Chapter 40: Draco

The Heart of Man

"The awful thing is that beauty is mysterious as well as terrible. God and the devil are fighting there and the battlefield is the heart of man." ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

Meanwhile—

"They're not werewolves!"

What in Merlin's thrice-cursed gods-damned blithering blasted ballsack was Granger talking about?

"Hermione, perhaps we could discuss this—not here," Theo attempted, eyeing the not-distant-enough battle. Draco took a glance across the pitch and saw one crimson-clad Auror on the ground, clutching at his bloody leg.

The wolves had drawn blood. Draco was not staying to see how much farther they would go.

"The eclipse," Granger insisted, pointing skyward.

"What about it, Hermione? What do you mean?" Potter asked, as if a bloody eclipse had anything to do with getting the fuck out of there.

"During a total lunar eclipse, the shadow of the Earth obscures moonlight almost completely. And because there's no moonlight from the source," Granger pointed up at the dark red shadow where the moon had once been. "Werewolves begin to transform back into their human selves. Joseph told me about it—they've been expecting this night since another eclipse earlier this year."

Granger spoke rapidly and clearly, and Draco had no idea how she was managing it because his heart was beating so fast in his chest that it practically vibrated against his vocal cords.

"So that means …" Potter trailed off, glancing at the dark red shadow where the full moon had been hours earlier.

"I don't know what those are," Granger declared, pointing to the battle. "But they're not werewolves."

"Or they've protected themselves against the eclipse somehow," Draco protested, feeling like the only sane wizard present. He gave Granger a look that he hoped conveyed urgency and common fucking sense. "They still have claws and teeth, whatever beast they are."

At that moment, a wayward curse from a French Auror shot through the air straight for Theo. Despite having gone absolutely mental, Granger was in top form and shoved Theo out of the spell's way. It careened to a decorative pillar nearby.

Theo, stunned, said, "Thanks," and Granger nodded.

The fighting had escalated. The wolves separated the Auror force into several factions, many of which were caught between packs. The vampires had still not joined the fight, and Draco wondered with horror if they were busy fighting other wolves outside the stadium or somewhere else.

"Not werewolves?" Potter repeated.

Granger looked at Potter and nodded again, and the two Gryffindors seemed to have some unspoken conversation.

Draco looked over at Theo and gave him a look that hopefully conveyed: What in Salazar's saggy left tit are they talking about?

Theo shrugged, as if to say: No fucking clue.

Draco glanced toward the exit, the crowd having died down, as if to say: Shall we flee?

Theo pointed at Granger, as if to say: I'm sticking with her.

Draco gaped, as if to say: Seriously?

And then Potter said something so Gryffindor, so pathetically foolish, that Draco had half a mind to stun them all and levitate them to safety.

"This ends tonight."

Granger had the fucking audacity to smile, and in the blink of an eye, she had pulled two massive silver knives from the pocket of her trousers. When had she changed into trousers?

"Got my back?" Granger asked Potter, handing him a knife.

"Always."

And then, the fucking psychopaths ran toward the nearest pack of wolves.

Theo and Draco stared at each other, and then Theo shrugged and ran after them.

"Fuck!" Draco cursed. Fighting all his natural-born instincts, he followed.

As Draco and Theo ran after Granger and Potter's rapidly retreating forms, he tried to remember everything he knew about werewolves. Granger might have her wild theory, but Draco was going to err on the safe, non-lycanthropic side of history, thank you very much.

There were few methods of incapacitating a werewolf. Silver, decapitation, fire—and maybe, if you were lucky, a well-aimed stunning spell with enough power. All of them were impractical at that moment, seeing as no one had seen fit to bring a bloody bonfire to the gala.

Draco's boots pounded against the ground as he sprinted after Theo, who was keeping a surprisingly steady pace for someone Draco knew to be entirely unaccustomed to running toward mortal danger. Ahead, Granger and Potter had already reached a cluster of three French Aurors, who were valiantly—but barely—holding their own against five wolves, including a massive black-furred one with gleaming yellow eyes.

"Where are those vampires?" he muttered, scanning the chaos for any sign of the purported guards of this gala.

