Some of the dialogue here has been borrowed from DH.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
.

Though the hallway was open and draughty, the air felt thick. Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Luna stood in a line by the wall, all with tension in their postures.
Bill and Theo had carried the unconscious Malfoy upstairs, and Fleur had hastily followed, with her medical supplies in tow. Then, old Ollivander had wheezed and shuffled his way up three steps before Dean hurried to help him climb.
"I hope he's alright," Hermione muttered, wringing her hands uneasily.
Ron clicked his tongue dismissively, and brusquely demanded, "What the fuck is he doing here?"
"He's hurt!"
"Yeah, and? Couldn't his mummy take care of him?"
"Ron! He's been helping us..."
"Please. You were out cold, but he didn't do much helping at his precious manor. Just stood there like a sodding chump."
Luna pushed away from the wall and faced Ron while wearing an abnormally sharp expression. "He's done a lot, Ron," she said forcefully, "He used to show up hurt at my house too. But... it was never this bad..."
She bit her lip and gazed up the staircase.
Then Dean reappeared and sat himself on the lowest step. "Fleur's working on him, I think," he said, "The door's closed, and I couldn't hear anything..."

All of a sudden, with great thundering treads, Bill charged down the stairs with a wild look about him. "They're planning to attack the Burrow," he cried frantically, "We have half an hour to move everyone to Muriel's... I have to go..."
"What?!" Ron spluttered, "How –"
"Malfoy had this in his hand," Bill chucked a wad of parchment at Ron, as he pulled his boots and cloak on. Ron held the parchment out so they could all see; Attack on Weasley home 10 AM, it read, written in a hand Hermione was vaguely familiar with.
"I'm coming with you," Ron stated strongly.
"Yes," Harry began, "Me t –"
"No," Bill declared.
"Bill –!"
"Harry, no. You know what we all went through to get you here! And you're going to STAY here. Oh, stuff it, Ron. There's time enough right now to get everyone to safety... It's a good thing that Ginny's on holiday… If she'd been at Hogwarts they could have taken her before we reached her…"
With that Bill walked out of the cottage. They heard the crack as he disapparated.
Ron let out a shuddering sigh and fell back heavily against the wall. Thinking about the Weasleys being in the line of fire made Hermione's insides squirm too, and she touched Ron's arm an offered a weakly consoling, "They'll be okay."
But he shook her hand away and growled, "Sure. You're more worried about Malfoy anyway."
"Ron, that's not true –"
"Yeah, yeah," he sniped, and then stomped off towards the back of the house, possibly to escape into the back garden.

Two tiny pulsing spots of pain developed in Hermione's temples as she slid down to the ground. Head pressed against her knees, she groaned. Ron simply did not understand that Theo wouldn't ever be the same again if something were to happen to Malfoy.

Then Ginny's face bloomed in her mind's eye, and she was overcome with guilt.

Dumbledore could rave about the glory of love all he wanted, but sometimes, Hermione wished that she really could stop herself from caring. From worrying. From being god damned incapacitated by anxiety.
In the midst of her agonizing, Harry sat on his heels next to her… she was surprised; she thought he'd have gone after Ron…

"Listen, Hermione," he whispered, "While everyone's busy, we should go talk to Griphook… and Ollivander."
She paused, wiping her tears (where did those come from?) on her sleeve, and blinked at him.
"What about?"
"Just… You'll see."
"But what about Ron?"
"We'll fill him in later. Come on."

Griphook the Goblin hadn't bothered to wash, and he was splayed defiantly on Fleur's pretty floral bed sheet when Hermione and Harry entered 'his' room. In one hand he held the sword of Gryffindor, and he used the other to stroke his short, pointy black beard. His beady little eyes watched as Hermione sat on the chair by the dressing table, and Harry stood with his arms crossed at the foot of the bed.

"Sorry to bother you," said Harry, "How are your legs?"
"Painful, but mending."
It was astonishing, how quickly his eyes were darting between his two unwanted guests. He looked hostile, yes... but there was a definite undercurrent of curiosity in his gaze.
"Griphook," Harry commenced gravely, I need to ask –"
"You rescued me. A goblin," Griphook interrupted bitterly.
"What?"
"You brought me here," he spat, "Saved me."
"Well, I take it you're not sorry?" Harry asked with annoyance.
"No, Harry Potter," Griphook replied slowly, "but... you are a very odd wizard."
"Right. Well," Harry muttered, "I need some help, Griphook, and you can give it to me..." He stalled, and the Goblin frowned, "...I need to break into a Gringotts vault."

xxx

During the short journey between Griphook's room and Ollivander's, Hermione grabbed Harry's wrist and asked in a zealous whisper: "Are you saying what I think you're saying? There's a Horcrux in the Lestrange's vault?"
"Yes! Bellatrix was terrified when she thought we'd been in there; she was beside herself. Why? What did she think we'd seen, what else did she think we might have taken? Something she was petrified You-Know-Who would find out about… I don't think he'd have told Bellatrix it was a Horcrux, though…. probably told her it was a treasured possession and asked her to place it in her vault. The safest place in the world for anything you want to hide, Hagrid told me... except for Hogwarts... Come on – Ollivander now."

