A/N: Chapter warnings for; explicit language, implied/referenced torture, mild alcohol abuse, passing mention of miscarriage.

Thanks a bunch to our beta. This is the longest chapter being uploaded yet, hope you all enjoy it! We certainly did, whilst writing it.

Tell us your thoughts and stay safe?

Next update on 19th March, Friday.

Chapter Twenty Eight: None of us are going back

…

"Here I am

leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome

burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack,

my silent night, just mash your lips against me.

We are all going forward. None of us are going back."

- Richard Siken

...

Remus Lupin has never felt more put out in his life than the moment he's asked to go babysit at Hogwarts.

The thing was, that Albus had called Minerva over for some sort of hunt, Remus wasn't really listening, and Minerva was awfully worried that two of her fifth year Gryffindors were going to abuse that absence.

"They've been incorrigible lately," she tells him now, over her steaming cup of tea, Remus is gazing at the fogged window, raindrops patter against the glass, "I really can't afford them doing something foolish when I am not there to…"

"Protect them?" He suggests although he is still a bit baffled as to how two fifteen-year-olds would be able to get into enough trouble that warrants babysitting.

Surely the trouble of getting Remus here wasn't worth the trouble they could cause. Remus is under so many glamour charms that even he wouldn't be able to recognize himself.

Minerva sets her teacup down with a click. "It's worse than you think," she says.

Remus thinks she could elaborate a bit on that, but the woman slides out of her chair with a sigh.

"They're bound to arrive any seconds now," a knock interrupts the rest of her sentence and Minerva nods at him. "Keep them in the office."

Remus gulps down the last of his tea, and rolls his shoulders.

Hermione's head peeks through the door, and Minerva nods her chin at her.

"Professor?" She meekly opens the door, and Remus shuffles in his chair.

The children enter the office, and Minerva adjusts her robe. "Close the door behind you."

Ron does so and they both throw Remus a wary glance. "Hello, kids."

Their faces showed no recognition whatsoever. Maybe rightfully so.

Minerva gestures at them to shuffle closer, "Remus will be overseeing your detention in my absence."

"Oh, hello," Hermione's shoulders drop and Ron gives him a silent nod.

They look quite normal, if not a bit tense. And maybe also a bit pale, but that could easily be the rainy weather.

"Behave," Minerva says one last time before stepping into the fireplace.

"So…" Hermione takes Remus's seat the moment the man stands up to conjure another one for Ron.

"Are we doing lines?" Ron finished for her, flopping down on the wooden chair Remus conjured with a swish of his wand.

Remus himself settles in Minerva's chair. "You don't need to do any lines. We can just spend the day here, catch up."

He's a teacher, he's good with teenagers, and he somewhat knows these two better than he does the others. They can be subdued easily enough.

He nods at himself, taps his robe pocket to check whether he has the chocolate bars there and then means to call a house elf for some snacks but Ron and Hermione lean forward in their chairs.

"This just makes it a ton easier," Ron says, reaching for his bag.

"Professor McGonagall would have had a harder time with our pitch," Hermione agrees and also reaches for her bag and a shot of dread surges down Remus's spine.

He doesn't like that tone. He is awfully familiar with it. They're using the 'This prank is going to be our BEST yet' tone.

Oh shit.

"Yes?"

The teenagers smile.

"We cannot let you do this without supervision," he says once he's finished looking over the parchments.

"Come on sir!" Hermione slides the parchment back to him, "We've done worse!"

Remus rubs his nose, "Exactly, Hermione. You two have done way worse, as an ex-teacher myself I'll admit that teaching a bunch of children isn't easy. Teaching them as children?" He sighs, "That's a whole other argument."

Ron purses his lips, he's been mostly quiet during their pitch, "We can handle it, Remus," he says, his eyes are intense and focused, "We need to do something, and it's clear that Umbridge won't. What if there's another attack?"

Children doing the adult's work. Remus is familiar with that feeling too.

"There won't be an attack but in the event that there is," he pauses for effect, "you two are to grab as many children as you can and head to the floos."

Ron's eyes narrow into a glare, "You're treating us like she does," he says in an overly accusing tone, "We're going to do this you know, whether you want us to or not."

Remus does know that. And he is more than sure that the repercussions of their plan will be much worse without supervision.

"You're fifteen," he says, more to himself than the duo, he presses the heels of his palms against his eyes.

"And we just asked for your advice because we need new defensive spells and Hermione is running out of books."

"I'm not a ministry fanatic secretary, obsessed with pink, Ron. I'm just worried about you guys. This could backfire terribly."

"Or it could save lives," Hermione chimes in.

They're definitely going to do this, nothing, not even Remus as an adult authority figure is going to stop it from happening, and the least he can do at this point is damage control.

Remus hates damage control.

"And you've thought this through?" He warns, because they're fifteen-year-olds, and there's a huge chance of them not thinking shit through properly, "The whole thing? Time, location, duration, each house's schedule-"

They would have to synchronize four individual schedule, right under Umbridge's eyes, with a number of people that is just beyond risky. The more the people, the more is the chance of some child tattling.

"I have a binder."

"She has a binder," Ron and Hermione cut in at the same time.

He raises his eyebrows at the duo, "Alright that sounds serious."

Ron smiles at Hermione, kind of how James used to do when marvelling at Lily's brilliance, and Remus, once again, wants to sigh and roll his eyes. They're dating. Go figure.

The risk factor just went through the roof.

"Trust me, Remus," Ron says, "that means she's got everything figured out. We both do. We've been planning this for days, and we have a list of suggestive spells that we thought you could look over-"

"The curriculum?" He cuts in, because dear merlin, Ron talks too much sometimes, "Obviously there should be one." He rubs at his temples.

