Henry knew Norfolk the best of them all, having spent time there during his auror training before the war, and so it was he who would apparate everyone one by one to a spot that he knew which would hopefully be near enough to the hospital. Outside the tent, the shanty town appeared to be deserted. The sky above seemed to be mocking the anguish below with dappled afternoon sunlight streaking through wispy clouds like stretched fairy floss; a light and chilly breeze weaved through the tents and made the longer blades of grass dance. As the group prepared for apparation, Draco – temporarily lifting out of his haze of determination – frantically scanned between the tents for some movement.

"Where will Amelia be?" He asked Henry.
"Assuming she saw the flare go up, should be positioned at the medical tent I think," Henry replied as he zipped up his jacket.

Draco raked a shaky hand through his hair – he needed to say goodbye to her but knew there was no time.

"Listen mate, honestly – if you aren't up to this yet, its fine," Henry said in a low voice so that only Draco could hear, clearly clocking his distressed expression. "You've done more than your bit for us". These words pulled Draco back from his worry and back into the urgency of the moment. He thought of his nightmares, the dark guilt he was plagued with… Maybe if he went and fought the Death Eaters he would finally be able to rest. The determination to fight them overtook him; a tingling warmth coursed through his whole body and he felt like his fingertips were practically vibrating as they clutched his wand: his weapon.

"It's fine," he said in a clipped tone and swallowed. He would make sure he was back. He would make sure that he would take down as many Death Eaters as possible and not allow them to penetrate the shanty town or harm Amelia. With a last sweeping look around the long rows of tents stretching along the vast field, he allowed Henry to link his arm through his and felt the familiar pull behind his navel – he bit his lip to stop himself from audibly groaning at the pain this caused his healing stab wound.


Amelia sprinted towards the medical tent as soon as she saw the flares lighting up the winter sky from her window. Blood pumped through her ears as she darted between the tents, occasionally seeing someone rushing to their post, mirroring her determination. It had all been decided after she had been rescued from Malfoy Manor: a flare would be sent up if a threat to the resistance was imminent or expected, and everyone would assemble and take up their pre-arranged posts. A large number of people would line the perimeters, casting extra protective spells and be on alert for any intruders; others would be stationed throughout the resistance – two people by the radio, two people by the tent with many different potions lining the shelves; and some would be in the medical tent, poised to help with any injuries. Amelia was one of those who would help Michael in the tent; Draco was to be stationed at the perimeter. She hadn't seen him since he had left to do some duelling practice that morning, much to her obvious dismay. She could only assume that he had taken up his position at the perimeters. The thought made an anxious knot swell in the pit of her stomach but she did her best to swallow it down, focus on the resistance.

Michael was already in the medical tent, a parchment and quill in slightly shaky hands as he counted inventory.

"We counted all of these yesterday, Michael," Amelia said as she came in, tossing her jacket to the side, feeling tiny beads of sweat appear at her hairline from sprinting across the grounds.

"Amelia – uh – hi. Yes, I suppose we did. Just double checking." He was frazzled, nervous. So was she, but she tried to counter Michael's jitters by appearing calm and steady as she helped to count the bandages on the bottom shelf.

"How's Malfoy?" Michael asked. There was a slight stiffness to his voice which Amelia chose to ignore.

"He's fine. Still in pain, but it seems to be healing okay."

Michael nodded absently, his eyes darting around the room.

"Crazy to have lived a double life like that," he said – clearly wanting to make conversation but equally unable to tear himself away from the tense situation at hand.

Amelia's eyebrows twitched into a frown. "It wasn't really a double life," she said – feeling defensive of her Slytherin. "He was a prisoner of the Death Eaters," she corrected.

"Ah – yes, of course," his vacant response annoyed her. It mattered that Draco was never a true Death Eater.

Soon Luna and Ginny arrived, and Amelia was grateful to be stationed with friends. Their nervous but determined smiles soothed the growing knot in her stomach.

"Do we know what the situation is?" Michael asked, standing now behind the counter and drumming his fingers lightly.

Ginny sunk into one of the chairs. "I only saw Harry really briefly. Something about a rescue plea over the radio – a small resistance somewhere in Norfolk… They've gone to check it out," she said with a shrug, though her bouncing knee betrayed her nervousness.

"So they could be bringing others back with them?" Michael asked.

