"Merlin, damn it!" Draco growled out as he stumbled and fell to one knee on the dim hallway's worn carpet. Pale hair fell across his face, the strands too long and catching in tangles on his sweat damp brow. His too thin frame shook as he pulled himself up, his grip on a spindly side table making it tilt precariously. Hermione flicked her wand, sticking the legs to the floor but staying out of Draco's way. She had learned in the fortnight since he had woken that trying to help him up would get her nothing but the sharp side of his tongue.
The feeling in his lower leg had improved somewhat over the first week, but the healing had eventually stalled, leaving him with little to no pressure input on his right side. It had turned his graceful glide into a jerking limp, and while he was getting better at moving with it, he still stumbled often. Frustration had carved hollows in his cheeks, and the corners of his eyes tightened with resentment more and more often, but he kept the worst of it to himself.
Hermione had barely left his side, trying to help without smothering, all while running herself ragged trying to find some kind of reference to his injury, something she could give him. She had never done well with something she couldn't fix, and every time she had to watch him swallow his pride and reach for her, it felt like a blow. She knew what it was doing to him, knew that he would adapt, but every day would be a fight that would wear away at him.
Draco paused for a moment before she caught the sound of his teeth grinding and a sigh that spoke of weariness better than the stoop of his shoulders or the bruises under his eyes ever could.
When he started down the hall, moving once again toward the kitchen, he let the tips of his fingers trail over the wallpaper, the uneven surface of the wall underneath lifting his touch like braille. Hermione wondered, rather giddy from lack of sleep and stress, what it was that the house was trying to tell him. If he could read the broken bits of the halls as well as he was learning to read her.
The scent of baking bread lingered in the hall and mingled with the smell of rain and wet earth, flowing around them as they pushed through the swinging door of the kitchen, bringing her out of her disjointed thoughts.
Molly was humming something soft and offkey to herself as she moved around the kitchen, a stained apron tied loosely around her waist. The large french doors to the garden were propped open, letting in the clean air and splashes of rain that dripped from the slate grey sky. Something low in Hermione's stomach relaxed, the peace in the warm kitchen letting her breathe a bit easier.
Draco lowered himself carefully into a chair just beside the always burning fire and stretched out his good leg, wincing and digging his knuckles into his thigh. His poor balance had forced him to put more weight on his left leg to compensate, and his muscles were still becoming accustomed to it. The haggard lines of his face fell into something less tense as a light breeze stirred his hair.
Hermione busied herself, making them both tea, sending a small smile Molly's way when the older woman brushed a gentle hand over her cheek, concern in her warm eyes.
They both turned when they heard footsteps and the murmur of low voices coming up the stairs from the basement. The heavy door swung open a moment later, revealing Severus, who was twisted sideways to keep Harry in view while they argued about whatever had caught their fancy that afternoon.
Hermione couldn't stop her slight smile at the light in Harry's eyes or how Severus gestured, wide and open in a way he only was with Harry. Severus was in a pair of dark trousers that looked to have seen better days, and the bottom of his t-shirt had a brownish smear that looked suspiciously like a hastily put out flame. Harry was sporting a bandage wrapped around his arm and a delighted smile from whatever mayhem the two of them had been causing in the basement lab.
They both paused when they realised the kitchen was occupied and greeted everyone. Severus fished out two extra mugs and lined them up next to hers and Draco's, a silent request for tea. She smiled and waved him off, sending him back to sit pressed up against Harry and fuss over his injury.
The slow drip of rain and the shifting logs in the fire, the murmur of Harry's voice in the background, and the scent of tea all combined to remind Hermione of weekends in the Gryffindor tower so fiercely that just for an instant, the memory fell like a heavy curtain over the kitchen.
They should be there, sitting with their friends, working on homework, and listening to Ron complain while he took up the whole couch. Harry should be having small anxiety attacks about how Gryffindor was going to beat Slytherin in the next quidditch match, not talking frankly with Severus about time delayed truth serums. Dumbledore should have greeted them all with his usual slightly worrying nonsense, and none of them should be here, fighting for their lives, for everyone's lives. Hermione felt the sharp sting of tears behind her eyes and coughed to loosen her suddenly tight throat.
A warm hand landed on her lower back, jarring her out of her upset. The familiar weight of Draco's arm slipped around her, and she let out a short, shaky breath.
"You alright?" he asked softly, waving his hand to levitate the freshly filled line of mugs. They bobbed their way across the room to float irritatingly in front of their owners; Harry's nearly sloshing onto him. Without pausing his conversation or bothering to look, Harry made a rude gesture at Draco and snagged his tea before he ended up wearing it.
Hermione let out a tiny snort of amusement, no doubt one of Draco's goals. Not that he would ever pass up a chance to bother Harry.
"Yes, I'm alright. Just thinking about how different everything is now."
He hummed softly in agreement and tightened his grip on her for a moment before he let go and moved to settle back in his chair, his tea floating politely next to it.
The conversations slowly petered out, leaving just the hush of rain and the gentle sounds of Molly bustling about. Hermione could feel her eyelids drooping as she slumped a bit further down onto her bench seat. She'd spent so much time awake and hunting for some way to help or simply unable to sleep from dreams of waking to find him cold and still beside her that she had begun nodding off anytime she slowed long enough.
A sharp crack of apparition startled her upright, a small gust of chilled wind coming in the open doors seconds before Tonks skidded in out of the rain, the heavy leather jacket she wore when she wasn't in her Auror robes swirling damply around her.
"Wotcher," Tonks greeted, dropping an empty backpack onto a small table by the door and heading eagerly for the steaming teapot.
"How is she?" Draco asked immediately, just as he had the last two weeks when whoever was assigned to visit the cottage returned.
