A/N: Trying something slightly different this chapter. Shorter scenes, but you'll circle through each main character…At least the ones still left.

(lol pls, I couldn't help myself, I am so sorry)

This chapter is very character-heavy, just a fair warning. There are a few plot advances, but I'm mainly focused on the different reactions to Blaise's death.

P.S: I've gotten a few asks on my Tumblr to post songs I listen to while I write this chapter. I think I will post a few songs, but it's not really a playlist by any means. I know other people like to post timestamps and exact songs to play and how the song fits the vibe…but honestly I have trash music taste, that just sounds like a lot of work and I'm lazy lol. I tend to just fixate on like 3-4 songs and listen to them on repeat.

Anyways, without further ado, please enjoy! As always, let know what you think and know I really appreciate the support you all have given me along the way

Villeta del Mare [January 1]

Blaise Zabini was buried on a Tuesday.

Hadrian had to shield his eyes with one hand as the sun rose slowly above the cliffside, bathing every inch of the lush rolling hills and crystal blue sea in a soft golden glow. The sunlight was rather deceptive, however, as it was accompanied by frigid winter air that sank into his bones, numbing him to the very core.

The grass under his feet was slick with a thin layer of frost, and he rested his hand lightly against Daphne's back to steady her as they made their way up the side of the cliff. Though he had raised his brow at her choice of thin heels, he decided not to say anything after receiving quite possibly the haughtiest look in response. To her credit, she hadn't stumbled once despite the sloping terrain, but he wasn't taking any chances when they were over a hundred meters above the waves that crashed into the rocks below.

"How much further?" Neville asked, pulling the sides of his cloak tightly over his shoulders. His cheeks had flushed a deep shade of red, though Hadrian couldn't tell if it was from the biting cold or simply a result of their long hike.

Draco paused, squinting at the rocky path still ahead of them. "We're almost there," He decided after a few seconds. "I think I can make out the stairs that lead up to the very top."'

"Let's keep moving," Hadrian quietly ushered them to keep marching forward. He didn't receive much of a response, though it wasn't as though he were expecting one. It had been over a week since he had seen even one of his friends crack a smile, and their uncharacteristic silence during the journey up the cliffside only cemented the somber atmosphere.

By the time they had reached the pebbled steps that led to the top of the hill, he felt as though their collective misery had even turned the clouds a bleak shade of gray. There was a distinctive rumble of thunder in the distance, and his shoulders stiffened as their footsteps eventually came to a slow stop.

Despite the breathtaking landscape of rocky cliffs and endless sea below, Hadrian felt his throat tighten at the sight of the simple black coffin that had been placed in the middle of the viewpoint. It was accompanied by an unnaturally large, white marble tombstone that seemed rather out of place given the scarce foliage and uneven patches of grass surrounding it.

Soft fingers squeezed at his own, and Hadrian nearly flinched as he glanced up to see Daphne staring back at him curiously. It took him a second to realize he had frozen at the top of the steps, unable to tear his eyes off the gravesite set in front of him.

"Let's go," She tugged lightly at his hand, pulling him towards where the rest of his friends had started to gather around the empty grave.

Hadrian followed behind her, silently staring at the back of her thin frame the entire time. Though she wore the most uncomfortable-looking shoes he had seen in his lifetime, her footsteps were still steady. Her long, golden hair had been pulled up and set with a pearl headband that matched the string of pearls draped around her throat. Even the black dress she wore was perfectly tailored, with not a speck of lint or a wrinkle in sight.

He hated it.

In the week since Blaise had passed, Daphne had yet to utter a single word on the subject. Even when she had first heard about his death, she had barely flinched at the news. Hadrian had thought she had gone into a state of shock, until he found her later that night penning a letter to Lady Zabini.

"Someone must inform her, Hadrian," Daphne had told him with a vacant look in her eyes. "It's only the proper thing to do."

He had watched her wake up every morning since Blaise had died. It was always the same routine: she would press a kiss to his cheek, take a shower, dress for the day, and then sit down to brush her hair at the vanity table. He had tried to broach the topic a handful of times, but Daphne had waved off his concerns, claiming to be too busy with the funeral arrangements to have the time for a conversation.

"I can't talk about it right now, Hadrian," Daphne had told him one night as she flipped through a catalogue of flowers. "Someone has to make sure the right headstone is ordered and the houselves know when to transport the–"

"The body?" He arched a brow.

She didn't tear her eyes away from the catalogue in her lap. "Good help is hard to find, darling. I have to make sure the houselves have all the right instructions, at least."

"Daphne," He smoothed his hand over her cheek, "Surely someone else can handle it. You don't have to put yourself through this–"

"I need to ensure everything goes smoothly," She insisted, pulling away from his touch. "I need to pull everything together and I have to–" She trailed off abruptly, shaking her head. "Look, I don't have time for this conversation right now. If I don't do this, nobody will."

He knew her well enough to know her polished appearance was just another form of armor–one she never went without. It masked her true thoughts, her emotions, and her desires almost as well as the carefully neutral expression she wore on her face.

It sickened him to think she couldn't drop her guard for even one moment. She wouldn't give herself the space to properly grieve, especially when she was afraid it would all fall apart without her.

As Hadrian turned his gaze to his closest friends, he wondered how many of them he had already failed.

One had lost her mother, the very lifeline that had kept her tethered to this world for years.

One was being lowered into the ground in front of his very eyes, suffering a death that he knew had been ruthlessly drawn out and undoubtedly painful.

One couldn't even allow herself to mourn, as she knew someone had to be stronger than them all to ensure they survived this tragedy.

Hadrian blinked, feeling his eyes start to burn most likely from the salty mist that permeated the air. He vaguely heard Draco begin to speak, but he couldn't make out any of the words as he stared at the empty grave he stood before.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there frozen like a statue, but eventually he felt Daphne nudge his arm again and whisper something under her breath.

As they all began to lower the coffin into the ground, Hadrian made a silent promise to himself.

It would be his body they'd be burying next if he failed another person he loved.

Draco Malfoy poured a few fingers of his prized firewhiskey into a crystal tumbler and set it onto the bottom ledge of the tombstone that marked the final resting place of Blaise Zabini.

His eyes roved over the details that had been carved into the fine marble slab, suddenly feeling the heavy emptiness in his chest expand when his gaze landed on the unassuming line carved just below his friend's name: '1979 – 1997'.

He turned away abruptly, unable to stop the bitter feeling that spread over his tongue as he faced the rest of his friends. His throat felt abnormally dry as he raised his own glass in a toast. "Here's to Blaise Zabini," He managed to choke out, "Probably the biggest flirt I have ever met in this lifetime–but also the most entertaining, charming, and emotionally attune friend that I have ever had," He glanced over at the rest of his friends hesitantly, "No offense."

"None taken," Destiny shrugged. "It's one hundred percent true."

"I like books more than I like most people, so…" Hermione confessed at the same time.

"To Blaise," Draco felt his lips twitch into the smallest smile as he raised his glass in a toast.

"To Blaise," They echoed back.

Draco pressed the glass to his lips, taking a deep breath before tilting the glass back and taking a slow sip.

Which, he promptly spat out.

His fair brows furrowed in confusion as he stared at his glass, baffled by the almost rancid taste instead of the warm burn he had been expecting. "What the hell?" He muttered under his breath.

"Oh, shite," Neville shook his head. He let out a heavy sigh and poured the contents of his drink out onto the grass. "I forgot to tell you," He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "Blaise broke into your dorm room a few months back to swipe the bottle of firewhiskey you kept under your bed. We were having a party to celebrate the winning the match against Ravenclaw, and Blaise refused to drink the 'swill that idiot Montgomery supplied'–his words, not mine." The amused smile slowly faded from Neville's face. "He left a fake bottle in its place and said that he would have plenty of time to replace it before you even noticed."

"Why am I not surprised?" Draco pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "Do I even want to know what I just ingested?"

Neville grimaced. "Probably not. Blaise couldn't get the color just right, so I think he added some soil from the potted ficus in the common room."

"I really wish you hadn't told me that," Draco hissed in disgust. He turned to look at his other friends, "Well? Did anyone else happen to bring a priceless bottle of 1932 firewhiskey?"

Hadrian tucked his hands into his pockets. "I have a bottle of half-decent firewhiskey in the villa," He mentioned. "And there's also the wine Blaise's mother keeps in the cellar."

"Great," Neville groaned. "That means we have to hike all the way down again." His thick brows knit into a frown as he glanced over at Draco, "By the way, why did we come all the way up here to bury him? When Daphne mentioned he would be buried in Italy, I thought it would be at his ancestral home, or at the Zabini family crypt."

Draco snorted, "There is no Zabini family crypt. If there were, half the empty plots would've already been filled by Elenora Zabini's past husbands." He poured out the remaining 'firewhiskey' in his glass as he admitted, "I chose this location. This was his favorite holiday property–he really loved it by the sea." His gaze turned distant as he reminisced, "He used to come up here all the time as a child. It was his very own reprieve from the rest of the world."

