A/N: Draco and Theo lead this chapter. I plan to keep switching up POVs, but will mostly rotate between the main characters.

Edited: 7/26/2022, spelling/grammar, added a few details for Draco's thoughts about Hermione and Harry

TW: Some gore later in this chapter.

Thursday, October 14, 1999

Draco ended up giving up on assembling his bed frame and settled for putting his mattress directly on the floor. He then spent the rest of his summer in seemingly endless meetings with the Muggle Liaison Office preparing for university. They drilled him incessantly on his muggle background story and they dedicated a not insignificant amount of time to putting the fear of Voldemort in him about breaking the Statute of Secrecy.

To explain away inevitable gaps in his knowledge of muggle pop culture, history, and general way of life, Draco had been coached to say he was an exchange student--from rural Uganda, to his bewilderment. The MLO Advisor must have been a wannabe writer for all the unnessary drama he inserted in Draco's backstory. He wasn't sure how the subplot about his fake, muggle, childhood friend's struggle with alcoholism would be relevant to maintaining his cover, but he dutifully memorized every stupid detail. He also fully intended to ignore most of it and only bother with the bare minimum of explanation for any strangeness he might exude.

"Your parents are wildlife conservationists?" His first muggle acquaintance had asked on day one of his Introduction to Spectroscopy course. During Draco's summer debriefing he'd gathered that a conservationist was something like a magizoologist. Imagining Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy in such a profession was laughable, but he answered 'yes' all the same.

Muggle university students were a curious bunch and he found himself fielding a multitude of questions in those first few weeks. Questions like:

"Did you really live without the internet all this time?" Yes, although he was quickly learning to appreciate this brilliant invention.

"You've never even heard of the Beatles?" Correct, he prefers classical music and occasionally jazz.

And, memorably...

"If you're from Africa, why are you white?"

"Oh my god, Karen, you can't just ask people why they're white!"

Draco hadn't the foggiest idea how to respond to that situation so he'd just... backed away slowly and never spoken to those two girls again.

Laudably, he'd managed to survive nearly eight weeks of muggle university life so far. He'd taught himself how to use a computer, navigate 'the tube', and operate a microwave. He'd even managed to form a few tentative friendships with a couple blokes from the football club he joined to stay in shape.

By far though, the most difficult aspect of adjusting to his new life was his coursework. He'd gotten a head start on his reading over the summer, but it was slow-going with the number of terms and concepts that were unfamiliar to him. The magical world concerned itself with the basic elements like fire, water, sulfur, and gold rather than hydrogen and einsteinium. And wizards knew nothing of atomic structure or DNA. Even those subjects that were familiar from his potions education required an entirely new vocabulary. For example, the alchemical term 'patternance' was 'periodicity' in muggle science, and a potion's 'steep number' seemed similar to chemical 'molarity'.

It was enough to make Draco's head spin. Then, there was the culture shock. Muggle women wore clothes so tight and revealing, they may as well not be wearing any clothes at all. Muggles truly did eat a lot of food with their hands (he'd thought that was just pureblood propaganda), and he didn't think anyone would ever convince him to try a jelly baby. And televions! He'd definitely been told that muggles didn't have moving pictures, and what a lie that was!

Draco found himself thinking about Hermione Granger often. How had she done this in reverse at the age of eleven? She'd made it look so easy, top of every class, nose in the air like nothing ever bothered her, whereas Draco was earning decidedly middling grades and seemed unable to control his exaggerated reactions whenever something like the existance of space travel caught him by surprise.

He hated Granger with fresh passion. He didn't hate her anymore for her blood, couldn't really after seeing where such bigotry led, but that didn't mean he had to like her. She may not be an inferior species as he'd been taught, but she was undeniably irritating to the highest degree. True, she'd been undeservedly decent to him post-war, going so far as to testify alongside Potter at his trial (Weasley notably absent), and nodding to him in acknowledgement from time to time during 8th year, but... but he just didn't want to like her. He'd hated her for so long that it was almost comforting to sink into, something constant, something familiar.

