Can you see the fuck you in my smile? – Zacharias Smith

Hands. Hands were touching her, gently, prodding her shoulder. A spell was Cast and the filth was expelled from her lungs. The concerned murmurs informed her help was coming and to remain still. The largest bits of shattered concrete were removed from her back with much grunting and effort.

A warbled shout of terror filled the acrid air and then the growling began. The scurrying retreat of the rescue wizards combined with the throaty menacing snaps and snarls reminded her of the ground rumbling beneath her feet. She couldn't remain still and calm. She needed to get out.

She groaned, suffocating beneath the weight of the witch on top of her. The sticky substance beneath her squished as she attempted to dislodge the woman and she gasped. She turned her head to see deadened blue eyes staring back at her.

"Oh gods, he's dead. I've got to move."

She shoved the woman, grunting with her effort until she could draw a full breath. The air was thick with the sounds of anguished wails and the stench of twisted metal. She blinked, tasting destruction on her tongue, and wretched beside the unconscious Lavender Potter.

Her handbag was stuck beneath a portly dead Muggle and despite the roll of her nauseated stomach, she struggled to free it. Thankfully, her wand was intact, and she furtively Cast the Reviving Spell before shoving it into the sleeve of her torn blouse.

"Lavender," Hermione wheezed, "you've got to get up. We've got to get out of here." She coughed and carefully rolled to her scraped knees, her head throbbing and eyes blurry.

The ringing in her ears abated and she swore she heard Harry. It had been ages since she'd heard him sob and she wondered if her brain was playing tricks on her. She wasn't dead; Lavender wasn't dead; why on earth was he crying?

"Potter, are you sure?"

Hermione hurriedly wiped the soot from her eyes with dirty hands causing them to sting. Draco. She had never been more relieved to hear his voice.

"S-she's got Hermione's scarf in her hand. I-I bought it for her last Christmas," Harry cried. "I should…I should have been kinder. I shouldn't have— "

"Fucked Lovegood? Yeah, I know, but you can't see her face, Potter."

Hermione jabbed her wand into Lavender's ribs and once more muttered Rennervate through clenched teeth. Lavender gasped and coughed with a simpering groan that grated on Hermione's ears, but at least the witch was conscious. The sounds of Harry's tears were rending her heart in two and it was nearly more than she could bear.

"It's smashed, Malfoy."

"I'm fairly certain your bird didn't have a tattoo on her wrist declaring her love for Nargles."

Hermione would have jabbed her elbow into his ribs if she was beside him. He was being incredibly insensitive and despite her dire circumstances, his blasé attitude irritated her. She twisted her fingers in Lavender's matted curls and tugged until the witch shrieked.

"Actually, that sounded like your wife."

Hermione grunted and pulled until she and Lavender were slumped against fallen debris. She squinted through the smoke and gasped at the sight of the twisted metal that once resembled the tube. She couldn't see Harry or Draco and tears stung her eyes.

Her wand quivered in her hand, her feet unwilling to respond to her commands. She groaned, frustrated, and glanced at Lavender. The blonde witch looked as awful as she felt and it was only then that Hermione Malfoy thrust her wand into the air with a muttered fuck it.

Red sparks escaped the tip and she took solace in the roar that filled her ears. He knew. He knew and he was coming for her.

The tall, burly, blond man walked with a limp. His shoulders were slouched. His eyes were vacant. His overcoat was out of place and looked too bulky for his frame.

They wondered if he had smuggled a big of grocery from the market or even stuffed the pockets with body parts. There was no way to tell and they certainly wouldn't ask. The bit of drool on his chin forced them into evasive manoeuvres rather than into conversation. He was the lumbering beast that invaded children's nightmares and sent them screaming into the night.

"He smells, daddy."

"Shh, leave him be. He can't help it."

The disgusted whispers of revulsion jostled the blank slate that occupied his mind. Why were his feet scraping along the pavements? Why did he feel as though he'd been beaten? What on earth was his name? Where was he? Why couldn't he stop? What the fuck was happening?!

Mathias. His name was Mathias Byrnes. He was an orphan. He was a Squib. He was an older brother to a bloodthirsty maniac. He was powerless to defend himself. He was nothing.

