Chapter 14: Witness
As always, Apparation made Harry's stomach twist and his head pound, spinning like a whirlpool. His feet landed flat on the ground, but even then he rocked back on his heels and reached out for something to grab hold of. Draco's hand found his, stopped him from falling, and Harry shook his head to toss the dizziness from his skull. No matter how old he was, the disorientation that came with Apparating never seemed to fade away.
Around him a hallway with dark marble floor and stone walls unfolded, lit dimly by yellow lanterns. The place was tarnished: the floors were chipped and the remains of a few lanterns were smashed on the floor, leaving gaping shadows in their wake. A cluster of spiders crept up the walls and made their home in the corner between wall and ceiling. Upon first glance, the hall reminded Harry of the Department of Mysteries, buried deep underground, and the air stewed with the dark essence of hundreds of dark artefacts and wizards that had been kept there. But as he glanced to the wall, Harry spotted the remnants of a metal plaque fastened to the stone:
THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT
Harry frowned. He'd assumed that the Ministry had been left in wrecks upon Voldemort's succession, but it seemed as though its previous uses remained. He guessed some things never changed.
"This way." Draco led him down the corridor, and a doorway up ahead came into view. It was low and narrow, with a small, cottage-like wooden door fitted into it. There was a bolt on the outside and a lock to go with it. It was the kind of door that someone went through, but didn't often come out of. Harry shivered.
"This goes up to the witness box," Draco explained, but made no effort to climb the stairs. He stepped closer to Harry and kissed him suddenly, lips brushing quickly over Harry's as though he was afraid of being caught. One hand reached to rest on Harry's cheek, while the other took a hold of his hand and laced their fingers together. When he pulled away, his gaze bored into Harry's.
"Whatever happens in there," Draco said, voice low and quivering, "I love you. Remember that, OK?"
He barely gave Harry enough time to nod before he'd set off up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time.
The walkway was hardly wide enough for one person yet alone two. Harry followed Draco as the staircase spiralled around once, twice, each step threatening to crumble beneath Harry's feet. Then the low ceiling opened up, and the two men found themselves on a platform, caged in by metal bars and with a chair sitting lonesome in the middle. It appeared less like a witness stand and more like a cell. A candle quivered from the corner, and yet again Harry found Draco's pale hand clasped in his. Harry held on tightly in an attempt to still the crease in Draco's brow, but he doubted that the witness stand itself was what scared him; On the other side of the bars, a story or so below, spanned the courtroom, already full, and every single pair of eyes turned on Harry with lasers of hatred aimed straight at him.
The sea of Death Eaters sent a shot of hot panic down Harry's spine. Draco's hand let go of Harry's, and he gestured for Harry to sit down. Harry complied. All the while, the eyes continued to stare. Dozens of Death Eaters littered the stands below, each one swathed in black robes, and there was an eeriness about them that had Harry conflicted as to whether he ought to cower away or stare back at them. One prominent space was unfilled in the centre of the stands: the lectern where the Minister was meant to be seated. But there was no minister; the spot was left for Voldemort.
"He'll ask you some questions," Draco said, interrupting Harry's thoughts. He too was perturbed by the Death Eaters looming below. "Answer them as best as you can. Please don't resist it. You'll be given veritaserum, so whether you talk or not the truth will come out, and trying to lie will only hurt more. Please promise me you'll do as he says?"
"I'll try," Harry murmured back, and spied a few empty seats towards the edges of the room. "You're going out there with the rest of them?"
Draco nodded solemnly. Harry glanced back at the staircase. "You're going to lock the door? "
The blonde looked uneasy. "You know I have to," he murmured. "It'll be bolted, no wards. Although I guess without a wand that doesn't make much difference."
Harry's eyes met the floor of the cage, breaths muted by a strange kind of claustrophobia. The man he loved was about to lock him in a cage. Though he knew it wasn't by choice - Voldemort was the one conducting all of this, not Draco - his thoughts were tainted by the feeling of betrayal.
