Good Faith

October 27, 1993, 5:50 PM, Room of Requirement, Hogwarts

Adam Clarke

I stood at the front of the Room of Requirement, watching the faces of the dozen witches and wizards who had become more than just allies over these past weeks— they had become my responsibility. The room had configured itself into something resembling a war council chamber, with us simply sitting at the table.

“This is it.” I said, my voice carrying more steadiness than I felt. “October thirty-first. Four days from now, we stop being reactive and start taking the fight to Grindelwald.”

To my right, Harry shifted in his seat, his jaw set with the kind of determination one who’d mastered something difficult would.

You’ve changed so much.

I cleared my throat.

“As I’ve told you all before.” I continued. “We know that Grindelwald will be enacting a ritual. We know he has stolen powerful and obscure relics and artifacts to perform this feat. And I know where— I’ll be creating a Portkey to take us there.”

The group nodded, not saying anything. None of them were well-pleased with the omission of the location of the event, but understood that a leader could not take such risks when so much was on the line. The fact that I had revealed the time to them would have to suffice.

An Ilvermorny student raised his hand. “What about the Ministry? Surely they’ll have their own response teams.”

I nodded. “Yes, they will, but don’t be surprised if they’re not as effective as you think.”

“Informants and the like.” Sarah Chen, another Ilvermorny student said.

I nodded. “Exactly. I would just assume that we’ll have help, but nowhere near what you’d expect. Grindelwald likely will have teams running interference and attacking different areas all over the world to distract them.”

The weight of that statement settled over the room like a heavy blanket. These weren’t seasoned Aurors or trained soldiers. They were students and recent graduates, people who should have been worried about N.E.W.T.S. or starting careers, not planning to assault one of the most dangerous dark wizards in history.

“I won’t lie to you.” I said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “This isn’t going to be like the tournament attacks. We’re not defending familiar ground with backup coming. We’re walking into Grindelwald’s den, into whatever defenses he’s prepared, into a situation where he’ll have every advantage except one.”

“And what’s that?” Diggory asked.

“He doesn’t know we’re coming.” I moved towards the window for a few moments before walking back, letting my hands rest on the back of my chair. “He expects the Ministry and Dumbledore to send wizards and witches to the location, and he’ll have planned for that accordingly. Obviously, he can’t field infinite men, so adding us into the mix, a coordinated group, will help significantly.”

“Still reckon it’s going to be a hard fight.” Fred said, with his brother nodding beside him.

“Without a doubt, which brings me to something important.” I sat back down, feeling the full weight of leadership settle on my shoulders. “After this meeting, I want you all to take the next three days to remember why we’re doing this. Spend time with your friends. Write to your families if you can. Walk through Hogwarts. Sit by the lake. Remind yourselves what we’re fighting to protect.”

Johnson’s eyes rested on me. “Trying to get us to back out, Adam?”

“No.” I said firmly. “I’m trying to make sure you remember that this fight isn’t about glory or revenge. It’s about making sure there’s still a world worth living in when the sun rises on November first.”

I paused, thinking of words that have stuck with me for decades. “Evil cannot create anything new, they can only corrupt and ruin what good forces have invented or made. We’re here to make sure there’s still something left to protect.”

The room fell quiet except for the soft crackling of candle flames. I could see the resolve hardening in their faces, but also the fear. Good. Fear would keep them alive.

“One more thing.” I said, my voice dropping lower. “If this goes wrong— if we’re overwhelmed or separated— your first priority is getting out alive. Dead heroes can’t protect anyone.”

“Inspiring speech, that.” George muttered, but there was amusement in his voice rather than criticism.

“I mean it.” I insisted. “We go in together, we come out together. No one gets left behind, but no one throws their life away for a dramatic gesture either. We’re smarter than Grindelwald’s fanatics, and we need to fight smarter too.”

The meeting began to break up naturally after that, people gathering their things and saying quiet goodbyes. Some would return to their dormitories, others to families they might not see again for days or weeks— or possibly ever.

As the last few members filed out, I noticed Draco hadn’t moved from his position near the back of the room. He sat with his hands clasped in front of him, staring at the table’s surface with an intensity that made my chest tighten. His soul thread writhed with agitation so severe it was almost painful to observe.

I nodded towards Harry, who’d been waiting at the door with our friends. He nodded back, before saying a few words to Su, Ron, Hermione and Tony. They all waved and headed out, followed by Harry.

“Draco?” I called softly as the door closed behind Harry, leaving us alone.

He looked up, and I saw something in his gray eyes that I’d never seen before— raw, desperate fear. Not the kind of fear that came from facing danger, but the deeper terror of someone watching everything they cared about slip away.

“Adam.” He said, his voice carefully controlled but brittle around the edges. “We need to talk.”

I felt my stomach drop. I had been expecting this conversation for weeks, dreading it and hoping it would never come. But looking at the agitation in his soul thread, at the way his hands trembled slightly despite his attempts at composure, I knew we had finally reached the moment I’d been hoping to avoid.

“What’s going on?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew. “Are you all right?”

He let out a laugh that held no humor whatsoever.

“All right? No, I’m definitely not all right.” He stood up abruptly, beginning to pace behind his chair. “It’s time, Adam. It’s time for you to honor your end of our bargain.”

There it was.

“Your mother.” I said quietly, not a question but an acknowledgment.

“She doesn’t deserve this.” Draco said, his pacing becoming more agitated. “She never wanted any of this. The Dark Lord, Grindelwald, all of it— she just wanted to keep her family safe. But Father…”

He stopped pacing, his hands clenching into fists. “Father’s in too deep now. He can’t see that following the Dark Lord is going to get us all killed.”

I studied his face, seeing the war between love and duty, between the son who wanted to protect his parents and the young man who knew his father had chosen the wrong side. “What are you asking me to do?”

“Dobby told me that Father will be out tonight.” Draco said, the words tumbling out in a rush as if he was afraid he’d lose his nerve if he slowed down. “Some meeting with other Death Eaters to make final plans. The house will be mostly empty except for Mother and maybe a few House Elves.”

My mouth went dry. “You want to extract her tonight.”

“I want to get her somewhere safe before everything goes to hell.” He said fiercely. “Somewhere Father can’t find her. Somewhere she won’t be caught in the crossfire when this war reaches its conclusion.”

I looked at him— really looked— and saw the desperation he was trying so hard to hide. This wasn’t just about tactics or timing. This was about a son who was watching his family tear itself apart and was willing to risk everything to save what pieces he could.

