Disclaimer: No. I own nothing, nada, zip, zero, rien, niente. In fact, I
have not even received my due pay check. Grrr. . .
Readers: Please review (even if the story has taken a downward plunge of late).
Chapter 21: Second and Third Chances
"Maybe she will, maybe she won't. It's easy to say, hard if you don't. You've got to make the most of the day. . . for beauty dies young."
- Lowgold, Beauty Dies Young
"If I were you, I wouldn't move," a beefy, red faced man sneered, stepping a little inside the circle of wand-sporting witches and wizards.
Harry glared at him, but the truth was all too obvious - the ease in which they had entered, the collapse of the vent, the men waiting below - he had been set up. What better way to kill two birds with one stone? Getting rid of that troublesome Potter and creating an event that would shock and anger the populace, all in one go. He was a fool for not seeing it sooner. The Department of Magical Affairs would have known that security had been breached the night before when the door had swung into Harry; he had been an idiot to think that he had escaped unidentified. Something about this country just made people stupid (or was it just him?). Maybe it was all the TV he had watched since arriving.
"There aren't any hostages?," Harry asked bitterly, still sprawled on the ground.
The beefy man chuckled. "There certainly are. Or were, rather. Makes yah feel all fuzzy about 'em bastards at the DMA, dunnit?"
Harry's mind was racing in panic, desperately grasping for any way to avoid what was clearly imminent death. He was terrified - he had faced death before, but the thought of dying here, away from everyone he cared about and from everyone who cared about him, made it infinitely more unbearable. The choice, however, was taken out of his hands by one of his subordinates: Lieutenant Sien had subtly positioned his wand while their captors had been focused on Harry, and he now made his move. "AVADA KADAVRA!"
"NO!," Harry yelled frantically, at the same time that the three other soldiers brandished their wands, one of the of their captors collapsed (the beefy 'leader'), and two dozen others replied to the curse in kind. "AVADA KADAVRA!"
I AM NOT GOING TO DIE HERE! DRACO!!! Hysteria and adrenaline flooded through Harry, and then something deep inside him snapped and a swell of energy and rage overtook him. "STUPEFY!"
*
The potion had worn off after several days and Draco came around to find his circumstances much improved. He found himself depleted of energy and somewhat depressed, but altogether saner and freer from fear than he had been since Harry had left. He didn't see much of his mother for those few days, as she was otherwise engaged by her inner world, but Severus spent a lot of time with him - mostly out of guilt, but also out of genuine affection for his delicate, brilliant protégé.
The ex potions master and Draco were taking a walk through Snape Manor (both feared that Draco would be recognized if they indulged the desire to walk outside), when it happened. The recovering blonde felt his legs go suddenly weak, but this forewarning was very brief, and he almost instantly collapsed, his knees cracking painfully against the stone floor. He tried to break his fall with his hands, but his arms refused to support him as well, so his face took much of impact of the tumble.
"Malfoy? What happened? Are you alright?," Severus asked harshly, but it was a tone that Draco had learned to interpret as concern. Still, the collapsed boy couldn't do anything more than gasp for breath as he felt energy - was it life itself? - drain from him. Somehow though, he knew, instinctively, what was happening, and the knowledge comforted him. Indeed, he suspected that he could sever the connection if he really tried, but he didn't want to; for if he did, he would never again have this opportunity to die for the only person who could make that sacrifice mean something.
The whole transfer only took several seconds and Draco lost consciousness with Harry's name on his lips and Snape's hand on his hair.
*
Harry felt power flow through him and into magic - it was a power above and beyond his usual level, and that had only been matched months ago when he had been facing off against Voldemort. He watched, suddenly detached, as that bright power lashed out as his captors, first striking down one, then immediately splitting into two dozen flashes of light that arched from the first body to the all the others in the quickly degenerating ring.
Harry himself was struck by the killing curse, and for a moment his heart had stopped and his entire body froze, but it was quickly rejected by his own magical force. He shook his head to clear his mind, then focused on his surroundings: no one was moving. He scrambled to his feet and hurriedly began inspecting the bodies - a number were dead, including his three subordinates, and even more were stupefied.
What the Hell had happened? But as soon as he asked himself that question, he realized that, inexplicably, he already knew the answer - Draco. Somehow, an ocean away, in his hour of need, magical energy had been transmitted from the Giver to himself. Harry felt an icy rush of dread: had he killed the other boy?
