Chapter 35: I Love You, Vampire Son
Narnia Wizarding Prison
A cave somewhere in France
October 23, 2003
3:57 p.m.
Basile the vampire was what one might call 'exceptionally unlucky.' His companions, on the other hand, were what one might call 'exceptionally disinterested in Basile the vampire's utter lack of luck,' and therefore it was not unheard of for something Basile had done (or not done, in the instances of his numerous disappearances) to go entirely unnoticed. Which was why, Basile supposed, when he and the others had sniffed an alarmingly tantalizing amount of human blood (fresh blood, too, which was such a rare and tender delicacy, permitted to them only rarely upon deliveries from the nearby hospital), he was ostensibly the only one to question whether or not such a thing might have been a trap.
"Maaaarius," Basile began uncertainly, but was quickly interrupted as the horde of vampires quickly lost interest in their unusual guest in favor of shoving Basile aside, racing towards the smell. "Eh, ees eet posssssible zat zees ees, erm -"
"Ah, let them go," Harry Potter suggested, resting a hand carefully on Basile's shoulder. Basile leapt away, startled, and the English wizard blinked awkwardly, retracting his hand. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Just wanted to say you should go with them, don't you think? They probably need you."
This, Basile thought, was extremely suspicious behavior, particularly once Harry Potter began taking several measured steps towards the exit. Nobody ever needed Basile, really, and this was fairly obvious to him even without possessing the supreme intellect necessary to defeat the infamous Lord Voldemort. Basile hardly required Harry Potter's enviable prowess to know that what seemed like a trap probably was, in fact, a trap.
Still, he followed the others warily, keeping to the back of the horde, and stood on tiptoe to catch sight of one of the prisoners retching up blood.
Immediately, Basile made a face, displeased. Blood was ideal under any circumstances, sure, but this was not his preferred method of transference. A bite was always much more sanitary, and lung blood? Regurgitated, at that? Not ideal. What's more, Basile happened to glance askance, noticing tiny shards of a broken vial glinting briefly behind one of the cave's many stalagmites. Not only was the prisoner loose, but they'd also ingested something. Someone would have had to remove them from the cell, given them the vial… Basile frowned. Something wasn't right.
In nearly the same instant, Basile spun, catching something out of the corner of his eye; it was rapid, nearly unnoticeable, but what looked like a weedy demon and another vampire (only he was wearing some sort of garment and carrying a very weak human girl, Basile detected on a sniff, and therefore almost certainly was not) appeared to be sneaking out of sight, darting down the hallway.
"Ah," Basile began, about to reach forward to tap Marius on the shoulder. He paused, though, as one of the others—probably Etienne, that small-headed weasel—shoved him out of the way, creeping towards the still-coughing prisoner as the human backed nervously towards his cell.
"Waaaaaait, waaaaaaait," Marcel lamented loudly to the others, "we cannot draaaaaaain 'im, zere are ruuuuuuules, we are not aaaaaaneeemaaaals - "
"Oui, oui, 'owever, eet would be waaaaasteful not to drink zees man's eeeexcess fluueeeeeds, non?" Marius agreed, regretfully using two fingers to pick up the prisoner by the collar of his shirt, propping him aloft and eyeing what little still dripped between his lips. "Someone feeeeehtch one of ze goblets, zere ees eh, per'aps enough for one? And seeeeence I am ze ooone 'olding 'eem - "
"Ah, Marius, clearly you are le tiiiiired, let me 'old 'im, zen - "
"Marcel, go ehhwaaaaay, you only want to 'ave it all, you neveeeer shaaaaare - "
"Where ees Basile? Basile, go and get us le cup fantastique - "
But by then, Basile was already gone, padding quietly after the escaping not-vampire and his demon-looking accomplice and pausing out of sight as they reached Harry Potter, who gave something of a quiet yelp.
"What happened? That took ages - and holy fuck, is she dead?!"
"Can't storytime wait, Potter? Don't know if you noticed, but the window of time we just bought for ourselves is something of a limited fucking engagement - "
"Fine, fine, let's just get out of here, then. Did you get what you needed?"
"Yes, Potter, now go, would you? You're the only one with the clearance to apparate us internationally or I'd have already left you behind - "
"Oh, very nice Malfoy. Lovely."
Basile glanced over his shoulder, weighing his options. Someone should have been alerted; someone should stop them. They were leaving. They were escaping!
They were escaping, Basile registered with a curious frown, which was something he had been certain until that moment could not be done.
"Come on, let's just go, then - "
"You know, I feel bad about this," Basile heard Harry Potter say. "Didn't you see how terrible they are to Basile? Poor guy."
"Christ, Potter, you really are the world's worst honeypot - "
"I'm just saying - he's like, the runt of the pack, you know? And I liked him, he was nice."
Basile blinked, frowning slightly.
"Potter. This is a vampire you're talking about. You know, undead creature of the night and whatnot? He's not a puppy."
"I know that, Nott, for fuck's sake, I'm just saying - "
The voices were fading; they were getting away.
Basile glanced over his shoulder again, adjusting the notably excellent hearing of his kind to where Marius and Marcel remained with the rest of the horde.
" - fine, fiiiiine, we weeell put 'im back, zen, off you go preeesoneeerrrr, back to your leetle niiiightmaaaaare - "
"Where ees Basile? Did 'e get swaaaaallowed by le chaaaaambres ehgaaaahhhn, or ees 'e simply looooost?"
"Ahahahaah zees caaaave is 'ilarious, I tell you - "
Basile, having heard about enough from them, considered for a moment as he watched the human intruders prepare to apparate that perhaps he wasn't as exceptionally unlucky as he had always thought. In fact, in the moment he placed a pale hand on Harry Potter's shoulder (after the demon-looking one's eyes widened at the sudden sight of him, but just before they were all abruptly yanked through the air), Basile considered for the first time that it was distinctly possible he was, in fact, the luckiest vampire to have ever not-lived.
The Ministry of Magic
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
3:21 p.m.
The four of them landed somewhat unsteadily with a thud in Harry's office, Draco still holding Hermione semi-upright as she seemed to finally regain some of her mental fortitude. She shook herself slightly, like a dog, and then blinked up at him.
No, not at him.
And also - no, there weren't four of them.
"Uh, Potter," Theo ventured carefully, "not to alarm you, but - "
"Eet ees veeeeeery briiiiiiight een zees plaaaaace," commented one of the vampires from Narnia, and though the vampire was squinting in a very non-threatening way, Draco instinctively nudged Hermione aside, hurling one arm out in front of her. She rolled her eyes, letting out a tired breath, but luckily she seemed much more interested in sinking into one of Harry's desk chairs than launching into yet another familiar tirade about how she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. "Where aaaaaare we?" the vampire posed uncomfortably, smacking a hand over his eyes and looking down at them through slats between his pale fingers.
