Dancing with Fire

As far as graveyards go, Harry’s seen better.

The tombstones are way over the top, too tall to play hide and seek in, and sure, it has the whole gothic appeal to it, and he doesn’t really have experience in these types of things, but aren’t graveyards meant to honor the dead? Like, aren’t they supposed to be more of a family thing? Where people can put flowers on graves? 

In his mind, he always imagined a sunny day and clear fields, none of this overgrown dead tree shit. He’d ignore the others there, though there’s really no one here to ignore, and go straight to his parent’s graves. He’d place flowers down, white ones because Aunt Petunia says they’re pure, and a few weird ones from herbology because he thinks that his dad would like them. Then he’d tell them about his life, fill them in on important bits, finally have a chance to say ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’. 

This does not look like a place to say ‘hello’ to, but he’d very much like to say ‘goodbye’ to it.

Particularly the grim reaper statue holding him. Call him crazy, but having a marble sheath at his throat doesn’t really fit his graveyard fantasy. 

A creaking of a door he didn’t even know existed catches him off guard, but he watches Peter Pettigrew emerge holding a weird little sack. 

Something tells Harry that Pettigrew didn’t kidnap him to make stew. No, that thing he has probably isn't a sack of potatoes.

Because things can’t get any weirder, Pettigrew smiles at him, then draws a knife from his pocket and traces a tattoo on his arm. He’s mumbling something, though Harry can’t tell what the hell he’s saying. Something awful, probably.

As soon as he’s done tracing, Pettigrew waves his wand in Harry’s general direction. He expects pain, something more than bones that out of the grave he’s apparently being held on.

Harry’s convinced he’s actually knocked out and lying in the maze, because this surely has to be a hallucination. 

Pettigrew uses his wand to wrap his arm, and then Lucius Malfoy is standing before them in a white sweater and slacks.

What the fuck?

He’s on his feet in an instant, eyes widening at Harry, then glaring at Pettigrew.

“What the hell-”

“So sorry to disturb you, traitor,” Pettigrew calmly wipes his knife on his bandage, “But I require your arm.”

“My arm?!” Lucius seethes. Harry sees his eyes flicker over to him, Lucius takes a step his way, but he doesn’t make it far before Pettigrew has his wand at the ready.

“Not so fast, you snake. Your arm, or I kill the boy.”

“You wouldn’t. Potter is too valuable to the Dark Lord.”

“For his life, I’m sure our Lord won’t mind. Though, if you're dissatisfied, I can always kill your son.”

Lucius raises a single eyebrow, “You wouldn’t dare. You won’t be hurting my son and you won’t be hurting the Potter child.”

Pettigrew frowns at him, and Harry is all for acts of bravery, but Pettigrew is probably the person who tied him up so Lucius has already lost his argument. 

“You’re too much of a coward, Peter.” 

That doesn’t make their rat captor happy in the slightest. Pettigrew frowns once and Lucius uses it to his advantage. In one swift movement, Lucius is lunging for Pettigrew’s wand, they tumble to the ground and Harry knows that Pettigrew is bigger, but he hopes that Lucius might be stronger. 

He isn’t. 

Pettigrew emerges with a swift kick in Lucius’s side, tying  him up before he can try something again. It’s entirely unfair, Lucius doesn’t even have shoes, much less his wand. 

“Fool! He doesn’t care about you! He never cared about any of us!” Lucius yells, but it doesn’t do him much good.

Harry watches in horror as Pettigrew sits on top of Lucius and cuts his arm clean off.

He nearly vomits, but he’s holding out on the hope that Lucius’s screaming will alert someone. 

Not fast enough to stop Pettigrew from coming towards him, of course. 

The man seriously has no business smiling coyly. Firstly, he’s clearly never heard of a toothbrush, secondly, coy does not work on him. It just makes him look more like the slimeball he is.

A slimeball drawing a knife on Harry’s skin, but a slimeball nonetheless.

It hurts, fuck it hurts. It feels like his skin is on fire, but his arm is still intact so he’s better off than his boyfriend’s father.

Pettigrew waves his left hand and a cauldron appears. His right hand leads Harry’s blood to join the other ‘ingredients’ floating in the air. He picks the sack up off the dirt, whispering something Harry can’t focus on. He’s a little busy looking at Lucius.

