A.N.:// Friendly reminder that you can stop reading this fanfic at any given time. :)

Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy.

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Neville's PoV.:

Neville couldn't remember the last time he'd seen, or Merlin forbid, talking to Draco.

The preparations for the war were taking great shape lately, but Neville's day was fuller than ever, more stressful than anyone else's, and so tiring that he fell into bed every night, falling asleep instantly. This was, of course, due to Neville's role as leader of the DA, as well as coordinator and spokesperson for everyone involved with the war.

His day began with his internal clock almost literally throwing him out of bed. As usual, Neville checked the clock, only to realize that it was just short of 5 am. And Draco, who slept only one bed over, was tossing and turning as usual. That he wasn't screaming or crying was a good thing, considering how often Neville had been woken up rather violently since the year had begun. It meant that he wasn't as likely to wake.

Neville took a moment, just one, to remind himself why he was doing this, getting up at the crack of dawn. The reason was quite simple. Ever since Neville had found the first letter Draco had sent to Theo, he'd known something was up. Several times, Neville had followed him out into the castle; sometimes to find him wandering restlessly through the corridors; sometimes to find him literally threatening Aberforth's life.

After Neville had confronted Harry about it all, he'd been given the marauder's map and the invisibility cloak. To, for one, keep following Draco when he noticed something was off, and B, to be able to follow his own plan.

Neville swung his legs out of the bed and took a deep breath, before he quickly put on some clothes. Making sure Draco didn't wake, since he was unfortunately a light sleeper, Neville grabbed the map, the cloak, his school bag and his coat, gloves, scarf and beanie. Then, he hurried down into the common room.

Checking that no one else was there, he climbed out of the portal that led to the corridor.

"Up again?" The fat lady muttered sleepily.

"Yeah. Sorry about that." Neville didn't like waking the woman. He'd used to forget so many passwords that she'd eventually just remembered his face and let him in anyway. In fact, she would have been more suspicious if he knew the password. She'd made a whole fuss about it, but Neville couldn't have helped it. He'd never been good with authorities. Their expectations never failed to fry his brain.

There was no time for a proper conversation, so Neville made his way down the endless staircases of Hogwarts after a quick goodbye, used the map to avoid Filch, Mrs. Norris, Peeves, and some occasional trick steps he kept forgetting about, and tightened his scarf against the icy winter air.

Like every morning, Neville crossed a wide, usually grassy field. Today, his footsteps were the first that disturbed the silencing white of the fresh fallen snow blanket that had set over the castle and its grounds overnight. A cold wind froze up his nose and Neville tightened the scarf around his face.

He knew he wouldn't be cold for long.

Professor Sprout's winter garden was protected by a warming spell. As soon as Neville crossed the warden and slipped through the open door, he was met with an onslaught of warmth. Quickly, he shrugged off his winter clothes and instead put on his dragon leather gloves.

Just yesterday, he'd hauled a whole sack of hippogriff dung from Hagrid's hut over here. And he still had enough left for his plans for today.

In front of him, rows and rows of pots full of mandrake roots and mimbulus mimbeltonia's were greeting him. Neville couldn't help but smile as he grabbed his shovel tight and put on his ear protection.

Here, in the herbology part of Hogwarts, Neville felt at home. As much progress as he'd made with DADA and even sword fighting, his identity took its root right here, where he'd first been introduced to his one and only talent.

It's what got him up in the morning these days.

Professor Sprout had been the first person to ever believe in him, the first person to see and nurture his talents and she'd given him the space and time to grow. And that's why he found it only poetic that he would use his own talents to fight this war. These plants were so much more than medically useful or pretty to look at. To Neville, it was almost petty revenge that there were nearly no potions that could be made without his herbs. In a time where he'd feared nothing more than Snape's classes, he'd always held on to that knowledge, dreaming silently of throwing it at Snape's face at some point.

Today, they were working together.

Neville grabbed the bag of dung from where it leaned against the door and hauled it all over to the end of the third row, where he'd stopped yesterday. The mandrake roots were growing perfectly, thanks to the warming spell alone, so that they had to be potted into bigger pots.

Neville grabbed some and went to work.

Swatting an annoying bug aside, he grabbed the first mandrake root and pulled it out of its pot, the screaming muffled from his ear protection.

...

It was hard and sweaty work, so after one or two hours, Neville was already exhausted, muddy and feeling the sweat soaking through his shirt. In a short minute, Professor Sprout would arrive and get him some much-needed breakfast.

After, she would spell him to be somewhat presentable for class. Nevile, busy with war preparations, would love to skip more classes, but Dumbledore had been against it. So, Neville would grab his bag and hurry up to the first DADA class of the day.

...

Lunch was always a late procedure for Neville as well, because he took the lunch shift for DA training.

Today, he was teaching them another row of defence spells.

Parallel to his class, Professor Severus Snape was teaching the more difficult half of the Slytherin house the same methods, and allegedly, some morals. Whatever that meant, Neville for once trusted that Snape was on their side.

Since Theo had died, Neville had noticed that Snape had become moodier, but also more steadfast and determined. In all his years at Hogwarts, Neville had never been able to read his potions teacher, but lately that obscure mask had cracked rather viciously. It was visible to nearly everyone by now. Neville had even heard some second years whispering about it.

Harry would usually take the post lunch shift in an empty classroom, so Neville had the rest of that time to train with Professor McGonagall.

Today as well, she had increased the difficulty level of the stone snake. Neville had to learn to quickly cast protection and strength spells on himself before he could draw the sword as he was supposed to. He had found a way to largen one of his pockets just enough to hide the sword within. Hermione had been a great help with it too, although she tended to make the spaces a bit bigger than practical.

The thought sometimes plagued him that in battle, he would not be able to do both at once, doing the spell work and the sword fighting. A part of him was glad that Snape had agreed to help him out at this point, if only to have someone to cover his back. This required that Neville had to trust him inexplicitly.

A heavy hit with the snake tail ripped Neville out of his thoughts.

"Mr Longbottom! Concentrate!" McGonagall's order reached his heated ears.

To Neville's luck, the sword of Godrick Gryffindor was goblin-made. Otherwise, he was sure that the blade would have been charred by now, the way the stone clanked hard against it, the sound loud enough to keep his ears ringing for hours after this. Stone was a heavy opponent and Neville let it clash against the metal daily. Tons of weight hit his arms at every turn and even Neville had begun noticing a change in his own physique. He'd turned heavier, albeit a little leaner as his muscles built up. He was faster and he was building up stamina as well.

