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 7

It wasn't without a little reluctance when Draco opened his eyes, the image of Pansy's face quickly fading from his mind. He continued to lie still for a few moments, staring at the blank canvas ceiling of the infirmary tent, thinking.

He hadn't thought of Pansy in years. His short imprisonment under the Death Eaters' less than tender care did not give him any opportunities to mourn her, and the years after his leave from the Arx had kept him too busy to spare his old friend anything more than a few days of moping. Draco sighed quietly, closing his eyes again in an almost desperate attempt to bring back the memory of her. He missed her.

"Draco? Are you feeling any pain?"

The voice involuntarily made Draco squeeze his eyes shut harder, such a burning anger erupting suddenly within him that it caught him off guard. He sighed again, willing his emotions back under firm control, and opened his eyes. He shouldn't feel that way, he tried to tell himself. Dean hadn't had any choice; he did nothing wrong.

"Not much," Draco answered. The blond used his arms to carefully lever himself up to a sitting position, smiling slightly at the Healer sitting on the edge of the nearby cot. "You've improved much since I last saw you."

Dean gazed at him critically for a few seconds and seemed to come to a decision, because he smiled kindly and shrugged off the compliment. "I've had plenty of practice," he replied flippantly. Then, he swallowed and took a deep breath, causing Draco to raise an eyebrow. "Draco, I know I owe you an explanation…about four years ago. About how the Death Eaters found you."

In an instant, the anger returned quickly within him, and Draco narrowed his eyes at Dean's earnest expression. The anger burned his insides, instantaneously sharpening his senses and chasing away the last vestiges of weariness that weighed on his body like a second skin. Draco worked extremely well with anger – it had fueled his determination in the last few years, after all – but he knew Dean didn't deserve it, despite the heavy cost of the choice he made four years ago. He knew this, and he will repeat it over and over until his body understood.

After Draco successfully stifled the anger once again, he looked away to the entrance of the tent, noting the predawn light showing through the cracks. "I've heard enough," Draco finally replied, forcing a neutral tone. "Your family was threatened. Like I said, a choice between your family and me is no choice at all."

Dean shook his head violently, his hands forming into tight fists. "No. It was the hardest choice I've ever had to make, even to this day." He smiled bitterly. "And I'm no longer sure whether I made the right choice." When Draco gazed at him in question, Dean shrugged resignedly. "It wasn't just you I was giving up. It was all of Tier 3…all of London. Thanks to you, Tier 3 became a home, rather than a prison. The streets were safer, and people were getting fed, and…and everyone worked together instead of killing each other. I don't know if you've been back recently," Dean paused and swallowed. He looked down and scowled at his fists. "But ever since I betrayed you, our district has reverted back to the hell it was when Voldemort first defeated the Ministry."

Draco snorted, causing Dean to look up at him sharply. "It figures that muggles would ruin all my work." When Dean gave him a disbelieving look, Draco shrugged. "You're painting quite a pretty picture of me. Don't you remember the reasons why I wanted London?"

"It doesn't matter what your reasons were. It mattered that you saved the city." Dean's eyes flashed fiercely, the words coming out harsh in vehemence. "London was abandoned by Voldemort when he grew bored with us, and even the Ministry saw fit to leave London for dead. You were the only one who bothered to salvage what was left, and you saved thousands of muggles and muggleborns because of that. You may believe you did it because you enjoyed the power, but it doesn't change the fact that you saved a lot of lives." Dean slouched and suddenly, he appeared to be much older than his twenty-seven years. "And I've destroyed everything that you've worked so hard for."

"Oh, shut up," Draco said, grimacing as he swung his legs off the side of the bed so that they sat face-to-face. The tight brace wrapped around his middle and bandages around his shoulder limited his movements, but most of the pain he had felt yesterday was gone, and he was grateful for that. "Did you forget that Death Eaters were the ones who destroyed the city? And bitter, angry victims were responsible for making Tier 3 such a shithole place to live? If you want to blame someone, blame them."

When Dean showed no signs that he was listening, Draco reached across the small space between them and laid a hand on the other's shoulder. Waiting until the dark brown eyes rose to meet his own, Draco offered an uncharacteristically gentle smile, and said, "I've forgiven you, and that unnecessary guilt you're still bearing will only annoy me."