"He came all the way up here as a kid?" Neville arched a brow. "Unsupervised?"

"Blaise was always unsupervised," Hadrian pursed his lips. "His mother always left him in the care of maids and houselves while she would saunter off to exotic vacations with her latest husband."

"Where is his mother?" Hermione glanced around as though she were expecting Elenora Zabini to pop out from the bushes at any moment.

"Lady Zabini requested to see him privately back in England," Daphne spoke quietly, though there was an underlying harshness to her words. "When Draco threw out the idea of burying Blaise here, she mentioned she couldn't make it due to this event she was attending with some Czech politician."

"She sobbed a great deal for someone who barely even knew her own son," Draco remarked coolly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Draco!" Hermione chided, shooting him a horrified look. "How can you say such a thing? She lost her only son. She was grieving."

"Sure, she was grieving for a grand total about twelve minutes," He rolled his eyes, "Witch Weekly probably says thirteen minutes of crying can cause puffiness, so she had to set a limit, of course."

"She doesn't seem like the best mother, but you can't fault her for not grieving enough, Draco." Hermione said sternly, "People handle death in drastically different ways."

"Elenora Zabini was the most selfish witch I have ever met," Draco insisted. "In fact, the only reason Blaise was conceived was because her second husband demanded a child." His jaw clenched into a hard line. "And the second he died, it was as though Blaise simply didn't exist to her."

"I don't understand how some people can be so despicable," Destiny shook her head sadly. "She was his mother. That requires more than just providing shelter and paying school fees."

"At least whatever she provided, it was designer," Hermione let out a humorless laugh. "When I visited this place with Blaise after second year, everything from his dancing shoes to his pajamas were custom made. One day we went horseback riding, and even his horse was purebred."

"Oh, Merlin, and he was so possessive of his belongings," Neville remembered with a groan. "I had to borrow a bowtie of his for the Yule Ball and he was so upset with me when I accidentally lost it somewhere in the rosebushes."

"He may have had more than everything a young wizard could want, but at least he took care of it all. Even if it was borderline obsessive." Destiny smiled.

Draco stilled at her words, suddenly recalling one of the many times Blaise had been shipped off to Malfoy Manor while his mother went gallivanting off with her latest husband. He had stepped on Blaise's broom by accident, squashing the bristles under his feet.

Though he had been apologetic and offered to give Blaise a newer, and quite frankly better model to make up for it, the Italian hadn't been interested in the slightest. He knew that the broom had been a gift from Blaise's mother, but she had given him plenty of gifts in the past.

It took him a long time to realize it, but whether it was something material or not, Blaise Zabini truly cherished every single thing he had been given in life.

Despite Elenora Zabini's flighty behavior, Blaise looked forward to every moment he could spend with his mother.

Although though he was offered a much better broom, Blaise treasured the one he already had.

In all the countless romances Blaise had, he never spoke harshly about his conquests. Not even when they left a bright red handprint on his cheek, or even that time when one of the witches he was 'seeing' broke a dinner plate over his head.

Whenever they were all together as a group, Blaise rarely ever complained about his own matters. He would always sit there with a content expression, simply happy to be included.

Even in fourth year when he started spending more and more time helping Hadrian and less time with Blaise, the Italian never commented on his sudden distance. He simply showed up whenever he was wanted with a mischievous smile and friendly demeanor.

"I've never met someone who was just happy to be there," Draco blurted out suddenly. The conversation halted around him, and he swallowed hard as he received several curious glances. "I'm just saying," He spoke slowly, trying to pull his racing thoughts together into a coherent sentence. "He–He didn't really talk about the future like we did."

"What do you mean?" Neville tilted his head to the side. "Do you think he knewhe wouldn't live very long?"

Draco was silent for a moment. "No," He eventually decided. "I think he just didn't care. All he wanted to do was enjoy what he already had. He was content just to exist."

A thoughtful expression crossed Hermione's face. "I wonder how he did it."

"I think it's a rather simple explanation," He whispered, almost inaudibly. "He didn't waste a single second of his life over what other people thought of him."

By the time they had trekked back down the same path through the grassy hills, the steady drizzle that had appeared around halfway through their hike suddenly turned into a heavy downpour.

Daphne could already feel the early stages of a headache start to form at the crown of her head and she pressed her fingertips to her temples, silently begging for the dull throbbing to disappear.

A drop of rain landed on the high point of her cheekbone, and she glanced up just in time to see Hadrian placing a hand above her head in an attempt to shield her from the rain. Although Daphne appreciated the chivalrous gesture, it didn't make much of a difference when the freezing rain had already managed to leave them completely drenched in a matter of seconds.

"Normally I would've conjured us an umbrella, but we're almost at the house," Hadrian's lips quirked up into a half-smile, as though he could read her thoughts.

Though knowing him, he probably could.

A few years ago, that realization alone would've caused her stomach to twist into knots. But now–now Daphne didn't even know how she was supposed to feel.

"You know–" Hermione shuffled forward a few paces to fall into step beside her. She craned her neck back slightly to gawk at the long flight of stone stairs that led up to the Zabini seaside villa. "I've never been so happy to see these many stairs."

As her friends all began to climb the set of steps–probably eager to change out of their wet clothes and into something warmer–Daphne paused for a moment. She dropped her gaze down to her feet, slowly tracing the trail of small indents her heels had made in the sand.

"Daphne?" Hermione stopped halfway up the stairs, glancing at her with a confused expression. "Aren't you coming?" Her deep brown eyes flicked up to the sky, "It doesn't seem like it's going to stop raining any time soon."

Hadrian stilled, looking over his shoulder with a slight frown. He stared at her for a few seconds before something akin to recognition flickered over his sharp features. "She'll join us after some time," He spoke evenly as he started up the steps once more, "Let's go, Granger."

Daphne watched them go, waiting to make sure the door had shut behind the very last coffee-colored curl before letting out a quiet sigh. She smoothed a hand over the front of her dress, though the stiff fabric didn't really allow for any wrinkles in the first place. The rain had made the thick material feel especially heavy over her shoulders and for the first time, she found herself regretting her choice in attire.

She glanced back up at the bright white villa again, unsure of why she still stood outside in the cold when her friends were all waiting for her inside. As she curled her hand over the cold railing beside the stairs, she pictured them rushing to their rooms to find warmer clothes and slippers, only to race each other to claim the best spot by the fireplace.

Perhaps in another life, they'd be sitting on those comfy leather couches and laughing about something utterly dull…like the House Cup. They'd be playing chess because it was simply a way to pass the time, and not as a distraction from their troubles. They'd be arguing about trivial things, like quidditch plays instead of war strategies that could decide life or death.

She spun around on her heel abruptly, nearly turning over an ankle on a loose stone as she marched past the steps that lead up to the villa. She pushed back the wet strands of hair that clung to her face while she continued down the gravel path that led to the private beach that stretched out behind the villa.

The combination of wet sand and slippery rocks made her stumble more than a few times, and finally Daphne felt her frustration reach new heights as she stared at the beach only a few feet away.

In the absence of freezing rain, Daphne was sure the view would've been beautiful.

The sky would've been a brilliant blue instead of a dismal grey color that completely washed out the entire landscape.

The water would've been crystal clear, warmed by sunrays and cooled by a light breeze. Far different from the murky waves that crashed into the shore ahead.

There would've been people laying out their towels, ready to sunbathe or read a new novel by the water. Not miles and miles of empty, barren sand populated by lone seagulls that flew around in tired circles.

Daphne took a step forward, only to feel her foot being pulled back as the wet sand stuck to the bottom of her shoes like a thick glue. She gritted her teeth in annoyance before kicking off her thin heels and taking a hesitant step forward.

The little stones that littered the beach dug into the bottom of her feet, but she left her heels behind as she started to make her way across the beach. The sand practically felt frozen against her bare skin, but it somehow it eased away the painful pinching sensation from her shoes.

Suddenly, there was a loud screech from behind her. It startled her enough that she tripped over her own feet, just barely managing to fall onto a sandy patch of the beach instead of one covered with pebbles. Despite her quick reflexes, a few small rocks still cut into her palm, and she winced, brushing off the excess sand on the side of her dress as she sat down to assess the damage.

She stared at her hands for a long moment and then shook her head. Her dress was a lost cause, as the combination of rain and sand had caused the mud to cling to the thick fabric, quickly ruining her painstaking efforts to maintain a put-together façade above all else.

There was another squawk from beside her, and Daphne narrowed her eyes at the seagull that had started to peck at the sand a few feet away from her.

"Shoo," She waved her hand in its direction. "Get away from me."

The seagull cocked its head at her, though it didn't appear to move.

Daphne glared at the bird. "This is all your fault," She hissed under her breath. "If you hadn't startled me, I wouldn't have tripped. Now my dress is ruined." She dug her toes into the sand and choked out, "It's all ruined."

