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No Church in the Wild

CHAPTER NINE

The Monster

They'd moved on to another campsite. Hermione had said it was called The Forest of Dean and that she'd stayed here with her family once before. It was still a white landscape of snow, but with far less wind; the weather was fair enough that they could chat outside.

"Cowardly old wart!" was Ron's immediate reaction after being told what had happened. His injured leg was propped up on an old cushion he'd found, so it wasn't lying in the snow. "How did Luna get raised by that guy?"

Harry shook his head, unable to answer, having wondered the same thing himself.

After they finished bad-mouthing Xenophilius Lovegood, subject matter turned to the Deathly Hallows. Now that they were back with Ron, Harry felt they could really delve into the topic from all sides. Hermione had been incredulous from the moment Lovegood had started explaining it. When Harry had tried to ask him a question or get clarification on something, she'd jump in and try to explain it away. He'd been annoyed, especially now that he was wearing the locket again, but he knew that was just how her brain worked. Logical to a fault, so he didn't hold it against her.

"You were the one who wanted us to show some interest in the mark, Hermione," he pointed out to her now, as they sat outside the tent.

She looked back at him, exasperated. A bit annoyed that he'd reminded her of that. "Yes, interest Harry, not... not- well, it's no longer relevant!"

So they talked. The cloak, the wand, the stone. Ron and Hermione were really the ones who discussed it. Harry listened, chiming in here and there, but mostly sat in silence, taking in both their viewpoints, feeling the Horcrux pulse against his chest all the while.

Eventually it was decided by the two that, in the end, it was as Malfoy had pointed out earlier- a parable.

"It's just a morality tale," Hermione was saying, "it's obvious which gift is best, which one you'd choose-"

They spoke at the same moment: Hermione said, "the Cloak," Ron said, "the wand," and Harry said, "the stone."

They looked at each other in mixtures of surprise and amusement.

"Shockingly, Weasley's got it right on that one," Malfoy drawled from somewhere back in the tent.

Harry didn't bother to translate what Malfoy had said for the others, because Ron and Hermione hadn't heard him anyway, and they were already off and running again. Arguing now about who's choice was better.

The discussion eventually wound down to an end. Especially as the sun set and it dropped a few degrees.

Harry stood, and he and Hermione helped Ron to his feet, leading him inside.

"I'll take first watch," Harry said, wanting some time alone to think about all that had been said. Ron tossed him his jacket and Harry slipped it on over his and went back outside.

It was hours later when it happened. Mulling over his thoughts, tugging on the Horcrux chain distractedly, Harry almost didn't see it at first.

A bright silver light, moving through the trees ahead. Seeming to glide towards him... it almost looked familiar...


A loud whistling filled the air, destroying the formerly calm silence of the tent. Draco blinked himself awake, jerking up from the slumped position he'd taken, having fallen asleep in the plush chair.

Madly flashing colors filled the dark, and it took him a moment to realize both the flashing lights and the horrible noise were coming from the same source. A spinning object on the table across from him.

"The Sneakoscope!" Granger's voice cut through the darkness. "Ron, someone must be outside!"

Weasley already had his wand in his hand. "Harry!" he yelled. He was frantically trying to get up, holding the bunk frame to stay upright. "Hermione," he said when there was no answer, "help me check to see if he's still out there!"

Draco, also on his feet now, watched them totter over to the tent opening. Standing there, wandless, no clue of what threat lay outside, made him feel terribly vulnerable. He had half a mind to follow them outside, but the unknown danger stopped him.

The Sneakoscope was still doing its thing, and Draco badly wished he could set a blasting curse upon it to shut the damn thing up.

"Remove me from this satchel at once! I have a message to deliver! Terribly urgent!"

With a jump, Draco turned towards the muffled, barely heard voice. "Posthaste!" it yelled again, and even in his panic, he felt a spark of recognition. The voice was coming from a large beaded bag- the very same bag he'd gone through before, the night of his transformation back to a human. He knew it must be that same pompous portrait.

He was unsure what to do. He didn't trust that painting, he didn't want to go outside... so he stood there feeling useless in his indecision.

Through the bag, he heard the portrait make a noise of frustration and impatience. "You must go into the forest and follow the doe! Follow the doe so you can save your friend! Harry Potter is in trouble! No time to waste!"

Draco was shocked. Potter was in some sort of trouble? He remained unmoving for a moment longer. Didn't know how to react.

"He needs help! His very life hinges in the balance!"

Draco stared at the bag.

Deep down- very, very, deep down- a tiny little hope had begun forming inside Draco, back when he'd been stuck with the Order in the body of a snake, feeling utterly desperate. A hope that Potter would somehow manage to actually do something about Voldemort. If Voldemort was destroyed, it would free his mum. It would free him. It had been a thought that was always in the back of his mind.