"Hand it over and fetch me a quill, there should be an even distribution between defensive and offensive spells that you're allowed to teach," he's not aiding a prank, just damage control.

He's been doing that for decades.

"So you'll help us?"

"I'm giving it a shot," he looks over the parchment Hermione draws out of the binder, "and maybe we can even bunch Sirius in this little project, ever since... Harry's incident happened, he's been a bit antsy."

Not technically a bit. It seemed as if his best friend has turned into a mobile whiskey bottle. Rude, drunk and abrasive.

Part of it, Remus knows is because of Harry's predicament, but the rest is just Sirius being an asshole on purpose.

"That's right, he was an Auror," Hermione hums.

"Yeah but don't mention it to him too much. It's a bit of a sore spot." A bit more than a bit, "But yes, he knows spells and techniques even I don't, he can teach you, then you'll teach your students."

That's as much attention that he can give this right now. And some action would do his friend good.

Once again, he raises his hand to call for a house elf and some god damned snacks, but Hermione clears her throat.

"Hey um, while you're here…" she draws a thick stack of envelopes from her bag, "is there any way you could take our letters to Harry?" She sees his eyes widen, "We wrote new ones," she blurts out, "it's really brief, and we tried to write it in code-"

"Even though we invented it on the spot and Harry might have no idea what we're talking about," Ron interjected with a wince.

"I'm really sorry," he groans, "I really am but I've told you this before, even I don't know where Harry is. Not Sirius, nor any other Order member but Albus. You cannot send letters. I know this sucks, it does for us too,"

Apparently, they've been doing this every week with Minerva. Remus imagines how hard that must be, turning them down every day.

Ron curses under his breath, "Cannot he write to us?"

"I'm sorry." There's nothing else he can say.

"Hypothetically speaking, if we got rid of Umbridge-"

"No Hermione, no shenanigans. Just keep your heads down for now, and Harry will be back." They drop their heads, "I promise. Besides you're going to be doing a lot of good with this new project, I'll talk to Sirius about it, and you should start putting this binder to use."

They nod, looking miserable but somewhat hopeful at once.

Damage control. Remus hates it.

Remus Lupin knows most people like the back of his hand. This isn't an exaggeration of any sort, nor a fib. Throughout the years, he's discovered that he can just look at a person and know things about them without having to ask. Ironically, much similar to a magic trick.

It made keeping his secret exceedingly easy at times, and his life as a whole somewhat predictable.

Remus knows Sirius Black more than he knows anyone else. Not like the back of his hand, but rather the veins leading to his heart, like every coherent word in his mind, and every moon cycle day to day.

Every twitch, every laugh-because Sirius has more than a dozen of those and each means something different- every frown, and every time he looks at Remus with the look on his face.

That's why he accepts the kids' suggestion in the first place. Well, he knew that if he didn't, they were gonna go through with it anyways. They were restless, he could see, restless but not really doing anything. He's heard Minerva mentioning Hermione missing or forgetting homework assignments, something so innately unlike her that the mere thought was unbelievable. Ron had checked out altogether, she said, and only bothered taking notes to get to the bare minimum.

They were bound to explode soon if there wasn't an outlet.

Now there is. This is going to improve their moods in Harry's absence significantly. Give them something to do.

Precisely leading to the second reason why he agreed to go along with this.

"You know how I've never asked anything of you before?" He asks the apathetic man lounging on the couch, his hair unkempt and his tattooed chest bare under his blue sleeping robe.

Sirius raises his eyebrow at him, "I have it on good authority that you're lying," his head rolls over the headrest to meet Remy's gaze, "Three times you've wanted me to specifically do you a favour."

He raises three fingers to count off each, "First one when Lois Jones wanted to bang but you said you had a crush on her, second one, you asking me not to pull the dragon manure prank on Lily because she was pregnant, and third was the day you wanted to get a tattoo but chickened out and binged on ice cream instead."

Remus smiles and strides to stand before his best friend. "We weren't supposed to speak of that day ever again."

"Well, we're alone," Sirius huffs, "So don't worry your furry butt over people finding out you faint over the sight of needles."

He needs Sirius to do this, though. This is important. For Sirius' own sake. He needs to get out of this funk he's crawled into. Day drinking and naked roaming, and bitter sulking.

"I'm being serious, Padfoot. I need a favour," he says, the smile fading from his face.

"I'm booked for the day, baby," the man winks at him, unfazed, "Me and this beer bottle have a getaway plan."

"It's about Harry," Remus says and watches as Sirius sits up straighter, his eyes clearing for a moment.

"What about him?" He asks, "Have you spoken to him? Is he coming back?"

"No, shit, sorry," Remus winces, "Not like that. I meant it's about Harry in a way. More specifically, Ron and Hermione."

Sirius deflates at that, back to his lazy sprawl on the couch which is giving Remus a backache just by watching. "Ginger and brunette Lily."

"They're organizing a resistance group," Remus continues. Not exactly a resistance group, per se. Hermione had stressed upon that fact a lot. But Sirius would probably be more interested in a resistance than a secret study group.

Sirius grins, "I knew they wouldn't sit still for long. Good for them, what's the favour?"

"They're more or less alone, mentorless, and pretty antsy, so you know, I naturally agreed-"

"What's the favour?"

Remus sighs, "They need someone to teach them offensive spells and war tactics so they can teach it to the others."

"And-"

"And you're the person I suggested," Remus confirms. "It would be good for you, getting out of this funk, changing out of that ridiculous night robe-"

"Hey," Sirius looks at him in mock offence, "Don't hate on the robe."

