55Chapter 13: ASTTWT 2: Fever Dreams
And so the Tables Were Turned, part two: Fever Dreams
Draco did not faint and drown in the bath, but he bloody well felt as if he had. Just as Harry had predicted, a bath had been a bad idea. The hot water had only made his fever worse, and he had felt as if he was melting. All in all, he had only been in the tub for ten minutes, and that had been stretching it. He just felt as if he needed to prove something to Harry, and stepping out of the bath too soon would mean defeat.
When he got downstairs he expected to find Harry with a triumphant smile on his lips, saying "Told you so." But to his great surprise, Harry was not in the parlour like he had said he would be. Neither was James. Draco knitted his brows. "Piper, where's Harry? Where's James?"
Piper was sitting on the couch with her mouth open like a dead fish, staring unseeingly into thin air. "They … they … they just disappeared," she whispered.
Draco felt something sharp pierce his heart. "D-disappeared?" he echoed, because he knew what that meant. James had done whatever he had done four days ago, but this time Harry had managed to go with him. Still, it was immensely alarming.
Where had they gone this time?
Harry got up from the floor to greet the woman in front of him. James began to crawl around on the wooden floor, a happy grin on his face. He made gurgling little baby noises that would have been cute had the situation not been so acute.
The woman took a trembling step towards him, then stopped in hesitation.
Harry tried to smile friendly, but he only managed a semi-grimace. "Good evening, Mrs. Granger," he said, nervously fiddling with his shirt. "Sorry to barge in like this …"
The woman jerked when he called her by her name. Then recognition passed over the surfaces of her blue eyes. "Harry, is that you? Little Harry Potter?" she asked.
Harry nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Granger. It's nice to see you again. I'm … I'm awfully sorry for your loss. We all miss Hermione an awful lot." That last thing was a complete lie, but Harry could not bring himself to tell Mrs. Granger the truth about the ambiguous feelings he had for her late daughter. He had not seen either of Hermione's parents for over five years, so he could not just tell her that he hated Hermione for what she had done to him and Draco. That would accomplish nothing but further estrangement from the Grangers.
Mrs. Granger bit her lower lip. "Thank you, Harry. I … I heard from Ron that Hermione was killed by someone at your house, but I … I didn't know what to think. I just couldn't believe anything like that of you. Not of you, not of Harry Potter."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. "I'm afraid that is true, Mrs. Granger," he decided to say. "I can't lie to you; you deserve to know what happened to your daughter. But I assure you that neither Draco nor I had anything to do with it. The person who killed her was staying at our house at that time, but he was killed himself the very next day. Draco and I thought we could trust him, but he turned out to be a dark wizard. Unfortunately, Hermione showed up at the wrong place at the wrong time. I was the one that should have been killed. I was the one that he was after. I'm sorry I couldn't do more, Mrs. Granger."
Harry did not feel at all bad for twisting the truth to make it sound as if he had no blame in what had happened to Hermione; it was for the best. He could not tell her that the person who killed Hermione was in fact the very same boy who was currently crawling around her living room floor; the progeny of Harry and Draco.
The woman wobbled for a second, as if she was on the verge of fainting, but she remained on her feet. Slowly nodding, she said, "I know you're telling me the truth, and I appreciate it, Harry," she said. "You don't have to blame yourself for her death, you know. It was simply meant to happen. It was inevitable that He'd want her back one day."
Harry could not suppress his bafflement at her last words. He had had no idea that Hermione's mother believed in God. He simply could not believe that anyone who had a witch or a wizard in the family could still claim that there was a God.
Mrs. Granger looked down at James with a broad smile. "Who is this lovely little boy?"
Harry did not like the change of subject, but thought it better to play along with it. "This is James Sirius Potter, my son," he introduced. "He's one."
Mrs. Granger met his gaze. "You have a son, Harry? Who's the lucky girl?"
Harry could not help but laughing. "I guess Hermione never told you, then," he stated. The last time he saw the Grangers, he and Draco had still been archenemies, and they had not yet fallen in love. "There is no girl, and there never has been."
Mrs. Granger frowned. "What do you mean? Are you a single parent? Is it possible to adopt children when you're single in the magical community?"
Harry firmly shook his head. "No, you don't understand. It's not like that. There is no girl—there is a boy. Draco Malfoy."
Once again, the woman looked as if she was about to faint. "Dr-Draco Malfoy? Lucius Malfoy's son?"
