InsaneJournal

9.

The scratch of Lupin’s quill was a profoundly irritating sound. Draco took another quick glance out of the window, but could see no more than he had before - and that was irritating too. The wall of fire was still doing its work, so Potter couldn’t be dead yet, but - “Hurry up!”

“Done.” Lupin thrust the paper towards him, and Draco Disapparated -

- or tried to. It felt like he’d run straight into a solid stone wall at great speed. Every atom of his body seemed to flare with pain. Then he was whole, curled up in a ball of smarting flesh on the floor. He sucked in deep gulps of air and fought the urge to retch, and didn’t even try to shake Lupin’s hand from his shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

“Not splinched,” Draco managed, fighting the urge to pat himself down to check. “Anti-Disapparition Jinx.” He was rather impressed. The caster wouldn’t be able to see the Schoolhouse, but, thanks to the Dementors, he could see where the boundaries of the Fidelius Charm were. An effective Anti-Disapparition Jinx would have to cover that entire area. Hardly the same thing as trapping a few prisoners. That will have taken some serious power.

The identity of the Death Eater commanding the Inferi was something Draco had been pondering ever since he’d Apparated into this mess. Intelligence and raw power - that narrows it down quite a bit... He had a sick feeling in his stomach that had absolutely nothing to do with his failed Disapparition.

That sick feeling intensified as he realised something else.

oh shit… Potter won’t be able to get back. He’s stuck out there…

“Broomstick. Now.”

*

Harry kept the flames burning, but found himself tensing up, preparing for the attack that must surely come. Lucius Malfoy regarded him with the calm, amused gaze of someone who knew he had the upper hand. “Well, I thought that would bring someone out,” he said. “I had no idea it would be you.” He raised one pale eyebrow in a manner that Harry found painfully familiar.

“Sorry if I’ve messed up your plans,” Harry said. Bit hard to keep calm and defiant while running frantically through spells in his head, trying to find one to get through the car roof, but somehow he was managing it. “No one gets to kill or torture me but Voldemort, right? Very inconvenient.”

When he’d used Voldemort’s name in front of Bellatrix, she’d snarled at him like a woman possessed; Malfoy just blinked and smiled, as if it was some endearing little conceit of equality. “Plans can be changed.” He raised his hand and made a quick, impatient gesture. The Inferi started to move forward, into the flames, mouths falling open in silent screams as they began to burn. “And there are things in this world far more frightful than the Half-blood’s wrath.”

I didn’t really hear that. Lucius Malfoy didn’t just call his master a Half-blood…it’s not possible…

But he didn’t have time to be shocked or curious by Malfoy’s new lack of respect for Voldemort. The Muggles were still trapped in the car, and the Inferi were forcing their way through his conjured flames. Their hair and tattered clothes burned as quickly as dry straw. Skin blackened and split, dead flesh melted like candle wax…Harry jerked his foot away from a hand that reached up for him, a few crisped bits of skin clinging to charred bone.

Another hand caught hold of the leg of his jeans and yanked. The fabric tore and Harry’s feet went out from underneath him. He had a moment of trying to keep his footing on the slick metal, another of hanging in mid-air, then he hit the car roof with painful force.

This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening…

He kicked out at the groping hands. The movement was frantic, almost panicked, but in his head, Harry was already pulling himself together.

I’ve survived worse than this.

“Reducto!”

He never would never had dreamt of using that spell against anything living, or even human-shaped, but ‘human-shaped’ didn’t really apply to these Inferi anymore.

The spell did its job; the nearest Inferi exploded into a fine red mist and what seemed like a million fragments of bone. Harry scrambled to his feet and threw spells around like a man possessed, trying to ignore the cold knowledge in his head.

There were too many of them. He couldn’t hold them back. In theory, he could just Apparate away to safety. But, just as he’d been incapable of standing in the playground while the Muggles meet their fate, he couldn’t leave them now.

“Potter!”

A hand was thrust down in front of his face. Pale and bony, but whole and unburned… Harry took a precious second of attention away from fighting to look up.

Hovering over him on a broomstick, one arm stretched down towards him, offering Harry his hand and rescue, was Malfoy. His Malfoy - and even through the fear and panic and excitement of battle, Harry’s brain flinched at that thought and raced to correct it - the other Malfoy, the younger Malfoy…god, if he had to, Draco.