“Draco.” I said carefully. “Infiltrating Malfoy Manor is incredibly dangerous. Even without your father there, your mother is a skilled witch. The wards alone— “

“I know the wards.” He interrupted. “I know every defensive spell, every hidden passage, every weakness in Father’s security. And Dobby can get us in and out without triggering the main alarms.”

He met my eyes, and I saw steel beneath the fear. “I’m not asking you to come with me, Adam. I’m reminding you of a promise you made. You said you’d help me.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. He was right, of course. I had given my word, and that meant something. More than that, I understood his desperation because I’d felt it myself— the terrible knowledge that the people you cared about were in danger and you were running out of time to save them.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision settle into my bones.

“All right.” I said quietly, letting out a long breath. “All right. But we do this smart, and we do it together. What’s the timeline?”

Relief flooded his features so completely that he actually swayed on his feet. “A few hours from now, when the castle’s quiet, Father will be deep in his meeting. Dobby says the gathering won’t break up until dawn.”

I nodded, my mind already shifting into planning mode. “Meet me back here at ten thirty. Come prepared for anything— this could go wrong in a dozen different ways.”

I paused, making sure he understood the gravity of what we were discussing. “And Draco? If your father comes back early, if the situation goes sideways, we get out. I’m not losing you to save anyone, not even your mother.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue, then seemed to think better of it.

“Ten Thirty.” He said instead. “Thank you; it’s a risk you don’t have to take.”

“We’re all risking everything these days.” I replied, trying to inject some levity into my voice. “What’s one more damn impossible mission?”

He managed a weak smile at that, gathering his things and heading for the door. Just before he left, he turned back. “Be careful tonight. I have the feeling everything’s about to change.”

I watched the door close behind him, then sank into one of the chairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. In a few hours, I’d be breaking into one of the most secure magical residences in Britain to extract the wife of a man who’d gladly see me dead. Three days after that, I’d be facing down Grindelwald himself in a ritual that could tear apart the barriers between life and death.

Sometimes I wondered if my presence in this timeline had made things better or just more complicated.

Tonight, I supposed, I’d find out.

oooo

A Few Hours Later…

The room had reconfigured itself since the meeting ended, transforming from a war council chamber into something more intimate— a circular space with comfortable armchairs arranged around a low fire, bookshelves lining the walls, and tall windows that showed the grounds bathed in moonlight.

The nervous energy thrumming through my chest made it impossible to sit still. I found myself pacing between the windows and the fireplace, my mind racing through everything that could go wrong with tonight’s mission.

“You’re wearing a path in the carpet.” Came a familiar voice, cool and elegant with just a hint of ancient sadness.

I turned to see Helena Ravenclaw materializing through the far wall, her silvery form more solid than usual in the firelight. She moved with that peculiar grace that all ghosts possessed, as if she were floating just slightly above the ground, her long hair drifting around her face like she was underwater.

“Helena.” I said, relief flooding through me.

“You’re planning something dangerous. Again.” She observed, settling into one of the armchairs with the fluid motion of someone who no longer needed to worry about physical laws. “I can see it in the way you move, the tension in your shoulders.”

I abandoned my pacing and took the chair across from her, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “Draco needs my help extracting his mother from Malfoy Manor. Tonight.”

Her expression didn’t change, but I saw something flicker in her eyes. “Yes, I remember the promise. You gave your word.”

“Yes.” I said.

“The nature of promises.” Helena said thoughtfully. “Is that they bind us to future selves who may have different perspectives than our current ones. That’s what makes them meaningful— and dangerous.”

She studied me with the intensity that had first drawn me to her. “Tell me.”

And so I did. I told her everything.

“The House Elf is your key.” She said finally. “Their magic operates on different principles than wizarding spells. But Zero…”

She leaned forward, and I felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees. “Lucius Malfoy is not a man who forgives betrayal. If he discovers what you’re doing, he won’t simply try to capture you. He’ll try to destroy you utterly.”

“I know.” I said quietly. “I can’t let Draco face this alone, though. Despite the occasional acrimony between us, I’ve grown fond of the guy. Besides, Narcissa doesn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire when everything comes apart.”

“Your compassion is admirable.” Helena said, but there was worry in her voice. “It’s also going to get you killed one day.”

I looked up at her, studying the face that had become so dear to me over these past months. Even in death, even as a ghost bound to Hogwarts by her own regrets, Helena Ravenclaw was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.

But it was her mind that had captured me— the brilliant intellect that could dissect magical theory with surgical precision, the wisdom accumulated over a thousand years of observation, the dry wit that could make me laugh even in the darkest moments.

“Maybe.” I admitted. “But I’ve done that before. Besides, what’s the alternative— let Draco go alone and probably get himself killed? Let Narcissa remain a hostage to her husband’s ambitions? Sometimes the right choice isn’t the safe one.”

Helena was quiet for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the fire. When she spoke again, her voice was soft.

“When I was alive, I made a choice based on pride and jealousy. I stole my mother’s diadem because I thought I deserved recognition for my own intelligence rather than living in her shadow. That choice led to my murder, to centuries of regret, to becoming bound to this castle by my own guilt and shame.”

She looked at me directly, and I saw centuries of pain in her silver eyes. “What I’m trying to say is that I understand the weight of choices, my love. I understand how a single decision can echo through decades, through lifetimes. And I’m telling you to be very, very careful tonight.”

I stood up and moved to kneel beside her chair, close enough that I could feel the cold emanating from her ghostly form. “I will be. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises lightly.” She said, but there was a small smile on her lips. “You have a tendency to keep them, no matter the cost.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“No.” She said, reaching out as if to touch my face. Her hand stopped just short of my skin— close enough that I could feel the paradoxical warmth, but never quite making contact.

“It’s one of the things I lo— ” She stopped herself, the words hanging in the air between us.

“Helena.” I said softly.

“I care about you so much.” She finished, the admission clearly costing her something. “More than I should, perhaps. More than is wise for someone in my condition.”

She attempted a laugh, but it came out hollow. “A thousand years of existence, and I fall for someone I can never truly be with.”

The pain in her voice cut through me like a blade. I had felt the growing connection between us, the way our conversations had become the highlight of my days, the comfort I found in her presence during the darkest moments of this war. But hearing her acknowledge it aloud made it real in a way that was both wonderful and heartbreaking.

“The feeling is mutual.” I said, meaning every word. “Ghost or not, you’re one of the most remarkable people I’ve ever known.”

