AN: This is in no way, shape, or form supposed to be slash-like. So please, don't take it that way…
This chapter is really going to go back and forth between two different settings that are happening at exactly the same time or extremely close to it. I hope no one is confused. The first setting is the Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole, England and the second is a prisoner of war camp in Murmansk, Russia and its surrounding areas.
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The body sleeping beside him was relaxing, but extremely uncomfortable. The tiny cot was only built for the frame of one body, not two and especially not two fully grown men. But when the barracks were full and only one cot remained, any self respecting inmate would take the uncomfortable over freezing to death. For the first time in months Draco Malfoy could feel his toes, and even that was worth sleeping next to Harry Potter for the night.
Rolling over so Harry's breath was no longer running across his chest, Draco began to stare out of the small window hole in the barrack wall. The moon was barely visible above the puff of clouds that dotted the midnight sky. It looked like it was going to snow again (it wouldn't be the first time that week) which would mean twice the work load as normal. McDowell, the camp captain, would make sure that the rations were small until the work was done and Draco's small frame would only grow smaller.
A small tear rolled down from Draco's metallic eyes as the wind blew just a bit, tickling at his bare chest. Draco wasn't normally a man to cry, in fact he was normally one of the toughest individuals in his barrack, but late at night when the even breathing of everyone around him ensured him of his privacy, he would allow the tears to flow. For the first 2 years of his absence from Ottery St. Catchpole Draco had served with Aurors in Romania, fighting to bring down his father. He had come close once, but had been separated from Harry in the process and shoved into one of the Romanian prison camps nearby. He wasn't sure why his father had kept him alive, maybe it was out of pure spite, for he had come to determine that life in a prison camp was far worse than dying.
Four years had passed at the prison camp in Romania. Sometimes Draco referred to those four years as "The Years of Hell" for the only thing that had kept him living was the fact that his wife, daughter, and child were somewhere far away from the fighting. He was moved into a prison in Murmansk, Russia, where he was currently stationed 3 years prior. The weather was brutal when the wind blew or the snow fell and the guards were tougher than those from Romania. McDowell was constantly crushing down on Draco, his tobacco stained teeth and yellowing face always implanted in a snarl whenever Draco walked by.
Three weeks ago a very frail looking man had walked into Draco's barracks, and it wasn't until after a customary scrubbing and cleanup that Draco had recognized the man to be Harry Potter. Draco had spent most of his evenings when he should have been sleeping nursing Harry back to as much health as Draco could muster, for which Harry was grateful. But now, staring up at the pale moon, Harry's arrival wasn't at the forefront of his mind.
Harry's return had brought forth some startling truths about the fighting in Romania. His father had been defeated at a very bloody battle near Germany and the strength of the opposition was dwindling. In time, Draco thought, they might be freed. He might be able to see his family again. Another tear slipped down his cheek as he thought of Ginny. His wife was perfect in his opinion, with her flaming red hair and coffee colored eyes. She was beautiful when she laughed and even more gorgeous when she was angry at him or flared her temper. Their daughter, Marcy, and unborn child had been his dream. But Draco Malfoy no longer had dreams.
The large walls that surrounded the prison of Murmansk kept his dreams far from the safety of his heart. The walls were invisible to the naked eye, but any person daring enough to go and touch one had fallen to an untimely fate. Draco could see them every night as the wind swept snow against them, dotting there outlines around the camp. They kept the magic, if there even was any left, hidden deep within the prison walls. Draco's wand had been stripped many years ago, leaving him with only the hope of a rescue mission as his survival.
That was why, in the middle of the night with tears running down his cheeks, Draco was surprised to see red sparks flying across the fields. The sparks were small, but evident, and their glow was shimmering across the small amount of snow on the ground. The walls would have prevented any wand sparks at all but there they were, right in front of his face. The sparks could only mean one thing…
"Harry!" Draco whispered as he rolled onto his side, brushing the tear stains off his face and pulling the small blanket they had off of the bed. Harry's body began to visibly quiver in the chill night air before his emerald eyes slid open. They were emotionless, Draco noticed, and large bruises hung beneath them from lack of sleep. Harry rubbed his eyes, which were no longer wire-rimmed in glasses, and shot Draco a harsh look as he jumped out of the cot and began to move about collecting things.
