Green eyes blinked slowly open, pain and disorientation evident in their expression.

"Ow," Harry said, grimacing, one of his hands going slowly to his head, which was throbbing with a bright, sharp pain that brought tears to his eyes.

What the hell had happened? He screwed his eyes closed again, trying to concentrate, trying to think- the agony in his head did not make thinking easy.

Neither did the weight on his chest. What was lying across his chest?

He frowned, eyes still closed. Bits and pieces were coming back to him now. He remembered…causing the chandelier to fall. Lucius bursting upon him before he'd had time to take so much as a single step. Spell after spell, curse after curse, flung at him, so rapidly he had known it was just a matter of time before he was hit. He remembered being hit. That had been no surprise. His feet fixed to the floor, his wand Accio'd from his hand. Helpless. He tried to move his feet now- they were still being held firmly in place by the spell. That didn't make sense. Lucius had had him right where he'd wanted him. Wandless, immobilized. Why, then, was he still alive? With a splitting headache and stuck awkwardly to the floor like a pinned bug, but alive? There must be more to it, more that needed remembering.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, his eyes still closed because perhaps he knew, on a subconscious level at least, that he didn't WANT to open them, didn't want to discover what was lying across his chest, didn't want to face it. Not now, not ever. Not ever. He…remembered…the things he had said to Lucius, and the way the man's face had contorted with incredulous rage that he should be spoken to in such a manner. That brought a touch of a smile to Harry's lips, but it vanished again a fraction of a second later because now he remembered…green light gathering at the tip of Lucius' wand. Knowing that this was it, his life was over. Making his peace in that instant. Accepting death- not willingly, he hadn't wanted to die- but accepting it with no regrets just so long as it bought the others time to get safely out. Hermione, Ron, even Draco- his family, his REAL family, more real to him than his blood relatives had ever been- just so long as they were all safe- safe and far from here-

"Oh no," he whispered aloud.

Because that wasn't what had happened. That wasn't what had happened at all. No matter how desperately he strove to not think about it, to not remember, as though by refusing to acknowledge it he could somehow make it not real, make it not have happened, it was coming, it was here- the memory that explained how it was that he was still alive, that made everything clear.

"Oh no."

He remembered Ron appearing at his side as if from thin air- how had he gotten there, HOW?- and WHY had he come, that wasn't part of the plan!- throwing himself between Harry and the curse. He remembered wide blue eyes locking with his own as they fell- and then nothing. He had obviously hit his head hard and blacked out. And now he knew what was lying across his chest, he knew what he would see when he opened his eyes, because that green light had been real, that curse had been spoken, it had to have hit something, and that something hadn't been him, as evidenced by the fact that he was still alive. So-

"No. Oh no. Please no."

He opened his eyes.

Even knowing what he was going to see didn't- couldn't- prepare him for it. Ron lay sprawled across him, of course, face down; a jumble of awkward, slightly-too-long limbs. He had almost grown into his height- almost, but not quite. And now he never would. He wasn't moving, he wasn't breathing, his body was limp and heavy in a way that no living person can quite manage, no matter how deeply unconscious- because it was now nothing more than a thing, an inanimate object, a cast-off shell. Ron was gone. Utterly and irretrievably gone.

"No." Harry shook his head. He had meant to shake it once- a single firm, decisive negation of what all his senses were telling him; that his best friend was dead, that he had died to save him- but having begun, he found that he couldn't stop. He just kept shaking his head and he kept saying no.

"No. No, Ron, no. No no no."

He couldn't take this in. His mind was reeling. He hadn't even begun to grieve yet; in order to really grieve, one must first accept that the death has happened, and Harry hadn't yet done that. The evidence was here, right here on top of him- but he couldn't accept it. He couldn't. No.

And so he found himself speaking to Ron, not even really consciously aware of what he was saying, knowing on a deep level, a gut level, that the words were absurd, but unable to stop himself.

"Ron, get up. Get up, this isn't funny. You're okay, you're…please, get up. You're heavy, mate. I mean it, wake up! Damn it, Ron, gerroff me!"

Tears were running unchecked down his face, unnoticed until they interfered with his words, choking him.

