Just for the record, I currently live in a cave. In Siberia. Guarded by fifteen starving, rabid, man-eating Rottweilers.

Unicorns and rainbows for queenie mab, who kept me writing via word-wars late into the night to get this done; alligatorxsmile and girljim for combing this monster for errors, continuity/canon checks, tense-issues and typos; extra unicorns for groolover, who did all of those things, added a few semicolons (!), and Brit-picked. You guys are tireless and prompt and I would be lost without your guidance. I am forever your servant.

Quotes from K. Allen & Cyndi Lauper, who kept me company late at night writing and editing. Note to the canon-thumping: I had several long chats with folks about the Random Capitalisation that JKR seems to suffer from. For instance, as groolover pointed out, she not only capitalises the animals she's invented (ie, Fwooper, Clabbert, Threstal...) but a few she did not (including "Basilisk"). She does not, however, capitalise - for example - "unicorn" or "dragon". This annoys me to no end. There's no consistency to it that any of us can see. So, for the purposes of not gouging my own eyes out, I've decided to follow the standard protocol when writing out an animal's name - lower case, unless it's got a name (ie, Fawkes). In addition, the 'scrunts' were inspired by Lady In The Water, for those of you who've seen it. I've taken some artistic license with the beasts themselves, but kept the name as it seemed to fit the universe JKR set up (fwoopers and clabberts, I ask you).

XIII
Live Like We're Dying

you never know a good thing until it's gone
never see a crash until it's head on
why do we think we're right
when we're dead wrong

: : : : :

The night of Harry's twentieth birthday was the only time Blaise had ever stayed the night. Harry had woken up alongside him, their naked limbs tangled and sticky, smelling strongly of sweat and sex and stale tequila.

If Dobby had been around, he had enough sense to keep out of sight as Blaise gratefully accepted the coffee Harry brewed for him; he hadn't even bothered to put on a pair of trousers before coming into the kitchen, sucking down the steaming liquid in one long swallow. Placing the cup on the counter, Blaise had swaggered off to take a shower and Harry had stood there in his jeans, looking at the red trails on his chest and hips and shoulders, and finished his coffee. Then Harry had kicked off his jeans, walked right into the shower and found himself thrown up against the wall.

It was just so weird. How could he have gone through seven years of school and two years of adult life without ever – well, all right, maybe it sort of explained the hero-worship thing for Cedric and the unhealthy need to be around Sirius constantly – but he'd never even been conciously attracted to a guy before. Not sexually. Harry could acknowledge if another bloke was easy on the eyes, sure, but he'd never thought about – well, frankly, having their wand up his arse.

Literally.

Blaise always seemed to know when Ron wasn't home and he would burst into Harry's flat like some sort of desperate madman. It was always like a fight. Harry would then find himself on his bed or on the floor, or more commonly against a wall, with Blaise up against him and his thighs over Blaise's hips and Blaise's teeth at his neck like some frenzied vampire that had been starved of blood for a century. Harry would fight back but Blaise always won because Harry would let him.

Harry didn't really mind; the sensation of the cool, laminated surface of the wall against his back, biting at his shoulder blades, and the hot, firm skin of Blaise's chest against his own, fulfilled some deep, carnal hunger inside them both. And Blaise didn't care about the Parseltongue, he even sort of liked it, or at least Harry thought he did from the way he encouraged it. Blaise didn't exactly talk a lot, during the sex. Or at all, really, but Harry didn't care. He began to find himself waiting impatiently for the nights Blaise would find him alone and tear into him until he was numb.

And it always hurt. It hurt during and even afterwards, when Harry would wake and find Blaise had gone. His throat always left his throat raw from the laboured, snake-like sounds Blaise forced him to make, lips swollen and aching from Blaise's teeth. There would always be bruises on his thighs from Blaise's fingers, his shoulders from being slammed repeatedly against any number of hard surfaces, and his neck, God his neck, which Blaise would ravish because it drove Harry up whatever wall he was pinned against, drawing out every hiss and snarl by force, driving away any sense except that of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Harry would later try to heal himself but there were so many, everywhere, that he always missed a few. He would find them later in the shower he took the following morning and it would ignite the slick, burning desire all over again, forcing him to run the water cold.

It became an irregular pattern, a guilty pleasure that Harry could live with. He wasn't ready to declare that he was a homosexual, or even at least willing to fly both ways. He wasn't ready to tell anyone in confidence, not even his friends (the idea of Ron's reaction alone would keep him quiet to the grave, surely), and he wasn't even sure himself if he was just doing this out of an enormous amount of guilt and a desperate need for sex. Then again, maybe it was just Blaise. Aside from possessing a truly shocking amount of courage and emotional strength, Blaise was a bigger prick than anyone Harry knew, Ron included. But there was something about the way the man just took control and accepted Harry for his faults that Harry was supremely grateful for, and Harry was more than a little bit worried he might be actually falling for the bastard.

For a year, everything was fine, or as fine as a semi-regular sex life for Harry could be. Things were actually sort of okay. They weren't – anything – not officially, not even unofficially, but it was kind of nice, whatever it was, to have someone he could just dive into and let go, not to have to worry if they were worrying, didn't have to be scared of being too rough or too hard; able to just lose himself in the feeling and release and hiss and snarl and have eyes that could see clearly in the dark.

Blaise continued his work for the Death Eaters, undetected against all odds, and he came and went whenever he had time, which happened more and more often once Ron moved out. Harry passed his training and got his certification, a pay raise, and his licence to kill. And then it was Harry's birthday again, and Blaise was there, lurking in the shadows on the outskirts of the room, eyes watching Harry from a safe distance, waiting for his friends to leave.

Ginny had found Blaise that night, her mood light and easy with alcohol, and asked him to dance.

Blaise had kissed her before she left for the night, slow and teasing and all lingering promises, and Harry had been so angry, so jealous, that the moment he and Blaise were alone he'd thrown him up against the table in the kitchen, Blaise's back against his chest, teeth at his shoulder, hand twisting in his hair, terrible inhuman sounds rolling off his tongue.

That was the last time, but Harry hadn't been aware of it until later – Ginny had sobered up and decided she'd really enjoyed that kiss, or something. Apparently she couldn't have Harry risk his own life to save the entire world, but Blaise risking his life for Harry and a chance, a tiny chance that he could help, well, that was all right for some reason. The complete unfairness of the entire ordeal sent Harry over some wild edge, and it was probably for the best that he didn't see Blaise for a while, because Blaise was now spending his free time with Ginny. He wanted to hurt him, to hurt her, which was unfair too, and just made him angrier. He had no idea what to tell Ron and he suspected Hermione had figured it out, because she was the only one who had known about Blaise anyway, and he shut himself away with his duties, off and on the record, working until he collapsed, exhausted, too tired to even dream.

A few weeks later, Blaise had dropped in for his usual monthly report to the Order. Harry had opened the door, taken one long look at him, and punched him in the face.

: : : : :

They were holding hands again.

Granted, it was mostly due to the fact that even with the tip of Harry's wand lit to keep them from running into a pillar, they'd easily become separated in the darkness. Draco's grip was vice-like, fingernails digging painfully into his knuckles, but Harry easily ignored the pain. He had bigger problems.

Like seven bloody basilisks on their tail.

When they ran out of the circular room, leaving behind the dimming fire, the beasts had already begun to move. Behind them, he could hear hisses and what sounded like a mix between a yawn and a snarl.

How long had they been down here? Hermione said the reserve had been set up in... 1947, if he remembered correctly. So just over fifty years?

Not far behind them, something roared. It sounded hungry.

All right, all right, he told himself, trying very hard not to panic – you've fought a basilisk before. He'd only been twelve, but then again, he'd had help. While Draco had perhaps not been completely useless over the time he'd spent with them, Harry honestly couldn't think of anything he could contribute here. Except possibly being something else to eat.

When Harry had used the Killing Curse on the basilisk in the Manor, he'd only been half-sure it'd actually work. But the one in the Manor was about a half the size of the biggest one they'd found in here. Still, it might work... but he'd need a clear shot. The pillars in this cave would likely ricochet the curse, and it might hit one of them instead.

How the hell was he supposed to get a clear shot if he couldn't even look at his target?

Hungry hisses followed them as they ran through the darkness. Harry was supremely grateful that Draco couldn't understand them.

'Why do you run?'

'We will find you.'

'Catch you.'

'Kill you.'

'Why do you run?'

'You cannot hide from us.'

'We are so very hungry.'

Harry slammed to a halt. Draco, connected to his hand, nearly dislocated Harry's arm as he slid to a stop. 'What the – Potter? We're going to be eaten? Are you all right? If you're tired I can – '

Harry reeled him in and slapped a hand over his mouth. Draco glared at him.

'Shh. I have an idea.'

'Oh, wulin tha cas,' Draco said against his palm, rolling his eyes.

Harry dropped his hand, pulled Draco against a pillar with him and, very careful to keep his eyes cast at the ground, peered around it.

The dying fire left by the mandrake roots cast the room into long, barred shadows. There was no sign of anything scaly. This didn't exactly reassure him, but it gave him a moment to catch his breath and concentrate.

'This isn't an idea like the one that got your arm nearly blown off, is it?' Draco hissed behind him.

Harry put his back to the pillar. 'That plan worked. And be quiet. I need to focus.'

Speaking Parseltongue still took a lot of concentration. Not so much speaking the words, but keeping the images they caused at bay – it was like some disconnected part of himself that used to belong to Voldemort would rise up any time he purposely used the skill, flooding him with a violent, twisted feeling that made him want to be sick.

Closing his eyes, Harry focussed on that part of himself, and could feel the change. His mind was filled with scales and yellow eyes and venomous teeth. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes.

It was as if a light had been switched on in the cavern. He could see everything, from the sparkling of the gold ore embedded in the pillars to the massive chasm off in the distance. He could see the individual dust particles they'd kicked up floating in the air, and the tiny beads of moisture congregating on the ceiling above them. He looked at Draco, who was glowing in his vision, flickering in time to the beat of his heart.

Harry wondered if this was how the basilisks saw them. Probably.

Draco looked at his eyes and stiffened, immediately dropping his hand. 'Potter,' he said.

'I'm okay,' Harry said, looking away. 'I'm just, I needed to – '

Something large and heavy slithered up behind the pillar. Draco shut his eyes and winced, grabbing at Harry's hand and re-threading their fingers together. Harry closed his eyes, but did so calmly, careful not to lose the power he was desperately relying on. He gave Draco's hand a reassuring squeeze.

'Stop,' Harry said.

The hissing stopped, and so did the slithering. Harry took a deep breath, taking care to keep his eyes shut, and stepped around the pillar into the open.

He could feel it breathing. The hot air blasted across his face, less putrid than he'd imagined snake-breath would be. He could just imagine those fangs, dripping with venom, just inches from his face...

'Close your eyes,' he commanded.

Harry suddenly learned it was not just one that had found them, but three.

'He speaks the tongue!'

'Is it Master?'

'It is not Master.'That was the one closest to him, the hisses rolling off his face as it snarled, 'Kill him!'

'He speaks the tongue!'

'Master spoke the tongue.'

'He is not Master!'said the one beside him again. 'Kill him.'

Harry didn't wait for them to finish arguing. The one beside him was so close there was no chance he could miss his target. He raised his wand, and shouted the incantation.

Green flashed in his vision behind his eyelids. There was a shriek to his right, and something large crumpled to the ground in front of him. He stumbled blindly back around the pillar, shooting another curse behind him just in case he got lucky, and only opened his eyes when Draco redoubled his grip and took off running in the opposite direction.

One down, only six to go.

: : :

sometimes I'm afraid of the dark
I can't find the light in my heart
I can see my hand pushing away
as hard as I can

: : :

The Scent flowed across the great plains like a golden road. Other odours mixed with it, some leaving, some remaining along the journey; these were grey like the landscapes, because those did not concern them. They followed their prey hungrily, the promise of freedom pushing them faster. The light would be back soon, and they would have to rest.

Across a river and in a rocky alcove the Scent had paused. It had spent time here, filling the space with its essence. Another scent had joined it again, but that did not matter. Only the Scent mattered. Their prey meant freedom.

They followed the trails into another jungle, the deep canopy keeping them sheltered from the growing light. Even still, they became weary. They would have to rest, and soon.

But that did not matter. The light would eventually leave, and when it did, they would find their prey. Nothing else mattered.

: : :

Draco had never in his life run so fast on two legs.

Morphing into a horse had occurred to him. It would get him where he was going – away from here – a lot faster. It would get them both out of here faster.

But the horse would be beside itself with panic. The smell of the basilisks would be alien, and all predator. There were seven – six, now – of the God-damned things, and the horse would be lost in a dark maze of stone pillars. The horse would stumble, scream, and be lucky if the pain of a broken leg would cause it to pass out before the serpents' teeth tore into it.

They rounded a pillar and used it for support to catch their breath. The short daisho blade tucked into Draco's belt clanged against the stone. Draco blinked; he'd completely forgotten about the sword. Not that it'd do him much good against six sodding basilisks. He took a deep breath, the coarse, chilly stone against his back cooling him down. Around his neck, the ring on its silver chain stuck to his chest with a mixture of dust and sweat.

He still had Harry's hand in a death-grip. Draco dropped his hand and started to massage some life back into his fingers. Harry did the same, panting. The cup dangled at his side; he'd somehow threaded one of the handles through his belt while they were running to keep both hands free.

'We're lost,' Draco panted quietly, 'aren't we?'

Harry quickly used the Four-Point spell, squinting in the low light. The yellow in his eyes had faded as soon as he'd killed the first beast, and, considering the circumstances, it made Draco feel marginally better.

Harry said, 'It should be just ahead.'

'You said that five minutes ago.'

'Yeah, well,' Harry snapped, 'why don't I follow you for a change?'

A hiss, far too close for comfort, echoed from the forest of stone behind them.

'You killed one before,' Draco said, as they both squeezed closer together behind the pillar. 'You've killed three.'

'There's six left,' Harry pointed out unnecessarily. 'And I don't think they're going to fall for that again.'

'The Dark Lord's just upped the ante,' Draco said reasonably. 'How'd you kill the first one? In the Chamber, I mean.'

'Fawkes pecked out its eyes, and then I shoved a sword in its mouth.'

'A phoenix helped you?'

'I was twelve!'

'Where'd you get a sword?'

