Chapter 17: Fortune's Favors
Potterverse
There's a specific set of conditions typically used to describe certain kinds of turns of events; not the turns themselves, but the way they happen, and more accurately, what follows as a result. Luck is a perfectly topical example. (Draco Malfoy had always believed luck was mostly coincidence, which was something he felt free to say, having been a supremely lucky person until he was very abruptly not. Oh, how did he get so lucky to be born wealthy and privileged? Not luck, he always said, just good breeding. Just the universe itself wanting to bestow him with favor.) There was luck, there was fortune, there was happenstance; all similar words for a certain arrangement of things in time and place and circumstance which lead to a favorable result.
A note: here, 'favorable' is the operative word. Because of course there was luck, there was fortune, and there was happenstance, and then there was the opposite of that. A series of events preceding and succeeding moments of absolute worst case for each given scenario, resulting in something enormously unlucky—which is to say less about the consequence itself and more about the way in which it happened. Could this have happened if not for this?, et cetera. A study in succession.
For example, if Draco had had parents who'd respected the sanctity of house elves, quite a lot in his life would be different. Which is not to start at the beginning of the list, but rather to visit the most recent consequences; i.e., because Draco had not been raised to appreciate house elves, he did not know or understand or begin to fathom how their magic wasn't precisely the same as his.
Consider now the following words: "You are not Master's friend." Factor into any relevant calculations these words being spoken by a house elf without any particular tone or interest. In the sequence of events currently under consideration, the statement is as unremarkable as any other fact, like 'Draco probably should have told the truth from the beginning,' or alternatively, 'truth does not come easily to Draco, so Theo is welcome to promptly shut up.' Consider now these words: "What do you mean you're not Hermione?" Consider also, as Draco now considered, how these words may not have aligned quite so unluckily if someone (for example, him) had had the foresight to keep the Hermione Granger who wasn't Hermione Granger away from the fucking elf.
"Let me get this straight," Harry said stonily, his fingers steepled so tightly against his mouth the bitten crescents of his nails disappeared into white arches of reservation. "You went to a parallel universe. You," he said, shooting a glare at Hermione, "tricked him," here a glare at Draco, "into believing you were the real Hermione Granger long enough to destroy the portkey back and forth. And you," with a glare at Theo, "knew about this and said nothing. And collectively," with a quick lethal scan at all three, "you all lied—to my face—not once, but repeatedly, and you've made no attempts to get Hermione back."
(A reconstructed summary of events: Kreacher the house elf had sniffed something dubious on Hermione, remarking blithely that she wasn't the person he'd last seen; evidently, older house elves have a nose for realm travel, or at least for things that don't belong, like misplaced towels or loose change or women born to other dimensions. Hermione, already tiring of pretense and walking a flimsy line of being caught, resolved to gently ease Harry into the truth. Unfortunately, some truths aren't gently eased. Most of them, in fact, which is why Draco detests the necessity of them; though that's not presently important. Cut back to present.)
"I haven't not made attempts," Draco protested, and Harry held up a hand.
"Do not," he said gruffly, "talk to me."
Draco grimaced. "Well then how am I supposed to—"
Another hand motion.
(This one really more of a finger.)
"It's my fault," Hermione attempted meekly, only for the Chosen Hand to aim itself warningly in her direction.
"I don't even know who you are," Harry said bitterly, "so forgive me if I don't have any particular interest in hearing anything from you at the moment."
Draco caught the flickering of dismay on her face and felt a twisting surge of opposition.
"It's not her fault," Draco said. "It's mine."
"Noted," Harry said darkly.
There was a brief pause, followed by Theo crouching down beside Harry.
"Bearing in mind my crimes are really the most minimal," he began airily, to which Draco immediately flinched, anticipating a thoroughly unhelpful statement from there, "I think you should probably listen to me."
This time, when the Chosen Hand of Silence made a threatening motion to aim itself at Theo, one of Theo's Hands of Chaos shot out, his fingers closing swiftly around Harry's wrist and yanking it down before taking hold of Harry's chin with the other, gruffly angling it towards him.
"Listen to me very closely, as I'm only going to say this once," Theo threatened flatly, and an indignant Harry jerked away while Theo held him still, fingers digging unapologetically into his cheeks. "We all lied to you. Repeatedly. I'm not saying you shouldn't be furious. But," he continued emphatically as Harry shot him a glare, "you would be doing a very stupid thing if you went off on your own right now—which yes, I know you're considering."
