Chapter Five
Harry's senses were screaming. Every nerve ending in his body felt like it was aflame. His breath rasped in his chest and each inhalation was agony. He knew immediately that he wasn't dead, unless he was in hell enduring the pain of eternal torment. Only one thought could penetrate the nightmare: Draco.
Mustering all of his strength, he raised his head and sought for Draco; he was a mere hand-span away, face-down and still. Harry ignored the pain and pushed his way closer. He reached out and felt Draco's neck. It was cold—so cold… Harry could not feel a pulse.
Terror drove him up onto his knees and he rolled Draco over with trembling hands. He pressed both to Draco's neck, begging for a sign of life. A weak tremour of a heartbeat met his searching fingers.
Oh God, he was alive, but only just. Harry immediately cast out for all the magic at his disposal. He had got even better at it over the past few months, using the technique to dispel the rampant pockets of dark magic left over from Voldemort's reign. He had thrown himself into the task, trying to carry on without Draco—something he refused to do again. Harry was weak, though, incredibly weak. He slowly drew the magic from everything around him—excluding Draco. Thank goodness he had learned that little trick, or the drain would have killed Draco for certain.
Harry heard the grinding sound of stone on stone behind him, but he did not pause in his task. He siphoned as much power as he could contain, and felt it flood into him like water soaking a dry sponge. When he fairly crackled with it, he let it pour through his hands and into Draco in a healing stream, willing Draco to live.
When his power was spent, he collapsed onto Draco, uncertain if his efforts had been successful. Despite the danger they were still in, he was too weak and exhausted to stave off the encroaching blackness. He could only hope it had worked before he succumbed to the dark.
ooOoo
Draco felt indescribably warm and peaceful. It was as though he floated in a tropical sea on a beautiful, sunny day. He sighed languorously and felt a weight on his chest, at odds with his indolent contentment. He slid his eyes open and spied only darkness.
He frowned. Where the hell was he? He reached up to explore the weight on his chest and encountered a mass of familiar, soft hair.
"Harry?" he murmured, pleased, and smiled softly.
His memory flooded back with explosive force and he gasped, horrified. He pushed himself up, gently shifting Harry's inert form aside until he could reach his throat. Harry's head lolled against Draco's arm; his pulse was barely detectable.
"Damn you, Harry, what have you done?" Somehow, Harry had saved him. Harry and his goddamned… what did Hermione always call it? His "saving people thing." Even when people did not want to be saved, Harry Potter couldn't fucking resist. "You sneaky bastard, I knew you should have been sorted into Slytherin." Draco's voice was a light whisper, but he sought frantically for something to assist. Damn it, he did not even have his wand!
His eyes shot to a doorway that had opened in the wall. A crumpled body lay partially inside the room.
Fearing he was hallucinating, Draco placed Harry gently on the cold floor and hurried to the black-robed figure. He turned the person over roughly to find that it was Mulciber. A wand lay on the floor where it had fallen close to Mulciber's hand.
Draco looked at Harry and instantly deduced what had happened. Harry had pulled his special trick of tapping the magic from everything around him—including Mulciber. Draco remembered the first time Harry had tried it. It had been an unpleasant sensation resulting in prolonged unconsciousness, and a lingering weakness when he'd finally awakened. Draco grinned nastily. Mulciber was in for a dreadful headache when he woke up.
Draco snatched the wand and cast a Full-body Bind on Mulciber, just in case he managed to shake off the effects. Then Draco hurried back to Harry and dropped to his knees. He wasn't quite sure what to cast—Harry was barely breathing. He decided to use every healing spell in his arsenal. Luckily, that was quite a large number and when he was finished, Harry's breathing seemed to have eased a bit and his face wasn't nearly as pale.
He held Harry into his arms and and rested his chin on Harry's dark head. "Please live, Harry," he whispered. "Please."
Draco remained in that position, listening to the slow sound of Harry's respiration and feeling the beat of his heart for what seemed forever. He was willing to stay there that long, if that was what it took.
.
Harry finally stirred slightly and Draco pulled back to look at him. He caressed Harry's face gently and Harry's green eyes slowly opened. They focused on Draco, although a frown creased Harry's forehead.
