Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and those to whom she has licensed her creations, including without limitation Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I make no money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N:As always, great thanks to Sansa for her fantastic beta skills and wonderful cheerleading. Special thanks this time around to Klynie, Sevslilsecret and joanwilder for assistance with the technical aspects of this chapter. Also, thank you all for your wonderful reviews! You have no idea how much they mean to me. I am in awe of your thoughtfulness and your sharing.
CHAPTER 28: Buckbeak's Flight
Harry sat at his lab table, nervously rearranging his journal and pencils. After having done it the third time, he scowled and shoved everything to the side. He glanced around the room. His eyes narrowed. Whitehorn looked a tad too smug for his tastes, like he knew something. His heart beat uncomfortably fast. He tore his gaze away, letting it fall on the disarray of journals and pencils. God, it looked terrible. He was about to start rearranging again when Professor Snape swept into the room.
"Quiet," he said, quelling the class chatter. Today was the day—it had to be. There was only one week left in the term and Professor Snape still hadn't announced who he'd chosen as his assistants.
"You okay?" Neville whispered out of the side of his mouth.
Harry nodded.
"Before we begin, I have an announcement to make. I have chosen my assistants for my research in Chile."
Harry leaned forward, anticipation roiling through his gut.
"Thank you to all whom applied. Your applications were exemplary."
Harry caught Professor Snape's eye for a moment, but it was Professor Snape's gaze that skittered away. Harry barely held back the whimper—because that was the only way a sound expressing a mix of silent desperation and helpless frustration could be described—by digging his fingernails into his palms.
"However, I was only permitted two. Now, we have less than a week until end of term exams, I suggest we get started."
Professor Snape turned towards the blackboard and began his lecture.
That was it. Nothing more. A silent defeat.
Furious whispering broke out, Harry noted with the detached glimpse of the world that accompanied shock.
"Professor Snape, sir," Dennis Coatfield called.
"Yes, Mr. Coatfield?"
"Erm, when are you going to announce who you selected?"
A brief surge of hope kindled—
"Those who have been selected have been made aware. If they choose to share it with you, they may."
—before dying again.
"Now as I was saying before your ridiculous interruption, the bryophyte classification system is an elegant response to . . ."
Harry had stopped listening.
He sat there, blinking, feeling as though ice water had been poured down his back, or more aptly, his brain. This couldn't be happening. There had to be a mistake. There had to be.
"Mr. Potter?"
Harry looked up. Neville was gone, as were all of the other students. He twisted around and looked at the clock. Class had ended.
He looked up into the expectant face of Professor Snape. "I didn't get my letter," he said, his muscles shaking from nerves.
"I'm sorry?"
"My letter. Telling me that I was one of your assistants. I didn't get it."
Professor Snape glanced to the side and Harry's stomach clenched. He felt like there wasn't enough air in the room.
"I never told you that you would be picked."
Harry knew—he figured he'd known for a while, now—but still he gasped. "Why?" he choked out, swiping at the corners of his eyes.
"This is not the project for you. In the end, I felt that it did not suit your strengths. The other two students selected were a better match. I'm sorry. But—"
Harry's laughter shot out in short, percussive bursts, the sound raw and angry. "You're sorry. Isn't that rich. You're sorry? Do you have any idea what this means? Do you?"
"If you would just stop acting like an idiot for a moment and listen to me, you'd understand—"
"Oh, I understand loads. I understand, professor. I get it." Harry leapt from his lab stool and began shoving his books into his satchel. He staggered backward as Professor Snape's hand reached out and tugged his elbow.
"Don't touch me. Don't you ever fucking touch me," Harry said, surprised at the shrillness and fear in his voice.
Professor Snape pursed his lips and took a step backward, a cold wave of indifference washing across his face. "I will not talk to you when you are like this. There are things we need to discuss. If you would only listen to me, you would see that there is no need for these—"
"Listen to you? Why should I? Why should I listen to you anymore? You can fuck yourself, Snape. And, yeah, go ahead and expel me for that if you want. Not like it's going to make a fucking difference."