An arched brow of you know I'm right had Harry scowling, though it was difficult to tell. Theo had Harry's face in a thoroughly undignified hold that limited the scope of his more threatening expressions.
"You know you can't do this alone, Potter," Theo warned quietly, and then amended with a grimace, "You should not do this alone."
A pause.
Then Theo released Harry's face carefully, removing his hands with steady deliberation and waiting to ensure Harry was listening before continuing, "Everyone here already risked their life for you at least once, Potter. Yes, you were lied to, and yes, it was fucked, but everyone here had the opportunity to walk away and they didn't. So." Theo cleared his throat. "Maybe don't walk away, either. Got it?"
Harry stared at Theo.
And stared.
And stared.
And narrowed his eyes, letting his attention travel slowly to Draco.
"You said you made attempts?" Harry muttered, and Draco shot forward, taking advantage of the window of opportunity Theo had forcefully shoved open.
"Yes. I can talk to her," Draco assured him, trying to make that sound potentially more helpful than it was. "I talked to her once in the room on the seventh floor and I can talk to her with the resurrection stone. She…" he began, and swallowed. "She doesn't want to come back. Not yet," he added hastily, as Harry's eyes narrowed again, mistrustful. "She's with the other you. And the other me. That's how I knew about the stone—she's trying to bring down Tom Riddle in another universe."
In response, Harry merely stared blankly at him, weighing the merit of his response.
"That does sound like her," eventually managed to break through the grim line of his mouth, and Draco nodded quickly, relieved.
"I don't know how to get her back yet, but I will," he said, and beside him, Hermione's chin dropped ever so slightly, inconspicuously shifting in his peripheral. "I have to believe there's a way. That when she's ready, we'll be able to figure it out."
"But then what will happen to you?" Harry asked Hermione, who blinked, looking up with surprise.
"Me?" she echoed hoarsely. "I…" Her gaze slid to Draco's, buried beneath a furrowed brow. "I assumed you'd just send me back to my universe once you had your version of me back in yours."
"That's ridiculous," Harry said flatly, and her expression melted, clearly filled with gratitude. "She isn't replaceable. Neither are you."
Hermione's hands rose to her mouth, obviously overcome with emotion. Draco, who found such things monstrously discomfiting, cleared his throat, turning back to Harry.
"So, listen—"
"What's the other universe like?" Harry interrupted, aiming his question at Hermione. "Why are you here? What happened?"
"Oh, um." Hermione blinked, clearly surprised at being asked. "Well, Grindelwald is in charge there, so I'm not a witch. This is… this is the first time I've used magic on purpose," she clarified, her gaze floating briefly to Draco's. "He taught me when the other version of him wouldn't."
Harry glanced at Draco, arching something of a vacantly surprised brow, and waited for Hermione to continue.
"Harry, you… you're, um." Another pause as Hermione frowned at Harry. "You're different there. Kind of a prat."
Harry frowned. "I am?"
"Well, I don't know. You're sort of going through an identity crisis—it's a whole thing. Also, you two are best friends," she said, waving a hand between Draco and Harry, who each rolled their eyes, equally doubtful. "And you two," she continued, gesturing between Harry and Theo as the latter's shoulders stiffened in apprehension, "are together there. Like, together together," she clarified as Theo then appeared to swallow his tongue.
"That's," Theo began, blinking. "That's… no. I wouldn't… no. No. I don't think so, no—"
"Look at that," Draco murmured drily to Hermione. "You broke him."
"I'm with Nott," Harry agreed, making a face, and then grimaced as Hermione half-smiled in response. "No, I'm not with him, I'm just—I'm just saying I agree, that's a lot of no, and… And hold on," he added brusquely, obviously opting for an abrupt change in topic. "You two are together, right?" he said, referencing Draco and Hermione. "Or was that just a lie to distract me?"
Draco hesitated for a moment, exchanging a glance with Hermione.
"No, that part's real," he said, and she smiled, visibly relieved. "But anyway, listen," Draco exhaled, turning back to Harry. "We have to get moving. If we're going to get to Gringotts and destroy all these horcruxes, we can't just sit around in this chamber. Assuming you still want our help," he conceded, and Harry sighed, glancing briefly at Theo before sparing a nod.
