Chapter Twenty-Six

Big Damn Hero

Matt was still laying on the ground, his ears buzzing for some reason he couldn't fathom. He was trying very hard to think through what he'd seen, but he was so tired and in so much pain, and he was afraid. He was trying to decide whether he'd actually seen what he thought he'd seen. Professor Stevens—Draco Malfoy—may have possibly winked at him, and Matt might possibly just be so overwhelmed that he was seeing things. It was hard to determine, because Malfoy was completely ignoring him now. If he had winked, and it was meant to be reassurance of some kind, it wasn't working, Matt thought with frustration. Of course, since Malfoy was so evil, he might just have been trying to make Matt angry. Like Matt needed to be any angrier. He'd been kidnapped, they might have killed his friend, and his parents and little brother were likely worried sick. As if all that weren't enough, Tyrell had kicked him, in the face, and then he'd stabbed him in the eye. Matt was bloody livid. And afraid. And just exhausted.

Tyrell hadn't wanted to trust Malfoy, Matt had judged as he'd watched them talk. Tyrell had been angry when Malfoy had reported the Ministry's confiscation of the Dark artifacts he'd been after. But he respected Malfoy, in a way he didn't respect any other members of his crew. He wasn't willing to harm Malfoy, and Malfoy refused to be threatened. In a scary way, too. He didn't scowl at being threatened and say he wouldn't help if Tyrell didn't leave off. He'd simply ignored Tyrell's moods as if they meant nothing—a sign of power and control. Matt didn't think Tyrell liked it. He'd gotten surlier and surlier as they talked, and as Malfoy proved himself more knowledgeable about this sort of negotiation and about the current governmental system . . . and about Dad. Of course, maybe Tyrell was just tired, like Matt was. Matt had gone beyond the point of wanting to sleep, and into a state of stupor as though he'd been drugged.

He hated Draco Malfoy. That he was sure of. How dare the man act like such a good teacher and be so helpful to Matt and his friends? How dare he sit there and listen to Matt talk about his nightmares, like he cared? It made Matt angry again to think of that, so he tried to put it out of his mind. Anger made him tense, and the tension made him hurt all that much more, so he was staying as relaxed as he could. He didn't know how long they'd leave him tied up like this.

Not long, apparently, for Tyrell and Malfoy suddenly turned to him with an air of finality that said they'd arrived at some conclusion. Max Cross was looking at him, too, the man he'd mistaken for Draco, the man who was apparently his brother.

"Then we do it my way?" Malfoy drawled, looking certain already that the answer would be affirmative. And indeed it was.

"Yes," Tyrell grunted, looking none too pleased.

"Good," Malfoy said, and stepped toward Matt with a knife. Matt screamed against his gag, and tried to squirm away.

---Break---

Draco wanted to go away, crawl in a hole, and die as he approached Matt. Matt was so afraid of him that he was writhing in his restraints and causing himself obvious pain, trying to get away. His uninjured eye was wide with panic and he was actually trying to scream past the blood-and-saliva soaked handkerchief tied between his lips—tied so tightly, he saw, that Matt's mouth was bleeding, too. He didn't know how to comfort Matt, though, not here, not in front of Tyrell. The next few minutes depended on him keeping his cool and not alerting them to his intentions—just until he was sure Harry had gotten his message, then he could get the hell out of here. He'd managed to maintain a cool composure so far, and he'd been viciously happy to see how much Tyrell resented his presence and craved it at the same time. This boy was no Dark Lord, not yet. Cruel and violent, sure, but not cunning nor charming. It would have been fun to bring the boy down a few pegs if not for the fact of Matt's presence keeping him entirely focused on his purpose here.

He reached out and cut the bit of twine that locked Matt's hands and feet together, then cut the twine around his wrists. Matt, already laying on the floor, suddenly collapsed, and then cried out in pain as blood flooded through his cramped muscles and numb fingers. He screamed and sobbed and it was all Draco could do not to scream and sob with him. He bent so he was looking at Matt closely, and said in the coldest voice he could muster up,

"Listen to me. You are going to write a letter to your father. You're going to ask him to please give Lord Tyrell the information he requires. If he does this, you get to go home. I want you to plead with him to do as Lord Tyrell says, so that we don't hurt you anymore. Do you understand?"

He hauled Matt up by the shoulders. "Bring some paper, Cross."

