September 14, 1998

Draco no longer slept in his quarters, if he ever slept at all. It was cold there, blighted by his sombre occupancy. He speculates setting it ablaze—where he himself also burned—would not grant even a speck of heat.

The bed, constituted of the most exquisite fabrics, rasped against his skin like ossifed grass. He hears creaks in the walls that threatened to suffocate him, claps of thunder that would have shattered his window; and from the room across his, Granger's screams nailed his coffin.

The pillows weren't as helpful as his inability to cast a Silencio. But some nights he just lays, unmoving on his back and listens to the agony of his own making. When Granger wails it sends him to the site she was possibly reliving, and his mind wanders to a better outcome—a fantasy where he does something besides cower in the background. One which he saves her. Another where he prevents the damage inflicted on her arm.

Though the what-ifs did not serve to better his penitence. If anything, they feasted on his remorse like wolves; and like crows, they mocked his mute apologies.

Draco shares her anguish in the coming days, and reflects on how her throat hadn't been torn to shreds by her constant screeching, until he hears the worst. At two in the morning, he was gifted with a deafening cry that was too close for his liking. He figured Granger had evacuated her room and to the hall next to his door, but nothing meets him as he slowly peers out, except for a new batch of screams.

His feet guided him to her door before he could think. It took less than three knocks for the screams to stop and her to open the barrier. She looked…tired. Contrary to her daily mien, she was unruly with wet stripes running down her face, dark circles under her eyes, sweat sopping her loose shirt, and her hair matted to a heap.

"What!" she demanded of him, as though he'd interrupted a good dream.

Draco's mouth slackened as he scrambled for words. "Are you…are you o—"

She slammed the door in his face before he could ask.

He stood afterwards, not knowing what else to do when a glow emanated at the end of the corridor, down the inner balcony. Mindless, he dawdles to the common room where he knows the light is warm. Time was of no consequence as he watched the active fire in its abode while chewing on the leftover steak his belly had quashed hours ago, though no amount of swallows truly fed him.

Draco dwelled on his future—much as he did not want to—and saw it disintegrate into ashes just as the wood before him. Mother wouldn't live for long. What would be his purpose then? A new family was not feasible. At best he'd be caught unprepared with a child he unknowingly fathered at thirty, on the off chance any woman would be willing to bed him. Or he'd be doomed to die young at the hands of a random stranger, then thrown to the dogs in the sewers.

It was endless. And as alternatives blended into static, Azkaban seemed more homely by the second. The dementors would welcome him with puckered lips, ease his pain.

"Meow," a cat exclaimed to his right.

His fork scraped against the plate as he turned his head. Granger's grisly kneazle, Crookshanks, sat on one of the couch cushions inches at the side of him, eyeing his food intently. A single audible munch sounded from Draco's mouth as he gaped at the beast, who's bottlebrush tail swished and whipped anticipatedly.

Scooting his arse on his seat, he distanced himself and his meal from the ginger should it pounce unexpectedly—it seemed the type to do so.

Crookshanks rose on four legs, if only to cover the space he'd put between them. It looked at him in earnest as he flicked his fingers for it to go away. The cat's tongue poked out of its snout, twittered and meowed, tilting its head from him and the half-eaten steak. As it fidgeted closer, Draco lifted his plate to the side of his head, essentially to prevent its pancaked face from making contact with the food.

He was leaned diagonally when a paw stepped on his thigh. The insignificant pressure deepened his dread and he tore a chunk from the meat with his fingers, tossing it as far as he could. Crookshanks hurried to wherever it landed; then, as he assumed the cat had left, it approached him once more, posting itself at his feet.

Draco frowned while it scowled. He was being bullied by a furball.

More, its ivory eyes said, and Draco threw piece after piece till there was naught but the guck of oil tainting the paten and his fingers. So he panicked as Crookshanks returned for another.

"Sorry, mate," he chuckled repentantly, flaunting the round dishware. "There's…no more."

Rolling its eyes, Crookshanks sneezed, seemingly spitting on him with contempt and ambled elsewhere. Relieved yet dejected, Draco breathed an exhausted sigh as his top half collapsed on the couch. His hand smelled edible and felt slimy, though he'd no urge to wash it.

