Author's Note: Sorry this one took so long to post – it's been written for awhile, and I honestly meant to post it earlier, but life kind of got in the way. But it's a nice, long chapter to make up for the wait…so enjoy!
Thanks very much to Smoocher of Evil, merope, milla1230, Diarmadhi, Henka, Dumbledude, Rachy, Elara(and since I couldn't personally respond to your review, being anonymous and all, you should know I LOLed at it), Lamia, and Moyima. And to everyone else, of course, thanks for reading.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Draco supposed he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew he was waking, grainy-eyed, curled in a fetal position on the floor. He had no idea how long he'd slept, and he honestly didn't care, but a quick glance outside told him it was probably early morning. The morning air was chilly, and he shivered slightly, sitting up and drawing his robes around him. By all definitions it was a beautiful day; the sun was still low in the sky, yet was unfettered by clouds. The leaves on the trees were beginning to turn shades of red and orange; autumn was fast approaching. Draco had always been a morning person, and at Hogwarts he had often risen long before his dorm mates, long before Hogwarts was filled with the careless chatter of students. Sometimes he would go to the Owlery and watch the sunrise, unsure of why it always left him feeling so wistful and alone. Now he pondered at the fact that the sun would continue to rise and set each day, that the world would carry on regardless of whether he was still a part of it. It was comforting, almost.
He glanced longingly at Harry's door, wondering if he'd succeeded. Was this love? This twisting, wrenching feeling in his gut as he recalled Harry's face the previous night, like a knife digging deeper and deeper; this disgustingly noble decision of his to sacrifice himself for the world – no, not for the world – he was no martyr, after all. Just for Harry. Yes, he concluded dully, it probably was love. Yet for all it mattered, at the same time it meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He barely noticed when Tilly the house elf Apparated into his room with a breakfast tray, her ears trembling slightly as she slid the tray next to him.
"Thanks, Tilly," he said quietly.
Tilly's eyes widened, a gleeful expression flitting over her face. "You is welcome, Master Draco!" Tilly squeaked happily, giving a slight bow. "Is there anything else Master will be needing?"
Grabbing a piece of toast and a slice of bacon, Draco closed the lid on the tray, sliding it back to Tilly. "Take this to Potter, would you?"
"But Master Draco, sir," she squeaked. "You isn't eating enough! Tilly was told to put Master Draco's breakfast and Harry Potter's breakfast on the same tray! You is looking ill, Master Draco, you needs to eat!"
"I didn't ask for your opinion," Draco snapped. "Just do it."
Tilly nodded, her ears drooping slightly. "Yes, sir."
"Oh, and Tilly? Don't tell him I told you to do it, okay?"
"Yes, sir," she said glumly, and with a snap of her fingers, she disappeared with the tray.
Draco had decided to send Harry's breakfast with Tilly for three reasons; one being that he couldn't bear to be around him; the second, that Harry would need his strength to escape. And of course, there was Draco's hope that Harry wasn't even there, that with a startled cry from Tilly he could breathe a sigh of relief. Eating mechanically, the toast and bacon like sawdust in his mouth, he watched the door eagerly, yet could deduce nothing.
He stood and looked thoughtfully into his mirror. He looked like hell, honestly, and he had no idea what Harry had ever seen in him. His eyes were sunken into their sockets, giving him a haunted, desperate look. His hair, which he had once been so proud of, appeared dull and brittle. And his face, which he'd never fooled himself into thinking handsome, but distinguished, at the very least, was now a harsh study of plane and contour. It was fitting, he decided. He looked like how he felt.
Finally, he made up his mind, walking to Harry's door, the handle twisting in his hand. It was unlocked, surprisingly enough, and he swung it open without preamble.
Harry was sitting in bed, arms crossed defiantly over his chest, the breakfast tray untouched.
"What do you want?" Harry asked with a scowl. His eyes, Draco noted, were swollen behind their glasses. Why the hell didn't he leave?
"Been crying like a baby, Potter?" Draco curled his lip slightly and leaned casually against the doorframe.
Harry glared. "Fuck off," he spat, then lowered his eyes to his lap.
"Oh, I already did that this morning, Harry," Draco replied, forcing his face into a jeering smirk, "You want to know what I was thinking about when I came?"
Harry made a choked sound in his throat. When he looked up, the raw and utterly devastated expression on his face almost made Draco squirm. Almost.
"Don't," Harry spoke in a near whisper, "Please. Just stop." He rubbed the heel of his hand tiredly over his forehead. "You were really serious last night, then… I thought… I don't know what I thought."
Draco felt his pulse quicken, his chest tighten, and for a moment thought he was having a panic-attack again.
"You know what I was thinking," he said, mouth so dry his tongue threatened to stick to the roof of his mouth, "I was thinking how the Dark Lord would like to see the little trysts we had together. I know how to do that, you see. Allow him access to only certain memories."
The glass of pumpkin juice shattering on the wall barely missed Draco's head. He ducked and raised his wand – in case Harry decided the plate would serve as better ammunition. Harry sat back on the bed however, shaking slightly, his arms lying limply by his sides.
"This isn't going to work, Malfoy," he said flatly, a few seconds later.
Draco's eyes widened in disbelief.
"What are you talking about?" Draco returned casually, glad Harry wasn't looking at him right then.