He walked slowly, his scratchy eyes focused on the cracks in the pavement. He had a mission, a stupid mission, but it was part of the insidious compulsion he couldn't struggle against. He wasn't strong, not in that manner, and the melancholy filled him to the brim.

The worst thing he had ever done was listen to his brother. It wasn't worth all this. It wasn't worth his life and he knew that was drawing to a close. He wasn't stupid, not really. He was a big lumbering sort of man, but he'd managed to survive well enough. He'd learned to rely on himself until his brother came along.

He was no one, caught in the land of in between. He wasn't a Wizard. He wasn't a Muggle. He hadn't a place in the world but he wanted one. He'd always wanted one. It wasn't fair. It wasn't his choice to be a bunch of fucking nothing. One or the other and he would have been happy enough. The Fates, fickle bastards that they were decided otherwise and now his limbs refused to heed his call.

His feet hurt. He was tired. The sole of his shoe had been lost hours ago. His sock was wet. The awkward lopsided gait was excruciating. Everything was awful and it was his own fault. It was Rye's fault too but he wasn't around to listen.

His stomach growled and his mouth was dry but he hadn't been instructed to attend to his needs. He was a pawn on a mission and while his thoughts jumbled in his head he knew he was expendable. The unbidden tears fell his dry eyes and dripped down his cheeks, not that the passersby noticed.

He was just another wayward soul. He was a thing to be condemned with sniffs of disdain and gags of disgust. He'd been walking for ages and imagined he smelled the part. He wanted to go home.

He wanted to remember the kiss of his pretty mother as she set him in his cot. He wanted to be reminded of her smile when she smoothed his hair from his forehead. He wanted to recall the feel of her warm bosom against his cheek as he nestled against her.

"Don't. Want. This."

It hurt. It was agony to hiss three simple words. They burned their way to freedom and it wasn't enough. No one paid any mind to the man with the broken shoe and tears freely flowing down his cheeks. They averted their judgemental eyes from the bogies bubbling from his red nostrils.

He was no one.

"Granger!"

Ordinarily, Harry would have rolled his eyes and muttered something about theatrics but the exceedingly pale wizard's desperation caused him to remain silent. He understood. He felt as though his heart would beat through his chest and he still couldn't find Lavender. He feared the worst, yet he couldn't, he wouldn't, voice the words.

"Holy shit," Harry whispered as he slowly back away from the quivering wizard, unable to even spare a glance toward the body at his feet.

Draco Malfoy roared and the waning Muggle lights bathed him for a scant moment. He shuddered, nearly curled in half, unable to hear the muted desperate screams of the injured. He felt his clothing tear and then there was pain, blinding fucking agony that stole his breath while his knees struck the rubble at his feet.

Draco's shirt hung in tatters from his shoulders as he knelt amidst the debris. He felt them before he saw them and under different circumstances, it probably would have amused him. However, the wings were the least of his fucking troubles. He needed his wife.

He couldn't see her. He could smell her. He knew she was there. He fucking knew it. He snarled, teeth gnashing, fists clenched, and wand long-forgotten. His eyes were equal pools of inky black and he was thankful for the cover of darkness laced with flickering damaged lights.

"Would you just move; you-you cow!"

Draco spun toward the familiar voice and nearly nicked Potter with his newfound wings. They spread the width of the tunnel and he winced as they scraped against the jagged rock. He'd worry about controlling the stupid things later.

"Stop shoving me!"

Draco watched Potter wipe his tear stained cheeks with grubby fingers and swallow hard. He appreciated the sudden gleam of hope in the wizard's green eyes and knew his feelings were much the same. Draco didn't even mind when Potter shoved at his charcoal wings in order to rush toward the witches.

He might have taken a nanosecond to faux gag when Potter and Brown clashed together in a heap of limbs and lips. He'd rather not witness their coupling if it could be helped. He didn't run toward Hermione and envelop her in his arms. He merely stood still and blinked until her grimy hand was pressed against the tattered remains of his shirt.

"Wings, Malfoy? Really?"

She looked a fright. The worst he'd ever seen and that was saying a lot considering their Hogwarts days. Her hair was a frizzy, bushy, tangled mess. It probably would have made a wonderful home to sparrows but they were more particular about their nests.

"A baby, Granger? Really?"

