Thick, electric magic poured from the cabinet, billowing like smoke clouds, clinging to his skin.
Then, just barely, long, slim, pale fingers curled around the edge of the Vanishing Cabinet.
They gripped the wood like it was a lifeline. Or a threat — long and brittle nails scraping against the already worn wood.
Draco could feel his blood run cold as he stepped back from the cabinet.
The fingers tensed, bones visible through the pale and thinning skin. The nails dug in.
As if out of a horror film, the hands flew out, banging against the wood as they fell flat, dragging the body from the depths of the cabinet. The velvety dark sleeves of her gown came out first as she clawed her way through — slow and deliberate, as if she was savouring the moment she finally set foot back in the castle she had once called home so many years ago.
Her heeled boots hit the floor, and she lifted her head, a crazed black mane falling around her face, the white-blonde streaks far more pronounced now than when Draco had last seen her.
And she smiled.
Every second of her life in Azkaban, every moment of madness that had hollowed out her mind and filled it with flame, had been building toward that grin — teeth and all.
Her eyes glistened as she tilted her head, shoulders rolling like a cat stretching after a long and restless sleep. Her gaze dragged slowly across the room, tongue sliding over her teeth like a predator admiring its prey, before finally landing on her nephew.
Bellatrix stepped forward, and it was as if the room bent to her will.
"Draco." She cooed, low and sweet, like a lullaby gone wrong, her hands reaching out to grasp his face.
Her hands were cold and calloused, and he had to fight the urge to shrink in on himself. "Auntie." He greeted.
"Look at you. So grown. So… obedient. You look more and more like your mother every time I see you." Her fingers brushed just beneath his eyes, and his jaw tightened.
He didn't respond. His tongue had gone dry, his throat closing up.
Her finger dragged down his cheek, and she frowned as she grabbed his jaw roughly, pulling his face toward hers. "Cat got your tongue?"
Her pupils were wide and blown, her gaze erratic — as if she were high on adrenaline and drunk on bloodlust.
"You didn't come home for Christmas." She remarked, not releasing his face.
"I was busy," he said, voice rough. "With the cabinet."
She grinned again, dropping his face. She didn't step away — painfully in his personal space — as her hand found his sternum, nails tracing slowly as she circled him. "My clever, clever nephew." She praised.
"Our little dragon. Your mother didn't think you capable." She was standing behind him now, so close he could feel the press of her magic against his back, her hand flat against him.
He almost flinched, her lips far too close to his ear. "You proved her wrong. You proved them all wrong. Our Lord — he wanted to punish your father for his insolence." She clicked her tongue, and his eyes shut as he felt the brush of her breath against his face. "You've proved yourself valuable, though, haven't you? Much stronger than your father ever was."
Meat. That was what he felt like. A piece of raw meat at the butcher's, waiting to be weighed and sold.
Her fingers trailed down his arms as she moved back round to face him, her palm pressing over his heart, her eyes closing, head lolling back as though she could feel his very soul.
He held his breath, heart pounding in his ears as he stared at her.
"Is it still racing?" she purred. "I remember how fast it beat the night He gave you the Mark." Her nails flexed against his chest, just short of digging in.
"Will Rodolphus be joining us tonight?" Draco finally asked.
His aunt yanked her hand away, scowling as she stepped back and moved through the room, careful not to stray further than a particularly tall stack of books. "My idiot husband is in a cell next to your father. Along with his brother."
She giggled to herself, drifting around the couch. "Same candour. Same pride. Same secrets. She never had your spine, though."
Draco rolled his eyes and turned to face her, drawing a steadying breath. "How is my dear mother?"
"Alive. Thanks to you." She said, almost bored.
"Good. I couldn't imagine you losing another sister."
Bellatrix stilled, and he caught the flicker in her eyes. She straightened, chin lifting haughtily. "There's that spine."
She turned her back on him and wandered toward the cluttered table — the one where he and Hermione had shared lunch too many times. She trailed her fingers along its edge, brushing away the dust and holding it up to the light as though examining something precious.
She settled on the table, tilting her head, legs swinging like a little girl's. "Quite the den you've made here. Many have over the years. Where did you sleep, Draco? On the couch?" She nodded toward it.
His eyes flickered over, a memory surfacing unbidden — Hermione curled up beneath that far-too-large blanket after a cold afternoon on the grounds, her hands wrapped around the hot chocolate he'd brought her. He pushed it down quickly.
"Or that little bed?" She nodded toward the grand four-poster. "Silk sheets. A cosy fire. Looks big enough for two. A quaint… home."
She said the word home the way some people said filth — soft and slow, as if it were the dirtiest thing she could summon.
He forced himself to huff a laugh. "Well, it's far more comfortable than the one in my dorm."
"Or a cell." She agreed.
"Are we done, or would you like a tour?"
Her gaze swept the room once more, lingering this time — not on the space itself, but on the life in it. The furniture pushed aside. The dishevelled blankets. The books in need of rearranging.
She frowned.
But before she could place it —
The cabinet groaned again.
Low. Metallic. Familiar.
Bellatrix looked toward it with a kind of gleeful reverence, clasping her hands as though standing before an altar. "Ah. More are coming."
She hopped off the table, her boots clanking against the stone as she made her way back to her nephew and clapped her hands down on his shoulders, leaning her full weight against him.
Draco stumbled slightly but restrained himself from snapping at her.
The cabinet creaked open once more, and out stepped Yaxley.
Tall, broad, and sneering before he'd even set both feet on the stone. His robes were pristine, his wand already drawn — not from caution, but arrogance. He stepped out as if the room belonged to him.
Draco huffed, his tongue scraping over his teeth as he fought back what he actually wanted to say.
The man looked down at Draco, his long blond hair pulled tight behind him.
"Draco." He said, his lips curling into a sneer. "Fancy of you to hold the door open for us. Like a house-elf."
"And what would you know of them?" Draco asked, tilting his head the way Bellatrix did in that very moment. "Last I recall, you lost yours when you first went to Azkaban."
Yaxley narrowed his eyes. "Boy, mind how you speak to me."
Bellatrix laughed, squeezing Draco's shoulders. "Next, you'll pull your wands out to see whose is bigger." She mocked. "Men. So predictable."
The cabinet groaned again, heavier this time — as if reluctant to let go — and out walked Amycus Carrow, a shorter, stubbly man. Alecto followed close behind, taking her brother's hand as she stepped out.
"Always a gentleman, brother." She grinned, her yellowing teeth on full display, her hand lingering on his a beat too long for Draco's liking.
Amycus grinned back before pulling his hand away and sauntering toward the others. "Living large, little Malfoy?" he asked, dropping himself onto the couch as if he owned the place.
"If this is living large, you should see my bedroom at the Manor." Draco drawled.
"Are you in need of company there, too?" Alecto wondered, batting her eyelashes as she made her way to the bed and settled onto its edge with a groan.
She let out a long sigh, her weight shifting the mattress in slow, lazy waves. Her hands smoothed over the blanket, fingers pressing into the folds as if testing its softness.
"Mm." She hummed, leaning back on her elbows, head tilting to one side. "You know, I think I could sleep here. Silk sheets, fireplace, a man to warm the bed…" Her eyes flicked up toward Draco, her grin wide and sharp. "What do you say, darling?"
