Author's Note: I had this chapter mostly written already, hence the super fast update. Huge thanks to those that still managed to sneak a review in, despite the short time lapse between chapters: siewchee12345, Chester99, fuzzy6, and Frogster!

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The next day was Monday and Hermione went into work early to get ahead of things for the week. When Toula strode into their shared office two hours later, Hermione was already on her second cup of coffee and her bangs were shading her eyes as she bent over a piece of parchment, quill in hand. Toula tossed her purse and other things down by her desk, sat, and swiveled in her chair to face her colleague.

"Hermione?"

She looked up. Toula slapped a copy of Witch Weekly into the center of her friend's desk.

"What's this about?"

"Take a look at that," the Greek woman suggested. She began to idly twirl one of her teased curls around her finger, all the while not taking her eyes off her friend.

"This was printed this morning," Hermione observed.

"I know, I get it delivered every Monday."

The cover featured a beautiful Scottish witch, who batted her eyelashes and blew kisses from her hand. The tagline claimed she was a renowned dueling champion. "What about it?"

"Oh, I don't know," Toula sang, too nonchalantly for Hermione's comfort, "why don't you look on page three?"

Hermione lifted the corners of the pages as though they were dirty tissues, hoping to make her disgust for gossip magazines apparent. Flipping to page three as Toula had suggested, her eyes grew round and she groaned out loud. A black-and-white photograph, clearly snapped from the sidelines at Abruzzese's party less than two days ago, pictured Draco arm-in-arm with Hermione. Below this was the bold title:

PURE NO MORE?

By Rita Skeeter

"Oh no," she moaned, "I can't read this!"

"Oh yes," Toula disagreed, grinning in an almost shark-like manner. "We are going to discuss every word."

Burying her face in her hands, Hermione uttered, "This isn't happening…"

Trying to fight back a colossal grin and not succeeding, Toula called upon her most theatrical voice to read aloud: "'The Malfoy family is perhaps most famously known for being on the wrong side of history, only pardoned from legal retribution following their open support of You-Know-Who because of their massive wealth, this reporter can confirm. As is the case with many ancient pureblood lineages, the last remaining member of this prestigious family – twenty-one-year-old Draco Malfoy – has long been expected to announce his engagement to a young pureblooded woman.'"

"No more!" Hermione protested. She knew Rita Skeeter well enough to know that this relatively innocuous beginning was likely to become embarrassing – not to mention, fabricated – fast.

Toula was relentless. She continued: "'Recently however, young Mr. Malfoy was observed in the company of none other than famous war heroine turned radically liberal lawyer, Hermione Granger. The twenty-two-year-old witch has been linked to several well-known wizards in her day, including the likes of Harry Potter, Viktor Krum, and fellow war hero, Ronald Weasley. (For a detailed exploration of Miss Granger's love life, see page eight). It seems somewhat suspicious that Miss Granger – who has mercifully appeared to have tamed her previously wild and hideous hair – is linked to yet another well-known wizard…'"

"It's official… you hate me. There is no other reason to torture me like this," Hermione whined, her forehead hitting her desk with a loud 'thunk'.

"'One cannot help but wonder if Miss Granger fully appreciates the risks of associating with such a wizard,'" Toula read on, "'though perhaps her reasons are more mercenary than face-value would suppose. 'There is no doubt Granger is a Muggle-born witch,' a former Hogwarts classmate confirms. 'She's probably only involved with Malfoy for his money.' This reporter went to Gringotts Bank to determine just how much wealth is actually sitting in the Malfoy vault, but a representative goblin refused to comment, other than to say, 'Mind your own business, you snoop.' Furthermore…'"

"No furthermore…" Hermione protested

"'Furthermore,'" Toula stressed, grinning widely, "'there is reason for this reporter to believe, based on reports from some who attended Saturday night's gala at the home of Italian socialite Matteo Abruzzese, that Mr. Malfoy openly introduced Miss Granger there as his girlfriend. Hermione Granger will certainly want to re-evaluate her dating options following the reveal of this great scandal. (For a list of the Malfoy family's crimes involving He Who Must Not Be Named, see page nine).'"

Toula closed the magazine primly and set it neatly onto her desk.

"She's really outdone herself this time," Hermione bit out scathingly, suddenly furious. "That foul insect, I am going to make her pay for publishing such… such drabble!"

"Is it true though?" Toula pressed.

"Is what true?"

