Weighted Hearts & Gilded Feathers

Evan was unsure of the feelings that overcame him at the sight of Hermione lying on the bed in the hospital wing. Sympathy was a natural reaction for anyone but he wasn't just anyone. It wasn’t just the sympathy but the anger that surprised him. He was assigned to Mattheo. She wasn't supposed to mean anything to him beyond his charge and his duty. But the sight of the fierce witch he had observed for the last year so frail made him queasy and homicidal.

He knew their purpose, what the Death Eaters exemplified, and while she may not be the mudblood she was previously thought of, she was an Order member and a staunch supporter of Harry Potter. Dumbledore had manipulated her into being a poster child and should she die, a martyr. The perfect exemplification of muggleborn integration, a powerful, intelligent and hard-working witch. She could easily become a rallying cry.

Hermionie was a bundle of contradictions wrapped up in bushy hair and at times a condescending attitude that he wanted to pick apart until her hackles raised and a snarl formed on her lips. Not that he blamed her for it, she surrounded herself with jackoffs most of the time. He’d wondered more than once over the year how or why she subjected herself to their “friendship.” Evan had figured that while she was intelligent and driven, brave and powerful she was incredibly insecure.

Like a pack animal, she yearned for companionship and had tentatively found that in those boys despite knowing that their friendship with her was decidedly not unconditional. They were the bonded pair like Evan had been with Barty once upon a time, and anyone who entered into their orbit would never reach past the outer rings.

He’d been preparing in the ritual bathing room when Regulus approached him, “He will be insufferable for a while,” he spoke softly.

Evan grunted, expending his nervous energy by pouring oils over his skin and rubbing it in, “I’m sure they’ll all be.”

His guilt over a situation he had no control over was unnecessary. It wouldn't heal Hermione, not physically or mentally, but he’d known. Known they were planning to lure the boy, knowing that she would inevitably choose to go. He’d had no course of action and despite that, the guilt ate at him. Evan glanced to the side at Regulus whose mouth was set in a severe grimace before catching sight of  Severus over his shoulder.

He wasn't sure how he felt about him either. It was too much change too quickly. Severus and him had been tentative friends in school, he was another outlier like Hermione, dancing on the outskirts of other friendships. Although he was sure it was for different reasons. Hermione craved her bond with the Potter boy while Severus seemed more than willing to keep everyone at arm's length.

Now. Now he didn't know what they were. They spent… time together during the school year. But neither of them was the type to get entrenched by feelings or admit that they had even if it happened. They had zero expectations of one another and Evan preferred it that way. They both already had more than their fair share of obligations.

He wanted to approach him, ask Severus what had happened exactly but the look of the man when he’d found him at Hogwarts had him thinking better of it. He looked haunted. The word seemed an inadequate descriptor but it was the only one that fit. Haunted and tortured. Whatever had happened, whatever he had seen, it would leave a scar on his psyche. Making the already at times, insufferable man, even more obtuse for a while.

It reminded him of their schooling, after he called Evans a mudblood, Severus had sunken in on himself like a collapsed star, it took weeks of cajoling, and general irritation in hope for a reaction before he blew up like a supernova tearing into anyone found in his radius. Evan didn't enjoy being caught in the crossfire then and he wouldn't appreciate it now.

Severus didn't seem to like Hermione much, and complained about her “know-it-all-attitude” so either the damage done to her would make anyone's stomach turn or the weight of his duplicitous role was weighing heavily on his shoulders this evening.

The ritual was old, and while he had no qualms with helping the girl, they were a bit of a ragtag bunch. He’d known Dolohov of course but Thorfinn was an unknown to him. He’d been away too long and Thorfinn was too young to go to Hogwarts at the same time as them. Normally he would goad the other man, try to sus out the obvious relationship that he had with Antonin, and rib into the recruit. But the occasion wasn't the time, and the Dark Lord's castle was most certainly not the place. Not in the wake of this revelation.

