Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters and plotlines are the original creation of J. K. Rowling. You may direct all screaming HP fans to her, please.

A/N: Merry late Christmas! I hope everyone had a great day. Nothing much to say for this chapter aside from: enjoy!

Thirteenth to Fifth

Closer to Home

Draco sat down hard in the chair that was sitting across from his godfather's desk, pulling out a book and waiting for the man to come back to his classroom. When Severus did arrive it was to see Draco reading, his feet propped up on the desk and his back slouched to find maximum comfort in the wooden seat. Severus sat down behind his desk, smacking Draco's ankles with a science magazine. The blond boy dutifully removed them from the desk, and Severus brushed non-existent dirt from underneath them. He glared.

"What do you want, Draco?" Severus asked, pressing the space bar on his computer to bring it out of sleep mode.

"To talk about Harry," Draco answered. "Harry Potter. That small black-haired kid who—"

"I know who Mr. Potter is, Draco. He is on the mind of every professor in the building. I'm getting tired of the dramatics that boy flings around," Severus snapped, typing in his password and logging on to the desktop. Draco sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his godfather's desk.

"Sev, come on. You like him," he stated.

"That doesn't mean I agree with every dramatic tale he spins."

"What dramatic tales?" Draco challenged. Severus was silent.

"Fine, Draco. He's not a bad child in the least, but he's creating a fair amount of trouble with his stubbornness."

"I talked to him today."

"You talk to him everyday. You fawn over him." Draco ignored the biting tone and continued.

"I told him about what's going on." Severus looked up sharply, scowling at the blond.

"Did you think that through, Draco?" Severus snapped. "I was wondering why he completely turned off today. Not a word from him in class, wouldn't make eye contact—not that that's anything new—and bolted from the room milliseconds after the bell rang. He wasn't speaking to his friends, and because you're here now and not walking in circles around him somewhere I'm betting that he's not talking to you either. And if he won't talk to you or his friends, what in hell makes you think he'll be willing to speak to Pomfrey or one of the professors?" Severus said, his voice louder than normal, but still a far cry from a yell. Nevertheless, Draco winced.

"Severus, I knew what I was doing. Harry's a very straightforward person. This whole thing was going to get out to him anyway; it's better telling him now than waiting until Mr. Black gets back and him finding out then. He wouldn't trust anyone, and aren't you looking for him to trust you?" Draco demanded.

"Yes, Draco. I was hoping to get to the bottom of this the quickest way possible. I'm concerned that the boy will drop out if he senses to much pressure on him here."

"He seems to want to be here, and really, he got a full ride—he knows he's lucky. Somehow, I don't think he could even hope to afford to go to a school like this," Draco mentioned. Severus snorted.

"He doesn't even appear to afford himself clothing that fits. It is very clear that Harry's family doesn't have money."

"Well...is it possible that's why he's not eating? He can't afford enough food for him and his family?" Draco asked. It sounded like a ridiculous question to him, but either he or Severus had to say it sometime, so he might as well get it out now.

"While I don't doubt he qualifies for stamps, I don't think his situation is that dire. However, finances may be part of the problem. I would think that there's something else to it as well. I suppose you told him my theory about a medical history?" Severus asked. Draco nodded, drumming his fingertips on the desk.

"Yeah. He said that wasn't case, and he was pretty emphatic that he's not on drugs. It's something else." There was silence save for Severus typing on the computer keyboard. Draco waited a few more moments to reveal his guess. "You know what it is, don't you?" Severus was still for a moment, his fingers frozen over the keys. Finally, the chemistry professor nodded slowly.

"I have an...educated guess, yes."

"Well?"

"Draco, it's not something I can share with anyone but Mr. Potter—especially because I'm not sure if I'm right." Draco sighed.

"You're always right." Severus looked at him, one eyebrow arched.

"Don't whine, and don't flatter. I won't be sharing anything else with you, Mr. Malfoy. You get Harry to talk to you about it, or you ask him to give me permission to tell you."

"That means it's serious, then?" Draco asked, although it was more of a statement. Severus did not reply, and his fingers began moving over the keys once more. Draco sighed again, taking his godfather's lack of response as a dismissal. The blond senior rose and shoved his book back into his bag. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have a good afternoon, Draco," Severus replied, giving the boy a reserved smile.

…......

Harry jumped off the bus at the nearest stop to the Weasleys' bakery, and proceeded to jog to the shop. He found Molly behind the counter and her husband tinkering with a broken microwave, but the upstairs of the shop that served as their home was empty. Molly and Arthur didn't know where their children had gone, but reminded Harry that George and Fred both had cell phones. Harry used the bakery's phone to call George, but the twin didn't pick up. Neither did Fred.

Disappointed, Harry bid goodbye to Molly and Arthur and left the bakery, walking in the direction of his uncle's apartment. The door was unlocked when he arrived, but Harry didn't hear the television blaring when he entered so he assumed Vernon had left and simply forgotten to lock.

