Chapter 5: The Fifth Marauder

Draco took hold of Potter's arm above the elbow. A few seconds later, after a dark squeeze, they stood again in front of the cabin.

"That cross-breeze is lovely," Draco said as it ruffled his hair inside.

Potter agreed with a grunt, headed for his own room.

There were two windows in each of the bedrooms. Draco shivered as the spring air washed over his damp skin. He dug into his clothing bag, then slowed to a stop. Turning the palm of his left hand upward, Draco sighed. He'd been busy enough since his and Potter's arrival for his Dark Mark to escape notice. It had turned faintly black.

Draco pulled on a long-sleeved jumper. Potter had beat him out to the sitting room, and currently lounged across the sofa. He scrubbed at his hair while Draco took the chair.

"What do you reckon, then?" Potter asked. "Is it more likely at this point that Ron's been integrated?"

"It's too early to say without evidence one way or the other." Draco folded his arms and put one foot up against the edge of the tea table. "Weasley has to be around here somewhere—him and Yaxley. We've measured them. I can't imagine that Weasley would spend more than a night away from any of the places we checked."

"Not if he didn't know better."

Draco listened to the static of rustling tree branches outside, chewing his bottom lip in thought. "We may have been too quick in making our rounds. When we are in time—or when we were, upon first arrival—were the exact coordinates derived from the broken Cabinet. If Weasley wasn't integrated, he would have been wandering around for just as long as we have been. We don't know where he might have appeared. We had a designated entry zone. He did not."

"You think he could have shown up in Nice, or something?" Potter asked.

"If that's the case, he'll make his way home eventually." Draco paused, thinking. "We've already taken the first steps down that avenue. We'll let Weasley sort himself out from there. If he returns to the Ministry, Moody will hold him for us. The hospital, Effie. Home, well, I imagine Mrs Weasley will make clean work of him."

Potter managed a mirthless laugh. "She sure didn't want us there."

"Two strangers dressed in black come up on your home in 1975. What's your first thought?"

"I know, I thought of that. Molly's formidable, but I've just never seen her like she was earlier, like she might actually be dangerous."

"She must have been, at least once in her life. She killed my aunt, after all."

"Yeah, I guess she did."

"But of course there's no such thing as a bad action—just bad actors." Draco still cruised for a row after earlier, but moved on before Potter had the chance to get them properly started. "We ought to make a supply trip into the village. We'll need food, and clothing more true to the times. I'm also going to send an owl to Dumbledore."

Potter's developing scowl straightened right back out. "What for?"

"To ask for access to student records," Draco replied. "I've done it before, for other things. If Weasley and Yaxley are integrated, we'll be able to see what year they left Hogwarts in this universe. We might even be able to find out where they went to work, or where they live. Age is versatile in this situation, so perhaps we'll see them as students at Hogwarts."

Potter idly nodded. "I wish I had the Marauder's Map."

"The what?"

"It's a map of Hogwarts." Potter waved a hand. "It shows where everyone is, as well as their name. I just gave it to Teddy for his birthday."

"Shame," Draco replied. "Shall we go into Hogsmeade, then?"

Things remained stiff between them as they prepared. While Potter made a list for the market, Draco wrote the letter he would send up to the school. To try and make things as easy as possible, Draco acquiesced to any meal suggestions Potter had. He tossed a few out when prompted.

They didn't have the luxury of distraction anymore when they started the trek toward the village.

"Is it worth asking why you're tetchy about Molly?" Potter asked. "Were you actually close to Bellatrix?"

Defensiveness preemptively rose in Draco's chest. "About as close as we could be, when she was around for two years of my life."

"You actually liked her, then? You weren't. . .I don't know, scared of her?"

"I had no reason to be."

After a moment of silence, Potter hummed.

"I know she wasn't objectively a good person." Draco figured admitting that much would help his case. "She was good to me, though. She helped me when I needed it. She helped my mother."

"Do you really think that was. . .?" Potter huffed an exhale. "I don't know."

"Good? Decent? Not without a larger reason?"

"Yeah, that, I guess."

