Stages

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated

A/N – Hello! This isn't much, and it's ended long before I'd planned it to (muses are bloody fickle things who only want what they want), but here it is anyway! Hope you enjoy!

"Why the hell has your cousin, who isn't part of the Order as far as I know, so shouldn't know how to get to us, brought Draco fucking Malfoy to Order headquarters?"

Chapter Twenty-three: Like His Partner

Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

The whispered argument is much too loud in the strained atmosphere of Headquarters' full entranceway. Nobody seems to know what to do, with differing opinions making the decision impossible to make. Remus watches the two figures standing and waiting patiently through the shroud of white lace in front of the window, his mouth closed and his mind constantly turning.

Andromeda Tonks is an Order member. Something he hadn't been aware of until minutes before when Sirius had corrected his assumption that she wasn't. The fact that he hadn't known sits like a stone in his gut, stirring up an uneasy resentment he hadn't quite managed to put to bed.

He really didn't like not being told the important information he needed to know. His brows pull down.

"The very fact that Andie alerted us to their arrival and that they're now waiting out there and not coming through the wards themselves proves that they aren't a threat," Sirius argues, his low voice just bordering on a hiss. "They need to come in. We need to find out why the hell they're here."

"You know just as I do that it could very well be a trap," Hermione snaps back. Her hands are on her hips, her eyes frustrated. It's a position she'd assumed many times over the years while arguing with the father of her child. "We can't let them in, Sirius. Not with Harry here. Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater."

"Which is something he did not want," a quiet voice says from behind them. All three adults turn to the two teenagers standing on the stairs, and Remus knows what's going to happen the moment he sees Harry's expression. He takes a moment to hope that Timothy is still tucked away safely upstairs before Harry speaks again. "He didn't have a choice in that. This seems like a choice to me."

He steps forward and heads for the door, opening it with a firm twist of his hand. Remus's arm is around Hermione's waist when she goes to protest, a frown appearing on her brow when he shakes his head. She releases a disapproving huff but consents, and they watch and then follow silently, Sirius wearing the tiniest of smirks, as the Chosen One steps over the threshold and heads towards their waiting guests.

Guests? Or infiltrators?

It's as if Harry doesn't even see Andromeda when he stops at the border of the wards. His eyes are on Malfoy's, his face set in calm lines. Draco looks back with a tilt of his chin, only the tightness of his jaw and the slight tremble in his hands betraying emotion besides pride and defiance.

His hair is a dirty mess that looks like it's been singed in places.

There's a long, deep welt under his right eye that's still weeping blood.

He lets out a rough sound of almost-pain when Harry reaches out and touches his arm with gentle fingers, and quickly jerks away, taking two hurried steps back.

"Lucius is dead."

The sudden words draw Remus's attention away from the two boys. Although she isn't showing any outward signs of trauma, Andromeda looks just as bad as Draco does. The wariness of years in war and horror is stamped across her face, her once jet black hair now a dull grey and thinning at the top. There's a tiredness in her eyes that doesn't look like it can be soothed, her appearance haggard in a way that reminds Remus of old muggle fairy tales his mother had told him as a child.

The old crone. The witch.

But was she there to help or hinder?

Was she the fairy godmother or the cackling, long-nosed villain stirring the boiling caldron?

"Dead?" Harry says, turning away from Draco, his eyes going wide behind his glasses. "How?"

"Slain by the Dark Lord for no reason at all."

Said by anyone else, the sentence would've come out trembling. But the Malfoy heir – Lord Malfoy now, at the tender age of seventeen, it seems – spoke the words as if speaking about the weather. Less than that, even. He spoke as if they were a secret he was bored with, dead syllables to go along with his dead father, that had little to no meaning to him.

His spine tall, his chin higher than before, Draco Malfoy threw off the ever-the-perfect-pureblood attitude as if his life depended on it.

No feelings.

Too many feelings.

Those words meant everything.