"What in Merlin's name are you doing Draco? It's only midnight I'd presume. Count doesn't start for four hours."
"Keep your voice down." Draco snapped, pulling his feet into the slippers that were lying at the base of the cot, "Look out the window and tell me what you see."
"Sparks." Harry said lamely. As Draco looked up at him, understanding seemed to erupt on Harry's face as he turned back to the window, his lips breaking out in the first grin Draco had seen on him in weeks, "Blimey, its wand sparks! Draco does that mean…"
"Yes." He cut in; pushing the parcel he had created for just the occasion and Harry's slippers into his hands, "We run."
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Ginny Malfoy had no intention of listening to her brother's ramblings as he barked at her from the hallway. She was seated in the kitchen in her usual spot, two to the right of the door on the left side, her hands folded beneath her chin and her eyes concentrated on Hermione, who was cooking bacon at the fire. She didn't look much different from the last time Ginny had seen her; her hair was still as bushy but only a tad longer and her eyes (which had studied Ginny for a brief second when she had apparated in) were still as full of wisdom as they had been 9 years earlier.
"Ginny will you just listen to me already? Your daughter is upstairs demanding us to tell her who she is and we don't know what to do! We have already gotten six Hogwarts letters from Dumbledore demanding a reply about her schooling and her showing is growing stronger every day."
"I know." She finally replied, looking at him harshly. Her brother, regardless of his wild temper, always held a soft spot for her. It did pay to be the baby of the family, she recognized, as the anger in his blue eyes ebbed away, "Believe me Ron; I know how powerful she is. She is a Malfoy after all."
"Then why won't you just tell her who she is?" He asked, falling into one of the chairs beside her, "Why won't you just tell her that she's a witch? She is a smart girl Gin, Hermione told me about the way she handled things around here and the way she reacted about being around Michael and Andrew. She'd have a good life at Hogwarts."
"I…I don't know if I can tell her…" Ginny started, her eyes brimming with tears, "It…it would be too much Ron…I've tried my hardest to just forget about…you know…"
"Draco?" Hermione asked from above the fire. Her russet eyes were staring at Ginny with devilishness and what also looked like veiled sympathy. Ginny nodded her head and then looked back at Ron, who looked more disheveled than ever.
"She doesn't know about him either." She replied, "She knows he exists of course, she is a Weasley after all and isn't totally daft when it comes to producing children and all of that, but she doesn't remember what he looks like." She produced her wand and conjured up a mug of butterbeer which she slurped before letting out a forced laugh, "I remember when Julian first asked about him. She simply responded with some fairytale about a knight with a smile brighter than the sun that could carry her and Julian about on his shoulders while flying through the sky on a dragon. Can you believe that? She's got quite an imagination doesn't she? I used to tell her how wrong that all was. Saying things like 'Daddy couldn't fly dear' and then not speaking about him again for years." She sighed loudly, her fingers missing the mug and knocking it across the table before it fell with a deafening clank on the floor across from her, "I know I'm a horrible parent Ron. There were plenty of things I should have told Marcy and Julian about when they were young, but you wouldn't know what its like to be a single mum. You wouldn't know what its like to have to live with the fact that the world you are dying so desperately to introduce your children to, your home mind you, is also the place that took everything you ever dreamed of away."
"But Gin…"
"Ron I can't tell her." She breathed loudly, holding her wand parallel with her face while looking at both Hermione and Ron with a bit of sympathy, "Right now…I just have to go home. I need to get away from all of this. I can't…no…I won't tell her Ron. If you have any sense, you won't either…my bat bogey hex would be the least of your worries if you went behind my back and told her something. But…could you take care of her? Just for a few days?" She asked, adding a very quiet please when their faces reflected their skeptism. Hermione stepped forward and embraced Ginny quickly in a hug, muttering an "of course" in her ear before stepping back and taking Ron's hand. With a quick nod and a flash of light, the Burrow's kitchen was absent of Ginny Malfoy.
