Chapter Twenty-Five

Well, fuck.

Blaise. The Dragon Killer.

Draco paused for a moment, letting the information sink in, and honestly? It kind of made sense. He could definitely see Blaise as the Dragon Killer. He certainly had the intelligence and ability, along with the money and resources. The Death Eaters didn't stand a chance.

But at the same time… that meant that Blaise had been the one killing the Death Eaters that had wanted to kill Draco. Not just once or twice, but for years, which meant that Blaise had been protecting him for nearly a decade of his life. But at the same time, this also meant that Blaise had used his tattoo to brand his victims. And that he was also the one who placed the evidence in his apartment and framed him as the Killer…

"You're probably brimming with questions, aren't you?" Blaise asked, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"No shit," Draco retorted. He pressed his fingers to his temples, took a moment to briefly reorganize his thoughts, and went for it. "Alright. First one. So, you're the one that's been killing the Death Eaters."

"Yes."

"You're the one that shot Amycus Carrow in that alley."

"Yes."

"You killed Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Yes."

"And…" Draco hesitated. "As for Cedric Diggory..."

"Yes. I killed him as well." Blaise said simply. The languid demeanor he had earlier vanished and he leaned forward, serious. "When you were released from the court after the Fallout, you were protected, because nobody knew of your role in Voldemort's fall, and nobody knew that you walked free. But no matter how well-protected the secret is, nothing is secure forever. Word got out that you were the one to give Harry Potter that pistol, and Voldemort's followers were practically lining up for a piece of you."

"So, you killed them." Draco said.

"I did," Blaise agreed. "Quirrell was easy enough. Yaxley and Macnair put up a good fight. But nothing could compare to the one with Lestrange and Greyback. And as for your dear Cedric Diggory…"

"He saw too much, didn't he?" Draco said bitterly.

Blaise nodded. "I couldn't risk him letting anyone else know that I am the Dragon Killer."

Draco closed his eyes. He could still see the room where Cedric lay slumped on the floor, his throat slit and open eyes glazed with fear that death preserved. He could still smell the stench of the blood heavy on the carpet, mixed with the scorch of burnt flesh…

"The brand. How did you know about my tattoo? And why would you brand it on the Death Eaters?" Draco asked. He suddenly remembered the message scrawled on the walls as well in dripping black paint. "'Rage against the dying of the light.' How did you know about that as well?"

"With Death Eaters ready to shoot or poison you at any moment in time, I could hardly leave you alone, can't I?" Blaise retorted. "The rooftop of the apartment building opposite to yours is a good place for monitoring and making sure you're safe. And you say that phrase often enough that I'm surprised you didn't tattoo that on your arm instead of that dragon.

His eyes flickered to his watch briefly. "Branding the Death Eaters with your dragon was meant as a warning for the rest of them, to prove that you're more than capable to defend yourself and for them to stay away. Though, considering how they keep on coming after you, it hasn't been as effective as I'd hoped."

Draco felt as if his brain was melting into a mess of shock and grief and confusion, but yet…

"Why?" Draco whispered. "You've followed me – you've protected me - for eleven years. Why would you do that?"

He glanced up. Blaise had answered his inquiries effectively enough, but about this question… Draco blinked in surprise. Blaise had his face turned firmly to the side, refusing to meet his gaze. If the room was a little darker, it might not have been as obvious, but under the bright fluorescent lighting, the flush on his cheeks were undeniable.

"Blaise…?" Draco said. This was a really serious situation, but in that moment, he suddenly felt ridiculously awkward.

"Fuck." Blaise cleared his throat roughly. "Well, I care for you a lot, alright?"

Wait. Did Blaise – the high and mighty and cold and indifferent Blaise Zabini – just say that he cared about him?

Draco suddenly remembered fleeting little moments in Hogwarts. When he caught a blush on those normally colorless cheeks, when he saw glimmers of concern flit across his normally impassive expression, and how Blaise seemed to always linger around him despite his bored demeanor…

Did… Did Blaise like him?

