Madam Umbridge Home for Wayward Girls

by A.Lovely.Villain

Hermione's life takes a dark turn after the death of her parents, leaving her at the mercy of a tyrannical Matron. Her new home is more prison than sanctuary, haunted by ghosts bearing terrible, bloody secrets. Though she's surrounded by troubled young women, it's the men in her life who teach her freedom comes at the greatest price of all. Victorian AU, Tomione, Dramione, no triad

26. Ghost Story

A/N: First chapter of 2019 woot woot! I hope your year is off to a great start! If not, I hope watching me torture these poor bastards brings you half the joy it does me ❤︎

---

Every picture tells a story.

Sometimes we don't like the ending.

Sometimes we don't understand it.

. . .

The carriage rolled a steady path along the embankment, the sound of lapping waves and crying gulls filling the salt dampened air, broken intermittently by ship horns.

Hermione rubbed her palms together, interlacing her fingers and holding them atop her lap for warmth, gazing idly around the morning bustle on the docks in the distance.

"We're heading South of the Thames?"

Tom held the reins steady.

"Just North."

She raised her chin, sitting straighter as she studied the mismatched rooftops along the opposite side of the river, heart rate increasing as realization took root.

"You're taking us to your benefactor, aren't you?"

Tom continued to gaze ahead, though the corner of his lips turned up just slightly, eyes gleaming with pleasure.

"And how did you deduce that, Ms. Granger?"

His use of her surname was often his means of erecting a wall. But this time he delivered it with a layer of amusement, a private joke between them that caused warmth to race along her limbs, condensing at her center. She fought the urge to squirm, though she couldn't prevent her thighs from pressing.

"We aren't far from the warehouse." Her gaze was caught by the sight of the morning sun glinting off his dark hair. "You mentioned it was on a private dock. And you had the keys."

She faced forward, running her hands along her skirts, curving around her knees. "I imagine they were given to you by someone of power and means."

Tom lifted his chin, tugging one side of the reins, seamlessly steering the horses around a shipping supply cart.

"I know many people of power and means."

"I'm sure." She smirked in turn. "But you'd rather saw off your arm than ask a favor of anyone."

He bristled, as expected, unnerved by anyone's accurate assessment of his character. She continued undaunted.

"You'd try to keep the list of those you're indebted to as short as possible." She watched as his jaw set, grey eyes narrowed and fixed ahead. "Besides. You wouldn't trust just anyone with such valuable assets."

He met her eye at last. His own glittered darkly, a swirling cosmos of burning stars.

"It is fortunate we are on the same side. I pity any man who attempts to keep a secret from you."

She held his gaze, expression sobering.

"You still have your secrets." Her fingers pressed into the soft fabric of her skirt. "The ones you keep closest to your heart. They've been buried there so long you could hardly pry them free if you tried."

His eyes flashed, a supernova explosion, blinding in intensity.

"Secrets have kept me alive." His voice radiated with the same sinister energy. "For a very long time, they were my sole companion, my only means of survival."

Her chest ached. She gripped her knees harder to keep her hands from pressing the wound.

"Then I am grateful for every one of them." She kept her tone free of toxic sympathy. "But you aren't alone anymore."

He held her gaze with suffocating intensity, her heartbeat deafening to her ears until at last his eyes flickered to her mouth. She wet her lips on instinct, breathing a sigh of relief as he turned his head forward in the next instant, the circles beneath his eyes appearing heavier and darker than moments before.

"When is the last time you slept?"

"Sleep is the least of my priorities."

The tone of his response provided all the answer she needed.

She gazed forward as well, having finally learned the concept of choosing her battles wisely.

Minutes later they were turning another corner, the docks long behind them. He directed the horses past a private property line marked by flowering bushes. A handsome cottage-style home sat in the distance, centered atop a green rolling field.

Anyone who could afford such a sprawl of land in the heart of London could easily afford to build a mansion atop it. But the two-story structure was modest and quaint. The closer they proceeded up the gravel drive the more architectural details came into focus.

Whoever dwelled within was someone of means indeed, though they obviously valued privacy above reputation.

She studied the tall row of privacy bushes, squirming at last.

"Are you certain they won't mind the disturbance?"

His visage instantly sharpened. "He is a disturbance." His eyes narrowed, voice laced with derision. "Trust me, he'll be ecstatic to have a house guest. Be prepared for nonstop affirmations and convoluted analogies."

She couldn't help but smirk at his visceral reaction.

"You're fond of him."

He raised a dark brow.

"I detest him."

"A bit of both I think." She settled back in her seat, earlier unease melting away. "You wouldn't have taken me here unless you trusted him a great deal."

His jaw ticked several times, as though chewing on words before swallowing them down, offering no response.

She grinned, watching him direct the horses further along the drive before they finally rounded the privacy bushes, giving view of the front door.

His shoulders squared off, spine rigid as a pole as he glared at the entryway, the heat in his eyes a tangible smolder she could feel even from her end of the bench.

She swallowed lightly, reaching out on instinct, placing her hand atop his knee.

She felt him tense beneath her touch, but he made no move to dislodge her, eyes transfixed by the entry.

"It's alright, Tom." Her voice was soft, coaxing the wolf from its den. "This hardship is nothing compared to what you've already endured."

He tore his eyes away, pinning her in place with a swift look. His jaw set once more before he gave a shallow nod.

"Come on."

Her heartbeat reverberated through her limbs as he reached down and grabbed her hand, removing it from his knee, fingertips tracing along her palm before releasing her. He leaped from the carriage a moment later, landing in a graceful pounce.

He turned, extending his hand for her to take. She stared at it for a long beat before glancing away, reaching for the handrail instead.

She heard his low sigh and then she was gasping into the crisp morning air, his hands gripping her waist as he lifted her off her feet, pulling her forward.

She braced her hands against his shoulders for purchase, nails digging into fabric and muscle as their eyes locked. Her abdomen pressed his chest, his deep inhale chasing her swift exhale, and then gravity seized her once more, his face drawing close as he lowered her.

Her heels clicked the ground and his hands fell away. She swayed on her feet as he stepped past her towards the car, opening the door with fluidity, earlier rigidity long faded.

She straightened her cloak as he gently extracted Dawn from her hiding spot. By the time Hermione gazed up he was already crossing towards her, the girl's small hand encased in his own.

Her heart leaped.

Not in jealousy, but in pain.

She met Dawn's blank gaze, wondering once more if she was conscious beneath the surface, trapped in the shell of her own body, screaming desperately with every measured breath.

She wondered how many men had violated her. Whether she'd been cognizant during the attacks, unable to fight back.

She wondered if the girl understood what was happening now, that she was safe, or if she was once more resigned to a man's manipulation of her body, yet another violation, regardless of intent.

Hermione swallowed the rising bile in her throat.

"I'll take her."

Tom's steps faltered, the intensity of her voice drawing his focus. She stared once more at their joined hands.

He followed her gaze, shoulders tightening imperceptibly.

She knew he understood the path of her thoughts as he immediately released Dawn's hand, stepping aside and allowing Hermione to take his place.

She gently grasped the girl's palm, interlacing their fingers. Tom moved ahead of them, leading a path to the porch. They followed slowly, Hermione studying her walking companion's profile all the while, unnerved at the similarities in their features.

"Dawn." She kept her voice low, though she didn't care whether Tom was listening. "In case you can hear me, I want you to know that I'm going to do everything in my power to help you."

She squeezed her hand. "I won't stop until I find a cure." Her eyes gleamed in the morning sun. "None of us will."

And then she blinked, sensing the stillness ahead.

Tom turned to stone at the door, not even seeming to breathe. Hermione paused at the bottom step, unsure what to say, if she should even speak.

He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her eye and gesturing to his side with his chin, movements sharp and precise like a bird of prey.

She bit her lip, leading Dawn up the four brick steps and across the wood slats before coming to a stop at his right.

She watched silently as he tipped his head back and rolled it along his shoulders, neck cracking loudly, causing her to cringe. Then he took a deep breath and held it, raising his arm and pounding swiftly on the door with the side of his fist.

There was a long beat of silence, the world falling static and still.

And then a muffled shuffling sounded from inside.

Hermione held her breath as well, heartbeat erratic as she absorbed the tension radiating from Tom's body in visible waves.

There was a metallic click, a lock sliding.

The knob turned.

The door opened.

A face appeared.

She rocked back on her heels with the force of the impact.

"Tom." The man's voice was heavy with shock, yet remained soft and warm at the edges. "This is a welcome surprise."

Tom ground his teeth, fists curling at his sides, knuckles turning white. Hermione blinked, settling back in place though her jaw continued to hang loose. The glacial eyes shifted at her movement, latching onto her wide gaze and fixing her in place, rendering her breathless.

And then he smiled, the creases in his face deepening with the joyous expression.

"Ah, and you've brought guests, what a delight!" His eyes gleamed, bright and knowing. "Good morning, Ms. Granger. I am so very relieved to see you have been safely returned to us."

She blinked again, squeezing Dawn's limp hand as though grasping at the final threads of her sanity.

"I…" She swallowed, trying to moisten her dry tongue. "Thank you… Sir."

She gazed at Tom's rigid form, unsure how to proceed, how to process the information before her. He sighed deeply, breaking from his rigid stance at last.

"I need a favor."

His acidic tone did nothing to dim the aura of gentle cheer exuding from the doorway.

"I can see that." Their host stepped back, gesturing their small party inside. "Let's move this conversation indoors, shall we? I've just put the kettle on and I'm sure I can wrestle up a tin of biscuits."

Tom made no motion to cross.

Hermione bit back a sigh of frustration, elbowing him aside as she entered instead, pulling Dawn along like a wagon at her back.

"Thank you very much…" Her brows furrowed as she cast a nervous glance upward. "Admiral Dumbledore."

His eyes glittered like the Caribbean waters Harry so passionately described.

"Please, my dear girl, call me Albus."

---

Draco ran a hand through his hair, pushing the disheveled strands from his eyes as he reached for the doorknob-

Only for the barrier to give way before his hand could make contact.

He blinked, vision blurred by exhaustion as a hazy figure took form in the entryway.

"Parker? Why are you up so early?"

The butler opened his mouth, but another voice responded.

"He never went to bed." A deafening beat. "Nor did I."

Draco blinked again, paling as the eerie silence was cut by the sound of soft footsteps padding atop the marble.

And then a new figure appeared.

"Mum-"

"Come inside."

He swallowed heavily, rendered ten years old every time she crossed her arms and pinned him with the full intensity of her motherly glare.

He stepped over the threshold, hands clenching and unclenching as he fought to maintain her steely gaze without cowering. She was adorned in an ivory sleeping gown and silk robe, pale hair flowing in twin rivers across her shoulders. Her head barely reached his collar, yet her petite form exuded enough power to shake the floor and bring a giant to his knees.

Her eyes flashed, slippered feet crossing the Italian marble and stopping just before him, neck craned as she studied his face with astute precision.

She grasped his chin, gripping it harder as he tried to avert his face.

"What happened? Who hit you?"

"It's nothing-"

"That isn't what I asked."

"Mum, please-"

"You will answer my question, Draco!" She released him, eyes burning bright. "I've been pacing the Manor all night waiting for you to turn up. You're going to tell me what all this commotion is about."

His jaw set. "What commotion?"

"Don't treat me like a fool. I heard you shouting in our father's study from across the Manor."

"I wasn't the only one shouting!"

She shook her head. "Such a childish response."

He scowled. "Mum, I'm not in the mood for this. Please, I just want to go to bed."

She caught his arm as he attempted to stalk past. He fell still beneath the gentle hand, unable to shrug her off.

"Draco, my heart, please tell me you aren't in this state over Hermione."

He swallowed heavily, a strange vertigo overtaking him. He scrubbed a hand over his face, glancing over his shoulder.

"I've never heard you say her name before."

Her hand dropped away. "Nonsense."

He slowly turned, watching her carefully. "You call her Granger. Or Richard's daughter."

She blinked, lips parting but only breath emitting. A moment later they pressed thin, as did her eyes.

He nodded, a familiar fire kindling in his chest. "Makes it easier, doesn't it?"

Her pale brows drew. "Makes what easier?"

He lifted his chin, eyes hooded and focused as he peered down his nose at her. "To pretend she isn't a person." He crossed his arms. "To pretend none of them are people."

She tilted her head, searching his gaze. "Who are you talking about?"

He stepped forward, propelled by the intensity of his fear, black rot spreading with each heartbeat.

"Did you know?"

She huffed, blowing a strand of hair from her face. "Know what, Draco? Speak plainly, I can't abide doubletalk."

His bitter laughter bubbled forth, unbidden, but not unwelcome. He basked in the absurdity.

"And yet you married the biggest bullshiter in all of England."

"You will not speak ill of your father in my presence-"

"I don't care about him." He reached out and grabbed her arms, his hold gentle yet firm, the motion itself enough to render her mute. "I want to know if you knew."

She blinked, searching his gaze once more, all traces of ire erased from the smooth palette of her complexion.

"Sweetheart, you're frightening me. You've been gone for nearly two days. I've been worried out of my mind. Now please tell me what's going on."

His fingers tightened, tall frame rocking precariously, a reed set to snap in the oncoming storm.

"I don't think I could take it. If you knew. If you're a part of this." He shook his head. "I don't have the strength to come out the other side of this madness if my entire goddamn life has been a lie."

She went pliant in his hold, lifting her arm between them and cupping his cheek.

"Draco, what happened? Who hurt you?"

He blinked rapidly, vision hazed by tears and exhaustion.

"Just tell me you didn't know. Tell me you could never be a part of something so vile. So evil."

Her face crumpled. "I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about, my love." She swept her thumb beneath his eye, catching a tear he didn't feel fall. "I want you to lie down. I'm sending for the Doctor-"

"No."

He jerked free of her hand, releasing her arms and turning away.

"Draco-"

"I'm fine."

He wiped his eyes, frustrated by this useless outpouring of emotion. To finally fall apart here and now was beyond pathetic.

"I'm…" He shook his head, trying to dispel the overwhelming shame, the bitterness. "Just tired."

"You sound intoxicated. But I don't smell any alcohol." She took a step closer. "Have you taken something?"

He tipped his head back and laughed anew, this round rich and dark, shaking the walls like rolling thunder.

"I fucking wish."

"Language, Draco!"

He closed his eyes, pushing the heels of his palms against his closed lids, sliding them out to his temples, a dull throb drowning out the chaos of his mind.

"Language." The word felt heavy on his tongue. "We must keep up appearances."

She padded forward, approaching him swiftly from behind, placing a hand between his shoulder blades.

"Please talk to me. Please tell me what's troubling you so."

He raked both hands through his hair, bloodshot eyes peeling open as he turned to face her.

"I'm fine, mum. Just exhausted." His voice sounded distant, foreign to his ears. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

She inhaled deeply, rubbing a hand along his arm, squeezing his shoulder before repeating the motion.

"If you won't let me call the physician, at least let me give you a calming tonic."

He set his jaw, biting back the argument, nodding with resignation instead.

"Alright."

She released her breath sharply, deflating with relief. "Go on up. I'll bring it to your room."

He followed the command in silence, steps sluggish and slow as he made his way to the grand staircase. He listed into the railing as he ascended, joints sore, the turmoil of his night setting into his bones at long last.

He stopped halfway up, feeling her hawk gaze upon him.

Always watching. Always knowing.

He glanced over his shoulder.

"Mum."

She tilted her head, hair and skin gleaming in the morning light streaming through the windows.

He took a shallow breath, grasping the banister until his knuckles cracked.

"I love you."

She blinked.

And then smiled, the sunlight reflecting even brighter, as though magnified by her joy. A halo burned above her head, beautiful and unnerving.

"I love you more than anything in this life, Draco." Her voice was strong, eyes bright, face radiant. "There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you."

