CHAPTER 1

"Well, Draco?"

Lucius Malfoy's voice was high, breathy and excited, directly above Harry. It was almost indecent, the amount of anticipation smothering the elder Malfoy's tone.

Harry's heart was sinking fast, his stomach already bottomed out and blood already gone cold.

His vision was distorted, his glasses knocked askew by Hermione's spell, but he was himself. He was certain Draco would recognize him, but he forced himself not to look at Draco's face, not watch the blond approach them slowly. He started forming an escape plan, maybe something involving blowing out the floor, his brain not even listening to Draco's triumphant recognition.

But Draco didn't speak. There was no relishing voice ringing out, proud and certain and smug. There was no "yes, that's Potter," that followed. Just a tense silence, everyone holding their breath and focusing on Draco.

"Is it? Is it Harry Potter?" Lucius prompted, and Draco snapped out of his silence.

"I can't—" he began, and Harry heard Hermione's breath catch behind him. "I can't be sure," he finished, voice shaking and breaking on the last word.

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" Lucius grabbed his son's arm and steered him towards Harry, who looked up. Draco's translucent gray eyes latched onto his and Harry's heart clenched as he saw the unmistakable light of recognition in Draco's eyes, before it was masked by fear and dread. No doubt Draco knew who was kneeling in front of him, but as he stared, the only thing he saw was absolute panic in Draco's face.

There was silence then, from both the cellar and upstairs, broken only by the footsteps echoing on the ceiling ahead, marking Wormtail's advance.

"We're going to have to try and tackle him," Harry whispered to Ron, and the latter nodded, his gaze set firmly at the door in front of him.

"Stand back," came Wormtail's voice, and Harry sucked in a breath.

He opened the door, and Harry and Ron were on him in a flash.

He hit the floor with a decisive thud, and Harry clamped a hand down on his mouth while his other hand struggled to wrestle Wormtail's wand from his sweaty grip. The enchanted silver hand reached up and found Harry's throat, closing tightly and Harry gasped and sputtered.

"What is it, Wormtail?" Lucius called.

"Nothing!" Ron improvised, imitating Wormtail. "All fine!"

"You're going to kill me?" Harry choked. "You owe me!"

Wormtail looked stricken, but it was nothing compared to the look he had when the silver fingers slackened, making Harry cough and gasp, and started moving towards his own throat.

Ron bounded ahead, but turned back to motion Harry furiously forward.

Harry was busy trying to pry the fingers off of Wormtail's windpipe, as the beady eyes beneath him pleaded for help. Ron raced back and tried to help, even pulling out his wand, but a dreadful scream overhead from Hermione caused them to abandon their task, Ron bounding ahead of Harry as Wormtail's body collapsed behind him.

They ran along the hallway, as carefully and quietly as possible, and peeked into the doorway. Ron whimpered at the sight of Hermione, lying in the middle of the room, motionless and pale.

"And I think," Bellatrix was saying, her eyes wide in delight as she swooped around to face Hermione, "we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."

"NO!"

Ron had practically roared as he burst into the room, Harry right behind him. Bellatrix whirled around, but Ron Disarmed her before she had a chance to say a single syllable. Harry ran and caught her wand, the rest of the room just now getting full comprehension of what was happening. Lucius Malfoy fired a Stunning Spell at Harry, who ducked and shot one back, almost hitting him in the chest.

Spells were being fired from every wand now except from Draco, who Harry just barely noticed was standing frozen in the middle, looking like his mind was reeling.

Harry decided against Stunning him, out of what he supposed was pure fairness, when a demanding shriek rang through the room.

"STOP OR SHE DIES!"

Everyone froze and whipped around to face Bellatrix, who was supporting an unconscious Hermione by her hair and arm, a small silver dagger held at her throat.

"Drop your wands," she whispered. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"

Harry was still, mind going momentarily slow. For one ludicrous moment, he imagined he was in one of the big standoff scenes in every Muggle action film, lowering his wand as he glanced at Ron, who hadn't moved.

"I said, drop them!" she screeched, pressing her blade a little farther into Hermione's throat until a few beads of blood appeared at the tip.

"Alright!" Ron yelled, his wand immediately falling from his hand. Harry followed suit, raising his hands instinctively instead.

"Good!" she exclaimed breathlessly, seeming to relax a bit as the control swung back into her favor. "Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Harry felt his scar explode into sharp pain, making him stagger backwards from the blinding sensation.

