The tall building loomed over Harry as he walked up to the doorway. He reached out his hand, fingers closing around the doorknob, sending an icy shiver up his arm. The door was old, but Harry could tell it was still strong - it was built to be that way, it seemed.

He twisted the doorknob, like he'd learned with Draco, but it didn't turn. He frowned deeply, wondering if this was a type of door Draco hadn't told him about, before spotting the nails hammered into it through the wall, holding it firmly shut.

Harry scowled, taking a few steps backwards. A few nails weren't going to stop him, he just wouldn't be able to take anyone by surprise after this. He outstretched his hands, and let out a yell, the door flinging itself off its hinges and crashing to the ground. Harry's shoulders shook as he was once again overcome by silence, staring into the darkened doorway, only inky blackness swimming behind the threshold.

Harry bit his lip, but stride forward, readjusting his glasses. The floorboards creaked under his trainers as he stepped through the doorway, blinking a few times, waiting in baited breath for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Dusty furniture littered the room, an overturned table, a moth eaten armchair, a cracked mirror hanging on the wall. But there was no sign of life anywhere, nothing that Harry could sense. No bugs even, but certainly no Draco. Surely this was the right way though, where else could he have gone? There was nothing but barren snow outside, Harry would have been able to see him.

He took one slow step forward, the floorboards sending an ear piercing creak throughout the dark room. He froze, but there was no sound to tell him someone was coming, no footsteps or other creaking floorboards, so he continued forwards.

There was a door branching off beside the shattered mirror which hung dejectedly on the wall, Harry catching a brief glimpse of himself in it before he grasped the doorknob. His reflection was all spliced and wrong, carved up in neat little lines.

The doorknob was cold, the door swinging open silently, Harry wrinkling his nose at the dust that was swept up by the door moving, and was faced with a dark, empty corridor, another door looming at the end. The corridor descended, steps leading downwards, very clearly going underground. Harry bit back the sour feeling at the back of his throat - they'd kept him underground before. He turned around, casting a longing look back into the light he could barely now see. He didn't want to let go of the surface world ever again...

He strode forward into the dark, descending the steps and falling into complete darkness as the door swung shut behind him. He pushed his way through the door at the end of the hall, and looked at the scene in front of him.

The room was dimly lit by lanterns, that burned with enchanted green flames, giving the room a sickly glow. It was furnished more expansively than the rest of the old house, and seemed to have been lived in somewhat. A goblet of liquid sat on a table in front of a plush couch, a small platter of food beside it. It was clear the room was devoid of people though, the green light giving no space for anyone to hide in the corners.

This was the last room, though. There were no other passageways, no small tunnels, no other ways out. So where had Draco gone? He began to peer around the room.

A bookshelf stood in the corner, books haphazardly splayed across it, leaning on their sides and placed the wrong way around. Cockroaches crawled across them, the visible pages having holes in them where they had been eaten away at. It was a sick, twisted perversion of the Malfoy manor library, which was bright, clean, and warm. He brushed his fringe out of his eyes, scanning across the titles quickly, trying to understand the words scrawled across them. The few he did recognise were dark and made his stomach churn, so he quickly turned his attention away from the bookcase.

A few books were scattered around on the floor below the bookshelf, it looked as if there had been a struggle near it.

A flash of shock coursed through him as he saw a familiar object lying on the floor. Half buried beneath an open, half ripped book was the story Draco read to him. He stared at it, mouth suddenly going very dry as memories came rushing back. The terror of being bound to a wall, the stale, bloodied cloth in his mouth, the darkness that had shrouded his vision for years, accompanied only by the varied breaks in silence by the opening of the door whenever he was given food.

Then Draco's voice, it had appeared so suddenly one day. Speaking words of kindness, words from a storybook that allowed his mind to drift off somewhere else. The escape from the darkness was something invaluable, it gave him hope. And hope was suddenly worth living for.

Without thinking, he reached down and picked up the book, cradling it in his hands for a few seconds, remembering the moment he saw Draco's face for the first time, that boy with the golden white hair, the steely blue eyes that reminded him of the sky.

That was the last thing he thought, before a terrifying jerking feeling caught ahold of him, and the surrounding world fizzled away in a whirling blur.

*

Draco opened his eyes slowly, only able to see darkness, eyes not having adjusted. A splitting pain echoed through his head, and he groaned softly through chapped lips, only now coming to terms with the tightness around his body.

Some sort of binding spell? Draco could feel the magical energy coursing through it, holding him firmly in place. He felt grass tickling his cheek and when he breathed through his nose, he smelt the earthy scent of dirt.