He'd been worried that they would see each other frequently after realizing that she lived in the building opposite his own, but they'd yet to even cross paths. Thank Salazar. He wondered how long his good fortune would last though as it seemed that Pansy had sort of... adopted her. Pansy wasn't a warm, girly-sort, but Draco had known her long enough to understand that she'd somehow become attached to Granger. Fond even, and a tad protective. Merlin forbid anyone say a disparaging word about the bushy-haired chit in her presence. It was only a matter of time before Pansy decided to start bringing Granger to social functions. Draco dreaded that day.

In the meantime, he had a different member of the Gryffindor wonder triplets acting as a thorn in his side. Imagine Draco's shock upon arriving at the Ministry for his monthly check-in with his parole officer to find Harry-fucking-Potter sitting in the chair that Officer Stonewall typically occupied.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Draco groaned, swiping his hand down his face in a very woe-is-me kind of gesture.

"Nice to see you too, Malfoy. Have a seat," Potter gestured magnanimously at the metal chair facing him.

Draco collected his dignity and strode fully into the room, settling into the chair with an ankle crossed over his knee, the picture of ease he very much didn't feel. "Where's Stonewall?" He asked simply.

"Retired. I've been assigned your case going forward. Don't worry though, only eight check-ins to suffer through after this one. I see your probation ends next June," Draco just tersely nodded. "Well, you know the drill. The veritaserum dose is ready just there. I'm ready to run through the questions when you are."

Draco stared at the vial of colorless, odorless, tasteless potion. For someone who had occluded to survive a war, the vulnerability of forced truthfulness--in front of a..nemesis? enemy? rival?--was overwhleming. He knew there was a series of ten questions that the Aurors were approved to ask while he would be under the influence, but the potion would stay in his system for a full hour and he technically couldn't leave until he was dismissed. Did he trust Potter to stay on script?

"I don't trust you," Draco hissed.

"The feeling is mutual. Nevertheless..." Potter shrugged. They both knew that Draco had no choice but to comply. Well, he could comply or choose to go to Azkaban, and that wasn't much of a choice at all.

A muscle in Draco's jaw spasmed as the tense moment dragged on, before he finally snatched the vial, flicked off the stopper, and swallowed the dose in one gulp. He felt the effect instantly. His occlumency walls shattered, his pupils dilated, and his tongue felt itchy.

"Good. Question one: Have you been in contact with any former or current Death Eaters since your last check-in?" Potter recited in a bored, monotone voice.

"No." Draco was determined to at least withhold any embellishment if he could help it. His only available defense. Not that he had anything to hide, but Potter didn't deserve to know every detail of his life just because he was The Boy Who Wouldn't Die When He Was Supposed To.

It seemed Potter didn't mind his lack of loquaciousness. He simply moved on to question two: "Have you any knowledge of the whereabouts or actions of any missing and wanted current or former Death Eaters?"

"Rowle is dead."

"Really? I suppose that's a relief and we can stop looking for him. What happened to him?"

"Yes, he really is dead, but I'm not sure how exactly. Some disagreement with Dolohov while they were on the run is all I heard. Dolohov and Greyback are definitely still alive and probably together now. Got the information from my father. You should follow up with him."

"Right," Potter scribbled down some notes and waved his wand to fold the parchment into a paper aeroplane before sending it fluttering out the door. Guess that info was worth following up on quickly. "Do you currently have any plans to commit any anti-muggle or anti-muggleborn crimes?" Potter continued with the interrogation.

"No."

"Have you any knowledge of others who have plans to commit any anti-muggle or anti-muggleborn crimes?"

"No."

"Are you currently in possession of any dark artifacts?"

"No." Halfway through. Draco cracked his knuckles.

"Are you currently in possession of a wand?"

"No."

"Have you borrowed or otherwise used a wand belonging to another person since your last check-in?"

"No."

"Have you cast any illegal or dark spells, jinxes, hexes, or curses since your last check-in?"

Draco ground his teeth. Illegal and dark magic was highly complex, nigh impossible without a wand, and they'd already established he didn't have access to a wand. He was almost flattered that the aurors thought he was powerful enough to warrant such abundance of caution but he was mostly annoyed. Thinking of the final two questions was enough to further put him on edge. "No," he spat.

Potter clearly was less than enthused as well, but still he asked, "What are your feelings towards Voldemort, Death Eaters, and their beliefs and teachings around blood purity, pureblood supremacy, and muggle conquest?"

