A/N: A big thank you to our faithful readers who have waited so patiently for this chapter. Updates have been more sporadic for us than we would have liked, and this chapter in particular gave us quite the fight to get out of our brains and onto paper. Thank you so much for sticking with us while we seek to find the balance of real life responsibilities, mothering, jobs, and our lifeline of fan fiction. We love and are dedicated to this story, and your support means the world to us.
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And, finally, on to the story!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"They are looking for you," she had said. The words rang through his subconscious over and over, and Draco analyzed them obsessively. She was so sure, placing the emphasis and inflection on the 'are' and 'you' as if it were fact and not speculation. Draco knew the Death Eaters were aware of his absence; the altercation at the top of the mountain was evidence of as much, but for his status to have reached a small village and the ears of a girl who, by the looks of it, was not immersed in Wizarding society, complicated their situation immensely…It scared the fuck out of him. Feelings of unease and fear swirled from him like smoke from a fire, clouding his mind and strangling his lungs. Deep breaths were impossible, and his throat felt inconceivably dry as he tried and failed to breathe through his nose and slow his heart rate. If it were not for the curly haired blonde taking steady steps in front of him, Draco would probably not be able to keep walking forward. He had so many questions which needed answers, and every leaden placement of his foot in front of the other filled him with dread at the possibilities of what those answers might be. He wanted to sink into the hot cobblestone street, warmed under the midday sun, and never reemerge again. He wanted to disappear and never have to face the reality of whatever hell awaited him, a traitor of the Dark Lord.
Marietta climbed a small hill and disappeared over the other side while they followed silently behind her. As he reached the crest of the hill, a two-story Portland stone home, surrounded by lush floral gardens and tall hedges, came into view. The gravel crunched under Draco's boots, and the smell of recently tilled earth wafted past him on the gentle breeze. It was not like his home, a manor, but it was an elegant house on a well kept property that he could tell was occupied by someone with money.
The witch guided them around the perimeter and behind the main house to a smaller building which was hidden unassumingly from view by dense foliage and trees. Draco studied the girl carefully as she pulled out her wand and unlocked the door with a twist of her wrist and a muttered spell. She did not pocket her wand, and Draco watched her hand intently as he followed her inside, his fingers gripping his own wand in his trouser pocket.
Once inside, Marietta busied herself immediately, using her wand to lift the window sashes and vanish the thin layer of dust that clung to the surfaces. The sitting room, which they had entered into, was open to the kitchen, and a few closed doors to the left indicated additional rooms. It was a quaint house, but it held the stale odor of not having been occupied for awhile. The summer breeze flowed through the open windows, leaving the butter yellow drapes to flutter around. The fresh air carried with it assurances of comfort and a new start, but the panic that rolled in his belly would not let him trust it. As lovely and inviting as this little cottage was, this could not be home to them, and they could not plan on staying here.
She spoke as she worked to clear the cobwebs and banish the dust. "This is our guest house. My parents don't ever come up here, and we aren't expecting any visitors. It has two bedrooms through there," she indicated the doors Draco had taken immediate notice of, "and the sofa is comfortable enough to sleep on for a night or two."
"And we can stay here?" Pansy asked incredulously.
"Of course," Marietta replied hastily. "It is not in use, and you are obviously in need. I can't imagine pub hopping is wise with the state of things."
Draco's heart sank into his gut, and he croaked out, "The state of things?"
"Yes, there's plenty to catch you up on. I am going to pop over to the house and get some tea and bedclothes." Draco didn't have the chance to stop her before she made her hasty retreat outside.
Now that he was standing still, the pounding behind his eyes became more prominent, and he felt the full effects of last night's drinking. The others wandered their way through the house while he strode to the tiny kitchen, taking the opportunity to rummage through the cabinets in search of anything he could use as ingredients to refill his potion kit.
"Looking for something in particular, Draco?"
Rolling his eyes, he turned to face Pansy and felt a wave of dizziness at the quick movement. He sneered at her as he leaned on the wall for support; hopefully looking intimidating instead of infirm. Her lips were pursed in a thin line, and the air of smug confidence she usually carried with her had been replaced by the look of annoyance she often reserved just for him.
