The Slytherin Rescue
There was a long second which felt like an eternity, where Harry could only stare. Where he could only look on at that face that had grinned at him, laughed with him, stared into his best girl friend’s eyes with the most admiring gaze one could, and had promised to stand by him to the end. There was a moment where he couldn’t even believe it was real, because surely he had dreamed something worse than this nightmare. But he hadn’t. This had to be the worst nightmare one could ever have, and it was real.
Before he knew what he was doing fully, almost as a reflexive reaction, Harry reached forward to grab his wand, turned and yelled “Accio Cup!” to the cup, then, “Accio Viktor!” to Viktor’s body, before being forced forward at the feet of the dark figure who had just murdered Viktor Krum, letting both objects collide hard with Draco, who yelled only half his name before disappearing.
He was alone now, but that was okay. This was how he wanted it to be. No one had to die for Harry Potter. It was just him and Voldemort, and the man who he now raised his head to realize was Wormtail. Of course it was the traitorous slime who’d gotten his best friend and his wife killed. His parents. But when he felt himself being pulled to his feet, he let it happen, feeling no anguish for revenge. He was too weak tonight, too tired. What was even the point anymore?
-*-*-*-
Draco was trapped in a spiral of colors once more, eyes stinging from the air flying past him and the tears persistently attempting to push past his eyes, but thankfully it didn’t last too long before he slammed against the dark grass, and looked up and around, seeing only the navy blue sky and the bright stars dotting it. He was back outside the maze, and as he turned his head he could see one hand holding onto Viktor’s body, which was turned over face first on the ground, and the other holding tight onto the Triwizard Cup.
This must’ve made him look like a winner, and there was no doubt why the crowd behind him was cheering so loud it was sure to give him a headache, and he could hear horns blaring and see different students conjuring signs in the air or writing his name in bright green.
But he hadn’t won. He’d been sent back by a stubborn Gryffindor who couldn’t just let someone save his life for once. Because he hadn’t been able to save Viktor’s…
All at once, the world, the cheering, became too much. Draco sat up and turned over to face the crowd, horrified by its sick cheering because it hadn’t the faintest clue what had gone down in that maze. He hadn’t admitted this to Harry, but his head was killing him from that Flipendo, and here they all were, shouting his name, oblivious to the boy laying beside him. The dead boy.
“Shut up…” He growled under his breath, but no one heard, except for the line up of teacher’s who had suddenly stopped their cheering as they took in the expression on the pale faced boy, and Krum’s body lying beside him. McGonagall stepped forward, hand out, eyebrows raised high as she tentatively approached him and said his name. That did him in, as Draco sprung to his feet and screamed at the top of his lungs, “SHUT UP! I didn’t win!” He chucked the cup ten feet away from him at the grass, then jabbed a finger at the body below him, “Can’t you see he’s--”
But it was here everything hit him with a force that could have knocked him off his feet. The cheering of the crowd died, and everyone became deathly silent as Draco hiccupped then pressed a hand to his face, recoiling in horror to realize he was crying in front of all these people. Crying because yes, Viktor had died, and he wasn’t coming back. He was never coming back…
The blonde felt a firm hand fall on his shoulder, and winced, looking over and flinching at the sight of the face of Professor Moody, entire face shadowed much like it had been all those months ago. “I think it would be wise to get you out of this, boy.” He growled, and suddenly everything came back to him, and Draco was able to process where he was. Dumbledore turned over Viktor's body, revealing to the crowd consequently that he was dead, to the gasps of many and the heart wrenching scream of Hermione Granger. The Professor’s were huddling together and whispering. People were pushing through the crowd to get onto the grass--mostly adults, like Viktor’s distraught mother, but also fans. But not Hermione, who Draco could see was being held comfortingly by Ron, sobbing uncontrollably. Then, as his eyes shifted further across the stands, they landed on his mother.
Narcissa, who was also looking visibly distraught, frozen with her eyes widened, hands clenched together like a prayer, but alone. His father was missing.
And when he turned back to see Moody’s eyes level with his, dangerously close and angry, he suddenly knew exactly why.
