Lucius Malfoy has been confined to the Hospital Wing, pale and unconscious in his bed, looking not unlike Draco, who'd been in a similar position during the beginning of the Christmas Holiday. Albus stares down at him with a critical eye. "And he said nothing else?' he asks Severus.

"No," says Severus, "just that Alastor Moody is actually Barty Crouch—which is absurd, of course, because I've seen the two of them in the same room…though, I admit, this would explain where my potions ingredients have been disappearing to. In hindsight, the kinds of ingredients that were disappearing ought to have been alarming."

Albus sighs. "No, I suspect that Alastor Moody is, in fact, Barty Crouch—Junior."

Severus stares at him blankly, then rasps, "Barty? I thought he was dead!"

"So did I but, well, this makes the most sense. Think of all those letters Lucius has been sending you."

Severus takes a moment to do just that and proceeds to groan in annoyance. "Of course! I should have known. Lucius has never been one for subtlety outside the Wizengamot… Well, what should we do now?"

Albus purses his lips. "I don't think we should contact Mrs. Malfoy just yet," he finally says. "She has a much more controlled personality than her husband and she may attempt to do damage control. We do not want any sort of damage control to occur. Perhaps we ought to allow Mr. Malfoy to awaken naturally? Question him then…"

"Lucius will be well-rested," Severus contradicts. "He'll have his wits about him again, even if he's still blinking off his drowsiness. We need something to truly catch him off-guard."

Albus thinks. "What if we summon young Mr. Malfoy?"

"Draco?" Severus asks. "Yes, yes, maybe… Honestly, perhaps we should question him, anyway. Lucius has all but thrown his lot in with us and if Draco finds out then he'll likely follow his father's lead and give us the information we need."

And so they summon Draco Malfoy, who's eyes immediately zero in on Lucius's prone form before shrieking, "Father!"

"He's all right," Severus soothes. "He was ill when he came to me but we're taking good care of him, I promise." When Draco still looks antsy, Severus continues, "He's one of my oldest friends. I will make sure he's fine."

Draco slumps in a vague approximation of relief, though his shoulders are still tight. "Thank you, Professor," he mutters.

Severus gently guides him to Lucius's bedside, allowing him to perch at the only seat there. Albus and Severus exchange a look, silently arguing about whether they want to go ahead or not. Albus's conscience, for example, is already guilting him for putting such an obviously terrified boy under any further stress. Severus glares back at him, saying something along the lines of 'He can handle it!' Whether he's driven by desperation or tough love, Albus isn't sure, but it does manage to change his mind.

Severus says, "Draco…before he fell ill, your father told me something."

And then Draco tenses. "What do you mean?" he asks warily.

"He was talking about Barty Crouch…and Professor Moody. Rather, that Professor Moody is Barty Crouch Jr. Could you tell me anything about that?"

Draco looks desperately to his father for guidance but Lucius remains stubbornly unconscious. "He told you?" Draco demands once it becomes clear that his father is going to save him. "On his own?"

"Yes," Severus says. "You know you can tell me anything, Draco. Your father knew it, too."

Seeing as Draco is a Legacy Slytherin, on a normal day, he would have seen right through Severus's attempts at manipulation and reacted accordingly. In his distressed state, however, he still recognizes the attempts at manipulation but he doesn't seem to particularly care. Draco slumps and says, "He was living at the Manor before the school year," Draco mutters.

Severus shoots Albus a smirk, which Albus mirrors. Success.

Albus says, "Mr. Malfoy, can you fill us in on how, exactly, Mr. Crouch came to impersonate Professor Moody?"

"Attacked him," Draco murmurs, "at night. He was going to do it sooner but you didn't choose a Defense Professor until right before the school year."

"I didn't hear about an attack," Albus says skeptically.

Draco shrugs. "He's good at what he does."

Albus leans closer. "All right, then. May I ask why Mr. Crouch has come to live with you?" It must not have been a happy cohabitation, either, based on both Lucius and Draco's evident hatred of the man.

And now Draco looks hesitant. He says, "He needed somewhere to go…somewhere he could hide. He'd nearly been found wherever he was before—I don't know where it was, mind you."

Albus can't help but feel that Draco is hiding something. Something big. He says, "Why did he choose your family, of all of them? Your father was an open supporter of Voldemort"—Draco flinches—"and most people know that, even if he claimed to be under the Imperius Curse."

"He was under the Imperius Curse," Draco says stubbornly.

Albus suppresses a snort but Draco seems to know it anyway, his jaw set. Severus intervenes, saying, "Please, Draco—we just want to help you and your father."

Draco nearly looks like he gives in but then Lucius shifts lightly in his bed and Draco clams up once again. "Ask my father," he says tonelessly. "When he's recovered, that is." The 'And he better recover' went unspoken.

Finally deciding not to push their luck, Albus and Severus leave Draco to his misery.

"No!" Harry seethes. "This is obviously important and I want in!"

"No, you don't," Severus mutters. "Trust me, you really don't."

"Dumbledore looked terrified!" Harry denies. "When Dumbledore looks upset then it usually becomes my problem, anyway, so you might as well tell me now!"

And, well, Harry does have a point. Albus has a silent conversation with Severus, a ping-pong match that Harry follows with startling accuracy considering the fact that no one has actually said anything. What finally does prompt them into a decision is Gellert, who says, "It was Mr. Potter and his peers who suffered the most due to the situation—don't you think that the rest of them deserve an explanation?"

Albus hates it when Gellert makes sense.

With a sigh, he explains the situation to Harry, who looks more and more horrified. "What the fuck?" he mutters. "You—you mean Malfoy's dad betrayed Voldemort?"

"Is that really the thing you're hung up on?" Severus mutters.

"I mean, considering the conversation you and Mr. Retired-Dark Lord Grindelwald had, I figured that there was something going on with this Barty Crouch Jr. character but I'd never even heard about all this Lucius Malfoy business. Now I feel vindicated—I was the first one to mention how weird Malfoy was being…er, Malfoy the younger, I mean."

"And you were right," Albus says soothingly. "I should have trusted you from the start."

Harry nods sharply, and that's that.

By the time everything has settled and a plan has been created, it's late at night. There is an initial debate on whether or not to ambush Barty Crouch Jr. right now, when he'll be caught off, or to wait until morning, when they're well-rested enough to not accidentally curse themselves in the foot.

They decide to wait until tomorrow, so Albus sleeps—fitfully, sure, but he sleeps.

The next morning, everything is going fine right up until the Daily Prophet drops in front of him. The front page article is not about Gellert—thank Merlin because that was all it had been for a good while, nothing but speculation about where the man could have disappeared off to—but rather Hagrid. Hagrid, whose half-giant heritage has been revealed and used to ridicule him. Albus frowns at the paper. It's not as if Hagrid's heritage had been a secret—everyone knew about it rather intuitively. Now that it was printed in the paper, though…well, now it would become a problem.

