Draco's Escort Service

Author's Note: OMG I can't believe I wrote this! I can't even read slash without becoming squicked to the point of hyperventilation. I justified this by saying it's a test of my writing ability, but frankly, Draco is so fricking hot I think everyone deserves a piece of him. Even Harry.

Draco's Escort Service

Harry was livid.

"No! Absolutely not!" he yelled. "There has to be someone else!"

"He's the best," Lupin insisted. "And he checks out."

"Draco Malfoy checks out?" Harry thundered. "By whose standards? The bastard has done more to make my life a living hell than anyone other than Voldemort!"

"He was a child, Harry. He regrets his actions and has redeemed himself time and again. For God's sake, Harry, he lost everything to Voldemort!"

"SO DID I!" Harry bellowed. "At least Malfoy got to grow up with parents! He had a fucking decent childhood!"

"Don't you think that would make his loss even harder to bear?" Lupin yelled back.

"I DON'T CARE!"

Lupin threw up his hands. Harry glared.

"I'll go alone," Harry decided adamantly.

"You can't." Lupin's words were like a slap in the face, though true.

"Watch me," Harry gritted.

"I can't talk to you when you get like this," Lupin snapped. "Call me when you retrieve your maturity."

Lupin stalked out. Harry made a rude gesture behind his back and then sank down in a chair. He propped his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands in frustration. After a moment, he got up and took the stairs to his room.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place had changed markedly in the four years since Harry had inherited it. After a year of cleaning, polishing, and stripping the place nearly bare, it hardly resembled the former dark, gloomy residence of generations of Blacks. One day in a fit of overwhelming rage Harry had taken a sledge hammer to the wall that held Mrs. Black's portrait. He had pulverized wall, frame, and painting, hammering away long after the shrieks of Sirius's mum were silenced forever. Lupin and the Weasley twins had found him sitting in the rubble, exhausted but satisfied.

He had left the wall open and later removed the one separating the kitchen and dining room. When time allowed, he removed as much of the dark wood in the house as possible, replacing it with pale oak or painting over it in white. He knew Sirius would have approved.

The master bedroom had been completely redone--floors, walls, curtains, furniture and bedding. The room gleamed with pale neutral colors and creamy bedding accented with Gryffindor burgundy and gold. Harry threw himself on the bed.

He glared at the ceiling as he thought of Draco Malfoy. The only person he had ever hated more was Severus Snape. Even Voldemort had come in a pale third to those two. Things had changed so much in the wizarding world since Dumbledore's death three years prior.

The war had begun shortly thereafter. They already referred to it as The Great Wizarding War, although there had been nothing great about it except the scale of destruction.

Lord Voldemort's motives had not been clear. He seemed content to wreak carnage and destroy everything he could find. Werewolves and trolls had multiplied like rabbits. There were so many werewolf attacks that the Muggles branded it some sort of disease epidemic. Death Eaters killed every Ministry member they could locate. Those that were left fought a losing battle trying to contain the werewolves and keep Muggles in the dark about the wizarding world.

Harry Potter concentrated on finding and destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes, leaving a handful of demoralized Order members to try and stop the Death Eaters. None of them understood why The Chosen One had deserted them in their time of need--none but Lupin, whom Harry had finally confided in.

Excited by victory after victory, Voldemort became giddy with power. He recruited new Death Eaters to the cause and somehow they discovered a way to control the Floo Network. Travel by fireplace halted nearly overnight when one chance in four would send the traveler to a fireplace in Timbuktu, or Siberia, or a cave in Peru.

Voldemort set his sights on Apparition, next. It took a year, but he finally managed to contaminate the very forces of nature--not just those used to Apparate, but nearly every magical factor. Pockets of dark magic hovered over many areas, especially those with a large number of wizards. It became dangerous to cast spells in those regions--the effects could be nullified, magnified, or twisted. Wizards had been blown to pieces, sent hundreds of miles from their intended destination, or splinched into objects.