And suddenly he was mauled. Crookshanks's gargantuan frame materialised out of nowhere, settling on his chest. Reflexively, Draco crossed his arms over his face as its keen claws dug into his jumper as well as his skin. He heard it sniffing parts of his arm, followed by the feel of fur on his lubricated hand.

As he flinched, Crookshanks began to nibble on the grease he let stay, and Draco's racing heart peaced into steady throbs at the fortuitous twist of events.

The cat's licks were not as painful as he thought. It was the same as any human, but had a rougher quality along the centre. Draco moved his hand to the side. Crookshanks followed. And once it finished the chore, it curled itself to sleep, right atop his sternum.

He yearned to remove him initially, though whenever his palms neared, he was issued a growl that would have cost him his limbs. Apart from that, Crookshanks purred. The buzzing sensation paved his chest down to his organs and up his neck.

Draco never touched Granger's monster; but as he let him sleep there, he relished in the tenderness of having someone else's heart beat so close to his own, and trusted the Head Girl wouldn't hear him choke on his tears like he did her.

December 19, 1998

The sun had only but risen from the scope of the apartment's one casement, illuminating the dregs of last night's storm and the village he'd been imposed to reside in. He summoned his wand from where it hid under the pillow and was careful in his steps.

At the foot of the mattress, his partner lay motionless, drained from the stresses of their least favoured adventure. His fingers gingerly dipped into the duvet the otter kipped on, then stowed it in Granger's bag. He tied the strings, conceding that it might have already woken up surrounded by whatever was in there, and hoisted it over his shoulder just as he did during the trip.

With intent of coming back in a matter of minutes, Draco left his broom and left the hostel altogether.

If not mud, water smothered the vacant streets. The smell of algae and soaked timber invaded his nostrils as he reviewed details of the township in his path. Houses and a few unopened markets were situated parallel to each other. There were buckets and sacks and bottles of various proportions. It wasn't a rich town by any means, but it seemed to have been developing sufficiently.

Then he was faced with three lanes, two of which led further into the Thorp, and the last to a woodland. When he passed the third, he came upon a coppice with an enormous stump in the middle. Undoubtedly, the bole once belonged to a thousand-year-old tree, and not the black garbed figure sitting on it. He looked twice to be sure he'd not hallucinated.

Situated on the stump was an elderly woman with features a blur, her hunched stature donned in a mantle darker than his sullied boots. She gave a toothless grin as her bony fingers signalled for him to approach. Draco did the opposite and increased his pace by a ton.

Fuck that, he said to himself. Keep walking, Draco. Just keep walking. You didn't see shit.

The hag hadn't followed—much to his relief—as he was completely alone in the deepest part of the forest.

He surveyed his surroundings, checking for predators big or small and was satisfied to come out empty-handed. A river flowed within crouching distance to the west, snow was nigh dissolved, and the thickened trees would make for a lovely home if the fallen branches wouldn't suffice.

Wait. No. That's for a fucking beaver. Shit. Granger would've been disappointed.

Hastily, Draco unlatched the bag and set it on the ground. When the otter didn't come out he retrieved it with a spell, brows furrowing as it connected to his palm without a fight. Though breathing, the otter flopped in his hold. Shaking it awake to make sure it had the zeal to survive was moot, for every moment it was conscious had been a hindrance to mission.

Can't say it has been a pleasure, he bid goodbye, placing the otter on the snow. But good riddance.

Draco ran fast and never looked back. When he reached the village, daylight had fully set in, and clamorous businesses resumed. He was yet again a phantom to be wary of by people around him. Dirtied children cowered where he tread but the adults in the shops knew, like Henry the innkeeper, that he was wealthier than harmful.

They hollered at him, although, he'd no interest in their trinkets and fishes. Once he was back in his suite, a margin of disappointment prodded at his core. Regret was a feeling he learned to abide by. The otter's presence had softened what loneliness haunted him in the time they spent together, but the entertainment was not worth its life.

Draco convinced himself he'd done the right thing as he peeled off his jumper and retrieved his ointment. In the tiny bathroom, Theo's face presented itself on the moulded mirror. Tufts of his brown hair were messed and stubbles began to litter his jaw. Below, his build was toned to Draco's slim shape, chest wrapped in gauze. His Dark Mark on the right, Draco's was left.

