He could take him, he knew he could. It was only a single ragged man, but at the moment they were in the wide open and getting away was probably the wiser course of action, especially since they didn't even know where they were.

Smirking spitefully and hoping that the man could see it, spells continued to whisk by them as he muttered one of the more obscure charms he was proud of. Immediately the air around them began to pop and crackle, providing a blanket of protection that wouldn't be nearly strong enough to deflect spells of any considerable power, but would go a longs ways towards ensuring that they wouldn't find their mark.

Turning after making sure that it had worked properly, he pounded after Hermione, whom he waved on angrily upon finding that she had slowed to see what was happening. Her face was pale, but at his insistence she started off again towards the nearest building.

Seeing her so afraid made him wonder with a curious flash of intuition if the man's appearance hadn't reminded her of Leach.

Draco had little doubt that they could easily outrun their pursuer, glorified hobo that he probably was. By the time Draco finally managed to almost get excited by all this, unexpected and unexplained as it was, they began to slow as they neared the building.

Rounding the corner, they abruptly came up short at the foot of what probably passed as the main street. It was short and uneven, and this side of the town revealed just how run down it was. But it wasn't deserted.

It was hard to take in all of this at one time, almost as hard it was to register all the rough forms arrayed in various postures in front of the buildings. The split second they were afforded allowed him to note the signs of vagrant living sprawled disorderly inside the doorways and under what shelter there was. They could hardly be counted among the upper echelons of the ranks, but every instinct that Draco ever had screamed Death Eaters. That and a few other tasteful expletives.

Both parties probably looked equally surprised to see each other. He was on the verge of being numbly terrified himself, but thanks to instinct he was already grabbing her arm and pulling her in a blind dash to get out of the street. The sinking feeling in his stomach came about then as he realized what they'd stumbled into.

Ironically the spells flew before the curses and shouts of exclamation did. In a vain sort of way it was gratifying to hear his name being shouted in both instances, but he had little time to dwell on that.

Hermione struggled with their direction only a moment. By the time stunning spells began to dart overhead, she seemed to have adjusted to this abrupt change in circumstances and was running along with him.

He was indiscriminatingly throwing spells over his right shoulder by the time they were a step or two from the nearest sidewalk. By the time they reached it the initial barrage had caught up to them and she suddenly was yanked to the ground with a startled cry. His momentum carried him a few more steps before he skidded to a halt, spun, and stunned one man in the face that had stepped out in front of them

There were screams and drawn wands everywhere. The spells looked like a scattered kaleidoscope of light chasing, but generally their aim immediately improved when he and Hermione stopped moving.

It took a few frenzied moments and spells before he remembered the barrier he'd just used on the first man. No sooner had he cast it then one particularly errant spell came bare inches from his forehead before a sharp crackle intercepted and sent it streaking past his ear.

He hit the ground before it occurred to him that that might be a good idea, firing off random spells as he went. Landing haphazardly on his side, he got lucky with an Incarcerous, catching the nearest approaching man in ropes and leaving him to helplessly tumble to the ground.

Keeping up a frantic shield charm even though his deflection field was turning out to be surprisingly effective, he dug his free elbow into the ground and dragged himself across the street to where Hermione was clutching her wand with white knuckles and firing stunning spells as quickly as she could. The air that had been full of angry shouts only moments ago was now consumed with the blanket's harsh crackling. It was like dozens of firecrackers were exploding incessantly all around them. While most of their attackers had opted to charge at them before, they were now advancing almost timidly, if at all. The majority of them that he could make out through the dancing air were inching forward where the blanket was thinnest.

He spared a moment to point his wand and reverse the relatively simple leg-locking curse that was holding her.

"We have to get out of here!" he shouted the obvious, the sound barely making it to his own ears above the din. "Come on, this way!"

He grabbed a fistful of her nearest sleeve and was in the process of hauling her up, which she didn't seem too inclined to do herself, when he saw a pulse of blue and felt something hot strike him about halfway up.

Before the heat colliding in his chest could hurt, what felt like the equivalent of a very flat and very hard wall slammed into him. His forehead and nose cracked against it first before it continued on and connected with his shoulder and then the bottom of his ribs before finally hitting his knees hard enough to send jolts up his legs.

That was about all he could register for the next few seconds, which was probably a good thing. When his nervous system caught up, everything throbbed for a merciful second before blossoming into a uniquely agonizing pain.