After the ritual was over and Hermione was taken back to the hospital wing for Dolohov and Narcissa to continue healing,  Regulus and Evan were no longer needed. There was no way in hell Mattheo was going to leave her side, so they accepted Lucius’ offer of a drink back at his manor.

They were led to the same study they’d met in last summer, Regulus and Lucius both sat but Evan was full of anxious energy. It didn't feel right to be away. While they’d agreed Mattheo would not want to speak to them until he knew that Hermione would be okay, something told him he should've stayed. A niggling in the back of his mind, a tug in his chest that made him rub his adorned knuckles over his sternum.

Deciding to ignore the strange feelings he swirled his glass of firewhiskey, and waited for the elf to leave the room before he spoke up, “What in Salazar's name happened Lucius?”

Lucius sat in his wingback chair, hair loose around his shoulders, and hung his head before throwing his head back and drinking his firewhiskey in one shot. It was uncharacteristic of him to drop the posh exterior. Whether it was because he knew he was among people who truly wouldn't hold the behaviour against him or he was tired Evan didn't know but the longer he stayed silent the more foreboding silence began to feel.

He filled and drank another glass of firewhiskey before replying quietly, “I got there too late,”

Evan almost didn't hear him, eyes boring into that curtain of blonde hair willing him to give a better answer. A complete answer. His anger began to build at the lack of details. It was obvious that something terrible had happened, that Lucuis had gotten to her too late to protect her. He wanted to know what exactly happened to leave the witch in such a state.

Lucius cleared his throat, making eye contact before slowly turning away from Evan as he spoke until he trailed off “Dolohov got her with his curse, but it didn't kill her. Something happened after that. Something worse…”

“What exactly do you mean by worse Lucius?” His voice sounded foreign to him, low and uncertain.

His silence was deafening, Evan’s heart beat wildly in his ears, the usually steady strum picking up the longer it took for Lucius to respond. He looked to Regulus, “You were in the meeting, who else was at the Department of Mysteries?”

“Bella, Dolohov, Thorfinn…” Regulus’ head snapped up, a mask of disbelief as he stared at Lucuius waiting for confirmation, “Amycus.”

“Yes, Amycus,” the words were garbled, Lucius was done trying to get a hold of his emotions and tugged at the roots of his hair, “I was supposed to watch out for her, one minute she was there and the next…”

Evan was done listening, his already unsettled stomach threatened to revolt and spew on Malfoys expensive carpet.
He was a Death Eater, rape was a common practice for some of his more unsavoury comrades. He didn't have a taste for unwilling women, and the sight unsettled his stomach enough that he’d excuse himself if it occurred at a revel, but this?  This made his blood boil and made him want to unleash his own brand of retribution on Amycus.

It wasn't until later that night, while hunched over the vanity in the guest room he’d commandeered as his own in Malfoy Manor that he noticed a glimmering speck on his shoulder in the mirror. He thought it was a trick of the light, but as he turned his eyes widened in shock.

There along a particularly nasty scar he’d received during the first wizarding war was a golden feather.

_____________________ Tom POV

It was safe to say that Tom had felt regret very few times in life, and it very rarely was because of how his actions affected another person. Usually, he shrugged off the collateral damage his actions caused to those caught in the crossfire. But this wasn't something he could shrug off.

It wasn't something his little Khalida would be able to shrug off either.

Nadine would've killed him had she been here today. Would've hexed his bullocks off and fed them to him.

He should've listened to Mattheo. He shouldn't have been so stubborn. Of course, Mattheo would've known before Tom. It was his twin, his other half. But he had not trusted or believed the ranting teenager and put Hermione in danger.

Well, the Potter boy put her in danger. He’d dangled bait sure, expected the Potter boy to fall for it, but it wasn't his fault Potter was terrible at occluding. But that didn't really matter now, did it? Because she was hurt, stained forever with actions that were as permanent as ink. He could try to take the memories away. If she asked him to, they would still be there. Her subconscious would not forget, and her dreams would be riddled with bits and pieces of memory she wouldn't complete in her mind.

