Draco Malfoy and His Happily Ever After:
Author's Notes: Wah. So lately I've had writer's block. I'm sorry it took me so long to update. However, maybe the fact this chapter is a bit longer than the usual chapters helps a little. There's a dramatic action scene in here and I hope it isn't too sudden, but that's the way the story line seemed to have decided to go. Like DM&UF, I'm writing this in four parts (one for each season) and since summer is ending the plot gets a little intense. I hope it wasn't too abrupt - tell me what you think! Also, Draco uses the spell "Recutio" in this chapter. It means 'to strike back, to rebound'. I'm almost positive it's conjugated correctly, but if it isn't and you know the correct form I'd appreciate it if you sent me an e-mail. As it is, my Latin is non-existent so I'll be using it until otherwise notified.
Warnings for this chapter: Language. Extreme violence. Some angst, I guess. And a cliffhanger at the end, for those of you who detest them.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm merely borrowing them for the time being. This is slash. Don't like it? Don't read it. Otherwise, enjoy.
"Hey, Draco!" A cheerful voice piped up, disturbing the Slytherin from his brooding. He was perched on a bench out in the garden, glaring at a gnome that was staring at him from between the foliage of one particularly large bush. It's beard twitched and it's beady little eyes gleamed in the shadows.
Draco bit back a sigh. "Ginny." Draco had finally succumbed to calling the various Weasleys by their first names. Otherwise it was simply too confusing and since he'd promised Harry to behave himself that left him unable to use the usual insults he employed when it came to differentiating between one redhead and the next.
"So er. What are you doing out here?"
"Enjoying the fresh air." He drawled, lying through his pearly white teeth. While the fact he would prefer to be in another country ravishing Harry was true, it wasn't actually considered an appropriate response.
The girl shuffled her feet awkwardly, blushing a little and Draco felt a pang of sympathy for her against his will. She seemed to be doomed to have awkward crushes on uninterested boys. The silence was thick with tension, though most of it was Ginny's.
Harry suddenly rounded the corner, grinning and obviously in a good mood. He had his Firebolt in one hand and Draco's Quicksilver in the other. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you, Draco. You-" Harry stopped in mid-sentence, pulling up short. His brows furrowed together in a frown. "What's wrong with your throat?" Draco lifted a hand, covering the bruised skin. It was warm, an unhealthy heat radiating from his skin that had nothing to do with his temperature and everything to do with damaged skin.
"Nothing."
"What do you mean nothing. It's all purple and blue!" Draco's skin was pale and delicate. Weasley's grasp hadn't been gentle either so it was no surprise he'd come away from the confrontation with visible marks. He had always bruised easily and probably always would.
Ginny gasped in shock. "Oh! He's right, Draco! It's turning all sorts of colors! What happened?" To her credit, her distress was quite genuine and she didn't crowd him in her concern either as Pansy would have.
"Nothing." Draco said more firmly, removing his hand and fiddling with the hem of his short sleeved black tee-shirt. "I had a little incident, that's all. Are we going flying, Harry?"
"Don't try to change the subject! What the fuck happened?"
"None of your business!"
"It is when someone hurts you!"
Draco sneered and Ginny backed away quietly, obviously feeling like the interloper she was. "I'm not a damsel in distress, Potter. I don't need you to rescue me."
"The marks on your neck say otherwise. Tell me!" Harry insisted, moving forward to stand in front of the pale boy.
Draco crossed his arms and looked away. "I don't want to cause a scene. Just forget it, Harry."
"No!"
"Yes!" Draco shouted back, thankful when the Weaselette finally slipped away. Even the gnome had decided he was better off elsewhere. "It's none of your business! You're better off not knowing, Harry. Just leave it."
Realization blossomed in the depths of Harry's eyes. "It was Ron, wasn't it? He promised!"
"Harry!" Draco yelled in frustration, but it was too late. He was talking to the other boy's back. "Harry! You stupid Gryffindor." He subsided with a sigh. "You always have to play the hero, don't you?" He grumbled to himself. And if he felt a glow of warmth in his chest from Harry's protectiveness and anger on his behalf that was entirely his own business.
*
A sunny day, a clear sky, a cool breeze, and a handsome lover at his side - Draco didn't think life could get any better. Well, perhaps if they lost the crowd of shabby redheads, but the Slytherin wasn't counting on it any time soon. Everyone was eager to see the match, which was Puddlemere United vs. the Kenmare Kestrels. The Kestrels were garbed in a particularly noxious shade of green and their fans looked like a sea of shifting slime.
