Harry and Ron had been walking for years. At least, that's how it felt to the two fatigued boys. When they had packed up their camp and made ready to set off again, barely three hours after lying down to rest, Harry had shaken his head when Ron had mounted his broomstick.
"Can't fly," he said, his voice terse. When Ron looked questioning he shook his head tightly, then winced. "Scar hurts too much," he ground out; "don't trust myself on a broom. We can walk now anyway- it's not far. " Ron had suppressed the wave of anxiety he felt for his friend- he knew if he said anything to express his concern Harry would most likely, in his current state of mind, think he was being patronizing and resent him for it. All he said was "lead the way."
So they had struck off on foot with their broomsticks over their shoulders, each one immersed in his own dark thoughts.
The night had been pitch black when they began walking. Now the first faint traces of the coming dawn could be seen on the rim of the horizon; the palest silvery grey. In the dim and hazy light of predawn, Harry looked grimly at the sky and fingered his wand with one hand and a small jeweled dagger, an intricately wrought miniature of Gryffindor's sword that was a recent gift from Sirius, with the other. This is the last dawn, he thought, that will see a world with both Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort in it. I'm coming for you, you raping, murdering bastard, and only one of us will survive this day.
It was because he was already looking at the sky that he was able to make out clearly the shape that went hurtling low overhead at that moment, whereas all Ron saw, jerking his head up at Harry's startled cry, was a dark blur against the slightly less dark sky.
Ron looked from the speeding object, which, traveling in the same direction as they were walking, had already vanished over the crest of a nearby hill, to Harry, who stood stock still, staring after it; pale, open mouthed, and aghast. "Harry," he began, "what in the-"
But Harry was already running. Had he remembered the broomstick slung over his shoulder he would doubtless have mounted it and kicked off in pursuit, regardless of the pain in his scar or any attendant risk to himself, but caught in the grip of complete blind panic, he dropped it, dropped everything save the dagger and his wand which were thrust securely into the belt of his flying leathers, and ran as he had never run before. A moment later he heard Ron's feet pounding behind him, heard Ron gasp out "Harry- what-"
"Malfoy!" he cried, not slowing. "That was Malfoy- on a broomstick- with Hermione! Ron- he's taking her to HIM!"
An inarticulate cry of horror was wrenched from Ron, and both boys found another burst of panic-induced speed. As they crested the hill the broomstick had disappeared over, they saw their destination at last.
In the shadow of the hill crouched the ruin of a great manor house. Its stone façade was blackened as if from fire and its roof was open to the sky. There were no other buildings in sight, and the ruin looked long abandoned as though it had stood thus for decades, perhaps hundreds of years. A sinister aura seemed to radiate out from it; a cold, sick feeling that assailed Harry and Ron as they tore down the hillside, never slowing despite the chill that crept into their very bones.
Wards, Harry thought distractedly, no doubt intended to keep muggles at bay- maybe wizards too- but damned if they're going to work on me! Not when Hermione's life hangs in the balance- again!
There was no sign of the broomstick or its occupants anywhere.
This is the second time we've run to save her, thought Harry despairingly, please, please, God- let us not be too late this time too!
They approached the house from behind and raced around it, seeking an entrance as the windows they encountered were too high to reach from the ground. On the far side of it they finally approached a door with wide stone steps leading up to it. The door was easily the most solid looking aspect of the entire building; heavy oak banded with iron.
With a quick, sideways glance at one another as they took the steps two at a time, they leveled their wands in unison at the door. "ALOHOMORA!" they shouted in one voice, with such force that the door blasted backward off its hinges and shattered, taking a large chunk of wall with it.
Leaping over the debris scattered about, Harry and Ron skidded to a halt in the entrance hall, glancing about frantically for a sign of where to go next. It was at this point that Ron, catching a trace of movement out of the corner of his eye, whirled about to see that Wormtail had just entered the hall from a door on the right. His eyes were wide with shock at the sudden arrival of the two boys, but as Ron watched he raised his hand and it was steady, pointing a wand at Harry, who still had not seen him.
