Draco and Harry: Escorts

Chapter Nine

Back at the nullification field, they stood in the center once more. Instead of clasping hands, they stood in a triangle and grasped each others' left wrists, which enabled them to maintain contact while keeping their wands in their right hands.

"We're one verse short of the ritual without Ron," Hermione said.

"Forget the ritual. If we cast the spell together and give Harry's little predilection a try, it just might work."

"All right. Skipping ritual, going straight to spell," Harry said. "Is everyone ready?"

"Ready," Hermione said grimly. The three of them raised their wands and began the incantation. When it was nearly complete, Harry cast his senses outward, recalling his actions replayed in the trance.

All at once, he channeled the energy from everything around him into the wand and out again with the release of the spell. He was instantly blinded by a sensation of white light. The power crackled through him soundlessly, but with such force that he suddenly felt incredibly weak. He felt Draco's hand slip off his arm just as Hermione's wrist pulled out of his grasp. He blinked through the diminishing brightness and saw with horror that both Draco and Hermione had collapsed. Harry threw himself down with a cry of dread and desperately felt for a pulse on Draco's throat.

It beat strongly, as did Hermoine's. Harry sagged in relief. They were both unconscious. He picked up their wands and levitated their limp forms to guide them back to the tent. After a few steps, he gasped involuntarily. They were floating; which meant the nullification field was broken. The spell had worked, but at what cost? He quickly escorted his oblivious friends back to the tent and placed them upon the bed he shared with Draco. He bit his lip with worry and removed their shoes to make them more comfortable.

After that, he wasn't certain what to do. They seemed fine, merely asleep, so he went to the kitchen to make a fresh pot of tea. Anything to keep from sitting at the bedside wringing his hands with worry.

ooOoo

Draco opened his eyes and immediately shut them at the sudden onset of light-induced pain. The tent had no windows--they had never found it necessary to pamper their clients to that extent--so it was relatively dim in the room, but even that was enough to give him a bloody headache. What the hell had happened?

He remembered casting the spell, trying to reach out for power the way Harry's memories had suggested... and then what? Draco raised a hand and even that small movement was difficult. He felt like he was dragging his hand through molasses as he brought up to his forehead.

It had been Harry. Potter had done it again--drawing the energy from everything around him, including Draco. Malfoy suddenly hoped Harry was all right. He let his hand drop and immediately felt warm flesh against his fingers. He explored it quickly, not bothering to open his eyes again. The wrist was smooth and somewhat thin--definitely not Harry's. Whose then? Granger's?

Draco unwillingly opened his eyes again and blinked to focus against the pain. He was instantly sorry when his gaze locked on the angry visage of the man who stood over him.

Ron Weasley.

ooOoo

Ron had left his brothers' shop after breakfast and flown back to the encampment, hoping the others had not left. He was relieved to find the tent still standing and dropped his broom next to the other two before ducking inside. He expected to find someone in the living room, but it was empty. Ron heard a sound from the kitchen and discovered Harry tapping his wand against a teapot with one hand and yanking at his hair with the other. Harry seemed to be muttering and preoccupied. He did not notice Ron, who ducked out quickly and wondered where the hell Hermione had gone to. And Malfoy.

He found out a moment later when he walked through the open door to Harry and Dracos' room, though his mind immediately shied away from that thought.

Ron stopped short at the sight of his wife lying in the same bed as Draco Malfoy. He felt a near-apoplectic burst of rage until he noticed they were both fully clothed and seemed to be comatose.

Ron's eyes quickly flew to Hermione, hoping she wasn't injured. His attention was diverted by Malfoy's hand dropping to Hermione's wrist. Ron watched in arrested silence as the pale hand caressed her arm, twisting a bit to slide a thumb over the sensitive veins at the base of her palm. Ice seemed to form in Ron's chest as he walked quietly forward.

He stood next to the bed and looked down at Draco. It wasn't long before the pale lashes parted and the silver eyes focused on his.

"Hey, Malfoy," Ron said calmly. "I have something for you." He pulled out the small, cloth-wrapped item he had received from his brothers. Draco's right hand was lying on the bed and it slowly turned until the palm faced upward. The fingers flexed as if grasping for something. For a moment, Ron thought he might be reaching for the object Ron held, until he heard Malfoy whisper, "Accio wand," but the item had fallen from the cloth into Malfoy's open palm--and Draco vanished.

A tray of dishes crashed to the floor behind Ron.

ooOoo

Harry strode into the room with an assortment of tea, cups, and biscuits. He stopped short at the sight of Ron standing over the bed--on Draco's side! He half expected Ron to drag out his wand and start lobbing hexes, but Ron held nothing in his hand but a small cloth.

As Harry watched, a small object fell from the cloth into Draco's hand. The instant it touched Malfoy's open palm, the Slytherin disappeared. The tray slipped out of Harry's suddenly boneless fingers. He barely noticed the crash of ceramic and utensils as he stepped over the mess with his eyes fixed on Ron's surprised face.