"You," Harry said accusingly, looking up with a piercing gaze, "trying to make me leave without you. Even if you pretending to be my… my friend… was all part of Voldemort's plan, I know you don't want to be here any more than I do. Even if you fooled me in every other way, I still know you're fucking terrified of him. You weren't pretending about that at least."
Draco was too stunned to reply.
Harry continued. "So you know what I'm going to do, Malfoy? I'm going to get us both out of here, just like I said. What you do after that, well, I really don't give a fuck anymore."
No, no, no. This was not happening. This could not be happening. Harry could not be so extremely good, so ridiculously fucking loyal, that he still wouldn't leave Draco behind. He'd just said he believed Draco, he accepted that Draco had used him as an amusing and cruel means to an end, and he still wouldn't leave without him.
"Potter," Draco sneered, though his voice sounded a bit weak to his own ears, "you unbelievable idiot. I know it's hard for anything to penetrate that thick skull of yours, so listen closely. Everything that's happened between us has been a lie. Do you understand? Everything."
Harry snorted softly and turned away, shifting so his back faced Draco. "Whatever. Just leave me alone, would you?"
For one of the first times in Draco's not-so-long life, words failed him. He padded back to his room in a daze and sat heavily on his bed. That was it then. Harry wasn't going to do it. The means to escape, practically laid out at his feet on a silver platter, and he wouldn't take the bait.
Draco sighed and realized he was trembling slightly. His greatest weapon had always been, and probably always would be, his mouth and he had practically destroyed Harry with it since yesterday. There was nothing more he could do to convince him.
But Harry needed to leave. He had to.
And then the most obvious solution struck Draco and he nearly laughed at the simplicity of it. He plopped back on the bed and stared dully at the ceiling. Harry needed his wand but wouldn't go after it. If he did, Voldemort would likely kill them both. But, as far as Draco was concerned, that wasn't a problem anymore.
He would get Harry's wand for him.
Harry would be furious, sad, possibly more betrayed than he already was, but he would have to leave before anyone discovered what Draco had done.
Draco felt hot tears slip silently down his face and he didn't try to blink them back. At least this way, Harry would know that Draco hadn't been lying about the way he felt. Not that he'd ever had the chance to tell him.
The chill of morning slowly gave way to a mild afternoon and even more slowly to a muggy evening. Draco didn't move from his position on the bed for most of the day. He watched listlessly as roiling grey clouds invaded the unfettered sky, as grey darkened to near-black, casting deep shadows all about his room, then as the sky became increasingly angry with each passing hour. It was appropriate, Draco decided, that the weather mirrored his own turmoil.
He sat up, wincing when his back cracked loudly, clearly protesting having been kept in the same position for so long. He rolled his shoulders around gingerly a few times and turned from side to side, hoping to appease his aching muscles a bit. Not that his own comfort mattered much anymore; in a few hours he'd most likely be dead.
Standing quietly, Draco wondered if Harry had sat in his bed the whole day as well. He realized with a slight pang that even if that was the case, Harry's newly rekindled hatred of Draco was probably the only thing he'd spent any time reflecting on.
After fully intending to barge unannounced into Harry's room, Draco was surprised to find the door locked from the inside. He rolled his eyes slightly and wordlessly cast Alohomora; the door clicked open without preamble. Harry had apparently just taken a shower because he was wrapped in nothing but a towel when Draco strode purposefully in. He whirled around, a heavy scowl on his face.
"What –," he started.
"Confundo," Draco spoke, cutting him off. Harry's sharp gaze immediately slid out of focus and he sat down, gazing around in bewilderment from his spot on the floor. Draco had briefly considered how Harry would react to this spell, considering he could fight off the Imperius curse, and he was relieved to see this clearly didn't affect him in the same way.
"Where's your cloak, Harry?" Draco asked slowly, crouching down to look him directly in the face. Harry stared back blankly.
"Shit," Draco muttered, standing and dragging a hand tiredly through his hair. It was feeling more and more like straw lately.
Then he saw just the tiniest hint of fabric peaking from underneath Harry's mattress. He pulled it out quickly, wondering if Harry's sloppiness could be attributed to him. He glanced down at Harry once more before leaving the room.
"You should get dressed, Harry," he said softly.
Harry's eyes gradually slid over to Draco but the utter look of confusion on his face didn't dissipate. Unable to look any longer, Draco wrapped the cloak around himself and left the room. As he'd done the previous day, he quickly cast a few wards that would warn him the second anyone came too close to Harry's room. He wondered if Harry had even known about that.
The Manor was strangely abuzz that night as Draco made his way quietly through the halls. He was glad he'd decided to take Harry's cloak, that he didn't have to confront any of the Death Eaters lurking the darkened corridors. At one point Draco passed by an open doorway where a number of them were gathered, laughing, yelling, and… something else. Despite himself, Draco glanced in and felt bile rise in his throat at the sight. Wrapped in an unwilling embrace on the floor, covered bodily by a large Death Eater he didn't know the name of – he had never particularly cared to – was a teenage girl, bloodied, crying, and humiliated. Draco thought he recognized her from Hufflepuff. Forcing his breathing and stomach to steady, Draco continued walking. All he could do was hope it would be over for her soon.
When Draco entered the wing previously occupied by his parents, and subsequently taken over by Voldemort, no one was there. Aside from rumbling thunder and the patter of soft rain outside, the only sound Draco was aware of was his own pounding heart. As it threatened to jump physically from his chest he wondered if Voldemort, freak of nature that he was, could hear things like people's heartbeats. It wouldn't surprise him.
