Chapter 16: Inconvenient Truths

Grindelverse

"There's something you don't know about Tom Riddle," Lily continued in the wake of Hermione's dumbfounded silence, voicing what was perhaps the grossest understatement Hermione had ever heard.

"Did he lie, then?" were the first words that managed to fall out of Hermione's mouth. "He told me he let you leave when you were done with his employment. Did he trick you into something, or…?"

Lily grimaced. "You have to understand," she said slowly, "when I met James, I—"

She glanced apprehensively over her shoulder, eyeing the room where the others remained before turning back towards Hermione.

"I met James by accident," Lily explained, exhaling it out like a breath she'd been holding for a considerably long time. It was clearly a story she didn't typically share, and Hermione fought to focus on what she was being told rather than her own misgivings; specifically, how little she really trusted the woman she was currently speaking with. "I was—" Lily paused. "Well, the thing is, I have this… perfect older sister. Her name is Petunia. Not that that's really important," she conceded grimly, "but the point is my parents adored her, and they weren't really in the business of paying attention to me. They considered me… unlucky."

Hermione frowned, eyeing Lily's bitter expression of distaste. "Unlucky?"

"Well, strange things would happen around me," Lily clarified, and it dawned on Hermione that having a witch for a daughter would be an extremely strange thing indeed if there were no kindly silver-haired professors popping up to explain what was happening. "Anyway, I wasn't particularly well-behaved as a teenager. I was particularly good at sleight of hand, which I didn't realize was actual magic right away, but—" She broke off again. "I digress. It's a complicated story."

"So you met James… by accident?" Hermione repeated doubtfully.

"Well, I pickpocketed him on purpose," Lily admitted. Hermione, thinking of her alternate self, began to wonder if straying from general morality might have been a common symptom among all young undiagnosed witches. "He's got a real 'look at me and all my money' vibe, as I'm sure you've noticed. But he caught me, obviously, seeing as he's a wizard, and—" Her cheeks flushed slightly, glowing brightly against the auburn of her hair. "I guess it was exciting to him, having something forbidden. He was a good little rich kid, you know? It was Sirius who got into trouble, not James. James was perfectly well-behaved. My opposite in almost all things," she added drily.

Hermione blinked with surprise, though she ultimately opted not to discuss who Lily and James had been in her universe. "And?"

"And," Lily exhaled, "I didn't really think he was going to stick around. We were seventeen, mind you, and he had no idea what he meant to me. He had no concept of understanding he wasn't just a boy to me. He was this… this portal to an entire world. I couldn't lose him." She bit her lip. "So I started looking for someone who could help me."

"Oh, no," Hermione exhaled, thinking of her own recent exchange with Tom. I'll never be stupid enough to trust you, followed by his all-too-knowing response: I'm willing to bet you will be. Desperate people often are. "You didn't trust James?"

Lily shook her head, remorseful. "Call it a mistake. Call it youth. Call it whatever you want, but I didn't exactly enjoy being James Potter's little rebellion. I wasn't willing to stake my entire life on whether a teenage boy could be my entire future. Plus, with Grindelwald hanging over us," she remarked with a knowing grimace, "I knew at some point it would have to end. There was no happily ever after on the horizon; I could have been killed. He could have been killed. So I needed something that would keep me in this world, somehow, even if James couldn't."

Hermione swallowed hard. "So," she attempted, hazarding a guess, "I take it Harry wasn't a happy accident."

Lily shook her head. "No," she admitted. "Not exactly."

"What was Tom's involvement?" Hermione asked, bracing herself for the answer, and Lily glanced apprehensively over her shoulder again.

"You can't tell anyone," she warned. "Especially not Harry. Certainly not Draco." She made a face at the reference to him. "He reminds me of James, actually. They all do," she amended at a mutter, and shook her head, warily disapproving. "They have absolutely no idea the consequences of their actions."

"And you think I do?" Hermione prompted, strangely doubtful. She was, obviously, having had the exact same thought multiple times before, but that was hardly the point. How would Lily possibly know that?

"I think you must," Lily replied flatly. "I of all people certainly know the look of someone who's fallen into something she's not nearly ready for."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, then closed it.

