Chapter 20: Golden Apples

Draco did not obey Professor Lupin's directive to go to his dormitory. He couldn't. Rationally, he knew there was nothing he could do-that was why he'd gone to Lupin in the first place, after all-but he still found the idea of sitting around while his friends celebrated the end of final exams abhorrent to the point of nausea. So, instead, with no earthly idea what else to do, he'd sneaked up to the Astronomy Tower and watched as the sky darkened around him. The panic that had clogged the back of his throat for the past twenty-four hours had abated, replaced by an eerie sort of calm which paradoxically set his teeth on edge. He had the impression of standing on the precipice of a ravine so deep he couldn't see the bottom, teetering on the very edge, one breath of wind and he'd fall-but not to his death. He'd simply…never stop falling.

Or perhaps that was the height of the Astronomy Tower. He didn't dare release his Disillusionment Charm, and there was something simultaneously thrilling and unsettling about standing so close to the edge and being unable to see his own feet.

With a shudder, he turned his gaze upward instead. It was properly dark now, and the sky was exceptionally clear and filled to the brim with glimmering stars.

One of the few things he did know about his mother's family was that most people were named for the shapes that filled the heavens. Sirius. Bellatrix. Andromeda, he realized now.

His own name came from one of the few constellations, in his opinion, which actually somewhat looked like the thing it depicted. When he was much younger, mother had told him the constellation Draco represented the dragon tasked by Hera with guarding her tree of golden apples from Hercules, who sought to steal them. The dragon had fought valiantly, she said, and chased Hercules into the sky to battle for all eternity over Hera's golden apples.

What was the dragon's name, he'd asked.

Don't ask questions, his mother had snapped.

In Astronomy lessons, he'd learned this account was almost entirely wrong. The dragon kept watch over Hera's daughters, who in turn stood guard over the tree. Hercules slayed the dragon with poisoned arrows and escaped with his golden apple, and Hera, saddened by the dragon's death, cast him into the sky. It was a pointless life and a needless death, and he couldn't see why the ancient Greeks had bothered to write such a tale.

He didn't care any longer what the dragon's name was, but tonight, he felt just as small and pointless as his namesake. He looked back down, ignoring the flip in his stomach at the drop below. It was nearly pitch dark now, but if he squinted very hard, he could just make out the Whomping Willow in the distance, silhouetted against the lake. It was the only thing that moved in the sea of velvety black below, and Draco wondered, for the millionth time, where Lupin was, what he was doing….whether he'd ever know the answers to those questions. Whether he was too late.

That last was too horrible to think about, and Draco descended the steps back into the castle slowly, as if he were moving through water. He hadn't a clue what time it was, but knew it must be very late, for the corridors were deserted except for a few prefects wandering about, looking supremely bored with their surroundings. Draco had reached the fourth floor when he heard voices. He stopped dead and flattened himself against the wall, hardly daring to breathe. Whoever it was, they were right around the corner.

"Shocking business...shocking...miracle none of them died...never heard the like." Draco was sure he recognized this voice, but couldn't place it for the life of him. "By thunder, it was lucky you were there, Snape!"

"Thank you, Minister." Of course. Cornelius Fudge himself was at Hogwarts, but why?

"Order of Merlin, Second Class, I'd say. First class, if I can wrangle it!" What?

"Thank you very much indeed, Minister."

"Nasty cut you've got there...Black's work, I suppose?" Draco's blood ran cold. Snape murmured a reply which elicited a shocked exclamation from Fudge, but Draco couldn't make out their words any longer. If Fudge was here….and Snape had a cut he'd got from Sirius, then that meant…

"...locked away upstairs, of course." Draco fought to slow the beating of his heart. It meant that his question was answered, after all. Lupin was too late. It was crucial that he hear everything.

"In Professor Flitwick's office, Minister." Dumbledore had joined the conversation. "They shall perform the Kiss at midnight. But first, I wish to have a word with them. Alone."

I reckon I'd be back in Azkaban or worse by now.

Or worse. Of course. Tears stung his eyes and he bit his lip savagely to avoid making a sound, filling his mouth with the sharp taste of blood.