He wondered if this was enough.

After training, Neville got his first actual break of the day. He used that time to take a shower, then ate something, before heading to his next class.

Finally, as his last point of the day, he met with all the different people that he was discussing the plans for the war with. Harry, Snape, Sirius, McGonagall, Sprout and Dumbledore reported directly to him.

Because in this timeline, Neville was the chosen one.

"I have an idea," Harry opened the discussion today, not commenting on the fact that Sirius Black was late, again . "Or rather, Draco had the idea, but he didn't know that he had the idea."

Professor Snape, in his response, remained passive and openly displeased. "Will you get on with it, already, instead of annoying us with your – personal – anecdotes." He couldn't fool Neville, not anymore. He, of all people, valued an opinion more if it had run through Draco first.

One thing Neville had noticed during all these meet ups, was that none of the involved parties were the pacing type. Perhaps this was due to the fact that Dumbledore's office was nearly full, even without any of them present. Dumbledore hoarded the weirdest instruments and devices. Chairs and space were none of them. He just magicked them out of thin air whenever needed and pushed them into available corners.

As it was, Dumbledore sat behind his desk on his chair, Snape hovered in the corner beside him like an overgrown bat, McGonagall had her arms folded in her own seat, Harry sat on Dumbledore's desk because queer people couldn't be bothered to sit properly, and Sprout and Neville sat next to each other on a much bigger couch.

Harry gingerly waved a hand to acknowledge Snape's displeasure. "Last time, we made allies with the houselves. Their magic is much different from ours. They can cross any wizard made barriers without being detected. Dobby, for example, died a hero in that war." He made a pause, brows twitching in something that reminded Neville of concern or fear, even. "I don't want to use them as soldiers, but when we invade the manor, we could need them as a quick route to retreat."

Snape narrowed his brows. "You want to use houselves as a backup plan?"

"Merlin's beard, Severus, it's not like the idea is ridiculous!" McGonagall was quick to interrupt, scolding the man like no other person would ever dare. "The magical community has been neglecting its attempts to negotiate with houselves for a long time."

Snape scrunched his nose. "Houselves are not fighters. They swore an oath to serve wizards, not to harm them."

"Well, perhaps it is time that they broke that oath and chose a side, then!" McGonagall blurted. "Professor Dumbledore, please. We've already lost a student to him . We cannot let this continue! The more people we have on our side, the better. Isn't Voldemort himself building an army out of giants and werewolves?"

Severus kept looking impassive, but his eyes were narrowing dangerously. "I highly doubt that houselves are of any significance in this war."

As a mere watcher, Neville's eyes darted from one teacher to another, the argument being completely lost on him at this point. His day had been fifteen hours of long, exhausting work and he was tired. When he spoke, he did so only to keep this debate short. McGonagall and Snape disagreed far too often to be productive. "Don't you think this is something that the houselves should at least have a choice in? This whole argument is pointless if the houselves decide against helping us, and denying them the chance would be rather arrogant of us, wouldn't it?" Neville rubbed at his eyes.

Dumbledore sent him a genuine smile, although it was tainted a bit by recent events.

Both Snape and McGonagall first looked at Neville, then each other. "I do admit, he has a point." Nerves seemed to have overwhelmed the woman, and she regarded Neville with an almost apologetic smile.

Neville, distracted, followed a random insect that must have searched for warmth in Dumbledore's office from the cold. It was a rather big thing, green and shimmering, with two reddish circles somewhere where Neville would have assumed the eyes to be. It was a bit cold for bugs, wasn't it?

Suddenly, Harry clapped his hands. "Then it's settled. I'll talk to them. Perhaps, if we time it right, we can get Neville in and out the manor and right at the snake. They'll never guess that we can just break through the barrier!"

"Perhaps." Snape seemed surly as he admitted as much. Then, suddenly, he swirled around to face Dumbledore. "If my opinion is no longer of consequence, may I leave, Sir? I have a potion to look after."

Dumbledore, for some reason, looked surprised that he'd come here at all. "Why, of course, Severus. We shall not keep you. Pomona-," Albus turned his friendly smile to Professor Sprout. "How are the mandrakes coming along?"

At this point, Neville drowned out nearly the rest of the conversation. Here and there he would but in or exchange some annoyed glances with Harry, but that was all. Snape had long left by this point and Sirius, who had arrived late, kept distracting them with talks about the Queer Ball. When the topic on Christmas seemed to dominate the conversation, Neville bid them all good night.

It was barely 9pm, but Neville still had homework to do.

When he went to bed that night, he fell – as always – straight asleep.

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The rise of Dumbledore's army

The situation at Hogwarts has only worsened.

Since the last issue (The Trans Agenda from December 10th), concerned parents have been reaching out to the daily prophet to voice their concerns. It appears, however, that Hogwarts does more than just confuse their students in their identity.

Hogwarts's headmaster Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is building an army of students. Under the pseudonym 'Dumbledore's army' or 'DA' for short, ex-convicted murderer Sirius Black, ex Death Eater Severus Snape, Harry Potter (close confidante to 'Ex' Death Eater Draco Lucius Malfoy) and Neville Frank Longbottom (son of the famous aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom) have taken Defence against the Dark Arts to the extreme. In secret additional classes that no doubt overwhelms the already full schedule of the ordinary Hogwarts's student, Hogwarts is creating child soldiers. Their goal is, allegedly, to fight against He Who Shall Not Be Named, but at the list of 'ex' Death eaters in leading positions in Hogwarts, the outsider must wonder, if perhaps Dumbledore's attention has swayed to another place entirely. With Cornelius Fudge's death (caused by 'ex' Death Eater Draco Lucius Malfoy), the place of becoming minister of magic is still only temporarily filled by Rufus Scrimgeour and therefore closer in reach than ever.

A takeover seems imminent.

Perhaps we have all misread Dumbledore's true intentions. Perhaps his animosity towards He Who Shall Not Be Named are not as hostile as he likes to make us believe. (More on this issue on page 12)

- Rita Skeeter

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Harry's PoV.:

Afterwards, Harry would say that he ought to have known.

In fact, Harry should have gotten up every day at the crack of dawn, only to catch the daily prophet before Draco had a chance to read it. Although, admittedly, it was a rather pointless idea to think he were able to keep a whole magazine from Draco for several weeks in a row without it being noticed.

