Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Masks of Real Heroes	By : Aelys_Althea Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 17755 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Many thanks to the wonderful J. K. Rowling who offered such a beautiful world for amateurs such as myself to frolick in. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction and all characters and original storylines of Harry Potter belong to her!

Chapter List
- 25
- 26
- 27
Chapter 25: And So It Begins
The first thing that Draco was aware upon Apparating of was the smell. It was dusty and dry, as though the room they had landed in had been locked away for too long. The second thing was the cold. The chill was at odds with the staleness of the air, with the faint warmth of the hands in each of his. Blinking, Draco’s eyes adjusted to the darkness around him, blackness retreating into blurry shadows and finally into what appeared to be hulking furniture. It was difficult to discern their exact nature. The room was too dark.
“Where are we?”
Ginny’s voice sounded too loud in the empty room. The hollowness, almost echoing, indicated that the room was likely larger than anticipated. The girl’s hand grasped Draco’s almost painfully tightly, but he didn’t complain. At another time he would have done so – in a heartbeat – but the slight tremors that quivered through her fingers stilled his tongue.
Shaking his head, Draco squinted his eyes, attempting to make out their surroundings. “I don’t know. You’re the one who sent us here.”
“I only gave you the coordinates,” Ginny hissed, squeezing even more tightly. There was more nervousness than anger lacing her tone. “I can’t even see anything.”
“Well, be my guest. I’m not casting magic outside of school grounds,: Draco muttered with only faint regret. Desperate times caused for desperate measures, but he wasn’t about to incite the wrath of the Ministry over the indulgent desire to chase the shadows away. “Try and find a light, or a candle or something.”
He felt more than saw Ginny nod as she deliberately pried her fingers from his. Harry’s he kept a hold on, stepping hesitantly forwards with one hand outstretched. Fingertips reached until they came in contact with a wall and he made his way along it.
“Draco, why don’t I just…”
With his eternal hush, Harry’s voice was nowhere near as resounding as Ginny’s had been moments before. The soft quietness mirrored the smoky red light that shimmered into existence moments later, so slowly that even looking straight at it Draco was only slightly forced to squint. Blinking rapidly to clear the blurriness from his eyes, he glanced around him.
Harry stood directly to his side, one hand raised and a glowing red orb resting in his palm, cradled so closely Draco thought it actually touched his skin. Redness washed over the room, bathing the contents of what appeared to be a storage space of sorts in ruddy light.
It was a relatively large room, at least as large as the Slytherin common room, and seemed larger for the tall ceiling and sparse placement of discarded furniture. What appeared to be couches lined the walls, covered in pale sheets, their sentinel placement broken only by the odd chest or wardrobe. A single window took up the majority of one wall, shrouded in floor length dusty curtains. In the center of the room, a solitary, low-lying table hunkered atop a thick, dark rug, patterns so obscured by dust as to be indecipherable. Ginny stood beside the table turning in a slow circle to survey the room. She spared half a glance for Harry, likely questioning his use of magic after Draco’s words, but she didn’t comment. Worry was evident upon her face; she looked sickly pale in the glow of red light.
“Why red?” Draco murmured with half a mind as he ran his eyes over the shrouded furnishings. There was precious little to comment on; not an ornament or picture frame adorned the walls nor graced the surfaces of the chests.
“It’s not as bright. Won’t hurt your eyes as much,” Harry replied quietly, his own gaze climbing over the cracks in the plaster walls. “Where is this place?”
Shrugging, Draco hesitantly released his hand and moved to the only door into the room. It was nearly hidden by the shadow of an imposing oaken wardrobe that loomed over him as he approached. Jiggling the handle once, he opened it and peered beyond. A dark hallway receded into even deeper blackness, and hastily retreated back into the room a moment later. “I don’t know. The coordinates suggest we’re just north of Cardiff, but I’m not sure. I’m not familiar with this area.”
“Why would Neville and Dumbledore be here? Is this someone’s house? It doesn’t make any sense.” Ginny frowned as she continued in her slow rotations. “If we could use magic, we might be able to see how long it’s been since they were here.”
In unison, Ginny and Draco turned towards Harry. He glanced between the two of them, brow furrowing. “What sort of charm?”
“One that picks up residue? Maybe a Footprints Charm?” Draco rubbed his chin thoughtfully; Charm’s wasn’t exactly his forte.
“I don’t know how to do anything like that. I’m not sure if I could.” Harry dropped his eyes to the floor. “There are footprints on the floor, though.”
“That’s not what I meant –“
“No, Draco, he’s right. It’s so dusty; there are actually footprints on the floorboards.” Similarly shifting her attention to the floor, Ginny took a step away from the table. “On the rug too.”
Crouching, Harry touched a finger to the wooden floor cover. “It’s not gathered much dust yet. They can’t have been long.”
“What do we do?” Ginny turned first to Harry, then to Draco. Her determination was as thick as the air, though she seemed uncertain of how to proceed. “Should we just wait here? Hope they’ll come back?”
“We could try a Tracking Charm,” Draco suggested, stepping to Harry’s side and dropping to a similar crouch. “But since neither you nor I can do magic undetected, it would be up to you again, Harry.”
“I’ve never done a Tracking Charm before either.”
“Do you think you could try?”
Harry frowned at the dusty outline of shoes on the ground. “I don’t know. I’d have to actually think about it and how it works first.”
Draco felt a smile tug at his lips. Despite the gravity of the situation, Harry would always be Harry. “I think that’s your problem; you think too much.” Harry flashed him a smile in return.
Apparently Ginny didn’t see the humor of the situation. Rightly so, Draco considered; they hadn’t really found out anything at all. She huffed impatiently, folding her arms across her chest. “Well? Could you at least try?”
It was rude, really, Draco thought, but Harry hardly seemed to care. Instead, he met Ginny’s eyes with a considering frown, nodded slowly, and turned back towards the footprints. “I can try.” And he pressed his hand onto the floorboards.
Quiet blanketed the already stagnant room. Only their combined soft breaths, made glaringly loud in the shuttered silence, interrupted the stasis. A feather could have been heard dropping to the floor with the sound of thunder.
