How to Win Friends and Influence People

by olivieblake

Real heroes never quit. Real villains never die. Dramione with ensemble cast, post-war, espionage AU. COMPLETE.

36. Loyalty, Loyalty, Loyalty

Chapter 36: Loyalty, Loyalty, Loyalty

The Arsonist
Diagon Alley
October 23, 2003
10:07 p.m.

Ludo nearly missed the quiet presence of a cloaked figure slipping into the seat beside him, distracted as he was by the aftermath of Hermione Granger's fight. Luckily it had been yet another gamble that had worked out in Ludo's favor; probably better the way it turned out, actually, considering Marcus Flint was presently having a muted, disturbing-looking (or rather, it was Marcus who looked disturbed) conversation with a woman. Ludo only noticed there was someone beside him when he heard the soft sound of throat-clearing, immediately recognizing Ifan Hawkworth's tendency towards impatience.

"Is everything taken care of?" Ifan asked from beneath his hood, and Ludo lifted a brow.

"I thought you didn't come to the Underground?"

Ifan gave a sly half-smile. "Yeah, well, don't mention it."

Ludo took a long sip of his firewhisky, taking power where he could bide his time. "Everything's taken care of," he confirmed, deliberately not mentioning that Oliver Wood had been dispatched to do it for him. "The potion will be ready to go for the wedding, as you requested." He paused, considering the ring before them where Hermione Granger had been fighting. "I suppose that answers the question about whether Granger's pregnant, by the way. Looks like they're just rushing for the sake of rushing - or perhaps she's vastly more irresponsible than she looks."

He'd meant it to be a joke, but the Warlock was clearly in no mood for banter.

"No mistakes this time," Ifan warned him. "Have you considered how the potion will be delivered?"

Ah, the moment of truth. Ludo paused, eyeing the condensation on his glass before murmuring, "Actually, I thought you should do it, Ifan."

Predictably, silence.

"The last time w- I failed," Ludo clarified, obscuring the reference to Dolores, "it was only because there was a problem with the delivery. But if you deliver the potion, then he would have no reason not to drink it. If anything, he would be rude to refuse."

Still, Ifan didn't speak.

"I need you, Ifan," Ludo added, throwing a hint of desperation into the statement. "What good is the plan without you? You said so yourself. I need you if I want to be part of the Club, don't I?"

Amazing how easily lies still came to him.

"Yes," Ifan confirmed. "Of course. Though, you could just as easily deliver it," he mused, prompting Ludo to stiffen. "You are a person of considerable influence yourself, are you not? Perhaps you should be the one to offer it to him."

"Flattering, Ifan, but I'm no Warlock," Ludo reminded him. "Frankly, I'm surprised at my inclusion in the event. Not to say that I don't merit an invitation, of course - as you say, I'm hardly lacking influence - but I certainly hadn't expected it," he offered, sipping humbly at his beverage. "Still, it seems that 'Dramione' aspires to all sorts of publicity - "

"Fine," Ifan cut in gruffly. "If you wish me to do it, I'll do it." Ludo turned, bemused, to see that Ifan appeared to be sincere in his offering. A surprising turn of events, to say the least; Ludo hadn't expected concession. "It's an offering of good faith," Ifan explained, addressing Ludo's surprise whilst looking relatively unfazed. "I do mean to keep my word, Bagman."

Ludo blinked, a little taken aback, and then nodded.

"Well, there's one more thing," he admitted, meeting Ifan's offering with one of his own. "I have a source who tells me there will be a decoy Warlock Weasley at the wedding. Potter has arranged it for Weasley's security," he explained, and Ifan nodded. "We'll need to identify which is which."

"Easy enough," Ifan permitted. "Are they using polyjuice?"

"Presumably," Ludo replied, shrugging. "Either way, I trust you'll be able to identify the fake Percy Weasley from the real one?"

"Surely," Ifan agreed, and then looked up, catching sight of his son Rhys as he entered the Underground. "I should go. You'll keep me updated?"

Ludo nodded, surprisingly relieved. It seemed that the Warlock actually intended to keep his word.

"Of course," Ludo assured him, and didn't notice the nudge of a wand against the back of his neck until it was already too late.

"Forget this conversation," Ifan murmured, and Ludo's head went foggy, his vision swimming briefly just before the memory of the Warlock swiftly faded away.

Ludo looked up, blinking, and caught a man leaving, nodding politely to Rhys Hawkworth as he went. The man looked, strangely, like the Warlock Ifan, only that couldn't be possible. Ifan Hawkworth had made it very clear he wouldn't return to this place.

"Who's next?" Ludo called loudly, and brought his glass to his lips, only to find with dismay that it was empty. He frowned down at it. "Who drank my whisky?" he demanded of the gambler sitting next to him.

"You're drunk, Bagman," the man replied, sounding bored.

"Huh," Ludo remarked, suddenly feeling soothed and giddy. "Yes, I suppose I am."

---

10:19 p.m.

He headed out the door as swiftly as he could, pausing only momentarily as a hand shot out, gripping his arm.

"Be careful," a young woman warned, her pale, gleaming hair flashing against her dark skin. She was frowning, but her eyes were (somehow) smiling, as if she possessed both good and bad news and wanted to deliver them both in a single expression. "You're angry. I understand. Fate is almost never kind, and believe me, I would know. But still, you should be more careful than this."

"Sorry," he said gruffly, tugging his arm free. "You must have me mistaken for someone else."

"No, actually, I don't. Though I suspect I'm one of the few people in the room who isn't mistaken," the woman replied, and dropped her voice again. "You want to watch the whole world burn, don't you?" she murmured, and he stiffened. "You do. You want to light a fire that scorches everything in its path and swallows you up at the end of it, but that will not make you happy. It won't bring you peace."

He scoffed, forgetting himself for a moment. "Happiness is - "

"A rarity, yes, but not a lie." Her voice was stern, brisk, admonishing. "You want devastation now because you think you have nothing to live for, but you do. This will not be the end of you. Your loss does not define you. Your story isn't over." She paused, and he swallowed hard, taken aback by her insistence - and by how plainly she seemed to read him. "There's someone waiting for you," she continued, softening slightly. "There's someone waiting, so be steady. Have hope. Love fiercely, love brightly, because someone waits for you—Cadell Hawkworth."

He blinked, startled, and then she stepped back, gesturing for him to pass.

There was no way the polyjuice had faded; he'd been very careful with the particulars. His hands were still his father's hands, he still maintained his father's height and lumbering strut. He felt his face, the lines beneath his hands, and knew she could only be seeing him with something other than her eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked, and she shrugged.

"Not the one you're looking for. But still, I'd consider listening," she advised him, and then turned away, gliding elegantly towards the ring as he shook himself of the encounter, hurrying up the stairs and out the door.

"Daisy," he hissed into the dark, and she stepped out of the shadows, waiting. "It's Weasley," Cadell confirmed under his breath, pulling his cloak tighter around him and bending his head to speak to her. "You were right."

Daisy looked equal parts irritated and smug. "I knew it. He wouldn't stray from his initial targets. What else did he say?"

"He said the potion is ready. He has it - or will have it, soon. He also said something about knowing about a decoy."

"Hm." If she knew what that meant, she didn't go into detail. "Anything else?"

Cadell nodded. "Yes. Bagman asked for my father to deliver the poison."

"Typical. And?"

"I said I would, to keep him talking. And then I took his memory of the conversation." He paused, glancing at her. "I find it very unlikely that my father will agree to his request, though it certainly went a long way towards reassuring Bagman of his intent. You were right that Bagman doesn't trust my father."

Daisy nodded distractedly. "Well, it's hardly a loss if Bagman delivers it - "

"No," Cadell interrupted, flatly ruling out the possibility. "It will have to be my father. His ambitions need to be checked, without a trace of doubt. If he's not held accountable for his actions, it will never stop. He's corrupt, Daisy." He paused, grimacing as he considered his options were his father not to concede willingly. "Though, I suppose if he can't be compelled to agree, I could just impersonate him again. Or, I don't know, Imperius him - "

"Cadell." Her voice was harsh at first, and then softened. "Rhys allowed it this time, but if you do it again, he'll never forgive you."

"I - " Cadell hesitated. "Maybe not, but it's necessary."

She gave a single shake of her head. "Isn't that precisely what your father would say?"

At that, he flinched. "I never said I was better than my father," he grumbled defensively. "And anyway, once this is done, I'm going to Azkaban. I'll die there if I have to."

"Cadell." Daisy exhaled it sharply. "Rhys has no interest in punishing your father. He's only doing this so that you'll get your life back." She set her jaw, glancing defiantly up at him. "Don't make a liar of him."

Cadell opened his mouth to answer, about to retort, and then withered, thinking better of it. Surely there was nothing he could say to that.

"You're in love with my little brother, aren't you?" he noted instead, letting his gaze slide sideways to hers, and she immediately looked away.

"Love is a strong word," she said.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Cadell agreed. "Lucky he's worthy of it."

She grimaced. "Don't change the subject."

"I haven't. You're the one who brought up Rhys."