But that wouldn't happen if Potter died right now, would it?

He shook himself loose of his hesitancy. He could at least warn them, he supposed. Draco ran to the opening, pulling it open. "Hey!" he yelled, waving at Granger and Weasley, who were standing close, peering into the darkness. Like they were trying to find footprints. It was snowing though, and who knew how long Potter had been gone.

Granger looked over at him, but Weasley remained with his eyes scanning the trees.

Draco wasn't sure what to do now that he had her attention though. How to tell her...? He pointed out into the forest, eyebrows up. "Go," he said, feeling a bit daft, because he knew his voice was coming out in weird hisses and she had no idea what he was trying to say, "he's in there! Look for a deer!"

Granger looked where he was pointing, then back at him, appearing immensely confused.

Draco grit his teeth in frustration, unsure of how to proceed. Disappearing back into the tent, he thought for a moment, then grabbed the bag, ripping it open and pulling out the portrait. Holding it out in front of him, he rushed back outside.

"What are you doing!?" Granger exclaimed with fear in her voice, which surprised him. "No, no no!"

"Malfoy you idiot!" Weasley had his wand pointed at him now. "Put it face-down on the ground!" he demanded.

Draco ignored him, flipping the painting around to himself, wondering why it wasn't yelling about Potter needing help anymore. To his utter dismay, all he saw was a brown backdrop. The painting was empty.

"Malfoy that portrait is a direct link to someone close to Voldemort," Granger said, voice tight, "put it down so it can't see us!"

"I'm trying to help you, you morons!" Draco yelled, fed-up, throwing the painting hard into the snow. They were both staring at him now, full of suspicion. Like he was the one that had set off that Sneakoscope. Like he was the one that had done something to Potter.

Draco left them there, giving one last look at the trees before stalking back into the tent. What could he do? Go into the forest by himself? Run around aimlessly looking for a deer without even a wand to protect himself?

Just as the thought of a wand crossed his mind, his eyes happened to fall onto Weasley's bunk. There was something tucked into the corner, obviously meant to be hidden under his pillow, but Weasley had gotten up in such a rush, he must not have realized...

Draco really couldn't believe his eyes.

He rushed forward, throwing the pillow aside in his haste.

A wand!

It shot out a small burst of green fireworks as soon as he'd wrapped his hand around the thin, dark, stick. A real wand! He was ecstatic. As he examined it from all angles, he wondered why and how Weasley had gotten his hands on an extra wand. But he didn't really care. He had a wand!

As he internally celebrated, he could hear Granger and Weasley outside- wondering what to do, if Potter was okay, why had Malfoy done that with the painting?

Draco slipped the wand into his pocket. He strode back to the opening, walking right by Weasley and Granger. Not bothering to look at them.

"Where are you going?" Granger said from behind him, confused. "There's probably someone out there!

"Malfoy, seriously-"

"You shouldn't go out there alone-!"

He slipped through their wards and the voices were immediately silenced. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the campsite was now completely invisible. He tightened the oversized jacket he was wearing around himself and kept moving.

Into the trees he went. It was a very dark night, and the further he progressed, the darker it got. Finally he pulled out his wand, whispering, "Lumos."

It was quickly becoming apparent to him that it would be impossible to find any creature in this forest at night. A deer or Potter.

He stumbled over a tree root that had been shadowed and unseen. A nearby tree trunk saved him from a fall, but he was beginning to become disheartened. To feel a bit foolish. What was he playing at? Trying to do the hero role? He sighed and pushed off the tree, unsure if he should start again or start thinking of a new plan that involved Apparating somewhere far away and leaving Potter to his fate.

As he toyed with that idea, he saw something. Not too far off, a flickering light.

"Nox," Draco said quietly, and his wand went dark. Slowly and carefully, he made his approach forward.

It was the deer the portrait had been shouting about. Had to be. He recognized it as a Patronus, though he'd only seen a few in his life. He'd never seen one as dimly lit as this. It looked like it was about to disappear at any second. It was kicking a foot, staring directly at him. It appeared like it wanted to come forward, but something was stopping it. As if there were an invisible line it couldn't cross.

Draco came nearer and the deer turned, tossing its head. It was flickering madly, but he could tell it wanted him to follow, just as the portrait had indicated it would. He wondered what he would find. Was Potter in some sort of duel with Death Eaters? If he was, Draco didn't know what he would do. He'd have to hang back, of course. See how it was playing out first.

The deer moved swiftly and Draco was nearly at a jog. It seemed as if the Patronus was on a time-limit. Like it knew its power was almost gone. He had to use his wand light again to keep from tripping over more roots and bushes.