That moment of distraction had its price. Hands grabbed at his legs and caught hold of the fabric of his jeans. They also clutched at his arms, and his skin crawled at the touch of slick bone and flesh that crunched and crumbled as he tore himself free. The screams from beneath his feet were getting hoarser, more desperate, and he could feel the vibrations of someone pounding on the car roof from inside.

“Help me!”

“That’s what I’m fucking trying to do! Take my fucking hand!”

*

Draco couldn’t understand it. Potter wasn’t the sharpest dagger in the box, but it didn’t take a genius to work out ‘take hand, fly away, safe’.

“Potter! For fuck’s sake!”

There was movement at the very edge of his vision. It instantly caught his attention. Not jerky and forced like the Inferi, but smooth and almost familiar…someone drawing back a wand. Draco had been focusing so much on Potter and the Inferi that he hadn’t thought to look for whoever was controlling them. Now he did.

Draco looked at his father and felt like his stomach had Disapparated from his body, leaving behind a cold, hollow space. If he thought about it rationally, it made total sense - of course the Dark Lord would send Lucius, his most capable and most disposable servant, to deal with this - but that didn’t stop Draco feeling like it was somehow personal.

Snape will have told him about the spying thing, won’t he? He had to. Snape wouldn’t let his friend believe his son was a traitor as well as a monster - he was ruthless but not cruel. But Lucius showed no signs of understanding. He stood there, wand ready to unleash hell, and stared up at his son. For the first time since childhood, Draco looked at his father’s face and found it as easy to read as Potter’s. What he saw there made him wish to be cursed dead right there and then.

Lucius blinked, and the pain and sorrow disappeared so quickly Draco could almost make himself believe that they’d never been there in the first place. His face was a cold hard mask as his wand slashed out -

Draco flung himself forward. The broom lurched alarmingly underneath him, but he had his legs wrapped so tightly around it that it hurt. He hadn’t been on a broomstick in months, but thankfully it was a skill that once learned was never lost. He needed all that skill as he hung off the broom, blinking in the sickly yellow light that enveloped the Muggle vehicle. The light and the vehicle both seemed to expand and then contract, as if they were breathing…

There was no great explosion, rather a sudden rush of something that was more than mere silence. The change in pressure made Draco’s eardrums hurt, but he was more concerned with keeping the broom steady as Potter finally discovered some common sense and made a leap for his hand.

The vehicle disintegrated beneath him, turning into a swirling mass that contained chunks of flesh and bone in amongst twisted scraps of metal and rubber and plastic. Draco told himself that some of the Inferi had probably been caught and torn apart by the spell. He didn’t really believe it.

Just Muggles. Were they any different from the insects whose tiny lives had powered his childhood toys? He felt vomit rise in his throat and grimly forced it back down.

Of course they were fucking different.

He looked down at Potter. The other boy’s glasses were askew, and, just for a moment, his face screwed up as if he was fighting back tears. Which was a new one to Draco; he would never have believed that tough, perfect Potter could cry.

It didn’t even occur to him to be amused by it.

The mass crashed together. A split second later he heard buzzing and it no longer mattered if the Muggles were people or insects to be swatted because now they were part of a weapon being thrown against them.

Upset or not, Potter still managed to get his shield up before Draco did.

Hanging from the broom, blood rushing to his head, Potter twisting about on the end of his arm, Draco watched the insects pinging off their combined shields, the Inferi reaching up to grab at Potter’s dangling feet, the Dementors drifting over, and his father standing calmly in the middle of it all. He wanted to scream.

There were thirty-odd people left in the Schoolhouse - why weren’t they coming to help?

Because that’s exactly what Father wants, what he’s trying to get them to do…

But if they don’t help, we’re both going to die here.

“Shit!” Potter heard the exclamation and glanced up at him. So did his father, and that pain was back on his face. “Call them off! I can give you what you want!”

The reaction to that statement, from Potter and his father alike, was so extreme that if Draco hadn’t been dangling upside down above a mob of Inferi he would have laughed out loud. Potter looked particularly comical, his expression veering from outrage to suspicion.

As if he thinks it’s a trick, to get us out of this in one piece. Wish I was that clever…

*

A wave of Lucius Malfoy’s hand and the swarm retreated. Draco Malfoy’s fingers tightened around Harry’s wrist. He could do nothing but swing there helplessly, searching the blond boy’s face for some indication of what the hell he was playing at.

