Gauges in the Wall

by TheGentleOne

Draco's spent 7 years in Azkaban, and he's got a spider as a friend to prove it. HPDM

Draco Malfoy was a coward through and through. He could hardly muster the courage to face his Father's grave when he was laid to rest, and now, now he could barely look his mother in the eye as she held her wand to his neck.

How did it come to this? He wondered, trembling, biting his lips savagely to feel something other than the fear that made his bones ache. Not how, he reminded himself, when. His mother had lost her mind ages ago, but nobody had noticed, because everybody was fixated on his Father.

Even Draco had not noticed her slipping away. His mind had been consumed by thoughts of his Father, his attention aimed solely at the once proud and distinguished man. And while his thoughts were full of Lucius Malfoy, the latter's wife's thoughts were filled with revenge and anger.

And who could blame her for being angry at the world, for thirsting for revenge?

Not me, Draco recognised. Not because he was her son, but because anybody related to Lucius – hell, anybody who spent more than half an hour with the Malfoy Senior would be filled with discriminable rage. Whether it was because Lucius influenced them to feel so towards Muggles and lower life, or whether it was because spending time with him was that horrible, Draco couldn't tell.

Maybe it's fitting that I would die by my mother's hands, seeing that she was the one who brought me into this world. Draco thought hysterically, hands shaking. I will be killed by the very same person who lied to the Dark Lord to save me,

"Are you scared, Draco? Don't be, you have nothing to be afraid of," his mother crooned, reaching out a bony and heavily scarred hand to stroke his hair. Draco flinched violently, still keeping his eyes fixed on the smooth wood below.

She sounds just like Aunt Bellatrix.

"After this, you will never have anything to be afraid of ever again. I swore to protect you, Draco, and I will protect you. Your Father did a poor job of that," she sniffed, and at that moment, Draco saw pass the scraggly hair, hollowed eyes and cheeks and saw his mother as he remembered her – proud, and every inch of a lady raised knowing her worth.

But the illusion was shattered when her left shoulder dropped heavily, and she pressed her wand deeper into Draco's throat. "You will see what I can do, my little dragon. What I can do to protect you. What I'm capable of."

Narcissa Malfoy turned from her son, trembling hand clenched tight around her husband's wand. Her mind was lost in a swirl of bright red anger. It lit a fire under her, warming her, burning her. For the first time in years, she didn't feel cold from fear.

"Mother, please. Don't-" Draco shrank back, eyes darting away from his Mother's blank ones. She's no longer there, he reminded himself. Her eyes had been empty since his Father's death. She was lost to him. I can't fear what isn't there anymore.

But what was left of his Mother was far scarier than his Mother herself when she was silent with anger.

"Don't what, Draco?" She hissed, taking a step forward to him, and he flinched, biting down on his tongue to prevent a whimper from escaping. His wand – returned to him by Potter two years back – sat heavy and cold in the back pocket of his jeans. He was too scared to reach behind and grab his wand.

Coward.

"You don't see it, Draco, how that Potter boy has poisoned you. He has turned you against me – against this family! He's the reason why we're in this state! Your Father was right! We should have killed him when we had the chance. Killed him before he turned you against us."

"He didn't turn me against you, Mother," he pleaded, his voice shrinking with every word. He stared firmly at his Mother's right ear.

"He brought me happiness."

Narcissa sneered. "Happiness? He only sees the worst in you, Draco. Do you not remember? He lied to you, he cheated you. He betrayed you."

Draco shook his head. "It's all a misunderstanding…" But even that sounded weak and fragile to his ears.

"He chased you out of the house you shared with him, Draco. He doesn't love you. It was all just a lie."

Draco shook his head, eyes still fixed on his Mother's right ear. But his Mother's words had planted a seed of doubt in his mind.

"If he was in love with you, he would have chased after you. He would have listened to your side of the story. He wouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

Potter hadn't chased after him after Draco left the house in tears. He had stood in their bedroom, face set, and eyes devoid of emotions. He had sneered at Draco when he started to cry, and even slapped him when Draco tried to make him see reason. "Coward!" Potter had screamed at him when he fled the house. But what else was Draco to do? Potter had raised his wand against him, and Draco was sure that a Crucio was ready on his lips.

"He didn't know all of it was your doing, Mother. He thought - he thought it was me, because the clues you left behind pointed to me. You were the one who cursed Granger. You were the one who blew the Ministry apart. You were the one who let Greyback loose in St Mungos." Anger rode over his fear, and he looked at his Mother in the eye. "It was all you."

"Very good, Draco. I always knew you were smart. But it's too late now. Potter believes that it was you who did all those horrible things. He won't believe in you anymore. After all, you were the one who betrayed him. Give up on him and join me, Draco. It's better to die for your Father's cause than to die protecting someone who hates you."

Draco's breath caught in his chest. Hate - did Potter hate him now? Coward! He flinched, remembering the coldness in Potter's eyes, and the sting of the slap. For some reason, Potter's unforgiving eyes hurt more than anything else.

There was a mad gleam in his Mother's eye - as if she knew what he was thinking, and the possibility scared Draco beyond words. His eyes dropped to the floor, and he tried to shrink into the wall against his back, wishing that he had mastered his Animagus form, so he could transform right here, right now and flee. That's the first thing I will do if I survive this, he swore.

"Join me, Draco. Fight with me." Narcissa's tone gentled, and she cupped his cheek with a soft hand. The soft touch was almost like Narcissa's before she went insane.

If I have to die, I'd rather die fighting you than to fight with you.

Too late, he realised that he had spoken his thoughts aloud. "I won't give you a chance to ruin everything your Father has planned for us. You will die here and now, Draco. We will die together!" Spittle flew from Narcissa's mouth as she lunged forward, fingers squeezed tight around his throat.

Draco gasped for air, fingers clawing at the bones that held him tight. His eyes struggled to stay on his Mother's dead ones.

An inferi.

Something stirred in his mind, but it was pushed away when his vision started turning black.

"Mother, no-" He gasped, hands reaching out.

"You are the reason why this world will burn, Draco. With your blood, we will give the world what they want the most – more magic. We will give them so much magic that they will die from it. Together, we will bring this world back to its former glory. We will rule Britain right this time."

Narcissa yanked his wand out of his pocket and shoved it into his right hand, clamping hers to make sure that he didn't let go. His wand was a comfortable weight in his hand, but with Narcissa's grip around his, it didn't feel right. It was too cold, too unyielding. He tried to summon energy to cast a spell to defend himself, but numbness had settled into his bones, and he could hardly see the outline of his Mother.

Protego. Diffindo. Stupefy! Draco started chanting spells in his head, hoping that one of the spells worked. But his wand was ungiving in his grip.

Narcissa raised both their hands above their heads. Her right hand relaxed marginally, and Draco wheezed in gulps of air.

Expelliarmus!

Eyes locked on her son's, Narcissa bared her teeth in a smile. His wand started to vibrate violently in his hands, and a whimper finally escaped from his throat.

Merlin, no.

"Potter never really loved you, Draco. He has bewitched you, deceived you. But I will help you see the truth. You'll see. Distruggere."

Draco's wand thrummed once, the vibration so strong that Draco's teeth ached from it and green light – a green darker and more sinister than Potter's eyes – crept out of the tip. It inched towards the sky and the two Malfoys, growing in size and speed with each beat of Draco's heart.

Coward.

Draco thought of the rainy day in April, of the time when his mother – before she went insane – had caught him and Potter in his room with their hair mussed and lips swollen. He thought of how his stomach cramped with nerves, only to be soothed when Potter slipped his big, warm hand into his. He thought of how Potter had turned to smile at Draco reassuringly before turning back to Narcissa and smiled sheepishly before asking her for permission to date Draco. He thought of how bright his mother's smile was at that time, and he thought of how a deep, rumbling laugh rolled out of Potter. He thought of how he felt at that moment, his heart bursting with something that made his whole body numb in a good way.

Expecto Patronum.

And as silver light crept out of his wand too, Draco saw regret and pride in his Mother's eyes, the first emotions Draco saw in months, before the silver clashed with the green and everything went black.

HDHD

Draco started, heart thumping hard in his chest. It was pitch black all around him, and his soft pants the only sound. He reached out tentatively, feeling for the hard, unforgiving stone beneath him, and his breath escaped in a noisy sigh of relief.

Still here then.

He rolled onto his back, and stared out into the darkness. He couldn't tell the difference in having his eyes closed and opened anymore – not that he cared anyway. It no longer made difference to him.

He hadn't had that dream for…how long has it been? He felt around for the ragged pebble and knelt. His arms extended in front of him, and he began to feel his way around the wall in front of him. It was filled with shallow gauges, and Draco imagined that it looked like a werewolf had scratched it too many times to count. He reached the right end of the wall – was it right or left? He couldn't tell anymore, not in the darkness – where the last gauge was. The area to right of the gauge was ragged and Draco petted it to make sure that there wasn't any gauge marring it.

Satisfied with his inspection, he lifted the pebble and laid the sharp end of it on the wall before drawing it up and down in jerky motions.

One, two, three… He counted silently, knowing that when he hit 358, the sharp edge would leave a shallow gauge on the wall.