The Patronus was dimming drastically and by the time it led him to a clearing with a small pool of water, all that was left of it was just the vaguest of outlines. Draco saw it fade away before his eyes. Its time had come to an end.

He looked around, nervous, wand held at the ready. His ears were straining, but all he heard was the soft sounds of the forest around him.

Then, a great splashing that made him jump, followed by a desperate gasp and more splashing.

Draco rushed forward and saw churning water, pale, white hands struggling madly. It was Potter. This was why the doe had led him here. All around the edge of the pool were claw marks in the snow and mud, where Potter had obviously been trying to get enough purchase to pull himself up, unsuccessfully.

Draco reached down and grabbed his wrists, pulling. It was just enough that Potter got another gasping mouthful of air, but the majority of his face was still underwater. He pulled harder, but it seemed to be to no avail. Then, by some force unseen by him, Potter was jerked back again. Bubbles came from his nose and mouth as he was ripped down into the pool, and out of Draco's grasp.

Through the crystalline water, he saw Potter's hands go to his neck, scrabbling, trying to find a hold. It took a moment, but then Draco realized what he was going for. A golden, sparking chain reflecting in the moonlight, pulled taut across his windpipe.

He held his wand out, down in the water, taking careful aim for a severing charm. It was no use though, Potter was thrashing way too much, making it impossible to have a clear shot.

He sat back, frustrated, watching Potter's struggle.

Dark thoughts reared up inside him though, in the back of his mind, he couldn't help thinking, calculating, if their might be advantages to him if Potter died in this way...

The water churned and splashed as Potter writhed against the chain.

Sighing, Draco pushed the thoughts aside, refusing to explore it further. He despised Potter, but he didn't necessarily want to watch him die. Not while his mother's life still hung in the balance and Potter's knowledge and melodramatic Gryffindor tendencies might make the difference.

He leaned forward again, plunging his arm down into the icy depths, trying to get another shot.

Potter surprised him though, one of his hands wrapped around Draco's wrist and gave a mighty and desperate pull. In that split-second Draco scrabbled back for something to hold onto, but it was useless- he was yanked down into the water.

There was an immediate reaction of protest from his body. His lungs seemed to be paralyzed and his nerves were like ice. Instinctively, Draco's legs gave a kick, wanting to go back up to the surface to escape this agony. But instead, he controlled the knee-jerk reaction, allowing his body to sink down next to the drowning Potter.

He didn't hesitate; reaching forward quickly, grabbing the chain of the egg-sized bauble that was holding Potter down. He aimed and wordlessly cast a spell. Red light shot from his wand and the chain shattered into pieces.

Potter weakly kicked, trying to swim now that his anchor was gone. But he didn't move much. Draco roughly grabbed his shoulders and pulled him along.

They broke the surface.

Potter was gagging, swallowing, and making all sorts of disgusting noises. Draco moved them to the side where the curve into the pool wasn't as drastic, and he shoved Potter up and over the edge. There was no resistance from him and he flopped down onto his bare stomach like a fish and remained still, groaning.

Draco made to follow him, freezing beyond anything he'd ever felt before, but just as he began to lift himself he saw something from the corner of his eye. Down in the water, below him. A silver sword was laying at the bottom, the hilt covered with ornate markings and glittering jewels.

It must have been what Potter was after.

"A-Accio sword!" he said, teeth chattering. The weapon remained frustratingly still. He considered leaving it where it was, but decided he should just go grab it. He was still in the water, and it was obviously worth something. Enough that Potter was willing to nearly drown for it, anyway.

He dove back down and as he grabbed the sword's hilt, he wondered if maybe it had the same jinx that Potter's necklace had been under, and he was afraid he'd made a stupid mistake. But no. The sword came up easily and with no resistance.

He broke the surface again.

As he sat across the pond from Potter's nearly-naked shivering form, Draco noticed the pile of Potter's clothes, over at the edge of the treeline, still dry. Sitting in the soggy mess of his own clothes, which were getting colder by the second, Draco bitterly considered how he might have done the same if Potter hadn't pulled him in.

Potter's hacking and gagging was finally subsiding a bit.

"Well, that was s-stupid of you," Draco said in a drawling tone, examining the sword in his lap, "going off without even telling your friends."

Potter turned his head, looking over at him. Shock was written all over his features. "M-Malfoy?"

Draco managed a smirk, pleased at the reaction.

Potter stared for another second, seeming to gather his wits about him. "D-did y-you see who cast that d-doe?" he asked eventually, shivering madly. His voice was low and raw, like his throat had been damaged with all that coughing.

