Additional Warnings (I forgot to add *face palm*) : Disturbing images and attempted suicide, side pairings (past and present)

Oh, and because I wasn't paying attention, the OCs mentioned in the first chapter's heading are actually characters from DofD. Sorry!


London Burning


The usual few seconds of nausea dragged on far longer than usual.

Blurred glimpses of random fireplaces rushed past in a highway of green flames. His arms banged into scattered edges of stone, catching and ripping his sleeves. He had to shut his eyes to keep last night's liquor down.

It was surprising to at least have been admitted to the network; it was obviously malfunctioning and given where he came from he couldn't be more thankful for it, but he could sorely do without the travel being like riding the back of a rogue bludger. Pain exploded behind his eyelids. His elbow took a hit as he reached to cup the pulsing side of his skull.

Abruptly he was spat out, landing against cool stone and inflicting more abuse to his head and now to his backside.

The black spots dancing in his vision faded. His half-lidded, drowsy eyes crossed to study the wand pointed between them. They trailed up the sure arm of scarlet Auror robes and further.

Of course, why not with the day I've been having.

Potter's blazing hunter green eyes flickered with recognition but was quickly snuffed out with fierce determination. "Stay down," he warned, fingers reaffirming their grip.

Draco remained still -he had no choice what with being unarmed and bruised from the Floo travel- yet he internally swore every oath he knew with fluid creativity.

This was clearly not the family chateau in France.

"Say something," Potter demanded through gritted teeth. His towering form only served to infuriate the blond further.

After a beat, Draco cocked his head and spat, "Pillock," at this insane excuse for an Auror.

Despite the small twitch of a locked jaw, the wand fell away and Potter lost the rigidness to his frame. He turned away from Draco, still alert and wand held at the ready, scanning the exits.

"The hell?" With a huff, he climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. The fact his childhood rival just had him at wand point made him briefly forget his panic. "Just where do you get off poi-"

"I thought you were under house arrest," Potter calmly spoke matter-of-fact over him.

"Amazing. I didn't think thoughts could survive in that desolate wasteland you call a brain."

"Malfoy? Shut up."

Mouth falling open to protest as was habit when being faced with prigs like Potter, he thought it over and slowly closed it- of his own volition and not because Potter told him to. Though the back and forth would be its usual distraction, the burning lurch in his stomach upon standing reminded him where he just came from and why

Images of blood soaked dish towels, snapping teeth, and a miniature Hippogriff with a bent wing flashed through his vision as his eyes unseeingly took in the familiar musty surroundings of the Leaky Cauldron: Torches burning low, glasses and bottles left abandoned, some tables overturned and chairs knocked over, not another soul in the joint beside the two of them. His mind wouldn't allow him to fully realize what had happened -the running and the sick crunch of bone under the sole of his shoe- but one thing was clear: This didn't have to affect anything.

He could fix this.

He could- he would go to St. Mungo's and bring some healers to fix Scorpius. He already had an Auror with him, even if it was Potter, and they could- yes. He would have already proceeded to do this with his mother in tow if he had made it to his intended destination.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice Potter dash towards the back of the bar where the entrance to Diagon opened and closed with the slamming of bricks in a matter of seconds. He only looked up when a loud voice asked rudely, "What's he doing here?"

Draco spared only a passing glance at Weasley standing beside the surviving joke shop twin -the one with the mangled ear- and what had to be his very pregnant wife standing by his side, all of them breathing heavily and coated with sweat and soot, before he focused squarely on Potter again.

"I need to get to St. Mungo's and you're escorting me."

"As if Harry would go anywhere with you, Ferret. Shouldn't you be locked up in your manor?"

"The network's crashed," Potter supplied absently, gazing at Draco with an inscrutable expression. "He just tumbled through a moment ago."

Scorpius in mind, Draco ignored the redhead entirely and hoped Potter took the glint in his eyes as stubbornness and not desperation. Time was of the essence after all and he figured spouting orders along with wringing the Weasel's neck would make things slow-going.

