Eclipse

Chapter 14

Strategy and Sacrifice

*********

Harry stared. He was still standing ankle-deep in the stream, gripping Draco's wrists, staring at Draco's dirt-smudged and blood-smeared face, trying to process what he was hearing. It couldn't be true! Draco wouldn't have kept something like that from him. It was all some practical joke, or maybe he was hallucinating.

But Draco's wrists were solid under his fingers; this was no hallucination. And judging by the spooked look in Draco's eyes and the lines of tension drawn across his face, this was no joke.

I'm going to die? His question echoed in his mind, over and over. He wasn't even sure he'd said it aloud.

Draco stared back at him, seemingly struggling with his own thoughts. Finally, Draco's head fell forward against his shoulder. Something warm and wet - Draco's blood, Harry realized - was soaking through his shirt. Draco's muffled voice was close in his ear.

"I don't know, Harry. I don't know."

Draco's words crashed through his consciousness like shattering glass. The world seemed to be spinning around him. This was too unbelievable. Harry felt his throat squeezing in on itself and his heart thudding unevenly in his chest as the implications sunk in.

Three days? I've... I've only got three days? No... this is impossible... Voldemort can't touch me here. We escaped. I'm safe... Draco would have told me if there was something... I won't believe it... my God... three days...

Harry released his grip on Draco's wrists and took an unsteady step backwards, then another. He briefly caught the helpless look on Draco's face, which was now streaked with tears as well as blood and dirt, before he turned and started walking away. The earth was rocking beneath him with each step as he climbed out of the shallow stream and onto dry ground.

"He has my blood," Harry mumbled to himself, trying to process what he knew. "My blood. That's what he needs for the potion. He has my blood. Three days. I'm going to die in three days..."

The world hazed out for a moment, and he fell to his knees.

"Harry!" There was the sound of Draco splashing after him through the stream, and the muffled thud of footsteps on soft earth.

"I... I'm going to die," he said again. It didn't even feel like the words were coming from his mouth. He suddenly felt very cold, and pitched forward as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He caught himself with his hands, and braced himself on all-fours, unable to move, although he felt like he might fall sideways as the ground kept rocking and swaying beneath him.

Draco's hands were on his shoulders, steadying him enough to prevent him from tipping sideways, or completely collapsing; they were the only thing holding him up.

"Harry! Listen, can you hear me? Come on, Harry, talk to me!"

"I..." He shook his head. He could hear Draco, but he couldn't seem to make himself respond. The revelation had been an almost physical blow, and he was still reeling.

"Harry, sit up and look at me."

The direct command didn't reach through to his brain, but it must have reached his body. With Draco's help, he sat back on his feet and was able to look into Draco's face. As he made eye contact, the numbness that had wrapped around him thinned. He noticed how tightly Draco was gripping his shoulders, and how Draco's hands were still shaking, regardless of the iron grip. Draco was scared. And now, Harry was terrified.

"I... I don't want to die." Nothing else was piercing his thoughts except the basic human instinct of self-preservation. The raw emotion congealed into a tight knot in his throat. Hot pressure built behind his eyes, but there were no tears as he choked out a sob. "I don't want to die!"

If anything, Draco's fingers dug even deeper into his muscle. "You're not going to die, Harry!"

"But you... you just said... Voldemort has my blood. We... we can't... stop him... stop it...."

"We'll think of something, Harry!" Draco shook him once. "Or Snape and Dumbledore will! That's why I sent Biddy ahead of us! So she could warn them, and they could start working on a solution!"

Through the shaking, both from Draco's hands, and from his own reeling emotions, Harry let a choked laugh force itself through. "So that's why you were in such a rush to get home. Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He buried his face in his hands, and pushed his fingers under his glasses to rub his eyes.

Harry could feel Draco tense suddenly, an instant before he released Harry's shoulders. "I... don't have a good explanation. I had no right to keep that from you. I... I should have told you sooner."

Harry looked through his fingers. Draco was hunched over, leaning his forehead heavily on his hand. It looked like he was carrying the weight of the world. How dare Draco look so burdened when it was Harry's life slipping away with each passing second! Harry's whirling emotions shifted as anger edged its way in. Half of him knew that Draco was upset and confused, but the other half of him was furious at Draco's weakness, keeping things this important from him. People had kept things from him so many times, and when they did that people got hurt. People died. And now, Harry's life was next in line. The fury suddenly surged.

"Fucking right, you should have told me sooner!" He balled his fists at his sides, not intending to strike, but simply out of the need to grip something. Still, he was pleased to see Draco shrink back a bit at the intimidating gesture.

Draco eyed Harry's fists nervously for a split second before making tentative eye contact. "I tried to tell you... I did. You stopped me, and I didn't push the issue. I just didn't want to deal with it, and... I should have told you sooner," he said again, weaker this time. He turned away.

"And why the hell didn't you?" Harry snarled. "Who cares what I said? Whether I told you not to? You should have known I wouldn't have meant not to tell me something like that! I don't care if it's a good explanation or not! I want to know what sort of nonsense was going through that thick Slytherin skull of yours!"

Draco tried to meet Harry's eyes again, but his head fell. "I... I guess I thought there was time. We'd get back to Hogwarts, and Snape would figure out something. He's good at that. I... thought that if I didn't tell you right away, you wouldn't be scared."

"Nice plan," Harry bit out angrily. Part of him felt bad when Draco flinched, but another part of him was beyond caring.

"I hadn't planned it that way, Harry." He smashed his face harder into his hands. Blood was still trickling down his upper lip from his nose, and he certainly wasn't helping by continuing to abuse it, but he didn't seem to care. "I hadn't planned anything. At least, nothing that worked."

It sounded like he might be crying, but Harry couldn't see his face, and he really didn't care at that point. Harry was too upset - either angry, scared, frantic, or all three - to know how to reply, so he let Draco talk.

"I had planned to use that Portkey thing to get back to Hogwarts, but Biddy couldn't find it. I had planned to get us out of the dungeon before Voldemort took your blood, but I had no idea he'd come for you that early. We were supposed to walk as fast as we could back to Hogwarts, but we kept stopping for different things." A deep shudder ran through his shoulders. "I was going to tell you right away, when we escaped, but you were so weak. And then we were running from the Death Eaters, and I didn't want to worry you more. I didn't want to think about it either, because I didn't want to think about what he might have done to... to my mother... I couldn't talk about it, because talking about it would make it real. And then... things were actually nice. And I didn't want... I was afraid to risk ruining that."

He pounded his fist against his thigh. "I ruined everything. It's all my fault. I waited too long, and we might not get back in time." He hit himself again. "There might be nothing they can do even if we do get back. And my father is going to die, and you're going to die, and the Dark Lord is going to get me too! And it's all my fault!"

Suddenly, Draco was striking himself over and over again, pounding his fists against his legs furiously. "How could I do this?! It's my fault! So fucking stupid! All my fault!"

The sight spurred Harry into action. He was still angry at Draco, but the sight of his companion beating himself up wasn't something he could deal with just then. "Draco, stop! Hurting yourself isn't going to do any good!" After a few unsuccessful attempts, he managed to catch Draco's hands and stop him from hitting himself anymore.

"Nothing is going to do any good!" Draco cried as he struggled half-heartedly against Harry's grip. "Don't you get it?"

Seeing Draco struggling and yelling brought Harry just a little bit back to himself. He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to think. Draco seemed to be starting to panic now, and one of them had to think clearly. There was still time. They could still make it through this.

"Well, we can still get back in time, right? You were telling me that just a minute ago. We'll just get back to Hogwarts, and Snape will have the antidote, and everything will be fine!"

Harry felt like he was grasping at straws, but he was hoping that Draco would provide a scrap of assurance. Some sign of determination and certainty that Harry was not going to die. Right now, Harry needed to hear that from someone else. However, when Draco didn't answer him immediately, he felt a sensation like a shard of ice through his gut. "Draco?"

"I... it's just that my... I don't know how much farther we have to go, Harry. We had over a hundred miles, in a straight line. We didn't walk a straight line. You know, mountains, valleys, rivers. And then, we kept stopping. I... I have no idea how much farther."

"We can make it," Harry said, trying to sound sure of himself, but failing. "We just have to start walking, and keep walking. Or running. And Snape will be able to brew the antidote, and it will all be over."

Again, Draco didn't answer. Harry's heart caught. "He will, won't he?"

When Draco finally made eye contact again, he had the most bleak, helpless expression Harry had ever seen.

"There is no antidote, Harry."

"What?"

Draco swallowed visibly. "No antidote. No counter-curse. I had the book. The original script on the Soul's Eclipse potion. My father had me studying it because I was supposed to assist in brewing it for You-Know-Who. I memorized that section of the book backwards and forwards, Harry. There was nothing in it about counteracting this sort of thing. If we get to Hogwarts on time, we can only hope that Biddy got the message to Dumbledore, and that Snape has been working on possible antidotes and counter-curses while we've been travelling."

Harry remembered learning about earthquakes in school as a child, and how aftershocks were often as bad as or worse than the initial quake. This secondary revelation took his already abused emotions and pushed them completely over the edge. The world became nothing but a great numbness around him, where all he could feel was his tight and shallow breath in his chest, and everything looked hazy, as through a thick fog. He barely heard himself speaking, as if from a great distance. "Would Snape know much about this potion? Enough to work on a counter-curse or antidote?"

"Snape knows about every potion." Draco made an attempt at a smile, and failed miserably.

Harry could only respond with a dry whisper. "Why do I want to believe you, but I can't?"

Draco froze for a second. He sucked in his lower lip and pinched it with his teeth, as if holding back his words until he was sure of what he wanted to say. Finally, he leaned forward and placed his hands solidly on Harry's shoulders.

"I made a promise to you that I was going to get you home. I meant that. Possibly more than I've ever meant anything. And damn it, Potter, if I have to pawn my soul to the shadows of hell, I'll get you home alive, and I'll make sure you live long enough that I can finally beat you at Quidditch."

Through the numbness, Harry realized that was supposed to be amusing. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

"I don't know... Did it work?"

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but he had no words. He was so far beyond coherent thought that he didn't know how to answer that, but if he let himself think or feel, he'd break. He couldn't think, he couldn't feel... but he could do.

"We need to move." He scrambled to his feet. "We need to move now."

Without pausing, he took off at a stride into the woods in the direction Draco had been running only moments ago. His heart was beating loudly in his ears, and his rapid breath added to the frantic sense of purpose that was suddenly driving him forward. Behind him, he heard Draco's footsteps rustling the grasses.

