Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own the plot, characters, spell names, places, etc. mentioned in the Harry Potter books and movies. I am writing for fun and not for profit.

Chapter 4

"I still think bringing Clarke was a stupid idea."

Having already heard the same comment repeatedly for the past few days, Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and gave the slender woman walking beside him a smile instead. "Well, I think he'd be useful, you know, when Death Eaters are trying to kill us."

"Don't use that tone with me, boy. I may be a meggle, or whatever the hell you people call us, but I think I have more experience than you when it comes to rescue missions. A low-key infiltration and pick-up is our best bet in getting everyone out alive, not rushing in with guns blazing. In fact, I think I should just do this mission alone. You maggots will only get in my way."

Glancing at the slim, but muscular man walking stiffly ahead of them, far enough away to be unable to hear their conversation, Harry shook his head slowly from side to side. "I don't see Clarke agreeing with that idea. He'd want to kill as many Death Eaters as he can. Oh, and it's muggle, as I'm sure you know, seeing as you've lived with us for a little over six years now." Harry's smile grew when he saw the woman's face scowling in annoyance. "Look, Olivia, I need you to trust me. Just focus on your job on getting Bill's team out of there. We'll cover your back. I picked Clarke because I knew he'd be the best at fighting, just like I knew your training with M16 will make you the best at evading."

Olivia's naturally thin lips became thinner as she gazed steadily at Harry. "Very well. I will do my best to get everyone out alive. I just hope nothing happens that will make you regret bringing Clarke."

"What would make me regret bringing him? The more Death Eaters he kills, the better it is for me."

The ex-M16 agent said nothing, but still made her displeasure clear by narrowing her eyes at Clarke's unsuspecting back. Realizing that Olivia had no more to say, Harry slowed down his pace a bit to allow her to walk ahead of him. He didn't share her worries about Clarke's bloodthirsty attitude toward Voldemort and his army. The man, after all, had good reason to wish every Death Eater a gruesome death.

Harry absently tapped his wand against the side of his thigh as he looked around his surroundings. Currently, his team of five members was traipsing through the long stretch of wasteland that signaled the beginning of Voldemort's place of residence. They had painstakingly snuck through the eerily beautiful Tier 1 as well as the almost normal environment of Tier 2. The cheerful people, relaxed environment, and crowded shopping districts in the latter tier caused pangs of longing within the weary squad, and it took all of Harry to convince them not to linger much more than they already did.

Traveling through the hellish Tier 3 was definitely a nightmare as they tirelessly dodged vagrants who mercilessly and desperately attempted to mug them. Some more reckless ones, aware of their status as rebels, attempted unsuccessfully to capture them for the Dark Lord's approval and reward. It was with considerable relief when the team entered the destruction surrounding the Arx. Scavengers scurried from wreckage to wreckage, but thankfully, they were smart enough to leave Harry and his companions alone.

Seeing that there was nothing of interest among the wreckage, Harry gazed at each of his team members instead. There was Clark a good ten meters ahead of the rest of the team, visibly tense and eager for a fight. Olivia walked with considerable more grace despite her older years. If it weren't for her gray hair which she wore in a short, severe haircut, many would mistake her for being much younger. The last two members were Harry's old childhood friends, Seamus and Dean, each currently scouting their left and right positions in case of ambush.

Despite the fact that they were here to save a team which consisted of two members who were very dear to his heart and that there was a very real chance that they may all perish at the gala, Harry was quite content. He was confident in his and his teammates' abilities. Over the years, strengthened by endless missions, raids, attacks, and rescues, Harry developed into quite the leader. Both magical beings and muggles respected him, and Voldemort's followers soon grew to fear him almost, but not quite, as much as the Dark Lord. Yet Harry did not revel in the fear he inspired as Voldemort did. He did not use it to bully them into submission and he did not confirm their fears by torturing them into insanity. Death Eaters died quickly at Harry's hands but not cruelly. This was a war, after all.

In the corner of his vision, Harry noticed Dean jogging toward him, his face grim. He waited until his friend came upon him. "What is it, Dean?"