xxx

Ollivander's room was crammed with single beds, five of them to be precise, and Hermione inferred that it was where all the boys... the men... slept.
It was dark inside; all the curtains had been tightly drawn, and the weary wandmaker was lying on the bed furthest from the window, as though even the slightest hint of light would cause him pain. Spending a year in a cellar would do that to a person.
"Mr. Ollivander," Harry murmured as he sat on the empty bed next to his, "I hope we're not disturbing you terribly..."
"My dear boy," the skeletal old man croaked, "I thought I was doomed to die in that place. If you hadn't come, I would never have escaped. I am happy to help you in any way I can."
Harry nodded, and from his mokeskin pouch he took out the broken fragments of his wand. "Mr. Ollivander," he beseeched, "Can you mend this."
Ollivander surveyed the pieces carefully, and then shook his head with no little regret. "No. I am sorry… very sorry… but a wand that has suffered this degree of damage cannot be repaired by any means that I know of."
Harry hung his head for a moment; Hermione yearned to comfort him, but didn't know how. Nonetheless, he recovered soon, and then took out two more wands.
"Can you identify these?"
Ollivander took the first in his hand and held it close to his clouded eyes; "Twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belongs to Bellatrix Lestrange."
"And this one?"
"Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy."
Harry started. "Was? Isn't it still his?"
"Perhaps not. If you took it –"
"–I did–"
"–then it may be yours. Of course, the manner of taking matters. Much also depends upon the wand itself. In general, however, where a wand has been won, its allegiance will change."

Harry pursed his lips. This, apparently, was exactly the preface he'd hoped for. The situation was primed for a conversation about wand loyalties, and how they are won... in particular, how the loyalty of the most powerful wand in the world may be won.

Bunches of light purple lavender, tall shoots of vivid blue viper's bugloss, clusters of pretty pink sea thrift, stalks of bright yellow mullein, multiple shrubs of spindly green rosemary dotted with pale blue flowers, wrinkly silvery-green clumps of sea kale... the tiny garden outside Shell Cottage had a wild, rustic charm.

Ron was sitting atop the low boundary wall, swinging his legs vacantly. As he saw Hermione and Harry making their way towards him, he waved somewhat sheepishly.
"Hey," he began, then cleared his throat, "Er, sorry for having a go at you, Hermione."
She hopped up on the wall next to him and bumped his shoulder. "We saw Bill in the kitchen on the way out... Seems your family's all settled in at Muriel's."
"Hah," he barked, "Not for long. Fred and George aren't going to let things remain settled. You have no idea how much they love fucking with that old bat."
"Oh, I can imagine," Hermione smiled.

They both then looked at Harry, who hadn't partaken in their amusement. He was staring out at the heap of dirt under which poor Dobby lay. So Hermione took it upon herself to tell Ron about everything they'd gleaned from their conversations with Griphook and Ollivander.
"Wow," Ron breathed, looking awestruck, "So the Elder Wand really does exist."
"It would..." Hermione muttered grudgingly, "...seem so."
Then Harry spoke, and as he did, he kept rubbing his scar distractedly. She knew immediately that he was half inside Voldemort's head, and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from railing at him.
"Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand a long time ago," he said in a hushed tone, "I saw You-Know-Who trying to find him. When he tracked him down, he found that Gregorovitch didn't have it anymore: It was stolen from him by Grindelwald and –" Harry paused and lightly shook his head, "– and Grindelwald used the Elder Wand to become powerful. Then, at the height of his power, when Dumbledore knew he was the only one who could stop him, he duelled Grindelwald and beat him, and he took the Elder Wand."
"Dumbledore had the Elder Wand?" Ron exclaimed, "But then – where is it now?"
"At Hogwarts," Harry muttered, eyes shut.
Ron sprang off the wall; "But then, let's go! Harry! Let's go and get it before he does!"
Harry opened his eyes and looked dazedly at Ron. "It's too late for that." He pressed his fingers against his forehead. "He knows where it is. He's there now."
Ron turned purple. "Harry!" he raged, "How long have you known this – why have you been wasting time? Why did you talk to Griphook first? We could have gone – we could still go –"
"Ron," Hermione cut in sharply; Harry had fallen to his knees.
"No," he moaned, "Hermione's right... Dumbledore didn't want me to have it... didn't want me to take it. He wanted me to get the Horcruxes... I'm not supposed to ...I'm supposed to get the Horcruxes..." He slumped forward in a faint.
"Harry!" Hermione cried, leaping to his side, "Ron... Ron, help me!"
Together, they laid him on his back on the soft grass.
"Shall we take him inside?" Ron asked, his brow puckered.
"No," she sighed, "There'll be too many questions. We'll just have to wait it out here."
And so they did.