Granger, meanwhile, had launched herself into the fray. Draco stopped short, raising his wand instinctively to cast a shield charm at her right flank. A wayward curse ricocheted off the protective barrier he conjured, its trajectory redirected toward an empty section of stands. Theo darted ahead of him, his wand flashing as he sent a slicing curse toward a tawny-furred wolf. The spell grazed its hind leg, drawing a sharp yelp, but the beast barely stumbled before regrouping.

"They look like werewolves to me!" Draco shouted over the noise, his voice ripe with exasperation.

"Not the time!" Theo yelled back, narrowly avoiding a ricocheted spell.

The wolves—whatever they were—moved with unnerving precision. Their sinewy forms darted between the French Aurors' spells, claws tearing into the soft earth of the pitch. They weren't clumsy or feral; they fought with something resembling strategy.

Granger was in the thick of it, her movements calculated and fluid, silver knives glinting under the fairy lights as they sliced through the air. She parried a lunging wolf with a spell that sent it skidding backward, then pivoted to shield one of the Aurors from another attack.

Draco found himself momentarily transfixed. He had seen her duel recently at the DA, but this was different. There was no hesitation in her strikes, no second-guessing her decisions, no creative flourishes. She was efficient, and terrifyingly so. It was captivating.

Naturally, Potter was at her side, swinging his knife like a deranged chef and shouting spells between his harsher slashes. One of the Aurors—the tallest of the three—let out a feral cry, his wand glowing ominously.

"Non!" one of the other Aurors screamed, but it was too late. The tall Auror swept his wand in a wide arc and cast a massive blasting curse.

"NO!" Potter also bellowed, but the curse was already hurtling forward.

The wolves darted out of its path, scattering in every direction. The curse slammed into the side of the stadium, exploding in a deafening roar. A gaping hole appeared in the stone, and debris rained down on the pitch.

Draco coughed, waving dust from his face as he peered through the settling cloud. Beyond the hole, the cliffside dropped steeply. The dark waters of the Mediterranean glinted far below.

Chaos erupted. Granger and Theo disappeared in the haze of dust and curses, and Draco lost sight of Potter entirely—not that he was particularly concerned. The Chosen One seemed constitutionally incapable of dying, a trait Draco envied at that moment.

Several wolves, including the massive black one, bolted toward the newly made opening in the stadium wall. An Auror gave chase, shouting something in French that Draco could not make out through the ringing in his ears. He watched in horror as the Auror sprinted too close to the black wolf, which turned suddenly and rammed into the Auror's side with terrifying force.

The Auror stumbled, lost his footing—and then he was gone, tumbling over the cliff's edge.

Draco swore loudly, his voice hoarse from the dust and adrenaline. The wolves were attempting escape, and the Aurors—what remained of them—were too scattered to regroup.

"Theo! Granger!" he shouted, voice hopefully cutting through the cacophony. He couldn't see them but started moving anyway, aiming for a faint human silhouette.

Draco skidded to a stop in front of Theo, panting and wild-eyed. The dust cloud around them was beginning to settle, but the sounds of spells, snarls, and shouts still roared in the distance.

"Are you alright?" Draco demanded, scanning Theo for any apparent injuries.

Theo coughed, waving a hand through the air. "For now," he said, straightening and wiping dirt off his face.

"Good." Draco exhaled, trying to keep his voice steady. "So, is it finally a good time to flee?"

Theo gave a breathless chuckle that turned into another cough. "Flee? I'm having a ball," he teased, his usual smirk breaking through the dust-streaked exhaustion.

Draco opened his mouth to retort when something hit him like a freight train.

His world flipped as the tawny wolf slammed into him, driving him backward and onto the ground with a bone-jarring crash.

The air left Draco's lungs entirely.

The wolf was on top of him, snarling and snapping with teeth that glistened far too close to his face. Its breath was hot and fetid, its weight crushing Draco's chest as he struggled to hold it back. Draco's wand slipped from his fingers, tumbling uselessly into the dirt somewhere out of reach.

"Fuck! Fuck!" Draco hissed through gritted teeth, grappling with the beast's thick neck. He locked his hands just below its jaw, keeping its snapping teeth away by sheer force of will and adrenaline.

The wolf growled, its sharp claws scrabbling for purchase on Draco's shoulders. It keened back, twisting to angle its jaws at his exposed throat. Draco tried to kick it off, but it was like shoving at solid rock.

The wolf jerked its head, and Draco's grip slipped. He felt it lunge downward, its teeth grazing his shoulder.

