The crackle of the fireplace was the only sound in the cavernous sitting room of Parkinson Manor. Pansy had been trying to unwind, feet curled beneath her, a glass of wine balanced delicately in her hand.
That peace shattered in a burst of green flames.
She stiffened, irritation scraping up her spine. No one flooed into her sitting room without warning. No one except Draco. And when his face sharpened into view through the fire, whatever irritation she felt twisted into something far colder. Something she kept buried so deep she rarely had to feel it.
His expression was carved from stone, the harsh glow of the hearth turning his already pale features ghostlike. No warmth. No teasing. Not even the tired fondness he pretended not to feel when she annoyed him on purpose. Tonight he was all command. All precision. All business.
"Parkinson," he said, voice clipped and cool. "Tonight you are going to tell Neville the truth."
The words struck brutally. It felt like a hand slamming flat against her chest. Her spine straightened, breath catching as her fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass until she feared it would snap between her hands.
"What?" The word came out sharp, thin, disbelieving. "Draco, what the fuck are you talking about?"
He did not blink. He did not soften. His tone remained unmovable. "Karkaroff is in Romania. I need him there to help us track him."
Her breath stuttered. The room felt too hot, too small, even in its vastness.
"So you are going to blow up my life for this?" she demanded, voice rising. "Why would you do this to me now? Why are you forcing this? You are ruining everything!"
A flicker of something crossed his face. Not kindness. Not cruelty. Something clipped and dismissive. Something dangerous.
"Because that is what I do," he said dryly. "I have decided this is what happens."
The world narrowed to a point of white noise. She swallowed hard, anger and fear roiling beneath her ribs.
"You are a psychopath!" she snapped, the words tearing out of her throat. "You are going to destroy everything I have with him. Everything I built. For what? Your own twisted need for control?"
Any trace of humor vanished from Draco's face. His eyes sharpened, the steel in them impossible to ignore.
"I am your boss," he said quietly. "You answer to me. And I am telling you that this is happening. This is not about your relationship. This is about Karkaroff. We have hunted him for too long, and I will not let personal complications interfere."
Her hands trembled. She did not know if it was from rage or fear or both. She barely noticed the glass slip from her fingers, landing on the carpet with a muted thud.
"I hope you die," she whispered, voice raw and shaking. "Do you hear me? I hope you die chasing this obsession of yours."
Draco did not flinch. He simply lifted one brow, almost bored.
"When you are finished with your tantrum," he said, "I suggest you collect yourself. You have until tomorrow evening."
The green flames roared brighter. Then his face vanished, leaving the room dark again. Too dark.
For a long moment she did not move. Her whole body shook as if bracing for impact that never came. The silence now felt heavy, almost cruel, wrapping around her with cold fingers.
This was not about Draco's orders. This was about inevitability. The truth had lived beneath her skin for years, waiting to surface, and now she could not outrun it.
She closed her eyes, breath trembling in her chest.
She had always known this moment would come. Knowing did not make it hurt any less.
She moved through the room like something trapped, something hunted. Each step carved another groove into the floor, as if she could wear a path deep enough to swallow her whole. The truth pulsed at her back like a threat. Every breath she took tasted like dread.
How was she supposed to do this. How the fuck was she supposed to rip open the life she had built with him and show him the rot beneath it. The love they had, the home they created, the quiet mornings, the soft touches, the trust he gave so freely. It had all felt real. It had all been real. That was the part that tore at her.
Draco had tossed the match and walked away, leaving her to watch everything burn.
Her hands shook as she pressed them against her temples, trying to stifle the rising panic clawing its way up her throat. It did nothing. Her thoughts were a cyclone, merciless and loud.
She had always kept her work with Draco separate, tucked away in the darkest corner of her life, where love was never supposed to reach. She had walled it off for a reason. She had wanted one thing, just one thing, that was hers and clean and safe.
Neville had been that thing.
Neville, with his earnest gaze. Neville, with his steady touch and warm hands and softer heart. Neville, who never tried to fix her but held her while she rebuilt herself. Neville, who had shown her what it felt like to be loved without conditions.
She pressed a hand to her mouth as something sharp twisted inside her ribs. She had spent so long convincing herself she could keep these worlds separate. Draco had just reminded her that walls always crack.
She sat heavily on the bed, elbows on her knees, head in her hands, her breath caught high in her chest. The thought of Neville learning the truth splintered her. Not because she feared his judgment. She feared his disappointment. The quiet kind. The kind that stripped a person down to bone.
He would look at her and see someone he did not know. Someone he could not stay with. He would leave out of heartbreak. And that was the ending she would never recover from.
