as it instead hung straight down away from them towards the floor. He was lying on his
back on the large bed in the center of the room, letting his head lay off the side, and was
staring up from his awkward position at Draco, who was abusing a protruding pipe from
the wall to no end by pumping out a quick set of pull ups. For a moment Harry played
upon the image of that pipe breaking and spraying its contents all over Draco, but
stopped instantly as he felt a smile begin to tug at the corners of his mouth. The last thing
he wanted to do was the explain that little image to Draco as the reason for his
unexpected grin.
Draco simply shrugged his shoudersl, quite a feat considering he was using them to
support all of his weight. They were playing a game that frequented with them,
something quick and trite to fill passing spells of boredom in their little home.
Comparing their current lives to their lives just a few weeks ago always gave them a
fresh, happy out look on their current conditions, and the comparitive question about
what Draco missed from Malfoy Manner was an easy one to get such things started. They
both knew almost perfectly well that he wouldnt miss much from his old mansion if he
was living in a box out on the streets. “Well...” he said, trying to think of some kind of
smart sounding answer but drawing a blank, “I’d have to say the food.”
Harry blinked and rolled over, so he was facing correctly on the bed. “The food?”
“Mhm..” Draco muttered, but he seemed distracted, his eyes darting quickly to the empty
hallway to the left of their bedroom. “The servants made some great food. Not that I’m
not a fan of putting burgers in a pan and simply throwing heat spells at them but...”
“But what?” Harry prompted.
“But somebodies here.” Draco dropped easily down from the bar and snatched his robe
off the dresser, not for dressing purposed but instead to pull one of the several wands hed
accumulated out from inside the right sleeve. Oak, long, whispy, and supple as hell.
Horrible at dueling, and shite with curses, but the perfect thing for a really good hex.
Harry crawled to his feet beside him, looking concerned.
“So?” he said nervously, “what do you need that for?”
Draco glanced over his shoulder at him. “Because no one knows we’re here.”
“So who do you think it is?”
Draco frowned angrily as the dull footsteps hed heard from a few dozen feet away
steadily grew closer. The back door to the room was only used by them, and the tenants
above didn’t even know it was there. “My father’s sent someone to fetch me,” he guessed
simply, “so how about we duck back a bit?”
Any hope that the footsteps might just be from some lost wandered or a stumbling drunk
dissapeared as the doorknob jumped up in action, twisting to one side and stopping only
when the deadbolt they kept drawn was pulled tight. There was a pause, and then it
rattled once more, as if the agent wanted to be sure he hadn’t been mistaken the first
time. A second pause, and then an odd clicking sound, that Harry recognized and Draco
didn’t. After all, it was a muggle sound.
What wizard had need of guns?
There was a resounding boom so loud that Draco almost dropped his wand, and suddenly
the door knob was simply... gone. In its place was a jagged edged hole a foot in diameter,
clipping off at the edge of the door. With ringing ears, Draco barely caught the view of a
beefy hand holding something shiny and metal, before the door came slamming inwards
thanks to a sharp kick from what appeared to be a set of oversized loafers. It was just
then that Draco realized it was raining outside, and the bizaree form of an overweight
Muggle with a massive mustache and some kind of metal object was perfectly framed in
the doorway for a moment.
Draco was speechless. Harry was not. “Uncle... Uncle Vernon?” he asked in utter
disbelief.
Vernon didn’t answer, he simply stepped into the room and slammed the door back shut
behind him. He looked amazingly pale, even for someone who had just been walking in
the rain, and his eyes were glinting in a way Harry hadn’t seen since he’d first met Sirius,
clawing over Ron’s broken leg to try to get at who, at the time, they had thought was
Ron’s pet rat Scabbers. Draco shot Harry a goggle eyed stare. “*This* is your Uncle!?”
he choked out.
“Boy...” the bizaree figure spoke, and his voice sounded caught. “You’re coming back
with me. Back home. Back to youre cupboard. Come.”
For some reason, Vernon’s eyes didn’t go anywehre near the area Harry was standing
when he spoke, and it was with a very confused voice that Harry responded. “Uh... Uncle
Vernon? I havent slept under the cupboard since I was eleven years old.”
The pause that followed was near infinite. “Come. Now.”
Draco had heard enough of this. Uncle or not, this man was simply crazy or drunk, and
had just taken out most of their security deposit with a 12. gauge. “I think you’d better
leave,” he growled, brandishing his wand, before remembering some of the stories he’d
heard from Harry about his Uncle’s utter disbelieve in all things magical. He would
probably think he was threatening to stab him with a twig.
Harry held out a hand to try to steady Draco, though he looked just as worried. “Uncle
Vernon, I’m not going anywhere.”
Something like relief seemed to wash over the shaken, scared looking man, and he
slumped a bit. It was as if he had been waiting for Harry to say exactly that. And then
Draco saw the glint in his eyes too, and realized that he *had* been waiting for Harry to
say exactly that. The muffled “fine” could barely be heard from under the mustache, and
Vernon calmly raised the weapon in his hands. Harry’s eyes went wide.
“NO!!!”
Gunshot and scream went off simultaneously, but a scream, no matter how desperate and
primal, can not stop lead from going through the air. For a moment, all that Draco could
think of was the door, what had happened to it, and he wondered if Harry would be easier
to open now, in a truly bizarre example of human thought. And then something warm and
sticky hit him in the face.
There are some spells in the world that can be triggered only by emotion. They can never
be taught, and can never be forgotten, because they are born in the blood of a wizard.
They were the one deciding factor, since birth, whether or not a man or woman would
grow up to be a wizard. Some ventured that love was the strongest spell. Some said it was
anguish. Others said sheer horror could cause much more of an effect.
It turned out, in the end, to be all three.
Despite the seconds past between the pulling of the trigger and the spell itself, Uncle
Vernon hit the wall a second before Harry did. He hit the wall, and kept going. Drywall
was shredded as a human body flew through it, and no less than fifteen feet away finally
thudded to the ground, driven to the ground by the twisted form of said body. Draco
stared out the gaping spot that used to be his wall, and then spun around.
“Harry...” he half moaned, and then scooped the boy up. The brilliant green eyes were
jammed closed, but Draco could feel the faintest breath against his bare chest.
Legally, Draco was not allowed to Dissaparate or Apparate anywhere. He’d never even
thought of taking the test.
He appeared in Godric Falls, the wizarding hospital, in the blink of an eye.
::::: Next Chapter- Last Chapter :::::