He nodded, lingering on the steps as she turned on her heel and headed for the hallway beyond.

He released the railing, spine straightening as soon as she disappeared from sight.

That's what I'm counting on.

---

Astoria tilted her head, sliding hanger after hanger aside as she swept her eyes over each dress in turn.

Finally, her hand hovered over something of interest.

She gazed up, lifting the hanger from the rod and tugging the gown free.

"What about this one?"

Daphne turned, arms still buried in the clothing rack before her. Her eyes did a rapid sweep of the garment before flickering forward once more.

"I can't bide the color."

Astoria raised a brow. "It's white."

Her sister pushed dress after dress aside so rapidly it shook the display. "Yes. Shockingly so. I'll go blind staring directly upon it."

Her movements paused for half a beat, fingers skimming a lacy collar-

Only to shake her head, sighing in frustration as she slung the hanger aside and continued her aggressive hunt.

"Besides, it clashes terribly with my skin. I need something ivory."

Astoria chewed on the inside of her cheek, carefully replacing the garment before grabbing up another.

"Like this?"

Daphne cast another sharp glance over her shoulder, dismissing the second option with a look of disgust. "I need a cool toned ivory. You know I can't wear peach, Tori."

Astoria slammed the hanger back down with force.

"Daph, you do realize you'll only be wearing the dress for an hour or so, and only Greg and I will see you in it?"

"And the minister."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, in that case, we should spare no expense."

"Don't get snippy with me, you're the one who insisted on coming here."

Astoria sighed, shoulders lowering as she pushed away from the rack. "We can't get anything custom made. It'll take too long and father will see the charge."

Daphne nodded shortly, scowling at the final gown on the rack.

"I know. I just can't believe the state of these dresses. How do women shop ready made? They're absolutely ghastly."

A throat cleared behind them. Astoria glanced over her shoulder, meeting the shopkeeper's eye. The woman watched them from behind the counter as she threaded a needle, peering over her half-rimmed spectacles.

Astoria smiled, having the courtesy to flush in embarrassment. And then she spun on her heel, glaring at her shopping companion.

"Keep your voice down! The dresses are perfectly fine, you're just atrociously picky."

The door opened at the other end of the shop, the bell chiming softly. The owner glanced up, setting her needlework aside.

"Welcome, my dear, can I help you find anything?"

"I already found what I'm looking for."

Both sisters went stock still.

Daphne whipped around first, eyes wide.

"Pans?"

Pansy smirked, closing the door at her back. "As I live and breathe, it really is you."

Astoria paled. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to take shelter from the impending apocalypse. Certainly hell has frozen over if the Greengrass sisters are shopping at Lady LeBou's."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "How did you find us?"

"I saw you sneaking in like a couple of criminals on the lamb. I simply had to see what all the excitement was about."

She stepped further inside, casually lifting the gauzy sleeve of a bright blue gown, smirk lifting higher as she released the monstrosity and wiped her hand clean on her skirts.

"Is there a costume party I'm unaware of? May I guess the theme?"

Daphne closed her eyes. "Pansy-"

"Hobo chic? Dapper and destitute? Ritzy in rags?"

The shopkeeper huffed in outrage, shoving her work beneath the counter and marching behind a hanging curtain.

Daphne shook her head, turning towards the dress rack once more. "Are you done?"

"Hm…" Pansy tapped thoughtfully at her chin. "I suppose I am, at least until I can think up more clever rhetoric."

She approached a nearby accessory display, crossing her arms and leaning against it. "It's a bit early in the day for me yet. Rest assured, I'll be firing on all cylinders after a few more mimosas."

"I don't think I've ever seen you up and mobile before noon." Daphne shoved a dress aside with enough force to knock it free of its hanger. "What's the special occasion?"

"Lunch with my betrothed. He sent a messenger to my house bright and early to hand deliver the request. And by request, I, of course, mean demand."

"How romantic."

Pansy laughed, watching idly as Astoria replaced the discarded hanger, following at her sister's heels, tidying up the destruction as she went.

"I could say the same for you. Eloping is so very Shakespearean it brings tears to my eyes. Or perhaps that's the hayfever."

The sisters turned to statues once more, mimicking the mannequins lining the shop window. They shared a loaded glance in their frozen state before exploding to life.

"What are you-"

"How did you know?"

"Tori!"

Pansy laughed anew, face lit with pure amusement. "Relax, doves. It doesn't take Lovelace to compute the data before me."

She lifted a pale green bonnet, twisting one of the laces around her finger.

"Both Greengrass sisters sneaking into a common boutique first thing in the morning, long before the gentry's had time to paint their extravagant faces and strut about town like tressed up peacocks."

She met Daphne's narrowed gaze.

"Furthermore, you're looking at gowns in varying shades of piss and jaundice." She tilted her head, brow arching. "I daresay someone is looking for a wedding dress on the hush."

She glanced to Astoria, eyes glittering like gems.

"Now, I suppose the dress could be for either of you, seeing as you're both all but sold to your grooms-to-be." She smiled, teeth gleaming just as brightly. "But the most glaring difference between your shared plight is that dear Daphne actually wants to marry her beau, while Tori would sooner run to the gallows than down the aisle."

Astoria blinked, opening and closing her mouth before finally finding her voice.

"That… was impressive."

Pansy's dark eyes flashed. "How delightful. You're the second woman to say that to me to-"

"Pans." Daphne spared her a final glare before turning to the battered rack.

Pansy winked, tossing the bonnet aside and rising from the table. "Just having a bit of fun, Daph. You might try it some time."

"Keep in mind who your audience is, please."

Astoria bristled, eyes narrowing on the perfectly styled pile of blond tresses. "I'm more offended by your insinuation I can't handle it."

Pansy let out a delighted chime. "Hear that, luv? She can handle me just fine."

"No one can handle you. Now please leave us in peace or get over here and help me find something that wasn't excavated from a circus performer's grave."

Pansy sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes as she approached. "I suppose I can be of assistance, I'm not meeting Theo for another few hours yet."

She tilted her head, slipping her hands between two dresses and parting the row, gazing idly at either side.

"You're wasting your time with this rack."

"It's the only white they have."

Pansy smirked, meeting her friend's eye over the display. "You're having an unconventional union, my dear. I think the occasion calls for an unconventional dress."

Daphne released a dramatic sigh of her own, tipping her head back and tossing her hands up.

"At this point, I'm willing to wear a sheet over my head. I'm certain it will look more fashionable than this."

She lowered her gaze.

"What did you have in mind?"

Pansy let loose another round of laughter, deeper than before, her smile absolutely sinister in its appeal.

"I thought you'd never ask."

---

Hermione spun in a slow circle, examining the Naval memorabilia on the shelves, the plaques and framed certificates covering every inch of exposed wall space, her heart firmly lodged in her throat all the while.

I'm standing in Albus Dumbledore's living room…

She blinked, eyes fixing on the vibrant purple ribbon and gleaming metal of the Victoria Cross caged in glass atop the mantle, portraits of dogs displayed on either side.

I'm standing in Albus Dumbledore's living room.

She made a final scan of the space, eyes finally reaching Tom's rigid form, hovering near the windows with his arms crossed, face frozen in a mask of barely tamped hostility.

"I'm standing in Albus Dumbledore's living room."

He lifted a brow, holding her dumbfounded gaze another few moments before rolling his eyes and gazing outside.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway.

"I do hope these biscuits aren't stale."

Hermione spun on her heel, rushing to the doorway as Dumbledore's tall and narrow frame emerged, gleaming tray in hand.

"Please, let me help-"

"Nonsense, child. You are my guest. Please, sit. It is a rare pleasure I get to enjoy the company of someone who isn't carrying a rifle across their back. I've dusted off the good china for the occasion."

She smiled, his jovial nature contagious.

"You mustn't wait on us, Sir. We are guests in your home, please don't trouble yourself."

He crossed the room, setting the tray atop the table.

"It's no trouble at all."

He smiled brightly, setting the teacups right side up as his eyes drifted to the sole occupant on the couch.

Dawn stared ahead, eyes fixed to a potted plant beside the window.

"Would you like some tea, dear?"

Hermione wrung her hands, glancing to Tom, jaw tensing when she saw he planned on offering no assistance.

She swallowed, glancing back to Dumbledore and stepping forward.

"She doesn't speak."

He nodded, as though anticipating such a response, setting a saucer on the table before Dawn's knees.

"Do you know who commands her?"

Hermione blinked, glancing to Tom once more, then back to Dumbledore, pulse thrumming as she realized his eyes were fixed upon her with unnerving intensity.

"Yes. We do." She watched him gaze down at the tray, reaching for the steaming pot. "You're familiar with…." She wet her lips. "With this affliction?"

He began to fill Dawn's cup, hand steady, steam rising up and fogging his spectacles.

"Affliction." He set the pot back on the tray, staring at Dawn. "I've never heard it described in such a way." He turned at last, awarding Hermione the full weight of his focus. "But yes. Unfortunately, I am quite familiar with it."

"You've seen it before?"

A weighted pause.

The air grew dense.

"Once."

Tom turned sharply, meeting her gaze over Dumbledore's shoulder. Her heart skipped, an electrical current chasing the sensation.

Of course.

Tom stepped forward, eyes darting to the back of Dumbledore's head, voice edged in steel.

"I need to leave the girls here."

The Admiral sighed, slowly rotating, sunlight glinting off his close-cropped beard and half-moon lenses.

"While you do what exactly, Tom?"

Tom lifted his chin, sunlight silhouetting his frame and casting his visage into darkness.

"I know who he is, Albus."

Dumbledore swayed back, eyes widening. Hermione held her breath, unable to look away. The intensity of the men's shared gaze was a palpable force, generating so much energy it shook the very ground and knocked the plaques askew.

Tom wet his lips, eyes predatory and bright.

"Angus Bumby."

Hermione swallowed. Dumbledore blinked.

"The name doesn't sound familiar."

"Nor should it. It's likely an alias."

"For what?"

"It doesn't matter. I know who he is. Where he works. What he looks like." He lowered his chin, blown pupils swirling with a black abyss. "I'm going to kill him."

Dumbledore sighed, eyes closing as he rubbed his fingertips along the creases in his forehead.

"And how certain are you this is truly the man you seek?"

Tom arched a dark brow. "Ask our witness."

Dumbledore blinked. Hermione shifted, shoulders drawing back as he turned to face her. She met his gaze, nodding once.

"It's him." She held his eye steady, despite the twisting eels in her stomach. "He spoke plainly about his role as the Dollmaker in his office. And then he subjected me to treatment."

Dumbledore's eyes shone with blatant horror and concern. "Are you alright, dear?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes, I'm-"

"I need to examine her yet."

She jolted, Tom's voice brokering no room for argument. Her mouth ran dry as he met her gaze, words dissolving on her tongue.

And then he looked to Dumbledore.

"I'd like to do so immediately. As well as get Dawn situated in a room of her own." His eyes narrowed. "That is, of course, if you'll permit them asylum."

Dumbledore was still facing her, a smirk lifting his lips. "Always so dramatic." His eyes danced with amusement. "Even as a boy."

Hermione bit her lip, the urge to laugh nearly causing her to double over. Dumbledore winked before slowly rotating.

"I am happy to open my home to these lovely young women, and even welcome the company." He met Tom's lethal gaze with a grin. "Under one condition."

Tom ground his teeth. "And what is that?"

Dumbledore sighed, calmly folding his hands before him.

"You must rest, Tom. You are in no condition to go rushing off on an execution mission."

Tom surged forward, the air crackling around him. "Out of the bloody question."

"That is my condition."

"Do you have any idea-"

"We'll stay."

Tom blinked, drawing up short as his eyes darted to Hermione. Dumbledore turned to the side, glancing at her with obvious intrigue.

She stepped forward, spine lengthening.

"All of us will stay."

She watched Tom's fists curl at his sides. She forged on.

"Long enough for you to get some sleep." She arched a challenging brow. "You need rest." She held his gaze, voice softening, lowering. "You've waited your entire life for this one moment, Tom. Are you really willing to lose it all due to sheer exhaustion?"

He released a sharp breath, tearing his gaze away as he dragged a hand over his face, shaking his head.

"Fine."

Dumbledore raised a white brow, glancing between them until his eyes lingered on Hermione, studying her with care. She squirmed, feeling a flush spread like spilled tea across her neck and cheeks.

Tom lowered his hand, voice filled with resignation. "Only a few hours rest. Then I leave." He captured her gaze. "But I examine you first."

The blush burned hotter.

"I'm fine-"

"That is my one condition."

Dumbledore smirked, eyes drifting to the ground as though to afford their silent battle privacy. She sighed deeply, the same resignation setting into her bones.

"Alright then." She looked to Dawn. "I'd like to get her settled."

Dumbledore lifted his head. "Certainly. Pick any of the guest bedrooms you'd like." He flashed his gleaming smile. "Tom will show you the way. He knows the layout of this house quite well."

She nodded, stepping forward and extending her hand to Dawn. The girl didn't budge. Hermione leaned over, grasping her wrist and gently tugging. Dawn unfolded at once, meeting Hermione's eye without expression as she fell in step beside her.

They paused in the doorway, Hermione glancing over her shoulder to Tom. He continued to eye his former benefactor, eyes hard, unyielding. She felt her chest tighten as Dumbledore's eyes took on the same lethal glint, an unnerving sight. She understood how he came to be the senior officer of the most powerful militia in the world.

She gently cleared her throat, swallowing heavily when both sets of eyes darted to her.

"Thank you for inviting us into your home, Admiral."

His expression softened at once. "It is a pleasure to have your company, my dear."

She forced a polite smile, supreme awkwardness grating at her skin. But then Tom stepped forward at last, providing an escape. She led Dawn into the hall and allowed him to pass, making his way to the stairs.

He stopped at the base, clutching the railing and gazing up at the landing with a far off look.

"Tom."

He jolted, casting a glance over his shoulder, eyes dark. "This way."

She nodded, tongue pressing the roof of her mouth to contain the questions welling in her throat.

They made their way upstairs, navigating through a nautically themed corridor lined with bedrooms.

He stopped at the first one, pushing the door open fully and standing aside, allowing them room to pass.

Hermione stepped in first, casting a quick glance around before releasing Dawn's hand and making a beeline for the window, testing the lock and gazing through the pane, inspecting the side of the brick, looking for hand and footholds.

She turned around at last, shoulders dropping, unaware Tom watched her from the shadows with gleaming eyes. She gazed at Dawn instead, gesturing her forward, surprised when she did as bade without physical prompt.

Her heart swelled with hope.

"You're going to be safe here, Dawn."

But then the girl perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the wallpaper with the same blankness of before.

Hermione sighed heavily, running a hand through her hair and swiftly exiting the room, gently shutting the door behind her.

She gazed up-

But Tom was nowhere in sight.

She blinked, crossing to the next bedroom and entering. She unfastened her cloak, the home's warm temperature causing her to perspire, and then gasped as movement appeared at the corner of her eye.

Tom stood by the dresser, coat tossed haphazardly over the desk chair, the top of his shirt unbuttoned.

"I'm sorry, I didn't-" She glanced away, willing her feet to move. "I'll take the next room."

"No. This is yours." He began to roll up his sleeves. "I'll examine you here. Get on the bed."

Her heart thundered manically, knees locking.

He observed her reaction and blinked, scrubbing a hand over his face in obvious exhaustion.

"Sit on the bed." He sighed, arm falling. "Please."

Her heart skipped anew but her legs finally answered her command, carrying her across the narrow space to the edge of the mattress.

She sat as gingerly as she could, straightening her skirts to occupy her hands and focus.

Tom stepped forward, stopping just before her, a dark mass filling her vision.

"Lestrange said his guard accosted you. Did he cause serious injury?"