Which was why, when a pair of bodies crashed onto the table in the center of the room, Draco thought an explosion had taken hold of the building. He, Harry and Ginny started so impressively that they had all stumbled halfway across the room before they registered the source of the intrusion.
“Neville!”
Wavering into steadiness, Ginny launched herself at the two bodies slumped on the shattered remains of the table. She nearly tripped over the side of the rug in her haste. A puff of dust sprung into the air as she fell to her knees beside the new arrivals. She made short work of pushing the splintered fragments from her way. Draco was rather impressed it had collapsed, actually, even under the weight of two grown men; it had looked rather sturdy. He and Harry hastened to her side.
The redness of Harry’s light was anything but generous to the horror of the scene. Neville and Dumbledore looked like a pair of corpses. The younger wizard half-curled in upon himself was a sorry sight; shirt and jeans ripped, a shoes missing, and stained in rusty streaks across every expanse of bared skin. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest, the random twitches of his closed eyelids amidst a half-mask of dirt and grime, indicated he was even alive. Clutched to his chest was an antique candlestick, nearly a foot long and twisted in elaborate spirals.
“Portkey,” Draco muttered, prying it from Neville’s. It was difficult; even in unconsciousness, the other boy had a death grip to rival strangling vine. He glanced at Harry in mutual worry.
Ginny had gathered the limp Neville into her arms, sparing only half a glance for Dumbledore similarly slumped facedown before her. “Neville! Neville, wake up! Please wake up, you’re alright, you’re going to be alright…” She continued a litany of reassurances, patting Neville’s pale cheeks as though in reassurance. Tears had already welled in her, however, and her fingers trembled more violently than before.
Glancing towards Draco and Harry, her eyes became pleading. When she spoke, however, her voice only faintly cracked. “W-what do we do?”
Draco opened his mouth to reply, but for once found no words forthcoming. His eyes locked on Neville, a chill rippling down his spine. I don’t… what do we… what the bloody hell happened?
It was probably a good thing, then, that Harry responded so actively. Shuffling to Ginny’s side, hand still aloft with his glowing ball of red light, he peered closely at Neville. Though his face was tight with lines of worry, he spoke with practical efficiency. “We’ve got to see if he’s injured, first, before we try to move him. I think… I think I can heal him. So long as it’s nothing too critical.”
Glancing over his shoulder towards Draco, Harry nodded towards the fallen Headmaster. “Draco, do you think you could make sure Dumbledore’s alright?” He turned back to Neville before Draco could reply.
Swallowing his rising nausea, Draco picked through the fragments of the table towards the elderly wizard. The sounds of Ginny’s rising voice behind him caused him to flinch.
“Oh Merlin, he’s bleeding. Harry, that looks bad. It’s bad, isn’t it? Is it bad? What do we do?”
“Ginny, i-it’s alright. It’s not that bad. I think I can…” Harry trailed off and a sudden warmth behind Draco suggested he was attempting some sort of healing. Draco didn’t turn to confirm it. It didn’t really surprise him as much as it probably should have that he was capable of performing as much.
Dumbledore was nearly a filthy as Neville. His robes were torn into stings of fabric at the hem and half a sleeve appeared burnt off, revealing a bloodstained right arm beneath. Hesitantly grasping his shoulder, Draco heaved to roll the man over. The wizard was a dead weight.
Draco couldn’t suppress the flinch that took hold of him when Dumbledore’s face lolled towards him. It was like a scene from a horror story. The right half of the man’s face was crisped to a black crust. His eyebrow was missing, barely a scratching of charred hairs remaining. The corner of his lip sagged like the mask of a sad clown. His unburned skin was even paler than Neville’s.
That can’t be good.
Reaching forward slowly, Draco noted detachedly that his fingers trembled. It was only with a herculean force of will that he stilled them enough to fumble onto the side of Dumbledore’s neck. The wrinkled skin felt horribly cold and coarse beneath his fingertips. Beside him, he couldn’t even tell if the old man’s chest shifting with inhalations.
Come on, come on, please… let there be something.
The faint breathing of Harry, Ginny and Neville behind him seemed almost deafening in Draco’s ears. Ginny’s nearly nonsensical words had faded into a formless murmur. Swallowing, fingers twitching as they withdrew from Dumbledore’s skin, Draco half-glanced over his shoulder.
“Harry… I think…:
Harry glanced towards him from where he had slumped back onto his haunches at Neville’s side. Ginny had taken his place, simply cradling Neville’s prone limp figure like a mother would a child. Draco ignored the display to lock eyes with Harry. The other boy’s looked weary – probably a result of the healing – but the weariness nearly vanished as his eyes widened, his mouth falling open in an inaudible ‘oh no’. Draco’s face must have said it all.
Scrambling to his side, Harry slid his own fingers towards the old wizards neck. His other hand reached blindly for the limp, exposed wrist, locking around wrinkled skin. He stared blankly into nothingness as he paused, frozen; Draco couldn’t even hear him breathe. Slowly, so slowly, Harry turned his eyes towards him.
“He’s…”
“That’s the second time I’m portkeyed with a dead man,” a voice croaked behind them. Draco and Harry turned in unison to see Neville peering at them from Ginny’s arms. Tears glistened in his eyes.
His weren’t the only ones.

“What should we do?” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper.
It had been but minutes since Neville had awoken, but it felt like hours. Hours of numbness as Draco contemplated the impossible.
Dumbledore can’t be dead, he can’t be… This is Dumbledore. But the evidence was lying startlingly close before him, and try as he might Draco couldn’t draw his eyes away from the dead man.
“I…” He barely cast Harry a flickering glance. He swallowed, trying to rid his mouth of its unending dryness with little successful. “I don’t know. I don’t think… taking him back to school might be…”
Harry had his own eyes fixed upon the old Headmaster. Even from the corner of his eye, Draco thought he looked near about to pass out, and not only from the exhaustion of wandless healing magic. At Draco’s words he nodded quickly in quick agreement. “I think it would just terrify everyone, seeing –“ He cut off abruptly, and wrenched his eyes from the dead man.
