Another Kind of Love

Draco is how Snape imagines his son would be if he'd ever been able to tolerate anyone long enough to procreate. He sits on the counter, not speaking, legs dangling from the edge of the table. A heel banging against the orange sliding drawer in a petulant teen-angst bid for attention, Snape is forced to walk by him and press his forearm to Draco's knee to stop the racket.

The arrival of the petite blond means it's slightly before three o'clock; he always stops by before his guard shift down the hall. Voldemort set up shop in an abandoned schoolhouse in the outskirts of Kent, and the lot of Death Eaters has been given their tasks. Draco wailed in protest of being low on the totem pole as to be a lowly guard, but Snape thought he should be happy to be alive.

"There isn't even anyone to guard. I'm not sure I see the point of all of this. 'S irritating, is what it is. Just down there staring at bars." He kicked at the shaky panel again to punctuate his point.

This wasn't a new argument; Snape was tired of hearing the complaint. "It's to keep you out of my hair."

"I'm not in your hair; even if I were to 'get into your hair' I'd slide right out of that greasy mess." Draco folded his arms and smirked at Snape who just sighed.

"The greasy hair jibe is quite old. Consider a fresh approach?" He moved on to where he had cauldrons to tend to and a long plank of wood covered in Bundimun fungus that was giving him a wary look. "Be glad you're not on cleaning detail."

Draco wrinkled his nose and lay on his side across the counter. "At least they get to do something, even if it is boring. But it would probably ruin my manicure. They should put the cleaners in costumes, little French maid uniforms, wouldn't that be ridiculous? I bet I'd look good in one."

"Don't be silly. You don't have the legs for it." Snape smirked at Draco's pout. "I'm sure even they would protest that there's only so much to dust. But mark my words that they will have plenty to clean up once things start up and hostages are taken. Then you will all long for the time when you could afford to be bored."

When he looked up, Draco was pulling his robe up to examine his legs. "War is dull."

"If you're that bored, you could harvest the secretions from the Bundimun." Snape pointed to the dull knife used to drag over the fungus.

At the prospect of actual work, Draco pushed himself off of the counter and started for the door. "I would, but my shift's starting."

"Right." Snape checked the large black and white school clock; it was still well before three, but Draco was darting past the door. "I'll check on your later."

--

Sitting at the school desk across from the crude iron bar cage in the middle of the room, Draco disinterestedly flipped the page of the latest tome by Professor Vindictus Viridian. It was filled with amusing schoolboy hexes, ones that he'd planned on using against Potter before he'd been called to duty. Now it all seemed terribly silly.

The idea of seeing Potter behind those bars didn't fill him with as much glee as he thought it would, so he tried picturing Granger or Weasley in there. Somehow, that wasn't much more satisfying, which was vexing. Draco pictured it in silver with Greyback in there screaming from burns from the metal, embarking on a rather satisfying daydream when Snape poked his shoulder.

"I was about to head to my room."

"Thanks for the update." Draco frowned and glanced at the clock. Six more hours left to sit and do nothing.

"The vampire delegation is expected tonight." He set a small phial of a milky white mixture in front of Draco.

"I hate this potion. It smells like a sweaty Italian." Having no desire to add exsanguination to his list of complaints for the night, Draco downed it and handed the phial to Snape, making a face at him for having to endure it. "That's almost as horrific as these fluorescent lights."

Snape rolled his eyes. As little as he cared for the lighting, there were far more vexing problems. "Shall I expect you tonight?"

Draco nodded curtly.

"I'll leave the light on for you."

--

He preferred to think that he wasn't used to sleeping in a room alone rather than that he snuck into Snape's bed for comfort. That hadn't been the original reason he'd shown up in Snape's room. After the bold rescue and narrow escape, Draco had thought himself quite enamored of Snape. Draco didn't know much about the prospect of relations with the same sex aside from convivial boy's dorm room experimentation, but as much as he thought of what attraction should be; he thought himself attracted to Snape.

Any attempted encounter that ended with, "I'm flattered," was beyond humiliating, and yet somehow Draco moved past it. In the days that followed, he reasoned aloud to Snape that he was extraordinarily grateful and only wanted to show that. While neither of them believed that, it was a good enough excuse for them to continue as if nothing had happened.