"You know exactly what I'm looking for," he spat. "I have a hangover from hell, and I need something for this headache."
"I'm sure that's what's wrong," she responded, crossing her arms over her chest.
"What the fuck is your problem, Pansy?"
"You. You're my fucking problem, Draco," she said, landing a pointed finger in the center of his chest. "You're always fucking stuff up for me."
"So sorry to inconvenience you, your highness. I will do my best to stay out of your way in the future."
She scoffed her disapproval at his sarcasm. "You know that's not what this is about."
He turned away from her to continue his search in the cabinet below the sink."Spit it out, Pans. I don't have patience for this."
"You need to stop the potions, Draco!" she cried. He froze in a crouched position in front of the open cabinet, and an oppressive silence settled in the air between them. The accusation stung, and he struggled through the throbbing in his head to find a rebuttal to counter it.
She bent low to look at him after a few moments, her green eyes flashing with resentment. "I have watched you waste away for too long on these potions. Enough is enough. They are fucking you up, and I am not going to bury you because of them."
"I am not fucked up, Pansy." He stood to walk away from her, but she followed him - of course - the bitch.
Nearly laughing, she informed him, "You can't even stand straight right now, and you're shaking like a terrified bowtruckle." As if he didn't know. He desperately wanted to lay down and get off of his unstable feet. The cabinets were a bust; nothing was here. Tonight was going to be fucking miserable. He looked to the bedroom door, cracked half open, and wondered what was taking the others so long. They were probably eavesdropping like the pack of Slytherins they are.
She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, and he scowled at her. "Pay fucking attention. I am done with this, Draco. You need to stop."
"I can stop anytime I want. Quit harping on me."
"Prove it!" Pansy sneered at him. The witch was poised for a challenge which Draco had no energy to fight.
They stared at one another, her olive eyes brightened by the silver reflecting from his own, and he considered the battle happening between his mind and his body. He knew she was right. He knew, in his mind, that he needed to stop. But it was the tremors which rattled him that came far too often, and the urge to vomit which rolled around violently in his churning stomach. But, mostly, it was the vivid and frightening nightmares - the memories really - which plagued him mercilessly and caused him to take whatever measure necessary to subdue them.
The tense moment the two shared was brief as the door opened, and Marietta entered, carrying a basket on her arm. Draco broke his gaze away from Pansy to meet Marietta's eyes. She looked from him to Pansy, seemingly surveying the scene she had just interjected.
"Would it be better if I came back later?" she asked Draco, choosing to avoid the menacing Pansy who continued to stare him down.
Draco closed his eyes tight, and took a deep breath, willing the urge to flee the situation aside.
"No, it's fine," he ground out. "You mentioned tea and answers?"
Marietta set the basket on the counter, removing a tin of loose PG Tips, a canister of sugar, and biscuits. "I'll get the water going for us while you catch up on the events from the past few weeks," she said handing him a stack of newspapers.
Draco looked down and inhaled sharply. His fingers curled tightly over the Daily Prophet sitting on top of the stack. His own face looked back at him from the front page, perfect lip curl and all. The paper was ripped from his hands before he was able to read the headline. Pansy stood next to Draco, the annoyance from moments ago dissipated, and a her jaw gaped open in shock as she met his eyes.
"Like I said," Marietta muttered, "they're after you."
"Fucking hell, mate." Draco tore his gaze from the Prophet to glance up at Theo who had reentered the room at some point and was joined by Blaise and Astoria.
Slowly, the papers were passed around the room as each person settled on various chairs and couches to read about their world and the dramatic changes that had taken place in just a few weeks. A heavy silence surrounded them, the weight of their changed reality pressing upon them. The suppressed gasps and rustling of turned pages were the only discernible noises in the small room for quite some time while they all tried to process the words before them.
Blaise was the first to speak. "Says here the Death Eaters have taken over control of the Ministry. The Floo Network has been shut down, and the employees have been kept there for weeks it seems."
Draco confirmed, "Those plans have been in the works for years. Though, I'm surprised it was pulled off after every thing."
"Why would they keep the employees there? They can't go home to their families?" Astoria asked with real concern in her voice.