"The dementors should be here by now." Draco could hear the shudder in Fudge's voice. "I shall see you upstairs, Dumbledore." Fudge rounded the corner so abruptly that Draco scarcely had time to hold his breath. He passed so close that the breeze from his cloak raised goosebumps on Draco's skin, but he strode past without a sideways glance.

"Headmaster, this is madness," hissed Snape's voice now. "Surely you don't believe a word of Black's story?"

"I wish to speak to them alone," Dumbledore repeated. There was a moment of awful silence, and then Snape followed Fudge's trajectory, looking more furious than Draco had ever seen him. Unlike the Minister he paused for a split second, eyes flitting over the air where Draco stood. And then, after taking approximately ten years off Draco's life, he, too, turned sharply and marched down the corridor and out of sight. The very second he was gone, Draco tore from the corridor as fast as he dared. He wasn't consciously aware of coming to a decision, but nevertheless he knew precisely what he had to do. Once he'd cleared a safe distance from the Headmaster, he let his Disillusionment Charm fall long enough to glance down at his watch. A quarter past eleven. He had three-quarters of an hour to save Sirius's life. Of course, he had no earthly idea how he was going to do it, but at the moment that felt highly irrelevant. He had to do it. He'd failed at every turn to help Sirius reclaim his freedom, so now, the least he could do was save him. Flitwick's office was on the seventh floor. Perhaps, if he was lucky, by the time he got there he'd have thought of a way to break in.

"...But first, I wish to have a word with them. Alone."

Hermione recognized that voice, but who?

Surely, she also recognized the room around her, but there was a curious haze over everything which dulled her vision just enough to render it soft and anonymous despite her best efforts to place it. Experimentally, she looked to her left. Her neck was a bit stiff, but otherwise she wasn't in pain. When the motion cleared her vision somewhat, she risked a glance to her right. What she saw banished the haze at once and brought the past few hours back into focus with such force that she had to stifle a startled cry.

Harry lay on the bed beside her, likewise awake, face screwed up with a look of immense concentration that told her he was listening to the voices beyond the door, too. Seeing Hermione stir, he pressed a finger to his lips and pointed.

Across the room, Madam Pomfrey was bent double, fussing over a third bed. They were in the hospital wing, and Hermione could just make out a glint of copper that told her the bed's occupant could only be Ron.

Of course. Ron's leg was broken. Ron's leg was broken because Sirius Black had dragged him a mile up that low, rocky passageway under the Whomping Willow. Sirius Black, who they'd taken for a terrifying mass murderer until a few hours ago, when he and Lupin had told the harrowing tale of what really happened that night. Lupin, who must still be god-knows-where, unable to recognize even his closest childhood friend.

After that, it all descended into a fog so thick it became impossible to draw breath, and so cold she wondered whether her veins would ever thaw. She could place the voices outside, though. Dumbledore. Snape. And one more...

"The dementors should be here by now." Of course. Cornelius Fudge himself, conveniently already here to oversee Buckbeak's execution. "I shall see you upstairs, Dumbledore." Retreating footsteps, then silence. Dementors. Cornelius Fudge was going upstairs to meet with dementors. Harry's pale face and wide, horror-struck eyes told her they were sharing the same grisly realization: unless they put a stop to this, within the hour Sirius would be worse than dead.

"Headmaster, this is madness," hissed Snape's voice now. "Surely you don't believe a word of Black's story?"

"I wish to speak to them alone," Dumbledore repeated.

Here followed a flurry of movement and voices that Hermione's foggy, muddled brain struggled to interpret, and suddenly Madam Pomfrey was slamming the door behind her in a huff and Dumbledore sat before them, gazing down at Harry and Hermione with his usual sage old half-smile.

"I have been to see Sirius Black," the Headmaster began. He'd scarcely opened his mouth to continue, however, when Harry sat up instantly, like a child's toy on a spring.

"Professor, he's telling the truth!" he cried. "We saw Pettigrew, he's alive, he-"

"Harry, I must beg you not to interrupt me." Dumbledore's tone was firm, but carried no hint of reproach. "There is very little time. Not a shred of proof exists to support Black's story, except your word-and the word of two thirteen-year-old wizards is unlikely to convince anyone."

