A/N - another quickie.
4b.
Draco slowly uncurled his body, sucking in great painful gulps of air. His cheeks were wet, and he scrubbed his face with the sleeve of his robe, angrily removing every last trace of tears. Snape watched him impassively. His mentor leaned against the wall, wand still pointed in his direction.
"It seems your lungs are in fine working order. Congratulations."
"Thanks." The word came out as a croak. My lungs might be 'fine', but my throat's fucked.
Snape moved his hand; Draco's flinch was reflexive and humiliating.
"I think that's probably enough. The point's been made."
Draco coughed. "To me, or to anyone who might be listening?"
"Both." Snape's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I wondered why you screamed so readily. Normally there's a bit of resistance."
"I didn't want you to have to drag it out." Of course, you did anyway.
"Disobeying orders, desertion -"
"I was kidnapped."
"Really." Snape moved to sit behind the desk. Draco stayed on the floor. There was nowhere for him to sit, and he was damned if he was going to stand in front of Snape's desk like a kid reporting for detention. "Potter was in rather a mess. Did you do that?"
Draco didn't even blink. He kept his face expressionless and concentrated on Snape's long fingers as they examined Potter's broken glasses. "It was an accident."
"Of course. You never actually cause anything to happen, do you? But somehow you still manage to leave a trail of destruction behind you."
Draco shrugged. The comment was unfair, but had a grain of truth to it. What can I say? The world's just got it in for me.
"Go ahead - ask the question. You look impatient to do so."
He shrugged again - such a wonderful, all-purpose movement. "I'm not going to accuse you of protecting Potter, if that's what you're thinking. I'm sure you have a good reason for 'not recognising' him."
Snape put his wand tip to the glasses. The wire knitted back together, the glass became whole and sparkling again, and Snape watched it happen with a strange expression on his face. "It's not his time," he said.
Draco prided himself on being able to read a world of information from a mere twitch of an eyebrow or curl of lips. Hell, in the world of aggressive diplomacy he had been raised for, being able to hear what wasn't being said as clearly as what was was a very important survival skill. But Snape had him lost. "I don't understand."
"You don't have to." And the expression that accompanied that sentence was readable - amusement. "Do you want to know what happens next? For both you and Potter?"
Draco shook his head. "Not really. I don't think I'm going to like it."
"Are you sure you're all right, love? You don't look well." The voice was kind and motherly. The arm that wrapped around Harry's shoulders was soft and fleshy but gentle. Harry was reminded of Molly Weasley, but he knew she wasn't here. Asking about had revealed that he knew no one amongst the prisoners. The non-combatants, Snape had called them. Secretaries and minor officials and maintenance workers - those who weren't important or likely to put up a serious fight.
Not that they'd had much chance to fight. Apparently the attack had been sudden and smoothly executed; most of the people here hadn't even been aware that anything was amiss until their wands were being taken from them by stern-faced men in black robes.
Harry rested his forehead against his knees. His head pounded, and he was sure the nausea he felt wasn't entirely down to the situation. He forced himself to think - and it was hard. Threads of thought seemed to slip away from him like snakes.
Simultaneous raids on both Malfoy Manor and the Ministry - that must have taken up most of Voldemort's available manpower, so other raids would be unlikely, at least until the Ministry was secure. The Order of the Phoenix had a new headquarters, location unknown to Snape, and the Burrow was too small and insignificant a target, even if Snape had given Voldemort a list of the Order's members. Arthur Weasley would be on that list, but he would more than likely have been captured during the raid on the Ministry. And Tonks - she might not have been at the Ministry in the first place, but they'd been recalling all the Aurors, hadn't they?
Harry ground his knuckles against his temples in a vain attempt to somehow draw off the pain, to think straight. Most of his friends and allies were probably safe - at least for the time being, at least. But Tonks and Mr Weasley… The worry caused his already churning stomach to twist. Hot vomit surged up into his throat. He forced it back down, furious with himself.
He should be out there doing something. Some fucking Chosen One - hiding amongst the 'non-combatants', half-blind, wandless and chucking up while my friends could be fighting and dying… Not just his friends, either. Malfoy was being tortured, for a 'desertion' that wasn't even his fault.
A sharp bang from the other side of the room rammed another spike of pain through Harry's skull. The noise level exploded as people all round him leapt to their feet, shouting and gesturing. A cold voice cut easily through the din. "This is a stupidly heroic rescue attempt. I have wands. Don't all mug me at once."
Someone crouched down in front of him and Harry found himself shrinking back at the horrific visage that swam into view. Malfoy took off the mask and grimaced. It wasn't necessarily a better sight. "I don't think this shower will be able to give us much of a diversion, Potter. Couldn't you have been locked up with the Aurors?"