Amycus snorted from the couch. "You'd scare the poor lad stiff."
"Oh, he's stiff, alright," she shot back, her meaning unmistakable.
Goosebumps pricked at his skin, and Draco finally pulled away from Bellatrix, practically storming toward the bed as he yanked at the sheets. "Get. Off."
"Only if you help." She grabbed Draco's arm. "Do you know how to do that, Draco?"
Draco yanked his arm away as if it had burned.
Bellatrix giggled from where she crouched in front of the fireplace. "He's just a boy, Alecto," she said, tilting her head back to look at them. "He probably doesn't even know what you're talking about. Do you, Draco?"
Draco's face twisted. He was going to be sick.
Yaxley scoffed loudly, cutting across whatever musing was about to escape either Carrow. "You three think everything smells of blood and sex."
"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Alecto crooned toward Draco. "Bit shy? Don't worry — I can teach you all about it."
Bellatrix let out a bark of laughter, still crouched by the hearth, her fingers trailing through the ash at the edge of the grate. She stood, moving toward Draco. "Maybe he's more like his father in that respect, Carrow. Only child, my nephew. You'd think, with all that pureblood fervour, my sister would've produced an heir and a spare."
Yaxley grinned. "Maybe Lucius was overcompensating with his… charming personality."
Bellatrix did not stop Alecto's advances.
She watched.
Head tilted.
Silent.
"I bet you don't even know what you like yet," Alecto murmured. "All this time, alone in this room. What did you do to pass the hours, hmm? Just play with your wand?"
Amycus grinned, licking his lips. "Maybe our little dragon's been entertaining company."
When Alecto reached toward him again, Draco caught her wrist roughly.
"Touch me again," he hissed, voice low, "and lose it."
She gasped — and he wasn't entirely certain it was only from shock. "Little dragon bites."
"And I leave marks."
That seemed to catch Bellatrix's fancy, and she hummed thoughtfully. "How is Pansy?" she wondered, waving a hand at Alecto to back off.
"She's doing well."
"Good. Good. She's good for you — though your mother…" She huffed, shaking her head. "Your mother's never thought she was worth you marrying. I disagree. She's loyal to your every move."
Draco shook his head. "She's like my sister, Auntie Bella. You know that."
"That's not always a bad thing," she pointed out. "Her mother has been round the Manor quite a lot lately."
"Cassandra's a good friend of my mother's," Draco commented.
Bellatrix snorted. "Friends. Don't make me laugh."
His eyebrows pulled together.
"Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassandra." She clicked her tongue. "She's always liked bending the rules. She was the only one who could ever get Cissy to laugh at something filthy. Do you know how rare that is?"
"My mother has a peculiar sense of humour," Draco commented, watching his aunt carefully.
She rolled her head from side to side. "They weren't school friends, you know. Met when Cissy moved into Malfoy Manor. The Parkinsons lived next door. Didn't get along at first. If I remember right, Cassandra Transfigured her dog green one day."
"Cassandra wasn't the first, of course. I found a little ribbon-tied bundle of letters under Cissy's bed after she'd moved out. I was furious. Thought she'd been writing to some Muggle-born scum while courting your father. Until I read them." Bellatrix continued, recalling the memory as if it were just yesterday.
Draco's expression was carefully neutral. He didn't particularly care what his mother had done. His father was in Azkaban, and he was trapped in this castle working for the Dark Lord. Would it really be so surprising?
Bellatrix waved her hand. "I don't remember that first girl's name. Do you think they ever kissed in this very room?" she asked with mock innocence. "Wouldn't that be something, Draco? Your little den of secrets echoing with older ghosts?"
"The only secrets I keep are the ones sitting in this room," Draco answered, gesturing toward the other Death Eaters.
A new sound cut through the air before Bellatrix could respond — a soft hiss, followed by a loud, wet thud.
His presence hit the room like a pressure wave — not expected, not welcome.
Draco shook his head, a distinct stench of damp, matted fur filling the enclosed space.
The low, rasping breath was unmistakable.
A sickening scrape of nails against stone — claws too close, too real, too hungry.
Draco swallowed the bile rising in his throat and turned toward the cabinet as the werewolf straightened to his full height.
Filthy, matted hair clung to his face and shoulders, flecked with what looked like soot — or dried blood. His yellow eyes caught the flicker of the fireplace and gleamed.
"No." Draco turned sharply to his aunt. "No! He wasn't on the list. He wasn't supposed to be here!"
Bellatrix sighed. "Our Lord insisted. A… security measure." She said it as if it were of no importance.
"He's feral! He's uncontrolled! He's —"
"Hungry." Greyback rasped, picking at his sharp teeth with a crooked nail.
"Scared of a little dog?" Yaxley mocked.
Greyback licked the full length of his front teeth with his thick, grey tongue.
Then he sniffed.
Once.
Twice.
And he moved.
Draco stepped toward his aunt, lowering his voice. "My friends are here. Pansy. Daphne. Theo and Blaise. You remember them. He's rabid!" He hissed. "It won't matter who they are — if they're out of bed for any reason, he'll try to take a bite." He fought the urge to think of Hermione, to risk any of them finding their way into his head.
Greyback didn't walk. He prowled — spine curved, head low — moving through the room the way a predator moves through unfamiliar territory. Every step could be heard, every drag of his jagged nails against the stone, every wet twitch of his nose.
"He always does this," Amycus muttered, reaching into his coat for something. "Sniffs around like a Crup. Thinks he can smell bloodlines."
"Send him to the pound." Draco snapped. "We have a mission. He's just going to get in the way."
"It's not even a full moon," Alecto called. "Just let him mark his territory and we'll be on our way so you can kill your precious little Headmaster."
Greyback crouched low by the table first, sniffing the surface — his nose twitching over half-eaten crusts of bread and ink-stained parchment. He didn't look up. Didn't speak.
Just inhaled.
It was the sound of it — wet and rattling — that turned Draco's stomach.
"What? You want to eat my scraps? Have at it." Draco huffed, his anxiety getting the better of him as his foot twitched against the floor.
Greyback moved again. He didn't walk. He slunk.
His body stayed low, almost spider-like, as he pressed his weight into his fingertips and toes, sniffing along the floorboards, around the legs of the couch where Amycus sat.
He had always been like this. As though somewhere along the way he had lost the boundary between man and beast entirely — his wolf having taken up permanent residence in his human form. As if he no longer needed the full moon.
"Filthy," Greyback muttered as he sniffed at the couch.
"I don't exactly have the castle house-elves coming in to clean." Draco sneered, though he felt his pulse spike as Greyback grabbed at the blanket half-thrown across the couch cushions.
He didn't answer. He only kept crawling forward, breath ragged, fingers twitching against the floor. His nose flared again, and his entire body gave a long, shuddering shiver.
Draco moved without thinking.
He stepped forward — too fast.
Too loud.
Greyback froze.
His head whipped around, lips peeled back in a grin — sharp and vicious.
Draco stopped where he stood, his voice lost somewhere in his throat.
The werewolf jerked suddenly to the left, head snapping toward the bed. His nostrils flared as he rose slightly — still hunched, still animal — but taller now. His gaze slid over the mattress. His lips peeled back further.
He growled.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just low.
Too low.
"Bellatrix —!" Draco started, but Greyback's next growl cut him off.