"How did you, that's not the, you can't—" Hermione sputtered. "You can't compare wings too—"

"Can. Did." Draco folded his arms around her and completely ignored the angry furrow of her brow. "They're both things I absolutely cannot control. Fairly easy comparison really. Now, however, isn't the time. The girls are beside themselves so I've been told, and are waiting for our arrival at St Mungo's."

He didn't voice his concerns, his utter and complete panic. It was unnecessary. She could feel it in the rapid pound of his heart beneath her ear. She could feel it in the slight tremble of his limbs as he held her.

It was close, too close for her tastes. She wanted to say she loved her job more than anything, but that was no longer true. She wanted to make changes, champion for the future, but she didn't want to be dead. She didn't want Draco dead either. Enough was enough.

She considered putting up a fuss; he could see it in her eyes. He was certain if it wasn't for Brown's silent pleading, Hermione would have refused. She always was ridiculously headstrong and he didn't imagine it would change much, not even with the impending arrival of their child.

"Finnegan; they sent me fucking Finnegan."

Gawain Robards thumped his head against the unforgiving hardwood of his desk. He'd asked for the best. Potter had promised him the very fucking best of his little Dumbledore Army and yet, Seamus Finnegan sat before him with singed eyebrows and a smile.

"Harry said—"

"I'm aware, Finnegan," Robards groaned. "Dare I ask if Thomas is with you as well? Have you got some First Years hidden in the corridor?"

Seamus chortled and slapped his knee. He didn't care that they scurried out of his way when he traversed the corridors of the Ministry. He didn't care if the Aurors laughed at him. He was bloody back. He wasn't stuck in the stockroom carefully setting bottles on shelves.

He missed his days at Hogwarts. He missed the thrill of Dumbledore's Army, before all the horrible war bits and death, of course. He missed the adrenaline and perhaps, if he did well, joining the DMLE and being an actual Auror could be in his future. He could do this, dammit!

"Sir, you need me more than I need you. From what I've heard, you're in dire straits with this madman on the loose. I'm here, as requested, to offer aid. If you don't want it, be sure to inform me now as I've other things to attend."

Seamus spoke quietly and reigned in his excitement. He had learned the art of politics, not that he enjoyed it. It was necessary at times to remain calm, cool and collected. He wanted this. He could taste the adrenaline on his tongue and it was only after Robards nodded did he exhale.

"St Mungo's, that's where I need you," Gawain sighed in resignation. "Leave the Memory Charms to the staff. There's been reports of a cursed Muggle wandering the streets of London. A few Squibs have reported his behaviour and it suggests he's under the Imperius Curse. Do not approach him." Robards huffed and tossed his quill onto the desk.

"What shall I do, sir?"

Robards was displeased that much was obvious, but his choices were limited. His job was at stake and if he wasn't vigilant in catching these bastards, he'd be sacked. He'd considered retirement but the very idea of his job being handed to the likes of Harry Potter made his porridge bubble in his gut. Potter wasn't ready for the responsibilities, not yet; therefore, Robards grit his teeth and set to task.

"Potter and Malfoy are on scene of that Muggle tube explosion. If all goes according to plan, which it never fucking does, they'll direct you properly. As it is now, I want you to ward Mungo's against intrusion, both Muggle and Magical. Think you can handle that without blowing us to Hades, Finnegan?"

It didn't sound particularly exciting but it was better than nothing. Seamus nodded readily and stopped himself from whooping down the corridors. He couldn't wait to tell Dean that he was rushing back into the fray. He was downright giddy and it had nothing to do with the cauldron of Elixir to Induce Euphoria he'd spilt on his trousers.

Seamus scurried through the corridors of the Ministry and bumped into nearly every wizard he encountered. It was his fault. His shoes were slick with Potion and he hadn't the time to Scourgify them. There were much more important matters afoot than silly little accidents.

"Hey!"
"Watch out!"

He didn't bother with niceties. He hadn't the time. He was a lion crossing the plain with enemies in sight. He imagined beating his chest in triumph after he singlehandedly rescued Wizardingkind and smiled. He could be famous, not nearly as famous as Harry Potter, but a wizard could dream.