He saw stormy seas, and someone rapidly approaching a shoreline. He was coming.

His vision cleared as Bellatrix turned to Draco, who hadn't moved, despite her earlier demand.

"Draco," she said sharply, "Pick their wands up!"

Draco's head snapped up to her as if she had screamed at him, and gave a short nod.

Harry watched him, his eyes flickering between helplessness and stony anger. Draco glanced at something beyond Harry and his steps faltered, but no one but Harry seemed to notice.

He stopped in front of Harry and held his gaze for a second, and Harry saw some sort of resolve form, clouding his fear, and perhaps his better judgment.

"Hurry up, boy!" Bellatrix snapped, and Draco bent down and picked up her wand.

And Harry swore he must be hallucinating.

For there was no way that Draco Malfoy just winked at him.

Draco spun around, holding Bellatrix's wand aloft.

"STUPEFY!" he screamed, and Bellatrix's shout of shock was cut short by the red jet of light from Draco as it hit her in the stomach.

"Weasley—Granger—go!" he shouted, firing another Stunning spell at a wildly confused but still aggressive Greyback.

Narcissa screamed as she understood what was happening, holding out her hands as Lucius lunged at Draco and Harry.

Harry had a fleeting vision of Ron running towards the collapsed Hermione and—Dobby—before he turned his head to see Draco reach towards him.

Harry dimly registered Draco grabbing Harry's arm before his already unsteady breath was sucked from him, turning the world black and blurry.

Apparation, he thought, and tried to scream, or struggle, but Draco's grip was desperate and vice-like on Harry's arm, and Harry found himself completely immobilized.

In a split second, his feet touched ground and he was thrown off of his feet, slamming into the grass and dirt that had materialized beneath him. He barely noticed the chill of the wind on his face or the sound of waves crashing somewhere behind him, but he did notice the other erratic breath pattern beside him, and he whipped his head around to find a pale and shaking Draco Malfoy getting unsteadily to his feet.

"Malfoy—" Harry began, but he was completely unsure of what to demand.

"I'm not taking you back so you can die rescuing your friends," Draco said defiantly, the decisiveness of his voice in heavy contrast to the look of shock on his face.

"You rescued me," Harry realized fully, his eyes widening in surprise and confusion.

"I—yeah," Draco answered, exhaling and running a hand through his hair. He glanced at Harry and pulled out his wand, and Harry jerked back instinctively.

"You've still got some of that Stinging Jinx on you," Draco explained, and muttered "Finite incantatem" to himself. Harry felt the faint stinging in his face vanish completely, and raised a tentative hand to feel his features, finding them restored to normal.

"Right," Harry said, standing up and beginning to pace back and forth, Draco watching him warily. "I'm going back. Ron and Hermione," he said, by way of explanation, and turned to Draco.

"You—you can come with me," he continued to ramble, "You can say it was—an accident or something—"

"Potter, it was clear what I was doing! I was helping you escape! Everyone saw that!" Draco protested, his eyes going wide with fear again.

"Ron and Hermione—"

"—Are fine," Draco interjected, desperate. "I Stunned Aunt Bellatrix, Weasley was running for Granger when I—when we—Disapparated. Dobby was right behind us, I saw him when I went to get your wand. This wasn't as impromptu as you think," he finished, and Harry blinked.

"You planned this?" Harry asked, disbelieving. Draco hesitates.

"Not bad for 30 seconds, is it?"

"Malf—Draco," Harry said slowly, and Draco blinked at the use of his first name. "You have…no idea what you've done."

"Don't think so, Potter?" Draco snapped. "You think I betray my family and the Dark Lord every other Tuesday? Do I look like a risk taker to you?"

"It's just…" Harry began, feeling faintly nauseous over the enormity of what had just happened. "You're on the run now, Draco. You're probably wanted dead, you're probably being looked for, do you even know anything—"

"I KNOW!" Draco roared, and Harry fell silent. "You were going to die," Draco chokes out finally, and Harry stares at him in amazement.

"I thought that was what you wanted," Harry said.

"It was never what I wanted," Draco shot back, glaring at Harry. "I thought it was, but I—I never really thought about it until...well, all of a sudden I'm a Death Eater and I have to—to do these things. And I never wanted it. I don't want it."

Harry was stunned into silence, and Draco didn't seem to notice. He watched as the blond ran a shaky hand through his hair, the strands coming away from their strict hairstyle to fall in front of Draco's eyes.

