He was running, running so fast he could hardly breathe, while steel grey rain pelted out of the sky. The ground beneath his feet was slimy with mud, the hem of his robes sopping, dragging him down. He slipped. Black fluid splattered over his pale face, silvery eyes almost translucent with fear.

What have I done? What didn’t I do?

A bony, white hand gripped his wrist, skeletal, spider-like fingers digging into the boy’s icy cold skin. Eyes like coal-pits bored down a cruel nose and a voice, barely audible in the howling storm, hissed “Get up�.

Barely having time to draw another breath, Draco suddenly found himself on his feet again. He blinked icy droplets of water from his eyes, white-blonde hair dark with rain and plastered to his forehead in sharp streaks. He stared ahead, trying to make out the figures in front of them through the haze of fog, but he could scarcely see the dark figure to his right, the one hauling him along by his wrist. The ground seemed to swallow him and he slipped again. A wizened, pleading face flashed before his eyes.

He jerked sideways, his limbs twisting and twitching as a sudden, intense pain seared through him. He heard a muffled voice shouting something ahead, then the icy tones of the figure directing a wand at Draco’s writhing feet. “Get up, or I’ll leave you here, you miserable little…�

He couldn’t hear any more; with his ears so close to the ground the splash of the rain drowned out the rest of the professor’s words. He wrenched at his nerves, not daring to close his eyes in case that frail face stared into them again. It didn’t matter what happened now, whether he was left here or not. He would gladly rot for eternity in this god-forsaken swamp rather than face what was waiting for him when they finally returned.

He had failed, Now there would be Hell to pay.


There was a shout behind them, and the dreadful curse that swarmed over him was dropped in an instant. Draco struggled to his feet and glanced back. A lone, small figure was toiling his way along the path to the gates, aiming curses at the escaping Death Eaters. Snape let go of the boy’s wrist, urged him on with another muttered threat, then shot a hex behind him and ran.

But he had missed, and their pursuer was gaining on them, shooting streams of light that used every last bit of energy he had. Harry would not let them escape - he couldn’t. Not after what they had done. If he could just delay Snape; the others would reach the gates in a matter of seconds, he knew that, but without Snape, Malfoy couldn’t leave. Stop Snape, and he would stop them both.

All but two of the Death Eaters had surpassed the entrance to Hogwarts and disapparated, the remaining pair were still fighting off Harry’s vengeful pursuit. He shot a half curse, then another - each time they were blocked by Snape. The professor’s white face furious, he spun round to confront the boy head on, shouting to Draco to keep running.

“How dare you…� Draco heard Snape cry, the vehemence in his voice frightening. Nothing, he thought, compared to what was waiting for him.

I don’t… I can’t… Not anymore…

Dumbledore’s words echoed in his mind; an offer of escape, protection. He had worked so hard for this goal, for the glory of serving the one that everyone feared. So many hours of strife and planning only to realise what he had done wrong.

And shouldn’t He have been grateful?! Every moment of my life for the past year devoted to His service, getting closer and closer to succeeding and yet every time punished for failure! I scraped and scrounged for Him - I risked my life… only to lose it at His hands.

What he wouldn’t give for an escape. Some way out, some way just to delay His anger, to find a way of redeeming himself - or ridding himself of the Dark Lord’s shadow once and for all.

He shook his head, his pale skin gleaming against the sullen sky. A few more steps and he was at the gates. He looked back. Snape was still duelling with Potter, while a faint orange glow was emanating from somewhere in the grounds, though the smoke of the fire could not reach him through the hammering rain. The other Death Eaters were gone - had by now reached their destination, preparing to report to the Dark Lord. He already knew what they would say.

The small figure of Potter had finally fallen to the ground, and Snape came tearing towards the gates. Draco was shaking with anxiety, his feet firmly planted in the sodden earth as the hazy silhouette grew nearer and nearer. Snape took hold of his right shoulder in a clamping grip, “Let’s leave before you cause any more trouble,� he whispered.

Dumbledore’s words swam once more through his memory.

This was it - they would disapparate and then join the other Death Eaters, to be mocked and jeered and finally punished. Not Snape, no, Snape would get all the glory, all the reward for my hard work! It isn’t right! It isn’t fair! He didn’t even believe I was good enough to apparate, that I needed a chaperone - He couldn’t give me the location in case I broke under torture. How dare He! I don’t deserve to suffer His punishment... I will be ridiculed by no-one.

In the split second before Snape lifted one foot off the ground, ready to disapparate, Draco dodged to the left.

Snape was gone in an instant, and the pale, shivering boy was left standing alone between the gateposts.

He had to move quickly; any second the Death Eaters would realise that he was missing and would return to collect him. He couldn’t risk staying still for another moment, he had to leave now before he had any second thoughts about turning his back.

But what would they think? That he had just got lost? No, He was never that stupid. Ignorant, arrogant…but never stupid.

He heard a voice behind him. There were figures running towards the gates, blurry through the rain. As they drew nearer, Draco could make out the scarred and pitted face of Alastor Moody, limping crookedly, one eye spinning. He was holding a wand out in front of him.

"Bloody fog…who’s that..?" Moody’s metal leg splashed into a pool of filthy rain water, he skidded slightly, and dug his other foot deeper into the mud to steady himself.

Draco shivered. Whatever happens…even if I stay, he’d never believe me. I’ve got no choice. He shifted his weight onto his left foot.

“You, boy!� came the roar of Moody’s voice. “Stay where you are! I mean it!�

Something red shot over Draco’s shoulder and he rolled to the ground. I need a distraction! he thought desperately. He’s got his eye on me, but, if I could just… Fumbling in the pocket of his robes, he pulled out his wand and shifted his hand so that the stick of wood pointed at his pursuer, but remained close enough to the ground to be concealed.

“Don’t you dare!�

Too late. He fired a spell behind the clanking figure, one that barely had any light to it at all, and muttered “recito* Moody�. It hit the blurry outline of a tall tree, where it vanished into the bark.

Seconds later, a gruff voice sounded directly behind the tree - “Moody?�.

The Auror’s round, blue eye swivelled to glare behind him. “Who’s there?!�

No answer.

“Show yourself!� the old man demanded.

Draco shifted slightly, the ex-Auror’s concentration seemed to be half focused on Malfoy, half on the voice that had emanated from behind the tree. He just needed another something to distract…

“Clever trick, sonny.� Moody grumbled, and heaved his metal leg forward, advancing further up the path. “But not clever enough -�

A slice of ice white lightening shot through the drizzling sky, blinding everyone on the Hogwarts grounds. For a few seconds the boy by the gates and the one clunking ever closer were thrown into a frustrating sightlessness.

The light disappeared and the sky seemed even darker now. The rain continued to smudge the outlines of every piece of dark foliage surrounding the creaking gates. Alastor Moody shook droplets of water from his grizzled hair, blinking his tiny black eye, while the other rolled round in exasperation.

The boy had vanished.

~ * * * ~

A sullen street lamp flickered overhead in the back-alley behind a closed junk shop. Rain pelted out of the chalk-board blackness of the sky, littering the street with pools of liquid, reflecting the backdrop of urban decay. A rusty car with a broken tail pipe rattled past the shaking figure crouching in the doorway of the shop, the windows behind him papered with fading posters, the stone steps barely visible under a decade’s worth of chewing gum wads and the walls coated with graffiti.

Draco pushed his fingers through his hair, as though clawing at his own brain for an idea. He didn’t have a clue where he was - it was certainly nowhere inhabited by wizards. He looked down at his soaking wet robes, clinging uncomfortably to his skin, the air freezing. Examining the bearded man hunched on the opposite street corner, three mangy scarves wrapped round his neck, Draco was almost certain that no other muggle wandering these grimy pavements would be wearing anything as smart and shining as what was draped around his trembling shoulders.

Without warning, his mind shot back to the events that had surpassed less than an hour ago. He screwed up his eyes, concentrating on the splashes of the cars rumbling by, the drip of rain from the shop roof to his feet.

It wasn’t me…I didn’t do it. I could have saved him, saved myself…

They’d be looking for him, now, he knew it. He had to hide - somewhere they wouldn’t even think to look, let alone find him.

“Oi!�

The crude awakening came from a nearby car; Draco lifted his head to see three silhouettes visible through the steamy glass, one was leaning out of the window, gesticulating towards him.

“Oi, blondie!� he called again, a rough cockney jeer. “Yeah, you.�

In spite of his anxiety, Draco’s eyes narrowed. How dare he…

“You need a lift somewhere?� Came the voice in a mock-helpful tone. “’Cause, er… I’m sure we can make some room.�

There was a smattering of laughter from the other occupants of the car. The frown on Draco’s forehead deepened, his eyes cold. Then a sudden recklessness gripped him - he didn’t care anymore, didn’t care who these people were or where they would take him. Anywhere would be better than sitting around waiting to be found.

He pushed himself up from the step outside the shop, feeling his legs shaking from the immensity of his emotional weight. Despite the heat of anxiety bubbling within him, his skin felt icy from the rain, and the steely grey of his eyes was growing paler. He shifted numb fingers casually to his pocket, the tension in his chest relaxing only slightly at the knowledge that his wand was still there.

Draco stopped at the car door, suddenly feeling so out of place it almost embarrassed him. He looked down at his wizard’s robes, at his black, patent leather shoes. The unshaven, square-jawed face leaning out of the car had noticed them too.

“Going to a ball, princess?� He sniggered, and clicked the rusty door of the car half open. “Get in.�



*Recito comes from the Latin “to recite/read aloud� - meaning that the spell is designed to give inanimate objects a voice speaking whatever one says after the initial order.

The idea for this chapter title came from the Charles Dickens novel, Bleak House, where one of the characters calls himself Nemo, the Latin for “no-one�.

A thumping buzz was emanating from somewhere near the driver’s seat of the car, as the vehicle churned its way through the rain-washed grime of East London. Draco hung his head and stared at his fidgeting fingers, raucous voices laughing and cursing around him while his mind raced miles away. He was totally alone now - no money, no home, no friends, no family… A strong stench of alcohol had seeded itself amongst the thickness of the air above him. He sniffed.

“Where’re you headed, anyway?� barked the square-jawed man seated on Draco’s right, his dark eyes glittering through the cloud of smoke surging round his head. He flicked his stubby fingers; ash sprinkled over the torn leather of the car seat.

Draco gritted his teeth. “Nowhere,� he muttered.

To the boy’s surprise, his new companion let out a harsh, inebriated laugh. “Oi, Frank!� he shouted to the black-haired man in front of him. “He’s going nowhere - d’you know the way?�

The man called Frank began banging a rhythm out on the steering wheel, out of time with the music blasting from the car radio. He threw his head back and started singing in a loud, boisterous voice:

“We’re on a road to nowhere…!� *

The square-jawed man joined in, the vile smell of booze blasting from his open mouth. The car swerved to the right and a screeching sound was heard from somewhere on the other side of the road. Neither of the singers seemed to have noticed. He had put up with Crabbe and Goyle for six years - surely he could manage two more idiots? Draco closed his eyes.

“Oh, shut up, the pair of you!�

It was a woman’s voice. Until now, Draco had not noticed the fourth person in the car, the dark-haired female in the passenger seat in front of him. Now she turned round to face him, a dismissive yet apologetic expression on her pale face, cold blue eyes flicking from Draco to the man laughing beside him.

“Frank! Craig! Shut it!� She fixed a frown on the boy who now looked almost frightened by her. “What’s your name?� she asked, and Draco noticed she had a tarnished silver ring through one side of her lower lip.

He hesitated. Name - he hadn’t even thought about… if he wanted to disappear completely, to go into hiding… ‘If I don’t want them to find Draco Malfoy, I’ll have to stop being Draco Malfoy. I’ll have to be…’

“What’s the matter with you?� the girl asked. “Ain’t you got a name?�

“Dra - er - Drake -� it was out before he could stop himself.

She smirked. “Drake? Very nice.�

The car jerked to the right again and she spun back round in her seat and slapped Frank across his stubble-strewn face. “Watch the road, you drunken nonce! There’s a bloody copper over there! You want to get us pulled over?�

Frank let out a howl of laughter and struck the middle of the steering wheel. A loud beeping sounded from the outside of the car.

Draco jumped at the noise, and the girl turned round again to stare at him with an even deeper frown. “Drake what?� she demanded.

“Um…� A last name - any last name… The girl’s eyes were boring into his, not a hint of the intoxicated blur worn by the two men. He shifted his own gaze to stare out of the hazy window for inspiration. They were rumbling past a line of tacky take-away shops, the neon signs glowing pink and green and with the occasional letter missing. One big blue word caught his eye, a giant cartoon of a yellow fish curling round the end letter.

Draco snapped his eyes back to hers. “Y-Young,� he stammered. “Drake…Young.�

He gulped. His brand new identity.

“Well, Young Drake Young,� the girl grinned, revealing yellowed teeth, “I’m Alice. This is Frank fat-head and Craig -�

“Oi!� the man beside Draco leant forward and attempted some sort of feeble slap on the girl’s arm. Alice shook her head, shoved him backwards and Craig slumped into his seat, the worn leather squeaking. To his uncomfortable surprise, Draco found a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Alice giggled. “God,� she said, “five minutes ago you looked like death himself and now you’re smiling. See, Craig, you ain’t that good for nothing…�

She continued to laugh, while the two men began singing again. Draco turned his head slowly to the left and stared out of the window, silver-white hair hanging down over his forehead to hide his latest frown. What would his father say if he could see him now? His stomach contracted at the thought - sitting in a muggle car, surrounded by the lowest of the low, no money, no home…

A familiar face swam before his weary eyes. Wizened, pleading.

“What you doing here anyway?� It was Alice talking to him again. He blinked himself out of his thoughts.

“Um… I don’t know…�

Alice gripped the back of her chair with long, violet fingernails, her brows knitted together in mock concern. She nodded. “Think you were right, Craig - he is a crack-head.�

The boy had no idea what she meant by this, but as the other two let out coarse bellows of laughter, he reasoned that it couldn’t be anything good.

“No,� he said defiantly. “No, I am not -�

“Alright, alright - I was only joking,� the girl said. She studied him for a moment. “Runaway?�

Draco looked down at his feet, the patent leather of his shoes splattered with mud yet still shining. He nodded.

“Don’t blame you,� Alice muttered. “If my parents made me dress like that -�

Snapping shut his eyes, Draco clenched his teeth and suddenly found himself consumed by a familiar, yet now unwanted, pride. How dare she talk about my parents! What does she know, the filthy little -

But her voice interrupted his thoughts once again. “Alright, alright! I won’t talk about it…� She had shifted in her seat to face through the grey windscreen again. She reached out a skinny white arm and thumped the driver on his burly shoulder. “Frank, you idiot, you’ve gone too far! Keep your eyes on the bloody road!�

Again, despite his sudden flare of anger, Draco found himself smiling. He’d ended up with the most useless people he had ever met, and yet… he had done it. Escaped. How long had he been in this car? Twenty minutes, maybe, half an hour? And not one sign of anything magical. The street outside his window was dark and streaked with rain, totally devoid of any sparks of wand light, or robed figures; there weren’t even any alley cats that his fevered mind could have reasoned to be animagi. He was on the run - yes - but in a totally different world. Hopefully one where not even the Dark Lord would be able to find him.

The car rounded a corner where the wall was broken up by large, square windows. A sign above the shabby brown door indicated that the place was some sort of café, while a small piece of white card pinned to the inside of the glass read: Help Wanted

No money, no home, no family, no power, no status.

He had nothing anymore… did that mean he had nothing to lose?


*From the song of the same title by Talking Heads.

He held his wand out before him, his white hand shaking as he stared at the thin piece of wood. He had never thought of it as a weapon in this way before.

He had to do it. Now. He had to prove himself…

His eyes widened; it was taking every effort to wrench them away from the figure facing him. The old man was saying something, but his ears were filled only with the rushing, pounding noise of his own pulse.

“Come over to the right side, Draco… you are not a killer…�*

I have to. Now. Now!

He sat bolt upright, icy droplets of sweat sliding from his skin. He was shaking so violently that he could barely breathe. His hands ran through his sodden hair, clawing at his skull, as he forced open bloodshot eyes.

The couple upstairs were arguing again, their voices raging and screaming in a strangely muffled way through the low, cracked ceiling. The sound of several heavy vehicles slowly creaking into life interrupted the argument, along with the clang of something metal from the tiny kitchen next door to Draco’s room.

He scratched at the back of his neck, his breathing finally slowing down. He’d left the light on while he was asleep, the movement from the flat above theirs was causing the single, dingy bulb to swing slightly. The boy placed a shaky foot onto worn brown carpet, the old springs of his bed creaking as he shifted his weight to stand up. The door was only a few feet from where his bed was positioned against the white-washed wall, and next to the chipped paint of the threshold was the light switch.

