No Angels, Steller

Got the devil on my shoulder
No angels around
And by the time it's over
I know I won't be proud
I'm burning all my bridges
Burn them to the ground
And all of my decisions
Can't answer for 'em now

I've been living my life on the edge
'Cause I've been walking the line
And I've been losing my friends
'Causе they say
That I've been changing my ways
And that I should be ashamеd
'Cause I'm no longer the same

He felt the Dark Lord join him in the hallway but didn't see him. The thread that bound them told him that he was standing right behind him, under Harry's cloak. His guards were chatting quietly amongst themselves near the mouth of the one-ended corridor, so he whispered in Parseltongue:

"Did I kill Charlie?"

"No."

Harry felt his breath ghost his neck, and he had to fight the chill that ran through him. "Is he going to be… Normal?"

The pause that followed freaked him out. His heart hammered in his throat while the question hung in the air.

"Remains to be seen," the Dark Lord said.

He flinched, and Tom caught it, stopping him from asking any further questions about the Weasley.

He was nauseous to the point of sweating at the sight of Skeeter babbling at his guard at the end of the hallway. She insisted that her assistant—a young man with alarmed eyes and a shock of red hair—be allowed through with her. She was repeatedly refused until wands were drawn, and she asked what the big deal was anyway as she directed her assistant to leave, his arms overflowing with paperwork and leather bags.

She huffed down the hallway at wandpoint in a lavender and tartan suit dress, a huge yellow feather in her blonde, coiffed hair.

Harry opened the door and momentarily stood in her way, allowing the Dark Lord to enter first. Harry then occupied the entire leather two-seater couch, faking nonchalance as she closed the door behind them. She raised her eyebrows as she cast privacy wards and seemed to be hoping Harry would say something about it.

He didn't, watched her sit and ready her notebook and Quick-Quotes Quill, which he rolled his eyes at the sight of.

"Well, it has been quite some time since you and I last had a sit-down, hasn't it?" Skeeter said, the quill setting a pace.

"Mm." Harry narrowed his eyes.

"I must say I am surprised I was allowed to interview you privately. You're quite the recluse nowadays."

"Oh, that's in case I kill you. Easier to cover up with fewer witnesses." He looked at his nails instead of her and bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood. He felt the Dark Lord in the far corner of the room, his stomach jumping every time he registered it. Frequently.

Skeeter huffed and looked at the door and then at her notes, apparently to ensure the quill caught that.

"It wouldn't be the first time you've murdered in cold blood?" She asked casually, though her voice was slightly shriller.

"No."

"Kevin Jacob Entwhistle, Ronald Weasley—your very best friend, and Demelza Robins?" She read the names from the page.

"Yes." He could almost see Voldemort moving toward her, reading over her shoulder.

"The whole world is dying to know, Harry, where you were in the weeks following these brutal killings?" She asked.

"With the Dark Lord."

She gave a shocked laugh, and then gasped, her eyes glued to her notebook. "In June?"

"Yep."

"And who represented you at the trial?" She looked over the top of her dramatic glasses at him, eyebrows creasing her forehead.

'Er, should I?' He wondered.

"The Dark Lord," Tom said.

She gasped again, louder than the first, clutching her chest. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Do you feel guilty? Those children were innocent."

The wind was knocked out of his chest and Tom held his reaction in.

"What would your parents think?" She leaned forward with mock devastation on her face, bottom lip quivering like a B-grade actor.

He sat up, swung his legs off the couch, and nearly stood. He couldn't find an answer or an appropriate response, his brain short-circuiting; the only idea that came to him was to hurt her. Tom sat him back, fixed his face and smiled blankly:

"No comment."

"Do you truly support the Dark Lord, then? There were many theories that you'd been influenced by an Imperius, or held captive against your will, hoping for a valiant saviour…?"

"Here of my own free will," Harry said, not saying 'Eventually'. His eyes flicked to the space where Voldemort stood, unable to help it.

"Still holding on to that psychotic death wish, I see. Is Ginevra Weasley a Death Eater?"

Harry laughed. "No. She's a student."

"Is she your girlfriend?"

Harry choked on spit, his eyes wide. "No?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Is this relevant?" Tom demanded.

"Oh, many witches are desperate to know. Everyone loves a rebel, Harry." She waved a hand dismissively, but she didn't blink.

"No, they don't. And no, I don't." Harry said.

"Hm. How old are you, Harry? I'm terrible with numbers." She asked, though he was sure she knew.

"Seventeen?"