"Cadell - "

"Don't hide it if you feel it," Cadell advised, and then laughed. "You're perfect for him, actually. And I think he likes you."

Her cheeks were furiously flushed, her blonde ponytail swinging as she sheepishly ducked her head. "Stop."

"Fine, fine." Just talking about love, about the future, made him miss Gwen that much more fiercely. Love fiercely, love brightly, because someone waits for you, Cadell Hawkworth. He shuddered at the thought, disbelieving, and added, "I won't do anything that gives my brother a reason to resent me, I promise. But I still want my father brought down, so I want that promise from you."

"Done," Daisy assured him. "Believe me, Harry wants him taken out just as badly - but that'll be up to Draco and Hermione, I suspect. And Rhys." She sighed. "At this point, I think all I can do is pass on the information."

"Right, I know," Cadell agreed, fidgeting. He could feel the polyjuice's effects starting to fade, his limbs stretching against the foreign form of his father's stockier build. "You're sure they can be trusted? Draco and Hermione, I mean."

Daisy's smile broadened as she nodded. "Yes. You definitely can't tell by looking - they're an exceedingly odd pairing," she mused, "but yes, to answer your question, I do trust them."

"Good." The word slid through his teeth, nearly lost in a sharp exhale. "I'm ready for this to be over."

"I know." Daisy's voice softened again. "Though, you do know the end of this isn't the end of everything, right?"

Love fiercely, love brightly, because someone waits for you, Cadell Hawkworth.

"So I've heard," Cadell remarked drily, watching the last vestiges of his father's veins smooth from his hands before turning swiftly, heading back to his brother's flat.

---

10:29 p.m.

Parvati had grown to like the Underground. Having the gift was often like possessing a very excitable golden retriever, and she'd been itching to get out of Blaise's flat. Sex was interesting - was enjoyable and fun, and certainly rigorous - but hardly a substitute for other activities. The Underground was like a playground for divining, though she didn't always feel compelled to tell people the things she saw. Better she didn't, in fact; how many gamblers would want to know who would win the next fight, or who would suffer a catastrophic injury? But she couldn't help herself once she'd seen that Ifan Hawkworth was rather not Ifan Hawkworth at all.

She saw his face when she touched his arm; Cadell, the handsome firstborn who was carrying the burden of a lost love and a mighty disappointment. She'd left out some details when she'd revealed his future, of course, but he didn't need to know them now. He'd find out soon enough.

"There you are," Blaise growled, slipping an arm around her waist. "Are you really this intent on escaping?"

"You can't tie me to your bed, Zabini," Parvati reminded him. "At least not all night, anyway."

Blaise made a face, clearly in disagreement. "This place is full of miscreants."

"Daphne Greengrass is right there. Isn't she your friend?"

"I said what I said," Blaise replied simply, and Parvati laughed, turning to face him. "So," he ventured, touching her cheek briefly. "Are you planning to tell me why you can't come on Saturday, or will I have to pay for a reading first?"

"While your opinion of my gift continues to be the most flattering," Parvati acknowledged curtly, "I continue to persist that I can't tell you. Besides, how do you know this is the wedding I was talking about?"

"Well, whether there's a marriage is one thing, but it's certainly a wedding - "

"Oh, there'll be a marriage," Parvati told him. "That's definitely happening."

"Ah, marvelous. You continue to be creepy as fuck, Patil," Blaise said approvingly, "but if you say so, then so be it. I'd still like to know where you're going to be, though. Divine purposes aside."

"I don't actually know where I'm going to be," she told him. "I know what I'll be doing, but the geographic location remains vaguely up in the air."

Blaise sighed loudly. "You're being deliberately difficult, obviously, but fine. You're not the first person to dodge a social event. Though, what about Hermione's 'real' wedding then, hm?" he prompted. "Where will you be for that?"

Parvati considered it before answering. "Dead."

He choked on a mismanaged inhale. "What?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure, anyway," she amended, tilting her head. "It's all sort of… through a lens. Or a veil, I think, would be a more accurate description. Something gauzy, sort of flimsy. So I assume I'm dead."

"I - " Blaise froze, taking a hasty step back. "Are you serious?"

"Something's brewing. Something troublesome is starting, or started a long time ago, and it's certainly simmering now. But anyway, there's no real telling, so - " Parvati broke off, glancing at his expression of disbelief. "What?"

"How soon?" he demanded hoarsely. "I mean, are we talking - what, is this months from now? Years?"

Parvati paused. "Feels like days," she guessed after a moment, "though again, this is all extremely inexact."

"Inexact? Are you - is that a joke?" Blaise sputtered. You can't - you can't just - "

She frowned, watching him stumble over his words as he took another step back, staring at her. "Patil, you can't motherfucking do that - "

"Zabini, please. People die all the time." I would know. "Where did you think this was going? What were you going to do, build a life with me?" she prompted skeptically, cutting her gaze up to his. "A family? Were you going to marry me? Blaise Zabini, who doesn't believe in love," she mocked with a laugh, "were you going to build your life on me, despite resenting half the words that come out of my mouth? You were going to wake up one day and wish for your old life back, Zabini, and you can have it. My gift to you."

She wasn't sure if she'd meant it to be cruel, but it seemed to have struck him that way. He flinched.

"You said a stranger would harm me," he accused her, lips pressed thin. "You said I would fall in love and lose everything for it."

"I say a lot of things," Parvati agreed. "But you don't believe in my gift, so what does it matter?"

"Parvati." To her surprise, the sound of her name was anguished. "Gift or not, how did you imagine I would take the news of your fucking death?" She said nothing. "What did you think I would feel if you were gone? Do you really think I can just - go backwards? That isn't - " He let out a growl. "That's not how life works!"

Parvati, however, sighed with impatience. "Here's what I know about life," she replied steadily. "It ends. Sometimes tragically. But my life has never felt like mine at all, so it hardly feels like I can bother pretending I have any control over it. You asked me for the truth and I gave it to you. There," she pronounced brusquely. "Are you happy now?"

For a moment, he didn't move. She shrugged, letting her hands fall to her side, and turned to leave, pausing only at his motion behind her.

He reached forward, holding tight to the tips of her fingers. "I just realized something," he said, and abruptly, for reasons she couldn't possibly fathom, his anger was gone. "It's not me who doesn't believe in love, Patil. It's you."

She stiffened. "Let go of me."

"No. I listened to you. Now you'll listen to me." She turned over her shoulder, glaring at him. "What's your secret, Parvati Patil?" he whispered, pulling her close enough to brush his thumb against the bone of her cheek. "Is it that someone broke your heart once? That someone you loved only showed you that love meant nothing?"

"No." Yes. Defensively, "You have no idea what I've done, Zabini."

"Of course I don't. You've shared none of it with me." His grip on her tightened. "Losing you would break me, Parvati. Losing you would be losing everything. You were right." He closed his eyes and she shuddered, the motion of it passing from her bones to his. "You were right when you said I would lose everything, only it wasn't what you thought. It wasn't what I thought."

A cool rush of blood flooded her fingers, tingling in her veins. "Then don't love me. Just let me go."

His grip didn't relent. "Parvati," he said, and when she tried pulling away again, he repeated her name. "Parvati. Stop fighting me." A slow exhale, and she relented, holding still in his arms. "You have to know by now that I'd rather lose everything than have nothing."

She closed her eyes. "That," she exhaled after a moment, "is a very dangerous thing to say, Zabini."

"Rightly, I imagine, seeing as you predicted a very dangerous future for me," Blaise reminded her drily. "Almost as if I'm some sort of alleged contract killer, or other such criminally princely blackguard."

"You still don't believe me," she noted, wondering why the thought of it made her smile.

"Of course I don't. I don't believe in fate, Patil. Or second sight, or stars, or prophecies. But that doesn't render me incapable of believing in more important things."

He tilted her chin up, then, and she kissed him, or he kissed her. The sequence of things hardly mattered. Chronologically, the kiss was a kiss, and they shared it equally between them.

"Don't die, Patil," he said to her lips.

"No promises," she replied, and then added, grudgingly, "But since you're asking nicely, I suppose I'll do what I can."

She felt him smile. "Now that," Blaise determined with satisfaction, "is something I'm happy to believe in."

---

10:36 p.m.

"So you'll do it?" Daphne asked, as Marcus groaned, curling a hand around his mouth.

"I hope you know what you're asking me to do," he warned, and she nodded.

"I do. But I promise, it'll be worth it," she assured him. "It's a favor to me, and besides, we'll both be better off. As will he, whatever he chooses."

"You're sure?" Marcus asked, fidgeting. "You're positive he agreed to Bagman's request?"

Daphne nodded. "He thinks he has no options," she reminded him, and Marcus grimaced. "I thought so myself for a long time, and I imagine you feel that way too. As it turns out, though," she exhaled softly, "the world is rather limitless when you stop to consider how many other things you could be doing instead."

"Is this the Cad's doing, then?" Marcus mused. "Did he finally offer you something real?"

She considered it a moment, and then rose to her feet.