It was at this point, when it became undeniably clear that his increasingly frantic pleas were not going to elicit a response, that a corner of his mind began screaming, My brother, My brother, My brother is dead!

Funny, that, he would later think. For he had never really thought of Ron as his brother before- not on a conscious level, at least. Yet there it was, as clear as day. My brother is dead. Oh God, how would he get through this? How could he go on from here?

He felt madness beating at the edges of his mind, and fought it off grimly. Not because he wouldn't have welcomed it- the idea of becoming a gibbering madman actually held some appeal, when the alternative was to attempt to calmly and rationally face a world that no longer had Ron in it- but rather because it occurred to him that if Ron had not left the manor then perhaps Draco and Hermione hadn't either; perhaps something had gone wrong there as well. It never rains but it pours, after all. And if that was the case, if they had run into trouble as well, then they would need him and he had to go to them, for they were family too, after all- Hermione…and even Draco. Because we don't choose our family, and we don't even always like our family, but we love our family- and Harry had been growing to love Draco ever since his resorting. If Ron was his brother, then Draco was too. And if Draco and Hermione were in trouble and Harry failed to reach them- if he lost one or both of them too because of his own inaction- well, that really would push him right over the brink, for good and all. This he was sure of.

So, gritting his teeth, he levered himself up into a sitting position and shifted Ron off of him as carefully as he could.

The pain in his head was slowly receding, allowing him to think more clearly. Still, it took him a long moment to clear his head of the immense shock of Ron's death- not entirely, of course- he didn't think he'd ever be entirely free of this shock, or this pain, not if he lived to be a hundred- but enough to decide what to do next.

His eyes lit on Ron's wand, and he pulled it gently from his friend's still-warm hand. Pointing it at his feet, he murmured, "Finite Incantatum."

Nothing happened. His feet remained fixed to the floor.

And the reality of Ron's death was once again rammed into his consciousness with all the force of the Hogwarts Express hitting him head-on, the pain so great it was now quite literally physical, and he wrapped both arms around his stomach, hard, and folded himself over until his head was resting on his knees, fighting back an abrupt and violent wave of nausea.

Because, he realized, Ron's wand was useless to him now; it would no longer respond to any witch or wizard, because its owner was dead.

Dead. Ron is dead. My brother is dead.

It was several moments later that he gasped three words out loud- "Get. A. Grip." He raised his head slowly, his eyes, puffy and still leaking tears, and all the more brilliantly green as a result, sweeping over Ron, who lay, still face-down, beside him, and traveling to the open doorway of Lucius' study. Somewhere beyond that door lay his own wand, and he needed it.

He sucked in a deep, shaky breath, preparing to do wandless magic, which the seventh years had recently been learning and which was difficult under the best of circumstances. (Well, for everyone except Draco. He seemed to have the same sort of natural affinity for it that Harry himself had for flying.)

If he could not manage to gather his scattered thoughts, the feat would be well-nigh impossible.

Once he had managed to get hold of himself, more or less anyway, a decision was called for. He could either attempt to use wandless magic to end the Immobulus spell, freeing himself to go and collect his wand, or he could attempt to call the wand to him, and then use it to terminate the spell. He opted for the latter; it was simpler magic. He could only perform very simple spells without his wand, which was why, when Lucius had Accio'd it from him, he had been left as completely defenseless as if he knew no wandless magic at all.

Despite his limitations in this area, he was hopeful his wand would be responsive to him in spite of- or perhaps because of- his highly emotional state.

He gathered his concentration to the best of his ability, extended his right hand toward the doorway of Lucius' study and, his brow creased with effort, murmured, "Accio wand."

The wand came with a swiftness that surprised him. He had been hoping for the best, of course, but deep down, not really daring to expect much in the way of results…and terrified that even if he did manage to summon the wand he would find that it had maybe snapped on impact or some similar catastrophe; Lucius had thrown it very hard, after all.

But in a matter of seconds it was there in his hand, and proved itself to be in perfectly good working order when, flicking it downward, he again said, "Finite Incantatum," then lifted his feet easily from the floor.

Immediately he scrambled to his knees, bent over Ron's still form and rolled him gently onto his back.

He wasn't prepared for what the sight of his best friend's open, lifeless eyes would do to him.

