Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Just the plot bunny.

Intro: Six months post-war, Malfoy is in serious trouble. He's on the run from the Ministry, Death Eaters, and a deadly curse which is eating him alive. When he hits rock bottom, a change in fortune lands him in 12 Grimmauld Place under the Ministry's custody - and forces Hermione to remember the secrets they've both kept for years. Dramione, Sick!Draco, flashbacks to Hogwarts

Chapter Twenty Three

They had cast Obliscero as soon as they had taken him from Grimmauld Place, and then Apparated several times. Presumably to confuse any Aurors attempting to track them down. And so Draco sat in the chair he had been bound to, wandless, blind and feeling more than a little desolate. His poor effort to escape had, of course, failed, mainly due to the fact that they had wands and he did not. Sitting on the beach outside Shell Cottage, clutching his father's watermarked suicide note, felt like years ago. And yet in his mind's eye he could see the grey waves heaving and crashing in tumultuous blasts on the pebbled shore and feel the hard lump in his throat.

So then – we both had secrets.

The words felt inanely petty now. Particularly as the longer he sat there in the chair in utter darkness, the longer they had to get to her. If they had infiltrated Grimmauld Place, there was nothing to stop them from getting further.

For all he knew, she was dead already.

His fathers face had been a recurrent sight in the back of his head that day, and now it resurfaced once again. Suicide seemed so unlike Lucius Malfoy. When sitting on the beach, he had been struck by the cold truth that he now had no family left at all. There would never be a chance at reconciliation with his father, nor a laying to rest of the blame they tossed back and forth for his mother's death. The knowledge had left him feeling much like the last stage of a Russian doll that had abruptly been separated from its larger, encompassing counterparts. And yet, now, he could be joining them both sooner than expected. He didn't bother attempting to guess the details of the Death Eaters' plan. He was certain that, whatever it was, it would involve a swift and violent punishment for his treachery.

He pulled half-heartedly at the ropes that were pinning his arms to the chair. He had been attempting to use non-verbal magic, but so far it had yielded no results. The scuffle outside Grimmauld Place earlier had taken too much energy out of him. He resorted to moving his wrists methodically back and forth, the ropes burning his skin, the chair creaking softly now and then. He wasn't stupid enough to believe it would lead to an escape, but simply sitting in silence patiently waiting for his executioner was not a particularly alternative.

A sudden gasp followed by a yelp from somewhere very nearby made him freeze instinctively, his blood buzzing with adrenaline. The silence had been absolute – he'd had no idea that he might have company in whatever prison he was being kept in. He listened, attempting to decipher if the voice was friend or foe, and then with a sinking realisation recognized the muttered curses coming from his right. He wet his lips.

"Weasel?"

The other person made a strange noise that suggested they had also not realised that they had company. After a beat, the voice spoke up.

"Malfoy?"

Draco found it in himself to be grateful for the blindness, which presumably meant that the other boy could not see the look of exasperation that was currently etched into his face. Of course he couldn't have been abducted with Hermione, or George, or even Potter. It had to be Weasel. He forced himself to answer.

"Yeah."

"Where are you? I can't fucking see…"

"Obviously they didn't want us to know where we are," Draco muttered. "Great bodyguarding, by the way."

Weasley made a small noise of irritation, accompanied by a series of high-pitched creaks that suggested he was also tied to a chair.

"I wasn't expecting them to–"

"As if you're supposed to expect Death Eaters to show up at the front door!"

His only answer was an exasperated groan. Draco closed his eyes – which felt silly considering the circumstances, but did help him concentrate – and tried to focus on drawing out any non-verbal magic he could find. Despite the sour company, he couldn't deny that having someone else in the room made it harder for him to simply give up. But before he could even begin, Weasel's voice broke the tense silence.

"What happened to the Auror?"

Draco resisted the urge to snap at him. "It wasn't an Auror. Polyjuice."

"But how could that–"

"I don't know Weasel, just shut up and let me think."

He had been thinking for however long they had been there with no luck. Without magic, he was very unlikely to get free of the ropes. He felt like they might have shifted a couple of times due to his near-constant pulling, but it was nowhere near enough for him to pull free. And even if he did, he was still blind, and unable to break the charm. Weasel spoke up again, his voice a little quieter this time.

"Where are we?"

"No idea," he ground out. "Stop panicking."

"I'm not."

Draco began trying to focus again, but the sound of Weasley struggling and grunting somewhere to his right was suitably distracting that his efforts were fruitless. He sighed and tried to make himself run through their situation again, tried to formulate some kind of escape. At least he now had an accomplice, even if it wasn't his first choice of companion.

"What happened at the house?" he said. "Did they hurt you?"

"Just caught me off guard," Weasel muttered. "Must've stupefied me or something."

"So you're fine? You could cast spells if you had a wand?"

"Sure." His voice sounded almost hopeful. "You have one?"

"Of course not." Draco wet his lips. "Listen, Weasel – my guess is that they're going to keep you alive as some kind of bargaining chip. So just don't aggravate them, and you'll be fine."

"Yeah, sounds great." Weasel's shaking voice couldn't quite pull off the sarcasm he was going for. "What about you?"