"Fine," he said, rising to his feet. "I'm not happy about this and you're all on thin fucking ice, but—Kreacher," he called, turning over his shoulder to where the elf was tidying up around the dead basilisk and its respective skins, "can you come here please?"
They all jumped as Kreacher materialized in front of them. "Master called for Kreacher?"
"We're going to need some things," Harry said, which was how they had eventually shifted into the next stage of the sequence: the venturing forth from the ruins of the castle to the outside world, and specifically, the broom-flight to Gringotts bank.
Draco had learned by then (his faith in his own luck-that-wasn't-luck long since suspended) that things which seemed fine on the surface were very often part of a precarious balance when viewed with a broader scope. He wasn't surprised when the process of travel, even for a unified goal, wasn't any particular relief; for one thing, the option to use brooms seemed to be in part to punish Hermione, while the silent treatment was Harry's weapon of choice against Theo.
Draco, meanwhile, was subjected to the very thing Harry must have known he wouldn't be able to stand: a demand for explanation.
"So, you lied to me," Harry said, sidling up to Draco. "Why?"
"I told you," Draco replied impatiently, "because you wouldn't have helped me if you didn't think it was her. And then what was I supposed to do? Bake you a cake that said 'surprise, she's not who you thinks she is' and assume you'd be okay with it?"
"Somehow I think there's a few middle steps," Harry shot accusingly, and Draco sighed.
"Look, I don't know if you've noticed, but you're kind of all I've got," Draco said irritably. "If you hadn't let me come with you, I'd be dead by now. I had nowhere to go, the Dark Lord would've killed me, and I was fucking afraid, okay? But listen, I get why you're angry," he said, to which Harry arched a warning brow; a little hint of watch your step, "but you also have to realize that because I lied, you've got Theo on your side now, and that's a good thing. He's loyal, he's smart, and hopefully you've figured out by now he'll do whatever it takes to help you. He already trusts you more than he trusts me," he muttered, trying to make it sound slightly less grim than he felt.
To that, Harry swallowed, the point clearly sinking in.
"And as for Hermione, she positively worships you," Draco continued, an incoherent rant formulating somewhere around his tonsils, or else his conscience. "She wanted to tell you sooner, and this whole thing, it wasn't because we were trying to… I don't know. Betray you. Both of them would probably die for you," Draco pointed out, suddenly finding himself mildly envious, "and that's the fucking truth."
"You're not exactly a reliable source for truth," Harry muttered, and Draco shot him a glare.
"Listen, I may be a liar, but at least I stayed," Draco snapped, and Harry returned with a fiercely wounded scowl. "And hey, maybe I fucked up the most, but you're still the one who didn't notice your best friend wasn't who she said she was—"
"I did notice," Harry said stonily, and for once, a glimmer of reluctance appeared on his features. "I knew. Believe me, I'm furious with myself, too. Not just you. But the truth is," he exhaled, dropping his voice low, "I think I wanted to believe it was her. Before, I was always trying to convince her I knew what I was doing, that my reasons were sound; so when I thought maybe she'd changed, that she agreed with me, that she—" A sigh. "That she trusted me. Trusted my judgment, I thought—"
Harry sucked in a remorseful breath, which Draco graciously didn't interrupt.
"I believed you because I wanted to believe you," Harry finished bitterly, "not because you're some kind of fantastic liar. If I'd gone with my gut I would have pushed you on it, but I didn't," he confessed, pained, "because a very large part of me wanted this to be her."
Draco, who hadn't expected to get through to anything—much less an admission of a moral wrong, which he'd never seen from Harry Potter and had begun to suspect was a myth—clung to silence, unsure what to say.
"You swear," Harry ventured quietly, and slid a depressingly earnest glance towards Draco, "you swear she doesn't want to come back? It's not like…" He swallowed, trailing off. "Did I totally fail her?"
It wasn't entirely outside Draco's scope of comprehension that this, Harry's desperate need for reassurance, was a big moment for both of them. A possible opportunity to regain the moral high ground, in fact—which to be fair, Draco had never really managed to conquer.
