Chapter 13: Joint Revelations

Potterverse

"What happened here?" Hermione whispered to Draco, shivering a little as they made their way through the caved-in passage which supposedly led to the Chamber of Secrets. The space, which must have at one point been a tunnel, was partially collapsed, and where the ceiling hadn't lowered to the ground, the ground had risen like sharpened teeth up towards the ceiling. Harry had explained this, sort of, in something of a mumbled tone of nonsense, but neither Draco nor Theo had any interest in asking further questions after hearing the name 'Gilderoy Lockhart' while Hermione continued her diligent charade at already knowing the answer.

"Also," Hermione continued, "why did Harry know how to get into it from inside the girl's bathroom? That seems—" she broke off, swallowing. "Oh. I probably found it somehow, didn't I?"

Draco wished he could have given her an answer, but seeing as he couldn't, he simply shook his head, reminding her to silence as they followed behind Harry and Theo. The tunnel (and its preceding mountain of rubble, which each of them at one point or another had to crawl through) gradually gave way in a serpentine manner to a supremely foul and dimly lit chamber. The entirety of the room ('room' being a poor choice of words; 'apocalyptic realm of disaster' probably better) followed a linear design, flanked by pillars that led to a nightmarishly large statue of Salazar Slytherin Draco felt certain would haunt his dreams for eternity.

"Well," Theo said, shuddering. "Cozy."

"Over here," Harry muttered, more to himself than to any of them. "The, uh—"

Hermione let out a loud squeak as she noticed what Harry was pointing to, launching herself closer to Draco as they collectively spotted the now exceedingly unmissable corpse of the basilisk, one of its fangs laying out on the sodden cement floor. Harry crouched down, reaching for it, but before he took hold of it, he paused for a moment, his head dropping slightly to fix on the diadem he held in his hands. For a moment, Harry simply stared at it (or at nothing; difficult to tell) and behind him the others exchanged a hesitant glance, uncertain.

After a moment of shared bewilderment (and some silent motions about who should do what), Theo gingerly bent down beside Harry. "So," Theo said, gesturing to the snake. "This is why Slytherin didn't win the House Cup second year like we should have, then?"

Harry nodded numbly.

"Well, good to know it wasn't exclusively because Granger gets her fucking hand in the air first every time," Theo remarked, and Hermione opened her mouth to argue but then shrugged, apparently ruling that assessment accurate enough.

"You want to tell me what that is you're holding?" Theo pressed Harry, who hadn't yet moved his gaze from the diadem in his hand. "I suppose I could guess, if you want. Could be fun. Is it a hat? Would make a lovely hat," he mused facetiously. "Maybe something you need for the next Yule Ba-"

"It's a horcrux," Harry cut in hoarsely. "Contains a piece of Voldemort's soul." He glanced up, eyeing the chamber with ruthless distaste. "Guess I can say that now, can't I?" he asked the empty air. "Voldemort. Stupid name. His name is Tom," he muttered brusquely to Theo. "His name is Tom, and he's just a man. Just a fucking normal man, only he can't die."

Hermione took half a step towards him, hearing the strain in his voice, but Draco held her back. He figured they should probably leave the comforting to Theo, who (for whatever reason) was gradually making headway, and besides—she almost certainly didn't know what Harry was talking about, so it was probably better she didn't speak.

"But he's dead," Theo said, glancing over his shoulder at Draco, who abruptly recalled Theo had followed Harry down here without once asking why. "The Dark Lord's gone, Potter, he's dead—"

"No," Harry said flatly. "No, he's not. Because he has more of these." He lofted the diadem up briefly, holding it out for Theo's bemused scrutiny. "He has at least two more, and I don't have any idea what they are. Or where they are. And he can come back." He glanced down at the diadem in his hands, withering again. "So long as this one and the others aren't destroyed, he can still come back."

There was a pause as Hermione glanced questioningly at Draco, and he gave her a tentative shrug. She frowned, thinking, and Theo cleared his throat, shifting to his knees from where he'd positioned himself at Harry's side.