"Ouch! Wait, Harry, I'm coming!"

Draco caught up with him, walking with an awkward gait, and kept pace for a moment before suddenly stopping. "Harry?"

"What?"

"Are we going the right way?"

Harry's eyes went wide, and he quickly grabbed his wand. "Point me!" He waited for the wand to stop spinning. He suppressed a groan at the results, and pointed to the left. "That way."

Draco didn't even bother to comment. He just nodded in concession and said softly, "Lead the way."

As Harry tore off through the underbrush as fast as he could without actually running, his mind was a whirl of thoughts and emotions. He couldn't think straight, but he didn't need to. All he needed to do was to get home.

*********

Harry lost track of time. The landscape became a blur around him as he led the way through thick patches of trees, through small valleys, around hills, over ridges, and across more of the spidery waterways that criss-crossed the terrain. They were halfway up a small ridge when Draco called out from behind him.

"Harry! Hold up for a minute!"

Harry paused and turned to see Draco struggling a ways behind him, trying to catch up. He was a bit out of breath - they both were, actually - but Harry had so much pure adrenaline running in his veins that he hardly noticed. He shook his head. "Can't stop... not enough time."

Draco finally caught up with him. "Harry, if you don't stop and at least drink some water, you're going to kill yourself before we can get home! Now stop and be reasonable!" He pulled the flask from his hip pocket and tapped it with his wand.

"I don't want to drink anything. My stomach feels funny."

Draco shoved the flask into his hands. "Drink it."

Not wanting to waste extra time arguing, Harry accepted the flask and downed it in one go. He handed it back to Draco, who refilled it and drank some himself a bit more slowly. He paused for a breath and gave Harry a sharp look. "Now you need to eat something."

"Forget it. The last thing I need right now is for you to start acting like a mother hen."

Draco lowered the flask from his mouth and swallowed. "Maybe that's exactly what you need right now," he snapped as he brushed a dribble of water from his chin with the back of his hand. "Do you know what time it is?"

"No. I just know that we're wasting time talking when we could be moving."

"Harry, it has to be mid-afternoon! It feels like we've been walking for at least three hours! If you can call that half-run thing you're doing 'walking'. I could barely keep up with you! And if it hasn't been three hours, we've surely covered that much ground, at the rate you've been going!"

"I wasn't going that fast."

Draco only scowled in reply.

"Why didn't you say something?" Harry asked flatly.

Draco's scowl turned into a disapproving frown. "Considering how badly you reacted to a damn water break, I don't even want to think about how bad you would have been if I'd told you to actually slow down."

Something in Draco's tone of voice left Harry feeling suddenly deflated. With a weary sigh that felt more like a groan, he leaned back heavily against a tree and sagged to the ground. It was only then that he noticed his legs felt shaky and weak from the exertion, and now his head was spinning with the sudden loss of momentum. "I didn't know what else to do," he murmured, feeling a bit dazed. "Just needed to move."

Draco looked down at him sadly, then lowered himself to the ground with a pained grunt. "And do you intend to walk all night?"

"If I have to, yes."

Draco shook his head. "You need to stop sometime."

"Yeah, when I get to Hogwarts."

That earned a deep sigh from Draco. "At least eat something. There are still a few chocolate biscuits left. Come on, just one." He reached out and laid a biscuit softly on Harry's knee.

Tentatively, as if afraid it was going to burn him, Harry picked up the biscuit and took a small nibble. The mere reminder of the existence of food must have been all that his stomach needed, because he was rewarded by a loud hungry growl from his gut.

"See?" Draco pointed at Harry's stomach. "It agrees with me."

The hint of humour was enough to crack the thin shell Harry had been trying to maintain around himself all day. He let out a sound that was half-howl, half-cry. "How can I be eating at a time like this?"

Draco seemed stunned at the sudden outburst. "Harry?"

"Here I am, in the middle of nowhere, with three days to live, and I'm sitting here eating a damn biscuit!"

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "Well, you could be eating a sandwich. You probably should. You'll need the energy."

"That's not the bloody point!"

"Harry," Draco said uncertainly, "would you... I mean... what is the point, then?"

Harry stared at Draco's pained expression, and suddenly, it felt like a dam was breaking, and everything needed to flood out all at once. "It's happening AGAIN! Voldemort is trying to kill me again! And this time, I can't fight it; I can't stop it! What am I supposed to do? Just sit here, and wait for time to run out?! I can't take this!" He slammed his closed fist backwards against the tree trunk behind him, and felt the rough bark abrade his skin.

A deep shudder ripped through him. "How can I be sitting still, even for a minute, when every minute might make the difference between... between him beating me or not! I can't stop! I need to move, or fight, or anything! But I need to be doing something!"

"You're doing everything you can, Harry! But you can't let yourself collapse because you were going like a bat out of hell and didn't bother to eat or drink! You'll kill yourself if you do that!"

Harry stopped cold, on the edge of continuing to rant, eyes locked with Draco's. He was breathing hard, as if he'd been running again. His voice was thin as he spoke. "Better to kill myself than let Voldemort do it."

Draco shrank back a bit. "Don't talk like that, Harry."

"WHY NOT?" Harry blurted out, feeling a bit hysterical. "Why the bloody hell not?"

He scrambled to his feet and began pacing frantically. "I will not let him have me, Draco! He's taken too much from me, but he's not going to take me. And I'm not going to go down without a fight!"

"I never suggested that."

"Then what would you suggest I do? If you're the fucking expert, then tell me what the hell should I do?"

"Harry, listen, you're working yourself into a frenzy!"

"TOO LATE! Ha! It's too late. It's always too fucking late!"

"We have three days," Draco said, his voice thick with emotion tangled with attempted rationality. "A lot can happen in three days!"

"Like what?" Harry bit out darkly.

Draco began twisting the cuff of his sleeve between his fingers as he spoke, betraying his nervousness. Harry couldn't care less if Draco was nervous. "Well," Draco began, "we could get home, and Snape might already have something ready for you -"

"That's if we get home, Draco! And you already said there's no countercurse, so chances are that Snape. Has. Nothing."

"Snape is the best Potions Master in Britain! If anyone can -"

"Snape hates me as much as he hated my father, and even if he could help me, he'd probably be just as happy to pretend he can't anyway!" Harry squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. He could feel his emotions rise to a hot, fevered pitch, but he fought to keep it under control. The one man who would likely be the most capable of saving him probably didn't personally give a damn if Harry lived or died. How convenient for Snape, and how disgustingly ironic for me. I'm on my own again. I'm always on my own. His seething inner monologue was interrupted by Draco's voice.

"Maybe something will stop You-Know-Who, Harry. He might -"

Harry could almost feel something inside him snap. He raised his foot and brought it down with a heavy thud on a small flower. "I'm the only one who can stop Voldemort, or so they tell me. You know what? You want to know something? I should be fighting him, instead of running from him! Ha! Maybe I can stop him myself! That's it! We'll sneak into his fortress, and I'll suffocate him with a pillow! Or maybe I can challenge him to an arm-wrestling match! Two out of three, winner takes all. Oh yeah, that's sure to work! Because it'll be so bloody easy to stop him!"

"Now that's just the stupid sort of thing I would expect a Gryffindor to say!" Draco bit out, trying not to be verbally overrun. "I think I could actually picture you trying an asinine stunt like that! Come on, Harry! Be reasonable!"

Harry stopped cold. "You want 'reasonable'? Fine." Without hesitation, he reached up to his neck, and pulled the Mislocator out of his shirt by the cord. "Maybe I should just let him have me," he whispered harshly. "Give you back the Mislocator, and tell you to run. And then I can fight him. I might win. He can't kill me if I kill him first." He started pacing again.

Draco's eyes went wide. "Wait, that's not what I meant! I -"

"Why not?" Harry's voice was almost deadly calm. "I could kill him. I might win. I've won before."

"Harry, listen -"

"No! You listen! It's supposed to be either him or me, right? It's always gotta be me. I can't ever get a fucking break. Maybe if I'm dead, I'll get a chance to rest. Heh. It should have happened long ago. Fuck, the past fifteen years have all been borrowed time, so why not? WHY NOT? I'll go out with a bang! It ought to be a hoot!"

"You're talking crazy!"

Harry paused just long enough to shoot a glare at Draco. "No, Draco, I'm talking perfectly sane; it's everything around me that's going crazy. But that's nothing new. I should be used to this by now, right? A different near-death experience every year. This is just the next heart-stopping episode in the adventure of my life."

"Will you just stop for a minute and -"

"Don't you understand? I've nearly died every fucking year since I was eleven years old, Draco! And now it's happening again! My first year, it was Voldemort himself. And my second year, that swordfight with the basilisk. Third year, it was Dementors. Nothing quite like having your soul almost sucked out, right?"

"Harry -"

"Oh, and this is even better... fourth year, I duelled with Voldemort. A real duel! He used Avada Kedavra! The only reason it didn't kill me was because we have brother wands! But I got to watch him kill Cedric. Oh yeah, that was wonderful. And fifth year... at the Ministry... it was him, and the Death Eaters..."

He paused in front of an oak tree, raised his fist like a hammer, and pounded his fist into the trunk. "Every time, it could have been prevented, but someone had to lie to me, every fucking time!" He struck the tree again and growled angrily when the tree didn't flinch. "People tell me they're trying to protect me, and they end up almost killing me! Well, maybe this time it'll happen!"

Harry spun around and began pacing again, but as he strode by his seated companion, Draco caught the edge of his shirt, pulled him to a halt, and spun him around. "SIT!"

Caught off guard by Draco's direct order, Harry felt like someone had flipped an off-switch on him. He let his legs collapse beneath him, and flopped down awkwardly. "Er...?"

Draco fixed him with a pointed stare. "We are not going to let him get you. And you are not going to kill yourself... which includes suicidal behaviour like taking off that Mislocator. And put that thing back on!"

Harry fumbled to obey, and quickly tucked the strange device back into his shirt.

Draco nodded approvingly. "That's much better." His expression seemed calm and in control, but his posture was hunched over, small and scared.

It only took Harry an instant to figure out that Draco's expression was just a mask; his posture belied the truth. Inside, Harry could feel his own emotions shift again; this time, they went from frenzied dread to cold fear. His stomach felt sick. "But... it's not better, is it?"

Draco's mask crumbled for an instant, but he quickly restored it. "It will be. It will be fine."

Harry shook his head, trying to reconcile his uncertainty with Draco's attempted reassurance. Finally, his most ominous worry forced its way into words. "Draco... what if we don't make it back?"

"We will."