The man is in bad shape, clutching what’s left of his arm and breathing deeply. Harry isn’t the medical wizard in their little group, but he can still tell that Lucius is losing too much blood. And sure, Lucius is a dick, but he’s Narcissa’s dick. Draco’s father. Sirius and Remus’s friend. They’d be sad if he died, and since they’re already going to be pissed at him, he’d prefer they not go through something worse than anger.

A splash draws his attention back to the stumpy rat-man, who’s just dumped whatever was in his sack into the cauldron.

“Bones of thine father…” The bones that hang by Harry’s head fly forward. “Bone of thine betrayer…” Lucius’s arm splashes into the pot. “Blood of thine enemy..”

What the fuck? Who even talks like that anymore, what is this? The eighteen-hundreds? Harry’s tempted to think of a joke, he has to cope somehow, but suddenly nothing is funny.

His head feels like it’s splitting in half, and then little black dots begin to cloud his vision.

Lucius curses, probably because he’s staring in horror at the long pasty body rising from the cauldron. 

Bald head, piercing red eyes, creepy smile and a strong stench of over confidence. 

Harry blinks himself into focusing, then wishes he hadn’t because that’s Tom Riddle standing before him. Age has not been kind to good ol’ Tom, and Harry tries to find a sliver of something good that could result from all this, but he can’t.

If Riddle is back, the war is back. People are going to die, the people he loves are going to die. There will be torture, raids, dead muggles, fear, so many things that should strike dred into Harry’s heart but he just feels tired.

Hopefully it’s just the blood loss.

Tommy-boy starts talking to him, giving him some sort of life story, but Harry can’t seem to care. His entire body feels heavy, and his eyes keep dropping.

Hermione is right, he and Ron really do fall asleep no matter where they are.

Fuck. Ron, Hermione, Draco. 

Harry lets his eyes fall shut so he can see them.

 All of them. 

They’re in the classroom, Blaise and Hermione bickering over Herbology. Pansy’s sitting in the corner while Draco braids her hair and Ron paints his nails. He can see Sirius and Remus’s head poking through the fireplace, see Ginny and Luna cuddled up on the couch, the twins and Mille working on some new project. Theo rushes in with Neville, going straight to Blaise, something plant related if Harry had to guess. 

They’re all smiling, at peace, happy. It rattles his core to see them without him, to imagine a reality without them. That happiness threatens to spill into nothing, it hurts just to think about.

And he knows they would feel the same.

Draco told him at the beginning of the year what he means to people.

If he falls asleep, if he stays in this graveyard, he is going to die. 

Didn’t he specifically promise not to die today?

Didn’t he swear to be on the train ride home, to share a book, to make mince pies, to wear a special tux, to have another kiss? 

How the hell can he do any of that if he’s dead?

Harry peeks open his eyes, Riddle is still waxing poetically, and Pettigrew is too busy looking awestruck to pay attention to him. All he has is the knife at his throat and his wand that’s over by Lucius. But that’s fine, he’s worked with less at some point, he’s sure. 

What would his friends do? 

Hermione and Draco would make a plan.

Which he has, at the moment his plan is to get free and get out.

Ron would think of how to execute the plan.

A great question, because he has no way to get back, except for the cup, which is a portkey and also over by Lucius.

Great, now he has a plan and a way to execute it, which means he needs a safe way to do it, something that Blaise would do.

To be fair, Blaise would never put himself in such a position, but Harry usually has a pretty good imagination. Blaise would keep his head down, get free and duck behind the headstones.

But first he has to get out of these fucking ropes.

Didn’t Pansy say something about ropes? Something about fabric unraveling….fuck. He tries to think of what she would do in such a situation, but she’d probably just spit on Riddle, which seems like a better plan than his current one.

At least spitting on Riddle would make him feel better than rubbing his raw skin on what’s probably a grim reaper’s crotch.

Harry feels the bonds start to loosen, for a second he thinks he might actually make it out of here, but then Riddle decides he needs an audience that will actually pay attention to him.

He has to say, out of all the situations he’s ever found himself in, this is probably his least favorite.

