I Just Saved Harry Potter

The day finally arrives.

Harry had fallen asleep watching Malfoy’s silhouette on the faded white fabric; the blonde was packing all the vials, cleaning up the parchments, sorting through raw magical items under the glow of his Lumos. It’s a fitful sleep, all things considered. And when Harry wakes up in the early hours of the morning, he feels he hasn’t slept a wink.

The only sounds are of the water swishing back and forth in an eternally comforting cacophony and Malfoy shuffling in his room, getting ready. Harry feels anxious, downright nauseous, nothing like he had felt during Ministry of Magic. During the Ministry raid, it had been just him, Ron, and Hermione. This time, though, not only do they have a goblin they can hardly trust but also Draco Malfoy as the key players of this break-in.

The confidence bars are pretty low, with good reasons, and Harry rolls out of his sleeping bag with the sense of a person walking to their impending doom. He freshens up for the sake of it, making sure he has packed everything – not that he had any personal items – still, it’s something to do – something to focus on and he needs all the distraction he could need because Draco Malfoy is stepping out of the room as Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry has the strongest urge to throttle her – him – her with his bare hands. He takes a deep, steadying breath. Malfoy seems every bit arrogant as his aunt, with the black curls, the sneer, the pointed heels. The only aspect of his attire that is out of character is his white cloth bag looped around his chest.

“Ready?” Harry asks.

Malfoy’s jaw clenches and Harry has the horrible feeling that he’s about to be Crucio’ed. But Malfoy merely snarls, “No. Of course, I’m not ready, Potter. What the fuck did you expect me to say? I’m dressed – no, I am my Aunt Bella, about to rob her precious vault, with no less than the precious Golden Trio, in literally the most powerfully protected wizarding building in Britain–”

“Hogwarts is the most–”

“I already breached Hogwarts, you wanker,” Malfoy cuts in, snapping and crackling. “Clearly I have disproved you of your precious blind faith.”

Harry closes his mouth, unable to form a coherent response. They stare each other down until a rustle outside their tent makes them move at once. Harry leads the way outside the tent with Malfoy clicking behind him.

Hermione, Ron, and Griphook are waiting near a bush as planned. Griphook is eyeing the tent with an amount of disdain that Malfoy usually shows towards Hermione. He continues to glare at the innocent fabric flapping in the slight wind until Hermione gathers it with a flick of her wand and stuffs it in her purse.

She extends one palm towards Malfoy. “Your bag.”

Malfoy doesn’t let go immediately. He grips it tighter, looking between the three of them.

“We’re not going to leave you behind,” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Father always said don’t trust anyone.”

“Said the bloke who trusted a megalomaniac,” Ron snaps. “Give the bloody bag, Malfoy. I seriously doubt think Bellatrix Lestrange can be seen with that rag.”

Hermione pulls out a wand from her purse, shuddering slightly. “Here. This is her wand. Take this.”

Malfoy relaxes his grip. He hands over the bag with no further delay and takes the wand. He stuffs his own wand in one of the sleeves under the cloak.

Hermione sets to the task of altering her and Ron’s appearances. Harry breathes in the dark sky, the dotted white of it, tries to calm his nerves. He’s so sure that something is going to go wrong. He doesn’t know what it might be, but with Malfoy there – Harry shakes himself free when Hermione finishes her touch-ups.

Her hair is blonde and in a stylish pixie cut, her nose longer and aristocratic. On the other hand, Ron’s hair is in long red waves till his shoulder, his freckles gone, and a heavy beard and moustache.

*“There,” Hermione says. “How does he look, Harry?”

*“Well, he’s not my type, but he’ll do,” Harry replies, drawing his jacket closer to his body. Malfoy gives him a funny look that Harry chooses to ignore.

“Alright,” Ron says in a business-like tone. “Let’s do this.”

