Adamant and Starlight

Chapter 10: Crucio

They had not reached the first turning in the corridor when Dumbledore caught them up. He held the box with the Pensieve in one hand and Harry's wand in the other.

"You mustn't hurry off without this, my boy," he said, eyes twinkling, as he gave the wand to Harry. "You may well need it."

The smile in Dumbledore's voice seemed to contradict the warning in his words, and Harry was not in a mood to worry, so he grinned as he tucked the wand into his robes. Then he followed Dumbledore up the curving hallway to where a long, dark flight of steps led up to the next level. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody and Arthur Weasley were coming down the steps toward them, Shacklebolt in the lead with the chest that held Draco's hand tucked under his arm. All three wizards looked unaccountably serious, and Harry felt his high spirits sink a bit. His hold on Draco's shoulders tightened instinctively.

"Narcissa Malfoy left in the middle of the show," Kingsley said at once, without wasting time on greetings or congratulations. "I couldn't follow without drawing undue attention to myself."

"Do you have any idea how long she's been gone?" Dumbledore asked.

"Nearly an hour."

Dumbledore frowned at that.

"She went straight to the Atrium and flooed out," Moody informed him, swiveling his magic eye just in case anyone wondered how he'd managed to track Narcissa's movements from inside the dungeon.

"Flooed to where, I wonder?" Dumbledore mused.

"If she has a grain of sense, she's packing her bags and planning a long holiday," Mr. Weasley said.

"Were the Wizengamot of a mind to bring charges against her, do you think?"

"Some of them undoubtedly were. I don't know when I've seen Amelia Bones so angry."

"If I were Narcissa, I'd be more worried about Lucius' friends," Moody growled, his face contorted in a fearsome smile.

Dumbledore looked more thoughtful still. He said nothing for a long moment, simply gazing into the middle distance with his lips pursed, while the other wizards exchanged meaningful glances. Then, abruptly, Dumbledore said, "Harry, why don't you and Draco wait for me up by the lift? I won't be long."

Harry's stomach did an unpleasant flip. "Is something wrong, Professor?"

"Not at all. I have a few things to discuss with Alastor and Kingsley, and I think we needn't be in any rush to leave. Half the Wizengamot must still be gathered in the Atrium, discussing the trial."

"You mean, hoping for a glimpse of the Famous Harry Potter and his mad Malfoy lover," Harry said, glumly.

Dumbledore clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes full of sympathy. "Certainly they want a glimpse of you. Today you reminded them what kind of hero you are."

"One who can't hold his temper?"

"One who wins his battles. Go on, Harry. Go ring for the lift. I'll be with you in a few minutes."

Harry started up the stairs without further argument, Draco still beside him. As he climbed, he reflected on Dumbledore's words and hoped that the old wizard was right. He had won a hard victory today, and it would be nice to think that he had won over some of the wizarding world in the process. But whatever else he had or hadn't gained, Harry had won. He had stood up to the entire Wizengamot, made a fool of Fudge, out-maneuvered Dolores Umbridge, and even managed to keep his dignity intact under all those hateful stares and muttered insults. And most importantly, he had rescued Draco.

A smile spread over his face, as he thought of Fudge's impotent rage when forced to turn Draco over to Dumbledore. He tightened his arm about Draco's shoulders, leaned down until his head rested against the other boy's, and murmured, "Did you see his face? He looked like he'd just swallowed a dung bomb. Serves him right, the stupid git."

Harry didn't expect an answer, so he felt no more than a small twinge of regret when he didn't receive one. He tried to imagine what Draco - an alert, laughing, caustic Draco - would have to say about Fudge and this whole business with the Wizengamot, but that made the twinge turn into a stabbing pain beneath his ribs, and he hastily pushed the thought aside.

The two boys reached the upper level and walked together down the corridor in silence. At the far end, torches burned in iron brackets along a row of grilles, each with a dark, gaping space behind it that seemed to swallow the light. Down here, the lift gates were not the shiny golden things Harry had seen upstairs. They were tarnished and rather grimy, as though no one had bothered to polish them, or even wipe off the dust, in years. The first button he pushed made a grinding noise and stuck halfway in. Harry grimaced at it and moved farther down the row 'til he found another call button.

This one worked. Harry could hear a lift, somewhere far above them, begin to creak and groan its way down the long shaft to the dungeon. Guessing that he had a bit of a wait, he stepped back to prop himself against the wall and, absently, looped both his arms around Draco. The other boy obediently leaned into him but did not look up when Harry rubbed his cheek lightly against his hair. Closing his eyes, Harry savored the bittersweet pleasure of having Draco close to him, of inhaling Draco's scent, of feeling Draco breathing softly, even if the Draco he loved was not really here at all.

