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Ch. 28: Day 14, Part I: Lots of Ways to Do the Right Thing
The sound that shattered the night silence was as loud as a foghorn, though much more piercing in its pitch. It was the unmistakable blare of the emergency siren.
Harry jerked his head up in surprise, banging it against the wooden cot.
"OW! Fuck!" he cried, rolling away and etreating to the open space of the floor.
Curled under the cot, the sound triggered some survival reflex, and Draco was abruptly released from the clutches of the past. His eyes flew open and he grabbed at the canvas wall, at the ground, anything for support. After a couple seconds of vertigo, the world righted itself, and Draco began working to steady his heavy breathing.
"Draco! We gotta go! Now!" came a voice, fighting with the earsplitting alarm to be heard. Who. . . ? His wheels spun freely for a moment before finding the traction of memory. His queasy pit of humiliation and disappointment formed in his stomach, and nausea threatened to further upset his breathing. He had totally freaked the fuck out on Harry Potter!
"Draco! We're in danger!"
A little delayed, a wave of adrenaline hit and Draco quickly rolled out from under the cot, catching Harry by surprise. He jumped to his feet, and single-mindedly did what was necessary – tugging on his boots, then grabbing his robes.
He looked terrible: still trembling slightly, and face splotchy. "Are you okay?" Harry asked delicately, incapable of trusting the sudden change.
Then he thought he heard the sound of screaming, mixing in with the almost deafening siren. Draco moved towards the flap, pulling his hood over his head with one hand, wand brandished in the other. "It hardly matters right now."
Harry nodded –
CRACK!
An explosively heavy, blunt force suddenly slammed against Harry, throwing him forward against Draco, and the two were hurled through the flap, just as the entire tent collapsed amidst a magical glow.
The siren was even louder out in the open, and the screams much easier to identify – and locate, despite the darkness. The camp had been overrun! A swarm of black-clad Death Eaters ran amidst the tents, incinerating and destroying them, fighting against a haphazard defense of half-dressed recruits. Harry scrambled to his feet, adrenaline surging through his veins; he didn't even need to think before slipping into blitzkrieg mode: charging a couple oncoming Death Eaters, yelling curses punctuated by cursing.
"Stupefy! You slimy Shit Eaters! Protego! Petrify! Putrid pains in the motherfucking arsehole! Accio wand!" A Death Eater's wand flew into his left hand, and he began throwing hexes at twice the speed, unconsciously slipping into silence as to not interrupt his berserker diatribe of obscenities.
"I guess that takes care of that whole half of the battlefield," Draco murmured distractedly to himself, both astounded and impressed. He turned his head to glance at the rest of the Slytherin tents – where he saw a horde of black robes congregating in a circle near the far end of their territory.
"Damn!" he hissed, fear clutching at his chest. He bounded to his feet and ran full-throttle towards his housemates. Within moments he was close enough to reliably cast a spell, and he didn't even need to concentrate to throw, "Imperio! . . Imperio! . . Imp-"
But he was not hard to locate, charging towards them as he was, and his third attempt was cut off by a spell that slammed into his chest with such force that he was propelled back several meters and landed painfully on his ass. Several Death Eaters broke off from the group to stride purposefully in his direction. Winded as Draco was by the blow, shouting was an exercise in pure will power, "Defend me fuckers! Kill them!"
Coughing and wheezing, Draco was relieved to see the two figures he had hit raise their wands and begin casting Avada Kadavra on their comrades. The group dispersed to deal with the new threats, and Draco could make out a crumpled white-robed figure lying in the snow, a large dark stain growing in the snow. It didn't take daylight to identify the stain as a surely fatal degree of blood loss.
A sick, maddening inner voice commented, three down.
With a sudden burst of energy, he forced himself to roll over –
Just as a bright blue bolt of magic exploded the snow where only a fraction of second ago he had lain. . . One arm gripping at the constricting pain in his chest, Draco struggled to his feet, raising his wand with his free hand. He didn't even think about it, silently mouthing any hex that came to mind: between his upbringing and his recent training, they were all of the worst sort.
A Crucio hit him, again dragging Draco to the ground where he screamed and writhed in agony. Then abruptly it was over, and his wand had dropped from his hand, but there wasn't enough time as a Death Eater descended on him.
Somewhere across the camp, growing physical fatigue had finally forced Harry to stop yelling and cursing, instead focusing his quite substantial magical energy on flinging debilitating curses. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Oliver Wood and one of the new recruits had joined him in frantic dueling.
A flaming purple comet barreled towards him, and he leapt out of the way, falling singed to the ground. That was close.
