TWENTY-TWO: Wolf

"Oh," said Lupin, which Draco found phenomenally stupid.

"Point Me Griphook," Snape hissed, sticking the cup inside a leather sack at his belt.

"Marvelous," said Lupin, then reached out to snag Snape's arm. "Severus, this isn't worth it! He knows these caverns far better than we… all the best places to hide… to set up an ambush…"

"We were meant to come in and out unseen, disturbing no one! No one was to know!" Severus hissed in return, loosening Lupin's grip with a jerk of his arm. "Draco, remain here!" he shouted, and was off and running, his wand rapidly a distant point in the complete blackness of night, Lupin close at his heels.

" 'Draco, remain here!'" he echoed grimly. "Certainly, Professor. I'll just stay here, in the dark… all alone…"

This venture hadn't been what he'd expected it to be, not one jot. For one thing, he felt he ought to have been in charge, being the only one in the group of a pureblood line, but that hadn't been the case; and Draco could hardly blame the others. He'd fallen back into obeying Snape and Lupin because they were both his old teachers. Draco had never tried to take charge, not really, save in those initial instants when he had to, when he was the one in charge of his aunt's vaults.

The Cup itself hadn't given him the feeling of promise and triumph he expected he'd feel in the presence of a powerful Dark object. Malevolence pulsed off of the cup like a poison. Draco imagined that darkness seeping into Snape's hipbone, his muscles, his blood.

Now Draco was all alone down in darkness and ruin, he thought, what am I doing here?

This isn't fun. This isn't glorious. It's cold and damp and smells of scale-rot…

It smelled of scale-rot, as it happened, because the dragon had finally decided to come a bit closer to investigate now that Draco was alone, and the darkness had covered its approach. When Draco blinked, he realized that he was facing a giant head that was the size of his entire body, an eye socket the size of his skull.

"Um," Draco breathed, as the dragon leaned in closer and took a huge breath.

Then, he remembered the Charm, speaking softly and singing.

"T-there, there," he whispered, and dared lift a hand to place it on the giant snout. "Merlin!" he whispered, feeling the creature below his hands, like his snakeskin belt, only pulsing, alive, warm, before trying again. "Shhh, no one's hurting you," he said, suddenly flashing back to hippogriffs and his miserable lack of success with such creatures in the past.

Sure enough, the dragon's great eye narrowed in dislike, and it took in a deep breath that sucked Draco's fringe into his eyes.

And then, Ronald Weasley appeared.

Draco could not have been more surprised if Celestina Warbeck had arrived with a trio of backup singers. "Merlin's bloody–!"

"Not. Another. Word," Weasley whispered, coming up alongside him. "Not unless you want to be dinner." He walked straight up to the skittish creature, full-on so that the great beast could see him coming, and lay both hands and his forehead against the dragon's skull.

It was a picture Draco was certain would stay with him until the day he died. He could never imagine showing that kind of fearlessness: for a moment of searing jealousy, he understood just why Potter had taken Ronald Weasley's hand and not his.

The dragon let out a whoosh of (not superheated) breath: a sigh.

"Hush, now," Ron whispered. "Come on, Malfoy, help me."

"It doesn't l-like me," Draco stammered.

"Shut it and help," Ron repeated, dragging Draco forward. "'Course he doesn't like you. You're afraid. Breathe. Put your hands on him, show him where you are. That's it." And then Ron closed his eyes and began to sing in a soft, low voice.

Draco kept his eyes on the dragon the entire time. It sighed a great, hot sigh, like an oversized chimney-bellows, and placed its head at their feet.

"Um. What. The bloody fuck," Draco whispered.

"Help me," Ron Weasley said again, and Draco followed after him, as though pulled. "Get this shackle. I've got the other one."

"Are you mad?" Draco hissed.

Ron shot him a Very Serious look.

"You are. Everyone is. I am," Draco stammered.

"Unlock the shackle. I'm going to stay by him."

Draco gulped and shook his head and still found himself doing as he was told. "I – am I under a curse?"

Ron's own head poked around from where he was stroking the head of the dragon, which still looked nervous, to Draco's own nervous eye. "A geas," he replied. "Promise not to hurt you, but you're on my side for the foreseeable future."