They were still standing together when Mr. Weasley came hurrying down the corridor toward them. He broke stride at the sight of Harry with his arms around Draco, but then recovered and approached with a smile firmly in place.

"All right, then, Harry?" he asked, brightly.

"We're fine, Mr. Weasley. Is Dumbledore coming?"

"He'll be along in a moment." Mr. Weasley peered up the shaft from which the noises were loudest, then nodded to himself. "I just came ahead to see how you'd managed with the lift."

"All I had to do was push the button," Harry remarked, dryly.

"Ah, but there's no telling which ones actually work. It's a disgrace, really." He clasped his hands behind his back and bounced up on his toes, still smiling a bit too determinedly. "Perkins was stuck down here for an entire day, once. Finally got out when he sent up a fountain of sparks from his wand, and someone in the Atrium spotted it. Poor fellow. Never was very good with buttons and switches and the like."

"What's he doing in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, then?" Harry asked.

"Er, well," Mr. Weasley cleared his throat and bounced on his toes again, his ears turning a vivid shade of pink, "it was the only place they could find for him, after the accident."

"Accident?"

"He claimed it was an accident, anyway, but the Magical Reversal Squad took a dim view of the whole affair. They stuck him in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts as the place where he could get into the least trouble. All this was before my time, of course."

Harry was startled by a sudden, distant crack. Even muffled by stone walls, he recognized the sound instantly and turned to Mr. Weasley in surprise. "I didn't know you could apparate inside the Ministry."

"Apparate? Why, certainly you can. It's not particularly good form to do it in crowded buildings, when you never know who you might land on, but we all cheat a little now and then. I expect that was old Mad-Eye Moody, off in a rush as usual."

"Oh." Harry looked curiously at the long row of lifts, then at Mr. Weasley. "You don't have to wait here with us, if you're in a hurry."

"Not at all. I have nowhere in particular to be."

Harry was spared comment on this by the simultaneous arrival of Dumbledore and the lift. The Headmaster herded them all into the lift and punched a large, gold button stamped with an ornate A. He filled the short trip to the next level with inconsequential remarks about needing to get home to clean Fawkes' perch, but Harry thought that he looked a bit preoccupied, and the twinkle in his eyes was notably absent. When they reached Level Eight, he swept Harry and Draco out of the lift, then turned back to Mr. Weasley.

"You will let Molly know how the trial went, won't you?"

"Yes." Mr. Weasley's ears turned pink again. "Yes, of course."

"Have her send Harry's things to the school, and give her my apologies for missing dinner." Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to answer, then shut it awkwardly, and Dumbledore smiled in understanding. "Thank you for your support today, Arthur. It meant a lot to me, and I'm sure to Harry as well."

"Yes," Harry said, quietly. "Thank you."

Mr. Weasley shot Harry a rather wan smile. "Is there anything you want me to say to Molly, when I see her?"

Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, then he shook his head.

Mr. Weasley seemed to droop before his eyes, even his bright hair dimming perceptibly. With a resigned shrug, he reached to push the button for his level and said, wistfully, "Look after yourself, my boy."

The lift shuddered into motion, rising toward the paneled ceiling and carrying Mr. Weasley out of sight. Dumbledore caught Harry's arm and drew him toward the gates that let into the Atrium. They had not taken three steps when Harry heard the distinctive crack of someone apparating. It seemed that Mr. Weasley was in a hurry, after all.

Harry paused at the security desk to hand in his visitor's badge, ignoring the frozen look on the face of the wizard seated there, then hurried after Dumbledore. They walked the length of the hall under the eyes of countless witches and wizards, all of whom fell quiet as Dumbledore approached with the two boys. Harry held tightly to Draco's hand, kept his head high and refused to look directly at any of the staring faces, but he caught glimpses of many people he knew, including a fair proportion of the Wizengamot in their purple robes.

"Potter!"

Harry turned at the sound of his name to see Amos Diggory break away from a crowd of purple-robed wizards by the fountain and stride toward him. Dumbledore halted, allowing Diggory to catch them up. Diggory threw Draco a dubious glance as he approached, then fixed his eyes resolutely on Harry.

"Hallo, Mr. Diggory," Harry said, politely.

"Headed back to Hogwarts, then?" he asked, rather pointlessly Harry thought.

"Yes."

"Good. Good." His eyes slid away from Harry for a moment, betraying his discomfort. "Quite the show Dumbledore gave us in there - Lucius and the Giants' Dance and all. Quite the eye-opener. Narcissa, too. Wouldn't have thought it of the boy's mother."

Harry could think of nothing to say, so he looked steadily at Mr. Diggory and waited for him to finish.

"Ceddie always thought highly of you, Potter. Always said you were a trump."

This seemed to call for some response. Harry muttered incoherent thanks, bringing a swift, melancholy smile to Mr. Diggory's face.