Once he hit 388 – he had nothing to do anyway – he began counting the number of gauges on the wall. He was panting with exertion by the time he hit 5,213. He had that dream when there were 5,211 gauges on the wall, so that made it…about two days since he last had that dream? Assuming that he woke up twice a day, that is.

Draco tried not to think about how long it has been since he was first shoved into the darkness. It's a wonder that I'm not insane yet. Blank blue eyes flashed in front of him, and Draco flinched. Coward.

Maybe I still haven't woken up from the dream yet. He pinched himself to be sure. Yep, he was awake. I haven't had that dream since four gauges ago. The dream is occurring more and more. Does it mean something?

Something clacked in the darkness, and Draco smiled. Crabbe, is that you? A clack. Where have you been? It's been 3 gauges since I last saw you. Another clack. Right, right. I had that dream again.

A pause, and then two reluctant clacks. Draco huffed out a laugh.

It never changes. It's the same thing again. My mother, the spells, and… Potter. As always, something in his chest squeezed painfully when thoughts of Potter came to mind.

Do you…do you think that he has forgiven me? A clack. It's just…if what happened in my dream is true, I don't want to die not knowing if he still loves me.

Three impatient clacks answered him and he smiled ruefully, not that Crabbe could see it. You're right. I'm pathetic. I know he hates me. Who wouldn't, after what I did? A short clack. I'm pretty sure Mother didn't leave any clues about my innocence behind. She's too detailed to be sloppy. She had everyone believing that I was the one behind all those deaths. She would have made it so that nobody finds out the truth.

Draco sighed silently and laid back down on his stone bed. Do you think anybody knows that I'm in here? Wherever here is. Two clacks. Yes, of course. But sometimes I wonder… What was my life like before this darkness? I can't remember anything before this. All I have are the dreams. I don't even know if the dreams are real. Are they memories?

He waited for a reply, but there was none. Crabbe? Three sleepy clacks answered him, and he smiled again. You're right. I shouldn't waste my time on what-ifs.

Five slow clacks. Draco's eyes drooped, and he yawned silently. Good night, Crabbe. I'll see you in one gauge.

HDHD

Potter was late again. Draco cast yet another tempus and sighed in resignation. Looks like it was going to be another lonely dinner. And it was a pity, too, because Draco had cooked. He stared morosely at the plates of steaming hot spaghetti and meatballs and sighed again. It can't be helped. He cast a Stasis Charm on the plates. I don't want to eat without Potter.

He looked at the Floo, and gnawed at his thumb, a habit he had shook off when he entered Hogwarts but adopted again when the Dark Lord started living on the floor above him. Maybe I should bring him dinner. Knowing him, if he's held back at work, he won't care about eating until tomorrow morning. And besides, we haven't eaten together in three weeks.

Mind made up, he carried the plates back into the kitchen and scraped the portions into two Muggle boxes. He shrunk the boxes and placed them carefully into the front pocket of his jeans. He'll have to remember to be careful of how he sat. It wouldn't do if he accidentally squashed the boxes and ruined their dinner.

He stepped before the Floo, paused and summoned his and Potter's brooms. We can fly to somewhere secluded and have a picnic. Smiling ruefully at what a romantic sap he was, he shrunk the brooms and stepped into the Floo. "Ministry of Magic!"

He saw nothing but whirls of colour, and the smell of ashes filled his nostril. When he finally came to a stop, he stepped into hell.

He's back. Merlin, He's risen again, was the first thought that ran through his mind when he was met with screams and explosions that made his body vibrate. Paralysing fear rose and choked him, and he stood there, more scared of moving than standing still.

The atrium was engulfed in fire. No, not engulfed. Some are illusions, he realised. He's not back. He won't deal with trivia spells like illusions. His body threatened to crumple in relief. The entrance to the Ministry was blocked by debris, and people were running in all directions, screaming and shouting. Spells and curses were flying in all directions, and bodies thumped to the floor with every beat of Draco's heart. It was madness.

He could have happily continued standing in front of the Floo but he heard someone bellow from the lifts, "Ron!" and his heart leapt with relief and an even more intense fear. Potter. His body automatically made its way towards the direction of the shout, sidestepping colourful curses and spells. His wand was a heavy, comforting weight in his hand but he didn't raise it. He was too scared to think of spells to cast. All he could think of was getting to Potter.

He didn't think of how the back end of the atrium was collapsing into itself – if Potter was there, to the back end he would go. He avoided the fires – illusions or not, he wasn't going anywhere near them. He didn't want another fire related nightmare to be added to his already long list of nightmares.

A woman on fire stumbled in front of him, long wails escaping from her blackened mouth. She reached out towards Draco, hands trembling and with fire dancing over it. Bile rose in his throat, and he stumbled back, hands raised to cover his face. But his hands reached for something else instead – his wand.

Spurred by fear of the woman touching him and setting him on fire, he flicked his wand at the screaming woman and watched as the fire slowly died out. She collapsed into a heap of black and smoking skin.

He would have left her like that but Potter's proud eyes crossed his mind. Damn that Potter. His body felt a little heavier after the spells he had cast, but he could still cast a few more. I have to be more careful later. I can't deplete my energy before I find Potter.

He flicked his wand again, and pink slowly crept over the black. He levitated her to a pillar and cast Protego, forming a shield around her.

Job done, he turned, and nearly fell from light-headedness. The Protego he had cast took more energy than he expected. Gritting his teeth, he stood shakily and continued walking towards the lifts. While he was healing the woman, the people in the atrium had finally came to their senses and were working on clearing the debris blocking the entrance.

There was a fire raging just before the lift lobby, blocking Draco's way. The heat was searing hot, and Draco stood still, frozen by fear and memories of a dragon made out of flames. He could hardly move, trembling from head to toe. He watched, helpless, as the fire crept closer to his feet. He could feel the flames licking at his skin, melting skin into bones, burning hot…

"DRACO!"

In the fire that yawned before him, he saw a silhouette. Potter. His heart leaped again. He stumbled back from the fire and pulled out his broom, returning it to its original size with shaky fingers.

The fire spat and reached for him, and he threw himself onto the broom, kicking furiously at the ground. Flattening himself against the broom, he sped over the fire, towards the shadow he had seen. He battled memories of roaring dragons, serpents and chimaeras made entirely out of flames back to the back of his mind. Don't look down. Focus on Potter. Only on Potter.

He reached the other side of the fire, where he had seen the shadow, and relief bubbled up when he spied two huddled figures on the floor. Draco drew in a breath to yell, but choked on thick smoke.

Coughing, he landed clumsily next to the two figures. One raised his head, and green eyes blazed at him through black soot.

"Draco," Potter breathed. Draco dropped his broom, letting it clutter noisily to the floor, and collapsed into Potter. His head was spinning with fear and relief. He's safe. He's safe.

Here, in Potter's arms, he was safe. Nothing could touch him. I won't let you go again. He ran his hands around Potter's body, checking that nothing was bleeding or broken. His hands were stiff with cold.

"Draco, you're trembling." Potter's hands were gentle and warm. Draco shook his head and satisfied that Potter was unharmed, pressed his face into Potter's neck, breathing in the familiar scent of Potter.

"We can't stay here. C'mon." His broom was shoved into his hands – when did Potter summon his broom? – and Potter turned towards the other slumped figure on the floor. He grunted as he struggled to lift one arm over his shoulder.

"Help me, Draco," he huffed. Draco grimaced at the thought of touching the Weasel, but obediently lifted the other arm, but nearly collapsed at the weight.

"What does he eat? Gold?!"

Potter chuckled. "Mrs. Weasley's food is as good as gold, I guess." Together, they shuffled towards the lifts, away from the fire. Beads of perspiration dotted Draco's face as he huffed and puffed his way. When Potter deemed them far enough from the fire, he turned to Draco.

"Fly with Ron over the fire, Draco. I'll catch up."

Draco gaped. "What? You want me to leave you behind? No way!"

"There is no other way, Draco! We've only got one broom!"

"No we don't-" Draco paused. Oh. He had nearly forgot – he let go of the Weasel, ignoring Potter's grunt as he stumbled from the added weight – and dug around in his jeans pocket. He pulled out Potter's broom and returned it to its original size.

Potter shook his head. "Okay, brilliant. Now we've got two brooms. Give me mine; I'll take Ron-"

"What about me?"

Potter blinked slowly, and Draco wanted to throttle him so very much. If I kill him, it'll be out of love for him. Someone as stupid as him shouldn't be allowed to live.

"I can't fly alone, Potter."

"But you flew alone just now."

"Yes, I did," Draco began with exaggerated patience. "But I was forced to do it, because I had to reach you somehow, and you weren't there to soothe me."

Another blink. Merlin remind me why I'm in love with him. "But Ron's knocked out. He can't fly by himself."

"Oh for Merlin's sake." Draco pointed his wand at the slumbering fool and ignored Potter's yelp of surprise. Please, Merlin, let me have enough energy.

"Enneverate."

The Weasel groaned and stirred. "Harry?" He mumbled groggily. Draco tossed Potter's broom at his head, again ignoring Potter's yelp of "Hey! That's my broom!"

"Rise and shine, Weasel," Draco said dryly. "We're trapped in the atrium, so get your heavy ass on to the broom and let's fly out of here."

He took a step towards his broom but stumbled from exhaustion. Potter caught him before his face met the floor and helped him climb onto the waiting broom. "Idiot. If you didn't have the energy for an Enneverate, you shouldn't have cast it."

