Shades of Grey

Chapter Eighteen: Bravery

"Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid."

- Franklin P. Jones

There was one thought that continuously pounded its way through Draco's head—it was beating a steady, heavy rhythm into his very skeleton; dominant and demanding. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. It was the single thought to surface to the base of his mind; it both humiliated and infuriated him. How could he have been so bloody stupid? To say that word-that damned word-in front of Granger. It was some twisted form of suicide; it was sacrificing everything clandestine and intimate that they'd begrudgingly built together. And despite the fact that Draco struggled to convince himself time and time again that he didn't need her-that he didn't want her in his life-he was still filled with this sense of...of...of something akin to regret. He couldn't pinpoint the emotion, not exactly, but it tasted of the shame and anger that accompanied remorse. He knew that he'd made a mistake the moment the word threatened to fall from his lips. And even more importantly...Draco knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do or say to make it better. He couldn't take back the insult; wasn't even sure he would if the opportunity rose. A very proud sort of individual, Draco had fucked himself over in more ways than he could count-he'd destroyed the silent sense of comfort and trust that he and Granger shared with one another.

He'd been responsible for the destruction of everything between them. And his downfall was his own past-Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood.

It pounded in his brain like the steady and thunderous beat of a drum.

The problem, he supposed, was that he didn't view Granger in the same light as others of her bloodline. She felt like an exception to him; why, he wasn't sure. Perhaps viewing her as an exception to an ingrained set of rules made things easier-it helped him cope with the fact that he had formed an emotional attachment to one who was considered so far beneath him. That was what she was supposed to be-inferior. Less human than he was.

But...she wasn't. Her touch was warm; her lips soft and her heartbeat a steady rhythm against his own. She was everything that he'd been taught to hate; everything he'd been taught to rage against.

He wouldn't go as far as to say she was exactly like him, because she wasn't, but she was close enough that he could detect her humanity. In some facets of life, Draco would even go far enough as to say that she was better than him.

That was it, then. She was better than him.

He mused over this fact as he got ready in the afternoon; as he headed down to share a silent lunch in the Great Hall. As he spoke with McGonagall and prepared for voyage to the Shrieking Shack with Granger. He would never admit his sentiments to Granger, of course, and yet it was the only thing he could think to focus on. Thoughts of her surrounded him-the conversation they'd shared the night before embedded into his memory like a footprint across his mind. And, oddly enough, he thought of Colin Creevey. Of those dopey eyes that had looked up at his precious bloody Potter so many years ago; of those stubby fingers permanently curled around his large black camera. Of that hopeful smile and the disgusting need to please the Golden Trio. Draco thought of Colin Creevey far more than he ever had in the past-he gave the young Wizard the sort of consideration he would have sneered at a year or two ago. His face surfaced to the front of Draco's mind, and the young blond couldn't seem to quite make sense of it all. He didn't feel guilty for insulting Creevey (why should he, really?), but he felt...anger. Bitter resentment that his blatant disgust of this rather insignificant individual had ruined something Draco hadn't even been aware he couldn't live without.

Again, though, he'd never tell Granger any of this. There was no need for her to know; especially not now. Not when she loathed him as much as she did.

He found himself wishing as he finished his final preparations for the day that there was some way to make her understand; if she could only sit herself in Draco's shoes for a moment or two, she would begin to comprehend the reasons behind his actions. He didn't know why he desired her comprehension so bloody much, just that he did. But if there was anything Draco knew about Hermione Granger, it was that she was stubborn as hell-once she was set in her ways, there was no way of changing her mind. Hardheaded to a bloody fault, she was.

Then again, so was he.

So it was with a heavy sigh and an irritated grunt that Draco finished fixing the collar of his shirt, scowling at his reflection in the mirror before snatching his wand off of its resting place near the nightstand. He was set to meet Granger in the corridors any minute now, and a part of him was...anxious. They hadn't so much as spoken since their argument the night before, and while Draco was painstakingly aware of the fact that he shouldn't have given a shit what Granger thought about him or how she treated him, he did. He did, and he hated himself for it.

He was determined to stay quiet. Somehow, some way, he would keep his mouth shut. The more determinedly he ignored Granger, the quicker they could get this all over with. Clearly she had the same idea, for no sooner had he shut the door behind him leading out into the hall then he spotted her turning around quickly on her heels and briskly walking down the narrow corridor. Draco bit back the instinctive urge to bark out a sarcastic comment in her direction, focusing on flexing his wand arm as means of distracting himself. Ignore, ignore, ignore; that was the plan. Ignore her.