Harry ran from the room, slamming the door behind him, pushing aside the voice that hoped Professor Snape would run after him, and forcing back the bitter disappointment when he didn't.
DDDDDDDDDDDD
Harry sat in the corner, nursing his third lager, figuring out ways to stay out of sight from the Dursleys over the summer. Perhaps Mr. Wells would let him keep guard over the nursery at night? He didn't need much in the way of lodgings. Besides, it would keep him from getting soft again.
He glanced across the room, envious of the way Draco moved so easily among their classmates. Harry still hadn't told him about Chile. He wondered if he'd get away with not telling him at all.
Of course, Draco wasn't looking at him. Harry had told him to fuck off earlier. For once Draco had listened, stomping off and leaving him to sulk. Alone.
". . . and that guard from the Pembly Phoenixes? Have you seen him play? He'd do as well if someone tied his feet together," McLaggen said.
A burst of drunken laughter broke out at his ridiculous attempts at talking football. Harry couldn't believe that idiot was back again. The Cottage should be sacred from the likes of him.
"Of course, it might have something to do with him being a bloody shirtlifter. Did you hear? He and his partner are to have a civil union. A fairy stuck with a ball and chain? The Pembly Phoenixes will never get off the ground."
A few more titters of laughter followed. Harry felt angry, humiliated.
"Why don't you just shove off, McLaggen," he said, leaping to his feet. He must have been a bit louder than he thought, given the number of glances that came his way. In the corner of his vision, he thought he saw Draco moving towards him, but he didn't care. "What do you care if he's gay? What, that makes him unable to play, or something?" Harry asked, undaunted by the tension in the room. He was angry, half-drunk, and spoiling to let some of his anger go. McLaggen had started this, but Harry would finish it.
"Piss off, stable boy. This has nothing to do with you. I was merely discussing current events with my mates here and you shoved your dirty little lowborn nose where it doesn't belong. Though that's not surprising. That's all you know to do, isn't it, stable boy?"
Harry rushed forward with an indescribable sound of fury, his fist balled, ready to take a swing. Just before he could, someone caught him round the middle and pulled him back.
"Get the fuck off of me," Harry howled, working furiously to wrench himself free.
"Stop it, Harry! Stop," Draco said, pulling him backward.
"Let me go!"
"That's right, keep him away from me, Malfoy. Put your boy on a damn leash!" McLaggen said.
"Fuck you!" Harry said, struggling anew, swinging his fists wildly, hitting nothing but air.
"He's not my boy, you asshole," Draco said. "Damn it, Harry, stop it."
"He deserves it. Let me go!"
"What the hell is going on?" Ron asked, pushing into the crowd.
"That little wanker barged into a private conversation," McLaggen said, pointing his finger at Harry.
"Yeah, one where you spewed—" Harry began, but Draco interrupted.
"Watch yourself, McLaggen," Draco said, squeezing Harry hard when he tried to get away.
"Keep him the bloody hell away from me. That little thief should never have been allowed in."
Harry wrenched himself free and charged McLaggen, enjoying the fear he saw in his eyes, enjoying the power it gave him. And it was that—more than anything—that made him stop. In that split-second, he wondered if fear was what his uncle had seen. Relished. With a strangled cry, he ran out of the cottage.
DDDDDDDDDDDDD
Draco turned up hours later. He didn't even ask how Harry had got back to the school.
"You okay?" he asked.
Harry nodded.
Draco sighed. "I'm tired of this shit, Harry. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"What do you think?"
"Why do you let McClaggen get to you? He's a stupid jerk who doesn't know what he's talking about."
"Funny, it sounded like you agreed with him."
"I didn't agree with him. I didn't even say anything. I just wasn't in the mood to get into a gay rights discussion with someone who doesn't give a shit about gays. And I didn't see you clamoring to come out."
"You know what? It's not even about him. It's about—fuck it. Never mind." Harry turned away and leaned against the window.
