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ix. (Bad) Ending
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WHEN THE LIGHT slowly bleeds across her closed eyelids, all she's aware of is the dull gnawing and sharp cramps eating at her muscles, and the cry breaks past her lips before she can stop it.

"Thea!"

She shoots upright in the small, itchy bed she's in, and for a moment she thinks she's back in Malfoy Manor, and Ron is still screaming for her and Hermione from the cellar. But then she sees Harry sat before her on the edge of her bed, and then she realises he's holding her hand. 

"Hermione...Hermione, where is she?" Thea demands, pulling from Harry's grip and making for the door.

He gets up with her, his arms reaching out to wrap around her waist and pull her back, but they slip away feebly as she bolts away.

"She's alright, she woke up an hour ago, Fleur's with her – Thea, come back, you need to rest, Fleur said – Thea!"

She's already flown from the room. She shoves open every door she passes with such force she almost rips at least two of them off their hinges. It's not until she bursts into the fifth one on the left that she sees the curly-haired girl facing Fleur, both of them sipping from mugs.

"Hermione, I wasn't going to do it, I know I'd raised my wand but –"

"Thea – "

" – I'd seen Ron and Harry had come up the steps so I was trying to buy time, you have to believe me, I would never ever do that to you because you're one of my best friends and I love you –"

"Thea, I know."

"I wouldn't – wait, what?" Thea frowns, fully prepared for another fit of rage from the girl.

In her head, when she imagined this before, Hermione hates her, tells her to never to speak to her again, and Thea's heart breaks.

But in reality, her mouth drops open as the girl, who appears so frail she might shatter, gets up from the bed, and flings herself at Thea so forcefully that they both stumble backwards.

For a moment, Thea's arms are hung in mid-air, before she regains her composure and returns Hermione's embrace, her eyes stinging with tears.

"I'm so sorry for what she did to you," she whispers.

Hermione doesn't respond for a moment. "There was nothing you could do, T. I'm sore, but I'm alright. And I knew you'd never hurt me. I trust you."

Thea smiles despite the tears falling down her face.

They break apart, and Fleur speaks.

"Harry wants to have a service for Dobby. They told you what happened to him, Zea?"

She shakes her head, but the pieces fall together to form a block of dread that sinks into the pit of her stomach.

"He's gone," she mutters, more to herself than anyone else.

Fleur looks down, a grim, sad expression on her face.

The three of them make their way outside, Thea's hand locked tightly in Hermione's. They pass over the small dunes of wet sand and through the few reeds scattered about, blowing in the salty, fresh breeze. Thea hopes she can live somewhere near the seaside when all of this is over. It has to be her favourite place.

Ron wraps his arm around Hermione as they reach him, and he smiles a little at Thea.

"You alright, T?"

She nods, and gestures to Harry, to let Ron know she's going to comfort him, because she knows he'll be blaming himself, not letting himself feel this as he needs to. He hates to cry, she knows that.

She reaches him, her knees wobbling slightly at the sight of the wrapped-up elf, his eyes shut as though he were peacefully asleep. She doesn't say anything. Kneeling down next to Harry she takes his trembling hand in hers, linking their fingers together and letting him grip onto it for dear life.

"It's so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave."

The words haunt her long after Luna stops speaking.

Her throat tightens when Harry simply says, "Goodbye Dobby," so quietly that it's almost carried away in the wind and she doesn't hear it.

Someone behind them – she doesn't bother to look who – raises their wand and lifts up the mound of soil next to it, that she's guessing the boys dug up by the looks of the muddy spades next to it. It lands over Dobby, putting him to rest for good.

"D'you mind if I stay here for a moment?" Harry asks them all.

Thea pauses for a moment, as the others leave them alone, patting Harry's back or shoulder as they go. She stands up, her hand pulling from Harry's, and brushes her fingers over his hair fondly, and lets him be, following Dean as she watches him make for a huge rock that's covered if the tide's fully in.

It's now that she feels the weight of her father's locket tucked into the pocket of her coat, and pulls it out, sitting beside her best friend. He doesn't startle, just turns to her and beams.

"I really missed you, T."

She smiles back, her throat closing up.

"I know. How have you been?" Thea drops her head. "Stupid question, I know."

Dean laughs a little. "It's not. Really, all this has shown me I wish I had appreciated everything a little more back when it was normal. Before he returned. When you were none the wiser about your mother. When we were happy."

Thea sighs. "I know. It's shit. But we've come too far now not to see it through."

They fall silent for a moment, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

"You see this?" she pulls out the locket and shows it him, causing him to frown.

"Dumbledore left it to me in his will. It was my father's, but I'm one hundred percent certain it's got something to do with Lolita as well, I just don't know what and I cannot get it open for the life of me."