She wrapped her arms over her knees, raising her head to stare out at the sea with watery eyes. There was a slight flutter of wings and Daphne blinked as the seagull came to perch on a small rock almost right beside her.

"I said go away," She gritted her teeth together. "Leave me alone!"

The bird simply blinked back at her, and then continued to peck at the rock as though it didn't hear her multiple efforts to drive him away.

"Bloody stubborn creature," Daphne grumbled under her breath. She fixed the seagull with an angry look. "You're annoying, did you know that?" A few seconds passed by, and she let out a heavy exhale, "And I think I'm officially going mad, arguing with a bird of all things."

She pulled the pearl-encrusted headband off her head, tossing it onto the sand as she felt her headache slowly start to ebb away. "It's not like you can understand me, after all." She leaned back against her hands, suddenly not minding the cold sand that pressed into her palms. "My mother told me it would be hard, you know," Daphne said to no one in particular. "She said being this close to the War would leave me with too many painful memories, scars that would never fade away even with time…" Her gaze turned distant as she whispered, "I thought everything would happen as planned. I thought Hadrian would win this war and we would all live happily ever after–like in the fairytales. That's how it was supposed to be."

Daphne closed her eyes. "But there will never be a happy ending for us." She swiped at her face, unknowingly smearing the light layer of makeup over her eyes. "How can there be if I live every day, fearing for who I'll lose next?" She let out a humorless laugh. "Merlin, how do people do this? How can they just move on?"

The seagull gave her another curt screech, and Daphne frowned. "You're just a bird. What do you even know about death?" She felt an irrational anger bubble to the surface, and she snapped, "All you do is fly around in circles, searching for food and people to annoy. That's all there is to your sad little life." A haughty look came over her face and her lip curled into a sneer, "My life is more complicated. My troubles go beyond scouring for food and shelter. I have other people to worry about. People I love, people I have to protect, people I can't risk losing."

She folded her arms over her chest and informed the bird, "They're very important to me. They've taken care of me–loved me–for years, and they're the reason I've been fighting so hard to keep it together. I would do anything for them." She bit her lip, "They made my life worth living."

Daphne let out a quiet hiss as the tide washed over the shore and freezing cold water lapped at her feet. The seagull managed to flap away from the rolling waves, and she furrowed her brows as it resumed digging at the sand a few feet away as though nothing had happened.

"Is that all you care about?" She blinked slowly. "Digging for worms?" She shook her head, "Merlin, you're just like Blaise. All he cared about was the newest piece of arse–like the newest worm in the…well, I don't really know where this metaphor is going." She let out a frustrated sigh. "He had it all figured out, though. All he cared about was other people. Making them laugh. Distracting them from their troubles. Keeping a smile on their face. As long as he did that, he seemed happy." Her lips curved up into a soft smile, "We were kind of the same, in that regard."

Daphne scrambled back as she saw the tide start to approach her feet again, but she wasn't fast enough. The water washed over her feet and Daphne swore she felt like her toes would certainly fall off at that point. She wasn't sure if it was the freezing air or the wet sand that clung to her skin, but the realization crashed into her almost as suddenly as the waves had crashed onto the shore.

She quickly whirled around, staring up at the pristine white beach house on the hill. She wasn't sure what she was doing out here alone, rolling around on the muddy sand. All her friends were inside.

And it suddenly it all became crystal clear to her.

Neville raised a curious eyebrow as Daphne rushed past him into the house, covered in mud and looking as though somebody had attempted to drown her mere seconds ago. In all the years he had known the pretty blonde witch, he wasn't sure he had ever seen her look so disheveled.

"Mind if I join you?"

He straightened up instinctively as he noticed Hadrian set a bottle of firewhiskey onto the small table on the porch. He gave a half-shrug in response, letting his gaze drift out over the beach as Hadrian settled into the wicker chair beside him.

"I think someone got past our wards," Neville mentioned in a bland tone as Hadrian poured them both a drink. "This witch ran past me into the house with dripping wet hair and covered in sand. I could've sworn she looked like Daphne, but we both know your fiancé would rather perish than let a speck of dirt get under her nails."

Hadrian pressed his glass to his lips, hiding a grin. "Don't tell Daphne, but I think I like that witch loads more than the witch that's been walking around like the Inferi the past week."

Neville snickered, though it quickly turned into a half-cough as the firewhiskey burned a path all the way down to his stomach.

"So," Hadrian stared at the sea with unreadable eyes, "I heard you were going to run."

Neville felt his grip tighten over his glass. "Of course, you did," He let out a bitter laugh. "Daphne tell you that?"

"No," His friend leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of his drink. "I had a feeling you would want to keep Destiny safe. Frankly, I was rather surprised you didn't take the opportunity to disappear now, while we were all focused on the funeral."

Neville clenched his jaw. "You think I would run after this?" Something dark twisted in his gaze as he hissed, "You think I would just let Potter walk away after what he did?"

Hadrian slowly drummed his fingers on the table, watching through his peripheral vision as the small candle sitting between them teetered precariously from the force of his tapping. "I think you love my sister," He commented after a beat of heavy silence. "And I think you would do anything to protect her. Even from me."

"I don't understand," Neville glanced at him warily. "Aren't you angry with me?"

"No," Hadrian's lips quirked up slightly. "Quite the opposite."

He blinked in confusion at his friend. "You wanted me to run?"

"Not particularly, no," Hadrian snorted. "I wanted you to take care of my sister. And when you decided to risk my wrath by threatening to run, it became clear you were willing to do anything to protect her."

Neville stared at his friend for a long moment before admitting, "I was never going to run." He dropped his gaze to his hands, "I was angry with you–am angry with you for what you did." He took another sip of his drink, ignoring the burn against his throat as he rasped, "But I wouldn't leave you to fight this alone. Especially not after this."

"I wouldn't blame you, Neville," Hadrian leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. "If you ran, that would be two less people I would have to constantly worry about protecting."

"As touching as that sentiment is," Neville folded his arms over his chest, "I've already told you–I'm not going to run."

"Why not?" His friend pursed his lips, looking truly puzzled by his determination to stay. "You don't have family left to protect in England. You and Destiny could disappear off the face of this Earth, and nobody would come looking for you. You'd be safe."

Neville ran his tongue over his teeth and set his glass back onto the table, abruptly changing the subject. "Did you know why I was sorted in Slytherin, instead of Gryffindor like my parents?"

Hadrian smirked, "Well, I always assumed we caught you at the right time on the train and managed to change the entire course of your life from that one chance meeting."

"Not quite," Neville rolled his eyes. "The sorting hat told me I was loyal. Almost to a fault."

"I could see that."

"Well, what I didn't tell anyone was that the hat didn't even consider Gryffindor for me," Neville admitted quietly. "And I agonized about it for days because I knew why."

"Is it because you can't pull off red and gold?" Hadrian inquired sarcastically.

"No," Neville shot him an annoyed glance. "It's because I've always been a coward."

Hadrian frowned at his words. "I don't think that's the reason."

"It is," Neville insisted, waving his hands vehemently as if to make his point. "Even back when I was a child, and friends with Potter and Weasley–they always called me a spineless little coward. And when I was sorted into Slytherin, I decided I didn't have to be brave if I could just be cunning instead."

"I'm not sure I follow." Hadrian pulled out the stopper of the bottle and asked, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, I thought that I could be logical and rational the entire time, and it would serve me more than just being a brave fool." Neville watched emotionlessly as Hadrian poured him another drink. "But that doesn't always work, does it? Sometimes we need to be a little bold. Sometimes we have to have that daring streak." He gritted his teeth together. "Sometimes life requires you to be brave. And that means no running away."

"Merlin, I don't think you need another one of these," Hadrian picked up the glass he had poured out for him and shook his head, "Are you mental? You're not some sniveling coward, Neville. Far from it."

"I was going to run at the first sight of trouble," Neville swallowed hard. "Who knows? If Blaise hadn't–if he–" He shut his eyes and whispered, "I could've been long gone by now."

"But you're still here," Hadrian pointed out. "Besides, you only wanted to keep Destiny safe. I don't think that's cowardly, Nev. Do you know how many people died under my father's rule because they were too afraid or too proud to run?" He chewed at his cheek, "They could've survived, if only they were brave enough to abandon their lives and seek refuge elsewhere." He sipped at his drink, "Even making the decision to run takes guts, Neville."

"While that may be true," Neville stared at the flickering candle between them with unblinking eyes. "I'm not going anywhere. Not until we find a way to avenge Blaise." He glanced over at Hadrian with a determined expression, "So," He licked at his suddenly dry lips. "What's the plan, my Lord?"

Hadrian Riddle slowly set his glass back down on the table. "I don't know where Alexander Potter is, nor am I going to waste my time tracking him down," He decided quietly.