Potter cast a worried glance at the Weasel, who was clumsily getting on to the broom, and settled himself before Draco.

Draco pressed his cheek to Potter's warm back and closed his eyes. He could feel the thumping of Potter's heart just below his cheek. It was very soothing.

"The Weasel needs to wake up, anyway. I hate flying alone."

"You," Potter's back vibrated, "are a very selfish and cowardly Slytherin." Potter kicked off and Draco's hands around Potter's waist squeezed tight. Warm air blew at them, and the smell of burning wood was thick in the air.

"But I'm your Slytherin," he murmured as the Weasel leveled off with them. He wasn't sure if Potter had heard him, but then the muscles under his cheek vibrated once more. "And don't you forget it."

Draco smiled with satisfaction.

HDHD

The next time Draco woke up, it was to loud banging and shouting. His dream fresh in his mind, he searched frantically for his wand in his jeans pocket, only to meet rags and bare skin. It was just a dream, he realised. The banging and shouting grew louder, and Draco snatched up his pebble.

Crabbe? Crabbe? Crabbe?! No clacks answered him, and Draco's heart thumped hard in his chest. The noise hurt his ears, and he resisted the urge to cover his ears to block out the pain and noise.

He wanted to curl up into himself on his stone bed, shut his eyes and slip back into sleep, but he was more afraid of being killed in his sleep and not knowing the moment he died than being killed with his eyes wide open. If I'm going to die, I'll die trying to kill the people who tried to kill me.

Something brushed his leg, and a whimper escaped his throat. He half flinched and huddled into himself, the sharp end of the pebble jabbing into the darkness before him. Coward!

The noise was getting closer, and Draco jabbed at the black a few more times, trembling with every try. Clacks filled the air, too many to count, and all louder than the banging and shouting.

Crabbe? A puff of air escaped as a sigh of relief when a clack answered him.

I thought you abandoned me. Two short clacks. Right. Do you know what's outside?

Again, too many clacks for Draco to count nor understand. Are they enemies? Should I be afraid? Three clacks.

Something hairy laid on his hand and Draco jumped, swiping the air with his pebble again. Clacking filled the air and Draco relaxed. You should have warned me before you touched me! He felt gingerly in the darkness for the hairy thing again, and realised that it was a stick. A long, thin and hairy stick. You don't feel like a tortoise. Angry clacks surrounded him again, and he huffed out another laugh. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. So we sit here and wait for them?

Another clack. Seems rather anticlimactic, doesn't it, just sitting here and waiting for death to come. Three clacks. Okay, okay! Not death then. But you said that there are enemies too. Four clacks.

Right. They sat in near silence, Draco clutching at the hairy and long stick - Crabbe's leg, he reminded himself - with his left hand, and his right ready with his sharp pebble. The shouting was getting closer to his darkness.

Crabbe. Is-is Potter here?

Before Crabbe could reply him - assuming that he was willing to - something clanged open, and bright, white light spilled into the darkness that had surrounded Draco. It banished the comforting black, and Draco's eyes began to tear with pain. He shut his eyes hurriedly, and jabbed at the white with his pebble.

Furious clacking filled the air, and Draco's hold on Crabbe tightened. Don't do anything stupid Crabbe, he prayed. The shouting increased, and Crabbe's leg was yanked out of his grip. His heart leapt into his throat, blocking the whimpers and screams that wanted to escape, and he lunged blindly after Crabbe's leg.

No! No, Crabbe! Give back Vincent, you fuckers. Give him back!

Past and present blurred. Draco didn't know which Crabbe he was begging for, but he knew that he couldn't live without this Crabbe. Life without Crabbe was lonely, and Draco was very scared of being lonely.

Pain be damned, Draco opened his eyes while jabbing even more furiously at the air before him. He couldn't see anything but white in front of him, and it hurt. Oh Merlin, it hurt. But his heart hurt more, and his chest was congested with unshed tears. His pebble met something hard yet soft, and yelps met his jabs. Take that, you fuckers. I hope you bleed forever.

I can't lose him again.

Something hairy brushed against his leg, and Draco fell against it, pebble still jabbing the air. More yelps filled the air. Draco was furiously proud of himself. I'm not going down without a fight.

He curled his left hand around the hairy leg again, and bared his teeth in a snarl. An image of his Mother doing the same in his dream flashed before his eyes and he flinched.

"Stop jabbing with the fucking rock, Malfoy! We're here to help you!" He sneered with contempt, the sneer forming the moment he heard the gruff voice. An image of a scruffy, large redhead rose to the front of his mind.

I don't trust you. He jabbed at the air before him again to emphasize his point. He didn't care if the redhead couldn't hear him – he just wanted him gone.

"Ouch! Fuck – I give up, Harry. He's gone barmy!"

Potter?

Something in his chest squeezed painfully, and he gasped, trying to draw breaths into his lungs. His mind was assaulted with images of green eyes and messy hair, and his fingertips tingled. Coward! Fury rose in him – an emotion he thought he would never feel again, especially when it came to him.

If Potter is here, that must mean that my dreams are not dreams but memories – that he exists, and I exist. That what we had was…

"Can someone fucking kill the spider!" The redhead bellowed, and Draco's head rose in alarm. His left hand closed around air. Crabbe. He scurried forward, pebble still raised, and one arm flung over his eyes to block out the white.

He knew he looked like a fool, but he didn't care. All that mattered was his only friend who had fucking bothered to accompany him for the past 5,214 gauges. I'm not letting him go without a fight. Not this time.

"Now, Hermione!" Draco paused. Granger? She's alive? Thank Merlin.

Something pinched Draco on the right of his neck, and he huffed in surprise. His arms dropped to the floor, heavy and useless, and the white bled out to comforting black. The last thing he saw before he collapsed was green eyes filled with worry.

HDHD

They landed near the now cleared entrance, the Weasel stumbling off the broom and Draco disembarking gracefully. Potter shrank both brooms and handed them to Draco. He strode towards the small circle of Aurors by the side, face set in grim lines.

Draco shivered. He had forgotten how hot Potter was whenever he worked.

"Is everyone out?" Seamus Finnegan asked. Potter nodded, eyes on the burning atrium. The lift lobby was now completely covered in flames. Draco shivered again. If they had remained there… He shoved the thought away and instead turned to the Weasel.

"What happened?" He demanded. The Weasel rolled his eyes. "Dunno. Harry and I were just back from another investigation, and the next thing we knew, boom. The floor in the middle of the Auror office gave way, and small fires started. The Aurors on our floor went to get the other Ministry employees out, and Harry and I were left behind to make sure that no one remained. We were just heading out of the atrium when something hit me hard on the head. The next thing I knew, you woke me up."

"Death Eater work?" One of the Aurors – he looked like a rat with his beady eyes and too large teeth – asked loudly, glaring at Draco. He sneered in reply. "Obviously not, you airhead. Death Eaters are too stupid to use illusions. If they planned to start a fire, they'd cover the place in real flames. Half the fires here are illusions."

"But why use illusions?" Potter asked quickly, stepping between Draco and the rat-like Auror. "Why not just set the building on fire? It takes less energy than creating illusions, and it gets the job done."

Draco smiled proudly at Potter. A wry smile lifted the corner of Potter's mouth, and Draco was sorely tempted to kiss it.

"It's a warning. I doubt this is the end of their attack. Whoever attacked the Ministry has something else up their sleeves. Something worse than setting the Ministry on fire."

"I can't think of anything worse than Malfoy Senior reducing the amount of magic in the world," the Auror from before muttered.

Draco tensed, and so did everybody else. "In case you haven't heard, it was the Dark Lord's death which reduced the amount of magic, not my Father. When the Dark Lord died, he took a large chunk of magic with him. Get your facts right before blaming others, you nimwit."

Draco's hands were clenched into fists, and he was shaking with restrained anger. How dare he insult Father. Who does he think he is? Draco ignored the fact that he wasn't sure if his Father was really innocent. He was out of his mind, he reasoned. He didn't know what he was doing.

Rat-Auror snarled. "Your Father was the one who came up with the curse! Your Father was the one who ensured that magic would run out eventually! Magical folk can't live without magic!"

"And I'm suffering along with you! Does that make me the enemy?!"

"ENOUGH!"

Draco did not meet Potter's eyes. He knew that Potter still hadn't forgiven him for his Father's mistakes. No matter how much Potter loved him, the fact that Draco's Father was the one behind the reduction in magic was hard to ignore and forgive.

How fucked up are we? Potter loves me, but can't forgive me for something I didn't do.

"Now's not the time to play the blaming game. Finnegan, how many were injured?" Potter asked.

"Last I heard, 39 Ministry employees were sent to St. Mungos. 8 of those 39 were Aurors."

Potter sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face. He looked tired beyond years. Draco wanted to sweep him back to their home and lock him up, hiding him from his responsibilities.

"Okay. Let's start extinguishing the fires. Finnegan, go find the others and get them here. The rest, with me."

Draco's mouth opened, but he wasn't sure what to say. He knew the look in Potter's eyes. Nothing would sway him from doing his job. His mind raced for ideas to keep Potter away from this burning hellhole. Maybe I should help. That way, I can keep an eye on Potter too.