He crouched beside the bed and inhaled again — deep and rattling, as if trying to draw the scent straight into his lungs. His body twitched, as though something inside him was fighting its way out.
He pressed his face against the pillows, the sheets, the mattress.
The sheets hadn't been changed. He hadn't even bothered to straighten them.
Greyback pressed his face into the mattress and moaned.
The sound was obscene. Wrong. Half hunger, half something worse.
Draco swallowed.
"You've had company," he said, rising and turning to the younger boy.
"Yeah," Draco said sharply. "Daphne's brought me lunch. Daphne Greengrass?"
Greyback grabbed the blanket. He brought it to his face and buried his nose in it, inhaling so deeply the sound filled the room. He growled softly — a vibration that seemed to rattle through his teeth.
"You've had a girl in here."
"Yeah, I just said —"
"Not the Greengrass girl." He barked.
"I don't smell anyone," Amycus grunted.
"Your nose doesn't work," Greyback snapped.
It wasn't just the bed anymore.
Not just the couch.
Greyback kept looping back toward Draco.
He stepped closer, dropping the blanket as if it offended him. He sniffed the air now — not the objects. Nose lifted, face turned slightly upward, following something invisible. Something no one else could sense.
Something Draco hadn't even known was there.
Now, standing too close, he leaned in, nose hovering near Draco's collar.
"If you bite me," Draco said through clenched teeth —
The wolf grinned, drawing a long, deliberate breath of the scent that clung to Draco like a second skin. "Someone's been keeping company."
"Pansy's perfume, then. If it's not Daphne —"
"Sleeping here. Living here."
"I'm not the only one with access to this room. People have been coming and going for centuries."
"No. This is fresh. You reek of it. She's been here a lot." The wolf was circling him now. "She liked it too. Still warm in places. Still hers."
"He's gone mental. Can you put him on a leash?" Draco snapped at the others.
Greyback stopped directly in front of him, his height casting a long shadow over the younger boy.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Draco snapped, trying for casual and hearing the crack in his own voice.
"You're covered in it."
"In what?"
Greyback grinned — sharp and slow, yellow teeth bared like a wolf just before it sinks them in.
"The Mudblood."
The room shattered into sound. Alecto inhaled sharply. Amycus sat bolt upright. Yaxley laughed — a rough, low sound of disbelief. Bellatrix didn't move.
Draco's heart stopped.
He said nothing. Didn't move. Didn't breathe. He didn't dare.
"Who's your pet, Malfoy?" Yaxley asked, as if he couldn't wait to put it all in a letter to Lucius.
"No one." His voice came out tight. "The mutt's broken."
Greyback's eyes narrowed. "Smells like someone."
The wolf sniffed the air again, eyes locked on Draco. Through him. Into him.
"Her skin. Her hair. Her blood," he whispered.
"Sweet," Greyback rasped, drawing closer. "Smart. A little like… honey."
"Piss off." The words spilled out before he could stop them.
Greyback grinned. "Bit possessive, aren't we?"
The werewolf's breath was hot and wet, smelling of rot and hunger. "You know what her voice sounds like. What she tastes like."
Amycus laughed. "Looks like someone's got a taste for the filthy ones."
Greyback's tongue lolled, his body twitching slightly — feral with anticipation. "Wouldn't mind a taste myself."
Draco didn't blink. "No."
"No?" Greyback repeated. "You know her. What she sounds like. What she tastes like."
Draco forced himself to breathe evenly. He couldn't look at the corner behind the bookshelf. Couldn't glance toward the wall she used to lean against while reading. Couldn't give a single thing away.
"You touched her. Maybe she touched you. Maybe more?"
Alecto whined, "I wanted to break him in!"
He bared his teeth. "You've been rutting with her."
Bellatrix still hadn't moved.
Not once.
Not a sound.
She watched.
Draco didn't dare look at her.
His heart was a drumbeat in his throat, every pulse screaming.
"Say that again," Draco said slowly, voice low and shaking — not with fear, but with something that felt older and rawer than fear. He didn't recognise it until it was already in his mouth. "Say it again, you half-breed mongrel."
"Enough." Bellatrix scoffed, finally stepping in. "I'm bored with this little show. I know my nephew well enough to know he's not… rutting with filth."
Greyback's lips twitched up into something too wide, too delighted, ignoring Bellatrix entirely. "Oh, you've definitely been fucking her."
"I'll hex your tongue out of your mouth if you don't shut up."
"You'd hex me for sniffing?"
"I'd kill you for what you're thinking." His hand twitched toward his wand.
"Does she scream pretty? Does she beg nicely? Cry with that clever little mouth?" Greyback wondered, pressing to see exactly how far he could push before Draco snapped.
"I said enough," Bellatrix repeated.
But the werewolf didn't look at her. Didn't even blink. He was fixed entirely on Draco. On her.
"Does she whimper like prey?" He crouched to Draco's level, tongue running over his lips as if looking at a meal. "Bet she makes those pretty little gasps when you press her against the wall." He inhaled again — sharp and wet. "She's been here a lot, hasn't she? Slept in your bed. Left her scent all over your sheets, your clothes."
"You don't know what you're talking about." Draco hissed. And he didn't — not in the way he assumed. For every line Draco had crossed, every limit he had bent in the name of what he felt for her, he had never let himself have her that way. Not fully.
Greyback's yellow eyes lit with something wild. Triumphant. He could smell the restraint on Draco. Could taste it.
"I could find her. Try her out for myself."
He had grabbed his wand then, but Bellatrix stepped between them.
"Touch my nephew," she hissed, "and I will ensure you die at the Dark Lord's own hands."
Draco blinked, caught off guard.
Greyback didn't move. Didn't cower. His nostrils still flared. His eyes were still fixed on Draco as though he'd found the marrow in a bone. But he didn't speak — not immediately.
Bellatrix stepped forward, her presence unnatural in its elegance — a flame dressed in silk.
"You want to taste something, you mangy wretch?" she asked softly. "Try my patience. Start sniffing the old man — we're here to kill. Go."
The wolf hesitated for just a moment before stalking through the door the Room had conjured.
Bellatrix turned to Draco, her eyes dark. "The wolf's mind is rotten. But if I find out he's right —" her voice dropped to a near-whisper, low and venomous, meant only for him. "I don't care who you are. My nephew. My sister's only child."
"If I find out he's right," she whispered again, softer still, as though the threat itself were meant to settle beneath his skin, "I will peel her apart in front of you. Strip her down to bone. Make you watch what your choices cost."
Draco held her gaze, his jaw locked in place. "Good thing he's just a mutt, then. There's nothing to find."
Bellatrix stared at him for one long, glacial moment — just long enough for Draco to feel the full weight of every unspoken suspicion. Then she smiled. Slowly. "Good. Because I taught you how to conceal your mind — and I can rip it apart just as easily."
Yaxley was still watching him, eyes glittering with malicious amusement, as though he'd already composed the letter to Lucius in his head. The Carrows exchanged whispers too low to catch, but unmistakably cruel.
Bellatrix patted his cheek with a little too much force, grinning at the other Death Eaters. "Enough of this foreplay. We have a school to burn and a Headmaster to kill."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Distantly, a raw, shrill cry cut through the air.
The kind of sound that wasn't fear or excitement but pain — pure, unfiltered pain.
It bounced off the stone walls, echoing from one corridor to the next. Even the portraits lifted their heads.