"WHAT IF WE DON'T?" Harry grabbed a fistful of grass in each hand and ripped them up by the roots. "Do we have any plans? Is there anything we can do?"

He looked at Draco, hoping with every fibre of his being that Draco had an answer. Any answer.

Draco looked away and chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "I... thought I had an idea... but it's nothing. I started gathering some stuff... all those plants I kept looking for... but it's not important. It wouldn't work. You're right, we should be moving. Snape will have everything we need back at Hogwarts, and I know we'll get there."

He stood a bit unsteadily - Harry supposed it was because he was tired - and indicated for Harry to stand. "After you," he said with a wave of his hand.

Feeling much more tired than he had before they'd stopped, Harry got to his feet, quickly checked the direction with his wand, and started walking again. He'd only gone a few steps, however, when he heard a pained cry behind him.

"OUCH!"

Harry spun around to see Draco bent over double, grasping his ankle. He was muttering a stream of curses and shaking his head.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" came the sharp reply. "Damned inconvenience is all."

Harry scowled and walked back to Draco, who still wasn't looking up at him. "What did you do to it?"

"I was stupid, that's what." He was testing his weight on it and wincing as he did so.

"Draco..." Harry said, trying to put some menace in his voice.

Draco grumbled something under his breath, spared Harry a glance out of the corner of his eye, and looked away again. "Must have been this morning, while I was running. I... stepped in a hole. Think I twisted it."

Harry frowned. "But you've been walking on it all afternoon."

Draco finally glared up at Harry. "Brilliant observation, Galileo! And it's been hurting like hell all afternoon, too!"

"Then... why now?"

Draco looked back down at his ankle again. "Probably stiffened up while we were sitting." He straightened up and slowly eased his weight onto it. "It's fine. Once we get moving, it'll probably loosen up again. We ought to get moving. Just... maybe not quite so fast this time."

Harry nodded uneasily, but turned to walk away again. An instant later, there was a howl of pain behind him, and the sound of Draco falling to the ground. Harry spun around to find Draco lying on his side, half-curled up. He was holding his ankle with both hands, eyes squeezed shut as he swore loudly.

Harry was beside him in an instant. "I thought you said it was fine!"

"So I lied!" Draco snarled.

"Let me see it," Harry demanded as he reached for Draco's shoe, but Draco pulled away.

"Don't touch it! Aaaah, fuck fuck fuck!" He gritted his teeth tightly, shook his head a few times, and took a slow, laboured breath. "I think I tore something."

Harry's face fell. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?!"

Before Draco could protest, Harry reached for Draco's ankle. Draco twisted out of his reach. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Helping you, I think!" Harry snapped back at him. "But I'm not sure - I didn't get far enough into the process to know!"

"I said don't touch it! It hurts."

Harry only hesitated for a split second before he made up his mind, set his jaw, and gave Draco his best glare. "Too bad."

Despite Draco's protests, he quickly and carefully untied Draco's shoe and eased it off his foot. As he did, however, his hand brushed over Draco's ankle. The feel of it made him pull his hand back in shock. It couldn't be that badly swollen, could it? When Harry finally pulled back the sock, he almost wished he hadn't. Draco's ankle seemed at least twice its normal size, and was deeply coloured with nauseating shades of blue and purple.

"Oh, Jesus," Harry said to himself.

"Who?" came Draco's voice.

Harry just shook his head and continued to stare at the offending joint. "Doesn't matter," he said absently. "I don't think even he can help us right now."

"What's it look like?" Draco sat up, with some struggle. When he caught sight of his ankle, his eyes widened and he flopped backwards again. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Please don't," Harry said as he ran his hand lightly along the worst part of the swelling, feeling for damage. He might not be a doctor or Mediwizard, but it was pretty obvious that Draco's ankle was a mess. "What healing charms do you know for ankles? Or sprains? Or whatever this is?"

Draco let out an irritated groan. "Nothing so specific. Weren't you listening when I told you what I know? Stuff for bruises, scrapes, and other minor injuries. First aid. Oh, and I learned a wonderful charm during my second year for curing headaches... I seemed to get a lot of those with you around."

"You know, you're not doing much to endear yourself to me right now," Harry said flatly. "Especially as I was trying to help you."

Draco propped himself halfway up on his elbows so he could glare at Harry directly. "Well, I'm sorry! Having pain shooting up my leg doesn't exactly put me in the mood to be congenial!"

Harry met the glare and leaned forward menacingly. "And having three days to live doesn't exactly thrill me either, in case you'd forgotten that!"

Draco opened his mouth, looking for all the world like he was about to shoot off a comeback, but just as quickly, he clamped his mouth shut. He took a short, huffy breath and looked at Harry through hooded eyes. He seemed almost sullen. "Okay, okay. We're both edgy, and we've both got fair reasons for that. But as I was saying, no, I don't know any specific charms for this. Just basic healing spells and first aid. I'm not a bloody Mediwizard."

He paused for a moment, and his expression changed. He looked almost bashful. "Actually... I was thinking... perhaps... you could try that healing thing you did a few days ago. You know... the one you used on my hands."

That caught Harry off-guard. He hadn't even thought of that. In an instant, his thoughts were miles away, back in their tent by the river. It had only been a few short days ago, but it was somehow so far removed from where they were now that it seemed incomprehensible. Even the warm tingling of the magic between their hands seemed to be a little more like a hallucination than an actual memory. He wasn't even sure how he'd done it; it had just felt right at the time. Now, it seemed there was no way he could possibly manage it. But Draco was looking at him, face set stoically, eyes begging.

"I... I don't know if I can do it," Harry said uncertainly.

"Well, of course you can," Draco said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as Harry. "You did it once without really even trying, remember? Heh, only Harry Potter would make wandless magic seem easy."

The use of his full name was like a slap in the face. The context was even more infuriating. Harry sat back away from Draco, feeling his cheeks and ears start to burn with anger. "Now you just stop right there! I don't know where people get this idea that I have all sorts of special abilities, because I don't! They expect me to perform miracles because I'm Harry-bloody-save-the-world-Potter. My name doesn't give me any privileges, unless you count being on a first-name basis with Voldemort a privilege! And in case you're wondering, his name is Tom! And I may have healed your hands, but you fixed my whole body. So why can't you do it?"

Draco stared up at Harry, his lips pressed together pensively, eyes a bit glassy. He looked smaller somehow. He sat like that for a moment before looking down and pulling out his wand. From his awkward angle, he aimed a few basic healing charms at the centre of the injury. The deep bruising faded a little bit, and the swelling decreased but didn't go away. Draco repeated the charms, but his efforts didn't seem to make any more progress.

Harry fidgeted, caught between guilt over his outburst and general impatience. "Why don't you try that wandless healing thing again yourself?" he asked again, trying to sound more reasonable this time.

For a moment, Draco continued to pay no attention to Harry as he worked on his own ankle. After a few more unsuccessful charms, he finally looked up. It was only then that Harry actually noticed the effect the injury was having on Draco. His normally pale complexion was a bit off, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead that Harry suspected didn't have anything to do with their earlier exertion. In Draco's hand, his wand was shaking.

Harry bit his tongue as the guilt began congealing in his stomach. Perhaps he shouldn't have been quite so callous. "You okay?"

Draco ignored the question. "Do you know anything about wandless magic, Potter?" His voice was thin. "Well? Do you?"

Harry felt extremely embarrassed to admit it, but all he could do was shake his head.

Draco acknowledged that with a slight nod, and continued. "It takes a lot of energy, and usually a strong emotion. Panic, fury, passion, rage... all that sort of stuff. Most of the times I've seen it done, it was unintentional, and resulted in a lot of broken glass. Right now, I'm exhausted and, although I hate to admit it, maybe a bit upset. I wouldn't be able to, no matter how hard I tried... which is why I asked you."

"I... I..." Harry stared at Draco, not sure what to say next. The pain was audible in Draco's voice, visible in the lines of tension in his shoulders. "I'll try."

Draco gave a barely discernible nod. "That's all I'm asking. Because believe it or not, I want to get back as much as you do, and this will only hold up both of us... that is... if I'd be worth waiting for."

Harry's mouth fell open in exasperation. "You... that... that's not fair!"

Draco quickly looked away, his face fixed in an odd expression of impatience and embarrassment, tempered with a touch of irritation. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Didn't mean it like that."

Harry sighed agitatedly and shifted his position so that he could access Draco's ankle more easily, but he didn't reach out with his hands yet. For a long moment, he sat, studying Draco's face.

Draco's brow wrinkled together in confusion. "What?"

Harry shook his head to himself. Yes, he wanted - needed - to get home, at any cost, but he never would have considered leaving Draco behind. It wasn't the sort of thing that ever would have crossed his mind without prompting, but now that the idea had been planted, Harry found himself balking at the notion.

Sure, Draco had got him into this mess in the first place, but they were going to get out of the mess together, right? Besides, if he left Draco behind, Voldemort would certainly get him, and Harry couldn't imagine doing that to anyone - and certainly not to Draco. The only solution was for them both to get back. Somehow, the idea of it ending any other way was almost physically painful. It was too much to consider right now. Harry blinked a couple of times to clear his thoughts, then refocused his attention on Draco's ankle. "Nothing important," he said offhandedly.

Draco said nothing.

Feeling just a bit foolish, Harry positioned his hands above the ankle, palms aimed towards the worst of the bruising. Nothing happened, not that he had expected anything without some sort of effort. He took a slow breath and imagined the odd light beginning to glow beneath his palms, trying to will it into existence, but it didn't appear. He tried to remember the sensation of magic tingling beneath his hands, the soft glow, but he couldn't quite grasp it. He tried again. Still nothing.

Now he was starting to panic. Without question, he needed to do this, and they needed to get home, but for some reason he just couldn't make the mental connection between what he'd done that night by the river and what he was trying to do now. His hands were just hands, not strange magical conduits, and he was no healer. And even if he could just vaguely remember what he'd done, he certainly couldn't remember how he'd done it. With one last desperate push, he tried to force the magic through his hands.

"OUCH!" Draco jerked his ankle away. "What the hell was that?"

Harry looked down at the upturned palms of his hands as if seeing them for the first time. "I don't have a fucking clue." Instead of merely foolish, now he felt stupid as well. He looked back up at Draco, not wanting to see the look on his companion's face.

Draco didn't seem angry, but he didn't appear pleased, either. He hunched over and leaned his forehead on his knuckles. "Not your fault."

"And just whose fault is it?" Harry bit out. "I've done it before, and you did it too, and I should be able to do it again! I must be incompetent or something. I don't know why it didn't work!"