No. Impossible. The conclusion was so wild and stupid and impossible Draco nearly shot it down the moment he arrived at it but…

"I'm fine with being in the distance. I don't care if you're with someone else," Blaise said gruffly, "But I just don't want you gone, because… I…"

Oh. Oh god. Blaise liked him. Blaise really liked him.

Despite himself, Draco felt his face warm. Well, at least now he knew the answer to his question! Blaise watched over him for all those years because he, apparently, saw him as more than a friend. And, honestly? Draco was flattered. He really was. It's really flattering to have someone watch over you for so long, protecting you from bloodthirsty mafia lords. Yet, at the same time…

"Why didn't you help me in New York?" Draco asked quietly, "I was alone. I needed a friend. If you really cared for me, why weren't you there?"

Blaise scowled. "Did you know how long it took for me to get a visa? I'm never wasting my time like that again. Not only that, I was far too busy taking care of the dozens of hitmen Death Eaters were sending after you to coddle you."

"But don't you have time for, oh, I don't know, lunch or a coffee break or something?" Draco demanded. Yes, Blaise did have a pretty solid explanation there, and yes, Draco knew that he was being rather petty, but he suddenly felt very selfish. "I would have been so stupidly happy if you called."

"Well, not everyone's as social as you are, alright?" Blaise snapped. "You know me. It's not in my nature to be outgoing. If you can't even expect me to start a conversation, can you expect me to start serenading you out your window or inviting you to a tea party?"

Oh. He had a point. Draco was once again reminded of their childhood in Hogwarts. His greatest insecurity was loneliness, so he surrounded himself with people all the time. Pansy's greatest insecurity was her physical appearance, and spent every moment criticizing others to make herself feel better. And Blaise… he had always been rather shy, and hid it behind a mask of distance and cold aloofness. Even as an adult, it seemed as if that aspect of him hadn't changed at all.

"Sorry," Draco said. Despite himself, he did feel just so slightly guilty about putting him on the spot like that.

"Yeah, no matter," Blaise said gruffly. He glanced at his watch again, a vein throbbing at his jaw. In that moment, Draco noticed that he was tapping his feet, ready to spring into action at any moment, and realized that he was slightly nervous. Blaise pulled a little vial of clear liquid and a dropper from his pocket, and ordered, "Give me your hands."

"What?"

Blaise pulled Draco's hands towards him, and dripped a few droplets onto the chain attached to the cuffs. Immediately, the scent of scorching metal filled the air as the chemicals dissolved the steel, and in moments, Draco was free.

"We need to go. I've wasted enough time answering your questions. The MI6 will be here in minutes, and we need to be gone before they arrive," Blaise said.

"No," Draco shook his head. "I can't trust you."

"Well, it's not as if you have a choice," Blaise retorted. "To them, you're the Dragon Killer, and there's no going back-"

"Only because you fucking framed me!" Draco yelled.

"Because I had to!" Blaise snarled. "Draco, I'm in awe of your stupidity. You did a good job hiding your tattoo, but they were going to see it eventually, and once they did, nothing in the world can stop them from turning on you."

"I could have explained!" Draco slammed his fist against the table. His knuckles screamed in pain, but he barely felt it. Not with the frustration raging through his body. "They would have listened-"

Draco stopped. He couldn't finish what he wanted to say.

"No, they wouldn't have." Blaise chuckled bitterly. "They never will. Now that they know for sure that you're the Dragon Killer, it'll be easy to fake your death so that they can close the case and leave you alone. By tomorrow, Draco Malfoy will be no more and you'll be on a plane to Manila starting a new life-"

"I'm not leaving." Draco shook his head.

"Well, you're not going to have much of a life in fucking Azkaban or in some unmarked grave," Blaise threw his hands up in frustration. "Come on, Draco! We don't have time! We need to go!"

