Chapter 1

Fenrir Greyback was not a patient man, and the two Death Eater goons standing in front of the door at the end of the hallway, probably Crabbe and Goyle, were just as anxious for Greyback to be gone as he was himself, though for entirely different reasons. He had been waiting for over an hour, and had been struggling for some time now not to rip the imbeciles' throats out and barge into the room. Knowing it would not be wise to interrupt the Dark Lord, for any reason, he resigned himself to pacing the length of the hall. It was obvious his restless movements made the Death Eaters uncomfortable. He noticed they both had their hands inside their robes, no doubt on their wands, but he didn't care. He could smell their fear. Fear makes men careless, he thought smugly.

As Greyback reached the end of the hall for the thousandth time that night, he heard the door slam open behind him. He spun around on his heel, an involuntary growl rumbling in his throat. The door had been opened with such force that it would have slammed shut once more if a petite black robed figure had not filled the doorway. Despite their diminutive stature, there was an air about the person that demanded attention and judging by the swinging hips and fast pace, it was Bellatrix Lestrange. Greyback never cared for the woman. She was a bit over the top, even for his tastes.

She strode furiously past Crabbe and Goyle without acknowledging their presence. Momentarily she was followed by an obscenely tall man, whom even with his silver mask, Greyback recognized immediately as the lunatic's husband, Rodolphus. Two more followed closely. A shock of white-blonde hair sneaking out from underneath his hood identified one as Lucius Malfoy, but he didn't recognize the last.

As Greyback strode towards the now open door, he noticed the anonymous Death Eater slowing his pace as he drew nearer. They paused upon reaching each other. Fenrir inhaled deeply, trying to identify the other by scent alone. Dolohov. The rough whisper from behind the mask confirmed this.

"Tread softly, Greyback. Our Lord is in a foul temperament this night." Without another word from either man, Dolohov hurried off, intent on catching up with Malfoy and the Lestranges.

Fenrir growled again. When isn't the Dark Lord in a foul mood? The nights when it was necessary for him to speak with Voldemort were often the nights he most appreciated being a werewolf. Even as a man he was clever and cunning, but because he was mostly driven by barely checked instincts and base, primal needs, his animalistic thoughts were unreadable, even unto the most skilled Legilimens. Because of this Voldemort trusted Greyback only for the werewolf's bloodlust and hatred. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Well, maybe not friend…

Crabbe and Goyle moved quickly out of the way this time, knowing that to hesitate would be fatal. As soon as he crossed the threshold, a rasping voice spoke his name.

"Greyback." The Dark Lord was sitting in a lush, high-backed chair near the fireplace. It was the only source of light in the small chamber. Nagini was a mountain of scales piled up at Voldemort's feet basking in what little warmth the small fire provided.

The sound of his name being spoken by Lord Voldemort almost stopped him in his tracks. Without much surprise, he realized that he hated it. It sounded like the crackle of electricity and it made his hackles rise uncomfortably. However, his patience was at its limit; he wanted to get this over with and be gone. Thankfully, the Dark Lord was usually very succinct. He quickly covered the remaining distance to the green velvet chair. After kneeling to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes he spoke.

"Your Eminence, how might I be of service?" He remained kneeling and bowed, grateful that he would not have to meet the scarlet, cat-like eyes; they drove his instincts over the edge. There were not many things in this world that made Fenrir Greyback nervous, but those eyes were more than enough.

"Young mister Malfoy has eluded my grasp for far too long. While he has not received my Mark, he still knows too much. As it were, he is quite the liability." He paused and Greyback was trying to think of an adequate response, but then he continued, speaking more to himself this time than to the man kneeling at his feet. "He is just a boy, and yet those fools," he spat the word, "are incapable of ending this game." He turned his attention back to Greyback. "End this game of cat and mouse. Find him and kill him."

Greyback waited a breath to ensure that Lord Voldemort was done speaking. Sure that he was dismissed, he lowered his lips once more to the hem of his Lord's robes. "I will not fail you, My Lord." Quickly, he rose and strode from the room anxious to be away from the electricity that rolled off of Voldemort in waves in the same way that fear pulsed from Crabbe and Goyle.

He growled and fairly barked at whichever of the idiots was on his left. The Death Eater jumped back against the wall in fright. With a wolfish smirk he quickly exited the building into the crisp autumn night. It was about three weeks until the next full moon; Greyback decided to force the change. He had a feeling that he would need the wolf for this task.