"But why?" Neville frowned. "If Potter is in hiding again, wouldn't he just–"

"Enough is enough," Hadrian cut him off with a cold smile. "If Alexander Potter doesn't show his face sooner rather than later, the only thing he'll have to come back to is a fucking graveyard."

Destiny Lestrange had always considered herself to be a good person. It was difficult, given the people she considered to be family and the things she had done in the past, but she still had clung onto the knowledge that somewhere deep, deep, down inside, she was a good person.

She cared for her friends and family. She was loyal. She was responsible.

She was a good person.

It was a mantra she had repeated constantly over the years. She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince, but she had always upheld that sentiment despite everything that had happened.

It was a shame it took her nearly seventeen years to realize that good people never won in life.

Destiny knelt down on the driftwood floor, staring into the flames that flickered in the fireplace. The sun had started to set outside, but her attention wasn't focused on the breathtaking colors that painted across the sky.

She was tired of pretending that she was a good person. She had tried to be good, and where had that gotten her?

Her biological parents had tried to kill her to hide her gift from the world.

Her quasi-brother had ignored her for an entire year as punishment for letting his abusive, tyrannical father perish.

Her adoptive mother had been brutally tortured until she was only capable of inane babbling.

One of her closest friends–probably the only one without blood on his hands–had been killed.

Destiny clenched her hands into a fist. It hurt her very soul to realize she could've put an end to all of the tragedies in her life. The burning feeling of guilt grew in her chest as she realized she could've found a way to prevent everything that had gone wrong.

She had been given a gift, after all.

She had always been warned to never abuse her Seer abilities. Her biological mother had told her stories about Seers that had been driven insane from seeking to learn too much, from living more in the future than the present. Her tutors in the past had warned her to use her visions responsibly, and to never force herself to see more than her gift allowed her to.

Destiny had listened to their words. She had believed in them. She trusted them.

She had always resisted the urge to dig into the future and see everything that time had in store for her. She had settled for the occasional vision that came to her out of the blue, trusting that her gift would only show her what was necessary.

Well, that was a load of utter rubbish.

She had been given an extraordinary gift. But what good was her gift if it she couldn't even use it to protect her friends and family?

Destiny Lestrange was tired of only seeing a brief flash of the future. She could no longer settle for the hazy dreams and visions that only showed her a small piece of the puzzle.

If that made her selfish, then so be it.

She had always been adamantly against interfering with the future. Seeing too much at once could lead to unprecedented consequences, not to mention, it could quite possibly do more harm than good.

She knew everything that could go wrong. But frankly speaking, she no longer cared.

Cold sweat broke out over her skin as she held her palms out toward the fire and closed her eyes. Visions full of blurry shapes and colors behind her lids began to materialize, and she gritted her teeth together, pushing past the painful barriers that had always forced her to step back in the past.

Her heartbeat began to race, and she could practically hear the blood that rushed to her head as she ignored every warning sign that would've normally made her draw away from the vision she was chasing. Slowly, the fuzzy images in her head began to crystallize, and she sucked in a sharp breath at the picture that played in her head almost as clear as day.

There was a sharp pain in the back of her head, and Destiny let out a soft whimper as she was forcibly pulled back into the present all of a sudden. She blinked a few times to adjust to the change of lighting in the room. It had gotten much darker, and she wasn't quite sure how long she had been trapped in her own visions.

Something heavier than water dripped from her nose, and Destiny swiped at her face with the back of her hand. She ignored the dark streak of blood and simply turned her hand to the open flames again, ignoring the tender skin that was almost burnt from her earlier attempt at viewing the future.

Normally, she would never have pushed herself to see past the first few seconds of her vision. It was more than just dangerous; she was risking the entire timeline of the future itself.

But if it meant she would be able to see, and potentially control the future?

A cold feeling crept up her spine at the thought. She knew if she continued like this, she would be breaking a dozen promises and destroying all the principles Seers had set up in the past. There was so much she was risking by trying to see more than her gift allowed.

Despite all the warnings that floated through her head, Destiny Lestrange felt her lips curve into a slight smile.

Because really, who was there to stop her?

"Merlin, have I walked into an alternate universe?"

Hermione Granger nearly fell off the kitchen stool at the sound of the sudden voice. She gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself as Draco walked into the kitchen, fixing her with a mischievous grin.

She blinked. Her mouth dropped open, but for once, no words came out. Eventually, she settled for simply saying, "What?" She watched as he walked past her to open the cabinet by the sink. "I don't understand." She furrowed her brows.

"You have a book in front of you," He pointed out as he reached up for a glass. "But it's closed. Since when do you not have your face buried in a book?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "Remind me why I'm marrying you again?"

"Because I'm rich?"

She rolled her eyes as he set his glass on the counter and settled onto the barstool beside her. "What's wrong?" He poked her side, suppressing a smile when she immediately squirmed and tried to bat his hands away.

"Other than the obvious?" Hermione sighed. "I don't know."

"There must be something," Draco frowned. He wordlessly waved his wand over his glass, filling it with water. "Normally when I catch you up in the middle of the night, you're always reading."

"Well, why are you awake?" She asked instead, biting her lip. "You were sound asleep when I left you upstairs."

"Do you think anyone can sleep with Neville snoring that loudly in the room next door?" Draco made a face. "I don't know how Destiny can stand to sleep in the same bed. If it were me, I'd have strangled him the very first night."

"Draco, just cast a silencing charm," She stared at his glass pointedly, "If you're lazy enough to conjure water when there's a tap right next to you, wouldn't a silencing charm be easier than coming all the way downstairs?"

"Well, when I woke up, you weren't there," Draco shrugged. "I wanted to know where my bushy-haired fiancé had run off to in the middle of the night." His lips quirked into a slight smile, "Were you busy freeing all the other beavers from the societal obligation of building their dams?"

"First of all," Hermione felt her eye twitch as she watched him try–and fail–to not laugh at his own stupid joke. "Beavers don't build dams near the sea. That's the wrong ecosystem."

His snickering grew even louder, and she let out an annoyed huff. "Draco, can you just go back to bed? I'll join you in an hour or so, I promise."

"I'm afraid not," He leaned in to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. "What's wrong, Granger?"

She sighed, turning away from him slightly and reaching out to hug the book to her chest. "Look, you're going to think it's stupid."

"I think a lot of things you do are stupid," Draco told her quite frankly. "I don't know why you refuse to keep house elves. I don't know why you insist on depriving yourself of sweets for the sake of whatever 'cave tease' are. I don't know why you hate quidditch–"

"I get it," She gritted out, cutting him off before he could really get through his entire list. She licked her lips and whispered, "I–I just don't see the point anymore."

Draco raised a brow, "I'm sorry, I don't think I understand. You don't see the point of what anymore?"

She dropped her book back onto the counter. "I just–" She paused and let out a harsh breath, tugging at her hair in frustration. "I don't understand why. I–I tried and I couldn't even–" She pressed her hands to her face in an effort to stop her eyes from tearing up.

"Granger," Draco muttered softly, reaching out to pull her hands aside. He shuffled off his stool and tugged her against his chest, gently tilting her head up so he could wipe her tears with his thumb. "I understand."

"No, you don't understand," She shook her head. "I've read practically every single book in the Hogwarts library. I've memorized every textbook we've been assigned since First Year. I've even gone through the entirety of the bookshelves in my common room."

"Okay?" Draco glanced at her in confusion. "I already know you like to read."

"I've scoured through archives with scrolls written in different languages with a translation spell. I spent days painstakingly reading this piece of parchment covered in Ancient Runes that I found on the floor of a classroom because I thought it was some sliver of hidden knowledge," Hermione paused, "It turned out to be Professor Babbling's grocery list, but still."

"Granger," He cupped her face and admitted, "I'll be honest, I have no idea where this is going."

She stared up at him with wide, brown eyes. "I've just been thinking. What-What good is all this knowledge? What good is all the reading and hunching over scrolls in the library if I couldn't even use it to help my friend?" Her gaze darted around as unmistakable panic crept over her delicate features, "What's the point of learning and studying and having magic if it doesn't even matter?"

Draco sighed, pressing his face into her hair. "Hermione, even magic isn't enough to change someone's fate. You could have read all the books in the world, and you still wouldn't have been able to stop this. It's not as though we can see the future." He paused, "Well, I suppose Destiny can but even she didn't see this coming."

"Blaise was my first friend, you know," Hermione choked out. "Even before Hadrian or Daphne or Destiny. He was kind to me when others weren't exactly the most welcoming bunch. When he saw me sitting alone in the courtyard, he was the first one to sit next to me."

Draco shook his head, "Trust Blaise to always seek out a pretty witch." He pursed his lips, "He didn't like to see anyone feel lonely."

Hermione pressed her eyes shut. "I feel so helpless, Draco." Her shoulders shook with soft sobs as she whispered, "How can we have magic and all this knowledge in our hands, and it still isn't enough to save the people we love? It all seems so pointless." She pushed the book in front of her away. "Knowledge is not power, clearly."

