Was it morning already, Draco wondered. He felt ill. Ill from not having eaten anything for so long, ill from the cold that was in the very centre of his bones, that gave him goose-skin, that made it impossible for him to sleep.

And even worse was that he felt betrayed. The Ministry had used him. Used him ruthlessly and shamelessly, handed him over to Voldemort so that he would stop killing them. He had been such a naпve idiot to believe the Ministry was on his side.

The Aurors were never there to protect him. They probably Apparated right back. The Ministry never saw Draco as an ally. It saw Draco as a Slytherin. A Malfoy. The son of a Deatheater. An enemy they could safely use to their own advantage.

Draco huddled deeper into his jacket, but he could not keep warm. His teeth began clattering a little.

Then he heard the metallic door opening. He was suddenly blinded by a bright, white light. When he regained the ability to see, a yelp escaped from his lips.

Surely he was delusional. Surely this was just a figment of his over-active imagination. Surely he was dreaming, his mind showing him what he most wanted to see just to give him some comfort. For what he saw was Harry.

His tall, lean body, honed and perfected by years of Quidditch, was framed in the doorway. Ebony-black hair tousled and falling over his eyebrows, framing the pale, hatchet face. Startlingly green eyes, squinting sexily, looking at him from behind the long black lashes, almost coyly. Full, sensual lips slightly parted and curved with the smallest of smiles.

'H – Harry?' Draco murmured. 'You?'

'Me,' Harry said, voice smooth and silky, caressing Draco's ears. 'I've come to get you out of here.'

Draco staggered to his feet, hoping against all hope this was not a cruel dream of any sort.

His hand rose and touched Harry's face, feeling the smooth, pale and cool skin. He was real, Harry was real! He really was here, in flesh and blood!

Draco's eyes rimmed with tears, and his lips met Harry's in a desperate, needy kiss. Harry's hands wound around Draco's waist, pulling him closer, moulding their bodies together.

Their tongues met and began dancing the heated, intimate dance together, caressing each other. Harry bit Draco's lower lip, pulling at it deliciously. It was a kiss purely of passion, burning and freezing, hurting and healing at the same time.

'Harry?' he said, again, pulling away, 'is it really you?'

'Of course its me,' Harry grinned haughtily, 'weren't you expecting me to come and save you?'

'I – I didn't think you'll find me. You were hurt, too...'

'I'll kill him, Draco,' he said, with intense emotion in his voice, although what that emotion was Draco could not guess. Anger? Bitterness? 'I'll kill him for doing so much evil to me.'

'But how on earth did you get in?'

'I managed to get past the Deatheaters easily enough. But lets not talk about that now. Draco, do you love me?'

Draco was confused. Didn't they need to run? Now, before the Deatheaters discovered Harry had gotten in?

'Harry, of course I love you! Did I not already prove it?'

'Of course you did, my love. Come here.'

Draco moved a step closer, letting Harry embrace him. The brunet's hands were warm and solid on the small of his back, comfortingly so. Draco closed his eyes, taking in the smell of spices and tea, of the apple shampoo Harry used. So familiar, so wonderful.

'Where is the Amulet, Draco?' the voice was now cold and paralysing, and the terrible realization seared through Draco's mind.

Harry was in the Ministry. He could wait no longer, he had to know what was going on. It had been hours, many hours, and yet he had received no news.

Fleur smiled at him from her desk. Tonks winked at him from her office. Shaklebolt greeted him from where he was standing, talking to Arthur. Harry made his way to the Minister's office. The Minister looked up when he entered.

'Mr. Potter?' there was surprise in his voice, 'what are you doing here?'

'I came to request permission to join Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Viktor Krum.'

'Mr. Potter, I'm afraid my permission is no longer necessary. They have already returned.'

'Really? What about Mr. Malfoy, then?'

The Minster looked uncomfortable.

'Well – ah, no, as a matter of fact -'

And then Harry understood everything. This was all a setup. The Ministry sent Draco to his death. The Aurors were never supposed to protect Draco. They handed Draco to Voldemort on a silver platter. And Harry stood and watched as they did. He never did a thing.

Harry raced out of the office. Tears, bitter angry tears welled in his eyes as he ran past the many offices. He'd go and save Draco, he had to, he was the only one who could do it now.

Then he saw Hermione and Viktor in the corridor, gazing lovingly into each other's eyes.

Harry lost it. He approached them with a dangerous gleam in his eyes, and just as Hermione was about to greet him, his hand lashed out and slapped her hard across the face.