With a howl of pain, he began the transformation. He had been a werewolf for the better part of forty years now, and he had been able to shift at will for the past fifteen, but he never, ever got used to the pain that accompanied it. His skin felt like he'd been dropped into a vat of boiling oil. His muscles were shredded as his bones lengthened, were shattered and reformed. After a few short minutes that felt like an eternity, the pain subsided and he could feel his muscles stitching themselves back together around his new form. His bones were beginning to feel like the actually belonged in his body, so he dared movement. Once he was sure the transformation was complete, he sped off into the night with an excited howl. Even the wolf knew where to begin looking for the whelp.

While Draco Malfoy had only been on the run for a little over a year, it felt like a lifetime. Both sides of this damned war were out for his blood. The Ministry, as well as Potter and his bloody Order wanted him for setting in motion the events that led to the death of Albus Dumbledore, while Voldemort wanted his hide for not finishing what he started. He was a hunted man and it was wearing him down.

It was even worse now that he was more or less on his own. In the beginning, Professor Snape had been with him, but he eventually had to return to Voldemort. While Snape was still very active in hiding Draco, most of their communications were not done in person. Voldemort had the lunatic Lestranges, Antonin Dolohov, and Draco's own father on the hunt. Several times they had almost caught him. That's why Draco and Snape almost never met in person anymore. There had been too many close calls.

For this reason, Draco was greatly shocked when he received an owl from Snape less than an hour ago saying they needed to meet. Whatever news the Potions master must have been extremely important and/or dangerous if he did not feel safe writing it in a letter.

His curiosity piqued Draco took a cold shower to wake him up and began packing his meager possessions. They were few, but he would most likely be leaving this hole tonight and he wanted to keep what little he had. A small shaving kit from the bathroom, an extra shirt and an extra pair of socks from the floor and a book on defensive spells he'd knicked from Flourish and Blotts on the bedside table were all shoved unceremoniously into a beaten dragon hide messenger sack that used to be a deep green, but had faded to a brownish-olive color. Double checking that his wand was in his robes' pocket, he flung his cloak over his shoulders and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

While the Muggle hotel he'd been staying in this week was definitely sub-par, even for Malfoy's lowered standards, at least it was warm. Months on the run had left his clothes as worse for the wear as himself. His threadbare cloak did little to protect him from the chill autumn wind that swept down the deserted street. He pulled his hood securely over his shaggy platinum blonde hair and began slipping stealthily from shadow to shadow between pools of unsteady lamplight, stealthily making his way towards Knockturn Alley. Snape gave him no more information than the time and location of their rendezvous.

Several minutes later, Draco found himself a good ways down Knockturn Alley, approaching the storefront across the way from where he was supposed to meet Snape. Thankfully, more than half of the streetlamps were not in proper working condition, making it much easier for Draco to travel undetected. When he reached the storefront he silently slipped into the shadowed alcove to await his former Head of House. Not a full minute later did Draco hear a soft pop. Snape even Apparated stealthily.

While Fenrir did not always remember what the wolf had done, the wolf always remembered what the man had done. He supposed it was better this way. While he enjoyed his actions as the wolf, he suspected that to recall every gory detail as the man would keep even the likes of Voldemort awake at night.

However, this night was different. Tonight, man and wolf had a goal, a mission to accomplish. Equally important was the fact that tonight was not a full moon. Because of this, the man would not be lost to the monster; because of this, the man could and would retain almost complete control over his other half. Tonight the wolf was a pawn, a means to an end.

His mission: kill the blood-traitor coward. He would not fail his master as others had. He would succeed. He could already taste the whelp's blood.

Greyback had known where to begin his search. While it was true that Draco Malfoy could be just about anywhere in the world, wizarding or Muggle, he had a pretty good idea where to begin. Snape, the man thought inside the wolf's head. He had never trusted the slimy git. He was too skilled at Occlumency. True, Voldemort trusted him implicitly, but the wolf's animalistic instincts, which the man embraced fervently, were not so easily persuaded. Severus Snape was hiding something and Greyback knew it.

He had been running full out for almost half an hour when he saw a dim light breaking through some trees up ahead. He had not wanted to risk Apparition; it would not do to alert the quarry of the hunter's presence to early in the chase. Excitement grasped at his already speeding heart, but he forced the wolf to slow his pace and approach cautiously.

About ten meters away from the small cottage, the wolf raised his scarred and grizzled snout and began sifting through the night's scents. Wood, moss, wet leaves, smoke, man, magic…dark, dank musk, wet stone, hellsbore, mandrake root…Snape.