She wet her lips, folding her hands and meeting his gaze.

"He tackled me." His eyes darkened. She hastened to add. "I hurt my knee but it feels fine now."

He tilted his head, eyes unblinking.

"Lift your skirt."

Her hands twitched, unable to break his gaze as she slowly slid her hands down, gathering handfuls of the pale fabric and dragging it up her calves.

His eyes darted down, tracking the motion. And then he lowered to his haunches, so fast and sudden she reared back, dropping her skirt.

His eyes flickered up, their faces level as he grasped the hemline and dragged it over her knees.

She blinked, hands curling over the edge of the mattress.

"Which one?"

She wet her lips. "The left."

He grasped the thin fabric of her stocking, pulling the black fabric down. She bit the inside of her lip as cold air met her bare skin. His focus lowered to her leg, cold fingers gripping behind her knee and lifting.

The skin was stained a deep and mottled purple, the bruise faded at the edges, giving way to pale gooseflesh.

He gently prodded the joint for several seconds, gripping her ankle and straightening her leg, his body situated between her knees as he tilted his head, absorbed in his work.

"Swelling and bruising seems to be the worst of it."

He lowered her ankle, leaving her stocking beneath her knee but pulling her skirts back down.

"What else?"

She shook her head, struggling to breathe normally. "Nothing. I told you, I feel fine-"

"Let me see your arm."

She sighed in frustration but did as bade. He rose to his full height and took her wrist in hand, turning it over and rotating it in either direction.

She took a deep breath, holding it.

"I promised Dawn we'd find a cure." Her jaw worked silently as she searched for the words. "I've broken promises before. Promises I never intended to keep and shouldn't have made in the first place."

Her eyes flickered up, watching him work.

"But this is a promise I'll die to keep."

His expression betrayed no discernable emotion, but his eyes glittered in the sunlight. She leaned forward.

"We have to find a cure, Tom. For Padma, for Dawn, for all of them."

He lowered her arm, holding his hand out for the other.

"We will."

She swallowed, placing her wrist in his palm as she struggled to phrase the question.

"How did…"

She bit her lip as his fingertips pressed her pulse point. He met her gaze, raising a brow.

"How did my mother come out of it?"

She swallowed, nodding.

Tom's jaw ticked, inspecting the bruises wrapping her wrist.

"I don't know if she ever really did."

He released her arm and stepped back.

"As I told you before, her mind was never the same after. I imagine many more young women will be driven to self-harm and suicide if they're left in the same condition."

She sighed deeply, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes in frustration.

"How the hell does he do it, Tom? How does he brainwash them like this?"

He folded his arms, studying her carefully. "What do you remember of your treatment session?"

She shook her head, dropping her arms to her sides.

"Not much. I was forced to take a pill, some sort of hallucinogen that induced amnesia. I recall water. The orderly told me I was in a sensory deprivation tank. But I don't remember anything that happened inside of it."

"Are you certain?"

She nodded, brows furrowed. "I've tried. I only see bits and pieces, brief glimpses-"

"Such as?"

She blinked. "I…" Her eyes drifted to his chest. "It's all muddled. I see colors. But I also see darkness."

She swallowed heavily, gaze lifting as her nails pricked the quilt. "What if the treatment worked? What if the amnesia is a side effect of him altering my mind?"

He tilted his head, eyes piercing. "You told me he was upset."

She nodded. "He wanted to know how I resisted the procedure. I had no idea what he was talking about. I still don't."

Tom stared at her for another tense beat, his eyes cutting a path straight through her.

"He didn't break your mind. You'd show signs, symptoms. I see nothing to indicate he was successful in his endeavors."

He released her from his thrall, glancing to her leg and wrists as he folded his arms across his chest.

"I also see no physical ailments, aside from bruising." His gaze lifted. "But you need rest as much as I do. Especially after your heroic sweep of Lestrange and his men."

She tilted her head, hands sliding forward as she leaned in. "What are you going to do, Tom?"

"I'm going to sleep, as conditioned."

She shook her head.

"I mean after that." She pushed to her feet. "Please tell me you aren't just going to storm the gates of the asylum."

Tom watched her steadily. "He won't be at the asylum. He'll have discovered the mountain of ash and debris awaiting him in Bath and gone underground, sending his minions to take care of the dirty work for him."

"How will you find him?"

His eyes flashed brilliantly, voice deepening. "I'll find him."

Her pulse thrummed. "But how-"

"Hermione."

Her jaw snapped shut. He took a slow step towards her, shadows swelling at his back, bleeding across the walls.

"I'll find him. And I will kill him."

He continued to advance, arms dropping to his sides, hands clenching open air, stopping only when her knees hit the bed and she pressed a hand to his chest to balance herself.

She swallowed heavily.

"We should get some rest."

He blinked twice, taking a step back as his expression seemed to register her presence, their surroundings. He drew a hand over his face once more, lids heavy with exhaustion.

"I'll be next door."

She nodded, tangling her fingers in her skirt. "Alright."

She watched him walk to the door. As he crossed the threshold she drew in a slow breath, lifting her chin.

"Tom."

He paused with his hand on the knob, glancing over his shoulder.

She wet her lips, eyes gleaming. "Sleep well."

He stared at her for a long moment.

And then he smirked.

"Sleep well, Ms. Granger."

They held each other's gaze as he closed the door, at last disappearing from sight.

---

Parvati drew her knees in, wrapping her arms around her legs and tipping her head back, staring forlornly at the ceiling.

Only to gasp as something large and soft hit the side of her head.

She toppled sideways, hands bracing the hall runner, eyes narrowed in outrage.

Blaise stood a few feet away, couch cushion in hand, twin to the one he sent hurtling at her face.

He smiled.

"Pillow fight?"

She sat upright, pushing the hair from her face and pressing back into the wall.

"I'm not in the mood, Zabini."

He shrugged lightly, proceeding closer.

"Fair enough."

He dropped his cushion beside her. She blinked, gazing up with a creased brow, then scowling as he slid down the wall into a graceless heap atop the pillow.

She scooted away as their shoulders pressed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Sitting." He mimicked her previous pose, bending his knees and tipping his head back. "And you're staring." He smirked. "Which is to be expected, I know it's difficult tearing one's eyes away from such perfection."

She shook her head, grabbing the offending cushion and shoving it between her back and the unforgiving wood paneling.

"You'd look a hell of a lot better if you didn't talk."

"You may have a point."

The corner of her lips started to turn up of their own accord. She crossed her arms, schooling her expression.

"I appreciate the sentiment. But I'm not in the mood for your brand of entertainment." She stared forward. "And I'd like to be alone."

He folded his hands behind his head, getting comfortable.

She scowled anew.

"Why must you torture me at every opportunity?"

"Because you look utterly ravishing when you're plotting my evisceration." He lifted a brow, glancing sideways. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

She scoffed. "Don't play dumb. I know you heard our conversation through the door."

"Parts of it." He shrugged, gazing forward. "You're afraid she'll have another episode if she sees you?"

Parvati's shoulders dropped, jaw set as she dug her nails into the hardwood.

"I finally get her back. After three endless, agonizing years, I finally get her back and I can't even be in the same fucking room with her."

She blinked rapidly, eyes gleaming as she leaned forward and turned away to wipe them dry, voice thick and scornful.

"Please leave."

He took a slow, deep breath, watching her closely as his arms fell to his sides.

"Tell me about her."

She blinked, twisting around. "What?"

"Padma. Tell me about her."

She shook her head. "I don't-"

"Your hair is different."

Her face fell blank. He rested his forearms atop his knees, grasping his wrist.

"Your faces, too." He tilted his head, slowly studying her bemused expression. "Especially your eyes."

She glanced away, wiping said eyes once more, tears smearing across her temples.

"We were identical as children." She swallowed past the constriction in her throat. "We used to fool everyone in the neighborhood, switching places, pretending to be the other for a day."

She wet her lips, gaze gleaming as the memories danced before her mind's eye.

"I'm certain we could have fooled our father if it wasn't for our eyes."

"Not your mum?"

She leaned back, closer than before, only a few inches between them.

"Mum worked from home, was around us night and day. Knew every nuance, every habit. She could tell us apart by the way we blinked."

He smiled. "You were closest to her then?"

"We were close to them both. They were good parents. Loving. Attentive."

She leaned her head against the wall, gazing at the white expanse above.

"But nothing compared to the bond we shared with each other."

She picked idly at the edge of the hall runner. "We had the same breath. The same heartbeat. We slept holding each other. For warmth and practicality. We shared a tiny mattress in the corner. It's a miracle we both fit."

She wound a loose thread around her finger.

"We'd be pressed together, I could feel her heartbeat against my chest." She smiled. "I was always the big spoon." And then bit her lip. "Our heartbeats would align. So did our breathing. It was a bit eerie. But comforting."

A beat passed.

"We were two halves of a whole. Our own person, and yet not." Her jaw silently worked. "We always thought we shared the same soul."

The tears welled anew. She blinked and they over spilled her bottom lashes. She made no move to dry them.

"Which makes what I did truly unforgivable."

His brow creased. "What did you do?"

She wiped at her cheeks at last, movements tight and angry.

"I didn't search for her."

"You thought she was dead."

She shook her head, face stricken.

"I should have known better." She pressed a hand to her chest. "We share the same heart, the same breath, the same soul." Her face glistened with tears. "I should have known she was still alive. I should have felt her. I should have looked for her. I practically gave her to that fucking animal-"

"Parvati."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, gripping tighter when she shifted forward.

"There's no way you could have-"

"Don't." She jerked away, turning her back to him. "You can't possibly understand what I'm talking about." She took a jagged breath, placing a hand around her neck. "Please just go, Blaise."

His hand hovered mid-air, slowly curling into a fist before dropping to his side.

He stared at her back for a long moment, eyes fixed upon the dark river of hair flowing down the center, wavy from her braid.

"My brother died."

Her spine straightened, head whipping around. She searched his gaze, her own bloodshot and tear-stained.

"Your…" She wet her lips, rotating fully. "I didn't know you had a brother."

He shook his head. "Neither did I. Not until I was fourteen."

She settled back into the cushion, watching him silently.

"My mother inherited her title after marrying Alessandro Zabini, Count of Padua."

He rested his arms atop his knees, eyes drifting to the opposite wall.

"But he wasn't my father. She was nine weeks pregnant when they married. She managed to convince him I was premature, despite the fact I practically weighed a full stone at birth, fat little fuck that I was."

She smiled. He drummed his fingers along the air, tapping a rhythmic beat.

"When I was twelve she told me who my real father was. She was drunk and feeling nostalgic I suppose, riding out the last of her high after killing lucky husband number three." He carded a hand through his hair. "She said he was a horse breeder. Traveled throughout Europe selling thoroughbreds. Turned a decent profit, but not nearly enough to maintain her long term affections."

He wet his lips. "I spent two years searching for him. I had nothing to go on but his name and occupation. But I was so bloody desperate to meet him. So eager to get away from her. Away from this life."

He sighed, head hitting the wall with a dull thunk.

"I finally tracked his location in Scotland. He'd retired, bought a house near Inverness with a massive stable." He gazed at a crack in the ceiling tile. "I showed up on his door one rainy day in April. Heart in my throat, vision hazy, terrified out of my mind. I knocked and…"

His shoulders tensed. "A boy answered. Nearly my age. Wearing nearly my face." He swallowed heavily. "His name was Logan."

He took a deep breath, holding it for several beats before releasing, slumping down further.

"My father showed up a few minutes later. Recognized me on the spot, despite having no clue I even existed up until that point." He smiled fondly. "He was bloody shocked. And then he was thrilled."

Parvati scooted closer, shoulder pressing his arm.

"He invited me into his home, asked me hundreds of questions about myself, about my mother. Logan's mum died in delivery, it had always just been the two of them." He drummed his fingers along the floor. "He invited me to stay. Permanently." His jaw tensed. "And I wanted to. So fucking badly."

He shook his head, chin lowering, gaze dragging down to the wood paneling. "But I knew my mother's wrath knew no bounds. If she discovered I'd tracked my him down, approached him behind her back…"

He blinked.

"I was terrified of what she might do." His hands flattened on the ground. "So I paid them visit in secret. Pretended I was on holiday with friends throughout the year. Theo covered for me, he was the only one I told."

His lips curved up. "I was never happier than when I was at that ranch. Logan was two years younger... and was in bloody awe of me."

His expression sobered. "I'd never experienced anything like that before. People are always rolling their eyes. Dismissing me as the inebriated tosser of the group. A court jester. Easily ignored. Easily forgotten."

Parvati's brow creased as she studied his profile.

"But Logan thought I pissed liquid gold. Followed me everywhere I went. Became my shadow. We became close. Closer than I was with my father."

He tipped his head back once more.

"Closer than I've been with anyone."

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. The silence stretched on. Parvati shifted, swallowing lightly.

"What happened to him?"

He didn't open his eyes.

"He was taming a wild Arabian. His father told him to wait for him to come out and help… but Logan was always trying to grow up as fast as he could. He took the horse out on his own."

His jaw tensed, hands clenching.

"He was thrown. Hit the ground with his neck. Died instantly."

His lungs burned. He realized he'd stopped breathing.

"He was fifteen."

She blinked, tears falling. She let them drop to her lap, placing her hand over his own on the ground between them, squeezing.

"Blaise…"

He swallowed heavily, eyes opening, fixed ahead, unseeing.

"My father found him. Carried him back to the ranch in his arms. Buried him by hand in the woods just outside the house."

His vision was blurred. He wiped his eyes absently with the back of his other hand.

"He went inside. Wrote a letter. Addressed it to me. Pinned it to the front door. Walked into the stable with a revolver and shot himself."

She gasped, hand clenching atop his. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, leaning in and wrapping her arms around him. "I'm so very sorry."

He let her pull him down to her, resting his hand atop her knee. "I only knew them for three years. Only saw them ten times or so. But losing them still felt like losing a part of myself."

He rubbed his eyes once more, head throbbing. He took a steadying breath, reining in his emotions, the memories.

"My point is…" He turned his head, meeting her eye. "I didn't know they were dead until the letter arrived at my house."

Her eyes sparked, realization striking, arms tensing around his back and chest.

"And I hated myself for it. I hated that I'd spent the last four days laughing and partying and drinking and living my life as though I hadn't just lost the most vital part of myself. I hated that I didn't know. That I didn't feel the very moment it happened."

He held her dark gaze steady. "Five years later and I still hate myself for it." His hand squeezed her knee. "Your sister is alive, Parvati. She's here. She's real. Don't spend the next five years hating yourself. Don't lose any more time with her."

She blinked, another tear rolling free.

"I won't."

They stared at each other intently. He raised a hand, running the back of his index finger along her cheek, catching the next tear. Her eyes sparkled and danced in the gaslight, a bright beacon drawing him forward like a ship at sea.

They leaned in, mouths aligned-

"Harry Fucking Potter!"

The voice echoed loudly through the hall, causing them to freeze in place, sharing stuttered breath.

"If you aren't in this house I swear to Jesus Christ and all his disciples I'm going to wring your bloody neck before bricking you into the cellar the next chance I get!"

They held each other's gaze for another long beat, amusement dancing in their eyes.

And then his hand dropped to his lap. Parvati sighed, leaning back.

"Shite. I told them about Mione but I forgot to mention Harry as well."

Blaise pulled away. "It's alright, Black's warpath will lead him up here soon enough."

They continued to watch the other. She tilted her head, dark hair cascading over her shoulder and brushing her thighs.

"You don't have to wait with me, Blaise."

"I know."

She smiled, though it was clearly forced, tinged in sadness.

"I'll be okay."

He nodded, resting his head against the wall.

"I know."

She swallowed lightly, expression falling as her eyes drifted to his mouth, only to glance away in the next moment, smoothing a hand over her skirts.