Draco could feel his palms sweating. He gripped the arms of his chair and tried to come up with something to say that did not sound as bleak as he felt. He was rescued from doing so by the sound of a door opening and a loud voice piercing the silence, neither of which made him feel much better about the situation. A charm was mumbled and Draco's sight returned abruptly, making him squint against the light he had grown unaccustomed to. He immediately saw Travers and felt his stomach jerk. He turned his attention elsewhere, focusing instead on the room they were in. It looked disturbingly like the back room of a butcher's shop – a large, iron door, no windows, dirty tiled walls and floor. As expected, he discovered Weasley tied to a chair to his right. He was blinking hard, a little ruffled but relatively unhurt, excluding a darkening bruise on his forehead.

"Evening," Travers said with a crooked smile. "Welcome back."

Draco said nothing, choosing instead to fix his gaze on the floor.

"What? Not happy to see me?"

"What do you want? The Ministry's looking for you, you know."

Draco resisted the urge to tell Weasel, once again, to shut up. Travers, however, only glanced over at him indifferently.

"The Ministry? How terrifying."

Footsteps in the corridor. Travers was not, it seemed, visiting them alone. The footfalls echoed against the tiled walls, paused just outside the door, and then a square, pale face came into sight. Rounded shoulders. Slightly shaggy, dark hair, longer now than Draco remembered. He could do nothing but stare, completely and utterly shocked, as the other boy stepped into the room, cloak arranged carefully around him like a nesting vulture.

"Travers, wait outside?"

Travers grinned widely, making sure to catch Draco's gaze before departing. Draco knew the drill – he would wait just outside the doorway, ears pricked for movement or disturbances. Draco had filled such a role countless times himself. But this time, he was the one in the interrogation chair. And the question master…

"Malfoy," Theodore Nott said, his head jerking slightly. "Been a while."

Draco's eyes were glued to the other boy's face. He was instantly familiar, and yet looked completely different to the boy he had known during the war. His skin was greyer, his eyes twin pebbles in his skull, his mouth firmly downturned. He looked years and years older. It took Draco a while to realise that Nott was waiting for him to speak, and he had to clear his throat slightly before venturing to.

"Of all people I could have guessed being wrapped up in this," he said, speaking quietly in the vain attempt of keeping Travers from hearing, "You were the last person I would've pegged."

"I could say the same thing to you," Nott replied coldly. "Were you always working for them?"

Draco let a beat pass, trying to phrase his words carefully. He could detect an undertone to Nott's voice – almost as if he was affronted, wounded. It seemed that their conversation might not follow the usual blueprint for a Death Eater interrogation. He tried to relax his grip on the chair. Without Travers in the room, he risked shooting another sidelong glance at the Weasel. He could try changing his approach – he reached for his non-verbal magic, aiming for the ropes on the other chair instead of his own in the hope that the new target might be more successful than the first.

"I wasn't," he said, returning his gaze to Nott and keeping his voice level. "It wasn't that clear cut."

"Because of the Mudblood?"

Fuck. He would have been foolish to let himself believe that they still didn't know, but Nott's words still sent a thrill of panic through him. Her face seared in his brain. For all he knew, they could be about to bring her through the door. His eyes even flicked to it nervously, but the doorway remained vacant. He tried to keep his attention on the ropes.

"Were you helping them throughout the war?" Nott pressed. "Feeding them information?"

"No."

"Did you help them escape when they were imprisoned at the Manor?"

Draco opened his mouth, and then shut it again. He didn't need to answer or try to lie – he could see the vicious understanding in Nott's face. They probably already knew everything. If they had infiltrated the Ministry, they would have been able to access all of Hestia's notes. His secrets were well and truly out.

"So, you could say that your actions directly led to our loss at the Battle of Hogwarts."

Draco grimaced. "Doesn't really matter how you say it. I'm guessing there's only one end to this conversation."

Nott's face creased, and Draco could see him fighting words back from his tongue. He wasn't going to win – Nott was famous for handling situations poorly. He'd always had little control over his actions and words. Draco had a sudden vision of him running full pelt after the Auror in the forest, a flash of green light, and felt as if his heart had been squeezed into a fist. He had killed Ursula Tavistock to save the life of the man who now had him tied to a chair. The hideous reality of it was too much to face – he drove the images out of his mind.

"I don't understand," Nott said, and his voice finally sounded familiar, more like that uncertain boy who had hovered close to Draco's side on a broomstick above Privet Drive, the boy who he had shared a bottle of firewhiskey with at the Quidditch World Cup. "How did this even happen? You lived for the cause, we all did –"

"Cause, what cause?" Draco hissed. "To live in constant fear in my own house? To sleep just upstairs from a snake that nearly tore my throat out?"

"You never believed in it?"

Nott's voice was very low. He was watching Draco with wide, incredulous eyes and his mouth was quirking violently. Draco could only stare back at him, unable to comprehend that he had got it so wrong, that he could have misunderstood so much. He tried to find a way to explain in terms that Nott would understand.

"We didn't know what we were buying into," he said at last. "We were just kids – we didn't understand until it was too late. But you know what you're buying into now, Nott. The cause is dead."

"So you were weak," Nott replied. "You took the Dark Lord's trust and you wasted it. You and your cowardly father."

Something clicked in the back of Draco's mind, and he found himself hesitating, staring at Nott. Nott seemed to notice and a humourless smirk chased across his face.

"Oh, I wish it had been us that killed him. We were close to tracking him down, but the coward threw himself in the river before we could have our vengeance."