Satisfied that Snape was the only one in the cottage, Greyback positioned himself so that he could watch the traitor rush about the small room. He moved as close to the window as he dared, which was rather near considering the state Snape was in. Something had definitely upset the normally stone-faced Death Eater.

Suddenly, startling both man, wolf, and professor, a woman's voice, rife with emotion was heard loud and clear, apparently unattached to any visible body.

"Severus."

Quickly composing himself, he returned to his bustling without acknowledging the woman. Once he had moved to the back of the room and away from the fireplace, Greyback saw something he had not expected. In the middle of the flames was floating, unscathed, the head of Narcissa Malfoy. Had it not been for the long blonde hair that was so much like her husband's, he might not have recognized her. Her once stunning features had become dull and grey, and her eyes were so full of pain and grief that she looked as if she'd aged twenty years in the past fifteen months.

"What is it Narcissa?" his reply was cold, but not cruel. "I'm rather engaged at the moment."

"Severus," she repeated. Something in her voice, desperation perhaps, caught his attention, because he stopped in his tracks and turned towards the fireplace.

"Lucius has just come home in a foul mood. He was ranting on and on about Draco."

His feet carried him closer to the fireplace of their own accord. Now she really had his attention. "What about him? Have they found him?" If he'd been trying to mask the concern in his voice, he'd failed miserably.

"No, but I'm afraid the news isn't much better," she continued ignoring the hitch in her voice. "He said he'd just had a meeting with the Dark Lord along with Bella, Rodolphus and Antonin. He said that they had all been removed from the search."

Greyback could only see half of Snape's face from his angle, but he was positive that he witnessed pure shock cross the other man's gaunt features, blue eyes wide with surprise.

"I- wh- how- who- why?" Snape stuttered, unable to form a complete sentence. The news had clearly thrown him. Narcissa continued, ignoring his non-reply.

"He did not say and none of them were fool enough to ask, thank Merlin."

"Is he calling of the search?"

"Lucius wasn't told anything but…" she hesitated.

"Well, out with it!" Snape shouted impatiently.

"Fenrir Greyback was waiting in the hall when they were leaving." She blurted out the statement in one breath, as if it would make it easier to say or to be heard. She finally let out a wretched sob as the Potions Master absorbed the information.

If it were possible, his face became even paler. He was quite as white as a sheet. There was a moment where Greyback could see the struggle on Snape's face. He was trying desperately to return his stony façade. Mission accomplished he said in an even voice, "I will not forget my oath. Go now, before Lucius catches you. I'll owl you when I can."

With noting more than a slight nod of assent, the head of Narcissa Malfoy vanished. Immediately, Snape moved over to a small desk in the corner. After ridding his hands of the sever phials of shimmering silver liquid he'd been holding, he grabbed a quill and parchment and began writing.

After writing two short notes and one longer letter, he folded the two short notes in half and then rolled them into thin cylinders, tapping each in turn with his wand to seal them. He grabbed one of the phials and walked the short distance to the only other window in the room. The tawny owl that was perched on its stand stretched its wings and hooted in anticipation.

Snape placed one of the letters in the bird's beak, commanding, "Draco Malfoy first," he tied the other along with the phial to the bird's left leg, "Remus Lupin second." Having been given its directions, the owl flew off into the night.

Returning to his desk, he opened the top drawer and removed a small, black letterbox. He unlocked it with a swish of his wand. After removing a folded bit of parchment sealed with gold wax and placing it safely within his robes along with the last letter, he placed the remaining glass jars into the letterbox and restored the locking charms. Once the box was secure within the desk, he looked around the room, searching. His gaze settled on a smallish basket on the mantle. He grabbed an apple and made for the exit. After turning at the door, he extinguished the fire and stepped out into the night.

Greyback watched all of this with mild fascination. What intrigued him the most was Snape writing a letter to Lupin. Besides the fact that Lupin belonged to the Order and Snape was a Death Eater wanted for murder, he was also quite sure the two had hated each other since their Hogwarts' days.

But those thoughts were for another time, another place. Quick and silent as a thought, the werewolf crept around towards the entrance to the cottage. He peeked his head around the corner in time to witness the shadow that was Severus Snape Disapparate with a soft pop.