Seamus rounded the corner and skipped toward Purge and Dowse, Ltd. He hadn't seen the exterior of St Mungo's in ages as he was usually transported there while unconscious. It was just as he remembered. Unassuming red-brick, dilapidated and condemned.

"Finnegan? They sent us Finnegan? We're all going to die." Zacharias Smith curled his lips and he glowered at the newcomer. He didn't like Finnegan, never had. Bloke was dangerous and if the Ministry had resorted to scraping the dregs of their useless barrels, they were in trouble.

Seamus bristled. He might have pouted a bit as well but no one paid him any mind. It was chaotic to put it lightly and he revelled in it. He puffed his chest and took his place beside a nervous looking young wizard.

"Alright," Theo growled. "Zabini, stick with Finnegan. Longbottom, thank fuck mate; can't thank you enough for coming. Williams said to keep you safe. Stick with Wolpert and Peasegood, they're tasked with protection detail for Parkinson and the Greengrasses. It's not ideal but it'll keep you close to your wife." Theo waggled his eyebrows inappropriately and almost smiled.

"Where's Weasley?" Dawlish scowled and tugged his Auror trench around him tightly. He didn't much care for Muggles and being in such close proximity was setting him on edge.

"Weasley's in no state to lend aid, not today," Theo pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted. "Ginny Weasley is dead. Williams and Robards have decided that despite all this fucking madness, Weasley needs to be with his family. They need him more than we do."

"Doubt it," Zabini snorted. He scowled at Finnegan. "Gryffindors and their excitement are going to get me killed. Death is not on my list of priorities today."

"Don't think it should be on a list of priorities any day, really," Seamus quipped with a small smile.

The laughter, while muted, was welcome. It released a bit of the tension and the small group of wizards relaxed. Their eyes never stopped roving the streets as they scrutinized every passing Muggle or wizard. Their wands, while hidden within the folds of their cloaks, were clenched in readied fists. They could do this. They had trained for this, hell some of them were born for it.

They weren't, however, prepared for ungodly screeches and wings.

Daphne Greengrass was a trembling mess of nerves. It didn't help matters that Pansy clung to her, complete with dramatic sobs, but she understood. She was thankful Astoria was entirely too busy being coddled by Neville bloody Longbottom to bother with her.

Despite the horrific situation and near death experience, Daphne was jealous. She was utterly and completely jealous of her baby sister. Astoria managed to secure a fine husband despite her blundering, immaturity, and unseemly carnal activities. It wasn't fair and Daphne also knew it wasn't the time to concentrate on pettiness.

"You're here," came the sigh of relief, "you're all right, aren't you? Gods—"

Daphne shook her head; absolutely positive she was hallucinating. It wasn't anything serious. It was new and precious but it certainly didn't require worried glances, wide-eyes, and embraces.

"Charlie," she cried, her cheeks blotchy and streaked with dirt. "You're here, why are you here? I don't understand."

Charlie Weasley adjusted his leather jerkin and stared incredulously at his witch. "Why am I here? Are you mad woman? You nearly got blown up! Where the hell else would I be?"

"With your family, of course. I heard about your sister."

Daphne felt Pansy tugged from her arm and breathed a sigh of relief. There was madness and mayhem, shouts and screams but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. She wasn't alone anymore and as silly as it was in the midst of disaster, she smiled.

"She's dead," said Charlie. He shrugged and his long red hair caught on his facial scruff. "The dead will still be there to mourn when all is said and done. I'd rather focus on the living, on you if you don't mind."

Daphne smiled brilliantly and threw her arms around his neck while stretched on her tiptoes. She kissed his cheek and suddenly gagged. Charlie thought that was a rather strange reaction until he looked over his shoulder.

"Your brother is eating Pansy's face."

"Yeah well, it's Ron. He does that." Charlie kissed her then. His rough lips softs against her chapped ones, his calloused hands gentle as they brushed her cheek. "Have you ever considered living in Romania? It's quite lovely but I have to warn you the nights are downright frigid."

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing you'll be there to keep me warm, isn't it?"

Charlie grunted and held her just a bit tighter. He hadn't been looking for her or anyone else for that matter. She had stumbled into his life and become a fixture he was unwilling to relinquish.