In the meantime, Draco jealously regarded anyone else who spoke to Snape, and Snape listened to the tirades with as much patience as he'd endured the pre-escape rants about Potter. Snape had hoped that his comments that he thought of Draco as a son would drive the point home, but much to Snape's alarm, it seemed to goad Draco to greater extremes of possessiveness.

Exasperating as Draco's behavior was, Snape allowed him to continue to come to his room. Had the other bored Death Eaters any idea how untried and innocent Draco was, he would surely have become sought after and used horribly. As it was, Snape had garnered even more fear and respect for killing Dumbledore and his apparent claim on Draco made him untouchable.

Snape knew that at some point, either out of lust or necessity, Draco would let someone else know the truth, but for now things worked as they were. He allowed Draco to press his ear to his chest and toyed with his hair until he felt Draco drift to sleep. Then he returned to his slumber.

--

"What do you mean you were a spy for the Order? You killed Dumbledore." Draco looked more hurt than angry, and somehow, after all of the torture that he'd endured, the betrayed look on his face tormented Snape.

"Since before the Dark Lord's fall. I managed to convince him that I was still on his side, but... I slipped up. They know you're not involved, you're safe." Snape gripped the bars, watching Draco intently. "But you need to get away from the bars; you can't be caught here talking to me like this."

"What were you doing for the Order now?" Draco didn't move. Snape cursed his impetuous stubbornness and shoved him back.

Draco wasn't budging, and Snape was desperate. Dumbledore had trusted him and had entrusted this mission to him and died for it. The torch should be passed, if it could be. There was always a chance that Draco was just trying to get more information out of him, but he doubted it. Draco had a lot of guile, but not with him. "Finding out about the Horcruxes and passing the information to the Order of the Phoenix, getting it to Potter to lead him in the right direction."

"Who has the information?" Draco leaned forward, his eyes sparking with interest.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I owe them nothing. I owe you everything." Draco caressed Snape's cheek, the first bit of warmth Snape had felt since he'd been dragged out of bed two weeks ago and put through a series of Veritaserum and Legilimency till he broke.

Whatever information he held was out now; there was nothing more Draco could learn from him. He had to be sincere. The question now was whether he was willing to use a boy's crush to continue his mission. "There were seven Horcruxes that the Dark Lord created in order to contain his soul. Five have been found and I was trying to find information about the final one when I was found out. Now he knows the others have been found and will be creating more to make up for the lack. Unless Potter gets the final one before a proper vessel is found."

Nodding, Draco wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye. "Who knows where it is?"

"The Dark Lord himself, that's all I know. He plays it close to the vest. He's gotten closer to Dolohov recently, and might have said something to him." Snape added this to the list of things done in the line of duty that he would burn for. It was true enough, since Bellatrix had broken the imprisoned Death Eaters minus Lucius Malfoy from Azkaban; Voldemort had been pouring adulations on the recently freed, seeing their time in as a mark of loyalty. Lucius had been left, as Bellatrix didn't think he had served enough time to be proven truly loyal yet.

"Dolohov." Snape saw the wheels turning and shuddered what the machinations would result in. Though neither of them had spoken of the appraising leers Dolohov had been casting at Draco, it was an unspoken rule that Draco would stick close to Snape when he was around. "And how do I contact the Order if I have information?"

"We used our Patronus." Snape watched Draco's face cloud over; he knew that Draco hadn't had much success in producing one. "They'll be watching for those anyway. I... have no real ideas on how to put you in contact with them other than casting the Morse Lictus, which is the last ditch emergency call for the Order. They'll come running... but you have to have your wand to cast it."

Nodding, Draco crept back, committing the incantation to memory. He had no idea how to contact the Order, but he would find a way. A moment later, Marcus Flint entered the room to find Draco lazily reading his book. Without a word, he did an about face and headed back down the hall. Draco grinned at Snape and pointed to his book and mouthed, "Warestones-- for spying."

Heaven help him, Snape prayed that Draco and his bag of children's tricks were prepared for this. He hoped that when Draco realized what he'd gotten himself into he could find it in his heart to forgive him.

--

The next morning, with much pomp and circumstance, all of the Death Eaters were summoned into the room with the jail cell. In the center of it sat Snape, his eyes fixed in a thousand yard stare, ready to face death. Voldemort pushed Draco forward, a test of his loyalty at hand.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, Draco pointed his wand at Snape. Breaking his distant stare, Snape looked at Draco, willing him to do it, but not uttering a word or changing his expression. Draco narrowed his eyes and spat, "Traitor." Working all of the fury that he could while feeling a sudden empathy for the courage that Snape had to work up to look Dumbledore in the eye and kill him; Draco flicked his wand and said, "Avada Kedavra!"