"She's fine. She sent along a letter, give me a mo," Tonks said, going back to shuffle through the bag she had dropped. She came out with a battered notebook and a neatly sealed scroll, balancing them in one hand as she tried not to spill her tea. The Auror handed the notebook to Hermione and dropped the scroll in Draco's lap before returning to lean against the counter, missing Molly's look of censure at the small puddle she was dripping onto the floor.
Hermione opened the notebook that she and her parents sent back and forth. No magic was involved. They simply filled in the next blank page in response to each other. Her dad's untidy scrawl preceded her mum's small, neat script. They had settled in reasonably well all in all, but she knew they missed their lives, even though they were keeping any complaints to themselves. Her dad especially seemed determined to treat this all as a long, strange holiday and had started trying to tend to the garden and catch up on reading.
Unfortunately for her dad, the plants in the wizarding garden were a bit more exciting than he was used to, and she'd sent him more than a few books Neville had recommended over the years.
A tiny huff of laughter came from Draco as he read through the letter his mother had sent.
He glanced up at her and smiled. "Your dad seems to be losing his fight against relocating the leaping toadstools, and Mother says she had to fish him out of the pond. Apparently, a grindylow has taken up residence and took offense to his trying to clean it."
A shocked laugh escaped her at the mental image of Narcissa Malfoy, pulling her jumper clad father out of the grasp of an unhappy grindylow.
"Tell her I said thank you, would you? Merlin knows what else he'll get himself into. Maybe I should send her something as a pre-emptive thank you for rescuing him from my garden."
Quiet settled in again as they both read through the letters their parents had sent. To the shock of absolutely everyone, no one at the cottage had attempted homicide, and a small truce appeared to have sprung up among the inhabitants. At the very least, no medical intervention had been needed, and if there was fighting, they were keeping it to themselves. Familiarity breeds tolerance, if nothing else.
Draco sighed and sat back, trying to appear relaxed, but the small jiggle of his good leg gave him away. His long fingers idly tapped the scroll on the arm of his chair, and his pale brows were drawn down in thought. He glanced at her, the apprehension lurking in the silver of his eyes, sending a thrill of alarm through her.
"I need to go back," he stated into the relaxed quiet of the room.
There was a beat of silence before Severus and Harry both voiced their objections, talking over each other.
"Alright, enough," Draco snapped, glaring around at everyone. Hermione was frozen. She could feel his words echoing around in her head, bashing the inside of her skull with sharp corners.
"We all know we need someone on the inside, now more than ever. We have no idea what he's doing," Draco said, leaning forward and locking his gaze with his godfather.
"And we have no idea if Death Eaters saw you and reported you dead. We have no way to explain your recovery. How do you intend to go back? Simply waltz your way into the Manor and hope for the best?" Severus hissed, his potion stained hands white-knuckled where they curled around the bench.
"You're an idiot if you think any of us would agree to you going back, Malfoy. You barely got out, and you're still healing." Harry ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, his green eyes narrowed and unhappy. Severus leaned into him absently, a nearly identical expression on his face.
"Merlin, you two are creepy," Draco muttered under his breath. "It's a damn good thing that I don't need your permission then, isn't it?" Draco said at a normal volume, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.
Molly shuffled forward; a dish towel twisted absently in her hands as she started to protest. "Draco, sweetie, you.."
"No."
The single, sharp word hung in the air where it had cut Molly off. Hermione could barely breathe past the fear clawing her chest, constricting her lungs and making her heartbeat echo in her ears.
"No," she choked out again before she was up and moving, her body fleeing without her permission. She needed to get out, to get away from the words, away from the argument that she knew he would win. Away from the chance that he wouldn't come back again.
"Well, that went well," Severus said as Harry scrambled after Hermione, the thud of the kitchen door still reverberating in the air.
"Oh stuff it, you know I'm right," Draco snarled, his face tight with worry as he stared at the door Hermione had fled through.
Severus leveled Draco with the look he had typically reserved for Longbottom when he was particularly dense. Draco's lip curled in distaste, and he pointedly turned to stare into the fire.
"You have no way of knowing what will happen if you return. It could be nothing more than suspicion, or you could be killed as soon as you apparate in." Severus scrubbed his hands over his face, only to remember too late that he had been handling essence of murtlap. His hands might be clean, but the smell lingered and was revolting.
Severus coughed, yanking his hands from his face, and tried to ignore the malicious amusement coming from Draco.
Draco sighed as the laughter drained from his face. "I know, but we need someone on the inside; you know that as well as I do. That's why we did what was needed to place me there, and I'm not willing to lose that advantage until we know for sure it's no longer viable."
Severus let himself fall back to rest against the table, his eyes fixed on the fire. Molly had returned to the other side of the kitchen, rightfully guessing that nothing she could say would have as much of an impact as the quiet refusal from Hermione.
"You need to heal further, and I'm not willing to even consider this without you proving to me that you can still defend yourself." Severus glanced up in time to see his godson force the anger from his eyes and concede with a slow nod.
"We need a way to find out what they know, what they suspect about you."
Severus turned at the soft sound of someone clearing their throat. Tonks was sitting quietly on the far end of the table, having chosen to be a silent bystander.
"Since we don't have anyone on the inside, we might as well just catch one for the information we need, right?" She asked with a raised brow.
Severus grunted in acknowledgment, brows furling. The idea had merit, but getting the information from someone trained to resist wouldn't be simple. While Severus would have preferred to have left his previous life well behind him, he knew that there would be times he would need to revisit some of his old skills. Severus suspected that Harry would try to interfere in some misguided attempt at reasoning with whoever they caught if only to keep Severus from having to employ that particular expertise. Perhaps there was an easier way, but he'd need to consider it.