Sick to the stomach at the thought of going back to the flames, Draco was going to force syllables out of his throat, but Ron beat him to it.

"Merlin, Malfoy. You're bleeding!"

Potter paused in his instructions. Very slowly, he turned to face Draco. Draco met his eyes steadily, and together, they looked at the red mess on Draco's jeans. Draco blinked.

But it doesn't hurt, he thought stupidly. Blood had rushed from his head the moment he saw the red blooming on his leg and he staggered. Potter rushed forward to steady him. He was bleeding, but it didn't hurt. He told Potter so, and watched as Potter examined his leg carefully.

His nose scrunched, and he poked at the red, making it spread even more. Draco yelped. "That hurt, Potter!"

Laughing green eyes met his. "Your 'blood' smells like red sauce, Draco."

Draco paused, mind racing, and blushed furiously when comprehension dawned. Potter winked at him, and stood up, face solemn once more.

"I'm going to bring Draco home and clean his wound. You guys continue. I'll join you once I'm done." With the handful of Aurors watching, Potter swung Draco up into his arms and Draco huffed in surprise. Now that he was aware of it, he could smell the herby smell of the dinner he had prepared. The box must have been crushed and I didn't notice.

Potter stepped out of the Ministry, and Draco hid his head in the curve of Potter's neck. Potter chuckled low in his throat. "Nobody's about, Draco. Don't worry." Draco lifted his head just enough to see that Potter was right, the street before the Ministry was empty, and the empty street whirled into a dark hallway.

They were home.

Potter walked past the slumbering portrait of Great Aunt Walburga, and headed up the stairs to their bedroom. Draco kept his eyes firmly on the small mole on Potter's neck. Now that they were alone, he didn't know what to say.

Potter strode to the cupboard in the far corner of the room and rifled through Draco's large selection of clothes. Draco slowly stripped off his shirt, eyes firm on Potter's back. He grimaced when he peeled off his jeans; the pocket where he had placed their dinner was sticky with sauce and flattened spaghetti. He tossed the shirt and jeans into the laundry basket, and it disappeared promptly, off to be washed by the elves in the Manor.

He stepped out of his silk boxers, and Potter turned, eyes raking appreciatively up and down Draco's naked body. Draco shivered. It had been a while since they had sex. Potter was always busy with his Auror business and Draco with managing the Malfoy estate.

Potter held out his clothes silently, and Draco crossed the room. Eyes dark, Potter watched as Draco slipped on the jumper and jogging pants.

"You look better without clothes on," Potter leered, breaking the silent, somber mood. Draco snorted. "Very eloquent, Potter." He walked to the bed, suddenly exhausted. He had cast more spells than he had meant to, and flying without Potter always took up a huge chunk of his energy.

Potter climbed on to the bed behind him and wrapped a hot arm around his middle, dragging him snug against Potter's front.

"You saved her." How does he always know what I'm thinking about? Draco wondered.

"I was more afraid of her touching me and setting me on fire."

Potter chuckled and nosed along Draco's neck, making him shiver. "You're good, Draco. No matter how much you deny it, you're a good person." Draco could feel Potter smile against the nape of his neck. "You're a Gryffindor at heart."

Draco gasped in mock outrage. "Take that back! I'm a Slytherin through and through, Potter. Don't try to fool yourself otherwise." Potter bit his neck lightly.

"You may be a Slytherin, but you're my Slytherin."

Draco shoved an elbow backwards. "You're full of cliché lines tonight, Potter. Shut up and go to sleep. I'm exhausted." He ignored Potter's murmur of "You're always exhausted."

He shut his eyes and dozed. Here, in Potter's arms, he felt safe. Like nothing could touch him. He felt Potter shift behind him and held on tight to Potter's hands.

"Stay with me, please," he murmured sleepily. Potter chased the nightmares away.

"I have to go back to them, Draco. I told them that I'd be back."

Draco turned to face Potter, eyes heavy with sleep. "Take a break. You're exhausted too. Your eye bags are so heavy that it's drooping to your chin. They don't need you."

Potter rolled his eyes. "That's an exaggeration, Draco, and you know it."

"Still. Stay with me. Please."

Potter sighed and kissed the top of his head. "You're such a brat. Fine, I'll stay. I promise." Draco smiled in satisfaction and slipped back into a light doze. Moments later, Potter's wand vibrated, and he slipped out of the bed. Draco kept his eyes stubbornly close and breathing even. There was a heavy sigh, and then Potter kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"I'm sorry Draco. They need me." Light footsteps echoed through the room and the bedroom door creaked open. Draco's eyes opened. I can't just let him go like that. What if he gets injured again? I nearly lost him the last time he went on a rescue mission. Memories of Potter's amputated leg raced through his mind.

"You promised," he murmured softly, but still loud enough that Potter would hear him. Guilt curdled in his stomach. He hated using guilt to influence Potter, but Draco was determined to keep him home this time. Merlin knew what was waiting for Potter back at the Ministry.

Potter sighed and the bed dipped on one side. He wrapped his arms around Draco's middle and Draco relaxed immediately. Thank Merlin.

"I know what you're doing, Draco, and I don't approve of it. But I'll let it go this time."

Draco smiled. I'll do anything to make sure that you're safe.

HDHD

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

Crabbe, stop that noise. It's unbecoming of you. Spiders don't beep.

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

Crabbe?

Draco opened his eyes into a slit, but instead of meeting the dark like he was used to, warm light poured into his vision. I can see.

Everything was blurry, but that didn't matter to Draco. For the first time since he had woken up in the dark 5,125 gauges ago, he could see. No more darkness. I have to record this down.

He moved to sit up, but his body was heavy. I can't move my hands. He tried to move his fingers, and he felt them twitch feebly, but he couldn't do anything more than that. I can't move. What's happened? Crabbe? Are you here? What's going on?

He squinted in the light, trying to figure out where he was. All he could make out were white walls and large boxes that had colours on it, and the colours kept changing. The boxes are the ones making that beeping noise, he realised.

Not boxes. Monitors. When Potter had won the war, there were too many casualties for St. Mungos to handle. So Granger had brought in the Muggle healing practice to help stabilize the injured. It was more crude than using spells, but it worked. It helped them keep an eye on everyone without having their magic being drained from monitoring spells.

They must be used to monitor me. He looked down at himself. He was strapped on to the bed with thick black fabrics, and a red tube was sticking out of his right arm. It looks like blood. It is my blood.

His blood was moving out of his body, and into the white tube. Vampires? Panicking, Draco struggled to free himself from the bonds. I don't understand. What's going on? Crabbe?

The last thing Draco could remember was green eyes.

Potter. Potter's alive. Granger's alive. I'm alive. The dreams are real. Draco's breath caught. The dreams are real. Which means my Mother really did blow up the Ministry and set Greyback loose. She cursed Granger too. … And Potter hates me.

Draco was torn between feeling sad and angry. Anger was the easier emotion. Stupid Potter.

Something clattered in the far distance, and footsteps sounded near the room he was in. He quickly shut his eyes, forcing himself to breathe calmly. I can't let them know I'm awake. Now that I know that the dreams are real, I need to get back to Mother and settle this once and for all.

A door creaked open, and the footsteps entered the room.

"He doesn't seem to have woken up." It took everything Draco had to not jerk in surprise. Granger. If she's here while I'm being tied up, maybe it means that she hasn't figured it out yet. She's not as smart as I thought she would be, he thought snidely.

"Will he ever wake up?" Potter. His voice was low and scratchy, like he had just woken up. Draco exhaled slowly.

"Of course he will. We didn't give him that much tranquilizer. And Seamus is recovering, which means Draco's blood is working."

So that's what my blood is being used for. To heal Finnegan. He was probably cursed too, which means that they haven't found a way to dispel the curse.

"Do you think that he's lost his memories? Since he kept calling that spider 'Crabbe'."

"No, I don't think so," Granger finally said. Another pause. "Do you wish that he did?"

Potter's voice was hushed, as if he was admitting a great sin. "I don't know. Sometimes I wish he did, so we can start all over again, but sometimes…it's hard to forgive him."

Everything in Draco ached at that statement. The pain in Potter's voice was so raw, and thick enough to almost rival the pain in Draco's heart. Coward!

"Harry..." Hermione began, her voice hesitating. "Did you ever consider that maybe all of this isn't Draco's fault? That maybe he was a scapegoat?"

Draco could have cheered if he wasn't so afraid of letting Potter know that he was awake. Granger might be slow, but at least she's getting there.

"I know Draco, Hermione. If he weren't the one behind all of this, he would have said so. He would have confronted me about it, and he would have forced me to listen to his side of the story. But he didn't. Instead, he ran away like a fucking coward." Fury laced Potter's words, and Draco was sure that he also heard a healthy amount of loathing.

Mother was right after all. Potter hates me.

"He's always been a coward, Harry. How is this any different from the other times? He's run away from problems before, who says that he didn't do the same for this?"

I didn't run away. I went to confront the problem, Draco wanted to yell. He wanted to scream and shout at Potter until the bloody git was crying for forgiveness. He wanted to hit Potter for being so damn stupid and for not trusting Draco. He wanted Potter to hug him again and make him feel safe. Make him feel like nothing could touch him.

It's too late for that. So many lives were lost because of me. Potter will never forgive me for that.