Draco clicked the switch downwards, closed his eyes for a moment, then leant against the wall.

The shadows of the box room lengthened only a little, the bulb barely having supplied more light than the tiny window. In one corner was heaped an assortment of second-hand clothes: t-shirts and jeans too big for him, a dusty black jacket and various pairs of darned socks. He scratched at his neck again, feeling a tiny lump on his skin which had not been there the night before, and which stung whenever he touched it.

Draco… you are not a killer…

The metal noise rang out from the kitchen again, then a bang at the door.

Draco pulled on several items of clothing, hardly noticing what he was picking up. He fancied he could hear the inebriated snoring of Craig, the door to the drunkard’s room padlocked shut as the handle had long been broken. Draco padded along the darkness of the hallway, the stains on the carpet barely noticeable to him now, as were the scrawls on the walls left by the last people who stayed here. Neither of his three new companions had bothered to cover them up when they moved in.

He shivered, and scratched again at the lump on the back of his neck. He was now sure it was a bite.

Half of the kitchen door was obscured by a faded poster depicting a broad-shouldered man in a black leather coat. Something shining and silver was held in his outstretched hand, a blurry, rain-streaked background barely visible now, as was the bold lettering at the base of the picture. Over the years the beady black of the man’s eyes had blanched to a coffee-stain brown, and now was a violent red.

Draco turned his gaze from the man’s face, the eyes all too familiar. He pushed open the door and saw the watery blue of the Tuesday morning.

Draco… you are not a killer…

He let out a groan of distress and clamped his pale hands over his eyes.

“Stop! Stop! Stop! Leave me alone!�

There was a loud grunting sound from Craig’s room, then the sound of a sharp intake of breath from the boy standing in the cramped, dark kitchen. Then silence.

He didn’t care about his flatmates, he hardly ever saw them. Craig was likely to be out cold all day, while Alice had a job in a paper shop Tuesdays and Thursdays. Frank was God-knows-where selling God-knows-what. They never bothered him, left him to sit in his room and stare at his shabby hide-away.

He stared down at the scuffed blue linoleum of the floor, smudged with dirt, it looked like it hadn’t been cleaned for years. Various dishes and cracked mugs were piled unceremoniously into the filthy sink, the tap still dripping. A part of him wanted to run, screaming. All this disgust, this squalor. He was a Malfoy! He didn’t deserve this…

Something brushed against the window and he almost leapt out of his skin. A large black crow, dusty with the city air, squawked twice, snapped his beak at a passing pigeon, then flew off. He breathed out slowly - no owls here.

“…this Tuesday morning we’ve got some classic golden oldies for you…�

The radio was on, quietly fizzling out the last of its battery power on a rickety shelf too high up for him to reach. He sniffed, scratched at his neck for a third time.

“And it’s thanks to Clifford from Manchester…� the old man’s voice grumbled on. Draco shuddered for no apparent reason and sat down on a gimcrack wooden chair. “…you’ve chosen The Great Escape by Marillion; well, that’s one we haven’t heard for a while, Cliff…� The boy drummed his fingers on the plastic tabletop.

He was safe, at least - wasn’t he? Muggles couldn’t have known what had happened, no-one in this world knew. Certainly not the half-wits he was sharing a ‘house’ with. He’d braved one visit to a shop down the street, keeping his hair covered with a baseball cap, just to buy some clothes. The young woman serving him had suppressed a laugh at his wizard’s robes, his leather shoes. He hadn’t cared.

The kitchen table was littered with left-over newspapers, the ones that Alice would bring home at the end of a day’s work in the shop. Most of them were trashy nonsense, but Draco had taken to reading the more serious articles just to make sure their hadn’t been any sightings of anything magical near where he was. He had told himself that the moment anything at all suspicious occurred, he would leave.

The radio buzzed in on his thoughts, a drawling voice singing over steadily crashing cymbals: "Standing in the open road… waiting to be recognised…"**

He shifted a few leaves aside and found the smudged front page of The Times, the curling insignia totally unrecognisable under layers of coffee stains. Something that looked like half a piece of very badly burnt toast was lying over the centre picture.

He lifted the sheet out of the pile so that the toast fell off, revealing a square, black and white image of a boy.

A boy with very pale skin, a pointed face and hair that looked white due to the poor contrast of the picture.

A boy wearing long black robes, with a gloved hand gripping his narrow shoulder.

A boy that was smirking.

"Just when I thought I’d seen the last of you!… You come here, scratching at my door…"

Instantly he dropped the sheet to the table and stood up. The chair toppled over behind him and he nearly fell over it in his haste to get as far from the picture as possible. Yet he never dared take his eyes from the narrow silver ones staring up at him.

His breath was coming in short, violent gasps. What the hell was he doing on the front of a Muggle paper?!

He scanned the whole page, his eyes blurring the column in their hurry to read:

Boy Suspect Missing from Murder Case.
A sixteen-year-old boy is wanted in connection with the murder of a prestigious member of the community who was found murdered last week at his home in West Scotland. The boy in question (pictured above) is of average height, slim, with pale skin, grey eyes and distinctive white-blonde hair. His name is Draco Malfoy, but there is the possibility that he may be using an alias to avoid detection -
They know. They must know!

…members of the public are reminded that this boy is potentially dangerous and should be approached with caution. Distressed family and friends of the victim are offering a substantial reward for the discovery of Draco Malfoy as he may be able to offer information crucial to the solving of this terrible crime…
Draco leant back against the wall, glassy beads of sweat slipping over his forehead, his eyes stony cold and wide open. They were looking for him. All over the country there were people looking for him. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t part of the wizarding world anymore, didn’t matter that he was hundreds of miles away from Hogwarts.

There was a clunking sound from behind Craig’s door, then another grunt. “What if they’ve already seen this…� he was muttering to himself now, almost hysterical. “A substantial reward - they’re desperate enough… They’re not so stupid as to fail to make the connection… What if they turn me in…?�

The radio burbled a guitar solo, the vocalist screaming over the top to be heard: "So tell me more… about the love that you rejected! Tell me more… about the trust you disrespected..!"

He had no choice. In one movement he tore the front page into tiny shreds, throwing the pieces into the murky dishwater. That wouldn’t be enough - Alice worked in a paper shop, she was bound to have seen this already. He slapped a hand over his mouth, breathing fast.

Stumbling out of the kitchen, he heard another unintelligible sound from Craig’s room. There was a rattling at the lock.

He dived back into his tiny bedroom. “I’ve got to get out of here!�


*dialogue from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J. K. Rowling.
**all lyrics from the song The Great Escape by Marillion. Great track.

Author’s Note: Just a couple of warnings - there is a very mild drug reference in here (not abuse, just a reference), and the description of a certain injury/infection is quite nasty. Enjoy.


He threw open his bedroom door and stared down the corridor. Craig’s padlock was rattling, the links of the chain clanging against the worm-eaten wood of the threshold. He hadn’t seen him yet - there was still time to get out.

A fevered sickness crept over him, his eyes blurry when trying to focus on the front door to the flat. He clutched at his stomach, and, not for the first time since he had escaped from Hogwarts, he reached into his pocket for his wand. Shaking fingers gripped the slim stave as the boy fought back every temptation to scream hexes at Craig’s door, to silence him, then to simply vanish into thin air.

Over the past few days he had been wrestling with the idea of using his magic to disappear, to alter his appearance so that he could not be recognised and then apparate to Canada or Australia, or some remote island far away. But the newspaper proved that the Ministry of Magic was searching for him, or at least, Voldemort was. And what did they say that night… that group that were fighting for - for -

“Oi!� The chain had finally been broken. “What you up to?�

He didn’t stay to give an answer, but dived past the growling man to the end of the corridor, ignoring his shouts and curses, and slammed into the wooden panels with a crack. His head spun violently, and he clutched at his temples before heaving himself to his feet. He glanced behind him, willing his vision to force itself into focus, and saw Craig cock his head to one side, his square chin sagging to the stained material of his shirt. He blinked his beady eyes stupidly, then turned and plodded into the kitchen.

Draco gulped, feeling his clothes sticking to the sheen of cold sweat coating his skin. He was shivering now, his teeth chattering together so loudly he felt he could hear nothing else. The bite on the back of his neck itched again, and he slapped a hand feebly at the tiny lump.

The carpet itched between his toes and he suddenly realised that he was not wearing any shoes. No shoes… how could I have forgotten? No shoes…

Someone was banging on the front door.

“Can you let me in? There’s something wrong with the keys… I can’t shift the door!� It was Alice’s voice, right on the other side of the wooden panels, though Draco heard her as though she was miles away. “Craig! Craig are you in there?!�

No, no I can’t let her in! …The story... the picture… No!

The banging on the door was growing fainter and fainter as Draco continued to stare at his bare feet shuffling awkwardly on the ruined carpet. No shoes… how could I have forgotten..?

Something gave a great shove at the front door, and Draco found himself being heaved forward, toppling onto his side. He blinked upwards, his face contorting in the terrible agony overwhelming him in short, sharp bursts. He saw a mass of dark hair lean over him, Alice’s inimical stare softening as she uttered a stifled gasp. She was shouting something, but the boy could no longer hear her.

Sprawled on the uneven nylon carpet of the flat’s hallway, he closed his eyes.

~ * * * ~

“What the Hell’s going on?! What have you given him?!�

“Nothing…�

“Nothing? Nothing! I’m not stupid, Frank!�

“Could’ve fooled me.�

“Oh very funny! We’ve got a dead boy in our house and he’s making jokes!�

“He’s not dead!�

“Well, he bloody looks like it…�

“What’s wrong with him?�

“That’s what I just asked you! Bleedin’ Christ - what the Hell are we going to do?!�

“Take him to hospital?�

“Oh, yeah, right - and how’re we going to get there? Carry him through the flamin’ streets of London?! Besides… I don’t want anyone else to know about this. They might ask questions…�

“They’re going to ask questions if we just leave him here.�

“Too right.�

“Will you two shut up! I’m trying to think…�

“Here, what’s that?�

“What?�

“That newspaper article… I thought you weren’t s’posed to take ones from your shop.�

“What the bloody Hell has it got to do with you? Anyway, it’s hardly important now, is it?�

“Well, I don’t know - why’re you holding it?�

“Look, Craig, will you just shut up.�

“Sorry…�

“That really isn’t helping… Oh God I think he’s waking up! Drake!�

“His bleedin’ lips are blue…�

“Shut up. Drake! Drake, mate, are you alright?�

There was an unintelligible gurgle from the boy lying on the floor. He had managed to open his eyes but could barely see a thing, a hazy blur hanging across his vision like a net curtain. Every bone in his body was searing with an incomparable pain. He tried to move his mouth to say something, and found his lips felt almost numb.

Alice was shouting, her tone verging on hysterical. “You two - get some water or something!�

“…what?�

“I don’t know - a towel, cloth - water! Get him some bloody water!� She put a hand on Draco’s forehead and flinched backwards almost instantly. “Christ, he’s freezing. How long has he been like this? Drake! Drake wake up!�

The sound of heavy footprints leaving the room sent thudding vibrations along the hall carpet to Draco’s ears. He forced his vision into focus, attempting to move his arms and legs but finding that he could not. “Alice…?�

“Yeah, Drake. What is it? What’s wrong with you?�

Now he noticed the newspaper she was holding in her hand.

“Alice… please, you can’t tell anyone…�

“What?� She looked down to what he was staring at, and unfolded the article to reveal the smirking portrait. “Oh… so it is you?� She seemed to move ever so slightly away from him, as though suddenly frightened of what he might do.

“Alice, you’ve - ah! - you’ve got to believe me -� the back of his neck was aching unbearably, spasms of pain shooting down his spine with every effort to breathe or speak. “- Alice - I didn’t do it! -�

“It’s alright, it’s alright…� On seeing his agony her relapse of fear seemed to fade, and she leaned forward again. “But it is you? So, the police are looking for you?�

“Yes! But -�

“Shh!� she hissed, as Craig rumbled from the kitchen back to his bedroom. “Get me a bloody towel!� she called after him, then dropped her voice to a low, urgent whisper. “Look, Drake, I don’t care what you did - or didn’t - do, but we can’t just leave you here. There’s something seriously wrong with you. Now, you’ve got to tell me, did you find any bags or anything lying around here? Any powder or… anything green?�

Draco gave a loud cough, at which Alice screwed up her nose. “No,� he croaked. “Nothing. I’m fine - look, you’ve got to let me go -�

“Shut up, you’re not going anywhere. You can’t even bloody stand…� she placed her index fingers underneath his jaw and began tilting his head from side to side, examining the skin around his nose and eyes. She took hold of his shoulder and rolled him halfway onto his side, as though to get a better look at his ears, then -

“Jesus! What have you done to your neck?!� She continued to mutter obscenities under her breath, while cautiously prodding at the tangled mess of blue veins and blood that was visible beneath his skin. “Oh, Christ… I don’t know what this means except - I think we can safely take you to a hospital, mate. Sheesh…�

“No!� Draco spluttered, clawing at her arm which was still holding him by the shoulder. “Someone will recognise me… you can’t! The reward!�

“Reward? Oh, yeah… that.� Alice was not really listening to him, still too preoccupied with the infection that had sprawled out from where a tiny bite had been before. Something clear was seeping from a pin-prick pore on his skin, which was purpled like a bruise. “Will you stop worrying about that! I told you, I don’t care, and those two are too bloody thick to notice, so -�

“You can’t take me out there! Someone will recognise me!�

“Alright, alright!� She let go of his shoulder so that he slumped onto his back once more, large yellow circles now winding round eyes that were glaring almost fearlessly into the strip light above them.

He took in a deep breath. “What does it look like?�

“You don’t want to know.�

I am going to die. All alone, in this Muggle house, injured by something I can't even see. With no magic to save me, no parents beside me… Draco turned his head so that one side of his face was resting on the floor. As though lulling himself to sleep, he began examining every tiny nylon thread that was branching out of the intertwining carpet, every speck of dirt that clung steadfastly to the floor as though terrified of being moved elsewhere. Would it be so inconceivable for him to apparate now? To just disappear, return to his mother’s house and be instantly restored to full health? Not to lie here, amidst the filth that he had been brought up to despise, choking and spluttering while poison poured through his veins…

Alice seemed undecided about what to do. She was watching him with a mixture of anxiety and terror, and he could see her eyes constantly flicking to the raised lump on his neck. She began tugging at her hair, long, straggly streaks of black knotting round her pale fingers.

Suddenly she stopped, her eyes fixed on one of the strands held loosely in her right hand. Then her gaze moved to focus on Draco, just above the clammy whiteness of his forehead. “I have an idea,� she said.


Another Note: If this seems in any way unrealistic or ridiculous to you, please let me know.

The woman’s white-blonde hair gleamed in the dim light from the candles, her eyes blazing with a determination so fierce it was almost frightening. She stood up and strode towards him, her robes soaked with rain that dragged them along the floor behind her. Something rattled on one of the many bookshelves lining the walls as she took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Where is my son?�

Snape blinked at her. Her usually pale face had now regressed to being utterly stark with terrible anxiety, as she stared defiantly into the inky blackness of his eyes. He took half a step backwards, not daring to break her gaze.

“I don’t know,� he whispered. “Narcissa, you know as well as I -�

“Don’t give me that!� she cried. “You should have every one of His servants out looking for him!�

At this, the man’s lip curled. “It may alarm you to learn,� he said softly, “that the Dark Lord has more pressing matters to attend to other than the hunt for your recalcitrant child.�

“He did everything that was asked of him!� Narcissa yelled, her eyes blazing. “And more! When I came to you, in confidence, trusting you to help him, you promised me you would!�

“And I did,� he said slowly. The flame of one of the few lamps in the room flickered, momentarily illuminating his face with a cold, sallow light. “I warned him of the consequences of failure; I offered him help, but he was too arrogant to accept it!�

A sharp crack resounded amongst the clutter of the tiny living room as Narcissa let out an angry gasp and struck him clean across the face. “How dare you!� she seethed. “He was just a boy! Surely you and your boss knew that?! He couldn’t have been responsible for his feelings!�

Before she could lower her hand he had grabbed hold of it with his own, stepping out of the shadows that had concealed his face before to reveal pitch black eyes alight with fury. “You dare strike me again…� his hissed in menacing tones. “Your son was a pathetic little boy who had no idea what he had got himself into. You would do well to forget about him.�

She almost choked with disbelief. “Forget about my own son?!� she tugged at her arm, attempting to free it from his vice-like grip. Now she was incensed to the point of tears. “I could sooner forget my husband!�

His face contorted into something resembling a smile. “I thought you already had,� he whispered, moving even closer to her. “Or did he merely slip your mind for a moment..?�

She was shaking now. “You disgust me,� she spat, once more trying to wrench her arm free. “If you can’t help me then at least let me go!�

He seemed to consider this, eyes never leaving hers. “I want you to make a promise to me,� he said. She kept quiet, glaring at him, and he went on. “Narcissa, I want you to stay away - from me and from any of the others. Go home, and wait for your husband to return. Do not attempt to contact anyone, not even your sister. The Ministry are looking for your son, and no doubt they will come looking for you; they have already searched your house twice since the incident, and it would be better if they did not have reason to search it again.� He released her arm, and she snatched it back immediately. “Is that clear?�

She scowled at him, the lines of her frown throwing dark shadows across her pale face. “So, you are refusing to help me?�

“My advice is help!� he snapped. “You have no idea how the Dark Lord reacted to your son’s behaviour! He is a traitor to our cause! And as such, he is now no more than a marked man. If he is found he will be killed on sight, and you will be treated the same if it is discovered that you have been trying to help him!�

Trembling hands brushed away the furious tears that were now streaming down her face, as she shook her head from side to side. “No…� she muttered. “No - they can’t…� She turned away from him, moving tentatively from the room to the hallway.