The universe had such a perverse way of maintaining its supposed balance.

There was an evil, unhinged woman who had a powerful wand, and she used that powerful wand to torture a girl, and two days later, the girl was given that same wand to use.
Twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding. When Hermione looked at it, all she knew, heard, and felt was crucio crucio crucio.
Something horrible bubbled under her skin.
If help hadn't arrived, that wand would've done to her what it had done to Frank and Alice Longbottom. Or if luck had been on her side, it would have done to her what it had done to Sirius.
She picked it up, reluctantly, and it felt wrong and vile and icy cold, even though the rational part of her knew that, just like any other wand, it was as good or bad as the one who wields it. "Engorgio," she chanted, aiming at a beautifully formed thrift flower. It grew, but all its petals fell off – all its beauty was lost.
That wand was too accustomed to destruction... she hated it. She really hated it.

Setting it down on the garden table, she sat on a wrought iron chair and pulled a small corked vial out of her beaded bag. The single strand of deep black hair within was like a helminth primed to suck the blood out of any and everyone. How lucky it was that Fleur still hadn't gotten around to washing their clothes... how lucky it was that they'd found Bellatrix's hair caught in the fibres of Hermione's sweater. Lucky, lucky, lucky.
She'd get the chance to inhabit the body that had tormented her. Seriously, naff sense of justice, oh world.

It was then that the one who claimed to be (as dictated by semantics,) the creator of the warped, callous world they lived in, joined her.
"Hi, Theo," she greeted softly.
"Hello," he replied, sitting next to her.
"How is he?"
Theo ran a hand down his tired-looking face. "Better. Woke up for a bit, then Fleur potioned him up again, so he fell asleep."
Hermione watched him as he chewed his tongue and scratched at the uncharacteristic scruff that lined his jaw. "But he'll be... all right?"
"Yes."
"What happened, exactly?"
"The usual," Theo shrugged with affected airiness, "You-Know-Who went a bit potty after the Chosen Potty escaped his clutches for the millionth time. Then Draco decided to use the last of his strength to apparate here so that Bill could be warned about the attack on the Burrow."
The gaze he fixed on her was both expectant and challenging, and she had to look away. There was a lump in her throat made of guilt, empathy, and admiration – but she could neither expel it nor swallow it down. It sat in her windpipe until her lungs were liquid; long after Theo had left her and gone back inside.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron stood in the shadowy landing talking in heated whispers. They'd just had a short, unpleasant meeting with Griphook, where the goblin, sitting like a proud Lord on his overlarge bed, had refused to let them see the map of Gringotts that he had drawn, until they promised to let him have Gryffindor's sword. It was a setback they hadn't anticipated at all.

"He's having a laugh," Ron scoffed, "We can't let him have that sword."
Harry looked at Hermione uneasily, "Is it true? Was the sword stolen by Gryffindor?"
"I don't know," she muttered dejectedly, "Wizarding history often skates over what the wizards have done to other magical races, but there's no account that I know of that says Gryffindor stole the sword."
"Codswallop. It'll be one of those goblin stories," said Ron indifferently, "about how the wizards are always trying to get one over on them. I suppose we should think ourselves lucky he hasn't asked for one of our wands."
"Goblins have got good reason to dislike wizards, Ron! They've been treated brutally in the past."
"Well, they aren't exactly fluffy little bunnies, though, are they? They've killed plenty of us. They've fought dirty too."
"But arguing with Griphook about whose race is most underhanded and violent isn't going to make him more likely to help us, is it?" Hermione snapped.
"Okay," he said, throwing his hands up like he couldn't deal with how difficult she was being, "how's this? We tell Griphook we need the sword until we get inside the vault and then he can have it. There's a fake in there, isn't there? We switch them, and give him the fake."
"He'd know the difference better than we would!" Hermione said with disbelief, "He's the only one who realized there had been a swap!"
"Yeah, but we could scarper before he realizes –"
Well, apparently, her glare still held some power, because Ron's jaw snapped shut and his head lowered. "That... is despicable. Ask for his help, then double-cross him? And you wonder why goblins don't like wizards, Ron?"
"Alright, alright!" he growled, "It was the only thing I could think of! What's your solution, then?"
"We need to offer him something else, something just as valuable."
"Brilliant, I'll go and get one of our ancient goblin-made swords and you can gift wrap it."
As Hermione and Ron glared at each other, Harry spoke up – "Maybe he's lying. Griphook, I mean. Maybe Gryffindor didn't take the sword. How do we know the goblin version of history's right?"
"Does it make a difference?" Hermione sighed.
"Changes how I feel about it," Harry muttered, 'We'll... tell him he can have the sword after he's helped us get into the vault – but we'll be careful to avoid telling him exactly when he can have it."
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, "We can't –"
"He can have it," Harry said over her, "After we've used it on all of the Horcruxes. I'll make sure he gets it then. I'll keep my word."
"But that could be years!"
"I know that, but he needn't. I won't be lying... really."
"I don't like it," Hermione said angrily.
"Nor do I, much," Harry confessed.
"Well, I think its genius," Ron chirruped with a grin, "Let's go and tell –"

