Disclaimer: "Past the point of no return the final threshold, the bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn . . . We've passed the point of no return . . ." –The Phantom of the Opera

A/N: Just as a warning, this chapter is kind of violent.

Chapter 3

Draco stood in the middle of the cold foggy forest, above him a multitude of stars shown down from a velvet sky, falling upon the mist to make shifting curtains of illumination. All this beauty was lost upon the teen who, in the midst of the trees and stars, suddenly seemed much smaller than he would have liked. He pulled back sleeve of his robes to reveal a burning brand: the Dark Mark.

Draco shuddered slightly as his mind jolted back to when he had received the condemning symbol. At the time he had been fifteen and firmly on the side of the Dark. He had supported Voldemort's (and his father's) ideals yes, but that did not mean he was ready to take the Mark. When he had voiced this to Voldemort at the time he was supposed to receive the brand, his soon-to-be master became furious and threatened to kill his mother if he did not comply with the Dark Lord's wishes. Draco, though furious, had had no choice but to take the mark. A year later, Draco's world was shattered when Voldemort murdered his mother and imprisoned his father after Lucius failed on a raid. It was at that time when Draco joined the Light, not because he was swayed by their beliefs, but because he dearly wanted revenge on the man that had made him a practical orphan.

Draco shivered as a cold night wind brought him back to reality. He touched the scalding design on his forearm and murmured something that was carried away by the breeze. There was a pop that filled Draco's ears as he felt himself being apparated to some unknown destination.

As usual, when Draco's feet hit the ground he had absolutely no inclination as to where he was, but this no longer bothered him. He pulled a white mask out from under his robes and placed it over his face before joining the group of Death Eaters that seemed to have congregated at the center of the room. As he found his place in the circle of somber adults, Draco tried to take stock of his surroundings. It appeared that they were standing in what seemed to be an abandoned warehouse, very abandoned if the wind whistling through the holes in the roof were anything to go by.

They stood there, stalk still, waiting through the small bangs behind them that signified the arrival of their comrades. No one spoke, slowly the circle filled in silence, always in complete silence; Draco decided it was quite eerie. The wind became louder, howling through the gaps of the building like some wounded beast. Minutes slithered by dragging the temperature down as they went. Thunder cracked as lighting flashed through crevasses, a steady tapping began. Water trickled through the roof, dripping freezing water upon the heads of the waiting Death Eaters. Draco tried to block out the cold and hoped he wouldn't have to wait much longer.

His wishes were granted a second later as a crack resounded through the air. At first the assembly believed it just to be another, particularly violent crash of thunder, but then as though controlled by some other force, their eyes all turned slowly to a tall shadowy figure standing in a far corner of the warehouse. It was more animated ink than human flesh, clad in long robes darker than the obscurest midnight. Glowing red eyes shown like blood from a skull-white reptilian face. Lord Voldemort had arrived.

The group suppressed a collective gasp at their master's appearance; it was always quite the shocking experience witnessing the arrival of Voldemort. The Dark Lord glided to the center of the group and stood there for a full minute, looking at each of him minions in turn.

"Welcome, my Death Eaters." He said coldly. They could all sense his anger behind his words.

They remained silent.

He continued in a voice of suppressed rage, "Do you remember the point of the three raids several weeks ago?"

The circle nodded simultaneously.

"Two parts were done well, the taking of Hogwarts and the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. I congratulate you. But one vital part is missing; can any of you tell me what it is?"

A murmur so faint it might not have truly existed passed through the group, "Harry Potter."

"That's right." Whispered Voldemort, "Harry Potter. I clearly stated that I wanted Potter taken dead or alive, but unfortunately I do not see him in either state before me, if fact, I don't see him at all. Can anyone tell me why that is?"

The sound of shuffling robes could be heard as the Death Eaters shifted about nervously. Draco paled behind his mask. Keep cool! He ordered himself.

"No? No one? I believe one of you is lying to me." He hissed terribly.

Draco broke out in a cold sweat as Voldemort's eyes slowly turned their ruby glare in his direction, he could feel them bore into his pupils with contained fury.

"Mr. Malfoy, do you happen to know anything about Potter's evasion from our forces?" came the question Draco had been dreading to hear since his arrival.

"No, Lord, nothing." Draco's voice was steady, but he replied just a little too quickly.

Voldemort advanced on the ground he had gained, "Nothing, Mr. Malfoy? Are you quite sure? Because a few of my Death Eaters have told me the most peculiar thing; they seem to be under the impression that they saw you and Mr. Potter aparating somewhere away from the battle and not directly to me. No why might this be?"

"I don't know, Lord. They could have been mistaken." Draco forced himself to look directly into those cruel eyes, eyes whose light he would have gladly extinguished in a heartbeat.