A soft scraping sound suddenly came from somewhere behind Draco. He turned, forcing his movements to be slow, fully expecting to see Voldemort standing behind him, looking straight through the cloak. The hall was empty.
Swallowing, Draco stepped into his parents' old bedroom. It didn't look as if anything had changed. It didn't even seem the bed had been slept in recently, as a thin layer of dust had settled visibly on the black coverlet.
"Accio Harry's wand," Draco whispered. A wand flew from somewhere, Draco wasn't even sure it was in this room, but almost instantly he was holding Harry's wand once again. The polished wood felt oddly familiar in his cold fingers. He quickly pulled his exposed limb back inside the cloak. It was only slightly consoling that, considering the time it had taken for the wand to reach him, it hadn't been pulled directly from Voldemort himself.
Draco took a few seconds to breathe deeply though his nerves refused to calm down. If anything, he was feeling more apprehensive by the second. He didn't believe in luck, and so far he had been way too lucky.
He reentered the hallway warily, glancing left and right for any signs of life, but it seemed as dead as before. Unable to shake the feeling of impending danger, Draco had only taken a few tentative steps when his fears were realized.
The spell threw him forcefully against the wall, the cloak fell to the floor, and Draco felt his head crack sharply against the banister. His vision blurred and darkened momentarily and the next thing Draco knew he was being pulled roughly to his feet, pinned heavily against the wall by his forearms.
"What do we have here?" a voice growled, only inches from his face.
Draco blinked hard and his dear Uncle Lestrange's face slid into focus.
"What do you think you're doing?" Draco sneered, though he wasn't sure how successful the look on his face was at the moment, given the incessant pounding in his head. He attempted to struggle briefly, not actually believing he could get free, and Lestrange pressed down harder. Draco forced himself not to grimace.
"I," Lestrange answered, "am in the process of catching you stealing something from the Dark Lord. He thinks you're too much of a coward to go trying something like this," his fingernails dug into Draco's skin, "but I guessed otherwise. How about that?"
At Draco's defiant glare, he laughed. "I don't know what second-hand shop you got that Invisibility Cloak from, Draco, but you really should look into having it adjusted. I saw your shoes at least three times since you came into this wing."
Draco did the only plausible thing he could think of. Having regained control over his legs, he brought his knee up as hard as he could considering the awkward position. It was enough. Lestrange howled and dropped his hands to his groin. Draco scrambled unsteadily away, half standing and half crawling, reaching for either his or Harry's wand spilt on the floor only feet away. And then he heard his uncle say something and a large bone in his wand arm snapped raggedly in half. He collapsed to his side with a choked gasp.
"You filthy traitor!" Lestrange screamed, one hand gripping his wand, the other still pressed firmly to his groin. "You fucking idiot! You're going to pay for that!" His boot connected firmly and white-hot bursts of agony erupted behind Draco's eyes.
Draco curled in on himself, cradling his broken arm to his chest, prepared for the next blow. He saw Lestrange pull back his foot again, and suddenly, Lestrange flew backwards, much as Draco had only moments before. Gasping and wheezing through his mouth, Draco snatched both wands and thrust them in front of him, casting a quickStupefy before he could even see who was there.
His father easily deflected his spell and took a step closer, a strange look on his face. Draco stared openly for a moment.
"Father?" he said hoarsely. "What…?"
"I won't see my own son killed for my mistakes," Lucius spoke calmly. Only his tormented eyes betrayed him. "I don't know why you have chosen this path… with Potter. But I'm sure you have a plan if you're willing to go this far. After all, you are a Malfoy."
Draco nodded vaguely, not daring to contradict his father. He continued to stare, too bewildered, and in too much pain, to fully comprehend the implications of Lucius' words.
His face inscrutable, Lucius crouched delicately beside Draco, eying his broken arm. "Is your arm broken?"
Draco nodded, no longer attempting to hide his shock. All his life, his father had been an impassive, formidable fixture. He had given Draco the best in everything money could provide, yet had given next to nothing of himself; the occasional nod of approval was the most Draco had ever hoped to receive in terms of affection. Sometimes, a bitter voice at the back of his mind had wondered whether his father cared for him at all, beyond the extent that he valued him as an heir. But now, with the knowledge that his father had risked everything for him fresh in his pain-addled mind, Draco concluded that he must.
Gently touching his wand to Draco's broken arm, Lucius softly whispered, "Episkey." There was a dull burn that spread up and down the length of his arm, coupled with a strange iciness as his bones realigned themselves.
"Thanks," he said softly, flexing his fingers experimentally. He met his father's eyes – gray like his own – unsure of what to say.
As it turned out, there wasn't a need to say anything, because the next thing he knew Lucius was hauling him to his feet.
"Go," Lucius said roughly.
"What about him?" Draco asked, inclining his head toward Lestrange's still form.
"I'll take care of him," Lucius said with a slight grimace. Draco nodded, grabbing the edge of the Invisibility Cloak, wrapping it around himself. He stared at his father for a moment, wondering if he'd ever see him again. Sighing, he lowered the cloak down to his shoulders, exposing his face.
"What about you?"
Lucius' face hardened. "Do as I say, Draco."
Draco wrapped the cloak around himself obediently. One did not argue with Lucius Malfoy. Taking a tentative step forward, he shot one last furtive glance at his father, currently crouched over Lestrange with a disgusted look as he prodded his skull with his wand.