"So," she said, thinking better of it. "Tom."

"Tom traffics in whispers," Lily supplied, shrugging warily. "I set one foot in Knockturn Alley looking for someone who could help me and he found me right away. I was nineteen, and I told him one thing: I need an anchor. I need a key." She paused. "He gave me a pocket watch."

Hermione blinked, abruptly registering the reference. "The portkey?"

Lily's gaze slid knowingly to hers. "I told you I knew what you were."

Hermione inhaled sharply, stunned. "But—why would Tom just give that to you?"

"He asked me for a favor in return," Lily said, which certainly checked out. "He wanted me to spy on someone for him and then report back. That was all, he said, and then he'd help me if I ever needed it. If I ever needed to escape, he would help me." She opened her mouth, hesitating, and then confessed in a rapid stream, "So I saw my other life. My other self. She was…" A swallow. "She was a witch. A witch who was hopelessly in love with James." Another pause. "And she was also pregnant."

Behind them, voices rose slightly, prompting Lily to lift her chin, obviously opting to discard some of the details in favor of hurrying the story along.

"I told Tom what he wanted to know and then I went back to James. I was pregnant with Harry within weeks, which was obviously not something James was overly thrilled about, but he was sort of sweet about it. Happy, anyway, even though it was dangerous." She paused, lost in momentary reverie, and shook herself firmly. "Anyway, about six months later, Tom came to find me." She cleared her throat. "He'd been tracking me all that time."

Of course he had, Hermione thought grimly.

"He knew, of course. Knew everything. Reminded me that I owed him for keeping my secret, and that he suspected I would need him again sometime soon." Again, Hermione's stomach lurched at how little Tom Riddle had changed in nearly twenty years. "I asked him what it would take to make sure my baby would never be used as leverage. The pregnancy may have been strategic," Lily added, defensively eyeing Hermione as if she might have dared to contradict her, "but Harry has always meant everything to me. I loved him, even then. I wouldn't have let Tom hurt him."

Hermione nodded, her mind already spinning with what might have happened next.

"Tom told me he wouldn't come near Harry for seventeen years. After that, he said, Harry would be of age. Translation? Fair game." At that, Lily grimaced. "Tom also reminded me he was the least of my problems, and he was right. James tried to hide me, but eventually his parents found out. After Harry was born, they told me to leave. Told me they didn't want to do it, of course," she added bitterly, "but pointed out if it came down to a choice between their son and me, they picked him. I guess I can't blame them." She swallowed heavily. "But they took Harry from me, so I went to Tom."

Hermione let out a shaky breath.

"I didn't know what they were going to do with Harry. They'd already threatened to turn me in if I came anywhere near James, so going to him for help was out. I didn't even know whether he knew what they'd done, but I certainly wasn't going to chance it. I tried for weeks to find Harry, but I wasn't proficient enough with magic to know what the Potters had used; a cloaking spell of some sort, or maybe a secret keeper. I thought they might—" She stopped abruptly, eyes glistening. "I thought they might have given him away. Or worse."

Hermione shivered.

"So you asked Tom for help," she prompted gently, and Lily nodded.

"I asked him to keep Harry safe," she said. "To make sure he was taken care of. In return, I'd work for him. I ran errands for him, basically. I was the thief for him I would have been for myself, and in return, he taught me how to use magic. But about a year into working for Tom, I found something. A secret; something I couldn't pretend I hadn't seen. And after I saw it, I couldn't work for him anymore, so—" She stiffened. "I left. And I took a few things with me when I went."

"The portkey," Hermione realized, stunned. "Is that how Draco got it? You gave it to him?"

Lily nodded slowly. "After Harry turned seventeen, I made it easy for Draco to find."

"But why not—"

"Why not just give it to Harry directly?" Lily guessed, shrugging as Hermione nodded slowly. "It would have been too much, I thought. He'd only just found out about James, and…" She trailed off, obviously emotional. "I didn't want to overwhelm him. Besides, Draco was the one more likely to use it."

"How could you know all that?" Hermione asked, frowning, and Lily's green eyes fell with unnerving certainty on hers; it was something of a please, you silly girl, how could you even ask?