Everything belonged to Theo in that moment, but even the potion could not hide his own body's indignity. The scars clung to him like persistent vines no matter how much of the salve he applied. When he closed the canister a knock resonated from the door, and his instincts stood on alert.

What the fuck?

He couldn't have been found this soon. It was impossible for them to track him even if they knew he'd escaped. Not whilst he was on the potion.

Draco swore. He prepared his wand, taking soundless strides to the main room where the pounding paused only a second before growing louder the next.

The anonymous knocker had not spoken yet, preferring their demands be simply of noise. So it wasn't Henry the giant. And as they grew impatient, Draco's eyes moved sporadically, scanning for a credible escape route of any kind. In the corner parked his broom and his torn cloak was pinned on a chair's rail by Granger's bag. Next to the chair was a cupboard he'd previously checked to have housed purely moths and roaches.

The window was too small for him to fly through, though should be enough if he snuck out manually. However, there was a nagging risk that Aurors would be waiting for him on the other side—all sides.

"I know you're in there, Malfoy!" said a man, muffled by the door that was one knock away from being ripped off its hinges. It was a wonder the perishing plank endured for this long. "Would you bloody open up already?"

What the fuck?

Draco wrapped a hand around the knob, his shoulder pressed and braced to the surface just in case.

"Alright, fine," the man remarked. "Um…October 10, 1996. Oh! Wait. I got a better one—" He wrenched the door open.

"—Theos Temoria." Theo flashed him a grin as he stood on the boundary of his lodgings, clutching a broom. He was remotely glamoured to have grey eyes; but not Lovegood who, at his periphery, was tailored in buckled chiffon trousers, black robes, and a leather satchel backpack.

A meow from their third associate did well to snap him from his shock as he pulled the newcomers inside his room. Crookshanks zoomed in first emitting a sonorous purr, his bell chiming with his gallops.

"Curious," Luna spoke before he could, switching glances between him and her boyfriend. "I once had a dream of three Theos. Now there are two."

Draco swatted her nearing finger, silencing her with a stiff point of his own. "Do not make it weird! What in Salazar's left sack are you two doing here?! How are you here? Why is Crookshanks here?!"

The cat rummaged through the room and Theo's cheeks puffed as he huffed in matching disbelief. Dangling on his raised fist was a pint-sized flask, an indication they had tracked him with blood. "You are never going to believe it, mate. McGonagall knows," he said.

"What?!" Draco barked. His hand flew to his hair. With how much he's been pulling them at the roots lately, he thinks he'd have no time to adjust should he go bald. "And she sent you to come get me?"

The brunette shook his head, fetching a folded parchment out of his pocket and waving it in his face. "That's the best part! She actually wanted us to join you. Well, me, more so. Luna insisted on tagging along. Couldn't say no."

He snatched the envelope from Theo. The seal was red—a signature to Hogwarts letters—assigned with the initial 'M' instead of an 'H'. It cracked in half as he tore at the paper.

"Her only request being that you bring her precious cub home," Theo added. Draco's thumb skimmed over the written message.

"A month is all that I can give you," it stated without greeting. "The Ministry has started their search for Miss Granger as well, so you'd best be vigilant. I would prefer you not have taken action on this matter, but I wish you success in your mission. Thank you, and godspeed, Malfoy."

Words could not have expressed the strength bestowed upon him at the evidence of Mcgonagall's trust, though the catch weighed heavier. His time was sheared tremendously, cut into splinters like the village woods.

"What does it say?" asked Theo, uneased by his stillness.

"One month," Draco muttered.

"What?"

"One month," he repeated, turning angrily to Theo. "She's giving me one fucking month to pull this off before the Ministry get's too suspicious. Did you know?"

"No. I—"

"You have to go back."

"What? Draco—"

"Have you told her about the plan?" Draco inquired. His legs became jittery, gaiting the room in circles. Crookshanks pursued his paces with demanding meows that were dull to his ears. "Certainly not if she sent you after me. So go the fuck back, drink the damn potion, and help her distract the fucking ministry."

Theo extended his posture challengingly.