Draco glanced up over his loosely curled hand. "You couldn't do it because you weren't focused on the right thing."

"I was!" Harry protested. "I was focusing on healing you! I have to, because we have to get home, because if we don't, I'll die, and you might get caught, and I just couldn't let that happen!"

A melancholy smile curled the corners of Draco's lips. "I rest my case."

Harry opened his mouth to argue again when the meaning of Draco's words hit him. "Oh."

"It's not your fault, Harry."

Harry shook his head rapidly. "I can fix it though! Give me a moment, and I'll try it again." He rubbed his hands together, imagining he could feel the crackle of magic between his palms, even though he knew there was nothing there but sweat and nerves. He started to reach for Draco's ankle again, but Draco grabbed his hands.

"It's not going to work, Harry."

"Yes, it will." This is stupid! Draco can't honestly expect me to give up, can he? He tried to pull his hands from Draco's grasp, but Draco was maintaining a very firm grip on him. "Draco, you have to let me try again."

"It's not going to work."

"You already said that! And I refuse to believe you."

"You're stubborn." There was a hint of amusement.

"It's a fine Leo trait," Harry growled.

"Actually, no, that's more Taurus," Draco said with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "I always heard you were complete crap in Divination."

"Whatever."

Draco gave another strained smile. He almost looked as though he was about to be ill. "You know it's not going to work, Harry. Some things you just have to accept." He almost seemed to be talking more to himself than to Harry.

"And what am I supposed to do? Give up?" Before Draco could say another word, Harry jumped to his feet. "Give me your hand."

"What? Why?"

"No time to argue! Just come on!" Harry held out his hand, and the instant Draco took it, Harry pulled him sharply to his feet. Draco gave a little cry of surprise and teetered unsteadily on one foot for a second before Harry looped one of his arms over his shoulders.

Draco shot him a look of sheer incredulity. "You have got to be kidding me."

"No joke. I'll carry you the whole way back if I have to."

"Potter, you're crazy!"

"Oh good, you noticed!"

"This is not going to work."

"I think I'm hearing an echo. And besides, I already said I wasn't going to accept that. When the hell did you become such a fatalist? Are you trying to make yourself give up before we even try?"

Harry could feel Draco stiffen beside him. "Are you sure this is the only option?"

Harry tipped his head thoughtfully. "Well, I could always stun you, levitate you to Hogwarts, and then Enervate you when we arrive."

Draco's expression darkened. "You wouldn't."

"Unless you want to test that theory, I'd say lean your weight on me, and let's get going."

Draco seemed to consider this for a moment. "You know, it probably doesn't need to be said, but I have the strangest sense of déjà vu, except this time..."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Harry replied, taking a second to recall his hazy memories from the evening they escaped. He sighed softly. "Come on. Let's go."

*********

An hour later, Harry was out of breath, sweating profusely, and felt like the victim of a particularly nasty Jelly-Legs Jinx. From what he could tell, Draco wasn't doing much better. And to make matters worse, they had barely made it over the crest of the hill they'd been climbing when they'd stopped.

"Potter, we can't keep this up," Draco huffed out beside him.

"Not going... to stop now."

"Potter - Harry, this isn't working."

"When your cunning... Slytherin brain... comes up with a better... idea... you let me know!"

Harry refused to look to the side as he kept planting one foot in front of the other, dragging Draco along. Draco's ungainly hop-step was causing a nasty ache in his lower back, and several times, Harry had been tempted to cast a weight-reduction charm on Draco, but hadn't wanted to cause a further argument. Ginny Weasley had once told him that casting a weight-reduction charm on a girl was considered a tremendous insult, and for some unknown reason, Harry felt the same thing might apply to Draco. Although if Draco continued to tell him that his approach wasn't working, a good Silencio might be an idea.

"Harry, how long do you intend to keep this up?"

"As long as... I have to!"

"Harry."

"WHAT?"

"Stop."

If anything, the mere suggestion of stopping gave Harry an extra spurt of energy. "NO!"

"Harry." Draco dug his feet into the ground, wincing as he did so, and pulled Harry to a halt. "You need to stop and listen to reason."

Harry turned to look at Draco, whose face was actually pale, not flushed, even though he seemed out of breath. In fact, his breath was shallow, his face was drawn, and even though he was looking at Harry, his eyes seemed somehow far away. His appearance was the only thing that kept Harry from actually yelling.

"Reason? Reason? Leaving you behind is absolutely not reasonable! Can you come up with a better plan?"

Draco twisted his lips. "I can try." He lowered himself to the ground with a pained grunt, and began carefully rolling down his sock. "Harry, running like this might not get us back in time, no matter how fast we go. I... I think we need to look at other options."

Harry hesitated, still not comfortable with the idea of wasting another second, but when he saw that Draco's ankle was worse than it had been before the healing charms, he conceded that perhaps they needed a break. Besides, he was exhausted too. He flopped down next to Draco.

"Options... like what?" Harry asked edgily. "What could we possibly do that we haven't already considered?"

"Well, I was thinking... by now, we have to be closer to Hogwarts than to You-Know-Who's fortress. Maybe, if one of us exposed himself, Dumbledore would find that person before You-Know-Who. It's not a sure thing, but it's better than no chance at all. And then that person could lead Dumbledore to the other."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco. Somehow, he could just feel that Draco wasn't suggesting that Harry be the one to take the risk. "What's all this 'one person' stuff? Because I'm not so sure I like it."

Draco began wringing his hands together as he spoke. "I... it's like this, Harry. I can't move very fast. So I'll take the chance. If Dumbledore finds me, I can lead him to you. And if You-Know-Who gets to me first... at least I won't be holding you up anymore."

By now, Draco's eyes were strained, red, and seemed to be gathering moisture. He quickly looked away, making a pretence at needing to clear his throat.

Harry couldn't believe he was hearing this. Draco had taken risks in their escape, but this... this was like a mouse stepping into the open in front of a snake, hoping that something would save him before the snake struck. "Are you crazy? That is absolutely not an option! If Voldemort catches you... you're injured! You wouldn't even be able to fight back. I'm not going to let you do that!"

Draco's head snapped back around. His eyes were dry now, but noticeably red. "Use some sense, Potter! If you don't make it back to Hogwarts, you know what's probably going to happen!" He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opened them, he seemed a bit more collected. "Harry, I've been considering this since this morning, and even more strongly since my ankle gave out. I can't think of any other options. Can you?"

Harry couldn't quite believe he was hearing this. He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. "What ever happened to the self-serving Slytherin I knew back at Hogwarts?"

Draco shrugged. The motion looked forced. "I left him back in You-Know-Who's dungeon." He cocked his head. "Don't tell me you miss him."

"If he were here, he wouldn't be making suicidal plans!"

Despite the fact that he already looked tired, something else in Draco's posture seemed to deflate. "I got you into this, and I swore I was going to get you out. Don't make me break that oath."

That caught Harry off-guard. He'd known Draco had been serious, but he hadn't realized how serious his promise had been. "An... an oath?"

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched. "The night of our escape... you had already fallen asleep. Or passed out. I wasn't sure which. It was really cold that night, and you were getting hypothermic - I think you might have been in a mild state of shock. Anyway, I... I was trying to keep you warm, and while I was doing that, I swore an oath. That I'd get you back to Hogwarts, alive and well. 'Whatever it takes.' That's what I said. And I meant it."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He began slowly shaking his head, trying to shake loose some coherent thought. "No... Draco, you can't. Not like this. Too many people have already died because of me, and I'm not going to let it happen to you, too."

"Harry, you're not forcing me." Draco sounded strangely calm. "This is my choice."

There was something in Draco's tone that spoke of a disconcerting immediacy. Harry's head shot up. "You mean to do it right now?" When Draco didn't respond immediately, Harry felt a flash of anger. "You do, don't you!"

In an instant, he was in front of Draco, gripping him by the front of his shirt as if to hold him in place, or to hit him. He leaned forward as imposingly as possible, intentionally tipping Draco backwards, off-balance. "You're not going to do it! I won't let you! Dumbledore told me that Sirius made his own choice to go to the Ministry, and he died there, but he never would have gone if it hadn't been for me! And I'm not going to let you do it too! Don't you understand? I can't live with another death on my conscience!"

Draco seemed very small beneath Harry's hands, and his voice was quiet, but firm. "And if You-Know - if Voldemort wins... how many more people are going to die? Starting with you? I'd probably be next on the list anyway."

Startled by the logic in Draco's response, Harry eased up his grip and let Draco sit up properly again. Draco acknowledged it with a nod, then he seemed to remember the topic of conversation, and shuddered. "I had a private audience with V-Voldemort... I saw what he was like. In case you didn't realize, that's why I left! He's as happy to kill his supporters as his enemies if they aren't his perfect pawns. It's gone beyond the Pureblood thing. I used to think that because I was on his side, if he won... I'd have everything. I'd be comfortable, powerful, wealthy, recognized for my superiority... and I didn't care what would happen to anyone else. It wouldn't affect me. Now I'm on the other side of that line, and as much as I'd like to, I can't ignore it anymore!"

"Draco -"

"Listen, I may not like Dumbledore, or any of his goody-goodies, and I'm still not quite ready to hug a Mu - Muggle-born, but..." He paused and took a deep breath. "... if they're anything like you, they're a far cry better than Vol- Voldemort."

Draco's eyes met Harry's, as if he could force Harry to feel his sincerity by will alone. "My life was forfeit the instant I unlocked your cell. Everything I have right now... this is all extra. You may have a clock running out, but I'm already living on borrowed time, Harry. And if I die, I want it to count for something, even if the effort fails."

"No..."

Draco gave a familiar sad smile, and suddenly Harry realized how many times he'd seen that expression so far that afternoon. "I wouldn't trade these past few days for anything. I just wanted you to know that."

Harry sensed a 'goodbye' in Draco's words. He shook his head, even as his voice came out in a thick croak. "No. Not right now."

"It won't do us any good to wait, Harry. You know that."

"NO! We're going to think of something! We just need to think logically."

"The logical thing right now would be for you to stand up, turn around, and start walking away. Running might be better."

"I will not!"

"Oh, so you're just going to sit here for the next three days, waiting for time to run out?"

"I never said we had to do that either! But there's got to be another way. Are you sure you can't Apparate?"

Draco laughed lightly, despite the lines of stress in his posture. "Didn't we already cover this, Harry? Splinching incident the first time I tried? I refused to try it again. I couldn't. I had no idea what I was doing. To be honest, the idea positively scares the daylights out of me. Otherwise, I might have tried it anyway. I was going to take some... remedial training at Hogwarts."