Before anyone could yell at him to stop or hold him back, Draco had pushed away from the Death Eater in disguise, tripped a bit on his robes, then bolted out across the field and out of the stands by ducking under one of the banners.
He was running faster than in the maze, faster than he had ever ran before, and he had his wand out and beaming with bright light, flashing it around the grounds for any sign of his father. He spotted him, eventually, making his way across the grass and to the trees, and followed, whispering, “Accio Firebolt,” as he went. He had to duck behind many bushes as he waited for the broom and the Professor’s made their way out of the stadium, but once the broom's wood met his palm he was kicking off the ground and flying through the air and there was nothing they could do about it.
He flew through trees and branches, his face and any exposed skin becoming scratched and torn though he barely noticed. Once he’d caught sight of familiar pale hair he lowered himself to the ground, hopped off the broom, and ran full force in his father’s direction.
His father, who had pulled out his wand and now turned in horror at the sight of his son. Both barely got the other’s name out of their lips before colliding, and for the third time that night Draco saw a whirl of colors and felt as if he was spiraling through the air, before landing hard on the ground behind a large headstone, back in the graveyard again.
“Draco!” His father hissed and the two detangled themselves to glare firmly at each other. “What are you doing--You can’t be here. It’s too--” “Dangerous?” The younger Malfoy shook his head. “Don’t tell me that. I know. But I’m not going to let you kill my best friend.” A pause, where the realization of those words really sank into Lucius’ skull, but he had no time to recoil and call his son a traitor to his bloodline, instead shaking his head and repeating, “You can’t be here.”
“I don’t believe this--”
“Draco this is bigger than you, you're just a child! You can’t possibly understand--”
“You’re wrong, Dad!” Lucius winced, chancing a breath and a glance around the headstone and shaking his head when he realized he was going to get a Crucio from the Dark Lord if he didn’t get his son out of here fast. “You’ve always been wrong! I can’t believe I didn’t realize earlier but now I do and--”
“Welcome, Death Eaters.” A chilling, snake-like voice cut through the air and Lucius pressed a finger to his lips, pushing his son into a bush then stepping out from behind the headstone, leaving Draco frozen and shell shocked as he tried to take in what he was hearing. “Thirteen years… thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday, we are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?”
It was Voldemort. Draco was sure of that, and that sureness kept him frozen still in that bush, gripping the grass beneath his hands and gnawing at the inside of his cheek, asking silently how this night had gone so wrong. How Viktor was dead, Voldemort was back, and his father didn’t care at all.
“I smell guilt,” That cold voice said. “There is a stench of guilt upon the air.” Draco crawled forward behind the headstone, pressing against the cold stone and shivering impulsively at Voldemort’s words. “I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact--such prompt appearances! And I ask myself… why did this band of wizards never come to the air of their master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty?”
Draco remembered the court case of the Lestranges and Barty Crouch Jr, who had gone searching for him, and made a spectacle on their march to jail because of it. He knew a bunch of the Death Eaters surely standing behind him now. They were all rich and powerful, and would never risk their positions to find their Lord, eternal loyalty or not. Those four were wild cards, all insane and the worst filth you could be as a Death Eater.
“And I answer myself,” whispered Voldemort. “They must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and ignorance, and bewitchment… And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proof of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living? And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort… perhaps they now pay allegiance to another… perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggle, Albus Dumbledore?”
Draco bit his lip, and could hear the mutterings of different Death Eater’s at the mention of his Headmaster’s name.
“It is a disappointment to me… I confess I am disappointed…”
“Master!” Draco flinched as a voice he didn’t recognize shrieked through the air, and cried again, “Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!” Then he heard a high pitched, cruel laugh, which he knew must have been Voldemort, and was still covering from the shock of that laugh when Voldemort declared, “Crucio!” Causing the boy to flinch and almost buckle to his knees behind the headstone as the Death Eater’s screams filled the air.