It has to be a trick. Lupin’s the secret keeper. There’s no way -

Face set hard in concentration, Malfoy gripped his wand between his teeth and groped around in the pockets of his jeans. He pulled out a crumbled piece of paper and held it out towards his father.

There was a moment when Harry could have blasted the paper out of his hand. Instead he just watched as Lucius Accioed it over.

It’s a trick. He’s on our side. I can’t be so wrong about him…

Malfoy let go of his wrist.

Harry only dropped a couple of inches before he felt the spell hit.

What was worse than dangling helplessly over a mob of Inferi? Floating helplessly over a mob of Inferi while his ’rescuer’ hauled himself back on his broom. And Malfoy had given his father the Schoolhouse; with a dull sense of inevitability, Harry watched Lucius look up from the paper and stare directly at it, a smile creeping across his face.

So it was a shock to find that hand reaching down for him again, Malfoy smirking at him as if nothing had happened. As if he hasn’t just sold everyone out. Harry took his hand, but the shock of the betrayal was moving into anger. It would be so easy to yank the cheating bastard off that broom, to send him crashing down amongst the Inferi…

Something of the thought must have shown on his face, because Malfoy’s smirk faded, and Harry was struck by just how tired he looked. “We haven’t got time for this,” he said, and he was right.

The Inferi scrambled over the walls and railings of the Schoolhouse. From Harry’s vantage point as he pulled himself up onto the broom, they looked like a wave of twitching, squirming bodies, Dementors drifting along in their wake like pebbles caught in the tide. The Schoolhouse itself was almost invisible, concealed by a dark, moving cloud of Malfoy’s ‘toys’.

“What have you done?”

“Better them than us,” was the only reply he got. And doesn’t that just sum up his fucked up view of the world and the other people he’s forced to share it with…selfish bastard! The ‘us’ gave Harry a sharp, sweet little feeling in his chest, and that made him even angrier. There’s no ‘us‘. I don’t want to be part of an ‘us’ with him.

That was when he realised that they were moving away from the Schoolhouse. Sailing away from the battle, soaring up into the sky…running away…

“We’re going back.” Harry reached around Malfoy, his hands finding the handle of the broom, trying to get some control over the steering. If he hated Malfoy right now, then he hated himself too; his friends were in danger, but all he could think about was the body he was virtually wrapped around. The stupid softness of the stupid hair blowing in his face, the stupid strength and stupid heat of the stupid thighs trapping his hands against the stupid broomstick…

“You must be insane. Stop messing about!”

Harry pulled his head back just in time to avoid an elbow to the face. Fine, if he wants to play it like that. He tore a hand free and drove a quick hard punch into Malfoy’s lower back - harder than he intended, but it did the trick. Malfoy was suddenly too concerned with his own pain to fight Harry for control of the broomstick.

“I think you ruptured my kidney,” he moaned. “That was a dirty blow, Potter.”

Probably my imagination, but he actually sounds impressed…

“You’d know all about that. Call it fair payback for that time at the flat.” Harry tried to sound unsympathetic, but he did feel a twinge of guilt. Maybe I've really hurt him. A high-pitched screech drew his attention back to the battle below. He deserves it.

The screech wasn’t a human sound; it reminded Harry of a rocket going off. That impression probably wasn’t too far off the mark, he decided as the noise was followed by a flash of light so powerful it filled the sky with a red glow. He looked down to see a dragon in the playground.

Not a flesh and blood dragon, but one made up entirely of white flames and sparkling stars - the weapons-grade version of the fireworks Fred and George had cooked up at school. Its flames were real, not illusion, and it cut a swathe through the Inferi, before soaring up into the swarm of insects.

“Tell me why it’s so important that we go back,” Malfoy said. Harry ignored him. “I mean, they look to be doing all right down there.” Harry pulled his wand from his belt and aimed the broomstick straight into the middle of the swarm. “This is stupid!”

*

What with all the pain, indignation, disbelief, fear and frustration rolling around inside Draco, there shouldn’t have been room for anger. But as they flew into the swarm, it swelled up inside him, sweeping aside all the other emotions just as easily as the firework dragon swept aside the metal insects. It didn’t matter that Potter was sensibly following the dragon, rather than trying to smash his way through the teeming mass as Draco had feared. He’s still a total fucking idiot.

