Without Wand or Wire

Voldemort was recovering still from his battle the night before. He was very careful not to let on, but he really wasn't as healthy as others believed him to be. His was a stolen life, after all: he wasn't entirely human, wasn't even entirely alive. And as magic was the glue that held his new form together, when he used magic, he was, after a fashion, unraveling the thread of his own being. Now, he needed rest, to "knit" himself back together.

Wormtail was just going to have to wait a little.

* * *

"Harry? Haaarryyy?" came a voice from out in the darkness.

Harry stirred somewhat reluctantly. It was so dark and quiet where he was; he liked it very much. No strange green lights, no horrible screams. So peaceful. …

"Harry!" came the voice again, oddly compelling -- and familiar, too.

He didn't feel so reluctant anymore. The voice was … comforting. He turned to it now, and found a beautiful light shining warmly in the darkness. He was as a moth, drawn to its flame. He moved toward it. …

"Harryyyyyyy. …" came another voice, from behind him, this one definitely not pleasant.

He wanted to run from it, into the light, but this new voice was also compelling, in its own way. He knew that there was nowhere he could run or hide from this voice. And when he turned to it, the light was green, a green that wasn't life-giving like the trees, but life-taking, like gangrene. It was coming for him, and if it reached him, it could reach the other light, snuff it out. …

He couldn't let that happen.

He realized that he was giving off light himself, a faint sort of red woven with a living sort of green, and speckled with gold. Gryffindor and my eyes …That was how the lights were finding him, both the good and the bad! He needed to hide his own light. … He gathered the darkness to him like a cloak, thought himself invisible, and just like that he could no longer see himself, or the other lights. …

When Harry awoke, it was to a great warmth on his right side; for a moment, he thought he'd found the comforting light after all. But as he came to his senses, he could feel fingers curled about his own, pressed against his right pocket. He could feel the package within the pocket, and it seemed to him that it was a second source of heat. But before he could take the time to wonder about it, a soft sigh tickled his ear, his neck, on that side. Someone was lying next to him. …

He turned his head and opened his eyes.

In the faint light of magically-lit lamps, Ginny Weasley seemed to glow with a light all her own. Perhaps it was the lack of his glasses that did it, but she was so close he thought he could see her close to perfectly. Harry might have wondered where he was -- as the magically-expanded infirmary hardly looked like it originally did, glasses or no -- or he might have wondered why he was sharing sleeping-space with the youngest Weasley. He didn’t. For a few blissful minutes, the potion Faelyn had given him retained its grip just well enough for him not to fret about anything, but simply enjoy the warmth Ginny's body gave, the pressure of her hand in his. There were so few times in his life that he had felt the touch of another being.

[Harry sees Ginny ...]

It was strange. He didn’t think he'd ever taken the time to look at her like this before. When she was younger, she'd always turned away, too shy to look him in the eye. And when she'd gotten over that, she'd found a boyfriend, and Harry had spent -- wasted -- his time eyeing Cho. He'd never really taken the time to think of Ginny as anything besides "Ron's kid sister". But he'd still known her. When had she found the time to grow up into such a lovely young lady?

He was just noticing how soft her lips were, was wondering if they were as soft as her hair, and was about to touch them in order to satisfy his curiosity when, as if she had read his mind, her eyes snapped open. As his bright green eyes met her amber ones, she let out a squeal and sat up so quickly that she fell off the bed.

"Ginny!" Harry whispered, scrambling up to peer over the edge of the mattress.

"Sorry!" she whispered back, glancing around to make sure no one had woken up and seen her in his bed. She held her breathe, then let it out slowly in relief as Pomfrey, who was right next to her, let out a snore. "I don't know how I got there," she explained quietly as she picked herself up and sat gently on the bed, wincing as the springs groaned treacherously. "I guess I must have been sleepwalking or something. …"

Harry looked about the room, squinting. "It must run in the family," he told her, his voice low, gesturing to the bed across from his, where blurred figures that looked suspiciously like Ron and Hermione slept soundly, the arms of the former wrapped tightly around the latter, while the latter had her face buried snugly in the chest of the former, with a Crookshanks blur at her feet. "Unless your mum's gotten pretty liberal?" he quipped.