As transportation became nearly impossible, the Ministry fought for control by trying to regulate creation of Portkeys--the only remaining method of instant transportation. Rufus Scrimgeour and the remaining Ministers cast a nullifying spell around all of London to prevent entry by Portkey. Then they did the same to every common destination in Britain under the guise of keeping Voldemort from tampering with Portkey transportation. It worked. Voldemort had no need to disrupt Portkeys as the Ministry had made them nigh unto useless.

Much diminished, the Order and all others opposed to Voldemort fought a pitched battle near Hogwarts, which Voldemort was determined to destroy. After throwing giants, trolls, and magic at it, he managed to breach the walls and invade the castle.

Harry and his friends had arrived at last and the battle ranged far through the empty halls. The school had closed to students after the derailment of the Hogwarts Express had killed five students prior to Harry's seventh year--that had been the act which began the war.

Harry and Voldemort had confronted one another, but Harry was no longer a child. He had learned a lot during the search and destruction of Horcruxes. He threw every spell in his arsenal at the evil incarnation of Tom Riddle and he wasn't alone. Ron and Hermione were beside him tossing everything they had. They were joined by others--Neville, Luna, Dean, Angelina, and most of the other members of Dumbledore's Army. During the battle, Ginny Weasley threw herself in front of a killing bolt meant for Harry, who snapped.

By some unknown means, Harry absorbed the magical energy from everyone and everything around him before blasting Voldemort into pieces so small he resembled powder. Harry's last conscious recollection was of Voldemort's laugh. They had always assumed Voldemort had created seven Horcruxes; seven that Harry knew were destroyed. They had been wrong.

The strange effect of Harry's magic had left him drained. He could barely produce a simple Lumos spell. They had all believed the effect would be temporary. After six months, they stopped relying on it.

As Voldemort was back in vapor form and the Death Eaters were either dead or imprisoned after the battle at Hogwarts, everyone tried to go back to their lives. It wasn't that simple, however. The dark magic lurked and grew. Apparition was beyond risky. The Floo Network was abandoned. Horrible creatures multiplied and spilled out from the forests.

The school reopened, but the Hogwarts Express ran only twice per year, closely guarded by an army of Aurors. The Ministry stayed locked away in London, safe and isolated.

Harry, now practically a Squib, continued his obsessive search for the missing Horcrux, praying that there was only one. His friends humored him for a long time, but eventually they deserted him to live their own lives. Ron and Hermione married and moved to Ottery St. Catchpole near the Burrow, now the home of Bill and Fleur and their brood, since the deaths of Arthur and Molly in the war.

Lupin and Tonks, also married, had moved in with Harry. To keep him from getting lonely, they said, but he knew it was to keep an eye on him. To keep him safe.

Now, Harry finally had a lead on the Horcrux, but he didn't dare tell anyone--they would all forbid him to go. Instead, he had told Lupin he wanted to return Gryffindor's sword to Hogwarts, which had sparked enough controversy. Lupin insisted he wait until school began so that Harry could take the train. Harry fought until Lupin agreed he could go by broom, but only with an escort. And now this.

Draco Malfoy had survived the war. His parents and his house hadn't been so lucky. Malfoy Manor had been seized by the Ministry, who summarily burned it to the ground. Snape had killed Lucius for reasons unknown and accidentally murdered Narcissa when she went wild with grief. Neville Longbottom had killed Snape during the final battle.

Harry cursed. Draco had turned on the Death Eaters in the end. He had singlehandedly brought in Mulciber, Avery, Nott, and McNair. He had killed Bellatrix Lestrange, who went even crazier than usual after Voldemort's apparent destruction. After the war ended, Malfoy had started an escort service--guiding those who traveled by broom through dangerous areas; bypassing pockets of dark magic and eliminating threats. Several others had started similar lucrative ventures, but apparently none of them were satisfactory enough for Lupin.

Still, even being stuck with that pompous, arrogant jerk was better than being stuck in London one more day. Harry pounded his fists on the bed a few times and then went to find Lupin.

So it was that Harry Potter stood on a largely barren road on the outskirts of London with a broom in his hand and a large sword strapped to his back. He also wore a pack and a long black cloak.