Remus ignores him and continues speaking, "You know how to teach people hard stuff in a short amount of time. You taught James and…" He clears his throat, "Him, how to turn into an Animagus in six months."

Sirius looks away and flops his head back down on the armrest, "I also skinny-dipped in frothy chocolate foam that same year."

Remus snorts, but then says in a more serious voice, "You have the time and the nerve to handle two teenagers." He shrugs, "One of them is a genius already, the other is too lazy to try, but they're smart kids. They want to learn."

Sirius sighs, and finally sits up. He looks at Remus, that's beseeching and resigned at once, and heaves another dramatic sigh, "Remus? Take a look at me, buddy," He gestures vaguely at himself, lifting his shoulders, and raising his eyebrows, "Do I look qualified enough to teach children so they could teach other children?"

"You're driving yourself mad, locked up in this place, getting drunk-"

It was the wrong thing to say.

Sirius raises a hand, cutting Remus off, then raises one finger, counting off, "First of all, it wasn't my idea to get locked up here. I'm not allowed to leave, that's the default set of Sirius Black, not an option." He raises a second finger, "Second of all, I have nothing else to do-"

"I know-"

"But keep spiralling over the fact that my godson, Jamie's son, was captured and fucking tortured for days. Trying not to panic about what that bitch has done to him, with no response from him or Albus day after day. At least I can drink and worry myself to grave."

Remus knows this. He knows this very clearly. He'd been worrying himself sick over Harry too, but this isn't the way to go, this way they'd be doing something. They can't just sit idle and waste away. "He wouldn't want you to do this to yourself."

"Who?" Sirius scoffs, "James? I bet your right hand that he would want me to do this. In fact, if he were here he would be the one choking me to death. And Harry…" Sirius' mouth twists bitterly, "Harry deserves a parent figure who can actually be there."

"Help them." Remus says, "You can help them and by helping them, you'll be helping Harry."

"Help Harry recover from trauma? You know what I keep thinking about when I'm sober, Remus? Frank. Frank Longbottom. The guy whom we threw a wedding for, my fucking colleague. Do you remember how they found him?"

"I do. I was there." The image plays over in his mind whenever he is idle. Whenever he can't think of something to occupy himself with. But he's not drinking himself halfway to death.

"She did that to him. It didn't take long. Just a day. A single day before Frank couldn't tell his toe from his nose." Sirius' voice cracks, and Remus takes a step towards him, "She had my godson for two days."

"Harry is fine," Remus says firmly, but he knows that he's trying to convince himself as much as Sirius. They've not received any correspondence. The only information they have has been via Snape and Moody. "Sirius we've talked about this, both Albus and Snape-"

"Snape!" Sirius raises his voice, "Do you think I'm going to take that bastard's word over my own eyes?" He stands up, then. "He's alone. And he's afraid, and he's in pain and I-" he chokes, and then continues more quietly, "And I cannot help him."

Remus just stares at Sirius for a moment, taking in his haggard appearance. He looks almost as bad as Remus does near the full moon.

"I'm sorry. He matters to me too," he says softly, "You know how much, but you cannot live like this." He steps closer to Sirius, "As soon as we secure Hogwarts then we can bring Harry back. And in order to do that… we need to get rid of Umbridge. Ron and Hermione can help."

Sirius turns away from him and bends over to pick up a bottle from the coffee table, "Stop making sense," he chugs the bottle down, "Dammit, Remy," the clattering sound is loud in the room as he slams it back down on the table.

"I have a point. Sirius, you weren't just an Auror, you were one of the best. Even Moody cannot deny that. What you teach them will do more than teach them how to fight." He grabs the bottle and pushes it out of reach as Sirius tries to grab it again, "It'll save their lives."

Sirius makes a face, and then says, "Keep going. Keep complimenting me a bit more."

"You prat."

"Tell them to come over tomorrow," he sits back down on the couch with a thump, "I'm too drunk to move about."

"You can always sober up with a potion-"

"Don't even think about it, Mooney," he points at him, his hand wavering, "Let me sulk."

"Of course," Remus smiles.

"Alright," Sirius starts, clad in only a blue robe and his pajamas underneath. He didn't spend his morning preparing for this, he'd almost drank three more bottles of beer during breakfast. Really, they should be grateful he's sober and present at all.

Not that he could've said no to Remus. He's never been able to do that. Remus always knew the right spots to hit, what to say, how to make the perfect expressions. Even James couldn't have done it.

He also owes it to Ron and Hermione. He couldn't protect Harry. Least he can do is help protect his best friends.

"Heard you two were going bonkers over at Hogwarts-"

"That's funny," Ron mutters, "We heard the same thing about-"

Sirius ignores him, "-And Remus asked me whether I could help my kiddo's friends out and well?" He throws his hands up in mock defeat, "How could I refuse? My generosity knows no bounds."

"Thank you, Sirius," Hermione says, shooting Ron a warning look.

"Oh, don't even mention it, my curly-haired apprentice," Sirius gives a grin, "So you want to be like me? A task many and many dreamers befall to and fail at."

"Actually," she says, looking a little nervous, "we just wanted the combative spells-"

"Many a wizard, nay, many a soul has wanted what you guys are getting for free. Unlimited access to this beautiful, talented, husky man. You guys should feel so lucky." Alright, so maybe he did drink one of those beers this morning. But how's he supposed to deal with two of Harry's closest friends without it? Go through all of this, do all of this, it's all a stark reminder that Harry is not here? And Remus had taken off after his puppy dog eyes session, or the wolf pup eyes session. Whatever.

"I'm starting not to," Ron says, and Hermione elbows him. He lets out a small indignant squeak before saying, "So can you teach us?"