"Professor Lupin can tell you!" Harry exclaimed, obviously unable to stop himself. To her surprise, Hermione felt a jab of affection toward him. She reached out and laid her hand on his. His head jerked up in surprise, and as their eyes met, she gave a single shake of the head. Harry looked frustrated beyond comprehension, but fell silent. Perhaps it was her imagination, but Hermione thought she saw Dumbledore's eyes twinkle knowingly in her direction.

"Professor Lupin is currently unable to tell anyone anything," Dumbledore went on. "And by the time he is human again, it will be far too late." He paused here, and when he resumed speaking, he was looking directly into Hermione's eyes. "What we need," he said gravely, "is more time."

Hermione's numb brain grappled with this for nearly ten seconds before understanding struck her like a physical blow. Dumbledore believed them. He believed them, and at the Welcoming Feast, he'd made sure she had what they needed to put it right. Dumbledore had got to his feet and was already crossing back toward the door.

"I am going to lock you in," he told them. "Sirius is locked in Professor Fliwtick's office on the seventh floor. Good luck, Miss Granger. If all goes well, more than one innocent life may be saved." And then he was gone.

"Good luck?!" Harry repeated as the door clicked shut behind the Headmaster. "Did he hear me?!" Hermione sprang from her bed, ignoring Harry's indignant bleats behind her. Obviously, they were supposed to go back in time. Back to some point in this evening's events, and...change it. It had never before occurred to Hermione that she might be able to change the past, and the notion made her head spin. More than one innocent life may be saved.

That would be Buckbeak's execution, but what on earth did that have to do with Sirius?

"Shut up for a minute," she hissed in Harry's direction. Rescuing Buckbeak would be easy enough-he was tethered in Hagrid's pumpkin patch, and she supposed they could simply untie him. Sirius was locked in Flitwick's office...with dementors guarding the entrance.

Of course. They were supposed to untie Buckbeak, wait for Sirius to be captured, and fly up to save him. Her stomach dropped at the prospect, but she pushed this firmly aside and pulled the Time-Turner from inside her robes, beckoning Harry over to her.

"Harry, come here," she said firmly. "Quick. Quick!" He looked highly bewildered and more than a bit doubtful, but nevertheless he obeyed. He squirmed away as she placed the chain around his neck, and she yanked him roughly back into place.

"Stay still," she snapped. They'd gone down to Hagrid's after dinner, nearly five hours ago. Harry's scream was lost as the ward dissolved around them, and he staggered and nearly lost his balance as they landed in the deserted Entrance Hall. The din of voices from beyond the Great Hall doors told her she'd judged perfectly.

"Hermione, what-"

"In here!" Hermione seized Harry's arm and dragged him across the Hall and into a broom closet, shutting the door behind them.

"How-what-" Harry stammered. "Hermione, what are we doing?" Hermione sighed.

"We've gone back in time," she whispered. "Back to dinnertime, just before we went down to Hagrid's." Harry stared at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"What?! But-"

"Ron's right," she went on. "My schedule is impossible. But...not with this." She held up the hourglass for Harry to see, but snatched it away at once as he made to touch it. "This is a Time-Turner," she explained. "It does...exactly what you think. So, yes. We've gone back in time." Harry was still looking at her as if she were speaking Turkish, but gradually his brows knitted together in thought.

"So...if we've come back to just before Hagrid's-" he shook his head. "That's-mental, but all right, supposing we have…" His face cleared. "We're going to save Buckbeak!" he cried. Hermione cringed.

"Harry, keep your voice down," she begged. "But, yes. We're going to save Buckbeak as well." She pressed her ear against the door, listening as a few sets of footsteps thundered past, voices loudly discussing ways to take advantage of their newfound freedom. At last, she heard the ones she was listening for.

"Right," she hissed. "It's us, we're leaving down to Hagrid's now…" Harry frowned deeply.

"Are you telling me...that we're in here...but we're out there as well?"

"Yes," said Hermione impatiently. "Listen, Harry...we've got to be really, really careful. No matter what happens, we mustn't be seen." Harry shook his head slightly.