A snarl to their right ceased all disagreements rather quickly; Harry grabbed Draco by the wrist and dragged him further into darkness.

A sword. A sword!

'Potter!'

'Will you shut up, they can hear us – '

Draco unsheathed the sword and shoved it into his hand. Harry blinked at it, then looked at him like he was insane. 'What the hell am I supposed to do with this?'

'I forgot to bring my pocket phoenix, sorry,' Draco drawled. 'Look, it's something, isn't it?'

A wave of hisses in the darkness beyond begged to differ. Harry stared at the sword in his hands and seem to come to a decision.

'We should split up.'

A stupid decision.

'Yeah, great, I'll just see you in Hell, shall I?'

There was a leathery sound to the left, and something roared. Both of them took off – in different directions.

Draco didn't like the idea of splitting up, even if it was the smartest move. The odds weren't in his favour. But the creatures hunting them hadn't given him the luxury of making that decision.

The terrible thing about this blasted cave was that, with all the pillars, it was impossible to get a sense of direction. Whenever they were sure they were heading towards the chasm, they ended up going deeper into a stone forest that had no inclination of ending. How far did this underground cavern go on? Remembering the unending depth of the chasm, Draco did not want to think about it. For all he knew, there was some sort of spell in place that kept turning them around. It would be hard enough to find their way without seven – sorry, six – death-machines chasing them around.

Aside from his wand, Blaise's sword had been the only weapon Draco had on him. He knew how to use it against human opponents, but couldn't even fathom how it would be any use against a bloody basilisk with his eyes closed. Still, he had his wand. He didn't think he could cast a Killing Curse even if his life depended on it, but there had to be something...

As he ran, he racked his brain for what he knew about basilisks. He'd learned about them in school a bit, but mostly Hagrid had just gone on and on about how they were woefully misunderstood creatures. Right. Draco'd like to see what the big oaf would do if it were him trapped down in this hellhole.

Okay. What did he know? Breeding them was illegal, but easy. Only Parselmouths had any sort of control over them, and Harry had already tried that – obviously, these serpents held allegiance to the Dark Lord. That, or they didn't particularly like the idea of being ordered to line up for a massacre. They had poisonous fangs, but those were mostly an afterthought since they primarily killed by locking gazes with their target. That made sense – the difference between predators and their prey was that the predator always made eye contact. They had no fear. They were at least as intelligent as other snakes, but since Draco had never conversed with snakes he had no idea what that meant. Females were smaller than the males, which had red crests like cocks, a hint to their fowl ancestry.

Well, great, what did that leave him with?

As Draco started to tire, another hiss to his left gave him another burst of adrenaline. With only the dim light of his wand to see his way, he tripped over something heavy and went sprawling to the ground. Spluttering in the muddy dust, he scrambled to his feet and shone his light back at the offending item – a rock, about the size of a Quaffle. Most of the rocks on the ground were merely pebbles: odd.

Draco thought about what he knew, and got an idea. He pointed his wand at the rock and concentrated.

The basilisk trailing him rounded the pillar. He had his eyes closed, but he could hear the damn thing sidle up to him, hot breath messing his hair and hissing curiously at this prey that had halted so suddenly. Draco silently uttered his goodbyes, adjusted the wiggling, feathery bundle in his hands, and said: 'Boo.'

Shoving the transfigured fowl at the general direction of the serpent, Draco prayed to Merlin he'd remembered Hagrid's stupid monster book right: Spiders flee before the basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it.

The cock stopped struggling long enough to give a quizzical 'Wra?' and the basilisk shrieked.

Draco waited a long, terrifying moment before opening a wary eye, peering at the ground before him. There was a huge track in the dust marking where the basilisk had been before turning around and, apparently, fleeing the very confused rooster in his hands.

The fowl turned around to look at him, cocking its head. 'Buk ?'

Draco resisted the urge to kiss it. 'I will never eat poultry again,' he promised it.

Now if only he knew how to make them crow on command, he thought, gratefully sucking in huge lungfuls of air.

He put the bird down carefully. 'All right,' he told the cock, 'it's just you and me against the world, buddy.' He trained his wand on it and said, 'Engorgio.'

: : :

Bill shielded his eyes as he watched the horizon from a high perch in the baobab tree. The rising sun was pale pink, casting a pastel glow over the jungle. Beneath the canopy, the jungle began to come to life. He could hear the distant squabble of clabberts intertwined with the music of fwoopers. They were running out of time. He was honestly surprised the animal hadn't already returned. Like their leopard cousins, nundu were primarily nocturnal creatures. The fact that this nest was empty when they got here told Bill that whatever lived here – still lived here, as some of the bones couldn't have been more than a few days old – would be back any minute.

Harry and Draco had been gone since sunset. This didn't worry Bill much – one of them would manage to get off a Patronus if something horrible happened and they required aid – but he was much more worried about what would happen when this damn cat got home and found prey had wandered so conveniently into its den.

Pulling out his wand, he muttered an incantation, and the silvery falcon bloomed into view in a flurry of incorporeal feathers. 'Harry,' he told it, 'it's sunrise. We're out of time. Finish up whatever it is you're doing and get yourselves up here.'

The falcon keened quietly at him and, in a sweep of silver wings, disappeared down the hole.

Bill left the nest to double-check the wards he'd set up earlier. Still nothing. Sighing in relief and hoping Harry moved his arse, he pulled himself up into the branches of a nearby tree to wait.

: : :

Harry stumbled to a halt against a pillar. He could feel the vast... well, vastness of the chasm nearby. He didn't dare light his wand for guidance, though. Besides, what if Draco hadn't made it across yet? He'd be a sitting duck over here alone. At least with the two of them separated, the basilisks had to split up, too.

He hadn't meant to leave Draco on his own. Splitting up was the best move but that didn't make him feel any better about it. Harry wasn't sure what he could do against six basilisks on his own but somehow, some solution always presented itself. He was, as Draco liked to put it, rather lucky in the mortality department. Harry had never got himself into a mess he couldn't get out of.

The same couldn't always be said for his friends, though.

Damn! There was nothing for it. He'd have to go back for him. But how? It was one thing to run away from an enemy you couldn't look at through a cave too dark to see your own feet in. It was another to go looking for someone while also doing those things. Harry tucked his wand away in his jeans and gripped the sword in his right hand. He could feel the pulse of magic from the wand in the hilt. He wondered if he could cast a Killing Curse from an unfamiliar wand... if his life depended on it, probably.

Tightening his grip, Harry closed his eyes, listened to the hisses following him through the darkness, and concentrated.

When he opened his eyes, he could see clearly again. Right. Not so helpful if he ran face-first into one of the serpents, but... yes, there it was. Draco's heartbeat was a dead give away. He couldn't hear it so much as feel it, almost see it with his eyes. It seemed stronger than before, and was heading right towards him...

Harry moved towards it, not a second too late, as jaws snapped down right where his head had been a moment before.

Harry shut his eyes instinctively and spun, slashing blindly behind him with the sword. The blade connected with the hard stone of a pillar and Harry dropped down and rolled to his right, trying to put as much distance between him and the creature as he could.

It rolled him right into another one.

He could feel the scales against his face, cold and smooth and moving as the animal reared up. Gripping the sword in both hands, he waited until he could feel the hot breath of the basilisk immediately over his head before shoving the sword directly upwards, hard.

The scream, so close, deafened him momentarily and left his ears ringing. He yanked the sword out of its mouth as the animal gurgled and thrashed, and staggered sideways to his feet, opening his eyes just enough to see where he was going, gaze directed at the ground. He stumbled over the seizing body of the basilisk he had stabbed – a female, it had to be, the male was larger – and behind the nearest pillar. Where had the other one gone? Harry tried to shut out the echoing shriek in his ears and listen, but it was no good. He had only moments, he was sure, before –

A blinding flash of light erupted behind his eyelids; something close to his left snarled loudly in surprise and Harry slashed blindly at it, shouting the Killing Curse in his mind. The following flash of green told him he'd somehow managed to cast the spell, but there was no answering thud to tell the spell had struck its target.

Amongst the snarls and the ringing, Harry thought he could hear Bill's voice.

' – sunrise – out of – here – '

Working on it! Harry wanted to shout back, and it probably wouldn't have made any difference – with the noise these two beasts had caused, the other four were probably honing in on them already. Good, Harry thought, maybe Draco would take the opportunity to get the hell out of there.

If they hadn't already got to him, that was.

Keeping his eyes squeezed shut, Harry ran forward and then to his left, trying to put as much distance between himself and his current pursuer as possible. He took another turn and smashed his right shoulder into a pillar, which threw him sideways, where he rebounded off something large, rather soft and... feathery?

Harry landed on his arse in the dust. Behind him, he could hear the basilisk slither around the pillar he'd crashed into, hissing maniacally. Harry looked carefully to his left as he struggled to his knees, and saw the long body flowing between the pillars. It was the male; had to be. None of the females had been that insanely large. Shit.

'Catch you, kill you, eat you...'

Harry started to move, but a three-toed, scaly foot stomped down in his path. Skittering to the side, Harry blinked up at the rather horrifying beast before him. The rooster was about the size of a van. It cocked its head to the side, regarding the basilisk behind Harry as if it were a particularly large piece of corn.

'Buh-caw?'

The basilisk roared in defiance, making Harry cringe and scramble further behind the pillar, peeking out so he could just see the giant-size fowl and keeping the basilisk's eyes well out of view. The engorged cock must have sighted the red crest on the basilisk's head, because it immediately puffed itself up and crowed:

'KRAH EH-RUH ERHUUUUU!'

The sound reverberated off every nearby surface, causing Harry to clamp his hands hard over his ears. The male basilisk shrieked one long, high note before collapsing to the floor, shaking the pillar Harry was hidden behind. Bits of rock and dust fluttered down from the ceiling. Somewhere in the distance, another basilisk screamed and thudded to the floor.

Harry peeked out from behind the pillar. The rooster was normal-sized again, apparently spent now that its mission was accomplished. It pecked at the basilisk's dead, open eyes.

Something grabbed his shoulder. Harry nearly decapitated it.

'Easy,' Draco said, ducking despite the fact that Harry had caught himself. 'Just me. Did you meet my new friend?' He pointed at the cock. 'Clarence, Potter. Potter, Clarence.'

Harry gripped the hand on his shoulder and shut his eyes in relief; Draco gave his shoulder a brief squeeze. 'Where did you find a rooster?' Harry asked.

'I sort of invented this one. Are you all right? Can we go?'

'How many did it kill?'

'Including this one and the one chasing after me? Two. I don't know if the others heard him crow and I really don't fancy hanging around to find out. Do you?'

'No,' Harry said. He opened his eyes and leaned down to the male's head, prying its mouth open with the sword. Four canines gleamed in the low-light, long and unbroken. 'But first, give me a hand.'

: : :

Level nine was a maze. Half the doors in the basement of the Ministry weren't actually doors at all; probably the same charm Hogwarts employed that had solid walls just pretending. The other half were either locked shut with enough spells to perplex even Hermione, or led off into dark rooms full of noises that would make even Harry hesitate.

Unspeakables were hard enough to lasso into a pre-arranged meeting. Half the time, they didn't bother to show. Ron had a sneaking suspicion they sent invisible little spies along in their place just to see if anything was interesting while the agents amused themselves downstairs.

Ron didn't have time for a meeting or stupid Unspeakable games. He needed to talk to someone now.

The report couldn't be right. It had to be some sort of joke.

'I know you bastards know I'm down here!' he shouted down the long, empty hallway. 'I swear to Merlin if I have to burn down every room in this place, I will!'

The hallway did not answer. Cursing, Ron flung open the nearest unlocked door and, upon seeing nothing but a dark room full of dusty boxes piled high, turned his wand on them and set them ablaze.

The boxes screamed, sprouted little arms and legs and began to run around the room hysterically. Ron slammed the door, opened another, and aimed his wand.

'All right, all right!'

A figure had appeared in the hall, not ten feet away. It was wearing the slate-grey robes of an Unspeakable and a full-faced mask, not unlike that of a Death Eater. Ron turned his wand on it. 'I need to talk to someone,' he told it.

The figure did not raise hands in defence, but tilted its head and regarded him for a moment. 'Anyone in particular?' The voice sounded vaguely female.

'One of you,' Ron snapped, not lowering his wand. For all he knew, it was just an illusion anyway. 'Preferably someone in charge. I'm not picky.'

'May I at least enquire what about?'

Ron held up the file clasped tightly in his other hand. 'Does the name Croaker ring a bell?'

'Oh dear,' said the figure. 'Perhaps you should come with us, Mr Weasley.'

Ron blinked and glanced behind him. Two more figures, shrouded like the first, held wands trained at his back. Ron lowered his wand and returned his gaze to the first. He knew better than to ask their identities. It was a criminal offence to threaten an Auror, but even the lowest Unspeakable out-ranked even Robards. They did not have names at work. Some of them never left.

He nodded, and followed the figure down the hall. The two behind him did not lower their wands, and followed about five paces behind. They took several seemingly random turns, until the figure ahead tapped a nondescript brick and a wall slid aside, revealing a brightly-lit office.

There was nothing in the office that shed any light on the owner's identity. No family photos that were so frequently seen inside the cubicles upstairs, no Quidditch posters, not even a personal cloak. The lead figure took a seat behind the desk and conjured a chair before it, motioning that Ron should take a seat.

He did. The figures behind him melted back into the hallway, and the figure before him removed the mask.

He didn't recognise the face. It didn't matter – the features were too clean, too perfect – obviously, some Glamour was at work. Ron wondered why she'd bothered with the mask.

'Now, Mr Weasley, what can I do for you?'

'That depends. Who're you?'

The woman glanced down at her desk, lifting up a piece of parchment to peer at what lay beneath. She had violet eyes, ebony skin and, from what he could see of her forearms as the sleeves of her robe rode back, looked fairly strong for her thin figure. She was quite pretty. Or at least, the faux-version of herself was. You could never tell with Unspeakables.

'You do not have the proper security clearance to demand my name or rank,' she said smoothly, dropping the parchment. 'However, I would not object to being addressed as Agent Rhyme.'

'Right.' Ron opened the folder and passed it to her. Half the information inside was blacked out with concealing spells, but Ron may or may not have tampered with a few. 'Agent Rhyme. Take a look at this.'