Then an explosion rocked the night, thundering through the air and spewing bright fire into the dark sky. It took Harry a moment for his eyes to readjust and realize that the fireworks were coming for the area near Moody's and Malkin's tents.
The blaring of the alarms had stopped, but his deafened ears failed to hear the footsteps.
He was grabbed by the hood and yanked painfully to his feet. Gagging and grabbing his strangled throat, Harry twisted his neck to recognize Snape. "You bastard," he gritted harshly.
Snape's expression was cold and hostile, and his eyes narrowed to slits. "The wards are down. They don't know that you are here. The mission has been accomplished, and we're on a tight schedule, if you know what I mean. If you apparate away, we might be willing to forgo the alas time-consuming pleasure of finishing off the wounded and cowardly."
In the distance, Harry saw a couple of Death Eaters approaching, having taken notice of his angry exchange with the odious potions master.
Struggling about suddenly, he violently elbowed the greasy git square in his greasy face, then, freed from Snape's grip, turned around and landed a powerful right hook on his jaw, snapping the head back. With is left hand, he raised his wand to his Adam's apple and murmured, "Sonorus," his mind racing to decide which rendezvous point would be the safest.
"APE TO BETA! APE TO BETA!" Harry's voice boomed out over the camp, drawing the attention of everyone still alive and cognizant. He wanted desperately to do more, but the Death Eaters were running now, and Snape was rigid and straight again, raising his wand –
As he apparated away he felt an agonizing freeze clenching at his gut as a neon green Avada Kadavra passed through the remnants of his body.
He reappeared kilometers away, clutching his stomach, and collapsed bonelessly to the frozen ground. Several long seconds later, he heard the popping sound of apparation –
Then another. And another.
Harry lost consciousness after that.
! BREAK !
The training had been of some value: when Harry had projected, "Ape to Beta," everyone had understood it as a command to apparate to Fallback Position Beta. Everyone who was capable (there were shockingly few) disapparated after Harry Potter, though it took the recruits a moment to orient themselves in exactly the right direction.
Ten more people managed to escape that night: Pansy Parkinson, Oliver Wood, Fred and George Weasley (both noticeably and painfully singed), and a handful of others with whom Harry was less acquainted. Seeing the Boy-Who-Lived collapsed on the hard snow, Wood took charge and ordered everyone around. In moments, Parkinson was conjuring a wide radius heat bubble, the twins and two other recruits were being patched up, and Oliver began checking Harry for injuries. Lifting up his shirt, Oliver gasped at dark, ugly bruises covered his lower abdomen.
One of other survivors, a newbie, knelt down next to Oliver and placed her hands gently on Harry's discolored skin, muttering a basic healing incantation. She did so twice more, while Oliver Wood shifted Harry's body into a comfortable position on his back.
"That's all I can do," the petite brunette muttered stoically, with the air of someone well acquainted with death.
Wood chewed on his lip, trying to figure out what to do next. Finally, indecision forced him to go with instinct. "We'll wait here for about an hour, get ourselves patched up as best we can. Then we'll send a reconnaissance team to find out if the Death Eaters have cleared off. When they have, most of us should go back to search for survivors."
As he spoke, his eyes searched terrified expressions and hopeless postures for anything he cold draw strength from, for anyone he could lean on. But he found nothing, and he wondered if this is what it felt like to be Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world.
! BREAK !
It was nearing dawn by the time Wood sent the Weasley twins to scope out the camp. Both of them were exhausted, but seemed (after being subjected to a couple spells designed specifically to treat burns) best suited for the task. Harry Potter was still unconscious.
Fred and George apparated a good twenty-five meters outside of the camp and instantly dropped to ground. Their robes had been spelled clean, and their hoods drawn over their distinctive hair, so they virtually disappeared into their snowy white surroundings. They crawled purposefully towards the camp, but the sky was already brightening in preparation for the sun's arrival, and it soon became obvious that the camp was dead. Smoke gently rose from several spots, but no movement could be discerned.
"I don' see anything," George whispered.
Fred's eyes flickered over the camp. "Neither do I."
"It could be a trap."
In his gut, Fred doubted it. It was just that. . . the scene before him did not give the impression of a trap. Rather, it looked and seemed exactly like what it had been – a total fucking massacre.
It suddenly struck him that he hadn't told George that. . . How could he have not! How could that not be the first thing out of his mouth! Inhaling sharply, he blurted, "They killed Lee."
George looked sharply at his twin. "We don't know that."
Fred swallowed painfully, pupils blurring the landscape before him. "I do. I saw him go down."
George was still and silent for several seconds before hissing, "Fuck."
He scrambled to his feet, Fred mirroring the action almost instantly.