Her fingers rested on the door handle, as she turned round once more to hear him murmur from the sitting room, “You have been warned, Narcissa. If you ignore my advice, then there is nothing more I can do for you.�

~***~

“Yes, I’m afraid it’s a definite case of Borrelia burgdorferi.� The man in the clean white coat snapped his clip-board shut with a click that seemed to echo for hours afterwards inside the boy’s head.

Draco blinked bloodshot eyes and listened hard through the thickness of his own thoughts to hear Alice’s puzzled tones, “It’s a what?�.

The doctor nodded. “Lyme’s disease.� He examined his fingernails in a nonchalant fashion, frowning under perfectly manicured eyebrows. “Uncommon on British soil, I believe, but not totally unheard of. It is contracted from a certain species of tick, Ixodes dammini, found usually in the mountains. You’re not a big hiker, are you?� He stared pointedly at Draco.

The dark-haired boy lifted a pale face and glared at him, but Alice spoke before he could say a word. “Does he look like the type?� she snapped. “Anyway, what does it do, this disease?�

The man in the white coat wrinkled his nose slightly at her, his eyes flicking over her dyed black hair hanging in ropy strands over a hooded top which had clearly not been washed for several months. She was resting on a stool by the side of Draco’s hospital bed, tapping chipped purple nails on a blinding white bedspread, the awning of a genuine frown screening eyes smeared with some kind of dark green concoction which made her look faintly ill.

“Erm…� the doctor began. “Well - feverish symptoms, as you see here,� he indicated Draco’s internal struggle to stay awake. The boy’s eyelids were drooping ever heavier, the deep, hazelnut brown of his eyes now barely visible. “And there can be a rash, of sorts.�

“Is that what he’s got on his neck?� Alice interjected. “Christ, that’s disgusting.�

The total absence of articulation in her words made Draco spurt out something like a laugh. Before, such blatant evidence of bad breeding would have been enough to make him almost sick with contempt, but he felt that now he was beyond caring. As far as he was concerned, Alice was the only one responsible for his being still alive.

His blurry gaze found the doctor who was treating him; the name on his badge called him Dr. A. Dexter. After having been transported in the back of Frank’s car along buzzing, rain-washed streets and then carried through white doors that opened on their own, Draco had been thrown into a hard, blue chair from where he had gazed blearily up at this man’s watery eyes. Before he had even realised where he was, Dr. A. Dexter had plunged a long, silver needle into his arm and poured something vile down his throat. The next thing he had known, he was lying in a bed staring up at a turquoise ceiling, in a room sparse of anything but bright light and a million artificial smells.

He took in a ragged sigh. What has become of me?

The other two were now arguing about something, Alice and the doctor. Frank and Craig had left long ago, Alice had informed him, and Draco could feel nothing but relief about this. While he did not mind Alice so much, largely because he had rather a lot to thank her for, the drunken barbarity of the two men still frightened him somewhat.

“…Well, Joseph, you’ll need to stay here for, oh, a couple of weeks, perhaps?� the doctor was telling him. “Plenty of sleep, and, well, it would be best if you didn’t have many visitors.� He tapped his clip-board again in an authoritative manner, turned, and left the ward.

Alice glared after him. “Stuck up little…� she tutted inconsequentially at the door for a few moments, while Draco closed his eyes, his mind on other things. Suddenly he felt another hand on his arm, and snatched it away in one jolt.

“Alright, alright,� Alice muttered, retracting her skinny fingers and resolving to bite at the end of one of them. “I just thought…�

The boy sighed again, rubbing at the corner of one eye. “What is it?� he murmured.

“Well,� she leaned a little closer to him, lowering her voice. “The dye’s permanent, but it’ll start to show when your hair grows out.�

“What do you mean?� he asked, glancing over her shoulder at the two other people sleeping in beds in the same room.

The girl continued. “When your hair grows, it grows from the roots, right? So, the dye isn’t covering that bit - the new bit - if you get what I mean. The roots of your hair are going to be blonde. It’ll be obvious you’ve dyed it!�

He frowned. “Can’t I just dye it again?�

“Well, yeah, you can,� Alice said. “But you weren’t even bloody well awake when I was dyeing yours, mate - it takes a while. Plus, if you have to do it here, they’re going to notice, aren’t they?�

Draco leant his head back against the white plastic headboard, blinking sleep from his eyes. “What about these?� he pointed to the contact lenses that had turned his pale, grey eyes to a rich brown.

“You’ve gotta clean those,� the girl whispered. “Every night or something, ’wise they’ll bloody hurt.� Now it was her turn to sigh. “You’ve gotta get well quick, mate.�

It won’t last. They’ll figure it out soon enough and then what will happen to me? He closed his eyes again. He was so grateful for all that she had done to help him, but he feared that he had only hours to think of another way to get out of there.

~***~

The next few days were some of the most uneventful, yet the most anxious, that Draco had ever experienced. Alice, through some heated, and rather vociferous argument, had managed to convince the staff to let her stay in one of the apartments that were reserved for close family. He had no idea what she had told them, only that now everyone in the hospital called him Joseph. She would creep into his ward in the evenings and early morning, avoiding the scandalous eye of Dr. Dexter, to help him change his contact lenses. What she had said about his hair was already becoming apparent, though thankfully, the nurses had put this paleness down to stress concerning his illness. Idiots.

He realised that he was becoming increasingly impatient with everyone and everything around him. The Muggle lifestyle had concealed him well enough before that he had not cared about the primitive nature of his surroundings, but now that his health was returning, he often found himself longing to pull out his wand and just disappear.

He reached a tentative hand towards the knot of wadding and bandages at his neck, though decided that he did not have quite enough strength yet to touch it. The light from the street several floors down filtered gently through the blinds on the windows, a mixture of deep, navy twilight and the orange glow of the street lamps. The ward was totally silent, the absence of noise only broken by the gentle rumble of traffic outside. For the first time since his escape, it wasn’t raining in London.

Someone was snoring further down the ward, but Draco barely noticed anymore. His fever-ridden head resting on the cool whiteness of the pillows, he felt himself slowly drifting away, until all the aches and pains of his body had diminished into utter weightlessness. He breathed in deeply, and saw a familiar face before his eyes.

“Draco? Is that you?� It was a woman’s voice, broken as though she had been crying. A voice that could be cold and cruel, but also caring and anxious, as it sounded now. “Are you alright? Where have you been?�

He was standing in his living room, rich carpet beneath his feet, shining ornaments and leather-bound books lining each wall. Two leather settees were stretched before a glorious fireplace, ablaze with a golden heat that flickered across his face. He took a slow step forward, feeling the edge of an expensive tapestry rug with his bare toes, the warmth of the fire growing ever more real.

The woman who had spoken was perched on the edge of a luxurious arm chair, her silver-white hair glimmering in the fire light. She stared up at him with fear in her eyes.

“Draco! Oh, you’re alive!� She jumped to her feet, rushing towards him and pulling him into a tight hug. “I thought you were dead! Where have you been? What happened to you?!�

The boy tried to speak, but found that he couldn’t bring himself to admit his own cowardice to his mother. He stammered a few syllables, before she interrupted him again, her tone grave. “Draco, you can’t stay here. They’re looking for you - they’re looking for me! They’ll be here any minute, you must leave!�

There were tears in the corners of her eyes as she broke out of the embrace, pushing him at arm’s length away from her, her hands shaking. “Please, my son, you have to go.�

Her words were spoken with an urgency which sparked questions in Draco’s mind. “Go where? Mother, how am I here? Did I apparate?�

“It doesn’t matter how you got here, Draco, you must leave - now! Oh!� She threw her hands to her mouth as a loud banging came from the hallway. Someone was at the door. “Draco, my son,� she clasped his shoulders, staring directly into his face. “You must not make the same mistake that your father did - do you hear me? Find the Order, they will protect you!�

“The Order?� Draco murmured, frightened by the panic in his mother’s voice. The banging on the front door was growing more frequent by the second. “Who are the Order? What about Snape -?�

“No!� Narcissa cried. “You stay away from him! There is a price on your head, Draco, not just from the Ministry, but from Him as well! You need to stay hidden!�

With those words she pushed him away from her, and he suddenly felt weightless, powerless, as though he was being controlled by some other force. “Mother!� he cried, but she was too far away now; he seemed to be watching her through a window, a glass pane through which he could not be heard.

There was a crash somewhere in the distance, the sound of the Death Eaters breaking into the mansion. There were footsteps, heavy ones, pounding the rich carpet of the hallway, bursting through into the living room. And a scream, a terrified scream that could not be drowned out by the blazing fire bursting from its grate and filling the room with searing heat and a thick black smoke which was growing thicker… thicker… until his sight was swallowed by darkness, and he could see nothing more of his home.

He felt a sharp crack somewhere in the region of his right elbow, and coldness swarmed over his body. The bang of the ward door hammered through his head, every echo driving the ache deeper into his mind. He opened his eyes and harsh yellow light flooded his vision.

“Heavens! What’s going on?!�

“It’s alright, ma’am, nothing to panic about…� the voice was gruff, menacing. Draco blinked upwards, and managed to make out the blurred outlines of two broad-shouldered men in dark uniforms, one conversing in low tones with a white-coated nurse, the other taking pounding steps towards him.

He tried to push himself upwards, but his hand slipped on the icy tiles. He shook his head. For the first time he was very conscious of the fact that he was only wearing a thin night-shirt, and tucked his bare feet under himself as he slid backwards on the floor.

“Had a bit of a nightmare, did we, sonny? Fell out of bed…?� The man’s patronising tone made Draco’s skin prickle. He reached up a shaking hand and grabbed hold of the white bed sheet, once more trying to heave himself to his feet.

The man crouched down in front of him, a sneer stretched above a square jaw, his voice lower this time. “Not at all like you’re used to, is it, Mr. Malfoy?�

Draco flinched, sitting there with his dyed hair, the lenses in his eyes - they would never have worked, never been as powerful as magic. He suddenly felt very stupid, a feeling he did not embrace.

“I - I don’t know what you mean…�

The man let out a very false laugh. “Want me to explain it, do you?� he said, his voice even lower. “You’re nicked, sunshine.�

The squeal of a door hinge interrupted Draco’s panic as Alice came running into the ward, eyes blazing. “What the Hell’s going on? What are you doing here?!� She crossed to the bed topped with crumpled sheets and devoid of occupant. “What have you done with him?!�

“I’m here, Alice,� came a trembling voice from floor.

The police officer stood up, his sneer now a condescending grin. “Ah, Miss Reynolds. It’s nice to see you again.�

Alice gave him an ugly scowl. “Don’t know what you mean by that.� she retorted. “Never seen you before in my life! Dra- I mean - Joe, you alright?� She ran round to the side of the bed where the boy was huddled against the wall. He rolled his eyes, and something flashed before them.

Flames.

A piercing yell forced its way out of his mouth, and every other patient in the room was torn from their sleep. Instantly, Alice sprang backwards. “What have you done to him?� she shrieked, as the two officers strode towards the boy’s thrashing form.

“Leave me alone!� he screamed. “I haven’t done anything! I couldn’t - I tried, but -!�

The splintering of a broken door.

“Please!�

An arm hooked under Draco’s shoulder and dragged him upright. Anxious muttering from the nurse, another curse from Alice, and a punch in the gut from the officer to his left. His eyes spun back into his head.

Silver-blonde hair in the firelight. A shriek that froze his blood in its tracks.

“Don’t touch me!�

Another clout, this time to the side of his head, and he felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Alice was shouting something, gesticulating fiercely, but it sounded muffled, too far away. There was a sound as though someone had clapped their hands, and suddenly she stopped. The nurse screamed. Someone opened the door to the ward.

From the vague outline he could determine that the newcomer was a girl. She had been carrying a bunch of flowers, though they were now scattered across the floor, dropped as she had thrown her hands up to her face in shock.

Draco shook his head again, desperately trying to stifle the hammering in his ears.

“Draco… you are not a killer…�

“It’s alright, Miss Granger, why don’t you go and sit in the waiting room.� The nurse’s voice was shaking, and her fear must have been obvious to the newcomer, who was now pointing straight at the boy held suspended between two brawny police officers.

Frustration bubbled through his veins. No matter how many times he tried to clear his head his vision remained blurred. Something flickered in the back of his mind. Miss Granger…?

“But, my grandfather -� A girl’s voice, late teens perhaps, intelligent.

“I’ve told you - go and wait in there and I’ll call you when it’s ok to come back in.�

“What happened to that girl?�

“Look if you could just -� The door to the ward clicked shut. Draco blinked, though it was pointless. Had she gone?

There was an apologetic murmur from the newcomer. Then -

“Petrificus totalus!�

In an instant, Draco found himself being thrown to the floor as the two men beside him leapt forward. He hit the tiles with a thud and felt his arm go numb, looking up just in time to see the girl point a wand at the officers and yell out another curse. Both fell down with a smack.

The next moment, the girl was bent down beside Draco, lifting him to his feet and breathing in his ear, “I panicked. I should have used silent curses - someone could have heard us - we’ve got to get out quickly.�

“What…?� He felt himself being dragged towards frosted glass panels providing an even more blurry view of the waiting room, bare feet sliding over the linoleum. No shoes again.

Hermione pushed open the door and banged it shut behind them. She was still muttering only loud enough for him to hear. “We can’t apparate. Don’t ask me to explain now, but it would be a bad idea. Not that you’re even well enough to stand on your own, by the looks of things.�

He felt nylon carpet beneath his soles, and his knee knocked against the wooden leg of a chair. Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger was holding him by the arm, hauling him out of hospital. Hermione Granger from Hogwarts… the friend of Harry Potter… the mudblood.

She’ll take me to the Ministry. They’ll try me for murder. They’ll send me to Azkaban. But I didn’t do it! I couldn’t!

“I’ll call for a taxi. It’ll take five minutes, there are always black cabs around here.� She was gripping his arm rather tightly, and suddenly Draco realised she had her wand pressed against his side.

“Don’t try and run,� she whispered. “I really don’t want to use magic again; that mess back there will clear itself up, but this will be harder to conceal.�

The fresh air stung his nostrils as they passed through the automatic doors into the hospital car park. Draco’s vision was clearing, and so was his mind. By the time they reached the road, the cold wind whipping his bare legs, the dizziness that had clouded his mind for the last few days seemed to disperse in seconds. He wanted answers.

“What do you mean - that mess? What are you doing here? And why can’t we apparate?�

“Ssh!� she hissed. “That curse wasn’t one of my best - they’ll be unfreezing any minute and then they’ll come looking for us. Now,� she loosened her grip on his arm. “I’m going to get my phone out of my pocket, but I’ll keep my wand out. You won’t run, will you?�

He stared at her, partly in disbelief, partly in complete amazement. He had only ever seen anxiety or defiance in those brown eyes, but now they were utterly serious. There was a scar on her left cheek, and something that might have been a burn mark on her forehead. He lifted a foot as though to step away from her, and she raised her wand.

“I mean it,� she said. He placed his foot back on the ground.

It took only two minutes for Hermione to pull a mobile phone from the pocket of her cord jacket and call a taxi, and another one and a half minutes for the car to arrive. The entire time Draco had stood, shivering, conscious of the wooden stick pointed straight at him. Hermione had offered him her jacket to keep him warm. He had bluntly refused.

“Alright,� she whispered, once both were seated in the back of the black cab. “Back there in the hospital, I’d gone to visit my grandfather, but he wasn’t in your ward like I told the nurse. Actually, I’d seen the ‘policemen’ go in and recognised them.�

Draco blinked at her, but the threat of being silently frozen when he was already chilled to the bone was enough to keep him from saying a word.

“I hope the Ministry figure it out,� she muttered. “The thing is, they’ll be watching all magical activity in Muggle areas, and when they see what’s just happened they’ll send someone into the hospital to sort it out. I really hope they recognise the Death Eaters for what they are, and consequently they shouldn’t believe a word they say about us -�

“Death Eaters!?� Draco blurted out, and the taxi driver turned his head ever so slightly towards them. Hermione suddenly gave a very fake laugh.