Her ring glinted faintly under the low light. For a moment she stared at it, hollow. She had promised him forever, but she had never promised honesty. She had always known this lie would come back for her.
Her thoughts kept looping, worse each time. Would he raise his voice. Would he walk away in silence. Would he draw back from her touch like it burned him. The possibilities were endless and every one of them made her knees weaken.
She stood again because she could not sit with this. Her legs carried her to the door even as every cell in her body screamed to stop.
Get it together, Parkinson.
She forced her shoulders back. The fear was still a living thing in her throat, but she refused to let it show on her face. She wiped her cheek briskly where a lone tear had carved a path down her skin. Her fingers trembled as she caught it with her thumb.
Then she reached for the doorknob.
Neville would be waiting somewhere in this house. He always waited for her. That thought nearly undid her.
She closed her eyes for one heartbeat. She prayed, not to any god she believed in, but to fate, to time, to whatever cruel architect had designed her life. She begged silently for Neville to still love her after tonight.
~~~~~~
In the evening, the Malfoy penthouse dining room was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the kind that transformed the space into a sanctuary of warmth and comfort.
The fading light of a long summer day spilled through the tall windows, turning the marble surface of the table into a gleaming canvas, while the chandelier above twinkled like a constellation suspended in time. It was a scene of delicate intimacy, a temporary reprieve from the chaos that had defined their lives for so long.
The air hummed with an almost surreal peace, a moment of calm in a world that had been anything but.
Hermione sat propped up with pillows on a plush armchair at the head of the table, her posture relaxed but her eyes keenly attuned to the small miracle unfolding before her.
Lysander, nestled safely in a highchair bearing the regal crest of a snarling lion, was in the throes of a newfound passion—artistic exploration, if you could call it that. His tiny fist, chubby with innocence, grasped a spoonful of pureed pumpkin with the determination of a seasoned artist.
But rather than delicately placing it on his plate, he flung it—an arc of bright orange puree splattering onto the floor in a generous cascade, as though the earth itself were his canvas.
Lady, who had long since taken up residence at their feet, didn't hesitate for a second. With an almost exaggerated snort of delight, she began lapping up the unexpected offering, savoring each drop of the creamy pumpkin as if it were the most delicious treat she had ever encountered.
The sight was so absurdly comical that laughter erupted around the table, ringing through the room like a symphony of joy that pushed aside the lingering anxieties of the past year. The sound was like a balm, soothing Hermione's heart and reminding her that, despite the trials they had endured, they were, for once, allowed to simply be—together.
Ginny, seated beside Hermione, reached out with a careful hand to tuck a stray strand of hair back into place, the gesture intimate and comforting.
Her eyes met Hermione's, a silent conversation passing between them—one that carried years of shared history, of battles fought and won together. It was a look of quiet relief, of solidarity, and most of all, a look that conveyed how deeply they both appreciated the peace that had finally begun to settle over them, like the gentle evening light.
The war, the loss, the heartbreak, they had all been through so much, and now, here they were, rebuilding, healing, and just for this fleeting moment—simply living.
Across from them, Draco and Pansy fake bickered, their voices punctuated by bursts of laughter that filled the space with warmth. Pansy, with all her usual flair, made a dramatic show of brandishing a napkin in one hand, declaring with mock seriousness that Lysander was in dire need of immediate cleanup.
Her eyes twinkled with mirth, and the playful banter only seemed to cement the fact that they had all, in some sense, become a family—not by blood, but by choice and circumstance.
Luna sat beside them, her gaze calm and unhurried as she traced delicate patterns in the margins of an old book, her soft smile speaking of contentment.
Even Theo, usually the embodiment of stoic calm, allowed the corners of his eyes to crinkle with amusement as he caught the interplay between the others. It was a rare sight—Theo, with his tendency to wear an impenetrable mask, genuinely relaxing in the presence of these people who had become his chosen family.
Draco, who had been standing at the head of the table for most of the evening, suddenly raised his glass.
His face was pale, the usual Malfoy composure stripped away, revealing a weariness that seemed to emanate from his very being. The crystal goblet in his hand gleamed faintly in the candlelight, the liquid inside catching the light in a way that almost made it look otherworldly. Yet, the movement was slow, deliberate, as if each motion cost him more than he cared to admit.
His gaze swept over the group, lingering on each of them in turn, but it was Hermione he focused on longest. She felt the weight of that gaze, a mixture of something unreadable, perhaps regret, perhaps desperation and something more raw, more human, than she had ever seen in him before.