"What? What's it about, then?"
"I said never mind. Just leave it, Draco."
"Oh, no you don't. You've been a right berk all week and I want to know what the fuck is going on."
"No. You don't."
Harry gasped as Draco gripped him by the shoulders and spun him around, knocking his back into the window. "What the fuck is wrong?" Draco snarled.
"Why don't you want to tell anyone about us? Are you ashamed of me?"
Draco staggered back for a moment, before regaining his composure. He sighed. "Christ, not this again. No, I am not ashamed of you."
Harry didn't believe him. "Fine. Whatever. Are you ashamed of yourself, then? Ashamed of being gay?"
Draco shushed him with a furious wave of his arm. "Not so loud! How many times do we have to go over this? I'm not ashamed, but I don't see any reason to shout it from the rooftops. Do you know what they'll do to us when they find out we're . . . we're gay? That we're involved? They'll try to hurt us. They'll shun us, make us feel different, like there's something wrong with us."
"So? So what? Ron knows. Blaise knows—even Neville knows. So do Professor Snape and your mum. No one's crucified us yet. And I don't care about the others."
"You can't . . .We go to an all-boys boarding school, Harry. We talked about this. We agreed. We fucking agreed."
"I don't care. If you thought us worth it, you wouldn't either. There's nothing wrong with what we are."
Draco turned away, staying silent.
"Draco? Don't you—"
"It's not that simple."
"It is. I mean, it is if you believe it." Harry's breath caught in his throat. "Don't you believe it?"
Draco stared at the floor.
"Draco?"
"You don't understand."
Harry fought to keep from running across the room, slamming Draco into the wall, and pummeling him until he felt the way Harry did at that moment. Draco didn't believe they were worth it. Harry was fine for broom cupboards and horse stalls, but not the dining hall or posh garden parties. The familiar, bitter tang of being expendable rose in his throat. He swallowed it down before it could choke him. "I think I do understand."
Draco turned at Harry's icy whisper. "You don't understand. This isn't about you, Harry. Believe it or not, not every fucking thing is about you. It's about the rest of the world. It doesn't understand people like you and me. There's no reason to flaunt it in their faces. Then we're only inviting trouble."
Harry found it hard to keep his breathing regular. "I'm not going to let pricks like McClaggen make me feel like there's something wrong with me. If it happens again, I will come out right then and there." Harry took a step forward. "I need to know if you're with me in this."
"It's not that simple!"
"It is."
"It's not. You don't understand."
"What is there to understand, Draco? We kiss, we suck each other's cocks, I let you shove your fingers up my arse on your birthday. We're gay. There's not much more to it."
"No one wants to hear that. Christ, no one wants to hear Ron get all moony over kissing Hermione."
"Stop changing the fucking subject. What's the problem with coming out? What are you afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid."
"Then stop acting like a damn pansy and stand up for who you are, for who I am."
"You don't get it! You can't just force me to come out when I don't want to! I don't want people to know!"
Harry took a step back and dropped his gaze to the floor. He let the silence hang for a long while. "Please leave."
"Harry—"
"Get out. Don't want you to have to spend any more time with that sick pouf, Harry Potter."
"How dare you tell me—"
Harry backed away. He could feel the walls pressing in. Draco had to leave. Harry couldn't stand to see him. "Get out. I don't want you here."
"You don't get to decide—"
"Get out!"
"I'm not—"
"Get OUT!"
"Harry. Stop. You're not making—"
"Get the fuck out! Get out, get out, GET OUT!" Harry threw his water glass, watching it shatter inches from Draco's head.
Draco ducked to avoid the spray of glass shards. "Have you lost your effing mind? Don't answer that. I'm going back to the cottage." Without a second glance, he turned on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him.
Harry felt like he couldn't breathe. He slid down the wall and dropped his head to his knees. In one week, his world had upended. First Professor Snape and the dread of having to go back to the Dursleys' for the summer holiday, and now this. He should have known what little happiness he had would be snatched away.