It was dusk, and cloudy, so it wasn't long before a broom dropped out of the sky and disclosed Draco Malfoy. He hopped off his broom light as a feather and the two old enemies observed each other through narrowed eyes.

Malfoy looked different than when he was younger. He seemed taller, leaner, and more muscular. His platinum hair was longer, brushing his shoulders and draping over his forehead to nearly conceal his grey eyes. His face was as coldly beautiful as ever. He wore an outfit obviously inspired by Quidditch. Black breeches with leather trim tucked into high black boots. His emerald green shirt had leather patches at the elbows and over that was slung a hooded cape, though the hood was thrown back at the moment. His hands--encased in black leather gloves--gripped his broom.

"Potter," he said finally with no inflection.

"Malfoy," Harry said in the same tone.

"Going to Hogwarts, then?"

"Not exactly."

Malfoy cocked a brow at him, but said nothing.

"I need to go to Norwich. Or near there, anyway."

"Dangerous region, that," Malfoy said carefully.

"I'll pay you double whatever you and Lupin agreed on."

"Triple."

Harry scowled, knowing Malfoy did not need the money. He was simply being a typical ass.

"Fine," he snapped.

Malfoy shrugged and stepped over his broom. Harry kicked off on his own and for a fleeting moment felt the old indescribable joy of flying. Thank God that ability hadn't deserted him.

They headed toward the northeast and it almost immediately turned into a race. Soon they were hurtling side by side over treetops and hills, bushes and ponds. Harry could not seem to maintain a lead and they passed each other several times until Malfoy motioned to him and halted.

"It can get a bit dicey ahead. Stay low."

Malfoy sped off again after delivering that cryptic warning. Harry hurried after him and they both maintained a height of no more than two meters from the ground. The ride was uneventful for the greater part of an hour, thus Harry was unprepared when his broom was suddenly yanked out from under him. Harry went flying--sans broom--and landed hard in a patch of heather.

He lay still for a moment trying to regain his breath. Malfoy's face appeared above him.

"Alive, Potter?" Draco asked curiously. Harry glared, but got to his feet.

"You might have mentioned 'dicey' meant the broom was likely to be torn from my hands," he snapped. He stalked back to get the broom, face flaming with the realization that he couldn't simply Accio it back into his hand.

Malfoy hovered.

"It doesn't. Sometimes it shoots you straight up. Or sends you into a spin. Or flips you upside down. Sometimes nothing. It's unpredictable."

Harry was actually somewhat surprised at the rational response. He had expected catcalls and hilarity. Harry mounted and they started off again.

The next time, Harry was prepared. The broom suddenly bolted sideways three meters, but Harry barely shifted position. He glanced ahead at Malfoy, who was fighting his own battle. The broom made three full forward flips, looking like a fan blade for a moment. Malfoy miraculously stayed on and brought it under control. Draco could really fly, Harry had to admit. Malfoy looked back over his shoulder at Harry, nodded curtly, and proceeded. When they reached an unknown landmark, Malfoy shot higher into the air without a word. Harry assumed the danger was past and joined him.

They flew until the darkness was complete and it was difficult to see even large landmarks. Malfoy drew back to fly beside Harry and made a chopping motion. Harry followed him to the ground.

"The moon won't rise for awhile. Once it does we should have enough light to see by, if you want to go on. Have you eaten?"

The question was cursory. Harry knew Malfoy didn't care, but he seemed determined to treat Harry like a normal client.

"I'm fine," Harry said, looking around. They were in a hollow through which a small stream flowed. Harry knelt near the bank and washed his hands. He stood and glanced at Malfoy while drying them on his cloak. Malfoy had removed cloak and pack and was stretching the kinks from his shoulders.

Harry followed his lead and yanked off his own cloak. He slung his pack on the ground and unbuckled Gryffindor's sword. Malfoy turned at the thunk. Harry suppressed a sigh of relief. The bloody thing was heavy. He sat cross-legged on the ground and let his head sink to his chest, pulling and releasing his neck muscles with one hand. He was glad they had stopped.

