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That Which Does Not Kill Us
Chapter 1
By Anne B. Walsh
Author Notes:
Standard disclaimer. What's JKR's isn't mine. What's mine is.
Once upon a time, there was a being without a name. We may call him Luq, for reasons which would take too long to explain.
Luq loved to travel from world to world, from universe to universe, and change their fates. Not openly, not bluntly, but carefully, delicately. And what he loved best to do was to ruin so-called "happy endings".
And so when he came across a world known to some as the Dangerverse, he was overjoyed. Such a rich tapestry to ruin!
He bided his time. He waited and watched. And finally, he struck.
But only a very few people, after the fact, knew that anything had happened at all…
Hermione Granger sighed, staring at the newly rebuilt façade of Florian Fortescue's without really seeing it. Ron would be back in a moment with their ice creams, but not all the blueberry-pistachio swirls in the world could erase the fact of the third person who ought to have been there.
At least he's alive. And he did what he needed to do. Voldemort will never hurt anyone, ever again. But that doesn't make me miss him any less.
Harry had duelled Voldemort there in the Great Hall until both of them had collapsed from exhaustion, at which unbelievably inopportune time the Ministry had got its act together and intervened. Voldemort was safely incarcerated somewhere, though no one was eager to make the location public, and Harry was being treated for severe magical exhaustion at St. Mungo's.
Or, if you believe Ginny, being kept out of the way so he can't tell anyone the Ministry is still under the control of the Death Eaters. Hermione sighed again. The corruption was bad enough when it was actually happening; do we really need to see it where it isn't? But she couldn't blame Ginny. Being separated from Harry all year, thinking it was finally going to be over and they could have a normal relationship, and suddenly having him yanked away again…
I might want to believe in conspiracies if something like that happened to me with Ron. She looked up and smiled as said red-haired exasperation arrived at last, two cones carefully balanced in his right hand. "Have you heard from Neville lately?" she asked.
"Got a letter yesterday." Ron handed her one of the cones. "Just a note, really. He's busy with that advanced program, and it sounds like his gran's started matchmaking for him."
"You don't think he and Luna…"
Ron shook his head. "They'd never have worked," he said with the maddening certainty of a boyfriend of three-months' standing. "Even if she hadn't…"
Hermione nodded, looking away quickly to get control of herself. One hand went to her cheek, rubbing at the small scar she must have acquired that night. She'd known people died in war. She'd even known it could happen to people she cared a lot about. But somehow she'd still been surprised to see Luna's name on a list of casualties from the Battle of Hogwarts.
Funny. You'd think I'd be more used to it. After Sirius, and Professor Dumbledore… and then Professor Lupin and Tonks…
Ron laid a hand on her arm. "You've still got me," he said.
"Yes." Hermione looked up at him and smiled. "I do."
"Ah, young love," said a familiar—and thoroughly unwelcome—voice. "How sweet. This seat taken?"
Hermione took a breath to answer, but it was too late. Draco Malfoy was already sitting across the table from them both.
"Since when are we on speaking terms?" Ron demanded.
"You're the one speaking at the moment. Or you were." Malfoy stopped, wrinkling his brow. "I think I'm confused."
"Yes, I think you are." Ron shoved his chair back. "Come on, Hermione. We've got nothing to say to him."
Hermione stood up slowly, her eyes still lingering on Malfoy's face. "When did you get that?" she asked.
"Don't play stupid." Hermione pointed. "That."
"Oh, you mean this." Malfoy ran a finger down the short vertical scar on his left cheek. "I suppose I got it the same time as you got yours." Gray eyes caught and held her hazel ones. "When was that?"
"At the Battle of Hogwarts. I think." Hermione heard her voice quaver and summoned fury to cover it. Peevishness was all that answered, but it would do. "If that's any of your business, which it isn't."
"You're quite right. It's not." Malfoy leaned his elbows on the table. "I wanted to say thank you for what you did that night, though. I do have some manners." He glanced at Ron. "Contrary to popular opinion."
"Wonderful." Ron pulled his chair over again, spun it around, and sat on it with his arms across the back. "Apparently you missed the lesson on 'not gate-crashing private parties'."
"Oh, I beg your pardon. I must have missed the sign you put up to tell the world you didn't want to be approached while eating ice creams in public in broad daylight."
"Stop it!" Hermione snapped. Ron flushed and closed his mouth over whatever he'd been about to say. Malfoy leaned back in his chair slowly, looking from one of them to the other. Hermione caught his glance and held it. You're not the only one who can play this game…
"You wanted to say thank you," she said to him. "Now you've said it. You're welcome. Was there anything else?"
Malfoy shrugged. "Not really. Suppose I'll be going, then." He got to his feet in one fluid motion and held out his hand to Ron. "Be seeing you."
Ron gave the hand the same look he'd given the remains of the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. "Not if I can help it," he said, crossing his arms.
Malfoy sighed and turned to Hermione. "Pax?" he inquired, extending his hand towards her. "I don't expect friendship, but I'd rather not fight."