"Don't tell me after chasing criminals around for this long, you've forgotten they're still human beings. You think my aunt came out of the womb evil? That she loved nobody but Voldemort? Come on, Potter. I'd expect more from you. I'd expect better."

"Hey," Potter snapped. "That's not what I was getting at."

"Then what are you getting at?" Draco snapped back.

"I'm not even coming at you about this. Quit being so defensive."

Draco scowled, migrating away from Potter until there was a decent gap between them on the path. He couldn't exactly say that Potter had been more than curious.

"I just know what people would think," Draco stiffly said.

"Think about what?" Potter's tone remained short.

"Knowing that I genuinely loved Aunt Bella." Draco wouldn't look at Potter. "Knowing that I liked her, and that I missed her after she was killed. People would think they know what that means about me."

"People like who? You don't go about and tell people about it, surely?"

"No," Draco said between his teeth. "Certainly couldn't do that."

"So people like me then, if I'm the only one."

Draco didn't respond, although the brittle feeling in his chest magnified significantly.

Potter sighed. "Fucking hell, Malfoy."

"What?" Draco shot at him. "Tell me what you think, then."

"I get it," Potter said. "She was your family."

"And I have no control over that, right? Who any of my family were, or what they did?"

"No, you don't."

"I figured you would say that." Draco's voice trembled slightly. "But God forbid I felt anything other than happy when Bella was killed, right? Like everyone else did? Imagine seeing the one who put someone you love down like a dangerous animal revered for it. I suppose I was just supposed to rearrange my silly little feelings into the same simpering gratitude everyone else gave Molly Weasley."

"This is going to sound harsh, but nobody really cares how you feel or think so long as nobody's being hurt," Potter replied. "You can be as bitter as you like. It won't be a problem unless you decide to pick up where Voldemort left off. Or, really, where you left off, spouting off about Mudbloods and blood traitors, and whoever else struck your fancy as lesser-than."

"Yeah, right." Draco scoffed. "That's what got me into that mess in the first place."

"I'm genuinely glad you realize that."

"It wasn't Voldemort alone that ruined my life," Draco said. "He started it, don't get me wrong. He took everything from me, and then it happened all over again when the war ended. That's the problem, now it's been over for a while. Everyone else got to rebuild. It's been rather thrown in my face that I didn't have that chance, don't you think?"

Potter raised an eyebrow when their gazes met. "By me?"

"'Been in Nice lately?'" Draco lowered his voice in mimicry of Potter's stern tone. "'Your father's a suspect as the one who's been impersonating you. Why don't you ever talk to Andromeda? Why aren't you interested in Teddy? Look at you, living alone in the Muggle world. Disappeared, have you? What a relief you didn't waste your potential after I as good as gave you your freedom. Otherwise, how in the world would I be the hero again when my best friend—you know the general concept of the word friend, right, even though you have none—'"

"You're putting words in my mouth," Potter snapped, cutting him off. "I didn't say that."

"You did say a lot of it, though."

"Not the bit about being the hero." Potter came to a stop on the path. "Ron's as good as my brother. Hell, it's my job to see that this all comes up all right. It isn't like just anyone fell through the Cabinet, and I'm going out of my way to do this. Fucking hell, Malfoy."

Draco steamed, arms tightly crossed.

"All right, I'll admit I've been an arsehole," Potter said. "Is that it? Is that what this is about?"

"It's like you've forgotten," Draco said after a moment. "You had the luxury of moving on from everything, and I didn't."

"That's no one's responsibility but your own. The world doesn't owe you anything."

"I've tried," Draco snapped. "I thought I had, and then you show up, and. . ."

Another horrid silence passed.

"So it's me, then," Potter said.

"It's always been you." Draco sneered. "You have far too much power over my life. You're most likely why I'm not still rotting in Azkaban. You could have put me back there, and what I've done since the end of the war to make my life my own wouldn't have mattered in the slightest."

Potter threw his hands up, and let them fall limp to his sides with a sigh. "I won't argue that."

"It's not fair."

"I know."

"And yet, you are so quick to judge," Draco said. "Good or bad. We wouldn't be talking right now if I wasn't of some use to you. So that's good, I suppose. I'm not on any terms with Andromeda and Teddy. That's bad."

