Chapter 24: Illuminating Concepts
Potterverse
"Oh, you again," said James Potter.
"You're going to have to stop doing that," Draco pointed out, grumbling it under his breath as Ron frowned at him, obviously bewildered and probably noting the many, many ways the man before him looked like an older copy of Harry Potter, from the thin face to the wild hair to the general air of being on the brink of recklessness (though the last bit may have been more from Draco's personal experience than actual physicality).
"Look," Draco informed James, "I'm just going to say it. You're dead in this universe."
Hermione shot him a silencing glare, but he figured saying something inelegantly was better than not at all. It wasn't as if gentle delivery was going to make anything much better, and besides, James Potter had no connection to his alternate life. Draco certainly wouldn't be all that upset about finding out his other self had died, and unlike James, Draco had actually met him.
(Though he did have some reservations about what was going on with his alternate mother, so it wasn't an exact science.)
"I'm dead?" James echoed, and glanced at Lily. "Are you dead?"
"I imagine so," she said, shrugging. See? Draco wanted to say to Hermione. Not everything requires finesse. "We were in the middle of a war, I think, last time I was here. So, I suppose that must be how we died?"
"Sorry," Remus said faintly, "what is… happening?"
"I'd like to know also," Ron said, "if that's something that's permitted to happen."
There was a grumpy undertone to his voice that Draco found exceedingly familiar. It was the voice of someone for whom things had gone quite wrong recently, and Draco was very, very familiar with the concept.
"I'd preface this by saying it's hard to believe, but as we don't have much time, you're just going to have to just take our word for it," Draco said, and gestured to James and Lily. "These two are from a parallel universe where Grindelwald won against Dumbledore," he informed them succinctly, "but now Tom Riddle is taking over, so they're here to help us find a way to stop him. Or we're helping them." He shrugged. "It's kind of a mutual arrangement."
"Oh," Remus said, frowning, and then fell silent for a moment. "Oh."
"We're so sorry we didn't, um, make things clear," Hermione offered kindly, and then, choosing an odd time to suddenly remember her manners, "So, um." She turned to Ron. "What's been going on with you?"
"Tried yoga," Ron said drily. "Didn't care for it."
Hermione's mouth twitched. "I meant—"
Ron shook his head. "I know what you meant."
His voice was a little harsh, Draco thought, going so far as to contemplate telling him not to speak to her that way until he remembered that was 1) probably not helpful, as Ron was clearly working through something on a level of emotion Draco did not care to address, and 2) was precisely the sort of thing other people would find generally detestable, which Draco had not cared about much before and apparently now found himself burdened with considering.
He also had to remind himself forcefully that Hermione Granger was not his to protect.
"It's not as if there's much to say," Ron continued, drawing Draco back to the point as he shook himself from his unhelpful thoughts. "You already know most of it."
"Well—" Hermione glanced at Draco, obviously wondering if she should get into it, and he shrugged. "Tell us anyway, for fun," she suggested wryly to Ron, "and as if we know absolutely nothing."
It was Remus, however, who spoke for both of them. "We've lost some people." He hesitated, then added, "People have been looking for Harry, but no one's seen him."
"Why are they looking for Harry?" Hermione asked, frowning. "I mean, besides because we care about him, of course."
"Well, last thing anyone saw of him, he'd murdered Voldemort and scurried off, hadn't he?" Ron said irritably. "There's nothing to rally around right now. The Death Eaters are still a problem, the Ministry's in bloody shambles, the Wizengamot are all receiving death threats and half the Order's dead—"
"Oh," Hermione said faintly, glancing at Remus. "Did you, um—"
He nodded with a glazed-over look. "Dora… she's…"
"Oh, I'm so sorry," Hermione said instantly, one hand rising sadly to curl around her mouth, and James frowned.
"Who is that?" he asked Remus. "Sorry, I suppose when you said you came here on the anniversary of Sirius' death, I just assumed he was your—"
"She's my wife," Remus cut him off with a glare. "She is—was—my wife."
"Oh," James said, having ostensibly sorted out the trivial minutiae and/or fundamental core of bisexuality as a result of Lily's wordless (and yet, somehow, still unspeakably insulting) silencing glance. "Right, yes, carry on—"
"Why haven't you tried to find him?" Hermione asked Ron, who seemed to stumble intellectually over the nuances of the question.
"I—well, I wasn't—I wasn't sure, when he didn't, um—"
"It was something of a strained parting," Draco cut in for him, pointedly arching a brow for the benefit of Hermione's hopefully improved ability to take a hint. "Remember, Granger?"
She blinked.
"Oh, yes, right," she said hastily, and Ron grimaced.
"The point is, I didn't think any of you would be too happy to see me." He glanced warily at Draco. "You I still have doubts about, for the record."
"Understandable," Draco said curtly, by which he meant, sounds like a you problem, "but the point is, we should go. We don't have much time."