Harry pulled at his hair, holding his head in his hands. His eyes rested on his school books and journals. His Botany journal sat on top, ready to be turned in for final grading. He snorted as tears blistered at the corner of his eyes. He spent forever fretting over his stupid Botany journal, that stupid class, and bloody stupid Professor Snape. His insides turned and squeezed in embarrassment as he thought about the time he'd told Snape that he thought of him like a father-figure, and how he'd done those things with Draco. Poor, stupid, delusional Harry.
He swallowed. None of that mattered, now. He'd wasted too many tears over these stupid people and this stupid school. If they didn't want him, then fine. He didn't want them either. He would leave. He would run away and never think of them again.
Harry leapt to his feet.
Could he do it? Could he really run away? His heart raced. He imagined living a quiet, bohemian life in a groundskeep cottage at a large nursery. Maybe a small coastal town? Surely he'd find work at a nursery. He could buy a bicycle with the money he saved and go to market every few days, trading pleasantries with the old woman minding the register.
He ran his hand through his hair and looked around at all of the stuff he'd managed to accumulate in less than a year. He started packing.
DDDDDDDDDDDDD
Harry approached Buckbeak's stall with caution. "Hey there, boy."
It was nearly three o'clock in the morning. He'd managed to pack and leave before everyone had returned from the cottage.
Harry made to pet Buckbeak, but—as if he could sense Harry's impending hysteria—he snorted and stamped his hoof, shuffling away from Harry's hand.
"Come on now, no reason to be like that."
The other horses were already gone. Mr. Hagrid had given Harry the key, asking him to keep up with Buckbeak while he was away. Harry felt a twinge of guilt at abusing Mr. Hagrid's trust, but he had to get away and Buckbeak was his only choice. He'd simply board Buckbeak in town once he arrived, explaining that he was there on Mr. Hagrid's orders. Once Mr. Hagrid returned and found Harry's letter, Harry would be long gone to any place that his small amount of savings would take him.
He dropped his old knapsack on the ground as he lifted the latch to Buckbeak's stall. He'd left most of the fancy things Mrs. Malfoy had bought for him behind, taking only a few changes of clothing, an extra pair of shoes, and the few personal items he had. He'd almost left his Parkinson book behind out of spite, but couldn't bear to leave it.
Buckbeak snorted and stamped his back hoof again.
"It's okay, Buckbeak. Time for a little ride, yeah? Just you and me."
Harry pulled the apple slices from his pocket and held them out. Buckbeak stared at him for a moment, as if trying to figure out what Harry wanted, before he tossed his mane back and forth and stepped forward. He started eating the apple slices, whinnying as Harry brushed his other hand through his coat and told him what a beautiful boy he was.
After two apples and nearly half an hour of brushing and soothing words, Buckbeak consented to being saddled and bridled. He stamped his hooves and swished his tail back and forth throughout, but didn't pull away as Harry cinched the saddle tighter and made sure the bit and bridle were properly fitted.
Harry hitched his knapsack over his shoulders. Buckbeak stared him down, as if he knew Harry was apprehensive. And why wouldn't he be? Buckbeak was a massive black Arabian, full of fiery temperament and largely uncontrolled. Harry could not handle this horse. But it was the only way. He had to get away. With that thought in mind, he steeled his nerve and took up his mount, hoping to God that Buckbeak didn't kill them both before they made it to town.
DDDDDDDDDDDDD
Draco, Ron and Blaise stumbled into their room, glad to have snuck past Filch. "Shh!" Draco said, as Ron started giggling. "You'll wake Harry."
"Oh, yes, mustn't wake the little princess."
Draco jerked his head back and glared. "Don't you ever call him that again."
"What? Oh come on. I didn't mean it that way. I just meant he's been a temperamental snot for the last week. Oi! What have we done to him?" Ron hissed.
"Shut up."
"Yes, your highness. Not like you've been much better, by the way. What's got into you?"