He thought that maybe Sirius almost dying last year would stay at the top of his list, but that at least had the positives of riding Buckbeak and, well, Sirius. He can’t really find a positive from being in a graveyard with a bunch of Death Eaters and Moldy Voldy. Even if Lucius is on his side, which he’s not a hundred percent sure the man is, he can’t do much when he’s trying not to pass out from blood loss.

“Isn’t he pathetic?” Tom sneers to his Death Eaters who laugh. “Look at him, little weak Lucius, unable to protect anyone.”

Because he feels the need to prove his point, like Lucius isn’t already missing an arm and half conscious, Riddle casts a casual crucio. Lucius is too out of it to do anything but wither on the ground, but Riddle squeals in delight anyways. 

Harry hates it here.

But, because he is not as lucky as people make him out to be, Riddle gets bored within a minute and turns his attention back to Harry. 

“I nearly forgot our guest!”

Guest? He feels more like a hostage, thanks.

Riddle rants some more about something, he sounds a little angry, but Harry’s still working on his ropes. He tunes back in when Riddle says his name, but at that point most of the Death Eaters are on the floor like they’ve been hit.

“You heard me! Release him! Give him back his wand!”

What the fuck? 

Is he insane? 

Well, probably. Actually, Harry’s pretty damn sure Riddle doesn’t have much of a brain left. He blames the many deaths the man has gone through. 

Even so, a brave Death Eater comes forward and Harry drops from the grave to the dirt. He can’t tell if it’s the Tournament wounds or the hour he’s spent tied to stone that make his legs hurt. 

Someone tosses him his wand that he catches on instinct, but before he can do anything Riddle is cursing him.

“Crucio!”

Harry doesn’t scream, but that’s just because he’s stubborn and Draco didn’t scream for Moody so he refuses to scream for Tom fucking Riddle. He does, however, fall to his knees, and dig his fingers into the dirt.

It hurts. Worse than anything he’s ever felt before, worse than every cut and scrape, worse than Quidditch wounds, worse than regrowing bones.

“Aw?” Riddle purrs, “Won’t you scream for me Harry?”

Godric, that sounds creepy coming from a grown man. Riddle’s feet come into view, so, like a reasonable person, Harry spits on his toes.

At least Pansy will be proud of him.

Riddle roars, kicking him right in the face. Harry goes tumbling back, hoping to roll away,  but he’s too slow. He blinks just once and then he’s face to face with Voldemort. 

“I can touch you now, little boy.”

Seriously? Riddle is sounding more and more like a pedophile. 

To solidify Harry’s new theory, Riddle traces his jawline with a single finger. Harry really, really, really hates everything about this. 

But, if he learned anything from muggle-schools, it’s how to deal with pedophiles.

Harry raises his foot and kicks Riddle right in the balls. It works just as well as it always does, and Harry rolls away after he’s dropped, ducking behind a tombstone.

Okay, he’s in the Blaise portion of his plan, now he just has to get to the cup and get the fuck out of here.

“Find him!” Riddle shrieks, “If he escapes you die!”

Fuck. 

Why do things always end this way for him?

The Death Eaters files out in piles of black fog, leaving Harry along with Riddle and Lucius. At least it’s one-on-one now. Not that it’s great, he’s still just a kid about to face off with a powerful wizard.

But he’s just that. A wizard, a man. He has a first and last name, he is nothing more than a human with a very big ego, and Harry’s friends with Slytherins. He deals with big egos all the fucking time.

In the back of his head he hears a voice that suspiciously sounds like Narcissa telling him that he’s not fighting Riddle. He just has to distract him and get to the cup. 

Harry steps out from behind his headstone, wand raised and only shaking a little bit.

“Ah! The little mouse comes out to play.”

“Oh I get it, you're supposed to be the cat. You know, like a tomcat?”

Riddle looks at him like he’s the crazy one, but it’s the perfect opportunity to throw a confringo his way and run. As soon as the spell leaves his wand Riddle is blown back and Harry’s sprinting over to Lucius, because he’s not going to leave his boyfriend’s father here, and accios the goblet to him.

Riddle makes a face of outrage, screaming his name, but the swirling is starting. He whispers ‘goodbye’ to the graveyard, and no, he’s not going to miss it.

Draco’s not begun pacing yet, but Krum and Fleur are healed, and he’s not going back into the stands with Harry and Cedric still in the maze.