"This is the weirdest thing we've ever done," he said fervently.

"Shh," whispered Hermione. Hearing the front doors open and shut, she gave a nod. "Right, let's go." She opened the door a crack and peered out. Satisfied that the Entrance Hall was once again deserted, she stepped out and beckoned to Harry, who followed so closely she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. They darted across and slipped through the oak front doors and out onto the steps, and Hermione pulled Harry flat against the castle wall at once.

"If anyone's looking out a window..." she murmured fretfully, glancing up at the dull gray stone. Harry bit his lip in thought.

"We'll just have to make a run for it," he said determinedly. "We can loop around the greenhouses and hide in the forest all the way to Hagrid's, no one'll be in there." Hermione studied him for a moment, impressed. He was taking this much more in stride than she'd expected.

"All right, but let's hurry."

They tore behind the greenhouses, pausing to watch their own retreating backs drawing further down the path toward Hagrid's hut in the distance. Harry shook his head and muttered weird a few times, and then Hagrid's front door was flung wide and their earlier selves vanished inside. On the count of three, they made a mad dash for the shelter of the forest. Hermione didn't think her heart had ever pounded like this in her life, and she ran smack into Harry as he stopped just inside the shadow of the trees. He let out a yelp and stumbled backward, only just managing to catch her.

"Sorry," she moaned, fighting to control her breath.

"No worries," he panted. "Let's go." They crept along the edge of the forest to Hagrid's garden. Sure enough, Buckbeak was tethered in the pumpkin patch, tearing the head off what looked very much like a dead ferret. They crouched behind a large oak tree.

"Now?" breathed Harry.

"No!" whispered Hermione at once. "Fudge and the executioner will need to see Buckbeak, otherwise they'll think Hagrid set him free!" Harry looked at her as if she'd announced their next move would be to throw themselves into a vat of boiling oil.

"That'll give us about sixty seconds!"

At that moment, there was a crash from inside the cabin.

"That'll be Hagrid breaking the milk jug," Hermione muttered, as much to herself as to Harry. "I'll find Scabbers in a minute." Sure enough, a moment later her own shriek filled the air. Harry's eyes widened.

"Hermione, what if-well, if we just-run in and grab Pettigrew-"

Hermione stifled a groan. She should've expected this.

"Harry, no!" she interrupted. "I told you we mustn't be seen!"

"But-it's only ourselves and Hagrid!" hissed Harry. "Besides, if we grab him now-if we get him now, he won't get away!"

"Harry, what would you do if you saw yourself come bursting into Hagrid's hut?" snapped Hermione. Harry sighed deeply.

"I...I suppose I'd think I'd gone mad," he muttered. "Or that there was some...some Dark magic or something going on."

"Exactly. And you may even attack yourself. Wizards have ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake." Harry shuddered.

"All right," he admitted. "It was just an idea, I…" he sighed again and fell silent. Hermione, however, grinned as she caught sight of Dumbledore, Fudge, and the executioner meandering down toward Hagrid's hut. The back door burst open, and their earlier selves were ushered out, a tangle of hesitant footsteps and stammered protests, and then Hagrid slammed the door behind them just as the execution party arrived on his doorstep. It was a miracle, Hermione realized now, that their earlier selves hadn't been spotted.

"Where is the beast?" came the executioner's cold, slick voice from the front of the cabin.

"Outside," croaked Hagrid. Hermione's heart twisted as she imagined how Hagrid must be feeling. It's all right, Hagrid, she thought forcefully. He's going to be all right!

"Wait here," Harry was whispering in Hermione's ear. "I'll do it."

The next few seconds were among the most excruciating of Hermione's life. Fudge's voice rang out from within the cabin-by the sound of it, reading out some sort of official document-and he was nearing the end, but in the garden, Buckbeak didn't seem to want to come with Harry. He resisted a gentle tug on his robe with an irritable jerk of his head.

"C'mon, Buckbeak," Hermione could hear Harry murmuring under his breath. "Quickly, c'mon…"

The hippogriff remained firmly in place.