He doubled over so suddenly and so hard that it would have looked to an observer like an invisible fist had sucker-punched him…and that was exactly how he felt. It seemed, as his head impacted Ron's chest and he buried his face there, hands fisting in the soft material of Ron's much-worn orange Chudley Cannons tee-shirt, that the room had become a vacuum- that there was no air left in it- that he was no more capable of drawing a breath than Ron was at this point.

And it occurred to him then to wonder whether he even wanted to draw another breath; whether it was worthwhile going on with his life when there would be no Ron anymore- ever- to play chess with, to practice Quidditch with, to launch midnight raids on the kitchens with, to commiserate with over girls, to roll his eyes at behind Snape's back. A world without his best friend in it- what was the point?

And yet there was a point, because, he recalled (though not without significant effort), Ron was not the only person he loved. There were others, and two of those others, he was increasingly sure, needed him. He felt this with the same almost instinctual clarity with which Ron himself had felt, not long ago, that Harry had needed him. He had to get to Draco and Hermione.

He was shaking from head to foot, tears still escaping his eyes, as he sucked in a deep, hitching breath and raised his head- then gently, so gently, closed Ron's eyes with his fingertips.

"I'll come back for you," he whispered in a choked voice. "I won't leave you here. I am really- fucking- angry with you right now-" (even as he said this he realized, with a sense of mild surprise, that it was true- he was abso-fucking-lutely furious with Ron for abandoning the plan and getting himself killed. He hadn't asked Ron to sacrifice himself! He hadn't wanted his bloody interference!) "-but I WILL come back, Ron. I promise."

So saying, he straightened up, thrust Ron's now defunct wand into the waistband of his pants, kept his own in hand, and set off at a jog down the long, wide hallway with its sinister, flickering green lights, back toward the center of the mansion. Yes, he was furious with Ron for having come after him, but that didn't stop him from making the exact same resolution Ron himself had made earlier; that he would not leave this house until he knew his friends were safe and accounted for.

If Draco and Hermione had come to harm, if they were still here somewhere and in need of him, he would find them, come hell or high water.

As it turned out, he didn't have to look very far. The sound of raised voices as he approached the foyer where he and Ron had split up told him that his friends were in fact still in the house, and that, oh yes indeed, they had found trouble.

00000

Draco was halfway down the manor's main staircase, a formal, curving affair with a large landing in the middle, when he was brought up short by the sight of his father. He had been flying down the steps, taking them two at a time, and had just skidded around the curved landing- and there was Lucius, standing in the marble foyer at the bottom of the stairs, completely at ease, with a smile on his face and his wand already trained on Draco's heart.

Draco stopped short, breathing hard, eyes locked on his father, his arms instinctively tightening about Hermione for just a fraction of a second- then he backed up, just two steps, one foot and then the other, until he was against the wall, standing directly beneath a large, ornate stained glass window that overlooked the landing. Slowly, warily, his gaze never leaving his father's face, he dropped to one knee and deposited Hermione gently on the floor, propping her up in a sitting position with her back to the wall.

"Draco-?" she whispered, barely half conscious, as yet unaware of Lucius' presence.

"S'alright, love," he murmured, never looking away from his father. "Just hold on. Hold on, bookworm, okay?"

"'kay," she breathed, her voice barely audible.

And then Draco was on his feet again, in another of his quick, fluid movements, placing himself directly in front of Hermione, shielding her from Lucius' view- and from his wand. Though he really need hardly have worried on that account. There was little Lucius could do to Hermione, after all, that was not already being accomplished by the poison. The wand remained trained unwaveringly on Draco's chest.

He swallowed hard, bit back his seething hatred for the man standing before him- for the time being at any rate- and, drawing in a deep, shaking breath, managed to compose himself enough to ask the question that was foremost on his mind. When he spoke, his voice was remarkably even.

"Father…is there an antidote?"

Lucius' smile broadened. "Well, son. Wouldn't you like to know?"