Dean leaned into his touch, a mournful expression stealing over his face. "Who did we lose? It's been four years, but I only know of Pansy…" his voice drifted off, and his eyes were full of pain.

"Greg is safe, as well as Blaise, Theodore, and Millicent," With a small jolt of guilt, Draco realized he should probably try and contact them and inform them of his whereabouts. He stifled the feeling, however, reasoning that they were probably much too far away for him to get a hold of them mentally. "Everyone else…dead, I think. There may be scattered survivors, but I haven't found anyone so far. Then again, I haven't been back there since Pansy died." Draco returned his hand to his lap, fingers playing with the bandages wrapped around his burns. "I also heard about your mother." He noticed Dean stiffen in his peripheral vision. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Dean was frowning now. "She died trying to protect my sisters…she was much more honorable than me." He blinked furiously as if to keep tears from falling. He sounded bitter. "When they killed her and turned their wands to Clara, I fucking broke down in front of them, Draco. Fighting didn't even occur to me. I didn't get out my wand, or even tried to negotiate with the bastards. I just fucking told them your location. I didn't even try to lie."

"As you should," Draco said quietly. "They would've killed you and your family otherwise."

Dean stared, his throat convulsing erratically as he swallowed. After a few moments of silence, he chuckled disbelievingly. "God, Draco. You're too good to me. I don't deserve it." Before Draco could react to those words, he stood up, letting out an explosive sigh. "Thank you. Thank you for speaking with me, and your forgiveness…I don't deserve it, but thank you, Draco. You have no idea how glad I was when I saw you coming with Olivia. We've infiltrated the Arx a few times, but I've never seen you, so I assumed you were in hiding these past four years."

Draco heard the unspoken question in his last sentence, and debated with himself on whether he should tell him exactly how he had spent the last few years. Dean was clearly well embedded within Potter's organization, and Draco wasn't sure if he wanted the Order of the Phoenix or the Ministry of Magic to hear of his activities. At least, not yet.

However, looking at Dean's expectant face reminded him nostalgically of their adventures in Tier 3. Together, with assistance and supplies from his contacts on the continent, they had slowly rebuilt a civilized district, and although it was far from perfect, it was miles better than the chaos that Voldemort had left in the wake of his destruction. His Slytherins had acted as a merciless police force, beating down power hungry opponents that threatened to upset Draco's efforts of creating his envisioned city. Dean and a few other muggleborns had been invaluable at garnering the muggles' trust of Draco and his friends. In the end, people had recognized his role as leader, and well, Draco must admit that the power was intoxicating. Addicting. Stimulating. Who could blame him when he had wanted more?

He'd always wondered where they would be right now if he had curbed his greed and stayed away from the territories belonging to other leaders. If he had stayed with Dean that day, could they have beaten off the Death Eaters together? Perhaps Death Eaters wouldn't even be targeting Tier 3 if his actions hadn't returned the city to Voldemort's attention. If so, would Pansy, Vincent, Daphne, and the rest…would they all still be alive?

Draco gripped his hands together harshly, and the still tender skin burned sharply in retaliation. Brooding about the past and wondering on what-ifs were useless. His gaze searched Dean's familiar face, a face that only yesterday, he had thought he would no longer be able to stand the sight of, and came to a decision. Despite the lingering anger he still felt toward this wizard, his fondness of him overshadowed it. There was no harm in telling Dean about his activities during their separation. Well, not all of his activities. He still wanted his secrets.

"I found the remainder of my team a couple years ago, with Theo acting as the temporary leader. With their help, I've been doing the same thing I was doing when I first met you." Draco smiled grimly.

Dean nodded. "Assassinations," he said, not making it into a question.

Draco nodded back, flicking imaginary dust off the sleeve of the shirt that someone had lent him. Probably Dean's. He noted that his belt of poisons was absent from his waist, making him frown slightly, but he didn't bother to comment on it. "Except the targets had changed. We weren't interested in stealing territories anymore. We were hunting Death Eaters."

Dean's eyes flashed in a moment of understanding. "Those Death Eaters that we found dead, that was your work?"

"Most likely," Draco smirked. "All of those Death Eaters responsible for the majority of my team's deaths are all dead now. Macnair was the last one, thanks to Potter."