Dean takes the locket from her, twirling it around until he reaches the clasp of the chain and frowns. She leans over his shoulder and her breath hitches at the sight of the tiny, cursive letters carved there, and curses herself immensely for not having noticed them. Like seriously. How could she not notice them?

"L.A.V. Your mother's initials. What was her middle name again?"

"Amorette. Her full name was Lyra Amorette Vincent – oh my god!"

Thea hears the doors of the locket spring open, and leaps from the rock to pick up the tiny pieces of parchment that flutter into the damp sand, thanking Merlin that the tide is long gone, and the papers remain somewhat dry. She returns to her seat, and pulls out her wand, pointing it at the papers.

"Engorgio!"

They grow into long, large parchment scrolls, which are scrawled on in soft, printed letters, in a handwriting she doesn't recognise. She counts seventeen papers, and starts to read, gobbling up the sentences as fast as she can, so fast in fact that she has to read some several times for her brain to absorb them.

Dear Theabel,                              October  26th, 1979

I wish I could see your face and tell you how much I

love you. I am so glad you are too young to understand the horrors around you because you might fade away, just like your mother. Hopefully, when you're older, we can meet, and you'll be sweet and innocent and not too aged by the danger that will happen, if we do not end the chaos around us – mind, and it doesn't start up again.

Father (D.C).

"Dean, they're from my dad! Can you believe it?" she exclaims, her voice threaded with ecstasy. "Look at the date, two days after I was born!"

Dear Theabel,                              October 24th, 1981

I wish I was just writing to wish you a happy

birthday, but it is more because you calm my nerves. There's something in these days, something heavy and something I can't shake. There's something that wasn't there before. It's like all the air around me is tight. There's just enough oxygen to survive, but not enough to be comfortable. I think this war will end soon. I just don't know which way it'll go.

Lily and James haven't been around much. Since they changed their Secret Keeper to Peter, I haven't been able to see them. All I know now is that they're alive, and in hiding with their baby Harry. They're in hiding, like me, because it's not safe for me to be with you and Lyra anymore because of her friends, let's say.

Maybe you'll meet Harry when you're older, and

you're both at school, because you'll be in the same year, and maybe even the same House. Lily and James are both spectacular, and Harry is just like them. It'd be nice if you got to meet him and became friends. You deserve a good man in your life.

I'm just sorry it couldn't be me.

Father (D.C.)

Thea thinks she might burst. She leaps up, Dean following after her, and she starts calling Harry's name at the top of her lungs, grabbing his hand and dragging him upstairs when he sprints outside, his terrified face flooding with relief as well as extreme confusion at the sight of her sunny beam.

She flies into her room, sitting him down on the bed and pushing the letter in his hands.

"It's from my dad, this is what was in the locket, me and Dean got it open. I think there was a password, it was my mother's full name. My dad has written about you and your parents!"

She watches as Harry reads the letter, a small smile growing across his face.

"Well, he called it about us two, anyway."

Thea grins wider, dumping the pile of letters by her side and starting to read through them all, Harry reading them after her. Her hands tremble with excitement as she begins the third one.

Dear Theabel,                              October 24th, 1982

Your mother wrote to me for the first time in seven

years on Halloween last year, and she told me that James and Lily had died, but Harry was OK.

I felt as though my heart was ripped from my chest.

But not out of my body, if that makes sense. Like it'd slipped down to where it shouldn't be. But it's still beating and I'm still alive. Surely death couldn't feel as bad as this.

I hope you never have to find out what it's like to lose

your best friends to death so early. I would not wish this feeling on anybody. Not even Pettigrew. I am sure you will learn what the wretch did when you're older, especially if you're friends with Harry.

Anyway, happy birthday darling. I love you and I hope

to meet you eventually.

Father (D.C).

She frowns, about to hide that one from Harry when he plucks it from her hands before she can stop him. She watches carefully as his face falls.

A few of the following letters are short and sweet, the one for her sixth birthday simply reading, Happy birthday, sweetheart. It's not until they reach the letter from nineteen-ninety-one, the year she started Hogwarts, that the letter is longer than two sentences. Her grip tightens, and she soaks up every word, every slanting 'T' for when he writes her name and every dash that dots his 'I's, just like how she writes them.

     Dear Thea,                              October 24th, 1991

Your mother wrote to me again and told me you prefer

the name Thea to Theabel. That's really fascinating to me – it's like you're making yourself outside of your mother, like you're defining yourself with the tools she gave you.

Do not let anyone define you, now you've started at

Hogwarts. I wonder what house you're in. Maybe Ravenclaw, like your mother.

I remember I was arguing with my friends about the

rules of a game in the library, and your mother came storming over, book almost bigger than her by her side which she almost took my fingers off with, mind, and snapped the rules in such a way that I was smitten immediately. Lyra Vincent.

