've been working with Scabior. He's - you're his - "

"He's my cousin," Tom cut in, making a face, "but I'd hardly call it working together. That's a little too kumbaya for my tastes, don't you think?"

"But then - "

"You connected our names, I presume," Tom guessed, and Draco's expression faltered, confirming his presumption. "Yes, well," Tom sighed, "unfortunately for both of us we had to share that fucking name with the human shitstain that was the first Marvolo Gaunt. I don't blame him for discarding it."

"You knew him," Draco said hoarsely. "Dumbledore tried to take him in, but - "

"Dumbledore," Tom scoffed, "wanted me to embrace him. When Dumbledore found me in Knockturn I was still looking for my parents," he added, his voice dropping off slightly. "I was an orphan in another town, living with nothing, and he found me and guided me to the gratifying discovery that my mother was a low-class junkie whore and my father was some rich fraternity prick who couldn't operate a condom," he growled, "and who tossed her aside when things got bad." He paused again, threading his tongue through his lips and forcing a smile. "So, as you can see," he gritted out sarcastically, "I was extremely fucking grateful."

"Your mother?" Draco asked, and Tom's expression soured.

"Merope Gaunt," he supplied. "Daughter of the first Marvolo, sister of Morfin. Born of a line of garbage," he added darkly, "just like Marvolo Junior. And Dumbledore wanted me to care about that little misbehaving son of a bitch," he spat. "Nevermind that his father was a fucking deadbeat, and a lowlife who didn't work a day in his miserable life - and that he fucking thought he could come to me, like blood was some kind of favor he could fucking call in, like I owed him anything - "

"You killed Morfin," Draco realized, taking a step back. "The shots, you made them look accidental - made them look clumsy, but you - you killed him, and - "

This time, Tom's smile was abhorrently genuine.

"You know," he drawled, "I love watching you put two and two together, Draco." He tapped impatiently on the trigger of his pistol. "It thrills me."

"But why the Potters?" Draco pressed. "Did they know? Is that why?"

"James and Lily Potter," Tom sneered mockingly, "were lovely, charming neighbors of mine who happened to step out from their apartment at the very moment that Morfin Gaunt was banging down my door shouting about how I owed him. How I'd shown up back in the town that belonged to his dead fuck of a father and his dead whore of a sister and so I was beholden to him, because he had a son, and - "

Tom broke off, his teeth gritted, and Draco's mouth flooded with horror.

"You killed them," Draco rasped, scarcely conjuring his voice. "You killed them just because they . . . saw something?"

"Because they saw something?" Tom demanded, enraged. "What they saw would have ruined me," he ranted. "I'd built a fucking life here - I had money, and influence, and power, and all of that would have gone down the fucking drain if anyone ever found out I was a - " he stopped, looking as though the words were poison on his tongue. "A fucking Gaunt - "

"So you just killed them?" Draco repeated, disbelieving. "Just to shut them up?"

To his discomfort, Tom replied with a careless shrug. "I was less patient then," he supplied, glancing pointedly at Draco. "I've learned since that there are more mutually beneficial ways to silence someone."

"But you killed Dumbledore," Draco protested, "and you're telling me you learned? He took you in, and then you - "

"He tried to control me," Tom corrected, cutting him off. "But the world made sure I learned from my first breath that if you don't take power for yourself, people will strip it from you - so he couldn't fucking control me," he spat. "No one can."

"He's - he cared about you," Draco insisted. "This is a fucking brotherhood, Tom - "

"Oh don't tell me you believe that shit," Tom snapped. "This isn't some children's tale, Draco. This is what makes you weak."

Draco glanced down at Lucius, feeling unsteady, and counted in his head how many steps it would take to gain control of his father's gun. "It's - it's not weakness, Tom, it's - "

"Stop," Tom commanded firmly, pointedly letting the Glock's barrel travel across Draco's torso, toying with where to aim it, before tilting his head, angling it at the center of Draco's chest.

"You think you protect your heart," Tom murmured softly, "but you don't, do you? You leave it out for the taking and I know exactly which pieces to crush," he mused, coaxing his finger against the trigger, "one by one, until I own the whole thing."