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Draco sighed as he leaned against an oak tree, his matted blonde hair falling into his eyes as he attempted to take deep exhilarating breaths. Murmansk was nothing but forests and snow at this time of year and the trek across Russia was becoming more and more perilous as the days grew longer. Harry was weaker than Draco had imagined and his feeble body was suffering terribly from the cold and lack of food. Draco had only been able to steal small rations as they had made their escape two weeks prior, and even now with still thousands of miles to cross they were only left with a small loaf of bread. At the moment, they were resting somewhere near St. Petersburg. Draco was leaning against the oak tree while Harry was sprawled across the forest floor, his hair blending almost perfectly with the dark soil and matted leaves below him. Harry hadn't said much since they had reached the clearing, in fact he hadn't said much at all since they had escaped. Neither had Draco for that matter, his mind was set on reaching the European border by nightfall if they moved quickly enough. As far as Draco knew, the Bullstrode's still lived in Kotka and would be able to transport Draco to the Ministry and Harry to St. Mungo's.
"Come on Harry." Draco ushered as he went to move towards the direction of St. Petersburg.
"No please, just a few more minutes…" Harry sighed from the floor. His green eyes were awfully bland and full of sorrow as he attempted to hold them open and his brow was covered in sweat. His body was skinnier than usual and his breathing was obviously troubled. The chill had probably gotten to him, Draco noticed, and by sitting around as he was it wouldn't be too long until hypothermia took over his body. Shaking his head and pulling him to his feet, Draco allowed Harry to lean on him, "Draco please can't we stop? I can't do this anymore."
"No we can't bloody stop Potter. We didn't get all the way to St. Petersburg to stop." He grunted slightly as they began to walk haphazardly, Draco's height on Harry making it difficult to keep the man on his feet.
"Then let me stop." He replied breathlessly. Draco paused for a minute; he could feel his cheeks heating up and anger radiating from his metallic eyes. Using his free hand, he slapped Harry as hard as he could before straightening him up, his fist shaking in Harry's face.
"Don't you give up you bastard. Everything that you've wanted since we were shipped here…everything we have stayed alive all these years for….its right there." He pointed off into the distance and then back at Harry, "Are you going to allow the weather to stop you?"
"I don't have anything anymore Draco." He murmured again, "You have Ginny…"
"You have Melinda." Draco screamed loudly, slapping him again, "You have Andrew. Bloody hell man; don't give up on your family. They need you!"
"You don't know that do you Draco?" He sighed, appearing to have regained some of his strength, "It's been 9 fucking years. For all we know, Melinda and Ginny could be long gone." Draco let go of Harry's arm and allowed it to cascade down his back before falling limply to Harry's side. Draco could see his own breath, which was quick from anger and irritation, spouting from his mouth in puff clouds as he stalked away from Harry, his knuckles crunching angrily. Letting out a loud sigh, Draco turned back to the man before him. It was odd really, to see the great Harry Potter almost giving in to defeat. That surely had never happened in their childhood or even when they both played Quidditch. Draco had always considered himself to be so different from Harry. Their backgrounds had made them enemies and in a miraculous turn of events, it was their families that had conquered friendship between the two. Now, standing in the frigid air of Northern Russia, Draco was surprised to see the tables turned. Harry Potter was accepting defeat and Draco Malfoy was pushing him forward. He wouldn't let him die. He wouldn't leave him behind. Harry was right; Melinda and Ginny could be long gone. His family may have forgotten about him and he may never see his children again. But Draco Malfoy was never one to give up on circumstance, and not even Merlin could stop him from taking the chances.
"We'll never know if we don't keep going." He mumbled back over his head, the first smile breaking out on his face in days when he heard the crunching of leaves from behind him and the presence of another person standing beside him. He slipped Harry's arm around him again and trudged forward into the forthcoming darkness.