"Harry. We're closer to the Arx than we'd thought. There's an illusion put up, to hide the Arx from people who weren't invited to the gala. I walked straight into it," Dean gestured to where he had come. "Over that way."

Harry nodded, giving the wizard a grateful smile. "Thanks, Dean. Seamus! Go and dismantle the illusion barrier. Dean found the Arx." From the corner of his eyes, he saw Olivia calling for Clarke to come back and regroup. When they all came upon each other near the slightly shimmering barrier, Seamus immediately went to work. Harry had already cast his strongest disillusionment charms on each member, and he waited impatiently for Seamus to finish.

"Alright, guys," he whispered, as he noticed a tiny hole appearing in the barrier. "Do not go charging in. I'm talking to you, Clarke. You'll get your chance, I promise. No killing innocents. No kids, no guests. Death Eaters are yours to do whatever you want with them. I'll head straight for the stage for the executioner. Seamus, take down all the barriers you sense inside. Olivia, cover me with your rifle from here. Then, you'll be responsible for guiding Bill's team out. Dean, you'll help Clarke with the Death Eaters."

His team nodded their heads, each with a different expression on their faces. Though Harry could not see them, he knew what each would look like at that moment. Dean was solemn, almost sad. Seamus was determined. Olivia was grim. Clarke was ecstatic. "I know my orders are a little vague, but I trust all of you. I trust your decisions. You don't need me babying you. You don't need me telling you that I need you to protect yourselves most of all. I need all of you to come home safely after we rescue Bill's team. Understood?"

Heads nodded again.

"Alright," Harry whispered again. The hole had gotten bigger, allowing the team to finally see the black thorn building about a mile away. A large festive crowd had gathered at the entrance, where a stage was set. Harry couldn't see his aurors yet, but could barely make out the executioner with his big scythe cavorting around the stage.

"Let's go."

O_O

Draco suppressed another groan when a heavy booted foot once again flew into his side. And only an instant later, another boot – pointed boots even, the sadistic bastard – crashed into the same spot and squashed him against the wall for a good ten seconds. A couple of ribs in his right side were surely broken by now. He opened his eyes and squinted at his attackers through a reddish haze of pain.

So everything hadn't gone…well, exactly to plan. Surely no one could expect there to be a muggle security camera mounted within a painting inside Voldemort's gigantic, hideous lair. And there was no way anyone could think that the wizard hell-bent on blood supremacy would hire muggles with absolutely no magical signature as security guards. Draco was certainly caught off guard when these two muggle goons snuck up behind him and clubbed him on the back of his head with nothing but the swish of clothes to warn him. It wasn't one of his finest moments.

Now, here he was. Chained to the wall like some prisoner in medieval times. His wrists were tied together and strung up high on the stone wall behind him, rendering him unable to protect his poor ribs from the blows they were taking. His body was stretched to its limits and the tips of his boots barely grazed the floor. Draco grimaced. His position right now was pretty embarrassing.

Draco watched with slight trepidation when one of the guards, the one with the big bushy beard, moved closer to him, filling up his nose with the smell of strong liquor. "So how you li' being hung li' some piece o' meat, eh? How you li' it if sommin left you here fo' nine weeks? Nine! Standin' here in your own shite and piss and blood. Watchin' your famly git beat and raped in fron' o' ya? Fuckin' demons, the 'ol lotta ya. Startin' now, I ain't workin fo' you monsters no mo'. Naw, I'll kill every last one of ya and feed yer meat to ma starvin' famly. Naw, they won' starve no mo'. Got yer demon meat fo' 'em. Such a good thin', finding you all alone, little demon. You pay for what ya done to me an' ma famly." The muggle ended his speech with a underhanded left hook up Draco's stomach, leaving him gasping for breath.

The other guard held an arm out to stop his friend from giving Draco another hit. He gave Draco a smile and rummaged around in his pocket for a while until he pulled out a muggle lighter. His friend looked confused, but pulled out a box of cigarettes and made to hand one to the other. The man with the lighter only grinned and shook his head, waving the cigarette away.