Once they reach past the Fidelius Charm’s boundaries, Harry crouches down, gesturing at Griphook to clamber onto his back. He’s heavier than Harry had thought. Griphook’s long, gnarled nails are too close to his jugular for his comfort. He nods once at Hermione, who throws the Cloak around them.

Malfoy makes a sound. “Is that – that’s how you got out of trouble? All these years! Fucking hell. No fucking wonder you never got caught. Potter, you absolute piece of shit–”

“Yeah, yeah, Chosen Arse and all,” Harry rolls his eyes even though Malfoy can’t see him. “We get it.”

“Yes,” Malfoy says crossly. “Chosen Arse and all.”

He continues to curse under his breath and Harry is distinctly reminded of Kreacher.

The alley is dark and smells rotten.

“Bloody hell,” Ron says, hands covering his nose. “What’s that stench?”

“You’d know, Weasley,” Malfoy mocks. “Seeing as you seem to be living in it.”

Ron cocks his fist back but Hermione steps in immediately. “Malfoy – don’t forget you probably have a price on your head by now, too. You’re impersonating another Death Eater; trust me, I would not hesitate to throw you to the dogs.”

Malfoy’s glare is worse as Bellatrix. Hermione holds it calmly, daring him to continue. He huffs angrily, clacking towards the entrance of the alley without a second glance. The rest of them follow in silence.

Charing Cross Road is filled with early joggers. Harry has to keep dodging them until finally he walks closely behind Malfoy to avoid them altogether. Once they reach the Leaky Cauldron, Malfoy pushes the door open, walks in, and lets it go. Harry stumbles into Ron, who curses and holds him steadily.

The inside of the pub is almost empty. Tom is behind the counter, cleaning the table-top with a dirty rag. There are two customers on two separate tables, nearly dozing off on their arms. Malfoy strides across the pub, ignoring the stuttered greeting of Tom.

He pulls out his own wand to tap the bricks, revealing a Diagon Alley that Harry has never witnessed before.

Gone are the colours and screams of joy, replaced with a cold that feels unnatural. Harry gulps, eyeing the boarded up shops, witches and wizards begging on the streets, and his own face plastered as far as the eye could see under the title of UNDESIRABLE NO. 1.

“At least they got one thing right,” Malfoy remarks as they pass one of the posters.

Malfoy’s presence as Bellatrix seems to have a rather extreme effect. The two or three shops that had been open were quickly being shut down, and the beggars were retreating into dark corners to avoid being noticed. Except for one.

The man is wearing torn robes, his hair dirty and mangled, bare feet, and clearly angry. He has bandages wrapped around his arms and head. He staggers right into their paths, pointing a trembling finger at Malfoy.

“You,” he shouts. “Where are my children? What have you done to them?”

Malfoy gives the man the same look he’d given Hermione all these years; as though he’s studying a particularly stubborn piece of dirt on his expensive dragon leather boots.

When Malfoy speaks, Harry represses a violent shudder. It’s the way Bellatrix talks, in that sing-song tone of hers, playing with her victims before slashing them open.

“Shall I send you there as well, Wandless?”

The man lunges. Malfoy neatly steps out of the way and then there’s a bang, crash, and scream. The man drops to the ground, foaming at the mouth.

Another man with grey hair is standing a few feet away, his wand drawn out.

“It’s Travers,” Griphook hisses in Harry’s ear. “He’s a Death Eater.”

Before Harry can think about a warning, Travers steps over his body with disdain. “Can you believe the nerve of such filth these days? Madam Lestrange, what a pleasant surprise.”

Malfoy curls his lips on one side. “Travers. Heard you were wandering the countryside. Looking to become a Snatcher yourself? With those reflexes and that rage – I bet you can capture the Potter boy.”

Travers coughs. “I heard he was captured already, Madam Lestrange, before the – er, unfortunate accident.”

Malfoy’s eyes harden. He twirls his wand between his fingers coolly. Travers takes a step back, stuffing his own wand in his robes hastily.