And he was sick of doing whatever he was told - by his father, the Dark Lord, Snape, Lupin, Potter, whoever. I just want out of all of this. NOW.

“Fucksake!” Despite the pain from his back, he grabbed the broom handle and threw all his weight forward on it. It wasn’t about changing course - much too late for that…

Stop the world. I want to get off…

Potter tried to fight him - of course - screwing up what should have been a nice painless landing. They slammed sideways against the Schoolhouse roof.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Even sliding down the slates, bruised and disorientated and tangled together like lovers, they were still fighting.

“Trying to drop you off at your battle!” Draco had almost forgotten the Veritaserum, but there it was again, making his mouth move faster than his brain. “I don’t want to leave you, but this is too fucked up for me. Why do you always think you have to be at the centre of every battle? Not every thing in the world’s about you, Potter. Not even this war is about you!”

They came to rest against a chimneystack. Draco’s vain attempts to untangle himself were frustrated by Potter grabbing his shoulders and shoving him back against the slates.

“I don’t want to be at the centre of it! I don’t expect you to understand, but you’ve just put pretty much everyone I care about in danger and I’ve got to -”

“Got to what? Go rescue everyone single-handed? Fuck, I hadn’t realised how much this ‘Chosen One’ shit had gone to your head. You’re not some kid who hasn’t even finished school yet, you’re a Great Hero, single-handedly saving the world! I can’t believe I was actually starting to like you - to think that you weren’t as stupid and arrogant as you seemed. I’m just as thick as you are!”

Some anger-free part of Draco listened to the Veritaserum-induced spew of words and cringed. But Potter was shouting back at him, and he didn’t even have Veritaserum as an excuse.

“I am stupid! I trusted you - that was stupid! You sold everyone out for your own skin and even when you were actually doing it, I thought it was a trick. I believed in you, you bastard!”

“Lupin told me to do it, you sanctimonious prick!”

That shut him up. Potter stared at him as if he’d just confessed to being Lupin’s sex toy. Draco squirmed under the stare. He wished he could ignore the emotions crossing Potter’s face, or at the very least, lose his ability to read them. Potter let go of his shoulders, but that didn’t mean he could sit up; Potter was still leaning over him, still much too close for comfort.

I don’t care if he likes me. I don’t care if he trusts me. I don’t want him to trust me. You can only ‘trust’ if you have control, and if he ever dares to think he controls me I’ll fuck him over so badly he won’t be able to even think my name without pain.

I hate him.

Draco shrugged, and looked away from Potter’s warm, hopeful eyes. “It wasn’t my idea. I just thought you’d need to show the Muggles the address to bring them through the Fidelius Charm. But Lupin was worried about the Muggles in the village, and he didn’t want the Dark Creatures hanging round here after the Order had gone. So he needed their commander to able to see that we’d gone.”

“But the Order hasn’t gone.”

“Disapparition jinx. Hence the broomstick. I don’t know how Lupin’s planning to get everyone out now, but I’m sure he’ll manage it. I don’t think he’s into reckless self-sacrifice. Unlike you. And if he is, I’m sure he doesn’t drag other people into it.”

“Unlike me?” Potter said quietly. “But I didn’t drag you anywhere - not this time. You came after me.” Draco could almost hear the question before it came, and bit his lip, trying frantically to think of an answer the Veritaserum would allow. “Why?”

“Because you’re stupid and reckless and hadn’t thought it through. Because I knew you wouldn’t come back without the Muggles.” Good answers. Nice, neutral answers. Of course, then he had to go and spoil it. “Because you needed me.”

Right, now I’m going to be sick…

Thankfully, Potter was diverted from whatever he was going to say next. Scorched chunks of metal rained down, bouncing off the slates like over-sized hailstones. The dragon soared past, but it looked faded and blurred, as if its fire was going out.

“I think we should get down from here.”

Potter nodded slowly, but Draco got the impression he hadn’t heard a word he’d just said. He had finally straightened his glasses, but his face was smeared with soot and splattered with blood, probably from the open cuts on his forehead and chin. There was sticky gunk in his hair, and Draco didn’t even want to consider where that had come from. Better to look at that than his eyes, though - they were as steady and clear as ever, and his gaze moved over Draco’s face as if he’d never really had a chance to look at him before.

And he was still much too close.

Best to think of him as a human shield; if the swarm attack again they’ll get him first.

