I couldn't say how many days I had spent locked in that little bedroom. I'd locked the door with every spell I knew, cast a dozen muffliato's for good measure, and drifted in and out of sleep. Selfishly, I wondered if anybody had even cared enough to check on me. More likely I'd taken all these measures for absolutely no reason, while the others continued to live their lives as though I didn't exist at all.

Pain seared across my face, through my chest, each time my mind insisted on drifting to Draco. My body racked with sobs, my tears drenching the pillows soaking wet. It was the worst pain I had ever known. Last time I'd lost Draco — pushed him away, so he wouldn't need to mourn me when I died — I'd had Daphne. Now she hated me, too.

I kept waiting for Draco to blast the door from its hinges. To come back to me. It was like leaving an article unwritten — the quill and ink scattered carelessly on the desk. But the second I left this room, the events would become real. No alterations, no unexpected endings.

But I knew, deep down, things couldn't change now. There was never much of anything to begin with. Not in his mind. As usual, I had blown things out of proportion and carried myself away on a fairytale that didn't exist. I remembered his face the first time he said those words, I'm in love with you. My face crumpled in agony, the pain threatening to destroy me. But my mind refused to quiet. It wondered, did he mean it? Had he felt that way at first, only for it to fizzle out when I told him about the dark mark? Or was it never there to begin with? We were just having a bit of fun, he'd sneered. And I'd come across as crazy.

"Astoria." The sound, after so many days of silence, caused me to jump in fright. "May I come in?"

I recognised the voice. Harry's. My charms must have expired. I hesitated for a moment, but ultimately curiosity — or was it loneliness? — got the better of me. I opened the door.

"How are you doing?" he asked, hovering awkwardly in the bedroom.

I realised the place was a pig sty. The curtains had almost sealed shut from lack of use. A thin film of dust coated everything, and the bed was tired and rumpled. I wondered how awful I looked to match.

"I'm okay." My voice cracked from lack of use. "Is… is everything-

"Things are almost returned to normal." He swallowed. "You'll be able to leave after tonight. We've pinpointed this Voldemort's location. We'll be apprehending him. The world knows Kingsley's alive, I've got a top auror impersonating him once more. After tonight, there'll be little need for security measures."

He gave a quick smile. It felt odd to be so… unconcerned. But I was too broken to feel. Voldemort himself could probably storm the building and I'd struggle to bat a single eyelid.

"Could I not stay here a little longer?" I asked. "It's just, I… haven't quite sorted out my residence yet."

Harry didn't look surprised. He must have had at least some inkling of my troubles.

"We need this building cleared for a new squad of aurors in training. But we have another safe-house. Ginny and Luna are there now. I know they'd love to see you, Ginny especially."

I couldn't help but let out a small, humourless laugh. The last time I saw Ginny, she accused me of using her to manipulate the auror office. Then, I'd cursed her into a body-bind. I couldn't imagine a warm welcoming after that.

"She didn't betray you, you know," Harry said. "A wizard in that French pub recognised you. He alerted us immediately. Ginny had no idea."

I wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. But my strength was already dissipating, and I was growing eager for this conversation to end.
"Is there anything else?" I asked.

"We've all been worried about you. Your sister especially. She tried to practically bribe me to get into this room," he laughed, "but Kingsley wanted to give you your space. I don't know how you've been eating up here, but I'll send some food to your fireplace. But don't be afraid to come down and see the others, okay? Daphne's… she misses you."

"Thank you." I swallowed the dry lump forming in my throat. "And, uh, is everyone else… still here?"

Harry had the grace not to meet my eyes. "Only Daphne and Rob. But they'll be leaving today, too. We all will."

"So the war's over then," I tried to joke.

"The point is, it never had to begin," he corrected.

"Well… thank you, Harry."

Harry hesitated before leaving. "Astoria I…" He seemed to change his mind. "If you need anything at all, you only have to ask. Okay?"

It wasn't until he was halfway out the door I had a stroke of inspiration. "Actually, could I have some ink and parchment sent down?"

I made the bed, cleaned the room. I took a shower — working hard to distract myself by trying to memorise the uses for dragon's blood. I dressed in clean cottons, and when the food arrived, gouged myself on pasta salad and bread with cranberries and walnuts. I sat at the small desk with fresh rolls of parchment, curled and swirling. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted, in the simple fact that I was clean and working again. I penned a headline.

The War That Never Began — a rendition of the events of 'The Third Wizarding World War'.