Ron did not miss a beat. "Avada Kedavra!" he cried, leveling his wand at Wormtail. A jet of green light shot from the end of it, hitting Wormtail squarely in the chest and hurling him back against the wall, where he slumped to the floor, dead.
Ron bent over, hands braced on his knees, panting, as the full realization of what he had just done hit him. He felt as though he might retch. His eyes were fixed on Wormtail's small, plump body; he was unable to tear them away until he felt Harry's hand gripping his arm and pulling him upright again.
"Holy shit, Harry," he gasped, eyes flying to his friend's face. "What have I-"
But Harry cut him off. "No time," he panted, "Hermione-!"
At that moment, both of their heads turned toward the door from which Wormtail had come as they heard a burst of high, cold laughter issue from it followed by a shout that they both recognized as Malfoy. Then a low, hissing voice spoke. Harry and Ron couldn't make out the words, but they recognized that voice; oh yes. The tone too was familiar; amused and taunting, just as it had been moments after its owner had left a ravaged Hermione for dead on the floor of a Hogwarts corridor.
Voldemort.
They were both running again without even being aware of doing so- through the door Wormtail had used, down a short corridor that terminated in another door which Harry, slightly ahead of Ron, kicked open. They found themselves in a huge, open room- close to the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts- that was currently occupied by three people besides themselves. Stopping just inside the door, they surveyed the scene unfolding before them with horror.
On the far side of the room stood Voldemort, looking relaxed and amused in his voluminous black robes. His wand was in his right hand, but it dangled at his side. His left hand, however, was extended forward, fist clenched. His eyes flickered to Harry and Ron as they entered, and an expression of surprise crossed his face; but not of concern. Far from looking angry or fearful about the arrival of his nemesis, in fact, a twisted smile crossed his face at the sight of the Gryffindor boys. Then his eyes returned to the two figures in the center of the room; the two figures who held Harry and Ron's attention as well.
Draco stood there facing Voldemort, his back to the door, and to Harry and Ron. He had Hermione with him; her feet were on the floor, but her body was limp. Draco had caught her once again as she fell, so that from where Harry and Ron were standing it appeared, absurdly, as though they had been dancing- as though he had frozen in the act of dipping her.
He was murmuring to her, his voice low and intent, but she did not respond. Her eyes, Harry saw, seemed to be open and gazing upward, but they were vacant, expressionless. He could not understand Malfoy's words, nor did he feel that he needed to; his eyes told him everything he needed to know. Malfoy had brought Hermione here by broomstick, probably aware that he and Ron were on their way, hurtling past them in his haste to deliver Hermione to the enemy first. And there he stood, holding her limp form out, it looked to Harry, like an offering to the Dark Lord.
And then, as Harry watched, dismay turning to blind, all-encompassing rage, Malfoy hauled off and slapped Hermione hard across the face. Harry felt, quite distinctly, something snap inside of him. Plunging forward into the red mist that suddenly obscured his vision, he tore toward Malfoy, his heart pounding in his ears. He didn't see Hermione suddenly jerk back to awareness, reaching up and clutching Draco to steady herself. He didn't see Draco set her gently back on her feet, pausing to steady her before he turned to face Voldemort, hand reaching for his wand and death in his eyes. Harry took none of this in; the red mist was before him, all around him; even the pain in his scar now seemed distant and unimportant… reaching Malfoy was all that mattered, reaching Malfoy and making him pay.
And Draco, his attention focused completely first on Hermione and then on Voldemort, never realized that Harry was there.
Harry drew level with him, and, as he skidded to a stop beside him, reached out and grabbed Draco's shoulder with his left hand, spinning him roughly around to face him as his right hand went to his belt. Not a word was spoken by either of them as wide, startled pale blue eyes stared into narrowed, furious green ones for an instant that felt like a lifetime.
Then, as Hermione, who had been just as much caught off guard as Draco was, realized what was happening and screamed "NOOOOOO!", as Voldemort's face suddenly lit with understanding and split into a malicious grin, and as Ron raced toward him shouting, Harry plunged his dagger hilt-deep into Draco's chest.