"Well, let's get this over with," came another voice from the cabin. "Hagrid, perhaps it will be better if you stay inside-"

"Harry, hurry!" Hermione whispered from her hiding place. She shifted her weight back and forth between her feet, unable to keep still. If they stepped outside now…

"Buckbeak, move!" Harry gave an almighty tug on the rope, and to Hermione's unspeakable relief, the hippogriff ruffled its wings stiffly and lumbered behind him toward the edge of the trees.

"One moment, please, Macnair," came Dumbledore's voice from inside the cabin. "You'll need to sign, as well." Harry threw his whole weight behind the rope, and the hippogriff moved marginally faster. The instant Hermione could reach, she seized the end of the rope as well and added her weight to Harry's efforts. Buckbeak broke into a light trot, though he looked very put out. Once again reaching their hiding place, Harry gave the hippogriff's beak a few soothing pats. He ruffled his feathers haughtily, but fell silent and remained by their side. Hagrid's back door was flung open again. The execution party filed out, but stopped cold at once.

"Where is it?" came the wheezy voice of the Committee member. "Where is the beast?"

Silence.

"It was tied here!" cried the executioner. "I saw it! Just here!"

"How extraordinary." Was it Hermione's imagination, or was there a note of amusement in Dumbledore's voice?

"Beaky!" croaked Hagrid. To their horror, Buckbeak began to strain against the rope, fighting to get to Hagrid. Harry and Hermione threw their full combined weight against the rope, but even so, it burned their hands as it slid, centimeter by centimeter, out of their grip. Harry wedged his foot firmly behind a tree, and only just managed to stop the hippogriff.

"Someone untied him!" the executioner was roaring. "We ought to search the grounds, the forest!"

"Macnair, if Buckbeak has indeed been stolen, I doubt very much that the thief would lead him away on foot." Dumbledore definitely sounded amused. "Search the skies, if you will. Hagrid, I could do with a cup of tea. Or a large brandy."

"O'-o' course, Professor," stammered Hagrid. "Come in, come in…"

Footsteps. A slamming door. The soft cursing of the executioner. And then, at last, silence.

Harry turned to Hermione, wide-eyed, knuckles white from the effort of holding onto the rope.

"Now what?"

"We'll have to wait," sighed Hermione, hating the prospect so much the words tasted foul leaving her mouth. "Sirius won't be captured for another few hours, and then…" she groaned.

"We'll have to fly up and save him," Harry finished. For the first time this evening, he looked excited. Hermione could've smacked him.

"Yes," she admitted. Harry thought for a moment.

"We should move," he said finally. "If we can't see the Whomping Willow, we won't know what's going on." Hermione, who hadn't considered this, glanced at Buckbeak. The latter gave a snort which suggested he wasn't keen on the idea.

"Right," she muttered. "We'll need to keep out of sight…"

Slowly, painstakingly, they dragged the reluctant hippogriff along the edge of the forest until they found a particularly thick knot of trees through which they could make out the Whomping Willow. They tied Buckbeak's rope around the sturdiest, and, panting from the effort, slumped back against its trunk.

"We've just got to...wait?" Harry asked, hesitating as if the word were foreign and he wasn't sure of the pronunciation. Hermione sighed.

"Yes." Harry nodded, now gazing out at the Willow's branches.

"This is the weirdest thing we've ever done," he repeated, but sank down against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. Suddenly exhausted, Hermione followed suit.

He hadn't thought of a way to break in. Instead, upon reaching the seventh floor he was struck by such a horrible realization that he stopped dead in his tracks, blood simultaneously frozen and burning him from the inside out.

The dementors should be here by now, Fudge had said.

He was such an idiot. Even passing over the fact that he was about to walk directly into the Minister of Magic himself while out-of-bounds, very late at night, on a mission to save a convicted murderer from facing his sentence...He stood no chance of breaking into Flitwick's office. He was such an idiot. Besides that, it was now twenty past eleven. He'd thrown five of his precious forty-five minutes down the drain.

He turned on the spot and started to flee, mind spitting desperate, half-formed ideas at him, which grew more ludicrous by the second. It felt as if needles were floating in the air, surrounding his body and poking him just lightly enough to be noticeable. As the minutes ticked by they pressed in closer, ever so slowly, but he could tell it wouldn't be long before they caused him real pain. Moments after that, he'd start to bleed.