"Their beliefs are not my beliefs." Draco could feel his answer being dragged out of him. Open ended questions were much more difficult to control against the effects of veritaserum. There would be no avoiding embarrassing details here. "I feared Voldemort until he died, and hate him still for ruining my life. I feared my father nearly as much and held no respect for his brothers-in-arms. I hate them too. I hate the Dark Mark on my skin. I hate what I was forced to do leading up to and during the war. I hate what I was forced to witness." Draco took a deep breath. He couldn't stop until he'd addressed every part of the question. The magic wouldn't allow it.

"I don't believe in blood purity or pureblood supremacy. I stopped believing in all that as soon as I met Hermione Granger."

Fuck.

He'd never said that before when answering that question. It must have come out because he'd been thinking about her lately. Cheeks blazing red, he wrapped up his answer with a quick, "I have no quarrel with muggles. I've made several friends at my muggle university," and then snapped his jaw shut.

Potter blinked, clearly digesting the unexpected mention of his best gal pal during Draco's confessional. He cleared his throat and then said in a soft voice, "I'm glad to hear all that, Malfoy. Truly. And I'm glad I testified for you at your trial. The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. I suspected you'd just gotten in over your head."

It wasn't a question so Draco just nodded. He was glad that the Golden Boy had testified at his trial too if he were being honest (which we was currently drugged to be), but thinking about the events that Potter had testified about was the stuff of nightmares.

His inability to murder Dumbledore thinking he and his parents would be murdered instead when he didn't...

Hesitating to identify Potter and his sidekicks at the Manor over Easter hols and the resulting torture he had endured following their escape...

And that terrifying moment in the Room of Requirement when he fruitlessly tried to discourage Crabbe from his attempt to pursue and murder Potter and friends, and then nearly being roasted alive in the uncontrollable Fiendfyre inferno...

Draco shut his eyes against the memories. "Get on with it, Potter," he growled. "One more."

"How..." Potter stopped reading. "Well, this is a just a uselessly vague question. Who wrote this?" Draco chuckled. He agreed with Potter. Who would've thought? Potter just sighed and kept going. "How have you changed since your last check-in?"

Draco could feel the magic of the veritaserum attempting to work but getting confused with the sheer number of answers that could be considered 'true'. He had no control over what the magic would eventually pick to satisfy the imperative, but he hoped it would be something about how he'd been assigned a specky git as a parole officer. No such luck.

"I've learned how to use a telephone, I stopped visiting my father, and I discovered muggle internet porn."

Draco clamped his hands over his mouth to prevent any further humiliation. His face probably resembled a tomato at this point.

"Are we done?" He grit out, voice muffled from behind his hands, which he refused to remove until he was safely home and alone. Potter didn't even have the decency to pretend not to laugh.

"Yeah, Malfoy. Thanks, that was..." he snorted he was laughing so hard. "That was more than enough."

Draco didn't need any further permission and stood abruptly, spinning on his heel and stomping towards the door.

"Bye, Malfoy! See you next month!"

Draco slammed the door behind him.

Across the country at Nott Hall, Theo was also slamming doors.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He berated himself as he tore through the empty mansion, heavy footsteps echoing against the marble floors, ripping off his blazer and tie. His house-elf, Olaf, followed and gathered the clothing shed in his wake on random antique furnishings.

Finally, Theo arrived in the smoking room where he snapped the velvet drapes shut, poured himself a healthy two-fingers of firewhiskey, and lit a cigar. He'd had a terrible day.

First, the time-turner he'd been deconstructing as part of his apprenticeship with Grimstone had exploded. Then, he'd spilled half his french dip jus from lunch on his favorite tie, already singed from the morning's explosion. And finally, he'd made a complete fool of himself in front of Blaise when they'd gone to get drinks together after work. Again.

Why did he keep pretending to be a complete rake? His father was gone. He pissed on his grave every morning. He didn't need to hit on every woman that moved to throw him off the scent anymore. He shouldn't be hitting on anyone at all actually since... since he'd only ever been interested in one person anyway.

But for all Theo had obsessively observed and borderline stalked Blaise over the years, he still found him difficult to read. Would he reciprocate Theo's interest? Did he even play for the right quidditch team? Blaise had always had a deep well of shyness, which most people interpreted as haughtiness due to his unfortunate resting-bitch-face, but which also served to make him bury his thoughts and feelings. No one was surprised that he signed up to work for the Department of Mysteries after graduating, an option not afforded to convicts like Theo and Draco, who had been banned from holding any ministry position for life. Anyway, Blaise was the perfect Unspeakable.