The waves crashing somewhere around them were too loud in Harry's ears as he stared, trying to think of something to say.

"Well, at least when you dishonor your entire family tree you go all out," he said finally, laughing weakly. Draco gaped at him.

Harry then realized that he probably should proceed to be more tactful during Draco's identity crisis, and was about to stammer out an apology when Draco laughed. He laughed until he almost fell over, gasping out breaths as Harry stared at him in alarm, wondering if Draco had gone insane.

"Merlin," Draco breathed when he could speak again, a faint grin still on his face. "I just rescued Harry Potter. Fuck."

"Well, thank you," Harry finally said, a bit thickly. Draco snorted in response.

"You're welcome, Potty."

Harry turned to face the shoreline, squinting his eyes in the bright sunlight that suddenly faced him. "Where are we?"

"France," Draco answered casually, and Harry raised his eyebrows at him. "I'm not exactly sure what city. I haven't been here in…12 years, give or take."

"What's here?"

"Nothing now," Draco said, marching up the edge of the grassy cliff. "Our family villa was torn down many years ago. It was the first place I thought of."

"We should leave," Harry said quickly.

Draco looked around at him, his mouth open as if he were going to protest, but Harry cut him off.

"This seems like a place they'd expect you to go. We can't be here." Harry said firmly, and Draco nodded, resigned.

Harry was again struck with a strange desire to say something, words of comfort or solidarity, but he pushed it down and instead wordlessly walked up to Draco, grabbed his wrist and Disapparated.

It was faintly raining when they landed on the wet shores of another beach, and Draco instinctively brought his hands up to shield his hair from the moisture.

The sky was dark with angry storm clouds, but the sea next to them was calm in contrast, the rolling gray waves crashing smoothly onto the shore.

The sand dunes above led up to a sand plateau that stretched on interrupted until the cottage in the middle of it, and Draco assumed automatically that this is where Harry meant to end up.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Shell Cottage," Harry answered, seemingly looking around for someone to come and help. "Bill and Fleur Weasley live here, it's where I told Dobby to take everyone."

Draco nodded, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety forming somewhere between his lungs and followed Harry as they both made their way towards the cottage. Before they had even crossed to the sand dunes, however, a tall blonde figure in a simple blue dress burst out of the cottage and started running towards them, and Harry raised his arms in greeting.

"'ARRY!" The woman nearly screamed in relief, running somehow incredibly elegantly on the wet sand and embracing Harry.

Up close, Draco immediately recognized her as Fleur Delacour, and would be even more stunned by her beauty now than he was in fourth year if it weren't for the wave of panic he could feel rising up in him again as she turned her icy blue gaze onto him.

"Draco Malfoy?" she asked, even though he could tell she knew who he was.

Draco nodded, unsure of what to say, but Harry cut into whatever reply he was formulating.

"He got me out of the Manor," he explained, shooting Draco a look that seemed like he still didn't dare to believe his own declaration.

"'e rescued you?" she asked Harry, staring shamelessly at Draco, her voice a whisper and her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Yeah, that's about where I am right now." Harry replied, a rueful smile on his face. Draco suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well, come inside, quickly! We 'ave much to discuss. Bill is with 'Ermione upstairs…I think you should see 'er."

Draco glanced at Harry, who had momentarily stilled, and saw his face filled with worry.

"She'll be okay," he whispered before he could think, and Harry's head snapped up to look at him, traces of surprise on his face.

"I hope so," he replied blankly after a moment, and they both resolved to follow Fleur back to the house in silence.

Once they were inside, Draco had a fleeting vision of a modern yet cozy beach house interior before both Harry and Draco found themselves pressed up against the wall on opposite sides of the doorframe.

Draco blinked in surprise, and then tensed when he found his face only inches from the oldest Weasley, his shoulder-length red hair falling to his shoulders and hanging around his face like a curtain and giving Draco the distinct smell of sea salt and shampoo. The scar that he had attained last year stuck out on his face as his teeth were bared, and Draco's heart pumped cold blood into his veins as he stared back at the animalistic expression.

He was aware of the point of a wand pressing into his ribcage, and he squeezed his eyes shut and barely held back a whimper as he realized no one was stopping him.

His wand was yanked out of his hand and he let it be taken, twisting his head around to see Harry, who was being pinned in place by a wildly less insistent Kingsley.