Remus relates much too painfully.

"He died with no honour. That isn't acceptable. He took my godfather's life with a stray curse, grovelled at his master's feet, and was killed as a thank you. He reduced my family's name to dirt and then died without being given the chance of raising it again. Now that falls to me."

His features bone white, the new Lord Malfoy takes a step forward, his hand delving into the pocket of what were once fine and high quality robes. Three wands are pointed at him in less than a second.

"I propose a trade. I give you what you need to end the Dark Lord's reign, and you make sure my mother and myself survive this war and are fully pardoned and set up when you win it."

He doesn't look at Harry once. His attention is on the adults as he pulls his hand from his pocket, two potion vials sitting innocently in his palm, the liquid within them runny and clear. Not saying anything else, Draco stands there and waits, eyes now more cautious than casual, a subtle tension shimmering through his demeanour.

Remus stares. It's the last thing he expects, an offer from someone who not long ago had had every intention of killing Albus Dumbledore. His gaze darts to Hermione, who looks as confused as he feels, her hand tight around the wand held aloft.

"This is legit, cousin. I suggest you take him up on it," Andromeda says into the silence. She's looking at Sirius, who can't seem to decide who to focus on. His wand is still raised, but Remus somehow senses it won't be up for much longer.

"Where is Narcissa?" Sirius asks slowly, his eyes finally settling on Draco – his cousin as well. Blood is supposed to be thicker than water, but as his fingers firm around the end of his wand, Remus figures that Sirius takes as little stock in that theory as he does. "You ask for a pardon for her but come alone? How are we supposed to protect her if she isn't here?"

"She will be here, very soon," Draco answers, voice going solid in much the same way Sirius's hand on his wand had. His back stretches out impossibly straighter, his pointy chin sharper and higher than Remus has ever seen it. He holds back a rather amused smile. Posh little twat, isn't he? "I will go and retrieve her as soon as I have secured us a safe place to stay."

"No you won't," Harry disagrees calmly, overtaking Sirius's sneer as he says "you left her there?" at the same time, his lip curling in disgust. Draco's head snaps in Harry's direction, and his own lip curls, blank eyes kindling. This time, Remus can't stop his smile.

The Black blood is strong in this one.

"Oh, no? Who's going to stop me, scar head? You?"

"If I have to," Harry says, voice still unusually even. His eyes are crystal, seeming to have taken on the quality of the lenses in his glasses, a hint of flint flitting around the corners. "You're not going anywhere that puts you in harm's way."

Lord Malfoy laughs. Remus's chest aches at what should be an expression of happiness, and he instinctively takes a step closer to Hermione.

What comes out of Draco's mouth can't be called a happy sound at all.

"I've been in harm's way for years, Potter. You think you have the power to change that now?"

"No. You can't change the past. But I will do everything within the power I do have to stop you doing anything stupid in this particular situation."

Malfoy blinks once, confusion and frustration evident in his eyes for the briefest of moments as he stares at Harry, a nerve just under his jawbone jumping. Then, as if he's a building that's been shored up tight against a coming storm, his face is still again, the emotions gone. A brow raises slowly, a very deliberate amusement tipping at the corner of his mouth. He turns away.

Another very deliberate act, this time of dismissal.

Harry looks like he's been struck in the face.

"I will bring her here, you will allow us to stay, and you will have these."

Remus's attention is once again drawn to the vials in Malfoy's hand. There's an expectant silence that follows the sentence, as if Malfoy's waiting for everyone to jump on the vials; snatch them up like they're a prize they've won at a muggle fair. He stands there, hand and fingers loose, eyes lazy, and Remus knows that if anyone goes to take what he's offering, he'll pull them away as quick as you can vanish something with a flick of your wand.

It's a tease.

These vials are important.

And that's a surety that sits in Remus's gut like a lead weight.

