Madam Umbridge Home for Wayward Girls

by A.Lovely.Villain

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

32. Devil's Breath

A/N: Happy 2020 my pretties! Thank you so much for all the wonderful messages while I was away, I read every single one and cherish every word ❤ And I'm happy to announce there's only two chapters left, plus an epilogue. Woot woot! :D

---

When you can't look on the bright side,

I will sit with you in the dark.

. . .

The indigo sky bled into tarnished gold, signaling the long-awaited arrival of dawn. The horses softly brayed as Tom pulled the carriage to a stop beside the lopsided structure. He dropped the reins and rubbed exhaustion from his eyes, rotating his shoulder to alleviate the tightness in the muscle, his entire body stiff and sore from the night's physical exertions. He dismounted with a heaving sigh, turning his attention to the car and approaching with a tentative step. The handle was cold beneath his palm, damp with condensation. His reflection stared back at him from the window, eyes dark and sunken, brow heavy, a malevolent apparition wearing his likeness as a mask. He opened the door and dispelled the haunting mirage, unveiling a shadowed interior filled with rhythmic breathing.

Weak sunlight filtered past his shoulder, falling across the side of her face and glinting off the curls spilled across the bench. Her eyes flickered behind closed lids, fingers resting beneath her chin. He gripped the sides of the frame and pulled himself into the compartment, moving the blanket aside to uncover her bound wrists, a safeguard in the unfortunate event she awoke before their arrival. He crouched beside her sprawled figure and lifted a palm to her mouth, pulse throbbing as warm breath ghosted across his fingertips. They twitched before lowering to her jaw, skimming its curve and pressing against her thrumming pulse, counting the beats.

"Hermione." Her breathing changed but her lids remained closed. He carefully worked his arms beneath her limp body, lifting her into a seated position and sliding her forward until she tipped against his frame, head resting atop his shoulder. "I know you can hear me, wherever you are," he murmured in her ear, one hand gripping her waist while the other swept her hair back, smoothing the locks down her spine. "I'm going to find him. Even if I have to burn this city to the ground." His chest expanded, feeling the pressure of her bound wrists resting between them. "And then I'm going to kill him." He studied her downturned lashes, the dried tears marring her cheeks, dark liner smeared in heavy tracks, cutting through faded rouge. "But I need you to keep fighting while I find the cure." His fingers skimmed the lace of her bodice, tracing whalebone. "Don't let go."

Tom gazed upon her for several moments more, silence tense and all-consuming as he pulled her off the bench and into his lap, repositioning his hold until she was situated fully in his arms. He carefully maneuvered their bodies through the doorway and leaped out, gravel crunching underfoot as he tightened his hold and strode for the entrance.

The shattered windows had been boarded over, the stairs swept clean of glass and debris. He took them quickly, feeling the gentle brush of her hair with every step. Knocking on the door was an impossibility in his current predicament so he opted to tap it with his boot instead. But the moment his foot made contact the barrier came unhinged and fell backward, hitting the marble with a mighty bang. Tom set his jaw, annoyance palpable as he lingered beneath the warped frame.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, no doubt summoned by the commotion, and then Black appeared, signature grin in place. "Ah, I thought I heard someone ring the bell." His jovial voice bounced off the vaulted ceiling. And then his bright gaze lowered to the bounty in Tom's arms and his expression sharpened to a point. "What—"

"Hermione!" Potter's voice rang from the landing as he pushed off the banister and raced down the master staircase, shirtless and bandaged. Nott materialized behind him, clutching the railing as he watched the show play out below. Tom crossed the threshold, sidestepping the fallen door as more footfalls pattered from various directions, faces appearing beneath the archways.

"What happened?" Shouted the redhead Bones planned on murdering. "Is she hurt?"

"What the hell is she wearing?" Parvati called next, bounding across the tiles.

Potter leaped the bottom step and charged forward, skidding to a barefooted stop. "Why is she tied up?" He demanded, eyes narrowed on her bound wrists as Black approached from behind. The boy attempted to grab her but Tom stepped back, tightening his grip with a warning look. Potter's face darkened, body coiling with tension as though preparing for a fight.

His godfather placed a staying hand on his shoulder, the gesture more restraining than assuring. "I'm sure Riddle has a perfectly bizarre explanation he's simply chomping at the bit to share." Tom imparted his most withering glare but the Peer remained undeterred. "Let's get Hermione settled so we can hear it."

Parvati stopped beside them. "Lay her next to Padma—"

"No," Tom clipped, earning everyone's undivided attention. He elected to hold Black's gaze, recognizing him as the de facto leader of the ragtime group. "She needs to be confined until the compulsion wears off."

Potter blinked. "Compulsion? What…" The young man paled, realization choking him of words as he took in her pristine gown and haggard make-up. "No," he whispered, shaking his head as Nott started down the stairs. "No," he repeated, louder, angrier.

The redhead swallowed thickly, skin deathly pale. "She's… she's…"

"Did she have a seizure?" Parvati interjected, elbowing aside her dumbfounded neighbor for a closer look.

"Has she been drugged?" Inquired the sandy-haired boy lingering awkwardly at Tom's other side.

Ms. Abbott joined in next, wringing her hands anxiously. "Maybe we should—" Her words were drowned beneath a swell of voices as everyone began talking at once, edging closer until they triggered Tom's fight or flight instinct. His gaze turned sinister, the urge to take Hermione and run nearly overwhelming his greater sense.

"Enough!" Black shouted, rendering the crowd silent. Tom held still, rigid as a statue, inhaling deeply as he talked himself down from a violent precipe. "Is she a danger to herself or others?"

Tom blinked, recalling Hermione's feral hiss as she plunged the knife through the chair, her answering growl as he wrestled the weapon away, the predatory gleam in her eyes as she swung the marble bookend at his skull and the high-pitched whistle of an iron poker sailing past his head. "You could say that."

The young ones glanced between each other, unsettled by the simple but loaded declaration. Black sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with resignation. "Let me grab the keys."

"Keys?" His godson echoed, confusion evident on his face. And then he reared back, shaking his head as some dark conclusion was drawn. "We can put her in my room—"

"Your ceiling is cracked," Black stated evenly. "Reggie's room survived the blast and is better equipped."

A heavy look passed between father and son. Tom's shoulders drew wide, unnerved by the silent exchange. "I'm not putting them on her," Potter vowed with determination.

"It's a last resort," the Admiral assured patiently, though the emotion wore thin as the young man remained unmoved. "Harry," he uttered in warning. Potter stiffened but ultimately relented, glancing away in acquiescence. Black nodded, backing towards the corridor. "I'll be right behind you."

The Admiral disappeared around the wall as Potter's gaze snapped to Tom, burning with intensity before lowering to the body in his arms and softening considerably. "Follow me," he instructed, tone tight and foreboding as he led a path for the staircase.

Despite his misgivings, Tom fell into step behind the boy, knowing Potter would never bring harm against his childhood friend. As they ascended the small procession trailed eagerly at their backs, clomping the stairs like lame mules. Tom ground his teeth, hands clenching upon her dress as his final nerve gave way with an audible snap. He halted on the landing, turning to the gathering with a malevolent glare.

"Stop," he seethed, tone more forceful than intended but effective nonetheless. They took a collective step back, herding together like trembling sheep before a snarling wolf. Tom forced a steadying breath and ransacked his mental stores for a less terrifying mask. "It doesn't take ten people to put one unconscious woman to bed."

Judging by the wary looks on their faces, he wasn't successful in his endeavor. Potter gripped the banister, addressing the group with a far gentler hand. "Give us a few minutes, we'll meet you in the front parlor."

Tom strode for the hall without awaiting their response, knowing they'd followed instruction when Potter joined him sans entourage. The young man easily matched Tom's long gait and provided a close-up view of his bandaged side, arms and chest littered with abrasions and bruises.

"Looks like you fought a glass sculpture and lost," Tom drawled.

"Feels like I was hit by a battering ram."

Hermione moaned, brow furrowed as she turned her face into Tom's arm, warm breath soaking through his shirt and erupting chills along his spine.

"Did he hurt her?" Potter asked, eyeing him closely.

Tom remained unmoved by the inspection. "Meaning?"

"You know what I'm asking."

He continued gazing forward, vision cast red at the mere prospect. "He's not interested in their bodies."

"Just destroying their minds," Potter muttered, voice dripping with hatred. His focus stayed on Tom, taking in his rigid posture. "He's still alive."

"Not for long, I assure you," Tom vowed, grip tightening on her warmth.

Potter studied him a moment longer before tipping his chin at the upcoming corner. "Make a left." Tom adjusted his grip as he sidestepped a decorative table, vases intact despite the crumbling walls on either side. "Where's Bellatrix?" The boy asked, following him around the turn.

"I've no idea."

"Bones will breathe fire."

"Then I did him a favor. Incinerating the conspirators will save countless hours of interrogation."

"Undoubtedly," Potter agreed, leading them into another wreckage-strewn hall. "The jail's overflowing, his team will be buried for weeks."

"At least half will post bail by tonight."

"They'll still be tried, reputations destroyed, a fate worse than death for most of them."

Tom kicked aside a chunk of fallen plaster. "There are a number of fates much worse than death. I'll happily introduce them to my personal favorites." The night's success was a hollow victory without Grindelwald's head on a pike. The only way to truly stop the organization was to kill its creator.

The hallway came to a dead-end with a black lacquer door at its head. It was an ominous sight to be certain, Hermione's soft breath the only thing keeping him grounded and calm. Footsteps sounded at their backs. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting Black with a set of brass keys in hand. "Where are the women?" He asked, stepping aside to allow the man room to pass.

"Bones secured a private wing at Mungo's," Black replied, searching the keyring. "Minimal staff and maximum security."

Potter moved away from the door, eyes on Hermione. "Should we take her there?"

"They can't do anything for her." Tom watched the Peer unlock the barrier. "She's safer under your care."

"I take that to mean you aren't staying?" Black inquired as he turned the knob and pushed, a cloud of stale air bursting free as he led the way into the dark room.

Tom didn't bother replying, consumed by his inspection of the shadowy interior. The Admiral marched across the finely-woven rug, shoulders tight and gaze solemn as he pulled open a pair of dusty drapes. Daylight filtered inside, illuminating the antique furniture and muted decor. Despite the gloomy aesthetic, it appeared to be a child's room, complete with a toy chest and miniature cricket set, or perhaps a young teenager's abode judging by the full-sized bed. But what stood out above all else were the leather straps hanging from each bed-post, claw marks marring the wood.

He pulled Hermione to his chest and stepped back. Black released a long sigh, staring at the ominous restraints with a haunted visage. "My brother suffered night terrors as a boy."

"They caused him to sleepwalk?" Tom asked, watching the man lift a strap and study it with heavy disdain.

"They caused him to sneak into my room trembling out of his skin. Our mother found him curled up on the floor beside my bed one morning and had the binds installed that afternoon. She claimed the only way to overcome fear was to endure it."

The silence following his melancholy tale was heavy and oppressive. Tom pushed through, treading forward and carefully lowering her to the mattress. "How deeply maternal of her," he muttered, rising to his full height. Cold settled into his bones as her warmth fell away. Potter moved to the opposite side of the bed as Tom set about arranging her limbs, resting her bound wrists atop her chest and smoothing the rumpled skirt over her knees. The boy awarded him a warning glare that Tom easily ignored, stepping back only when she was settled.

"Mum had a gift," Black lamented dryly, crossing his arms and leaning into a post. "But enough about my cheery upbringing. I'd much rather hear about your night."

Tom watched her eyes flicker beneath her lids. "Ms. Granger tried to bash in my brains and cut off my head. My Gaelic is rusty so I injected her with chloral hydrate."

"Ah," Black mused. "Well, that explains it."

"Unfortunately I'm a bit slower on the uptake," Potter clipped. "You'll have to fill in the gaps."

"There isn't time," Tom stated evenly. "I have to find the Dollmaker before he flees London."

"Then we need to send word to Bones—"

"The Commissioner has his hands full." Tom's blood heated, his next words unleashing beyond his control. "The Dollmaker is mine."

Potter narrowed his gaze. "So we're just supposed to sit here and do nothing?"

"Not quite." Tom reached into his pocket, earning his audience's undivided attention as he extracted the vial. "You're going to find out what you can about this."

He tossed it over the bed. Potter snatched it from the air with honed reflexes, examining the blue-tinged contents. "What is it?"

"That's what I want to know. I took it from the Dollmaker's private stores. With any luck, it holds the key to a cure." Their gazes flickered to Hermione. She continued to slumber like the dead. "He programs their minds with triggers. His final command was to kill me. I strongly advise keeping her restrained until you can ascertain her mental state. Her cunning and determination make her a force to be reckoned with."

"Mione's always been that way," Potter stated with pride.

Tom glanced up. "Then you know the threat she poses. Imagine if unstoppable bloodlust took the place of her unshakable principles."

Potter leaned back, bowed by the force of the notion.

"We'll take care of her," Black vowed, then tipped his head at the doorway. "Come on, I'll show you through the back." Tom met his eye in silent inquiry. "I imagine you want to avoid the Inquisition party downstairs," the man explained. "There's a side exit you can use, perfectly intact. Greyback and his men were too stupid to find it."

Tom nodded, unable to stop his gaze from drifting to the bed as he stepped back. Potter sidled closer, perching on the edge of the mattress and smoothing a hand over her hair before reaching for her wrists and slowly unfastening the knots. Tom closed his eyes and turned, only to find Black standing just before him, expression far too knowing and amused.

"This way," the Peer prompted, exiting without further ado.

Tom followed him into the hall, pausing halfway down as the man opened a secret panel in the wall. Then they were descending a dark and narrow staircase and emerging in the servant's quarters, the dusty and barren space appearing uninhabited for the better part of a century. The chilling silence was a welcome reprieve from the raging bloodlust of Tom's thoughts. But like all good things in Tom's life, it was stripped away far too soon.

Black opened a door to the backyard and paused at the threshold, blocking the path to freedom. Tom's jaw clenched, body coiling tight. The Admiral rolled his eyes, unaffected by the threat. "Christ, you're worse than Harry. I'm not going to chain you in the cellar. I just want to thank you for bringing our girl home."

The admission took Tom off-guard. He quickly tried to mask his uncertainty, unnerved by the direction the conversation was heading. "It's my fault she was targeted in the first place."

"That's highly debatable. Regardless, you could've easily left her behind to chase down the Dollmaker. Instead, you kept her safe. I know what the delay cost you." Tom held perfectly still, tongue pressing the roof of his mouth as he searched his mind for a suitable response. Black regarded him carefully all the while, undoubtedly sensing his companion's supreme discomfort and laughing shortly. "As I said, I just wanted to thank you. There, the painful part's over." He paced back, emerging onto a stone path bordered by a trodden vegetable garden. "So," he continued, watching as Tom fell into step beside him. "How are you going to find him?"

"I have a lead," Tom replied evasively, eyes fixed ahead.

"And if it falls through?"

Tom lifted his chin, lips forming a narrow line. Black nodded, absently kicking a bullet casing out of his way as the path ended. Tom continued across the grass without a parting word, mind already onto the next phase of his mission.

"I finally remember," Black called to his retreating figure. Tom paused, shoulders tense with annoyance. "When you first came here looking for Hermione I knew I recognized you," the Peer continued, addressing the back of his head. "But it didn't register until tonight. Christ, it must've been over a decade now." Tom stiffened, dread weighing his limbs as he slowly turned. Black tucked his hands into his pockets, posture as carefree as his voice. "I visited the Admiral and heard shouting from inside his office. I'd never heard Dumbledore so much as raise his voice before that day. I stood in silence until the door flew open and you stormed out."

Tom swallowed thickly, tearing apart his mind for the scene, detesting any trip down memory lane. But he'd engaged in so many shouting matches with Albus over the years it was impossible to pinpoint a single one. "I didn't ask questions and he didn't volunteer answers," the Peer relayed. "In all the years since he's never mentioned you once. So I know you're someone important to him."

Tom inhaled slowly, pressure mounting in his chest until he was certain his ribcage would split wide, three decades worth of rage spilling across the grass like a torrent of blood. "You don't have to tell me," Black added, toeing aside the remnants of a shattered flower pot. "The details don't matter. But if you have any leverage with the man, now's the time to pull it."

Tom's eyes glinted in the morning light, a storm brewing in their depths. "I intend to."

Black nodded. "Good."

Tom stepped back on stiff legs, eager to escape the claustrophobic confines of this conversation.

"Riddle."

Bloody hell. Tom stopped again, rolling his head atop his shoulders, desperate to alleviate the tension in his spine.

"We all have demons." The Admiral's voice sounded different from moments before, deeper, more somber. "Yours just happens to be real." For the first time in many years, Tom found himself trapped by another's stare, held captive by the sheer intensity of it. "Vanquishing him doesn't have to be the final chapter of your story." Black closed the distance between them and placed a hand on Tom's shoulder. "Trust me when I say it's never too late to start again."

Tom rocked in place, disturbed by both the words and the physical gesture. He hated being touched, had avoided contact since boyhood. But now he found himself rooted firmly, the urge to duck away strangely absent. "That sounds suspiciously like one of Albus's shiny pearls," he muttered.

"This one's all mine," Black smirked, squeezing his shoulder before dropping his hand. "I've been trying to think up some grand and fatherly wisdom for Harry. What do you think?"

"I'm sure it will be a great hit." Tom edged back. "Unfortunately, I'm long past fatherly wisdom."

"Then consider it friendly advice," Black mused, nodded his farewell. "Godspeed, Doctor."

Tom turned away before the weight of the man's stare could crush him. He cut a quick path across the trodden lawn and pushed the unsettling encounter to the back of his mind, focused solely upon the task ahead. It was time to end this nightmare once and for all, and to do that he needed answers.

Fortunately, Tom knew just where to find them.

---

Draco gripped the handle tight, bracing for the madness inside, but as he opened the door and came face to face with the raging crowd he realized how grossly unprepared he was. It was like stepping back inside the auction room, a sea of faces shouting to be heard, though this time they were constrained to their seats by chains and manacles. Scotland Yard was overflowing in every sense of the word, paddywagons piled out front and bodies pressed tightly within. He took a steadying breath and strode inside, searching the finely dressed prisoners for a recognizable face, only to realize with a sickening jolt he recognized them all.

"Draco!"

He turned, seeking the source of the familiar voice. The benches lining the walls were jam-packed, the majority shouting at employees and detainees alike, eager to transfer their guilt to someone else. Their masks were all removed, faces red with rage or bloated with tears. Officers passed back and forth without a glance. But one man caught Draco's attention, ironed wrists lifting high as he tried to wave, much to the chagrin of his neighbors who were bound by the same length of chain.

"Yaxley," Draco muttered, though his dull response did nothing to diminish the bald pervert's excitement.

"Oh thank God! You have to tell them this is a mistake—"

"I'm looking for my father."

The idiot blinked. "Lucius is here? I didn't know he…" His only remaining brain cell snuffed out like a candle flame. "I thought he sent you to post bail for his party members."

"You know better than that, Corban," Draco narrowed his gaze, sidling closer. "You tendered your resignation the moment you were loaded into the wagon."

Yaxley pressed back, face whiter than chalk. "This is merely a misunderstanding, surely it'll be cleared up by morning—"

"Then you don't need my assistance," Draco clipped, striding past to examine the kaleidoscope of disgruntled faces until finding one that didn't inspire disgust.

Susan knelt before a woman in cuffs, saying something he couldn't hear over the incessant drone of the crowd. Then she stood swiftly, glancing around the room for something or someone before spotting him and blinking. "Draco?" He couldn't hear his name but read her lips, promptly crossing the lobby while avoiding the desperate stares and pleas of his father's associates. Her eyes flared wide as he reached her at last. "What are you—"

"Where's my father?"

"I—"

"This is illegal detainment!" The man seated beside them shouted, attempting to stand. "I'm going to sue this place into the dirt! You have no idea—"

"Shut up, Farley," Draco clipped. "You have a dozen bench warrants for sexual misconduct alone, a courtroom is the last place you want to step foot." The man opened and closed his mouth, sinking into the bench like a dead weight. Draco silenced any further outbursts with a scowl and then turned to Susan, arching a pale brow. "My father," he prompted.

"He's in one of the interview rooms."

"Show me."

She sighed, glancing away. "Hold on." Her eyes flickered around the room before settling on an officer seated behind the front desk. "Kent!" She shouted, waving the man over. He left his meter-high stack of paperwork to cross the crowded floor. "I found another," she informed him, gesturing to the woman she'd previously been speaking to. Draco examined the stranger, taking note of her expensive gown and diamond necklace. A party guest, but the faraway look in her eyes wasn't born of shock or fear. "Please escort her to the back," Susan instructed. The officer nodded and began to fish keys off his belt.

The man seated beside the young woman stirred, lifting his bound wrists as the Officer unlocked her cuffs. "This is outrageous! I need medical attention! Some lunatic assaulted me in the bloody entry hall!" The Officer ignored him, removing her chains. "Where the hell are you taking her? You can't do this!"

"I assure you, we can and we are," Susan stated firmly, voice as cold as death.

Draco watched the Officer take the woman by the elbow and direct her to her feet. But the moment he urged her forward she began to panic, screaming and slapping in a hysterical fit. Susan stepped back, gaze wide as the woman swung wildly, frantic in her struggle. The Officer captured her wrists as she unleashed a banshee cry, so piercing the room fell silent, hundreds of eyes falling upon the scene.

"Stop!" Draco shouted, startling the Officer into losing his grip on one of her arms, her palm cracking across his cheek in a blistering slap. Draco rounded on the man seated before him. "Give her the command."

The stranger gulped, pressing back as Draco surged forward. "I've no idea what—" His denial cut short as Draco punched him in the mouth, snapping his head back and causing his neighbors to jolt, chains rattling.

"Give her the command," Draco repeated, eyes burning bright.

"This is barbaric!" The man wailed, voice muffled behind his hands as blood spilled past his fingers. "I have rights!"

Draco grabbed the fool by the lapels and dragged him to his feet.

"Draco…" Susan murmured, but her warning fell by the wayside as he pulled the man closer, voice low and lethal.

"Give her the bloody command or you'll suffer the Commissioner's wrath as well as mine. I assure you, there won't be a single shilling left to your name by the time I'm through."

The stranger swallowed convulsively, eyes darting past Draco's shoulder, focusing on the trembling young woman struggling against the Officer. "Vivien, darling, it's alright." She blinked, falling so still the Officer swayed back, unnerved at the sudden change. "Let the man take you," he continued, blood dripping from his busted lip to the crisp white cravat.

She blinked again, shoulders squaring as her gaze cleared. "Goodbye, Andrew," she uttered sharply, then turned away in dismissal. The man gaped at her back as the Officer gestured her across the lobby and into the hall. The crowd erupted into chaos once more, voices filling the void left behind by the ominous silence.

Draco released the bleeding idiot, leaving him to stare forlornly at his date's retreating figure. "Let's go," he muttered to Susan.

She tilted her head, bestowing him with a look of appreciation. "This way."

They started down another hall, the roar of the crowd fading as he followed her around the corner. "Has he been questioned?"

"I have no idea," she replied over her shoulder. "I've been in the lobby all night."