Instead, though, he shook his head. "I promise, Potter, the moment Granger wants to come back, I'll do everything I can to make it happen. I'll tell you everything she says from now on, I swear. But right now," he said firmly, "she seems pretty focused on whatever Grindel-war she's fighting over there."
Harry hesitated for a moment, obviously trying to weigh the truth of Draco's response, and then sighed, resigning himself to acceptance. He contemplated the grains of his broom for a moment before turning back to Draco.
"When we land, I want you to hold onto the stone," Harry said, and Draco blinked, surprised. "I want you to wear it. Keep it on you, somehow, in case she tries to contact you. If I can't be there for her," he said fiercely, "then you'll have to be. Understood?"
Draco didn't care for the patronizing tone of the question, but he conceded the point.
"Understood," he agreed, and Harry nodded, the two of them reaching something of a detente.
(Though, consider now the following: "All's well that ends well." Consider, too, that such a statement is not reflexive. That is to say, if all seems well, that does not mean it is the end.)
Grindelverse
Hermione Granger was what some might call a cynic. For example, she didn't believe in pseudosciences (astrology) or pseudomagics (divination) and though she believed Felix Felicis was a highly powerful potion capable of producing extraordinary results, she didn't believe it to be superior to any other mind-altering drug—largely because she didn't believe in luck. Luck is preparation, as she commonly used to say; luck and its other personas (namely, fortune and happenstance) were all simply end results that anyone could conceivably see if they followed an informed, sequential line of thought.
Which is why Hermione told herself she was merely ill-prepared and not unlucky when, after speaking with Lily Evans, she realized she no longer had any idea what to believe.
"Hey," Draco said, finding her in the corridor as she paced in place, trying and failing to locate a central nexus of truth between Tom Riddle and Lily Evans' variations on the same (or similar) stories. "So it seems that little ginger friend of yours is quite useful in this universe. He's gotten us extra Hogwarts uniforms," he clarified when Hermione passed him a questioning—if not a bit admonishing—glance. "Something about having access to a collection of lost items, though I really couldn't care in the least. I presume you'll be able to get us into the castle undetected?"
Were Hermione a more self-indulgent sort of person, she might have replied with a frantic bellow of "CAN'T YOU SEE I HAVE MORE PRESSING THINGS GOING ON AT THE MOMENT?" or something of that ilk, but being that she was who she was, she merely turned to Draco with a sigh, shaking her head.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked him, as he lifted a brow, artfully curious (or, more accurately, with suppressed displeasure). "I mean yes, okay, you're sure about bringing down Grindelwald, fine. But are you sure you don't want to be more prepared?"
"Prepared," he echoed, and to her displeasure, he sounded vaguely amused. "In what way?"
"In any way!" she retorted, bristling. Abruptly, her many frustrations branched out in webs, expelling from her in the lamentably shrill tone of disapproval she was certain Harry had heard many times. "None of this has been planned, Draco! What if something goes wrong? If you fail, Grindelwald could have you killed—"
"Then we'll make a point not to fail," Draco replied blithely, sparing her his usual smile, and Hermione glared at him, exasperated.
"Even if you succeed in killing Grindelwald, what next? Do you and Harry plan to become dictators yourselves?" she demanded, throwing her hands in the air. "And what are you going to do about Tom Riddle?"
"Dictator is a strong word," Draco said, which was not an answer—or if it was, then certainly not a very good one. "And I told you, Hermione, when we're done with Grindelwald, we'll take care of Tom. It's really not very complicated—though I'm starting to see why you've been on the run for nearly a year, if all your plans required such thorough discussions in advance," he mused, which to his credit may have been a playful attempt at soothing tension.
She didn't register it that way. Instead she rounded on him, furious.
"First of all, that was different there," Hermione snapped, entirely ruffled and pinched with nerves, albeit making a concerted effort not to launch into any unnecessary monologuing about the horcrux hunt. "Secondly, surely a man like Tom Riddle is prepared for the possibility of his death. He knows more about you and Harry than you think," she added, not yet wanting to get into Lily's suspicions, "and if this is all part of his twisted games, then—"
"The thing about Tom Riddle," Draco cut in, folding his arms over his chest, "is that he has quite a way of manipulating people who listen to him." He paused before adding, "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe your fear of him is at least partially your doing?"
"What?" Hermione asked, balking. "What on earth does that mean?"