But he couldn't. Not fully, anyway. So he settled for watching her-she was a few paces ahead of him by now, and Draco studied her movements. The slight sashay of her hips; the way her barely-restrained hair bounced with each step. Everything seemed practiced and controlled-even her footsteps seemed clipped and curt (if that was even bloody possible in the first place). She seemed so...so tense, and this relieved Draco to a certain extent.

Because even though neither one of them had bothered to talk since the night before, at least Draco could take a bit of comfort in the realization that she was just as uncomfortable in his presence as he was in hers. She clearly was at just as much of a loss for what to say as he was; a thought that, oddly enough, amused Draco. If Granger of all sodding people couldn't think of something to say, then the situation was rather bleak.

It was a dark sort of amusement, to be sure, but it distracted him from how angry he felt. With himself, with her, with their entire situation.

So fixated on studying Granger and absorbing his thoughts into her stiff body language, Draco was oblivious to their surroundings. He hadn't even been consciously aware of the fact that they'd descended the staircases and had made their way through the castle until they'd reached the Hogwarts entrance. It was then and only then that Draco blinked three times and surveyed his surroundings, silently berating himself for getting so off-track. Now wasn't the time to fixate on Granger or his troublesome thoughts in regards to her-he needed to focus on the mission he'd been assigned to all those months ago. Weeks and weeks had passed and it felt as though they'd made very little progress-the Resurrection Stone had been collected and stowed away at Order Headquarters along with the Cloak of Invisibility, of course, but Draco still couldn't help but think that they'd been dealt far more losses than they could handle. Too much time had lapsed; Bellatrix had undoubtedly been able to build herself an army...and she had the Elder Wand. Who knew what she planned on doing with it.

One thing was for certain, though-Draco had allowed himself to become far too wrapped up in his partner and the ridiculous complexities of human emotion. Perhaps that was why their mission had turned out to be such a failure-because he had disobeyed his own set of moral rules.

He'd allowed his emotions to get in the way.

"Right then," Granger clipped out, breaking Draco out of his reverie. She turned to face him, tugging a stray curl behind her ear. She'd placed her wild and unruly hair in a tight, barely-controlled braid for the day, but tufts of chestnut curls continued to spill out from the plait and frame her face.

"We've got Neville's maps, our wands, the charmed coin that we can use to contact Harry on an emergency basis…" She began to prattle off, mumbling underneath her breath and checking her various coat pockets to ensure that she had, in fact, packed everything she would need. She was still rather curt as she spoke, directing her comments more to herself than to him, and Draco—begrudgingly—understood why. He'd pissed her off last night, and there was really no going back from it. He was extremely self-conscious of the fact that she would hold this over his head for quite some time.

Forever, maybe, depending on how pissed off she was about the entire ordeal.

The charmed coin, of course, had been Granger's idea. After explaining to him exactly how she'd gotten it to work during their school years together, she'd taken a basic coin rusting with age and had placed what appeared to be a very intricate sort of charm on it, though this time she asserted that the coin's activation, so to speak, would be a bit…different. The coin's creator had to turn the coin twice in hand and would then need to press the pad of his or her thumb against one side of the coin roughly. After that, an alert would be sent to the Order, and Potter could come and…rescue them (Draco was reluctant to use that word).

So…when it all boiled down to it, Granger was the only one with the power to alert Potter and the others if they needed help.

If it wasn't for her, then, they'd be royally fucked. And Draco took care to remember that.

"Is that it, then?" Draco replied rather flatly. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and Hermione returned his rather blank stare with narrowed eyes and an indignant huff.

"Yes, that's it," She snapped back, tugging on the bottom of her coat and turning around. She was gripping her wand in one hand, and Draco watched as the tiny bones in her hand seemed to flex and shift under the pressure in which she was using to clutch her weapon.

She was nervous. She'd never admit it—stubborn Gryffindor that she was—but she was anxious as hell.

Truth be told…he was, too.

The trek from the front of the castle down and about the Hogwarts grounds was a silent and tense one, at that, but just as Draco was preparing to take the familiar walk into Hogsmeade (a shortcut, of course, to reach the Shrieking Shack), Granger yanked on his shirt and pulled him out of the way. She hid them behind a rather large clump of bushes and Draco hesitantly yanked away from her touch, more than a little bewildered.