"Remember what I said," Draco reminded him, before returning down the stairs. Draco's heals clicked against the wooden steps, and then the clunk of the door shutting echoed through the air, its bolt set in place over the opening. Draco entered the courtroom, and his attention snapped up towards Harry, holding his gaze for a short moment. Then he looked away and headed for an empty seat at the edge of the stands.
A new figure quickly followed, hollow footsteps echoing against the tile floor. Harry's forehead began to ache, the kind of pain that invaded his thoughts like a parasite. He raised a hand to his scar, feeling it burn like a fire raging beneath his skin. His legs began to fidget, eager to get away, but trapped in this cage there was nowhere to run. Below, a final figure tipped his head up towards Harry.
Voldemort was as dark as ever, dressed as a shadow yet carrying himself like a king. He moved as a ghost would, gliding over the stands, and his skin was almost as pale as the white of his blood red eyes. Any remaining whispers died; even Harry's breathing seemed too loud for comfort, as though the tiny sound would lure the Dark Lord over like a shark. Seated, Voldemort's eyes flickered back up to Harry, and a menacing smile adorned his snake like features.
Harry refused to let him have the first word. "Tom," he greeted dully.
"Harry Potter." Voldemort chuckled, then addressed his followers. "We all know Potter, of course. Today, he will be a witness to the crimes of Hermione Granger."
His thin, skeletal fingers pointed to another cage to Harry's left, and the grinding of metal lifted a cage from the floor below. Metal bars rose from the floor, arranged in a tight circle that caged a young woman. Her head was tipped towards the ground, matted brown hair hanging in thick strands in front of her face. Her shoulders were hunched, clothed in rags. She looked up slowly, and her face was clouded in hatred.
Hermione's gaze danced over the audience of Death Eaters, and then landed on Harry. He gulped; her sinister gaze didn't falter for him.
"Harry?" she gasped, but the Dark Lord pressed on.
"Goyle - administer the serum."
A rough hand grabbed Harry by the back of the skull and forced his head back, pulling it by his unruly hair. Harry resisted, but the grip was too strong, and his skull quickly tipped back onto the belly of a man stood behind his chair. Harry hadn't even heard the Death Eater come in. One hand pressed his forehead back, while the other pried his mouth open and poured a thick, venomous liquid between his lips.
Harry gagged; the taste was vile, staining his mouth in bile and making him want to claw the liquid back out with his bare hands. Harry's fingers flew to his throat; it felt as though it was swelling up, his mouth turning dry and numb. His tongue had become a loyal puppet for the Dark Lord's plans. The rough hand threw his head forward again, and Harry bent forwards and retched, his eyes drilled to the floor. But nothing came. He sat back up, wiped the saliva from the edge of his mouth, and spotted the Dark Lord staring back at him with a devious look on his face. Across the room, Draco's face had turned stark white.
"Now then," Voldemort hissed through barred teeth. "We can begin. Mr. Potter, tell me: Do you consider Miss. Granger to be a criminal? An accomplice?"
"No," Harry replied. His mouth still tasted sickly, but he stared back at Voldemort through narrow eyes. Of course Hermione wasn't a criminal.
Voldemort didn't look particularly perturbed by Harry's response. "But she's your friend, isn't she? You have been close for years - more than just friends, perhaps?"
"No," Harry said. "We're friends. Nothing more."
"Ah, I see. And you both had another friend, didn't you? A red headed boy - was his name something like... Rupert? Robert?"
"Ron," Harry muttered through gritted teeth. Hermione gripped the bars of her cage and stared at Voldemort. If looks could kill, he'd be dead for real this time. "His name was Ron."
"I assume that Hermione was in relations with him, then. That you are not the father of the child she carries - he is."
Harry's eyes narrowed even further. "Yes," he said. Had Tom really assumed that? Had anyone thought that he was with Hermione rather than Ron? Had Draco imagined that, even for a second? Harry's gaze flickered up to the blonde, but found him watching the Dark Lord intently from behind.
"Well," Voldemort sighed. "It's a great shame that the baby may be leaving the world soon before she even reaches it."
Suddenly, the chains around Hermione's wrists clattered against the cell bars as she shook them relentlessly. "Don't you DARE touch my baby!" Her cries echoed through the room, but the Dark Lord was unfazed. Harry pinned on him a sinister glare; it had been too long now for him to be afraid of the same old man that had crumbled in front of him 22 years ago.
