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 5

When he reached the top of the short hill, Draco was ready to collapse again. Not only did it hurt everywhere but he was also sure he looked a damn mess. He was about to meet Harry Potter, the bright hope for both wizard-kind and muggle-kind, and he probably looked worse than some beggar in Tier 3.

A group of people huddled together a short distance away, their features partially revealed thanks to the bright sun beating down mercilessly upon them. As Draco and the strange woman set off across the barren, dirt ground to meet them, the blond could make out a painfully familiar figure standing beside the famous Harry Potter, and despite his promise years ago, his stomach gave a slight lurch.

The muggle beside him grabbed onto his arm, reading his sudden tenseness as a desire to run away. "Harry's a fair man, but you did just kill one of his strongest aurors. Keep your wits about you, and see if you can get yourself out of this mess."

Draco looked at her grumpily, his sudden nerves making him cranky. "Why are you taking me to him, if you didn't want me dead?"

Wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes when the woman smiled. "I would, but these things," she held up the band that she had grabbed from Clarke's messy remains. "record the last few minutes leading to death, as well as a few minutes after. We are obligated to return these bands to Sanctuary, and I will be in the recording. I can't just let you go after you killed one of our own."

Draco pursed his lips, trying to ignore the fact that strangers would get to see him in a weak moment of getting caught off guard while taking a nap in dangerous territory. He managed to control himself before he could snatch the band away and run off in the opposite direction. He knew he wouldn't get very far.

When the pair came within speaking distance with the group, Draco could now see clearly who each and every person was, and to his consternation, most of them were people he did not get along with while in school.

His gaze shifted from the girl Weasley, to a scarred Weasley, to Finnigan, to Creevey, to Patil, and finally to Harry Potter. Each of their faces showed the same expressions of weariness and caution. His eyes deliberately skipped over the last person in the group.

Harry Potter raised his eyebrows upon recognition of the blond. Like the muggle did when she first saw him, he raked his eyes down Draco's body, pausing at each of his wounds. After another second of silence, he finally opened his mouth to speak. "Olivia?" he asked simply.

"He killed Clarke," the woman answered bluntly and promptly handed Potter the two wands and white band she had held in her hand. "I was following your precious auror through my scope, and it looked like he was attacking an unconscious wizard. I went to stop him before he could do any real damage and well, my help was unneeded."

A twitch in Potter's right eye caught Draco's attention, and looking into the green orbs, he felt his stomach plummet. The man looked furious.

"And why, pray tell, is he standing here in front of me, and not dead like the rest of the Death Eaters?" From the corners of his eyes, Draco could see everyone wincing at the cold, ruthless voice coming out of their leader's mouth. He tried not to let his discomfort show, but it was difficult.

Olivia rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Calm down, Harry. I didn't kill him because, as you can see, his wounds are caused by mercenaries. You know that I am the only muggle on your side with a gun, so it stands to reason that this boy is Voldemort's enemy as well."

The woman gestured toward Draco. "It wasn't his fault that Clarke got even more bloodthirsty than usual to attack someone while they're vulnerable."

Potter glared at her for a few seconds, as if to make sure she could see his displeasure. When he shifted his gaze to Draco, the blond couldn't help but gulp, quickly hiding the action by offering the other wizard his sweetest smile. "Nice to see you again, Potter," he said as pleasantly as he could, despite the fact that he was one big bundle of nerves. Potter was a Gryffindor, and surely Gryffindors would be more accepting – and hopefully, lenient – if he acted like a decent bloke. Or was he mistaking the house with Hufflepuff? Shit.

Potter blinked. A hand went up to rub at the back of his head, and in that gesture, Draco could finally see the resemblance to that scrawny, bespectacled boy he had been in Hogwarts. For some reason, that reassured him, and he relaxed slightly.

"You're…not a Death Eater?" Potter asked, looking uncertain.

From the expression on his face, Draco knew Potter was thinking of their sixth year and the abominable mess he'd made of his mission. Thinking about how far he had come, the blond gave a self-deprecating smile. He rubbed gently over the Mark, which showed no signs of damage from the fire. "This thing is impossible to get off; I've tried."

Potter nodded slowly. Looking lost in thought, he glanced at Olivia before turning back to Draco. "Alright, if Olivia didn't deem it necessary to kill you, I won't. But," he glared menacingly at Draco. "You did just kill one of my aurors. We are trying our best to keep some shred of normalcy back home, so you will stand trial just like everyone else who committed a crime."

Just then, another voice joined their conversation. "Is that really necessary, Harry?"

Despite himself, Draco flinched. His voice was exactly the same: still light, still gentle, and impossibly unchanging regardless of the terror of war around him.

Potter looked momentarily surprised, staring at the speaker with raised eyebrows. It was clear that everyone else was looking at the speaker as well, but Draco determinedly kept his gaze on the ground in front of him.

"It's self-defense. What could he have done instead? Let Clarke torture him and murder him?"

"We'll determine that when we put him on trial." Potter's voice was definite. There was a moment of silence in which Draco was sure Potter was giving the speaker a curious look. Finally, one shoulder rose in a shrug and Potter turned to the rest of the group.