Ginny shrugged again. "I think they're half expecting it to be a trap. But I guess so, yeah."

The possibility of newcomers to the resistance hung in the air as each of them imagined this – imagined who it could be. They all had loved ones out there, unaccounted for…

"Who all went with Harry?" Amelia eventually broke the silence.

Ginny listed those who had gone – Amelia was unsurprised that her brother's name tumbled out of her best friend's mouth first. The knot grew as dark thoughts invaded her mind – her only family, pulled into an uncertain mission, she didn't even get to say goodbye or good luck…

"… and Draco."

"Wait - what?"

"Did he not tell you?" Ginny asked, turning to her best friend and arranging her face so as not to mirror the fear in Amelia's eyes.

Amelia's heart plummeted. Ginny must've had it wrong. He wouldn't go – not while he was still so weak. Dark thoughts and worries flooded into her mind and her breathing suddenly became uncertain rattles in a hollow chest. Why did he go to duelling practice this morning? She should've refused – should've made him rest. What if this was it? She'd only just got him back into her life – if she lost him now…

"Why would he go?" Amelia asked, only half-aware that she was speaking aloud, unable to bottle the misdirected frustration and anger. Her voice was louder than she'd intended it to be. "He-he's their main target and he's still injured. Has everyone forgotten that?!" She didn't realise that she was yelling now, and violently pulling a loose thread from her knitted jumper.

Ginny put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. "He'll be fine." What else could say she? "He's survived up until now despite… everything thrown his way. He wouldn't have gone unless he felt ready to fight again. "

Amelia was unable to meet Ginny's optimism and swallowed the swollen lump in her throat. She thought back to Draco's nightmares from the past few nights, and the way he was clearly torturing himself over the past. She knew why'd he'd gone and it sure as hell wasn't because he suddenly felt physically ready.

The way that Amelia saw it, Draco had practically offered himself up as bait in whatever situation they were walking in on in Norfolk.


The air was different; that was the first thing Draco noticed. It was thicker, heavier, and tinged with the metallic scent of concrete after rain. They were certainly far away from the snugs of mountains, forests and fields. He stumbled slightly upon arrival and there was another painful twang to his abdomen; he briefly missed his walking stick which he had stubbornly abandoned.
"Stay here – I'll be back," Henry muttered.

Draco looked around: he was in a dimly lit alleyway – alone. He stuffed his wand into his jacket pocket, but kept his fist tightly secured around its hilt. The buildings either side of him forming the alleyway were tall with a dark red brick, graffiti in different colours splattered clumsily across both walls. High above there were windows but they were shuttered with thick, rusted bars lining them. Draco could hear life beyond the alleyway – the low mechanic grumbles of muggle transport, a mother berating her loud children, music on the wind, perhaps drifting from a pub or an inn. He pressed his back against the damp wall, willing himself to sink into the shadows.

He swallowed hard, his throat was dry and sore. His heartbeat throbbed through his whole body, echoing loudly in his head like a rhythmic war drum. Images from his nightmares flashed before him as if they were being played out in the lonely little side street, taunting him with their familiarity. Dumbledore falling, Burbage's body hanging limp before his eyes, Amelia unconscious on the leafy forest floor, his mother's frail and shaking hand clutching his.

His fault. All his fault.

The darkness he felt was deafening in these moments alone.

This blood on his hands, these lives ended or ruined all because of him and his damned stupidity. It was becoming too much and he knew that he would one day snap and go mad with the guilt – could feel the madness creeping up on him. Even as he stood waiting for the others in the middle of this muggle town, a swelling rose in his chest and a warmth sparked behind his eyes. He swallowed again, pushed it down. Kill – as many as possible. That was the only way to bring balance to all the lives he had ruined. Ever since Amelia had been taken by the Death Eaters he had been infected by an intense hatred – something that had always been there, but hurting the one thing he cared about in this miserable world he sparked a guttural, deep and ugly repulsion within him. He didn't just want to kill each and every last one of them, he wanted them to suffer. Wanted it to be slow and deliberate, wanted to watch as the last whisper of life left their eyes.

A loud crack brought him back from his thoughts: Henry arrived with Seamus Finnigan.

Within minutes they were a group emerging from the alleyway, with an ironic sense of purpose for a bunch of people who had no idea where they were or what they were walking into.

