If there was a test Harry had not studied enough for, it was History of Magic. So when his eyes lay on the list of incredibly detailed questions he had to answer, he knew it would be a very long and tedious afternoon.

"What was the primary reason for the creation of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy?"

Harry blew out an exasperated breath. He had absolutely no idea. His gaze slowly averted from his table to the examiner in front of him, Mr. Tolfy. He was the same examiner as for the Defence Against The Dark Arts test, which, he had to concede, had been a way more successful test than this one.

The simultaneous sounds of feathers scribbling on the paper around him played a soft melody, making his mind wander far away from his quiz. He was constantly on the verge of dozing off; he felt so tired, all the time. Every night felt like the same torture; Harry feared the moment he would fall asleep, the moment his nightmares would take over his mind and show him confusing images, where telling dream and reality was becoming impossible. He had already drank his dreamless potion over the weekend and wouldn't be allowed to take a new one until next week. His only solution thus remained emptying and closing his mind, which, no matter how hard he tried, didn't work. So he chose to reuse his most drastic—and stupid—solution: staying awake.

The slamming of the main door awoke Harry from his daydreaming. He hurriedly lowered his head and pretended to be focused on the question. Mr. Tofty walked past him with his slow, slouching walk toward the entrance, where several voices were already conversing.

Come on, you must have learned that bloody answer: what's the primary reason for the creation of the Internationale Statu—

A minute later, the same loud footsteps stopped behind him. Then, the voice of the small man whispered something slightly too loudly:

"Your mother is waiting for you outside."

Harry knew Mr. Tofty was talking to Draco. And as much as he had tried to ignore or not think too much about Draco, he couldn't help but turn around. The blonde boy looked worried; he was staring at the examiner with confused eyes and babbled,

"I haven't finished my test."

Harry glanced at as if he could read his mind and understand what was happening with Draco's mother. But the small man didn't seem to know anything about the situation; he stood awkwardly beside Draco's table, his hands behind his back, and his head balancing feebly from right to left. As Draco grabbed his bag, Harry met his eyes; it was the first time he had held Draco's gaze since their argument, and both carried the same growing concern.

Something was strange.

Draco quickly nodded to him before he walked to the door. It was a long walk, and Harry couldn't avert his eyes from his back as his instincts began screaming in his head. Each step Draco took toward the exit made Harry believe it would be the last time they would see each other.

"Mr. Potter, please focus on your test." Mr. Tofty asked him with a small smile.

Harry took a moment to sit back correctly and refocus on his OWL, his attention had completely given up; Draco and his mother had filled the entirety of his thoughts, and he needed answers.

What's the primary reason for the creat—

Harry put down his feather and took his bag. There was no way he could write anything pertinent, not with Draco's sudden departure. He sneaked between the tables and handed his parchment to Mr. Tofty, who had barely returned to his seat. The old man cast a furtive glance at Harry's test with a frown.

"Are you sure, Mr. Potter?"

With the five last questions totally empty, Harry nodded and insisted that the examiner take his paper. As soon as he got rid of his exam, Harry dashed to the door. He felt Hermione and Ron's eyes on his way, both of them surely confused to see him finishing before everyone else —which was fair— but Harry completely ignored them.

The corridor was empty; there was no sign of Draco or Narcissa, and Professor Binns had already gotten back to the classroom. Harry turned his head from right to left, his heart racing loudly in his chest.

Fuck.

Then, behind a small group of first- or second-years who were discussing leaning against the wall, Harry spotted Snape's dark robes walking in the opposite direction. He was sure he had heard his voice among the teachers, and thus he started running after him.

"Professor! Professor Snape!"

Harry never felt more grateful for having grown up with an abusive cousin than when he had to rely on his exceptional running ability. Thinking about it, he might have had the potential to pursue a career as a sprinter.

Snape eventually stopped at the incessant call of his name, and slowly turned to face Harry.

"Professor—" Harry repeated when he arrived in front of the man,

"Yes?"

"Where is Draco?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, but the rest of his face remained impassive.

"He left with his mother." He merely said.

"Why?"