"Ron, where did he go?" Harry asked. His voice was perfectly normal in the first instant. Until Ron's frightened gaze met his. Harry was across the room faster than he would have believed and he grabbed the front of Ron's robes. "Where is he, Ron?"

Weasley struggled to speak, but no words came out. Panic overtook Harry and he nearly lifted Ron off the floor.

"What. Have. You. Done?" he demanded and gave Ron a shake with every succinct word. Ron's blue eyes were wild and Harry forced himself to restrain his rage. He did not release Weasley, but he quelled the urge to scream. Harry took a shuddering breath and then managed a nearly normal tone. "Ron. Where is Draco?"

"I... I don't know. It was a Portkey."

"You don't know," Harry repeated and tried to allow the words to penetrate the haze of his anger. A Portkey. Where the hell had Ron gotten a Portkey? They were illegal now and highly regulated by the Ministry. "A Portkey to where?"

"I don't know! Fred and George... they didn't say."

Harry released him with a movement that nearly sent Ron sprawling. He stared at Weasley with a growing sense of distress. "You don't know?" he whispered. He pictured Draco in his current weakened state appearing God-knew-where. Harry's eyes flicked to the table next to the bed where Draco's dark wand rested. Malfoy was wandless. For pity's sake, he didn't even have shoes. "You don't know," Harry repeated.

Ron's expression was stricken as Harry backed away. Ron held out a placating hand and his voice was pleading.

"Oh God, Harry, I'm so sorry--I didn't think--! I was just so angry..."

Harry's shock fell away suddenly. He Accioed Draco's wand and boots. Without another word to Ron, he turned and fled. Pausing only to snatch up his pack by the door, he dragged on his invisibility cloak and mounted his broom.

Harry flew to London faster than he'd ever flown in his life.

ooOoo

Draco felt a sensation he had not experienced in years and the novelty nearly took the raw edge from his tension. The Portkey flung him to the ground and he lay motionless--mostly because he could not summon the energy to move--and tried to process his surroundings. He found it difficult to concentrate through the growing cloud of black rage.

Fucking Weasley was fucking dead. With that idea calming him somewhat, he glanced at his new locale. He seemed to be in a wet grove of trees. It was beginning to rain. The ground was damp and cold. He had dirt in his hair. That last thought spurred him to action and he sat up, mortified at the difficulty of such a simple motion. He felt woozy to the point of nausea and dropped his head between drawn-up knees for a moment.

Fucking fucking fucking Weasley. The angry chant helped steady him and he repeated it a few dozen times for good measure before opening his eyes again to take stock of his situation. He was in a bloody forest. In his socks. Without his wand. In the rain. Without even a bloody cloak.

He spared another few minutes to curse Weasley again and opened his hand to look at the Portkey still clutched therein. It looked like a rusted jar lid. Typical nondescript Ministry tripe. He nearly threw it into the nearby azalea bushes, but stopped and tucked it into a pocket. Once he got back to London and killed Weasley, it might come in handy. Hell, he might even use it to send Weasley's dead body here. Wherever here was.

The fitful rain was becoming annoying. Draco decided to try a bit of magic to make sure Potter had not drained it from him permanently. He raised a hand to his forehead and cast a spell he had learned at age four. It came so naturally now that he no longer needed wand, spell, or even words--although he generally used all three out of habit.

Draco cast and was immediately gratified when he felt the magic tingle through his hair, cleaning every strand and sending it perfectly back into place. He sighed in relief. Although there were bloody few spells he could use without his wand, it was good to know he wasn't completely helpless.

He pulled off his socks, knowing he would rather go barefoot than have the material picking up random bits of twig, brambles, and mud. He folded them neatly and tucked them into his back pocket before attempting to stand up. He managed it, feeling as weak and shaky as a newborn deer. When the hell is this damned weakness going to wear off? And where the hell am I?

Although the sky was clouded instead of clear, the time of day seemed to be afternoon, giving Draco some hope that he was still somewhere in Europe and had not been sent halfway across the globe. At least Weasley had not transported him to Antarctica or Bangladesh or bloody Africa.

Draco leaned against a tree and tried to decide which way to go. Several rudimentary breaks in the brush might be natural paths, so he pushed off and followed one, cursing Ron Weasley with every pebble that dug into his bare feet and every drop of rain that hit his face.

He was only momentarily cheered at the thought of what Harry's reaction would be when he discovered his best mate had sent his boyfriend away. The concept halted him. Boyfriend, God what a bloody stupid word. Draco supposed lover was more accurate, although it seemed a weak substitute for the depth of their strange relationship.

"Isn't this bloody fabulous?" he muttered. "I'm walking barefoot through a fucking wet, unrecognizable forest analyzing my love life. I've turned into a goddamned girl. Thank you, Weasley. Now I have to kill you twice."