"We can discuss it further, but I'm not willing to make any plans without the rest of the Order. There are too many risks involved for everyone." Severus narrowed his eyes at Draco. "That does not mean I'm agreeing to anything other than gathering more information."
Draco huffed and waved him off, pulling himself to his feet with a grimace. Severus reached out to catch his arm as he limped past, no doubt on his way to find Granger.
"Give Harry a bit longer," he said quietly.
Draco gave him an unhappy look in return but nodded. The door shut with a soft thud, and the three left in the room sat in silence as Draco's uneven gait faded down the hall.
"Do you have anyone in mind?" Severus turned to Tonks as soon as he was sure his godson was out of hearing range.
Tonks hesitated, teeth set into her thumbnail as she considered her response. Her dark eyes were focused on the table, and a loose piece of vibrant pink hair fell over the scrunched lines on her forehead.
Finally, she nodded. "Yaxley," she said decisively. "He's in the inner circle, and he's too attached to the bureaucracy to leave the Ministry, so his schedule is predictable."
Severus grimaced but dipped his chin in acknowledgment. He hated Yaxley. The man was a coward, and a cruel one at that.
"You know his schedule?" It came out less of a question than he was aiming for, but Tonks nodded anyway.
"We'll talk with the rest of the Order and choose from there. Everyone should be by at some point over the next week." Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew Draco was right, but he hated the idea of letting him return when they had such a convenient out for him.
He mumbled a quiet goodnight to Molly and Tonks before he retreated to his rooms, still deep in thought. It was early to retire for the day, but he had enough to think about, and he wasn't feeling up for company tonight.
The room was dark, and the bed was empty when he arrived, unsurprising at the early hour. He sighed, resigned to researching alone. He had piles of books throughout the room that he and Harry had slowly brought in from the library or Spinners End and even a few that Minerva had smuggled out of Hogwarts. He settled himself in one of the well-worn armchairs and set to researching mentions of Ravenclaws Diadem.
Night fell quickly, and he stopped only long enough to eat a bag of crisps and two apples that appeared via decrepit house elf, along with fresh tea. Kreacher stood over him until Severus sighed and opened the bag of crisps, knowing that Harry would have asked the elf to stay and make sure Severus didn't just put the food to the side.
Finally, his eyes begin to blur, and he put aside his notes. He stretched and decided against a last cup of tea before bed.
He finished his ablutions quickly and climbed under their heavy covers, shivering a bit at the chill. It had been unseasonably warm in the last few days, but a cold front had moved in just as the sun was setting, dropping the temperature with rain and crisp wind. Kreacher hadn't bothered to put warming spells on their rooms, and Harry had left the window cracked open.
Severus waved his hand, shutting the window with a sharp snap before he burrowed down into what Harry fondly referred to as his fortress of pillows. He couldn't help a tiny, petulant part of himself that considered sending his Patronus to get Harry. It had been a very long few weeks, and the more stress he was under, the more he found that he simply wanted the other man next to him.
Severus scowled at himself before he resolutely reached for the book sitting on his bedside table. He was not some lovesick teenager. He could entertain himself until Harry got done with what was undoubtedly an unhappy conversation with Hermione.
Severus had been reading for perhaps longer than he thought when the door was knocked open, admitting an exhausted wizard. Severus' eyes snapped open from where they had been drooping without his permission and focused on the clothes Harry was throwing haphazardly throughout the room on his way to the bed. Severus swallowed a bit heavily, heat curling in his stomach as Harry shucked his jeans and fell face-first onto the bed in nothing but his pants.
A muffled groan came from the other man, making Severus raise his eyebrow and try to drag his mind away from considering Harry's new bedtime dress code. Severus sucked in a sharp breath as blood filled his cheeks, and he looked away from the defined muscles of Harry's back.
"Why did he have to go and say something that bloody stupid without even thinking of talking with Hermione about it first?" Harry wailed into the bunched up quilts he had shoved his face into.
"Because my godson is an idiot," Severus responded mildly, feeling his blush fade as he focused on something other than Harry's state of dress.
Harry grunted in agreement before flipping over to contemplate the ceiling, his fingers laced over his chest.
"He's going back, isn't he?" Harry asked softly, his eyes sliding over to meet Severus'.
Severus just nodded. "If it's possible, most likely."
"Hermione won't be alright with it," Harry responded, his mouth tight and unhappy.
Severus nodded again, his unhappiness leaching into his expression. Harry sighed again but climbed under the covers before waving the low light away and slipping his arm around Severus' waist.
Severus slid his book back onto his nightstand blindly before he scooted down and curled around Harry, shuddering at the chill that lingered on his skin.
It took him longer than he would have liked to fall asleep, but eventually, he drifted off to the sounds of the house settling and the whisper of the rain.
It was dark when Severus woke, jerking upright and reaching for his wand before he was completely aware. HIs left arm jerked sharply, letting him know what had woken him, as Harry muttered something into the darkness of their room.
"Harry," Severus said as he shook their joined arms. He got a slightly louder mumble for his efforts and felt the last of his alarm sliding away into irritation. Severus stuffed his wand back under his pillow and shifted over to the edge of the bed where Harry had migrated.
"Potter, wake the hell up," Severus snapped, too tired to coddle anyone.
Harry flipped over to stare blearily at him through the dark, confusion clear even in the low light filtering through the window.
"What?" he said, a bit stupidly.
"You were dreaming and decided to act out some part of it. Since I have no desire to be a participant, kindly try to refrain from flailing about," Severus answered as he waved their joined wrists for emphasis, his words coming out with more bite than he'd intended.
"Right," Harry muttered, stuffing his head back under the covers and groping blindly for Severus. He managed to get an arm slung awkwardly over Severus' hips before he went still again, the sound of his even breathing muffled by the pile of quilts.