"What vengeance?" Draco muttered. "What does any of it matter now?"

"Matter?" Nott's face twisted, his eyes shining with an almost hysterical fire. "It's never mattered more. This is when the Dark Lord needs us the most. When he returns, he will reward those who remembered their oaths and punished his enemies."

"Do you hear yourself?" Draco wanted nothing more than to shake the other boy, to scream into his face. "Nott, the Dark Lord is dead. There is no 'reward,' there never will be. It's over. All you can do now is make the best of the aftermath."

Nott watched him for a moment. His tongue skated briefly across his bottom lip.

"That's what you never understood, then," he said eventually. "Being a Death Eater is something you pledge your life to. It's what I pledged my life to. There's no aftermath. But you're right about one thing – It's over for you."

He stepped aside. Travers appeared in the doorway, as if sensing that the conversation had come to an end. Draco felt a thrill of real panic and leaned forward as much as he could, straining against the ropes. He had no idea if Weasley's had loosened at all – the other boy had remained silent. Which left them very few options. His voice was more hoarse and tight than he would have liked.

"Nott – Nott – you don't have it in you to do this."

"Normally, we would bring Nagini in when dealing with traitors," Nott said, deaf to his pleas. "We had to get a little creative in this situation."

Draco swallowed hard. He kept his gaze on Nott, trying to fight the rising tide of desperation. Travers was making his way leisurely across the room, pulling his wand out, looking horrifically gleeful. Draco tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, but it shuddered in his lungs. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Weasel shaking his head wordlessly, eyes wide with panic. The other boy was moving his hands jerkily – did that mean his ropes were looser than before? Travers' hands were suddenly on his arm, pushing his sleeve back to reveal his Dark Mark, and any thought of Weasley promptly vanished from Draco's mind. He found himself straining back against the chair, his body cringing away from the man leering into his face.

"You defied the Dark Lord," Nott was saying. "You aided and conspired with His enemies. You are unfit to speak His name."

"I saved your fucking life, Nott!" Draco hissed, hating how terrified his own voice sounded, hating that it was true. "Think about what you're doing – you were never like them."

"That's the thing," Nott replied softly. "I'm rising through the ranks. And if you want to do that, you have to be like Him."

"Don't worry, Malfoy," Travers murmured, placing the tip of his wand against the skin of Draco's inner elbow. "This is just the start. We're going to make this slow."

And then he was saying something, and Draco didn't have time to figure out what spell he was using before the pain hit. A strangled moan escaped him before he clamped his teeth shut, furious, intent on not letting them hear him scream. The burning agony was so intense that he became lightheaded almost at once, could barely recognise the warm flow of blood against his skin. It was as if Travers had inserted a large, flaming knife into his arm and was dragging it down to his wrist, moving tortuously slowly. He could feel cold sweat on his face, his back – he forced himself to breathe, screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to block it out. Dimly, as if from far away, he could hear Nott speaking.

"You know as well as we do that these Marks are forever – there's no getting rid of them. If we could tear it off you we would. Still, we felt we could start with a symbolic gesture."

He realised he had started swearing out loud and shuddered in a deep gasp of air, fought to bring himself under control. In a desperate bid to distract himself, he fixed his mind on the ropes on the other chair, the ropes he could no longer see. It was the only thing he had left to think about other than the pain, and he latched onto the task like a lifeboat. And then, suddenly, the heat and intensity vanished, replaced with a steady, fast, pulsing sting. He was left sucking in gulps of oxygen, sweat prickling on his skin, his whole body trembling. He cracked his eyes open enough to catch a glimpse of his arm – which, mercifully, was still attached. He thought they must have been hacking it off, but no – it was there, only now a deep, vertical, smouldering cut ran from his elbow to his wrist, almost invisible beneath a deep well of blood. His arm was still twitching violently, as if unconsciously trying to get free, and he quickly averted his gaze as his stomach lurched. Nott was still there, watching him with a horrible dead-eyed stare. Unconcerned. Unaffected. Draco closed his eyes.

"You can dwell on that," Nott's voice said. "We'll be back later."

Draco squinted up, still panting raggedly, in time to see the other boy vanish into the corridor. Almost immediately, Travers had leaned back into his line of vision. His face was split in a crooked grin. The exhilaration of closing in on his prey lit up in every pore of his skin as he wiped blood from the tip of his wand.

"Always used to think you were better than me, didn't you Malfoy?" he sneered. "Still think so?"

He moved closer. The threat brought Draco rudely back to their current situation, dulling the pain in his arm, and he focused on Weasley's ropes with renewed vigour. He could almost see time running out in front of him.

"You know what the first thing I'm gonna do when I'm finished with you is?" Travers leaned forwards, placing his hands on the arms of Draco's chair. His face hovered inches from Draco's. "I'm gonna go kill that Mudblood girlfriend of yours. Maybe after I stick it to her. Or before. I'll see how I feel."

Rage boiled up in Draco's chest like a flood. He was gripping the arms of the chair so hard his fingernails hurt. He wasn't sure if he was still trying to pull magic out of his guts or not. He stared back into Travers' gleeful little eyes, watched the other man's lips twist into a grin. He'd seen that look a thousand times before, usually directed at a Muggle or a Half-Blood. Only now, it was focussed unwaveringly on himself. He knew what happened to people who were on the end of that look.

