Soft Threats, Baby!

The Society is a very well hidden place. The children are sedated in entry and exit to keep things well measured. Criminal life requires lots of eyes and security. It is more of a facility than anything with rooms filled with guns, knives, explosives, grenades, etc. This place was called “Зал Синдиката.” It contained a multitude of rooms, including a surgery room, a laboratory, multiple training rooms, a chamber to hold captives, and offices for the motherfuckers that run the place. Each child has to sleep tied to their bed, and train hours and hours on end depending on their age. There are many rules for example, no sexual relationships but that one is always being broken, especially because it was always used as an outlet to feel something, out of all the pain and suffering that goes on in Зал Синдиката .. to be happy for just a bit was always something. 

The sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the training room, the scent of gunpowder thick in the air. Harry stood with his feet planted firmly, his grip steady on the pistol as he fired off the last round. The moving targets had been set to their highest difficulty, zigzagging unpredictably across the room, but it didn’t matter. He hit every single one. Not a single shot was wasted because Harry knew better. If he missed a shot it would result in pain, he was already sore everywhere from yesterday’s work he needed to prove himself again.

The final target fell, and the room went silent except for the sound of the metal casings clattering onto the floor. Harry exhaled through his nose, lowering the gun as the tension in his arms eased. A guard near the entrance, clad in dark fatigues, watched him with an appraising look before stepping forward.

“Ты можешь идти отдыхать,” the man said, voice rough and clipped. 

Harry didn’t say anything, just handed off the empty gun and stretched his arms over his head before leaving the room.

The hallway was dimly lit, the fluorescent bulbs casting a sterile glow against the gray walls. He walked with quiet steps, not in any rush. The sound of footsteps in sync can be heard through the halls as other children were still in training. By the time he reached the lounge, he spotted Draco and Pansy curled up on the couch, a blanket thrown over both of them. Pansy had her boots propped up on the armrest.

Draco, on the other hand, looked half-asleep, his head tilted back against the cushions.

Harry stepped inside, making his way over before dropping onto the couch beside them with a soft huff.

“You’re late,” Pansy murmured, not looking up.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I was busy.”

Draco cracked one eye open and muttered to Pansy. “Missed all his shots.”

Harry scoffed. “I can hear you fucker.”

Before Draco could respond, the door swung open, and two more figures stepped inside Blaise Zabini and Cedric Diggory. Cedric was still in his suit from earlier, his tie slightly loosened, while Blaise looked as effortless as ever, his coat draped over his arm like he had all the time in the world.

“Hope you all are comfortable,” Blaise drawled as he crossed the room. “Because we have a problem.”

Draco groaned, rubbing at his face. “Fantastic. What now?”

Cedric tossed a file onto the table before leaning against the couch’s armrest. “Neville Longbottom,” he said simply.

Harry barely reacted, though his gaze sharpened slightly.

“Who?” Pansy asked, sitting up properly now.

Blaise exhaled through his nose. “The Longbottoms’ kid.”

Draco frowned. “The cops Longbottoms?”

“The very same,” Cedric confirmed. “He’s been working their case on us.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How dedicated is he?”

Blaise smirked, slow and amused. “Dedicated enough that he believes this place could exist.”

Draco swore under his breath. “That’s just fucking fantastic.”

Pansy twirled her knife absently. “So what? We take him out?”

Cedric tilted his head slightly. “That depends.”

Harry, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke, his voice light but carrying weight. “If he doesn’t give up what he knows,” his tone as casual as if he were talking about the weather, “I’ll shoot him.”

Silence stretched between them, unbroken, before Draco smirked.

Blaise chuckled.

Cedric nodded approvingly. “We’ll see what he has to say, then.”

Pansy leaned back, clicking a pen with her fingers and her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “Guess we’ll pay Neville Longbottom a visit.”

The car was sleek and black, its tinted windows swallowing the glow of passing streetlights. It looked expensive but not flashy, built for blending in, not standing out. The leather seats were cool against their skin, the faint scent of pine and black cherry drifting from the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, swinging slightly with each turn Cedric took.