There was a horrible ripping sound, and Draco's heart nearly stopped. His mother would kill him if he got himself bitten by a werewolf. He really, really hoped Granger was right.

Draco risked releasing one of his hands to paw pitifully in the dirt, searching for his wand. Instead, his fingers closed around something smooth and cool.

A vial. It had fallen from his pocket in the scuffle. Was it sobering draught or his anti-glamour potion? Both seemed utterly useless for his predicament.

Draco's breath hitched as he decided on a course of action. It wasn't perfect—it wasn't even good—but if nothing else, the potion might sting the beast's eyes.

He bit down on the vial's stopper, pulling it free with his teeth as he twisted his torso against the wolf's weight. The beast's claws raked at his sides, tearing into Draco's flesh, but Draco didn't feel any pain through the haze of his desperation.

Draco gruntd and flung the potion into the wolf's face.

There was not enough momentum. The liquid splashed awkwardly, only a few drops catching the wolf's eyes and muzzle. But it was enough. The wolf howled, a sharp, guttural sound—that turned startlingly human as its form began to shimmer.

The hulking creature atop Draco collapsed inward, bones reshaping, fur retracting. The sounds were horrific. The weight atop Draco's chest shifted, and he suddenly found himself staring at an oddly familiar face.

"You." Draco meant for his voice to sound menacing, but the word croaked out of his throat in a pitiful sound of genuine confusion.

Because sitting on his chest—was that man, a man whom Draco could only recall seeing twice before in his life, both times within the last year: in the shadowed interior of the White Wyvern and the dark streets of Knockturn Alley. His auburn hair and crooked mouth loomed with dreadful, anonymous familiarity.

Draco recalled the man's ominous, menacing grin.

Five months earlier—
The White Wyvern

"Opportunities … those are funny things. Sometimes they pass you by, and sometimes they come back around."

Draco's head flinched back almost imperceptibly. "Is that so?"

"Maybe not for you," the man jeered. "But for those of us willing to wait … undoubtedly."

"Why don't you just say what you came here to say, and then we can both be done with these useless riddles?" Draco snapped.

The man laughed a low, breathy chuckle. "I just wanted to see if it was really you. My, my, how the mighty have fallen." The man stood up and looked down at him. "You might have the chance to rise again, Malfoy, if you're as smart as people said. Keep your chin up." A flick of his finger. "But not too far. As they say, you might miss what's beneath you."

The man walked away, and Draco, slightly dumbfounded and still reeling from his drink, called after him. "I didn't get your name."

"I'm sure you'll remember eventually," the man replied over his shoulder, audibly chuckling. Draco scowled bitterly and lamented the state of his empty glass.

Present moment—

The man continued to crouch over Draco, his lips curled in a lupine way that looked ridiculous on his now-human face. His breath remained hot and dank like a beast's, and Draco could see veins popping in his forehead and rage burning in his green eyes.

The realization came slowly. The man blinked in confusion as he processed his new lack of claws and jaws. Suddenly, he fumbled frantically at a silvery cuff on his left wrist, fingers clawing at it as though it were burning him. Draco, still pinned beneath him, felt a surge of anger and adrenaline.

Draco let out a guttural roar, twisting violently. He managed to flip their positions and land on top of the man.

Responding to instinct, Draco swung a fist at the man's face, his knuckles colliding with flesh and bone. The man grunted in pain, but Draco didn't stop, punching him again, harder. After the third punch, the man's head lolled to the side, and he fell limp.

Breathing heavily, Draco sat back on his heels, shaking out his stinging fist.

"Draco!" Theo's voice pulled him from his daze. His friend rushed over, crouching beside him and shoving Draco's wand into his hand. "Are you alright?"

Draco nodded stiffly, still catching his breath. "My potion works," he managed to remark.

Theo clapped Draco on the back. "Your potion fucking works!"

Draco glanced at the silvery cuff around the unconscious man's wrist. He frowned and unlatched it. The cuff came free with an odd metallic hum. Its surface was etched with a dizzying pattern of runes.

"What is this?" Draco asked, holding it up for Theo to see.

Theo squinted, leaning closer as Draco rotated the cuff in the light. "What…?" he began, clearly as baffled as Draco.

Before Theo could finish, a barking roar split the air.

Draco spun around just in time to see the large black wolf charging toward them, its jaws wide and teeth gleaming. The beast latched onto Theo's shoulder with a sickening crunch and yanked him backward.

