Chapter 60
Colton hadn’t taken a dozen paces before he paused to look up and down the corridor. Draco, who had never trained as a spy, found himself spotted immediately. Draco tried to look natural, at the same time he tried to think of a natural reason he would be following Colton. Colton sneered at his attempt.
“Why are you following me?” Colton was using his civil voice, even if it was wearing thin.
Draco licked his lips nervously. He had nothing. There was no reason for him to be there at all other than his suspicion things weren’t quite right. “I just wondered where you were going,” Draco admitted, because it would be more awkward to say nothing at all.
The words stripped whatever civility Colton had left away. “Did the king have you guarding the door?” he asked, livid and appalled.
Draco realized he was making whatever this was worse. He rushed to shake his head in denial. “No, he doesn’t even know I’m here.”
Colton’s sneer deepened. He heaved in a breath, preparing to growl out something scathing. Yet, he didn’t. He just held himself in that moment between anger and attack until, one micro expression at a time, he reined in his anger until there was only a hard, unforgiving stare. “Who does know you’re here?” the question was chilly. Draco actually shivered.
“Everyone!” Draco lied. A bad lie born of frayed nerves. Colton’s stare didn’t budge a bit. Draco swallowed around a dry throat and lied again. “I came ahead, but the Weasleys should be here any moment. Molly thought we might still catch you all for dinner.” Draco turned to look down the hall, as if someone might really show up at any moment.
As he turned back he caught sight of motion. Perhaps it was his mornings training with Ron, or the time spent watching a small child who would chuck toys about when angry. Some instinct guided Draco, and he twisted out of the way just in time for the dagger to only graze his shoulder instead of landing true. Draco gasped, aware of the cut but not yet feeling it.
The delay in sensation gave him the moment he needed to look up. Colton hadn’t waited for him, although Draco was confused to see him run to the wall and yank on a lamp above his head. There was a distinct clink noise, then Colton shoved on the wall and it moved. The wall was moving. Draco didn’t have time to process it, because now his arm was burning and it hurt. He had to choose whether to focus on the pain, and the sticky warmth that must be blood, or the dark passage Colton just escaped into.
The passage was closing, slow and grinding, and too fast for Draco to consider his options.
Oh hell, Draco was going to make a terrible mistake. There wasn’t time to do otherwise. Draco barely had the sense to lunge down after the knife that had cut him before falling a couple meters away. Then he was up and running back towards the nearly shut up wall. He slammed into it before it clicked back into place, his whole body jarred by the impact. He shoved the door, thankful that’s all that was needed for it to reopen.
To his credit, Draco did think twice before running into a pitch dark tunnel all alone. Not well enough to call a halt to his foolishness, but he did pause before disappearing to turn round and shout, “Harry! Harry, he’s in the passage!” the king needed to know, and in his haste Draco didn’t even realize his informality.
Then Draco charged forward. He gripped the knife in his right hand, and did his best to ignore the burning sting on his left shoulder as he trailed his left hand against the wall so that when the doorway grinded back closed he stayed steady. Too soon it was pitch black. He struggled to move fast and silent. Draco strained to hear anything beyond his labored breathing. The darkness wrecked clear sensations. Draco feared he only imagined the distant tap of footsteps. He tried to focus on the sounds so that he could place what was happening, but it only brought the rapid pounding of his heart into greater focus.
Finally, light. A soft glow emitted in the distance. An opened door framed the figure of another man. Colton was getting away.
Draco threw caution to the wind and sprinted. He knew better than to run in the dark, or with a dagger gripped in hand, but reason didn’t guide him. He saw the moment Colton jerked around, finally hearing Draco’s pounding feet giving chase. Colton didn’t wait another moment to slip out of the tunnel, leaving another door to grind shut behind him. Draco found new speed in an effort not to lose him, until finally he slammed his body into another door before it too could slide closed. He heaved at it, pushing it back open.