Harry sat in the front seat, one hand resting on his knee, the other close to his waist where his gun sat snugly in its holster. He barely glanced at it, he didn’t need to. It was second nature, a presence as familiar as breathing. 

In the back, Pansy and Draco were just as armed. Their weapons sat easily in their laps, fingers resting lazily over them like they weren’t even thinking about it.

Cedric drove with the confidence of someone who knew no one would dare pull them over. His eyes stayed on the road, but he wasn’t tense. If he was worried, he didn’t show it. 

The car moved smoothly through the dim streets, the glow of the city behind them fading into darkness. The occasional streetlight flickered as they passed, casting long shadows over the hood. Cedric drove like he had nothing to worry about, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gear shift.

Harry sat in the front seat, his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He wasn’t talking much. Not that this was unusual, but the tension in his posture was worse than normal.

In the back, Pansy had one leg crossed over the other, elbow propped against the window, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the situation.

“How much longer?” Draco asked, voice flat.

Cedric didn’t even glance at him. “Not long.”

Harry turned his head slightly, unimpressed. “That’s not an answer.”

Cedric exhaled sharply, the closest thing to a laugh. “Fifteen minutes. Maybe less. Assuming we don’t get shot in the head the second we step out of the car.”

Draco hummed. “Ah, yes. How comforting.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Этому идиоту всегда приходится все драматизировать.”

“Better than lying to ourselves,” Cedric responded, equally dry. “We all know there are snipers patrolling the neighborhood, someone must have scared Interpol shitless because they never had that before.”

Harry glanced out the window. He wasn’t wrong. There were always snipers when it came to meetings like this. Silent, hidden figures perched in the darkness, waiting for a signal.

Pansy yawned, switching the gun to her other hand. “Did you tell them we have snipers too, Diggory? Or are we just pretending we’re walking into this blind?”

Cedric smirked. “I assumed you two already did that. Aren’t you the paranoid ones?”

Draco stretched, cracking his neck. “Not paranoid. Just smart.”

Harry finally spoke, voice calm. “If something happens, I send a text. We have thirty seconds before they start dropping bodies.”

Cedric nodded approvingly. “See? Now that’s an answer.”

Silence settled over them for a few moments. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the occasional shift of fabric as one of them moved.

Then Cedric asked, “You think Longbottom knows?”

Draco frowned. “Knows what?”

Cedric gestured vaguely. “What his parents are really getting into. That they’re building a case on all this.”

Pansy scoffed. “If he didn’t before, he does now.”

Draco leaned his head back, considering. “People who are cops like to play superheroes.”

Harry’s fingers tapped lightly against his knee.

Cedric glanced at him. “You think he’s a problem?”

Harry didn’t hesitate. “And if it comes to him not talking, do we kill the parents too?”

Cedric grinned. “Yes. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

As the Longbottoms’ house came into view, Pansy finally put her gun away.

“Do me a favor,” she said lazily, “if it does come to that, let me stab him first, Blaise was teaching me a new skill and I want to test it out.”

The car rolled to a smooth stop a block away from the house. No words were exchanged, just a glance between them, a silent agreement. They moved fast. The second their feet hit the pavement, they disappeared into the shadows, keeping low, moving quietly.

Draco was the first to the side door, his gloved fingers testing the handle. Locked. He rolled his eyes and pulled out a small tool, working the lock with practiced ease. It clicked open in seconds. Pansy was already moving past him, gun in hand, Harry right behind her.

They slipped inside, the house deadly silent. No creaking floors, no security system screaming at them either the Longbottoms were sloppy, or they were too confident to think anyone would be bold enough to break in.

They navigated the halls easily, sticking to the shadows. Harry led the way, his expression unreadable, eyes sharp. They knew the layout. Knew exactly where to go.