"Are you Draco Malfoy's girlfriend?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped in defeat even as the ghost of a smile played on her lips. "Yes."

"Eeee!" Toula squealed, spinning her chair around in glee, "I knew it! I knew he was the one that left all those flowers… and look on the bright side, this photo makes your hair look superb."

The withering glower Hermione cast at her colleague just then, would have been enough to wilt the Whomping Willow, but Toula was unfazed.

"Tell me everything," she insisted, propping herself up on her elbows to listen. "How long have you been 'official'? Have you kissed? Have you more than kissed? How was it?"

Hermione cast her eyes upward and complained to the ceiling, "Why can't I have normal friends?"

"Hey, you made me find out from a magazine," Toula protested, poking her tongue out with distaste. "I am now entitled to know every juicy detail."

Effusing a great sigh, Hermione cast a longing look at the paperwork spread out across her desk. It had supremely bored her before, but now seemed like the preferable alternative to this interview.

There's an article about us in Witch Weekly. My friend has just attacked me with it, Hermione informed Draco.

She could feel his brimming amusement, along with a hint of caution. Oh?

It's Rita Skeeter.

Ah. Say no more.

"We only became official at the end of last week," Hermione admitted tersely.

Toula opened her mouth to ask another question, but both women froze when they heard shouting coming from Livius Trimble's office. "…DEMENTORS CONTROLLING AZKABAN THAT CAN BE BRIBED BY AN UNDERAGE WIZARD… THE MINISTRY SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF ITSELF. THIS IS HOW UPRISINGS BEGIN…"

Hermione and Toula shared a deep frown and poked their heads out their office door in curiosity. Down the length of hallway, others from the department were doing the same. Trimble emerged from his office, slamming the door behind him. Taking note of the many curious expressions of his employees, he mouthed over the din, "Howlers."

Another continued after the first ended: "…DEMAND THAT REFORM BE PROCESSED IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS AN IMMINENT THREAT TO OUR SOCIETY…"

"…PUTTING WIZARDING LIVES ON THE LINE BY ENTRUSTING CRIMINALS TO DEMENTORS, WHICH HAVE PROVEN TIME AND AGAIN THAT THEY CAN BE SWAYED TO CATER TO THEIR OWN NEEDS…"

"…DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT CLEARLY RUN BY A BUNCH OF BABOONS…"

Cringing from all the shouting, Hermione ducked back into her office. Word has also gotten out about the Dementors, apparently.

She could sense Draco's surprise. How do you know?

My boss is currently inundated with Howlers. People want them removed from control of Azkaban immediately.

They're not wrong, Draco mused.

After a moment, she asked, Will I see you tonight?

I'll be at Theo's for the morning and back in Ireland for the evening. Come when you're out.

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"You can't be serious about her!" Theo insisted desperately. "Think about your bloodline…"

"Why do you care so much?" Draco demanded, folding his arms across his chest. "It's my bloodline, not yours. Do with yours what you will. Leave the future of mine to me."

Theo hunched slightly, his weedy body seeming to cave in on itself. "You really have no idea, do you?"

"Apparently not. What am I to have an idea about?"

Theo's brown eyes flashed strangely from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He straightened, and without warning, he stepped toward Draco purposefully, grabbed the blond's face in his hands and kissed him spectacularly on the lips.

No, no, absolutely not! Draco's brain screamed at him. He wrenched away from his friend, breathing heavily. "In the name of all that is holy, Theo… what the actual fuck!"

Theo adjusted his glasses and shuffled his feet, his eyes boring holes into Draco's as he murmured quietly, "You have other options than just Granger, you know."

Draco felt a queasy feeling settle into his stomach.

Everything alright? Hermione's voice echoed in his mind.

Draco didn't reply right away, as he wasn't sure he knew the answer yet. Ask me again in a few minutes.

He could sense her worry, but she respected his request, pulling back into his subconscious and going quiet.

Seemingly encouraged by Draco's silence, Theo shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to explain, "I've been waiting for years to see who you would become, to see if you ever showed any interest in me. You should know, Draco, I've done hours and hours of research. There's nothing – nothing, at all – that says a pureblood line is ruined by a romantic alliance between two men."

Draco could only gape. He'd always suspected Theo's leanings, and the Nott heir had never tried to deny any accusations that he was homosexual… but this was another realm entirely.