"I told you. I love my son," Lily said. "I never left him. I just couldn't stay."

An important distinction, Hermione thought, and felt her thoughts whir in her head, trying to keep up with everything she knew of two separate universes.

"Whatever enchantment the Potters used to keep him from you, it would have faded when Harry turned seventeen," Hermione noted, and Lily's mouth twitched in confirmation. "So you've been watching him since then?" At Lily's nod, she frowned. "Then why run away when you saw James?"

"There's a difference between me simply keeping watch over my son and my ex-boyfriend arbitrarily showing up in a place he was never supposed to be," Lily informed her impatiently. "I realized I had never really gotten away from Tom. He must have still been involved, somehow, and I told you the truth. I'm a thief, not a liar," she reminded Hermione, who blinked, realizing that much seemed to be true. "I looked for Remus, like I said. Everyone knows he's Tom's guard dog, and I… persuaded him to tell me what Tom was up to." Her lips curled up slightly. "It only hurt a little."

Hermione shuddered. "Okay. Fine. But as for Tom's death—"

"Remember I told you I uncovered a secret?" Lily asked, and Hermione nodded. "It was a piece of paper hidden with Tom's things. A death certificate."

"A—what?" Hermione asked. A horcrux she might have expected; some sort of object, cursed or otherwise, would have made perfect sense. But paperwork?

"Are you particularly religious, Hermione?" Lily asked tangentially, and Hermione shook her head slowly, bemused. "Do you know much about Jesus of Nazareth? Historically, I mean. It's really quite an interesting story if you look at it objectively, all worship aside. Really, it's a story about a clever young man, born from a mortal father and a blessed mother. Brighter than all his peers, who stood in opposition to the outdated teachings of existing authorities. Who represented a political change of tide. He starts as a prodigy," she noted impassively, "then mysteriously disappears. When he resurfaces, he can suddenly perform miracles. He gathers a broad spectrum of supporters; amasses a crowd of people willing to die for him. People who are ready to follow him anywhere. Ultimately, he changes the world. But he doesn't really become Jesus, Son of God, until he rises from the dead." She paused, giving Hermione a testing glance. "It's all very… intriguing," she murmured to herself, "don't you think?"

"Lily," Hermione said after a moment, swallowing hard with apprehension, "whose death certificate did you find in Tom's things?"

"His." It was the answer Hermione had anticipated, and once it was said, Lily's mouth was almost a smile. Perhaps irony had bitten into the corners of her lips. "I found a death certificate for Tom Marvolo Riddle, dated 1947."

"But—" Hermione stared at her. "But how is that possible?"

Lily shrugged. "I don't know. I certainly didn't know then. But it occurred to me that if the man I was working for couldn't possibly be the real Tom Riddle, then I didn't want to wait to find out who—or what," she amended with a tiny shudder, "he really was. So I left."

Hermione floundered in temporary silence, aghast. "But—"

"Who is he really?" Lily asked, and shrugged again. "To be honest, I still don't know."

"But where did—"

"What universe did it come from? This one, I'm pretty sure," Lily supplied, correctly anticipating Hermione's next question. "I've been thinking about it for sixteen years, searching for information, but the truth is I still don't know. All I know is that in 1947 here, Tom Riddle died. In the place I suspect you came from, he was missing. Albania is anyone's best guess, but there are no records." She smiled faintly. "A familiar story, as I mentioned. For years Jesus wandered the desert alone. Which is not to say Tom is any sort of religious figure," she clarified, clearing her throat, "but you have to admit, he knows how to play a compelling narrative."

Hermione shivered. Lily's tone sounded almost reverential, and Hermione wasn't totally sure she blamed her. The more she learned about Tom Riddle, the more impossible it was to understand what he was.

"Wait—but who did Tom ask you to spy on?" Hermione pressed, suddenly remembering. "Back in…" She quickly calculated. "1979. Who were you spying on? Was it Lord Voldemort?"

Lily shook her head. "No. Albus Dumbledore."

"But—" The whole thing was dizzying. Why Dumbledore? And who was Tom Riddle, if not Tom Riddle? Was it possible he was a horcrux, or—"But wait," Hermione managed hurriedly, drawn back to the initial point. "How do you know Harry will die if Tom dies?"