Sirius watches them blankly for a second, before registering what Ron had just said, "Not with that attitude, Ginger. If you guys want to be me, then you have to cut out your old selves and start soaking up the room energy. Do you feel it? The amazingness of this?"

"Alright," Ron throws up his hands, and this time even Hermione is starting to look skeptical, "He's gone insane."

"Ronald!"

"Look into his cereal bowl!" he points towards the littered coffee table, "It's beer! Instead of milk. Remus was wrong about this-"

"Well," Hermione bites her lips, wringing her hands and looking nervously from Ron to Sirius, "You don't have to say it to his face-"

"Posture." Sirius cuts them both off.

"What?"

"You're not going to get anywhere with combative spells with that posture. Also," he points at her, "Hermione you might want to change into pants, we need to warm up and the skirt wouldn't be doing it for you."

Ron frowns, "Aren't we going to practise magic?"

"Without warm-ups? Are you insane, Ron? Come on, shed the books and the binder, Hermione go change your clothes, and Ron stop dissing my eating habits. I'm rocking the beer-cereal cuisine." He honestly thinks that's the only thing keeping him sane right now. And Remus.

Ron and Hermione don't move for a second.

Sirius wiggles his eyebrows with an impatient huff. "So? Chop chop! Go do your thing," he waves his hand, "Also someone bring me a pepper up from the kitchen."

Hermione doesn't leave. She just transfigures her skirt into a pair of pants and summons a pepper up.

Well, he could have done that. "Smart girl," he murmurs, opening the vial and swallowing it down. His body perks up instantly, and he inhales deeply the smell of beer and sweat. He slams the empty vial down on the coffee table, and turns to the kids.

"First things, first. Combat and Defence Against The Dark Arts are two different things, well, they're two halves of an apple. You'll only learn about defence, crucial to survival...but it ain't gonna do you any favours if you need to lessen numbers. No, Hermione, I don't take questions, put your hand down."

"It's about the robe," she says.

Sirius gives a frustrated sigh, "How can you all hate this robe so much?!"

"No, it's just…" Her lips twitch, "Stuck in your waistband."

"Oh," he blinks, "Thank you." He fixes his robe, and then clears his throat. "Now, let's get something straight. There are some curses you can deflect, some you can counter, and some you can hurl back. We're not going to talk about those spells right now, because when a nasty, smelly death eater attacks, he or she goes for the kill. So, let's discuss how you can avoid certain death first."

"That doesn't sound morbid at all," Ron mutters.

"Ron, I know you don't like action, like my dear furry friend, Remus. But you either want to live, or turn into a pink goop."

"We'll do it," Hermione answers for the both of them.

Sirius grins, and spreads his arms, "So well, let's begin!"

It's still hard to believe the sheer number of people who arrived.

Hermione knew a lot of Gryffindors would be here today, and she knew about Luna and Zabini. But this? Almost the entire pub is filled with them. It's making her nervous and giddy at the same time. They're a suspicious bunch, a mismatched group of children from all years and from all houses.

"You will not lose the coin," she speaks, her voice as stern as she can make it. This is important. Perhaps one of the most important things she will ever do, "Once you've signed the contract you are obligated not to disclose any unwanted information with a third party, and Umbridge."

Ron, who is sitting next to her, nods, "For anyone who hasn't gotten the memo yet, we hate Umbridge, we want to pass the exams and also not die. This isn't a resistance band, it's a glorified study group." He looks around, meeting as many eyes as possible, "Any questions?"

"Um, yeah…" a Hufflepuff fourth year pipes up, "why is Zabini and the...well, they here?"

"He wants to join the club," Hermione says firmly, she is not going to let interhouse rivalries ruin this. "Same as all of you-"

Zabini sneers from the corner, "He also happens to have a mouth."

"Do you know what happened to Harry?" Someone else asks, Hermione whips her head in their general direction, but then more voices join in.

"Yeah! What's up with that-"

"Is he in some sort of secret training program and you join him from time to-"

"Or he could be like… dead-" cold dread seeps into her stomach. She's been wondering that too. She needs to focus, she can't think about Harry, and where he is, and how he is right now. But no one lets her speak.

"That would be a shame, I thought he was cute-"

"Kind of shy for my tastes, but I agree."

"Maybe you know who got to him. Or Fudge."

"I bet he's holed up with Dumbledore-"

Hermione clenches her fists, Harry is a human being. Not some- not some- argh! She cannot take it anymore, "SHUT UP!"

The crowd mutes.

"As I was saying," she juts out her chin and speaks more evenly, "We need to learn things that'll actually help us out with our O. and save our lives if we're targeted by death eaters. And no, Padma, we will not be answering any questions about Harry. So if that's why you're here, leave right now,"

"But aren't you a bit worried?" Padma asks, "He could be dead right now."

Ron growls, "This isn't a news conference. Harry is off-limits, either keep your silence or get out. We will start by reviewing some of last year's defence spells, and shields whilst also introducing combative magic. We have a reliable source."

"Who? An actual Auror? Why cannot they teach us?"

"Dean, mate…" Ron says, shaking his head, "If they could be here, they would be. But you don't need to worry about that, we learn from them, and then come teach you. We will meet three times a week, Hermione can tutor in other subjects too-"

"No essay copying," Hermione cuts in and Ron nods.

"Obviously, yeah. So… are we good?"

Everyone still looks like they're bubbling with questions, but at Ron and Hermione's expression, wisely keep it to themselves.

After they've finished signing the parchment and have received their enchanted Galleons, Hermione has them all exit the pub in groups of three and finally, only she and Ron remain.