“My apologies,” he bows. “I did not mean to – imply.”

“You better not, Travers,” Malfoy sings mockingly. “I had quite the practice on the Mudblood recently. I’m rather looking forward to – opportunities.”

“Right, right,” Travers gulps. “I was on my way to Gringotts when I noticed this filth bothering you. I shall leave you to your business.”

“Well, what a coincidence,” Malfoy laughs. “Shall we, Travers? Oh, I almost forgot. Meet our acquaintances.”

Malfoy gestures towards Ron and Hermione, who step forward with deliberate coolness.

“Looks like the Dark Lord is gaining some wealthy supporters from Europe,” Malfoy says with a satisfied smirk. “They insisted on a tour.”

“Of course, of course.”

Finding no other choice but to follow Malfoy’s improvisation of hanging out with another Death Eater, Harry follows the group. Ron and Hermione seem to be holding well until now. More and more Wandless quietly move out of the way, slinking into dark alleys like overgrown cats. Harry tries not to stare at his own face as they make their way to the snow white building of the bank.

Malfoy had warned them about the probes at the entrance. Still, the only plan they had decided onto was that if Bellatrix Lestrange’s presence doesn’t work, they might have to Confund the guards to let them pass through. Harry doesn’t know how smart that would be now with Travers accompanying them; the risk of loose ends and witnesses having just increased.

“Travers,” Malfoy says as they are crossing the derelict ruins of Ollivander’s shop. “What have you heard about the Malfoys?”

Travers throws him – her – him a suspicious look. “What do you mean, Madam Lestrange?”

Malfoy doesn’t break his stride even the slightest. “Just wondering what the rumours are in the more, ah – outer circle, that’s it.”

“Outer circle?” Travers repeats with contempt.

It’s easy to understand what Malfoy is doing; riling Travers up and digging up information about his family. Harry has no idea how the politics in the Death Eater circle works but Malfoy seems to have studied it.

“You poor puppy,” Malfoy taunts in a baby voice. “Yes, outer circle. Or have you forgotten your place?”

“I am aware of my place very well,” Travers grits out. “As for the Malfoys – no one knows, isn’t it? The Dark Lord hasn’t let any information out. But you already know that.”

“Of course,” Malfoys says after the smallest of pauses. “Like I said, I was wondering what the rumours are of my darling sister and her – pitiful family. It wouldn’t bode well if any unlikely words get out, would it? Ah, here we are. After you, Travers.”

Malfoy hangs back and begins to spit out what Harry assumes is rapid French at a startled Ron and Hermione. In the meanwhile, Travers climbs up the steps to the guards.

Harry watches as the thin rod moves over Travers much like Filch had done during the Umbridge Era. Satisfied with no signs of concealed magic, Travers is allowed entry. For a moment, Harry thinks that Travers might wait for Malfoy to join him. However, to his surprise, Travers merely throws a barely concealed glare at Malfoy before striding inside with his chin up. Harry understands the reason for riling him up earlier – Malfoy didn’t want to risk Travers witnessing the Confunded guards.

When they reach the guards, Harry sets to work. He pulls out his wand and whispers the incantation so that Malfoy, Hermione, and Ron can enter with no alarms. Once inside, Gringotts hasn’t changed one bit. Harry feels transported to the better days when Diagon Alley was still Diagon Alley; not a cold graveyard of children’s dreams.

Rows of goblins sit behind the long counter, attending to some of the early customers of the day. Travers is handing over a tiny golden key to a goblin three counters over. Malfoy approaches one of the free goblins confidently and clears his throat pointedly.

The goblin looks up from examining a coin and tries to hide his surprise. “Madam Lestrange. What a surprise! How – how can I help you today?”

Harry’s alarm bells ring off. Why is the goblin surprised to see Bellatrix? Is it because she never visits the bank herself? That’s not possible. Malfoy had said very clearly that purebloods never trust anyone else with their treasures. Then why–?