Draco looked at Harry, slumped on the ground like a tired shadow. He didn't look like the hero of the wizarding world. Practically a Squib. The werewolf had mentioned Potter's loss of power. Draco wondered if Harry thought it was worth it. Sure Voldemort was gone--but the cost... it was unimaginable. Perhaps it was easier for Potter, who had lived as a Muggle for the first eleven years of his life.

Draco shook his head. Regardless, it was awful, but at least it couldn't have happened to a better person. If Draco could have requested anyone lose their powers, Harry Potter would have been top of the list. The bastard could still fly, though. Draco had been holding his own, but it hadn't been easy.

Potter stayed where he was, head bowed in a Zen-like state. Draco pulled a waterskin from his pack and took a long drink before he walked over and refilled it from the stream. As he passed Potter, the dark head raised and Harry watched Draco without speaking.

Draco stoppered the waterskin as he stood and watched a sliver of moon cresting the horizon. He sighed. It was going to be a long trip if they couldn't even speak to each other. Not that he really had anything to say to The Chosen One, but it was annoying that he couldn't even give him a good insult. How would Potter fight back? Stinging Hex? It was sad.

When the moon was nearly clear of the horizon, Draco shrugged on his pack and topped it with his cloak. Potter rose without comment and did the same after buckling the sword on first. Draco stepped over his broom. He wondered if he should warn Potter--they had some dangerous terrain to cross and hours yet left to fly. It wouldn't be an easy trip. He pictured that stubborn glare Potter always threw at him and knew it would be a waste of breath.

They took off into the night without a word.

Draco felt something... off. He slowed, having learned the hard way never to ignore a premonition. He hadn't been this far east in a long time and wasn't as familiar with the dangers.

He gestured sharply to Potter, who slowed without question. At least the spill Potter had taken had taught him to pay attention. Malfoy slowed further. His strange feeling had grown to real trepidation; he stopped and dismounted. Harry did the same and still he didn't ask questions, which was fine with Draco, because he didn't have any answers.

Draco set his broom on the ground and gestured to Potter to stay back. Draco walked forward cautiously. Six meters, then ten, and then a gaping chasm opened at his feet, stretching away in the moonlight like the mouth of hell. Draco could feel something calling to him--pulling at him from below. He frowned and returned to Potter.

"This is bad," he said without preamble. "I've seen something like this once before. It's a magical canyon with something nasty--and hungry--at the bottom. I don't know what because I never cared to get close enough to find out. It will try to pull us down by any means."

"Can't we go around it?" Harry asked. Draco shook his head.

"Now that it has a fix on us, it will follow."

"A canyon will follow us?"

Draco said nothing. Apparently, Potter had been quite sheltered from some of the nastier magic that had cropped up in the past couple of years.

"What's to keep it from following us if we manage to get across?" Harry continued.

"The forest on the other side," Draco admitted. "It has something of a reputation."

"A bad reputation, I suppose?"

"You're the one that wanted to go this way; Potter. A trip to Hogwarts would have been a piece of cake."

Harry sighed explosively. "I don't have any choice. How do we cross?"

For reply, Draco slung off cloak and pack. Potter wasn't going to like the answer any more than Draco did.

"By doing the unexpected. Give me your broom."

Potter wordlessly handed over his broom. Draco cast a few spells and bound the two brooms together before he lashed his pack to the front of the tied handles. He did the same with Potter's pack, placing it to the rear. He levitated the contraption to check the balance. Harry looked far from pleased.

"You expect us to ride together?" he asked flatly.

"I'm not thrilled with the idea, either, Potter. But this thing will pick us off like flies over a toad-infested pond if we try to cross alone. This way, our abilities will be combined. You will, of course, need to follow my lead. Even with both of us working together, it won't be easy."

When the brooms were secure and Draco was satisfied with the apparatus, he looked at Potter.

"Make sure that sword is strapped tight and won't fall out of the scabbard if we end up upside down."

Harry frowned, but tightened the sword. When he couldn't delay any longer, Draco stepped over the brooms.

"Let's get this over with," he said resignedly.

Harry reluctantly moved over and stood behind Malfoy. Frankly, the idea of being so close to Draco was almost worse than the thought of facing whatever lurked below.

