Gingerbread House

Draco led Potter back through the halls to the room he had found. Potter stepped inside and snorted. "You opened my trunk?" he asked, his voice sounding faintly accusatory.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course, you idiot. I didn't know this room was yours until I did that." Potter flushed, but seemed to think better of commenting. Draco watched as the other boy walked across the room, and reached into the trunk. Pulling out both the invisibility cloak and the Firebolt, Potter paused. He shrunk the Firebolt with a modified charm.

"It's keyed to return to normal size with a command word," Potter explained at Draco's odd look. "Then if my wand is..."

"Otherwise engaged?" Draco offered wryly.

"Yes, if it's otherwise engaged, then I only have to say the command word and it'll return. Hermione developed it." Potter smiled slightly at the thought of the Mudblood, Draco scoffed.

Potter hummed slightly, and looked kneeled back down next to the trunk.

"What?"

Potter rummaged around to the bottom of the trunk a bit more. "Oh hell," Potter muttered.

"What?" Draco repeated, getting annoyed. Potter scowled over at Draco, who returned it with a sneer of his own.

"This was in there too," Potter finally replied, holding up a wand. It seemed identical to the wand in Potter's right hand.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Well, that is something," he muttered. No two wands were exactly alike, just as no two wizards were alike. He cocked his head slightly and stared at the replica of Potter's wand. "Try using it. Cast a light spell," Draco commanded, slightly curious.

Potter shot him a curious glance. "And why should I do anything you tell me to, Malfoy?"

"Because Potter, I'm the only one here with even half a brain," Draco shot back, irritated. "Just do it, will you?" Potter shook his head. "Look, I have a theory, all right?"

"What is it?" Potter asked.

"If I'm right, your wand won't work," Draco lied easily.

"Why do you think that?" Potter sounded actually curious. Draco idly wondered if this was how the Mudblood felt explaining things to Potter and the Weasel.

"Because no two wands are exactly alike. It may look like your wand, but it won't work like it," Draco replied honestly.

Potter shrugged, and held up the duplicate wand. "Lumos," he muttered. Rather than lighting up the tip of the wand, the entire room seemed to get darker. The wand was actually absorbing the light. "Finite Incantatum," Potter said, cutting off the spell. The light from Draco's wand brightened again, lighting up the room again. Potter seemed puzzled.

"It's a mirror effect," Draco finally explained, rolling his eyes. They'd never get anywhere if Potter didn't know what was going on.

"Sort of like Priori Incantatum?" Potter asked, staring at the two identical wands in his hands.

"How did you know about that?"

"Voldemort."

"Ah," Draco said. There just didn't seem to be an adequate reply to Potter's words. The other boy was staring at the floor, turning red. For once that flush of anger was rising, and not because of Draco. He wasn't quite sure what he thought of those turn of events. Draco could see Potter's hands gripping the wands tightly enough to make his knuckles turn white. Draco shook himself out of his thoughts. "We should get going, it's not safe to stay in one place for too long."

Potter nodded slightly before looking up at Draco. "This time I'll lead," he said, walking out of the room.

"Don't trust me, eh Potter?" Draco followed and smirked at the other boy. It was interesting to see how Potter had changed. Draco noticed that the other boy had started taking extra lessons in Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts in his fifth year. That on top of his normal classes, Quidditch, and the sheer biological need for sleep, had led to a slight rift between Mudblood Granger, Weasel and Potter. They were still all very good friends, but not as inseparable as they had been in previous years. Then, of course, had been the event in their Sixth year. The Weasel Junior had been kidnapped. Draco didn't know for sure, but he was fairly sure that his father had something to do with the kidnapping. Every time Draco had asked his father about it, Lucius had just glared and changed the topic.

Potter had gone out after the girl, sneaking out around the Weasel's parents, the Mudblood, the Werewolf, and even Dumbledore's watchful eyes. Draco would kill for the secret of how Potter had accomplished that little feat. He had returned nearly a week later, muddy, wet, dirty, and altogether disheveled, with an unconscious Weasel Junior in tow. Neither of them seemed hurt. Draco's father had been furious when he had found out. Potter had taken the Weasel Junior to the hospital ward, and immediately disappeared into Dumbledore's office, along with McGonagall, Snape, Lupin, and Lupin's obnoxious dog.