“I wish to enter my vault, you imbecile.”

The goblin flinches. “May I ask for identification, Madam Lestrange?”

Malfoy narrows his eyes with murderous intent. “Identification? Do you know whom you’re speaking with, you filthy creature? What right do you have to ask me for identification? Shall I call the Dark Lord to vouch for me? I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Malfoy has attracted the attention of the whole bank as soon as he uttered the words Dark Lord. Harry has no idea whether it’s a smart strategy anymore. Feeling helpless, he tries to study if the reactions are of suspicion or fear.

*“They know,” Griphook hisses in his ear suddenly, tightening his nails around Harry’s throat. “They must have been warned there might be imposters!”

Fuck.

Harry draws his wand once more. He points it at the goblin, whispers Imperio, and feels a strange calm control traveling up his arm.

Meanwhile, Malfoy stays perfectly in character despite the turn of events. Harry lightly nudges at him in warning and then commands the goblin to let them inside with no further questions or tests. The goblin immediately straightens up, smiling widely at Malfoy.

“My apologies, Madam Lestrange,” he says. “I shall escort you to your vault right away. Allow me to quickly collect the clankers.”

Malfoy stops to breathe. After a few moments, he clears his throat to buy time for his confusion. “Good. You’ll live to see another day.”

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Harry follows the group, trying to keep his anxiety at bay. Harry commands the goblin to call for two carts. He removes his cloak and stuffs it in his robes, crouches to let Griphook down, and then climbs in one cart along with Hermione and Ron. Griphook, Malfoy, and the Gringotts goblin take the other one.

“That was close,” Ron breathes out shakily, running a hand through his wavy hair. “How did we get inside?”

“I had to use Imperius,” Harry tells them.

Hermione and Ron look startled, but don’t comment on it. Instead, they go over all the curses that Malfoy had told them, reciting the effects and healing options. The carts zoom at their usual breakneck speed, twisting and turning on the metal rails. After a while, Harry notices that they’re going deeper than he had ever been. He figures the dragons probably need more space.

Suddenly, when Hermione shouts, Harry jumps. She’s pointing at a rapidly approaching stream of waterfall. “Look! They’ve activated it!”

The Thief’s Downfall. Harry curses loudly along with Ron. Malfoy twists in his seat to exchange a panicked look with Harry, yelling, “WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO NOW, POTTER?”

Before Harry can even fathom a solution, he’s being drenched in cold water. It enters his nose and mouth, making it hard to breathe or see. And then the cart flips over, throwing them all out in the depths of the underground.

Just as the ground is approaching with terrifying speed, he hears Hermione scream out a spell just as Malfoy does. To Harry, it feels as though he’s been thrown over a large cushioned bed rather forcefully. Quickly scrambling to his feet, he checks around himself at the rest of them. Ron and Hermione are getting to their feet slowly. Malfoy is shaking out excess water from his robes. Griphook and the other goblin are groaning as though Malfoy’s charm wasn’t powerful enough, and they have taken some amount of impact upon their fall.

“Your disguises are gone,” Harry declares.

“Thank fuck,” Malfoy mutters, removing his other robe. He points his wand at himself, whispering a charm, and sighs in relief.

Hermione is doing the same to Ron. Harry quickly utters a Drying Charm on himself as well. He checks his pockets for his Invisibility Cloak, relieved to find it still stashed in his inner pocket.

“Quickly, do it again,” Griphook exclaims, pointing at the other goblin. “The Thief’s Downfall has lifted the spell on Bogrod.”

Sure enough, Bogrod is taking in his surroundings in shock. “You – what are you doing here? Mr. Malfoy–! Harry Potter? What on earth is–!”

Harry hastily says Imperio, ordering Bogrod to lead them to the Lestrange’s vault. They walk along the passageways in silence, straining ears to hear every bit of sound. And just as there are footsteps echoing from behind, there’s a rumbling growl ahead of them. Harry grips his wand tighter, preparing himself for the chained dragon.