The Weasleys were dressed in blue and sporting little flags that waved themselves and occasionally made cheerful comments, such as "Pop 'em one, Puddlemere!" or "Kill the Kestrels!", which, while violent, were only just considering the fact no one could possibly pull off those uniforms. It would at least put the players out of their misery. One brunette's complexion clashed so badly she actually looked sea-sick. Or air-sick, as the case may be.
"This is bloody fantastic weather for a match! And look, there's Oliver!" Ron Weasley crowed, pointing towards one blurring figure making loops around the goal posts. There was a shadow of a bruise under one eye, still swelling slightly. Harry himself had a split lip. Mrs. Weasley had refused to heal them in order to let them learn their lesson about fighting once she'd seen their battle wounds.
The boys had gotten into a scuffle, or at least so Draco had heard as he hadn't actually seen it, and after that they'd gone back to being friends. Leave it to Gryffindors to bond over a bout of violence. The scuffle had resulted in one sulky Weasel being forced to eat crow in front Draco who had gloated smugly the entire time Ron mumbled his apologies to the other boy. Draco had been satisfied with the apology, though he hadn't actually gone so far as to accept it. After all what was the point of being a Slytherin if you couldn't hold a grudge?
"Sit down boys. George, don't you even dare! Get back here!"
"I'm not George, I'm Fred! Really, Dad, the least you could do is remember which one of us is which." One twin said huffily, shoving his cap back on his head a little to glare at his father.
"Oh, be quiet George."
"Damn, thought I'd fooled you that time."
"Just don't let you hear your mother using language like that or she'll have both our hides. Here, Ginny, have a pair of omnoculars."
"Thanks Dad! Too bad we couldn't watch the Chudley Cannons."
"Tell me about it." Ron chipped in. "But this is great too! Look at them go, eh Harry?"
Harry grinned and sat down between Ron and Draco, shielding Draco from his best friend. He'd been doing it for most of the day, as if Draco couldn't take care of himself. And even though he had to put up a token protest, the blond didn't really mind all that much. Certainly, as soon as he got his wand back from Remus and he regained the advantage he'd put a stop to Harry's gestures, but for now there was no reason to bother. The Gryffindor propped his elbows upon his knees and squinted to watch the players soar around in a V formation, their robes flapping in the wind. "They're on Nimbus 2000's, right?"
"Yeah. They've got a contract with Nimbus and everything." One of the twins piped up from where he was tangling Ginny's pigtails together. Draco thought it might be Fred, though he wasn't quite sure. She squealed indignantly when she caught him at it and hit him on the shoulder, trading seats with her father in order to escape Fred and George.
Arthur Weasley sighed. "Now boys, behave, or you'll have your mother to deal with once the game is over."
"Sorry, Dad!"
"Yeah, sorry. We'll just go-"
"And bother strangers, alright?"
"Well, it's better than nothing. Shoo! And don't gamble!" He shouted after them, watching their bright heads of copper vanish in the crowd. "Those two are going to be the death of me."
"At least you'll go out laughing." Harry cut in, smiling slightly at nothing in particular. He glanced over at Draco, his eyes softening. "All right there?"
"All right, Harry. You?"
"Yeah, 'm fine. How 'bout you, Ron?"
"I could do with some food." And right on key the Weasel's stomach rumbled.
Mr. Weasley glanced over. "Oh well. Er. Molly packed some food for us. It's in the basket here, Ron. Have a sandwich and some juice."
"Aw, Dad!"
"I can go get us something from the refreshment stand, Mr. Weasley." Harry said quietly, sliding his hands into his pockets even though the position was slightly awkward considering he was sitting down. "I was planning on it anyway, so it's no trouble."
"Oh - I dunno."
Ron looked up from where he was picking apart a peanut butter and pickle sandwich. His mouth was open and slightly twisted in an expression of disgust while his tongue curled to one side as if it wanted to crawl back down his throat to escape and his eyes were really wide with one eyebrow flying upwards in a gesture of utter disgust. Even Draco couldn't help but laugh. If Weasley knew how to do one thing, it was pull a funny face. The tinge of green underneath his freckles only made it that much funnier. Not to mention the black eye.