So Draco smiled. Then he jerked forwards and rammed his forehead into Travers' face as hard as he could.

It hurt, but the savage rush of satisfaction he got from watching Travers tumble backwards, clutching his head, was worth it. When he straightened up, his nose was gushing blood. His anger still fizzing like a live wire, Draco let his smile grow wider. Travers wiped at the blood running down his chin, his lips trembling furiously. He strode forwards to stand over his prisoner once more, drawing his wand. Draco braced himself for a curse, watching the tip of the wand warily. Travers held it in front of his face, his lips quirking dangerously.

"Travers?"

Selwyn had appeared in the doorway of the room, his arms folded, his thin face drawn. Draco didn't dare take his eyes off Travers to look. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Selwyn's head tilt to one side.

"Travers, we're calling a meeting."

"Don't worry," Travers said, his voice perilously calm. "I won't be long."

Selwyn disappeared into the corridor. Across the room, Weasel made a cautious noise in the back of his throat, as if about to speak, but said nothing. Travers put his wand back into his pocket. He flexed his hand, rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. Draco watched in silence. He made a conscious effort to keep the smile on his face.

"Hey – you're just gonna stand there?" Weasel spoke up suddenly. His voice was wavering – he sounded scared. Not a good look. "Didn't you hear your secretary?"

Travers made a small movement with his head.

Draco had just enough time to steel himself before Travers' fist connected with his jaw. Blows came once, twice, three times – and then he lost count. He was vaguely aware of Weasel shouting something, as if from the end of a long tunnel. For a moment, he was convinced that he could feel slippery marble floor against his skin and see scales shifting in the darkness, but he caught himself before terror could overwhelm him. It couldn't be real – he didn't have hallucinations now, and the snake was dead. The darkness, at least, was real.

~O~

"If I were you, I would put that wand down. Immediately."

Hermione held tight to her wand, her hand shaking violently. She could feel the tension in Harry, who was still standing at her side, could feel the electricity crackling in the air. Her blood roared in her ears. She could feel the net closing in around her. Too much of the situation had been planned – they had been toyed with from the very moment they had returned to Grimmauld Place, and she was finished with complying. The voice spoke again, less aggressive, less forceful.

"Hermione."

She sucked in a deep breath and risked looking over her shoulder, trying to concentrate despite her pounding heart. With a thrill of panic she recognised Hestia, and then two other Aurors behind her. The Aurors were staring past her at the Death Eater who wore Draco's face, but Hestia's eyes were locked on hers. The rain streamed down her pale skin, making her look gaunt and dangerous in the dim light. She held Hermione's gaze for a moment longer before continuing.

"I would advise against casting an Unforgiveable Curse in the presence of three Aurors."

"Aurors?" Hermione turned a little more, still keeping her wand trained on her prisoner. "Don't lie to me – we know you're working with the Death Eaters."

"Because he told you so?"

She faltered. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry look at her quickly – he was just as uncertain as she was. It was true that the Draco who had led them out here with proclamations of Hestia's double agency was not the real Draco, and yet there were still things that did not add up. She let herself look at Harry briefly, tying to silently formulate a plan. His wide-eyed gaze returned her own, and he offered her a minuscule nod. He spoke up, his voice only slightly tentative.

"But if you're not a Death Eater… I mean, where was the security at Grimmauld Place? How could Ron and Malfoy be taken without any alarm being raised?"

"I'll be happy to explain everything," Hestia said in a calm and firm voice. "But first, I'll need you to hand your Death Eater over to my colleagues. This situation is a little too fragile to continue as it currently stands."

Harry glanced at Hermione. She could tell that he wanted to give in, but was waiting for her cue. Loyal to a fault. Her hand clamped tighter around her wand. She felt like a cornered dog, waiting to be hit. She wasn't prepared to trust Hestia without answers, but her gut told her that they didn't have a choice. After all, the three Aurors could have overpowered she and Harry by now if they wanted to. Hestia's eyes narrowed.

"Hermione, I understand what you're feeling, but I need you to put your wand down." She shifted slightly, drawing their attention to the fact that her own wand was drawn, although not raised. "We can either do this the easy way, or the hard way."

It was true – they were far outnumbered. Hestia's question was more of a polite push towards amenability rather than a plea. Slowly, reluctantly, Hermione lowered her wand and stood aside. Instantly the two Aurors moved in on the Death Eater, wands drawn. Harry stepped over to stand beside her and together they watched as the Aurors pulled their prisoner down from the alleyway wall and immobilized him, crowding around his grim-faced form. Hestia came closer, stowing her wand away in her robes. She spoke to them but kept her eyes on the prisoner.

"I'm sure you two have some questions."

"You're working with them," Hermione repeated, her voice wobbling fiercely. "You gave them Ron and Draco."

"I'm not, Hermione," Hestia said. "A Death Eater used Polyjuice potion to impersonate the Auror who was left behind to guard Grimmauld Place. He and an accomplice abducted your friends."

"How do you know that?"

Hestia's dark eyes glinted in the dim light. "I knew that my colleague had been replaced by an undercover Death Eater when we left the house."

Her words sank into Hermione's mind like stones into mud. She was barely aware of Harry stammering beside her, his eyes wide as saucers.