There was no sign, this time. No rush of wind or flick of motion. There was only Draco, remembering Colton’s fury and resentment. The smart move would have been for Colton to run before Draco could catch up, but then all Colton would do was escape into the night and a world of hiding from King Harry’s justice. A self imposed exile, rather than relying on the mercy of the king. The smart move would be to take it. Escape, gather whatever funds the Slughorns surely had squirreled away, and get out while he still could.
That wasn’t good enough for Colton, just as Draco knew it wouldn’t be. It wouldn’t have been enough, if Draco were in his shoes. So Draco knew what would happen when he flung himself beyond the door, and he was already lunging down and away when Colton’s second dagger took aim at him. It swiped above his head, allowing Draco the chance to enact a meanever Ron had forced him to practice. Fall into a roll and use the momentum to fling back up to your feet. Draco couldn’t help but laugh that it worked.
Colton scowled at his laughter. He found his balance again after his failed strike and held his dagger out in front of him, a constant threat of attack. “You won’t be laughing long,” he seethed.
Warily, Draco held his own dagger between them to counter Colton’s threat. He’d learned his lesson and didn’t take his eyes off the other man, but he didn’t need to recognize their surroundings. The tunnel had taken them out to the edge of the castle, to the place of arms Draco had recently spent so much time in. From here, it would be easy to find a path out and away. “Would have been smarter to run for it than have another go at me.”
The glint in Colton’s eyes was cruel. “You misunderstand your situation,” Colton snarled. “You’re already dead.”
It was a mistake to take a moment for confusion from his words, because in that moment Colton slashed out again. Draco was forced backwards, always dodging. Colton had not shirked combat lessons and it showed in his sure footing and assertive strikes. He didn’t give Draco an opening to fight back. Draco was forced to fall back again and again until he stumbled. He was close to the wall, nearly the same spot they’d entered from, when he reached back with his left arm to steady himself. Searing pain shot through his arm and it gave out instead of holding. He fell hard into the wall with an oomph.
Colton gloated with laughter. “Not feeling too well there, are you Draco?”
Draco shifted so he could lean his back against the wall. He risked a glance down at his injured arm. He had only been grazed. It was a nasty cut, but shouldn’t be severe. The sharp burn hadn’t eased, though. The scratch of it had even spread. He could feel sharp fire trailing down his arm. His finger tips tingled. Oh hell, this was bad.
Draco squeezed his grip on the dagger he had while he still could. Colton was leering at him, his own dagger in hand, ready for a final strike.
A grinding interrupted them. Close by, the wall was moving. Time nearly slowed as Draco watched Colton turn to the noise, his expression almost gleeful.
As children, Draco and Colton had always been the most powerful. It was through the luck of their station in life, but also they were clever and beautiful, and each in their own way had a terrible love of winning. Draco still struggled to reconcile his sense of superiority with having lost so thoroughly that he had no standing left. He was learning when to put his pride aside, if only barely. Colton hadn’t experienced those lessons. So of course he was foolish and lunged again for the figure exiting the passage doorway, an easy target less prepared than Draco had been. Colton only needed one cut, then he could have his victory and make his escape.
Draco found the strength to heave himself off the wall, throwing his body in the pathway between Colton and the door. Colton was already in motion, his arm thrusting forward with a dagger that unexpectedly collided with Draco instead of its target. Draco hardly felt it, at first. Just a strange pressure in his abdomen. All he noticed was Colton’s eyes, so close to Draco’s face, wide in surprise.
Draco forced his free arm to stumble forward and grab at Colton, trying to hold him in place. Then he slashed out himself, barely nicking Colton’s skin.
Colton yelped, yanking backwards out of Draco’s grip. One hand went to the cut in his arm, terror clear on his face. He looked back at Draco, suddenly young. Draco had been marred by war years ago. He didn’t remember what that youthful fear was like. Then Colton was running, off and away, leaving Draco to feel a bad sort of heat in his belly starting to burn. The pain was all encompassing.
Draco stumbled. His knees gave out.