I had almost finished the article when a sharp tap at the door shook my focus. I hissed in annoyance — but then realised the article couldn't be finished until the war had. Sulking, I made my way to the door, ready for Harry to tell me it was time to leave.

Instead it was Daphne, her eyes ringed in red and puffy.

I hardened. I still had not forgotten the cruel words she'd said. I made to close the door on her again.

"Tori," she pleaded. "It's our parents. They… They're dead."

The jeep rocked around on the bumpy, country roads. Only the headlights cut through the pitch black of night ahead , leaving strips of the unknown on either side.

"Remind me again why we look like a bunch of fucking muggles?" Draco sneered.

They wore military gear, from the solid, wrap-on vests to the 'dummy guns' — as Harry had called them — slung over their shoulders.

"We've been liaising with their minister," Harry explained from the front seat. He wrapped a fist around the upper handle as they went over a particularly nasty bump. "We're trying to limit the amount of memory charms we cast on muggles. The cover story is that Voldemort is a domestic terrorist, and we're a SWAT team sent to eliminate him."

Draco snorted. "And how will that work when he uses a twig to murder half a town?"

Harry shot him a warning glare, but Draco didn't care. Zabini stayed silent next to him, turning a pale shade of green. Carsick, apparently. Not only were they wasting time that could be spent on broomstick or even apparating, but they were making themselves ill in the process. All so a few muggles wouldn't need their memories wiped. Privately, Draco thought it had less to do with muggle welfare, and more to do with the ministry cutting corners. Lazy.

He still had half a mind to disapparate right now, away from all this madness. But of course Potter had laid it on thick.

"Your mother's hurt," Potter had said, in the kitchen of that mangy safe-house. "I can take you to see her, but we need to be careful."

Of course Draco had agreed, and so they'd apparated halfway across the country, to another ministry safe-house. High priority, Harry had explained, when they saw his Weasel girlfriend in the same place. Draco felt a stab of fury. Had he and Astoria not been high priority enough? Astoria. He shook all thought of her from his head.

His parents explained how the Death Eaters had turned on them. How Lucius had barely escaped with his life, how Narcissa had been injured so badly she'd spent a week in St. Mungo's. She still looked pale and weak. It reminded Draco of how Tori had looked after a particularly bad accident.

"I know you refused me before, Draco," Harry said, in the garden of the safe-house. "I'm not asking you to join the Order. But I need you to take him down."

"Why me?" Draco asked.

"Because he knows you. I don't for a second think he's the real deal," Potter was quick to add, hands in the air, "and I doubt you do, either. But this man has studied everything about Voldemort. His way of thinking, his patterns, his mannerisms. Our best guess is he may even be so delusional that he truly believes he is Tom Riddle."

Draco thought for a moment. "Then what's the difference?" he asked. "Between this Voldemort and the real one?"

"At this stage? Horcruxes," Harry said. "And… refinery. He's just a touch more sloppy than Riddle was. Just a touch more trusting." Harry's demeanour changed. He seemed almost sympathetic. "We'll reward you when this is all over. Complete freedom, for both you and your family. No more vault holds, no more tracking."

"I want people to know it was us," Draco added. "Not me. But… my mother and father. I want people to know they brought him down this time."

Harry nodded. "Okay."

Draco shook his head, muttering every curse word he knew under his breath. "And I want Zabini, too. I'm only in if he is."

And so now, as Draco looked at the pale sheen of sweat on Zabini's forehead in the cramped jeep, he couldn't help but blame him for their ordeal. He'd been all too eager to jump at the chance. Draco's only solace was that this would be a quick job, and in just a few short hours, he would be a free man. He could sell the chateau — lesson learned to never impulse buy castles again — and go travelling. Put as much space between him and Tori as he could. Maybe Zabini could come too, depending how things were with Hestia.

"We're close," Harry said. "I'll send the signal to Ron's squad."

He shot a jet of green sparks out into the night. Then, after a few seconds pause, a twin set came shooting back in their direction.

"Why has he chosen to be all the way out here?" Draco sneered.

The driver, an older wizard Draco didn't recognise, answered. "Riddle's family home. He spent a lot of time here, before he came back. I suppose the new Voldemort feels a connection to him here."

Draco shuddered, the thought making him feel sick. He was becoming less and less certain about this.

"How many death eaters will be here?" he asked.

"One loyal servant, maybe two." Potter narrowed his eyes behind those round glasses, scanning the house ahead. "At least, that's what Riddle would have done."

Draco thought that answer would be enough to calm him, but it only made him far more uneasy. The urge to run away grew stronger and stronger as the jeep dimmed its lights, slowed, and finally crawled to a stop.