"It's Narcissa we need to find," Lily reminded him, frowning. She seemed to not enjoy her lack of control over the situation, which Draco found highly relatable, though inconvenient to address at present. "What does Harry have to do with it?"
"Well, last I saw, Potter was with my mother," Draco clarified, and Lily's eyes widened, alarmed by this information. "She's not like she is in your universe," he assured her quickly. "She's, um. Well, she's—"
"You left my son with your mother?" Lily demanded, and then caught herself, evidently remembering this was not her son, and was in fact the son of someone else entirely, and someone who had long been dead, and also, this was hardly the time to lose her temper. "Never mind. He's right, we can't waste a moment," she said, turning to Ron. "What is it you can do?"
"Well, I have this… thing," Ron said, pulling a slim silver object from his pocket. "I don't really know how to explain it, but it led me back to Harry and Hermione last time that I—" He coughed, clearing his throat. "Anyway, I don't know how it'll work again. It was your voice that led me back last time," he mumbled to Hermione, likely reminding her of several things in the span of a single line, and she swallowed hard.
"Right, um, well." She looked uneasy. It's fine, Draco wanted to tell her, we're fucking teenagers, we can want something one day and want something else entirely the next, but again, it didn't seem like the time or place to point it out. "Can you try using it now?"
"I," he said, and grimaced. "Well, I only barely understand how I used it the first time," he admitted. "I'd heard your voice, and then I clicked it, and then there was this ball of light—"
"Rarely a good idea to go towards balls of light," James said, at which point he was promptly (and rightfully) elbowed by Lily.
"The point is, I don't know that I can make it work," Ron finished, shrugging. "I just know it worked once before."
"Well, when I asked if you could, I sort of expected a true answer," Hermione said. She was clearly irritated, which was moderately hilarious to Draco, but again, it wasn't the time to focus on unhelpful details, however amusing they were.
"Maybe if someone other than you holds it?" Draco asked Ron. "Try giving it to Granger."
He didn't seem to enjoy Draco telling him what to do, but wasn't that just life? Ron handed it somewhat unwillingly to Hermione, who raised it to her ear.
"Nothing," she said after a moment, giving it to Draco. "You try."
He took the little silver thing from her, eyeing it. "What exactly is it?"
"A Deluminator," Hermione said. "Dumbledore designed it."
Lily frowned. "Dumbledore?" she asked, and Hermione turned to face her.
"Yes," Hermione confirmed warily. "Why?"
Lily was still considering something when Draco heard the oddest thing; the faintest sound. His own name, he realized, and raised the Deluminator—as it was apparently called—to his ear, listening closely.
It wasn't Harry.
"Leave Draco alone," his mother's voice was saying, cold and mechanical. "Don't touch him. Don't touch any of them. This isn't about them—"
"Do you hear something?" Hermione asked, suddenly materializing very close to his side, straining to hear the sound coming from the Deluminator and only realizing she had her entire chest molded to the side of Draco's arm when he frowned down at her, flicking his gaze to the conspicuous lack of distance between them. "Oh, sorry, I just—"
"If you hear something, click it," Ron said, gesturing to the item in Draco's hand and looking pointedly away from their encounter.
While Draco might have preferred to simply continue eavesdropping, instead he obliged, all the light in the horrible Black townhouse vanishing from its various containers and collecting into a pulsing, floating ball of illumination, hovering in the air before them.
"Well," Ron said, looking deeply unhappy either that it had worked for someone who wasn't him or specifically that it had worked for Draco (the distinction there being unclear), "there you go, then. I suppose you don't need me."
"Oh, do shut up," Draco said, bristling. "You're not getting out of this, Weasley."
That time, Ron's face was an unreadable hovering between gratitude and annoyance. "Don't be a dickhead, Malfoy."
"Look, we're all going," Hermione said, then paused, turning to Remus. "Unless…?"
Remus rose to his feet, shaking his head. "No, I'll—" He cleared his throat. "I'll stay. In case you need me," he clarified to Ron, then to Hermione, both of whom nodded with understanding. "If you need me, just… come back here. I'll be here."
He glanced at James, pausing a moment, and then forcefully shook his head, taking a few strides to gruffly take him in his arms. "Sorry," Remus muttered, gripping at James' shirt as James went rigid at first, and then gradually relaxed to something of an awkward acquiescence. "I know you don't know me, I know this is stupid, but I just… I didn't think I'd have a chance to do this again. I always hated that I never got to see James grow up, that he never got to get older the way I did, and I just—" He swallowed, leaning away, and James gave him a sympathetic sort of nod. "He deserved it more," Remus said softly, glancing at Lily and reaching out to grip her shoulder, silently wishing her well. "They all did."
"I don't think that's true," James said hesitantly. "Maybe you're just the only one left because you're… not done yet," he offered, and though it walked a fine line of pain and near-unbearable truth, Draco suspected James Potter might have managed to unknowingly ease the pain of what could have easily been Remus Lupin's lifelong torment.