Rolling over onto his side didn't really help, but for a moment his inundated mind thought that he could get away from the pain. His nose was broken and all up and down his body where he'd been struck was probably close to being broken as well. And amusingly, the only thing that he could think about at the moment was that his wand hand was empty. At least it was as amusing as something could be at this point.

He only remembered Hermione when he heard her cry out, though even that was difficult to do as everything inside him was suddenly making a lot of cantankerous noise inside his head. Somehow he did manage to recognize when his blanket dropped, as the crackling in his ears was replaced with ringing.

He tried to pull his head up to see what was happening and tried to ignore the pain that was making him want to vomit. It was overwhelming in a way he'd rarely ever felt. Dirty faces appeared over him.

"—Think that that would work—some kind of deflection cloud. Pretty clever, Malfoy," one of them was talking, and was probably the one that kicked him a moment later. "Yeah, I got his nose pretty good. How that does that feel, little Malfoy? I bet it kinda hurts."

There was laughter and a hand pushed his head back down. Groaning, he furiously lashed out with one foot only to meet nothing, and was in the process of taking his good hand away from his shoulder to grab something when a booted foot lashed out hard and caught that forearm just above the elbow.

He wasn't going to lie, that hurt. His perception of the world had mostly stopped whirling by this time as the initial shock gave way to the ache, though his nose was obliging him with shooting pains. That particular pain wasn't helped much when someone decided to tap it, in good humor, of course. He may have screamed a little then.

He couldn't really remember exactly what he screamed, though he knew he screamed a lot of it.

"Oh, did poor little Malfoy hurt himself?" mocked a voice above him. But it was a distracted voice, and a second and a muttered spell later, Draco felt his nose pop back into place, taking the worst of the pain with it. "Don't think that's for being nice, you little brat. We just don't want any of your inbred blood on our hands."

There was more laughter. He wasn't inclined to point out that it didn't matter since there was already blood everywhere. He could tell that much.

"Malfoy!" He heard Hermione scream.

There was movement and strong arms that were suddenly holding his, and then he was completely restrained and face-to-face with the voice from before. As he blinked away furious tears of pain and humiliation, trying to ignore the former and the blood that was all over his face, he futilely tried to compose his expression.

This was apparently funny to the man facing him. Malfoy thought he had seen the man before somewhere, but it was far from a sure thing. Regardless, he would never forget what the man looked like after he slapped Draco almost playfully on the cheek and laughed.

They were milling all around them, all of them muttering or whispering or saying something. But everyone listened when the man spoke.

"—And don't hurt her, or you'll pay for it through your hide!" he was shouting behind Malfoy, presumably where Hermione was.

"Ain't she a Mudblood though?" someone jovially shouted back.

"A Mudblood that belongs to the Dark Lord," the man returned, "Keep a close eye on her or you'll have to answer to him. As for this rich bag of shit—" He turned his malevolent grin to Malfoy. "The Dark Lord said that this one's a traitor and not even worth the effort of returning. So we get to have the fun ourselves! What'd you do with Leach, huh Malfoy? Not that it really matters now. Take him out to the shit hole and take care of him. Go on, you three, and don't bother taking it easy on him. His daddy isn't here to bail him out anymore—"

He was mad, but he knew he should've been furious. He fought but he knew he should've been fighting harder, but he hurt. Oh God, did he hurt.

"I'll kill you—" he sneered at the man, who was barely even looking at him anymore.

Almost absently, the man threw his foot into Draco's shin. Besides the pain, he would've fallen on his face if not for the two pairs of arms holding him up. Now that this recent blow struck his nerves just right, his eyes now ran involuntarily.

Between trying not to stumble due to the condition he was in and trying to feebly maintain whatever dignity he still had left through posturing, all the while reminiscing of some shamefully fond memories of Crabbe and Goyle, he caught snatches of the man giving orders and referring to the Mudblood.

"Mudblood!" Draco screamed back as he tried vainly to twist around, but he wasn't allowed enough room to see anything, "Mudblood! You're the Mudblood you filthy piece of half-blood—filthy half-blood—you're not even fit to—"

Whatever he might've said next was cut off as he was cuffed none too lightly in the back of the head as they pulled him away from everyone else. Joking, they alternated between shoving when he could manage to stagger on his throbbing legs, and grabbing him by the elbows and dragging him when his legs gave out altogether.

