I've given up on giving up slowly

I'm blending in so you won't even know me, apart from this whole world that shares my fate

This one last bullet you mention, is my one last shot at redemption

Because I know to live you must give your life away

And I've been housing all this doubt and insecurity

And I've been locked inside this house, all the while you hold the key

And I've been dying to get out, and that might be the death of me

And even though, there's no way in knowing where to go, I promise I'm going because,

I gotta get outta here

I'm stuck inside this rut that I fell into by mistake

I gotta get outta here

And I'm begging you, I'm begging you, I'm begging you to be my escape

-Relient K

The room was deafening. The entire Weasley family, Hermione, plus two mediwizards were crammed together in the small white room, all attempting to talk over each other in order to be heard. Harry and Malfoy had been quickly brushed aside, left forgotten in the corner whilst the chaos ensued.

George, Percy, and Charlie were busy mixing potions at the direction of Bill and a tall mediwizard who had a beakish nose that nearly rivaled Snape's, while Mr. Weasley was in the process of telling off the other mediwizard for his negligence. In the meantime, Mrs. Weasley sat at Ginny's side, sobbing and stoking her daughter's hair. Hermione, as expected, was taking notes and handing them to Ron to organize.

Harry glanced over at Malfoy, trying not to remember how close he had been just minutes ago when Ginny had woken up. He couldn't help but feel as though he had been caught doing something wrong, like stealing a quill from a Professor…or challenging Hagrid to a game of wizards chess. He didn't know exactly why he felt that way. He hadn't done anything wrong. But the look Ginny had given him when she'd woken up—Harry swallowed against the hard lump in his throat. Something about it had his temper on edge.

"Potter," Malfoy groaned crossly, "there's a bit too much red in this room for my taste. It's starting to make me feel like a bull."

Harry turned to give Malfoy a heated look, frustration grasping at his nerves. "I thought we agreed that you weren't going to be an insufferable arse."

"And I thought you heard me say that even badgers have fangs," Malfoy said, sending Harry an arrogant smirk. "Besides that, you're in no position to be demanding things of me. You don't have anything that I want."

Harry gazed at Ron and Hermione and the flurry of parchment that was flying between them. "I know you may not know this, seeing as you're a Slytherin and all, but friendships don't exactly work that way."

"Sure they do," Malfoy replied archly. "You Gryffindors just like to look life through rose colored lenses. At their core all relationships are about the give and take." He said the words simply, as if they were so deeply seated in fact that there couldn't possibly be anything abnormal about them.

Shock made Harry's tongue clumsy. "Is that—is that how you really feel?"

Malfoy's sidelong glance was dubious. "Why would I make it up?"

"I don't know." Harry looked back at Ron and Hermione. "I just—that's not how I see relationships at all. That's not how it is with me, Ron, and Hermione at least."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Harry glared at him, annoyed to find Malfoy's face so cool and dispassionate. "Do you really insist on insulting them at every turn?"

"How else do you expect me to entertain myself?"

"You're impossible, you know that?" Harry crossed his arms tightly and turned away.

Malfoy laughed and hummed thoughtfully. "You say impossible, I say brilliant. All a matter of perspective."

"An arse by any other name is still an arse," Harry returned irately.

"Taking your frustrations out on Shakespeare now, are you?"

"If I'm frustrated it's only because you're frustrating."

"Hey, you're the one who asked me to come here, remember?"

Harry's mouth opened to reply, only to find that he had nothing to say. Malfoy was right, the bloody bastard.

"So," the Slytherin said, "if you don't mind, and it doesn't appear that you do, I'll be going home now." His voice was tainted with a hint of something dark.

Harry's heart gave a violent spin. Malfoy Manor—the place that had haunted Harry's dreams far too often as of late.

Malfoy began to weave his way toward the door, and his hand was already wrapped around the silver knob by the time Harry caught him—grabbing his arm with a tight anxiousness he had not meant to express. Malfoy turned, one of his brows arched. "What is it, Potter?"

"Will you be okay?" Harry asked, feeling his annoyance with Malfoy's stubbornness melt away into worry.