"But… but why would…"

"I guessed at their plan, but couldn't be sure we could capture all of them without letting them carry it out at least partially. As I expected, they contacted you and lured you out. We were able to track you two and now, thanks to you, we have captured a Death Eater."

"You put Ron and Draco in danger on a hunch?" Herimone's lungs felt tight. She could only stare at Hestia in horror, her heart pounding in her chest. "How could you? They could be dead–"

"The Death Eaters won't kill them, they're too valuable. And if we act fast, we should be able to have them back within the hour." Hestia glanced at her briefly, and something seemed to soften in her gaze. Her voice lowered slightly. "It was a gamble. A regrettable one."

"How are we supposed to find them?" Harry pressed. "We don't know how long they've been gone, they could be anywhere…"

"We came prepared," Hestia replied.

She reached into her robes and brought out a small, familiar blue bottle. Veritaserum. Hermione felt her heart lurch, caught sight of hope once more. Hestia strode away from them towards the Death Eater and the other two Aurors, her back straight, the blue bottle held in one hand. Hermione felt Harry's fingers brush her arm, flinched slightly at the unexpected contact.

"You okay?"

She shook her head. "Am I okay? Hestia used Draco and Ron as bait."

"But she'll find out where they're being kept. We can get to them."

Hermione swallowed hard. "And what if it's too late?"

~O~

"Malfoy. Malfoy."

Someone was shaking him roughly, sending jolts of fierce pain through his head. He winced, lifted a hand to grasp the sleeve of the offending arm. Everything was distant, as if someone had wrapped him tightly in cotton wool, or was holding him under a layer of quicksand. He dragged his leaden eyelids open, felt one snap shut again in pain. Through the blurry haze of colours and shapes, he could just about make out ginger hair.

"Malfoy!"

"Fu'k off," he managed to say. "Ow…"

The hand stopped shaking him, and then abruptly let go and slapped him across the face. He recoiled, blinking hard, his vision sharpening rapidly.

"Fuck – gerroff!"

He shoved hard at the person, and only then realised that his arms were free. One was distinctly heavier than the other. Which prompted him to remember where he was. He forced his bad eye open further, and finally his vision cleared enough for him to recognise the tiled walls of their prison. Weasley was in front of him, closer than he would normally like, his face tight with panic. The bruise on his forehead had turned more purple now, which made for a slightly ridiculous contrast with his bright red hair. He stood over Draco, his earnest gaze only slightly disrupted with a scowl, his forehead prickling with a few beads of sweat. Draco stared back in confusion, trying to piece together what had happened. Weasely shook him again, earning another irritated groan.

"Are you awake?" the other boy demanded. "Because we need to get out of here, and I'm not carrying you."

"How'd you…"

Draco looked around the room for the second chair Weasely had once been tied to, and saw the ropes lying abandoned on the floor. The door to their prison was shut; Travers was nowhere to be seen. It was if he had lurched forward in time. Weasely seized the front of his jacket and pulled him roughly upright – the world titled violently before he caught his footing, ashamed to find himself clutching at the other boy's shoulders for balance.

"You were using non-verbal magic, right?" Weasley said, speaking very slowly and clearly, as if attempting to communicate with a child. "You made them loose enough – I managed to get my hands free."

Draco's brain was slow to process this information. He couldn't quite believe that his wandless magic had been strong enough to be effective. But there was no other explanation – somehow, it had worked. And yet, they still had to find a way out of the building without wands, and past a pack of vengeful Death Eaters. His arm seared as he let go of Weasley and he gasped, glancing down gingerly at it. Strips of flannel material had been wrapped tightly around his forearm and tied off, which seemed to account for the throbbing pain. He stared in confusion at the makeshift bandage, and then looked up to take in Weasley, who was no longer wearing his overshirt, but rather only a rather wrinkled Chudley Canons t-shirt.

"Why… what're you…." He squinted at Weasely, finally letting go. He swayed a little, but managed to hold his ground. "Why not just leave me?"

Weasley glared at him. "I thought about it, believe me."

He turned and made his way to the door, laid a hand flat against it.

"I can't get the door open. Can you open it?"

Draco let out a weak laugh. "Fuck no."

"What, you're not even going to try?"

He rolled his eyes, but focused on the door as best he could. His head was already spinning, and as soon as he tried to tap into any magical energy the vertigo increased tenfold. He pressed harder, and then sank back down into the chair with a groan as his head surged with pain. He blinked away the dark spots swarming across his eyes, breathless, his hands shaking. For a moment he wondered how bad his condition must be. Then he quickly put the thought out of his head.

"No," he repeated. "No fucking way that's happening."

"Alright," Weasley said grimly. "Plan B. Next time someone comes in, we ambush them and take their wand."

"Recognize that plan," Draco smirked, squinting up at him. "It wouldn't have worked then, and it won't work now."

"You got a better idea?"

He didn't. He felt cautiously at his face, and discovered dried and wet blood mingling on his skin. He winced as his fingers probed bruised, tender flesh. He didn't want to know what he currently looked like. His brain felt like slush. He did his best to pull himself together, to force his brain into action. Weasley was examining the door, as if expecting to discover a secret button. Draco sat forward on his chair. His hand came away from his face bloody.

"When did they last come in?"

"What?"

Weasley swivelled around to frown at him. Draco tried to shake off the automatic tide of anger and respond in a level voice.