"At the very least side-along me. I-… I forgot my wand in the rush." The sharp ridge of his cheeks burned slightly, but he kept his expression calm and resolute.

"Oh this is rich!" the Weasel crowed and even though Draco had no idea what was going on or why the busy wizarding pub seemed better suited for tumbleweeds, he could tell the boorish Gryffindor's glee was severely inappropriate. "Malfoy without a wand -basically defenseless- with all the shite going on-" His laughter turned a bit hysterical till he noticed the scolding looks he was receiving and instantly quieted down with an embarrassed grimace. "Don't look at me like that. He's probably in on it. Him and his little Death Eater buddies."

The surviving ginger -Fred? Or was it George?- spoke up not looking entirely convinced with his brother's accusation. "Excuse Ronnikins' mouth, but in all seriousness, mate, you don't want to go to Mungo's. It's worse."

"Worse?" Draco questioned with a terrible sinking feeling in his gut. He hated the confusion fogging his brain, though one thing was startlingly clear by the mix of hostile and blank expressions: They weren't going to help him, not even the great Savior was making a move to help, just standing quietly and staring unblinking at him.

Did they all know and were punishing him? Was this like some colossal joke on that evil git, Malfoy and they were all doing their damnedest to push him to earn himself a sentence in Azkaban?

He was wasting time. Scorpius needed help.

"Fine," he said with a defiant jut of his chin. "If you lot aren't going to help me, I'll find someone who will." He sidestepped the group and made for the back, the brick wall cracked and weathered. Belatedly he remembered he needed a wand to activate the entrance.

"Malfoy, wait- hold on!" He turned to see Potter jogging up behind him. Draco internalized his sigh of relief. 1) He could get to the other side; and 2) He really wasn't looking forward to going through so many people that would spit on him or curse his name before he found someone that would help him, and even that was a long shot in itself.

"So, decided that protect and serve meant everyone and not just your Gryffindork pals?"

Potter's face scrunched up in confusion. "What, um, no- but listen, you can't go that way. It's- it's bad. You're unarmed, and you obviously don't know what's going on-" He carefully took in Draco's bloody torn shirt. "Well… maybe you do a little, but I can't in good conscience leave you on your own."

"So you'll take me to the hospital?"

"No." Frown lines pulled on that oh so famous lightening bolt scar. At the Weasel's shouted, "Just leave 'im, Harry," Potter bristled. "Please don't make me drag you."

Draco's lip curled. "Kindly open the wall, Potty."

Soft edges of pleading hardened. Potter's nostrils flared. The light, nervous bouncing on the balls of his feet stilled into a sure stance. He stepped past and rapped his wand in fast sequence over the bricks. From what Draco recalled, it was only half of it, and, true to reason, individual bricks started to twitch and slide in weary groans. They stopped the arrangement half way through, brick edges cutting into a narrow view.

Draco's knees nearly buckled; it would have been the second time today.

Far off screaming and shattered glass.

Weak blades of light slashed through smoke.

The cobblestone streets were littered with bodies and glistened carmine, torn apart and motionless, wands useless in limp, mutilated hands.

The front windows of Flourish & Blott's were spewing bright orange flames, obstructing the view farther down the alley. Saucer-wide grey eyes fixed on the busted windows of Madame Malkin's. It was dark inside, but he could faintly see the old witch stumbling through the tattered remains of her shop. Draco could see she wasn't alone. Did she not see them? Why was she just standing there, eyes closed and- waiting? His mouth dropped open in a dry gasp.

"Shit- Malfoy, come on!" Potter nearly pulled his arm out of its socket, and then Draco was tripping, being dragged after the Gryffindor back through the empty pub. The Weasel was peaking out the front door. His brother and the ginger's wife standing off to the side, a protective arm over her shoulders.

"Is it clear? We need to go. Now."

Face solemn, the Weasel held up a hand and squinted harder into the crack of light. The other hand squeezed the wand held at his hip.