"Let us in, Sirius, please," Andromeda says quietly, hands still folded neatly across her middle. She's wears her humbleness like a robe across her shoulders; a plain, lower class accessory that doesn't seem to fit her quite right. Remus thinks that this isn't who she is at all. "You know that I would not have brought him here if I wasn't completely sure of where his loyalties lie. I would be handing the win over to the Dark Lord if I didn't. I trust him. You must too."

"You trust him? Him?" Sirius asks, scoffing in derision. His wand lifts higher, eyes kindling. "He's a Death Eater, Andie!"

"Yes. And I am a Death Eater who is giving you the only way possible of winning this war."

He doesn't sound like a teenager. Malfoy's a snake standing in front of them, casually flicking its tongue, the very embodiment of Slytherin House in that moment – yet under it there's more that he's desperately trying to hide. The boy that Draco Malfoy should've been has been through a meat grinder, his spirit aged much beyond his years. It's something that's impossible to keep hidden, no matter how much he may want to.

Remus really does hate how much he relates.

"You know, we could stand here and debate whether the git's trustworthy or not all day, or we could acknowledge the fact that these two haven't really given us a choice in the matter," a thoughtful voice pipes up out of the blue. Remus, along with everyone else, turns to see Ella standing just behind Sirius, her head tilted to the side as she regards their interlopers. Remus frowns.

He'd forgotten she was there.

He's not sure whether that's a skill on her part or a failure on his.

"I mean, they're here. She's brought him here, letting him in on where we are. We either take them in, or we kill 'em. Seems like they already made our choice for us."

"Smart girl," Andromeda says, something like amusement in her voice, an approving glint in her eye as she regards who Remus suddenly realises is a relation of hers. Ella blinks back at her, and the two Black witches stare at each other in careful silence for a moment before Andromeda turns to Sirius. "So what's it going to be, cousin? More death in our family? Or are you going to trust me like you used to when we were children?"

"Children are innocent," Sirius says, and a smirk cracks at the corner of Andromeda's mouth. The robe across her back begins to shred itself, bit by bit.

"Really, Sirius? From you? Make a decision. All this standing around is bad for my ankles."

Sirius scowls and doesn't answer. Ella's statement echoes again and again through the silent space between the two groups, but it's Harry who makes the decision for them all. He's taking Malfoy's arm and leading him through the wards before anyone can react, the shocked calls of "Harry!" following behind the two boys like stragglers, firmly ignored as if meaningless. Ella's quiet smirk is full of Black amusement, her eyes rolling at the expressions on the adults' faces.

"Are you just going to stand around like dunderheads? Come on then," she says before turning to follow, a jaunty skip in her step. Andromeda lets out a huff of laughter.

"I like that girl," she says, then walks over to hook her arm through a thoroughly stunned Sirius's. "Lead on, cousin. The Chosen One has spoken."

Indeed he has, Remus thinks, quickly hurrying after the young ones. He's not sure what he thinks about the situation.

Since when had Harry grown up?

~0~

The robe now in tiny pieces at her pointy-booted feet, Andromeda proves herself to be very much like her daughter. After having Sirius reluctantly escort her inside, she watches with barely concealed amusement as her cousin, Remus and Hermione scramble about, trying to figure out what to do next. Having had the decision taken out of their hands, all three of them are on the back foot, their unexpected guests managing to throw them for a loop. What the hell should they do now? In a clear case of role reversal, not one of them has anything to say as Harry takes Malfoy into the kitchen and sits him at the head of the table – as if he's a fragile piece of glass and a patriarch, all at the same time. Remus supposes that both parts are true enough.

It surprises him that Harry sees that.

The question about when Harry had turned from boy to man runs through his head again as Andromeda takes a seat to Malfoy's right, Ella happily plopping herself down next to her. Harry hovers for a moment behind Malfoy's chair, and then takes firm steps to the seat on his left, the scraping of the chair legs on the floor loud in the heavy stillness of the room. Andromeda's amusement puts everyone on edge as much as their presence does, and it's not until Harry moves, holding out his hand to Malfoy in quiet beckoning, that the other three take a seat as well. They watch as Malfoy hesitates, his eyes careful on Harry's face.