The urge to cry and wail until everything turned numb was strong and real, but Malfoys weren't raised to be barbarians, and Draco was determined to be a respectable Malfoy until the end.

Pity the line will end with me.

"I trusted him, Hermione, and he broke that trust. Even if he does remember, I will never forgive him."

If that is what Potter wishes, then so be it.

"I need to check on Seamus. I'll give the two of you some time alone." Light footsteps echoed and paused. "If he wakes up while I'm gone, Harry… Be kind to him." The door creaked shut.

There was no sound in the room, save for the beeping of the machines monitoring Draco.

"I know you're awake, Draco. Don't pretend otherwise. I know you better than that." Potter sighed.

Do you really?

Draco opened his eyes reluctantly. Everything was clear now. There was no escaping his fate no matter how much he tried. I'm the only one who can save myself.

Potter stood to his left, shoulders tense. Draco looked at Potter, cataloging every line and every silver hair. Even with his wrinkles, Potter still looked delectable. Draco hated him for it.

"Why'd you do it?" Potter's eyes were unreadable and cold. Draco felt like they were both in Hogwarts again.

"Where's Crabbe?" He countered, voice raspy from underuse. He had to clear his throat several times to get the first syllable out. Potter's green eyes flashed with impatience.

"I asked you my question first."

Draco sighed. "It's a long story, and I don't think you'd believe me even if I told you."

"Try me."

Draco looked at Potter. There was stubble on Potter's chin. Does he still shave with that dangerous razor of his?

"Where's Crabbe?" he repeated.

"You are aware that Crabbe's dead, right?" Draco glared at Potter. "That spider's safe. We had to use 3 vials of tranquilizers on him to knock him out."

Good old Crabbe.

"Why'd you bring down the Ministry?"

"Didn't we go through this before?" It was Potter's turn to glare. Draco rolled his eyes. "Bringing down the Ministry was a warning. I told you that it was a prelude to something bigger and worse."

"So you did it." Potter said flatly.

Draco looked away. He couldn't stand the disappointment in Potter's eyes. "I'm not sure that I didn't do it."

"If you didn't do it, why'd you stop me from going back to the Ministry to help them that night? You stopped me because you knew that there was an explosive curse set on the building, and if I had gone back, you would have taken down the star of the show along with the building." Potter's tone was of one who had argued with himself countless times but reached the same conclusion each time.

Draco's heart ached for Potter. I'm so sorry that this happened.

"I didn't stop you from going back to the Ministry because I knew that there was an explosive curse on the building." That much Draco knew. "I stopped you because I really didn't want you to leave me that night. You nearly lost your leg the last time you went on a rescue mission. I couldn't let you get injured when I could have stopped you."

"So you knew that there was an explosive curse on the building."

Draco groaned in frustration. It seemed that 5,125 gauges didn't do anything to help improve Potter's bull-headedness. He paused.

"Potter, how long was I in Azkaban for?"

"7 years, 2 months and 10 days."

He's been keeping count. That has to mean something.

Draco stared at the spotless ceiling. 7 years. He had spent 7 years in that dark cell with no human contact, save for Crabbe the spider. It's a miracle I didn't go insane.

Potter cleared his throat. "So why'd you set Greyback loose in St. Mungos?"

Yes, why? "I don't know. I really don't know, Potter," he snapped at his mutinous look.

"How is it possible that you don't know? There were children in the hospital, Draco, and all of them died. All 96 of them."

Children. Everything clicked into place. Father used to say that a symbol of destruction, blood of children, a curse on a pregnant friend and blood of the son are keys to creating influxes of magic. I always thought the keys were just folklore.

There was a pregnant pause.

"Why Hermione?"

Draco closed his eyes, exhausted. Potter was better off not knowing about what Mother had done.

"Is the baby fine?"

"Yes. No thanks to you. She nearly lost Rose."

She gave birth to a girl. Draco wanted to smile. Good for you, Granger.

"Did you love me? Was all of that true?"

Did you? Draco wanted to ask. Instead, he opened his eyes and stared Potter in the eye. "I never stopped loving you." Potter looked like he wanted to say something to that, but he stopped himself. He's learnt some self control at least.

"You can't escape from these bonds or this room. We have layered the whole floor in magic repelling wards, so you can't use magic at all. Someone will be in to check on you shortly." Potter moved to the door, his steps quick and sure. Gone was the sometimes-shy man Draco once knew.

Death does that to people.

"Potter. How is my blood helping Finnegan?"

Potter paused, his hand on the doorknob. "He suffered from magical backlash. Thanks to your curse, many people couldn't take the sudden increase in magic and all of them are in comas or dead. Only your blood can save them. Guess you didn't consider that when you cursed us, huh."

Draco refused to take his bait. "Did Granger figure that out?"

"Yes she did." Potter jerked the door open.

"Is my Mother alive?" Draco asked quickly. Potter turned, and his eyes were a blazing green. "No. She was lying dead beside you when we found you in the Manor. Your magical signature was all over her." You killed her was the unspoken accusation. Potter stepped out, slamming the door behind him.

Draco stared at the four white walls, left alone with his thoughts once more.

HDHD

5,126 gauges. Although Draco wasn't sure if the number was right because he hadn't slept a wink ever since Potter had left and he didn't trust his sense of time.

After all, I spent 7 years in Azkaban and I didn't know. Draco refused to dwell on the thought that he had spent almost a decade in that dark cell with Crabbe the spider for company. It was too depressing.

The door opened silently and Draco twitched in surprise. He hadn't heard anyone approach the room he was in. He knew he was in St. Mungos – a healer had stopped by his room and prodded at him with a curl on his lips. Draco didn't bother to inform the healer that he didn't want to be checked over as much as the healer wanted to check him over.

Granger peeked in, her hair tied into a messy knot at the bottom of her neck. Draco studied her with curiosity as she crept into the room with a small knapsack. Granger had grown up since he last saw her – her face was more full, and she had grown into her body curves. Motherhood agreed with her.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "Be careful, Granger. You're acting like you're going to sneak me out."

His jaw dropped when she crossed the room to him and began tugging on the black straps holding him down. "You're not serious, are you? Oh Merlin, you're serious," he said faintly when she drew out a wicked looking knife and began sawing through the straps instead.

"What happened to you while I was in Azkaban? Did someone hit you on the head? Do you feel feverish?"

Granger glared at him. "Hush, you," she said crossly. "If we get caught, we'll be in lots of trouble. The Ministry's just going to detain you here and do nothing about the influxes of magic. You on the other hand…"

"And how do you know that I will reverse the spell?" Draco sat up, wincing at every painful stretch of unused muscle.

"Here." Granger shoved vials of potions at Draco, and he inspected them. They were potions that he had personally brewed before he was thrown into Azkaban. There were muscle relaxants, healing potions, pain potions, and even one for the eyes. Draco tapped the eye potion in question.

"Your eyes are going to hurt like a bitch when you get outside," Granger explained, voice terse. Draco nodded. His eyes had spent too long in darkness, and the lighting in the room had been dimmed to help his eyes make the transition back to normal lighting. The Healers' way was effective, but too time-consuming. Draco's specially customized potion would achieve the same – or even better results in a shorter period of time. Even so, Draco didn't make a move to down the potions. Hermione sighed.

"We confiscated every potion you had in your lab after you were arrested. I made sure that nobody else had access to your potions," she added at Draco's wince. Every potion Draco made was specially tweaked to ensure maximum results and he kept the recipes close to his heart.

After the War, many people were leery of hiring him, much less buying the potions he had made. Even though the potions he made were very much more effective than the ones the normal apothecary sold, people were still reluctant to place their faith in an ex-Death Eater. So Draco started selling his potions under a pseudo name, and he made sure that his potions were so complex that it would take other Potion Masters ages to try and figure out what he had done to the potion to make it so effective.

Draco raised the first vial in a mock salute. Granger watched Draco down every potion with shrewd eyes. "Believe it or not, Draco, I watched you fall in love with Harry. And the way you look at him…you wouldn't give up anything just to leave that love behind. You're too selfish." Draco snorted in agreement.

Granger continued, "And although I may not know much about the curse, I do know that the curse requires the life of the castor. And since you weren't dead…"

Draco waited for Granger to speak the words he hadn't been able to.

"It was your Mother, wasn't it."

He nodded. Granger exhaled slowly. "I never thought…"

"Neither did I," Draco interrupted. He didn't want nor need Granger's pity. He hopped off the bed, relieved when his legs didn't collapse.

"I couldn't get you your wand," Granger began apologetically. Draco waved her apology away.

"I don't need a wand to break the curse. Decent clothes, however…"

Granger reached for the knapsack and tossed it to Draco. "There are clothes inside, and dried food which should last you about a week. I didn't have time to pack more…" She bit her lip worriedly. Draco peeked inside the bag. Folded jeans, a cotton jumper and lunchboxes filled with dried meat, cheese, bread and fruits. It would have to do.

"Do you have anything sharp? A knife, preferably?"

Granger looked startled at his request. She worried her wedding ring. "I guess I can conjure you one after we get out of St. Mungos… Why do you need the knife?"

Draco smiled wryly. "The curse was cast by my Mother, and it required blood from her. Breaking the curse will require my blood."

"How much of your blood?"

Draco refused to look at Granger. "Enough of it."