“People.” She repeated, with a bitter smile. “I’m not sure I qualify as a person anymore, Adam.”

“You’re more alive than half the living people I know.” I said fiercely, taking her hand in my own and restoring the color in her form. “Your mind, your spirit, your capacity for wisdom and care— death didn’t take any of that away.”

For a moment, we stayed like that— me kneeling beside her chair, her hand in my own, both of us acutely aware of the impossible nature of what we felt for each other. The fire crackled softly in the background, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the castle’s ancient stones settling into their nighttime rest.

“Be smart tonight.” Helena said finally, breaking the spell. “Use your advantages— your mind, your ability to think tactically under pressure. Don’t let anything cloud your judgment. Malfoy Manor is not Hogwarts. If things go wrong, no help will come.”

“I know.” I said. “Any specific tactical advice for me?”

I took a breath as she answered, grateful for the shift back to practical matters even as part of me wanted to stay in that moment of emotional honesty.

“Stay mobile.” She said immediately. ” Don’t let yourself get trapped in a straight-line duel. Use the environment— old houses are full of magical artifacts that can be weapons if you’re creative enough.”

I nodded, filing away the information. “What about Narcissa herself?”

“Don’t underestimate her.” Helena said seriously. “As I understand it, she’s a Black by birth and a Malfoy by marriage? Both families have produced some of the most dangerous witches and wizards in history. She’ll have been trained in combat magic from childhood.”

“But she might also be willing to listen.” I pointed out. “If Draco can convince her that staying puts her in more danger than leaving…”

“Perhaps.” Helena agreed. “Family loyalty runs deep in the old bloodlines. But so does pride, and asking her to abandon her home, her husband, everything she’s ever known… that’s not a small thing you’re requesting.”

A soft knock on the door interrupted our conversation. My heart jumped— midnight already? Had we been talking for that long?

“That will be young Malfoy.” Helena said, rising from her chair with that fluid ghostly motion. “Are you ready for this?”

I stood as well, checking my wand and running through a mental inventory of spells and tactics I might need.

“As ready as I can be.” I said.

Helena moved closer, until we were standing face to face with only inches between us.

“Come back.” She said simply. “Whatever happens tonight, whatever you have to do to survive, come back to me.”

“I will.” I promised.

For just an instant, Helena leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine. Then she was pulling back, her form already beginning to fade.

“Now go.” She said, her voice distant as she became translucent again. “And remember— the dead have all the time in the world, but the living do not.”

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

“Coming.” I called, my voice slightly hoarse. I looked back to where Helena had been standing, but she had already left, leaving only a slight chill in the air and the memory of her lips against mine.

I walked to the door on unsteady legs and opened it to reveal Draco. He was dressed in dark clothing, a traveling cloak over his shoulders, and his face was set in lines of grim determination. But his eyes were bright with nervous energy, and I could see his hands trembling slightly.

“Were you talking to someone?” He asked, glancing past me into the room.

“A ghost.” I said simply. It was the truth, even if it wasn’t the complete truth.

Draco accepted this at face value— after seven years at Hogwarts, conversations with the deceased were hardly unusual.

“Are you ready?” He asked.

I took a deep breath, calling up every lesson Helena had just given me, every tactical insight she’d shared, every word of encouragement and warning. “I’m ready. Dobby?”

Draco nodded and called softly. “Dobby.”

The House Elf appeared with a sharp crack, his usual exuberant demeanor replaced by obvious stress. His large eyes darted between Draco and me, and his hands were wringing together in a way that spoke of deep internal conflict.

“Master Draco calls for Dobby.” The elf said, his voice tight with strain. “Dobby is here, though Dobby is not being sure this is a wise thing to do.”

I knelt down to bring myself closer to the elf’s eye level. “Dobby, I know this is difficult for you. The conflict between your loyalty to Draco and your magical bonds to his father— it must be painful.”

Dobby’s eyes filled with tears. “Dobby is not knowing what is right anymore. Master Draco is being kind to Dobby, is asking please and thank you. But Master Lucius is still being Dobby’s master, and if Master Lucius learns of this…”

“He won’t.” Draco said fiercely. “I promise you, Dobby. My father will never know you helped us unless something goes very, very wrong.”

“And if something does go wrong.” I added. “I’ll make sure everyone knows you were trying to help protect Mrs. Malfoy. That’s not betrayal, Dobby. That’s loyalty to the family.”

The elf considered this for a long moment, his internal struggle playing out across his expressive features. Finally, he nodded. “Dobby will help Master Draco save Mistress Narcissa. But Dobby is being very afraid.”

“So are we.” I admitted. “Fear keeps us careful. Can you take us directly into the Manor?”

“Yes.” Dobby said, though he looked miserable about it. “Dobby can take you to the entrance hall. But then Masters must be quick— the wards, they will be noticing if Masters stay too long.”

I stood up, running through the plan one more time in my head. Get in, find Narcissa, convince her to leave, get out. Simple in concept, potentially catastrophic in execution.

“All right.” I said, extending my hands to Draco and Dobby. “Let’s go get your mother.”

The world compressed around us with the distinctive sensation of House Elf apparition— different from wizard transport, more urgent somehow, as if the magic itself was eager to be done with the task. Then we were standing in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, and I had my first real look at the home of one of Britain’s most powerful wizarding families.

The hall was everything I had expected and more— soaring ceilings supported by columns of black marble, portraits of Malfoy ancestors glaring down from gold frames, and an atmosphere of oppressive wealth that seemed to press down like a physical weight. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling like crystalline spiders, their light catching on ornate furnishings and reflecting off polished surfaces until the entire space glittered with cold magnificence.

“Dobby is going now.” The House Elf whispered, already beginning to fade. “Be safe, Master Draco. Be safe, Master Draco’s friend.”

And then we were alone in the heart of enemy territory.

“Welcome to my home.” Draco said quietly, his voice carrying a mixture of pride and trepidation. “Try not to bleed on the carpets— they’re priceless.”

Despite everything, I found myself smiling. “I’ll do my best. Which way to your mother’s chambers?”

“This way.” He said, leading me toward a grand staircase. “But Adam? Stay alert. Just because Father isn’t here doesn’t mean the house is safe. There are things in this place that even I don’t fully understand.”

Draco led me up the grand staircase, our footsteps muffled by thick Persian runners that probably cost more than most wizarding families earned in a year. The portraits we passed tracked our movement with barely concealed hostility— generations of Malfoys glaring down at the intruder walking through their ancestral home.