"I don't think it's a trap," George muttered darkly. "I think they achieved their mission with gold fucking stars."
Fred nodded his head miserably: they were in complete agreement.
They were supposed to report back to Wood before further action was taken, but something suddenly drew their attention –
Someone was upright amongst the camp ruins, walking through the predawn light. The figure must have seen them too, for he/she was waving, though the individual's apparel was difficult to identify the apparel as either white or black.
The twins and the unknown individual walked cautiously towards each other, no one certain what to expect. Following basic wizarding etiquette, Fred and George lowered their hoods to allow their faces to be recognized. At that moment, the sun first peaked above the Eastern horizon, highlighting three recognizably shiny quaffs – two fiery red, and one platinum blond.
"Weasels!" "Blondie!" they screeched simultaneously.
They ran towards each other, for once truly relieved to see one another.
"We've come to help any wounded," Fed blurted as soon as Malfoy was close enough.
"Some of us are waiting at Beta point," George added, taking in the Slytherin's haggard appearance. His once-white robes were a splotchy mix of blood, ash, and magical scorching.
Exhausted and weak on his feet, Draco croak, "There are injured. Not everyone's dead."
"Are the Death Eaters gone?" George asked seriously.
Fading quickly, Draco nodded absently, "They left a while ago. . ."
Fred moved closer, taking a firm grip on the Slytherin's arm. "Someone needs to take him back to Beta point."
"Why don't you take him back, and bring the others," George pushed, at once anxious to be separated from his twin and desperate to run through the camp and find – anyone. George finished awkwardly, "I'll begin locating survivors."
Fred looked searchingly at him, but eventually just nodded. Then he disapparated, Malfoy side-along.
George jogged towards the camp borders.
! BREAK !
Warm, but with every muscle aching and a horrible numbness in his gut, Harry woke groggily.
Even without glasses, he was pretty sure he could identify the fuzzy figure before him. "Pansy?" he rasped.
Hair protruding big-headedly in every direction, Pansy suddenly grinned, and her normally drab features transformed wondrously. "Harry Potter!" she exclaimed, her face blaring into focus as she spontaneously hugged him, though with obvious care for his injuries.
Despite physical exhaustion, Harry's thoughts began to speed and jack up, rapidly flooding his mind. . . His pupils flicked around rapidly, eyes desperately seeking something close enough for nearsighted focus; that way did hysteria lead. . .
Jerking himself to awareness, he squeezed his eyelids shut, concentrating instead on formulating the question, "Did we ape to Beta?"
Pansy withdrew, but continued to firmly hold his hand as she composed herself to deliver the facts. "Ten of us apparated here after. Most of them have returned to the camp to look for survivors, now that the Death Eaters are gone."
"Who-who made it?" Harry whispered urgently, though he dreaded the answer.
Pansy rubbed her already red eyes. "The Weasley twins, you'll be thrilled to hear. Wood has crowned himself leader while you've been asleep. Huang Jingxua, if you remember her, the Ravenclaw? Three of newbies, who have proven to be a surprisingly resourceful bunch. A couple of the original recruits also survived, Warren and Jaykidza, I think."
"Draco?" Harry whimpered pathetically, briefly covering his face with his arm to hide the misery and dread, but causing Pansy's expression to darken and she scrutinized him for a long moment. Clues to which she had previously been oblivious fell abruptly into place and she finally realized that more lay between Harry and Draco than could easily attributable to hostility or necessity.
"He's okay," she finally sighed. "He was the first one found when we sent a team to the camp. Fred brought him back. Several other living casualties have been found in the meantime."
"Living casualties?" Harry exclaimed hoarsely with uncharacteristic sarcasm, miserably relieved about Draco but extremely upset nonetheless, and now struggling to sit up with great effort. "Is that what we've been reduced to! This is a goddamned military base! How the fuck did they find us! Why was there so little warning!"
Pansy was clearly fighting back tears with anger, snapping, "I DON"T KNOW! Maybe we have a spy! I don't know! All I know is that people have died. My friends have died."
Harry stared at her, nostrils flared but blatantly and awkwardly unsure of his position; his emotions were torn in a million directions, if only he could afford the time and energy to take them into consideration. He needed to focus on what was important –
"Where's Malfoy?"
Pansy glared at him with such ease that he was sure she had expected him to ask that very question. "Why do you want to know? He's nothing to you."
Harry felt like crap, and it was all he could do to gaze up at her in annoyance. "You know that's not true."
Pansy continued to regard him for a tense while longer before answering, "Do I? . . . I know that he's infatuated by you, that he has placed faith in you that he has never had in anyone. He wants us to trust you, and I trust him, but you – you're a different story. Should I really believe in false idols after so many have died?"
