Chapter 8:

Draco had smoked eight cigarettes this hour and poured himself three cups of coffee, two of which had gone cold, and the third he was using as an ashtray. Harry was pacing the room, his shirt still unbuttoned and his hair ruffled from were Draco's hands had been in it earlier when they had stood against the wall. When everything was going marvelously and they were planning.

A loud click and the first member of the alliance came in the room. It was Hermione, mildly dishelmed, wearing a t-shirt that said Mommy in a gaudy print and had children's handprints on it, over faded jeans. She quickly embraced Harry and walked through Draco's smoky haze to kiss his cheek.

"My gods," she whispered. "When?"

"This afternoon," Draco said, dropping more ashes into his mug. "That was a bloody Malfoy vase from before the damned unification." He gestured tiredly to the crushed heap in the middle of the hall aisle. "Worth as much as a small country."

"Is anything missing?" Hermione asked impishly, as another crack sound appeared, and Ron was standing in the room, still wearing the causal suit he had worn at their lunch not two hours before.

"Shit," Ron said, turning red. "Shit. Sorry, mates. This is-- madness."

Draco shook his head sarcastically. "It's lovely, actually. I'd ask you to tea, Mr. Weasley, but it seems my tea set has been mashed by Death Eaters. Perhaps you'd rather chew on my crushed cigs, or you can drink Harry's butterbeer off the carpet?"

"Draco, please," Harry moaned, taking a seat next to the sardonic gray puff of smoke. "This isn't going to piece our lives back together."

"No, Potter," Draco said tiredly. "But it might amuse me in the midst of my broken dreams, and that's good enough for now."

Harry put his arm about Draco and slowly took the cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it into the cold coffee mug. Draco put his head in Harry's lap and on an automatic turn, he stroked Draco's hair.

As Ron paced, Hermione sat down on the table, catching snippets of their conversation.

"You're an arsehole."

"Oh Potter, you turn my head with your sweet nothings," was the rejoinder.

"Sweet? To a Slytherin!" Harry looked affronted at the thought.

"-- fuck you, you lousy--"

"-- Malfoy, you're only after one thing and that's pleasing yourself--"

"I never said that I wasn't!"

"Bastard!"

"My parents were married, thank you."

Harry was smiling again. "You're so stupid."

Draco frowned. "And here I was thinking you were smart Potter. I'm the cleverest person you'll ever meet."

"Sure, if you define clever as stubborn, selfish, idiotic, pedantic and inbred."

"Okay!"

The last word came from Hermione. "That's enough fighting!" She had a narrowed look in her eyes not much different from the look she used to scold her own children. Without questioning her authority, they fell silent, Harry amusing himself idly by twirling a piece of flaxen hair around his finger, holding it there and then repeating it again until Draco moved.

"That was a Malfada Avery," Draco moaned after an interval, and then added, "My Wedgwood chess set."

"I know, Draco," Harry soothed, patting his head. "We'll figure it out." Harry picked up a mashed box from the corner of the room. "Want a chocolate frog?"

Draco sat up with a ghostly smile and ate the frog, and he pecked Harry's cheek before lighting another cigarette. The pair of them looked like two battle weary soldiers to Hermione, their clothes wrinkled and opened, sitting in the middle of a mess of expensive, beautiful destruction.

A loud crack and Juliette Weston came in the room. She was wearing an enormous gray sweater and large black sweatpants; completely shielding her figure from view, over a size-too-big band t-shirt. "What the hell happened here?" She said loudly. "Fucking Death Eaters." She answered herself before anyone could speak.

She looked sorrowfully at Harry and Draco before rubbing her hands briskly together. "So, where's everyone else?"

"Dean's on his way," Draco said through his smoky haze. "And so's Severus and Remus and I have no bloody idea where Ginny is or Seamus. Hermione, where is your husband?"

"Someone had to stay with Sarah and the boys," Hermione said sheepishly. "We couldn't certainly leave them alone."

"Hermione, call Seamus and have him take the kids to your parents," Weston said briskly. "And send out a warning to the Alliance, this wasn't some flukish attack, this was a notice. Draco, give me a fucking cigarette will you. And Harry, if your sink isn't broken, I'd like a glass of water."

Everyone looked at Juliette, shocked. Then she snapped her fingers. "People, are we going to stand around like statues of angst, or are we going get things done? Thanks, mate," she said, taking one of Draco's cigarettes and coughing loudly. "God, these things are hundred-percent nicotine."

"Kills you off faster," Draco laughed. "Here Weston, have an American one."

Hermione came back in the room, nodding absently. "Seamus is coming. He took the children to my parent's as soon as the notice came in." She looked wearily at Weston. "So, what are we planning? An attack?"

"No," Weston said, exhaling smoke. "We haven't got that kind of manpower since the killings started, and we're not prepared, they could be anywhere. We need somewhere to go, a safehouse of sorts, before we can do any kind of counter attack--"

Crack. Seamus stood next to his wife. "Bloody hell," he said at once, then fell quiet. "Why aren't you two packed?" He accused. "We have to get out of here; the whole bloody place is trashed. There could be bugs anywhere!"

"And where would you have us go, Finnigan?" Ron said hollowly, threateningly from the corner where he stood.

"Listen, Ron, mate," Seamus said. "This isn't the time or the place to get shirty with me, eh? We've got to get a plan together. Weston?"

Juliette nodded. "Ron, calm down. Where do you think we should go?"

Seamus shrugged. "Montana. We could stay with Hermione's parents."

"Not a good idea," Weston frowned. "If we go, we're putting Muggles and your children in danger. That is, if we manage to even get there. To get out of Europe, we'd have to use our TransPorts, and the Ministry will be probably watching documentation like crazy, so our fakes will be caught. And then the Death Eaters will find us because of their friends in high places."

Everyone looked at Weston before Draco clapped his hands. "Brilliant, Weston, so where can we go, oh genius one?"

"Draco," Harry chastised again. "Weston's only trying to help."

But everyone was looking at Juliette attentively, and she was feeling the strain. "I don't know," she began hesitantly. "I didn't think it all the way through, you know. It just has to be somewhere no one would expect."

"Draco and I were planning on going to Paris," Harry began before Ron interrupted him.

"You were planning on leaving the country without telling us!" He sputtered. "Why! What possible reason could you have--"

"Harry doesn't have to explain his life to you, Weasel," Draco began, annoyed.

"Mates, please," Seamus frowned from the corner of this room.

"Don't get involved in this, too, Seamus--" Ron hissed.

"Ron," Hermione pleaded. "That was so long ago, really--"

"Enough!" Weston screamed. "E fucking nough! Draco, what's your favorite place in the world?"

"Wherever Harry is," Draco said, half-mockingly and half-seriously. "All right, Paris. So the idea's shit. Where is a place no one would expect?"

It was Hermione that spoke. She looked at Draco and gasped. "Malfoy Manor. We could go to Malfoy Manor."

Everyone became silently. If Harry's federal grandfather clock hadn't been smashed to pieces its tick-tocking would have been the only sound in the house. Silently, almost motionlessly, Harry took Draco's hand and clasped it tightly in his own. And they sat silently, all waiting for Draco to decide if he once again wanted to set foot in the house which had belonged to his deceased parents. All knowing it was the safest place for them to go.

Draco exhaled his cigarette smoke and looked at Harry. Then he shrugged. Though he contrived to make it look easy, Harry knew it had taken every ounce of his strength and pride to do it.

"Fine," he whispered, his voice hoarse from smoke and worry. "Let's go. We'll kill ourselves either way."

In the basement, four children sat hiding, huddled together despite their animosity.

Knowing what came next.