From the overwhelming Gimmies, I guess I'll start posting these. I'll do the flashbacks first and then the old ending to the story. I'll stick them in the memories, too, for easier finding.

Here's the general story behind the unused/deleted scenes: the story took me a full year to write and, along the way, I was sending my beta reader the chapters as they were completed. She, in turn, would send comments back on those chapters, and things ended up changing/were re-written along the way. I had to take out entire flashbacks, which I saved in case I wanted to use them at another point, because what's in the flashback is supposed to reflect what's happening in the body of the chapter. Also, I wanted to go chronologically, which limited my choices for flashback subject.

As for the ending of the story, it was a huge contention between the beta reader and I. We couldn't figure out how to get everyone out of the book. The original ending seemed way to cliche for her. The second ending didn't work, either. Finally, nine months after the final product was sent off for and returned from beta, I sat down and re-wrote non-stop for a week and got the new ending down and all the main chapter re-writes done. I'm quite happy with it the way it turned out. I think it's one of the best things I've written. Of course, most of you will like the mushy ending better, as I'm finding that character studies aren't "the thing" in fandom.

Overall, you might recognize some things that I've kept or re-wrote to fit into the chapters. These are the original versions of that. I'm going to start off with flashbacks today, deleted scene bits from chapters tomorrow, and Sunday I'll post the original ending. Hope you enjoy. Be sure to leave comments if you want to know why certain things didn't work out, although I think I pretty well explained above my reasons.

<lj-cut text="DMTE - Deleted Scenes - Flashbacks">

SIXTH YEAR

There hadn’t been an emergency meeting with any member of PRATS since sixth year, when Colin had photographed Harry and a specter appeared in the developed picture with him.

<hr>

FIRST YEAR

Then

Behind Malfoy Manor was a stretch of woods a hundred acres deep. Tall trees with thick, leafy branches spread in the back of the cultivated estate, highlighted with mosses and lichen. Wildflowers and plants grew around trees, between rocks, and along the woodland floor, producing berries and edible leaves for the animals and magical beasts that lived in the woods. Hunting was forbidden, unless it was part of the festivities during a party, and the woods had an anti-aparation spell over them, but the neighboring lands were unwarded properties and the wizard hunters and trappers entered that way.

Draco Malfoy loved the woods. They were a place where he could escape his lessons on magic (all theory, no practice; how boring) or social etiquette. Since receiving his acceptance letter to Hogwarts on his eleventh birthday in April, the lessons had become doubly hard and he’d begun spending double the amount of time in the woods.

He would explore for hours, naming the plants, trees, flowers, and animals that he saw. Most of the animals in the woods were harmless, but a few he had to be careful of and avoid, like doxies or wildcats. He never worried about getting lost; he’d learned to tell direction by the sun, the stars, and the moss on the trees, and by a house elf assigned to nanny him when he was outdoors.

Draco was debating on whether to return to the manor or not, when he wandered upon a ghastly sight. A trapper – or what remained of the wizard – had been caught in one of his own traps. His left leg was pinned by the prongs of a metal leg-trap. The steel teeth had closed above the wizard’s knee when he’d stepped on the plate in the center of the leg-trap, triggering it. The leg-trap must have had an anti-magic spell on it or the wizard could have used his wand to free himself. It looked too strong to pry apart without assistance, otherwise.

Predators and scavengers had ravaged the wizard’s body. There was a great, gaping hole in his chest and half-chewed organs spilled onto the ground, shriveled under the sunlight shining through the leaves. The meaty flesh of his arms and non-trapped leg were torn to the sinew and bone. Scavenger birds had pecked holes in the skin of his face and eyes, through which beetles and other bugs crawled. Flies circled above the body.

Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust at the smell, however, he moved closer to the remains. Morbidly curious, he wanted to get a better look.

The thunder of hoof beats caused Draco to whirl. Startled, he lost his balance and started falling backwards, as a centaur burst from between the trees. The dappled gray roan scooped him up just as his hand hit something metal. The sharp teeth of the trap sprang up, echoing with a clang, as the trap snapped closed where Draco’s head would have been.

The centaur, with the torso, arms, and head of a human woman and the body of a horse, set Draco on his feet several yards away from his near-fatal accident. “Are you all right, Draco Malfoy?”

Draco gulped, gray eyes wide with fright. The centaur was much bigger than him and he had to tilt his head back far to see her face. “H-How do you know my name?”

“All beasts and beings of these woods know who you are, young Draco,” she said. She nodded her head cordially, her long made of white hair shifting over her semi-smooth chest. “I am Arista.”

“What do you want?” Draco said, nervously inching away from her. He wondered where his nanny house elf was.

“To prevent a great tragedy,” Arista replied. She lifted her gaze to the sky. “Saturn is in transit through the first house.”

“Pardon?” Draco looked up. The sky between the trees was blue.

“The Heavens reveal all destinies,” Arista said cryptically. “Do you know what your name means, young Draco?”

“Dragon,” Draco replied immediately. He was wary of the centaur, but his fear had receded somewhat, as she didn’t seem to want to eat him. He also remembered reading that centaurs rarely spoke with wizards and figured he’d ought to hear what she had to say, if only to brag that one had spoken with him.

“Yes. And no,” Arista said. “’Draco’ means to see or watch.” She smiled at him. “You are aptly named.”

“Why’s that?”

“The Heavens reveal all destinies.” Arista looked up at the sky again. “The sun illuminates Uranus in the ninth house.”

Draco decided that wizards weren’t missing out on anything by not having centaurs speak to them.

“A dragon guards its treasure fiercely.” Arista focused her golden brown eyes on Draco. “For without its treasure, the world will be lost.”

The centaur was barmy, and creepy. It was time for Draco to leave. “Right then. I’ll just be off.”

“The treasure awaits you at Hogwarts, young Draco.” Arista turned to the sky once more. “Mars is becoming brighter. Beware its position in the Heavens.”

<hr>

FIRST YEAR

“Rictusempra!”

Neville Longbottom’s unexpected spell hit Draco dead-on, and the almost twelve year old yelped before he began laughing from the tickling curse. His wand was snatched from his hand. Clutching his sides and bent nearly double, he gasped, “End this!”

“Only if you tell me wh-why you were following Harry,” Neville stated.

“Yes, okay,” Draco rushed out between laughs.

“Finite incantatum.”

Draco sucked in a breath of relief, straightened his posture and his robes, and glared at the rolly-polly First Year. They were alone in the Forbidden Forest outside of Hogwarts, having been sent off in pairs by that oaf, Hagrid, to search for a fallen unicorn. It was servant’s stuff, on top of being bloody stupid. Didn’t the Headmaster say the Forbidden Forest was off-limits because of the dangerous creatures living in it? “Give my back my wand.”

Neville shook his head. “Not until you tell me why you were following Harry.”

Draco seethed. No one demanded anything of him, especially not an accident-prone Gryffindork. “Now, Longbottom.”

“Rictusempra!”

Draco squawked in an undignified manner. He clamped his lips together, fighting laughter, as a thousand fingers danced over body parts he didn’t even know were ticklish. His eyes pricked with tears and his face flushed.

“Finite incantatum.”

“You ruddy little—”

“Rictusempra!”

He curled in on himself, glaring murderously through blurry eyes at Neville. He hadn’t realized that tickling could hurt.

“Finite incantatum,” Neville cast. He folded his arms, a wand in each pudgy hand, and attempted to look menacing. He actually looked like he swallowed a sour sweet. “Why were you following Harry, M-Malfoy?”

“What business is it of yours?” Draco sneered.

“Rictusempra!”

“Argh!” Draco raised a hand in surrender, the other clenching his stomach tightly. “Stop, stop!”

“Finite incantatum.”

Breathing heavily, Draco eyed Neville wearily. Obviously Neville wasn’t a squib, as he’d previously thought. “What did you want to know?”

“Why you were following Harry?” Neville repeated. “What sort of ‘accident’ were you going to cause? Were you going to push him down the stairs, like the others?”

“Others?” Draco said. “What others?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, Malfoy,” Neville said with puffed up anger. “You and your friends have been terrorizing Harry since the beginning of school.”

“You mean Crabbe and Goyle?”

“And Macnair, and Nott, and Flint, and Kent, and Shayne, and the other kids with D-D-Death Eater parents.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t known anyone else was bullying Harry, and that irritated him. Potter was his hexing dummy. “What are you implying, Longbottom?”

Neville’s eyes narrowed, too, and he looked rather impressively brutish for a moment. “I won’t let you or any of the others hurt the Boy Who Lived.”

“You won’t?” Draco barked in laughter.

“Rictusempra!”

Draco cussed and bent over, grasping his middle, as the horrid tickling began again. It did hurt this time, his spasming muscles making it nearly impossible to take a breath. He closed his eyelids tightly, but tears leaked from the corners and ran down his face.

“Finite incantatum.”

“Don’t do that again,” he growled, preparing to leap at Neville. He’d get his wand back and show the impudent sot what a real curse felt like.

“Draco Malfoy.”

“Aah!” Draco shot upright and Neville spun around at the melodic voice. A shadow moved from between the towering trees. Neville shook visibly and had both of their wands, which wasn’t a very good thing in Draco’s book.

“Draco Malfoy,” a centaur stepped into the circle of light from the lantern sitting on the ground at Neville’s feet. “Why have you brought Harry Potter into these woods?”

Draco inched closer to Neville, hoping to get his wand. “I didn’t bring Potter anywhere.”

“These woods are dangerous, Draco Malfoy.” The centaur, a gray steed with smooth features and curling dark hair, fixed his blue eyes on Draco. “The treasure needs to be kept safe.”

Draco’s gaze widened at the familiar sounding phrase. “Who are you?”

“I am Firenze.” Firenze bowed politely, and then raised his eyes to the starlit sky. “Be warned, Mars is bright this night.”

Neville gulped audibly. “That’s not good.”

“What’s not good? And why?” Draco demanded, though in a subdued manner.

“The Heavens reveal all destinies,” Firenze said, turning his gaze to Draco. “You must go and watch over your treasure, young dragon. Destiny can be changed only by those who acknowledge it.”

<hr>

FIRST YEAR

Then

Once upon a time, Lucius Malfoy had hinted strongly that he wouldn't be too sad if Harry Potter were to have a fatal accident. In fact, if his son, Draco, caused that fatal accident Lucius would be very proud indeed, especially since Draco was vying against other children of Death Eaters to be the one to cause Potter's unfortunate demise.

Eleven-year-old Draco Malfoy crept silently upstairs, sticking to the shadows of the barely lit tower. The portraits lining the moving stairwell were asleep, soft snores, snorts, and wheezing coming from the sleeping people within the gilded frames. The second corridor from the Gryffindor House entrance was his goal, as he had confirmed the rumor that Harry Potter sat himself there on nights that he could not sleep.

Draco had been patiently waiting to execute a plan that would get rid of the Boy Who Lived, and it would be none too soon. He was sick of listening to the raving fanboys and fangirls cooing over Potter and ignoring Draco. The Professors, save for Snape, favored Potter immensely and he never got into trouble for breaking the rules, including roaming the halls after curfew.

Draco arrived at the second corridor and slipped down the hall on silent feet. He heard Potter speaking before he spotted the light from a lantern. Cautiously, he crept forward and found a hiding spot in an empty alcove across from the bend in the hall. He was able to see Potter clearly from his vantage point without being seen in return and this might be the opportunity he'd been awaiting.

"What's it like to be a portrait?" Harry was seated on the stone hall floor, both knees pulled tight to his chest, as if he were trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. His hair stuck up every which way - another thing about Potter that annoyed Draco to no end - and he was wearing overly large, hideously striped Muggle pajamas.