Draco rubbed the back of his neck, stepping aside as an Officer strode past with a struggling man in custody. He spared a glance for his own suit while waiting for them to pass, the fabric wrinkled and creased. His mother would drop dead if she saw him in such a state.

"Haven't been to bed either?" She asked, drawing his focus.

"Sleep is the least of my worries."

She nodded, the dark circles beneath her eyes a badge of solidarity, then started forward again, leading him to the end of the hall and pointing to a door on the right. "In there."

Draco inhaled deeply, holding it for several beats before releasing it. "Thank you."

"Good luck," she offered, patting his arm and heading back the way they came.

He stared at the scuffed door, head pounding in time to his heart. His hand twitched as it gripped the knob and turned, striding forward before his nerve failed. He found his father at once, the barren room offering little distraction beyond a table and two chairs.

"Draco?" His father pushed back from the desk, chair scraping across the chipped tile. "What are you doing here?"

He stepped fully inside, closing the door. "I came to see if you've been charged."

"I haven't even been spoken to. I'm beginning to think I'll be sitting here into next week." Draco scowled, refusing to succumb to the man's effortless manipulations. Lucius remained undeterred. "Would you like to sit—"

"No."

His father sighed. "You need to speak with your mother before someone else does. Lord only knows the rumors circulating."

"Yes." Draco paced closer, gripping the back of the empty chair and staring down his nose at the man who raised him. "Imagine if she's told her husband was apprehended at a sex-slave auction hosted by her dear baby sister."

Lucius affected an air of boredom, fingers idly drumming the desk. "Is this why you came? To work in one last shot before I'm dragged before the magistrate?"

"Bones is spread thin enough, he won't waste his resources on you. It's Rodolphus he wants." He ground his teeth, forcing the rest free. "Bella is missing."

His father flattened his hand on the table. "She escaped?"

"With help," Draco scathed, shoulders rolling with tension. "I need to know what other property she owns, off the record."

"You intend to turn her in?"

"I intend to question her."

Lucius studied his son's face, reading it like an open book. "Hermione wasn't at the Estate."

Draco fought back an instinctual shudder. Hearing his father say her name was a sacrilege. "Tell me what other property she owns."

"Your aunt is a survivor. She won't be foolish enough to return there alone." A tense beat. "She'll be with the Dollmaker."

"That's what I'm counting on."

Lucius shook his head, gripping the edge of the desk and pushing to his feet. "Draco, please see reason—"

"We've already had this discussion. Give me an address or I'll get it from mum. Then I'll tell her why you're sitting in an interrogation room at Scotland Yard."

His father dragged a hand over his face, shoulders slanting with exhaustion and defeat. "Parish Street, Horsleydown."

Draco's brows knit together. "Bullshite."

"She owns the building across from a grammar school. Not even I am creative enough to make up such an outlandish tale."

"We'll see about that. If you're lying, I'm telling mum everything."

The eagle gaze darkened with challenge. "Your mother and I have weathered many storms. This is no different."

"Then you deserve each other," Draco snapped, pushing back from the chair with disgust.

"We understand each other. But more importantly, we understand sacrifice. That's what love requires, Draco. I've sacrificed a great deal to ensure my family's happiness."

"Obviously. I'm positively giddy with joy."

"You've wanted for nothing your entire life."

"You were born into the same wealth. Don't pretend you sacrificed for our benefit. You did it for your mighty reputation, a fact you proved when you threatened to discard me to protect it."

"I threatened to cut you off, not kill you. Though I'm sure in your mind it's one and the same." Lucius edged closer, affecting the same mannerisms he exhibited on the floor of Parliament, circling his prey, awaiting the moment to strike. "Nevertheless, I knew you'd never walk away from your inheritance. You don't know how to survive in this world on your own."

"And whose fault is that? You never once—" Draco closed his eyes, cursing himself for being lured into the trap. "This is a waste of time. You're never going to change, and I'm past the point of hoping."

"No matter what has transpired between us, you are still my son."

Draco opened his eyes and turned for the door. "You can choose another heir."

"Screw the Title!"

He stiffened at his father's vehement outburst, glancing back.

"You are now and forever my son," Lucius declared, stepping around the table. "I've made many bad decisions in my life, but I regret none of them when they were made with your best interests at heart. You've always been my first priority. Watching you grow into a man had been my greatest joy. And of everything in this life, you are my proudest accomplishment." He stopped just before him, holding his gaze intently. "And while I can't take credit for the principals you've adopted, it doesn't change the fact I know you better than you know yourself. Wisdom and experience afford me the luxury of viewing the world through a wider lens. I can see beyond today and tomorrow, I know how this all turns out."

Draco swallowed thickly, searching the silver gaze for the duplicity he was so used to seeing. Alas, all he found was a naked vulnerability that left him speechless and rattled.

"And despite all this, I also know I must allow you to make your own mistakes," his father continued, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "The only way to keep you is to let you go."

Draco pressed back, searching for his voice. "I'm not coming back," he whispered.

"You will eventually. After you realize your feelings for her are held aloft by two simple pillars: a desire for the unattainable and a need to rebel."

Draco shook the hand away, senses returning in a flare of heat. "I'm honored you think so highly of me."

"It's not an insult. You're young—"

"Too young to be in love?"

"Too young not to be," Lucius stated calmly, making his son want to strike him all the more. "Falling is the easy part. Making it last through hell and heartache is another. Your relationship is in the honeymoon stage, it has yet to be tested—"

"Tested?" Draco scoffed, gesturing to the sterile interrogation room. "We're standing in Scotland Yard!"

"You're standing in Scotland Yard, you were at the auction—"

"You've no idea what she's been through!"

"I don't doubt it. But it doesn't change the fact you've been fighting this battle separately." Draco blinked, rendered numb. "Trauma can bring people closer together," Lucius stated patiently, as though coaxing a wild animal from its den, "or it can drive them further apart."

"Just because we're apart doesn't mean we're separate."

His father sighed, rubbing his brow. "She's the first girl to ever catch your attention. Are you truly prepared to leave your entire life behind for her?"

Draco's blood percolated, the sizzle and snap overpowering his thundering heart. "I'm looking forward to it, starting right now." He reached for the knob but it turned before he could grasp it, the door swinging wide to reveal a familiar face, spectacled eyes focused on a stack of paperwork.

"Lord Malfoy, I apologize for the delay. As you can imagine, we have a bit of a full-house—" Bones glanced up, blinking twice. "Mr. Malfoy."

Draco lifted his chin, shoulders drawing level. "Commissioner."

"I thought you were at St. Mungo's."

"I was." The muscles in his jaw clenched. "The women are settled in the private wing. I came to see if there's anyone else needing transfer."

"Check with Susan," Bones instructed, glancing back to the file in his hand. "She's interviewing party guests in the lobby."

Draco nodded, starting forward.

"Draco," his father said. He sighed, stopping in the doorway and glancing back, well aware the Commissioner was listening to every word with a detective's ear. "Don't forget about your mother. She needs you."

A beat. Then two.

"So do others," Draco replied with calm indifference, taking a note from his father's playbook and relishing the flash of anger it elicited. "She's safe at the Manor. I'll speak to her when I have time."

He strode into the hall, exchanging a brief but tense look with Bones before leaving both men to their interview. He crossed the lobby with determination, deaf to the men and women calling his name in a desperate bid for pardon. He only acknowledged Susan, catching her eye on his way out and nodding farewell, feeling no guilt in abandoning the three-ring circus. Someone else could escort the remaining dolls to the hospital.

Draco had a witch to burn.

---

Hermione wandered through endless darkness, an empty abyss of space and time. The floor rippled with every step as though wading through a sea of ink. Her feet were wet and cold but her arm drew the whole of her awareness, the muscle tender and sore like she'd been punched. It reminded her of the vaccinations she'd received as a child, her mother holding her hand as the Doctor drew near, gleaming needle reflecting the light. She would stare at her mother's face the whole time, focusing on the woman's gentle smile and soothing words. The puncture would make her cringe but she kept her tears at bay, eager to prove how strong she was, how grown-up. She remembered her mother's laughter afterward, the evident pride in her voice. She remembered her mother's shrill screams as she burned alive.

Hermione closed her eyes, shaking her head and breathing deep, trying desperately to dispel the images, the sounds. Flames lapped behind her lids and smoke filled her lungs, floorboards groaning beneath her curling toes.

It's over, you aren't there anymore… Her eyes snapped open, vision hazed, but the blurry landscape appeared just as it had before. Dark and vacant. Am I dreaming? She had no idea what was real anymore, only that she couldn't bear the eerie nothingness a moment longer.

"Hello?" She called, voice echoing all around, bouncing off unseen barriers. I'm sleeping. But how to wake up? Did the darkness have an end? Was there nothing but a blinding ocean of white on the other side of the veil?

"Hermione."

Her heart skipped violently. She spun a frantic circle, searching the ink-drenched landscape for the source of the familiar voice. "Tom?"

"I know you can hear me, wherever you are."

Phantom breath ghosted across her neck, low-spoken words filling her ear. "Tom!" She turned, no one behind her.

"I'm going to find him. Even if I have to burn this city to the ground."

A warm pressure at her waist drew her gaze. She held her breath, invisible fingertips tracing her side.

"And then I'm going to kill him."

Tears welled. She pressed the heel of her palm to her mouth and bit back a sob, detesting this feeling of hopelessness, trapped in a prison of desolation.

"But I need you to keep fighting while I find the cure."

She felt the gentle glide of fingertips across her jaw, down her neck, lingering at her pulse. She placed her hand over the spot, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly.

"Don't let go."

Her throat stuck. "I won't," she whispered into the darkness, voice steady with resolve. "I'll never stop fighting."

The phantom touch melted away but his words lingered behind, stoking the flame inside her. She remembered then and there where she was and why she had come. The secret to unlocking Grindlewald's dark magic lied within this fantasy world and she wouldn't leave without it. But first…

"I have to get out of this place."

She continued ahead, blind and directionless as dark water splashed at her heels, slowing when a grey mist rose from the ether. Tendrils swirled through the air and wove together until they formed a humanoid shape, void of details. She tilted her head and drew closer, curious and tentative, gasping as features appeared upon the smokey face until it became as recognizable as her own reflection.

"Harry!"

His mist-filled likeness darted forward, cloudy wisps trailing his path. She sprinted to meet him halfway, stumbling when he ran through her, dissolving upon impact and reforming just behind her, continuing his jaunt as though oblivious to her presence. She spun around, watching in bewilderment as he came to a stop before two more smoke-figures. Tom… and herself. Though she appeared to be unconscious, held tightly in his arms.

"What?" She muttered, watching the strange scene play out in silence. Their mouths moved but no sound emitted. She gathered her skirts and ran to their sides. "Tom! Harry!" More smoke rose from the ground, twisting and folding until it formed more ghostly figures, equipped with pale and familiar visages that cut through her heart. "Parvati! Can you hear me?" She waved her hands before the woman's face, chest aching as she moved through Hermione without blinking. "Neville!" But he too remained oblivious to her presence. She sank back on her heels, arms dropping. "It isn't real."

"They're real."

Hermione gasped, staggering back as a feminine voice echoed from above.

"But you aren't real to them."

Her eyes narrowed on the endless black sky, a cosmos void of stars. "Where am I?"

"Limbo."

Limbo? Wonderful. "How do I get out?"

"Follow my voice."

Hermione sighed, glancing around as her friends continued about their ghostly business, mist hovering over their figures like foggy auras. "Your voice is everywhere."

"That means you're close."

She relented, leaving the mirages behind and journeying deeper into darkness. She cast one last wistful look over her shoulder and watched her friends collapse like sand, white mist sinking into murky damp. Her heart seized at their abrupt departure. Alone again.

"It's alright, Hermione, I'm with you."

"Where?" She continued to search the darkness aimlessly. "I can't see anything."

"Follow the light."

"There is no—"

She swayed on her feet as a faint shimmer of gold appeared above, pulsing like a star. The glowing orb lowered slowly, growing in size until it seemed to hover just above her, the size of a fishbowl, brimming with an ethereal light. Breath-taking. Hypnotic. Her hand lifted on its own accord, fingertips bathed in its warm glow. But before she could touch the gleaming center the orb lifted out of reach and drifted forward, a lantern caught in a breeze. Hermione gave chase without thought, drawn like a moth to a flame.

"That's it," the gentle voice coaxed. "Just a little further, sweetheart."

The casual endearment dispelled the cold desolation of her surroundings, reminding Hermione of her mother. And then the orb dropped low, hovering before her eyes, blinding in its brilliance. She cringed, glancing away and lifting a hand to block the glare. The orb burst without warning, the explosion silent but intensely bright, causing her to jolt back in shock.

"Hermione." The voice still emanated from above but sounded closer, more tangible. "Open your eyes."

She blinked against the glare, vision slowly adjusting. Shapes took form, hazy and shadowed, details bleeding down the walls and across the furniture until a room sprung to life around her, free from the ink-drenched prison at last. She breathed a heavy sigh, then blinked in confusion as she realized she was lying atop a plush surface. Sunlight filtered through an arched window, reflecting off a gauzy canopy overhead. Her hand skimmed the velvet throw covering her legs before her attention was stolen by a soft exhale that wasn't her own. The mattress shifted as she faced a blurry figure seated beside her. Curved and feminine.

"Mum?" She whispered without thought, voice hoarse from disuse. Her lids fluttered, eager to bring her mother's features into clarity. She reached out with child-like anticipation and gasped, distracted by the thick bandage covering her upper-arm. "What happened? Did I get a shot?"

"No, darling."

She glanced up quickly, disappointment resting heavy in her gut. The voice was both familiar and foreign. Hermione sank into the pillows as her vision slowly sharpened, the woman's identity coming into view at long last. Decidedly not her mother.

Of course not. Mum's dead. I'll never see her again.

The dark acknowledgment released the floodgates of memory, images flashing through her mind as ice-water filled her veins. Flames climbing the walls of her childhood home, beams snapping overhead, glass exploding in every direction. The towering black doors of the Home parting wide. Umbridge glaring down her nose and leading the way through dark and twisting corridors. Cold breath ghosting down her neck. Ghastly apparitions hovering beneath shadowed doorways. Lavender dead on the slab. Parvati unconscious on the floor. Hannah trembling in the corner. Waking up in the asylum, the suffocating constraint of the straightjacket, the weightless dark of the water tank. Dawn seizing before the dollhouse. Falling down the rabbit hole, running through the woods as faceless soldiers gave chase. The factory and the tea party and the maze, shrill laughter and talking mushrooms and floating Castles. Every tear and scream she'd suppressed for the last three months fighting for release, the pressure building and building until she split at the seams and exploded like a supernova, pressing her face to the pillow and screaming with all her might.

The piercing wail tapered off with her breath, descending into broken sobs that wracked her body and shook the bed. She clutched the duvet by the fistful, desperate for an anchor in this sea of overwhelming misery. A hand pressed gently to her back, rubbing slow and soothing circles between her shoulder blades.

"It's alright," the voice from the darkness murmured. Not mum not mum not mum. "You're safe now."

Hermione shook her head, cries dying into weak and gasping sounds. "No, I'm not." She inhaled sharply and lifted her face, skin heated and wet, eyes swollen and sore. "Nowhere is safe while he's still alive."

The stranger took Hermione's hand and held it between warm palms. "You're going to stop him," she stated with a firmness that earned Hermione's gaze. "And we're here to help. You aren't alone in this, Hermione. You've never been alone."

The twin suns reflected off the beveled glass of a standing cabinet, illuminating the woman's face with strips of dancing light. Hermione swallowed thickly, forcing it past the tightness of her throat as she studied her companion with care. She was quite beautiful, features regal and warm, body long and slender but with healthy vitality. Mushroom-brown waves fell loose around her shoulders, reflecting a blue-tone in the light. But the one feature holding Hermione's attention rapt was her gaze, storm grey irises haunting and unmistakable.

Hermione pushed into a seated position, blessedly lighter in the wake of her release. "Thank you, Merope."

The woman smiled and her face transformed, so much like her son's it rendered Hermione breathless. "It's me who should be thanking you. You've done more than I could have ever hoped for." She tilted her head, the tips of her hair grazing the top of her lap. "You kept my boy from losing himself to the darkness."

Hermione blinked, pulse quaking at the words. "You remember Tom?"

"Of course," Merop laughed softly, eyes sparkling. "Tom is my greatest joy, even in death."

The admission took Hermione off guard, the woman seated before her nothing like she imagined from Tom's sorted recollections. But it didn't seem appropriate to prod that particular wound. At least not yet. Hermione cleared her throat, searching her mind for a suitable response. "Padma forgot who she was, I assumed the longer you're in Wonderland the more your memory fades."

"Padma is still alive on the outside. Her mind is under the Dollmaker's control, same as yours."

Hermione pressed into the headboard, eager to evade the possibility. "But I remember who I am."

"Because you protected your memories," Merope's smile deepened, genuine and vibrant. "just as we knew you would."

A bevy of questions bobbed to the murky surface of Hermione's mind, crowding together until her temples throbbed. She rubbed her eyes and felt the press of the bandage on her arm. Her body tensed as she relived the searing memory of leaping from the bridge and slicing her artery on the hedge. She carefully lifted the edge of the gauze and peeked inside, only to pull the wrapping away with a quiet gasp. Her skin was slightly discolored and marred by a long and narrow scar, but the flesh was knitted over as though the wound was months old. She traced the raised mark with a fingertip and glanced up, voice brimming with awe.

"You healed me?"

"I stitched your wound. The magic of Wonderland healed you. You're as connected to it as any of us now, you can draw from its power."

Warmth bloomed inside her chest, the explanation inspiring a rush of pride despite knowing it was just as much a curse. Hermione pulled he velvet throw aside and glanced around the room, taking sweeping inventory of the eclectic decor. "Is this your bedroom?"

"Yes." Merope leaned into her upholstered chair. "I would've put you in a spare room but they're all occupied at the moment."

"Are there many people living in the Castle?"

"Not nearly enough, we offer sanctuary to as many as we can but as you well know, traversing the landscape is a harrowing feat. Few show up at our doors anymore."

Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble forth, harrowing feat such a gross understatement it bordered on the comical. Hermione tamped her reaction, suspecting her sanity was more out-of-sorts than she realized. She glanced at Tom's mother, held captive by her swirling gaze. "Where are my friends?"

"Safe within the Castle. I'm sure Padma and Dawn are exploring the grounds while Lavender searches for adventure where she can find it."

"I'd think she had her fill by now."

"It's Lavender we're talking about," Merope replied wryly, lips curving into another phantom reflection of her son.

"Good point," Hermione agreed with a smile. But it was quickly vanquished as a new realization took hold. "You've been here all this time?"

Merope's expression sobered. She gripped the armrests and straightened, posture so pristine Hermione wondered if she was afforded a governess as a child. "I've been here since my first treatment at age 23. But my mind wasn't fully restored until after my suicide." Hermione's stomach turned at the calm description. Merope remained stoic, though her eyes displayed an intensity of emotion that held her audience rapt. "My mind was greatly divided," Merope continued. "I no longer knew which reality was real, if anything I saw or experienced was real. The uncertainty prevented me from truly living on either side of the veil."

Hermione inhaled slowly, heart aching at the tale, relieved she had no tears left to shed. "It's such a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine. I've been eagerly awaiting this moment since—" Merope stopped abruptly.

Hermione leaned forward, drawn by an invisible thread. "Since?"

"I should let Ariana do the honors," her companion replied evasively. "Are you feeling up to—"

"I'm ready," Hermione stated firmly, legs swinging off the side of the bed.

"Of course you are," Merope laughed softly, rising swiftly and offering a helping hand. "We'll take a shortcut to the throne room."

Hermione accepted the palm and rose with far less grace, swaying precariously as a powerful headrush took hold. "She's really Queen of Wonderland?"

"Indeed." Merope gripped Hermione's shoulders until she was steady on her feet, then stepped back and gestured for her to follow. She led the brief trek to the door and opened it for her guest.

"What's your role here?" Hermione inquired as she passed, entering a lavish hallway and blinking with awe. The walls gleamed with lacquer and gold filigree, quartz slabs sparkling on the floor. Carved onyx composed the baseboards and molding and golden tile paved the ceiling, polished to such perfection they reflected Hermione's bewildered expression with stunning clarity.

Merope entered without a glance, unaffected by the mesmerizing design as she offered a simple response to the question Hermione had forgotten she asked. "I serve many purposes, but mainly I—"

"Hello Merope," a passing woman greeted.

Merope smiled brightly, closing her bedroom door with a soft click. "Hello Justine, how are you feeling?"

"Much better," the woman replied, stopping before them. "The headaches went away."

"I'm so relieved. Let me know if they return, I'm happy to brew more tonic."

"I will, thank you." The stranger nodded a polite farewell and continued on her way.

Hermione stared at her retreating figure before glancing sideways. "You brew tonics?"

"Only the basics," Merope provided shortly, starting down the gilded corridor and prompting her companion to follow. But Hermione refused to let the subject drop, sensing something greater hidden beneath the basic answer.

"Are you interested in medicine?"

"I suppose you can say that." A pregnant pause. "I was a nurse, for a very short while."

Hermione stumbled, falling into Merope's side. "Really?" She flushed hotly before veering back on course. "Tom never told me that."

"He doesn't know." The statement was simple yet inspired a profound sadness that pierced to the core. They turned the corner, a new face appearing before Hermione could form a response.

"Maggie," Merope greeted, "it's good to see you up and about."

"I'm up, still working on the about," the stranger replied gruffly, slowing before the pair.

"May I see?" Merope prompted.

"Sure." The woman hiked her skirt as Merope leaned down to inspect her bare ankle.

"The inflammation has gone down," Merope hummed idly, straightening with a smile, "the bruise should fade within a day."

The woman released a heavy sigh and dropped her skirt. "I can't believe I sprained it mopping a bloody floor."

"I think you were doing a bit more than mopping, but it's our little secret." Merope winked.

"I appreciate that," the stranger stated with amusement before turning her attention to the hallway's third occupant. "Hello, hon, I don't believe we've met. Name's Margaret, friends call me Maggie and everyone else calls me a—"

"Spirited conversationalist," Merope hastily interjected.

Maggie smirked. "Yeah, and then they compliment my delicate grace and perfect manners."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Maggie. I'm Hermione. My friends call me Mione, though I'm certain they use an assortment of nicknames when I'm not around."

Her new acquaintance blinked twice, jaw unhinging. "Hermione…" She glanced at Merope. "She's the one?"

Merope's expression remained unchanged. "She is."

"Holy shite." Maggie sprung forward with surprising dexterity, seizing Hermione in a tight embrace. "Get over here!" Hermione stiffened in her hold, glancing over her shoulder at Merope for some clue.

"We mustn't overwhelm her, Maggie," Merope gently admonished. "She hasn't had the opportunity to speak with Ariana yet."

"Oh!" The exuberant woman released her with a laugh. "And here I am rambling like a nutter."

"Not at all," Hermione assured, awkwardly tucking a curl behind her ear. "Though I haven't done anything to earn such a warm welcome."

"You came to save us," Maggie said as though it were the most obvious fact in the world.

The weight of the declaration pressed upon Hermione's chest, expelling her breath. "All I've managed to do so far is nearly get myself killed in new and exotic ways."