"I'll accompany you, Harry. We'll be right back." Draco announced as he stood up, tugging Harry along behind him as they made their way through the row. The crowd was large, but not so big that it caused problems. While Puddlemere was a popular team, it wasn't as if it was a world cup game. However, because it was a such a mediocre event, Harry's presence caused quite a stir. Several spectators pointed at him excitedly while others turned their omnoculars away from the players and towards the uncomfortable Boy Who Lived. "Hurry up Harry, before they decide to swarm you for your autograph."
"Good idea." Harry said, his eyes scanning their surroundings nervously. They darted through the crowd towards the booth selling refreshments, avoiding one reporter and a flock of giggling girls. It was relatively easy to lose themselves in the crush of bodies considering half of them were dressed in blinding neon green. By the time they finally reached the concession stand they were slightly winded and giddy from the run. Darting through the gaps of the crowd and sliding under people's arms had given them an adrenaline rush and it was all Draco could do to keep himself from laughing out loud at the way Harry's hair stuck up in a silly cowlick on the back of his head.
"Mmm. Look, they have roasted almonds and ooh, Honey Slugs!" The Slytherin was almost bouncing on his toes with excitement, which was a rare thing indeed. Harry merely looked bemused as they stood in line, waiting to order.
"Honey Slugs?" The dark haired boy wrinkled his nose with distaste.
"They're my absolute favorite sweet! They're like Chocolate Frogs, only it's honey made to look like slugs. Usually you can only find them at Quidditch games. Mother used to buy them by the broomload for me. I don't know how many times I got sick from them; I was a greedy little bugger when I was little. " Draco confessed, moving forward a step or two as the line shortened.
Harry snorted and grinned. "Really? I never would have guessed." The Gryffindor winced as his split lip pulled a little. "Ow."
"How's the lip?" Draco asked solicitously, pointedly not licking at it even though it was obvious he wanted to. Harry rolled his eyes at the other boy's obvious staring.
"Fine. Better than Ron's eye, probably." They both snickered together.
"Speaking of which, what was all that about? I'm aware that you two have argued in the past, but I didn't think you'd hit each other."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, well. We only do it when we're really angry at one another. It started fifth year and it really does help our friendship as bizarre as that may sound. I mean, getting it all out there instead of letting it fester. Less resentment builds up that way and sometimes its just nice to get in an all out brawl, y'know? Anyway, Ron shouldn't have done that to you and he knows it." His features went a touch grim for a moment, but then he brightened. "Ginny really gave him a piece of her mind. I don't think I even knew half the words she used."
Draco had to smile. "Swore up a storm, did she?"
"More like a hurricane."
They scooted forward a bit more as the people in front of them neared the stand. "Did Weasley spill the beans?"
"About us, you mean?" Harry asked curiously and continued at Draco's nod. "No, I asked Ron not to tell the rest of his family. It's really none of their business. My family and my closest friends know; that's all that matters to me." Their quiet conversation was lost in the line's rather loud chatter, which explained why Harry was willing to discuss their relationship, even obliquely, in public. Not that Draco was eager to see his name splashed across the front pages of newspapers world wide, either, but he was far less worried about the opinion of the wizarding world than the Boy Who Lived, which was understandable.
The couple in front of them sauntered off and Harry and Draco stepped up to take their orders. Draco was determined to get Harry to eat a Honey Slug, even if he had to force feed it to the Gryffindor. Which, now that he thought about it, could be entertaining in its on right.
*
The game was going well. Puddlemere was up by fifty points and one of the Chasers for the Kestrels had already received a broken nose from a stray bludger. Draco licked at his sticky thumb, having just finished up the last Honey Slug. Harry had tried one and while he agreed that it tasted good, apparently the slimy texture and inherent slugness of the magical sweet was a little too much for him. The look on his face as it had gone down had been priceless. Draco didn't mind that Harry hadn't liked them; aside from the amusement factor it simply meant more for him.
"Whooo!" Ron hollered, waving his pendant as Oliver Wood blocked a Quaffle from the middle hoop. "The Kestrals are getting their arses kicked!"
Harry laughed merrily at his best friend's enthusiasm, his voice ringing in the warm summer air. His laughter was almost lost in the cacophony of the cheering of the crowd as one of the Puddlemere chasers scored, but Draco knew the sound of it so well he could pick it out easily. It made him smile and he took a moment to glance away from the game to watch Harry's flushed, happy face and glittering green eyes. When he turned back, he noticed the sky darkening on the horizon.
"Looks like it's going to storm." He commented, his brow furrowed uneasily.