"Ron!" Potter barked. His hold still tight on Draco's upper arm, not that the blond was about to argue; his gaze was horror-stricken and glued on the other end of the bar where further back Diagon crumbled. In the dark-haired Auror's impatience, he jostled his captive more as his head whipped back and forth.

No, nothing coming. Yet.

"Is there any movement or not?"

Weasel's head twitched a negative.

"Bugger it, we need to go."

The brother stepped forward with well-restrained worry. "Harry, mate, when you went back there, did you…?" At Potter's darting eyes, he grimaced.

"He wouldn't listen. He had to see." His chin jerked at Draco. "There was some of them still around in the robe shop. I panicked."

A damning line throughout that gutted explanation flared in his absentminded hearing. Draco turned shocked eyes onto his captor. He knew? They quickly narrowed as he yanked himself from the second brute that got a hold of him today. "You saw... you saw and you didn't help?" he spat accusingly.

Something like guilt flickered in Potter's jade glare but when Weasel announced it was clear, it was smothered in a blink and he went to check for himself. He directed a quick nod at his partner and motioned for the other three to gather around. Draco didn't move save the tightening of his fists at his sides and his jaw groaning an enamel grit.

Now he wasn't the most altruistic person -well, perhaps one of the farthest examples of it- but good god this was Potter here! Saint Potter who championed for the muggleborns and half bloods and all things good and cute and nauseating. What changed?

Unless… unless what was wrong with Scorpius and Astoria was happening everywhere else.

"Malfoy!" He blinked and looked up. Potter appeared ready to haul him over his shoulder if need be. "Come on."

"You expect me to go out there? What about Apparating?"

"None of us can. It's like there's wards up."

"And even if we can," George interjected, "It'd be too dangerous for Angelina and the baby."

Ultimately Draco did not care about the safety of perpetuating the rapid offspring of the Weasley line, but his stomach dropped at the grim news that all feasible magical means of travel were gone. There was flying, of course, but he had no desire to venture into Diagon Alley and see how Quality Quidditch Supplies was holding up. The Floo, but apparently there was no telling where he'd end up or whether he'd survive the trip without acquiring a concussion.

"Fine, stay." Potter turned away, though it looked like a struggle for him to do so, and took up the front while Weasel guarded the rear, sandwiching the brother and his wife between the two. On the count of three, they slipped out of the door one by one with their wands at the ready. Draco squinted at the sharp daylight that flooded the dim pub until Weasley's tall silhouette spurned the black sway of the door.

Then, they were gone.

Silence clogged his ears, but if he strained he could vaguely hear the heavy breathing and crackle of Flourish & Blott's aflame. Was Madame Malkin through with her screams- did she even have time to? A barbed sense of utter aloneness spiraled down his stiff spine.

It could have been the fact he was once the reigning Prince of Slytherin and his house boasted cunning and wielding what was around you to your advantage all in the name of Ambition. But his name was that of Malfoy, the more innate prepossession of those attributes, and more importantly valued was self-preservation; It highlighted the path most logical in this forked road of whether or not to gamble his chances with the Boy Who Lived- and wasn't that the kicker?- or huff it alone, wandless.

Potter did have an astoundingly, annoying habit of living through things most would die from.

Reminding himself of this, the calculations took very little thought.

Draco scrambled after Potter.

Unforgiving sunlight greeted him upon his hasty exit. His hands flew up to shade his eyes. The far-off wailing of a banshee rung in is ears, and the breeze carried smoke to his lungs. Potter and his troupe were easy enough to spot at the end of the block, what with the bold scarlet robes and two heads of glaring red hair absorbing the rays of the sun. Oh and of course they were virtually the only movements up and down the street he could see. He set after them, making sure his pace was brisk but not hurried. That way when Weasley swiveled around at the sound of his approach and scowled, his sneer could only be believable.

"Held out longer than I thought," the Weasel commented as Draco passed. Draco chose not to dignify that with a response but instead faintly smirk as Potter hushed his partner in a harsh undertone. "We can't risk attracting one of those things!"