"Because," Lily said, smiling thinly. "If I were Tom, that's what I would do. And believe me," she added, the green eyes Hermione knew so thoroughly abruptly going cold, "I know him better than anyone."


Potterverse

They'd known they couldn't stay in the Chamber of Secrets forever. The problem, as ever, was what they didn't know—which in this case was where they were going to go next.

"If I'm right," Harry said, "I think there's a horcrux in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault."

At once, Hermione made a face. "I don't like her."

"No one does," Theo assured her. "It's one of her signature qualities."

"So now you want to break into Gringotts?" Draco asked Harry wearily, stifling a groan. "Sure, why not," he grunted to himself, shaking his head. "We've already broken into Hogwarts. Why stop there? After all, we blew up the Hogwarts Express, and that was supremely fun. Should we leave Gringotts a pile of ash as well, or—"

"I think you've made your point," Harry informed him, flashing him a glare. "This is hardly helpful input."

"Says you," Draco muttered. "I think I'm very helpfully reminding you your last plans have been… how to put it? Catastrophically poor decisions," he determined. "Or no, wait. Expressions of whimsical madness—"

"Title of my memoir," Theo cut in, casually diffusing tension. "And for the record, if we're going to blow up Gringotts, so be it. I just need to get of here before I, too, become the empty shell of a dead murder snake."

"How about London?" Hermione suggested, and Draco blanched.

"What, you mean with muggles?"

"Really?" she prompted scathingly, slicing an impatient glare at him, and he sighed.

"I didn't mean—"

"Where were you before?" Theo asked Harry, smoothly speaking over them. "You were missing for nearly a year, Potter. Can't imagine you never had somewhere specific to go."

Hermione, who'd clearly been ready to launch into an admonishment of Draco until Theo's interruption, paused instead, listening closely to Harry's response.

"Well, we stayed at Grimmauld Place for quite a while," Harry said.

"The Black residence?" Draco asked, surprised, and Harry glanced at him.

"Yeah," he said. "Know it?"

Draco nodded in lieu of an explanation, which would have been enormously irritating to rehash. His mother had never had fond memories of the house, but that certainly hadn't prevented her from being highly displeased to hear that in the wake of her aunt's death, the property had gone to her cousin Sirius, who'd been burned off the family tree. Magical law was an utter travesty, Narcissa had ranted to Draco, if it did nothing to honor the rightful practices of disinheritance. As she'd insisted to him numerous times, the house should have been transferred to the closest living heirs, lacking a direct legal inheritor. Given that Bellatrix was in Azkaban and Andromeda had been equally disinherited, Narcissa firmly believed Grimmauld Place rightfully belonged to her.

Not that Draco particularly cared either way. By all accounts, the house was drafty and unpleasant, and besides—he was no expert in magical estate planning.

"Why not go back there?" Theo was asking Harry.

"Because anyone can get in," Harry said glumly.

"What, like Death Eaters?" Theo asked. "I don't think they're a problem at the moment. They're likely being rounded up for Azkaban, don't you think?"

Draco opened his mouth, half an idea forming in his head, and then closed it. Half an idea wasn't much to go on. He chewed it carefully, hoping it would come to fruition.

"No, not Death Eaters. Order members, actually." Harry's tone was grim. "I'm not quite ready to face them, to tell you the truth."

"They couldn't possibly be angry," Theo scoffed. "You're seventeen fucking years old. And if it helps, I'm happy to tell them you generously offered to die and we, savages that we are, rudely denied you."

"It's not anger I'm worried about," Harry admitted. "They don't even know what I was supposed to have done. I wasn't allowed to tell them."

To that, Draco thought he heard Hermione mutter the words 'manipulative bastard' under her breath, which Harry either didn't hear or opted not to.

"It's just—" Harry continued, or attempted to continue, though the effort was met with a tentative pause. "They're sort of, um. They're…"

"They dote on you," Hermione guessed. Possibly knew, in some other form, but in this one, she was definitely guessing. "For the record, denying yourself comfort is a terrible coping strategy, Harry."