Someone hard and firm caught him from behind so he didn’t tumble to the ground. Draco tilted his head back and looked up at a strong jaw and mop of black, shaggy hair. His lips twitched upwards. “Hello yo.. Your…” he stumbled over the words before settling on “Harry.”
“Draco?” The king made his name a demand, already shifting Draco’s weight. He must have seen the blood, then, because his face went pale.
Draco shook his head. “You’ve… you’ve still got time,” he stuttered. “If you go… now… you’ll catch him.”
King Harry wasn’t listening. Instead, he carefully laid Draco on the ground and tried to assess his wound. Draco’s eyes followed the king’s hands, which is when Draco realized the dagger was still sticking out of him. Seeing it made it hurt worse, the pain radiated through him and he choked down a sob.
The king carefully wrapped his hands around the wound, applying pressure. “Don’t be stupid, I’m not going anywhere.” The touch made it feel worse. Draco hissed and twisted. “Stay still, try to stay still.”
Draco couldn’t hold back the sob this time. He was pretty sure he was dying. “Ca… careful. Poison,” he managed to warn. Then he closed his eyes and focused on breathing through the pain.
He barely recognized the grind of the door opening once more and was only aware someone else must be there when he heard the king yelling, “Get a healer!”
“What happened? Where’s Colton?” It was Ron’s voice.
“Forget Colton, get a healer!”
Draco forced himself to open his eyes and look at Ron. Ron looked grimmer than Draco had ever seen. He moved with the efficiency of a man who’d stared death in the face many times and was no longer beholden to fear of it. Just as he wasn’t beholden to the fear of warding it off. Ron pulled off his cravat and crouched down to put over the wound. To soak up the blood.
Oh god, Draco was dying.
“Get my mother,” he wheezed.
The king shifted his weight, adjusting the new cloth. “You’re going to be fine, Draco. He’s going for a healer.”
Ron was nodding. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Poison,” Draco said again, causing Ron to look even more severe and the king to look all but frantic. They weren’t getting his point. His brain was fuzzy, but he tried again. “She knows… can heal poison.” He waited just long enough to see understanding dawn on Ron’s face before Draco slumped back onto the ground and let his eyes shut.
“Draco, stay with me. Stay with me Draco,” the king said urgently. A hand, warm and sticky, touched his face, caressing the curve of his chin.
Draco groaned. “‘M right here.”
The king let out a shaky breath. “Good. Great. Stay here. Stay here with me.” The king’s hand brushed over Draco’s jaw. Draco felt the king’s thumb rub over his cheek bone. Then the king pulled back, shifting his hand back to where the other was, still putting pressure on Draco’s wound. “I need something else to put on this, can you help hold pressure for a moment?”
Draco shook his head. Both hands felt tingly now. He cracked his eyes open to look at the king. “Too… late. ‘M bleeding too much,” he managed to say.
The king’s face twitched from worry to frustration. Draco watched the familiar furrow of the king’s brows. The king all but snarled. “You’re the most stubborn bastard I know. Don’t give up now.”
Draco had to crack a smile at his glare. He shifted slightly, finding strength to lift his right hand and drop it on top of the king’s.
All the anger fell from the king at Draco’s touch. King Harry sagged with the relief of it. The king shifted Draco’s hand so it rested against his own abdomen. Vaguely, Draco could feel the blood under his fingers. The king put his hand on Draco’s so he could squeeze it and hold the pressure. King Harry shifted his other hand, reaching for anything he could easily tug off either man. The king pulled off his own cravat, before shifting Draco’s suit coat around and checking for loose fabric.
Draco’s mind was too sluggish to note the precise moment the king pulled out his handkerchief. It took him eons to note the king’s recognition. Draco registered the cloth being pressed against his wound before he connected it to the gentle smile on King Harry’s face. Only vaguely could he recall how the king’s tension had fallen away, like a weight was lifted from the king’s shoulders. King Harry was staring down at Draco, his emerald eyes shining wet and bright and desperate. Draco’s hand twitched under the king’s, but the king just held it tighter.