Ginny snickered behind her hand. "Think we should wake them, or let them catch it from Mum?"

"Hmmm." Harry pretended to consider it. "Well, I am rather fond of Ron, I'd hate to see him die so young. …" As his own words sank in, Harry seemed horror-stricken for a moment, before wiping all emotion from his face. "Better wake 'em up," he told her rather tersely as he moved to get out of bed.

He stopped, though, as he got his glasses on and caught sight of the boy in the bed next to his. "What's he doing here?" he hissed, in the first real show of emotion he'd had in a long while.

Biting her lip, Ginny said, "Let's wake Ron and 'Mione first, and then we'll explain."

Giving Malfoy a final glare for good measure, Harry nodded and padded over to the bed where his two best friends lay sleeping.

It seemed a shame to wake them; they seemed so happy. Perhaps Harry should have been jealous, but he wasn't -- the way he saw it, those two had been leaning towards this practically since they day they'd all met, and it was about bloody time they finally accepted it. No, he wasn't jealous -- envious, maybe, and a little lonely, but those weren't the same things. Besides, if they kept each other occupied, it would be that much easier for him to keep his distance from them both, and therefore keep them both safe from Voldemort. But for now, he needed to make sure they were safe from Mrs. Weasley.

He shook the red-head's shoulder gently. "Pssst! Ron! Wake up!" he whispered in the boy's ear.

Ron muttered in irritation and drew Hermione closer to him. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of whatever exotic flowers were in Hermione's latest shampoo. His eyes snapped open. His hand squeezed Hermione's shoulder. He looked down at her bushy brown locks. His eyes widened in horror.

Harry clamped a hand on the Weasley boy's mouth. "Don't!" He hissed in Ron's ear. "You'll wake her up, and if she finds you here with her like this, she'll turn you into an inkpot or something!"

Ron nodded wordlessly, and slowly, painstakingly -- and maybe a bit reluctantly -- removed himself from Hermione's slumbering grip, with Harry and Ginny's amused help. Then, once Ron was standing safely next to the bed, they gently woke Hermione, shushing her when she gave Harry a loud, happy, "You're all right!" in greeting, almost knocking her cat to the floor.

It was only then that Ginny realized the wireless was on again, playing a quiet, soothing song. She looked about at the sleeping adults and had a sneaking suspicion it was the wireless that kept them asleep. She decided it was best to leave it playing, give them some time to speak freely without anyone telling them what to think about or feel.

She, Ron, and Hermione took turns telling Harry all they knew about the battle the night before -- which admittedly wasn't all that much -- and about their encounter with Draco, Buckbeak, and Lucius in the attic.

When they were finished, Harry just stared at them in disbelief at first. Finally, he shook his head, his eyes never leaving them. "Draco Malfoy gets the Dark Mark, he kills someone, and suddenly everyone's 'Oh, poor Draco'?! Voldemort's possessed the lot of you, that's all there is to it." He stood up. "It's not me who needs Occlumency lessons, it's all of you!"

Ginny stood up as well, a snarl on her face. She slapped Harry, hard. "How dare you joke about Voldemort and possession to me?" she hissed.

Their own protests died on Ron's and Hermione's tongues. Harry's hand rose slowly to his cheek, a red mark bright on his pale skin where Ginny had struck him. He felt a twinge in his scar; his hand trembled, and he yanked it back down, taking a step back. He had let his emotions get out of check, and, somewhere, Voldemort had felt it. No matter how much Draco might deserve his hate, he had to remain calm, or else he might as well hand Grimmauld Place and its occupants over to the Dark Lord on a silver platter, with all the trimmings.

"I-I'm sorry, Ginny," he offered contritely.

Rather than demurely averting her eyes and apologizing for striking him, like a more maidenly girl might, Ginny squared her shoulders and met his gaze unflinchingly. "You better be," she told him.

He almost didn’t fight the smile that tugged at his lips. Sometimes it could be downright irritating that Ginny would never back down from him, but he had to respect her for it all the same.

Ron and Hermione, meanwhile, eyed the scene with interest, separately arriving at the same conclusions. Eventually, though, Ron decided he'd better come to Harry's rescue.