He has no clue what’s happening on the inside, but he does know that if Harry’s hurt he is going to burn Dumbledore to a crisp. Fleur will probably even help. 

See, they’ve already planned it out. Harry is going to show up bleeding and on the brink of death, Draco is going to lose his fucking mind and accidently kill at least five people, and then the minister will get upset because Fudge is arguably the stupidest person in the stadium, so Fleur will kill him, they’ll team up for Dumbledore and Poppy will heal any injuries they get because they saved her the trouble. 

Cedric running out of the maze is not a part of their plan.

“Mister Diggory!” Poppy all but shrieks, the boy’s pants are halfway gone, torn to shreds and while it’s not a bad view, the blood kinda ruins any possible attraction. Draco goes rushing over with her, the two of them already mumbling healing spells.

“Stop!” Cedric pushes them away, running towards Dumbledore, “Where the hell did that cup take Harry?!”

Draco blinks once, then twice, pinches his arm just to make sure he’s not dreaming. Dumbledore stares at Cedric like he’s grown another head, and that never bodes well.

“The cup took Harry?”

“Yes! Where the hell did it take him?! He’s hurt you know! You didn’t say anything about the cup being a portkey!”

Dumbledore frowns, another bad sign, “The cup is not a portkey, Mister Diggory, I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re-”

“The cup isn’t a portkey?” Cedric whispers, eyes wide. A growing sense of doom makes Draco a little queasy. Thankfully Fleur is beside him, offering support before he can ask for it. 

“What happened?” 

Cedric turns her way, fear stricken across his face. “Harry got taken. We-we found the cup together, and he said he wouldn’t take it but, well, he saved my life, you know? The carnivorous vines got me, and he didn’t even think twice, just got me out and got me away and I couldn’t just not let him take the cup, he saved my life so we argued about it, and I should’ve taken it I fucking should’ve but I pulled back at the last second so he’d be the one with the points, and then he just, he swirled, you know? It took him somewhere and I don’t- I can’t- I should’ve-”

“Breathe.” Poppy commands, grabbing Cedric’s shoulders. Draco tries to take her advice, but it much harder to focus on her counting in threes than it is to focus on the fact that Harry is fucking gone. 

Draco racks his brain, trying to figure out what happened, what could’ve happened. There are a thousand people who would want Harry Potter dead, and a million more who would just want him because he’s The Harry Potter. Was he added to a collection? Sold? Obviously someone tampered with the game, they knew that from the beginning, but Draco was just running with the assumption that whoever put Harry’s name in was just a really lazy assassin-

Draco sucks in air.

Not a lazy assassin, a smart one. 

Put Harry’s name in the Goblet, let the Tournament do your job for you. And if Harry somehow manages to survive all three tasks, kill him at the end. 

“There’s been a ‘helper’ in the castle every year so far,” He can hear Ron saying, ‘It wouldn’t be insane for another one to be here. Especially with the other schools present.”

He’s stupid for not seeing it earlier, Ron practically handed him the answer.

“What is it?” Draco turns to see McGonagall approaching, one of the few good things to happen this evening. It’s always nice to have competent people surround you. “Why do you all look like a death has happened?”

Cedric chokes. “Harry-“

“Mister Potter? I’m assuming that he is still within the maze, correct? I do believe he should be crowned winner of this task if that is the case.”

Draco doesn’t have the heart to tell her. He knows Harry means the world to her, hell she let him get away with playing Quidditch first year, and McGonagall never breaks rules. 

Poppy places a hand on her arm, “Minerva-“

“He’ll be fine.” Bill says, coming up on their left. “I gave him extra protection, and Harry is a smart kid. He’ll come back.”

Draco thinks it’s in everyone’s best interest that he doesn’t point out how tightly Bill is squeezing his limp hand. If he’s not careful he’s going to draw blood, but that’s none of Draco’s business. 

He knows it couldn’t be one of the students, it rarely is. They might find him annoying, sure, but none of them were old enough to swear loyalty to Riddle and the only known ‘enemy’ of Harry is supposed to be him. Seeing that they’re secretly dating, Draco rules out the students. 