Harry could only look at her with dead eyes. Those labels – idols, heroes, victims, enemies – he hated them, for every one of them assassinated his identity. One of the most famous and powerful wizards of the day, those labels reduced him to nothing more than a predetermined role, dictated by and completely dependant on the greater society. His role outshone him so that it was all people could see, and they were blind to who he really was. Even Dumbledore and Cho saw him that way.
Really, there were only a few exceptions: Hermione, Ron (though sometimes he doubted), Sirius, Remus, and, and. . . And, very recently, Draco Malfoy.
Harry scowled, irritated with himself for thinking again about Malfoy. This wasn't about Draco Fucking Malfoy, though it sometimes seemed like it was. No! He was going to kill Voldemort – that scum of the earth, that revolting piece of no-good shit, that horrendous and atrocious abomination to all humankind. He, Harry Potter, was going to murder that thing in cold blood. And there would liklye be many casualties along the way, especially with everyone being so, uh, inexperienced.
Harry's expression gradually shifted to one of pity, and he gathered what energy he could to say, "I'm gonna to kill the monster, that's all there is to it. Either you're with me, or against me. . . Trust that I mean you no ill-will, but do not forget that my top priority here is to destroy Voldemort."
Pansy was obviously horrified by his use of the Dark Lord's name, but the Slytherin in her could pick up on the slightly off-kilter inflection that betrayed the rehearsal that had gone into those last words. She remained silent, and Harry eventually added meekly, "I'd still like to see Draco."
Pansy nodded slowly, feeling wholly unequal to the fantastic task of standing up to Harry's fate-train. "Look, just don't get out of bed, okay? You're still recovering. I'll levitate him over."
Only because he felt so terribly, Harry obeyed her command and stayed put. Cot, blanket, and Draco Malfoy shortly levitated into his limited visual scope, out of focus but clearly identifiable from his platinum hair and uniquely pale skin. The cot was placed next to his, and Harry twisted around unnaturally so that he could bring his half-blind eyes close enough to see Draco face. . .
Whether it was porcelain and perfect as usual, or bruised and bloodied as now, Harry couldn't deny the agonizing smile that stretched his lips. He was so proufoundly miserable, but he was so relieved that Draco was okay that he could not resist fearing the day he woke up to discover that yet another loved one had died. . .
Harry shook his head and drew away from the intoxicating blond. "I don't suppose you know where my glasses are?" he asked Pansy.
The mousy Slytherin rolled her eyes, reaching to pluck his glasses from the neck of his shirt. "We were really scared for you for a while there," she confessed quietly. ". . . when we found you unconscious."
Harry swallowed heavily, feeling the renewed ache in his belly. "I got hit by the killing curse as I was aping out."
Sitting on the side of Draco's cot, Pansy looked at him impassively: he was incapable of shocking her at all anymore. What was one more Avada Kadavra?
Now that his glasses rested again on his nose, he looked around him. There were at least a half dozen injured recruits laying on conjured cots, Jiaxuan and another recruit making their way amongst them.
Then he looked back at Malfoy: busted lips and nose, swollen eyes, bloodied knuckles – these weren't the injuries of any duel. . . Malfoy had gotten down and dirty, hand-to-hand, had beaten the shite out of someone, maybe several people. Then, somewhere along the way, he had gotten the shite beat out of him; hence, he now lay messily in the cot next to one Harry Potter.
"Is he going to be okay?" Harry asked seriously.
Pansy gazed guardedly down Draco.
They had known each other as children, as freaky as that experience had been (Draco never acted like other kids). It had been their parents' wish that they would marry, but those plans seemed void and insignificant in the wake of current events. She had never been in love with him, but she loved and respected him, and she dared to think that they could've been happy together despite all the pain.
Her looked Harry in the eye, willing herself not to cry, "He was awake earlier, his vitals are good. It's probably just exhaustion. As for him being okay . . ."
Catching her drift, Harry looked up at her dolefully, "I'm trying, but it's not easy."
His words faded to a pensive, accepting silence. Finally, Pansy stood up. "I'm gonna go check the others. Maybe get an update."
Pansy left Harry to relive and obsess over the events of the last few hours, demanding to know what he had done wrong. Impulsively, his gaze returned again to Draco, and he reluctantly conceded to the comfort the Slytherin provided, conscious or not. Basking in the oblivion inspired by Draco's unique beauty and strength, Harry dared believe everything would be okay in the end.
Holding Draco's hand in his own, Harry allowed fatigue to yield to dreams of a better future.
! CHAPTER END !
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