"Well," Theo began gingerly, "clearly you're going through some shit here, Potter, but I'm sort of a doer, you understand? Seems like the thing to do is destroy it, if that's what we came down here for." He glanced at the basilisk and inhaled sharply. "Ah, I see. Basilisk venom. Must be one of the things that destroys it, I take it?"

"Yes," Harry said. "One of the only things. The only thing I really know of, in fact."

Beside him, Draco could see Hermione's mind whirling, tucking all that information away.

"Right," Theo said, clearing his throat. "Well, then I suppose if you want to just go ahead and—"

"It's not easy," Harry interrupted, frustrated. "Destroying a horcrux. It doesn't like to die, you know? It fights back. It takes something from you, and I—" He paused, obviously struggling. "I'm just not ready for what it might make me see at the moment. This moment. Right now."

His chin dropped, and Theo blinked.

Then, slowly, Theo reached out, about to take hold of the fang on the ground himself when Harry's hand shot out, pausing him.

"I don't want you to do it either," Harry growled, glancing up at Theo with his hand still wrapped around Theo's wrist. "It makes you live through the worst of what you've seen. The worst pain people have caused you. Do you understand?"

Theo stared at him.

"It's still fresh," Harry told Theo, clarifying his point in a low voice. "You don't need to go through it again. Not now. Not until you know things can be different. Okay?"

For a moment, Theo stood stock still, somewhere in the realm of paralysis.

Then he nodded slowly, gradually returning to his position beside Harry and settling himself there. Clearly, Theo was intent on staying put until Harry decided otherwise, but Draco—who had been momentarily distracted by the devolution of the Chosen One and the strange sympathy he had for Draco's one-time best friend—abruptly recalled the impossible item in his pocket.

He stepped forward, holding a hand out for the diadem. "May I?"

Harry turned, glowering at him. "Did you not just hear me? I'll do it, but I need a min-"

"Potter," Draco growled. "Do you trust me or not?"

Harry blinked. Theo blinked. Hermione's lips curled up, gradually taking the form of a cleverly satisfied smile, and after a moment of hesitation, Harry held out the diadem for Draco, who took a few steps back to place it on the ground.

"Seems like an unbeatable wand should be good for something," Draco mused from a distance, "shouldn't it?"

Harry seemed intently curious, leaning forward to watch, though his posture held evidence of doubt, hesitation snagging on a sharpened breath.

"Dumbledore wasn't able to," Harry said slowly, looking marginally more optimistic than he sounded. "At least, I assume he couldn't, since it was his first."

Draco paused, considering it. It did seem odd that someone in possession of the Elder Wand would have any trouble with its functions. But it had already done impossible things for him, hadn't it? So if it wasn't the wand, then—

"Maybe Dumbledore wasn't a very worthy owner," Hermione said, and they all turned to look at her, Draco immediately launching into a series of sharp gestures for her to stop talking at once. "What? I mean, he was great and all," she assured Harry, who looked predictably wounded by the suggestion his personal hero might have been anything shy of godlike, "but Draco still disarmed him, right? So maybe the wand's strength depends on the person using it. Or at least on their convictions."

Harry frowned, considering it. "It's hard to believe Dumbledore would be somehow… unworthy," he said uncertainly, eyeing it in Draco's hand. "But I guess it's possible."

"Well, if he wasn't good enough to use it," Draco scoffed, "then I'm certainly not—"

"No," Hermione cut in flatly. "That's not true."

Draco balked, surprised, and beside Harry, Theo looked up to catch his eye, slowly shaking his head. "It's not true," Theo agreed, voice measured and low, and Draco turned questioningly to Harry, who shrugged.

"Well, might as well try it," Harry said. "Stupid not to, isn't it?"

"Certainly not after we've established such a rewarding pattern of trying everything once," Theo agreed, "lake-diving and train-exploding included."

Draco nodded tentatively, unsure, but reminded himself of his initial theory. It was an unbeatable wand, wasn't it? So why shouldn't it do this, when he was asking it to; when he needed it most?