That leaves adults and the champions, but Draco knows Cedric and Fleur didn’t do it, and Hermione is too smart to date someone evil. The first word against Harry and she would’ve permanently glued Krum’s tongue to his mouth. He’s pretty sure Krum can still talk, and that means whoever is after Harry is probably an adult. 

Specifically, a professor. 

Draco’s money is on Karkaroff. 

He knows the man used to be a Death Eater, he runs a school notorious for teaching students the Dark Arts, Severus and Ellios both hate him, he was rude to Harry when this whole train wreck began, and he’s refusing to look anyone in the eye. Very suspicious, but it’s not enough for Draco to start pointing fingers. 

It doesn’t matter how angry and worried he is, if he’s wrong then he could make things worse for Harry. So, Draco takes a deep breath and resolves to keep a close eye on Karkaroff. 

At least, that’s the plan until a swirling begins in the middle of the clearing and Harry appears with his bleeding father what the fuck?!

Honestly, he should really stop making plans. They never seem to work out for him. 

Draco blinks twice and then he’s running, sprinting over to them and not giving a damn about anything else. 

“What happened?!” Poppy yells, but Draco can’t yell. 

He can’t do anything but stare at the mess in front of him and think where the fuck is his arm? 

It’s gone. 

There’s a bloody mess where an arm should be and Draco knows it should be there because it’s the arm he’s not supposed to look at, the one Narcissa had to kill Lucius over, the one that caused a majority of his suffering and it’s just gone. Empty space filling with red and he has no fucking clue-

“Draco. I need you to keep the bleeding at bay, Ellios, we’re going to have to move him.”

He listens blindly to Poppy’s orders, wand out and doing as he’s told. Draco registers that Harry is safe and not horribly injured, both Fleur and Cedric are on either side of him so Draco knows his boyfriend is fine. 

His father, not so much. 

They’re rushed to the hospital wing, despite the annoyance of the crowd. Some of the professors stay behind to try and calm the situation, not that he gives a flying fuck. 

As soon as they’re inside the familiar place with white walls and white beds he and Poppy go to work. 

Draco keeps the bleeding at bay, just barely acknowledging the complicated bit of spell work Poppy is doing. She disappears after five minutes, tapping him lightly on the shoulder to stop but he can’t stop. He can’t do nothing right now, and she must get that because she says “wake him, I’ll be right back.”

Draco reaches out to squeeze a hand that isn’t there, something warm touches his back, someone says his father’s name. He looks up to see Fleur smiling at him, leaning over to shake and yeah, yeah okay. Poppy probably has to give him potions, and he can’t take them until he’s awake. 

“Lucius.” Draco mummers, then, quietly, “...please.”

Nothing happens. So Draco tries again.

“Asshole.”

Absolute silence. Not a remark about how unseemly his language is. Not even a sharp look. He doesn’t like this one bit. It’s different, something has changed and seeing his father like this doesn’t feel right.

“Dad!” 

Still nothing.

He’s not sure what possesses him to do it, maybe it’s the pent up rage, maybe it’s the stress of the situation, maybe it’s because he’ll never get another chance to. Draco reaches out and slaps his father across the face. Poppy scolds him but it works. Lucius awakes with a gasp and a cough. 

“What-“

Poppy shoved a potion in his face. “Drink this if you want an arm.”

Lucius drinks. 

He struggles to get up, it takes Draco, Poppy, and Fleur to keep him down. “Let me up! I have to-Potter is going to-! Draco?”

Lucius looks around the room, though he doesn’t get a long time to peek before Draco is throwing his arms around his father’s neck. Sure, the animosity is still there, and it’s weird to hug someone with one arm, but it’s not scary. Draco doesn’t feel frightened, or unsafe, he’s just happy that Lucius isn’t bleeding anymore.

“What happened?”

Fleur goes to open her mouth, but a loud commotion at the door makes them all look to the left.

Snape, Dumbledore, Percy Weasley, that Bill fellow, the minister, a woman with weirdly colorful hair, and his mother all walk into the room. It sounds like the punchline to a bad joke, but he’s never been more happy to see his mother.

Narcissa rushes over to them, knocking Dumbledore to the side in her quest to smother them both.

“You’re both going to die, do you understand me?!” She whispers as she draws them both in, “I am going to kill you if you keep doing this me-where is your arm?”