She glanced at it briefly, and then flicked her eyes back at him. 'And what of it? In light of Constantine's disappearance, the Minister proclaimed that all other unaccounted-for personnel need be reported to your department. We have complied.'

'And you don't know anything about his whereabouts? Where he was last? What he was working on?'

'Even if I did, I would not be able to disclose the information. By rights, I shouldn't even be speaking to you. But you know this already, so again, Mr Weasley, what is it you want?'

'If you keep reading, it mentions – in as vague detail as possible, of course – some of the projects he's been responsible for in the past decade. One in particular caught my eye. What do you know about scrunts?'

Something shuttered closed in the woman's expression. 'Scrunts? Not much. Mythical beasts, similar to the legends of the Grim.' She shrugged.

'Mythical beasts my arse. Despite what reading over my reports has led you to believe, I'm not completely illiterate. Stop playing games. What do you know?'

Agent Rhyme met his gaze and folded her arms over the desk, leaning forward. 'Let's say I know something. Why do you care?'

'Because you know as well as I do that Marius Constantine is dead,' Ron said, sitting forward to meet her. 'So is his daughter. And, unlike some folks, I did my research. Marius was pretty high in your ranks before he was promoted to Chief Warlock. He spent a lot of time in the company of his partner, one Abacus Croaker. In addition to going missing, Croaker is the only employee on staff aside from my partner that is a known Parselmouth. Following me so far?'

'You think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was involved. But so far, any attempts at discovering his whereabouts have been unsuccessful. Agent Croaker was very good at covering his tracks. I doubt even the Dark Lord could find him. You have no proof otherwise, I presume.'

'What you presume is that a two-bit Unspeakable out-smarted Voldemort,' Ron hissed, wincing as he used the name. It wasn't easy, but being around Harry so long had worn him down. It had the desired effect on the woman, anyway. She flinched and sat back. 'I think he got to them both. First he got Marius and then, with whatever he learned from him, tracked down his old buddy Croaker.'

'An Unspeakable would never reveal any knowledge, even under duress. We are sure of that.'

'Even if their partner's life depended on it? Their daughter's life?' Ron pressed.

Agent Rhyme did not answer, but didn't look so sure any more.

'Unless any other Unspeakables have gone missing, I'm assuming You-Know-Who found what he was looking for. That's what worries me. And that's why I want to know what you know about scrunts.'

The woman pursed her lips and looked him over, as if deliberating. 'Perhaps,' she said, standing, 'we should have a word with the Minister about your security clearance, Mr Weasley.'

: : :

Crossing over the chasm a second time was almost as terrifying as the first, but considering they had (at least) three blood-thirsty serpents on their tail, the journey went a lot more quickly.

Granted, Draco made Harry stop at the edge just to check in case the invisible bridge had magically vanished when they'd woken the basilisks. Harry, impatient but humouring him, stuck a foot over the edge and found that, yes, the barrier was still there. Draco snuck a peek at the swirling galaxy beneath them as they scurried across and was surprised and more than a little bothered to find it was not the same breathtaking image they had seen on the way over; the galaxy was twisting in on itself, planets and stars whirling like an intergalactic cyclone, slowly being sucked into a black nothingness.

Well, that was promising.

They made it to the other side unscathed – Draco, shivering and near-hyperventilating and Harry panting, sweating, his bare chest heaving – but whole. Harry clutched his wand in his right hand, and the twisted remains of his T-shirt in the left. He'd had Draco transfigure it into a sack to hold four teeth he'd ripped out of the dead basilisk's mouth. Apparently, he'd used one to kill a Horcrux before, and since they had yet to find anything else sufficient, it was worth risking their backsides for.

'So, they can't,' Draco said, catching his breath. He waved a hand at the chasm. 'They can't cross that. Right? We're safe. Right?'

Harry sucked in a massive breath, diaphragm expanding, making the muscles in his chest and stomach shift in the blue light of his Lumos. 'Um. I hope so?' He licked his lips and leaned back against a pillar, letting out a sigh as the cool stone leeched some of the heat from his body. 'I mean. I think so. They're not stupid but they're not exactly geniuses, either. I don't think they'd even know about the bridge.'

'Right,' Draco said, slumping into the dust and trying to regulate his heartbeat back into a normal rhythm. 'Good. Okay.' Draco wished they'd thought to bring a skin of water; he was parched, and Harry looked pretty thirsty, too. All that hissing probably hadn't helped. He shot another glance at Harry, glad the low light hid the rush of blood to his cheeks. Harry caught him looking, and raised an eyebrow. Draco smirked. 'I hope you don't need to haul any other souvenirs out of here. We're running out of clothes.'

Harry laughed at that, and Draco felt his smirk morph more into a smile. The sound reverberated throughout the cavern, bouncing off pillars and down into the pit.

When the echo of his laugh came back, it was laced with a hiss.

There were three of them; the remaining females, by the size of them, though Draco carefully kept his eyes cast down, focussing on the slide of their bodies along the floor. Harry came up beside him, hand held out; Draco took it, and allowed himself to be pulled silently to his feet.

There was no sense in being quiet, really. With both of their wands lit, the blasted beasts could see them easily. Not that they needed any help finding their prey in the dark.

They seemed to approach the edge of the chasm carefully, more curious than cautious. Draco's hand tightened in Harry's as one of the three slithered right up to the edge, its head bowed and inspecting the never-ending darkness below.

Just as Harry squeezed his hand back, the bravest of the creatures pressed forward.

It didn't fall.

'Shit,' Harry hissed.

'Well,' Draco said, taking a deep breath while he still could. 'So much for that. Shall we?'

'They'd just follow us,' Harry said, averting his eyes as the other two basilisks, encouraged by their sister's success, started towards them. 'We need to – there's got to be something – ' Harry started looking around; for what, Draco had no idea. All Draco knew was that every moment they stood here, the serpents were getting closer. 'How far do you reckon it is to the entrance?'

'What?' Draco asked, because his imagination was distracting him with deadly yellow eyes and poisonous teeth. 'Twenty yards, maybe? I don't – '

'You said that the chasm, it's magic-made, so it's unstable. Any type of shift could bring the entire place down?'

'Probably,' Draco said, thrown off panicking by the absurdity of the conversation. 'But we didn't need to – '

As the first basilisk reached ground on their side, it threw back its head and roared.

Harry shoved Draco's head down, shielding it with his own, as he raised his wand to the ceiling and shouted, 'Reducto!'

: : :

The lobby was all shiny, white-veined marble. Blaise shifted in his new clothing, resisting the urge to shrug off his suit jacket and loosen his tie; how Muggle businessmen ran about all day dressed like this, he had no idea. His shiny shoes clicked against the waxed floor as he strode towards the desk in the centre. There were three people behind the desk, all wearing weird mechanisms on their heads with earpieces and little knobs that hovered in front of their mouths, and they were all arguing in furious whispers.

'Yeah, well,' said one, a woman, blonde and with a face that looked like she was holding in a sneeze, 'I don't know what they want us to do about it, it's not as though they've made it a secret. The media's up in arms – '

'I'm calling Fox now,' said another, this one a man. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, his belly protesting the belt at his waist. 'Just get a handle on it, nobody believes the shit they say nowadays anyway.'

'Christ,' said the third. He was younger than the other two. His hair was short and receding despite his age, and a large, steel loop was jutting through his eyebrow. He ripped his headset off and smashed it on the desk. 'I don't know what White told you, but we've got to – '

'Pardon me.'

They paused in their bickering long enough to look him over; the men looked annoyed, but the woman, on seeing his face, stood up a little straighter. Her eyes got that glazed look of someone not-quite-there. 'Mr Zabini,' she said dazedly, 'they're expecting you. I'll take you right up.'

The two men didn't look convinced, but to the left something rang, and the older one cursed and pressed a little button on his earpiece. The youngest watched them go for a second, but shrugged and turned back to his work.

The blonde woman (Maria Thompson, if her name tag was to be believed) led them up to an elegant-looking lift. She placed her thumb on a black pad beside the doors – something green flashed against her finger, and then the doors opened with a bing. 'Right this way.'

Blaise felt like they were going very high indeed, but the trip only took about twenty seconds. The doors opened to reveal a cream-coloured hallway with dark wood floors, crowded with people hurrying this way and that. Maria led him down past numerous identical doors before stopping before one seemingly at random, and entered a five-digit code on the number pad above the doorknob.

It was fascinating, Blaise mused, how Muggles got on without magic.

The door opened to reveal an over crowded boardroom. Some people were sitting in chairs surrounding a large oval table, others standing against the wall. Everyone was whispering to someone else. Blaise noticed they were all dressed exactly the same as he was: plainly, but expensively, although some of the occupants had shed their coats. Only two of them appeared to be women. Maria led him deeper inside the crowd, navigating her way to the other side of the table.

At the head sat a man about the same age as Blaise's father. He had a full head of hair, greying from age, and had the thick-set build of a man who was far more fit than he should be for his age. He was also the only man dressed differently; he displayed a full military uniform, with countless stripes, stars and medallions adorning his chest. Maria leaned down and whispered in his ear while gesturing to Blaise; the man nodded and she stood and left without a backward glance.

'All right,' the military man said, standing and quieting the room. 'We all know why we're here. And I want to make it clear that whatever you've been told or whatever you've seen on the news, it's a lot worse.'

The muttering started up again.

'This is nuts,' a man said.

'Are they trying to start a war?' said another.

'Yeah,' agreed blonde young man just behind Blaise, 'that's our job, isn't it?'

Someone snickered, but mostly people just glared at the offending comment. The man smirked and shrugged. Blaise decided he sort of liked that one. He reminded him of Malfoy.

'Look,' said the military man. Blaise supposed he was in charge, or at least was pretending he was. 'China's already up in arms and Russia's ready to back them up. Japan's threatening withdrawal, and the U.K. has yet to take an official stance either way.' The man gave Blaise a pointed look before continuing. 'The rest of Europe is all over the place, and frankly we can't afford to wait around for them to make their minds up. I need contingency plans, people. And I needed them yesterday.'

'Well, look, Phil – sorry if this wasn't obvious – but we don't have any contingency plans for covering up blatant acts of war. It'd be different if this was thirty years ago, but with the internet these days, half the world's already seen the amateur footage the Chinese are posting up on those new social networking sites that keep cropping up on the Web. People are dead – there's blood in the streets, and there's a crater where Hong Kong used to be with stars and stripes on the shrapnel.'

A ringing silence followed her words and, while he didn't understand half of what she just said, Blaise understood enough to realise that the Order's problems had just got a whole hell of a lot worse.

'Military training exercise gone wrong?' the Muggle-Malfoy suggested hopefully when the silence continued.

'Yeah, right, with live atomic warheads,' another said scathingly. 'We do it all the time.'

'We could pass the blame along,' Blaise suggested.

The entire room stopped and stared at him. He smirked at them. 'The Prime Minister sends his condolences, and wishes to offer any assistance he can.'

'And his suggestion is lying?' It was the same woman again, the one who had silenced the room to begin with.

Blaise met her gaze. 'Is it a lie? You deny any knowledge of the incident, I assume, so unless you do know something, you're just as much the victim here. You need to cover your own – ' Blaise adjusted his lingo, just barely, ' – ass. Unless you're suggesting America tells China that, somehow, someone in your own military managed to arm and fire off a weapon of mass destruction into one of their major cities while you're simultaneously waging war with Afghanistan?'

The Muggle woman blinked, looked back at Phil while jerking her thumb at Blaise and said, 'Who the hell is this asshole?'

'Who cares, I like how he thinks,' the blonde behind him said. 'I'm with the Brit. Pass it along.'

The woman looked like she was going to scream. 'How?'

'And to whom?' someone else asked.

'Oh, I don't know. Who do we hate this week? Siberia?'

'It's Tuesday,' Blaise supplied. 'Wednesday is Siberia.'

'Right, sorry,' said the blonde man, flashing him a grateful smirk. 'Look, it's just an idea. It wouldn't be the first time some idiot's gone and dug up a bomb we forgot in the desert.'

The man named Phil seemed to be considering this. 'How old was the warhead?'

The blonde shrugged.

'Somebody find out,' the older man ordered. 'Quickly. And bring us some damn coffee. Nobody is going anywhere until we've got a press-release ready to go live.'

Blaise found himself a seat beside the Muggle who reminded him of Malfoy and sighed; it was going to be a long night.

: : :

Harry couldn't breathe.

The dust hung around them like a fog. He tried to suck in a breath and immediately coughed, hacking lungfuls of dirt out of his mouth. His left ankle was on fire and his ears were ringing; beside him, Draco tried to move and groaned.

'Merlin's tits,' he moaned, pale hair grey with the dust. 'You truly have the worst ideas, Potter.'

'Shut up,' Harry said automatically, between coughs. 'We're alive.'

'Speak for yourself.'

'I think,' Harry said, pushing his chest off the ground. His arms were shaking, but holding his weight. 'I think it worked.'

'Good, because my legs don't.'

Harry glanced back at Draco's prone figure. His glasses were too smudged and cracked to see anything; he quickly cleaned and repaired them with his wand and blinked in the sudden light. Draco's lower legs were lodged under a thin but heavy-looking piece of dislodged stone. Very carefully, Harry levitated it off. 'Better?'

Draco winced as the blood rushed back into his calves. 'No,' he hissed. 'But I can feel pain all the way down, so I suppose it could've been worse.'

Nodding, Harry worked on dragging himself to his feet. His ankle screamed in protest. Pulling up the leg of his jeans, he could already see it starting to swell. Harry was pretty good at basic medi-magic, but had never been particularly talented at mending bones. Maybe Bill could take a look.

'Come on,' Harry urged, leaning down and prodding Draco's unmoving figure with his wand. 'Bill sent a Patronus while we were separated. It's already sun-rise. That leopard's likely to be back any minute now.'

'Nundu,' Draco corrected weakly from the floor. 'A leopard we could manage. Also, you're insane. Has anyone ever told you that? I have no idea how we're still alive.'

'Honestly, neither do I. Come on, get up. I can't – I think I broke my ankle, I can't drag you out.'

'Insane,' Draco repeated, shakily getting to his feet.

Draco stumbled a little upright, like his legs were still numb. He looked up and shielded his eyes; the light was coming from the entrance, about twenty feet above them. The ground sloped up to meet it, but it'd still be a long climb with only one good foot. Draco looked around, selected a chunk of rock and transfigured it into a lengthy piece of rope. He directed the rope up, and lodged it on something outside.