Mr. Weasley, who had moved to sit at his other side earlier to better watch the twins, shook his head. "It probably won't amount to much. The Wizard Wireless Weather report said it was going to be a sunny day. It should clear off in a bit." Draco should have felt reassured, but for some reason he didn't.
"I suppose." He finally conceded reluctantly.
Draco found himself absorbed in the game, watching the players dart around in the sky, their robes flapping around them as they swooped and dived. One of the Puddlemere chasers fumbled the quaffle, while the seeker circled overhead, still in search of the snitch. Draco usually loved Quidditch games, but he found his attention wandering away from the game. Harry was cheering, his hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice and Ron was whooping with delight as the Puddlemere Keeper blocked another Quaffle easily and made a rude gesture to the Chaser who had attempted to get it by him.
And then Draco heard the screams.
The Chaser Wood had gestured to faltered, staring white-faced at the edge of the stadium where four forms towered over the crowd. Two giants, one ogre, and a troll. Not to mention the flock of Dementors that glided into view. "Fuck." Ron breathed, his freckles standing out against his pale skin from the shock of it.
Draco finally found his voice, though it was tight with fear when he spoke. "Who, exactly, provided the tickets as a prize for that lottery at the Ministry?"
"Ah, er. Um." Mr. Weasley stuttered. "Ah. Lucius Malfoy."
"I thought so." The Slytherin said grimly.
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! WE'RE GOING TO DIE! I MEAN - EVACUATE THE PREMISES CALMLY AND DO NOT PANIC!!! HOLY SHIT!" Blared the commentator, the alarm in his amplified voice obvious.
And suddenly the Dementors were joined by several robed men, all wearing ominous silver masks. "What are we going to do? All the spectators!" Harry said frantically, his head whipping back and forth as he checked out exits and rapidly thought up and discarded various ideas.
"First of all, we need to get you out of here, Harry. You're the target."
"I'm not going anywhere, Draco." The crowd was panicking by now and the two giants had advanced and were swatting at the Quidditch players while the troll wreaked havoc on one of the nearby refreshment stands. The ogre was lumbering along towards the spectators' seats with the Dementors and Death Eaters following in it's wake. "We need to get this place evacuated."
"We need to get you out of here." Draco hissed in agitation.
"We can't just run away!" Weasley chipped in, nervous seat beading on his forehead. "Can we?" He asked uncertainly, gazing dubiously at the ogre which was heading straight for them.
Mr. Weasley was gathering their things and had Ginny by the arm. "Yes we sodding well can! Hurry!" The bleachers groaned as the ogre wrenched one of the lower rows of seats up and tossed it away where it skidded across the Quidditch pitch and left a nasty track through the green.
"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed in fearful awe. And then they were scrambling for safety, the twins' matching heads of copper bobbing along in the crowd ahead of them. They managed to get away just in time as the stands collapsed with a loud, resonating groan. A new flurry of screams rose up as a few spectators spooked again.
"We need to get out of here! We need to get Harry out of here." Draco insisted as they pushed their way through the horrified crowd that seemed intent on stampeding past them. Weasley looked at him askance.
"Why? Harry can help!"
"Harry's right here! Can he be a part of this conversation, too?" Harry asked sarcastically, still glancing back every now and then as the Dementors moved across the Quidditch pitch, gliding in that eerie way of theirs. Draco saw one witch get Kissed and clamped onto Harry's arm to keep him from running out there and getting himself killed in a foolish, vain attempt to save her.
Draco growled to himself in frustration. They were now hiding out behind the restrooms, while spells blasted past them. It was chaos out there and Mr. Weasley had his hands full trying to keep Fred and George from charging into battle as he herded everyone towards the various crowded exits. Several Aurors, both those retired and those who had apparently had the day off and decided to catch the game, had joined in on the fray and were holding the attackers off while the spectators escaped the anti-Apparation and portkey interference wards set on the stadium and its stands. The Aurors, both retired and otherwise, were doing an impressive job keeping the enemy at bay. For the moment. An aging wizard crumpled to the ground in a blast of green and Draco found that his hands were trembling. If his heart beat any faster it would probably explode.
He needed to convince Ron that escape was the best choice - preferably as quickly as possible. Harry had that utterly determined look on his face that meant he was trying to figure out a way to get himself killed.