"No, actually," she determined. "I just finally realized the world is much too big to resign myself to a future I didn't choose." She leaned forward, brushing her lips against his cheek with her reserved, rose-scented perfection; she'd make a very good wife, Marcus thought, to a man who truly loved her. "I think it's rather more important to fight for something I want. Even if it takes me some time to figure out what that is."

Marcus sighed, the truth dancing on his tongue.

"I think I already know what I want," he confessed, and Daphne smiled down at him brilliantly, with all the fierceness of her affection.

"Good. Still, a deal's a deal. I'll let you think on it," she told him. "See what he says, and then tell me tomorrow. I'll stand by whatever you decide. See you then?" she prompted, transitioning with perfect ease from selfless offering to perfunctory farewell.

Marcus intestines twisted in opposition.

"See you then," he agreed, hoping whatever he offered at the time would be enough.

---

Emmanuel Gagnon's apprentice was a very private woman. It was one of the reasons Gagnon had chosen her, in fact - or so she assumed, anyway. Men who lived in the shadows preferred their associates not be very chatty; better still if they never revealed their actual names. No family, no friends? Perfect. No paper trail? Hired on the spot.

Gagnon's apprentice had no apparent history, no name, and no interest in gaining possession of either one. Gagnon called her Belle, and so that was the name she used. It suited her, they'd both thought. She had an almost palpable innocence - an ingenue's endearing sense of naivety - which she supposed was the quality most responsible for having earned Gagnon's implicit trust only four or so months into her apprenticeship. That, or he'd fallen inadvisably in love with her, if the gardenias he kept slipping into his potions were to be believed.

In any case, Belle certainly had a certain quality that meant any wandering she did in Knockturn Alley made her look lost and misplaced rather than purely up to mischief. She slipped carefully through the alleyways and waited for the pre-arranged portkeys to arrive, counting down the seconds on her antique watch.

With a pop, two figures appeared.

"Belle?" they asked in unison, and then turned to glare at each other.

"What are you doing here?" asked the broad-shouldered sandy-haired one, gruffly posing the question to a severe-expressioned man with a swoop of dark hair. "I swear to fucking god, Flint, if you're following me - "

The other man, Flint, scowled. "Fuck, Wood, flatter me, why don't you - "

"You must be Marcus Flint," Belle offered, extending a hand to the scowling one. "I'm Belle."

"Yes, Belle, and this is Oliver Wood," Marcus supplied on behalf of the other man, "who is, as you can see, something of a stubborn dickhead."

She artfully ignored him, sidestepping the comment even as the man called Oliver spared Marcus a disgruntled frown. "I have the potions if you have the payment," Belle offered to both of them, having concealed the vials in a charmed pocket of her robes. "As discussed in our correspondence, it won't come cheap. You're not the only ones to have sought me out. Scarcity," she explained, shrugging. "You understand. Many players continue to request it."

"It's not for me," Oliver assured her quickly, and Marcus rolled his eyes.

"I hardly think she's the person to tell, Wood - "

"What are you even doing here? What about all those bloody morals you're always going on about, Flint - "

"This seems like a you problem," Belle interrupted, pursing her lips. "Do you want the potions or not?"

"I do," Marcus confirmed. "He, on the other hand, is about to be talked out of it."

Oliver turned to him, glaring. "And why is that?"

"Because I have another suggestion for you. A request." Marcus gave Belle something of a darkened smile. "If, that is, the lady here is willing to permit my half of the transaction and let us send her on her way."

Belle held a hand out, waiting. "Payment?"

Marcus shifted around, dropping a bag of galleons in her hand. "One hundred and fifty, as requested."

"Fucking Christ," Oliver exclaimed. "What?!"

"I said it was steep," Belle reminded him.

"But for one dose?"

"One round," Belle corrected, "and yes. And unless you'd like to take your chances on an inferior product, I'm going to need the money right now, Mr Wood."

"I take it Bagman didn't give you the money to buy it?" Marcus prompted, giving a mocking little chuckle, and Oliver's expression contorted as a quiet note of alarm sounded in Belle's head at the name Bagman. "Imagine that, Wood."

"Flint, for fuck's sake - "

"Can we have a minute?" Marcus interrupted, turning to Belle. "I have to explain something to Wood here before he loses his mind. But I want that vial," he warned, brandishing a finger at her before pulling Oliver aside, speaking quietly to him.

Bagman. Ludo Bagman, of course. What would he want with this potion, of all things? Sometimes hubris went too far, Belle thought, shaking her head at the reminder that it had been Bagman who'd put Gagnon in prison. She listened as intently as she could while appearing as disinterested as possible, eyeing her fingernails.

"Why should I?" Oliver hissed from a slight distance away. "It's one favor, Flint. One. And if it gets me on a team and out of here - "

"Do me this one favor," Marcus beckoned in a low voice, "and I promise, one of two things will happen. One, I'll make sure Bagman never knows it was you. You can leave and play for the Wasps and I'll never bother you again, if that's what you want."

Oliver grunted something inaudible. "And two?"

"Me." The word was a breathless exhale. "Do it for me and I'll choose you, Wood. I know I fucked up, I fucked everything up, but if you do this for me, I swear, I'll get down on my knees and beg you to stay."

Oliver stared at him, stunned, but Belle wasn't here for a soap opera. If they weren't discussing Bagman, this was of no use to her. She sighed aloud, eyeing her watch.

"You have one minute," she told them, as Oliver jumped, abruptly startled into remembering he and his erstwhile lover weren't alone. "Made a decision?" she asked him, holding out her palm again, and he grimaced.

"You're sure," Oliver said to Marcus. "If I do this, you're sure he won't know? It won't cost me my spot on the Wasps?"

It was a blow, clearly, and even Belle felt it. Marcus, however, hid his disappointment well. "I swear."

Oliver nodded, taking a step back. "I changed my mind," he told Belle, and then turned to Marcus. "Get me that vial."

Marcus nodded, lips pressed thin, and then Oliver turned and walked away, heading out of the alley.

"Looks like that went well," Belle noted, removing a vial from her robes and handing it to him. "Can I assume you know how to use this?"

"Are you asking me if I know how to consume liquids?" Marcus grunted.

"Hey, I'm not the one who rejected you," Belle reminded him. "If you're angry, take that up with someone else."

"Fine." Marcus closed his hand around the vial, tucking it into his pocket and giving her a quick thrust of his chin. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Belle said. "Seriously. Don't."

"Yeah, yeah," Marcus mumbled, and then turned away, ambling down the alley.

He knew something about Bagman. Whatever it was, it was better than nothing. Better than being in Paris without any news for four months.

Belle sighed, casting a disillusionment spell and following after him as he wound his way through Knockturn, gradually making his way to Diagon. It seemed he was going about his business without interruption until a woman discreetly joined his side, prompting Belle to quicken her pace, straining to hear their conversation.

"Well?" asked the woman, and Marcus grimaced.

"He said he'd do it," Marcus replied. "Though, I don't think he considered my offering much of a reward."

"Well, I told you it was up to you," the woman replied. "Engagement or no engagement, your choice. All you had to do was this one favor - which I presume you've done?"

Marcus slipped the vial under his arm, passing it to her.

"Perfect," the woman said brightly. "I mean, sad to hear about Wood, obviously."

"Well, the cad had a point," Marcus told her. "There's such a thing as too little, too late."

"Oh, you don't believe that," the woman countered, disapproving. "He loves you. You love him. You just have to prove it to him a little more effectively, that's all."

Marcus groaned loudly. "All this optimism is intolerable, Greengrass," he told her. "What's gotten into you?"

"Funny you should ask," remarked another voice, a tall, dark-haired man falling in step beside them as he slid one arm around the woman's waist. At the sight of him, Belle stifled a gasp. "Ah, Mars, ever a pleasure to see you," the man offered, as the woman stood on tiptoe, brushing her lips coolly against his cheek. "I take it your business ventures went well, then?"

"Quite well," the woman confirmed. "Marcus has been exemplary."

"And the engagement?" the man prompted.

The woman glanced at Marcus, who shrugged.

"Off," he said. The woman let out a visible sigh of relief, and Belle caught the motion of the man's fingers tightening on the bodice of her dress.

"I was hoping you'd say that," the woman said. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"Yes. I look forward to it," Marcus said. "I find it's always best to deliver bad news in a very public, very disastrous way."

"Ah, Mars strikes again," the man said approvingly, and as Marcus parted with another gruff motion of his chin, the man tugged the woman closer, bending to kiss her with a tenderness that made something catch in Belle's throat. "And as for you, Daphne Greengrass - are you by chance headed back to headquarters?"

"Naturally," the woman, Daphne, replied. "Don't get any ideas, though, Cad. Wedding preparations will have my full attention, I'm afraid. But tomorrow…"

She trailed off suggestively, and the man smiled. "Ah, tomorrow," he said coyly. "Positively sparkles with possibility, doesn't it?"

"Shut up." Another kiss, intimate and full of wanting. "Shall we?"

"We shall," he replied, and with a pop, they disapparated.

Belle, meanwhile, flickered back into visibility, staring at the place where they'd been.