But there wasn't time to linger on such thoughts, and Harry got moving before reinforcements came. Harry pointed his wand at the wall, in the direction from which he had came through the vents, and cried, "Destructo!"
Part of the wall crumbled and a large hole appeared, large enough for him to step through if he bent a little. In the next room he did the same, then twice more before finding himself outside the janitorial room. Desperation gave him the strength to continue, and he kicked down the door and jumped into the manhole that opened into the sewer. The entire escape had only taken about five minutes.
He waded quickly and determinedly through the muck, spurred on by the sound of shouts that he could hear in the distance. As soon as he had gone far enough, he shoved his hand into his pocket and portkeyed to the room from which the entire horror had begun that morning. Not wanting to be found, he opened his locker, retrieved his backpack, then, wrapped in his invisibility cloak, teleported to the international terminal at O'Hare airport. It was 1715 and Harry was exhausted, but he continued on on auto pilot, fuelled by sheer force of will. He changed out of his smelly military fatigues and into some clothes he stole from the overpriced airport shop. Then he checked the flight departure times and removed his cloak to wait for Brennan.
Brennan did, in fact, show up, on time even. He was the one to find Harry, as Brennan was disguised as a young African American man. He covered Harry's eyes with his brown hands and asked, "Guess who?"
But Harry was in no mood for playing. He shrugged of Brennan's hands and turned to him. "There's a flight to London at 1845. If you're coming, then you're going to have to share my cloak with me, 'cause we're sneaking on."
Brennan smirked and instantly cuddled up to Harry, who just rolled his eyes, grabbed the metamorphmagus' hand, and hurriedly tugged him into an elevator, where he hid them both under his (magically expanded) invisibility cloak. Harry ignored the fact that Brennan wrapped his arm around his waist to guide him through the airport (Brennan, unlike Harry, had at least flown before). The airport was crowded and they couldn't avoid bumping into a few people, but, while it startled the muggles, it was quickly written off as the fault of visible members of the crowd.
They sneaked past the security and passport control, hurried to their departure gate, then slipped into the 747. Most of the passengers had already boarded, so they removed their cloak in the back of the plane, where the food trolleys were stored, then slid into two empty seats.
The flight was uneventful. Harry slept for almost the entire time, exhausted from the horrors and stress of the day, and filled with a feeling of relief that had been missing ever since leaving England. Brennan spent the seven hours watching the tiny screen on the back of the seat in front of him, much less calm than Harry. He was nervous and scared, as well as hopeful and excited about leaving his homeland, and these emotions warred for dominance. Finally, he fell into uneasy sleep.
Once the plane had landed, Harry and Brennan sneaked into the airplane bathroom and teleported to Hogsmead (note: teleportation is not possible over vast distances, hence the use of the muggle airplane). Harry and Brennan looked about at the town, still in the process of being rebuilt, and Harry couldn't help but laugh loudly and hysterically, elated beyond imagination. Indeed, he laughed until he fell to his knees crying, the stress of the last months finally finding relief.
Brennan regarded him worriedly, not as indifferent to the strange looks they were getting. "Harry, are you okay?"
"I'm home, I'm home, I'm home," he replied brokenly. Then he shot to his feet, snatched Brennan's hand, and sprinted down the road, towards Hogwarts, through the hidden passage, and into his old school. It was nearly 9 am, and classes had just begun. Harry was briefly torn between going to see Headmaster McGonagall and going straight to class to see Ron and Hermione and. . . Draco. His heart suddenly contracted painfully, and the decision was made for him: he ran outside to where the sixth year Gryffindors and Slytherins were supposed to be having Care for Magical Creatures, assuming that the class scheduals had not changed.
The scheduals had not changed and Harry saw familiar figures crowded around something. "Draco! Ron! Hermione! Hagrid! Everybody!"
Every face shot up for a confused moment, then several people dashed towards Harry (Brennan was trailing behind at some distance). "HARRY!," Ron and Hermione screamed in unison and Harry was quickly surrounded by a group of excited Gryffindors (plus Pansy), while his two best friends attempted to squeeze him to death. Of course, this attempt only became a serious threat when Hagrid barged through to give him the tightest hug he had ever encountered; but his wheezing gasps soon got him released.