"I reckon he'd have liked what you did today. Put us all in our place. Told us what was what." Diggory's face turned pink, but whether with embarrassment at the admission he was making or at pleasure in thinking of Cedric's approval Harry could not tell. "Cedric would have been right there with you, if he knew what kind of rubbishing thing we were trying to do. Right beside you, telling his old dad not to be such a berk. He was a great gun, my Ceddie, as brave and as true as they come."

"Yes, sir, he was," Harry said.

"Well." Mr. Diggory cleared his throat noisily and looked to Dumbledore with a hint of defiance in his stance. "You'll look after them at Hogwarts, eh? See to it that You-Know-Who can't touch them?"

"I will, Amos."

Diggory nodded in satisfaction and stepped back. Dumbledore gestured for Harry to follow and started for the telephone box at the far end of the room.

"And keep an eye out for Narcissa!" Diggory called after them. "Tricky, that one! No telling what she'll do!"

Dumbledore nodded and waved but did not slow his steps. He reached the dilapidated red telephone box standing at the far end of the room well ahead of Harry and Draco, who could not match his long-legged stride without running. Pulling the door open, he waited for the boys to join him, and then gestured for them to step inside.

"This contraption isn't made to hold three people. You two go on up first, and I'll follow along in a moment."

Harry moved into the box and crowded to the back until he felt the broken telephone dig into his spine, then he tugged on Draco's hand to draw him inside. Draco hesitated, balking at the sight of the cramped, shadowed interior.

"In you go, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, gently, and he propelled Draco across the threshold with a hand in the middle of his back. "You'll find Professor Moody waiting for you on the street, Harry."

Dumbledore shut the door, and the lift immediately lurched upward. Draco staggered, falling into Harry. Harry put an arm around his waist to steady him, and he felt Draco's whole frame vibrating with tension. At the touch of Harry's body against his, he stiffened.

"Relax, Draco. It's only a lift."

Draco looked around in alarm, his eyes showing too much white as he stared out the cracked, scarred window panes. "Harry?"

"I'm right here."

"Where are we going?"

"Relax. It's okay."

They were rising swiftly into the ceiling, darkness sweeping down the windows and cutting off the golden light from the Atrium. Harry caught a last glimpse of Draco's eyes, now glazed with panic, before the blackness swallowed them up. A hand fastened in the front of Harry's robe.

"Harry!"

"Just hold on," Harry murmured soothingly.

"No. Out..." Draco tried to step back, only to find himself wedged into the corner of the box. With a gasp of fear, he let go of Harry's robe and lashed out at the nearest wall, striking metal and glass. "Let me out!"

Harry reached blindly for him, but Draco's left arm caught him a staggering blow to the side of the head, knocking him back against the telephone. Then he heard an ominous crunch, as Draco hurled himself bodily against the side f the box.

"Stop it," Harry cried. "You'll hurt yours..."

"Let me out!"

There was another crunch, and shards of glass splintered on the floor. Draco gave an eerie, wordless cry that set Harry's teeth on edge and galvanized him into action. He pushed himself hard out of the corner, collided with Draco, and wrapped his arms around the other boy. Draco continued to struggle, but Harry tightened his hold and lifted the smaller boy's feet from the floor.

"Stop. It's me, Draco. It's Harry."

Draco uttered another wordless cry and twisted in Harry's arms, trying desperately to break free, driving his elbow into Harry's mouth.

Harry's head snapped back and his teeth sank into his lip, filling his mouth with blood, but he did not let go. Through the tears of pain swimming in his eyes, he could see a thin line of daylight at the very top of the windows. They were almost there. He only had to hold Draco for another few seconds.

The strip of grey light widened, and suddenly, Harry could see again. As a shaft of sunlight touched his face, Draco shuddered and went nerveless in Harry's arms. Harry set him carefully on his feet but kept both arms around him for support. Draco was staring fixedly at the growing patch of grey light, his face a white, wild mask and his eyes looking blind in the sudden brightness. His hand was smeared with blood, and more blood stained the shards of glass around their feet.

Harry pulled him a little closer and bent down to murmur, "See? It's the sky. We're almost there."

"Let me go. I can't breathe."

"Yes you can."

"Harry..."

"Shh. Hold on for just another minute."

The lift jolted to a stop. Harry saw a lumpy figure just outside the door, its outlines distorted by the pitted, scarred glass - Professor Moody waiting for them. Draco either did not see or did not care. He stared out the empty window frame to his left, breathing hard and shaking in reaction.

A cool, feminine voice spoke out of the air. "Thank you for visiting the Ministry of Magic. Please check for Muggles before you exit the lift, and have a pleasant day."

"It's over. We're here." Harry reached past Draco to push the door open.

Professor Moody's grotesquely scarred face glared in at the two boys, his normal eye pinned to Harry's face while his magical one skittered and jumped about so madly that it made Harry's stomach churn to look at it. Just behind him, rumbling and steaming at the curb, was the Knight Bus.