"What the hell was that for?" He spat accusingly, straightening the rumpled sleeve of his shirt.

"Don't you see?" She hissed, her nose crinkling slightly as she spoke. "We can't just go waltzing into Hogsmeade like we're a couple of eager students, Malfoy! We've got to take precautions! We have to be careful!"

"Well then, how do you predict we get into the bloody Shrieking Shack?" Draco snapped back, his eyes narrowing. He was growing a bit frustrated with her at this point; he understood she was still pissed with him, but was there any reason for her to be so…so damn impossible?!

Rather than answer him immediately with some biting retort (as he had been expecting), Granger grew quiet. She nibbled on her lower lip, her brows crinkled together in a fit of concentration. Draco could practically hear the gears in her mind at work and knew instantly that she was busy devising some sort of plan. He stifled the urge to groan, acknowledging that he was still in far too much trouble with her to even consider mocking her plans.

"We'll have to walk around," She said finally, and her words were rewarded with a rather blank stare from her partner.

"Honestly, Malfoy—around Hogsmeade," She snapped, huffing irritably. "We'll stick to the trees and shade near the forest, that way we can't be spotted."

Draco wanted to terribly point out just how little he thought of her plan and how utterly ridiculous they'd look hopping from hiding spot to hiding spot, but instead he said nothing. It would be useless, especially at a time as dire as this.

So despite his reservations about her idea, Draco reluctantly allowed Granger to lead the way. He stepped off the path leading down to Hogsmeade, stepping over mud and grass as they made their way around the Wizarding town. He wasn't happy about this—not one bit—but he acknowledged that now was certainly no time to complain. He grew fidgety and irritable when he was anxious over something, and there was no denying the nerves that had settled in his abdomen at the thought of being confronted with his manic aunt after months and months of not seeing her. Bellatrix was…she was insane; driven by bloodlust and revenge and power and—most of all—loyalty to her Dark Lord who was now long since deceased. It was one thing to be assigned to a mission involving capturing and/or taking down a former Death Eater that he had known during his own…active time in the organization. It was another thing entirely to acknowledge that he'd be pitted against a member of his own family.

It was enough to cause his knees to buckle—especially given how vicious and ruthless he knew his aunt to be. In the end, family meant nothing to her; the moment she smelt anything traitorous to her family's noble bloodline, she attacked.

Draco knew he would not be exempt from that rule.

He kept his thoughts to himself, though; perhaps in another life (one where he hadn't royally fucked things up with Granger) he could have voiced his concerns to her. Expressing how he felt was never something that had come easily to the youngest Malfoy, but…he felt as though he could trust Granger. He didn't know why, and a part of him knew he was foolish for thinking so, but she was the closest thing he'd had to a best friend in Merlin knew how long.

And it made him feel guilty, surprisingly enough. Because everything he was expected to feel for Astoria…he felt for the bushy-haired Witch marching in front of him.

And she'd never know.

He lost count of how long they'd walked for; he just knew that it was taking an exceedingly long time to reach their destination. He could spot the outline of buildings nearby and knew that they were still passing through Hogsmeade, but other than the occasional chatter from the town far away, nothing could be heard but the rustling of branches in the wind and the sound of their feet padding against the frozen soil. He didn't want to call out and ask Granger how much longer she'd think it would be before they finally arrived at their destination, knowing full well that she'd turn around and snap at him. So he just…stayed silent; focused on the small sounds around them and trudging his feet forward. Step by step.

After about a half an hour or so of trekking through the wild lands surrounding Hogsmeade (though his timing might have been a bit off, truth be told), the Shrieking Shack finally loomed into view. Said to be the most haunted building in all of the Wizarding World, Draco knew that most Witches and Wizards didn't dare to trespass on the property. He'd attempted to in a very daring sort of rebellious streak when he was younger with Crabbe and Goyle, but the trip had ended rather dismally. It wasn't that he was afraid of the Shrieking Shack or anything; on the contrary, he'd seen enough in the past four or so years of life to disillusion him from being terrified of these sorts of folk legends, it was just that…he knew what lay inside the Shrieking Shack's aging walls. Something far worse than an ancient haunting or curse or whatever it was that so many magical folk had gossiped about for decades.

It held Bellatrix Lestrange, and she was more petrifying than anyone had any right to be.