"Oh, Basile," Harry realized, scratching at his beard in what initially appeared to be confusion, though it was followed by what was almost certainly tempered panic. "Did you, um. Mean to, uh, follow us? Or are you - "
"I am not loooost, eef zat is what you aaaare saaaayeeeeng," replied Basile. "Weeeeell, zat may not be entirely true," he amended softly to himself, "seeing aaaaas I do not know where I aaaaahm."
To Draco's surprise, Theo chuckled.
"My goodness," Theo remarked drily, circling the shirtless vampire. "Potter, I take it all back. You were such a compelling honeypot that you earned us a stowaway. Someone put it in the minutes that there's obviously such a thing as too much magnetism - "
"Uh, Basile," Harry interrupted, elbowing Theo into silence. "So, I'm not sure what the vampire rules are, but this is - " He hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly over the vampire's pale skin and eyes just before he adjusted the charmed curtains to limit the incoming rays. "It's not exactly a cave, if you know what I mean - "
"You aaaaaare wooooorried about le sun?" Basile asked, and then immediately gave Harry a slavish, adoring look, appearing to swoon slightly. "'arry Potter, ees eet poooooossible zat you aaaaare worried pour moi?" At that, Draco scoffed internally; it looked as though the vampire were steadily on the verge of weeping. "Truly, I 'ave neveeeer seen such 'onor, such 'erooooeeeesm - "
"Well," Harry said hastily, "it's just that I, um. I think a number of people would be alarmed if they knew there was a vampire in my office, so, it's not entirely selfless a concern; but on the off-chance you agree," he offered, grimacing, "we'll have to get you back quickly, before the others notice you're gone - "
Basile's face promptly fell.
"No, no, he can't go back, Potter, obviously," Theo cut in, looking entirely too pleased with the outcome of their visit. "If you take him back, the other vampires will be suspicious. And besides, didn't you say this is the one who disappears all the time?"
"Oui, oui, constamment!" Basile confirmed excitedly. "Zey will not even notice I am le vanished! Eet weeell be like any ozer Tuesday, I am suuuure - "
"It's Thursday, but sure," Draco grunted, though all involved parties proceeded to ignore him.
"Oui, you see, Potter? He is le sure," Theo said. "And besides, who knows when we'll need a Draco decoy - "
"What?" Draco demanded indignantly, as the vampire turned to scrutinize him with what appeared to be equal amounts of disdain. "We look nothing alike."
"Sure you do," Theo countered, as beside him, Harry gave something of an unwilling nod in agreement. "All he needs is a shirt, a superiority complex, a general sense of malaise, and then boom, he's the perfect Draco."
"You reeeeeally theeenk zis is what I looooook like?" Basile echoed, drawing a hand to his mouth briefly before tilting his head at Draco and then giving Theo something of a palatial shrug. "I know 'umans are veeeeeery blind," he offered kindly, "so I forgeeeve you your flaws of naaaature."
"Well, it's official. He's too nice to be Draco," Harry sighed, shaking his head, and again, the vampire looked moments from throwing himself gratefully at Harry's feet. "Are you sure, Basile, that you want to stay here?" At the vampire's absurdly eager nod, Harry continued, "I won't bring you back if you don't want to, but we're going to have to talk about this. Make some rules," he suggested tentatively. "Like, uh, it's probably best if you don't try to drink any blood unless I say it's okay."
"I 'ave never 'eard such a kind offer," Basile said dreamily, and Harry winced.
"Right, well - "
Draco, having lost interest in what was apparently Harry Potter's new pet vampire, glanced down at Hermione, who was sitting very still. She was staring out into nothing, in fact, her hands folded quietly in her lap, and she jumped the moment Draco set a hand on her shoulder, clearly unsettled.
"Are you alright?" Draco asked quietly, kneeling beside her chair, and she glanced down at him, scanning his face for something.
"You know, it's funny," she commented after a moment, looking somewhere between saddened and wistful. "Almost all of my worst memories were about people leaving."
He blinked. "Oh," was all he managed, and she nodded, not quite looking at him.
"I think I had thought I was better off than you," she murmured, as elsewhere, Harry and Theo were collectively trying to keep Basile from licking the window, apparently out of curiosity for whether sunlight could safely be eaten. "Or that I had - I don't know. Managed it. Managed the trauma, I guess."
"You have," Draco promised her. "But even something you're managing is still bound to hurt, Granger."
She shut her eyes. "I know. I mean objectively, I know that, I just," she began, and cleared her throat. "I thought I was stronger than this."
"I - " Draco frowned. "How can any of this mean you aren't strong? I know what you lived through. I mean, I don't know it as well as you know it, obviously," he amended hastily, "but I have an idea of what it takes to get up every fucking morning and keep living your life in spite of everything. That's - Granger," he exhaled, unsure how to put it into words. "You have to know that's - I mean - "
"Yeah, I know. So listen, I have to go." She stood up sharply, nearly sending him stumbling backwards as he hurried to rise alongside her. "I just - I need to be alone right now. I'll be home - I don't know. Later." She gave him a strange, unreadable glance. "Thanks for getting us out of there," she added, and brushed her lips coolly against his cheek before heading to the door.
"Hermione," Harry called after her, abruptly abandoning his post as Theo began fashioning an elaborate hat to shield Basile's sensitive eyes. "Hermione, wait, are you - "
"I'm fine, Harry, I just have to go," she assured him stiffly, and then pulled the door open, passing through it without glancing back until Harry was left to frown at Draco, gesturing questioningly in her absence.
"I don't fucking know, Potter," Draco muttered in answer, irritated by his own helplessness. "Aren't you supposed to be her best friend? You tell me what the fuck's going on."
"I don't know. Sometimes she just needs to be alone, so maybe that's all," Harry guessed thoughtfully, curling a hand around his chin as behind him, Basile did the same, apparently practicing his motions as a semi-convincing human man. "I mean, she needed solitude from time to time when we were on the horcrux hunt. And after the whole fiasco with the wedding, I guess - "
"After that wedding she left the fucking country," Draco snapped, and Harry grimaced. Basile leaned forward, squinting to see Harry's expression, and then did the same. "Don't know if you recall, Potter, but the last time Granger needed to be alone, she didn't come back for three goddamn years - "
"Well, I'm sure that's not the case now," Harry assured him, reaching out to set a hand on Draco's shoulder. Alarmingly, Basile did the same, prompting Draco to glare at the vampire until he ruefully retracted his hand. "She probably just needs some time to process, Malfoy. I'm sure it's nothing to do with you."
"I - " That's precisely the problem, he didn't say, exhaling sharply. "Fine," he conceded brusquely. "Whatever. Any idea where she went?"
"Fiiiiiire," supplied Basile, which was several degrees of unhelpful.
"Fire?" Draco echoed doubtfully. "Maybe we should work on your English."