The spell skittered against the linoleum, Voldemort's cold, spindly hand having pushed his wand down. "Very good."

Voldemort shoved Draco at Dolohov and repeated the curse and then other words that Draco couldn't make out. He was holding a gleaming silver saucer with a crest on it that included a lion. Draco squinted to read the name "Potter" at the bottom. He watched an eerie blue light travel from Voldemort into the dish as Snape fell lifelessly to the floor.

Dolohov took the saucer from Voldemort and the two nodded to one another. Draco tried not to look too longingly at the dish and kept his mind completely devoid of all thought. His eyes met his aunt's for a moment before she glared at Dolohov. The other Death Eaters were shuffling out of the room, and Draco was about to follow when he felt a cold hand about his waist and he was wrenched back against a bony frame. "You're mine now, boy."

--

The saucer sat on Dolohov's nightstand and Draco kept his eyes trained on it while rough hands fondled his arse. He pressed his cheek against the mattress, not daring to look at the skeletal man behind him, or think about the sick way that his skin hung from his bones. Dolohov's fingers were hard with calluses and his nails sharp. This was what Snape was protecting him from, and Draco realized that now... far too late.

The bed linens smelled like onions and were starched with the sweat of night terrors. Dolohov hadn't left Azkaban all together, and perhaps it was this madness that made the man fascinated with his skin. His scabby hands were all over him, along his back, his thighs, and between his cheeks. His nails scratched down Draco's spine, and he choked back a sob, trying to remember the brave way that Snape met his end, he didn't give in. He was brave to the end. He was what Draco needed to be if he was going to fulfill Snape's mission.

"Snape must've been impotent not to have touched you. He didn't, did he? You are untouched. I can tell by how perfect your skin is, how you clench at my touch." Draco whined as Dolohov forced a wet finger inside of him. He fisted the sheets to brace against the discomfort.

"It's going to hurt if you try to keep me out, boy." Shuddering at the clammy feel of Dolohov's cock pressed against the soft warmth of his cheek, Draco nodded and tried to relax. As a reward, Dolohov leaned over him and bit his shoulder. Draco cried out. "Yes, that's it... scream."

Another finger shoved roughly into him, scraping his insides and Draco's eyes watered. He felt dizzied with repulsion at the man's heaving breath against his cheek. Dolohov trailed his sliming tongue along Draco's ear and he recoiled inward. His eyes fixed on the gleaming saucer again. He would get it to the Order. He would fulfill this mission and would see Dolohov dead.

Those thoughts left him ill-prepared for his invasion. Draco pressed his face against the bedding and cried out again as he felt Dolohov pushing into him. Instinctively, one of his hands shot back to try to push Dolohov back by his abdomen, but his claws digging into his hips tightened, and Draco knew he was drawing blood. He screamed this time as he felt the hardness of each of Dolohov's thrusts. His skin prickled with sweat and every nerve seemed focused on the pain of each exit and entry. He looked over his shoulder, knowing his face was unguarded with pain and terror. Their eyes met and Dolohov grunted and flopped forward, still moving in and out of him, but slower now.

"Mine now," he grumbled as he fumbled back, sliding out of Draco. His cock was glossy and wet, streaked with blood.

Draco shook and tried not to think of how empty he felt, or what the wetness sliding down his inner thigh was.

--

Draco learned to deep throat the next day, lips wrapped around Rabastan Lestrange, pinioned between his cock while Dolohov fucked him. He gagged and spat, several times on the cusp of vomiting. Rabastan would pull back, yanking Draco's face up by the hair. Then he'd slap him and call him a dirty slut, a filthy little cock slut. Draco pictured the ways he would suffer, blood dripping from all of his orifices before he granted Rabastan the mercy of death.

"Yes sir, sorry sir." His eyes dropped, Draco would open his mouth for another go and his eyes rested on the saucer.

Dolohov slapped his arse, spanking him as he reopened wounds that hadn't had a chance to heal. Draco's stomach turned, but he focused on his goal, on the way Snape died. He would endure.

"I want to fuck him."