"Theo!" Draco shouted, his voice raw with panic as his friend screamed in pain.

The wolf growled low and menacing, dragging Theo further away as he struggled, kicking and twisting in its grasp.

Draco leaped to his feet, raising his wand. "Let him go!" he bellowed, firing hex after hex at the wolf. Sparks flew, but most of the spells ricocheted harmlessly off the creature's thick coat.

One hex struck the wolf's left paw, causing it to yelp. Draco's sharp eyes caught the glint of silver hidden within the dark tufts of fur. It was another cuff, presumably matching the one he had just taken from the auburn-haired man.

Theo released an agonized scream that sent Draco into an urgent panic. His stomach churned with dread as he frantically searched the ground.

The vial. He needed the potion. He needed time to find the potion.

"Help!" Draco shouted, his voice breaking as he scoured the grass.

"Theo!" Granger's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. She was sprinting toward them, her wand raised. Without missing a beat, she launched a series of Depulso Hexes at the wolf, forcing it to stagger back and loosen its grip on Theo.

The wolf snarled, its teeth bared, but Granger did not slow her approach.

"Granger, they're not werewolves!" Draco shouted as she reached him, his words tumbling as he desperately carded his hands through the grass.

"I know they're not!" she snapped. With a sweep of her wand, she cast a Ventus Charm, conjuring a powerful gust of wind. The force of it rolled the wolf and Theo over, giving Theo a moment of reprieve.

Theo seized the opportunity, jamming a thumb into the wolf's eye. The beast let out a piercing cry of pain, releasing Theo's shoulder from its jaws, but maintaining a punishing grip with its claws.

Draco's eyes darted to a faint glint in the grass, finally locating his vial. By some miracle, the tapered opening had saved a quarter of the potion from spilling entirely.

Draco snatched it up without hesitating and bolted toward Theo and the wolf.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Granger shouted, her voice laced with alarm and disbelief.

Draco ignored her, reaching the wolf and grabbing it roughly by the scruff of its neck. The beast snarled and writhed, but Draco held firm, tipping the vial over its head.

The potion poured out in uneven drops, splashing across the wolf's fur, and Draco pulled back before all the liquid seeped out. The transformation was instant and grotesque. Bones snapped and reformed, fur shrank and twisted back into skin, and the beast dissolved into a man's body.

Draco reeled back, breathing hard. He was now gripping a fistful of long, dark, greasy hair.

His stomach churned as he realized who he was holding.

"Thorfinn Rowle," Draco muttered, his voice hollow with disbelief.

Rowle was barely recognizable. His once clean-shaven face was now dominated by a thick, unkempt beard smeared with the remnants of Theo's blood. His pockmarked skin sagged as if weighted down by years of cruelty and carelessness.

The former Death Eater's glassy eyes focused on Draco, and a smirk crept across his bloodied lips. "Hello, Draco. My, have you grown."

Disgusted, Draco grabbed Rowle by his filthy collar, hauling him off Theo's body.

"Incarcerous!" Granger shouted from behind Draco. Thick ropes sprang from her wand, tightly winding around Rowle's body. Draco let him drop unceremoniously to the ground, stiff and restrained.

Not taking any chances, Draco cast a Stunning Spell directly into Rowle's forehead before crouching down to pull the silver cuff from his left hand. It came away once again with a faint hum of residual magic. Draco stood and held the cuff out to Granger, his expression grim.

"Granger, they've got these. Something about them relates to their wolf forms."

Granger's brow furrowed as she took the cuff, turning it over.

Draco immediately turned back to Theo, dropping to his knees. "Theo, are you alright?"

Theo groaned through clenched teeth, a hand weakly clutching at his mangled shoulder. The fabric of his robes was torn and sticky with blood, the wound beneath raw and shredded. He forced a pained grin. "Fucking perfect."

Draco grimaced. "What healing spell should I use?"

"Just … Episkey, for now," Theo muttered through gritted teeth.

Draco said, "Granger, there's another one unconscious over there." Without waiting for her response, he focused on Theo's shoulder, casting Episkey multiple times. Slowly, the bleeding subsided, though the flesh looked unchanged.

"Better?" Draco asked, his voice quieter now.

Theo nodded, though he stifled more cries of pain as Draco helped him to his feet.