When they reached Neville’s room, Draco was the first one in, stepping past stacks of books and neat little trinkets lining the shelves. He let out a low whistle, glancing around at the perfectly arranged room. “Didn’t take you for a perfectionist, Longbottom.”

Before Pansy could reply, the door creaked open behind them.

Neville stepped in, eyes half-lidded, clearly not expecting company. His gaze landed on Draco first, then shifted to Pansy, then finally to Harry.

And then, recognition.

His hands twitched, but there was no gun. No immediate panic. Just surprise.

He hadn’t seen them coming.

Neville blinked, his body going still for half a second then Draco swooped in, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click, grinning.

“W-What are you doing here?” His voice was hushed, eyes panicky.

Draco smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the bookshelf. “Nice to see you too, Nev. Love what you’ve done with the place. Real cozy.”

Neville ignored him, already looking at Harry. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Harry tilted his head, unreadable. “Neither should you.”

A tense silence stretched between them before Neville exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Are you here to kill me?”

Pansy scoffed. “Not yet.” She stepped closer, voice dropping. “But if you don’t start talking, I could change my mind.”

Neville rolled his eyes but didn’t move back. “If I scream, my parents will—”

“Won’t get here alive,” Draco cut in smoothly, inspecting his nails. “We planned for that.”

Harry was still watching Neville, gaze heavy. Then, finally, he spoke again. “How much do you know?”

Neville hesitated. Just for a moment. “Enough.”

Harry’s fingers twitched near his gun. “That’s not an answer.”

Draco smirked. “Oh, we love hearing that.”

Neville’s breath hitched, panic setting in fast. “Please,” he whispered, his hands slightly raised, palms out in surrender. “I—I won’t fight. Just—just don’t—”

Pansy tilted her head, eyes dark with amusement. “Don’t what?”

Neville swallowed hard, voice barely above a breath. “Don’t kill me.”

Draco let out a quiet chuckle from where he stood, still leaning against the bookshelf like he had all the time in the world. “Kill you?” he repeated, dragging out the words like he was considering them.

Harry, still silent, was watching Neville with an unreadable expression.

Neville took a shaky breath, hands curling into fists at his sides. “I don’t—I don’t know what you want.”

Pansy clicked her tongue, taking a slow step forward. “Oh, I think you do.” She lowered her voice, the threat in it sharp and deliberate. “And if you scream, it won’t be long before Mommy and Daddy are too.”

Neville flinched. His entire body locked up, like the words alone were a gun pressed to his temple. He was shaking now, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “You wouldn’t,” he tried, but his voice cracked on the last syllable.

Draco let out a soft whistle. “Damn. That was pathetic.”

Neville’s eyes darted between them, desperate, calculating. Searching for a way out.

Harry finally moved. Just a slight tilt of his head, just enough to catch Neville’s gaze. His voice, when he spoke, was soft. Almost gentle. “We’re not gonna kill you.”

Neville froze. His eyes flickered to Draco and Pansy like he was waiting for them to contradict him.

Pansy sighed dramatically. “For now.”

Neville swallowed, his hands trembling as he tried to steady his breathing. He hesitated, looking at Harry first, then Draco and Pansy, as if weighing his options. Finally, he exhaled shakily. “I—I don’t know everything,” he admitted.

Pansy arched a brow, unimpressed. “You know enough.”

Neville nodded quickly, eager to keep her from getting closer. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He licked his lips, eyes flickering toward the door like he expected someone to burst in at any second. “The program—your program—it’s not just you. There are others. More kids. Some younger than you.”

Harry’s fingers twitched against his leg, but he didn’t say anything.

Neville continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “They take them young. Train them like you. Spies, assassins, whatever they need. They move them around. Different countries, different missions, just orders.” He hesitated. “They don’t let them leave.”

Draco’s jaw tightened as memories of having to wake up with broken bones and bruises flooded through him. “We know all that, Longbottom. Tell us something useful.”