"Hmm. Of age and never once had a girlfriend?"

"That's not true; I've had a girlfriend?" He'd been on one date, but it would count well enough in this instance.

"Oh? Who?"

"Er…"

She raised one eyebrow and waited, the quill going still in the silence.

"Cho Chang."

"Well, now, that's news to me. Was she not dating Cedric Diggory before the Dark Lord… Killed him? There are reports that she's currently missing…?"

'Fuck,' Harry thought.

"As far as I know, she is a current member of the Order of the Phoenix," Tom said.

"As are-" She looked at her notes, "Hermione Granger, Seamus Finnigan, and Lavender Brown? Rumours abound that they're being held hostage in this very school, a cruel and unusual punishment? Was Hermione not one of your dearest friends?"

"Yeah. Was. They've been turned into Squibs."

"What?"

"…Squibs. No magic?"

"I know what a Squib is," she hissed, eyes bulging.

Harry shrugged. "Okay."

She seemed completely taken aback and remained silent for a long moment. While she was quiet, the Dark Lord moved away from her, coming to stand so close to Harry that he could smell the cedar. He fought not to show anything on his face and watched the reporter struggle instead.

"Turned into Squibs? How is that possible?"

Harry shrugged again, swallowing too much saliva, eyes fractionally wider.

She shook herself and refocused on her notebook, frowning. "Do you—" she cleared her throat. "Do you have a Dark Mark?"

"Yes." Harry noticed that she held her hands tightly in her lap, knuckles white.

Tom rolled up his sleeve and he got the sense it was more to show the Dark Lord—standing over him. He let Skeeter glimpse it, then folded his arm so that only he and Voldemort could see. Tom ran two fingers over the skull and snake, summoning a wisp of the curse and tracing the shape, making the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end. When he attempted to tuck his robe back down, the Dark Lord stopped him, pinning his arm to his lap.

He sucked in a breath and looked at Skeeter to be sure she hadn't noticed the strange movement. Voldemort held his right arm still, close enough to Harry's ear that he could feel him breathing.

Tom smirked at Harry's squirming and commanded that he summon a thread of the curse for the Dark Lord's efforts, ghosting it across the palm of his hand, just below the Dark Mark. He held Harry's arm tight enough to hurt, nails digging through the fabric of the invisibility cloak.

"…And Dumbledore?" Skeeter asked, sitting at the edge of her seat with her eyes on the exit.

"What about him," Harry breathed.

"He died the day of your trial; some say you may have been the very last person to see him alive," she said.

"Well, that's not true; loads of people saw him die." His heart pounded in his neck as he turned his head, deliberately speaking into the Dark Lord's ear.

"Mine," Tom whispered in Parseltongue, and Voldemort's grip tightened, the bones in his forearm grinding together.

"What about the other missing students?" She asked, though Harry barely heard her.

"The what," he whispered.

"The other missing students, believed to be involved in the Order?"

"Oh. I guess they're missing," he squirmed repeatedly. Tom no longer held the worst of it in as he instead focused on not making a telling sound.

"Alright," she stood abruptly, "I think that's plenty."

"Oh?" Tom said, smiling, "I am certain we will see you again in December."

"If you're not invited, I'm sure you'll sneak in," Harry said, fighting to keep his words from hitching in his too-tight throat.

"…What's happening in December?" Despite her obvious fear, her eyes were hungry.

He shrugged a third time, "We'll see." He summoned the darkness fully, purposefully wrapping it around the Dark Lord's hand, and watched it bleeding from his right arm toward the reporter as though he were purely an observer. "I love your work, by the way."

She scurried out, yelping, brushing right past Voldemort. He was gone right behind her, taking the cloak with him, making Harry scowl at the door. "He just stole that."

He dragged himself to the Room of Requirement, needing a shower, a wank, and two weeks off.

Ginny was waiting for him alone, a book in her lap. "How did it go?" she asked, standing up and tucking her reading into her bag.

"It was… Skeeter. It went fine, I guess." He swallowed and paced, his hands in his pockets as he dug his nails in.

He gestured her in, and she frowned.

"Are you okay?"

He closed the doors before he answered, sat down, and pushed his palms into his eyes. "I did something."

"What? What do you mean?"

He didn't look; he could hear that she'd sat down. "I… Voldemort has Charlie at Nurmengard."

"Nurmengard? Grindelwald's prison?"

"Yeah. He took me there last night, and I- I did something," he repeated, unable to get the words past the lump in his throat.

"…Harry?"

"I Crucioed him," he whispered.

"What?"