Christmas break had finally begun and the preparations for the Queer Ball were reaching their zenith. As such, especially with everything else Harry had to somehow manage, he would never have had the time to keep Draco distracted forever.

Still. When Harry woke up that morning and found Draco's bed empty, found him instead down at the breakfast table where he ate the Lunchables he'd prepared last night, he nearly had a heart attack when he saw the headline at the title page in Draco's pale hands.

Harry stopped short, just a couple steps away from his troubling boyfriend. Mouth open but unable to speak, Harry stood there dumbfounded.

Fucking Skeeter. She had ruined everything .

That was when the panic set in that Skeeter's involvement wasn't just bad because now Draco knew , it was even worse because she'd just offered their whole plan to Voldemort himself on a silver plate! Why that was secondary in Harry's mind, he couldn't explain. If he did, he would have to explain why he kept Draco in the dark in the first place.

"Morning," Draco said and flapped one half of the paper down in order to look at Harry. A shy, and insecurely confused expression greeted him. "Breakfast?"

That, out of all things, was not the reaction Harry had expected.

He'd expected anger, fury or averted eye contact at the very least. Instead, he was met with an open expression. One that spoke of relief, not distrust or betrayal.

Hesitantly, Harry sat down next to Draco as usual. For once, however, he shoved himself at a small distance from his unpredictable boyfriend. "Morning," Harry answered lamely.

For a moment, there was an awkward pause. Harry noticed a couple students looking over, fingers pointing at them by people who held identical copies of the daily prophet in hand. Harry could only imagine what they were thinking, but he didn't waste time on that, not when he still had no idea what Draco was thinking.

Then, Draco was the one who broke the silence. "Can you believe it? Skeeter called you my 'close confidante'. Gay erasure is what it is."

Blinking, Harry felt his heart sink. Of course, Harry had not read the whole thing yet, but the headline alone spoke volumes. Draco noticed his expression and wordlessly handed over the paper.

"I know," was all he said hitting home the fact that Harry's entire plan to keep him save was now ruined.

Sometimes, Harry hated Draco's patience. He wasn't always like that, not even all that often, but when he was, he was downright scary. He remembered a much younger version of himself. The 15-year-old him from last year had been totally weirded out and confused at Draco's random calm. Now he supposed that this Draco was the therapist one. Or at least the version of Draco that had gotten used to random outbursts of strangers.

"I-" Harry skimmed over the text, eyes widening in a slight panic.

"I'm glad," said Draco unprompted, as Harry was about to explain (and no doubt lie).

Harry looked up through his glasses. "What?" He was what ?!

Noticing his expression, Draco cleared his throat and let out a relieved breath. "Honestly, I thought you guys had forgotten about the war. So yeah. I'm glad you haven't." His voice wasn't just calm, it was genuine .

"I don't - I thought you would be mad." Harry couldn't help it; he was terrified at this situation. What do you mean, Draco was glad ? Why was he relieved? Harry had been lying to him!

Draco blinked a couple times, then broke off bits of his sandwich. "I'm not exactly happy that you lied to me. But I think I understand why you did it. I wasn't exactly – stable – the last time I was focused on this war." He kept staring at his food. "In fact, I was so sure that none of you cared about this war that I thought I had to fight it myself. When Neville told me to change my focus, I was relieved. I kind of hoped that he would take over and fight this war for me. But I was scared that maybe he just said it to stop me. And that everything would fall apart because I listened to him. Now I realize that he's not alone in this, and I'm glad that you have a plan." Draco tried a smile. "And you've widened out the DA? You have more teachers and more students who want to be prepared? That's - that's awesome." Something still seemed to bother him though.
"I hope that means we can overwhelm the Death Eaters, not that more people will die."

Draco smiled at him, still shy, but so much more comfortable than Harry had expected him to be. Concern was still there, but it was muffled by trust.

Harry let out a deep breath. "I didn't want you to know. I thought you would dive headfirst back into trying to win this war by yourself. I thought you'd be angry. And we need you as a therapist when we come back from the fight!"

"I know." Draco sighed and finally put down his food. "It was right of you to keep me in the dark. I went mad last time. There is only so much I can do, and I need to respect my own limitations. I wasn't ready to hear this for a long time either, but I think I'm actually making some progress lately." He made a pause, sounding somewhat conflicted. "I'll - just stay back, and don't stand in your way." He made a pause. "Unless you need my help. Feel free to ask."

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it.

Some days, Draco made it so easy to love him. With that open honesty, that trust in his eyes that had been built so slowly and that right now, nothing seemed to be able to shake. For Harry, right at that moment, it made his own feelings unbearable.

That was until Draco's next comment. "Just promise me that you will protect Theo. You cannot let him close to any Death Eaters. Don't use him in your plans, Voldemort will know . And I doubt he will be as kind to him as he was to me."

The lump in Harry's throat went so heavy that he was surprised it didn't break right out of his chest and buried itself ten feet underneath his feet. "Yeah." Harry let out. "We will do our best," he promised in a croaked voice that he was sure Draco would normally notice. However, Draco's short confusion disappeared once again behind a layer of trust.

Harry knew that he'd just been transparent enough for a stranger to see the lie. This trust, this faith. This was a choice. Draco chose to believe him. Not because he didn't know better, but because he wanted to trust him.

"Good." Draco's smile widened. "Because we really need to talk about you guy's reputation. Did you read that? Skeeter may be talking bullshit, like all the time, but the number of times she wrote 'ex death eater' makes even me doubt in Dumbledore's plan. And I know none of us are actually supporting Voldemort." He made a thoughtful pause. "At least not anymore."

"Yeah, you're right." Harry laughed just a tad bit too loud. And now, finally, guilt devoured him whole.

The rest of the day, they spent trying to help the others with the preparations for the ball. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Draco this carefree. Draco had needed the mere existence of that plan more than Harry had realized.

...

Convincing houselves to join a war was an impossible endeavour. Houselves weren't normally violent and they took pride in their servitude. Harry remembered Draco's first comments on Hermione's SPEW attempts and promised himself not to mention this plan to her, or him, really. To a houself, the idea of betraying their masters was impossible.

Not that Death Eaters were these elves' masters, but most of them used to be. All Hogwarts' students were, from the moment they'd first entered the Great Hall, to the moment they'd left to find work.

Harry had gone down to the kitchen to talk with them and found himself as successful as he had been during the last war. Namely, not at all. Their involvement had risen and fallen with Dobby's ability to convince them, and Kreacher's desire to avenge Regulus.