The woman shrugged. "I busted my arse dancing with a mop, we all have our off days." The uncandid admission inspired a fit of laughter, Hermione's shoulders trembling with the glorious release. "Besides, our Queen believes in you," Maggie continued, taking pleasure in her reaction. "That's good enough for me."

Hermione settled, chest tightening anew. But the colorful resident spared her from having to respond, clapping her hands in delight. "Well, I'm off to the kitchens," she announced animatedly. "Figured I'd try to make amends with the uppity bitch."

"I'm certain Lorraine will appreciate the assistance," Merope said, "even more so if you refrain from calling her an uppity bitch."

"She won't bat an eye at that. Now when I tell her she has a fat arse she'll throw a cleaver at my head. Should be quite a show if you're interested." Merope shook her head, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "What?" Maggie batted her lashes innocently. "I've got to break up the monotony of eternity somehow."

Merope sighed, offering no response.

"Relax. I promised Ariana I wouldn't start any more trouble. I keep good on my word."

"I know," Merope stated at last, eyes gleaming with amusement as Maggie started to back away.

"Good luck, hon!" She called with a wave. "Give that evil bastard hell!" Hermione returned the farewell gesture with a grin, arm dropping as the woman disappeared around the corner.

"The Castle is asylum to a diverse group of inhabitants," Merope explained as though it wasn't glaringly obvious.

"It reminds me of the Home," Hermione mused, "except it floats in the sky and isn't ruled by an evil tyrant, so all-in-all it's greatly preferable."

Her companion laughed, deep and melodic, before continuing their forward journey. They passed several more residents as they navigated the halls, men and women of varying ages and demeanors, though they all appeared well-cared for and bright-eyed, a jarring contrast to the dirty and fatigued residents taking shelter in the Abbey. A few people sought an audience with Merope to exchange pleasantries or ask advice. She replied to each one with steady grace and unwavering warmth, genuine fondness in her voice. It soon became evident her maternal nature wasn't an act for Hermione's benefit. Which made the fact Tom had been denied this version of his mother all the more tragic. But Hermione quelled such thoughts, eager to stay on topic and complete her mission.

"Did all these people travel through the hedge maze?" She asked, keeping pace beside her statuesque guide as they traversed another glittering hall, this one filled by decorative tables and overflowing flower vases.

"A few, when it was less lethal and more scenic. But the majority were transported directly following their arrival before Gellert took control." The casual utterance of his name somehow made it all the more sinister, summoning forth his image like a ghost in her mind. "Ariana wanted to bring you here via the same means," Merope continued, effectively dispelling the malevolent vision, "but she's very weak. Lavender insisted on fetching you instead. It's vital Ariana conserve her strength. Wonderland will fall to ruins without her."

Hermione wetted her lips, eagerly absorbing the information. If Ariana had the power to send entities back and forth it could only mean one thing… "She plans to send me home," she surmised aloud.

"Yes," Merope confirmed, idly straightening a bloom as they entered the next gleaming corridor.

"How?"

"Ariana can explain it much better than I," Merope replied without shame, casting a sideways glance. "She's very excited to meet you."

Hermione released her breath in a rush, mind spinning with the task ahead. "The feeling is mutual." And then a new piece of the puzzle surfaced, eager to be put in its rightful place. "I've seen Ariana's apparition several times, has she sent you back as well?"

The grey eyes flickered, no doubt sensing the true meaning behind the question. "A handful of times, but I'm embarrassed to admit it was purely for selfish purposes. I can only see him when I cross over."

Hermione's heart skipped. "You've visited Tom?" She was instantly transported to the haunted attic of the Home, recalling the night she first revealed her ghoulish visions to him. He'd been refreshingly open-minded but gave no indication of undergoing a similar experience.

"I've checked in," Merope divulged, gaze so penetrating Hermione was certain she could see the attic-scene play out in her mind. "But he's only ever seen me once. By accident."

The memory collapsed like smoke, replaced by a chronic ache. "I'm so sorry, Merope. I can't imagine the pain of being separated from your child, only able to see him from a distance."

"The fault is my own," Merope uttered tightly, glancing forward.

Hermione shook her head. "No, it isn't. You weren't in control of your actions."

"Nevertheless, it was my job to protect him." A tear overspilled her dark lashes, quickly swept away. "I failed in every way imaginable." Hermione's lips parted but no comfort came forth. She hadn't the faintest clue how to remedy over three decades of misplaced guilt. "He's been alone for so long. From the very day he was born." She glanced at Hermione, eyes shimmering with emotion. "I'm so happy he found you."

Hermione stumbled over her feet, catching herself against a narrow table and knocking a vase on its side. She scrambled to catch it before it shattered on the quartz, salvaging the decoration but not her pride. A fever burned a steady path across her chest and neck, spilling over her cheeks like wildfire. "He has the Admiral as well," she said quickly, carefully stepping around the furniture. "Dumbledore cares for him like a son."

Merope nodded, resuming their journey. "Albus is a good man. He did his best to steer Tom away from this path, to offer a positive influence." A shadow passed over her delicate features, transforming them into a chilling mask. "But the curse is in the blood. There's no escaping it."

Hermione's pulse swelled. "What do you—"

"Hello, Merope."

Hermione gasped, startled by the interruption.

"Rachel," Merope greeted kindly as the woman passed, waiting until she was out of earshot before picking up the fallen reins of their conversation. "Albus has given Tom a great deal, but he never stood at his side to fight this battle. That's what sets you apart."

Hermione rubbed her palms along her skirts, overcome by the urge to fidget. "Tom has done most of it on his own—"

"Don't be modest. I've seen you together."

She stumbled again, placing a hand to the wall for balance as her heart exploded in her chest, death imminent. "What…" Dear God. "What were we doing?"

Merope reached out a steadying hand, inspecting her as though searching out the source of her clumsiness. "Having a conversation."

"Oh. Right." Hermione deflated, then attempted to disguise the motion by smoothing both hands down her front. "We… converse often." Stop talking.

Merope guided her forward, interlocking their arms in an obvious attempt to keep her upright. "I knew you'd stop at nothing to bring this evil to an end. You're the partner Tom needs to see this through."

Hermione felt her blush deepen and silently cursed the juvenile reaction. But she was spared from further mortification as they arrived before a set of gilded silver doors. They made a magnificent sight, covered from floor to ceiling in intricate filigree, reminiscent of her lost blade. Her fingers twitched with the memory, still calling out for their lost companion.

"Hermione," Merope spoke lowly, drawing her attention, "before you go inside, there's something you should know about Ariana." Hermione held her breath, sensing the weight of the information to follow. "She…" Her lips formed shapes but the words refused to come, silence stretching thin before she sighed and shook her head. "On second thought, nevermind. There's really no describing her." She imparted a gentle smile before reaching for the curved handle and pulling the door wide.

Hermione felt a sudden rush of anxiety, nervous to enter. But she forced her knees to bend, reminding herself of all the battles she'd faced and won, all the danger and mayhem she'd braved in order to arrive at this very moment. Her shoulders drew back with confidence, stride lengthening, yet she'd barely made it past the threshold before she was staggering to a halt, overcome by the unexpected scene.

The room was a sight to behold, every corner worth close inspection. The domed ceiling was a kaleidoscope of stained glass, casting rainbows across every surface, reflected most brightly in the gemstone tile. A black velvet staircase led to a solid gold throne, empty save for an assortment of silk pillows piled atop the cushion, others scattered around the chair to accommodate a seated audience. Behind the gleaming centerpiece was a massive water display covering the entire wall, liquid cascading from copper pipes in the ceiling, emptying into a coral-filled pond of tropical fish. A modest garden took up the back portion of the room, gleaming tile giving way to dark soil and flowering bushes, fruit trees sprouting from the floor. A huge clock hovered on the wall above, metallic hands slowly ticking away. The face read five o'clock, prompting Hermione to search out the dual suns behind the stained glass, wondering just how long a day lasted—

The leaves rustled in the garden, barely audible over the crash and froth of water. Her gaze flickered to a trembling bush of yellow hellebores and her hands curled on instinct, preparing for the next battle. But her fears were dispelled as a snow-white lop emerged from the foliage, leaves and petals trailing its path as it bounded forward, pink nose twitching. It landed before her in a mound of fluff, long ears dangling and deep blue eyes staring up.

Hermione smiled at the creature, shoulders easing. "Hello, Ariana."

A flash of silver light followed, bright and dazzling, absorbing the shape of the rabbit and illuminating the silhouette of a girl as she unfolded from her crouched position. Pale hair caught Hermione's gaze first, the near-white locks reflecting the rainbow prisms from above. Her dress was the same shade as her royal blue gaze, skirts lavish and full, bodice stitched with silver thread and gemstones, a design befitting a queen. And the face smiling back at her was exactly that, regal and radiant, but most astoundingly, full of life. Her lips parted and all of Wonderland held its breath, clinging to every word. "Hello, Hermione."

---

Astoria smoothed her hands along her front, straightening the seams of her bodice and fluffing her skirts, desperate to dispel this twitching anxiety before entering the shop. Alas, she couldn't delay the inevitable any longer without attracting unwanted attention from early morning passers-by. Her father was well-connected and several of his business associates were known to frequent this neighborhood; she was too close to freedom to have it ripped away now. So with a deep breath, she reached for the handle and tugged the door wide, striding inside before talking herself out of it.

The scent of leather and parchment flooded her senses, calming her nerves. That is until she caught a movement behind the counter and a damning blush spilled across her face like ink.

"Good morning, how can I—" he glanced up, spotting her and grinning wide. "Astoria. Well, now it's a fantastic morning."

She laughed softly, flush deepening as the door settled at her back. "Good morning, Fred."

"I didn't know you were coming today." He folded his arms atop the counter, eyes gleaming as she began a tentative approach.

"I came to speak with Andromeda."

"She's in the back, let me grab her." He pushed away from the table and started to turn.

"Actually…" Just breathe. "I came to speak with you as well."

He settled back into place, grinning anew. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She stopped before him, sweeping invisible hairs from her face to keep from fidgeting. "I…" Just say it. "I'm leaving."

He blinked, then arched an auburn brow. "Leaving?"

"London," she supplied, gripping the edge of the counter for balance.

"Oh." His smile faltered. "Is your family going on holiday?"

"Not quite—" The door at back swung open, startling them both.

"Ah, I thought I heard a familiar voice," Andromeda announced, emerging from the backroom like a vibrant beam of sunlight. "Good morning, dear, how are you?"

"I'm quite well, thank you, Madam." Andromeda glanced between the room's young occupants, her astute inspection causing them to shift awkwardly, giving rise to her knowing grin. Astoria cleared her throat, eager to dispel her growing mortification. "I just wanted to provide you with my new account information." She reached into her pocket and extracted a slip of paper.

"Oh, splendid," Andromeda chimed, accepting the offering. "I'll update our books." She read the information scribbled across the parchment, tilting her head. "CaixaBank?"

"It's in Barcelona." Astoria swallowed as Fred and Andromeda directed their full attention upon her. Don't squirm. "It's actually a friend's account. She's letting me use it until I can set up my own."

"You're moving to Barcelona?" Andromeda asked, Fred still as a statue at her side.

Hearing the words spoken aloud caused a similar reaction in Astoria, heart galloping as she felt the weight of her decision for the first time. "I am."

But the mounting tension snapped like a band as Andromeda squealed with delight, quickly rounding the counter with extended arms. "How wonderful! I'm so excited for you, darling!" She embraced Astoria warmly. Astoria returned the gesture with a bright smile, and then her eyes drifted to Fred and her pulse stuttered anew. He was sporting his signature grin but his eyes contained an emotion she was afraid to ponder. Andromeda leaned back but continued to grip Astoria's arms, holding her gaze intently. "When are you leaving?"

"My train departs in a few hours."

"My goodness!" The Madam released her at last, stepping towards the counter with the bank slip in hand. "Wait right here, I'm going to write down our telegraph information." She turned on her heel and departed into the backroom, leaving Astoria to bite her lip, the silence stifling.

"Barcelona," Fred finally mused.

She released her breath with a torrent of words. "I would have told you sooner but I only recently came to the decision—"

"Astoria, I'm happy for you." She swayed in place, gripping the counter tighter. "You're destined for so much more than a lifetime behind doors," he continued, the lightness of his expression undermined by the burning intensity of his gaze. "You're meant to explore the world."

She laughed, voice sharpened by relief. "I thought I'd start with Spain and see how it goes. I'll probably come back within—"

"You won't come back," he asserted, causing her heart to skip violently.

She settled back, shoulders sloping as she spoke the truth aloud. "No," she whispered. "I won't."

He swallowed thickly, throat bobbing beneath his pale collar. "Good. Your father never deserved a daughter like you."

"I'm sure he would agree."

"He's a bloody fool." The conviction of his voice made her smile, and his following question made it drop like a lead brick. "Is Daphne going?"

Her stomach tightened. "She doesn't even know I'm leaving." He shook his head with a laugh, prompting her to do the same. "She'll be cross. Very cross," Astoria mused. "But she'll eventually come around and understand why I couldn't wait. Then she'll insist on visiting. It'll force them to take a honeymoon so she can't stay angry for too long."

Fred blinked. "Daphne's married?"

"It's been a busy two days."

His eyes drifted down, lingering at her mouth. "I can see that."

She took a steadying breath, speaking without thought. "I'm so very happy I met you."

His eyes flickered up. "Me, too."

The rumbling cadence of his voice made her feel dangerously light-headed. "If you're ever in Barcelona—"

"I'll find you," he vowed.

She nodded, smiling through her blush. "I hope so."

Footsteps echoed behind the wall. They leaned away from the counter as the door opened, Andromeda emerging with a smile. "I just telegrammed our bank," she announced, handing back the slip of parchment. "The rest of your advance has been deposited, as well as a small something from Ted and me."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly accept—"

"We insist, and it's already been transferred. Consider it a thank you for selecting us as your publisher. I've no doubt your novel will be a bestseller."

Astoria's vision blurred, throat tightening. "You've been so very kind to me."

Andromeda stepped out from behind the counter and lifted her hand, sweeping a fallen tear from Astoria's cheek. "As I said, I was friends with your mother growing up. She did a great kindness for me then. I confided in her my plans to leave and she never told a soul, even when my father went on his rampage and threatened everyone I knew. It was always my deepest regret I never repaid Emmeline in her lifetime. But I believe she led you to me. In fact, I'm quite certain of it." There was no helping it now. Tears poured in an unstoppable rush, much to Astoria's embarrassment. "She would be very proud of you," Andromeda continued. "I know that I am. You always had the strength within you, and now that you've found it there's no limit to what you can accomplish."

Astoria inhaled deeply, struggling to find her voice. "Thank you, Andromeda."

They leaned in, embracing once more. She rested her chin on the Madam's shoulder and closed her eyes, pretending for a fleeting moment she was safely encased in her mother's arms. The fantasy was short-lived but deeply comforting. And then they pulled back, laughing through their shared tears.

"Well, don't let me keep you," Andromeda said, drying her face. "I'm sure you have plenty still to do before departing." Astoria nodded. "Oh, take this," the woman added, holding out another slip of paper with a string of numbers scrawled across the front. "Our telegraph. Reach out any time. We're always here for you."

Astoria held the slip with both hands, tracing its edges. "I'll forward my telephone number once I'm settled."

Fred laughed, earning a heatless glare from his employer. "Don't start with me, Fred Weasley."

He ignored the warning, meeting Astoria's curious stare. "Andy refuses to install a phone."

"They're a waste of money," Andromeda snapped, folding her arms. "Why would someone choose to talk when they can simply type out a message instead? Telephones are a passing fad, mark my words."

He shook his head. "I'm amazed we don't chisel our books onto stone tablets."

"The boys tease me relentlessly," she lamented with a wry grin. "Please send word when you arrive, dear, let us know you made it there safely."

"I will." Astoria took a deep breath. "Thank you again… for everything."

"It's been my pleasure."

She wet her lips, glancing at Fred. "I—" The words lingered on her tongue but he seemed to interpret them all the same.

"You're about to start the rest of your life," he said. "Don't waste a minute of it looking back."

Andromeda propped her hip against the counter. "Very sound advice, Mr. Weasley. Though there's never any telling what the future holds."

Astoria held his gaze. "Goodbye, Fred," she whispered.

His jaw ticked. "Goodbye, Astoria."

Their eyes held a moment longer. She looked away first, imparting a farewell nod to Andromeda before turning for the exit. Her legs felt stiff as she crossed the shop, stomach twisting when she reached the door. She gripped the knob and hesitated, staring through the inlaid glass at the bustling street beyond. And then she met her reflection's solemn gaze and blinked.

This is it. You did it.

Her lips curved upward, bubbling laughter trapped in her throat as she pulled the door wide. The London smog felt crisp and clean against her lungs, the bustling chaos of the city matched only by the thundering of her heart. She shared a parting wave over her shoulder before stepping onto the sidewalk and embarking on the first stage of the rest of her life.

---

Harry leaped back as a wagon barreled around the corner, wheels scraping the curb as the driver flipped him the bird. He shook his head and continued across the street, carefully navigating morning traffic with Ron trailing like a sluggish shadow. They stepped onto the sidewalk, weaving around lamp posts and pedestrians alike.

"Tell me what we're doing here again," Ron groaned, pausing to allow an elderly man with a newspaper-trolley to pass.

Harry squeezed the vial in his pocket. "Trying to figure out what's in this bloody bottle."

"I mean what are we doing here?" His friend gestured to the sign hanging above.

Harry sighed, slowing before the shop door. "He's the best."

"He's an arsehole. There's no way he'll help us."

"Have some faith," Harry muttered, struggling to follow his own advice.

Ron tilted his head, expression dubious. "Is that a joke?"

"Hermione vouched for him." Harry reached for the handle. "He must have a soul."

"She also vouched for Riddle, let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Harry rolled his eyes, opening the door and crossing the threshold, eager to get the tedious task behind them.

"Welcome," clipped an unwelcoming voice. "What do you want?"

Harry glanced at the front of the store, spotting the tall and slender man standing behind the counter scribbling furiously atop a stack of ledgers. Between his pale skin and gaunt features, he appeared more undertaker than Apothecary owner.

"Mr. Snape," Harry greeted awkwardly, causing the man to seize in place, pen stalling in his hand. "Good afternoon."

Snape's head tilted up in slow motion, eyes dark and gleaming as they bore holes through Harry's skull. "Mr. Potter," he uttered slowly, precisely, each syllable curdling like acid on his tongue.

Harry straightened, unnerved by the chilly reception. "I wasn't sure you'd recognize me."

Ron slipped inside and flattened to the wall as though attempting to hide between the display cases. Snape's prominent nose twitched, bat-like gaze affixed to Harry. "You bear an even greater likeness to your father than the last time we spoke. How unfortunate."

"I've learned to make do."

"I assume you're here to explain Ms. Granger's prolonged absence."

Harry took a deep breath, squeezing the vial anew. "Not exactly."

"I never took her as the grossly irresponsible type. Alas, the fault is my own for thinking her capable of more than talking incessantly."

Ron surged forward, abandoning his foxhole in his rage. "You don't know what you're talking about—"

"Ron," Harry warned, gripping the man by the shoulder and pulling him back.

"Listen to your friend, Mr. Weasley. Dumbfounded silence best suits a face such as yours."

Ron flushed a brilliant shade of red before turning to Harry with a scowl. "What did I tell you? We're wasting our time. Let's head to Bloomberg's, they have more business anyway."

Snape resumed his writing, speaking in a bored drawl. "The staff at Bloomberg's are uniquely qualified at generating repeat business by poisoning their clientele. If you're looking to make a purchase for your own personal use I do hope you'll pay them a visit."

Ron spun to the counter with clenched teeth. "Why don't you wait outside," Harry suggested, though it was less request and more demand as he pulled his friend towards the door.

Ron shrugged out of his grip but posed no fight. "Make it fast," he grumbled, storming out of the shop and slamming the door for good measure. Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and cringing, the gesture igniting a white-hot burst of agony in his battered side.

"A convincing performance, Mr. Potter," the Chemist stated corrosively, never halting his pen. "But wholly wasted on me. I refuse to supply my establishment with opium or morphine. You can get your fix in a back-alley den."

"I'm not here for that," Harry muttered, biting back his discomfort and crossing the floor with shallow breath. "I'm here for this." He reached into his pocket and extracted the vial, setting it on the counter and sliding it across the glossy wood.

Snape released an annoyed sound, refusal clear in his dark eyes, and then he caught sight of the blue liquid and turned to stone, pale complexion waning further. "Where did you get that?" He demanded, voice low and ominous.

Harry leaned forward, pulse throbbing in his side. "You recognize it?"

"Where?"

"Someone gave it to me, but I have no idea what it is."

The bat eyed him warily. "What are you involved in, Mr. Potter?" Harry's lips pressed thin. "I see. In that case…" Snape pushed the vial away with the tip of his pen. "Take it, destroy it, and never speak of it again. That's the only help I can offer."

"Mr. Snape—"

"Good day, Mr. Potter." He started writing once more, knuckles white.

Harry swallowed thickly, cutting through the bullshite. "Hermione's life depends on finding answers." A tremor ran the length of Snape's hand, the nib jumping across the page and trailing ink, pristine lettering ruined. "So do the lives of many others," Harry pressed on, sliding the vial back across. "And you're the only one who can help."

The pen slammed onto the counter. "If what you say is true, you should be having this conversation with an Officer at Scotland Yard."

"An Officer can't tell me what's inside this bottle."

"I'm flattered by your faith in my abilities."

He didn't sound the least bit flattered, and Harry wasn't the least bit interested in blowing smoke up his lily-white arse. "The faith is borrowed," Harry admitted, leaning into the counter as the man before him blinked in confusion. "My mother always claimed your tonics were unparalleled in quality. She would only purchase from you. She also said you were an old friend. I assume that's why you came to the funeral." He raised a dark brow, wondering why Snape looked like he'd just been stabbed in the gut. Stay focused. "You've earned Hermione's trust as well. So now you have mine. And for better or worse, we need you."

The silence that followed was eerie and absolute, the hum of the city fading away as they held each other's gaze for a tense eternity. Finally, Snape reached for the bottle with a hesitant hand, grasping it between his thumb and forefinger and holding it to the light to examine the contents. Harry released his breath in a rush, unaware he'd been holding it.

"Tell me how you came to possess this vial," Snape demanded. "I need to know what enemies to expect at my door."

"Someone stole it from…" Shite. "a medical cabinet."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Telling you anything more puts your life in danger. There isn't time to get into the full story."

The Chemist sighed, setting the bottle down. "Ms. Granger ingested it?"

Harry stiffened, fingers curling atop the wood grain. "I think so."

"Is she still in a trance?"

He rocked back, the question taking him off guard. "She was. Now she's sleeping off a tranquilizer."

Snape's jaw ticked, as though he detested the information he was about to divulge. "It's called Devil's Breath. Otherwise known as scopolamine, derived from the flowers and bark of a rare species of nightshade. It's long been used in Pharmacopoeia as a remedy for motion sickness. The Navy used to give it to sailors before long sea voyages. In small doses, its effects are mild and manageable."

"And in large doses?" Harry prompted, easing forward with every word.

"It strips a person of their free will and memory, inducing hallucinations before turning them into a lifeless shell."

The ground shook beneath their feet, though the traffic outside the window appeared unaffected. "We've been calling them Dolls," Harry muttered, fire erupting along his side as he thought back to the veil-covered figures awaiting auction.