Draco smiled. "If you weren't nearly dead, Potter, I'd wring your neck for that stunt."
Harry's voice was a barely audible whisper. "Then it's a good thing I'm nearly dead."
"Now that you're awake, you can take that talent of yours and heal yourself this time." The words were imperious, but Draco's voice was unsteady.
"Slave driver," Harry whispered and Draco kissed him. He pulled back after only a moment, not wanting to steal Harry's oxygen.
"Do it," he murmured against Harry's cool lips. Harry made a soft sound of surrender and then Draco felt a crackle in the very air. He felt his hair stand on end and then something like a breeze flowed past him and into Harry.
Immediately, Harry's breathing grew steadier and his skin flushed with a healthy glow, replacing the sickly pale look. Draco sighed in relief and thanked every god in his knowledge of religions for Harry's abilities.
"Why aren't we dead?" he asked when Harry seemed out of danger.
Harry's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "Mulciber said the spell would be cancelled with the sacrifice of a single life. Perhaps because there were two of us, it took half a life from each?"
"So we were only half dead?"
"It felt more like three quarters."
"Seven eighths."
"Honestly, one can never trust an evil spell to measure properly."
Once he was certain Harry would be fine, Draco got to his feet and walked to Mulciber's still-unconscious form. The urge to kick the bastard until he was a bloody rag was strong, but he restrained himself. Mainly because Harry would disapprove.
He felt Harry's hand touch his back in a gentle caress and he smiled, feeling steadied, and knelt to examine Mulciber's robes. He came up with two additional wands—hawthorn and holly. His and Harry's. He handed over Harry's and bound Mulciber in magical ropes, even though he knew from experience that even when he awakened, Mulciber would take time to recover from Harry's magical drain.
Harry Levitated the unconscious Death Eater and Draco led the way out of the chamber. A single corridor led away from the room, lit by dim sconces.
"Does this look familiar?" Harry asked.
"No."
The passage continued, but an iron door to the left wall was ajar. Draco pushed it open and walked in. He brightened the light from his wand and was immediately assaulted by shadowed memories, only partially recalled.
He stood in a cell. An iron cot sat in one corner and thick chains hung from the walls. Draco struggled through the memories, trying to force them through the memory blocks that Mulciber had placed. A headache bloomed spectacularly behind his eyes and he had brief flashes: hanging in the chains while Mulciber cast Cruciatus Curses at him; lying on the cot, bleeding, whilst Pansy tended him; writing through drug-induced nightmares caused by the magical potions he'd been forced to drink; endless hours of darkness and mind-numbing boredom that he'd spent trying to extricate himself from his bonds…
Draco sank to his knees, overwhelmed. Harry was quickly beside him, holding him tightly.
"He kept you here?" Harry asked with obvious horror. Draco unbuttoned a sleeve and forced back the cuff to look at his wrist—criss-crossed with permanent scars that Mulciber had not quite been able to heal. Why had he not noticed them before?
Harry looked at the scars and his face hardened into a mask that Draco nearly did not recognize.
"I'll kill him," Harry said hoarsely and began to rise. "I'll fucking kill him and resurrect him and kill him again for what he did to you—for what he did to us!"
Draco grabbed Harry's shirt tightly and held him in place. "No," he said quietly. "No, I won't let him turn you into a murderer."
"I'm already a murderer, Draco. I killed Voldemort, remember?"
"That was your destiny. This is… this is nothing."
"This is not nothing! That filthy bastard stole six months of your life and nearly killed us both for his twisted revenge!"
Draco's hands moved up to grip Harry's face and his silver eyes met Harry's. "He did not succeed. I'm still here, and so are you, and he hasn't changed anything between us. Not really."
Harry's rage seemed to fold in on itself. His voice broke. "I should never have given up on you. I should have kept searching."
Draco pulled him forwards and kissed him gently. "You would not have found me. And if you had, it would merely have hastened his revenge."
Harry held him tightly for a moment and then helped Draco to his feet. "Let's get you out of here. The sooner Mulciber is in Azkaban, the happier I will be. And the less likely I will be to shove my wand down his throat and cast Avada Kedavra."