"Really? You're willing to murder her child?"
Voldemort looked almost shocked. His face fell. "And what else do you suppose I do, wait until the child is born before slaughtering her mother before her innocent eyes? An orphaned child is better to have never existed in the first place, Harry - you and I both know what torture I am saving her from."
Harry's breath turned to fire. From the corner of his vision he could see Hermione, on the verge of screaming in rage. "I disagree."
The Dark Lord merely stared back and grinned. "I don't care. Now, did Miss Granger aid you in your evasion of capture and thus disrupt the course of justice?"
"N-n-" Harry fought to say it but his breath became stilted in his throat - the words wouldn't come. A noose was tied around his tongue, yanking it back whenever he tried to utter something that wasn't strictly true. Yes, Hermione had helped him - but it was hardly a crime. He didn't want to say it - doing so, he may as well have tied the rope around her neck, but it was a battle enough just to force himself to say nothing.
"Y-yes," his lips uttered without his consent. One second's lapse in focus and it was there, hanging in the air before him, unitary from his control. He wanted to snatch the words back, take with them the look of shock pasted on Hermione's features and the smile that began to spread over Voldemort's mouth. Any explanation died on Harry's tongue, stolen by the veritaserum that laid at the pit of his stomach. Somehow Hermione hadn't hated him before, after everything he'd done, every mistake he'd made, but now her resentment was painted across her gaze like a scar, and so too was the Dark Lord's delight.
He went on: "Did she fight against the current establishment in the recent war?"
Harry was forced to reply. "Yes," he choked. "She fought." He hated every syllable that slid from his tongue.
"Was Miss. Granger smart at school, arrogant about her achievement and careless in her attempts at heroism?"
"Yes - no, NO!" Harry squeezed his eyes shut, clawing at his head. His throat burned, head pounding. He didn't know if what he was saying was the truth or an attempt at a lie any more, only that something other than his own free will controlled his tongue.
"Did she kill dozens of people during the war, aiding in the slaughter of over 200 people at the Battle of Hogwarts alone?"
"No! No, she didn't!" A relief ran through Harry, and the burning of his skull subsided for a moment. He felt as though he could breathe again after an eternity underwater, and his gaze shot up to meet Tom's. "She hasn't done anything wrong and you know it!"
Tom only chuckled. "Oh, really? Because from what I can tell she has broken about every law to do with treason that I can think of." He grinned up at Harry, rising to his feet. "And we're only just beginning, Mr. Potter."
-TRANSITION-
Draco wasn't sure he could watch this any longer. His hands tightened into fists at his sides, unmovable, as he watched Harry's eyes clench shut against the onslaught of questions fired his way. Draco ought to have stressed how agonising this procedure could be; he could see the tension in the dark haired man's shoulders, the grip of his hands on the arms of his wooden chair. His teeth bit around each word he uttered, lies were struck dead at the back of his throat, and his face was turning pale, drained of energy. The torture was getting to him, and soon his strength would waver and he would be forced to give in.
But his resilience made Draco more anxious than he could bare. People had died from this kind of torture before, the stress of the truth being squeezed from them causing their hearts to stop dead in their chests, ribs collapsing into their lungs as they gave up on more than just fighting the veritaserum. Draco's wand laid idle in his pocket, but whilst his fingers clawed at the side of his leg, desperate to reach for it, he refrained. Saving Harry meant death for both of them, and Harry had yet to be fatally harmed.
"How did Weasley die?" The Dark Lord wondered. "Explain it to me. Tell every detail." This wasn't even remotely relevant to the trial. The Dark Lord was playing now, having his own fun. He must have known that every answer clawed at Harry's insides and beat at his conscience; Draco could see it in his eyes even from across the room.
"I c-c-can't," Harry stuttered back, barely audible. His eyes darted over to Hermione in the adjacent cage, but his gaze crawled away again at the sight of her tears.