He smirked, reaching out and looping his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side.

She rolled her eyes but gave no resistance, settling into his frame and laying her head against his shoulder, making no move to dislodge his hand from her hip.

They both gazed ahead, eyes heavy and dark, lost to shared heartache.

Lost to the past.

---

Daphne pivoted on the dais, gazing over her shoulder into the three-way mirror, eyes skimming the train of the gown.

"Well?" Pansy asked from the chaise, bare feet hanging over the rolled edge. "What do you think?"

The blonde faced forward, smoothing a hand over the front panel.

"It's beautiful."

Astoria tilted her head, examining the side cutouts. "And certainly unconventional."

Pansy tipped her head back, dark hair spilling over the tufted velvet as she laughed at the ceiling.

"I do believe that one word encapsulates my entire existence."

Astoria smiled. "The dress is stunning, Pansy, but perhaps a bit much for a simple ceremony-"

"It's perfect."

They both faced Daphne. She turned to the mirror, silk swishing around her legs.

"My wedding gown would have been chosen for me. A dozen others would have a hand in the design."

Her eyes gleamed brightly as she gathered handfuls of the voluminous skirts, lifting and fluffing. "But this…" The fluttering silk settled like a cloud. "This one I choose for myself."

Pansy smirked, swinging her legs over the side of the chaise and pushing to her feet.

"You look radiant. Hardly virginal, but I think Gregory will appreciate this far more."

She winked at Daphne's reflection, coming up behind her and tugging at the loose fabric in the back.

"It will need to be taken in around the hips and bust."

Daphne met her gaze in the mirror, eyes narrowed. "No one likes a bragger, Pans."

"You've been blessed with plenty enough appealing attributes, darling, do allow me this small victory." She let go of the fabric, stepping back. "Besides, the neckline looks better with a smaller chest. It's why I could never wear it out. One false move and I'd spill right out."

Astoria raised a dark brow. "You've never worn it? What a shame, it's too magnificent to sit in a closet."

Pansy met her gaze in the mirror. "I've never worn it out."

Astoria giggled. "But you've worn it about the house? Playing gin rummy?"

Pansy smirked wickedly. "More like tending the garden."

"Alright!" Daphne raised her hands. "Enough discussion about the dress before I change my mind about wearing it."

Pansy laughed. "I assure you it's well laundered."

"Thank goodness for that."

Astoria shifted in her chair, gripping the armrests. "So you've made up your mind? This is the one?"

Daphne nodded, eyes bright as she gazed down at herself. "Yes, it is."

Astoria burst out of her seat as though it were spring loaded. The other girls spun in place, startled by the sudden movement.

"That's great." She pressed her hands together, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I actually have an errand to run, so if you don't mind I'll just meet you back at the house later."

Daphne blinked. "Errand?"

Astoria nodded cheeks pinkening.

Her sister arched a brow. "What errand?"

"For the book. I have to visit the publishing house."

Daphne blinked again. "Oh. Well, hold on, let me change and I'll go with-"

"No, that's alright!" Astoria skipped forward, quickly crossing the room. "It'll be faster if I go alone. I'll see you this evening."

"Tori-"

"You really do look beautiful." She paused in the doorway, meeting Pansy's eye. "It was lovely seeing you, Pans. Thank you so much for your help."

"Of course, darling. You know you're welcome here anytime."

She nodded, clutching the frame. "I'm off then."

"Wait, Tori-"

"Bye Daph!"

Daphne sighed heavily as her sister rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

Pansy turned around, brow arched and lips curved. "What a fascinating girl."

"Don't get me started." She shook her head, grabbing handfuls of copious skirt. "Now help me get out of this dress."

"You've no idea how long I've hungered to hear you utter those very words."

She rolled her eyes. "Hilarious." She turned her back to the brunette. "So, what gardens have you been tending to then?"

Pansy stepped forward, tugging the ribbons free and loosening the stays. "I see, you expect me to give up all my secrets while you keep yours under lock and key."

Daphne sighed, gazing at her own pale reflection. "I wasn't keeping it a secret from you, Pans. I only decided on elopement last night. I haven't even discussed it with Greg. I doubt it would have even occurred to me if not for Tori."

Pansy hummed low in her throat, pulling the sleeves off Daphne's shoulders.

"Tori brought it up?"

Daphne nodded. "She's been… different. Since her book deal."

"Good different or bad different?"

"I'm not entirely certain. Good, I suppose. It's just…" She wet her lips, glancing down as she pushed the bodice down her hips. "She's finally grown. It's hard accepting that sometimes."

"You're her sister, Daph, not her mother."

"I know."

"Do you?"

She sighed anew, accepting Pansy's offered hand as she carefully stepped free of the swaddling fabric.

"I just want to shield her from the harsh realities I was exposed to. I know I can't protect her from everything."

She hopped off the dais, stumbling slightly as Pansy helped balance her.

"But I would give anything to protect her from a broken heart."

Pansy released her, reaching for the gown and shaking it loose of wrinkles.

"Broken heart? Is that what she's in the midst of?"

Daphne walked to the chaise, grabbing her discarded slip. "I don't know what's happening with her. She went to dinner at the Tonks and came home asking the strangest questions."

"Do you think she's seeing someone?"

"I don't know when she'd find the time, she only visits the publishing house."

Pansy smirked, draping the fabric over her arm.

Daphne blinked, stepping into her dress.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Do you know something?"

"I know a great many things, luv."

"Pans-"

"You worry far too much, Daphne."

Her jammed her arms through the sleeves, eyes narrowed.

"I just don't want to see her disappointed."

"She had a crush on Harry and is engaged to Draco." Pansy hung the dress from the partition. "Disappointment visited her door a long time ago." She turned around. "But she's worked past it and created something of her own. And now she's forging ahead with it, despite the obstacles."

She crossed the woven carpet, stepping behind Daphne once more and tightening her laces.

"You're right, she's finally grown. And one day very soon, you're going to have to let her go. For both your sakes."

Daphne pressed a hand to her stomach, sucking in her breath, eyes burning.

"I don't know if I can."

Pansy paused her motions, no doubt hearing the hitch in her friend's voice. She placed a hand to her shoulder.

"If you truly love something, you must let it go." She squeezed. "I think you'll find giving her space will bring you closer than before."

Daphne laughed lightly, wiping at her eyes. "That is very sound advice. And decidedly disturbing coming from you."

"It felt disturbing even saying it."

She smiled, glancing over her shoulder.

"Thank you, Pans." She placed her hand over her friend's, pinning it in place. "For the dress, for everything."

The brunette tilted her head, eyes gleaming. "You deserve to be happy, Daphne. I'm glad you're finally taking control of your fate."

Daphne searched her gaze. "I wish…" She swallowed. "I want you to be happy too, Pans. You deserve it just as much as anyone."

Pansy smirked, dropping her hand and glancing away.

"Not everyone gets a happy ending." She stepped back several paces. "Which is just as well. They're easily forgotten anyhow. Tragedies are far more memorable."

She raised her chin, turning towards the mirror. "I don't have to be liked. I don't have to be accepted. But I will be remembered."

She met her reflection's gaze, holding it with steely intensity.

"Whether they like it or not."

---

Harry dragged a hand over his face, pulling back from the window with an exasperated sigh.

Only to jolt as a familiar sight came into view ahead.

His heart leaped, fist pounding the roof of the car.

"Here!"

The driver directed the horses to the side of the road, pulling up behind another carriage, the street crowded and bustling with the afternoon rush.

Harry pulled open the door, staggering out.

"Stay here-"

"Sorry, Sir. Peak hours, I can't reserve the carriage."

He groaned, raking another hand through his hair, pulling at the roots.

"I'll pay you double."

The man lifted his chin, clearly deliberating the offer. His eyes swept the state of Harry's clothes, disheveled but bespoke, and finally nodded.

"Fine. But I got to circle round the block, I'll be fined for being stationary without a passenger otherwise."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Alright, meet me back on this corner when you come round."

He turned on his heel and charged ahead, dodging pedestrians as he went, eyes affixed to the swinging Apothecary sign in the distance. He bit his tongue preemptively, already dreading the conversation sure to follow.

He'd only encountered Snape in person twice in his life. Both occasions had been supremely unpleasant.

Reflecting more on the matter, which Harry was reluctant to do, it almost seemed as though the chemist harbored a deep seeded hatred for Harry, which made no sense whatsoever as Harry had never been anything but perfectly polite, if not slightly rambunctious, during both of their brief encounters.

How anyone could hate a child for any reason was beyond Harry.

But then again, some people were just arseholes.

Yet he'd face down the snapping bat once again if it meant finding Ron. Harry had been unsuccessful in his hunt so far but felt hopeful his friend may have come to Hermione's place of work in search of her.

He paused outside a food trolley, waiting for it to pass before proceeding for the front door of the shop.

He was about to resume his path when the door opened.

And a familiar face emerged.

He reared back, heart thrumming, scrambling to regain his senses.

"Susan!"

She glanced around, spine straight, her eyes widening when they found him at last.

"Harry!"

He darted around the trolley, meeting her halfway.

"I'm looking for Ron, have you seen him?"

She nodded, placing a hand to her hat to keep it in place as a particularly strong breeze blew past. "We parted ways about half an hour ago. He asked me to visit the Apothecary since Snape would be more likely to speak with me."

Harry blinked, grabbing her elbow and escorting her closer to the brick, out of the path of busy pedestrians.

"He enlisted you to help him search?"

She must have sensed the unease in his voice.

"Don't worry, he told me everything you said. I didn't tell my father, even though I really think-"

"Mione is fine. She's at Grimmauld."

Her eyes went wide once more, relief flooding her delicate features.

"Oh thank god! Ron was out of his mind with worry."

He breathed his own sigh of relief. "I've been searching everywhere for him. I was terrified he'd end up like-"

He stopped short, heart skipping anew.

"Sorry."

She shook her head, glancing away. "It's alright. You can say Cormac's name. I won't fall apart."

His jaw tensed. "I know."

"Harry!"

He spun around.

"Oh thank Christ."

Ron appeared at the end of the street, red hair standing out like a fiery beacon as he waved his long arm overhead. His cheeks turned ruddy as he jogged to where they stood.

"Please tell me you found her."

Harry nodded. "She arrived at Grimmauld this morning."

Ron dragged both hands through his hair, leaning back against the bookstore wall and catching his breath.

"Shite! I've been all over the city, I was running out of places to look." He gripped his side. "Where's that bastard? Where's Rabastan?" His blue eyes raged like a turbulent sea. "Did he hurt her? I swear to fucking God-"

"She's alright, Ron." Harry placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, but the muscle remained tense beneath his palm. "She's safe. You can see for yourself. I have a carriage on the way, I'll take you to Grimmauld."

Ron nodded, standing away from the wall. Susan shifted at their sides, earning Harry's attention once more.

"Do you-"

"I'd like to come as well. Unless you rather go alone-"

"Of course not." Ron sidled closer. "You'll come with us." He reached down and grabbed her hand. "I'm terrified to let anyone out of my sight anymore. I need to check on Gin-"

"Ginny is fine, Ron." She laid a hand to his chest. Harry watched in fascination as he instantly calmed beneath her touch, shoulders dropping. She smiled, voice soothing. "We saw her only an hour ago at the Burrow."

Ron inhaled deeply. "Okay." He dragged his other hand over his face. "Shite, let me pop down the street. Fred's at the Tonks, I stopped in looking for her and got him all worked up."

Harry nodded, stepping back. "Meet us on the corner when you're done, we'll be in the carriage."

Ron continued to hold Susan's gaze, leaning down and dropping a quick kiss to the top of her head while she laughed. Harry glanced away, tucking his hands in his pockets while Ron squeezed her hand and then dropped it, taking off down the street in another jog.

Susan stepped forward. Harry looked up, offering his elbow. She smiled, grabbing it with both hands while he escorted her at a much slower pace.

She wet her lips, voice low.

"I'm glad she's alright."

He nodded. "So am I." He gestured to the corner with his chin. "The carriage is down here."

She easily kept pace beside him as he navigated them through oncoming foot traffic. He glanced at her as they emerged from the crowd.

"Thank you for helping look."

Her brow furrowed. "Of course. I'll help any way I can." And then her eyes darted forward, teeth worrying her bottom lip. "Speaking of which… I've been meaning to tell you something but I haven't been able to visit Grimmauld."

He tilted his head. "What?"

"I raided the record's room at work. It took a few searches to find anything. I could never stay very long, the office is so busy in the day and my father gets suspicious if I linger in the evening."

His heart thundered. "But you found something."

She nodded, straightening her hat once more. "Some cold cases that align with Lavender's murder." She flexed her jaw, as though struggling to contain the words. "And something else."

She met his gaze as they stopped on the corner, carriages rushing past in a flash of noise and wind.

"I looked up the Doctor. Tom Riddle."

Harry sighed, shoulders lowering.

"It's alright, Susan. I was suspicious of him back then, but I trust him now."

She leaned in swiftly, speaking above the fray. "I think he's very dangerous, Harry."

He bit back a smirk, unnerved by his own morbidly amused reaction. "So do I."

She opened her mouth, searching his gaze. "You don't understand, I found-"

"Aye, Sir! You ready?"

They both jumped as a carriage came to a crashing halt along the curb just before them, the driver pulling hard on the reins as the horses brayed and panted heavily. Harry nodded.

"We're waiting on one other."

The driver wound the reins around his hand. "Aye, Sir. Hop on in."

Harry stepped off the curb, reaching for the golden handle and pulling open the door, offering her his other hand. She stepped closer but made no move to enter.

"Harry, please listen, Dr. Riddle isn't-"

"Oi!"

They both glanced up at the familiar timbre. Ron began his sprint down the street towards them, red hair flying in the wind. He nearly collided with an old woman as his gaze remained fixed ahead, earning the full wrath of her ire. He threw his arms over head, blocking the blows of her parasol as she proceeded to beat him with it.

Harry used the momentary distraction to lean in, gripping Susan's arm and regaining her attention.

"He isn't what, Susan?"

She wet her lips, complexion pale. She glanced nervously to the side. Ron was heading straight for them again. She gazed up at Harry, eyes frantic.

"I think it's a very bad idea for Hermione to be alone with him."

She grasped the handrail and hoisted herself into the carriage. Harry blinked several times, Ron's shadow fast approaching from behind.

He gazed into the interior, meeting her eye and nodding with firm resolve.

"Then I'll make sure she keeps her distance."

---

Hermione rolled to her side, releasing a sharp sigh of frustration, inadvertently blowing a strand of hair across her face.

She huffed in annoyance, forcibly pushing the curl aside as she gazed ahead at the wall separating her bedroom from Tom's.

She closed her eyes, rolling to her back and then glancing at the opposite wall.

Separating her from Dawn.

Bloody hell.

She gazed at the ceiling, raking her nails across her scalp and gathering her hair into a messy pile.

She couldn't lie still. Couldn't relax. Couldn't slow her mind.

So she sat up, propped on her elbows and gazing at the sheer curtains.

The light was slowly fading, heavy shadows cast across the walls.

Her eyes flitted to the door, lingering on the knob.

She bit her lip.

Don't even think about it.

She sat up the rest of the way, swinging her legs over the side of the mattress.

You are a guest in this home, Hermione Granger!

She rose to her feet, bare soles padding softly across the wood.

Don't. You. Dare.

She stopped outside the door, shifting anxiously.

Bloody hell, you're a fool.

She grasped the knob with both hands, holding her breath.

Alright, let's get on with it then.

She opened the door slowly, pressing her tongue to her teeth as she peered into the empty stretch of hallway beyond, straining to listen for noise.

She glanced to her right, staring at Tom's door.

No sound emitted.

She crept out, shutting her door behind her, leaving it barely ajar before rising to her tiptoes and creeping in the opposite direction.