"Well, we have more pressing things to do, like getting into Gringotts," Harry reminded her. "I don't want to cope. I want to finish what I started."

"Ah, he doesn't want to cope," Theo echoed drily, musing it into nothing. "And collectively, we die of shock."

"I just don't know how we're going to get in," Harry pressed, ignoring him. "I mean, Malfoy's not wrong, we can't exactly just jump in and make a mess of things. Not anymore, anyway." He grimaced. "Assuming the wizarding world is no longer a lawless dictatorship, I'm thinking any sort of crash landing is unfortunately not going to work."

"Actually, we'd better hope the wizarding world is no longer a lawless dictatorship," Draco interrupted slowly, "as that would mean magical law would apply—which could be beneficial to us in this singular instance."

Harry and Theo turned towards him, wearing twin frowns.

"What?" Harry demanded.

"Explain yourself," Theo agreed, and Hermione pursed her lips in thought, contemplating the many, many things she couldn't possibly have known.

"Since Bellatrix is dead," Draco clarified slowly, still working through a hunch, "everything in her vault will go to her legal successor. And since she has no children and her husband's family are all criminals, my mother is the closest living relative with a viable right to her property. But if my mother is arrested for, say, harboring a Dark Lord," he determined with a grimace, "then…"

He trailed off pointedly.

"Draco is Bellatrix Lestrange's closest familial heir," Hermione supplied, as Harry seemed to be staring blankly at him, either with confusion or calculation. On Harry Potter, Draco had come to learn the two expressions were unhelpfully similar. "Which means he can legally claim what's in her vault."

"We'd have to do it soon, though," Draco pointed out. "Otherwise the Ministry could seize her assets. She was supposed to be in the Ministry's custody while in Azkaban, so they might have a legal right to it."

"Soon," Harry echoed, as Hermione nodded her agreement. Draco assumed muggle law was similar, if not precisely the same. "Soon like now?"

"Soon like now," Draco agreed. "Like, for example, right fucking now."

Harry blinked, startled, then scrambled to his feet. "Well, let's go, then—"

"Hold on," Theo drawled, reaching out for Harry and yanking him back by the collar of his shirt. "None of us have been out in the real world in a while. We don't know which of us is wanted by the Ministry, if any. I'm missing," he reminded Harry pointedly, "assuming my father reported my absence, which is a big if. Draco could be considered a war criminal by now, for all we know, and hell, Granger could be wanted for murder—or if nobody took back control of the Ministry, then for being muggleborn. We don't know who or what might have taken over in the Dark Lord's absence, and you," he snapped at Harry, "are recognizable whether you're the good guy or the bad guy, so perhaps it's not asking too much to do five minutes of research before we step blithely into the fucking unknown?"

"Oh," Harry said, blinking, "right."

With that, Theo smoothly released him, folding his arms gruffly over his chest. "Yes. Well, then, excellent."

"Could you ask Dobby for help?" Hermione asked Harry, who considered it.

"I could if I knew where to find him, but he's a free elf," Harry mused aloud. "So, technically I can't summon him." He paused tentatively before adding with a knowing grimace, "Though I can summon Kreacher, I suppose."

"Well, do it, then," Draco cut in briskly, noting the lack of recognition on Hermione's face at the name. "Unless you had grand plans to sit around and wait?"

Harry flashed him a look of impatience. "Fine. Kreacher," he sighed, and there was a loud crack, revealing a wrinkled old house elf Draco had seen communicating with his Aunt Bellatrix at least once before. "Er—hi."

Kreacher gave him a solemn, shaky bow. "Master," the elf croaked gravely, offering a severe version of radiant delight upon gradually raising his gaze to Harry's. "Has Master found a new house?"

"What, this?" Harry asked, frowning around the chamber. "No, definitely not. I need a favor, though," he said, looking thoughtful. "Can you help me with something?"

"It would be Kreacher's great honor," the elf proclaimed. Draco had the distinct impression poetry might be recited soon; the so-called Kreacher seemed on the brink of devoted lyricism. Evidently, Harry Potter brought out the sentimentality in elves. "What will Master be needing?"

"Well, um—" Harry glanced at Theo, who gave him a little shrug implying it's your elf, Potter. You decide. "News, actually," Harry determined. "Can you bring us some recent newspapers?"