Severus was just starting to drift off when his left arm was yanked as Harry jolted upright.
"Severus, he's still trying to find it!" Harry said, far too loudly.
Severus blinked and stared at the ceiling for a moment and found himself idly wondering how angry Harry would be in the morning if Severus stunned him.
Very. He'd be very angry.
With that thought, Severus sat up and resigned himself to a midnight conversation. "What are you talking about?"
"He's after a wand. Or at least that's what it looked like," Harry answered, his explanation in no way helpful. He waved on a dim light that Severus squinted pathetically at and jiggled the bed as he flopped over to look at Severus with more enthusiasm than anyone should have at that hour.
"Potter."
He paused. "Harry, please, I have no idea what you're talking about," Severus mumbled, his eyes still adjusting.
The light abruptly dimmed and took on a softer golden tone as he felt Harry's fingers brush long strands of hair away from his face.
"Sorry, love," Harry said quietly. "I had another dream, but this one was strange, almost like a pensieve memory but more… separate?" His voice was confused, but he kept running his hand through Severus' hair, absently tugging the tangles out.
"You think it was from Riddle?" Severus asked, letting his eyes stay mostly shut. His irritation was fading at Harry's gentle hands and the odd clues he was collecting in his dreams.
Harry hummed in agreement. "Yeah, but it didn't have Riddle in it. It had an older man, I think?" Harry responded, confusion thick in his voice. "There was a younger man too, he had a wand in his hand, and he was climbing out of the window. I don't know how, but I knew he'd stolen it."
"Wandmakers and now wands," Severus said, feeling his brain come reluctantly online. "Did you see what the wand looked like? Or the thief?"
"The wand, no. The thief looked like he was only a few years older than me. Golden hair, handsome, and his clothes were weird. They looked more like the style of some of the old dress robes I saw during the dance in 4th year."
Severus wrinkled his forehead in thought, letting himself sink onto his pillows as he considered what that could mean. A dream that wasn't a dream and a memory that wasn't a memory.
"When you have these dreams, are you watching Riddle, or are you in his head, seeing through his eyes?" Severus asked, shifting subtly so that Harry could reach more of his head.
Harry smiled a bit and obligingly pressed his fingers into the tense muscles of Severus' neck, earning himself a soft rumble of pleasure. "I see through his eyes."
"Could you have seen what he was seeing in a pensieve?" the older man asked, thinking of the few times he had caught glimpses of secondhand memories during legilimency.
Harry dropped his hand away and sat straight up, eyes wide. "Yes, that's exactly what it felt like!" He leaned down and gave Severus an overly exuberant kiss, making him sputter and shove Harry over to his side of the bed.
"Why are you like this?" Severus asked plaintively.
"Why are all Slytherins so dramatic?" Harry shot back, still smiling happily.
Severus huffed, "If that's all, I think we can wait until morning for further discussion. Perhaps we can identify the thief."
Harry nodded and abruptly yawned, his face scrunching as his whole body slumped, like he'd just realised exactly how early it was.
Severus waved the lights off and sunk under the covers, letting himself melt into the mattress. Just as he was drifting off, Harry's soft voice jerked him awake.
"Hey, Severus?"
"Harry, I swear to Merlin I will stun you."
A long silence greeted him before Harry answered, his voice laced with mirth.
"I love you."
"Bloody hell. I love you too. Go to sleep."
"I give up!" Harry shouted, lightly tossing the book he'd spent the entire morning sifting through onto the table after finding the note near the end that read 'enhanced by the author's imagination' confirming that it did not, in fact, contain any real clues to the diadem.
Everyone in the sitting room glanced up from their piles of books and scrolls with mild interest. Harry wasn't the first person that day to make a declaration and leave in a huff. Severus had retreated to his lab hours before, muttering something about Ravenclaws making everyone's life harder by trying to be clever as he stormed out.
When it didn't look like there would be any property destruction to accompany his outburst, everyone turned back to their projects. Harry huffed a bit before striding out of the library and wandering off toward the kitchen, his worn trainers squeaking on the hardwood, trying to clear the last few hours of information from his mind.
When he arrived, he noted that no one had any tea going, so he set about putting it together if only to give his hands something to do. And really, the basement was right there. It only made sense to make an extra cup and pile a few pieces of fruit and some biscuits on a plate to take down to Severus. He wasn't avoiding the horrifying pile of books, simply checking in on their resident potions master.
With his excuse firmly in mind, Harry hurried down the recently scoured stairs, tea and plate bobbing along agreeably behind him. The chill of the basement pimpled gooseflesh up along where his arms were left bare by his worn t-shirt, the soft clatter of Severus working echoing along the stone of the staircase.
Harry turned into the doorway of the lab, only to jerk to a halt, his eyes locked and staring. A teacup bumped into his shoulder and dropped a bit of hot liquid down his back, but he barely noticed, his attention caught by his distracted partner.
"Love, why is your hair green?" he asked tentatively.
Severus whipped around, lovely forest green locks twirling with him and fluffing around his shoulders. Half his face was covered by what Harry could only assume were muggle safety goggles, and there was a hole in his shirt, letting Harry see the pale skin of his stomach and a soft scattering of ink dark hair.
They stared at each other, Severus wide-eyed, a slightly manic glint about him, and Harry trying to engrain the image so deeply in his mind that no amount of memory spells could make him forget.
"My hair is green?" Severus asked, pulling a lock forward to look at it with interest. "What could have caused that?" he muttered, turning back to make a note in his lab journal, oddly coloured hair disregarded.