She watches as the door closes behind the last couple, and then slowly turns to Ron, a smile spreading over her face, "We did it. Oh my God, we're actually doing this."

"You handled them beautifully." Ron grins back, taking her hand in his, "You did great-"

"And so did you, Ron." she cuts in, "We're not failing miserably at this. Forty people… we have forty students now."

"Are you going to panic-"

"I am panicking Ron!" She squeezes his hands tightly, "This is happening, we're going to be in so much trouble if anyone finds out but I've never felt like anything is more right than doing this, even though it's wrong-"

He kisses her. It's still new to them both. "You cannot do anything wrong, Hermione Granger. You are the brightest witch of our age."

"You're just flattering me." But she's smiling.

"We're going to be in so much trouble-" he breathes those words, his lips are inches away from hers, "Breaking all sorts of rules."

"And saving lives," she says firmly. This isn't about breaking rules. Breaking rules is… it's collateral. This is about Harry and saving lives. "I'm not afraid, Ron. We can do this, for Harry, and for ourselves. Besides... you're a badass boyfriend."

Ron flushes, "Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes," she gives him another small peck, this time on the nose. Everything feels slightly unreal right now, all other noises muted. Her body is numb and hypersensitive at the same time. Ron's hands are warm in hers and she can feel his breath on her face.

"You're the most badass girlfriend in the history of all girlfriends, Hermione Granger. You don't need me to protect you, you're kicking butts already."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, also… I love it when you swear," Ron says, actually giggling.

"Oh, shut up!"

'Is this an adventure?'

"Don't distract me, please." There's a mental count, in his head, one step after the other, sinking into the cold sand, as the wind muses his hair. The moon is full.

'This is a dangerous game, Harry.' Sirius is walking beside him, his strides matching his perfectly.

Harry ignores him, "One hundred and nineteen, one hundred and eighteen-"

'You were always bad at math. It wasn't a Dudley thing, remember? You didn't have to fake those grades.' Harry can hear Sirius perfectly clear, even over the sound of crashing waves.

The nightmare is so fresh before his eyes, it feels as if he's walking into the dream and not by the shore. The sand is the mounts of bodies and the sea is the blood. Harry can smell it thick in the air.

He's not insane. He's not.

"One hundred and seventeen, one hundred and-"

'How many steps is a yard?" Sirius asks. He keeps distracting Harry. Which means Harry is just distracting himself, he shouldn't- he can't. "I'm not sure you understand this game well enough. Let's go back, let's wake Draco.'

Harry stops walking.

"Draco is staying out of this," he says, not turning towards Sirius, "I'm not... I'm not gonna do anything, Sirius. I'm just counting. I need to tire myself out."

'You're playing chase, like with Marge's Dog. Except the dog in the situation is me. Quite ironic, isn't it?'

Harry starts clenching and unclenching his hands, wiggling his toes, "I'm not running away from you."

'You're running away from yourself," Harry sees Sirius shrug from the corner of his eyes, 'One little scare from that hooked nose git and all you can think about is being tied to a bed and left to rot. Stop it.'

"I'm just making sure," he murmurs. He can't remember where he left off. He rubs at his arms.

'Yes, let's make sure. Let's count a hundred and twenty steps, front and back. That way you'll be sure you're not crazy. You're getting boring, Harry.'

"Shut up," he rubs his hands harder. Maybe hard enough to bruise.

'As if you would even know you're counting right." Imaginary Sirius crosses his arms over his chest, 'How do you know? Is it one hundred eighty-four or fifty-nine?'

"I know I'm counting right," he is. He was. He knows where he left off, he just- he has to just recall it right. There's nothing wrong with his memory.

'You were always so bad at math," Sirius speaks over Harry, "Mrs Simon's hit you once with a ruler, because you couldn't tell what comes after ninety-nine. Do you remember?'

"I'm doing this," Harry shudders violently, "I am doing this. Stop annoying me. One hundred and seventeen. One hundred and sixteen, one hundred and fifteen-" he freezes.

Sirius gives him a sad smile, "'I worry about you, kiddo.'

Harry shakes his head violently, and squeezes harder at his arms, willing the sharp pins and needles sensation to go away, "You're not even real."

'You couldn't tell the difference. You just counted twice. Go back. Go to sleep.'

He should. He can't even stand straight. His legs are cramping. He forgot to wear shoes or slippers. The gritty sand itches at the soles of his feet. His knees are almost knocking together with how badly he's trembling.

But Harry doesn't.

Draco has decided that the silent nightmares are definitely worse than the loud, thrashing ones. It's clear that they're both equally disturbing for Harry. But when he has the silent ones, Draco doesn't find out until the next day. And sometimes, not even then.

He's a light sleeper, so he's fairly confident that he's aware of most of them, but he feels awful when Harry has to deal with them alone. Particularly because he can't remember a single night in Shell Cottage when Harry wasn't there for him when he woke up gasping and disoriented.

His heart sinks when he wakes up to an empty bed. Logically, he knows that Harry could have woken up early and is making breakfast, but the possibility is so laughably tiny, that Draco doesn't really consider it. The other side of the bed is cold, and the cottage doesn't smell of Harry's cooking. There's no humming sound coming from downstairs.

"Harry?" he calls out, frowning when there's no answer.

Pushing down the panic that's starting to bubble in his chest, he pushes himself off the bed. It's still early morning. He calls out again, louder this time, still to no answer.

Eyes widening, he grabs his wand off the bedside table. He's probably overreacting. But it's better to be safe than sorry. Overreaction is better than under preparation.

Harry's not in the bathroom. He's not in the kitchen or the living room either.

He shivers in the cool breeze before his head whips around towards the backdoor. Harry isn't on the porch, but the door is half ajar. Heart in his throat, he quickly pads over outside, frantically looking around.