They barely noticed the influx of Healers and Mediwitches dashing down the corridor. Daphne tore her eyes from Charlie and gasped in relief. Lavender Potter was alive. She was a bit banged up but she was alive. Daphne eavesdropped and was unsurprised to discern words such as pregnant and concussion. She wondered if Hermione would soon follow when Charlie's arms tightened fiercely.

"Daphne, we need to move, uhm, Malfoy's got fucking wings and he looks really really angry. Would be a terrible shame if he ate us before we managed to—"

"Move! Clear the corridor!"

Charlie ducked and shoved Daphne into the nearest wall. He pressed her face against his chest and stared, gaped mouth, while Draco Malfoy spat and snarled. He had heard the whispers and discounted them as mere gossip but he was wrong, so very wrong.

They were jostled by Aurors and Healers alike and it seemed Hermione was the only person with a bit of sense around her. She rolled her eyes with the barest hint of a smile while cocooned in enormous bloody wings. Charlie instinctively wanted to rescue her, save her from the beast but Hermione shook her head and kissed the pale angular jaw until Malfoy calmed.

"I'm fine," she snapped. "He's overreacting and he can't help it. His instincts have declared that I'm some delicate waif and he won't calm until the Healer tells him exactly what I've been telling him."

"It's not like he'll let them close enough!" Harry ran after them, wand waving, spectacles askew and it was difficult to refrain from laughter.

"I told you I'd get him settled! You never listen. You haven't left any Aurors stationed outside. They're all following me and if—"

"Look what you've done, Potter. She's on a tangent now. I'll never hear the end of it." Draco shuddered and his wings folded, the feathers ruffling from the movement. "Where's Smith?" His dark eyes finally lightened to familiar grey, narrowed, wary, brows pinched.

"He was, well he was right here." Harry scoured the corridor, ever vigilant, ever alert.

"I sent him out with Finnegan. It seems everyone else was determined to chase after Malfoy and deserted their posts. Wolpert and Peasegood are just there," Theo pointed, "but it seems the Greengrass sisters are in good hands. They can be relieved here and take over Reception. It's better to have multiple—"

"Layered protection is brilliant really," Hermione quipped as she peeked around Draco's shoulder. "If the Muggle or his accomplice manage to get past Smith and Finnegan there are others prepared for proper defence. Well done, Theo."

"Malfoy," Theo drawled, "have I told you that I really don't like your wife? Oh don't growl at me, you beast. Some things might change, but she's still a little know-it-all that can't resist sharing her inordinately large brain with everyone that's never asked."

Charlie guffawed into Daphne's hair, which earned him a scathing glower from Hermione. It didn't bother him in the least. She couldn't reach her wand. He was perfectly safe for the moment.

"Maybe you shouldn't insult her when he's all harpy and shit?" Ron suggested uncomfortably and scratched the back of his neck.

"Oh look, Weasley's finally decided to come up for air. Did you get your fill? Was Parkinson's face a satisfying meal?" Theo wiped his palm down his face and inhaled deeply. "Malfoy get your arse in a room and have your wife checked. I could use you on this. Potter, Weasley, join Smith and Finnegan. Zabini should be at his post but don't count on it. Longbottom, stick with the witches."

"Did you just lick me?" Hermione's indignant scream was immediately muffled by a pair of insistent lips and she was quickly shoved into the nearest hospital room door.

The lights flickered overhead and a low rumble shook the floor. They listened carefully for muted screams and they were not disappointed. Sconces exploded and St Mungo's itself groaned.

"Go," Hermione whispered. "He's here. I'm fine. If something was wrong with either of us, you'd know it. We're fine, Malfoy. I'll allow the Healers to do their job and then I'll join Wolpert and Peasegood. I won't move an inch beyond Reception. Now, go and do your job."

Draco's wings settled, finally, and he hissed as they disappeared amongst the remains of his tattered Oxford. It was obvious he wanted to argue with her but as the shouts grew and the corridor was bathed in darkness, he relented. He kissed her, softly, and whispered in her ear. Hermione smiled, nodded, and allowed him a gentle caress of her abdomen before he spun toward the lingering Aurors.

"Let's end this," he snarled.

Mathias Byrnes didn't understand why everyone was so angry. He was doing exactly as he had been told. He couldn't stop even if he wanted to. His instructions were explicit. He had to do this.