There was an awkward silence as Granger visibly restrained herself from saying more. Draco busied himself with changing out of the small sheet St. Mungos laughingly called clothes.

"Why was I brought out of Azkaban? Everybody was so sure that I was the one behind the attacks, so why bring me out again?"

Granger smiled serenely. "I convinced them too. I'm sure you know that your blood is the key to reversing the comas people have fallen into. I told the Aurors that I refused to take your blood while you're in that cell, so they had to bring you out."

Draco nodded slowly, considering her words. "How long do I have to break the curse?"

"About two days. I'll throw the Aurors off your trail, but once Harry hears that you're out…" Draco loathed to think of the hell Potter would raise.

"Harry doesn't really hate you, you know," Granger said softly. A lump grew in Draco's throat. "When it comes to love, Harry's…"

"Unreasonable and selfish." Draco smiled softly at Granger. It wasn't her fault that he was in this mess. "I know." He cleared his throat and gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"

Granger walked past him and reached for the doorknob. She glanced at the slim watch on her right wrist. "The bomb should be set to go off about…now." An explosion rocked the entire hospital the moment the last syllable left her mouth. Draco grabbed for Granger and the door, steadying himself.

Sirens started wailing and footsteps pounded up and down the corridors. Granger threw open the door. "Don't lose me, Draco." Saying so, she stepped into the smoky chaos that was St. Mungos. Draco coughed his way through the smoke-filled corridors, keeping an eye on the pale yellow billow of Granger's coat. They ducked through endless corridors, until they reached a door to a supply closet. Granger pushed open the door and stepped into the room, Draco following her. She gestured impatiently for Draco to shut the door and drew out a quill from her coat pocket.

She held the quill out for Draco. "On one, two, three." Something tugged at Draco's navel, and the supply closet spun around him, growing wider to give way to a…forest? He stumbled when he landed, letting go of the quill. Granger, he noted irritably, looked fresh as a daisy and was picking up the quill he had dropped.

He whirled on her. "A bomb, Granger? The Aurors are going to kill me when they get their hands on me."

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Relax, the bomb wouldn't have hurt anybody. It's set to give off endless smoke, not create holes in walls."

Draco stared at Granger with a mixture of awe and fear.

"A forest, Granger? Please tell me that we're near Whiltshire at least."

Granger smiled brightly at him. "Oh, no it isn't, Malfoy. We're somewhere in Scotland."

Draco yelped. "Scotland?! Granger, if the Aurors catch me before I break the curse, I'll tell you had me under the Imperius curse!"

Granger waved his concerns away and looked around them, like she was waiting for something.

Something rustled in the bushes nearby, and Draco edged towards Granger. She was the one with the means of defending them. All Draco had were lunchboxes with dried provisions. Something half of Draco's size and incredibly hairy crept out of the bushes. Draco struggled to breathe as all eight eyes of the acromantula blinked at Draco and Granger. Clack clack.

Crabbe?

Clack.

"Stop having your mental conversations," Granger huffed. "It's annoying. I have no idea what you guys are talking about. And I didn't realise you could talk to creatures, Draco."

Draco blinked. He hadn't realised that he had been conversing with Crabbe in his head. But that meant…

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Three clacks.

Draco laughed weakly. "What did he say?" Granger snapped. "He called me an idiot. " The smile on Draco's face slipped off as he gazed at the large spider.

I'm sorry for calling you Crabbe. The spider gazed back at him, eight eyes unblinking. Draco's eyes started to burn, and he turned towards Granger.

"To answer your question, I can only talk to Crabbe. Conjure the knife, and we will be on our way."

An amused smile curved Granger's lips, and Draco was immediately on guard. "Not so fast, Malfoy. Don't think that you will be going with the spider alone. Buckbeak will be going with you."

Draco's mouth fell open. "What do you mean by Buckbeak-" Something pawed at the ground behind him, and Draco's eyes shut voluntarily. "Granger," he began, voice thin and high with fear. "Please tell me that you didn't bring it here."

"He is not an 'it', Malfoy." Draco could hear the uncontained glee in her voice. Bitch. She moved towards the hippogriff that Draco was now sure was behind him. "And I wasn't the one who brought him here. He followed us."

That stirred enough curiosity in Draco to summon the courage and strength to turn, although he kept his eyes on the grass below his feet. He could see the clawed feet of the hippogriff. Memories of that claw embedded feet rising towards his face and slashing down his arm rose and Draco had to swallow back whimpers of remembered pain and fear.

Four impatient clacks.

Draco lost it. "That's easy for you to say! You weren't the one who was injured by this great brute here!" He spat, spinning towards the spider. There was a roar, and Draco froze. Oh shit. Oh buggering fuck.

"Draco, look out!" Granger shouted, but it was too late. The hippogriff had slammed into Draco, knocking him off balance and sending him half sprawled across its body. It half dragged Draco along as it continued to run while spreading its wings and Draco had a second to think no fucking way and they were off the ground, and Draco was screaming. He locked his arms around the beast's neck and shut his eyes against the harsh wind.

I'm going to fall to my death. The hippogriff tossed its head, and they dipped from the lost momentum. The neck under Draco's hands vibrated and spurred by fear, Draco scrambled onto its back, clutching its neck in a death grip. The Hippogriff tossed its neck again and Draco screamed as they dropped once more.

"I can't hold on if you keep dropping!" Buckbeak tossed its head again and Draco got its hint. He slowly loosened his grip on the hippogriff's neck. They settled into a glide, and the wind that was harsh against his face turned gentle. It caressed Draco as the hippogriff flew with the current. He shivered from cold and fright.

The strong feathered body beneath him vibrated again. "I can't. I'm fucking scared." The hippogriff growled low in its throat and Draco opened his eyes an inch. "There. Are you happy?"

But whatever the hippogriff replied was lost to Draco as his breath caught at the sight before him. They were flying over the forest, and it was all green beneath them. The trees were so huge and thick that he could hardly see the forest bed. The sun was a gentle presence to their right, and Draco marveled in the beauty before him.

The hippogriff blew out a breath, and Draco smiled. "Yes, it's beautiful." He paused, memories of the hippogriff's claw tearing into his arm crossing his mind. "Thank you for forgiving me," he said softly, curling his fingers into the soft feathers.

"I was afraid of you and I acted in a horrible way. But you have to admit, you don't give great first impressions either," he added. Buckbeak veered sharply to the left and Draco whooped. The hippogriff's eyes rolled towards Draco, and Buckbeak folded his wings, forcing Draco to lie flat on his back as the two of them spiraled towards the forest ground.

Just when Draco was sure that they were going to crash and die in the middle of Scotland, Buckbeak snapped open his wings and they glided up again, this time staying in the forest. Draco laughed in delight. He had never felt so free before. For the first time, he felt light, and thoughts of his parents and Potter were at the back of his mind. For the first time in a very long time, he felt like he could be himself.

Buckbeak flew close to a river and Draco leaned to the right, seeing his reflection for the first time in 5,126 gauges. His hair was in a mess and his cheekbones sharp against his skin. It was like sixth year all over again, except that this time, he was certain of what he had to do. He reached out, trailing his fingertips in the chilly water, breaking his reflection. It was exhilarating.

Buckbeak tossed his head, and Draco looked up. There was a waterfall ahead, and he grinned. "Let's do it, Buckbeak." The hippogriff huffed and flapped his wings once more, bringing them even closer to the edge of the river. Draco locked his arms around Buckbeak's neck and whooped as Buckbeak folded his wings, bringing them into a downward spiral.

Chilly drops of river water splashed Draco's face, dripping into his opened mouth, but he didn't care. If this is what it means to feel alive, I don't want to die. A rush of exhilaration and anticipation rushed through him. I don't want to die.

He held on tight to Buckbeak and yelled, "I don't want to die!" Buckbeak crawed in response and folded his wings in even tighter. Draco laughed as they sped towards the end of the waterfall, knowing without a doubt that Buckbeak wouldn't let them crash. Just when Buckbeak was going to crash into the clear water, he spread his wings, jerking them into a glide. Draco laughed until his stomach ached, and whooped with joy.

I'm alive.

Later, when they were nearing the clearing where Granger and Crabbe were waiting for them, Draco leaned down to murmur quietly into Buckbeak's ear. "Thank you, Buckbeak." Buckbeak tossed his head and crawed, pawing the air.

They landed in the clearing, and Granger scrambled up from her seat on a tree trunk.

"Draco, you're alive!" She hugged Draco tight, and he tried to breathe through the frizzy curls tickling his nose.

"But I won't be, if you continue hugging me like this," he pointed out with difficulty. Granger leapt backwards and flushed. "I just thought-"

Draco stooped to pick up the abandoned knapsack. "That Buckbeak would eat me before I can save the world? I thought it too, but believe it or not, he likes me."

Buckbeak huffed and pawed at the ground.

"Were you talking to Buckbeak too?"

Draco paused. "Yes," he said slowly, mind racing. "I was. And he understood me." Buckbeak huffed again. "I couldn't communicate with creatures before I was in Azkaban, Granger. Is it the curse?"

"Probably… I'll research your ability while you're away."

Draco snorted. "Do that. It's not like you'll be able to tell me what you've found because I'll be in Azkaban." Or dead.

Granger stared at Draco with a curious expression on her face, as if Draco had changed right before her eyes, and she was having trouble recognising Draco.