Draco watched them with little interest. The aching in his body was quite distracting. As the two guards stood there sharing secret glances, Draco wrecked his brain for a way to climb out of this hole he had dug himself in. Just as he began to despair that he might have inadvertently buried himself in that hole, an idea popped suddenly in his mind. Pushing down the feeling of smug pride, and then feeling proud for accomplishing that, Draco decided not to waste anymore time. The dumb shites may actually finish their stupid silent conversation and kill him before he could try anything.

Trying to ignore the sharp flares of pain his body was sending him, telling him to stop fucking moving, Draco shifted a bit away from the wall and concentrated. His captors did not think to remove his belt. In fact, they did not think to remove anything from his body. Not the near dozen potion vials in the little pockets on his belt. Not the small sheath wrapped around his right forearm, containing a poisoned blade and hidden from view by his sleeve. Not even his wand, which poked blatantly through the top of his boots from when he stuck it in there in haste. It was there, snuggled up next to his shin and the idiots did not see it.

However, he could not reach his wand, and spells he could perform wandless were few. But Draco did not despair, for those few spells he could manage without his wand and without speaking the incantations were perfect for his situation.

The man with the lighter and a disturbingly clear look in his eyes pulled his bearded friend away from Draco, only to replace his spot. "Hello, pretty boy. Sorry about my friend here. He likes to drink around this time of the day, as it helps him perform his unpleasant duties later this evening. Although, I must say, the things he does to get his drinks are bad enough." The man glanced behind him slyly and looked back at Draco with a conspiratorial look.

"He's one o' them child snatchers. You heard of them? He steals away the sweet, spoiled pure-blooded kids and he sells 'em. Funny thing is, he don't sell them to the highest bidder. No, of course not. He sells 'em to people with a grudge against your kind. People with hatred and grudges and madness. You have no idea what they did to those children, blondie. The people are stir crazy. Too many people living in squalor and violence. Too much fear and oppression. Too little money and food. No warmth." The man paused slightly, and shrugged. "I apologize for my blabbering, pretty boy, but I hope you understand what I'm getting at. Can you imagine the prize we'll get if we sold you? A fully grown wizard from the Dark Lord's lair itself? Oh, many angry people would like a piece of you and we can finally bribe someone to get us out of this hellhole."

"But first," the muggle grinned, and leaned even closer. "first, I would like to play with you myself. Do you know what that Cruciatus Curse feels like, pretty boy? Could you live if you were forced to feel that shit every day? Could you stand it if you watch your family suffer from that shit every day?" The big man practically growled in Draco's face, spittle flying from his mouth. "And to wake up every morning in pain and knowing that you must work for your torturers so your family can survive?"

Draco blinked, glad that none of the spit had landed on his face. During the man's diatribe, Draco had been hard at work. Concentrating on a vial filled with his favorite potion – third pocket from the left, near his spine – he had made all the necessary horrified and indignant expressions to mask his inattention. Silent, wandless magic required all of his focus.

Draco managed to flip open the vial with only a small grimace and forced himself to focus even harder, ignoring the small wave of exhaustion that followed. Lifting his body even further from the wall, he couldn't help but whisper the spell to turn his potions into vapor, making it sound like a drawn out sigh. He felt a trickle of sweat slide down his neck as he trembled in concentration. He had done this spell countless times without his wand, but he was having a little trouble now, considering his situation.

He gave a little sigh in satisfaction as he guided the small bubble of now vaporized potion from out of the vial and into the air. Gritting his teeth, he succeeded in splitting the bubble into two. Allowing his vision to focus on the muggles again, he noticed with slight discomfort that the muggle before him was currently looking at his lighter in contemplation. The other muggle, like Draco, stared at his friend, curious.

Before Draco allowed himself to wonder at their behaviors, he threw the spheres of potion into each of their faces. Carefully looking at their expressions, he was relieved when they showed no signs that they had just inhaled a lethal dose of poison. Suppressing yet another moment of pride – the process took him only half a minute, after all – Draco permitted his body to slump back against the wall, utterly spent. Wandless magic was a bitch.

"The Cruciatus sorta makes you feel like you're burning, doesn't it? Like you're burning on the inside. Feels like a million things are melting inside of you, but there's no blood, no burns, no scars." Without warning, the muggle reached up with the lighter and flicked it on near Draco's hands.