"A toast," his voice broke the silence, low and measured. "To honesty," he continued, his words ringing with a weight that belied their simplicity. "To the laying bare of secrets, to the truth of what we've all been avoiding."
His eyes flicked briefly toward Pansy, then Theo, then Blaise—each of them unmistakably tense under his gaze. "May the truths we speak tonight bind us closer, or… or reveal the cracks that have always threatened to split us wide open."
Her heart clenched at the unspoken challenge in his words, and she tightened her grip on her own goblet, the cool crystal a welcome counterpoint to the heat gathering in her chest.
She knew what this was—a reckoning. They had all known it was coming. The quiet had been a lull, a brief respite before the storm. The truth, no matter how long they had pushed it down, had always been there, festering beneath the surface.
Hermione met his gaze across the table, his eyes dark and stormy, filled with a complexity she couldn't fully parse.
There was fear in them, unmistakable and raw, and something else—something more desperate. It was the vulnerability he rarely allowed to show, the kind that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
The room seemed to hold its breath as the weight of his words settled into the silence.
Laughter and casual conversation had dissolved, leaving nothing but the hum of tension that vibrated in the air.
Pansy, who had been the life of the gathering just moments ago, fell silent. Her fingers toyed nervously with her napkin, twisting it in a tight knot, her face unreadable.
Theo drummed his fingers against the table, an unconscious sign of his agitation. Even Blaise sat with her hand firmly gripping Ginny's, his knuckles pale and tight as if bracing for something inevitable.
"To honesty," Blaise echoed softly, his voice barely above a whisper. It lacked his usual strength, the words trembling in the air between them, thick with the weight of all they had yet to confront.
His eyes flicked briefly to Hermione, a silent exchange passing between them—a shared understanding of the gravity of what was unfolding.
Theo, always composed and unreadable, raised his glass with a silent nod. His eyes, however, betrayed a flicker of unease, and his jaw clenched as if steeling himself for the revelations to come. He had always been a man of secrets, but tonight, he knew the truths would not remain buried for much longer.
The sound of crystal clinking together reverberated through the room, sharp and discordant against the stillness. It was a sound of finality, as if the veil between them and the past had been lifted, and there was no turning back.
He lowered his glass slowly, his eyes scanning the room, meeting each of theirs in turn. "Tonight," he said quietly, almost as a promise, "we lay it all bare. No more lies. No more hiding. Whatever comes next, we face it together."
But as the words settled into the heavy silence that followed, her mind raced with questions, with fears of what was to come. Could they truly face what had been buried for so long? Or would the weight of their secrets tear them apart, unraveling the fragile bonds they had built in the aftermath of all they had survived?
The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the table, their movements restless and erratic, mirroring the unease that had settled over them all. There would be no more pretending, no more safe spaces. The truth, however painful, would come crashing down upon them, and there was no escaping it now.
The foundations they had tried to rebuild their lives upon—love, trust, friendship—were about to be tested, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if they were strong enough to withstand the storm.
The Slytherins led their partners to a private guest room, the door clicking shut behind them, sealing them off from the world. A heavy silence filled the air, thick with unspoken truths. The weight of the moment pressed on their shoulders, an inevitable confrontation brewing.
~~~~~~
She sashayed toward the staircase with the kind of casual grace that made the fading sunlight catch in her hair like spilled ink. She tossed one final reprimanding glance over her shoulder, though the irritation she had worn earlier had already loosened into something playful.
Halfway up the stairs she paused. Her posture shifted, the theatrics dropping for just a breath. A softer smile touched her lips, the kind she only ever let Neville see. She plucked a stray pug hair from her dress with a muttered curse that held far more fondness than annoyance. The gesture lingered in the air like a quiet acknowledgment of the life they had built.
Lady trotted between their legs with a proud little wiggle of her tail, pleased with herself for reasons unknown. Neville tried not to step on her as he climbed after Pansy, and the pug snorted with every brush of his shoe.
Pansy folded her arms across her chest, waiting at the top like a queen on her landing, eyes bright with mischief. "Nevie, my love," she cooed, her voice taking on a warm, teasing lilt, "let us drop the theatre for a moment. We need to talk."
That tone. It always meant trouble or truth, and he was never sure which one until she dropped the veil.
Neville scratched behind Lady's ears while he looked up at her. The pug melted into a little puddle of contentment. Neville's smile rose slowly. "About what, precisely?"
She tapped her heel with exaggerated impatience, her hair falling in glossy waves past her shoulders.