Draco closed his eyes, fighting for control. His hands were clenched into fists of rage- he wanted nothing more than to curse his father into oblivion, but he knew that Lucius had all the advantages in this situation. For one thing, there was the matter of the wand pointed at him. The second he went for his own wand his father would gladly incapacitate- or kill- him. There was no way he could draw fast enough to prevent this- after all, as quick as his reflexes were, he had inherited them from his father. Lucius was more than a match for him, and he knew it. And, just supposing he beat all the odds and managed to fire off a curse at Lucius- he would never then learn anything about the poison that was even now killing his beloved.

By cursing Lucius, he would seal Hermione's fate.

His eyes snapped open, flat dark gray. His voice too was flat. "Look at me, father. Here I am. I came as you asked, you can do as you like with me, I don't care. But if there's a way, then just- Put. Her. Right."

"Ah, young love," Lucius drawled, "isn't it grand? Look at you, Draco, so selfless, so protective…who are you and what have you done with my son? The boy I raised to fight for the family's causes, uphold the Malfoy honor and oh- right- not go around falling in love with filthy mudbloods?"

"Goddamn it," Draco said through gritted teeth, his voice rising despite himself; control slipping. "You wanted me, you have me. Let's keep this in the family, father. She was just a means to an end, and you've achieved that end. So will you PUT HER RIGHT!"

"Now, Draco," Lucius taunted, "what sort of father would I be if I didn't accept the love of my only son's life into the family? Your little mudblood girlfriend is as much a part of this as you are, I'm afraid. And in answer to your question, no son, I do not deal in antidotes. The mudblood is as good as dead. And so are you."

Draco's face contorted with fury; his self-control was hanging by a thread, as Lucius could very well see. It would take only one more choice comment to send him over the brink, and the elder Malfoy knew just what button to push.

"I'm almost sad to see her go," Lucius said with a smirk. "She is, after all, a very pretty girl, as I'm sure you are aware. Although-" he cocked his head to the side, giving Hermione a brief contemplative look before Draco shifted position to once again block her from view- "I must say, I rather prefer her without the shirt- son."

That, of course, did it. Draco could take no more.

With a cry of rage he launched himself at his father.

Who, with a smug little smile and a flick of his wand, spoke just one word-

"Crucio."

Draco, already in motion, was unable to dodge. The spell hit him full-on and he fell hard. Having just reached the edge of the landing, he pitched over it and tumbled down the remaining stairs to land in a heap at his father's feet, the wind knocked out of him, his head impacting the hard marble floor with a sickening crack. But the pain of the fall was nothing to the pain of the curse, the shrieking agony that had invaded every inch of his body.

Even so, he made no sound. But whether he kept silent through an act of will, or whether it was because he had no breath with which to cry out, it was impossible to say- even for Draco himself, who was, at that point, well beyond analyzing his own actions. All he knew was pain.

Lucius might well have kept the Cruciatus on Draco until, with all the air knocked from his lungs and unable to draw breath due to the intensity of the curse, he blacked out, or worse- but it was at that moment, when all of the elder Malfoy's attention was bent on gloating over his broken, writhing son, that someone else entered the foyer through a side door, moving quickly and silently as only a Seeker could. A furious, snarling black-haired blur, Harry threw himself at Lucius from behind, ramming into him shoulder-first and causing him to lose both his concentration and his balance. With a startled oath, Lucius stumbled and would have fallen under Harry's weight had he not managed to grab a hold of the nearby banister.

As Draco finally dragged in a deep, shuddery breath and lifted his head from the floor, willing the room to stop spinning, Lucius turned his attention- and his wand- onto Harry, who, made rash and clumsy by grief, had himself overbalanced as a result of his attack. Pale, cold eyes locked momentarily onto bright green ones half-crazed with sorrow and loss- then, as Harry righted himself and went for his wand, Lucius, who still had his in hand, leveled it at the dark-haired boy and with a flick of his wrist sent Harry flying through the air to slam into the wall over the landing. Having just barely missed crashing straight through the stained-glass window, Harry slumped to the floor of the landing not three feet from where Draco had left Hermione.

Groaning, he immediately wrapped both arms about his midsection. Something was seriously wrong there. From the instant he had hit the wall, it felt as though his entire ribcage was on fire. He tried to breathe and found that he couldn't- at least, not properly. All he could manage were tiny, hitching gasps that caused burning, lancing pain to radiate through his torso.