"I reckon it's all right," Professor Jeujacks said. Most of the people from the portraits had gathered in the courtyard of his painting, hanging on the wall across from Harry. Wizards and witches of various ages sat in the grass or on white benches in the faux sunshine. A tan stone wall rose up behind them, with creeping ivy climbing towards the invisible sky.

"You mostly sit around all day and gossip," Madam Bavard said, the witches nearest to her nodding enthusiastically. "Who are fighting, who are scheming, are any new romances brewing?"

"Sometimes we catch wind of something potentially dangerous and we inform the Headmaster," a very young wizard said. "You'd be surprised what gets said in front of us, because people forget we're here."

"I wish people would forget I was here," Harry mumbled miserably.

"Now, Harry, you don't mean that," Professor Conseil said gently.

Harry sighed. "No. I guess not. I'm just tired of being the Boy Who Lived."

Draco stifled his snort of disbelief. Poor little celebrity wizard cowed under the pressure of fame. Well, Draco could fix Potter's problem with one wand swish.

Draco drew his wand, running through a list of spells he'd memorized from a book his dad had given him called Devious and Deadly Disasters. He didn't get to use any, however. Down the corridor from Harry, barely visible in the lantern light, Draco saw another student aim a wand in Harry's direction. Almost immediately, the large, empty picture on the wall above Harry's head began to shudder.

"Who do you want to be then?" Conseil asked Harry.

"Just 'Harry' would be fine." Harry rested his chin on his upraised knee. "I feel trapped sometimes, like the boa constrictor I once met, raised in captivity and stuck behind a glass wall at the zoo. All day people stare at me, glancing at the sign on the wall that reads 'Celebrity.'"

Draco growled silently, flicked and swished, and hissed, "Wingardium leviosa."

"Well, dear, you are famous," Bavard said. "Even those of use who live in portraits know how you saved the wizarding world."

"I stopped a spell with my forehead, big deal," Harry grumbled.

<hr>

BETWEEN SECOND AND THIRD YEAR

“Hello, Marcus,” Draco greeted formally. He and Pansy walked right up to the wall, putting themselves between Neville and the Nanny so the house elf wouldn’t have a clear view of their visitor. He lowered his voice. “What do you want?”

Neville’s jaw tightened and he squared his shoulders. “I thought we might work together.”

“What?” Draco sputtered in laughter and exchanged a look with Pansy. “Us, work with you?”

“I know you’ve been protecting Harry.”

“Shh!” Draco hissed quickly, glancing over his shoulder. The Nanny was still far enough away to be unobtrusive.

“How do you mean, Marcus?” Pansy said, staring piercingly at Neville.

“I saw him last year, preventing fights and ‘accidents’ from happening to Ha- er, four-eyes,” Neville said. He addressed Draco. “You started shortly after I sent you that astrology book.”

“You sent me that book?” Draco said. He looked at his hands as if they’d been contaminated. “If I would’ve known, I wouldn’t have touched it.”

Dawning understanding washed over Pansy’s pug-like features. “So that’s what you were doing in the astronomy tower every night.” She gave Draco an overly innocent smile. “I’d wondered what you, Vince and Greg were up to in the most notorious snogging spot at school.”

“Pansy!” Draco was disgusted. “Gross!”

Neville laughed, hiding it behind his hands over his mouth. Pansy snickered and told Neville, “I’m not the only one in Slytherin who thought that, either.”

Draco made a sound wavering between panicking and gagging.

Pansy patted him sympathetically on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, love. Anyone with brains would know that Vince and Greg aren’t your type.”

“Damn right,” Draco grumbled.

“Now, Potter on the other hand—”

“No!”

Pansy threw her head back and laughed. Neville hadn’t stopped laughing from before, and the two of them were going to get hexed into next week if they didn’t stop, Draco thought sourly.

“Can we get on with this?” Draco said irritably. “I have better things to do today than be here with either of you.”

“Sorry,” Neville said, laughter trailing off. He didn’t seem all too wary of Draco any longer. “About working together, I think it’d be a good idea. You’re on the inside, so to speak, and could find out plans prior to them being acted out.”

“What makes you think I care whether Scarhead is hurt or not?”

“Like I said, I saw you protecting him already,” Neville replied.

“It is curious behavior, Draco,” Pansy said with a lift of her brow, clearly expressing the desire to know why he hadn’t told her about it.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, glanced back to make certain the Nanny was still far away, and then shrugged helplessly. “I’ve had two centaurs tell me it was my destiny to protect him and, well, he’s mine. Only I can torment him, no one else. It was me he slighted on the train in front of everyone. He also thinks he’s better than me, which he’s not, and only I can show him why.” He turned suddenly to Neville. “And if you say a word of this to anyone, I will sick a rabid kneazel on you.”

Neville raised both hands defensively. “I won’t say anything. Besides, who would I tell that would believe me?”

“You’d be surprised,” Pansy said. “Draco doesn’t like to share his toys and everyone knows that.”

“Parkinson, shut your yap.”

Pansy glared icily at him. “Excuse me?”

“I give up.” Draco lowered his head and rubbed his temples. He had a headache coming on. “You win. Yes, I protect Potty. Yes, we can work together. Yes, I was having a mad affair with Crabbe and Goyle in the astronomy tower until Filch came along and I asked him to join in, too.”

“Now, that’s nasty,” Pansy said.

“But only if-if Mrs. Norris was there, as well,” Neville said in a timid joke.

Pansy laughed. Draco groaned. It was no wonder why he didn’t make new friends.

<hr>

FIFTH YEAR Sunday morning

Draco hadn’t left his room since Friday, after receiving an owl from his mother. He’d shirked his prefect duties, but Pansy gave him leeway once he’d shown her the letter. His dad had been imprisoned, along with several others he knew were Death Eaters, on Thursday night. The news bothered him greatly, not that he agreed with Lucius’ actions, but it was still his father.

What was worse, Draco had learned Harry had gone wand-to-wand with Lucius, via message from Neville. Lucius Malfoy loathed losing face, or losing at all, and he took great pride and care in crushing those who caused his downfall. Harry had been under attack before, but now with Lucius…

Draco shoved a trembling hand through his hair. Images of what Lucius would do before killing Harry had given Draco terrifying nightmares. The Fifth Year glanced in the mirror and was unsurprised to see how wan he appeared.

“You look right awful, dear,” his reflection tisked. “Better use a concealing charm.”

Draco did as his reflection suggested, holding his wand stiffly in his hand to hide his shakes. “Obumbro.” The lavender circles under his eyes and the gray pallor to his skin disappeared. A gob of spell-gel and his comb slicked back his hair.

“Much better, lovely,” his reflection winked. “If I weren’t you, I’d top you gladly.”

Draco went to his trunk and exchanged his pajamas for a navy blue robe. He cinched the three silver buckles in front, causing the robe to taper stylishly at his waist. Slipping on socks and boots, he tucked his wand in his pocket and left his room to go find Harry.

Vince and Greg were lolling on the couch in the Slytherin common room, sharing the Sunday Prophet between them. They looked up when they saw Draco emerge from the stairs.

“Did you read the news?” Vince asked without preamble. “You-Know-Who is back.”

“We already knew that, dumbbell,” Draco said.

“Oh, yeah,” Greg said. He scratched his spotty cheek. “But now, everyone knows.”

“There’s an article on your dad, if you want to read it,” Vince said.

“No, I do not want to read that slander.” Draco started for the stairs out of the common room. He heard the other two scramble to follow him.

He emerged into the entrance hall and stopped dead. Harry stood right there, staring expressionlessly at him. Draco’s eyes swept over him from top to bottom and he appeared perfectly fine. Draco’s mind, however, began to overlay tortured images from his nightmares on Harry.

Shouts, laughter, and splashes drifted into the hall from the school grounds through the open front doors. A few moments passed while Draco and Harry only stared at each other, with Greg and Vince standing silently behind Draco. An out-of-place noise finally caught Draco’s attention and he glanced around. He saw no one, but that meant nothing, especially with his father now aiming for Harry.

He looked back at Harry with fear twisting his gut. “You’re dead, Potter.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Funny, you’d think I’d have stopped walking around.”

Draco’s face contorted in anger. How could Harry be so flippant? “You’re going to pay,” he tried to warn. “I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done to my father…”

“Well, I’m terrified now,” Harry said sarcastically. “I suppose Lord Voldemort’s just a warm-up act compared to you three.”

Draco felt Vince and Greg stiffen behind him, and even he was stricken by how casually Harry said the Dark Lord’s name. Didn’t Potter get the danger he was in?

“What’s the matter?” Harry went on. “He’s your dad’s mate, isn’t he? Not scared of him, are you?”

“You think you’re such a big man, Potter.” Draco stepped closer to Harry, wanting to shake some sense into him. “You wait. I’ll have you. You can’t land my father in prison—”

“I thought I just had.”

“The dementors have left Azkaban,” Draco warned flat out in a quiet voice. “Dad and the others’ll be out in no time…”

“Yeah, I expect they will,” Harry said with a shrug. “Still, at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now—”

That was it. Draco was going to stupefy the idiot and lock him in a closet. He went for his wand, but Harry had his in hand and pointed at him before his fingers entered the pocket of his robes.

Draco blinked twice at the super-fast reaction and bit his tongue to keep from saying, brilliant. Perhaps Harry would be able to protect himself, but Draco was going to leave nothing to chance. If it were in his power, he would stop anyone harming Harry – including his father – at any cost.

Such was the price of love.

<hr>

THIRD YEAR

Draco saw someone shift back into the shadows ahead of Harry. He drew his wand, his footsteps quiet on the stone corridor as he crept after the Third Year. It was his night to follow Harry around outside of the Gryffindor common room. Harry had been in the DADA classroom wing, speaking with Professor Sloppy, after dinner.

Harry walked passed the hidden person, rubbing the back of his neck. His shoes clapped on the floor with his hurried gait. Only a few torches were lit in the corridor, possibly extinguished by whoever laid in wait.

Draco saw the student in black school robes emerge from hiding after Harry had passed. The raise of a wand sprang Draco into action. “Obtecui,” he hissed forcefully, dropping a silencing spell over the corridor. “Expelliarmus!”

The crack of the spell hitting the student was loud, but Harry kept on walking ahead, not turning. The would-be attacker’s wand clattered to the ground as he himself crashed into the wall of the castle hallway. He slumped to the floor and was still.

Draco approached cautiously. By the faint torchlight, he was able to identify the person as Epierre Insidatoris, a loyalist from Hufflepuff.

Harry was getting far ahead and walking alone, so Draco needed to be quick. He reached for Insidatoris with his non-wand hand, intending to check for consciousness. He didn’t get a chance, and Insidatoris was definitely conscious.

Insidatoris struck without warning. The knife he’d held hidden by his robe sleeve flashed briefly in the torchlight before he stabbed Draco in the arm. Draco cried out and jerked backwards. Fiery pain licked his nerves in his forearm, bringing tears to his eyes.

Insidatoris leapt to his feet, intending to strike again, but Draco was the quicker one this time. “Petrificus totalus!” The Hufflepuff was unsuccessful in his attempt to dodge the spell, and he froze as the full body bind wrapped around him. He teetered a moment before falling over.

Draco stepped closer and glared at Insidatoris, who glared hatefully back at him. “Let this be a lesson, loyalist scum. Potter is protected and you’ll never get him. Remember that. Oh wait, you won’t.” He aimed his wand at Insidatoris’ head. “Obliviate!”

Draco left the body bind and silencing spell, tucked his arm close to his body, and went after Harry. He’d worry about his injury later once he was sure Potter was back in Gryffindor House. It wasn’t the first time he’d been hurt protecting Harry Potter and he had no doubt that it wouldn’t be the last.