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Marcy had spent the better portion of her waking hours staring into the mirror that hung over the chest of drawers. Her reflection wasn't anything new really…she had changed only once since her arrival at the Burrow and even the horribly fitting sundress Hermione had made her wear didn't change her appearance much. Her strawberry blonde hair hung in a plait behind her ears and sparkled in the sunlight. The sapphire color of her eyes was vibrant from the amount of sleep she had gotten recently and sparks of what looked like deep smoky gray twinkled. In fact, her reflection in her opinion was quite mundane, but the mirror itself was another story. Within the last few hours, Marcy was sure she had heard it comment on her appearance, smirking off in a rather articulate French accent, "My, you are a pretty young lass now aren't you?" and things of the sort.
Leaving the mirror alone, Marcy moved to the bed she had used for the previous nights and began to make it up, folding the sheets over carefully and placing them in line with everything else. It was busy work, but with nothing else to do and no real desire to go downstairs Marcy had taken up doing pointless jobs around the room. The putrid orange room, for a room that was home to a little girl like Lily, wasn't very childish at all. In fact, Marcy hadn't seen a single child's toy since she had arrived at the Burrow, making things horribly boring at times. Sighing to herself and moving to the dresser with the mirror, Marcy began to dig through the drawers for something to do.
The first thing she came upon was a large book. The book itself was quite large and edged in gold, the cover itself done up in wonderful crimson fabric and stitched on animals of some sort. They reminded her of the mystic creatures she had seen in her Ancient Greece books; large flying beasts and snarling dragons illuminated the cover as she ran her fingers about it. The name Potter was etched into the center with large gothic black letters. Pulling the ribbon (which was holding the pages closed) loose, Marcy began to flip through the first couple of pages. A man and a woman who appeared to be about her mum's age were holding a bubbly baby with hair the color of Lily's. Three students (two boys and a very bucktoothed girl) were wearing robes and school uniforms by a massive train. A large wedding with tons of people eating a piece of gigantic cake that read CUNGATULAONS!
Marcy probably would have thought nothing of the pictures and shrugged them off as old childhood memories had it not been for the one thing that had her jaw hitting the floor and her eyes as wide as marbles. The pictures…each and every one…were moving. She had blinked a couple of times to ensure it but they moved to no prevail. The people were giggling and laughing and doing things that a regular camcorder would have captured. Marcy began to shake slightly as she dropped the book to the floor and stood up, her eyes scanning the room. Her arrival…the mirror…the album…it was all far too much for her to understand as she dashed to the doorway, fully intent on running away and going to that Otter Saint place that Andrew had told her about. Marcy fumbled with the knob for a second before thrusting the door open and rushing through, only to hit something hard and fall against something soft and warm in the process.
"Is it just my luck or do you have a habit of falling into boy's laps?" Andrew guffawed from beneath her, his light brown hair falling into his eyes as he attempted to shift beneath her. She hadn't noticed it before, but his eyes were a very lovely shade of hazel. They were soft and subtle as they stared at her, full of enthusiasm and humor as he attempted to shift again.
"I don't know, maybe you and Michael enchanted me…seems I can't stay on my feet when I'm around you two." She chuckled, almost taken aback when a look of seriousness flashed through his eyes. It quickly disappeared as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her off of him as he stood, brushing the dust off of his clothes with ease. She stood up on her own and began dusting off the dress, unaware of his eyes that were lingering on her, "Is there anything to do in this place?" She asked when she finished, her hands falling to her hips, the thought of running away long gone.
"Depends on how good of an imagination you have." He whispered, grabbing her hand with his and dragging her towards the steps, "Can you believe in the unbelievable Marcy?"
She mustered up every bit of courage she could find in her 11 year old body and puffed out her chest, smiling brightly, "Of course I can."
"Then anything's possible." He whispered as he grabbed what looked like a broomstick from the closet and, with his hand still linked with hers, pulled her down the stairs and out into the garden.
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