It hadn't been what she'd been looking for; then again, it wasn't nearly not. She quickly cast a patronus charm, waiting for the silvery fox to appear at the tip of her wand before murmuring her message.

"Shacklebolt," Belle said, trying and failing to keep the sound of triumph from her voice. "I found him."

Then she sent the fox into the air with a flick of her wand, the shape of it swirling and dancing away on a breeze.

---

Nott Manor
First floor office
October 24, 2003
3:45 p.m.

"Okay, so," Pansy exhaled, adjusting the golem-Percy's tie, "I brought you over here because we need to make sure it has your exact mannerisms. Not too much work, hopefully, as it's fairly advanced magic," she clarified, not bothering to conceal a bit of pride in her achievement. "But you being here while the enchantment is stabilizing will allow it to pick up some of your personality by proximity."

From where he was sitting, Percy crossed one leg over the other, tilting his head in consideration.

"Just how intelligent is this golem?" he posed curiously, and Pansy shrugged, stepping back to observe her handiwork.

"I imagine it can handle a series of somewhat simple concepts," she said. "It has about the intellectual capacity of an Imperiused person, I think, in that it knows what you know to be true, but probably can't think for itself."

Percy gave a crisp nod, rising to his feet to approach the golem. "So," he said to it, eyeing the details of its face. "What's your name?"

"Percy Weasley," replied the golem.

"Ah, even I know that's wrong," Pansy interrupted, cutting Percy off before he could speak. "It's Warlock Percy Weasley."

"Apologies," said the golem, offering Percy's curt head tilt of acknowledgement. "I am Warlock Percy Weasley."

"And how are you this afternoon, Warlock Weasley?" Percy asked.

"Fine," said the golem.

"You're well," Pansy corrected. "You're doing 'quite well, thank you' - "

"And you?" the golem finished for her, as she nodded, satisfied.

"You're very polite," she explained to Percy, whose mouth quirked slightly with amusement, inclining his head. "Ask him another."

"What is your view on the most recent proposed Ministry regulations for longevity-related crimes?" Percy asked.

"It's an atrocity," the golem said.

"Correct," Percy agreed, as Pansy rolled her eyes.

"This is a wedding, Weasley," she reminded him. "A social event? People aren't going to ask you your opinions on politics."

"Very well," Percy permitted, turning back to the golem. "Did you enjoy the wedding?"

"A lovely ceremony. Tasteful linens. Florals a bit much," the golem said, and Percy chuckled as Pansy glared at him.

"I'm choosing the florals," she shot impatiently, and he shrugged.

"And much as I admire your taste, your florals can be a bit much," Percy permitted wryly. "You have a fanciful palette and a background of wealth, Miss Parkinson. Excess comes rather easily to you."

Pansy sniffed her disagreement, turning back to the golem. "What do you think of him?" she asked, gesturing to Percy, and the golem turned its head.

"He is not very well liked," the golem said, "and rightly so. A bit of a try-hard, isn't he?"

Pansy glanced at Percy, arching a brow, and he shrugged.

"The golem is correct," he said, "albeit slightly uncouth."

"And what do you think of me?" Pansy asked the golem, and it turned its head back, fixing its gaze rather blatantly on her breasts.

"I desire you," the golem said, as Pansy folded her arms crossly over her chest. "I think about you often. You are frequently unclothed when I do."

"Uncouth," Pansy growled, glaring at Percy, but the golem wasn't finished.

"I admire you," the golem said, its voice strangely dispassionate, considering the words. "I imagine a life with you, a future. I have never slept well until I met you. Now I sleep soundly, and all of my dreams are filled with your face."

Pansy shifted with surprise to glance questioningly at Percy, who didn't turn his gaze away.

"You are my conviction. My reward. The prize at the end of a lonely, empty life," the golem postured, continuing to speak with an easy, measured version of Percy's voice. "I do not deserve you, nor do I think you aspire to someone as low as me. But if you would have me, I would love you well. In fact, I lo-"

"That's enough," Percy cut in, as Pansy raised a hand to her mouth, pressing it to her lips. "If anyone's going to tell her that," he informed the golem, "it will be me."

The golem nodded his courtly acknowledgement, and Percy turned to Pansy.

"This is extraordinary magic," he remarked. "You're an extremely gifted witch."

She stared at him.

"There is, of course, one problem. Everyone will know this isn't me." She blinked, and Percy shrugged, resolutely impassive. "It doesn't look at you as I look at you. Nor does it seem to possess my very well-cultivated subtlety, I should think." His mouth twitched into a smile. "But I'm sure with some tinkering you'll get there. As you know, the devil is in the details. The more attention you devote to the project, as ever, the more success you will derive from the work."

He turned back to the golem. "Now, as for your speech patterns - "

"Weasley," Pansy blurted, her hand abruptly dropping from her mouth as he turned to look at her. "Weasley, are you - are you not going to say it?"

"Say what?" he asked, as she once again waffled between straddling him and strangling him. "Oh, you mean what the golem was saying?" he guessed, frowning. "This hardly seems the time."

"Are you joking?" Pansy demanded, curling a fist. "Weasley!"

"She's very upset," the golem noted to Percy, who nodded.

"Weasley, you maniacal asshat," Pansy snapped. "Do you love me or not?"

Percy and the golem exchanged a brief conspiratorial glance, and then Percy turned towards her, considering her where he stood.

"Pansy," Percy said plainly, "how on earth could I not?"

Pansy, who had been holding her breath, flung herself into his chest without a second thought, wrapping her arms around his neck as he chuckled in her ear, one hand rising to cradle her hair.

"Miss Parkinson, we're supposed to be working," he reminded her, as she dug her nails into the notches of his spine.

"Right. Right. You," she said breathlessly, turning to the golem. "You're going to have to die, okay? Because there's no fucking way I'm letting it happen to him."

"Harsh but fair," replied the golem.

"And as for you," Pansy continued, turning back to Percy as he angled his reserved smile down for her. "Tell me again."

He arched a brow. "There is such a thing as overusing a phrase," he informed her drily, but she shook her head.

"Not from you. Not that phrase." She rose up on her toes, pressing into him. "Say it," she beckoned, one hand above the pulse of his heart, and he slid his fingers between hers, holding her. "Say it for real so that I can say it back," she murmured, tilting her chin up, and he kissed her slowly.

"I think you just did," he said quietly, and behind them, the golem sighed with contentment.

"Yes," it confirmed. "And also, now that I think about it, the florals are appropriately extravagant."

"They're not extravagant," Pansy growled, about to give the golem the full extent of her contemptuous disagreement, but Percy yanked her back, not letting her go.

"Miss Parkinson - "

"Pansy," she cut in, groaning.

"Pansy," he agreed, silent laughter alighting in the corners of his eyes as his hands dropped to her hips. "I believe your time would be better spent on other activities, don't you?"

"Here?" she asked, permitting herself to be backed against the bookshelf. "What, now? With - that watching?"

"Well," Percy chuckled, burying the sound of it in her neck while he slid his hands under her dress, "it's going to have to learn how to be me, isn't it? Perhaps you should close your eyes," he advised the golem, who complied with a sigh.

"Uncouth," the golem declared at a grumble, but by then, nobody was listening.

---

The League of Eternality
Unplottable location
5:48 p.m.

Nico knocked quietly on the door. "Ignotus?"

No answer.

"Ignotus," Nico attempted again, "Montague says you've been in there all day. Have you eaten?" Predictably, silence. He thought he heard the scratching of a quill, perhaps some murmuring, but nothing else. "Ignotus, I'm coming in," he called, and pushed the door open gently, bracing himself for what he would find inside.

Nothing too out of the ordinary, given the signs. There was a time when, once every couple of months, Ignotus would go on an absolute tear, discovering something that set his interests ablaze and poking at it, prodding the threads of magic until something (something Nico had never understood) came loose, revealing to him its secrets. That was Nico's favorite Ignotus; the inventor, the mad scientist, the frantic discoverer of beauty and greatness and the intricacies that somehow made every puzzling element of magic into a neatly plated affair.

To say Nico loved Ignotus Peverell for his mind was an understatement. In fairness, it was objectively very difficult not to. Even Antioch and Cadmus had been known to silence themselves in the midst of it, and Nico was certainly delivered to awe now, wandering inside to tiptoe past strips of discarded parchment.

It had been years since an occasion like this had last arisen; nothing had piqued Ignotus' interest since Lady Revel, or perhaps even before. The courting of her, followed by his anger with his eldest brother, had rendered Ignotus largely uncreative in the decades that followed. Now, recognizing the familiar signs of brilliance, Nico found he was at once concerned for Ignotus' health whilst being exuberant with excitement, certain that whenever Ignotus cracked his inevitable discovery, they would finally have another of their quiet fireside chats. Their old ventures into conspiracy were without a doubt the highlights of Nico's life; his memories tasted of cold fireside coffee and lazy, languid nights as the two of them inevitably talked well into the morning, the delicate promises of magic that had yet to be uncovered dancing like stardust through their heads.