"Tom Riddle's made no threats against us," Draco said flatly. "At no point has he put any of us in danger. And yet, somehow, he's convinced you he can hurt you." Draco reached out, taking her hands in his. "He can't touch you, Hermione," he urged, leveling his gaze at her with certainty. "He hasn't even tried, and if he did, he'd still have to go through us. Through me, which I like to think would be difficult enough," he remarked with a wry smile, "even if you were somehow less capable."
"But—" Hermione grimaced. How to explain everything Lily had said? "He is dangerous, Draco—"
"He's only as dangerous as you make him," Draco informed her. "He's exactly as powerful as you give him permission to be. If you spend every step of the way trying to guess what he'll do next and what might go wrong, that's not preparation. It's paranoia."
The assertion was remarkably on the nose. Hermione blinked with surprise, caught off guard, and he slid his fingers across her knuckles.
"Not everything is complicated, Hermione," Draco said. "Some things are just convenient timing. Grindelwald is about to be in the right place at the right time," he pressed, "and perhaps you've forgotten, but Grindelwald isn't merely some ineffectual authority. He's the head of a violent and prejudicial regime, and if we wait until we're comfortably assured we have the perfect plan, more people will die. In fact, most of the people currently in this house would be dead if Grindelwald knew about them—James and Lily are supposed to be dead," Draco pointed out firmly, and Hermione winced, already knowing as much. "Not to mention Harry, too."
"But that's the thing," Hermione urged, frowning. "Tom Riddle knows about Harry. He knows who he is, who Lily and James are, and there's something… off about him. He may not have horcruxes in this universe," she conceded hesitantly, "but if he doesn't, he has something, and until we know what it is—"
"Until we know what it is," Draco interrupted, "there's really no point trying to guess. Is there?"
She said nothing, chewing her lip, and he took hold of her shoulders.
"Is there?" he pressed, and Hermione grimaced, battling her own mistrust and finally conceding to shake her head, resigned. "I told you, we'll take him down, but right now it's Grindelwald we have to focus on. So," he exhaled, fixing his grey gaze on hers, "how are we going to get into Hogwarts?"
She sighed, weighing her options. She could tell him about Tom Riddle apparently having died in 1947, but what good would it do to confess? Lily hadn't had any answers, and Hermione certainly didn't. She could point out Tom Riddle could be anyone—or anything, which was a possibility more and more troubling the further her mind spun out for explanation—but that, too, seemed like a point that wouldn't quite find its footing. The threat to Harry seemed the most likely to register with Draco in terms of securing his interest, but even that was mostly theoretical.
So what could she do, really, aside from continue sorting through it on her own?
"There's a tunnel in Honeydukes," eventually slid from Hermione's lips. Even she could tell her voice lacked something of a compulsory energy, but there was no denying she was resigned, not enthusiastic. "The sweets shop in Hogsmeade. It leads into the castle."
Draco smiled approvingly, running his thumb over the M on her wrist.
"So," he ventured, glancing at her with a slightly carnivorous look of satisfaction, "does that mean you're ready to bring down an evil overlord, Hermione Granger?"
She fervently hoped luck (or something like it) would have it Grindelwald would be the only despot they'd have to worry about that day.
"Yes," she said eventually, shaking her head. "Fine. Let's take him down."
Potterverse
"Draco Malfoy for the Lestrange vault," he repeated impatiently, and the two goblins standing behind the counter exchanged glances.
If it weren't bad enough that an additional goblin had been called in for no apparent reason, the conspiratorial indication of doubtfulness between them would have tipped the scales. Draco fidgeted briefly in place until Theo's elbow clipped him warningly in the ribs; a silent indication to immediately desist. Under other circumstances Draco might have been irritated by the wordless command, but if there was anyone who knew how to be invisible and unthreatening, it was Theo. Draco mimicked Theo's stance obediently and waited, holding himself still.
The resurrection stone, meanwhile—which Harry had put into a small and somewhat disgusting pouch—hung around Draco's neck, settled unceremoniously against his sternum per their less-than-enjoyable agreement.
"You don't have access to the Lestrange vault, Mr Malfoy," one of the goblins noted.