Gradually, Draco held out the Elder Wand, aiming it at the diadem, and took a deep breath.

"Reducto," he said, his voice as clear and unwavering as he could make it.

At once, the diadem shattered, igniting in flames as shards of it shot out, the rest of them ducking with a variety of yelps behind a shield spell Theo hastily cast. For a moment, a large, glittering snake burst forth from the remains of what had been the Dark Lord's horcrux, aiming itself at them as if to strike, but just as suddenly, it stopped short, its power abruptly extinguished.

Theo dissipated his Protego, releasing Harry slowly, and once their ears had stopped ringing from the impact, Draco turned to face them.

"One down," he exhaled, a little surprised and exceedingly relieved. "How many more?"

"I—" Harry looked stunned. It occurred to Draco that if this had been his task for an entire year, then blowing it up so easily was probably something of an anticlimactic moment; particularly if it had meant Draco could now do something Dumbledore had not.

"Two. I think. He thought," Harry clarified, clearing his throat. "Dumbledore, I mean."

There was a distinctive note of questioning to his voice; where once Dumbledore's word would have been final, there were now fractures in the foundations of Harry's beliefs. Draco wondered if that meant they'd be better off, or abjectly worse. He hated to think how reckless Harry Potter might become if he didn't have the basic bone structure of a (presumably) reasonable person's plan to follow.

"What were the others?" Theo asked Harry.

"A locket," Harry replied. "A diary. A ring—"

"Oh fuck, a ring," Draco said, blinking suddenly as he recalled what the other Hermione Granger had told him in the room of hidden things: as for the ring, Harry will know. "What ring?"

"I don't know—a signet ring," Harry said tiredly, shrugging. "Marvolo Gaunt had it."

Supremely unhelpful information, Draco thought without a trace of surprise, and was about to press Harry for something more useful when Theo suddenly interrupted.

"Gaunt," Theo echoed, and frowned curiously up at Draco. "Like the Sacred Twenty-Eight line?"

"Gone now," Harry pointed out, shrugging, as Draco realized Theo was correct, if not entirely focused on the task at hand. "The line died out with Morfin. Well, actually, it died out with Tom," he clarified wearily, gesturing upstairs, "or will soon, if we ever find the others—"

"Fucking—shit," Theo erupted suddenly, scrambling to his feet and startling both Harry and Hermione as he leapt towards Draco. "Draco, the fucking Gaunts, they're—they've got that whole thing, don't they? The fucking—fuck, what are they called—"

Draco stared at him, totally bewildered. "Are you having a stroke?"

"The book," Theo said, pacing back and forth beside Draco as he tapped frustratedly against his temple. "There's nothing to do at my house," he flung at Harry in explanation, ostensibly as part of some sort of tangent, and Harry frowned at him, waiting. "There's nothing to do there, right? Except hide from my dad, and my father's got this library, this… archive. It's full of—of names, genealogy, pureblood propaganda—I've read all of it and it's all rubbish, basically—"

"Okay," Harry said slowly, clearly not following, but not particularly wishing to interrupt. "And the Gaunts are…?"

"They claim they're related to that family," Theo said, frustratedly slicing a hand through the air. "The brothers, the three fucking brothers! What the fuck is the name—"

"Peverell," Draco and Harry realized in unison, and glanced at each other.

"The Peverell brothers," Draco supplied as Theo snapped his fingers, pointing animatedly at Draco in confirmation. "They're rumored to have been the ones who—"

"—who made the Deathly Hallows," Harry finished with a look at Hermione, who nodded with excitement, having finally recognized a topic of conversation.

"The Gaunts are descended from the second brother, " Theo pointed out, and Draco nodded slowly. "Right? The one who killed himself."

"Right," Harry confirmed, his own nod suddenly vigorous, "which means that if the Gaunts really are descended from the Peverells, then the Gaunt ring—"

"—MIGHT CONTAIN THE FUCKING RESURRECTION STONE," Theo said, pumping a fist in the air just before Harry glared at him. "Oh, sorry. Did you want to be the one to say that?"