Draco swallowed, and then, alarmingly, Tom laughed.

(4...)

Hermione knocked firmly on the door, holding her bag tightly at her side; she waited, her breath suspended, and then felt it catch in her mouth as the door opened.

"Oh," she exhaled, blinking in surprise. "I was - I was looking for - "

"Harry?" the woman at the door prompted, looking unmoved. "He's at work."

"Oh," Hermione said again, forcing a swallow. The woman, whoever she was, was stunning; it seemed it was a day to be confronted with beautiful women, though this one was at least considerably less terrifying than Fleur. "Sorry," Hermione offered awkwardly, "I just - I don't know where to find him, but last I checked he was with a, um - a friend of mine, and I don't have my phone, so - "

"This is going to sound strange," the woman interrupted slowly, "but are you the person Theo's lost?"

Hermione paused. "Theo?"

"Yes, Theo Nott," the woman confirmed. "He mentioned he'd misplaced Draco's girlfriend."

Confirmation must have shown on Hermione's face.

"Ah," the woman judged briskly, stepping back. "Come in. I'm Daphne," she added, and Hermione nodded mutely, taking a step inside the house. "I'm Harry's - " she paused. "I think technically I'm the person in his protective custody, though I've seen his dick a few too many times to let it sound so horribly unmutual."

Hermione felt something like a laugh, though it escaped more like a bleated hiccup; she hid the awkward motion of what was almost certainly a pained grimace by stepping through the door, her gaze sweeping the room as she stepped inside. There was evidence now of a second person living here; still no throw pillows, or pictures on the walls, but there were two sets of dishes in the drying rack and a pair of women's shoes beside the sofa, and while Hermione had told Harry the first time she'd been there that he'd lacked any visible roots, she found that for some reason she couldn't say that anymore.

"I didn't know he was seeing someone," she began tentatively, and Daphne shrugged.

"I didn't know Draco was, either," she murmured, studying Hermione quietly. "Are you a doctor?" she asked, and Hermione looked down, withering slightly as she realized she was still in her scrubs and lab coat.

"Yeah," she said, fidgeting. "Yeah, I, um - "

She trailed off.

"So," Daphne ventured, crossing her arms over her chest. "What's going on?"

"Do you know where Harry is?" Hermione asked, feeling jittery, and strange. "I just - I found something out and I have a bad feeling about what it means, so - "

"Bad feeling?" Daphne echoed, frowning. "Is this about Marvolo Gaunt?"

"You know about him?" Hermione asked, surprised. "I thought Theo and Fleur had just figured it out, but - "

"Harry went to find out who he was," Daphne confirmed. "He left to meet with Draco this morning. Harry said he thought Marvolo had something to do with his parents' murder, and therefore Tom, so - "

"Tom?" Hermione repeated, her pulse racing. "Okay," she announced abruptly, shaking her head before pivoting in place. "I just - okay, then I have to go - "

Daphne's eyes widened. "Wait - "

She reached out, trying to stop her, and Hermione's bag - taken from beneath the passenger seat of her car - slid gracelessly from her shoulder, falling to the ground with a loud clatter as Hermione lunged forward, reaching hastily for it. She and Daphne both froze, breathless, as the pistol Draco had given her slid out from the bag's contents, lying ominously on the floor.

There was a moment of pause; of silent consideration.

"You're a doctor," Daphne said slowly. "Why do you have this?"

Hermione forced herself to let out a captive breath; her voice, when she finally spoke, felt several octaves too high.

"I can expl- "

"You'd better," Daphne confirmed flatly, bending to pick up the gun. "Do you even know how to use this?"

Hermione swallowed. "No," she confessed, and Daphne eyed it, her lips pursed as she considered something.

"Do you know where he is?" Hermione asked her quietly, and Daphne glanced up, locking eyes with her.

"Come on," Daphne said, handing the gun to Hermione and then rising to her feet, passing her the bag. "I'll take you."

(3...)

Harry pulled up outside the manor and leapt from the car the moment the ignition came to a stop, slamming the cruiser door behind him and reaching for the pistol in his holster.