Down the intersecting street, flickering lights caught his eye. He frowned, wondering just what that white box-like muggle vehicle was for, overturned and cracked flashing red and blue against the pavement. The doors on the back were gaping open, a crimson-stained gurney hanging out like a sick tongue lolling. He then realized that awful wailing was coming from the vehicle. He turned away in a weak effort to block the grating noise out.

Glass crunched underneath their feet as Draco slipped around the married couple and fell into step with Potter. The Auror only treated him to a glance before going back to scanning the surroundings and warily pausing to inspect every busted store window and shadowed doorway before deeming it safe to pass. Draco made sure to appear he was doing much of the same, though his version involved one eye on the abandoned muggle cars congesting the street and the other monitoring Potter's pace so Draco could subtly match if not exceed it by a few inches every second or third step.

He may be without a wand and essentially -helpless- but none of these Gryffindors need realize it. Joining them was simple logic, not desperation. So walking up front portrayed fearlessness, though his insides rippled with every purring engine passed and the odd streak of red he noticed. He was a Malfoy after all, so if there happened to be any trouble he would graciously allow these two Aurors to protect him; it was their job. But until (or if) that time came, Draco wasn't going to be their designated damsel in distress.

"This one," Potter's rough baritone broke the effortless, albeit tense silence. "It has the clearest route out." He stopped short, causing Draco to stumble to the side to avoid colliding with him. Draco hadn't noticed he had been walking that close, but then again where did that prat get off cutting in front of him like that?

Regardless Potter would have ignored the retort on the tip of his tongue and the indignant glare the blond shot him, too busy climbing into the driver's seat of a black car. Holding his wand between his teeth, he pried off the panel below the odd, thin circle and pulled out -what looked to Draco- a knot of colored strings and began twisting and connecting ends. A muffled curse slipped out every time a connection failed to do whatever it was supposed to do.

"What're you doing, Harry?" The Weasley Brother spoke over Draco's shoulder, too close and too sudden that the blond reflexively flinched in disgust, though he was thankful for the question asked. He was fascinated by the project before him, but he'd rather not ask for pride of not looking stupid.

Or uncultured, which was one of his mother's most used delicate phrases for those she found whose behavior less than impressive. Then again he was taught Muggles were primitive and had little culture to speak of, so could he be blamed for knowing so little about them? After all the Weasleys were "technically" purebloods and this one hadn't a clue. But Draco knew there was a difference.

He grimaced as Potter bit out in frustrated syllables that he was "hot-wiring" the vehicle.

What the Weasleys chose not to know was "Naïve Ignorance;" for Draco, it would be considered Prejudice. Plain and simple.

Watching the narrowed green of Potter's eyes, Draco realized what he noticed but couldn't pinpoint in the confusion before was that Potter had gotten ridden of those hideous glasses. Merlin, they were ugly things. The only reason Draco had never made a move to break them during their many skirmishes throughout Hogwarts was he'd actually be doing the speccy git a favor… But without them and at this angle, the tanned complexion with the strong jaw and straight nose with that snag of bared white teeth came together to create an all around not bad-looking bloke. Potter had certainly grown from the scraggly-

What? No.

Draco quickly disguised his jolt of self-mortification with a bored roll of his head to look elsewhere and crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

Must be the years of incarceration. Honestly… it's Potter!

"Harry!" whispered the Weasel. "There's one in the deli at your eleven o'clock."

Draco's eyes flickered that way to see in fact two figures (great counting skills, Weaselby) -women, judging by their petite frames but he could be wrong. Not much could be seen through the glare off the front windows, but the murmured conversation between the Aurors concluded that if the five of them didn't bring attention to themselves, the two milling about the wrecked interior of the deli would continue to do so. The group agreed with that in theory, watching with arrested muscles, except for Potter whose urgency with the "hot-wiring" increased smoothly. But after a moment, a third from the back shuffled in.