"Hey." Harry gave a startled cry, whirling around to see Ron standing in the doorway to his room.

"Holy fucking christ, Ron!"

Harry yelled, running a hand through his hair and breathing hard. "You scared the shit out of me." Ron smiled with an apologetic shrug.

"Sorry, man. I've been waiting here for the last hour. Where'd you go after school?" Harry walked past Ron into his room, setting his bag down on the mattress.

"Dance shop. I have to buy some stuff. Get this, a whole dance outfit with shoes and tights and everything costs a hundred dollars. I'll be working it off at the shop, though, so at least I won't have to explain that one to Vernon," Harry said while unpacking his bag. Ron didn't answer him right away, and Harry looked up, his hands freezing in place when he saw his best friend's somber stare.

"Um...Dean got into some shit with Seam today." Harry continued to look at Ron, waiting. The redhead flopped down on the bed, shifting until he found a comfortable position. "Seamus came into the shop about four hours ago freaking out because Dean never showed up for some lunch date they had or whatever. Dean wouldn't answer his phone, and no one had seen him since early this morning. Everyone's out looking right now, but there hasn't been anything. Seam's like...freaking the fuck out."

"Dean's Army boys say anything about it?" Harry asked. Ron shook his head.

"Naw. No one knows where the guy is. This kid named Collin...Collin um..."

"Creevy. I know him," Harry said. Ron nodded.

"Yeah, that kid. For some reason he thinks that Dean disappeared around Death Eater territory...he um...he said that you..." Ron trailed off, looking to Harry with an apologetic look. Harry sighed.

"He told you guys I knew the area better than anyone. You want my help," he stated. Ron nodded.

"Yeah. Come on, Harry. I know you don't like this gang stuff, and neither do I, but we can't just leave everyone to the dogs because we got out of all that. He's our friend," the redhead said. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I never said I wouldn't help, Ron. God. Let me get dressed in some better clothes and then I'll help."

"You'll look around DE territory?" Harry nodded in answer, rooting around in his boxes for a black outfit.

"I'm coming with you. George and Fred, too," Ron insisted. Harry shook his head, stripping off the clothes he was wearing and quickly replacing them with a large black sweatshirt and worn black jeans. From the box near his bed Harry took a tube of black paint and squirted a bit onto his finger. He stood up and left the room, heading into the bathroom.

"If I'm going in there, Ron, I'm going alone. You're not coming," he called from the bathroom. Ron followed his best friend, leaning on the doorframe and watching while Harry smeared the black paint around his eyes. With his black hair, outfit, pale skin, and blackened eye sockets, Ron thought Harry looked like a skeleton, his face a bone-dry skull.

"Bullshit. I'm not letting you go in there by yourself."

"It's safer when I'm alone."

"The fuck it is, Harry!" Ron shouted. Harry glared at him, green eyes blazing beneath the black makeup.

"Ron, trust me. I'll be fine. Like Colin said, I know that area better than anyone—including you. I know how the Death Eater's work, I know them all by name and face, I know their strengths and weaknesses...and I have a bit of sway with a few of them." Ron raised his eyebrows and Harry gave him a look that said not to ask. "Besides, I'll just wander around and listen, okay? If I get any word on Dean I'll call—oh yeah, I'll need someone's cell, I guess." Harry massaged his hands, rubbing the fine fracture points from the beating Vernon gave him, and hoping he wouldn't have to do anything too crazy tonight—otherwise his hands wouldn't heal well.

"You can take Fred's," Ron answered instantly. Harry flipped the hood of the sweatshirt over his head and pulled it down low. The shadows the bathroom lights cast on his face enhanced the dark clothing and makeup. "You look just like them, you know?" Ron whispered.

"I've had practice," Harry whispered in reply, turning the bathroom light off and following Ron back into his room. Harry put his shoes back on his feet, grabbing a marker from his nightstand box and refreshing the old markings that turned his off-white converse rubber to sharpie-black. Ron left the room and Harry heard him calling Fred.

Harry shoved his hands in the sweatshirt pocket, wringing them together beneath the worn fabric. Fucking Dean. Fucking Death Eaters and the Army and gangs and kidnappings. Fuck it all.

…

George bit his lip, glancing between his twin, Ron, Seamus, Colin, and Harry.

"I don't like this," he announced. They were sitting in the living room of Vernon's apartment, Harry sitting on the floor fiddling with Fred's phone, setting it to silent mode. "First of all, if the Death Eaters get a hold of you, they won't let you go—not a second time. And it's not like they've forgotten, right?" he asked Harry.

"Right," Harry said absently, still playing with the cell phone.

"So if you get caught, you either become a Death Eater or you disappear.... and don't show up again. We aren't positive that Dean is even with them—"

"That's where he was last seen, according to the boys, though. There's a good chance Dean's with them," Colin interjected. Harry looked up, his eyes bloodshot from the smears of black makeup around them. He blinked to clear dry makeup chips from his eyes.

