Disclaimer: I own... you guessed it. Nothing.

Warnings: possibly some emotions? And there's cursing (I think).

Authors note: And we're back to slytherin territory, where I am more comfortable. Thanks for the praise and comments you guys, it warms my small, shriveled heart. Ho ho! I have just written an action sequence, followed by what could be interpreted as an almost H/D moment. Well they're both there, but it's not exactly a moment? Who knows. Sometimes I think I like a good suspenseful romance, and so I am probably taking it out on you, the poor reader. Enjoy! Comments, reviews, support, or criticism are all appreciated!

"Draco, Draco, wake up, they're coming," Hissed Blaise, shaking Draco awake. Draco sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and trying to focus on his friends face, drawn and panicked.

"What? Who?" His voice was low and thick with sleep, and he rubbed his face, his own silvery stubble scratching at him.

"I don't know, Yaxley, some others they have their masks on. They know it was you that bit them back there, we have to get out of here."

Draco let out a string of curses and sprung to his feet. "What the hell are we going to do?"

"There's too many of them to run, Draco, we need to apparate, or use the portkey."

"No. We can't, we don't know if the target location is safe right now, Blaise."

"Well we sure as hell know the current location isn't safe, Draco, we have to, they're everywhere, and they're tracking us, and they don't seem happy. We have to keep them safe."

Draco turned, and looked at the curled bodies of his Slytherins. He sighed, glaring at Blaise. He had known telling Blaise about the emergency portkey his parents always made him wear was a mistake. Draco pulled out his small pocketknife, stolen from a store in a muggle town a few days ago.

They moved through the group shaking everyone awake, motioning for silence. The sleep addled teenagers all huddled together, as Blaise hissed instructions for everyone to hang on to one another, linking hands or elbows, and clutching. Then, Greg, Vince, Blaise, and Liam, all held on to Draco, as hard as they could. Draco pricked his finger, and pressed his bloody fingertip to the center of his cygnet ring, closing his eyes as the emergency portkey activated, tasting Black blood on it, activated the old blood magic.

All the past week, they'd had Death Eaters on their tails, though they had no idea why the Dark Lord was interested in a small group of teenagers when there were surely more powerful wizards out there to snatch. They had managed to nick enough muggle clothes to pass as muggles, and Liam had found a muggle bill fold, and they'd managed to buy some real muggle food, though it tasted odd and was kept in paper boxes and the like. But they'd been spotted, and for the past two days, there had been death eaters hot on their tails. They'd been running on nearly no sleep, since it was nearly the end of November, and there was snow on the ground, but they couldn't light a fire they might be seen. So frigid, and huddled, they had tried to sleep in small intervals, but they had to keep moving, and they couldn't stop for food.

The spinning of the Portkey shuddered to a halt and they stumbled to the ground, Draco and Blaise drawing their wands instinctively. They were in a dark, stone room, thick, dust in the air. But the air did taste of thrumming wards and magic, something that they'd come to miss in the past month as they'd trekked through muggle Scotland, trying to avoid wizards or witches, who might recognize them.

Blaise motioned to rest of the group to hang back, nodding to Liam, in a silent agreement, that he was in charge of protecting the group. Draco glanced at Blaise, and nodded, silently communicating, and they both closed their eyes, shifting and moving forwards, nosing the thick wooden door open.

Draco sniffed, his sensitive nose taking in the scent of thick, musty dust. It smelled like burned wood, and a little like mold, but he didn't smell much life. He eased himself forwards, trying to hold most of his weight back, over on his haunches. He found that if he held his weight back he could prowl almost soundlessly, keeping his belly low, brushing against the cold stone floor.

Draco tried to keep himself from making a sound as they rounded the corner, where the staircase down to the main ballroom should be, but instead, they just found fire charred stone, burnt wooden support beams, melted and burnt dry wall, the skeleton of the house exposed. Through the holes and charred remnants in the wall, the thick fog and mist over the moors of Wiltshire were visible.

Blaise stopped next to Draco, his shoulder bracing against Draco's in a canine sign of support, his lowered head and lax tail non-threatening.

Draco turned from the burnt wood scaffolding where there used to be large stairs, and changed paths, moving down along a corridor that moved away from main ballroom, around to the west wing of the manor. Blaise moved behind him, their paws moving soundlessly on the firm stone floors.

They found an unburnt staircase in the library, and Draco did more than just a cursory sweep, looking in all of the rooms he'd loved playing in as a child. Blaise just moved silently and submissively behind him, nose and ears on alert.

The damage to his child hood home was something that made his very bones ache. His room was untouched, but he didn't spend more than a moment in there, not wanting to see the pictures of his mother that were on the bureau.

The kitchen was for the most part untouched, same with the dining hall, but the drawing room was basically missing. His father's suite had been burnt beyond recognition, though a portion of his study remained. His mother's wing was gone, and Draco tried not to dwell on the crumbling tower that once housed his bright and sophisticated, and alive mother.

Draco padded back towards the library, not bothering to care about the paw prints left on the once white marble of the entrance hall. To the side of the library, above the kitchens, which had been mostly underground, since house elves didn't mind the lack of sunlight, but to the side of the library there was an old parlor that Draco used to have lessons in when he was smaller, also untouched by the flames. Draco glanced around, but there weren't any portraits on this hall, it was mainly a servants hall. He shifted into his human form, straightening his rumpled muggle clothes while he waited for Blaise to shift as well.

"Let's bring them here. Father didn't like coming here, he had his own study, and he didn't like me as a child. Plus there aren't any portraits in the library. We can move one of the shelves or tapestry's to cover the door and stay here for tonight."

Blaise nodded, following Draco into the library, helping his friend move the large tapestry that hung between two large windows to hang over the door to the parlor. Draco turned, still a human, running up the stairs, and walking down the hall, shoulders squared, and wand drawn.

"Incendio. Incendio. Incendio." He muttered, lighting every portrait he passed on fire. Blaise grabbed at Draco's arm, but Draco kept firing off spells, until every portrait visible form where they stood was scorched.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"The trace can't detect underaged magic in ancestral homes. It would be too much for them to keep track of, and there's not statute of secrecy in an ancestral wizarding home."

"No, why are you setting all your ancestors on fire?"

"You act as if they're alive. They could see the others, who knows where other portraits of them are. We have to be sure." Draco knew his face and tone were stony, and his friend twisted his mouth, but in the end bit his lip, and drew his wand, joining Draco, lighting up anything that could've had eyes as they made their way back to the others.