Harry was breathing loudly, not only because of the sprint he had just done to catch his professor, but also because of the heavy stress rising in him.

"I don't reckon it is any of your business, Potter." Snape snapped flatly.

"Did something happen?" "Will he come back?"

Snape exhaled sharply as he glared at the boy, like an adult exasperated by a toddler's incessant questions.

"I don't know, Potter."

The man was giving him a piercing look as his black eyes seemed to be sucking his soul. Harry hated that, especially since he had started Occlumency with him. He recoiled slowly with a quick nod and muttered, "Alright, thank you—professor,"

then walked back in the direction of the young students.

"Potter." Snape called from behind, "I should assume you are practicing every night like I instructed you to?"

Harry could hear the tone of sarcasm in his voice. He turned around and answered with the most convincing tone he could muster;

"Yes, I do, professor."

He wanted to leave; if he ran fast enough, he could probably catch Draco and his mother before they disappeared from the castle.

"Potter," Snape repeated when Harry resumed his walk,

With an eye-roll, Harry turned around once again and said sullenly, "Yes? Professor."

Snape pursed his lips. He always had to resist the urge to punch his student. "Don't—do anything stupid." He articulated slowly. "And remember, dreams are not—reality."

Harry scowled,

"I won't." He muttered.

He wasn't convincing in any way. And both knew how Harry would jump into danger on the first occasion that would occur.

The two rivals looked at each other for a few more seconds in heavy silence when students slowly went out of their classrooms, filling the corridor with their loud conversations. Before Snape could stop him, Harry gave a short nod and dissolved into the crowd. Draco hadn't left the room much earlier than him; if he hurried enough, there were some chances he could find him.

And what would I do?

He actually didn't know. Maybe he would ask what was happening; where he was going; or perhaps he would simply prevent him from following his mother. The more he ran through the long hallway, the more packed it was becoming; he felt like a salmon going up the river, —pushed and forced to sneak between the shoulders of excited students who had all finished their end-of-year exams and were ready to enjoy the upcoming long weekend.

He had no idea where to go; Hogwarts contained too many exits, too many ways to leave. The closest exit to their classroom was the north exit after the bell tower, and so Harry chose to follow in this direction.

The sun sat low in the sky, like an burning ember slowly falling behind the mountains. Its rays blinded Harry on his run, causing him to squint and raise his arm over his eyes. Draco was nowhere to be seen, neither was Narcissa. It was only him in the middle of a vast courtyard where various birds came and went. He was almost tempted to scream his name, make his voice echo throughout the wide grounds around him, but he knew it was useless; Draco was gone, and no one knew why.

(***)

Draco walked beside his mother until the castle behind them was the size of his hand.

My father is dead.

He kept repeating that phrase in his head until it made sense, but it didn't. He never could have imagined that one day he would lose a parent. Maybe he was still in that childhood denial, where you think the people you love are immortal, that a father or a mother can't die as long as they have things to bring to their children, and perhaps naively, an innocent part of Draco still believed it.

But as he walked, holding his mother's cold hand, the sad reality hit his stomach.

My father is dead.

He couldn't register the information, Voldemort had murdered his father without any hesitation, his family was now in danger, and all of this was because of him.

My father is dead.

And soon he would be too, just like his mother. He had just condemned his family by choosing to protect Harry, and yet, if he had been given a chance to go back in time, he would have done the same thing.

My father is dead.

He felt like a loud rock had crashed into his chest, shattering his bones into millions of small pieces. He hadn't even had the chance to talk to Harry before leaving to make amends, and now he would most certainly die, leaving him with the bitter memory of a traitor.

When they arrived in front of his parents' manor after apparating, the wave of stress that took over his body engulfed him and suffocated him. It was impossible to imagine how it felt when death was so close—this feeling of intense pressure, of nausea, mixed with a great emptiness in the heart, as if the brain had surrendered to the obvious, but that the body was still trying to find an escape. But what escape? Did they even have a future when their lives were under Voldemort's thrall?

Narcissa suddenly stopped when they reached the high gate. She turned to her son, and for the first time since their departure, she looked at him.