"Harry," Ron called after him, a few steps behind as he shut the passenger door. "If this is as serious as you think it is, we should probably call for back-up - "

"Bad idea," Harry muttered over his shoulder, not slowing down. "If Tom catches wind of cops outside - "

"Harry," Ron said again, jogging to catch him and grabbing his arm. "What are you thinking about doing? No, listen to me," he snapped, his grip tightening as Harry shook his head, moving to pull away. "You can't take this into your own hands, Harry, we're cops, we have rules - "

"I'm not taking anything into my hands," he retorted firmly. "I'm not planning anything, Ron, I just don't think it's a good idea to ambush him, okay? There's no telling what he'll do if he's cornered."

That was, to some extent, a lie; there was one thing in particular Harry considered that Tom might do, and he knew it wouldn't bode well for Draco.

"Just trust me, okay?" Harry insisted, freeing the gun from its holster and turning towards the Manor. "Trust me. Stay out here," he commanded decisively, taking a few steps to bring him to the Manor's front door. "That's an order."

"Harry," Ron called dubiously, and Harry turned, watching him shake his head. "I don't like this."

Harry grimaced. "I don't either," he said, and as his hand closed around the pistol's grip, he felt the earth shifting beneath his feet.

But his finger felt steady on the trigger.

(2...)

Theo pulled up to the Manor's garage and threw his helmet off, his pulse beating erratically against the side of his neck as he pulled the gun from his waistband, glancing around.

"Theo," Darian hissed, emerging from the shop's front office and heading towards him. "I heard a shot - "

"Stay here," Theo instructed roughly, forcing a swallow. "Okay? Just - stay away - "

"Christ, Theo, you can't be serious," Darian snapped. "This isn't the time for you to - "

"Darian," Theo interrupted. "Is Draco in there?"

"Yes, but - "

"Then you stay the fuck here," Theo snarled, "and I'm going inside. Do you understand me?"

"Theo, there's no way Tom's going t- "

"You fucking know there's nothing Tom's not willing to do, Darian, and that's my brother in there," Theo told him furiously. "Stay here."

"Theo," Darian attempted, his tone different this time, and Theo glared expectantly at him. "Just - be careful, okay?"

"Don't worry," Theo replied coldly, sliding off the safety and tapping the trigger of his pistol as he turned towards the Manor. "This shit ends now."

(1...)

"What about Scabior," Draco attempted, clearing his throat. "Were you working with him? I know you were paying him through Griphook," he said, "and seeing as he's your cousin - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Tom scoffed. "Scabior's a Gaunt in every sense of the name. He came to me when he needed help, and I simply obliged him where it met my needs - "

"You were paying him off," Draco tossed out recklessly. "For his silence?"

"Paying him off? No," Tom snapped. "That's a fucking finder's fee, and one I wasn't happy about giving, but it's at least an industry standard. The price for his silence was Greyback," Tom said flatly. "But that was at least no skin off my back."

"No skin off your back?" Draco repeated, stunned. "What about Nott? And Mulciber?"

"Does my back look skinned to you?" Tom retorted. "I said what I said, Draco."

"So all of this, then," Draco said. "Everything, it was all about getting rid of Greyback?"

Disconcertingly, Tom shrugged.

"Scabior brought the proposition to Dumbledore first," he said. "Offered him a chance to get rid of Greyback. Wanted his place, but was too lazy to earn it," he added, sneering. "Typical Gaunt."

"Dumbledore said no," Draco guessed uneasily, and Tom rolled his eyes.

"Of course that fucker said no," he muttered. "And then Scabior dragged me into it. Said if Dumbledore wasn't game, he was going to bring me down - which was a price Dumbledore was willing to pay," Tom said slowly, "but I fucking wasn't."

"Bring you down?" Draco asked. "How?"

"Scabior knew he had a court appearance coming up with Bones. He knew Bones was the prosecutor on the Potter case, and he knew the Potter kid had just been hired by Slughorn - so he used it," Tom said bitterly, "to convince me our interests were mutual."

"He threatened you," Draco realized, shaking his head in disbelief. "And you let that fly?"

Again, Tom shrugged.