She paused outside Dawn's room, pressing her ear to the wood.

Silence greeted her.

She briefly considered peaking in on the girl, but quickly shook her head, dismissing the notion.

Dawn deserved her privacy as much as any of them.

Her hands curled to fists, arms held aloft as she crept along the runner as though navigating a balance beam, eyes narrowed in concentration as though she could see which wood slats would elicit a groan.

She made it to the stairwell without commotion, releasing her breath in a powerful rush as she clutched the banister and made her way down.

She paused at the bottom, glancing either way down the hall, unnerved by the silence at either end.

She wondered if Dumbledore was still home.

She sighed, heading in the direction of the kitchen, deciding a cup of tea would settle her nerves.

When the quiet finally shattered.

Rapid footsteps raced in the distance, light and soft, followed by a child's sharp peel of laughter.

Hermione spun in place, eyes wide, heart leaping as she caught sight of blonde hair and white skirts.

The little girl disappeared around the corner, pattering footsteps growing distant.

"Hello?"

Melodious laughter met her ears once more.

Hermione awoke from her momentary stupor, leaping forward and darting down the hall, slowing only to round the corner, hand bracing the wall.

She gasped as a door at the end of the adjoining hall slammed shut, only the barest sliver of a pale, smiling face taking root in her mind before the solid wood barrier filled her view.

"Hello?"

She carefully approached, heart racing as she stopped just before the door, pressing her hand to the wood.

The girl's laughter continued on, muffled and unabated.

Hermione reached for the knob-

"Good evening, my dear."

She screamed, slapping a hand to her mouth and spinning around, back slamming against the frame.

She blinked rapidly, pressing a hand to her chest and flushing brightly as she met a pair of startling blue eyes.

"Admiral!"

He smiled, concern and amusement etching his face in equal measure. "I didn't mean to startle you. I thought I heard you speaking to me."

She wet her lips, trying to catch her breath. "I was speaking to the girl."

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming beneath the sconce light.

"Dawn?"

She shook her head, arms dropping, hand resting atop the brass knob.

"No, the-"

She paused, realizing with a cold wash of dread that she may not have truly seen what she thought she saw.

She swallowed tentatively. "I thought I…" She shook her head, curls dancing across her shoulders. "Nevermind."

He smiled, voice patient. "Perhaps you saw a ghost."

Despite his soothing tone, she felt her entire body tense, the knob rattling beneath her trembling hand. "Perhaps."

His eyes darted down, fixing upon her hand curled around the knob.

"That room has been sealed for many years."

She released the brass handle as though it were red hot.

"My apologies."

He met her gaze once more. "There is nothing to apologize for." His smile turned brittle, the creases deepening at the corner of his mouth and eyes. "It was my sister's bedroom."

She laced her fingers before her, standing away from the door. "I didn't know you have a sister." She smiled amicably. "Does she live in London?"

"She's dead."

Her smile dropped like a dead weight. "I'm so sorry."

He nodded slowing, studying her expression with unnerving precision.

"You are not unaccustomed to loss either." He tilted his head. "My deepest condolences. Losing a parent is never easy, little less both, and to such tragic circumstances at such a young age."

Her body throbbed, pulse deafening. "Thank you."

The silence lingered, coated their skin, corrosive as acid.

She wet her lips once more, gathering her nerve and opening her mouth-

But no sound emitted, questions flying through her mind far too quickly to grasp a single one.

His eyes gleamed, expression unnervingly knowing as he took a step back, allowing her room to move beside him.

"Would you like some tea? I find that tea is always a good answer, no matter the question."

She breathed a heavy sigh of relief, nodding quickly. "That's actually what I came downstairs to get."

"Great minds think alike. Right this way, my dear."

She sidled beside him, matching his slow and casual gate down the hall and peering sideways at him.

"Thank you again for taking us in. I know you've said it isn't necessary, but I must express my deepest gratitude."

"You are a very emotive girl."

She blinked. He smiled, chuckling softly and gazing down upon her.

"I mean that as a compliment, I assure you. I find your disposition a breath of fresh air. Tom has always worked so hard to conceal his emotions, likely in an attempt to convince himself he doesn't have them."

She bit her lip, studying his profile as he led them around the corner and into the heavily shadowed kitchen.

"You've known him since he was young then?"

He grinned, flipping a switch on the wall and triggering the gaslight on the ceiling.

"How much has he told you?"

She glanced away, trying not to fidget. "Not much."

"Did he expressly forbade you from asking such questions?"

Her eyes flashed, shoulders drawing back, earlier trepidation forgotten.

"No. He knows forbidding me from something is the surest way to drive me towards it."

Dumbledore's melodious laughter filled the small space, bouncing off the tiled floor and backsplash, a deep, soothing cadence that smoothed her hackles.

"Ah, it's all starting to come together."

She watched him open the cupboard. "What is?"

He removed a black kettle, walking towards the sink. "His attachment to you."

She reared back, burning with fever and grasping the edge of the countertop for balance, fingertips turning white.

"I- we aren't- he doesn't-"

He turned on the faucet, smiling all the while. "There is no need to be embarrassed, my dear. Tom has a powerful draw. Very few can resist, regardless of their opinion of him."

He set the full kettle aside. "However, I've never seen him keep what he captures." He removed two mugs from an overhead rack. "Until now."

She swallowed heavily, heart beating so rapidly her vision hazed. "We're working together to bring the organization down. That's all."

"Just a simple life or death mission to save the world."

His casual tone helped her breathe easier, the corner of her lips lifting of their own accord. "Whatever you want to call it. We're simply working together, as partners."

He nodded, grasping the kettle handle once more. "If he agreed to a partnership, there is nothing simple about it." He set it atop the burner, sliding open the drawer and extracting a narrow box of matches. "But I'm leading our conversation astray. You want to know how I came to be Tom's guardian?"

She blinked, thoughts caught in a chaotic cyclone. "I…" She watched him strike a match. "I thought you were merely his benefactor."

He lit the burner, shaking out the match. "I was that as well."

A narrow strip of smoke rose into the air, twisting and bending before her eyes, stretching wide as gaping eyes and mouths appeared, silent screams filling her head until the cloud dissipated into thin air.

"I met Tom the day he was born. Alas, I did not hold him. Merope was far too protective to let anyone come near."

He set the matches aside, stepping away from the stove. "She was better in those days." He turned to face her. "Those early days. Her mind began to deteriorate as the years progressed. While her obsession grew."

He paused, shaking his head ruefully. "I'm getting ahead of myself." He slowly approached the opposite end of the island she hovered behind. "I should really start the story with Ariana."

He read the confusion on her face.

"My sister. Nearly a decade my junior. And the absolute light of my life."

He smiled fondly, leaning a hip against the counter. "Ari was…" His eyes drifted upwards, sparkling otherworldly. "She was many things. I could go on for days singing her praises. But none of that is relevant to the topic at hand."

He crossed his arms, smile fading. "The relevant piece of information is that she was taken by the Dollmaker. One of his first victims."

She held her breath, unconsciously shifting forward, drawn by the powerful cadence of his voice.

"After her murder, I pursued him tirelessly. I won't disturb you with the details, but my hunt lasted a great many years and took me a great many places, literal and figurative. I was a lost soul, wandering the bowels of hell in pursuit of the devil himself."

His eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. "I never found him. Close as I got, he was always at least one step ahead." He met her eye, gaze intense, unyielding. "And then my search ended permanently. The day I found Merope."

She wet her lips, leaning into the opposite side of the counter. "Tom's mother."

"Indeed. She was pregnant at the time and somehow escaped her former Master. The Dollmaker was hunting for her. A price was on her head." He sighed deeply, glancing to the counter and then back up, gaze dark. "It is to my endless shame I must admit to you, my very first thought was not to protect her." A heavy beat. "Rather, it was to use her as bait."

Her heart jolted. He seemed to read the disquiet in her eyes.

"It was at that moment I realized the full extent of my transformation. I saw the creature I had become. An animal driven by base instinct, rage, and hatred. A shell of my former self."

His jaw tensed, words course, grating. "I knew Ariana would be ashamed of the man I had become. The legacy of death and destruction I left in her name."

He raised his chin, light chasing away the shadows marring his sharp features. "So I took Merope and gave up the hunt. I brought her into my care, my home, and helped finance her way after Tom was born."

His tone changed, seeming to soften and deepen at the same time, conflict evident in his eyes and voice. "She became more able-bodied as time progressed. I purchased a home for her outside of London. My Naval career began to take off and I visited less often. I knew there were difficulties, but I never knew the full extent of them, not until it was much too late."

He scrubbed a hand over his face, scratching absently at his beard, staring thoughtfully at a cabinet on the wall. "She thought she was in love with Thomas Riddle. A piece of conditioning that refused to wear off I'd assumed, despite her ability to somehow break free of the worst of it."

He sighed deeply, arms crossing tight over his chest.

"She abandoned the home I'd given her and moved to London. Took up residence near the docks, refusing my assistance at every turn. Riddle had left Mungo's by then and was deep inside the Dollmaker's pocket. I did my best to keep Merope and Tom hidden. But she became increasingly unstable."

His jaw tensed. "She finally tracked down Thomas's whereabouts and sent him a letter, detailing her location."

Hermione clutched the counter anew, a tremor of dread seizing her.

"By the time I sailed back to London it was too late."

She shuddered as darkness enveloped the room, taking them both under in a sudden, powerful rush.

"Merope was dead. Tom was gone."

She closed her eyes, terrified of the tale to follow, but needing to hear it all the same. Every word. Every detail.

"It took three months to find him. Thomas had taken him to the continent. They were nearly to Asia by the time I-"

He broke off abruptly, eyes lost, face stricken. Her chest ached painfully. She pressed a hand to her heart. The movement gained his attention, eyes darting to her, unfocused but intense.

"I brought Tom back to London with me. He was hospitalized for several weeks before being released into my custody. He lived in this very house, though he ran away more times than I can count, bursting with anger and resentment and confusion."

He swept a hand over the countertop, brushing away invisible crumbs. "Merope and I had decided to keep the story of his conception a secret. He found out the truth in the most horrific way possible. And with his mother gone, he took out all of his frustration on me."

He nodded, as much to himself as to her.

"Rightly so."

He glared at the wood grain, but she knew who the true recipient of his derision was.

"I should have known better. I should never have left her alone." He shook his head, hand curling to a fist. "If only I had been more focused on what was truly important instead of my career, this entire tragedy may have been avoided."

A brief pause. An endless expanse of despair and heartbreak.

"Ariana may still be alive."

She swallowed heavily, speaking without pause. "It's not your fault she was taken."

He blinked, eyes flickering up, as though once more registering her presence before him.

His expression softened, the flames in his eyes dimming. "It is useless to ponder now. But it still haunts me. More often than I care to admit."

The kettle began to steam.

"I was away when it happened. I'd just been promoted and was halfway around the world when I found out what they did."

She blinked.

"They?"

"Our parents."

She blinked again. The kettle started to whistle.

"Ariana was not like other girls." He backed away from the island, turning to the stove. "At sixteen her mind was still as innocent as a child's. She was intelligent, to be certain, but her mental development did not follow along what doctor's deemed a normal path."

He grabbed a dishtowel, wrapping the handle and lifting the kettle from the flame. "My parents were staunch traditionalists. Ashamed to have a child who was different. They feared their reputation would be tarnished once she reached majority and could no longer be hidden."

He turned off the stove, returning to the cabinet. "So they waited until I disembarked for my longest assignment yet. And then sent her to a group home."

He extracted a teapot, less decorative than the one he previously used to serve them.

"They claimed it was for her own benefit. To afford her round the clock care with professionals who could help fix her. As if she was broken. As if there was something fundamentally wrong with being wholly unique."

He sighed heavily, pouring the steaming liquid into the pot.

"My apologies, my dear. It's been some time since I've spoken on the topic. I get rather… heated, as you can see."

She shook her head, bracing the counter. "Don't apologize on my account. You have every right to be heated. What they did was truly unforgivable. Shipping away their own child."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "I would love to say it was a different time. But I fear times have not changed a great deal since."

Her jaw set, eyes narrowed as she watched him slide a sealed jar of tea leaves across the counter.

"I was committed based on the hearsay of one person."

He nodded, as though already knowing as much. "I am very sorry you had to endure such horrors." He gathered a pile of ground leaves with a wooden scoop, gracefully pouring them into the infuser. "I am also sorry you're entangled in this mess."

Her shoulders lowered, hands unclenching. "None of us asked to be entangled. He abused the people we loved and destroyed our lives. We had no choice."

She wet her lips, eyes transfixed by his seamless ministrations as he sealed the jar and replaced the lid of the pot.

"Did he…" Her brows furrowed, words jumbling in her throat. She forced them free, eager to dispel them. "May I ask what became of Ariana?"

He tilted his head, placing his hands flat to the counter and glancing up, eyes bright and guileless once more.

"I'd like to show you something."

She tilted her head, sensing the weight of his words.

"Alright."

He smiled warmly, pushing back from the counter and leading a slow path into the hallway.

She stopped in the doorway, watching as he paused before a small decorative table, running his fingertips beneath the top and releasing a small hidden panel.

A gleaming key fell into his palm.

Her heart climbed steadily up her throat as he made his way to the sealed door at the end of the corridor.

The bedroom.

She held her breath, taking a slow step forward, hands curling as he slid the key into the lock.

And paused.

He stood frozen for several moments, one hand on the key, the other flat against the wood.

He spoke to the barrier, voice low.

"I have not opened this door in a very long time."

She paused a few feet away. "You don't have to-"

"It's alright. I just needed a moment."

She nodded, though she knew he couldn't see the movement. His shoulders drew in, back tight.

And then he released a long breath, turning the key.

The lock clicked loudly, jolting her.

He pushed open the door in the next moment, hovering at the threshold, outlined by the utter darkness beyond.

She blinked, blood running cold as he stepped fully inside, the shadows swallowing his form.

She opened her mouth, no words emitting, pulse thrumming as she heard the faint movement within.

And then he pulled a heavy curtain aside at the opposite end, beckoning forth the fading evening sun, the room filling with pale orange light.

She breathed a heavy sigh, forcing her knees to unlock, crossing to the end of the hall.

He tied the curtain aside, a heavy dust cloud disturbed by the motion, thousands of tiny flecks dancing in the light.

She blinked, the room slowly coming into view the closer she approached.

And then she reached the threshold.

And saw it at last.

She barely stifled a gasp, staggering back, clipping her shoulder against the wall as the blood drained rapidly from her face and pooled at her feet, weighing her in place, cold and frozen, mind driven wild by panic.

Yet only one thought emerged, clear and urgent above all others.

"Oh my god."

---

Astoria hovered outside the brick wall, trying to regulate her breathing while compulsively running her hands over the front of her skirts, smoothing invisible wrinkles.

She moved to her hair next, running fingertips through the dark locks, ignoring the tremor in her hands.

She blushed when she caught sight of her reflection in the shop window across the alley.

Two gentlemen walked past, pausing their conversation to gaze upon her. They tipped their hats, eyes roaming her figure and lingering on her curves, causing her heart to beat erratically, squirming in place as she forced a congenial smile, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing away, breathing easier once they rounded the corner.

She knew it was positively immoral for a young woman of title to be seen in public without a chaperone. She could only imagine what her society friends would think of her, stricken with the near crippling fear of a pedestrian recognizing her and reporting her wild antics to her father.

But then the door opened in the shop across the street and all thoughts fled her mind, fear included. She stood straighter, rising to her tiptoes, hand hovering mid-air.

She swallowed, lowering it to her side as she watched him emerge into the bright sunlight, running a hand through his hair and straightening his collar, blue eyes darting in either direction as he spun a slow circle.

It was surreal, watching someone look for her.