Potter was quieter, and seemed to have taken more of an interest in studying. Snape even had trouble finding things wrong with his Potions. He laughed a little less, and seemed to think a little more before rushing headlong into danger. That was what tended to make Draco so angry around Potter; the courageous Gryffindor seemed to have acquired an ounce of Slytherin cunning.

"Of course not, Malfoy. Who in their right mind would trust you?" Potter replied shortly. He had tucked the duplicate wand into his robe, and was holding his wand in his hand, still casting the light charm. Draco rolled his eyes.

"You'll need that before long, I'm sure," he pointed at Potter's wand. Potter gave him a strange look, but didn't respond. Draco idly wondered what safe place Potter was dreaming up for them to hole up in. "What room are you thinking of?" he finally asked.

"I'm thinking of the Headmaster's Office in Hogwarts," Potter replied distantly. A closer look in the dim light gave Draco the impression of intense concentration. Potter was squinting, his brow was furled, and Potter was biting his lower lip hard. Draco snorted.

"That's the safest place you can think of? Who would have thought that I could be even less impressed with you than I was before now?" Draco sneered.

"What then Malfoy? Got any better ideas?" Potter shot back, sounding annoyed.

"Of course I do, Potter. I'm a Malfoy, my ideas are inherently better than yours." Potter gave a snort of his own and glared at Draco, who continued and cut Potter off. "The safest place to be right now would be in the Malfoy Sanctuary."

"The what?" Potter sounded interested, despite himself. "Not that I'd let you take me there, Malfoy," he continued quickly.

Draco laughed at the other boy. "Like I would ever take you there, only members of the Malfoy family can gain entrance."

"Well, that's very helpful then Malfoy. And since you're being so nice and friendly, why don't you do me a favor and shut up so I can get us to the Headmaster's Office?"

"You're the one who wanted to team up, Potter, so take the bloody consequences," Draco hissed back, infuriated by Potter's implication.

"Draco! Harry!" The bell-like voice of one of the children stopped Potter from replying. Draco froze. "Have you gotten lost?" The word echoed through the dungeon walls. Lost...

"Oh shit," Draco muttered. Potter gave him a strange look.

"Are you completely sure they aren't children? They seemed perfectly normal to me," he pointed out.

"No Potter," Draco said slowly, pitching his voice as if he was talking to a child, "those are not children. That little thing physically dragged me to the dining room. And that little stunt asking me to sit down, oh, no child could do that." Potter cocked his head at Draco, and seemed to consider what he said seriously for the first time. "Just trust me on this Potter." In response, Potter sneered as if to tell Draco exactly what he thought of that particular statement. Draco sneered back. "We should put on the Invisibility Cloak and get out of here."

Potter looked at the cloak in his hands, and then back at Draco. "How do you propose to do that? Two people won't fit under the cloak."

Draco scowled. "I swear, Potter, you're far more rabbit than Wizard. Hold out the damn thing," Draco commanded. Potter eyed Draco, his brow furled suspiciously, before doing as Draco asked. Potter held the cloak so that the outside was facing Draco and half of Potter's body disappeared. "No, turn it around, I have to cast this on the inside of the cloak, idiot."

"What exactly will you be doing to my cloak, Malfoy?" Potter asked as he turned it around the right way.

Draco just smiled sweet and pointed his wand at the cloak. "Cresce," he growled, expanding the inside of the cloak so that it was a nice square.

"Malfoy, what the hell did you just do?" Potter asked again, with more anger in his voice.

"You really are quite the simpleton, aren't you, Potter? It was a simple expansion spell. Now your cloak will cover both of us without a problem. And I thought you were taking extra classes," Draco sneered.

Potter snorted. "My classes don't generally include the Dark Arts, Malfoy. Now if we're going to go, let's be on with it." Potter said impatiently, throwing the cloak over his shoulder and holding it open for Draco to join him underneath.

"Ha, Potter, shows what you know! That's a perfectly good spell!" Potter shot Draco a wry look. "Just because the Mudblood hasn't managed to teach it to you yet doesn't make it Dark, Potter." Potter snorted. "Oh, I don't know why I bother. You probably don't even know the true origins of Dark Magic, do you?"

Potter stopped dead, and looked over at Draco suspiciously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco rolled his eyes at the other boy, before grabbing his arm, and dragging him along. "It means, Potter, that you're an ignorant sod, and I don't know why the hell I'm helping you."