"Well, I was—nevermind," Harry muttered, before turning to Draco with something just shy of suspicion. "Wait a second. How did you know that just by me saying the word 'ring'?" he demanded, and Draco froze momentarily; his attention flitted briefly to Hermione, who seemed to have registered what his hesitation must have meant.

"Does it matter?" Hermione asked Harry, leaping to Draco's rescue.

Harry stopped for a moment, considering it, and then his smile broadened.

"No, it doesn't," he said firmly, "because we might have just found the Deathly fucking Hallows, so I really don't care." His gaze cut excitedly to Theo's. "Are you in? To try to find it?"

"Fuck yeah, I'm in," Theo said instantly. "Are you kidding?"

"Hermione," Harry said quickly, turning to her. "I know we said we wouldn't, and I know you don't think they're real, but—"

"The wand is obviously real, Harry," she said, clearly exasperated with her prior self as she gestured to where Draco held it in his hand. "I think the things I used to think are pretty much out the window at this point."

"Right, right, of course—and you," Harry concluded, spinning to face Draco. "You're in this, right?"

His gaze was almost, almost pleading, and Draco realized with an uncanny jolt (having never expected to sympathize with Harry Potter, even in the wildest and most unlikely of his imaginings) that perhaps losing Ron Weasley was even more of a blow for Harry than any of them realized. It must have been, anyway, if it meant Harry was turning to Draco for the assurance that he wouldn't leave. For the first time in his life, Draco considered Harry Potter might have been a great deal lonelier than Draco could have ever expected him to be.

Still, that didn't excuse the fact that Harry Potter was also an unrestricted maniac who was easily distracted, and who badly needed to be contained. "The horcruxes," Draco warned, and Harry's face fell slightly. "We still have to destroy those. Don't forget that."

"Yes, right, of course," Harry said hastily. "But it'll be easy, won't it? Once we have all the Hallows." By then, his smile was infectious. Even Theo was grinning, fingers twitching at his side, and Hermione looked positively iridescent with excitement. "Once we have all the Hallows, Malfoy, Tom Riddle is as good as dead."

It was a compelling point.

Draco felt his own stomach leap with promise.

It was a really fucking compelling point.

"Fine. Then let's find the stone," Draco said, and when Harry reached out a hand, it was like sealing an oath between them, anticipation filling up the chamber with the tension of a spark.


Grindelverse

"WHAT THE FUCK," James shouted the moment Remus had opened the door to Borgin and Burkes, shrugging Sirius off him before coming to a halt in front of Tom. "WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO LILY?"

"Maybe we shouldn't have told Harry about the whole Lily alias thing," Draco murmured to Hermione, who ruefully nodded her agreement.

Needless to say, Lily Evans escaping from under James Potter's nose at the Three Broomsticks had not been an event met by anything short of madness. James had torn after her—half-stumbling over a Flitwick-sized patron and upending a table in his (failed) attempt—but even if he'd been able to reach her, it was clear she was intent on being gone. Lily had disapparated the moment she was out of sight, leaving only the assumption they couldn't have all had the exact same delusion for proof she'd been there to begin with.

Unfortunately, Draco and Hermione had mutually determined it worth informing Harry the strange occurrence of Tom suggesting 'Lily' as an alias for Hermione, which had seemed a previously coincidental (and therefore unremarkable) event. However, in a progression of further misfortune, it appeared they had vastly misread Harry's investment in the situation, in that they had not realized he would immediately and frantically inform James, who was already half out of his mind with disbelief.

"Impossible," James was muttering to himself, to the air, to the many bewildered patrons. "That couldn't have been her, she's dead. Could it have been a ghost?" James had demanded from them, obviously delirious, and Remus had patted him disinterestedly on his shoulder.

"Almost certainly not," Remus said, "but if it makes you feel better, then yes."

"We have to see Tom, don't we?" Harry insisted from James before rounding on Draco and Hermione. "We have to. He obviously knows something, right?" he pressed, aiming his urgency at Hermione in particular. "You said it seemed intentional that he used her name, didn't you?"