There was only one thing that brought Greyback more pleasure than ripping Muggles to shreds: hunting wizards. The chase was so much more exciting. And, he loved it when they Apparated, under the impression that he could not follow. Most wizards didn't know that Apparition left a trail of magic as clear as footprints in the snow for a werewolf to follow. True, most werewolves didn't possess the mental control necessary to Apparate in their bestial form, but he was no ordinary werewolf. Every wizard left behind their own unique magic, like a fingerprint, like a scent. He could smell their magic. He could smell Snape's magic.

Inhaling deeply to familiarize himself with Snape, he Disapparated. The hunt was on.

Snape was, by nature, a cautious man. In fact, most people would consider him paranoid. The way he saw it, at least he was still alive. He couldn't say the same for others. Originally he had planned on going directly to Knockturn Alley to meet Malfoy, but that sixth sense that had saved his life more times than could have been counted sent a shiver up his spine as soon as he'd walked out the door. Someone was watching him.

The overly cautious half of his being warred with the terribly impatient half. He needed to get to Malfoy immediately, but it just wouldn't do to be followed. Caution won out; Draco's life meant his own. Sighing in frustration, he lined up seven different and completely random locations in his mind before beginning his journey.

His hope was that by the time he'd reached the second or third location, the feeling of being followed would have abated; whoever it was having been left behind or splinched in his efforts to keep up. However, by the fourth stop, the empty alley behind Zonko's Joke Shoppe in Hogsmeade, he was quite sure that he'd actually heard the other's crack of Apparition the instant before he Disapparated to the next location. To his immense shock, it would seem as though his pursuer was actually gaining on him instead of being left behind.

Besides shock, there was also no small amount of confusion swirling about in Snape's head as well. With the exception of Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort, Snape could not think of one single wizard in all of England who would have been able to keep pace with his constant Apparition. Maybe Potter, he thought. Since his coming of age, his power had increased at an alarming rate. But Snape knew for a fact that the infamous Boy-Who-Lived was currently traipsing about somewhere in Ireland looking for something that he most likely would not find.

After the tenth, or maybe it was the eleventh, Apparition, Severus realized that he had not heard his pursuer's tell-tale crack. He severely hoped that he'd lost them. Wizards were not meant to Apparate like this and Snape could fell his strength ebbing. Whether he'd completely lost whoever was chasing him through the cold autumn night or not was irrelevant. If he did not get to Knockturn Alley soon, not only would he be late and risk Draco leaving, but he needed enough energy to finish the night with both of their lives in tact.

His decision was made: Knockturn Alley it was.

For caution's sake, Draco waited until the Potions Master had glided to the empty store across the way and slipped into his own shadow before revealing his presence. He stepped out into the dim light, trademark Malfoy smirk in place.

"You're late, Professor." It had been so long since Draco had had someone to antagonize that he couldn't help himself. Despite their desperate circumstances and the fact that Snape never rose to the bait, it felt good to say it.

Unfazed, Snape proceeded. He was obviously in a hurry. "I fear I was followed, we don't have much time." It was Snape's turn to smirk; he loved denying Malfoy his childish banter. Quickly he pulled what looked like an apple (it was dark, so Draco couldn't be sure) out of his robes and set it on the ground. His wand having already been drawn at Draco's approach was now pointed at the apple.

Clearly, Snape incanted, "Portus," with a gentle flick of his wand. Crouching down, but not touching the apple he said, "On three, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco was about to do as he was bid when he heard a loud crack behind him. He spun around, startled, but his face showed nothing. Before Draco could think or say anything, he heard a low growl about ten meters away. It was right about the same place he'd witnessed Snape's arrival not two minutes ago.

"I think you were followed, Professor." Draco attempted to hide his fear with the snide remark.

"Lumos," Snape whispered. Draco blinked rapidly, forcing his eyes to adjust to the new light. What the spell revealed caused him to stop breathing. It was like oxygen simply ceased to exist. He was getting lightheaded. He had been scared before. He had been scared on top of the astronomy tower that fateful night. He had been scared when he heard his own father cast Avada Kedavra at him. He had been scared before; now he was terrified.

Snape, however, seemed unimpressed. "Greyback," he sneered. He was pointing his lit wand at the werewolf. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to figure this out. I was led to understand that you had only been ordered to do this earlier this evening. You have my congratulations. Those idiots still haven't figured it out. Or, maybe they just don't want to accept the truth."

It would have sounded like banter to the untrained ear, but Draco knew his professor better than that. Snape was stalling. The realization that neither of them knew what they were going to do only served to deepen his terror. If it weren't for his Malfoy upbringing, he would be panicking right now. Hell, anyone would be panicking right now. There was a bloody werewolf hunting them.

