Harry and Draco met the morning with a much more subdued attitude than they had possessed the previous night; all their attempts at lightening the mood lay behind them as they contemplated the enormity of the task before them. Harry thought it would be a miracle if they managed to get back to Privet Drive without encountering any Death Eaters. And what would they do if they were caught? Neither of them had a wand; their only slim protection lay in their broomsticks. Compared with the might of Voldemort's army of Death Eaters, it was laughable.
But Harry had thought these things before; he had faced Voldemort at eleven, at twelve, at fourteen, and fifteen, and come out on top each time. The only thing he had to rely on in all these situations had been his own determination and nerve, when it came down to it. Now, however, there was the unknown factor of Draco Malfoy. Would he be able to rely on Draco if things took a turn for the worse? No, said a small, vicious voice in the back of his mind. Draco's always hated you, he would turn you in in a second if it meant saving himself…he's a Slytherin, he'll only drag you down….
Harry firmly pushed these thoughts away. He didn't have the option of believing that small voice: it was either put some trust in Draco or nothing. He contemplated these things clinically, trying to detach himself from the feelings of fear and doubt he could not afford to indulge in.
"Ready?" Harry asked a few minutes later, after they had eaten some of the food from last night. He picked up his broom and slung it over his shoulder. Despite the obvious eyebrows their carrying brooms would raise, Draco and Harry had both agreed that they could not risk leaving them behind.
Draco nodded. They walked in silence for a few minutes before Draco spoke.
"Potter," he said, stopping. "I really think you should reconsider this."
"Reconsider what?" said Harry, unsure what Draco was talking about.
"Going to your relatives' house."
Harry stared at him for a few seconds. "No."
"Potter, you don't have to be so—"
"So what? If we go to the Weasleys', there's a risk of Death Eaters hurting them," snapped Harry.
"You're just—you don't have to act the hero all the time," Draco snapped back, his frustration peaking; why was Potter condemning them to more difficult a situation than was absolutely necessary?
He was completely unprepared for what happened next; Potter shoved him into a nearby tree, gripping his arms tightly. His broomstick dropped to the ground with a thud.
"What the hell was that for!" Draco shouted, struggling against Harry's grip; his eyes were locked with Draco's, sparking with rage.
"Shut up," Harry said quietly. "Just shut up."
Draco blinked; Potter's voice was rough, but quiet and shaky. What was going on?
"Fine. Forget I mentioned it," said Draco, eyes wide. Harry slowly released him, then started walking away.
Harry turned away quickly to hide his face. He felt ashamed for how he had just reacted, but when Malfoy had accused him of playing the hero, he had immediately thought of Hermione telling him exactly the same thing before he rushed off to the Ministry. Images of Sirius falling through the veil flashed across his mind. Stop, he thought. Just stop.
He didn't notice that Draco had joined his side again; he also didn't notice that he was watching him carefully, trying to analyze him. Draco had seen Harry behaving like this before, it was true, but it hadn't happened in a while; what had he done or said that could have provoked that type of reaction, when Harry had kept his temper mostly under control for the entirety of their highly stressful trip?
Draco didn't have much time to think about this, though. Soon they had exited the canopy of the trees; they started making their way toward the train station in tense silence, Harry resolutely not looking at Malfoy the entire way there.
Once they had reached the station, Harry cast a furtive glance around them, flattening his newly blonde fringe over the scar on his forehead. He then ducked into the doorway, Draco behind him.
"Give me the gold," Harry muttered, and Draco handed over some coins. Harry went to pay for their tickets, much more used to interacting with muggles than Draco was; Draco watched as he persuaded the man behind the ticket desk to take the unusual coins, assuring him that they were solid gold. He returned a few minutes later holding the tickets and shoved one into Malfoy's hand.
"C'mon," he muttered, glancing around them once again. Harry surprised Draco once again by grabbing his arm and pulling him down an empty corridor on their way to their platform. Draco eyed him warily.
"We need to talk," Harry said, eyes sweeping around them.
"I said to forget I mentioned it—" Draco began, but Harry cut him off.
"Not that. About our plan."
"Oh," said Draco. He glanced over his shoulder. "What part of it?"
"About what we're going to do once we get off the train." Harry's voice was so low that Draco had to lean closer to hear it.
"Right," said Draco. "We'll have to figure out a way to get to your aunt and uncle's from the station."
Harry nodded. "I think our best bet is going with muggle transportation as far as we can. Voldemort doesn't set much store by muggle methods, so it's less likely he'll be expecting that."
Draco nodded, once again impressed with Harry's planning skills; in light of the recent argument, he ignored his use of Voldemort's name.
"But," he continued, "there's a chance we might have to make a break for it and fly. So just keep your broom close."
"Right," Draco said. "Let's get going, shall we?"