It’s huge, filling up the whole cavern. Harry stops dead in his tracks, staring up at the blinded white dragon in awe. It’s sort of beautiful – more than the Basilisk for sure. The wings are folded close to its body, the scales are dirty and slashed through, and when it turns its large head towards them, Harry ducks just as a jet of blue-white fire belts from its mouth.

“It’s a female,” Malfoy panted from somewhere to his right. “They’re more vicious.”

“A white dragon,” Ron winces. “Which makes it worse.”

“Use the clankers,” Griphook snaps, extending his hand for the bag.

“Wait,” Malfoy snatches the bag from Ron forcefully, gulping, grey eyes flickering between the rest of them. “We don’t need them.”

“Malfoy, this is not the time to grow a conscience!” Harry says impatiently. “We’ve got to get inside the vault.”

“It’s not about conscience, you troll,” Malfoy sneers. “The dragon – she – just – trust me. We don’t need the clankers.”

“Stick to the plan,” Hermione cuts in sternly. “Malfoy, look. I don’t want to hurt the dragon any more than you do, okay? But this is not the time for improvisation. We don’t need it! What we need to do is hurry to the vault before the guards show up.”

“And how the fuck do you plan on getting out?” Malfoy asks, annoyed. “The plan is already in the gutter! The bank knows we’re here. They can easily trap us in, no need to even show up for a fight.”

“Well,” Ron says uneasily. “He’s got a point. We have no means to get out.”

Harry takes a steadying breath to calm his nerves. “Fine. What’s the idea, Malfoy? Let’s hear it.”

As soon as the door of the vault clicks shut behind him, there’s complete silence. Harry carefully walks to the nearest gold coin, touching it with the tip of his finger gingerly. Wincing, he retreats it immediately. His skin is burned red and raw, the coin splitting into multiples of its own.

“Gemino and Flagrante,” Harry mutters under his breath. “That’s not too bad.”

He inhales deeply and lets it out slowly. He needs to hurry, he knows. But the silence is too comforting, too calm, as though he is cut out from the rest of the world, whole of it – the vicious dragon, Voldemort, the dead Diagon Alley, the war. Absently, he wonders if he’ll survive it. The prophecy has already been very clear that he can’t live if Voldemort survives, and vice versa. Voldemort handpicked him to be his enemy, his destroyer. But Dumbledore made him realise that the prophecy doesn’t matter, that Harry chose to fight this war, to face Tom Riddle in all his glory.

It seems like a noble choice, he thinks. The right thing to do. Always the right thing to do. Besides, it would have been difficult to ignore the man who murdered his parents, anyway.

The vault is filled with wizard currency, jewellery, strange ornaments, and Harry is sure, dark artefacts. The magic itself is suffocating after a point, radiating from every inch of its surface. Harry manoeuvres through the piles, strangely being reminded of the Room of Requirement when he’d hidden the Prince’s book.

Snape’s book, he corrects himself.

It takes him almost ten minutes of careful searching but he finally locates it on a high shelf to his right. It’s exactly as he remembers from the Penseive; small, with a badger carved onto it. The problem is removing it from there without being buried in the gold.

He could have used the sword right about now, if he had it. But they had decided it’s safer to keep the purse with someone outside of the vault, in case the person inside does get trapped for any reason. Harry thinks about going back out to retrieve it but that will require time that they can’t afford.

Harry grabs a long, thin rod like the probes guards use. He has no idea what this one is supposed to do but carefully takes it in his hand, hissing in pain when it burns and multiplies. Ignoring the stench of scorching flesh, he extends his arm above his head, looping the rod in one of the handles of the cup. It takes a few tries but he manages to get it down, almost dropping the cup when it replicates and sizzles red-hot. On his way to the door, he manages to knock over a few more items in his haste, cursing the entire time, feeling the skin on his sides peeling off after a point.