I loved to call her Ly rather than Lyra. Now it

makes me sad, like I knew all along that she was two people but I just ignored it because I couldn't stand to see the dark in those I loved.  That is why I cannot be around you – I let them define me, I let them call me the names like Mudblood and dirt. Maybe if I had stood up for myself, me and your mother would still be in love and we'd all be together. Maybe one day, that can still happen.

You might be in Hufflepuff, like your father.

You might be brave enough to get into Gryffindor. That

would make my day, Thea, knowing you're strong and fierce and you'll always fight for what you believe in.

And I'll be so proud of you for making Slytherin, for

being ambitious and clever. They may have some rotten fruit in there, but every House did at some point, and still does.

I'm sure you'll do brilliantly, no matter where you're

sorted. Just be careful, and make your own decisions. Don't be swayed, not like Lyra was by that waste of space she calls a sister.

Father (D.C).

She scans over the simple birthday messages from her twelfth to her sixteenth birthday, her hands starting to ache from how hard and avidly she's holding the papers, that tremble and rattle in her grip.

Dear Theabel                                October 24th, 1996

You're of age! I hope you're doing well and your studies

are going well. I see you and your mother in the news all the time, and it knocks me sick to see what she has become but the pride I feel for you is like an antidote, a cure. You are standing by Harry. I am so glad that you are taking care of him and fighting with him – Lily and James would've adored you, just like I do.

When I see your mother's face, I no longer think of

Lyra, but of you, Thea. I think of the strong, beautiful lioness you have become, and it really will be a tragedy if we never meet.

When this is all over, I will find you as soon as possible.

Please be careful.

I love you, and I promise I will write again to you next

year.

Father (D.C)

Thea drops the letter, watching it flutter to the ground, before dropping with a huff next to Harry on the bed.

"I feel weird."

"Good weird, or bad weird?" he asks.

"I don't know. Good, I guess? But it's annoying at the same time because it just makes me want to find him more, and I can't," she groans, laying backwards and running her hands over her face.

"We will find him, when this is over. I'll come with you."

She sits back up, and smiles at Harry. They've been together almost a year now, and still, she's quite certain he will always uproot butterflies and flowers, making them flutter in her stomach.

"Sorry to ruin the moment," he says, standing up. "I need to go and talk to Ollivander and Griphook, now."

Thea frowns, trailing after him down the hall to find Bill and ask him where they are, she supposes.

She lets him stride into the sitting room, stopping by Ron and Hermione, who are lingering quietly in the doorway.

"He's asking about the goblin and Ollivander. How come no one told me Ollivander's here?" she whispers incredulously.

"Because you've not been still or quiet long enough for anyone to." Ron shrugs.

"What a load of rubbish," she mutters, whilst realising this is true.

They stand for a few more moments, listening in to Bill and Harry, before the pair start to make their way up the steps, Bill leading. Thea watches Harry, like the others, until he stops and turns to look at them.

"I need you three as well!"

Thea scarpers up the steps and catches him up, half-afraid he'll change his mind. She thinks this is one of the first times she's been informed first-hand of something, rather than having to listen to a rushed, second-hand account, usually when they're all in the middle of a life or death situation.

"How are you? You were amazing – coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that," Harry says to Hermione, who smiles a little.

Thea doesn't remember Hermione coming up with a story. She shudders at the thought of it, before they carry on.

"In here." Bill gestures into it.

Thea steps into the room, her heart softening at the gorgeous view of the sea, and she moves to it, her hands on the window sill.

"I want us to live somewhere like this one day," she says, partially to Harry by her side, and partially to herself.

He glances at her, and she thinks he's about to say something, when Bill appears with the goblin in his arms, who he lays on the bed before them all. Thea turns around, shoulder to shoulder with Harry, only his shoulder appears more level with her neck.

"Sorry to get you out of bed. How are your legs?"

"Painful. But mending."

"You probably don't remember –"

" – that I was the goblin who showed you your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts? I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous."

Thea listens like nothing will make sense to her if she misses a single syllable of the exchanges between Griphook, Ollivander and Harry. Once they're done, she feels herself flood with relief.

"That wasn't fun," she mutters, as they make their way out of the cottage after Harry.

Thea is worried about him. He's very tense these days, more so than before, like he knows something. She hates it.

She watches like an outsider, desperate to beg him to talk to her, but she knows it'll do no good. She knows it's to do with that stupid, horrid connection he has to Voldemort, and it sends shivers through her spine every time she thinks about it.

"The unbeatable wand, Harry!"

"I'm not supposed to...I'm supposed to get the Horcruxes..."

Thea stares at him as he seems to be drawn back into his mind, well away from the other three around him. She can't even bring herself to go to him, her ears tuned into Ron and Hermione.