"You're fucking his mouth, he's mine."

They fought over his back, physically wrestling. Springing back from him, they both returned from the floor with their wands drawn on one another. Then they laughed-- sad laughter from sick people. Draco wiped the drool from his mouth.

"You're never going to share him?"

"I'm sharing him now." Dolohov grabbed Draco's hips and repositioned himself and plowed into him again. Draco looked up at Rabastan and opened his mouth.

"You could give him out as a reward." Draco took him into his mouth, feeling the rawness at the back of his throat, but he'd learned to relax, to not gag.

"He's a good boy, isn't he? I'm going to take him with me for being such a good boy. You're a good boy, aren't you?" Dolohov leaned up to whisper into his ear again. Draco made a quiet noise to indicate he was. He didn't know how he'd find the strength to go with this madman on his quest, but he would do it. He had to.

--

Having had a few minutes to gather his things, Draco had rushed into Snape's room and found healing salve, at least enough to help him walk, but his muscles still burned from the odd positions he'd been put in. He took it with him, then dashed to the kitchen to find a saucer of comparable size and charmed it silver.

--

Dolohov set Draco up under some trees, telling him to rest and that he'd be right back. He headed to a set of hills memorable or mentionable for... some reason. With a flick of his wand, the hill opened, revealing strata and cake-like dirt crumbling. Dolohov entered and the hill encased him. Draco had no idea how long he had, so he stood immediately and cast the spell.

There was an explosion of light in the sky, like a thousand phoenixes had borne into the air and ignited. "Well, he said it would bring them."

What he didn't expect was to see Harry Potter himself, and alone. "Draco?"

An immature instinct to cast a hex came and went as he caught the careworn and hardened look of his face, even if his eyes were soft and wide with wonder. "Snape's dead, they found him out." He grabbed the saucer from his knapsack. "Voldemort's making new Horcruxes, this one was... from... Snape."

Potter looked at the saucer and frowned that it bore his name. But his gaze was back on Draco. "Are you all right?"

"No." The word escaped before he had a chance to edit his response. He shook his head. "I need a way to contact you."

"You should come with me now. I don't think you should be doing this." Potter grabbed Draco's hand to pull him in for a side-along.

What he got instead surprised both of them. Draco's second kiss-- it's a wonder it wasn't more awkward than it was. His lips parted and his tongue delicately slipped over Harry's before he pulled back. "There's no one else."

Other members of the Order started to arrive and Draco started to panic. He had no idea when Dolohov would return.

"Go, I have this," Potter barked to his cronies, and they Disapparated.

Draco was impressed that Potter had that kind of control of the Order members.

"Wait one second," said Potter. He Disapparated and Draco stood there bewildered. He kept his eyes trained on the hill and jumped when Potter returned with a quill and a pad. "I have a matched set back at the... where I am. What you write on there, I'll see and I can write back to check up on you. The words won't show up unless you know the password, so should someone else use the pad I won't get the message and they won't see what I said."

Draco took them and clutched the pad and quill to his chest. "What's the password?"

Potter answered, "Scarhead." With a pop, he vanished.

--

Why Scarhead? Draco wrote, the first moment he could get alone with the journal.

Are you all right?

No, I'm being tortured to death. I often start idle chitchat whilst in the throes of Crucio.

Are you sure it's safe?

I'm on guard duty with no one to guard. The question vexes me. Why Scarhead?

It's just the first thing that came to mind. I guess I thought you'd find it funny.

Draco stared at the pad and frowned. Somehow he'd thought there would be a deeper significance. As if Harry could see he was marked too now. Gryffindors weren't that deep.

Are you still there?

No, Draco scribbled.

Are you really marked?

Yes.

Did you have a choice?

Not really, but I would've taken it anyway.

Why?

I hated you.

There was a long break and Draco thought the conversation was over, but then new words appeared on the page. Do you still?

He looked up and around the empty classroom, eyes resting on the stupid cage. In a few hours he'd have to go back to Dolohov's room. He hated Dolohov. He hated Voldemort. Did he hate Potter anymore?

I don't know.

Why are you helping?

I hate people here more than you.

What happened to you? You looked horrible.

You looked like shit, too. You'd think there was a war on.

Point. I'm just worried. You should come out of there. We can figure things out on our own. It will get done.

Ginny's here.