"Yes you can. Your tongue is fully functional, isn't it?" Voldemort countered. "Tell me how he dived in front of Miss Granger, how his chest was torn apart and he fell to the ground, eyes wide and lifeless. I'm sure you can come up with a better description - you were there after all. Entertain me, Harry, I want to know every detail of how your friend -"
"My lord. "
The words had left Draco's lips before he could stop them. Voldemort's head whipped around to face him. The Dark Lord's murderous gaze drilled holes into Draco's skull, but he didn't seem particularly surprised by the blonde's interjection.
"Draco," he mused. "Do you have something to add?"
The blonde's jaw stiffened, tongue turning to stone against the roof of his mouth. "Is this really necessary?" he said, voice hollow and quiet. The Dark Lord glared back at him, pupils dark and full.
"Are you questioning me?"
"No, of course not, my lord -"
"It seems strange that such a loyal follower would interrupt me as I questioned a witness. Do you doubt my methods?"
"N-no, my lord, I'm just worried. He looks as though he is in pain."
Voldemort glanced back at Harry and saw him buckled over in pain, holding his head as though it was pounding. Draco could barely look, as his heart became fraught with concern upon every slight glimmer of Harry's agony that came into view.
"It's strange," the Dark Lord murmured back. "Years ago you had no care for Harry, yet now you can't seem to stand the idea of him suffering even the slightest pain."
He smiled, grim and wide. It wasn't a look of disapproval, no. If anything the Dark Lord seemed pleased, the grin warping his stark, pale, serpentine features. Draco stared back, trying hard to hide his bafflement. What was he planning?
"Well, there's nothing to worry about," Voldemort dismissed. "After all, the pain is only self-inflicted. All Harry has to do is tell the truth..."
Draco frowned Harry's way, brow weighing low over his eyes. He wished it would obscure his vision, blind and deafen him from Harry's pain so that he could forget that the other man was being tortured, that there was nothing Draco could do. He looked away, fascinated by his hands folded in his lap as he often appeared to be during these kind of hearings. It was the only way of coping. The other Death Eaters judged him; he could feel their gazes drifting his way. They concealed their laughter, but their shoulders shook with the effort of keeping it down. They hated him already, and the idea that he actually cared for Harry seemed to them the perfect joke. The Dark Lord hadn't just provided a liable court for the public to discuss - he'd created a few haughty hours of entertainment for his followers. All but Draco, who slowly reduced into nothing but worry.
"Anyway," the Dark Lord said with a sigh. "We're done here. It seems abundantly clear that Miss Granger is guilty. All in favour of a hanging later this evening, raise your hands."
A low murmur circled the room, and following a shuffle of moving limbs, every Death Eater raised a hand in the air. So too did the Dark Lord, his gaze scanning the room. Draco, meanwhile, didn't move. Both arms remained rooted to his sides, and even when the Dark Lord looked his way, his fear paralysed him. Every pair of eyes turned his way and shot fire into his skin, and still he didn't move. None of them mattered, he kept telling himself. Harry mattered, and so too did Hermione if she mattered to him. But the deadly glare Voldemort sent his way wasn't just blood red and narrow, it was menacing. The old man's pupils seemed to be laced with fire, latching onto Draco's arm and raising his hand without his consent.
A sigh found his ears, scampering across the courtroom from the circular cage where Hermione stood. She shook her head and scowled his way, unsurprised by his response. Another, horrified gaze bored into his skull from the other direction. Reluctantly, Draco turned his head to find Harry staring straight at him, tears pricking at the edges of his eyes.
"If anyone here is in opposition to that judgement," Voldemort continued. His gaze had moved from Draco's, but still his words struck the blonde's skull like a hammer. "Speak now."
Draco remained silent. He couldn't utter a word; his mouth had run dry and the back of his throat contained the remnants of his last meal. He knew that another word against the Dark Lord would be bad news - he may as well have pointed a wand to his own throat and ended it now, for the Dark Lord would surely make his death slow and painful in comparison. The moment fleeted by, air restless with anxious silence. Draco wasn't quite sure what he was meant to do, but before he had a chance to respond accordingly to the red hot glare Harry sent him from across the room, the opportunity to redeem himself had flickered by.
"Well then, it is settled," The Dark Lord concluded. "Hermione Granger will be hanged later today. You are all dismissed."
