Hey all! Turns out I needed to split this chapter again. The whole thing would've been over 10,000 words, which just doesn't match my standard chapter length. I promise, pinky promise, that the Gringotts Heist will happen next chapter.

In the meantime, enjoy the build-up!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.


The following two weeks passed at a sluggish pace. If Draco hadn't seen the sun set and then rise every day due to his Hermione-induced insomnia, he'd have thought no time had passed at all.

But it did pass. And each day became as repetitive and monotonous as the one before.

Every morning, Draco got out of bed, whether after five hours of sleep (if he was lucky) or hardly any (which was much more common), to go wake Theo, Blaise, and Daphne, assemble coffee for the troops, and begin what usually turned into twelve hours of strategic planning.

They had lucked out, Draco discovered quickly. With a family as large as the Weasleys, it seemed natural that at least one of them would have gone into curse breaking. Or dragon-rearing. Or, as Draco learned when he made the joke aloud, one brother for each.

The eldest Weasley had given them all his old plans of Gringotts, without so much as a raised eyebrow for the reasoning. Bill, with his Greyback-induced scars from the Astronomy Tower night, seemed to Draco to be the most relaxed of the Weasleys, and perhaps of the Order. No Lupin arguments, no Kingsley shaming, just acceptance without questions and suddenly they had all the maps they could possibly need.

Then came the difficult part. The plan.

Though Draco would rather be eaten by the aforementioned dragon than admit it, Potter and Weasley were not bad strategists. From watching on the sidelines over the years, Draco had always assumed that their Gryffindor courage, sheer dumb luck, and a heavy reliance on disarming had gotten them out of their narrowest of scrapes.

It turns out that they had enough braincells between the two of them to come out with a half-decent plan.

And then, once the Slytherins added themselves to the mix, the group had managed to find themselves with a specialized route straight to the bowels of Gringotts; the Lestrange vault.

Now the final question arose.

When.

"I say we go tonight," Theo suggested, during a mid-afternoon meeting seventeen days after Hermione had left. "Screw it, we can't plan more."

"The chaos you bring to this table is astounding to me."

"Well, Draco," Theo continued, paying him no mind. "I'm a man of action. You can't mope here forever, you know."

"Fuck you."

"If only."

"Boys," Daphne interjected, smiling slightly at their exchange. Potter and Weasley did not look nearly as amused.

"As much as I hate to encourage this type of energy," Blaise said, his eyes tracing over the maps on the table once more, having barely bothered to glance up. "I think Theo may have a point."

"First for everything."

"Draco, please. You wound me."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Here I was thinking this was a good idea, the gang back together," he muttered, while Daphne laughed aloud.

"I think he's right," Weasley added in, frowning slightly. "We've been going over the plan for weeks. I don't think there's a way for you to get better at those glamours, Greengrass. It was like the bitch was right there."

"That's true," Draco agreed. "It was traumatic."

Potter shoved his glasses further up his nose. "You shouldn't go tonight."

"Have you ever once in your life understood when something's a bit, Potter?"

"But," Wonder Boy continued, ignoring Theo's taunting. "I think the sooner, the better, honestly. We can't be more prepared. If we stay in this damn house rehearsing over and over, we're going to go crazy."

"Already there," Draco muttered.

"And besides," Potter continued. "The sooner you lot get the cup from the Lestrange vault, the sooner we can end this thing. Forgive me, after three years, this war is getting a wee bit passé."

Theo looked thunderstruck.

"Potter, when were you allowed to become funny?"

"He's right," Daphne continued while rubbing Theo's back, the man looking horrified at the new-found knowledge that Potter had quips. "It's time."

Blaise raised an eyebrow at Daphne. "You ready for that, Bellatrix?"

Daphne turned to the other man, eyes narrowing slowly. And in a voice which shook Draco to his core, she spoke.

"That's Madam Lestrange to you, goblin."

"Merlin, Greengrass," Weasley muttered. "How'd you get so good at acting like a contemptuous cunt?"

"Years of personal practice," Blaise replied solemnly. The man had to duck to avoid being smacked.