The brooms rose and Harry found himself gripping Malfoy gingerly on the shoulders for balance.

"You'll have to do better than that, Potter, or we're both dead," Malfoy said dryly. The taunt in his voice geared Harry into action more than the words. He swore and shifted himself forward until he was pressed tightly against Malfoy's back and Draco's thighs rested atop his. He shifted his hands down to hold Draco's waist. Thankfully, Malfoy kept his patented commentary to himself, for once, and they started across the yawning chasm.

It was a nightmare beyond belief. Within moments, a tangible force had tried to yank them into the depths. Harry and Malfoy strained to keep the brooms aloft and on course. They were suddenly released and shot upwards. Before they could recover, they were tossed sideways and spun in a dizzying circle.

Harry found his arms wrapped tightly around Draco's waist as he clung to the Slytherin like a baby koala. His face pressed hard against the back of Malfoy's neck. He could feel every shift of Draco's weight, thankfully, for he could anticipate his movements.

They pulled out of the spin and then Draco sent them in a looping, high speed circle that he suddenly halted. They plunged straight downward. The malevolent force seemed just as surprised as Harry, who felt the pressure against them release for the barest instant. Harry lent his strength to Malfoy, suddenly trusting him implicitly. Draco responded by launching the brooms upward toward the canyon lip at a speed faster than Harry had ever flown.

They hurtled out of the chasm and Harry felt a tangible cloud of frustrated rage follow them. They blasted over the trees and then Harry was shocked by the feeling of weightlessness. They began to fall, still traveling incredibly fast.

Draco snatched out his wand and managed to cast a spell before they slammed into the trees. They stopped as if crashing into a snow bank, jarring, but not painful until they hit the ground.

Harry and Malfoy landed side by side and lay still for a stunned moment. Harry trembled with exertion and dripped with sweat. He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. He heard the labored panting of Malfoy.

"Potter?" Draco said after their breathing had nearly returned to normal. Harry opened his eyes and looked at the treetops visible above and the stars beyond.

"Yeah?"

"You're on my hair."

The words jolted Harry with the knowledge that he was still disagreeably close to Malfoy. Their heads were touching and Malfoy's silvery hair was trapped beneath Harry's head. Malfoy's cloak was bunched under Harry's back. He quickly rolled over and staggered to his feet. Malfoy got up slowly.

"You untie the brooms while I figure out where we are," Malfoy ordered as he dusted himself off fastidiously. Harry's eyes narrowed at the tone of command. Draco caught the look and smirked at him--the first time Harry had seen the familiar expression in years.

"Unless you want to ride with me some more?" Malfoy drawled suggestively.

"Arsehole," Harry muttered and started working on the knots while Malfoy disappeared into the trees.

Draco walked carefully into the forest, taking care to note his path in order to retrace his steps. He didn't sense any danger--leaving the chasm had apparently taken care of the threat. He hoped to find a decent clearing so they could camp for the night. The trip across the canyon had exhausted him. Draco's day had been busy long before he met up with Potter.

A soft sound caused him to freeze. He turned and cast a bright light spell with his wand. A girl stood nearby, leaning against a tree. She didn't flinch at the light. She wore the merest slip of a green dress. Her hair was honey-brown and looped down to her slender waist. A smile curved her lips; the color of red currants.

"Hi, handsome," she purred. Draco did not relax. It was beyond suspicious to find a delicate-looking maiden lurking in the forest in the middle of the night. She pushed herself away from the tree.

"Hello," Draco said warily. "Who are you?"

"I am Betula," she said and halted. "Come here so I can see you better."

Draco stepped closer, holding his light high.

She smiled. "You are handsome! Why are you here?"

"Just passing through. I'm looking for a place to camp, at the moment."

"You can rest with me," she offered and held her arms open as if to welcome his embrace. "Come. Kiss me."

Draco felt an overwhelming compulsion to do just that. He fought it.

"Just let me build a quick fire and I'll stay awhile," he said quietly. She shrank back with a gasp.

"Oh no! You mustn't! No fire."

Draco chuckled. "Dryad."