"Took you long enough," Moody barked. Then his eye narrowed in suspicion. "What happened to you, Potter?"

Harry touched his lip gingerly. His fingers came away sticky. "Uh, nothing. An accident. Go on out, Draco. It's just Professor Moody."

When Draco did not move fast enough to suit him, Moody reached into the telephone box and grabbed him by the arm. He pulled Draco outside and shoved him toward the bus, remarking caustically to Harry, "Trust you and Malfoy to get into trouble in a lift." He plucked at Draco's sleeve and hoisted his bleeding hand into view. "Another accident, was it?"

With a casual gesture that expressed his disgust with sixteen-year-old wizards in general and the famously accident-prone Harry Potter in particular, Moody flicked his wand at Draco's hand. The wand emitted a stream of red sparks, and the cuts vanished. Then he did the same for Harry's lip, and in a matter of seconds, there was no sign left of Draco's outburst but a stain on the Slytherin's white cuff and some bloodied glass on the floor of the telephone box.

"Stand about on the street like that and you're likely to get yourself hexed," Moody growled, as he stumped over to the bus. "Serve you right, the pair of you. Come on. Move."

Harry didn't know who Moody thought would be lurking outside the Ministry of Magic to hex them, but he didn't stop to ask. Catching Draco's arm, he hurried across the pavement toward the bus, climbing the steps under Moody's gimlet eye. Stan Shunpike was hovering just inside the bus, goggling at Harry as if he'd never seen the like of him before.

"Blimey," Stan exclaimed, "it's 'Arry Potter!"

"Hullo, Stan."

"Look 'ere, Ern, 'oo d'you think it is? 'Arry Potter and that other blighter, the barmy one. I seen 'is picture in the paper - supposed to be in Azkaban. Wot's 'e doin' with you, 'Arry?"

"Read about it in tomorrow's paper," Harry snapped. Shouldering his way past Stan, he led Draco down the center aisle to the first seat that looked remotely comfortable - a sagging armchair covered in hideous orange and yellow checked upholstery. Draco obeyed the gentle push Harry gave him and sat down in the chair. His eyes moved to the window beside him and stayed there, staring blankly at the rain-washed street. Harry took the seat immediately behind Draco's.

It seemed that they were the only passengers on the bus this morning, a fact which struck Harry as odd. He had never seen the Knight Bus empty before. It looked dilapidated and forlorn with nothing but a collection of mismatched chairs in it and half-melted candles slumped in the wall brackets. Someone had left a muddy boot under a wrought iron park bench father down the bus, and there was a wad of chewing gum stuck on one of the crystal drops of the chandelier. As he looked around and wondered where everyone had gone, Harry caught himself missing the old witch who smelled of onions, who had glared so angrily at him just yesterday.

Dumbledore's face appeared suddenly in the doorway, causing Stan to give a violent start.

"Blimey! The 'Eadmaster!" he exclaimed, eyes popping.

"Thank you, Stan," Dumbledore said, cheerfully, "it's always nice to be recognized. All safely aboard, I see."

Moody grunted wordless assent and clumped down the center aisle of the bus to a seat opposite Harry's. He had his wand in his hand and his magical eye still darting about in an unnerving way. Harry thought he seemed jumpier than usual, but it was very hard to tell with Professor Moody, since what he considered a normal state of vigilance another wizard would call raving paranoia.

Dumbledore waited until Moody was seated, then he patted Ernie on the shoulder and said, "To Hogwarts, if you please, Mr. Prang."

The Knight Bus lumbered slowly away from the curb, swaying alarmingly as it went, and began to pick up speed. Dumbledore set down the large box he carried - the one that held the Pensieve - and slid it under his chair next to the smaller chest Moody had already placed there. Then he sat down and gripped the chair arms tightly. Harry took the hint, catching hold of a candle bracket on the wall beside him and bracing himself only just in time.

BANG. The bus lurched violently, flinging empty chairs about and setting the chandelier to swinging. The two boxes slid from under Dumbledore's chair, sailed half the length of the bus, and fetched up against the park bench, which had overturned with a resounding crash. All four of the passengers managed to stay in their seats, but even Dumbledore looked a trifle shaken. Harry glanced out the window and saw that they were now speeding down the motorway.

Dumbledore retrieved the boxes and returned them to their place beneath his chair. After a moment's consideration, he pulled out his wand and cast a quick binding spell to hold them there.

"That ought to do the trick," he remarked, as he tucked his wand into his robe. "I live in the hope that Ernie will find a direct route to Hogwarts, just once in my lifetime, but I fear I am doomed to disappointment."