"So that's it then?" Draco asked, turning to the group. "Tomorrow?"

The others glanced around at each other.

"'Spose so," Potter muttered, pursing his lips. "Don't get caught, you lot."

"Was that a rhyming warning? Funny and now a poet? Merlin Potter, no wonder the Wizarding World wants you to save it so bad…"

"Oh, fuck off, Nott."


Draco stared at the ceiling, with nothing else to occupy his mind than his quiet breathes hitting the air. When had he gone to bed? Three hours prior? Eight? He wasn't sure anymore.

He wasn't nervous about the mission tomorrow, not necessarily. He wasn't going to have to rely on his acting chops, in a way that Theo and Daphne did. No, he had lucked out with Potter's invisibility cloak. His part was a steady hand experienced in the Unforgivable curses.

Or at least the most experienced of their group.

But Draco couldn't help wondering how quickly it would go from here. He knew, as Potter and Weasley both did, that if they succeeded tomorrow, they would tip off Voldemort that they were hunting Horcruxes; a feat that Potter, Weasley, Hermione, and Dumbledore himself had avoided for the better part of four years.

But tomorrow. If they succeeded. If they left with that goddamn cup. He would know, and the chess board would change once again.

It would go quickly from there, Draco knew it. He felt it in his core, in his being himself; they were going to see the final battle sooner than they had ever expected.

They had all been running so long, they hadn't realized they were approaching their destination.

Would they be able to kill Nagini in the chaos? Draco wondered. Perhaps Voldemort would give away the location of the item from Rowena Ravenclaw?

Perhaps it would all fall together, as chaotically as the gods intended.

Draco hoped Hermione would be there to see.

Nope, scratch that. Draco hoped Hermione would be as far away as possible from the final battle, regardless of what Blaise thought about her necessity.

Draco closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Was there any way to have both? To be able to hold Hermione in his arms one final time before the battle… would he even make it out? Was she done her mission? Was she on her way back to him?

No. He knew that much.

Whatever she was doing, she was in the thick of it now. Draco knew it as he knew his own heartbeat. Wherever Hermione was in the world, the Other bond stood strong. His blood was singing with every moment, pure adrenaline shooting through it. Maybe that's why he couldn't sleep… he was on a mission somewhere on the planet with Hermione.

Gods, he missed her. He had had her for only a moment… two broomsticks passing in the night. Fleeting, floating through the air, disappearing like dust on his fingertips as he reached out to try and snatch her back.

He knew she was safe, that was certain. He felt confident his body would've collapsed from the pressure if she was in danger.

That became the ultimate question, didn't it? Did he want Hermione at his side, in the line of fire, or hundreds of miles away, without him?

Draco Malfoy was a selfish man. And he wanted nothing more than to be selfish with her. To hold her close, block out the world around them, and love her in ways that would make Theodore Nott blush.

But he couldn't be. Selfish, that is. Not with her. Not about this. Not with her image burned into his mind, her eyes wide and open and trusting and believing, that he – he could be a better man.

Fuck.

She was it for him, wasn't she?

And she wasn't here.

Draco closed his eyes again, hoping desperately for sleep to find him. Sweet relief from the soporific torture of not knowing.

Suddenly, behind is eyelids, a bright light erupted. He sat up quickly, ready to shout at Blaise for bothering him.

But it wasn't Blaise.

At the foot of his bed, dancing through the air, was a Patronus. It took him less than a moment, even with his eyes adjusting to the sudden light, to realize.

"Hermione," he breathed.

The little otter swam through the air towards him, before perching itself on his lap. In a voice so quiet he knew it was only for him, it spoke.

"Soon. So soon, I promise."

Hermione's voice felt like lightning to the chest after weeks without it. But besides the sound of her voice, soft as melted caramel, her statement was striking.

Draco breathed in again, before speaking to the beautiful creature, the remaining vestige of her. But as he reached out to touch the Patronus, it melted away.

Like dust on fingertips.

"At the end of this, I'll find you there. I promise."