"Severus, tea," Harry finally managed, breaking loose from the frozen stupor. He didn't know if he would ever get used to seeing this side of him. Severus had always been so put together in classes, seeming to never make mistakes, allowing not even a wrinkle in his robes. It had taken months before Harry got to see the side of him that truly loved potions, the side that was driven to discover. And nothing, muggle or magic, could be created without a bit of mess and madness.
It took Harry two more summons before Severus sighed, washed his hands, and wandered over to the small side table Harry had insisted on installing. He dropped down with a huff before gently squeezing Harry's hand in silent gratitude.
"So, what are you working on?" Harry asked, trying to keep his smile to a minimum at the goggle marks on Severus' face, the eyewear now balanced atop his head.
"A resonating potion," Severus answered, staring at the half-eaten biscuit in his hand like it might hold the answers to something if he just glared at it hard enough. The action had never worked on any of his students, but perhaps biscuits were more susceptible.
Harry leaned back and took a sip of his tea, waiting patiently for a more detailed answer. Severus would come back to him in a moment if he was quiet enough.
"I think I may be able to find at least the general area of the Horcruxes if I can get this to work right."
Harry sat forward at that, his eyebrows rising in clear question. "A resonating potion?" he asked, prompting Severus to explain.
"That's right, it's a seventh year potion. You wouldn't have seen it. Here, come look," Severus finished off the last piece of fruit and rewashed his hands before he hurried over to his lab bench, littered with ingredients and six different steaming cauldrons. Harry had spent enough time in Severus' lab to recognize his method of potion creation. Each cauldron would have one different variable, allowing him to test what changes occurred if any.
"This is your standard resonating potion. Only somewhat difficult to brew, as it's very temperature sensitive, and can do unexpected things if it heats or cools too quickly." Severus was pointing to a small pewter cauldron filled with a rust-red liquid. Harry couldn't stop his eyes from flicking up to glance at Severus' hair. Unexpected indeed.
Severus caught the look and snorted at him, waving his hands dismissively.
"A resonating potion does exactly that. It resonates with whatever is most closely related to what you drop into it. For example." Severus picked up a small leaf from a pile of similar leaves and put it into a tiny dish before he dropped a few drops of the red potion over it.
It sizzled a bit and let off a smell oddly reminiscent of clean laundry before the pile of small leaves began glowing.
"Now, this is fairly useless on its own, but paired with a locating spell, it can be very useful for objects that are nearby." Severus had turned back to Harry, and his whole face lit up with excitement.
"So I was considering it..."
"Because you wanted to pile up all the books and light fire to them rather than keep reading," Harry broke in.
Severus narrowed his eyes at Harry. "I see you've elected to join me," he pointed out. "Either way, I was considering how it might be adapted for distance, and if it could be applied to a map rather than just the distance of eyesight."
Harry paused to consider both how helpful and how dangerous that could be. Could you find a person that was hiding? Just drop in a hair, and instead of polyjuice, you end up with a safe house compromised?
Severus seemed to read some of what Harry was thinking.
"Yes, I believe that I could adapt it to find someone, but I'm doubtful it could get through anything more than basic wards. Location confusing spells, like the fidelius charm, would confound it easily. If you weren't trying to hide someone or something, though, it should give at least the general area. Possibly. If I can get the formula right."
"Need any help?" Harry asked after a moment of consideration.
Severus shot him the exuberant grin that he only ever wore in his lab, the one that Harry loved nearly above all others, and tossed a spare pair of goggles to him.
Harry snapped them on and grinned back.
Draco woke with a sharp gasp, the feeling of icy cold fingers ghosting over his jaw before fading away in the grey morning light. He fixed his eyes on the rain running over the wavy glass of the windows as his heart slowed from its angry gallop. A soft sigh escaped him as the dark, cold room in his dream faded away, leaving him shaky and covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
A warm arm was draped over his ribs, and soft, curly hair tickled his neck and chest where Hermione slept. She hadn't even twitched when he jerked, and a familiar swell of guilt made him clench his jaw. Draco knew she had barely been sleeping, trying to find something to help him, and even when he did convince her to lie down, she would stay awake, staring at the ceiling with worry etched into her face.
He hated that he was doing this to her, hated that the war was draining her away, that she might never forgive him for going back. Draco desperately wanted to get better, if only to give her one less thing to worry about. He didn't want to go back. Back to the cold Manor, filled with Death Eaters and haunted by the silent specter that was Lucius Malfoy. Back to fear and pain and disgust, back to lying with his whole self. But if he didn't, it might cost them something that could turn the tide of the war.
If he didn't go back, it might cost him something he wasn't willing to lose.
Draco let his hand run over Hermione's bare shoulder and the thin strap of the tank top she had worn to bed and made himself relax. She needed more sleep, but he knew she would wake if he tried to slip out of bed, so he settled in and tucked the blanket more closely around her.
It had been nearly a week since he had suggested returning to the Manor, and nearly all of the Order had rotated through to check-in, and with very few exceptions, they had all agreed that it would be worth the risk of capturing Yaxley on the off chance that Draco could take his position back.
Severus had spent any spare time either of them had dragging him up to the attic to duel, trying to get him to adjust to his lack of balance, with little success.
Hermione had fluctuated between angry and resigned all week, though resignation seemed to be slowly taking over. Draco knew that she would eventually agree because she was first and foremost motivated by logic, and she wouldn't trade the lives of hundreds on the off chance it would keep him safe, no matter how much she wanted to.
With that in mind, Draco settled in to start planning.
The thick smell of rotting vegetation and damp wood permeated the old building, a low wind bringing the distinct smell of the Thames in past the warped wood of the window frames and doors. Draco shifted uncomfortably on his pile of thin blankets on the floor and leaned a little more heavily into the wall at his back.
