A/N: I wanted to play a drinking game while writing and editing this chapter called "take a shot every time I have a crisis over a dialogue tag" but I would have died. This chapter has reminded me why I avoid dialogue like the plague lmao; purple prose is easier to write when it doesn't have to sound natural.

The final chapter will be out by Christmas! Happy reading :)

Chapter 15

Draco's breath quickened. Instinctively, he curled his right hand around his Dark Mark and pushed his fingernails into his forearm, using the ensuing burst of pain to ground himself. Meanwhile, Lucius crossed over to Harry. Using the head of his cane, he tipped Harry's chin up so he could look into Harry's eyes. Harry stared defiantly back.

"What is the nature of your relationship with this boy?" Lucius asked Draco.

"He's a friend," Draco said, forcing himself to say the final word without stumbling. It was a last-ditch attempt to regain control of the situation, but he knew already that he had failed.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Yaxley," he called out. Draco suppressed a flinch at the sudden increase in volume. "Is that what you saw?"

"If they're friends, Master, they're like no friends I've ever seen," Yaxley replied with obvious relish. Draco wanted nothing more than to take a pair of brass knuckles to the older man's torso, even as the sense memory of flesh tearing under metal brought bile rushing back up his throat. "Had their hands and mouths all over each other."

Lucius turned back to Draco with narrowed eyes, and despite himself, Draco swallowed in fear. Lucius had dropped all pretenses of cordiality, and with them, all chances of mercy. "You were already a disappointment for abandoning your duties and shirking your mantle, but you never do things by half, do you? As if your insolence wasn't flagrant enough, you had to run off to cavort with some common boy as well."

"Who I cavort with is none of your business," Draco said tightly. "Besides, he's a friend, nothing more. There was no need to involve him."

Finally Lucius pulled his cane away, but Harry's head didn't drop, nor did his glare lose its ferocity. "I'm not the one who involved him, Draco. That mistake was entirely yours."

The words hit Draco with such force that he wondered for a moment whether Lucius had shot him, though when he darted a glance toward Lucius' holster, he found the gun still sheathed. Lucius was entirely correct; Draco had been the one to invite Harry into his life, the one to drop his guard and entangle Harry in his unresolved problems. For every moment when he had thought he might finally deserve to be happy, this moment was proving him utterly, irrevocably wrong.

Lucius cocked his head in a mockery of curiosity. "Tell me," he said before Draco could respond to his previous sally, "what is it about this boy that drives you to turn your back on everything you hold dear? What falsehoods did he feed you to make you think you owed him anything?"

"He's told me nothing but the truth," Draco retorted. "Which is more than I can say about you, Father. You could have simply asked me to meet you. Instead you lured me here with lies and threats, kidnapping someone I care for to use as leverage against me. Pathetic." He sneered, the confident expression masking the fear that paralyzed him.

But Lucius only smiled in response, and once again Draco realized he had misstepped. "So this boy can still be used as leverage. How interesting," Lucius mused. "You ought to learn to mind your tongue, Draco." In one fluid motion, he passed his cane to his left hand, drew his pistol, and pointed the gun at Harry's head.

"No!" cried Draco. He rushed forward, but the sound of several Death Eaters drawing their own weapons stopped him. He looked toward them and was unsurprised to find three separate guns pointed directly at him.

"Is he all that's keeping you here? Are you reluctant to return home because you don't want to leave him behind? I can make that decision tremendously easy for you," Lucius drawled. He cocked the gun, and the other Death Eaters followed suit. Draco remained rooted to the spot, frantically trying to find a way to save Harry and escape with both their lives in hand. But it didn't matter how he approached the situation; he came up blank every time.

"Please don't," he begged, all thoughts of maintaining his dignity or gaining the upper hand vanishing from his mind. Lucius was right, had always been right. Draco had never stood a chance against the man who had taught him everything he knew.

Against all odds, Lucius lowered the weapon. "You're right," he said softly. But that was too easy. There had to be a catch. Draco held his breath, dreading Lucius' next words. "If I killed him myself, you wouldn't learn a thing." He whirled around, his long coat whipping imperiously behind him, and approached Draco. When he was within arm's reach, he spun the pistol in his hand and proffered it grip-first. "Kill him yourself, Draco, and perhaps I'll be merciful when addressing your transgressions."