Then three became four; four turned into five; five to-

Draco wasn't sure how their attention was caught. The Gryffindorks would probably blame him for his gleaming platinum hair and flawless pale skin reflecting the sun with a vengeance; While the blond could certainly blame the Weasel for his tacky copper hair and scarlet robes wrapped around his staggering height, sticking out like a bleeding thumb-

Or it was both of these things or perhaps none of them. Just the natural awareness that every living creature possessed. But then again, Astoria had looked very far from "living" that morning.

One male outline -blurring with the others- suddenly stopped, whipped around, and stared directly at them. Like the herd instinct, the others jerked around. The strong, prickling sense of nearly a dozen pairs of glazed eyes squirmed and wriggled over Draco's skin.

Potter had paused his fiddling to witness the turn. An audible gulp and then he spoke softly, not taking his eyes off the stilled bodies.

"Everyone get in the car now."

Glass erupted from across the street.

"Now!" shouted Potter.

Weasley jerked open the side door. His brother ushered his wife in first and got in after her. While the redhead shot spells over the roof of the vehicle: Immobilizing and binding spells, trip jinxes, repelling charms, none of it seemed to be working. The howling monsters that jumped through the shattered windows seemed to be marginally affected by the rapid fire hexing, staggering for a moment but pressing onward nonetheless. Clothes torn and twisted faces lined with congealed scratches. A sharp dig into Draco's back -voices yelling from inside the vehicle- and he clumsily ducked inside. One body slammed on the other side, rocking the car, and another leapt onto the hood. Draco's head banged against the ceiling and his long legs got tangled up with the Brother's, but the fist at his spine dug more insistently so he dove into the front seat. His shoulder banged into Potter's and he caught himself before his chin met a swollen end on the dashboard.

The one on the hood pounded at the glass with gnarled hands, bubbled saliva drip drip dripping and smearing with each hit. A thunderclap abruptly pierced the motley of screeches and pounding, the one on the hood toppled backwards and out of sight onto the pavement. As one by one the crowd thinned in sporatic booms and a red spray, Draco's head frantically whipped around wondering what the hell that was. The sound repeatedly punctured his eardrums and it stopped once Weasley slammed inside -flashing silver in his hand- but the sound continued to ring there; underneath it rattled the window next to his head. A heavy old woman with swinging jowls spat at him from the other side, a whole quarter inch of muggle-made glass between him and the smacking of her open, stained palms. Naturally he shied away -face twisted in repulsion- until he bumped into something warm, Potter.

"For fuck's sake," Draco sputtered, voice high and panicky, joining in with the rest of the car's occupants' chorus of pleading for Potter to -according to the Wife- "Hurry the hell up."

Perspiration clung to his black hairline while a scowl wrenched the lower half of his face. Noticing fists battering all the windows, Draco's heart nestled in his throat swelled with the size of his eyes. Darting grey locked onto those ungraceful fingers playing with those blasted strings.

"Get on with it, Scarhead!"

Already pushed to the edge with the shouting (and not just from those inside the car) it seemed Draco's unintentional yet overly snotty outburst tipped it for the Auror.

Knotted work snatched into his fists, Potter's head snapped in the blond's direction. His eyes narrowed to green slits. His chest puffed and he said haughtily, "My apologies, Malfoy, for not paying closer attention once my cousin and his gang got through beating me up before stealing one of the neighbor's cars for a spot of joyriding."

"Please! Like I care a whit for your pathetic, muggle childhood. At the moment, it clearly shows-"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a bloody wizard, aren't you? Act like one."

"And what am I to cast, huh? You need a key for this."

From the back, both Weasley brothers were calling for their friend's attention and were so far unsuccessful. The two up front were just too far gone with their glaring and scathing words.

"Ennervate? That's your suggestion? That may be the stupidest thing I've ever-"

"Oh fuck you! You come up with better then."

"-heard and especially coming from you, Malfoy." Potter scoffed. His jaw hinged into a hard, slanted line.

