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Chapter Two

"Here you can be anything.
I think that scares you.
I've been here before but only by myself.
What giving up gives you and where giving up takes you.
I've had and I've been.
Here in center frame, there's only air.
Just enough space to fit."

-Jimmy Eat World, Just Watch The Fireworks

It was everything you would have expected from a punk show. The arena was large; he supposed it was a testament to the newfound success of the band. He sort of missed the small, club-like arenas they used to have to play when they were here. He supposed that it was all progress -- it was all growth.

It was just a few more seconds before he would be at peace again. It was just a few seconds before he would take the only home he really knew anymore. His body was thrumming with excitement. He glanced in the mirror that hung in the restroom that was serving as their dressing room tonight. His hair was perfectly spiked, and he looked even paler than normal in his stage outfit, a black mechanic style shirt with a ferret embroidered on the pocket, and the black cloth pants to match it. His eyebrow piercing glittered in the light, and when he spoke, you could just make out his tongue piercing.

He looked totally punked out.

Just a few more seconds, and he would be home again.

In fact... it was time to go home. He slipped out of the 'dressing room', to the stage. He could hear the crowd milling about. He was only visible to about a third of them, but that was enough to get the entire crowd excited. He picked the first bass up off of the stand, checking the tuning before replacing it, and moving to talk to the rest of his band.

"You wankers just about done over here? I was told we had a show to perform in."

"Aw, man, Mike. It's so cute when he goes all British on us."

Draco smiled at Steven, the third member of their twisted little trio. Mike, who was the drummer, was the stereotypical drummer. Quiet, reflective – he never spoke unless it was to maintain group peace or integrity. That was good though, every band needed an anchor, and Mike was theirs. Draco could hear footsteps behind him; he turned around and noticed one of their roadies, giving him a smile in the low light.

" It's time. Have a good show, guys."

Draco hit the stage with the enthusiasm that had made him famous even in the small time. Their bass guitar man slipped a guitar around his shoulders, going behind to plug it into his amp. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see all the actions around him, people checking mics, people checking amps, people bringing water bottles out onto the stage… It did not matter much -- he was home.

It was time, then. The curtain dropped, and his eyes flew almost immediately to the back or the crowd, searching out a face and eyes that he never expected to be there, but somehow hope would be. The stage was lit in a light blue — easy on the eyes but hard to see through. He really didn't know why he was looking… the person he looked for never showed up.

Then, he saw it – disheveled black hair, glasses, and a scar that he could see even in dim light and far away. They met eyes and held, even as Draco hit the opening chord of one of their hit singles. Draco had come home.

_ _ _ _

Draco knew who the person outside the bus was as soon as he heard the tentative knock. Mike or Steve wouldn't have knocked. Anyone else would have knocked with more confidence. Harry… would be nervous.

"Come in, Harry."

He heard a slight laugh, and then saw Harry start to appear, walking up the stairs to the main quarters of the bus. Draco sat in the front area, at a small table where the band spent a good deal of time – eating, drinking, joking about all different aspects of their lives. Draco gestured to the bench opposite him, and Harry walked over and sat down.

It was an uneasy, awkward moment, and it made Draco itch, he felt like he was still covered in the grime and sweat from the stage, despite his recent shower. He took the silence as what it was, though, and used the slight respite to take in Harry's appearance. Harry was, as always, unflappable. He looked completely untouched by the pit, as only he could have been. Draco had never felt that pristine in his life.

"So what do I owe this honor to? The Boy who Lived finally deciding to grace the noble presence of The Screaming Ferrets?"

It had just a touch of sarcasm to it – Draco couldn't help it. He had tried and tried to get this man to appear at one of their shows, to no luck, and now suddenly here he was. There had to be an ulterior motive. Harry winced at his words, though, and Draco softened his approach.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"No." Harry's voice was slightly cold, and Draco got out of his seat despite his words, pulling a Smirnoff Ice from the fridge with a small smile at Harry's questioning look.