For several minutes, the confusion and excitement was too much for any communication to really be possible, but Harry finally managed to ask the question that was at the forefront of his mind. "Ron, Hermione. Where's Draco? He's not still mad at me, is he?"
He tried to look over the head surrounding him, but he saw no telltale platinum hair. Surely Draco was not still so angry that he would run off at the sight of him? He wanted to be happy, but he knew he couldn't until he saw Draco. Then he noticed that an uncomfortable silence had descended upon his classmates, and many of them tried to avoid his eyes: the extent of their relationship was not common knowledge, but the decimated ranks of the sixth years in Draco's and Harry's respective houses knew, just as they knew of Draco's abduction by and subsequent escape from the new Ministry. Hermione and Ron were looking at Harry strangely. Finally, Hermione answered.
"Harry, we tried to tell you, we wrote over and over again. Draco was tried by the Ministry -"
"WHAT?!," Harry cried, the hysteria suddenly returning with a vengeance.
"Listen! He was tried, he was imprisoned - not because he was guilty, but because the Ministry learned that he was a Giver. But he escaped, Harry! He escaped!" Hermione tried to convey hope in her voice, but didn't dare tell the entire truth of Draco's escape while there were so many people present.
Harry felt a vicious stab of grief and guilt and remorse, instantly jumping to the conclusion that his presence would've been able to prevent this appalling development of events. Draco had known that Harry's departure would only result in suffering and regret, but Harry had been unable to heed his warnings. And if Draco was indeed on the run, what had been the effect of the unexpected energy drain yesterday?
"No, no, nononononono. . .," he whispered, his legs failing him, and Ron grabbed his arm to keep him up. Hermione's attention, however, had been caught be something else: an awkward, lanky youth shuffling his feet several meters away. "Who's that?"
*
Draco groggily blinked awake, his eyes gradually focusing on Severus' hunched body, sitting motionlessly in a chair next to his bed. The greasy ex potions master suddenly snorted and released a throaty snore; Draco giggled softly, if a little giddily. He was alive! Weak and fatigued, but alive. A goofy grin materialized on his face and relaxed to bask in the relief of this fact. Actually, the relief was almost more surprising than the fact itself: he had almost thought that he'd lost his will to live, and it was invigorating to be proved wrong. Still, exhaustion soon pulled him back to sleep.
He was woken several hours later by loud voices coming from outside his room. Snape's angry and protective voice was unmistakable. "I said you two could use the floo and only you! Not HIM and whoever that is!"
Hermione's righteous voice responded patiently, "Don't you think Draco would like to see him? Don't you think it's his decision to make?"
Draco struggled to sit up, then to his feet, prickling with anticipation. Could it be? Was Harry here? Despite his conflicting emotions regarding Potter, he knew he had to see him, if that was, indeed, who his visitor was. He shuffled towards the door, leaning on the wall for support. Luckily, it was a small room (it was, after all, a secret room).
Snape growled. "Malfoy collapsed last night. He hasn't regained consciousness yet."
Draco appeared in the doorway, still propping himself up, and smirked. "Actually, I woke up earlier, but you were asleep."
Severus spun around and, for a moment, surprise and relief obvious on his face and actually looking as though he might smile. At a loss at what to say, he scolded affectionately, "You should've woken me."
Draco's smirk grew impossibly wide. "I figured that if your snores didn't wake you up, then there was nothing my feeble voice could do."
Severus snorted and Draco turned his attention to his visitors: Ron and Hermione each sported genuine smiles; Harry's face was an amusing combination of ecstatic grinning and sheepish, ashamed eyes; Draco didn't recognize the fourth individual, but he was looking at him with uncomfortable hostility. Draco quickly shifted his glance away from the lanky stranger to Ron and Hermione. "Thank you. Really."
"What happened last night?," Snape asked gruffly, moving closer to Draco.
Draco looked intensely at Harry. "I think that's something we should ask Potter."
Harry flinched at the use of his surname and at the way that everyone had suddenly and accusingly turned towards him. "I'm not sure, exactly. I was surrounded and I thought I was going to die. But then I was determined not to, and when I tried to stupefy one of my captors, I felt this rush of energy and my spell went ballistic, splitting up and hitting, like, twenty people. I knew. . . afterwards, that the boost had come from Draco, but I have no idea how it happened. I certainly didn't try to do it."