He stood at the window watching the gardens from the enclosed balcony closest to the hospital wing when he heard footsteps approaching him.

“My Lord,”

It was Severus, and he knew what he would say, what he would ask.

“You wish to speak about how to deal with the Order when they start to ask questions I presume?” His head hurt and he refused to take a pain relief potion. He deserved this little bit of pain. Oh how Nadine would scoff at him now, this self-punishment was meaningless and inconsequential, nothing compared to what Hermione, Khalida whatever he was supposed to call her now, was going through.

“They’re holding a meeting, I must go. What do you want me to tell them about Granger?”

He sounded tired, and our unflappable spy's feathers were ruffled, Tom turned and scrutinized Severus. “You’ll tell them that we have her.”

“And when they ask why? Or what condition she’s in?”

“Tell them she’s injured and receiving treatment. She’ll be in our… custody for the foreseeable future.” He turned back to the window effectively dismissing Severus. This conversation was tedious and he couldn't scrounge together a knut to care about what the Order did with the information.

They hadn't gotten the prophecy, the boy had thwarted his attempts once again. There had been no casualties as far as he was aware, beyond Amycus’ upcoming execution. Perhaps Severus could get the contents of the prophecy in the meeting but he doubted the meddling old man would have the boy repeat it in Snape’s presence. He was too distrustful and enjoyed holding his cards close to his vest too much. Dumbledore was Gipetto and the Order were just puppets dancing on his strings.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there looking out of the window, but the sky was awash with vibrant reds and oranges when he finally decided to go check on Hermione.

Dolohov, Snape and Narcissa had worked together to get her condition under control, and after a few hours of touch and go, she was stable enough to be moved into a more comfortable room in the familial wing of the castle. Mattheo had refused to speak to him, which was just as well. Tom could ignore the scowling angry looks the teen sent his way but he had no energy to get into a shouting match with him now. Not when he knew he was wrong.

It was a foreign feeling for him. Feeling much at all was foreign if he was being honest with himself. He’d thought all of that had left with Nadine. He’d looked at Mattheo that day and felt nothing but resentment but he’d come to realize in the past few months that was nothing but self-loathing he projected on the boy.

For daring to look like him.

Perhaps that transgression could have been overlooked but his disposition was another thing they had in common. Mattheo was unwilling to bow, to listen. He refused to follow his lead. Call it teenage angst or abandonment issues, they were just too similar.

This revelation had not and most likely, wouldn't cause any behavior change. He gave himself no quarter, he was a great wizard, perhaps the most powerful alive if you considered Dumbledore's age. But now he had this son. A boy gifted by the gods themselves, who had the power, if unlocked to overshadow him, and that was untenable. He resented the power he was given by birth while Tom had to scrape for his with bloody nails, false platitudes and backbreaking study.

This introspection was uncomfortable for him. Had finding Khalida remained a goal instead of an actualization he could've pushed all these feelings aside. But the organ in his chest had clenched at the sight of Mattheo at the Malfoy Manor over the summer and seemed to roar to life at the sight of his daughter at the Ministry.

She was a weakness to him. They both were, and he wasn't the type to accept or welcome weakness. His own had been beaten out of him within the confines of Wool’s and then stolen at the death of their mother. It would be a problem. He needed Hermione on their side, and with her came Mattheo. He doubted the story of Nadine’s death would be enough, it wouldn't have been for him. However, Hermione had been lied to and betrayed by those closest to her, Dumbledore had been pulling her strings just as long as he had the Potter boy. She wasn't the saviour. She held no importance to the Order beyond keeping her away from Mattheo, and from reaching her potential.  She was a pawn to be sacrificed, dangled in front of the opposite side, a champion for the muggleborns. No doubt the meddling old wizard never intended for Hermione to find out, or for the seal to break in its entirety and in that lack of preparation Tom had an opportunity.

Gaining Hermione’s trust would be like walking through a minefield, but there was one thing he could use to his advantage. One thing that linked her personality directly to both himself and Nadine.

She thirsted for knowledge, and he had a wealth of it.