Draco held his arm close to his body, pressing his robe sleeve tightly to his forearm. Hot pain radiated under his hand, spreading along his arm. His lower lip was clamped firmly beneath his teeth as he fought to keep the tears pricking his eyes from falling. He hugged the stone walls of the torch lit corridors, his gait stiff as he rushed to the Slytherin dorms. It was nearing curfew and he didn’t want to run into any prefects because he was late.

The entrance to Slytherin was open, and Draco pulled himself to his full height, let his good arm drop to his side, and strolled into the common room behind a couple of First Years. His gaze alit on Pansy, seated at a table working on revisions. He walked over to her and when she looked up at his approach, he gestured with his head for her to follow. Talking would give away his pain.

He led her to the recessed alcove where a black marble statute of Salazar Slytherin stood with silver and green Yule-time garland draped around his neck. The statute tut-tutted as the two thirteen-year-olds squeezed behind it.

“Draco, you look ghastly pale. Are you all right?” Pansy asked immediately.

“No,” Draco breathed out harshly. He pulled up his sleeve, biting back a whimper as the material scraped against his arm. The bandage he’d been wearing to cover the hippogriff injury was soaked deep red and blood traced down his forearm and around his wrist.

“What happened?” Pansy hissed, gently taking the hand of his injured arm as she drew her wand.

“Epierre Insidatoris,” Draco said tightly. “He had a knife.”

Pansy’s face darkened. “Potter?”

“Fine. I ambushed Insidatoris before he ambushed Potter.”

“Abstergeo,” Pansy cast, keeping her voice lowered so as not to draw attention. She removed the bandage quickly. Her nostrils flared when she saw deep gash in his arm. “I’m not very good at this yet, Draco. Curatio.”

Draco’s skin tightened and tingled as it began to knit together. He closed his eyes and grit his teeth when the muscle beneath started to repair itself. A whimper escaped despite trying to suppress it.

“That’s the best I can do,” Pansy said after a minute. Draco opened his eyes and looked at his arm. A raised deep red line ran across the pale skin of his forearm. A yellow-green bruise spread under the entire cut. His arm throbbed intensely.

“The hippogriff had good timing,” Draco joked flatly. “The perfect cover.”

Pansy’s jaw clenched briefly. “We’ll try and nick some healing potion from Pomfrey.”

Draco nodded, closed his eyes again, and leaned back against the statue. His arm hurt like mad, but as long as Harry was safe and sound it didn’t matter.

<hr>

FIFTH YEAR Sunday night

It was the first Thursday of the month – the last before school let out for the summer - and a subdued group of students met in the dead-end corridor behind a tapestry in the Hufflepuff wing of the castle. Eleven students and two former ones, having sneaked back into the school, were seated in a tight circle. Each held their wands, resting in their lap or on their upraised knees. The spelled lights from the tips cast haunting shadows on the walls, the portrait, and faces, reflecting the heavy pall that had settled over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Sixteen-year-old Draco Malfoy studied the pattern of the stone floor in the bluish-white wandlight, trying to wrap his mind around the news. He’d known this day was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“War.” Laura Madley rubbed her thumb over the headline of The Daily Prophet on the floor in front of her, like she could erase what it read. “Cornelius Fudge announced the return of the Dark Lord. The wizarding world is at war.”

“It was inevitable,” Blaise Zabini said. “We’ve known You-Know-Who was back for a while.”

Dennis Creevey curled against his older brother, Colin. “Yeah, but it didn’t seem real.”

“Did you think this was a game?” Charles Warrington, a Sixth Year Slytherin, gestured at the others. “Did you think any of us gave up our lives for kicks?”

“Funny, you don’t look like a ghost,” Fred Weasley said, scratching his mop of red hair, which looked nearly purple in the wandlight.

Charles glared icily at him. “I will, if the Dark Lord finds out I’ve been protecting Potter.”

Fred’s expression hardened, mimicked by his twin, George. “Am I hearing dissidence in the ranks?” George said.

“Guys, let’s not argue,” Neville Longbottom said, voice cracking with every word. He rubbed his hand tiredly over his thinly bearded, round face. “We don’t need a war internally, too.”

Orla Quirke, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Seventh Year Pen-Li from Ravenclaw were grouped in the corner of the corridor, holding hands in worry and comfort. “What are we going to do?” Mandy asked.

“Protect Harry,” Colin said confidently.

“Just like the PRATS we are,” Blaise added with a cheeky grin.

Orla shook her head. “That was only funny the first thousand times, Zabini.”

“Says who?”

“Says all of us.”

Dennis snickered and Colin thumped him on the head.

“It’s going to be more difficult,” Pansy Parkinson spoke up. She crossed her ankles, accidentally bumping Draco across from her on the floor. “Sides will be drawn, even if they remain unspoken. Those of us with Death Eater parents are going to be under more observation and suspicion.”

“By both sides,” Pen-Li added.

“The attacks on Potter will also increase, guaranteed,” Charles said. “They did when the loyalists learned of the Dark Lord’s ‘secret’ return.”

Blaise nodded in agreement. “Our usual band of bullies won’t be the only ones after him as sides are chosen, as well.”

Draco was not happy. War wouldn’t make the lines between ‘Light’ and ‘Dark’ clear. Aurors would use the killing curse as readily as Death Eaters. Friends would spy on friends and just as easily accuse of treachery as they once swore eternal loyalty.

“The purpose behind PRATS is going to change,” Laura said with quiet seriousness. “It’s no longer going to be a child’s way of protecting against bullies; it’s going to become a means of survival for Harry.”

“Our side is going to need him,” Neville agreed. “It’s because of what Harry stands for that we protect him. He’s the Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the wizarding world last time You-Know-Who was in power.”

“His name,” Draco said softly, speaking up for the first time, “is Harry Potter, and he’s just a boy, like me.” A corner of his mouth curved up. “Only much less handsome and intelligent.”

The Twins snorted in harmony. Pansy’s brows shot up, but Draco shook his head, a lock of hair falling over his brow. He smoothed it back immediately.

“Well, whatever the reason we’re doing this-,” Mandy began, “-we probably need to revise our methods and increase security.”

“As Pansy said, students will be choosing sides in the war,” Laura said. “It’d be smart to know who’s on what side.”

“And convince those on the fence to side with us,” Dennis said decisively.

“We’ll start researching for stronger wards and protective spells,” Orla said, indicating her fellow Ravenclaws.

“Maybe one of you ladies should date him,” Fred suggested, critically eyeing the girls. “It’d be a great way to guard him without rousing suspicion.”

“Are you mad?” Pansy said in obvious disgust.

Pen-Li looked thoughtful. “We’re all dedicated to protecting Harry, but I think that’s going a bit far.”

“Pen-Li’s right,” Mandy said. “What if he liked one of us back for real? I know I’d be furious to learn the relationship was a lie.”

“Not if the relationship was based on sex,” Fred said. He ducked his head behind his arms as the ladies smacked him.

“Can we get serious again?” Draco said in irritation. “This isn’t the Potter Dating Service.”

Colin’s brow furrowed. “You know, Fred might’ve had a valid point about dating Harry, only backwards.”

“What do you mean?” George said.

“Fred suggested one of us date Harry to protect him, so what’s stopping of the loyalists from dating Harry for nefarious purposes?”

A worried silence descended. Blaise broke it. “I guess that means this is the Potter Dating Service.” Nervous laughter filled the corridor.

“We’ll have to be careful,” Fred said. “Not all children with Death Eater parents support You-Know-Who-”

“—and there are some who don’t have Death Eater parents who do support Him,” George said.

Draco rubbed his forehead as conversation turned to background checks, deterring unacceptable suitors, and the valid possibility of one of them dating Harry next year. He had a splitting headache, one that had started when he’d learned his father had been arrested and had worsened steadily since then. PRATS had never been a game to Draco, especially when they learned of the Dark Lord’s return last summer, but a public declaration meant things would be much more difficult. Slytherins with Death Eater parents would be under scrutiny. Behavior would become more brazen on both sides and the attacks on Harry possibly more deadly.

Draco was prepared, however. He’d been readying himself, whether knowingly or not, since he was eleven-years-old and a centaur visited him in the woods. It was Draco’s destiny to guard the treasure of the wizarding world according to the Heavens.

But Draco didn’t protect Harry just because of a bunch of stars. He protected Harry because Harry was his. His to bully. His to obsess over. His to hate. His to love.

Draco protected Harry because Harry was his to protect, it was as simple and as complicated as that.

<hr>

FOURTH YEAR

Pansy looked up from her copy of Witch Weekly at the fourteen-year-old who’d burst into the Fourth Year girls’ dorm room. “Draco, you’re not allowed in here.”

Draco ignored her admonishment, leaned against the closed door, and said in a panicky voice, “Pansy, you have to help me.”

Pansy set aside her magazine, uncrossed her legs, and straightened her robes. She was the only one currently in the dorm room, seated regally on her bed. The green privacy curtains were tied back with silver cord around each of the tall bedposts. “What’s wrong?”

“Tracey Davis kissed me.”

A brow shot up to Pansy’s hairline. “All right.”

“All right! It’s not all right!” Draco exclaimed.

“It’s not,” Pansy said slowly.

“No! It was awful!” Draco scrubbed his hand across his mouth in memory. “She tried to stick her tongue down my throat.”

Pansy’s peals of laughter echoed against the stone walls of the room. “Draco, sweetheart, that’s how you’re supposed to kiss.”

“I know that,” Draco huffed. “But it was icky.”

“Icky!” Pansy hooted with unladylike abandon, pounding the bed beside her with her fists.

“It’s not funny! I was supposed to like it!”

Pansy calmed down at his unhappy tone, though she didn’t apologize. “What do you mean?”

Draco slumped against the door. “Tracey asked to speak with me in the common room just now in front of everyone. I said okay and followed her into the Salazar statue alcove.”

“Where she snogged you,” Pansy surmised.

“Yes.” Draco nodded miserably. “After, I went back to the table and Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and Warrington were practically cheering for me. They said that I was lucky, that it was a man’s dream come true to kiss her.”

“But you didn’t like it.”

Draco shook his head. A lock of hair fell over his brow and he left it. “I don’t understand. Marjorie kissed me this summer, too, and I didn’t like it.”

“She’s your cousin, Draco,” Pansy pointed out.

“Third cousin, and all the boys in the family are always trying to kiss her. They say it’s because she has big breasts, but I can’t figure out what that has to do with anything and I’m not about to ask and look stupid.”

“Have you kissed any other girls?” Pansy asked. There was something in her voice that made Draco wary, but he answered honestly.

“Yes. Windi Sucre during that party game we played last year, remember?”

“I remember.” Pansy rose, her blue robe swishing neatly around her ankles, patted her hair, and shooed him out of the way. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

Draco watched her leave, the door shutting behind her, before he paced the room. He poked his nose into the other girls’ things after two laps of the small dormitory. A Wizard Style magazine caught his eye and he thumbed through it. It was an issue he already had read, but Yule was nearing and he could use new casual robes.

Pansy returned a few minutes later and she wasn’t alone. Michel Beauhomme, the Seventh Year prefect, spotted Draco and crossed his arms over his chest. “Malfoy, you’d better have a good reason for being—”

“Confundus!”

Pansy spell hit Michel from behind and he stumbled forward. He caught his balance then looked around confusedly. “Where—”

“Oculicare!”

“Pansy!” Draco dropped the magazine and crossed the room to where the other two stood. He looked up at Michel, who’s blue eyes had a white film over them from the blinding hex. His mouth opened and closed in panicked confusion.

Pansy put her finger to her lips, shushing Draco, raised up on her toes, and whispered in Michel’s ear. “I’m going to kiss you, Michel.”