He had no idea how far exactly they went, though it seemed to last forever. Buildings gave way to fields, and fields gave way to trees as they guided him up a scantly beaten trail. During this he had trouble just keeping on his feet and staying ahead of the mocking hands that were always ready if he couldn't.

A fury like he'd rarely known, and hardly could be expected to control, was twisting in him. Everything was so unfair, why was this happening to him? How could this happen to him? There was a finality to the whispers at the edges of his consciousness, saying he was going to die now, that they were going to drag him out here and kill him. It would be done away from everyone else, in the middle of nowhere to mock him. To them he was the equivalent of scum now, and they were going to kill him. He should've been able to see the irony in dying because he was now considered a blood traitor. He was going to die—they were going to kill him. But no matter how much that recurring thought pressed into him, he was still far angrier than he was afraid.

No matter what had happened, no matter how hard he'd tried, he had never been able to measure up to either side of the conflict that he'd been cast into from the day he'd been born. For the longest time he'd known without a doubt what people like him were supposed to do. But school had changed that, slowly and noticeably. When reality had come crashing back into the world, on the back of a battered boy clinging to a trophy and the body of another boy, things that had always only been talk before had suddenly drawn very real lines. And it was frightening—thrilling, yes—but more frightening than anything else. By that time he'd been in school for four years, and had seen enough that he'd made the hardest decision of his life that following summer, when he began to catch glimpses at the manor of this new reality he was obliged to be a part of.

It seemed almost funny now to think that he'd spent nights tossing and turning then, torturing himself over it. In hindsight he could see that it had been the self-theatrics of a little boy and it seemed terribly unimportant now. Regardless, he'd made his decision. He'd like to think that it had been mostly because of what he'd seen, because of that girl with the goofy smile, but more than anything else he probably did it because he was afraid.

But what had it amounted to? Nothing bad had ever really come from what he had tried to warn of, and the Golden Dingbats probably had completely ignored him anyway. And once again he'd chosen the wrong way to go about it, a recurring trait in his life. The Inquisitorial Squad had been helping the bloody ministry, after all. That's how he had looked at it. Plus it had been fun. In the end he was resented even more for everything he'd done, not that everything he'd done had accomplished anything at all.

A particularly hard kick into his back sent him sprawling to the ground and back to present injustices. His mouth came up with dirt as his escort continued to laugh at something one of them had said.

Blinding white light obscured his vision as he grabbed two fistfuls of moist earth and whipped them up at the nearest man in a rage, his lunge following quickly thereafter. Or at least that's what he tried. Limitations due to his condition saw fit to keep said lunge from progressing much. His friends weren't really going to let him get that far anyway.

This time when he hit the ground, a few more bursts of pain followed a few more kicks. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Trying to think about something else never really helped, but he tried anyway.

"Oh, is the little pureblood crying?" one of them punctuated the taunt with a kick that struck hard enough to make him curl up.

Glowering up at them as they stopped for a moment, he decided against speaking as he strove to keep his breathes even, no matter how much it hurt. Taunting would only encourage them anyway.

"We're supposed to take him up to the—" one them started.

"—This is far enough. He's not going any further, look at him." The one speaking squatted in front of Malfoy, pretending to examine him. "He's not even worth it—not anymore. You wouldn't believe what he was worth before. He even still looks like it. Look at what a pretty face he has—" the man reached forward to touch his hair, "—I bet his family's been inbreeding since—"

Malfoy's hand shot out to grab the man's wrist, even though he knew it would only elicit more pain, but evidently that also had been expected. Before he could really tell what was happening, he found that hand abruptly near his face and underneath the man's boot.

"Now, now little Malfoy," the man grinned and slowly withdrew his wand, leveling it down at Draco's face, "Didn't your mother ever teach you to play nice?" His breath plainly smelled of cheap alcohol, liberally thrown at him as it was. "Oh, yes. Your mother's a lovely looking woman. Right delightful. We're looking for her too, and it'll only—be—" the wand tip advanced towards Draco's left eye with each syllable, though he noted that the man was carefully watching Draco's free arm. The hand pinned underneath the man's foot began to throb. "—A—matter—of time before we find her too. That'll be a lot more fun than this—no matter how much you scream like a girl. What's the matter, not feeling so feisty anymore?" the man inclined his head towards Draco's free arm still wrapped around his aching ribs. "Come on, little Malfoy. Don't disappoint us. It's not often that we get to put one of your kind in your place." The man stood up, making sure to shift the bulk of his weight onto Draco's hand before stepping away.