At least he’d finished scrutinising Draco’s face. Now it was his neck’s turn. Something in the region of his collarbone interested Potter a great deal.

A quick glance down showed the St Christopher hanging over the collar of his horrible yellow shirt. Just when the anger had started to die down, panic rose to take its place.

Potter can’t ask about that! There wasn’t a single answer that Draco could give that wouldn’t condemn him.

Potter reached out to touch it. “Wh-” Draco cut off the question with his lips.

It was a stupid thing to do. A hand over his mouth would have stopped the question just as easily. Even if it wouldn’t have diverted Potter from the pendant, it didn’t run the risk of freaking him out completely…or giving him ideas. This kiss, Draco reflected as he slipped the St Christopher back into his shirt, was definitely going to do one or the other. Potter was frozen in shock, so it could still go either way -

He was about to pull back when Potter’s hands came up to cup his face. He felt fingers tangle painfully in his hair, palms warm and firm against his jaw, and the lips that had felt so soft and still just a second ago were suddenly attacking his. Potter kissed like his entire world was narrowed down to that one moment, that one action. No teasing allowed, this was hard, almost bruisingly so, angry, desperate, hungry…perfect.

Draco couldn’t breathe, and he certainly couldn’t think. All he could do was react, matching Potter’s fierceness with an almost humiliating eagerness. Somewhere deep inside him, a little voice was shouting do you remember who the fuck this is? He ignored it, letting it be swept away by sudden, shameful arousal.

*

Malfoy arched his back, the lithe, hard lines of his body fitting perfectly against Harry’s, surrender and defiance all mixed up in one smooth, taunting motion. Harry twisted his fingers into fine, soft hair and jerked Malfoy’s head back, feeling his lips open helplessly as he gasped his pain into Harry’s mouth.

The sound of another rocket screaming up into the air brought him sharply back to sanity.

What the fuck am I doing?

Harry tore himself away so fast he cracked his head on the bricks of the chimneystack behind him. Malfoy stared at him, the glazed look in his eyes shifting to a wariness that just made the whole thing worse. It would be so much easier if he would just smirk, or laugh, or make some sarcastic comment. But no, he stares at me as if I’m somehow going to leap on him, as if it’s my fault. I didn’t start it!

“This game of yours is going too far.”

“You seemed to be enjoying it,” Malfoy said coolly enough, but his cheeks were flushed with colour. So were his lips, Harry realised with horrified fascination. Lips red and swollen, clothes dishevelled, hair tousled, eyes gleaming, smirk finally creeping into place - he looked wild and dissolute and sexy…and he totally fucking knew it. Harry had never hated him more.

“Why don’t you just go to hell,” Harry said, turning his back on Malfoy and starting to clamber around the chimneystack. He felt the heat from the latest dragon scorch his face as it flew by. But getting burnt by fireworks beats staring at Malfoy. Hell, he’d even take on the Inferi, Dementors and a whole gang of Death Eaters, alone and wandless, than stay up on that roof with Malfoy. Even putting some distance between them didn’t help; the want pounded through Harry’s blood like some particularly cruel poison.

“I’m taking that as a request rather than a question,” Malfoy said. “So I don’t have to answer it.”

“Do what you want.” Harry’s feet slipped on the slates; he reached the edge of the roof by the undignified and painful method of sliding down it on his arse. He saw the roof of some kind of outhouse below him - just an easy-looking jump away. Below that was…hell, or the closest thing to it he hoped he would ever see.

Thick greasy smoke drifted through the playground. Impossible to tell now if the dismembered and burning corpses strewn over the broken paving had been Inferi, dying for the second time at Lucius Malfoy’s whim, or living human beings. The only movement came from the Dementors drifting around them; aimless and lethargic, they had no interest in the dead.

Harry heard a curse from behind him, and the squeak of Malfoy’s trainers trying - and failing - to keep a foothold on the slates. He didn’t even look up as Malfoy slid down next to him; his eyes refused to move from the scene below.

I need to have the faith in Lupin Malfoy seems to have…they must have got out… He refused to think of the alternative.

A sudden movement from the Dementors caught his eye. They all seemed to catch the scent at once, surging straight towards Harry and Malfoy…

Adrenaline flared through Harry’s body. His wand was raised and Expecto Patronum virtually on his lips when he realised that the Dementors weren’t coming for them.