Blaise looked toward Pansy, his jaw dropping slightly. "When you said you had someone who'd warn us they were here, I wasn't expecting —"
"That's not what was meant to happen." Pansy shook her head. She turned sharply, scanning the corridor just as a flash of movement caught her eye.
An eleven-year-old girl came tearing down the hall — eyes wild, tears streaking her cheeks. Her hands were slick with blood, dark and wet and real.
Pansy caught her instinctively, dropping to a crouch. "Zoe? Zoe, what happened — who —"
"I — I — I just found him bleeding. An elf. He — he was bleeding and he — he —"
"Okay, okay," Pansy murmured, drawing her wand to Scourgify away the blood. "Zoe, you need to get back to your dormitory. Don't tell anyone what you've seen. Don't let anyone else out of Slytherin."
"But — but —"
"Come on." Pansy rose and steered Zoe toward the nearest hidden passage. "This will take you to the greenhouses. Find Astoria Greengrass — you remember her? She's on your prefect chart."
Zoe nodded.
"Tell her to lock the first-years in. That Pansy Parkinson says it's important." She sealed the entrance without waiting for Zoe to agree. Even if the girl stood frozen from fright, she'd be safe.
Blaise worried his lip. "Why would the Death Eaters attack a house-elf?"
Pansy turned back around. "I don't think Draco knew everyone who was coming through that cabinet."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Ron froze mid-step, wand half-raised, as if his body couldn't decide whether to run toward the sound or away from it.
Ginny rounded the corner a moment later. "You know, I was really hoping Harry would be wrong for once." She huffed.
"Well," Seamus said with a shrug, "he said Room of Requirement, and that didn't sound like it came from there." They were only a couple of corridors away, positioned for anyone who might come out in their direction — Luna and Parvati holding the other end.
Ron frowned, trying to work through it. "Okay, new idea — we move toward the Room."
As if on cue, something exploded as they began moving, a puff of coloured smoke blurring their vision.
The smoke was thick — purple, almost glittering — and it clung to the stone like cobwebs, crawling up the walls and wrapping around their ankles.
Ginny coughed, waving a hand in front of her face.
"Stupefy!" Seamus shouted, firing toward the vague shape moving in the haze. It crumpled, but before he could draw breath, something shot out from the opposite side of the corridor.
"Down!" Parvati yelled. A streak of green light sailed overhead as they all ducked and scattered, backs pressed to the stone.
Ginny spat out a curse — at the attackers, at the smoke, at the plan — and tried to find her footing. "Where the hell is the Order?"
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Theo's job was simple. In fact, he'd call it fun.
While Pansy was tasked with distracting the Order and moving through the castle, and Blaise dealt with the Gryffindors who'd taken to calling themselves the DA, and Daphne was off doing — well, none of them were entirely sure — all Theo had to do was orchestrate magical misdirection.
He moved like smoke itself, gliding through hallways and alcoves as though they had been built for him, layering the castle with illusions and false trails. Disguised doors, duplicate footsteps, phantom voices whispering just loud enough to snag attention. It was subtle work — too subtle for someone like Greyback to track, but more than sufficient to disorient the average duelist.
Theo loved the chaos.
He reached into his robes and withdrew a folded piece of parchment Hermione had pressed into his hands weeks ago, hastily copied from one of those ridiculous Muggle books she always seemed to have in her bag. The Art of Misdirection, she'd called it. A Muggle illusionist's guide. He hadn't understood half of it at first — stage tricks, card sleight, smoke machines — but the principle was sound: control what they're looking at, and you control what they miss.
The suits of armour enchanted to topple in the Charms corridor, the ones near the Transfiguration wing rigged to shriek for attention — all Theo's work. He'd mixed Muggle sparklers with a Flagrante Charm and placed them near different torch brackets, ready to trigger if needed. And then there were the echo Snitches — small, silvery spheres charmed to ricochet sound through the corridors like a Bludger with a grudge. Footsteps. Cries. Screams, if he was feeling particularly creative. Drop one in the left wing and you could buy yourself twenty minutes as every wand-waver in the castle went sprinting the wrong direction.
The voices they projected would sound different to each person who heard them — personalised enough to demand attention. Hermione had taught him that one.
He caught sight of two figures approaching and skidded to a stop, glancing around for somewhere to conceal himself.
There was no tapestry, no alcove, nothing. His eyes widened slightly as he worked to keep his breathing steady.
'This is fine,' he thought. 'It's okay.'
"That was your idea of a distraction?" came one voice — amused, nasal, familiar.
"Don't act like it didn't work," said the second, practically smug. "I had to improvise when Tonks knocked out our fireworks bag."
Theo blinked. He knew those voices.
He exhaled, laughing quietly to himself.
"Nott?"
Theo grinned at the pair of red-headed figures. "Never thought I'd be so pleased to see a Weasley. Let alone two."
He held up his dust-covered hands to show he was unarmed.
"Careful, Georgie," Fred said, twirling his wand like a circus performer. "Snakes are snakes whether they're in the dungeons or not."
"And Weasleys are Weasleys, even when they're pretty." Theo winked, entirely unapologetic, backing away a few steps as if casually preparing an exit.
Fred arched a brow. "Charming. Bit cocky for someone who looks like they crawled out of Zonko's clearance bin."
Theo gave a mock bow. "Flattery will get you everywhere." As he rose back to his full height, he was smirking. "Do tell your sister to owl Blaise."
His hands came together with a soft clap, and a puff of pale silver smoke shimmered through the air between them — not true Invisibility, but disorienting enough to blur outlines, confuse vision, and obscure movement.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Neville was on the third-floor corridor, following the sound of screams as he guided stray students back toward their dormitories.
The screams echoed again — high, panicked, and far too young-sounding. A girl, by the pitch of it.
He turned sharply toward the Defence wing, pushing through a tapestry that usually concealed a shortcut. The screams had come from there, hadn't they?
No one.
'That's the third time,' he thought, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back.
Rather than another scream, this time the sound that reached him made his blood run cold.
A shrill, cackling laugh — belonging to only one witch in the world.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
"Death Eaters," he whispered to himself, clutching his wand as he cast a Messenger Patronus to alert the rest of the DA.
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Ginny was by the Potions corridor, bumping into one suit of armour after another. It was as if they were actively falling on her.
She shoved the latest one aside with a grunt, its disjointed parts clanging against the stone. "Bloody hell, who designed this maze?" she hissed, adjusting her grip on her wand and sending a Stunning Spell into the corridor ahead — just in case.
A thud sounded somewhere behind her, followed by muttered cursing and what sounded suspiciously like Luna's dreamy lilt: "Oh, I quite liked that one. It looked like a goblin king."
"Luna?" Ginny spun, nearly hexing the girl by reflex before lowering her wand. "Did you see Neville's message?"
"Oh, is that what that was? I thought the frogs were singing again." Luna answered.
"Right. Yeah. He said to meet at the Great Hall. I'm trying to get to Hermione — Snape gave her detention."
Before Ginny could take another step, Hermione stumbled out of a classroom.
"Hermione?" She frowned.
The girl approaching was unmistakable. She smiled at Ginny, running a hand over her curly hair, frizzy from sweat. "Ginny! What are you — I heard all this noise. Are you okay?"
