Slytherins creatures. Each possesses several shapes, and one must dispatch them in each shape before they can be killed.' Then she pointed across the narrow walkway towards the door in the far wall. 'We are going there,' she whispered. She looked at Harry. 'You go first.'
They went forward in a line: Harry, Fleur, and then Draco. The grass tugged at their clothes. It was prickly, limp, and strangely clingy.
Harry shuddered, shook his head, looked up — and nearly yelled out loud.
Three dementors were looming over him, their black cloaks turned gunmetal gray by the moonlight, their scabbed, rotting hands outstretched. His yell choked itself off in a gasp and he scrabbled backwards on his hands, his heart slamming against his ribcage, his mouth going dry. He glanced around wildly for Fleur and Draco, but saw them nowhere.
The dementors were advancing slowly towards him. Harry scrambled up to his knees, thinking desperately — happy memory, happy memory. He cast his mind back to the night before, lying on the couch in the Burrow with his head in Hermiones lap, her hair falling down around them. Listening to her quiet breathing. He shut his eyes. Hermione — and the tight knot of cold around his ribcage eased a little bit — but then he thought of her as he had last been with her, in the Weasleys? kitchen, her small hand in his, freezing cold with her terror, and a black wave of fear for her swept up and over him like a dizzying tide and -
Hands came down heavily on his shoulders, pulling him roughly backward.
The kiss, he thought, they?re going to perform the kiss -
Kiss you? I hardly know you, came Dracos amused voice, cutting through the cold fog in his brain like a sharp knife severing a skein of wool. Harry blinked his eyes open, and saw Draco standing over him.
Get up, Draco told him, sounding less amused this time, and Harry got to his feet. His hands were still shaking but the cold fog seemed to have lessened. Come on, and Draco grabbed him by the shoulder and propelled him forward. Harry took two steps, and the grass twined itself up around his legs and oozed against his skin. He yelled. Dracos grip on his shoulder tightened. Think about something else, he told Harry urgently, and keep moving forward, and he dragged Harry, hard, by the shoulder, towards the far wall, the grass clinging limply to them both.
Whats going on? Harry demanded, panting.
Nightmare Grass, Draco replied shortly. Makes you see whatever you?re most afraid of. Trick is to walk right through it and ignore the pain; it goes away after a little bit. The slower you go, the more nightmares you get.
And it doesn?t bother you? Harry demanded incredulously, thinking that this seemed unfair.
That potion Snape gave me helps. Also, I knew what it was. That helps too.
Don?t tell me. Your dad used to grow it back at the Mansion.
Got it in one, Draco replied shortly.
Didn?t your father ever consider putting in maybe a tennis court or a nice gazebo instead?
Don?t knock it — my Dark Arts background just saved your hide, Potter. But don?t worry, I?ll be sure to call in your expertise as soon as we have to deal with, say, a small box of puppies.
Harry was about to retort when he caught sight of Fleur, lying in the grass on her back. She seemed to be involved in a battle with her own hair, shrieking and flailing with her arms at nothing. Draco knelt down next to her and touched her shoulder gently. She yelped and hit out at him, screaming in French.
Draco caught one of her arms and Harry seized the other. It wasn?t easy holding on to her — she was kicking and screaming and seemed inclined to bite as well. They dragged her quickly from the grass to the dirt at the foot of one of the walls. She went instantly quiet, and pulled away from them, gasping and wide-eyed. She stared up at Draco, who was closest to her. 'You?re all right?' she said, in a quavering voice. 'You're not dead?'
Draco blinked. 'No.'
Fleur took a shuddering breath. 'What was that?'
'Never mind,' said Harry, and craned his neck back, pointing up to the dark shapes on the silvery battlements. They were no longer still, but moving slowly, purposefully, torches raised… the guards.
I think they heard us yelling, he thought.
You mean they heard you yelling. Draco glanced up, then held out a hand to Fleur and helped her up. You all right?
She nodded.
'Then run,' he said, and broke into a flat-out run, Fleur and Harry close at his heels, They flew through the Nightmare Grass, reached the far tower, and hurtled through the door, slamming it hard behind them.
They found themselves in a dimly lit entryway — there was only one window, and it was nearly overgrown with ivy. A long corridor snaked away into darkness to their right. Still shaky from exertion and adrenaline, Harry started off down it at a run, the others behind him. Or so he thought. Having gone no more than a hundred paces, he came up short at a tall wooden door. He grabbed the handle and tugged; it was locked.
'Fleur, is this the way — ' he began, turning. And blinked. Draco was standing behind him, looking curious, but there was no sign of Fleur. 'Malfoy? Wheres Fleur?'
Surprised, Draco turned. 'I thought she was behind me.'
Harry lowered his hand from the door. 'We?d better go back.'
Draco opened his mouth to say something — and a cry echoed through the corridor, originating back where they had come from. It was a sharp, distressed cry, and the voice was obviously Fleurs.
Both boys bolted back down the corridor. They burst out into the entryway, and stopped dead.
Fleur, holding a thin-bladed knife, was backed against a wall by one of the guards: a tall man in a heavy cloak, a short sword in his hand, his back to them. His shadow, in the pulsing torchlight, clawed at the ceiling.