There was a moment of tense silence, as everyone digested this, but no one really knew what to make of it. Actually, both Hermione and Draco had a theory (and it was the same theory), but neither felt particularly inclined to share it in front of everyone. Finally, Harry spoke up, cringing from the expected rejection, "Could I, uh, speak to Draco alone for a moment?"
"No! He should be in bed! He -"
Draco cut off Severus with a delicate hand on his arm, then, with a smirk, "It's okay. I'll get back in bed AND avoid strenuous activity."
Ron started coughing to hide his laughter, Hermione rolled her eyes, Brennan snorted, and Snape looked distinctly displeased. Harry immediately started towards Draco, determined to disappear into the room as soon as humanly possibly. He shuffled Draco backwards and quickly closed the door, causing the weakened blonde to stumble and nearly fall. "Fuck, Harry. Watch it. I'm not exactly stable on my feet here."
He looked up at Harry and saw moisture in his eyes. He let Harry help him to his bed, then turned questioningly to him. His heart was threatening to rip him to shreds, but his unaffected façade helped numb his longing, his desperation, his hurt. He would not allow himself to hope again - not for Harry, not for love. The destruction of that hope had hurt more than he'd thought possible, and he would not allow himself to be in such a position again.
They gazed into each other's eyes for a long time - Harry's begging and Draco's masked - before Draco finally spoke with forced nonchalance. "Well? You wanted to speak to me?"
Harry flinched and grimaced; then he nodded. "I, uh. . . I mean, you were right. I made the biggest mistake of my life, and there is nothing I regret more than. . . the fact that I hurt you."
For a long moment, Draco did not move a muscle and Harry had no idea what was going on beneath the schooled features. "O-kay. . . What exactly do you want me to say?"
Harry looked hurt and exasperated, and he stood and paced briskly. "I want you to forgive me, Draco. And to give me another chance! I know I don't deserve it, but I love you and don't want to live without you!"
Draco's face betrayed him and he forced himself to scowl so as not to cry. He voice was husky and he looked away from Harry's rigid form. "I forgive you. I forgave you even as you left me, I loved you too much not to. . . But there is no other chance to give."
Harry fell to his knees in front of Draco and tears were escaping down his cheeks. "Why not? Draco, I swear -"
Draco cut Harry off with a finger on his lips and a shake of his head. "It's not up to me. Just as you left England, now I must leave. But unlike you, I will not be returning." Harry began to interrupt, but Draco rushed to continue, though his voice was cracking. "Harry. I'm not safe in England. My life and freedom are in jeopardy here. I must go somewhere else, somewhere where my face and name are not widely known, where people don't know what I am."
Harry looked deeply into Draco's eyes, and was finally able to recognize the resignation there - and that hurt more than anything else. Draco had no faith in him, no hope: it hadn't even occurred to him that Harry might be willing to sacrifice to be with him. And this fact made Harry desperately want to prove his love, to defy Draco's low expectations.
The Gryffindor seized Draco's thin hands and urgently declared, "Then I will go with you. Wherever you go. I know you don't believe me, but I really have learned a lesson. You don't know what you got until it's gone and all that shit. You're right, I've paid my debt to the world and now I want to spend the rest of my life paying the word's debt to you. If you'll let me. . . if you'll have me."
A tense silence was all that was left in the wake of Harry's words. Draco turned his face away from the searching emerald eyes for a long moment, and it was only the trembling of his hands that betrayed him. Finally, he turned back to Harry, looking miserable and exhausted, and he said in a tired voice, "Harry, I swore to myself that I would never let you hurt me again. I feel safer alone. . ."
Harry had a nauseating feeling that Draco was going to refuse him, and he desperately pre-empted such a refusal, this words gushing nervously and pleadingly. "Let me come as a friend then. Give me the opportunity to show you that you can trust me, that I won't hurt you. Like a trial period or something. Please. See me here, on my knees? This is me begging."
XXXXX
Okay guys, I'm wrapping it up in a chapter or two. (For real this time.) In acknowledgement of some criticisms, I admit that I have learned a valuable lesson in writing this piece: quit while you're ahead. This last (additional) section of my story lacks the steam and plot strength of the earlier chapters; I realize and will keep this in mind next time I try such a piece. No add-ons.