The outhouse…

Below them, Patronuses seemed to spring fully formed from thin air. If Harry squinted, he could see the outlines of people clustered behind the outhouse. It was like looking at the world through a glass with human-shaped flaws in it - they’d taken on the colours and textures of their background so perfectly he could only tell they were there where the edges didn’t quite match up, or when they moved and the Disillusionment Charm took a flickering split second to catch up. And they were all moving now, running for the walls, Patronuses forcing a path through the Dementors. The firework dragon, its fire fading but still beautiful, soared over them like a guardian angel.

Harry’s heart leapt. Then dropped right back into his stomach as he saw new figures appear in the lane. Black robes, but not Dementors…

He made a wild leap for the outhouse roof. The slates gave way under him as he landed, and he found himself sliding helplessly, dropping ignominiously off the edge in a shower of broken slate.

*

Draco watched Potter’s undignified progress down to ground level with a mix of disbelief, weary amusement and admiration. It was the tiniest flicker of admiration, irritating as hell, but he had to acknowledge it.

The boy was unstoppable. You could probably smash him several times over the head with a rock and he’d still keep going. Courage was an over-rated concept, but Potter’s unshakeable stubbornness and confidence were as fascinating to watch in action as they were annoying to experience. The only way to slow him down would probably be Avada Kedavra, and even that doesn’t work, if the stories are true.

Like a fucking force of nature…

No. He refused to be impressed by anything about Potter, especially not now. He had a kink in his neck, his back ached and his lips were finally tingling instead of throbbing

That was quite an apt description of Potter, though. Like a hurricane, or an earthquake - no brain, just flattens everything and everyone in his path.

Draco watched Potter charge across the playground, already hurling hexes at the Death Eaters. And like a hurricane - totally exhilarating to watch, even when your house is being torn down by it. He muttered a quick Accio broom and snatched the broomstick from the air as it hurtled towards him.

Bastard.

*

The Death Eaters were all that mattered - the curses that they sent Harry’s way, the spells he used to block them, the hexes he sent back. He concentrated fiercely on the mechanics of the fight, refusing to think about what he might be stepping on, ignoring the sickening smell of the smoke still drifting around.

He dived behind the swings to avoid a curse. Purple light splashed against the chains, and the swing moved, dislodging the charred remains resting on it. The corpse slumped forward, swinging back and forth in a parody of play. Harry scrambled away from it, but the smell of it was already in his nose.

Like cheap perfume sprinkled over an overcooked joint of beef… His stomach flipped.

Don’t think about it…don’t think about it…

Harry only lost his focus for just a couple of seconds, but that one nauseated moment of distraction was all it took. Every inch of his body froze up as the spell hit.

He toppled over, thankfully away from the swing. Someone stepped over him, heavy velvet robes swirling around fine dragonhide boots. Harry couldn’t look up - cheek pressed against the stone flags, he was stuck staring at those no-doubt expensive boots - but he knew who it was.

His captor spun around. Velvet brushed over Harry’s face, and light flashed as a spell was blocked - and returned.

There was the dull thud of a body hitting the ground, and a broomstick clattered across the paving stones, rolling to a rest in front of Harry’s horrified eyes.

No, he wouldn’t - not his own son…

He found his paralysis lifted, but before he had the chance to do more than grab for his wand, ropes coiled around his wrists. He struggled to his knees, frantically looking for Draco.

He was just a few feet away, sprawled on the ground at his father’s feet.

Red light, not green - he’s unconscious, not dead.

Malfoy crouched down, gently brushing the hair out of his son’s face. “I failed you,” he said softly, “but I will make things right. If I can’t save you, I’ll do the honourable thing.” His voice dropped, and Harry had to strain to hear. “However much it hurts.”

As Harry marvelled at the tenderness in Lucius Malfoy’s voice - and wondered if he could pick up his wand with his teeth - a gentle breeze drifted through the playground. Gentle - but it drove away the smoke, and the foul stench, replacing it with a scent that Harry recognised all too well. They were probably a good fifty miles from the sea in either direction, about as landlocked as you could get on this island…but the breeze smelt like it was blowing directly from the ocean.

Malfoy seemed to recognise it too. His head shot up, and the wind seemed to concentrate around him, catching locks of his hair and almost playing with it. He closed his eyes and smiled - the nearest thing to a genuine, happy smile Harry had seen on either him or Draco.