"What," boomed Kingsley, "was the shape and flavor of your 17th birthday cake?"

Draco blinked, completely thrown and unsure if he'd heard correctly.

Fleur made an indignant sound behind them. "Not zis again," she fumed. "It's 'Arry!"

"Fleur, it's okay," Harry said, noticeably calm. "It was…chocolate, wasn't it? And in the shape of a Snitch."

Kingsley sighed with relief and backed off, nodding tersely at Bill.

Bill turned back to Draco, and he crouched back into the wall as best he could, unable to tear his eyes away from Bill's dangerous gaze.

But after a second or two, Bill's eyes clouded with frustration and confusion and he stepped back, and Draco almost sagged with relief.

"I can't think of anything," Bill said, pursing his lips.

"Let me," Harry interjected quickly. Kingsley nodded and handed him back his wand. Harry took it, but did not point it at Draco.

"Last year," He began, staring straight at Draco, "I accidentally—er, cornered you in the bathroom. You were…upset."

Draco closed his eyes and nodded. "I remember."

"Do you remember the spell I used on you?"

Draco's eyes flew open. "Yes," he responded hesitantly.

Bill, Fleur and Kingsley were all looking strangely at Harry, silent and confused.

"What was it?"

Draco looked around at them all before answering quietly, almost feeling the scars on his chest sting.

"S-Sectumsempra."

Fleur's brow furrowed, but Bill and Kingsley's eyes widened in shock and recognition.

"We've all done bad things without knowing it," Harry said evenly, shrugging.

Just like me, Draco finished in his head, but Harry left any mention of him unsaid. The others, however, stared at Draco like Harry had said his name, their expressions ranging from caution to hesitant acceptance.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked finally, and Draco noticed the break in his voice with a pang in his own chest.

Fleur strode over to Harry, her hair fluttering over her shoulders and down her back, and laid a comforting hand on Harry's arm.

"She'll be okay," Bill said slowly, unknowingly echoing Draco's words from earlier. This time said, however, they were tainted with the expectation of further bad news instead of whatever comfort Draco's whisper could be laced with.

"But?" Harry interjected, jaw set and eyes blazing. Draco flinched as he recognized the stare all too well, from the countless times it had been fixed on him.

"But," Bill continued, looking evermore weary, "she hasn't woken up. She—we don't think—sometimes this happens in Muggles and Muggleborns when they've been tortured by magic. Their brain sort of—sort of fails. Their kind hasn't had as long to…acclimate to the possibility of such conditions."

"She…she's in a coma?" Harry whispered, his jaw now slack and eyes blown wide with horror.

Bill dropped his gaze.

"Of sorts," Kingsley allowed, and even though his eyes were kind and supportive, his voice and manner hadn't lost that professionally protective air that seemed to be infused within the man. "Magical comatose states can differ greatly from Muggle ones. We can't know for sure until we get a Healer."

"SO DO THAT!" Harry roared, making Draco jump backwards.

"Harry, it's not that simple!" Bill countered. "She is technically wanted on criminal charges at the Ministry! We can't just pop her down to Saint Mungos. We have to get a Healer that's…that's like us. And I don't know how long that will take."

Harry let out a long, slow breath, head bowed and shoulders suddenly slumped.

Draco realized with a shock that it was the first time he'd ever seen the great Harry Potter look defeated.

"Can…can I see her?"

Harry followed Bill up the stairs, barely remembering Draco trailing noiselessly behind him.

Bill stopped at the top, and gestured to a white wooden door left of the banister. Harry nodded and marched on, Draco hurrying to catch up.

He pushed open the already cracked door, and a part of him almost relaxed at the sight in front of him.

Hermione was gently lying under white linens with a blue calico print, cleaned and soft and dressed in white pajamas that were certainly Fleur's. Her curls were spread almost artfully on the pillow beneath her, and her face was a painted picture of peaceful sleep.

Ron sat in a chair, obviously pulled up for him, beside the edge of the bed. His slightly shaking fingers lay hesitantly on Hermione's still ones, his other hand gingerly touching the ends of her hair.

He looked up when he heard the door creak, and his somber and worried expression gave way to surprise and relief as he shot up, his arms still on the bed.

"Harry! You—how?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer any question Ron might have, but before he could get a word out, he saw Ron's expression turn horrified and angry, his sights set on someone behind—

Malfoy! Draco! Shit.