This knowledge made Dean blink, and from the expression on his face, he didn't know quite how to react. "You were after revenge all this time?" he finally asked. He didn't look too pleased, and Draco felt a small spark of annoyance.

"Knowing me, are you surprised?" Draco threw back at him. "The one who murdered your mother, I killed him too. You should be thanking me." He had watched the drama of her death unfold not too long ago in his own head, with the help of the tiny wisp of memory that was now stored somewhere in the Forbidden Forest among many others. Of course, he wasn't going to tell Dean about that.

Dean nodded, although his face remained emotionless. "And now what? Now that you've gotten your revenge, what will you do?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It seems to me that I'm stuck with you for the time being."

His comment jerked Dean into surprise, and then a wide smile stole across his face. "Yes. I shouldn't be complaining. I'm truly happy to see you again."

Draco answered with a smile, but before he could say anything, a head poked through the entrance flap. "Dean, we're leaving in half an hour, but best if you finished up here in ten minutes so I can wrap up this tent. Breakfast's served outside, if you're hungry."

"Sure, Colin," Dean said, and the head poked back out, not bothering to give even one glance at Draco. The blond curled his lips slightly in distaste.

"Does Potter make it a habit to stick only Gryffindors into squads?" he asked bitterly.

Dean chuckled. "Of course not. You're just unlucky."

Draco sighed. "Yesterday was full of bad luck for me," he agreed. He quirked a smile, and stood up off the bed, coming up to the same height as Dean. "Although, I guess I don't mind it now that I've found you again."

The pleasant surprise on Dean's face not only made Draco laugh, but it also made the upcoming breakfast with a group of Gryffindors seem less daunting.

But not by much.

O_O

He had felt them staring. From their first steps into this particular district of Tier 3, Harry felt the sidelong glances and even outright gawking. Heads had turned to follow their progress down the cluttered, meandering street. Men and women weakened from hunger or fatigue somehow found the energy to hold their gazes on them, and the growing tension made Harry's muscles tighter and tighter as he readied himself for the unknown.

Now, there were whispers. Low murmurs among the small groups lounging solemnly against cracked building walls and streetlights. A flurry of activity to his right caused his hand to twitch and tighten around his wand hidden up his sleeve. When nothing happened, he forced himself to loosen his grip, repeatedly reminding himself that even one measly spell may bring forth dozens of Death Eaters within a second of his casting. Sensing that more and more people were turning toward him, his arms crossed tighter around himself, the hand hidden within his sleeve veiled from outsiders. If only he could cast a couple disillusionment charms and escape those empty eyes.

Death Eaters were such a nuisance.

Harry gritted his teeth, wondering at the cause of attention. His journey through this exact street before had brought about some interest, but not to this scale. He wore no distinguishable uniform. He had not cast any spells that triggered the sensors. To the untrained eye, he was completely normal. Just another poor soul trapped in this modern hell.

His eyes glanced surreptitiously to his left, where a sullen Malfoy was following closely at his side. Despite the seriousness of the injuries he had gotten the day before, the blond walked with a lazy grace that belied the existence of his wounds. His shoulders were slouched, his hands were stuffed into pockets, and long platinum wisps partially hid his eyes. Though Harry knew he was looking at a man dangerous enough to have killed Clarke and gotten away alive, Malfoy appeared to him like a sulking teenager. Harry inwardly rolled his eyes. Trust this git to refuse to grow up.

Harry's eyes continued to sweep all around them, though he was careful to avoid connecting gazes with any of those still staring. He recalled this morning's breakfast, when Malfoy had surprised everyone with his guarded politeness. He hadn't even reacted when Seamus threw him some harsh words over Clarke's murder. It was when he had brought up their plans to cut through Tier 3 that Malfoy displayed signs of concern.

"Why can't we go around it?" he had asked, making the group stare at him in amazement.

Harry had raised an eyebrow and explained that he would rather walk through a city of muggles than continue to traipse through a terrain inhabited freely and copiously by Voldemort's dark creatures, the sole purpose of which was to destroy anyone who dared to escape the city. It was common knowledge, and nobody was fool enough to take those chances.