"Most would find a way to flee or join the resistance." He sniffed as if it were obvious. "The Dark Lord placed many loyalists at the top of the ranks, but the lower level people are needed to make the whole thing function. And he can't control them if they aren't in the country," Draco explained. He was not often involved in the inner circle meetings since he was at school, but he was privy to more than the average follower due to his family's position and his father's bragging tongue.
"He can't control them because he is dead," Theo pointed out, quite obviously.
"Right, and I am sure it just ends there," Draco snapped back. "Obviously, someone has continued with the Dark Lord's plans."
"What were his plans?" Pansy asked with an uncharacteristic tentativeness in her voice.
Draco responded simply, "A pure society. His ultimate goal was to eliminate all of the blood-traitors and Mudbloods." A shiver made its way down his spine, and he closed his eyes as an onslaught of memories broke their way through his Occlumency shields.
Draco had learned to dance in his mother's ballroom. He had traveled its circuit with long, graceful sweeps of his legs and feet placed assuredly in time to the music, to steps he had long memorized. That day, he had fumbled his way through a very different dance. His footing felt less secure here, and the steps much hazier. But there was no choreography for the dance of survival, and he navigated it as best he could. Granger was lying on the marble floor of the ballroom, covered in her own urine and vomit as she trembled with the aftershocks of Bellatrix's Cruciatus. She was a casualty of his survival, a trade for his safety. He watched her face contort with a grimace of pain as another wave of tremors shook her. An odd pang of sympathy rang through him; he had been on the receiving end of those curses from Bella's wand, and they were backed with the unrestrained force of an unhinged savage. As he turned away, his gaze rested on the pale expanse of her left forearm; Mudblood. He rubbed absentmindedly at his own scar. They were the same, branded with their shame.
The word 'Mudblood' felt coarse on his tongue now, and his stomach turned with unease.
"Draco," Astoria called, and he looked up to see everyone watching him, confusion on their faces. "Where did you go?"
He ignored the question, instead, walking briskly to the toilet where he promptly vomited behind a closed and Silenced door. After splashing his face with cold water and collecting himself for a moment, he returned to the sitting room. Marietta had apparently been answering another question.
"...a nasty group. They are terrorizing Muggleborns. Many of You-Know-Who's followers are suspected to be behind it."
"Who is this?" Draco cut in smoothly as if he had not just lost his breakfast in the loo.
"The Knights of Walpurgis." Marietta's face was drawn into a sad sort of frown. He hadn't noticed before, but her eyes were dark as if she had not slept for several days in a row. "There has not been a named leader yet, but they are making a big show in proving that they are worse than what we had before."
"How do you know who they are?" Astoria pressed.
"By their sign. It's the same as the Death Eaters' except a sword comes out of the skull along with the snake."
"Not very creative," Theo scoffed.
"Probably low on propaganda funds," Blaise snickered, and Pansy smacked him in the arm with a warning glare.
"No, not quite," Marietta agreed. "But what they lack in creativity, they make up for with sheer brutality. They have been running a revel for the last two weeks, and anyone of unsavory birth or association who comes into their path is strung up and bled to death."
"Sounds like a pleasant party," Draco muttered under his breath. He lost track of the conversation after that, his mind distracted and his body shivering as it was.
Several more hours passed as the group scoured the papers for any news that would be of assistance to them. They listened as Marietta recounted her history with Dumbledore's Army and turning in Potter's group to Umbridge. Her Mudblood father was incensed with Dumbledore at his daughter's mistreatment after finding out she had had her memory modified - a small crime in Draco's book, but he could appreciate the protective parental sentiment - and he pulled her from her seventh year after she owled home about increasing bullying because of the scars on her forehead. Her mother helped her to study from home so that she could sit her exams. Marietta passed her N.E.W.T.s early and got a job at the pub her parents owned in order to earn her modest inheritance.