He turned the corner toward the staircase, not watching where he was going, and a strangled yelp stopped him in his tracks. Seconds later something smacked brutally into him-no, someone, elbows digging into his stomach and rock-hard head slamming into the underside of his chin. By some miracle he avoided biting his tongue.

"What the-?" A dark-haired girl recoiled sharply and scrambled away from him, and after a moment he recognized Daphne's younger sister Astoria. Though she was only a year behind them, he scarcely saw her, and seeing her now unnerved him enough to drive the needles further into his flesh.

"Draco." Someone said his name from beyond the haze covering the rest of the corridor. Astoria snapped around sharply at the voice. It took Draco a moment to follow her gaze, but when he did, Ginny's face swam into view. Astoria's eyes darted between them, and suddenly, she turned crimson and fled the corridor. Ginny looked vaguely horrified, and her face was likewise rather pink.

"I, er...I-what are you doing here?" she stammered, voice somewhat higher than usual. Draco tried to speak, but words seemed a foreign concept. He shook his head slightly.

"I-nothing," he choked. "I was…." Ginny's expression slowly returned to normal, and she studied Draco for a few seconds. A deep frown spread across her face.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Nothing, he tried to repeat, but his mouth wouldn't cooperate. Instead, he shook his head more vehemently. Ginny took a tentative step forward.

"You don't...have to tell me anything," she said slowly. "Obviously. But, well. If there's anything I can do…" Draco's first instinct was to simply brush past her, but he was paralyzed by the ghastly reality that he didn't know where he was going. Not really. The last hours of Sirius's life were slipping before his eyes, and he hadn't a clue where he was going. Ginny's eyes looked much larger than normal, much warmer, and they seemed to have a gravitational pull that prevented him looking away. Yes, there was bloody well something she could do. After all, what was the point hiding Sirius any longer? He'd already been caught.

"There's not much time," he hissed, drawing her in closer and glancing around to ensure the corridor was properly empty. "After I tell you...well, you probably won't want to help me any longer." Ginny raised an eyebrow, but withheld comment.

"Sirius Black is in the castle again tonight," he said slowly. "This time, they caught him. They're going to perform the Dementor's Kiss in-" he checked his watch- "just over a half-hour. And I've got to save him. I just haven't a clue how." Ginny's expression shifted from bafflement to deep thought to profound shock to bafflement again within half a second. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but shut it again almost at once, appearing to think better of whatever she was going to say.

"I don't-er, why are you trying to save Sirius Black, exactly?" she asked, after a pause. Draco squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He should've expected the question, but nevertheless it ground his nerves and drove the needles in further than ever.

"Because he's innocent," he said shortly. "He never killed anyone, and he doesn't work for You-Know-Who."

"How the hell d'you know that?" Ginny asked.

"Because he's my mother's cousin, but everyone in my family hates him. Because…" Draco risked another glance down at his watch. Thirty-five minutes remained, but he could see in Ginny's eyes that she was listening. "Think about it. He hasn't acted like a murderer, has he? Passing by the Great Hall with the whole school inside just to visit the Gryffindor common room?"

"Running away when Ron yelled instead of killing him," whispered Ginny. Her face was chalk-white now, eyes double their usual size.

"Exactly. And because...well, it wasn't an accident he got into the castle. It was me. That's why I wanted Gryffindor to win the Quidditch Cup. So you'd all be in Gryffindor Tower that night."

"But-I...why?" Ginny stammered. She took a small step away, but didn't take her eyes off his.

"I promise I can explain, but there's really no time," said Draco flatly. "I've got….a half-hour, and then it'll be too late." Ginny studied him intently for what felt like a year.

"Where is he?" she asked finally. "Where's he being held?"

"Flitwick's office. I was going to break in, but there's dementors…" Ginny nodded and pursed her lips.

"Why don't we fly in?" she said, after a moment. Draco could've kissed her.

"Ginny, you're brilliant," he said fervently. She shrugged, but a grin fought its way onto her face.