"Look, Harry, I know how you feel, mate. Malfoy's not our new best friend or anything, and I still wouldn’t trust him to look after Pig or something, but … well, I mean if we don’t have compassion, what do we have over the Death Eaters then? If a greasy git like Snape can switch sides, well … unlikely as it may seem, maybe Malfoy can too, then. Besides, at this point I'm kind of thinking he should get a bloody Order of Merlin for taking out his bastard of a father! Imagine having your own dad use the Cruciatus on you as a kid!"

Harry couldn’t stop himself from feeling at least a little sorry for Malfoy upon hearing that.

"It's bound to mess a guy up," Ron continued, "but maybe with some different role models -- and without his dad around, encouraging him to be an arse -- Malfoy might have a chance to be a decent bloke now. … Anyway, wouldn't it be better to give him a chance, rather than writing him off outright? Think about it: if Dumbledore hadn’t given Snape a chance like that, we would have been peeling you off the Quidditch pitch with a spatula in our first year!" Merlin, did I just defend Malfoy and Snape? Maybe I should have my head examined …

Hermione smiled and squeezed Ron's arm encouragingly. He's so much wiser than he gives himself credit for -- than anyone does, really, even me. He really has matured quite a bit this summer! she marveled. But then I guess we all have, really -- we've kind of had to. …

"You're assuming Malfoy's telling the truth," Harry pointed out after a moment of internal struggle. "That that whole display with Lucius wasn't some elaborate illusion or something!" He had to get his point across, but he couldn't get worked up about it. …

Hermione scowled. "I think I know the casting of the Patronus when I see it, Harry -- I've seen you cast it often enough, and I have successfully cast it myself. Besides, do you really believe Malfoy is capable of such an elaborate ruse? He might fool the teachers with his crocodile tears, but it's always been obvious enough to us when he's been up to something -- he just can’t help bragging about it somehow. You didn’t see him up there, Harry. That was Lucius Malfoy's ghost, and Draco was mentally distraught. You trust me, don’t you? My judgment? Even if you don’t always listen to it?" she added wryly.

Harry thought back to the Ministry battle, and how Sirius would never have died if he had just listened to Hermione, really listened, about it probably being a trap. No tears threatened, no grief choked him; by now he was well-enough trained not to let thoughts of Sirius disturb his calm. Too much was at stake. He remained cool and logical as he considered her words. Finally he nodded. "I guess you're right." Even if she wasn't, there was no point in arguing about it. He would just have to keep an eye on Malfoy. It occurred to him that perhaps this was all for the best: better to know where your enemy was than have to wait for them to strike from the darkness.

* * *

"Severus …" Dumbledore laid a hand on Snape's shoulder. "I know you still have hope -- I do too -- but we have to accept that, for the moment, Pansy is lost. You need sleep; we all do."

"Then go sleep, old man! I'm not stopping until I find her!" A fevered light burned in Snape's eyes, but it was obvious that his anxiety for Pansy was all that was keeping him going.

"Severus, you know Fae won't quit until you do. She's not complaining, but she did hit her head last night. You know as well as I do that those potions she's taking only dull her pain -- she still has a head injury!"

As they watched her, Faelyn stumbled and caught herself on a white-barked tree, her skin as pale as the arbor's, her arm shaking. Snape moved to help her, but she smiled and motioned that she was fine. As she went off looking another way, Snape returned to the Headmaster 's side.

"Don’t forget that Draco needs you too." Albus pressed him. "If Pansy is still alive, then likely she will remain so. If she's free, she will return to us, or find a way to contact us. If she's not …" Dumbledore closed his eyes in pain at the thought, "then likely Voldemort has already punished her, and will contact us himself. When he does, then we'll know where she is, and we'll go after her." And Petunia's son. "I swear it."

* * *

Draco began to toss and turn violently in his sleep, as though Voldemort himself were on his heels. Harry supposed, if the others were right, then it was entirely possible that the Dark Lord was after Malfoy. He even considered waking the boy up, to free him from his apparent nightmare, when Draco awoke on his own, bolting upright with the rabbit clutched tightly to his chest, his face flushed as he fought for air. Concerned in spite of themselves, the Gryffindors surrounded the Slytherin's bed. Even Crookshanks hopped up upon it, rubbing comfortingly against Draco's shaking hand. Hermione gave Harry a pointed look; Crookshanks could always tell whether someone was trustworthy or not, and if he was giving Draco his seal of approval, that should be enough for Harry, the look was saying. Harry nodded slightly, signaling his reluctant agreement.