Draco checked out for most of the conversation as his Occlumency shields grew weaker and his body continued to deteriorate at a rapid pace. As the day dragged on, he had more and more trouble focusing on what people were saying and doing. His eyes shut of their own accord, the lids too heavy to reopen. He was faintly aware of food being placed in front of him, but his head felt floaty and heavy all at once, and he wasn't sure eating would be feasible. Someone nudged his shoulder gently, and a soft, feminine voice floated across him. "Mmm" he felt rather than heard himself respond. A small, warm hand secured itself around his, and he followed the voice as it glided over him and guided him to a new place. He realised he wasn't moving anymore, and so, he burrowed deeply into the secure mattress which he was lying upon as the weight of thick, downy blankets were drawn over him, pinning him in place.
The nightmares always started in the same way. He was not so skilled an Occlumens to be able to hold his shields while unconscious, and as sleep claimed him - because it always came for him, eventually - the carefully constructed ice fortress built in his mind would begin to melt. As each block thawed, a new face would appear in his vision, his subconscious. Their tormented expressions, contorted with fear and pain, were trapped in his mind's eye to be revisited and replayed each night. Draco was mildly aware that tonight he must have had a fever, because the images were flashing quickly before his eyes; the ice was disintegrating at a much faster pace than normal, and he could barely breathe for the speed at which the faces flew towards him.
At first, they were just vague impressions of the unknown Muggles he had tortured as evidence of his loyalty to the cause, to the Dark Lord. He looked upon each visage dispassionately as it was replaced by another and then another. He did not know their names - and nor did he care to learn them - but their distinct features stood prominently before him: eyes, noses, cheeks and jaws misshapen and twisted in their terror. Soon, he was overwhelmed by even crisper reproductions of the faces, and this time they belonged to people he knew. The woman from the Three Broomsticks, Rosmerta; his first Imperius. Katie Bell, floating in the air; agony and pain as she screamed. The Weasel recovering in the hospital wing; a narrow escape. The old bastard, Albus fucking Dumbledore; pleading... 'Severus, please'. Charity Burbage; also pleading... 'Severus, please, please'. Longbottom, the Weaslette, Lovegood, Finnigan... They began to blur together as they ran ever more rapidly past his eyes - the countless faces of the people he had tortured. But they weren't countless, not really, for he could count every single one, etched into his being as they were.
Finally, the images stopped on Rowle; his first kill. He could barely look into the man's eyes as they floated in front of him, pale and vacant. If his soul weren't damaged enough, this man's death had surely sealed its fate. He had killed, and he could not reverse that fact for all of the Time-Turners in the world. The spell had slipped so easily from his lips - like a whispered promise between two lovers - and when it landed on its target, his vow was fulfilled. Draco had never bothered to learn the countercurse which had saved his life after Potter sliced into him, but he wouldn't have used it on Rowle anyways. It was the first time he had admitted to himself that he would not have saved him even if he could have, and with the admission, he felt the delicate thread of his humanity snap. He was no more a man than the snake-faced master he had been beholden to. His lungs struggled to draw in air, and he felt his body convulse wildly as he struggled and failed to banish the lifeless image hovering over his mind.
After some time, everything gave way to blackness, and Draco was vaguely aware of a damp pressure across his head before he lost consciousness.
A stripe of sunlight was making its way across the bed through an open window, warming Draco's exposed skin where it landed. He had been awake for several minutes but kept his eyes shut, refusing to expose his crimes to the warm light of day. When the last of his dreams faded away, he tentatively opened one eye to take in his surroundings. He first noticed the gaudy, floral wallpaper of an unfamiliar room. Groaning in displeasure he attempted to sit up to make a hasty escape, but he discovered his left arm was tingling, asleep under the weight of one Astoria Greengrass. He was relieved to find both of them clothed beneath the duvet, even though he was not sure what had happened to his shirt. Beside the bed sat a bowl full of wet flannels and half empty glasses of water… She had apparently nursed him last night through his fever. Well, that was going to be a complication. He did not need someone getting attached to him, and certainly not a Greengrass. That one-off with her was exactly that, a one time thing; it was the eventuality after a night of strong drink and heavy flirting. He was far too damaged and much too fucked up to even consider burdening someone else with his internal crises, but it seemed at every turn Astoria was there with her blue eyes shining back at him with determination.
He tried to slip his arm out from underneath her, but she rustled beside him. "How're you feeling?" she mumbled through a voice thick with the remnants of sleep.