He'd only been in the abandoned warehouse for a little over an hour, and he was already miserable. He shifted again, trying to find a more comfortable position and glaring briefly at the empty office overlooking the factory floor, where he knew that Tonks and Hermione were much better off with warming charms.
Just as he was about to give up and join them for a few minutes, the sharp crack of apparition came from the other side of the dented loading bay doors. Cursing filled the air as the door was slammed open, screaming on rusted rails, and Draco took a deep breath before slumping weakly over and clutching his filthy blankets. He wrinkled his nose at the sour, musty smell of his robes, torn and bloodied from his actual capture, and reluctantly returned to him.
Feet scuffled over the cold concrete as the group approached him, the yelling given over in favor of trying to escape.
"Stop your wiggling, or do you want me to stun you?" Jones said, making a small but very real shudder go through Draco at the sound of one of his previous captors.
A moment later, a body landed heavily next to him, and he looked up in time to see Sig yank the loose bag off of Yaxley's head, revealing a thin, angry face.
"The Dark Lord will hear of this. Do not think you will survive his attentions," the older Death Eater hissed.
"Since he hasn't shown up to rescue his little pet, I find myself less worried than I might be by that threat," Sig said, his voice more cultured but colder than Jones.
Yaxley looked confused for an instant before casting around and seeing Draco huddled a few feet from him. His dark eyes went wide, and terror flashed over his face.
"Malfoy! We thought you were dead!" he said, shock widening his eyes before he tamped his reaction down and went back to glaring at the Aurors. He shifted very subtly, putting himself between the Aurors and the younger wizard.
Jones sneered at them before waving his wand and raising the barriers that he had dropped when they dumped Yaxley next to him.
"We'll let you boys have a nice little chat. You can tell him how things work here, Malfoy." Jones waved for Sig to follow him as they retreated to the warmth of the office to act as back up in case Yaxley knew more than they hoped he did. A tiny flicker of relief curled in his chest, knowing that the group in the office would be listening and ready to come help him should it turn ugly.
Draco let himself shrink down into his thin blankets, making himself look weaker than he was. Yaxley sat, his back a rigid line as he stared up at the elevated office, muddy brown eyes narrowed. When it became obvious that the two Aurors weren't coming back, the older Death Eater spun on Malfoy, raking his eyes over the pitiful sight he made.
"What happened? You've been missing for months," Yaxley hissed. Suspicion glinted in the tight turn of his mouth and the way he leaned away from Draco. However, the awful smell of dried blood couldn't be helping.
"I want to pick up potions ingredients, and those two jumped me," Draco responded, letting his voice go raspy and harsh. "Has it truly been months?"
Yaxley nodded, his posture losing none of its stiffness. "The Dark Lord presumed you dead, after what we found in the Manor."
A tiny thrill of terror shot through Draco. This was what they had feared that the Death Eaters had seen his body in the room of dementors, and he would have no good way to explain who had saved him.
Draco turned his gaze to the threadbare hem of his robes, his thin fingers picking listlessly at the fraying edge. "They kept Jugson and me in the basement. Someone broke in, and they tossed Jugson in a room with dementors, but I managed to get loose long enough to get down the hall before they stunned me."
Draco glanced up, watching the suspicion drain out of the older man. He barely held in his huff of relief. They must have seen Jugson but not bothered to clear the room and go deeper to find him.
"I woke up here. They've spent however long I've been here trying to get information from me, but the last few weeks, they seem to just enjoy tormenting me." He let a tiny sliver of defeat sneak into his voice, slumping back against the concrete pillar behind him.
"The Dark Lord sent some of us to the Manor. They found Jugson and traces of your magical signature in the basement. It was assumed that they had killed you as well." Yaxley moved slightly closer, turning his attention outward again, seemingly reassured by the collaborating stories.
"We need to get out of here. I'll be missed soon, if not already. It was stupid of them to grab me."
"They're not very bright, so I'm hardly surprised," Draco said, suppressing the smile that wanted to bloom at the knowledge that everyone in the office was listening in. He still hadn't forgiven them for trying to kill him in the worst possible way. Hermione hadn't either, and when Harry had suggested using them in their set up, Draco thought she might murder them before they got the chance. Jones had skirted around her like a spooked horse, and Draco had privately laughed himself sick when he finally convinced Severus to tell him what she had done. Merlin, he loved her.
"They'll be in for a shock shortly," Yaxley whispered, his eyes sly. "They didn't notice that I dropped a button with a locator spell outside the warehouse."
Draco stiffened before forcing himself to relax and plastered a hopeful look on his face, internally screaming for Hermione to get out, his heart thundering against his ribs and making him suck in air sharply through his teeth.
"How soon can we expect them?" he asked, hoping that Yaxley would mistake the shake in his voice for excitement.
"As soon as they realise I'm missing. A few hours at most, Dolohov has the link to my locator and will know to come for me as soon as he sees I've activated it." Yaxley gave him a proud smile, and Draco wanted to curse him.
"That's quite good, then," Draco responded instead, his gut clenching at the mention of Dolohov, the feel of the scar that roped around Hermione's side ghosting under his fingertips.
The sick feeling pulled at his ribs and made his jaw ache where he had his teeth clenched. He wasn't going to have the chance to say goodbye to her.
He had his wrist cuff, which luckily held a replacement for the notebook that had burned, but she had his wand. It was likely for the best, though. If it was in his cuff, he would have been too tempted to use it, and there was no way to explain why he had it on him.
Draco shifted, hoping to somehow find a way to subtly suggest that they come and stun Yaxley so that a hasty plan could be outlined, only to be interrupted by the distinctive crack of apparation outside. No time, no time left.
Draco dragged in a sharp breath as Jones and Sig came thundering down the stairs, their crashing covering any sounds of Hermione and Tonks leaving. He could only hope they had left and not done something stupid.