Draco's mind whirred furiously as he sidled around to the shackles; this didn't appear to bother the dragon, whose neck was long enough that it could easily twist it about to peer at Draco's continued progress.

"Oh," he said, aloud.

The shackles were a mess of blood, bone, and scar tissue. The dragon must have grown up in the bowels of the bank: the shackles had cut right into the flesh over the years, and the flesh had partly healed over them. Of course the dragon had grown up, here – the cave was far too small for it to have entered at the size it was, now.

"I, uh. Healing Spells…" said Draco. He'd never been very good at them.

And Granger popped out of thin air.

"Merlin, how awful," she said, peering down at the dragon's claws. She drew her wand. "This is going to hurt, I think, but I'll keep up the numbing spells and maybe…" And she set to work, muttering to herself.

"What… is happening?" Draco whispered.

"We're here to help you," Hermione said to Draco, looking up.

There she was, in the bowels of the bank, robes pooled around her as she knelt by the gigantic dragon's claw, half as large as her body, looking up through spills and snarls of long brown hair. She looked unusually grown-up, although there was no mistaking her for anyone but Hermione Granger.

For a ridiculous moment, he had the urge to kiss her. But then, she turned back to the delicate work of extricating the dragon from its chains.

"T-they're going to come back," Draco heard himself say. "Snape, and Lupin. They'll find the goblin – hopefully before it informs all the others it was Stupefied…" And then they'll kill you, he realized. No simple 'Stupefy' for Harry Potter's friends. Maybe they'll be captured and taken back to Lestrange… "You've got to go," he said, grabbing for Hermione's arm. "You've got to run."

She looked up again, shook him off. "Do I?" she whispered, scanning his features. "Hmm."

He drew his wand, pointed it at her. "This isn't a joke. I'm a Death Eater. Snape's a Death Eater. I don't know what you're doing here, but –"

"Easy, Malfoy," and suddenly Potter was blocking the way.

"I should've known you'd be hidden somewhere around here," Draco spat. "Merlin, Potter, haven't put them in enough danger already? Robbing Gringotts sound like a lark? Get. OUT!" he shouted, and shot a Stinging Hex Potter's way.

"Protego!" Potter incanted. "Malfoy, just listen –"

"Listen?" Draco echoed, forced into a half-hysterical laugh. "Listen. To you?"

"Yes, to me," Potter said, and there was something strange written in the lines of his face. It was not an expression he had ever before seen on Potter. "You're with us. You're here with us. We were in the back of the cart all along. You were supposed to walk right back out with the Cup, and bring it to us, to our side…"

A dozen things fell into place at once. Longbottom being taller. Diagon practically empty. The way people stepped around he and Professor Snape, as though they might hex them on the spot. The fearful look on Augusta Longbottom's face, the horror lodged there. Lupin.

Lupin hadn't defected. Snape had.

Or just Draco had? Sworn an oath of fealty to hold it in place. Not to Potter, oddly enough: to Weasley. He could feel it, now he knew it was there, just out of the brush of his everyday awareness. Could it be he'd refused to swear it to Potter? But now Potter was staring at him, looking earnest. They must've come to some kind of understanding. Draco's wand hand twitched down, but then –

"Got it!" Granger exclaimed, and one of the shackles fell away in a crash of iron, blood, and skin.

The dragon – oh, MERLIN – reared up in the air in distress, and Draco was sure they were done for. Stalactites shattered, rained down on the party below. Potter erected a shield over their heads with another Protego! and they bounced harmlessly away, but the dragon stamped its injured foot as if to increase the circulation. A wash of blood slapped Draco in the face.

"Omigosh, dragon's blood!" said Granger, looking as though she wished she could take a sample.

Potter raised his wand, pointed it at Draco…

…and the blood disappeared.

Draco blinked. The hair gel also seemed to have disappeared. Potter followed this up with a nonverbal Sortis, but he could recognize the wand motion. Weirdly kind. Oddly proprietary.

Draco was aware of Weasley, still calming the dragon, which eventually settled itself back down, pillowing its great head on its front claws, and Granger moved to the other foot. But meanwhile, Potter had drawn very close. "You lowered your wand," he said. "Are you sure you meant to?"