"Ignotus," Nico murmured, closing a hand around his shoulder, and Ignotus jumped, startled. He'd left the youth enchantments off, wearing his older face, and already there were dark circles under his eyes from what Nico could see beneath his spectacles. "Are you hungry?" Nico asked, gesturing to the plate he'd levitated in behind him, and Ignotus frowned.

"It's like a memory," Ignotus murmured, answering some question Nico had not asked, "but not quite. Like something you might put into a pensieve, only there's something darker. It's that top layer, that little sliver that gives it its power, but what?"

"Sorry?" Nico asked, frowning. Impossible to tell from a distance what Ignotus had been working on; the desk was littered with notes and sketches.

"What gives a secret its power?" Ignotus posed, frowning, and Nico blinked. "Does it come from the bearer? Is it like an Unforgivable, where the more intensely felt it is, the stronger it is? Or does it depend on the exclusivity? What happens when someone shares it? Does the secret always lose power, or can the sharing of a secret strengthen its power?"

"Ignotus," Nico said, tightening his grip slightly. "Ignotus, are you well? What have you - "

He stopped, catching a glimmer of something from Ignotus' hand, and froze.

"That vial," Nico said, half-choking. "What's in it? Have you seen what's in it?"

"What, this? Cadmus gave it to me," Ignotus supplied absently, not looking at it, and Nico felt his blood drain from his face with panic. "Molecularly speaking, it's fascinating. It's not any conceivable matter, though that's no surprise. What form would an idea even take? I'm having one now," he realized, his expression suddenly going blank. "I wonder if I should try to capture it somewhere - "

"Ignotus," Nico ventured, suddenly urgent. "Where did Cadmus get this from? Who gave it to him?"

"I don't know," Ignotus said, and then paused, giving him a slow, curious glance. "Why?" Ignotus asked slowly; in his thinking voice, and Nico hesitated.

"I just - do you know what secret it contains?" Nico asked tentatively. "Because Ignotus, you must know. You must know I would never have - I wasn't - I only wished to - "

Immediately, Ignotus' gaze came into focus, snapping to attention. "Only wished to what?"

"I - " Nico hesitated, burdened with frustration and doubt. Why had he ever trusted Theo Nott with something as delicate as this? With his very heart, his soul, his most haunting betrayal? The moment Nico had met Theo Nott he'd compared him to Cadmus, and still - "Whose secret do you hold, Ignotus?" Nico pleaded breathlessly, and Ignotus rose slowly to his feet, his eyes narrowing as they met Nico's.

"Well, I know now whose secret I do not hold," Ignotus remarked coolly, setting the vial down on his desk. He turned his head away, considering something, and didn't look up when he remarked, "You're afraid, Nico."

Nico said nothing. He couldn't speak.

"You told me once you were loyal only to me," Ignotus reminded him, still not looking up. "Is that true?"

"Of course." It came out as a rasp. "Can you really doubt me, Ignotus?"

"As a reminder, Nico, I can and do doubt everyone. Hazards of being betrayed by my brothers one too many times." Ignotus curled a hand in slowly, letting it rest in a fist on his desk. "If you have something to tell me, Nicholas, I would advise you to do so quickly." He glanced up, his green eyes settling on Nico's. "I may be the youngest brother, and perhaps the most forgiving, but I am certainly not the least requiring of loyalty."

Hardly a reassuring thought.

"You have to understand," Nico said, swallowing, "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you. I thought I - " He faltered, averting his gaze. "I didn't think it would happen the way it did. I thought she would - I didn't think -"

"So it was you who told him." Ignotus' voice was hard and mean. "You were the one who told Antioch about Dionisia. You're the reason Antioch intervened, aren't you? I'd always wondered. He has eyes everywhere, it could have been anyone, so I wondered, but it never crossed my mind to believe someone I trusted had been the one to do it." His mouth hardened, lined thin with anger. "I might have forgiven you then if I'd known, Nico. But you lived with this? For years you lived with it, keeping it from me?" Silence. "And you say you didn't think it would happen the way it did. How did you think it would go? Did you think Antioch would kill her?"

Nico slid a grim hand over his mouth, unable to say a word.

"You did," Ignotus realized with hardened wonder. With sharpened disbelief. "You wanted him to kill her. You'd hoped that he would. Were you as disappointed as I was to find that he did not?"

He gave a mirthless laugh, and Nico flinched. "I thought I was losing you," Nico confessed quietly.

"Losing me?" Ignotus took a step forward, staring at him. "Why? Because I might have chosen her over the Club? What business was that of yours?"

"Are you serious?" This time it was Nico's voice that struck with violence. "Are you really so blind, Ignotus? This isn't about the Club. This was never about the Club! This was never, not once, about your brothers for me - not them, nor your ambitions, nor your rivalries. Not your hatred of each other, nor anything else named Peverell, except for you." His chest heaved, straining, and he grew progressively more sickened at the thought that this was how the words would escape his vault of secrets; vomited up, deposited in a pool at Ignotus' feet. "I was losing you and I was afraid," Nico half-whispered, burning from the inside out. "I didn't care that you might choose her over us. I only feared you would choose her over me."

Ignotus didn't drop his gaze. Didn't raise it. Didn't move, didn't blink, didn't breathe.

"I trusted you," he said through his teeth.

"Yes, you did, and it was the one time I failed you. I failed you because I loved you, selfishly, but believe me," Nico begged, reaching out as Ignotus instinctively pulled away. "If I have kept one secret from you, Ignotus, it is only that I've loved you all this time."

At that, Ignotus softened, or seemed to soften. Nico exhaled in relief, waiting, and Ignotus considered him a moment before speaking.

"Oh, Nico," Ignotus beckoned softly, reaching out after a moment to take Nico's scarred face in his hands. "Nico," he breathed out, and Nico stepped closer, waiting to catch the words from Ignotus' tongue as he leaned in, his lips near Nico's ear. "Oh, Nico," Ignotus said a final time, and then dropped to a whisper. "Unrequited love is hardly an excuse."

Nico's breath hitched as Ignotus held him firmly. Not intimately; more like captivity. Nico pulled away, but Ignotus didn't relent.

"You killed her," Ignotus said, his voice shattered and sharp. "You killed her, you betrayed me, you let it turn me against my brother. Who was it, I wonder, who decided it should be a secret?" He yanked Nico in tighter, spitting venom onto the side of his neck. "Let me guess. You asked my brother to keep your betrayal from me and he agreed, didn't he? And yet tell me, Nico, which of you I will spend eternity hating. Guess! Will it be the one I trusted to keep my secrets," he seethed, "or the one I specifically did not - "

"You're angry," Nico cut in bluntly, wondering if he shouldn't reach into his pocket for his wand. He shifted slightly, feeling for it in his trouser pocket where he was not pressed hard against Ignotus. "I understand, believe me. I deserve your anger, even your hatred, if you wish it. But please, you have to know, I did it - "

"Out of love?" Ignotus snarled. "What a strange concept of love you possess, Nicholas Flamel."

The moment Nico's hand closed around his wand, yanking it free with a gasp, Ignotus had already pressed his into the side of Nico's temple, his teeth gritted as he shook his head.

"What would you have me do now?" Ignotus asked him, his voice a dangerous breed of quiet. "If it were you, Nico, what would you do?"

"We've shared so much, Ignotus," Nico reminded him, his hands shaking now. He'd never been so close to Ignotus, and in the same token, never so far. "We've shared centuries of discoveries together; centuries of secrets and truths. We've faced highs and lows together, Ignotus - please, I beg you, let your memory be as long as our friendship has been - "

"Tell me the truth," Ignotus cut in, and there was no rage in it. No fury. Only a distinct, frigid coldness. "I want to hear you say it, and I will know if you lie, Nico. I have known you long enough to know your tells, so don't test me." The words were tipped with poison, the teeth behind them bared. "What had you hoped Antioch would do to Dionisia Trelawney?"

There was no point to lying.

There was no reason to pretend.

There was no turning back now.

"What I couldn't do," Nico replied softly.

Ignotus' mouth stiffened. "Which was?"

Nico looked up, not tearing his eyes away.

"You need me, Ignotus Peverell," Nico told him firmly. "You need me. I've cleaned up enough of your messes already. You have no idea the things I've done for you, what I've sacrificed for you, and what will happen to you if you cast me from your side - "

"What was it?" Ignotus demanded again, shaking him. "What couldn't you do, Nico?"

Surely you've thought about your own death before, Nico heard Draco Malfoy whisper from the recesses of his memory. Surely you've thought about the things you would have done… The things you'd want to say, and how you'd want to say them…

"I love you, Ignotus," Nico confessed, eyes closed. "I have loved you like I have never loved another. Like I never dreamed a love could even be. I have admired you, worshipped you, revered you, in every fit and form that you have taken. I have basked in every stray gaze, and I have lived in every quiet moment. Ignotus Peverell, I love you like she could have never loved you - "

"WHAT COULDN'T YOU DO?" Ignotus shouted, and Nico opened his eyes, Ignotus' wand digging painfully into the side of his temple.

I always knew I would die for you.

"Kill her myself," Nico said with a laugh, and then, after a beat of silence, he saw a flash of green light.