Suddenly, the door at the opposite end of the hallway flew open with a bang. And there, pale and lean, in striped pajamas and bare feet, stood Draco Malfoy in his considerably diminished glory. He was glowering at Harry; his entire frame seemed to be trembling with strain.
"Give me my wand," he rasped dangerously.
It took Harry a few seconds to gather his wits... then he squared his shoulders and said, "No."
Malfoy's eyes flashed. He took two steps forward and levelled the wand he was holding at Harry.
"I wasn't asking, Potter. Give. Me. My. Wand."
Theo and Luna appeared behind Malfoy, looking hassled.
"It's not your wand anymore, Malfoy," Harry said loftily, "Winners, keepers. Who lent you theirs?"
"My mother."
Harry laughed, which really wasn't the best thing to do in such situations.
"Expelliarmus," Malfoy bellowed, but Harry cut him off with a quick shield charm. "I'm not fucking around – give it back. Now."
"I told you," Harry snapped, "it isn't your wand anymore! It won't answer to you now... I won it from you – "
"Won it?! You snatched it out of my hand –"
("Draco," Theo called pleadingly, but was completely ignored.)
"Well, you were attacking –"
"I was not attacking ANYONE. Expelliarmus!"
Harry's shield charm held. Ron sniggered, "Right. You were cowering in a corner. Served you right, having your wand taken away."
Silence iced over the walls, the stairs, the railing, and them. Malfoy turned his enraged gaze on Ron, and asked in a voice that was fittingly frosty, "What would you have had me do, Weasley? Attack? Maybe I should have helped dear Aunt Bella while she had her fun with Granger here?"
"Shut the fuck up!" Ron thundered, "You should have fought with us! You're supposed to be on our side, aren't you? I knew that was all bullshit – You coward!"
"COWARD?" Malfoy stalked forward, brandishing his mother's wand, and Ron quickly whipped out his own, "You wanted me to fight with you? Given myself away? You fucking bellend... who'd have told you about the plan to burn your pathetic little hovel to the ground then? Your family would all be dead now. Or worse. That pretty little sister of yours would be very popular among –"
"Confingro!" roared Ron, "Aduro!" shouted Harry, and "Protego!" cried Theo, Hermione and Luna.
"Stop it!" Hermione shrieked, "STOP!"
"Incisura!"
"BACK OFF, WEASLEY!" Theo snarled, storming ahead to stand next to Malfoy.
"Expelliarmus, Expelliarmus, EXPELLIARMUS!" Malfoy was unrelenting, and Harry was forced to put his shield back up.

There was a strange suctioning noise, a flash of blue light, and all four boys were pinned against the walls.
Luna, evidently, had had the good sense to run down and call Bill.
"You idiots," he panted, glaring at each of them in turn, "What the hell is wrong with all of you?"
With the exception of Theo, they all struggled against the invisible force that held them.
"Sorry, Bill –"
"– this arsehole Death Eater –"
"– my wand back –"
"NOT a fucking chance!"
"Shut up!" Bill bellowed. And they did. Hermione was more than a little awed by the forcefulness the usually laidback man could summon.
"Bill," Ron began ardently, "You need to get rid of this Death Eater here –"
"Not another word! I'm not going to ask you to get along, because obviously that involves more maturity than you are capable of showing. But I will NOT allow you to tear my house down. We're all on the same side here... Yes, Ron... nobody here is a Death Eater."

"Mr. Malfoy," came a quivering voice from across the hall.
They all stared as Ollivander shuffled out of his room and stood before Malfoy. "Please calm yourself. I will make you a new wand... as soon as I've recovered my strength."
Malfoy blinked, and slowly, all fury drained away from his face. "I – erm – I don't –"
"Young man," Ollivander continued, "You showed me kindness during the darkest hours of my long life... I would be honoured to make you another wand."
"...Thank you," Malfoy muttered, frowning like he didn't quite believe the old man.

After a long moment of silence, Bill let his prisoners down. Malfoy stormed back into his room, Theo followed listlessly, Luna cautiously... Ron shoved past Bill and Harry and disappeared downstairs. Sharing a hopeless look with Hermione, Bill went on to help Ollivander back into bed.

And that left two – Hermione and Harry – staring uncomfortably at all the closed doors.

"Tea?"
Fleur grinned up at them from the foot of the stairs, next to a nervous looking Dean and, oh... sure. Why not? Tea!