"Mom—" It was the only word he could pronounce right now; his sweaty hands were pressed against his shaking legs, his breathing was irregular, but he didn't try to relax it.

Narcissa took a step toward her son and laid her cold hands on his cheeks, forcing him to plunge into her wet eyes. Never in his life had he been able to read her emotions so well. She was drowning in sadness and fear.

"Listen, it's going to be alright; I'm here." She murmured.

He nodded silently between her fingers, still looking at her eyes, until she closed them and placed her forehead against his.

"I love you," she whispered, shivery.

He could feel a tear escape his left eye and slowly roll onto his cheek. He nodded a second time, and after a small sniff, he whispered back:

"I love you too, mom."

(***)

Harry had no idea how he had ended up in the forbidden forest with Hagrid. It was one of those moments where someone in his surroundings spotted him wandering alone and took pity on him, so that he eventually found himself in the most incongruous places and situations. This time, it was Hagrid who had spotted him alone in the courtyard, heading back to the castle after his failure to find Draco. The half-giant had woken him up from his thoughts and asked him if he could come help him feed the thestrals. Harry had first declined the offer, not feeling in the mood to share time with Hagrid, where he knew he would have to answer personal questions.

And yet, here he was, a cold piece of raw meat hanging from his hand, as he watched his friend petting a baby thestral with his gigantic fingers —which were twice the size of the animal's face.

"Isn't he adorable?" Hagrid asked with a small laugh, his excited eyes looking for any reaction from Harry. The teenager forced a grin and nodded.

Of course the baby was adorable, but Harry couldn't stop thinking of Draco, which made everything happening around him look trivial, bland.

"What's his name?" He asked to make himself look interested.

Hagrid straightened up with a sigh and approached Harry to grab the meat from his hand. He threw it at the mother, who gently took it in her beak and shredded it into several small pieces under the ravenous gaze of her son.

"Sidus." He eventually answered as they watched the small thestral swallow his food with too much enthusiasm. "Such misunderstood creatures—"

As a long silence settled in the paddock, Hagrid turned to Harry with a worried look on his face. The boy had been staring at the baby for endless minutes, as if his eyes were fixed on something tangible while his mind wandered away.

"You alright?"

As soon as Sidus finished his meat, he started jumping between his mother's long legs, bugging her with his tiny beak and squealing while she remained impressively patient. She lowered her bony neck to reach her son, who attempted to hide under her stomach, and started licking his head.

"How far can a child go to protect his parents?" Harry asked all of a sudden.

Hagrid flashed him a concerned look; he had certainly not expected a question like this. He began swinging his large arm in an embarrassed manner. "Er—"

"I suppose as far as a parent would go for them—" Harry muttered. He wasn't even talking to Hagrid, his voice came out so low that the half-giant struggled to hear him.

Hagrid cleared his throat and picked up the seal, which contained other pieces of meat.

"It's getting late, isn't it?" He said as he pointed to the tiny square of starry sky visible between the branches of fir trees. "How about dining at my hut? Eh?"

Hagrid was right; the forest was plunged into almost complete darkness, and only the full moon provided enough light for them to still find their way.

"Come on, let's go." Hagrid declared, patting his student on the back so he would follow him out of the forest.

In spite of the softness of spring that hovered in this beautiful month of June, Hagrid lit his little fireplace under Harry's skeptical gaze. He then hung his oversized kettle above the growing fire, while Harry looked around to find a chair to sit on.

"Oh, sorry," Hagrid hurried to say when he spotted the mess that lay on his guest's wooden chair. It was disappearing under a large pile of scraps of leather, fur, and various odd items Harry couldn't identify. He cleared the chair from his belongings and dropped them on the floor beside the door.

"You want some tea?"

Harry sat by the table, where Fang lay down at his feet, and glanced at the copper kettle smoking loudly.

"Sure, thanks."

The young man accepted Hagrid's huge cup of tea; he would never be able to drink that quantity, but he refrained from commenting and simply smiled at the man who was taking a seat on his usual big chair.

"I heard, for Draco," Hagrid eventually said after a few minutes, during which the two of them gazed absently at their burning drinks. "You and him became friends, right?"