"About the vast territory that is my daily existence," she announced, sweeping a hand through the air like she was unveiling a priceless exhibit. "While you spend your days elbow-deep in soil and serenading seedlings, and while you act as caretaker to our furry overlord," she nodded at Lady, who puffed up proudly, "I am not, contrary to popular belief, lounging on silk cushions gossiping with bored aristocrats."
Neville tilted his head, intrigued. "No?"
She stepped closer, her voice dropping into something low and intimate. "Poison. That is what I am brewing."
His smile faltered. Curiosity sharpened into something more focused. "I see."
Pansy held his gaze, her bravado flickering at the edges. The hallway suddenly felt too quiet. Too exposed. She had rehearsed this a dozen times in her head. None of those rehearsals had prepared her for the heat in her chest now.
"Neville," she said softly, the playfulness gone entirely, "you were always the good one. You chose the right side of the war without hesitation. You have always carried your family name with honor." She swallowed, her throat tightening. "I never had that luxury. The Parkinson name came with shadows I never chose. Loyalties I never wanted."
A breath. Then another.
"When the war ended, those shadows did not vanish. They shifted. They twisted. People still came to me. Women. Desperate women. Trapped women. Women who had no one to turn to."
Neville's brow creased, but he remained silent.
"I never stopped making potions," she said, her voice steadying, "but they stopped being harmless." Her eyes glinted with something dark and vulnerable. "I brew poison. Real poison. Subtle and painless. The one that saves lives by ending something far worse."
Lady stopped circling and sat at Pansy's feet, ears perked as though she understood the weight of the confession.
Pansy's voice softened. "My mother taught me. Her mother taught her. I never wanted you touched by it. I never wanted the darkness of my past to stain the life we built."
She crossed her arms, clutching her elbows, as if bracing herself. "This is who I am. This is what I do. I help women survive in ways the Ministry refuses to see. I thought you would hate me for it. I thought you would walk away."
Neville finally stepped closer.
He studied her face with the calm intensity that always unnerved her. Then he spoke quietly.
"You think I don't know?"
She froze. "What?"
"You think I never noticed the herbs you carry home. The ones that grow in places darker than any forest. You think I never wondered why some nights you come home smelling like copper and stormwater." His eyes softened. "You think I never realised that you disappeared not because you were bored or restless, but because someone needed you."
She felt her breath catch.
"There is nothing about you that frightens me," he said. "Nothing that sends me running. If anything, I admire you. You save people in ways I never could."
Her lip trembled, her arms tightening around herself. "I was afraid you might leave."
Neville shook his head slowly. "Pansy, if I had ever wanted a life without your fire and your flaws, I would have asked the Ministry to separate us." His hand lifted, brushing a curl behind her ear. "I stayed because you are the woman I love. All of you. Even the parts that scare you."
A soft, broken sound escaped her. Not a sob. Something smaller. More fragile.
She stepped into him all at once, pushing her forehead into his chest, clutching fistfuls of his shirt as though he were the only solid thing left in her world. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her with the quiet certainty she trusted more than anything.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I never wanted to lie. I just… I didn't know how to show you this part of me. The part that survived by becoming something sharp."
He tipped her chin up gently.
"Sharp things are not a problem for gardeners," Neville murmured with a soft smile. "We handle thorns every day."
She let out a wet, shaking laugh that folded into a sob. "I love you," she breathed. "More than I can hold sometimes."
He kissed her forehead, steady and sure. "I love you too."
Lady padded between them, snorting in indignation until Neville bent to scoop her up, tucking the pug against them both. Pansy stroked Lady's head with a trembling hand, her heart finally loosening after years of carrying a secret alone.
For the first time in her life, her darkness had not driven someone away.
Neville had stepped into it.
And stayed.
~~~~~~
A sudden crash echoed from upstairs, followed by frantic shouts. The room erupted into chaos as couples surged down the stairs, their faces pale with confusion and alarm.
Luna and Theo, who had been the epitome of quiet domestic bliss just moments ago, appeared at the landing, their hands no longer entwined but hanging loosely at their sides. Their expressions mirrored the shock and disbelief etched onto their faces. Only seconds earlier, they had been locked in a tearful embrace, mourning together, but now, an icy tension filled the air, shattering the fragile peace.
In the center of the room stood Hermione and Draco, statuesque in their stillness, their eyes fixed on the figure sprawled across the threadbare rug.
Ginny, her fiery red hair a stark contrast against the pale, worn floor, lay motionless, her chest heaving with breathless sobs. Her tear-streaked face was a mask of betrayal and disbelief, her gaze locked onto Hermione as if searching for some explanation, some reassurance that the world hadn't just shifted beneath her feet.