Readers: Please review (even if the story has taken a downward plunge of late).
Chapter 21: Second and Third Chances
"Maybe she will, maybe she won't. It's easy to say, hard if you don't. You've got to make the most of the day. . . for beauty dies young."
- Lowgold, Beauty Dies Young
"If I were you, I wouldn't move," a beefy, red faced man sneered, stepping a little inside the circle of wand-sporting witches and wizards.
Harry glared at him, but the truth was all too obvious - the ease in which they had entered, the collapse of the vent, the men waiting below - he had been set up. What better way to kill two birds with one stone? Getting rid of that troublesome Potter and creating an event that would shock and anger the populace, all in one go. He was a fool for not seeing it sooner. The Department of Magical Affairs would have known that security had been breached the night before when the door had swung into Harry; he had been an idiot to think that he had escaped unidentified. Something about this country just made people stupid (or was it just him?). Maybe it was all the TV he had watched since arriving.
"There aren't any hostages?," Harry asked bitterly, still sprawled on the ground.
The beefy man chuckled. "There certainly are. Or were, rather. Makes yah feel all fuzzy about 'em bastards at the DMA, dunnit?"
Harry's mind was racing in panic, desperately grasping for any way to avoid what was clearly imminent death. He was terrified - he had faced death before, but the thought of dying here, away from everyone he cared about and from everyone who cared about him, made it infinitely more unbearable. The choice, however, was taken out of his hands by one of his subordinates: Lieutenant Sien had subtly positioned his wand while their captors had been focused on Harry, and he now made his move. "AVADA KADAVRA!"
"NO!," Harry yelled frantically, at the same time that the three other soldiers brandished their wands, one of the of their captors collapsed (the beefy 'leader'), and two dozen others replied to the curse in kind. "AVADA KADAVRA!"
I AM NOT GOING TO DIE HERE! DRACO!!! Hysteria and adrenaline flooded through Harry, and then something deep inside him snapped and a swell of energy and rage overtook him. "STUPEFY!"
*
The potion had worn off after several days and Draco came around to find his circumstances much improved. He found himself depleted of energy and somewhat depressed, but altogether saner and freer from fear than he had been since Harry had left. He didn't see much of his mother for those few days, as she was otherwise engaged by her inner world, but Severus spent a lot of time with him - mostly out of guilt, but also out of genuine affection for his delicate, brilliant protégé.
The ex potions master and Draco were taking a walk through Snape Manor (both feared that Draco would be recognized if they indulged the desire to walk outside), when it happened. The recovering blonde felt his legs go suddenly weak, but this forewarning was very brief, and he almost instantly collapsed, his knees cracking painfully against the stone floor. He tried to break his fall with his hands, but his arms refused to support him as well, so his face took much of impact of the tumble.
"Malfoy? What happened? Are you alright?," Severus asked harshly, but it was a tone that Draco had learned to interpret as concern. Still, the collapsed boy couldn't do anything more than gasp for breath as he felt energy - was it life itself? - drain from him. Somehow though, he knew, instinctively, what was happening, and the knowledge comforted him. Indeed, he suspected that he could sever the connection if he really tried, but he didn't want to; for if he did, he would never again have this opportunity to die for the only person who could make that sacrifice mean something.
The whole transfer only took several seconds and Draco lost consciousness with Harry's name on his lips and Snape's hand on his hair.
*
Harry felt power flow through him and into magic - it was a power above and beyond his usual level, and that had only been matched months ago when he had been facing off against Voldemort. He watched, suddenly detached, as that bright power lashed out as his captors, first striking down one, then immediately splitting into two dozen flashes of light that arched from the first body to the all the others in the quickly degenerating ring.
Harry himself was struck by the killing curse, and for a moment his heart had stopped and his entire body froze, but it was quickly rejected by his own magical force. He shook his head to clear his mind, then focused on his surroundings: no one was moving. He scrambled to his feet and hurriedly began inspecting the bodies - a number were dead, including his three subordinates, and even more were stupefied.
What the Hell had happened? But as soon as he asked himself that question, he realized that, inexplicably, he already knew the answer - Draco. Somehow, an ocean away, in his hour of need, magical energy had been transmitted from the Giver to himself. Harry felt an icy rush of dread: had he killed the other boy?