Harry tried to force a smile. "You never did tell me what part of yourself you left behind, you know."

"Stop trying to change the topic."

The smile disappeared instantly, and Harry pounded his hand into the ground. "I'm trying to think!" He looked back over his shoulder. "I think there's a stream down at the base of this hill. If we can get down there, you ought to be able to soak your ankle in the river. The water should be cold enough to help with the pain and swelling. And I think I saw a lake just a little further along."

"You're stalling."

"Yes, I am." He stood and offered his hand to Draco again. "And you're going to go along with it."

Draco didn't argue as he took Harry's hand, but he didn't seem pleased with the situation.

*********

Draco's toes were slowly going numb in the cold, flowing water, but he didn't mind so much, because so was his ankle. He had forced himself to separate emotion from logic, and his emotions were as numb as his toes. Distantly, he knew that if he were to let himself feel, he'd probably lose his mind, and seeing as Harry appeared to be teetering on the edge, it wouldn't do for both of them to panic. It seemed they'd been taking turns being the sane one, and now it was Draco's turn again.

"Are you sure we can't transfigure a broomstick?" Harry asked again as he picked intently at a lonely tuft of grass poking out from between two rocks.

"For the third time, no. Not one that would work." Draco sighed and kicked at the water with his uninjured foot. "There's a reason brooms are so expensive. The flying charms are a complex trade secret of broom manufacturers. If we could transfigure working broomsticks, everybody would have their own Firebolt."

"Right, right," Harry said distractedly. He selected a pebble from the barren, rocky ground and threw it into the stream. "Magic carpet?"

"Harry..."

"Okay, I get it." He flopped onto his back and began rhythmically thudding his left foot on the ground. "At the very least, I could transfigure you a set of crutches. It won't be quite as fast as regular walking, but we could make it."

"I'd still be holding you up. Are you willing to take that risk?"

Harry sat up in a flash. "Bloody Merlin's Beard, yes, Draco! The only risk I'm not willing to take is to expose you to Voldemort."

"Harry, eventually, we have to make a decision."

"I know that! And I'd like to make a decision that both of us can live with. In the literal sense of the word."

"This is getting repetitive."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm boring you!" Harry snapped. "Maybe I could add a song and dance act, if that would help."

Draco sighed and pulled his foot out of the water. It felt better, but it was still swollen. "What I mean is that we're not getting anywhere. We've discussed all the same ideas twice over."

"Is there a reason you're determined to take the most suicidal option possible?" Harry asked harshly.

Draco groaned inwardly. Harry wasn't making this any easier, and in the end, it would still have to be done. Besides, if he ended up being caught by the Dark Lord, there were other things he just might be able to do. Such as possibly preserving some other remnant of the Malfoy bloodline. But he'd worry about that bridge when it was time to cross it. For now, he was willing to take that risk. Outwardly, he sighed. "I'm just trying to make sense here! This isn't about Gryffindor nobility. This is about making the most sensible choice possible, and damn it, Harry, we have to make a choice!"

His breath was rapid and a bit painful in his chest, and he could feel the fear and frustration driving him. He'd made up his mind, and now they just had to go through with it. There was no other way.

"List them again." Harry's voice was cold and direct.

"What?"

"Just... humour me. List our options again."

Draco shook his head to himself. This was pointless. Completely and utterly pointless. But if it made things easier on Harry, he could oblige with this one last comfort. Even if it was pointless.

Draco sighed and rested his cheek on one loosely curled fist, gesturing with his other hand as he spoke. "We could keep walking, and hope to get to Hogwarts in time. On one hand, Snape and Dumbledore are our best bet, but on the other hand, we might get there too late anyway. I could expose myself -"

"Which is out of the question," Harry cut him off without missing a beat.

Draco scowled and continued. "Which might lead me to Dumbledore, or to You-Know-Who. At the very least, you could travel faster."

"Forget it. We're not splitting up." Harry snorted. "Hero boy."

Draco raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Oh, wonderful. This is proof that I've spent far too much time with you. You're contagious."

Harry slapped his forehead and leaned heavily into his open palm. He didn't move for a moment, and Draco found himself staring absently at the back of Harry's hand which was covering his face, and at the faded script carved into the skin there. When Harry finally spoke, his voice was dry and raspy. "I'll say it just one more time," he said, exasperation clinging to each word. "I'm not leaving you behind. I don't care what the risks are. I won't leave you."

"Why, Harry," Draco said neutrally, "I didn't know you cared."

Harry dropped his hand away from his face and fixed Draco with an intense stare. "I do," he said, without hesitation. Just as quickly, his eyes went wide, and he looked away. "Listen," he mumbled, "two weeks shouldn't be enough to change everything, but these past two weeks haven't exactly been normal. As far as I'm concerned, you're my friend. We've come this far together, and I'm not leaving you behind. So stop playing the damned martyr, and we'll get through this together."

Draco slowly leaned backwards, not sure how to respond to that. Finally, he chose the only way he knew. Sarcasm. "I'll stop playing the martyr when you do the same. Damn, you are contagious."

For a moment, Draco was sure Harry would snap at him with some scathing remark, but then Harry smiled. It was a tired sort of smile, tainted by the rough lines of tension around Harry's eyes, but it was honest.

Draco hesitantly returned the gesture, and finally relaxed a bit. So maybe there was no arguing with Harry, but they still had a decision to make. He was so tired, and he couldn't think anymore. At this point, there were no good options, and Draco just wished the waiting was over. "Harry, I know you want some noble, save-the-world solution, but really, we're running out of time, and we have to do something. So unless you -"

"I was thinking..." Harry interrupted. His voice was distant, and he was staring off over Draco's shoulder. "You said you'd had an idea... to counteract the curse... or potion... or whatever the hell it is. What was your idea?"

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "That's just it... I didn't really have an idea. I'd started gathering the ingredients for the actual potion... mostly for something to do... to keep my mind off of everything. Avoidance. I know how to brew the actual potion, but what good would that do us? Snape knows how to create potions and antidotes. All I can really do is to follow standard potion directions like a recipe. I couldn't create a new potion."

Harry stared at the ground for a moment before giving Draco an odd, pointed look. "This potion Voldemort is using... does it work like a poison?"

Draco almost gave an automatic response of no, but he stopped himself and considered it. It certainly wasn't a physical poison, which would work by attacking the body, but most magical poisons didn't. They attacked a wizard's magic, and used that to slowly or quickly kill or incapacitate the victim. And sometimes they were even keyed to take effect at specific times or events. So, in a way... "Yes, I suppose it works a bit like a poison."

"I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner," Harry said to himself as the enigmatic expression on his face became even more unreadable. "Draco... what's the basic formula for an antidote? Don't think about this specific poison... just... give the generic way of making an antidote."

"Well," Draco said slowly, his eyes unfocused, "for simple poisons, you have to start with the poison, and then reverse the effects of the poisonous component. This can either be done by counteracting the physical properties of the poison, the magical properties, or by using an opposing force to neutralize the effect." He focused back on Harry. "Why?"

Harry didn't respond, but a grin slowly started spreading across his face.

"You look like the Kneazle who ate the Snidget. What are you saying, Harry?"

Harry shook his head but didn't stop grinning. "How complex is the Soul's Eclipse potion?"

"The procedure isn't easy, but I've seen worse. The ingredients are fairly straightforward, like most of the older potions. There's some variability regarding -"

"What about the poisonous part?" Harry was starting to sound more excited with each word. "I mean, if there's a specific component that acts as the poison, or a combination of ingredients, or something. What is it?"

Draco scratched at the back of his neck as he thought, recalling the descriptive paragraphs of the potion recipe. He'd paid more attention to the actual procedure for brewing it. "Well... that would be -"

Realization struck Draco like a well-hit Bludger - sudden and hard, leaving the lungs painfully devoid of air. He sat back, propping himself up with his hands as he tried to breathe normally, feeling more than a bit light-headed. "Oh, Merlin..."

"What?" Harry asked anxiously. "You have an idea?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but no sound would come out. He was still reeling from the possibilities.

Most of the components in the potion were mere catalysts, facilitating the transition of the actual magic during the eclipse. None of them provided the magic which was the driving force of the curse. There was really only one component that could be considered the actual poison. It was so simple, a third year should have been able to figure it out with minimal prompting. It was plain to see, and all Draco had to do was to reverse it.

He looked up at Harry, surveying Harry's strained yet hopeful features, noting how he was leaning forward, as if sheer enthusiasm and intent were enough to pull an answer from Draco. His eyes were wide, and he suddenly looked so young. Innocent.

As Draco let his revelation sift into some semblance of coherency in the back of his mind, he studied Harry's face carefully. Long the face of a rival, or even an enemy, this was now, undoubtedly, the face of a friend. Someone with whom he'd fought through life and death experiences. The face of someone he trusted. Someone who cared for him. Harry had said so. It had seemed so honest.

Draco glanced down at the back of Harry's hand, where some of the script scars were barely visible under the cuff of his sleeve. Yes, it had to be true. There was no Gryffindor nobility was holding Harry back from merely leaving Draco behind. Harry cared. He really did.

And Draco cared too, on some level. He was sure of it. If his theory was right, that was exactly what it would take. The only question was... did he care enough?

He raised his eyes to meet Harry's intent, questioning gaze.

It would have to be enough.

"I have an idea."

*********

Late afternoon found Harry pacing anxiously around their new campsite. For the past hour, they had travelled slowly along the river, hunting for the ingredients for Draco's plan and looking for a more suitable location from which to stage their counter-offensive. Draco had graciously declined Harry's offer to help him walk, and instead opted to move using a waist-high stick as a cane. Harry had nearly bitten through his tongue to keep himself from saying how eerily the image reminded him of Lucius Malfoy.

In the end, he distracted himself by intensifying his search for ingredients from the list Draco had supplied. The list was fairly short, and although Harry was quite sure they'd be able to find all the ingredients in time, the only thing they had managed to find at the moment was mugwort, which had caused Draco to curse under his breath for five minutes about "that bloody snake". By the time they arrived at the shore of the lake Harry had seen from the hill, Draco's ankle was too sore to go any further.

While Harry set up the camp, Draco had plopped down with his back against an oak trunk, furiously scribbling notes on a piece of parchment Harry had transfigured for him. Several times, Harry had tried to ask what he was writing, and he'd been summarily dismissed each time. He finally conceded that Draco would only explain when he was good and ready, but that didn't make it any easier to wait. So once the campsite was set up, Harry did the only thing he could do to keep from going crazy. He paced.