Potter sighed.

"Potter, consider the man you thought I was, when you believed you were chasing me in Nice. And you think that man ought to just show up on their doorstep?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of who you've shown yourself to actually be, because, yeah, I was wrong. Which I've now admitted multiple times."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, I suppose." Draco sniffed. "Shame you won't remember anything that made it worth something, when this is all over."

"I'll know Ron's home because of you. I'll remember that there was no hope of it without your help. He was as good as dead."

"It doesn't change anything for me. I'll be just as unwanted. I'll be just as forgotten. The best I can ever hope to be outside of my office is eliminated as a suspect in your investigation."

"You can't tell me you've been suffering," Potter said. "It's clear you love your work. There's nowhere else you would rather be. Isn't there?"

That was certainly true. At the same time, that sentiment didn't dissolve everything else roaring about within Draco right now.

Potter sighed through his nose. "Let's keep on for Hogsmeade."

They fell in step. Draco really wished that getting some things off his chest made him feel better. His anger left embarrassment in its wake as it bled out. It was like he and Potter had discovered a pool where every negative thought Draco ever possessed had collected. Before, Draco could objectively analyze and then store them away. Now, with Potter as witness. . .

Potter stopped at the edge of the village and pulled their shopping list out of his jeans pocket.

"I'll do the food, if you want to do clothes?" he suggested.

"All right," Draco agreed, apathetic.

"We'll meet up, or. . .I'll find you. Come find me if you finish first, I guess."

Draco nodded.

He headed for the owl post office. It really didn't help Draco feel less like a petulant child to walk around Hogsmeade. He'd done that enough during village visits back as a Hogwarts student. Requesting an owl take something up to Dumbledore did nothing to reel that feeling back either. Draco tried to lose himself in a clothing shop, but his Dark Mark had started to prickle.

The bell above the shop door rang, bringing with it a familiar, messy head of hair. Draco pretended to be very focused on a rack of shirts when Potter joined his side. Two brown bags filled his arms.

"Are you about done?" Potter asked.

"Getting there."

Draco meant that in two ways. He supposed this was one silver lining to Potter being Obliviated once this was all over. Potter wouldn't remember Draco telling him things like that he was unwanted or lonely. Those facts didn't bother Draco on a regular day. He had much more important things to think about than himself, or his life, or how everything used to be.

Other than Potter volunteering to cook, the walk back to the cabin was quiet. Draco sighed quietly with relief when he was able to separate himself from Potter. A shower did wonders as he stood underneath a warm stream of water. He lingered in his room for a little while after that, trying to cool off again before dressing for dinner.

The range going had done little good for the cabin's temperature, despite the odd-cast Cooling Charm. Potter had ditched his jumper, and worked in a tee shirt. From his lounged position on the sofa, Draco watched Potter's shoulder muscles move about under the blue fabric.

"Come dish up," Potter told him.

Draco pulled himself upright. Steak and mashed potatoes had been the first thing Draco suggested earlier, when prompted. He wondered if this was Potter's way of trying for peace.

They ate in silence for a while. Draco tried to find the words to at least tell Potter the meal was good. It felt rude not to. It was true, anyway. Potter had transfigured one of the boring, worn-out pans into cast iron. The sear on the steak was perfect, its inside was pink, and a butter baste made the meat so tender that Draco considered testing cutting it with the side of his fork.

"Thank you for ruining every steak I'll ever eat in future, I suppose," Draco eventually said.

Potter snorted. "Sorry, then."

Draco managed a tight smile before going back to mixing gravy into his potatoes.

"How are you wearing that?" Potter asked. "Aren't you about dying of heat exhaustion?"

Draco pulled his left forearm closer to himself. "It wouldn't have gotten so hot in the first place if you hadn't boiled water and cooked steaks on the highest temperature setting."

"I'll serve you raw meat and uncooked potatoes next time, then."

They fell quiet again, in the space of which Draco sighed. "Potter."

Potter lifted his gaze, then his chin in curiosity when Draco rolled back the left sleeve of his shirt. Potter remained impassive other than one cheek tugging the corner of his mouth back.

Draco hid it again. "It comes back when I visit places where Voldemort is alive."