"Luna," he called impassively to the girl in their midst. It must have been riveting to watch two Theos clash. "Can you give us a second?"

She nodded at his dazed grin as Crookshanks attended her departure. "You're the best. Thanks, love."

Once the latch clicked, Theo's head swerved to face him. "You know, I wasn't going to say anything about it, but I'm ashamed it hadn't crossed my mind then—that it was really a bloody stupid idea to let you do this alone. But I couldn't follow you because it was too late and I was your only outlet. Then Mcgonagall gave me mine."

"What's your point, Theo?" Draco sighed.

"You can't push me away this time. Shouldn't," the boy stated. "Notice how our ideas only ever worked before because we met with each other on a daily basis, not when one of us," —he shot a knowing look at Draco— "decides to go fuck-all into the wilderness. Remember what happened when we did?"

The blonde-disguised-brunette grimaced, squeezing the back of his neck at the reminder. Theo's head jerked vertically.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "That memory had fun with me last night, wanker. The plan's fucking bollocks! But emotions were high, so I agreed. Then I thought…what if you died? What's next? Was I supposed to keep wearing your body until the potion runs out and I get arrested for aiding you even after death?"

He paused, giving Draco a chance to redeem himself yet he held out his reticence.

"Neither of us would have survived the war had I not talked to you that day. If we proceeded to go our separate ways," Theo said anew. "So you fucking listen to me when I say, I don't care how much time Mcgonagall gives you. A month, a day. Finger it in the arse because you are not doing this alone. You, me, and that wonderful lady outside are going to find Hermione. Besides, if you kick me out, I'll just follow you."

"Fuck it," Draco broke in. "Alright, alright! You win." He scrubbed his hands on his face and went over to his medicine on the sink. Fucking dick blackmailing me…

Theo was right, however. Draco would have done anything for him to turn back—conspired with Lovegood, drugged him to express some irony—but with his freedom now at peril, they had to stick together. Involving him was a mistake.

"Attaboy, Malfoy. Trust me, it's better this way," Theo clapped him on the shoulder. On the bad shoulder. He bit back a grunt. "So, you have any clue where our dog's at yet?"

"No," Draco answered, kneading his strained muscles. "Flew through a storm last night. I couldn't really see anything, or use the tooth in that setting. It was dumb luck that landed me here."

Theo flumped on the bed, saying nothing about the scars on his doppelganger while he proceeded to apply the jellied substance across his ribs. "That's odd. The weather was perfectly fine when Luna and I left." Redhead Henry's claims surfaced in Draco's head.

"Where are we, anyway?" he asked. "The owner recognised you. Said you've been here before."

Draco left the bathroom just as a shameful smile adorned Theo's face.

"Some small village a distance away from Hogsmeade," Theo replied. "Found it a couple months ago. Smelled of booze. By the way, we saw you at the market and followed you here. Even screamed at you to stop but it seemed you weren't listening. The big ginger fella's face when I asked for your room was just,"—he kissed his pinched fingers— "I told him we were twins, oh, so poorly separated from birth; but before that, he asked if 'your rat' had magically turned into Luna, and if that's why you were insisting to pay extra for her. Where is the otter anyway?"

Theo's body doubled over as he snooped under the bed. Draco rolled his eyes, dolling on his clothes and pulled the locket out his trousers.

"Gone," he said. "I threw it in the forest."

"Aw, I was just getting used to her."

"You're a nutter for that skit with the bag." Draco casted a tracking spell on the fang. "Almost had me killed."

Both men monitored the necklace as it stiffed in his grip, sniffing out a specific area like a hunting hound to its prey.

"Got him." Draco sighed through his nose. He grabbed his firebolt, and with Theo by his side, marched to the lobby where he paid more than he'd originally bargained for. Hulkish Henry was all too willing to accept every knut, giving a prideful smile of reuniting long-lost wealthy brothers.

Further down the threshold, Luna and Crookshanks loitered, the latter seeming impatient as Draco wore the chain around his neck and took flight.

On the journey, Draco thought about how close he'd apparently gotten to being swallowed alive. How, had he sunk lower, he would have never gone up again. He saw nothing during the storm, because even in the day, there was naught but the boundless ocean that stretched into the horizon. So much so that after hours in the air, the last soil they knew of was the one they had left.