But there wasn't time to linger on such thoughts, and Harry got moving before reinforcements came. Harry pointed his wand at the wall, in the direction from which he had came through the vents, and cried, "Destructo!"
Part of the wall crumbled and a large hole appeared, large enough for him to step through if he bent a little. In the next room he did the same, then twice more before finding himself outside the janitorial room. Desperation gave him the strength to continue, and he kicked down the door and jumped into the manhole that opened into the sewer. The entire escape had only taken about five minutes.
He waded quickly and determinedly through the muck, spurred on by the sound of shouts that he could hear in the distance. As soon as he had gone far enough, he shoved his hand into his pocket and portkeyed to the room from which the entire horror had begun that morning. Not wanting to be found, he opened his locker, retrieved his backpack, then, wrapped in his invisibility cloak, teleported to the international terminal at O'Hare airport. It was 1715 and Harry was exhausted, but he continued on on auto pilot, fuelled by sheer force of will. He changed out of his smelly military fatigues and into some clothes he stole from the overpriced airport shop. Then he checked the flight departure times and removed his cloak to wait for Brennan.
Brennan did, in fact, show up, on time even. He was the one to find Harry, as Brennan was disguised as a young African American man. He covered Harry's eyes with his brown hands and asked, "Guess who?"
But Harry was in no mood for playing. He shrugged of Brennan's hands and turned to him. "There's a flight to London at 1845. If you're coming, then you're going to have to share my cloak with me, 'cause we're sneaking on."
Brennan smirked and instantly cuddled up to Harry, who just rolled his eyes, grabbed the metamorphmagus' hand, and hurriedly tugged him into an elevator, where he hid them both under his (magically expanded) invisibility cloak. Harry ignored the fact that Brennan wrapped his arm around his waist to guide him through the airport (Brennan, unlike Harry, had at least flown before). The airport was crowded and they couldn't avoid bumping into a few people, but, while it startled the muggles, it was quickly written off as the fault of visible members of the crowd.
They sneaked past the security and passport control, hurried to their departure gate, then slipped into the 747. Most of the passengers had already boarded, so they removed their cloak in the back of the plane, where the food trolleys were stored, then slid into two empty seats.
The flight was uneventful. Harry slept for almost the entire time, exhausted from the horrors and stress of the day, and filled with a feeling of relief that had been missing ever since leaving England. Brennan spent the seven hours watching the tiny screen on the back of the seat in front of him, much less calm than Harry. He was nervous and scared, as well as hopeful and excited about leaving his homeland, and these emotions warred for dominance. Finally, he fell into uneasy sleep.
Once the plane had landed, Harry and Brennan sneaked into the airplane bathroom and teleported to Hogsmead (note: teleportation is not possible over vast distances, hence the use of the muggle airplane). Harry and Brennan looked about at the town, still in the process of being rebuilt, and Harry couldn't help but laugh loudly and hysterically, elated beyond imagination. Indeed, he laughed until he fell to his knees crying, the stress of the last months finally finding relief.
Brennan regarded him worriedly, not as indifferent to the strange looks they were getting. "Harry, are you okay?"
"I'm home, I'm home, I'm home," he replied brokenly. Then he shot to his feet, snatched Brennan's hand, and sprinted down the road, towards Hogwarts, through the hidden passage, and into his old school. It was nearly 9 am, and classes had just begun. Harry was briefly torn between going to see Headmaster McGonagall and going straight to class to see Ron and Hermione and. . . Draco. His heart suddenly contracted painfully, and the decision was made for him: he ran outside to where the sixth year Gryffindors and Slytherins were supposed to be having Care for Magical Creatures, assuming that the class scheduals had not changed.
The scheduals had not changed and Harry saw familiar figures crowded around something. "Draco! Ron! Hermione! Hagrid! Everybody!"
Every face shot up for a confused moment, then several people dashed towards Harry (Brennan was trailing behind at some distance). "HARRY!," Ron and Hermione screamed in unison and Harry was quickly surrounded by a group of excited Gryffindors (plus Pansy), while his two best friends attempted to squeeze him to death. Of course, this attempt only became a serious threat when Hagrid barged through to give him the tightest hug he had ever encountered; but his wheezing gasps soon got him released.