And it does become a problem, with Hagrid coming to Albus's office in tears. The article itself is rather sparse, with little evidence besides quotes from more predominant Slytherin students—and a singular Ravenclaw who is evidently frustrated by the lack of structure Hagrid has—and the Draco Malfoy Incident is brought up regularly. Interestingly enough, Draco himself doesn't seem to have provided a comment. Either way, it doesn't particularly matter—Hagrid is still hurt. Albus brings out some whiskey for them to share with each other, feeling very nostalgic for last year when they'd been in nearly the exact same position when Buckbeak had been threatened with execution.

(Albus hadn't given the Hippogriff another thought after it had escaped—he'd assumed that it had flown off into the forest to flock with some others. Instead, he'd stumbled into the damn thing in one of the bedrooms of Grimmauld Place. It had been chewing on the curtains. Albus did not have fun that day.)

Nevertheless, both he and Hagrid end up too drunk to get anything done. Albus allows Hagrid to take a few days off, sending Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank to teach Care of Magical Creatures, instead.

Eventually, Hagrid stumbles out of his office, cheerfully waving goodbye, which Albus mirrors with ease.

Gellert promptly bursts out of his hiding place. "Albus!" he yells. "You're drunk! You can't subdue an errant Death Eater when you're drunk!"

"Why not?" Albus asks petulantly. "I've done it before."

Gellert groans. "If you die, I will never forgive you."

"That's actually very sweet," Albus slurs. "Too bad you have the emotional range of a teaspoon."

"Oh, please, you loved my range." He wiggles his fingers with a smirk.

Albus frowns. "That's vile. I'm too old for such vulgarity, unlike you!"

"I'm a year younger than you!"

They continue to bicker amongst themselves, right up until something catches Albus's notice. He snatches up Gellert's arm, observing his wrist where Albus had placed the binding runes. They've been altered slightly, not enough to actually break them but obviously enough to show that there had been attempts to do so.

Gellert says, "Surely you didn't expect me to be complacent…"

"No, of course not." Albus smiles up at him. "You'll never break these, though."

"I'm Gellert Grindelwald," Gellert says haughtily. "I can break out of any prison!"

Albus laughs. "You'll never guess the code!" he says in delight.

"I will!"

"Sure."

Gellert huffs and returns to his workspace. "Be careful," he says gruffly. "I'll have a word with that madman of yours when he comes so that he watches your back but…well." He looks down at his book. "You're probably the better caster between the two of them no matter how drunk you are."

Ah, Gellert.

Severus is less than impressed. He's quite enraged, actually. "Drunk!" he screeches. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, did you get drunk on the day we're supposed to capture a dangerous dark wizard?"

"…Maybe."

"Albus!"

They decide to go ahead with it, anyway.

Capturing Barty Crouch is actually easier than they assumed it would be. He's play-acting a paranoid ex-Auror but he's not actually a paranoid ex-Auror, once you get a good look at him, so he leaves many openings in his stance and schedule. They are taken advantage of immediately and, soon, Albus and Severus have hauled him off to a private room, where they tie him to a chair and confiscate his wand.

Now all that's left to do is wait until the Polyjuice wears off.

Barty Crouch puts up an admirable verbal fight in the meantime. "Albus!" he shrieks. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Where is Alastor?" Albus demands—or, rather, slurs.

"You're drunk," Barty Crouch snarls. "You're not thinking straight!"

Albus giggles. "I'm never thinking straight."

"All right," says Severus, "you're going to be quiet, now." Severus turns to Barty Crouch, lowering himself until they're face-to-face. "You are going to sit here for the next twelve hours. If you do not change then we will untie you and you will go about your business." He smirks. "Surely you can give us this much. We're just covering all our bases—constant vigilance and all that."

Sometimes, Severus scares Albus.

Barty Crouch lets out a groan of misery.

Severus volunteers to take watch of Barty Crouch for the next twelve hours, largely because Albus probably shouldn't be trusted with such a high-stakes task in his current state. That leaves Albus wandering around the castle on his lonesome. It's a Hogsmeade weekend so most of the older students are gone. Albus takes the opportunity to meet up with Hagrid again—and potentially get even more drunk. In all honesty, he hasn't had so much alcohol in a long time and last night had re-awakened something in him. (Some would call it addiction. Albus prefers to call it "personality!")

Albus ends up consoling Hagrid again, and slowly trying to convince him to come back to his job in a few days like originally intended. Unfortunately, Hagrid seems absolutely adamant to take at least a few months off until everything blows over—possibly even the rest of the year. Now, Albus has it on record that Wilhelma is an…objectively better teacher than Hagrid, but she only signed the contract for a few days—a few weeks at most!

Hagrid staunchly refuses to change his opinion. He seems absolutely sure that Wilhelma would love to continue teaching in his stead because who wouldn't want to spend all day imparting respect for magical creatures onto students?

Albus groans. "Please!" he says. "Hagrid, you simply cannot do this to me!"

"It's better this way," Hagrid says mournfully, all but cuddling with Fang. "Just…just until everything calms down…"

Just then, there's a loud banging on the door. "Hagrid?" a familiar voice calls.

Brows knit, Albus stands and opens the door, only to find himself confronted with Harry, Hermione, and Ron. He says, "Look, it's your friends, Hagrid!"

Hagrid perks up. "Huh?"

Albus quickly ushers the three flustered students inside. He declares, "These three obviously want you to come back to teaching at Hogwarts, right?" He throws a piercing stare down at them and they begin nodding vigorously—all except Harry, who's watching him with narrowed eyes.

"You…" says Harry, walking closer, "are you drinking again?"

"Harry!" Hermione says. "You can't just accuse a teacher of that!"

"Why not?" Harry asks. "I'm sorry, do you like his cologne too much to point out his faults?"

Hermione goes red. "Oh, Harry, will you leave me alone about that? I had no way of knowing what the smell actually was…"

"It doesn't even smell that good," Ron grumbles suddenly. "Why'd you call it cologne at all? Is that what all your dad's colognes smell like?"

"Yes," Hermione says defensively.

There is another round of overwhelming silence where they all stare at her with blank or pitying looks. Harry says, voice strangled, "Hermione…"

"Nope," declares Ron. "We're doing this later!" He turns back to Hagrid, determination burning in his gaze. "You have to come back! We…we miss you, Hagrid!"

"But everyone hates me now," Hagrid says mournfully. "All those awful things the paper said about me…"

"Not everyone is a slave to the Prophet," Albus says, seeing his chance. "I've gotten several pieces of mail in the last day alone in regards to you. People remember you from their time at Hogwarts—they remember how kind of a soul you have. There is an overwhelming sense of support for you, Hagrid."