And then, once Ignotus' face had faded, Nicholas Flamel saw nothing at all.

---

Nott Manor
Living Room
6:01 p.m.

"I have to admit, I wasn't expecting to see this again," Theo said, holding out his hand as Cad dropped the vial into it with a perfunctory smugness. "You know, don't tell anyone, but I find it delightfully refreshing every time you prove me wrong."

"The truth always shocks people," Cad agreed, and gestured to the vial. "But really, thank you for that. It provided a surprising amount of insight - that," he clarified, "and it did provide me with the means for very necessary replication. All in all, you were very useful to me, which I appreciate."

Theo groaned. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning I was able to extract some minor secrets of my own - for my own experimentation, and, more relevantly, for my brother to play with," Cad replied, shrugging, as Theo gave him a doubtful look. "Ignotus is sort of like a child, or a bird," Cad explained. "He needs toys, shiny things. It makes him much more amenable to deals with me in the future."

"Psychologically speaking, that means his love language is gifts," Theo supplied. "Never an ideal match for me, a person who hates to give people what they want. What secret did you give him?" he added tangentially, and Cad rolled his eyes.

"I thought we were clear on the matter of secrets, Nott? And how they must, by necessity, remain secret?"

"Right, fine," Theo permitted, glancing distractedly at the vial. "So what'd you gather about them?"

"Well, I recreated a few. Ran a few experiments," Cad supplied. "If you tell a secret that's a lie, the vial gets corrupted. Burned my fingers twice." Theo winced, and Cad nodded. "Exactly. Apparently there's a fine line between secrets and deceit. However, if you confess a secret, it dissolves. Well, more like disintegrates - "

"That's all well and good," Theo agreed, obviously uninterested, "but how does the actual magic work?"

"Like a battery," Cad replied. "You know what a muggle battery is?"

Theo arched a brow.

"A single secret doesn't seem to do much," Cad explained, "but several secrets in a network conduct something of electricity. A circuit," he clarified, drawing it out in the air, and then Theo nodded. "The magic in a single secret is little more than a memory in a pensieve. You can view it, and that's all. Multiple secrets, though, are more like portkeys, in that it's a form of magic that exists on a grid. Traveling from place to place in accordance with time? Multiple circuits of magic," Cad explained, and Theo nodded again. "Multiple secrets? Excess power. An entire network of secrets and you have enough magic to power - I don't know. A non-sentient castle, probably. A massive explosive, for sure."

"I knew that network was dangerous," Theo said, shuddering. "There's something fucking weird about it."

"Well, I think in this case, 'weird' is a stand-in for the more accurate 'worryingly unstable,'" Cad confirmed. "It's genius, really, and not technically illegal by Ministry standards, but it's a lifetime's worth of work compiled by someone who was clearly much smarter than she looked. A pity she left no instructions. It's not lacking in value as is," he clarified, "but I highly doubt it will ever be reliable."

"Is it more dangerous to use, then, or to destroy?" Theo prompted.

"No telling," Cad replied, before smoothly adding, "Luckily it's missing."

"Missing?" Theo echoed, alarmed, and Cad shrugged.

"Antioch must have moved it. It's not at the Clubhouse," he explained, "but I'm not too fussed about that at the moment, considering that now I know it might literally murder everyone within a hundred square miles if anything goes wrong - "

"Which would be one hundred miles within what country again?" Theo asked hopefully, and Cad spared him a disapproving glance.

"Nice try. The point is, the secrets are being kept somewhere else," he finished, "but now we know how they work, so you can just hold onto that one until we have somewhere to put it."

"Wonderful," Theo said, closing his hand around it. "I presume you saw the contents?"

"Yes," Cad confirmed. "Antioch was right to point you in that direction, if positioning yourself to destroy Ignotus is in any way your goal. He has always trusted Nico implicitly, and Nico has long been in love with him. It's a bond that, if broken, would likely end in disaster. I do love the way Antioch thinks," he added cheerfully, and Theo shook his head.

"Funny isn't it, that love is such a weapon," he noted, and paused. "And secrets, too."

"It's all very meta," Cad agreed. "But, live as long as we have, and eventually you run out of things to bring to a knife fight."

"Right. Well, I'd better check on our impending murder," Theo said. "Will you be attending the festivities?"

"Do you mean the wedding, or the assassination?" Cad prompted.

"I certainly don't mean the crudités," Theo replied, as Cad permitted a chuckle.

"I may be around. I might not. No telling. In the meantime, I'd better go see what my brothers are up to," Cad finished, aiming himself towards the Floo. "Antioch's been especially broody, and Ignotus has been locked in his room all day - "

"Siblings. Nightmare," Theo called after him, as Cad passed him a salute, stepping through the flames and emerging into his wing of the Clubhouse on the other side.

For a moment, he was caught off guard, wondering if he'd somehow come to the wrong place. His office, only newly refurbished, had obviously been ransacked; he hadn't collected much in the way of possessions, but furniture had been gutted and overturned, every drawer of his desk charmed open as his notes floated in the air, strewn about and weightless.

"Ignotus," Cad growled, catching sight of him in the center of the storm, and his younger brother turned, his face suddenly old and haggard. "Ignotus?" Cad asked uncertainly, stumbling mid-stride, and instantly, Ignotus' face rippled over and smoothed out, restored by his usual enchantments. "What are you - "

"Where is it?" Ignotus hissed. "The memory. The secret. What have you done with it?"

Cad halted in place. "What secret?"

"Don't lie to me, brother," Ignotus snapped. "I know you have it. I know what Nico did - what he's done. I know you know about it. Give it to me, I want to see it for myself - "

"Ignotus." Cad stepped forward, taking his brother's shoulders firmly. "What's going on? What is this?"

"Nico. He lied to me. He lied." Ignotus spat the words out, furious. "He killed her. Even if it wasn't his wand that did it, he may as well have just killed her, Cadmus - and not even you ever wronged me like that - "

"This was years ago, Ignotus. Years." Cad frowned. "How did you find out?"

At that, Ignotus spared him a halting laugh. "Isn't it funny how secrets live forever? Isn't that the funniest thing about them? They only grow stronger over time, Cadmus. They don't age like human beings age. Add that to your notes." He struggled away, shoving Cad with a jab to his chest. "Secrets ferment like wine. Like poison. More toxic over time - "

"I don't have it, Ignotus," Cad cut in firmly, hands outstretched. He circled Ignotus carefully, watching his brother's cold gaze follow him as he moved through the room. "I know what Nico did, yes, but I don't have the secret. You won't find it here."

Ignotus' mouth twitched. "I know you're telling me the truth," he acknowledged after a moment had passed, though he didn't look soothed by the thought. "You're my brother, Cadmus, and I have watched you lie to me and to everyone since we were children. But I also know that to you, a truth and a half-truth have no distinction." His expression soured. "I swear, if you're keeping something from me - "

"Having it won't bring you satisfaction," Cad reminded him. "You already know what it contains, do you not? Ask Nico about it, if you want answers. Ask Antioch, even - "

Ignotus flicked his gaze to Cad's, expressionless. "I can't ask Nico."

"Why not?" Cad prompted, and at Ignotus' telling silence, he blinked, registering a nameless sense of apprehension. "Ignotus. Brother. Why not?" he asked again, stepping closer.

Ignotus' face didn't change. "Ask him yourself," he said coolly, and as Cad took a step, Ignotus disapparated, his boyish face gone as easily as it had appeared.

---

12 Grimmauld Place
6:56 p.m.

"Ah, Basile, could you hand me that pin?" Mel asked, holding a hand out for one as Hermione squirmed, beginning to feel restless and lightheaded. "Don't lock your knees," Mel scolded, nudging the back of Hermione's thigh and nearly sending her toppling off the makeshift platform. "I want to make this train perfect."

"Does the dress really need a train, though?" Hermione asked weakly. "I mean, what if I need extra mobility or something - "

"What, are you anticipating a murder during the ceremony?" Mel asked vacantly, as Hermione hid a grimace. "If you're wearing a Melibea Warbeck original, Hermione, it's going to be sensational. You already only gave me a week to do it - not that I need much longer," she added, exchanging a conspiratorial glance with Basile. "Perfection requires inspiration, true, but time is only a necessity for amateurs."

"Plaaaaaytime in le box pour amateeeeeurs," Basile agreed nonsensically, and Hermione sighed loudly, giving her knees a quick bend.

"I do like it, Mel," she conceded, running her fingers over the shape of the neckline. It was a breathtakingly simple design that was perfect for her figure, cut with a low back and a dramatic train. It was also from charmed silk, meaning no wrinkles and a magically fluid ease of movement. All in all, a dream wedding dress - if only it were for something not so entirely pretend. "I just - given everything, I don't want to take up too much of your time - "

"Nonsense," Mel cut in, her mouth full of pins. "Basile," she mumbled incoherently, "where's Kreacher?"

"KREEEEEEEEAAAAAACHER," Basile called, prompting Hermione to jump as the elf appeared beside them with a crack, giving her a solemn look of disinterest. "You weeeeeeell feeeeex le haaaaair now, oui?"