Draco could only stare blankly at the weapon in Lucius' hand. His mouth was dry, his hands clammy, and his mind full of static as he tried to process what Lucius had just said. Lucius gestured again for Draco to take the gun, and the action galvanized Draco into snatching it away. At the very least, Lucius couldn't cause immediate harm if Draco had his weapon.

"What if I refuse?" Draco asked, his eyes trained on the pistol. He wrapped his fingers around the grip and tilted it back and forth, testing its weight. It gleamed faintly in the dim light, and the heft of it against Draco's palm was comforting in its familiarity. Despite himself, Draco felt some of his fear recede now that he had a way to defend himself.

He turned toward Harry, whose expression had gone blank. Montague had relaxed as well, settling into a comfortable slouch as he watched the confrontation between Lucius and his son play out.

With an easy shrug and an air of triumph, Lucius replied, "Two bodies are just as easy to dispose of as one."

When he put it that way, what choice did Draco have?

Slowly, Draco moved to get a better sight line on Harry. He kept Lucius in his field of vision as well, unwilling to give Lucius a chance to deploy any tricks hidden up his well-fitting designer sleeves. He raised the gun and aimed down the sight. The head wasn't the most effective target, but a point blank shot would be devastating nonetheless. Besides, Draco knew Lucius well enough to suspect he expected a show; aiming for the chest or femoral artery simply did not offer the same melodrama. All the while, Harry's eyes remained unseeing. Harry's catatonia was worrying, but Draco filed it away to talk about later. He had other priorities right now.

Draco glanced once more towards Lucius. Sure enough, the man wore an expectant expression, with both hands resting lightly on the cane planted directly in front of him. He looked utterly composed. Draco didn't understand how he looked so serene, especially when Draco's own heart threatened to drill straight through his ribcage. Lucius gestured magnanimously in Draco's direction, as though telling Draco to get on with it.

Draco breathed in. Turned back to Harry. Noticed distantly that his hand had never once wavered, muscle memory keeping his motions smooth and steady.

Then he swung to the side and placed a bullet through Lucius' left kneecap.

He didn't give the Death Eaters time to react. As Lucius cried out, Draco fired three more times, and Montague, Yaxley, and Dolohov all crumpled, their own weapons falling from their hands and hitting the concrete floor with reverberating cacophony.

As the last of the gunfire echoed through the warehouse, Draco registered a faint noise—gravel shifting, the whisper of clothing catching on metal—and he turned and put a bullet centimeters in front of a Death Eater who had tried to rush toward Lucius. "Move again and I'll adjust my aim," he shouted to the three remaining Death Eaters. He locked eyes with each of them, ensuring they saw the manic determination blazing in his eyes.

Upon confirming Lucius confirmed was still too blinded with pain to pay them any mind, Draco turned to Montague. "Cut him loose," he said, using the pistol to gesture towards Harry. He was buzzing, every centimeter of his skin alight with fear and gunmetal, something like acid scorching his veins. Montague made quick work of the rope holding Harry immobile, and Draco traded in his pistol for Montague's while the other man was distracted. As soon as the last of the rope fell away, Draco rushed to pull Harry out of Montague's reach.

Draco conducted one final assessment of the Death Eaters in the building—three incapacitated with injuries, two making aborted movements towards Lucius, the last rooted in place with eyes blown so wide Draco knew he would see the man's irises ringed with white if he were close enough. Lucius himself was just now drawing himself to his knees, and then, slowly, to his feet, using his cane as a crutch. Satisfied, Draco drew Harry's arm over his shoulder, threaded his own arm around Harry's waist, and began pulling him to the exit.

They were only meters from escaping when Lucius gathered his wits about him enough to shout, "There's no coming back from this, Draco! If you choose that mongrel over your own father, your own blood, I swear I will consider you dead."

Draco laughed involuntarily. "The Draco you wanted is already dead," he replied, "and his blood is on your hands."