"Unh," he grunted, fighting to remain conscious, and twisted onto his side, his green eyes, now dazed and out of focus, coming to rest on- "Huh-Herm-hione?"

She looked back at him, her eyes wide and dark in her pale face, and spoke just two words; "Harry…wand."

00000

Lucius, meanwhile, had returned his attention to Draco, who had managed to push himself onto his knees, but, stunned and weakened by the fall and the effects of the curse, had not yet drawn his own wand and was therefore helpless against his now maniacally grinning father.

"Well, Draco," Lucius drawled out, "it seems the little mudblood was correct when she told me you make no sound under the Cruciatus. Impressive. However, I think that given enough time we can break through your barrier of silence. What do you say, son?"

Draco, his silvery hair spilling forward, a thin, bright ribbon of blood trickling from his nose down over his lips and chin, raised his eyes to Lucius and gave him a look that was pure, unadulterated loathing.

"That's the spirit, boy," Lucius said gaily. "I do so love a challenge, as your mudblood has already learned! Remember, Draco, the moment you cry mercy, I'll stop."

He raised his wand again. "Crucio!"

Draco crumpled once more, thrown from his knees flat onto his back by the force of the renewed curse, but still, not a sound escaped him. And this time, his continued silence was indeed the result of sheer will. He would not beg his father for mercy.

He would rather die.

Fortunately, his suffering this time was short-lived, due to what had been transpiring up on the landing.

00000

Harry, at Hermione's words, had pulled out his wand and attempted, using the wall as leverage, to push himself back to his feet…and had failed spectacularly. He had managed to drag himself about halfway up, leaning heavily on the wall all the while, but then a spasm of pain had ripped through his ribcage so intense that he had fallen back to his knees- then, arms once more wrapped around himself, had pitched forward, doubled over, and come to rest right beside Hermione.

Who had been gathering herself together to the best of her ability since having been left there, had heard Lucius' cold, taunting words a moment ago and understood that Draco was in serious trouble, and who now realized that Harry was currently in a gray place, hovering between consciousness and oblivion, in no condition to give assistance.

Blinking hard to focus her eyes, which she found increasingly difficult to do, she made a conscious effort to clamp down on her own pain and, reaching out, grasped Harry's wand and pulled it from his hand. Then, biting her lip hard against the waves of poison-induced agony that were rolling over her, she crawled on her hands and knees to the edge of the landing and looked down the stairs.

Lucius, who was once again focused wholly on Draco's suffering, convinced that neither she nor Harry posed a threat any longer, never saw her raise the wand, her hand shaking so badly that she had to steady it with the other one before she managed, gathering all her remaining strength and concentration, to cry out, "Stupefy!"

Lucius heard, but not in enough time to deflect the spell. He had only just begun to turn his head toward her voice, astonishment dawning over his features, when the jet of red light hit him full on, and he fell like a stone.

00000

Draco lay gasping at the foot of the stairs, his heart pounding crazily, blood now pouring from his nose and the room swimming sickly before his eyes. He was marginally aware of his father now sprawling beside him. He drew in a particularly deep, shaky breath, coughed weakly as some of the blood from his nose went down his throat, then rolled onto his side, into a protected little ball, his back to his father, his body shuddering violently from the prolonged torment it had just been subjected to.

There was no telling how long he might have lain there had he not at that point heard a familiar and much loved voice calling his name from somewhere far above.

"Hermione," he croaked, raising his head from the floor to see her kneeling at the edge of the landing, her face deathly pale and drawn tight with pain, her wild, dark hair tumbling forward over her shoulders as she peered down at him.

"Draco," she said again, her voice, which had been strong when she'd flung the spell at Lucius and then called his name a second ago, now fading back to a hoarse whisper.

And then as he watched, her eyes rolled back and she slumped over sideways in a dead faint, Harry's wand falling from her hand and clattering down the steps.

"HERMIONE!"

He was halfway up the stairs, scrambling on his hands and knees, before he was aware that he was moving at all. Reaching her, he rolled her onto her back, his movements still jerky and uncoordinated- an aftereffect of the curse- and, gripping her by the shoulders, shook her gently.

"Hermione. Hermione?"

No response.

"Shit. Oh, shitshitshit! Sweetheart, please!"