Sitting up, he winced at the pain throbbing in his head. "Fine," he responded between gritted teeth. In actuality, he felt as if he had shared a snog with a Dementor and had been dancing with Death all night long.
"Are you, really?" she challenged sarcastically, clearly having seen through his pitiable attempt at deception. She stretched her arms above her head with a yawn, and Draco averted his gaze as a few inches of her night shirt rode up, leaving her slim hips on display. Not only did he not need her getting attatched, but he did not need to be thinking of her like that. Enough of his days were spent miserable from potion withdrawal and anxiety without also dealing with unyielding hard-ons on top of it.
"Yes," he finally said, refusing to look at her. "I am always fine. I don't need a bloody mother, Greengrass."
He heard a note of hurt when she spoke after a beat. "Is that how it is now? I'm a convenient shag, otherwise you can't be troubled?"
"Yes, that's exactly how it is," he hissed tersely.
She let out a scoff along with her breath, and he felt the mattress dip as she rolled away from him. Moving wasn't worth the effort, so he stayed in place as he heard the telltale creak of the door hinge opening as Astoria presumably left. He was considering getting up to take a piss when he heard an obnoxiously grating voice speak. "She was up with you all night, you know." He did not respond.
"As I am sure you are aware," Pansy continued condescendingly, "the girl seems quite taken with you. Holding you while you shook, putting cool flannels on your neck and shoulders when you were too hot - it was quite the saccharine display."
Draco grimaced in disgust. Pansy chuckled softly.
"Oh Draco, don't tell me you hadn't seen this coming," she mocked. "You always were so good with picking up strays, weren't you?"
"Fuck off, Pansy," he growled. "I'm not in the mood for whatever the fuck this is."
"You never were," she murmured, a laughing taunt in her eye, like she dared him to deny it. Draco, who'd never cared for her games, rolled his eyes as he stood gingerly. There was a button down shirt on the floor which he pulled on with a grimace. Movement was decidedly difficult at the moment, but he had to get away from her before he hexed the smug nose off of her face.
"I can send Astoria back in," she offered dryly. "I'm sure she'd love to tend to you."
He gave her his best version of a scowl, not sure if he managed it in the condition he was in. "Don't," he warned.
She shrugged, unfazed, but didn't move, watching him expectantly.
"You know I feel like absolute shit," Draco muttered, tossing her a sidelong glare. "If you're going to stay here, you might as well make your point."
"Who says I have a point?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "You always do."
"Oh, isn't that sweet," she murmured, smirking. "Still think you know me that well?"
He carefully avoided the question. "Not sure why you're wasting time on me, Pans," he said, pointedly turning his attention to the shirt buttons his shaky fingers struggled to put through the holes. "Isn't it Blaise's job to entertain you now?"
"Unlike you," she said, stretching languidly, "he doesn't consider it a job. And also unlike you," she added, with a slow deliberation, "I, unfortunately, suffer from some lingering need to make sure you're not suffering."
He looked up dubiously at her, watching her carefully for a moment. He finally spoke, eyes trained on hers in warning. "Don't act like you know me."
"Don't act like I don't," she spat, green eyes flashing.
They continued to look at one another, both unwilling to be the first to turn away, to concede defeat.
Pansy finally broke eye contact, turning around. She said over her shoulder, "Go find your witch and fix this," before disappearing through the door.
Draco fell back onto the bed with a groan. She's not my fucking witch! he yelled in his head. Fucking bloody hell.
"Fucking hell, you dickwads have been in front of that thing for days now." Draco sniffed in disapproval.
"Oh, fuck off, there's nothing else to do in this hole of a house anyways," Blaise retorted.
The little television box sat in corner of the small living room of the Edgecombe guest house, and tonight it was blaring some absurdity in which filthy men were running about jeering and taunting a 'witch' with a ridiculous false nose.
"A witch! A witch! Burn her!" the mob on the television cheered. Draco huffed out an impatient breath, plopping onto a vacant arm chair.
He watched the small box as a man in the crowd claimed, "She turned me into a newt!"
"Please," Theo scoffed, "as if any of those Muggles could Transfigure a goblet let alone a human."
Pansy cut in to add her opinion, "I don't even think the Weasleys own robes that ghastly!"