He took a single stride toward Draco, who moved immediately backward, like the steps to a strange dance. Theo looked hurt, but continued nonetheless, "Think of the purity in uniting two of the most noble pureblood houses. The last heirs of both Malfoy and Nott… the glory we could achieve…"

"First of all, Theo," Draco finally said, taking another step back from the other man, "I don't have any interest in blokes. None. Second, you're my friend – one of my only friends, and I regret that you've had to go through this alone. It was the furthest intention from my mind, to encourage something like this…"

"I know you're on a courting hiatus," Theo interrupted eagerly. "I can wait."

Draco shook his head, "Theo…"

"Draco, listen," he pleaded, pulling his hands from his pockets and gesticulating wildly. "Do you remember, after Astoria died and you said 'I could have loved her someday. Someone like me doesn't get two chances at that'? Give me that chance…"

"I have Hermione," Draco told him stoutly.

Theo's face contorted into a grimace, "You'd rather have the Mudblood."

"Yes, I would."

"How has she ensnared you?" Theo demanded, striding forward again and roughly jamming his hands onto Draco's shoulders, shaking him roughly. "Is it a potion? The Imperius?"

Batting Theo's hands off him and wrenching himself away, Draco took several more steps back, angling toward the door, "None of that. I love her. She loves me."

"If she weren't around…" Theo began threateningly, then shook his head violently. "She will never be able to care for you the way I would. The way I do."

Draco's eyes widened in growing horror. He and Theo had been in diapers together, had grown up together, had shared secrets, had learned, had made mistakes, had become young men together. What Draco had always assumed was completely platonic, had apparently been none of that for Theo.

"I didn't eat for a week after you announced your engagement to Astoria," Theo revealed, spitting out Draco's late fiancée's name like a curse. "I couldn't sleep. I knew I couldn't lose you…"

Mind whirring, Draco began connecting the dots.

"She was pureblooded, yes, but could she make you happy?" Theo demanded. "No. I thought about approaching you anyway… but a Nott isn't a lover, to be kept in secret. Nott is a kingly name to be proud of, not to be hidden in shadows. She needed to be removed from the picture."

Going still, Draco's partially rebuilt world felt like it was swiftly crumbling at his feet. "You killed Astoria!"

"Of course not," Theo retorted with a derisive snort. "Lestrange did, just as he said."

"I don't understand." Draco checked to make sure his wand was at the ready; Theo was currently a wildcard and it was prudent to be on his guard.

"Just over two years ago, Perseus Lestrange came rooting around for information in my library about blood grudges. He didn't tell me willingly that's what he was looking for, of course, but I can be very persuasive when I want to be… He'd enacted a grudge against your father, years ago, when Lucius and Narcissa first married, but later came to regret such a foolish decision after seeing how happy your mother was.

"Some twenty years later, he wanted to see if the presence of revenge magic in his blood was reversible. He believed it was beginning to make him ill, since he hadn't acted upon it. It was laughably easy to put him under the Imperius Curse in his weakened state."

Theo had begun prowling the room like an agitated predator, never taking his eyes from Draco. "I was… upset… about your engagement. You will remember coming to see me shortly before your mother forced you to begin courting?"

"I remember," Draco murmured, his mouth dry. "We drank through an entire bottle of your father's best vodka."

Brown eyes glinting with the memory and looking hopeful that Draco had recalled it as well, Theo nodded. "You didn't want to marry."

"That was then."

Theo shook his head. "I forced Lestrange to kill your mother under the Imperius Curse. A part of him loved her still and he hated me for it; I didn't care. He was an easy person to suspect, given his family's history, but he covered his trail well. I thought perhaps my anger had been sated… and maybe, just maybe, now that you'd essentially lost both your parents – like I had – it would bring us closer. The last of two magnificent families. You would be sad, of course, but you would heal. In an ideal world, it would have been me that helped you heal."

"A wound that you created!" Draco exploded.

"Narcissa was meddling in your life. She would never have allowed us to be together…"

"We're still not together!" Draco reasoned. He felt like someone had punctured his heart, the hole growing larger as the organ hyperventilated and steadily leaked into his chest cavity.

"You were engaged. I half expected you to break it off after your mother died, but you didn't. For two effing years, I tried to be happy for you, but I wasn't. Lestrange grew stronger; he tried to fight me, but I overpowered him…"

"…And forced him to kill Astoria," Draco finished the sentence. His hands were shaking and sweating with anger.

"She was an obstacle that kept you from me."

"She didn't deserve to die."