"Kreacher is not being thrilled about Miss's unrulings," the elf said, referring (ostensibly) to the state of Hermione's mismanaged curls.

"Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaase," crooned Basile.

Kreacher sighed, snapping his fingers, and then Hermione felt her hair swept up with a woosh like a conjured breeze, suddenly lifted from her shoulders and twisted back none-too-gently to finish in some sort of complicated twist that she slid her hands over with ease.

"Oh, Kreacher, thank y-"

The elf vanished with a crack.

"Well," Hermione sighed, as Mel chuckled softly. "He and I have a very tempestuous relationship."

"EET LOOKS NIIIIICE," Basile shouted, aiming his voice upstairs just before Kreacher reappeared at the vampire's feet. "Ohhh, zere you aaaaare, I saaaaaid - "

"Kreacher is hearing Master's vampire," Kreacher replied solemnly, "and Kreacher is already knowing." With that, he disappeared again, casting what Hermione thought was a rather needlessly smug gaze in her direction.

"Nice," Mel agreed approvingly, taking a step back to admire her handiwork. "Basile, what do you think?"

"Zees weddiiiiiiing ees happening veeeeeeery queeeeeeeeeckly," replied Basile.

"No, about the dress," Mel corrected, as Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Ahh, LA PERFECTION," Basile announced. "Eet ees veeeery - how you say?"

"Good?" Hermione supplied optimistically.

"Oui," Basile said. "Spectaculaaaaaire. Stupéfiaaaaaant. Sensationneeeeel. Zees aaaaaaare all good, yeeees?"

"It's all in the same vein, yes," Hermione confirmed, all three of them looking up as she heard a two sets of impending footsteps.

" - right, and that's what I said, Malfoy - "

" - still, it's nice that some things remain consistent at least, and yes, to answer your very unwelcome question, I'm nearly there, but - "

Hermione froze, catching Draco's startled gaze as he paused in the doorway, a tickled Harry at his side.

"Granger," Draco pronounced, somewhere between awed and bemused, and then immediately smacked one hand over his eyes. "Fuck, I - I'm sorry, I didn't know you were here, I was just - "

"Mel, can you help me with something in the kitchen?" Harry asked innocently, gesturing over his shoulder. "Basile, you too, actually - "

"Eet would be my greeeeeeeatest honooooooor," Basile crowed in response, chasing after him as Mel turned to wink over her shoulder, flashing Hermione a broad, triumphant smile before following.

"Malfoy," Hermione sighed, stepping off the platform to knock his hand from his eyes. "What are you doing here? And also, what is this - "

"It's bad luck to see the bride," Draco protested weakly, though in spite of his opposition, he indulged a fairly gratuitous pause, his grey gaze sweeping over her from head to toe.

"Right, true, one quick thing though: we're not actually getting married," Hermione reminded him, giving his shoulder a quick backhanded smack. "And I would think I have better things to do than sit here being pricked by pins, don't you? I could show up in a burlap sack and it wouldn't matter even remotely - "

"You look beautiful," Draco interrupted, clearing his throat, and despite the fact that he had very obviously not been listening, Hermione permitted her mouth to snap shut, cutting herself off in favor of staring disbelievingly at him.

"You like it?" she prompted (with more hesitation than she might have preferred), and Draco nodded, his mouth quirking up at the corners.

"I suppose I forget from time to time that you do clean up rather nicely," he told her, transitioning back to his usual smuggery and giving her an unapologetic smirk. "And besides," he drawled, "wedding or no wedding, people will still see you. Better to give them something to look at besides my exceedingly slimming cummerbund."

"I'm sort of expecting Hortense to show up in a matching dress," Hermione remarked, and Draco nodded his fervent agreement. "Or Thibaut, for that matter."

"Well, one can only hope," he agreed, and reached out, briefly passing her cheek with a gentle brush from his fingertips before withdrawing his hand, fixing it firmly at his side. "Anyway. I have the potion nearly finished," he informed her, and paused. "Well, both potions, I should say."

"Oh. Good." Hermione stiffened, suddenly feeling immensely hot. "Were you telling Harry?"

"Yes. He and Weasley will have a few others from the Auror department there."

"Ron's involved?" Hermione asked, surprised, and Draco shrugged.

"Well, it can't hurt. Again, one hopes." His gaze skated over her again, consistently appreciative, though he continued without much inflection. "Pansy's finished the golem, Weasley-the-elder has been prepped, the event itself is finalized and planned to Daphne's assured perfection. The Club's been informed, according to Theo, so all that's left is to - "

"Not fuck everything up?" Hermione guessed, and Draco nodded.

"Or try very hard not to, if we're setting achievable goals," Draco said, and shook himself. "Which is a Theo-ism, and therefore I regret it immensely."

"Funny," Hermione remarked, shaking her head slowly. "This is the night before my wedding, and I'm not even thinking about the wedding part."

"There are many layers of hilarity, yes," Draco confirmed, "though as you pointed out, there's no actual wedding. So it hardly merits much consideration."

"Right," Hermione permitted with a sputtered laugh. "Right, I'm eternally bound to you," she remarked drily, "but at least there's no swearing-in ceremony."

"Marriage is kind of outrageous, isn't it?" Draco prompted, as she grimaced her agreement. "It's sort of like 'oh, things are very nice as they are with you and I'd very much like them not to change, please accept this ring and agree to live with me until one of us dies' - "

"Yes, and 'please sign this, too, because otherwise how can I be comfortably assured you won't pop out for some milk and never return' - "

"Ah yes, and to think, I didn't ask your father for permission. Now how am I supposed to validate the patriarchy?" Draco lamented, and Hermione abruptly stopped laughing, coughing on a bit of poorly-handled air. "Are you okay?" he asked while she choked, one of his hands curling around her shoulder as she pressing hers into her stomach. "Christ. Breathe much, Granger?"

"He's - you can't - " She straightened, sputtering, and rubbed vacantly at her chest. "You can't actually ask him," she admitted slowly. "So, um. We'll have to think of another way to archaically transfer me as property - "

"Ah," Draco said, murmuring it to himself as his thumb stroked the bone of her shoulder. "I'd wondered." He stepped forward, brushing his lips lightly, delicately, on the spot where his touch had been. "You don't have to talk about it. I can put two and two together."

She looked away, nodding. "Anyway," she continued, clearing her throat. "I guess we should talk about some sort of evacuation plan. You know, for when a Warlock inevitably dies and the guests attempt to run screaming out of the venue - "

"Potter's got it," Draco assured her, tilting her chin up. "Anything else?"

She hesitated, wondering if she should tell him.

Three years ago, she'd been sick to her stomach the night before her wedding to Ron. She hadn't slept at all, in fact, and had woken up with faint bruising under her eyes, as if her doubts themselves had emerged from her intestines to assault her sometime while she'd been staring at the ceiling. She had imagined promising herself to him, over and over, and it had felt at once very natural, very comfortable, and yet vaguely terrifying, the walls of possibility closing in around her with a sprawling sensation of captivity. So many avenues were going to be closed, she had thought to herself then. There were so many lives she could have lived, so many roads she could have taken, and she could see them all fading away and drifting off into a vacant abyss each time she imagined the moment she promised her life to Ron Weasley.

Part of her wanted to tell Draco Malfoy that her pattern recognition was, in fact, highly sophisticated, and therefore she was not entirely certain that she wouldn't be marrying him tomorrow. What if their timing was off? What if distractions became necessary? She'd been in a relationship with him, engaged to him, and then bound to him all by a series of unanticipated (unfortunate? unlikely, at the very least) events, and not once had she felt ready at the time. If some higher power saw them fit for entertainment, then perhaps she would end up married to him tomorrow.

But for some inexplicable reason, not one thread of her was scared.

"You really think I look nice?" she asked, discarding the confession in favor of curling a hand around his cheek and smiling up at him. "Basile said so, but Kreacher seemed considerably less enthused."

"The dress is perfect. Tasteful." He slid his hand over her hair, cupping it around the back of her neck. "You," he murmured, "are exquisite."

"Pity I come with no dowry," Hermione lamented facetiously, and Draco chuckled, setting his free hand on her waist.

"Hardly," Draco countered. "You come with adventure. With a charming volatility, with unbearable tension, with wit and conversation and fists, and an admirable lack of social graces. With promises you strangely keep." She glanced up at him, watching his smile spread slowly; a horizon of promise. "A tidy sum, all in all, and I would be the one getting a bargain. You, unfortunately, only get - "

"A manor house," Hermione supplied. "Two manor houses, plus two mad French cousins." She paused, thinking. "Also, a sizable fortune."

"Ah yes, how could I forget," Draco drawled. "Nevermind what I said about the bargain, clearly I'm being flagrantly rob-"

She cut him off with a kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I look forward to not marrying you tomorrow, Draco Malfoy," she said.

"Do try not to get killed," he agreed at a murmur, and she smiled, failing to notice the audience that had gathered in the doorway.

"Oi," Mel called, clapping her hands and startling them apart. "That train isn't finished. Out with you, Draco Malfoy."