Malfoy's expression didn't change. "What nonsense are you spouting now?"

"Your father," Harry said, as if it was obvious. "I just want to make sure...to make sure that you're alright. With him."

Grey eyes moved across Harry's face, searching. "He's my father. Of course I'm alright with him."

Harry made a face that clearly expressed his disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"I'll see you next week, Potter," Malfoy glanced back at the Weasleys, his gaze lingering on Ginny, and in the next moment, he was gone.

Harry turned, his chest feeling suddenly heavy, as if he were lying under a pile of weights. He made his way towards Ginny's bed, feeling oddly separated from all the noise.

Upon seeing Malfoy leave, Ron set aside Hermione's notes and walked over to him, his freckled face pale with exhaustion. "Harry?" he questioned. "You all right? You look kind of pale."

"Fine." Harry forced a smile. "How's Ginny?"

Ron ran a broad hand through his hair. "The mediwizards say they can't find anything wrong with her…not physically at least. And they can't seem to find any sort of trace of magic on her showing that she might've been attacked." Ron sighed. "Hell, they don't even know where the blood came from—bunch of useless bastards," he finished in a mutter.

"Arthur, I want her home!" Mrs. Weasley's shrill voice broke over the commotion.

Harry and Ron craned their necks to look back at the source of the sudden burst of volume. Mrs. Weasley was still huddled over her daughter, her eyes red and blotched from crying. Back hunched, Mr. Weasley stood over his wife, still in his pajamas and nightcap, looking deeply vulnerable. "Molly, her room is destroyed. I'm not even sure if the Burrow is safe—"

"We have other rooms!" Mrs. Weasley returned, her eyes flashing. "She can stay in ours!"

"But, Molly—"

"Don't you fight me on this, Arthur! Don't you dare!" The room stilled around her, and Mrs. Weasley's eyes bulged as they overflowed with fresh tears. She raised a quivering hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry, Arthur," her voice trembled. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell, I just…"

Mr. Weasley encircled his wife in his arms, whispering gentle words into her ear until her sobbing subsided. "We'll take her home, Molly," he reassured. "She'll be fine."

Harry spent almost every evening at the Weasley's that week, at Mrs. Weasley's insistence. It wasn't that he minded being there, for Ginny's sake, but there was something tepid growing in the Burrow's walls that had his nerves on edge. Dark magic had touched Ginny once more, no matter what the mediwizards and Aurors said—Harry could feel it like a cold wind on the back of his neck every time she looked at him.

But regardless of what Harry felt, no one could find any rhyme or reason why Ginny Weasley's room had burst into a pile of splinters. The Weasleys had not taken this news well. Every time Harry entered the house he could feel the tension tighten the air, like a pulled spring ready to snap.

"Harry?"

The sound of Ginny's voice pulled him back. Harry blinked, Ginny's small form coming into focus once more. She was sitting in her parents bed, covers pulled up to her waist and looking very small. She smiled delicately at him.

"Sorry," Harry said, leaning back in his chair. "Didn't mean to drift off. I'm just tired I guess."

"It's been a long day," Ginny replied gently. "You don't have to stay so late you know."

"I don't mind." And he didn't. He just wished that this feeling of unease would go away. But no matter how long he sat here, he couldn't seem to shake it. Distantly, he could hear George and Charlie fighting downstairs.

Ginny glanced at the door as she started braiding her hair. "They've been doing that a lot lately."

"I've noticed."

"They're scared I think. After what happened to me."

She said 'Malfoy'. Harry nodded grimly. The question had been nagging at him all week, echoing repeatedly like a scratched record. But he'd never been able to bring himself to ask. No matter what way he phrased it, it felt like a betrayal…one way or another. But tomorrow was Saturday and he couldn't put it off anymore.

Guilt threaded Harry's words as he interrupted her. "Ginny, can I ask you a question?"

Ginny looked at him blankly. "Of course."