I kept my hand near my wand but tried to appear relaxed. In houses like this, showing fear or aggression too early could trigger defensive enchantments that would make our mission exponentially more difficult.

“Mother’s chambers are in the east wing.” Draco whispered as we reached the second-floor landing. “But she might be in the library or the solar— she has trouble sleeping when Father’s out on these meetings.”

I nodded, studying the corridor ahead of us. The walls were lined with alcoves containing various artifacts— ancient vases, ornate weapons, sculptures that seemed to shift when I wasn’t looking directly at them. Everything here was valuable, powerful, and potentially dangerous. Helena’s warning about using the environment echoed in my mind.

“I’ll check the library and the other public spaces.” I said quietly. “You go straight to her chambers. If either of us finds her, we call for each other. We extract immediately; we can’t risk getting caught or worse.”

“Agreed.” Draco said, though I could see the tension in his shoulders. This was his mother, his home, his family being torn apart by war. For him, this wasn’t just a tactical mission— it was personal in the deepest possible way.

We split up at the next corridor junction. Draco headed toward what I assumed were the family’s private quarters, while I made my way deeper into the Manor’s maze-like interior. The architecture was deliberately confusing— corridors that seemed to double back on themselves, doors that appeared in different places depending on the angle you approached them from, and a persistent sense that the house itself was watching, evaluating, judging.

I found the library after only two wrong turns, which was either excellent navigation or suspiciously good luck. The doors were massive things of carved oak, standing slightly ajar. Soft light spilled through the gap, and I could hear the faint sound of pages turning. Someone was inside.

I approached carefully, drawing my wand but keeping it low and non-threatening. Through the gap in the doors, I could see shelves stretching up to a vaulted ceiling, filled with more books than most wizarding libraries could boast. A fire crackled in a massive fireplace, casting dancing shadows across reading chairs and study tables. But I couldn’t see who was inside from this angle.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open wider and stepped into the room.

“Mrs. Malfoy?” I called softly.

The response was immediate and violent. A red bolt of light screamed past my head, missing me by inches and blasting chunks of stone from the doorframe behind me. I threw myself sideways, rolling behind a heavy reading chair as a second spell shattered the floor where I’d been standing.

“Stupefy!” Came her voice— cold, cultured, and absolutely furious.

I rolled again as the Stunning Spell punched through the chair’s upholstery, stuffing exploding in all directions. Coming up in a crouch behind a marble bust of some long-dead Malfoy ancestor, I finally got my first clear look at Narcissa Malfoy in combat.

She was beautiful, even in rage. Tall and elegant with the aristocratic bearing of the Black family, her blonde hair pulled back in a severe style that emphasized the sharp lines of her face. But it was her eyes that caught my attention— cold blue, but filled with a fury that spoke of years of frustration and fear finally given an outlet.

“Confringo!” She snarled, her wand movement precise and deadly.

The bust beside me exploded in a shower of marble fragments. I felt several pieces cut across my cheek as I dove for new cover, this time behind one of the massive bookshelves. The smell of burning parchment filled the air as ancient texts caught fire from the explosive curse.

“Mrs. Malfoy, please!” I called out, trying to inject calm authority into my voice. “I’m not here to hurt you!”

“Liar!” She spat back. “Crucio!“

Holy shit.

I summoned a portrait just in time, the Unforgivable Curse crashing into it and making it explode in a shower of red sparks and sharpnel. But the impact still staggered me— the woman had power, more than I’d been expecting. Helena’s warnings about not underestimating her seemed almost prophetic now.

I needed to change the dynamic of this fight before she could bring more of her arsenal to bear. Still crouched behind the bookshelf, I tried a different approach.

“I’m here with Draco!” I called out. “He’s looking for you right now!”

There was a moment’s hesitation in her spell-casting, just long enough for me to risk a peek around the edge of my cover. She was positioned near the fireplace, using a heavy oak desk as partial concealment, her wand trained on my last known position.

“My son would never associate with rabble like you.” She said, but there was less certainty in her voice now.

“Wouldn’t he?” I called back. “Ask him yourself. He’s here, in the Manor, probably reaching your chambers right about now.”

I saw her expression flicker— doubt, hope, confusion warring across her aristocratic features. But before she could respond, I heard footsteps in the corridor behind me. Heavy, measured, definitely not Draco’s lighter tread.

My blood went cold. Had Lucius returned early?

The momentary distraction cost me. Narcissa took advantage of my divided attention to launch a complex sequence of spells— a binding curse followed immediately by a cutting hex and a bone-breaking jinx. I managed to dodge the first two, but the third caught my left arm, sending fire racing up from wrist to shoulder.

Grimacing against the pain, I realized standard defensive tactics weren’t going to work here. Narcissa had too much experience, too much skill, and the advantage of familiar terrain. I needed to do something she’d find unexpected.

“Odgovor!“

I felt the familiar rush of power as conjured chains erupted from my wand, but this time I poured more magic into the spell than ever before. Not just three or four chains, but a writhing mass of ethereal metal that filled the air like silver serpents. Narcissa’s eyes widened as the chains snaked toward her from every conceivable angle, their metallic surfaces gleaming with deadly intent.

She tried to cut them with a Severing Charm, but the spell simply flowed around the conjured metal without effect. The chains weren’t just physical constructs—they were extensions of my will, and they moved with predatory intelligence.

“Relash—” She began, but had to break off to dodge as one chain swept toward her legs while two others aimed for her wand arm and throat simultaneously. A fourth wrapped around her ankle, and for a moment I thought I had her.

But Narcissa twisted with serpentine grace, her robes billowing as she spun away from the grasping metal.

“Diffindo Maxima!” She snarled, and this time her cutting curse was powerful enough to shear through the chain at her ankle. The severed links clattered to the floor, already beginning to fade.

I pressed the advantage ruthlessly, using the chains’ flexibility to create a three-dimensional web of attacks. They moved like living things— one moment rigid as iron bars to block her hexes, the next flowing like liquid mercury to slip around her defenses. I had her on the defensive now, and we both knew it.

One chain wrapped around the leg of her massive oak desk and yanked with tremendous force. The furniture groaned and toppled, sending her scrambling for new cover behind a towering bookshelf. But I was already there— another chain had circled around to attack from her blind spot, forcing her to throw herself flat as it whistled overhead.

“Protego Horribilis!” She gasped, conjuring a shimmering barrier just as three chains struck simultaneously. The shield held, but cracks spider-webbed across its surface. Sweat beaded on her forehead; maintaining such a powerful defense was draining her.