But after everything Harry knew, he still hesitated.

"Dobby, can I talk to you alone, please?"

After he had already been rejected to even talk to them about this, the elves had nearly thrown him out of their sanctuary. Dobby, however, seemed more than delighted to have Harry talk to him. Why Dobby idolized him, Harry never knew. He'd come from Malfoy manor, after all.

Sometimes, Harry imagined that it wasn't Lucius' repetitive recount of Voldemort's murders that had hardened Dobby's rebellious heart, but Draco's rants about him. Rants full of annoyance and hidden admiration, and a heartfelt conflict that perhaps even Draco hadn't noticed at the time.
And wasn't that a thought? That in a roundabout way, Draco had ensured that Harry and his friends would escape Malfoy manor in one piece. In a roundabout way, Draco's decisions had always aided them more than they'd served Voldemort.
Or perhaps, Harry just wanted to believe that.

"Of course, of course!" Dobby was, today, dressed in even more hats, although less than Harry remembered. Hermione must have held back on her knitting project, now that she was busy playing the drums in a band. "Dobby is honoured! Harry Potter can always talk to Dobby. Dobby is all ears!"

"Thank you." Harry grimaced at Dobby's bright smile, not commenting on Dobby's, in fact, very large ears. "Can you – can we talk in private?" Harry looked around and almost feared that other students would come down for a late afternoon snack and interrupt his very important attempt to save the entire wizarding world!

Dobby hopped around him like an excited little puppy. "Yes! The break room should be empty!"

Since when did houselves have a break room?

Harry, more than confused, followed Dobby out of the main kitchen area and into a smaller room at the opposite end of the hall. For that, he had to move past a couple dozen annoyed looking elves who shot him displeased glances.

Harry had to duck to fit underneath the doorframe and then found himself in a rather giant looking room full of – tiny beds. Eyes widening, Harry realized that this wasn't a breakroom , it was the place the elves slept . Row upon row of beds, a sight not unlike the hospital wing, except with far less personal space, stretched out in front of him. Old, washed out sheets covered the mattresses, seemingly having been in use for years.

Suddenly anxious, Harry took a deep breath, smelling washing powder and the leathery smell of various houselves hovering in one place. For once, he didn't dare look at Dobby. He wanted to. He wanted to ask for his help. As an ex-member of the Malfoy household, Dobby's expertise on Voldemort's whereabouts should not be underestimated. Yet, when Harry finally looked up, all he could see was the friend he'd lost when he was seventeen. A tiny body, and a giant bloody dagger stuck in the elves' chest, that's what Harry saw.

Here lies Dobby – A free houself

Harry swallowed down the thought like he did everything else.

"I know you're busy-"

"Dobby is never too busy for Harry Potter!" Dobby grinned widely. "Harry Potter has saved Dobby! Harry Potter is even changing master Draco for Dobby!"

"That's not-" Harry hesitated, then he sat down on one of the tiny beds. It arched under his weight and Harry hoped that he wasn't breaking it. "We're preparing for war against Voldemort."

Dobby's smile tightened into a terrified grimace. "Dobby knew this day would come," he said, and Harry was reminded of the year when Dobby had made him run against walls to protect him from this fate. "Harry Potter must not fight! Harry Potter must protect himself and master Draco!"

Harry took a deep breath. "Actually, I meant to ask, if you -" His voice failed him. Harry had shovelled this elf a grave, and yet he'd forgotten he was alive again after he'd turned back in time. After all these years, Harry had been so preoccupied with other things and now he was asking the elf, if he would make that same sacrifice again. "If you could join us."

Dobby's wide brown eyes widened even further. "Harry Potter wants Dobby to fight in the war?"

"Actually, Harry Potter wants you to stay safe." Harry said and frowned at himself for subconsciously adapting to Dobby's grammar. Was that impolite? Harry shook his head. "I just – I want everyone to stay save if possible. If you could make sure to bring students in and out of Malfoy manor, that would be a great help. But I don't want anything to happen to you either, alright?"

He should have expected that this would make Dobby's eyes dwell up in fresh tears.

"Master Potter cares about Dobby!"

Harry had never been good with crying. Heck, when Draco had had his latest panic attack, Harry had forced them into a relationship! Of course he sucked at this! As Dobby cried his eyes out, Harry awkwardly patted the elves' hand. And that, obviously, had the effect that Dobby burst out crying even more.

One thing Harry remembered from the future was that houselves weren't the hugging type. They seemed so much more emotional than typical wizards, and yet, their masters forced them to impassive silence, made emotions a forbidden expression. Their entire race had been manipulated into docility, silence and obedience. Suddenly, Harry understood why Draco had said he had a lot in common with them. Perhaps, Harry had more in common with them than he'd realized as well.

Knowing that, in addition to all that Harry remembered of the war, made this decision only harder. "Know that I wouldn't think any less of you if you refused."

"No." Dobby wiped off his tears. "Dobby wants to help! Dobby wants to fight! Thank you, Harry Potter, for letting me join you!" His overjoyed smile had Harry die a little inside.

He hated how the way Dobby said his name still reverberated in his head, had for years, up to a point where he didn't know where his own self ended, and Harry Potter began.

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Narzissa's Pov.:

Weeks had passed by now and Narzissa had lost any feeling she'd ever had for time.

In the past couple days, or weeks, Narzissa had almost gotten used to the cold of the Dementors that kept slipping in and out of the dungeons, feeding off her, although she didn't know what there was left to feed off.

Narzissa hugged herself and rubbed at the space between her shackles and hands, where the metal had rubbed her skin raw.

Food was sparse these days and Narzissa couldn't remember whether the last time she'd eaten was yesterday morning or evening. In fact, days and nights were blending into each other. And even Wormtail seemed to have forgotten about her.

Sometimes, when the night was especially cold and the Dementor's even more cruel than usual, Narzissa wondered how the other prisoners were faring. Did they also have a goal to stay alive? Did they have anything to work with? Or had the cold and hunger already ripped them away from the living?

Narzissa was simply biding her time, thinking, planning, and avenging her son in her mind and in her dreams.

It was a moment, and Narzissa failed to call it anything else, because she couldn't tell night and day apart, let alone hours; so, it was a moment, when the doors to the dungeon's opened and a light flooded the room.

"Get back up here when you're done, runt."

Narzissa recognized Greyback's voice. This could only mean one thing about whoever he was sending down here. It must be one of his underlings.