Mentally shaking himself into action, Draco took off with renewed fervor down the winding halls. Screams ricocheted eerily around him, and he suppressed a shudder as he again passed the open doorway where the Hufflepuff girl was still being tortured by the large Death Eater. Her screams had subsided into barely discernable whimpers, her bruised eyes squeezed shut. A few Death Eaters watched pitilessly, sadistic gleams shining in their eyes. Cowards. Draco turned away brusquely, wishing there was something he could do, knowing there was nothing, and nearly hating himself for it.
Taking care to keep his shoes as covered as possible, Draco managed to uneventfully make his way back. Not even bothering to go to his own room, Draco wrenched open Harry's door and stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. Breathing heavily, he leaned his back to the door, closing his eyes. His hand brushed Harry's wand in his pocket, and he nearly started to laugh.
He was stopped, however, when he saw that Harry was exactly where he'd left him – towel pulled to his hips, his eyes dull and glazed. Tilly fidgeted nervously beside him, her ears twitching.
"Harry Potter must listen to Tilly!" she pleaded, her eyes watering. She shook his arm, and his head turned slightly, his eyes remaining unfocussed.
Throwing off the Invisibility Cloak to a careless heap, Draco hastily pushed Tilly aside. Her ears twitched in confusion.
"Master Draco! Tilly is needing to tell you something!"
Beyond caring at the moment, Draco snapped, "Get out."
"But Master Draco…"
Draco slapped her across the face, the force knocking her backwards. Her eyes widened for a moment in shock – not because she wasn't used to being hit and otherwise abused – but because Draco was usually kind to her. Draco's heart gave a slight lurch at the look of hurt on her face, but knew he didn't have the luxury of kindness.
"Get out!" Draco yelled shakily.
Tilly nodded, tears pooling around her eyes. She gave a hiccupping sob, her ears drooping. "Yes, sir." Then with a snap of her fingers, she was gone, leaving Draco alone with Harry.
Crouching beside Harry, Draco studied him for a moment, long held tears leaking freely down his face. Harry just stared at him blankly.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Draco babbled nonsensically, reaching a shaky hand forward to brush over Harry's face. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could have sworn that Harry leaned slightly into his touch. Cupping the back of Harry's head, Draco leaned forward and kissed him softly. Rocking back on his heels, he furiously swiped the palm of his hand over his eyes, then pointed his wand at Harry.
"Finite Incantatem."
Harry's eyes immediately lost their glazed look, and were instead fixed accusingly on Draco.
"What the hell did you do, Malfoy?" he said sharply. Then, as if taking in Draco's undoubtedly red-rimmed eyes, his face softened, something like concern fixing across his features. That he could still feel concern for him, after everything he'd done, filled Draco with the sensation of being broke open completely.
"What's wrong?" he asked softly, and with the soft question Draco lost it entirely, reeling back with a cry. As much as he wanted it, he didn't need Harry's concern, or his forgiveness. It would simply make things all the more difficult.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Harry?" Draco asked desperately, his voice breaking as he choked on his own tears. "Why couldn't you just have left?"
Harry made a move as if to reach for him, but Draco backed further away. Harry sighed.
"I told you," Harry murmured. "I'm not leaving without you."
Draco made an anguished cry. "You idiot! Are you honestly that good – that selfless – that you'd risk everything for someone who hates you?"
Harry snorted bitterly. "I know you don't, Draco. So just stop it."
"I told you I did. I told you it was all a lie, and you stillwouldn't leave! God, Potter, I do hate you. I hate you so fucking much right now." Giving a dry sob, he reached into his robe pocket, and without a word thrust Harry's wand at him.
Harry's eyes widened in panicked realization. "Draco…no."
Draco gave a triumphant smirk. "Yes, Potter. You have no choice now. So get out."
"They'll kill you for this," Harry whispered shakily, a horrified expression on his face.
"They'll kill us both if you don't get the hell out."
Harry made a slight growl, and before Draco could react he had him pinned to the floor, holding his wrists firmly. "Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry ground out. Draco watched his mouth, mesmerized, feeling an insane urge to lunge upwards and claim it.
Harry slammed Draco's wrists against the hard floor. "You idiot. You're such an idiot, Malfoy. You could have waited, trusted me to come up with something. But instead…" his voice trailed off with an anguished sob as he slammed Draco's wrists once again. Draco winced slightly, and Harry released his grip with a startled cry.
"I'm sorry, Draco," he said shakily, collapsing onto Draco, his face buried in the crook of Draco's neck. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? I'm sorry."
Draco said nothing, wrapping his arms around Harry's bare back as he continued to mumble tearfully into Draco's neck. Finally, he gently pried Harry off of him with a sigh. They had to stop wasting time.
"Harry," Draco said firmly. "You have to get dressed. I don't know how long we have until he notices."
Harry raised his head hopefully. "So…you're coming then?"
Draco sighed. "No, Harry. I'm showing you the way out." Noting Harry's blank stare, Draco continued, "it's the only way. You know it is. You're Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, destined to save the world. In the grand scheme of things, Harry, you're what's important, not me."
"Don't fucking say that!" Harry said furiously, but Draco saw with relief that he was reaching for his clothes. He threw his clothes on hurriedly, his fingers trembling slightly as he laced his trainers. His shoulders slumped forward slightly, and he raised his head wearily, looking at Draco sadly. Harry's mouth opened slightly, his lips trembling, clearly struggling with what he had to say.