Harry lifted his head at the mention of his friend. Had the news spread that quickly? "Er—yeah, I guess we are."

Hagrid drank a sip of his tea, making Harry wonder if his friend had a thicker tongue than other people, as thick steam was coming out of the beverage.

"Well, life is strange." Hagrid said, his gaze lost toward the fireplace. "Anyway, he will be alright, Draco." He put down his mug loudly.

Harry frowned. "How can you be so sure?"

"Well, er—"

Hagrid closed his mouth as he realized nothing he'd say could reassure Harry.

"You want some biscuits? or I could cook something; you must be starving."

Harry shook his head, traumatic memories of Hagrid's food resurfacing in his mind.

"I'm okay; I'm not really hungry." He took his shoes off and pulled his right leg up against his chest while absently loosening his green tie —chocking him again.

As he rested his head on his knee, his gaze fell toward the squared window, where various hams hanged above it. Hagrid observed him.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked quietly.

Harry took some time to answer, his brain buzzing with multiple fragments of memories, thoughts, and questions.

He eventually opened his mouth and said, "I think I'm lonely."

He had never considered confiding in Hagrid one day, especially not about his feelings; and his friend seemed as surprised to hear him opening up.

"You know, I miss seeing you three together, Ron and Hermione, I mean—it's been weird to see you separated these past few months."

As Harry didn't reply, Hagrid continued, "They've been visiting me some weekends; they talked a lot about you. In a good way, of course!" He hurried to add before Harry could react. "They miss you, very much. More than you think."

"I know—" Harry sighed. He missed them too. "I'll talk to them, soon. I just— I just,"

"You don't have to explain," Hagrid cut him off. "You have a lot to deal with; I understand, and they understand too."

Harry felt suddenly bad; by wanting to keep control of his life, he had distanced himself from all those who mattered to him.

"I'll talk to them—" he repeated, "tomorrow."

Hagrid nodded like a proud father who had just made his kids reconcile and grabbed one of the dry biscuits from the plate in the middle of the table. They looked like they had been forgotten for a month, and the sound the biscuit made when he took his first bite immediately proved how stale it was.

"Oh—mmf—delicious." He said, but swallowed it in one bite with as little chewing as possible.

Harry couldn't hold his laugh; he hid his head against his knee and scoffed, not as discreetly as he had hoped.

As the night went on, the tea was replaced with butterbeers, even though Hagrid kept repeating how unprofessional it was to drink with a student,

"But I was your friend before being your student." Harry had retorted before the half-giant shrugged and willingly nodded.

Harry also moved from his uncomfortable chair to Hagrid's bed behind him. He first sat on the edge of the mattress, but the longer the evening went on, the more space he took up on the bed. Fang soon joined him and quickly fell asleep with his head on his legs. Hagrid's bed was oddly comfortable, with his various large woolen blankets whose stitches were the size of Harry's fists. The soft music of the fire, soon joined by the ticking of the rain, gave a cozy feeling to the room, and Harry had no desire to go back to the dormitory.

It didn't seem to bother Hagrid; on the contrary, the half-giant carried the conversation for an hour, mostly talking about his creatures and discoveries, while Harry listened to him quietly, his head resting against the stone wall and his hand absently stroking Fang.

It helped —listening to someone's stories, his mind gradually stopped fixating on Draco, until he finally managed to let go.

"You're very quiet," Hagrid suddenly noted after he finished his long speech on the occamy he had almost adopted from India when he was twenty-two.

Harry met his gaze and shrugged. He enjoyed listening to his stories and had not necessarily felt the need to say anything.

"You've always been quite calm; you're not the talkative type, aren't you?"

"I guess not—"

Hagrid smiled softly, as if he had just remembered something. He took a sip of his fourth butter beer and looked at Harry with a fond gaze.

"Even when you were a baby, you were very calm." He hiccuped briefly: "I'll always remember the day I brought you to your aunt, after—you know—"

Harry knew the alcohol made his friend even more clumsy than he usually was, but he didn't mind; he hated when people avoided certain subjects as if he were too innocent to bear them.