Draco stumbled into the kitchen at 7:34 the next morning. Four minutes later than he had promised to be. He didn't even bother apologizing or explaining. What was he going to say, that he was haunted all night by flying otters and could hardly sleep?

Blaise gave him a look but handed him a coffee without comment. The others were too busy going over the final particulars of the plan to notice his tardiness.

"I think we're set," Theo muttered, a little paler than normal. He wrapped his arm around Daphne's waist, pulling her flush to him. Draco could see him steady his fingers on her hip.

"Too late to back out now," Weasley said, shrugging, taking a sip of tea.

"Easy for you to say, Weasel. You aren't about to turn into Rudolphus Lestrange."

"True," Weasley conceded, tipping his glass towards Theo. "At least it's not Polyjuice. I can't even imagine how awful they'd taste. Crabbe's tasted like bogies."

"Sorry, hold up," Theo said, eyes snapping up. "Crabbe… as in Vincent?"

"And Goyle tasted like rotten cabbage," Potter continued, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes. "Long story."

"Who are you people?" Theo exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. He leaned forward and pointed his finger straight in the Chosen One's face. "If I don't get a play by play with dramatizations than I'm going to be incredibly disappointed in the service offered here at the Order of the Phoenix."

Potter rolled his eyes. "We made Polyjuice potion to sneak into the Slytherin common room in second year to see if Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin."

"Sorry, you thought I…"

"Polyjuice in second year…"

"Fuck, that's hot, Potter."

The Chosen One ignored Theo's comment and turned to Draco. "Turns out we were wrong, huh. And Blaise," he responded, turning to the other man. "They don't call her the Brightest Witch of her Age for nothing."

"Merlin," Blaise breathed, as Draco's jaw dropped. "That Morganna power is incredible."

Potter smiled. "That's not Morganna power. That's Hermione."

Draco was shaking his head slowly. "You two polyjuiced yourselves into my best friends and I didn't notice…"

"Well, you've always been a moron," Weasley piped in. "But as much as I'd love to relive us pulling one over on you, Malfoy, you've got a bank to rob."

Draco was still gaping as Daphne nodded, glancing around at the men. "Then I'd guess we'd better get going."

Within ten minutes, Daphne had worked magic beyond Draco's imaginations, and standing in front of him was the striking image of both Bellatrix and Rudolphus.

"Make sure to speak low," Draco advised. "Like every word is a threat in and of itself."

Daphne cocked an eyebrow. "You dare speak to your aunt that way?"

"Daph, I have enough nightmares, as is."

Theo placed his hand on her low back. "It would be sexy if it wasn't so bloody terrifying."

Potter, who had just returned downstairs, walked into the kitchen and froze.

"I'm never going to recover from this," he muttered, placing an old cloak on the table.

"The war or Bellatrix's double in your kitchen?"

"Both, Blaise. Both."

"Is that your Hallows cloak?" Draco asked, walking over and running his fingers down the shimmering fabric.

"The one and only," Potter replied. "If you don't return that to me, Malfoy, I will skin you alive."

"I'll try not to die then," he muttered. He picked up the cloak and gently placed it over his hand. Without warning, his hand disappeared.

"Bloody hell, Potter," Draco exclaimed. "It's… it's perfect."

"Has always worked well enough for us. You and Blaise will probably be a bit snug under it…"

"That's fine, we spooned our way through fifth year," Blaise answered, walking up and rubbing a piece of the cloak behind his forefinger and thumb. "Merlin, Potter. How could you not realize this was no ordinary invisibility cloak?"

"Lack of comparison," Potter answered drily. "Think it'll work?"

"No better weapon in our arsenal," Blaise replied. "Besides, of course, Greengrass's wand work."

Draco let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Are we ready then?"

Blaise threw the cloak over himself and Draco. "Meet you lot outside the Leaky?"

"That's fucking creepy," Theo muttered. "Disembodied voices and shit. I didn't sign up for this.

"None of us did," Potter retorted. "Now off you go."

Blaise and Draco linked arms, and with a familiar pull of Apparition, that they did.


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