“Oh yeah - that was funny wasn’t it? I loved the bit at the end when…� she trailed off as the driver’s head faced forward once more. “Will you keep it down!� she said through gritted teeth. “Yes, they were Death Eaters - I’m surprised you didn’t recognise them. And we couldn’t apparate because the first thing the Ministry will do if they don’t find the culprit where the magic took place, is trace the last apparition from there.�

Draco looked away from her, staring into his lap. He suddenly realised he was breathing very heavily, and instinctively reached a hand to his neck. The bandages were gone.

“Someone will notice I’m not there,� he said quietly. “The nurses or something…�

“No they won’t.� Hermione said. “I used a memory charm on the nurse before I left, and on the receptionist. Didn’t you notice?�

He said nothing. She threw a glance out the window. “Yes, just here please.�

Draco stepped out of the cab, closed the door behind him and followed Hermione, almost blindly obedient, across a strip of grass to a grimy block of flats. His head was reeling. Death Eaters in the hospital? Hermione Granger rescuing me? And what about Alice, what did they do to her? What would happen to her now?

“It’s just up here,� Hermione said, leading him through a shabby door to an even shabbier hallway. It began to rain outside. She unlocked a red front door, pushed it open, and ushered him inside.

The moment he stepped over the threshold, he found himself shoved against a surface of scratched wallpaper, a hand about his shaking throat. His vision was suddenly obscured as he came face to face with a pair of fierce green eyes shielded behind cracked glasses, a wand pointing directly at his chest.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.�

"Haven't I been humiliated enough for you, Potter?"

"Harry, don't!"

"Leave it, Hermione!" Harry tightened his grip around Malfoy's neck and tried to stop himself shaking. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "You've got nobody now, Malfoy."

Draco dare not take his eyes off the figure pointing a wand directly at him. The dizziness of his illness flooded what little the fresh air had cleared of his senses, leaving him once more with a throbbing head and blurred vision. He blinked slowly.

For a moment he glimpsed the rest of the room not obscured by his would-be-murderer; it was damp and dingy, reminding him of Alice's flat, with a worn carpet on the floor and pale, textured paper covering the walls. There was a faded green sofa sitting in the middle of the room, on which was perched a thin boy with red hair and a black eye - Weasley. Standing just to his right was Hermione, and it was she who clicked the door shut and moved hesitantly towards the potential conflict.

"Harry, this isn't constructive," she began. "There was a reason we were told to fetch him -"

"Told!" Draco broke in. "You said it was an impulse -"

"Shut up!"

Harry had now moved his wand, and had it positioned neatly right next to Draco's temple. "Another word…" he muttered.

Draco snorted, "Don't play games with me, Potter," he said, although his voice quavered slightly under its snide tone. Even though he hadn't moved his hands, he could feel the scars stretching across his torso, products of the inadvertent Sectumsempra curse. He winced and said, somewhat without confidence, "We all know you haven't got it in you to kill me."

"That isn't helping!" Hermione snapped, then, "For goodness' sake, Harry, don't listen to his provocations, just let him go!"

The green eyes were still boring into Draco's greying face, though for a moment they flickered to the right. Harry seemed to take in a great sigh, then released his hand from Draco's throat. His wand, however, remained where it was.

"Sit down," he said, pointing to the sofa. Ron stood up, backing towards the tiny window on the left-hand wall. A wave of vertigo washed over Draco, and he felt himself sink, rather clumsily, into the tattered cushions of the couch.

Harry was still pointing his wand at Draco, keeping his eyes firmly on him while he pulled Hermione over to one side.

"Where was he?" he whispered.

"In the hospital," she replied, "like they said. He didn’t look good. The Death Eaters got there before me and they had him."

"Had him?"

"They were dressed as policemen. Not very convincingly, but still."

Harry glared at the figure slouched on the sofa, and took in a deep breath. He threw a glance at Ron, who was pushing shut the window behind its billowing net curtains. His best friend had remained unsettlingly quiet throughout this whole affair, having hardly said a word for the past week. He moved his gaze back to the couch, where Malfoy had closed his eyes and folded his arms round him in a rather defeated manner.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked Hermione.

"I don't know, I didn't ask. But I doubt that he'd have risked staying somewhere so public for so long unless it was really serious. Do you know…" she paused, and Harry glanced at her.

"What?"

"Well… I think he might have had a Muggle girl helping him."

Harry frowned. "What makes you think that?"

"When I walked in to the ward," Hermione said, somewhat uncertainly, "the policemen already had hold of him and they'd hit a girl who was lying on the floor. Then, when we were leaving, he was very disorientated and kept asking what had happened to 'Alice'. Of course, I didn't know who 'Alice' was, but now I think it might have been her."

"Maybe she took him to the hospital?" Harry suggested vaguely. "Maybe he was so ill he thought she was a witch? How do we know he's not mental?"

"I suppose we don't," Hermione said.

Draco brought his knees up to his chest and hugged his arms round them, squeezing his eyes even tighter shut. What is happening to me? Where is my mother? My father? Why am I in this flat with Potter and his blood traitor friends?! Death Eaters, she said something about Death Eaters… but they didn't want to hurt me! Surely they wanted to help - to take me away! My mother… where is she? Where is… where… Mother!

"What's he saying?" Harry nodded towards the boy now sobbing into his knees. Ron's pale face seemed transfixed with horror as he observed the scene from the corner of the room.

Hermione frowned, "I don't know… What's the matter?" she asked tentatively.

"What..?" Draco blinked up at her; he hadn’t even realised that his mutterings had been audible. "My mother - where is she - something happened -?"

The lines across the girl's forehead deepened. "Have you been in contact with her?"

"No… well… I just -" his voice was suddenly demanding. He shoved himself upright to sit straighter on the couch. "I just want to know where she is so that I can get out of here and -"

"You're not going anywhere, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, a slight note of concern in his voice.

"Um… how long have you been in the hospital?" Hermione was now sitting on other side of the settee, inches from where Draco was now huddling himself as far away from her as possible. "Have you heard from anyone else? What do you know about your mother?"

"I haven't seen anyone!" Draco cried. "Why - what's happened to her?!"

Hermione threw a glance at Harry, whose narrowed eyes were still staring at the newcomer. She took a deep breath, "Draco, your mother went missing about five weeks ago -"

"Five weeks!" Draco half rose from the settee, eyes wild, his dishevelled hair and a face stricken with illness giving him all the appearance of a madman. Harry edged forward, his wand held out stiffly before him, and Draco, on seeing it, sat slowly back down. He stared at his hands folded in his lap, "I don't understand," he said quietly, then, "You must be lying! This is a dream - I'm still in the hospital -!"

"Shut up and we'll explain it to you!" Harry barked. "Whatever was wrong with you did you serious damage. From our sources, we know that you were out cold for at least three months, and nobody could bring you round. We got wind of the fact that some Death Eaters had discovered where you were and had plans to kidnap you. I was quite happy to let that happen, but -"

"But that wouldn't have been useful to us at all, would it Harry?" Hermione was staring directly at him, now. "To let the Death Eaters get what they want?" She paused for a moment, then turned back to Draco. "Let's start from the beginning," she said slowly. "Where did you go after - after that night, when you disappeared? We know that you didn't return to Voldemort's -"

Draco let out a short gasp as though he had been stabbed, "Don't!" he winced, and the dying light of wise blue eyes rushed into his vision. "Don't!"

"Alright, alright," Hermione said. "We know that you didn't go where - where you were supposed to."

"How do you know that?" Draco blurted out.

Harry was growing impatient. "We're asking the questions: What happened to you?"

The boy on the couch shuddered, and leant even further away from the bushy-haired girl to his right. Suddenly he seemed to grow tense and rigid, and he stared up at Harry with an expression of desperation and malfeasance. "I'm not telling you anything until you tell me where my mother is!"

His words were inflicted with such turpitude that Harry almost winced, as he struggled to maintain the position of his wand, his arm now aching. He glared at the almost haggard face, patches of deep yellow encircling bloodshot grey eyes and skin that had lost all of its colour except a faint reddish brown around the mouth. On one shoulder was a messy heap of scar tissue, and down that same arm was the unmistakable evidence of a drip having been ripped unceremoniously from its place. The roots of his hair were that familiar white-blonde, while the rest was inky black.

"What the Hell has happened to you?"

He suddenly noticed that Ron had moved from his place on the other side of the room, and was standing next to where Hermione sat, a half nervous, half protective expression in his stance. "I'm so bloody glad he doesn't have a wand," he muttered.

At these words, a bizarre shadow crept over the boy on the couch, and without warning, he began to tremble violently, large salty tears pouring out of his eyes. An unsettling, shuddering gasp escaped him, and with it seemed to tumble out all the wickedness and hatred that had been in his countenance before. Harry could hardly believe what he was seeing.

Hermione stood up. "Exhaustion," she said quickly, pulling her own wand from her jacket pocket. "That's what it must be - when I found him he could barely stand after having been asleep for so long. It does that to you." She flicked her wand slightly, the spell whispered clearly in her head, and the crying boy fell into yet another deep sleep.

~***~

Draco awoke with a start, his breath catching in his throat as he stared around him. A small, clean room with plain white walls and a threadbare rug on the floor. He was lying on a bed quite low down, and topped with mismatched blankets and a thin white pillow. The one little window had been nailed shut.

There was a knock on the door and he sat up straighter, clutching the blankets around him, as a slit of light eased open across the carpet. An anxious face peered over the threshold, and Draco saw a hand carrying a glass of water.

He eyed her suspiciously, "How did you know I was awake?" he asked.

"I didn't," she replied, some of the anxiety leaving her expression, to be replaced by a brusque coldness. "But I knew you wouldn't say anything even if I knocked, so I had to check."

Draco sniffed, then said, in a rather abrupt tone, "I'll take that water, thank you."

If she was offended by his rudeness, she showed no sign of it, but crossed the room to his bed and handed him the glass. The boy took a sip, it was lukewarm.
"Look," Hermione began hesitantly, "surely you can appreciated the others' hostility towards you, after… after what happened. But, you've got to understand, we're really trying to help you."

"You can help me by getting me out of here," he retorted.

"Yes, well… at the moment that isn't such a great idea."

She scratched absent-mindedly at the scar just under her left eye, and peered out the window at the sallow daylight.

"How did you get that?" He indicated the mark on her cheek.

Her eyes flicked back to him, and for a second it seemed she didn't know what he was talking about, or why he had bothered to ask. Then her hand flew back to her face.

"Death Eater," she said, somewhat indifferently. "Caught me with that curse that Harry used on you back at… He only managed to hit my cheek, though, he was running away and aimed over his shoulder."

Draco stared at her for a moment, absorbing this new information. So, Potter and his friends are now working against the Death Eaters… but with who? Surely not on their own? His mother's frightened face floated before his eyes, and he remembered -

"The Order," he said suddenly. "Is it the Order of - something - that you're working for… Dumble- his - lot?"

The girl's eyes narrowed. "How do you know about the Order? Through Vol- you-know-who?" Her change of direction mid-word had warranted a sharp intake of breath from the boy now glaring at her.

"Of course not!" he cried suddenly, his tone alarming her. "I was never important enough for Him! Never important enough to know anything - He didn't even tell me - He didn't -"

"Where did you hear it, then?" Hermione demanded, impatience overriding her sympathy.

"From…" he stopped, unsure of whether to reveal the contents of his dream. But, hadn't she said that his mother was missing? Did I dream that? Or was I really seeing it? I was right about the Order, wasn't I? God knows what's real anymore…

He sat up a little straighter, edging backwards to lean against the cold white wall. "While I was in the hospital, I had… I had a dream," he said quietly. She frowned, but he continued before she could say anything. "I saw my mother, at home - and she saw me. And she told me that I had to find the Order because otherwise they - the Death Eaters - would come for me. And just before the dream ended they… came for her…"

Hermione stared at him, scrutinising his expression of tired defeat. "Are you serious?"

He nodded. She glanced at the door, "I'll just… I mean - are you sure, because -"

"Yes," he said.

"And this was while you were asleep? Could it have been the time when you were comatose?" she had a business-like tone to her voice now, as though relieved that she had finally extracted something from him other than bitter exhaustion.

He paused, "Could have been," he mumbled.

"Right," she marched to the open door, "I'll just check, but I think I know -"

And she was gone, leaving Draco to frown after her departure.


Author's Note: I realise that not everything has been explained in this chapter that was requested, but trust me, it will all become clear. In the meantime, does anyone have any suggestions for further plot developments, or things that they would like to know about (aside from the obvious)? You don't think Draco's a bit too pathetic in this chapter? How's my portrayal of the trio?

The pages of the book rustled gently as Hermione sat up a little straighter, ignoring Harry and Ron's shared look of mild exasperation, and the hardness in the former's eyes. "Look," she began, "I'm not saying I'm not angry about what happened, of course I am. But from the way he reacts when anyone mentions Dumbledore, I mean, do you really think he revels in it?"



"It's an act, Hermione!" exclaimed Ron. "He did it all last year, and we fell for it, remember? It was only Harry that noticed -"



"I know that, Ron," the girl snapped the book shut and placed it beside her on the couch. The other two were standing, Harry against the wall, and Ron opposite her, arms folded, in the centre of the room. She was avoiding Harry's gaze, which was boring into the side of her head, demandingly expectant, just waiting for her to slip up in her defence of the accomplice to Dumbledore's murder. She focused her eyes on Ron, and there was a distinct hesitancy in her voice. "But he's powerless at the moment. He's got no-one, not even a wand. I really think he regrets what he's done, and so if we could just -"



"What did you find out?" Harry interrupted her, gesturing to the book.



She looked enquiringly at him, as though unsure of whether to reply. "I'm not going to stand here listen to you defend him," Harry said. "You didn't believe my suspicions about him last year, and you don't now -"



"Harry!" Hermione cried, her expression one of genuine upset. "If you think that I wouldn't go back and change that!"



Ron looked almost scornfully at him. "That was a bit harsh, mate," he said quietly. "Like Hermione said, if we could go back…" he trailed off and moved forward to sit by Hermione on the couch, handing her the heavy, leather-bound book she had been consulting. She sat it in her lap and opened the first page.



Harry stood very still, watching them. He didn't know what to think; ever since McGonagall had told them where Malfoy was he seemed to have become completely numb. He didn't want to think about that night, about what had happened, but every time he heard Malfoy's name it tore at him in one great rush - lying there, invisible, unable to move, unable to scream for help. And while Ron had remained almost silent, somewhere between Hermione's practicality and Harry's suppressed turmoil, the feeling of helplessness that had raged through Harry on that night returned in deadening blasts. Now he felt as though he couldn't feel a thing.



He took a deep breath, "I'm… sorry, Hermione," he said slowly. "It's just -"



"I know," she whispered. "But it doesn't matter now."



Ron sighed. "Right," he put his arm around Hermione, the cheery tone of his voice sounding a little forced; "are you going to tell us what you've been up to for the past few days? What is this thing, anyway?" He pointed to the tome lying on her knees.



"It's Scant's Compendium of Abnormal Occurrences," she said, her business-like tone returning with her confidence. "Malfoy said that he'd seen his mother in a dream, and that he knew she'd gone missing. Now, at first I thought that perhaps he'd just heard someone talking about a mysterious disappearance or something in the ward while he was sleeping, and his mind had made him dream about it. But then he told me that she'd told him about the Order, and I remembered reading about the relation between illnesses and psychic connections."



"Wait a minute," Ron said. "How do we know he wasn't lying about You-Know-Who not telling him about the Order? For all we know he already knew."



"Yes, don’t assume I hadn't considered that," Hermione muttered. "But I really think that if he was deep enough in a comatose state then this particular abnormal occurrence could have… occurred." She rifled through the pages and then pointed to a piece of cramped and ancient-looking text. "Here."



Ron leaned a little closer to examine the diagram of a sleeping person drawn in scratchy black ink, but Harry remained determinedly where he was. He threw a glance at the door to the room where Malfoy was sleeping, then looked back as Hermione resumed her explanation.



"When a wizard of a certain nature prone to psychic disposition -"



"In English, please," Ron muttered.



"Oh," Hermione moved her eyes from the passage. "It basically means that if Malfoy is psychically-inclined then he may be able to astral-project while asleep." The other two stared blankly at her. "It means he can visit other places while he's sleeping, and if he doesn't know he has this power then it's probably untrained and so he could end up anywhere. Though, I suspect it only happened because he was completely unconscious."



"So, you mean he could be somewhere else right now?" Ron looked nervously over at Malfoy's room.



"Well, it's possible." Hermione said, closing the book and placing it on the floor by her feet. "It's possible that he's been vanishing off to other places all his life, but he's only remembered this one. Or perhaps he thought the others were dreams."