Neville flinched at the sharpness of his tone. He rushed to keep talking. “Okay, okay. The people running it? It’s not just some random organization. It’s deep like, government deep. Corrupt officials, high-up security, politicians. People you wouldn’t expect.”

Pansy scoffed before she began fishing for more information on what Neville knows. “Yeah? Who’s behind it, do you know who gives the orders?”

Neville’s face paled, his fingers curling into his bedsheets. “I don’t know who’s at the very top. But I know who they report to.” He hesitated, then looked directly at Harry. “It’s Lestrange. Malvoria Lestrange and someone else. They're the ones calling the shots. The facility, the missions, everything.”

Silence fell over the room.

Harry’s expression didn’t change, but something dark and unreadable passed through his eyes. He leaned back against the wall, knees pulled up, gun resting loose against his waist.

Draco exhaled through his nose, slow and steady. “Well,” he muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm, “isn’t that fucking lovely.”

Neville barely had time to react before Pansy was suddenly right in front of him, pressing the cold barrel of her gun against the base of his skull.

“Get up,” she ordered, voice low and dangerous.

Neville froze, barely breathing. “P-Pansy, please—”

“I don’t want to hear you beg, Longbottom,” she snapped. “What I do want is every file, every picture, every scrap of fucking information you have on us. Now.”

He swallowed hard, nodding frantically. “Okay, okay—just, just don’t shoot.” He rose from the bed shakily, hands raised.

Draco leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching with mild amusement. “You should probably move faster, mate. Pansy’s patience isn’t great.”

Pansy dug the gun a little harder into the back of Neville’s head. “Move.”

Neville led them out of the room, down the dimly lit hallway, heart hammering in his chest. He knew better than to try anything. His parents were just downstairs. If he made the wrong move, they wouldn’t live long enough to hear his warning.

He stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. “It’s—it’s in here. My dad keeps all his case files locked up.”

Pansy scoffed. “And you just so happen to know where he keeps the key?”

Neville’s hands were shaking as he reached under a framed picture hanging on the wall. He pulled off the back panel, revealing a small key taped inside. “Yeah.”

Draco whistled. “Longbottom, you little criminal.”

Neville didn’t respond. He just unlocked the door, stepping aside as Pansy shoved him forward.

The room was lined with filing cabinets, stacks of folders, and a desk covered in scattered notes. Pansy’s eyes scanned over it all, cold and calculating.

“You’re gonna pull everything on us,” she ordered, keeping the gun trained on him. “Names, missions, facility details, everything.”

Neville didn’t hesitate. He scrambled to the nearest cabinet, rifling through folders, yanking out anything related to The Society. The papers trembled in his hands as he handed them over.

Pansy flipped through one file, her jaw tightening. Photographs of their men. Training reports, and a bunch of locations on where it could be found.

She handed the stack to Draco without looking away from Neville. Then she leaned in close, voice a whisper against his ear.

“If you even think about telling Mommy and Daddy we were here,” she murmured, “I’ll make sure you wake up to a big surprise in the morning”

Neville shut his eyes tight, nodding rapidly. “I—I won’t. I swear.”

Pansy stepped back, flipping the safety back on with a sharp click. They moved quickly, slipping out of the house as quietly as they had come in. Neville had given them everything they wanted, too terrified to resist. Pansy had taken her sweet time copying files, flipping through photos, and making sure she left nothing behind. Draco had made himself at home, lounging against Neville’s desk looking at his action figures while Harry kept his eyes on the door smiling. 

“Our agents send their love, Longbottom.” said Draco as he left the bedroom.

But now, they were gone, and as the black, tinted car sped down the road, it was as if they had never been there at all.

Harry pulled the gun from his waistband, checking the safety before tucking it back in place. Pansy did the same, while Draco casually spun his between his fingers before resting it on his lap.

Cedric, who had been waiting behind the wheel, finally spoke. “So? That easy?”

“Pathetically so,” Pansy said, stretching her arms out with a satisfied sigh. “Poor little Neville was practically shaking in his boots. You should’ve seen it, Diggory. I almost felt bad for the guy.”