Draco slowly did the same, turning instead towards Neville and Ginny. Ginny was murmuring softly, too quietly to be heard. She had regained some of her composure when Neville had awakened, and seemed to be putting on a brave face for him as he stared silently up at her. Draco wasn’t sure if his friend was really even awake; his eyes were open, but he didn’t seem to be responding to Ginny’s words, verbally or otherwise. “Where should we take him, then? Both of them.” He nodded towards Neville as he turned back to Harry.
Gnawing on his lip, Harry glanced between the two of them. “We can’t go to your house –“
“Definitely not.”
“And my uncle’s is out of the question, and not only because it’s in France.” Harry drew in a deep breath. He seemed to be bordering on a nervous breakdown and couldn’t seem to fasten his gaze upon any one spot.
Draco understood the feeling. There was a clenching in his throat, a heavy weight growing near the top of his chest that made him feel like he was about to disgorge his stomach. It was with difficulty that he maintained his own steady breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose… His mental chanting did little to stifle the flurry of thoughts that had erupted within his head after the numbness finally began to recede.
What exactly were they going to do? Go to the school and hand over the Wizarding world’s most powerful wizard of the Light with an, “um, he died?” How would they possibly explain something like that?
And more importantly, with Dumbledore dead… the repercussions were enormous. It was common knowledge that Dumbledore was about the only thing that stood between the Dark Lord and the collapse of Wizarding Britain. And now he was gone. What sort of hope did they have now? Even with Neville and his Horcrux hunting – of which he and Dumbledore apparently hadn’t yet completed – there was still the impossibly powerful and bloodthirsty madman to deal with. While they hunted. And protected the every witch and wizard, young and old, at his mercy.
And what about me? A soft voice whispered in the back of his mind. Even to himself it sounded frantic. Like a returning itch, all the doubts that had settled upon him since he’d made the Bond with the headmaster reared their ugly heads once more. What becomes of our agreement? What becomes of his protection? He wasn’t supposed to die. It’s broken now, right? Which means…
Draco swallowed again, thrusting the thought to the side and clamping down upon it with a firm hand. He couldn’t think about that now, and not only because there were no answers to his questions. Not now, anyway. Even if worst came to worst and Draco was no once more at risk from the Dark Lord, he could hardly curl up in terror and hope for the best. Not only would that amount to nothing but he wasn’t the only one threatened. His friends, his mother…
Glancing up towards Harry, he reached out a hand and wrapped his fingers around his wrist. Harry twisted his hand to grasp Draco’s in return, cool fingers clenching tightly. And Harry. Especially Harry. He couldn’t even think about it; that Harry was at risk too – just like everybody else, but it was Harry – made him feel dizzy with fear.
Biting back the flood of bile washing his tongue, Draco glanced once more towards Ginny and Neville. “We could go to the Longbottoms. Or the Weasleys. They might know what to do, or be able to send word to the Order of the Phoenix. Frank Longbottom’s a member, I think, and so is –“
“Oh!” Harry started and snatched his hand from Draco’s. Turning back towards him, Draco frowned as the hand not still holding the glowing red light aloft dove into his pockets. He rifled around for a moment before unearthing a brown paper-wrapped parcel.
“What -?”
“Sirius. We could tell him; he can come and help us. He’s part of the Order, too.” Ignoring Draco’s frown, Harry tugged at the twine holding the paper in place and pulled out a hand mirror a little larger than his palm.
“What is that? What are you doing even carrying it around?”
Harry barely spared him a glance. His expression was still worried but carried an edge of determination now. “Sirius sent it to me this morning. You know how he’s been sending me odd bits and pieces for a couple of weeks now?” Draco nodded. “Well, this is the latest one.”
“What is it?”
“A two-way mirror,” Harry replied, his voice still hushed in the quiet. Rocking back onto his haunches once more, he raised it before himself. “Sirius has its twin, and you can communicate through it.”
“Like Pansy and Hermione’s journals?”
“I guess,” Harry shrugged, before focusing intensely upon the mirror.
Draco was unsure if it was the best idea – who knew what artifacts Black was really sending? – but knew his misgivings to be primarily product of his dislike. It was not entirely rational, this dislike, Draco had to admit, but admitting so didn’t make it any less persistent. So he clamped down on any disputes he felt creeping forth and settled himself to watching Harry gnaw his lip and stare at the mirror.
Think of the priorities; we need help, and Black is probably in the best position to offer it. It elicited a wince to even think as much. Maybe Harry was right. We probably should have brought a teacher or someone along.
“…never done this before. Don’t know if I’m supposed to use magic…?” Harry muttered nearly inaudibly to himself before taking a deep breath and speaking clearly at the mirror. “Sirius Black.”
A rustle behind him alerted Draco to Ginny and Neville’s attentiveness. Glancing behind him, he was met with two pairs of hollow eyes, reflecting the red glow of Harry’s magic. They were a picture of exhaustion and grief, the pair of them, though interest touched both faces as they watched Harry.
For a moment, Draco didn’t think it had worked. He turned back to Harry, was just about to open his mouth to speak, when an unfamiliar voice rung through the room. A pale white light radiated from the face of the mirror.
“Harry? What are you still doing up? Not that I disapprove of midnight wandering particularly, but it’s not really like you.”
Draco could hear the smile in Black’s tone, but Harry offer one in kind. His face was still hardened in lines of worry, and perhaps Black perceived as much for his own tone sharpened. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”
“Sirius, something’s happened. We need your help.” Harry glanced quickly between his friends, uncertainty seeping into his expression. It was difficult, but Draco managed to dredge up an encouraging smile. The dead man before him seemed to flinch at his attempted warmth.
“What? What’s happened? Are you alright? I’ll come to the school and –“
“No, we’re not at the school, we’re…” Harry switched his gaze towards Ginny. The girl stared back at him blankly before understanding dawned. With a jingle of her wrist to spin her bracelet into better visibility, she relayed the coordinates to Harry in clipped tones. Harry passed them on instantly.