Draco fumed up at him through his brows, doing everything he could to not watch the end of the wand that was being waved so carelessly in his general direction. His pulse was pounding in his ears and he tried to hide how he could barely keep from shying from the wand. Apparently the man was observant enough to catch that. For a long minute there was silence and a terrible understanding that passed between them. The other two men shifted impatiently.

Leering as his face came to a set, the man extended his wand until it was just a few inches from Draco's eye. He felt everything go cold and his neck began to shake uncontrollably as the point hovered in front of him.

"Avada!" it was a quick and harsh enunciation, as if the man had actually meant to cast the curse.

They laughed at how he flinched. The man began to circle around him, his wand bouncing with each step but never adverting its aim.

"Avada—" the man's voice rose to a mockingly high pitch as he repeated it over and over again, "Avada—Avada—Avada—" The other men laughed even as Draco forced himself not to cringe. "Avada—Avada—Crucio!"

The man lifted the spell almost instantly, but it lingered long enough for the burning to flood every one of his nerves, long enough to make his skin feel like it was on fire. It dissipated and left everything to fade slowly back to reality.

"Oh, what's that?"

Draco's eyes were clenched shut as he rode out the last waves of pain. The man's voice sounded miles away, and there was more mirth. When he opened his eyes, he found that not much had changed.

"Don't you like that?" the man asked sweetly. "But isn't that what you did to poor Leach? What did you do with him anyway? Huh? Do you really think not talking is going to help you?" That was punctuated by a well-aimed kick to his stomach, which mostly made up for the progress Draco had made towards being able to breath properly again.

"Come on, Reggins, let's do something creative," said a voice that was suddenly right behind him, and thick hands abruptly grabbed hold of his ears. "You can't have all the fun."

Breaking against established common sense, Draco twisted around the best he could and grabbed at the hands holding his ears. His efforts were rewarded as the hands pulled back hard, and he cried out as he futilely tried to wrench them away.

"Scratches like a little girl—" came the grunt behind him. A second later and the man stood up, half dragging Draco writhing with him by the precarious grip.

The other two men moved in front of them. The one that hadn't spoken yet leaned in close to get attention while he held Draco's wand in both hands.

"Let's see how tough he is with a broken wand," the man gave a sniveling snicker and looked over to make sure the first man was laughing along with him.

Draco's hands vainly flew out towards his wand, but he was too far away and still being dragged even farther. For that moment the pain didn't matter. He could only numbly watch as the shirking man began to bend his wand, past the elasticity, further and further—

He may have seen the surprise on the first man's face. He knew for sure the man bending his wand was far too preoccupied to notice anything.

The air in between them suddenly exploded with brilliant white light. It was like a burning ball had been dropped in the midst of them.

Suddenly the air was churning and all three of the men were shouting. Maybe he heard the bodies hitting the ground, but maybe he imagined that too.

All he knew for certain was that the hands holding him were suddenly gone and he landed hard on the ground. He distinctly heard the man above him screaming something unintelligible until there was a distinct mass that toppled on Draco's legs.

All this he somehow managed to perceive. There was room for little else. Even after he'd slammed his eyes shut the light followed him, stabbing white beams of a kind of new pain into his head, strangely making everything he'd felt in the past few minutes come back with a horrible clarity.

But the light that chased his eyes slowly died away, probably far more slowly than the actual light itself did. By the time he could actually open his eyes and utilize a marginal amount of his vision, he realized that everything around him had grown quiet.

Pulling himself up slightly, he kicked at the man slumped over his legs. After realizing it would take a little more effort and finding with some surprise and a flood of uncontrollable relief that the other two men were also unconscious, he freed himself and scrambled to his feet. Because of circumstances he thought with his limited capacity to reason that if he stood up, he might somehow escape unconsciousness himself. His legs weren't ready for active service, however, and he had to quickly stumble over to the nearest tree to avoid losing the battle against gravity.

At about that time the rest of his wits caught up with him and he whirled around to look for the source of all this.

Despite knowing that there had to be a source, it was still quite a shock to actually find someone standing there, not ten feet away, calmly staring back with Draco's wand in his hand.

Draco's sharp intake of breath wasn't quite so calm, as he fought dizziness and denial at whom he seemed to be staring at.

"Potter?"