The tracker embedded in the necklace persisted south nonetheless, and as Draco started to doubt the integrity of the spell—just as it did with the otter—they came upon an island of hills. The contour was abstract from above, but at the base of one ridge were inklings of a settlement, girdled by thickets of birch and shrubs.

"Whaaat the fuck?" he heard Theo say on their descent. Only birds and ghosts could live in such a place, nevermind a werewolf with an appetite for human flesh.

It was unclear whether nature was reclaiming the ruins or beginnings of a community. There were cottages blistering with plants inside and out, the roofs stripped of their value. Just two houses were made of stone, though they also perished in the desertion. Greyback's tooth pointed to one.

Draco and Theo gave each other a nod before advancing towards the smaller building on opposing sides. Luna waited where she stood, guarding their brooms. Draco took cover using the wall that bordered the kicked-in door, his and Theo's wands at the ready for a fated assault. But none came.

The brunette peeked in the window from his position on the porch end, then signalled a negative with a confused shrug. Draco sucked in a breath and barged inside, eyes flickering to every sound made within the shadowed vestibule.

"Grang—" Theo clamped a hand over his mouth when he called out. As he let go, he shook his head and tapped at his sternum, gesturing to the perked necklace on Draco's jumper.

"They're not here, I think." They jumped at the addition of Luna's voice. She had stepped over the bludgeoned oak with Crookshanks and skipped to their spot near a wall.

"Fucking hell, Lovegood," Draco gasped, lowering his wand. "Don't do that! You were this close to being Avada'd. By me, and Theo."

"My apologies," she said.

"I don't understand," Theo uttered, scrutinising the tracker. "The spell was wrong twice. Spells don't just…become defective, do they? Are you sure this is even Greyback's? And how the fuck did he even get this far?!"

Draco didn't know what to answer. Whomever the bone belonged to was unimportant; it led them to neither a corpse, a dog, nor partial remains that would be of service. The tracker made them chase after nothing.

"May I?" Luna requested, her hand outstretched. She hadn't grasped it fast enough as it hurtled from her palm once he let go, crashing into the wall. It collapsed to the floor though still butted itself repeatedly against the musty setts. Luna crouched to study it and mumbled, "How strange."

"This should be good," Draco snarked, folding his arms. Theo elbowed him on the side.

"What's behind this wall?" she asked.

"Just the forest," responded Theo. "Why?"

Luna toiled with the necklace diligently. She waltzed around and outside the room, not once diverting her attention from the locket. She asked both boys to perform the charm again separately, checked for signs of something on the site neighbouring the wall, though the results yielded the same. All the while Draco sat on a chair, considering leaping off a cliff.

Sunset tinted the skies in ochre as he sighed for her to stop. Lovegood had her thesis fully on the wall now. Her hands skated along every slab, and with one last look at the necklace, she raised her wand. Crookshanks livened up from his temporary bed of leaves.

"What if…" Luna announced mysteriously. She tapped the tip of her stick on the surface multiple times. Nothing changed until she shoved a greater part of her arm in the problem. The limb passed through as if she had suddenly become an apparition.

The boys sprung from their seats, knocking them to the ground.

"What the fuck?" Draco exclaimed.

Theo's jaw hung open. "He's in the walls," he stressed.

Lovegood then pushed on wholly. She disappeared into the abyss before Crookshanks followed suit. Draco and Theo stumbled in their turn, toppling over each other and their brooms as they landed on moist pavement.

"Ugh. What the fuck," Theo groaned. "Where are we now?"

Draco noted many things once his vision adjusted, but was only able to perceive some. First, unlike their secret passage in Hogwarts, the wall had not sent them merely to the outdoors. They were spat in an alley that stunk of rotten food and smoke. Secondly, he could hear an indistinct clatter of horns and people. Lastly, he was certain the object he was gawking at was what Granger called a 'car'.

The wall transported them to the muggle world.

Luna freaky. Crookshanks a good boy. Thank you for reading and commenting and all the other stuff! See y'all next episode.

Also, I wish you guys a happy HOUSE OF THE DRAGON Sunday!