“Coordinates? They teach you that in Apparation these days?” Black’s tone seemed incredulous, until the weight of the directions sunk in. “That’s nowhere near Hogwarts. What are you doing there?”
Harry struggled for words for a moment, opening and closing his mouth. Finally, he stuttered, “W-we’ve had a bit of a incident. Neville, and Dumbledore, they went on a-a mission of sorts and something happened –“
“Are they alright?”
Shaking his head, Harry dropped his chin, eyes falling downcast. Draco could see the strain weighing him down more prominently than it had before. He was unsurprised; it had been more surprising that he’d been so calm before, calm enough to successfully heal Neville. “No, not really. Could you… please, could you –“
“I’m on my way, Harry. Just hang tight, I’ll be there in a heartbeat. Where are you, in a house?”
Harry nodded. “I think so. I don’t know, we just Apparated here. We’re in a room…”
“Alright. Don’t worry, I’m on my way.” The white light morphed and twisted, fizzling like boiled water, before dissolving.
Lowering the mirror, Harry slowly raised his eyes to meet Draco’s. The weariness had returned alongside an additional slump of his shoulders. Still, he seemed fit enough to reassure his friends. “It’s alright. It will all be alright now. Sirius is coming, so…” But his eyes seemed to drift unconsciously to Dumbledore and his words caught. He shrunk in upon himself further.
Crawling across the brittle rug, Draco sidled around the prone form of the old headmaster and curled himself next to Harry. The feeling of cool finger’s snaked around Draco’s waist and like a key fitting into its lock they slipped into each other’s hold. If Draco had known that simple familiarity would have felt so relieving, adding even a modicum of comfort to the scene, he would have done as much far sooner. They settled into huddled stillness, the distant creaks of the old house and the heaving silence the only accompaniment to the scene.
They didn’t have long to wait. Ginny had returned to her hushed muttering and Neville to simply staring up at her, but it was broken within minutes by the slam of a distant door and the clatter of heavy steps over floorboards.
“Harry!”
Starting to their feet, Draco followed Harry to the door. They had eased it open before Sirius Black skidded to a halt before them.
The man was panting faintly from exertion and his short dark hair looked faintly windswept in the light of his Lumos. Studying the lines of his face, Draco could liken him to the crazed picture he’d seen in the Daily Prophet – years ago, it had to have been now. Only just, however. There was more life to Black’s face, less of the manic twitching, and the small sigh of relief he released when he locked eyes on Harry was entirely sane.
“Are you alright?”
Harry nodded with a short jerk of his head, but simultaneously linking his hand back through Draco’s arm. The red orb in his free hand flickered into nonexistence, leaving only the golden-white glow of Black’s wand to illuminate the room. It left not an afterglow in its wake.
Peering into the room over Draco’s shoulder, Black squinted at the bowed figure of Ginny, the sprawled form of Neville. At Dumbledore crumpled like a marionette with his strings cut. “What happened?”
Harry didn’t reply, so Draco took his cue. “Neville and Dumbledore. They went on a mission. It didn’t end well, and Dumbledore…” He couldn’t finish, only gestured toward the lifeless form behind him.
Black focused upon Draco for the first time since arriving. It was unlikely he’d even noticed him at Harry’s side when he first skidded to a halt outside the room. His eyes narrowed slightly – now he recognises me – but to his credit he said not a word more.
Slipping past Harry and Draco into the room, he assessed the situation with the efficiency of a professional, checking briefly on Neville, patting Ginny on the back. The only suggestion that he realised Dumbledore’s current state, and felt saddened by it, was a faint tightening of his eyes, a wrinkle settling in his brow as he dropped to one knee beside him. A moment later, Black was up again.
“I’ll take you back to my place. We’ll get this sorted out. I don’t think it would be a good idea to head back to Hogwarts tonight.” He spoke to Draco and Harry – well, probably mostly Harry, but the both of them nodded in reply. “Neville’s not looking in such great shape. I’ll drop him and Ginny back first, then I’ll be back for you two. Alright?”
Another pair of nods was the only reply necessary. Sirius hesitated a moment, as though torn by his own decision, but broke into motion a second later. A hand placed on Ginny’s shoulder, on Neville’s, and there was a crack as they disappeared.
It was incredible how the presence of a steady, practical adult figure could provide so much reassurance. Draco knew he disliked Black, knew that Black almost definitely disliked him, for his name if nothing else, but it was a relief to have the weight of responsibility removed from his own shoulders. He’d never felt so much like a child.
Harry evidently felt as much too, for he released a shaky breath and tension noticeably dribbled from his shoulders. He turned towards Draco, wrapped both arms securely around his waist, and pressed his forehead into Draco’s shoulder. Returning the embrace, Draco lowered his own until it touched Harry’s. It was an oddly intimate gesture, comforting, and they sighed in unison.
Black returned minutes later. He paused at the sight of them holding one another, but didn’t comment. Another moment of hesitation, pausing in the act of placing his hand upon Draco’s shoulder, before the crushing weight of Apparation crumpled upon Draco from all sides. Yet the trip barely long enough to be discomforting and when he regained his vision they were in the middle of a dimly-lit, rather large yet grubby kitchen. Pale wood was stained grey beneath their feet and the walls looked in need of a good paint job. A dining table and surrounding chairs was placed roughly central of the room and a fire cracked in the stove despite the late hour.
“Grimmauld Place,” Black informed quietly, noting the tired, questioning glances of the directed towards him. “It’s just me here at the moment, though sometimes other members of the Order drop in when they need a place to stay.”
Draco couldn’t imagine why. The darkness of the room wasn’t the only reason he was left with a definite sense of discomfort. The very room seemed to breath unwelcome at their very presence. He was faintly relieved when Black ushered them from the room, though the hallway wasn’t much better. The dark wallpaper half peeling from the walls and the dusty cornices gave it a neglected feeling that was almost sad. Even the staircase to the right leading up into the higher floors seemed to moan mournfully in stillness.