What an odd question. And what a strange expression on Potter's face to go along with it, like Draco was some kind of new species he didn't recognize in his Care of Magical Creatures text. Draco decided to counter it with a question of his own.

"Obliviate?" he said. "Imperio? Why don't I remember anything?"

Potter blinked. "It's… we agreed. You agreed. That it'd be easier to get down here this way."

"How clever of me," Draco said.

"And so you accept it. Just like that," Potter said.

"It's not just like anything. Much as I might despise the fact, all the evidence is on your side," he replied, just to watch Potter's face do some expression-gymnastics again. Draco noticed the other boy kept his wand out.

"But what if we just made it look that way?" Potter said, something rather desperate in his voice. "I mean, what if we made you think –?"

Draco shook his head, and Potter's words stumbled to a halt. "Don't be daft, Potter, you were clearly trying to make me think I wasn't on your side. I don't credit you with enough deviousness to accomplish a triple-cross." His eyes narrowed. "Should I?"

Potter shook his own head. "No. But –"

There was a hollow boom that interrupted his words, that silenced even Ron's whispers and the dragon's pained rustling as Hermione worked on the second shackle. It was followed by a second boom, and then another, faster and faster.

Granger moaned something that sounded like, "drums in the deep!", and then, if Draco focussed, he could hear the far-off clank of metal and the shouting of goblins.

"Griphook sounded the alarm," said Potter, utterly needlessly. "Ron, is there another way out of here?"

"Yes," Ron said, "two. But we're going to have to pick one and hope it isn't full of goblins! Come on, Hermione!"

But Granger was shaking her head, still spelling at the second shackle.

"We can come back!" Potter shouted. "If we don't leave here now, it'll be too late!"

Granger's eyes were filling with tears, and she was using language so filthy that Draco found room alongside the wash of adrenaline to feel reluctantly impressed.

On their side. You're on their side, Draco thought, and tried to figure what he would do if he really were.

He ran for Granger, who did not even look up: her gaze was so full of intent concentration. He slid to the ground beside her, drew his wand.

Made one, giant cut of flesh all the way around the shackle. Yanked with his magic. The shackle fell to the cave floor in a spray of skin and gore.

The dragon reared, trumpeting like a dying thing. Blood splattered he and Granger head-to-toe as the dragon tramped all four, giant feet, vibrating Draco's teeth in his head. Draco wrenched Granger backwards and then to her feet; and took off for Weasley, whose presence he could feel in the dark, dashing in between the pain-maddened dragon's stamping appendages.

"Runrunrunrunrun!" he shouted, and then the four of them were: through a tiny aperture in the bowels of the bank that led to a low, narrow crack and a narrower corridor, Hermione chanting, Muffliato, Protego totalis, Salvio hexia, Cave inimicum, and the Disillusionment charm as she dashed forward, a constant litany under her breath.

Draco wondered at his decision to join up with these idiots. So much talent.

So little planning.

Although they seemed to be getting away with it. The aperture was narrow, making it easy to keep track of where Weasley was as they darted through and forward, or even understand that Weasley was a bit panicked, but keeping it together.

Wait, no; that was Potter.

What?

A magical connection to Potter, too, then. Different to the other. Woven from ropes of Memory charms. It was like nothing he'd ever seen or felt in his life. If he followed one rope down to its source –

Harry.

A wash of green fire – fire, everywhere, surrounding him, a cloud of heat and dryness and warm sparks against his skin that somehow refused to burn, that contained the essence of Potter –

"Draco!" Potter whispered, elbowing him.

Draco blinked the vision away before realizing that Potter was in his personal space again. "Just – discovered… that," he said, and Potter nodded as though that had been a real sentence instead of a jumble of broken words. Potter's hand fluttered above his shoulder again, then withdrew, as though he didn't dare make contact.

The sound of marching feet grew suddenly louder, and the company froze. Granger and Weasley clutched at each other, and Potter's hand, sure now, flew to Weasley's upper arm to grip it.

But the sound came from above them, not before or behind; there must be a whole warren of tunnels, Draco realized, motioning the others to hush. If they were quiet, they might continue to creep forward. Granger continued to whisper the litany of spells, a breathy counterpoint to the thump-thump-thump of goblin feet above.