"Honestly, Fleur," Hermione beseeched, "You and Bill should take this room. Luna and I will be perfectly comfortable sleeping in the living room."

From her table-transfigured-into-a-cot, Luna nodded in fervent agreement.
"Nonsense," Fleur chided, "You are our guests. You must 'ave ze room."
"No, please –"
"I weel not 'ear it," Fleur added firmly, "Sleep well."
And with that, she breezed out of the room, closing the door behind her.
"Oh well," Hermione sighed.
"You tried," Luna smiled consolingly, "Goodnight, Hermione."
"Goodnight."
Luna curled up under her duvet and Hermione doused the lamps... it took three tries with Bellatrix's wand. She wandered over to her bed, but didn't get in; she wasn't ready for sleep yet. Her mind was burdened, and she knew that if she closed her eyes, she risked reliving that awful night at Malfoy Manor. So she strolled over to the window and gazed outside, where slowly, silently, now the moon, walks the night in her silvery shoon.
The scene outside was all silver and black. Beyond the garden wall, at the edge of the cliff, stood a tall, male figure facing the swirling sea, and it was like the moonlight itself had been spun into fine gossamer strands and placed on his head. A few minutes later, he was joined by another tall, Theo-shaped figure. They watched the sea, and Hermione watched them.

Yawning like a lion, (...because it was a very wide yawn; she was in no way alluding to her Gryffindor-ness, thank you very much...) Hermione dragged her feet all the way down to the kitchen, desperate for a large mug of very, very sweet coffee.

Luna had been all sunshine and butterflies in the morning, skipping off to wake Theo in her very special way, the details of which Hermione had expunged from her mind. She stopped dead at the kitchen door, and dread pooled in her very empty belly. Couldn't she catch a break? Why did Malfoy have to be the only person at the table. Where were Bill and Fleur? Dean? Ollivander. Anyone.
He appeared to be engrossed in reading the paper, and she considered waiting for someone else to show up, but her stomach and head both protested so vehemently at that notion that she straightened her spine, and marched her way to the chair furthest away from Malfoy. She didn't look up to see if he'd acknowledged her presence.
The French press was full and steaming, much to Hermione's relief. The delicious smell of coffee filled the room as she poured the liquid into her mug. Then she added milk... just the right amount... and then sugar... sugar...
Sugar...?
Oh honey honey.
The sugar was at the other end of the table, tightly wrapped up in long, pale fingers. Slowly, her eyes lifted up to Malfoy's face, and he was looking right at her. His expression was utterly blank, but Hermione recognised a dare when she saw one. Her blood boiled a little.
"Pass the sugar, Malfoy."
Her inflection was crisp and clear; perhaps a little higher than necessary, but two out of three wasn't bad.
"I think," Malfoy said snootily, "You forgot a word there, Granger."
"Please," she uttered through gritted teeth.
"Hmm," he spun the canister around thoughtfully, "If I give it to you, will you thank me?"
"Excuse me?"
"I just really want to know what earns your gratitude," he continued lightly, "I mean, I've saved your life on two occasions so far, and haven't received a word of thanks. So will handing you this little canister do it?"
Hermione stared at the ridiculous, coolly inquisitive facade he was presenting her with. She had expected, if they spoke at all, another explosive showdown... but this... this was... what?
"Just pass me the damned sugar, Malfoy."
"Damned?" He raised his eyebrows, "Is it damned because I'm holding it?"
"Accio sugar," Hermione growled, thankful for her wandless summoning skills. She was considerably less thankful for Malfoy's seeker skills, as his hand shot out and stopped the canister from zooming towards her.
"Sorry, Granger. I am a selfless man, it's true, but there are limits to my generosity." His mask had slipped, he looked explicitly angry.
"You're insane!"
"And you're an intolerable little ingrate!"
"So that's why you're doing all this then?" Hermione spat, "You want to be showered with appreciation and accolades and –"
"You don't know the first thing about why I'm doing this!"

He was flushed in his anger, and his mouth was turned down. For a fleeting second, Hermione considered just saying it... considered just thanking him... but she couldn't. The words wouldn't form – they simply wouldn't – not when he was looking at her the way he did when he said Mudblood.

"You're pathetic."
He was on his feet instantaneously. "I saved your life," he rumbled.
She stood up, too. "Well, bully for you!"

"Oi, hey, hey! What's this here?"