“Where are Ginny and Neville,” Harry asked quietly. Not that Harry didn’t always speak quietly, but Draco understood the need for it in this house. Something urged him to drop his own voice, to limit movement to the bare minimum to avoid disruption.
Black gestured overhead. “Upstairs. Bed, and likely asleep by now. Neville was dead on his feet. Ginny, too.” Rubbing a hand over his face, Black sighed heavily. “At least neither needed any healing. I’m bloody useless at that.”
“Harry already did it. As soon as Neville showed up,” Draco murmured.
Black turned towards him, eyebrow raised, then shifted his gaze towards Harry. “That so?” Harry shrugged, then nodded. “Well, I’ll be. You’ll have to tell me about it all. Everything.” Yet even as he said it, Black held up a forestalling hand. “Not tonight, though. You’re both looking exhausted. Save it for tomorrow, when Neville and Ginny are awake too.”
Gesturing towards the stairs, Black continued. “Sleep wherever you’d like. There’s enough rooms for three times as many people, and every bed’s always made just in case.” He dropped his chin, eyes focusing on his hand that slowly curled into a fist. “I’ll go and get Dumbledore. Got to send a couple of ravens, too.”
“We should probably send one to school,” Draco muttered to Harry, who nodded.
Black shook his head. “I’ve got it covered. Go on. Don’t worry about anything else now. Off to bed.”
Draco couldn’t have been happier to follow the orders of a man he disliked, even if said dislike was admittedly slightly less profound than it had been an hour prior. The long night of worry, and the subsequent succession of horror, fear and grief, had finally caught up with him. His eyes felt gritty and his mind was gradually sinking into a pool of mush. Tugging Harry along behind him, he trudged heavily up the stairs in search of a bed.
They fell into the first one they found; Draco actually found he couldn’t care less what it looked like, let alone the smell – faintly musty, and not in a good way. The room was small, as careworn as the rest of the house, and the double bed lumpy. Before closing his eyes Draco spotted at least three cobwebs dotting the ceiling. For once in his life, however, he didn’t really care. He likely would in the morning, when such concerns as personal health and hygiene became somewhat more important, but for now all he cared about was the flat softness of the pillow beneath his head, the weight of the thin blanket tossed over him, and the warmth of Harry pressed to his side.
He fell to sleep within moments of falling upon the mattress.

As expected, Draco was disgusted upon awakening. The light streaming through the window did no favours to the dankness of the room; if anything, it only made the apparently sentient shadows all the more prominent.
Flicking the yellowing sheets and coarse blankets from himself with distaste, Draco sat up. He swallowed once, twice; his mouth felt gummy, and there was a taste of bitterness on his tongue that left him in mind of his grandmother’s unsweetened tea.
Just as bad, he’d slept in his clothes. Draco could never remember sleeping in his clothes. Never, unless dozing briefly in his armchair at home counted. Which it didn’t. The creases upon his shirt and crinkling his trousers were entirely unacceptable. Though, he admitted dejectedly, there wasn’t exactly much he could do about it. He was still rendered effectively magic-less when away from the school. His seventeenth birthday couldn’t come fast enough.
The distant murmur of voices rising through the floor brought the previous night crashing back down to him. Neville. Dumbledore. The end of the world sitting just upon the horizon. In an instant the bitterness lathering his tongue was accentuated tenfold.
“Fuck.”
A soft inhalation caused him to turn to his side. Glancing downwards, Draco watched as Harry fidgeted in his sleep. His glasses were still atop his nose, slightly skewed, and his woven braid was a tangled mess. In sleep, the lines of worry that had seemed a permanent fixture upon his face had smoothed. It was oddly calming to watch, and the tightening in Draco’s chest, though not disappearing entirely, eased slightly. Harry had always been his Distraction, and the very sight of him smothered his rising panic like cotton wool. Without thinking, he reached out his fingers and stroked gently down Harry’s face.
It had been barely two weeks since they had acknowledged the change in their relationship. For that’s what Draco realised it was; simply an acknowledgment. The changes, they were already there; the pair of them had just been denying the reality, or too oblivious to see it. Probably because of such, there had been little change in their actual behavior. Oh, Draco now felt as though he was actually allowed to touch Harry, to wrap him in his arms, as he hadn’t felt entirely comfortable beforehand. And the kissing; that was a wonder that Draco wouldn’t exchange for anything. But otherwise…
Not that Draco minded particularly. There was the urge to touch more – it was there and it was strong – but he found he could be satisfied with what they had now without needing to push things further. Not now, anyway. It was entirely different from what he’d had with Daphne – which was purely physical – or even with Pansy; what had progressed with his friend had been more like a hesitant contract to taste the possibilities, but had inevitably ended with them parting with a fervent agreement never to mention it to one another again.
What Draco had with Harry was different. It felt special, unique in an entirely unprecedented way. He couldn’t quite understand it, but that didn’t seem to matter. He could only hold it, cradle it gently, and watch as it grew and blossomed on its own. Still, he couldn’t help but want to just… touch it sometimes. Even if just to feel its glowing warmth.
Draco’s soft caresses appeared to have tugged at Harry’s sleeping mind. Blinking rapidly, he swum into wakefulness. His own clothes were rumpled as Draco’s and a red lines from the pillow streaked one cheek.. Fumbling to straighten his glasses, he blinked fuzzily and glanced towards Draco. “Hmm?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Harry yawned, shaking his head as he sat up. “’S alright.” He brushed his fringe from his face as he cast a quick glance around the room. “Where -?”
“Grimmauld Place. Black’s house. Remember? Last night…”
Nodding, Harry continued his scan of the room. His eyes caught on the half-curtained window for a moment, glasses reflecting the feeble light that managed to penetrate the creep inside. “I remember. I…” He swallowed, face clouding and crumpling for a moment as he struggled to reassert control of his expressions. It was a good distraction just watching him. A Distraction from Draco’s own looming thoughts. “I meant, where’s Neville and Ginny?”
Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. I only just woke up too. Probably in the next room, I’d imagine.” With a heave of weary muscles he rose from the bed to accompanying squeal of springs. Harry padded to the floor beside him a moment later. Together, they left the musty room in search of their friends.
They didn’t have to look far. Ginny and Neville were indeed right next door, in a room about as splendorous as the one in which Draco and Harry had spent the night. Ginny looked to have been awake for some time already, and had wedged herself into a threadbare armchair to the side of the bed. Her legs tucked beneath her, she spoke in quiet, soothing tones to Neville, who replied with equal quietness from the bed. Both glanced towards them as Draco pushed the door open.
“Hey.” Ginny attempted a smile, but it looked more a grimace.
“Morning,” Draco replied, stepping inside to make room for Harry to follow.
“Afternoon, actually.” Ginny nodded her head towards the window, the curtains half drawn. Following her gaze, Draco could see the sun resting on the horizon. Apparently they’d just about slept the day away.
“How are you feeling?” Harry stepped to Neville’s bedside, leaning down slightly to peer at his friend.
Neville gave a mirthless chuckle in reply. “Honestly? Like shit.” He sighed deeply, levering himself into sitting. “But physically, I’m fine. I have you to thank for that, Harry.” The smile Neville offered was about as successful as Ginny’s attempt.
“What’s going on? Downstairs, I mean,” Draco asked, looking to Ginny for answers.
The girl shrugged in reply. “I don’t know. Whoever it is, they’ve been going at it for a while. Couple of hours, I’d say.” She shrugged again, glancing towards Neville. “I haven’t been down to see.”
Draco leant out of the door behind him. The murmur of voices rose and fell like an undulating wave; he could hear more than one voice hissing angrily. “I think we should we go down. Black said last night that he’d want to talk to us about what happened.” He raised an eyebrow questioningly, to Neville primarily. The other boy’s reluctance to participate could put a kink in the explanation somewhat.
Neville nodded obligingly, however, and after a brief scuffle of slipping shoes onto feet the four of them made their way downstairs.
Following the voices to the kitchen, Draco peered through the doorway. Harry, Neville and Ginny paused behind him. It was a hubbub of activity inside, with about half a dozen occupants in various degrees of seating and standing. Draco recognised Black immediately; he could hardly miss the man standing at the head of the table and growling loudly to – Moody? Yes, it was definitely him. One could hardly mistake the man for someone else, wooden leg and magical eye being the most prominent of the distinguishing features.
Shifting his gaze around the room, Draco noted Professor Lupin as another attendant, as well as Ron’s father and another red-headed man who could only be his son. Dedalus Diggle was also seated at the far corner of the room, and a tall, dark man who Draco didn’t recognise standing with his arms folded before the fire.
“… have to make him listen, Moody,” Black was saying, planting his fists upon the table. “This is serious; he’ll dig his heels in, but at least he’s more reasonable than Fudge. He’ll have to listen. Kingsley?”
Eyes shifted towards the tall man by the stove, who bowed his head thoughtfully. “True, the Minister is more obliging than his predecessor. If we approach him as a united front, as the Order reborn, we might –“
“And tell him what?” Moody growled, stomping his wooden leg upon the floor. “If word got out that Dumbledore’s dead, Voldemort won’t hesitate to strike hard and fast.” Draco couldn’t quite help flinching at the name.
“So we just keep it under wraps?” Black visibly seethed, leaning towards his opponent with a snarl twisting his face. The expression was enough like his wanted poster for Draco to feel a flicker of unease upon beholding it. “How long do you think that will last, Moody? Why not just act now, act fast, and be the one’s to get in first?”
Moody scowled in reply. “You honestly think that will work, Sirius? This is Voldemort we’re talking about. This isn’t your average workaday madman. At present, he is the most powerful wizard in Britain. What do we have to throw against him?”
The hushed voice of Diggle spoke up in reply. “But leaving it as it is, Moody? That will give You-Know-Who the opportunity to set the time, the place. We’d be left with the downhill starting point.”
“I have to agree with Alastor,” Lupin cut in. His voice, usually so calm as Draco recalled from his teaching days, had an edge to it that spoke of deep concern. “The longer this is kept quiet, the more time we have to plan, to prepare. If we just wait –“
“I don’t think that will do much good, Professor Lupin.”
All eyes turned towards the hallway at Neville’s words, Draco’s included. The Gryffindor boy had taken on a ghastly pallor, though Draco wasn’t entirely sure that didn’t have to do with the simple act of walking. He hadn’t looked entirely recovered even when abed. Despite this, Neville stepped determinedly into the room. His gaze swept the members of the Order gathered, seeming to meet everyone’s in turn.
“Neville.” Weasley spoke with a small smile of welcome, discoloured only by his own worry, with an obvious strain. “Are you alright?”
Lupin’s overrode any reply. “What do you mean, Neville?” His tone, still tinged with concern, was quiet. “What do you know?”
“Is it about what happened last night?” Black added. A frown furrowed the man’s brow so deeply it looked an almost permanent fixture.
Neville nodded slowly. “Last night, I… we, me and Dumbledore –“ He paused once more, scanning the room as though uncertain.
“Speak up, boy,” Moody grumbled. “Everyone in this room can be trusted.”
Nodding acceptingly, Neville continued, taking a deep breath. “You know about the Horcruxes, right?” A visible wince rippled through the room. No one spoke, but an answer was unnecessary. “You also probably know that Professor Dumbledore and me, we’ve been searching for them.
“Last night, Dumbledore asked me to come along with him. Said he’d found another one and that he could use a hand. Of course I agreed; it’s not the first time, not even the second time he’s asked me. I sort of know what to expect now. At least, more than most people, I guess.”
“He asked you to assist him?” Weasley’s face flushed slightly red. “Why would he ask you?” A glance around the room and Weasley addressed the Order members at large. “He asked a boy? Neville’s only a boy, and he asked him for assistance?”
Neville shrugged, speaking over any reply the other occupants of the room might have. “It doesn’t matter. What matters was that we found it. He was right, just like he’s been right every time so far.”