Draco’s gray eyes grew round and he shook his head madly. He’d figured out Pansy wanted him to do. Pansy nodded firmly, grabbed his arm, and shoved him at Michel. “Right now,” she said, speaking to Michel but staring steadfastly at Draco.

Draco knew that unless he wanted to be cursed – and Pansy could cast curses that lasted for weeks – he should just get on with it. Gulping at the thought of kissing another guy, he moved closer to Michel.

Michel was a head taller than Draco, with artfully spiked black hair, a strong jaw, and an aristocratic nose. His mouth was parted slightly and his expression befuddled because of the confusion spell. Draco put his hands tentatively on Michel’s broad shoulders, feeling the strength beneath his robe and hoping that he wouldn’t put that strength to use and give Draco a kicking after this. With a final glance for reprieve at Pansy, Draco licked his lips, rose up on his toes, and pressed his mouth to Michel’s.

Draco was relieved when he felt nothing. It was just like kissing Windi, Marjorie, and Tracey. Maybe this was what everyone felt when they kissed and lied because everyone else did. Maybe—

Michel’s arms closed around Draco without warning. One large hand cupped the back of his head, the other pressed firmly between his shoulder blades. He inhaled sharply through his nose as Michel’s mouth moved against his, and the scent slammed into his body like a bludger. Spicy and dark and mixed with the smell of his hand after he’d tossed off, and Draco moaned as he swelled in his shorts.

His eyelids fluttered shut and his grip tightened on Michel’s shoulders. Michel had obviously kissed before and whether he thought it was Pansy or not, he was giving Draco a thorough snog. Draco was pressed firmly along a strong, smooth body, not against squashy pillows. There was nothing soft about Michel.

Pansy tugged hard on Draco’s ear, breaking the kiss with a start. She waved her wand, indicating the confusion spell would end soon. She leaned close to Draco and said in Michel’s direction. “Michel, you have a prefect’s meeting to go to.”

Michel released Draco, who moved away quickly and pressed back against Pansy’s bedpost. Draco held his hand over his mouth, face flushed and breathing heavily, as Pansy ushered Michel out the door. She returned shortly, tucking her wand in her belt, and closed the door behind her.

With a cry of protest, Draco launched himself at Pansy and smashed his mouth to hers. He inhaled purposely, smelling flowers and something sweet. He held her tightly by her slight, rounded shoulders, but she didn’t try to break away. She allowed him to kiss her like Michel had kissed him, and when he sobbed in denial against her lips, she gathered him against her softness and whispered promises that he’d still find love and that everything would be okay.

-end

Today's deleted scenes are cut/re-written bits from the story itself, which I had saved in case I wanted to reuse the dialogue, etc. You'll see a lot of repeats and/or stuff that's in the main story but changed. I've included in this section the original Philos Scribner confrontation, when he was still called Oscar Zoroaster (Baum reference, to those of you wondering), and the Death Eater way out of the book. Most of these cuts/changes were beta reader recommended, primarily because Draco was a Sap, instead of being his meaner, more obnoxious self.

<lj-cut text="DMTE - Deleted Scenes - Cut Bits Part One">

“According to Frieda Valise’s Cursed Containers, Bewitched Boxes, and Hexed Handbags, Tomes of Entrapment are Dark Arts artifacts that trap the person who opens the book, and those standing within a certain distance, inside its pages,” Hermione began. “The book itself is not ‘evil’, but rather how it is used which places it in the Dark Arts category. Unter the Scaly was the first recorded to use a Tome of Entrapment in 325 B.C. He gave it to his neighbor as a gift and took the neighbor’s land the following day. In 12 A.D., Carmine the Coward sent a Tome of Entrapment into an enemy camp and within a week the entire camp had vanished. But it wasn’t until 592 A.D. that the Tome of Entrapment was firmly classified as a Dark Arts artifact, when Les Amor was caught entrapping hapless couples in his ‘Book of Love’, naturally after being paid a handsome fee.”

“So how do we get out of here?” Harry asked when she paused to take a breath.

“By reaching the end of the book,” Hermione said. “There have been one hundred eighty-two known successful escapes, according to Valise.”

“Out of thousands captured, I’d wager,” Ron said ominously. He eyed Draco. “Well, we won’t remain stuck in here, despite what some people had hoped.”

<hr>

<b>Opening of McGonnagall Class</b>

Draco’s PRATS plan to get detention with Harry had worked spectacularly. He’d initiated a confrontation with the Gryffindor in Transfiguration. It wasn’t that difficult. Harry had four triggers that would always invoke a violent response: his parents, Sirius Black, Cedric Diggory, or Hagrid. All were dead by the Voldemort’s command, and insulting any of them would cause Harry to draw his wand.

Draco had chosen Hagrid.

“I talked to my father the other day,” Draco had said to Pansy, who was seated beside him. McGonagall was lecturing the Seventh Years about creating rope with thick enough weave to hold a large amount of weight. “He said that You-Know-Who is gaining ground in the war.”

“I’ve heard the same thing,” Pansy said, playing along with a subtle hand touch from Draco.

“Apparently, its not only Muggles and Mudbloods He’s targeting,” Draco continued, surreptitiously watching Harry, sitting in front of him. Luckily, Ron and Hermione were on the other side of the room, or Harry might not react. “Half-breeds are also on the list, thank Salazar. Most of them are worthless lumps protected by the Ministry simply because they walk upright, just like that stupid Hagrid, who probably sat picking his nose while the Death Eaters killed him.”

Harry’s shoulders tensed. Draco smiled to himself and added, “I bet that dumb oaf made a great trophy rug. I wonder how long it took to skin him?”

Harry whipped around in his seat, green eyes spitting fire behind his glasses. “Shut up.”

Draco smirked. “I wouldn’t mind wiping my boots on his face, using his teeth to get then nasty stuff from between the treads. If the flay master left the teeth, that is.”

Harry reacted as hoped. He snatched his wand from his desk, aimed at Draco, and snarled, “You want to see skin? How’s that!”

<hr><b>Still original McGonngall opening</b>

Potter smelled good.

Harry Potter hadn't changed much in the seven years Draco had known him. Oh, he'd grown somewhat and his voice had deepened, but he had the same messy black hair sticking up in the back and hanging over NHS glasses that magnified his brilliant green eyes, the same rare, blinding smile, serious nature, dry wit, and Gryffindor sense of responsibility. He still had the perfect seeker's physique, small and wiry, his deceptively delicate appearance hiding his impressive physical strength.

Even their animosity hadn't changed. Playing Lord Protector to him hadn't endeared him to Draco, not with the amount of time and effort it took, and fancying him didn't alter Draco's personality. It wreaked havoc on his emotions, though, to fight all the time when he really just wanted to snog the stuffing out of Harry.

Draco clenched his jaw as Harry hummed nearly inaudibly while doodling on his parchment. He didn't know whether to sigh or smack Harry across the back of the head.

He wondered if Potter hummed when he kissed.

Sometimes Draco wished he hadn't met Harry. The git had certainly put a damper on dating for him. Pansy said he was called the Ice King among other not-so-nice things behind his back, since he was cold to advances. He could have anyone he wanted; he was that years' Slytherin centerfold, after all (though he'd refused to remove more than his shirt for the picture. Pansy had somehow gotten him to leave his trousers unfastened, to prove he was naturally pale blonde). But even though he thought about sex nearly twenty-four hours a day, he didn't have the time to do anything about it, between protecting Harry, detention, grooming, lessons, revisions, Quidditch, prefect duties, and the necessary eating and sleeping. He didn't like girls, anyway, and despite the rumors, that wasn't factual public knowledge.

It wasn't just lust, either, though Draco was quite physically attracted to Harry. No, Harry had to brazenly storm into Draco's heart and take over. It was frustrating as heck. Harry insisted on being friends with that blasted Weasel, he more often than not ignored Neville, he always caught the snitch (unless he was unconscious or off the team), and he never combed his hair. Yet still, Draco Malfoy was arse-over-tit, birds-singing, sun-always-shining, isn't-it-great-to-be-alive? in love with Harry Potter.

"All right, gentlemen. You may go," Professor McGonagall said finally.

<hr>

<b>Second opening McGonnagall class</b>

Love. A disgusting, hateful emotion, with its sickeningly sweet sucking sounds and visions, vapid and vile. Love. It made sane people psychotic, gentle souls murderous, and intelligent wizards into fools.

Draco despised being in love. He wanted to gouge out his eyes every time he found himself staring at Harry Potter like a lovesick idiot. He wanted to cut off his hands each time they itched to touch Potter. He wanted to stick a knife in his heart to stop it from racing when Potter smiled, or scowled, or breathed. He wanted to throttle Potter for making him feel not in control, and it was especially difficult to refrain from doing so when Draco was forced to sit bedside Potter in detention.

Draco’s PRATS plan to get detention with Harry had worked spectacularly. He’d initiated a confrontation with the Gryffindor in Transfiguration. It wasn’t that difficult. Harry had three triggers that would always invoke a violent response: his parents, Cedric Diggory, or Hagrid. All were dead by the Dark Lord’s command, and insulting any of them would cause Harry to draw his wand.

Draco had chosen Hagrid. He’d started up a conversation with Pansy about the war and how all the worthless half-breeds would finally be wiped out, just like that stupid Hagrid, who probably sat picking his nose while the Death Eaters killed him. Draco also had bet Pansy that Hagrid made a great trophy rug and wondered how long it had taken to skin him. Potter, who had been seated in front of Draco and beside Ron, had taken offense and with Ron’s prompting, had transfigured Draco’s robes into racy women’s undergarments (Potter had obviously been daydreaming in class again). Draco had quickly returned the favor and promptly wished he hadn’t. Seeing Potter barely covered in fitted scraps of silk had about killed Draco. Thankfully, McGonagall had transfigured back their robes before taking off fifty House points each and giving both boys a week’s worth of detention for disrupting her class, using magic in class without permission, and public displays of near nudity. As the NEWTs were fast approaching, their detention was held in McGonagall’s classroom and they were to sit silently together and revise for the tests under her supervision.

It was torture. His nerves were stretched taut. He kept fisting his hand in the material of his school robe, causing wrinkles. Normally, detention with Potter was spent on opposite sides of the room, doing whatever task was assigned to them. Having to sit right next to Harry in silence was driving Draco batty. He was very aware of the seventeen-year-old beside him.

Potter smelled good.

Harry Potter hadn’t changed much in the seven years Draco had known him. Oh, he’d grown somewhat and his voice had deepened, but he had the same messy black hair hanging over NHS glasses that magnified his brilliant green eyes, the same blinding smile, easy-going nature, and Gryffindor sense of responsibility. He still had the perfect Seeker’s physique, small and wiry, his deceptively delicate appearance hiding his impressive physical strength.

Draco clenched his jaw as Harry hummed nearly inaudibly as he doodled on his parchment. The idiosyncrasy was both annoying and endearing, one of many annoyingly endearing idiosyncrasies Draco had learned and memorized over the years.

Sometimes — correction, most of the time, Draco wished he hadn’t fallen for with Harry. It had certainly ruined the idea of dating for him. Pansy said he was called the Ice King, among other things, behind his back, since he was cold to any advances. When asked why he hadn’t hooked up with anyone, he said it was because he had certain standards as a Malfoy that no one at Hogwarts came close to meeting (and he never was interested in girls, anyway). It wasn’t really a lie, either. Harry Potter was the standard and if you weren’t him, you had no chance with Draco.