"You know what you're here for, yeah? So do it, then."

It's spoken quietly, said with a calmness that veils a great depth of feeling, and for the briefest of moments Malfoy's face seems to cave in on itself. The vulnerability dominating his punctured expression is painful. Remus sucks in a breath, and then it's gone, lost behind wall upon wall – shored up once more against that ever returning storm. The two vials still clutched in his hand are handed over, the movement of his arm on the edge of harsh, like the bones in his face under too pale skin. Harry takes the vials and sets them on the table.

"What are they?" Hermione asks quietly, eyes intent on the vials, her fingers twitching by her sides. Remus can feel how much she wants to know what's in the two glass jars, just as he does. However, too many years of war have taught them to be overly cautious – trust is a thing to be earned rather than freely given, no matter if your age should equal your innocence – so she doesn't take what Draco Malfoy has offered them. Instead, her wand that she has yet to stow flickers.

The scent of protection and restraint pierces Remus's senses. He smiles.

"Potions, obviously," Malfoy drawls, expression seemingly bored as he sits at a table full of enemies. Remus is hit with the sudden realisation of how much like Snape the boy is acting. There's a determination that's almost, almost hidden in his eyes, something that flickers to compete with fear when he goes to adjust his sitting position. "You have bound me.

"No shit, Sherlock," Sirius deadpans, leaning forward in his chair, eyes irate and on the boy who should be family to him. The boy whose hands are clenched so tight on his knees, it looks like his knuckles are going to break through his skin.

Perfectly pressed trousers. Even in times of war.

Remus can practically smell the terror within him.

He's just a boy.

"Your aunt may have had the poor judgement of trusting you, but we certainly won't. You're a Death Eater, kid. You're going to tell us why you're here, or you're going to find out what pain tastes like, hear me?"

"What makes you think I don't already know?" comes the quiet answer, and Remus's eyes narrow. Harry shuffles in his seat, deep grooves between his brows.

The terror vanishes, plugged up as if a stopper's been pushed firmly into a jar. And just like that, the boy's gone.

"You are correct, I am a Death Eater," Draco Malfoy says calmly, his back straight, eyes careful and sharp, hands now resting loosely on his thighs. Tall and proud, a wizard just reaching his prime. An adult. "I did not have a choice in that matter. The fear of death accomplishes many things, as I'm sure you're aware. I am here now because we can help each other. I wish to raise the Malfoy name back out of the mud my father reduced us to, and the best way that can happen is if the Dark Lord is defeated. Those potions are the means to do that."

"How?" Hermione demands, now leaning forward as well. "How can two potions kill Voldemort when nothing and nobody else has managed it yet?"

"Help me rescue my mother and give us safe passage after the war, and I will tell you," Malfoy answers. The bark of Sirius's laughter echoes through the room as Malfoy sits composed in his chair, determination back in steady eyes. As if he hadn't just flinched at the mention of his master's true name. "It's the only way we all win."

"Fucking Slytherins," Sirius growls suddenly, shoving a frustrated hand through his hair and getting up to pace behind them. "I hate them all."

"We love you, too, cousin," Andromeda says cheerfully, her eyes flicking to the stiff shoulders of Ella beside her. For not the first time, Remus wishes that his best mate knew how to hold his tongue.

"Shut it, Andie."

The older witch purses her lips thoughtfully and leans back in her chair. "No, I really don't think so. I would like it if you would sit down and stop acting like an arse. But I fear that's impossible, no? You were born that way."

"At least I wasn't born with a snake in my veins," Sirius snaps back, his eyes spitting as he rounds on the woman. "At least I was spared that!"