"Granger," Draco pulled away from her slightly to grab the book before it fell off the counter. "Don't start burning books on me now. We both know you don't read for the sake of learning."

"Why else would I read, if not to learn something?" She argued.

"Hermione," He smoothed a hand over her cheek. "You read these books because they give you company. It was never about being prepared, it was never about competing against our class, it was never about acing exams. You throw yourself into learning anything and everything because you think that if you know as much as you can about this world, it'll make you feel a little less alone." He smiled at her softly.

Her eyes widened as the full weight of his words slowly sank in.

"See?" Draco smirked. "I do understand."

Hermione swallowed hard. "And just how did you get so observant?" She gave him a watery smile.

"My friends all have very complex backstories," He told her very seriously. "I've had a lot of practice figuring their psyches out over the years."

Hermione let out a sharp laugh, quickly pressing her hand to her mouth to avoid waking anyone up. "I think you and Blaise were definitely cut from the same cloth. He was always so observant, but he rarely ever said anything about it."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione ran a hand over her book, deep in thought. "Blaise once told me that books wouldn't teach me how to live. I could read about everything the universe had to offer, but he said I wouldn't feel fulfilled until I actually experienced it."

Draco narrowed his eyes, "Wait a second, was this back in third year when Blaise was trying to get you to come flying with us after curfew?" When Hermione nodded, Draco let out a low scoff, "I hate to ruin your very profound memory, Granger, but I'm pretty sure he only recited that nonsense, so you'd come flying with us."

"It almost worked, though," Hermione shrugged. "I was about to cave, until you decided to kidnap me on your broom instead."

"Considering you almost broke my nose that night," Draco scowled at her. "I'd say we're even."

The Burrow [January 5th]

Ginevra Weasley stared at her trunk with distant eyes, silently pleading that the universe would take pity on her and swallow her whole. The mere thought of returning back to school, pretending as though nothing had happened…it practically made her stomach churn in violent protest.

"Merlin, will you stop snotting all over the place?" A grating voice called out from the top of the stairs.

Ginevra stiffened as Ron stomped down the winding steps, wearing a smug smile and another one of the hideous jumpers their mother had knitted for Christmas. She gritted her teeth together as he came to stand in front of her instead of ambling into the kitchen like she had expected.

"Ginny, as your brother, I have to tell you–this whole 'Woe-Is-Me' act of yours is getting rather tiring," Ron pretended to yawn. "I'm sure once you get on the train, you'll go back to your frivolous life of leading around the Slytherin school bullies and you'll forget all about pouting over that useless Italian ponce."

Ginevra curled her hands around the edge of the sofa, watching with an empty gaze as the worn fabric was drawn into her clenched fists.

"I don't know why you're acting like such a drama queen," Her brother shrugged. "It's not like Zabini was your boyfriend."

"Shut up," Ginevra whispered.

"What was that?"

She snapped her head up to fix him with an icy stare. "I said," She seethed quietly, "Shut up, Ron."

His gaze darkened considerably as she glared up at him. "You might want to watch your tone, Ginny," He hissed under his breath. "Nobody will give a flying fuck about anyone from your house in a few months. Once the Order prevails, all you lowlife Slytherins will have to go back to sulking in the background again." He leaned down and whispered harshly, "You're lucky you're my sister, Ginny. Otherwise, you'd be tossed onto the streets with the rest of those rats."

Ginevra blinked at him. Slowly. Deliberately.

He saw her intentions shift in her eyes a second too late, and he stumbled back on his heels as she lunged at him with an almost inhumane shriek, knocking him over the coffee table and sending the knickknacks crashing onto the floor.

"I said, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" She screamed, punctuating each cry with a sharp kick to his side. She clawed at his arms as he tried to push her away, fully intent on slamming her fists into him as hard as she could. Her vision was tinged with a red haze and her face practically shone with hot tears by the time she felt another pair of hands grasp her arms and forcefully haul her away.

"Easy, there Gin," A familiar voice pressed into her ear, "Calm down."

Ginevra pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heartbeat nearly hammer out of her ribcage as her gaze landed on her brother. She tried to slow her panting breaths, "Fred?"

"And George," Her other brother strolled out of the kitchen. He held a glass of water, which he promptly pushed into her hands once he made his way over. "Drink," He instructed her softly.

"Wh-What are you guys doing home?" She asked, momentarily distracted from her earlier goal of hurling her fists at Ron. "I thought Mum said you were too busy to come home for the holidays."

"While that was true," Fred pursed his lips, looking surprisingly serious for once. "We heard our little sister wasn't faring so well."

"And so, we decided to end our joke shop tour early," George finished for him. He scratched at his ear and gestured lazily towards Ron, "Speaking of which, why exactly did we walk in on you attacking fickle little Ronniekins here?"

"She's bloody mental, that's why!" Ron spat, pushing himself up into a seated position and leveling them all with a glare. "We were just chatting when she came at me like some kind of wild animal!"

"We weren't chatting," Ginevra folded her arms over her chest. Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she informed him, "Chatting requires two active participants, and I shut you out the second you decided to speak ill of the dead."

"Whether he's dead or alive," Ron sneered, "Doesn't change the fact that Zabini was a rotten snake, just like the rest of them."

Ginevra felt herself start to lunge at her brother again, but the twins quickly grabbed her shoulders, holding her in place.

"Are you speaking about Blaise Zabini?" George raised a brow, glancing over at his twin as a secret communication passed between them. "I didn't know he had passed away," He murmured slowly.

"He didn't pass away," Ginevra informed them as her lip curled up in disgust, "He was killed."

"Why do you two care, anyways?" Ron let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck with a slight wince. "You hardly knew the bloke."

"Merlin, you're an idiot," Fred sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "He was our biggest investor."

"Why would he invest in your–" Ron seemed to sense the mounting tension in the room because he cleared his throat abruptly and changed the direction of his question, "How was he your biggest investor?"

"Blaise was the head of his household, Ronald," Ginevra rolled her eyes. "You're aware that comes with more than just access to the Gringotts vault, right? It means he had responsibilities beyond thinking about himself. Family fortunes aren't just passed down, they have to be maintained over generations, you git."

"What family?" Ron snorted. "Wasn't his mother famous for sleeping around and his father nonexistent?"

Ginerva's gaze narrowed. "Are you going to sock him, or should I?"

"You're being an arse, Ronald," George sighed. "Why are you even here? Aren't you supposed to be off with your little wilderness friends?"

"We had a bit of a falling out," Ron grumbled under his breath. He pulled himself off the ground and dusted off his trousers, "Shouldn't you be asking why Ginny's still here? Mum and Dad told her she had to go back to school but if she stays here for another minute, she's bound to miss the train."

"I don't care about school," Ginevra spoke harshly. "I don't care about the train. I don't bloody care about any of it anymore!"

"So what?" Ron let out a humorless chuckle. "You're going to sit here and pine over some bloke who didn't give two shits about you?" He shook his head, "If the situation was reversed, do you think Zabini would be sitting at the windowsill, crying his eyes out and snapping at everyone like some kind of feral lunatic?"

Ginevra shook her head, screwing her eyes shut. "Why did Potter have to kill him?" She whispered quietly. "If he had gone after Riddle, or-or even Malfoy–I wouldn't have blamed him. But Blaise? He would never hurt anyone."

"How can you say that?" Ron snapped at her. He drew himself up to his full height and growled, "He was about to fucking kill Alexander in cold blood, and you have the nerve to say he would never hurt anyone?" He scoffed. "Merlin, you're even more stupid that I thought."

"Back off, Ron," Fred tiredly rubbed the side of his jaw. "She's upset the kid is dead, let her mourn in peace, alright?"

"It's been a whole week, though," Ron argued hotly. "It's not like Zabini was her boyfriend or fiancé or husband. She was just his latest piece of arse, and she's sitting here sobbing away like her husband died in battle!" His lips curved into a wry smile, "Maybe it's a good thing he's dead. Dean has fancied you for years and you've never looked his way–"

"Go away, Ronald," Ginevra sighed, cutting him off midsentence. "Not that you could ever understand, but Blaise did care about me. He believed in me. I spent years turning him down, but he was the only person in my house that never gave me any pity, and never held me in contempt for who I was." Her voice tightened. "And we never even got a chance."

"Ginny, I hate to be the one to inform you of this, but even if Zabini were alive, he would never end up with you," Ron let out a sarcastic laugh. "Don't you get it? He was just as horrible as the rest of them. He would've sacrificed you and his left nut for You-Know-Who."

"Blaise wasn't like that," Ginevra shot him an icy look. "I can admit we didn't love each other." She swallowed hard, "We played games and lied and danced around our feelings plenty. But we understood each other, somehow." She licked her lips an added, "We may have come from completely different backgrounds, but it was a quiet comfort to know I had found someone who could understand me, without having to say a word." She dropped her gaze to her hands, "I would've waited an eternity for that." Her lips pressed into a thin line as she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, "But now it's too late."