“His arm?!” Percy asks, right as Bill says something that strikes fear into his heart all over again, “Where’s Harry?”

Narcissa freezes. A ripple of movement strikes the room. Fleur, Cedric, and Bill look frantically around like Harry might pop out of thin air, Poppy, Percy, and Snape look ten years older, their worry-lines are going to cause permanent wrinkles. Draco can’t even look at his parents, Dumbledore seems to be the only calm person in the room.

“He was just right here!”

“I walked in with him!”

“Did you see-”

“Maybe to the bathroom-”

“He can’t just leave-”

“-at a time like this-”

Draco ignores them all. He needs to find Harry, and he knows exactly how to. He steps back from everyone, draws his wand and casts his Patronus. The three-headed snake blinks at him, one head squeezes his leg like a hug.

It’s an effective way to shut everyone up.

“Bring me the twins.” He says to the snakes, then “Winky!”

He’s not really sure how he ended up here, but that seems to be the theme of the day.

The whole year if he’s honest. First his name gets thrown into some Death Tournament that upsets literally everyone, but guess what? He still has to do it or he’ll die. Then, because Lady Luck seriously hates him, he’d been snatched from the end of the stupid thing and thrown into a mess with Tom Riddle. Typical, of course, but still annoying. Escaping from him was supposed to be it for the day. Harry was supposed to go into the hospital wing and stay there, probably get looked over, see a few friendly faces, be there when his boyfriend realizes his father’s limb is missing, hug his friends and endure their lectures. 

But once he entered the door of the hospital wing darkness had overtaken him, and now he’s Godric knows wear, pinned down to a shitty seat with shitty ropes to end his shitty day.

Honestly, he’s only fifteen, can he please catch a break?

The room itself is nearly as strange as his predicament. It’s all cold and dark, walls of stone and wooden floors, a drip to the right from the rain that’s begun outside leaks onto the floor. There’s a single bed pushed into the alcove, a tiny kitchen, nothing that goes with the stinging damp and creepy aesthetic of his captor.

Moody licks his lips, lazy eye spinning around. “I’ve got you now, Potter. It was mighty rude of you to disappear on the Dark Lord, boy.”

“It’s mighty illegal for him to kidnap me, sir.” 

Godric, Draco is going to kill him if he dies for being sarcastic. 

Moody snarls at him, getting way too close for a teacher. “How dare you disrespect the Dark Lord!” Disgusting. What is it with Death Eaters and not brushing their teeth?

Harry takes a deep breath, trying not to be mean. He’ll probably be killed if he’s mean, and that would piss off a lot of scary people. “I mean no disrespect, sir, I just think that Riddle-”

The hand across his cheek hurts, but he’s had a lot worse. It’s not almost being murdered by a friend, it ranks more around tripping in the Great Hall.

“Silence. The Dark Lord’s name will not be slandered before me. It’s his genius that made this plan work, yes….yes it is. You see, Harry Potter, my father and I never really got along…”

Harry sighs internally, he really hates back stories.

“A map?”

Draco rolls his eyes, not actually looking at Percy. He doesn’t want to offend his friend’s family, but the twins have no issue doing it.

“Yeah,” Fred begins, “Maps are more useful than you think.”

“They do much more than light the way-”

“If you’re lucky,”

“And up to absolutely nothing,”

“If you two don’t stop talking like Gramps-” Bill doesn't even get to finish his threat before Fred and George have the map open and spread across the nearest bed. Perfect.

“Everyone!” Draco commands, “Look on the map for Harry’s name!”

“For Harry’s name?”

“What does a name have to-”

“-What is this map?!”

Draco glares at them all just once and suddenly everyone is keen to help. Poppy, Ellios, and Severus take the upper levels, the Weasleys take the middle, Draco and the rest look through the bottom. Almost everyone is looking, well, everyone but Dumbledore and Fudge, of course, because they’re not at all the type of people who are supposed to protect children. 

They don’t have time to be divided right now. Even if Dumbledore is angry that they haven’t spoken all year, even if Fudge is supposed to be prim and proper, none of that should matter right now. A person, a very important person, is missing. Draco wants to yell and cuss at them, to beg them to help, anything to find Harry-

“I found him! He’s with...who the fuck is Barty Crouch?”