"I remember there was a massive old building at the end of this street – looked enough like a hospital. Hard to tell with muggle buildings…" Henry said, as much as to himself as to the group.

They must've looked an odd crew as they stormed down the high street, their eyes flickering at any movement, their formation unbreaking and their hands all clutching onto something concealed within their coats and jackets. A few people stared, one girl who was talking to her boyfriend actually stopped mid-sentence and gawked at the group at they went past.

Draco tried to recall the last time he had been in the presence of so many muggles at once. His mother had taken him into London on occasion, usually around Christmas to visit the wizarding shops that hid in the corners and the shadows of busy central London. He remembered that she would grip onto his wrist very tightly and steer him around the crowds, all the while muttering about 'filthy muggles'. Once, when a muggle woman had accosted Draco as a small child, his mother had immediately apparated them back to the Manor and his father had shouted at them both, before personally scrubbing Draco's skin until it was almost raw. It was one of Draco's earliest memories.

The building Henry had led them to certainly looked like an abandoned hospital. They were at the end of the small high street, and the hospital sat further back on a small hill, overgrown shrubbery and thistle surrounding and engulfing it. If they were in the right place, Draco could understand why a number of social outcasts or fugitives had chosen it as a refuge; for such an imposing building, it seemed to fade into obscurity. The windows were all bordered up with old and rotting wooden planks hammered haphazardly across the glass at random angles, as if it was done in a great hurry. The roof had given up on itself and concaved in some parts, revealing sharp snapped planks underneath the roof tiles.

"Right, let's check it out," Harry mumbled as they all stood and took in the building, all unsure of what lay ahead of them. From where they stood, it looked as if life hadn't been inside the building for decades.

Maintaining their diamond formation they moved forward as one, following the path obscured by runaway branches. Much to his dismay, Draco had been paired with Harry – one of Henry's poorer decisions, he thought. It was Harry who had the portkey should they need it, and him that Draco had to stay shoulder to shoulder with inside the hospital.

The front entrance indicated that they must've been in the right place: the words 'St. Agnes Hospital' were planted across a sign under thick layers of dirt and dust.

"Remember – we want to be as quick as possible. Rescue those who are in there and get out of there. We do what is necessary but we're not hanging around for a fight," Harry said in a level voice, peering at his allies who all gave a mute nod. Draco felt energy buzz through his fingertips as he brandished his wand at his side, ready.

"Reducto," Harry muttered and in a heartbeat the bordered front entrance had splintered in a giant puff of dust and smoke, revealing the dark innards of the hospital.

The air was thick, damp and musty and made Draco grimace with a cough as they walked cautiously through the entrance corridor, their wands lit against the darkness. The only sounds were the clipped sounds of their footsteps and a metronomic drip bouncing around the walls. No signs of life.

But then, a bright red beam sliced through the still darkness from above. In an instant, black figures were swooping the resistance from an unseen mezzanine. Draco steadied his feet and pointed his wand in front of him at eye level, allowing his eyes to flicker around as he tried to aim at the darting figures as if he were back on the quidditch pitch trying to catch the snitch. He flicked his wrist and gave a low grunt, sending a curse and allowing a smirk to smear across his face as it landed successfully, the black figure falling gracelessly to the floor.

Around him, curses now flew like fireworks all around. The resistance were still in their formation, their backs now to each other as they formed a tight circle, their legs tensed and steadied on the ground, their brows furrowed as they refused to back down to the swarms of Death Eaters encircling them and landing to engage in combat.

"Looks like it was a fucking trap after all," Draco said through gritted teeth to Harry beside him.

"Too late to back out now," Harry shouted back to him, struggling to communicate over the noise bouncing around the room, now alight with spells and curses flying about.

"Wasn't suggesting that in the slightest, Potter," Draco said back. As he fought the pain in his side was forgotten, overridden by his bloodthirst. A thirst to redeem himself. Another Death Eater fell to the floor – he was enjoying himself. His smirk grew as he waved his wand, his aim confident, his breathing laboured but steady, any anxiety having melted away.

"We need to break away," Harry said. This was the plan – he and Harry, Seamus and Bill would break away from the group and scout the hospital for any survivors. "Now!"

Henry, Hermione, Ron and Fleur took a step outwards and all cast a shielding charm, creating a large silvery dome around them all. The others darted around it and into a conjoining corridor. There was no time to look back at the scene they had exited – they sprinted, their wands held out in front of them, through the empty corridors, their frantic footsteps echoing up and down the endless labyrinth.