"I have nothing to lose by Greyback's death," Tom said. "Scabior's another matter, and an even easier one. You took care of Greyback," he added silkily. "I see no reason why you can't take care of Scabior, too."

That, more than anything, sent Draco reeling.

"Me?" he asked, aghast. "You're - you can't be serious - "

"Well, what choice do you have, Draco?" Tom lamented, his voice a mocking purr. "You've just lost your father," he said, gesturing to Lucius on the floor. "Can you stand to lose your friends? I imagine it must have taken quite a lot for Potter to trust you with his parents' deaths," he murmured coaxingly. "Do you think he'll die quite as brilliantly as his father?"

No, Draco thought, no, this can't be happening -

"Leave Potter out of it," he seethed. "He doesn't have anything to do with this - "

"Sure he doesn't," Tom cut in, laughing. "And even if he doesn't, then there's always Theodore," he mused. "You and I both know perfectly well that he didn't take the shot that killed Greyback," Tom added, pairing the statement with a dismal scoff, "but do you think a jury would agree?"

"Tom," Draco snapped. "That's Theo, you can't fucking do that - "

"And then there's your pretty doctor," Tom said indulgently, with a flash of something terrible as he luxuriated in his final blow. "What do you think will happen to her, Draco, if you refuse?"

"I - " Draco swallowed, his mouth painfully dry. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do," Tom remarked, chuckling. "Did you even check to make sure she was safe, Draco, before you came here?"

"Tom, I - "

"You know how I hate outsiders," Tom remarked, shrugging nonchalantly. "Admittedly, the funny thing is that for a time, I was willing to let that particular opposition slide for her. She made you a better Death Eater, you know," Tom commented slyly, smirking at Draco. "Ironic, isn't it? That before her, you wouldn't have dared to pull the trigger on Greyback, would you? But she made things different," he said softly. "She made you different, and you - " he broke off, his smile turning cold. "You could have been so much more."

Draco's head spun. "Stop," he croaked, and Tom laughed.

"She's pretty, isn't she? And brilliant, too," Tom murmured. "I'm surprised you managed it, and truly, I'm flattered by the efforts you took to hide it - but that was never going to happen. And as much as I like her, I like me more," Tom declared flatly. "So you, Draco, are going to have to wise up as to what comes next if you'd prefer to keep her safe."

"You can't touch her," Draco warned. "I won't let you - "

"Ah, look who remembers her now," Tom mused, tsking quietly. "But I wonder, Draco - do you even know where she is?" He took a step closer, watching Draco's throat swell, watching him force down fear and loathing and doubt. "She went to the hospital," Tom informed him, half-whispering. "Alone. Well, not alone," he amended cheerily, with an abrupt shift in mood. "Rowle's there to keep an eye on her, of course - "

"Don't touch her," Draco rasped, misery working its way to his voice. "Don't you fucking touch her, Tom - "

"And there we go," Tom muttered, his blue eyes traveling triumphantly over Draco's face. "This is power, isn't it?" he beckoned, his tone shaky with reverence at the thought. "You're not whole, Draco, on your own. You have all these pieces of yourself buried in others, and you stand to lose everything, and this is the truth - "

He stepped closer, nudging the Glock's barrel directly into Draco's chest. "I will win every time," Tom told him softly, the cold metal of the gun still somehow less menacing than the look in his eye, "because I fucking own you."

Draco's hands shook, bile flooding his mouth.

Wake up, Draco, he heard Theo say. He likes you because you follow orders. It's not trust, and it's definitely not fucking affection, or goddamn loyalty -

"What will it take," Draco forced out, wishing instantly to open his veins, to bleed out all over the floor. "What will it take for you to leave her alone?"

Tom smiled, and it was devastating.

"You shot Lucius," Tom informed him, tilting his head in feigned disappointment and conjuring an uncannily believable veil of sorrow. "I'll protect you, of course - provided you make good choices." Draco grimaced, and Tom smirked, continuing. "You'll get rid of Scabior," he added. "That's a given. You'll get rid of him and clean up the mess, and then, once that's settled," he went on carefully, "maybe I'll let Theodore carry on with Griphook's little bookkeeper, and maybe I'll let that doctor of yours live long enough to look back fondly on her impulsive little excursion with you."

