'Potter,' said Draco in a strangled voice. He had gone the grayish color of unfired clay. 'Look behind you.'
Harry turned. And froze.
They were still quite a distance away, on the far side of the clearing.
But there was no mistaking what they were, twenty or thirty dark-robed, dark-hooded creatures, twelve feet tall, trickling like slow venom out of the gaps between the trees and into the clearing.
Coming closer.
Harry felt his heart turn over.
Dementors.
Draco made a choked sort of noise. Harry whipped around and saw that he had clamped both his hands over his face and was jerking and twitching like a fish on the end of a line.
'Malfoy?' said Harry, in wonder and horror, and then the first wave of cold hit him, nearly knocking him over and into Draco. He sucked in air, trying to clear the gray fog rising in his brain, and struggled to his feet, turning, facing the oncoming Dementors, trying not to stagger in the face of the wall of freezing cold they drove before them like an iceberg.
Harry was vaguely aware of Draco, still making strangled noises behind him, as he reached for his wand with fingers that felt like a bunch of numb twigs tied to his wrist. The Dementors were halfway across the clearing now, moving towards him like a steady tide of poisoned water. That they were so silent as they moved only added to Harry's sense of being trapped in a nightmare.
He attempted to steady his wand hand, which was shaking violently.
Harry had never felt less able to summon up a happy memory than he did right now. He hadn't conjured a Patronus since his third year, and the happy memories that had served him then — Quidditch matches and House Cup victories — suddenly seemed very small and silly. He cast his mind desperately back — and thought of course of Hermione, Hermione telling him she loved him, only right now that caused him more pain than anything else. He forced his mind away from memories of rain and mirrors and Hermione kissing him, and thought suddenly of standing by the lake at school, holding Sirius' letter in his hand and watching Hermione and Draco laughing. And remembered that their laughter had been so infectious that he had laughed himself, especially at Hermione, who laughed often enough, but rarely like that — rarely so hard that she had to sit down, rarely with such bright and uncontrollable happiness. He felt his mouth twitch into a smile as he remembered how she had pulled him down next to her and buried her face in his shoulder, still laughing.
He raised his wand, and heard his own voice as if it came from far away. 'Expecto Patronum!'
His wand jerked in his hand and the familiar silver-white light burst from its tip. Shaking with relief, Harry fell to his knees as the silver light formed itself into the shape of a stag with antlers like forked lightning, which lunged silently towards the Dementors. In the dim light the silver stag shone like a new moon, and the Dementors withered back before its light, almost seeming to evaporate as they retreated into the shadow of the trees. The stag darted after them, turning at the edge of the clearing to look back around at Harry -
Harry raised his hand in a weak salute — and it vanished, plunging into the forest in pursuit.
Still on his knees, Harry turned and looked at Draco, who had stopped twitching but still had his hands clamped over his face.
'They're gone,' he said.
'Potter,' said Draco, not taking his hands away from his face, 'The sword-'
'What?'
'Take it off me — please take it off me — '
Harry reached out and grabbed the hilt of the sword, which Draco had stuck through his belt (and had miraculously failed to impale himself on while falling), and nearly yelled. It was freezing cold to the touch, like ice. He gritted his teeth and closed his hand around the hilt, pulling it away from Draco. He felt the cold that radiated from it with the force of frozen nails being driven into his veins, and yet as he lifted it in his hand he felt suddenly — powerful.
A small, cold voice spoke in the back of his head.
Harry Potter?
The sword was no longer cold. It had assumed the temperature of his skin. It seemed made of his own flesh, only harder, and more smooth.
Harry, said the voice in his head, again.
Harry dropped the sword and jumped back as if it had burned him.
'Harry!' It was Ron's voice. Harry looked up and saw Ron and Ginny coming towards them, looking pale and worried. They were both covered in leaves and twigs were caught in Ginny's hair — they must have gotten stuck in the woods. Both of them were both carrying their broomsticks. 'Harry — was that — ?'
'Patronus spell,' said Harry briefly. 'Dementors.'
Ron looked gray. 'We have to get out of here,' he said.
'Malfoy's leg's broken,' said Harry in the same short tone.
Ron dropped his broomstick and looked from Harry to Draco. Then he turned to Ginny. 'Can you fix it?'
She shook her head. 'I did cuts and bruises last year-but bones, no. I don't want to risk it. If I made a mistake, I might end up giving him two bones in his leg instead of one, or making them bendy, or — '
'Removing them entirely,' said Harry, thinking of Lockhart.
'Right,' said Ginny.
'So that would be a no,' said Ron. 'Okay. Harry. Come here. I need to talk to you for a minute.'
Harry followed Ron a short distance away and looked at him inquiringly. Ron had his resolute face on, which