“Fucking purebloods and their paranoid arses.”

He bangs on the door loudly. After a few moments, it melts away; Harry stumbles back when loud screams and bright jets of light explode in front of him after the sudden silence of the vault. Griphook is on the other side, clearly waiting on him, with Bogrod still looking dazed, his palm lifted up.

Ron is on the left, firing spells at the guards from behind one of the columns. He has a long gash on his arm. Hermione is on the other side, searching for something in her purse with trembling fingers. Malfoy is behind the dragon, using its body as cover, throwing curses at the guards. He’s bloodied and beaten, robes torn nearly to shreds.

“The sword, Harry Potter,” Griphook shouts over the noise of the fight.

“Let me through,” Harry hisses, trying to exit.

Griphook blocks him, shaking the dazed Bogrod roughly. “I can trap you inside the vault, Mr. Potter. Deal is a deal. The cup for the sword. Now.”

Harry curses. “Hermione!”

She’s opening one of the potions vials when she looks up. “Harry! Oh my god, are you okay? What do you need?”

“The sword,” he says, gesturing towards Griphook.

She stares for a beat then sighs in understanding. She summons the sword from the depths of her bag and hands it to Griphook. The goblin lets go of Bogrod, eagerly taking the sword from Hermione. Harry and Hermione only have a moment to exchange a defeated look before Griphook takes off in the middle of the fight, shouting –

“Thieves! Thieves! They captured me! Help!”

Ron makes a move forward. “You conniving–!”

“Ron! Let him go!” Hermione cries. “Here – take this. You’re losing too much blood!”

Ron gulps down the potion in one go. “We need to leave now.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

The three of them fight their way over to Malfoy behind the dragon. Harry still can’t believe the way Malfoy had calmed the dragon down without using the clankers. He had somehow managed to approach the dragon carefully, slowly, the way Harry was told to do with Buckbeak, or Hippogriphs in general.

But the dragon had sniffed Malfoy, then licked him, and then stopped shooting blue-white fire altogether. Instead, it – she rested her head on her front legs, seemingly satisfied with her assessment.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Ron had said breathlessly. “Charlie gets nearly mangled if he tries this sort of thing. What in the bloody hell is wrong with Malfoy?”

“About fucking time,” Malfoy pants once they reach him. “Quickly. Climb up!”

Harry scrambles up on the dragon, almost cutting his leg off on one of the scales. He helps up Ron and Hermione, crouching low to avoid being hit by the spells still being fired in their direction. Once or twice, the dragon would let out a roar of fire towards the guards before getting subdued by the clankers.

Once they’re all up, Malfoy climbs up the tail. He sits on the hunches of the dragon, then points his wand on the metal chains tied to the dragon’s hind legs.

“Relashio!”

The chains fall apart. Malfoy climbs higher on the dragon before digging his heels on her scales.

“Go, go, go! Come on! You’re free! Burn those motherfuckers!”

“Malfoy!” Hermione reprimands, horrified.

“What?” Malfoy shouts over the noise. “They kept her captive all these years, tortured her! Or did you miss the bloody scars? She’s more terrified right now than any of us, and angry! I thought you were supposed to be some animal-lover, Granger! Or is it strictly saved for house-elves?”

“That’s not–!” Hermione exclaims but gets cut off when the dragon lets out another rumbling growl.

She has finally realised that she can move. She swishes her tail experimentally, destroying two columns in the process. Harry sees the guards frantically take cover but to no avail. The dragon is swaying on her disused legs, crumbling down stones of the cavern like they’re bricks. Harry tightens his grips, suddenly worried that he’s going to fall off and get crushed beneath her belly.

A jet a blue-white flames burn sizzling hot. Rivulets of sweat run down Harry’s body, the fiery warmth worse than the Flagrante. He hears Ron cursing loudly behind him, and Hermione screams. Malfoy is urging the dragon to burn, burn, burn.