Ginny lowered her wand, the frown lingering. "I — yeah, I'm fine. We've had explosions, smoke, screaming — I thought you had detention."
"I did. Snape left me. I could barely get out of the classroom." Hermione explained.
"We're heading to the Great Hall," Ginny said, taking the girl's hand and pulling her toward the stairs. "Neville sent a Patronus — Death Eaters are in the castle."
Hermione pulled her to a stop. "What about the screams? I swear I heard them coming from —"
"We need to regroup. It's safer." Ginny cut her off. "Are you okay?"
She hesitated for just a fraction of a second, then nodded, shoulders squaring as she straightened. "Yeah. Just wondering if Harry's back."
"Not until the moon's high," Luna commented.
Hermione gave the blonde girl a weary look before relenting. "Right. Great Hall, then."
They made their way through the corridors.
As if perfectly timed, Hermione asked, "Have you spoken to Ron?"
"He ran off with Seamus." Ginny answered half-heartedly. "Last I saw, they were by the Room of Requirement heading toward the greenhouses."
Hermione nodded once but didn't ask further.
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The Great Hall was packed. Students that Neville had rounded up from the corridors filled the room, and Order members — Tonks, Kingsley, Fred, George, and Bill — stood gathered against one wall. Neville was arguing with Ron at the far end, Seamus and Parvati offering their own opinions, as the girls came in.
"Finally." Ron huffed, walking over to them. "I was beginning to think you'd been snatched."
"By who?" Ginny scoffed, pushing past him toward the others. "What's going on?"
"Bellatrix." Neville answered as Ginny climbed up onto a table. "I heard her."
Hermione's jaw tightened. "What do you mean you heard her? Where?"
"Third-floor corridor." He explained. "I started wrangling the younger years after that. If she's here, she's not alone."
"We think they came in through the Room of Requirement," Ron added, as if anticipating the next question.
"They did," Hermione said too quickly, then corrected herself. "I mean — it would make the most sense, wouldn't it? It's not exactly as though you can Apparate in and out of Hogwarts."
Ron eyed her, and she looked back at him, raising an eyebrow. "What?"
He shook his head. "Just… surprised. You're not arguing."
"Why would I argue?" Hermione huffed, crossing her arms — left over right. She glanced down and swapped them. Right over left.
Ginny watched her. "You sure you're alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Snape was his usual charming self before locking me in a classroom." Hermione snapped.
"Well, you've been rather keen on the idea that Malfoy isn't up to anything," Ron said.
"Who said anything about Draco?"
Ron gave Ginny a look that suggested he was checking whether Hermione had hit her head. "Recap: Harry thinks Malfoy's been up to something in the Room of Requirement all year, and you've been fighting us on it."
Hermione gave a strained smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Well. He's not involved."
"Where is he, then?"
"I don't know." She said through clenched, still-smiling teeth.
McGonagall's voice cut through the room as she approached the group, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Miss Granger, Mister Weasley — why am I not surprised to find you both at the centre of all this?"
Hermione flinched, turning to face her Head of House. She blinked once, twice, trying to regain her footing. "Doesn't it always come back to us?"
McGonagall sighed and pressed her fingers to her temples. "Miss Granger, I assume your detention with Professor Snape ended early?"
"It did," Hermione said smoothly, tilting her head in her characteristic way. "Just… don't ask him about it."
The professor nodded, resisting the urge to remind the girl she really shouldn't be saying that. "You'd all do best to go back to your dormitories. Get the younger years settled. We've got it from here."
"With all due respect, Professor," Fred walked over to the group.
George finished for him. "They're our best help. Especially with Nott fogging the corridors."
Hermione's eyes darted to the twins. "What?"
McGonagall didn't even blink. "Theodore Nott is involved?"
"Lightly," Fred said.
"He's the reason half the castle thinks Peeves is leading a marching band through the east wing," George added.
"It's rather brilliant." Fred finished.
Hermione's lips twitched. That was absolutely Theo.
"Padma, Lavender, and Dean are still out there," Seamus said. "I can take the younger years back to their dormitories while the rest of you handle things."
"I'll help." Ginny was already on her feet. "I'll take Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. We'll finish in half the time and come back to help."
Neville nodded in agreement. "Sounds good. Be careful — there are screams coming from all directions. Explosions. Corridors collapsing."
"Don't forget the suits of armour dancing," Luna added. "I think they like me."
Hermione's gaze swept the group — calculating, listening, silent. When she finally moved, it was with purpose, brushing past Ron a little too sharply.
"Oi!" Ron huffed, looking at her.
Hermione gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Don't mention Draco again." She hissed under her breath.
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Ginny was pinching the bridge of her nose outside Ravenclaw Tower. "Just answer the knocker's riddle," she said to a first-year boy — for what felt like the eighteenth time.
"No." He argued. "Then you'd be able to get in, and it's not really a riddle if you just tell anyone who asks."
"I don't want to get into your common room. If I did, I'd ask Luna."
"Then why are you here?" the boy challenged.
"Because we're trying to keep you all alive. Believe it or not, you're the future of this society." Ginny snapped. "Glad to know it's full of trust."
The boy looked as though he was about to cry, and he turned to knock with the enchanted door knocker.
"What makes a question unanswerable?"
There was a long pause. Then he replied, "One never asked."
The door swung open, and Ginny grinned. "Thank Godric. Now we just need to —" but the boy had already slammed it shut in her face.
She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. The younger Ravenclaws were accounted for and safe — she'd send Luna in shortly to check on them. As she turned to leave the tower, the crack and hiss of duelling spells from a nearby stairwell caught her attention.
Drawing her wand, she moved carefully toward the noise.
The torches flickered oddly, shadows dancing unnaturally along the walls — a sure sign that some charm was distorting the air.
Rounding the corner, she caught a brief flash of dark robes.
Ginny didn't hesitate.
"Expelliarmus!"
The wand clattered to the stone floor.
A figure stepped out, hands raised. "Bloody hell, Red. Friendly fire."
Ginny's wand hand lowered slightly as she blinked in recognition. Her expression hardened, and she raised it again. "Are you with them, Zabini?"
Blaise tilted his head. "Depends who you mean."
"If I hex you, are you going to hex me back?"
"You just did, Red." He bent to retrieve his wand. "Look, Gin — I'm not on anyone's side. No one's except Draco."
Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Where is he?"
"With Pansy. Trying to keep track of the first-year Slytherins." It was a well-rehearsed answer; he'd been practising it all day. As long as Pansy didn't get caught, neither would Draco.
She lowered her wand — not fully — and stepped back. "I'm going to pretend I didn't see you."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Pansy was in the greenhouse, searching for the potion bottles Hermione had hidden there weeks ago, when Ron and Seamus came in.
She swore under her breath and ducked behind a tall stand of Devil's Snare.
"Are you sure you heard —"
"I didn't hear her, I saw her." Seamus cut Ron off, scanning the greenhouse. "Bloody woman is hard to miss."
Pansy rolled her eyes, her fingers finding a potion bottle in her robes — one of Hermione's Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder decoys, modified to look like fire.
Ron was stumbling around between the plant beds when he asked, "Don't you think Hermione was acting strange?"
Seamus didn't bother to look away from where he was searching. "Mate, you've been on her case about Malfoy all year. You could've just let her agree with you, but you pushed. Course she's acting strange."