"Yeah," Hermione says. "Like Ron said: we miss you, please come back!"

Hagrid looks overwhelmed with emotion, going so far as to burst into tears. "You guys," he sobs. "All right, all right—I'll come back to teaching after Professor Grubbly-Plank's contract is over…"

"How long?"

Albus answers this one. "About two weeks."

"Brilliant," says Ron.

As the conversation develops from there, Albus nearly leaves, but then Harry corners him and drags him outside for what is presumably a private conversation.

"Yes?" asks Albus warily.

"First of all," Harry says, "how is the whole Barty Crouch Jr. situation going?"

"He's been captured and is currently on watch under Professor Snape's keen eye."

"Good," Harry says. "Now, onto more pressing matters…"

"I'm not an alcoholic!" Albus says, curb-stomping that particular conversation before Harry even has the opportunity to bring it up.

Harry huffs. "Oh, you definitely are an alcoholic, but that's beside the point. What I was actually gonna ask you about is Mr. Bagman."

"Ludo Bagman?" asks Albus.

"Is there another one?"

"Yes!" Albus says cheerfully. "An entire family of them, in fact! Why, I knew Ludo's father." His gaze goes unfocused and he stares off into the distance. "He was certainly a…talented man…"

"I am preemptively halting that conversational thread for my own sanity," Harry says, looking slightly nauseous. Albus sniffs but allows him to continue. Harry says, "Anyway, Bagman tried to corner me in the Three Broomsticks and help me cheat. I said no, of course."

"Because that's wrong," Albus agrees sagely.

Harry snorts. "I tried to get you to help me with the Second Task, didn't I? I'm not too concerned about right from wrong in a tournament that I never wanted to be in at all. No, I turned him down because he's got some kind of disagreement or debt with the goblins and I do not want to be caught up with that." He straightens his back. "On that note—I think something is up with Bagman! And you can't dismiss me now like you did with Malfoy earlier this year because I have been vindicated!"

"Come back to me when I'm sober and I'll take you very seriously," Albus offers.

Harry huffs. "Sure. Also, can you do something about Rita Skeeter? Because if you don't kill her then Hermione will but I don't think Hermione has the willpower to not brag about it afterward and I don't want her to end up in Azkaban…"

"I'll see what I can do," says Albus. Maybe he can contact his friends in the yakuza again.

"One last thing," Harry says. "Honestly, just one!"

"Continue," Albus says magnanimously.

"What does it mean if I keep having dreams where I am engulfed in a very realistic sense of complete and utter agony?"

Albus considers him. "It means," he says slowly, "that you should get a prescription from Madam Pomfrey for Dreamless Sleep. Also, perhaps we should revisit the concept of therapy…"

Eventually, the twelve hours elapse, Albus is no longer drunk, and "Alastor Moody" is definitively revealed to be Barty Crouch Jr. Albus says, "Brilliant!"

"What, exactly, is brilliant about this?" Severus demands. Barty Crouch is thrashing in his restraints, his words silent due to Severus's rage-fueled Silencio. "Barty has kidnapped—possibly killed—an Auror and been allowed access to Hogwarts students to cast Unforgivables on them."

"Sure," says Albus, "but that means that I can officially get rid of him!" And Sirius and Remus will no longer be breathing down his neck.

"And who will you get to replace him?" Severus asks dangerously.

"Um," says Albus, who hadn't really thought that far ahead.

Severus sighs irritably. He waves his hand and the Silencio lifts itself. Barty Crouch, now once again the owner of functioning vocal cords, declares, "You're a traitor! A nasty, awful, traitor, Severus Snape! After everything the Dark Lord did for you!"

Severus, having had enough of his antics, draws the Sword of Gryffindor and points it at him, which effectively shuts him up. Severus says, "Listen to be very closely, Barty. You will tell us where Alastor Moody is and you will tell us now."

Barty Crouch licks his lips. "Aw, Sev," he croons, "did you think that I left him alive?"

Severus snarls, "You need fresh DNA samples to brew the Polyjuice Potion. Where are you keeping him?" The Sword presses closer to him. Barty Crouch's lips remain stubbornly closed. Severus says, "Did you know—this sword is imbued with basilisk venom. A single nick and…" He trails off.

Barty Crouch goes steadily paler. "T-There are no more basilisks."

"What exactly do you think the monster in the Chamber of Secrets was?"

Barty Crouch gives in very easily after that.

They find Alastor in a box. He is immediately carted to the hospital wing—unfortunately for everyone, the only available bed is right next to Lucius Malfoy, who is still stubbornly unconscious. Poppy had said something about his body shutting down now that it's finally in a "safe" and "stress-free" environment, which Albus has taken to mean that Lucius finally has the weight of the secret off his shoulders and his body has given in.

Alastor, who hasn't spoken a word since he'd been found, finally opens his mouth upon laying eyes on Lucius. "What is he doing here?" he rasps.

"He," says Albus, "is the reason that we found you. He told us that you were being impersonated by Barty Crouch Jr."

"He's up to something!" Alastor declares.

Of course he's up to something—he's a Slytherin and it's simply in his blood. However, there's a difference between actively being up to something and passively being up to something, and Lucius isn't actively doing anything right now, and he says as much to Alastor.

Alastor snorts. "Sure," he says, "but any plotting is bad plotting."

"Get some rest, Alastor," Albus just says. Alastor grumbles to himself but does so, settling back into the hospital bed with a firm frown. Albus is about to leave but then pauses, something occurring to him. He says, "Also, don't bother Mr. Malfoy."

Alastor nearly throws a vase of flowers at him.

Rude.

"Albus!" Gellert declares the moment Albus walks into the room.

"Yes?" asks Albus, perplexed.

Gellert says, "Grab the silly British boy!"

"He is currently in Hogsmeade," Albus says slowly. "Is it urgent?"

"It's possibly groundbreaking!" Gellert declares. "I think I know why the Elder Wand responds to him!"

"Oh," says Albus, eyes wide. "I'll go get him, then…"

Gellert grins madly.

When Albus does find Harry, the boy is in Hogsmeade, staring down with narrowed eyes at some cockroach clusters. Albus asks, "What are you doing?"

Harry asks, "Do you think Mr. Grin—er, Mr. Grinning would like these? I remember him asking for some sweets when we first came and I'm not sure what kind of meals he's been getting these days…"

Porridge. Albus has instructed the house elves to serve him nothing but plain porridge, something Aberforth used to cook for them both during the summer of 1899. Gellert had choked it down with a fake smile, claiming that he was raised with manners and surely Aberforth didn't know how bad the porridge was—but Aberforth knew all too well how bad it was, seeing as he would always serve Ariana better. In hindsight, Albus is sure that Gellert was simply too scared of Aberforth to say anything—as he should be.