"Why does he jump around like that," Harry asked, "when we're the only passengers?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at Harry over the tops of his glasses. "I think Ernie's greatest pleasure in life is rattling his passengers about like boiled sweets in a tin. Either that, or he has an ambition to drive every street in Britain before he retires."

As if to prove Dumbledore's point, there came another shattering BANG. Harry grabbed at Draco's chair to keep it from tipping into his own lap, waited until the bus settled into a steady motion, then checked his pockets to make sure nothing had flown out of them.

"Still got your wand?" Moody demanded.

"Yes." Harry gripped his wand for reassurance and said, "Isn't there a more comfortable way to get home?"

"More comfortable, yes, but not as safe."

Harry looked around in surprise at the tumbled chairs and wildly swaying chandelier above his head, then turned skeptical eyes on Moody. "This is safe?"

"Depends on your point of view, doesn't it? Between You-Know-Who and that pack of bloody fools at the Ministry, it's gotten so a respectable wizard can't travel to the local pub without taking his life in his hands. Floo network's compromised; portkeys are restricted; and after what happened to Emmaline Vance last week..." Moody broke off and shook his head lugubriously.

"What happened?"

"Hit with a hex while apparating. First case of forcible splinching I've ever seen."

Harry's stomach did a slow, queasy roll. He'd never seen a wizard get splinched, but the word always conjured up gruesome pictures in his head. "Is she all right?"

"It was messy. Very messy."

"She's got all her pieces back, finally," Dumbledore assured him, "but it was a lesson in caution for all of us."

"How do you guard against a hex while you're apparating?"

"You can't. You can only gamble that your enemies will not catch you at that split second when you are completely vulnerable, and accept the risk that they might. But that is why none of us will be apparating with either you or Mr. Malfoy. We can't afford to gamble with your lives."

Harry pictured his own body scattered in bits over the streets of Hogsmeade and shuddered. Suddenly, the Knight Bus seemed a haven of security.

BANG.

Harry, caught unawares, pitched over backward, his head striking the floor hard enough to make him see stars. He pushed himself up on his elbows, noting as he did so that the bus was bouncing over uneven ground instead of pavement. Craning his neck to see out the window, he caught a glimpse of wooded hillsides.

Moody struggled out of a tangle of spilled chairs, his scarred face more contorted and grotesque than ever. "Where in blazes are we?!" he roared.

Stan, who clung like a monkey to a candle bracket, swaying easily with the motion of the bus, looked startled by his vehemence. "Stoppin' for a passenger. We was flagged..."

"The hell you are!" Moody leapt to his feet so quickly that Stan swallowed his own words in shock. "Get us out of here, Prang, now!"

Another tremendous jolt spilled Harry onto his back again, and for a breathless moment, he thought that Ernie had obeyed Moody's order. Then there came yet another bang, and the bus slewed wildly, tilting over onto two wheels. Stan shouted a question that was lost in the howl of tortured metal, Moody swore viciously, and the chandelier hit the side of the bus in a tinkling, snapping cascade of noise. Harry found himself flattened against the bus window, with Draco sprawled on top of him and the ugly armchair pinning both of them to the glass.

A terrible roaring and shrieking filled Harry's ears. He could see nothing but a blur of green and brown flying by the window on one side and the bulk of Draco's chair on the other. Then, suddenly, the bus lurched to a halt and the rumble of the engine died.

There was a moment of breathless stillness, then something struck the upended bus a tremendous blow that shook it from end to end. Stan whimpered in fear. A window somewhere above Harry shattered, and glass fell in a glittering rain about him. From outside, he heard a shrill, savage voice give a scream of laughter. It was a woman's voice - a voice Harry had heard before in a dark and evil place. Draco stirred and tried to push himself upright.

Suddenly the armchair went flying, and Moody's face appeared, framed against the broken windows and the cloudy, grey sky above.

"Up! Move!"

The Auror grabbed the back of Draco's robe and hauled him bodily off of Harry. Harry scrambled up to stare around the wrecked interior in shock. The bus lay on its side, chairs and benches in tangled heaps against the windows, the chandelier smashed into a great pile of crystal shards and lumps of candle wax. One chair remained stuck stubbornly to the floor, held in place by Dumbledore's binding spell and now jutting comically from what had become the side of the bus. The two boxes sat neatly between its legs.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. The Headmaster wore his cold, dangerous look, and the eyes that peered at Harry over the tops of a crooked pair of spectacles had no light in them at all.

Harry swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and rasped out, "Yes, but what happened?"

"We're under attack. You boys stay with Professor Moody and do exactly as he says. Exactly as he says, Harry, do you understand? No heroics."

"I understand."

"I must see to our counterattack."

He did not give Harry time to ask what he meant but turned instantly away and scrambled over the spilled chairs to where Stan cowered with Ernie in the front of the bus.