They were drawing too close. Pansy dropped the bottle.
An eruption of false, shrieking flame filled the greenhouse.
'Merlin, I love Hermione Granger,' she thought, watching the two of them stumble backward as she slipped toward the exit.
Just as she thought she was clear, however, Yaxley appeared directly in front of her.
"Miss Parkinson." He drawled, stepping closer. "Lovely as ever."
"Wish I could say the same." Pansy drew a shaky breath. "Shouldn't you be off with Draco somewhere, doing something useful?"
Yaxley's lips twisted into a slow, menacing smile. "Draco's a busy boy. I'm merely clearing the path."
"Seems we've got the same mission." Pansy took a step back, her eyes flicking to the exposed sky above the greenhouse.
No.
The green light she'd taken for a reflection off the glass wasn't coming from inside the building at all.
It was coming from the sky.
The Dark Mark coiled above the Astronomy Tower.
So that was where Draco had gone.
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Luna tilted her head. "That's curious," she said vaguely. She and Hermione had just finished a skirmish with the Carrows. "You usually carry your wand in your right hand."
The girl hesitated — just a half-second too long — before swapping her wand to the other. "Had to switch. Hurt my wrist." She rolled it gently as if to demonstrate, letting out a soft hiss. "I bumped into some suits of armour, remember?"
Luna nodded and drifted toward a window. "Do you see that?"
Hermione moved toward her. The Dark Mark. She had to find the other Slytherins.
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"Did you see the Mark?!" Ron asked when Hermione and Luna rejoined the group.
"Yes, Ronald, it's enormous." Hermione huffed.
Dean ran a hand over his face. "I've been all over this castle and have yet to actually see a Death Eater. Just these bizarre things that keep going wrong everywhere."
"They're trying to divert us." Ginny shook her head, not quite sure what more to say.
Hermione glanced at her. "Or bait us somewhere else," she said quietly. "It's not a coincidence the Mark is coming from the Astronomy Tower. They want us looking up there."
Ron narrowed his eyes. "So where are they actually?"
"I don't know, but —" A firework came barrelling toward a suit of armour, bursting on impact.
Everyone flinched. The armour groaned, tipping sideways before collapsing to the floor with a deafening clang.
Hermione looked back toward where the firework had come from, her eyes landing on Blaise peering out from a hidden passageway. He held up three fingers, then ducked back.
When she turned back to the group, Tonks had appeared among them, a gash across her shoulder. "We need to lock down the top of the castle, and I can't find any of your professors."
"Hermione thinks it's bait," Dean said. "That they're not actually up there."
Tonks turned to Hermione, eyes narrowing despite the pain in her face. "What makes you think that?"
Hermione kept her gaze steady. "Because it's too obvious. The Mark is meant to create panic and pull people upward."
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"Has anyone seen Daphne?" Theo hissed, slipping into the empty classroom. Blaise and Pansy were already there.
Pansy shook her head. "No — I ran into Yaxley, and for a moment I thought I was done for."
Blaise was leaning against a desk, arms folded tightly. "You're not," he said flatly.
She gave him a sour look. "Cheers for the comfort. Has anyone seen Draco?"
Theo was still watching through the glass panel in the door, searching for any sign of Daphne. "Yeah. He was heading up some stairs — Bellatrix was with him, though. I couldn't get to —" He exhaled in relief. "Thank Merlin." He opened the door to let Hermione in.
Hermione slipped inside quickly, yanking the door shut behind her.
"I keep doing things wrong." Hermione paced. "My wand was in the wrong hand. I keep fidgeting with my arms. And my hair is — I don't know how she manages it." She crossed to Pansy's bag and started rummaging for a ribbon to tie it back.
She turned back to the group as she finished knotting the bow. "I told them I think the Death Eaters are trying to lure everyone to the Astronomy Tower. That should buy Draco time. Keep them all out of his way."
"Bellatrix is with him," Blaise said.
Hermione paused. "So we shift focus to the Death Eaters. Give Draco enough time to do what he needs to without them breathing down his neck."
Blaise pushed off the desk. "I'll keep the Carrows entertained."
"I've got Yaxley." Theo nodded. "I've been dying to give that man a punch in the nose."
"Guess that means I've got Auntie Bella." Pansy rolled her eyes. "I hate Draco's family." She patted Hermione's shoulder in a vaguely sympathetic 'good luck with all of that' manner.
Hermione let out a breath that bordered on a laugh — short, dry, and humourless. "Meet back here in an hour."
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Draco was going to be sick.
He'd been trying to reach the Astronomy Tower for the past hour, and the other Death Eaters kept getting in the way. He'd lost the Carrows almost immediately after leaving the Room of Requirement, Yaxley had peeled off soon after under the pretense of watching for Dumbledore, and Bellatrix had refused to let Draco go on alone — though every time they tried to climb another staircase, she'd get pulled away by some distraction like a Kneazle with a shiny object.
Speaking of which — Draco hadn't seen Greyback once since Bellatrix had sent him out of the Room. The only thing keeping him from sprinting off to check that Hermione was still alive was the absence of any pulse from his ring.
Bellatrix paused again, this time standing transfixed before a portrait of a weeping witch as though the painting contained the secrets of the universe. Draco clenched his jaw.
"Aunt Bellatrix," he said, keeping his voice tight and deferential. "We're wasting time. He'll be back soon."
"He'll be here in an hour, and he'll be here in two. Let us have our fun, Draco. Who knew you could be so dull?" She shook her head and patted his cheek as a crash rang out from somewhere down the hall.
He watched her eyes light up with glee. "No — Bellatrix!" He snapped as she made toward the sound.
He stepped out of the stairwell and watched her go.
Pressing his hands hard over his face, he muffled a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a scream.
When he pulled them away, he'd made his decision: he'd keep climbing. He could manage it alone. If anything, it would probably be easier.
He turned back toward the staircase — and stopped.
A glimpse of bushy brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail by nothing more than a bow.
He shook his head and kept walking. A second passed. He stepped back out into the corridor.
He knew that hair.
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A suit of armour crashed directly into Theo as he hunted for Yaxley, and he swore under his breath as he extracted himself from the wreckage.
He might've been more annoyed if he hadn't been the one to charm it to fall in the first place.
"I heard you," a voice sang softly from the shadows — words dripping with twisted delight. "You can't hide from me, little mouse…"
Theo groaned as he turned. "Bellatrix, is that you?" He called, hoping desperately that the woman still remembered him.
Bellatrix's eyes flashed in the dim corridor light. "Oh, darling," she said, with the mock-affection of someone greeting a puppy she intended to drown. She tilted her head, dark curls bobbing. "Nott's boy. You look just like your father — thinner."
Theo gave a theatrical bow, mostly to buy himself time. "He's found his way into a cell."
She hummed. "Pity."
He shrugged. "Bit of a tosser, really."
Bellatrix laughed and twirled her dagger between her fingers.
Theo gave her a lazy smirk, stepping just a fraction closer. Not too close — he wasn't suicidal — but enough to suggest he wasn't afraid. "I wasn't sure you'd remember me."
"I remember all of my nephews' friends. And enemies." She spoke as if recalling a fond — or horrifying — memory of them as children.
Bingo.
He grinned. "Good thing I know where my loyalties lie, then."
"And where is that?"