He fumbled for his wand, intending to Ennervate her as he had in his room, but was distracted by a sound from close behind him. He whipped about- his reflexes beginning to return at last- and saw Harry in the process of pushing himself slowly into a sitting position, his glasses askew and his green eyes dull and cloudy with pain.

"Potter," Draco said, as Harry visibly clamped down on a cry. Leaving Hermione's side, albeit reluctantly, he crawled over to where Harry now half-sat, half-lay against the wall, breathing in shallow, rapid pants. "Potter- what is it? Where do you hurt?"

"…chest," Harry gasped out. "Think…broken…rib. N-never thought…it would hurt this bad."

Now Draco did pull out his wand and, after a moment's concentration, cast a pain-deadening spell on his injured friend. It didn't take away all the pain; it was too intense to be banished entirely. But it offered a degree of relief and allowed Harry to breathe a little easier.

Draco glanced back over to where Hermione lay. "We have to get her back to Hogwarts, Potter. Now. My bastard father poisoned her. He says there's no antidote, but I don't think he would tell me if there was one. Maybe Snape will know something- I have- I have to believe…but we've got to hurry. She's- Christ, she's dying, Potter." He glanced all around, somewhat wildly, then- "where the hell is Weasley, anyway?"

Harry didn't reply. But his silence, coupled with the lost, haunted look in his eyes, gave Draco all the answer he needed.

Draco's stomach flipped over. He felt suddenly very cold. "No. Oh, no. Bloody hell. Potter- are you sure?"

Harry ducked his head, abruptly raising a hand to shade his eyes, but not before Draco saw the twin tears streak down his face. "Yeah," he said hoarsely, "yeah, Malfoy, I'm sure."

"How?" Draco asked in a small voice.

"It was meant to be me," Harry whispered bitterly. "The killing curse- he knocked me out of the way. He-" Harry stopped, choking on a sob, and dropped his face into both his hands, unable to continue. Draco reached out and gently clasped him on the shoulder as the dark haired boy's entire body began to heave with deep, convulsive sobs. Draco knew that if Harry did indeed have a broken rib, then crying this way had to be immensely painful for him, and quite possibly damaging as well. But he also knew that there was nothing he could do to prevent it, short of Stupefying his friend. Harry's grief was beyond measure. It had to out.

"God…damnit…Ron…" Harry choked at length, between great, body-wracking sobs, "you bloody…stupid…bastard…WHY? It should have been me, it should have been ME!"

Draco watched, aghast, this display of grief so deep he could barely fathom it. He mourned Ron's loss too, but he had never had a friend as close as Ron had been to Harry. He couldn't imagine feeling a grief this profound unless-

"SHIT!" he cried suddenly. The news of Ron's death had distracted him for a moment from the situation at hand, but now one word pounded into his head with all the force of a bludger knocking him from his broom; HERMIONE. He would feel a grief this profound if he lost Hermione, and he would lose her if he didn't get her back to school, RIGHT NOW.

"Potter, we have to go," he said urgently. Harry would have to do his grieving later, or else on the move. There was no more time to be lost. When the distraught boy failed to respond right away, Draco forced himself to harden his voice. "You've already lost one best friend," he said. "Do you want to lose the other one too? Did you hear me say that Hermione's been poisoned? Potter, we have to get her out of here now!"

This finally caught Harry's attention. "Hermione," he said, raising his head. He looked over to where she lay. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Draco said, "come on, Potter." Standing, he helped Harry up, then went to kneel once more beside Hermione. Harry limped over to stand beside him, leaning heavily on the banister.

Glancing up at him as he gathered Hermione into his arms, Draco said, "we'll get her back to school, then come back for Weasley, okay? I don't like the idea of leaving him here, but- with you injured, it would take too much time to get him and Hermione both out past the gate. And we haven't got time. You understand that, Potter? This can't wait."

Harry nodded dumbly. Either he was in agreement or was so far out of it in pain and grief that he was past caring.

As Draco staggered to his feet with Hermione once again clasped to his chest, she let out a small whimper. Both boys grimaced as though feeling her pain.

"I can't lose her too," Harry whispered. He was looking past Draco with faraway, empty eyes and seemed to be speaking to himself. "It'll kill me."