"If she weighs the same as a duck...she's made of wood," the scene continued. "And therefore… a witch!"
"Bollocks," Blaise complained, "absolute fucking rubbish."
"Is that really how Muggles view us?" Astoria asked warily. "They think we are made of wood?"
"Who says we don't have wood?" Blaise quipped. Draco and Theo snickered under their breaths.
Astoria sighed in annoyance, getting up from her spot on the floor to leave. "Honestly, it's like living with children."
Pansy retorted, "Try dealing with them for more than a decade. This sorry lot never left their nappies and nannies behind."
"Hey," Theo cried, "I take offense to that. I have been shitting in toilets for several years now."
"Only several," Pansy responded with an eye roll, following Astoria into one of the bedrooms.
A few minutes later, Marietta came through the door, and Draco found himself sitting up straighter in the chair and checking for his wand in his trouser pocket. Theo took notice and shot him a questioning glance before greeting the girl.
"Oh, Monty Python! I love this one," she declared, nudging Blaise to make room for her beside him on the couch. Draco studied the girl from the corner of his eye as he pretended to watch the picture. Her eyes had dark bruises around them from lack of sleep, and her pronounced collar bones showed evidence of weight loss, even in the last five days since they had arrived. There was something about the girl and her deteriorating physical state that did not sit right with him. Even in her charity towards them - which would be unsurprising from a bleeding-heart Gryffindor - was out of place from a bitter Ravenclaw with a schoolgirl grudge. She was benefiting from their precarious alliance in some way, and Draco would not truly let down his defenses until he knew for certain what it was.
Feeling too anxious to sit still, Draco moved to the kitchen to get a glass of water and stretch his legs. A tawny owl rapped on the window, delivering a special, evening edition of the Prophet.
"Was that a paper?" Theo asked.
"No, it was a love letter for you from my mother." Draco rolled his eyes, scanning the bolded headlines. "Looks like Potter's vigilante group has been trying to get into the Ministry."
"Of course, they can't let their hero die in vain," Blaise retorted, disgust thick in his voice.
"Ugh, Potter," Theo scoffed.
"There was a scrimmage on the Wizengamot level - no doubt trying to make it to the Minister himself, the bloody Gryffindor fools."
Marietta cursed under her breath, "Fuck, mum!"
"What was that, Marietta?" Draco heard the soft swear and wasn't about to let it go.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat for a second before looking away, her chin quivered slightly as she took a shaky breath. "My mum works in the Ministry… She's a Wizengamot administrator…"
"Fucking hell, Edgecombe!" Draco roared, slamming the glass down onto the counter, furious. "When were you going to share that piece of information with us?" She burst into tears at his outburst.
Through her sobs, Marietta responded, "I didn't want you to think… She's been gone for weeks, held hostage there!"
Draco barged into the bedroom, ignoring the girl's excuses. He fucking knew it! She was not to be trusted, and whatever reason she had for helping them could not be good. He cast an Accio on everything he could think of, and shoved it roughly into his magically extended bag. He heard the muffled voices of the others as they argued, but did his best to block out everything. Pansy and Astoria burst out of the bedroom adjacent his and had joined the argument in the living room by the sound of things. He slid behind his Occlumency shields to try to find a place of calm. It had been several days since he last had a potion, and he needed something to take the edge off of his anxiety, so disappearing into the arctic chill of his mind had been the next best thing available.
When he finally collected everything - including his wits about him - he went back into the living room to find chaos. They were all shouting over one another while Marietta sobbed through her explanations.
"Her father is a Mudblood, and her mother is trapped at the Ministry. We shouldn't have fucking stayed!" Pansy shrieked over everyone.
"We are vulnerable here, we have to move," demanded Theo.
"I agree," Draco intoned calmly. "I am not going to stay here and await my death."
"Where will you go?" Blaise questioned. "We have no place safe!"
"Fucking anywhere is better than here," Pansy yelled, hitting him roughly in the shoulder. "We are sitting ducks."
"Might as well have invited Voldemort himself to have tea," Theo agreed. "Or better yet, how about we invite the Walpurgis idiots?" Theo added sarcastically.