Harry let him go first – if he stumbled, there'd be no use in dragging them both back down, and this way he could set his own pace. Halfway up, Draco slipped and slid down a few feet, wincing at the burn on his hand, but redoubled his grip and kept going. Harry took it slower, hopping from one foothold to the next, doing his best to keep his right ankle poised in mid-air.

After the darkness of the cavern, the morning sun was beautiful and blinding. Harry collapsed on his side right outside the hole, next to where Draco was literally trying to hug the ground.

'I am never, ever coming to this stupid country again,' Draco proclaimed, and rolled onto his back beside him.

Harry chuckled and silently agreed. Not that it wasn't spectacular in a wild sort of way, but he severely missed the comforts of home. Like his bed. And his shower.

They were both still caked in dust; Draco looked ridiculous. The dust seemed to have accumulated over the scar on his chest, making it that much more obvious, and Harry winced. It was hard to look at it and realise he'd put it there.

Draco saw him looking and sat up, putting his back to Harry's gaze. A dark circle, about the same size as the bottom of a glass, stood out between his shoulder blades. It was hard to tell with all the dust, but it looked like a tattoo.

'What is that?'

'What is wh – '

Deep in the darkness of the tunnel they'd stumbled out of, something hissed.

Both of them were on their feet and out of the hollowed tree before the reality of Harry's broken ankle brought him crashing back to earth. Harry winced as his head cracked against a root, and he nearly skewered himself on the sword slung through his belt. Something thudded to the ground on his side, and Harry's hand immediately shot to the cup... which was still hanging heavy at his side. Flooded with mild relief, Harry started to climb to his feet.

Draco skidded to a halt and looked back. He seemed to come to a decision, and rushed back before leaning down and, with one great heave, hoisted Harry onto his back.

'Ow! What are – '

'Shut up, Potter!' Draco snapped, and began to change.

Harry had always averted his eyes when Draco shifted into his Animagus form because, frankly, it was painful to watch. Being on Draco's naked back while he changed was worse. At first, Draco just became larger – obscenely so – and then his bones began to shift, and Harry could feel every vertebra pop as his spine elongated and moved into place. He clung desperately to Draco's expanding torso as his skin melted away into a coarse, white fur. Draco's hair followed the line of his neck as it lengthened, and Harry grabbed hold and twisted himself up into a sitting position just as Draco landed on all fours.

It was all over in a matter of seconds, and left Harry feeling a little dizzy.

As soon as Draco seemed sure Harry had a grip, he took off, lunging straight from a standstill into a full gallop. Harry hunkered down, bringing himself into the horse's slipstream, his ankle screaming in pain, and squinted as he looked hurriedly around for Bill. Had he already left? Harry hoped so, because he hadn't had a chance to send him a message back. The last thing anyone wanted was to come across a basilisk without warning.

He didn't have to wonder long – they'd barely reached the trees when they heard Bill shouting, but Harry couldn't make out the words over the thundering of the horse's hooves. They shot right past him, into a thicket and around a tree entangled with vines –

Yellow spotted with black obscured their escape route. Its mouth was, thankfully, closed, and the dappled sunlight struggling through the canopy did nothing to diminish its size. It looked like – well, a giant leopard, about the size of the Knight Bus, and it had stopped mid-step, seeming perplexed at their sudden appearance.

Draco jerked to a halt and reared, nearly throwing Harry, who clung to his neck for dear life while sharp hooves flashed at the air.

The nundu pulled back its lips, exposing glistening yellow teeth the size of swords, and roared.

: : :

Hermione took a deep breath before stepping into Auror Headquarters. The room was abuzz with activity as it always was these days, but the particular cubicle she sought out was suspiciously empty.

She signed and detoured down another corridor, popping her head hopefully into an office at the end of the hall. 'Do you have a moment?'

Kingsley looked up from the report he was working on and waved her in. Arthur must have been out. 'Hermione, hi. How is...' he trailed off and settled on '… everyone?'

'Fine, fine,' she said dismissively. 'Have you seen Ron?'

'He was in here a few hours ago. Robards gave him the Unspeakable file.'

Hermione blinked. 'You got an Unspeakable file?' That would certainly explain why Ron had gone pelting off to level nine that morning.

'Yes. It was very strange.' Kingsley shrugged. 'Apparently one of them's gone missing. More missing than usual, anyway. Weasley took off not long after. Didn't say where. Is everything okay?'

'Fine,' Hermione said again, heading for the door. Kingsley was giving her a look that said all too clearly he thought she was full of it, but didn't push it. 'If you see him again, tell him I need to talk to him, okay?'

An Unspeakable was missing? Even if they'd passed the information along to MLE, it wasn't likely to contain anything of use. What was Ron up to, she wondered as she headed towards the lifts, that would keep him from mentioning it to her before he ran off? Unless he assumed she was still recovering.

The doors of the lift opened. Ron rushed out and nearly bowled her over.

'Hermione?' he said, catching her and babbling. 'What are you doing out of bed? Y'know what, it doesn't matter. Look, we – '

'Ow,' Hermione said, using him to steady herself. 'Ron, listen, we need to – '

' – need to talk. What?'

'What?'

'Listen,' he said, dragging her aside as people trying to get into the lift shot them questioning looks. 'What clearance level does MID give you?'

'What?' she said again. 'Ron, please, there's something I have to tell you – '

'The Minister just upped my security clearance to grade six,' Ron said over her.

She gaped at him. She was only grade four, and that was a step above most Aurors. 'Grade six? That's – that's – '

'Scary, I know.' He handed her a file. 'But not nearly as scary as what I found.'

: : :

The horse, for once, didn't want to run. This close, the predator would have the advantage if it turned and fled. At that size, one leap would bring the beast down on its back. The stallion mind knew, from millions of years of instinct, that it stood its best chance by holding its ground and looking as threatening as possible – rearing, neighing, kicking and biting; showing the predator it did not intend to go down without a fight.

The horse was woefully misinformed – even in the weird, monochromatic sight of the horse, Draco could see the toxic breath headed their way. This cat didn't have to bite them to kill them.

He started to turn around – and immediately thanked the gods that horses had a three-hundred-and-fifty degree visual field. He spotted the scales before eye-contact could be made, and reared again just in case Harry had the bad idea to turn around.

The horse leapt sideways just as the basilisk struck, which was a bad idea – the nundu, bewildered by all the excitement, took it as a challenge and roared again. Apparently, the giant leopard was immune to the deadly gaze of the serpent. All the better.

Bill was back in the clearing by the baobab tree, eyes closed and back flat against the bark. Draco whinnied when they were close. Bill cautiously opened an eye and sighed heavily when he saw them.

'Did you see – there was a – '

'Yeah,' Harry said from Draco's back. There was a shriek from the jungle behind them; who was winning, Draco couldn't tell, and honestly didn't care. Harry dismounted, wincing and using Draco's back to hold himself up. 'Long story. Are you any good at mending bones?'

'What? Harry, there's a sodding basilisk battling a nundu – '

Draco swung his head back around and noticed Bill had his camera in his hands. Harry seemed to see it, too. 'Seriously? You want to take pictures?'

Bill opened his mouth, looked mournfully off into the forest and sighed in defeat. 'Sorry, you're right. I just – how did you break your leg?'

'Ankle,' Harry corrected. 'That's why I was – I couldn't run, so Malfoy – '

The nundu roared again, closer this time, and there were sounds that suggested a herd of erumpents were crashing through the trees towards them.

'I think maybe it can wait,' Bill said, standing and eying the trees. 'Malfoy, do you think you can carry us both?'

Draco snorted and stamped a hoof. As long as it involved leaving right now, he could suffer the indignity of having both Harry Potter and a Weasley on his back.

Bill mounted first; he was heavier than Harry, and when he pulled Harry up behind him, Draco winced inwardly. It was harder to run with two independent weights on his back, but he managed to maintain a quick canter. He'd got about fifty metres into the tree line when Harry cursed and Bill shouted 'What is it?'

'The teeth! I lost the fucking fangs!'

'What?'

'Dammit! Stop!'

Draco skidded to a halt and Harry half dismounted, half fell off. He stumbled to his feet, hissing in pain and hobbling, and started back the way they'd come.

Bill yanked the hand in Draco's mane and the horse wheeled around automatically. Draco resisted the urge to buck him off. 'Harry, what are you talking about? Why are you – '

He cut off as Draco popped back into himself, leaving Bill on his arse on the ground and wincing. Draco caught Harry by the arm and spun him around; Harry stumbled on his bad leg, catching himself on Draco's shoulder. 'The hell, Malfoy!'

'Are you mental? Are you fucking retarded?' Draco snapped. 'No, you shut up, you complete idiot. Do you have any idea how – we get attacked by a lion, Granger nearly gets killed for wandering too close to the wrong daisy, then we almost kill each other from a curse, stumbled into seven fucking basilisks, almost get crushed by a cave-in – lovely idea, by the way – and then almost get eaten by a giant fucking cat. So, you know what, since no one else seems to have the sense to, I'm telling you no, Potter. No. You are not marching back into that fucking nightmare to tempt fate one more fucking time and I swear I will beat you within an inch of your life if you try.'

Harry starred at him, his breathing laboured and obviously in pain. 'I have to,' he said eventually, closing his eyes briefly. 'We need them. Where the hell else are we going to find – I didn't think of it before, the one in the Manor, and it's been dead too long, the fangs'll be useless, I have to – '

'What the hell is going on?'

Bill was watching them both, clearly not following the conversation but thinking along the same lines as Draco. Harry looked back at Draco, pleading with his eyes – and it suddenly hit Draco that the Weasley had no idea why they were even here, what they were doing, just that it was important to Harry. If Draco told him to Stun Harry and drag him out of the reserve so they could teleport out, he probably wouldn't hesitate.

But Harry was right: what was the point of all this, if they couldn't even destroy the damn things?

'Weasley, can you carry him?'

'Why would I need to – '

'We forgot something. Something important,' Draco said, before Bill could ask what and make Draco lie to him. 'Just get him out of here. I'll meet you at the border.'

'Draco – ' Harry began.

Draco didn't wait for him to finish. He turned back into the jungle and ran, hitting the ground with hooves.

: : :

Cold fingers drummed the soft leather arm of the chair. The few Death Eaters admitted to his presence – Dolohov, Avery, the Lestranges and the Notts – stood stock-still, nobody wanting to be the tempting first target. Voldemort was growing impatient, and this never boded well for anyone unfortunate enough to be in the same room with him.

Actually, the youngest Nott looked quite at ease, but that was because Severus had learned the hard way that he seemed quite unbothered by physical pain. It was a good quality to have in the service of the Dark Lord; though Voldemort had found other ways to punish him, and as far as Snape was concerned, it needed to happen as often as possible. It was the only way Theodore's playthings got any relief at all.

'It's been nearly a week,' the young image of Tom Riddle said, his voice soft and laced with warning. 'I was led to believe that the boy would be here by now.'

Dark eyes found their first victim; Avery trembled under the gaze. 'M'lord, I assure you, any day now – '

'I feel I have been exceptionally patient so far,' the Dark Lord continued over him, eyes seeking out other weak points. He focussed on Dolohov, who was sweating magnificently. 'Perhaps the assurances our friends supplied were wrong.'

'My lord,' Dolohov began, voice a little surer than he looked. 'The beasts are... not without limits. If the boy were close by, they would have surely... perhaps he has travelled, and they are following the trail.'

'These are not corporeal creatures.' The dark eyes narrowed, but lost their focus. 'If the boy had travelled anywhere, I was assured they would follow seamlessly. Very few spells work on them; wards and walls alike do not stand between them and their prey. This is what you told me, not five days past.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Then what is taking so long?'

'I – ' Dolohov looked to Avery for assistance; Avery kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, ignoring him. 'My lord, I am sure – '

'Enough!'

Dolohov went down hard and screaming under the non-verbal Cruciatus curse. The tall figure of Tom Riddle surged out of his chair, dark eyes wild with fury and impatience. The Dark Lord had spent twenty long years waiting; he expected instant gratification from his followers, no matter how unreasonable their tasks may have been.

'The boy's mother,' he said, turning on Bellatrix, who raised her chin smugly – she had, time and time again, failed Voldemort as often as the rest. However, she was providing another service entirely that none of them could compete with. 'She remains with Yaxley?'

'Yes, my lord,' Bellatrix said silkily. 'He guards her rather... jealously.'

'Bring her to me.' He turned to leave, but paused, stopping pointedly at Theodore, who at least had the grace to avert his eyes lest his lord see the eagerness there. 'Unmolested, Nott. I trust that seven of you will be sufficient enough to deliver the witch alive.'

There was a chorus of 'Yes, m'lord' from heads bent in submission. The Dark Lord did not need to express exactly what would happen if Narcissa came to any sort of harm before she was presented to him; she was far too valuable, the one angle he had on getting what he wanted from Draco.

They would not leave until nightfall. Severus waited as long as he dared before venturing out into the setting sun, the cold Russian snowfall camouflaging the spell as he cast it. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, because he had talked at length with Narcissa of this eventuality – the woman was proud and stubborn and more than able to defend herself, and the love for her only child was blinding. He had no doubt that she would do what she had to.

He also had no doubt of exactly what it would do to Draco.

: : :

but if I was fearless
could I be your reckless friend
if I was helpless
could you be the one who comes rushing in

: : :

Harry fought with everything he had which, with the pain in his ankle, wasn't much. Bill eventually stopped trying to drag him, turned around and shoved his shoulder into Harry's midsection and hoisted him over his shoulder. He staggered a bit under the weight, but kept pushing forward until Harry stopped shouting.

When the trees finally began to clear, Bill said, 'Are you done?'

Harry glowered at the ground from Bill's shoulder and said nothing.

Bill stumbled to the top of the incline he was climbing, bringing them to the edge of a clearing. It obviously wasn't where they had entered the reserve and, from the heavy feel of the atmosphere, they weren't out quite yet.

Bill slowly lowered Harry down, careful not to put any weight on his injured ankle. Draco had taken them more than halfway to the border before he'd turned back, so they couldn't have too long to go. Sitting down at the top of the slope and massaging his stomach, Harry grudgingly accepted the water skin Bill offered him.

'Not far, now,' Bill said, taking a seat beside him. Then, at the look on Harry's face, said: 'I'm sorry.'