Albus puts a hand on Harry's shoulder and says, "I assure you, his needs are being well taken care of."

Harry's eyes narrow. "Sure…"

Albus waves him away. "Anyway, I just came to grab you. Mr. Grinning has apparently had a revelation and requires your presence."

Harry nods, snatching up some cockroach clusters. "Give me a minute—I'll buy him some."

Brilliant.

When they finally make it back to Albus's office, Gellert is rapidly rummaging through various papers. There's a wild look in his eyes, a mad glint that was almost frightening. It is also insanely hot. Albus shuts that thought down the moment he has it, dropping it into the abyss at the bottom of his consciousness. It doesn't work. Fuck.

Gellert, oblivious to Albus's internal dilemma, immediately runs over and grabs Harry. "You hear the Elder Wand, correct?"

"Yeah," Harry says.

"If you ask it a question, will it answer you?"

"Um, I think so."

"Good!" He turns to Albus. "Put the Elder Wand somewhere Mr. Potter will be able to hear it clearly!"

Albus obediently brings the Elder Wand out, still clutching its handle but otherwise leaving it open. Gellert says, "Ask the Wand who its previous owner was."

Harry repeats the question before pausing for a moment. A frown of confusion overtakes his face. "It said that its previous owner was Millicent Bulstrode?"

"What?" asks Albus.

Gellert ignores him and instead instructs Harry to ask the owner before Ms. Bulstrode.

"It was Ron!" Harry gasps.

More and more children end up in the lineup, until it goes from Terry Boot to Clarity Booth, young Mr. Booth's mother. And then it goes from Clarity Booth to Amaryllis Johnson and on and on in a ceaseless and increasingly unhinged list of names. Albus notices that he is nowhere on the list, and neither is Gellert.

"Please stop," Albus breaks in after Harry says Myron Wagtail. "Just…stop. Gellert, explain yourself."

"Well, I was thinking why Mr. Potter would have ownership of the Elder Wand if he never disarmed you. Then I began thinking about my own time with the Wand and I realized…well, I never actually disarmed Gregorovitch. I certainly maimed him—which I regret! I should not have maimed him!—but I did not go through the procedures to get proper ownership of the Wand. And then I wondered whether Gregorovitch even got proper ownership at all! He was never much of a duelist…either way, I realized I probably never had ownership of the Elder Wand in the first place, and if I never did then you certainly didn't."

"So some random person disarmed the true owner and everything has been spiraling out of control ever since," Albus mutters in horror. "And…Harry, when and why did you disarm Ms. Bulstrode?"

Harry says, "We had a class on different disarming techniques in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Merlin," says Albus. "This is…"

"Brilliant!" cries Gellert, enthused. "Though I am a bit miffed that the ownership has remained in the Isles—it would have been quite fun if it had run off to Russia or the Far East."

"Um," says Harry, "Mr. Retired-Dark Lord Grindelwald, I think Dumbledore needs to sit down…"

Albus does need to sit down. He also needs a nap.

What the fuck is going on with his life?

"Okay," says Albus after a sufficient rest, "so Harry owns the Elder Wand. Sure. But why did it work so well for the two of us, Gellert? We never even suspected that we weren't the owners!"

Before Gellert can say anything, Harry pipes up: "The Wand says that it stuck around because it found you both amusing and that watching you was like, and I quote, witnessing a car wreck in slow motion."

"How does it even know what a car is?" Albus asks bitterly.

"Er," says Gellert, "that's probably my fault. In my defense, I thought they were very interesting."

"I thought you said that muggles didn't add anything of value to society?"

"Yes, yes, the cognitive dissonance was alarming even back then. But I've seen the error of my ways! I acknowledge that muggles are not vermin and that they are worth more than just their value as slaves."

"Am I supposed to congratulate you on exhibiting basic empathy?" Albus demands.

"Hey," says Harry, "he needs positive reinforcement." Then, to Gellert, "Good job. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you. It's nice to know that at least you appreciate me."

Ugh. "Moving on," says Albus, "none of this explains why Harry would be the owner of the Stone."

"Theoretically, who should the owner actually be?" asks Gellert.

Albus thinks, then murmurs, "Tom Riddle."

"Voldemort?" Harry demands.

"Yes. It was passed down from parent to child in Tom's maternal family. Seeing as there is no living person left bearing the Gaunt name, it naturally passes to Tom."

"And yet Mr. Potter is the owner," murmurs Gellert. "Say, Albus, can you grab the Stone? I want Mr. Potter to ask it the same question as he did with the Wand. We need to clarify the line of ownership."

The previous owner of the Stone turns out to simply be Morfin Gaunt, and the one before that was Marvolo Gaunt, and on and on the line of succession went, with Gaunt after Gaunt. Gellert asks him to stop, and then has Harry confirm that Harry is, in fact, the current owner. Harry says, "Yes. I asked the Stone and I am definitely its current owner."

"There must be something else at play here," says Gellert. "Tom Riddle is not anywhere on the line of succession. Somehow, the Stone has skipped over him completely. Mr. Potter, have you ever had any contact with Morfin Gaunt?"

"Uh, I don't think so."

"He shouldn't have," says Albus. "Morfin has been in Azkaban for most of Harry's life, not to mention he died two years ago."

"Curious," says Gellert. "I'll need to conduct some more research."

Albus considers making up another fake time limit to give Gellert a sense of urgency but seeing as how the last one didn't exactly stick, he decides to give up entirely. Besides, he's gotten used to Gellert's constant presence in his office. So, all he does is nod and leave him to his work.

Harry, meanwhile, asks Albus, "If I really do own all three Deathly Hallows, what does that mean? Do I get any nifty superpowers? Am I a superhero now? 'The Boy Who Lived' is a bit long-winded of an alter-ego. How about 'The Hallow Keeper'? Or maybe 'Death Keeper'? Oh, oh! How about 'Master of Death'?"

"Still a mouthful," Albus dismisses. "And you may be the Master of Death but don't go flaunting it around."

"What do you mean? I'm already the Master of Death?"

Albus stops and stares. "Yes," he says slowly. "By definition, the one who owns all three Deathly Hallows is the Master of Death. You don't really get any 'superpowers', though."

"Really? Come on, couldn't I at least be immortal? Like the third brother?"

"The third brother died," Albus points out dryly.

"Yeah, but only when he wanted to!" Harry shakes his head. "That would get rid of so much anxiety for me. Do you have any idea how fragile the human body is? It's really quite frightening…"

Albus leaves Harry to his pondering and takes the opportunity to leave and process all this new information. And also maybe break something. He'll see.

The Aurors that come to pick up Barty Crouch Jr. are very confused and frightened but they're still competent enough that the arrest happens without incident. Barty Crouch glares holes into anyone he can see on the way out but, other than that, it's a fairly peaceful affair.