It caused warmth to permeate her belly, spreading up into her chest and low into her-

She swallowed again, body throbbing with the force of her heartbeat.

No one had ever sought out her company, searched for her in a crowd. No one but Daphne.

And Fred Weasley was certainly not Daphne.

The light glinted off his auburn hair, freckles standing in stark relief on his smooth skin, shirt stretched taut across his chest and arms as he rested his hands atop his head, continuing to search the busy street from his tall vantage point.

She stepped forward, intent on ending his struggles-

And then his eyes found her.

She froze in place, going both rigid and boneless as his face split into a wide, uninhibited grin, eyes sparkling brilliantly even from a distance.

He lowered his arms, gaze slowly tracking down her figure. It was a quick inspection, his eyes didn't linger as the other men's had, but a brief look of unmistakable appreciation stole his features and her remaining breath.

He waved to her and then sprang forward, focusing upon the passing carriages, long legs eating up the cobblestone as he navigated his way across the busy road.

She flushed hotly, silently cursing herself and trying her damnedest not to fidget, to leave her dress and hair alone.

She held her breath as he reached the curb at last, slowing his jog to a slow gait as he crossed the sidewalk towards her.

Her hands clenched. She forced them to relax, craning her neck to hold his gaze as he stopped directly before her, disarming grin still firmly affixed to his handsome face.

"Hey."

She couldn't stop her face from mirroring his expression.

"Hey."

It was the most inelegant greeting she'd ever extended, and yet he appeared overjoyed by it, blue eyes searching her face, lingering at her lips but never dropping below her chin.

"You look beautiful."

Her flush turned into a fever, burning so hot she was certain she'd faint any moment now.

"Thank you."

He laughed, shaking his head and holding her gaze, the sound melodious and infectious, causing her smile to widen.

"I probably shouldn't say those kinds of things. My manners are a bit wanting. Mum could never get me or Georgie to sit still long enough to teach us anything of value."

She tilted her head, eyes glittering. "You're much too critical of yourself. There's nothing wrong with your manners."

His smile stretched past his face. She laughed shortly.

"Alright, perhaps they're a bit rusty." She felt her spine loosen, shoulders easing back. "But there are far worse things to be lacking in."

"You're far too polite, Miss Greengrass." He bent his arm, holding it aloft. "Fancy a stroll, milady?"

She laughed shortly.

"Only if you promise to be yourself." She wet her lips, heart skipping when his eyes tracked the movement. "And to call me Astoria."

He nodded, meeting her gaze as she stepped forward to take his arm.

"Anything you want." His eyes shone an unfathomable blue, brighter than the sky, freer than the ocean. "Astoria."

---

Pansy nodded to the host, sending him a wink as he pulled out her chair.

Theo rolled his eyes, retaking his seat as she lowered into hers. The young man backed away swiftly, blushing as his eyes lingered on her form.

Theo cleared his throat and she met his gaze at last, the very picture of innocence. "What?"

He shook his head, replacing his napkin in his lap. "How nice of you to finally join me."

"How nice of you to wake me up at the crack of dawn with a lunch invitation."

"More like dinner now."

She shrugged, grabbing up her own napkin and shaking it open. "I sent a letter informing you I'd be late."

He glanced down, tracing his salad fork with an idle fingertip. "I haven't been home in a while."

She hummed, smoothing her napkin. "Is that so? Is there greater entertainment elsewhere?"

"You could say that."

She blinked, glancing up, dark eyes gleaming. "Do tell." She leaned forward, resting her elbows atop the linen and folding her hands beneath her chin. "I've been bored to tears, cooped up all alone in my little shack."

He arched a dark brow. "I highly doubt you've been alone."

She glanced to the table, leaning back in her chair. "I haven't had company for quite some time."

He watched her brush imaginary crumbs from the linen. By the time her eyes lifted her expression was schooled, voice carefully void of inflection.

"So, what's on your mind? I assume you didn't call this meeting simply to gaze upon your magnificent fiance."

He smirked. "I've always preferred your company to all others, Pans."

She smirked in turn. "All others?"

He shook his head, barely suppressing an eye roll. "Most others."

She folded her hands primly, spearing him through with her glinting gaze.

"Alright, you've sufficiently sweet talked me. What do you need?"

He folded his arms atop the table. "Just a small favor. But one of vital importance."

"I'm intrigued."

He opened his mouth, only to close it as their waiter arrived.

"Good day, Sir Nott, Lady Parkinson." He bowed low, nose nearly touching the tabletop. "It is an honor to serve-"

"There's no need for that, darling." Pansy waved a hand. "Just bring a bottle of your most expensive red and keep them coming."

He blinked. "Of course, Madam. May I take your food order as well?"

"I have a feeling I'm going to be drinking my dinner tonight."

Theo sighed, nodding to the man. "Just the wine for now."

The waiter bowed once more. "Right away."

Theo watched her closely as the man departed. "Liquid dinner?"

"Don't pretend you haven't partaken in the same. Let's get back on the relevant topic-"

"That can wait."

She tilted her head. "You just said it was vitally important."

"It is. But so are you." His eyes roamed her face. "You seem distracted. Has something happened?"

Her jaw tightened, fingers drumming along the stem of her empty glass. "Nothing of interest."

"So you've mentioned. Why is that?"

"I lead a very mundane life."

"Since when?"

"I don't want to discuss me, Theo. Either ask what you came to ask or-"

"Did your father do something?"

She went rigid in her seat, hand flattening atop the table.

"No."

"Pans, I told you, if he comes to the house you send a message to me or Draco right away-"

"He didn't come to the bloody house! He doesn't even know I took up residence there." She sighed deeply, shoulders drawing back as her eyes narrowed. "Fine, if you insist on sharing, why don't you tell me why you haven't been home in so long?"

Theo sat back, holding her lethal gaze steady.

"I came out to my father."

She jolted, knocking the glass over, pallor fading to deathly white.

The waiter emerged from the ether, bright smile affixed and bottle in hand.

"Here we are, Sir and Madam, our finest bottle of-"

He blinked, mouth opening and closing as he glanced between them.

"Our finest bottle of-"

"I'll take it." Theo reached out, grabbing the bottle by the neck and setting it on the table. "Thank you, that will be all."

The waiter nodded, quickly scurrying away.

Pansy continued to gape, seemingly oblivious to the man's appearance and departure.

Theo rubbed his eyes. "I shouldn't have sprung-"

"You what?"

He dragged the hand over his face, lingering at his mouth, meeting her wide gaze. "You heard me."

She leaned in swiftly, hands bracing the edge of the table as though preparing to flip it over.

"Are you insane? What the hell were you thinking? Goddammit, Theo!"

He glanced at the neighboring tables, several pairs of eyes darting in their direction, followed by low whispers.

"Shh! Keep your voice down!"

"You must be the biggest fucking imbecile on the goddamn planet!"

"Pans-"

"He'll kill you. It's a miracle you're still alive right now." She shook her head, pressing a hand to her temple, eyes darting around the table, glancing off every item in the place settings. "It's alright, it'll be alright… we'll think of something. You can deny the accusation, his testimony won't hold water if we can-"

"Pansy, calm down."

Her eyes flickered back up.

"Calm down?" Her nails dug grooves into the soft veneer, color infusing her cheeks. "Do you have any idea what you've done? You've not only endangered your life but Potter's as well!"

"Pansy!" He slammed his hand on the table, causing her to jump and his own glass to fall, silverware bouncing in place.

He lowered his voice, well aware of the stares they were receiving. "Pansy, please, shut up for two goddamn seconds."

She blinked, setting back and lips pressing thin.

He wet his own, voice calm and steady. "My father isn't going to report me."

She opened her mouth but he held up a staying hand. "Pans, just listen."

She sighed, crossing her arms and grinding her jaw, eyes burning in the low light.

"I didn't plan on telling him. We got into a heated row and it just… slipped out."

She scoffed. He sighed, shaking his head.

"Okay. It didn't slip out. I told him quite deliberately. I wanted to piss him off." His hands curled to fists atop the table. "He was being more vile than usual, more violent."

Her eyes darted to the faded bruise beneath his eye, brow creasing as though she was just now seeing it, the shadows heavy in this corner of the restaurant.

"I hit my limit and I hit it hard. So I told him." He swallowed heavily. "Actually, he already knew. Thanks to Lucius Fucking Malfoy." He released a deep breath. "But I confirmed it."

Her brow flattened, jaw working silently for several moments before she spoke.

"I know your father is a right bastard. But you shouldn't have given him the ammunition."

"He won't tell anyone." He shook his head. "I'm his only heir. If I'm arrested it'll disgrace our family, him included. He'd never put his reputation at risk, no matter his hatred of me."

Her hands slid into her lap, shoulders dropping. "I need a drink."

He nodded resolutely. "I second that."

He set their glasses right and poured hers to the brim. She picked it up before he pulled the bottle away, wine splashing the white linen.

She had it drained by the time he finished filling his own. He raised a brow, impressed, and emptied the bottle into her awaiting glass.

She watched the ruby liquid pour, eyes hooded.

"You can justify it all you want, Theo. It was still a fucking terrible decision."

He nodded, setting the empty bottle aside. "I know." He picked up his glass, bringing it to his lips and taking a deep sip.

"But I'm hardly one to judge." She licked her lips, tracing the rim of her glass with a delicate fingertip. "I accidentally seduced the Weasley girl at my house."

Theo choked on his gulp, sputtering into his hand as he set the glass down with force, sloshing wine over the edge.

He wheezed a thin breath, eyes tearing.

"How do you accidentally seduce someone?"

She shrugged, taking another drink. "I'm not always in control of my magnetism."

He rolled his eyes. "Now who's trying to justify their terrible decision?"

She glared across the table. "It isn't the same. You're supposed to be the rational one. I'm known for being recklessly irresponsible."

She pushed the glass aside, rubbing at her temples. "Christ. Your father is the least of our worries. If Lucius knows then we're completely up shite creek."

"This isn't your problem, Pans."

She glanced up sharply. "Your problems are my problems, idiot."

"We aren't married yet."

"It has nothing to do with our engagement."

He blinked.

She held his gaze, voice steady. "This is a right mess, we have to be clever about navigating our way through it."

His chest filled with warmth. He swallowed the feeling down, wetting his lips and forging ahead.

"Actually, I might have an idea on how to solve it." He pushed his glass aside with care. "I didn't ask you here to discuss this. But the favor I need may serve a dual purpose. Two birds if you will."

She tilted her head. "Now I'm most definitely intrigued."

He smirked. "It also involves pissing off your father."

Her lips curved into a crescent grin, teeth gleaming in the candlelight.

"Well then. Consider me sold."

---

Hermione blinked rapidly, back and hands pressing the wall as she gazed into the open room beyond.

The initial shock had finally worn off, but she still couldn't bring herself to look away.

Or to step any closer.

It was a child's bedroom, to be certain. The wallpaper decorated in soft floral print, the textiles draping the furniture and floors in varying shades of pink and lilac, pillows and blankets lined with ruffles and frills.

But what stole the breath from her lungs were the hundreds of eyes staring at her from the dozens of shelves lining the walls.

Dolls.

Of every shape and size, make and mold, cast and color. And all bearing bulbous, glassy eyes that fixed upon her with terrifying uniformity.

Dumbledore moved further into the room, knocking dust from the other set of curtains as he pulled them back, illuminating the rest of the bedroom.

She gasped shortly as another startling sight came into view.

A massive dollhouse, situated in the corner.

Its shuttered windows staring at her like malevolent eyes.

She swallowed thickly, boneless with fear.

"Are you alright, dear?"

She blinked, jolting at the voice. Her eyes flickered up, latching onto Dumbledore in the center of the room.

"I…"

He nodded shortly, visage calm. "I understand. I find the room just as unnerving. I'd forgotten what a sight it made."

She stepped away from the wall, forcing her feet forward, commanding her knees to bend.

"She…" She paused at the threshold, bracing either side of the frame, eyes wide and fixed upon the shelves. "Liked dolls."

He smiled wryly. "What gave it away?"

She laughed lightly, letting her hands drop to her sides as she at last breached the invisible barrier, releasing her breath as no major calamity befell her.

She stepped further in, peering around at the furniture, the trinkets and baubles, everything covered by a thick film of dust.

"The room looks undisturbed."

He glanced around with idle detachment, hands resting in his pockets. "It's just as she left it."

Her eyes landed on a gleaming silver hairbrush sitting atop the dresser, strands of long blonde hair still tangled in the bristles.

"Plus a few additions I made after inheriting the residence."

She glanced up, gaze drawn by the deep seeded pain lacing his every word.

A siren call of misery her heart recognized no matter the forced ease it was delivered with.

"Where was she taken from?"

"The home." He slowly made his way towards the bed, covered in stuffed animals and lace-covered throw pillows. "They told me she ran away." He shook his head, extracting a hand from his pocket. "But I knew that wasn't the case. She'd never leave behind Dree."

Her brows creased. "Dree?"

He paused beside the mattress. "Despite her extensive collection of dolls, her most prized possession was a rabbit."

Her heart leaped as he leaned down and extracted a stuffed animal from the pile, holding it with gentle care and adoration.

The creature caught the light, its full shape revealed to her eyes.

A white rabbit, furry face worn thin, floppy ears frayed at the lining and pink nose faded at the center.

"Draíocht, she called him." He smiled fondly. "Gaelic for magic."

He turned the rabbit over in his hands, meeting its black eyes as he gently stroked a finger across the muzzle, movements slow and methodical as though it were alive.

"She believed in magic. In a world outside of our own where fantasy bled into reality." He traced a long, dangling ear. "And she believed Dree and her dolls spoke to her."

His eyes twinkled, spectacles reflecting the fading evening glow. "She carried on full conversations with them. You could hear her laughter ringing down the hallway all night long. They told her stories, jokes, fairy tales."

He set the rabbit down with great care.

"She treasured every one of them. But she treasured Dree above all else. When I inspected her room at the home and saw him on the floor beneath the bed, I knew."

The sparkle transformed into licking flame, bright as hellfire.

"She was taken."

He stepped away from the bed. "I searched night and day. I was a junior officer then and had far less sway with the Yard. In addition, my parents refused to file a missing person's report. I was on my own, searching the vast city of London with nothing to go on. No leads to follow."

His jaw ticked as he ventured to the bookshelf across the room.

"I failed."

She stepped closer to the bed, grasping the carved wood spiral of the canopy.

"I failed her entirely." He reached the shelf at last, eyes slowly roaming the titles printed across the mismatched spines. "Her body was found floating in the Thames two weeks from the day she was stolen."

She pressed a palm to her chest, instantly thinking of Lavender, overwhelmed by images of her friend's boisterous laughter and welcoming smile.

"I can't begin to imagine what horrors she suffered during that time."

She glanced away, overtaken by the same crippling fear, the same unyielding despair.

"And yet I can't help but imagine. Every day. Every night."

She wet her lips, venturing forward, voice tentative but strong, the common bond of their grief giving rise to boldness.

"How do you know she was taken by the Dollmaker?"

A brief, contemplative pause.

"I didn't. Not at first."

He traced a finger along the edge of a thick book. Her eyes tracked the movement. Grimms' Fairy Tales.

"I'd never heard of the Dollmaker. Certainly not of this Angus Bumby, or whatever identity he's fashioned for himself." He tilted his head, examining another title. "I only knew an animal had taken my sister. Had committed unfathomable evils against her. And then discarded her like an empty tin can."

His fingers drummed along the shelf. "So I hunted. Pursued every lead. Became utterly consumed by my pursuit. I took an extended leave from the Navy and devoted myself entirely to finding her killer." His hand fell to his side."I never dreamed it would lead to a madman's door. To a crime ring. To something so large, so depraved."

He scanned the items on the shelf below, gaze lingering on a glass jewelry box.