Without warning, the door was suddenly swung open with such force it threatened to fly off the hinges. Draco instinctively clutched his wand, but made no move to raise it. Yet. He desperately hoped Harry would imitate him, rather than rush headfirst into an unknown situation with Gryffindor recklessness.
Two Death Eaters, whom Draco recognized as Macnair and Crabbe Sr., stood leering in the doorway, wands outstretched.
"I don't know what you meant by that," Macnair sneered at him. "Sending that house elf away before it could deliver your message."
Draco smirked petulantly. "I was busy," he said easily.
Crabbe gave a snarl, taking a step towards him. He was even larger and more brutish than his son, although Draco had never felt intimidated by his Crabbe.
"Watch your mouth, Malfoy," he said dangerously. "You might have been something special once – born with a silver spoon in your mouth, the whole world bending down to kiss your arse, bossing my boy around like you're better than him – but now you're just like the rest of us."
Draco stole a sideways glance at Harry, seeing him tensed like a cat about to pounce. Don't do anything stupid, Harry.
"What a charming notion," Draco said stiffly, lazily stretching his arms. "Now, if you wouldn't mind…"
"We've got Potter's friends," Macnair suddenly cut in, a satisfied grin on his dull face. He took a step towards Harry, laughing coldly. "The Dark Lord says I might even get a go at the Mudblood – before we kill her, that is."
Draco swiftly moved to Harry's side, bodily holding him still as he gave an enraged cry. "I'll kill you! You fucking bastards!" He attempted to fight off Draco, his hands crazily reaching for his wand. Draco pinned his arms to the side, knowing it was imperative that he not break free.
"Don't!" Draco whispered harshly, sending Harry a silent message. Wait. And almost as if he had heard him, Harry stopped struggling, his arms hanging limply.
Macnair and Crabbe watched Harry struggle gleefully, both sniggering slightly.
"Potter here," Crabbe started, "gets to go spend some quality time in the dungeons with his blood traitor friend. But don't worry, it's only temporary. You'll be back up here with yourboyfriend before too long." He laughed nastily, apparently amused at his own wit. "And Draco, you're wanted in the ballroom. The Dark Lord said you'd shown an interest before in killing the Mudblood. He might just give you that chance."
Harry made a desperate sound, stepping away from Draco. Despite the situation, Draco felt almost hurt at Harry's reaction. Did he really think Draco was capable of that?
"Harry…" he said quietly, not caring that Crabbe and Macnair stood mere steps away from them.
Crabbe reached forward, grabbing Draco roughly by the front of his robes. "You're coming with me, Malfoy," he sneered, spraying Draco slightly with spittle. Draco recoiled in disgust, pulling away.
"Get your hands off me!" he snapped, making a show of wiping the saliva from his face. Then, straightening his spine, he shot Crabbe with an arrogant look, hopefully reminiscent of Lucius Malfoy. "Very well, then."
Harry, standing to his left was surprisingly silent, and Draco met his eyes briefly. Trust me, he wanted to say. However bad the situation, Draco felt strangely light. It was a liberating thing, having nothing to lose.
Harry nodded his head almost imperceptibly at Draco, following Macnair without another word.
Draco sneered slightly at Crabbe and made a point of sweeping out of the room before he could, large, purposeful strides carrying him a good way down the hall before Crabbe caught up with a scowl and shoved his way in front.
The whole situation seemed somewhat surreal and Draco felt a certain giddiness building up in his chest as he thought about it. It all depended on Harry now, really. He had his wand. He was about to be reunited with Weasley, who, despite his other failings, would gladly step in front of a Killing Curse to save Harry. Granger was the only problem now, the fact that neither of them would ever leave without her. But Draco, fully aware that he was past the point of no return, would see to it that she was taken care of. Whether by reuniting them or otherwise, he didn't know; he did know if it meant she had to die in order for Harry to leave, that would simply have to happen.
"Stupid kids were practically sniffing around the back yard," Crabbe commented suddenly, chuckling to himself.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "You don't say?"
"Yeah," Crabbe snorted, "Don't know what the hell they were getting at, actually coming and looking for the Dark Lord."
"Hmm," Draco muttered in agreement, but he was barely listening. He seriously doubted they'd come looking for Voldemort. But he did agree with Crabbe on one thing: he didn't know what the hell they were getting at if they had in fact come here on purpose.
His first thought upon seeing Hermione was in wondering how long she'd been there. She looked pretty far gone already, as far as Draco was concerned, lying huddled on the floor, hands lost in her perpetual mess of bushy hair. Hoping he wasn't shaking as much as her, Draco met Voldemort's gaze unflinchingly.
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "What took you so long?" He clasped his hands behind him. "Next time you ignore an order, it'll be you down on the floor here. However, seeing as we're currently occupied…"
With a faint twitch of his wand, Hermione jerked, then flipped awkwardly onto her back with a pained moan.
Voldemort smiled darkly. "Care to have a go, Draco?"
At the sound of his name, Hermione turned her head and half met Draco's stare. One of her eyes was nearly swollen shut but, in the other, Draco saw vague recognition. He also saw fear; a fear he was more than familiar with when looking into the eyes of an enemy.
