Crabbe ushered Draco out of the circle with a claw-like grip on his bicep. Draco frowned when they stopped and Crabbe regarded Shacklebolt with a look that Draco didn't like.
"Let them go, Virgil. There's been enough bloodshed."
"Are you honestly pleading for the lives of these Ministry twats?" Crabbe sneered at Shacklebolt. "You should be careful of Draco, here. He doesn't look like much, but I once saw him kill four men with a single spell. Flawlessly executed. I think only two other men on the planet could have managed it, and both of them are in this room."
"I suppose one them is you?"
Crabbe showed his teeth at Draco in what he supposed was meant to be a smile. "Of course." He turned to one of his underlings. "Bring Potter."
"He's of no use to you, Virgil. He'll only slow you down."
"Do I look like I give a rat's fuck what you think, Draco?"
They manhandled Potter ahead of them until a portion of Crabbe's group clustered together. Draco saw Quentin Quartermain climb to his feet near the entrance tunnel, holding one hand against his temple as he blinked at them.
"Kill them all," Crabbe ordered and then he grabbed Draco's arm and a Portkey swept them away.
They stopped spinning in an open field with rain pouring down on them. A tumble-down barn fashioned of greying wood and overgrown with ivy stood nearby. Crabbe ushered them towards it.
"More Portkeys inside, of course. We can't have the Ministry following us through any tracking spells they might have placed on dear Draco here. If they survive."
Draco stumbled on a clump of grass and slammed into one of Crabbe's people, a solidly-built woman who reminded him of Millicent Bullstrode. She shoved—even more Millicent-like—and Draco staggered against Harry, trying to catch his balance. Harry caught him and they were locked in a frozen embrace.
"Sheffield," Draco murmured. "Ms Gryphon."
Crabbe tore him away from Harry with a roar, but by then Draco had already pressed the wand he'd nicked from the woman into Harry's hand.
Draco smiled as Harry Apparated away. Of course, Crabbe was livid. Draco suffered for a short time, tortured with unremarkable Cruciatus Curses and a number of other unpleasant things that Crabbe thought of on the spur of the moment, but eventually the need to escape overcame Crabbe's desire to inflict pain, and they continued on to the old barn and then away.
Draco considered it well worth the torment. Harry was gone.
oooOooo
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Harry was so angry he wanted to kick something. His glare fixed on Kingsley. "Were you actually going to let him kill me?" Despite the fact that Harry hated his celebrity status, he wasn't stupid enough to ignore the point that it had its uses, at times, and he'd always thought that the bloody Minister for Magic cared enough to keep him alive, and not merely for political reasons.
Kingsley snorted. "He was bluffing, Harry. You're far too valuable alive. Unfortunately, Malfoy fell for it." He shook his head. "Never would have thought he would cave like that to save your life. He let Zabini die and would have let Parkinson, as well. It was only when you showed up…"
It didn't make sense to Harry, either, and he was already frantic over the thought of what Crabbe would do to Dra—Malfoy. He didn't want to think about what such a thing meant. Malfoy couldn't care about him. He couldn't.
Harry had Apparated straight back to the compound, to find Crabbe's remaining people either dead or incapacitated. They had attempted to fulfil Crabbe's last order, but apparently had disregarded Ron as a threat, thinking he'd passed out again. But Ron had caused enough chaos with a barrage of hexes to give the others a fighting chance. Kay-Kay had taken him straight to St Mungo's the moment the fighting had ended.
Harry hoped Ron would be all right, but now the important thing was finding Draco. He took Seamus back to the field he'd Apparated from and they raced to the abandoned barn, wands ready, only to find it empty. Crabbe and the others were gone.
Frustrated anew, Harry returned to the ruins where Kingsley and the others were assessing the damage.
"Where is Parkinson?" Harry asked.
Kingsley knelt down to check the pulse of Auror Wilson, even though it was obvious he was dead. "She Disapparated the moment she got a wand in her hand. I think she was gone before Auror Weasley's second victim hit the floor."
Harry grimaced. He had hoped Parkinson would have been able to track Draco—Malfoy—oh, fuck it. Draco. Draco, who'd had a wand in his hand and he'd passed it to Harry instead of escaping. Harry's fists clenched reflexively. Why had he done it?
"I need to check on Ron."
"Excellent idea, Harry. And then go home. You shouldn't even be here. We'll find Malfoy."