"Does it hurt, or anything?"

"It feels like when your foot falls asleep, that pins and needles sensation." Draco moodily stabbed his potatoes. "I hate it."

"I bet." Potter's knife made contact with his plate as he cut a piece of steak. "Do you not come often to places where Voldemort is alive?"

"Here and there."

"It bothers you a lot more than I'd expect, if you're used to it."

Draco shrugged.

"What's the difference this time?"

"Anything I might experience or feel used to be private." Draco shot him a pointed look. "I don't usually have an audience. You're about the worst case for spectator I could ask for."

Draco's fist dug into his cheek as his lean increased on his elbow. He looked up from where he played with his potatoes, well aware he probably resembled more a pouty ten year old than thirty-year-old professional.

"I'm not your enemy, Draco," Potter said. "I rather think you have enough of those."

"I don't have any at all," Draco muttered.

"Judging by all the self-loathing I've seen today, I'd say you do."

"It's more I'm having to defend myself for things I have and haven't done, and now I've got this bloody Mark twinging on my arm—"

Draco came to an abrupt stop, reestablishing his focus on his plate. He was heating up again, and he didn't much feel like making a fool of himself for the second time in as many hours.

"Doesn't it bother you, being here?" Draco asked. "Existing in a world where Voldemort isn't dead, like everything you had to deal with was for nothing? Doesn't it bother you to sit here and eat dinner with a Death Eater?"

"You're not a Death Eater. As for Voldemort. . ." Potter shrugged. "Fuck him. He'll be just as dead to me again once we've gone home."

Draco's shoulders sagged on an exhale. "You're lucky you don't have to carry a piece of him around for the rest of your life."

"Honestly, that's probably more true than you realize."

"Unless your scar vanished or faded, when he died," Draco said.

"Nah, still there." Potter shook his head. "Did you never realize I was one of his Horcruxes?"

Draco blinked, taken aback. "No."

"Don't feel thick for it," Potter jested with a tight smile. "Not even Voldemort knew."

The work Draco did on his steak had separated a small piece away from the rest of it. He idly chewed it while he thought.

"I don't remember much about the Battle," Draco finally said. "I came to the Hall when you and him were circling each other. I'd heard that you were dead, but. . ."

"Yeah."

"I sort of stopped listening when he said he was going to tend to me about the wand. I didn't doubt him for a second. If he killed you, I'd have been right after."

"I can't say you're wrong."

"Thankfully, he didn't last much longer." Draco was back to separating another piece of steak the hard way. "It's strange. He said that, and it didn't scare me."

"No?"

Draco shook his head. "You know when you're waiting for something bad to happen? And then it does, and it's almost a relief? That's not to say I was necessarily relieved. More I felt sorry for my parents. They were going to have to know that happened to me. Even if they were killed afterward too, that would've been their last thoughts. There's nothing like the way your mum squeezes your hand when she hears someone like him say they intend to murder her son."

"Sounds like something you never forget."

"No," Draco quietly replied.

Enough silence passed for Draco's appetite to return. He was properly cutting his steak when Potter spoke again.

"How is your mum?" he asked.

"She's well," Draco answered. "Her new husband is a good man."

"Oh, she remarried?"

Draco nodded. "She divorced Father in absentia. I think the best thing she ever did for herself was leave the manor."

Potter worked his mouth. "Surely she wasn't waiting for your dad to come back?"

"No. The manor was still her home, was all." Draco sipped his water. "She cleaned it up once the Death Eaters were all cleared out. Have you been there, since the end of the war?"

Potter shook his head. "The manor house still belongs to the estate, doesn't it?"

"For now, yes. I can't bring myself to part with it, not that that means it has a current purpose. The house-elves keep everything in order and whatnot. You'd think someone did live there, as though my parents and I are merely on holiday. The house looks like we'll arrive home any moment."

"I bet that's kind of spooky, in a way."

"It's better than the sort of spooky it was when Voldemort took it over," Draco said. "Mum did a lovely job cleaning out all the residue of that. The manor house is so warm and bright now. It's honestly a shame for it to sit empty."

Potter leaned on his elbow. "You never think of living there?"