It wasn’t just lust, either, though Draco was quite physically attracted to Harry. No, Harry had to brazenly storm into Draco’s heart and take over like the Gryffindor he was. It was frustrating as heck. Potter insisted on still being friends with that blasted Weasel, he allowed Dumbledore to use him, he more often than not ignored Neville, he always caught the snitch (unless he was unconscious), and he never combed his hair. Yet still, Draco Malfoy was arse-over-tit, birds-singing, sun-always-shining, isn’t-it-great-to-be-alive? in love with Harry Potter.

Wherefore, detention was always a special sort of hell for Draco. On the one hand, Draco could keep an eye on him and know he was safe. On the other hand, Draco had to spend time in close proximity to Harry and keep up the pretense of utter dislike, when he really wanted to snog the stuffing out of Harry.

Draco wondered if Potter hummed when he kissed.

<hr>

<b>Chasing after Harry</b>

Draco glowered at her and headed quickly after Harry, for protection-duty. It wasn't his fault that Potter was so sensitive. He wasn't about to curb his tongue merely to spare Harry's feelings. If Harry didn't like Draco just the way he was, he'd rather have love unrequited. It wasn't as if it would be any different than things were now, between them.

Not that he ever tried to change that fact. Deep at heart, Draco was a great, big coward. The old adage, "What you don't know, can't hurt you," ruled: if he didn't confess his feelings to Harry, he wouldn't be rejected, and he could tell himself there was still hope that Harry might one day realize he was mad for Draco and shag his sexy arse. Sappy, but it was the truth.

<hr>

<b>Watch out for that tree!</b>

“Let go of me.” Ron shook off Draco’s hold and shoved the Slytherin away from him. It wasn’t a hard shove, but Draco lost his balance, his foot still tangled up, and he landed in the thorny bush at the base of the tree.

“Bloody hell, Weasley!” Draco cursed redheads and all their progeny as he struggled to stand without further sticking himself with thorns. The thorns were five-centimeters long, pointed, and imbedded in his hands, arse, and the backs of his legs. His clothes provided no protection from injury.

Ron snickered at him before wandering over to his friends. Draco made a rude gesture at Ron’s back.

Pansy came over and helped Draco to his feet. “Rude blighter, isn’t he?” she said, sending a venomous glare at Ron.

“His parents couldn’t afford to teach him manners,” Draco grumbled, awkwardly picking thorns from his hands.

<hr>

<b>Entering the forrest in the book</b>

“Forest, Ron, but honestly, don’t you ever read?” Hermione said.

“Not unless it’s a picture book,” Draco mocked automatically, even though his back was to the group, focusing on studying their surroundings. In the distance, he thought he saw the glow of animal eyes.

“You mean, like the ones on your bookshelf?” Ron retorted.

“You’re too young to know about those types of picture books, Weasel.”

“Don’t need the books when I’ve had the real thing,” Ron boasted. “Heck, I know for a fact that all the Gryffindors here have no need for those types of books.”

Hermione gasped. “Ron!” Harry exclaimed. “Some of us don’t wish our private lives aired to the Slytherins!”

White-hot jealousy shot through Draco like a spike, painfully stabbing his heart, at what Harry’s words implied. His shoulders tensed and the headache he had started pounding loudly in his ears. His cheek ticked from fiercely clenching his jaw. The handle of his wand dug into his palm from gripping it so tightly.

Love stunk.

“What’s wrong, Malfoy?” Ron sneered. “Can’t the Ice Queen think of a comeback?”

Draco kept his back to the others. “I’m still gobsmacked with revulsion that anyone would freely want to touch you in that way.”

<hr>

<b>C3, Draco sitting by the tree</b>

He’d heard it was a very rewarding activity. Alas, since he wasn’t in a fantasy world...

Hold up a moment. Draco was inside a book. If that didn’t count as a fantasy world, he didn’t know what did. Salazar help him, he might be able to chance something with a non-imaginary Harry Potter. And then, he could convince the Voldemort to become a Mugglitarian and go to work for the Senior Weasel at the Ministry of Magic.

Draco scoffed silently at himself. He’d long ago chosen protection over passion and he’d stick to that decision. He could survive with love unrequited, but not without Harry being alive.

Dark times were again upon the wizarding world, as they were two decades ago. The Dark Lord had rebuilt his following and was steadily gaining hold of Britain, which was the center of the wizarding world. The Ministry of Magic fought back, as did the famed Order of the Phoenix, but for every win there were two losses. War was like that, and it would continue on the same until one side was victorious over the other.

The last time, the war was ended by the Boy Who Lived. He was a legend with a lightning bolt scar. Whenever his picture was posted in the news, it was a visible jab to the Dark Lord and his followers. He was proof that the Dark Lord could be defeated. He was a symbol of hope for the opposition.

And his death would bring devastation.

It was prophesized, though known by few, that Harry Potter alone had the power to defeat the Dark Lord. If that information were to fall into the wrong hands, the attacks on Harry would increase tenfold and wouldn’t cease until he was dead.

But Harry Potter wasn’t going to die anytime soon, if the members of the Potter Rescue and Torment Society (or PRATS) had any say about it. PRATS had prevented the loyalists – children of Death Eaters who attended Hogwarts – from succeeding in harming Harry for seven years, circumventing injurious ‘accidents’ and blocking damaging spells. The PRATS members gave their all in protecting Harry because of what he meant for the future.

Draco Malfoy protected Harry for entirely different reasons, none of which outweighed the other. Possession. Obsession. Destiny. Defiance. Love. Because of these, he had protected Potter in the past, would continue to do so until the last breath was drawn from his body, and Potter would never know it.

It was a small price to pay to ensure Harry survived.

<hr>

<b>PRATS meeting in book</b>

“I think we should keep Potter in the book.”

Pansy and Neville stared at Draco.

“I’m not joking,” Draco said. “Think about it: he’s away from Hogwarts and the loyalists out for his blood. Not to mention that he’s safe from the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters.”

Neville shook his head. “It won’t work.”

“Why not?” Draco said. “Here, with us watching him, he’d be as safe as houses.”

“He might be safer, but word’ll eventually get out that the Boy Who Lived is missing and that’ll be a blow to the war effort,” Neville said.

“If Dumbledore said Potter was safe somewhere, he’d come off as a coward for hiding, in the papers,” Pansy added. “Potter’s the Golden Boy of the Light, remember. Even when he’s crucified by loyalist press, he’s still a visible symbol.”

“Politics do not concern me,” Draco said. “If Potter were to suddenly decide to become best mates with the Dark Lord, I’d be protecting him from Dumbledore and the Aurors, and even Granger and Weasley. Our priority is to protect Potter, not to help the side of Light. It’s Potter’s safety that’s important, nothing else.”

All joking aside, a serious question had been asked and answered at the brief PRATS meeting, and escaping the book was still the plan. Pansy and Neville’s responses were logical, even if Draco didn’t agree with them. It was hard to remember that he had a different agenda than the rest of PRATS, since usually their purposes and actions went in the same direction.

But sometimes the difference was obvious: PRATS was dedicated to protecting the Boy Who Lived. Draco protected a boy named Harry.

<hr>

<b>Standing on the corner, watching all the boys go by...</b>

Draco stood on the porch, leaning a shoulder against the post supporting the overhang of the roof. One foot was casually crossed over the other at the ankle, as he kept watch. He had shed his school robe, gray jumper, and striped tie, and unbuttoned the collar of his white shirt. However, his shirttails remained neatly tucked in and his shirtsleeves cuffed properly. Simply because Draco was wandering the woods did not mean he should lose his sense of decorum.

The night was pleasantly warm, the stars clearly visible in the sky. The positions of the stars were the same as back home, which meant any astrological readings the seventeen-year-old did would most likely be accurate. The Heavens were hard to interpret, but they were rarely wrong. Mars’ position and brightness did not bode well for their travels.

But things could be changed if one acknowledged the astrological reading. Since he was aware of the danger and death Mars represented, he was more prepared and could thwart the prediction. Using the stars put him at an advantage in nearly all occasions. To think, he would never had known that if Neville hadn’t shoved Iman Oracle’s Guide to the Heavens at him the day after their shared detention back in First Year along with a curiosity-piquing note that read, “Centaurs never meddle in human affairs.”

Draco shifted his gaze, trying to find a positive sign in the stars. He had escaped the shack as soon as he’d eaten dinner, made by Harry from the deceased hunter’s food stores. The camaraderie and laugher had gotten on his nerves. Pansy had chosen to insinuate herself into the conversation – the Gryffindor Trio had apparently decided that, while they didn’t rightly trust the Slytherins, they no longer suspected Draco and Pansy to be the cause of their being trapped in the tome of entrapment – and Draco was left alone.

Eventually, Ron and Neville came outside, Ron assisting an exhausted-looking Neville around the shack to shower. Pansy and Hermione went together to shower next, chatting like childhood friends, after Ron and Neville came back. The girls were giggling, still, when they returned.

Pansy looked pleased with herself when she finally joined Draco on the porch. Her hair had been dried by a charm and was perfectly groomed. She was wearing the same hunter green robes as before, but a fresh scent wafted gently from them, indicating they, too, had been cleaned.

“I think Little Miss Prissy Pants has a crush on Longbottom,” Pansy said. She righted the porch chair. “Too bad for her. Absergeo.” She tucked away her wand and sat primly on the newly cleaned seat. “She had years to hook up with him, but didn’t. Now that he’s interested in someone else, she’s jealous and wants him for herself.”

“Are you going to catfight?” Draco questioned lazily, shifting so he could see her and still keep watch. “Over Longbottom?”

Pansy glared. “Neville Longbottom is a worthy wizard, as you very well know.”

“Hmph,” Draco grunted non-committally.

<hr>

<b>Porch scene again</b>

Draco stood on the porch, leaning a shoulder against the post supporting the overhang of the roof. One foot was casually crossed over the other at the ankle, as he kept watch. He had shed his school robe, gray jumper, and striped tie, and unbuttoned the collar of his white shirt. However, his shirttails remained neatly tucked in and his shirtsleeves cuffed properly. Simply because Draco was wandering the woods did not mean he should lose his sense of decorum.

The night was pleasantly warm, the stars clearly visible in the sky. The positions of the stars were the same as back home, which meant any astrological readings the seventeen-year-old did would most likely be accurate, something he did not take pleasure in discovering. The Heavens were hard to interpret, but they were rarely wrong. He’d learned that fact years ago with the centaur, Arista, told him that he was going to become Harry Potter’s protector and it had come true. Falling for Potter had been a complete surprise, though, one that resulted in Draco not being interested in pursuing other relationships. No one measured up against Harry, anyway. Not even Jonas Witherby, last year’s Slytherin seventh form centerfold. (Draco was this year’s centerfold, though he’d refused to remove more than his shirt for the picture. Pansy had somehow gotten him to leave his trousers unfastened, to prove he was a natural blond.)

However, Draco’d had to choose early on between protecting Harry Potter and pursuing him romantically. As cunning as Draco was, he wouldn’t have been able to keep a relationship with Harry a secret. Harry wasn’t the type to keep such things a secret, either, and a public relationship with him would place Draco firmly on the ‘Light’ side of the war, even though Draco did not support their cause. Draco protected Harry because Harry was his to protect, it was as simple and as complicated as that. It was safer for Harry if Draco’s feelings remained unrequited. Then, Draco could have an inside track to the machinations of the Dark Lord and there would never be a chance of Potter staging some insane rescue if Draco ever was captured as a traitor, and thereby getting caught himself. Besides which, Harry hadn’t shown any interest towards the same sex during his years at Hogwarts, although if Draco had decided to pursue Potter, there was no doubt he’d be able seduce the straight boy.