A gasp hissed through the room, but even glancing over his shoulder Draco couldn’t pinpoint it. “What was it?” Moody grunted, his eyes narrowing on Neville.
Neville swallowed under the scrutiny. “The snake. Voldemort’s snake. He put the Horcrux in his own familiar.”
“Of course he did,” Black muttered, spitting on the floor in disgust. “Of course he’d sacrifice his own bonded companion for –“
“Enough, Sirius.” Moody, clearly in charge despite the early argument, hushed the younger wizard into silence. “You used the sword, Longbottom? The Sword of Gryffindor?”
It wasn’t news to Draco, the use of Godric Gryffindor’s sword to destroy the Horcruxes. Neville had informed him and his friends of as much weeks ago. He and Dumbledore had reportedly been using it to destroy every Horcrux so far. Still, it was surprising to understand that it seemed apparently common knowledge amongst the Order members.
Neville nodded again. “Yeah, we… yeah. It was tough. There was a fight, but Dumbledore expected that. The snake was guarded, of course, so we had to face some Death Eaters.” Closing his eyes for a moment, Neville shuddered.
Moody was merciless, however. He gave Neville but a moment to recover from what was obviously the memory of a traumatic experience. “What happened? Something went wrong; what was it?”
“Something called Voldemort.”
That simple statement served to silence the entire kitchen. A soundless groan of dread caught in Draco’s throat. The Dark Lord and Death Eaters? Maybe with one or the other Dumbledore could... but with both…
Neville’s voice cracked slightly as he continued. “We killed the snake, but getting away was the hard part. There were wards in the area – anti-Apparation and anti-portkey. We had to portkey within the first wards and sneak past the rest. We, um…” He cleared his throat. “Voldemort showed up before we could make it outside the first set of wards. We were close but…” He trailed off again.
The rest hardly needed saying. Dumbledore’s death was explanation enough. Faces caved dejectedly as they sunk into thought. Black slid into his chair and even the stoic figure of the unfamiliar Kingsley seemed to slump on his feet.
Moody was the first to speak. “So he knows. Voldemort now knows that we’re hunting the Horcruxes.”
Neville nodded, his eyes downcast. From a sideways glance, Draco wondered if the other boy was on the verge of tears. “And worse than that. He’s got the Sword.”
Draco heard multiple groans erupt around the room this time. Diggle dropped his head to his hands and Lupin wasn’t the only one to squeeze his eyes tightly shut as though physically pained.
It was the youngest Weasley who finally spoke up. “Is there no chance of retrieving it, Neville?” He sounded nearly desperate. It was wholly disheartening to see such an apparently confident and sturdy young man almost pleading for an out.
Neville paused for only a moment before shaking his head. “Just before I managed to portkeyed out of there, I saw the Death Eaters with it. Voldemort had seen it already, too. And I don’t think there’s a chance of him not knowing what it is.”
Draco felt himself nearly fold under the continually building burden of impossibilities. How much more can we have piled up against us before we just get crushed under the weight? He was sure he wasn’t the only one to think as much.
Leaning forwards, both eyes fixed upon the table before him, Moody grumbled into the buzzing silence. “We’ll have to do something, then.” He sounded like he was talking to himself, though a moment later he turned to Kingsley and barked an order. “You know what to do.”
The dark man nodded sagely, and in a whip-crack of Apparation disappeared from the kitchen. Moody didn’t even watch wait for the echo to dissipate before turning towards Lupin. “Remus, I can only ask, but…”
Lupin’s face gradually drained of colour, fading to a sickly grey. He seemed to be choking on his tongue for a moment, but quickly nodded in reply. “I understand. I’ll try, Alastor.” He disappeared moments later.
“Arthur, Bill. If you would, make your way over to Hogwarts. If what Neville says is true, then Voldemort will have a target painted on his back. Which means Hogwarts is at high risk.”
Weasley and Weasley Junior nodded militaristically, jaws tightening with identical firmness, and edged between Draco and Harry from the room. When the footsteps of their departure had disappeared, Alastor finally turned towards Black.
“I want you to stay here.”
Predictably, Black growled. “I’m not just going to –“
“Look after the kids, Sirius. And while you’re at it, do the rounds. We need all hands on wands at this point.” Though his back was to him, Draco could almost feel the penetrating stare Moody sent Black’s way. It effectively cowed the wizard, or at least convinced him of the importance of his own role enough than he slumped back into his seat. Dark eyes glanced towards Draco and his friends still in the doorway and he nodded.
Moody gave a nod in reply. “Alright. I’ll get in touch with those we can’t message. Mundungus will be out of range, and Elphias never answers his Floo calls.” Hefting himself to his feet, Moody turned to fix one last pointed stare at his ex-students – well, at Neville primarily – before he too disappeared in a crack.
The kitchen felt ominously large and empty in the abrupt absence of bodies. Hollow, even. Black, eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the table, a frown still marring his forehead, silently scrubbed at the stubble on his chin for a moment before wading back to the present.
“Alright, I’ve got some calls to make. You lot are probably hungry, yeah?” A series of hesitant nods indicated their tentative agreement, which Black replied to with a wan smile. “Help yourselves to anything that you can find that’s edible. You could try ordering Kreacher to rustle you up something, but he’s rarely obliging.”
Kreacher? Draco was on the verge of asking, but Black didn’t appear in the mood for answering questions. He paused in his own departure from the room only to pat Neville on the shoulder and whisper something that sounded like, “call your Dad again” in his ear. He offered a slightly longer pat to Harry, before he disappeared into the hallway.
The four exchanged glances. They’d barely been out of bed for more than ten minutes and already the world seemed to have turned itself upside down in a flurry. Poor Neville looked like he would be more suited to heading back to bed; he visibly swayed upon his feet. One hand pressed firmly against his temple as though trying to rid himself of a headache.
Evidently Draco wasn’t the only one to have noticed his friend’s state. Ginny and Harry flowed into action as though choreographed, Ginny dragging Neville towards the table while Harry skirted the room towards the distant cupboards. Draco followed in Ginny and Neville’s wake to the sound of Harry opening and closing cupboards.