Malfoy had frowned, and had promptly told Harry that he would risk it and would meet back up with him at the edges of Voldemort's anti-apparition barrier.

Harry almost chuckled at the memory, but the weight of the stares prevented even a twitch of his lips. If he were to be totally honest with himself, he wasn't exactly sure why he wanted Malfoy to stick with them. Was it really so important to have the Wizengamot judge him? Their cells were filled with prisoners of war, but does Malfoy constitute as one of them? He claimed he was no longer a Death Eater, but really, how could Harry believe him?

In the end, Harry had only shook his head and continued with his plan. One of the main duties of aurors was to bring in enemy soldiers, and Harry had been quite lacking in that regard. Death Eaters who had the luck of facing Harry usually ended up too dead to make the journey back to Sanctuary. Furthermore, Malfoy deserved to see the family Clarke left behind, see the consequences of his actions. He had effectively taken away their only hope of returning to sanity.

And so the group had split up into pairs – those with a wand coupled with those without – and with Olivia under his invisibility cloak to hide her weapons, the group entered Tier 3 with the goal of meeting up at the far end of the city, where a sizable stretch of a magically created forest separated Tier 3 from Tier 2.

"Oy!"

The call jerked Harry out of his thoughts, and after considering for a split second, he turned his head to see an emaciated man wobbling precariously toward them. He paused in his steps and once again, his hand tightened further around his wand.

The man's greasy hair hung over his face, hiding his features, but the lack of any weapons – and even clothing – on his body did not give him an appearance of danger. Harry didn't know why he stopped to wait for the man, especially when it was obvious they had an attentive audience.

"Yes?" he asked when the man came a sufficient distance of them. Subconsciously, he edged in front of Malfoy, covering the wizard from the stranger's line of sight. When he realized what he was doing, he shrugged it off. Malfoy was wandless, after all. He was his prisoner, so Harry had to be responsible for him. He was acutely aware of the stares growing in intensity as the stranger stepped closer.

Once Harry caught sight of the reddened eyes, he realized that the man wasn't interested in him. Dilated pupils wandered past Harry's shoulders, and Harry, following the line of sight, looked at Malfoy suspiciously. The blond hadn't moved from his sulking posture, and when he caught Harry's gaze, he crossed his eyes in response.

"You're back, then?" the stranger asked just as Harry began to narrow his own eyes. "You'll fix this place again?"

Confused, Harry looked back at the man, just in time to notice a red light trailing sporadically over the man's chest. Before he could shout a warning, the thin chest exploded in a mist of red and the body barely made a thud as it fell to the ground.

Harry's first instinct was to pull out his wand and start casting shields, but he suppressed it and grabbed Malfoy's wrist instead. Physically dragging a petulant Malfoy away from the crossfire of an unknown shooter wasn't exactly ideal, but he would rather not bring in Death Eaters and be forced to defend them from two different enemies.

"No use, Potter," Malfoy said – the first words he'd spoken since they entered the city – and pointed toward the rooftops of the buildings lining each side of the street.

Harry looked up and cursed when he counted at least six hunched figures looking over the edges of several buildings, the long barrel of their guns following their erratic journey down the street. He flinched when another shot rang out, and a woman, barely out of her teens, yelled out in pain and collapsed in front of him, a blooming spot of red on her thin blouse.

Harry ground to a halt, with Malfoy close behind, and glared at the woman's shooter atop a gray, derelict building distinguished by green shutters. He had seen the brief flash at the corner of his eyes and for a split second, he had almost wandlessly cast a shield and thereby brought a whole slew of Death Eaters to their position. He glanced down at the dead woman and a tinge of guilt knotted his stomach.

He looked back up when he heard footsteps approaching to see almost a dozen men coming out of the buildings toward them. Some even jumped out of windows a couple stories high. Various pieces of weaponry were held in their hands, and although it provided Harry little comfort, he noticed that only a few of those approaching held handguns. The riflemen on the rooftops didn't move. He flexed his fingers rapidly as the handguns were lifted toward them.

A hiss from Malfoy made Harry glance at him. He quickly looked back at the enemies, but not before taking note of the sudden flash of pure hatred in the gray eyes. His stomach flipped uneasily. "Know these people, Malfoy?"