"Damned inconsiderate, those Death Eaters." Harry tried to match Malfoy's nonchalance, but couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.
"They never think, do they?" Malfoy agreed. "When choosing a cell for a hero, always put him with the allies that can help him escape - it should be in the manual somewhere." He touched his wand to Harry's nose. "Episkey. Scourgify." The wand trembled against his skin. Harry touched the hand that was holding it.
"You're shaking." Harry's fingers closed around Malfoy's wrist. It wasn't just his hands - his entire body was trembling. Harry's fingertips brushed over fragile bones, felt a pulse throbbing much too fast under paper-thin skin.
"Cruciatus is a nasty curse." Malfoy wrenched his hand free. "And stop grabbing me. I know all about your deprived childhood, but if you're looking for cosy human contact, it isn't going to come from me." Harry's glasses were pressed into his palm. "And I think this is your wand - there were quite a few to choose from. Professor Snape's got them all in the office he's using."
It was only the slightest prickle of suspicion, but it made Harry study Malfoy carefully as he put on his glasses and the world came back into reassuringly sharp focus. The skin around Malfoy's eyes was reddened and swollen, and there were tear tracks in the dirt on his face. "How did you escape?"
"I didn't," Malfoy said calmly, as if he could tell what Harry was thinking. "Snape let me go. I had to stun the guards outside his office, but -"
"He let you go?"
"And told me where you were being kept. I don't think he wants you dead, Potter - at least not yet." Malfoy smiled - that cold, cruel smile that was so much like his father's. However, the dark amusement in his eyes was all his. "Are you confused yet? Good - that makes two of us."
They didn't have time for all these questions, but - "Why are you going along with it?" He could have just escaped on his own…
Malfoy shrugged. "What other choices do I have? Now, be a good little hero and get us out of here."
As he'd thought, a carefully edited truth worked better on Potter than elaborate lies. Also useful if he ended up under Veritaserum in the near future. There wouldn't be any glaring inconsistencies in his story.
Potter got to his feet - and promptly swayed madly, as if he was about to fall over. Fortunately Draco didn't have to catch him - there were plenty of people here to fawn over him now his identity was clear. Sycophants.
Potter and his worshipers weren't Draco's main priority, however. He turned his back on them and fumbled through the pockets of his robes. When he found the vial, he took a small, cautious sip. Just enough to stop the shaking - he needed to keep his wits about him. That was why he hadn't taken any when Snape - seemingly determined to keep up the pretence of being concerned for his welfare even while handing out a 'bargain' that could only be bad for it - had given it to him in the office. Too much and he would have been ready to agree to anything.
"I know post-Cruciatus isn't the best time to be demanding favours," Snape had said. "Post-coitus would be better," Draco had quipped, and in some strange way it was true. His life would be so much easier if their relationship was based on crude, honest desire, rather than being this tangled, confusing web of obligations and convenience and favours.
Fucking favours.
If I get out of this alive, I'm never going to do another favour - for anyone.
Potter took a deep breath and marched over to the door. Draco was sure he was the only one who saw the unsteadiness of his movements.
He almost tripped over the motionless body in the doorway. It was only Reeves, the Death Eater who was supposed to be guarding the room. Draco had stunned him without hesitation, so he was surprised when Potter got down on his knees beside him. "Rennervate."
"What are you doing?" Draco got to Potter's side just as Reeves' eyes flickered open. Potter put his wand to the Deatheater's throat, and Draco was glad that expression wasn't directed at him.
"I've had a really bad day and I need you to give me some information."
Potter's interrogation technique needed a little work, but he got a reaction. Reeves' eyes widened as he recognised him; they flicked to Draco and got even wider. He wasn't much older than either of them - one of the Dark Lord's most recent recruits. Draco decided to play along. "Yes, he's the Chosen One and I'm the traitor. He's crazy and I'm - well, you've probably heard what I am. Bet you didn't expect this in your first week."
Draco knew Reeves only as a face in the crowd, a face watching as he fought Greyback, a face both horrified and fascinated as it was splattered with blood. Reeves knew him - he could tell from the man's quick gulp. Snape was right about that duel improving my reputation. "I've had a bad day, too."
Reeves looked at Potter, probably deciding he was the nicer one. "What do you want to know?" His wand was on the floor beside him, just within reach…
He went for it. Draco put his foot over both hand and wand and stamped. The crunch was fairly satisfying, as was the way Reeves screamed and cursed Draco's parents in language a nice, well-brought-up Pureblood certainly shouldn't know.
"That's not very nice." As he moved his foot he saw that the wand had broken; splinters of wood were sticking out of Reeves' crumpled up hand. "Ouch. I bet that hurts."