"Where is she?" Draco asked without preamble, as he absentmindedly clutched at the cat's ginger fur with his free hand.

"Um, where's who?" Hemione asked.

"Pansy!"

If there had been any doubt in Harry's mind about Crookshanks' half-kneazle senses, there was none now. There was no way Draco Malfoy could fake the panic he was in at this moment. And yet he still didn’t want to believe it.

A rock threatened to settle in Harry's gut, but he blatantly ignored it. He was not going to agonize over yet another of Voldemort's apparent victims. There would be plenty of time for that after the final battle; for now, he couldn’t let himself become immobilized by his failures, or even more might be lost.

The Gryffindors exchanged glances, none of them wanting to be the one to tell Draco what had theoretically happened to his girlfriend. Unfortunately, Moody was walking into number twelve through the fireplace in the kitchen at just that moment. He was talking with an Auror, and their voices carried into the infirmary:

"I can't believe they're still out there! What's Snape trying to prove? I shouldn't have given him those Portkeys!"

"What does he expect to find, anyway? We found her Communication Glass and all that blood … likely she was blown up in that final spell Voldemort used. …"

"Aye … here." There was a tinkling of glass. "We'll drink a glass of firewhiskey to the memory of Pansy Parkinson. …"

"… Sir, isn’t it a bit early for firewhiskey?"

And their voices faded.

Draco stared at the door, the toy still clutched in his arm, his other hand still entangled in Crookshanks' matted pelt. Finally he glanced at Ron, who was closest to the door. His eyes were bright and pleading as he asked, "It's … it's not true? This is just some sick joke you Gryffindors cooked up to torment me, right? Go ahead, tell me it's a joke, I won't get mad, just tell me it's not true! Please!"

Ron looked to the others, but they seemed as at a loss as he felt. "Um … well, we don’t know for sure what happened. …" he offered, knowing how lame his words sounded.

We found her Communication Glass and all that blood … likely she was blown up in that final spell Voldemort used. … The words echoed in Draco's mind, but what he saw was that last image of Pansy, the knife at her neck … yes, if that Muggle had slit her throat, there would have been a lot of blood. … The Aurors were wrong, it hadn’t been Voldemort that had killed her, it had been Draco, because he'd failed to rescue her from the Muggle, so he might as well have been holding the knife himself. Just as he had been the one to kill first his father's body, then the man's spirit. And his mother had died for love of him, after a fashion, hadn’t she? Would Snape die because of him as well?

And here the blasted Gryffindors were staring at him, with those condemning eyes. … They knew how worthless he was, didn't they? How he tainted everything he touched, like some grotesque Midas? They had to have always known -- that was why Potter had refused the hand he'd offered in friendship so long ago, why all Potter's friends curled their lips whenever they saw him. The weight of their accusing gazes was crushing him, he couldn't breathe, so much death that was all his fault, and he would never get Pansy back, I'm sorry, Pansy! I'm sorry I led you into this! I should have tried harder to make you stay, shouldn’t have let you come!

He had to get out, he couldn't stay here, in this place where the walls threatened to close in on him, imprison him, suffocate him for all he'd done! He threw the covers aside and ran out of the room. By sheer dumb luck he chose the right direction to run to get out the front door and escape blindly into the pre-dawn.

"Malfoy!?" Hermione called after fleeing boy. She was the first to come to her senses and realize they needed to catch the crazed teen, but Harry quickly passed her. The four Gryffindors stopped short, though, just outside the door of number twelve.

"Which way?" Ginny asked.

Occlumency gave Harry unusual clarity of thought. "Ginny, you and I will go left, Hermione, Ron, you two go right. Split when you reach the corner. Whoever finds him, use the Flare spell we learned in the DA club." And he was already running, Ginny struggling to follow. "Go right at the corner!" he yelled back to her.

* * *

"Wonder what that was all about?" asked the Auror, after the thundering in the hall finally stopped.