Draco let out a quiet snicker. “You? Feel bad? Don’t make me laugh.”

Pansy smirked. “I said almost.”

Cedric glanced at Harry. “And you? Quiet as ever.”

Harry, staring out the window, gave a small shrug. “Nothing to say. He was scared. He gave us what we needed. Probably pissed himself. End of story.”

“Mm.” Cedric tapped his fingers against the wheel. “So the Longbottoms had everything we thought they did?”

“Sort of.” Pansy confirmed. “Couple names. Faces. Incident reports. Even some places that they think we use.” She crossed one leg over the other. “And the best part? They don’t even know it’s gone yet.”

Cedric scoffed. “What, they keep it in a filing cabinet?”

Draco chuckled. “Basically. Stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. Almost felt like a trap, but no Neville’s just that dumb.”

Pansy smirked, tapping a nail against the side of her gun. “Imagine being a cop and still underestimating your enemies.”

“That’s the problem,” Cedric said, turning down a side street, eyes flickering to the rearview mirror. “They don’t see you as enemies. They still see you as kids.”

Harry let out a quiet breath, his fingers tightening slightly where they rested against his knee. “Then they’re idiots.”

“No argument there,” Cedric said, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “You text Blaise?”

Pansy scoffed. “Of course I did. What, you think I’m an amateur?”

Cedric smirked. “Just making sure. If you fucked up, we’d be screwed before we got off the street.”

Draco scoffed. “Like we’d let that happen.”

Cedric let out a soft chuckle. “Right. My mistake. Should’ve known better than to doubt you lot.”

The car moved smoothly through the night, streetlights casting flickering shadows across their faces. The city was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the distant noise of late-night traffic.

Pansy glanced down at the thick stack of stolen files resting on her lap. “We should go through these as soon as we get back.”

Cedric nodded. “Yeah. And then we figure out our next move. Because if the Longbottoms are involved in this, there’s a whole lot more we don’t know yet. Probably that Pandora girl. We still have to go to that swap in Vegas though, might have to be postponed though.”

Draco sighed dramatically, stretching his arms above his head. “Great. More work.”

Harry finally turned from the window, his gaze sharp as he opened a piece of gum and plopped it in his mouth. “Yay.”

—---

The room was dimly lit, the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows against the walls. The air was still, the silence heavy. Cedric sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing absently at an old scar on his palm, his mind elsewhere.

He’d gotten it years ago during a mission gone wrong. He’d been sloppy just a second too slow during a heist and the knife meant for someone else had found him instead. It didn’t even hurt that much, not compared to everything else, but it had stuck with him. Not because of the pain, but because of what it represented. A mistake. A reminder that no matter how skilled he was, how good he became, he would always be replaceable. Just another weapon in the program’s arsenal.

He let out a slow breath, tilting his head back slightly. His muscles ached from the day’s training, but exhaustion never really reached him. Sleep never came easy. Not for people like him.

Soft footsteps in the hallway broke the quiet. Light, careful, someone used to moving without a sound. Cedric didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

A moment later, the door creaked open, and there was Harry, standing small in the doorway. His oversized T-shirt hung off his thin frame, the fabric swallowing him up, making him look younger than his eight years. His socks were mismatched, his dark hair a wild mess.

Harry didn't always look like this but some days standing there, tired and quiet, he just looked like a child which he was.

Cedric didn’t say anything, just shifted slightly to make space. He didn’t have to invite Harry in he already knew he was going to come in anyway.

Sure enough, Harry stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He climbed onto the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around them. His chin rested on his knees as he stared at nothing in particular.

He waited a beat before speaking.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

A small shake of the head.

Cedric just hummed in acknowledgment, not pushing for more. He’d learned that with Harry, you had to give him time. If you rushed him, he’d shut down completely.

For a while, there was just silence.