Theo and Luna walked slowly into the kitchen, looking bright and lively.
"Just what I like to see early in the morning," Theo quipped as he pulled a chair out for his girlfriend, "Two of my favourite people looking like they want to kill each other." He paused, as though an unexpected thought had struck him, "That's what it was, right? You weren't about to jump at each other and have it off, yeah?"
"THEO!" two voices - one high, one low – cried, harmonized by their tone of horror.
Hermione sat back down quickly; she would never, ever in her whole entire life look at Malfoy again.
"I was just making sure," Theo said defensively, "Thin line, and all that."
"You're an arse," Malfoy snapped, and in her head, Hermione agreed with ardour.
"Draco, could you pass me the sugar?" Luna asked.
It couldn't be helped, Hermione looked at Malfoy. Again, she found him looking back at her.
"What, Luna... didn't I give you more than enough sugar earlier?"
Malfoy's face twisted in a way that surely mirrored her own. "Here," he barked, pushing the canister towards Luna.
"Thank you, Draco."
He – bugger it all – smirked, and Hermione looked away. Luna began humming Greensleeves.

With many a thumps and bumps, them of the ungraceful gait - Harry, Ron, and Dean - appeared at the kitchen door, and like Hermione, they froze.
"For fuck's sake," Theo lamented, "Just come sit down. Show Bill that you really are capable of behaving like adults."
Ron's ears turned red, Harry scowled, Dean sniffed, but they all (surprisingly) obeyed.
"Where are Bill and Fleur?" Hermione asked.
"Muriel's," Ron muttered, "Needed to restock their potions stash."

There was a long stretch of silence, during which everybody busied themselves with their mugs (and Hermione finally got hold of some sugar.) There must have been moments in her life that had been more uncomfortable than this, but she couldn't remember them.
"So," Theo drawled eventually, "What's next, my young heroes?"
"What d'you mean?" Ron demanded pugnaciously.
"I mean, what are your plans? I doubt you're going to stay here for much longer."
"None of your fucking business."
"Alright," Theo pronounced, looking down his nose at Ron, "Just keep in mind that I'm coming with you."
"NO," shouted Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Malfoy.
"Oh," Theo gasped, looking most unconvincingly startled, "Er, actually, I am."
"Absolutely not," declared Hermione and Malfoy.
"Listen to me," Theo said, suddenly terribly serious, "In the past two days, I have come this close to losing both my best friends. I'm not going to let that happen again. I AM going with you."
"– Theo –"
"And you're what?" Harry said, "Some kind of... Super-Wizard? If you're with us, nothing bad will happen?"
"Yes," Theo snapped, "I'm also extraordinarily intelligent and astonishingly virile."
"Twat," Harry muttered.
"Um, Theo," Hermione hedged, "I really don't think –"
"I don't care!" He slammed a fist on the table, "I can't just sit around anymore, while you... you... Hermione, please. I have to come with you. And – Merlin, just listen to me – I'm not dead weight! I can duel! And while I'm not some sodding Super-Wizard, I can help!"
"These three here," Malfoy cut in, "Are the epitome of hare-brained, asinine, Gryffindor recklessness. Since when did you become suicidal, Theo –"
"Well, Draco, they're obviously in desperate need of a Slytherin sidekick."
"We don't need you," Ron grumbled.
"Yeah," Harry seconded, "We've been managing just fine –"
"Oh sure. Fine. You got yourself caught by snatchers and Hermione nearly died."

Harry and Theo glared at each other across the table. There was, however, a glint of that old guilt in Harry's eyes that was the albatross around his neck. Hermione knew that he'd conceded a beat before he said, "Okay, listen..."
"What?!" Ron spluttered.
"...So here's the plan..."
"HARRY?!"

xxx

"You're all barmy," Dean breathed after Harry had finished, "Can I come too?"
"No."
"Well, then!"
"We can't have a small army barging into Gringotts."
"You've got polyjuice, yeah?" Theo asked. Harry nodded. "Well, excellent. I have a few strands of my father's hair."
"You just carry those around?" Ron asked, appalled.
"For emergencies," Theo affirmed.
"Bloody weird."
"Excuse me, as my father's heir, I am entitled to some of his hair."
A groan went around the table. Luna giggled.
"That," Malfoy said, "Wasn't funny the first time you said it, and it hasn't been funny the subsequent four-hundred times."
"Luna laughed," said Theo insolently.
Malfoy arched his brow. (Hermione stopped herself from doing the same just in time.)
"If you've got your father's hair," Ron slated, "Why don't you go watch over Malfoy instead?"
Theo opened his mouth, but Malfoy held up a hand before he could speak.
"No," he said, "Let me, please."
"Go on."
"See, Weasley, the Dark Lord and his followers may not be as brilliant as you, but I assure you that they will notice if suddenly there are two Nott Seniors in their midst."
Dean, Luna, and Theo laughed, and... Hermione bit the insides of her cheeks.
Shaking his head, Harry looked at Malfoy from the corner of his eye, and after clearing his throat asked, "We're right, aren't we? There's something in the Lestrange vault?"
Malfoy nodded once, sharply. "Something that scares her shitless."

Later that day, in the early evening, Ollivander left. He was moving to Muriel's house where Molly would be able to take better care of him.

Exactly thirty hours later, when the stars were just beginning to dot the sky, Bill walked into the cottage with a slim parcel that he handed to Malfoy.
"Your new wand," he said, and laughed when Malfoy's eyes widened.