“Barty?!” Percy gasps.

Lucius sighs, “Barty as is the Sir or Junior?”

“Junior.” The twins say, much to Percy’s confusion and Lucius’s agitation.

“More concerning than that,” Dumbledore leans over to peer at the map, “How did Mr. Crouch Jr. get into Alastor’s room when it’s locked?”

Fuck. Fuck Draco doesn’t like where this is heading. He couldn’t give less of a shit of what this means. Crouch and Moody probably got Harry together, and Draco’s gotta go save his dumbass boyfriend so he can be the one to curse him out. 

At least he understands who started all this mess. This Barty Crouch Jr. asshole is very interested in gaining a bit of sympathy, and hey, he does understand. Crouch didn’t get on with his pops, Harry’s hated Vernon since he knew what hate was. Crouch didn’t have a good mother figure, Harry never had a mum. They have a surprising amount in common, only Harry can’t see himself ever kidnapping a child and trying to kill them.

On the plus side, Harry is still alive, like Crouch is avoiding it. Or maybe like he has a lot of secrets to keep and no one to share them with so murder victims is it? 

“You’ll see, yes. I’ll turn you in, the Dark Lord will be so very impressed with me, I’ll be favored if I kill you. I’ll be invited to join his inner circle, to fill in Malfoy’s spot….the inner circle is supposed to be stuff of legends…..to be one of them….oh.”

Harry grimaces, that’s only a sound he wants to hear his boyfriend make, not some overgrown child in a really deep goth faze.

“Yes, I do believe that would be good….what say you, Potter?” Moody, well it’s technically Barty Jr. polyjuiced as Moody, “Are you ready to die?”

How does a person even respond to that? Obviously the answer is no, but just staring seems kinda rude. He could always just say ‘yes’ but then Draco would be mad at him and Hermione would worry. 

“I won’t do it quickly, of course, they have me…..isolated...so we can have all the fun we wish to have...I think I quite like that...yes...handing you over to the Dark Lord is much better than just killing you…” Barty-Moody smiles at him, waving a crucio his way..

His body spasms on impact, and it hurts just like last time, but not nearly as bad. The only issue is that he can’t contain himself this time. He had anger back in the graveyard, anger and pure stubbornness. All he has right now is exhaustion and pain, neither of which can keep him from screaming.

It’s not fun to experience, so witnessing it can’t be all that great.

Harry blinks twice, just to make sure he’s seeing this right, and then something like warmth floods his system.

Draco stands in the doorway, but not his normal Draco. This Draco is pissed, and Harry gets it, he did just walk in on his missing boyfriend being tortured with a black eye and unhealed wounds. His hair snakes up like Harry’s seen so many times, but now it turns from that white-blonde to silver, like a head full of snakes. His eyes flash dangerously, his skin reminds Harry of the moon.

It happens in a blur. One second the door is closed and Harry is screaming and it fucking hurts, and then the door is open, Draco’s bursting in looking a lot like Fleur when her sister was taken, and drawing his wand. Harry doesn’t have time to process the extent of it. All he knows is that his boyfriend’s wand was out, and now there is a small gash leaking profusely from the side of Moody-Crouch’s neck. 

“Harry,” Draco breathes, and fuck when did he get so close? His eyes are so different from normal, all steely and cold. They look like whatever stars are made from, and given that Draco’s hair is smoothing back down into liquid silver, he just looks like a star in general. A shiny, very beautiful, warm and bright star.

Draco throws his head back and laughs, “You’re still out of it then, huh?”

“Harry!” “Draco!”

“Draco Malfoy!”

“What in the world-?!”

Harry looks around wildly at the voices, but Draco shushes him and pulls him close.

“I made it back.” Harry mummers into his boyfriend’s neck. It’s much more pleasant here, Draco used that mahogany body wash that he likes, he can tell. “I told you I would.”

“I don’t think this counts, I had to come find you.”

“Where-OH MY GOD! ALASTOR-”

“What happened?!”

“What is the meaning of this?!”

“I’m sorry that you’re going to have to deal with this.” Harry whispers, not even sure if Draco can hear him. Arms tighten, he gets a little warmer.

“Don’t worry, it’s no big deal.”