Harry frowned. "That sounds a bit far-fetched to me, Hermione," he said. "Surely he'd know by now, or his parents would have known?"



"Well, maybe they just didn't tell him," she replied. "But, don't you see, Harry. It makes sense when you consider why McGonagall wanted to rescue Malfoy, and why the Death Eaters were trying to take him with them instead of just killing him on the spot. And it explains his mental state at the moment; to have performed such a vivid piece of extrasensory magic would have knocked him cold even if he hadn't been ill in the first place. It makes sense."



Ron looked a little confused, and glanced at Harry, giving him a half shrug. Harry's frown deepened. "So you're saying," he said slowly, "that Malfoy is a psychic who can astral - protect - or something, and Voldemort knows and that's why he's trying to get him back. You think he could use him?"



"Well…" Hermione began, as though she had just realised how odd this theory sounded. "It's a possibility isn't it? I mean, it says here that if properly trained, astral-projection can be an extremely useful power - it can be used to spy on people and sneak into places that no-one else can enter. It's like being invisible and able to walk through walls at the same time."



"Like being a ghost," muttered Ron. "Sounds like exactly the sort of thing V-Voldemort would want to be able to do." Hermione smiled at him.



"I don't know," Harry stared at his feet, then at Malfoy's room again. "Why don't we talk to McGonagall about it, ask her what she thinks? If she does know something then she'll have to tell us if we've twigged already." He moved towards another door in the room, leading through to the kitchen, then turned back and peered out of the tiny window. "It'll be dark in about an hour, I'll write her a letter to send with Hedwig."



Hermione watched from the couch as he left the room, closing the door to the kitchen behind him. Ron stood up, and for a moment she thought he was going to follow him, but he merely moved to stare out of the window, arms folded, leaning against the wall.



"Um…" she began quietly, "how are you coping? I mean - now that the Ministry have sent word -"



"Fine." Ron said shortly.



Hermione sighed. "Ron, you can talk to us, you know. Harry and me. We've got to help each other through this."



"I'm fine," he repeated. "It's nothing. Doesn't even matter - you know - we've got to get on." But his voice was beginning to shake dangerously. He gulped. "I think I'll go and give Harry a hand."



"Ron -" but before Hermione could say anymore, he had left the room.



~***~



It was the cold that brought Draco roughly to his senses, jerking him awake with the chattering of his own teeth. He had no idea what time it was. After so many weeks - or months, as it now transpired - lying in a warm bed in the hospital, the broken radiator of the flat and the scratchy bed sheets did little to aid his adjustment to life back in the London suburbs.



He sat up, peering through the gloom. His head was somehow much clearer now than it had been when he had first arrived, his memory sharper, though the events which had surpassed over the last four days seemed to have all blurred into one. They had involved him lying, in some sort of stupor, falling in and out of sleep, occasionally waking to find that food had been left next to his bed, or catching snatches of murmured conversation from the room beyond. He wondered why they hadn't placed some sort of charm on the door, to stop him overhearing them, but then remembered what Hermione had said when she rescued him - that the Ministry could detect magic in a Muggle-inhabited area.



He guessed that it was only Hermione who had been into his room, as she was the only one of whom he had caught glimpses through squinting eyes; the sound of the door opening sometimes woke him enough to see her set a plate down and walk quickly out again. A part of him wanted nothing to do with her, or either of the other two, but that part was overridden by a desire to bombard her with questions and demand answers. Where am I? What am I doing here? When can I go home?



He had dreamt of his mother again. Brief, hazy images flashed before his eyes, remnants of events which he found now that he could not recall. She had been pleading with someone, though he could do nothing to remember who it was, and then she had spoken to him again, alone this time. However hard he tried, he could not recall a single one of the words she had said, only the stricken expression on her face remained clear to him.



His head gave an unholy throb and he winced. Her heard a knock on a door, then realised that it wasn't his own. A crisp, though anxious voice could be heard muttering from the main room, then there was something like a sob, a rustle of paper, and the door closed.



A moment later, his own door opened.



"Oh," Hermione said quietly, holding a tray in her hand. "I thought you were asleep."



"I was," he said shortly.



Her face was completely blank, though something flickered in her eyes momentarily. "Well… I've brought you some food." She laid the tray down on the little table, holding out a glass of water to him. Draco took it without comment, and gulped it down noisily.



Hermione turned away from him, moving the curtain slightly aside and watching through the window. Draco's eyes moved to her free hand where she was holding a newspaper. "What's that?" he asked.



"The Times," she said simply. "It's a Muggle -"



"I know what The Times is. Can I see it?"



Blinking at his rudeness, she shrugged her shoulders and handed it to him, in return for which he gave her the now empty glass.



"I'll leave you, then," she said, walking towards the door.



Draco glanced down at the front page of the newspaper, a strange, sickening feeling rising in his stomach as he recalled seeing his own face under a very similar headline. But something else flared in his mind, and he called out, "What's wrong with the other two?"



Hermione had her hand on the doorframe. "What do you mean?"



"Well…" something in her confused expression put him off slightly, but he continued, "You're the only one who comes in here. I see you - bringing me food, but I never see either of them."



If Hermione was puzzled by the question, she had removed all traces of it from her face. "They prefer to stay as far away from you as possible," she said, then muttered, "And from your manners I can understand why."



Draco ignored this last comment. "But you don't mind, do you?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.



"Someone has to," she replied. "I suppress my emotions and get on with what I have to do."



The boy gave her a half-smile, though his eyes were narrowed. "Good little soldier."



Hermione took her hand from the door, and turned directly to face him, her arms folded. "You know," she said, and there was venom in her tone. "You ought to be a little more grateful. When I found you, you were a blubbering mess who couldn't even stand up! We don't have to keep you here, it's dangerous for us to let you stay here, but if we didn't you just end up getting yourself caught again."



"And why would you care if that happened?" her outburst may have removed the smile from his face, but he recognised that it had cleared a way to asking more questions. "Why not let me go?"



"Because - because -" she stammered, slightly flustered. "Well, McGonagall will explain it to you when she comes back."



"Why not you?"



"Because we're not sure yet." She said quickly. "We need confirmation."



He recognised that this was going nowhere, so decided to change tactics. "Why is Weasely so quiet?"



"What?" there was definite frown across her forehead now.



"I mean," he began slowly, "he was always the coward lurking at the back -"



"Coward!" Hermione cried. "You think he's a coward, do you? After you've spent the last three months hiding from the fate you deserve?! You talk about me being a good little soldier for hiding my emotions, well I'd like to know what you'd say about me if I still managed it after losing my father and two of my brothers -!"



She shook her head, clamping her mouth shut. A wave a horror swept over Draco in one fluid moment, and he saw her eyes glisten. Before he could say a word, she had run out of the room and slammed the door shut behind her.

"No-one can help me," Draco whispered. He heaved a great sigh, his whole body shivering. "I can't do it… I can't… it won't work… and unless I do it soon… he says he'll kill me…"*

He heard a shuffle behind him, a slight creak from the hinges of the door. He wheeled round, drawing his wand like a sword, scraping energy and sense from the dark recesses of his nerves, where it had been forced to hide from the terrible helplessness now engulfing him.

He dodged one curse and deflected another, and suddenly the smashes of broken china and the rivers of water flooding the floor were over in a second when Potter cried "SECTUMSEMPRA!"

Draco toppled backwards, his head reeling. He could feel terrible streaks of pain running over him, could feel something hot and wet spilling from the front of his robes, though the source was numb. He hauled in a ragged breath, his limbs shaking violently. His vision blurred and his hearing faded, Potter's wild stammering sounding further and further away…

The door to the bathroom banged open, and someone else's feet came splashing through across the tiled floor.

"What's going on?" cried a girl's voice. "Harry - Harry, what have you done?"

"I d-didn't mean to!" Potter's voice shook as he stood up. "I swear, Hermione, I - I didn't know what that curse did -!"

"Go and fetch Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione ordered, fishing her own wand out from inside her robes. Potter hesitated. "Now!"

He ran out of the room, trailing blood and water in his wake. The girl took a few tentative steps forward, gaping at the crumpled form of Draco on the floor. The boy blinked at her, his vision fogged with exhaustion, and suddenly…

…he wasn't lying on the floor of the bathroom anymore. He was sitting, perched on the edge of a low, iron bed in a dark room with bars over the windows. There was a shape lying under the age-worn covers next to him, curly brown hair spilling over the white pillow. She turned over, and stared up at him.

"Malfoy…?"

"Hermione," he whispered, "…help me."

"What?!" He sat bolt upright, sweat glistening on his forehead in the semi-darkness, his bedclothes tangled around him like a straight-jacket. Weary sunlight was spilling through the gap in his curtains, throwing a pink glow across the carpet that shimmered and danced through the tree leaves outside like water. Like water.

He clutched instinctively at his chest - Potter! Potter did this to me, gave me these scars. Why am I dreaming about it now? But the dream was wrong… it was Snape who saved me, Snape who tried to heal the wounds… not Hermione. Why Hermione? Why was she there, and where was I just now? That wasn't what happened, that wasn't part of the dream… But it must have been! What else could it be -"

He jumped again as there were several loud knocks on the door.

"Malfoy," said a boy's voice, muffled by the wood. "Get up."

He sank back against the wall, breathing heavily. What just happened? The light continued to move incessantly across the carpet, gleaming, glaring at him. For the first time since he had left the hospital, his mind drifted to his wand - or rather, absence of one. A wave of helplessness washed over him and he suddenly felt flattened, crushed as though a heavy weight had been placed on his shoulders. Even if I could get out, what good would it do?

"I mean it," there was another set of bangs on the door. "Get up and come out here."

Draco pulled on some clothes and was over the threshold in a few seconds. He peered about the room, his eyes adjusting to the early morning light. The red-head sat on a wooden chair against the opposite wall, while Potter stood in the centre of the room, in conversation with a tall, age-lined woman with iron grey hair tied in a tight knot. She was wearing a tartan scarf, black cloak, and spoke with a brisk Scottish accent. McGonagall.

He blinked, and murmured "Where's Hermione?"

Ron glared at him, while Harry said "Why do you care?" and pointed to the sofa. "The cheek!" Harry thought, "After what he said to her!?"

"Now, now, Potter." McGonagall muttered. She eyed Malfoy in an interrogative manner, with something bordering on contempt in her expression. "Where's his wand?" she asked Harry.

"Don't know," the boy replied. "Oi, Malfoy - where's your wand?"

Draco looked up, his vision blurred slightly. "I- I don't know," he said, then shook his head a little and sat up straighter. "I mean - I think I lost it before I was in that hospital."

"You lost it?" The headmistress stared at him in disbelief. "You lost your wand? A wizard's most prized possession? What on earth happened to you, boy?"

Draco gave a bitter kind of smirk. "It's a long story," he drawled. But his cocky expression vanished as soon as he fully comprehended the sharp indignation in the woman's face. "I mean -" he said quickly "- a lot."

"Yes, well…" McGonagall was still looking at him with disdain, but had a tone in her voice which suggested she wanted to move things along. "A lot may have happened to you, Mr. Malfoy, but you should bear in mind that you are still wanted by the Ministry of Magic in connection with a murder."

"But I didn't -!" He sprang forwards, his eyes wide and staring. "I - I wasn't the one who did it! I couldn't…" He trailed off as he relaxed back onto the couch again.

"We know that." McGonagall said abruptly. "Potter was there, he saw it all. You've no idea where Snape is, by any chance?" she inquired.

"No," he said, somewhat vaguely. He was still marvelling at the fact that Potter had been there, on the tower (in his invisibility cloak, no doubt) when it had happened. Potter had seen Dumbledore killed, had seen him offer Draco protection and seen Draco refuse to kill him. And yet Potter still treated him like a murderer; had threatened to kill him when he when he first came into his house.

"Malfoy!" the headmistress snapped. "Pay attention!" Draco blinked up at her, then his eyes narrowed slightly. "Now - Miss Granger has informed me that she believes there may be a reason why He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is so interested in finding you. Are you aware of that reason?"

Draco thought for a moment. "No," he said.

McGonagall nodded. "Sadly, Miss Granger is not feeling her best today, so she cannot be here to explain it to us, but she told me enough to be able to paraphrase it for you." She took in a deep breath through her nostrils, which were slightly flared. "She has reason to believe that you have some sort of psychic ability to astral-project. This means that -"

"I know what it means." Draco interrupted her.

McGonagall's eyes widened, but she said nothing. "Were you aware of this?" she asked.

For the third time, the boy replied "No."

The woman sniffed. "In that case, I feel it necessary that you accompany me to headquarters to have one of our experts -"

"I'd rather not," he said, some of his previous arrogance returning.

"Well that's too bad, Malfoy," Potter glared at him. "Because we don't want you to stay here." Weasley stared fiercely at him, but still said nothing.

"You may be surprised to learn, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall began, "that I don't care what you would rather. I will return this evening to collect you when I have a stronger guard." She turned round and marched to the door. "Good day, Potter, Weasley… Malfoy." She looked to each in turn, pausing for slightly longer on the last before leaving.

Draco glowered after her. There was a dull silence.

"I'm a little hungry," Draco said after a moment.

"Get something to eat, then." Potter snapped, and pointed to the kitchen door. "You've been treated like royalty here," he muttered. "Be glad when you've gone." And he left through another door leading to a darkened room.

Weasley said nothing, but stared at the ground. Draco threw him a look half irritable, half sympathetic. Despite what Potter might have thought, he had not forgotten Hermione's words of two days ago.

He wandered into the kitchen, and slammed the door behind him. Being shunted from place to place… having people whisper about me even while I'm in the room with them! In his anger he threw himself into a creaking chair by the dirty kitchen table, folded his arms, and laid his head down on the scratched surface. He closed his eyes, and snatches of the many strange dreams he had experienced since leaving Hogwarts flickered in his mind. Astral projection… she can't be serious… But despite his immediate mockery, a part of him wanted it to be true.

"Astral projection would make me worth something to them, to Him - give them a reason to keep me alive," he thought. "Both sides."

Someone pushed open the kitchen door and shuffled inside. A girl's voice whispered hoarsely, "Oh… I didn't know there was someone in here."

Draco looked up so fast he thought he had cricked his neck, but upon realising the rapidity of his movement he said nothing and slouched back into his chair, staring at the tabletop.

Hermione, in turn, remained quiet, but crossed to the cheap worktop and began preparing a hot drink. A heavy, gnawing silence hung in the air while the water boiled on the stove. It was interrupted briefly by the trickling of the drink into Hermione's mug, then resumed its intensity as she perched on the seat across from where Draco sat, refusing to look at her.

She held the mug just underneath her nose, breathing in the steam. There were heavy yellow bags under her eyes and her skin was much paler than usual. She sniffed, and looked as though she was about to say something, but didn't. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, then placed her wand on the table between them, and set the mug down just next to it.

Neither said anything.

"Hermione," came a voice through the gap where the kitchen door had not quite closed. "Can you come here for a minute."

The girl stood up, a slight look of anxiety on her fevered face. She shook her hair out of her eyes and coughed, then moved quickly towards the door. "What is it? Ron?" She crossed into the main room where Harry was standing, knocking on Ron's bedroom door.

"Come on, Ron," he was saying. "Please - look, we're in this together."

"What?" Hermione asked.

Harry sighed. "He just got an owl from the Ministry, but he won't let me see it. He just read it then ran into his room.

The girl shook her head, and began tapping on Ron's door too. "Ron? Look, even if you don't want us to see it at least tell us what's wrong. We've got enough going on at the moment without you shutting us out!"

There was a pause, then the door clicked open slightly. Harry and Hermione exchanged looks, then went inside. Ron was sitting on the edge of his bed, the room in total darkness aside from the red glow, flecked with bars, that was shining through his curtains. He was staring at the floor.

"I don't really want to talk about it," he muttered. "I just - I'm not shutting you out, not really. It's just - with Bill and Percy… and Dad…"

"We know, Ron," Hermione said very quietly. There was the sound of a slamming door from the main room. "What was that?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably Malfoy going back into his room because we wouldn't make him a five-course dinner. The cheek of it…"

"Oh, I forgot," Hermione moved towards the door. "I made a cup of tea, Ron, but I think you ought to have it." The boy on the bed looked up as though to object, but Hermione held up a hand and went out to the kitchen.

Ron looked back at the nylon carpet, while Harry rubbed his jaw nervously. Neither seemed to feel there was anything to say. Words of comfort trudged through Harry's mind, but all felt disingenuous at this point. There was another door slam in the background, and Harry frowned. He turned, and backed away just in time as Hermione burst through the door, her bloodshot eyes wild.

"Harry, Ron!" she cried. "My wand's gone!"

"What?" said Harry. "Are you sure? You haven't just misplaced it?"

"Positive!" she nodded. "But - there's something else."