"You're going to drive me crazy if you keep that up." Draco's voice cut the still air.

Harry glanced back over his shoulder. It appeared that Draco hadn't even twitched to look up - he was still writing intently. "Well, I'd go for a walk around the lake, but I don't think that would be a good decision."

Without looking up, Draco tipped his head. "Touché." He continued writing.

Instead of pacing again, Harry began to watch Draco. If nothing else, Draco was absolutely intent on whatever he was writing. His eyebrows were deeply furrowed, and he barely blinked. The only movement was from his hand, and from his mouth as he alternately chewed his lower lip, pressed his lips into an impossibly thin line, and silently mouthed words as he wrote. It took Harry a second to notice when an actual sound emerged from Draco's mouth, and two more seconds to realize the sound was directed at him.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it wasn't polite to stare? I'd blame the Muggles who raised you - that might account for the lack of manners - but I think you really are just trying to drive me insane." Draco looked up, and absently brushed a stringy strand of hair away from his forehead as he gave a tired smile. "But I've done what I can for now. Have a seat."

Harry felt oddly like he was back in class at Hogwarts as he knelt gingerly in front of Draco. For some reason, instead of asking, he knew that Draco would tell him what he needed to know when he was good and ready. So he waited as Draco stared back at him. He almost felt like he was being assessed, which only added to the strange feeling of being in a classroom, under the scrutiny of one of his professors. He wasn't too surprised when Snape came to mind.

"So," Draco finally began, "this is your last chance to back out."

That wasn't what Harry had expected to hear. "What?"

"I said, this -"

"I heard what you said," Harry said sharply. "And I'm telling you, I've already made up my mind. So you might as well stop asking if I've changed my mind, because I haven't and I'm not going to. Are you going to tell me what the plan is, or do I have to rip that parchment out of your hand and figure it out myself?"

Draco didn't lose his composure, but he did tuck the parchment a bit closer to his chest. "I know what you told me, Harry. What I'm telling you is that when you hear the plan, I won't blame you if you decide that you'd rather try something else."

Harry stared at Draco incredulously, projecting as much of that sentiment as possible. Draco must have received the message, because he replied with a grim nod before he glanced down at his paper.

"You need to know just how uncertain this really is," Draco said softly. "There's no guarantee that any of this will work. I'm pretty good at spell analysis - I've always liked theoretical stuff; it's all study with no effort - but I'm only a student with a knack for the topic, not an expert. So...what I've basically done is analyzed the original potion, and I've devised a method that might reverse its effects."

"I already know that!" Harry felt his impatience pushing through again. "Just tell me what -"

Draco stopped him by holding up his hand. "As I was trying to say, there were a couple of ways to approach this problem. Unfortunately, we can't take the most obvious solution, which would be to reverse the procedure directly on You-Know-Who. When he... er.... The night of... wait a moment. Let me explain how the potion actually works first. That might help."

Harry barely managed to stop himself from snorting in annoyance. He gave a stiff nod. Just get on with it.

Draco seemed deep enough in thought that he hardly noticed the edginess behind the gesture. When he began to speak, he sounded vaguely like a professor, and Harry felt some of his agitation fade as he slipped into his student's mindset.

"You can think of this potion as a key that opens a conduit between the aggressor and the victim. It's a one-way channel through which the victim's magic and life-force travel. For magic that strong, the potion requires a transitional trigger, which is why it was created to work with the eclipse. So, when the eclipse starts -"

"Yeah, I already got this part."

Draco's eyes refocused on Harry's. "Harry, please, I'm trying here. Just follow me for a minute, okay?"

The intensity of Draco's gaze silenced Harry completely. Draco continued.

"What I'm saying is that if we had a sample of Voldemort's blood, we could simply recreate the potion, and you could take it yourself. In effect, that would create a two-way conduit, through which you would both be 'pulling' on the other." He swallowed, as if considering his next words carefully. "Effectively, the strongest wizard would 'win', and the weaker one would die. It would be a pure magical duel, without even wands to get in the way."

"Tug-of-war."

"What?"

Harry allowed himself a small smile. "Muggle game. You get a rope, and two teams. Each team takes an end of the rope, and they pull until one team gets pulled over a line... or into a mud pit. Stronger team wins."

Draco sniffed as he considered the description. "Crude, but I guess the analogy works."

Harry grinned again, briefly imagining the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams playing tug of war. Just as quickly, he dismissed the thought when he remembered that most of the Slytherin players were built like half-trolls.

He shook off the thought, and it was then that he noticed Draco was regarding him with an odd expression. "What?"

"Harry, who would you say hates whom more... you or Vol-Voldemort?"

Harry blinked at the unexpected question. "I... well, I'm not sure. I mean, we hate each other. Originally, I don't think he hated me any more than anyone else. At least, not any more than any other half-blood. I was just a target because of that stupid prophecy. Now he's furious at me, and it's personal. I keep beating him, so he's got a score to settle. Like a grudge match." He paused for a moment and felt his expression turn dark. "As for me... he killed my parents. You know the rest."

"Hmm," was all Draco said with an almost imperceptible nod.

Harry frowned as he realized they were digressing from the topic at hand. "But we don't have Voldemort's blood, so why even worry about that? I don't need to know what we're not going to do! I need to know what we are going to do!"

Draco shot a look at Harry that reminded him of Snape far more than he cared to consider. "I needed to explain that so you could understand the concept we're working with. We can't have you play a proper game of pull-of-war -"

"Tug-of-war."

"Whatever. Tug-of-war with Voldemort. We don't have the tools. But... let's use your analogy again. You have your two teams, and your rope. What happens when only one team is allowed to pull?"

"Well, that's stupid. The team who - oh. Well, then it's obvious that the pulling team is going to win, which brings us back to our original problem, so what's your bloody idea!?"

Draco gave a deep sigh and rubbed his temples. "You can't pull, but what if we can anchor you in place so that you can't be pulled? Or have someone pulling for you?"

"Er... what?"

Without a word, Draco turned the parchment towards Harry and held it out. Harry took it.

The parchment was covered with neatly drawn symbols and quickly scribbled notes that still looked infuriatingly elegant; a far cry, Harry noted with some annoyance, from his own haphazard script. In the upper-left corner was a list of ingredients. Below that, step-by-step instructions were scrawled along the left margin. In the upper right corner was a diagram of the phasing moon and some runes that Harry knew Hermione would recognize. Along the bottom, Draco had written some shorthand notes about each ingredient. However, it was the image in the centre that Harry knew Draco had intended for him to see.

Draco had drawn out a spell-diagram. Before this year, Harry had only seen them a few times in his Transfiguration and Charms texts. When he'd peeked through his sixth-year texts, he'd noticed a lot of them in NEWT-level Charms. All he knew was that beyond the basic symbols, the diagrams made no sense whatsoever. However, with Draco's description, he understood some of this one.

Half of the diagram was drawn in black ink. Spell target - that was him. The symbol for the spell caster was obviously Voldemort. The direction of power was charted oddly; control went from Voldemort to him, but power flowed from him to Voldemort. Harry closed his eyes as a deep shiver worked its way up his spine at the thought. Some other things were sketched around the main framework, but they seemed like the fine details, and not quite so important. Besides, Harry didn't understand any of them, so he focused on the next part of the diagram... the portions drawn in red.

In red was another spell caster. However, the lines of power and control between that symbol and the target were drawn with an odd loop at each end, and Harry had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Even more strangely, he couldn't decipher the direction of the power-flow. Still, if he were to just go on his initial impression of the picture, it looked like the secondary caster, which he assumed to be Draco, was anchoring the target in place.

Finally, hoping he didn't sound as immensely stupid as he felt, he looked up from the picture. "You mean to act as a magical anchor for me, don't you?"

He felt a bit relieved when Draco nodded. At least I didn't look completely ignorant. Then he realized the implications of what he'd just said. "Wait a minute. You... you're going to... how does that work?"

For the first time since he'd begun talking, Draco looked apprehensive. "See, this is why I want you to know that you can still back out - and don't give me that look. The problem is that I really don't know if it will work, because I'm not one-hundred percent sure how it might work." He sighed. "I'm doing this with a bit of logic combined with a bit of intuition. I've identified the one component of the spell that acts as the 'poison' to actively draw power from you to Voldemort, and I think I've found its magical opposite. If... if I were to create this version of the potion -" He pointed at his notes in the left margin of the parchment. "- using your blood, and... and consume it myself... in theory, instead of drawing power from you, I'd help you anchor your own power in place. Acting as a reinforcement. And... Voldemort would have to be stronger than both of us in order to win."

Draco swallowed nervously, never taking his eyes off Harry. "So, that's my brilliant idea. I've sketched it out about five times, and the theory is sound. But... it's just a theory. Untested. And... and if you don't trust it, or if you want to back out... I wouldn't blame you. Not at all."

Harry sat perfectly still, fully aware of the fact that he was hardly breathing, staring at the parchment in his hands. Here it was, laid out in front of him, and he needed to decide.

It was a theory and a shot in the dark. It was a magical diagram he didn't understand. It was a chance that everything would turn out okay, and that once again, he'd outfox Voldemort with a shred of skill, some help from a friend, and a good deal of sheer dumb luck.

Or it might kill him anyway.

He stood, wincing as his knees popped, and handed the parchment back to Draco, who accepted it with a questioning expression.

Harry shook his head, and spoke in a harsh whisper. "I need to think about this." He turned to walk away, but Draco's voice stopped him.

"Harry?"

He looked back. Draco was holding out the parchment towards him. "Take it with you."

He accepted it without a word, or even a nod, turned away again, and walked off towards the shore of the lake. His body felt numb as he stumbled the short distance through the lengthening shadows and finally flopped down on a rock a few feet from the water. He was so tired, and every muscle and bone in his body ached with fatigue. His head was aching miserably, and this time, it had nothing to do with his scar, yet everything to do with Voldemort.

He had intended to try to think clearly through the problem, Draco's proposed solution, and the measly other options available to him. Instead, he discovered that his mind was as tired as his body, and coherent thought seemed to escape him. After a few minutes of trying to concentrate through his headache, he sighed and let it all run away from him. Draco was right - sometimes, you have to rest before you completely collapse. He'd catch up with his thoughts again after he rested. The nebulous images and words drifted through his mind unchecked as he watched the shadows stretch into infinity as the sun dipped behind the far hills.

*********

Draco watched Harry walk away on unsteady legs and drop down heavily on a rock near the lake shore. He looked so tired, and it was no surprise. In one day, he'd been slammed with one hell of a news flash, and then jerked back and forth enough to make anyone exhausted. He was actually coping fairly well for a person who'd just been told he was facing his own death in three days.