"I prefer Oxford," Draco replied. "I suppose the manor would make a nice country home, but it's laughably opulent compared to a bungalow hardly larger than this cabin."

"I like your place," Potter said. "I can't say I'd be the expert since I've only been to your manor once, but your place suits you a lot more. It's comfortable."

"And you say that without getting the full experience." Draco had to chew and swallow fast to elaborate on that thought, before Potter took a different meaning. "You haven't been to any of the restaurants I like, or to any of the colleges. I wouldn't suppose the latter is likely much to your interest."

"With the right company, I could probably be persuaded to enjoy myself." Potter shrugged. "What's your mum's husband like?"

Smirking, Draco leaned forward conspiratorially. "He's Spanish."

Potter chuckled. "You don't say."

"And rather fit. Mum hates it when I remind her he's closer to me in age."

"How close are we talking?"

"He's forty-two. Twelve years older than us, thirteen younger than her." Draco's smirk grew into a grin. "So, technically true."

"What do you know," Potter mused. "Life starts at fifty-five."

Draco gathered the last of his mashed potatoes on his fork. "Fortunately for you, you're not the one that has to hear all about how he makes her feel twenty-nine again."

"I wouldn't think your mum open enough to discuss that."

"We're both adults." Draco stood with his plate. "Are you done?"

"Oh—yeah, thanks." Potter handed his dishes over as well, then turned in his seat. "What's the arrangement, then? I cook, you clean?"

"That's all right with me," Draco agreed. "You're definitely a better cook than I am. Breakfast and lunch are fine, but I don't usually eat dinner at home."

"In that case, you ought to do tea too."

Draco rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Is that a hint to put the kettle on?"

"Nah." Potter's chair protested against the floor. "I'm going to have a quick shower, I think."

Draco cleaned everything up from dinner as quickly as he could, so that he could step outside. The front of the cabin faced south, which was unfortunate for the sunshine beating down, but the breeze remained nice. There were four posts on the little porch, between two of which Draco conjured a hammock. He used the fabric to shield his eyes.

He'd lulled into a quiet state of calm when the cabin door opened.

"Now there's an idea," Potter said.

"Mm."

With eyes closed, Draco listened as Potter set himself up similarly on the other side. There was a moment in which Potter seemed to lose his balance, stumbling, to which Draco smirked appreciatively. A moment later, the fabric of Potter's conjured hammock groaned and protested as he gently swung.

"Is this how you relax at the end of the day, whenever you use this cabin?" Potter asked a few minutes later.

"Mhm," Draco replied. "On warmer days, anyway. The fireplace inside is cozy when it's chilly out."

They fell quiet again. Draco hardly believed Potter had it in him not to maintain a running commentary or litany of questions. Perhaps he too felt dinner creep up on him in form of fatigue.

Draco lifted his head when he heard hooting. The owl he'd used to send his letter to Dumbledore sat up in one of the trees at the edge of the cabin's clearing. It coasted down when Draco stepped outside the boundary of the Fidelius Charm.

Potter's head peeked over the edge of his hammock.

"We'll be meeting with Dumbledore tomorrow," Draco said. "He's asked us to come up to Hogwarts for one o'clock."

"Okay."

"Try not to get too cocked up about it." Draco hardly jested. "We ought to go a little early. With weather like this, students will flock outside. We'll get a good look to see if any look familiar. You remember what Weasley looked like as a teenager, yes?"

"Yeah, I reckon so," Potter replied. "He hasn't changed much, aside from putting on some muscle and growing a beard. Should we write off the possibility either he or Yaxley work on staff?"

"No, we shouldn't." Draco leaned against the post that supported the foot end of Potter's hammock.

"I'd recognize an adult Yaxley, I think." Potter folded his arms behind his head. "I'm not so sure about a teenaged one."

"I would know a teenaged Yaxley if I saw him," Draco said.

"All right."

The cabin cooled immensely once the sun set, and was legitimately chilly come morning. Draco had bread in the oven for toast when Potter emerged, and the kettle crackled as the water inside it heated up.

"Morning," Potter said through a yawn.

"Good morning."