"Yes, but he isn't a dark wizard, if that's what you thought," Harry hurried to say, "he's a good wizard, one of the best, and he has a heart of gold. I love him so much it hurts sometimes. We've been together for almost five years now, and now we also have a son together. Maybe you heard of his deed two years ago, by the way? That he killed Lord Voldemort?"
Even Mrs. Granger, who was not a witch, seemed to fear that name, even now that the Dark Lord had been dead for almost two years.
"Ye-yes, I heard," she stuttered, "but I always thought that … well, you know … that Lucius Malfoy's son was destined to walk in his footsteps—to take over after him."
Harry sighed. "He was, but all that changed when he fell in love with me. He's good now, and he's been good ever since we got to know each other. There is no need to worry about him anymore. He's on our side."
Mrs. Granger nodded, but her eyes told him that she found that very hard to believe.
He returns to the dark house on her call, just like he always does, because loyalty and honesty is what he values most. Another successful mission behind him, he carefully rubs his temples. He is getting a headache.
She is standing in front of him, her feline eyes glowing in the dark, watching him with silent expectation. He knows that look, knows it like he knows his own pocket. She has another mission for him. Determined to be at her service, in spite of his headache, he slowly bows his head.
"Where do you need me to go now?"
Piper helped Draco to lie down on one of the couches and fluffed two big pillows for him. With a deep sigh, he put his head down and closed his by fever watery eyes. A worried wrinkle searched its way onto Piper's forehead, tauntingly settling down right between her eyebrows. He was so hot. She had never seen her brother this ill before, not even as a small child.
When she checked his temperature, she discovered that he had a hundred and five degrees. That could not be good. "How are you feeling?" she asked Draco affectionately. "Do you have a sore throat?"
"Yeah," Draco replied numbly, "and my head hurts like Hell. Feels like it's about to burst."
"Must be because of the pressure inside your head," Piper concluded, and rose from the chair. "Want me to get you something? Some tea, maybe? It'll be good for your throat."
"Thanks."
"And I'll bring you some medicine. I know you guys have loads of different medications stored up in case James ever gets sick. Which one is for fever and flus?"
"Feverflutop, silly. It says on the box."
Piper got the medicine out of the cabinet and put it on the kitchen counter. Then she began to make tea for Draco. When it was ready, she poured it into a deep jug and added some honey, because she had read somewhere that honey was great for sore throats. Thinking that Draco might be hungry as well, she made him a couple of sandwiches just in case. If he did not want them, she could eat them. Putting everything on a tray, she went back into the parlour and started to serve her brother.
For once, he did not complain about her clumsiness, mock her for being oblivious and stupid, or yell at her for being in his way. It was actually rather nice to take care of him, and she silently wished that he would let her do that in the future as well.
When Draco had taken a few sips of his tea, he gave Piper a faint smile. "Thanks, that tastes wonderful." Fortunately for her, he could not get a bite down but left the sandwiches for her. He did take his medicine, though. Piper just hoped it would begin to work on time, before the fever rose any higher. Then, when Draco had once more leant back and closed his eyes, in a state somewhere between sleeping and waking, he said, "I love you, Piper. You're the best sister ever."
Piper was so shocked that she could not speak for almost two whole minutes. Her throat was tight with emotion when she whispered, "Draco … do you really mean that? I … I've never heard you say that to anyone but Harry before …"
Draco's face was burning. "I say it to James all the time …"
"But never in front of other people, not even in front of me. Harry is the only one you can say 'I love you' to regardless of the number of people around. When it comes to other people, you kind of hide your feelings. Even the feelings you have for your son."
Without opening his eyes, Draco said, "Whatchu talking about? I'm not trying to hide my feelings for Tom—I love him. He's my son, and I love him."
Piper's heart skipped a beat. "Draco … you just called him 'Tom,'" she admonished.
"Yeah, so? That's his name, right? He chose it himself—wasn't that what he told me?"
She was silent for a few seconds. "He told you that?"
"Mm-hm. Said it was a cry for help."
She was silent again. "And did he tell you why he was crying for help?"
"No, and I can't figure it out, either. Harry would surely understand what Tom meant if I consulted him about it, but he's so determined to forget Tom … I don't want to bother him with it. He won't show until at least fifteen or twenty years from now, right?"
Piper gasped involuntarily. "What … what do you mean, Draco?"