"I suppose that's an apt description," Snape assented. "Those suffering its effects remain awake and alert without any instinctual reaction to their surroundings."

"Are they suggestable?"

"Extremely. Hence its widespread abuse. Victims are easily persuaded to surrender their bank accounts, bodies, and even lives without an ounce of struggle or hesitation. Afterward, they remember nothing."

Bloody hell. Harry gripped the edge of the counter. "What's the cure?"

"There is no cure," Snape stated coldly. "Once it reaches the bloodstream the drug must run its course. Side-effects can be reduced through the application of sedatives, though it seems you've already taken care of that where Ms. Granger is concerned."

"How long does it stay in someone's system?"

"The range varies." Snape straightened his parchment, seemingly at ease discussing such macabre subject matter. "Anywhere from a few hours to a few days."

"Days?" Harry parroted with a shake of his head. "Some of these girls have been under for years."

The dark void in the man's gaze swallowed him whole. "There's no drug with such long-lasting effects."

"What if they're redosed?"

"Nightshade is an anticholinergic."

Harry blinked. "Meaning?"

"Your mother was a skilled Chemist in her own right, surely she taught you the basics."

Harry opened and closed his mouth, once more tipped off-balance. "I was twelve when she died," he said at last, unsure what point was being made.

"Lily was brewing tonics by age ten." Harry's mind reeled anew, clueless on how to respond. Snape pressed forward with tight agitation. "Anticholinergics wreak havoc on the heart and central nervous system. Continual redosing would result in seizures and cardiac arrest. No one could survive a steady diet of it for years."

Harry struggled to consolidate the information with the horrors he'd witnessed first-hand. "What if it was combined with brainwashing?"

"Pardon?" Snape cocked his head like massive a bird of prey, staring down his beak as though Harry were a fucking idiot.

"The Devil's Breath makes them suggestable," Harry began, undaunted by the man's acidic tone, "could the mind be altered in such a state to make the effects permanent?"

"From a theoretical standpoint, that sounds profoundly moronic." Harry sighed, leaning away from the counter with a roll of his eyes. "Hallucinogens alter one's perceived reality," Snape continued succinctly. "Deliriants more so. Some patients suffer psychotic breaks while under the influence. So from that regard, yes, the alterations to the brain may prove long-term."

"These women aren't psychotic," Harry explained. "They're trapped."

Snape released a terse breath before lifting the bottle between them, studying it anew. "The coloring is unnatural. A dye has been added."

"Why?" Harry narrowed his gaze, watching the blue-liquid swirl behind the glass.

"It serves no functional purpose. My educated guess is it's a warning to denote potency. Or a calling card."

The final words sent a chill through the air both men seemed to feel, tensing where they stood. "For who?" Harry asked, meeting the dark gaze over the top of the bottle.

Snape's visage darkened, taking on a skeletal quality. "Its creator."

Harry fought back a shudder, ribs throbbing in time to his heart. He watched the Chemist set the vial on the counter and a new thought occurred. "How did you recognize it if the color's been altered?"

A trolley passed by the window, its bell ringing loudly. Snape's shoulders drew level, as though bracing for the recollection. "I've seen a vial like this once before, many years ago in Germany. Its purpose was explained to me but I was never told the origins." Harry opened his mouth to speak but Snape cut him off, dark eyes gleaming. "There's been no reported cases of scopolamine abuse in the UK in many decades. I advise questioning the person who stole the vial and working backward to the source. I know nothing more. Good day." He glanced away, retaking his pen and returning to his ledger.

Harry took a deep breath before grabbing the vial, too exhausted to challenge the dismissal. "Good day. And thank you," he relented, nodding his sincerity and turning for the door.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry paused, glancing back.

Snape peered up from his task, eyes narrowed. "When Ms. Granger recovers from her extended mental holiday I expect her back at work immediately." A sardonic beat. "Excuses are unacceptable."

Harry couldn't contain his smirk. "I'll be sure to pass along your message."

"See that you do." The ghostly face peered down, long fingers scribbling along the page as though the last five minutes never occurred. Harry shook his head and opened the door, stuffing the vial into his pocket and stepping onto the crowded sidewalk.

"Christ, took you long enough," Ron bellowed, pushing away from the wall. "Thought the twisted bastard murdered you and harvested your parts for ingredients." He fell into pace beside Harry. "Find out anything useful?"

"We know what it is," Harry said, thoughts churning as he strode for the intersection head. "Now I'm going to use the Dollmaker's own creation against him."

Ron sidestepped a post before shooting him a perplexed look. "How?"

Harry inhaled deeply, relishing the burn of factory smoke against the back of his throat. "By trapping a rat."

---

Tom took the porch stairs two at a time, blood rushing through his ears, drowning the violent tirade in his mind. He charged the door and pulled viciously at the knob, pounding the wood with the side of his fist until it rattled against its hinges. He was moments from kicking the blasted thing down when a faint shuffling emitted from within, the curtain of the bay window pulled aside to reveal a pair of ice-blue eyes. Tom scowled, making no effort to conceal the murder in his gaze. Yet the door opened anyway, the man before him breathing a sigh of relief.

"Tom, thank god—" Tom gripped the bastard by the front of his robe and drove him back, the tall, elderly frame posing no resistance as it was pressed flat to the wall. Despite the abrupt seizure, Dumbledore's face remained frustratingly stoic. "I'm having déjà vu—"

"Shut up," Tom growled, baring his teeth and tightening his grip. "What aren't you telling me?" A silver brow arched, no response issuing forth. Tom saw red. "Talk!"

"So I'm allowed?"

"I'm tired of your games, tell me who Grindelwald is!"

The Admiral turned a startling shade of white, sinking into the paneling. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Are you working with him?" Tom demanded, unrelenting in his hold.

"What?"

"No more lies! Are you working with the Dollmaker? Is that how he evaded authorities for so many decades?"

The pale blue gaze drifted, lost to some internal thought, indifferent to Tom's explosive rage. "Angus Bumby is Grindelwald…"

"I know that!" Tom shouted, every vein throbbing. "Just like I know you've been working with him!"

Dumbledore met his gaze once more, face guarded. "I don't know what Gellert told you—"

"He told me you're a master manipulator who's not to be trusted."

"And you believe his word over mine?"

Tom gritted his teeth, black seeping into the corners of his vision. "Right now, I'd happily watch you both burn."

"I can explain everything, Tom, but it's a rather long story and I'd rather not relay it whilst pinned to the wall."

"Tough shite," Tom hissed, pressing the man harder for emphasis. "Start talking."

The Admiral released a long breath, shoulders slanting down. "He was Ariana's doctor at the group home. And then he murdered her. You may doubt my loyalty to you but surely not to her. If I'm working with him I was also complicit in her gruesome demise." Tom set his jaw and searched the haunted gaze, body coiling tight as he forced his grip to loosen. Dumbledore sighed, smoothing a hand down his shirt. "Thank you—"

"Don't." Tom crossed his arms and braced his feet apart, forming an impenetrable wall. "I have no faith in you, I just want to get the entire story in under an hour."

Dumbledore tilted his head, gaze sparkling beneath the entryway chandelier. "In that case, might I sit?"

"You're pushing your luck."

"I ran out of luck long ago," the Admiral mused, stepping around his former charge as though he wasn't moments away from being throttled. "I was in the Meditteranean when my parents told me they'd sent her away. Ari had been in the home for nearly two months when I first visited." He paced to the front door, shutting it with a jarring click. "When I first met him." He glanced up, meeting Tom's watchful stare. "I should have begun the legal proceedings to take custody of her then and there. But I was young and selfish, more concerned with my career than her well-being. He played on that selfishness while dispelling my skepticism, assuring me he could rid her of Wonderland."

Tom blinked, quickly sorting through the information, trying to see ahead to the final chapter. "Wonderland?"

"Her ongoing delusion. A fantasy world she claimed—" Dumbledore broke off with a sigh, shaking his head and glancing away. "It doesn't matter." He turned for the narrow hall. "He said he'd developed a special form of therapy to address her mental affliction, painless and effective. He seemed to genuinely care about his patients, and Ariana appeared comfortable with him." The creases in his forehead deepened as he entered the bright room. "So I left her there. I had the opportunity to save my sixteen-year-old sister and instead I left her with the man who would soon become her murderer." Tom followed in tense silence, anger and pity warring for dominance. "The day I said goodbye was the last time I saw her alive," Dumbledore continued, voice barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat and glanced away, sunlight glinting off his spectacles. "He sent me weekly status reports on her progress. We even communicated via telegram when I made port. I stayed closely apprised of her condition to alleviate my festering guilt. I was in Tel Aviv when the first warning sign became apparent."

His slippers tread a silent path to the couch. Tom elected to linger in the doorway, tension mounting as they waded through the cobwebs of history. "He'd begun calling her Ari. I chalked it up to careless shorthand," the Admiral continued, adjusting the tie on his robe. "But the subsequent letters took on an increasingly intimate tone. After a couple months, I contacted the Home's administration and requested Ariana be transferred to another doctor. They refused my request at first, citing I wasn't her guardian. So I told them I had proof of Grindelwald's unprofessional interest in my sister. Instead of challenging the accusation and demanding to see the letters they folded immediately, further proof of how obvious his obsession was. To avoid scandal they agreed to have him sent away."

He lowered to the cushions, knees cracking with the motion. "They never told him I was the one who complained, made evident a week later when he wrote to inform me that he was being transferred to Austria and asked for my blessing to take Ariana along. I can only assume he'd thought I'd stand in adamant agreement and help convince our parents to sign the waivers. When I refused outright he cut off all communication." A heavy sigh. He removed his glasses to rub his eyes. "I set sail for London immediately, fearing he'd abscond with her anyway. I also wrote to my parents, threatening to disown them publically if they signed any release papers. But by the time I arrived… Ariana was already gone."

Tom paced the edge of the rug, too restless to stand still. Dumbledore replaced his spectacles and tracked his gaze around the room. "Naturally, Gellert was my first and only suspect, regardless of what the authorities claimed. But he stayed locked in the Home and I wasn't allowed entry after the initial inspection of her room. After she was found dead I broke into his office, only to find it empty. He'd left for Austria, so to Austria I followed. It took six days to track down his flat. When I arrived it was labeled a crime scene. The landlord told me Gellert committed suicide two days prior." He braced his hands on his knees, as though preparing to stand but unable to muster the strength. "I assumed the horror was over, that Ariana's killer had taken his own life and saved me the trouble. And then I returned to London and discovered new bodies were turning up in the rivers and alleys. A killer on the loose. I had no reason to suspect Grindelwald was still alive, that his obsession ran any further than Ariana. Instead, I began hunting the ghost known as the Dollmaker, never connecting the two."

Tom shook his head, coming to a stop on the other side of the tea-table. "You expect me to believe you had no idea Grindelwald was the Dollmaker until I told you just now?"

"I didn't suspect until well over a decade later. And even then, I was uncertain." Tom squared his shoulders, sensing a heavy weight about to be dropped upon him. True to form, Dumbledore didn't fail to deliver. "There's something you need to see," the Admiral stated ominously before rising with a quiet groan. "Though it pains me to show you."

Tom swayed back to evade the portending words, watching his former benefactor cross the room and proceed towards the wall. Shadows dripped from the crown molding as he grabbed a seascape painting by its frame and lifted it from the hook, carefully setting it on the ground to reveal a gleaming safe set into the paneling. He began spinning the dial back and forth, fingers aged but agile. The lock clicked as the door swung free, unveiling a spacious compartment full of random items. But the Admiral wasted no time shuffling through trinkets, reaching towards a stack of documents in the back and extracting a scrap of paper without hesitation.

An invisible force compelled Tom forward until he stood like a suit of armor beside the safe. Dumbledore examined the parchment in silence, the chronic gleam in his eyes clouded by smoke. At last, he relinquished the slip without an upward glance. Tom held his breath, holding the corner of the wrinkled paper and trying to read the elegant script along its front. The cursive was worn, ink faded. "We read of…" he muttered aloud, squinting in a futile effort to decipher the next word, a heavy stain obscuring half the letters.

"We read of Lancelot, by love constrained," Dumbledore recited, eyes focused on the window across the room.

Tom arched a dark brow, the words bearing no significance. "What does it mean?"

"It's a quote from Inferno."

"I've never read it," he admitted, frustrated by his ignorance. It was a seldom hindrance and terribly infuriating.

The Admiral nodded, meeting Tom's gaze at last. "I refused to let a single copy of Dante enter this house. The line is spoken in reference to a pair of lovers condemned to eternal damnation for their passion, forever plagued with longing. It's an allusion to the consuming force of desire, its power over a man's actions and the fate of his soul."

Tom straightened, helpless to quell the feminine whisper in his mind… "Forever out of each other's reach. Forever cursed by their desires." He shook his head and glanced away, forcibly expelling her voice, though the pain in his chest refused to ebb. "What does this have to do with me?"

"I discovered the note twenty-one years ago." The ice-cold eyes turned piercing, rendering Tom frozen. "Clutched in your hand. You were holding it the day I found you in Kazan. It's stained with your blood."

Tom rocked in place, nearly crumpling the note in his fist. "Grindelwald was there?" He whispered, voice buried beneath an onslaught of horrific memories.

"I believe he watched as your father tortured you." Tom's shoulder blades drew tight, scar tissue heating. Dumbledore released a hissing breath, gazing upon the parchment. "The note was a mystery. I wracked my brain trying to make sense of the message—"

"He blames you for withholding Ariana, he thinks she desired him and you prevented their union." Tom ground his teeth, refusing to discuss his sorted past a moment longer. "It seems quite straightforward."

"Keep in mind I thought the man long dead."

"And then you kept his identity a secret for an additional twenty-one years," he scathed.

"I only suspected. The note was ambiguous. I searched for Grindelwald throughout Europe but found no trace after his supposed suicide."

"Why didn't you share your suspicion with me?"

The Admiral imparted a look of fatherly concern that made Tom homicidal. "I hoped to deter you from this violent path. The less you knew, the better chance you stood of forgetting—"

"My scars prevent me from forgetting a single moment of what occurred."

"I wanted you to move forward with your life," Dumbledore amended. "I knew the hunt would consume you. Grindelwald was a dead-end, he'd long changed his name by the time you were kidnapped—"

"I wasn't kidnapped," Tom snapped, hardly aware of his words. "I left with my father willingly."

The Admiral blinked, drawing back as though delivered a physical blow. "You never told me that."

Tom's eye twitched, more furious for the slip. "You still possess the lion's share of secrets."

The air soured between them, bitter as a poison cloud. "I only wanted to protect you," Dumbledore said at last.

Deep laughter filled the air, bubbling from the rising pressure in Tom's chest. His fist clenched, crumpling the blood-stained parchment. "He's destroyed everything I've ever cared about because of you!"

The Admiral lifted his chin, absorbing the blow with a soldier's stride. "Grindelwald knows watching you suffer is my greatest pain, yes."

"Everything he's done, all the lives he's destroyed, it's all about getting even with you… And yet you've sat back for the last thirty years and washed your hands of this mess?" Dumbledore closed his eyes, averting his face. "You created the Dollmaker," Tom pressed, taking a menacing step closer. "He's your monstrosity and you left him to run rampant!"

"I never thought—"

"Every life that's been lost, every mind that's been erased, it was all preventable. You had a lead and you hid it away in your bloody safe."

"I didn't know how to hunt a ghost."

"No, you just didn't want the responsibility. So you left it to me." Tom stalked closer but his prey refused to balk. "For all your claims of wanting to spare me this awful burden, you've ensured I'll never escape its shadow."

Dumbledore met his enraged stare, holding it steady. "I didn't think it would bring you any closer to finding him, the note would only stoke the flames of your obsession—"

"You left Ariana with him," Tom recounted darkly, relishing the pain his words elicited.

Dumbledore swallowed thickly, face awash in misery. "I didn't know who he was back then—"

"You left Austria and gave him free rein to become the Dollmaker, to turn my mother into a pervert's toy." The Admiral fell silent as Tom pressed in, their burning gazes level. "And then you allowed Hermione to go to him. She's one of them now. Held prisoner inside her own mind."

Dumbledore inhaled swiftly, breath catching. "I can never make amends for my sins or atone for my mistakes—"

"We've had this discussion. I'm bored with your excuses and don't have time for useless apologies."

"What can I do?"

"He's fleeing London," Tom stated, tracing the frayed edge of the note with his thumb. "I need men stationed at every train station and port."

"I'll send word to my sailors."

Tom stepped back to perform a careful examination of the man from hairline to slippers, shaking his head in disgust before holding out the bent parchment. "Your memento. Perhaps you should frame it."

Dumbledore accepted the missive with a sigh of resignation. "I've spent my career protecting a nation of strangers from foreign threats. In return, I left the people I love most exposed to the dangers at home. If I could go back—"

"You wouldn't change a thing. There's no need to lie to yourself as well as me."

"Learn from my mistakes, Tom," he urged quietly, eyes regaining their eerie brightness. "You've made a career of hunting a madman, don't let it cost you the one thing you're trying to protect."

Darkness bled into Tom's face as he backed away slowly, body vibrating with the battle to come. "Goodbye, Albus," he uttered with finality.

Dumbledore watched him stride for the doorway and muttered his own farewell, barely audible over the heavy tread of his boots. "Goodbye, Tom."

---

Hermione held her breath, the intensity of the moment radiating through every bone even as it took on a dream-like quality. Ariana broke the transient silence first, reaching out and seizing Hermione in an unexpected hug.

"You're finally here," she whispered excitedly, sounding every bit the sixteen-year-old girl her youthful face suggested. Hermione blinked, rigid in surprise as she met Merope's calming stare over the blonde's shoulder. The woman wore a secretive smile so closely resembling her son Hermione had to avert her eyes lest she be swept away on a tidal wave of emotion.

She turned her focus back to the girl embracing her tightly, pale tresses littered with petals and pearls that seemed to adhere to her locks without pins. Hermione held her breath and felt the rhythmic rise and fall of Ariana's chest, the warmth of her skin and floral scent of her hair, every aspect so startling alive it was impossible to imagine her levitating silently through the dark halls of the Home.

"I'm… sorry it took so long," Hermione whispered, scrambling for her grip on reality.

Ariana leaned back, gently gripping her arms and holding her gaze. "You were worth the wait. I'm grateful you came."

Hermione flushed with the compliment. Though Ariana appeared a teenager she emitted an aura of greatness akin to royalty, her stature so effortlessly regal it was easy to see why Wonderland's inhabitants deemed her their Queen. "It's strange hearing you speak," Hermione admitted before casting her gaze lower. "... and seeing your feet on the ground." She shook her head ruefully. "Of course you're still taller than me."

Ariana laughed brightly, the sound delightful and bizarre after being subjected to her mute apparition for so long. She grabbed two handfuls of silk and lifted her skirts above her ankles. "Not everything's changed; I still go barefoot." Hermione smiled at the familiar sight, prompting the young Queen to drop her skirts and tilt her head. "I should have decorated," the blonde lamented as she glanced around the splendiferous room. "I wanted to throw a party to celebrate your arrival but we lack the proper ingredients for a cake and without cake, it simply isn't a party." Her eyes flitted to the empty space at her side. "I haven't forgotten, I intend to ask her that next."

Hermione blinked and glanced at Merope. Tom's mother read the question in her eyes and began to mouth something but Ariana called their attention before Hermione could make sense of the message.

"How is your arm?"

"Oh," Hermione pushed the strange encounter aside and glanced at the appendage in question. "Healed. I can barely see where I was scratched."

"It was substantially more than a scratch," Merope interjected.

The Queen sighed, expression tense. "The maze has turned increasingly aggressive, I'm terribly sorry you were injured."

"It wasn't your fault," Hermione assured, arm tingling beneath their attention.

Ariana shook her head. "I should have—" Her words cut short as she swayed like a reed. Merope stepped forward with raised hands but Hermione reached out first, gripping the girl's arms and steadying her.

"Ariana?" She asked worriedly.

"I'm alright," the blonde whispered, pale lips forming a narrow grin. "Thank you, dear." It felt strange hearing such an endearment from one appearing younger than herself, but Hermione soon recalled just how long Ariana had resided in Wonderland, a mature mind trapped in a girl's body. "I would have opened a portal for you but, as you can see, my strength is waning."

Hermione studied her waxen complexion intently. "Is it the Dollmaker?"

"Defending Wonderland over the decades has been a substantial drain on my abilities," the young woman admitted, appearing stable on her feet despite the thready quality of her voice. Hermione released her, biting her tongue to keep from drowning her overtaxed host beneath a flood of questions. But Ariana seemed to read the dilemma in her eyes, quelling her struggle. "You may ask me anything you'd like, Hermione, you've certainly earned that right."

The temptation was too great to bear, curiosity threatening to split her wide. Hermione took a deep breath but before she could utter a single word Ariana glanced at the empty space beside her again, brow pinched.

"Pardon?" She inquired of the air, then cocked her head as though listening to a response. "Oh, what a marvelous idea!" Excitement revived her rosy glow as she faced forward. "Let me give you a tour of the Castle! It'll be such fun."

Hermione scrambled to keep up. "That's not nec—"

"I insist." The Queen looped their arms and stepped into her side, voluminous skirts pressed between them. "You can ask your questions and I can stretch my legs. I've been on bed rest for several days, forced I might add." She sent a heatless glare to their third companion.

"With the best intentions," Merope elucidated with a saccharine smile.

"Merope is our resident mother hen," Ariana explained fondly, propelling them towards the gilded doors. "She's exceptional at making certain we're all in good health."

"She certainly took excellent care of me," Hermione agreed. "Though I know from experience how frustrating bed rest is; every day feels like a year."

"Truer words were never spoken, especially when time doesn't exist."

Hermione arched a brow, glancing over their shoulders at the glittering timepiece suspended above the garden. "What about the clock?"

"Hm?" Ariana followed her line of sight. "Oh, that doesn't tell time. It moves forward and backward on its own accord, and sometimes it stops ticking altogether." She glanced to her other side, addressing dancing prisms emitted by the skylight. "Oh, don't be silly." Hermione tilted her head as they crossed the threshold, Merope following at a leisurely gait. She was no longer disturbed by the peculiarity, merely curious as she watched the young woman engage in a muttered conversation with the air. A few moments later she turned her attention back on Hermione with a radiant smile. "I'm sorry, dear, I sometimes talk to people who aren't there, I hope it doesn't upset you."

They turned a corner and reached a grand staircase, dark wood decorated with silver filigree. "Not at all," Hermione replied. "And just because I can't see them doesn't mean they aren't there."

Ariana beamed, leading them up the artful steps. "That's what my brother always said." Just then the staircase began to move, disrupting whatever thoughts occupied Hermione's mind the moment before. She was instantly reminded of the undulating bridge, panic taking hold as she clutched the railing in a death grip. "Don't be alarmed, dear," Ariana gently assured. "The stairs have a mind of their own but are harmless enough. Though they do enjoy pranking a resident every now and then, taking them everywhere but their desired destination." She gently patted her hand. "We'll visit the observatory first, I simply know you'll adore it."

The staircase connected to a new landing with a jarring click, causing Hermione's knees to wobble. She swallowed heavily, regaining her bearings. "I'd love to…"

A petal drifted from the Queen's pale hair to the sparkling floor as they disembarked. "But?" Ariana prompted.