Steps, unstable and hesitant echoed down the walls as a thin boy, no older than her own son would have been, stumbled right into the row of Dementors. They weren't allowed to attack visitors, but that didn't stop the boy from shivering.

Slowly, the boy walked past other cells, looking in and shuddering before covering his mouth.

'He must be searching for someone,' Narzissa thought and wondered who it was. Narzissa had stopped hearing from anyone forever ago. She could barely see him through the fog of Dementors and the frozen bars that kept her locked in.
She would be empathetic, if she had anything or anyone left to care about. Still, when she saw the boy panting heavily, hands wrapping around bars a bit further down the hall, she thought about how Draco would have felt, seeing her here.

Would he have been mad? Would he have grieved her? Or would he still look away from her with that cold, haunted look in his eyes that he'd died with?

"Mom?" The boy's voice shuddered, knuckles turning white. "MOM!" Panic made his voice louder, higher, almost hysterical. "Mom, can you hear me? Please, get up!"

The voice Narzissa recognized now. Slowly, she got up and crawled towards the bars of her own cell and looked at the cell that Theodore Nott was kneeling in front of.

Pity made her mouth twitch. Right. Aeron Nott had been down here almost as long as Narzissa had. After her son had been forced to work as a spy, she'd been locked down here with the Dementors. The first couple of weeks, she'd tried to communicate with Nazissa to keep her spirit up. Eventually, she had quietened down and only here and there, Narzissa had heard her whimpering.
Although, Narzissa couldn't remember the last time she'd heard her at all. Most people went quiet down here. From here, Narzissa couldn't tell whether Aeron had been lucky enough to die before the Dementors sucked out her soul.

"No, no, MOM!" The boy was trying to reach through the bars, but she was likely too far away.

Narzissa had to watch as any hope the boy had left, cracked and vanished as his arms fell to his sides.

He wasn't downright sobbing. The boy was broken beyond that point already. However, he did not get back up, as if he were resigned to his fate.

"Theo?" Narzissa's voice was hoarse when she addressed him. She tried to be gentle, although she knew that it opened her resolve and made it easier for the Dementors to affect her.

The boy shuddered and turned; face run over with frozen tears. "Mrs. Malfoy." His voice was hoarse as well, but the reason for it was likely a different one.

"Is she dead?"

Another tear flooded down Theo's widened eyes. "Only my father was that lucky," he whispered at her.

Her soul it was, then. Narzissa nodded. "I'm sorry."

That cracked his resolve once more and nothing, but pure, blind hatred heated the glare he directed at her. Without a word, he stomped over to her and grabbed the bars tight. "DON'T APOLOGIZE!" He screamed at her. "DON'T PRETEND LIKE YOU CARE! YOU'RE ALIVE! YOU'RE BLOODY ALIVE AND WELL; SO, SHUT UP!" Then, he broke down sobbing in front of her cell. His cries were loud and piercing.

Narzissa's eyes lowered, but she did not dare to comfort him. "You were bitten, weren't you?!" If he'd been sent here by Greyback, then that was the only explanation.

She knew that if the bars weren't there, the boy would have slapped her. "SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" He sobbed and covered his face with both his hands. "Shut up," he ended in a whisper.

His father had been killed by her son, Narzissa knew. His mother was a living corpse, his own life ruined. It didn't need Dementors to make this boy wish to die. To make his life and feelings cold and hardened. She couldn't imagine a destiny worse than his.

"Help me get out of here." Narzissa whispered, hoping to appeal to Theo's rage.

"And why would I do that, huh?!" Theo almost laughed in her face. "Your only problem is that you're locked in this cell, while your sister protects you through her sheer existence. You don't even know what's up there. You're luckier down here! Your husband is safe and sound in Azkaban and all Draco cares about is his stupid therapy ! Honestly, fuck you ."

He got up, wiped off his tears, only to have more fall from his eyes. "Fuck." He spent another hot minute crying, then he climbed back up the stairs in wobbly movements. He would have to return to his new pack, the only family he had left, and it was one created out of bloodthirsty monsters.

He left Narzissa behind, with the unfathomable message that her son was alive . New energy flooded her system, burned through her anger like a hazard. It was absurd, it really was, but Draco lived . From her burst insane laughter, and for once she understood her sister's insanity.

-------------------------

Sirius PoV.:

It was days before Christmas. Just a couple days. Tomorrow, more members of the Order would be filtering into Hogwarts' halls. They would spend the holiday together, all of them, before they would head out for war.

At the moment, Sirius was holding a DA class. Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger were battling it out in one of the front rows, and he had to admit, both women had gotten incredibly good at offense spells. Although Ginny Weasley's Bat Bogey hex was still unmatched in their entire year.

"You're doing great, Weasleys," he then said to Ginny Weasley, who had just managed to disorient her brother. "Ron, offense isn't everything. Think of your defence a bit more!"

Even as Sirius shouted demands at the mixed group of students in his DADA classroom, he felt his mind drifting back to tomorrow. Remus would be here. And once he was, it would be time to confront his own feelings, once and for all.

If everything went to shit, Sirius thought, he still had the option to die in the war.

"I can't believe it. You're actually teaching!"

Speak of the devil. Sirius stumbled over his own foot and ran directly into an Expelliarmus Spell by a fourth year Hufflepuff. His wand was thrown out of his hand, right into the confused girl's outstretched palm. Sirius couldn't care less. Remus was here a day too soon.

Sirius began to sweat. He was so not ready.

In the entire classroom, students stopped casting spells, too surprised by Sirius' open mishap.

"Remus," Sirius couldn't help but say in wonder, and his smile brightened so wide that his cheeks hurt. It happened against his will, but Sirius had always felt a little floored when seeing Remus unprompted. Before he knew it, he'd made his way over and forced the man into a wide (manly) embrace.

How long had he been standing there?
Had he been watching Sirius teaching prowess?
Remus' reddish-brown hair was a bit muzzled, his clothes as ripped and torn as usual, and the scar that ran right over his nose as prominent as ever.

Sirius pushed away from the comforting sight, joy flooding his entire system. "I thought you would be here tomorrow?"

"Got an early train, I wanted to see what you've done to my classroom. Is that your uncle Alphard's old motorcycle?"

Sirius beamed, not needing to look around. "You remembered! Can you believe it? I found it in the attic! I thought for sure that my old folks had thrown it out years ago!"