"No, you were born a judgemental, prejudiced bastard with the impulse control of a five-year-old. Which is the eviler of the two, hmm?"

"Okay, enough," Hermione sighs. "Sirius, stop making things worse and sit down!"

"I'm making things worse? There are Death Eaters at our breakfast table, Hermione!"

"You're right, there are. But we're never going to find out exactly why they're here if you're constantly antagonising them!"

"So I'm a Death Eater now, too?" Andromeda asks dryly, looking even more amused as Sirius growls under his breath and throws himself back into his chair, the wood protesting the rough treatment. "Funny, I can't remember taking the mark…"

"You are what you eat, yeah?" Sirius retorts, then presses his lips together in an angry line when Hermione scowls at him, arms folded tightly across his chest. "Fine, whatever. Let's just entertain Death Eaters like we're having a party. What better company to keep in a home that's supposed to be free of darkness? Fucking ridiculous. I need a bloody drink."

He continues to mutter furiously to himself, his harsh words and complaints coating the room and its occupants with animosity as Hermione frowns at him, and then Draco, and then the vials, her expression slowly turning thoughtful as she rises to her feet. Pointing her wand at the vials, her eyes narrow intently, and Remus is on his feet and behind her as he realises what she's going to do, his own wand mirroring hers – his front to her back, both defence and support, even though he knows she's more than capable. His witch doesn't need him, he knows that, but he offers himself anyway, and a strange, jagged mixture of relief and heady adoration spikes through the centre of him when she sways back towards him and brushes that miniscule amount against his chest.

She leans.

Returns the offer.

He loves her so fucking much, it's hard to bear.

She doesn't ask for his help with the potions. Doesn't need to. They work like a well-oiled machine, conducting test after test in sync; as one. Malfoy's face pales all the more the longer they work, and sweat is running down Remus's back by the time both wands lower. It's him that speaks their thoughts aloud.

He's as confused as she is.

"Severus made these potions," he says slowly, mind whirling. Sirius lets out a loud snort and leans back in his chair, looking like he wants to laugh. Malfoy's ashen but stoic expression doesn't change, even when Remus looks directly at him. "They aren't even yours to barter with, are they?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asks, frowning at Malfoy. Hermione sighs and sits back down, her hand running through her hair. She looks like she's been struck by a bolt of lightning, and Remus desperately wants to spirit her away to somewhere where he can wrap himself around her and sooth her to sleep for days on end.

She needs to rest.

They all do.

"They're bound by a last will and testament jinx. Draco can't use them as a way to win us over. He's only the person designated to carry them, not the recipient of them. Which is something you're very aware of, isn't it?" she asks, turning to Andromeda and narrowing her eyes. "You're the executor's protection. The muscle, if you will."

Andromeda grins widely and flexes her arms. Hermione's eyes narrow further. Her back is stiff as she turns away.

Her eyes are hard when she looks at Draco.

"Did you actually think you'd be able to get this past us? You don't own these, but you're very much aware of exactly who does."

Silence follows her statement. Malfoy's chin lifts.

"You don't know what they are. I do."

"Do you? Or are you lying about that, too?"

"Lying about what? Would somebody please explain to us peasants what the hell you two are talking about?" Sirius barks. "If the brat doesn't own them, then who does?"

"You do," Remus says quietly, cutting through Sirius's bluster like a hot knife through butter. Sirius's mouth falls open. "Severus Snape left these potions to you in his will. They're jinxed so that no one else will ever be able to use them, or likely even know what they are, and he's made Draco his means of getting them to you. He's the Designated Executor, and you're the Receiver."

A disbelieving hush blankets the table, heavily laden with shock. It's Sirius that finally breaks.

He laughs.

And laughs.

And continues to laugh for endless seconds, finally managing to wheeze out, "you've got to be fucking kidding me," before falling forward to plant his head on the table, body still shaking with mirth.

Or helplessness.

Or some broken sort of loss.

Remus isn't entirely sure which.