Opening his eyes properly, blinking quickly to try and get them to focus, he saw several dark figures towering over him. Cold fear struck him and Adrenalin flooded his system, and he writhed pathetically, trying to get away from the people surrounding him. A choked gasp left his lips as the hold on him became tighter, forcing the air out of his lungs. The spell was like quicksand - the more he struggled, the more difficult it became to escape.

He forced himself to become still, lifting his head off the dirt ground to see thin, invisible lines cutting into his chest, small droplets of darkness becoming visible on his shirt. He groaned in pain, letting his head fall back onto the ground, squinting at the people standing over him. Their dark cloaks, pointed hoods... intricate metal masks that glimmered faintly...

A feeling of dread overcame him. This was it. He was done for, completely at their mercy, or rather, their lack of. His stomach was twisting into knots as he dug his fingers into the dirt, knuckles turning white, desperately trying to stay grounded as he stared up at them.

"Over here, leave him be. He doesn't matter right now." A voice echoed through the night, and the cloaked figures slowly moved towards it, and out of Draco's limited line of vision.

He whimpered pathetically, trying to observe his surroundings whilst also not struggling. The sky above was pure black, the clouds hiding whatever stars and moon there might have been. The air smelled like grass, the scent of it overwhelming. He could make out a few distinct shapes if he squinted, they looked like tombstones, scattered around; the few tall figures milling about between them.

He lay there in silence for a few more seconds, counting his breaths - trying to recall what had happened.

He remembered Hogsmeade... with Harry. Oh god, where was Harry? Had they got him too? Was he dead?

He struggled again in a mix of rage and fear, desperate to make sure Harry was okay. A choked gasp left his lips as the binds cut further into him, and he saw blood splatter into the air. A sharp, white hot pain drew across his face, and he could feel blood seeping down his cheek.

By now his clothes were soaked through, and a few hot tears of pain escaped his eyes, before he forced the rest back. He wasn't just going to lie here and bleed to death, not without getting the last word.

*

Harry hit the ground hard.

He fell onto his stomach and face as his hands and knees gave out, and lay there, panting, mind whirling. What on earth had just happened? He touched the book, and then...

He lifted his head and winced, bile rising into his throat, which he swallowed back down with a grimace. He pulled himself into a sitting position, picking up his half shattered glasses off the floor and sliding them onto his nose.

Some sort of field, filled with round pieces of stone lay out before him. It was dark, which puzzled him - hadn't it just been morning? How could it be night already? And there, in the distance... people.

He stared at them, remaining as still as possible. It was the people from before, the people in Draco's house, the ones who'd been attacking them. Their black cloaks, shiny masks, pointed hoods. They were far away enough that he was fairly sure he hadn't been seen, but he didn't want to take the chance of being noticed anytime soon. He was still reeling from hitting the floor, he didn't want to test his powers and have them fail now.

As quickly and quietly as he could, wincing at the pain in his ankles and scraped knees, he moved to hide behind one of the round stones, finding that his small body fit behind it well enough.

"Let me go, you assholes!" An angry, pained voice split the air that made Harry's eyes fly wide. Draco.

"Shut up," a curt voice responded, one that Harry also recognised, Lucius. "I didn't raise you to speak like that."

"You didn't raise me! You never did anything," Draco shrieked, pain evident in his voice. "Mother was twice the parent you'll ever be, you pathetic-". He was cut off by his own scream, and Harry covered his open mouth, lowering his head as his anger began to simmer, a familiar burning feeling rising in his chest.

"Well, lets just say you don't have to worry about her anymore," Lucius replied, his tone flat and empty. Draco's uncontrolled sobs echoed through the air now.

"Leave the boy alone, Lucius. We can't have him die before he gets here, he's our only bargaining chip." A high, cold voice cut through the air like a knife, and it made Harry shiver. They were talking about him. He drew in a deep breath. It was now or never.

As he walked towards these people, he came to a realisation. It wasn't them he was afraid of. It wasn't them torturing him, putting him back in that room with those people, or even them taking him away. He was afraid of Draco getting hurt. Of Draco being tortured, of Draco being taken away.

He summoned a shield to cover his body, a faint red glow surrounding him. He couldn't let Draco down. He may not have wanted to turn Harry into a weapon, but that's exactly what he'd become. It seemed he couldn't escape his fate, no matter how hard he tried.