His body ached, his mouth was pasty and dry, his fingers were throbbing but he managed to set his precious package in front of the ugly red-brick building. Personally, he thought it was stupid. It was just an abandoned department store but Rye had been adamant.

The wires confused him but it seemed his fingers knew just what to do. Red, blue, yellow, black, white. They were pretty colours and he liked pretty. His mother was pretty, at least what he remembered of her. It wasn't fair that he was an orphan when Rye had a family all to his own. It wasn't fair at all.

"Stop!"

Mathias blinked, paused, and shrugged. He wasn't given instruction on how to handle interruption. The large black man seemed angry but there was nothing he could do about that. Instead, he twisted the little timer and sat beside the box. The ticking was pleasant and nearly lulled him to sleep.

"What are you doing?" Another voice, another man.

"I told him to stop. I don't know what else to do. There are entirely too many Muggles about."

Muggles. He knew that word. His brother told him all about Muggles. He wasn't a Muggle. He was a Squib and that was worse than being a Muggle. His brother was a wizard and he sniffed away his tears as another bout of melancholy filled him.

"What is that ticking noise?"

"He did something with that box there. Get Finnegan or Potter, they know Muggle shit, don't they?"

"Dammit, Zabini! I'm not cut out for this shit." The fat one's jowls bounced and Mathias giggled.

"I need Rye," Mathias whimpered, the traces of laughter still on his lips.

He patted the box, his movements stiff. His end was coming. He knew it was. It was alright. He'd had enough sorrow anyway. He was no one. He was nothing. He was rubbish fit for the bin.

He wondered what it would have been like to have a family, to be loved. He wondered about being a wizard as well. It looked like a jolly good time. He might have been talented or even famous but instead, he was cast away.

"He's crying," the black one said incredulously. "Dawlish, we need Potter."

"I-I didn't want to do this. I did once though, in the beginning. I didn't know it would end like this," Mathias snivelled into his grubby hands. "Rye hates you, all of you. I think he just might hate me too. I'm not a fancy wizard. I haven't got a magic stick. I'm just a Squib. It's awful really. I can see all the magic things but I can't do fuckall about it. I'd rather not see them. Maybe, maybe they would have kept me otherwise."

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the red-brick building. The sobs of his youth were lodged in his chest and he fought against the unyielding hold. It wouldn't do him any good; he knew that. Mathias simply wished to see his brother one last time before his forever slumber.

"Who is Rye?" A new voice entered the fold. It was soft and sweet.

"He's my brother. I'm older but they didn't want me. I'm worse than a Muggle. They're dead now though. Serves them right. I don't know what a Death Eater is but Rye says they weren't. It was an accident and no one ever said sorry. You should always say sorry when you do bad things even I know that. I'm sorry now, does that count? I'm really fucking sorry. I just I want to see Rye before this box goes boom and there's nothing left of me."

The black wizard and the tubby one backed away slowly. The strange green-eyed wizard was curious and Mathias liked that. He didn't like it when people were afraid of him even if they should be. He just wanted to be loved, by someone, anyone, even a messy haired wizard with a scar on his forehead.

"I'll get him for you. Why don't you tell me what he looks like?"

Mathias sighed happily. The scarred boy sat beside him. It was almost like having a friend. He'd never had a friend before, not really. It was much nicer than having Rye barrage him for existing.

"Potter," a new voice hissed.

"Shut it, Malfoy." Potter smiled but his eyes were tight around the edges.

"Potter," Mathias whispered. "You're Harry Potter. Rye told me about you." He scratched his forehead and didn't notice when his fingernail fell into his lap and his finger dripped blood down his cheek. "Malfoy, Malfoy, Rye told me all about the Malfoys." Mathias stroked his ticking box and snarled. "It's your fault, all your fault. Rye said so. Our parents are dead cos of you. You were the bad people and and— "

"Hey, hey, calm down. It's alright. He's not going to do anything. He's going to go inside and see if he can find your brother, isn't that right?" Potter looked at the tall blond man and Mathias was scared.

The Malfoy wizard scared him. He was angry, really angry. His eyes were nearly black and his fingers, well Mathias had never seen fingers do that before and he didn't like it. He laid his head on his box and allowed the ticking to lull him into a false sense of security.