'I should have gone with him.'

'Harry, you're injured,' Bill said reasonably. Harry hated him a little bit for it. 'And anyway, he'll be faster on his own. You don't weigh that much, but he'll be a lot more agile without worrying if you're going to fall off or not.'

'It should be me in there,' Harry bit out, pulling up his trouser leg and hissing between his teeth at the swollen red-and-purple flesh around his ankle. 'He's going to get himself killed.'

Bill laughed and Harry glared at him. 'Sorry,' Bill said again. 'It's just, you know, you do the same thing to us all the time.'

'It's my job. Malfoy's a civilian.'

'Oh, please,' Bill said, rolling his eyes. 'You do remember who his father was, don't you?'

'He's not his father.'

'No,' Bill admitted, 'but he's his father's son. And if you'd ever seen Narcissa in a bad mood, you'd know he's got to have something stashed up his sleeve.'

'He's going to do something crazy.'

'Crazier than tracking across Ethiopia on foot, diving into a nundu's den, and starting a fight with a basilisk?'

Harry sighed and put his head in his hands, not bothering to mention that they had started a fight with, in fact, seven basilisks. 'He should be back by now. What the hell is taking so long?'

'Maybe he's being careful.'

'Maybe he's being eaten.'

When Bill didn't reply, Harry looked up and saw Bill giving him an odd look. 'He saved Hermione's life,' Harry felt obligated to point out. 'And he actually helped a lot down there, I wouldn't have been able to do it on my own, I just – it's confusing, all right? I mean, he's still a fucking shithead half the time and I want to punch him more often than not, but at the same time – '

'Harry – '

' – he said he's sorry, y'know, for all the stupid crap he did, and – well, I'm starting to believe he really does regret it, he's not – '

'Harry! Listen.'

Harry shut up and listened. The distant roaring had stopped about ten minutes ago, and the normal noises of the jungle had resumed. But now, it was faint, but...

Harry lurched to his feet, swaying as he put weight on his bad ankle. Bill was with him immediately, hands locked around his upper arms before he could go running off to see what the noise was. He struggled half-heartedly, straining to hear.

The white horse came crashing out of the foliage beneath them a moment later, a dusty parcel clutched between its teeth. It stumbled sideways, legs getting tangled together, tripping over itself as it lunged forward, heaving. Bill's grip was still tight on his arms; Harry wrenched himself free and pelted towards it, tripping down the dusty slope.

Pain flooded up his right leg like fire, but Harry ignored it and stumbled forward. 'Malfoy?'

The horse wavered again, eyes rolling, and Harry could see its features begin to melt even as he half-ran, half-hopped towards it. Draco lost the battle against gravity and fell, just as Harry slid to a halt and caught him going down.

Draco was sickly pale and shivering; his skin was hot to the touch. His eyes were closed and heavily shadowed, and there was something at the corner of his mouth that looked suspiciously like blood. Harry was vaguely aware of Bill coming up behind him, wand drawn. Before Harry could protest, he cast Bubble-Head charms around them both, and at once Harry understood. Their breath carries disease and death...

Bill was already moving Draco out of his arms, lying him down on ferns populating the edge of the jungle. Draco coughed violently as his back touched the ground. Bright, red droplets sprayed the bubbles protecting their faces. Draco collapsed back on the ground, mouth open and panting, slick with blood. He still clutched his wand in his left hand.

Seeing the wand triggered a memory, a tiny detail that otherwise may have gone overlooked. Harry reached over and tugged Hermione's bag from Bill's backpack. He started digging around inside until he found the travel-sized cauldron, hauled it out and conjured a fire underneath it.

'Harry, what – '

'Hermione made these,' Harry said, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out the bottles. He dropped them on the ground and shuffled through them, grabbing the first one he saw that said Antidote. 'Here, can you keep the fire going? I need to – '

'Harry, it's not going to work,' Bill said desperately. 'We'll just – look, we'll get him to St Mungo's, maybe they've got something – '

'There isn't any time!' Harry snarled. Bill took one look at his eyes and stopped arguing; Harry didn't care. Hermione had already done most of the work; Harry emptied the vial into the cauldron and Bill jabbed the fire with his wand, Engorging it. The serum almost immediately started to boil.

Harry reached for Draco's wrist but Bill halted him, shaking his head, and ripped a length of fabric off his vest; he placed it over the skin before Harry touched it. Careful not to make contact with his skin and gripping his own wand in his teeth, Harry pulled the white wand out of Draco's hand.

The wand came easily. Draco's hand flopped limply back to the ground.

Holding Draco's wand at either end, Harry turned his face away and snapped it over his knee.

Red sparks erupted from the break, burning his fingers so badly that Harry nearly dropped it.

It seemed an age ago that they were all sitting around the long oak table in the Room of Requirement, Marius asking Draco what the core of his wand was. If Marius hadn't insisted on that spell, if Harry hadn't been paying attention...

Harry waited until the sparks faded, grasped the dark-blonde whisker that served as the wand's core, and dropped it into the cauldron.

It felt like hours, waiting for the potion to mature. Slowly, the simmering, water-like substance became opaque and eventually a pale purple. Bill raised his eyebrows but kept his comments to himself. Harry didn't wait for it to cool, just cast a weak freezing charm at the hot liquid, before seizing the cauldron in both hands. Using the fabric already torn, Bill lifted Draco's head up just enough for him to swallow the potion down. Ignoring Bill's noise of protest, Harry used his hands to close Draco's mouth and squeeze his nose shut. Swallow, damn you. Please.

Finally, Draco swallowed – weakly – and then lay still. Harry had no idea how long he sat there, ignoring the stabbing pain in his leg and holding Draco's face, just waiting. It seemed like an eternity.

Draco coughed suddenly, sputtering; he shoved them both away and rolled over before being violently sick into the shrubbery.

Relief flooded through Harry, removing the weight from his shoulders, and he sat back, but then cried out, having sat right on top of his broken ankle. When the spots of pain left his vision, he could see his foot was twisted at an unnatural angle. Taking a few deep breaths, he carefully eased himself sideways, moving his leg as little as possible.

Draco was still heaving, coughing wetly onto the ground. Bill slapped him on the back a few times, then conjured a glass and filled it with his water skin before offering it to Draco who, after a final dry heave, accepted it and drank it down in one long swallow.

'Fuck me,' he said, dropping the glass.

Harry enjoyed a heavy repose as Draco struggled into a sitting position. The urge to belt him around the head was ebbing, slowly being replaced with the absurd idea of kissing him, just to make sure he was real.

'What the hell were you thinking?'

Draco coughed a few more times, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before answering: 'Spending too much time around you, I think.'

Bill laughed at that, ignoring Harry's dark look. 'Welcome to the Gryffindor club, Malfoy.'

'If you insult me again, Weasley, I'll be sick on you next.'

Harry was too relieved – and in too much pain – to be properly angry at Draco. 'I think he means that it's more my trademark to go running headfirst towards things that'll get you killed,' Harry told him. 'You idiot.'

'Yes, well. Your insanity is contagious, apparently.' Draco wheezed a bit; Bill offered him another glass of water, which he accepted and drank gratefully, adding: 'May as well live like we're dying, eh?'

'Well, technically,' Harry said, 'we're all dying.'

'Some of us more quickly than others,' Draco remarked. His eyes found Harry, then the broken wand between them. Harry opened his mouth to apologise, but Draco cut him off by laughing.

Bill raised his eyebrows but Harry said nothing, not sure if he should smile or not. Draco kept laughing, shaking his head, and all Harry could think about was the pale, sickly figure that had lain there, coughing up blood and dying.

'Oh, Merlin,' Draco said, now hiccuping from laughter. 'Can we go home, now? As – hic – exciting as this little adventure has been, my kingdom for a bloody hot shower.'

Harry did smile then, closing his eyes and echoing the laughter. 'Yeah, let's go home.'

: : :

Being a Cursebreaker wasn't an easy job, but it had its perks. One of which was an emergency Portkey right into the lobby of St Mungo's. Bill pulled it out of his pack the moment they stumbled over the boundary of the reserve.

Bill had wanted them to stay, to get checked out, but he'd done a decent job on Harry's ankle and Draco insisted that, if they really needed medical attention, he'd rather have his own private Healer attend to them. Harry silently agreed. As an Auror, whenever an injury was treated at St Mungo's, a copy of the report would be sent back to the Ministry. The last thing he needed was Robards and Scrimgeour breathing down his neck.

'If you're sure,' Bill said, warily watching them go. He met Harry's gaze and said, 'I'll send an owl to Ron, let him know you made it back in one piece.'

'Mostly,' said Harry, who was honestly not sure if he had the energy to Apparate home on his own, much less shower before collapsing and sleeping for a week. 'And Bill – thanks for your help.'

'Any time, Harry. Be careful.'

As it turned out, Harry really didn't have the energy. But apparently that antidote had done its job well, and Harry latched on to Draco as he took them, not to Harry's flat, but outside the black gates of the Manor.

The walk up the gravel drive seemed to go on for years. They could have just gone back to Harry's flat, he supposed, but the idea of sleeping on a featherbed and having a bath in a tub with sixteen different taps sounded pretty fucking amazing right then. Besides, Draco wanted to check on the horses – with both him and his mother gone, simple chores like feeding and cleaning would be left to the house-elves, but Draco insisted that the horses were much like dogs in the way that they'd begin to pine if left alone too long.

He mentioned that he didn't mind if the stupid cat had got itself stepped on by a wayward hoof, though.

Harry grinned despite himself. He was still limping, but able to put some weight on his injured ankle at least. Anyway, there were a few things he had to take care of before bathing or sleeping, and one of them was tied to his waist.

The other was waiting inside, hidden away.

Draco gave him an odd look as Harry shook his head when Draco offered to have Nivens show him to a room with a bath, but shrugged and headed upstairs, leaving muddy footprints in his wake. 'If you need anything,' Draco said as he disappeared upstairs, 'he'll see to it.'

Harry turned instead down the west wing. The ballroom was huge and dark and eerily silent – it reminded him of the cavern, save for the pillars and the dust – and unhooked the cup from his belt. He set it down on the floor in the middle of the open room and knelt down in front of it, already feeling better now that it was off his person.

He pulled the other bag out of Hermione's and carefully reached inside. Four teeth, four Horcruxes. Well, it was something. He didn't know how long the basilisk's venom would be good for, but he did not intend to find out. Gripping the largest of the teeth in two hands, Harry raised it over the cup –

The doors of the ballroom slammed open. Powerful winds surged through the room, carrying the sounds of screams through the open doors. The candles along the wall surged ablaze, scorching the walls. The ground beneath him begin to shake, making the golden chalice shudder, and inside the cup Harry could see glowing red eyes –

He brought the tooth down as hard as he could, gritting his teeth and bracing for the impact as the fang pierced the gold. An earth-shattering scream filled the air, wailing around the room in an auricular cyclone before converging over the broken cup and swirling away into silence. The doors slammed shut again, making the candles flicker

Harry sat back, panting, completely drained but only half done. It could probably wait until after he'd bathed, but he really didn't want to push his luck that much.

Nivens appeared with a small snap. 'Master says he is curious as to why his house is wailing, good sir,' the house-elf said nervously.

Harry blinked, having totally forgotten that Malfoy's room was almost directly upstairs. 'Uh, sorry,' he said. 'Actually – wait. Could you bring me the locket? The one Draco showed me before?'

'Master said to provide you with whatever you required,' the elf quipped, and disappeared with another quick crack.

Harry drummed his fingers on his thighs as he waited. After a few minutes, he sat back and massaged his ankle – Bill had been able to set the bones before they took the Portkey back, but the flesh was still slightly swollen and tender to the touch. Growing impatient as the minutes wore on, Harry had just started to climb to his feet when the door to the ballroom opened again. He looked up and saw Draco standing there, still filthy from dust but wearing a thick, comfortable-looking dressing gown.

As Draco got closer, Harry could see the velvet box in his hands. He sat across from Harry, eying the broken cup, and carefully laid the box beside it.

'You could've mentioned you were planning on doing this now.'

'I didn't want to wait.'

'I've gathered,' Draco said, eyes darting to Harry's bare chest. Harry was suddenly very aware that he still hadn't redressed. 'I really don't fancy trying to have a bath while my house is screaming, so,' Draco jerked his head towards the box, 'let's get it over with, shall we?'

Harry opened the box carefully and there it lay, glinting harmlessly in the candlelight. He reached into the bag and pulled out another fang.

He stopped when Draco reached out to touch his wrist. Slowly, careful not to touch the poison seeping out of the tip, Draco took the fang from his hands and pulled the box towards him.

'It's not – ' Harry started, and faltered, unable to explain in words how it wasn't that easy. Killing these things was like casting a Killing Curse – it was murder. You had to mean it, or the Horcrux would survive. 'You don't have to,' he said.

'I want to,' Draco said, eyes hardened. 'I need to do this.'

'It wants to live. You have to mean it. You have to want to kill it – to kill him.'

Draco laughed a little ruefully. 'Oh, trust me, Potter. You have no idea.'

Using the black cloth, Draco carefully thumbed the locket open. Whatever he could see inside, Harry couldn't tell, but there was a shadow of doubt in his eyes, a waver of intent... 'Draco – '

Gripping the tooth in both hands, Draco brought the point down in one sure, savage blow.

The noise was horrific. Black smoke poured out of the locket, taking the shape of monstrous faces that gurgled and vomited more smoke, billowing until they filled the room. Electricity shot around the cloud in lightning-like strikes, making Harry's hair stand on end.

When the smoke had cleared and the wailing had ceased, Draco picked up the locket with trembling hands and gave it an experiment twirl. He looked at Harry. 'So that's it.'

'For those,' Harry said. 'There's still three more. That I know of.'

'And we can assume they're all as well-guarded?'

'Probably.'

'Fabulous.' Draco stood up – a little shakily, Harry noticed – and dusted off his hands. He dropped the locket to the floor like it was rubbish. 'Right, well, before we go running off to get ourselves dismembered again, I'm going to have a wash.'

'Yeah,' Harry said, standing. 'Also, I'm kind of starving.'

'I think I'm too tired to eat, but I see your point.' Draco was looking him over again and Harry resisted the urge to fidget – which was stupid, really, because Harry wasn't shy. 'Nivens'll figure something out and bring it to you.'