She'd hesitated; not unreasonably, or so she'd thought. It hadn't struck her as wise to accost Tom Riddle with anything, much less accusations from a wild-eyed too-rich pureblood who had no business in Knockturn Alley to begin with, but as it turned out, wisdom was rather lacking from the situation as a whole.

"I'd be positively delighted to take you to him," Remus had said to James—to Sirius' intense and flagrant opposition—which had let them to approximately this moment, at which point a hysterical James Potter was facing off against a disinterested Tom Riddle. Beside them, a tensed and uncharacteristically silent Harry stood white-faced and grim next to Theo (who, impressively, had not made any inappropriate comments for close to twenty entire minutes).

"Hello," Tom said pleasantly, glancing over a fuming James' shoulder to glance questioningly at Remus. "I take it you had an exciting trip, then, Remus?"

"Not as rewarding as I would have liked," Remus remarked, falling into an armchair and setting the diadem on the side table between them, "though this particular meltdown has been something of a diverting farcical excursion. Got your tiara," he added lazily, as Tom rolled his eyes.

"Remus, please, it's clearly not a tiara—"

"HELLO?" James shouted.

"Yes, hello," Tom acknowledged, leaning back in his seat. "Tea?"

A silver platter blossomed beside James' face, optimistically nudging at his glasses.

"Are you insane?" James demanded brusquely.

"Not that I know of," Tom replied. "Why don't you sit down?"

A velvet-upholstered clawfoot armchair drew itself up behind him, prompting James to fall into it.

"There," Tom said. "Now." He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "I presume by the volume at which you've shouted it that you're here to talk about Lily?"

"What do you know about her?" Harry demanded, shoving forward despite Draco's hasty attempt to keep him back, and Tom's gaze shifted from a red-faced James to direct itself curiously up at Harry.

"You have her eyes," Tom remarked softly, and Hermione curled her nails into her palms, suddenly furious on Harry's behalf that something that meant so much to him could be said so nonchalantly, and by a man whose main objective seemed to be causing him pain.

"Do not," Harry seethed, "talk to my about my moth-"

He broke off, catching himself too late, and Tom leaned back, pleasantly satisfied.

"It's so very interesting, isn't it? The secrets we keep," Tom murmured, beckoning a teacup from his floating tray and carefully stirring in a lump of sugar. He paused, setting the spoon down with an infuriating lack of urgency, and took a testing sip before letting his attention fall pointedly on a still-silent Hermione.

She said nothing, and Tom smiled, turning back to James.

"To answer your question, Lily came to find me shortly after your affair ended," Tom explained to James. "Apparently your family paid a hefty sum of money to ensure she would disappear after the birth of… your son," he mused, gaze lingering idly on Harry, "and never return. But, understandably, she couldn't go back to life as a muggle once she'd discovered she was a witch, so—" He waved a hand. "She worked here for about a year until she went on her merry way. But I promise," he added, delicately taking another sip of his tea, "I haven't seen her since. If you've managed to find her, that was certainly not my doing."

Hermione adamantly disagreed. She was willing to bet Tom Riddle had known exactly where Lily Evans was, and probably also knew sending them to the castle made it increasingly likely they'd find her. The question, of course, was why? Hermione doubted very much that Tom Riddle was in the business of reuniting families, and in any case, Lily had run. She clearly had no intention of being found.

James stared at Tom, openly mistrusting. "Lily was killed," he said hoarsely. "By Grindelwald."

"Well, no, she wasn't, obviously. Though to be fair, she would have been," Tom assured him, "if I'd turned her in. Or if your parents had turned her in. If, for example, she had been any less than inclined to acquiesce to their terms."

At that, James swallowed, obviously disturbed. Hermione assumed his elderly parents had passed away years before, as they had in her universe, and doubted he had any way of questioning them about it now.

"How can I find her?" James asked, voice pained, and Tom shrugged.

"You can't, I imagine," he said. "After today, I doubt she'll go back to wherever it was you dug her up, frankly."