Betula stamped a bare foot and gave him a pretty pout. "No kiss?" she asked.

"Definitely no kiss," he replied flatly. He relaxed and dimmed his wand slightly. She was no danger as long as he stayed away from the circle of her tree. "Are you the most dangerous creature in this forest?"

She paced on a vaguely curved path a short distance from the tree trunk. "I'm not dangerous at all, handsome. Come here and I'll show you."

"No thanks. You won't tell me anything about this place?"

"No." Betula was petulant.

"All right. Goodbye, dryad." He turned and started away.

"Wait!" she cried. Draco suppressed a smile as he turned to look back. "Deeper in the forest, take care to eat and drink nothing you find there."

"My thanks, Betula. That bit of advice is nearly worth a kiss. Nearly."

"Maybe you'll come back someday?"

"If I ever get the urge to be eternally trapped in a tree, you can count on it."

He blew her a kiss and went back to Potter, who was slumped on the ground like the very picture of exhaustion and despair. Draco's eyes narrowed as he critically examined Potter. He was paler than Draco had ever seen him and almost too thin. He needed to eat and get some rest or he'd likely pass out. The present locale was far too enclosed, rocky... and close to dryads.

Harry seemed to sense his presence and the dark head snapped up. Potter got to his feet quickly.

"We need to move on a bit," Draco said.

"Can we fly?"

"No. Couldn't you tell when we fell? This forest nullifies flight. We'll have to walk out."

Potter made no comment. He just nodded and slung on sword and pack, and picked up his broom. Draco did the same, sans sword.

He led Potter back toward the dryad tree, intending to pass through and beyond. A girl suddenly appeared in front of Potter and snagged him in an embrace. Her hair was vibrantly red and her body was lithe and beautiful.

"I'm Ilex," she purred. "What's your hurry?"

"Don't kiss her unless you feel like growing a trunk and leaves," Draco warned, but Potter had already recoiled. Poor Dryad--red probably hadn't been the best choice to use on Potter. "In fact, it's probably a good idea not to kiss anything in this forest."

"No fair, handsome!" Betula called from behind them. "You didn't tell me there were two of you!"

Draco tucked away his wand for a moment, plunging them into darkness, and reached back to grab Harry's wrist. He pulled Potter away from the red-haired dryad.

"You can let go now," Potter said after a few steps.

Draco released him and retrieved his wand. He cast another Lumos and led Potter on a circuitous route past the trees. They avoided more dryads in that fashion.

The undergrowth grew thicker and Draco alternately used his wand to light the way and cut a path. He hoped they would find a decent place to camp soon--he was bloody exhausted. At that point, anything without brambles or dryads would suffice.

An odd sound caused Draco to pause. He instinctively doused his wand and reached back a hand to silence Potter, who probably wouldn't have spoken anyway. Harry seemed to be moving in a trance. He stopped when Draco's fingertips touched his chest. His face shone pale in the dim moonlight that filtered through the trees.

"Stay here," he breathed to Potter.

Draco pushed his way out of the latest set of sticker bushes and froze, alert for every sound. A barely audible hiss warned him and he dropped to one knee. An arrow thunked into a tree after it whisked over his head.

Draco stood in one fluid movement and cast an assortment of spells toward the origin of the arrow while launching himself forward. A volley of arrows followed him until they were abruptly cut off by a muffled cry--one of his spells had connected.

He kept moving, not intending to become a pincushion. He also wanted to draw any potential fire away from Potter, who couldn't fight back.

Of course Potter, being of Gryffindor persuasion, had other ideas. He leaped after Malfoy with wand drawn. Luckily, Draco's spell must have incapacitated their attacker, since Potter wasn't cut down by a hail of arrows.

Malfoy forced his way through the brush to find a petrified centaur glaring at him. Draco swore. Centaurs rarely traveled alone. He turned and pelted back to Potter.

"We need to get the hell out of here!" he said and snatched a handful of Harry's shirt. He dragged Potter until they were running pell-mell through the forest. Hopefully, the horse creature was alone and would stay immobilized for awhile. Draco wasn't sure how effective his spells would be on centaurs--they seemed to lean toward magical resistance.