"Look, you play chess right?" He finally asked, that little detail rising up from the depths of his brain to help him out. "Harry's the king, Weasley and whatever we do we can't let them checkmate him! Even if it means sacrificing a few pawns. He's the bloody icon of the wizarding world and he needs to survive. Not to mention the fact I'd be rather put out if some ugly bugger of a giant squished him, okay? We need to think of some way to get him, to get us, out of here, now."
The stadium had started shaking and one of the towers collapsed. The Dementors were moving among the crowd and it was all Ron and Draco could do to keep Harry from pulling his usual stupid heroics. Sometime during the last five minutes, they'd lost track of the other Weasleys and a Dementor was heading straight for them. Ron's expression was serious and suddenly Draco felt a bit of kinship with the other boy. They had the same goal after all and keeping Harry from getting into trouble was definitely a job for more than one person.
"We can snag a spare broom or two if we could get to the locker rooms." Weasley finally offered, looking pale, but determined. Draco was relieved they'd finally settled on a plan of action. His own brain felt stuffed with cotton and he knew anything he came up with wouldn't be worth shit.
Harry wrenched himself out Draco's grasp. "What are you talking about?! We need to fight! People are getting killed out there -"
"And you can't help them if you get yourself killed too, Harry! I hate to say it, but I agree with Malfoy. We need to get the fuck out of here. I just hope Gin and the others are okay."
Draco found himself giving the other boy a coolly reassuring look. "Your brothers know how to take care of themselves and your father can keep himself and your sister safe. We need to go, now." And he felt a searing coldness travel down his spine and his father's voice echoed oddly in his head. "You could have been a great Malfoy, if you'd been even a bit of a man."
"Expecto Patronum!" Harry snapped out, his wand clenched tightly in his hand, and the Dementor took one look at the silvery stag that had appeared and turned to flee. And just like that Harry was in control. He didn't even look frightened if you ignored the fact his knuckles were white with strain as he gripped his wand, he was so calm and utterly in charge. Gryffindor to the core. "Let's circle around the back; the troll is the least dangerous of them all. C'mon." Draco found himself following Harry, darting under a misshapen arch or two and scrambling over rubble. The pitch itself was in complete ruins and bodies were strewn about. Draco had to swallow several times to keep from vomiting - the smell of smoke and magic filled the air along with a metallic scent that couldn't be anything but blood.
It was all too much - a nightmare made real with the sounds of screams and crashes still echoing over the pitch. One giant roared as an Auror blinded it, stumbling a little before it smashed right into the commentator's tower, causing it to buckle over drunkenly. It wavered for a moment in the air and fell across the pitch and a few injured witches and wizards with a resounding crash while the giant continued batting at the air and clutching its wounded eyes. Dust billowed up in thick clouds, rushing outwards with a whoomp of displaced air. Draco coughed and raised his shirt over his nose and mouth to help him breathe. Everything was being covered in gray and Harry's back was a distant shadow in front of him despite the fact he was only a few feet away.
Draco hurried up, tripping over a stray piece of stone before finally reaching Harry's side. Ron was scrambling to keep up with him too, nursing his neck where a piece of stray shrapnel had cut him when the commentator's tower fell. The other two boys had followed Draco's example and were pulling the collars of their shirts up to cover the lower half of their faces. Harry's glasses were sooty with grit, though he seemed not to mind or, more likely, care.
Draco felt himself twitching nervously as the cloud of dust shifted around them, obscuring the rest of the stadium. His heart sounded unbearably loud in his ears and his mouth was bone-dry. The urgency welling up inside him made his pulse skitter rapidly and he just wanted to get OUT of there as quickly as possible before something awful happened because somehow, Trelawny's joke of a class aside, he knew it would the way he knew the sun would rise each morning. It seemed hopelessly inevitable.
They wandered through the dusty gray shadow-scape determinedly, stumbling a little over wreckage now and again, but keeping up a steady pace. Harry paused when a low moan drew his attention and, his features grim, he levitated a particularly large piece of stone off an injured witch. "We can't leave her here. Draco, you don't have your wand. Can you carry her?"
He eyed the witch who, while not overweight, was still considerably larger than Draco's slender frame. "With a feather-weight charm, yes." This time Weasley took care of the spell-casting and the Slytherin crouched down to get a better look at the witch. She was in her late forties and one of her arms was broken beyond all recognition and a few of her ribs looked to be either cracked or at least heavily bruised. Draco eased the woman's good arm over his shoulder and stood slowly, levering her to her feet carefully while Harry and Ron kept watch on their surroundings. Once they were both stranding straight, he bent down a little and hefted her over his shoulder, hoping he didn't hurt her ribs anymore than they already were. "Okay. Okay, I've got her. Let's get the hell out of here."