"…She's really in there, isn't she?" Hermione asked suddenly, her voice a near whisper. Draco grew stiff and rigid, uncertain how to respond to her. He shifted uncomfortably, his finger tracing idly over a ridge in the handle of his wand as he searched his mind for any sort of appropriate response to her comment.

"Yeah," He stated finally, his throat thick.

"I suppose…there's no use in waiting any longer, then," Granger answered, and Draco noticed that there was a certain edge to her voice; hints of resentment and anger over the conversation they'd shared with one another the night before.

"I guess not."

The sun was beginning its slow descent into the Earth, and as Hermione crouched down and began to weave her way through the tall grass that swayed in the chilly winter wind, one revolting thought pounded itself through Draco's frame again and again.

War. War. War.

It was coming soon; he could feel it. Could feel that same terror seeping through his veins and rocking him to his very core. It was enough to cause his teeth to chatter, and with one last wary look towards the gloomy shack, Draco bent down and began to follow Granger through the thick grass. They were quiet as they stalked through the weeds, keeping their wands close to their sides and their wits about them. Every now and again Hermione would jump when one of them stepped on a twig or kicked a pebble accidentally, and while Draco wanted to snap at the young woman and tell her to calm herself the hell down, he couldn't seem to find the will to speak. His mouth had grown very dry and his fingers trembled with each step he took. He was growing nervous in preparation of what lay ahead of them, and the only comfort Draco could seem to take in their mission was that it would be a surprise attack. He and Granger had gone unnoticed that day back in Borgin and Burkes; they'd hidden themselves rather well in the Vanishing Cabinet. In the end, it had given them a great advantage.

Draco just hoped that they'd be able to use it to their benefit today.

By the time they'd finally reached the small clearing that led to the entrance of the abandoned house, Draco was feeling the pressure to succeed now more than ever. He'd never been a Gryffindor—they weren't skills he was born with, and his time in the Order certainly hadn't given him any particular insight into the advantages of foolish bravery and nobility. He was a Slytherin through and through; quick-witted, sly, and ridiculously cunning. He worked for his own advantage—it was what had provoked him into taking the Dark Mark shortly before his sixth year at Hogwarts, what had enabled him to perform curses against his fellow Death Eaters when he was holed up in Malfoy Manor, and it was even what had been the cause of the young man's defection to the Order. Everything he did was with purpose, and to watch as Hermione straightened primly and shakily dusted off her coat before leading them towards the creaking old shack, Draco wondered how anyone could be born with such reckless courage.

He wondered how it was possible for someone to place the safety of another person over their own. He'd become a Death Eater to protect himself and his parents, of course, but…that was different. People like Granger and Potter and even Weasley—they fought for armies of people they barely knew. They fought for the justification and salvation of thousands of folks—both magical and Muggle—and Draco just didn't see why. What was so damn important about protecting the lives of people who did not affect or concern you? Oddly enough, he was struck with the desire to lean forward and ask Hermione just this. Recognizing the notion for what it was—foolish and impulsive—Draco bit his tongue. He needed to keep his eye on the prize and nothing else: capturing Bellatrix was absolutely crucial, and they had to attack from just the right angle. If they couldn't effectively corner her, then all hope would be lost; Bellatrix would slip away and go into hiding all over again, and this time she'd be more impossible to locate than the last.

Draco might not have received the chance to get to know his aunt all that well, but he was well enough in tune with her manner of thinking to recognize what would be her most likely course of action. She was, after all, not just a Black…but a Slytherin, too. She would do whatever it took to save herself; even if it meant taking others down in the process.

A rather nerve-racking fact, so to speak.

"It'll probably be best to slip in through a side door," Hermione mumbled under her breath, her eyes wide as she appraised him. They were hidden in the shade that the house cast across the grass, and Draco fidgeted nervously as he waited for her to continue. "I wish I had thought about the secret tunnel from the Whomping Willow that led directly to the Shack, but then again…I'm not sure either one of us are small enough to fit through it anymore…then again, if Snape had been able to fit through it all those years ago…no matter, I suppose, can't go back now…"

She was rambling now, clearly in a fit of anxiety, and Draco gave her a huff and a stern glare before she finally snapped out of her reverie.

"Right," She managed, blushing and standing straight. "If we go around the side there should be a door; it'll be the entrance that will take them off-guard the most."