Malfoy snorted in answer. Harry heard him shift slightly on his feet. "Take your leash off me, Potter."

Harry shook his head. "Can't. A finite will still bring Death Eaters."

"Fuck," Malfoy spat. "My wand?"

"Dean has it," Harry answered. "Besides, you using magic will attract Death Eaters all the same."

"Fuck, Potter. Do you or do you not kill Death Eaters for a living?" Malfoy sounded annoyed, but a tense edge underlined his words, causing alarm bells to start ringing in Harry's head. He hadn't heard Malfoy's voice waver like that in all the six years that he'd known him, except of course, for that moment he faced Dumbledore atop Astronomy Tower.

The group of men had come to surround them, blocking Harry's vision of the audience on the street. Despite the danger, none of them thought it necessary to leave. But then again, this group had no interest in the muggles watching them. Steady hands held their weapons as the men stared at Harry and Draco with unwavering eyes, their bodies angled toward one particular man standing a few steps further away. This man, judging from his stance and clothing, appeared to be their leader. Despite the man carrying no visible weapons in his hands and so shouldn't be as much as a threat, Harry's eyes were drawn to him.

A wiry, brown beard had taken over the man's face, but sharp eyes stood out clearly against the darkened skin. He wore pressed, black trousers, tucked neatly into shined boots, and a long, tan overcoat rested upon his shoulders, partially covering the silk shirt but in no way hiding the gilt holster strapped around his waist. At first glance, the man reeked of power and wealth, and at second glance, the man reeked of danger, a sly and disgusting danger that seemed a world apart from Voldemort himself. He stuck out sorely in this city of poverty, and the ease with which he moved suggested he was no stranger to combat.

The man had waited courteously for Harry to finish his conversation with Malfoy, and when he saw that Harry wasn't going to answer, he took a step forward. "This is really just bizarre," he said by way of greeting. His accent was rough and uncultured, despite the richness of his appearance. "My eyes must be lying, cuz they're tellin' me that I'm lookin' at a dead man."

Malfoy took a step forward, coming shoulder-to-shoulder with Harry. "No need to be so dramatic, Sylvester. We're just passing through."

The man chuckled, but his eyes did not hold mirth. "I'm called Sell, you little shit. And I would very much like to know why the fuck you're back. Last time I checked, the Raven is dead and this district is mine. This entire fucking Tier 3 is mine."

Harry couldn't help himself. "The Raven?" he asked, turning toward Malfoy.

Malfoy gave him a sidelong glance, a slight smile on his lips though his eyes were still tense. "My pet bird."

Although the smile surprised him, Harry nodded in understanding. "Ah, a raven."

"Yeah."

"I see you more of a snake person."

"You would."

"Or maybe a hippogriff."

"Fuck you."

"What happened to that eagle of yours? Or was it a falcon?" Malfoy was looking at him as if wondering if Harry had lost his mind. A flicker of movement on a nearby rooftop caught Harry's eye, and he smiled reassuringly back at Malfoy.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you." Sell glared ferociously at Draco and raised his hand, which had removed the shined, antique revolver from its matching holster. "You were never meant to die by my hands, Raven, but I would never throw away fate's gift so readily. This carries six shots…four more than I need to kill both you and your minion."

Harry spluttered. "Minion?" He shifted on his feet, positioning himself slightly in front of Malfoy again. His eyes scanned quickly across the rooftops, and this time, his mouth curled into a grin. "I apologize, but I think you're mistaken; I'm not the minion. The lovely lady standing behind you is the minion." Sell started and whirled around, lifting his gun haphazardly and causing the men on each side of him to flinch. Harry lifted an arm dramatically and pointed a finger in the air. Surprisingly, the men looked up. "Go minion!"

There was moment of stunned confusion before a small tinkle sound made the group look back toward the ground. Harry smacked a hand over Malfoy's eyes, ignoring his indignant squawk and rapidly closed his own. His other hand grabbed Malfoy's shoulder and slammed him to the ground, and before Sell could take aim, Olivia's grenade burst, letting out a flash of light that caused dozens of surprised yells and stray bursts of gunfire to fill the air.