Draco sighed and turned his head away from her. He was obviously going to fall to sleep any second now. "Tom won't surface until fifteen or twenty years from now, right?" he mumbled almost inaudibly, and Piper had to lean in really close to catch his words. "And when he does, we'll be prepared for him …"
"But you said there was a chance of that never happening!" Piper objected violently.
To her surprise, Draco laughed bitterly. "It's irreversible, Piper. If we'd managed to correct our faults he never would've come to us, would he? He would never have attacked my Harry … and I wouldn't have killed him. You can't change what's already been … can't change …"
He had fallen asleep.
Piper watched him with growing dread. This was not how it was supposed to go. He was not supposed to know that. But Piper knew, because she had seen it all. Divination was not all bogus; it could be done, and she was something of an expert. But still, there was a good chance that something could be done to prevent the inevitable … Harry could still make it up to Tom—to James—and ensure that the time travelling never took part.
He just needed to find out how. And she was not allowed to help him.
The year is 2006, and James is sixteen months old and growing fast. The blonde boy knows that he has disappeared again, and it is the fourth time now. Four times in three months—and it will swiftly accelerate until he stays away more than he stays home. In a way, that is sad, but there is nothing anyone can do about it. All he can do is give Harry a clue where to search, and hopefully that will help Harry create a stronger bond between himself and his boy.
Carefully, he removes the tiny magnets with words on them from the refrigerator and begins to write the message that she has given him.
Harry returned home with James approximately forty minutes after arriving at the Grangers' place. Draco was asleep in the parlour and Piper was sitting beside him, worriedly watching over him. She looked up when she heard them coming in. "Where'd you guys go?" she asked.
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but lost his words when Draco stirred and woke up. He peered up at Harry with sleepy, reddish eyes.
"You found him," he croaked.
Harry hurried to his lover's side. Put a hand on his flushed face. Blimey, he was burning up! He had never been so worried about Draco before, and it made him say things that he did not mean. "'Course I did, silly, you think I'd return home without him, huh?"
"No," Draco said, and managed the shadow of a smile. "I didn't drown."
"How sad—I mean, I'm glad," Harry hurried to correct himself. "Sorry, Dracums, I'm just so scared right now. You don't intend to quit on me, do you?"
"Quit on you? Never. I'm not that bad."
"Not that bad? If the fever gets any higher we'll have to take you to St. Mungo's stat!"
"That won't be necessary. I'm already feeling better. But I'm tired."
"So get some sleep," Harry said, and bent down to kiss Draco's forehead.
Harry reluctantly tended to his pile of Auror homework, casting concerned glances in Draco's direction every two minutes, every time afraid to see that Draco had stopped breathing or something. But his lover's chest rose and sank rhythmically, and nothing seemed to be troubling him in his feverish sleep.
Ultimately, when Harry was too tired to continue his studying, he carefully lifted Draco from off the couch and carried him up the stairs to their bedroom. Right before snuggling down himself, he checked Draco's temperature. A hundred and six. That was not good, not good at all. He hoped that Draco would sleep off the fever, because if he did not and the fever continued to rise, his life would soon be threatened.
Harry must have fallen asleep quite quickly, because he was awakened by a hard slap in the face. Shocked out of sleep, he sat up in bed and surveyed his surroundings in confusion. "What, what, what?" he said drowsily, expecting villains to be peering down at him from every corner.
"No, no, no …" Draco thrashed beside him, troubled by something in a dream. He was violently flailing his arms about and had probably hit Harry involuntarily without knowing it.
Harry tried to calm his lover with soft whispers, but it did not seem to work.
"No, don't go into the forest … no … don't … so much blood … so much blood …"
"Shhh, Dracums, it's all right, it's just a dream, just a dream," Harry cooed. "Wake up."
"No! Don't, don't, don't … Harry, he's going to kill me! He's … aaaaahhh!" Draco shot up from the pillow with a wild look in his grey eyes, his blond hair rumpled and standing on end. "He shot me! He shot me!" He hysterically tore at his T-shirt to reveal his stomach. When he could not find any blood, he sighed with relief and sank back against the pillow. "It was a dream … just a dream …"
Harry tenderly caressed Draco's cheek. "It's all right now, baby," he murmured, "it's over."
The blonde stared at him with wild eyes. "He shot me, Harry! He shot me!"
Harry knitted his brows. "Who shot you?"
Draco looked shocked and very astonished. "Ron. Ron shot me. With a gun. A Muggle gun. He shot me. Why did he shoot me?"