"Or not. Maybe it's some sort of idiom we don't know about," Theo suggested, holding up two shirts that he appeared to have transfigured from Harry's curtains. "By the way, which of these do you like, Basile?"
"Zese are deeply teeeeerrrible," Basile proclaimed, "and I adooooore zem both."
"You know, I should probably tell Ron about this," Harry remarked uncomfortably, murmuring it to himself. "I mean, if he's going to come home to a vampire roommate, I would imagine that at least merits a note in advance, don't you th-"
"What, you're going to warn him? And spoil my fun? Don't you dare," Theo snapped. "I have so little to live for, Potter, I don't know why you'd take any of it away - "
"Actually," Draco cut in, "maybe this is best. I have to go find a quidditch player to try to buy Gagnon's potion anyway," he sighed, aiming himself at the door and pausing only briefly, turning to glance at Harry. "Just let me know if you hear from her, would you? I'll be in touch if I need anything."
"Well, I may or may not have my hands full," Harry told him, gesturing to where Basile was now curiously experimenting with interlacing their fingers, "but yeah. We'll talk."
Draco shook his head. "Good luck with all this," he offered, waving a hand at the general display of vampire problems, combined with could only mean inevitable Theo-fuckery. "See you."
"Bye sweetie," Theo called loudly, and Draco pulled the door shut behind him, turning into the corridor with a not-so-stifled groan.
Nott Manor
First floor office
4:15 p.m.
"Hard at work, are you?"
Daphne spun, startled, and rolled her eyes as Cad strode through the door, looking every inch his usual disruptive self as he let it fall shut behind him. "You could have told me you were coming," she informed him drily, sitting back in her desk chair.
"In general, I try not to announce myself," Cad replied, shrugging. "After all, if my enemies knew where I was, how exactly would I get by? Surely they'd all descend within thirty seconds or less, and then how would I be able to do this?" he asked, dropping a kiss against her lips. "You know better, Miss Greengrass," he murmured, and she rolled her eyes.
"I certainly do," she agreed, leaning back to place the heel of her shoe against his chest. She gave him a light shove, nudging him away, but ultimately permitted his hand to curl around the back of her ankle, holding her still. "Is there something you needed, Cadmus?"
He dropped down with a smile, brushing his lips against the arch of her foot and propping her foot up on his knee, carefully undoing the straps of her heels. "Well, since we're all playing for the same team now," he mused, "I thought I could see how things were going."
"I don't work for you, Cad," Daphne reminded him, as he carefully slid off her shoe and beckoned for the other foot, crooking a finger. "I don't have to tell you shit," she concluded, obligingly setting her left foot in his palm.
"Well, that's certainly true," he agreed, brushing his fingers up her calf in a slow, delicate motion before sliding his hand back down to her shoe. "But of course, if there was anything I could help with - "
Abruptly, the door flew open.
"PARKINSON," Draco barked, "what are the chances you've fucked a quidditch play- ah, fuck," he determined, as Cad gave him a spirited wave from where he sat behind the desk. "You're not Pansy."
"Pansy's out with the caterer," Daphne supplied lazily, leaning her head back as Cad slid her shoe from her foot and proceeded to carefully knead the arch of it, rolling his thumb against the bone. "Did you need something?"
"Yes," Draco said grumpily, falling into the chair opposite the desk and making a face at Cad's uninterrupted ministrations. "Some insight into women, firstly, and then a quidditch player that I can convince to buy an illegal potion for me."
"Hermione giving you trouble?" Cad guessed knowingly, and Draco glared at him.
"I was kind of talking to Daphne, seeing as she's the woman in this scen-"
"No, no, keep going," Daphne interrupted, arching a brow at Cad. "I want to see what he says. Go on," she said, waving a hand at Draco, and he grimaced, resigning himself to continue with a look of displeasure.
"Granger, ah - she sort of - well, she had to live through her worst memories," he explained (with a frustrating lack of detail, in Daphne's opinion), "and then afterwards, I kind of - well, look. I thought maybe she'd want to be comforted - "
"You didn't try comforting her with your penis, did you?" Cad prompted. "Because that only sometimes works."
Daphne nudged his chest, kicking him lightly in disapproval, and he grinned, brushing his lips against the ball of her foot before sliding his hand back up, rubbing his thumb along the line of her shin.
"No, of course I didn't," Draco scoffed. "I mean, not to say I wouldn't have tried," he conceded grudgingly, "but she just up and ran away as soon as she was able. She said something about 'oh, I thought I was stronger than this' or, I don't know - "
"Mars," Cad interrupted, and Daphne glanced down at him, confused. "Hm? Oh, sorry, I was answering the other question," he clarified, switching to her other leg. "You need someone to buy the potion? Get Mars to do it."
"Marcus?" Daphne echoed, blinking. "I suppose that's an option, but would he really - "
"Hi, yes, thank you for your sensitivity on this very delicate matter," Draco announced, irritably rising to his feet. "I can see I took my highly uncharacteristic moment of sincerity to what was CLEARLY the most appropriate audience - "
"Hermione Granger is a woman on the brink of madness," Cad cut in smoothly, not even turning his head as Draco froze, partway to the door. "I've seen grown men go through mere fractions of what she experienced as a young girl and come through on the other side utterly incapable of dragging themselves from their beds. She is no different than you with your potions," he remarked slowly, "or Harry Potter with his inadvisable need to fix things. The only reason Hermione Granger is able to function as a facet of the world that once tried to destroy her is to live behind some sort of protective mechanism. A shield from her own experiences, I suppose."
"You say that like she's guarding herself from me," Draco ventured, turning slowly, and Cad shrugged.
"She is, in a way," he confirmed. "Though I doubt it's just you. She's not particularly free with her emotions, is she? She has fears, but she stifles them. And you know this already," he added, "or you would not care for her so deeply."
Draco scoffed. "I never said - "
"You want her to come to you with her pain," Cad said neutrally, "but that would make her another woman entirely. She is, like most women, wearing a queenly mask," he determined, kissing the inside of Daphne's knee and then rising to his feet, pulling her with him as he spared Draco one more glance. "And she will only move it aside for you if she deems you worthy. Does that sound right?" he asked Daphne, who blinked up at him, surprised.
"Yes," she permitted slowly, and Cad smiled.
Draco, meanwhile, cleared his throat, impatient.
"Well, fine," he muttered. "I'll wait for her to come to me, then. And in the meantime, should we talk to Marcus Flint?"
Daphne glanced at Cad, who arched a brow, posing a similar question.
"Later," Daphne determined, watching the corner of Cad's mouth twitch with promise. "We'll both go talk to him tonight, Draco."
"Fine," Draco sighed, departing with a soft crack.
Cad, meanwhile, slid his hand under Daphne's skirt, shamelessly running his fingers between the curves of her thighs. "Am I mistaken, Daphne Greengrass," he remarked in her ear, "or did you just make some time for me?"