Moony rolled his eyes and clapped Sirius shoulder in a friendly manner. Then, he looked around again, stared at by a dozen dopily smiling students. "Hello everyone. Did you miss me?"

And then Remus was suddenly surrounded by all of Sirius' students, minus the Hufflepuff girl who shyly returned Sirius wand to him, and Pansy Parkinson who crossed her arms in silent conflict.

Sirius knew that most Slytherin students hadn't been as fond of Remus as all the other houses had been. Which, honestly, was an affront in Sirius mind, and should be punished with extra homework. Then, Sirius turned back around to find his best friend smiling in his direction, and he found the butterflies in his stomach awaken.

It'd been too long.

12 years in Azkaban, three years in hiding during secret missions and now, one year apart. He'd wasted more than enough time already. Yet, he couldn't work up the courage to walk over and ask him out. He would ruin everything, he would -

Fuck it, he was a Gryffindor. Damn the consequences!

Before Sirius knew what he was doing, simply following his impulses, he walked over, shoved the excited students aside and grabbed Remus by the hand. "We need to talk."

Remus raised an amused brow. "Why so sirius all of a sudden?" It was a pun, a bad pun at that. All it did was prove to Sirius that Remus was trying to bridge whatever awkward mood had settled over them the moment he'd lost his excited nonchalance.

"Because -" Sirius failed to explain it. Not here, not in front of the students where he would force Remus into an answer. "Just come with me." Sirius turned around and found Granger's widened, almost knowing smile. "Granger, take over the class. Parkinson can help you."

"Do what?" Granger asked, sounding confused and eager to take charge.

"I don't know. You and Parkinson against the rest of the class. You'll think of something."

A spark enlightened Granger's eyes, which only meant that the class would now suffer under her watchful gaze. Sirius wished he could stay to witness her shenanigans. She'd made such a good student, once she'd gotten that stick out of her butt. Pansy was grinning just as excitedly, but Sirius grabbed Remus by the sleeve and further into the classroom, until he could open the door to his office and shove his best friend inside.

It would have been so ironic, had he lived in a closet.

"Was that a good idea?" Remus smiled, something amused playing in his eyes.

"It's Granger and Parkinson. They can handle this class easily." Sirius waved it off and put his hands in his pockets, unsure how to introduce the issue.

There was an awkward pause as Sirius didn't know what to say or do and so, Remus decided to just look around and take in Sirius decorations.

"You've glued our photos everywhere." Remus asked with a smile playing at his lips. He touched an old paper that showed James playing his first official Quidditch match, already a legend in the making. The Gryffindor's had been so excited about their new addition on the team, that they'd written a whole magazine about him. It had been a joke, really, with mock comments about their opponents at the time. Sirius remembered that the magazine had used to erupt into cheers when a Gryffindor was reading it. Slytherin's had been bombarded with stink juice.

Remus didn't sit down in the room, seemingly distracted by the changes Sirius had made to his office. He was especially enraptured with the pictures on Sirius' wall.

Then, horrifyingly, Remus looked at Sirius, eyes narrowing to something more reserved for a war council. "So. What's the matter? What did you want to talk about?"

Sirius hands began to sweat, and his mouth had gone dry, and his mind was a little fried. This was new for him. He was usually the impulsive one with an easy smile and an endless repertoire of stuff to fill the silence. But with this, he knew, he'd been more than patient. How could he call this an impulsive decision, when he'd waited for nearly two decades? "I never told you I was gay." Sirius cringed internally at himself.

Remus frowned; brow raised. "No - you did. Back at Grimmauld place, remember?"

"Yeah, but that was more of a joke. Because Draco was so open and casual about it and I thought it was weird that I wasn't." Sirius waved it off quickly and leaned back against his cluttered desk. It was true though. If a Slytherin could be so open about being a literal disappointment to his family, then why couldn't Sirius? "I never told you . Nor did I Prongs." He didn't mention Peter for obvious reasons.

Stopping, and almost adorably confused, Remus raised a brow. "It's alright. I'm sure James wouldn't have minded."

"That's not-" Sirius paused. That had never been the reason.

He knew they would have accepted him. Deep down he'd always known they'd loved him; they'd been his family. What Sirius had feared wasn't losing them as his friends, it was putting them through all that much heartache again. Sirius had been so much of a burden already. He'd moved in with James' family when his own had abandoned him, he'd overshadowed the real problems their friend group had had. And when things had become hard, he'd asked James to trust in Peter for the Fidelius charm. And he'd told James to keep Remus in the dark about it.

Sirius blamed himself for it all. For James' death and Peter's betrayal. And perhaps that's why the twelve years in Azkaban didn't feel as undeserved as he liked to point out.

And now, here he stood, not only asking to be accepted for who he was but be forgiven for the secret he'd kept and the mistakes he'd made.

Sirius regretted that his friends had never met him. He regretted that he'd never dared to be himself, that he'd kept his own truth from them. That he'd denied them the chance to get to know him.

"In fact, I think he sort of knew. He mentioned something to me, once or twice." Remus went on, almost muttering as he kept averting his gaze. Then he turned his knowing glance back at Sirius. "He cared a great deal about you. He would never have thought differently of you."

Sirius felt himself fall into an almost nostalgic ache. He missed James. He and Remus both. He'd been their best friend. Always laughing, always in a good mood, always there to care for and to protect his friends.

Where Sirius had always put on a mask, James had been genuine and true.

It was the most cruel thing, knowing what that naive trust had cost him. Knowing what it had cost all of them to have blindly trusted Peter. How stupid they had been to doubt each other, except for the boy who'd never felt all that much like he'd belonged.

Perhaps it was that, perhaps it was the knowledge that each other was all they had that both urged him closer and pushed him away from Remus. "I know. James was, James wouldn't have -"

Remus sent him a vague smile. "It must have killed you when he married Lily."

Sirius, who had been mentally nodding along to everything Remus had said so far, suddenly froze, completely stunned. "What?"

Almost laughing, Remus shook his head, although there was something twisted in his voice. "You know, I feel a little stupid for not having seen it sooner. You were always so close, closer than you were with anyone else. Sometimes I thought you only went on all your little pranking adventures together because you wanted to impress him." Something almost miserable flashed through Remus eyes.

"Okay, wait, hold on." Sirius stopped. "You think I was into James ?" Staring, he noticed how Remus stilled in surprise.

"You weren't?"

The gall!

The audacity!