His breath catches as his eyes finally land on him.

Harry is there. Alive and there and sitting in the sand, cross-legged.

Draco's shoulders slump and he lets out an audible breath. He slips his wand back up his sleeve and slowly makes his way over to Harry.

A Harry who currently looks very preoccupied with a colony of seagulls. There are two of them sitting on either of his shoulders, and Harry is actually petting one of them in his lap. Several others flap around.

It's surreal.

Draco stops a few feet away from Harry and raises an eyebrow, trying to emulate Severus but probably failing spectacularly if Harry's expression is anything to go by.

"Oh, you're up," Harry smiles. His eyes are shadowed and his voice sounds strained. His hands and legs are covered with sand, and he's barefoot.

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Potter," Draco rolls his eyes, trying not to blurt out one concerned question after another about Harry's well being. He knows Harry won't take it well. If he'd wanted to talk about it, Harry wouldn't have escaped outside.

Harry shrugs, then winces as the seagull on his shoulders flaps indignantly, "Are you hungry?"

Well, yes he is. But that's not why he came here. But he also can't tell Harry that he freaked out because he wasn't in bed with him, "I guess?"

Harry's lips twitch, and he says, "I was asking Benji."

Draco blinks, "Who?"

Harry is definitely laughing as he points to the seagull on his right shoulder, "Benji."

Draco gapes, "You- what?"

Harry points at the one on his left shoulder, then the one on his lap, and then the various others around him, rattling off, "Larry, Frederick, Lester, Gill and Kats."

Draco promptly forgets the name of half of them as soon as Harry tells them, but he knows that the one pecking furiously at Harry's palm is Lester, and the two on his shoulders are Benji and Larry.

The fact that he remembers at all is infinitely more absurd than Harry having named them at all.

"Ow!" Harry yelps at a particularly hard nip, before laughing, "Yeah, okay, definitely hungry."

There's a flurry of feathers and wings, mixed together with loud, obnoxious squacks as Harry pulls himself up. It's all so chaotic that Draco takes several steps back, almost tempted to take his wand out.

To his great surprise, all the seagulls are still there when Harry has stood up. He can't recognise a single one of them anymore, but there are still all six of them.

Harry starts walking and they flap around him, some settling back on his shoulders and head, while another lands on his shaking arm.

Draco watches.

"C'mon. I'll give you some food too," Harry says to him, before turning back to shell cottage.

"Are you starting a cult?" Draco asks as they enter the house. Words that Draco never thought he'd say, not in a totally non-ironic manner to Harry Potter. But here he is, and so are the seagulls. Inside their safe house.

Harry picks up an apple from the counter and holds it flat in his hand, "Don't be ridiculous," He cheerily replies over his shoulder, a seagull is viciously pecking apple pieces from his palm, it might be Lester. There's a whole flock of the bloody things, Draco grimaces.

"They're gonna be hogging this place every day, you know, don't spoil savages."

"Be careful," Harry says as one of the creatures croons under Potter's shaking hand, "Or I'll teach them how to peck the hell out of you."

Draco doesn't reply, he's standing directly behind Harry's crouched form, and he's staring like a man dying of thirst. He's not a savage, he knows when to ogle people and when to avoid such an undignified habit, but he just cannot help it today. Not with Potter.

His eyes trail from Harry's incredibly and irritatingly messy hair, down his bowed neck, and his hunched shoulders that pronounce the boy's shoulder blades through the freaking shirt, they remain on his waist and his lean legs that somehow get tangled with Draco's every night, his crooked, yet somehow soft and deftly skilled fingers as the seagulls ravage the food. It's mesmerizing.

It's as if he's watching a painting out of the portrait, just living around him, as if Draco is the painting himself. He hates it but cannot help feeling a thrill shoot up his chest at once.

Harry resumes feeding those beasts and Draco watches him the entire time because he has nothing better to do and watching Harry is an entire activity by itself.

"Wow, they were hungry for sure," Harry marvels, and one of the birds hops back on his shoulder. Draco steers clear from Harry's bird cult and walks over to the counter, pulling out a kettle to fill.

He knows how to make tea now, and also scrambled eggs, and he's halfway through learning how to roast chicken without poisoning them to death. Harry saw these 'survival lessons' strictly necessary after he had found Draco's disaster projects when he was sick.

Draco had never touched a single one of those things in his life. And now he's used to wielding them like a weapon.

He brews tea and Harry proudly grins. He sets the potatoes on fire but Harry still laughs and gently teaches him the right way. He's had eggs thrown at the ceiling and still feels no shame or remorse because Harry bloody Potter is the most easy-going teacher in the whole bloody world.

His godfather was right. It's miraculous how good Potter is at cooking when he was absolutely bonkers at potions.

As Draco sets the kettle to boil he realizes that he has more in common with these birds than he had realized. They're both being domesticized, and what's worse… Draco doesn't mind this.

He hates himself for this train of thoughts, even more than he loathes Harry for it, but he's actually happy like this. His parents had died horrifically, he had no dime or fortune to his name anymore and there was a price on his name and yet, for some bloody reason, the moment Harry looked at him, or called his name or flopped over him in his sleep Draco feels as if he'd never been happier.

It's nauseating, frankly.

"I think we should put a ration aside for them," Harry says, finally getting to his feet. The seagulls crowd the kitchen floor, screeching and rubbing themselves all over Potter.

"Merlin's balls, Harry," Draco groans. "If you infest this place with those beasts, I swear to God."

"It's fine," Harry waves him off. "I've noticed a pattern in the wards, they cannot get in here every day."