Harry didn't like the expression on her stricken face. "You -" he began tentatively. "Your wand's gone… and -?"

Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath. "So has Malfoy."


*This, and much of the rest of the first section, has been paraphrased from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J. K. Rowling.

"Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread
And having once turned round walks on
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread."

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner ~ S. T. Coleridge


Draco slammed the door to the flat behind him and pelted down the dingy dirty corridor to the grass outside. He dare not stop, dare not look round; his breath came in quick, hoarse gasps and his legs ached - he had not so much as walked swiftly since living in that house, and now his body seemed to be screaming in protest. He reached the street where the taxi had delivered him from the hospital barely a week ago, and dodged round the nearest corner. There was a main road leading straight in front of him, and another leading to his left. A short, dark alleyway cut a square in the wall to his right.

By the time they figure it out… I'll be long gone.

He felt safe in the knowledge that they wouldn't Apparate after him, that at least would give him a head-start. The alleyway beckoned to him and he swerved right, dissolving into the darkness.

He carried on running for what felt like half an hour, dodging and twisting through narrow, rain-washed streets, trying to make his route as varied as possible. Once or twice he had to pause for breath, a sharp pang in his side, but the threat of being caught was constant in his mind, and he never stopped for more than a few moments before running again.

The fact that his face had been plastered across every newspaper in London was still fresh in his mind, and that kept him out of shops and away from busy roads, preferring to skulk down alleys and through deserted backstreets. Hermione's wand had been shoved in his trouser pocket, but he knew that the only way they could find him was if he used magic, so he daren't lay a finger on it until he was back in magical territory.

"I need a disguise," he muttered to himself, as he slumped behind an ugly granite plant pot in a paved courtyard. "A proper one."

Footsteps on the cement behind him. He didn't even bother to look, just got up and ran.

He ducked under the low branches of a tree in the next courtyard, and ran through an open door to his left. He was amongst a collection of tower-blocks, each crammed with run-down flats and shabby hallways. The corridor stank of rotting garbage, and there were some suspiciously dark stains splashed over the granite floor. Draco tried to stop himself from sneering, and dashed up the gimcrack stairs.

If I just wait here… They won't find me. They won't think to look.

He sat, crouched in a dark, malodorous corner for over three hours.

His head nestling in his hands, he peered down the staircase, scarcely blinking, expecting any minute to see Potter, Weasley… or Hermione come running towards him. Only Hermione wouldn't, would she? She wasn't well enough. But she had been well enough to wander into the kitchen and make herself a drink, something that should surely have been the job of those looking after her. She had been well enough to remember to take her wand to the kitchen, but then too distracted to take it away with her. Too distracted to realise that leaving a fugitive, who desperately wanted to run away, alone in a room with a wand and an easy escape route was practically showing him a way out.

Another hour passed. Twilight was beginning to descend over the grimy council estate, shadowing the flats with murky purple light, sending sheets of rain down with it.

His stomach rumbled. He had not been lying when he had announced he was hungry, and the feeling had only intensified since leaving the house. He had no idea where he was, no idea how far away Diagon Alley would be from there. He stood up, and moved quietly down the stairs, his ears pricked, constantly listening. He reached the open door to the courtyard and peered outside.

Someone with long, dark hair was standing directly opposite him, feet slightly apart on the paved slabs, blood-shot eyes lined with dark make-up. He suddenly realised why the buildings had felt so familiar.

He stared at her. "Alice?"

She was shaking her head, now advancing towards him. "Drake? If that is even your name…" her voice sounded cracked and there was a slight hint of annoyance in her tone. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "Where have you been? Who were those people in the hospital - they knocked me out, Drake! The police came and they'd gone and no-one believed me! They thought I'd been trying to cause trouble!"

A strange and unfamiliar feeling was welling inside Draco's stomach, and he suddenly recognised it as guilt. "Alice…" he didn't quite know what to say. She was very close to him now, and he could see the deep circles round her eyes. Her hair was as matted and messy as ever, and her clothes smelt strongly of alcohol. For a second he felt totally repelled by her, but there was something in her honesty that made him feel more sympathy towards this battered street urchin, than he had ever felt towards Potter and his high-and-mighty friends.

"I'm - I'm -" he fought to get the words out. "I'm… sorry. Those people, they were looking for me. They'd have found me quicker, as well, if you hadn't helped me."

"Yeah, well… you can keep your gratitude." Her words were damning but her tone was not. She wasn't looking at him, but staring at the floor instead. "I tried to hide you, and they found you. That's it. They took me into custody - called me some fancy name about helping you commit a crime. Only let me go 'cause some big beefy guy came in and told them to. I've no idea who he was." She paused, then looked into his face. "What did you do?"

He took a deep breath, then heard footsteps behind him on the stairs. Panic flooded into his voice; "Not here," he said.

~***~

"What the Hell are we going to do?!" Harry cried "He's gone again! We finally catch him and we can't keep him here for more than five days! You know what's going to happen now, don't you? They'll get him, and then we're in trouble…"

"They might just kill him," Ron said quietly. "That'd solve our problems."

Harry shook his head, "No, they're not that stupid. There's a reason they didn't kill him when they went to the hospital; Voldemort knows about his astral projection, that's why he wants him. Or He just wants to punish him Himself. Either way… he knows things about us now, he could tell Voldemort anything."

"I'm sorry," Hermione wailed. "Harry - I really am -"

"Hermione, I'm not blaming you," he replied, but there was every trace of blame in his voice. "It's just - the only thing keeping him from running again was his wand, and that's what he got from you -"

"If you think" Hermione began, tears in her eyes, "that I don't regret that, Harry -!" She broke off, sobbing into her hands.

Ron moved over to the couch where she was sitting and put an arm round her. "Come on, mate, let's just think about what to do now." Ron face displayed a defeated expression which suggested that he'd had enough of his friend's temper for one day.

"I - I don't know," Harry said, turning away from the other two and beginning to pace round the room. "We can't go after him, he'll be too far away now. Besides, London's huge - he could have jumped on the tube and gone anywhere."

He continued to mutter to himself as he moved ceaselessly backwards and forwards across the carpet. Hermione was now leaning on Ron's shoulder, her tears leaking onto his t-shirt. She sniffed loudly, and reached into her pocket for a tissue.

Ron was frowning. "Hermione…" he began slowly. "Didn't you say you thought there was a Muggle girl helping him?"

The girl gulped. "Um… yes, yes I think so."

"Then…" Ron continued, and this time Harry turned back to listen to him. "Perhaps we could find out who she is, maybe he's gone back to her." Harry moved towards him, his eyes narrowed slightly. "I mean, he can't have been in the hospital the whole time, he was somewhere else first, so maybe he was with her, and that's where he's gone now."

"But how do we find her?" Harry asked, with a mildly impatient tone.

"Try the hospital," Hermione snivelled. "She probably came to visit him, they'd know who she was."

"Right," Harry nodded. "Hermione you stay here. Ron, try and get a message to the Order, maybe they've got another way of tracking him." He moved towards the door. "I'm going to the hospital."

~***~

Draco pulled the hood of his jacket lower over his eyes. He could now see nothing but the tabletop, white with flecks of grey, and the cheap, red seat he was perched on. His head was bent over the table, directly across from Alice who was speaking to the plump, bleach-blonde waitress holding a notepad.

"And some chips…" she was saying, hiding her nervousness (if she was experiencing any) excellently. "Do you do Coke?" he heard her enquire, and kept his head down. Just tell her to go away, Alice…

The woman nodded and scribbled something on her paper, then glanced at the hooded young man with his head bent so far forward it was virtually lying on the table. She gave the unpleasant girl with the matted hair a wan smile, before walking back towards the creaking door to the kitchen. "Young people," she muttered.

"Why'd you keep her here for so long?" Draco hissed. "She could've seen who I was."

"Shut up," Alice said.

"Don't tell me to shut up!" Draco snapped, still talking slightly under his breath. "It's bad enough me being out in the open -"

"I told you," Alice explained shortly. "I can't take you back to the flat, Frank and Craig know who you are now, between them they managed to read that article and figure it out. I've got to keep my distance from 'em now, an' all, because they think I had something to do with it."

"You did," the boy muttered.

"Yeah, but they didn't have to know!" she retorted. "Wanted me to find you, get money off you - or for you - or something…" she trailed off, and rubbed a bruise just above her right eye.

Once again, Draco felt a pang in the pit of his stomach. This girl had nothing, not even proper clothes to wear, but for some reason she was helping him when she could quite easily exchange him for a lump sum which would solve all her problems. Her stared down at the graffiti scarring the table, and his appetite gnawed at his insides.

The café was tiny, a cramped smoky little room with white walls and a linoleum floor. There were plastic benches sticking out on either side like ledges from the rock face of a ravine, their little plastic tables hovering between them. At the opposite end from the grimy front window, there stood the wooden counter with a display of mouldy sandwiches and behind that, the metal worktops housing various coffee-makers and deep-fat fryers. The whole thing had the air of an embellished take-away shop.

A radio was crackling somewhere in the ceiling, little grates sifting the sound as it warbled out. "I play the street life, because there's no place I can go…"*

"How long d'you reckon the food'll take?" Alice said conversationally, but Draco was not in the mood for speaking. The girl had lent him this hooded jacket to cover his conspicuous hair colour, and he was taking full advantage of the fact that its hood was a little too big for him, pulling it right down so it almost covered his entire face.

"You can talk to me, you know," Alice said, then added in a lower tone, "They didn't give a description of your voice in that article."

Draco grunted, momentarily reminding himself of Crabbe, which was not a pleasant experience. He sat up a little straighter, and heard someone open and close the door from the street outside. There was a sudden rush of traffic, then quiet again as the door slammed shut.

"You let the people see, just who you wanna be…"

The waitress came back and slid a plate in front of Draco, who picked at it unenthusiastically. He was certainly hungry, but the slab of battered fish and soggy chips lying before him did little to intensify his appetite. He looked up to see if Alice's food was any more appealing, and then ducked down into his chair, his head nearly level with the table.

"…attempted masquerade…"

Alice frowned at him, but he merely made a hushing sound and peered out from under his hood. He pushed himself upright again, taking great care to keep his face as well hidden as possible, and leant right over his food. He grabbed a chip and stuffed it into his mouth, his eyes constantly flicking to the other side of the room.

Hermione Granger had just walked through the door.


*All lyrics from the song Street Life by Randy Crawford.

"Don't look," Draco whispered. "That girl - the one that's just walked in, she's looking for me."

Alice leant back slightly in her seat and turned her head to one side, so that she could just see the girl in question out of the corner of her eye. "I'd hardly call her a girl," she said, but Draco wasn't listening to her. Still staring at the back of Hermione's head, he bent himself further over his food, straining his eyes to look up under his hood. He saw her approach the display counter at one end, then exchange a few words with the woman at the till. She turned round, and Draco hurriedly stared down at his plate, lest she should sense him looking at her.

"D'you think we should leave?" Alice said quietly. "I mean, she does look pretty mean to me. D'you reckon she'd try and take you away in broad daylight?"

"I don't know," Draco muttered, stealing a glance at where Hermione was now sat, browsing the laminated menu. "If we get up, she'll see me."

Alice pretended she was examining the cheap, fluorescent art work on the wall by Hermione's head. "Maybe," she murmured. "But she's got her back to you, if we went quickly she might not recognise -"

She stopped suddenly, as Hermione's face swung round to stare at the pair of them. Alice continued to gaze at the artwork, then glanced at the woman staring her straight in the face. She shrugged, and gave a look that clearly asked 'What are you looking at?', before turning back to Draco and lifting a chip from her plate. "She's sure got fierce eyes… is something wrong with her?"

"Yeah," Draco said quietly. "She's got a cold."

Alice shook her head. "That's one Hell of a cold," she muttered. She munched on the chip, wrinkling her nose slightly. "Cold," she said, then, "Hang on…" she stared round at the counter, where an old man was ordering a cup of coffee, then looked back at Draco's bent head.

"Right," she began, "I'm going to go up there and cause a diversion, yell at them about my cold chips, and you're going to sneak out the door as soon as you're sure she isn't watching you." Alice threw another glance at Hermione, who was now sitting, waiting patiently for the waitress to take her order.

Draco looked uneasily at her. "Are you sure…?" he asked.

"Positive," she said. "You just wait round the corner in the alleyway next to that hat wear shop, and I'll be out in a minute. Most they'll do is throw me out, I expect; well, I was never going to pay for it anyway."

Alice stood up and made her way to the counter, just as the old man was shuffling back to his seat. She placed her hands on the plastic worktop next to the till, and leaned forward towards the bleach-blonde woman who had served them earlier, the woman leaning as far back as she deemed polite in reaction. "Look," Alice said in a loud voice. "When I order fish and chips I want them to be hot - that's freezing cold! Have all your heaters broken down or what? I'm not paying for that! And another thing -!" She continued her rant as the blonde-haired woman continued to frown, while Draco flicked his eyes across to Hermione, who was watching the scene with a mildly interested expression on her face.

He couldn't risk another second. Alice could be thrown out at any moment, and that would mean the avidly watching crowd would move their eyes from the counter and see him. He stood up, and not making a backward glance walked speedily to the door, opened it and exited, just while Alice was getting into her stride.

He dashed out to the pavement, spotted Georgie's Hat Emporium a few shops down and ran into the alleyway next to it. He leant against the dank, dirty wall, the smell of a nearby skip turning his empty stomach. He let his head fall back, and closed his eyes.

A footstep in a puddle, the swish of a cloak. "Hello, Draco," whispered a woman's voice.

~***~

"Drake! Drake!" Alice launched herself round the corner into the alley, her breath coming in short gasps. "I didn't even wait for them to throw me out - she left too and - and…"

"…I used a glamour, you stupid boy - only you could see me as that dirty little mudblood." It was a hissing, stinging voice, as though the woman was screaming at him while hardly moving her lips. "It's what you should have used when you first escaped, you fool! Then they wouldn't have found you!"

Alice straightened up, brushing her long, matted hair out of her eyes. She felt as though her insides had completely deflated. She was too late.

Her hooded friend was pinned against the wall by a skeletal hand gripping his neck. The woman that she had seen in the café, the woman with the stark white features and the glaring black eyes had now turned those burning pits of ebony on her. The woman's raven black hair gleamed in the dim light as she tossed it over her shoulder, a look of disgust on her face as she viewed Alice's wretched form.

"Don't -" Draco gasped, he too was staring at Alice, though his look was pleading. "Alice - run - she'll -"

"Quiet!" the woman snapped, and it was a hard, cold sound. "Filthy little Muggle, did you really think you could help him escape from us?"

Alice frowned, "Are - are you talking to me?" she said, a sliver of her old defiance visible in her tone. "What's a Muggle? Drake, what does she -?"

"Drake!" The woman let out a high-pitched cackle, and turned her gaze back to the boy struggling under her grip. "What a clever little boy you are," she jeered. "Though not clever enough!"

"Alice - please - run!"

"Alice," the woman drawled. "That’s a very pretty name." She gave a false smile, and Alice felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. She's not human… she can't be… those eyes… so wide… so - mad...

"You said she was looking for you," Alice said, staring right at Draco, trying not to look at the woman's leering face. "You didn't say she would hurt you -"

"What's this, Draco?" The woman snapped her head round to look at the boy, then dropped her hand so that he slipped several inches before his feet hit the ground.

"I - I thought it was someone else -" Draco muttered, his face entirely apologetic. It began to rain, heavy drops splashing into the alley, soaking his hood - her hood. "I'm so sorry, Alice - I'm so - I didn't know, she used some sort of disguise -"

"What?" Alice's frown deepened. "Drake - Draco - what are you talking about? Who is this woman?"

"This woman indeed!"

"Alice, please, just run!" The rain was hammering down harder now, making it difficult to hear over the sound. "Get out or she'll -"

"I'm losing patience!" the woman shrieked. She shot out a hand and shoved Draco back against the wall, then reached inside the long black cloak draped around her, and pulled out a thin wooden stick.

Alice put her head on one side and stared at it for a few seconds. A stick? A wooden stick, what is she going to do with -

A sharp, icy hiss broke into her thoughts. "Avada kedavra!"

"No!"

"Leave it, you stupid boy!"

"Alice - RUN!"

"How dare you!"

There was a sharp crack, the scuffle of feet and then nothing but the sound of the rain pummelling the pavement.

All Alice could remember as she dashed out of the alleyway, running for her life down the rain-washed streets, was her blonde-haired friend lurching toward the woman just as she let out her strange and terrible cry. He had knocked the stick right out of her hand and sent it clattering across the floor, and for this she had struck him on the side of the head.

His last scream that she should "RUN!" reverberated with a chilling boom inside her head, as she reached the end of the road, turned to her right and kept running. She didn't stop until she had entered her flat, turned the lock in the door and fallen into a heap on her mattress, tears leaking into the mouldy stuffing.