The sound stopped directly over their heads.

"Dunno why we's goin' this way," came a voice. "Ain't nobody even knows this way's here, does they?"

"Muffliato, Protego totalis, Salvio hexia," whispered Hermione.

"Well," said a second, "feel free to go back and explain that to the shareholders of the bank, how unlikely you thought it that anyone might know this passage, and that's how they got away!"

The first goblin grumbled to itself. "Ain't meanin' that, an' you knows it," it replied. "Jest… we get all the rough jobs, doesn't we. Ain't no glory in wandering down a dark hole with nothing interestin' in it."

"We can't all earn the glory of capturing Severus Snape," the second chuckled. "And a werewolf, too."

"A werewolf?"

"Sure as sure, a werewolf. You can smell it on them, if you have a nose as I do, Grookshank."

Grookshank snorted. "Reckons theys get a bit of a surprise, don't get him to Azkaban fast enough."

"Well, and that's a problem for wizards, say I," said the other.

Some muttering and grumbling followed in what Draco soon realized was the goblins' own, gutteral language, followed by a rasp of ugly laughter, like metal sliding against metal.

"Which is why we ought to be getting backs, hasn't we?" Grookshank added. "Soon enough, yes, the problems takes care of itself."

"Eh… you're right, Grook. There isn't anything or anyone here. Hasn't been in centuries…"

The thump-thump-thump of goblin-feet faded.

Hermione dragged at Weasley's arm. "They've got Snape and Remus. We've got to go back."

"Go back?" Ron groaned.

"We can't leave Snape…" Potter said, under his breath.

"Why not?" Draco said.

Everyone turned to stare.

"No, seriously. Snape's probably just fine on his own," Draco said. "He's probably got twelve escape plans. It's you three we have to worry about."

Potter exchanged an odd look with Weasley.

"What?" he barked. "Am I really so different that you have to keep making eyes at each other? We've got more important things to think about than my attitude!"

"It's more how much you haven't changed that's weird," Ron said. "Coupled with the little things that have."

"Look, they don't know how many of us there are," Granger went on. "For all they know, it was just Snape, Lupin, and Draco. We could take them by surprise."

"The question is: do you trust Snape?" Draco said.

"Hey," Potter growled.

"Remember who you're speaking to, and under what circumstances," Draco cut in. "That isn't a rhetorical query as to your loyalties, Potter. I mean it as a genuine question. Do you trust him to look after himself, or not?"

Potter frowned, considering the question. "I trust him to try to save the Horcrux," he said, slowly. "Not necessarily himself."

"All right, then," said Hermione, nodding.

"Besides all that," Ron said, "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's will know about Snape, now, no matter what he's suspected before. He'll burn heaven and earth to get at a traitor. We'll have to move fast." He turned to Draco. "And c'n I have my wand back, please?"

Draco fumbled in his pockets. "I don't have an extra –"

Ron slipped his hand into Draco's inside pocket and claimed Bellatrix Lestrange's wand. "Thanks."

No one else seemed to find it odd, Ronald Weasley using Lestrange's wand. Briefly, Draco considered asking if one of them could restore him so he'd quit being surprised by everything, but the idea of Potter, or Weasley, or even the brilliant Granger with her sticky fingers muddling about in his head gave him the absolute heaves. Besides that, he was relatively certain that it would take time they didn't have.

"How long you reckon before they discover you set their dragon free?" Weasley said.

"How long do you 'reckon' before the dragon realizes it's free?" Draco returned. "It's been down there its whole life, I'd suppose. It may be happy to be free of the shackles, but how much would you like to bet that it curls up just where it was and goes to sleep? If you had any Galleons to bet, that is," he tacked on.

"Back to the poverty jokes," Weasley said. "Can't say I've missed them."

Potter rolled his eyes. "If you're implying we could use the dragon to free Snape, somehow…"

"The dragon could be used as a distraction, of course," said Draco.

Ron nodded. "Run amongst the goblins, create some much-needed havoc. We could make sure it can escape the chamber. Clear a bit of room in the rock."