"They come in once every hour to keep people on edge. Was the last time they were here when I was awake?"

Weasley frowned. "No-one's been in since the first time."

"How long ago was that? How long was I out?"

"I don't know. A while?"

Draco began to scowl and then quickly stopped. Expressions hurt. He levered himself out of the chair. Standing did not feel good. He made his way over to the other side of the door and leaned back against the wall. He could feel blood pulsing in his head, in his arm. He felt sick. But Weasel was looking at him with a very strange expression – a mixture of familiar loathing and something else that Draco could not quite decipher. He sighed.

"Ok… Ok, we have to figure out how many of them there are."

"I counted three."

"Hestia gave me a list of Death Eaters that were still alive," Draco muttered. "Some weren't imprisoned."

"Alright, who?"

Draco leaned his pounding head back against the wall, screwing his eyes shut. The names stumbled through his head like droplets of water chasing down a window.

"Ah… Rookwood… Lestrange…"

"Imprisoned."

"Yeah, I know," he snarled. "Travers, Selwyn and Nott… and Jugson..."

"That's it?"

"That's what Hestia thought," Draco muttered. "And we better hope she's right, because we can't even fight that many."

"They could have recruited more."

Draco let out a groan. He felt the wrappings on his arm and noted that patches had soaked through with blood. He found himself wondering if Travers had hit an artery, and if perhaps that's why he was being so slow to panic. He wanted nothing more than to sit down on the floor, right there by the door. He compromised and settled on doubling over, his injured arm hugged to his chest, the other braced against his leg. There was a very real possibility that he would be sick if the spinning in his head kept up, and he really didn't want that to happen. He dragged a hand across his face, sweat and blood mingling on his fingers, and glanced up to find Weasley's eyes still riveted on him.

"Fuck, what, Weasel?"

Weasley grimaced. "You okay?"

Draco spat out a hoarse laugh. "Obviously not, you fucking idiot. How're you doing?"

"They cut your Mark," the other boy pressed. "They… You're not working with them."

Draco had to go over the words again in his head to ensure he had heard correctly. He squinted across the doorway in disbelief.

"Are you fucking serious? No, Weasel, I – am – not a Death Eater. How many times do I have to say it?"

"But why have you been trying to get close to Hermione if…"

Weasley stopped. Draco couldn't even come up with words that could explain how ridiculous his half-formed question was before a wave of nausea had caught him up and he had to focus on breathing instead of talking. He was sure that the blood soaking through the material around his arm was warm, which meant that the injury was still draining. He fumbled with it, trying to pull it tighter. When he looked up again, Weasley's face was a pale beneath his fiery hair. Anger, slowly turning to unhappy resignation, was etched into his skin. His shoulders lifted in a deep breath.

"Right. So it's real."

Draco squinted at him in disbelief. He didn't know what Weasley was expecting him to say, or what an appropriate response to the statement would consist of. Was he supposed to believe that Weasel had been in denial the entire time? As he drew breath to broach the silence, the lock on the door clicked and the two prisoners locked eyes, adrenaline suddenly trembling in the air. Draco balled his good hand into a fist and flattened himself against the wall, the air freezing in his lungs. The door creaked and swung open and he recognised Selwyn's face as the man stepped forward. In such situations, a split second was all that could be spared – Draco threw himself forward and shoved the Death Eater into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Selwyn stumbled and span around, wand lifting, but Draco drove into him with all his weight and carried them both to the floor.

The motion had made him dizzy and he was already debilitated – all it took was a firm kick from Selwyn to throw him off. He landed hard on his wounded arm and let out a strangled cry, tried to clamber upright, but Weasley had already taken his place. He caught at Selwyn's wrist and forced it upwards as the Death Eater tried to aim at Draco, pinning it to the floor; his other hand delivered a swift, strong blow to his jaw. Apparently when Weasley had time to prepare for an oncoming attack, he could be of some use – by the time Draco had climbed unsteadily to his feet, Selwyn was unconscious and Weasley was picking up his wand, panting. He glanced up, offering Draco a brief nod.

"See? It's a good plan."

"We were lucky it wasn't Travers," Draco replied weakly. "Or Jugson."

Blood was trickling into his eye – he wiped at it with the back of his hand. He was immensely relived that they had managed to subdue Selwyn without much of a struggle. His arm was next to useless and his head was a rattling shell. He was sure that, had Selwyn put up a better fight, he would have been completely hopeless in any attempts to escape. The state of his arm was particularly disconcerting – his fingers felt slightly numb and the sight of it sliced cleanly open flickered in his mind's eye.

Across the room, Weasley was turning the newly acquired wand over in his hand.

"Hang on, I'll heal you," he said, giving it a preliminary shake.

Draco's eyebrows leapt upwards. He didn't know if he was more alarmed at the offer, or concerned at letting Weasley rearrange his face. The other boy was pointing his wand at Selwyn first, his face screwing up in concentration. Although he said the spell rather calmly, the ropes that jumped from the wand darted across the room and dissolved on his first two tries before finally wrapping around their prisoner. Draco's eyebrows arched as Weasley turned to face him once more, lifting the wand again.

"Ok, hurry up…"

"No way."

"What?"

"You think I'm letting you anywhere near my face with that, you've got another thing coming," Draco snarled.