"No," Draco agreed, "but I'm Bellatrix Lestrange's closest legal heir. I'm sure you'll have already been alerted as to her death," he said firmly, which was mostly a guess, though a matching flicker of apprehension on both goblins' faces confirmed it. "Considering I'm her closest family member, I can't imagine it's much of a stretch that I'd want to pay a visit. In the wake of her passing, I mean," he added hastily. "Familial obligations and such."
The two goblins exchanged another glance, silently conferring, and Draco stifled a groan.
"Look, obviously there's nothing keeping you from letting me in," he insisted, which wasn't exactly unthreatening, but there was a time and a place for blending into the scenery, as far as he was concerned. "If the answer was no, you'd have turned me away already instead of putting me through this sad charade, so what exactly is the problem?"
There was a long pause.
"Technically," the more senior goblin began, "you'd be right. It's only that you're the second person today with a legal claim to the Lestrange vault who's arrived to claim its contents."
Draco blinked. "What?"
"The other arrived earlier this morning," the goblin said. "She removed nothing."
"She," Theo echoed, nudging Draco and dropping his voice, angling slightly towards him. "It had to have been your mother."
Draco frowned. "Why would she show up and not take anything?"
"We don't know," the goblin said, catching the undertones of conversation. "But seeing as Narcissa Malfoy has been apprehended since her visit," he clarified, "that does, in fact, make you the legal heir."
"My mother was arrested this morning?" Draco asked, stunned. "For what?"
The goblin shrugged. "Not our business."
(A frustrating turn of events. Another notch in an unfavorable sequence.)
"Then your business ends with you simply letting me into my aunt's vault," Draco reminded them. "Doesn't it?"
Another exchanged glance; concession this time.
"Right this way, then," said the other goblin, tucking a leather bag full of clanking metal into a pouch at his belt and escorting Draco and Theo to the vault passageways, accompanying them to the familiar but vastly unpleasant carts. The Lestrange vault, like the Malfoy and Nott vaults, would be a long way down, and the ride proved precisely as unpleasant as they expected.
"Here we are," said the goblin as Draco and Theo stepped queasily out of the carts, the two of them nearly toppling over upon contact with the cavernous (but blessedly unmoving) ground and skirting too much contact with the impassively snorting dragon. "The Lestrange vault. One moment," the goblin added, pressing his hand to the door, and then it swung open, the innards of the cave glinting with welcome at their entry, illuminated by a sourceless glow.
"Well," Theo said, slowly surveying the contents of the vault: golden coins and goblets. Silver armor. The skins of strange creatures. Potions in jeweled flasks. A skull still wearing a crown. "Pretty standard stuff, I'd say."
Draco nodded grimly. At first glance, the vault could have belonged to anyone; certainly to either of their families.
"Just keep an eye out for that cup," he said, and they wandered inside, tentatively searching. Harry had been fairly certain that if the vault contained anything at all, it would be a golden goblet with two handles, a badger engraved on its side.
It was fortunate that the cave had been lit by their presence, at least; it made the search that much easier. Theo spotted the cup first, gesturing up to where it glinted in the light from one of the shelf-like ridges of the cave. "There," he said, and Draco grimaced.
"Well, give me a boost, would you?" he grunted, and Theo rolled his eyes.
"What do you want me to do, toss you up there?"
"That's not at all what I meant and you know it—"
Theo wordlessly flicked his wand, sending Draco launching upwards to nearly barrel into one of the vault's numerous stalactites. He ducked, just missing a crash from the top of his head, to find himself at eye level with the cup.
"Oops," called Theo, and Draco sighed, taking hold of the cup and flicking his own wand to lower himself gently down.
"You're ridiculous," Draco informed him, dusting himself off upon landing. "What are you cross about now?"
"Oh, nothing. Just the aforementioned items," Theo assured him at a drawl. "Also, it was a little funny."
"Yes. Hilarious," Draco muttered grumpily, though he proceeded to look over the cup, holding it out for Theo's observation. "Gold cup, check," he noted. "Badger, check."
"Eerie feeling? Check plus," Theo remarked with a shudder, removing the beaded handbag from where he'd tucked it into the waistband of his trousers before holding it open for Draco, permitting him to drop the cup inside. "You know, I wonder what happens to a soul when it's been a cup for however many fucking decades," Theo mused. "You think it's like a person being trapped as a cup, or—?"