"I think any entrance would take them off guard," Draco muttered again, stalking through the grass and following after her either way. Hermione said nothing in response; merely ignored him and pressed her back against the wall of the rundown building. She seemed to be waiting for someone to walk around the corner—a patrolman stationed by Bellatrix herself, perhaps—but after five heart-stopping minutes of waiting (rather breathlessly), Hermione gave a shaky wave of her hand and led them on.

Ordinarily, Draco wouldn't have been as willing to let Granger lead the way. He hated taking orders from anyone—especially her—but he knew that she had her wits about her. Though not the strongest of them two when it came to combat, she was clearly a quick thinker. It was what had allowed her to survive for as long as she had. So…he let her lead the way. He submitted himself without struggle to her orders. Whether it was because he trusted her or because he was too anxious to verbally protest, he didn't know.

He just knew that he was being a hell of a lot more cooperative than he had been with her a year ago.

There was a rustle nearby, and both of them stopped dead in their tracks. He could hear Granger's jagged exhalation of breath, and the desire to reach forward and close his fingers around her shoulder to yank her back was so strong that Draco was nearly furious with himself for it. He lifted his wand slowly, aiming it at the slight movement in the grass, and was preparing to fire out a Stunning spell when a small rabbit came bounding into the clearing, its nose twitching and ears flopping as it hopped.

The entire prospect of being scared shitless by a damned rabbit was enough to nearly have Draco bursting into laughter and hysteria. Instead, though, he swallowed the state of panic that had begun to build and mount in his stomach, listening as Hermione's breathing pattern returned to normal once more. Without so much as a comment about their...intruder, she continued to slink along the side of the house, Draco close behind. Any moment now they could be caught, and once again he reminded himself that it probably would have been wisest to attack at dawn—when the sun was rising and Bellatrix was likely to be most vulnerable; sleeping or just waking up, perhaps. But it was too late to wish for such fruitless things, so he kept quiet about that, too.

By the time they had finally managed to ease their way around the Shack and towards the side door, Draco noticed that dusk was beginning to fall across the horizon. The sun would finish setting before too long, and it was crucial that they locate Bellatrix before night had fallen. Though most of the Shrieking Shack's windows were tightly sealed and boarded up, slivers of light seemed to spill through the cracks in the wood. With the absence of sunlight and nothing but their wands to guide them through the abandoned old house, surely they'd never find her.

Or worse. They would.

The door looked rusty with age, and Draco could tell that it was one rough tug away from being torn away from its hinges. Granger murmured a few enchantments to check for any curses or hexes placed on the entrance, and it was only when she ascertained that they were safe (or as safe as they could be, really, given what they were about to walk into) that she hesitantly reached forward and groped the rusted doorknob. With a twist of the handle and a very feminine sort of grunt, Hermione shoved her weight against the door frame, listening to the door creak with life as it opened. She paused, waiting for any footsteps or sounds that would signal that they'd been discovered. After a few seconds of nothing but thick silence, she breathed out and motioned for Draco to follow her inside. The door swung shut behind them, and they were at once enveloped in darkness. A part of the roof was missing above them, causing a bright beam of yellow sunlight to shine down on the center of the rather large and dusty room they found themselves standing in. It was completely barren, save for the mildew and grime that had collected over years of neglect, and as Draco muttered a low "Lumos" and lit the tip of his wand before surveying the bare area, Hermione began to investigate.

"Malfoy," She said in a low whisper after a few moments, motioning him over with a small wave of her hand. Draco was hesitant to turn his back to the bare room around them, lest they be discovered while Granger was rooting through the Shack, but finally relented and hesitantly made his way over to her.

"What?" He asked in a murmur, glancing around once before joining her. She was standing over a small table littered with various objects; there was a large map of Hogwarts that had ink splotches and illegible quill scratches on it, a small glass object which Draco noticed instantly as a Sneakoscope, and a dagger whose handle was well-worn and aged. He recognized it as his aunt's favorite blade and stretched out his free hand to skim his fingers across the blunt edge of the metal.

"What is she using this stuff for?" Hermione asked, her lips tugging into a small frown. "They work together to form a bigger picture, I'm sure of it; maybe we should just pocket it all to give to Harry, just in case he doesn't—"

Just then, the Sneakascope seemed to jolt to life; it started to turn furiously on spot and began to screech a very loud, irritating sort of alarm. The very same alert signal that sounded whenever someone untrustworthy was nearby.

Draco froze, growing stiff from head-to-toe. He suddenly felt very aware of his surroundings; between the Sneakoscope and the other materials laid out before them, he was suddenly conscious of the fact that he felt—no, he knew—that he and Granger were being watched.