"Crucio!" he said forcefully, not allowing himself to hesitate. Voldemort laughed in delight as Hermione screamed and writhed fitfully on the ground. After what seemed an adequate amount of time, Draco forced his features into a sneer of disgust and lowered his wand.
"Been wanting to do that for years," he spoke loudly, and only a little bit hoarsely. This drew several laughs from the mass of Death Eaters.
Voldemort's eyes gleamed as he looked at Draco. "Would you like to finish her?"
Draco blanched despite himself and the question hung silently in the air for a moment. Eventually, Voldemort smirked knowingly and chuckled.
"I thought not," he said, quietly. Draco blinked and stared at the floor, carefully averting his gaze from Hermione.
"Now then," Voldemort continued, "surely Harry's had sufficient time to reacquaint himself with an old friend. Wouldn't want them to miss out on the Mudblood's end, after all."
Draco's heart pumped furiously, reverberating painfully throughout his entire body. Harry couldn't be brought up here. Because then he would do something stupid and get himself killed. Draco cursed silently.
"I'll go get them," he volunteered, looking up, berating himself for not acting just a little bit faster earlier; this whole mess would've been avoided.
Voldemort stared back at him with a vaguely amused expression. "My, Draco. So much enthusiasm from you tonight."
"It's easier when there's a personal grudge between us." Draco attempted to sound nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders.
"Interesting notion," Voldemort hissed. "I rather thought the opposite would be true in your case. I suppose even the most predictable people can be surprising every so often. You may go."
Draco nodded curtly and turned to leave.
"Oh, and Draco," Voldemort called, "if Potter's friend happens to trip and break his nose on he way up, I wouldn't hold it against you."
Draco cast a tight smile over his shoulder and moved quickly out of the room.
After opening the dungeon door, a flash of bright red hair was all Draco had time to register as he was tackled to the ground by Ron Weasley. He landed on his back with a grunt.
"What the hell did you do to her, you bastard?!" Ron yelled, pummeling for all he was worth. "Where the hell is she?!"
"Ron, no!" Draco heard Harry say in a panicky voice. A moment later, Harry had pulled his irate friend back and held him tightly by his arms. White-faced and struggling, Draco thought he looked like an insane attack-dog.
"Draco," Harry asked apprehensively, "is she…?"
"No," Draco growled, rolling to his side and then standing quickly. "She isn't." He spat blood from his mouth and shakily wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
"Like we're gonna believe you, Malfoy, you slimy git!" Ron renewed his struggles with fervor.
Draco sneered. "Believe whatever you want, Weasley." He turned his attention to Harry. "You need to get the fuck out of here, Harry. I only have a few minutes before I'll be missed, so come on."
"No!" Harry's face contorted angrily. "We're not leaving without Hermione. Or you."
"Fuck, Potter!" Draco groaned in frustration and nearly stamped his foot. "Get it through your thick head! I'm not coming with you! And you best forget about Granger because there's no way you can get her out. She'll be dead soon anyway."
Ron made a strangled sound in his throat, going limp against Harry's grip, and Harry's face paled visibly.
"There's got to be a way," he ground out, glaring at Draco. "Because Ron said that Hermione figured something out. About the Mark. If we can just get her down here, we can all leave."
Draco stared at Harry. "Why would Granger know anything about removing Dark Marks?"
Harry shook his head violently. "It doesn't matter! Look, I know Hermione and I know if anyone could figure it out, it's her."
"Wait," Ron muttered, gazing between Harry and Draco in bewilderment, "he's coming with us?"
They both ignored him.
"Fine," Draco spat, scowling, "Granger's a bloody genius. That doesn't change the fact that she's up there, and we're down here. Did she figure out a solution for that as well?"
"Kreacher!" Ron gasped suddenly, his eyes widening. "She said to tell you about Kreacher, Harry!"
Draco raised both his eyebrows at Ron. "Brilliant. Now he can't even speak in full – "
"No," Harry interrupted quickly, "Kreacher's a house-elf. What about him, Ron?"
"Harry," Ron said, gathering his wits a bit, "Kreacher is your house-elf! When Sirius left you the house, he left you him as well!"
Harry looked confused. "Yeah… So?"
Realization struck Draco instantly and for a moment all he could was gape open-mouthed at Harry.
"Potter," he said slowly, "why the hell didn't you tell me you owned a house-elf?"
Harry returned his stare, looking angry and more confused by the second. "Why does that matter?"
Ron began to answer but Draco beat him to it.
"Call him," he ordered. Harry frowned. "Just do it," Draco insisted, crossing his arms. He really wasn't sure whether he should punch or kiss Harry at the moment.
Still frowning, Harry called tentatively, "Kreacher?"
With a sudden crack, a rather loud one – Draco winced and glanced behind him, hoping no one could hear – an ancient looking house-elf appeared in front of them. Harry and Ron both jumped slightly.
"Master called?" Kreacher croaked, drooping into a half-bow. Draco was quite sure he heard the entire elf's body crack with the movement.
Harry stared dumbfounded at Kreacher, then at Draco, breathing shallowly through his mouth.
"But…how…?" he sputtered.
"That's why Hermione and I came looking for you!" Ron said from beside him. "We knew if we could tell you about Kreacher, then you could get out. We didn't actually mean to get caught…" He looked a bit sheepish and his face reddened slightly.
"House-elves aren't constrained to the same magical limits we are," Draco explained hurriedly, scowling down at the hunched creature as it began scratching its head loudly, sending flakes of dead skin floating in the air. "When they're bound to a witch or wizard, the only laws they have to follow are those placed by their master. No one else's apply."