Potter growled, but kept walking without replying. He seemed to be studying Draco, who decided it might be wiser to not comment. He hated to admit it, but Potter was a good wizard, and Draco had a sneaking suspicion that he had been right in the ballroom: it would take both of them to get out. Draco hated relying on other people; it was the way he was brought up. Don't cry, take what you want, everyone else is beneath you, and most importantly: trust no one but a Malfoy.

It had taken Draco until his Sixth year in school to wonder about the hypocrisy of those words. Lucius himself seemed to contradict the Malfoy family motto: Existez Pour Régner Seulement. Exist only to rule. If ruling was suffering the Cruciatus Curse at Voldemort's hands, Draco was having none of it. He did love his family, and in the end, that was where Draco's loyalties lied. As much as he hated the way his family ruled his life, Draco couldn't imagine living any other way. It was sheer tradition; one day he'd be doing the same thing to his son. He loved his father, but hated the man he had chosen to serve. It was all so silly, a great big war started just because one man was pissed off that some stupid Muggle had abandoned him. It was all so... inelegant.

But besides his personal feelings on the matter, Draco did what he was told. Lucius, of course, rewarded him generously for this. Draco had made his feelings quite plain to his father on the matter, something that Lucius had respected him for. "There are more of them than there are of us, Father, and I think You-Know-Who is more apt to break us wide open into the Muggle World than anyone else. Quite a strange plan for someone who claims to hate them and remove the Wizarding World from them permanently," Draco had sneered to his father.

Lucius had laughed at that, long, hard, and rich. A laugh remarkably similar to Draco's own, a register lower, bass to tenor. "Perhaps, Draco, there is merit to what you say. But working for Voldemort has its own merits," Lucius had replied, setting his hand on Draco's head, "especially since you failed to get in Harry Potter's good graces."

"But Potter and his damned scar-"

"Language, Draco. A Malfoy is refined in all things; speech being one of the most important."

Draco had snorted in an unrefined manner at that. "As I was saying, Potter is impossible to get along with. He uses that scar to get away with anything and everything! I hate him!"

Lucius had looked at Draco long and hard, before finally letting his features purse into a scowl. "You'll do as your told, and be a Malfoy. You'll understand what's going on around you soon enough, boy."

"Draaaaaco," the sounds of his name echoing through the hallway brought Draco out of his reverie. It was the little girl calling. Draco grimaced. "Please come back!" Draco found himself stopping, much to Potter's surprise. He turned, and started to head back toward where the kitchen had been.

"Malfoy, you must be depriving some village of their idiot. Are you completely off your head?" Potter spat out. Draco tried to turn and reply insultingly, but he couldn't. He physically couldn't do anything but walk back towards the kitchen. "You nutter!" Potter grabbed Draco's arm, and found himself being dragged along with Draco. Draco felt his muscles tense as he tried to resist, to throw the pull of both the damned little girl and Potter. Nothing was working.

Some of his increasing panic must have communicated itself to Potter, who pulled out his wand and pointed it at Draco. "Petrificus Totalus!" Draco felt his body seize up, and fall to the ground. Potter sighed and shook his head at Draco. "What the hell am I supposed to do with you, Malfoy?" Draco, from his position on the floor, saw Potter close his eyes and think. Potter sighed again, and Draco found himself wishing for the ability to talk, if only so he could hex the stupidity out of Potter. Especially after that village idiot comment. "Mobilicorpus," Potter commanded. Draco felt his body lighten, and start floating behind Potter as the other boy strode to the closest door. Potter took a deep breath, put his left hand on the door, and threw it open.

Draco floated into a large circular room. There was a table in the middle covered with lots of odd and in a few instances, smoking objects. The walls were covered with portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts, only four of which Draco recognized: Dippet, the Headmaster during Tom Riddle's time at Hogwarts, and of course, the four Hogwarts founders. In addition to the table was a large desk with clawed feet and a shelf that held a jeweled sword and the Sorting Hat. Potter floated Draco towards one of the two chairs in the room, and arranged him manually so that Draco was sitting. "Finite Incantatum," Potter said as soon as Draco was settled. He gestured with his wand hand around the room. "It's the Headmaster's Office."