"Last Saturday morning," Harry felt himself fumble for words, "you said—well Ron said you said—Malfoy's name…after the attack" Harry slowed, searching for any change in expression in her bright freckled face. "What did you mean by it?"

"Oh," Ginny's voice fell thin. "I—Harry I really don't remember anything that happened. You know that."

Harry bit his lip. "Right."

"But I don't think it was him, if that's what you mean."

A thin thread of hope wound itself around Harry's heart. He leaned forward in his chair. "You don't?"

"I don't but…" Ginny shook her head, her hands falling from her braid. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder like a crimson wave. "I wish I wouldn't have said anything at all."

The thread snapped. "Why?"

"I don't think that it's really a secret that Ron was pretty upset about what happened. And—well—I've heard him talking with Hermione about…"

"About what?"

"I—I'm not sure I should say. I'm sure they won't really do it—they couldn't…"

The next moment saw Harry out of his chair, leaning over Ginny. "Ginny, what aren't you telling me?"

Ginny's dark eyes glimmered as they stared up at him. "They said that they're going to go after Malfoy."

"What?"

"Harry, there's no need to worry—they won't be able to get past Malfoy Manor's front gate—"

"They're going now?" Harry flinched back, looking towards the door. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't heard Ron or Hermione's voices for quite some time. But then, if they had already left… "Ginny, I have to go—I have to go after them."

"Harry…"

"Ginny," Harry pleaded, "if they hurt him…"

"Harry." Ginny grabbed his wrist and pulled him down towards her. Her hand slid against his jaw and guided him so that their lips met in the briefest touch of skin on skin. Harry's heart stuttered as he moved back, licking his lips and tasting the residue of her afternoon tea.

Ginny sighed softly. "Go."

The night was hot, causing Harry's shirt to stick to the perspiration that had already settled on his chest. It was eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the rustle of grass as a soft wind blew across the grounds. Harry pushed himself into a run, finding some release in the pain caused by the heavy air in his lungs and the burn in his legs.

He finally reached a small clearing, tucked discretely between the rise of two hills. Harry grabbed his wand from his jeans pocket, holding the long wooden instrument firmly in his hand. Harry closed his eyes and raised his wand, trying to get a clear image in his head. He fumbled through the fog of his mind for a picture, fearing for a suspended moment that he might have forgotten. And then he saw it; the tall black spires, the rich smoothed slate, the haze of grand gardens.

Destination. Determination. Deliberation. There was a violent jerking at Harry's chest, and all too soon he felt himself get sucked forward into oblivion.

Harry felt himself spinning as he was hurtled forward, his ears humming with sound of rushing air. With a sounding pop, Harry was thrown forward. He felt his legs buckle and give as he hit hard ground. He fell to his hands and knees, hissing in pain as they scraped against the gravel on the ground. And then the world went silent.

Harry opened his eyes, allowing his breathing to slow.

His gaze was immediately drawn up to the dark building before him. A brilliant moon brought out its eerie silhouette, and made the fog that covered the ground glow like ethereal clouds floating across a black abyss. It had only been a few months since he'd last been here, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Harry couldn't help but think about how perfect a place this had been for Voldemort's main headquarters—darkness and gloom seemed to hang around it like a cloak.

Malfoy Manor.

He looked around, but the grounds were pointedly empty: Ron or Hermione were nowhere in sight.

Harry gazed up at the wrought iron gate with only a minor feeling of trepidation. Maybe they had already gotten in. He moved forward, reaching out to grab for the gate. And then, a flash of blue, a piercing pain, and Harry was hurled backwards, feeling as if he had just been struck by lightning. He landed on the ground with a hard thump and his limbs went stiff.

Harry groaned in pain as he lay on his back, finding that he was unable to move his body more than a fraction of an inch. He beat his head against the gravel repeatedly, willing the pain from his searing limbs. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should've known that the manor would have protective wards. Harry grit his teeth. I'll never catch up with them now. And knowing my luck, a pack of hellhounds will round the corner and come eat me alive.

A strange sound peeked Harry's attention; the sound of grinding metal, followed by the crunching of footsteps on gravel. Harry's heart stuttered—if the Malfoys really did keep hellhounds then he was definitely in trouble.