Wincing at the heat brushing his skin, Draco swallowed, his eyes wide as he stared into the cold, blue eyes of his captor. He really wished his poison would kick in right about now.

"I cannot do demon magic like you, but I think this will suffice." He lowered the lighter until the flame caught Draco's left sleeve. Quickly, he pulled off the top of the lighter and flicked the fluid across the rest of Draco's sleeves. The flames licked their way down, eating away the thin cloth of his shirt and getting uncomfortably closer to his hair.

The heat was unbearable, and it took all of his willpower not to scream out. Quelling the barrage of curses in his mind that he wanted to throw on the muggles, he opted instead on trying for another wandless spell.

The fire was flickering around his elbows as he screamed the incantation in his head. 'Aguamenti. Aguamenti!' When the fire continued to lick cheerily against his skin, Draco couldn't help but feel a tiny ball of panic rapidly growing in the pit of his stomach. 'Fucking Aguamenti! Shite. Fucking Merlin. Calor Extinctum! Aguamenti! Calor Extinctum!'

When the heat abruptly ceased, Draco jerked his head up to look, more than a little surprised that his panicked spell-work was successful. Indeed, the flames were gone, leaving behind raw, pink skin and tattered sleeves past his elbows. Draco noticed with pleasure that his knife had survived the fire.

Satisfied that he turned out to be okay, he shifted his attention to the men in front of him. Immediately, he saw a body slumped on the floor, mouth agape and filled with blood. Suppressing the sudden urge to laugh delightedly, he turned his head to look at the drunken muggle, who stood a few steps away, staring uncomprehendingly at his friend.

Draco watched as expressions of disgust, horror, and fear played across the bearded face and waited for the inevitable realization. When it came, anger filled the man's face and he snarled at Draco. He literally snarled. A growly rumble exploded from deep in his throat and out the mouth, accompanied with plenty of saliva. Like a dog.

"Demon! Ya killed him!"

Before Draco could give in and laugh in his face, the man pulled out a small handgun and pointed it at him with shaking hands. Draco went from feeling gleeful to terrified so quickly that it left him slightly dizzy. "You've got to be kidding me."

Just as the muggle started to retch up blood, a loud bang filled the room and simultaneously, Draco's right shoulder exploded in pain. This time, he did cry out.

The agony of the wound was made worse by his unfortunate position, and Draco could barely think because of it. He couldn't even watch his poison kill the bloody muggle, for fuck's sake. He couldn't watch the man suffer as he had suffered, and he was pissed. 'Fuck.' The word repeated itself over and over in his mind as he contorted his body so that he could somehow reach his wand.

Cursing his long legs, Draco gave up with a huff, and looked up at the thick chain of steel encircling his wrists. Noticing the red and bruised skin, Draco sighed. It would be hard to explain that to Blaise. Not to mention this bullet wound that he hoped wasn't too serious.

Trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder and ribs, Draco placed both feet on the wall behind him, attempting to climb up the wall. Despite the awkward as hell position, he managed to go up, little by little. He had to pull viciously down on the chains to give himself leverage, and that did nothing but make his shoulder flare excruciatingly.

Just when dark dots began to appear in his vision, he managed to climb enough so that his arms were bent before him, and his mouth was level with the sheath secured around his forearm. Leaning his head forward, he bit down in the small handle of the knife and pulled it out. With the knife secured in his mouth, he silently apologized to his body and forced himself to climb up a few more steps until he was as level with his hands as he could be.

With difficulty, he passed the knife from his mouth to his left hand, taking care not to cut his fingers with the sharp edges. The poison he had used to fill the hollow blade was a particularly vicious one. Not only would it eat away skin easier than burning parchment, but it would also hurt. A lot.

Twisting his wrist at an awkward angle, he leveled the blade until it touched the steel chaining him to the wall and poked it. The tip of the knife retracted, allowing for a small drop of poison to leak out and onto the chain. A hissing sound and smoke were almost immediate, and Draco quickly pulled down on the chain, dropping the knife in the process.