"Why wouldn't he tell us that? That he knows it's real?" Ron demands.

"It doesn't matter, Ron!"

"Erm, yes it does? Did you miss the part about unbeatable?"

"Everything's beatable," Thea cuts in, but she's still looking at Harry, the small twitches and gasps of pain he lets out a tiny stab to her heart. "Look what happened to unbeatable Dumbledore, with the unbeatable wand."

She glances at them for a moment, to find them staring back, a certain shadow cast over their hollowed faces. Her hand goes to the locket she still wears around her neck, the letters locked safely away in it, and for the first time, they provide no comfort.

  __________________________

Thea does not feel happy that Griphook accepts to help them break into Gringott's. The rot seems to coil around all of her organs, like a hissing snake every time she thinks about it, but she turns up to every meeting they have with Griphook, which is only punctuated by meal times.

She's still haunted by being a spare part, so she often finds that she's there before the others, starting up the talk with the goblin and having a terrible tremor in her voice until one of the others arrives. She doesn't like him much. There's something funny about him, something that settles under her skin stubbornly.

It's weeks before anything different happens. Thea knows they're all getting agitated, desperate to carry on, and she feels it herself, like a fog creeping in and creating a barrier between the four of them and the others. She knows Dean's dying to ask her what's going on, but she slips away with the others before he can catch her, with a frown and a fresh load of guilt building.

They're all sat around the dinner table, Thea prodding her food with her fork. She's about to stand up and declare that she's never been less hungry in her life, when a loud rapping on the door startles her so much, her fork clatters onto the table.

"Jesus," she hisses, her hand on her chest as a bellow sounds through the wood.

"It is I, Remus John Lupin! I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me to come in an emergency!"

"Lupin," Bill says, sprinting quickly to the door and yank it open.

Thea leans in to Harry on her left.

"Even I wouldn't be that dramatic about it."

He gives her a look, his eyebrows raised, "I beg to differ."

Thea scowls at him, sticking her tongue out.

"Stop being annoying."

"Can't help it, love."

Thea rolls his eyes, her gaze landing on a pink-cheeked, messy-haired Lupin.

"It's a boy! We've named him Ted, after Dora's father!"

"Oh my God, I love babies!" Thea squeals to Harry.

"Congratulations!"

"Blimey, a baby!"

"Yes – yes – a boy." Lupin says, striding over to Thea and Harry, the latter of whom he pulls into an embrace.

"You'll be godfather?"

"M – me?"

Thea grins so wide her face hurts, as she nods uncontrollably at Harry, who's gawking at her with eyes full of surprise.

"You, yes, of course – Dora quite agrees, no one better –"

"I – yeah, blimey!"

Lupin joins Bill and Fleur, who are pouring goblets of wine.

"Godfather?" Harry says to Thea, still looking terribly, pleasantly shocked.

"Yes, godfather! Why are you acting so surprised? You're the best person I've ever met, Potter."

Harry smiles at her.

She gives him a small kiss with her mouth still curved into a beam, chattering away the night with him. The wine aches takes the edge off the aches lingering in her mind and body, and she laughs so hard that her lungs and ribs feel as though they're bruised.

Dean manages to pull her away from Harry just over an hour later, and they settle in the living room for a moment, away from the strange and out-of-place celebrations.

"You doing alright, Tiger? You were in a bad way when we got here. And I haven't seen a lot of you."

Thea sighs. "Yeah, I'm still a bit sore, but I'll be alright. I want – no, I need this to be over. We all do."

"You're not doing anything dangerous are – " Thea's stomach churns as Dean cuts himself off with a bitter, cold laugh. "I mean, of course you are. This is a war –"

Thea flings herself into his arms at this, and it's all it takes for the tears to come bursting out of her again. Thea is irrevocably, and absolutely terrified, and although she'd never take back her choice to be a part of this, because she loves Harry so much she'd do it all again, she just wishes she could hide from the heaviness of it all sometimes. Especially every time it sinks in that this is all going to get worse.

"We'll be alright, Tiger."

She almost wants to let out the smooth chorus of, there's a psychological phenomenon where, if you tell yourself something enough, you'll start to believe it...

The only thing is, she has told herself enough that she'll be alright, in the end, they all will be, but she's no closer to believing it than she was over two years ago, when all of this shit started.

She knows now though, that that's because it's not true.

A small voice in the back of her head, the one that used to take on Lyra's voice that has melted perfectly into her own, doesn't just whisper that it never was true; it screams it, until it echoes in her bones and her blood pulses to the rhythm of it, and for the first time, she can't ignore it.

Because once this shit is over, there won't be any sort of happy ending.

There'll either be a bad ending or just an ending, plain and simple.

Either way, everyone won't be alright. There's no such thing.