"I hate the taste of beer. It gets me made fun of a fuck of a lot, but I generally don't fucking care." Draco smirked, just a little now, pride appearing in his voice. "I hold my liquor better than the whole lot of them, anyway."

"I suppose it helps to have something to be proud of."

Harry probably hadn't meant to sound as utterly demeaning as he had, but Draco took it as such despite that. "We're rather fucking proud of the music, too. While I know you probably despise the idea that I haven't done a bloody fucking spell to alter the appeal of it and still I fucking succeed, I rather take pride in the fact that despite all that's been said and done at the end of the day I rake in more cash than the bloody Boy who Lived."

"By playing a song that's named for him."  Harry gave a small smirk himself, and stole Draco's Smirnoff to take a small swig. "And by dyeing your hair, which I might add is really a lovely shade of blue right now."

Draco couldn't help it – he smiled. "Thanks, Potter. I was going to stick with the whole so-blue-it's-black idea, but I decided that teal might be a lovely change of pace." Draco stole his 'malt flavored beverage' back, and took a sip before he spoke, more earnestly than before. "Seriously, Harry. What's going on?"

"Albus and Ron wrote me. It seems there's a bit of trouble starting up."

_ _ _ _

It was a place unlike any the young man had been before. The darkness, the cold seemed to cling to him like a second skin, as if the entire place had been enchanted to give an air of disapproval. Considering where he was, that was quite possibly the case. His footsteps did not ring in the halls, despite the grandiose scale of the hall he was walking in, despite the tall ceilings and lack of curtains or carpeting to dull the sound. His steps sounded dead, dull and muted.

He finally came to the large door at the end of the hall. It was made of ebony and some other dark wood that he couldn't identify. Still, he reached out a hand and started to knock, the door floated open before he could make contact.

"Come in, Gregory."

He stepped forward, entering the office with more fear and trepidation than he would dare admit to. He didn't have very far to go, just a step or so and he stood in front of the man who had spoken. The office, however, was its own variety of fear. It was always slightly muggy inside – a completely opposite of the cold that existed everywhere else in the old mansion. The office felt like a jungle – hot, sticky. It felt like the primordial bowels of the earth, born anew. He felt like an amphibian, the sticky filth clinging to him like he was covered in mucus. He wondered how the small man he was standing in front of could stand it, but he managed and thrived somehow.

"Did you do what I asked of you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, then. The plan is falling into place.

Gregory Goyle could do little more than shiver, despite the temperature of the room.

_ _ _ _

Draco hated driving. The road was long and tedious, and it was full of truly stupid muggles, all of whom seemed to have a death wish. Draco wished he could help some of them fulfill that.

The fact of it was, however – he had no choice. It was either drive himself to his house in the upper suburbs of Phoenix, or use some form of public transportation. He refused to ride in any bus without beds, and he had had a few too many poor experiences with cabs and limos to consider either of those a viable option.

So he drove, and he drove with style. His current car was a black jeep, fabric topped, which he had left off today. It was a nice day in Arizona – somewhat hot, but not enough that it was going to bother him too much.

He was only a couple blocks from his house.

He turned the corner, his eyes seeking his upper-middle class house with anticipation. He wanted to take a shower and climb into bed. Possibly for a good month or so. Touring wore him down, and his latest encounter with the Boy Who Kept On Living left something to be desired. He should have known Harry wouldn't have come by without a separate reason. All he wanted was to relax, and forget, not get himself dragged into another long, emotionally taxing war against all the dark and evil forces known to wizard kind.

When he caught sight of the house, somehow he knew he wouldn't have a choice in the matter.

"Oh, fuck."

Draco slammed his car into reverse, his hands shaking as he used one of his neighbors' driveways to turn the jeep around. Over his house, there hung a symbol in a grey cloud of dust. He knew without looking that there would be figures looming around the building. He knew without looking that the symbol in the air would match the one on the slip of paper Harry handed him.

Now if only he could figure out where to go from here.