"I'm still Malfoy," he offered wryly. Granger laughed a little laugh, shaking her head.

"I haven't seen you this happy since…well."

Happy? And with a start, Draco realised that he was, even with his possible death in the next couple of hours. He smiled slowly at Granger. "I am."

Granger smiled back at him, eyes shining with what Draco hoped was memories and not tears. "I'm glad." She sniffed and Draco hastily turned to Buckbeak, who lowered himself on his front legs. Draco climbed onto his back with as much grace as he could.

He sighed dramatically as Buckbeak straightened and Crabbe clacked his way into the woods. "Well, I suppose this is where I bid you farewell, Granger." He hesitated, and said quietly, eyes refusing to meet Granger's, "Take care of Potter for me."

Buckbeak turned, ready to take flight once more. "Give Harry some time. You know him; he's irrational and stubborn when it comes to love."

Draco barked out a laugh. "Draco," Granger called out, and Buckbeak paused. Draco turned back towards Granger, an exasperated retort at the tip of his tongue.

"Why do you call him Potter?"

Draco blinked, and smiled slowly. "I'm as selfish with love as Potter is stubborn. I'm the only one who calls him Potter."

As Buckbeak's legs left the ground and they began to gain height, Draco heard Granger's exasperated laugh, and he smiled.

HDHD

They soared through endless clouds with Draco cursing Buckbeak. "The clouds are made out of water, Buckbeak. You're only getting us wet!"

But Buckbeak ignored his complaints, and Draco huffed. They made the rest of the journey towards Wiltshire in comfortable silence. Every so often, Buckbeak would droop down towards the ground, and Crabbe would be there, clacking. Then they'd soar up once more, and Crabbe would be just a speck of black scurrying to keep up with them.

They made it to Wiltshire in one gauge, for which Draco was thankful, because his arse was sore and he had a desperate need to pee. He relieved himself in the woods at the edge of the Malfoy estate. He wiped his hands on some large leaves and strode towards the front gates.

The wards surrounded him, and he turned to his unlikely companions. "Would you like to come in?" Crabbe scurried forward, and Buckbeak dipped his head. Smiling, Draco laid his hands on their heads and they entered the estate. The wards let them pass without a protest.

At the split path, Draco turned left instead of heading straight ahead. Straight was the Manor, and left was where his Mother laid along with his Father and his ancestors.

They cut through the gardens that was once blooming with life and colours but now dead. Draco faltered when they neared the doors of the Malfoy burial grounds. Crabbe clucked and Buckbeak butted his shoulder. He sighed and looked at them, drawing strength from their solid presence.

"I won't blame you if you don't want to come in with me," he said quietly. Both creatures frowned at him instantly. Draco huffed out a laugh. "Right then. Let's go." He squared his shoulders and threw open the doors. Miles of gleaming tombstones and coffins laid out before him, and the three of them made their way down to the third tombstone from the back.

Vincent Crabbe

Cherished friend and son

1980 - 1988

Draco sighed quietly, hand reaching out to smooth over the marble that was empty. Crabbe the spider scurried up to him quietly and pressed one of his hairy legs to Draco's. Draco smiled sadly. "His parents refused to let me near his grave, so I persuaded Mother to 'bury' him here. He's part of the family, anyway. Just like the two of you are," he added, glancing at them. Buckbeak turned away, and Draco chuckled.

"Okay, I'll bury you in the gardens." Sobering, he turned to Crabbe the spider.

"I'm sorry for naming you after my dead friend. I missed him terribly, and we never did get a chance to say goodbye properly. So when you first made your presence known in the cell, I thought that it really was him coming back to life, or him coming to bring me over." Crabbe clacked.

"Deep down, I knew that you weren't Vincent. The both of you are so very different, and yet the same. I can always count on the two of you to be with me." He stroked the smooth marble once more and breathed out shakily. "I couldn't say goodbye to him because I was angry that he had left me, but now…" He drew in a bracing breath. "Now I know that I wasn't angry with him. I was angry with myself. For not being able to save him, nor Goyle. Especially Goyle. I should have paid more attention to Goyle, but I was so wrapped up in my own life that…" Memories of Goyle's unseeing eyes raced through his mind. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, to the both of you." Draco crumpled onto himself, and his shoulders shook with dry tears.

When Crabbe the spider touched his leg, he scrubbed a hand over his face and stood up. He laid a gentle hand on the coffin. "Goodbye, Vincent. Goodbye, Gregory," he murmured, and watched as the coffin rippled, and disappeared.

It felt cathartic. For the longest time, Draco had held on to the memory of Vincent running towards him with dragons nipping at his heels, and of Gregory turning his wand towards himself and being engulfed in a sickening green light. Now, he could let go of his anger towards himself, and his pain of loosing his two oldest friends.

But I will never forget them, he thought fiercely.

He wiped a hand over his face again and turned to the giant spider. He smiled ruefully. "How about a new name, Crabbe?" The spider studied Draco, and clacked twice. Draco nodded solemnly. "Roger it is."

He cast a last glance at the empty space and walked to the last coffin.

Narcissa Malfoy

Cherished wife and mother

1955 – 2005

Draco drew in a stuttering breath, eyes stinging with hot tears. Although he had known that her death would be inevitable when she had confronted him, and Potter had confirmed it, he still had a tiny hope that her Mother had defied everything and was still alive.

He reached out a shaking hand and caressed her name. "I'm so sorry," he choked out. He collapsed onto the coffin, one hand still on her tombstone and wept like a baby.

Clack clack. Buckbeak growled, and Draco's head rose slowly. He deliberately took his time to wipe away his tears and snot from the coffin, but ignored the mess on his face. When the coffin was gleaming again, he turned and faced his Father.

Or what was left of his Father. His Father had once stood proud and strong with his blonde hair in silky, gleaming locks. But now…the man before him was barely a man. Hunched over with roughly chopped hair, his Father looked more like a beggar than the once proud Patriarch of the Malfoys.

"Father." He laid a hand on Buckbeak's and Roger's head, calming them both.

Lucius barely looked at the two creatures by his son's side. He sneered, revealing rotten and missing teeth.

"You don't look surprised, Draco."

Draco kept his eyes steady on his Father's. "Subtlety isn't your forte, Father. I knew that you were behind all the attacks. And you were the one controlling Mother."

A small smile crossed his Father's face, and for one heart stopping moment, Draco could see his Father for who he was once.

"I always knew you were smart, son." Lucius bared his teeth is a sickening parody of a grin. "I assume that you know what we have to do next?"

Draco nodded. "My blood needs to be spilled for the curse to take place properly."

"That's right. Come with me, son."

His Father held out his hand, and Draco stared at it, wishing that the first time his Father held his hand out to Draco wouldn't be to lead his son to his death.

"How did you control Mother?"

Lucius's hand dropped, and he studied his son.

"The Imperius curse," he said quietly, watching his son for his reaction.

The Imperius curse. Grief and agony threatened to choke him. His Mother had been trained to be able to resist the imperius curse since she was young. And if Father had been able to imperius her, it meant that…

"She wanted us to do this, Draco. She gave us her blessing."

Draco wanted to howl and shake his Father until he saw sense. He did neither. He stared at his Father, and said steadily, "She loved you. That's why she didn't resist."

His Father looked away, but not before Draco saw regret flash in his eyes. His breath caught in his chest. "She will be remembered for what she has sacrificed for the new world."

Lucius straightened, all trace of emotions gone.

"Hurry up, Draco. We haven't got time." Draco inhaled sharply. He had to make his move soon, before he lost his nerve. He cast a glance at Buckbeak and Roger behind him, and Lucius followed his gaze.

"Isn't that…"

"Yes," Draco said hastily, moving between his Father and Buckbeak. "I seem to have developed a talent for talking to creatures after the curse," he half explained, wanting to shift his Father's attention away from his two new friends.

Lucius blinked hazy eyes.

"The curse, Father?" Draco prompted. His Father's eyes gleamed. "Yes, yes. Come along, then…"

His father strode down the corridor, and Draco hastily turned to the knapsack he had dropped. Roger nudged the knife that Granger had slipped into the bag towards him and he picked it up, exchanging solemn glances at his two new friends.

If I die… Buckbeak butted his shoulder with his head, and Roger poked him sharply. Draco laughed through tears. "Okay then," he breathed.

"Draco?" His Father called.

"Coming, Father."

Draco stood, knife in one hand, and his heart beating non stop in his chest. This was it.

The knife gleamed in his hand, and he stared at it. Fear rose in his chest, and he struggled to breathe. He was scared of the pain he would feel, of the darkness that was waiting for him. He didn't know what would even happen when he stabbed himself. What if it didn't work, and his death by his own hand only resulted in his Father's curse being completed? What if it worked, but he would be dead? He wouldn't have the chance to live and see the world with Buckbeak and Roger; he wouldn't have the chance to club Potter in his thick head–

"Draco?"

Draco's head snapped up at the sound of his Father's voice and as his eyes met his Father's, he was sure of one thing. He was more scared of a world without Potter than a world without himself.

He rushed towards his Father, knife raised, and crashed into him, grappling for his Father's wand. He dropped his knife, fervently hoping that they wouldn't roll onto it, and kicked at the surprisingly strong body beneath his. His Father bucked, and the breath in Draco's lungs left in a rush.