Remus nodded, forcing himself a step back.
"Well," Draco said, gesturing to the ball of light—which was glowing bluish, like a portkey, and seemed simple enough to figure out. "Shall we?"
Draco Malfoy had always had an authoritative air about him. It had been the thing Hermione had loathed most about him; that he had a quality she could neither touch nor perfect nor ever manage to learn in a book. True, he'd never used it for anything purposeful, preferring instead to spend his time being a close-minded sackful of rotten, but if there was one thing Draco Malfoy had always possessed, it was the ability to stir in others some stupid desire to please him. Who else could be the leader of a gang of thugs and bullies? Who else could have convinced the entire school to wear badges (which were not even tastefully crafted, unlike her knitting) that flashed 'POTTER SUCKS,' or to mock Ron for his quidditch abilities in song form? Who else but Draco Malfoy could have managed to be a disciplinary liability his entire school career and yet somehow manage to be named Prefect, even under Dumbledore's watch?
Hermione had loathed it and admired it and then doubly loathed the admiring. She was many superior things, after all, but even so, she would always lack his innate sense of persuasion. She'd been pleased to watch him decay during their sixth year, privately. While Harry had been paranoid, truth be told, she'd been quietly satisfied, thinking Draco had finally gotten a taste of his own medicine somehow.
She hadn't realized until that moment—his face expectant as he gestured them all ahead—that what she'd liked about the other Draco Malfoy had been precisely the same thing she'd hated about this one, probably because this one had used it against her so often. Draco's authority, his unquestioned sense of self—perhaps it was all something internal, something true in every version of him (traumatic events notwithstanding), and perhaps when it wasn't being used to undermine her very existence, it was something almost admirable. Strange to think that upon noticing that nameless quality was back, she felt, as she had with his other self, a surge of both annoyance and…
She cleared her throat.
"Yes, let's go," she said firmly, and Draco gave her an arched look of yes, I said that, didn't I? which she ignored (along with Ron's observing look of unamusement) to step forward, removing her wand from her pocket and angling it out, at the ready just in case. "Better hold on," she advised, and felt a series of hands—Draco's and Ron's strictly avoiding each other, each on an opposite arm, with James' and Lily's briefly struggling for the same spot on her shoulder—before she reached out, touching it.
It drew her forth precisely like a portkey and deposited all of them somewhere else in the snap of a finger, in the blink of an eye; with a strange magnetic pull through time and space to land them unceremoniously on a hard marble floor. Hermione tumbled forward onto her knees, taking the rest of them down with her, and when she looked up, registering their new surroundings, she glanced around with confusion.
It had not been what she was expecting.
They were inside of some sort of elaborate manor house, that much was clear. The floors were clearly expensive and the furniture looked to be made of rare woods and metals, though all of it had a distinctly medieval feel. Almost as Hogwarts would look, if it had been decorated by someone with intensely Scandinavian interests. There was nothing directly related to severed heads, and yet Hermione was surprised not to see any on the walls. Every single inch of the space—from the dark furniture choices to the weaponry which was mounted on either side of the door—screamed that whoever had chosen this aesthetic was… well, he was a he, firstly (not to be too terribly heteronormative) and whoever he was, he wasn't particularly interested in making sure his guests were comfortable.
"Harry's… here?" she asked Draco doubtfully, and he gave a hesitant, avoidant sort of swallow.
"About that," he said carefully, but before he could continue, James let out a loud scoff.
"This is somewhere I decidedly do not want to be," he informed them. "And don't tell me Theodore Nott is my friend in this universe because I refuse to believe it. The one person I'd be glad to find dead," he concluded at a mutter, which Draco hurried to interrupt.
"He's not dead," Draco gritted out, "and also, shut. Up."
He stumbled to the door, pressing his ear to it.
"Where are we?" Hermione asked James, who grimaced.
"A wide-awake nightmare," he grumbled to her, "commonly known as Nott Manor."
"Don't you recognize it?" Ron asked her quietly, and she frowned, shaking her head slowly.
"I mean, I just don't… what room are we in?" she asked James, hoping that would sound like a reasonable rephrasing of the question. She figured she would need to explain to Ron what had happened in her absence, but there were so many layers of difficulty—that she had fallen for someone else and, also, the person in her place had done the same—that it selfishly seemed worth putting off. "Why are we here?"
"We're here," Draco said to her, still listening at the door, "because my mother is here. Or she was here."
"Also, this is the room Nott keeps all his repulsive treasures," James muttered in an aside to Hermione, "in case you were still wondering about that."
"She wasn't," Lily said impatiently.
"Lily, for fuck's sake—"
"Where is Narcissa?" Lily asked, ignoring him in favor of rising to her feet and joining Draco at the door. "Do you hear her now?"