Harry stepped decisively in front of the blond that had slid into the room behind him, cutting off any immediate damage Ron could do.

Ron's face went from fuming to confused, his brow furrowed but his lips still curled in disgust. Not that Harry would ever tell him, but it wasn't a very attractive look on him.

Harry could almost hear the scathing "don't hurt yourself, Weasel," from Malfoy, and he braced for whatever was coming.

"He's going to hit me," came the response instead.

Harry turned around to find a seemingly nonchalant Draco leaning against the wall, barely inside the room.

"No, he's not," Harry responded, not believing himself as he said it.

"Actually, Harry," Ron's voice came from the other side of the room, sounding far too calm for his voice to be laced with such venom. "I think I might just kill him."

Harry whirled around again, expecting to stop a stampeding Ron Weasley from bashing Draco's head in, but instead found him quite stationary, looking at Draco like his mother's killer just asked to have lunch.

"Ron," Harry began, cautiously, and eventually Ron's eyes left Draco, settling on Harry with a slightly less murderous expression. "You—no one's going to hurt him."

Ron's eyes widened as suddenly as if he'd been slapped, the betrayal he felt almost pouring out of his irises as they darkened to a deep navy blue.

"He just stood there, Harry." Ron stated in that same deadly voice, and Harry flinched. "Just stood there, while Hermione—" his voice caught, and he stopped talking, shaking his head once.

"Ron," Harry tried, a bit desperately, knowing he was still convincing himself, "he rescued me. I wouldn't have gotten to Dobby in time, Draco knew that."

"HE CAME A BIT LATE, DIDN'T HE?" Ron yelled, gesturing furiously to Hermione, and Harry felt another pang in his chest as he looked at her unconscious form.

"Ron—"

"I bet he waited until he was down one Mudblood," he spat, throwing his words at Draco as if they were knives. Harry could practically see them embedding themselves in his skull.

"WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO, WEASLEY?"

"SOMETHING!" Ron roared, and kicked the bedframe.

"I couldn't," Malfoy shot back defensively, and Ron scoffed. "I couldn't! I wouldn't have known where to go, what to—do—and I couldn't get to her. It wasn't—I couldn't do anything."

Ron appeared not to hear him, but he also wasn't saying anything.

"Weasley…I'm sorry." Draco added quietly, sounding defeated.

A peculiar feeling washed over Harry at this. He blinked at Draco, recognizing the second expression of gentle sincerity he'd ever heard from the boy. From any Slytherin, even—save perhaps Slughorn. The words were not spoken for careful manipulation, as Harry had heard continuously pour from the mouth of Tom Riddle, chosen specifically to hone in and reward whatever his victim desired to hear.

No, Draco spoke again with truth, remorse and a general ache that suddenly, Harry found himself peculiarly but irrevocably wanting to ease.

Ever the hero, he thought bitterly, internally shaking himself for a minute.

Ron, too, was looking at Draco with an expression of incredulity, and Harry felt it was his turn to step in.

"Ron," he tried for the fourth time, and this time Ron let him continue. "We need to…accept him right now. He helped us all."

Ron looked at them both for a couple seconds longer, and then blew a long breath out.

"Alright," he said finally. "Alright."

Draco was staring at Harry when Harry looked back at him, and when he met the slightly amazed gaze of grey-eyed boy standing behind him, he looked away quickly, again quenching the sudden swell of protectiveness he felt.

Ron made a noise in the back of his throat and turned back to Hermione, sitting down in his chair.

"What happens now?" he asked in a small voice.

"I don't know," Harry answered honestly, and ignored Draco's raised eyebrows.

"You don't know?" Draco repeated, and Harry sighed.

"I didn't exactly count on one of us being rendered comatose," he snapped, before realizing that wow, he probably should have.

"I bet Hermione did," Ron commented, a bit mournfully, stroking her hair again.

Harry smiled sadly. "Bet so."

They all lapsed into silence, and Harry could still feel Draco's eyes on him.

"Harry," Ron said suddenly, and Harry looked at him expectantly. "You've got to go on."

Harry blinked at him. "What?"

Ron swallowed. "I'm not leaving her."

It took him a few seconds, but Harry grasped his meaning suddenly, and with the force of a dizzying punch to the gut.

Ron would be right at the spot he was at then for however long it took. It wasn't a choice to him—he could not go with Harry.

