I'm sorry if you didn't like it, or you don't believe me, or I annoyed you or disappointed you somehow. But I can't change who I am or what I want, or what I have to do.'
'What you have to do? When have I ever — ' Draco cut himself off, biting his own lip to shut himself up. When have I ever wanted you to be anything other than what you are? When did I ever think what you were wasn't good enough? I hated you for being what you are, and then I didn't hate you any more, and when have I ever asked you for anything? When have I even asked you for any of your secrets, for your pity or your compassion or even your friendship — I only asked you for that once, and you said no. I know better than to ask you for anything, Potter. Anything except to let me come with you and that was only because I had no choice but to ask.
But of course Draco said none of those things, nor did he think them aloud. Pride washed through him like an icy wave, freezing his spine into straightness, leveling his shoulders, forcing his chin up. 'You're correct,' he said. 'There is no need for you to apologize. It was my mistake.'
Harry's shoulders slumped. 'So now it's all a mistake of yours? Look, Malfoy — '
'It doesn't matter.' Draco cut him off. 'It doesn't matter what I think.'
'It does matter. Look, I'm sorry — '
'I told you not to apologize,' Draco said, as viciously as he could.
Harry bit his lip. I hate it when you sound like that. If I could just make you understand -
GET OUT OF MY HEAD, POTTER!
The force of Draco's shout took them both by surprise. Draco felt the echo of it inside his head like the recoil of a rifle shot, slamming against the inside of his skull. He winced and put a hand to his head, but it was nothing compared to the effect on Harry, who reeled as if Draco had shoved him. He staggered back- Draco reached out to catch him but Harry twisted away, falling backward against the table — the table went over with a crash of splintering wood — and Draco's reaching hand closed on empty air.
Harry had vanished. And the Portkey had vanished with him.
The padlock, having fallen out of Harry's grasp, thumped to the floor where he had been standing a moment before. It was several minutes before Draco could bring himself to bend down and pick it up.
Hermione scrunched herself deep into the leather chair inside Mr Blackthorpe's elegant wood-paneled office, where he, along with six or seven dark-clad and official looking wizards, were embroiled in a panicked conference. She was terrified that at any moment Lucius Malfoy would join them, and the entire gig would be up. Where the hell was Draco? How could he just leave her here like this? Fortunately they hadn't asked her for an explanation, given that they didn't think she spoke any English, but she didn't like the way they were looking at her, not at all -
The crash of the door slamming open took them all by surprise.
Blackthorpe jumped; Hermione twisted around in her seat as a glowering tower of icy rage stalked into the room. It took her a moment to recognize that it was Draco.
She had never seen him angry like this. He was absolutely livid, clutching what looked like a metal padlock in one hand. With his other hand, he gestured imperiously for silence. Which he got, as everyone in the room stared at him. He looked so angry that Hermione was astonished that sparks were not actually flying off him, setting fire to the furniture.
'This,' he ground out, between his teeth, the effort of keeping himself from yelling obviously a strenuous one, 'this padlock secured a Portkey.
Am I correct?'
Mr Blackthorpe looked astonished. 'Did you pry it off the chain?
Whatever for, if I may ask?'
'I did not pry it off the chain,' Draco snarled. 'It was used by someone else, to escape this place.'
Mr. Blackthorpe looked as if he might faint. 'The murderer?'
For a moment, the look of rage in Draco's eyes faded. 'Yes,' he said, after a brief hestitation that was enough to tell Hermione that the person who had used this Portkey to escape was Harry. 'I need to follow him, immediately. Get me another Portkey.'
There was a short silence. Mr Blackthorpe cleared his throat. 'There is no other Portkey,' he said.
'Excuse me, what?' Tense with disbelief, Draco stared at him. 'What did you say?'
'There is only the one Portkey. It was never considered wise to have more than the one — and it was sealed to the chain with Level Five binding charms — '
'Which proved so effective.' Draco's voice dripped acid. 'Where did this Portkey go?'
'To the Central London Floo Hub.' Blackthorpe cleared his throat again.
'Over three hundred fireplaces there, serving the whole Floo Network -
he's probably long gone already. Mister Malfoy, if I might say — I'm sure your father wouldn't want you chasing after dangerous miscreants as it is.
The murderer has killed once already — '
'I don't care about my father!' Draco shouted. Hermione, properly alarmed now, began rising from her seat. Draco would never normally talk about his father this way in public. And he was beginning to frighten her. Iron control was so much a part of his affect, so much a part of everything he was, that to see cracks in it was like doubting the security of Hogwarts. Or so she would have thought. 'I want another Portkey! You must have an emergency backup Portkey — you must be hiding it around here somewhere — '
'I assure you, Mister Malfoy,' Blackthorpe said, 'that I am not.'
Hermione believed him. No one would lie to Draco in the state he was in.
Draco, however, seemed unconvinced. He threw the padlock, hard, against the far wall. It fell to the sideboard, knocking over a decanter with the satisfying sound of smashed glass.
'I want another Portkey,' he snarled. 'Or some Floo Powder. I want out of here, you understand me? I want to get to the Central Floo Hub and I want to get there now. The only question is whether I'm going to have to crawl there over a land bridge built out of your dead and eviscerated bodies.'
He threw a sharp glance sideways at Hermione, as if remembering for the first time that she was there. Color was beginning to come back into his livid face — too much color. He was flushed as if with a fever, his eyes wildly bright. 'Get behind me, Hermione,' he said.
Mr Blackthorpe made a sound of protest. 'I thought you said her name was — '
'Shut up!' Draco yelled. 'I asked you, are you going to help me or not?'
Mr Blackthorpe spread his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness. 'Mister Malfoy,' he said. 'There is nothing I can do for you in this case. Nothing at all.'
Draco's only response to that was to grin, suddenly and terrifyingly.
Hermione knew that grin. She had only just time to scramble behind him when the mahogany desk and everything on it exploded in a shower of splinters and glass.
Harry hit the ground hard, as if he'd been dropped from a great height.
He rolled, gasping, and sprawled flat on his back for a moment, dazed.
Then he scrambled to his knees and cast about him, half-hoping -
But the room he had been in, with its smashed door and flat-paneled walls and Draco, too, that room was gone. He was kneeling on a damp and cold stone floor, inside what looked like a small entryway. Empty black archways led off in several directions. There was very little light. Harry could hear voices in the distance. The room smelled of chimney smoke.
He knelt where he was for a moment, his heart pounding. He opened his hand abruptly and the Portkey rolled out of it. It hit the stone floor with a dull clink. It's not fair, Harry thought bitterly, It's not fair.
He got to his feet. A wave of dizziness flooded over him and he put out his hand to brace himself against the wall. He could still see Draco in his head, white-faced, looking sick with horror and loathing. Without thinking about it, Harry suddenly hauled off and kicked the dropped Portkey viciously hard. It flew across the room and hit the far wall with a metallic clink. This relieved Harry's feelings only marginally.