For several minutes, the confusion and excitement was too much for any communication to really be possible, but Harry finally managed to ask the question that was at the forefront of his mind. "Ron, Hermione. Where's Draco? He's not still mad at me, is he?"
He tried to look over the head surrounding him, but he saw no telltale platinum hair. Surely Draco was not still so angry that he would run off at the sight of him? He wanted to be happy, but he knew he couldn't until he saw Draco. Then he noticed that an uncomfortable silence had descended upon his classmates, and many of them tried to avoid his eyes: the extent of their relationship was not common knowledge, but the decimated ranks of the sixth years in Draco's and Harry's respective houses knew, just as they knew of Draco's abduction by and subsequent escape from the new Ministry. Hermione and Ron were looking at Harry strangely. Finally, Hermione answered.
"Harry, we tried to tell you, we wrote over and over again. Draco was tried by the Ministry -"
"WHAT?!," Harry cried, the hysteria suddenly returning with a vengeance.
"Listen! He was tried, he was imprisoned - not because he was guilty, but because the Ministry learned that he was a Giver. But he escaped, Harry! He escaped!" Hermione tried to convey hope in her voice, but didn't dare tell the entire truth of Draco's escape while there were so many people present.
Harry felt a vicious stab of grief and guilt and remorse, instantly jumping to the conclusion that his presence would've been able to prevent this appalling development of events. Draco had known that Harry's departure would only result in suffering and regret, but Harry had been unable to heed his warnings. And if Draco was indeed on the run, what had been the effect of the unexpected energy drain yesterday?
"No, no, nononononono. . .," he whispered, his legs failing him, and Ron grabbed his arm to keep him up. Hermione's attention, however, had been caught be something else: an awkward, lanky youth shuffling his feet several meters away. "Who's that?"
*
Draco groggily blinked awake, his eyes gradually focusing on Severus' hunched body, sitting motionlessly in a chair next to his bed. The greasy ex potions master suddenly snorted and released a throaty snore; Draco giggled softly, if a little giddily. He was alive! Weak and fatigued, but alive. A goofy grin materialized on his face and relaxed to bask in the relief of this fact. Actually, the relief was almost more surprising than the fact itself: he had almost thought that he'd lost his will to live, and it was invigorating to be proved wrong. Still, exhaustion soon pulled him back to sleep.
He was woken several hours later by loud voices coming from outside his room. Snape's angry and protective voice was unmistakable. "I said you two could use the floo and only you! Not HIM and whoever that is!"
Hermione's righteous voice responded patiently, "Don't you think Draco would like to see him? Don't you think it's his decision to make?"
Draco struggled to sit up, then to his feet, prickling with anticipation. Could it be? Was Harry here? Despite his conflicting emotions regarding Potter, he knew he had to see him, if that was, indeed, who his visitor was. He shuffled towards the door, leaning on the wall for support. Luckily, it was a small room (it was, after all, a secret room).
Snape growled. "Malfoy collapsed last night. He hasn't regained consciousness yet."
Draco appeared in the doorway, still propping himself up, and smirked. "Actually, I woke up earlier, but you were asleep."
Severus spun around and, for a moment, surprise and relief obvious on his face and actually looking as though he might smile. At a loss at what to say, he scolded affectionately, "You should've woken me."
Draco's smirk grew impossibly wide. "I figured that if your snores didn't wake you up, then there was nothing my feeble voice could do."
Severus snorted and Draco turned his attention to his visitors: Ron and Hermione each sported genuine smiles; Harry's face was an amusing combination of ecstatic grinning and sheepish, ashamed eyes; Draco didn't recognize the fourth individual, but he was looking at him with uncomfortable hostility. Draco quickly shifted his glance away from the lanky stranger to Ron and Hermione. "Thank you. Really."
"What happened last night?," Snape asked gruffly, moving closer to Draco.
Draco looked intensely at Harry. "I think that's something we should ask Potter."
Harry flinched at the use of his surname and at the way that everyone had suddenly and accusingly turned towards him. "I'm not sure, exactly. I was surrounded and I thought I was going to die. But then I was determined not to, and when I tried to stupefy one of my captors, I felt this rush of energy and my spell went ballistic, splitting up and hitting, like, twenty people. I knew. . . afterwards, that the boost had come from Draco, but I have no idea how it happened. I certainly didn't try to do it."