"I figured that out on my own, Potter, thanks," Draco spit back. "Hey! I'm not being controlled anymore!" In spite of himself, Draco found himself giving Potter a relieved smile. Potter reflexively smiled back, and Draco realized what he was doing. He wiped the expression off his face, and replaced it with his habitual sneer.

Potter seemed startled by the abrupt change. "Controlled?"

"That thing! The thing you insisted was a little girl. Somehow she has the ability to control me through her words," Draco answered, rubbing his forehead. He felt a rather nasty headache coming on.

"What," Potter asked, pulling up a chair next to Draco, "like Imperius?"

Draco shook his head and then winced, immediately regretted the action as pains starting shooting through his temples. "No, I can throw off Imperius."

Underneath his massaging hand, Draco could see Potter's eyebrows rise nearly to the level of his hairline. "Then, Mr. Dark Arts Expert, what was it?"

Draco scowled at him, annoyed both at the appellation and the answer. "I don't know," he growled softly.

Potter smiled as if his birthday and Christmas had come both early and together. "What was that Malfoy? I didn't quite catch it!"

"I don't know," Draco shouted, standing up. He swayed as his head burst into more pain, and let his legs collapse and send him back into the chair. His vision blurred, and he felt Potter's hand on his head.

"Doleo Decessus," Draco heard Potter say and the pain immediately stopped. The other boy was wearing a concerned expression and still had one hand on Draco's forehead. "Are you all right, Malfoy?"

Draco snorted, and threw off Potter's hand and concern. "What do you think you're doing, Potter?"

As expected, the red flush started almost immediately. "Who the fuck do you think you are, Malfoy?" Potter shouted.

Draco laughed, honestly amused by the question. He stood up, eye to eye with Potter, and gave the other boy the most honest and genuine smile he could. Potter seemed confused by the tactic; he had most likely been expecting an insult, a hex, or even a physical blow. "Just that, Potter. I'm Draco Malfoy."

Potter sat down with a thud. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked in a bemused sort of voice.

"Whatever you think it means, Potter," Draco said plainly. He walked over and investigated the sword. It glistened sliver in the light, and the hilt was covered in rubies. "Dumbledore has the sword of Godric Gryffindor?" Draco asked in disbelief. He turned and took in Potter's smug expression.

"I pulled that out of the Sorting Hat in my second year while I was in the Chamber of Secrets."

Draco reached out to touch the sword reverently. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you Potter?" The other boy snorted. "So, Potter, have any theories on what those two things are, how they controlled me, why they can't seem to control you despite the fact that you, like the trusting idiot you are, ate their food, and most importantly, how to get out of this hell hole?"

Potter tapped his fingers on the chair. "Well, it seems like this place, at least, is safe. Why not just stay here until someone rescues us?"

"Ah, that eternal Gryffindor optimism. My god Potter, you are certainly a fountain of the trite and unnecessary."

"Oh, shut up Malfoy," Potter shot back crossly. He stood and walked over to stand next to Draco. Potter grabbed the sword and pulled it off the wall.

"Can you use that thing?"

"Yes, Professor Snape has been teaching me."

"Snape knows how to fence?" Draco was astonished. His father had taught him many sword forms, but Draco was growing rusty at Hogwarts, no one to practice with. Potter just grinned and turned to the desk. He grabbed a piece of paper and transfigured it into a sheath and belt. He slid Gryffindor's sword into the sheath slowly, the metal of the blade scraping. Potter's eyes seemed to be gleaming behind his old and taped glasses. Draco shook himself out of his trance. "I take it you have no ideas either then." He sighed. "We'll just have to go back out there and try and explore."

Potter's eyebrows rose in surprise. "And I thought that courage was a Gryffindor trait," he said sly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, you misheard the Sorting Hat our first year, Gryffindors are known for the fact that they all are missing brains." To his surprise, Potter laughed.

"That does seem to be the common opinion," he slapped Draco on the back. "Well, if we're going, the sooner the better, I'd say." He examined Draco closely. "Maybe you better stay behind me until we figure out exactly what those things are?" Potter offered tentatively.

Draco scowled back at him, but understood Potter's point. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but in this scenario, he was the weak link. "What makes you so special, Potter? Why are you able to resist?" Draco asked, not allowing the frustration and anger he felt enter his voice. The time for arguing was past. He'd just have to learn to trust the other boy, and Draco detested the very thought.