"We'll wait," he said a bit desperately, knowing whatever accommodating plan he was forming was ridiculous. "Until she gets better—the Healer will come in—"

"Potter," Draco said, evidently too shocked to remember to call him Harry. "That can't happen."

"Malfoy's right," Ron admitted, shooting a glare at Draco. "You know there's not time."

Harry stepped backwards, mind whirling. He felt sick, a cold fear settling in his stomach and he was suddenly back at the end of sixth year, after Dumbledore's funeral. He was back arguing with Ron and Hermione, back insisting his task was for him and him alone. Back loving them so much for promising to come with him. Loving so much the feeling of togetherness.

Now, the thought of being alone, well and truly alone, stuck out in his mind like a neon sign, his eyes hurting from the intensity of it. He had intended to go alone originally, and tried to save his friends the pain of what was coming, but suddenly the idea of honest singularity hurt more than he was willing to admit.

"…you've got to take the bag too," Ron was saying. Harry forced his attention back onto him. "She's got everything in there."

Harry nodded numbly.

"Harry—" Draco spoke quietly, a note of trepidation in his voice.

Harry's eyes flitted to him and absently tried to decipher his expression.

Draco opened his mouth to continue, but looked like he was unsure how to voice anything. He just stared at Harry, and Harry stared back, and Ron stared at Hermione.

Harry thought about Draco as he looked at him, and thought for the first time what was next for him. Would he be found? Would he be hidden? Would he fight? Would he protected?

And this last was not a mere curiosity, but a sudden all-encompassing worry that forced loneliness from his mind and that Harry suspected had a bit too much to do with the utterly lost look in Draco's eyes.

They all jumped at the sound of the door opening beside them, and Fleur's sympathetic face appeared.

"'Arry, dear—and Draco too—you are more zan welcome to stay ze night. And as long as you'd like. You two will 'ave to share a room—Luna and Dean 'ave to do ze same. 'ere are your zings—zey were left downstairs." She smiled ruefully again and handed Harry one lone rucksack. Harry suddenly remembered that Draco had brought nothing—couldn't have brought a single thing. Just his wand.

He nodded, not voicing any of this out loud, and motioned for Draco to follow him.

The two boys walked on in silence to the only other empty room in the cottage.

"Harry—" Draco tried again, but stopped short with a sudden choking sound. Harry turned, alarmed.

"Draco?"

Draco's mouth was open in a silent O, his eyes wide from shock, before he fell to his knees.

Then he started screaming.

"DRACO!" Harry yelled, dropping to his knees next to the writhing boy on the ground, who was now clutching his left forearm amongst screams of pain.

Before Harry could even comprehend what was happening, the entire cottage was shook by what seemed to be a massive explosion outside. Yells and screams sounded from downstairs, and there was immediately a pair of footsteps on the stairs.

"It's—shit!" Draco gasped, as another hoarse scream was ripped from his throat. "It's—the Mark!"

Harry was grasping his shoulders helplessly, looking wildly around for any clue as to what the hell was going on.

Ron and Kingsley both suddenly bounded into view just as Draco arched up with a scream one more time before gasping and slumping to the ground, conscious but temporarily unaware.

"Harry—GO! Leave! Now!" Ron yelled, grasping Harry's arm and yanking him up. "We'll be safe—go!" He thrust Hermione's purse into Harry's hands, looking at him firmly with panic-stricken eyes before bounding away again.

"STUPEFY!" Bill Weasley's voice sounded from downstairs, followed by a cackle of unfamiliar and sinister laughter.

"Sectumsempra!" came a suddenly shrill scream that Harry was sure belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange.

Pure panic must have woken Draco up, for he was now scrambling to his feet, assisted by Kingsley, who shoved Harry's knapsack back into his hands.

"Harry, you must leave." He demanded, in a voice that was not to be argued with.

Harry did anyway.

"I can't leave!" he shouted.

"Yes you can!"

"Harry—" Draco tugged on his arm, before gasping in pain again.

After sending him a fear-filled glance, Harry looked directly into Kingsley's eyes.

"If they are hurt," he said, voice low and firm. "There will be hell. Majorca, Spain."

Kingsley blinked, momentarily startled, before his face settled into his usual mask. He nodded.

"Good luck."

Without thinking, Harry turned and grabbed both of Draco's hands so that they were facing each other. He had a split-second vision of that same look of amazement he had seen earlier before they were pulled into a crushing darkness.