Hermione caught Sirius' brow furrowing, falling with helpless sympathy on a stunned and discomfited James. She understood, in a way, what was going through Sirius' mind, having once been in his position herself. James' expression wasn't unlike her Harry's had been when they'd come across his parents' graves in Godric's Hollow—nor was it unlike this Harry, now.

Harry stood stonily while James floundered, struggling to come to grips with what he'd learned. "But—but why would she—"

"It wasn't just money, as I understand it," Tom supplied blithely, "if that makes you feel better. Extortion was certainly part of it, as were threats. One of those 'you'd better disappear or we'll make it happen' sorts of situations. Political climate, you understand." He took another careful sip, leading Hermione to wonder if the tea wasn't simply a theatrical prop. "I'm sure your parents feared the losses your family would inevitably suffer, had Grindelwald discovered the origin of your son. Luckily," he mused, glancing up at Harry, "I am no loyal follower of Grindelwald."

"Or anyone," Hermione murmured under her breath, and Tom's laughing eyes rose to hers, briefly, before falling back on James.

"It is so very terrible being under the thumb of a malignant despot, isn't it?" Tom posed neutrally to James. "You would never have lost her, would you, had things been different? You've been mourning for nearly twenty years, and all because a dogmatic regime told a woman she didn't quite belong to this world even once she'd found her way in." Tom paused, letting the statement settle over all of them; particularly Harry, who, by the look on his face, appeared to echo those precise thoughts. "It's a positively flaming injustice," Tom said eventually, "and really, I sometimes wonder why no one has bothered to simply… snuff it out."

In an instant—in the moment comprehension settled on Harry's stiffened features—Hermione's heart sank, her hand shooting out for Draco's the moment the why of Tom's interference became abundantly, uncomfortably clear.

"He wants Harry to kill Grindelwald," she whispered to Draco as he leaned inconspicuously towards her. "He wants us to kill him—that must be why he's willing to part with the resurrection stone—"

"What are you saying?" James was demanding from Tom across the room, and in response, Tom merely shrugged.

"Oh, nothing. Only that your life has been unfairly burdened, wouldn't you say, James Potter? The love of your life stripped from you, leaving you unable to claim your own son. Leaving you, in fact, to watch him grow up from a distance, loving another man as his father." Another horrible sip of tea, paired with another sparing glance at Harry. "And considering I have something your little friends here seem to want," Tom continued, prompting Hermione to a grimace, "I'd be willing to bet we would all make excellent friends—wouldn't you?"

James was frozen with indecision, and behind him, Harry was rigid with agitation, but Draco and Theo were both clearly piecing together what they were hearing, exchanging a calculating glance before Draco turned discreetly back to Hermione.

"His enemy's enemy is his friend," Draco estimated at a murmur, and then clarified after another shared glance at Theo, "He's saying we'll be allies until we're not."

And then it would be a race to kill each other the moment Grindelwald was dead, Hermione knew with a heavy swallow. Tom clearly wanted Grindelwald gone; he must have suspected they did too, and Hermione understood now why parting with his ring—Hallow or not—must have always seemed an immensely underwhelming cost. After all, once Grindelwald was no longer a threat, an unbeatable wand would be ripe for the taking, and then what did it really matter who had the resurrection stone?

It was painfully obvious. Tom Riddle was plotting his rise, and he was using them to do it.

"We have to get the Elder Wand first," Hermione said, more certain of that now than ever, and Draco turned to look at her, grey gaze fixed on hers.

"Yes," was all he said, and then he turned back to Tom Riddle, his face coolly impassive except for the tiniest curve of promise around his mouth.


a/n: I'm going to Comic-Con on Thursday (in case you didn't know, I write a graphic series called Alpha with Little Chmura, which I try from time to time to convince people to buy) so after Commoner's Guide updates tomorrow, that will likely be it for the week aside from Aurora's birthday gift, Watch the Throne, which you can find exclusively on AO3. This chapter is for cocoartist, who makes me smile every time!