He watched Draco turn to go, then realised he didn't exactly know where to find a bathroom. 'Uh, Malfoy – '

'We have seventeen bedrooms equipped with full baths,' Draco said without turning around and waving a disinterested hand. 'Pick one.'

: : :

Hermione put the file aside and stared at Ron. 'This can't be right.'

They had taken the files back to her place. Ron assured her his new security level allowed that sort of thing – not that would have mattered, mind you, but it did make Hermione feel marginally better about taking Top Secret Unspeakable research outside of Ministry grounds. She was curled up on the couch, untouched tea on the coffee table before her. Ron was pacing, a small glass of Firewhisky in his hands. He seemed to have forgotten about it.

'Yeah, s'what I thought. Keep reading.'

Hermione did, and it still didn't make any sense.

Growing up a Muggle, she had heard all sorts of fairytales. The first thing she had done upon getting her Hogwarts letter was hassle her parents into buying half the books in Flourish & Blotts and spent the rest of the summer learning that most of them were true.

Of course, Muggles had got some fundamental things wrong. Vampires weren't allergic to silver (though werewolves were), dragons did not make a habit of eating virgins chained to rocks, and unicorns were not fluffy, peaceful creatures that would just stand there and allow some moron with a sword to lop their horns off. Most of what she discovered had comforted her (she had thought most of the main characters in fairytales were complete idiots to begin with, now she had proof), but there always seemed to be some truth to the Muggle stories in every culture.

'I don't understand,' she said finally. 'I mean, okay, wargs, I get – '

'Big, nasty demon dogs,' Ron supplied helpfully.

' – and naga are an old Indian myth, but from what I understood they're a completely different species. I mean, magical elements aside, one's a mammal and one's a reptile. How can they interbreed?'

Ron stopped pacing long enough to give her a look. 'That would be the magical element.'

'Still,' she persisted, 'it doesn't make any – just because magic's involved doesn't mean common sense gets tossed out the window – '

'Common sense? Hermione, you breed a basilisk by hatching a chicken egg under a toad. What part of that makes any bloody sense?'

He did have a point, there. Still, it seemed rather far-fetched. Which was probably why after hunting the species to near-extinction, the Ministry had kept a few for 'research reasons'.

As a scientist, she could understand that. As a person with any sort of common sense, she thought they were idiots. Keeping something this dangerous locked away in a vault! If anyone really wanted to get their hands on them, they'd find a way.

Voldemort had.

From what Ron had been able to gather, Abacus Croaker had been the Head of Research and Development and, as the only registered Parselmouth on Ministry staff (aside from Harry), had been in charge of the beasts. It wasn't much to go on, but even with Ron's security clearance raised so high, the Unspeakables hadn't been exactly forth coming. Marius, before he had been promoted to Chief Warlock, had been Croaker's partner for fourteen years. He knew Croaker's habits, knew how to read his code, knew where to find him when he didn't want to be found. Voldemort had got to Marius, and then got to Croaker, which had led him to the scrunts.

From what little they'd been able to learn, the Unspeakables labeled them as a serpentine creature that appeared in the form of a massive lupine. There was actually no proof that they had been a cross-breed of naga (though the warg ancestry was certain, it seemed), but it was their best guess when taking into account the snake-like features and communication coupled with human-like intelligence.

Primarily they were lone hunters, and extremely good ones. Once they'd caught scent of their prey they could follow it to the ends of the earth and, some speculated, even into other realms if necessary. They had their limitations, like most magical creatures (aside from dragons, perhaps), primarily that they could only hunt in darkness. For lack of a better explanation, they simply didn't exist in outside of shadows. When the sun rose over the horizon or someone shone a light directly at them, they would simply fade away, sinking into the background. And as soon as the darkness returned, they would be back on the hunt.

It wasn't much of a limitation, though, considering their half-corporeal existence made them pretty much immune to any sort of ward and allowed them to travel anywhere they needed to go.

Tireless, ruthless, utterly immoral (demon traits inherited from the warg), they only hunted down the damned – probably where the Grim legends came from, an Unspeakable noted, and Hermione thought that was a good assumption – and fed on their souls after ripping the mortal bodies to pieces. They would lie flat on the ground, the fur on their backs mimicking whatever surface they were stalking you on. After stalking their prey they would... unfurl, and attack.

Just reading about it gave Hermione goosebumps.

It was only a matter of time before a Parselmouth realised they could communicate with them. After that, it was only a matter of time before the Parselmouth learned spells to bind them – control them – and people had started using them for their own selfish purposes. Stupid, thought Hermione. Putting a leash on dark creatures like that was only asking for trouble. Dementors were a prime example.

Most of that had occurred hundreds of years ago, before the Ministry and before regulations, and eventually Unspeakables had rounded the creatures up and had them destroyed.

Except for three. For research reasons. And now Voldemort had got his hands on them.

Hermione took a long breath and closed the file. Very calmly, she said, 'We've got to find Harry.'

'Yeah,' Ron said. 'No shit.'

They Disapparated just as a small owl fluttered to the window, a small message tucked into its satchel. The owl peered hopefully inside and hooted a bit dolefully before turning around and spreading its wings once again.

: : :

Harry slipped into the steaming water and hissed at the sting, but submerged himself despite the heat. It was only uncomfortable for a moment, and then he could literally feel the ache of a week trudging through heat and Hell slowly ebb out of his muscles and into the bubbly water. It was ridiculous and extravagant and exactly what he had been missing all these years spent pulling his hair out. Aside from the distant ache in his ankle, Harry was feeling pretty good. They'd successfully completed their mission, somehow made it out alive, and destroyed two Horcruxes to boot.

It would have been a lot better without the realisation that he was overdue at work the next day, but he supposed things could have been worse. At least he was alive to go to work the next day.

He must have spent an hour there, just lying in the tub (which, in addition to sixteen different nozzles and jacuzzi-like jets, had charms to keep the water hot without him having to worry about it) before he actually got around to washing off. By the time he was done the water was black with dust, but quickly faded as the self-cleaning spells got to work. He shaved, too, having neglected it for a few days; he was getting uncomfortably itchy along the jaw. Climbing out of the tub he felt rejuvenated and very acutely hungry.

Someone had cleaned what had remained of his clothes while Harry bathed. He ignored the bathrobe and slipped back into them, since he hadn't exactly remembered to ask Draco to borrow some robes. He did root around looking for a shirt, though. Unsuccessful, he flopped back on the bed and waited for food to arrive.

He didn't have to wait long. Harry barely looked at it before shoving it in his mouth, while Nivens looked on with an expression of disapproval. Harry asked him if he would mind finding him a shirt and, looking thankful for something to do besides watch Harry inhale his painstakingly-prepared food, bowed low and vanished.

He returned by the time Harry had scraped his plate clean. Harry slipped the dark fabric over his head, smoothing it down – God, it was silk, just like the bed sheets, and Harry just wanted to curl up in himself and never move again.

He was aware of the elf still hovering by the edge of the bed so he rolled over, yawning. 'Is everything okay? Is Draco asleep?'

'Master is in his drawing room,' the elf said, looking terribly guilty, as if he were tattling on his master, even though he was obviously worried about him.

'Where's the drawing room again?'

'Nivens will show Mr Potter.'

The elf led him downstairs and left Harry standing alone at the door, likely to escape any sort of reprimand, though Harry honestly didn't think Draco would have the energy. Inside, he could see the hunched back of Draco's shoulders behind the intricately carved Italian sofa, blonde head held in his hands.

Harry stopped behind him, leaning his forearms over the top of the sofa. Draco took a long and rather shaky breath, the taut line of his shoulders flinching beneath a thin shirt.

'Can't sleep?'

Draco raised his head, but didn't look back at Harry. Instead he shrugged, causing the shirt to ride up under his arms a little, exposing a line of pale flesh at the waist. 'How the hell do you manage it?'

It was Harry's turn to shrug, but Draco couldn't see it. 'I dunno. I guess I just, I've always sort of had to, whether I wanted to or not.'

Draco sucked a long breath through his nose, sitting back and tilting his head towards the ceiling; the late-morning sun shining through the windows outlined him in gold, lending his skin some colour. His shoulder brushed Harry's forearm. His eyes were closed as Harry looked down on him, shadows deep under his eyes.

'Have you,' Draco started. He opened his eyes, saw Harry watching him, and tilted his head back down and looked away. 'You know,' he said after a moment, 'killed anyone?'

Harry didn't answer immediately; he knew that Draco meant intentionally – because he knew as well as Harry how many people Harry had got killed by accident, just for being anywhere near him.

'Yes,' Harry said eventually, 'once.'

'Is it the same?' Draco has his head angled sharply sideways; Harry could see the side of his mouth, but his eyes were hidden in the shadow of brow. 'As the – not the monsters, but the – '

'Worse.'

Harry didn't elaborate because that was the last thing in the world he ever wanted to talk about. He didn't know what Draco had seen before he'd plunged the basilisk tooth into the locket, but he had a good idea. Draco didn't seem particularly in the mood to discuss it, either; Harry didn't press him, because he understood. Some things were better left unsaid.

They sat and stood respectively in silence for some minutes. The sun had begun to rise above the windows, and Harry tried to remember the last time he'd had a decent amount of sleep. They'd been awake for nearly forty-eight hours, since before they'd wandered on to the magical reserve and into that cavern of shadows and death.

'You should use the Manor.'

'What?'

'You. All of you. I mean, it's not like my mother and I are putting the place to good use. It's protected by loads of old magic, and we could even set up a Fidelius Charm if you want – '

'Draco,' Harry interrupted, because Draco was babbling and Harry was exhausted. 'It's your home.'

'It's empty,' Draco said, and shuddered. 'I mean, I love it here. I grew up here, it's the only home I've ever known, but ever since – it's so damn quiet. All the time. I can't – I can't fucking stand it. I want to do something, and – I can do this, all right? I can do this.'

He seemed mostly to be talking to himself so Harry let him, waiting until Draco lapsed back into tense silence. 'Okay,' he said after a moment. Draco looked up at him, surprised, and Harry felt too tired to smile but tried anyway. 'You're right. It'd help a lot. Since we lost use of Grimmauld Place, we've mostly been using Hogwarts.'

He didn't have to add that while he loved visiting the old castle – the only home he'd ever known – he hated meeting there, because he knew what dangers they brought with them. Draco nodded, looking away, and seemed to relax a bit. After a few minutes of leaning there, with Draco's head bowed low and eyes cast down, Harry wondered if he'd actually fallen asleep.

'So,' Draco said, breaking the silence just as Harry's eyes had started to flutter closed. 'I guess we lived long enough to worry about it.'

It took a moment for Harry to realise what he was talking about. Draco's hands were restless, fidgeting, picking at his nails in his lap. Draco's head was still bowed, turned towards the rising sun; golden light chased the stands of his hair from root to tip, tickling the edge of his jaw.

Harry knew he should really think about this – what it would mean for him, but more importantly what it would mean to Draco, who hadn't had a real connection to anyone outside of his own mother. Harry knew enough about how messy and complicated it all was, no matter how casual the link – hell, Blaise had been the most complicated intimate relationship he'd ever had, and he remembered only too well how that had gone. And Blaise was one of the strongest people Harry knew, had to be, to undergo the strain of what Harry had asked of him to do (was still doing) and something like heartache wouldn't break him down.

It wasn't that Harry saw Draco as weak or particularly fragile; if anything, Harry had been surprised at the level of resolve he'd displayed over the past few weeks. But putting your life on the line protecting someone you loved was a different sort of strength than putting your heart on the line for someone you might.

Harry had taken what he could get the past few years, and after the fiasco with Blaise, Harry had realised that he was only fooling himself if he thought that could be enough. The sex had helped, but that was only a part of it – he needed someone he could rely on to be there through it all, be there through the happiness and the madness and the terror, to be there to stop him when he went too far, to be there when the entire world was falling down around their ears and his eyes betrayed what lay in wait inside.

He needed someone that would march into it with him, terrified and unsure and shaking, but holding on to his hand just the same.

To hell with it, he thought. Besides, chances were that if this blew up in Harry's face, he wouldn't be alive to suffer the guilt for very long, anyway.

Draco shivered as Harry leaned in, inhaling the scent of his hair, nose trailing the outer edge of his ear hidden beneath the strands. Draco held himself tense, as if poised to flee, as Harry's breath mingled with his hair and ghosted down his neck. His hair mostly smelled like citrus, probably from whatever shampoo he'd used to clean the dust out of his hair, but the scent of the savannah still clung to his skin; the smell of the sun and the open air and wilderness.

Harry tilted his head down, lips brushing Draco's earlobe and the junction of his jaw. Draco's eyes were still closed, and whatever argument he seemed to be having inside his head came to an abrupt halt as he reached up with one hand, circled it around the back of Harry's neck, and pulled him sharply down into a kiss.

Pain lanced across Harry's chest as it dug into the top of the sofa. He didn't care. Draco's mouth was hot and open for him, tongue coaxing his own in – shyly at first, until Harry's teeth snagged his bottom lip and suddenly he was tumbling, sharp wood scraping angry trails down his chest through his silk shirt as Draco hauled him over the back of the sofa by his collar.

The pain was a distant memory by the time Harry caught his breath and found himself on top of Draco, waist between his legs and hands twisted tightly in his hair. He wondered briefly if this rough treatment was a gay thing, or maybe just a Slytherin thing – and then Draco pulled away from his mouth, lips leaving a wet trail over Harry's chin and under his jaw, and then teeth were dragging down the side of his neck and Harry stopped thinking about anything else entirely.

Aside from their hands and their mouths (and, God, those rough, uneven noises Draco was making), they lay almost entirely still. It was strange to be this aroused emotionally, wanting so much more, when the rest of him – certain bits between his legs, specifically – were just too utterly spent to do anything about it. His mind was on fire and, Hell, he wanted to so fucking badly, but the rest of him was – well, limp with exhaustion. Harry slowed the kiss, tasting Draco's tongue with long, fluid strokes, panting heavily into his open mouth, lips slick with saliva. Draco made a contended noise deep in his throat, drawing back Harry's bottom lip before ducking his head lower, nuzzling into the curve of his neck.

'Sorry,' Harry said automatically, then winced at how stupid it sounded. 'I'm just – '

'Tired,' Draco agreed, still panting into Harry's neck. His voice was a strange, deep octave and probably the hottest thing Harry'd ever heard in his life and, God damn it, why was he so fucking exhausted?