What is decidedly not peaceful is when Narcissa Malfoy bursts through Severus's fireplace—Albus really needs to seal that thing off—and points her wand at Albus, demanding, "Where is my husband?"

Albus, who is just trying to eat a celebratory cookie, freezes. "Um," he says, "he's…receiving medical treatment."

"What?" demands Narcissa, alarmed. "Why? What happened? Why is he here instead of St. Mungo's? How dare you keep him from receiving proper medical attention!"

"Mrs. Malfoy, Madam Pomfrey was good enough to treat you when you were a student and she is certainly good enough to treat your husband right now," Albus says firmly.

Severus promptly breaks in. "His body just needs some rest," he soothes. "Nothing major."

"And why didn't you tell me?" Narcissa demands. "My husband becomes ill under your care and you decide not to inform his wife? What kind of establishment are you running here? I demand to speak to him at once!"

"He's unconscious."

"Then I will see him at the very least!"

Albus and Severus make eye-contact. This is a true dilemma—while Lucius had (astoundingly) placed himself in Albus's camp, Narcissa's allegiance is questionable at best. By now she undoubtedly knows that Lucius has been dropping hints—if nothing else, Draco would have told her—but she has yet to act on it and has actively assumed that Albus has…what, imprisoned him? And yes, maybe Albus has been intentionally keeping Lucius away from Narcissa, but in his defense, he really thought the man would have woken up by now.

"Of course," Albus says eventually. "Please come with us."

Lucius is, indeed, still in a coma. Narcissa sits at his bedside, staring at him with pursed lips. She asks, "How is he?"

"Stable," Poppy replies promptly. "He was suffering from severe exhaustion, though. This is his body finally taking some rest. He should wake up, right as rain."

"When?"

"Sometime within the next few days."

And Narcissa stares down at Lucius. Albus wonders if she's going to demand he be taken to St. Mungo's again but she doesn't. Instead, she just keeps her lips pursed as she keeps staring at him and there are probably a million thoughts flowing through her head but since she won't look at Albus, he can't make eye-contact and figure out what they are.

Not that he would use legilimency without asking, of course. That would be morally reprehensible.

(But surely just a little bit couldn't hurt—)

"If you're going to question him when he wakes up," Narcissa says, "then he will need a lawyer present."

"Your husband has not been accused of any crimes, Mrs. Malfoy, and I am certainly no prosecutor. He is here of his own free will."

"Then he can say so when he wakes up," Narcissa bites out, voice clipped.

Albus shrugs. Fine. Lucius Malfoy can have a lawyer. Albus is a lawyer, too, and he can out-argue anyone in Britain, thank you very much.

He leaves Narcissa to her musing. He's got better things to do.

Alastor is not going to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Oh, the man certainly offers, but Poppy all but threatens Albus with a wand and he's forced to concede that, perhaps, Alastor is in no fit condition to teach.

Gellert says, "I mean, there's always the portrait of Jean Simmons hanging in the back of your office. She seems pretty knowledgeable."

"Leave Jean Simmons out of this!" says Albus. Then, suspicious, "What did she tell you?"

"A lot about cursed mirrors and cloning enchantments. I burned hours of time discussing them with her while my stitches were healing. Also, she is oddly preoccupied with sex."

"I'm taking her down," Albus declares.

"To the Defense room," Gellert agrees.

Albus considers it, just because he knows it will get the damned woman out of Gellert's general vicinity. Then he realizes what he's doing, wonders why he's so invested, and decides to leave it be. "I can't have a portrait teach a class," he mutters.

"What are your other options?" Gellert asks.

"Maybe Sirius Black," Albus says at last. "Or…hm. I have to write a few letters."

The idea feels nonsensical but it might just work…

Before anything can come of his DADA gamble, another flashing headline steals Hogwarts's attention: DARK LORD GRINDELWALD SIGHTED IN THE ENGLISH COUNTRYSIDE!

Albus, who is very sure that Gellert hasn't taken a single step outside of Hogwarts, let alone Scotland, suppresses a snort. Unfortunately for him, Minerva hears it. "You think this is funny, Albus?" she hisses. "A dark lord is on the loose and you're laughing! I thought that you'd do something the moment you'd found out that he broke out of Nurmengard!"

"I'm afraid my days of battling Gellert are long gone," Albus says serenely. "I'll leave all that nonsense to the young."

"The young!" rasps Minerva. "You know as well as I that none of the so-called 'young' are even half as powerful as that man! You cannot simply leave this be! You're the one who put him in prison in the first place!"

"Yes, I was," says Albus, "so I have done my part. Now I'm done. Someone else can deal with my evil ex-boyfriend."

This sends Minerva into a coughing fit. "Ex-boyfriend?" she demands. "You dated that man?"

"He was hot," Albus defends.

"He's evil!"

"And that's hot!"

Minerva throws her hands up in rage and stalks out of the room. Sucks to suck.

Elphias Doge stalks back into his life with rage burning in his gaze. Albus barely has the time to greet him (and ask how the man had gotten into his office) before his old friend hurled Albus's letter at him. "What the bloody hell is this, Albus?" he demands, incensed.

"Er," says Albus, "you see, I'm in need of some aid…"

Elphias bites out, "Yes, I noticed." He begins to pace around Albus's office. "Do you have any idea how happy I was when I found a letter from you? We haven't spoken in years! I admit that was just as much my fault as yours but I truly thought that this was you extending an olive branch! Instead, you bombard me with the least desirable position in Great Britain!"

"Surely it's not the least desirable—"

"That's beside the point! You only came to me because literally no one else is willing to take over! Though I bet you aren't even putting in the proper work. You're too busy simply avoiding Gellert Grindelwald, aren't you?"

Albus is suddenly very aware of the fact that Gellert is hidden in the corner of the room. He blusters, "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Oh?" asks Elphias. "So you're not trying to distract yourself from the fact that your hot ex-boyfriend is currently on the run? You aren't even going after him. People are going to start talking, you know—they'll say nasty things."

"I've had plenty of nasty things said about me before—and besides, I'm not hiding! I just don't see the need to deal with Gellert a second time—"

"You still call him by his first name? Merlin, Albus, you need to get over him! It's been nearly a century! And there's a decent chance he killed your sister!"

Albus's already soured emotions immediately curdle. "Don't bring Ariana into this—"

"Every second of thought you waste on Grindelwald will inevitably bring her into this!" Elphias comes up to him, softening. "Albus, I know that we've drifted apart but I still care for you deeply. Grindelwald wrecked you. Don't let him wreck you again."

Albus stares at the man who had, once upon a time, been his closest confidante and dearest friend. There is something raw and pleading in Elphias's face. Albus looks back at him and then says, "If you care for me deeply, will you take up the Defense post?"