"And do what in the chaos?" Hermione said. "We'd have just as much trouble running around, looking for Snape." She slapped herself on the forehead. "Oh, Merlin," she whispered. "POINT ME SNAPE," she ordered her wand so viciously that it spun in a whoosh to quiver, like a hound dog on point. "Okay. Find Snape; find Lupin. Set the dragon free to create a distraction. What could go wrong?"

"That's the spirit," Weasley said. "You should still keep on with your concealment spells, Hermione. Harry can do Point Me. Draco, could you do Point Me Remus Lupin? Who knows if they've separated them."

"And what will you do, pray tell?" Draco said.

"Clear the way for the dragon," Ron said grimly. "Come on."

The four crept back down through their escape route, Draco cursing himself the whole way; although he knew, too, that part of him was very glad that the others had insisted they go back. He wasn't sure he'd be able to live with himself if he'd really gotten someone killed, however indirectly.

Many times, they had to freeze in place as goblins passed by them in tunnels that skirted theirs, huddling in terrified silence. In the dark, and the rushing forward, and the sudden, punctuated cessation of movement, Draco lost all track of how long they'd been in crouched in the dark.

Things were a lot more equitable than he would have expected, even in this sort of emergency. Sometimes, Granger ordered them about: hang back, I think I hear something; hold on; can't we move any faster? Other times, it was Weasley: now, when I get there, wherever your wands say to go, you go. Don't wait for me; we'll meet at Grimmauld. Then, he turned to Draco and made him repeat the Order of the Phoenix is at Twelve, Grimmauld Place, three times. It was Potter less often than he'd have thought. Potter was quiet by nature, or quiet in extremis; it was hard to say. But when he offered suggestions, the other two listened. And they turned to Draco, too, reflexively, and listened to him even without the buffer of politeness in place.

Did he have them fooled? Was he really a double-agent, and they didn't know?

Did it matter, just now?

They paused at the mouth of the tunnel.

"Point Me Severus Snape-"

"Point Me Remus Lupin-"

Potter's and Draco's wands spun to point in the same direction.

"Thank goodness for small favours," Granger said. She turned to Weasley. "Good luck," she said, and squeezed him, quickly.

Ron clapped Potter on the shoulder. "Be right back," he said. He strode over to Draco and clapped an arm on his shoulder, too, leaning close so the others could not hear. "You really are one of us. Don't wander."

And then he was trotting off in the direction of the dragon's figure in the distance, which looked less ferocious from this far away, like a dragon in a painting.

Then, "Come on!" Granger was shouting, and they were running again, across the giant gloom of empty space; Granger cast a magical lasso that allowed them to hold to one another in the dark, risking no Lumos. The dragon loomed in the distance, a paleness against the shadow. Draco could make out a small figure before it, wand raised: Ron.

A surge of admiration lodged itself somewhere in Draco's breastbone like a clenched fist. He might not understand why he was with Potter or Granger, yet, but he knew why he followed Ronald Weasley.

The figure of the dragon loomed closer, now. Draco wondered if Snape and Lupin were close by, simply cowering in the dark. No tunnels emerged from the black, only rough cave walls, studded here and there with a torch sconce, torchless and unlit. Then, "Professor!" Potter whispered, and took off running.

Draco could see, now, if he squinted: Professor Snape, close to the rails that led back up to the bank proper. They were approaching the spot where they'd started, the mouth of Bellatrix's vault, and Snape was standing at the closed entrance, robes and hair dripping.

Draco joined them in a run, Hermione still casting privacy spells around them, and then "Finite incantatem!" so that Snape could see them all.

"He's in the vault," Snape rasped, sounding like he'd been shouting for hours.

"What? Remus?" Harry gaped. "Open it! Open it up!"

"It won't!" Snape shouted. "He snatched the goblin's paw from me and shoved me to the other side!"

"W-why would he –" Potter stammered.

"We escaped from the goblins easily," Snape was saying, faster and more distressed than Draco had ever heard him, "Stupefy and Obliviate, and then we were about to look for you when Lupin went very still, and then took off for the vault!"

"Remus!" Potter shouted, while Granger cast Muffliato in a circle over them all. "Remus, come out!"

"Has he lost his mind?" Draco sputtered. "Why won't he? Can't he hear us?"