"Well, I suppose you earned it, having been not-entirely-unhelpful," she sighed, letting him maneuver her backwards against the desk. "One of these days, though, I'm hoping you don't seduce me quite so effectively, or that I at least manage to want you in a way that's less disruptive to my daily work schedule."
He lowered his head to kiss her, giving her another of his low, indulgent laughs.
"Funny," he said, slipping his fingers under the lace of her knickers. "I'm rather hoping to accomplish the same."
Diagon Alley
4:31 p.m.
"Hey," Oliver heard behind him, but he didn't stop. "Wood, come on. Wood, you FUCKING ARSE, DON'T IGNORE ME - "
"WHAT?" he snapped, rounding on Marcus as a variety of onlookers suddenly stopped to stare. "Keep walking," Oliver grunted at one particular nosy witch, who gave him an indiscreet sniff of disdain. "What?" he repeated at a more reasonable volume, standing with his arms folded as Marcus approached him.
"Yes, hi, one question: are you some sort of stupid idiot?" Marcus demanded, which was an extremely unpalatable opening remark that made Oliver want to keep walking, right up until Marcus yanked his arm back. "Are you seriously taking Bagman's offer? Obviously you've had some sort of head injury," Marcus continued obnoxiously, "because literally nothing else would permit you to forget just what kind of shitbag Ludo Bagman is - "
Good news! Ludo had announced the day before, with his usual unsettling grin. I'm in talks to cement your contract with the Wasps. Exciting, isn't it?
You've said that before, Oliver had replied warily, catching sight of Marcus' telling scowl across the room.
Yes, Ludo agreed with a wink, but believe me, things being what they are, I need this just as much as you do.
"Bagman can be whatever kind of shitbag he likes," Oliver informed Marcus flatly. "It's not like I'm doing anything for him. He's getting me on a team, Flint. If it were you, you wouldn't even think twice."
"Is that really what you think?" Marcus asked, glaring at him. "Seriously, Wood. You think I'm so desperate to play again that I'd go ahead and let Ludo fucking Bagman use me as his errand boy?"
Oliver growled his impatience. "I just said - "
"Come on, Wood, think about what you're doing," Marcus snapped. "Lie to me all you want, fine, but I thought you were better than this. I mean, really think about who you're getting in bed with - "
At that, Oliver finally lost whatever remained of his temper.
"Have Daphne Greengrass, then," he spat. "Just - have your precious pureblood life, and have it without me, Flint, because I'm fucking done here. Do you understand me?"
Marcus blinked, shoved back half a step by the force of Oliver's anger. "Wood, I'm just - "
"No, Marcus. Shut up. Shut the fuck up, because I can't do this anymore. You think I want to be kept waiting for you to decide whether I'm more important than your archaic fucking traditions? You want to have everything," Oliver snarled, "then have it. Everything except me, because I'm done."
He turned to walk away when Marcus' hand shot out. Oliver parried it as easily as if it were any other blow.
"Get lost, Flint," he hurled over his shoulder and then kept walking, not stopping until he was certain Marcus hadn't followed. Then he paused, checking experimentally over his shoulder, and adjusted his path, aiming for the entry to Knockturn Alley.
"Ah, Wood," Ludo called, catching sight of him and waving him over. Per usual, he'd done very little to camoflauge his bright face and distinctive-looking hair, prompting Oliver to stifle a groan as he headed over to where Ludo stood with two other men. "Oliver Wood, this is Peregrine Faulkner," he said, gesturing to the man that Oliver recognized as one of the Wimbourne Wasp managers, "and this is - well, this is Mundungus Fletcher," Ludo acknowledged with a slight element of distaste. "He's just leaving."
Oliver frowned, vaguely recognizing the name. "Aren't you a - "
"We'll talk later, Dung," Ludo told Mundungus with a high, false laugh, half-shoving him aside. "Yes, right, so thanks for the advice - Dung just helps me figure out where to get the best food storage containers," he offered in explanation, as Mundungus grimaced, permitting himself to be shoved further into Knockturn. "Very helpful, Dung, thank you, I'll be sure to get the larger storage for my cured meats - "
"Wood, was it?" offered Faulkner, holding out a hand. "Welcome to the team."
Oliver blinked, surprised, as he accepted Faulkner's grip. "Really? You don't even want to see me play first, or - "
"It's a reserve position for now," Faulkner said, his gaze sliding somewhat apprehensively to Ludo, "but I see no reason to doubt your prowess. I know of your performance for Puddlemere, and Ludo is of course a very close friend - "
"Yes, absolutely," Ludo agreed, having by then been successfully rid of Mundungus. "Yes, so, everything's arranged, isn't it? So good of you to spare the time," Ludo added to Faulkner, "and I'm sure Wood will be the perfect fit for the team."
"Yes, yes, right," Faulkner agreed, though Oliver noted that he very much looked as if he wanted to escape. "Well, welcome to the Wasps, of course, we'll be in touch quite soon - "
"Isn't there a contract or something I should sign?" Oliver prompted, and Faulkner nodded, hastily withdrawing a somewhat long roll of parchment from one of his oversized pockets.
"Yes, here, just a few signatures and then it can be delivered by owl, of course - "
"I'll take that," Ludo assured him quickly, nearly snatching it from Faulkner's hands. "Just to look over on Wood's behalf, of course," he explained, and Faulkner, who obviously couldn't bring himself to care (and who clearly must have suffered some sort of grievance in order to be there to begin with) merely gave them both a nod, briskly preparing himself to depart.
"Looking forward to seeing you for training," Faulkner said to Oliver, and then grimaced at Ludo. "Bagman," he muttered, and backed away, pivoting only once he was out of Ludo's interminably long reach.
"Well," Ludo remarked, glancing over the contract, "this is pretty standard. There's just one thing," he cautioned, as Oliver held out his hand for it, waiting. "I need you to procure something for me, in exchange for having secured your spot on the team. You understand, don't you?" he prompted, and Oliver grimaced.
"What is it?" Oliver asked through clenched teeth, and Ludo smiled brilliantly.
"Oh, just a vial," Ludo said, and Oliver flinched, immediately grasping the reference.
"I don't cheat, Bagman - "
"No, no, you don't need to take it yourself," Ludo assured him, half-laughing. "In fact, definitely do not take it. I just need one vial, but unfortunately I'm not able to approach the dealer directly. I'll give you all the details, of course, and I can guarantee you won't have any sort of problems with Faulkner or the Wasps, but I need you to be the one to get it. Are we understood?" he asked, his fingers tapping pointedly against Oliver's team contract.
Oliver hesitated. On the one hand, it was precisely as Marcus had said it would be to make a deal with Ludo Bagman; but on the other hand, fuck Marcus entirely.
"If I do this for you," Oliver posed slowly, "will it get me out of here?"