Harry’s heart is pounding loudly. He’s scared, horrified, wondering if Malfoy is losing his mind. But then the dragon spreads her wings, filling up the space, the spells bouncing off like harmless, entertaining fireworks. She flaps them once, twice, then takes a running head start, before flinging herself off in the empty space, roaring loudly.

And then she’s flying.

The entire underground structure is crumbling around them as the dragon soars higher and higher towards the tiny pinprick of sunlight up above. Harry clutches with everything he’s got, hoping that the others are doing the same, hoping that they make out of this alive and in one piece; even Malfoy, at this point.

Once the dragon crashes through the ceiling, shards of glass rain down on Harry, bouncing off the scales like drops of water. Harry can feel the first breath of fresh air that she takes, the chest beneath her expanding to its fullest. Ron is cheering behind him, Hermione is sobbing, and Malfoy is laughing like a maniac. Harry sort of wants to do all of it at the same time.

The world below them becomes smaller and smaller; Diagon Alley vanishes once they’re out of the boundaries of concealing charms. Harry hears the distant screams and shouts of fear, shock, incredulity, but feels safe in the knowledge that the dragon won’t stop until she’s up in the clouds, far away from the dingy pit she’s been in for years.

“Stay put!” Malfoy shouts from the back. “I’ll tell you when to jump!”

“We have to jump?” Ron yells in horror. “Are you shitting me, Malfoy? Can’t you just – I don’t know – tell her to make a pit stop for us?”

“She’s not a fucking train, you arsehole!” Malfoy says. “The most I can request from her is to drop down as much as possible! But that’s to happen when we’re out of the city! She’s clearly heading north – towards the cold. So until then, like I fucking said before, stay the fuck put.”

Ron lets out a groan of frustration but doesn’t argue further.

“What’s to say that we won’t become her snacks?” Harry asks, his voice disappearing in the howling wind.

“We won’t,” Malfoy responds with certainty. “We rescued her.”

“She’s a dragon!” Harry reminds him exasperatedly.

“And you live in a goddamn magical world where you turn rats into teacups!” Malfoy replies in annoyance. “Dragons are magical beings, Potter! They have more wisdom than all of us put together. They’re prideful creatures, vicious, but they were warriors once upon a time! No harm to the unarmed and all that.”

“How the fuck do you know that stuff?” Ron asks incredulously. “The only other person who speaks like that is Charlie. Like dragons are – are – humans.”

“Better than humans,” Malfoy says spitefully. “Humans are crap. Take the Dark Lord, for instance.”

“And you.”

“I just saved your hide, Weasley.”

“Okay, cut it out!” Hermione snaps in irritation. “I think we’re dropping, Malfoy.”

There’s a brief pause.

“Yeah,” Malfoy agrees. “She’s thirsty.”

“Seriously, how in the bloody hell–!”

“Later, Ron!” Harry warns him. “Be ready to let go any minute.”

The dragon is definitely swooping lower and lower towards the lake beneath them. Harry gulps down his nausea at the rapid altitude change. This is nothing like flying on a broomstick. The broom is in your control, unlike a sentient being who can use you like a chew toy if you tickle her funny. He shuts his eyes in a desperate prayer of survival, and then Malfoy is yelling jump! and Harry lets go.

The fall is shorter than he had expected. Still, plunging in icy cold water from a certain height does leave one breathless and gasping. To add to the injury, Harry’s scar decides to split open at the same time, and he screams, gulping down salt water like a drowning man.

Voldemort is furious. He’s finally realised that Harry has been tracking his Horcruxes, destroying them one after another – the diary, the ring, the locket, the cup … He needs to keep Nagini safe. He needs to check on all of the hideouts … needs to make sure which ones are still intact … the one in Hogwarts will be the safest for now … save it for last …

“Potter!”

“Harry!”

“I swear to Circe, if you fucking die of drowning before you destroy the Dark Lord, I’ll murder you with my bare hands!”

“Malfoy–!”

