Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to author J.K. Rowling.

"Potter."

The hiss of a sound came from his right. Hand on wand, Harry looked towards the bushes.

"Over here."

There it was again. Scanning the hedge row, he found its source. Piercing grey eyes, pinched expression, white blond hair, and that sardonic smile now turned down in a determined frown. Malfoy.

Risking exposure, Malfoy stood up briefly, waving Harry over, before returning to his crouched position behind the greenery. Harry glanced toward his oblivious escort, Auror Perkins, before turning back toward Malfoy. "OK," Harry mouthed.

"Perkins," Harry said, "I can take it from here." They were, after all, only two houses from his flat, and it was the middle of the day.

"Are you sure? My instructions were to…"

"Quite sure," responded Harry.

"Alright then," Perkins said, and with a pop, he disapparated.

Harry scanned the area more carefully before approaching Malfoy's position, wand at the ready. He doubted it was a trap. If it was, Malfoy wouldn't have announced himself so clearly, wouldn't have given him warning, and he'd also be surrounded by his cronies, not cowering alone in the bright light of day.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked. He had no time for Malfoy's games. But one look at the young man's strained, pallid face had him questioning everything he knew about Malfoy.

"We need to talk," Malfoy said.

"I'm listening," replied Potter.

"Not here," Malfoy rejoined, glancing around nervously. "Tonight, at the tracks, behind Tenet's old place." Tenet's was a long abandoned garage and petrol station. Railroad tracks ran behind it, and beyond that was a stretch of scrub pines and woods.

Potter sighed. If not for the panic in Malfoy's eyes, he might have refused. But something had clearly spooked the twitchy ferret. With a bit of reservation, Harry assented. "What time?"

"Midnight," Malfoy responded. "Come alone. And don't tell anyone."

Harry apparated behind Tenet's at around 9pm, checked to be sure the area was clear of any magical traces, and then cast his own spells and perimeter alarms to alert him if any sign of a trap was being laid for him. Something in Malfoy's demeanor told him that this wasn't a setup, though. His instinct and intuition had gotten Harry this far, and for once, he actually believed that Malfoy was acting of his own accord.

Harry apparated back to the same spot at 11:40pm. His spells were still intact and nothing had changed. He disillusioned himself, leaned against the old Tenet building, and waited. At precisely midnight, a pop sounded, and Malfoy appeared, wand drawn but held loosely at his side. So he wasn't even going to defend himself, Harry thought. Interesting.

Harry let Malfoy pace for the next five minutes, watching him for any signs of deception. Right about the time that Malfoy started cursing aloud, seeming to think that Harry wouldn't show, Harry disillusioned himself and stepped forward.

"Malfoy," he called.

"Potter," Malfoy returned with a curt nod.

The studied each other for a long moment. Ultimately, it was Malfoy who broke the silence. "Let's walk."

Harry's senses were attuned to Malfoy's every move, noting the nervous twitches and the sweat beading Malfoy's brow. It was as if Malfoy, too, was expecting to be attacked. But as they walked along the tracks in silence, and no threat materialized, Malfoy seemed to regain some of his usual swagger.

Malfoy cleared his throat; whether to gain Harry's attention or to fortify himself for what was to come, Harry wasn't sure. All he knew was that it must be something serious if it had driven Malfoy to seek out him of all people. Finally, Malfoy started to speak, his angst unspooling like a taut reel of fishing line released from its bindings. As Malfoy's words sunk in, Harry felt a mixture of many things; surprise, revulsion, and pity among them. The more he heard, the more incredible it sounded; yet he didn't interrupt. One tended to learn much more about one's opponent if they kept their own mouth shut.

Sucking in a lungful of air, Malfoy finished his twisting tale and looked expectantly at Harry.

"What about Crabbe? Or Goyle?" Harry asked.

Malfoy scoffed. "Those idiots are about as useful as Snargaluff pods."

"But why me?"

Malfoy paused, biting out the words as if it cost him a great deal to do so. "You have something I need," he said.

But it was Malfoy's next words that sealed the deal. Meeting Harry's gaze, Malfoy said boldly: "I don't want to die alone."

The plan had been set, the trap laid. It was New Year's Eve. The glass office building was nearly empty of inhabitants this late Sunday evening, though the interior was still well lit. Draco and Harry had no problems getting in. Muggle security was light, and a simple Alohamora had the outside doors springing wide open for them. The atrium was large and spacious, featuring live greenery, decorative waterfalls, and mirrored mosaic décor. Elevators graced the four corners of the building, providing access to all seven floors, while a grand marble staircase created the central focal point. A glance between the two solidified the plan: Draco would take the East elevator; Harry, the West.