"You said it's a half-hour until they perform the Kiss?" He nodded. "C'mon, then," she said decisively, and together they set off down the corridor. Just before they reached the grand staircase, Draco caught her elbow.

"Hang on," he hissed. Ginny frowned slightly as he raised his wand, but gasped wonderingly as she vanished.

"Where'd you learn a Disillusionment Charm?" her voice was filled with a gleeful sort of urgency, as if she were already listing off uses for the charm in her head. Draco couldn't help a grin; he remembered the feeling well.

"Overheard Flitwick teaching it in first year," he said shortly. "Let's go."

The effort of holding the charm over two people was more than he'd bargained for. They took the steps two at a time and covered the distance to the Entrance Hall in record time, but even so he could feel the edges of his mind fraying, threads unraveling one by one, and the moment they burst out into the night air he gave up and allowed the charm to disintegrate.

"That's brilliant," Ginny remarked as they set off, more slowly and carefully now, toward the Quidditch pitch. Draco glanced down at his watch.

"Twenty minutes." He heard the tremble in his voice, and swallowed hard. "We've got to hurry."

The journey across the grounds was excruciating. Now that they were visible, every shadow looked like Filch and every whisper of the wind in the trees sounded like Snape reading them their death sentence. When they reached the locker rooms Draco's watch told him it had taken them just over five minutes to cross the grounds. His nerves told him it had taken a year.

"Bloody hell, it's freezing," hissed Ginny, shoving him impatiently through the gates and onto the pitch.

"I can't imagine what you expect me to do about that," Draco murmured, pausing to scrutinize the field, then the stands. When he was satisfied both were empty, he took a tentative step forward into the arena.

"My brothers would say you ought to give me your jacket," Ginny told him, eyes sparkling with ill-disguised amusement.

"I'm sorry," Draco retorted. "I didn't realize we'd gone back to the year 1900." Ginny laughed.

"Hurry, then," she said urgently, prodding him in the back to force him along.

They met no one as they crept across the pitch, and the locker rooms were dark and deserted when they slipped inside. As Draco retrieved his broom, a rush of something approaching euphoria nearly knocked him off-balance. They'd done it, and they still had nearly a quarter of an hour to spare. In a few minutes, Sirius would be free.

Ginny, however, was frowning at him when he turned to face her.

"Draco," she said slowly. "Er-how is Sirius going to...I mean, he'll need to get away, obviously, once we've rescued him. But we've got to get down from Flitwick's office somehow as well…"

Draco hadn't considered this, but it was the first question all evening that had a simple answer.

"Take your brother's, as well," he said at once. "Sirius can get away on my broom." Ginny looked stricken.

"You're-giving up your broom?" she sounded horrified, as if he'd casually announced his intention to cut off his left arm.

"Er-unless you've got a better idea," said Draco impatiently. They had just over ten minutes to go, he'd be damned if they missed their chance because Ginny wanted to quibble about brooms. "I'll just tell my father I want a new one. Or, hell, I'll take the money for a new one. Christ, Ginny, some things are more important than Quidditch." To his horror, Ginny recoiled as if he'd slapped her.

"Right then," she said flatly. She turned away, now moving in a crisp, precise manner wholly unlike her own, and snatched her brother's broom. Draco glanced down at his watch, and felt his blood freeze. Seven minutes to midnight. His earlier rush of victory felt like another lifetime.

"Er-I-what-" he couldn't work out what he was asking.

"Let's go," said Ginny coldly. Draco couldn't move. Everything in him screamed that it was time, he needed to go, Sirius's life was at stake...but something in Ginny's eyes pierced him, rooting him to the spot. And then, all at once, his own words echoed back through his skull and he heard, with excruciating clarity, exactly how he'd sounded.

I'll just tell my father I want a new one. Ginny wasn't concerned that he was giving him his broom; in his place, her decision wouldn't be nearly as easy.

"Oh, fucking hell," he muttered aloud. "I-I only meant-I'm such a git, I...Ginny, I'm sorry."

"Forget it," she said flatly, and pushed open the door. "It's time."

It was. With five minutes to midnight, they pushed off and rose silently into the sky.