Two days, Draco reminded himself. Just two.

It was a lot to swallow, and not a lot of time in which to swallow it. Any lesser man probably wouldn't have been able to handle it at all; Harry was still just a boy by most standards, and a small, skinny one at that, yet he was still on his feet. Barely. He was hunched over, leaning heavily on his knees, and he looked as though the slightest touch might knock him off the rock. The little weight he'd regained during their trek back did nothing to mask the actual frailty of his frame.

That's a pretty thin pair of shoulders to look like they're bearing the weight of the world, Draco thought sadly. He gave a silent, bitter laugh. I wonder if mine look the same right now.

Draco took a slow breath, trying to calm his heart, which had been beating an uncomfortably harsh rhythm all day. He was beyond nervous. He was positively terrified, but he couldn't let Harry know.

What the hell have I got myself into?

Three weeks ago, Draco had wanted to see Harry either one of two ways: suffering or dead. Now, he was the only one who could save the Saviour. It was so disgustingly ironic that he felt nauseous at the thought.

No, that's the nerves, he told himself.

And he knew without a doubt that he was so nervous because, if he was really going to go through with this, he had to succeed. If he tried and failed, he had nothing. He'd already lost his old life. If he lost Harry, he had no chance of beginning a new one. Everyone would blame him - not that they wouldn't already have perfect justification for doing so. Underage or not, he would probably end up in Azkaban. He'd certainly be ostracized from the wizarding world. Which is fair, I suppose. And then there was simply the fact that he would lose Harry, which at the moment seemed just as bad. He owed it to Harry. And he owed it to himself to succeed for once.

Actually, no, I've succeeded once before. And look where it got me.

Here.

Draco leaned his head back against the tree behind him and looked over his surroundings. The campsite was on a narrow strip of grassy open land between the shoreline and the forest, and the tent was tucked between two trees at the edge of the woods. On the one hand, Draco supposed the scene looked picturesque and peaceful, but after almost two weeks on the run, and in light of the turn things had taken, Draco couldn't enjoy it. Tonight especially, it felt like a two-man refugee camp. Upon a closer look, it looked the part too.

The Invisibility Cloak tent, which was normally completely invisible from the top and sides, showed signs of wear and abuse. Despite cleaning charms, his clothing was dingy and worn. Harry's trousers and jumper had a number of small rips and holes that matched the ones on Draco's clothes that he hadn't bothered to mend. Even without a mirror, Draco was sure his face and hair were in desperate need of a shower, and his abused muscles were begging for a long soak in a hot bath. And on top of that, he could only guess how many days he would need to spend in the hospital wing while Madam Pomfrey put together the pieces of his ankle, all courtesy of "here".

But the most significant thing about "here" was that it was distinctly not "home". In fact, considering how he'd got "here", it was the farthest place possible from home. Home was his mahogany sleigh bed, his personal bathroom, the gardens, and the many rooms, artefacts, tapestries, and mysteries of Malfoy Manor. Home was his mother's aristocratic poise, and his father's imposingly powerful presence. It was where Draco had once had a place, a role, and a future. Home was his father saying, "I'm proud of you."

I can never go home again.

For the first time since he had run from the Dark Lord's dungeons, it hit him: the fact that he had really left everything behind. Everything. His future, his inheritance, and even his clothes.

And his parents...

Not for the first time since last night's vision, Voldemort's cutting words sliced through his mind.

"I will watch Malfoy blood spilt on my glorious night..."

How could he even know what the Dark Lord had planned for his mother and father? It really might all be just a ploy to get him to return. His mother might be sitting in the parlour at this very minute, snarling his name in disdain, speaking with his Aunt Bella about the son she was glad to disown.

Or she might be dead.

If that was true, then none of his actions would matter to her anymore... but his father...

What if it wasn't a trick? What if his father's life really was in danger? The man who had meant everything to him for so long, the one person whose life he'd placed above his own, might die, and it would all be Draco's fault. And he might be able to do something to prevent it, but would he? His own words came back to him, mocking him.

"I may not be too thrilled with You-Know-Who, but that has nothing to do with my father! I deserted the Dark Lord, NOT MY DAD! And he does love me... he was proud of me. He said so. He was so proud of me."

He was proud, Draco thought sullenly. Not so much to be proud of anymore, is there? And now I may have sentenced him to death. Have I really deserted him? No! But maybe. I don't know!

Draco shuddered and looked towards the lake shore where Harry's hunched form was silhouetted against the bright colours of the setting sun. He'd been pressing Harry with hard decisions all day, but hadn't bothered to mention one other important decision that had to be made. This one wasn't Harry's choice to make, though. It was Draco's.

Harry, or his father.

In reality, he'd had his own reasons for offering to risk capture by Voldemort. If in his bid to be found by Dumbledore he was captured by Voldemort instead, he could say that he had tried to bring Harry back, but Harry had fought him - a tale for which he could use his swollen nose and ruined ankle as evidence - and Harry had escaped. At the very least, he could offer his worthless life in the place of his father, and the Malfoy name might still carry some honour.

Honour? What fucked up definition of honour am I still using? Is that honour, to serve a madman? He brushed his fingertips across the raised scar at the base of his neck. I don't even know anymore. My father thinks it's honourable; he thinks it's right. And my father would never do anything without a damn good reason. But I don't know which side I'm on, or which side I'm not on. I'm not on the Dark Lord's side, or Dumbledore's... but what about my father's? What about Harry's?

Draco leaned his head into his hands, flinching a little bit as he bumped his nose, which was still rather sore. His head was aching terribly, and he was sure the hit to the nose had nothing to do with it. This was a decision he just couldn't make. He could either save Harry, or save his father. There was no chance of doing both. He had never intended to desert Harry, or to even consider the possibility, but how could he have foreseen this turn of events?

One thing was for certain: when he made his final decision, he couldn't have any reservations about his choice. Second thoughts would only get everyone killed, including him. But second thoughts or no, whether or not the situation had changed, he had made an oath. Well, hadn't he?

Draco raised his head from his hands and looked back over at the darkening silhouette on the shore.

Yes, he was supposed to save Harry. Yes, he was sworn to it. Still, the question remained: could he actually do it? He had never been responsible for anything in his life, and now he was responsible for a life? The bare elements of the task might require more than Draco was capable of giving. In order to save Harry, he'd have to throw his entire focus - even his heart and soul - into the task. He could hold nothing back.

Maybe he could do it.

In three weeks, so much had changed. Harry had become important to him - a friend, closer perhaps than any other he'd had. Still, there was something about Harry that left Draco uneasy, and the harder he thought about it, the more difficult it was for him to identify the source of his unease.

Perhaps it was simply that this was still Harry Potter. This was the boy who had been the bane of Draco's existence for five years. Not the sort of thing one could simply forget.

He thought back through five years of arguments, fights, and insults. Five years of classes and Quidditch matches. He remembered staring at the back of Harry's head in Potions class as hard as he could, mentally daring the Boy Who Lived to turn around, just so he could sneer at him. He thought about all the looks of unadulterated loathing they'd shared. He felt a familiar flash of anger as he replayed the image of the back of Harry's Quidditch uniform from each time Harry had beat him to the Snitch. He also remembered seeing Harry's unconscious form falling to the ground on the Quidditch pitch in third year, lying in a twisted heap in a mud puddle; he felt a surge of an unnamed emotion as he recalled how he'd been completely unable to pull his eyes away. And he remembered trying to get Harry to take his hand on that first day of school, and the odd burning sensation that had coursed through him as he was brushed aside.

Sure, that was the obvious source of discomfort in dealing with the boy who had made his life miserable for five years... the boy whose only chance of living was Draco's ability to completely put aside those old emotions.

Or maybe Draco felt uneasy because he already had put them aside.

And maybe he felt uneasy because the outcome meant so damn much to him.

This was a suicide mission. Voldemort would find him and kill him eventually, whether or not Harry lived; Draco was sure of it. The question Draco knew he should be asking himself was "How do I want to die?" To die by intentionally trading himself for his father, or while fighting for Harry?

Well, when I put it that way...

No, he was definitely continuing on this suicide mission with Harry for reasons beyond his own ability to understand. He had no idea why, or how, Harry was becoming so important to him. But he was.

And Draco was going to stick with Harry. He hoped.

Unable to focus on his dilemma any longer, Draco turned his attention to a more practical puzzle: the potion. With a sigh, he looked down at the three small piles of ingredients he'd laid out on his handkerchief, which he'd enlarged to serve as a workspace. He'd managed to procure mugwort on the way down towards the camp. Fucking snake, he mentally cursed. The quince seeds had remained safely in his pocket since he'd taken them from the core of Harry's fruit, and he had the five seeds required by the potion. He also still had the Calamus root he'd tucked beside the seeds. Now all he needed were yew twigs, hawthorn thorns, Sorcerer's Violet, and mistletoe. In reality, they should all be quite easy to find. Harry had told him that he'd seen a hawthorn just the other day, and he was sure he could find one again. Sorcerer's Violet could probably be found in some nice open thickets, and mistletoe could be found growing on random trees, although oak or beech-grown mistletoe were preferable. As for the yew twigs... yew didn't grow just anywhere. That would take some searching.

He'd find everything, if that was what he was meant to do. At least, that was what he would keep telling himself. Somehow, some part of him wanted to blindly trust the fates that it would all work out. The necessary ingredients for the potion would be found. The fates would tip the balance of power in their favour at the last minute. And most importantly, Draco would be able to provide a strong enough counter-measure to Voldemort's pure hatred of Harry.

Maybe.

He closed his eyes as his headache flared up. The emotional counter-measure. That was what worried him the most. Unless he was completely single-minded in his commitment, and unless he was truly able to put the pure emotion into the effort, it would all be for nothing. That was if he was even able to brew the potion correctly in the first place.

Draco stared at the pitiful little piles on his handkerchief, and wondered how he could entrust the fate of his friend to those measly bits of plants. They looked like nothing. Bits of plants that could be brushed away, or lost so easily. Biting his lower lip, Draco carefully folded them back into his handkerchief and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He wasn't going to lose them. Not a single seed.

And he wasn't going to lose Harry either.

He looked back up at the silhouette that was slowly blending into the shadows of the evening. He'd procrastinated long enough. With a deep breath, he made up his mind. He grabbed his walking stick, pulled himself up, and hobbled slowly over to where Harry was sitting.