Hades and Persephone.
A crimson light glowed from Hermione's wand, lingering in the air like the ghost of a battle just fought. Its sinister glow cast sharp shadows across the room, illuminating the fracture that had split their once unified front. The weight of it all- Ginny's brokenness, Hermione's stoic guilt, and the palpable tension- hung in the air like thick smoke.
It was Draco who broke the silence, his voice slicing through the room like a cold blade.
"Well," he drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "that was certainly a productive way to handle things." His steely gaze flickered between Ginny, her tear-stained face contorted in anguish, and the wide-eyed onlookers. "Perhaps the rest of us have managed to keep our emotions in check."
His grip tightened around Hermione's hand, his knuckles white with barely contained rage. His voice, when it came again, was low and dangerous, every word sharpened by fury. "Tonight," he began, each syllable deliberate, "we don't seek justice." His eyes burned with cold intensity. "We seek vengeance."
The room collectively held its breath as Draco's chilling declaration took root. His gaze was no longer just hard—it was unyielding, a promise of what was to come.
"Jelena Karkaroff," he spat the name with venom, "the woman who dared to harm the one I love." There was a possessive glint in his eye now, his love for Hermione driving him to the edge of reason.
"An eye for an eye," he continued, his voice now as sharp as the edge of a blade. "That's the game we play now." The possessiveness in his grip on Hermione was a silent vow—he would burn the world to the ground before letting another harm her again.
"Igor is hiding in Romania," Draco sneered, his jaw tightening. "Cowering in the shadows like the coward he is." His voice dripped with disdain. "We'll smoke him out. And then we'll bring him and his sister to their knees."
His gaze swept across the room, his eyes locking with each of them, daring anyone to defy him. "Form groups," he commanded, his voice brokering no argument. "Find Igor Karkaroff. This is not a request. We do not fail the ones we love."
The room seemed to buzz with dark energy, an unspoken agreement rippling through the group. Draco's words ignited something primal, something fierce within each of them. There was no turning back.
Luna had now taken on an eerie focus. Her mind raced with ways to use magical creatures to track down Karkaroff, her usual light-hearted demeanor now shadowed by a chilling edge.
Pansy, with calm precision, began gathering her poisons and vials, her sharp eyes assessing each bottle with deadly intent. She was a master of her craft, and she would see to it that Jelena's downfall was as painful as it was inevitable.
Neville, his heart hammering with a mixture of fury and resolve, selected a gleaming sword from his collection. The shy boy he once was had long since disappeared, replaced by a man willing to do whatever it took—even to the point of using dark magic if it came to that. His loyalty to everyone burned in his chest, and he would stop at nothing to protect them.
Meanwhile, Theo and Blaise moved through their armory with practiced ease, loading their wands and gathering every magical artifact and gun in the house. The air around them crackled with tension, their faces set with grim determination.
In the midst of the flurry, Draco and Hermione stood together, their fingers interlaced in a silent vow of solidarity. Their tender glances, brief as they were, spoke volumes. Even amid the chaos of preparation and war, their love was a constant—a light in the darkness, even as vengeance consumed them both.
As the group readied themselves for the bloodbath ahead, the mood shifted from shock to steely resolve. Each person knew their role, their part to play in what was about to unfold. The lines had been drawn, and there would be no mercy.
He stood at the ready, his sword gleaming in the dim light, his eyes fierce with the determination of a man who had long outgrown the boy he once was. This wasn't just about vengeance for Hermione or for Ginny; it was about protecting everything and everyone he loved. He knew the risks. He knew what it might cost him.
But tonight, they will hunt. Tonight, they would destroy anyone who dared to threaten their family.
And no one, least of all Igor Karkaroff, would escape what was coming for them.
~~~~~~
Pansy stayed with Luna and Hermione to escalate the situation with Ginny.
After Draco and the others took the portkey to Romania, the girls worked together to help Ginny regain consciousness.
Hermione, her expression resolute despite the turmoil around her, knelt by Ginny's side. "Ginny, wake up," she urged, her voice gentle yet firm.
Luna, her usual ethereal calm replaced by a rare intensity, waved her wand over Ginny, murmuring a soft incantation. "She'll come around soon," she said, her voice steady.
Pansy, her demeanor uncharacteristically serious, stood nearby with her arms crossed. "When she does, we need to make sure she understands everything," she said. "We can't afford any more misunderstandings."
Ginny came to with a violent jerk, her breath ragged, her eyes darting wildly around the room as if waking inside a nightmare.