However, Snape's attempt to buy them time went unheeded as the werewolf lunged at Draco before he even realized it was coming. He hadn't even had time to raise his wand in defense.

Greyback closed the space between them in two giant leaps and pinned Draco to the ground. What air had been in his lungs was forced out as the weight of the beast bore him to the cobblestone pavement. He still could not quite believe what was happening. All of those years of training simply abandoned him when he needed it the most. He felt teeth sink into his shoulder. He screamed out in agony, fire ripping through his torso as the wolf clamped down against Draco's struggles and scratched his chest with razor sharp claws.

"Impedimenta!" He heard Snape cast the spell, but it sounded like it was a mile away. He was vaguely aware that the oppressive weight on his chest was gone. He rolled over coughing, and saw Snape battling with the obscenely huge monster.

He was a powerful wizard, but he was no match for the werewolf. By nature they were resistant to magic, but the Potions Master was fighting valiantly. The stunning spells he was casting were slowing the werewolf down a bit, but really they were only making him that much more angry.

Drawing strength from some unknown reserve, Draco pushed himself up so that he was kneeling. Snape was fighting, but he was losing having spent so much energy trying to lose Greyback earlier. He had to do something.

Finally the creature had its chance and it took it. Snape had stumbled slightly on a loose cobble, and Greyback was on him in a heartbeat. The sound of flesh ripping was enough to make him nauseous, but he ignored it. He had to do something. Before he could stop it, a scream escaped Draco's lips.

"Nooooo!"

The werewolf dropped the limp body that was Snape with a sickening thud. He turned to the boy, who was kneeling not far away. The man smiled, but Draco saw the wolf snarl.

Draco immediately regretted his lack of self control. Acting like a sodding Gryffindor, he thought sardonically. I wonder what Potter would do? The thought was meant to be sarcastic, a jab at his emotional House rivals, but it triggered a memory. Potter…sixth year…girls lavatory…

"Sectumsempra!"

He shouted the curse before he completed the thought. He had not expected it to work; Snape was one of the best duelers he'd ever heard of and he was dead or dying just across the street.

The wolf had been close. So close in fact, that Draco felt the warm spray of blood on his chill face. The howl of pain the followed was ear piercing and Draco bowed over in pain, feeling the vibrations down to his very bones.

Then, with a crack, it was gone. He stayed where he was for a moment, letting the quiet sink in. His sharp, ragged breathing was the only sound in the darkened alley. With a groan, he began to crawl towards the unmoving shadow across the street. His whole being was burning in protest, but Snape was all he had left in this world.

When he finally got to him, he was fighting for consciousness. The ground was warm and sticky with the Potions Master's blood. He didn't want to look, but he had to survey the damage.

"Lumos," he whispered, wanting to make as little noise as possible. The dim light revealed the carnage. There were three deep slices from Snape's left ear across his face and hooked nose. He had narrowly missed having an eye put out. One of his arms had been ripped off. Ironically, it was not the arm that was Marked. Despite the extreme loss of blood, Draco was shocked to see the shallow rising and falling of Snape's chest. He was alive.

A small groan slipped between his partially open lips. An instant later, his eyes shot open and he began coughing. His lips red with his own blood, his body convulsing, he turned to Draco and tried to speak, but all that came were more coughs and more blood.

Draco was horrified, but Snape was trying to tell him something, and he was dying right there in front of him. He raised his remaining arm and pulled on the blood soaked front of Draco's robes, drawing their faces together. Draco noticed that his mentor's eyes, which were once a penetrating icy blue, were beginning to haze over. He didn't have much time.

"Letters," he rasped, finally. Letting his head fall back to the slick ground, he closed his eyes. His grasp fell away as Severus Snape passed from the world of the living.

Before he could stop them, hot tears came unbidden to Draco's eyes and slid down his cheeks, leaving clean tracks through the gore that covered his face. He wiped them away angrily, smearing the blood and mixing it with the dirt from his hands. Another person now dead because of Draco Malfoy. This must be how Potter feels, he thought smugly. He realized that he didn't envy him at all.

Letters. Draco began to go through the pockets of Snape's robes, careful to avoid looking at his damaged face. He did not want to remember him this way. Ignoring the sticky-damp material, he plunged his hand into an interior breast pocket and found what he was looking for. He drew his hand out. There were two letters, both with his name on them. One was definitely written in Snape's hand and the other looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He opened the letter from Snape first.