~***~

A chill blew through the room, the thin curtains rustling against the metal bars. The curly-haired girl was perched on the sofa, completely alone, sniffing into a scented tissue as she rifled through a heavy book laid on her lap.

"Can't you find anything to help me?" the boy said, watching her from the doorway to his room. "It's so cold where I am.. can't you at least get me out?"

"Draco!" the girl turned quickly, her expression one of surprise. "How are you -?"

"He's got me now," the boy said, a twinge of helplessness in his tone. "It's too late. He's got me… Him…"

A chill blew through his cell, and the pale, shivering boy jerked awake. Flashes of what had happened in the last few hours burnt prickling scars into his brain - Bellatrix Lestrange finding him in the alleyway, trying to kill Alice… then there was the sickening pull of the apparition, the blurry darkness of His headquarters… shoved into a cell, cold and alone… harsh whispers from the other side of the heavy metal door…

And the dream. Once again, he had visited Hermione, and she had been surprised to see him. It had felt so real and yet… could it have been? Could he really have been there? Astral projection. The words played on his mind, dancing amid the confusion of the day's events - of the events of the past three months, in fact. Life at Hogwarts, at home with his mother, seemed a million years ago, on some different plane. He had been a different person before he had known Him. He would never be that boy again.

The Dark Lord had shown him terror like he had never known before. His father had been a cruel man, but he had never feared him the way he had feared Him. He felt as though the proud little rich boy he had once been had dissolved into a mumbling, snivelling, grovelling gutter-creature - nothing but a servant to His beck and call, with death as the penalty for disobedience. To the Dark Lord, the lives of others had the same significance as those of scurrying ants, and He would trample them under His power if any dared to stand in His way.

To think he had once admired Him, thought He stood for everything he believed and wanted.

"Draco… you are not a killer…"

"Malfoy!" a horrible whisper sliced through the door. "Get up, you pathetic little worm!" There was a clang of rusty metal against metal, and bolt of the door flew across. The rusty metal slab creaked open, throwing dirty grey light onto the grimy floor. "Oi," the man's voice said again, and in the half-light Draco saw the uneven outline of a hunched, hideously ugly man with wiry hair creating a kind of thorny halo around his head. The stench of dog's breath and blood was mingled with his words - "He wants to see you."

Draco blinked wearily, and wiped a hand across his forehead, collecting the dirt that was clinging to his sweat. The dust in his hair had streaked it with grey, giving him the appearance of being much older, almost haggard. He limped into the light, his bones aching from where he had slept on the rock solid floor, his face wriggling into an expression of discomfort and horror as he followed the stooped man into a long, dark corridor lined with sniggering portraits.

His had been the only metal door, the others were made of what had once been fine oak, but was now worm-eaten and rotting. The stippled green wallpaper was gradually peeling away, as though longing to reach the coarse black carpet. Behind some of the doors he heard whispering, some excited and some serious, while behind others he heard moaning and weeping, sounds which prickled the hairs on the back of his neck.

Finally, the arched back of his guide halted at a door in far better condition than the others, slathered with black varnish and with a silver serpent slithering across the top panels. The man leant closer to the shining surface and whispered, "He's here."

The silver door handle began to turn of its own accord, and the door swung open very slowly. Though the corridor in which Draco stood was dark, the doorway let in no light from the room beyond, except the pale, flickering yellow from a rusting candelabra. The floor was thick with dust, but it was layered upon a richly detailed carpet of Persian design, laid across varnished dark-wood floorboards. In the centre of the room stood two ornate armchairs, each covered with plush bottle-green material, and by one stood a small round table of mahogany with legs like vines of ivy, twisting and twining round each other before reaching the floor. A fire burned in the grate, its silvery blaze throwing vast shadows over the walls and the elaborately designed fireplace. The figure of a tall, broad-shouldered man in dark robes was silhouetted against the feeble light, as He stood staring into the flames.

Draco had taken two steps into the room, pushed forward by the hunched man, before a high, cold voice seem to seep from the very walls around them. "Leave us," it said.

The boy heard his guide back away and close the heavy door behind him. He looked around at the darkened room in which he stood, observing the bookshelves lining the walls, the dead plants in expensive vases, the polished skull on the table beside the armchair. He was alone now, alone with Him.

Above the fireplace stood a cracked, age-spotted mirror framed with a complex border of gold, in which the figure's face could half be seen by the firelight. White, hairless, with deep eye sockets thrown into shadow and a thin, cruel mouth. Lord Voldemort lifted his glittering red eyes and stared back at the trembling, ashen-faced boy in the mirror.

"Hello, Draco," He whispered.

"M-m my - my Lord -"

The figure by the fireplace held up a thin, skeletal hand. "No need to speak," He said gently, though the sound seemed enough the tear Draco's skin from his bones. "I wish to talk to you, now."

He turned round, and it was all the boy could do not to turn and run for his life. His feet seemed rooted to the carpet, his knees trembling and icy sweat dripping past his wide, staring eyes. He tried to lift a hand to wipe his forehead, but found both arms glued to his sides. He felt as though he could not even blink, just gaze at the mottled skin, the flat, snake-like nose, the slicing slit pupils.

"I do not need to hear your explanations, Draco, I know why you ran away from me." The figure did not move any closer to the boy, but Draco felt as though He had rushed at him with teeth and claws bared. "You ran because you are afraid of me, because you are afraid of my punishment."

Draco tried to nod, but found he could not.

"I'll give you one thing, boy," the man tapped the side of his face with a long, thin finger. "You proved difficult to find. You were clever to stay away from the wizarding world, whether that was by choice or by accident, and your decision to immerse yourself amongst the very dregs of human society showed a willingness to forget your pride - a talent which I admire in my followers. Nevertheless," He paused. When he spoke at last, his voice lost the controlled tone which it had maintained so far, and became a cold, biting hiss. "In your decision to consort with that infernal child and his Order without offering one ounce of resistance, you have crossed into territory which you will struggle to return from!"

He seemed to stop Himself, and the following moments were thick with a suffocating silence. He took in a deep breath.

"If you were any older, I would not have even wasted time keeping you in that cell; for betrayal and attempted escape, I would have killed you."

There was another long pause. The boy began to find it difficult to breathe.

"However," the terrible voice resumed in a tone constructed solely of icy menace. "You are young. Too young to understand. No matter how far you go, no matter who you stay with or where you hide - if you run from me I will find you, and when I do you will pay."

Now He did take a step forward, and Draco felt a crushing claustrophobia, as though a wall of broken glass was racing towards him. "You have betrayed me, boy," He was inches from him, a ghastly coldness flooding Draco's lungs, stifling his voice, choking him. The fire threw a sudden flash of silver light over that harsh, pitiless face as the Dark Lord finished "- and you will suffer for it."

"Again, boy, again!" The voice seemed to streak through the room like white lightning, firing him in the chest as he lay slumped on the tattered armchair. "Try it again…"

The low hiss of his master's words rang in Draco's ears, as the boy closed his weary eyes and tried to summon what little strength he had left. Move me… move my soul… over there…

He toppled off the chair again, landing face-first on the worm-eaten floorboards, missing the cushioning surface of the rug by inches. "I can't…" he moaned. "I can't do it." He pushed himself to his feet, his limbs shaking violently. Cold sweat dripped past his pale eyes.

The dark, towering figure watched him from the opposite corner of the room, not moving, not speaking. His silence only seemed to magnify his anger, and Draco found himself being thrown back into the armchair by the mere thought of his master's punishment.

The wand was raised. "Try again."

~***~

Harry stood nervously by Lupin as the latter rapped on the flat door. Apartment 29B, floor 5, the sign on the door rusted and hanging slightly to one side. There was a banging sound from within, like heavy footsteps moving clumsily over the floor, and then Harry heard a click in the lock, and the rustle of a chain being moved across.

"What?" a gruff voice squirmed through the gap between the door and its frame, the chain preventing it from being opened any further.

Lupin cleared his throat calmly and began to speak, while Harry simply stared apprehensively at the large shadow cast by the tenant. "I'm sorry to disturb you," Lupin said, "my name is -"

"What do you want?" the gruff voice barked. "Don't care who you are."

The chain rattled slightly. Lupin merely sighed. "We are interested in the whereabouts of Alice Cartwright, we believe her to be a resident here. Do you know where she is?"

The was a pause, heavy with the struggle of thought from the man behind the door. Harry shifted his feet, while Lupin remained steadfastly still, his tired eyes watching the tenant's shadow wearily. The boy took a deep breath and scrunched even smaller the piece of paper clutched in one hand. Unfolded, it would read:

Alice Cartwright, apartment 29B, Crossflats

He had wriggled the information out of the doctor who had witnessed Malfoy's short spell in the hospital, and who had had to "put up with" Alice's presence during that time. Harry wondered briefly why on earth anyone would want to stay anywhere near Malfoy for three months, and entertained the possibility that Malfoy had used some kind of threat to keep her as his personal slave for his time on the run. Surely even Malfoy wouldn't be that stupid? he thought.

Eventually, a reply was uttered through the doorway, and the two visitors were assured that Alice would appear at the door in a matter of moments. The door slammed shut.

Lupin turned to Harry. "Alright," he began, "we're just going to ask her a few questions and then we can leave, ok? Tonks is waiting for us just around the corner, and Kingsley has the car parked across the street." He paused, and looked at Harry's silent countenance as though trying to read his thoughts in his expression.

"Nothing's wrong," Harry said bluntly, avoiding conversation.

"We have to be careful, Harry," Lupin said patiently. Then, "McGonagall was angry that you left purely because she doesn't want you found by the wrong people. You should have told us you were leaving, that's all."

The lock clicked again, and this time the rustle was the chain being pulled back. The door parted from the threshold to reveal a short, skinny girl with matted black hair and dark, grimy make-up round her eyes. She was dressed in an assortment of clothes all various patterns and colours and all in need of repair. Around her neck hung something which greatly resembled a bicycle chain. She looked the pair of them up and down and said, "Yeah, what do you want?"

Harry was, to say the least, stunned. Malfoy would lower himself to live here, and be attended to by someone like her? Was this even the same Malfoy he was dealing with? But he had barely time to absorb the shock before Lupin had begun questioning her; clearly, her appearance came as no surprise to him.

"…We just wondered if you knew anything at all concerning his whereabouts," Lupin was saying, "it's vitally important that we receive every bit of information you can give."

The girl, Alice, narrowed her eyes and took a step away from them, back into her flat. "Don't know who you are," she said in scared tones, "but if you're anything like the one who came to see me at the station I don't want nothing to do with you!"

She almost shut the door, but Lupin called out, "Wait!" She paused, one hand on the doorknob.

"We mean you no harm, Alice, we really don't. But we need to find the boy who was living here with you, the boy who you took to hospital. It is desperately important that we track him down and we need you to do it." Lupin's bloodshot eyes stared pleadingly at her, and the girl's frosty attitude seemed to soften. She stepped out into the dank hallway, and closed the flat door behind her.

"What have I got to lose?" she said quietly. "Look, I don't know whether you're lying or not about what you really want with him, but I suppose it doesn't matter." She paused. "Can you get him away from her?"

"From who, Alice?" Lupin asked gently.

"I don't know," the girl muttered. "That woman with the crazy eyes, black hair, really weird looking."

"Do you have any idea who she was?"

"No. Weird voice, though. Shouted something at me, was like she spoke a different language. She had this weird stick thing, pointed it at me." She seemed to shudder as she said this, and Harry had a good idea what the "weird stick thing" was.

A deep frown line appeared on Lupin's forehead, and a hint of urgency crept into his tone. "What did she say, Alice, can you remember? Were you… affected in any way by it?"

Alice looked as though she didn't quite know what to make of this statement, but answered anyway, after a slight pause. "Um… well, no. There was this - right, this sounds really stupid - but there was this light thing and it sort of missed me, and Drake just told me to bomb it so I just ran off."

"Drake? You mean Draco?"

"What? Oh, yeah, that was his actual name, right?" Alice scratched her head.

Lupin continued to look concerned, but it was Harry's puzzlement which made itself known first. "He told you to run?" he asked, bewildered. "He told you to run away?"

"Yeah," Alice said simply. "Well, what else was he s'posed to do? That woman was bloody insane, I swear she was going to kill me. He was trying to get away himself, but then they just sort of… disappeared…" She trailed off, indicating that she didn't quite believe her own story, and Harry was not surprised by this. If he had been witness to a piece of powerful magic, such as apparition, whilst being unaware of the wizarding world, he would have doubted his own senses as well.

Her description of the woman worried him; she sounded an awful lot like someone he didn't want to encounter again. And if she had Malfoy, that could only mean -

"Ok, er, thanks, Alice," Harry mumbled. "Um, Lupin, can I talk to you for a second?"

~***~

If he hadn't felt so battered, broken, brutalised, he may have enjoyed the experience. It was a quiet, calm, floating sensation; he was soaring through the air, utterly weightless. He reached the other side of the room and looked back to see his body still slumped in the chair, hidden by flickering shadows. He breathed a heavy sigh.

"Very good," hissed a voice from the darkness. "Very good indeed."

~***~

Hermione sat very quiet and very still on the couch in their flat, still not quite certain of what she had seen. Harry had left hours ago with a few others, after Ron had got his message through to the Order and McGonagall had arrived, furious at Harry for leaving the house. The girl, he had said her name was Alice and that she lived in some run-down block of flats in East London. How had Malfoy wound up in the East end?

A small, black fly was buzzing desperately from the carpet, wriggling and flapping its wings; it was dying. The sound irked the conscious part of Hermione's brain, but the rest was focused somewhere else. He had appeared to her from his cell. He had told her where he was and that it was all hopeless now.

She had not managed to tell any of the Order members who had arrived; firstly, because she hardly believed it herself, and secondly, because they would not believe it even if she did. That was the second time in a few days that Malfoy had somehow appeared before her and asked her for help. Her theory was proving to be more and more possible, but his reasons for subconsciously vanishing from his body and reappearing somewhere else were becoming equally more vague. Why her? Why didn't he appear to his mother or father? Because he trusts you, said a small voice inside her head. He knows you can help him.

She sniffed, then stood up, feeling the blood rush to her head as she did so. He had managed to use a magical method of transportation without being detected, because this method was older than anything invented during the Ministry's time. There were documents describing astral projection in the Muggle world as well, so it was not even solely restricted to the Wizarding population. If it could work for astral projection, then maybe it could work for something else.

Her mind flicked over everything she had ever read about finding a lost person, about every possible way of tracking them. "No magic," she muttered to herself. "But how about some good old-fashioned witchcraft."

"Very good," the cold hiss squirmed at him. "Very good indeed."

The snake was moving slowly across the floor towards him, twirling round the armchair in which Draco was slumped. Sweat glistened on his pale forehead, plastering his white hair to his head in silver streaks. His heart thumped within him, so loud he imagined it might burst right out of his chest. He was exhausted.

"Please…" he wailed softly. "Please… no more. I - I can't…"

The dark figure on the other side of the room was merely a silhouette, and so Draco could not see its piercing eyes staring across at him, their look utterly unreadable.

"It was difficult, at first," the cold voice told him, "to decide what to do with you. When I heard of your… ability I admit I questioned it at first. So rare, these days…"

The snake uncoiled itself from around Draco's chair and slithered over the floor to her master. Skeletal white fingers folded themselves over the snake's head.

The dim light from the only lamp in the room was flickering now, fading, and the fire was long dead. Briefly, he wondered how long he had been there, how long the towering figure had forced him to tear his soul from his body, to move without moving. He had finally achieved it, after what felt like days, but any sense of triumph was quashed by his own fear… fear of what this new ability might be used for.

A terrible coldness had consumed the room, causing Draco's breath to appear in an icy mist before his face. He closed his eyes, and darkness fell about him; cold, comforting darkness. From somewhere on the other side of the room, the snake hissed softly.

Eventually, the icy voice accompanied its pet, "I have your mother here, Draco," it said simply, but the words were enough to shock the boy back to consciousness.

"W-what -?!" he stammered, "Y-you have -?"

"Your mother," the voice replied, "yes." It was almost mocking in its tone, and Draco could almost picture the cruel smile that would be playing on the Dark Lord's lips. "And soon enough our allies will break out the prisoners at Azkaban, and your father will be with us too…"

A horrible silence lingered in the air following these words, as the crumpled boy contemplated what his master had said. Both his mother and father, here with him; surely that was worth staying alive for? But what will my father say when he hears - hears how I failed him? What will he do..?

But the figure's next words were gilded with a menace which removed all fears of his father in one. "I am not telling you this to lift your spirits, boy!" He snapped, jolting Draco upright. His eyes snapped open as he listened to the Dark Lord's words. "I, soon, will have both your parents in my power, and I hold their fate in my hands."