The Wife screamed -what felt like- right inside Draco's ear. His sneer at Potter snagged like the wrong note of a squealing violin. Apparently her window had cracked. His narrowed eyes blazed at the hard-headed Auror. His brain practically vibrated with all the panic and aggravation and exterior stimuli.

"Fine!" Potter spat and stabbed his wand at his tangle of strings. "Ennervate!"

Two clicks sliced through the cacophony, and then a telltale roar. Potter shot a grimace at the blond, but Draco was more concerned with the hag clawing at his window than feeling smug. He would save that for later.

If there is a later.

At the shouts of "GO," Potter tugged on a stick behind the wheel and the entire vehicle lurched forward, knocking over those at the front. Draco watched in suppressed amazement as fierce concentration stole over his old rival's features; he didn't know Potter could focus on other things besides his own over exaggerated self worth. A static crackle built inside the car until, with a heavy gust from Potter's flared nostrils, it exploded outward, throwing back the raging creatures gathered around a good few meters. Draco shivered with the power of it, staring down at the hag's swinging jowls as she struggled on her back like a damn turtle. Potter stomped on one of the pedals, rolling over thrashing bumps and snapping bones, as it gained speed. Limping figures shrunk rapidly in the side mirrors. Draco's hand slammed down on the dash when it appeared they were about to crash head-on into an overturned vehicle. Wands flicked from the back, and it went flying into a muggle clothing shop. From there, the Weasels took care of road obstructions, inanimate and animate alike.

Draco had been to muggle London all of seven times: The latest having been his trial at the Ministry, but he didn't care to think any longer on that than his first year of house arrest spent brooding on the stifled proceedings and brewing lethal, near untraceable poisons he never really planned to use on each member of the Wizengamot- oh, and Potter. The six trips before that were the traditional coming and going from King's Cross; but even then the enchanted Rolls Royce's windows were tinted to shaded mirrors. "We mustn't have our eyes soiled with having to gaze upon the Muggle Filth," his father had offered first year by way of explanation. Considering all Lucius had told him about the non-magic people, Draco hadn't ever questioned it.

Funny how this was the first time he was really seeing this world, and he was watching it burn. Father and his pals would be pissing themselves in glee.

It had been decided between the two Aurors that it was best to head out of the city; those things seemed to be everywhere: Standing about or-or chasing something. Sometimes Draco would lean in close -nose brushing the glass- with his eyes centering on the ones crouching, their heads bowed like dogs, and deny what they were doing, though he had seen Scorpius doing much of the same little over an hour ago. Wow, just an hour…

Each time a strangled noise would sound in the back of his throat, and the vehicle would speed up. The surrounding conversation buzzed in the background.

The streets had opened up some, giving the two panting brothers in the back a rest from clearing the path. The car jerked sharply to side once again, a stringy-haired blur almost clipping the side mirror.

"Why don't you just run them over?" was softly spoken from the back as the Wife held her round stomach.

"Because they're-!" Potter's near shout cut off abruptly and the next he spoke was after a quiet, shuddering breath. "… because they're still people. I can't just-… I just can't."

The three Weasleys had nothing to say to that.

And Draco felt detached from the entire car ride.

Several turns later and buildings were blending into trees; the roads widened and other motorists were punching their horns, stuck in a traffic jam stretching for kilometers out of sight.

Somewhat confused as to why they stopped, Draco slowly looked around. Muggles were stuck in their metal boxes, shouting muffled curses and pounding their fists. A man dashed past the window, screaming, "They have my children! They have my children!" Off in the distance, he could just make out what could only be a naked woman, her pale skin streaked vermilion, wandering between the cars. A red, Muggle-version of the Knight Bus caught his attention: Windows fogged and the slightest rocking of a violent commotion inside; suddenly a terrified face slammed against the back window -a bloody stump came into view- until they were wrenched out of sight completely.

Draco watched the entire scene with wide eyes but didn't scream. He was beyond such reactions.