It was awful. The screaming was so loud, so horrid, that he was sure the sound could be heard miles around the graveyard. Anyone nearby could hear it, and he hoped they’d send for help. This needed to stop. Harry was here somewhere, surely… they’d kill him soon… he had to stop it. As the screaming came to a stop, Draco ducked pulled out his wand and whispered, as quietly as he could, the disillusionment charm, dropped to a crouch behind the bushes around his headstone and creeping behind them, chancing glances towards the circle of Death Eater’s.
It was full of gaps, as surely some didn’t show, but one man stood in the center, bald headed, pale and snakelike, with bright red eyes that caught Draco off guard and nearly made his heart stop, and one man was sprawled at his feet, the tortured one. Another was crouched on the ground, sobbing, and Draco recognized him as the man who had killed Viktor. He felt a rise of hate boil in his blood, but then he spotted Harry himself, tied against the headstone they had stood out minutes ago with the cup that was actually a Portkey, gagged and wide eyed with horror.
He had to save him. Right now, miraculous as it was, all things considered, Draco Malfoy was all Harry Potter had. The Slytherin must save the Gryffindor.
“Get up, Avery,” said Voldemort softly, and Draco began to crawl across the grass towards the sobbing man as Voldemort continued to speak to his loyal Death Eater’s, careful to stay behind bushes so as not to be seen, as he knew this charm wasn’t perfect like a cloak, but he hoped the night would mask him. “Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Thirteen long years… I want thirteen years’ repayment before I forgive you. Wormtail here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Wormtail?”
Draco froze behind the last bush separating him from the sobbing man and the wand that lay beside him in the grass, which he recognized to be Harry’s. He stopped, when he was so close, as Voldemort’s red eyes had fallen onto his servant, and if he moved they’d surely flick to him.
“You returned to me, not out of loyalty, but out of fear of your old friends. You deserve this pain, Wormtail. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Master,” moaned the cloaked figure. “Please. Master… please…” “Yet you helped return me to my body,” Said Voldemort coolly, watching Wormtail sob on the ground. “Worthless and traitorous as you are, you helped me… and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers…”
Draco watched silently as Voldemort raised his wand and whirled it through the air. As a streak of some sort of silvery material came pouring out the wand tip his eyes went to the Death Eater’s who, though masked, had each of their faces turned to their Lord. He took this as his opportunity to reach forward and seize Harry’s wand from the grass, quick as lightning, before recoiling behind the leaves of the bush.
When he glanced back at the scene before him, he saw the silver had formed a hand which had landed on the cloaked man--Wormtail’s--wrist. And all at once the man stopped sobbing, and he raised his head and new silver hand, flexing his fingers and admiring it, picking up a small twig from the ground and crushing it into powder. Draco winced.
“My Lord,” He whispered. “Master… it is beautiful… thank you… thank you…” He scrambled forward on his knees and kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes while Draco, too disgusted to watch any more of this, continued to crawl across the grass, now moving away from the circle and towards the headstone where Harry was hopelessly tied by tight cords.
“May your loyalty never waver again, Wormtail.” Declared the Dark Lord. “No, my Lord… never, my Lord…” Wormtail stood then, and took a place within the circle, staring at the hand in awe, still, the moonlight casting on his face revealing tears, still.
Voldemort now approached the man on Wormtail's right, and just as Draco had reached the marble headstone and touched it’s cold surface, ducking behind some weeds, he said, “Lucius, my slippery friend,” and the blonde’s head snapped in the direction of the Death Eater’s once more, eyes wide as saucers. “I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius… Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay… but might not your energies have been better directed towards finding and aiding your master?”
Draco could hear a muffled sound coming from Harry above him as he attempted to yell against his gag, but his eyes were glued onto the masked man that must have been his father.
“My Lord, I was constantly on the alert,” He spoke way too soon, “Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me--”
“And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?” Said Voldemort lazily, and Lucius stopped talking abruptly. “Yes, I know all about that, Lucius… You have disappointed me in a great many ways… Look around you.” He gestured to the other Death Eater’s in the circle. “Any and all of these men who could produce heirs have trained them to be staunchly loyal to my cause. And yet here you stand, and as my faithful spy at Hogwarts claims your son has betrayed us, has he not? Traversing with muggleborns? Defending half-breeds? Even befriending the Potter boy himself? My, my, Lucius, I expect much more faithful service in the future.”