Hermione reached for her again, gentle and steady, but Ginny ripped her hand away as though the touch burned.
"Don't," she spat, her voice raw and shaking. "Do not touch me."
Hermione froze.
Ginny pushed herself upright, blinking hard, her chest heaving. Recognition settled in, followed almost instantly by rage. Real rage. The kind that comes from grief that has never been allowed to breathe.
"You think I am safe here?" Her voice rose fast, sharp enough to split stone. "You think any of us are safe because of you? Are you fucking serious?"
Hermione flinched. "Ginny, please. You fainted. Just breathe for a moment and we can talk."
"Talk?" Ginny laughed, and the sound was brittle and furious. "I have done nothing but talk for years. Nobody listens until something explodes. And look. It exploded. Again. Because of you."
"Ginny, that is not fair," Hermione whispered.
Ginny's head snapped toward her. "Nothing in my life has ever been fair since the day I met you. You walked into Hogwarts and everything I ever wanted, everything I ever hoped for, turned into a competition. Harry. Ron. The whole bloody world revolved around Hermione Granger and the rest of us were just stuck living in the fallout."
Hermione's breath hitched.
"You ruined everything," Ginny snarled. "First year. Second year. Every year. You think I forgot? Harry hanging onto every clever word out of your mouth while I sat there like an idiot with a fucking singing Valentine. I was a child, Hermione, but I remember exactly how invisible I felt."
Hermione tried to speak, but Ginny cut her off.
"And the Triwizard Tournament," Ginny pressed, her voice shaking with rage. "You and Ron stood by Harry like everything he touched turned to gold. He could have died. He nearly did. But the great Hermione Granger always knows best, right? He listens to you. He trusted you. And I just watched. Always watching. Always losing."
Hermione swallowed, her throat tight. "Ginny, none of that was ever intentional."
"Oh please," Ginny snapped. "You three did everything together. Every decision. Every secret. Do you have any idea what it felt like watching the three of you run off into danger while the rest of us were left behind? We never knew if you were coming back. I never knew if my family would survive another day, because the golden trio had yet another mystery to solve."
Luna stepped forward, but Ginny didn't even acknowledge her.
"And then the war happened," Ginny continued, tears spilling unchecked down her cheeks. "And I lost my brother. I lost Fred. I lost half my bloody soul while you were off being the cleverest witch alive. You want to talk about guilt? Try visiting a grave every year and wondering if you would have one less headstone to kiss if Hermione Granger had just stayed out of it."
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. Her knees went weak.
"Ginny," Luna said quietly, "that is not fair. Not to Fred. Not to anyone."
Ginny ignored her, her voice rising again. "And now look at me. Look at my life. Blaise is off fighting God knows what. My husband. Your husband. Theo. Draco. All of them. Gone. All because of you. Running after your mess like trained dogs chasing scraps."
Hermione shook her head. "Ginny, that is not true. They chose to help. They chose to protect each other."
"Oh give me a break," Ginny snapped. "I know exactly why they went. To protect Hermione Granger's golden cunt. Because everything in our lives somehow circles back to you. Everything. And I am sick of it."
Hermione's shoulders caved. Tears slipped soundlessly down her face.
"Ginny," Pansy said sharply, stepping in now, "you need to stop."
Ginny whipped toward her, eyes blazing. "Shut up, Pansy. You of all people do not get to play guardian angel. You are just as tangled up in this shit as she is."
"And I admit that," Pansy answered, her voice steady. "But you crossed a line."
Ginny laughed bitterly. "There are no lines left. Not after everything she has cost us."
Hermione whispered, barely audible, "I never meant for any of this."
Ginny stared at her, wild and broken. "Meaning does not fix anything. Meaning does not bring Fred back. Meaning does not stop this nightmare from swallowing my marriage. Meaning does not make me less terrified of what news that portkey is going to bring."
Hermione sobbed once, a small sound that cracked the air.
"I cannot look at you right now," Ginny said, her voice cracking on the last word. "I cannot breathe in the same room as you."
And before anyone could stop her, she turned on the spot and vanished with a loud crack.
Silence dropped over the room like a heavy curtain.
Luna wiped her face, her voice quiet and aching. "She is grieving. She is wrong, but she is grieving."
Pansy exhaled, long and hard. "That does not excuse the way she spoke to you."
Hermione stared at the empty space where Ginny had stood. Her body trembled. "Maybe she is right," she whispered. "Maybe I am the reason everything falls apart."
Luna knelt and took her hand. "No. They went because they love you. Because you are family. Because you are worth protecting."