Draco looked back down at the sword, appreciating the length and sharpness of the blade. "Actually, no I didn't. I thought you had."

A deathly pale Potter struggled to his hands and knees, crawling towards his clothes and things. He looked utterly exhausted. And now Draco could see the long line of blood dripping from his neck, staining the snow. The chain had cut deep. No doubt he'd been in that water, battling for air, for a long time.

Potter started pulling on his shirt and trousers. He was shivering so badly he was having a difficult time of it. Draco's own trembling wasn't as severe, but he knew if he didn't get back to the campsite and next to a fire soon, it wouldn't be long before he was as bad off as Potter.

"How d-did you find...? Where's...?"

"How did I find you?" Draco guessed when Potter seemed too tired to finish his questions. He set the sword by his side, rubbing at his shortened hair, thinking his head had probably never been this cold in his life. "Where's Weasley and the mud-" he stopped himself, not in the mood for another sermon about the word. And Potter would probably start one, even in his current condition. "Granger?"

"Yeah."

"I followed the Patronus. And your fellow Gryffindors," he drawled, "are waiting for you nice and warm back at camp. Not very brave of them, hm?"

Potter shook his head, but it wasn't in answer to Draco's sarcastic question. It was more of a dismissive gesture.

Draco laughed. Of course Potter didn't believe him. "Well, don't worry, you can ask them yourself!" he said. "See what they s-say."

"I will," Potter replied calmly and quietly. Most likely, he had no energy to get worked up, with a throat too sore to raise his voice. "Where's the locket?"

From his pocket, Draco produced the palm-sized trinket. It was gold, decorated with glittering green stones around a fancy and ornate letter 'S'. It felt exceedingly hot against his hand, like something that was alive and suffering from a fever. He put his other hand around it, cupping it to warm them. "What's inside this thing?"

"Don't know yet," Potter said, voice sounding full of gravel, "nothing good though."

Draco held it in both hands. The locket seemed to pulse with power. And, he thought maybe... yes, he could feel a subtle movement. Like a heartbeat.

"Toss it here." Potter had his hand held out.

Draco ignored him. Almost didn't hear him. Interestingly enough, he didn't feel cold anymore. The ornament was heating him all over, like a cloak being wrapped very tightly around him.

From far off, he thought he heard Potter say something again, but the locket's pulsing heartbeat demanded his attention and he couldn't look away. For some reason, he felt like this locket was the answer to all his problems. A confidence he'd never felt came over him and Draco licked his lips, saying in a whisper, "We should open it-"

As soon as the word 'open' crossed his lips, the locket's two sides came apart with a click, the little doors swinging wide to reveal a set of brown eyes staring back at him.

He was entranced. The eyes were looking directly into his soul, he felt. And somehow it made him feel stronger. "I know your desires..." it said calmly and smoothly. Draco thought it was a voice that sounded almost like his own. "You should have left him in the water... let him die... then delivered his body to the Dark Lord... he would have granted your mother her freedom... you, your own immunity..."

Draco listened, mouth slightly open. Hearing his own dark thoughts that he'd had earlier, but ignored, now spoken aloud filled him with a certainty that it must be true. For the price of Potter, he and his mother could be free, free from the war, from Voldemort, from everything. "It's not too late... lift the sword, now!"

Draco couldn't resist. Keeping his eyes on the locket, he put his hand down to his side, searching for the hilt- but it was gone.

He managed to tear his eyes from the entrancing gaze and looked up. Potter was standing above him now, shivering madly, but he had taken the sword. He held it at his side.

"Your wand!" the locket reminded him, voice sharp and demanding. Draco could not resist its orders. The voice no longer resembled Draco's, it was now more like Voldemort himself, and he couldn't deny it.

Desperately he searched the ground around him, but found nothing. He started feeling at his pockets.

"Accio locket!" said Potter's voice.

The locket strained at his fingers and though Draco tried to hold on, it broke free. "No!" he yelled. Had that been the locket or him? Both? Draco didn't know.

Instead of trying to catch it, Potter took the sword in both hands and swung. The glittering, golden piece of jewelry was sliced in two. The separate halves went flying off in opposite directions, little vapors of smoke in their wake.

Draco blinked, feeling like a heavy veil had just been pulled off his eyes. The stifling heat he'd felt was gone. He was now aware of being absolutely freezing, his sodden clothes like ice upon his skin.

Worse than that though, was losing the confidence he'd had. For two minutes he'd had an all-encompassing assurance that everything would be okay and it was the best he'd felt in months, maybe years. So positive that he and his mother would somehow both get out of this alive and safe.

Now he was left with nothing. There was only Potter, staring down at him in silence as the night wind blew snow around them.


This chapter is named after a song by Eminem