"Having no experience with metallurgy, soul-splicing, or being contained in an object, Theodore, I'm going to go with I don't fucking know," Draco replied gruffly, gesturing out of the vault. "Shall we?"
"Do we need money?" Theo asked, glancing around. "Aside from what I took from my dad's, I mean."
"Certainly not this money," Draco said with a shudder. "Some of this shit looks cursed."
"Fair," Theo agreed, and they made their way back to the entrance of the vault, pausing beside the patiently waiting Gringotts goblin. "You're sure you can't tell us why Narcissa Malfoy came here?" Theo asked, and the goblin gave him a steady, unflinching glance. "I mean, come on. You've got to be a little curious, right?"
"We Gringotts goblins are sworn to an oath of secrecy," the goblin replied loftily. "Curiosity is not one of our central tenets."
"Well, listen—it's Bogrod, right?" Theo asked, which surprised Draco, who certainly hadn't been remotely listening when the goblin was introduced. "I'm Theo. Nott," he added, clarifying, and Draco, who generally employed the use of his own surname for impressing warnings (i.e., threats), the introduction appeared to be for purposes of familiarizing.
"I know," Bogrod said warily.
"My father's the mean one. Bet you've all got stories about it."
"We would never discuss such things," Bogrod said, though in Draco's view, he seemed to have softened slightly at the reminder. "We are loyal to our patrons, Mr Nott."
"And we, the patrons, are deeply grateful," Theo agreed, "but at least tell me this: Were you the one who took her to this vault this morning?"
Bogrod hesitated a moment before determining the information suitably unremarkable. "Yes, Mr Nott. I accompanied her."
"And did she do something like this?" Theo asked, gesturing to himself and Draco. "You know. Wander around looking for something specific?"
"I'm her son," Draco pointed out to Bogrod, chiming in with what he hoped came off as reassurance when it looked like the goblin might refuse to comment. "It's not like you're betraying any sort of oath by telling me what my own mother's up to."
To that, Bogrod gave something of a grimace. "I truly cannot speak to her behavior. All I can tell you is that nothing was removed. Now, if you're ready, Mr Malfoy?" he beckoned, gesturing to the cart.
Draco and Theo exchanged a glance, sighing.
"To the cart, then," they grumbled in unison, shuffling grudgingly back towards it.
Grindelverse
"This is a terrible idea," hissed Ron the moment Hermione and Draco clambered through the hump on the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, pausing to dust off the remnants lingering from the tunnel beneath the school. "I didn't even know this was a passageway, and now that I do, I'm going to be bloody expelled—"
"Won't really matter, though, will it?" Theo said cheerily from where he was standing beside Ron. His presence prompted Hermione directly to a jolt, noticing he'd donned Gryffindor colors around his neck while a Slytherin tie was affixed to Harry's. "Seeing as you'll already be a war hero. That, or dead and dismembered," Theo guessed with a shrug, "but I always like a silver lining."
To that, Ron immediately looked queasy, and Theo gave him a brusque pat on the shoulder, no less spirited as a result.
"How'd you two get here first?" Draco asked Harry, who shrugged.
"We came through the Floo in the headmistress' office," he explained, gesturing to Ron. "Weasley here let us in."
"It's only available because McGonagall's been out of her office preparing for Grindelwald's arrival—which I'm supposed to be helping with," Ron muttered, looking as though he'd been sweating through his shirt for most of the morning, "and which is only one of many reasons I'm going to have my badge stripped, and then I'm going to be expelled. Oh, bloody hell, I'm going to be the only one of my brothers to be expelled," he whimpered, "which is hardly the singular achievement I was hoping for—"
"Why are you going along with this if you're so worried?" Hermione asked him, trying not to be too openly amused.
"I really don't know," Ron confessed, pained, and then brightened. "Is it possible I've been Imperiused?"
"Nah," Theo said. "Though you're welcome to tell people that at your criminal trial. I won't take it personally."
"Thanks," whispered Ron, turning slightly green.
"Alright, let's get back to the plan," Draco commanded, glancing at Harry. "We just have to find a place to wait, don't we?"
Harry nodded. "James and Sirius will arrive as soon as Grindelwald does. And Lily," he added, gruffly clearing his throat at the use of his mother's name.