He paused, arching a brow expectantly, and Draco stared at him, wondering how such a man - a monster, and with such a charming human mask - could ever possibly exist.

"Oh, come on, Draco," Tom scoffed, watching his face change. "You were never going to have her. Surely you knew that," Tom reminded him coldly, unflinching. "You must have known from the start it could only end badly."

I want you to cure me, to absolve me -

I want you to be my penance -

"It was always going to burn, Draco," Tom said, and gradually lowered the gun, letting his arm fall to his side. "Better to let it burn fast, don't you think?"

I want you to save me -

Benediction, absolution -

"Just don't touch her," Draco finally rasped, feeling certain his knees would crumble beneath him.

Is it this life that destroys us, or were we fucked from the start?

Tom reached out to grip his shoulder; a motion of something like reassurance, though it was as false as the man himself. Draco closed his eyes and waited, expectant, anticipating the merciless grasp around his arm - crueler even than fate, more damning than the cards he'd been dealt or the stars he'd been given - but never felt it, and then, from the doorway, he heard a shot ring out; and it was dizzying, like flying and falling;

Like vertigo;

Like time stopped;

And then -

"What happened?"

A fair question, all things considered.

"Trust me," he told her, shaking his head. "You don't want to know."

She grimaced; another fair response.

"Are you okay?" she asked, wincing in concert with him as she started to clean the wound on his shoulder, chewing her lip in sympathy.

It was sort of sweet that she would care, he thought. Not that it helped much.

"I've been better," he admitted darkly. "But then again, I've been worse."

She smiled, or wanted to, or tried to; he wondered what she looked like when she smiled, and considered the rewards.

She worked steadily, and with focus, never flinching. Her hands were steady, cool, soothing, and though he'd never seen an artist at work, he imagined this was similar, watching her craft his imperfection beneath her fingers, taking the mangled shred of what he was and putting him back together, with faultless deliberation.

"You're good at this," he commented, watching her work.

She laughed. "How would you know?"

"The look on your face. You're focused," he explained, "and I like to think I can tell when someone's in their element."

She looked pleased, and he felt gratified.

"Strangely, that means a lot," she remarked sincerely. "Thank you."

"It should mean a lot," he said, and she looked up, meeting his gaze. "I'm notoriously sparing with flattery."

"Oddly, I would have guessed that," she agreed, fighting a smile, and then the space between her brows twitched, the corners of her mouth curving down as he inhaled sharply, the throbbing mounting at his shoulder.

She reached under the seat, producing a bottle of scotch.

"Here," she said brusquely, opening it and handing it to him. "Drink this. Distract yourself."

"I'm fine," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I think I can handle a little" - he broke off, hissing as she dug into the wound - "pain."

Again, she fought a smile, but the smile won out.

"That was convincing," she murmured, teasing, and he succumbed to a helpless laugh.

"Fine," he conceded, tipping the bottle back against his lips. "Surprised to see a doctor riding around with this in her car," he added tangentially, eyeing the Johnnie Walker Blue Label and wincing again, wishing his pain tolerance were higher.

"It was a gift," she explained, focused again on his shoulder. "When I started here six months ago."

"Ah, nice and aged," he joked. "Perfect."

"How is it?" she asked, and he managed to limit himself to a small noise of discontentment, biting his tongue on what would have been a far louder cry of pain. "Sorry, almost got it."

He took another swig, letting it steep on his tongue.

"You know," he remarked, swallowing, "everything tastes a bit coppery at the moment." He closed his eyes, feeling the whisky burn down his throat. "Think that's psychological?"

She bit her lip, not looking at him.

"I was never great at psychology," she attempted carefully, and he laughed.

"I think I'll be tasting blood for a while," he lamented, and then tossed the bottle back, taking another large gulp.