He surged to his feet and pointed his wand at what seemed to Harry to be thin air. “Well, show yourself, lady.”

A twitch of his wand, and, like paint dribbling over a canvas, the Disillusionment Charm slowly dripped away. Hermione stood there, looking rather alarmed at being stripped of her camouflage.

Oh shit… Malfoy had just taken both Harry and Draco down so easily, and he’d had reasons to spare both their lives - reasons that didn’t apply to Hermione. She gripped the black box tightly under her arm, and pointed her wand at Malfoy with every outward sign of confidence - but Harry could see the sudden panic he felt reflected in her eyes. Hermione’s clever and brave - but she’s not a fighter…

Malfoy looked at the box under her arm and laughed - not the mocking laugh of a sadistic killer, but the warm chuckle of a benevolent uncle. “This makes things rather interesting,” he said, and made a swift gesture with his free hand.

Hermione flinched and Harry saw her move to block the attack - an attack that never came.

Seconds later, Harry heard the now-familiar buzzing, and the last remnants of the swarm swept down from the sky…past Hermione, towards the other Death Eaters.

Some of them were still fighting - none of them realised the danger until it was too late.

Hermione still had her wand pointed firmly at Malfoy; he gave her an exaggerated bow, and his laugh echoed around the playground long after he Disapparated.

Hermione stood there for a second, apparently just as confused as Harry. Then she pulled herself together and released him from his bonds.

As he snatched up his wand and scrambled over to Draco, not even bothering to stand up in his haste, Harry saw other Order members appearing around them, and he caught snippets of panicked conversation.

“The Disapparition Jinx must be down.”

“We need to get out of here now.”

“Malfoy’s just offed all his men - don’t think he’ll be coming back with reinforcements.”

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

“Are you all right?” Harry looked up at the familiar voice, and felt a warm rush of relief when he saw Ron. He put his arm around Hermione, probably not even realising he was doing it, and she let him. Progress. “What the hell just happened?”

“I don’t know! Lucius Malfoy’s finally gone insane?”

“Good work with the fireworks, boys.”

“Our very great pleasure.”

“Where now, boss?”

“Folkestone. You know the address.”

“Ooohh, there’ll be bluuuebirds overr, the whiiite cliiifs of Dooover -”

“Broomsticks, Fred, broomsticks.”

“Really? Nah - pretty certain it’s bluebirds.”

“We’ll make it broomsticks.”

With every familiar voice, that warm feeling increased. Even Fred and George’s singing sounded beautiful to Harry as he touched his wand to Draco’s forehead and whispered “Rennervate.”

Draco’s eyes opened instantly, wide and full of panic. “Oh, fuck, I tried to hex Father.”

Harry grinned. He wasn’t going to hug him. Or kiss him. But, god, I want to. I’m sick…and I really don’t care. “Rushing to the rescue again? Anyone would think you wanted to be a hero.” Draco pulled a face, and Harry sat back on his heels, away from temptation. “And your father’s gone mad. He bowed to Hermione. And killed the other Death Eaters.”

“He bowed to Granger?”

‘Granger‘, Harry noted, Not ‘the Mudblood’. Such a stupid little thing to be pleased about, but I am.

Draco had gone straight to the puzzling bit. That Lucius Malfoy would turn against Voldemort wasn’t particularly hard to believe. That he would make such a grand gesture of respect to a Muggleborn was. Even in jest it was unbelievable - and Malfoy had never seemed much of a man for jokes.

“Snape was right,” Draco said quietly. “The castle has got to him.”

“Cas-” Harry’s question wasn’t cut off by a kiss this time, but a hand slapped firmly over his mouth.

“Do you ever stop asking questions?” Draco snapped. Harry caught the edge of pleading lurking beneath the sharp tone and relented - for about ten seconds, until the hand was cautiously moved away from his mouth, and an evil impulse worthy of Draco himself had him asking:

“Did you enjoy it?”

Draco’s struggle was truly impressive. He bit his lip, slammed his hand over his mouth, and glared at Harry with real venom.

Harry couldn’t hear his reply, but he didn’t need to. Because he probably would have spit a ‘No’ straight into my face.

“Yeah,” Harry said calmly, trying to ignore the heat rising inside him, the way his heart seemed to be trying to beat its way out of his chest. “I hated it too.”