Then, finally, Harry spoke, his voice so quiet that Cedric almost didn’t hear him.

“I wonder what it would’ve been like.”

Cedric frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“If my parents actually wanted me.”

The words were soft, but they hit like a bullet.

He turned his head slightly, looking at Harry, but Harry wasn’t looking back. His gaze was still distant, lost somewhere he couldn’t follow.

“My mother…” Harry’s voice was tight, controlled, but underneath it was something raw, something vulnerable. “She didn’t want me. I don’t think she ever did. I was just something she got stuck with. And she—” He broke off, pressing his forehead against his knees. “She gave me away. Just handed me over to them like I was nothing.”

Cedric felt his jaw clench. He knew Harry’s story, at least the pieces Harry had let slip over time. But hearing it spoken like this, with no emotion like Harry had already convinced himself it didn’t matter, made something twist painfully in his chest.

“I probably deserved it,” Harry whispered.

Cedric’s entire body tensed.

He reached out, slow and careful, resting a firm hand on Harry's back. His touch was grounding. “Don’t say that.”

Harry let out a quiet laugh, but it was hollow. “It’s true.”

“It’s not.” Cedric’s voice was steady, unwavering. He wasn’t going to argue, wasn’t going to tell Harry he was wrong because Harry had spent his whole life being told he wasn’t wanted, that he wasn’t enough. But Cedric could at least tell him the truth. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you. And you don’t deserve to feel like this.”

Harry swallowed hard. His fingers curled into the fabric of his T-shirt, gripping it tightly. “Then why doesn’t it feel that way?”

Cedric didn’t have an answer for that.

Harry exhaled shakily, shifting slightly where he sat. His voice was even quieter when he spoke next.

“I just want someone to love me.”

Cedric closed his eyes for a brief moment.

He wanted to tell Harry that someone would, that things would get better, that he wasn’t always going to feel like this. But those were just words, empty promises he couldn’t guarantee. He wasn’t going to lie to Harry, wasn’t going to tell him something just because it would sound nice.

So instead, he did what he could do.

He pulled Harry in.

 He just held him in a steady and warm hug, a solid presence that didn’t waver. And slowly Harry melted into him.

His hands gripped the fabric of Cedric’s shirt, clutching it tightly like he was afraid to let go.

It was quiet for a long time. Besides Draco and Pansy, Cedric was always one of the people Harry would go to when he wanted someone to talk to. Cedric is always caring and understanding. He did not pity, he was just there if you ever needed him. He was one of the nicest people if you got through his intimidating demeanor. 

The room remained still, the weight of Harry’s words hanging heavy in the air. Cedric could feel the way Harry’s small frame trembled slightly against him, his fingers still gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

Then, a sharp inhale. A stifled sniff.

Harry was crying.

Cedric didn’t say anything, didn’t pull away or make a fuss over it. He just let Harry cry, his quiet breaths hitching, his body shaking ever so slightly. The warm patch of dampness seeping into Cedric’s shirt was the only indication of just how much Harry was holding in.

After a few moments, Harry pulled back just enough to wipe at his face with his sleeve, looking frustrated at himself. “I hate this,” he muttered, voice thick with unshed tears.

Cedric frowned. “Hate what?”

Harry swallowed hard, his gaze flickering away, shame creeping into his features. “Feeling like this.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and he clenched his jaw. “I wish I was normal.”

Cedric’s heart clenched painfully. “Harry—”

“I see people on the streets sometimes,” Harry interrupted, voice raw. “Normal people. Kids laughing with their parents, running around like they don’t have a care in the world. I watch them, and I—I don’t even know what that feels like. What it’s like to have someone pick you up when you fall, to have someone look at you like you matter.” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what a normal life looks like. And I never will.”

Cedric exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. He felt a sting in the back of his throat, an ache he didn’t expect. He blinked rapidly, but the burning didn’t go away.

Harry noticed. His eyes widened slightly. “You’re—”

Cedric let out a weak chuckle, sniffling. “Shut up.”

