Part 8
If Draco had been a wolf, his fur would have stood on end with his ears cocked perfectly towards Harry. Instead, he leaned against the greenhouse door, arms folded, staring intently at a mottled patch of carpet as Harry and Lupin shouted at each other. He didn't dare move. The Weasleys all sat in a row on the couch or stood on either side, watching him with dour frowns, and beside him, Severus and Narcissa quietly glared back. Draco knew that if he moved at all, if he turned his head, coughed or even breathed too loud, someone in the room would take offense and take out their wand.
Really, it wasn't his fault.
"You don't have a choice," Harry said in the other room. "If you try to lock me up, I'll blast the door off its hinges."
"I would hope it does not come to that," Lupin responded.
If anyone had asked him, Draco would have said it was impossible to keep Harry prisoner when Harry wanted to be somewhere else. Harry had to be talked into things, lured and manipulated. No wonder he hated manipulation and lies, becoming so good at ferreting them out. And if Harry said that breaking Lucius Malfoy out of Azkaban was a two person job and no more, well then. That was what Harry said.
It really wasn't Draco's fault. He hadn't even talked him into it.
The argument dwindled down to soft voices that Draco couldn't hear, and then Lupin burst out loudly
again.
"I agree you shouldn't take the other dark wizards, but at least take me or Tonks or..."
His voice faded again. In trying to maintain some weird facade of unity in front of the Malfoys, they instead seemed like bickering children. The only person who looked relieved that Harry would only take Draco was Mrs. Weasley who didn't want to lose any children. Azkaban was no easy target. That Harry would think he could break in, even with all his power and with cowardly Draco as an anchor slowing him down...
"I promised," Harry said. "And admit it-Lucius will know what to do with that damn thing."
"Hermione can't make heads or tails of it," Lupin argued.
"Hermione isn't a dark wizard."
"We already have three dark wizards."
"But Lucius is different," Harry said. "He'll know why it's important. He's known Voldemort for years."
"Strangely, that doesn't make me feel better," Lupin said, sarcasm following Harry up and out of the kitchen.
Harry stopped, glanced around at everyone in the room, then soundly ignored them and went up to Draco, putting one hand on his shoulder and squeezing once.
"You ready for this?" he asked. "No turning back."
Aware of them all watching, Draco nodded once. "D-did you want me to change?"
"No," Harry said, shaking his head once. "You need to be able to talk to him. And to me. Your senses are sharper than mine. I'll be counting on you to keep us from running into guards or dementors."
Draco grimaced. "I'd probably be a lot more useful as a wolf."
Severus, with his eyes shut as if he could ignore the world around him, snorted. "Less apt to whine at least."
"Or bite the hand that feeds," Narcissa muttered, crossing her arms as she looked away.
From Mrs. Weasley's appalled look, no doubt she thought that Draco's family was mean and petty, like all dark wizards were mean and petty, and Draco could do nothing to reply. No matter how much he explained, they had not yet forgiven him for poisoning them for days on end.
When he thought about it, Draco sometimes thought that the dementors would be less intimidating than his angry mother.
"You'll be fine," Harry assured him. "I can handle anything that comes our way. I just want to avoid as much trouble as we can."
"The two fo you aren't exactly good at avoiding trouble," Hermione said from the doorway. "Oh, Harry, are you sure you won't take at least one of us with you?"
"You have your own work to do with that stone thing," Harry said, shaking his head. "And Draco will be enough. Really, I could get in and out of there on my own. I just don't want Malfoy zapping me in the back."
They all glanced at Narcissa and Severus, who made no protest. It was a valid fear, and they felt no need to defend Lucius when there was a good chance he would have attacked Harry no matter what.
"Harry-" Lupin tried one more time, taking a step closer.
"No," Harry said, pulling Draco after him. "We're going. Now."
Whatever Lupin said drowned as Harry tossed a handful of floo powder into the fireplace, calling out "Mittigan's Way" and taking Draco with him into the flames.