"You were so small! Smaller than my hand!" He exclaimed, pointing at his raised left hand, "You were very cute, indeed, with those big, green eyes and your mass of hair—oh, Merlin— you already had so much hair at your age!"

He started laughing, shaking his table as his stomach pumped against it.

"It was impossible to deny you were Lily and James' son, that's for sure." "Anyway, you were such a calm baby, and I'll always remember; when we flew over London, you fell asleep; I could not believe it!"

As he shared his memories, Hagrid looked emotional; the sparkles in his eyes as well as the light tremor in his voice reflected the importance he still attached to this particular event.
Harry stared at him, wondering if he had also seen his parents that night —he must have—, how he felt when he strode over their corpses. But he stayed quiet, not sure if he actually wanted to know the answer.

"I've dreamed about it— the motorcycle, I mean." Harry said instead, as he remembered the strange dreams he had growing up.

"Oh really?"

Harry nodded. He had that vague memory of flying in the middle of the night, as long as the green flash and the screams—

"Could you talk about them?" He asked suddenly, "About my parents."

He didn't want to hear any more about how cute he was, —which felt rather embarrassing. Hagrid shifted in his chair. He started fiddling with one of the empty bottles on the table while Harry looked at him insistently.

"Er— yeah, of course." He babbled, "I'm not the best to talk about them, you know, but I can try—what do you want to know?"

Harry shrugged, where to start? He knew so little. "Anything you can tell me."

The half-giant leaned back on his chair and let out a big sigh, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as if he were trying to dig into his deepest memories.

"I remember how different from each other they were," he said with a smile, "When they were younger, of course. After Hogwarts, they found a lot of similarities in each other. But before that, I wouldn't lie if I said they were exact opposites."

Harry felt extremely tired in this warm room, but hearing about his parents awoke his curiosity enough to keep his eyes open.

"You know," Hagrid said, looking directly at Harry, "as much as people tell you how much you look like James, I see way more Lily in you."

"In what way?"

Hagrid grinned; his gaze held so much affection for the young man in front of him. "Everything." He murmured.

Harry smiled as well. He had rarely heard anyone compare him with his mom other than by their eyes. And knowing he shared more with her made him feel incredibly warm inside.

"Your smile is part of it, I'd say." Hagrid added, "And your calmness, your shyness, your introversion. She had this kindness, almost mysterious. She was quiet, but everyone wanted to be around her. I can see a lot of her in you,"

"But everyone says I look more like my dad."

It made Hagrid chuckle; he opened a new bottle with one hand and took a messy slug of his beer before answering.

"You do look like him, but if we talk about temperament, not so much. Your dad and Sirius—I would compare them to Fred and George, you see? always looking for troubles— the kind of troublemakers who would drive Professor Mcgonagall crazy!"

"I look for trouble too," Harry argued, but his friend shook his head.

"No, not like he did. You find troubles, or troubles find you to be fairer. Your dad always tried to put himself on a show; some would say he was pretentious, but I wouldn't say it was in a bad way; he was just like this, a very funny boy, maybe a little too bored sometimes."

Harry nodded, so he wasn't like his dad, not the way Snape kept blaming him as if he could do anything about it. Fang snorted loudly on his laps, slobbering on Harry's uniform's pants while he stroked him behind the ears.

"Did they love each other?"

The question escaped him as he wondered how two such different souls could share any feelings.

"Oh, of course they did, Harry. They grew up and awakened the best in each other. Your dad changed so much for your mom, you couldn't even imagine. And when you arrived in their lives—"

Hagrid didn't finish his thoughts. Harry heard him sniff before he gulped down the rest of his beer.

The teenager eventually stopped stroking the dog and lifted his hand closer to his eyes, as if he were observing his skin for the first time. This caramel brown, lighter than his dad and darker than his mom—the perfect mix between them. As he thought about it, he loved everything he had inherited from his parents. As much as he had never felt confident and had never received any compliments about his appearance growing up, he loved his eyes and how they contrasted with his dark hair; he loved his skin; and he loved how, in the summer, subtle freckles appeared on his cheeks as a sweet reminder of his mother's auburn hair. It was as if she came back every year for his birthday and laid a kiss on his cheeks, and when she returned to the sky, the beautiful sparkles of her memory stayed on his skin for a little while.