Oliver found he was thinking (with an unfortunate modicum of regret) of the expression on Marcus' face when they'd fought, which they seemed to be doing endless amounts of these days. Some things, Oliver reasoned, just weren't healthy to stick around for.
No matter how much he foolishly wanted to.
"Oh yes," Ludo assured him, "definitely. The moment the potion is in my hand, yes. You'll be off to Wimbourne without a moment's delay."
Oliver grimaced, attempting a rapid calculation of Ludo's sincerity.
"Then consider it done," Oliver determined, one hand steady with certainty as he gave Ludo's outstretched palm a brief, firm shake, accepting the proffered contract with the other.
12 Grimmauld Place
7:43 p.m.
"I think he looks nice," Theo said, stepping back to eye his handiwork. "You know, it's possible I missed my calling as a stylist."
"Zees ees an atrooooocity," Basile wailed tearfully. "And I looooove eet so maaaaahhhch- "
"Oh boy," Harry sighed, patting Basile's shoulder. "There, there - "
"I am le fine," Basile sobbed. "I am not weeeeeping, eet ees you who aaaaare weeeeeping - "
"I think I'd technically be correct in saying 'yikes,' but frankly, I find this all very apt," Theo pronounced grandly, sweeping a hand over Basile's fresh haircut, which was mostly a very sleek side-part. "I'd cry too, I think."
"I have no idea how I'm going to explain this to Ron," Harry said, shaking his head. "Hopefully he handles vampires better than he does spiders."
"Spiders, yeeeuuuuck," Basile contributed sagely.
"See? Perfect," Theo said, gesturing. "Something in common already."
"I'm beginning to think you're not particularly helpful as a criminal, Nott," Harry determined, falling back onto the kitchen bench with another sigh. "This wasn't exactly the clean escape I was hoping for."
"Well, you should have thought that through, Potter," Theo sniffed disapprovingly. "Why'd you bring me along, anyway?" he added, pretending at disinterest. "It's not like Draco and Granger couldn't have sorted something out. You didn't technically need me."
"I," Harry began, and paused. "Yeah, that's true."
"So why did you - "
"'e liiiiikes your cooooompany," Basile interrupted, looking delighted. "'e weeeeeell not tell you zat because 'e is embaaaaaaarrassed, but eet ees veeery cute, non?"
For a moment, Harry was astonished, but Theo clearly was not. "Ah, fuck," Theo groaned. "I forgot vampires do that whole mind-reading thing. Is that what Granger's whole 'fire' thing was about?"
"Oui," Basile confirmed solemnly. "She was goooooing to ze plaaaace of fighteeeeeng, ze peeeeerson 'oo makes le fiiiiiire - "
"Ah, the Arsonist," Harry realized, blinking. "Well, that's - "
He was interrupted by a loud crack that echoed through the kitchen.
"Master," Kreacher croaked, prompting Basile to duck behind Theo as the elf tugged a bound and gagged Mundungus Fletcher forward slightly. "Kreacher is delivering the thief."
"Yes, I see that," Harry confirmed warily, looking up at a scarlet-faced Mundungus. "What's up, Dung?"
Kreacher snapped his fingers, the gag disappearing from Mundungus' mouth.
"-ET YOUR BLEEDIN' ELF OFF ME I SAID I HAD A MESSAGE DIDN'T I AND I'M HERE NOW AREN'T I THIS IS UNACCEPT-"
"Ah yes, thank you, Kreacher," Harry said, nodding his approval as Kreacher snapped his fingers again to rid Mundungus of his voice. "Still, we should, um. Probably listen to what he has to say, though - "
"Zis 'ouse is scaaaaary," Basile whispered loudly to Theo.
"You've no idea," Theo agreed. "There's a Weasley who lives here."
"Ees zat liiiiike un monstre?"
"Oui, absolument," Theo confirmed, as Harry flashed him a silencing glance.
"Dung, just stop shouting," Harry advised, turning back to the other two. "Seriously, you're wasting your own time, you know. He won't let you go if you don't."
Mundungus flipped him off but grimaced, gradually closing his mouth.
"Okay, Kreacher," Harry beckoned. "Let him talk."
"Yes, Master," Kreacher sighed gravely, and Mundungus cleared his throat, glaring at the elf.
"Ludo Bagman asked me for Umbridge's ingredients," he explained hoarsely. "I gave 'em to him, like you told me to. He's havin' a quidditch player buy the potion on his behalf - Oliver Wood," he clarified gruffly, and Harry and Theo exchanged a glance, surprised. "I assume he's just goin' to add the extra ingredients to the potion."
"Huh, interesting," Harry said, tapping his mouth. "Well, good to know. Let us know if he contacts you again, Dung."
"Like I've got a choice," Mundungus reminded him grumpily, gesturing to Kreacher. "You don't have to set him on me like that, you know. I can get by without bein' brutally manhandled."
"To be honest, I think he likes you. Either that or he disagrees," Harry said, and Mundungus scowled.
"So can I g-"
Kreacher snapped his fingers, relieving them all of Mundungus Fletcher's presence.
"Kreacher is going to wash the towels now," he informed them, waddling out of the room until he paused abruptly, looking up at Basile. "There is a vampire looking at Kreacher," Kreacher noted to himself.
"Oh yeah, Kreacher, this is Basile," Harry offered, gesturing between them. "Basile, Kreacher."
"Zees ees a veeeeery smoooool 'uman," Basile whispered to Theo.
"He's an elf," Theo replied.
"Zat seeeeeems liiiike eet ees probably veeeery ruuuude to saaaay," Basile said uneasily.
"Kreacher is being suspicious," Kreacher mused dubiously, "but Kreacher is not being upset." He tilted his head, considering the remainder of his feelings on the matter. "Kreacher is leaving now," he announced in his gravelly voice, "but is returning later with somethings of vampire feedings."
"Zees is a veeeery niiiice theeeng," Basile proclaimed, softening as he looked at the elf. "I liiiiike eet."
"Yes, thank you, Kreacher," Harry contributed. "I appreciate it too."
"Can I go weeeth ze smooool 'uman?" Basile asked Harry, gesturing to Kreacher, and Harry shrugged.
"If Kreacher says it's okay, I suppose," Harry replied.
"Kreacher is not being opposed to company from Master's new vampire," Kreacher remarked solemnly, continuing to toddle out of the room as he muttered to himself, "but Master's new vampire will be doing the heavy's liftings - "
"Ooooh fuuuuun," Basile exclaimed, jogging after him to leave Theo and Harry alone in the room, turning to each other with equal parts exhaustion and wry disbelief.
"This house," Theo pronounced brusquely, "is an absolute menagerie."
"You're probably right about me making a terrible honeypot," Harry lamented in agreement, rising to his feet to set a hand on Theo's hip. "But you know something? I'm not that mad about it."
Theo chuckled, brushing his lips against Harry's ear. "Was le vampire right, then?" he asked. "Did you really just want to spend time with me?"