"I mean, what kind of friend would I be?" Theo wondered. "Draco's, of course. Always." Even when that included standing on Hermione Granger's side.
For a flicker of a moment, her gaze searched his face — looking for deceit, perhaps. Or simply savouring the game. Either way, it was buying time.
Bellatrix giggled — a dangerous, sharp sound. "Oh, I like you," she whispered, reaching out to tap the tip of her dagger against his chest. "You remind me of me."
Theo gave a breathless, slightly nervous laugh — only half of it performed. "Terrifying compliment."
Bellatrix tilted her head once more. "Why don't you come walk with me, Theodore? Let's see how far your loyalty goes." She leaned close to his ear, voice almost intimate. "Draco's got a great deal riding on tonight. It would be a shame if he failed. Lucius has already embarrassed us once."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Hermione was alone, having slipped away from the Slytherins only minutes ago. She'd already descended several floors and was outside the Divination classroom, searching for Ron or Ginny or any DA member, if she was being honest with herself.
She walked quickly — not quite running, but fast enough that her wand kept shifting in her grip, as if it didn't quite belong there.
A sharp yelp left her lips as someone grabbed her and yanked her into a broom cupboard.
"What the —" The words died on her tongue as she saw who had pulled her in.
"Salazar, 'Mione," Draco breathed, eyes wide as he looked at her — truly looked at her — his hands coming up to brush the hair from her forehead, fingers curling against her skin as he cupped her face. "You're not supposed to — Merlin, Granger."
His hands trembled slightly as they lingered, searching, memorising. He looked into her eyes — those deep, earnest eyes he had come to know so well — and relief flooded through him, nearly overwhelming. She was here. She was alive.
The tension dropped from his shoulders, and before he could give himself a chance to ask the thousand questions crowding his throat, he kissed her.
Hermione made a small noise, her hands coming up to his chest and pushing him back. "Stop, Draco — seriously, you can't." She whispered.
Relief and panic warred across his expression. His hands still rested lightly on her cheeks, his eyes searching, desperate. "I thought — you were supposed to be in detention," he whispered, voice rough. "Snape was supposed to keep you safe. I didn't — Hermione, you can't be out here."
"I got out," she said quietly. "I had to. You know I had to."
He shook his head, then looked down at her arm.
"Draco?" She asked carefully.
"Why didn't I feel you nearby?" He asked.
"What?"
He pulled his hands from her face and took her hand, pushing back her sleeve. "You're not — Merlin, Granger, you're supposed to be wearing the bracelet."
Hermione looked down at her bare wrist. "You charmed it," she whispered, her eyes closing as the realisation settled over her.
Of course he had. This was Draco Malfoy.
"Don't be mad," he said.
'Be mad. Don't be mad. Be mad.' She thought to herself, trying to decide what she felt.
"Hermione — I just needed to know you were safe. I needed to know you were alive." He tried to explain, his hands finding her face again.
He was looking at her the way a drowning man looks at a lifeline. His thumbs brushed beneath her eyes as if he thought she might vanish the moment he stopped touching her.
He kept talking, words spilling like water through a cracked dam. "Snape was supposed to keep you safe. I made sure of it. I asked him. You weren't supposed to be out here. I had everything — everything — lined up, and you —" He kissed her again, softer this time, too quick for her to react. "You just had to get out."
Hermione stared at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly open.
"I had to keep you safe. You were supposed to be safe. That's why I did it. I can't do what I have to do if I'm afraid for your life."
And then it slipped. Maybe he hadn't meant to say it. Maybe it had been sitting on the edge of his mouth for weeks, waiting for the right moment — or simply any moment at all.
"I can't have anything happen to you," he said, the words trembling. "I can't lose you. I — Merlin. Hermione. I love you." It left him like something desperate, like three words that had never been said before and, once out, refused to be called back. "I love you and I needed to keep you safe in any way I knew how, and you cannot be mad at me for it now."
Hermione blinked. Once. Twice.
"Salazar, you really are pathetic," she whispered, bringing her hand to her forehead.
Draco's fingers stilled against her face.
Salazar, you really are pathetic.
He knew that tone. The phrasing. The dry, theatrical disdain.
He drew back, studying her, and reached for a strand of her hair — watching as it shifted from the brown curls he couldn't help but run his fingers through into smooth blonde waves.
Draco stepped back so quickly he nearly tripped over a broom propped against the back wall.
"Daphne." He hissed.
"Hello, love." She smiled, caught. "You should've seen your face."
Draco stared at her. Hermione's face, Daphne's mannerisms. The bow made sense now. So did her pushing him away when he —
"Oh!" He gasped, a hand flying over his mouth.
"Don't." Daphne cut him off, holding up a hand. "I don't want to think about it, and I'm not telling her either."
His hand slipped from his face. "This is twisted."
"Your girlfriend's idea." She shrugged. "Who you love."
Who you love.
Draco's eyes widened, mortification running through him to his bones. "I didn't — I don't —"
Daphne crossed her arms and raised a single eyebrow, her expression magnificently unimpressed despite the flush creeping up Draco's neck. "You don't what, exactly?" she asked coolly. "Didn't say it? Didn't mean it?"
"It wasn't meant for you." He huffed, as though that would salvage any dignity whatsoever. It was profoundly strange — Hermione standing in front of him, but not being Hermione.
"You looked like you'd been waiting your entire life to say it."
"Please stop." He closed his eyes.
She shook her head. "No, I don't think so. You kissed me — twice, I might add — then professed your undying love. I intend to thoroughly humiliate you."
"Daphne."
She tilted her head, grin widening. "Yes, lover boy?"
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Where is she?"
"Safe." She said. "In detention."
Draco looked at her sharply. "You need to go. I need to go. I have to — your Polyjuice is wearing off."
Daphne swore under her breath. "Right, okay. Finish this, Draco." She reached for the door.
Draco caught her wrist before she could yank it open.
"Wait —" his voice dropped, suddenly sharp with clarity. "Greyback."
Daphne paused, looking back at him.
Draco's heart was pounding again — not from embarrassment now, but from raw, cold fear. "He caught her scent. Earlier."
Daphne frowned. "How? She's been in the dungeons —"
"Said I reek of her."
She stared at him. The implications settled over her in slow, heavy waves.
"You couldn't have showered?!" She hissed, yanking the door open and running.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Pansy had been searching for Bellatrix as assigned when she walked directly into McGonagall.
"Miss Parkinson." McGonagall said, studying her. "Aren't you rather far from your dormitory?"
"I had rounds," Pansy answered, glancing past the professor, suddenly afraid of them running into Bellatrix now that she was no longer actively looking.
McGonagall narrowed her eyes. "Let me relieve you of your duties, then, shall I? Come with me."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Hermione had finished copying out the old essays roughly an hour ago and had since been wandering the classroom aimlessly — perching on one desk, then a chair, then another chair. She was simply trying to keep herself occupied.
She groaned as she stretched out across Snape's desk, holding a glowing orb she'd found in a previously locked drawer up toward the ceiling, watching the light refract through it.
She wished, briefly, that Snape had left her with more busywork.
Her legs dangled slightly off the edge of the desk as she kicked one heel against the wood. She was so thoroughly bored it ached.
She tilted her head, eyes drifting across the smooth surface beneath her, then along the floor toward the locked door.
This room. This desk.