"This is bullshit! Stupefy!"

Mathias dropped his box and slumped against the wall. His eyes fluttered closed and his heart thudded rapidly. It hurt but it wasn't unpleasant. He welcomed it. Peace was within his grasp. He could see them, his parents. They were smiling. They were smiling at him and his mother was pretty, just as he remembered. Her lips were warm on his forehead and his father's embrace was everything he'd ever needed. He was home.

"Y-you killed him." Harry Potter stood over the fallen Squib while he kept a wary eye on the ticking box of death.

"It shouldn't have; it was only a Stupefy. I didn't," Draco sputtered.

"The Imperius," Harry sighed, "he was obviously under the Imperius. He never had a chance. We've got to do something about this box. We can't leave his body here."

"Wolpert can take the Squib inside. It's an easy enough job. He should be able to manage that much. Dawlish is clearing the area with the Muggle Inspectors. We need some sort of Muggle expert to dismantle that box. I don't think we should risk it." Draco carefully levitated the box and set it near his feet. "There seems to be a rudimentary timer of sorts. We're running out of time."

"We've got a problem."

Draco crouched protectively in front of the box and growled low in his throat. He hated every fucking second of it but it was beyond the scopes of his control. It wasn't safe and his blasted headstrong wife vacated her post and rescinded her unspoken promises.

"Hermione, are you mad? Do you have any idea how many Muggle memories will have to be modified if Malfoy—"

"Malfoy, Draco, look at me," Hermione commanded, interrupting Harry with a wave of her hand. "Neville's encased me in a Shield Charm. Zabini is at my back. The Healer gave me the all-clear. I'm fine just a few scrapes and bruises. The baby is fine. We have bigger problems than your instinctual protectiveness. Smith is missing and you realise his parents were inadvertently killed by Aurors?"

Hermione wrung her hands and dutifully retreated a half-dozen steps to appease her husband. It definitely helped matters when Theodore Nott stood in front of her. She released her held breath when Draco righted himself and nodded curtly.

"Malfoy, stand guard here. The Muggle Inspectors need to retrieve the box and I'd rather you weren't involved. There's no telling when your blasted wings are going to make a reappearance. We've got a big enough mess on our hands without you eating unsuspecting Muggles." Theo winked, his dark eyes darted, scouring his environment for the slightest suspicious implication.

"The next time you lot mentions me eating anyone, I'm going to do it. I'm going to fucking eat them and what then you bastards?"

Draco backed slowly toward his wife, his eyes never leaving the Muggle Inspector and the box. His thoughts flitted through various scenarios. He wondered if his wings were impenetrable and if he could raise them at will. He'd do whatever was necessary to protect her. It was his nature and for once, he refused to baulk against it.

"He's dead? You killed him? You fucking killed him?" The high-pitched screech segued into a roar of maniacal fury.

Zacharias Smith. His blond hair matted to his scalp, his eyes wild, his wand shaking in his white fist. He wailed into the sky and tore his trench from his shoulders. The few remaining Muggles scattered quickly and the Aurors were thankful the box was no longer their concern.

"Smith, easy now." Harry held out his hands and motioned for Wolpert to remove the dead Squib.

"Don't touch him! Don't you fucking touch him!"

Zacharias lumbered toward his fallen brother, his face twisted in anguish. The Aurors and Hit Wizards retreated, tension thick in the air. He fell to his knees and cradled Mathias Byrnes against his chest, his tortured wails reverberating in the empty space.

He brushed the thick, matted, blond hair from his brother's forehead and pressed his lips against a cool cheek. Zacharias folded grimy bloody fingers across a still chest while his shoulders shook. It was a dream, a horrible nightmare.

"Smith, what have you got there?"

Zacharias snarled angrily at Harry and patted the bulky waistcoat. It was his failsafe. He had fully expected Matty to succeed. It wasn't supposed to come to this, not this, and yet here he was.

Harry spied the quiet acceptance in the distraught wizard's eyes and waved the others away. He refused to risk their lives. Hell, he didn't want to risk his own either but someone had to stop the bastard and it was him. It was always fucking him and dammit, he'd had about enough of this sort of shit.