Weasley scowled. "I can do it, just stay still."

"I'm good, I'll wait."

He moved towards the door. Weasel huffed angrily but followed. He held out the wand as Draco paused by the door, but he just smirked.

"Are you fucking kidding? I can't even hold that right now."

"So what's the plan then?"

Draco was busy looking up and down the corridor. He didn't recognise anything about the building – it must be a new hideout since the war. Which meant he didn't know an escape route. They would just have to play it by ear. He glanced back at Weasley, who was waiting.

"No plan. Just try and be ready with the wand. And don't hit me."

"For fuck's…"

Weasley broke off, rolling his eyes. Draco motioned for him to shut the door as they inched out into the corridor, his ears pricked for any sound of movement ahead. He could feel a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, could feel his heart beginning to beat faster in his chest. He didn't like this situation at all – wandering the unknown depths of the Death Eater's headquarters was a sure-fire way to get themselves killed. But they had few other choices.

Draco's mind wandered again to Hermione. She couldn't have been captured too. If she had, Travers would have surely brought her in earlier to dangle her in front of them. Although he couldn't be sure that she was safe, he could at least know that she wasn't trapped here.

"Don't forget – you said you weren't going anywhere. So you better not."

He could taste guilt as her words rang in his head. He had promised her that nothing bad would happen, that he would contact her every two hours. Who knew how much time had passed now, how long she had been waiting for him? How many more times would he get her back, only to lose sight of her once again? Surely he had been given too many lucky chances in the last few months for this one to work out.

"Which way?"

Weasley was looking from left to right uncertainly, the stolen wand held up warily. Draco frowned at the corridor. He felt that one end seemed lighter than the other – a possible indication that it led to an exit rather than a broom cupboard. He made his way towards it, keeping close to the wall, and Weasley fell in behind him. The corner led to another short corridor, and then a flight of concrete stairs leading upwards. Draco hesitated at the bottom of them and took advantage of the opportunity to lean against the wall, holding his wounded arm against his chest. Weasley stood beside him, frowning uncertainly.

"You think they're up there?"

Draco grimaced. "Almost definitely."

"What happens when we get there?"

"Well, I suggest you set the closest thing in sight on fire and try to disarm whoever you can whilst making a run for the exit."

Weasley scoffed. "I doubt you can run right now."

Draco tried to ignore the flare of pride that ignited at Weasel's tone and shook his head. "I didn't say to wait for me, did I?"

There was a brief pause, in which Weasley gave him a long look. Draco could almost see his thoughts wrestling in his hazel eyes. Then his ginger head jerked in a fierce shake. "No good. I can't come out of here without you, Malfoy."

The statement caught Draco off guard. Of all of Weasley's strange behaviour so far, this had to be the oddest. He shot the other boy a quizzical frown.

"Why the hell not? Hasn't stopped you in the past."

"If you're really not a Death Eater, that means I only have your personality to hate. I really, really wanted you to be a Death Eater," Weasley said, in a voice that was very low and tight. His eyes glinted in the dim light as he fixed Draco with a burning stare. "You'll never deserve her as far as I'm concerned. You'll always be what you always were…"

He stopped, as if reminding himself to get back on track. He swallowed hard before beginning, tearing his eyes away.

"But if she's chosen you, then… then I have to accept it. For her, not for you. You hear me?"

Draco blinked at him in confusion. He managed a halting laugh, trying to diffuse the uncomfortable, serious turn their conversation had taken.

"Jesus, did you hit your head back in the scuffle at Grimmauld Place?"

Weasley scowled. "Don't push it, Malfoy. You're still scum." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So. We leave here together."

Draco entertained the possibility that Travers' punches had altered his grip on reality. Because the words Weasel had just uttered suggested that they might be about to enter the next room as newfound allies – Weasley might have just agreed to risk life and limb to get him back to Hermione. It was all too strange. Stranger even than watching movies and drinking tea with Potter. But he could hardly say that, so instead he scrubbed a hand over his face and shrugged wearily.

"Alright." He squinted up the stairs. "In that case, you go first. I'll try to help and stay with you. Create a diversion and make for the exit."

Weasley offered a short nod. "Just make sure you don't fall behind."

"I thought you weren't going anywhere without me, Weasel?"

Weasley scowled at him and moved on up the stairs, careful not to make a sound as he went. Draco followed, allowing himself a smirk. As long as he could still have fun, it shouldn't matter whether they were friends or enemies. Perhaps this wouldn't change things quite so much. Weasley suddenly stopped, and Draco peered around him to see that they had reached a door at the top of the steps. Weasley looked back at him, his voice low.

"I can hear someone."

Draco climbed the stairs to stand beside him and pressed his ear against the door. Weasley was right – he could just about hear the dull rumble of voices. He couldn't gauge how many. He swore under his breath and looked up to find Weasley watching him.

"Element of surprise?" the other boy muttered.

Draco would have laughed if the situation weren't so dire. He nodded and reached for the door handle. He tried it, careful to use only the most miniscule motion, and the lock clicked softly – it was open. He glanced up at Weasley, who had lifted the wand ready.

"On three?"

Weasley nodded.