Hermione met her curious stare. "Shouldn't we discuss our plan to stop the Dollmaker?"

"We can do both," the Queen replied merrily, urging them onward as Merope paced quietly at their backs.

The hallways all looked the same apart from their curious decorations, including an upside-down fishbowl that somehow retained its water and a vase of articulate flowers engaged in a lively debate about deforestation practices. And yet the greatest enigma remained Ariana herself. Hermione studied her profile as they progressed, knowing it was rude to stare but unable to muster an ounce of shame. Past her initial shock of seeing the girl alive —relatively speaking— Hermione was able to discern features not readily apparent in her ghostly form. Despite the Queen's perpetual state of adolescence, her skin was finely-milled as porcelain, not a spot in sight. Her eyes were large and glassy, so blue they looked like gemstones. The effect made Hermione's heart skip, the final piece clicking into place.

"He designs them in your image," she whispered.

Ariana continued to peer ahead, needing no clarification. "Unfortunately, yes." And then she glanced over her shoulder to the empty space beside Merope. "I know," she mused with a wry grin before gazing sideways. "Bernard says you're terribly clever."

Hermione gazed back, meeting Merope's amused stare before addressing the open air. "Thank you, Bernard."

The corridor ended, feeding into a landing dominated by a series of paintings. Their pace slowed, giving Hermione ample opportunity to study the images. And then they came to life as though awakened by a silent command. Clouds rolled across watercolor skies while children ran through budding fields, every blade of grass and smiling face composed of skillful brushstrokes. Some images moved to the edge of their frame and disappeared entirely, only to emerge in the neighboring painting until every canvas became an eccentric mix of subjects and styles.

Hermione tilted her head, watching an impressionist girl chase a Japanese crane over a cubist background and thinking it a fitting tribute to the beauty and insanity of Wonderland. "How do his victims end up here?" She asked, still tracking the girl as she flitted from frame to frame, disrupting schools of fish and a circle of wood nymphs in her mad-dash pursuit. The child acquired a butterfly net along the way and swung it at the crane, capturing a star from the night sky instead. Hermione's gaze lingered until the final moment when they turned the corner and the wall of paintings was lost from sight.

"He casts their minds into darkness," Ariana explained, regaining her focus in an instant. "And I lead them to the light."

Hermione thought of the empty abyss, ink lapping her ankles as smoke filled her lungs. "Limbo," she whispered.

The enigmatic Queen nodded, gliding effortlessly at her side as though levitating once more. "That's what many have taken to calling the void. I simply can't abide the thought of anyone wandering aimlessly through the dark, terrified and alone, staring at ghostly reflections of a life they can no longer reach."

"So you bring them here?"

"Those I can sense. But limbo has been around since long before my time, as has Wonderland. I'm merely a guest, many have resided here far longer than I."

Hermione's interest piqued. She supposed that explained why she saw men and women wandering around in period clothing. Still, she pondered why Ariana was chosen as Queen above all others, hoping the question didn't offend. "How did you come to be its ruler?"

"I do detest such titles," Ariana lamented with a shake of her head. "Wonderland chose me as its protector and granted me with special abilities in order to fulfill that duty, namely the power to draw people in and cast them out. I do all I can to keep us safe from Gellert's influence. It is my responsibility, after all, seeing as I brought him with me."

Hermione paled, certain she would trip if not for Ariana's unshakable poise and Merope's reassuring presence. "He's in Wonderland?"

"A reflection of the Dollmaker haunts this land and all its inhabitants," the blonde confirmed, leading them around another corner. A man and woman occupied the new hall, bidding their group a passing hello.

"But you're unable to cast him out?" Hermione inquired once they were out of ear-shot.

"His power has grown substantially, I can no longer fight him alone. Not while he's alive on the outside, fueling his Wonderland counterpart."

Her heart jolted, a painful kick against her ribs. "That's the key then? Killing him?"

"His death will weaken his power over Wonderland, but it won't free the minds of those trapped within. Only you can do that."

Hermione released a slow breath, pulse quickening as she finally asked the question burning away the edges of her soul. "Why me?"

Ariana's eyes sparkled like glass as she led them around the final corner, a pair of golden doors appearing at the end of a short corridor. "Many have been affected by Gellert but few have ever truly stood against him. Even fewer stood a chance at stopping him." They reached the gilded barrier and Hermione noticed the constellations carved across its surface, some recognizable, some not. "My brother came close to finding him once," the blonde continued in a measured tone. "But the timing wasn't right. So I set Merope in his path. I knew he'd give up his obsession to protect her." She waved her hand and the massive doors slowly parted, attuned to her bidding.

At the same moment, Merope sidled closer, earning Hermione's attention. "After my death, we'd hoped Albus could spare Tom from following down his dark footsteps, but as you know better than most, Tom is uniquely headstrong."

A sharp laugh escaped Hermione's lips unbidden. She flushed beneath their knowing gazes. "That's one word for it."

Ariana spared her from further embarrassment by tightening her grip and escorting her into a shadowed passage, another set of gilded doors at its end. "Once we knew there was no deterring Tom from his mission, we decided to help him conquer it," Merope stated, following closely.

Hermione glanced back, squinting against the darkness. "You picked me so I would help Tom?"

"You were already chosen, Hermione," Ariana replied. "Marked by death and tragedy, barely surviving a brush with the Reaper primed your ability to see the in-between. I cannot appear to those who aren't open and willing to see me." With a wave of her hand, the second set of doors gave way. "Encountering Tom was fate's doing. Your paths collided so loudly we heard the echo ring through these very halls. And then we knew." A kaleidoscope of colors bled into the hall, illuminating their faces in red and gold and violet. "You were the one we needed."

Hermione's chest burned with the knowledge, the memories invoked. She felt the wardrobe pressing against her spine, saw a sliver of light peeking through the doors and heard the steady tread of footsteps as a presence drew near. But the scene scattered like dust in the wind as they crossed the threshold and entered vast and open darkness, a magnificent light show at its center. "Oh my god," she breathed.

Ariana smiled, watching her closely. "Do you like it?"

"It's… incredible."

The blonde untangled their arms, allowing Hermione to wander forward in a stupor, multicolored lights reflected in her wide gaze. The domed roof was painted black, the perfect backdrop for the three-dimensional apparitions spinning through the air, a miniature cosmos at her disposal. Planets slowly rotated and stars pulsed bright, comets zipped past and dust clouds shimmered like jewels. It wasn't long until Hermione realized the display moved relative to her position, triggered by motion. She raised her arms and laughed, images zooming in and out at the command of her hands.

An interactive map. Her heart skipped wildly, overwhelmed by the splendor, lost to exploration.

"You've been subjected to all the horrors Wonderland is plagued by," Ariana stated from her position near the wall. "I thought it due time you experienced some of its beauty."

Merope folded her hands and waited patiently beside her Queen as Hermione twirled in graceless circles, waving her arms like a windmill and laughing excitedly as she journeyed through the rings of Saturn, past the moons of Jupiter and through an asteroid belt, chunks of ice whizzing past her hair. Astronomy had long been her favorite pastime, second only to her devotion to medicine. Ever since her father took her onto the roof and pointed to the aurora she felt the overwhelming relief of belonging to something larger than the life she knew. The knowledge that no matter how much of an outcast she was made to feel, she would always belong to something magnificent.

"Frightening, is it not?"

Her arms lowered as the memory sprouted fangs, plunging deep into her veins. "No. It's liberating," she whispered to the shadows, certain she could see his eyes watching her from the corner, red as burning coals. She blinked and the phantom crumbled to ashes, absorbed into the darkness from which it was born. She glanced at the head of the room and realized she had another audience, both women observing her with barely tamped amusement. Her cheeks flushed as she envisioned the spectacle she'd made, skipping across the floor like a child playing in the rain. But they didn't seem to mind, making no attempt to rush her along.

"Thank you," she offered with deep-felt gratitude. "This was… I'll never forget this."

"Of course," Ariana replied, stepping forward and prompting the light display to lift, hovering close to the ceiling and reflecting off their hair. "There are other rooms you'll enjoy just as much."

Hermione shook her head, staring dazedly at a swirling pinwheel galaxy. "I doubt it." Merope laughed softly, grey eyes cast silver beneath the stars. Hermione straightened, the gravity of the situation returning full-force as the universe continued to float nearby. "Why not enlist Tom instead?" She asked as a supernova burst overhead, blue light bathing their skin. "He already knew about the Dollmaker, surely it would have been less complicated."

Merope took a steadying breath, features sharpened by shadows. "Tom is ruled by hatred and bloodlust. Because of what his father did, because I failed to protect him, when he's face-to-face with Gellert all he sees is red." Her eyes flashed violet beneath the morphing lights. "He'd never allow himself to be taken under, to fall into the darkness, helpless and exposed."

Ariana waved her hand, signaling the doors and prompting them forward. "We knew if we gave you the pieces you'd put them together and come to us willingly, even if it meant surrendering to Gellert's methods."

A cold weight settled in her gut as she followed the women through the second set of doors and into the empty hall beyond. The quiet felt oppressive, the stillness unnatural, and despite the Castle's undeniable beauty she realized it was no different than the Home, a mausoleum of broken souls. "How does he do it?" She asked in desperation, the magic of the cosmos long-faded from her mind. "Is the key in the drug?"

"Devil's Breath is only temporary," Merope replied. "It primes the mind for his therapy, or so he likes to refer to it."

"He's performed it on both of you?"

"Merope was subjected to something far more brutal than either of us," Ariana said with something akin to venom, a startling departure from her bright countenance. "But that is another matter entirely," she added in a gentler tone, eyes soft with empathy as Merope glanced away, no doubt eager to suppress the dark memory. "He used his earliest method on me. A pale imitation of his current practices." She started forward with her hands linked behind her back, resting atop her bustle. "Of course, his intent was never to turn me into one of his creations, that design would come later. Back then he was merely trying to rid me of my so-called delusions."

Hermione fell into step beside her, feeling the pain of those words on a profoundly personal level. She knew what it was to be wrongfully accused and misdiagnosed, shoved into an asylum and force-fed drugs, subjected to frightening treatments with no regard for her welfare, everyone deaf to her pleas. She would never forget the terror, the loneliness and self-doubt as she began to question her own mind, stripped of her greatest asset and most basic identity. "Have you always known of Wonderland?" She asked, Merope flanking her other side as they approached a roaming staircase.

"I've had visions all my life," Ariana began, gripping the banister and gracefully descending. "As a child, I thought everyone saw Wonderland. It wasn't until my parents forbade me from ever speaking of it aloud that I learned such wasn't the case." The staircase clicked into place, settled by her touch. "They told me my mind was broken —that I was broken— then took me to the home and said they wouldn't come back until I left the fantasy behind. I couldn't understand their reasoning. If Wonderland was truly in my mind, how could I leave it behind? My mind was a part of me." She emerged onto the main floor, residents bowing their heads or openly gawking as they passed. "Then I met Gellert. He assured me I wasn't broken, I didn't need fixing. He reminded me of Albus. I felt safe with him… at least for a short while."

Hermione tensed, bracing for the turn she knew was to come.

"When he confessed his love I realized just how different the two men were. Albus told me he loved me all the time, but my brother's eyes were filled with lightness and joy when he said it. Gellert's were filled with pain. The same as my parents when they left me behind. I knew then that his love was the same as theirs." Her voice remained steady, face radiant as she smiled at passing faces, leading a diagonal path across the great hall. "Conditional."

"What was the condition?" Hermione urged, hanging on every word.

"I love him more than the world inside my mind." They traveled under a two-story chandelier, crystal cut in intricate patterns that caught the sunlight at every angle, casting dizzying patterns on the walls. "But as you've surely realized, there's nothing quite as magnificent as Wonderland."

Hermione rarely agreed so readily, but there was simply no denying the land's fantastic luster despite its gleaming claws. She followed her hosts beneath a stone archway, the connecting corridor feeding out to another pair of carved doors, parted wide. But the room beyond didn't become readily apparent until they were right upon it. Hermione rocked to a halt, unable to cross the threshold without tipping sideways in awe.

A three-story library sprawled in either direction, unlike anything she'd seen before. Whereas the library in Parliament had been a perverse mockery of everything she loved, this was a private paradise born from a dream. Bookcases covered the walls, stretching up up up, shelves stacked endlessly, accessible by rolling ladders. A series of spiral staircases led to more shelves and stacks, as well as private reading nooks equipped with plush chairs and ottomans. Desks were scattered across the main floor, awash in the soft glow of lantern light as people read and wrote in peaceful silence. More chairs and sofas were arranged around a massive hearth, violet flames licking at the black stone. Children lied on the rug, coloring parchment with wax sticks. A rainbow skylight adorned this room as well, casting familiar prisms across the floor and stacks, illuminating pages and faces alike. Colorful birds fluttered between the upper cases, nesting in the open beams. The library might not have harbored the supernatural wonder of the observatory but it inspired just as much joy in her heart. An oasis in the desert, a safe haven she would happily spend her eternity wandering through, making it her personal mission to read every title contained within.

And yet, beneath the glittering illusion lurked a dark and sinister truth. "He designed his home after Wonderland," she stated aloud, gaze fixed to a spiral staircase.

"He built it for me," Ariana confirmed. "He said we'd live there someday, far away from the evils of the outside world."

Hermione stiffened, the admission taking her off guard. She studied the innocuous blonde, wondering what dwelled beneath her shell. "Were you…" But the words refused to come. The man had murdered her, yet Hermione also knew Ariana had been only sixteen at the time, trusting and vulnerable. It wouldn't be far-fetched to imagine an attraction developing, a crush on the authoritative figure in her life, especially one who showed her preference above all others. Hermione took a steadying breath, ripping off the bandage. "Did you ever have feelings for him?"

If the question caused offense neither Ariana or Merope showed it, both unshakable in their poise. "I confided all of my secrets in him," Ariana replied calmly. "My deepest desires, my greatest fears, my hopes and dreams and regrets." She sighed, shaking her head and starting forward, crossing the gleaming tiles with measured steps. Hermione followed at her heels, careful not to tread on the flowing train of her gown. "And then he used every single one of them against me, telling the medical board I was insane, convincing them I was a candidate for lobotomy." Hermione gasped in horror, colliding with the edge of an empty desk. "He assured me he'd never allow such a barbaric procedure to happen… as long as I stayed by his side."

Hermione glanced at Merope, sharing a tense look before speaking their shared thought aloud. "Ariana, I'm so sorry…" But the sentiment felt grossly inadequate. She pressed on, searching for the words. "I'm sorry you were alone. That no one believed you. That you were made to suffer in silence for so long."

"My suffering has ended," the Queen stated simply, turning to her companions. "But others are still trapped. It's for them we continue fighting."

Hermione nodded. "Just tell me what to do. Whatever it takes, I'll free every single one of them if it kills me." There were far worse fates than spending her afterlife in a library, after all. But her macabre musings were cut short as a new voice rang out, tentative and familiar.

"Hermione?"

She spun with bated breath, pulse leaping. "Padma!"

The brunette stood from her desk, books neatly stacked upon its surface. "Are you alright? I wanted to visit but Merope said you were sleeping and I didn't want to—" Her words dissolved into laughter as Hermione darted forward and seized her in a tight embrace, immune to the curious stares they garnered.

"I'm much better," Hermione breathed, overwhelmed with relief. Though she vaguely recalled arriving with the others, her fears wouldn't subside until she personally accounted for each of them. It was then she felt the press of silk and registered friend's striking appearance. She pulled back, taking in the sight. A turquoise gown hung perfectly from Padma's lithe frame, skirts full and flowing. Her dark hair was braided to the side, snowdrop blossoms tucked between the gleaming folds, their centers vibrant and fragrant. Hermione smiled from ear to ear, voice light with joy. "Padma, you look beautiful."

As expected, her friend flushed a bold shade of crimson and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Ariana was kind enough to lend me a dress."

"It's not a loan, the dress is yours," the blonde stated firmly, observing their reunion from a respectful distance. "It suits you much better. I have several others I'd appreciate you taking off my hands as well."

The brunette blushed deeper yet. "You're too generous."

"Hardly," their host laughed, "you'll be doing me a favor. Our residents enjoy a vast array of hobbies, sewing among them. My closet is positively bursting at the seams with their spectacular creations. Unfortunately, I doubt I've even worn half. It's an absolute waste for such beautiful garments to collect dust on hangers."

Padma nodded shyly. "In that case, thank you."

Hermione peered around the copious turquoise skirts to inspect the overflowing desktop. "What are you reading?"

"Oh," Padma bit her lip, shuffling as though to block their view. "Just a few books to pass the time."

Tilting her head, Hermione read the first title on the stack. "Calculus and Differential Equations on the Application of Engineering." Her eyes flickered up, smirk forming. "A bit of light reading then?"

Padma laughed in response, shifting aside to reveal her bounty to their curious stares. "I know a library is the last place I should want to be, but I find the scent of binding and ink comforting."

"If a book came to life and tried to kill me, I'd still want to read it," Hermione stated without shame.

"Then you've come to the right place," Merope chirped merrily. "The titles in our Restricted Section do just that."

"How delightful, if there's time left over after killing the Dollmaker perhaps I'll take a stab." They shared a wry grin before Hermione turned to Padma. "Have you seen the others?"

"Dawn was here for a little while, then she left for the kitchen. Lavender said she was going to drum up excitement somewhere without a noise policy."

Hermione sighed with amusement. "Let me guess, she took one look at the peace and quiet and ran?"

"With Mowgli chasing at her heels. Apparently, he isn't a proponent of calculus either."

Ariana glanced between them. "Mowgli?

"They attracted a forest sprite," Merope said tightly, annoyance clear in her tone.

"Sprite?" Hermione repeated, brain itching at the term. It sounded familiar, but it wasn't until she looked at Ariana that the knowledge came flooding back. The Queen's pale locks and gentle demeanor summoned Luna's image to mind, along with the memory of their private discussion on the bedroom floor. "Elemental fae spirits," she murmured. Padma studied her curiously. "A friend told me," Hermione explained, trying to shake her sudden melancholy. Thinking of the outside world was like remembering a dream; the more time she spent in Wonderland the less real her previous life seemed.

Merope huffed. "They look like monkeys to me. Troublesome little bastards, always making a mess—"

"All of Wonderland's creatures are welcome here," Ariana interrupted with an indulgent grin. "Especially if he assisted in their journey." Merope sighed, offering no further argument. And then their ethereal host clapped her palms, expression bright with inspiration. "Well, I do think a visit to the kitchen is in order."

Hermione glanced to Padma. "You go ahead," the brunette offered. "I've got plenty to distract me here."

Hermione stiffened, instinctively shifting closer. "But…" She flushed beneath their collective stare. "I think it's best if we stick together. Just in case."

"There's no cause for worry," Ariana assured. "The Castle is the safest place in all of Wonderland." She tilted her head, considering. "Unless it's harm our residents inflict on one another. They do get rowdy from time to time. But violence is strictly forbidden within these walls. I abhor bloodshed."

Hermione blinked, memory awash with red as she recalled slicing a faceless attacker down the center with her glowing blade, organs hitting the floor with wet splats. "The kitchen it is."

"Marvelous!" Ariana sidled closer, looping their arms anew. "Don't worry, we'll come back so you can make a proper goodbye."

The reminder that she would soon be departing Wonderland filled Hermione with equal parts anticipation and guilt, the weight settling into the pit of her stomach. She glanced over her shoulder as they started for the doors. Padma gathered her skirts and retook her seat behind the desk, eagerly grabbing another book off the pile. Hermione smiled, lightened by the image as Ariana and Merope led her into the hall.

Rapid footsteps echoed off the walls and ceiling, followed by childish squeals of laughter as two girls rounded the corner. A boy appeared a heartbeat later, chasing them with a frog outstretched in his hands. The trio darted past without an upward glance, disappearing around the wall in a swirl of movement and noise. Hermione's grin faded along with their voices, recalling that Wonderland was home to more than just the Dollmaker's victims. The thought pulled at a thousand other threads; how were Wonderland's occupants determined? What the hell was this place? How long has it been around and were there others like it?

"Curiouser and curiouser," a male voice whispered in her ear, prompting her to whip around with a gasp, searching the empty space at her side. She glanced at Merope for assistance but the woman's gaze was fixed to the spot the children had last appeared, a faraway look in her eyes. Hermione turned to Ariana instead. "Did you hear that?"

The blonde sent a heatless glare over Hermione's shoulder. "Don't mind Bernard, he thinks he's being funny but is sorely mistaken."

Laughter vibrated across Hermione's skin, emanating from an unseen source. But the longer she studied the paneling the more certain she became a phantom grin hovered in mid-air, the hazy image dissolving like smoke. "What—" A short and stocky figure flew around the corner and collided against her middle, forcing the occurrence from her mind and the air from her lungs.

"Oomph!" The boy gasped, hitting the quartz in a splay of limbs.

Hermione staggered before reaching down. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, M-Miss," he stammered with a flush, "s-sorry, Miss."

She smiled, offering her hand. "Please, call me—" then hesitated, wanting to avoid another stir should he recognize her name. "Mione," she settled on. Wow. Quick thinking, genius.

He swallowed thickly, though it seemed to be in reaction to her close proximity rather than her identity. Merope broke the awkward spell with a soft laugh. "Come now, Leo, unless you plan to take up permanent residence in the corridor as a rug?"

The boy scrambled to his knees and accepted Hermione's waiting hand, palm clammy against her fingers as she hauled him to his feet. "Are you looking for your friends?" She asked, biting back a grin as his grasp held tight. "They came running by with a frog in tow a few moments ago."

"It was a toad, Miss— err— Miss Mione." He spotted their joined palms and blushed feverishly, pulling back his arm as though electrified.

Merope edged forward, hands perched on her hips. "Did Lucas and the others take Vulcan from you again, Leo?"

He bowed his head, toeing the quartz. "They're just borrowing him."

"Without your permission?" She leaned down until their eyes drew level. "What did I tell you before?" Her hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "You must stand up for yourself, sweetheart, never let anyone take advantage of you." The endearment caused Hermione's heart to flutter, even as it made her stomach knot. Here and now, watching the scene play out before her eyes, she finally understood the depth of Tom's loss, the driving force behind his hatred and rage.

"If I don't let them play with Vulcan they won't play with me either," Leo mumbled, staring at his shoes.

Merope sighed and leaned up, seemingly at a loss. Hermione bit her lip and glanced at Ariana. The Queen read the question in her gaze, nodding once, a secretive smile playing at her lips as Hermione stepped closer to the pair. "May I asked why you named him Vulcan?"

His eyes snapped up, cheeks coloring bright. "I… thought it sounded neat," he mumbled, shuffling awkwardly as Merope rose to her full height beside him.

"He's being modest," she said, pride evident in her voice. "Leo is an excellent builder. He constructed Vulcan's enclosure by hand, everyone comes to him when they need something put together from scratch."

Hermione arched a brow. "Then you're as skilled as Vulcan himself." His face was on the verge of igniting but he managed a bashful smile in response. "Surely you're familiar with the fire diety's greek counterpart?" She prompted.

"Yes, Miss."