"Yeah. Thanks, Kingsley. I'll see you later." Harry gave him a small wave and used his borrowed wand to Apparate to St Mungo's. After that, he needed to go to Sheffield and locate Ms Gryphon, whoever the hell she was.
oOo
Ron looked terrible, but the fact that he was awake and complaining about being hungry was a good sign. Hermione sat at his bedside, holding his hand and looking worried. "No, you cannot have battered cod and chips, only the items on your 'acceptable foods' list, as instruct—Harry!"
Hermione got up and threw herself at Harry. Ron shot him a relieved-looking smile. "Bloody hell, it's good to see you, mate. How'd you get away?"
"Malfoy grabbed a wand and threw it to me. I don't know what's got into him." Harry met Hermione's eyes and whatever she saw there caused her to pull him into another hard embrace.
"Oh, Harry."
"Shit. So Crabbe's still got him, then?"
"Yeah. I need to…"
"Go get him back." Ron nodded. "Git saved my life, too." He settled more heavily into the pillows and shut his eyes. "Merlin, why do these hospital potions always put you to sleep?"
Hermione released Harry. "Because you heal better when you're asleep. Don't fight it. Harry and I will be back soon." She walked over and pressed a kiss to Ron's forehead. His eyes snapped open again.
"You and Harry?"
"He might stand a better chance of finding Malfoy with my help. Now, rest up."
"Yeah, okay. Just be careful."
Hermione squeezed his hand, tucked the blankets around him more tightly, and then turned to Harry. "Where do we start?"
oOo
Finding Ms Gryphon took forever. The town's magical registry was closed—in fact, the entire Sheffield local government was closed for some sort of festival or another—and Harry's fruitless enquiring about the whereabouts of a Ms Gryphon were beginning to gather suspicious looks and sotto voce mutters.
He and Hermione had been asking at various taverns until Hermione pointed out that respectable witches tended not to hang around in taverns, and perhaps it would be a smarter idea to question local businesses that did not serve alcohol. Harry thought that the people Draco knew seemed to be the sort that would hang around in taverns, but he also knew better than to argue with Hermione. They considered the local library, but discovered it was also closed, and finally decided to follow the directions printed on the local flyers to the food festival.
The entire populace seemed to be in attendance, judging by the size of the crowd.
"On the plus side," Hermione said, "Ms Gryphon is probably here."
"On the reverse side, we haven't a clue what she looks like or who she is." Harry let out a frustrated sigh and combed a hand through his hair. "This is madness!"
"We need to find someone in Malfoy's circle who knows her."
"I don't know anyone in Malfoy's circle, other than Parkinson." Except that he did. There was Agatha, the potions-diluter and Consuelo, the cook and master forger. The chances that either of them knew Ms Gryphon were slim, but standing around looking for a needle in a haystack seemed even more fruitless. And then Harry caught sight of black hair, cut in an attractive bob. "I think we just got lucky."
Taking care not to jostle too many people aside, Harry quickly wove through the crowd with Hermione on his heels. He reached out and caught the woman's arm. Dark eyes flashed when she stared at him and then widened.
"Hello, Pansy," Harry said.
oooOooo
Draco winced as he was hoisted up by his wrists. Crabbe was a sadist, for certain. He'd used chains rather than ropes or magical bindings; Draco could feel blood trickling down his arms already, soaking his shirt sleeves until an ungentle series of Severing Charms shredded his shirt and it was torn away. The damp air stung the slashes on his torso left by the spells. Whatever building they were in now leaked like a sieve. It was pouring outside by the sound of it, and the steady sound of droplets issued from several places around the room, a constant drip-drip-drip as it pinged onto the worn wooden floor.
Draco's toes dragged on the same floor, brushing it as he spun slowly from the chain, he was up too high to gain purchase and take some of the pressure off of his aching arms and wrists. The beams overhead creaked, protesting his weight.
"I'm not supposed to kill you," Crabbe said in a conversational tone. "Not yet, anyway. Someone wants a word with you."
"And who might that be?" Draco asked, striving for bored.
"Dunno. But they paid a pretty penny for me to pull you out of a Ministry safe house. A message, if you will, that you aren't safe anywhere."
"Mission accomplished. Well done."
"Yeah, well, he also wants you softened up for questioning. He almost didn't need to pay me for that bit. The Galleons are just custard on the cake, to be sure."
"Questioning regarding what, exactly?"
Crabbe shrugged. "Didn't ask. Don't care. Here comes your first dose now."