He had no voice.

The Wife had once again shrieked in his ear, but his acknowledgement was no more than a ripple on the surface. A hefty sigh to Draco's right sounded before Potter was maneuvering the small car out of traffic and directing it down a grassy decline.

"Harry?"

Face a gritted-teeth example of concentration, he kept the vehicle at a steady speed skimming along the hill at its awkward angle. "Look, those cars aren't going to move for hours, and at the moment I just think we should get as far from London as we can."

"But what about Herm-"

"I know, Ron- okay? I know. She's probably-" He stopped then with a grated curse, stamping on the brakes and effectively losing control of the wheel. They slid fast and faster, forwards and sideways, tires grinding. Draco's fingers dug bruises into his thighs -shouts in his ears and eyes wide- as the tree line spun into view. With a splintering crack and metallic crunch, their rapid descent stopped. Everyone was thrown to the right. The window cracked into a spider web pattern.

The truck that had whipped out in front of them continued on its way without pause.

A blaring in his ears was the first thing he became aware of. The second was warmth, smothering warmth surrounding his head, shoulders, and arms. Grey eyes opened blearily to blood red fabric, rough and durable on his cheek. A soft but firm wall swelling and falling rhythmically against his head. Stifling.

Neck aching, the smell of smoke and fresh springs filled his lungs. The cocoon of cloth around him twitched and moved. Then recent memory struck him at once. Faster than in fourth year when he was unceremoniously forced down Vince's trousers by that lunatic of a professor, Draco scrambled backwards and out. Sunshine and cool air smacking him in the face, his sore back slammed up against the vehicle door. Two spots of color erupted high in his cheeks as he watched Potter shift and release a long groan, slumped over inflated white. Draco's eyes darted to those in the backseat, slowly coming to from their positions as knocked dominoes.

Oh good, so they didn't see him nestled in Potter's lap.

Minutes passed of tested kinks and questions circulating on each other's well being. As both brothers were fumbling over the pregnant wife's condition -she was fine, "Absolutely fine, George"- Potter turned towards him, rubbing the side of his head, and asked thoughtlessly how Draco was. Mind flickering to what -more specifically who- cushioned the impact, Draco only replied with a stiff nod.

Scanning through the windows, Potter reached down to the floor and grabbed around for his wand. "Let's get out of here then." Having found it, he looked towards Draco, expectation written on his face.

Draco hadn't a clue.

The three Weasleys were already scooting out.

"Malfoy? Um… I can't get out seeing as my door is pinned shut by a tree so…"

The chauffeur always tended to car doors. Unsure and a touch insulted, Draco examined said door. Shouldn't the Weasel open it for him? It was more his station after all…

Potter spoke up at his shoulder. "That controls the window, try the latch."

The snide retort remained rooted to his tongue. The door pulled and swung open with little effort. Draco got out on shaky legs, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around himself as the sun beat down mercilessly on their group.

"Alright, can either of you Apparate now? Yes, George, I remember it's not good for the baby. It's just good to know, in case." Heads shook, Draco knowing better: There was no boxed-in sense of anti-Apparation jinxes and judging by Boy Wonder's grimace, he knew this also. A new wave of confusion and hopelessness came over Draco then. What the hell was going on?

Once again he cursed himself for leaving his wand.

"I can't Disapparate either, so… we walk." The choice being between the woods or the lines of wailing muggle vehicles at the top of the steep slope. Potter made the decision by striding into the break in the trees and leaving the smoking car behind. Three Weasleys trailed after their Chosen One like ducklings.

Grey eyes lingered on the red bus and saw matching stains dribbling down fogged glass. They tore away at the snap of twigs. Draco turned and followed, feeling very much like this was a dream. A very, very bad dream, made worse by sifting through bushes and swatting away bugs.

Thankfully it didn't last long. The leaf-strewn earth changing abruptly to smooth black.

The quintet stood at the tree line, staring across the steaming expanse of black at the large, pale building looming before them.


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