Heart racing and palms sweating, Draco stepped inside the East elevator and pressed 7. This was it. He would either live or die, but whatever the outcome, he wouldn't be alone. At least he hoped he wouldn't be. Each floor he ascended ratcheted up his fear. He wasn't meant for this. In his over-confident, invincible youth, he might have thought he was; but now he knew better. It wasn't as simple as black or white, right or wrong. Shades of gray covered everything: every decision, every factor, every choice. He swallowed back his rising panic, the taste of metal tainting his saliva. He could do this. He had to do this. The elevator dinged, the doors slid open. And Draco Malfoy stood on the precipice, balanced precariously between his past and his future.

The three inhabitants of the conference room gathered in the doorway, surprised by the arriving elevator. Clearly they weren't expecting anyone. When no one exited, the older man and two women—one middle-aged, and one a bit younger, stepped out into the corridor to investigate.

Draco stood a moment longer, taking deep breaths and willing his limbs to stop shaking. Gathering the remnants of what little courage he possessed, he raised his weapon and stepped out of the elevator. The Minister of Magic stood halfway down the hall, a ministry worker on either side of him. Eyes trained on his target, Draco didn't hesitate; he fired—one, two, three shots. A look of bemused surprise shown on the Minister's face as crimson blood blossomed across his chest. Draco and the man's gazes locked and time seemed to stutter. As if in slow motion, the Ministry of Magic crumpled to the floor. The women beside the fallen Minister twittered in shock. Then, as Draco stood frozen, unable to do more than he'd set out to do, the older woman raised her wand.

The first spell hit him in the right thigh, and he felt a warm gush of fluid run down his leg. The second spell—this one fired from the younger colleague—hit him in his left side. Draco keeled sideways, slumping against the wall, as pain lit a fire along his nerves. Still, his eyes never left the Minister's, which had slid out of focus and were now permanently fixed and empty.

A bang, a shriek of rage, another bang.

"Stupify! Stupify!"

Bodies hitting the ground.

An urgent volley of "Obliviates."

Then––silence.

Seconds ticked by, measured by the beat of Draco's traitorous heart. He felt a sob tear through the fabric of his being—whether from pain or shock, he wasn't sure. Unintelligible words lashed at his ears. He shut his eyes to shut out the world as his trembling body slid a little farther down the wall. And then hands were grabbing his shoulders, shaking him.

"Malfoy," an out-of-breath voice gasped, the entreaty reaching for him through the dense fog of denial and unreality clouding his consciousness. "Malfoy! We have to go!"

With great effort, Draco forced his eyes to open and met Potter's blazing gaze.

"WE HAVE TO MOVE! NOW!"

The shouted command awoke Draco from his stupor. Adrenaline kicked in, temporarily overriding the pain riddling his body. Draco pushed to his feet and stumbled. As if Potter were expecting this, he already had looped Draco's arm over his shoulder and was half supporting him, half dragging him toward—the stairs?

"Wait," Draco implored. But Harry kept moving. The door to the stairwell flew open, Harry's wand pointing directly at.

"The elevators…" Draco began.

"Are blocked." Harry responded, urging Draco forward and down the stairs as he threw a spell at the closing door to lock it behind them. "Someone triggered an alarm. Aurors are on their way. We can't even apparate."

"What?" Draco breathed.

"Colloportus! Colloportus!" Harry continued shouting, aiming at all of the doors leading to the stairwell. Draco heard other words as well, other spells and charms, but in his befuddled state, he couldn't place them.

"Slow down," Draco complained as Harry hauled him down stairs.

"Can't," Harry said. "We have to hurry. They are sealing the exits."

Suddenly, a blast like a bomb rocked the building. Harry and Draco were thrown into a wall , Harry landing atop Draco, who keened in pain.

Harry jumped to his feet, trying to pull Draco up with him. "Come on, we have to keeping moving!"

Draco curled in on himself. The pain was too much. He'd never been one to tolerate pain well, and this was beyond his worst imaginings. This was worse than the Cruciatus curse which his father liked to use on him for the most minor of infractions. He hadn't thought anything could be worse than that. Yet, his leg was excruciating and his insides felt like they were being torn apart, cell by individual cell.

"Just… leave… me…" Draco moaned, noticing for the first time that his trousers were soaked with blood.