"Of course not! James was like a brother to me!" Sirius nearly shouted. This were the most distressing news he'd received all day. The shock had his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. Remus could not be serious! Pun NOT intended for once.

Remus blinked at him, and it was truly unbelievable how floored he looked. Then, he chuckled. "Shit, damn, my bad. But you must realize -"

Sirius let it out in a single breath. "It's you." He barely realized what he'd just said. Just that not saying it would have meant that Remus may have never considered the obvious truth. And Merlin's beard, Sirius could not let that stand.

Him , in love with James. How dare he!

Silence stretched between them as Moony looked up, eyes narrowed in confusion, until the layer of irritation lifted very, very slowly.

"It's always been you." Sirius stepped closer, only to put his hands on Remus's shoulders. At Remus's widening eyes, Sirius lost all confidence he'd gathered only moments prior to the realization of what he'd just done.

It was nearly maddening, to be this close to Remus again. Seeing him, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin, and knowing that Sirius had just spilled his entire heart out for him.

He stepped backwards, scratched his nose and awkwardly buried his hands in his long hair. "I just wanted you to know that. Like, before we go out there and die." Sirius fumbled with his hands, mostly to keep himself from looking at his oldest friend. Perhaps, Sirius thought, Remus would never feel the same. But this was still better than the alternative. Dying, when Remus had never even considered.

"You're mad." Remus said in an odd voice. "You're only saying that because - Since when are you convinced that we'll die?"

"Since Harry and Draco told us that we did !" Sirius said, finding his own heart racing at the lack of reaction. "Since Draco told me you married my cousin , Remus!" Sirius laughed, trying to play over the sorrow in his voice with fake amusement. "Honestly, what were you thinking?"

Once more, silence stretched between them as Sirius faced the reality that all this was true. He cursed himself, already regretting that he'd brought it up. Saying it out loud unravelled what he really was. Jealous, afraid and conflicted. Now, more than ever, Sirius missed his best friend. James would have made a joke now and calmed them both down.

Draco had been wrong. Rejection was not a simple ' no' . Rejection felt like someone was ripping out his heart and giving it back battered and bruised.

"I don't know." Remus said, his voice still calm and collected, but Sirius knew him better than that. Sirius may be the impulsive one, but that was only because Remus had had to learn to keep himself in check from a very young age. In truth, Remus was far more emotional and impulsive than James and Sirius had been combined. And when Remus snapped, the craziest things would happen. Remus looked strained. "I barely talked to her in this timeline. And Harry told me that her heart changed only after you died."

Sirius scoffed uncomfortably.

Remus seemed to hesitate, then he spoke up again. "I suppose – from what he told me – it's what brought us together in the first place." He seemed to consider something, his hooded eyes examining Sirius like a wolf would determine whether he was friend or prey.

"My death, you mean." Sirius closed his eyes. Tonks' patronus had allegedly changed after Sirius's had died. So, what did that mean? Was Moony blaming him? Would Remus only ever find his happiness when Sirius died? Was that it? James' death had ruined him, but Sirius' would save him? Was that it?"

"Yes." Again, there was a pause, with Remus shifting where he stood. Sirius didn't need to see him to know what he looked like right now. "I think – Tonks and I both must have lost the person we – cared for – . You were her favorite cousin and I - I think, it might have been the closest we could have been to you – after." Remus cursed under his breath, as if he were unable to even finish the thought.

Confused, Sirius finally turned back around. And found not the expression he'd expected, but his best friend bothered and flustered. "I'm a werewolf." Remus said suddenly. "I already am an outcast. How was I ever supposed to admit – God damn it." Whatever was straining inside him, seemed to finally turn unbearable. He was unable to speak or explain himself.

Suddenly, Moony threw all caution to the wind and stepped right into Sirius' space. Then, he must have snapped.

Before Sirius could register what was happening, Remus had grabbed him by his cheeks and pulled him close, pressing their lips together.

Sirius was smaller than Remus by a couple inches. It was so easy to forget sometimes, until moments like these when Remus was basically looming over him. It distracted Sirius for only a second before his mind crashed at the understanding that Remus was kissing him.

And heck, Sirius had not seen this coming, but he also didn't have the impulse control not to kiss him back.

Only that the moment Remus's broken lips brushed against his, Sirius's mind raced with like a thousand questions and the realization that this was real . This was happening .

Somehow, in all the scenarios Sirius had concocted in his brain, this one had never been listed under possible . Sirius had literally done the impossible even, been the only Gryffindor in a family of Slytherins, had become an animagi in his student years and had escaped Azkaban. Kissing Remus in this lifetime had been way, way below what he'd chanced likely.

Though gentle and urgent at the same time, filled with longing and decades' worth of relief, the kiss broke after a few moments. Leaning his forehead against Remus's, Sirius tried to remember how to breathe.

"And now I would like you to agree with me that none of us are going to die in this war!" Remus said, sounding as hoarse as he usually did after a full moon. "So, don't be stupid and play it off as a joke. We're going to live. And we're going to live together."

Perhaps, in a different time, under different circumstances, this moment wouldn't have been so simple.

But perhaps they both knew that saying anything more or even questioning whatever had just happened would have been a waste of time. There was a war up ahead. And all they needed was to know that the other was there. They might not survive. But thinking as much would, overthinking any of this, would take what little time they'd scratched together for themselves. They'd wasted so much time already. They had finally made it to this point, hearts finally beating in sync and their minds finally on the same page. Sirius didn't want this moment to end.

Suddenly something exploded in the background.

Remus flinched slightly and turned around to the door. "Shouldn't you-"

"Oh, shut up, they are fine." Sirius swatted his hand away, trying to remain nonchalant. They'd only just kissed for the first time. Okay, perhaps not the first first time, but drinking games in fifth grade did not count. Anyways, Sirius was cool . He could absolutely deal with just having kissed Moony .

" Bombarda!" Someone screamed.

Remus raised a brow, gaze sharpening.

Sirius pouted. "Alright fine, I'm going. But know that you just ruined your chance of a really good time."

That made Remus laugh. And Merlin, when was the last time Sirius had heard that sound?

-------------------------------

...Holy Night...

Severus Snape's PoV:

Severus was this close to finishing the Polyjuice potion. In fact, just a few more lacewings and stirring the potion anticlockwise three times and it would be done. Just in time for Christmas.

The potion had been cooking for nearly a whole month now, but its use had not been discussed nearly well enough yet.