Granger returned, levitating the unconscious auburn-haired man behind her, newly bound as securely as Rowle. Her sharp gaze softened slightly as she looked at Draco and Theo. "How did you…?" she gestured toward the subdued men.

Draco opened his mouth, but Theo beat him to it, smirking weakly. "A potion—Draco's personal creation. The Imposter's Downfall. Patent pending."

Draco pursed his lips. "Hardly the time."

Granger stepped closer. "Can I see it?"

Draco bent down and retrieved the near-empty vial from where he'd placed it. He handed it to her, watching as she lifted it to the light, her brows knitting in concentration.

Without a word, she tapped the vial's opening with her wand, enlarging it slightly. Then, she pulled out a gleaming silver knife, its edge catching the dim light.

Draco blinked. "What are you—?"

She dipped the blade into the vial, allowing some of the remaining potion to coat its edge, before handing it back to him. He took it reflexively, still confused, as Granger turned and strode toward the distant chaos where Potter and a team of French Aurors were cornering more wolves.

Draco and Theo watched in stunned silence as she stopped about ten meters away from the fray, raised her arm, and flung the knife.

The silver blade spun through the air, catching the faint light of the half-shadowed moon. It struck one of the wolves in the flank, and even from their distance, Draco saw the transformation begin.

The wolf let out a guttural cry as it shifted, fur retracting into skin and bones cracking back into human form.

Draco and Theo stood there, mouths agape.

"Gods help me," Theo muttered, his voice hoarse.

Granger returned to them with brisk steps, looking to Draco. "That's incredible. What is in this potion?"

Draco hesitated, his mind still reeling from what he'd just witnessed. "I have you to thank, actually," he began, his tone begrudging. "It starts with a base of stewed Demiguise solution."

Granger's eyes widened slightly. "You mean…?"

Draco nodded.

Before he could elaborate, his gaze lingered. Her sleeves were torn in a few places, and her hair was wild with dust clinging to the strands. Despite her formidable display of knife-throwing, Draco needed to ask, "Are you alright?"

Granger tilted her head, giving him a small, almost curious smile. "Yes."

"Good call with the…" Draco pointed upward at the sky.

All three looked up to see the moon's eerie red hue fading, well on its way back to its full silvery-white glow.

Granger gestured toward the vial in his hand. "Could you help finish the rest of them off?"

Draco turned to her, caught by how her amber eyes blazed with determination. He nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Yes."

They left Theo with Rowle and the auburn-haired man, whom none of them recognized. Draco was more determined than ever to figure out his identity, and he hoped the French and British ministries were not so wholly incompetent as not to satisfy his need.

Draco and Granger took his vial—only the barest centimeter of potion was left—and headed toward the fighting.

Rowle had been the largest of the wolves before Draco forced his transformation, and he must have been the leader because the remaining wolves were very easy to incapacitate once they realized Rowle was gone.

Once the remainder of the wolves were human again and bound, Granger also led the effort to collect their silver cuffs. Draco insisted on it, letting her and the French Aurors know that they would remain human only as long as the potion was wet, and they had better get those odd cuffs off before then. He was unsure of the magic involved, but he was sure the cuffs had something to do with it.

In Draco's opinion, the French Aurors sent reinforcements about an hour too late, and they proceeded to scan the pitch for injuries. Several began to levitate a Rescue Wizard over the gaping hole in the cliffside and down toward the Mediterranean to look for the Auror who had fallen—Draco wondered whether there would be any casualties from the evening.

Draco followed in Granger's shadow, reluctant to leave her presence. Neither spoke as they assisted as best they could with the operation. They found Potter securing a pile of three stunned former wolves. Draco scanned the unconscious faces. They were all men, all grimy, all vaguely muscled and mean. None of them sparked any hint of recognition in Draco's mind, but knowing they followed Rowle, Draco wondered whether these were Neo-Death Eaters on a foolish campaign of terror.

Granger and Potter whispered frantically to one another, and then Granger handed him one of Rowle and the auburn-haired man's silver cuffs, keeping the other and slipping it into her pocket.

"Naughty, Granger," Draco muttered only to himself.

Draco thought the situation required transparency, so he sidled up to the Gryffindors and nodded to Potter.

"Malfoy," Potter greeted. "Thanks for helping."

"Unwillingly," Draco noted. He had decided to be honest after all. "Listen, Potter. And Granger, you, too, I suppose, if you're still an Auror."