Harry considered lying, but sighed instead.
"Don't hold it against me," he warned, "but I do prefer to have you with me than not. And since it wasn't a Ministry-sponsored venture - "
"Fuck, you're so fucking soft." Theo nipped approvingly at Harry's ear, pressing his lips to the spot just behind the lobe. "Though I'm sure Ignotus probably had something else in mind for you to do today," he murmured, "didn't he?"
Harry stiffened. "Actually, I haven't heard from Ignotus today," he admitted, nudging Theo back slightly, "though, in general, whatever he might have in mind, I don't think he's ready to tell me yet. He seems the plotting type. Not unlike you," he added, and Theo shrugged, placing one of his hands around the blade of Harry's shoulder.
"Well, as long as you know what you're d-"
"HARRY," came Ron's panicked shriek, and Harry leapt back, facing the entry to the kitchen with what he hoped was some semblance of reasonable behavior. "Harry," Ron panted, stumbling into the kitchen, "there was a VAMPIRE in my BATHROOM - "
"Oh, he's just helping Kreacher with the housework," Harry supplied. "Also, he lives here now."
"Jesus bloody Christ," Ron exclaimed, just as a bespectacled Mel sauntered in behind him, her hair piled on top of her head in a creation that might have equally been either laziness or fashion.
"Okay, first thing - oh, hello stranger, I'm Mel - so anyway, Harry, about this vampire - "
"Yes, yes," Harry confirmed, waving a hand. "I was going to tell you. There's a vampire in our house, he's French, he's surprisingly well-mannered, I know it's inconven-"
"Yes, totally, that's great - so anyway, I'm going to need to borrow him," Mel said, brushing away Harry's explanation. "His bone structure is like, totally en vogue. And I mean those cheekbones," she exclaimed, positively blissful at the thought. "Plus his frame is absolutely perfect. He can model both my lines - "
"Well, he's kind of an escaped prison guard," Harry inserted warily. "So you might have to wait until that whole thing dies down. But you know, if he wants to, then -"
"HE'S A WHAT?" Ron barked, his face paling, and beside Harry, Theo gave a low, shameless laugh.
"Well, Potter, I think my work here is done," he remarked in Harry's ear, and then he disapparated, leaving Harry to roll his eyes, unable to prevent an unwilling smile in his absence.
The Arsonist
Diagon Alley
8:23 p.m.
"Move, Flint," Hermione said curtly, nudging Marcus into consciousness and shoving his chair aside to make room for her bag. "Who's around tonight?" she asked, scanning the room, and Marcus frowned, still gaping uselessly at her.
"Aren't you supposed to be - "
"Supposed to be what, Flint?" Hermione prompted, pulling the charmed tape out of her bag. "I don't work for the Ministry anymore, and even if I did, what would it matter? Ludo Bagman's right over there," she muttered, gesturing gruffly to him. "I'm pretty sure Seamus can't possibly have an issue with me showing up, and if he does, he can fight me."
"Christ, don't fucking get me started on Bagman," Marcus growled, which was not remotely the point, though Hermione was perfectly fine with ending the previous discussion there. "Do you know he's offering Wood a spot on the Wasps?"
"How dare he," Hermione offered drily, and Marcus glared at her.
"Nothing Ludo Bagman does ever comes without strings," he grunted, as Hermione spared him a glance of curiosity. "Everyone knows that."
"Do they?"
"Yes," Marcus snapped. "I mean sure, nobody will ever say anything, but everyone in the league gets that same look on their faces whenever his name comes up. Actually, a specific type of player in the league, actually," he clarified with a scowl. "The kind I was pretty sure Wood wasn't."
"Which is?" Hermione prompted.
"The kind that can be bought," Marcus supplied tartly. "Or whose silence can be bought, anyway. The kind," he exhaled with ruthless displeasure, "that cheats."
At that, Hermione couldn't quite prevent a derisive scoff. "Last I checked, you weren't exactly opposed to the 'whatever-it-takes' sort of mindset, Flint," Hermione reminded him. "I saw a fair few Slytherin games at Hogwarts, and I'd hardly call you any sort of paramount of virtue - "
"That's different," Marcus cut in, irritated. "Breaking rules on the field, fine. But potions? Fuck no," he snapped. "Listen, I'm a purist. It's one thing to get a little rough on the pitch, but another thing altogether to plan out your fucking cowardice in advance - "
"Hold on," Hermione interrupted, frowning. "Are you saying you know how to get those potions?"
"What? Of course," Marcus trumpeted impatiently. "Every professional quidditch player does, Granger, and that's what makes the whole thing such a damn calamity. It's ruining the entire fucking game - because on the one hand, you've got this handful of guys on some regiment of potions who end up near impossible to beat, and then everyone else starts picking up the potions, and then suddenly everyone who isn't using potions is just a fucking travesty on the pitch compared to everyone else, and th-"
"Right, cool," Hermione agreed, tightening her wraps one final time around her wrist before beginning to wrap the other hand. "So basically any quidditch player knows where to go? Does that mean you knew about Gagnon before he was arrested?"
"Yes, obviously. There's loads of imitation vials, but everyone knows Gagnon's original formulas are the best. Apparently he developed them while he was on the Beauxbatons team," Marcus added anecdotally, "because he was such a clumsy swot that he started doing more homework to get better - still never got called up to a pro team, though, which has to be indisputable proof real quidditch players are born, not made - "
"It's incredible that this is such common information," Hermione remarked thoughtfully, and Marcus arched a brow.
"It's not common, Granger. It's a trade secret," he clarified. "Sure, every quidditch player knows who's using Gagnon's potions, but nobody would be stupid enough to tell. Being a professional athlete is demanding shit, and you travel so much that these guys end up being like broth-"
"Yes, right, okay," Hermione agreed, turning it over in her head. "So, say I needed to get ahold of these potions, then," she suggested slowly, finishing up her wrapped knuckles and stretching out her shoulders. "Could you do it?"
"What, me?" Marcus scoffed. "Haven't you been listening? I don't do that shit, Granger, and I have a reputation to uphold - "
"Say it's for a friend, then," Hermione suggested, kicking one leg up to lean into her quad stretch. "Doesn't have to be for you."
"Yes, right," Marcus grumbled, "because 'it's for a friend' is definitely a new and completely revolutionary excuse - "
"Just think about it. You'd really be doing me a solid," Hermione informed him, and he made a face. "Not sure what I could offer you in return, but - hey," she said, glancing at the slightly wiry man who stepped into the ring. "Who's that?"
Marcus turned lazily. "Ah yes, my opponent for the evening," he said, looking hugely dissatisfied by the prospect. "Some shithead who's won a couple tournaments in Dublin. A little below my weight class, but pickings were slim tonight."