"Nothing," Draco said, feeling his way towards his bed, pissed off at Harry.
Harry and his insane insecurities; Harry and his refusal to be anything remotely conventional; Harry and his goddamned unflinching principles. Couldn't he see that not everyone was as fearless or reckless as him? Couldn't he understand that Draco could love and be proud of him without wanting the world to know he was a gay sixteen-year-old? There were things about Harry that Draco feared he would never understand.
"Just . . . just shut up. Let's go to bed," Draco said.
Blaise moved to turn on the lights.
"What are you doing?" Draco hissed.
"I can't bloody see, you idiot. Besides, Harry sleeps with his curtains closed. I doubt a little light'll disturb him."
Before Draco could stop him, Blaise flicked on the light.
Draco's gaze shot to Harry's bed, hoping they hadn't woken him. He gasped at the sight of the made bed, piles of folded clothing and stacked books.
"What the bloody hell?" Ron said, as all three of them made their way over to Harry's bed.
Propped on the books was a note addressed "To Whom it May Concern." Draco's heart stopped beating for a long, painful moment. He picked up the note with a shaky hand, ripping it open.
"What's it say?" Blaise asked.
"I, Harry James Potter, formally withdraw from Wolsford Academy. Ask the Dursleys. They'll agree. I've taken the liberty of removing myself from school and have made my own travel arrangements. I leave my final projects for my courses, my textbooks, and my uniforms. Thank you."
Draco couldn't breathe. He read the note again, sure that he'd mistaken some of the words in the darkness and that it couldn't possibly say what he thought it did. When he couldn't make the words change or rearrange themselves or mean something different, he threw the note to the floor and began ransacking the uniforms and books and journals, frantic to find another note, one addressed to him. Books fell to the floor. The green cashmere throw knocked over Ron's bedside lamp. A journal landed on his chest.
"Oi! Draco!" Ron said, ducking out of the way of flying objects.
Draco spun around. "He's run away. Harry's run away."
"I'll get Professor Snape," Blaise said, turning towards the door.
"No! Don't. He'll—we've got to find him. No one else. They'll expel him if he's done what I think he's done."
"What do you mean, what he's done?" Blaise asked.
"We don't have time to debate this. Let's go," Draco said, striding towards the door.
"Where are we going?" Ron asked, trying to keep up.
"The stables," Draco answered tersely, hoping that they'd make it in time. "No more talking and stop your shoes from making that squeaking sound, Blaise. It's louder than your bloody alarm."
"What do you suggest I do, then?" Blaise whispered furiously, already hopping from one foot to the next, removing his shoes.
"I expect you to figure it out," Draco whispered back, crouching low as they snuck past a now-snoozing Filch.
DDDDDDDDDDDDD
So far, Harry thought, things were going all right. Buckbeak, who thus far hadn't done more than a fast trot, was being remarkably well-behaved. He seemed to only have short bursts of energy, spending most of his time standing still and eating grass. Harry had made the mistake of prodding him along only once.
He twisted around. He could still see the stables in the distance. They'd not made it very far.
"I assure you there's better grass in town. Let's go to town. Don't you want to go to town?" Harry asked, jiggling and snapping the reins in hopes of getting Buckbeak to move.
Buckbeak ignored him, instead whinnying with delight at having just found what Harry suspected was a patch of clover.
Harry cursed under his breath. "I can't even run away properly."
Frustrated, he pulled back on the reins far harder than he'd intended. Startled, Buckbeak reared back, nearly throwing Harry in the process.
"Whoa, boy. Whoa!" Harry cried, trying desperately to stay seated.
Before he knew what was happening, Buckbeak took off at a full gallop.
"Stop! Whoa!" Harry cried, pulling on the reins as hard as he could, kicking his heels into Buckbeak's sides. But nothing worked. Buckbeak ignored him completely.
The few times when Vernon had been especially vicious, Harry had been quite afraid. Coming to Wolsford had been panic inducing. But nothing compared to the terror of riding Buckbeak.