“What? How is he supposed to stand against the fucking Dark Lord if he can’t even swim!”

“I can swim, you moron,” Harry coughs up water.

He opens his eyes to see Hermione, Ron, and Malfoy crouching over him, soaked and trembling. The sun above them is bright enough to burn his retinas. Harry grimaces, shutting his eyes once more.

“He lives,” Malfoy declares. “Might be brain-damaged, though. Clearly thinks he can swim even after nearly drowning.”

“Malfoy,” Hermione sighs, sounding exhausted. “I’ll put up the concealment charms. Ron, can you put up the tent, please?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ron pats Harry on the shoulder grimly before joining Hermione.

Harry opens his eyes again. Malfoy is sitting by his side, using a Drying Charm on himself.

“Can you do it for me, too?” Harry croaks out.

Malfoy throws him an unimpressed glance but does it anyway. Harry tries to sit up, coughs up more water from his lungs, then calls Ron and Hermione over.

“He – the,” Harry begins haltingly. “You-Know-Who knows what we’re up to. He’s going to check all the places before going to Hogwarts.”

Hermione lets out a gasp, eyes becoming saucers. “Travers. He must have alerted You-Know-Who after we broke out of Gringotts.”

“Maybe,” Harry agrees. “We can’t wait. We need to head over to Hogwarts before he does.”

“Wait, what?” Malfoy throws his hands in front of him. “The Dark Lord might be going to Hogwarts and you want to go there?”

“Look – these weapons,” Harry says, throwing a pointed glance at Hermione and Ron. “One of them is in Hogwarts. And Nagini is the last, I reckon. We need to destroy it, Malfoy. Which means we need to go there before he arrives so that we have a shot at finding it. It’s something of Ravenclaw.”

Malfoy frowns, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How do you know that? How do you know that he’s planning to pay a visit to Hogwarts?”

“Our minds are – connected. When he’s – feeling a particularly strong emotion – I can sort of see in his head.”

“I’ve never heard of that happening. Ever.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry shrugs.

Malfoy swallows, grey eyes darting from Harry’s face to anything but at Harry.

“Potter, that’s extremely, extremely ancient magic. Mind connection. It’s impossible to connect minds without connecting souls. Why do you think the Ministry is still unable to crack the depths of our brains? Because the body does not work without the mind and the mind does not work without a soul.

“There are three levels of Dark magic, each more brutal than the previous one. There’s physical – those you encounter the most since it’s the easiest to master. Injure someone, break their legs, crush their organs, poke out their eyes – the usual drill.

“After that, there’s the mind magic. It’s comparatively harder because it’s difficult to invade a mind. Think about it as using words for a spell versus non-verbal spells. You’re attuned to uttering the words, because it’s a physical action, easier to perform. On the other hand, non-verbal spells take more – energy. Effort. You really need to concentrate. You need to think for it to manifest.

“And lastly, there’s soul magic – that’s Dark. You can’t go Darker than that. I’ve read about it. It’s so rare that its existence is in question. It’s the most difficult magic to master because it requires you to not just do and think but feel it yourself. If you’re using soul magic on anyone, it’s like putting yourself through the same curse for it to work. It’s a double-edged sword. That’s also why people don’t touch that.”

“What about Legilimency?” Ron retorts in Harry’s defence. “You connect your mind with someone else with just a spell.”

“Legilimency – it’s like diving into someone’s memories,” Malfoy says. “Like a Penseive. It’s not a real-time connection. There’s a huge difference.”

“So you’re saying,” Hermione says hesitantly. “That even if Harry learns Occlumency, he will still share the connection with You-Know-Who?”

“Maybe,” Malfoy says, twisting his wand nervously. He seems suddenly scared, skin white as a sheet. “I don’t know why you’re sharing a mind connection with the Dark Lord in the first place, unless you’re sharing souls as well.”

Despite the Drying Charm, Harry’s body feels colder than it had before.