"Why waste anyway?" Draco rolls his eyes, slightly amused, "You promised me apple pie just yesterday, or were you fibbing?"

"That's only if you pull off poaching chicken, until then the gulls get your share. Besides it's too cold for them outside."

Draco snorts, and picks up the kettle from the stove with a rag. "Why not just throw us in a pit and let us fight it out then?" He says as Harry gently toes the birds out of the backdoor to the porch.

"They'll win in a second." Harry reaches for his mug, clenches his hand, and then holds it out for Draco. "I'm just realistic."

"Twat."

"Git."

The birds screech.

"Why are you moping?" Draco asks, pulling out and plopping down in the chair in front of Harry on the kitchen table.

"I'm not!" Harry exclaims too quickly, startling as his hand slips from under his chin.

"Yes you are, droopy eyes, chin propped up by hand, and you're not wearing your glasses. Why are you sulking?"

"If you must know," Harry scowls, his hands pat around on the table blindly for his glasses, "I really miss my friends." Draco sighs and plucks them up from the far side of the table. Harry is prone to losing the damn thing a lot. He opens the flimsy frame and leans over, placing them on Harry's face.

"Miss them?" he asks as Harry pushes them up his nose.

The concept is entirely alien to him. Why would he miss Weasley and Granger in the first place?

"Yes, I haven't seen them in so long, I miss them, and I'm sure they're going bonkers over the fact that I'm missing. With the attack and all…" Harry trails off.

Draco frowns, "I don't get it. They've been told you're safe." What else is there to be worried about? Umbridge is still there, but Severus had said that Dumbledore wouldn't let any other students get hurt. And anyway, Umbridge's beef had been with Harry and him, not his friends.

"Yeah but still," Harry's green eyes are stitched to his behind his glasses, "Don't you miss them? Any of your friends?"

"No," Draco says promptly, remembering the way Pansy had followed him around every day, reporting back to Bellatrix or the Dark Lord and who knows who else. "Mostly because most of them didn't matter enough to be missed."

It's pathetic to admit that he had no friends, to begin with, and perhaps, even more pathetic to consider his parents (and previously Severus) as friends in the first place.

"But you and Pansy… and Blaise hung out a lot, even Crabbe and Goyle-"

Draco curls his mouth.

"Mingling with other pure-blooded children was a duty, not out of pleasure. I've known them since childhood."

"But you're not friends," Harry says, his mouth downturned and his eyes sort of pitying. Draco doesn't care. He doesn't.

"They are friends with each other," he shrugs, perhaps with the exception of Blaise.

Draco could probably call him his friend, if only out of technicality, he was too intolerant of the others and too...well, blàse with Draco. And Harry could be counted, he supposed. But he's already with Harry, there's no reason to miss him yet.

"I… well as my godfather delicately put it once, I have a 'fixation' issue. I easily became obsessed with things and places instead of the people. Apparently, children my age found that extremely boring at the time."

"Are you serious?" Harry's nose wrinkles immediately after he says this, eyes flicking over to somewhere on Draco's right before his face clears.

"Hm," Draco says, tilting his head as his mind automatically starts listing off the subjects of his obsessions in his mind. "I was obsessed with our Manor's floors for the longest time, my mother's wand, then bees, for some reason… you were the first person that really interested me."

Harry's eyebrow flicks, "Well, you had a nice way of showing your interest."

"I think I mentioned my lack of social skills," Draco counters drily, "You insulting me in front of Crabbe and Goyle didn't help your case either."

Blood rushes to his cheeks, "You insulted Ron!" Draco is always reminded of storms in a teacup, whenever he sees Harry's eyes flash in annoyance. It's so easy for him to become aggravated.

"He laughed at my name!" He throws his hands up in exasperation, "Why are we even arguing about this?"

Harry folds his arms, a smug grin settling on his face, "So you were obsessed with me?"

"No," Draco says hotly, he most decidedly was not obsessed. Isn't obsessed. "Obsession does NOT apply here at all. I was merely interested, and you infuriated me. So it became a hobby."

"You got a kick out of bullying me?" Harry's eyebrows shoot up but the grin stays in place, "Nice to know."

Draco stifles the urge to bury his face in his hands, "This is why I regret telling people things."

"I'm sorry for teasing," Harry says, finally unfolding his hands, but then he leans forward, grin widening, "but it is kind of hilarious."

Draco stares at Harry. The boy sitting in front of him is so different from the one who'd been his archnemesis in school for over four years. The one he used to bully and the one who used to give back as good as he got. Most people wouldn't dare stand up to him, a Malfoy.

He sees him and compares that sordid image with the Harry in front of him now, the one who wouldn't care whether Draco was a slug or a random shell just lying about, the one with witty humour and shaking hands. The one who almost died under Draco's watch.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you," he says quietly.

The smile fades from his face, "What do you mean?"

"All those names I called you, the times I antagonized you. I know it's long overdue" The pride he'd thought would make the words difficult is surprisingly absent.

"I'm sorry too," Harry sighs, "You were such a jerk though."

"I don't have any excuses for that-"

"But you also saved my life," Harry cuts him off firmly, "And got kidnapped for me, and then you saved me again… also I probably vomited all over you several times," he smiles sheepishly, the flush is back on his face.

Draco snorts, "That you did."

"Sorry about that."

"All forgiven, and hopefully forgotten soon. So...you miss Granger and Weasley. Don't hit me, but how could you miss them?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry frowns as if it should be obvious. "They're my best friends."

"But aren't they-" Draco purses his lips and then cringes, "What I was about to say sounds incredibly bad now."

It sounds downright awful. Harry would most assuredly smack him for it. Either with his hands or his mug.