"I just wish I had had more time with them—at least enough to remember." Harry whispered as he dropped his hand back on the dog.

"I know Harry— I know." Hagrid sighed. "They loved you so much."

(***)

The manor's silence when they entered gave Draco instant chills through his entire body. His mother kept holding his hand tightly, walking a step ahead of him as though she meant to protect him from any incoming danger. He felt a strange sensation, as if time had stopped to give him time to grieve his future death, time to accept his fate. As he walked through what used to be his home, he felt like his spirit had escaped his body and watched him from the ceiling like another person. He was no longer in control of himself; he was no more than a spectator.

And when his eyes met those of the dark lord, his blood-red pupils piercing him from across the room, his body regained all the sensations it had lost: the anxiety, his nausea, his heart beating so fast it was about to stop.

His mother's hand squeezed him so hard it hurt.

"So you've come back" Voldemort's chilling voice spread throughout the wide, empty-looking room and triggered everyone who dared stand in his presence.

The tall, slender man stood up and slowly approached the son and his mother. Draco wanted to flee, to run as fast as he could and never see him again. His hand clenched around his mother's palm, and when Voldemort stopped in front of him, he was ready to die.

The dark lord observed him, as if he were dissecting his mind, then slowly turned his eyes to Narcissa.

"Bellatrix, bring your sister out of the room, I need to talk with her son."

Narcissa tensed, Draco felt her fingers sink into his skin.

"You said you wouldn't hurt him." She spoke coldly.

Bellatrix was already standing next to her, her hand ready to grab her sister's arm.

"You're not in a position to tell me what to do, Narcissa."

Draco looked briskly around the room; all the Death Eaters had their wands raised towards them, and as his gaze lowered to the floor, he spotted the snake threatening him with her fangs.

"You both will give me your wands, now. And as long as you don't do anything stupid, you will both live."

Draco hesitated. He risked a glance at his mother, whose lips were clamped tightly. She eventually retrieved her wand from her robes and handed it to Bellatrix before her son followed her and gave his to Voldemort.

"Very good; you learn fast." He smirked.

Bellatrix didn't wait any longer to seize Narcissa by the arm, and when the woman resisted for a second, Voldemort added, not louder than a whisper;

"You move a finger, Narcissa, and I kill your son."

Then he turned to Draco; "And you, you do anything against my orders, and I kill your mom like I slaughtered your dad."

Neither Draco nor Narcissa opened their mouths. As he watched his mother being dragged away from him, her wet eyes plunged into his with as much support as she managed to express, he felt his lungs lacking in oxygen.

Voldemort took a while before speaking again; he was scrutinizing Draco in the middle of the room after he had ordered everybody to get out and was slowly pacing with his snake at his feet. Draco, meanwhile, stared at the floor, his breathing irregular and painful.

"You know why you're here, Draco. Don't you?" Voldemort said calmly.

Draco flinched, his eyes still on his shoes. He knew but couldn't say it out loud.

He suddenly felt the dark lord approaching him dangerously, making him close his eyes. If he had to die, he would prefer not to see it.

"Look at me."

Draco obliged, his scared, gray eyes meeting his sharp, red ones.

"So you love him." "Am I right?"

Surprise took over Draco, and it showed on his face. How did he know? He attempted to soothe his breathing, but his racing pulse betrayed him.

"I—I don't, my lord."

"Don't lie to me." Voldemort snapped.

Draco couldn't breathe, and a part of him wished he would die as quickly as possible.

The Dark Lord looked out of the window. Night had now completely fallen, and in this complete silence that reigned in the darkness, where the fauna was silent and the trees no longer moved, it seemed that the world had stopped breathing to hear Draco's sentence.

"I hadn't imagined this scenario." Voldemort muttered toward the high window. "It is —to say the least—quite," his red gaze turned to Draco, "surprising."

Draco felt like his knees were going to give out and make him collapse on the floor. As much as he tried to think of an escape, he knew he was trapped and condemned to whatever the Dark Lord had chosen to do with him.