They started moving again, a distant thump, thump, thump signaling that the troll was moving away from them steadily. Relieved, Draco kept close to Harry's side and navigated the rubble carefully lest he jar the injured witch on his shoulder. Finally, after what seemed to be ages of tense silence, they reached the locker rooms. Harry quickly began to rummage through everything while Ron helped Draco carefully set the woman onto a bench. "Do you know anything about Healing?" Draco asked anxiously as the woman stirred, her eyes opening a little.
"Wha?"
"Try not to move, ma'am." Ron said in a low, soothing voice before turning to answer Draco quietly. "I know a little about Healing, Malfoy. I grew up with five big brothers. But I'm not an expert or anything."
"Well, it's more than I know. Heal her and then give me your wand."
"What? Are you out of your mind?!" Ron yelped, clutching his wand possessively.
Draco waved his protests away with impatience. "I don't have mine and someone needs to keep a lookout on the door, okay? You know how to take care of her and I don't, plus I know a lot of nasty curses if it comes to that. So just do the sensible thing Weasley and stop wasting time. Lives are at stake here."
"Fine. Just let me - um. Hurry up and bind these ribs and do something with her arm. Demon's oath, that's nasty." Ron swore, wrinkling his nose up.
"Whatever - just fix it as best you can and then give me your wand." Draco demanded, shifting uneasily. The entrance was unguarded as Harry riffled through the player's belongings in search of spare brooms and it was making the Slytherin nervous. Rule number one of survival was watch your back, a rule they were at the moment fragrantly breaking. Finally, finally, Weasley was done and while the woman didn't look much better she had slipped back into unconsciousness and the tight lines around her mouth and eyes had eased as the pain ebbed away. Draco snatched Weasley's wand and strode quickly to the locker room entrance, planting himself behind the door where he could peer out through the crack at the gloom outside.
The dust was starting to settle and it looked like most of the spectators had managed to activate their portkeys early and escape once they'd left the stadium and the confines of the Quidditch wards. Unfortunately for the boys, once they'd lost track of Arthur Weasley they'd lost their easiest escape route. Everything depended on finding usable brooms for them to flee on and while Harry had found one, he was still searching frantically through all the lockers for another. They could double up, if it came to that, but one broom was certainly not going to cut it.
"I think we may actually get out of here in one piece." Weasley said. He was biting his lip, but he had a hopeful look in his eyes.
And just as Draco heard those words he saw several cloaked figures striding off the pitch towards the locker room - and them. "You just had to fucking say it, didn't you?" He snapped, eyes narrowed to silver slits of fury. He tried to summon up all his anger and rage, because he knew he'd need it shortly. The Dark Arts always required some form of negative energy to be cast and for Draco wrath had always been the easiest. The Slytherin wasn't going to bother wasting time casting Leg-locker curses or other similar hexes on Death Eaters. Silly little first years spells were useless against adult Dark wizards with years of experience in the dark arts and a talent for murder. And he'd been waiting for an appropriate time to finally put Lucius' lessons to good use.
"I've found another broom!"
"Good, just in time! Is there a back way?" Ron shouted back, glancing uneasily to the approaching Death Eaters.
"Yeah, it's right through there. What-?" Harry interrupted himself with a gasp of recognition.
"Death Eaters." Draco said evenly. He hoped Harry and Ron couldn't tell he was terrified, though at this point he probably had the right to be. "Get her on the broom would you? They're almost here." Harry drew his wand and stood shoulder to shoulder with Draco as Ron attempted to maneuver the injured witch onto the broom with him.
She slipped out of Ron's sweaty grasp and he caught her at the last moment. "Fuck! Harry, a little help here?"
"They're almost here, Ron!"
"We need to get out and we can't if we can't get her on the soddin' broomstick!" Harry squeezed Draco's shoulder reassuringly and hustled towards the back of the locker room while Draco threw back the door and assumed a dueling stance, his jaw set with determination. Before the Death Eaters could get any closer and he cast a spell on the ground to soften it dangerously and one lumbering man had the misfortune of sinking neck deep into it. He flailed around, bellowing, while his comrades silently countered the spell and moved around him, their robes billowing darkly. They faced Draco in a crescent, fanning out easily to face him.