Well, sure, they'd spent a week tracking across the savannah, jungle and plains, fought off a myriad of things that intended to kill them, getting broken and bloody in the process, but fuck. Harry missed the time when, at sixteen, he could go near three days without sleep without so much as a headache.

There wasn't really any room to lie down side-by-side. Apparently Italian furniture wasn't often used as a make-shift futon, so Harry peeled himself away, licking his lips, and looked around for something to serve as a pillow. Draco muttered a spell and wriggled backwards as the magic took effect, extending a chaise out of the right side of the sofa, giving it an overall L-shape. Harry gave up looking and just Summoned a pillow from Draco's bedroom upstairs. When it arrived, he tossed it to Draco, and flopped back down on the sofa, kicking off his shoes and collapsing with a grateful grunt.

Harry rolled onto his stomach, left arm caught beneath his chest and dangling off the edge of the sofa. Draco curled in a little, and reached up to pull Harry's glasses off, clasping them carefully in his fist; his hands tucked themselves in the crevice of Harry's neck, fingers idly tracing the skin there. Harry reached out with his right arm, splaying his fingers along Draco's cheek, tangling his fingers in the wayward strands of platinum hair there; Draco's eyes closed at the touch, and he nuzzled in closer, his nose brushing Harry's cheek.

The pillow smelled like Draco; Draco, stormy eyes half-closed with a ghost of a smile on red, swollen lips, smelled like Draco. Harry's face probably smelled like Draco. He inhaled deeply through his nose and held it, letting the smell fill him up, spread from his lungs to the base of his skull and settling somewhere deep in his stomach.

Harry was asleep before the breath rushed out of him.

: : :

The moment the sun dipped below the African horizon, the air shivered.

A large portion of the jungle bore evidence to a great calamity: trees had been uprooted, split in half or gouged beyond recovery. The undergrowth was in tatters, soft green plants shredded and tossed aside to reveal deep, brown peat that was soaked in blood. A great battle had been fought here; the winner had left the loser coiled between the trees, green scales slashed with red. Disease hung thick in the air.

They turned their heads towards the way they had come; the Scent had doubled back on them in the light, retracing its steps. Did it think to fool them so easily? They followed it hungrily; it was only hours old, so fresh they could smell the beating heart of their prey on the wind.

At the edge of the jungle the Scent vanished. In its place, a much cruder trail of manufactured magic, the trail of whatever their prey had used to evade them. It was no matter. They did not care for distance, for they did not tire. They congregated on the spot, letting the Scent fill them, and slowly slunk down through the earth, through planes that made distance not matter – following, always tracking the Scent.

They followed it to a new place, a place that smelled of sickness and death, and then away again to another, much closer – dark woods stretched out beyond, not unlike the dark jungle they had left. Before them stood black gates, shimmering with magic, guarded by two stone behemoths that sniffed curiously at the air, sensing a change and searching for danger.

The black gates would not hold them long. They were so very, very close.

: : :

Harry's flat was dark and empty. Hermione did a quick sweep of the place anyway, just to be sure. This was infuriating. Ron had wanted to instantly Apparate back to Ethiopia before Hermione convinced him the more logical route would be to check with St Mungo's before teleporting half a hemisphere away. Ron had grudgingly agreed and, upon checking in with the Emergency Arrivals nurse, found that Bill had in fact used his Portkey earlier that day.

Was he all right? Sure, aside from some superficial bumps and scrapes – was he still here? No, no, he'd gone and got himself another Portkey back to his work site about an hour ago. Did he have anyone with him? Well, yes, two other gentlemen, but they refused to be seen, and honestly it'd been rather a bother, as those Portkeys were only supposed to be used in emergencies – Hermione had tuned the woman out at that point. All right, so apparently Bill had managed to track Harry down and they'd – well, she didn't know, did she, because apparently men had no idea how to use a Floo.

'He's not here,' Ron said unnecessarily.

'There's only so many places he can be,' Hermione said reasonably.

'Maybe he went back to number twelve,' Ron said, nodding to himself. 'If he found a Horcrux, he'd want it to be somewhere safe.'

Since Snape still had access to their headquarters, though, number twelve wasn't exactly safe. 'We should check the Manor.'

'Why'd they go to the Manor? There's nothing there.'

Well, there was another Horcrux and all of Draco's things, but still, Ron had a point – Narcissa was still at the Palazzo, and Hermione couldn't imagine Draco wanting to return to an empty estate. And even if they'd found another Horcrux, with no way to actually destroy it, there was no point in keeping them both at one place.

'All right,' she said, heading towards the door, 'we'll check Grimmauld Place first, then.'

The echo of the crack from their Disapparition had just barely faded when the owl fluttered down to the windowsill. He peered hopefully inside, large eyes slowly scanning the dark apartment. With a rather indignant ruffle of feathers, he took flight once more.

: : :

pull myself a little closer,
I could feel your body breathe
hear the pulsing of my heartbeat
rhyming rhythms endlessly

: : :

When Draco woke up, his right arm was numb to the shoulder.

He flexed his fingers and winced at the pins and pricks that shot down his arm. Opening a bleary eye, his vision was obscured by a copse of wild black hair. Orange and gold light danced among the thicket, chasing each other up and down strands – glancing down the length of the settee, Draco could see the house-elves had lit candles as the room darkened. Outside, the eastern sky was a deep sapphire with a sprinkle of diamond dust already peeking over the horizon.

They'd finally given into exhaustion sometime shortly after noon, and if it was almost sunset, that meant he'd got at least six solid hours. Not nearly enough. Draco was sorely tempted to shift his arm out from under Harry's head and go right back to sleep.

Oh, right – that's what that hash of hair was.

Draco took a moment to appreciate a sleeping Harry Potter. He'd done it once before, that time after they'd fought, drunk on power and old grudges. That time, Harry had looked like being asleep was a painful experience, a battle all on its own, and he was just determined to make it back to consciousness. Now, though, freshly clean and shaven, utterly exhausted to the point of skipping a shag in favour of a kip, he seemed a lot softer around the edges. There were shadows under his bare eyes, something normally hidden by his glasses; long lashes laid flush against sun-kissed skin, getting tangled in his unruly fringe. There were faint creases in his forehead and his nose that, Draco knew, were the beginnings of worry lines that would forever tell of what he'd been through.

Draco focussed on keeping his right hand where it was – tucked under Harry's head like a pillow, breath softly ghosting Draco's wrist and shooting lines of white-hot pleasure down his chest – while sliding his backside off the sofa. The floor was unyielding hardwood and Draco winced as he shifted stiff limbs closer to the sofa, careful not to disturb Harry's slumber.

He was wearing one of Draco's shirts – a button-down, short-sleeved and tight over his thicker shoulders – and it had ridden up around his hips and under his arms. Draco could see the valley his spine created as it dipped low, disappearing under his jeans. Dark hair laced his forearms but his back was smooth, tanned and wound tight under the silk. Draco ran an experimental hand over his shoulder, sliding between the shoulder blades and down the line of his back; Harry made a happy little noise into his hand, not quite a moan, and shifted under Draco's fingers. Emboldened, Draco tried again, fingers pressing deeper, spreading out and exploring the taut muscle encasing his ribs, dipping into the softer, more tender flesh at the side of his waist.

That seemed to pull Harry from sleep. The breath on his wrist changed, becoming heavier and more irregular. Harry turned his head down to look at Draco, sitting on the floor with his hand tracing patterns along his back. He didn't ask Draco what he was doing, but pushed himself up just enough to roll over onto his back, Draco's hand falling away. Since Harry was no longer using his right hand as a pillow, Draco flexed his fingers and shifted, bringing himself closer to the couch, tucking his elbow beneath Harry's head before he could lie back down, hand curled around Harry's neck, fingers dipping just inside his collar.

Harry reached up with his right hand and held on to Draco, thumb and index finger locking around Draco's wrist. He put his glasses on with his left hand, blinking as Draco came into focus, but still didn't speak. He just looked at Draco, those green eyes dark and unreadable, and then looked at Draco's left hand, fallen to the side, and Draco understood; he was being given permission to explore, to touch and feel and figure out what the hell was going on – Harry wouldn't interrupt him.

Harry was watching him, though. It sent a little thrill down Draco's back that curled up happily in his groin, which had apparently got enough rest after all.

Draco slid his left hand back up Harry's side, over his stomach, rising and falling in rhythm with his diaphragm. He followed the line of his chest up, spreading fingers across his breastbone, feeling the thick layer of muscle beneath his fingers hot beneath the silken material of his shirt. Draco's nails snagged on the buttons as he curled his fingers, dragging them down again, past his stomach and lower, feeling the hitch in Harry's breathing as he explored his navel. Turning over had hiked the hem of the shirt up further, green silk giving way to hot flesh, and Draco explored the dark trail of hair there, turning his hand so that his fingertips brushed the top of Harry's jeans.

Harry was holding his breath; Draco hadn't noticed until his hand continued down, smoothing the creases in the denim along Harry's hip, and the breath came pouring out of him in one, long rush. His eyes fluttered closed, and the hand on Draco's wrist tightened.

Apparently that part of Harry had got enough rest, too.

Draco took his time. It was, technically, his first time really doing this. He'd messed about with Blaise a few times in the Prefects' bathroom, in various states of undress (and Blaise usually in the full nude, because the man was a tramp), but it had been just groping and rutting and Draco had always chickened out when Blaise tried to go a little further, panic filling his throat with acid and his stomach twisting in on itself. Draco's hand paused as the memories brought the unease flooding back, Snitches fluttering around in his abdomen, but Draco closed his eyes and fought back. No, not this time. Blaise was vulgar and frustrated and often rather cruel, but Harry wasn't like that. He could take this as far – or not – as he was willing to go, knowing Harry wouldn't begrudge him either way.

He kept his eyes closed as he let his hand wander, flat against Harry's hip, the well-worn denim soft against his palm. He felt his way along Harry's thigh, which – even when flopped bonelessly across the couch – was firm and warm, thick with muscle that hardened into bone as he reached the knee. Curling his fingers, Draco ran his palm back up the inside of Harry's thigh, feeling every shiver, every tremor under his touch. And there, at the apex, where the jeans loosened up and the juncture of Harry's legs was hidden in darkness, the flesh became softer and then suddenly harder.

Harry let out a long, slow hiss.

Draco opened his eye and suppressed a chuckle at the pure absurdity of it. If, a month ago, someone had told Draco he'd be feeling up Harry bloody Potter on a sofa in his drawing room, he would have laughed them to scorn.

He cupped his fingers around the hot muscle and gave a little squeeze, the slightest amount of pressure, drawing his fingers back down the length and up again. He brushed the pad of his thumb under the head in a slow circle, relishing in the little twitch that it caused.

'Draco.'

Draco's eyes flickered to Harry's; his face and neck were flushed, mouth half-open and heavy-lidded, yellow-green eyes staring at Draco's hand. Interesting.

'Hm?' Draco hummed noncommittally, tracing a single digit back down. Harry ground his teeth.

'Ten seconds,' Harry hissed through his teeth.

'Ten seconds?' Draco echoed, turning his eyes back to the prize. Growing bolder, he used the heel of his hand this time, smirking a little as the muscles in Harry's abdomen tightened, sharp lines in his hips standing out. Draco felt a hot flash follow the scar down his neck and chest to his groin, his own jumping in anticipation. The panic from a moment ago was gone, replaced with sheer want.

'Five,' Harry said, and, when Draco shot him a glance, he was taking off his glasses and carefully folding them closed with his teeth.

'The suspense is killing me, Potter,' Draco drawled, taking a tighter grip. Merlin, he could feel the blood pulsing. 'Five seconds until – '

Harry tossed his glasses casually over his shoulder and jumped him.

The table beside the couch was unceremoniously shoved aside with an echoing screech that left long gouges in the floor. Harry caught Draco's head before it could smack into the floor, hissing into Draco's mouth as his elbows took the damage instead, hips settling hot and heavy in between the blonde's legs. Draco could feel the magic pouring out of Harry, washing over his skin and leaving it tingling, burning for more, wanting to drown himself in it. White-hot jolts of electricity lanced down his chest, nearly splitting him in half with pleasure.

Draco couldn't breathe – partially due to Harry investigating his tonsils, but largely due to the fact that the Chosen One was bloody heavy. Draco bit down hard on Harry's bottom lip, using the distraction (Harry cursed, hot breath expelling over Draco's chin) to hook a knee over Harry's hip and roll him.

This didn't exactly work out as planned; Draco rolled up right into the ornately curved – and therefore incredible sharp – edge of the coffee table, cursing as bright spots erupted in his vision. The pain in his temple was quickly set aside to collect interest when Harry, given free use of his hands, trailed his fingers down Draco's chest, following the line of the scar there.

The first time Harry had tried that, it had hurt like hell. Draco had been dreading this, wondering if he'd never be free of the pain, but Harry's touch just left a tingly, hyper-sensitive trail in their wake. Then Draco remembered that the first time they hadn't only been drunk, but Harry'd been furious (as well as furiously turned on), and something clicked into place.

When Draco pulled back Harry's hands jumped away, and Draco saw the yellow invading his eyes flicker. 'Sorry, I – '

Draco braced both hands on either side of Harry's head, leaned down and swallowed his apologies. Hands tightened on his hips, pulling him down harder, rising to meet him. Draco rolled his hips experimentally, moaning into the kiss at the sudden rush of pleasure it caused; Harry's hands slipped around to his backside, grabbing at his arse and squeezing hard enough to bruise.

Harry was saying something, wet mouth trailing hotly down his neck. It took Draco a second (the hip-rolling was really, very terribly distracting) to realise that the reason he couldn't understand him was because he was hissing, muttering sibilant words against Draco's throat, teeth grazing and tongue slicking and tasting. Draco didn't know whether he was more terrified or turned on. Probably a little of both. Harry's hands dropped lower, cupping Draco through his trousers; his movements were hectic but confident, strokes sure and steady and driving Draco absolutely wild.

They were both slick with sweat, clothes clinging to them uncomfortably, and Draco had never wanted to be naked so badly in his life.

Harry must have sensed weakness, noticed the distraction, because Draco suddenly felt himself rolling back towards the couch. He kept the movement going, and they ended up in a slick tangle of limbs with Harry's back against the couch and Draco straddling his lap. Harry grunted as the wooden trim connected with his lower back, hands tightening on Draco's hips and biting down hard on the junction of Draco's neck and shoulder.