Dose? Draco turned his head but his body had begun a slow spin in the opposite direction and he couldn't see the newcomer. He could only hear footsteps on the boards. Crabbe's other minions had retired elsewhere, clomping down a set of stairs and disappearing either downstairs or back to their respective homes.
Were they planning to use Veritaserum? It made sense, if they intended to question him. He felt a hand clutch at his waistband and drag him back around to face Crabbe. A potion vial lay in his hand and beyond him stood a thin wizard with a pinched face and enormous, haunted-looking eyes.
"Have you ever heard of Excrutiatus Elixir, Draco?"
His blood froze at the words. Fuck. He would have preferred Veritaserum a thousand times over. "Can't say that I have," he lied.
"Funny. Thought you were an expert brewer." He shook the vial, which contained a muddy green-brown liquid with dark flecks. It would smell like burnt toast, Draco knew, and had a slew of nasty side effects. "What this does is magnifies pain. You know what an ordinary Cruciatus Curse feels like, of course. I remember the Dark Lord having at you a few times. I'll bet he never used this on you, though. He liked to save it for special occasions. Hold him."
The thin wizard moved around behind Draco and he felt hands on his hips, steadying him. The grip also applied more pressure to his wrists and straining arms. He clenched his teeth, wondering if he'd be able to spit out the potion. Crabbe likely didn't have more than one bottle lying around. It was difficult to brew, expensive, and highly illegal.
The answer to that question was quickly given as Crabbe cast a spell to open Draco's jaw and lock it in place. Draco cursed himself for even hoping. Of course Crabbe would know the quickest way to administer potions. He gripped Draco's jaw with one hand and tipped the liquid in with the other. Draco exhaled sharply and managed to blow a portion of the elixir into Crabbe's face, but then the spell was released and Crabbe's wand jabbed into his throat with a muttered hex that made Draco swallow involuntarily. He allowed Draco to cough and choke as he stepped away and wiped his face with the back of an arm. Draco gagged a few times, hoping to vomit, but the repugnant potion stayed down. The taste infiltrated his nasal passages and seemed to coat his tongue with slime. It smelled of burnt toast but tasted like ground cockroaches and spoiled milk, or something equally vile. Before he could recover from the horrendous flavour, an icy chill sent a shiver through his nerve endings and he knew the potion had taken hold.
Draco allowed himself a moment of self-indulgent pity and then took a deep breath and began to compartmentalise his mind. He had studied Occlumency from a very young age and it had served him well during the Dark Lord's period of residence in Malfoy Manor. He had learnt to empty his thoughts and focus on a single thing to the exclusion of everything else. That part was relatively easy. The difficulty lay in maintaining an air of normalcy, to react in an expected fashion whilst locking everything else away.
"Tell me, Draco, why Potter? Don't worry; you don't have to answer just yet. I look forward to squeezing it out of you, one hex at a time." Crabbe's face twisted into an ugly smile and then he said, "Crucio!" and Draco's world turned an excruciating shade of red.
oooOooo
Harry did not release Parkinson's arm until they were well out of the crowd and seated on a wooden bench beneath the window of a closed gift shop.
"Are you here for Ms Gryphon?" Harry asked.
"How do you know about Gryphon?"
"Draco gave me her name just before he helped me escape. Unfortunately, he didn't have the time to tell me where or how to find her, other than Sheffield. Will she be able to help us find Draco?"
Parkinson looked from him to Hermione and then nodded. "Blaise might have known a different way, but—" She stared at the ground for long moments without blinking, probably in an attempt to fight back tears. Harry impulsively put a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry." His throat tightened. Zabini had been a pain in the arse, but his personality had been growing on Harry, and he'd been utterly devoted to Draco, all the way to the end.
Parkinson nodded and then shot to her feet. "Let's find Gryphon and get this over with. She wasn't home, so I was searching the crowd here. She won't be hard to find." With that, Parkinson headed back into the fray. Harry hurried to keep her in sight as she pushed through the attendees without apology.
"She's not exactly subtle, is she?" Hermione griped, bumping up against his shoulder as he sent a repentant smile at a spindly man nearly bowled over as Parkinson shoved past.
"Got her!" Parkinson said and broke into a jog. She pulled up short next to a huge woman wearing a beaded burgundy corset over satiny black skirts. A black lace shawl draped over her shoulders, matching the lace-bedecked tiny hat she wore over a cascade of brown curls. "Gryphon."
The woman gasped and then lifted Parkinson up and squeezed her until Harry feared her spine would crack. He fingered his wand, wondering if that was Gryphon's intention, and then Parkinson growled, "Put me down, you oaf!"