This, Snape sneered at the dark room, was why he would have never allowed a bunch of teenagers to lead an entire army, let alone take over the war preparations. Sure, it was an interesting idea to go into Malfoy Manor and defeat a couple Death Eaters to then assume their identity. But who was this plan truly serving?

If they didn't make out some kind of code, then their own side would remain confused about who was who. Wasn't the whole point of it to confuse the enemy? If there was a bigger plan to it, then no one had informed him. And Snape hated not being informed.

Tongue clicking, Severus kept stirring, sniffing and adjusting the potion as he saw fit.

Not many people were aware of it, but many of the tricks Severus had learned over the years to analyse potions, he had learned from Lily Evans. She'd always had a hand for the art. One would think that James Potter had a hand for it as well, since his father Fleamont Potter had been renowned for his potion making, but in the end, Potter had never had much interest for it. And while he'd been annoyingly proficient in nearly all subjects, Lily and Severus had always had this bond in potions that could never be broken.

Severus remembered how he hadn't shared potions with Lily in both his fourth and sixth year and how devastated he'd been.

A movement made Severus look up through the fogged air in his office. He normally wouldn't make a potion in such an enclosed space, but considering the importance of this mission, he'd preferred not to leave the cauldron anywhere near students who could be compromising his work.

There was a buzzing little creature crawling into his office through the gap between the door and the stone floor.

Severus wiped off the sweaty hair from his forehead. The bug was a shimmering green little thing that had decided to fly right into the room.

How bloody annoying. Growling, Snape decided to ignore it for now.

He was done stirring anyway. Unless the little creature wanted to die a gruesome death, it would not be a problem. Especially, since he was already mostly done with it. He grabbed his wand and began to fill the potion into little vials. Normally, you were supposed to let the potion cool down first, but Severus had learned that separating the potion sooner made the cooling process faster and conserved some of the magical qualities of the Polyjuice. Sure, it only gave you a couple more minutes, but that was precisely the point.

Severus had filled four or five vials, out of the dozens he had waiting for it, when the bug suddenly flew over his head.

Irritated, Severus followed the creature with his eyes before it landed, stupidly, on the edge of the steaming cauldron.

Snape's eyes narrowed as he tried to swat at it. But the beast was quick and kept returning to the cauldron. This was not good! If the bug fell into the potion, it would ruin the entire plan! Calmly, Severus tried to wipe the bug off the edge once more. Instead, the creature flew right into the steam.

And that was its downfall. Insect wings were fragile. Their flying abilities depended entirely on the air pressure around them. Heat, wet heat at that, destroyed their balance. Snape tried to swipe at it with his wand, but he missed the bug entirely.

Instead, it fell right into the cauldron, heat making its exoskeleton crack. It must be suffering because Severus almost imagined that he could hear it scream. Before Severus could do anything else, however, - without touching the potion, otherwise he'd risk everyone drinking it turning into him - the creature dissolved in the Polyjuice potion, colouring the entire thing the same shimmering green of its exterior.

Snape stared at his work.

One beat, then a second. His brain short circuited. Four vials. He'd managed to save four vials. But that was all. The entire rest of the potion? Ruined. Had he thought to make more than one badge? Of course not, he was Severus Snape, he did not need backup potions, because he never made mistakes.

Except, lately, nothing seemed to go his way, at all.

And then, finally, it registered in his mind that the Polyjuice would not be usable. He'd failed. He'd ruined it. Plan or no plan, this had been his one job . And he'd failed at it yet again.

That was it. Severus broke. With a shout, a near scream, he grabbed his chair by the armrests and threw it against the wall. The wood cracked and splintered, scratching the wall and colouring it as green as the leather had been. Snape was not done; he only took one exhausted breath. Furious anger had enraptured him. He kicked over his table, letting all the papers fall to the ground and ink bottles scatter and splash all over the stone floor.

Before he knew it, he grabbed the intestines of chosen creatures he'd been collecting on his wall shelf and threw them to the ground as well. The liquids he'd put them in splashed all over the floor, mixing with the ink. Some of them were still moving. A dead Grindelo-brain tried to crawl over the floor before Snape stepped on it with his foot until its pitiful existence ceased.

This wasn't just a month of work wasted; Severus knew. How could this have happened to him? Was he a fool? Or was he just so unlucky to fall prey to the narrative?

Angry and frustrated and breathing heavily, Snape grabbed the cauldron as well and tried to throw it over. About a fourth of its contents spilled, but the cauldron caught on the overthrown table and just remained half upright.

Severus was fuming at this point. Heaving, he grabbed his wand and turned to leave the room. He was half tempted to clean the room up, his four good vials safe on the just emptied shelf. But in truth, there was something almost satisfying at the sight of his office, broken and half destroyed, almost like his life. Severus decided to leave it for tomorrow.

Done with today, he spelled the door to fly open and left, slamming it closed, not even bothering to lock up.

...

POV-less

Several hours later, a gentle knock disturbed the silence of Severus Snape's empty office, as the door opened a tad bit.

"Professor Snape?" The girl who asked didn't bother to wait in front of the door, she simply entered. "Ah." She looked around, face tilted in thought before she nodded, as though she understood what had happened here as her eyes roamed over the battlefield.

Her appearance was a bit ridiculous. She wore an almost overgrown dress. Of course, self-made with the magical ability to change colours as she liked. Now, it showed a raven flying around her sunset painted waist, although it was just a projection on the dress. Her hair was tied up in a professional bun, as she carried her schoolbag and a random bundle in her arms into the room.

Her eyes, hidden by giant goggles, trailed over the flooded floor. She lay the bundle gently over the edge of Professor Snape's table. It was a rather ridiculous bat costume, one that Professor Snape would likely never wear. It had black glitter on it to match his vibe .

She'd known that Snape would be the only person without a costume. She'd wanted to give him the option to participate in the fun for once.

Since he wasn't here, however, she could only sense the remains of the whack spurts that must have encouraged him to create the destruction in his own office. Why else would someone do this?

Curiously, she crouched down to the spilled Polyjuice potion and let her finger run through it. She held it to her nose and smelled the rosary perfume it emitted. She did not hesitate as she spelled herself a few vials and began to fill them up. Then she emptied her bag full of schoolwork onto the floor and filled it back up with the vials instead. Finally, she spotted the four colourless vials on the shelves on the wall. Without hesitating, she grabbed them too and put them to the other ones.

Then, Luna Lovegood shouldered her bag and left.