It was quiet for a while; he watched her. Funny that he'd thought of her first as an artist, when really, she was a bit like art. She was one of those paintings, like a watercolor, like John Singer Sargent, with the intensity of a dream; fluid and vivid and more breathtaking the longer he looked, the flush in her cheeks and the sheen of her skin and the glint of her hair all gilded and golden. His gaze caught on the tension in the bow of her lips, watching her wrestle with something, and part of him wanted to press his fingers to it, to smooth it from her worried mind.

"Tell me one thing," she said eventually, "so that I feel less like a deranged criminal."

"You're not a deranged criminal," he quipped easily. "Does that help?"

"Surprisingly, no," she said, though he noted with pleasure that she was smiling. "Tell me something about you," she clarified. "I think it'll make me feel better."

"Nothing about me is going to make you feel better," he promised her, but at her rapid admonishing glance, he sighed. "Fine," he conceded, taking another swig from the bottle. "What do you want to know?"

She glanced down, her gaze shifting to the tattoo on his bare chest; her breath seemed to catch for a moment, and his did too, though he tried not to show it.

"Your name," she concluded eventually, and he passed his tongue over his lips, wondering whether that was better or worse than what he'd imagined.

"That's it?" he asked, arching a brow. "My name?"

"Would you answer any other question?" she prompted, and he flashed her a knowing smirk.

She was clever, he thought, and he struggled not to admire her.

"Draco," he supplied, and her gaze shifted, following the line of the dragon on his forearm as if she were putting the pieces of him together, puzzling him out in her mind.

"So," he said, feeling uncomfortably exposed, "why surgery?" He waited, watching her. "Just smarter than all the other doctors?" he guessed, and she made a face.

"Ha," she said, shaking her head.

"I'm not wrong, though, am I," he determined, and she glanced up at him. "You're not denying it," he noted sagely, and she sighed.

"I'm not going to tell you I'm not smart," she said evasively, "but that's not why I chose surgery."

"Why, then?" he asked, and she paused, frowning as she considered the question.

"I wanted to be a doctor because I wanted to do some good in the world," she explained slowly, "but I chose surgery because I like the thrill. People don't expect that from me," she added, and he nodded. "They find me bookish and odd, or assume that I'd be happy sitting at a desk and doing what I'm told. But the truth is - "

"You want adventure," he supplied. "Adrenaline junkie," he added, feeling himself smile. "I know what that's like."

She looked up, locking eyes with him.

"My adventures don't usually end with bullet wounds," she pointed out, almost as if she were trying to convince herself that were true.

"Neither do mine," he agreed. "And yet, here we both are."

She smiled, and it nearly choked him; and then she returned to her work, and his breath slowly refilled in his lungs.

"Done," she pronounced definitively, eyeing her handiwork. "You'll need to take care of it, of course - use this on it," she added, rummaging through the things in her bag and handing him a small tube of ointment, "and make sure it doesn't get infected, and - "

She was distracted, fidgeting, falling into something he figured was normal for her; a need to do things satisfactorily, perfectly, without room for error, and he was grateful she missed the smile that crept across his face.

"You're free of me, Doc," he interrupted quietly, his fingers brushing hers as he accepted the ointment from her. "You've done more than enough already."

She hesitated. "I just want to make sure that - "

"Thank you," he said quickly, cutting her off. He forced himself to let go of her hand and she let it float down to her side, rejoining the rest of her with embattled hesitation. "Really," he added. "Thank you for everything."

She didn't want him to go, he could tell.

He didn't want to, either.

"Draco," she began tentatively, but he knew better. He knew what longing looked like and he saw the telltale signs, felt them himself; but he fought them, steadfastly, because he was the one who knew better.

I will ruin you, he thought, and we will revel in the chaos, right before we burn -

I will ruin you, he thought, and we should go, before it's too late -

"Thank you," he forced out, and managed one foot, then the other.

Walk away, he told himself, before we have to burn;

Before we burn, he told himself, and before it's too late;

It's too late, he told himself, but he'd never learned to listen;

Too late;

and he reveled in the chaos.

a/n: I promise, chapter 27 will be here before you know it. Dedicated to some wonderful all-time faves who read all the things but haven't been thanked yet in this fic: rebelsaurus29, susiequeen300, pierrej92, kyonomiko, and dreameuro.