Hermione looked from the hand to Malfoy and back again. He's up to something. Back at Hogwarts, he'd never even touch me. Too afraid of Mudblood slime…
But as she opened her mouth to say that, she raised her eyes to his face again and saw his expression.
He wants this. To not be my enemy anymore. He's not making fun or trying anything horrible. He just wants to make peace.
I'm not about to let a Slytherin outdo me there. Least of all Malfoy.
"Pax," she agreed, and met his hand with her own. "Oh!"
"Sorry." Malfoy let go rapidly. "I must have gathered a charge coming over here. Didn't mean to shock you."
"Your existence shocks me," Ron said in a bored tone. "Why don't you go play with a hippogriff?"
"Thanks for the recommendation, Weasley, I think I will." Malfoy inclined his head to her. "Granger. Good to see you again."
Hermione sank slowly back into her chair, rubbing her hand. Ron rummaged in his pocket and brought out his wand. "Give me your hand. Let me see if he left anything on you."
"He didn't," Hermione said, letting her eyes follow the bright hair through the crowd in Diagon Alley. "He wants to be friends again, Ron."
"Again? Since when was he ever our friend?" Ron withdrew his wand's tip from her hand. "You're right, though. No magic that I can see. We might want to get someone else to take a look. Maybe Bill, if he can be spared from fixing up the nursery at Shell Cottage…"
The pale-blond young man rounded the corner into the narrow offshoot of Diagon Alley and leaned against the wall, turning his face and bringing up his arm to cover it. He'd been warned. It shouldn't be this painful.
Pain doesn't pay much attention to shoulds and shouldn'ts. And having one of your oldest friends and your twin look at you like dung on their shoes… that hurts. Warned or not.
He pressed finger and thumb against the inside corners of his eyes, then lifted his head and squared his shoulders. I've done all I can there. Planted my seed. It'll grow in time.
I only hope I have the time to give it.
He started for the Leaky Cauldron and the room he'd rented there. His list of objectives and possible entry vectors was there. Given Ron and Hermione's reactions to him, the latter had just got a lot shorter.
But I think that overbearing misget Luq may have made a big mistake.
Draco Black grinned to himself. Next stop, Longbottom House.
Neville Longbottom knelt beside a row of plants in his greenhouse, his hands buried to the wrists in the soil of a particularly large flowerpot. He almost had it… just another moment… there!
A swift yank, and his right hand emerged clutching a squirming bit of root. He changed his grip, squeezed a small portion of it between thumb and forefinger, and dropped it swiftly into the metal bowl beside him, then looked down at it and cursed mentally. He'd known even before he got his hands into the dirt, but having his knowledge confirmed didn't make his mood any better.
"Rootworms," he said aloud. "I'll have to worm this whole row now…"
Why don't I quit lying to myself? Rootworms are bad, but that's not what I'm really worried about.
No, the thing—or rather, the person—with that distinction was still upstairs. In his bedroom, no less, which would have Gran frothing at the mouth if she ever found out about it. And to his consternation, more and more of the things that person had told and shown him were looking true.
But what can I do, even if they are? No one's going to listen to me.
Though the person upstairs insisted that at least a few people would, and that others could be convinced. Neville agreed with the first part, if with some reservations, but he'd never been good at convincing people. That had always been what Harry did best…
Before he could get any farther into introspection, the doorbell rang. Brushing dirt off his hands, Neville headed for the front of the house.
Left to his own devices, Neville would have picked the person on the doorstep as one of the least likely to ever be there. If he listened to the person in his bedroom, though, the odds of its happening (which it is) went up significantly.
"Morning, Longbottom," said Draco Malfoy non-committally, both hands carefully placed in plain view down the sides of his robes.
"Malfoy." I can be polite if he can. "Did you need something?"
"I was actually hoping to come in and talk. Make amends for… you know." Malfoy waved a hand vaguely. "All that. I'm working on a fresh start."
"Are you." Neville kept the door mostly between them, watching the other carefully. If he were any tenser, I'd expect him to start changing colors.
"Yes. And one other thing." Malfoy looked directly at Neville. "If there's someone here who… shouldn't be, someone who seems out of place… maybe I can help. If you'll let me. If I can see her."
All right, that does it. "Wait there." Neville shut the door and drew his wand. If he could remember how to do this… Hermione'd showed him, but sometimes he didn't remember spells properly…
Draco fidgeted on the doorstep, starting to wish he hadn't come. If he was wrong… if Neville was using this time to call the authorities, to report a nutter trying to get into his house…
The door creaked open again. Draco spun to face it.
A small, dark face, framed in the gap between door and frame, stared out at him with frightened eyes, almost the same silvery-gray as his own.
Neither of them would ever be able to say who moved first, and in the end it didn't matter. What mattered was a brother and sister, reunited against the world, clinging to one another and finding strength in the clasp of arms.
We could never have done this alone. But now… now we're not alone.
The time of reckoning is about to begin.
Author Notes:
Yes, another one, but it's complete, just needs posting. Eight chapters in all. Enjoy!