Draco shook his head. "And I don't know why she'd be here, either. She hates Theo's father, everyone does, and—"
He broke off, eyes widening, and gave Lily a shove away from the door just moments before voices echoed from somewhere down the corridor, clearly approaching the room. Hermione fumbled in the beaded bag for the cloak, throwing it over herself, Ron, and James as Lily cast a disillusionment charm over Draco, the two of them concealed on the opposite side of the room.
"—not the point, Narcissa," a man's voice was saying. "Your son has nothing to be concerned about unless he interrupts any of the Dark Lord's plans—"
"Stop calling him that," Narcissa snapped, following the man who must have been Theodore Nott, Sr into the room. She looked exhausted, Hermione noted, the shadows under her eyes stark and violent. "He's not a lord, he never was, and he's certainly not anymore. I want your word on this, Nott." Her mouth was tight and lined with defiance. "If you really know as much as you say you do—"
"I was one of his chosen few, Narcissa, of course I do," Nott said, obviously annoyed. "You and Lucius may have defied him, but I was—"
"You have no idea what he was to me," Narcissa spat. "None."
To that, Nott flashed her an impatient glance. "What exactly is it that you want?"
"I want your assurance. I want to be sure, Nott, that you won't touch them. They're children," she reminded him. "One of them is your child—and by the way," she ground out quietly, "if you think Aria wouldn't curse you right where you stand for what you've done to Theo since her death—"
"My son is none of your business," Nott cut in, slyly adding, "unless you know where he is." He angled himself towards her, his fingers twitching slightly, and Hermione held her breath, certain he was considering reaching for his wand. "If you're hiding him from me, Narcissa, you should know—"
"I'm not hiding anyone," Narcissa said flatly. "I haven't seen my own son since he disappeared, much less yours." If Hermione hadn't known it was patently untrue, she would have believed her; Narcissa Malfoy was clearly a gifted liar. "But I know what you're planning, Nott, and I know he left you instructions. I just want to be sure those instructions don't include any harm coming to my son."
"If he's with Harry Potter, I certainly can't promise anything," Nott said, and beside Hermione, James went stiff. It occurred to her that the name 'Harry Potter' wasn't the one he'd been permitted to bestow to his own son, and the threat against his (sort of) progeny registered with another nuanced level of fury, his knuckles white beneath the cloak. "And you, Narcissa, should think twice before crossing me in my own house. Isn't Lucius in Azkaban?" Nott asked knowingly, taking a prowling step forward. "I hate to think there's no one to protect you."
James' mouth tightened, and at the same time, Hermione caught the motion of the rug across the room—as if, say, a disillusioned person had stepped forward, and someone else had pulled them back.
Narcissa gave Nott a hard glance. "I've been threatened before," she said, impassive. "And as you can see, I'm still standing."
Nott looked unamused. "Just make sure your son doesn't get in my way," he advised, and Narcissa, wisely determining she no longer had time for him, disapparated from the room without another word.
Nott, meanwhile, let his mouth curl up in a smile that was markedly different from Theo's, heading towards an eerie looking glass case which seemed to contain, upon some squinting on Hermione's part, a series of antique wands. He glanced around, apparently looking for something, and for reasons Hermione couldn't begin to fathom, Ron's hand shot out, digging his fingers into her thigh. She passed him a questioning glance but he was busy watching Nott, a thin sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead as the older man slowly narrowed his eyes and turned without warning, gaze snagging on the upturned edge of the rug.
Nott drew his wand with surprising speed, more agile than a man his age should have been, and aimed it at where Draco and Lily had just been, casting a wordless curse. There was a faint sound of footsteps, a little flit of color or light as the disillusionment warped, and then Nott aimed again, his eyes trained on the small evidences of movement.
Hermione fumbled for her wand but stopped, frozen, as someone grabbed her arm.
"Hold on," came Draco's voice, firm and resolute.
It didn't occur to her to ask where they were going or how he planned to get there. I trust you, she thought faintly, and then, I trust you, dear god, when did that happen? and grabbed onto Ron and James, letting herself be yanked backwards with Draco's hand held steady on her shoulder.
Lily had of course wanted to kill Nott where he stood, apparently needing no further evidence he deserved to die outside of the glimpses she'd seen. Despite Draco firmly agreeing with her assessment he'd yanked her back and sprinted to Hermione, the Elder Wand tight in his hand. She hadn't asked where they were going—which was probably best, considering he didn't actually know.
Theo, Draco thought simply, wondering if it were even possible to travel to a person rather than a place. If it didn't work they'd all be splinched and yet here he was, trying it anyway, having apparently caught some of either (or both) Hermione's infectious recklessness. Theo, with as much deliberation as he could conjure, thinking that was destination enough. How could he possibly think of anything else—or any place else—while he was here in this place, with all its misery in the walls and hopelessness covering the floors?
And how could he not hear the sound of Theo's voice, of I hate him, I hate him and everyone like him, how could you have taken his Mark, taken his side, after everything, Draco, how could you stand with him, how could you how could you how could you—?