"Other cases started popping up, similar enough to Ariana to garner my attention. And then, one day, I finally heard the name while scouring the underground."

He gently straightened the heart-shaped lid.

"The Dollmaker. The creator of all evil. The Prince of Hell himself."

He tucked his hand into his pocket, backing away once more. "I thought he was made up. A dark, twisted fairytale created to scare young women into staying at their abuser's side."

He stopped before another shelf, lined with dolls but for a narrow strip containing picture frames. "Alas, I discovered Merope. And I saw first hand exactly what he was capable of."

He picked up a silver frame, sunlight glinting off the glass and obscuring the image displayed within.

"I couldn't save Ari. I couldn't save Merope."

His thumb traced along the image with methodical care. "And I couldn't save Tom."

Her hands clenched at her sides.

"Tom is still alive." She stepped closer. "Because of you." She stopped at the foot of the bed, feeling the glass eyes upon her, tracking her every movement. "He's a brilliant doctor because of you."

"He was brilliant long before my interference, I assure you."

"Nevertheless, there's no way he could have escaped the slums without a benefactor. There's no way he could have escaped his father without you finding him."

Her chest burned, red hot with conviction. "You saved his life."

Dumbledore was silent for several heartbeats, gaze fixed upon the photo.

"His life…" He tore his gaze away at last, setting the frame down, pushing it back. "Perhaps." He turned to face her once more. "His soul is another matter entirely."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond-

But her eyes caught sight of the photo in the silver frame beyond his shoulder.

And she was rendered mute.

She blinked, paling anew.

"Hermione, what's the matter?"

Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click, though she could hear nothing over her racing heart and surging blood.

"That…"

She inhaled deeply, feeling so light headed she was certain her feet levitated clear off the ground.

"That's Ariana?"

He tilted his head, studying her pale complexion before glancing over his shoulder, gazing upon the image once more.

"Yes." He grinned anew. "She inherited our mother's eyes. A much deeper blue than my own." He faced forward. "They were always filled with such warmth. Every time she looked at you it was like a physical touch."

She swallowed heavily, hands opening and closing at her sides, still unable to tear her gaze away from the black and white image, faded as it was, pulsating bright as a beacon before her eyes.

"She's very beautiful."

He nodded, still watching her closely.

"She was." The corner of his mouth lifted, an endearing quality she was beginning to find commonplace on his handsomely worn face. "But she also possessed a sharp and cunning wit few appreciated. The stories she told could keep a person entertained for hours. Her imagination was truly endless."

He sighed deeply, gazing at the ground for a brief moment before meeting her eye, his own brimming with emotion.

"Thank you for allowing an old man to ramble. I visit this room once a decade at most. Always alone." His smile was warm and genuine. "But I am grateful for your company. It feels good to share her memory with another. Even someone who never knew her."

She blinked, tearing her eyes from the photo at last, her feet hitting the ground as gravity took her in its unforgiving hold.

She met his glacial gaze, the hairs along her neck and arms lifting as she felt the familiar swell and bend of air, an invisible force invading the room, surrounding her on all sides.

Cold and comforting.

"The way you describe her… it feels as if I do know her."

He searched her gaze, eyes gleaming from the shadows as the sun slowly set. "You would have liked her."

Hermione nodded, lifting her chin as darkness bathed the room.

"I'm certain of it."

---

Draco groaned into his pillow, rolling onto his back with a gasp of pain.

His hand went to his shoulder, rubbing the knotted muscle, the joint bruised and sore following his illustrious journey through Bath.

He pushed into a sitting position, scratching his bare chest and rubbing his sleep-heavy lids. His head felt cloudy, covered in white haze, far more than typical exhaustion permitted.

He glanced to the window, the sky beyond his balcony was a deep violet, the sun's dying rays fading beyond the horizon.

Shite.

He'd lost the whole day.

He dragged a hand over his face.

Not that I'd have spent it any other way.

If he hadn't been unconscious, he'd have been thinking.

Which soundly positively deplorable.

The room fell into darkness as the sun finally set. He leaned to his side table and clicked on the lantern, movements heavy and imprecise. His hand knocked aside a dark blue bottle. He blinked, catching it before it rolled off the edge.

He sat straight, turning the bottle over in his hand, examining the label.

His mother informed him she watered down the tincture.

Obviously a lie.

He tossed the empty bottle to the mattress and reached for the glass of water she set beside the bed, anger instantly abating. His mother had always been immune to his wrath, no matter the circumstances. He wasn't certain why this was, he simply accepted this universal truth and moved on with his day.

He rubbed his temples, shifting forward and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He gazed at the floor between his feet, absently rubbing his chest once more. It didn't ache.

It just felt hollow.

She glanced down, raking her fingers through his hair. "What time is the train?"

He closed his eyes, basking in the sunlight and her touch, head pillowed atop her thigh.

"Not until eight. The last one out tonight."

She smirked, nails scraping along his scalp. "Cutting it close aren't we?"

His eyes slit open, body stretching lithe with cat-like pleasure. "Would you rather I boarded the noon one?"

"Might as well of. You were already there, holding the ticket."

"I was on the damn thing."

She laughed, bells chiming all around him, making the hairs along his arms and neck rise.

"Were you really?"

He reached up, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She'd removed the pins after they settled beneath the white oak, sequestered in this private oasis, free from the prying, judgemental eyes of the outside world.

"Hm. You should have seen me scale the seats, rushing to the last car as it was pulling out of the station. I had to jump through a window to make it onto the platform."

"Liar."

"It was all very dramatic, I assure you."

Her eyes narrowed, leaning back into the bark, fallen leaves catching in her hair. "Your parents didn't notice you leaping from a moving train?"

"Obviously not. Otherwise, they'd have the entire Yard out looking for me."

She shook her head, resuming her idle ministrations, pale hair filling her fingers.

"Are you excited about Oxford?"

He sighed, eyes closing once more. "I'm resigned to it."

"Don't go in with that outlook. You have an opportunity very few are ever afforded, you must make the most of-"

"Can't you let me sulk for just a few minutes?"

"Is that what we're calling being an obnoxious prick now?"

A beat.

Then two.

Draco burst to life with cunning speed and dexterity, eliciting a yelp of surprise from her parted lips as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, grasping beneath her knee and tugging hard, causing her to topple back into the grass, chestnut curls spilling across the field of green, sunlight in her eyes and color infusing her cheeks as she laughed.

He grabbed her other wrist, pinning it beside her head and bracing himself above her, thighs pressing as he slowly lowered his weight, relishing the sound of her breath hitching, the sight of her pupils expanding.

"Are you going to miss me?"

She swallowed heavily, searching his silver gaze. "Probably not."

He smirked.

"You're supposed to lie, Granger."

"Oh, terribly sorry. Yes, Draco. I'm going to be pining for you every waking moment of every single day. I'll gaze into the night sky, wondering if you're staring at the very same stars-"

"Alright, that's enough."

"I'll light a candle for you at the window, praying for your safe return -"

"You've made your point."

"I'll cry into my pillow-"

He released her wrists, allowing his weight to press her fully as he began to tickle her sides, catching her laughter in his mouth as she wriggled and squirmed, hands gripping his shoulders as she seemed caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

He laughed along with her, face flush and eyes bright. "I'll have you crying alright."

"Stop! Draco!"

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, grin splitting her face in half. He grasped her hips, driven by pure instinct as he captured her mouth in a kiss. It was soft, tentative, but quickly grew in heat and intensity.

He pulled back for air several moments later, lips grazing her jaw.

"I'm going to miss you."

She swallowed heavily, catching her breath, body lax beneath him. "You'll hardly notice my absence. You'll be so busy with classes and new friends-"

"I'm going to miss you, Granger."

She blinked, holding his unwavering gaze.

And then her lips curved into a radiant, breathtaking grin. She brought a hand to his face, gently tracing his cheekbone.

"I'll miss you, too."

Draco stood from the bed, cutting a determined path to his closet.

He emerged onto the first level several minutes later, dressed and impeccable, all signs of exhaustion and heartbreak hidden beneath his mask of aristocracy.

He slipped out through the garden entrance, wanting to avoid his mother and father, assuming the latter was even home. He made his way around the outside of the Manor, carefully avoiding the landscaping staff as he emerged onto the front drive.

Their coachman leaned against the side of the carriage, gazing into the star-filled sky as he puffed steadily on a cigarette. He glanced to the side as crunching gravel filled the night air. He blinked, squinting in the darkness.

And then his eyes widened, Draco's pale blonde head emerging from the shadows.

He quickly stood to attention, flicking the cigarette down and stomping it with the heel of his boot.

"Good evening, Master Draco."

Draco buttoned the front of his coat, nodding once. "Good evening, Elijah."

The man fumbled to open the door, clearly surprised by these turn of events but clever enough not to question them.

"Where are we headed, Sir?"

Draco grabbed the handrail, voice steady.

"Grimmauld."

---

Hermione burst into the room, skidding so quickly her bare feet nearly lost purchase on the hardwood. She scrambled in place, clutching the dresser for balance before pushing off and launching herself across the room once more.

She stopped just beside the bed, shin knocking the edge of the frame and earning a shocked gasp of pain before she could stifle it.

She clutched the bruised appendage, biting her tongue and hopping on one foot.

Bloody idiot! Could you be any more clumsy?

She lowered her foot, shaking her head and reaching for the lump beneath the covers. The outline was hazy in the dark, the only illumination filtering in from the low-lit sconces in the hallway, the room awash in dancing shadow.

Her fingers pressed the bedding, heart in her throat.

"T-"

She gasped as the covers exploded to life, something iron and warm seizing her wrist in a bruising vice, yanking her clear off her feet. She flew forward, collapsing atop the bed, scrambling for purchase, free hand bracing the mattress.

Only it wasn't the mattress.

It was naked skin covering hard muscle. Her throat went dry, convulsing as she tried to swallow and breathe at the same time, unable to speak.

So she tried to gain his attention instead, assuming he didn't recognize her in the dark. But he didn't allow her to pull back, his arm sliding behind her waist and flipping her onto her back.

Her spine crashed to the mattress, body bouncing, curls flying up and spilling across the pillow.

She opened her mouth to speak but instead croaked as he released her wrist and grabbed her neck, squeezing.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as his grip turned painful, rapidly constricting her airway.

"Tom!"

His body went rigid, fingers flexing, then loosening at once.

"Hermione?"

His voice was deep, sleep thickened, nearly unrecognizable. She could barely see his face in the blackness of the room, the curtains emitting no moonlight, but the faint glow from the hall revealed dark, clouded eyes boring down upon her.

His hand went lax at her throat, followed by his entire body as he slumped into her, pushing the air from her lungs and prompting her legs to part, trying to accommodate his weight.

"What are you doing here?"

The gravel in his throat made her nerves endings spark to life.

"I…"

Her mind went startling blank.

He scowled, hand clenching. "Never sneak up on me. Especially when I'm asleep."

She wet her lips, scorched by the enraged smolder in his gaze. His eyes flickered down, tracking the movement, flames dancing anew.

"I didn't…" Her pulse thrummed against his fingertips. "I'm sorry."

He searched her doe-eyed gaze, oxygen rapidly depleting from the room. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, making out general shapes around them, though only his half his visage was visible in the flickering light.

He continued to stare at her lips, eyes dazed, expression caught in some internal war for dominance.

She braced a hand against his shoulder, fingers curling over the muscle, pressing heated skin.

"Tom."

It came out more breath than word. She flushed with humiliation, well past mortified, inhaling sharply and pushing on.

"You're still on top of me."

He blinked, eyes flickering back up. She became hyper-aware of his weight against her, pinning her, restricting her movements. For a stuttered beat the ceiling dissolved, giving way to a star-filled sky. The bed fell away next, grass sprouting beneath her.

His gaze rapidly cleared, the pad of his thumb stroking her pulse once more before his hand slid down to the bed.

She gasped as the room came crashing into place around her, the walls trembling, her body vibrating with the jarring impact.

She inhaled deeply as she was relieved of his weight. He rolled to the side, sitting up swiftly and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes.

She scrambled back, leaning against the headboard, transfixed by the sight of his exposed back on full display just beside her.

She stared upon the criss-cross network of scars, lungs constricting painfully, eyes burning at the horrific sight. Even in weak lighting, the image they painted was overwhelming. Far more unsettling up close than the night she first glimpsed them from a distance in his bedchamber.

She reached forward unthinking, recalling the sensation of mottled scar tissue beneath her fingertips, pressing her palm-

He tensed, as though sensing her approach.

Her hand froze mid-air, breath catching, eyes wide, startled by her own attempt.

His muscles relaxed a moment later, his gaze fixed to the dresser as he leaned forward and braced his forearms against his thighs.

"Did I hurt you?"

She blinked, fingers curling in.

"No."

He raked his fingers through his hair, clearing the remaining gravel from his throat, though his voice remained deep and ominous, creating a physical current that chased along her skin.

"How long have I been out?"

Her hand dropped to her lap, knees drawing in. "Most the day. The sun went down a little while ago."

He sighed deeply, spine straightening and hands bracing the edge of the mattress. She studied his profile, forcing her eyes to stay clear of his back lest she made another foolish advance.

"Are you-"

"What's wrong?"

She blinked, the question once more scrambling her thoughts. "Wrong?"

He gazed over his shoulder. "You burst in here like the hounds of hell were chasing at your heels."

She inhaled sharply.

How could I forget?

Her eyes automatically darted to the wide expanse of pale flesh between his shoulder blades.

Ah. That's right.

She blushed anew, leaning in and forcing her eyes up.

"I spoke with the Admiral-"

"Albus."

Her mouth opened and closed. "Yes, Albus…" She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, lowering her knees as she perched higher. "He told me about Ariana, he showed me her room-"

"He what?"

She jolted as he pivoted quickly, leg bending as he faced her, knee colliding against her own, pressing until she was forced to accommodate, resting her knee atop his.

"He showed me her room and-"

"He let you into her bedroom?"

She sat straighter. "Yes, but that's not the important part."

He scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes briefly closing.

"Alright, what's the important part?"

She slid her leg away, bracing both her hands atop his knee. He went instantly rigid, hand freezing upon his face. She pressed on, barely registering his reaction.

"It's her, Tom." She wet her lips, leaning forward, eyes bright. "It's my white rabbit."

He blinked, hand dropping. "Your what?"

She shook her head. "It's a long story. But Ariana is the ghost I've been seeing. The one who led me to the attic of the Home, the apparition I told you about."

Her fingers curled around his trouser-clad thigh, voice high and animated. "It's all real, Tom. It's not some grand, stress-induced delusion. I've been seeing honest to God ghosts. The Dollmaker's victims are reaching out to me, guiding me."

He released a long breath, starting to turn away.

Her heart skipped. She released his leg and grabbed his shoulder. His Adam's apple bobbed high, muscles tensing beneath her hand, skin burning beneath her palm like a scorching brand.

"Please, believe me, Tom." Tears filled her eyes, unbidden. "I need you to believe me."

His jaw set.

She blinked, tears spilling free.

"Please." Her breath stuttered. "I can't handle it otherwise. All the rest I can bear, the other dangers I can face." Her chest tore to pieces, blood pouring out like a river, soaking her in a cold wave. "But I can't go on knowing you don't believe me."

He twisted in her grasp, facing her swiftly, causing her hands to lose purchase. She tipped forward, gasping as his reflexes kicked in, large hands capturing her upper arms.

She expected him to set her back, so when he pulled her forward instead she went boneless with surprise.

He pressed her into his chest, holding her face at eye level, their noses brushing as he watched her with burning intensity.

"I believe you."

Her heart jolted painfully, more tears spilling free. He held her gaze steady and pulled her closer yet, until she felt the rhythmic thumping of his heart battling against her own rapid pulse.