"Oh no," Ron feigned surprise, pressing a hand over his mouth. "Opening your legs for that Slytherin playboy didn't work out? I thought that was how all fairytales began." He shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Death Eater's whore."

"Watch it, mate," George shoved at his chest, shooting him a dark glare. "That's our sister you're talking about."

"She's no sister of mine," He grunted in response. "I knew she wasn't alright in the head when she was sorted into that house of snakes, but to be crying her eyes out for some jester who didn't even care about her? It's bloody pathetic." His eyes darkened, "Honestly, it's quite fitting. Zabini was pathetic too. Screamed like a banshee the entire time Alexander turned his wand on him." He puffed his chest out, "Bet he was thankful I took some pity on his scrawny arse."

Ginevra stilled. "What," Her gaze snapped up to meet his, "Do you mean by that?"

Ron shrugged. "Alexander was intent on torturing the poor wizard till he learned his lesson, but I reminded him that we're not like them." He shoved his hands into his pockets and smirked, "You really should be thanking me, Ginny."

"Ron," George closed his eyes as the silent realization washed over him.

"Please tell me you didn't kill that man," Fred knit his brows together into a heavy frown. "Please….please tell me you had nothing to do with his death."

"You can't be serious," Ron gritted his teeth together. "Their side can go around wiping out entire small towns, but the second I raise my wand, I'm the bad person here?" He shook his head in disgust, "Double standards, much?"

"You don't get it, Ron," George hissed. "We don't have to go around claiming people like Draco Malfoy are family. I don't have to hug the Dark Lord and invite him to my child's birthday party someday. But you–" He let out a sharp breath. "We have to put up with you. We have to call you family."

"No," Ginevra whispered. She took a step away from the twins and shook her head, "No, we don't."

Fred and George watched with wary eyes as their sister took a step towards the fireplace.

"Gin, you can't kill him," Fred cautioned. "I know you might be angry enough to think you want to–"

"Oh, you have no idea what I'm thinking right now," Ginevra said coldly. Her hands reached out behind her for the bowl of floo powder and she bit her lip, "Do me a favor and tell Mum and Dad I'll be missing the train."

"Where are you going, Gin?" George let out a quiet sigh, his gaze darting towards Ron briefly before returning back to her.

Ginevra Weasley shrugged. "You said we can't kill him." She stepped backwards into the floo and her lips curved up into a ghost of a smile, "But I happen to know someone who can," Her eyes flashed with contempt as she hissed, "Greengrass Estates."

Astoria Greengrass was in the middle of painting her nails when the floo fired to life in her bedroom. Despite her intense concentration, her hand jerked to the side in surprise, dribbling a line of inky black polish down the side of her finger.

"Merlin, Gin," Astoria breathed, pressing a hand against her heart. She watched her best friend step out from the flames, eyes hardened with a clear mission. "You scared the shite out of me. Are you alright? You don't look very well."

"Where's your sister?" Ginevra demanded to know, not bothering with a proper greeting.

"She's supposed to come back from Italy tonight," Astoria spoke cautiously, tracking her friend's frantic movements with widened eyes. "Why? What's going on?" She glanced over at the magical clock that hung up on her wall, "I was just about to leave for the train."

"We're not going back, Astoria," Ginevra informed her curtly. "There are more important things at stake than making head girl next year."

Astoria held her hands up in mock surrender, "You don't have to convince me. I don't have the marks for Head Girl, anyways." She crossed her legs on her bed and asked cheerily, "Not that I'm questioning this, but why the sudden urge to skive off?"

"I've recently learned of some interesting news," The redhead's eyes flashed with contempt. "Blaise wasn't killed by Potter."

Astoria's eyes softened. "Gin, I know you've been through a lot. Getting together with Zabini and then losing him so suddenly, I'm sure has been so hard on you. But sweetheart, he's gone–"

"No, no, no," Ginevra shook her head, swaying lightly on her feet. "You're not letting me finish. Potter didn't kill him," Her jaw clenched into a hard line, "It was Ron."

"Ron?" She furrowed her brows in confusion. "But how–"

"He didn't just kill Blaise, he practically bragged about it," Ginevra hissed. "Like it was some kind of sick trophy."

"Motherfucker," Astoria cursed under her breath. She glanced over at her friend uneasily as she paced in front of her bed. "So, what do you want to do about it?" Her voice dropped to a hushed tone, "Oh Merlin, please don't tell me you came here to rope me into homicide." She screwed the bottle of her nail polish shut and whined, "I really cannot commit a murder today–these are brand new robes, Ginevra! Think of the chiffon!"

"Don't be stupid," Ginevra spat. "We can't kill Ron. As much as I hate him, he's still my brother." Her throat bobbed as she sat down on a nearby chaise, "I don't even think I'd be capable of that."

"Oh," Astoria paused, cocking her head to the side. "Okay. Then what exactly do you plan to do with this information?"

"I said I can't kill him," Her friend spoke slowly. "But I know a few other people that would be quite interested in learning that my brother was behind Blaise's death, not Potter."

"I hate to break it to you, Gin, but I don't think your brother was really slated to live either way," Astoria pursed her lips. "I don't see how this would change anything."

"I can't even stand to look at him right now, Astoria," Ginevra whispered. "I can't look at him without thinking about what he did and–I need him gone." She pursed her lips, "So, I'm asking you again. When is Daphne getting back, exactly?"

"In a few hours or so," Astoria pushed herself up into a cross-legged position on her bed, clutching a fluffy pink pillow to her chest. "But I don't think she would ever personally get her hands dirty, if that's what you're after," Her voice soured, "She's very prim and proper, my sister."

"I don't care if it's Daphne or Malfoy or even Hadrian bloody Riddle himself," Her friend hissed. "One of them surely would be interested in some revenge."

"I suppose you're right," Astoria watched her friend carefully. "Are you sure you're okay, Gin? You look a little pale–"

"Enough is enough." Ginevra said in a sharp tone, cutting off her friend's concerns. "My family expects me to stay loyal to them, but how can I? They've never made me feel particularly welcome. They've never done anything, really, to indicate my happiness means something to them. And now this?" She shook her head bitterly, "Blaise was my one chance at being happy."

"Okay, ouch," Astoria muttered under her breath.

"You know what I mean," Ginevra rolled her eyes. "Everyone is treating this like we simply broke things off but that's not the case, is it? We didn't even get a chance to be together because he's dead."

"Oh, Gin, sometimes things aren't meant to be," Astoria sighed, standing up from her bed. "Besides, you don't know that Blaise was your happy ending. Maybe things would've worked out for you two, or maybe this is just the Fates' way of saving you from some more heartbreak down the line?"

"Seriously?" Ginevra scowled at her. "That's what you consider to be words of comfort?"

Astoria closed her eyes, "Perhaps that was a bit too cavalier." She picked her hairbrush off the vanity table and began to slowly brush her hair. "I'm just a firm believer in the idea that things happen for a reason." She paused and hurried to add,"Not that I think Blaise should've died, certainly not at the hands of your brother, no less." She raked the brush through her long, dark hair, thoughtfully. "I think it's important to think back on your time together and treasure whatever moments you shared with him. That's the best way to honor him, after all." She frowned a moment later and turned to face her friend, "You know, I'm trying to be a good friend here, but I don't exactly know the best way to comfort someone about death, Ginevra." Her hands automatically went to her hips when she noticed her best friend pretending to fall asleep on the chaise. "Okay, seriously, that was just mean, I'm trying my best, Gin."

When the redhead barely even moved at her rebuke, Astoria gritted her teeth together and marched over to her. "You're being so rude right now, Ginevra…" Her words trailed off abruptly as she curled her hand over her friend's shoulder, and the witch slumped forward, clearly unconscious.

Astoria let out a loud shriek.

"Gin!" Her eyes widened, and she glanced around her room in a panic. "Oh, Merlin–Mum! Dinky? Anyone?" She shouted in the otherwise empty room, feeling her heartbeat start to pound faster and faster as the fear crept up her spine. "Somebody, help!"

Lily Potter found herself awake in the middle of the night again. Though her lids felt heavy with sleep, she fought the compulsion to fall back onto her unbearably soft pillow when she felt a heavy gaze warm the side of her face.

She stiffened, clutching the heavy comforter to her chest, and squinting into the darkness with suspicious eyes. "Who's there?" She called out, unable to disguise the slight trembling in her voice.

She didn't receive a response in return, but the curtains magically pushed aside, and a faint glimmer of moonlight was cast into the room. Though the light barely illuminated her surroundings, she relaxed somewhat when she noticed the familiar shadows that encased the young wizard sitting in the armchair across from her bed.

"Hadrian," She gasped, quickly pushing off the plushy mattress and pressing her back against her headboard as she attempted to sit upright. "What are you doing here?"

"I apologize for startling you at such a late hour," He uncrossed his long legs from the ottoman and stood up, slowly making his way over to her. "But I need a favor."