Rough hands grabbed Malfoy's face, forcing it upward. "Look at me," a voice demanded. Draco forced himself to focus on Potter.

"You didn't want to die alone, remember?"

Bangs began to echo all around, along with the shouts of witches and wizards who were searching for the intruders. The building shook and trembled under the magical enchantments being placed on it. As Harry alternatively cajoled, dragged, and carried Draco down the several flights of stairs, he cast various concealment charms and anti-detection spells around them.

In some distant part of Draco's mind, he recognized that he was moving too slowly. But he couldn't seem to do anything about it. His ears felt like they were full of pixie dust, and Harry's continual stream of words twined together like the unwelcome clatter of a herd of Hippogriffs. To add insult to injury, Draco's right leg could no longer support his weight, and the curse to his side was making his breath come in shallow, unreliable gasps. Unable to get enough oxygen, Draco's vision began to blur and his head spun. But every time his consciousness began to slip, a hearty "Enervate" from Potter's lips brought him unwillingly back to full, agonizing awareness, if only temporarily.

As they approached the ground floor landing, the sound of shattering glass and Harry's colorful curses roused Draco. The next thing he knew, he was tumbling down a flight of stairs into darkness.

When Draco finally awoke, hours later on the sofa in Potter's flat, the events of the previous evening spun around in his mind like the colored jewels of a kaleidoscope: the smell of gun powder in the air; the stunned look of recognition on the younger ministry worker's face; the Minister himself slumped on the floor; Potter's alarmed expression as he screamed at Draco to MOVE; the trail of blood painting the stairs a dark, crimson red; the smell of Potter's sweat; passing by the ground floor door that he thought would be their escape; Potter's heavy breathing; the dark, windowless basement; being roughly shoved into a laundry cart and covered with soiled linens; Potter's pounding heart beating out a tattoo against Draco's back as Potter wrapped himself around Draco to counteract Draco's falling body temperature due to loss of blood; Potter's endless protestations that Draco NOT die on his watch; Potter refusing to let him bloody well sleep, the rocking motion of the laundry cart being wheeled outside; the inexorable feeling of being sucked through the constricting straw of apparition; and finally, finally, the welcome scents and sounds of being healed: the bitter taste of medicinal potions, the sound of Potter's voice alternatively coaxing and chastising him, and last but not least—deep, dreamless sleep.

! Daily Prophet Special Edition !

MINISTER OF MAGIC LUCIUS MALFOY KILLED BY MUGGLE IN RANDOM NEW YEAR'S EVE ATTACK

The Minister of Magic Lucius Malfoy was killed Sunday evening when a Muggle broke into the Presidential Suite of the Parkington Office Building in Piccadilly Circus. The minister and his staff met on New Year's Eve to finalize the implementation of the new regime's policies at the previously undisclosed location after receiving several death threats at the Ministry. The unnamed Muggle used a gun, which is a weapon Muggles use to kill each other. Aurors arrived promptly and secured the area. All entrances and exits were sealed. The Muggle, who has yet to be apprehended, is thought to have escaped through a broken window on the ground floor.

The new minister's regime had raised concerns from some in the wizarding community who compared him to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Others, however, had praised him for his attempts at 'finally putting muggles in their rightful place.' Gemini Wellsby from Wilshire, an outspoken opponent of the new regime, was quoted as saying: "I find it quite ironic that the new minister was removed from office by a Muggle that he was unable to put in its 'rightful place'. This just goes to show that cooperation between the Muggle and wizarding world is essential to our survival."

The minister's supporters have pledged to strengthen their support of the new minister's plans, citing Muggles killing wizards as a call to action. However, the majority of wizarding sentiment has swung toward Muggle cooperation after the killing, as several ministry members have come forward claiming that they were under the imperious curse. "This is a great blow to the New World Order that Minister Malfoy had promulgated. It is clear that he had to force his Ministry members to support him using Dark Magic. This in itself solidifies the claim that the Minister was a former supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." This bold statement was made by Percy Weasley, one-time ministry employee who now campaigns for Muggle rights.

Today's shocking news has caused many to question the Ministry and its procedures. Furthermore, after the unprecedented assassination of Kingsley Shacklebolt last August, many ministry workers—who claim to have been confounded, obliviated, or imperioused—have asserted that it was Minister Malfoy himself who ordered the assassination of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Several prominent members of wizarding society, including Harry Potter who famously put an end to the terrifying reign of You-Know-Who two years ago, have so far been unable to be reached for comment.

Stay tuned to the Daily Prophet for more updates on this breaking story.