It was only when he felt the blunt tip of a wand pressed against his back—directly between his shoulder blades—that Draco allowed himself to acknowledge that the worst had happened. He'd been trapped. They both had.

"Hello, Draco," came the low hiss of Bellatrix Lestrange. He could feel her hot breath spill against the back of his neck, and Draco's hands twitched at his sides. He glanced down at his wand, struggling to think of a defense spell, and just as he was prepared to turn around and (hopefully) catch her off-guard, he heard a very high-pitched, familiar screech a few feet off. His silver eyes snapped over to Hermione, who was writhing against the restraint of a cloaked figure whose face was hidden in the darkness. The figure had one arm wrapped around her neck and a wand pressed against her temple.

Let her go!

It took him a few seconds to realize that he had merely thought the demand and hadn't spoken it. For some reason, Draco couldn't speak; it was as though his tongue had been stolen and the air knocked out of him. He was speechless; completely and utterly speechless.

"Been keeping company with Mudbloods, I see," Bellatrix continued, a sickeningly teasing lilt to her tone. A strand of her curly hair brushed against his shoulder and Draco just barely suppressed the urge to shudder. Any moment now; he could turn around and fight her off. Could he fight the other Death Eater off, too? There was a loud clatter as Hermione's wand slipped from her grip and went cascading to the ground—Draco wanted to Accio it, but he knew that the slightest movement would give way to his intentions and Bellatrix would be sure to stun him on the spot. Or worse.

But he had to do something; he couldn't just stand there while Granger writhed and screamed to be released.

"Let me go! Now!" She continued over and over again, though her voice grew meeker with each utterance.

"Shut it, Mudblood," The hooded figure growled; he had a very garbled sort of voice, and Hermione choked and gasped as the arm around her throat tightened, temporarily blocking her airway. Draco made to move towards her, but Bellatrix's bone-thin fingers encircled around his arm. He could have shrugged off her grip easily, of course, but the wand pressed against the middle of his back was what had him freezing.

"Not so fast, Draco," She continued, her nails digging into his arm. "First we need to have a little bit of a chat."

That was it, then—all the color drained from his face, and Draco realized it was now or never; fight or die, essentially. Bellatrix would torture both of them mercilessly until they caved in to her demands. She'd make them tell her where the other two pieces of the Deathly Hallows were located; she'd force them to give up everything they had. And then, if she was in good enough spirits, she'd simply dispose of them.

Bellatrix had never been a particularly cheerful sort of Witch, so the possibility of escaping alive or only moderately scathed was very slim.

He saw the slightest shift out of the corner of his eyes, and he realized that Hermione was inching one of her hands up towards her stomach. Her hand slipped inside the pocket of her coat, and instantly Draco knew what she was attempting to do—signal the Order. Even in the midst of a panic, Granger had managed to keep her head screwed on right.

And it was about time Draco did something to help keep them alive, too.

Gathering up as much courage as he could manage, Draco spun around and lifted his wand. His chest was aching and his hand was shaking, but as Bellatrix's beady eyes met his, all Draco could think of was keeping himself and Granger safe. Safe and alive. With a scratchy throat and a shaky resolve, Draco centered his wand on his aunt's chest, forcing himself to sputter out the first spell he could think of.

"Stu—"

But it was too late. Just then, a low, hoarse, vaguely familiar third voice broke through the air. It belonged to a man, that much Draco could tell, and he spoke two words that were effective immediately.

"Everte Statum!"

Draco felt his body lurch backwards. He gave a grunt, heard Granger call out for him, and then his body slammed against the wall with enough force to shake the building's very foundation. There were bright spots blurring his vision, blinding him. Draco struggled to put himself up into a sitting position, but it was as though he had no control over his limbs. Where were his legs? His arms? Why couldn't he see? What smelled so strongly of rust? His head was swimming as he grew weaker and weaker; he was only loosely aware that there were people around him. And then he heard it.

A loud shriek of pain…and then nothing. The world faded to black.

a/N: Hello everyone! I had meant to write this chapter a lot sooner, but my laptop ended up messing up and I didn't have one for pretty much all of August! And then school started up again, so I've been busy with that along with some other personal things. But I really hope you all enjoy this chapter, because I've been waiting a while for it! I was pretty excited about finally getting to write it, and I hope you guys are satisfied! Hope you're all doing well-don't forget to review and let me know what you thought!