"Let us by, little boy." One deep voice intoned and Draco could tell from the tone he was smirking cruelly behind his mask. It sounded vaguely like Wilkes or Rosier; Draco had never been able to tell the two apart.
"Make me, you sorry sack of shit."
A nervous giggle echoed from the back of the locker room as Ron caught his reply. The Death Eater, however, took it in stride. "If you insist. Imperio!"
"Recutio!" The spell bounced back, but dispersed against the Death Eater's warded robes. Draco had little experience with the Unforgivables and was unable to control the spell, even on the rebound. On the other hand, he hadn't expected to. He quickly followed it up with a nasty disarming spell. Disarming as in literally. The man's wand hand jerked and he yanked back his sleeve in a panic to watch as a line of crimson blossomed below his elbow. The lower part of his arm slid away seamlessly, Dark Mark gleaming against pale bloodied skin, as the man screamed in a high pitched shriek of agony.
"Bloody hell, what's he doing out there?" Came Ron's muffled voice.
"I don't know." Harry replied tersely, his own voice echoing off the tiles. "Get her out of here - I'm going back for him."
"Harry!"
"Don't! He hasn't even reached the corridor yet!"
Draco almost couldn't hear their quiet struggle. He didn't pay the conversation much mind, as he was too busy setting up his own magical shields and snapping off curses at his attackers. He was barely holding them back, barely, and one arm hung limp at his side from a bone-cracking curse that had slipped under his guard. Luckily, it was his right hand or else he'd have dropped his wand. He had set one Death Eater on fire, but the flames had been put out quickly and another was now buried in a pile of robes, squeaking anxiously as its whiskered snout sniffed at the air. The Death Eater turned mouse scampered off as curses volleyed back and forth and Draco started backing up, leading the Death Eaters through the hallway. There was only room enough for them to approach two at a time once he'd lured them inside, but on the downside, he could only retreat so far before they had a clear shot at Ron, the witch, and Harry.
Luckily, the Death Eaters seemed tired from whatever they had been doing in the stands or else Draco would have died a while ago. At the moment, they couldn't risk the Killing curse. The hallway was small and the walls were close together and it was not unheard of for a magical spell to bounce off a solid object. Earlier, they hadn't thought Draco was enough of a challenge to merit using their remaining energy to cast an Avada Kedavra on him and by the time they realized he was, it was too late. But that was only to Draco's advantage. Harry and Ron were still arguing fiercely. "Get ready, Potter!" Draco took the time to shout, ducking a Cruciatus curse which bounced off the tiles and hit one of the Death Eaters. His knees buckled and the other Death Eaters inched by him, leaving him to his pain. "I'll be there in a minute, okay?!" He sent a Confundus curse at the Death Eaters, hoping it would be enough to give him the few precious seconds he needed to escape.
He turned to join the other two boys and something slammed into his back, sending him reeling towards the ground. "Crucio!" Agony flared up and Draco screamed, almost sobbing from the pain of it. And then he really was sobbing, writhing on the ground as tears streamed down his face. His dignity meant nothing - his world was pain; searing pain, dull pain, and more pain than he thought it was possible to feel until his nerves sang with it. He kept jarring his arm which only made it that much worse, but it hurt too much to stay still. A robed figure moved to stand in front of him and Draco could distantly hear Harry's voice shouting desperately. A dark, blurred figure stood above him, hovering malevolently.
"Avada Ke-" The Death Eater began to intone.
A harder, colder voice interrupted him. "Avada Kedavra." The Death Eater crumpled to the ground with a flash of green and Draco could hear Harry screaming. It was a terrible, wrenching sound of grief that suddenly cut itself off moments later. The Slytherin realized that Harry had, for a second, thought Draco had been killed. "Finite Incantatum. Get up, boy."
The pain receded, still there, but bearable. "Father?" Draco whispered disbelievingly, staring at the masked figure in front of him.
"Up!" He demanded impatiently, his voice curt. Draco had lost Weasley's wand, but he probably couldn't have used it anyway with the way Lucius was almost yanking Draco's arm out of its socket as he pulled him to his feet. His father pushed him out of the way as another Death Eater raised his wand at them and Draco went reeling backwards, sprawling as the ground rushed up to meet him.
The back of his head clipped a bench as he fell, color bursting behind his closed eyelids briefly like fireworks, and then Draco knew no more.
To Be Continued…
Constructive criticism and comments are more than welcome.