They looked at him through the dust coating their faces, and Draco had the unpleasant thought that he was probably coated with dust and blood as well—his own and Theo's. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, Draco's shoulder had begun to sting from where the auburn-haired man's wolf teeth had torn through his robes and the upper layers of his flesh.

"What is it?" Granger inquired.

"The man with Rowle—" Draco nodded toward where Theo was seated beside the two unconscious bodies. "—I've seen him in Knockturn. He approached me at the White Wyvern a few months ago and made some cryptic remarks about the Dark—about Voldemort." The name still felt wrong on Draco's tongue all these years later, but somehow, he could stomach less the idea of calling him the Dark Lord in front of Potter and Granger.

"The Wyvern?" Potter repeated, exchanging a look with Granger.

Draco nodded. "Yes, just the one time, though I don't frequent the place. But more importantly, I saw him skulking in the shadier parts of Knockturn one night this summer after I left the DA. He entered a building next to Raging Karl's Cloth and Rags, the one on the right." Draco gave Potter a pointed look.

"That place where Nott was photographed?"

"Allegedly photographed, Potter," Draco corrected.

"And when was this?"

"Last month."

Potter took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. He looked as exhausted as Draco felt. Draco glanced at Granger and was surprised to find her looking at him darkly. Something twisted in his gut.

"Alright. I better get these over to the French," Potter said, referring to the silver cuffs. "And then I'll have to find an owl to get word to Robards and our team in London. We should see what's in that building. Maybe we'll all finally get some answers. By the way—that's a nifty potion you've got, Malfoy. I'll be in touch."

Potter walked off, and Draco called, "Please don't," after him, but it was half-hearted and not quite loud enough for Potter to hear.

And then Draco and Granger were alone again.

She looked a bit forlorn as she watched Potter walk away. Draco was tempted to ask her if she was alright again, but she spoke before he could.

"You know," she began, turning toward him but not quite meeting his eyes. She fingered her wand in its holster on her arm, exposed from where the cuff of her sleeve had ripped. He wanted her to look at him. She didn't, but continued, "You might have helped a lot if you'd mentioned that man to authorities before tonight."

Draco felt a pang of irritation—and maybe some guilt. "I saw a man I did not know and could not identify in a place I know nothing about other than the Ministry had already investigated it."

"You knew he had an interest in Voldemort, at the very least," Granger quipped, fully glaring at Draco. "And here he is, involved in an international conspiracy with Thorfinn Rowle."

"If you think that's the only man who has ever lamented the death of the Dark Lord to me, Granger, you would be mistaken." Perhaps Draco was in worse shape than he realized, because his head and shoulder were throbbing, and he struggled to put words together. "If that's a crime, you'll have to arrest half of Knockturn."

"Maybe I will," she replied harshly.

"Have I not done enough to please you?" Draco sneered, unable to keep the cruel expression off his face. "Have I disappointed the saint Hermione Granger?"

She reeled back slightly as if flinching away from a blow. Draco hated himself for it, but he was furious that she would assume the worst. Did she genuinely believe he would intentionally keep the secrets of people associated with Rowle—a man who had once Crucioed Draco until he burst a blood vessel in his eye?

"My best friend nearly had his arm torn off," Draco drawled, not allowing Granger to respond. "And so did I, come to think of it. I'm going to take Theo to find a real healer."

He glanced down at his throbbing left shoulder, surprised to find his sleeve soaked through with his blood. The teeth marks were a bit deeper than he had initially thought, and his robe and shirt sleeve were hanging on by a thread. Draco gave the fabric a sharp tug and pulled the sleeves clean off. His cufflinks were long gone during the struggle. He let the red-soaked fabric fall to the ground, then vanished it with his wand.

Draco realized too late that he had exposed the pink, faded remnants of his Dark Mark.

"Tell Theo I'm sorry he was hurt," was all Granger said. Her eyes were wide and trained on where his discarded sleeve had been.

"Goodbye," Draco nodded politely. He turned and left her standing alone.

Draco wondered where the night might have gone if not for Rowle and the wolves. He recalled the waltz that he and Granger had shared and forced her into. It was bliss, having her in his arms, following his lead, her curls fanning out as he spun her around. He had spun her more than necessary, strictly speaking, because he loved seeing that hair in the whirlwind they created and how her torso pressed against him when she spun back into his embrace. They had both smiled and laughed, and it was as if, paradoxically, they were simultaneously other people and exactly themselves.