Malfoy shredded through the paper enthusiastically, and then, with great reverence, he beheld the glossy stick that emerged. He drew an arc over his head, conjuring a stream of twinkling golden dust that reflected in his awe-stricken eyes.

Hermione turned away, overwhelmed by bitter, bitter envy.

Bracing herself, she sat at the edge of her bed and called out to Luna just as she was settling into hers.

"Yes, Hermione?"
"Look," she ventured, "I'm sure if you talked to Theo, he might agree to drop out of our... um... operation. He would listen to you."
"Why would I do that?" Luna asked.
"He's... I mean... he's leaving you behind..." Hermione stammered, wincing at herself.
"Yes," Luna agreed, "And that makes me sad, but I trust you to keep him safe. You will do that, wont you?"
"Of course! With everything I have! But you're... okay... with..."
"Have you heard of Amazonian Atar Pixies?"
"Um... no?"
"Well, they're very rare. And they have a very special power: They reveal your soulmate."
"Soulmate," Hermione repeated. Well, there went her attempt to have a serious conversation.
"Yes. And I'm almost sure that you are Theo's soulmate."
"Luna..."
"People have the wrong idea, you know. Soulmates aren't your romantic ideal. They're the person you have the strongest bond with. It can be romantic, yes... but it can also be platonic, filial, maternal...
"I thought it was Draco, at first; but then I saw the way he lights up around you... Come to think of it, Theo's heart is big enough for two soul mates," Luna finished with a smile.
"Right," Hermione murmured, for it was the only thing she could think to say.
"I know Theo loves me, Hermione. And I love him. And that is why I can't ask him to stay."

Bill held up his goblet of wine and he gushed, "To Teddy Remus Lupin... a great wizard in the making!"
"To Teddy!"

Hermione had never seen Lupin beam so. He was walking on air. He went through four helpings of wine in quick succession, before finally insisting he had to leave.
"Goodbye, goodbye – I'll try and bring some pictures in a few days' time. Draco, would you come by before you return to Hogwarts? Dora really wants you to meet Teddy."
"Yeah, alright," Malfoy agreed, his manner just short of credibly nonchalant.
"Give Tonks our love," Hermione said.
"Of course. Well. Goodbye."

They all watched him walk across the veranda, down the rubbly path to the boundary wall... the spring in his step was just lovely.

The drinking didn't stop after Lupin had gone. They were all just so glad to have a reason to celebrate. By and by, Fleur went into the kitchen to prepare dinner, and Hermione followed wanting to help...
"Non please. I prepare meals by myself, zank you very much!"

So she trundled back into the living room, and found that Ron was the only one there.
"Where," Hermione asked, "has everyone gone."
Ron took a large sip from his glass. "Bill wanted a private word with Harry... I think he knows we've made some sort of deal with Griphook; isn't too happy about that. Griphook slipped away ages ago. Everybody... else went to sit in the garden."
"Shall we go join them?"
"No."
"Oh, come on, Ron. At least try and –"
"No."
"Well, fine. But I'm going."
He shrugged. "Then go."

xxx

The small group in the garden looked up when Hermione joined them, of which three offered her smiles, and one a haughty raised brow.
She sat on the empty wrought iron chair next to Dean, across from Luna, Theo, and Malfoy.
"Guess what, Hermione," Dean said, "Lupin's going to take me to see my family day after."
"That's wonderful!"
"Yeah," Dean sighed, staring out at the sea with narrowed eyes, "My dad just woke up from a coma."
"What happened to him?" Luna asked carefully.
"Death Eaters. They went after him just after I ran away," he said in a low, gruff voice, "Right outside the magistrate's office, in full view of about a hundred steel mill workers who were protesting out there. He'd gone to offer them legal representation... Honestly, I don't know how he survived... All because he has the shit buggering misfortune of being my father. And he isn't even my father, really. God knows where that arsehole ran off to."