Blaise grabbed his wrist, but Draco yanked his arm back. The chair behind him toppled with a crash as he scrambled to his feet. Blaise stood as well, looming over him, jaw clenched and eyes flashing dangerously. It was the most furious Draco had ever seen him and he'd be lying if he said that a part of him wasn't terrified, but at the same time… god, this was complicated. It would be easy to take Blaise's hand and get the fuck out of China, but this was his life. He had wrestled with his demons and overcome so much to get to where he was now, to find a city he could call his home, and… Draco hated himself for feeling this way, but he knew that if he left now, he would never see Harry again.

"I'm not leaving," Draco repeated firmly.

"Why? What could you possibly have here that-" Blaise paused. Then, he stared at Draco in disbelief. "It's because of Harry Potter, isn't it?"

Draco did not respond.

"Of course," Blaise let out a humorless laugh. "Harry fucking Potter. Wake up, Draco! He's already turned his back on you, and he'll do it again and again, and so will everyone else in the world. You know what? Fuck this shit."

Blaise pulled out a pistol and raised it into Draco's face, the safety snapping off. "We're leaving. Now."

"Whoa, wait, wait, wait." Draco backed up, holding his hands out. "Didn't you just say that you wanted me alive? Why the fuck are you pointing the gun at me?"

"You-" Blaise glared at Draco, looking absolutely livid. "You know, I'm wondering what I even saw in you to begin with."

"Clearly not my sense of humor in life-threatening situations," Draco said wryly.

There was a creak. Their eyes snapped to the door, which swung open to reveal Harry standing there, eyes wide with shock as he took in the situation. Draco didn't know why he was seeing him again after that rather brutal declaration that their encounter only moments ago was their last, but regardless, he wasn't complaining. Harry was an MI6 agent, trained to not dawdle, and reacted quickly, his hands already reaching for the gun at his belt, but Blaise was a professional assassin and impossibly fast. His pistol swung right over, ready to fire…

A gunshot cracked through the room, the bang deafening and sending his ears ringing, and Draco didn't think. He collided into Blaise, tackling him to the ground in a tangle of fists, the stench of gunpowder stinging his nose, and he was terrified, because god, he and Harry might no longer be lovers or even friends, but he did not want him to die. He braced himself, ready to hear the thud of a body hitting the ground or for the stink of blood to fill the air, but there was none. Blaise had missed. Harry was alive.

A shove to his chest brought him back into reality, and Draco realized that he was on top of Blaise, the two of them a grappling mess on ground. He reached for the gun in Blaise's hand, but Blaise, his face twisted with fury, was faster, and sent the weapon smashing mercilessly into his jaw – right where it was a swollen patchwork of bruises. Draco staggered back and rolled to the side, nearly blacking out from the blazing starburst of pain shooting through his head, but another gunshot cracked through the room, and this time…

Something wet and hot splattered onto his face. He tasted the coppery tang of blood on his tongue. There was a faint thump as a corpse slumped onto the cold tiled floor.

"Potter?" Draco croaked. He scrambled to his hands and knees. Black spots danced in his vision, and the nausea he was feeling was bad enough that he was two seconds away from vomiting his guts onto the floor, but he had to know. Harry had to be alive. He had to…

"Draco!"

He felt arms embrace him, crushing him tightly against a pounding heart, and Draco felt his chest unclench in relief. Harry was alive. They were safe. Everything was over.

"Blaise…?" Draco rasped.

"He's gone." Harry said. He choked; voice thick with emotion. "He's the Dragon Killer. God, Draco… I…"

Harry's embrace tightened to the point Draco could barely breathe. And more anything else in the world, Draco wanted to return it. He wanted to throw his arms around him and hold him close to his beating, broken heart. But try as he might… he couldn't. He wanted to fall into the warmth and safety of those arms that were holding him as if they'd never let him go ever again. But he couldn't.

More than anything else in the world, Draco wanted to trust again. But he couldn't.