Draco threw himself flat as spells burst around him, the loading dock door blasted inward and jagged metal framing a small group of Death Eaters. Jones and Sig gave ground quickly, turning to flee when it became clear they were overwhelmed.
Dolohov motioned for two of the younger Death Eaters to give chase as he ambled over to the prisoners, his neatly groomed eyebrows raised. He waved his wand in a lazy arc, dropping the barrier that held them in the small space.
"I see I'm getting a two for one special," he sneered. "The Dark Lord will be most pleased that we've found you, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco gave him a sharp smile in return. "While I will be grateful to rejoin my Lord, I admit I'm also very anxious for a proper bath."
A small but genuine smile tugged the edge of Dolohov's mouth, his posture relaxing when Yaxley nodded at his questioning look.
"Well then, let's get you both back," Dolohov said, reaching out to grab hold of him. A second later, the warehouse started to slip away with the sharp crack of displacement, and Draco risked a quick glance behind him.
There was only an empty room.
"Everyone quiet down!" Ron shouted from his position balanced precariously on a large armchair near the door of the room of requirement.
Voices trailed off as the slowly growing group found cushions and chairs to settle into. Ron glanced around, seeing most of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff upper years, as well as a fair showing of Ravenclaws and the odd Slytherin, dotted around. His eyes locked for an instant on Blaise, who gave him a small nod. It had been several weeks since their run-in with the Carrows, and Blaise had quietly shown up to every DA meeting since, bringing a few of his housemates with him. As it turned out, if you weren't a pureblood, you weren't guaranteed safety even in Slytherin.
Neville and Ginny wandered up to join him at the front of the room, his sister giving him a tired smile.
"Alright, before we start, does anyone have anything they want to bring up?" Ron asked, getting only headshakes in return as the room went silent.
"Ok, so the biggest problem right now is we've heard that the Carrows are having the upper years use unforgivables as punishment on some of the other students." Ron started, watching faces pale, and students shift closer to each other.
Ginny squeezed Neville's arm when he made a tiny, punched out sound, his face turning a sallow grey.
Ron stumbled over his words, still a bit uncertain about how to explain it, and did his best to channel Hermione. " Unforgivables don't work unless you really really want them to, right?" he asked, getting tentative nods from around the room. He remembered Malfoy trying to compare the feeling of getting hit with an unforgivable from Voldemort and how it was so much worse than getting it from Harry because Harry didn't truly want to hurt him. That probably wasn't the best thing to bring up.
"So most of the time, it shouldn't be a problem, but just in case we want a stock of nerve restorative potions." Ron nodded to Neville, "Neville can get us the ingredients we need, but we need someone to brew it. Anyone here good enough at potions to manage?"
Silence greeted him as everyone shuffled to look at the rest of the room. Just as Ron was getting ready to try and convince Ginny to take a chance at it, a small hand went up near the back of the room.
Ron motioned eagerly, and a quiet fifth year with short brown hair, and a somewhat ample frame rose shakily to her feet. The green and silver colours of Slytherin decorated her robes, and her eyes were fixed on the floor in front of her. If he remembered right, she was one of the first to come along with Blaise.
"I know how to make it," she said very softly, her voice barely making it to him.
"Great!" Ron said, a bit too much enthusiasm in his voice as the girl flinched and dropped back to her cushion. Ron gratefully motioned to Neville to take over and dropped into the chair he had been using as a stage.
Neville went through plans for dueling practice for the week and the group system they had worked out early on. No one traveled outside of their dorms without company, not even to the bathrooms. The house elves and the ghosts did what they could to help, but the Carrows only seemed to be deterred by large groups of students, not yet confident enough when outnumbered.
Ron let the soft drone of voices wash over him as he sank into the chair and found himself once again wandering how Harry and Hermione were getting on. McGonagall hadn't been able to sneak away, Nott had been keeping too close an eye on her, and all of their mail was being either monitored or just taken before they actually got it, so they could only hope the Order was doing better than everyone in the castle.
Ron blinked as the room started to shuffle around, and students either drifted out or paired up to spend some time going over defensive spells. Blaise made his way through the cushions and settled on a low stool next to Ron, sitting quietly.
"Alright then?" Ron asked, curious. Blaise had been joining them for weeks and even swore the oaths that the DA demanded to keep their secrets without a complaint, but he hadn't approached Ron, spending his time watching from the edges of the room.
"I heard a few of my housemates talking in the common room last night. They mentioned that they thought you were looking for something, maybe an old spell. I don't know if you are, but I thought you might want to know; people are watching and keeping track of what you research." Blaise kept his eyes fixed on a group across the room as he spoke, voice low.
Ron twitched but otherwise kept the unpleasant shock to himself. He'd have to start doing more of his research after hours, even if it was more dangerous.
"Are you looking for something then?" A gentle voice broke in from behind them, making Ron nearly fall out of his chair as his heart tried to climb his throat. Blaise choked a bit and turned wide eyes to Luna as she slipped around to join them, seemingly unaware of the mild chaos she caused.
"Uuhh," Ron said intelligently.
Luna narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you alright? You haven't been woolgathering, have you? That attracts wrackspurts, you know."
Ron just shook his head and tried to suppress hysterical laughter. Without thinking, he blurted out, "Do you think the wrackspurts could tell me where Ravenclaw's diadem is?"
His stomach twisted as soon as the words escaped, realising what he had just said, within the hearing of dozens of students. He scrambled to try and find an explanation that wasn't suspicious.
"I mean, I thought maybe it could help us. It would be great to have something that could give us an advantage, right?" Ron got out, his voice staying mostly level as his face burned from the thin look Blaise was giving him.
"Well, wrackspurts won't help at all," Luna said seriously. "Why don't you ask the Grey Lady?"