"Eh, just the kids running out the front door," Moody replied. "You know how teens are, always in a hurry," he muttered. It occurred to him that there was something strange about the scenario, but the bottom of his glass beckoned, chasing the thought from his mind.

* * *

Fae swooned again, and this time Snape caught her. "Come on, let's get back to number twelve and have Pomfrey take a look at you," he told her.

"But … Pansy!"

"… If we haven't found something by now, I … I doubt there's anything left of her to find," he admitted softly.

She was about to protest, but she just didn’t have the strength left to offer what she was starting to see as false hope herself. She nodded sadly. She put her arms around him and hugged him tight. Hesitantly, he did the same, laying his cheek against her hair. He was too preoccupied with grief for his student, though, to be able to appreciate this moment in her arms.

* * *

Dammit, where was a car when you needed one?

Draco had finally stopped running, and stood, breathless and a bit dazed, in the middle of the street. Sometime during his run, as he was trying to decide where to run to, the thought came to him that if he brought such trouble wherever he went, then he'd be doing the world a favor if he removed himself from it altogether. He spotted an animal that had been squashed beyond recognition in the street, and decided being hit by a car would do in a pinch. Unfortunately (to his mind), since it was still so early in the morning, there was no traffic to be had. So much for a nice, quick ending in the grill of some bus.

As he bent over to catch his breathe, he could feel something in the pocket of his Death Eater robe. His wand? Someone -- Lupin, maybe? Draco vaguely recollected seeing the man before finding himself in that kitchen -- must have stuck it in there for him when he'd passed out! He drew it out of his pocket, and tried hard to remember how to do what it was that he wanted to do.

"Now remember, Draco," his mother had said, as they'd halted on a Muggle streetcorner, "all you have to do is hold your wand up like this," she demonstrated, "and the bus will come flying over to you. Just make sure you're standing on the pavment, and not in the street!"

And to obligingly illustrate, the Knight Bus had done just as she'd said it would. After dismissing the highly agitated conductor, Narcisssa had turned to Draco and knelt beside him, smoothing his hair. "So if you're ever in trouble out here in the Muggle world -- heaven forbid -- and need to travel in a hurry before you're old enough to Apparate, that's how you summon the Knight Bus. Like I told you, though, just make certain you're out of the street when you do it, or you'll get flattened for sure!"

Standing firmly in the path of oncoming traffic, Draco raised his wand into the air, just as his mother had shown him so long ago. Sure enough, the lights of the Knight Bus came flying towards him. He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact.

But the impact didn't come from in front of him. It came from the side, and knocked him hard onto the nearby pavement. Then a hand shoved his shoulder, forcing him to lay on his back, and look right into the searing green eyes of the person he probably hated most in the world -- well, after himself, Lucius, and Voldemort.

"Potter!" Draco spat. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

His heart still racing from the run, not to mention just barely missing being hit by the Knight Bus -- again -- Harry replied, "What am I doing?" -- huff, huff -- "Saving your worthless" -- huff -- "hide, THAT's what I'm doing!"

Just then, Stanley Shunpike stepped out of the bus and began his usual spiel, reading from his little paper. (Harry wondered why the idiot hadn't memorized the damn thing already.) When he'd finally finished and looked up from his notes, it was to see one boy stradling another on the ground, with the other's robes in the first's fists, and both of them staring at Stanley.

"Erm ... one o' you blokes summon the Knight Bus?" Then he did a double-take. "'Ey! I know you! You're 'Arry Potter, you is! What 'cho sittin' on that guy for? Youse 'avin a fight, or sommat?"

"Yeah, Shunpike, this is my boyfriend," Harry deadpanned. "We've had a lover's quarrel, and he tried to run out on me, but as you can see, I'm not letting him go anywhere, and we're about to snog passionately right here on this pavement. Sorry to have troubled you."

Stan blinked. Then he blushed beneath his acne. "Er ... right then. I reckon we better be leavin' now ... Uh, 'a-ave a good night, then, 'Arry!" He stumbled a little as he backed up onto the stairs, then turned around in a hurry. Harry caught him saying "Cor, Ern, you 'ear that? 'Arry Potter is a--" and the door closed.