They ate breakfast in a silence that was shockingly comfortable. Potter tidied up, and Draco dressed and combed his hair. Potter had relocated to the sofa, along with his journal. Draco preferred to work at the kitchen table.

"Your thoughts on checking St Mungo's and the Ministry if Dumbledore yields nothing?" Draco asked.

"All for it," Potter replied.

Draco braced his jaw in his left hand, watching Potter for a moment. A few pages of the journal he'd brought had already been filled.

"What are you writing about?" Draco asked.

"I put down everything I knew prior to the point I'll be Obliviated to." Potter glanced over. "Ron's in a different dimension. You're able to take me there, and time will move differently once you have. That's why I have multiple day's worth of notes, rather than just a few quick things dashed down."

"Weasley's in a different universe," Draco corrected him. "This isn't an alternate dimension. Dimensions don't work that way. Weasley would be quite well-fucked if he landed himself in the seventh or higher. We ourselves took briefly to the sixth, in order to get here."

"Honestly, it doesn't mean a difference to me the way that it does to you. It's my own way of understanding what's happened."

Draco waved him off. He didn't care enough to push the point. "What else is there to write about, then? You won't be able to put anything down about where we are, or who we've met."

"I haven't." Potter paused, running a hand through his hair. "I wrote a note to myself not to ask you anything about where we went or what we did. I'll probably wonder anyway. If I did ask, would you lie?"

"I'll tell you I can't say," Draco said. "Because I won't be able to."

"Okay."

Draco studied Potter. "That didn't answer my question. What are you writing about?"

"Things that pertain to my investigation." Potter didn't look up this time.

Eyes narrowing in scrutiny, Draco pursed his lips. "You're writing about me, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes." Potter's tone went flat with sarcasm. "I'm positively gushing about my newfound love."

Draco hummed, suppressing a smirk. "I would've thought it more your priority to tell yourself I wasn't in Nice, but what do I know? I'm not an Auror."

Potter smiled to himself. "Fuck off, Malfoy."

"Back to pleasantries, I see," Draco breezily stated. "And back to being 'Malfoy'."

Potter had nothing to say to that, and Draco revelled too much again to spoil what felt to him like a win. He'd tell himself stop flirting, but that almost seemed more crucial to speak aloud. Whether Potter did so genuinely and with intent, Draco couldn't be completely certain. Draco would be the first to admit just how easily it came to him. Could Potter say the same?

The easy way they'd coexisted so far this morning bled away. Draco was left hyperaware of the other person in the room with him—the scratch of Potter's biro against parchment, the occasional sniff or sigh, and the periodic catch of movement in the corner of Draco's vision.

Merlin help him.

It was with extreme relief at noon that Draco broke the thick silence. "We might as well be on our way."

"Okay."

Potter showed no inclination to spoil the easy quiet between them as they walked the path south into Hogsmeade. Draco couldn't decide if he should delight in the fact Potter was comfortable enough with him for this, or if he should scream because he personally wasn't.

The school gates were unlocked. Although the drive stretched long leading up to the castle, black spots like vertical ants dotted the lawn. Draco wagered the majority of students would be found along the lakeshore. Potter's gaze was fixed over toward the Forbidden Forest.

"No Hagrid," he quietly said.

Draco tilted his chin down closer to Potter's ear. "You should be focused on the students."

Potter looked back at Draco over his shoulder. "Right."

In turn, the students focused on them. Conversations they passed dampened in favour of low undertones and whispers. Draco kept an eye out for a tall blond boy. Yaxley had always been quiet, according to his father's old school stories. If he'd been integrated here as a teenager, Draco had no idea why that would change. In theory, he would have retained his personality. Yaxley and Weasley were still the same people.

"Any luck?" Potter asked as they neared Ravenclaw Tower.

"No." Draco stared hard into the western courtyard. "You?"

"Not yet."

They approached the bottom of the astronomy tower. Beyond it in shadow, the front doors opened. Voices followed. Potter gasped, and Draco flinched as Potter's arm made hard contact across his chest.

Five boys around fifteen years old had spilled out of the castle. They stood in a tight knot, heads down toward each other. James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew strolled toward them.

And with them, sporting the same scarlet tie and devious grin, was Weasley.