"Potter!" came a snappish whisper not very unlike a hellhound bark. "What the hell are you doing here? Do you realize what time it is?"

Harry craned his neck as best he could, only to catch a glimpse of an infuriated Draco Malfoy stalking towards him, his silver night-robe billowing in the wind. Judging from his expression, Harry would've probably preferred the hellhounds. At least they would've been quick.

Harry allowed his head to plop back to the ground. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Potter," Draco's face appeared above him, edged with the white light of the moon, "if the act is idiotic and borderline suicidal, I've come to automatically assume you're involved."

Harry frowned. "I'm not idiotic and suicidal."

Draco bent down to sit on his heels and cocked his head. "Take a moment to examine the position you're in right now, and how you got there." There was a long moment of silence, during which Draco's face lifted into a triumphant smile. "Still think you're not idiotic and suicidal?"

The Gryffindor's face contorted. "I prefer to think of myself as extremely accident prone."

"Call it what you will, Potter. Either way you're still laying paralyzed on the ground."

"Then let me up!"

Draco hovered over him, looking as gleeful as a cat that had just come upon a trapped mouse. "No. I think I prefer you like this."

"Malfoy, I'm being serious here!" Harry's voice rose in frustration. "I came here to…to protect you!"

"And you're certainly doing a standup job."

"Malfoy!"

"Potter, really, couldn't this have waited," he glanced down at his watch, "four more hours?"

"Malfoy," Harry snapped, "I think that Ron and Hermione are here!"

Draco glanced around, making a show of looking startled. "My goodness," he mocked. "Here? On my property in the middle of the night? If only there was a petrified hero stuck on the ground who could save me!" He glanced back at Harry, his grey eyes going wide. "Bless my soul, I'm saved!"

Harry glowered at him. "Did I mention that I'm being serious?"

"Oh great paralyzed hero, you must protect me from the red beast and the wild-eyed book worm!"

Harry couldn't hold it in a second longer. "Ginny told me they would be here!"

Draco sobered abruptly, and his face darkened into a scowl. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice like a scathing arctic wind.

Harry struggled against his impossibly tight muscles, but the magic held him firm. The feeling made his blood simmer. "Ron thinks you had something to do with what happened to Ginny. She said they were on their way here, so I came here to stop them!"

"Stop them from what?"

"From hurting you!" Harry seethed, so forcefully his head spun. He felt suddenly dizzy, like he'd been on a carnival ride for far too long.

Draco took in a deep breath. "Potter…there's no one here besides us."

Harry's muscles began to twitch in reaction to the uncomfortable stillness they were being kept in. The gravel was digging painfully into his shoulder blades, the humidity of the night had begun to fog his glasses, and sweat was dripping into his eyes. "Look just let me up. I can't talk like this," he said, giving Draco a pleading look.

With a flourish, Draco pulled his wand from his robes, his lips pursed. "Finite Incantatum," he muttered, and with a snap of the blonde's wrist Harry felt his muscles relax.

Harry pushed himself up, pulling in shallow labored breaths, and feeling as if he had just run a very long race only to be hit by the Whomping Willow at the very end of it. "We should still look. We should still…" He stared resolutely down at the ground, willing away the black dots that flickered across his vision.

"Potter?" Draco moved somewhere in the corners of Harry's vision.

"They could still be here," Harry managed to say, the words grazing over his lips like sandpaper.

There was a short, weighted pause. "Maybe we'd better get you inside."

"But what if—" but at that moment Harry cut off. In his frustration he had attempted to get to his feet, only to feel a wave of nausea sweep over him. He immediately fell back, his vision blurring around the edges.

And then Draco's arms were around him. "Potter!" he shouted, and Harry winced at the shrill loudness of his voice. Harry tried to look up at him, but black flickering spots had returned, and he felt a sudden heavy weight on his chest.

"Potter this isn't funny! Open your eyes!"

The darkness closed in.

"Potter! Harry, say something!"