When the chain succumbed to the poison and dropped him, Draco was so relieved that he felt tears in his eyes. But damn, he felt awful. Wincing, he sat on the floor, retrieved the knife and let a drop of acid fall on the small loop of chain holding his wrists together.

Once he was completely free, he re-sheathed his knife and looked at the two bodies before him. They had collapsed in similar positions on the ground, with blood pooling out of their mouths and around their heads. Ignoring the sense of satisfaction growing inside him, he took out his wand as well as two empty vials. He never had the memories of muggles before. It would be interesting.

O_O

Draco came out into the sunlight, exhausted and utterly miserable. He was blacking out every few steps and it was only sheer will that allowed him to keep going until he was out of the Arx. His escape route proved no trouble, as he had planned it weeks before. It was a small blessing, but did not quite lift his mood.

Stumbling among the wreckage, he strolled far enough away from the Arx so that he could feel comfortable taking a small break. He plopped down against a rusting compact car with missing wheels and leaned against the hot steel, letting his eyelids drop down.

After giving himself a few seconds of rest, he sighed and searched for the thread in his mind connecting him to one of his oldest friends. 'Greg?'

When no reply came, Draco rolled his eyes, exasperated. 'Greg, come on. Answer me.'

It took a full five minutes until he heard a reply, shaky and quiet in his mind. 'Draco? We've been trying to get a hold of you for the past hour! Where have you been?'

After a moment of hesitation, Draco went ahead and told him the truth. 'I was in the Arx, and I got a bit sidetracked.'

'What? Why'd you go in there? Your position was supposed to be behind the group-'

'Behind the group of pointy rocks. Yes, I know. I'll be there shortly. What's the situation at your end?'

'Wait. Why'd you go in the Arx? Blaise won't be happy…'

'Don't tell Blaise.' Draco interjected quickly. 'Also, don't tell Millicent or Theo either. Tell me what's happening over there, please.'

'Why shouldn't I tell them?'

A rush of impatience made Draco groan aloud. 'Please, Greg.'

It was silent for awhile. Draco bit his bottom lip, anxious for the answer. The big guy was probably stunned into silence when Draco said 'please.' Two times in a row, even.

'Okay, Draco. I won't tell them. We're still waiting for you though. Behind the pointy rocks. What should I tell them?'

'Can you tell them I'm chasing Macnair? The gala's over, right?'

'No, Draco. I can't tell them that. Macnair's dead.'

'Oh. You killed him without me?'

'No,' Greg repeated. 'Potter killed him. He rescued his aurors. That's why we were trying to contact you. We weren't needed here. We have to go.'

Potter? Rarely had there ever been a rescue at a gala. Well, there had been attempted rescues. Draco opened his eyes and looked back toward the direction of the Arx. On its other side would be the remnants of the gala. He wondered what sort of chaos existed there right now.

'Yeah. You guys go on ahead. Tell the others I'm meeting someone. Tell them to fuck off if they keep asking questions. I'll meet up with you later.'

'Why not now? We'll wait.'

'No…I just catch up later, mate.'

'Alright. If you don't come back, we'll storm the Arx to find you.'

Draco chuckled. 'No need for that. I'll see you later.'

When he ended the connection, Draco was more exhausted than before. Groaning in self-pity, he wriggled until he found a more comfortable position. In less than a minute, he was blissfully asleep. Or unconscious. Either way, he couldn't sense the figure approaching him only five minutes later, wand drawn and muttering a spell.

"Rennervate!"

The spell hit Draco in the middle of his chest, jerking him cruelly awake. He let out a soft cry as he banged his injured shoulder on the car behind him.

"Expelliarmus!"

Draco's wand flew from his hand and into the hands of his unknown assailant. Cursing his luck and foolishness, Draco glared at the stranger, more pissed than scared. "What was that for?" He had noticed the band around the man's arm, signifying him as one of Potter's aurors.

The man stalked closer, a feral grin on his face. "Why, another Death Eater. Today is just my lucky day, isn't it? Death Eater, Death Eater, where is your mask? And why do you look like something chewed you up and spit you out?"