Sweet sodding Merlin's lacy pants, Draco cursed in his head. He was going to blow his bloody wad fully clothed if they kept this up.

Summoning a massive amount of self-control, Draco placed both hands on Harry's shoulders and pushed them apart. Harry went easily, and Draco wished he hadn't, because – fucking hell – Harry's head lolled back against the cushions, hair splayed in every direction except flat, red mouth open and panting, and the barest flicker of yellow-green eyes watching him under heavy lashes.

'You know, there's like,' Draco panted, 'over a dozen beds upstairs just waiting to be defiled.'

'If you want,' Harry whispered, hisses spilling over his words, causing Draco to shiver. 'I mean, it's – it's up to you, I – God, I can't. I can't think when you've got your mouth open like that.'

Draco closed his mouth and swallowed, stomach tightening in on itself. 'Let's just,' he said eventually, when Harry closed his eyes and laid his head back. 'Slow down a bit, yeah?'

Harry opened his eyes and looked at him for a minute, then two, until Draco started to fidget. He was pitching a bloody tent and Harry was hard against his hip through the maddening layers of clothes they still had on for some stupid reason, and Harry was just looking at him, as if trying to make up his mind. Merlin, if he was having second thoughts now, after all this, Draco was going to kill him.

Harry nodded, seeming to come to whatever conclusion had been evading him. He released Draco's hips and the blood rushed back, filling in the bruises that would surely make themselves known in a few hours. Instead, Harry ran his hands up Draco's chest, careful not to touch the scar through his shirt.

Draco wanted to tell him it was okay, that – that it really only hurt when Harry was hurting, or angry, or lost to himself in his nightmares. Even hidden away at the Manor for four years, Draco had felt every pang of anger, stab of pain and slice of terror Harry had suffered over the years without even realising what it was. He couldn't find the words, and his eyes found the scar on Harry's forehead, a pink slash of lightning, a tiny self-portrait of the one on Draco's chest, cutting down across his eyebrow.

Draco leaned forward and kissed it; feeling Harry still beneath him but not pulling away, Draco ran his tongue along it, from bottom to top. Harry shuddered under him, hands clutching Draco's upper arms and then pulling in, latching onto his collar, fingers fumbling with the top button. Draco buried himself in the mop of black hair, fingers tying themselves in knots with the strands, tugging along with him.

Halfway down, Harry ran out of patience. 'Why,' he growled against the hollow of Draco's throat, 'why are you wearing so many. Fucking. Clothes?'

With one final, violent tug he sent buttons flying, leaving Draco's chest bare, flushed pink and heaving. Harry didn't even bother tugging the offending article off Draco's shoulders, just went to work right away, mouth trailing wetly down his chest, leaving red welts in his wake whenever teeth flashed against skin. He followed the line of the scar, not touching, but occasionally his tongue would brush the edge or his breath would wash over it and Draco would make a noise that was entirely undignified and twist in his lap, trying to get closer and further away all at once.

Draco stopped Harry with a hand to his chest before he leaned back in, risking the displeasure in those yellow-green eyes, because Draco decided he'd, too, had enough of all these sodding clothes. Gripping the bottom of Harry's shirt, he tugged up – Harry lifted his arms over his head and twisted, pulling himself free while Draco tried to preserve the image of his naked chest, muscles pulled taut and slick with sweat, into his mind's eye forever.

Harry's hair went wild when pulled free of the collar, fringe sticking to his flushed face but otherwise independent of gravity. Draco rose up on his knees and threaded his fingers into it, immediately getting tangled and twisting, tugging, trying to get Harry closer closer closer because he could never be close enough. Draco wanted to fold himself inside Harry, wriggle in the little cracks and hold him together and never stop feeling that warmth.

Draco was yanked back to reality with the feel of teeth grazing his navel. 'Oh, fuck,' he ground out, his voice sounding a long way off. He yanked on Harry's scalp and felt Harry's tongue slick the gossamer hairs above his groin and follow them lower; Draco pushed Harry's head down and moaned like a whore when Harry's lips enveloped him through the fabric of his trousers.

'Sonofabitch,' Harry bit out, burying his nose in Draco's hip.

Draco twisted in his grip, cursing. 'Come on.'

'Christ,' Harry said, his fingers straining to pull Draco's trousers off. 'God, I'm – '

The rest of his words trailed off into incoherent hissing, lost to Draco, who managed after a moment of heavy panting: 'What?'

'Christ,' Harry said again, voice hoarse. He tilted his head up, pulling against the hands Draco tightened in his hair. His eyes were a wild, golden hazel and he held Draco's gaze as he scraped his teeth up Draco's length. 'I said, I am going to fuck you through the floor.'

That sounded like a splendid plan to Draco who, somewhere behind the fog of lust, was extremely glad he hadn't bothered to put anything on under his trousers – Draco's eyes rolled back into his head as Harry jerked his waistband down just enough to swipe his tongue inside. 'Fuck – Harry – '

The air of the room spat and sizzled, magic surging around them like the sudden touchdown of a tornado. Draco's entire world narrowed down to a point, down to the feel of Harry's mouth on him, and every other need or want or worry in the world could fuck off for all he cared.

It was why Draco couldn't feel the burn of the ring on his chest, couldn't sense the change in the room around him – couldn't hear the stone dragons that guarded the gates roar, didn't notice the snap of a house-elf appearing in the room, didn't care that the doors slammed open out of sight behind the couch, seemingly of their own accord. It was why he thought the hairs raising on the back of his neck was a reaction to Harry, to the hands fumbling with the button of Draco's trousers, tugging tugging tugging, to the long, hot lick up the length of Draco's dick through his trousers, to the teeth scraping the head.

Harry must have heard the shouting, because suddenly he started to rise, scrambling, half-lifting Draco with him. Draco didn't know why they were standing, didn't care who was shouting; he couldn't hear a sound over the magic roaring in his ears. Over Harry's shoulder he could see Hermione and Ron and he thought that he must be hallucinating, and looked to Harry for reassurance.

But when Draco looked in Harry's eyes, pools of deep green devoid of serpentine yellow, and saw the fear there, a wave of icy terror crashed over him, too late.

He heard hissing behind him and turned; there, two from the smooth wood of the floor and one from the thick carpet by the mantlepiece, they rose up like domestic nightmares. They were each the size of a horse, lupine in body with golden eyes, and long, slender tails lashing behind them like whips.

All three pairs of eyes found Draco and, without warning or ceremony, lunged as one.

: : :

The scrunts were more horrifying than Hermione could have ever imagined.

The massive spectres had risen out of the woodwork, just like the research had said; there had been no time to do anything, not even to cast a spell – they simply appeared and lunged, converging on Harry and Draco in a cyclone of madness.

She heard Ron shout a long way off – she was pretty sure she screamed, but the sound was lost in the sibilant snarls that ended in a single, massive thunderclap.

Where Harry and Draco had been standing a heartbeat ago, Harry now stood alone.

Something small and silver tinkled to the floor at his feet.

It had taken the better part of an hour to calm Harry down long enough to explain – what they had learned, how Ron had figured it out, what exactly the beasts were – and that they had instinctively thought that Harry was the target. It wouldn't have made a difference either way, Hermione tried to tell him. If the beasts had wanted him, they would have taken him.

But apparently they'd wanted Draco instead.

It didn't help that they'd apparently barged into the middle of something – well, Hermione had a fair idea of what, considering their state of undress and the welt on Harry's neck – and Ron, too, kept shooting furtive looks at Harry, unable to voice the question right then, because once Hermione had explained what they'd learned about the scrunts, Harry had stopped listening to either of them.

Harry burst through the doors of the Auror Headquarters, Ron and Hermione hot on his heels. Hermione wanted to reach out, to try and make him see reason – that they had to stop and think, had to figure this out before they went charging in, to learn what they were up against – but Ron, sensing her intentions, squeezed her hand in his and firmly shook his head.

The door to the office nearly flew off its hinges as Harry flung it open; Kingsley Shacklebolt, chopsticks laden with take-away Thai food poised halfway in his open mouth, saw the look on Harry's face and calmly put his food aside before standing. Beside him, Arthur Weasley was already on his feet, looking surprised to see them back.

'Harry? What's wrong? Is everyone all right?' Arthur demanded, voice rising with every word. Hermione pulled Ron into the room so his father could see him, and Arthur visibly sagged.

'How quickly can you get everyone together?' Harry demanded of Kingsley.

'Everyone?' Kingsley asked, raising his brows. Harry just looked at him, gaze unflinching. 'Couple of hours, if it's important.'

'Make it an hour,' Harry ordered, and Kingsley just nodded; he may have been Harry's senior by twenty-some odd years, but nobody argued with Harry when his eyes looked like that. 'We're meeting at the Manor. Arthur, you're with me.'

'Malfoy Manor?' Kingsley asked, incredulous, but Harry was already out the door and halfway down the aisle of cubicles outside. Arthur raised his eyebrows at Hermione, but followed without argument.

Harry sorted through the papers piled on his desk quickly, the party of three hovering nervously behind him. As worried as she was, Hermione was feeling a little better; Harry obviously had a plan. They might be crazy and borderline suicidal, but when all else failed, Harry's plans worked.

'Ron,' he said, without turning around. Ron immediately stepped up to his side, always ready for anything, but frowned when Harry just handed him a piece of parchment. 'Owl this off, please. Right now.'

'Right,' Ron said, teetering for a moment. 'Er. Right. Owling. Now.' And fled.

'All right,' Harry said, turning around. His voice echoed through the office, loud and deadly calm. What little noise had begun to creep back after his extravagant entry quickly died down again. 'I need every report of Death Eater activity in the past twelve hours with any shred of credibility on my desk, immediately. Collins, I want you on Floos; Harris, Smith, dispatch; Robinson, get me a list of every Death Eater in holding waiting on the Wizengamot. The rest of you, if you have got any leads in the past twenty-four hours, I want to know – '

Harry paused as he surveyed the room; the moment he'd started shouting orders, everyone in the office had just stared at him, a few with their mouths open. Some of them were three times his age and had been on the force since before he was born. Standing at the back of the room, head peeking out of his office at the ruckus, Robards had been watching the scene with ever-increasing incredulity.

Harry narrowed his yellow-green eyes, voice sharp with blood-chilling determination. 'Understood?'

There was a flurry of activity as people nodded and got to work, and Harry swept right past Hermione and back towards the doors. She nearly collided with Robards as she moved to follow; the man ignored her, nearly jogging to catch up with Harry.

'What the hell has got into you?' Robards looked at a loss. He staggered after Harry, furious and confused, and grabbed his elbow before Hermione could stop him. 'Who the hell do you think you are, Potter? You can't just hijack the department for your personal vendetta!'

Harry whirled around so quickly Robards backpedalled; the gaze Harry fixed on him nailed the smaller man to the floor as he snarled: 'Try and stop me.'

: : :

When Draco came to, it was to complete and utter darkness.

The cold came on suddenly as we woke, the air unnaturally frigid like the inside of an icebox. He was lying on the floor. He did not move, and did his best to keep his breathing pattern the same – short, calm little intakes of breath, not wanting to reveal to anything possibly watching that he'd woken. He took a quick inventory of his body; little twitches confirmed that, despite all odds, he seemed to have arrived intact. There wasn't even any pain, which had to be wrong. Maybe he was dead...

Pain lanced down his chest, so suddenly and deep he nearly screamed. Anger and panic flooded in and filled him, and somehow knowing how Harry was feeling made it that much worse.

Draco lay there in the darkness, unmoving, for what felt like hours. Every time he got the courage to move, he would hear something – or his mind would convince him he'd heard something – and then he'd continue to ignore the cold stiffness in his limbs and lie still. He realised with some annoyance that, after Harry had broken his wand to brew an antidote to the nundu's venomous breath, he'd neglected to grab his old one. Wonderful; lost alone in the dark and unarmed.

Draco spent the next few minutes taking a mental tally of events that had landed him there, wherever he was. They'd got home in one piece, and Apparated back to the Manor. They'd disposed of the Horcruxes, washed, snogged, slept – and Draco had very nearly ended up with Harry's mouth and hands in his trousers. And then –

Draco inhaled sharply, mind filled with white teeth and golden eyes. Something to his left let out a low, gravelly snarl.

Don't move don't move don't move –

Light suddenly filled the chamber. Draco scrambled to his knees and slammed his back against the nearest wall, as far away as possible from the creatures watching him from the other side of the cell. There were only two this time instead of three and, as the light washed over them, their scaly fur turned grey to match the stone as they slowly sank out of sight into the floor.

Draco became acutely aware of the fact that he'd stopped breathing; the air rushed in and out of his lungs in great gulps as the creatures vanished and the light moved inside the chamber, revealing a dark-robed figure.

'Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to drop in.'

Somehow, this was worse. Draco would have rather been locked alone in the dark with the beasts again.

The figure threw back its hood; Theodore Nott grinned down at him and Draco flinched. A long, silver scar ran down over his left eye – the eye itself was scarred, opaque and blind. 'How've you been, Draco? Mum doing well?' Theodore's good eye sized him up, taking in the torn shirt and the scar decorating his chest, and smirked. 'Well, not for long, I imagine,' Theodore admitted, looking wistful. 'That is, if Yaxley's not used her all up.'

Theodore's hands were empty, but Draco knew better than to assume he'd get the jump on him. Fucker always had a wand stashed somewhere and, failing that, a knife. 'If you so much as breathe on my mother,' Draco said, raising his eyes to meet Theodore's, 'I will spend years killing you.'

'Now that's the spirit! This is going to be so much fun.' Theodore looked gleeful, which never boded well for anyone besides Theodore. 'But I'd really worry more about my own arse, if I were you.'

: : :

to be continued

Post A/N: I've been getting some unhappy feedback about how this story should not be tagged as complete, so I just wanted to leave a note explaining there is a good reason for it: the continuance to this story takes place after a bit of an interlude, and I always planned to make the break here. This part of the story is complete - whether or not you agree I should tag it as complete or not is your opinion, and I'm sorry if it's upset you. That said, take care to remember that many published works end short of completion and/or with cliffhangers. This is no different.

The next installment is coming soon, and this note will be updated when that happens. Thanks for reading!