Understanding slowly dawned on Harry's face. "So," he said, "even though we can't Apparate out of here –"
"They can," Draco finished for him, meeting his wide eyes.
"Yeah," Ron mumbled, "What he said."
"Master is speaking to a good pureblood wizard," Kreacher suddenly croaked softly. Draco looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, maybe Master won't keep nasty blood-traitors and Mudbloods as his friends no more…"
Harry shook his head. "Just ignore him. What are we going to do?"
"The house-elf should be able to detect Granger's magical signature," Draco muttered, more to himself than anyone, running a hand tiredly over his face. He had to think fast. "But he should get you two out of here now."
"And leave you here by yourself? Hermione might not listen if it's just you… I mean…" Harry said, frowning. Draco, who seriously doubted Hermione actually had a solution to the Mark on his arm, scowled.
"Fine," he suggested, "then Weasley at least should go. The fewer the better."
"No fucking way!" Ron growled venomously, a dangerous glare on his face.
"Do you want to save her or not?" Draco snapped.
Ron clenched his fists. "I won't let you – !"
"Ron!" Harry stopped him, physically turning Ron to face him. "Ron, please! This is the best way! You trust me, don't you?"
"Well, yeah," he answered without hesitating. "But Malfoy, Harry?"
"I'll explain everything later, Ron. I swear!"
A loud door banged somewhere on the floor above and Draco flinched, glancing behind him again. Any minute now someone would come looking for them. "We need to go," he insisted. "Now."
"Ron?" Harry pleaded. Looking less than happy, Ron nodded jerkily.
"Okay," Harry breathed in relief. He looked at Kreacher. "Kreacher, take Ron to the Burrow and then come straight back to me. Alright?"
"No," Ron interrupted, "Shell Cottage, Harry. I'll tell you later."
Harry nodded and repeated the modified instructions to Kreacher. Muttering unintelligible words under his breath, Kreacher grabbed Ron's leg and they disappeared with a pop. Seconds later, the house-elf reappeared, still muttering.
"Do you have a plan?" Harry asked softly, eyeing Draco widely.
Draco grabbed his arm, half out of reassurance to himself. "He has to go now. I don't know how much time Granger has."
Harry's face lost a little more blood and he nodded.
"Tell your house-elf to follow my instructions," Draco said. Harry nodded again and passed the order on to Kreacher.
"Kreacher," Draco spoke firmly but quietly, realizing his many years of bossing house-elves around was finally coming in handy. "Apparate as quickly as possible to Hermione Granger, bring her back here immediately, and take Hermione, Harry and I – only Hermione, Harry and I – past the Manor wards. You are not to be seen, heard, or felt by anyone. You cannot follow any other orders, no matter who gives them to you, and you cannot act on any of your own ideas. Do you understand?"
Kreacher, trailing half-heartedly behind them, stared up at Draco with large, glassy eyes. "Master Draco is giving Kreacher good, pureblood directions and Kreacher is understanding and obeying like a good house-elf." He vanished then but without any noise, so Draco knew he was merely invisible for the time being.
Draco shook his head. "Your house-elf is insane, Potter."
"You're telling me," Harry snorted softly. He grinned unabashedly at Draco. "We're really going to get out of here."
"You're going to get out of here, you mean," Draco said sharply, faintly discomfited by Harry's optimism. After all, there was still much that could go wrong.
Harry sighed. "Draco…"
He was interrupted by a loud crack, revealing Kreacher and an apparently unconscious Hermione Granger.
"Hermione!" Harry said desperately, immediately rushing to her side. He bit his lip, a pained expression on his face as he gingerly touched her shoulder.
"We don't have time, Potter!" Draco snapped, unreasonably annoyed by Harry's obvious concern. It was petty and childish and he knew it, but then again, Draco had never liked to share.
Harry nodded, pulling Hermione's still form onto his lap and holding out a hand to Draco. Draco wordlessly took his hand, feeling a lump rise in his throat when Harry brushed a thumb over his knuckles.
"Kreacher, now!" Draco commanded, and the house elf gave a harsh rasp of acquiesce before gripping his leg and immediately Disapparating, pulling them along with a sickening sensation.
Once his molecules had realigned themselves, Draco saw with some degree of amazement that he, Hermione, Harry, and Kreacher were in a densely wooded area, probably a good day's walk from Malfoy Manor. Not that it mattered the distance, as his Dark Mark would give away their location the second Voldemort was aware of their escape.
Harry released his grip on Draco's hand, pulling Hermione into a sitting position against him. Her breaths were ragged, and she stirred fitfully upon being moved. Harry's eyes met his briefly, wide and questioning.
"Kreacher," Draco said sharply to the elf. "I want you to Apparate back to the Manor, and as before, you can't be seen or heard by anyone. I want you to get Granger and Weasley's wands, and then bring them back here immediately. You will not talk to anyone, and you will not obey any other directions. Understand?"
The house elf nodded gravely. "Yes, Master Draco. Kreacher is happy to serve a good, pureblooded wizard again. Kreacher is wishing Master Draco was his master…"
"Go!" Draco all but screamed. Kreacher gave a small bow, disappearing with a crack.
Not caring to waste any more time, Draco pointed his wand at Hermione. "Ennervate."
Her eyes opened immediately, glossy with pain, and upon seeing Draco, fear.