Moody shoved Draco at Harry and growled, "Get your wand out, Potter, and keep track of Malfoy." The bus trembled under the force of another blast and nearly knocked Harry from his feet again. "We have to get out of this tin box."

Gripping his wand in one hand and Draco's arm in the other, Harry followed Moody toward the back of the bus. He could feel the tension building in Draco - in the rigidity of his arm and reluctance of his steps - and he pulled harder, urging him on faster, hoping to get him away from the bus before he came unglued again. He knew exactly what was bothering Draco. He had felt it himself, when he heard the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange howling with laughter. The noise, the confusion, the magic and madness filling the air... It was as if they had plunged back into the Pensieve, into Draco's memory of that night in the Giants' Dance, and even for Harry the effect was chilling.

Moody reached the rear window of the bus and turned to growl at Harry, "Don't stand there gawping! Cover your eyes."

Harry pulled Draco close, muffling the smaller boy's face in the hollow of his shoulder, then lifted his arm to protect his own face. In the next breath, he heard glass smashing, and a burst of power hit him hard enough to make him stagger.

"Come on, Potter, move!"

Harry dropped his arm to look. The rear window of the bus was gone. Moody straddled the empty frame, his wooden claw-foot dug into the churned-up dirt outside and his booted foot braced against a window frame on the wall-turned-floor of the bus. He held out a peremptory hand toward the boys. "Malfoy first."

Harry tried to push Draco forward, but at that moment, they heard another spell detonate, and Moody's face glowed green in the magical light. Draco recoiled, uttering a wordless growl of protest, and pressed himself back against Harry.

"Get him out here!" Moody hissed. Then he caught a glimpse of Draco's eyes, reading the mindless panic in them, and his anger died. With a muttered curse, he shot out his hand and grabbed the front of Draco's robe. "Sorry, boy, but we don't have time to be gentle."

One practiced heave, and Draco was through the window before he could resist. Moody dropped him unceremoniously on the ground, then reached back for Harry, who scrambled out as fast as he could manage, tearing his robe on the way.

The noise was much louder out here, and the burn of power in the air much stronger. Harry could now make out individual voices, including many that he knew, and he suddenly understood what Dumbledore had meant by "our counterattack." The Order had arrived to save them. Or to die with them.

"That's your mad Auntie Bella out there, boy," Moody remarked to Draco, as he hauled the Slytherin to his feet. "Your mum, too, I'd wager. Who else did they bring, eh? Just how badly do they want you?"

Draco gasped something unintelligible, writhing in Moody's grip. The old Auror shook him, none too gently, and snapped, "Quiet! Let me think." His magical eye flying in six directions at once, Moody muttered, "Stay behind the bus... head for the trees... Dumbledore will hold them, if we stay out of sight..."

A sudden, sickening wave of cold washed over them, choking off Moody's words and bringing Harry's heart up into his throat. All three of them froze, identical expressions of shock on their faces, as they each realized what new threat was upon them. Then Draco gave a breathless cry and tore himself out of Moody's grasp. He stumbled as he landed, put a hand to the ground for balance, and leapt to his feet, flinging himself toward the steep hill to their left and away from the creeping menace of the dementors.

"Draco!" Harry made a move to catch him, but the clinging despair of the dementors was upon him, blurring his vision, slowing his reflexes, and his fingers closed on empty air.

Draco did not slow his headlong pace at Harry's cry. He did not hesitate when Moody bellowed, "Not that way, you ruddy fool!" He simply fled in the one direction that took him farthest from the shouts, the flying spells and the terror of the dementors.

Without stopping to think of the risk he was taking or of Dumbledore's last instructions to him, Harry took off after Draco, running full tilt at the hillside. Draco was much quicker on his feet than Harry, but Harry's long legs served him well over such rough terrain, and he was gaining on the other boy when he heard an ominous crack from behind him. Halting in mid-stride, he turned to look back.

From this vantage point, he could see the battle spread out beneath him. The bus lay at the end of a long, dark furrow carved in the earth by its slide, its nose buried in rocky hillock. The air around it was thick with smoke and an evil, roiling darkness, shot with multi-colored light. In the unnatural shadows breathed out by the dementors, he could not discern faces, but he saw at least half a dozen cloaked and hooded figures that he took to be Death Eaters. Others, many with their heads bared and dressed in their everyday clothes - caught unawares by Dumbledore's summons, he guessed - tried to keep the Death Eaters away from the crippled Knight Bus. More than one silvery Patronus circled the battlefield, herding dementors into a clump away from the fray. A flash of red hair betrayed the presence of at least one Weasley. Purple sparks marked the place where Dumbledore fought. And a great, black dog bounded through the chaos to leap upon a startled Death Eater, teeth bared.