"I said I Crucioed him."

"…Charlie?"

He nodded in response, face hidden. He tore his hands away and still couldn't look at her; his eyes locked on the clouded ceiling.

"What do you mean, you Crucioed Charlie? Why?"

"…I don't know yet if he's okay," he continued, "But he's not dead."

"Harry."

He looked at her, fighting the tears in his eyes.

"Why?"

He nearly whined in response, guilt overwhelming him, every muscle tense.

"When the Order took Harry captive, Charlie used the Cruciatus on us," Tom said, "Because of what happened at the Ministry."

"But," Harry said forcefully, "He was drunk and upset. It didn't even hurt, and even if it had… And he wasn't wrong; the Ministry was my fault. No one should have been there, that much is fucking obvious." He snarled the last part at Tom, sick of defending his position.

She gnawed her thumb, eyes bulging and flicking all over the empty coffee table. Then she stood up and slapped him hard across the face.

"How many times do I have to tell you that the Ministry wasn't your fault?" She was crying, but it didn't impede her at all. "I want to see Charlie."

"I don't know if I can… Do that, Gin," he held his cheek, a whelp rising on his skin.

"Try." She stomped out of the room and slammed the doors shut before he could respond.

He showered and did not leave his room, not wanting to interact with another human being for the day.

Unfortunately for him, Draco hadn't received that memo, and Harry found him standing outside his room a little over an hour before Defence Against the Dark Arts. He rolled his eyes, and they stayed there for a few seconds before he dragged himself out of bed and opened the doors.

The Slytherin sat down without saying anything, crossing his legs and bouncing them. "He came to me in early July last year. He showed me the cabinet in Borgin and Burkes and told me what it did. He said that there was another one here. That I was to repair it and use it to take you out of the school. He didn't tell me why." He held eye contact and seemed resolute. "So, I figured I'd been instrumental in your murder."

"Not long after that, my mother, my aunt, Severus, and about ten others watched his face go from what it was before to what it is now, mid-sentence. He was talking about gold, then he was screaming for everyone to get out, holding his head like it was fit to burst." He demonstrated.

"And the whole time, you acted like—I don't know. I couldn't work it out. I can't work it out. Why are you doing this?"

Harry watched him, frowning, while Tom recalculated everything they'd assumed about Malfoy so far.

"Haven't you… Sworn a vow?" He asked.

He uncrossed his legs and leaned in, his eyes intense. "I was never sworn to a vow. You must understand. When things started getting complicated, Blaise and Pansy didn't get it. They wanted to know everything, had to be involved, and I couldn't… I never said I'd sworn a vow, they assumed, and I let them think so."

Tom sat them back in his seat and frowned at the blonde. "You lied?"

"I didn't lie I just never said."

Harry's thoughts went to everything he'd told Draco in his moment of rage-induced hysteria. That he'd killed Dumbledore.

"If I swore you to a vow?" Tom asked.

"What?"

"I have told you things that I assumed were protected."

He considered Harry for a long moment, swallowed, and then said, "Fine. Who will witness?"

He thought about Ginny and dismissed it immediately. Any of their classmates felt like the incorrect choice.

"Cassiopeia," Tom said. "Tonight."

Draco exhaled heavily, "What exactly am I swearing?"

"Anything I discuss with you, anything sensitive you discover about me, you cannot mention it," Tom said.

For some reason, his eyes lit up, suddenly not at all disturbed by the idea. "Alright."

Draco walked with him to the lake, not saying much in front of Harry's guard but occasionally smirking as though he was pleased with himself.

Pansy found them near the bell tower, chattering at them both. Harry ignored her words, nodding where it seemed appropriate.

"Hey!"

Harry spun at the sound of Ginny's voice, the doors to the library annex not quite shut. She squeezed through and caught up to the group, scowling.

"…We've got Defence," he said, pointing at the grounds.

"So?" She snapped, walking with them, then overtaking them, huffing as she went.

"What's that about?" Draco asked, and Harry shrugged.

She beat them to the grounds and stood next to Cassiopeia, her arms crossed, appearing as though she was meant to be there.

The vampire gave Harry a questioning look, and he shook his head.

He'd left his Death Eater entourage at the bell tower gate and was glad for the room to breathe.

The Gryffindor students who had arrived ahead of them took Harry's arrival as a grim omen. They backed away and whispered as he approached, apart from Ruby, who stood beside Pansy and joined her in relentlessly talking. The Slytherins accepted his presence as though his robes were green.