"No, tell me. What were you gonna say?"

Draco can't get them out of his head. Those two pesky, little worms. Granger with her bushy hair everywhere and Weasley… just being his insufferable self. Them crowding Harry, with their annoying voices and annoying faces and their intolerable existence.

"Aren't they insufferable?" The words are just blurted out, "I mean, constantly sticking by your side, constantly talking and arguing and Granger comes with her own warning-"

"They're not insufferable," Harry cuts him off, not quite sharp but close. "They're brilliant, and caring, and to be honest, I'm kinda surprised they still want to be my friend after all these years. Why would you ever think that though? Friends help each other, like you and I."

Any thoughts about Granger and Weasley vanish in the wake of the new revelation, "We're... we're friends?" he says dumbly.

And then Harry starts looking uncertain too, "Aren't we friends?" he says, hesitant, "I thought that-"

"No!" Draco says quickly, "I mean, yes. Yes, we can be friends, no," Draco wants to smack himself, "Not can, we are. We are friends, Potter." He clears his throat at the end, as if it would make him any less of a bumbling fool.

"Yeah," Harry says, the smile back on his face. Knowing and sweet and just… Harry. "And I love having you around."

"You don't really have a choice in that regard," Draco says, a warm fuzzy feeling growing in his chest. It feels like a hug and drinking tea next to a fireplace and being wrapped in a blanket.

"Even if I did," Harry says with absolute conviction, "I would have chosen to hang out with you, Draco. You're a good friend."

"I think that as well," he's grinning like a moron, "You are a good friend."

He knows when she's watching him. It's a curious little thing, the weight of her gaze on the back of his neck, prickling small hairs and sending involuntary shivers down his spine.

He's not scared of her. Not really, not more than anyone else in this fucking place. Evan has forgotten fear. Fear meant nothing in the presence of pain. And of pain, there was an abundance of at the moment.

His fingers trace the book splayed before him, like the wings of a moth, it was unbelievably delicate under his touch. But he wouldn't hurt the book, no, he knew better, the price of fragile things.

"I didn't know our lord demoted you," he says, suddenly, in futile hopes of catching her off guard. Of course, she rarely is. He can't feel her flinching behind him. Always still, like a fucking statue.

Evan wants her to be that still when his hands are wrapped around her throat, pressing, choking the life out of her, watching the veins pop in her eyes.

All in due time.

"Who says so?" She answers, her voice is like silk, but dangerously low. Evan hears her stepping closer. She sounds heavy, as if wearing armour. Evan shouldn't be surprised, she always used to wear those beneath her robes.

"From butcher to watchdog?" He says, his hair flicks as he tilts his head, his eyes catch a tiny glimpse of Potter's torn rob wrapped around his wrist. It's such a cherished part of him now.

There's shifting behind him, and the woman finally steps in his sight, masked, but still imposing. She crosses her arms.

"And why do you suppose I'm no longer the butcher?"

"Butcher gets fresh meat to chop," Evan snaps the book shut, even though it's nowhere near her line of sight, it's always better to be vigilant in her presence. "I'm spoiled meat, Valentina. He's having you gorging on spoils."

She flicks one eyebrow, her back remains rigid and straight, her shoulders-as fucking always- are broad and confident. If such a thing could even be said about a pair of shoulders.

Evan holds her gaze, easily enough.

"You should be working," she replies instead of rising to the bait, she turns away from him to the wall-length windows-now lacking their once opulent Green drapes-but he knows she still has eyes on him.

She didn't get to be who she is for no reason.

"Come now, Val. Admitting to boredom is no fatal weakness."

"I am bored. Watching you ramble. You know who rambles, Evan?"

"Enlighten me."

"People with nothing to lose." Contempt and disgust drip from her voice, "And people with nothing to lose are the most dangerous kind."

It hurts to manoeuvre with his hands so much, but Evan still claps sarcastically to her response. It's just so ludicrous, he couldn't pass up on the opportunity. "Oh! This is good," he exclaims, "He didn't send you to watch, he sent you to hunt," he flashes his teeth at the woman, "Classic move."

It is true. Valentina wasn't the sort of bitch, the dark lord just kept hanging off his arm. She is as much a snake as Nagini is to him. Precise and vicious. Evan is more than sure that the whore has at least some poison on her person right now.

"You don't have to be scared if you don't run your mouth, Rosier," she says, he can't see the curl of her mouth under the metallic mask but he knows it's there.

Evan rolls his eyes, "Run my mouth to the mice running in the walls?" His face hardens, "He's being paranoid."

Val's eyes flash, "There's a clear difference between paranoia and common sense."

"Who am I gonna talk to?" Rosier sneers, "Dumbledore? Where have you hidden him? In the attic?"

"Get back to work," Val, as usual, doesn't rise to the bait. No one knows where Dumbledore is. "As long as you're not a threat, you're not in danger."

"Threat. Such a playful word." He decides to change tactics, poke where it might hurt, "How's Selene, Val?"

"She's fine," she replies steadily.

"I hope so." He turns his voice mocking, which is hard when your throat still feels like you've swallowed glass, "I hope she's not going around miscarrying one spawn after another. Don't you?"

"I won't take the bait," she turns away from him seemingly from the lack of interest, "You might as well stop."

"Of course you wouldn't," he turns away from her back, rolling his aching shoulders, "She might as well be a quill to you. I hope she stays well, she and your brat."

"You can't touch them," Val says, not sounding worried in the least. And Evan once again imagines her choking beneath his hands. It's his happy place right now. "Locked up in here, so stop ranting."

"Of course, Valentina," Evan sighs. All in due time, he thinks, all in due time, "Of course."