Harry found he still had the element of surprise on his hands. None of them had noticed him yet, not even the snakelike one, who was standing in the centre. He'd have to get rid of the rest of them first.

Black tendrils flowed from his fingers, slithering through the grass like snakes towards the group. He could only conjure ten, but ten would have to do for now. When the tendrils drew close, they stopped, and then leaped.

In one swift motion, Harry clenched his outstretched hands into fists and simultaneously, the tendrils coiled around the necks of the men, and squeezed.

Loud, splintering cracks echoed through the night, and the silence was broken. The men began gasping, staring at their fallen comrades, before finally noticing Harry. Their wands were drawn, pointed at him, but no spells were sent his way.

"Ah, there he is! And here I'd thought you wouldn't join us." The snake man moved to the front of the group, his red eyes glinting in the dark. Harry narrowed his own, and conjured up more tendrils, which fired towards the group. They were disintegrated before they reached the men, and Harry scowled.

"Harry!" Draco's hysterical voice cut through the air, and Harry's eyes darted towards the sound. Draco was lying on the ground, covered in blood. "Harry, get out of here!"

Seeing Draco on the ground was the final straw. He began to shake, and dug deep. He had to get rid of them all in one blow, or he'd end up outnumbered beyond repair. The ground below him began to rumble, plates shifting beneath the earth. He was trembling fiercely as the stones around him shattered into pieces that rose into the air, and the wind began to pick up, and thunder rolled in the distance.

And all at once, with monumental fury, a whirlwind of magic and stone was flung at the dark, hooded figures, Harry's screams mixing into the overbearing sound of the whirlwind.

*

Draco opened his eyes, and found that the night was once again still. His body still ached and stung, the open lacerations flaring up as the cold night air washed over him. But with surprise, he found he could move without being cut into. He was free.

He rolled onto his stomach, crying out as pressure was put on his wounds, and shakily brought himself upright, wiping blood out of his eyes as he looked around. Bodies lay scattered around the graveyard like leaves in autumn, splintered remains of headstones sticking out of the ground. The bodies were crumpled and twisted, disfigured.

A series of coughs wracked his body as he stared around for any sign of life, desperation forcing him to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, but through his hazy vision he saw a body lying nearby. He staggered over, a strangled gasp leaving his mouth when he saw who it was.

Harry lay there, still, fringe blowing softly in the breeze. His face was ghastly pale, blood running in dark, coagulated streams from his nose, mouth and ears. His glasses were still half on, having been shattered, the glass lenses stuck in his skin forming jagged cuts.

"Harry, Harry wake up," Draco fell to his knees and grabbed the boy by his shoulders, shaking him. He was cold and limp, like a ragdoll. "Harry, please, please get up!" There was no sign of life from him, and dry sobs left his mouth, using what little strength he had left to pull Harry into his arms. "God, no, Harry..." he choked and coughed, his own blood dripping onto Harry's face as he bawled uselessly, shoulders heaving. What was he going to do? They were stranded, he didn't know where they were, he didn't know if Harry was dead or alive...

"Somebody help me!" Draco screamed at the sky, hoping deliriously that someone would come to his aid, but he remained in silence, alone.

Draco's eyes caught sight of something in the grass, partially hidden behind a broken gravestone. He squinted at it through the blood dripping into his eyes, and the shock hit him like a punch to the face. A portkey, that was how they'd gotten here. And it hadn't left yet, which meant he still had time.

He pulled Harry onto his arms and forced himself to stand, breathing through his teeth as Harry's dead weight made his cuts burn. Every step took tremendous effort, but before long he was within arms reach of the object, and as he drew close his clarity increased.

It was a book, but not just any book. It was the book. The one that had given Harry his name, that had comforted him whilst bound to that wall. Draco felt like vomiting. How could something so pure be used to bring such pain and anguish?

He gathered it up into one hand, keeping a tight hold on Harry with the other, and waited in baited breath, before a familiar feeling overcame him and the graveyard whirled away.

*

After using portkeys so many times, Draco had become accustomed to them and the way they worked. Landing on your feet was certainly a challenge most of the time, but he thanked the heavens as he landed safely on his feet in a dark room. Light was shining in from above, and after making sure Harry was safe in his arms, he ventured towards it.

He staggered up the stairs and out into the cold, noon air of Hogsmeade. People milled about, talking to one another and several Hogwarts students were scattered amongst them.

Someone caught sight of him and pointed, elbowing their friend and staring with a look of horror.

"Please... please help me." That was the last thing he managed to say before slumping onto the cold ground, vision clouding over.