000
If the past few days had been tense, they were nothing compared to the train ride. Harry and Draco sat in their compartment as still as statues, one of them getting up to glance up and down the hallway every few minutes. The day outside was gray and cloudy, and about an hour into their trip it started to rain, depriving them of the chance to look out the windows and scan the sky for approaching Death Eaters. They barely spoke, communicating in nods and grunts when necessary; when the time came to transfer trains, Harry's head swiveled around so often that Draco thought he was beginning to look like an owl. A few people threw odd glances at their broomsticks, but nobody commented; Harry had told him to tell anyone who asked that he was a janitor, but no one spoke to him about it.
The train they transferred to was smaller than the first. They slid into their sits quietly, glancing at the people around them, but nobody paid them much notice. The hour and a half ride passed almost as slowly as the two hour one before it had; here they could not stand up every few minutes to check around them without attracting unwanted attention, so they had to settle for stealing glances whenever they could. When the train finally shuddered to a halt, the boys looked at each other. Harry inclined his head and Draco nodded.
They exited the train into the small Surrey station, walking quickly until they came to a deserted spot. Both of them looked around, but they appeared to be alone. Harry let out a long breath.
"Okay," he muttered. "There's a bus we should be able to take from here. It'll get us near the house, but there's some walking we'll have to do."
Draco nodded, looking up and scanning the sky for any signs of broomsticks
000
After a miserable bus ride, Harry and Draco stood at the side of the road, momentarily sheltered beneath the bus stop station.
"You know where you're going?"
Harry nodded.
"Follow me."
It was still raining; within minutes they were soaked. Neither of them complained.
000
They had been walking for nearly an hour when it happened.
Draco looked up in one of his regular glances, scanning the gray sky above him. There—what had that been? He thought he'd seen a flash of something dark against the sky, but it had already disappeared. He shifted his broomstick between his shoulders uncomfortably. Perhaps it had been a drifting cloud.
"Are we close?" Draco asked, picking up his pace a bit and looking up again.
"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "Should only be a half hour now. Maybe twenty minutes."
Harry had just finished speaking when Draco shouted. Above them flew five Death Eaters, cloaked in black robes and pulling out their wands.
"GO!" Harry screamed, mounting his own broom and kicking off. Draco didn't need telling twice. He shot up into the air and flew next to Harry, dodging a red jet of light that had just shot out of one of the Death Eater's wands. They sped off, weaving back and forth to make themselves harder targets.
Panic seemed to have completely enveloped Draco. He was not a person anymore, just a numb bundle of nerves sitting on a broomstick. He followed Harry's lead, keeping his head low and squinting through the rain for some glimmer of Privet Drive. He wasn't sure how long he had been flying, with curses whizzing past his ears and over the top of his head every few seconds; it could have been minutes or hours. He had ceased all rational thought; it had been replaced with the blind, groping fear, and the repetition of the words keep flying, keep flying.
He swerved around a tree, one of its branches whipping the side of his face; he barely felt its sting. A curse smashed into the tree trunk, gouging out a chunk of wood. Keep flying.
"We're almost there!" Harry screamed to Draco. Draco pressed lower to his broom, unable to respond, the sound of the roaring wind and whipping rain a dull, static buzz to his shocked ears. Harry glanced over his shoulder and dove, and Draco followed him, swerving whenever Harry did. Keep flying.
Suddenly, a Death Eater appeared beside Harry and Draco, and several things happened at once.
The deathly gleam of the Death Eater's mask swam before Draco's eyes. The Death Eater was right next to him, he was raising his wand—
"Keep flying!" Harry shouted, suddenly swerving in front of Draco. He knocked into the Death Eater, who slipped off his broom, but too late; the curse had shot out of his wand, and it hit Harry squarely in the chest. Draco saw Harry slump against his broomstick, and it was a few seconds before he remembered to grab him and stop him from falling. Clumsily, he hoisted him onto his own broom, the panic that had momentarily been shocked out of him now swelling once again. That Death Eater would come back, and when he did, they were done for. They were going to die.
The thought seemed to jolt some of his panic out of him; he tightened his grip on Harry and kept flying; the Death Eater was nowhere in sight, and the others were behind them. Keep flying, Draco thought, and as he was repeating this mantra, he felt something shift in the air around him; in the wet and cold, he felt a sensation similar to walking through a ghost at Hogwarts.
Looking down, he realized that they had reached Harry's neighborhood. They were safe. Glancing backwards, he saw that it was true; the Death Eaters were nowhere to be seen.
000
Draco wasn't sure how he managed to land. He had flown for another five minutes before he spotted Number Four. When he landed, he slung one of Harry's limp arms around his shoulder and looked at the boy for the first time. He'll be fine, he thought desperately. Harry's face was pale and cut, but he was breathing. Draco had no idea what curse the Death Eater had hit him with.
Slipping and sliding across the grass, Draco dragged Harry toward the Dursleys' door. He rang the doorbell, shivering. When he got no response, he impatiently pressed it again.
A few cold minutes later, Dudley opened the door. He stared at the pair of them with wide, blue eyes.
"Are you going to let us in or not?"