It had been a fairly simple plot, though 'simple' (read: involving little intricacy and even fewer steps) and 'easy' (read: not difficult) were hardly synonyms in the matter of international assassination. The four of them had one plan—arrive at the castle, wait for Grindelwald's presence to be announced, and then find a way to get him alone—while Lily had another; hers being that she would enter the castle when McGonagall (or whoever her 'friend' on the inside was, though Hermione was quite certain it could be no one else) called for her upon Grindelwald's arrival. While Lily had been perfectly happy to work with Remus, who'd cracked his tattooed knuckles with unmistakable euphoria at the thought, she'd been less than pleased to hear James and Sirius were immovable about their intent to come along.
"You," Lily had said through her teeth, "have absolutely no place in this, James—"
But James' retort had been adamant. "MY SON AND MY," James had replied, and immediately floundered. "IF HARRY AND," he attempted again, with another abrupt end, until finally, a roar of, "LISTEN, WOMAN, YOU KNOW I CAN'T LET YOU DO THIS ALONE" erupted with an episode of James Potter storming incoherently out of the room, at which point Lily finally relented, having no apparent choice.
"You look good, by the way, Lils," Sirius had contributed unhelpfully, to which Remus had let out a disbelieving scoff, and certainly by which point Hermione and the others had determined they were probably better off getting a head start.
"You've got the cloak?" Draco asked, and Harry nodded. "And the ring?"
"Got everything," Harry said. "Relax, would you?"
"When's he supposed to get here?" Draco asked Ron, who looked like he was going to be sick at any moment.
"Twenty minutes," Ron said, mumbling it half to himself. "He's supposed to gather everyone in the Great Hall, give a short speech, and then hold recruitment meetings with students in one of the classrooms."
"Well, that's it, then, isn't it?" Draco asked, a little testy with impatience that no one had suggested it first. "We'll just have one of us be a student being recruited." Hermione glanced apprehensively at him, thoroughly relieved he was in Slytherin colors. She wasn't sure she would have been able to see him wearing anything else, though her own Ravenclaw disguise wasn't particular comforting. "Weasley would be the easiest, being an actual student," Draco added, "though that's assuming he's capable of not having dissolving in panic before then."
"I—" Ron winced. "I could, but—"
"Of course you can," Theo told him. "Would I be here bullying you into submission if I didn't think you were useful?"
"Not helping," Harry muttered with a nudge to Theo's ribs, and Theo sighed, evidently exhausted by the effort.
"Look," Theo said to Ron. "Has Grindelwald ever done anything to you? Someone you care about, maybe?"
Ron hesitated. "Of course he has. But—"
"But what?" Theo demanded tartly. "They don't give Head Boy badges in the real world, Weasley. If you want to be something worthy, you can't wait for someone to pin it to your chest."
"But," Ron attempted, and paused; it was obvious his arguments were rapidly losing steam. "He usually has his officers there. It's not as if it'll just be Grindelwald and me sitting down to afternoon tea—"
"Of course not," Harry agreed. "We'll be there."
"For an afternoon murder," Theo contributed, and again, Ron's cheeks paled.
"Not helpful," Harry murmured with a sigh.
"I honestly don't know what you want from me," Theo replied, throwing his hands up in exasperation as Hermione stepped forward, reaching for one of Ron's limply dangling arms.
"We'll help you," she assured him gently. "I promise, you won't be alone."
A single bead of sweat dripped down Ron's forehead, but gradually, he managed a nod.
"Okay," he half-whimpered. "Fine. If I have to."
"That's the spirit," Theo said, passing Hermione a wink. "Lucky we've got such capable accomplices."
It occurred to Hermione to tell Theo she didn't believe in luck, but it looked as though her previous stance on the concept wasn't particularly worth considering. Besides, if it wasn't luck, it was certainly something close to it. It was a succession of coincidences that had leaned overwhelmingly in their favor—even if that series of events did share a nexus of having Tom Riddle send them to the castle to begin with.
For a moment, Hermione shuddered, locating Tom at the inception of yet another string of events in her life before shoving him aside, resolving to move forward.
"Lucky we do," she agreed with Theo, and met Draco's approving glance with something she hoped was marginally surer than Ron's excessive perspiration.
After all, she thought grimly, it certainly wasn't preparation, so it'd definitely have to be luck.
a/n: For TamraPraxidlike, who is consistently an utter joy.