Cassiopeia counted heads with her finger and lost count, shrugged one shoulder, and started talking. "Quite a few of you are still frightfully hopeless at this. I thought it might be helpful to witness an actual fight." She gestured at Harry, and he stepped forward.

Tom was already twitching his fingers, watching the vampire for any sign she would attack.

"Now, a proper duel starts with a courteous bow," she didn't bow, nor did he.

Instead, he began circling, the curse just under his skin.

Ginny moved out of the way to stand with Eris and Avalon, who were just arriving. Pansy and Draco sat down; the rest of the Slytherins and Ruby followed suit, whispering excitedly.

"And there's the whole ten paces thing, of course," she flicked a hand and sent a Bombarda that Tom was ready for, springing out of the way, cracking the darkness like a whip in her direction as he rolled to land on his feet. He grinned at her, both moving in a circle.

She'd summoned a translucent, glowing shield close to her skin that seemed better suited to withstanding his magic—not budging after a simple smack, requiring more work to break than Tom was willing to exert in an instant. Instead, he ran at her. He went for her legs, not quite fast enough. She was like lightning when he reached her, there and then gone, suddenly swinging off his back, arms wrapped around his neck in a chokehold.

He blasted the darkness from his shoulders, and though it didn't break through her shield, it sent her screeching off him.

She corrected herself, "The thing about a duel is, it prepares you for nothing. In a real fight," she sent a bolt of green light at him without warning, and he sprang out of the way. Unmistakably the killing curse. "No one is bowing. In a real fight-"

The instant she'd sent the killing curse at him, Tom took it up a notch. He bled the curse through his legs and into the ground—holding it on his arms in bluff—shooting it back up through the dirt underneath the vampire and throwing her into the air mid-sentence. In the same instant, he was sprinting at her, caught her on the way down, and slammed her into the dirt. He straddled her and sent the full weight of the darkness into her chest to crack her shields, holding her arms down with his knees and screaming in her face.

She laughed, then exploded. He didn't let her go and grabbed her hair and one of her arms; the force of her Bombarda flung them both, spinning them across the grass and forcing all the air from his lungs.

It was then that Harry felt the thread that bound him to the Dark Lord signal that he was nearby—somewhere in the tree line—close enough to be watching. With his breath and attention gone, Cassiopeia pinned him and punched him square in the chin, blurring his vision and making him bite his tongue far too hard.

Tom spat blood in her face and kicked up, knocking her off and scrambling to his feet, a manic grin on his face.

"Dirty!" Cassiopeia cackled and stood, walking circles around him once more.

Tom held up one hand, stripped his outer robe off, and rolled up his sleeves.

"Oh, okay. Sleeves up, eh?" Her eyes shot to his Dark Mark, and Harry balked.

'Why are you showing it?' He wondered, his heart jumping.

'Why are you hiding it?' Tom held the curse on his left hand, snapping almost like electricity as he braced.

'Why is he watching? It's distracting.' He wondered instead of answering.

Tom spat another mouthful of blood on the ground, and Cassiopeia took the opening. He faked out at the last second, stepping to the side as she reached him, grabbing her hair and going down with her, again blasting a concentrated dose of the darkness at her protection.

It shattered, and she screeched, high-pitched enough to break the windows on the castle's lower floors. Tom relented, and she snapped to her feet, grinning manically, her black eyes shining like they were lit by fire.

She flew at him faster than he'd ever seen anyone move, a blur as she slammed into him like a train. She drove her fangs into his collarbone nine times with the force of a jackhammer before he was lucid enough to push back, a Bombarda that shot her high into the air. The shockwave obliterated several more windows on the upper levels and knocked the standing students over.

The Slytherins were instantly on their feet, cheering as Cassiopeia hit the dirt. She landed mostly upright, buried to her ankles and halfway up her wrists with the force of her impact. She was relentless, darting like a bullet at him all over again. Tom was ready the second time around, meeting her with a Flipendo that likely would have killed anyone else with the g-force alone, spinning in the air like a fan blade, never mind the sickening sound her body made when she came down.

Harry spat more blood, the adrenaline abruptly subsiding, replaced with a humming pain throughout and a keen awareness of where Voldemort was standing—just out of sight. He couldn't help but look at the trees, wiping his chin and steadying his breathing, blood soaking his shirt and face, still pouring from his aching collarbone.

'That was fun,' Tom thought, licking his teeth.

Cassiopeia was on her back, staring at the sky with her limbs spread out. Then she was giggling, before she was cackling. "Like I was saying, a real fight is nothing like a duel."