But none of that meant it was easy for Draco to be around Harry for extended periods of time. Draco had escaped the shack as soon as he’d eaten dinner, made smugly by Hermione from the deceased hunter’s food stores. The camaraderie and laugher had gotten on his nerves, anyway. Pansy had chosen to insinuate herself into the conversation – the Gryffindor Trio had apparently decided that, while they didn’t rightly trust the Slytherins, they no longer suspected Draco and Pansy to be the cause of their being trapped in the Tome of Entrapment – and Draco was left alone.

Eventually, Ron and Neville came outside and rounded the shack to shower, taking turns to keep guard. Ron most likely had a talking to with Neville about Pansy, resulting in Neville’s sour expression and the slamming of the door when he returned.

Pansy and Hermione went together to shower next, after Ron came back, and Hermione must have similarly tried to warn off Pansy. However, it was Hermione that stormed back into the shack, her wet hair woven in a braid and flicking angrily behind her like a cat’s tail.

Pansy looked pleased with herself when she finally joined Draco on the porch. Her hair had been dried by a charm and was perfectly groomed. She was wearing the same hunter green robes as before, but a fresh scent wafted gently from them, indicating they, too, had been cleaned.

“Little Miss Prissy Pants has a crush on Longbottom,” Pansy said. She righted the porch chair. “Too bad for her. Absergeo.” She tucked away her wand and sat primly on the newly cleaned seat. “She had years to hook up with him, but didn’t. Now that he’s interested in someone else, she’s jealous and wants him for herself.”

“Are you going to catfight?” Draco questioned incredulously, shifting so he could see her and still keep watch. “Over Longbottom?”

Pansy glared. “Neville Longbottom is a worthy wizard, as you very well know. He kicked your scrawny arse back in first form, if you recall, taking your wand and torturing you with rictusempra until he was satisfied you weren’t responsible for the ‘accidents’ that had befallen Potter.”

“It’s my fondest memory,” Draco said sardonically. “Ranks right up there with that centaur, Fur Ends or whatever, appearing after my humiliation at Longbottom’s wand, questioning me for allowing Potter to enter the Forbidden Forest, and lecturing me about the Heavens.”

“Ah, yes, the Great Destiny speech.” Pansy smirked. “It’s curious how you chose to protect Potter rather than rebel against your supposed destiny. One would think you were crushing on him as an eleven-year-old.”

“I probably was.” Draco smiled wryly. “At the time, though, I’d claimed Potter as my personal rival, and you know I don’t share. I wasn’t about to let others bully him, from any House. Longbottom had a good grasp on who was anti-Potter and after we settled who was the better first year wizard--”

“Whose initials are N. L.,” Pansy teased.

Draco glowered at her, and continued. “—We started working secretly together. Thus, PRATS was born, though without the stupid nickname the Weasley twins made up.”

“Without the Twins, you and Neville would still be trying to protect Potter by yourselves,” Pansy pointed out. “And more than likely, failing miserably.”

“We did an all right job on our own, considering our ages,” Draco said. Circumventing a majority of the physical ‘accidents’ had simply been a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Most of the loyalists wouldn’t do anything if there had been a chance on getting caught. Draco had dragged Crabbe and Goyle around the castle on many ‘random’ walks and had engaged Harry in many loud verbal confrontations if a loyalist had appeared about to act. He’d also tried getting Dobby, the house elf, to stop Harry from returning to school second year – Potter couldn’t be bullied if he wasn’t there – but that had been unsuccessful.

Draco shifted, wincing when a hard wood post splinter scratched across his lower back. He stepped left, glared balefully at the splinter, and leaned instead on another side wood post. “Granted, things became easier with that map the Twins had.”

“The map that showed you following Potter around second year, prompting the Twins to dangle you over the tower stair rail by your ankles?”

Draco gave her an unamused look. “Yes, that map. I wish we still had it, but those redheaded morons thought it best to give the map to Potter when Black was running loose. They’d thought Potter would use it to watch for an escape from Black, if necessary. Instead, he used it to sneak to Hogsmeade.”

“We’ve long established that your honey biscuit has all the common sense of a niffler,” Pansy said. “Why you fancy him is still beyond comprehension.”

“It’s not like I fell for him on purpose,” Draco said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s a good thing, or I would have lost all respect for you,” Pansy said.

“As if you had any respect for me to begin with,” he responded dryly.

“True.” Pansy straightened the fall of her robes over her knees. “I’ve known you too long to be fooled by your bad boy act.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m rotten to the core.” Draco winked. “Spoiled rotten, that is.”

“Don’t I know it,” Pansy said. “You get everything your heart desires with missive to your mother.”

Draco smiled sadly. “Not everything.”

Pansy made a sound of sympathy. Draco studied the darkened landscape. The woods were teeming with nightlife, though nothing approached the shack. “You won’t be able to date Longbottom after graduation,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“You can be slumming now, but no one will believe Pansy Parkinson would voluntarily date a Squib once school ends.”

“I know, Draco,” Pansy said with a touch of ire.

Draco went on anyway. “Longbottom has pretended to be a Squib since he was ten, when his innate magic finally emerged, so what happened to his parents would never happen to him.”

“Draco, I know all this,” Pansy repeated. “Today is the first day Neville’s shown any interest in me outside of covert friendship; we’re not about to run off and get married.”

“I know.” Draco rubbed his forehead with his thumb, a headache forming along his blond brows. “I just don’t want you hurt. Either of you.”

“Let Neville and I worry about ourselves,” Pansy said without rancor. “You concentrate on keeping Potter safe. Perhaps even seducing him. Salazar knows, you need a shag.”

<hr>

<b>Naughty Bit 1</b>

Draco might have gibbered like a monkey if he was capable of making a sound. He stared sightlessly at the showerhead, the thin shower chain swinging like a slow pendulum with each of his unsteady exhales. His pulse ticked visibly in his neck and in his cock. His hands hung limply at his sides, his trousers forgotten around his calves and tangled under his feet. The dampness of the rock slab beneath him soaked through the material of his trousers and wet the soles of his feet. Tremors ran through his body with each scrape of fingernails against the curve of his back upper thigh.

“One more,” Harry said, the words hot against Draco’s backside. “Don’t move; this is going to get a mite personal.”

Harry shifted closer, bare shoulder pressing against Draco’s hip. His left hand slid along Draco’s abdomen, seeking support as he leaned over further, his right hand tucking intimately between Draco’s thighs.

There was a moment where time seemed to stop entirely, when Harry’s left hand found something to hold onto. The pendulum swing of the chain froze mid-course. A stray bubble halted its downward path on the side of the soap bottle. A droplet of water, full and heavy, hung precariously from Draco’s earlobe. The night wildlife went silent around them as the world stood still.

What felt like eternity was merely seconds, and then Harry plucked the last thorn from Draco’s skin, stepped away quickly, and awkwardly cleared his throat. “Done. I’ll just go wait inside until you’re dressed.”

Fast footsteps broke the stillness of the woods, and time resumed. Draco burned with embarrassment and humiliation, a bright wash of red spreading over his pale skin from head to toe. His movements were jerky, as he pulled up and fastened his trousers. Gathering his other clothing and wand, he walked stiltedly around the shack and deposited the items on the porch with Pansy.

<hr>

<b>Naughty Bit v2</b>

What felt like eternity was merely seconds, and then Draco’s hips jerked, he gasped sharply in unbelievably exquisite pleasure, and went off like a wand spark. Harry snatched his hand away, but not quickly enough. He stared wide-eyed at Draco, damp fingers held out stiffly.

Draco’s body finished betraying him, and he stood frozen to the spot. Mortification hit, a bright wash of red spreading over his pale skin from head to toe.

<hr>

<b>OLD C10 out of book</b>

“Hermione,” Harry said. “How do we get out of here?”

“Due west, the map read.” Hermione said with an exasperated look at the two of them. She took the lead. “If Mr. Zoroaster was correct, we’ll be home in plenty of time to revise for tomorrow’s lessons.”

“Lucky us,” Ron murmured to Harry, as they fell into step with Hermione.

She poked Ron in the ribs. “I heard that.”

“Ow! Watch it, woman. You have sharp nails.”

Draco looked at Pansy. “You know, if your analogy had worked, it would’ve meant, reality bites.”

“If you’re lucky,” Pansy said with a wink. She hooked arms with Neville and the three left the side-alley together.

“Kinky,” Draco acknowledged. “Does Longbottom know of your perversions?”

“I enjoy every one of them,” Neville spoke up, from the others side of Pansy.

Draco laughed. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Draco a moment and looked away.

“Once we get out of town, we’ll use the brooms,” Hermione said, speaking loud enough for Draco, Pansy, and Neville to hear. “It’ll cut our time in half.”

“Thus, leaving even more time for revision!” Ron winced at the poke. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Your cheek.”

Draco stuck his hands in his pockets as he walked and found the stone Pansy had given him. He took it out of his pocket and studied it. It was much more polished and the colors deeper in the daylight. Browns, tans, and stripes of black curved around the odd-shaped rock. He smoothed his thumb over the rune, feeling the abrasions of the carving.

“Pansy, do you think the Death Eaters will question Zoroaster?” he asked.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Pansy said, worry instantly in her voice. “Should we warn him?”

“I will,” Draco said. He tucked the stone into his pocket. “Stick with them. I’ll catch up.”

Reversing course, Draco started back the way they’d came at a brisk pace. He rounded a corner, dodged a cart, and continued up the street. He was unsure of what he wanted to tell Oscar, other than warning him of the Death Eaters. Should Oscar direct them to the way out of the book, or lay a false trail? If the Death Eaters learn that he had helped Harry, Draco had no doubts they would kill him.

“Malfoy, wait up!”

Draco stopped and whirled. Harry jogged up to him. “Potter, what are you doing here?”

“Safety in pairs,” Harry said, swiping his hand across his forehead. “Pansy said you shouldn’t go back alone.”

“Did she, now?” Draco ground his teeth at the pushy wench. “Come on. If you get lost, I don’t care.” He pivoted on his heel and continued walking.

Harry fell into step beside him. “Do you really think the Death Eaters will question Oscar?”

“It’s possible,” Draco said. “Hence, the warning.”

Harry was quiet for a short while, before saying, “I don’t want to talk to him again.”

“Then why’d you come?” Draco said.

“To watch your six. Same as you.”

Draco’s step barely faltered at the revelation. He didn’t try and deny it. “You knew.”

“Portraits talk.”

“How long?”

“For a while.” Harry shrugged. “It’s why I believed you and Pansy weren’t with the Death Eaters.”

“And about the book?” Draco said.

“This, I thought may have been a plan to keep me safe, for some reason,” Harry said. “Your little group has some pretty elaborate set-ups on that end, from what I heard.”

Draco thinned his lips. So, PRATS had been revealed. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

“No,” Harry replied. “Dumbledore already knew, which I found out when I questioned him about it, but I haven’t said anything to anyone else. Ron and Hermione wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“That there are people protecting you?” Draco said skeptically.

“That you are protecting me.” Harry glanced sidelong at him. “I’d like to know why, though.”

“I have my reasons,” Draco replied tersely. “And I’m not going to explain them to you.”

“I think I have the right to know.”

“You haven’t the right to anything,” Draco said, rounding the bright green corner of Government Hall. “We’re not friends, you don’t like me, and we’re—oh shite.”

Draco latched onto Harry’s shoulder, pulling him to an abrupt halt. Not fifty yards away stood Roderick, Charleson, Hopkins, and Wilshire, plus two others in black Death Eater robes, standing outside the steps of Government Hall. None of them had their hoods up or masks on.

All of them saw Draco and Harry.

“Potter!” Charleson shouted, gallivanting them into action.

“Run!” Draco shoved Harry back around the corner and the two sprinted up the street. “Duck into the next side-alley and change!”