"A favor?" Lily repeated, furrowing her brows in confusion. "You need a favor?"

He pursed his lips together. "Yes."

She shook her head, "I don't understand." She curled her hands around the comforter. "What could you possibly need from me?" Her gaze dropped down to her lap as she whispered, "I don't have anything left to give."

"Mm," Hadrian hummed softly to himself as he sat down at the edge of her bed, "Not quite."

Lily slowly lifted her chin to meet his almost amused gaze. "I already chose your side, Hadrian. I chose you. What else can I do to prove myself?"

Hadrian cocked his head to the side, seeming to assess her quietly. The silence between them seemed to stretch for miles, and it was only when she shifted uneasily that he finally cleared his throat and asked the last question she was expecting.

"Do you miss your wand?"

Lily blinked. "I-" She bit her lip, "I don't see what that has to do with anything." She averted her eyes, choosing to stare out the window at the frozen grounds below instead of at his brooding presence. "It was snapped when I was thrown into Azkaban."

"Was it?" He raised a brow.

She noticed the light glint off his ring through her peripheral vision, and she turned her head just as he slipped a thin wand out of his robes.

"It doesn't look very snapped to me," Hadrian commented, holding the wand up to the moonlight as though he were trying to evaluate the damage. He swished it through the air and Lily felt her heart clench at the sight of the familiar piece of wood.

"How did you get that?" She asked softly. Though she itched to curl her fingers around the willow wand that had become an extension of herself for the past thirty years, she kept her hands stubbornly glued to her sides even when he set the wand down between them.

"How I acquired your wand doesn't matter," He informed her very matter-of-factly. "You never answered my earlier question: Did you miss it?"

"Of course, I did," She breathed.

Hadrian smiled, though it didn't seem to reach his eyes. "Would you like it back, Mum?" His dark gaze dropped down to the wand that sat on the satin sheets and then flicked back to her, "It's all could be all yours, if you wanted."

Lily swallowed hard. Her shoulders steeled back, and she gritted out, "What's the catch?"

"Catch?" Hadrian's brows rose to his hairline, "Why would you think there's a catch?"

"What's the catch?" She repeated, unwilling to participate in the twisted mind games he was so fond of. "I hardly think you woke me up in the middle of the night to return my wand out of the kindness of your own heart."

"Look at how well you know me," Hadrian's lips quirked up into a half-smile. "It's almost like the past decade or so never happened."

"Hadrian–"

"Like I said," He shifted slightly on the bed and fixed her with a suddenly serious stare. "I need a favor. In return," He gestured down to the unassuming wand between them, "You can have your wand."

Lily searched his face for any sign of his true thoughts, anything that would clue her into what he was hiding behind his carefully blank expression. Despite her best efforts, he remained unnervingly closed off and she eventually let out a resigned sigh. "Fine. How can I help you, Hadrian?"

"I've asked Lucius to lift the wards that prevent you from leaving the grounds of Malfoy Manor," He leaned back on his hands and said casually, "All I need you to do is apparate somewhere and bring me along."

"You're seventeen," She frowned. "Why would you need me to use Side-Along Apparition? I'm sure you're perfectly capable of apparating yourself."

"Because," Hadrian drawled slowly, "I don't think these wards would ever dream of letting me through."

"Can't you figure out a way to break them?"

"Not these particular wards," He muttered under his breath. "They're keyed to individual family members and the specific guests they allow. It would take months to get past them."

"And you think this place has wards that would allow someone like me to enter?" Lily scoffed in disbelief. "Might I remind you, I spent a whole year in Azkaban and most of the wizarding population thinks I'm dead. Why would I be allowed entry?"

"Oh, I have a feeling you'll be able to get through the wards," Hadrian shrugged. "Especially, since I doubt you were ever removed from them the first place."

Lily stared at him in confusion before a slow realization washed over her. "Hadrian," Her hands shook as she gripped her sheets in tight fists, "Where exactly do you want to go?"

Hadrian smirked.

Potter Manor [January 6th: 2 AM]

Hadrian felt his stomach tighten with anticipation as he steadied his feet on the fine marble floors that stretched across Potter Manor. His pulse practically thrummed in his ears, and he gingerly let go of Lily's arm once he had gotten used to his surroundings.

"It worked," Lily whispered, eyes wide with surprise as she scanned the marble pillars that rose all the way up to the ceiling of the foyer and the gleaming sconces that lined the intricate paneling on the walls. "I can't believe it actually worked."

Hadrian pursed his lips, resisting the urge to smile in triumph. He supposed he could've sat down in the library and searched for a way to break through the wards that protected Potter Manor, but he had a feeling James Potter hadn't been very thorough with the security protocols over the past few years.

Lily had said it herself: the entire world thought she was dead. Including James Potter.

He doubted Potter would have gone through the trouble of altering the familial wards that surrounded the grounds. Especially when he thought his wife had perished in Azkaban.

"Now that we're here," Lily pulled the sides of her robes closer together and glanced around fearfully, "What is the plan? The wards may have let us through, but James would've already been alerted of our presence. It can't be long before he finds us."

Hadrian ignored her and began to walk through the corridors, eyes tracing over the same paintings that had barely shuffled from their original places over the past decade.

He knew the extensive mix of magical and muggle artwork had been carefully curated by the witch currently trailing behind him with hushed warnings.

He knew if he shifted the fifth painting from the doorway, he would find a massive scorch mark from one of Alexander's first bouts of accidental magic.

He knew better than to shift the enchanted curtain that covered a portrait on the far left, as it was the only thing that silenced the complaints of a distant aunt that had been quite the zealot on blood purity.

Hadrian swallowed hard as he walked through the hauntingly familiar halls. He found it odd just how much he could know about a place while still feeling like a stranger.

"Hadrian," Lily called after him just as he had finished walking around practically the entire first floor of the manor. He pushed through a massive set of double doors at the end of the corridor and barely spared her a glance. Instead, he focused his attention on the tasseled maroon curtains that draped across the balcony of the expansive room and the repeating spiral pattern on the glossy floor.

"Looks like you didn't do much redecorating," Hadrian mused aloud, tilting his head back to see the familiar vaulted ceiling, complete with multiple chandeliers that flickered brightly throughout the room.

He paced across the ballroom and his lips twitched into a slight smile. "I would've thought after I burnt it down all those years ago, you would've thought about replacing those horrid curtains at least."

Lily Potter looked up at him sharply. "Hadrian," She folded her arms over her chest and asked hesitantly, "Why am I here?" Her eyes were full of undeniable fear as she perused the ballroom of Potter Manor and demanded to know. "Why did you bring me back here?"

"Mother," Hadrian turned around and his eyes twinkled with mischief as he asked, "What in the world has you so scared?"

"I can't be here," Lily closed her eyes. "It's too much, Hadrian. If you're going to kill me–"

"If I wanted to kill you, I would have certainly done it sooner," Hadrian interrupted with an irritated huff. "Don't be ridiculous, Mother," He shook his head. "I've gotten far more satisfaction from forcing you to watch as your golden little family tears itself apart." He snorted, "Why would I kill you?"

"Then why–"

Hadrian smiled to himself as he heard the telltale sound of thudding footsteps echo through the empty manor. "I'm going to kill your husband, of course." He spoke softly, raising his head to meet her piercing stare. "Are you going to stop me?"

Lily Potter froze, stiffening slightly as a door slammed in the distance. Her eyes quickly flickered back to her son and she whispered, "If James finds me here, I–" She trailed off as she slipped her hand into her pockets and did not find the willow wand Hadrian had presented her with earlier.

"Looking for this?" He pulled her wand out of his robes, shooting her a lazy smirk. He held up a hand when he could see her start to protest, "Calm down. I'm a wizard of my word. Narcissa raised me quite well in your absence–in case you were ever concerned."

"Hadrian, please–"

"I asked you a question." His voice hardened. "Are you going to stop me?"

"No." The word left her lips before she even realized it.

Hadrian let out a soft breath. "Good," He said in a low voice, "I was hoping you would cooperate." He hesitated for a second before flipping her wand and holding it out to her, almost as an offering.

He felt his chest tighten with unease with every second she didn't move. "I've altered the wards that surround Riddle Manor." He informed her with a carefully blank expression. "They'll allow you to pass, but only for a very short window of time. A few minutes, give or take."

The uncertainty in her voice rang clear when she repeated, "Riddle Manor?"

"It's what I like to call my home, for lack of a better term." He avoided her inquisitive stare as he forced out his next words. "Do not mistake my generosity for foolishness. I know exactly what it means to provide you with a wand." His lips curved into a wry smile as he said, "I'm giving you the power to make your own decisions, Mother. You can go anywhere you please."

She swallowed hard. "Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He let out a humorless laugh. "I'm setting you free."