"You and me both, Potter," Draco muttered, and started down the stairs.

00000

Only to stop suddenly, confronted by the sight of his father, Stupefied on the marble foyer floor.

He had completely forgotten about him.

He simply stood and stared for a long moment, halfway down the stairs, Hermione cradled in his arms, as the rage and hatred he felt toward this man built and built within him until, as had happened to Harry on that fateful day over a year ago in Voldemort's throne room, Draco literally saw red.

The girl he loved more than his life- more than his soul- was dying in his arms…he could still feel the poison-induced tremors coursing through her otherwise limp body- and the man at the foot of the stairs was the cause of it. Never mind what he had done to Draco himself, or to Harry, or even to Ron- Draco's entire world had narrowed in that instant to include only two things; the pain-wracked body of his lover in his arms, and the man who had caused her pain lying at his feet. It was time to make Lucius pay.

It was time to make Lucius die.

He would never remember later descending the rest of the steps- it seemed that in the next instant he was simply there, once again kneeling to gently deposit Hermione on the floor, whispering to her, though he didn't think she could hear him any longer, that this would only take a moment- there was just one last thing he needed to do and then he'd have her out of here- just a moment more, bookworm, okay?

Pressing a brief kiss to her forehead, he stood, and moved to tower over his unconscious father. He pulled out his wand and though his body was trembling with rage and hate and the last lingering effects of the Cruciatus curse, his hand was perfectly steady as he trained the wand on Lucius' heart.

"Goodbye, father," he said.

And that was when Harry spoke from just behind him.

"Malfoy! You can't murder your own father while he's Stupefied!" He had followed Draco down the stairs, retrieved his wand from where it lay, and was now standing at the blond boy's elbow, apparently aghast at what Draco clearly intended to do.

"Can't I?" Draco's voice was flat. His pale eyes, when he turned them on Harry, were equally so. "Speak for yourself, Potter. You don't have it in you to kill an unconscious man, no matter what the provocation. All right. I respect that about you, I really do. I, however, am not you. I'm no hero, I never claimed to be. And let me assure you, I can kill him. And I will." So saying, he returned his attention to Lucius' prone figure and sucked in a sharp breath, in preparation for speaking the curse.

"MALFOY!"

Draco's whole body jerked, as though Harry's shout had been a physical blow. He turned his head very slowly this time toward the dark haired boy, and his eyes were narrowed to dangerous slits. He was breathing hard. His voice, when he spoke, was a snarl.

"Potter. This bastard has already cost you one best friend. He's about to cost you the other one, if you don't stop wasting. My. Bloody. TIME! WHY are you defending him?"

"I'm not doing this for him, Draco! I'm doing this for you! Because I don't care what lengths you go to in order to hide it, I KNOW you have a conscience in there somewhere, and if you murder your father while he's Stupefied it will eat away at you for the rest of your life! You don't deserve that! He's not WORTH that! He's not worth a lifetime of regret!"

The two boys stared at each other, quartz-colored eyes locked on green, for a long moment, then Draco abruptly turned away again, his eyes slamming shut and both hands coming up to clench in his pale, fine hair. He stood that way, fighting for control of himself as Harry looked on, his body still trembling, until finally he took a deep, shuddering breath and, opening his eyes, stared down at his father sprawled out at his feet.

"Potter-" his voice was a ragged whisper- "if she dies-"

"Do what you need to do, Draco," Harry said quietly. "He deserves death. I'm the last person who would ever tell you otherwise. Only not while he's Stupefied. For your own sake- wake him up first."

For a moment Draco did nothing. Then he gave a barely perceptible nod and trained his wand once again on his father.

"Ennervate," he said, in a voice made almost unrecognizable by hate.

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(A/N: Hey! I made 200 reviews! WooHoo! This seems like an opportune time to once again thank all of my reviewers. I don't believe in begging or bribing for reviews at the end of each chapter, but don't think for a minute that that means I don't value or care about the reviews you guys send me- they're the first thing I check for whenever I sit down at the computer! Yes, my name is Kyra and I'm a reviewaholic, lol! But anyway, thanks, whether you're one of my regular reviewers (love you guys!) or whether you've just reviewed once. I appreciate them all!)