He reached out, and managed to knock the wand away from his Father's hand. Their eyes followed the wand as it rolled to the side, and watched as Buckbeak's leg crushed it into irreparable pieces.

His Father howled, and scratched at Draco, who hissed in pain. He reached out, and the hilt of the knife was pushed into his hands.

"I'm sorry, Father," he breathed, and closed his eyes as he brought the knife down. Warm liquid spilled over his hands, and he gagged at the metallic smell that surrounded them within seconds.

He sat up, turning his eyes away from the body that was once his Father, and looked at Buckbeak and Roger instead. He smiled at them and pressed the tip of the knife to his left wrist.

"You don't have to watch," he whispered. Buckbeak and Roger blinked at him before joining him against the wall, blanketing him in their warmth.

Closing his eyes against the sudden onslaught of tears, he yanked the knife downwards and quickly did the same to the other wrist. It doesn't hurt, he realised dimly. He had expected the journey towards death to be a painful one, but his wrists were numb.

His entire body was numb. Draco's head rolled involuntarily, and he watched detachedly as the doors were thrown open, and figures rushed towards him.

"Draco! Draco, can you hear me?" Granger was kneeling beside him, sweeping her wand over his body, murmuring spells under her breath. Healing spells. His gaze dropped to the floor, and he watched as the golden floor beneath him turned red.

"You have to hold on. Harry's on his way."

Potter? Something heavy dropped onto his right shoulder, and warm air huffed against his neck. Draco's hands twitched. Buckbeak. Roger clacked, and Draco would have smiled if he had the energy to. Until he comes, he agreed. He would hold on until he saw Potter for the last time.

The noise surrounding them rose in volume, and Draco watched disinterestedly as a figure made its way to Draco.

Potter, Draco thought at the same time Potter breathed, "Draco."

Tenderness made Draco's heart ache. His breath rattled in his chest, and he reached out a trembling hand. Potter's warmth surrounded his cold body, and his eyes slid close, Potter's fierce eyes imprinted on his mind.

I love you. I always will.

HDHD

Draco's eyes opened. Something crawed in the distance, and he groaned. His whole body ached – a sore reminder of the adventure he had the previous night. He had been awoken at two in the morning because there was a foal stuck in a trap two forests down, and they had spent a good six hours trying to get the foal out.

Clack clack clack clack.

Draco groaned louder, and buried his head under his pillow, only for it to be yanked away. He raised his head, meeting the spider's beady eyes. "I should have named you after Severus," he grumbled. He got up and walked into the bathroom, ignoring Roger's annoyed clacks.

When he walked into the kitchen smelling like soap, something buzzed near his face, flitting near his ears and nose. Annoyed, Draco waved the humburg away. "Get away, Pete. You're annoying. Where's Liam?"

A grey unicorn stuck his head through his kitchen window and harrumphed. "Get the rest up," Draco ordered. "We have to introduce them to the new hatchling." Liam withdrew, and Draco began to pull out pots and pans.

He had only begun to fry up his bacon when Buckbeak stomped into the kitchen, followed closely by Roger. The hippogriff dropped a rolled up newspaper into the frying bacon. "Oi!" Draco yelled in annoyance. Roger clacked in laughter.

He pulled out the oily newspaper and tossed it onto the worn kitchen table. He plated his bacon, and pulled dead ferrets from a hanging line just outside the kitchen window. He tossed it to Buckbeak, who caught it in his mouth.

Draco was about to take a seat when he heard scurrying in the living room, and he yelled out without a pause, "You know you're not allowed in the house, Mason!" The Blast-Ended Skrewt scurried out of the house again, but not before Draco heard a bang go off in the living room. He cursed half-heartedly.

He dropped pieces of bacon onto the floor for Roger and the table for the humburgs, who were already swarming into the kitchen. Buckbeak paused in his crunching of ferrets to nudge open the rolled newspaper.

Draco didn't bother to glance at the Daily Prophet. "Meredith needs to stop stealing newspapers off the stands," he grumbled, referring to the legless spotted owl who was napping in the living room.

Buckbeak butted the newspaper again and Draco sighed. "I know. I've been keeping track of how long it's been, Buckbeak. It's been 1 year since I 'died', and…" he trailed off as he caught sight of the headline that dominated the front page.

Harry Potter Quits Being An Auror!

His breath caught in his chest. Buckbeak crawed softly in triumph and, with his mission accomplished, turned back to his dead ferrets. He snapped at Meredith, who had silently flown into the kitchen and was trying to steal a bite of the ferret. She hooted in disdain, and he growled.

Draco ignored the two of them as he stared at the article. There was an old photograph accompanying the headline – one that Draco kept under his pillow upstairs.

It was Potter tossing an annoyed and tired look at the photographer before he entered the newly erected Ministry and the front doors slammed shut behind him. The article didn't provide much reason as to why Potter had left the Auror force.

Draco sat and stared, lost in thoughts of why and what ifs, only to be snapped out of it when Roger pinched his ankle. "Ow!" He jumped up and wedged himself between the arguing hippogriff and owl. "That's enough! Buckbeak, finish your breakfast. Meredith, you know there are rats for you to eat in the garden. Go hunt those down. Ferrets always give you stomachaches, anyway."

Meredith raised her tail at him and flapped out of the kitchen window. He shook his head and turned towards the living room. He paused when Buckbeak huffed, angling his head in the direction of the newspaper on the kitchen table.

"It doesn't mean anything." He said, eyes refusing to meet Buckbeak's, nor any of the creatures in the kitchen. All of them knew that Draco would go to the nearby town later in the day to nip a copy of the Daily Prophet himself and clip out the article.

He stomped his way out of the house, taking great pleasure in slamming the door behind him. He tugged on his hat and turned to the large field just beside the house.

Entering the barn to the side of the field, he whistled lowly. Betty, the Hungarian Horntail stuck her head through the one of the barn windows. She huffed out warm air and Draco reveled in the heat for a moment.

"Morning, Betty. How's your cold?" She grumbled, and Draco hummed. He lifted the top of a large chest in a corner and surveyed the contents.

"Well, I suppose if you're well enough for a steak…" He drew out a large piece of raw meat that was half his size and tossed it to the dragon, who swallowed it whole. He ignored the trails of blood that dripped down his arm.

Liam trotted into the barn, followed by the rest of the creatures that had found their way into Draco's sanctuary. Draco counted one hippogriff, a dozen humburgs, one acromantula, one grey unicorn, one white unicorn, two Blast-Ended Skrewts, one legless owl, one Hungarian Horntail, and kneazle, and one moke.

"Morning everybody," he started briskly, making his way to the other end of the barn. "Some of you might have heard that we found a hatchling yesterday." Draco paused dramatically. Smiling, he pulled away hay and revealed a baby Common Welsh Green. It was the size of Draco's lower body, and it peered out at the crowd before yawning out a small fireball. "It's true. Everybody meet…" Draco paused. "I haven't thought of a name yet. Any suggestions?" The barn exploded into noise.

HDHD

Later that evening, Draco was making his way back to the house from the barn where he had been training and playing with the Common Welsh Green, who was still unnamed. They had had trouble trying to pick a name for the baby dragon, and they all agreed that the name would come to them naturally, like it did with all of them in the past. Draco chose not to tell them that the names he suggested (and were chosen in the end) were names from a Muggle book he had picked up years ago.

He paused in his trek and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun as he spied a figure that was making its way to the house. People rarely came by, and the wards he had Granger set up were meant to repel Muggles, so that person wasn't a Muggle… Draco gasped. Could it be their first every werewolf? Excitement and apprehension tugged inside Draco as he made his way to meet the figure at the door.

He didn't know how the rest would react to having a half human, half creature. The only constant human contact they had was him, and it had taken him some time to get used to each and every one of their weird mannerisms…

"May I help you?" Draco called out as he neared the house. The person turned, and Draco's breath caught in his chest for the second time in the day.

Smiling but apprehensive green eyes blinked at him behind wire frames. "Draco."

"Potter," Draco breathed out.

The two men stood awkwardly, each drinking in the sight of the other.

"You look happy." Potter said, eyes combing every inch of Draco. Draco was suddenly conscious of the dried blood itching on his arm and of every smear of dirt on his face. And Merlin, there was hay in his hair and tiny bite marks and scratches everywhere.

"I am," Draco admitted, eyes dropping self-consciously. He spied a hole in his jeans and horrified, he tried to shift his leg out of sight. The first time he sees Potter since his 'death' and he was in a mess!

He missed out Potter's shoulders dropping at his reply. Something clacked, and Draco half turned to see Roger and all the other creatures behind him. He heard Potter draw in a startled breath, and he turned back, panicked.

"Oh! They mean no harm! They're…they're my family," Draco said softly. This time, he did not miss the way Potter's eyes dropped, and the clenching of his hands.

He's disappointed, Draco realised. Before Draco could think of something – anything to say, Buckbeak stepped forward and crawed. The creatures followed suit, filling the air with whinnying and clacks and hoots. Draco stared at them with wide eyes and a heart so full he was sure it was going to burst.

"What did they say?" Potter said softly, eyes warm and open and Draco felt like he could drown in them and stay there forever.

He smiled instead. "They asked if you would like to come in for dinner."

Potter smiled back and reached out. "Yes. I would like that very much."

The End.