When she plopped back to her feet, Parkinson straightened her clothing with a glare.
"Pansy, darling, what are you doing here? Not just visiting, I…" Gryphon's words trailed off and her eyes widened as she took in Harry and Hermione. At the same moment, Harry's jaw gaped open and Hermione gasped.
"Greg?" Harry asked in a stage whisper.
Gryphon's eyes narrowed to slits and her fists rose—a delicate black handbag dangled from one wrist and spun on silken cords as she caressed the knuckles of one hand. "The name is Christine now. Pansy, what is Potter doing here?"
"We need your help. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Draco is in danger. Life-threatening danger."
The woman whom Harry had once known as Gregory Goyle looked around at the crowd carefully, as though scanning for danger, and then nodded. "We will talk over tea." With that, she set off at a ground-eating walk. Harry glanced at Hermione and bit back a mouthful of questions.
Gryphon lived in a small cottage nestled midway between a long row of similar domiciles. A profusion of flowers bedecked the slat fence and archway over the tiny front walk. The interior of the house was almost excessively feminine. Floral patterns covered every upholstered surface and strings of jewelled beads hung from the doorways and curtain rods. A quick spell opened several sets of curtains and spilled light into the room, giving it a cosy feel.
"Sit down. I'll make some tea."
"There isn't time—" Parkinson began.
"There is always time for tea. Won't be a moment." Gryphon sailed through a jewel-hung archway and disappeared, leaving the beads clacking and swaying behind her.
"That was…unexpected," Hermione commented.
Parkinson sank into a soft-looking chair and nodded. "Greg did a lot of soul-searching after the war. She seems much happier now."
Harry and Hermione sat on the sofa and waited. None of them spoke again until Gryphon returned with a huge ceramic tray covered in tiny teacups and a steaming pot of tea. She sat down in the last remaining chair and poured tea for all of them. Harry took his cup and held it carefully. The porcelain looked especially fragile.
"What has Draco done now?" Gryphon asked. Her voice was slightly high-pitched and Harry didn't know whether it was an affectation or if she'd had it magically altered.
"He's been captured by Virgil Crabbe. We're pretty certain that Virgil plans to torture him to death." Parkinson's words were blunt and even more so as she added, "He killed Blaise."
Gryphon set her teacup on the table. Her face had gone pale and she sat back in her chair. Pansy looked away and sipped at her tea. Both hands cradled her cup.
"What do you need me to do?" Gryphon asked.
"The only way to find Draco now is with the Dark Mark."
"Shit."
Pansy nodded and set her cup down. Harry looked at Hermione with a frown, but she seemed just as confused.
"Wait, you can locate him with the Dark Mark? Why didn't Blaise do that earlier? When we were looking for the safe house?"
"Blaise never took the Mark. And neither did I. We wouldn't bother Christine without a bloody good reason, and chances are Blaise wasn't desperate enough at the time. It was a lack of any other options that brought me here. You know that, right, Chris?"
Gryphon nodded. "Draco only owls when he needs something. You've all been good about leaving me in peace. That's all I wanted after the war."
That's all we all wanted, Harry thought, but life seldom worked out as requested. He thought about Eddie then, and Draco, and the way his job had tangled everything into a hopeless snarl. Oh fuck… Eddie. He winced when he considered how their next conversation would go. Harry hadn't even sent Eddie a Patronus to let him know why he'd been gone the entire day.
"All right, then. Let's get this over with. Where shall we do it?"
"Probably the bedroom. From what I recall, you're going to want to lie down."
"Yeah."
"Granger, this process is not pleasant. If it works, Potter and I will leave to try to find Draco. Are you willing to stay with Christine and make sure she's resting comfortably before you leave? A pain potion or two would be helpful, and maybe a Sleeping Draught after."
Hermione exchanged an anxious glance with Harry and then nodded. "Of course."
"Chris, do you have pain potions? Taking one in advance would probably be a good idea."
"In the kitchen cabinet. Second one from the left."
Pansy got up and went through a doorway. Gryphon rose and sighed heavily. "I'd better prepare, then. Just let me change. Don't want to lie down in this corset."
Harry sat back down. He'd instinctively risen when Gryphon had got to her feet—ingrained manners from his Dursley days—and then gave Hermione a shake of his head when the other door closed behind Gryphon.
"Did you know about the Dark Mark?" Hermione asked.
"No. I thought the Dark Marks all became inert after Voldemort's defeat."
"So did I."