They slid in the dirt, ricocheting off the side of the orange-painted shop, as they flew around the corner into the side-alley. Harry stopped running, closed his eyes, and started shrinking. Draco let his momentum take him further down the side-alley, body morphing with a pop as he ran. His front paws hit the dirt and he spun in a circle, to see Harry lift off. He flapped hard, rising into the sky, just as the Death Eaters darted past the side-alley entry.

Draco’s coyote nails dug into the dirt street as he bolted out of the opposite end of the side-alley. He caught a glimpse of Harry flying swiftly in the direction of their friends. He tore through the streets after Harry, dodging carts and horses, wizards and witches. He sped by the Death Eaters, crossing paths with them at an intersection. They were headed in the correct direction, as well.

The homes and buildings that lined the streets grew sparser as he neared the outskirts of Liberty. Ahead, he saw Ron and Hermione hovering on the Starburst 300. Pansy stood waiting, the second broom in hand. A sparrow sat on her shoulder. Overhead, a snowy owl circled.

“Hurry, Draco,” Pansy said, as Draco skidded to a stop in front of her. His body shifted and stretched, returning to human. He took the broom from her, threw a leg over, and held it for her to climb on behind him. He kicked off, rising in the air. The sparrow took flight, wings brushing past his ear.

Behind them, they caught glimpse of the Death Eaters running up the street.

“Did you have a chance to warn Zoroaster?” Pansy asked, voice tense.

“No,” Draco said, flying low to the broom to add speed. “The Death Eaters were already there. They’re two more of them, also.”

“Potter told us,” Pansy said.

Ron and Hermione zipped beside them, Hermione glancing over her shoulder anxiously. “They don’t seem to have brooms,” she called over to them.

“We shouldn’t slow down, though,” Draco said. “They may have another means of quick travel.”

The warm air whipped by their faces as they sped due west from Liberty. The fields of wheat and wild grasses became rockier below. Mountains stretched in the distance to their right, curving towards them. The sound of running water started faintly and grew louder the further they traveled.

The sun shifted in the sky as the hour passed. Neville and Harry soared lower, skimming the rocky ground. Ahead, sharp spires of rock faces rose towards the sky, the tail end of the mountains. Mist rose between the spires, milky white and curving around the rocks like a ghostly caress. The rushing water made it impossible to hear without shouting, though no river was visible.

Draco saw the two birds land and followed suit. He drew his wand immediately, watching the horizon behind them for the Death Eaters. Pansy had her wand out, as well.

“The bridge has to be here somewhere,” Hermione said loudly.

“It’s that way.” Neville pointed. “I saw it from the air as we were landing.”

Ron took the backpack from Hermione and put it on. “Let’s go.”

The footing was treacherous as they picked their way across the slicked, rocky ground. Green and brown mosses and lichen carpeted the area between the rocks. Few flowering weeds sprouted in white and violet sprigs. The gray-toned spires climbed high beside them, cracked and crumbled in places. The air was cool and clammy, an unpleasant difference after the heat of the day.

“There it is,” Harry said.

Posts were sunk in the ground at a rocky land edge between two tall spires, supporting a rope plank bridge that dipped as it led into a dense mist. The smoky, wet mist curled at the edges of the bridge and over the lip of the land, like a cauldron. The planks looked rotted and broken in places.

“We’re supposed to cross that?” Ron said unbelievingly.

“If Oscar Zoroaster was telling the truth,” Hermione confirmed.

“Do we have another choice?” Harry said.

“There are always other choices,” Neville said. “The hard part is picking the right one.”

“We don’t have time to dither about,” Draco said. “Unless you want the Death Eaters to catch up.”

“We should tie ourselves to one another,” Ron said. He aimed his wand at a loose rock on the ground, transfiguring it into a rope. He picked the coil up and began unfurling it. “I’ll anchor it to the post, just in case.”

“Stabilis.” Hermione cast on the bridge, insuring it wouldn’t break as they crossed. “It would be smart to secure our wands. We don’t want to drop them.”

Ron tied off one end of the rope, as the other five looped it at intervals around their waists. Ron ended up at the front of the line. He secured the rope around himself, knotting it off, and looked behind him. “Everyone set?”

“Just go, Weasley,” Draco snapped from the rear of the line.

Ron walked them to the edge of the bridge. He swallowed thickly, squared his shoulders, and stepped onto the bridge. Holding onto both sides of the rope handholds, he walked forward. The bridge swung slightly with every step.

Hermione went after Ron, vanishing into the mist. Neville was right behind her, followed by Pansy, Harry, and Draco. The extra rope trailed behind Draco. The bridge swayed with each step. The mist was dense and wet, like walking through soup. Draco’s clothing was getting heavy with moisture, and his hair hung in limp strands over his brow. His skin felt clammy and the rope tugged uncomfortably around his waist. He could barely make out Harry walking in front of him; Harry was more of a shadow than a solid figure.

And when the sudden flash of light came, the shadow disappeared completely, and so did they.

<hr>

<b>Original way to find O.Z.</b>

Draco watched Harry walk to the door and go outside. He shifted so he could still see Harry through the window. Simply because it was a nice, bright morning didn’t mean any lurking Death Eaters would skive off.

“I think this is it,” Hermione said suddenly, sitting up tall in her chair. She pushed aside her empty plate, laid the book on the table, and pointed at a passage near the end. “Listen: ‘A stranger appeared one day, seeking the road out of town, and Keifen told him the way. “But,” Keifen warned, “take it from me, you’ll not find a better place that this town.”’”

“How is that relevant?” Draco said, relaxing as Harry came back inside.

“This book is a story about a man who finds himself in a town after stepping through a closet door at a library,” Hermione explained. She bent and picked up a sheaf of parchment from the floor beside her chair. “There are too many coincidences between Keifen’s situation and our own for the book to be wholly fictional.”

She set a particular parchment in the center of the table for all to see. It was a list, which she read off. “The library obviously represents books. Keifen enters an alternate world, a specific town, and cannot leave it. He has encounters that he later determines are learning experiences. And now, from what I just read, he knows the road out of town – the way to escape – but chose to stay.”

“What does it all mean?” Harry asked, turning the list and studying it.

“It means, that we need to speak with the author of the book,” Hermione said. She opened the back cover and read the last page. “‘Oscar Zoroaster lives in Liberty with his wife, Dotty, and their dog. When he isn’t writing, he works for the local government and enjoys performing magic and ventriloquism for any audience.’”

“We copied the map of Liberty off Harry’s arm somewhere.” Ron shifted through the other parchments. “Here it is.”

“Where’s the hunter’s map?” Pansy asked, piling her empty plate on Neville’s so she could lean forward without getting soiled.

“Here.” Harry pulled the rolled up map from the backpack hooked on his chair and handed it to her.

She smoothed the map out in the center of the table, over Hermione’s list. “It appears it will take more than a day to walk there.”

“Perhaps we should see if there’s transportation of some sort,” Neville suggested. “Even brooms would do.”

“Black Twig’s Broom Emporium is located on Fiddler’s Row,” Harry said immediately.

“Why am I not surprised you know that?” Hermione said. Harry grinned unrepentantly.

“Granger, what about that other book you purchased?” Draco asked, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.

“The History of Baum,” Hermione said. “It’s like Hogwarts: A History, with chapters devoted to the establishment of Baum, which is what this part of the world within the Tome of Entrapment is called. The book says that Baum is surrounded by an impassible desert on all sides but then references people from exotic lands coming here. Whether that refers to the people from our world who get trapped or if there are places further past the deserts is unknown.”

<hr>

<a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/sabershadowkat/347776.html#cutid1">Part 2</a>

<a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/sabershadowkat/347529.html#cutid1">Part 3</a>

<lj-cut text="DMTE - Deleted Scenes - Cut Bits Part 2">

<b>Pegasoestrus</b>

The two Starburst 300s trailed behind an owl and a sparrow as they flew under the hot sun and sunblock charms. Below stretched fields of wheat, weeds, and flowers, greens and browns of various shades notched together like a patchwork quilt. Hermione wore the bespelled backpack, riding behind Ron on one of the brooms, while Pansy rode behind Draco. The cheap brooms were used and very old, but they worked and saved the six from hiking from Piègens to Liberty.

“Do you think Granger’s right?” Pansy asked, raising her voice to be heard from behind Draco.

“About?”

“About this author possibly knowing the way out of the book.”

“I don’t know. She might be grasping at pixies,” Draco replied. “But I do feel like we’re being led around by our knackers. We find a dog that leads us to a map, which brings us to a town with a bookstore that conveniently has a book that points us in the direction of a second town.”

“I supposed that’s the Choose Your Own Spell portion of the book,” Pansy said. “I think I’d rather be led than wandering around aimlessly.”

“Makes me curious as to how the Death Eaters fared before we arrived.” Draco shifted on the cushioning charm. “If the core world doesn’t change but the things we encounter do, what did they face? What did their encounters mean? For that matter, what have our encounters meant?”

“Fly closer to Granger and I’ll ask,” Pansy said. “I’m certain the Brainiac has already figured it out.”

Draco nudged the Starburst and coasted closer to the other pair. Ron glared at him, hands tightening around the woodgrain broomstick. “What do you want?”

“To knock you to the ground and laugh as your head cracked open,” Draco replied succinctly.

“Granger, I have a question,” Pansy began, forestalling Draco from doing as he’d said. “Have you analyzed the meanings of the events thus far in the book? You’d mentioned yesterday about finding a pattern?”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said. “Some of the events and encounters are exceptionally easy to decipher, like our finding Dog, a body, and the bookstore. The first two are directly related to Harry and the last to me.”

“How was Dog associated with Potter?” Pansy said.

“Sirius Black,” Draco answered her. “It was his animagus.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about him?”

“I have my sources.”

Ron swerved closer, earning a gasp from Hermione at the sudden movement. “If I find out you had anything to do with his death, there won’t be enough pieces of you to bury.”

“Quite protective of your boyfriend, aren’t you?” Draco sneered.

“Harry doesn’t need your shite and neither do we.” Ron sped up, flying ahead of Draco and Pansy.

“Tell me Potter and the Weasel aren’t shagging,” Draco said to Pansy.

“They’re not, or we’d already know about it,” Pansy said. “And I wish you’d kept your gob shut. I dislike being unapprised and Granger has the information I want.”

“You can ask her again shortly,” Draco said. “It looks like Potter and Longbottom are landing.”

The two birds circled down into a green field of wild grasses. Ron and Hermione joined them as they morphed back into humans. Draco and Pansy landed and Draco steadied the broom as she climbed off.

“Princess Petals,” Neville said, plucking one of the pink inverted cone-shaped flowers from the grass. He popped the flowerhead off the stem, into his mouth. “They taste sweet.”

“I’m going to stretch my legs,” Draco told Pansy, brushing his wind-blown hair out of his face. She glanced at his hair and grinned with a teasing glint in her eyes.

“Are we still on course?” Ron asked.

“From what I could tell,” Harry replied.

“Granger, about what you were saying before…”

Draco tuned the conversations out as he walked further away from where they’d landed. He needed a moment’s respite.

A high-pitched buzzing reached his ears as he was zipping up, and he looked around quizzically. He didn’t see any insects flying nearby. The clump of small white flower puffs had no bees collecting pollen and the Princess Petals remained untouched. Shrugging to himself, he returned to where the others were gathered.

“Malfoy!” Neville exclaimed loudly, when Draco was almost upon them. “Stop! Don’t move.”

Draco froze mid-step, trusting Neville’s directive as a necessity. Pansy and Harry drew their wands, which wasn’t reassuring, but Neville didn’t have his out. Everyone watched as Neville crept cautiously towards Draco.