This trip through the fireplace was not the usual blur of potential stops. The world rushed by in a dizzying whirlwind of sound and cold wind, and Draco grabbed Harry's arm, hugging him close as the noise grew louder, the whole floo network shuddering around them.
Worse, though, was when the floo turned darker, with no lights, no fires, only the constant drone of wind as they hurtled through shadows. This was not the floo network he was used to, and rather than moving through the world, he felt as if they were flying down into the earth, plummeting deeper into an open grave.
"Here we are," Harry said, his low voice sounding like a roar in the silence, and then they were stepping out, coming to a halt in a cold, grey hearth made of stone. A burst of dust followed them, lit by moonlight streaming in from the bare windows.
Still clinging to Harry, Draco looked around, his senses straining for the slightest sound or smell. The night breeze carried the scent of salt water and wet stones, damp leaves and dying grass, and the sound of wind blowing over an empty field. It also brought a chill that cut through his clothing and made him shudder.
"Sorry it's so cold," Harry said. "Can't use a warming spell here. Or any magic, not really."
Though he wasn't happy to hear that, Draco nodded once and didn't argue. He watched Harry bend and pick up a muggle lantern at their feet, lighting it with a spark he struck in his palm. Curious as to how magicless light worked, he looked over Harry's shoulder as he moved the flame from the tiny stick to the lantern, wordlessly huddling closer to the warm glow.
As Harry stood, the light spread out and revealed the small stone ruin, little more than four walls and a roof over a hearth. Draco recognized it as a traveling stop, nothing more than a sheltered fireplace to serve for floo travelers, and so many of them fell into disuse or were forgotten that sometimes four or five stops were created for the same place.
For a moment they paused at the door, an empty frame blocked by such tall grass that the ruin was nearly swallowed up, and Draco saw tower of Azkaban rising up before them. His breath caught in his throat and he backed up a step, only as far as he could go without letting go of Harry.
"How...?" Draco whispered, looking up. "We're right here!"
"Some excavating," Harry said with a grin. "Found out it was here, but we had to dig it out. Wasn't easy, though."
"'Not easy...'" Draco echoed, cringing as dementors swooped around the top of the prison. "How are we...?"
His voice trailed off as he watched Harry, who crouched at the door taking in the sight of dementors moving in and out of tiny windows, spotting the light of a lone guard. Harry looked eager to break into the wizarding world's worst dungeon and brave the terrible monsters lurking within, daring what no other wizard had ever done. He looked more alive now than he had in weeks, and Draco wondered if Harry was insane.
"There's only one guard," Harry said over his shoulder, never glancing away from the prison. "And he's gone half the time. Too many dementors to stay on, I guess. We can move in a few minutes. Can a werewolf fight a dementor, you think?"
"I don't know," Draco said, clutching Harry tighter. "I don't know if the wolf can feel sad."
"Well, we'll find out," Harry said. He reached into his robe and pulled out a cloth that shimmered as he unfurled it, draping it over both of them. "This'll only get us so far before the dementors start to notice us, but I think I can cast a pretty good patronus now."
"Had a lot of practice?" Draco mumbled. He held the cloth to his face, rubbing it between his fingers. An invisibility cloak...one of several rare artifacts that he would have sworn was mere legend. Figured that Potter had it.
"Yeah, actually." Harry chuckled. "Voldemort likes using them sometimes, but once you know the counter spell, they're easy to handle."
"Not so easy when you don't have a wand," Draco said softly.
Harry didn't reply. As much as Harry had said about trusting him and valuing him, Draco felt keenly aware that the other boy had never offered him another wand. He didn't want to risk bringing it up and losing all of Harry's trust, but Draco was beginning to wonder if he had wormed his way into Harry's heart not as a potential lover but as a pet on a short leash.
"Come on," Harry said, stepping out into the tall grass. "And stay quiet."