Hermione cried openly now, shoulders shaking. "What if I make everything worse?"
Pansy placed a hand on her shoulder. "Then we fix it. All of us. Together. That is what family does."
Hermione nodded slowly, tears still streaming, but her breathing steadier.
"We hold the line until they come home," Luna whispered.
Hermione closed her eyes and leaned into them. "We hold the line."
And the three of them stayed there in the hollow quiet, bound by grief, love, and the hard truth that families are built in moments exactly like this.
~~~~~~
The forest grew darker as the man pressed deeper into its twisted heart. The cold, damp air clung to them, heavy with the scent of decay. Each step felt deliberate, the silence only broken by the crackle of dead leaves underfoot and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures. The trees loomed above them, their skeletal branches stretching out like talons, scratching at the inky sky.
"There," Blaise whispered, pointing towards a faint clearing ahead. In the center stood a cabin, its windows boarded and dark. A thin stream of smoke curled lazily from the crooked chimney, an eerie sign of life in the desolate wilderness.
Draco's pulse quickened, the cold certainty in his gut hardening. They had found Karkaroff. The man who had orchestrated the attack on Hermione. Now, it was time for vengeance.
Theo smirked, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. "About time, Longbottom," he teased, glancing at him, who adjusted the straps on his pack, ensuring his assortment of magical plants was within easy reach. The once timid boy, now transformed by years of study and battle, stood ready to face the darkness head-on.
A dilapidated white church stood oddly near the cabin, its purity marred by proximity to such evil. It was a symbol of how dark magic could corrupt even the most sacred places.
Draco's voice cut through the tension like steel. "We stick to the plan. We take Karkaroff by surprise—no room for theatrics. Theo and I disarm him. Blaise watches the perimeter. And Neville," his gaze met his, a hint of respect flashing in his usually cold eyes, "you handle whatever surprises he's hiding."
His resolve solidified. "Ready," he replied, his voice steady.
They crept toward the cabin, their movements shadows in the fading light. The wooden door creaked ominously, and the faint glow from a crack in the window was the only sign of life.
As they reached the porch, a low, guttural growl rumbled from within, sending chills down his spine. Whatever Karkaroff had in there wasn't human.
Instinctively, his hand found the vial of powdered dittany in his pouch. Just in case.
A heavy silence followed, thick and suffocating, as they gathered their courage. Then, with a swift motion, they burst through the door.
Chaos erupted. From the shadows lunged a monstrous boar, its tusks gleaming wickedly in the dim light.
Karkaroff scrambled back in fear, his wand clattering to the floor. Draco and Theo acted immediately, disarming him before he could react.
But his attention was locked on the beast. Adrenaline surged as the boar charged, but instead of panicking, he remembered Professor Sprout's lessons on calming aggressive creatures. His fingers flew through his pack, pulling out a vial of lavender essence. Without hesitation, he hurled it at the boar's feet.
The fragrance filled the air, momentarily stunning the creature. He seized the chance.
He wasn't a duelist, but he was a Gryffindor—courage burned in his veins. Spotting a nearby tangle of Devil's Snare, he ripped free a length of vine and flung it around the boar's legs. The beast roared, thrashing against the constricting tendrils before crashing to the floor with a final, earth-shaking thud.
Panting, he stood over the fallen creature, his sword still in hand. The room was silent, save for Karkaroff's shallow breaths. Theo and Blaise stared at him, their disbelief giving way to respect. Even Draco's cold gaze softened, a rare flicker of admiration shining through.
Neville Longbottom, the awkward boy once mocked for his forgetfulness, had just subdued a monstrous foe with nothing but wits and raw courage. In that moment, he wasn't just the Herbology prodigy—he was a warrior.
Draco's voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding. "Leave Karkaroff to us, Neville. Go clear your head." His tone held a weight that made his skin crawl. He knew what would happen next, the vengeance that would unfold.
For a moment, he hesitated. He looked between the subdued boar, the trembling Karkaroff, and his friends. But Draco's gaze was resolute, leaving no room for argument. With a nod, he stepped outside, the door slamming shut behind him with a grim finality.
The night air hit him like a slap, cool and sharp. The sounds of the forest seemed amplified in the quiet.
He leaned against the railing of the porch, his heart still racing from the battle.
He wasn't naive.
Inside that cabin, vengeance was being exacted. Karkaroff would pay for what he had done to Hermione. And part of Neville, the part that longed for justice for his parents and the countless lives lost, understood.
But another part of him recoiled. Vengeance, he knew, came at a cost.