Elphias immediately backs away, muttering wildly to himself. "You're a scoundrel, Albus Dumbledore!"

"Is that a yes?"

"I'm not qualified!"

"Nonsense—you're a member of the Wizengamot. You ought to be well-learned about threats to magical society."

"There were too many layers in that joke, Albus!" He points a finger at him, accusing. "You're just making fun of me!"

"I would never," Albus immediately disagrees. "I always honor and respect my precious employees."

Somewhere in the distance, Severus has a sneezing fit.

Albus, meanwhile, has learned to lie with such startling ease that he doesn't even flinch as those words leave his lips. Elphias stares at him with a narrowed gaze. For a few moments, they're bathed in nothing but silence. Then Elphias slumps and asks, "Will this really help you?"

"I literally don't know who else to go to."

"Fine," says Elphias. "Fine. I'll become the Defense professor—but only until the end of the school year! You're on your own after that!" He promptly stalks out of the office, only pausing to call back, "And for Merlin's sake, Albus, send me a letter about something other than a paycheck!"

After Elphias has finally left, Gellert reveals himself, waving away the enchantment that had been in the corner of the office. He says, "I swear I really didn't mean to kill your sister."

"How do you know it was you?" Albus asks morosely. "It could have been me!" Or Aberforth, really, considering how hectic the whole affair had been, but neither of them wanted to admit that. Instead, Albus just sits behind his desk.

"You wouldn't kill your sister," says Gellert.

"Not on purpose, of course!"

Gellert doesn't seem to know how to respond to that, leaving Albus to stew in his misery. Then Gellert suddenly asks, "So…you're still not over me, huh?"

"As if," Albus snorts. "I do have a life outside of you, you know. Elphias just thought that because we haven't talked in a while. And besides, you have to admit this entire situation seems insane from the outside. If you were in Elphias's place, you'd be thinking the same thing." Albus stubbornly does not look Gellert in the eyes, feeling oddly embarrassed—which is utter hogwash! Because Albus has uttered no lies! He'd had many serious relationships after his time with Gellert and he cherished them all dearly and he still does to this day.

Gellert, self-centered brat that he is, smirks. "Sure," he says.

Albus groans.

The rest of the week is…rather dull, actually. Elphias proves to be a competent Defense instructor, if a bit dry in his lectures, and Albus is relieved to learn that his (former?) best friend is not one to cast Unforgivables on students. This is fine. Everything is fine.

Then Remus bursts into his office—too many people have been bursting into too many places, Albus really ought to do something about that—and snarls, "What is wrong with you?"

There are several ways Albus could have answered that question, all of which would have been correct in one way or another, but he settles on, "What?"

Remus waves a letter in front of Albus's face. It's addressed to Sirius and it has the official stamp of the Ministry on it. Oh. It's the letter about the Second Task. Apparently letters of notification had been sent out without Albus's approval—he'd been planning on approaching Sirius in person, armed with a myriad of reasons why he shouldn't cause a fuss. Instead, Remus is here and he is infuriated.

Albus smiles weakly. "Well, you see, the thing is—"

"I am not allowing this. You're making Harry compete in that awful tournament—"

"I am not making him do anything," Albus protests, though he feels a bit bad considering how he hasn't really been putting much effort in getting Harry out of the tournament lately. In his defense, though, he's been otherwise preoccupied.

Remus, still shaking with rage, continues, "Well, he's being forced into it, at any rate, and I will not allow Sirius to fall into the trap, too!"

"There will be several precautions in place," Albus soothes. "Nothing will go wrong. I will personally ensure his continued safety."

"Well, forgive me if I don't trust your word!"

"Rude," Albus mutters.

Remus just puts his foot down. "Think of something else."

"I can't think of something else," Albus says morosely. "Listen, Percy Weasley and I had to argue Ludo Bagman down from taking children hostage at the bottom of the Lake. We tried to make it inanimate objects rather than people but that was apparently where Mr. Bagman drew the line. If you want to convince him, please go right ahead. Tell me how it goes."

Remus stares at him, jaw clenched. "How about," he says slowly, "you use life-sized, animated dolls instead? Just as much drama but you don't have to actually take anyone hostage."

Albus considers this. "Maybe it'll work," he says slowly. "I will discuss it with Percy Weasley and then the two of us will figure out a strategy to approach Mr. Bagman." Ugh, now he needs to actually write another letter…

Percy saves him from this awful fate by stumbling through the office door, heaving by the time he's in the room. Albus stares at him blankly. "How did you get in?" he demands.

"Harry…guessed…the password!" Percy manages to say between gulping breaths. "What…the hell…is falooda?"

"Heaven," Albus promptly replies, nearly going crosse-eyed from the blissful memory of when he'd first had some. "But that's not the point. Why are you here, Mr. Weasley?"

And Percy goes red and pale and red again, as if suddenly remembering something of vital importance. "Mr…Crouch!" he exclaims.

"Junior or Senior?" Albus asks warily.

Percy blinks. "Isn't…the Junior…dead?"

"Well—"

"No…not important! Mr Crouch…Senior…was held hostage!"

Albus stares at him. "Where is he now?"

"Saint…Mungo's!" Percy now looks about ready to pass out, even if he's been standing still for over a minute.

Remus immediately walks over and helps Percy to a seat, conjuring him a glass of water which Percy gulps down greedily. Albus, meanwhile, is trying to figure out what's going on. Both Alastor and Barty Crouch Sr. have been held hostage? Barty Crouch Sr. hasn't been seen in person for several months…if Albus had to make a guess, he'd assume that the incidents are related. He says to Remus, "Please help Mr. Weasley calm down. I will have to speak with Mr. Crouch…"

Remus nods grimly. Albus immediately takes off, heading right for St. Mungo's to figure out what the hell has happened.

Barty Crouch Sr. is babbling worse than Lucius had been in his letters. "He's here!" he gasps, clutching onto Albus's arm the moment he's within arm's length. "I couldn't…it's all my fault…my son, my son!"

"We found your son," Albus soothes.

"Where is he?" Barty Crouch Sr. demands. Albus is wary of explaining to the man that he's being sent back to Azkaban but before he can say anything, the man continues, "Wherever he is…he can't come out! Can't walk free! Can't, can't, can't…"

"He's been taken back to Azkaban," Albus responds. This causes Barty Crouch Sr.'s face to twist up in something like pain but it's overshadowed by a visage of pure relief.

"Good," he says. But then his grip on Albus's arm tightens. "But that's not all! Dumbledore…Dumbledore, he was back!"

"Who was back, Mr. Crouch?" Albus asks as kindly as he can manage, taking note of

"Him!" cries Barty Crouch Sr. "I cannot say his name! He made it so I can't! I…I couldn't say no. That awful, awful spell…" He begins to cry, which is more than a little alarming. Albus has always been…er, in touch with his emotional side, but men like Barty Crouch Sr. never are. And yet, here he is, sobbing his heart out. "I'm so sorry! It's all my fault!"