Harry jerked. Ron? Shoot Draco? Indeed, why?
"You must've confused him with someone else, it can't have been Ron. Ron would never do something like that."
"I know," Draco assured him. "But I also know what I saw, and Ron shot me. But he was … different somehow. Older. You think it's some sort of premonition?"
Harry snorted and chuckled ironically. "Premonition? Right. A premonition of what?"
"Why, my death of course! Are you thick, or what? What could elicit a stronger premonition than one's own death, you idiot?"
"You almost sound like yourself again, Draco. Are you feeling better? Sounds to me as if you're casting off that fever pretty well. Here, let me check it." But when he saw Draco's temperature, the mocking smile faded from his face. "Draco, we need to take you to the hospital right now, and there's no time for objections."
Draco frowned. "What? Why? What's wrong? Aren't I getting any better?"
"You have a hundred and eight, for crying out loud! We're going to St. Mungo's now! I won't let anything as trivial as a bloody fever take you away from me!"
"Ta-take me away from you? What are you talking about Harry? I feel fine, it really can't be that bad …"
"Not that bad! According to this thermometer, you're on the verge of dying! Now get your arse out of that bed—that is, if you can stand on your own. I'll have Piper bring the Floo powder. We'll use the fireplace in the library. Stay here!"
He ran out of the room and down to the left wing of the second floor, where Piper had been given two rooms of her own, and banged on the door. Shouting at the top of his lungs, he ordered her to get dressed stat, get the Floo powder, and come to the library. When she asked him why, he ignored her and ran back to the main staircase. He could hear her shouting after him; furious with her for not doing as she was told, he turned back and yelled: "Draco's dying, for fuck's sake! Didn't you give him anything for the fever?! He needs treatment now!"
Then he continued up the stairs and ran to their bedroom in utter panic. Draco was still lying in bed, but he was alive. Thank Merlin, he was alive. "I can't get up," he said, and his voice was trembling with fear. "I can't get up, Harry. I really am sick, aren't I? I'm going to die, aren't I?"
"No, you're not going to die," Harry murmured reassuringly, and gently lifted Draco into his arms, "I won't let you, okay? I love you, just remember that, and if you ever bloody leave me again I'll resurrect you and kill you, you hear me?"
Draco merely moaned pitifully. Out in the hallway, they met Piper in her nightgown. She held out a small brown bag. "Here, the Floo powder."
Harry nodded towards the library. "Go ahead and tell them we're coming," he told her, "make them prepare the best bloody doctor they've got. Go!"
Piper did not need to be told twice this time; she saw how bad it was and ran straight for the library.
When Harry entered the fireplace and prepared to throw in a handful of Floo powder, he felt Draco's body sag even more in his arms, and he could just about hear the blonde's voice when he whispered: "Harry, I'm sorry, but I think I'm gonna …"
"ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL!"
They spun quickly forward until the acoustics of the library were traded for those in the hospital waiting room. He felt a brief rush of relief when he saw that Piper had managed to summon several physicians and nurses and that they were all waiting for them in front of the fireplace. As soon as Harry stepped out of the fireplace, they rushed forward and put Draco on a stretcher, and the last thing Harry remembered was the excruciating pain that pierced his heart when he saw them disappear down the corridor.
Harry sat in a chair in the waiting room, bent forward with his elbows resting on his knees, his face covered in his hands. In the hurry to get Draco to the hospital, they had totally forgotten about James, so Piper had returned home to baby-sit him while Harry waited for news about his lover. He had never been so scared and so worried in his entire life. Almost an hour had passed since they arrived by fire, and still nothing.
Please, don't let him die, please, don't let him die, he chanted in his mind.
When another thirty minutes had passed without any sign of the nurses that had taken Draco to the emergency room, Piper showed up—dressed this time. Harry knitted his brows with suspicion and confusion. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "Where's James?"
Piper took a seat next to him. "He disappeared again."
Harry shot up from his chair. "What!? Why didn't you keep a better watch on him!?"
"I tried, but that kid really knows how to fool his aunt," Piper muttered, somewhat irritated.
Harry prepared to leave. "I have to go find him before Draco finds out he's gone."
"Don't bother—I've already looked in all the obvious places."
"Oh, don't you know anything!? He only goes to the unobvious places!"
"Harry, poor little thing, there isn't any such word as 'unobvious'."
"Fuck you." But just as he was about to Disapparate, a nurse came up to him, and anxious to hear how Draco was doing, he decided to remain where he was.