"So you know Hephaestus was a formidable god in his own right, peaceful and reserved but willing to stand against injustice no matter the opponent. He challenged the King and Queen of Olympus and even the God of War himself, surmounting his adversaries with level-headed cunning. Every immortal relied on his craftsmanship and respected his mettle." He listened with rapt focus, enthralled by every word. "Those of us who know our myths must protect their legacies by sharing their tales and embodying their lessons, breathing life into history and making legends truly eternal." Merope edged back, allowing Hermione to step forward and grasp his shoulders in her place. "Hephaestus and Vulcan are relying on you to honor their tale, do you think you can handle the responsibility?"

"Yes, Miss," he breathed.

"Excellent." She beamed down, hands lifting away as turned on his heel and bounded down the hall with renewed purpose, pausing only to shout a hasty farewell, stumbling in the process.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Mione!"

She laughed, waving at his retreating figure. "You too, Leo!" Her arm fell as he rounded the corner.

"Thank you, Hermione," Merope said earnestly, eyes brimming with emotion, heart-break top among them.

Hermione hadn't thought it possible to hate the Dollmaker any more than she already did, but her rage and disgust took on a new intensity as she turned to Ariana. "Gellert targeted Tom to hurt your brother," she posed as fact, another piece falling into place, the final image nearly revealed.

"Tom is the closest thing Albus ever had to a son," Ariana confirmed with sorrowful eyes. "Albus shares in his suffering. If he could take Tom's pain as his own, he wouldn't hesitate."

Another twisted revelation spiraled through Hermione's mind, weaving together the final threads of a bloody tapestry. "Grindelwald didn't kill you, did he?"

Ariana held her gaze. "No."

"You jumped into the river to escape his control and the threat of lobotomy."

"I jumped to come here. The only place I've ever belonged."

The pieces fell faster, Hermione swayed, desperately lunging for each. "He blames Albus for your death. He thinks you committed suicide because your brother stood between you. The dolls are created to punish him…." She shook her head, rubbing her throbbing temples. "No. That's just what he tells himself. Anger distracts from pain." She peered up, holding the blue gaze steady. "He creates the dolls to feel closer to you, desperately hunting for pieces of his lost love inside his creations. Something to cling to, a fantasy to keep hope alive. But the more victims he claims the further away he drifts and the blacker his soul becomes, which in turn causes his shadow to fall across Wonderland." She swallowed heavily, hands dropping. "You've both been haunting each other this entire time."

Ariana glanced at the empty space beside her. "I told you she was the one."

The fine hairs rose along Hermione's arms and nape as unseen eyes fixed upon her. It was the least unnerved she'd felt all day. "What do we do now?" She asked, eager for the next problem to solve, the next battle to wage. Stagnation meant death.

Yet Ariana's answering smile was the antithesis of clawing urgency. "Now, we visit the kitchen."

Hermione blinked, settling back on her heels. "Alright."

They continued along the winding maze of corridors until a stone archway appeared, granite countertops and stone basins on the other side. The workstations were occupied by a baker's dozen utensil-wielding cooks in matching aprons, everyone busy at work or deep in conversation, too preoccupied to notice the new arrivals. Hermione paused at the threshold, the smell of freshly baked bread overtaking her senses. She searched for the ovens and soon discovered a familiar face smiling at her from across the room. Maggie waved with enthusiasm, broom in hand as she swept loose flour into a pile, streaks of powder decorating her apron and face. Hermione waved back, the movement drawing the attention of a few other residents. A soft gasp emanated from the corner of the room, a metal spoon clattering to the floor. Dawn stared at her through wide eyes, apron draping her middle and bandana securing her curls.

"Hermione!" She rushed out from behind the counter, abandoning a large metal bowl. Hermione flew forward in the next beat, meeting her halfway and embracing her tight. "Are you okay?" Dawn asked, words muffled against her hair. "I was so worried!"

Hermione nodded, slowly unwinding her arms and leaning back. "I'm fine. What about you? How's your hand?"

"Healed." She held her palm aloft, revealing a thin red scar. "Pretty nifty. If only we mended as quickly in real life."

"If only," Hermione agreed, then took in her doppelganger's appearance, curiosity piqued. "What are you cooking?"

Dawn flushed and gripped the hem of her apron, affecting the same posture as Padma when questioned about her books. "Nothing fancy. I have some brioche in the oven while I whip up a small batch of Bechamel for the potatoes—"

"You know how to cook?" Hermione interrupted, unable to quell the surprise in her voice.

"Snippets have been coming back to me." Dawn bit her lip as though embarrassed by the admission. "I think my father was a chef. Or maybe my grandfather. I can't see his face clearly, I just remember standing in a kitchen while a man showed me different recipes. We're both laughing. It seems like a good memory."

Hermione felt lightened by the news. "The rest will return once you're awake. Then you'll be cooking real food in your own kitchen." Far away from whatever brothel or gambling hall you were forced to seek employment in.

Dawn's answering grin rippled with an undercurrent of sadness, as though able to read the unspoken words in Hermione's gaze. "Have you spoken to the others?" She asked, diverting the subject.

"I just saw Padma in the library."

"Has she discovered a new law of physics yet?"

"Soon, right after she solves the mystery of the pyramids, triangles seem to be her forte."

"Triangles are so very fascinating," Ariana mused, startling them both as she appeared at their sides, stealthy as a rabbit. "The strongest shape in nature and ever so beautiful." She tilted her head, listening to the air and sighing with exasperation. "Oh for goodness sake, Bernard, no one knows what a catenary curve is and neither do you. I saw you rifling through Padma's book. Don't act clever simply because you memorized a chapter header."

Dawn blinked, glancing around for the invisible man. And then the air shifted around them, wild, frantic, sparking with energy. Hermione stiffened, goosebumps racing down her arms. Ariana appeared similarly affected, complexion paler than snow, but the kitchen's remaining occupants went about their business without interruption.

Merope didn't seem to feel the atmospheric shift, though she noticed her Queen's chalky visage and shifted closer. "Ariana? What's wrong?"

Hermione rubbed her arms to dispel the chill, shoulders bunched tight.

"Hermione?" Dawn asked, brow creased with concern. "Are you okay?"

Yet it was Ariana's glacial stare that pulled her focus. "You feel it, too."

Hermione nodded, eager to know what the hell was happening, but before she could muster the words a monstrous roar erupted from outside the Castle, shaking the walls like thunder. Everyone froze, whisks and spatulas dripping batter on the floor as they turned rigid with terror, heads swiveling to the windows along the back wall. A second roar jolted them from their shocked stupor, prompting some to drop their utensils and run for the door while others raced to the shutters, pulling them wide. The onlookers screamed shrilly, stumbling back in horror as the room was cast into shadow, a massive figure hovering before the windows, blocking the light.

Hermione tried to gulp but choked on the attempt. "What is it?" She whispered, seeing nothing but ominous darkness.

Ariana folded her hands before her flowing skirts, serene voice delivering a simple and terrifying answer. "The Jabberwocky."

---

Theo watched Parvati wear a hole into the floor, skirts rustling with every step. She'd bounced between this room and her sister's for the last two hours, her frantic pacing only adding to his anxiety. Harry was still gone and she was proving far from a helpful distraction. He released a hissing breath as she completed her fiftieth rotation. "Christ, Patil. Take some laudanum. You're giving me motion sickness."

"This is ridiculous," she snapped, steps unfaltering. "We're supposed to just leave her tied up like a mental patient?"

"Riddle said she was dangerous."

Her brows knitted in a scowl. "This is Mione we're talking about."

"Exactly."

She rolled her eyes as footsteps echoed down the hall. They glanced at the door as Black strolled in, hands in his pockets and grin in place. "Ah, here you kids are." He turned his gaze to the bed. "How's our mental patient doing?" Parvati arched her brow, shooting Theo a pointed look. Black glanced between them, smiling despite his obvious exhaustion. "Why don't you both get some rest? Hannah's sleeping on a couch in Padma's room and Neville's passed out in the lounge."

"I'm wound too tight," she clipped, beginning a fresh lap around the rug.

"That's a massive understatement," Theo deadpanned. "Give her some laudanum."

Black tipped his head towards the hall. "There's a bottle in the—"

"I'm not taking anything, not when Mione and Padma are defenseless."

"You aren't helping anyone if you're dead on your feet, poppet."

She sighed, slowing her steps and swaying in place as though the words themselves triggered her fatigue. "I suppose I can lie next to Padma, just for a little while."

"Good girl." Black stepped away from the door. "I'll wake you if Hermione's condition changes." Her shoulders slanted down as she trudged for the corridor. Black dipped his head in farewell before turning to Theo. "You, too, kid. There's a spare bedroom down the hall."

"I'm fine here."

"Standing around won't change—"

"I promised Potter I wouldn't leave her side," Theo uttered without thought, then stiffened, instantly regretting the words. "I mean—"

"I'll bring in a chair from across the way," Black responded casually. "There's no telling how long she'll be out; you can rest and stand guard at the same time."

Theo nodded, spine easing. "Thank you."

Black started to leave but paused in the doorway, glancing back with a keen intensity that made Theo's chest tighten with dread. "Your father know where you are?"

The innocuous question scrambled his thoughts. "I doubt he even knows I'm gone," Theo admitted.

Despite the morose response, Black smirked. "Sounds like my old man," he muttered, eyes shining with affinity. "I'm glad you're here, Nott."

Theo nodded shortly, leaning into the wall for support. Black tapped the doorframe with the side of his fist and entered the hall, disappearing around the corner. Theo exhaled in a rush, scrubbing a hand over his face and questioning his sanity.

A soft moan filled the air, shattering the silence like a sledgehammer. He transformed into a suit of armor as Granger stirred on the bed, curling in until her bound wrists restricted her movement. Her lids slowly parted, lashes fluttering against a strip of sunlight. Theo swallowed thickly and her head snapped to the side, stopping his heart. She'd made quite the sight upon her arrival, splayed like a ragdoll in the Doctor's arms. But nothing was quite so horrible as feeling the flatness of her gaze pressing against him. Her dripping eye make-up only enhanced the eeriness of her dead stare.

His knees locked tight as he stood away from the wall, a cold sweat chasing down his spine as she tracked his every movement. "Hermione?" He asked tentatively, desperately wishing Potter was here and grateful he wasn't.

The sound of her name seemed to trigger something. She gripped her binds for leverage and pulled into a seated position against the headboard. Her white gown and spread arms gave her the appearance of a virginal sacrifice, made all the more disturbing when she crossed her feet at the ankles and smiled brightly. "Hello, Theodore."

He paused his approach, unsure how to proceed. "Are you… how are you?"

She blinked again, the only movement beyond the gentle rise and fall of her chest. "I'm quite well, thank you for asking. How are you?"

Bloody hell. Harry had warned him she may turn violent but he'd gladly take a shovel to the head over this. He staggered to the door. "I'll… be right back."

Her gaze remained calm, yet as he entered the hall it took on a calculative gleam that made his pulse quicken. He held his breath and tore down the corridor, following the shuffle of furniture and coming face-to-face with Black as he rounded the corner. The Admiral battled an upholstered chair, a string of colorful curses spilling free as he wedged it between the wall and table, pausing his struggles when he caught sight of Theo's pale complexion.

"She's awake," Theo announced without preamble. Black fell perfectly still, a grandfather clock ticking loudly in the background, and then he burst into action, scrambling over the velvet cushions and launching into a dead run before flying into the bedroom like a shot. Theo chased at his heels, panting as he charged inside. Hermione remained perfectly still at the center of the mattress, unaffected by their abrupt arrival.

"Kitten," the Admiral greeted in a light tone, even as he inspected her with military precision. Theo took station beside the door, content to keep his distance. "How are you feeling, luv?" Black stepped to the footboard and crossed his arms.

"I'm quite well, thank you for asking." Theo shuddered at her animated tone as she regurgitated the canned response. "How are you?"

"I've seen better days. Worse, too, so I can't complain." Black tilted his head, standing tall against her unsettling gaze. "We've been worried about you."

"How considerate. But there's no cause for concern."

"I'm not so sure." His jaw ticked. Theo's shoulders tightened with anticipation. "Do you know who I am?"

She tilted her head, mirroring his movements. "Of course, Lord Black. You're an esteemed Peer and the last of your bloodline. But most notably, you're a well-respected military leader in Her Majesty's Royal Navy, recently promoted to Admiral, fast-tracked to becoming Admiral of the Fleet, the highest and most coveted rank on the sea."

Theo exhaled swiftly.

"Christ," Black lamented. "I had no idea I was so boring." He tucked his hands into his pockets and paced around the side of the bed. "Tell me, poppet, do you feel like hurting anyone?"

Her smile only brightened. "Certainly not."

"What about Tom Riddle?"

"I don't want to hurt Tom. I just need to kill him."

Black raised a dark brow, glancing over his shoulder. "Sounds perfectly reasonable to me."

"What do we do?" Theo asked, unable to think of anything but Harry's utter devastation when he returned. Losing Hermione would shatter him beyond repair.

Black sighed, facing her with uncharacteristic somberness. "Alright, luv. Let's get to brass tax. If we untie you, what will you do?"

Her knees drew up, body tilting towards him. "Whatever you want me to do, Lord Black," she purred, the seductive flip in her mannerisms as jarring as the words themselves. She sank into the pillows, curls spilling like inky brown tendrils over the pale fabric.

Black turned to stone, features solidifying into a mask of anger and horror. "I want you to wake up," he stated plainly, so tense he looked poised to break. He paced backward on stiff legs, turning on his heel and storming for the door. "I need a minute," he growled.

Theo lingered awkwardly, torn between a desire to flee and wanting to afford the man his privacy. Then Hermione met his gaze and straightened, the gleam in her stare assessing and lethal, as though daring him to come closer. His stomach twisted painfully. Hallway it is. He slipped into the corridor, eagerly closing the door. Black stood a meter away, leaning against the wall and dragging a hand over his face.

"Are you okay?" Theo asked, unable to bear the silence.

Black groaned, tipping his head to glare at the cracked ceiling. "I never knew such evil could exist." He closed his eyes, face creased. "It didn't seem real before. I heard the stories and read the case files, saw the girls at the auction... but witnessing it up close like this, on someone I know… it's a waking nightmare." He swallowed thickly before staring ahead. "Christ, I can't imagine what Mione's going through, what she's thinking. Trapped inside her own mind, her own body. When I get my hands on the bastard who did this I'm going to—"

There was a shuffling downstairs, followed by the explosive crack of the front door hitting the marble for the second time that morning. "Fucking hell…" a familiar voice scathed.

Black rubbed his brow. "I should really get that doorbell fixed."

Theo gazed down the hall. "It's—"

"I know. Cut him off at the pass. He doesn't need to see her like this."

"I won't be able to stop him."

"Try," the Admiral commanded, voice radiating a natural authority that made Theo stand at attention. Still, it wasn't enough to overcome his loyalty and obligation to his childhood mate.

"He deserves to know."

Black held his gaze, striking a chilling compromise. "Then tell him to brace himself."

---

Draco leaped from the carriage and staggered his landing, clumsy with exhaustion. His father's words had plagued his mind the entire ride over, gnawing at his gut and preventing even a moment's rest. It was only after the horses stopped he realized his bristling anger had distracted from his festering dread. The brief reprieve wasn't entirely unwelcome, even if he wanted to throttle the next idiot who looked at him. He carded a hand through his hair, eager to dispel this hornet's nest of emotions, glancing at the driver in annoyance. "Stay here."

"Sorry, mate, I'm needed at—"

"Here's a pound to shut up." Draco reached into his vest and extracted his gleaming billfold. "You get another to sit on your arse for the next ten minutes."

The stranger blinked, eagerly accepting the note. "Whatever you say, mate, whatever you say."

Draco turned, facing the lopsided structure with a scowl. He could think of no place he'd rather be less, aside from Scotland Yard and perhaps Hell itself. He climbed the steps and reached for the door, but the moment he gripped the handle the fixture broke off and the barrier fell inward, hitting the marble with a jarring slam.

"Fucking hell…" he hissed, tossing the brass aside and stepping over the wreckage. He'd grown accustomed to seeing the mansion overrun with miscreants and police, hardly recognizing the entryway without bodies strewn across its floor.

Footsteps drew his eyes to the landing. Theo appeared from the shadowed hall, bracing the banister with both hands. "Draco."

"Where the hell is everyone?"

"Sleeping off two days of exhaustion."

"Sleeping?" Draco scowled, aiming his animosity upward. "There's still work to—"

"Potter's scouring the underground drug scene as we speak."

Draco blinked, unsure how to unpack such a statement and too tired to figure it out. Fuck it. "I guess I'm stuck with you then. Let's go."

Theo crossed his arms, feet firmly planted. "And where am I being so kindly invited to?"

"Bella's secret lair. I would go alone but on the very likely possibility I'm murdered, you get the honor of throwing water on the bitch."

"I believe you mispronounced witch, and we both know she won't kill you."

"Probably not," Draco conceded, impatience fusing his vertebrae. "However, the Dollmaker won't hesitate to dice me into ribbons and display me across his mantle like holiday garland."

"You think he's there?"

"My father does. And no, I don't care to elaborate. We should have left thirty seconds ago." He started for the door, casting a glare over his shoulder as the bastard continued to imitate a lawn statue. "You can look perplexed in the back of the bloody carriage! Now move your sodding arse—"

"Riddle was here."

Draco stumbled, certain he'd imagined the words. "What?" He whipped around, searching Nott's loaded gaze for confirmation. "Was here? Did—"

"Upstairs," the man stated simply, as though he hadn't just lit the fuse in Draco's chest.

"Christ, Nott!" Draco bolted for the steps, taking them two at a time. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did." Draco scowled, knocking shoulders as he passed him on the landing. But his arm was caught in a snare before he made it to the hall. "Draco, wait—"

"What the hell, Theo?" He forcefully shook the restraining hand but the incessant prick remained undeterred.

"There's something you need to know—"

"I don't give a shite!" Draco yelled, storming into the corridor.

"She's one of them."

He braced a hand to the wall, steps faltering as the bomb detonated, turning his heart to ash. His breath evaporated in his lungs, vision going dark. "Take me to her," he demanded, hardly aware of his words.

"She isn't—"

"Now, goddammit!"

Theo sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Follow me."

Draco did just that, riding his heels until Black came into view in the middle of the hall, arms crossed and feet braced apart like a human gate. Draco clenched his teeth, attempting to veer around the obstacle.

"Just a moment, kid."

"I'm fresh out," Draco growled.

His moronic cousin sighed, grabbing him by his jacket and wrenching him off his feet before slamming him into the wall with practiced skill, expression placid as a frozen lake. "Then I'll lend you some of mine."

Draco hissed, thrashing against the iron-hold. "You can't keep me from her!"

"I don't intend to," Black tightened his grip, eliciting an enraged snarl. "But right now, you're going to listen." Draco exhaled steam but forced his limbs still, eager to get the ridiculous scare tactic over and done. The Admiral nodded, loosening his hold but continuing to pin him in place. "Hermione isn't herself at present."

"So I've heard."

"Then you also know she's highly suggestible."

The warning was clear in his voice, as was the threat in his eyes. Draco bared his teeth at the insinuation, ready to spit acid. "I would never hurt her."

"Famous last words. Now here's what's going to happen. First, you're going to calm down. Next, you're going to think before you speak. And last but certainly not least, you're going to leave her tied to the bed."

Draco blinked, unable to stop the images from forming in his mind. "I have absolutely no problem with that."

Black glared. "You'll also keep your hands to yourself."

"I thought bondage was the last rule."

"Don't be a cheeky bastard."

"Perhaps I should start writing these down."

The Admiral sighed into his face, releasing him at last. "You're only young and stupid once. I'm glad to see you're making the most of it."

Draco straightened his jacket and shouldered the man aside, striding to the closed door and staring at the knob. His body throbbed with the force of his heartbeat. He reached for the fixture and glanced over his shoulder, unsure what he was looking for. But Theo seemed to read the desperation in his eyes, holding his gaze steady and nodding once. Draco gazed forward with the assurance, opening the door swiftly and crossing inside before his thoughts could catch up.

---

Pansy gripped the silver knocker between delicate fingers and gave it a dainty slam, sparing the geraniums an annoyed glance as she settled back on the stoop. Considering the household staff, she wouldn't be surprised if they withered and decayed before the door opened. Still, the look of horror she received when the barrier parted was well worth the monotonous wait.

"Lady Parkinson—"

Pansy flattened her hand to the wood and pushed it wide, causing the woman to stagger back. "Please, Louisa, call me Her Royal Highness. Lady Parkinson is my dearly departed mother." She strode inside and gave the entry a sweeping once-over, fighting back a shudder as the maid scurried to close the door.

"But… your mother isn't dead."

"Hm. Then who am I thinking of?" She crossed the Italian marble en route to the master staircase, the insufferable cow chasing at her heels.

"Miss Pansy, is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually. I need to remove a rather large bloodstain from a silk rug, any suggestions?"

The woman glared, following her up the steps. "I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Honestly, darling, if you're going to play the part of a maid you should at least learn to clean more than my father's shriveled c—" Pansy lost her train of thought as she reached the second level, a striking figurine catching her eye. A topless mermaid cast in gold. "Oh! How delightful." She picked it up, turning it over in her hands to inspect it in the sunlight. "This looks just like a lovely librarian I once knew. Minus the tail." She tucked it under her arm, continuing for the hall. "I'm borrowing it."

The tart opened and closed her mouth before trailing after her. "Perhaps I should fetch your mother—"

"You're sure she's still alive?" They arrived outside a pair of double doors. Pansy gave the handles a cursory tug, unsurprised when they refused to budge.

"His office is locked," the amoeba announced, lifting her chin as though responsible for the obstacle.

"Perhaps you can be of assistance, pet."

"No one is permitted entrance—"

"I wasn't talking to you," Pansy drolled, grasping the mermaid. "I'm talking to her." She flashed the figurine a cheeky wink before bashing it against the handles in rapid succession, squealing with delight as the fixtures broke from the splintered wood and hit the floor with a bang. The maid gasped, startled by the violent outburst. Pansy twirled the statue in hand, meeting its golden gaze a second time. "Saucy minx," she commended before glancing sideways. "Heads up." The mermaid cut a gleaming arc as it flew through the air. The maid scrambled to catch it while Pansy slipped her hand inside the gap, feeling for the latch and pushing it down, swinging the doors wide.

The maid clutched the figurine to her chest, eyes bugged in outrage. "You're not allowed inside!"

"Something tells me that's the first time you've uttered those particular words in that order," Pansy mused, cutting a quick path for the desk. She gripped the top drawer and pulled. Locked tight.

"His private files are off-limits," came the scathing retort from the doorway. The maid lingered at the threshold as though unable to cross. The sight gave Pansy pause.

"Do you need a formal invitation like a vampyre?" She closed her eyes, hands flattening on the desk. "You've read Polidori?" She shook her head, dispelling the phantom voice and resuming her attempts at prying open the drawers. "Tell me, Louisa, does my father hire a real maid to wipe down the hard surfaces after you've finished humping like sweaty baboons?" The woman blinked, jaw hanging wide. "My, my," Pansy muttered, tugging fruitlessly on the lower compartment, "no wonder you got the job."

The maid huffed, turning beat red. "I'm telling your father."

"Enjoy the conjugal visit." Pansy waved her hand as though shooing a fly. "Off you go."