"Did you know when Williamson murdered my parents the Ministry didn't even offer their condolences? They, they blamed my parents. Told me that they shouldn't have run off. It didn't matter they fucked up. It didn't matter that their intel was shoddy. I lost everything and Williamson only lost his fucking job." Zacharias carefully set his brother on the ground and lurched to his feet. "The Malfoys were actual Death Eaters. They did Voldemort's bidding. They tortured people. They probably killed people and no one fucking cared. Malfoy is a fucking Hit Wizard and he sinks his cock into Hermione Granger and it's fine. No one fucking cares except me. I cared. I waited. I bided my time and now my brother is dead."

"I'm sorry." The words were empty. They didn't mean much. Nothing could mend the fissures of Smith's life and Harry knew that but he had to try.

"Sorry, he's fucking sorry. You're Harry Potter," Zacharias scoffed. "You shagged Lovegood and now she's dead but it's alright. You've still got your wife, don't you Potter? Gonna have yourself a nice little family and forget all about mine. Malfoy too, from what I hear. You've got everything and I've got nothing. Malfoy killed my brother. It was him, wannit? Yeah, it was him and the Ministry will give him a fucking medal. Matty was only a Squib, yeah?"

Zacharias stared passed Harry and locked directly onto Hermione. He smiled cruelly and winked. His drew his hand from his pocket and caressed the strange contraption in his closed fist.

"I must admit it was great fun watching you lot stumble about. You hadn't the slightest idea it was me. It took fucking ages to plan every detail. I had to entertain myself and well, Granger you were fucking delicious. Shame I never managed to fuck you."

Smith laughed and stood his ground, even when monstrous wings emerged and sheltered Hermione from his prying eyes. Malfoy's animalistic growl encouraged him and Zacharias licked his lips. He was going to die. He wasn't a fool but he was going to go on his terms.

"It was me. It was all me. I'm not even sorry. I should have done more. Matty didn't deserve this. He didn't, he didn't," Zacharias moaned. "Alright, I'm ready now. Fuck all of you."

Harry shouted, a strangled sound, lost in the ground quaking explosion. He was catapulted backwards and nearly bounced off Neville Longbottom's exceptional Shield Charm. Strong hands gripped his shoulders and yanked him from the menagerie of flying body parts and the river of blood.

"Well, that was unexpected." Harry finally gasped, his hands firmly on his knees.

"That was disgusting," Draco quipped, his wife firmly against his side.

"Thanks for ya know uh that." Harry squirmed uncomfortably and cleared his throat. He never was particularly good at expressing appreciation.

"Don't mention it. Ever."

Harry shook his head and smiled. It was just like old times, sort of. They had survived and it seemed the rubbish had taken itself to the bin in an overly dramatic waterfall of epic proportions. All he needed now was—

"Hey! It wasn't me this time!" Seamus Finnegan smiled brightly amidst the carnage.

And there it was. That was exactly what Harry needed. Of course, there was a fair amount of eyes widened in horror, mouths gaped, and then there was the sweet sound of inappropriate laughter.

"Fucking hell," Ron guffawed.

"What? It wasn't," Seamus mumbled with a sudden red sheen on his cheeks before disappearing into the crowd, Zabini hot on his heels.

"I'm not cleaning this up." Ron shook a mangled finger from his shoe and gagged.

"As if you've ever cleaned up after yourself." Hermione laughed into Draco's chest, thankful she hadn't been splattered with bits of Smith.

"Hey! This isn't my mess! Harry, tell Hermione I clean up after myself."

Ron chased after Harry as the crowd dispersed. Dawlish was shouting orders to the poor Junior Aurors and he looked to the Malfoys, desperate for aid. Neville Longbottom shook his head and disappeared, presumably to return to Astoria. Theo offered a faux salute that was eerily similar to an obscene gesture and disappeared with a crack.

"Bugger this," Draco snarled as he quickly dipped his head and pecked Hermione's forehead.

"Apothecary?" She asked, her hand lightly resting on her abdomen's gentle swell.

"Apothecary." He nodded and kissed her deeply.

They didn't live happily ever, but almost no one does. They had their ups and downs, much like any regular couple, but the important thing is that they remained together. They laughed, they cried, screamed, shouted, bellowed, but most of all…they loved.