In a wisp of thick black smoke which washed the air with darkness, Voldemort was gone, and his followers quickly dispersed. Draco remained silent, not wanting to move from his seat. But someone had to get Harry out of that cage, and he was about the only person who cared enough to do so.
Once released, Harry refused to say a word. He stumbled down the stairs after Draco, head hung, eyes fixed to the floor and arms hanging dead at his sides. Guilt festered in Draco's stomach, even though he knew that there was little to nothing he could have done - his words meant nothing but disapproval to the Dark Lord. It was a horrible feeling, to know that he'd let Harry down. He felt disgusted by himself - Merlin knew what Harry thought of him now.
They Apparated back to just outside the Manor gates, and an attendant guided them up the path and through the front doors. They stepped inside, but before Draco could grab his arm to stop him, Harry had already stalked off alone. Sighing, Draco dropped his hand and let him go.
-TRANSITION-
A blonde figure watched as Draco and Harry appeared in the foyer of the Manor, a breath held in her throat so as to not be seen or heard by either one of them. Harry darted away from Draco as soon as they stepped inside, and headed off down the left corridor. His expression had appeared clouded and teary as he passed, but the thin gap between door and frame, not to mention the temporary disillusionment charm, hindered and morphed her view.
Draco remained where he stood. A sigh ruptured through his chest, and his hands dropped to his sides in defeat. He closed his eyes, chin angled towards the high, concave ceiling as though he was praying. But Draco had never been one to rely on prayer. In a sudden, deft movement, he buried his hands in his hair and pulled at it in frustration, a few delicate strands plucked out in the process. His face folded in on itself, scrunching into a look of deep hatred. Then he sighed, drew his hands from his hair and smoothed it back down. He headed off towards his office to engorge himself in work and forget about his other troubles. Often, his mother wondered if he was really his father's son.
Alert for anyone that could be watching, Narcissa Malfoy crept out of the broom closet, easing the door shut behind her and brushing away the specks of dust that littered her dress. Her gaze flicked towards the left hallway, then up the stairs ahead. Whilst she longed to run after her son and comfort him, she was aware that her efforts never worked, and merely annoyed the boy even further. He was often left alone to stew in his own loathing. Instead, the blonde woman turned towards the hallway and headed off down the same path Harry had taken.
Narcissa followed the head of dark hair up ahead, staying a safe, unnoticeable distance behind. She let her disillusionment charm fade; it was her house after all, and whether she walked around or sat sewing peacefully in the lounge was neither here nor there, not particularly suspicious. Years ago, Narcissa had been somewhat ashamed of her innate ability to creep up on others. Her steps were naturally soundless, her frame small enough to go unnoticed and virtually fade into the background, and she'd been quiet and shy her whole life, overshadowed by her sister, Bellatrix's brash and slightly insane confidence. Now, it was the only skill she could rely on.
Harry's figure disappeared behind a door up ahead, and another man darted out of a door just ahead of Narcissa, almost walking right into her. She stopped to catch her breath in fright at the sudden movement, and a pair of hands gripped her shoulders to steady her.
"Mrs. Malfoy - I'm sorry, did I scare you?" It was Blaise, his brow scrunched up in concern. He'd always been a lovely boy, kind but perhaps a little too worrisome. When he smiled he was graced with angelic beauty, but too often his features were laced with scorn; he was constantly concerned for others. Sometimes it seemed a miracle that he and Draco got on.
"No, I'm quite alright, thank you," Narcissa said. Blaise let go of her and she brushed down her ruffled skirt. But Blaise's shoulders were still tense with concern as he frowned down the hallway. "Blaise, what's wrong?"
He looked back at her, still frowning. "Have you seen Draco or Harry? They ought to be back by now."
"No, I don't believe they are," Narcissa lied, with a tone that was sickly sweet. "I'm sure they'll be here soon. They'll probably arrive in the foyer."
Lies; they were another skill of hers. She seemed apt to conceal anything she wished from her enemies. It was how she'd survived all these years, so tightly linked to the Dark Lord but never quite loyal.