Nobody knew what to say. Twilight simmered around them, a wash of Payne's grey shot with pink, hovering over ever-moving waters. The distant screeching of seagulls harmonised with the metrically gushing waves.
"He always says, 'Dean, fight for what's right, and everything will be fine.' What a load of bollocks, yeah?" he added, louder and clearer than before, "He's fed me so much bullshit... for years I believed that my real father was Nelson Mandela."
A loud, surprised laugh tore out of Hermione's throat, and she slapped her palm over her mouth in horror. She turned wide, guilty eyes towards Dean, but he was grinning.
"S'alright. He'd also convinced me that our postman was an Ukranian spy."
Glad that she was free to be amused, Hermione said, "Mine told me the scar on his chin was from when Johnny Rotten had punched him in the mouth. Later I found out that he'd simply walked into a pole."
"Mine told me the empty bulb sockets in our house where government installed surveillance cameras," said Dean.
"My dad told me that Thatcher was secretly a cannibal," Hermione counteracted.
"My dad told me that if you leave cheese in water overnight, it turns into milk."
"My dad told me money plant leaves are universally viable currency."
Malfoy muttered, something something "muggles," but it was drowned out by Dean and Hermione's chuckles.
"My dad," Theo said loudly, "Told me that his personal House-Elf was a child-devouring Erkling. I didn't sleep for months."
Now that wasn't funny at all, but for some reason, the laughter swelled.
"That's terrible!" Hermione choked over gasping peals of mirth.
"I KNOW," Theo cackled, "He also told me that I was... I was... a dung beetle that he'd transfigured into a little boy, and if I'd set even a toe out of line, he'd turn me back into one."
"My father," Malfoy intoned, (even he was wearing a small grin,) "Told me it would be a really brilliant idea to pledge eternal fealty to an evil, sadistic, ophiophilistic tyrant."
"Oafy-wha – ?" Dean wheezed, laughing; still laughing.
Malfoy's shoulders were shaking as he went on, "It's my fault really, for believing him. This is the man who, before first year, told me I was to befriend Potter as he was going to be the next Dark Lord."
They were in hysterics, actual hysterics...
Then: "My dad," Luna piped up, "Hasn't ever told me a single lie."

...And they exploded. For a moment, Hermione was worried that Luna's feelings might be hurt, but the girl was watching Theo throw his head back and cachinnate with rapt adoration. Dean had tears in his eyes, and if, maybe, they were not all laughter-induced, this moment was exactly what he'd needed.
Giggling and gasping into the back of her hand, Hermione got inexplicably caught up in the bizarre sight of Malfoy laughing, not meanly, not contemptuously, but genuinely. He was all bright eyes, and white teeth, and rosy cheeks, and it was...
Unsettling.
Yes, that's what it was. Unsettling.

"By the way," Malfoy asked two days later, "How exactly do you plan to double-cross a goblin?"

They were all holed up in Theo and Malfoy's room, pouring over their plans for the twentieth time.
"Um," said Harry, "We're not sure about that yet."
"Wonderful," Malfoy carped.
"Truly," Theo added.
"Well, do you have a better idea then?" Harry demanded angrily.
"Sure," Malfoy replied glibly, "Not trying to double-cross a goblin."
"Yes!" Hermione exclaimed before she could stop herself, "Thank you!"
Then she bit her lip in dismay.
A slow, evil grin spread across Malfoy's stupid face. "Why, Granger," he drawled.
"Shut up. That's not what I –"
"You're welcome."
"Shut up!"
"No, really, I –"
"Can we get back to work?" Ron snapped.

Hermione waited till the last possible moment before downing the tar like substance that Bellatrix's hair had turned polyjuice into. It was the worst thing she had ever tasted – no exceptions.

She felt the change happen; her limbs grew, her hair turned stringy, her face felt... heavier. She didn't look down as she changed into black, velvet robes.
She glanced out the window, and in the semi-darkness of dawn, she saw a sliver of her new face reflected in the glass: A ripple of black hair, a single hooded eye.
"Crucio," she whispered, and it came out in Bellatrix's low rasp.

It was time to go; it was time to go.

xxx

Hermionetrix was trying very hard not to lose her temper as she went about altering Ron's appearance with a bit of transfiguration.
"I don't like the beard too long"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, this isn't about looking handsome"
"It's not that, it gets in the way! And I'd like my nose a bit shorter..."
Jesus Christ.

"There!" she said finally, "how does he look, Harry?
Harry looked him up and down. "Well, he's not my type, but he'll do. Where the hell is Nott?"
"Here!"

His voice was harsh and steely, nothing like she was expecting. Nott Sr., had bequeathed nothing but his jaw line to his son, which was a very good thing.
"You look awful," Hermionetrix proclaimed.
"Me?!" Not-Sr. spluttered, "Look at you!"
"Would you like me to kiss you, Theo?" Luna asked sweetly.
"Looking like this? NO!"
"I don't mind..."
"What the fuck, Luna! NO!"
"We are wasting time," Griphook grumbled over Ron's sniggers.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, "Let's go..."
"Just... one moment, Harry," Hermionetrix whispered. She walked briskly over to Malfoy, who'd been standing a small distance away, eyeing them all stonily. He watched her approach him with a sneer.
"Um," she said.
"What?" he countered.
She breathed in, deeply. "Thank you, Malfoy. For... everything."
But his sneer remained. "I don't know what's weirder," he muttered, "Hermione Granger thanking me, or fucking Aunt Bellatrix thanking me."
Hermionetrix attempted her best Bellatrix impression: her nose tipped upwards, her eyebrows arched, and she said in the coldest, snootiest way she could, "I should think that that's obvious."

She thought he might scowl, or sneer some more, or say something cutting. Instead, what she got from him was the ghost of a smirk.