"You know you ruined my plan, don't you?"

Head bowed like a child enduring his father's wrath, Draco remained frozen. His mother's words were fresh and precise in his head; he had to follow and accept whatever Voldemort told him; yet he couldn't move a muscle.

It didn't seem to bother Voldemort, at least it didn't surprise him. He enjoyed delivering his speech, which made the young boy pale; he savored the power he had over those weaker than him, the way their legs bent and their necks contracted. He liked to hear their hearts beat too fast and their blood congeal until their skin was whiter than their bones. The young Malfoy was the perfect toy to play with; frightened, weak, emotional—and in love.

"Anyway, let's not dwell on our errors. I was too naive to trust you, and you succumbed to a temptation that I would describe as—repugnant. But it's still not too late to make up for our mistakes; the boy seems to share your feelings; I can feel it," he said with a face of disgust. Draco did everything to avoid his gaze; his cheeks were burning, and all he could think of now was Harry.

"So I'd like to give you a chance to make yourself useful."

Voldemort said before he stopped right in front of Draco, and as he grabbed the boy's cold cheeks between his long fingers, digging his dirty nails into his flesh, his gaze bore into wide, frightened eyes; and he whispered,

"But before that, I shall teach you a lesson."

(***)

Uneven tapping of a feeble rain, the flip of a bird's wings settled on the windowsill, loud, hoarse vibrations echoing, Harry opened his eyes. His surroundings were dark and blurry; his glasses were gone. A heavy, strange weight was squishing his left leg, and as he moved it slightly, he realized his pants were wet there. Harry turned his head around, trying to regain his senses and wake up. Another greasy snore made him cock his head toward the noise.

It was Hagrid. The man was sleeping soundly on his chair, his head tilted back with his mouth wide open. Harry was in his hut, in his bed, and the weight on his leg was Fang sleeping and slobbering on him. Harry flopped back on the blankets. He had not meant to fall asleep at his friend's, and certainly not in his bed. With the sound coming from his tall friend, he even wondered how he managed to doze off in the first place.

He tried to get up, moving his leg delicately so the dog wouldn't wake up, but his head felt heavy and tired, his eyes had trouble staying open.

Just one minute.

The softness of the wool against his skin gave him the sensation of floating; he slipped his free leg under one of the thick blankets and stretched his limbs.

Just one more minute.

The long, dark hallway seemed endless. However, he finally arrived between the high shelves filled with small glass balls. His heart was beating at full speed, he was approaching number ninety-seven. He slowed his pace, afraid to know what he was going to find at the end. Then he saw him; Draco.

The boy was kneeling on the black floor, panting. His head was bleeding, the red trickle flowing from his stained hair to his jaw. He was shaking and looked exhausted.

"Look what you've done." The voice sent shivers down his spine.

He looked up, but there was no one there, only Draco. While he wanted to approach him, touch him, talk to him, his body did not respond.

"If you don't come, he will die. Just like your parents, like the boy from the graveyard, like his father,"

His father? Harry looked down at Draco. The boy wasn't looking directly at him; he didn't seem to see Harry. Still, his bloodied head moved from side to side, as if refuting what Voldemort was saying. Harry squinted and concentrated on his face, eyes, mouth. His lips moved weakly, trembling.

"Don't—don't come." Draco whispered with the little strength he had left.

A red flash then blinded Harry, and propelled him violently backward.

Harry sat up on the bed so fast that his head spun. Fang woke up to the jerk of his legs and looked upset; his small eyes were barely visible between the heavy folds of his skin, glaring at Harry.

The sun had not even risen yet, Hagrid's hut was plunged into complete darkness. He must have fallen back asleep for an hour or less. The fresh images of Draco still swirled in his brain; he was in danger, and if Harry didn't act quickly, he would die.

It could be a trap, just like Sirius's dream.

It wasn't; Harry was certain of it. Perhaps he was naive and would fall with both feet into the trap, but he knew he had to act. Harry had known his friend would be in danger the second he left that classroom; actually, his life had become endangered the second he told Harry about the trap.