"Scarhead." Draco pushed the pad and quill into his bag along with the warestones that gave him an alert and quick view of who was coming down the hall. Speaking of looking horrible, Ginny appeared wild, her red hair tangled and full of leaves, her face streaked in tears and caked with dirt. Draco recognised the look on her face and then met Dolohov's eyes. He pulled open the door of the cage. His first prisoner of war.

--

"Why didn't they just kill me?" asked Ginny.

She sat in the corner of the cell closest to where Draco was. He'd passed her the healing salve for reasons that he couldn't quite fathom in any sense beyond... he knew that pain. He'd given her privacy as she used it and then took it back again.

"I expect they will," drawled Draco.

Snape was right, having a prisoner was worse. He'd never cared much for Ginny, but he'd never really wished her dead. Sure, he had his childish fantasies about it, but now that he knew what it was like to watch someone die, what life and death meant and what it felt like to really want to take that from them... he didn't want Ginny dead.

She cried and he floated a handkerchief to her.

--

He was a good guy now, and as a good guy, he had to pay more attention at dinners, to watch who Voldemort favoured and whom he didn't want anyone to know he favoured. Carrows appeared to be the new golden boy, but it was too obvious. Carrows, like his father, hadn't served time in Azkaban. He was being groomed for taking the fall. Not that Carrows was aware of this, but Draco was fast becoming shrewd in Death Eater politics.

Carrows wanted to fuck him-- that much was obvious. In the Death Eaters, everyone wanted to be a top, everyone was too afraid to show weakness to bottom because once you'd bottomed, working your way to the top was nearly impossible. The only reason he wasn't spending all of his free time on his back was that most everyone was too afraid of Dolohov to take his toy away. Top of the list of 'fraidy cats was Carrows.

Dolohov was useful in his own way, but was obviously not trusted with everything. Draco knew from Dolohov that Ginny was to become part of the next Horcrux, as soon as Voldemort got a hold of the next object he wished to hold part of his soul in. As a newly christened good guy, he knew he needed to get Ginny out of there, but escorting her out would blow his cover and it would all be for nothing. The war could go on forever. He simply had to work faster to find the location of the final Horcrux.

His eyes rested on his aunt. She was watching him carefully and he stared back. He felt the press of Bellatrix trying to read him and he smirked. She taught him Occlumency, she should know better than that. Up until now, she'd offered him little other than condolences on his situation. She'd ask if he needed help, but before he answered she'd go into a diatribe about how Dolohov seems better balanced now than he has in years and that "the Dark Lord sees what Draco was doing as a great service." Taking one for the team, quite literally.

She was far too crazy to be confided in, as was Greyback. He was just turning his attention back to dinner when he felt a hard squeeze on his prick that made him cry out.

"It doesn't speak well of me that you're eyeballing everyone else at dinner," Dolohov hissed.

--

His wrists were chafing at the black leather restraints that held him to the bed. The cockring was a fresh addition to this equation, but Draco was pretty sure it meant something he wasn't going to like. He was caught looking, and looking was bad in Dolohov's world. "No, it's you I want, I'm yours," Draco gasped, trying to catch a breath between the flail that cut strips of sharp pain into his back and the fake cock he was being made to suck.

No longer did Dolohov trust enough to share him with the others. His obsession was getting darker and heavier-handed. The previous night he'd held his arm around Draco's windpipe till he blacked out, then sobbed at the threat of losing his toy. Each mistreatment drove Dolohov to greater heights of paranoia, which led to more mistreatment. If Ginny didn't die first, Draco was going to.

Draco gagged on the large dildo being shoved into his mouth by Dolohov. For now the flail was down, but he was pounding hard into him and while Draco was getting used to being stretched like this, the force of the fuck was making him hurt. He could do little other than sob, biting down on the rubberized prick, trying to keep it from choking him until Dolohov finally came and in afterglow reticence, rolled him over so that his arms crossed and toyed with his ringed cock.

He whimpered and begged to come as Dolohov stroked him and kissed his chest, swearing that one day he'd brand him. Dolohov leaned over and mouthed his prick, devouring it deeply into his mouth. Draco closed his eyes, trying to pretend it was someone else, anyone else. Snape... Potter. His eyelids fluttered as Dolohov broke the hold of the ring. Grabbing Draco by the hair, he slammed his head into the headboard and forced his strict attention on what he was doing until Draco came in his mouth. "See what I do? See what I do for you? I love you," he whispered, releasing one of Draco's arms from the bed.