"Malfoy, what…"
"It's okay, Hermione," Harry said quietly, gently releasing her from his embrace but keeping a steadying arm on her shoulder. "He's on our side."
She turned carefully to face Harry, her brows furrowing slightly, then nodding. "Okay," she said weakly.
Draco was suddenly aware of a faint tingling sensation spreading up and down his Dark Mark, quickly giving rise to a dull burn. Gritting his teeth, he clapped a hand over his arm.
"Draco?" Harry asked softly.
Draco gave a bitter laugh. He should have known that Voldemort would waste no time in calling him. And by not answering his summons, he was essentially committing suicide.
"The way I see it," Draco said in a tight voice. "You two have maybe five minutes to get the hell away from me, but I wouldn't push it. If Kreacher isn't back in the next minute, Potter, you need to Apparate the both of you out of here."
"No way," Harry said firmly, shooting upright to his feet. He glared at Draco. "I'm not leaving without you."
Feeling as if his throat were closing, Draco snapped, "then you're sentencing yourself and Granger to death, Potter! How many times do I have to tell you this before it sinks into that stupid head of yours? I – can't – leave, at least not without giving away our location at a moment's notice! Now stop playing the martyr card, and get the fuck out of here!"
"I'm playing the martyr card?" Harry said angrily. "You've already given up!"
Draco's mark gave another sharp twinge, and he closed his eyes wearily. "Harry, please – just do this for me."
Ignoring Draco, Harry knelt beside Hermione, who was leaned heavily against a tree with her eyes half closed.
"Hermione!" Harry said sharply, giving her a shake. She opened her eyes, although one remained swollen and nearly closed.
"Yes, Harry," she said hoarsely.
Harry gripped her shoulders. "Hermione, Ron said you'd found a way to remove the Dark Mark. I know you're sick, but I need you to do it now. Please."
She seemed to sit up a little straighter, a look he had seen too often in class passing over her face.
"Yes, I think I can. Not remove it, really, but more…disrupt it. It's all highly theoretical, but I think it could work."
Draco's Dark Mark suddenly gave its most intense surge yet, and he nearly doubled over from the pain.
"They'll be here any minute," he managed to ground out.
There was suddenly a crack signifying Apparition, and for a terrible moment Draco thought for sure it was the end, and judging from the harsh breaths emanating from Harry and Hermione, they had thought the same. There was a collective sigh of relief when they saw it was Kreacher, two wands clutched in his wrinkled hands.
"Kreacher is bringing Master Draco the wands, just like he asked," Kreacher said in a raspy tone, brandishing the wands to Draco. "Not since Kreacher's poor Mistress has he had the chance to serve good, pureblood wizards like yourself…"
Draco ignored him, thrusting both wands at Harry and Hermione.
"Well Granger, if you have an idea, now's the time to do it." Not caring to waste another second, he crouched beside Harry and Hermione, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the black, pulsing mass that was his Dark Mark.
Wincing as she leaned forward, Hermione took his arm without a word and laid it across her lap. She seemed to appraise it clinically for a moment, prodding at the tortured flesh with a tentative finger.
"Okay," she muttered after a moment. Keeping her hand locked around his wrist, she looked directly into Draco's eyes. "Malfoy, I won't lie to you. This is really going to hurt."
Draco nodded brusquely, wondering if secretly she was relishing the idea of inflicting pain on him, as just moments before she'd been writhing in agony from his Cruciatus curse. But strangely enough, she looked apprehensive and even apologetic about the prospect, grimacing slightly as she raised her wand to his arm and began muttering a strange sounding incantation.
Immediately, Draco was overcome with the worst pain he'd ever experienced. It was different from the Cruciatus, sharper somehow, and though it seemed focused mainly on his arm, his entire body reverberated with the effects. It was a feeling of burning, of being burnt alive, and at the center of that sensation was his arm, feeling as if it were physically being cut open.
He must have tried to jerk away, because the next thing he knew Harry was behind him, holding him forcibly still. But even Harry's touch burnt, and he cried out, struggling violently against him. His mind was in such a haze of pain that he couldn't even remember why he was doing this, why it was somehow important – all he knew was that Hermione Granger was torturing him for some reason, and Harry was letting her.
"Fucking Mudblood!" he screamed at her, suddenly feeling an endless void of rage engulf him. He struggled once more against Harry's grasp, then just as suddenly the rage gave way to empty despair, and he gave a whimper of anguish, leaning against Harry with a choked sob. "Harry, please stop her! Please Harry!"
Finally, Hermione's chanting ceased, and he leaned bonelessly against Harry, still sucking back sobs. After a moment he managed to compose himself, and despite his intense embarrassment, felt a renewed sense of urgency.
"Did it work?" he asked Hermione quietly, slightly startled that her face was wet with tears.
She nodded, sniffing slightly. Harry placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she said to Draco, gripping his wrist once again. Slightly taken aback, Draco could only nod.
A sudden crack caused the three of them to start, and Draco felt his blood freeze at the sight of three figures advancing slowly towards them, and even in the diminishing evening light, he could make out the fair beacon of his father's hair.
Thinking quickly, he yelled, "Kreacher! Apparate the three of us immediately to the place you took Weasley!"
Kreacher was at their side in a split second, and the last thing Draco saw before he felt the unsettling tug of Side-Along Apparition was a distinctly relieved look on his father's face.
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