"Let's just go-" Draco started, but was cut off by the sounds of voices surrounding the house.
Through an open window, he caught the unmistakable voice of Thoros Nott, "Surround them. I want my son and the Malfoy boy left alive. You can kill the rest."
He met Theo's eyes for an instant before Theo raised his wand to Disapparate. Nothing happened. Draco turned to Marietta who was shaking with fear in the corner, her face white and eyes wide. "What have you done?" he demanded of the girl.
"I… I am sorry. I… need to get my mum back," she answered, voice shaking as she rocked back and forth. "They told me they would if I gave you up."
"Sounds like they lied," Draco sneered.
Draco looked around the room, scanning the windows and doors for an exit. The men surrounding them had warded the house so they couldn't Apparate away. How the fuck were they going to get out? They all turned towards the sound of the kitchen door opening and then back around as the handle of the front door began to rattle. The thought came to him so effortlessly at that moment; he reached into his bag and summoned the last bit of Instant Darkness Powder he had left as he motioned for them all to come close.
"What the fuck is that?" Pansy whispered in disgust, pointing to the shriveled, grey hand he held.
Draco put a finger to his lips for her to be quiet and then motioned for everyone to hold onto the next person. The front door creaked open slowly, and he saw a foot boot edge over the threshold. He glanced back to the kitchen doorway to see the dark figure of Nott Sr. entering. Draco threw the handful of black powder on the ground, instantly creating darkness in the small cottage. The girls shrieked with fear, and a small hand gripped the back of his robes, fingers digging into his flesh. He heard Thoros shout, "Get them!" and the hand on his back pushed roughly into him, shoving him forward. The shriveled Hand of Glory lit his path to the front door while he was pushed by a line of people behind him. He Stunned a few of the men blocking the exit, climbing over their prone bodies and bursting forth into the night.
Once outside, he broke into a run and aimed for the surrounding woods, feeling the push and pull of the line of people hanging on behind him. The moon lit their way, and he felt the ripple of magic as the Edgecombe wards fell away. Skidding to a halt at the tree line, he turned, grabbing the hand of the person behind him, Astoria.
Blaise and Pansy were right behind Astoria, breathing heavily. "Where's Theo?" Draco asked gasping for air.
"He was right behind us," Blaise said, looking around them as though Theo would suddenly appear.
Draco ran his hand through his hair, pulling hard on it. "Fuck, I have to-" Draco knew that they had only seconds.
"Go! Apparate! They're coming!" Theo's voice was loud and demanding, and when he finally came into view, Theo was leading a scared girl with golden curly locks bouncing behind her. He should have been a Gryffindor, Draco thought fleetingly. He saw the curses before he saw the men throwing them. Red, green, white, and orange lights were everywhere, making them scatter behind the trees. He pulled Astoria behind him, watching the other pairs hide where they could.
Catching Theo's eyes, Draco wondered what was going on behind them, but he didn't have time to ask. Theo nodded in his direction before casting a Disillusionment charm on first Marietta and then himself. Draco stared at the blank place which Theo and Marietta once were as he heard the unmistakable crack of Disapparation. What the fuck is he thinking? They'd be separated now!
A curse hit the tree Blaise and Pansy were standing behind, bringing his attention to the other side. Smoke began to billow from the leaves as a gaping, splintered hole burned in the wood. "Oh fuck this, c'mon Blaise." Pansy grabbed Blaise and Disapparated away, not even glancing towards Draco and Astoria.
"Draco, we have to go. They're coming," Astoria said, fear evident in her shaking voice.
He looked down at her, blue eyes darkened by the night sky and filled with fear. She was still gripping his hand, her fingers holding onto his in a vise-grip. So many thoughts swirled in his brain, but only one came to the forefront; self preservation. He shifted the bag on his shoulder, held his wand up, and Apparated into the night.
~ A big, sloppy, wet kiss to olivieblake who ran some of the Pansy/Draco dialogue through her magical Slytherin filters and helped me get out of the horrible rut I was in. Thanks, love. Xoxo oblivionbaby ~
~And tremendous thanks to both Jade Presley and Kyonomiko who binged and reviewed all of our chapters in a couple of days. Thank you for your feedback!~