"You're fine," Albus soothes. "Everything is fine."

But Barty Crouch Sr. will not stop crying, building up into hysterics. A nurse eventually kicks Albus out of the room altogether, saying very firmly that Barty Crouch Sr. is in serious need of rest and that he can't handle stress in his current state. With nothing else to do, Albus returns to his office, where Remus and Percy are still sitting.

"He knew about his son," Albus says.

Remus nods grimly while Percy simply looks on in confusion. Albus is left to explain the situation to the poor man, who looks more and more ashen as the explanation continues. "Oh," he says eventually. "That's…"

"Not the worst Defense teacher you've had," Albus points out. "I mean, one of them was literally being possessed by Voldemort—"

"What?"

Albus sighs. He'd forgotten that isn't common knowledge…

Barty Crouch Sr. dies within a week. It was some slow-acting, incredibly corrosive curse. When Albus hears the news, he demands, "Why wasn't I made aware of this? Maybe I could have broken it!"

The nurse shrugs. "You're not in the chain of command."

"I'm the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot!"

"St. Mungo's is a private institution that is not beholden to government intervention beyond certain legal levels."

Albus's face darkens. "I'll show you legal!"

The nurse just shrugs again and leaves. Albus scowls at his ceiling. Phineas Nigellus Black, from the comfort of his portrait, says, "Blackmail would probably solve a lot of problems for you."

"I'm a member of the government!"

"Exactly."

Fair enough.

Despite the awful amalgamation of people who have become part of his everyday social life, it's the meeting of Harry Potter and Elphias Doge that causes Albus the most problems. Well—Elphias actually met the boy a while ago on account of, you know, teaching him, but he never mentions it until he walks in on Albus and Harry chatting over tea.

The "chatting" is actually Albus outlining the various essential and non-essential organs of the body. Despite this very informative lesson, Harry remains stubbornly unwilling to give any of them up, even if it would get him out of the Tournament. Elphias observes them both for a moment, during which Albus finally notices him and waves at him with a smile.

Elphias says, "Merlin, I was right!"

"What?" asks Albus.

"He's the spitting image of Henry!"

"Who?" asks Harry.

Elphias sputters, "Who? Henry Potter was your great-grandfather! You have his jawline, and his hair, and—well, your eyes are a bit more vibrant but his were also green!"

"You knew my great-grandfather?" Harry asks, eyes widening.

Albus, meanwhile, feels a pit of dread opening up in his stomach. To confirm his awful feeling, Elphias says, "Yes, he was dormmates with me and Albus when we were at Hogwarts. I'd say Albus knew him more than I ever did, though, seeing as the two of them dated for a bit."

Harry whirls around and stares at Albus, horror in his eyes. "No," he gasps. "You—you dated my great-grandfather?"

"It was hardly dating," Albus says weakly. "We just…" How to explain this without scarring Harry? He can't think of anything and ends up just gesturing vaguely with his hands. Harry's face goes green.

Elphias, meanwhile, just snorts. "Please—you went to Hogsmeade together for three years. You were absolutely dating."

"Three years," Harry wheezes. "I don't know if I should be mad at you for not telling me or be grateful that you haven't told me more."

"I can tell you more," Elphias offers.

"No offense, Professor Doge, but I think you've ruined my day. And week." He pauses. "And life. I'm leaving now." And then Harry bolts.

Elphias cackles as he takes a seat across from Albus. "I just adore embarrassing you," he says. Albus glares at him sullenly. Gellert, who is still in the room, is probably frothing with rage—Albus had never mentioned any of his paramours before the two of them met…actually, he'd heavily implied that he hadn't been romantically involved with anyone before. And that wasn't necessarily wrong—whatever Albus and Henry had with each other was certainly not romantic—but it would still upset Gellert.

Well, that sounds like a later problem. For now, he centers his attention on Elphias and says, "If anything, you embarrassed poor Harry."

Elphias shrugs. He says, "Isn't that why you're so close to the boy, though? He and Henry look so similar—and isn't Harry diminutive? Is his real name Henry, too? That would certainly be something. No wonder he's your favorite."

"No," says Albus, aghast. "I haven't thought about Henry in years!"

Elphias shrugs. "I'm just saying, you and Henry were good for each other. You lived close to each other, too. It would have been perfect."

"Except for the part where he was engaged to Elizabeth Bulstrode," Albus points out. "And they were happy with each other and I was happy for them."

"I noticed. You were the best man at the wedding."

"And what a wedding it was!"

Elphias rolls his eyes. "All right, then," he says. "Who do you want to talk about next?"

"No one!"

"How about Nicolas Flamel?"

"That was never reciprocated."

"Newt Scamander?"

"He's twenty years my junior!" Albus exclaims. Elphias just stares at him until Albus admits, "It was only once!"

"Babajide Akingbade?"

"I am his boss! That would be extremely unethical!" Albus stands and turns to his bookshelf in a huff. "I will have you know that, despite whatever is going through your head, I'm not easy!"

"I never said you were," Elphias soothes.

"What is this, anyway?" Albus grumbles. "Why are you so invested in my love life?"

"Because Gellert Grindelwald still has a chokehold on you and I think that the only way you'll be able to take your mind off of him is finding something else to distract you."

"Oh, believe me, I am plenty distracted," Albus says morosely. He has too many things on his plate and the majority of them can't be attended to if Lucius Malfoy doesn't wake up soon!

(And just thinking of Lucius Malfoy is enough to send him into a rage. Poppy keeps extending her timeline for when he should wake up, Narcissa keeps hanging around the infirmary looking increasingly sorrowful, and Draco has been all but mute, barely speaking and looking a few bad days away from a trip to the infirmary himself. And Lucius won't wake up. Albus has half a mind to just snatch up Narcissa and Draco and shake them until they provide answers but Severus is unusually fond of them so he just does his best to wait it out. It's not going well.)

Elphias says, "I mean a distraction that doesn't completely stress you out. How open are you to a blind date?"

The corner where Gellert has been hiding suddenly rumbles, the bookshelf next to it toppling to the floor. Elphias yelps as he jumps away, demanding, "What was that?"

Albus stares, and stares, and stares. Then he says, "The wind."

"The wind?"

"The wind."

"We're in your office."

"I left the window open."

"None of the windows here can open."

Albus pastes a smile on his face and says, "Apologies, my old friend, but I have some pressing matters to attend to—feel free to come by for tea tomorrow!" He then proceeds to bodily shove Elphias out of the room, ignoring the man's squawk of protest.

The moment the door closes, Gellert comes into view, face red with rage. "Tea!" he spits. "Don't let him back in here, speaking of all that nonsense!"