"Everyone, pitch your tents here. Yes, I know that Arx is just right there, but Voldemort's apparently gone for the moment. Seamus, Parvati, raise a shield and barrier. That was one hell of a battle, and I'm sure you're all exhausted, so we'll start off for the anti-apparition border tomorrow morning. Olivia, you take first watch. Draco," The blond jerked his head up to look back into those green eyes, only to look quickly back down when dark spots suddenly appeared at the corners of his vision. He swayed a little, only regaining his balance when Olivia gripped him tightly on his upper arm.

Unfortunately, her strong hands were not gentle, and the wound in his shoulder flared excruciatingly. Draco gasped and wrenched himself away from her, only succeeding in losing his balance and tipping inevitably over.

Before he crashed to the ground, however, a hand shot out to grab the arm attached to his uninjured shoulder and another arm curled around the side of his waist. It happened too fast, and Draco barely noticed as he waited blindly for the dizziness in his head to subside.

Once stabilized, Draco froze, attempting to understand the fact that currently, not only was Harry fucking Potter practically hugging him, but the man who Draco had forced himself to forget also had his hand wrapped tightly on his arm. Forcing the whirlwind of emotions inside him to calm down, his mind floundered as it tried to think up of something to say to get out of this…slightly awkward situation.

"You know," he started, attempting to keep his tone light despite his heartbeat stuttering faster and faster. "It's not as if I don't appreciate your help, but I think I can stand on my own now."

Quicker than lightning, Potter released him, causing Draco to wince when he jostled his injured ribs. The other man did not follow Potter's example, however, and continued to hold on tightly to his arm. Draco ignored the contact, determined not to let it bother him. He focused his eyes on his childhood enemy instead, taking note of the slight tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks.

"R-right. Sorry," Potter stuttered. Before Draco could comment on Potter's sudden awkwardness, the green eyes shot to the rest of his team and his face swiftly changed back into the calm and collected, if slightly exasperated, expression of a leader. "Why aren't the tents and shields up yet?"

With that one question, the group burst into life; wizards and witches scattered off, Finnigan and Patil running off a little ways in order to erect both a shield and an illusion barrier that was similar to the one Voldemort used to hide his reign from the rest of the world.

The only ones left by Draco were Olivia, the scarred Weasley, Potter, and…

"Dean," Potter's voice was hesitant. "I know you're probably tired from healing Bill's team, but can you take care of Malfoy for now? I can get Ginny to help, but without her wand-"

"It's fine," Dean cut him off. His hand tightened even more around Draco's arm. The sudden extra pain startled him, but he refused to let it show.

Potter's eyebrows rose, but he shrugged. "Alright. Malfoy seems cooperative so far, but even so, search him before you heal him." Sparing Draco one last glance, he then gestured to the scarred Weasley and turned toward a larger tent currently being pitched by an overzealous Creevey. "Bill, it's a bit overdue, but how about giving me your mission report?"

As a he watched Potter walk away – with his wand, unfortunately – Draco found himself a little surprised at how well Potter handled his leadership. He looked comfortable at giving orders, and people rushed to obey him, not because they feared him, but because they felt compelled to. He was the bloody hero, after all. Of course, Draco really shouldn't be surprised, what with that little group Potter had led in fifth year.

The blond was jerked out of his reverie when Olivia shifted near him. The clicking of her guns was still a foreign sound to his ears. "Good job, kid. You survived. Potter usually isn't merciful to Death Eaters, but I'm glad you're an exception." When Draco opened his mouth to reply, the woman cut him off with a hand gesture. "I know, I know. You're not a Death Eater. Now, excuse me while I go climb that sorry excuse of a tree and take my guard duty."

After concealing the handgun in her vest to instead cradle her long rifle in her arms, Olivia started off briskly, leaving Draco finally alone with Dean.

In the moment of silence that followed, Draco felt distinctly uncomfortable. He hadn't seen the man in four years. How should he act? What should he say? Honestly, he didn't want to even look at the man, much less talk to him.

"Draco?" His voice was uncertain. When Draco refused to say anything, the wizard sighed and tugged on his arm. "C'mon, it looks like Colin's finished with the infirmary. Let's go get you fixed up."

Wordlessly, with eyes fixed to the ground, Draco allowed himself to be led to a tent a little distance away from a cluster of smaller tents. Potter's tent dominated the middle of the encampment, complete with its own wooden door and tiny, glass windows.

Draco was tired, and in pain, and tired, and hungry, and not to mention tired, but he refused to succumb to his body's weakness and carried his own weight throughout the trek. Damned if he was going to let the other man carry him like some damsel in distress.

Nevertheless, he was relieved when they pushed aside the flaps to enter a cool, spacious room. One wall held nothing but shelves and shelves of jars, vials, towels, and other supplies. In the corner was a thin door leading to what was probably the washroom. There were four beds in total, all of which looked identical to the ones in Hogwart's infirmary. Gloomily, Draco recalled those beds as not being particularly comfortable. But then again, he'd slept on worse.

Dean finally released him, placing a hand in the small of his back and giving him a gentle push. "Go on, then. Pick a bed."