"One… tw–"

The wand went off and the door exploded open. Draco barely had time to register what had happened before he found his gaze landing on Travers, who was standing directly in his line of sight in the room beyond, and whose expression of utter surprise was almost comical. The room seemed to be a planning space of sorts – there was a table with several papers spread out on it, cupboards lining one wall, some chairs strewn around. And another door on the other side. Draco didn't have time to think about what he was seeing before a jinx was sent in his direction and he ducked. Weasley had suddenly leapt in front of him and, with some effort, sent a couple of curses into the room. Through the smoke and flashing lights Draco could make out another figure – Nott, it had to be. Which left Jugson unaccounted for.

Draco realised that Weasley had seized his wrist and was attempting to drag him into the room, and forced his legs to work. They made it a couple of steps before the table that had been standing a few feet away flew at them out of the smoke and slammed straight into Weasley, sending him flying across the room. Travers emerged instantly like a shark out of dark water. Weasley was scrambling in the dust and smoke, feeling around – with a thrill of panic, Draco realised that he was no longer holding the wand. He lifted his hand, trying to gather some kind of energy together, but he was pulling on nothing. Even as he did so, a chair came careering at him and he dropped to his knees to avoid it, his wounded arm searing. He lifted his head in time to see Travers standing over Weasley, his wand lifted. Weasley had found the wand and was sending curses back at him, but his control of the wand was wobbly at best – the next moment it had flown into Travers' hand.

Before he could cry out, the second figure emerged from the chaos.

"No, don't kill him!" Nott roared. "We need him!"

"I wasn't going to," Travers muttered.

Ropes span from his wand and twisted around Weasley's hands and legs. He struggled, wriggling backwards on the ground away from Travers' advancing boots. His frantic eyes darted to Draco, who could do nothing but stare back. He reached for his magic once more, and once more was rewarded with nothing. His energy was spent. He managed to force himself to his feet, breathing heavily, his head spinning. Travers and Nott exchanged places, Nott's wand trained on the immobilised Weasley, Travers smirking as he closed in on Draco. Draco lifted his hands slowly, meeting Weasley's panicked stare for a second. He felt as if he could see everything very clearly, could see exactly what was going to happen. For a moment, he felt like asking Weasley to tell Hermione… tell her what? Any words of consolation were ash on his tongue. He stepped backwards as Travers drew closer.

"This one, though," Travers said. "We can kill this one."

Draco stopped, his heel hitting the wall behind him. His eyes remained trained on Travers' face, on the lips pulling back over the crooked, slightly dirty teeth, on the intense little eyes that looked him up and down in the way that a fox looks at a rabbit. His whirling mind told him to make peace with everything, because it was the last thing he could do. He breathed in.

And as he exhaled, several things happened at once.

Travers fired. The door across the room burst open in a scream of crunching metal. Nott dropped bonelessly to the floor as wild jets of light span through the air. Draco had ducked on instinct, his hands lifting to cover his head, and heard the curse impact the wall beside his head, heard the tiles shatter and sizzle as they melted from the heat. He lifted his head just in time to see Travers turn and be hit with a blast of white light. The Death Eater lifted off the ground and flew across the room, dropped like a stone somewhere nearby in the rubble. Through the smokescreen from the hail of curses stepped a familiar figure. Draco felt his legs trembling violently in disbelief, found himself gaping wordlessly at the stern thin eyebrows, the sleek ponytail, the serious brown eyes that darted around the room before coming to rest on him.

"Eyes on Malfoy," Hestia Jones said. "Sound out. Everyone ok?"

A series of shouts went up behind her. Someone darted across the room in the direction of where Weasley had been.

"Eyes on Weasley," they called out. "We've got them."

And as the group began to spread out across the room, a bushy-haired shape emerged from behind Hestia, and Draco felt his stomach drop away. He pushed himself weakly off the wall, but before he could make his way towards her across the rubble she was running, and the next thing he knew her arms were around him and her hair was flooding over him. Her voice rushed into his ringing ears, shuddering like a plea.

"Draco."

He felt all the air evaporate out of his lungs in a whimper of relief, clutched at her, felt her rapidly beating heart pressing hard against his. They staggered back against the wall and a combination of shock and exhaustion had him sliding down it to the floor. She came with him, still entwined, pulling away briefly to kiss him hard. He tasted blood alongside her tongue. Her forehead pressed against his when she stopped to breathe, her hands still running over him as if to reassure herself that he was real.

"Good timing, nerd," he breathed into her hair.

"Are you alright?" she whispered, breaking away long enough to speak. "Oh my god, your arm…"

He blinked up at her dazedly, watched her anxious brown eyes checking him over, let her run her hands over the blood and bruises mingling on his skin. She touched the makeshift bandages carefully, trembling as she did so.

"It's ok, I'll call Hestia over… Are you okay? Draco?"

He knew there was a stupid, faded smile on his face. He couldn't stop looking at her. She had to ask again before he could nod.

"I'm spectacular," he said softly. "Promise."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say – her shoulders heaved in another violent sob and she pressed herself against him, her hot tears almost tangible on his cheeks. He could feel his own throat growing tight and swallowed hard, summoned the strength to put his arms around her waist. He didn't want Hestia to be called over, didn't want anyone to interrupt them. He drew in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, drank in the feeling of her in his arms. Inexplicably, he hadn't died. He had been given her back. He rested his head against hers and closed his eyes, unable to do anything but hold on tight to her.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome.

SUPRNTRAL LVR.