"It's stone, but he must hear me shouting," Snape said. "I've been calling for ten minutes. He's unmoved; he's gone mad. I – I don't know what to do!"

This admission seemed to hang in the air.

"Get another goblin," said Harry. "Get him out!"

Snape nodded wordlessly, and dashed off, leaving splashes of water in his wake.

At that point, the dragon reared, trumpeted its triumph. "There's our distraction," Draco said, but Potter and Granger were clinging to each other, trembling.

"Think, think, think," Granger was chanting under her breath. "Why would he…?" Granger let out a gasp that sounded more like a sob. "Snape was wet, Harry, soaked from head to toe! Don't you see? The Thief's Downfall, they were caught in the Thief's Downfall!"

A clatter sounded from the other side of the vault. Followed by another clatter… and another. And another.

"No. NO! REMUS!" Potter shouted, banging on the wall. "Open the door! Please!"

Draco didn't question what the Thief's Downfall had to do with anything. He cast about for something to do, some way to be of use. Like Snape, he could find nothing to help Lupin; nothing to comfort the others.

Hermione was screaming. "Professor! Professor, please! There's time! We can brew it again! We can, oh, please don't –"

The clamouring of metal on metal was deafening, now. Draco was no longer sure Lupin could hear her above it all.

Snape rushed forward, Levitating a Stunned goblin behind him. He pressed the unconscious creature's hand to the door, and it spilled open.

Molten coin, swords, armour, goblets, gold plates; it all spilled out at their feet. Hermione screamed, and Potter shouted as the metal touched their exposed skin.

How could anyone have survived that? Draco thought, leaping backwards, but Snape was wading in, not wincing, not screaming, throwing things one way and another with his hands covered in Dragonhide gloves. Eventually, he found Lupin's hair, and tugged.

Draco quickly looked away, and Hermione let out a choked sob; but Snape lifted Lupin up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and clambered out of the room, even as welts formed on his arms and legs before Draco's eyes, burning holes through his robes.

Potter was a wreck, sobbing and shaking, but Granger gathered him up in her arms and prodded him forward, Draco trailing behind.

He could feel Ron approaching, his work with the dragon done. To his credit, he didn't ask for details once he clapped eyes on Remus's mutilated face, just joined Hermione on Harry's other side to help support his friend. Granger was weeping openly, her face red and swollen, and Weasley's eyes were the grimmest he'd ever seen them, even staring at him with open enmity across a Quidditch Pitch or the Great Hall. Snape had no expression at all, strode forward with single-minded purpose.

"H-how are we getting out of here?" Draco said. "No use, now, in pretending we haven't been, that opens up some avenues..."

"I'll kill them all if I have to," Snape said.

Draco blanched. "It's more likely they'll kill us all, if you try." He lowered his voice, jogging forward to walk side-by-side with the taller man, trying to keep his gaze off of Lupin's body. "They're a wreck," he said, "they can't fight. Look at them. You need to get us out."

"I am trying!" Snape growled. "I am not a bloody god! I can't snap my fingers and make this all right! You can't Apparate out of Gringotts!"

"No," said Draco, and took a long, low, breath, because he was about to prove himself just as mad as the rest of them. "But maybe you can fly."

Straddling a dragon, Draco thought. He was straddling a dragon.

'Straddling' was probably a poor word. Granger had come out of her grief long enough to attach a sticking charm to all of them.

That meant Draco's arse was glued to a dragon. Not exactly the most dignified of positions, but he was far from caring. Ron was closest to the dragon's head, sprawled out along its neck and attempting to coax it into the air, convince it that it could. After what seemed an interminable moment, the giantic dragon's wings unfurled, filling the entire cave with a faint luminescence. Draco gazed at them dubiously. They were weak and wobbling and full of slashes and holes…

…and they were moving, muscles pumping: up-down, up-down. The draft was enormous. And then they were lifting into the air, Potter's quiet sobs swallowed by the sound of the wind; and then they were moving forward, half in flaps, half in clawed climbing; and the huge double-doors that led into the bank-proper burst open; and then the cracks that Weasley must have placed around the stone gave way, creating more room; and then the dragon tore away the rest, with a ferocious sound…

…airborne.