Though small, the island was rough and craggy, and they made slow progress climbing over the wave-battered foundation of the tower. The invisibility cloak could not block the ocean spray, and soon Draco was soaked with salt water. Shivering with cold and fear, he felt when they reached the prison door, slipping inside with no trouble.
Of course the door was unlocked, Draco knew. Azkaban did not mind letting people in. It simply refused to let them out again.
"Keep a sharp lookout," Harry whispered. "Dementors are fast. They won't give us much time when they spot us."
But as they went up, climbing narrow, spiralling stairs past tiny cells, Draco only caught the dull scent of dementors long past, like faded footprints. The tower smellled of decay and dust and mildew, but not of their living despair. He heard moans and shrieks, heard the ocean crashing against the walls, but nothing of ghostly fabric sliding over stone. Occasionally he heard steel slamming shut, but it was always high above them, or far below. Still they kept climbing.
"I think a lot of them are gone," Draco whispered. "I'm not sensing many nearby."
"Figures," Harry said. "Voldemort called a lot of them away. Most of them left, I think."
They passed a cell, no different than others, but Draco could not help a curious glance inside. He saw a shadow that had once been a man, its skin blackened with grime and dust and stretched tight over emaciated bones. The hair was thin, the eyes staring directly at him without seeing. It should have been a corpse, but it turned its head, staring at the wall, and it dragged in a wheezing breath.
Suddenly light headed, Draco grabbed Harry and pressed himself close, eyes squeezed shut, burying his face in Harry's birds nest of hair.
"Are you all right?" Harry whispered.
Several seconds passed before Draco gave a tight nod, and then another moment before he could step back, one hand still on Harry's shoulder. He put his other hand to his face, covering his eyes, afraid to look either left or right again.
Azkaban's display of cold justice was enough to make him wish Voldemort would triumph. Death Eaters killed their victims, or occasionally tortured them into insanity. The ministry's methodical, lingering death was no better than being buried alive, devoured slowly by monsters and left in a shell with no hope of the torture ever ending.
Something screamed beside him, tearing away the cloak and bashing his head against the stones. Off balance, he stumbled and landed hard on his knees, blinking away tears of pain. The scream came again, followed by the sound of Harry casting a spell that he didn't recognize.
And then the fear vanished in a blur of pain and a sudden spray of blood. Draco could barely see, as if he was looking through a long tunnel, but he knew what he was doing, slashing wildly with claws and snapping anything he could get his mouth around.
His jaws closed with a satisfying bite into something mouldering and weak, fluttering uselessly in his mouth, and when he jerked his head one way, keen wolf ears heard cloth rip. He spit the mouthful out and went back for another bite, only to find his prey collapsed on the floor, a useless puddle of cloth.
"Lupere sedere," Harry said nearby.
As quick as it had come, the hunger left, so abruptly that Draco stood frozen as he came back to his senses. He looked down at his hands, surprised that he did not see claws. His robe looked worse for wear, torn open along the seams and hanging on by his shoulders. Had it been a hallucination?
No. At his feet lay the shredded remains of a dementor, and there were torn threads in his mouth. He spat them out, disgusted, and looked at Harry in dawning realization. Harry held his wand out, his expression wary.
"What did you do?" Draco whispered.
"I had to," Harry started. "There were three of them all at once—we weren't going to be able to take all of them if—"
"What did you do?" Draco repeated, louder.
"Lupus ravin," Harry said. "Hermione came up with it. It makes you change."
Draco paled, taking a step back, his hands over his mouth. The look of betrayal in his eyes made Harry shake his head, trying to explain in a rush, but his voice turned into a low rumble like distant thunder, and everything was wind blowing around his ears.
"Of course," he breathed, not realizing he was speaking out loud. "We're in Azkaban. You meant to leave me here. You meant to leave me—in one of the cells—forever forgotten..."