They galloped along the fence line. Harry clenched his teeth and held on for dear life. As long as he could hold on, he'd be okay. He tucked his body closer and pressed his knees against Buckbeak's sides.
An animal skittered across their path—a fox or something, Harry couldn't tell. Buckbeak roared and reared back, punching his hooves in the air. Harry could feel his fingers slipping, could feel his body sliding out of the saddle. His right ankle wrenched as it slipped in the stirrup.
Buckbeak came down with a jaw-rattling jolt, before taking off again at a very brisk cantor. Harry fell to the side, desperately clutching at the reins with one hand, while the other grabbed a handful of Buckbeak's mane. He kicked his right foot away from the stirrup as hard as he could, afraid his foot would be snapped in two if he fell.
Just as he untangled his foot and tried to pull himself upright, Buckbeak bust into a full gallop. Harry was thrown forward.
"Stop it, you goddamned horse!"
Buckbeak sailed over the small creek that marked the boundary between the upper and lower pastures. Harry knew even before it happened that this was the end.
As his fingers slipped out of Buckbeak's mane, his body was thrown forward and to the side. He felt himself sail out of the saddle, his body twisting as he fell off. His left arm and shoulder took most of the blow, but then his head collided with something large and sharp.
Unreal pain surged through him. Blackness followed. His last thought was that he hadn't even made it off the grounds.
DDDDDDDDDDDDD
"Damn it, I knew it," Draco said, as he found Buckbeak's stall empty.
"There's tack missing," Blaise called from the side.
"He's left a note," Ron said, pulling a piece of folded paper away from the post. "It's to Mr. Hagrid, from Harry."
Draco darted forward and snatched the note from Ron's fingers, reading it quickly
"He's going to town. He must be taking the route through the upper pasture." Draco looked around. "All of the other horses are already gone."
"What should we do?" Blaise asked.
"Run. And hope to God we catch him before he does something monumentally stupid."
"Are you mad? It's almost ten miles to town! It will take us forever to catch him." Blaise said.
"Then I suggest you start running," Draco said as he sprinted out the door.
DDDDDDDDDDDDD
Something was licking him. Harry didn't like it. He tried to roll away, but the explosion of pain kept him where he was, panting and hoping the world would stop its violent spinning.
'Cry baby. You've got to get up! You've got to get out of there! You can't let them find you like this. You can't!'
Harry struggled to push himself up. He cried out as he moved his left shoulder, immediately flopping back onto the sodden ground. Hot tears trailed down his cheeks as he bit his lip to keep from screaming.
'Get UP. You can't let them find you like this. They'll take you back there. You can't go back.'
Harry moaned as he pushed himself forward, his right hand clawing at the ground and dragging him farther. He made it less than a foot before collapsing again. The pain was becoming even worse—so much so that darkness crept in.
"Fuck you," Harry rasped as he tried to heave himself forward. He managed to get a bit farther that time and pushed again and again, until his foot met with a broken section of the fence. The wood snapped and gave way. Harry lost all of the leverage he had and tumbled to his side. Unable to stop his movement, he fell through an open section and over the small embankment, coming to rest at the bottom, his left wrist burning with pain. His shoulder, his head—everything—was on fire. He didn't curse the darkness when it came a second time.
DDDDDDDDDDDDD
"I think . . . I think . . . a horse. I see . . . a horse," Blaise panted, as he pointed in the distance.
Draco growled and put on an extra burst of speed, hoping to find that Harry had simply changed his mind and was sitting astride that damn horse.
He scrambled up the small hill, coming to an abrupt stop as Buckbeak reared back, startled. Draco's heart stopped beating when he realized Buckbeak was missing his rider.
"Stop that, you mangy beast! Where's Harry?!" Draco demanded, not caring that he was talking to an insane horse. He heard feet pounding behind him, coming closer. Buckbeak went wild.
"Whoa, whoa, boy," Ron said, coming to stand by Draco's side, panting hard from the run. "Get back, Draco."