Dolohov wrapped his arms tightly around Draco and nuzzled him as he stroked his belly as if they were lovers. "I love you," Dolohov whispered again.

Draco stomach lurched with dizzying nausea.

--

It was nice having someone to talk to, even if she had no idea why he was being nice to her. Sometimes Draco longed to tell her that it would be all right; that he was watching out for her, but it was too dangerous. If she knew and someone read her... he had no idea what her defenses were. Some nights they didn't talk at all-- she would just cry and he would pretend to read.

"Am I here because they think I'm still with Harry? I'm not. We broke up at Dumbledore's funeral." Ginny had brushed her hair and it gleamed even under the piss-poor school lighting. Draco longed to knock the lights out and replace them all with candles, but he knew that wouldn't have gone over well.

"I didn't know you broke up. I suppose no one here does. Why did it end?" Draco looked at his bag almost longingly. He'd have liked to talk to Potter more, if only because that was someone he didn't need to lie to right now. Honest conversations were rare.

"He was worried about something like this happening." She laughed, but there was no humour in it. "Dating him wasn't worth all of this. I thought we... were meant for each other. I thought he was so brave and noble, but he... ended it with me after... a few weeks of holding hands and kissing. It was cowardly. D'ya think if I told them that, they'd let me go?"

Draco smoothed his hair down and shook his head. "No. Would you tell them that because that was how you felt or because you thought they'd let you out if you said it?"

Ginny pounded the back of her head against the bars. "I don't know. Now I just don't know. I guess at the time I thought I'd do the noble thing and step aside. All that nobility seems pretty silly now."

"If he did it to protect you, then wouldn't that mean he loves you? And if he loves you... you can't discount that no matter how grim things look." Draco felt stupid. What did he know about love other than his childish feelings for Snape and what some psychopath told him?

"I don't think he loved me. Not any more than he loves everyone in this general sense of wanting to save them. I think he wanted me. We didn't have time for falling in love. Or maybe that's just my excuse for why-- after all that time pining for him-- I didn't." She rubbed her eyes like she was going to cry again, but she pulled it together.

"How do you know you're not in love?" Draco sat on the edge of his seat. He had so many questions about love, he wasn't sure if he'd experienced anything more than an infatuation. Ginny appeared to have experienced an infatuation, but how she knew it was different, he didn't know.

She stared into his eyes and smiled softly. "Because."

--

Carrows was mostly useless, but as it turned out, he was a good fuck. He didn't like seeing the marks that Dolohov left, so he'd run to an apothecary to get potions and lotions to heal him. He gazed at Draco, and when he slid into him, did it so gently that Draco actually moaned. He was grabby, but when he shifted Draco's hips just so, there was a spot that put pressure on him to come. So much so that Draco actually bothered wanking while he fucked him.

He spoiled him with presents of candy, things that he could hide easily. Carrows bragged that he would find a way to get rid of Dolohov, but Draco wasn't going to hold his breath. Carrows was married, and had too much to lose to take Dolohov on. Maybe he was sincere and just grossly overestimating his worth to Voldemort, it didn't matter. The best gift Carrows gave to Draco, aside from sex that he could actually enjoy at least somewhat, was his gossipy mouth.

"Flint's moving something important. They've been in meetings all day long. Apparently the Order's found out about some treasure that the Dark Lord has and so things have to be moved."

Draco feigned boredom and rolled onto his side to pick up another bonbon. "Treasure, hm? Maybe it's a weapon?"

"Could be. Dolohov was furious that it was being entrusted to this kid, I'm afraid you're going to have a hard night, love." Carrows turned onto his side to spoon Draco and caressed his chest.

"Every night is a hard night with him."

"I know. I wish I could do something now, it's just too soon." Carrows babbled on about what he thought was important political information. Draco didn't care about Carrows or his promises. They were moving the Horcrux. Someone knew where it was.

--

What do you mean that Ginny is there? Draco? Oh God, is she all right? Where are you?

Potter, sorry. I haven't had time. She's here still.

Is she all right?

She's alive.

You need to get out of there.

Soon.

What does that mean?

It means when I get the information you need, we'll be on your doorstep.

You're taking too many risks. This isn't just you anymore.

I was expendable?