Lucius merely nodded, whispering, “Of course, my Lord, of course… You are merciful, thank you…” And Draco felt his hand tighten to a fist at his side, the one holding Harry’s wand continuing its mission as he smoothly flipped it beneath the boy's finger tips. Harry’s eyes could only widen more as he couldn’t move his head, and then again still as Draco hissed, “Make me a ferret.” Into his ear.
Then he slowly raised a hand to loosen the gag just enough so Harry could whisper, in as low a voice as possible, “Ferrifors.”
All at once Draco felt himself falling, falling, and his vision became all black as he became just a squirreling creature on the ground. Though he came to his senses rather quickly, having done this many times before--mastering it, even--and crawled from the weeds and scurried up the cords wrapped around Harry, hiding as close to the marble as possible, so as not to be seen--hopefully--and began to chew.
Sounds of the world always became muffled when he was an animal, so he didn’t attempt to listen to anymore of Voldemort’s talk as he chewed away at those cords, which was harder than he anticipated, but he was persistent. He had just almost managed to chew through a cord at the top that would cause all the cords below it to uncoil and crumple when Voldemort stepped towards them, and he scurried away from Harry to the ground, pressed against the marble and hidden, for now.
Draco circled in the grass, waiting, as the man stepped towards his friend, red eyes narrowed. He stopped beside him, and Draco heard a low hissing, and froze in the grass when he saw a snake circling at Voldemort’s feet, eyes narrowed upon him. He was pretty noticeable, a pearly white creature, only hidden by blending in with the marble headstone.
He prayed in his head for the snake to ignore him, backing away from it and its Master slowly. Soon Voldemort had stepped away, however, the snake following, and Draco, as a ferret, crawled forwards and up the marble, continuing to chew on the top cord. It almost broke but then the ferret snaked his way under Harry’s neck and held it there, knowing they had to wait for the opportune moment to escape.
It was a long wait. It was clear Voldemort was giving some sort of a speech, and until Draco saw him stepping back towards them he wasn’t going to move. He wasn’t going to reveal himself. They would only die. They had to wait and let him think he had the upper hand, as he had no clue Draco was even here yet. Did he?
But it was when Voldemort turned, wand raised, red eyes set on Harry, that Draco dropped the cord from his teeth and Harry raised his wand high and yelled, “PROTEGO!” at the top of his lungs after spitting the gag from his mouth.
The shield rose up and the red light of the Crucio curse bounced off it as Harry bolted full force across the grass at where Draco ran, ignoring the persistent pain in his leg, and the blood pouring down it like a fountain of red. He could hear Voldemort hiss something of surprise, and the Death Eater’s startled exclamations but only focused on pointing his wand at his friend, who rose up from the ground and was running as well in a second as a human, also ignoring the pain of every muscle in his body, seemingly, screaming for relief.
“CRUCIO!” Harry ducked behind the yew tree while Draco dived behind the headstone he’d apparated with his dad at, lifting up his Firebolt from the grass and beckoning Harry forward. It was then that Voldemort’s voice bellowed over all the other Death Eater’s, however, making them freeze.
“We are not playing hide-and-seek, Harry.” Said Voldemort’s soft, cold voice, drawing nearer as the Death Eater’s horror turned to laughter, and green eyes met gray, both terrified beyond belief. “You cannot hide from me. Your sneaky little ferret of a friend won’t protect you forever. We were meant to duel tonight, and he ruined all the fun, you know. Would you prefer me to kill him? That was never the plan, Harry. I wanted a duel, but now I prefer to finish it with you, Harry. How does that sound? Come out, Harry… Come out and play, then… it will be quick… it might even be painless… I would not know… I have never died…”
Draco’s eyes told him no as he shook his head, so Harry didn’t listen to them, instead pressing his forehead to the bark of the tree, eyes closed, listening to his own ragged breathing. He may have had no hope, that was sure. He may have been just a fourteen year old with an apt mind for Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, but he was also a Hogwarts Champion, who’d faced down a dragon, merpeople, a sphinx, and death, so he’d be damned if he was going to die without a fight. He was going to die defending himself, against all odds and reasons, because that’s who he was.