"Oh, thank you." Blaise's worry morphed into assurance. He went to head off but Narcissa stopped him.
"Blaise? Do you think you could have another quick glance at the wards? Redo them, perhaps? The air doesn't... Feel right."
Blaise smiled, only a little frustrated by her request. "Mrs. Malfoy, I checked them the other day. I can assure you they are fully functional."
"I know, but I'd like to be sure."
Blaise sighed, and smiled dully beneath the exhaustion that clouded his features. Narcissa felt a pang of guilt for using him, but it had to be done for the sake of her son's well-being. She knew Blaise would understand if he ever found out.
"OK then," he agreed. "I'll reset them, but I'm sure they're fine."
"Thank you," Narcissa said to him, and let her heels click against the marble floor as she headed down the hall, towards the door Harry Potter had disappeared behind.
The room at the end of the hall, likely unbeknown to Potter, had years ago been her husband's office, where the Dark Lord and his followers would sit and discuss their plans, the Dark Lord's snake glaring at each member as a silent threat for them to comply with his orders and bring back promising reports. When they'd first moved into the Manor it had been the family dining room, as it was closer to the kitchens. It was where Draco had sat in a wooden high chair as a child, and where he'd refused to take a bite of broccoli and sat with his arms folded in childish rage too many times. He'd always been a fussy eater. Narcissa remembered the memories fondly, so vivid in her mind that they almost stung.
But with the Dark Lord's return, his meetings had taken over the Manor, and with it his dark plots had stolen and warped the memories Narcissa held surrounding that room. Within a week of his return, Narcissa had insisted that the family eat elsewhere, refusing to share her meals with the lingering presence of the Dark Lord. That said, whenever Voldemort visited for dinner, they would return to this old dining room once more.
The space felt cold and empty now, not warm and filled with wisps of Draco's childhood as it had before. Narcissa eased the door open and reluctantly stepped inside, swallowing her repulsion as a pair of emerald green eyes met hers, packed with confusion.
"What are you doing here?" Harry said, frowning.
"Manners, Mr. Potter. I thought I'd taught them to you days ago." Harry didn't return her smile, and her efforts at light conversation clattered to the ground. "You seem upset with Draco. What is it?"
Harry merely scowled, and Narcissa was taken aback by the poison of his stare. It was hateful, almost deadly. "Nothing you would understand."
"You would be surprised what I could understand, Harry." His gaze left hers, and she stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind her. "I'm deeply sorry for the loss of your friend."
Harry, as if repelled by her, took a stride back, hands leaving the chair he'd been leaning forward against. "You don't mean that," he accused. "Don't waste your breath trying to convince me that you do. Why are you even here - don't you have to go and wipe your son's ass for him or something?"
Narcissa's lips parted around a gasp. "There is no need for insults, Mr. Potter," she said, trying to refrain from lashing out.
Harry's shoulders loosened, and he raked a hand through his hair, head hung. "I'm sorry," he uttered. "Draco's pissing me off."
Narcissa strode forwards. The gap between them was now just a few metres, a few mere steps from her hand touching his arm. "Really?" Her surprise was false; it didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened at the hearing. "I was under the impression that you were getting on a lot better recently, since you recovered."
"Yeah," Harry said. "I thought we were, but..." He sighed. "He voted for her to be punished - to be hanged. How could he do that if he really cared?"
"Because he had to," Narcissa replied quietly. She knew all too well the sacrifices that one needed to make, especially when their life was held in the steadfast grip of a dark wizard.
"What are you talking about?"
"You must understand that this world isn't like the one you grew up in," she explained. "There is no government. The Dark Lord decides everything: justice, law, the media. None of it is influenced by anything he doesn't approve of; the entire world is just a dome of puppets for him to control. Defiance leads to death - simple as that. I'm sorry about the unfortunate fate of your friend, but unless you want Draco to be executed along with her, you'll have to accept it."
Harry shook his head, a stern frown set on his features. "I can't. I'm sorry, I can't just accept the fact that my friend is about to die. I have to do something about it if nobody else will."
"Well..." Narcissa hummed. She moseyed forwards, cautiously stepping towards his stiff dark frame. "What if I could get you out of here?"