Theo rung through his head, relentless, and somehow, they landed somewhere with a thud. There was a rustle of something, a muted gasp, and after ascertaining that Hermione's shoulder remained beneath his hand and that he had successfully managed to transport all five of them, Draco processed that he was looking at—
"Oh, for fuck's sake," said James, throwing his hands up. "In this world, too?"
Draco watched with wordless bemusement as Theo and Harry stumbled apart, having been caught in something of a precarious position; specifically, with one of Harry's hands curled around the back of Theo's neck as Theo's fingers clung to the faded cotton of Harry's t-shirt. When they turned, Theo's cheeks were flushed, and Harry's face, more defiant than ever, was lined with all the makings of a fight until it suddenly drained of color, his attention snagging on two specific people who had just entered the room.
In terms of interruptions, it was probably more innocent than it could have been. It must have been a kiss; perhaps even a first kiss, Draco judged, noticing the way Theo was staring at his feet. He was contemplating the grains of the floor, furiously not looking up, and true, if Draco had not seen the versions of Theo and Harry in the other universe his first thoughts would have been a collection of 'when' and 'how' and 'what in the utter fuck,' but at the moment, all he could think was… good.
Good for him.
"Sorry," Draco said, and Theo looked up, brow twitching slightly, as if he'd heard what Draco meant, which was less sorry for the intrusion and more sorry, this must have been Great and Meaningful and perhaps even Life Altering and I ruined it, and I'm sorry. He gave Draco a long look in return, gauging his intent, but said nothing.
"What do you mean 'too'?" Ron asked James.
"Ah, I caught them like this when they were fifteen," James replied, waving a hand to where Harry and Theo had broken apart, "and I doubt it was the first time, but I really didn't need to know the details of however long they'd managed some miraculous degree of subtlety for the first time in their irreverent lives. Happens when you grow up together, I suppose," he added, shrugging, to which Ron scoffed.
"Uh, no it doesn't," Ron said, "and also, they hate each other."
"Well, I hate James, and yet here we are," said Lily, to which Harry made a small noise of disbelief as Theo cleared his throat, taking ownership of the situation.
"I see you've returned," Theo said, glancing briefly at Lily and James with a single arched brow before turning back to Draco. "How'd you find us?"
"It's—" Draco glanced with a small amount of concern at a still-stunned Harry and opted to summarize with maximum brevity. "Elder Wand," he said simply, and then cleared his throat. "Anyway, listen, Potter, this is—"
"Mum," Harry said hoarsely, his gaze fixed on Lily before turning to James. "Dad."
Draco had been mildly concerned they wouldn't necessarily treat this introduction with its share of gravity—given, of course, that they had no knowledge of who this boy was, and in turn could not have known or even guessed his fixation with them—but they seemed equally as affected, as if neither had ever been called 'mum and dad' before in their lives. It only occurred to Draco after a delayed pulse of recognition that perhaps they hadn't, and further, that perhaps this meeting meant something to them, too.
"Harry," Lily said gently, and hesitated. "You do know that we," she began, pausing again. "You know we aren't, um. We aren't them, but—"
She finally gave up on a losing battle, taking a long, hungry look at him in silence instead, but in her moment of vulnerability, James took a careful first step. He said nothing at first, much to Draco's surprise, merely placing his hands carefully on Harry's shoulders and surveying his face with slow deliberation.
"You look," James said, clearing his throat, and then, "precisely like I did when I was your age." He turned over his shoulder, beckoning for Lily, who still stood slightly frozen. "He's got your eyes, Lils."
Draco realized that James, who already knew perfectly well what his son looked like, was providing Harry something marvelous and impossible: the gift of meeting his father for the first time. He had done a similar thing to Draco unknowingly, providing him some comfort in asserting—for the first time in a long time—that Draco mattered, circuitously, because he mattered. Not because he served the Dark Lord or because he had done what was expected, but merely because he existed, and that, somehow, was enough.
It occurred to Draco that perhaps James Potter was a natural father—the sort of father Lucius Malfoy and Theodore Nott hadn't been—and for the first time, Draco understood how cruel he must have been to mock the absence of Harry's parents. He felt the usual stab of shame and took a step back, determining the best thing he could do for any of them in the situation was to simply not be present.
"My mother," Draco said to Theo, turning away as James and Lily cautiously embraced the son who was not their son and yet whom they seemed happy to pretend for, even if it was entirely an act. "Is she here?"
"Yes, she arrived not long ago from somewhere," Theo confirmed, dragging his attention away from Harry. "She's with Herm-" He broke off, appearing to realize that Hermione was, in fact, in the room. "Oh, hey Granger," he said to her, and she, also voiceless at Harry's emotional reunion with his not-parents, took a hasty step forward at being addressed.
"Um, hi," she said. "It's, er. Nice to see you, I suppose?"
Theo arched a brow at Draco, who gave him a warning glance.