So, ignoring Draco’s look of horror, Harry stood and stepped around the tree, forward and facing the circle that had become a crowd of Death Eater’s, and Voldemort’s red, snake-like gaze.
Voldemort was ready. “Avada Kedavra!”
And so was Harry. “Expelliarmus!”
A jet of green light and burst of red connected in the middle, having been fired at the same time, and suddenly, Harry felt his wand vibrate in his palm as though an electric charge was surging through it, and he was suddenly gripping it with both hands, unable to let go even if he wanted to. In a blink, instead of a red and green blur, a narrow beam of golden light connected the two, bright and pulsing. Over this bright beam Harry could see Voldemort’s long white fingers, too, had all grabbed hold of his own wand, and he was wincing, teeth pulled up in a snarl.
And then, all of a sudden, he felt his feet lift from the ground, and watched Voldemort do so as well, as a beam shot out from the middle of the gold one, rising to the stars before separating into long strands surrounding them like a domed barrier.
“Do nothing!” Voldemort shrieked to the Death Eater’s, who had all raised their wands, and Harry himself turned to see Draco rising from behind the headstone, broom still in hand, as well as wand, and shook his head silent. “Do nothing unless I command you!”
A beautiful sound filled the air, coming from every single thread of the light-spun web caging the two of them, which Harry recognized. He’d heard it before, twice now. Phoenix song…
And it was because he’d heard it twice, in moments that had saved his life and Draco’s, that the sound was one of true hope. It felt inside him, a part of him even, not just around him in the dome. It was the sound he connected to Dumbledore, his mentor and friend, and it was as if that friend were speaking in his ear.
Don’t break the connection.
I know, Harry told the music, I know I mustn’t… but, almost immediately, it became harder to. His wand was starting to vibrate more powerfully than ever, and now the beam had started to change again, large beads of light starting to slide up and down the thread connecting the wands. All the while Harry gripped his wand tight as it gave a shudder beneath his skin, the light beads beginning to slide his way.
He held on resolutely, concentrating his entire mind on forcing the bead backwards towards Voldemort, his ears full of the song which encouraged him, pushing him forwards, guiding him and the light beads forwards to beat the monster beyond the beam.
The monster, who looked astonished, and almost fearful. Because Harry was winning. Because he was going to lose.
And as the first bead of light connected to the tip of Voldemort’s wand, screams of pain filled the air and the red eyes widened in shock, a dense, smoky hand flying out of the tip of his wand and vanishing. The silver hand of Wormtail… Then, a streak of golden light sprung beside him, and a body formed from it. A shimmery, golden form of Viktor Krum.
And Harry almost let go of the spell, from pure shock, btu something told him to hold on, so he did, remaining staunchly resolute, as always, clutching his wand tight as a third bead became a streak that rose up and landed beside Viktor, who was saying, “You’ve got this Harry. Hold on.” in the all too familiar brooding voice, which had become distant and echoing.
Harry chanced a glance at Voldemort, who still remained shocked, before falling on the person he recognized from a dream.
“He was a real wizard, then?” The old man said, his eyes on Voldemort. “Kill me, that one did… you fight him, boy…” Harry nodded, swallowing hard, but already, yet another streak rose up and fell beside the old man. A woman. The shadow of Bertha Jorkins looked around at the battle with wide eyes then yelled to Harry, “Don’t let go, now! Don’t let him get you, Harry--don’t let go!”
The three shadowy figures began to pace the edges of the dome, shouting their encouragement at Harry, all echoes like ghosts, but solid like the people they had been before Voldemort had stolen their futures away.
And another light still emerged, and as it did, Harry could feel it within him who it would be, so he wasn’t surprised but slightly at how young she was when a woman with long hair fell right beside him. “Your father’s coming…” His mother spoke quietly. “He wants to see you… it will be alright… hold on…”
He wanted to hold her. To hug her. To breathe her in as she looked so solid--so real, but something about that song and the encouragement made him hold on to the connection still, as he simply nodded his head firmly.