"We have stabilised Mr. Malfoy and managed to get his fever down," she informed him with a friendly smile. "You can go see him now."
Relieved, Harry hurried down the corridor to the room that the nurse indicated. Draco was lying in the bed, looking extremely tired and beat. He smiled when Harry entered. "Hey," he said, and tried to sit up. "I'm sorry I scared you so much, Harry. I'm not going to do it again, I promise."
"You had better not," Harry said, and sat down on the edge of the hospital bed. "How long they making you stay here?"
"Just overnight, for observation, nothing serious," Draco ensured. "They've given me drugs so I can sleep."
"Good."
Draco closed his heavy eyelids. "How's James?"
Harry bit his lower lip. Telling Draco the truth would not be a good idea at the moment. "Er, he's fine. He's at home with Piper. Sleeping like a baby, he is."
"Great," Draco yawned, and then he fell asleep.
Harry sat there all night, watching his lover sleep, looking so frail and vulnerable. It felt terrible having to lie to Draco, but he simply could not tell him the truth.
Draco was feeling fine the following morning, and was permitted to go home earlier than expected. There was no sign of fever, but he still had a sore throat. The Healers had been very surprised to learn that the Feverflutop that Piper had given him had had no effect whatsoever, because Feverflutop was supposed to take any symptom of flu and fever out of the body within five minutes. It was a mystery how Draco's fever could have risen to a hundred and eight in such a short time, and it probably would remain so.
When they got home, Draco went straight to James' room to greet his boy. Harry followed with a heavy heart, still unable to tell his lover what had happened.
The blonde came back out of the room rather quickly. "Is he in the living room, then?" he asked the mute Harry. "James!"
But after a few minutes of searching and still deeper silence from Harry, Draco grasped the situation. "He's vanished again, hasn't he? Goddammit, Harry! Why didn't you tell me?"
"I couldn't. I was afraid that you'd …" His words trailed off.
The anger drained from Draco's features. "Sorry I yelled at you, it's not your fault. So, any idea where he went this time?"
Harry gloomily shook his head.
"Then let's give him some time to return of his own accord."
Harry stared at him in disbelief. He was utterly surprised to hear that come out of Draco, whom always worried about everything when it came to James. "Are you serious? You're just going to let it be?"
"Yeah."
"For real?"
"Yeah. I trust him to come back to us. This is his home, right?"
But, like the first time he disappeared, several days passed with no sign of James whatsoever, and at least Harry got a little bit more worried each day that passed. When a whole week had gone by, he was ready to call in his teachers at Auror School to help him find the boy. Fortunately, there was no need for that.
Harry descended the stairs to the first floor with the intention of going out to the kitchen when he spotted a movement in the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he raised his wand and turned towards it.
The blond boy was standing in the parlour, by the French windows.
Harry took a few steps towards him, but then stopped. "You … you never answered my questions," he said urgently.
The blond boy slowly shook his head. "There is no time. I come bearing a warning. Lord Pywercaseley is planning an attack on Hogwarts because he has learnt that its walls hold something that he wants, and which I believe you do not want him to get," he said with that low, melancholy, yet melodic voice. His eyes were a startling green, but the sadness in them made them seem almost black.
Harry frowned. "What do you mean? I never left anything behind at Hogwarts …" Then it suddenly hit him. Something that he wants, and which I believe you do not want him to get … "James."
He left without saying a word to Draco; the blonde would only hamper him with his hysteria. The moment he arrived at Hogwarts—through one of the fireplaces that was open to any visitor from the outside—he opened the Marauder's Map, which he had brought along from home. Swiftly searching through the grounds and rooms and numerous passageways, he discovered the little dot with the name 'James Potter' in his old dorm.
How could he have wound up there? Was not it Apparition that he did when he hiccupped? Harry pocketed the map and sprinted off towards the staircases that led up to Gryffindor Tower, well aware that he had to find James before Pywercaseley.
Unfortunately, he was stopped right outside the portrait hole by none other than the Fat Lady. "I can't let you through without a password, laddie," she said firmly.
"But it's me, it's Harry Potter, I used to be in Gryffindor!" Harry protested violently. "Please let me through, you know I'm trustworthy!"
"Oh, I know that very well, Harry, but I can't let you through without the password. I'm sorry."
Harry let out a roar of wrath. "You bloody stupid thing! I have to get in there—my son's in there and he could be killed any second! What's the password? Fortuna Major? Bumbleweed? Knickledutts? Pork steak?"