He thought of her bare back under his fingertips, of the smell of her: peach blossoms and fresh air and something else for which he did not have the words.

In an ideal world, Draco would have inhaled her scent forever. He would have backed her up against a decorative pillar and let her run her hands through his hair, and he would have loved it and begged her for more.

At the end of the dance, before it had all gone to shit, she had looked at him—he had wanted to kiss her, then.Reallykiss her. Devour her, if she let him.

What had she wanted to say?

He supposed it didn't matter, because now the truth was out. Draco Malfoy: disappointment. He wasn't good enough. He had risked his life to follow her into a fight, and still, he wasn't good enough. His potion had been the thing to reveal a confusing conspiracy, and still, it hadn't been enough.

Transparency and truth-telling were fucking overrated.

Draco reached Theo and found his friend talking in dark and hushed tones to a distinctly not-unconscious Rowle.

"What are you afraid of, boy?" Rowle's gravelly voice was strained as the man struggled against his bindings. He gave Theo a sickly, unsettling smile.

"I'm not," Theo snapped. "You disgust me. I can't wait to see you locked up for life. Make sure to say hello to my dear father for me, would you?"

"It's only a matter of time, Theodore, don't you see?" Rowle started laughing—a rolling, maniacal sound. The man must be truly deranged.

"Enough," Theo hissed.

"How about you shut the fuck up, Rowle?" Draco sneered, turning to Theo. "Shall we find a healer, then? I could use one too."

Theo nodded, and his expression was carefully blank. The auburn-haired man began to groan on the ground, and his eyes, swollen from Draco's fists, slivered open.

"Oi," Draco discretely cast a featherlight charm on Rowle's body and heaved the wizard, who was still chuckling darkly, to his feet. "Who is that?"

Rowle smiled with wide, perfect teeth, and if Draco squinted, he might recognize some of the Pureblood civility inside, obscured though it was behind Rowle's insanity.

"That's Nolan Priscus."

Draco blinked in surprise, not having expected Rowle to reply. The surname was Sacred Twenty-Eight, though not one that Draco was too familiar with, especially after a decade of ignoring matters of lineage.

"He's a true believer. Was set to take the Mark just before the Dark Lord fell," Rowle went on, his face contorting. "And he would have deserved the honor. Unlike you."

Draco almost rolled his eyes. He turned his wand onto Priscus and cast a featherlight charm again, a bit stronger this time. When he pocketed his wand and reached down, he could easily lift the man to his feet with one hand, even while fighting against his throbbing shoulder.

"I'm going to bring these two over to the Aurors, and then we are getting the fuck out of here," Draco told Theo, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Theo, still subdued, merely nodded.

Draco turned, heaving Rowle and Priscus on either side of him. He led them across the pitch, and they did not protest. Draco idly wondered why they didn't try to escape but would not look a gift horse in the mouth.

As he neared the frantic groups of Aurors, French Ministry officials, and wayward gala attendees, exhaustion began to creep into the periphery of Draco's consciousness. He felt a sudden craving for Muffy's chocolate cake—and the urgent desire to vacate France as soon as possible.

A group of photographers surrounded the bound and stunned former wolves, monitored by red-robed Aurors. As cameras flashed, Draco approached the wizards and explained in French his possession of Rowle and Priscus. The Aurors pointed, and Draco heaved Rowle, who was still cackling under his breath, and the dazed Priscus onto the ground beside the other captives.

When Draco turned away, he could not help but seek out Granger. He did not spot her, and perhaps that was for the best.

Up Next: Hermione investigates Rowle's conspiracy back in London.

Author's Note: I can now reveal that this ENTIRE behemoth of a fic was conceived around the fact that in 2007, there were two total lunar eclipses (very rare): March and August. The one liberty I took was that the August total lunar eclipse was not visible in Europe; in this universe, it was.

For fun, here is a link to a time-lapse of the August 28, 2007, lunar eclipse on YouTube: watch?v=nnUAfXfgn64.

The "Five Months Earlier" flashback came from Chapter 6: "Draco: Soul-Wasting Struggles."

I will post both Hermione and Draco POVs next week. There are still more mysteries to be unearthed! Thanks for reading xoxo sagapow