A slow, almost reluctant smile curved at the corner of her mouth.
Godric, this desk.
Her eyes slipped closed as her mind wandered, entirely unbidden, to the memory of Draco's voice — low, sinful, with that infuriating smirk just behind it.
She had asked for it. That day, when he'd found her in the library.
"I, uh, I have you bent over Snape's old desk," his nose had brushed against her jaw as he kissed her neck.
At the time, she'd laughed and called him deranged.
Now, stretched out across that very desk, she rolled her eyes and pressed her cheek against the cool wood.
Merlin, she was going to kill him for planting that thought in her head.
Especially now, when she was trapped in a room with nothing to do but think.
Think and remember.
He'd said it like it was nothing. Like it was just a passing thought.
She groaned aloud, dropped the orb, and ran her hand over her face. He'd know she'd been thinking about it. Somehow, he always knew. And she would never hear the end of it.
A faint sniffing sound made her sit up sharply, her eyes darting toward the door. Snape had warded it before he left.
She heard it again — soft and deliberate — and watched as the thin strip of light beneath the door flickered, as though something outside was pacing back and forth.
The wards buckled, and she was on her feet at once, her wand in her hand.
A low growl sounded, and her brows knitted together.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Dumbledore had arrived at the Astronomy Tower. If Madam Rosmerta's intelligence to Yaxley had been correct, the timing was right.
Draco stood just outside the door, his heart slamming against his ribs, certain he was going to be sick — and then shoved the door open too hard.
"Expelliarmus!"
His wand was already raised. The Headmaster's wand flew from his hand, sailing over the ramparts and into the dark air below.
The old man looked pale, though there was no trace of panic or fear on his face. "Good evening, Draco."
Draco stepped forward, scanning the empty tower. "Who else is here? I heard you talking to someone." He asked, not lowering his wand.
"A question I might ask you," Dumbledore murmured. "Or are you acting alone?"
Draco's eyes settled back on Dumbledore. "No. There are Death Eaters. Here. In your school tonight."
Dumbledore didn't flinch. He only nodded once — slow and grave — as though Draco had confirmed what he'd already suspected. "Well," he said, as if it were of no particular concern. "You found a way to let them in, did you?"
Draco swallowed and nodded. "Right under your nose. You never even realised."
"Ingenious," said Dumbledore. "Yet… forgive me… where are they now? You seem to be without support."
Draco's hand wavered. "They've been having fun with your little guard. This is my task."
"Then you must get on with it," Dumbledore said softly.
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The wards shattered without putting up much of a fight.
He filled the doorway entirely — massive, filthy, wild-eyed. His shoulders were hunched like a beast caught mid-transformation, his hair hanging in greasy ropes, his skin mottled and cracked where it had split under the strain of his condition. His lips curled back from jagged yellow teeth.
The growl that rolled out of him was too low to be fully human.
His eyes gleamed as he sniffed the air. "Knew I'd catch you. Been tracking you all night."
Hermione's lip curled.
Greyback chuckled — low, hungry. "Smelled you on the boy," he said, stalking forward. "Your scent on him. Couldn't get it out of my head. Knew I needed a taste."
He lunged, and she blasted him back with a Stunning Spell. He hit a shelf, knocking over a cascade of jars and ingredients — but he was up again almost immediately, barely winded.
She backed toward the far side of the room, keeping her wand trained on him. Her wand flicked again — Stupefy, followed by Confringo.
She used the moment to vault over a desk, ducking low as a clawed hand swept through the air where her head had just been.
"I like the fight in you," he growled. "Bet that one does too — the Malfoy boy."
She hit him with a Blasting Curse squarely in the chest, watching him stagger. Dust and shattered glass rained down around him, smoke rising from singed books and smouldering herbs. But he didn't stay down.
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Draco stared at Dumbledore in silence, tilting his head. Was the old man mocking him? Taunting him? He was wandless and clearly weakened. Why would he —
"Draco, Draco, you are not a killer."
"How do you know that?" His voice wavered. He hated himself for it, felt his face flush.
The cold air bit at his skin, the openness of the tower drawing the wind across his face, the green light of the Dark Mark a stark and unwavering reminder in the sky above of what he had come here to do.
He'd gotten this far.
He was here.
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"Oh, fuck you!" Hermione snapped.
He was toying with her. He could have lunged. Could have gone for the kill. But he was savouring it — each step slow, each grin deliberate. He wanted her afraid. Wanted her to tremble.
She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
Greyback prowled after her, enormous and hunched, grinning like this was the best game he'd played in years.
Hermione hurled a conjured chair at him with a flick of her wand — it shattered against his arm, and for a second he snarled like a cornered animal.
"I've tasted Muggle-borns before. But none that a prissy pureblood like him has had. I want to rip it out of you. Want to see what he sees. What he touched."
He lunged again, and she threw herself off the desk, sprinting for the door.
His hand caught the edge of her blouse. She shrieked.
"I'll mark you up nicely," he crooned. "He won't want you after I'm through."
Her blouse tore at the hem where Greyback's claws grazed her, the sound of ripping fabric sharp in her ears.
"I'll leave you alive," he mused. "So he can see. Smell it. Know. He'll never look at you the same."
"If you think I'm going to let you touch me," she said, voice dropping low and steady, "then you're more brainless than you look."
He bared his teeth.
She hit him with a Bombarda directly in the chest, watching as he was thrown back into the cabinet behind Snape's desk. Glass and metal collapsed around him, vials shattering, smoke curling from singed papers and smouldering potions ingredients.
She ran for the door, pointing her wand at the warded frame. "Bombarda!"
The explosion ripped through it — splinters of wood flying as the door burst open. She should have tried that hours ago.
She didn't look back. Her feet skidded against the floor as she bolted left, her wand gripped tight.
She took the second stairwell, not wanting to take the first on the chance that Greyback would assume she'd gone that way. Her feet crashed down the steps two, three at a time. Her ankle twisted once, and she gasped, catching herself on the railing, then forced herself forward. Pain didn't matter. She had to move.
She darted out into a new corridor, deciding it best to change stairwells.
The castle stone blurred around her, and if anyone was watching, she wasn't noticing.
'He won't want you after I'm done.'
'God, I'm going to kill that wolf one day,' she thought, turning again. Up another stairwell. Down another corridor.
She collided — hard — with someone, and let out a scream, nearly falling backward.
"Hermione?" Hands grabbed her and she screamed again, fighting to get free. "Hermione, stop!"
"Hermione! It's me!"
Daphne's voice cut through the haze like a hex.
Hermione was shaking, her lungs dragging in air like they might collapse. Her hands were wild and flailing until Daphne caught her wrists and held on.
"It's me," Daphne said again, softer, her grip firm and steady and grounding.
Hermione stared at her, trying to breathe. "No — Daph — we've got to go. Right now. Greyback —"
But it was too late.
A sound — not human — echoed down the corridor behind them. A low, snarling rumble. Feral. Hunting.
Daphne's eyes flicked past Hermione's shoulder and widened.
"Run," she said, breath catching. "Run!"
Hermione didn't even get a chance to argue. Daphne shoved her forward, and Greyback lunged — toward where Hermione had been standing — and his claws closed around Daphne's arm instead.
Hermione spun, wand raised, ready to hex him — but Daphne screamed.
"Go! Draco! Astronomy Tower! Go!"