"Looks that way," Hermione agreed, watching the man in the ring. The man, probably her age, was Marcus' height but maybe half his overall build, and he had a habit of rotating just slightly too far after each jab. It meant his balance was slightly off-kilter, leaning him just past centered. It was a fine weakness, hardly a lethal offense, unless his opponent was particularly quick - or perhaps particularly small, falling anywhere shy of his wingspan.
"Ah-ah, nope," Marcus warned, catching the slight twitch to her lips. "No. You're out of practice. Why don't you wait until Carnegie gets here? Or hell, Hawkworth, even - "
"Shut up, Flint," Hermione murmured, still watching the man shadow-boxing in the far corner of the ring. His stability really was appallingly poor; he also seemed to be nursing some sort of injury to his ribs. If he were forced to take a blow to the body, he would almost certainly stagger to one side, leaving him susceptible to a well-placed hook.
For a moment, though, something flashed in her mind; she tensed slightly, picturing tiny fragments from the barrage of images she'd seen in Gagnon's cell. Reminders of what she'd seen and done and who she'd been, once. The things she had only perilously recovered from. She curled her hands into fists, biting firmly on her lip, and found Marcus watching her, brows furrowed.
"Something wrong?" he asked, without any particular mocking. It was more a curiosity than anything else, as far as she could tell.
"No," she said with a quick shake of her head. "Though I'm going to go ahead and dispatch him for you," she determined firmly, rolling her shoulders back and aiming herself at the ring.
"You've really got to stop doing this," Marcus groaned after her, though she didn't turn. "THIS REALLY ISN'T THE WAY TO GET ME TO DO YOU ANY FUCKING FAVORS, GRANGER -"
She ignored him in favor of stepping into the ring, rolling her neck out and beckoning for Marcus' opponent. "You ready?" she prompted, and he narrowed his eyes, unamused. She glanced aside, meeting Dean's arched brow with a glare that dared him to stop her before gesturing again to the man in the ring. "Oi," she called. "Not scared, are you?"
Scared, Granger?
She shoved Draco out of her head, focusing instead on the swing in her opponent's walk that meant one of his legs was just slightly longer than the other. One of his hips was out of alignment; he should have really done something about that before showing up here. "And who are you?" he asked. His mockery was patronizing rather than rude. Who are you, little girl?
"I'm Marcus Flint," Hermione supplied, gesturing to herself as if that much were obvious.
"Like hell you are," the man replied smoothly, his gaze flicking to where Marcus stood off to the side, having left his post to linger near the ring. "That's Marcus Flint."
"Calling me a liar?" Hermione asked, batting her lashes. "That's hardly a way to begin a fight between civilized people. Gentlemen, even," she offered him, sweeping a low bow. "Shall we?"
"I'm not fighting you," the man said, his mouth stiffening. "Whoever you say you are."
"Well, that's a pity, but in fairness, I've met my fair share of cowards," Hermione told him, lifting her chin. "I find it's hardly worth the effort anyway."
His nostrils flared slightly, one fist curling in. "There's no win for me here," he muttered, clenching his jaw. "Even if I win, I beat a girl who barely comes up to my shoulder. No pride in that."
"Plenty, actually," Marcus called, smirking. "That's not just some girl."
"Oh, yeah?" the man prompted. "Then who is she?"
Marcus' grin broadened. "She's Marcus Flint," he supplied in bald-faced challenge, as the other man's expression heightened from frustration to anger.
"Walk away from Marcus Flint and that's hardly much of a feather in your cap," Hermione informed the man, taking a few steps back into the center of the ring. "Pretty sure that'll ruin your value for all these fine gentlemen," she reminded him, sweeping an arm out to reference the gambling-inclined goblins who sat on the other side of the barricade. "Willing to lose out on all your winnings tonight?"
The man stepped forward, seething. "Listen, bitch - "
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," came a drawling voice behind her, and Hermione spun, surprised, to find that of all people, Draco Malfoy now stood with his hands flat against the low wall of the ring, leaning casually against it. "Do my ears deceive me, or did I just hear you call my fiancée a bitch?"
"Who the fuck are you?" the man growled, as Draco leapt with a surprising dexterity over the barricade, striding haughtily into the middle of the ring.
"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Hermione hissed, reaching out to stop him as he danced quickly out of her reach.
"Doesn't matter who I am," Draco replied to the man, shrugging, as he proceeded to ignore her. "I think what matters is that you really ought to be taught a lesson - don't you think?"
"Oh yeah?" the man scoffed. "And what are you going to do about it, then?"
At that, Draco shifted his glance slyly, meeting Hermione's eye for half a second before turning his head back to face the opponent. He removed his coat, tossing it blithely to Marcus, and then turned to face her opponent, drawing his fists up.
"Malfoy," Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, this really isn't necess-"
But as the man wound up to take his shot, Draco ducked, promptly smacking his hand out and tapping the backs of his knuckles against Hermione's hip.
"You're in," he muttered under his breath, and then glanced up at the man, darting backwards with a charged look of humor on his face. "And it's not what I'm going to do, fucker," he added louder, with a barking laugh for the benefit Hermione's bemused opponent. "It's what she's going to do about it."
All at once, Hermione realized what Draco had done. By virtue of her opponent's swing, the fight had commenced; she grinned, figuring she shouldn't let the bets placed on Marcus Flint go to waste. The man threw a wild shot that she assumed was meant to hit somewhere near her face, though she slipped it easily, drawing him forward to step just to his right. It was a straightforward shot to the right side of his body from there, the bone cracking slightly beneath her knuckles, and he let out a loud growl of pain, stumbling backwards.
"Fuck him up, Flint," Marcus yelled gleefully, giving a loud whoop as Draco now stood quietly beside him, watching with his usual lofty amusement as he pulled his jacket back on. Hermione swept her braid over her shoulder, now beckoning for her opponent to return with a collected sense of control. The last time Draco had seen her fight, she'd been knocked out cold just for having noticed him. This time, for whatever reason, she felt a strange invigoration in her bones, content to turn the entirety of her concentration back the idiot who'd so foolishly thought her safe to mock.
He wasn't totally without a challenge, at least; he swung for her kidneys and she stepped in close, getting under the hit as she blocked it. From inside the radius of his swing she faked left, forcing him to throw up a painful block from his injured ribs, and then took a quick step back to aim for his jaw, throwing a left hook that sent him reeling. He stumbled, head snapping back, and she aimed a hard jab into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him (a merciful thing, probably, given the pain that must have been ricocheting through his ribs) before shoving him to the ground.
"You know, my betrothed is quite correct," Hermione panted, standing over the man with a smirk she knew without a trace of doubt she'd borrowed from Draco's collection of haughty expressions. "I hope you learned your lesson. That's a win for Marcus Flint," she added to the row of goblins, who eyed her with casual disinterest. "Write it down, gents - "
"I'm still not happy about it," Marcus informed her, meeting her as she stepped out of the ring, "but you looked like you needed it, so fine."