For a moment, he stood just behind Harry, wondering how he should break the ice. What was he going to say? Harry, I just wanted to assure you that I've been giving it my most sincere thought, and I promise you that you're not going to die. I think. Oh yeah, that would be smooth as grit. And for good measure, if he really wanted to mess it all up, he could include a discussion about his reservations regarding his father. But before he could think of how to break the silence, Harry did it for him.

"Draco, if you want to join me, you don't have to ask permission," Harry said neutrally. He scooted over, making room for Draco to sit on the rock, too. "Have a seat."

Feeling foolish, Draco sat down on the edge of the rock, as if somehow, he wasn't supposed to really invade Harry's space. "I... er... I just wanted to... you know..."

"Talk, you mean?"

Draco felt his face burn, and was grateful to the darkness for hiding the deep flush that must surely be gracing his cheeks. "Yeah. Something like that."

He heard Harry sigh. "Not much to talk about, I don't think. I mean, we already know what's going to happen. All we have to do is find the ingredients, make the potion, and hope it works."

"It will work," Draco said with more conviction than he felt.

"Now try saying that like you believe it."

"I do believe it!"

Harry shifted beside him. "Look me in the eye."

Draco glanced up to see Harry looking at him intently, the green of his irises barely visible in the waning light. "Harry, please, I do believe it. I just can't promise... I'm not going to lie to you."

Again, Harry sighed heavily. "I don't want lies. Even if the lies are nicer. It's okay. I don't expect miracles."

A flash of anger rose in Draco. "You should expect to live!" It was bad enough that Draco was having his own doubts. He needed Harry to believe in this, if it was going to work at all.

"I've learned not to have too many expectations in life," Harry replied in a carefully detached tone. "They tend to leave me disappointed."

The silent sorrow in those words felt like a weight that had been dropped squarely on the back of Draco's neck. "You can't mean that."

If anything, Harry looked amused. "And since when has an expectation brought you anything but misery?"

Draco had already opened his mouth to answer before he realized that he had none to give. He closed his mouth and looked away. "I don't mean expectations like that," he mumbled. "I mean, it wouldn't hurt to think positively."

He felt rather than saw Harry nod. "I know what you meant. I'm trying, I really am. It's just... I've been surrounded by so much death for so much of my life, especially in the past few years. I guess I've just always known it was only a matter of time until it was my turn."

"It's not 'your turn', you great prat! So stop saying that!"

Harry shrugged. "Feels like it should be. Listen, I'm sorry. I'm just... not sure what to think right now."

"Well, I think you can still try to make a run for Hogwarts." Draco waited for Harry's response, almost unsure of what he wanted to hear. Then he felt Harry's eyes almost drilling holes through the side of his head. "Right. Right, I know. Never mind."

"It's just that there's a lot that feels so wrong about everything," Harry said in a rush.

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... I'm not sure what I mean. I guess I had always figured it would all end in a spectacular duel, with either me or Voldemort going down in a blaze of flashing curses. All that fury, the adrenaline, and no time to be afraid. Not like this."

Ah, I see. "Are you afraid right now?"

"Actually, no, and that's what worries me. I'm still... numb, I guess. From this morning. The shock is wearing off, but it doesn't quite seem real. I'm not even sure if I'm making any sense."

"You are."

Harry made a noncommittal noise. "It's like I know that at the last minute, it'll suddenly seem real. And when that happens... I don't know if I'll be scared, or furious, or if I'll wish I'd made a different decision."

"And I won't ask you if you want to change your mind now."

"Good. Because I want to make my decision when I'm clear headed... or at least, not in a total panic. I've made up my mind... I'm going to try your solution... and I want you to make sure I stick with it."

Draco wasn't sure if he was hearing that correctly. "What?"

"When the time comes... if I panic... I want you to make sure I don't do anything stupid. I want you to make sure that I don't back out of this."

"I'm not going to force you to do anything, Harry."

"You're not. I'm asking you to do me a favour. As a friend."

A sick feeling began swirling in Draco's stomach, but he wasn't sure why. "Harry, if you're asking me to keep you here, you might be asking me to kill you." It took Draco a second to realize what he'd said. "I... wait, that wasn't what I meant. I meant -"

"No, Draco, you said what you meant."

There was a long pause. Draco looked around distractedly. The darkness had begun to swallow the far shore, and the shadows themselves were beginning to creep in around them. He shivered, and suddenly found himself barely able to keep from fidgeting like a first year. As it was, the sick feeling in his stomach magnified itself several times over. He looked over at Harry.

Harry was staring off across the lake, as though absorbed by the shadows himself. After a long time, he spoke in a low tone, barely above a whisper.

"I think... that this is the best chance I've got, Draco. I really do. I thought about it, as much as I could. If we try to get back to Hogwarts, we could end up simply stranded in the middle of nowhere when... when it happens, and we'll be completely unprepared. Or even if we get back, Dumbledore and Snape might not have any better idea than you have. So... I've made my choice, now, while I'm thinking as clearly as I can. I'm sticking with this. With you." He turned to look at Draco; his face was completely unreadable. "My life is in your hands."

Draco's mouth had gone dry. "Harry..."

"Wait a minute... there's one more thing though." Harry leaned towards Draco. "I need you to promise me something."

"I'll try."

"I suppose that's all I can ask. First, I want you to know that I really think this will work... but in case it doesn't, I need to have a plan... just in case."

Draco folded his arms against his chest and leaned over his knees. Next to him, he could feel Harry shaking. I've got a bad feeling about this. "What sort of plan?"

When Harry finally answered, he spoke very slowly, as if afraid of the words about to come out of his mouth. "I can't let him win. No matter what, we can't let him win. And he only wins if he takes my life."

Draco's stomach dropped. "Harry, don't say it. Please, don't -"

A hand gripped Draco's upper arm, and he found himself turned in place to face Harry.

Harry's face was all shadows, with the last traces of daylight reflecting off his smudged glasses. Even the darkness didn't hide the lines of stress around his eyes or the trembling of his lower lip. Still, when he spoke, his voice was steady.

"Draco, if it looks like the plan isn't going to work... at the last minute... I... I need..." He pressed his lips together for a moment, then reached down towards Draco's hip. There was a tugging at his belt, and then Draco saw the inevitable glint of the pale sky reflected on the flat of his dagger. And Harry was holding the handle towards him. "I said it once before... I'd rather die by my own hand than let Voldemort win. I'd even rather let -"

"- me kill you," Draco finished in a dry whisper. His hand began to reflexively move towards the dagger, but he stopped himself. "Harry, I can't. You were right, back in the dungeons there. Even when I thought I wanted to... when I hated you... I couldn't have done it. You can't possibly think that I could do that now... now that I... I feel... like you... that I..."

A faint smile ghosted across Harry's face, and he placed one silencing finger against Draco's lips. Broken words died in Draco's throat as he looked into Harry's eyes, felt Harry's finger on his lips. A small whimper escaped him.

Harry smiled again, and Draco thought he'd never before seen quite such a pained expression. "That's why you should be able to do it. If you're my friend... you won't let him take me. I may not win, but I won't lose, either."

"Harry..."

"Promise me." Harry reached down and took Draco's hand, and gently forced the dagger's handle into his grip. Then he wrapped his own hand around Draco's so that they were both holding the dagger. "Promise me," he said again, "that when the time comes... if it looks like I'm not going to make it... you'll do it."

Unblinking, Draco looked down at the knife in their hands, then back up at Harry. "You're going to make it. Promise me that you're not going to let yourself believe anything else, because I swear this is going to work."

If anything, Harry's hands tightened around Draco's. "I trust you... and I promise."

Feeling slightly ill, Draco wrapped his other hand around Harry's and did his best to return the squeeze. "Then... I promise, too."

Harry didn't smile, but he did nod before releasing Draco's hands and turning away to look back out across the lake.

The far shore was nothing but darkness now, and Draco could barely see the ridges of the waves and ripples out in the middle of the water, where the breeze was strongest. Overhead, a few clouds in the upper atmosphere still held the remnants of the sunset, but they were beginning to fade as the stars blinked into existence around them. And to the east, above the far shore to the left, the silver edge of the moon had intruded from behind the high mountains, obnoxious in its brightness. Its great bulge was almost fully round, and Draco closed his eyes to block it out.

When he opened his eyes, he was looking down at the dagger in his hands. With a grimace, he slipped it back into its sheath, then glanced back up at Harry. Harry was staring straight at the moon. He seemed to realize Draco was looking at him, and spoke without taking his gaze from the lunar invader.

"It looks innocent enough, doesn't it?"

"Not really. Not if you'd read all the books on Dark Lunar Magic that I have."

Harry snorted lightly in response. Finally, he dropped his gaze from the sky. "I'm just so tired."

"Well, we should probably go to sleep. We're going to have a long day tomorrow."

Harry turned his head towards Draco, and without being able to see his expression, he could tell that Harry was scowling at him. "You really think I can lie down and sleep right now?"

Draco let out a slow breath and gave Harry a light bump with his shoulder. "No, probably not. And I don't blame you."

Harry nodded and turned his head back towards the lake. Draco followed his gaze, staring into the shadows. He lost track of time, just sitting like that, pondering how the hell they were going to pull this off, trying to force the terror from his mind, and wondering how he could feel so isolated, yet not alone. With Harry sitting right there, their arms brushing together, Draco could feel Harry's presence, that unique power and aura that was so Harry, overlapping comfortably with his own.

I can't lose this. I can't lose him.

It felt so comfortable, like they couldn't have been any closer.

Then Draco felt Harry shift. Before he could look, he felt the weight of Harry's head resting solidly on his shoulder, and heard Harry sigh. He couldn't keep the surprise from his voice. "Harry? Are you okay?"

Harry nodded against Draco's neck. "Just... a little... oh, for Merlin's sake, just don't tell anyone about this when we get home, okay?"

No verbal response would quite fit, Draco realized. Feeling extremely self-conscious, but at the same time quite warm and perhaps a bit jittery, he nodded to himself. Gently, he shifted his own seat so that he was sitting as close as possible to Harry, and put his arm around a thin, trembling pair of shoulders. He was amazed when Harry relaxed into the awkward embrace.

"Thank you," Harry whispered.

"Don't worry about it." Draco gave him a little squeeze. "Relax. I've got you."

"I know," Harry said softly. "I know."

*********

I walk through the gardens of dying light,
And cross all the rivers deep and dark as the night,
Searching for a reason why time would've passed us by.
With every step I take the less I know myself.
Every vow I break on my way towards your heart.
Countless times I've prayed for forgiveness.
But gods just laugh at my face.
And this path remains.

(~HIM)

*********