Draco looked down at his left arm, and sure enough, the fire had eaten away his sleeve, exposing the ugly Mark for all to see. "Er…"

"Twelve. I've killed twelve of you today." Here, the man let out a high-pitched laugh. "You all drop like flies. You all hide behind your master and when he's not here, you all flock about like mindless sheep. Lucky, lucky me that Potter picked me for this mission. Lucky, lucky me that gets to find you. You, who's just waiting all patiently for me. It's like Christmas." The man was getting more and more excited with each word spoken, and Draco was getting more and more uneasy as his craziness seemed to double with each passing second.

"I can do the Unforgivables, you know. Which one would you like? Which one? I can make you crazy like you made my children. I can kill you like you killed my wife. I can force you to gut your own stomach like you forced my mother. Which one? Which one? Which one, Death Eater?" His sing-song voice grated against Draco's ears, and he was stepping ever closer to him.

When he was only a few steps away, with fast, practiced hands, Draco threw his knife straight at the auror, hoping that the man was confident enough not to put a barrier around himself beforehand.

His aim was true, as it always was, and the knife impaled itself into the man's chest. The auror looked down on it, disbelievingly. Dropping Draco's wand, he grabbed the knife and pulled it out, glancing at Draco with surprise. "A knife? You think you can kill me with a kni-"

His words were cut off when he let out a squawk of pain. The smell of cooking flesh filled the air. Draco watched, fascinated, as the man's skin bubbled and burst, dissolving and leaving behind raw meat.

"Clarke!"

Draco whipped his head toward the sound of the shout. He couldn't believe it. Yet another person wanting him dead. Fuck his luck today. He should've stayed home.

He watched warily as the newcomer ran toward him. This time, it was a woman with short gray hair. She held one of those confounded muggle guns, the end of which never wavered from Draco's head.

She came to a stop near the remains of Clarke, looking down at him in disgust. She stared at Draco sternly, as if she were about to scold him for eating dessert before dinner. "You killed him?"

Draco blinked, surprised that there wasn't an extra hole in his head yet. "I had no choice."

The woman stared at him for a while, contemplating his words. She glanced down and looked at the Dark Mark upon his arm. "Death Eater," she said.

"It may seem that way, but no," Draco replied. He didn't know what to make of this woman. Her teammate – she also wore a white band around her arm – had just been killed and she made no move to attack him, although her gun was still pointed at him.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him, then roamed her gaze across his body. Her eyes lingered on the splotch of blood at his shoulder and the pinkness of his arms.

After a minute, when it seemed she had reached a decision, she bent and collected the two wands on the ground, as well as the once white band on Clarke's ruined body. It was drenched in blood now, still dripping and almost black.

"Come on. I'm taking you with me."

Draco could only stare at her incredulously.

"Do you need me to carry you?" she asked impatiently. "You need someone to heal your wounds. We have a healer in the team. They're just over that hill over there." The woman's eyes connected with Draco's. Her eyes were stern, but not unkind. "If you don't comply, I will be forced to kill you."

Draco hurriedly got to his feet, successfully ignoring the pain for the time being. "Why are you helping me?" he couldn't help but ask.

The woman chuckled. "Don't be so sure of that. It's not my decision whether or not I should kill you. I'm bringing you to someone who does have that power. I don't blame you for killing Clarke; he was probably asking for it. Also, my conscious won't like it if I killed a kid."

"I'm not a kid," Draco protested.

"I consider everyone that lacks gray hair a kid, kid. Come on. If you try to run away, I will kill you."

Draco thought about it for a second, but made up his mind. He followed her.

As he walked besides her, glancing at her grim face at every few steps, he wondered if he could somehow escape. Judging by her sure grip on the small handgun as well as the comfortable way in which she wore the long rifle on her back, Draco didn't think so. "The person you were talking about, the one with the power…is it Harry Potter?" he asked as they came closer to the incline of the hill.

The woman smiled. "Yes. You heard of him, have you?"

"Well, yes," Draco answered. "We've met before, actually." Paying no heed to the woman's surprised look, he gulped and attempted to straighten himself. His ribs flared in warning, but he gritted his teeth and endured it.

No way was he walking in front of Potter like some defeated weakling.