"They did," Parkinson said, returning from the kitchen with several small vials in hand. "Draco linked his with Greg—with Christine—so he would have a way to contact her in dire circumstances, or vice-versa. The process, however, is unpleasant. As far as I know, they've only used it once." She continued on into the bedroom after a quick knock on the door. Harry and Hermione followed.
Gryphon was sat on the bed, wearing a dark blue velvet dressing gown patterned with white orchids. She looked uneasy and almost vulnerable after the clothing change and Harry wondered if she preferred heavy skirts and corsets as a sort of armour. It made sense, he supposed.
"All right," Parkinson said, "take this and lie down. We'll give it a minute to take effect and then I'll cast the spells."
"Do you have a map handy?" Gryphon asked and took the potion. She tipped it back and then gave the empty vial to Parkinson, who had patted a portion of her robes.
"I brought one along."
Gryphon lay back against the pillows—solid blue with no floral pattern, just like the bedcovers. Harry noticed there wasn't a speck of green to be found; apparently Gryphon had left everything behind when she'd changed, including mementos of anything Slytherin.
Parkinson pulled out a folded piece of parchment and spread it on the bed next to Gryphon, smoothing it out to reveal a map of the United Kingdom. Gryphon rolled up the sleeve of her dressing gown to reveal the ugly skull and reptilian lines of the Dark Mark. It looked especially out of place amidst the white orchid pattern of her dressing gown. "All right. Let's hope this works."
With a deep breath, Parkinson went still and then began to cast.
oooOooo
Draco spun slowly and his toes trailed over the circle already drawn there from a dozen previous rotations. He no longer bothered to try and balance his weight on his toes; it had been a lost cause to begin with, and now he could only concentrate on trying to pull in another breath and exhale before he strangled on pain.
The potion had been effective, and he'd filed it away for reference. If he lived, he hoped to petition the Ministry to add half the ingredients in the elixir to the Banned Substances list. In his opinion, it was worse than the Cruciatus Curse itself. The feel of his trouser fabric against his skin was extremely painful; the air itself held various levels of hurt, and the multitude of Cruciatus Curses that Crabbe had thrown at him had nearly broken him ten times over. He'd suppressed every scream of agony with difficulty and might have cracked and spilled anything and everything that Crabbe wanted, except for one thing. Harry Potter. As bizarre as it seemed, the thought of Harry alone kept Draco from breaking.
Harry could take this, Draco kept telling himself. Harry would never break, no matter what.
Crabbe's curses had grown stronger and wilder as the minutes had ticked away, and his questions had become angrier and more incomprehensible. In truth, Draco had barely any recognition of what he was saying. The only thing he could think about was how to compartmentalise and minimise the pain. Everything else was secondary.
"You have a visitor, Draco, you bloody bastard." Crabbe's voice sounded regretful, as though he despaired of the fact that he had to leave off torturing him. "I'll leave you two alone for a bit while I rest up and have a refreshing drink of water."
Draco glared at him, although even that took effort. His throat was dry as dust and he would have killed for a teaspoon of water, another side-effect of the potion.
A cloaked figure approached and spoke briefly with Crabbe as their paths crossed, and then Crabbe continued on towards the steps whilst the newcomer strode closer to Draco.
"Mr Draco Malfoy. How the mighty have fallen." Pale hands lifted the hood away from a face Draco had never seen before. Heavy fragrance assaulted him—too much cologne. With Draco's senses enhanced to magnify every nuance, it was painfully jarring. The voice was cool and unfamiliar, with a cultured accent. The man's face was pleasing to look upon; encountering him at a social function might have caused Draco to attempt to get to know him better. Now, however, he knew the man wasn't what he appeared.
"I know who you are," Draco rasped. Speaking was difficult, and it hurt as much as any other action.
A short laugh met his words and the man examined his short, manicured nails. His hair was sandy blond, and cut attractively. "I doubt that."
"It was not particularly difficult to determine your identity. I am curious, however, as to why you have pursued me so relentlessly. What have I ever done to you?"
"Your attempt at small talk could be a way to get me to provide you with information to assist in learning who I am, in the event you are bluffing. But to answer your question, I sent Crabbe after you to prove that I could, to assure you that you are no threat to me. In fact, you are less than nothing."
"I doubt that you would allow several Aurors to die because I mean less than nothing to you." Draco would have sneered, but his lower lip was swollen from an earlier blow Crabbe had delivered with one of his meaty fists. Even talking was excruciating.