I could taste victory. Another chain cracked like a whip toward the ceiling, bringing down a shower of plaster and ancient stone that forced her to abandon her position. As she stumbled away from the falling debris, I sent two more chains sweeping low, herding her toward the corner where she’d have nowhere to run.

But then Narcissa did something I didn’t expect. Instead of retreating further, she charged straight at me through the maze of chains, her wand weaving in complex patterns. “Bombarda Maxima! Confringo! Reducto!“

The rapid-fire barrage of explosive curses tore through the air between us. I had to dismiss half my chains to focus on shielding, and the sudden loss of offensive pressure gave her the opening she needed. Her Bombardment Spell connected with my largest chain, and the magical construct exploded in a shower of silver sparks that temporarily blinded us both.

When my vision cleared, she was closer— dangerously close. Close enough that I could see the fierce determination in her blue eyes, close enough that my chains were almost useless in the confined space between us.

“Omninterfici!” she hissed, slashing her wand through the air.

What…

I threw myself behind a marble statue just as invisible blades carved through the air where I’d been standing. The curse struck the statue instead, opening deep gashes in the ancient stone that began to weep dark liquid.

But my evasive roll had put me in a perfect position. As I came up in a crouch, I conjured a single, massive chain— thicker than my arm and moving with devastating speed. It caught Narcissa across the chest like a battering ram, lifting her off her feet and slamming her back into the stone wall with bone-jarring force.

She hit hard and slid down, her wand clattering from numbed fingers. For a heartbeat, I thought the fight was over. Then her hand shot out with viper-quick reflexes, snatching up her wand just as I sent another chain whistling toward her head.

“Crucio!“

The red light of the Torture Curse blazed toward me. I dove desperately behind the overturned desk, the wooden mass taking the curse instead of my flesh. The ancient oak began to convulse and splinter, groaning as if it were a living thing in agony, before finally cracking apart with sounds like breaking bones.

Narcissa was already moving, using my momentary disorientation to gain ground.

“Bombarda! Diffindo! Incendio!” She cast in rapid succession, forcing me to weave desperately between the spells. A cutting curse sliced through my robes, missing my ribs by inches. The incendiary hex set fire to a row of ancient books, filling the air with acrid smoke.

Through the haze, I saw her positioning herself near the center of the room, her wand trained on me. Blood trickled from a cut on her temple, and her elegant robes were torn and singed, but her stance was steady.

“Avada Kedavra!“

The words hit me like ice water. Green light erupted from her wand, and I had perhaps a split second to react. No shield could stop the Killing Curse— I needed something physical, something solid.

I dove sideways, desperately conjuring a thick chain directly in the curse’s path. The green light struck the conjured metal, and the chain didn’t just dissolve—it ceased to exist entirely, as if it had never been. The curse continued on, striking a bookshelf behind where I’d been crouched and exploding with force.

My heart was hammering against my ribs. She’d actually tried to kill me. This wasn’t a duel anymore— this was a fight to the death.

I rolled to my feet, conjuring a network of chains that filled the space between us like a silver web. But I could feel the strain now. Maintaining so many constructs while dodging Unforgivable Curses was pushing me to my limits. My injured left arm throbbed with each movement, and sweat stung my eyes.

Narcissa seemed to sense my weakness. She pressed forward, her wand cutting through the air in precise arcs. “Crucio! Reducto! Crucio!“

I had to duck and weave desperately, using the library’s furniture and architecture to block the Torture Curses. A marble pillar absorbed one, beginning to crack and weep strange fluid. Another curse struck a bronze candelabra, which twisted into an agonized shape before melting. Each near miss reminded me that a single hit would end the fight in the most excruciating way possible.

She was backing me toward the fireplace now, her gray eyes cold and calculating. I stumbled over debris from our battle— chunks of stone, splintered wood, the remains of priceless artifacts we’d destroyed in our fury.

“You should have stayed away from my family.” she said quietly, her wand never wavering. “Avada—“

I threw up my remaining chains in desperation, knowing it might not be enough. The green light was already building at her wand tip when—

“STOP!“

The voice cracked like a whip across the ruined library. Both Narcissa and I froze, our eyes snapping toward the doorway.

Draco Malfoy stood there, his usually pale face flushed with exertion as if he’d been running. His platinum hair was disheveled, his robes askew, and his face— so like his mother’s— was scrunched with horror as he took in the devastation around us.

“Mother!” He said. “Adam! What are you doing? Stop!”

The green light faded from Narcissa’s wand tip. For the first time since the duel began, uncertainty flickered across her features.

“Please, just stop and listen to me.” Draco said again.

Narcissa’s wand never wavered from my chest, but I saw confusion replace some of the fury in her eyes.

“Draco? What are you doing here? How did you— ” She stopped, realization dawning. “You brought him here. This filth!”

“He’s not!” Draco said desperately, moving slowly into the room with his hands partially raised. “Mother, his name is Adam. He’s… he’s my friend. My ally. We’re here to help you.”

“Help me?” The laugh that escaped her lips was bitter and cold. “By breaking into my home? By attacking me in my own library?”

“By getting you somewhere safe before Father’s war destroys everything.” Draco said, his voice breaking slightly. “Mother, please. You know what’s coming. You know Father’s chosen the losing side. When this all comes apart, what do you think is going to happen to the families that supported the world’s destruction?”

I saw something flicker in Narcissa’s eyes; the first crack in her certainty.

“Your father believes—” She began.

“Father believes what he wants to believe.” Draco interrupted, showing more backbone than I’d ever seen from him before. “But you’re smarter than that. You’ve always been smarter than that. You know we can’t win the Dark Lord’s war, and you know what happens to his supporters when he loses.”

The room fell silent except for the crackling of flames— both from the fireplace and from the books still burning from our battle. I could see the war playing out across Narcissa’s aristocratic features: loyalty to her husband versus love for her son, tradition versus survival, pride versus pragmatism.

“Even if what you say is true.” She said finally, her voice carefully controlled. “Where would I go? This is my home, Draco. This is our family’s legacy.”

“Aunt Andromeda.” Draco said immediately. “She’s family, she’s safe. You could stay with her until everything settles.”

At the mention of her sister’s name, I saw Narcissa’s composure crack slightly. The Black family had been torn apart by blood purity politics, with Andromeda disowned for marrying a Muggle-born. But family bonds, even strained ones, ran deep in the ancient bloodlines.