With a pop, Kreacher was gone.

"Question," Theo said to Draco. "What are you going to do if your mother hasn't been taken into custody?"

Draco hesitated. If Narcissa hadn't been arrested, she'd be the legal heir, and Draco wasn't totally sure she would help him. And if that was the case, was he willing to turn over his own mother to make sure the Dark Lord stayed dead?

Abruptly, Kreacher reappeared, piled under a heavy stack of Daily Prophets.

"Just a thought," Theo murmured to Draco as Harry stepped forward, frowning at the burdensome contents resting on Kreacher's skeletal arms.

"I was thinking just the ones from the past week," Harry said hesitantly, glancing at the oppressive-looking stack. "How many did you bring?"

"These be from the last week, Master," Kreacher croaked in reply, and Harry shook his head, resolving himself to searching.

"Well, split them up, then. Here," he said, tossing the top half of the pile to Hermione before separating the rest, dividing them into three. "Just… keep an eye out for news about us, about the Ministry, about… well, you know what to look for—"

For several hours, the four of them separated into the corners of a small square on the floor and delved into everything they'd missed (or caused) within the last seven days, which ultimately accounted for more newspapers than any of them particularly wanted to read.

With the notable exception of Hermione, that is, who was curled up in apparent contentment as she sped through the text, her pile diminishing the fastest.

"Draco was reported wanted by Voldemort," she said, not looking up as she tossed the paper into the center of the room. "No report on Theo."

Theo sighed theatrically, biting into a piece of bread Kreacher had just recently handed him. "It's almost as if my father hates me and wishes I were dead," he lamented. "Only that can't be true, he's so warm and gentle—"

"My father was taken into custody," Draco noted from his paper, shuddering a little at the use of his father's previous Azkaban picture. "No word on my mother yet."

"Ministry in lockdown," Harry said, his mouth full; Kreacher had brought him a sandwich, which he'd wasted no time shoving shamelessly into his face. "Voldemort's supporters ousted. Shacklebolt appointed emergency Minister with limited powers. Here," he added to Hermione, "you'll understand this better than I will—"

"Let me see it," Draco cut in, reaching for it and frowning as he glanced over the article. "This says Shacklebolt is being granted access to emergency funds…" He skimmed a few lines and clarified, "Infrastructure repairs and such. The Ministry's basically been reduced to martial law."

"Who's it being run by?" Hermione asked, frowning as she slid sideways, reading over his shoulder. "It's not like there's a wizarding military, is there?"

"Kind of," Theo said thoughtfully, frowning into nothing. "Aurors could technically operate a police state on their own, at least temporarily. They have their own system of tribunals when no Minister is available, or when the Wizengamot isn't in session."

"Sounds pretty corrupt," Hermione noted, chewing her lip.

"No more corrupt than the Wizengamot itself," Draco told her. "Especially now. There's no telling which Warlocks were influenced by the Dark Lord."

"What, like magically?" Harry asked, frowning. "Imperiused, you mean?"

"Oh, no, not that. Much worse," Theo said cheerfully. "Financially. Or by extortion."

"How do you two know all this?" Hermione asked, looking curiously between Theo and Draco as they exchanged a glance of their own.

"There's a typical rite of passage in pureblood households," Theo supplied on their collective behalf. "It's 'sit quietly and listen while daddy conspires with other men in power,' which is a less fun game than it sounds."

"Astonishingly," Draco contributed drily. At the reminder of their shared history, Theo spared him half a smile, which for a moment seemed like a momentary truce.

It didn't last.

"All things considered, Draco and I knew precisely what kind of people gained power when the Dark Lord took over," Theo mused, gaze sliding pointedly to Draco's. "Didn't we?"

Draco loosely clenched a fist, biting back a response. Hermione caught the motion, her hand briefly slipping out to brush against his knuckles.

"Well, at least we know none of us would be arrested for appearing in public," she exhaled, putting aside the last of her newspapers. "Though, if I had to guess, we should probably keep a low profile."

"That means no Potter," Draco said, glancing at Hermione. "No you, either."