Rage surged through Draco as they walked – two in front, two behind – down the dark corridors, their collective wandlight intruding on the still shadows all around them. There was something incredibly eerie about this place. It was like death hung heavy in the air; it had been a hospital after all.

There was a noise in a corridor to the right, and Draco aimed his wandlight fast enough to see the lick of a black robe disappear around a corner. Something took over and suddenly he was sprinting towards it, ignoring the bellows from Potter behind him. His chest burned with his panting breaths as he rushed to catch up with the Death Eater, hurdling over chairs and swiping old stretchers to the side with a flick of his wand as he raced towards whatever it was he saw.

Finally he rounded a corner and came to a staggering halt. He was right: a Death Eater stood tall and menacing at the end of the corridor, as if they were waiting for Draco. As if he'd been lured there. A voice in the back of his head tried to remind him that this whole thing appeared to be a setup, a trap, but he pushed it away.

He felt his lips curl into a snarl as he approached the hooded figure, taking wide and steady strides with his wand trembling in front of him.

"Draco Malfoy – you really are a fool, aren't you?"

The voice sounded vaguely familiar – gravelly, older, male…

He replied with his wand, sending a curse flying across the corridor as he rapidly closed the gap between the two men. The Death Eater batted it away, with an ease that made Draco falter slightly, but he responded immediately with another, and another, and another until they stood, barely inches apart.

"You've certainly become confident since you murdered your father," the voice spat from behind the hood. "I remember you as a child though: cowardly, hiding behind the man who you killed in cold blood."

Realisation sparked behind Draco's grey eyes. "Dolohov," he growled.

The man standing before him swept the mask from his face with an effortless flick of his wand, revealing his menacing smile. Antonin Dolohov had been a fairly frequent fixture in Draco's life as he had grown up – always visiting Malfoy Manor and speaking passionately about the 'old days' when Voldemort had first risen to power before Draco was born. He had always been afraid of the Death Eater as he'd grown up – the unpredictable and often tempered presence of Dolohov had always made him uneasy. But now Draco was grown and stood tall against his father's long-time ally.

A growl rumbled in the back of Draco's throat. "My father deserved what he got – and worse." Had to keep his mother's murderous favour a secret.

"Think they'll protect you, eh?" Dolohov said, advancing on Draco with thunderous footsteps. Draco found himself backing away slightly. "They're using you – just like The Dark Lord used you, just like we did. Spineless weasel, you are – just doing what you need to get yourself ahead, not even realising when you are being played like a disposable pawn."

The words wounded Draco and his lip twitched despite himself. "You know nothing about me."

"Is your girl here? The one who slipped from our grasp. Don't worry though, once we're done with you – you best believe that she's next." He gave a sickening laugh and something deep inside of Draco completely snapped. "Now that you've broken your precious Vow to your father, she's fair game. And there are a lot of us who want to destroy her, before we destroy you. Looks like I'll get part of that honour today."

Draco gnashed his teeth and growled loudly, slashing the air with his wand. The curse hit Dolohov right in the gut, sending him crashing into a cobwebbed, rusted stretcher in the corner, creating a deafening symphony of tangled limbs and metal on the floor. "I will kill anyone who dares to try and touch her!" Draco barked.

Hot rage bubbled within Draco. Images of his father played before him like a moving photograph: disapproving and cold throughout his childhood, cruel and manipulative as he forced his sixteen year old son into a suicide mission, and murderous as he stood over the only person Draco loved, intent on shattering his son completely by killing her, determined to tear them apart and ruin his son's life. His father standing cold and unfeeling, knowing that his only son would be killed – led to slaughter - as soon as a heir was born with his seed, and his blood.

It was Lucious Malfoy who Draco really wanted to kill. He wished he could revive him, just to serve justice himself and take the burden from his mother's hands. But he couldn't. The anger flooded through his veins like burning venom, shooting through his fingertips to his wand as he heard himself shout 'crucio!'

He watched as Dolohov, with strangled gasps, writhed on the floor as if he were having a violent fit. Draco's wide eyes dried as he fixated his glare on the older man, refusing to even blink or flinch lest the curse break, his hatred acting as fuel enough for his unwavering concentration. Reason abandoned him and for a moment nothing existed outside of him and the man on the floor who represented everything ugly and evil in Draco's life.