"Bastard!"
"I'm not actually. I can prove it. How about you?" Draco crouched down, and met Reeves' glare with a smile that he knew must look evil, but he couldn't help himself. "Bet you're a Mudblood, really - grovelling to the Dark Lord in the hope it'll save your miserable neck."
"I can trace my family back…eight…generations…"
"Congratulations. Mine goes back through sixty and it hasn't saved me."
Potter had been staring at Reeves' broken hand. He blinked. "The Aurors that were recalled - what's happened to them?"
Reeves smirked. "Dead." Potter flinched. Reeves' smirk turned into a grin.
Draco watched with fascination as Potter's face changed, his expression hardening and his eyes narrowing. Oh - you're going to regret that! He sat back on his heels and waited for the entertainment.
To Draco's disappointment, Potter held on to his temper. "Were any other prisoners taken, apart from the people here?"
Reeves' grin got even wider. "The bigwigs - they were sent back to Headquarters." Potter stood up. Draco recognised the expression on his face - it was amusing not to be the cause of it for a change. "You might as well just get back in that room and wait for your fate. This is only the beginning. Mudbloods and half-breeds and Muggle-lovers - you'll all get what's coming to you when the Dark Lord -"
Draco found himself blown back, away from Reeves. Being that close to so many hexes at close range dazzled his eyes and made his skin tingle from the sheer power.
Potter hadn't been responsible for all of them, he realised as his vision cleared, even if he had cast the first one. Four of the prisoners stood around them, wands still pointed. The others stood crowded behind them, wands ready. A low moan came from the mass of tentacles and lumps that had been Reeves, proving the man himself was still alive somewhere in there.
'Non-combatants' - hah! If you can hold a wand there's no such thing.
Draco felt proud to be a wizard - until he realised how many of those wands were pointing at him.
"My Mark is fucking showing, isn't it?"
Potter nodded. Then he smiled and held out his hand.
Draco looked at it. Really, with all the manual work Potter was supposed to have done in the service of those Muggles, he should have had peasant's hands. But his outstretched hand didn't look much different from Draco's own. Tanned, with what looked like knife scars on the back - but as that hand closed around his, he discovered that Potter's fingers were as long as his, and their broomstick calluses matched up almost exactly. Similar flying styles, Draco told himself.
Potter might have had all the political skill of a frog, but he certainly knew the value of a good gesture. As he pulled Draco to his feet, there was movement in the crowd around him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw wand-points dropping.
"You're on our side - they know that really."
Yeah? Wish I did.
Draco looked down at their clasped hands. Potter didn't make any move to let go. In fact, his fingers tightened, and as their palms slid together Draco noticed that, yes, those calluses did match up exactly, and Potter's scars were rough against his fingertips, and -
"Can I have my hand back?" The words came out more rushed and panicked than he liked. "I am going to need it." Potter got the message; he dropped Draco's hand as if it was suddenly rotten. Then he turned to speak to his new minions.
"Right! Let's figure out how we're going to get out of here. Any ideas?"
And he's doing it wrong - you don't ask minions what to do, you tell them what needs doing. "Is there any way out of this place that doesn't take us through the Atrium?"
One of the hexers spoke up. "The fireplace in the Minister's office is connected to the Network." A man with fluffy white hair and a disturbingly youthful face, he touched his forehead as Potter looked at him. "Jim Rankin. Magical Maintenance. Pleased to finally meet you."
Right - partially kill a Dark Lord as a baby and everyone treats you like Lord of the Manor. Potter didn't even manage to complete the job!
Potter looked uncomfortable under the pressure of all that deference, though. Draco didn't know if that was a point in his favour or not. Me, I'd be lapping it up. And I always thought Potter did - he's full of surprises, isn't he?
A stabbing pain in his arm drew Draco's attention back to his Dark Mark. Even before he pushed back his sleeve he knew what it was. It felt like a burning brand being pressed into his skin - in his mind's eye he could see the flesh blistering, turning to charcoal… What he saw as the fabric slid away from his skin was almost worse.
The details of the Mark were disappearing as that charcoal blackness bled through it. The feeling that went with it - the call - spread through his veins. "This isn't good," he managed, stating the bloody obvious.
But no one was paying any attention to him. He looked up and saw why.
A snitch was hovering in the corridor, fluttering its tiny wings. But those wings were made of fleshy membrane, covered in tiny veins, and between them was suspended, not a golden ball, but an eyeball, lidless and staring.
What a ridiculous-looking thing. Draco wondered how you'd go about making something like that - did some poor idiot have to lose their eye?
It focused on him. He stared back, fascinated.
Potter flicked his wand and the whole outrageous thing disintegrated into blood and gunk.
"And that isn't good, either," he said.