"Well, the Daily Prophet ought to have a field day with that," Harry remarked off-handedly, watching the bus depart. It really was rather freeing, not caring about anything, especially not what other people thought. Yay for Occlumency. ... When he turned back to Draco, he found the boy regarding him warily with his icy gray eyes.

"Er, you ..." Draco began, "you didn't knock me out of harm's way because you ... secretly fancy me, did you, Potter? I mean, I realise I am hard to resist, but I have to tell you, you're not my type!"

Harry rolled his eyes and stood up. "Oh, get over yourself, Malfoy! It was the easiest way to get rid of Shunpike and the Knight Bus in a hurry without some lengthy explanation. Besides, what would I have said? 'Oh, sorry, this is a Death Eater, and I'm stopping him from taking the bus to Voldemort'?" Harry picked up Draco's wand from the ground and aimed it skyward, muttering a spell. Red sparks shot into the air.

"The ministry will be all over you for that, you know," Draco pointed out. "Underage magic outside of school?"

"Yeah, well, I doubt they would bother for such a small spell, especially given how similar to Lumos it is -- they allowed us to practice that outside of school, after all. But if they do come after me, well ... it's your wand, anyway," Harry countered as he watched down the street for Ginny's red head to come into view. "Don't even think of trying to escape, Malfoy," he added absently.

Malfoy shrugged, sounding uncharacteristically defeated as he said, "It would have been a lot easier for you to have just let me die you know."

Harry smirked. "Yeah, me and my damn 'saving-people-thing'."

"Your what?"

"Never mind. What about you, Malfoy? Don't you know better than to summon the Knight Bus in the middle of the street? Or do they neglect to mention that in Death Eater Boot Camp?"

Draco scowled at being called a Death Eater but didn't argue, absentmindedly rubbing his inner left arm. "Well, it wouldn't have hit me if I wasn't in the street, now, would it? As you so kindly proved."

Harry glanced back at Draco, who was staring at nothing, and reminding Harry vaguely of the time Ron had stumbled into the common room, looking lost and forlorn after doing abysmally in his first Quidditch match. Again, Harry was struck by the notion that Malfoy didn't seem to be acting at all. Damn, the boy really did looked depressed!

"Malfoy ... you ... you weren't ... trying to get hit by the Knight Bus ... were you?"

* * *

The Portkey -- for security reasons -- was spelled to bring them not into number twelve, but rather behind some bushes just outside the door. Or the place where the door would appear, at least. At any rate, Faelyn and Snape had just arrived when they each immediately spotted familiar figures, in the directions they just happened to be looking in, which also happened to be opposite each other. The figures in question were running away.

"Ron?" Fae asked herself, as he was certainly too far away to hear anything less than a shout. He and the girl, Hermione, stopped at the corner to confer before running off in opposing directions, Hermione's route taking her across the square of Grimmauld Place, while Ron's took him out immediately.

"And that's Potter!" Snape said to Fae. She turned just in time to see The Boy duck around his own corner, much as Ron had, while Ginny went across the square on her side, mirroring Hermione. There was no question they were up to something -- likely something foolish. Snape sighed. "I'll go after Potter, you go after your cousin. ... Wait! Silencio!" he cast on their shoes. If Potter and company were up to something, it was probably best not to give them any warning.

Fae almost whimpered, but only said "Right," and set out at a trot, silently plotting the youngest Weasley boy's demise for making her run around with a whopping headache.

Snape was equally cursing Potter -- he'd been up all night, and he wasn't exactly a spring chick anymore. He goggled when he spotted the Knight Bus on a corner a few blocks away. He nearly panicked when he saw it take off -- did Potter get on it? He didn't know whether to curse or dance for joy when Potter shot the Flare spell into the sky, so he settled for picking up the pace. What was the fool boy doing?!

As he got closer, he could see Draco laying on the ground, with Potter's wand pointed at him, and got a sinking feeling that it was really Draco that had tried to run off.

He got within earshot just in time to hear Potter ask, "Malfoy ... you ... you weren't ... trying to get hit by the Knight Bus ... were you?"

"Yes, I'd like to hear the answer to that myself," Snape said roughly as he tried to smooth his breathing.