He closed his eyes, and Hermione's face flashed before him. Her belief in him, her trust, grounded him. He wasn't a part of what would happen next, but he would make sure this mission succeeded for her. For his wife. For everyone who counted on him.
Steeling himself, he straightened, his grip firm around the hilt of his sword. He wasn't the shy boy of Hogwarts anymore. He was Neville Longbottom, a Gryffindor to the core. And whatever came next, he would face it with courage and strength.
~~~~~~
The air in the house shifted before anyone even heard the sound. Something cold rolled across the floorboards, something old, something feral. Luna did not stir. Lysander slept with the soft, humming breath of a child whose world had not yet cracked. Their peace was a small mercy.
The others were not so lucky.
Pansy froze first, her fingers tightening around the rim of her wineglass. Hermione's head snapped toward the hearth at the same moment the flare of green fire cut through the dim room.
Draco stepped out.
At first, there was only relief. He was alive. He had come back. He was whole.
Then the rest of him came into focus.
Blood streaked the front of his shirt, soaking deep into the fabric, dripping from his sleeves. His boots were stained in dark, muddy streaks. His hands glistened wet. And in one of those hands, held by a fist tangled in greasy hair, swung the severed head of Igor Karkaroff, its eyes frozen wide in a scream that had never finished.
For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
Hermione lurched forward, a strangled gasp tearing itself from her throat. Her mind could not reconcile the man she loved with the vision in front of her. Something inside her faltered. Something old and frightened clawed up her spine.
"Draco," she whispered, a sound barely strong enough to survive the distance between them. "What have you done?"
There was no rage in her voice, no judgement. Only raw fear. The kind you feel when you realize the person you trust most may have walked somewhere you cannot follow.
Pansy had gone pale. Her lips parted in a mute, horrified "oh," her earlier bravado evaporating like mist.
Neville, still standing by the doorway, instinctively stepped in front of her, placing his body between his wife and Draco without even realizing he had done it. Brave, steady Neville. His eyes never left the dripping head in Draco's grasp.
Draco did not seem to register any of them. His face was vacant, eerily calm, like he had stepped through the fire without bringing his soul back with him.
"Justice has been served," he said.
The words echoed across the room, flat and empty, as if something inside him had cracked.
Hermione pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. She had seen him angry. She had seen him vicious. But this was worse. This was the absence of everything human in him. This was the man he could have become if no one had ever loved him at all.
Pansy launched herself into Neville's arms then, almost stumbling from the force of it. "Nevie," she breathed, her voice trembling so violently it barely held shape. "Please tell me you are alright."
He wrapped his arms around her, grounding her, grounding himself. "I am here," he murmured into her hair. "I am here. You are safe."
Draco's eyes flicked toward them only briefly. "I should have brought you your trophies sooner," he said, voice hollow. "I should have returned earlier."
Whether he meant it as apology or explanation was impossible to tell.
Theo appeared then, silent as a shadow, and with a flick of his wand he lifted Luna and Lysander from the couch. Their soft sleeping forms rose gently, weightless in the air, moonlit and serene. He guided them down the hallway with careful hands, shutting the guest bedroom door behind them with quiet reverence.
Blaise stood slowly. His face had stiffened, something sharp settling behind his eyes. "Where is Ginny?" he asked. His voice shook only once, barely noticeable.
Pansy inhaled shakily. "She snapped," she admitted. "Full rage. Blamed Hermione for everything since first year. Then she Apparated out."
Blaise closed his eyes for a moment, jaw tight. Without another word, he Disapparated in a violent crack that rattled the glassware.
The silence that followed gnawed at the edges of the room. Only the fire offered its soft crackle, but even that sounded wrong, too warm for such a cold moment.
Hermione felt the world tilt as she looked at Draco again. He walked forward, slow and steady, the severed head swinging gently at his side like some grisly pendulum. He stopped near the table and placed it down with an awful, wet thud.
Karkaroff's dead eyes stared up at her.
Hermione swallowed hard, bile rising in her throat. "The head," she whispered. "Put it in the fire. Please. Draco… get rid of it."
He lifted it again, his expression unreadable. In the flickering candlelight, she thought she saw something like satisfaction glimmer in his eyes. Or maybe it was relief. Or madness. She could not tell.
"Thank you," she said, voice strained. "For taking care of things."
He smiled then. A small, crooked, haunted smile. "Anything for you, my love."
He walked to the fireplace and tossed the head into the flames. The fire roared, swallowing the grotesque trophy in a burst of heat, sparks leaping upward like startled birds.
Notes:
Pansy's quote is from Lauren Eden- Lioness Awakens