"Yeeeees, you muuuuust leeeeeeeeave," Basile declared, though he looked slightly saddened. "Even eef zis ees veeeeery niiiiice."

"Well, you heard the vampire," Draco said, releasing Hermione and nodding to Mel. "Warbeck, a pleasure, as ever." He paused before leaving, passing Hermione a final unbearable smirk. "Bye, Granger."

She nodded after him as he left, turning to face Mel and Basile with a sigh.

"What?" she asked, catching their indiscreet exchange of glances. "Seriously. What?"

"Eet ees veeeeeery niiiiiice," replied the vampire, preening with approval.

---

The League of Eternality
Unplottable location
7:14 p.m.

"ANTIOCH!"

Immediately, the hairs at the back of Antioch's neck rose in fervent opposition. His brother's voice nearly always had that effect on him, particularly when distressed; he could count on one hand how many times he'd heard it that way. Cadmus' voice, sleek and dry and most commonly used for irritating quips, took on a very distinct timbre when in a panic. It reminded Antioch of their childhood; awoke something primal in him. Abruptly, his mind flashed with the recollection of finding a young Cadmus curled around his arm, having broken it falling from the branch of a decaying tree. Cadmus' dark head had been bent, his clever little fox's face in anguish. The sound of his name then: Antioch!

Brother, help me!

"What is it?" Antioch said, turning as Cadmus burst through the doorway, panting.

"Nico," Cadmus said, eyes wild. "Dead."

"Revive him," Antioch replied easily, waving a hand from where he leaned against his desk. "I trust you know how? Nicholas will have several records, and surely a horcrux, or an aevum - "

"Antioch!" Cadmus shouted. "He's dead. He's murdered. Ignotus - " A grimace. "Ignotus killed him."

At that, Antioch froze, frowning into nothing. "What do you mean Ignotus killed him? Why would he - "

"It's my fault." Cadmus' expression was grave. Brother, help me! "I - I didn't think - " A sharp exhale. "I didn't actually think he was capable," Cadmus murmured, the sound muffled into the palm of his hand as he curled it soberly around his mouth.

Antioch shifted, slowly wandering to his decanter and pouring a glass as he gestured for Cadmus to sit. "You told him, then," Antioch guessed, testing the beverage before withdrawing a second glass, pouring one for his brother. "How did you find out?"

Cadmus looked up. "I told him nothing. And as for how I knew," he added at a growl, "does it matter?"

Antioch considered it. "No, perhaps not." He shifted, placing the glass in front of Cadmus as he took a seat in the opposite chair. "It was my most foolish decision, separating Ignotus from Lady Revel. But I had already lost one brother," he remarked, eyeing the flash of liquid in his glass as the flames danced from the fireplace. "I was rather hell-bent on not doing it twice."

Cadmus sniffed testily at the whisky, sparing Antioch little more than a bitter glance.

"I'm not going to feel sorry for you," Cadmus informed him stiffly. "You killed me three times, Antioch. If the mistake was in losing me, I daresay you made it enough times to be quite sure."

"I lost you long before I killed you," Antioch reminded him, and took a slow sip, letting the alcohol burn a little sincerity into his tongue. "What did you think would happen upon your return, Cadmus?" he asked, not looking at his brother. "Did you think you would turn him against me? There was no need." His own voice sounded tired, wearied. Not its usual battle-hardened blade. "Ignotus has been against me for decades."

For a moment they sat in silence, the wood crackling from the fire.

"This isn't the Ignotus I remember," Cadmus confessed eventually. "This is not the brother I knew. And I have no idea where he could be now, or what he might be doing - "

"So track him," Antioch suggested neutrally. "No one on earth could ever hide from you, Cadmus. Ignotus would already know as much."

"Exactly." Cadmus grimaced. "He knows I can find him. If I track him, there may be an ambush waiting for me."

In spite of everything, Antioch let out a grim chuckle at the woeful look of uncertainty on Cadmus' face. "Ah, brother," he murmured. "Are the stakes finally real for you now? No more playing pretend?"

Cadmus glared at him. "Don't mock me, Antioch. You let things come to this."

"Ah, it's not so dismal, Cadmus. We are the League of Eternality, are we not?" he prompted, taking another sip. "Nicholas would have been prepared for this. I'm certain he has something from which he can be resurrected; and as for Ignotus, he will come around - "

"Will he?" Cadmus demanded. "I've never seen him like this. I've never known him to hold so much hardness in his heart. Have you?"

Antioch didn't answer. Of course he had. How else to explain the last half-century?

"When I died," Cadmus continued morosely, "Ignotus worshipped you. He loved Nico. Perhaps not as Nico loved him, but still." Silence. "I have known him his whole life and never known him to be capable of so much resentment."

"His whole life, minus some," Antioch reminded Cadmus. "He fell in love, Cadmus. It changed him, and you missed it. He fell in love with a woman and out of love with my ideals some time ago."

"But that's precisely it," Cadmus argued. "Ignotus never loved people. Only ideas, only knowledge!" He rose to his feet, his fingers tight around his glass. "I wanted discord," he admitted, as Antioch rolled his eyes. Once a fox, always a fox. "I wanted him to resent you, I wanted you to mistrust him. I wanted to watch this Club burn from the inside out, Antioch, to watch it sweat us out like a fever - but I had no idea things were so far gone."

"You always did want chaos," Antioch agreed. "But this Club has seen chaos before. Why should it not? Immortality is no small thing, no easy thing," he acknowledged simply, "but for that, this Club will not be easily destroyed. Not even by you."

"Easy for you to say," Cadmus grunted. "You've never died. More importantly, you've never been killed by Ignotus, which is apparently no longer something only I can say - "

"Revive Nico," Antioch suggested again, shaking his head. "You seem like you'd be glad of the distraction. I'd also guess you'd manage it in half the time it takes Nico himself," he mused, "which will infuriate him to hear upon revival - "

"This!" Cadmus exclaimed, flinging an arm out and startling him into silence. "This is part of it, Antioch! It's just one thing among many you don't understand!"

Antioch grimaced, rubbing his temple. "Fine. Explain it to me then, Cadmus - "

His brother was already pacing. "You can't simply revive him, Antioch," Cadmus muttered, waving a hand as he spoke. "You may not have the version you started with - you don't know what will happen when he comes back! You've never done it, Antioch," Cadmus reminded him sharply, pivoting to face him, "but I've done it three times. The version you are when you return is different. Who you are when you return is not yours-"

He froze abruptly, stunned, and Antioch frowned, waiting.

"Antioch," Cadmus said, blinking. Brother, help me! "Antioch," he repeated hoarsely, "did Ignotus… die?"

A pause.

"Of course not," Antioch pronounced gruffly. "I would have known. Obviously I would have known if he had - "

"Why? Because Nico would have told you?" Cadmus demanded, and to that, Antioch said nothing. It wasn't as if he watched Ignotus at all hours; the youngest Peverell was known to disappear from time to time, and it had never worried him before. He'd merely trusted Nico to know.

"What if Nico didn't know either?" Cadmus pressed, echoing Antioch's thoughts. "You said yourself Ignotus was different. Nico said as much, too - and considering the strangeness of his relationship to Lady Revel -" He trailed off, faltering, and fixed his gaze on Antioch. "What if Ignotus died and was resurrected," Cadmus postured emphatically, "and now we have no idea what kind of man lives inside our brother?"

"I - " Antioch hesitated, shifting testily. "It's merely a theory, Cadmus. Beware a theory doesn't become truth in your mind."

"Tell me I'm wrong, then," Cadmus demanded brusquely. "Tell me I'm wrong and I'll retract it, but you can't, Antioch. You can't."

True, he couldn't. Certainly not as inescapably as he'd have liked to.

Antioch stared warily at Cadmus then, considering him, before rising slowly to his feet, striding forward until his shoulders aligned with those of his middle brother.

"Does this mean you side with me now?" he asked Cadmus. "Can I trust you, brother?"

Unsaid: tell me who you're loyal to.

"If the question is do I want Ignotus to kill me again," Cadmus replied, setting his jaw firmly, "then the answer, dear brother, is a resounding no."

"No, Cadmus, that wasn't the question," Antioch sighed, strangely relieved, "but with you, I always set a low bar."

"What will he do?" Cadmus asked grimly, and Antioch shook his head.

"It's not what he will do. You are used to sly manipulation, Cadmus - to setting traps and hunting with lures - but that's not how wars are won. It's not what he will do," Antioch repeated, and murmured, "it's what we will do."

"I don't like brute shows of strength," Cadmus argued, stiffening in distaste. "And you, brother, are certainly no good at them. You love to overplay your hand."

"Ah, but did I suggest something?" Antioch reminded him, scoffing. "No. We need answers before we act."

To that, Cadmus nodded slowly. "There's only one person who might know," he murmured, and Antioch reached out, closing a hand around his brother's shoulder.

"Get the divinist," Antioch confirmed, and Cadmus turned without another word.

---

a/n: Dedicated to atelokin, GAgal, and FrancineHibiscus! Shall we have a wedding next week…?