Harry had started moving even before the flash ended, blindingly reaching out and knocking as many men unconscious as he could. Efficient and brutal, his hands struck out into stomachs, necks, chests, and heads, with eyes shut tight all the while. He wrenched weapons away and threw them, absently hoping that he hadn't inadvertently thrown something at Olivia or Malfoy. Some men tried to put up a fight, but Olivia's grenade effectively blinded victims for a good five minutes, which was more than enough time for Harry and Olivia to do quick work among the muggles.

"Harry! It's clear!"

Seamus's voice cut clearly through the moans and curses of Sell's men. Harry opened his eyes and immediately found Malfoy picking himself up off the ground amid the chaos of abandoned weapons and unconscious bodies, his face pale and cross. Fighting a smile, Harry looked up toward the roof of the office building behind him and waved to Seamus, who stood next to a bound and gagged muggle, or more specifically, the murderer of that old man who had first approached them. Bill stood up next to him and gave Harry a quick thumbs up.

Harry hurriedly scanned the rest of the rooftops, a feeling of satisfaction growing inside him as he saw the rest of both his team and Bill's, each of them with a similarly tied up prisoner.

Suddenly, Ginny's voice shouted out. "Get moving! More men incoming from the south!"

Harry whirled around, and sure enough, he could see people running toward them on the street, as well as jumping from roof to roof to get to their positions. A surge of adrenaline brought Harry to Malfoy's side in almost no time, and once again, he swiftly grabbed Malfoy's wrist, yanking him roughly to a run. With little difficulty, they navigated the strewn bodies on the ground and escaped the small area of carnage to continue on the cracked pavement. Stunned muggles lining the street stared at them as they ran, but thankfully, made no moves to stop them.

Hearing invisible footsteps and panting breath beside him, Harry grinned. "Good work, Olivia. Couldn't have done it without you." A sudden smack to the back of his head almost had him stumbling, but he caught himself gracefully. He threw an injured look at where he assumed was the ex-M16's face.

"Minion, huh? I should've let the bastard shoot you." Olivia snarled.

Harry chuckled. "Sorry. If it's any consolation, I don't really see you as my minion."

"You better damn well not. It's no matter, anyway. I've snitched the idiot's pretty revolver. Consider it my compensation." Olivia's head suddenly appeared, revealing a crooked smile as she shook her hand free of the cloak to show Harry Sell's gun.

Harry laughed. Olivia gave him a wink before drawing his cloak back over her head and becoming completely invisible once again.

Harry continued running, his left hand gripping Malfoy tightly around his arm. Past gaunt faces, surprised faces, worn faces, and even lifeless faces, the three of them moved quickly down the street. At times, rubble or vehicles blocked their way, and they were forced to enter alleyways or buildings to continue onward. His teammates followed their progress high on the rooftops, some gaining access to the ground as they meet ladders or stairs.

The further they ran, the more Harry realized that Malfoy was slowing down until it became an effort for Harry to keep dragging him. "Malfoy, come on. If I leave you behind, the spell will knock you unconscious." He glanced behind him and the first thing he saw was the growing red stain on Malfoy's shoulder, the shoulder which was attached to the arm that Harry was currently pulling. "Oh shit!" he exclaimed, and stopped, immediately releasing his grasp.

"What are you doing?" Olivia hissed. "They're still following!" As if to punctuate her words, a few shots rang out, startling the crowd of muggles who had come out of a nearby building to look at the excitement. An invisible hand grabbed his shirt to propel him onward. "Grab the other arm, idiot!"

Harry wordlessly latched onto to Malfoy's other arm, and they continued on, albeit quite awkwardly. Malfoy was gasping loudly, but not making any other sound. Harry winced in guilt, remembering how hard he was pulling on Malfoy's injury as they ran. He winced again when he recalled slamming Malfoy to the ground on that exact same shoulder. The absolute hatred he had felt when he learned of Clarke's death was quite gone right now, and he wasn't sure if he preferred this guilt.

"Doing okay, Harry?" Colin, who had caught up with them after having to climb down a few flights of steps, asked a little breathlessly. Harry met his concerned eyes with a reassuring smile, indicating that he should look ahead.

"Almost at the northern gate," Parvati huffed, the wand that she had stolen back at the Arx held openly in her hand, although she knew not to use it in the city. "Is everyone accounted for?"