Ron frowned, his attention caught. "The Ravenclaw ghost? You think she would know?"
Luna blinked large eyes at him and smiled, "Oh, maybe," she said cheerfully before drifting off, her wand flicking out and sending the bright red slash of a stunner toward Neville, who barely dodged.
"What the bloody hell?" Blaise whispered softly, staring after the retreating woman.
Ron just shook his head and started planning how to find a reclusive ghost.
"Shit!" Severus yelled, his anger shaking the neglected cups of tea that littered the coffee table in the front room. Harry sat back against the worn sofa with a soft huff of breath and watched the other wizard pace.
Hermione wasn't much better, but worry seemed to have overtaken anger for now. Her and Tonks had arrived back without Draco and had to explain that they had to let the Death Eaters take Draco with them, that it was the best way for him to return.
They had hoped to orchestrate an escape after several days, letting them flee together, but Yaxley had apparently been more clever than they had given him credit for and moved their timeline up considerably.
"I had potions to give him things that could have helped. Please tell me he at least had the notebook on him?" Severus asked, spinning to face a grim Hermione.
She nodded, her eyes never leaving the carpet at her feet.
Severus grimaced a bit but relaxed slightly. He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed, finally dropping down next to Harry.
"It'll be alright, Mione," Harry said into the tense silence of the room. She made a small noise of disbelief but didn't argue. "As much as I hate to admit it, he's not an idiot, and I know he has a portkey if he needs it."
Hermione nodded again, her arms wrapped tight around her torso. "I think I'm going to…" She trailed off and motioned vaguely toward the ceiling before retreating, her feet whisper quiet.
"Fuck," Severus said softly before he took to his feet and left, turning the opposite way down the hall from Hermione. Harry sighed but didn't follow. He would do better on his own for a bit, and when Harry needed him, he knew he could find him in the lab.
"We didn't have much of a choice," Tonks said softly, her fingers twisted around a fraying napkin, her tea forgotten at her elbow.
Harry waved her off. "I know you did what you needed to. It was the best choice in a not great situation." He let his head fall back against the backrest, thunking softly on the thin cushion, more wood than fabric. "Just give them a bit, yeah?"
Tonks nodded and got up, retreating quietly upstairs and leaving Harry to his own devices.
The sudden silence made his hands twitch, the anxiety he had been trying to hide since Hermione had burst in, distraught, coming back full force.
With a sour look at the empty room, Harry left, making his way to the top of the house. The dueling room was dark and quiet, the shadows of the dummies against the walls making a tiny shudder of unease crawl over his shoulders.
He'd hated mannequins when he was little, their blank faces had unnerved him, and he could remember trying to hide behind his Aunt Petunia when they went shopping, only to have her push him away. He would never admit it, but when he first saw the dueling dummies, he had been horrified. Harry had more than a few nightmares of mannequins coming to life and attacking him, only to find that it was an actual, valid fear.
Sometimes the wizarding world was less glamorous magic and more fuel for new night terrors.
Harry shifted, bringing his wand out and rolling his shoulders to loosen them. He summoned the floating targets rather than any of the dummies and started his warm-up routines.
Severus had drilled a series of standard defensive and offensive spells into his brain, making him run through them until they were so ingrained he could cast them wordlessly, and a few wandlessly. He'd fallen into the habit of running through the drills the same way he used to run through his quidditch practice paces, letting his mind settle.
After half an hour, sweat was dripping down his chest as he moved faster and faster, trying to beat his previous times. Harry finally finished with a sharp crack of blue spell light that cut a neat, smoking hole in the center of the target. A wave of his wand set the training area to rights and triggered the extension spells he had put into the walls.
The outer edges of the room raced away from him, leaving a path a few meters wide that he made his way to. After a quick transfiguration into something more exercise-friendly than jeans, he took off at a slow jog, his track pants making a soft shush with each stride and mixing with his even breathing.
Severus had made an awful face at him when he had first created the track but had eventually conceded that the idea had merit when Harry pointed out exactly how often he ended up running for his life. Harry had simply continued the normal exercise routine he had for quidditch, just keeping his run indoors rather than around the Black Lake.
Harry let his mind drift as he ran, his thoughts settling again on the Horcruxes. The feeling of time slipping away from him made him put on a burst of speed as if he could run fast enough to catch up to Voldemort, to get ahead of him.
They had little to no leads on any of them. They weren't even certain that they were founders items, though it was a good bet that the cup was one. Harry hated that they might very well be chasing an empty lead with the diadem, but it was too likely to disregard. They needed to find it and either destroy it or confirm that it wasn't what they were looking for.
Harry forced his thoughts back to the cup, the most likely item, and once again, doggedly went through what he knew.
No one had seen it since Tom had taken it, along with the locket. It wasn't likely at Hogwarts since he was no longer a student by the time he took it. He only had so many places that Harry knew he was attached to, and of those places, Hogwarts was the only one where they had yet to find a Horcrux, as no one was counting the diary, given the Malfoy had sent it there.
Harry let out a huff of frustration as he slowed to start his cool down. The caves near the orphanage and the home he grew up in had both held a Horcrux, and it was not at all likely that Tom had put more than one in a single location.
They had been over it so many times that Harry felt like the path was worn into his brain. Everyone agreed that it was possible he had given the cup to a trusted follower like he had the diary, but that opened so many possibilities that no one wanted to consider it.
Harry stopped and summoned a towel from the side of the room, letting the room shrink down to its normal proportions as he wiped the sweat from himself and pushed the circular arguments out of his head. He would take a quick shower, then go find Severus. If he was lucky, the other man might have made progress with the resonating potion that did not involve oddly coloured hair or small fires.
Perhaps they would get a break soon.