::27::

As the daylight ebbed away and night took its toll, Ronald Weasley found himself wishing for the millionth time that he had gone with Malfoy—it had to have been better than waiting for Hermione to talk to him again. She was livid—perhaps angrier at him than she'd ever been. Arguments between them had never ceased, not even after marriage, but the severity and length of their fights rarely lasted longer than a day or two.

Hermione had also joined forces with Ginny, and the two women made certain to make it clear that he was, under no circumstances, going to mention their current predicament to the Ministry. They had no room to budge as far as their current haggle over the centre was concerned, and such a grave mistake would no doubt reflect badly on them.

"So what do we do in the meantime?" Ron asked, watching his wife march around their house in anger.

Asking this was a mistake, because she paused, her eyes narrowing, and snapped, "What do you think, Ron? Going after them, of course. We can't simply sit here!"

"What about the centre? Ginny and Nev can't possibly look after the place themselves."

Hermione visibly bristled, knowing he was right but not wanting to admit it. They were in a bind, and the woman admitted that it would be just as dangerous to leave the centre even more shortstaffed when all the Ministry needed was another reason not to agree to help them. she felt torn, and was unsure on what to do about her friend—she knew Harry was perfectly capable of taking care of himself with a wand, and so was Malfoy for that matter, but without one?

She never thought she'd be as grateful for the prissy blonde as she was in that moment—at least Harry wasn't alone.

A thought stopped her in her tracks, and she dropped the book she was holding. There was one person who knew Malfoy better than anyone else, and the Manor. She didn't doubt that he knew more about where the blonde could have run off too as well.

She just wasn't sure if the foul-tempered man they'd grown to know as Severus Snape would be willing to help them—the bitterness between their former professor and Harry had never died down, even after the war. Despite Dumbledore's role in his own death, despite saving Snape and his double-agent cause and the fact that it probable won them the war, she doubted Harry would ever let go of the fact that he killed his Headmaster.

"We need to see Snape," said Hermione, ignoring the look of horror on her husband's face, "Don't look at me like that—he's the only one out of Azkaban that would know where Malfoy could have gone."

The man shook his head, as if thinking she'd gone mad. "He's dead, Herm."

"You know what I mean." Came the exasperated answer.

Knowing that whatever else he said would fall on deaf ears, Ron stopped himself from arguing and sighed. "The portrait is at Hogwarts. It's supposed to be hard to get into, and we can't just apparate there."

"We can while it's being rebuilt," said his wife, in that insufferably know-it-all tone, "It's easier for the laborers. Really, am I the only one who reads around here?"

Ron rolled his eyes.

::28::

Harry had only a few feet to go when Malfoy's hand caught his own, stopping him from rowing any more. He looked up at the blonde, who had raised one pale finger to his lips. When the dark-haired wizard ignored the cue and opened his mouth, the other silenced him with his hand.

A familiar cackle filled the air, and the gnome-like creature they'd been following greeted them by standing at the stone door before them. It made a strange gesture, almost a zig-zag, in the air, in which a loud rumbling followed. The door was splitting, revealing what looked to be a dead end. It disappeared in the room it had opened.

Harry stepped up, the boat rocking as he did so. He held out his hand for his blonde counterpart, who had frowned at him and said, "I am not a girl, Potter, I don't need your hand."

The blonde brushed past him, seeing that the room was, in fact, not a dead end—in the center of it was a circular opening. At first glance it seemed to be a well, but Draco knew better. He stepped closer, peering above it, seeing nothing but pitch darkness.

"Well, this is nice," said Harry sarcastically beside him, "We've gone all this way for a sip of wellwater. If you've got a sickle, we could even make a wish!"

As if reacting to the insult, the water Draco was watching rippled, causing him to draw back sharply, just in time to dodge the long fangs that nearly ripped into his cheek. Undeterred, the owner of those sharp teeth lurched forward, and, splayed in the white light of the room, the two men were surprised to see that its form was transparent, as if…

"Is that thing made of water?" asked Harry, creeping backwards with him.

The snake hissed, pursing them, but stopped short when they reached the edge of the doorway. It snapped at them once more before disappearing back into the well as if it were tied to it.

"My father couldn't get a better security system than just water?" murmured the blonde in slight disappointment, "Is he even hiding anything here?"