Fucking mysteries and secrets. He hated it. He desperately wanted to lay his heart bare and get it all over with, but at the same time he feared the inevitable fallout. No one knew. Not Draco, not Pansy, and certainly not Blaise, the object of his embarassing, decade-long crush. His friends had shown themselves to be more open-minded towards muggleborns and muggles following the war, but homosexuality was another issue all together.

Purebloods were notoriously conservative on most issues. Arranged marriages were still common, male heirs expected, abortion forbidden... the list went on. He couldn't imagine that his proclivity for snogging men in general, and Blaise in particular would be well recieved.

Theo ground out the nub of his cigar and downed the dregs of his drink before curling up on the chaise and hoping that sleep would claim him soon.

A loud howl raised the hairs on the back of Theo's neck. There was smoke and rubble everywhere, a broken window to his left, and through it he could see the light from the full moon. A werewolf must be close.

Shouts came from deeper within the ballroom that he recognized as being part of the Parkinson estate.

"Get her out of here!"

"I don't even know where she went!"

"This way!"

Theo slid his hand along the wall to navigate through the thick smoke, aiming to move closer to the voices. He reconized one of them as Draco, but not the others. Draco would know what to do.

A blast shook the ground and nearly knocked him from his feet, but he kept moving forward.

"I've been looking for you for a long time. You smell just as delicious as I remember."

Theo knew that voice too, but instinct made him want to move away from it. He had been right about there being a werewolf nearby. Greyback. It didn't seem like the lunar transformation removed his capability for speech as it did for other werewolves, Theo noted, hearing him taunt his victim further. Perhaps because he'd blurred the lines between man and wolf so thoroughly.

Despite his very wide self-preservationist streak, Theo continued to move forward. He didn't feel in contol of his body. Through a doorway the smoke cleared and finally he could see.

Greyback was bent over someone's prone body lying on the blood-soaked floor. His claws were tearing at the flesh of his victim, his teeth gnashing and snapping bones. It was horrible. Theo couldn't look away.

"We have to go, Aurors are on their way!" Someone yelled, and suddenly a monster of a different kind appeared at the doorway. Antonin Dolohov. He didn't seem able to see or feel Theo as he walked through Theo's specter-like form to snatch Greyback's wrist to pull him away from his feeding frenzy. "We have to go, now!" He repeated.

Greyback licked his lips and gave one last longing look at the mangled corpse of his dinner. Then, with a nod they both disapparated.

Theo's head unwillingly turned to force his line of sight towards the floor. Skin flayed, entrails scattered, and eyes vacant, the body Greyback hadn't wanted to leave behind was Hermione Granger.

Theo awoke suddenly with a scream that summoned Olaf immediately to his side.

"Master is in pain?" Olaf wrung his hands in distress, unsure of what could be done to help. Theo had fallen off the chaise and was regurgitating everything he'd eaten the previous day. Olaf vanished the sick as soon as it appeared and popped off to fetch anti-nausea draught, dreamless sleep, and water.

Under Olaf's care, Theo slowly came back into himself, still trembling, but aware at least of what had happened. He'd had a vision. A vision of the future.

As the seventh son of a seventh son he'd had this power for as long as he could rememeber, but kept it hidden for obvious reasons. If his father wouldn't have attempted to exploit the gift of Sight in his much maligned son, Voldemort certainly wouldn't have hesitated to do so. Not that their attempts would have been successful. Theo had no control over his power. It always happened in a dream, and he always could tell the difference between a regular dream and a vision, but he never knew when a dream would turn prophetic. He sometimes went months between visions.

At least usually the subject of his visions was one of his friends or someone otherwise close to him. He couldn't understand why this time he'd dreamt of Hermione Granger. He didn't think they'd ever exchanged a single word. Still, he felt the responsibility for her life weigh heavily on his shoulders. She'd surely think he was a nutter if he tried to warn her, but he had to try. Could he prevent her fate? He wasn't sure. His prophesies always came true.

A/N: Yup, I lifted a line from Mean Girls since I made Draco a white boy from Africa, lol. I figure anything goes in fanfiction. Hope it made you laugh!