Harry had him around the shoulders, shaking him, yelling something that couldn't cut through the panic. Draco tried to lash out at him and found his hands caught and pushed back against the wall. Yelping as his arms bent too far, he made a weak snap at Harry's arm with his teeth, biting on empty air as Harry jerked back.
"What the hell?" Harry snarled at him. "Are you trying to bite me?"
"I'm not a dog!" Draco yelled, disgusted at how his face turned hot. "I'm not your pet—I'm not your—I...don't leave me here, please!"
He ended in a keening wail that sickened him and made him crouch down, sure that Harry would push
him into an empty cell and abandon him out of sheer disgust. Instead he felt Harry putting an arm around him and flinging the cloak over them again.
"I'm not leaving you here," Harry said, pulling him back to his feet. "And I know you're not a pet. I'm sorry I didn't warn you about that spell."
Furiously wiping his sleeves across his eyes, Draco nodded once and wouldn't meet his look.
"I think that answers that question," Harry said. "Werewolves do get sad."
Harry grabbed Draco's hand, tangling their fingers together, and pushed his hair from his face. As Draco's breathing came back under control, Harry leaned against him, holding him firmly against the wall until the blonde stopped fidgeting under his hand.
"We're going to get your father out of here," Harry murmured in his ear. "And then we're all going back to Grimauld place. All right?"
Draco didn't respond.
"All right?" Harry repeated. "We're going back, and we're going to kill Voldemort. And then we don't have to fight anymore, all right?"
Hesitating, Draco looked up at Harry, then nodded once.
"You won't cast that spell on me again?" he said. "Promise. You can't do that to me. You just can't."
Harry stared at him for several seconds, considering.
"If we get attacked again," he said, "you being a werewolf may be our only hope."
"That's not fair," Draco said. "If I had a wand, I could've..."
"Draco," Harry sighed. "Have you ever cast a patronus?"
That's not the point, Draco wanted to argue. But it was. As cold blooded as Harry was, Draco had never cast such a spell, and even if he had, he could not think of a happy memory. Was that because of the dementor's attack?
"I want a wand," he said. "When we get back."
Harry nodded. "Come on. Let's go get your father."
Though he noticed Harry hadn't promised anything, Draco held silent and walked with him. He had little choice. Only once his father was safely away from here could he begin to plan some sort of escape, and he resigned himself to more forced transformations before they could leave the prison.
The rest of the rescue, however, was anticlimactic. His father's cell was on the next floor, and when Harry broke the lock, Lucius was nearly unresponsive, eyes open but unfocused. Draco knelt beside him, taking his hand, but his father seemed oblivious in his own world. He hoped it was not catatonia or insanity.
Without wasting time on asking questions, Harry took Draco's hand, touched the top button on his robe, and activated the portkey spell within. In a flash, they were back inside the living room, kneeling on the floor, and Severus and Narcissa were instantly beside them, first checking to make sure Draco was in one piece and then busying themselves with Lucius.
Draco couldn't bring himself to help. His image of his father was one of haughty confidence, not this oblivious automaton that merely looked like him. Draco backed away, letting them bring Lucius to his feet and taking him slowly upstairs, whispering things he couldn't hear. Not whispering to Draco anymore.
Oh, he thought, watching them go. He's head of the family. Not me.
Watching the last of his authority going upstairs, Draco tried to remind himself that this was what he had worked for the better part of a year towards. He should be happy. His father was home and they were that much closer to winning the war, or just escaping with the family intact.
Harry stood up, to follow them or find someone, Draco didn't know. Without Harry at his side, however, the room suddenly swam around and tilted to one side. Draco groaned, felt himself topple backward across the carpet. Someone's hand touched his face, but everything had gone black by then.
Somehow he knew that he was asleep, that he couldn't wake up, and he didn't want to wake up. The darkness was safe and reassuring. He didn't need to do anything here, didn't need to save anyone or fight, didn't need to endlessly worry or plan for every outcome. And if he stayed asleep forever, he would not have minded.
When he woke up again, he was in Harry's bed.
TBC...