"Fuck you, Weasley. I'm here to find Harry. I don't care about that godforsaken horse."
Ron waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, still trying to catch his breath. "Gotta . . . we've gotta get him calmed down first, or we won't be able to get near him. Can't find Harry if we can't get near him."
Draco made to charge forward, but Blaise came up behind him and grabbed him around the middle, pulling him backward.
"Let me go, you sonofabitch!"
"Shut it, Draco. Let Ron do what needs doing. You're not helping Harry like this."
Draco continued to struggle, but stopped as he watched Ron approach the still rearing horse.
"Not here to hurt you . . . calm down . . . need your help," Draco heard Ron say as he crouched low and appeared to bow before the thing.
Slowly, Buckbeak gentled, finally coming to rest. Quick as lightening, Ron darted forward and grabbed the reins, pulling them close, while still talking to Buckbeak in soft tones.
"I've got him. Find Harry," Ron said out of the side of his mouth, slowly leading Buckbeak away.
Draco didn't waste a second as he struggled from Blaise's hold and ran forward. He thanked God it was a full moon. Otherwise they wouldn't have been able to see a thing.
"Look there. Does that grass look all matted?" Blaise said, stopping in front of a broken section of fence.
"Yeah it does," Draco said slowly, his eyes following the line of matted grass, across the missing section of fence and down the small embankment. He gasped at what he saw at the bottom.
"No!" Draco shouted, scrambling down, desperate to get to Harry.
He skidded to a stop, almost tripping in the wet grass, and dropped to his knees. Harry lay unmoving.
"Harry? Harry, please wake up. You have to wake up, now," Draco said, as his hands moved over Harry's body, looking for blood and other obvious injuries.
"Fucking Christ," Blaise panted as he came to a stop next to Draco. "Is he—Is he okay?"
"He's unconscious, you bloody idiot. You figure it out," Draco snapped.
"Let's not do this right now. Let's figure out how to help Harry, okay?"
Draco nodded, not trusting his voice.
"Have you tried to wake him?"
"Yeah. He's . . . he's really hurt, I think."
"Let's roll him over and see if we can get a better idea of what's wrong."
They worked in tandem, trying to roll Harry onto his back. As Blaise grabbed Harry's right shoulder, though, Harry moaned and tried to get away.
"Fuck," Blaise said, snatching his hand back and then scrambling to keep Harry from hitting the ground.
"What's going on down there?" Ron called, peering over the side of the hill, his hands holding the reins tight.
Draco's mind raced. There was no way they could move Harry by themselves, and if any of the teachers found out that Harry had stolen a horse in an attempt to run away, he'd be expelled.
"Ron, get the horse back to the stable. You've got to get rid of any evidence that Harry took that horse anywhere. Do you understand me?"
"What? Are you crazy? He's hurt. We've got to—"
"I know that! But we've got to do this too."
"Draco, you're not thinking—"
"Just do it! Do you understand?"
"Yeah. Got it. I've still got the key. What should I do with it after?"
"Harry's supposed to have it. Just keep it for now. And get rid of that note!"
Ron patted his pocket. "I have it here."
Draco breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay. When you've done that, get back to our room and do something with Harry's things. Just . . . I dunno, shove them somewhere or something. We don't want anyone to know he was running away."
"What about his knapsack?" Blaise asked, gesturing to the torn and tattered thing in the grass.
Draco swallowed. "Take it up to Ron."
"Right," Blaise said before scrambling to his feet.
"We'll give you a ten minute head start, Ron, but no more than that. He needs—He needs to be in hospital," Draco said.
"Got it. What's the story, then?"
Draco looked at Blaise, hoping he'd have some inspiration.
"Ron, after you're done, you go back to bed—pretend you've been asleep this whole time," Blaise said.
"Alright," Ron said.
"And we'll pretend that the three of us snuck out for a last hurrah at the stone circle at the edge of the upper pasture. Harry slipped in the wet grass, erm, hit his head on something and tumbled down the hill," Blaise continued.