"Yeah," Harry heard from behind him. It was Ginny. "All nine, including the prisoner. At least, I'm hoping Olivia's still with us."

"I'm here," Olivia announced. "Fucking tired, though. Are they still chasing?"

"They are," Dean answered. He was somewhere to Harry's left. "They won't follow us past the gate."

Harry nodded, brushing aside the strange stubborn guilt clawing at his stomach as they came to the end of the city, and drew his wand. It felt good to feel the familiar grooves of the wood in his hand. "Once we clear the gate, Seamus, cast disillusionment charms on everyone. I'll mask our scent. The muggles may be easy to dispatch, but Voldemort's pets are a different matter."

Shouts and gunshots followed them right to the edge, and even when the group cleared the city's boundary, they could still see the red laser points tracing the ground. However, it was no use. Outside of Tier 3, or more importantly, outside the range of the magical sensors, Harry and his team were allowed to use their wands, and they wasted no time in casting as soon as they stepped one foot past the open gate.

Immediately, the group felt the sudden shift in environment. Compared to the oppressive depression that suffocated the city they had just left, this place they entered was worse, and very much so. The inhabitants of the land surrounding Tier 3 were dark creatures, monsters that understood nothing but hunger and desire. They fed off anything and everything, and their insatiable appetite did not allow for a pleasant atmosphere. The trees, the plants, even the sky appeared dimmed, as if something had sucked the life out of everything as it drew breath. Probably most disturbing of all, even to the most wary of travelers, the area was deserted. It was certain knowledge that monsters roamed the place, but they were not seen until they descended upon their prey. Muggles had absolutely zero chance of getting even five yards away from the city, and so they had stopped trying. Leaving Tier 3 guaranteed a horrible suicide.

Harry shivered. No matter how many times he had traversed across this place, he would never get used to the horrible feeling of dread and helplessness that accompanied the fear in his body. He was confident in his abilities, and he trusted his team to have his back, but nothing could alleviate the dark creatures' firm grasp on every living thing that dared to enter their home. Although Harry personally had never before lost a member to the monsters, he knew many good wizards and witches who hadn't had his same luck. In fact, more aurors and Order members died from dementors, werewolves, gytrashes, and even foreign creatures like pogrebins than Death Eaters.

Unbearably tense, Harry tightened his grip on Malfoy's wrist, the rapid pulse beneath his fingertips somewhat reassuring. The vision of Malfoy's smile came up in the front of Harry's mind, and he silently marveled at the easy sway of his behavior toward his one-time Hogwarts rival. He had teased the wizard in front of Sell without hesitation, and wasn't that just out of character for him? Harry wished he could glance back and see Malfoy's face, but everyone was currently as invisible to the world as Olivia under his invisibility cloak. Seamus, after all, was a master of obscuring things from view. He was also a master at blowing things up, but Harry knew better than to let him have too much free reign when it comes to that; friendly fire must always be taken into consideration on the battlefield, after all.

Harry flicked his wand again, silently recasting the spell to mask their scents. The uneven ground beneath his boots threw up clouds of dirt with every step, but there was no masking that. Wind moaned like trapped spirits around them, somehow amplifying the stillness that seemed to weigh down on their shoulders. If Harry hadn't known better, he would've suspected that the wind itself was a dark creature, slowly suffocating him by pushing up against his chest, unyielding.

Malfoy's wrist twisted inside his grip, reminding Harry that he was possibly stopping the blood flow to his hand. Slowly, he pried his fingers off of Malfoy, letting him go. It wasn't fair to treat Malfoy like some misbehaving child and yanking him from place to place. The spell he had cast on Malfoy before they left camp that morning would compel the blond to follow him, and even if he could fight the spell, a distance of greater than three meters would render him unconscious. It was the standard spell to use on prisoners, and it was only the thought of Clarke's children that prevented Harry from ending it.

And yet…Harry recalled the tense look on Malfoy's face as he stepped up to face Sell, and the look of pain on his face as they ran and yet had not uttered one complaint. He sighed, and his hand found Malfoy's wrist again, keeping his grip loose to allow Malfoy to break away. His teeth clenched tightly together as he waited for Malfoy to say something.

Surprisingly, he said nothing.

O_O

AN: Critiques and comments welcome =)