"Sure," Theo said, turning to Ron. "Weasley," he said, which in two syllables managed to contain one of the most unconcealed and bitter accusations Draco had ever heard.
Ron nodded stiffly. "Nott."
A pause.
"Good god, this is uncomfortable," Theo said, turning to Draco, who rolled his eyes.
"Where are we?" Draco said.
"Some country house Narcissa inherited ages ago," Theo said, and Draco nodded, realizing why it had felt familiar. He couldn't have been there more than once, but he knew his mother had access to multiple Black properties; perhaps wanting Grimmauld Place had been a simple enough matter of collecting the full set. "She wanted someplace to hide and it was empty. I wasn't sure we'd be seeing you any time soon," Theo added, gaze flicking to Hermione's again, "but I suppose they'll both want to see you now."
"I'm coming with you," Hermione told Draco before he could reply to Theo, addressing him with resolute primness. "You shouldn't see her alone, just in case she finds out you know. And especially if she's," she began, and pursed her lips. "You know."
Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Theo cut him off.
"What's that mean?" Theo asked Hermione.
"The Tom Riddle in the other universe is the one from this universe," Hermione explained, and Theo blinked, but slowly nodded, processing that information. "Voldemort was just one of his horcruxes that was brought to life and operating in his place. But someone here works for the one there," she said emphatically, "which means—"
"You think it's the other you working for him?" Theo asked her, lifting a brow. "I doubt that."
Hermione's lips pressed together thinly. "Just because you two seem to prefer her to me—"
"Okay, let me stop you before you take that to its inevitably misinformed conclusion," Theo drawled, and Hermione narrowed her eyes with a brush of annoyance but conceded to wait for his reply. "I have other evidence, you know. The wand, for example," he said with a glance at Draco, and Hermione frowned.
"What wand?" she asked him.
"Wait a minute. Was that—" Draco jumped, having forgotten Ron was present, much less listening. "Was that not you?" Ron asked Hermione, voice hushed with incredulity. "That's—bloody hell, I knew something was wrong, but I had no idea—"
Draco watched Hermione's jaw set with irritation. "Yes, Ronald. That's very clear."
His freckled cheeks turned scarlet. "Well, hang on—"
"Yes, yes, who would have ever believed a parallel universe existed, we've got it," Theo cut in, dismissing that with another glance at Harry, who seemed to be animatedly asking Lily and James questions they seemed perfectly content to answer, relaxed enough not to bicker with each other for once. "Anyway, the wand I'm talking about, Granger, is the one your other self has been using. It's one of my father's antique ones, a laurel wand."
"Laurel," Hermione echoed faintly, and Theo nodded.
"Yes, laurel, which if you're the swot we all know you are, you'll recall can't perform a dishonorable act," Theo said, and Draco, who'd forgotten they'd already been told as much, kicked himself for not having had that evidence at the ready. "Ollivander confirmed it himself when she picked it out, and besides, she's been more loyal to Potter by the day. I think she'd die for him if he asked, or at least stab someone for him. Either way, I highly doubt she'd betray him." He paused, glancing with a surprising resentment at Ron, "Unlike some people we know."
Ron bristled. "That's not fair, Nott."
"Sure it isn't," Theo replied lazily. "Anyway," he continued, turning back to Draco, "you can go see your mother now if you want, I think she's in the study with Hermione. I'll stay here with the rest of this—" He broke off, frowning over his shoulder at Harry, James, and Lily, and shrugged. "Whatever this is. Oh, and seriously," he added tangentially, "how did you manage to find us? Narcissa said the place was untraceable."
"I—" It didn't seem like something he could put into words, so Draco merely shrugged. "Not sure."
"Fine, don't tell me," Theo sniffed, turning to head towards Harry. Ron followed at a careful distance, sparing a wary glance at Hermione as he went.
Draco opened his mouth, about to say something, but he figured it could wait. It wasn't like Theo was going to forgive him fully any time soon, and anyway, he wasn't sure he deserved Theo's forgiveness. Not yet. Seeing Nott Sr had been enough to remind Draco he'd done a lot worse to Theo than he'd done to anyone else by taking the Dark Lord's Mark—and truly, he couldn't think of a single person he hadn't harmed in taking it, so that was no small realization.
He probably should have known, though, that Hermione would ask. "How did you take us here?" Hermione murmured to him as they made their way towards the study, traversing the corridors of a fairly typical manor house.
Draco sighed. "Don't tell him I said this," he muttered, "but I know Theo Nott better than any place I've ever been. Once it occurred to me to try, I don't think I ever really doubted I would find him." He slid her a sidelong glance. "I imagine that sounds stupid. Or at least a bit reckless."
"I like a little bit of reckless," she murmured to him as they walked, smiling a little at her hands. The motion stretched languidly across her lips and he looked away, swallowing slightly, before rolling his eyes.
"Of course you do," he agreed crisply, finding the door of the study and knocking once. "Mother?" he called, grateful for the distraction. "I'm back."