Her companion released an indignant huff before stomping away with the mermaid in tow. Pansy basked in the radiant glow of victory a moment longer before dropping to her haunches and pulling a jade-tipped pin from her hair, biting open the end and inserting it into the lock. Her eyes narrowed in concentration, no stranger to picking locks in her childhood home, though she'd never dared to step foot inside her father's office in her youth. He'd been an intimidating figure back then, full of wrath and top-shelf liquor, eager to inflict corporal punishment for the most trivial offense. Pansy had been terrified. Now she felt shame and disgust when she managed to feel anything towards him.

The locked popped with a click, the compartment giving way and triggering the others to unlatch. She smiled at her handiwork, rising swiftly and pulling the drawer open to reveal an assortment of paperwork. She grabbed a handful off the top and began thumbing through the pages, scanning the headings as a shuffle emanated from the hall, followed by a muffled collision and annoyed grunt. Pansy rolled her eyes, continuing to flip through the stack.

"Ethan?" A feminine voice grumbled. "Ethan -hiccup- what happened to the Massougnes? I told you -hiccup- that bottle was -hiccup- not to be—" A thump and a crash, shattering glass ringing through the corridor. "Fucking hell, who put this -hiccup- dreadful thing here? Ring your little whore to -hiccup- clean this mess up."

Pansy hummed under her breath. "Let's hope her knees aren't too bruised to perform the task."

A slim figure lurched into the doorway, adorned in a silk nightgown and emerald necklace, diamond tiara resting lopsided atop a messy bun. "Oh. It's you."

Pansy licked her fingertip and turned the page. "Good to see you too, mummie."

"Where's -hiccup-," her mother swayed, gripping the frame, "your father?"

"Scotland Yard."

She blinked, slumping sideways. "Whatever is he doing there?"

"Daddy went and got himself arrested, the silly pervert."

"Is that another one of your jokes?"

"If I were making a joke I'd say he was at Church fondling the altar boys." Pansy glanced up, arching a manicured brow. "It's funny because he'd obviously be molesting the nuns."

"You're pretty, darling, -hiccup- there's no need to attempt humor as well. Men don't like -hiccup- funny women."

"How devastating," Pansy muttered, resuming her task.

"I need another drink." Her mother wobbled inside, bare feet silent and clumsy on the rug. "If your father's gone -hiccup- I'm raiding his private stores."

"You might consider raiding his private accounts instead. Are you still sleeping with the manager at the bank?"

She opened the liquor cabinet against the wall. "His wife popped out another screaming brat and -hiccup- they moved to a farm on the continent."

"My condolences to his wife."

Her mother snorted, swaying precariously before reaching for a crystal decanter and pulling the stopper with a soft tink, taking a swig directly from the spout. Pansy sighed, tossing the paperwork aside and reaching for the second drawer.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Her mother asked, setting the decanter down with a bang and a splash.

"Looking for something that can lock daddy away for the rest of his wondrously decrepit life."

"Hm. Look in the top -hiccup- right drawer, beneath the false bottom."

Pansy blinked, glancing at the designated compartment. "Cheers." She reached for the handle. "Angostura."

Her mother scratched the side of her head, knocking the tiara further askew. "Pardon?"

"Angostura will cure your hiccups," Pansy explained, reaching inside the cubby and feeling along the base.

"I taught you that."

"I know." She smiled as she found the crescent groove, pulling the bottom panel away. "Though you aren't supposed to give bitters to children."

"Nonsense -hiccup-," her mother turned back to the cabinet, running a fingertip along the faded labels. "You always loved having a sip of my evening cocktail."

"I loved spending the evening in your company. And you make a divine cocktail."

"The secret is—"

"Adding a dash of sherry. Yes, you taught me that as well."

Her mother selected a small and narrow bottle, nearly dropping it as she unscrewed the top. "I'm sorry about the contract, darling." Pansy stilled, glancing up from her half-bent position. "By the time I found out, Ethan and Nott -hiccup- had already signed."

Pansy swallowed thickly, watching the woman pour a drop of bitter onto the back of her hand and lick it clean, face twisting at the tartness.

"Ugh," her mother gagged, smacking her lips with a shudder. "God awful." She set the bottle aside and resumed her leisurely inspection of the cabinet. "Theodore may not sweep you off your feet but he won't knock you through a wall either. That's the most any woman can hope for." She tilted her head, selecting a vintage Bordeaux and attempting to read the label through double-vision. "And he's certainly attractive, those eyes alone… lying beneath him won't be a chore. Once you give him a son you can take a lover, I doubt he'll care. He doesn't seem the possessive type."

Pansy glanced away, reaching inside the false bottom and extracting a narrow folder, spine tingling as she flipped the cover and scanned the first page. Excellent.

"Your father isn't really going away, darling." She glanced up, surprised to find her mother facing her, gaze mostly focused. "Men like him always ensure someone else is standing nearby to take the fall."

Pansy closed the folder with a hum. "If I can't bring him down, I'll string him high." She closed the drawer with her hip and started for the door. "Toodles, mummie."

"Ta-ta, darling." Her mother pulled the cork from the bottle, sniffing the contents. "And you really shouldn't wear an empire waist, it makes you look bloated."

Pansy faltered at the threshold, gritting her teeth. "Always a pleasure."

---

Shadows crept high along the brick, bathing the kitchen and its wide-eyed occupants in darkness. "What is it?" Hermione whispered, terror tightening her throat.

Only Ariana remained poised, standing her ground as the room quaked with fear. "The Jabberwocky."

"The what?" Another thunderous roar shook the Castle walls, erupting screams across the kitchen as men and women fled from the windows. "Can it get in?" Hermione asked, hands curling at her sides.

"No," Merope replied, then looked to her Queen. "Can it?"

Ariana tipped her head in thought, unphased by the mounting hysteria. "It's never tried." Her pale gaze shifted to Hermione. "Gellert knows we have a special guest."

"He sent it after me?" Hermione asked, jolting as the shutters rattled in a mighty gust of wind.

Dawn clutched her stained apron with both hands. "What should we do?"

Ariana took a deep breath, fortifying herself for the task ahead. "I can defend the perimeter—"

"You haven't the strength to reinforce the walls and open a portal," Merope stated tersely.

"Protect the Castle," Hermione urged. "Lives are at stake."

Merope shook her head. "More lives will be lost if we don't send you back." She turned to the blonde. "Open the portal."

Ariana held the woman's gaze, a silent exchange passing between them before she shared her thoughts aloud. "It will take time to harness enough energy. Gather the residents in the main hall, barricade the doors. I'll use the throne room."

"I'll lead the Jabberwocky to the other side of the Castle," Hermione volunteered, eager to do something, anything but stand here in useless panic.

"It's too dangerous," Merope argued. "We can't lose you."

"It's here for me, I won't let anyone else get hurt." Hermione turned to her host with resolve. "Wonderland chose you for a reason, Ariana. And you chose me. It's our job to protect them." Her heart skipped wildly as another powerful gust whistled through the windows, knocking empty pots to the ground and eliciting terrified shrieks from those nearby. But her gaze remained fixed upon their ethereal Sovereign, deferring to her judgment.

Ariana nodded at last. "I'll send word when I'm ready."

Hermione sighed with relief, squinting against the burst of silver light as the blonde dissolved away and a snow-white hare appeared in her place, bounding for the hall in graceful arcs. Merope shifted closer, gaining her attention. "You're very brave, Hermione, there's no doubting that. But—"

"There isn't time to argue, Merope. If you've really been watching me these last few weeks you know I'm just as hard-headed as your son. I'm doing this."

Merope set her jaw but ultimately relented, turning to address the frantic room. "Everyone— head down to the main hall, no detours!"

"I'll help spread the word," Dawn offered, falling into step behind the departing residents at Merope's nod.

And then Tom's mother turned her hauntingly familiar gaze on Hermione. "Please be careful."

"You, too," Hermione breathed, watching the woman usher the last few residents through the door before following them out.

And then it was just her.

She wasted no time searching out a weapon, dashing through the empty kitchen as the wind grew louder, harder, beat into a frenzy. She picked up pots and pans but they felt heavy and burdensome. The butcher block called to her, wooden handles pulsing in the dim light. She reached for a carving knife and sagged with disappointment, the blade no substitute for the one she had lost. But her thoughts were effectively smothered as the windows shattered in a powerful explosion.

She dropped low, covering her head as glass rained down, blanketing the stone and lodging in her hair. The air pressure changed as something massive swooped into the room, a blur of glistening black. And then steam billowed down in twin clouds, burning her skin. Her limbs twitched with adrenaline as she peered up tentatively, realizing the steam was hot breath pouring from flared nostrils. Her gaze locked with a pair of blood-red eyes, her pale face reflected in the slitted pupils, and only one thought came to mind.

"... holy hell."

---

Lavender tilted her head, examining the ceiling mural for the six-hundredth time, still unable to determine exactly what the hell was going on in the scene. Granted, the image constantly changed which certainly didn't help matters. Subjects from other canvases crawled out of their frames to join whatever Renaissance toga party was happening in her room. There was no sound but it didn't stop the painted figures from dancing their asses off, stopping only to eat and drink and get frisky. Damn, if she'd known artwork could be so interesting she might've visited a museum or two in her lifetime. The longer she stared the more she wished she could dissolve into a puddle of ink and join the two-dimensional festivities. They had a bloody wine fountain for Christ's sake. Meanwhile, she'd searched this floating fortress high and low and still couldn't rummage a drop of decent booze. Surely she wasn't expected to spend the rest of eternity sober. Lavender Brown didn't live like a saint and she certainly had no intention of becoming one in the after-life.

She separated a tendril of golden hair and twirled it around her finger. "Fuck I'm bored," she muttered, sprawled across her bedroom rug. The lump beneath her dress moved, fabric bunching around her hips as a head popped free.

"Seriously?" Cormac scowled, dropping her leg from over his shoulder and wiping his mouth. "Am I doing your taxes down here?"

"It's not you," she sighed, pushing her skirts down as he sat back on his heels. "I can't just lie here."

"Then writhe around."

"That's not the point. There's too much going on, I can't concentrate on this."

"On me you mean."

"Don't whine, it causes premature wrinkles. Or impotence. I can't remember which."

"Let's pray for the former." He tipped his head back, staring boredly at the orgy above. "If you won't let me eat you, I'm going to the kitchen for some real food." He pushed to his feet with a groan, glancing down. "Coming?"

"I wasn't even close."

His gaze narrowed on her smirk. "Fucking hilarious. Just for that, I'm not bringing you back anything."

"I don't want anything."

"Good," he called over his shoulder, halfway to the door. "Because I'm not bringing you anything."

"Good." She started braiding her hair. "Oh, bring me back some baps."

He rolled his eyes, reaching for the handle. Just then a monstrous roar radiated through the walls, trembling the window in its frame. "What the hell is that?" He asked, complexion paler than marble.

Lavender bolted upright like a spring. "My kind of action." She darted to the pane and searched the sea of pastel clouds to no avail. Her skirts billowed as she raced for the door, pushing Cormac aside with a cheeky grin. "Coming?"

"Fuck no." She shrugged, turning the handle and continuing ahead. "Lav!" He surged forward, grabbing her arm. "You can't seriously be running towards the terrifying noise?"

She met his bewildered stare with a bright grin. "What's the point of an afterlife if you're not going to live a little?" The question lingered in the air even after she slipped from his grip and sprinted down the corridor.

Cormac shook his head. "Crazy bint," he muttered to the empty room, then promptly set off after her.

---

Crinkling parchment and turning pages lulled Padma into a trance, time fleeting as she lost herself to towering stacks and endless equations. She was about to start the newest chapter of her latest selection when a flash of green appeared in her peripheral, the desk gently rocking. She reared back on instinct, transported to another library, another desk, chains wrapping her middle and manacles binding her feet as faceless soldiers patrolled the floor. And then she met a pair of gleaming yellow eyes and exhaled sharply.

"Mowgli! You gave me a fright," she laughed, high and nervous, scooting in to scratch beneath his chin. "Did Lavender's company prove too exciting?" He leaned into her touch, wriggling with contentment. "Merope says you're a sprite," she mused idly, watching his tail curl around her wrist. "Perhaps I can find a book about your kind, learn what sorts of things you like to eat and do…" She cast a sweeping glance around the towering shelves. "There has to be one lying around here somewhere."

Mowgli stepped onto the edge of her open book, head tilting in either direction as he examined the page upside down. Padma smiled, spinning it towards him. "I'm learning about deformation theory in relation to topology." He met her gaze and blinked, prompting her to cross her arms with a laugh. "Don't give me that look, it sounds far more complicated than it is."

A sudden commotion at the entrance drew their focus. Two women ran inside, cheeks flushed. Padma stiffened in her chair, recognizing one half of the frantic pair.

"Everyone!" Dawn shouted, earning the collective gaze of the room. "The Castle is under attack! Gather in the main hall!"

People sprung from their desks, dropping pens and books and overturning chairs in their haste. "Under attack?" A man shouted, inspiring others to join in.

"Ariana said we were safe—"

"—why the main hall?"

"—need to send word—"

"What will we do if—"

"Did you lot miss the part about us being under bloody attack?" The woman beside Dawn cut in, eyes blazing as she pointed at the door. "Everyone shut the hell up and haul arse!" The gentle reminder triggered the crowd into action, the library's inhabitants abandoning their books and pens and running for the hall like their lives depended on it, pausing only to grab the younger children.

Padma stood from her desk as people rushed past. "Dawn!"

The girl jolted at the sound of her name, searching the sea of faces. "Padma!" She navigated against the surging traffic, dodging frantic elbows to the face. "Come on, we have to go!"

"Who's attacking?" Padma asked, meeting her halfway.

"One of the Dollmaker's creatures. I didn't see it but it sounds big. And angry."

"Oh my god," she breathed. Mowgli clung to her skirt, round eyes darting between them. "Where's Hermione?"

"Acting as bait. She's trying to lead it to the other side of the Castle."

"Of course she is." A colossal shatter caused the library's remaining occupants to scream and holler, quickening their pace. "It's inside," Padma muttered, facing the doorway as the final resident disappeared from sight. "We have to help Hermione."

Dawn inhaled slowly, the colorful skylight reflected in her eyes. "Let's go."

They fled for the doors without further discussion, Mowgli hanging on for the ride.

---

Hermione tore down the hall as though the chariots of Hell were in pursuit. Her high-heeled boots echoed loudly off the quartz, as did skidding claws and rabid snarls. Yet when she rounded the corner and emerged into the next corridor residents continued to stand and gawk like lambs awaiting slaughter.

"Run!" She screamed. A feral growl rumbled behind the wall, emphasizing her point. People staggered back, faces stricken with horror. "Hide!"

They continued to blink, too startled to react. And then the Jabberwocky came crashing around the corner and they happily followed instructions. Screams erupted as the creature scrambled for traction on the glossy floor. The residents scattered like mice, desperately funneling into any unlocked room they could find. The beast regained its footing, talons screeching across the gemstone as it charged ahead, leathery wings scraping either wall, knocking mirrors and portraits from their hooks until busted glass and splintered frames littered its path.

Hermione sprinted, lungs pumping furiously. She tasted smoke on the back of her tongue and dropped, swallowing a keening cry as her knees slammed the tile with a crack. A bolt of bright flame shot overhead, blackening the walls and ceiling before dying away with a sizzle. She scrambled to her feet as the creature ran out of breath and staggered for the nearest open doorway. The frame was too narrow for the creature to fit through and the walls were stone, surely lending her enough time to find a weapon.

At first glance, the room appeared empty of inhabitants, but the moment she set foot inside she was met by muffled gasps and whimpers. She stiffened, searching the room in a panic, and caught sight of half-hidden faces behind the cabinets and chairs, terrified eyes fixed upon her.

Damn damn damn!

The Jabberwocky released a shrill scream, charging the doorway. "Stay where you are," she hissed, spine taut as a bowstring, "don't call its attention." She ran for the door on the opposite wall and fumbled with the handle, tearing it open with a shocked cry as the creature exploded into the room, breaking the frame in half and tearing bricks from the mortar, dust and rubble flying in every direction. A woman screamed, drawing its glowing red eyes to her huddled figure behind the loveseat. Its pupils expanded, forked tongue darting between a lipless mouth.

"Hey!" Hermione screamed from the opposite doorway, waving her arms. "Over here!"

Smoke poured from its nostrils as it pawed the ground like a bull about to charge, head tilting down, watching her through narrowed eyes. She staggered into the hall and broke into a dead-run, glimpsing a familiar painting on the wall ahead. Its inhabitants fled, disappearing beyond the edge of the frame. Her pulse skipped, a rickety plan taking shape in her mind, set to collapse at the slightest nudge. But it was the best she could do in the midst of running for her life so she set her course for the observatory, propelled by a blinding surge of adrenaline as the Jabberwocky broke through the second door frame like a wrecking ball.

The rapid thrum of her heart was smothered by the creature's pounding steps, snarling breath drawing close. Her only saving grace was the slick floor, its reptilian feet losing traction on every turn, allowing Hermione to maintain her head start. She veered around another wall, hope sparking in her chest as the constellation doors appeared. She ground her teeth and charged full-steam ahead, unable to check her momentum before colliding against the barrier like a human battering-ram.

"Ow! Fuck!" She bounced with the impact and fell into the opposing wall, groaning low and pushing off, shoulder throbbing in time to her heart. She gripped the handles and pulled with all her strength but they refused to budge. "Come on!" She slammed a fist to the cold metal, hissing in aggravation before stepping back and lifting a trembling hand, waving like the Queen on parade, desperately trying to imitate Ariana's eloquent gesture with zero success.

She could hear the Jabberwocky in the next hall, talons clawing grooves in the floor as it collided with something heavy, sending it crashing with a bang. The creature growled in frustration, a sentiment she felt down to her marrow, and then a vibrating croak echoed through the hall, close enough to warrant immediate concern.

She stepped away from the doors, glancing in either direction until something moved near her feet, pulling her gaze with it. A frog sat beside her boot, fat leathery body perched atop stumpy brown legs. Glossy eyes stared back at her as a balloon swelled in its throat, deflating with a rusty groan. She tilted her head, wondering if all frogs sounded like old rocking chairs.

It's not a frog… Her shoulder blades tightened with the realization. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. No no no no no no—

"Get back here, Vulcan!" Footsteps resonated a heartbeat before the boy materialized, wide-eyed and flushed. "Miss Mione! I didn't—"

"What are you doing here, Leo?" She asked frantically.

"Vulcan escaped—" The Jabberwocky barrelled around the corner, dagger-sized teeth bared and gleaming. Red eyes flickered between them, nostrils flaring with steam, and then it was surging forward, tiles cracking with every pounding step.

"Go!" She screamed.

Despite his obvious terror Leo possessed the mental fortitude to scoop up his pet before running for his life. Unfortunately, the benefit of youth didn't apply to his athleticism. He tripped in place more than he moved forward, movements so stuttered Neville seemed graceful by comparison. Hermione kept pace beside the boy, hauling him upright and silently cursing the Fates as she racked her mind for what to do. Neither could outrun the beast and she couldn't linger beside him much longer. The Jabberwocky was after her, anyone in her vicinity was a target.

"Keep going," she muttered between breaths, pushing him forward. He staggered, making it two more steps before he realized she wasn't following.

"Miss Mione?"

"Go!" His mouth puckered like a guppie, Vulcan clutched tight to his chest. She swallowed thickly, carding both hands through her hair as the ground shook beneath their feet. "It's alright, Leo," she offered with forced calm, tears burning behind her eyes. "Please… run."

Terror and confusion were clear on his face, even the toad looked at her like she was mental, and then the Jabberwocky's scream filled the hall with a visible soundwave that left them staggering. Leo lurched backward as the creature bounded forward, rapidly closing in. Hermione turned, rigid with horror as the dark mass bore down upon her, smoke curling between its fangs and jaws parting wide, embers flickering at the back of its throat. Sweat dripped down her spine like melted wax as she braced for the fire, no weapon or shield in sight. The creature inhaled deeply, chest rumbling, and then it unleashed its tell-tale roar, a river of flame chasing the deafening cry.

Hermione screamed beneath the searing heat, too frazzled to realize the burning was coming from within. It wasn't until she saw the wall of orange careening overhead that she thought to look down, watching her black flames sizzle and dance across her skin, deflecting the Jabberwocky's fiery breath. She studied her hands, dark flame licking across her palms and collecting in heaps until a burning sphere formed. The Jabberwocky's cry rapidly tapered, flames swallowed by a grunt of surprise. The red eyes studied her anew, clearly taken aback by her scorching transformation.

She struck before it came to its senses, casting her flames forward in a powerful surge, fingertips tingling as the Jabberwocky scrambled back. Its gleaming scales were impenetrable to fire but the shock of her attack pierced deep. She paced forward, driving the creature back with a steady torrent of flame, stray tendrils lapping through the air like undulating shadows. She made it to the observatory doors before feeling the first warning sign of fatigue, but once it entered her awareness there was no stopping it. Her muscles burned with exhaustion, knees threatening to buckle. And then her black fire withered and died all at once, smothered by an invisible hand. Violet sparks emitted from her fingertips as she desperately tried to summon the flames back. But her strength was completely tapped, light-headed to the point of slumping against the doors, breathless and dazed.

The Jabberwocky eyed her with narrow suspicion as though awaiting her next attack. But the after-shock wouldn't last forever, and when it decided to strike again she'd be completely defenseless.

"Abracadabra!" A voice hissed from the end of the hall. Hermione pushed the hair from her eyes, meeting Leo's wide gaze as he peeked around the corner. "Abracadabra!" He repeated, gesturing wildly with a toad in his hand, though it took her exhausted mind another five seconds to process his meaning.

She pushed upright with leaden arms, giving the doors a doubtful examination. Surely it couldn't be that simple, that ridiculous… "Abracadabra," she muttered, staggering back as the doors began to silently part.

Seriously?

Her surprise was disrupted by a low-throated growl as the Jabberwocky regained its senses, red eyes narrowed on the silver barrier. She bounced anxiously on the balls of her feet, willing the doors to open faster, hinges folding at a snail's pace. The creature hissed and lunged, jaw snapping beside her head as she turned sideways and squeezed through the narrow gap, sucking in her breath and choking down a scream. It clawed at the doors, screeching in rage as she staggered into the connecting hall and darted out of reach. Hermione wasted no time before shouting the command at the second set of doors, swaying precariously as they began to part at the same glacial speed.

The Jabberwocky attempted to wedge inside the narrow corridor, managing to fit its head and arm through the expanding gap, swiping a lethal claw like a cat with its paw in a birdcage. A razor talon caught the edge of her skirt and shredded the fabric like tissue paper. She scrambled forward and tried to pry the second pair of doors apart with her hands. At last, the gap was wide enough for her thin frame to slip through, the squeeze so tight she fell face-first into the main room. The cosmos burst to life all around her, incandescent shapes swirling past her head and spinning through the air at dizzying speed as though attuned to her rapid heartbeat. She pushed to her feet and staggered through a series of moons, each shape dissolving to stardust and reforming at her back.