There was a moment of tense silence, as everyone digested this, but no one really knew what to make of it. Actually, both Hermione and Draco had a theory (and it was the same theory), but neither felt particularly inclined to share it in front of everyone. Finally, Harry spoke up, cringing from the expected rejection, "Could I, uh, speak to Draco alone for a moment?"
"No! He should be in bed! He -"
Draco cut off Severus with a delicate hand on his arm, then, with a smirk, "It's okay. I'll get back in bed AND avoid strenuous activity."
Ron started coughing to hide his laughter, Hermione rolled her eyes, Brennan snorted, and Snape looked distinctly displeased. Harry immediately started towards Draco, determined to disappear into the room as soon as humanly possibly. He shuffled Draco backwards and quickly closed the door, causing the weakened blonde to stumble and nearly fall. "Fuck, Harry. Watch it. I'm not exactly stable on my feet here."
He looked up at Harry and saw moisture in his eyes. He let Harry help him to his bed, then turned questioningly to him. His heart was threatening to rip him to shreds, but his unaffected façade helped numb his longing, his desperation, his hurt. He would not allow himself to hope again - not for Harry, not for love. The destruction of that hope had hurt more than he'd thought possible, and he would not allow himself to be in such a position again.
They gazed into each other's eyes for a long time - Harry's begging and Draco's masked - before Draco finally spoke with forced nonchalance. "Well? You wanted to speak to me?"
Harry flinched and grimaced; then he nodded. "I, uh. . . I mean, you were right. I made the biggest mistake of my life, and there is nothing I regret more than. . . the fact that I hurt you."
For a long moment, Draco did not move a muscle and Harry had no idea what was going on beneath the schooled features. "O-kay. . . What exactly do you want me to say?"
Harry looked hurt and exasperated, and he stood and paced briskly. "I want you to forgive me, Draco. And to give me another chance! I know I don't deserve it, but I love you and don't want to live without you!"
Draco's face betrayed him and he forced himself to scowl so as not to cry. He voice was husky and he looked away from Harry's rigid form. "I forgive you. I forgave you even as you left me, I loved you too much not to. . . But there is no other chance to give."
Harry fell to his knees in front of Draco and tears were escaping down his cheeks. "Why not? Draco, I swear -"
Draco cut Harry off with a finger on his lips and a shake of his head. "It's not up to me. Just as you left England, now I must leave. But unlike you, I will not be returning." Harry began to interrupt, but Draco rushed to continue, though his voice was cracking. "Harry. I'm not safe in England. My life and freedom are in jeopardy here. I must go somewhere else, somewhere where my face and name are not widely known, where people don't know what I am."
Harry looked deeply into Draco's eyes, and was finally able to recognize the resignation there - and that hurt more than anything else. Draco had no faith in him, no hope: it hadn't even occurred to him that Harry might be willing to sacrifice to be with him. And this fact made Harry desperately want to prove his love, to defy Draco's low expectations.
The Gryffindor seized Draco's thin hands and urgently declared, "Then I will go with you. Wherever you go. I know you don't believe me, but I really have learned a lesson. You don't know what you got until it's gone and all that shit. You're right, I've paid my debt to the world and now I want to spend the rest of my life paying the word's debt to you. If you'll let me. . . if you'll have me."
A tense silence was all that was left in the wake of Harry's words. Draco turned his face away from the searching emerald eyes for a long moment, and it was only the trembling of his hands that betrayed him. Finally, he turned back to Harry, looking miserable and exhausted, and he said in a tired voice, "Harry, I swore to myself that I would never let you hurt me again. I feel safer alone. . ."
Harry had a nauseating feeling that Draco was going to refuse him, and he desperately pre-empted such a refusal, this words gushing nervously and pleadingly. "Let me come as a friend then. Give me the opportunity to show you that you can trust me, that I won't hurt you. Like a trial period or something. Please. See me here, on my knees? This is me begging."
XXXXX
Okay guys, I'm wrapping it up in a chapter or two. (For real this time.) In acknowledgement of some criticisms, I admit that I have learned a valuable lesson in writing this piece: quit while you're ahead. This last (additional) section of my story lacks the steam and plot strength of the earlier chapters; I realize and will keep this in mind next time I try such a piece. No add-ons.