Lily stared at him for a long moment, as if gauging the sincerity of his words. Then, she took a step forward, reaching out to grip the other end of her wand. Once the full weight of her magic coursed through her, she staggered back almost in shock.

Hadrian tilted his head to the side when he heard footsteps just outside the door to the ballroom. "I'd leave now, if I were you." He said quietly.

Lily gripped the wand so tightly in her hands, her knuckles almost turned a deathly shade white. "Hadrian," She paused for a second as the doors were suddenly flung open. Her jaw clenched into a hard line, "Make him suffer."

Hadrian blinked in surprise as his mother disappeared with a sharp wave of her wand. He stared at the empty space where she had stood just moments earlier, wondering if he would ever see her again.

He didn't have much time to dwell on the matter, however, as James Potter marched into the room with a harsh scowl etched into the hard planes of his face.

"Has my vision failed me, or was that my ex-wife just now?" The older wizard called out, stopping a few feet away from where Hadrian stood. He shook his head, "I always knew Lily was a traitorous bitch, but I never thought she was a suicidal, traitorous bitch." He folded his arms across his chest. "Not only did she break into my home, but she had the sheer nerve to bring a most unwelcome guest," He sneered.

"She didn't break in," Hadrian fixed the man with a cold stare. "She was still keyed into the wards."

James Potter took a step closer and narrowed his eyes at him. Suddenly, his eyes clouded over with recognition, and he whipped out his wand. "You," He hissed, "I know who you are."

Hadrian resisted the urge to laugh. "I can assure you," He pursed his lips, clear amusement shining through his green eyes, "You have no idea who I am." His gaze darkened, "But you will."

"You killed Remus," James Potter growled. He sliced his wand through the air, wordlessly sending a bright red spell at the young wizard. Though his curse was easily blocked, James didn't seem to stop as he barreled closer, shooting off spell after spell. "You're a Death Eater–that's all I need to know."

"That's the problem with you Gryffindors," Hadrian hissed under his breath as a cutting curse grazed his cheek. He didn't bother to counter any of the attacks thrown his way, instead choosing to press his fingers against the drop of blood that trickled over his jaw. "You're always turning a blind eye to information you should most certainly want to know."

"I don't bloody care who you are. You've made the grave mistake of entering my home." James paused his offensive attack to wave his wand in a complex series of movements. He chanted something under his breath, missing the way Hadrian's lips twitched into a slight smirk.

"Do you know what that was?" The older wizard smiled smugly, "I've altered my wards, Riddle. You won't be able to get past me now. You'll pay for what you've done–not just for Remus, but for the thousands of other lives your side has destroyed."

Hadrian stared at the man with thinly veiled disinterest. "Oh?"

"You're trapped, Riddle," James glared at the young wizard that had barely flinched despite the multiple curses that had been thrown at him. "There's nowhere for you to run now."

"I'm well aware what the word 'trapped' means," Hadrian rolled his eyes.

"Good, then you should know I have no intention of letting you walk out of here alive," James Potter announced, shooting another curse over his shoulder.

"Here's the thing, Potter–I don't care," Hadrian let out a soft grunt as the spell hit him in the chest, sending him crashing into a nearby stone pillar. He clenched his jaw in annoyance, though he still didn't make any move to defend himself.

"Crucio!"

"Seriously?" Hadrian huffed a laugh as the curse whizzed past his ear. "You have to actually mean it, Potter." He pulled out his wand, though he didn't seem intent on using it. "Do you want me to show you how the unforgivables are casted?"

"I can manage," James's eyes hardened, and he cried out, "Avada Kedavra!"

"Merlin," Hadrian cursed under his breath as he quickly sidestepped the bright green spell. "I thought members of the Order had some moral high ground." He scoffed, "Looks like those ethical standards are slipping."

"They aren't here right now," James informed him with a wicked glint in his eyes. "They wouldn't understand what needs to be–Crucio!" He shot another cruciatus curse mid-sentence, managing to catch the younger wizard off-guard.

Hadrian closed his eyes, waving his wand for the first time as he deflected the curse easily enough. "I'm afraid your terribly weak cruciatus is no match for what I've been through, Potter," He folded his arms across his chest and informed the other wizard, "I've suffered under a cruciatus so strong, it makes your pathetic attempt feel like a tickling charm. I can promise you, whatever you might throw my way will never be powerful enough to stop me."

"Why did you come here?" James narrowed his eyes, dropping his wand to his side for a brief moment. "Did they send you to kill me?" He took a step closer and hissed, "Did my son send you to kill me?"

"Your son?" Hadrian felt his lips part as a surprised breath left him. "What do you know about your son?"

"Don't pretend to be daft," James Potter hissed. "I know Harry has somehow managed to replace the man we once knew as the Dark Lord. I know he's the one behind this new regime of terror." He gritted his teeth together, "I knew I should've snapped his neck the second Dumbledore told me of his suspicions." His sharp expression twisted into one of pure hatred, "Green flames–I should've known since then. I never should've let that brat walk out of this home."

Hadrian stiffened. "Green flames?" He cocked his head to the side, slowly tucking his wand back into his pocket.

"Keep up, Riddle," James growled. "Aren't you supposed to be the darling of the current Minister? They should've picked someone more intelligent, someone who could understand basic–"

"Green flames," Hadrian repeated quietly. "Huh." He kept his gaze trained on the other wizard as he held his hand out between them. A sudden warmth sparked in his blood, and he hid a smile as he felt his magic course through his veins, practically crackling around him as he gathered the power in his outstretched palm. "Kind of like this?"

James Potter stilled.

Hadrian took a step forward, willing the anger that swirled beneath the surface to explode out of his hands, sending the green fire across the small stretch of space between him and James Potter. The flames licked at the ground, quickly spreading over the marble, and engulfing the heavy curtains that draped over the walls.

"I can't tell you how long I've waited of this moment," Hadrian spoke in an eerily calm voice, watching with emotionless eyes as the green fire swirled around him, sending a hot feeling of unadulterated rage to creep up his spine. He inched closer, waving his hand and sending James Potter scrambling back as a wall of fire was thrown at him. It consumed practically everything it came into contact with, as though someone had drenched the entire manor in a heavy layer of gasoline.

He strode over to the older wizard, watching with amusement as James Potter tried to claw at the door behind him, desperate to escape.

"You're the one who decided to re-enforce the wards," Hadrian reminded the man with a twisted smile, "That means you're trapped here too, since you're certainly in no condition to remove the wards right now." He crouched down until he was at eye level with his former father, "Do you know what trapped means?"

"You," The other man gasped, biting back a harsh scream as the flames inched closer to his feet. They burned his skin like an acid, seeping through his clothes and attacking his body seemingly from the inside out. "Harry," He choked out. "You're Harry."

"Look at me," Hadrian hissed, reaching out a hand to force the other man to stay still despite the roar of pain he let out. "I've been right here for years," He taunted. "You looked me in the eyes, and still, you couldn't recognize your own son."

"You're Harry," James Potter let out another scream that quickly turned into a muffled sort of gargle as the flames wrapped around his neck, sinking into his throat. "You're–"

"Get there faster," Hadrian made a show of pretending to look at his watch, "I'm not sure you half much time left."

"The Dark Lord," James wheezed, "You're–"

"Save your breath," Hadrian reigned in the flames around him for a second. His voice was cold as he whispered, "I want something from you, Dad. I can't have you wasting the last few moments of your life on a ridiculously slow attempt to connect the dots."

James Potter let out another strained breath, "If it's an apology you want–" He shook his head and his lips peeled back to reveal a cruel smile, "You're going to be disappointed."

Hadrian sighed. His jaw tightened into a hard line as he backhanded the other wizard so hard that his entire head snapped back against the door, and he let out another raw scream.

"Like I was saying," Hadrian adjusted the sleeves of his sleek black robes, "I want something from you before you go straight to hell."

"What," James Potter hissed through clenched teeth, "What could you possibly want?"

Hadrian yanked on the slightly charred ends of the other wizard's hair, driving him to let out a quiet grunt of pain as he was forced to look up into his son's eyes.

"I want you to know that all your efforts were for nothing," Hadrian said in an icy tone, "I want you to know that you've been running out of time from the very second I was born. And when you decided my life was worth nothing to you–" Hadrian shook his head, "That was the moment I knew you would die at my hands someday." He leaned down and whispered, "I want you to know that I'm not just going to kill your son," He paused and let out a quiet laugh, "I'm going to kill every last dream you had of this life, James Potter. And I'm going to enjoy every single fucking second of it."

Hadrian gestured to the flames that had crawled up to the balcony and destroyed the second level, consuming the ancient manor built around them at an alarming speed. "Dumbledore managed to contain the fire the last time, but I'm afraid it's too late for that now." His gaze darkened as he finally stepped back from the half-dead wizard that panted against the wall.

"Potter Manor will burn down forever tonight," Hadrian opened the door and stepped outside the ballroom, not bothering to glance back as he heard James fall onto the ground behind him. "And with it, so will you."