"Sorry, Harry, all wrong." The Fat Lady regarded him with disgusting pity.
Harry turned and ran back down the stairs in search of a Gryffindor who could tell him the password, but there were no-one in sight anywhere. The school seemed to be deserted, which struck Harry as utterly disturbing. Maybe a teacher, then? He ran down the corridor to McGonagall's office and banged on the door. "Professor McGonagall! Professor McGonagall! I need your help now!"
But there was no reply—not a sound. In despair, he decided to try the teachers' lounge in the hope of finding someone. "Hello?" He banged on the door as hard as he could. "Professor McGonagall, are you there? Snape? Dumbledore? Professor Sprout? Anyone, please, I need help now! Please, just let there be someone here …"
The door opened and Professor McGonagall's small beady eyes peered out at him with a stern, disliking expression. "What is all this racket abou—" She fell silent when she saw who he was. "Harry Potter! Whatever are you doing at Hogwarts at this time?"
Anxiety and fear were consuming Harry from inside. "Professor McGonagall, awfully sorry to disturb you, but I need to get into Gryffindor Tower immediately, it's a matter of life or death!"
His old teacher raised one eyebrow in bafflement. "Really, Potter, you have no business in Gryffindor Tower anymore, you should know—"
"Yes, yes, but you don't understand—my son is in there!" There were a lot of rustles and gasps in the background when Harry uttered those words, and he saw several astonished faces behind McGonagall, one of them belonging to Professor Snape, who looked just as sly and devious as always.
McGonagall blinked. "Your … son? You have a boy, Potter?"
"Yes, and he has a nasty habit of disappearing every time he gets the hiccoughs, and this time he ended up in my old dorm, I just can't get in and get him out of there. Will you help me, Professor? Please, Professor, it might be too late soon."
"Too late? What do you mean, Potter?"
"Pywercaseley's out for him to get to me! Now shut up and come help me, for crying out loud! Do I need to hit you before you listen to me?!"
McGonagall looked offended. "No, certainly not. I will accompany you to Gryffindor Tower to check your story, and I assure you that I won't be pleased if this turns out to be a boyish prank!"
She began to escort him down the corridor.
Harry snorted in a quite Malfoyish fashion—something that would have made Draco proud had he heard him. "Oh, please. I'm not a boy anymore, I'm turning twenty in a few months. And you should know me better than to pull such idiotic stunts after saving this school at least once every year I went here. Could you please hurry up? I'm worried that something bad's happened to James."
He ran on ahead, and from a distance he heard voices behind him, but the only words he caught were Snape's: "This I've got to see." Probably had a big smirk on his sallow face, too, the bloody bastard. But Harry ignored him and kept on running, knowing that every second that ticked by was crucial for James's survival.
When he finally reached the top of the stairs he was panting, but none of the others were in sight. "Come ON!" he called after them.
McGonagall hurried as fast as she could on her old legs, and when she had finally, finally opened the portrait hole with the password—Dung beetle—Harry rushed through the common room towards the staircase that led to the dormitories. His hair standing on end more than usual due to his panic, he slammed open the door to his old dorm and immediately spotted the small boy on the bed that had once been his. James was smiling, as if he was very pleased with himself.
Harry scooped him up into his arms and kissed his little head. "Damn you, James, you really scared your Daddy and me!" In the doorway, McGonagall, Snape, and a few other teachers gasped in astonishment; they had obviously all thought that Harry was lying about having a son. He turned to them. "I need to get him home to Draco before Pywer—"
The east wall crumbled down under the weight of some exceptionally advanced magic, leaving only gravel and dust behind. In through the freshly cut hole came the Dark Lord himself. It was too late; he had already found them.
The Percy Weasley that Harry had known was nowhere to be seen in this man's distorted and vicious face. And the moment he saw Harry there, holding the boy protectively in his arms, he smiled and shook his head. "There now, Harry, you don't really expect to be able to protect him, do you? He is mine."
"No," Harry said firmly. "This boy will never be yours, not now and not in twenty years—never!"
Pywercaseley laughed—a roaring, malicious laughter. "Suit yourself, Potter. Remember that I warned you."
And before Harry could react, the Dark Lord had directed the Avada Kadavra curse at him, and as he felt the smoggy greenish smoke hit his forehead he could swear that he heard Draco scream—but that was not possible, was it?