That's not what I meant and you know it.

Expect us soon.

Draco?

"What are you doing?" Draco stood as Flint entered the room and began disrobing. Ginny skittered to the other side of the cell.

"Gonna relieve some tension 'fore I head out." Flint waggled his brows at Draco and pulled his robe off.

"Not on my watch." Draco narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "I'm supposed to watch over her."

"So's she don't leave, Malfoy, no one cares if she gets it in her. What, offended I'm the only one not after you?" Flint snorted, Draco rolled his eyes. You wish.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught a flash; his warestone had lit up. "I'm going to join you, then."

"Nooo..." Ginny wailed. "Why?"

She stared at Draco like a traitor. He supposed that was fair. He would probably think the same thing in her position right now.

"All right, Malfoy. Maybe for once you can be on top." Flint slapped Draco's back and Draco pulled his robes off and slipped against Flint.

"You can do her when I'm done," Flint grunted as he put his meaty hands on Draco's shoulder to push him aside.

"Mine!" Dolohov was crazed. He tore into the room and threw Flint across the room. There was a sick, hollow thud and Draco watched Flint melt to the floor, trailing blood that glistened crimson against the chalkboard.

Dolohov was dressing Draco between bouts of obsessive blather. Draco whispered, "I didn't want to, he said that you were going to let him because he had a mission. I thought..."

"The mission! Oh God. I have to go without him, then. We'll have to... you'll come with me, won't you? Help me sort it out. We have to move it. It's small, it's not hard to move; it's just that it's hard to get to, in the train station and all. And getting the portal to 9 3/4 opened by the Ministry when it's not for Hogwarts, but they've been paid to... you must come with me. You will come with me."

Draco nodded to him. "What time?"

"Half three."

"What is it?"

"Ravenclaw's wand. It's hard to get at because it's tucked in the tracks, but it's precisely where the right wheel of the Hogwarts Express sits every year. Right is right." Dolohov seemed excessively proud of himself. It would've been endearing if he weren't such a psychopath. "We'll go together, right? He's going to be so angry that I... is he dead?"

Draco eyed Flint. He had no idea if he was dead yet or not. If not, he would be soon. He needed to get Dolohov out of here to do it. "Yes, he's dead. I'll take care of it. Just go to the room. Calm down. Smoke a little, all right? I'll be in at the end of my shift. It's all right, Antonin. I love you."

It was the first time he'd said it, and it would be the last. Draco waited until Dolohov was out the door and clear of the corridor. He stepped over Flint and, pressing his wand tip to his chest, whispered, "Avada Kedavra."

It wasn't as satisfying as killing someone who had wronged him personally, but he felt some justice that he did deserve it. He nicked Flint's wand and let Ginny out, pressing the wand into her hand.

She stared at him in confusion and then grabbed him to brush their lips together. While he was curious what that was about, he didn't have time to question it now. He grabbed his bag and hoisted it over his shoulder and set them out down the hall.

The school had many exits, some more useable than others. Carrows had thoughtlessly explained how he'd gotten out through the side door when he'd gone to the apothecary. He didn't think of Draco as a prisoner, none of them did. Draco whispered the password to let up the wards and pushed through. Once outside of the wards, he Apparated them outside of Hogwarts and then looked down at Ginny. "Take us to the Hovel--er." They had a name for that place, didn't they? Draco couldn't think of it if he'd ever known it. "Your home. I think... that's where they are."

In a blink she'd grabbed him and they were in front of the rather distasteful sight of a house with too many add-ons. For once, Draco wasn't horrified by squalor; he was just relieved to possibly be somewhere safe.

Ginny ran to the door and sobbed when it didn't open, obviously sealed shut in case of attack. It didn't take long for lights to turn on and the Weasleys to grab Ginny into the house.

Draco hung back, approaching the house warily, not at all sure how his presence would be received. Potter stood in shadow, outlined from the door, but the glint of his glasses gave away his identity. It didn't take long for him to cross the distance between them, his eyes scanning Draco critically, resting at the bruising around his neck.

"You really did mean soon," said Potter.

"A little sooner than I thought," Draco responded, bringing his hand to his throat as if he could hide what Potter had already seen.

He told Potter where the final Horcrux was and the time he could get it. He was about to say something else, but found himself very close to Potter, and then he found himself not caring as the world grew suddenly very dim.