Draco gulped in breaths, shaking in reaction. Weasley was still crooning to the dragon, patting its huge, hoary head. The dragon's breaths heaved; its sides heaved; Draco Malfoy heaved, side-to-side, feeling like a part of the living, breathing thing, himself. Even Potter seemed to have ceased sobbing, and was clinging to Granger with wide, empty eyes.

Diagon Alley shrank below them, and then they were flying over London, Hermione casting a quick spell to obscure their passage. The sun sat low in the sky.

But more quickly than Draco would have thought, the dragon wheeled and began to circle downward. As they approached, two old houses seemed to shove out of the way to allow the dragon to land… on another house. It rested lightly on the old, slate rooftop. Hermione cast Finite on her Sticking Charm, and then Snape disappeared with Lupin – presumably Apparated inside. Granger grabbed his arm and did the same; he saw Potter reach for Weasley, just before the roof disappeared and he was in an old, cobwebby kitchen. Lupin was laid out on the table.

"Wolfsbane," Snape said, and immediately lit a brazier, placing a cauldron over it. "We're going to have to brew the fastest Wolfsbane in history," he said, flicking his wand to raise the flame higher. "But ingredients. I don't have enough. I just brewed it." He looked up, pinned Ron with his eyes. "Your brother. RUN!"

Weasley didn't ask, didn't pause, didn't question. He ran as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.

"Wolfsbane. I don't understand," Granger said, red-eyed.

"Werewolves can recover from terrible wounds," Snape said, "but if Lupin doesn't know enough to let me near him, let me help him, he will die by morning regardless. The Thief's Downfall wiped the potion from his body entirely."

"He's… n-not d-dead?" Potter stammered, rising. "He's –"

"Shut your gaping mouth, Evans, and help!" Snape growled, and Potter's parted lips worked silently; unlike his best friend, he seemed frozen in place.

"We can do an assembly line," Granger said, nonsensically. "We've done one before, for Polyjuice. Draco, the bloodroot. Harry. Harry," she snapped. "Remus needs you. Can you do this?"

Potter nodded, and his eyes cleared.

"Good. Begin to prepare the aconite. You know how."

Draco figured this was one of the parts of the emergency where Granger took charge and he didn't care. "Minced, right, sir?" he said. "Sir?"

Ron stood in the doorway with one of the Weasley twins, holding an old carpetbag.

"Hullomygoodness," said the redhead, catching sight of Lupin. "Wolfsbane then? Here, let me set this down right by him, hello, everyone, get ingredients and may I suggest you run?"

They did, clambering down into the bag one at a time and not sparing a moment to stare at the lab space. Draco had never seen or felt or been part of anything like it. Granger found Essence of Dittany on one of the shelves and darted up the steps to sprinkle it all over Lupin's still form. George – for George it was – set up the three cauldrons and Snape filled them with water. Harry and Ron flew around the room getting ingredients.

"Bloodroot!" Potter proclaimed, tossing it in the air, where it hovered. Granger cast an unfamiliar spell and the ingredients shoved one another around in line until they were in the correct order. Draco leapt into the air to yank the jar of bloodroot free and ran to find a chopping surface. George, wordless, slid a wooden board in front of him before he could ask. Potter nearly Apparated to stand beside him, chopping the aconite.

No one said a word beyond HERE! or like this! or Boiling, now! until…

"First part DONE!" Granger caroled, and slid to the second cauldron, where George was waiting.

"Dittany," he said.

"Yes," Hermione said, and tipped her cutting board to allow the blossoms to drift within.

"Aconite."

Potter tossed it in the waiting brew.

Granger looked up at the floating jars of ingredients. "Moonstone, next."

Snape himself had crushed the moonstone. Draco could remember its quality was the most important aspect of the potion as a whole, despite the plant for which the potion was named. It spilled from his mortar in a shower of moonglow.

"Ten minutes," George announced, and began to stir.

"Twenty until sunset," Granger said.

"Third cauldron!" Snape snapped.

Ron was there, stirring. "Two minutes until the next ingredient," he said.

There was an agony of waiting. Then, "damiana paste!"

"I'm still pasting it!" Harry shouted in return. Draco scurried to help.