By the time she reached the center of the room, both sets of doors were wide enough for the Jabberwocky to fit through. It swept inside on an enraged huff, smoke billowing from its mouth as it pushed off the ground and took to the air. Its massive wings turned the room into a wind tunnel, lifting her curls into a frenzy. She pressed flat to the wall as it circled overhead, searching the ground for its prey. Its long tail swooshed from side to side and triggered a disc-shaped galaxy to form in its path. The creature snapped its powerful jaws at the bright lights, shaking its head like a dog as it flew through the swirling shapes. The images scattered to dust before coalescing at its departure, unfettered by the attack.

Hermione backed into the shadows, doing her level best to fade from view as the Jabberwocky circled the dancing shapes, trying to take a bite out of a passing comet. Its tail flicked, summoning a blue planet to expand until it overtook the creature's vision. She crept steadily towards the doors, keeping the creature in sight as it attacked the floating displays, growling in frustration every time its teeth met open air.

She bit her lip, rising on tiptoes to minimize sound. And then a brilliant flash of light rendered them frozen, blinded by a supernova explosion. Every corner of the room was illuminated in blue, green, and magenta, light crashing and merging until the energy started to fold in on itself, the explosion rapidly shrinking as though playing the scene in reverse. Spots danced before her eyes as they adjusted to the darkness. The Jabberwocky circled the dying star, startled and fascinated by the show.

Hermione seized the opportunity before it slipped through her trembling fingers, pushing off the wall and racing for the doors, staggering in a zig-zag pattern as she fought to maintain her balance, light-headed from exhaustion. The creature caught sight of her mad-dash and released a high-pitched scream that rivaled the Infernal Train, wings folding back as it cut like a bullet through the air. She stumbled into the connecting hall and lost her balance, catching herself against the doors and gasping with relief as they moved beneath her touch. Sweat burned her eyes as she clutched the handle and pushed with all her strength. The Jabberwocky's momentum was slowed as an aurora flared to life, crashing like waves over its face. By the time it recovered, she was pressing the doors shut with a resounding click, no time to spare.

The beast charged the barrier, causing the doors to bow under the impact. She staggered back as a blood-curdling roar filled the air, followed by the ground-shaking boom of the beast ramming the doors. The hinges groaned, threatening to snap. She backed into the main corridor and pushed the silver doors closed, noting the jagged claw marks in the metal. The moment the latch clicked she dropped to her knees, bracing the floor and panting heavily.

"Miss Mione, are you okay?"

She gasped, falling back at the soft-spoken question. "Leo…" Her heart felt like it would explode. "I told you to run."

He shrugged, glancing at the bored-looking toad in his hands. "You didn't say how far to go."

Despite her exhaustion, a weak laugh bubbled forth, dispelling a few ounces of crushing weight pinning her to the floor. "Clever boy," she muttered, grasping the scorched wall for leverage and pulling upright. "But seriously, head to the main hall. I'm going to—" A muffled bang made them both jump, the interior barrier finally giving way as the Jabberwocky escaped the observatory and began ramming the constellation doors, snarling and scratching. The walls trembled, hinges rattling loudly. The lump in her throat dropped to the pit of her stomach. "The doors won't hold. Shite." She gripped her hair by the roots. "If I can't trap it, I have to kill it."

"What about the Cathedral?"

She blinked, glancing down. "Cathedral?"

Leo nodded. "It's big enough to hold it and separate from the Castle. You just have to destroy the bridge."

There wasn't time to sort the information, only to act. She turned to face him, the intensity of her gaze pulling a vibrant flush to his round cheeks. "How do I get to the Cathedral?"

---

Lavender bobbed and weaved through the heavy traffic filling the halls. Shrill screams bounced off the walls and ceiling until she couldn't hear herself think, yet Cormac's voice resonated above the fray as he called her name, shamelessly throwing elbows to cut to her side.

"Lav, shouldn't we be running with the hysterical crowd?"

She pointedly ignored the question, attention drawn to the end of the corridor.

"That's right, fishies, keep swimming!" A familiar voice shouted, bringing a smile to Lavender's face.

She narrowly dodged a frantic couple, nearly clotheslined before twisting out of their path. Bloody lunatics. Lavender flipped her hair and continued forward. "Maggie!"

The woman's eyes flickered up, face split with a grin. "Lav! I thought you'd be riding the Jabberwocky like a bull."

"Jabberwocky?" Lavender weaved around a hysterical man in a three-piece suit before arriving at Maggie's side. "What the hell is that?"

"I don't know, but it roars like a sonofabitch and has a pair of wings to match."

Lavender's heart soared. "We're under siege by a dragon?" She bounced in place, bursting at the seams with excitement. "The afterlife is finally shaping up!"

"I'm glad someone's enjoying it," her companion mused, waving residents forward and pointing them down the connecting hall. A young girl rushed past, a sobbing mess. Maggie eyed her with boredom. "That's right, dear, take the crazy downstairs, share it with your friends."

The words reminded Lavender of her original mission. "Have you seen—"

"Hermione?"

She blinked. "I was going to say Merope. You've met Hermione?"

"Adorable little thing, isn't she?" Maggie smirked, then tilted her head in thought. "Shorter than I thought she'd be."

"Her hit count stacks higher than she does, I assure you." Neither woman reacted as Cormac stumbled to their sides, hair a rumpled mess from dodging flailing limbs.

"I wouldn't doubt it," Maggie conceded. "It's always the sweet and innocent ones you gotta look out for." She eyed the new arrival with a cheeky wink. "Ain't that right, handsome?"

Cormac rolled his eyes before turning a disgruntled look on the object of his mounting frustration. "Alright, you've had your little adventure. Now can we please run screaming to the main hall?"

Lavender barely heard the question, her selective listening only strengthening in death. "Any idea where Mione went?" She asked the other woman.

Maggie shook her head. "Sorry, hon."

"If she has any sense she's taken cover," Cormac inserted. "Which we should be doing. Right now." The trio moved towards the wall as a large group swarmed past, arms overflowing with personal effects as though they were preparing to vacate the floating fortress without plummeting to an explosive death.

"Hermione isn't hiding," Lavender said with conviction. "She's hunting."

The hall ran dry at last, the final resident rounding the corner and disappearing from sight.

"Sorry to gab and dash," Maggie lamented with a wry grin, stepping away from their cluster. "But I need to join Merope."

"We'll send any stragglers your way," Lavender said.

"Have fun kids." Their boisterous companion offered a salute and a parting wink, the latter aimed at McLaggen, and promptly chased after the fleeing crowd.

Cormac ignored the teasing gesture, turning to Lavender with a pinched expression. "We?"

"I don't have time for this." She pushed off the wall, continuing towards the center of the Castle. "If you want to go to the main hall then go. I won't think any less of you."

"I'm not leaving without you," he snapped, keeping pace at her heels.

"I'll be fine—"

"I'm not leaving you again."

She paused to glance over her shoulder, recognizing the haunted shadow darkening his features. "I already told you, Cormac, what happened wasn't your fault."

"You'd still be alive if it wasn't for me," he stated firmly.

"That's a big leap." She smirked. "I've always had a penchant for finding trouble."

His expression gradually eased until it mirrored her own. "I'm well aware. I didn't know what fun was until I met you."

She tipped her head with a laugh, the sound swallowed by a ground-shaking roar from somewhere deep within the Castle walls. Their countenances instantly sobered, gazes still locked. "I can't promise this will be fun, though I can certainly guarantee adventure." Her boots clicked softly as she backed away. "But you're the one who has to take the leap." She held his stare a moment longer before turning on her heel and breaking into a run, cringing at the sting of disappointment when he didn't follow. And then she turned the corner and her thoughts were scattered by a flash of green in the distance.

"Mowgli!" The creature skidded to a halt, waiting out her rapid approach. "Where are the girls?" She asked between labored breaths. The yellow eyes blinked once before he continued his mad sprint ahead. Lavender grinned, picking up speed and giving chase.

---

The setting sun breathed new life into the foggy streets, offices closing their doors as restaurants parted their shutters, ushering in hungry pedestrians with the heady aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted meat. Harry's stomach clenched as he passed a particularly bustling eaterie, partly since he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten but also because it was the same bistro where he'd met Hermione barely a month prior. Back when his most gnawing concern was her welfare at the Home. Before murder and kidnapping, brainwashing and slave auctions. Another lifetime, another man.

He shook his head, continuing past the beveled glass without pause. Nothing would deter him from his mission ahead, not hunger and certainly not melancholy. He refused to rest until the evil was vanquished at its source and all its victims released from their mental prisons. Which meant having a private chat with someone Harry was loathed to converse with. And after his morning heart-to-heart with Snape, that was really saying something.

He'd been scouring the streets for the urchin since departing the Apothecary, finally parting ways with Ron an hour prior. He'd sent his friend to Scotland Yard in the hopes their record room would possess information on Devil's Breath. With any luck, there were prior arrests for possession and distribution, giving them some idea just how far back the drug dated and whether the Dollmaker was its sole supplier.

He turned the corner, exiting the neatly paved path and venturing onto rocky cobblestone. Building by building the atmosphere turned darker, grimier, rowdier. London possessed several Underground scenes and the one he sought tonight was an elusive creature. But his inexperience did nothing to diminish his focus; after the last forty-eight hours a gun to the head wouldn't rattle him. He passed a rat-infested pub, windows caked in filth, but the dreary interior did little to dissuade its patrons from enjoying its offerings. The bar was overflowing with ale, every shaky stool and cracked booth filled. A man played the piano in the corner while a woman sang along from her perch on the lid. Her off-note, suggestive lyrics followed Harry down the sidewalk, as did the whistling catcalls and drunken guffaws of her audience.

As he neared the next street a group of children rushed past, grey with soot and laughing toothily. He noticed the boy at the helm held something glittering in his hands. The group darted into the nearest alley and were promptly swallowed by its shadows. Pounding footsteps caught his attention next. A man in a bespoke suit sprinted around the corner, face red with exertion. "Get back here, you filthy miscreants!" He shouted, searching the street. "That pocket watch is worth more than all your miserable lives!"

A prostitute on the corner laughed at his plight, hiking up her skirts and straightening her torn stockings. Harry rubbed his eyes, continuing on. A few minutes later he heard the tell-tale creak of an overloaded wagon, joints groaning and bolts rattling. He straightened, turning his head in either direction before determining the source of the commotion, following the screeching wheels into a nearby alley and pausing at the mouth as he caught sight of his rat at long last.

The man slowed, leaning against the side of his cart to light a cigarette. Harry tucked his hands into his pockets and started forward. Fletcher glanced up, cherry burning orange as he took a long drag, expelling a torrent of smoke with his jovial greeting. "Oi! Hello, mate. What can I help you with this fine summer evening?"

"I'm looking for a tonic," Harry replied simply, stopping a meter from the covered wagon and its pied-clad owner.

"Then you came to the right place." Fletcher's grin widened to reveal a row of crooked and missing teeth. "I have every tonic and tincture under the sun at only a fraction of what those high-end apothecaries charge." He took another drag before flicking the cigarette aside. "Utter robbery what they do, pushing up prices and watering down their stock. Don't know how they sleep at night, evil bastards." He grabbed the corner of the tarp, giving it a quick tug and unveiling the overflowing contents within. "I'm proud to say I only carry the finest products in all of London. You can rest assured that every bottle contains nothing but the highest quality ingredients sourced from all around the world."

Harry rubbed his forehead, temples throbbing with every word.

"Alright, kid, what are you looking for?" Fletcher droned on, gesturing to the plethora of unlabeled bottles and boxes. "Uppers, downers, tinglers, flashers?"

Harry tilted his head, curiosity overriding exhaustion. "I don't believe I'm familiar with those last two."

His companion's oily grin seeped higher. "Oh you lucky, lucky boy, you're in for a real treat! I just got a brick of heroin delivered fresh from the Silk Road, it'll leave you buzzing from your toes to your teeth and give you the best night's sleep of your life. Only £5 a gram. You won't find a better deal anywhere on the island, I promise you that." Harry sighed, starting to speak, but his words were smothered by the peddler's unstoppable sales pitch. "What am I saying? A strapping young buck like you doesn't want to sleep into oblivion! You want to have a good time, perhaps share that good time with a few buxom beauties, am I right? I've got some peyote that's so out of this world you'll think you're sailing the rings of Saturn."

Fuck, did he have an off switch?

Fletcher tilted his head, seeming to sense his client's mounting annoyance. "No?" He quickly changed tactics. "Then tell me your woes and I'll tell you the remedy. I've got it all and more." He turned to the wagon and began tapping lids and rubber stoppers. "Nitroglycerin for migraines, cocaine for anxiety, opium for constipation, arsenic for anemia, laxatives for the pox, strychnine for indigestion, chloroform for insomnia, cannabis for asthma, belladonna for a sore throat, hell, I even got leeches for earaches." He held up a jar and turned it towards the yellow glow of a streetlamp, revealing its plump, writhing contents.

Harry arched a dark brow. "None of that sounds right."

"That's what the doctors of the West End want you to think," Fletcher replied with a sour scowl. "Silver spoons shoved so far up their shiteholes they wouldn't know good medicine if it bit them in the arse!"

"Well, I imagine their bums are numb from the silver suppositories."

The back-alley vendor lifted his chin, turned the jar of leeches over in his hands while examining Harry with careful calculation. "You're obviously a smart, healthy young lad. Surely you know your body better than those quacks trying to shake the gold from your pockets." He gestured to his cart as though unveiling a work of art. "So, what's it going to be?"

"I'm looking for something quite distinctive," Harry began, too fatigued to beat around the bush. "A depressant that turns the mind into porridge and the body into a marionette." He let the words linger in the air, noting the man's every reaction. "I believe its street name is Devil's Breath."

Fletcher reared back, colliding with his cart and knocking several bottles to the ground. He cursed low, dropping to his haunches and scrambling for the glass containers. "Sorry, kid, never heard of it."

"No?" Harry tilted his head, edging closer. "I thought you pedaled everything under the sun."

"Wish I could help." The man rose up, tossing the fallen bottles into the wagon and tugging the tarp into place. "Unfortunately, I have somewhere to be—"

"Perhaps your unfamiliar with how it looks, maybe this will refresh your memory." Harry reached into his pocket once more, extracting the blue vial and holding it aloft. Fletcher paled, the bags beneath his eyes casting shadows across his haunted visage. Harry grinned. "Ah, I see I've finally rung a bell."

The vendor swallowed audibly, pressing flat to his cart. "I don't…"

Harry narrowed his gaze, sensing what was to follow but too worn to prevent it from happening. As expected, Fletcher abandoned his inventory and took off at a dead sprint down the adjoining alley of brownstones. Harry groaned, shaking his head and replacing the vial. "Here we go."

He took off after the peddler, ribs screaming with every footfall, absorbing the shock like a sledgehammer to glass. The pain was too much. He ground his teeth in frustration and paused beside a dumpster, grabbing a wooden crate from a stack and throwing it with all his strength. It cracked Fletcher in the back, bull's eye center, knocking him off his feet. He fell into a cluster of metal rubbish bins with a pained gasp, upending their contents and sprawling atop the rotten pile. Harry stalked forward, a menacing sight to behold if his prey's reaction was any indication. Fletcher scrambled through spoiled fruit rinds and sour milk containers, hands trembling as he lifted them in a sign of peace.

"Look, kid, I don't want any trouble—"

Harry leaned down with a hissing grown and grabbed the man by the frayed lapels, hauling him to his feet and slamming him against the brick. "That's good to hear because I've had a really long week and your sales pitch just burned through my last ounce of patience. So let me cut to the chase. I'm going to ask a series of very simple questions and you're going to provide a series of very detailed answers. If you deviate from that system, I'm going to hurt you." Fletcher blinked rapidly, teeth chattering. Harry continued calmly. "You should know that while I'm not a proponent of physical violence, I'm exceptionally good at inflicting it. Now, tell me everything you know about Devil's Breath."

"I don't know what that is—" the air left the peddler's lungs in a sharp burst as Harry's fist connected with his gut. He gripped his abdomen, starting to double over until Harry braced a forearm to his neck and pinned him flat.

"Try again."

"I really don't—" Harry drove a second fist into the man's stomach, causing him to wheeze violently, face a blotchy patchwork of red and violet, eyes streaming. "Stop! I'll tell you, I'll tell you!" Fletcher gasped between labored coughing fits. "I don't sell it—"

"That's not what I asked."

"It makes people docile, easier to handle, easier to manipulate."

Harry's expression sharpened. "It's being sold on the streets?"

"No, not on the streets." The peddler cringed, as though revealing too much.

Harry's nose twitched, anticipation clawing at his patience. "Go on."

Fletcher wet his chapped lips, eyes filled with weary resignation. "It's only available for private buyers."

"Such as?"

"I don't know, I don't handle the sales."

"But you handle something, don't you, Fletcher?" The man in question set his jaw, jagged teeth grinding. "Tell me," Harry demanded.

"I'll be killed."

"By who?"

"I don't know, I've never met him—"

"The Dollmaker isn't concerned about you," Harry scathed. "Someone like you doesn't even exist to him." His rat turned an alarming shade of grey upon hearing the forbidden name. Harry pressed on. "Furthermore, you shouldn't be worried about him, not when the greatest threat to your life is standing right here."

Fletcher gulped, sagging into the brick. "I oversee the shipment. That is, I'm one of a few men who oversee it. But I'm there for the other cargo, products I can pedal. Someone else takes the Devil's Breath."

"Who?"

"A man named Quirrell, real nervous-looking, like he's about to piss himself at any moment. Stutters, too." His words came faster, more eager. "He packages it for delivery but I don't know where he takes it, I swear."

Harry searched the grime-covered face for signs of duplicity, seeing only unbridled terror. "Where does the shipment come in?"

"It's private property."

"Where?"

Fletcher pressed further back, nearly merging with the brick and mortar. "St. Katherine Docks, west side."

Harry's emerald gaze flashed in warning. "If you're lying—"

"I'm not!" Fletcher sputtered. "I know you'd track me down and I really don't want to see you again."

Harry nodded, removing his restraining arm and stepping back. "You're not as stupid as you look." He watched the man crumble to the damp pavement, folding in around his bruised middle. "Pleasure doing business with you, Fletcher." He turned to the mouth of the alley, straightening his coat and feeling for the vial, its weight and shape a familiar curse in his pocket. His steps quickened as the sun finally dipped beneath the horizon and darkness swept the land.

---

Tom narrowed his gaze, vision adjusting to the shadows as he paced the platform for a second time, carefully examining every face he passed. He was met by withering glares and suggestive winks in equal measure, unable to tamp his aura of dangerous intensity as he traveled from station to station, frustration and bloodlust mounting with every failed search. But he held true to his plan, deducing the most logical escape routes out of the city.

The Dollmaker knew Albus had the Navy under thumb, ruling the Thames as Poseidon ruled the sea. As such, he was far more likely to take an overnight train to the coast and charter a private boat across the Channel. London was bursting with stations, but only a handful offered direct routes to port destinations. Tom had spent his day steadily ticking each one off his list and was preparing to depart empty-handed yet again when a hobbled figure caught his eye, bundled in a tattered quilt and nestled in the shadows. The cloaked figure kept their face carefully averted from the crowd, but Tom knew their identity just the same. His footsteps tapered to a halt, shoulders drawing wide. The incoming train whistled in the distance, black smoke billowing into the inky sky. The huddled form shivered as though bursting with anticipation, eager to board, pale face tipping up.

Tom's eyes flashed, gums throbbing with predatory hunger. His prey bristled, seeming to feel the weight of his dark focus. Her eyes flickered in his direction and latched onto his still form in the same moment, bugging so wide he half-expected them to tumble out of her head and roll to his feet. Her complexion turned ghostly white, the purple shadows beneath her lashes standing in stark relief as her thin lips quivered. And then she was tossing the quilt aside and springing to her feet, racing for the stairs.

Tom gave chase but was slowed by the surging crowd as the train pulled into the station, steam whistle deafening. He hissed in annoyance, roughly shouldering aside bodies without a glance in their direction until reaching the steps. She was already at street-level by the time he grabbed the railing but he heard the unmistakable clicking of heels and ascended like a dark shadow, honing in on the sound as he emerged on the sidewalk. He carefully dissected the explosion of noise, ignoring the clop of horses and medley of voices, nothing existing beyond the distant click click click. He scanned the street ahead, searching out his prey with calm determination, pulse throbbing when he caught sight of a round shadow darting into a nearby alley. Splendid.

He took off at a quick run, indifferent to the attention he drew as he weaved around the bustling traffic towards the dark gap between buildings. She was crouched behind a dumpster when he entered, trembling hands easily visible beyond the mountain of rubbish. She squealed with terror when his glittering gaze fell upon her, leaping out of hiding in a haphazard attempt to dart around his broad figure. He caught her by the arm and dragged her deeper into the shadows with a chilling greeting.

"Hello, Dolores."

A feral cat hissed in annoyance, darting past her scrambling feet as he pinned her flat to the brick. "Don't kill me!" She begged, voice just as grating as the first time he heard it.

Tom stared down with cool calculation. "How did you get out?"

"She let me go! It was her decision, I didn't do anything wrong—"

"Who?" He snapped, squeezing her arm while envisioning it was her neck.

"Granger!" She cringed and tried to twist away, prompting him to tighten his hold until she released a keening sob.

"You're lucky she bears a conscience. I was content to let your skeleton decorate the attic for decades to come."

She shook violently, shrinking back as far as their confined space would allow. "P-Please, I haven't said anything to the police—"

"You haven't told them you single-handedly kept a sex-trafficking ring in business for years? How strange."

Her fear rapidly gave way to hatred, beady eyes turning thin. "As you said, I can't go to them. About anything. Your secret is safe with me."

"And yet you remain profoundly unsafe with me."

"What do you want?" She pled, caught between outrage and terror. "I left the Home! I'm leaving London! You'll never see me again—"

"I could accomplish the very same outcome by killing you where you stand." She choked on a gasp, glancing around desperately. "No one will help you," Tom informed her simply.

Her face twisted, eyes darting up in defiance. "I know. I stopped relying on other people for my survival when I was thirteen."

"What a tragic tale. How unfortunate I left my violin behind."

"Bastard!" She hissed, then tried to slap him.

Tom caught her wrist with ease, grinding the bones in his hand until she wailed miserably, sinking into the brick. "As your luck would have it," he began calmly, "I'm not here for you."

"Then let me go," she whimpered, tears dripping fast and heavy.

"Not before you tell me where he is."

She shook her head. "I don't know." He squeezed until the joint popped between his fingers. She screamed, knees buckling, body held aloft by his iron-grip alone. "I don't know! I've never even seen him in person! I've only met with the Lestranges—"

"Where?" She blinked dumbly. "Where did you meet them?" He repeated, fire kindling in his chest.

"I can't—" he squeezed again. She gasped, writhing in pain. "Their house!"

His brow tightened in a scowl. "They would never let you cross the threshold."

"It wasn't their main estate," she panted desperately. "It's a side property, small and modest."

Tom examined her as he would a virus beneath a microscope, body pressing in until he filled every corner of her vision. "What's the address?" He rumbled, leaving her a gasping, sputtering mess.

"I d-don't r-remember—"

"Try again." He bent her hand back, stretching the tendon until it was poised to snap. Tears flooded her eyes anew, face a blistering red.

"It's in Horsleydown, near St. John!"

His heart skipped painfully, the unexpected announcement uprooting a burial ground of memories. He pushed the traitorous thoughts aside and bore down upon her until his burning eyes became her only light in the darkness. "Show me."