She scowled, somewhere between disappointed and irritated; he suspected she enjoyed playing the anarchist rebel a bit too much. "I'm rarely referenced in any of these without Harry," she argued, pointing at the newspapers. "And frankly, I don't think I'm all that recognizable on my own. Nothing a haircut and a fake pair of glasses wouldn't fix, anyway," she clarified brightly, but Draco shook his head.

"No. If we want to stay under the radar, it'll have to be me and Theo," he said, glancing up to find Theo already looking expectantly at him. "Assuming you don't mind your father finding out you actually did help me."

He'd meant it as an offering, but Theo clearly took it as a jab.

"I don't give a fuck what my father thinks," Theo said flatly. "I thought you'd know that by now."

"What is your problem?" Draco demanded, brusquely irritated. Enclosed spaces were obviously getting the better of them; that, or the constant running for their lives. "I get it, you're upset. I sided with the monsters, I let you down, but I don't know what you want me to do about it now—"

"Isn't it obvious? I want you to fucking prove you're not a monster, too," Theo shot back as Harry blinked, startled.

"Are you two—"

"We're fine," Theo and Draco snapped in unison.

"We'll go to Gringotts," Theo told Harry gruffly, tearing his gaze from Draco's. "Draco and I can go. Nobody will question it if they see us together."

Hermione glanced at Draco, who let out a strangled breath.

"He's right," Draco grumbled. "Easier that way."

Easy, of course, being entirely a matter of perception.

Harry nodded warily, rising to his feet. To his credit, he wasn't entirely without working instincts; he clapped a hand briefly on Theo's shoulder before beckoning to Hermione, obviously making up some excuse about making a list of supplies for Kreacher in order to pull her away from the other two. It wasn't subtle in the slightest, but for once, Draco wasn't in a hurry to chastise the Chosen One's lack of tact.

"Can you do this?" Draco asked Theo the moment Harry and Hermione were out of earshot, both speaking in low tones to Kreacher a few feet away. "Don't do me any favors."

"I already did you a favor," Theo muttered, not looking up. "That's the fucking point, Draco. I don't hate you. I just don't fucking know you."

It was endlessly frustrating.

Painful, too, though Draco was loath to admit to something so deplorably soft.

"Is this really about Hermione?" he asked under his breath, and Theo looked up, exasperated. "You don't even know her."

"Of course it's not about her," Theo snapped. "Jesus, Draco—"

"We were fine until I used the stone," Draco pointed out, "so what's your problem? That I'm not using it to get her back—which, by the way, isn't even a thing I know how to do?" he demanded. "Or is it that I'm using it at all?"

Even though Draco had been the one to say it, he hadn't actually thought that would be the thing to make Theo's mouth tighten with confirmation.

"Seriously?" Draco hissed, fighting a rush of irritation. "You're angry because, what—because I can use that fucking resurrection stone to do something it's not even supposed to do?"

"Well, it just puts things in perspective, doesn't it?" Theo muttered, sparing him a glare that was, to Draco's immense relief, more apprehensive than angry. "You thought you had power once, didn't you? And look what you did with it."

It was a valid point, albeit unavoidably harsh. The words collapsed the growing mass of Draco's anger like the sharp prick of a pin.

"It's different," Draco said, deflating. "This time, I don't want it." At Theo's look of skepticism, he rolled his eyes. "Seriously, I don't. I learned my lesson a long time ago, Theo, and I'm sorry I didn't come to you then, but I can't do anything about that now."

Gratifyingly, Theo took that reasonably well.

(Specifically, in that he didn't comment on it.)

"So what are you going to do now?" he asked instead, gruffly.

"I don't know," Draco said. And he didn't. "But I know I can do at least this much. So help me," he exhaled. "Or keep helping me, whatever—just please, trust me. Because otherwise, I don't know if I can—"

"What do you mean you're not Hermione?" Harry demanded from afar, his voice abruptly heightened in volume, and Draco froze, hoping he had somehow misheard.

Unfortunately, it seemed he hadn't.

"Huh," Theo noted dully, eyeing Harry's stiffened form from across the room. "Well, looks like you're definitely going to need me now."


a/n: For escapexreality—I hope today will be far less arduous.