One cloaked figure stood at the rear of the bus, stooping over Professor Moody's still body. Harry watched, paralyzed with horror, as the Death Eater straightened and turned to face him. It took a step away from Moody, toward Harry, and his limbs abruptly thawed. Spinning away from the chilling sight of Moody lying sprawled in the grass, his face stained with blood, Harry took off up the hill after Draco again, his feet lightened by his panic 'til he practically flew.

It was the Giants' Dance happening all over again. Death Eaters, dementors, curses flying, Draco running with Harry beside him and a fate worse than death following close on his heels. But this time, Harry was flesh and blood and right there with Draco. When he grabbed Draco's arm to urge him onward, his fingers touched living flesh. When he shouted at Draco to run, the other boy heard him.

Harry heard a rushing sound from behind and risked a glance over his shoulder. The Death Eater was gliding up the hill without touching the ground, looking so much like a dementor that the breath caught in his throat at the sight. Would a Patronus stop it? Harry wondered. Then the figure raised it's wand and fired a jet of green fire into the hillside just ahead of Harry's feet. He lurched to a stop and fell back a step, dragging Draco with him. Taking a firm grip on his wand and his courage, he turned.

She stood a few paces below him on a wide, flat rock. In her sweeping black cloak, with the hood lying about her shoulders and her pale hair glowing even in the eerie darkness, she looked like a queen. Or an angel. Her face was very different from her son's, and yet the same, with clean, fine bones showing beneath porcelain skin and fine brows arched disdainfully above remote eyes. But the eyes were blue, not grey, and Harry had learned not to trust the pain he saw in them. Narcissa Malfoy might suffer for her son, but she would not protect him.

She did not look at Harry but kept her eyes fixed on Draco. Harry threw him a swift glance as well, wondering how he would react to his mother's nearness, and saw him staring intently at her with the blind look in his eyes that Harry had come to associate with extreme distress. Draco was either about to snap, or he was going to withdraw so deep into himself that no one would ever find him. Not even Harry.

Narcissa held out her hand to her son. "Come, Draco. It is time to go."

Harry felt Draco's posture shift as he oriented on his mother, but he did not move.

She continued to gaze at him, her outstretched hand steady, demanding, irresistible. "Enough of this foolishness. The game is over, Draco. Come."

Draco took a step toward her. Harry's fingers bit hard into his arm, holding him back, and he obeyed the unspoken signal as readily as he had his mother's command.

"Take your hands off of him," Narcissa said, her voice still calm and insistent, but her lips drawn back in a snarl as her eyes cut over to Harry's face for the briefest moment.

"No." Harry stared her between the eyes, willing her to turn her full attention on him. "He's not going anywhere with you."

"Be careful what you do, Potter. There's no Dumbledore here to protect you."

Fury, hot and pure, flared up in Harry, and he almost laughed aloud at the sense of power it gave him. "I'm not afraid of you! I stopped your husband without Dumbledore's help, and I'll stop you, too!"

Draco's blind, unknowing eyes moved from Narcissa's face to Harry's, then back again, and he ventured another step down the hillside. "Mother," he murmured.

Triumph burned in Narcissa's eyes, and she raised her hand toward Draco again. "I'm here. Come to me, Draco, and I'll take you away from this creature. I'll take you where he can never touch you again."

"To Voldemort?" Harry demanded. "To the dementors? Will you stand and watch while they suck out his soul?"

A hiss of rage escaped her, and she jerked up her wand to point at Harry's face. "Crucio!"

Harry lunged to one side, pulling Draco with him. But Draco, intent on his mother, only stumbled to his left, remaining stubbornly on his feet.

Harry saw it all happen with hideous clarity. He saw the curse burn the air, saw it strike Draco where he stood - in the exact spot that Harry had occupied half a second before - and saw it toss him through the air like a rag doll. Draco screamed as he fell, a dreadful, tearing, agonized scream that cut the thick air like a knife. Then he tumbled to the grass, his body drawing up into a helpless knot of pain. Harry stared at him in shock for the space of a breath, then he flung himself across the two feet that separated them, screaming Draco's name loudly enough to drown out the tortured sounds coming from the other boy's throat.

Just as he reached Draco, just as he lifted his shoulders from the grass and pulled him into his arms, Draco went suddenly limp. He lay brokenly across Harry's lap, his eyes closed, his face deathly white. Harry clutched him frantically to his chest and turned to glare at Narcissa.

She stood only a few paces away, her wand pointing straight up, and her face as ghastly pale as Draco's. "That was meant for you."

His lips worked for a moment, then he rasped out, "I know it."

As their gazes locked, and Harry read Draco's death in those implacable, despairing blue eyes, he came to an instantaneous decision. Once before he had hesitated. Once before he had thought that he did not have it in him to cause such excruciating pain to another human being, no matter what the circumstances. And the price for his hesitation had been Draco's hand. Well, Harry knew himself better now, and he knew that he would not ask Draco to pay for his weakness again.