Biting back a sharp remark about his touching him, Draco made his way to the bed closest to the entrance. He tried not to let his relief show when he collapsed on the white sheets, allowing his muscles to relax and alleviating much of the pressure that his abused ribs had suffered. The bed – more of a cot, really – was firm under him. Draco felt as if he laid on a piece of wood, but in his condition, it was practically heaven.

Dean was currently shuffling around the shelves, pulling different colored pastes and liquids from different cupboards and measuring amounts into a small bowl. The faint smell of mint filled the air, refreshing in Voldemort's dusty wasteland.

After he convinced himself that the Gryffindor would be too busy to notice, Draco turned his head a bit from his pillow to peek at the other wizard. From where he was watching, Dean Thomas had not changed much. Granted, his hair went from a poufy mini-afro to closely shaven, but everything else was the same. His straight posture, his dark, smooth skin, his quick hands, his—

Draco quickly shifted his eyes away when Dean turned back toward him, holding a bowl filled to the brim with a light green paste.

After he set the bowl on the nightstand, Dean made himself comfortable on the side of the bed, seemingly ignoring the faint look of irritation that passed through Draco's face.

Although he kept his eyes on his hands resting on his stomach, he could feel the other man's gaze on him. It was unnerving, yet Draco still couldn't find the courage to meet the dark eyes. He was afraid, honestly. He was afraid of how he'll react. It had been so long since they had seen each other, and Draco had so successfully blocked any thoughts of Dean from his mind that it left him rather at a lost now that he was facing the wizard once again.

It was annoying, sure. This irrational fear. He had no qualms about infiltrating his targets' homes and making it pass their pet dementors. He didn't bat an eye when it came to murdering those targets. There was no hesitation when he risked his sanity to view his victims' memories in his head. But to look into Dean's eyes…Draco was afraid.

"Draco." His voice was gentle. Always so gentle when he spoke to him. "It's been awhile." When Draco continued his stubborn silence, Dean sighed.

Another few minutes of tense silence passed until the Gryffindor suddenly sat up straighter on the bed.

"I'm sorry" he said abruptly. "I know it doesn't cut it, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I've never stopped regretting the choice I made. Even now, I still regret it."

Draco looked up at that, finally meeting the brown eyes that he had convinced himself he'll never see again. When there was no jolt of the stomach or an increase in his heart rate or any of the things he feared he would feel, Draco felt himself loosen up slightly. With renewed confidence, he shrugged. "No, you don't regret it. A choice between family and murderers…it's no choice at all. Leave it, Thomas. It's been four years."

Dean frowned and lifted his hand as if to touch Draco's face. Before Draco could make it known that it would be a very bad idea, he thought better of it and allowed his hand to drop back down on the bed.

"I don't think you're a murderer." When Draco raised an eyebrow at him, Dean smiled sadly. "I tried looking for you, you know. After I found her and took her home, I tried looking for you." His voice sounded so remorseful that Draco couldn't help but feel a tinge of pity. "I knew how stubborn you could be, and I gave up, knowing I will never find you if you didn't want to be found. I'm sorry."

Draco narrowed his eyes, the realization that Dean did not know hitting him quite hard. However, the slump in the once proud and cocky shoulders prevented Draco from telling him exactly where the hell he had been. The guilt could very well kill the Gryffindor. However, his insides had warmed upon hearing that Dean tried looking for him, and Draco felt any reluctance in facing Dean fading away.

"I don't want to hear your apologies," Draco replied. He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible. It was not hard, as his exhaustion was quite effective in rendering his tone almost monotonous. "You said you took her home," Draco brought up, fighting his heavy eyelids. "Where is she exactly?"

"I brought her with us...to Sanctuary. We had her funeral there. Draco, I'm sorry. It's all my fault she's-"

"Shut up." Draco struggled to lift his arm, which suddenly weighed a ton, to rub his face wearily, trying to keep himself awake.

Losing the fight, his eyelids dropped closed and clouds of unconsciousness steadily overtook his mind. "Hey Dean?" he managed to mumble.

"Yes?"

"You didn't search me like Potter ordered you to."

"No, I didn't." After a pause, Draco felt a hesitant hand on his arm. "I trust you, Draco. That hasn't changed, even after four years."

Draco didn't know how to respond to that, so he chose not to. Instead, he stated the obvious, "You fucking drugged me, didn't you."

Dean chuckled before he replied. "Yes. I know personally how horrible a patient you are. When you wake up, you'll be as good as new, I promise."

"Sneaky prick," Draco muttered, but he didn't feel as annoyed as he thought he should be. "You shouldn't, you know."

"Hmm?" Dean's voice sounded incredibly close right now. The smell of mint became stronger, and Draco vaguely felt a cool substance being rubbed onto his arms.

"Trust me. You shouldn't trust me," Draco managed before he succumbed and fell into a deep sleep.

O_O

AN: I know it seems like Draco/Dean but please be patient! Their history is really important to the rest of the story, so bear with me if their (past) relationship annoys you. I'm so excited; I've got a solid outline for the rest of the story in my head. All I gotta do now is write it all down! Easier said than done…I have so much homework this month. Damn.

Hope you'll stay tuned and review!