He could see it, Dolohov was dying before his eyes. He broke the spell with a drastic yank of his arm and collapsed to the floor next to a barely conscious Death Eater.

Dolohov's eyes swivelled in his skull like rolling marbles.

"Blood traitor – I hope you rot Malfoy," Dolohov managed to muster the energy to say. His breathing was shallow and faint. "You'll get what you deserve – you, that bitch who you seem so keen on protecting, and everyone who dares defy the Dark Lord. You cockroach." He spat at the younger man in disgust.

Draco wiped the spit from his face with a backhand, his mouth curling once again into a dangerous sneer. Wand forgotten, Draco plunged a quaking fist into Dolohov's face, feeling the satisfying shatter of his nose beneath his knuckles. He withdrew his fist behind his head and rammed into his face again, and again, and again. The spray of blood splattered his clothes, his face, and Dolohov was now unconscious and unaware of Draco's wrath, but he couldn't stop. He felt hot tears mingle with the Death Eater's blood on his cheeks.

"Woah, hey!" A frantic and detached voice sliced through Draco's violent haze as he suddenly felt strong arms pulling him off the limp body of Dolohov. He allowed it, his fist uncurling and falling by his side, his raw grazed knuckles dripping red.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Draco looked up to see Potter standing over him and blinked away the salty beads of sweat hanging from his lashes.

"I – uh – I don't know…" Draco stammered, feeling as if he was just pulled out of a deep sleep.

"We have to go – now!" Harry said, hastily pulling Draco up and starting back down the corridor, his wand still outstretched.

Draco stumbled on his feet and adjusted his jacket, his eyes scanning over the Death Eater on the floor. Was he dead?

"Malfoy – now! The others have already given their signal!"

Draco blinked hard and turned his heel on Dolohov – not knowing what he hoped the outcome for the Death Eater to be. The signal in question would've been Henry's Patronus, letting the other team know that they had swept their side of the hospital. Draco had no idea how long he'd been distracted by Dolohov – how long had they been in the hospital? Perhaps his lack of sleep was catching up on him…

His knuckles throbbed; the pulling pain of his healing stab wound flared once more.

"Ready?" Harry said, still regarding Draco with apprehension.

Draco nodded as Harry took out a small cloth bag from his pocket. Just as he was about to pull out the bent fork to take him and Draco back to the safety of the resistance, a voice pierced the silence.

Both men spun around to see a figure bolting towards them, robes billowing behind him and arms waving above his head for good measure. Both Draco and Harry poised themselves, their legs grounded and their wands pointed with strong arms, as the figure emerged out of the shadows.
Draco frowned: he vaguely recognised the man in front of them, wearing blue robes with gold embroidery. Harry apparent knew him though – he chuckled with disbelief and launched towards the man, engulfing him in an embrace.

"Mr Potter – I should've known you would come," the man said in a velvety baritone voice.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," Harry said, standing back to observe the older man. "Bloody hell, I can't believe it!"

Kingsley Shacklebolt beamed and clapped Harry's back with a low chuckle. "There are more of us sprinkled around the country than you may think, Mr Potter. You have never been alone."

Harry gave the wizard a lopsided smile; Draco felt invisible between the two men.

"I thought we were in a hurry," he said, in a tone which sounded a lot more impatient than he intended. Something about the older wizard made him feel instantly defensive.

Kingsley Shacklebolt turned his attention to Draco, seemingly only just noticing that he was actually there. He peered at the younger man with apprehension and Draco shifted awkwardly, unconsciously hiding his bloody knuckles behind his back.

"The son of Luscious Malfoy?" Kingsley said slowly, taking in Draco's appearance. Draco saw the older wizard's eyes linger on his left arm but the tattoo he was searching for was well hidden under his jacket.

"There's a lot to catch up on," Harry muttered to Kingsley.

There was a loud crash from a floor above, making all three men tense and their eyes dart around the darkness.

"They are still about," Kingsley said, his own wand drawn.

"Let's go," Harry said, once again taking the small, rusty fork out of the cloth. Draco and Kingsley both grabbed it alongside Harry, as the surroundings of the hospital faded just as Draco saw two blurry, tall black figures swooping towards the unlikely trio.