Harry didn?t move or turn to look at him; he was still staring at the hounds, and a small smile came to curl the corner of his mouth. He raised his right hand, palm up, and as he did his cloak fell away and Draco saw that at his belt, the runic band was blazing as brightly as a bed of red hot coals. 'Go,' Harry said to the seven fierce, wolf- like creatures, who snarled and pawed at the ground. 'Get out of here!'
And they went.
As Draco stood at the inclines edge, shaking with cold and reaction, the seven nightmare creatures turned tail and walked stiffly out of the clearing. They looked indignant, like dowagers who had been invited round for tea only to discover there were no biscuits left. They went in an orderly line, one after the other, and only when the last one had disappeared between the trees did Harry slowly lower his hand and turn to look at Draco.
He was quite pale, but composed. Bright spots of color burned on his cheekbones as if he had a fever. 'I?m sorry I pushed you,' he said mildly.
'I hoped, if they thought I was the only one…'
'What did you do?' Draco whispered. 'I?ve never seen them obey anyone
— not even my father. And your cloak — they hate red — my father used to have a gameskeeper he paid to dress up in Gryffindor colors and torture them through the bars of their cages — '
'Your father,' Harry said in disgust. 'Why do you even bother calling him that?'
'What did you do?' Draco said again, dizzily, hearing his own voice sounding very small in the winter air. He found he was holding his left arm with his right, the cut along his forearm having opened up again during his fall down the incline. 'What did you — '
The world tilted forward and he staggered; Harry reached to catch him, but Draco twisted away from Harrys hand and righted himself by seizing at a nearby tree branch.
'Don?t touch me,' he said.
Harry looked horrified. 'Don?t be angry, I — '
'Its not that. I?m bleeding, and your hands are all sliced up.' Draco held his left arm up; the cuff of his shirt was soaked through with silvery blood. 'I don?t know if its safe to touch me or not.' He leaned back against the trunk of the tree, exhaustion threading through his veins like its own cold venom, and let his eyes slip shut. 'You should have just let the hellhounds eat me — probably they?d have choked to death on the poison before they ever got round to you.'
'Look at me.' Harrys voice was quiet. 'You?re not going to die.'
Draco was so tired that even opening his eyes seemed an effort, but he did it. 'You?re going to tell them all everything, aren?t you,' he said.
'Sirius, and Dumbledore and the rest.'
Harry nodded. 'Yes,' he said. 'Thats exactly what I?m going to do. And they?ll know how to help you. What to do.'
'And what if they don?t?' Draco asked. 'What if they can?t fix it?'
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, a soft voice spoke from behind them.
'Fix what?' Ginny said.
Harrys mouth remained open. Draco twisted around and looked at her: she was standing at the edge of the incline, her soaking yellow cloak wrapped around her, her red hair streaked damply across her forehead like indiscriminate swipes of paint.
'I thought I told you to stay down there and not to move,' Draco said, exhaustion making his voice harsh.
'You did,' she said. 'But I was worried. It was so quiet.' Her eyes went past him and fixed on Harry; there was a mute appeal in them. 'I don?t understand,' she went on. 'Whats all this about poison and dying?
Whats happening? Where are those…dog things?'
'The hellhounds ran off,' Harry said. 'As for the rest of it…'
He looked at Draco, and Draco sighed a weary inner sigh. He imagined the long road of telling people stretching out before him: telling Ginny, telling Hermione, telling Sirius, telling Dumbledore, telling the bloody Weasleys.
He imagined all their reactions: shock and pity and horror and perhaps a creeping fear of what was happening to him. Every day the poison killed him a little more: already it had burned his blood silver, and who knew what subsequent form of destruction it might take?
/Don?t look like that./ Harrys inner voice was quiet. /I?ll tell her on the way to the Burrow. You don?t have to./
Draco looked at him in surprise. And realized that he didn?t have to — he didn?t have to tell anyone; Harry would do it. And it would be better having Harry explain: he could explain properly, and with the correct righteous fervor — he could remember the details that Draco was now too exhausted to recall. Draco could crawl into bed and fall asleep and Harry would take care of it all and he didn?t have to worry that Harry would screw it up, either, because Harry knew what he wanted better than he did himself. For the first time ever he was consciously glad for the connection between them: it was a blessing not to have to explain, and to be understood. The knowledge of it gave him a certain amount of strength, and he straightened up and held his hand out to Ginny.
'Lets get the broomsticks down and get going,' he said, 'I?ll explain everything to you on the way.'
The door to the bedroom closed behind the two girls with an audible click. Hermione walked across the room to the armchair by the bed, turned, and sat down in it as gracefully as she could, smoothing her wrinkled skirt over her knees. She raised her chin and looked at Blaise.
'So,' she said. 'What do you want?'
A smile touched the corner of Blaises perfect mouth. Again, that faint sense of familiarity assailed Hermione, and again she knew that it was because Blaise so much resembled Draco — not physically of course, they were nothing alike save that they were both beautiful. But her mannerisms, from her posture down to the haughty tilt of her small chin, were a copy of Dracos own. 'I wanted to talk to you about Draco Malfoy,'
Blaise said.
'Oh dear,' Hermione said coolly. 'Is this one of those 'stay away from my boyfriend? visits? Because if so, you?ve got the wrong girl. If Dracos been cheating on you, it hasn?t been with me.'
'Oh, I know that,' Blaise said easily. 'He?d never touch you. Even if he did want you, he?d never touch you.'
Hermione gritted her teeth. 'Glad we?ve established that,' she said. 'In which case, what do you want?'
'I was in the Ministry with my parents this afternoon,' Blaise said, glancing casually around the room. She walked over to a row of photographs tacked above Rons bed and began to examine them. 'I saw Professor Lupin there with that convict godfather of Potters.'
Hermione did not bother offering the correction that Sirius was no longer a convict. She sat without moving while Blaise shrugged off her embroidered cloak; underneath it she was plainly dressed in jeans and a green cowl-necked jumper. She still looked dazzling. It was very irritating.
'I heard Dracos father kept him and Potter back at the Manor,' Blaise said. 'Thats true, isn?t it?'
'As far as I know,' admitted Hermione.
'Then they?re in terrible danger,' Blaise said, turning with a swift theatrical gesture to gaze at Hermione. Her eyes were wide and misty green; she was so very pretty that Hermione wanted to smack her.
'You know,' Hermione said, 'I?d kind of figured that was a possibility, thanks.'
'All of you are,' Blaise said. 'This is much bigger than it looks — much bigger than you could possibly imagine. They don?t tell us very much -
we?re too young. But I?ve heard — things.' Blaise took a deep breath, and Hermione realized that she was, actually, genuinely, frightened. 'A lot of people are going to die.'
Hermiones heart skipped a beat. 'Why are you telling me this, Blaise?'
Blaises eyes widened. 'What do you mean?'
'I mean, give me one reason to believe your visit here wasn?t motivated entirely by malice. So far you?ve