Draco,

If this letter is in your possession, then I am no doubt dead. In case I did not get the chance to speak with you properly, Fenrir Greyback is now in pursuit of you and not your father and his cronies. For this reason, I was going to take you to the last place he would look for you. The other letter is from Dumbledore and his instructions will be much clearer. Please take heed, and follow instructions for once in your life. The portkey will take you where you need to go.

Good luck.

His mentor's voice echoing in his head, Draco calmly folded up the letter and placed it in his satchel. He opened the letter from Dumbledore, not knowing what to expect. The man had been dead for almost a year and a half, how could he have expected this letter to ever make it to him?

Mr. Malfoy,

The fact that you are receiving this letter cannot bode well for you. I apologize for my inability to help you on your path, but I can at least offer you some protection. Go to 12 Grimmauld Place, London. The Order of the Phoenix Headquarters is located there. I know that you will most likely protest to the company, but if you present them with this letter, your safety will be assured, I promise you. I know you do not appreciate being told what to do, but I implore you, do this. Your life may depend on it.

Good luck,

Albus Dumbledore

Draco held the letter with bloody hands simply staring at it for several moments. Order Headquarters…the old codger was daft after all. But where else can I go? Finally he put the letter in his pocket with the other. He really didn't have any other option, the Slytherin within chided. He needed medical attention. He had been attacked by a werewolf, but St. Mungo's wasn't exactly an option. Too, there was always the chance that Greyback might come back…with reinforcements. His mind was growing fuzzy from the loss of blood. So far, adrenaline had kept the pain at bay, but he knew that it wouldn't last forever.

No sooner had he thought this did he hear four sharp cracks. He froze in the shadows, afraid of who might have been arriving in the middle of Knockturn Alley at this ungodly hour. He didn't have to wait long.

A flash of silver in the dim light. Lucius.

"Draco," his father drawled, his voice low and melodic, wooing Draco to reveal himself.

"This is stupid, Lucius. Even if Greyback had found him, and he lived, do you think he'd still be hanging around this dank place? He's long gone by now, if he was ever here." The woman's voice was sharp with annoyance; he'd not heard her voice many times, but one did not easily erase the sound of Bellatrix Lestrange's voice overnight. She was mad before they threw her in Azkaban, but now, in the shadows, Draco could feel her insanity. He hoped desperately never to be on the wrong end of her wand.

He heard another gruff voice, but he couldn't make out the words. He silently drew out his wand, praying to Merlin that they would just leave.

"Lumos."

Suddenly, the alley was illuminated and Draco's decision was made for him.

"Accio portkey!" he shouted grabbing Snape's hand. In the blink of an eye, they were gone.

The street Draco arrived on was completely deserted, for which he was extremely grateful. He'd had enough excitement for one night, thank you. He attempted to stand, but his legs would not cooperate. He was still bleeding, and the impact of him falling across Snape's prone body caused a sharp new wave of pain followed by more gushing.

Groaning, he pushed himself back up onto his knees and looked at the grimy houses in front of him. The garbage that was piled up on the sidewalks stunk, and the only car parked on the road looked as if it would either fall apart or explode if one felt inclined to move it. The house numbers were just visible in the lamplight, and his eyes eventually made their way to number eleven. When his gaze fell between number eleven and number thirteen, he swore he was losing his mind. He was quite sure that there had not been a house there a minute ago. However, there on the house, next to the door, was a large, black 12. Taking into account that the house appeared out of nowhere, he assumed this was his destination.

Pulling Snape's torso onto his lap, he wrapped his wand arm around his chest and began dragging the both of them towards the door. It was not far, but in his weakened state, it was torturous. Arduously, he made it to the bottom of the steps, but try as he might, he did not possess the strength to get himself and Snape up them. Leaving the body, he crawled up to the door and used the knob as leverage to pull himself up. He would not be seen crawling to the Order; he would be standing if it killed him. He pulled Dumbledore's letter out before grasping at the silver, snake shaped knocker and banging it twice. If they take any longer answering this damn door, I'm going to pass out right here on the porch.

Already his vision was blurring and he couldn't feel his arms except for the searing pain in his right shoulder. He'd hardly paid it any thought since it happened, but now, with safety within reach, his adrenaline was slowly ebbing away.

The door finally opened just in time for Draco to lose consciousness. Blissfully he fell into the darkness.

A/N: This is my first fanfic ever so please review! If it's terrible, you won't hurt my feelings, I promise.