And then his father came. First his head, then his body, tall and untidy-haired, just like his son. James Potter landed on the other side of Harry and the boy was taken aback by how young he looked as well, almost the same height as he. He spoke into his son’s ear in the same echoey voice as his wife and all the others. “When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments… but we will give you time… you must get to the boy--your friend--and fly with him back to Hogwarts… Do you understand, Harry?”
“Yes.” Harry gasped, fighting to keep hold of his wand against the pull of the beam, and to keep control of himself in between his parents.
“Harry?” His head whipped to Viktor, who was grinning at him. A small smile he only used for Hermione, rarely, but that he used freely for the Gryffindor boy. “Tell her I’ll be okay. And she will too, alright? Tell her… sometimes… tryabva da ostavish neshtata, koito obichash da si otidat.” And though Harry didn’t understand any of that last bit, he nodded firmly. “I will.” “You’re a great friend, Mr. Potter. Thank you.”
“Do it now.” Whispered his father’s voice. “Be ready to run… do it now…”
“NOW!”
And with a great shout Harry pulled his wand upwards and turned and sprinted, right across the grass, practically slamming into Draco who was already turning and mounting his broom. He slid on the back, gripping the boy's shoulders tight. A quick glance behind him showed the dome of webbed golden threads breaking and fading, and the shadowy figures of Voldemort’s victims closing in on him, not disappearing, merely protecting Harry enough for him to escape.
“Stun him!” And the Death Eater’s, who had been standing dumbly in awe, now raised their wands at the two Champions as Draco rose higher, higher, higher into the air, and Harry turned and shot up a million shield charms as their spells hurtled towards them.
It was no use. None of those Death Eater’s could hope to aim a spell at the fast moving Firebolt, so, as they glided over fields and prairies in the night, the last thing Harry remembered hearing was Voldemort’s scream of anguish, before burrowing his shoulder into Malfoy’s robes, and letting himself breathe a sigh of relief. He couldn’t sleep, as the wind against them was so rough at this speed it would have been near impossible, and he shouldn’t either. They didn’t know how close behind the Death Eater’s were, so they had to remain alert. Besides, falling asleep on a broom mid-flight didn’t sound all too smart either.
So instead he murmured a million “thank you”s into his friend's ear, who whispered a million “it’s over”s back.
Harry didn’t know how long they’d been flying for when he said something else, but it had to be at least an hour when he asked, “Where are we going?” There was a long pause, which he didn’t mind, because riding with Malfoy in his arms and the wind flying past his cheeks was calming, and he could have stayed there for hours if he didn’t need to get back to Dumbledore and tell him all that had happened.
“To Hogwarts. The woman who came out of You-Know-Who’s wand, the one who stood next to you… She did something to the broom--enchanted it, I think. I’m not controlling it. It’s taking us straight to Dumbledore.”
My mother… Harry thought of the shadowy ghosts of his parents and pressed his face into Malfoy’s robes again, and they were silent once more, before, “Your dad was there.”
He heard the blonde sigh heavily. “I know. I tried to stop him, I did. He’s…” “No one there wanted to be there tonight,” Harry said, “Voldemort was right,” he didn’t miss the way Malfoy twitched beneath his hands at that name. “They returned out of fear, just like Wormtail. They don’t believe in him anymore, not the ones that were there tonight anyway. They’re just scared of what he’ll do if they try to leave.”
“But they’re all still Pure-Blood maniacs.” Draco pointed out and Harry nodded. “Obviously. But not murderers. He’ll make them into murderers again, though, if we don’t stop him.” Draco nodded to that as well. “But we will.” And for the first time all broomride, Draco turned his head back to smile at his friend, hope buried in those broken, bloodshot eyes and light in a dirty, bloody face. “We’ll stop him, right Harry?” And for some inexplicable reason, Harry found himself believing in that hope.
“We will.”