Harry’s lips wobbled, but there was the smallest ghost of a smile there. “You’re crying.”

Cedric groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I am not crying.”

Harry wiped at his own face again. “Your eyes are red.”

Cedric scoffed. “So are yours.”

That earned a real, albeit watery, laugh from Harry, and Cedric felt some of the tightness in his chest loosen.

“Listen,” Cedric said after a moment, his tone soft but firm. “I won’t pretend I know what to say to make this better. But you’re not broken, Harry.” He nudged Harry’s chin up slightly so their eyes met. “And you do matter.”

Harry held his gaze, something fragile in his expression.

“You think you’ll never have something normal,” Cedric continued, voice thick with emotion, “but that doesn’t mean you won’t have something. You have me, don’t you?”

Harry stared at him for a long moment before nodding slowly.

Cedric gave him a lopsided smile, gently nudging his shoulder. “See? That’s already a pretty good deal.”

Harry let out a quiet sniff, his lips curving into a small, tired smile. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Cedric slung an arm around him, pulling him close again. “Get some rest, Harry.”

Harry didn’t argue this time. He just curled in, exhaustion settling into his bones. And as Cedric held him, rubbing slow, absent circles into his back, Harry let his eyes drift shut. They may not have the best life but they have each other and for now, that was enough.

—--

The apartment was dimly lit, the only real glow coming from Evan’s laptop screen as he hunched over the desk, scrolling through pages of useless information. His fingers tapped an impatient rhythm he made in his head, his sharp eyes scanning every detail. Hours had passed, but he wasn’t stopping yet.

Barty was stretched out on the couch, one leg dangling off the side as he flipped through a stack of notes. Every now and then, he’d glance at Evan, watching him work with the kind of obsession that made normal people nervous. But Barty was used to it.

“You know,” Barty drawled, lazily twirling a pen between his fingers, “you’re gonna fry your brain if you keep staring at that screen.”

Evan ignored him.

Barty smirked. “You’re gonna go blind. That’s what they say happens when you obsess over something too much.”

Still, nothing.

Barty sighed dramatically and sat up. “Oh, come on, ev, don’t pretend I’m not entertaining.”

That got a reaction just a quick glance from Evan, unimpressed as ever. “Barty,” he said flatly, “shut the fuck up.”

Barty grinned. “Make me.”

Evan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “There’s barely anything on Silas Riddle. No birth records, no arrest history, not even a fucking mention in old newspapers. Either this guy is a ghost, or someone’s covering his tracks.”

Barty leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So what you’re saying is, we have nothing.”

“For now,” Evan muttered, clicking through another file.

Barty let out an exaggerated yawn. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I actually did something useful.”

Evan barely spared him a glance. “Useful? You been lying there doing fuck all”

Barty clutched his chest. “That hurts, Ev. Really.” Then, with a smirk, he reached under the couch and pulled out a manila folder.

Evan’s brows furrowed. “What is that?”

Barty tossed it onto the table in front of him. “Go on. Open it.”

Evan hesitated for only a second before flipping the folder open. And then he stilled.

Inside were photographs.

License plate photographs.

The very same plates from the car that had left the bar the night they’d first heard the name Silas Riddle.

Evan lifted one of the pictures, his eyes narrowing. “How the fuck did you get this?”

Barty grinned, stretching lazily. “I have my ways.”

Evan shot him a sharp look. “You shot the guy?”

Barty tilted his head, all mock innocence. “Maybe”

Evan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. But there was something almost amused in his expression as he turned back to the photographs.

They had a lead now.

Then, without a warning, Evan shoved the folder aside and stood up so fast Barty barely had time to react before Evan was on his lap 

“Evan–”

His words were cut off as Evan grabbed him by the collar, dragging him into a kiss that was sheer desperation. Evan was kissing him everywhere, his cheek, neck, collarbone.

You.

Kiss

Are.

Kiss kiss

A fucking

Kiss

Genius.