It's all my fault, it's all my fault—

Harry staggered to his feet, the cold tiles meeting his skin. He was barefoot, Hagrid must have taken off his shoes as well as his glasses when he fell asleep.

Fang climbed down the bed clumsily to sit in front of Harry and observed him lacing his shoes with shaky hands. The boy didn't take the time to tighten his tie, which hung loosely around his neck, or grab his robes from the back of the wooden chair. Each second was a risk to see Draco get killed; he had to hurry.

The air was fresh, and nature, quiet. Harry looked around him; having no idea where to go or how he could fly to the Ministry. His attention turned to the quidditch pitch; he could steal a broom, but Umbridge had made sure no brooms were lying around in the locker rooms. Then, he averted his eyes to the forest, where he heard a crack.

Fuck, what a stupid idea! He told himself as he moved swiftly towards the trees. He felt Fang following him excitingly, probably thinking he would take an early walk with Harry, but when the teenager set a foot on the edge of the forest, the large dog stopped dead.

"Good boy, go back to Hagrid now!" Harry ordered in a whisper.

But Fang didn't budge. Instead, he started barking loudly, pacing in front of the forest boundary, as if an invisible barrier prevented him from entering.

"Shhh, please, Fang, shut up—"

When Harry realized the dog wouldn't stop barking, he turned around and accelerated the pace toward the thestrals paddock. He had to leave before anyone could stop him; before Hagrid would wake up. The paddock was as quiet as the rest of the forest; Sidus was sleeping soundly, caulking against his mother. Harry briefly met her white, glossy eyes; she was awake and on her guard to protect her baby from any external danger.

"What the hell am I doing—"

Harry glanced around the paddock in search of another adult thestral. A tall, imposing one was standing at the back; from the large build, it seemed to be a male. Harry approached slowly, his back bent like he had done with Buckbeak. He had no idea if this was the right way to act with a thestral; he didn't even know if this creature allowed itself to be ridden. But it was his only chance; he had to try. When the male didn't appear upset by Harry's presence, the boy gently laid a hand at the base of his neck; the skin was thinner but more rough than a hippogriff, and he could already imagine how less comfortable it would be to sit on its back.

"Okay, stay calm; I'm climbing."

Harry tightened his grip on the thestral's bony shoulder and jumped on its back. The thestral briskly tossed its head and took a few steps back. Harry felt the creature's muscles contract violently, like spasms; Harry's anxiety seemed to spread over his mount.

"Hey, calm down. It's okay."

It was difficult to control the thestral when he himself felt on the verge of collapsing; his scar hurt badly, like a white-hot blade piercing his skull. His legs squeezed tightly against the Thestral's sides, while his hands gripped on to whatever they could. Then Harry pulled his hips forward and gave the animal a light kick, causing it to run out of the paddock. The boy leaned forward to maintain his balance, he was expecting to end up in the sky in a split second, but the thestral kept galloping until they emerged from the forest toward Hagrid's hut.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Harry saw Fang lying on the grass at the exact same spot as when he left him. But as soon as the dog met his eyes, he stood up and started running after them. Fang opened his slobbery mouth to bark again, and light appeared through the hut's windows. A second later, the door opened, and Hagrid got out, his crossbow ready to fire.

"Harry?"

The half-giant immediately lowered his weapon when he spotted the teenager on the back of the galloping thestral.

"What are you doing? Harry!"

"Come on, fly!"

As much as they were keeping a good distance from Hagrid, they were still on the ground, with Fang following them with his saliva splattering his face and his tongue floating limply outside his mouth.

"Harry! Stop! Come back!" Hagrid shouted before he imitated his dog and ran heavily after the teenager.

"Fly!" Harry shouted to the thestral in a last, panicked attempt. He kicked violently on its ribcages, making the creature finally take off the ground.

"Harry!"

The night wind hit him in the face like strong whiplashes, and filled his lungs so fast he almost chocked. They had done it; they were flying. As they gained height, Hagrid's voice faded slowly to only a distant murmur, then nothing. Harry leaned to the left to guide his mount; the south faced them with its wide, foggy horizon, where, miles away, Draco was getting tortured, and soon worse.