"I believe you," he repeated, voice low, warm breath glancing her lips.

She went limp in his hold, leaning against him completely. He released her arms, one hand sliding around her back, bracing her waist, the other lifting to her face. He drew his thumb beneath her eye, clearing away the wetness.

She swallowed heavily, throat tight.

"Thank you."

He inhaled deeply, breathing her in, his chest expanding and causing her to rise atop it, arms trapped between them.

"There's no need to thank me." He pushed the hair from her damp cheek. "We're partners."

She smiled. His eyes flitted to her mouth, jaw silently working for several beats.

"I shouldn't have let you go."

She blinked, tensing in his hold. The arm at her back pressed harder, storm clouds forming in his gaze as he continued to stare at her lips.

"I shouldn't have left you alone after the cemetery."

Her skin burned with latent rage and embarrassment, longing and sadness, too many emotions to process at once, sensation spilling over and leaving her an empty husk, weightless in his arms.

"I didn't want you in the carriage with me. I needed to be alone."

He tore his gaze from her mouth, fingers spreading along her hip, twisting in her skirt. "I shouldn't have touched you. I took advantage of the situation-"

"Stop that."

Her voice came out louder, sterner than anticipated, startling them both. She quickly recovered, spine lengthening, fingers curling in, digging into smooth muscle.

"Stop saying you took advantage of me. It implies you're a monster and I'm a victim."

Her eyes sparked. "I assure you, neither is true." She searched his dark gaze. "You aren't a monster, Tom. No matter how badly you want to condemn yourself as one."

Her chest burned with kindling flame. "Writing off your soul as forsaken is much easier than facing the reality of exactly what you are, what you've become, what you hold in the palm of your hand."

The fire snapped and sizzled, bursting from the chambers of her heart. "You're not a monster. You could never be anything so evil. So simple."

Her voice was calm and measured, but it held him enraptured all the same. "And I'm not a victim." She watched his pupils expand, black ink bleeding into grey. "I refuse to give anyone such power over me, so therefore I will never be a victim. I will be a survivor."

Her lips pressed with steely determination, body strung tight as a drawn bow.

He smirked, words vibrating against her lips. "As I said before. I pity any man who tries to impede your path."

She searched his gaze, the black never ending, pulling her forward with its gravitational force.

"I wish I could be there for it."

He tilted his head. "For what?"

"The moment you kill him."

His eyes flashed bright, lightning striking, his hand rising to encircle her neck once more. His thumb traced along the hollow of her throat before tipping her chin up, their lips brushing for a brief spark.

"Have I destroyed you, Hermione?"

Gravel filled his throat anew, yet it was honey that dripped from his lips. She swallowed heavily, the motion pressing his thumb, and shook her head as much as his hand would allow.

"No." She breathed deep. "The world destroyed me. You helped put me back together. Into something stronger, better than before. Into more than just a survivor."

His hand tightened at her throat. She relished the pressure.

"You taught me to hunt. To fight. To live." Her voice turned low, unrecognizable to her ears. "When I'm with you, I feel alive."

The fingers at her nape dug in, pulling her forward. Her hands braced his chest, limbs turning plaint in his hold as he crashed their lips together.

The kiss wasn't tender or exploratory, it was hungry and frantic. Hard, violent and necessary.

Their teeth clanked, tongues slipping past lips as he dragged her fulling into his lap. She straddled him as much as her dress would allow, frustrated by the barrier, the limitation.

She wrenched her head back, gasping into his mouth.

"I want to feel it, Tom. I want to feel alive."

And then the world tipped on its axis.

Her curls flew past her face as he threw her down on the mattress. Her arms were already latching onto his shoulders, clawing at his flesh, welting his skin in her frantic pursuit.

"Make me feel alive."

He gathered her dress with both hands and tore it up, movements fast and furious, eyes burning with quiet intensity, determination written across every hard line of his face.

She pressed her head back and gasped as he grabbed behind her stocking clad knees and pulled, ripping her across the mattress until she was situated firmly beneath him.

Her back arched high, hips pinned. And then he descended, pulling her legs apart as he nestled between her thighs-

A floorboard creaked in the hallway, echoing clear and loud through the gap between the door and frame.

They both froze, poised to strike, lungs pumping furiously as they gazed at each other with blatant hunger and absolute shock, as though waking from a shared dream at the same moment.

The sound of distant footsteps was quick to follow, slow and measured from the opposite end of the house.

Her spine lowered to the mattress. Tom followed suit, once more sinking his weight upon her, resting his forehead against her own.

The room fell silent but for their labored breathing and the creaking box spring.

He wet his lips, holding her gaze.

"You don't need me to feel alive."

His hands released her knees, fingertips tracing a burning path along her thighs and hips before settling at her waist.

"You put yourself back together, Hermione. All on your own." Despite his pressing weight, it was his eyes that truly trapped her. "You don't need me. You don't need anyone."

She continued to share his heated breath. "I know." Her fingertips trailed along his shoulder blades, tracing each scar they passed. "But I want you."

His jaw ticked. She waited for him to push away.

And was rendered once more boneless with shock as he tilted his head down instead, kissing her slow and passionate, pulling the air from her lungs and the marrow from her bones, sapping every ounce of strength she'd ever gathered.

Her eyes burned. She wove her arms behind his neck, pulling him down, pinning him just as he pinned her, recognizing the kiss, sensing its true meaning, feeling her heart rupture at the mere notion.

She clung to him tightly, gasping against his mouth as he finally pulled back, teeth grazing her swollen lips, eyes heavy-lidded and dark.

"We must finish our mission. We must kill the Dollmaker."

She nodded, trailing her nails through the hair at his nape.

"I'm with you."

He held her gaze for a short eternity.

And then he pushed back, prompting her arms to drop.

He carded a trembling hand through his hair, taking several steadying breaths as he once more swung his legs over the side of the mattress.

"I'm going to Grimmauld. I need to check on Ms. Patil's sister."

She scooted up, pushing her dress over her knees.

"Padma."

He stood from the bed, giving her a clear view of his prominent bulge. She flushed, glancing to the quilt.

"Padma," he repeated, voice void of any discernible emotion.

He turned away, adjusting himself briefly before reaching for the shirt laid across the back of the chair.

"You'll be safe here, Hermione."

She picked at a loose thread in the blanket. "It's not my safety I'm worried about."

He slipped his arms into the shirt, folding down the collar and turning to face her.

"If I die, I will take him with me. I promise you that."

Her eyes flickered up, chest tight. "I'd rather you lived to tell the tale."

He watched her in the stillness.

She unfolded her legs and pushed to the edge of the mattress, rising to her feet and softly padding across the floor.

"I know that when this is all over, nothing will be the same."

His hands clenched at her measured approach.

"Neither of us will be the same." She stopped just before him, the warmth of his body washing over her front.

"If this is our final moment together, standing in these bodies, breathing this air, thinking these thoughts, I want to take a piece of it. Something to hold. Something to remember when I'm a different me, looking back on this night."

She pressed a hand to his bare chest, centered over his heart. She felt it beat faster as she stood on tiptoes, grasping him behind the neck with her free hand and pulling him down.

She kissed him slowly, lips barely pressing but softly lingering, sending an electrical current along her spine with every breath.

"I know you never intended to survive this," she whispered against his mouth, feeling a similar tremor race through his tall frame. "I know you planned to drag him kicking and screaming into the Underworld by your own bare hands."

She swallowed heavily, pulling back, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

"Please. Survive this." Her nails slid beneath his collar, gently scratching along his nape. "Even if you don't return. Even if I never see you again." She released a trembling breath. "Please survive."

He grasped her waist when she swayed, steadying her against his body, eyes burning brilliantly all the while, twin flames lighting her way through the dark.

"I will."

Her heart seized, rupturing at last, blood overspilling. She held his gaze a moment longer, nodding, sealing the pact.

And then turned her face away, releasing his neck and lowering to her heels, hand falling lifeless from his chest.

She stepped back, wiping her eyes dry, fighting to maintain composure as he picked up his traveling cloak and turned for the door, floorboards creaking as he opened it the rest of the way.

The room filled with flickering candle flame, his silhouette stretching across the opposite wall.

Frozen in the doorway.

She sensed his eyes upon her, felt them like a physical touch.

She glanced over her shoulder, forcing her gaze up, forcing her throat to work.

"Goodbye, Tom."

His chest rose high, the breath lingering in his lungs as though he were holding a piece of her in with it.

"Goodbye, Hermione."

She bit her tongue, vision hazing as he backed into the hall, holding her in his thrall until the final moment when he turned away.

And then he proceeded forward, disappearing from sight.

She lingered in place until she heard him journey down the steps and out the front door.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, waiting for the tears to seize her, for the dam to break.

But the onslaught never came.

She exited the room slowly, feeling like a shell of her former self, void of any identity.

And discovered the hallway wasn't empty.

She peered up, sensing the presence before seeing it, recognizing the change in pressure, the unnatural cold pressing upon her skin.

She wet her lips, eyes dancing with candle flame.

"I've been waiting for you."

---

Harry watched the sun dip beneath the rooftops as the carriage pulled beside the rod iron gates.

He leaped out first, paying the driver while Ron helped Susan down.

As he unfastened the chain he felt a shift in the air, a pressure differential that set the fine hairs along his neck on end.

He blinked, sliding open the lock and standing aside, glancing either way down the empty, darkened street.

"Harry?"

He met Ron's eye.

"Okay, mate?"

He wet his lips, glancing once more to the road, the air feeling denser, the sound muffled, like they were encased in a bubble.

He nodded.

"Yeah. Everything's fine."

He pushed open the gate, suppressing the unease, though his eyes continued to search the bushes ahead, the street lamp, the empty bench.

He took his time chaining the gate, pulling it tight, testing its strength, wondering why he didn't hear any insects or owls-

Get a grip.

He sighed deeply, spinning on his heel and following the couple to the house.

Sirius was already waiting for them in the doorway, arms crossed and hair a frightful mess, almost as disheveled as Harry's own chaotic mop.

"What the bloody fuck did you think you were doing, leaving the goddamn house like an absolute-"

He blinked, eyes darting down, expression softening.

"Hello, Susan, dear, it's lovely to see you again."

She curtsied, smiling politely. "Lord Black."

"I'm going to be doing quite a bit of swearing for the next five minutes or so."

"Understandable. Don't mind me."

"Cheers, luv."

He spun on Harry once more, visage twisting into a mask of unbridled rage. "As I was saying, you must not even have half a brain in that fucking head of yours-"

"Sirius, I had to let Ron know Mione was alright, after what happened to Cormac I couldn't risk leaving him exposed."

Ron blinked, glancing between them. "Cormac?"

Harry shook his head. "Let's just get inside and I'll explain everything."

Sirius opened his mouth to respond but was rendered silent as another sound filled the air.

Horses.

Several of them.

A goddamn stampede.

They all blinked, spinning around to face the gates.

The street beyond remained empty, but the sound grew nearer, deafening in volume, the ground trembling beneath their feet.

Sirius surged forward, grabbing Harry and Ron's shoulders, pulling them towards the house.

"Everyone inside."

They dragged their feet, transfixed by the rapidly approaching storm.

"Now!"

They jolted, spinning around, Ron grabbing Susan and rushing her up the steps. Harry was just at their back, Sirius crossing the threshold last, slamming the door and sliding the bolt.

They rushed to the windows, pulling aside the heavy curtains, jaws hanging loose as the horses and their riders finally appeared.

A small army of men rounded the corner, beasts rearing high, screeching into the night as they piled outside the gates.

"Who the hell is that?" Ron swallowed heavily, face pale as he pulled Susan close to his side.

Sirius watched on, eyes diamond hard.

"Fenrir Greyback."

Ron jolted. "He's real?" He leaned in, nose smudging the pane. "Fucking hell. What is he doing here?"

Harry wet his lips, emeralds glinting in his gaze. "He's here for the girls."

"What?"

A massive black steed pushed to the front of the horde, the others parting to give way. Its rider was the most massive creature Harry had ever laid eyes on, more beast than man.

His horse reared on his hind legs, bursting free from the pits of hell itself, hot steam pouring from its nostrils and filling the dark sky in a dense cloud.

"Riddle! Show your fucking face!"

His horse landed with a crash, hooves cracking the stone. The creature pivoted, revealing Greyback's leg, heavily bandaged and stained dark with dried blood.

Footsteps pounded behind them. They all turned to the stairs, watching as the landing filled. Parvati rounded the corner first, Blaise just at her back. She braced the banister, eyes wide.

Hannah and Luna emerged next, faces pale as they hovered near the wall.

Neville arrived in the next beat, charging in from the drawing room, grinding to a halt beneath the archway, knees locked as Greyback's voice once more filtered in from the end of the drive.

"I'm going to flay you alive you fucking bastard! I'm going to carve the meat from your bones while you watch my men take turns with your little bitch! Then I'm going to slice her up, too!"

Harry looked at Sirius, voice low and dangerous. "Where is she?"

"Riddle took her."

His godfather held himself with measured poise, but Harry wasn't fooled. He exhibited the same eerie calm every time they sailed into battle.

Harry spun to the window as Greyback dismounted, slowly limping towards the gate and snarling like a beast.

"You've got till the count of ten to do it the easy way. Then we're coming in and doing it the fun way."

His men erupted into unrestrained laughter, their horses riled and restless with commotion.

Ron swallowed heavily. "How many are there?"

Susan's brows drew together. "At least a dozen."

Harry drew a hand over his face. "Jesus Christ."

"There's only five of us," Ron provided, voice edged with panic.

"Nine."

He blinked, gazing up over his shoulder at Parvati. Her eyes glinted like onyx, knuckles white against the railing.

"I'm not counting the girls."

She started to respond but fell silent as Sirius dropped the curtain, spinning to address them all.

His spine lengthened, shoulders drawing back, eyes burning with fire.

"Everyone listen!" His voice echoed off the marble, surrounding them like the voice of God Himself. "We only have seconds to prepare and no time to hesitate! Do exactly as I say and don't deviate so much as an inch!"

"Ten."

"Harry, unlock the gun cabinet, give the girls long-range weapons, show them how to shoot-"

"Nine."

"No need." Susan stepped forward. "I'm a trick shot. I'll show them what to do."

"Eight."

"Good lass. Take a pistol with you as well. I want the girls in the master bedroom upstairs, barricade the door and shoot out the window if anyone tries to scale the brick."

"Seven."

"Ron, you stick with Neville, barricade the kitchen and back windows, take as many guns and ammunition as you can carry."

"Yes, Captain."

"Six."

Sirius spun towards the stairs. "Can you shoot, Zabini?"

Blaise swallowed heavily. "I know which end is which."

Sirius nodded. "Good enough."

"Five."

"You're stationed in the hall outside the bedroom. You're going to be the last line of defense if anyone makes it upstairs. Do you understand?"

Blaise nodded quickly, face bloodless as he rested a hand at Parvati's lower back.

"Four."

"Harry, after you distribute the guns go into the study and get my locked box. Do you know the one I'm talking about?"

"Three."

Harry stood at attention, movements sharp and automated.

"Yes, Sir."

"Grab my hunting blades as well. Bring everything to the main parlor, I'll meet you there."

"Two."

Sirius faced them all, fists clenched at his sides. "Does everyone understand their role?"

They all nodded, some more frantically than others.

"Good. Now listen closely!"

"One."

"These men didn't come here to talk. They came to kill every single one of us."

"Ready or not!"

"The police won't make it in time to help. Not before all or most of us are dead. Our only chance of survival is to fight for it."

"Here we come!"

The sound of hammers and crowbars bashing the gate was near deafening, each impact radiating off the walls and into their bones.

Sirius didn't spare the commotion a glance, facing his godson instead, his next words piercing Harry straight through the heart.

"Prepare for war."