"Are you mad? You'll get detention with Filch, or worse! That'll be the end of sneaking out to the cottage or to the stone circle. Everyone will hate us."
Blaise looked down at Draco and Harry's unmoving form. "I'd say it's worth it, wouldn't you?"
Ron sighed. "Of course it is. I just . . . damn it, Harry! Why'd you choose now to go barking mad?"
"Get that horse out of here," Draco snapped. "He's getting colder," he said, his voice breaking on the last word.
"Come on, boy," Ron said, taking off in a dead run, Buckbeak trotting beside him.
"Draco, feel around his head. Is there any injury?"
Harry moaned again, seemingly trying to get away from Draco's touch, before he fell silent once more. "Yeah. It's—fuck—it's all sticky! He's losing blood," Draco said, pulling off his jumper, wrapping it around Harry's head, and propping it in his lap. "We've got to get him out of here."
"We'll get him out. Is it . . . is blood going everywhere?"
"No. Feels like it's clotted."
"That's one good thing, at least. Oh, and the slip and fall story will work. There's a big rock up here."
Draco nodded, still running his hands up and down Harry's body, telling himself that he was being useful. Wake up. Please, just wake up. Let me know you're going to be okay.
They fell into a desperate silence, each mentally counting down the clock.
"I'll get Snape—I mean, I assume you want me to get Snape," Blaise said.
Draco nodded. "Yeah. He'll—he'll need to get help."
"Course." Blaise pulled at the grass and checked his watch again. "Five minutes more."
Draco nodded again, surprised it had only been five minutes. It felt like centuries had passed.
"Do you have any idea why he would do this?" Blaise asked.
Draco ran his fingers through Harry's hair, wishing that he would just wake up. "We had a fight. He—he wanted to come out, or something, I—I don't know. He was really angry and . . . McLaggen made some comment about the gay footballer's civil union and Harry just . . . he just lost it."
"That fucking idiot. It should be McLaggen at the bottom of that hill, not Harry."
"I think he doesn't want to, um, be my—my—"
"Oh, shut up. And no way does Harry not want to be your boyfriend, or lover, or partner, or whatever you call yourselves. He's a hard nut to crack, I'll give you that, but once you do, I don't see Harry letting you go. That's part of the problem, I think. He loves as hard as he fights. No middle ground with him, eh?"
Draco didn't respond.
"That can't be all, though," Blaise said. "The two of you fight about that shit all of the time. Must have been something else."
Draco's head jerked up. "You think?"
"Um, yeah. Potter doesn't go insane just because you're too much of a little fairy to come out."
"Shut your fucking mouth."
Blaise chuckled. "There's the Draco I know." He stood, his demeanor once again serious. "I'm going to go get Professor Snape. We'll call for help and be back in a jiff."
"It's not been ten minutes."
"He can't wait any longer. Neither can you, I suspect."
Blaise didn't wait for a reply as he stood and took off in a run.
Draco pulled Harry closer, not caring as Harry whimpered—that meant he was alive. "Hang on just a little longer, Harry. Just a little bit longer."
DDDDDDDDDDDDD
It seemed like time had stretched impossibly as Draco waited. He talked to Harry, begged him to wake, told him about the things they would do before they had to return to school. He promised Harry the world, if only he would wake up and be okay.
And as impossibly stretched as time had been, it snapped back, becoming a dizzy whorl of people and questions and orders. Uncle Severus had shaken him hard and had asked desperate questions that Draco couldn't seem to answer.
All he knew was that Harry was on a stretcher, things strapped all around him to keep him immobile, looking pale as winter and just as leaden.
There was talk of concussions and dislocated shoulders and severely sprained ankles. There were heated whispers about the length of time he'd been unconscious. Uncle Severus had barked orders at the medics and called people on his cell phone.
In shock, Draco curled in on himself, watching through someone else's eyes as Harry was taken away.