There was no reply, though he thought he heard something from inside.
"Mother," he said, pushing the door open, "is everything alright? I just wanted to see if—"
He trailed off.
The study was mostly empty, as the rest of the house had been, though there was a heavy desk, a few sparsely populated bookshelves, and two decoratively clawed chairs, one of which was occupied by the other Hermione. She sat very still, her expression forced and face pale, and Draco—who had, by now, learned the particulars of Hermione Granger twice over—registered with a brush of alarm that whatever was going on, it wasn't good. She was tense and possibly afraid, his mother's hands resting on her shoulders.
"Oh, Draco," said Narcissa, her smile warm. "You're home."
He froze in place, a tendril of panic creeping its way up his spine, and it took less than a glance to know without a trace of doubt.
The woman with her hands on Hermione's shoulders was definitely not his mother.
The other version of herself sat stiffly in the chair, and Hermione, who had until then associated her other self with a brash, irritating sort of confidence rather than this coiled uneasiness, felt a rush of uncertainty, wondering if something wasn't quite right. She glanced at Draco, noticing that he, too, had gone rigid for some reason, and by the time she caught the motion of him reaching slowly for the Elder Wand he'd tucked into the band of his trousers, she was certain something must not have been right.
She looked up at Narcissa, cataloguing her, and wondered what exactly was off about the scene. Narcissa was as regal as ever, her hands resting on the other Hermione's shoulders as if they'd been sitting for some sort of royal portrait. They gleamed, in fact, perhaps from the way light was streaming in, and Hermione felt a small brush of envy at the sight of them. Had this version of her managed to receive Narcissa's approval even in spite of famously despising her blood? Narcissa looked proud, almost, perhaps even smug, and—
Hermione stopped, noting that part of what felt off was what she had first noticed about Narcissa Malfoy the first time they'd ever met: her gleam of health, and her reprehensible air of smuggery. When she'd seen Narcissa Malfoy not long ago, though, she'd noticed shadows under her eyes, exhaustion and weary frustration. Hermione's concept of the scene shifted with alarming clarity, realizing this was not the Narcissa Malfoy she'd first assumed it to be.
Draco's fingers closed subtly around his wand and Narcissa gave a weighty sigh.
"Let me stop you there," she said flatly, summoning both the Elder Wand and Hermione's wand, which had been loosely in her pocket, with a wordless twist of her fingers. She caught both, plucking them out of the air and eyeing them. "Ah, interesting," Narcissa said, smiling down at the Elder Wand. "Well, be sure to tell Lily I no longer need her services. Nor yours," she added to Draco, and then glanced down at the other Hermione, "and certainly not yours."
The light from the window was distracting. Despite her increasingly agitated urge to find a way out, Hermione's attention was caught by a glint from under the desk, only realizing with a sudden halted breath that it was a knife. Her other self had carried a knife, hadn't she? There must have been a struggle. Her mind whirred, racing to sort out an escape. Could her other self be of any help? If Narcissa was willing to be rid of her, then maybe Draco had been right—maybe the other Hermione Granger wasn't working with Tom Riddle.
Just as she thought it, a mad prospect occurred to her. Seeing no other avenue—and having no time for a better idea before Narcissa could raise the wand, aiming it at the other version of herself—Hermione forced out a loud, careless laugh.
"You idiot," she said, hoping to accomplish her other self's gift for strutting around (minus the tight jeans) as she took a step forward. "You can't touch her, Narcissa. She belongs here," Hermione said, and when Draco shot a confused glance at her, she reached around to take hold of his face.
"Sweetheart," she whispered to him, loud enough for Narcissa to hear, "you're so fucking easy to trick."
He blinked, brow twitching with confusion, and then his eyes widened.
"You lied to me," he croaked, and she smiled.
They were finally getting better at this reading each other thing.
"Of course I bloody lied to you," Hermione said, pivoting to face her other self with as much panache as she could muster. It would have been a fun exercise, almost, if it weren't incredibly dangerous and probably very stupid. "Do you really think I care what happens to either of you? But you can't touch her," she said with a laughing glance at Narcissa, whose eyes narrowed.
"You think I'm going to buy this?" Narcissa asked drily. "I'm not a fool, Miss Granger. I know which one I have, and I know which one you are."
"You obviously don't, but that's on you," Hermione said, perfectly aware she was treading a fine line between reckless reaching and inevitable error. "You can't hurt her, Narcissa. She did Tom a favor, remember? She brought him the diadem, and that means she's part of his network. If something happens to her," she warned, driving in the most important piece—the crux of everything she knew about Narcissa Malfoy, hoping that would be enough—"it'll be your son who suffers."
Hermione caught the motion of Narcissa registering this with a blink, revealing nothing else.
Damn, Hermione thought, she was good.