"They could have been, yes, but I don't believe they are. I guess I'll just have to find out, won't I? Crucio!" The curse hit him before he had any time to prepare and, as it was created to do, sent excruciating pain through every fiber of Draco's being.

Though he was no stranger to pain, this was far worse than any agony he had ever endured. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, leaving a quivering Draco in its wake. He looked up from where he had fallen on his hands and knees and met the violent gaze of his tormentor. Voldemort smiled, a lipless grimace, and, with a flourish of his wand, said something Draco couldn't hear. Instantly he felt intense pain in his right shoulder and looked down to see crimson beginning to heavily soak his robes. Voldemort repeated the spell and Draco's side was torn open.

"Tell me where Potter is!" screamed the Dark Lord.

Draco shook his head slowly; he was already beginning to feel weak from the massive blood loss. Voldemort snarled and cast another spell causing his hapless victim to rise into the air and be thrown against the back wall with jarring force before hitting the ground with a thud. His mask was thrown from his face due to the impact. It landed with a clack and skidded to stop at the feet of Voldemort. The Dark Lord stepped on it, cracking and shattering it beneath his booted foot. The desire for revenge began to pump through Draco, cold and hard as steel, replacing the blood flowing freely from him that stained the wall behind him with brutal scarlet.

"This is my last ultimatum." Said Voldemort, suddenly cool and final, "Tell me where Potter is and I'll let you live though it's more than you're worth, filthy spy!"

Draco wasted neither time nor vital energy with petty words. He grasped his wand in his pocket and pulled it out with a bellowed stunning spell. He felt even the simple spell take a great toll on his body and with the last of his depleted energy forced himself to aparate, thanking whatever God happened to be out there for the lack of anti-aparation wards.

Draco left the warehouse and, a second later, hit the forest floor and took off running, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his shoulder and side. He managed to overcome the overwhelming exhaustion for a few minutes, before it began to become too much. His pace slowed as he staggered through the mist, branches catching his robes and tearing his flesh. The moon and stars looked down at his pitiful lurching form, mocking him through the night. As his vision began to blur and darken, his breathing grew more labored, and his limbs slowed and felt like lead he knew he wouldn't make it much longer. He stumbled into a clearing, the world spinning madly around him.

He feebly waved his still extended wand around before him and by some twist of fate it managed to make contact with the invisible stone. The cabin appeared in front of him and he dragged himself to the door, grasped the handle, pushed it open and collapsed inside.

Harry, for some reason unknown to even himself, had decided to stay up and wait his new house-mate. He hadn't been quite sure what he was going to say to the blonde when he arrived "home" to find Harry still awake, but he had decided he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. He had spent most of the evening reading old Playbills he had found lying around until around eleven thirty when he had been struck by a massive headache. The pain had lessened from when it had first hit, but had fluctuated and left Harry feeling rather weak. He had just decided to go to bed and forget Draco, when the object of his thoughts had stumbled through the door and collapsed in a bleeding heap.

Harry rushed over to the fallen boy, terror griping his throat as he saw blood oozing from Draco's robes. He flipped the body over and grew more panicked at how white and pale Draco had become. He felt for a pulse and let out a relieved breath when a faint, but existent thumping met his hand. He carried the invalid over to a couch and placed him carefully upon the padded surface. Harry was no expert at medical treatment, so he simply did the best he could, wrapping the two wounds to staunch the blood flow and covering Draco with blankets to make him comfortable.

Dumbledore, thought Harry, I need to contact Dumbledore. He had no idea when the headmaster would be returning or even where Hedwig was. He began to panic again when a sudden rational thought hit him; Draco's Eagle Owl. The creature had been kept downstairs since their arrival with Draco letting him out only at night in order to prevent others being able to find the HQ by tracking the owl. Harry rushed downstairs, praying that Draco had forgotten to let the owl out tonight.

Fortune was on Harry's side in the form of a cruel looking beady eyed owl. Harry bolted over to the cage, gritted his teeth, opened the door and grabbed the bird. Immediately the vicious raptor began to screech and tear Harry's hand to shreds with a razor sharp beak and talons. Harry flinched, but continued to hold the bird firmly as he went back upstairs. The second the creature saw his wounded master, though, it began to calm down and allowed Harry to scribble out a quick note and tie it to his leg.

Harry strode over to the door, holding the bird. He spared yet another quick worried glance in Draco's direction before opening the door and releasing the owl into the night. He watched the creature circle in the starry sky, catching the updrafts, before flying off into the sunrise. And Harry stood there, watching liquid gold spill over the western sky, never before feeling so helpless.

A/N: Yeah, a got sudden inspiration for this chapter Thursday night and am only just now posting it. I rather like it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! Um…keep reviewing lots and lots::hopeful look::