“Andromeda.” She whispered, as if the name carried physical weight. “I haven’t spoken to her in years. Since she married that Muggle-born, since Mother and Father disowned her…”

“But she’s still your sister.” Draco pressed. “And she’d welcome you. I know she would.”

I could see the idea taking root in Narcissa’s mind, could see her beginning to seriously consider the possibility of escape. But I could also see the hesitation related to abandoning everything she’d ever known, the fear of admitting that her husband had led them down a path to destruction.

The moment stretched out, balanced on a knife’s edge. Everything depended on what Narcissa Malfoy decided in the next few seconds.

And then, just as I thought we might actually succeed, I heard the sound that made my blood turn to ice: the distinctive crack of Disapparition from somewhere in the Manor, followed by heavy footsteps moving with purpose toward the library.

We’d stayed too long, and Lucius Malfoy had returned home.

The footsteps were still echoing through the corridors when I saw Narcissa’s face go white. Her wand, which had been wavering slightly as she considered Draco’s words, suddenly steadied again— but this time it wasn’t pointed at me. Her head turned toward the library doors, and in that instant, I saw all her aristocratic composure crumble into something raw and desperate.

“He’s early.” She breathed, the words barely audible. “The meeting wasn’t supposed to end until dawn.”

Draco moved closer to his mother, his own panic barely contained. “Mother, we have to go. Now. Before he finds us here.”

But Narcissa seemed frozen, caught between years of ingrained loyalty and the terrifying possibility of freedom that Draco had just offered her. I could see her mind racing, calculating odds and consequences with the sharp intelligence that had made her one of the most respected witches in pureblood society.

“I can’t.” She whispered. “Draco, you don’t understand. If I leave, if Lucius discovers I’ve betrayed him—”

“You’re not betraying him.” Draco said fiercely, stepping closer despite the fact that her wand was still raised. “You’re saving yourself. You’re saving our family name from the disaster he’s leading us toward.”

The footsteps were getting closer now, and I could hear doors opening and closing as Lucius searched the Manor.

“Your father has given his life to this cause.” Narcissa said, but there was no conviction in her voice anymore. “The Dark Lord, Grindelwald, the restoration of proper magical order—”

“The Dark Lord is wrong.” Draco interrupted brutally. “Perhaps he was right in the beginning, but not anymore. They’re going to lead us into the grave in a matter of days. Mother, please— look at me. Really look at me.”

Narcissa’s eyes focused on her son, and I saw her expression shift as she took in details she might have been ignoring for months. Draco looked older than his years, worn down by the weight of impossible choices and deadly secrets. There were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there at the beginning of the school year, and his hands trembled slightly with the kind of exhaustion that came from constant vigilance.

“You’ve been fighting this war too.” She realized. “Against your father’s side.”

“I’ve been trying to keep you safe.” Draco corrected. “Both of you. But Father won’t listen, and time is running out.”

He gestured toward me. “Adam kept his promise to help me get you out of this. Even though it’s dangerous, even though he could die for it, he’s here because I asked him to be.”

Narcissa looked at me with new eyes— not as an intruder anymore, but as someone who had risked his life for her son’s sake. I saw some of the hostility fade from her expression, replaced by a calculating assessment that reminded me strongly of Draco at his most strategic.

“Who are you really?” She asked, her wand lowering slightly. “Not just your foolish attempt to lay claim to my ancestral family. Who are you in this war?”

“Someone who’s trying to stop it from destroying everything worth protecting.” I said honestly. “Someone who thinks your son is brave and honorable and deserves a mother who’s alive to see him grow into the man he’s becoming.”

I saw her flinch at the implication that staying meant death, but she didn’t contradict me. The footsteps were on this floor now, maybe two corridors away. We were running out of time.

“Andromeda.” She said suddenly, the name coming out like a prayer. “Tell me about Andromeda. Is she… is she well?”

Draco’s face lit up with desperate hope. “She’s doing well; I’ve not met her yet but I’ve met her daughter. Nymphadora— your niece— she’s an Auror. Pretty good one, too.”

“Nymphadora.” Narcissa repeated, and I heard years of regret in her voice. “I haven’t seen her since she was a child. Since the family disowned her mother for marrying beneath her station.” She laughed bitterly.

“It’s not too late.” Draco pressed. “You can see her again. You can have a relationship with family that isn’t built on fear and politics and the threat of violence.”

The footsteps had stopped. Wherever Lucius was, he was no longer moving through the Manor with the same purposeful stride. Either he had found what he was looking for, or he was listening, trying to locate us by sound.

A second later, the library doors exploded inward, wood splinters flying like shrapnel as a figure in dark robes strode through the wreckage.

Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway like an avenging angel of the old blood, his platinum hair disheveled and his usual composed demeanor replaced by something wild and dangerous. His pale eyes took in the scene— his wife with her wand lowered, his son standing protectively near her, and me.

For a moment, none of us moved. The silence stretched out like a held breath, pregnant with violence and the weight of years of family loyalty being shattered in real time.

When Lucius finally spoke, his voice was deadly quiet.

“Narcissa, Draco.” He said, never taking his eyes off his son. “Step away from the boy.”

“Lucius.” She began, but he cut her off with a sharp gesture.

“Step away from him.” He repeated. “Now.”

I saw Draco tense, his hand moving toward his wand. But before he could draw it, before any of us could react, Narcissa did something that surprised everyone in the room.

She stepped forward, placing herself between her husband, her son and myself.

“No.” She said simply.

Lucius’s composed mask cracked slightly. “What did you say?”

“I said no.” Narcissa repeated, her voice growing stronger with each word. “I won’t step away— Not anymore. Not when you’re looking at Draco like an enemy instead of like family.”

“Family.” Lucius spat. “Is that what you call this? Our son consorting with mudbloods, blood traitors and scum? Bringing enemies into our home? Planning to abandon everything we’ve worked for?”

“I call it survival.” Narcissa shot back, and I heard echoes of the Black family steel in her voice. “I call it refusing to watch my son die for your pride.”

“My pride?” Lucius’s voice rose for the first time, composure finally cracking completely. “This is about the future of magical Britain! This is about preserving our world from corruption and decay!”

“This is about you being too proud to admit that you chose the wrong side.” Narcissa said. “Again.”

The accusation hung in the air like a curse. I could see Lucius processing it, could see the exact moment when hurt and betrayal crystallized into something much more dangerous.

“I see.” He said quietly, his voice returning to that deadly calm. “You’ve made your choice then. Both of you.”

He raised his wand, and in that instant I knew with absolute certainty that he was going to try to kill me first— eliminate the outside influence he blamed for corrupting his family.