"You can't harm someone in Tom's network, clearly, or you'd have killed Lily already," Hermione continued, half-aware it was probably dangerous to hypothesize on the spot, but she'd have to disarm Narcissa somehow. She walked over to the desk, dramatizing her monologue, and gestured to Draco behind her back: Look down.
His eyes flicked to the knife and then quickly away, and she felt a surge of confidence; a little unable to believe this was working, but not entirely without a sense of optimism she might actually pull it off.
"If you harm the Hermione Granger from this universe," Hermione went on, "then you break the contract you have with Tom."
Narcissa was quietly repressing fury. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"No, I don't, that's true," Hermione permitted, "but I do know you're not willing to risk it. You'd do anything to save Draco, wouldn't you?" she posed neutrally, eyeing her fingernails. All of this was an act, but she hoped—she fucking prayed—it was a good one. "Lily would do the same, but her hands are tied, aren't they? She can't harm someone in Tom's network, so neither can you."
Narcissa leveled the Elder Wand at Hermione. "I could harm you."
"You could," Hermione agreed sweetly, catching Draco's slow progression towards the desk, "but you'd have to know which one I was first, wouldn't you?"
Narcissa blinked.
"You cunning little bitch," she said, with something Hermione might have called approval if she hadn't known better, and then she flicked her own wand, dispelling what must have been a silencing charm on the other Hermione. "A little Veritaserum will clear this up, and if that can't be procured, then there's certainly other ways of making you talk—"
"Like a discus," the other Hermione blurted the moment she could speak, and Hermione dropped to the ground as Draco, who'd managed to pick up the knife in the wake of Narcissa's distraction, let the handle fly from his hand, a glint of silver flashing in the light as the blade buried itself sideways in Narcissa's waist. She gasped, the wands falling from her hand, and stumbled forward, catching herself on the arm of the other Hermione's chair.
Hermione scrambled to her feet, snatching the Elder Wand. "Stupefy," she managed before Narcissa could reach for her own, and Narcissa Malfoy dropped back with a dull thud, blood slowly seeping from the wound at her waist to saturate her robes.
"Heal her," not-Hermione said immediately, her eyes wild as she jumped to her feet and Draco flew down to where not-his-mother had fallen, obviously horrified with himself. "I don't—I don't know the spell," the other Hermione said to Draco, her voice slightly faint, "but we have to get her to talk, she knows things—"
She was looking at Draco with relief, Hermione thought.
No, not just relief.
There was that, of course—but also, it was possession.
As if he was hers.
"Get Harry," Hermione said to her instantly, and her other self nodded without hesitation, hurrying to her feet.
In her absence, Hermione bent beside Draco, handing him the Elder Wand as he carefully removed the knife from Narcissa's torso, murmuring healing spells under his breath.
The wound closed easily; he wasn't untalented, which she'd always known. "Are you okay?" she asked him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He had his jaw set with tension, the little crescent moon starkly visible under his eye.
"Fine." He cleared his throat. "You're… thank you, you're—" He half-laughed. "Fuck, that was… that was incredible," he said, giving her a long, grateful look. "Thank god for you, honestly, I really thought we were done for—"
"Draco." She cut him off, glancing over her shoulder. She didn't hear footsteps yet; maybe they'd moved to somewhere in the house. Maybe it would take a few minutes for the other version of her to find them. When Hermione turned back to him he was waiting expectantly, a question buried in his brow. "Can I ask you something?"
His eyes were what made him, she thought as he nodded his wordless assent. She used to find that grey gaze colorless and mean, but now it fell on hers with contemplation, following the shape of her nose and cheeks and mouth with curiosity and awe.
"Do you like her," she said quietly, "because she takes what she wants?"
He was looking at her again the way he had before, when Ron had interrupted. When she'd thought he was going to kiss her and she'd been foolishly unsure why she hadn't stopped him; hadn't known then why she hadn't pulled away. A complicated time, really—a matter of hours, possibly minutes, when she hadn't figured out yet what was upsetting her—only it was actually so simple, wasn't it? Hadn't some part of her wanted him to close the distance? No—not wanted him to. Hadn't she wanted it for herself? She thought of how it had felt to patronizingly call him 'sweetheart,' to curl her lips around the word 'fuck,' to be confident and certain and sure. It was a rare experience being everything she wasn't, only hadn't that felt almost easy—very nearly innate?
Maybe she wasn't so different from her other self after all.
"Well, I—" Draco cleared his throat. "Yes," he eventually said. "Yes, if I'm being honest. Yes."
Maybe what Hermione so terribly detested was the idea that any version of Draco Malfoy could belong to someone who wasn't her.
I wanted you, she heard the other Draco's voice murmur, so I took you.
"I can take, too," Hermione said, and when she leaned forward, the little carved M on her wrist was the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes, her lips finding his.
a/n: For danielap. And for any woman who suffered today. Please register to vote. Also, look out for a nottpott I am determined to put in Amortentia this weekend as a gift for Colubrina.