They ran until Potter sprawled headlong and nearly knocked Draco over. Malfoy stopped to help him to his feet. They were both gasping with exertion. Potter left his broom on the ground.

"No more," he panted. Draco tossed his broom next to Potter's and shrugged off his pack again. He helped Harry remove his burden.

"You're bleeding, Malfoy," Harry commented tiredly. It wasn't until then that Draco felt the sting. One of the arrows must have nicked him. His bicep was drenched in drying blood.

"Damn." Malfoy looked around carefully. They stood in a small clearing that was unnaturally quiet. Draco strained his ears, but there was no sound of pursuit. No sound at all, actually, except the rasp of Potter's breathing. "I suppose we can rest a moment." He unbuttoned his shirt. Potter walked a few steps and then threw himself gratefully on a soft patch of grass.

"What time do you suppose it is?" Harry asked raggedly.

Draco glanced at the sky and peeled his shirt off. The sleeve stuck to his wound.

"About one a.m.," he said and yanked. He winced as the action tore the gash open. It didn't look deep, but it had been serious enough to bleed like the devil.

"Wild strawberries," Harry commented. Draco turned at the odd comment, wondering if Potter was getting delusional. Harry tossed a handful of berries into his mouth and Draco's blood turned to ice.

"No!"he yelled and bounded across the intervening space to pound Potter on the back with an open palm.

A number of small berries flew out of Harry's mouth and sprayed on the ground. Potter coughed for a moment and then glared at Draco.

"Fuck, Malfoy! What the hell?"

"A dryad told me not to eat or drink anything here."

"Do you think you might have mentioned that?" Potter burst out loudly. "Oh no--"

"We've been rather busy--what do you mean 'oh no?'"

"I swallowed one."

Draco felt sick. They stared at one another for a sober moment in the darkness.

"Let's hope we haven't yet reached the border of the dangerous area. How do you feel?" Draco asked.

"Fine," said Harry. "Still hungry, actually."

Draco went back to his pack to find Potter some food. He carried dried beef, bread, and cheese back to Potter who lay flat on the grass.

"You know, Malfoy, suddenly I'm not very hungry. Just tired. I'm so incredibly tired..."

Draco grabbed Potter's shirt to haul him upright.

"No, you don't. We could have a herd of centaurs on our heels and we have no idea what other dangers lurk out there. You sit up and eat. We'll rest later."

Potter nodded weakly and ate the food Draco handed to him, but he seemed to force it down. He swallowed obediently from Draco's water skin when he finished.

"Time to go," Draco said after he stowed his pack once more. He took Potter's hands and dragged him to his feet, trying not to notice how unsteady Potter looked. Draco slung Gryffindor's sword over his own shoulder. He helped Potter don his pack. Malfoy levitated the brooms and had them float along behind like trailing dogs.

Malfoy led the way and Potter followed, inferius-like, behind him. Draco turned often to check on Harry's progress. After about a quarter-hour, Potter asked, "Malfoy? Do you hear music?"

Draco stopped and listened intently. Nothing. Not even crickets or frogs. No sounds at all.

"No, Potter. I do not hear music. Now, let's get you out of this infernal forest."

They continued on and Draco found himself moving faster and faster, returning time and again to urge Potter onward.

"It's getting louder," Harry said sometime later. "It's so beautiful... like nothing I've ever heard."

"Don't listen to it!" Draco snapped as a cold spike of fear went through his chest. He clutched Potter's shoulders and gave him a shake. A sheen of sweat glazed Harry's forehead. Draco swallowed hard. He needed to get Potter to shelter and figure out how to fight this. Malfoy swore roundly. He'd never lost a client yet, and he sure as hell wasn't about to lose the hero of the wizarding world.

He glanced about frantically. They had been climbing somewhat and the way was getting rockier. With luck, there would be a cave or something nearby.

A glint of light caught his eye. He stared and blinked. Nothing. Draco shrugged. One direction was as good as another. He sighed and slung an arm across Potter's shoulders to guide him. Harry didn't seem to notice. His eyes were far away.