"I'm not your servant," Cross growled. "I'm your goddamned brother."

"You? You're Lucius' half-blooded bastard. It does not in any way make us family. Now get me a sheet of paper if you want to see anything past this room ever again." That part, he didn't really have to draw on any acting skills for. Max Cross had not endeared himself to Draco over the course of the last hour.

Cross fetched the paper and a quill, grumbling all the way, and Draco set in on the floor in front of Matt. "Now you're going to write the letter." Matt just sat there. "You may begin, Mr. Potter."

Matt glared at all of them in turn and sat without moving a muscle. Draco was so proud of him he nearly laughed aloud, but he instead glared back, and turned toward Tyrell.

"Give me a minute alone with the boy. I think I can make him . . . see reason," he said ominously. They didn't like that, but they did it. As soon as they shut the door, he let his shoulders fall with relief at the sudden release of tension. Being in the same room with those two was utterly nerve-wracking.

"Now, listen, Matt," he said, "we've only got a minute. Your dad will be on his way with the Aurors any second, I told him how to find this place." Matt looked stunned, and was suddenly much more ready to listen. "As soon as Tyrell and Cross come through those doors, I'm going to Stun them and we're going to run. I don't want you to be here when the Aurors come in and start throwing spells around. You're going to run as fast as you can, okay?"

Matt shook his head, and tried to say something.

"Oh, right. I'm going to take this out, but you have to whisper, all right?"

Matt nodded. He removed the gag, and Matt's hands shot to his mouth to wipe at his lips. Draco winced at the sight of his swollen hands and raw wrists.

"Oh, Matt, I'm sorry."

Matt glared at him. "You're sorry?" he repeated in a furious whisper. "You killed my parents."

Draco should have known this was coming, but he hadn't thought about it. The words were like getting stabbed—stabbed in the heart. But he also had to conceal his impatience. They didn't have time for this right now. They had to gear up and get out of here.

"Matt, you have no idea how sorry I am, but we'll have to talk about it later."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, you murderer."

He closed his eyes. "Matt, when I tell you to, just run, okay? You don't have to go with me. Just go."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Matt's eyes were full to spilling with angry, passionate tears. "I can't get up. My feet . . ."

"Shit." He didn't know what to say, he had absolutely no idea, so he just met Matt's furious eyes and tried to look sincere. "Matt, I'm going to have to carry you out, then. You can't be here when the Aurors come in, and I won't let Tyrell use you for a bargaining chip if it goes wrong. I'm getting you out of here."

"Why do you care?" Matt said, so upset that his voice was barely a whisper, and his tears spilled over.

Oh, damn it all to hell. Draco felt a few tears on his own face, and batted them away impatiently. "Matt." He had to clear his throat. "Matt, please, please just trust me. Just for a few minutes. After that, you'll be safe with your dad, and you don't ever have to trust me again. Just let me get you to safety."

Matt cried, but he said nothing more. Draco took it for acceptance of the situation and quickly cut the tie around Matt's ankles, which he'd neglected thus far. Then he turned to face the door, wand at the ready. A few seconds later, Tyrell and Cross walked in. Seeing Draco's wand, Cross shouted, and Tyrell grabbed for his own. Draco's spells caught them both in the chest, just a quick one-two, and then he levitated Matt and said,

"Let's go!"

He flung poor, aching Matt forward and limped past the gasping forms of his enemies and out the door.

"When did I get so damned heroic?" he muttered.

He got them outside, and looked wildly up and down the dingy street. Which way? There was someone standing walking there across the street, and he didn't want to Disapparate in front of them. He shielded Matt's body with his so the Muggle couldn't see that Matt was floating a few inches off the ground.

"Is that a church?" Matt asked, pointing at the large building rising up against the pale gray of the dawning sky.

"Yes."

"Go there."

"Why?"

"Mr. Townsend says churches have power. I'll be safe there. You leave me there and don't ever come near me again."
Draco didn't argue. He took Matt to the church, with no intention of leaving him alone there. As soon as they were inside, he'd get him back to the Ministry building to wait for Harry to return from capturing Tyrell. As he shouldered open the heavy wooden door, keeping his wand trained on Matt to avoid dropping him in a heap, there was an enraged shout. Tyrell and Cross had recovered and were running toward them, and Tyrell's wand was pointed at Matt.

"No!"