The man shrugged. "I care nothing for the Auror Department. I would, however, suggest that you crawl back into your dark hole and stay away from the Ministry, and from Harry Potter."
"Or what?"
"Or I will allow Crabbe to continue on his quest to eliminate you."
"You should know that if I die, I have made provisions to expose you, whether or not my assumption of your identity is correct. Perhaps I am wrong. Are you willing to take that chance?"
Another shrug. "We will see. I am not particularly worried about your little threats."
"I have prepared missives that will be sent to the Aurors and the press." Draco did not, actually, but he did have a file that would be delivered to Harry in the event of his untimely demise. He would, however, do everything in his power to prevent the necessity of it being sent.
The man chuckled. "I think you lie. Enjoy your last few minutes, Malfoy, although I suppose that isn't really an option. If Crabbe should allow you to live, however, and you continue on your current path, I will hunt down and destroy everyone you ever cared about. And that is a promise." With that, he turned and departed. Draco spent the next few minutes alone, reflecting on the strange conversation and wondering how the hell he would get out of this mess alive.
When Crabbe returned, he was grinning even more unpleasantly than before.
"Draco. Isn't it lovely? I've been granted my fondest wish. To torture you until you are dead. And believe me; I plan for you to suffer, rather like I imagine my poor Vincent suffered in that fire. The one that you miraculously escaped from."
He lifted his wand and Draco steeled himself, only to scream aloud when pain assailed him from a completely unexpected source—his Dark Mark. Agony clawed through him; it felt like the tattoo had come to life and was eating its way down his arm, ripping through muscle and sinew straight to the bone, and the pain was magnified by the potion he'd ingested until he nearly passed out from the white-hot agony. In point of fact, it was entirely possible that he fainted.
"…the fuck? I didn't even touch you. Wake up, you bastard!"
Draco drew in a tortured breath and exhaled with a shudder. His eyes were tightly closed and spasms of pain wracked his body while a bizarre ringing tormented his ears. He could barely hear Crabbe's words. They sounded like they were being spoken through a concrete tunnel.
Every breath was torture. Focus, Draco, bloody hell. You're going to die if you don't get a fucking handle on this.
Draco forced his eyes open. Crabbe inhaled and then he wavered back slightly before catching himself and holding his ground. Draco felt a fierce wave of satisfaction that a single, hate-filled glare could cause his captor to consider flight, if only for an instant. And then Crabbe's wand was up, brandished with smug determination before Draco's face.
"You are awake. Good. That will save me from—"
Draco never discovered what his alert state would save Crabbe from, because he snapped his head forwards and snatched Crabbe's wand with his teeth, holding tightly enough that he feared his molars would crack.
Turning his head slightly, he gritted, "Avada Kedavra!"and shoved the tip in the direction of Crabbe's astonished stare. "You have to mean it," his Aunt Bellatrix had once told him, and by the fucking Founders of Hogwarts and every damned wizard ever born, Draco meant every bloody syllable at that moment, uttered through blood and pain.
Brilliant green light exploded from the wand tip and struck Crabbe a glancing blow just above his left eyebrow, but it was enough. He dropped like a felled tree at Draco's feet. Draco closed his eyes and allowed himself a single moment of satisfaction. The wand tasted vile and his teeth ached, but he didn't dare loosen his jaw. After a slow count of five, he jerked his head upwards and to the right while uttering a single word. An instant later he collapsed to the floor on top of Crabbe's still body.
Draco chuckled, feeling extraordinarily not himself, and forced himself to his feet. His hands were still bound together by the blood-slicked metal chains, but they had been severed from the rafter. Several links dragged on the dusty floor when he stood. He was shaking like a new-born calf.
"You were saying?" he rasped and then kicked at Crabbe. A sudden burst of rage enveloped him and he slammed his foot into Crabbe's side again. "How does that feel? Who has the upper hand now, you worthless fuck?" He kicked at Crabbe's unmoving form once more and missed. His heel brushed Crabbe's ribs and nearly snagged on the fabric of his shirt, but broke free at the last moment. Draco fell to one knee with a violent wince. The renewed sensation of pain shocked him back to some semblance of rationality and he realised that Crabbe's goons could wander upstairs at any time. He had a wand now and he needed to get the hell away from here.
Draco pushed himself to his feet and picked up Crabbe's wand. Draco had dropped it during his angry tirade. A few flicks and swishes later and he was free of the chains and in possession of a different, and far more receptive, wand.
Two minutes later, he was gone.
~TBC~