But before Lucius could cast his spell, Draco stepped fully in front of both his parents.

“Stop.” He said, his young voice carrying an authority I’d never heard from him before. “Father, just stop and listen to me. Please.”

“There is nothing you can say—” Lucius began.

“I love you.” Draco interrupted.

The simple words seemed to hit Lucius like a physical blow. His wand wavered, and for just a moment, I saw the father underneath the fanatic.

“I love you.” Draco repeated, tears starting to track down his cheeks. “I love Mother. I love this house, this family, everything we used to be. But I won’t watch it all burn because you can’t see that we’re on the path to destruction.”

“Draco—” Lucius said, his voice hoarse.

“I’m thirteen years old.” Draco continued. “I should be worried about weekends at Hogsmeade, Quidditch and slowly learning under you on how to run our family’s estate. Instead I’m here, in the middle of the night, trying to convince my parents not to die for two madmen’s dreams of purity and power.”

The library fell silent except for the crackling of dying flames and the sound of Draco’s ragged breathing. I could see the war playing out across Lucius’s aristocratic features— love for his son battling against years of ideology and commitment.

“You don’t understand.” He said finally. “The world we’re fighting for—”

“Is never going to exist.” Draco said flatly. “Father, Grindelwald is going to lose. His ritual is going to fail, and even if it succeeds, it’ll kill us all. When it does fail, however, everyone who supported him is going to pay the price. I don’t want that to be us. I don’t want that to be you.”

Lucius looked at his son for a long moment, then at his wife, then finally at me. I could see him weighing options, calculating odds, trying to find a path that would preserve both his family and his principles.

“You’re asking me to abandon everything I believe in.” He said quietly.

“I’m asking you to choose your family over your politics.” Draco replied. “Just this once. Just when it matters most.”

The moment stretched out, balanced on the edge of violence or reconciliation. Everything that happened next would determine not just whether we escaped the Manor alive, but whether the Malfoy family survived the war intact.

Lucius Malfoy’s choice became clear the moment his wand steadied, no longer wavering with paternal doubt. The cold fury that settled across his aristocratic features was like watching winter claim a landscape— beautiful, terrible, and utterly without mercy.

“You’ve been corrupted.” He said to Draco, his voice carrying the finality of a funeral dirge. “Both of you. Poisoned by weakness and sentiment.”

His pale eyes fixed on me with the kind of hatred usually reserved for blood enemies. “And you— you’re the source of the infection.”

The Killing Curse was already forming on his lips when I pushed Draco and Narcissa to the side. Desperation gave me strength, and I rolled hard to the left just as green light seared through the air where my head had been. The curse struck an ancient leather-bound tome, which crumbled to ash instantly.

I got up and sidestepped as Lucius’s second curse— a bone-shattering hex— blasted chunks from the marble floor where I’d been lying.

“Stupefy!” I returned fire, but Lucius deflected the spell with contemptuous ease, his wand work displaying the kind of technical perfection that came from decades of practice and natural talent.

“Omninterfici!” He snarled, and I barely got a shield up in time. The Dark Cutting Curse which Narcissa had used earlier slashed across my magical barrier, leaving visible tears in the air that slowly stitched themselves back together.

I conjured my chains again, sending them whipping toward him from multiple angles, but Lucius was ready for them this time. Instead of trying to dodge or destroy the conjurations, he cast something I’d never seen before— a complex ward that caused my chains to slow dramatically as they approached him, as if they were moving through thick syrup.

“Did you really think.” He said conversationally while casually deflecting my follow-up stunner. “That I wouldn’t research the methods of someone foolish enough to make an enemy of my family?”

He gestured with his off-hand, and several of the Manor’s defensive enchantments activated at once. The portraits on the walls began shrieking warnings, suits of armor clanked to life and started moving to block my escape routes, and the very air grew thick with hostile magic.

I was fighting not just Lucius now, but the accumulated defenses of centuries of paranoid purebloods.

“Father, stop this!” Draco shouted, but his voice seemed to come from very far away. Lucius had cast some kind of isolation ward around us, trapping me in a dueling circle with one of the most dangerous wizards in Britain.

Lucius smiled— a cold, predatory expression that reminded me horribly of a shark scenting blood. “I will grind your name to dust, Clarke.”

“‘Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe’.” I replied. “You might kill me, but you’ll never kill what I stand for.”

“Hmph. A mudblood digging in the mud for wisdom.” He said with venomous mockery. “How poetic. How utterly meaningless.”

He launched into a complex sequence of curses that forced me to give ground rapidly. A bone-breaker followed by a blood-boiling hex, then immediately into a cutting curse that would have opened my throat if I hadn’t thrown myself behind an overturned reading table. The ancient oak exploded into splinters under his assault, forcing me to keep moving.

“You quote dead Muggles.” Lucius continued, his spell-casting never faltering as he systematically destroyed my cover. “As if their primitive philosophies could comprehend the complexities of magical governance. As if their stunted understanding of good and evil could apply to beings of our caliber.”

I tried to get some distance, using the library’s architecture to break his line of sight, but the animated suits of armor were herding me like sheep. Every time I tried to circle around to flank him, metal guardians stepped into my path with raised weapons.

“Diffindo!” I cast at the nearest suit of armor, but the cutting charm barely scratched the enchanted steel. These weren’t decorative pieces— they were functional defensive constructs, probably animated by the same magic that protected Gringotts vaults.

“You see?” Lucius said, and I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “This is what happens when mediocrity challenges excellence. When mongrel blood presumes to stand against purity.”

He cast something that made the air around me shimmer and distort, and suddenly I felt like I was moving through water. A slowing hex, but more powerful than anything I’d encountered before.

His next curse— a bone-splintering jinx— caught me in the shoulder, spinning me around and sending white-hot agony racing down my arm. I barely managed to stay on my feet, and my counter-curse went wide, blasting a hole in a bookshelf instead of hitting my target.

“The problem with people like you.” Lucius continued, pressing his advantage with methodical precision. “Is that you mistake luck for skill, sentiment for strength.”

Another curse, this one aimed at my legs. I managed to dodge, but just barely. “You cannot comprehend the discipline required to maintain proper order, the sacrifices necessary to preserve what is valuable.”

I was losing, and badly. My chains were nearly useless against his ward, my movement was hampered by his slowing hex, and I was running out of cover as he systematically destroyed the library around us. Worse, I could feel my magical reserves depleting rapidly. Maintaining defensive shields while conjuring chains and casting combat spells was exhausting, and Lucius seemed barely winded.