In that cold, deadly place between one living, breathing moment and the next, Harry lifted his wand and spoke the forbidden word. And with all his hate, all his fear, all his gnawing guilt over what he had done to the person he loved most in this world behind it, the curse exploded out of him with terrible force.

"Crucio!"

The blast of green light struck Narcissa square in the chest and hurled her backward. Her scream of agony went through Draco like an electric shock, and he shuddered in Harry's arms, uttering a formless cry of his own. Harry sobbed as he pulled Draco's head tightly against him, muffling his cries in the front of his robe, and he began to rock back and forth helplessly, overcome by horror and a pain he could neither voice or ease.

Narcissa cried out again. Draco seemed to convulse in Harry's arms. Harry bowed his head and closed his eyes so that he didn't have to look at either of them.

"I'm sorry, Draco," he groaned, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

A shadow loomed suddenly over them, and a familiar voice growled, "Steady on, Potter."

"Professor Moody!" Harry's head snapped up, and he stared into the scarred, inhuman face of the old Auror. "You're alive!"

Moody afforded him only a fleeting glance with his normal eye, then he waved over another wizard who followed close behind him. Harry recognized the flapping black robes, like crows' wings, and the sour face of Professor Snape. But oddly enough, when Snape swooped down on Draco and took his face between his hands, peering fiercely at him, Harry felt only gratitude and relief.

"Get them up, Severus. We're sitting ducks out here in the open."

Snape gave no answer, simply nodded and lifted Draco out of Harry's suddenly nerveless arms. Then he turned and started down the hill, stepping past Narcissa's shuddering body without a glance. Harry pushed himself to his knees and scrambled over to where Narcissa lay.

From behind him, Moody said, "On your feet, Potter. Get back to the bus."

"I hit her with the Cruciatus Curse," Harry gasped. From this close, he could see the awareness and the agony in Narcissa's face. She looked up at him, and the silent accusation in her eyes cut viciously through him. "How do I turn it off?"

"I'll take care of it."

"But..."

"Go, Potter. Now."

Tearing his eyes away from Narcissa's with an inward shiver of horror, Harry climbed to his feet. He could see Snape moving down the hill, and beyond him, the Knight Bus now teetering precariously on two wheels. A couple of wizards and an enormous figure in a moleskin coat that could only be Hagrid struggled to hoist the three-decker monstrosity upright. More wizards, all with silvery Patronuses milling about them, kept four dementors at bay in a small copse of trees some distance from the bus. Harry could not see the main battle, but he could hear the sound of it drifting up from somewhere behind the next hill and guessed that Dumbledore's forces had driven the Death Eaters into a fighting retreat.

Harry started down the hill at a run, skidding on the damp grass and bruising his feet on hidden stones. He caught up to Snape at the bottom of hill, just as Remus Lupin, Sturgis Podmore and Hagrid succeeded in right the bus. It settled onto its wheels with a wail of protesting springs, and Hagrid patted it fondly on one scratched, dented purple panel. Remus turned to Stan and Ernie, who huddled together a few feet away, watching the salvage operation with slack disbelief in their faces.

"Back on the bus, please, Ernie. Stan. We need you and the boys out of here as quickly as possible."

Stan gaped at Remus, his mouth opening and closing like beached fish, then sucked in his breath and declared, "I soddin' well won't!"

Hagrid crossed to the Conductor in two strides, grabbed him by the front of his purple jacket, and threw him bodily up the steps. "Yeh'll do as yer told, Shunpike, and yeh'll get Harry teh Hogwarts in one piece." He shot one bristling glare at Ernie, and the driver scrambled for the door of the bus without a word.

Hagrid stepped back to allow Snape and Harry to enter, his eyes dwelling curiously on the inert bundle of pale hair and black fabric in Snape's arms. Then he climbed the steps behind them and crowded into the interior of the bus.

Snape crossed to Dumbledore's chair - the only object in the bus still upright and in its proper place - and knelt beside it to lower his burden to the floor. His gestures were careful, even gentle, but his expression was black with rage. Harry dropped to his knees by Draco's head and watched in blank disbelief as Snape unfastened his cloak and spread it over the small, huddled form between them. His hand did not quite linger on Draco's shoulder. His eyes did not exactly soften. But Harry felt the deep, welling pain in him and suddenly wished that he could say something to comfort him.

Before Harry could act on this reckless impulse, Snape whirled on Ernie, teeth bared in a feral snarl, and growled, "Get us out of here!"

The engine rumbled to life. The bus leapt forward, bouncing several breathless feet from the ground when Ernie hit a small hillock without slowing. A curse, fired from some Death Eater's wand, struck the window just above Harry's head and broke into yellow sparks against its smooth surface.

BANG.

Everything was quiet, at last.

To be continued...