Potter frowned. He stared back at her, baffled, unaware that she was now in the prime position, within reaching distance of the boy. She could practically feel the tingling of the wards being drained from the walls of the Manor; Blaise was refitting the wards just as she'd asked, and with them the Apparation barrier was slowly weakening. There would be a few minutes lapse where it faltered, not long, but enough time to get two people out and just one back in again.
"Help me get out?" Harry said, but by the time the words had left his mouth the blonde witch had already grasped his arm in her sharp fingers and the world began to twist and turn around them both. The ghostly dining room warped around them into a more open space, green with grass and trees, brown with bark and mud on the ground. The small forest just outside the Manor's grounds, with a small concrete trail winding back down to the village in the valley below. A light breeze waved through Narcissa's hair and brushed over her skin. Freedom tingled at the ends of her fingers, but today it wasn't hers to take.
Harry staggered back, his eyes darting around him at the scenery, then he glared back at Narcissa - but he appeared more astounded than angry.
"Where am I?" he demanded. "Where have you taken me?"
"Far enough away that you won't be followed," Narcissa said. "The Manor is back behind us, and ahead is your freedom. You may either run off, and I will turn a blind eye to the direction you follow, or you may take my hand and return to the Manor with me, as though you'd never left. It is your choice, Harry, and I suggest you make it quickly."
Harry stuttered, wordless and bewildered. His words eventually tripped off the end of his tongue. "Why are you doing this?"
Narcissa tutted back. "No matter why, we don't have time for questions. Stay, or leave - decide now!"
After a moment of hesitation, Harry gulped, and turned decidedly away. He ran down the path away from the Manor, feet stumbling with nerves and hands quaking with adrenaline. Narcissa watched until his silhouette had faded into the trees, smiling; she was pleased. Finally it was done, after all that trouble trying to negotiate with wolves. Sometimes, she reminded herself, it was simply better to get something done yourself than rely on mutts looking for a hefty reward. With a last glance at the night sky, Narcissa Apparated back into the Manor, leaping back into her own invisible cage as Harry Potter escaped one of the many layers of his own.
-TRANSITION-
Harry flew down the path, feet battering against the muddy ground beneath them. Never before had it been so delicious to taste freedom on his fingertips. The cool night air stroked the back of his throat and reminded him of Hogwarts, of home. The Manor would never be home to him, even as long as the man he loved resided there. It was a prison, for both of them, and today it was his time to leave.
He was angry with Draco. His shoes battered against the ground as he ran, even as he slowed into a walk and bent to catch his breath. And all the while spurred on by the one image in his mind: one of Draco just sitting there, expressionless, standing idly by as Harry's best friend was casually sentenced to death. Whilst he knew that Draco feared the Dark Lord, it seemed too easy for him to defy, to refuse to turn up to the hearing, to testify evidence for her innocence. It seemed so simple to Harry, even though he understood that Draco's upbringing had been worlds apart from his. But Harry couldn't help his anger.
He hated leaving Draco like this, without even so much as a goodbye, but Narcissa had hardly seemed willing to extend her offer by a few hours so he could say farewell to Draco. It was leave now or leave never - clearly they just weren't meant to stay together.
Up ahead, at the bottom of the steep hill, the dull glow of distant lights played on Harry's vision. There was a village up ahead, hopefully a muggle town where he could call someone for help - if there was anyone left in this world he could trust. He headed for it, confident he was doing the right thing.
He idly reached to fiddle with the ring on his left hand, a habit he'd grown used to in the last few days. He realised now he ought to take it off. He was reluctant to abandon it, but he ought to at least move it to the other hand so that he could be detached from his so-called marriage to Draco Malfoy. He reached to grasp it.
But the metal slid from his grip, remaining firmly planted on his finger. He tried to pull it off again, harder, wondering if his finger had swollen since the wedding - he hadn't taken it off once, not even whilst he was ill. It had remained here, and now that he tried to yank it off, the ring showed more reluctance to let go of him than any inanimate object ought to have. It seemed sewn into his skin - the ring wouldn't come off.
Harry stared at it, and watched as the gem began to glow vivid blue.