"We all deserve to die," Theo contradicted vehemently. "As a punishment against Perseus for trying to fight me, I Imperiused the younger Lestrange to assist his father in Astoria's murder."

"You forced a sixteen year old to rape my intended wife..."

A slow smirk spread onto Theo's mouth, his eyes amused, "Funny thing about that, actually. It turns out Deimos Lestrange really is just that twisted. My orders were simple: kill her. Vague enough to leave plenty of room for creativity. Deimos is a sick fuck, even by my standards. It must have been a relief for Astoria when Perseus finally put the girl out of her misery. Still, Perseus was always thorough, if nothing else. He Obliviated Astoria's chaperone and Imperiused her to turn herself in as the guilty party, like a pig bringing itself to slaughter."

Draco's hands were clenched into fists, one around his wand, the other itching to deck Theo in the face. He'd been struck silent by rage, which was roiling off his body in waves.

"Then, lo and behold, you came to stay with me," Theo breathed out reverently. "Just like I'd hoped you would. You were hurting, of course, but you came to me… out of everyone."

Unsticking his throat, Draco murmured, "I thought you were my friend. I couldn't go home and I thought I was safe with you."

"You were more safe than you've ever been, when you were with me," Theo told him, his eyes softening like butter melting. "I would have died, to keep you from harm."

"But instead you decided to set Deimos on Hermione's parents."

"Like I said, Deimos is a sick fuck," Theo insisted. "He was convinced his father's actions were genuine. When Perseus was captured, I forced him to publicly confess to the murders. Lestrange Junior apparently took his father's behavior to heart."

"The Grangers were only murdered after you'd discovered it was Hermione that I was involved with," Draco realized.

"It's shockingly difficult to get at the brains of the Golden Trinity. Her parents were easy targets; I wanted to see how their deaths affected you. See how involved you really were with her. Deimos was all too happy to oblige. He even relished the idea of sticking his dick in the Mudblood, herself. I didn't care what he did anymore. He was sloppy, emotional, and boring. I cared about you. You were falling under her spell; it was blatantly obvious. You stopped caring about your bloodline. You stopped caring about being pureblood. You stopped caring about being everything a Malfoy should be!

"Do you know how much it sucks, caring about someone you can't have? Seeing them, but knowing they'll never be yours? All I could do is dream about you and wish for you, but never have you. It's like drowning, but I just wouldn't fucking die!" Theo let out an anguished sob-like noise. His eyes were still rooted to Draco, who was completely motionless like prey that hoped it could be camouflaged from a nearby predator. "It's the most exquisite form of self-destruction imaginable… that nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder, than you."

Draco swallowed heavily. This all seemed so surreal, like he was having an out-of-body experience. "I don't love you, Theo. I am never going to love you the way you want me to. I can't."

Theo laughed a little manically, "It's okay, I wouldn't want to love me, either."

Draco wasn't sure what to do next. One of his last remaining friends – probably his best friend – had just admitted to being violently enamored with him to the point that he was willing to murder for him… and not just murder strangers, but Draco's fiancée, his girlfriend's parents… Draco's own mother.

"I can't let you leave, you know." Theo's voice snapped Draco back to attention.

"Why not?"

"Because you're going to go tell someone what I just told you, obviously."

Sensing his chance was near, Draco's hand tightened on his wand, his mind whirring for an appropriate spell. He tried to summon up the anger and aggression he'd felt when Lestrange had first admitted to the murders of Narcissa and Astoria, but stumbled only upon a deep, deep sadness. "You destroyed nearly everything I hold dear. Why?"

"Because I love you."

Draco shook his head. "I know what love is. It's not any of what you described."

Theo's half-smile, half-grimace dropped into a snarl. "Don't you tell me what I feel. I've loved you since we were children."

Now, Draco realized. He was a fair duelist; Lucius had trained him well. His wand was out in a moment, and he cast an Incarcerous faster than Theo had a chance to determine what was happening. Instead of chains springing from the end of his wand to bind Theo, Draco felt himself freeze as if he'd been placed under an Immobulus.

"I've done enough looking at wards at both our ancestral homes to add a few of my own," Theo explained, striding toward Draco and plucking his wand from his frozen hand. "No attacking the Master of the house in my home."

He's too smart for his own good, Draco concluded dismally. Reaching out, he called frantically, Hermione?

He barely had time to recognize the reassuring glimmer of her presence before everything went black.