She permitted a half-smile, accepting the bottle of water he offered her before he walked away, tipping his head slightly in sly acknowledgement. She'd have pushed the issue, only there was someone else she wanted to speak to at the moment.
"Malfoy," Hermione called, beckoning for Draco to join her as he ambled over, hands coyly in his pockets. "You know," she murmured, gesturing to Marcus' back, "Flint here knows how to get Gagnon's potions."
"I do know that, actually," Draco said, prompting Hermione to frown slightly with surprise. "That's technically why I'm here - though, now that I think about it, 'fire' makes a lot more sense. I forgot this place has a name."
"What?" Hermione asked, but Draco shook his head.
"Nevermind, it's a vampire thing. But to your point - I've already got my associate to work on convincing Flint," he said, gesturing behind him to where Daphne sat in the crowd, casually overseeing Hermione's opponent where he sat getting his ribs re-grown. "And as for you," he murmured, dropping his voice slightly, "you and I need to have a talk about something completely unrelated."
Hermione grimaced. "Look, I know. I'm sorry I just walked out of there, but I just wanted to be alo-"
"I know you want to be impervious to everything that's happened to you - I get it, I do," Draco interrupted, cutting her off, "but for the record, you don't have to be over shit, Granger. Be as fucked up as you want. I can take it." He leaned forward, both his hands settling on the bared curves of her hips; she realized with a start that it was the first time they'd really touched in public, and she held her breath with surprise as he leaned in, his voice low in her ear and yet still somehow cutting through the noise of the Underground. "Granger, I promise, whatever nightmares you've still got locked up in that swotty little brain of yours, I'm not going anywhere," he murmured, and she swallowed hard, gradually permitting a tentative nod.
"I just hate it," she confessed softly. "Being reminded of everything. Of how much it still hurts."
"Fair," Draco determined, shrugging. "Then punch things if it helps you. Fight whatever you have to, do whatever you want. But I'm not going to make the mistake of letting you believe you're alone." He rested his forehead against hers, pausing briefly as her eyes fluttered shut, relaxing at his touch. "Take as long as you want," he said quietly, "and I'll be here when you're ready."
He drew away, turning to leave, and she stared after him, not sure what to say.
He was already out the door, in fact, before she regained the presence of mind to chase after him, bursting through the Underground's back entrance and lunging forward to take hold of his arm, yanking him back.
"Malfoy," she said breathlessly, and when he turned with surprise, she threw herself against his chest, snaking her arms around his neck and pulling his open mouth down for her kiss. He kissed her back, restrained at first - one hand on her hip, the other slid around her cheek - before shoving her back against the rear wall of the Arsonist, slamming one hand against the old stone and sending her shivering against it.
"Yes?" he prompted expectantly, bending his head to brush the pebbled skin of her shoulders. It wasn't exactly a warm night (and she wasn't exactly fully dressed, or even much more than partially), but she didn't care. She felt him tear at the inseam of her shorts, brusquely ripping through the fabric, and she let out a small, exuberant laugh, drawing the panels of his coat around them both. He hoisted her up in his arms, the dull ache in her shoulders from slamming her fists into twelve stone of massive arsehole finally settling to numbness in the cold as she fidgeted, scraping the chilled palm of her hand under Draco's shirt and sliding it down to his trousers.
"Are we really going to do this here?" she asked dazedly, even while she fumbled with his belt, shoving the buckle aside. "I feel like" (she hissed between her teeth as he slid his thumb against her, shoving her knickers aside) "this is" (a gasp as he shifted her, lowering her onto his cock) "I don't know" (a whimper as he widened her legs, pulling them tight around his hips) "vaguely unladylike - "
"You're not a lady, Granger," he growled in her ear. "You're a fucking queen - "
She laughed, delirious, and then immediately stopped laughing as he adjusted his hips, permitting a dangerously appealing degree of friction that only got worse (read: excruciatingly better) as his rhythm increased (fast, so fast, faster, more, harder, oh god yes) and she rolled her hips, delivering him to another sputtered groan.
"Draco," she said in his ear, tightening her hand around the back of his neck, and he paused for a single moment, waiting with one hand holding them up against the wall. "Thank you," she whispered, and then, at the resumed shift of his hips, she stifled a moan, biting it into the exposed line of his neck instead.
He said nothing in reply, though he didn't need to. By then, the conversation was something both far more primitive and vastly more interesting than either of their various realms of trauma. She came with a muffled cry, trying not to alarm (or scandalize) any too-interested passersby, and by the time he collapsed against her, slowly lowering her back to her feet, they'd already said precisely as much as either of them needed to hear.
"Good talk," Draco grunted, still panting slightly, and Hermione smiled.
"Definitely top five," she agreed, and kissed him again, applauding both their spectacular advances in communication.
The League of Eternality
Unplottable location
October 24, 2003
12:07 a.m.
"Come on, you've got to be a little curious," Cadmus had insisted with his usual clever innocence, offering Ignotus the vial with a perfect portrait of sincerity on his face. "And besides, who other than you could conceivably figure out how they work, hm?"
Ignotus stared at the vial now, contemplating it in the flickering light from the candles. Unsurprisingly, the vial had been sitting on his desk since that morning, untouched. At the time, Ignotus had accepted it with the vague understanding that Cadmus was most certainly not to be trusted, and he'd therefore planned to do absolutely nothing with it. After all, whether Cadmus claimed to be on one brother's side or the other, there was never any telling what his loyalties actually were.
Unfortunately, it wasn't as if Ignotus hadn't known exactly what the vial was the moment he'd seen it in Cadmus' hands, nor as if he hadn't wondered about that particular kind of magic for over half a century. He was a scholar at heart, and Dionisia's secrets had always been a mystery to him. It wasn't as if he'd known where her network was kept, so testing them had always been out of the question. Therefore, this, the vial Cadmus had somehow procured, was possibly his only option if he ever hoped to sort it out - and Cadmus wasn't exactly wrong, was he? This sort of thing - theory, magical construction, an inexplicable grasp of the fundamentals of what made magic work - were always Ignotus' specialty. Weren't they?
So perhaps Cadmus hadn't intended any harm. Or, more likely, Cadmus needed answers badly enough to come to Ignotus, knowing perfectly well he would have them. That, Ignotus reasoned internally, seemed well within Cadmus' modus operandi. He was extremely selfish, true, but mostly highly resourceful.
Eventually, Ignotus let out a sigh, eyeing the vial again and shaking his head.
"Fine," he exhaled under his breath, picking it up and resigning himself to the inevitable. "Let's see what you brought me then, Cadmus."
a/n: Dedicated to hufflebug, salovi, alttlbitlonger, and bookloverdream! FYI, I'm currently in the process of editing and reposting Youth, the jily prequel to Clean and Marked originally written in 2016, so if you have ever wanted to witness the unapologetic mass of dysfunction that is Marauder banter at my hands, now would be the time to join in.