“You want to talk about sacrifice?” I gasped out, throwing up another shield just in time to deflect a curse that would have turned my blood to acid. “Let’s talk about what you’re sacrificing right now.”

“Enlighten me.” He said, his tone suggesting he was enjoying himself.

“Your family.” I said, ducking as a cutting curse sheared through the air above my head. “Your son’s respect. Your wife’s love. Everything that actually matters, all thrown away for the approval of a madman who’s going to be dead in a week.”

For just an instant, I saw him hesitate. Not much— barely a fractional delay in his spell-casting— but enough for me to press what might be my only advantage.

“You think Grindelwald or Voldemort care about you?” I continued, using the momentary respite to try to work my way closer to him. “You think either of them see you as anything more than a useful tool? You’re expendable to them, Lucius. Just another fanatic willing to die for his vision of purity.”

“Better to die for something meaningful than to live as a coward.” He replied, but there was less certainty in his voice now.

“And what about Draco?” I shot back. “What about Narcissa? Are they expendable too? Because that’s what you’re telling them right now— that your ideology matters more than their lives.”

“My family will be protected by victory.” Lucius said, but the words sounded rehearsed, like something he’d told himself so often he’d stopped questioning whether it was true.

“You aren’t going to—”

“Enough of your foolish philosophy. Enough mercy.” He raised his wand with deadly purpose. “Avada—“

“NO!”

The shout came from behind him, and suddenly Draco was there, throwing himself between his father and me with his own wand raised. But Lucius had already committed to the killing curse, the green light already erupting from his wand tip, and Draco’s shield charm barely had time to form before—

Narcissa’s summoned chair made it just in time for the killing curse to crash against it, exploding in a wave that sent all of us flying in different directions.

I hit a bookshelf hard enough to see stars, books raining down on me as the entire structure toppled over. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Narcissa screaming— a sound of such pure anguish that it cut through the chaos like a blade.

Forcing myself to focus, I looked toward where Draco had fallen. He was crumpled against the far wall, his left arm bent at an unnatural angle and blood running from a gash on his forehead. But he was alive— hurt badly, but alive. The chair had done just enough to absorb the force of the killing curse from a direct hit, though the magical backlash had clearly done serious damage.

Lucius was on his knees near the fireplace, his face white with shock and horror at what he’d almost done. His wand had fallen from nerveless fingers, and he was staring at his injured son with the expression of a man watching his entire world crumble.

“Draco.” He whispered, and for the first time since he’d entered the library, he sounded like a father instead of a fanatic.

“Don’t.” Draco gasped from where he lay against the wall, pain making his voice thin but not breaking his resolve. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare act like you care now.”

Lucius tried to stand, tried to move toward his son, but Narcissa was already there, kneeling beside Draco with her hands checking his injuries with the quick efficiency of someone who’d dealt with magical trauma before.

“Stay away from him.” She said without looking up, her voice carrying a venom I’d never heard from her before. “You’ve done enough.”

“Narcissa, I didn’t mean— ” Lucius began.

“You cast the Killing Curse at our son.” She cut him off, finally looking up with eyes like winter storms. “At our child. Because he tried to protect someone you wanted to murder.”

“He was being manipulated.” Lucius protested weakly. “Corrupted by outside influences— “

“He was being brave.” Narcissa said, and the pride in her voice was fierce and protective. “He was being everything we should have taught him to be. Everything you used to be, before you let fear and hatred poison your heart.”

The fight had gone out of Lucius completely. He knelt there among the wreckage of his family library, looking older than I’d ever seen him, while his wife tended to the son he’d nearly killed 

I managed to get to my feet, though my shoulder was screaming and I was pretty sure I had at least two cracked ribs. The magical slowing hex had dissipated when Lucius lost concentration, but I still felt like I’d been trampled by a herd of centaurs.

“Draco.” I called softly. “How bad is it?”

“Broken arm.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Maybe some ribs. Nothing that won’t heal.” He looked at his father with eyes that held more pain than any physical injury could cause. “I’m fine, Adam.”

Lucius flinched as if the words were physical blows. He looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw something I’d never expected to see in those pale eyes: defeat. Not just tactical defeat, but the deeper kind that came from realizing you’d been fighting for the wrong things.

“You.” He said quietly. “You would have died to protect my son.”

It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”

“Even though he was raised to despise everything you represent.”

“He’s not his upbringing.” I said simply. “And neither are you, if you choose not to be.”

Lucius was quiet for a long moment, staring at his injured son and his defiant wife. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible.

“What happens now?”

“Now.” Narcissa said, helping Draco to his feet with his good arm around her shoulders. “I take my son somewhere safe. Somewhere far from your war and your masters and your twisted vision of purity.”

“And me?” Lucius asked.

Narcissa looked at him for a long moment— at the man she’d married, the father of her child, the wizard who had just tried to murder their son in service to his ideology. Whatever she saw in his face seemed to drain the last of her anger, leaving only exhaustion and something that might have been pity.

“That’s your choice.” She said quietly. “It’s always been your choice. You can stay here and wait for the war to consume you, or you can remember what it means to be a husband and a father instead of a fanatic.”

She turned toward me then, and I saw a strength in her that reminded me why the Black family had survived so many centuries of magical politics.

“Take us to my sister.” She said. It wasn’t a request.

I nodded, calling for Kreacher. The old House Elf appeared with his usual disdainful expression, but his eyes widened when he saw the state of the library and the injured people within it.

“Master calls for Kreacher?” He asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“Take us to Andromeda Tonks.” I said. “Quickly.”

Kreacher looked at Narcissa, then at the wreckage around us, then at Lucius still kneeling by the fireplace. His expression was unreadable, but he nodded.

“Kreacher will take you.” He said. As we gathered around the House Elf, we looked towards Lucius, who’d been standing there the whole time.

“Go.” He said simply. “Take them somewhere safe.”

“Lucius—” Narcissa began.

“Go.” He repeated, not looking at any of us. “Before I change my mind.”

It was as close to an admission of defeat as we were likely to get. Narcissa looked at him for one last moment— at the man who had been her partner for nearly two decades, the father of her child, the wizard she was now leaving behind.

“Goodbye, my love.” She said softly.

He didn’t respond, didn’t even look up as Kreacher took hold of both Narcissa and me, supporting the injured Draco between us.

The last thing I saw before the House Elf’s magic whisked us away was Lucius Malfoy, alone among the wreckage of his library.