"Okay. I'm a little out of all this. Seam, you came to me a while ago asking if I wanted in on something good—remember?" Seamus nodded. "And now Dean goes snooping around the DEs and goes missing. You gotta tell me what's up, Seam, so I know what to listen for," Harry said. Seamus shrugged and stopped chewing on his nails to answer the black-haired boy.

"Dean told me a week ago he was into somethin' big. Not drugs, although I thought it was for a while. He got a few of us guys in on it, made us swear into the deal before he told us what we would be dealing, right? So I swear in and a couple other random boys from the Army do too, Colin included, and he tells us that we're working with handguns," Seamus says, running a shaking hand through his short hair.

"Oh fuck, Dean," Harry swore. "What in fuck's name was he thinking?!"

"Yeah. That's pretty much what I asked him," Fred said dryly.

"Doesn't he know weapons are the Death Eater's thing? They have the monopoly, easily, with all their mafia connections. Dean never had a chance," Harry said. Seamus sighed, now bouncing his knee up and down. Harry sensed a drug fit coming on unless Seamus shot up soon. He wondered if he had any clean needles lying around.

"Dean was going to do it with a different base than the DEs. New people to pawn the weapons off to, no communication to the DEs...he was gonna keep it all quiet," Seamus continued.

"But that didn't work out, so now we're here and he's missing, and Harry's about to risk his fucking life prodding around DE territory. We know the Death Eaters are going to be crawling everywhere tonight," George snapped, crossing his arms and leaning back into the couch, glaring at Harry.

"Yeah, but they won't be looking for me. They're looking for Seam and the other guys from the Army—not me."

"You really don't think it'll cross their minds?" Fred asked. Harry shrugged.

"I'm willing to bet, I guess. I mean, I made it pretty clear two years ago that I was done with all of that. I don't spend much time in anyone's territory anymore, and a lot of the new DEs probably don't know me," Harry answered.

"You said earlier you knew all the DEs by name and face," Ron pointed out.

"Most of them, yeah. Not the new ones, although I don't have to be worried about them. They're easy to pick out—fucking scared all the time, take orders without a fight," Harry smirked, his skeleton face distorted by the lights and makeup. George was still glaring at him, not consoled.

"You haven't forgotten about school in the morning, right?" he asked. Harry shook his head.

"I'll be a little late to first period if I have to be. Dean's my friend, George."

"School is your life," George snapped.

"I know, George. I'm not planning on being late in the morning, really. I don't think it'll take me much more than five or six hours after I head out at dark. That'll mean I'll get back around one or two. Not bad." George didn't look happy about it, but didn't protest further. Ron sat up.

"Okay. Let's lay this down. We need a new place to hang, 'cause we don't know when Vernon'll be home. The Bakery's out, so is Colin's. Where else?"

"That place on 13th C, the one we broke into a couple years ago? It's empty now and the lock's been broken for months, plus it's only a block outside of Death Eater jurisdiction," Fred spoke up.

"Alright then, we'll all go down there with gear. Harry leaves with Fred's phone at eight and does his thing. If anything happens," Ron looked straight at his best friend, "you call either Seamus or George and we'll come in there blowing peoples' heads off. If you find Dean, don't try and get him out unless you think he's in immediate danger, or if they're planning on moving him somewhere else. If you find him, call us and tell someone where he is, so we know even if you get caught." Fred leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together.

"You have seven hours to be back at the building on C, okay? If you're not back by three in the morning we'll call—if you don't answer we come in. We'll pack a bag of supplies in case you come back missing an arm or something—" George elbowed his twin, hard.

"Don't even fucking joke, man," he said. Turning to Harry, he added to his brother's instructions. "Go in there, and then get the fuck out. I don't care if you don't find anything. Get out as soon as possible and get back to us." Harry nodded and stood up, pocketing Fred's phone and going back into his room.

"What are you bringing with you?" Ron called from his spot in the living room.

"Gun, a couple knives, set of knuckles," Harry answered as he gathered the weapons from inside his mattress. He hadn't used his gun since his gang days, but it was well oiled and cleaned, and Harry was still confident in his aim. He checked the clip and clicked the safety on before shoving it into his waistband. His switchblade was dropped into a back pocket with the knuckles. When he went back into the living room Seamus handed him his own knife, and Harry put it into a pocket on the side of his left knee. When the black-haired teen looked around at his friends he saw several other weapons in their hands. Fred and George had their small handguns palmed, Ron was dangling a pair of brass knuckles from his pointer finger, and Colin and Seamus were playing with knives. "Isn't this fun?" Harry remarked dryly, smiling. George glared at him, but Seamus gave him a grin and blew a kiss.

"Of course, dearest. Shall we?" he motioned toward the door.

Thanks for reading, as always. I'm so sorry I can't reply to your great reviews—I'm just incredibly busy. I'll try harder to get back to some of you, though.

Wykkyd