Draco's eyes widened as he realised what the figure was telling him. "You w-wouldn't -" he stuttered. "No. Y-you can't -"

"I will give you a task, Draco," the Dark Lord hissed. "A simple task, your completion of which will determine the fate of your parents, and indeed - your own fate as well…" he let his words seep into the silence which followed, drawing out the sting which they inflicted upon the boy. He squirmed in his armchair.

"Do you understand what I am telling you, Draco?" the figure asked, in a tone which made clear that he did not expect a negative answer. "Do you?"

Hesitantly, Draco nodded.

~***~

Hermione sat, cross-legged on the floor, the chain held aloft in her hands. She had tried the bowl of water, but with no luck. Hours of staring into its clear surface had given her nothing but blurred vision. Her cold was worsening, and she found herself sniffing heartily as she swung the crystal pendant over a wide map of London. He has to be here somewhere, he can't have gone that far…

The dizziness returned, and suddenly she felt simply like giving up and going to bed. She had left her wand in the other room to remove any temptation of using it - absolutely no magic. To remain undetected was key.

Magic older than the Ministry itself would not be picked up by its radars - the kind of magic that was buried deep in the earth, the kind used by pagans and druids, the kind that non-magic people could manipulate if they wanted to. The kind of magic that involved using herbs with particular properties, basic healing charms, and scrying - what she was trying to do now. Magic like astral projection. The kind of magic that sent young women or old crones to the stake.

It could not be detected, she was sure of this, vaguely remembering reading about it in The Ministry of Magic: A Revised, Updated and Fully Comprehensive History. Even though her synapses may be somewhat slowed down by illness, her meticulous memory never failed her.

However, she was beginning to have doubts about her ability to come up with ideas. It had seemed like a clever and rather ingenious way of finding Draco Malfoy without being spotted by either the Ministry or the Death Eaters. But after two and a quarter hours of trying to locate the blonde-haired fugitive, 'old-fashioned witchcraft' was proving to be trickier than she had surmised.

'This is ridiculous,' she found herself thinking, 'I mean - I've never had a problem with a single spell in my life, and now I'm struggling with something that can be done by even non-magic people!'

She blamed the illness, because it was easier than admitting defeat, and decided that all she needed was a cup of tea and an aspirin. Hermione got up and went into the kitchen, flicked the kettle on and poured herself a glass of water. She gulped down an aspirin tablet and through a tea bag into a mug, slumping into one of the seats at the kitchen table.

'I'm a witch,' she thought desperately. 'This should be easy for me. It's part of my nature…'

Fifteen minutes of scowling and staring at the clock allowed the aspirin to clear away the cobwebs of her headache, and Hermione to drain half of her tea. Seating herself in front of the map again, she picked up the chain, swung it around for a few seconds, then let it drop with a resigned expression. The pendant chain was still resting in her palm, but she was no longer moving it, merely sitting with her eyes closed, feeling the tendrils of exhaustion wrap around her consciousness.

But I'm not that tired…

She felt sweat on her forehead, the pulse of bruises on her limbs which she had not known were there. She seemed to be crumpled, slouched, cushioned by something rough and worn. There was a tenseness in her muscles, a fear, as though she wanted to run for miles but her own fatigue prevented it.

Terror. Awful terror. Bitter cold.

Her eyes snapped open, her breathing coming in short gasps, and she realised that there was no sweat on her forehead, no coarse material stifling her movement. A rush of energy swept through her - she knew she had not been that weary. She looked down at the map on the floor before her, and saw that her hand had moved.

The crystal was pinned to a particular point near the edge of the map, a cluster of run-down buildings in a bad part of the city. She peered closer, tugging at the chain to clear her view.

The pendant would not move.

~***~

"You think you are up to the challenge, boy? You think you can do what I ask?"

Draco daren't say anything in reply, in fact, he was not sure that he could even if he tried. He felt utterly drained, and could barely nod his head to show that he had at least heard what the figure had asked him.

"Remember," the figure continued, "that you have failed me before. And I, being a merciful Lord, forgave you. Once." He pointed a thin white finger at the defeated expression on Draco's face. "I hope not to entertain disappointment again. In fact, I will not tolerate it."

The boy tried to nod again, and found that he could not.

A horrible smirk was spread across the Dark Lord's snake-like face. "You are to use your new ability," he explained, with the air of someone delivering a death sentence. "You will travel to the place where Potter is hiding…" his tones drenched with icy menace, he presented the task to his victim with a mocking smile, "…and kill him for me."

A note to the reader: The next chapter will either be the ultimate or penultimate, and I can't decide whether it will have a happy or sad ending. Preferences?

"Do you understand me, boy? Have I made myself clear?! Speak!"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Do not forget who it is you serve!"

"N-never, my Lord."

"And will you ever, ever disobey me again?!"

"No more, my Lord. No more…"

The exchange echoed ceaselessly inside Draco's mind as he lay in his cold cell, shivering, weak, his eyes clamped shut with fear and pain. No more, no more… He had sworn to obey and he must. For the sake of his mother, his father, his life. He must carry out the Dark Lord's wishes, or suffer the consequences. He must end another's life, as he had failed to do before, and in return the constant pressure to meet expectations, the constant fear for his and his family's life, might finally cease. No more punishment, no more hiding, no more regret for every decision made on that terrible night – when the one shred of hope he had for redemption had plummeted out of sight forever…

Tomorrow, it would end.

~***~

"I think…" Hermione began, the words clawing at her aching throat, "I think I've found him."

The map was still in front of her, the crystal stuck fast, but now the scrying equipment was laid out over the chipped, plastic worktop in the kitchen, and Hermione was not the only one staring down at it. Harry had returned with Lupin, both of whom were now leaning against the kitchen cupboards, poring over the map with the crystal firmly attached to it. Ron was lingering in the corner of the room, his eyes flicking from Hermione to Harry to Hermione, their edges lined with red.

"Very good thinking…" murmured Lupin, one of his hands tracing his lower lip pensively. "And you say he appeared before you? Again?"

"That's right," Hermione said softly, if a little hurriedly. "Look – I know you'll have questions about how exactly I managed to locate him, but the important thing is: we know where he is now, and he's in trouble. If Bellatrix took him, then we know where. We need to get him out of there." She sniffed and reached into her pocket for a scrunched grey tissue.

Lupin eyed her sharply. "Now, Hermione, I know you're concerned –"

"God knows why," muttered Harry. "If he's gone back to Voldemort, then he's probably dead and there's no point in looking anymore."

"Harry –" Hermione paused so as not to sound too desperate. She knew any genuine concern for Draco Malfoy's safety would only irritate her friend; logical reasoning was the only thing that might convince him. "Remember what McGonagall said? If Dra– Malfoy – can really astral project then we don't know what Voldemort is using him for. Whatever it is, it can't be good. We've got to get him out of there."

She took a sip of tepid tea from her mug, wondering exactly why she was having to disguise 'genuine concern' for someone who had spent the last six years bullying her, someone who had never missed an opportunity to display his distain for people of her kind. Maybe Harry or Lupin know the answer, she thought, because for once I can't figure it out…

"Alright, Hermione, I'll tell you what." It was Lupin's calm voice that broke the silence again. Ron had yet to say anything at all. "We'll send Kingsley and a few others over to this place to see exactly what kind of security measures we're dealing with. If Draco is really in the same building as Voldemort, then it may not even be possible for us to attempt to break him out. But we'll look all the same," he added the last sentence reassuringly, seeing the distressed look on Hermione's sickly face.

Ron's silence did not break until Lupin had pulled shut the door to their dingy flat and Hermione had once again taken up residence on the sofa. Her fingernails were resting between her teeth, her eyes wide, when Ron leant against the wall opposite her and gestured vaguely at her hands.

"You never bite your nails," he remarked quietly.

Hermione dropped her hands to her lap. "Sorry," she said. "I'm just –"

"Why?" Ron wasn't quite looking at her. "Why do you care so much about what happens to him?"

The girl kept her eyes focused on a tear in the sofa material, while she heard Harry shift uncomfortably somewhere behind her. For a moment, she felt salt sting her eyes: the last thing she had ever wanted was for Ron to feel distanced from her. Any mumbled explanation concerning some genuine fear for Draco's life would alienate him in a second, just like it would with Harry. But Ron was even more important to her than him: her next words would have to be carefully selected.

"Because…" she began, again feeling the twinge in her throat, "because I've seen what he can do. You and Harry haven't – you don't know how powerful he is."

"You mean just appearing?" Harry's voice snarled from the back of the room. "Anyone can –"

"No, Harry, anyone can't." The stress in her voice was putting a terrible strain on her throat. "It's not like Apparating. I've read about it; it's appearing in the form of your consciousness and leaving your body behind. It can be done completely without detection, which means Voldemort can send Draco wherever he wants without us, or the Ministry, knowing." Hermione paused for breath, not looking at either of her friends. "And because you only appear in a non-physical form, you can't be hexed, or hurt, or stopped. But the body you leave behind when you astral project is completely out of your control."

She sighed, waiting for either Harry or Ron to snap at her again, but neither of them did. "It means," she continued slowly, "if Malfoy projects to do whatever Voldemort's told him to, and he doesn't do it properly, Voldemort can hurt him, or even kill him, without Malfoy being able to defend himself."

There was a long moment before Ron finally lifted his head to look at Hermione. The dull light of the room cast long shadows under his eyes. "I guess that's a pretty good incentive to do what he's told," he muttered.

"Yes," said Hermione, "it is. Which is why we need to find him and stop him, before –"

"Before," Harry interrupted her, "he does anything stupid."

The girl exhaled in a somewhat defeated manner. "Right," she said, and her fingernails found their way back to her lips.

"Something stupid…" whispered Ron, "like showing up here."

It was a minute before Hermione registered exactly what emotion had trembled beneath Ron's words, but when she finally looked up and stared at his wide, glaring eyes, she realised it was fear. He wasn't looking at her anymore: his gaze was focused on a dark corner at the back of the room, near the window with the broken blinds, where a distorted square of dying sunlight patched the shabby carpet. Something was flickering in mid-air, growing clearer by the second. It was the figure of a tall, quivering boy, with pale skin, pale hair and bloodshot eyes. There was a crazed expression on his face, as he straightened his arm to point a wand at one of the room's three occupants.

"I'm sorry…" came the figure's wavering voice. "I have to. I'm sorry…"

"Draco… no!"

Hermione was on her feet and staring at the boy's sputtering outline.

"It's alright, Hermione." Harry's tone was evidently designed to calm her, but he could not hide the tremor of nerves echoing every syllable. "He's barely there at all. He couldn't hurt me if he wanted to."

"Harry, don't be ridiculous! Run – get out of here -!"

"Stay where you are!"

Hermione whipped her head round to face the figure who was threatening the life of her best friend. If ever her sympathy for this wretched excuse for a human being was questionable, it was at that very moment. The fact that he was not truly there made it difficult for Hermione to be certain, but she could have sworn Draco Malfoy had tears in his eyes.

"Draco, p-please…" she stammered. Her head ached. "Please, you don't have to –"

"What the Hell do you know?!" Draco screamed, his wand arm juddering. "They've got my parents! They're standing over my body right now – ready to kill me if I fail again!" He dragged in a breath and stared straight at Harry, who had not moved an inch from standing behind the sofa. "I have to do this."

Ron, who had not said a word, took a step towards Hermione.

"Don't move!" Suddenly Draco's wand was on Ron. "Don't move… just stay where you are. I have to - I have to -"

"Do it, then," Harry spat, his face thunderous. "Kill me. Save your own skin and kill me."

Hermione's frantic gaze darted to the boy with the scar on his forehead. "Harry, what on earth -?!"

"Stay out of this, Hermione," Harry cut her off. "This is between me and him."

There was a moment of absolute stillness in the room, where nothing at all seemed to move and not a sound could be heard. The apparition in the corner still had his arm stretched toward the dark-haired boy, red anger and hatred and terrible fear in his staring eyes. Both of them even seemed to have ceased breathing.

Then Draco felt a jab in the back of his neck. Someone, somewhere, could see what he was doing – someone knew he hadn't killed Potter yet and that someone was going to hurt him for it. He suffered a stab of pain in his chest that had nothing to do with any outside force, and suddenly he saw his mother's pleading face before his eyes. He remembered her screaming and crying and struggling to escape from the dark men dragging her from her own house. He had been there, he now realised: he had been there in that room when they had come for her, and he had been powerless to do anything about it.

I will not see her suffer again because of me. I will not let her down. I will not give in.

He was still pointing his weapon at Potter. The words of the spell were practically on his lips – impatient to be cried out, impatient to kill.

"Draco… you are not a killer…"

Then his mother's beseeching face transformed before his eyes. It became old and defeated, yet still terrifyingly strong. Draco saw the room around him change and suddenly the sky was black and the walls were stone. There were not three students stood before him but a wizened old man with greying hair and eyes that knew too much. The wizard was not pleading for his life, but offering escape. And Draco was frozen too solid to take it.

"I have to…" He heard his own voice as though from miles away.

"…you are not a killer…"

There was another jab in the back of his neck and then something smacked against his spine. It was as though he had just been thrown hard onto the floor, and had hit it flat-out without any resistance. The pain jerked him back into reality, and the darkened sky and tower bricks melted away in an instant.

"Draco… Draco…"

He closed his eyes. There was nothing before them except total blackness and he could hear nothing but the whisper of the man he tried to murder. The words of the killing curse danced on his tongue and his fingers clenched even tighter over his wand.

"I have to… I have to… I have to -"

"Draco!"

His eyes snapped open. He felt a rushing sensation in his stomach, as though he had just plummeted from an incredible height, and then a numbness swept over his entire body. The pain in his spine ebbed back swiftly until it was overwhelming, and for a moment he felt completely paralysed.

There were faces before him, but they were not those of the three students in their murky Muggle hideout. Nor were they the terrifying, flat-nosed and red-eyed tyrant who had dominated his nightmares for the last year of his life. These faces were blurred and distant, and they were talking to each other in tense, hushed tones. One of them was struggling against her captors.

"My son! Let me see my son! Let go of me!"

"In a moment, Mrs. Malfoy. Your son is a dangerous fugitive who has been –"

"Let go! Draco! Draco!"

Mother…

Something clattered onto the floor next to him, and he managed to tilt his head far enough to see that it was his own hand. The wand, that had been clutched so tightly within it, was rolling slowly away under the iron bed beside him. However, the noise as his hand hit the floor had shaken his mind awake once more, and now a horrible sickness accompanied the sting in his spine.

He was back in His cell. He had not killed Harry Potter.

He had failed Him again.

"Please, Mrs. Malfoy –"

"Draco!"

"Incarcerous!"

"No – don't hurt her!"

Again, Draco heard his own voice as though the words were being shouted through thick walls. He found he could not even turn his head back from watching Hermione's wand lie still in the darkness under the bed. He could not lift himself to his feet and, once again, he could do nothing to help his mother.

"Draco – he spoke! He's alive -!"

"Get her out of here," instructed a gruff, authoritative voice – the same one which had spoken before. Suddenly Draco found himself being lifted off the ground and manhandled onto a kind of stretcher. His eyes fluttered closed and open and finally rested shut again. There were a thousand questions buzzing painfully in his mind, but for the moment he was content to leave none of them answered.

The coldness had gone. The fear had left his heart. His mother was close by and still calling out to her son, and Draco was certain that the tyrant, the monster, the Dark Lord Himself, was no longer anywhere near him…

~***~

"…Apparently they had all gone by the time Kingsley got to him."

Someone shuffled slightly in their seat. "Why did they leave him behind?"

A pause. "Lupin said they're not sure. It might be because Voldemort detected the Order nearby and thought Dra- Malfoy – had to be the only way they could have found him. They were in a hurry to get out of there. They even left his mother behind."

"What about his father?"

"No one knows."

Another pause. In his blurry, semi-conscious state, Draco felt his stomach churn at the girl's flippant response.

"Why didn't they kill him, then?" one of the other two asked.

"Well, that's the bad part," Hermione continued. "Obviously… they still need him. And, one day, they'll come back for him."

There was a squeak as someone pushed a chair back across the floor, then three sets of footsteps fading as they reached the door. The boy lying broken and still in the bed heard the trio continue to whisper to each other as, one by one, they left the room. His mind crawled weakly and hesitantly between questions of the kind that were painful to even consider contemplating.

His mother was alive and his father was missing. And He doesn't know where I am… or does he?

He tried to lift one of his hands, to even turn his head, but his back screamed in protest at every movement. When he had come crashing back into his body after the failed murder attempt, he must have hit the ground hard. It didn't matter anymore. He would be happy to know he never had to move again. Except…

"One day, they'll come back for him." That's what she said, wasn't it? One day… they'll find me again…

"Well, it bloody well better not be soon," one of the trio muttered.

Then the most important person in the fight against the Dark Lord pulled the door shut behind him, and left Draco Malfoy alone with his thoughts.