Potter jumped, startled at the sudden appearance of the ex-Potions Master. He saw how flushed Snape's face was and mistook it for anger. He thought perhaps the head of Slytherin House was finally going to give Malfoy a thorough hiding. He wondered why that didn't make him feel happy.

Draco hurriedly got to his feet and threw his arms around his godfather with the grip of a drowning man. Snape and Harry both were more than a little disconcerted by this maneuver. Snape, a full head taller than Malfoy, awkwardly patted his godson's hair in an effort to comfort the distraught child, who was now sobbing fiercely into the front of his robes.

"She's dead! She's dead, and it's all my fault! And Father, too!" came the boy's muffled wail. "I killed them all!"

And then, just like that, he went slack in Snape's arms.

"What did you do, Potter?" Snape snarled as he struggled with the sudden burden.

Harry hurried over and grabbed one of Draco's arms, pulling it over his shoulder. "I didn't do anything!" he protested.

"It was me," Faelyn said as she came up behind them, Ron and Hermione at her side. Ginny arrived a moment later, from the opposite direction."Really," Fae continued lowly, when she was close enough for them to hear, "I dinnae think it would do for young Malfoy to go on wailin' abou' killing people out on the pavement here, so I used the Lullaby Charm."

Hermione blinked. "Don't you have to be close enough for them to hear you?"

"Not when yer a Bard," Fae replied, grinning somewhat evilly.

"Hermione, can we save the magic lessons for when we get back inside?" Ron asked. "I'm sure Harry doesn't want to have to touch Malfoy any longer than necessary!" Just because he was willing to give the boy a chance to prove he wasn't evil didn't mean Ron had to like Malfoy.

"Ron!" Hermione, Fae, and Ginny chided in simulcast. Okay, so he hasn't finished maturing, Hermione added to herself.

Snape's nostrils flared in anger at the slight towards his godson. "Why you cheeky--"

"Oh, honestly," Hermione interrupted, "why do men always have to do things the hard way? Mobilicorpus!"

Draco started to rise up off the ground.

"Don't let go!" Snape warned Harry. "I don't feel like doing any memory charms on any Muggles who might spot him floating down the street. We'll still carry him this way."

Harry nodded amiably. Snape seemed a little surprised at Harry's being so cooperative, but said nothing.

"Hermione, what about the Ministry restrictions on the use of magic by underage wizards?" Harry asked. She wouldn't get more than a slap on the wrist, likely, but he was surprised she was so willing to break a rule, now that the crisis had been averted. They could have just carried Draco.

"Oh! We forgot to tell you!" she said excitedly, earning her a pointed look from Ron and Snape. She continued in quieter tones, "We -- that is, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and I -- are allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts! Dumbledore arranged it! He told Fudge that, given our involvement with so many members of the Order, we needed to be free to both protect ourselves and assist as necessary. They won't let us Apparate yet, though. But I'm sure they'll allow you the same privileges as we have, Harry!"

Harry shrugged, indifferent. He'd use magic as he saw fit, Ministry approval or no. Dumbledore approval or no, for that matter.

Nothing more was said as they made their way back to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

The fireplace in Dumbledore's office flared green, and the teachers that had remained to wait, McGonagall and Hagrid, snapped awake, sputtering and rubbing their eyes. Hooch had filled them all in on the details of the fight, the night before, so everyone else, knowing the Headmaster had survived the fight, had gone to bed.

Minerva swept Dumbledore into a fierce hug. "Welcome back, you old coot! Moody told us you and Severus were looking for Miss Parkinson -- any luck?"

"I'm afraid not," he told her tiredly, and let her lead him over to his desk.

She picked up the teapot from the desk and conjured some water into it. "Some chamomile, to help you rest, Albus?"

He smiled. "That's very kind of you, Minerva."

She gave him a wan smile and arranged the teapot in the fire.

"Is it true that Harry had a bad turn at the Leaky Cauldron last night?" Hagrid asked worriedly. "Some people say they saw him collapse, but they didn't know what happened to him after, and all Moody knew was that he ended up at the Order headquarters!"

Dumbledore told Hagrid and McGonagall all he knew. An hour later, at six-thirty in the morning, he finally crawled into bed, wishing he had a Dreamless Sleep potion handy.