"What nonsense?"

"That—that blind date stuff! There is no such thing as a 'blind date' where I'm from. You just meet the person your parents tell you to, and then there's a wedding, and then you have children, and then you die!"

"The 'meeting' part is kind of a blind date," Albus offers. "And besides, times have changed. I'm quite sure that blind dating is a thing, even in Slovenia."

Gellert somehow manages to go even redder. "It shouldn't be. It's—it's larifari, whatever that Elphias Doge character was going on about. All blind dating and salamanders…"

"Scamander," Albus says tightly. "He mentioned Newt Scamander, the world-famous magizoologist who thwarted your schemes several times, most notably in New York."

Gellert squints at him. "Was…was he a ginger?"

"Oh Merlin," says Albus. "I'm not having this conversation with you. Whether or not I go on a blind date is none of your business—"

"You shouldn't, you're much too old!"

"Well that's just rude," Albus sniffs. "Anyone can find love! Perhaps I will accept Elphias's offer."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me!" Albus snarls.

Gellert glares at him viciously before thundering back to his corner, disappearing behind a mountain of books. Albus smirks. Tomorrow, when Elphias comes over for tea, Albus will accept the offer for a blind date.

What could go wrong?

Valentine's Day descends on the castle with a vice-like grip. Severus spent the previous week on love potions, which is unusually seasonal for him, and now will begin the next three weeks on how to identify and neutralize them—and a serious talk about consent for the upper years. When Albus asked him about it once, many years ago, Severus smirked and said, "I love watching those little hormonal bastards realize that whatever fantasies they cooked up were, in fact, rather monstrous."

Albus, meanwhile, takes the opportunity to not think about Gellert and instead smell the proverbial roses. It's great. Everything is going wonderfully. He and Percy have managed to negotiate with Ludo Bagman until he agreed to allow lifelike dolls to be used in the place of actual people in the Second Task—though he'd demanded that the dolls had to be of other students—and Albus had shared a celebratory drink with Percy, during which time he heard all about Percy's maybe-girlfriend and taxes and Dolores Umbridge, who is certainly not someone Albus wants to think about during Valentine's Day.

He forcefully wipes his mind clean. As lunch carries on, he does not even think about the debacle of 1993, when Gilderoy had enabled students to send each other valentines via fake cupids. This year, Albus is merely subject to awful, embarrassing proposals—and the occasional good one—and it's just as entertaining as ever.

And then Severus comes up to him, face pale. "He woke up," he says.

Albus goes rigid before nodding sharply. The two of them flee the Great Hall and make a bee-line toward the infirmary, where Lucius Malfoy is wide awake and sitting up in his bed.

Narcissa is talking with him furiously under her breath while Draco has his head laid down on Lucius's bed, fast asleep. Lucius's hand rests on the back of Draco's head. It would be endearing if Lucius was not actively arguing with his wife. It takes a while for the two of them to even realize that Albus and Severus had arrived.

Narcissa immediately says, "He's awake and has been given a clean bill of health. We will be taking our leave now."

"No," says Lucius. "I need to have a conversation with—"

"Not without a lawyer!" Narcissa barks. "Your mind is still addled with sleep! Come, just get some rest at home and then we can—"

"We can do nothing!"

"You're being unreasonable," Narcissa hisses. "Just come home."

"Surely even you know why that wouldn't be—"

"What I know is that you're an impulsive, hot-headed, unrepentant—"

"Unrepentant! For what should I repent?"

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, how dare you—"

"What's done is done! Do you really wish to fight about it in front of Severus? In front of Albus Dumbledore?"

"It's your fault we're arguing in the first place!"

"I did what was best!"

"You were sleep-deprived and malnourished and desperate! None of those things motivate good decision-making!"

"Perhaps I was in the heat of the moment but even with the benefit of hindsight, I can't see myself making a different decision, and you need to respect that, Narcissa!"

"Oh Merlin, he speaks of respect! You listen here, you—"

"Father!"

Ah. Draco has woken up.

The boy looks up at Lucius with wide, hopeful eyes. "You're awake!" he says. "It's been weeks!"

"I know," Lucius soothes. "I'm awake now." Then he frowns, observing Draco closer. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Draco says.

"He's been worried out of his mind," Narcissa says, "and for good reason! Honestly, Lucius, let's just go home and talk about this—"

"Home?" demands Draco, looking frazzled. "No, we can't!"

"You'll stay here."

"I'm not leaving Father!"

"You need to focus on your studies!"

"And I will," Draco says fiercely. "When Father is here, too!"

Lucius says, "I really do need to talk—"

"At home! With me!" Narcissa snarls.

The arguing continues and Albus throws a helpless look to Severus, who takes it as his cue to step in. He gently gets between Narcissa and Lucius and says, "I know that you're both tense but Lucius shouldn't be subject to this kind of stress right now." Draco simply clings tighter to Lucius's arm as Narcissa slumps.

"You're right," she says. "But—he can get more rest at home."

"No, I can't," Lucius says firmly. "You know I can't."

"You could."

"Narcissa…"

Narcissa simply turns away, leaving the infirmary altogether. Lucius watches on with a pained expression. He says to Severus, "She's just stressed."

"She has every right to be," says Severus.

Lucius turns to Draco. "Go check on her, all right? Your mother needs you."

"But…"

"I'm not going anywhere. Go to your mother."

Draco frowns but does as he's told, flitting off in the direction Narcissa had fled. Lucius watches him go for a bit before ignoring Severus entirely, focusing his gaze on Albus.

Albus says, "I think you have something to tell me."

"I do," agrees Lucius. And then: "I killed the Dark Lord."

…What the FUCK—

a/n: ok. so. i have thoughts.

first: im toying with the idea of rewriting the first two chapters. i like them, i really do, but they don't seem to fit in that well with the rest of the fic. idk, any of yall got thoughts on the matter? just be warned i might override popular consensus entirely. this is my fic and I Do What I Want.

also, I've been thinking of doing tiny little interludes that take place before august 1991. these would only be a few hundred words and they'd only be humorous, not plotty, but i feel like it would be fun to mess around with.

also also: I've pretty much committed to grindeldore so. im gonna have to figure that out.

do NOT examine the timeline it is complete and utter nonsense.

regarding the deathly hallows: we have an answer! a single answer. among many. there will eventually be answers to questions you don't even have. i love writing.

also if a certain subplot that intrigues you hasn't moved forward much (or at all) don't blame albus the poor man is constantly drunk or half asleep. instead blame me, the author, for not at all understanding pacing

anyway i hope you liked this! please FAVORITE, FOLLOW, and REVIEW! i would really appreciate it!

also, if you wanna chat or ask me a question or smth, please check out my tumblr! same as my ffn username but all lowercase!