“Looks like… I could make omelets, I suppose.” Harry glanced over his shoulder, seeking confirmation. Ginny nodded, smiling gratefully, while Neville only propped his elbows on the table, dropping his head into his hands.
“You can cook?” Surprised, Draco paused in the act of seating himself distastefully into a worn chair to raise an eyebrow at Harry.
“Mmm. I’ve only been doing it for about sixteen years, though, so you’ll have to excuse my amateur skills.” He smiled briefly over his shoulder, a pan held aloft in one hand. Draco huffed a heavy laugh. The simple jibe was enough to brighten the kitchen measurably, even shadowed as it was by worry and the scum in every crevice.
“Right. I guess I should have known that.”
The smells of melted cheese and crisping egg soon filled the kitchen and soon each were picking hungrily at their breakfast. Or dinner, Draco supposed. It was likely already heading towards dark.
Neville kept one hand to his temple the whole time. The loss of conversation seemed to be taking a toll on him, most likely the absence of adequate distraction. The line between his eyebrows became more pronounced throughout the meal.
“I think you should go back to bed,” Ginny urged, placing her knife and fork neatly in the middle of her plate. She regarded the half-eaten omelet before Neville with a critical eye. Draco wouldn’t have been surprised had she offered to feed him herself. Or shove it forcibly down his throat.
But Neville only shook his head. “It’s not that, it’s…” He heaved a sigh of annoyance and glanced around the room. The light in his eyes was almost accusatory. “Something isn’t right. There’s something...”
Rising to his feet, Neville nearly stumbled as his foot caught on his chair. Ginny steadied him with a hand to his arm, frowning worriedly. “Neville, I think you should sit –“
“One minute,” Neville growled. Draco blinked in surprise; he’d never seen his friend short with Ginny before. Ginny was more likely to bite his head off than bow her own in accordance.
For once, though, Ginny subverted expectations. Or perhaps she was simply as surprised as Draco. As one, Draco, Harry and Ginny watched Neville pace towards the far end of the room, hand pressed to his head and scowling fiercely at an unknown presence. He paused for a moment, half turned towards the stove, and took the remaining steps forwards. Draco found himself rising to his feet beside Harry in concern as Neville sunk to his knees beside the stove.
“Neville, what are you…?”
Neville didn’t even turn. As Draco, Harry and Ginny hesitantly stepped up behind him, Draco was startled to find only Neville’s had clambered into a cupboard beside the stove so far that only his lower half still protruded into the room. The enclosed space was covered only by a holey curtain-like blanket.
“Neville?” Harry asked quietly. He slipped to his knees beside him and slowly reached out a hand, tapping his friend on the shoulder. “Neville, what are you doing?”
In reply, Neville tugged himself from the storage space with a loud gasp. What appeared to be sleeping quarters was revealed as he sat back on his heels. Draco recognised it as a nest of a house elf; he’d seen enough in his time to recognise the piled mound of scrap material and old tea towels for what it was.
His eyes were drawn almost instantly, however, to the object clasped in Neville’s hands. The tinkling sound of metal on metal rung through the kitchen as the links of what appeared to be a golden chain slipped through Neville’s fingers. A locket hung suspended from the bottom of the chain. Tiny green gemstones patterned a squiggle – no, an S – into the golden surface.
“Where did a house elf get something like that”’ Draco wondered aloud. Harry and Ginny turned towards him questioningly, but it was Neville who replied.
“It’s a Horcrux.”
It was a simple statement that effectively cut off further comment. Draco felt his own eyes widen in tandem with Harry’s and Ginny’s. The now familiar wash of bile flooded his mouth and he had to swallow convulsively to prevent humiliating himself and dirtying the already filthy floor. “What? How do you know?”
Neville shook his head, eyes fixed on the locket as he ran a finger over its surface. “I just know. It’s like I can feel it.”
“Feel it?” Ginny voice sounded faintly horrified at the prospect.
Nodding, Neville didn’t even spare her a glance. Draco almost felt sorry for the ready dismissal of the girl. “Like how I felt the diadem in the Room of Requirement. And Hufflepuff’s cup in Gringotts. It’s like… it rings, like a bell. Almost like it’s calling to me.”
Draco didn’t particularly like the sound of that. A sense of foreboding settled in his gut and he glanced uneasily at Harry.
Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully, a frown impressing upon his forehead as he stared at Neville worriedly. “We should tell someone. Sirius, maybe he should know; he’d know what we should do with it.”
Neville didn’t appear to be listening. “Of course that would be how it works. Find the last Horcrux just as we lose the bloody Sword. Fucking fantastic.”
The locket reflected the gloomy light illuminating the room from the stove, from the candles placed around the room, and painted ugly shadows on the walls. It was likely Draco’s imagination, but it almost seemed like it was taunting them with each glitter of its green gemstones, laughing in the face of Neville’s words.
Before any of them could comment further, however, there was the sound of running footsteps at the door. Draco turned swiftly to the door, feeling Harry, Neville and Ginny follow his example, just in time for to see Weasley Junior skid through the doorway.
The man was panting, his chest rising and falling in great heaves, and he blinked through his fringe at the four of them. “Ginny, where’s Sirius?”
Ginny stuttered for a moment, tripping over her tongue. “He-he said he was going to call them. To send some Floo calls. To the rest of the Order.” She shrugged helplessly, gesturing back into the hallway.
Weasley Junior didn’t wait for further explanation. Launching himself from the room with a thrust to the doorframe, his pounding feet left a thudding din with his departure. Frozen only for a moment, Ginny quickly dashed after him. Draco found himself drawn like a dog on a lead after her.
“Bill?! What is it? What happened?”
“He’s there,” came a distant reply. “He’s at Hogwarts.”
“Who?” Ginny called, though the mask of terror she turned towards her friends said she knew perfectly well.
“You know who.”
Draco felt his heart plummet to his toes. With a wash of dizziness he felt kitchen brightened yet impossibly darkened. The roof suddenly seemed to want to spin beneath his feet.
And here I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.
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The Masks of Real Heroes