"Now, gentlemen, or it will spoil," Snape said.

Draco chased a last chunk of the damiana until it was crushed flat and hurried forward –

And tripped.

Draco let himself thump forward, clinging to the mortar for dear life. Despite the unholy jarring of both of his arms and the knock to his chin, he somehow managed to hold onto it.

Hermione plucked the mortar from his fingers and dashed to Ron's cauldron.

She tipped the damiana in.

"Colour?" Snape said.

There was a pause.

"Colour?"

"Pale, sky blue," Hermione said. "Just like I've read about. It's all right, Professor. We weren't too late."

No one came to help Draco sit up; no one had a moment. They leapt and danced around him until he pushed himself back against a shelving unit to be out of the way. He thought he might have sprained his ankle.

"Add the first cauldron to the second," said Snape.

Harry and Hermione carefully took either side of the large cauldron and poured it into the smaller while George continued to stir.

"Good," said Snape. "No, nor I," he added, shaking his head.

"Five minutes," Granger said, looking up at one of the many timers hovering in place around the room. Draco didn't remember them appearing. "Draco, are you all right?"

Draco pushed himself to his feet; for once, everyone was still. There was only one more step to the potion, which was to pour the second cauldron into the last and stir for ten minutes. The leg would sort itself out, he figured. Complaining about it now seemed rather small.

"The sun is setting, I think," said Granger in a too-normal voice.

"You can't rush this," Snape said, but not to Granger. "You can't rush it, it's got to be right."

"Right or not," said George. "Last chance, isn't it?" and poured the contents of the second cauldron into the last. He waited a moment before stirring them together.

"It's right," said Snape. "How is it right?"

"I changed a few things at the last second," said George, "to make it faster..."

Snape blanched pure white. "You fool! If it doesn't work –"

"If it couldn't be finished in time, it wouldn't matter if it were perfect," George snapped in return, snarl for snarl. He snatched the potion off the flame and cradled it to himself, jogging up the steps.

"No – George!" Snape shouted, and clambered up behind him.

There was an angry snarl from above the carpetbag: a scream. Silence.

George's pale face shone from the top of the ladder. "It's safe to come up. Now," he said.

They climbed up out of the carpetbag cautiously, one at a time. When Draco joined the others (favoring his left ankle), he saw a Werewolf, ill, scalded, panting… a hint of Wolfsbane drooling from its maw, down to the table where it lay. It watched him with sad, gold eyes full of intelligence.

Draco walked past, keeping the creature in his gaze, before turning to Snape.

The man was white-faced, cradling his arm to his chest. A stream of scarlet dripped from his right hand, blossoming red down his sleeve.

"Well," Snape said, as they all stared aghast, "I suppose I'll have to make a double batch from now on." Then, he went impossibly whiter and slumped sideways to the floor.

George moved Snape's hand from his other arm, peering at the puncture-marks there. "It's not life-threatening or anything, which is pretty damned lucky considering he stuck his hand down a Werewolf's throat," he said, probably to reassure Potter, who looked as though he was about to follow Snape into unconsciousness. "Look, we can't sit and feel sorry for ourselves, you know, not yet. We've got brewing to do for Professor Lupin and Professor Snape. If you get someone to a Potioneer fast enough, they might not even develop lycanthropy. Let's see if we can work a little faster this time."

No one groaned or sighed in the wake of this pronouncement. Instead, Ron squeezed Draco's shoulder as he limped by. Hermione, frowning at the area just above Draco's line of sight, reached forward to sweep her fingers through Draco's hair. Dragon's blood flaked away as she raked and tugged, fragments catching in his lashes until he blinked them away, swiped his cheeks with his fingers, shook out his hair. She smiled, then (tiredly, triumphantly, ruefully). A let's work harder smile.

Draco looked into the determined faces of his allies and began cuffing up his sleeves.

A/N: End of arc.

Bill wasn't wrong about the Thief's Downfall; he just wasn't the last wizard to work on it. The goblins didn't care about medicinal potions, so they asked the next Cursebreaker to incorporate something that unraveled all Transfigurative Potions.

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ETA some minor revisions, mostly word use and commas. :D

Keep reading, keep writing everyone!

-K