Potter looked down at his hand, which he had lightly rested on the hilt of Gryffindor's sword. "I don't know, Malfoy. I really don't know," he said quietly, sounding rather sad. Potter abruptly scowled, and turned away. "Let's go," he said shortly, heading towards the door.

Draco followed, a little bemused. What exactly could Perfect Potter be sad about? Well, other than the repeated assassination attempts, but Draco had always firmly believed that those least that added a spice to the variety of his life. Potter had friends, acclamation, position, and some modicum of intelligence even if he did tend to not use it. From what Draco knew of the Potter line, he came from a long line of respected Purebloods, Potter's mother being one notable exception, and his estate, when land, bonds, and money in both the Wizarding and Muggle Worlds combined, nearly rivaled the Malfoy fortune. It was infuriating the way Potter had everything. Women, and in some cases, men threw themselves at the boy. He wasn't unattractive either, just tousled and rumpled. And the worst thing of all was the way he was able to foil Draco in everyway, better him, best him, beat him, and be so damn self-righteous and smug about it all the while. The Boy Who Didn't Have A Care In The World.

Draco sneered at Potter's back, holding his wand in the ready position as they exited the room. "The cloak, Potter." Potter turned to Draco with a puzzled expression and Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, how did you survive all those attempts on your life? Accio Invisibility Cloak," he said firmly, the cloak flying into his hands. Draco wrapped it around himself with a smirk, and held a open end out to Potter who joined him.

Once wrapped in the cloak, the pair started walking again. They were nearly side-by-side, Draco just a hair behind Potter. Both had their wands raised. Draco was thankful that it seemed neither of the children were nearby, and Draco couldn't hear their voices. "Potter?" Potter's head turned towards Draco, but neither stopped walking. "What's wrong?"

"Well, I'm stuck in a trap, the trap contains at least three beings of unknown origin that probably mean us bodily harm, Voldemort is after my head, and I'm stuck in here with you, Malfoy. What could possibly be wrong?" Potter sounded vaguely amused by the question. All sadness or worry seemed to have evaporated from his body and he was back to being the stupid git that Draco hated. Draco scowled, more at himself than Potter. What was he thinking, getting worried about Potter? He'd faced down Voldemort and won, let alone lived. Potter could dammed well take care of himself.

Draco wrenched his gaze away from Potter, and tried to concentrate on their surroundings. Potter had led them right back into the main hallway. "Should we check the doors?" he asked, his whispering breath falling on Potter's neck.

"Probably," Potter replied. He didn't bother to whisper.

"Shhh!" Draco admonished him, frantically looking around. "Do you want their attention on us, you pillock?"

Potter sighed. "Sorry," this time it came out as a whisper. Draco found himself rather surprised that Potter even bothered to apologize. It seemed out of character for him. In fact, the way he'd been acting since the Headmaster's Office seemed out of character. It was most disturbing. "Let's try that one first," Potter pointed to the door next to the one they had exited. Potter grabbed the handle, looked once at Draco, and threw open the door. Draco had his wand out and a punishing hex on his lips. "Oh hell," Potter moaned as he got a good look at the room.

Draco peered around him. The room led outdoors. It was night, and Draco could make out a dark and rather overgrown graveyard. There was a small church to the right, beyond a yew tree, and a dark and foreboding house on the hillside nearby. "Do you know this place, Potter?" Draco asked.

Potter gulped, and stepped inside the room. Draco followed and shut the door behind them. Potter pointed to the house in the distance. "That's the Riddle house," he stated flatly. "This is where Voldemort revived himself in our Fourth year."

"Oh hell, indeed."

Potter laughed, an hysterical touch to it. "I think we should move on, Draco."

Draco nodded, too disturbed by the scenery and Potter's reaction to it to question Potter's slip of the tongue. "For once, Potter, I agree with you."

Both boys turned around and headed back towards the door.

"Leaving so soon, Harry? You just got here," a cold, raspy voice asked from behind them. Draco thought it sounded familiar, but couldn't place it. Potter stiffened in front of him, and both slowly turned around. "Why don't you take the Cloak off, Harry. We're all friends here."

Cedric Diggory, pale, cold, and rotting, stood behind them.

Author's Notes:

Cresce: this is "grow!" as an imperative verb in Latin.

Doleo Decessus: roughly means "pain desist," in Latin. Think of it as a bit like Wizarding aspirin, I suppose.