A loud hiss interrupted them, and the two wizards whirled around, facing a cobra easily ten feet tall. It was glossy, the water swishing as it moved forward. Harry grabbed Malfoy's wrist, pulling him forward as he ran to the opposite corner. It struck, leaving a large hole where they had been standing, and seemed undeterred by the two men's dodge.

The blonde man, who was leaning against him, watched as it crept closer. The moment was tense, and it towered above them, as if poising for a strike, but then froze. The light shone off its scales and Harry found himself wondering if they'd caused it to do that.

To their horror, the reptile began splitting, starting at its head and down to its tail—two snakes, five feet long, smiled at them predatorily.

"Harry," Draco said quietly, "on the count of three, we're going to start running."

"Run? Got any better ideas?" answered the other man in a whisper, tightening his grip on the pale wrist beside him.

"Afraid not, Potter."

As if that were all he needed to hear, the scarred man stepped away, toward the creatures that wanted to kill them and who had been eyeing them quietly. Malfoy hissed, "What are you doing?"

All he got in response was a hiss, and the blonde at first thought the snakes were about to strike, but then he saw that Harry was the one making those sounds, and perhaps even more bewildering was the fact that the snakes appeared to be listening.

Of course, he thought, Potter's a Parselmouth. He'd forgotten entirely about that ability, but whatever the man was saying was keeping the creatures from killing them and devouring slowly—it wasn't, however, enough to keep them from regarding them with a sort of hunger.

"My friend and I are sorry," said Harry, "We'll leave right away."

The snake on the right cricked its head at him. "A parselmouth? How interesting. No one else has talked me to since Lucius. Regardless, we can't have you go anywhere."

Its counterpart, cricking his head in the same way, responded to his plea quite plainly. "We've also come with the directive that we let no one go unless they've the key."

"Key?" asked Harry, hope thrumming wildly with the anxiety in his chest. "We have a key. My friend has it."

The two snakes drew back as if surprised, and turned in unison to look at Draco, who was frozen in the corner. On his neck was still the strange circular object he'd used on the tree.

"He has it!" hissed the snake, "It's Lucius's, how did you get it? Are you thieves?"

"That's Draco Malfoy, his son." Answered Harry.

The snakes regarded him in what seemed to be suspicion, though emotion was hard to detect within the watery depths.

A very long thirty seconds later, the snakes began drawing back slowly, circling around them at wider and wider intervals as they did so. Harry took three slow steps backward, his hand settling around the blonde's wrist again as he did so.

The sound of water sloshing filled the room as the snakes disappeared.

"What did you—"

The savior said, "They didn't listen to me." He looked over at the object dangling off of Malfoy's neck, "They listened to that."

The blonde took it in one hand and looked at it, as if it would give him an explanation for the vague answer. His face twisted in bewilderment. "This?"

The well in the centre of the room became the source of a familiar rumbling noise, and a loud thud followed, a long and translucent rope coiling at their feet, leading into the circular entryway.

Draco looked at him, as if having second thoughts.

"I'll go first," Harry said, surprising himself, and he lifted the rope, tugging at it to test its sturdiness. It felt like rope, only cooler to the touch.

A flash ran through Draco's silver eyes as he watched Potter begin to climb over the barrier. He stepped closer, and as the man's body had nearly completely disappeared, his head the only part visible, he realized he'd been holding his breath.

"Be careful, Potter." He said finally, watching as the messy hair was swallowed up by the dark, the man's muffled response indecipherable. It seemed to take forever but finally the rope slacked somewhat and he heard the Gryffindor shout for him to come down.

Relief flooded through him at that, though the blonde wouldn't admit it, but after he'd lowered himself down, the familiar touch of Harry's hands on his shoulders greeting him, the man said, "I can't see a bloody thing, Potter. Give me your hand."

Wordlessly, the savior complied, privately amused—Draco apparently wasn't fond of the dark.

The hand around his tightened, and Harry found himself somewhat glad for the dark necessitating such a gesture. Like Draco's worrying, though, the green-eyed man wouldn't breathe a word of it.

This is much shorter than you're used to, I know (hence the parts) but I've just arrived and am dead tired from the trip, so this chapter will be in two parts. Sorry about that, and I hope you can be patient for a little bit longer as I get acclimated to everything again.

In other news: After this is completed I will be compiling a series of one-shots surrounding this universe, and, in particular, interactions with Connor—a sort of spin-off and more family-oriented. Keep an eye out!

As always, thanks for reading, I really appreciate it!

-B.