“I’m going to touch your head,” Neville said in a low voice, stopping in front of Draco. He raised his hands and moved swiftly. Draco felt a brush across his hair and the buzzing again. “Got you.”

Neville lowered his cupped hands with an awed smile on his face. “You lucky wizard.”

“Why? Was I going to get stung? Bit?” Draco said, patting his head, checking for more bugs. He’d had an insect on him. Disgusting.

“Hey guys, come see this,” Neville called, still facing Draco with that smile. The other four gathered around them, Pansy glancing worriedly over Draco, before turning her attention to Neville. “You’ll never believe what hitched a ride on Malfoy.”

“What is it?” Hermione said curiously. Harry had an odd look on his face.

Neville lifted his top hand slowly, uncovering what rested in his other palm. A tiny horse, black as midnight, with translucent wings stood on his hand. Opaque eyes looked back at them, and the horse flicked its silky black tail.

“A Pegasoestrus,” Neville said. “They bring luck to whomever touches them. And if one lands on someone freely, they’re not only lucky, it’s a sign of strength, courage, and power.”

“Are you sure it didn’t just mistake Malfoy for a dandelion?” Ron said.

Now Draco knew what Pansy had been grinning about before, and was grinning about again.

“I’m sure, Ron,” Neville said. The Pegasoestrus took flight suddenly, translucent wings beating too fast to be seen. It buzzed as it flew right at Ron’s face, who reared back. The Pegasoestrus darted in and bit Ron’s nose, and then flew over and landed on Harry’s shoulder. It paused a moment before flying away, swiftly disappearing from view.

Harry twisted his neck to look at his shoulder. “What does it mean if it shites on you?”

“Or bites your nose?” Ron said from behind his hand, covering his nose.

Laughing, Neville explained, “No difference, other than they’re frisky.”

“Here, let me see.” Hermione pulled Ron’s arm down and frowned. “Let’s use some salve before I heal you, so you won’t scar.” She tugged him in the direction of the discarded backpack.

Draco turned around to look in the direction the Pegasoestrus had flown.

“No, there are no Pegasoestrus presents in your hair,” Pansy whispered to Draco, before walking off with Neville. “Where did you learn about Pegasoestri, Neville…”

Draco’s pale gaze scanned the wild grasses out to the horizon, but he didn’t see the Pegasoestrus. He ran his fingers lightly through his hair where the tiny beast had ridden. “‘I saw a young boy with his beaver on, his cuishes on his thighs, gallantly armed, rise from the ground like feathered Mercury, and vaulted with such ease into his seat, as if an angel dropped down from the clouds, to turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, and witch the world with noble horsemanship.’”

“What’s that from?”

Draco jumped and turned swiftly, wand ripped from his belt. Harry stood slightly behind him, to one side, Pegasoestrus poop still on his shoulder. “Potter, if you keep sneaking up on people, it isn’t You-Know-Who that’s going to kill you.”

He pushed past Harry, hating having been caught unawares and quoting storybook tales. He stuck his wand in his wand loop, as he stormed over to the others. “We’ve had our break, now let’s get moving. The further we get today, the closer we are to going home.”

“We’re ready,” Hermione said, without argument. She shouldered the backpack.

Pansy gave him an arched look, but said nothing.

Ron picked up his broom and he and Hermione mounted it. Neville shrank rapidly, becoming a sparrow in three heartbeats. Harry walked over as Draco and Pansy climbed on their broom, glanced around the quasi-circle, and morphed into his animagus form without a word. He took flight.

There was no one below them as they soared through the sky again. Occasionally, the fields were flattened in circles and patterns, mooncalf markings. Other beasts, both recognizable and not, leapt and grazed in the grasses. A few blackbirds paced them awhile before shifting course and flying west.

The heat of the sun beat on their heads as it traversed the sky, afternoon flowing into evening. The six students landed once before continuing on. Idle chatter drifted between Ron and Hermione. Pansy was content to sit in silence and let Draco be.

Darkness fell swiftly, from twilight to not being able to see in a short period of time. They set down in a mooncalf circle in a tall wheat field. The circle wasn’t large, but the flattened wheat provided a ready-made campsite. Hermione cleared a spot in the center, and used the chuff to light a fire. “Incendio.”

“Did you cast a protective ring around that?” Harry said, taking the backpack from her.

“Of course.”

“Anything interesting for supper?” Ron asked Harry.

“Cabbage and crull-meat,” Harry replied. “I picked some of those Princess Petals, too, so we can have candy apples for dessert.”

“Have I mentioned how glad I am you can cook, mate?”

“Pansy, take a walk with me?” Hermione requested.

“All right.” Pansy said, and the two disappeared into the wheat.

Neville transfigured six chairs similar to the ones the Death Eaters had, from individual wheat stalks. They wobbled on the flattened field and frowned momentarily before utilizing the spell Hermione had used to create the fire circle. “Planus.”

Draco indicated to Neville with a hand-motion that he was going to set the perimeter alarm. Neville nodded and began setting the chairs on the revealed, level ground.

Draco marked the distance the girls had gone, careful not to get too close to where he heard them, and continued a bit further outward. Wand in hand, he cast the spell and began walking the circle where the alarm would rest. “Deprendimpetus.” Overhead, the moon rose, full and heavy and bright.

Harry had a pan hovering over the fire, with meat frying inside of it along with cabbages and other bits of vegetables, and was currently coring apples, when Draco returned. Neville and Ron were playing circles-and-exes on a scrap of parchment, using the History of Baum as a lap-table. Pansy was seated beside Neville, reading a parchment. Hermione’s nose was in the fiction book again.

Draco sank down on the chair on the other side of Pansy, rested his head on the backrest, and looked up at the night sky. Stars studded the inky blackness of space. He began identifying the constellations, reciting the tales associated with them in his head, so as not to give into the urge to pick a fight with Harry, because he was bored. Besides, Harry was cooking and it’d be best not to disrupt if he wanted to get fed. He was hungry, too.

“We should add the encounter with the Pegasoestrus on here,” Pansy said, glancing up to look at Hermione.

“Good idea.” Hermione waved at Neville and Ron. “They have the quill.”

Pansy leaned over and plucked it from Neville’s hand. “Not anymore.”

Neville handed over a small bottle. “Here’s the ink, too.”

“Actuosa,” Ron cast at their parchment. The circles and exes moved to the side of one of the drawn boards. The boys used the tips of their wands to slide the characters into place in a new game.

Pansy added to the parchment she had with a flourish. “What about the broom shop?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. “I think that might be a standard environmental, like the inn or the hunter’s shack. The Baum book said that broom travel was common.”

“The Princess Petals might be something,” Harry spoke up. “The reason we landed this morning is because Neville saw them from the air.”

“Hmm.” Pansy added it to the parchment. “Did anyone else know what a Princess Petal was before Neville told us?”

“I didn’t,” Ron said.

“I may have read about them in Herbology, but it was a while ago,” Hermione said.

“Draco?” Pansy said.

“I don’t commonly eat things off the ground like a beast.”

“Then, if it’s on the list, it’s connected to Neville,” Pansy said. She tapped her chin with the feathered end of the quill. “I would say the Pegasoestrus is, too, since he knew immediately what it was and it’s qualities.”

“That makes, what? Five known associations?” Hermione said, looking up from her book.

“Dog, the hunter, the bookstore, the Pegasoestrus, and the Princess Petals,” Pansy read off. “We still need to figure out the elk-like herd, the worgs, and the mudhole.”

“All three were dangerous,” Harry said. He flipped the meat in the pan. “They all occurred in the same day, too.”

“The worgs were chasing the elk-herd, but the mudhole happened in the morning,” Hermione said.

“Neville was nearly drowned at the mudhole, then clawed somewhat badly by a worg,” Pansy said.

“But the herd didn’t hurt me,” Neville said.

“Potter was injured by the worgs,” Draco said, staring tensely at the sky with the memory.

“So were you,” Harry said.

Draco waved him off. “A scratch.”

“Your ear was partially chewed off.”

“Pansy does that all the time.”

Pansy chuckled. “Only because you deserve it.”

Neville cleared his throat. “Um, should I be jealous?”

“Perhaps,” Pansy answered coyly.

“Pansy, you jumped in the mudhole after Neville,” Hermione said suddenly. “And now we find out that Malfoy, your friend, was hurt by the worgs. Perhaps it’s you the events are connected to.”

“But what does the herd have to do with anything?” Pansy said.

“Maybe they’re not connected,” Ron said.

“The worgs were chasing the herd,” Harry reminded them.

“What are we missing?” Hermione said. “What do the other five things have in common that these three don’t?”

“The other five were harmless and these three are dangerous,” Harry said.

“Helpful versus hurtful,” Neville suggested. “Controllable versus uncontrollable.”

“The Pegasoestrus was controllable?” Ron said.

“You can’t catch a worg in your hand,” Pansy said.

“I like the last one, Neville,” Hermione said. “Controllable versus uncontrollable. Pansy, do uncontrollable situations bother you?”

“No,” Pansy said. “But they bother Draco.”

Draco rolled his head on the chair and glared at her.

“Maybe the herd and the worgs are connected, but the mudhole is separate,” Hermione said. “You jumped in after Neville, but Neville was the primary target and I don’t see how Malfoy could be related there.”

Draco stiffened and met Pansy’s eyes. His gaze drifted past her to Neville, who was looking right back at him. “I would’ve shoved Longbottom in, given the opportunity,” he said after a slightly too long pause.

“Neville is everyone’s friend here, except for Malfoy’s,” Ron said. “And the worgs attacked everyone, too. Maybe both aren’t just about one person.”

“How do we know the Pegasoestrus is related just to me, too?” Neville said. “It rode on Malfoy first, then bit Ron and pooped on Harry.”

“The worgs were canines,” Harry said, with a pointed look at Draco. “So was Malfoy.”

“That’s true.” Hermione tapped her finger on the chair arm, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I would guess that the herd and worgs are connected with Malfoy. The Pegasoestrus could have a multiple relation, like the mudhole.”

“Did any of you tossers think to ask if Bigbum here is afraid of drowning?” Draco said, staring up at the sky again.

There was a brief silence. “That was rather brilliant of us,” Neville said. “The answer is yes.”

Pansy jotted the information down, then rolled up the parchment, rose, and moved for the backpack. “I think that’s enough for tonight. I’m starved, Potter. Is dinner ready yet?”

“Oh!” Harry pushed aside his apples and grabbed the stack of plates off the empty chair behind him. “Yes, dinner’s served.”

Dinner was delicious, just like the other meals Harry had made. Draco wondered when the Boy Who Lived learned to cook so well. He was admittedly ignorant when it came to Harry’s home life. The Twins were the closest to Harry and they never told the PRATS how Harry spent his summer holidays.

“I can’t believed we missed an entire day of lessons,” Hermione said, continuing the conversation. “N.E.W.T.s are less than two months away and we cannot afford to skip any lessons.”

“I reckon you’ll manage somehow, Hermione,” Harry said. He chased a piece of candied apple around his plate with his fork.

“How many N.E.W.T.s are you going for?” Pansy asked curiously.

“Too many,” Ron piped in, sugar coating the corners of his mouth. “It’s not like she needs them all, either, to get the jobs she wants.”

“Really?” Pansy said, interested. “What is it you’re looking at, Granger?”

Hermione shrugged bashfully. “I’ve been invited to work for the University of Merlin in their research department. There are various invitations for further studies at several other universities and direct requests for employment at Verduen, Sickle&Bones, and Underhill. Oh, and Auror training, as well.”

“Wow, Hermione, that’s brilliant,” Neville said. “I didn’t know about some of those offers.”

“Nothing is certain until I pass my N.E.W.T.s,” Hermione said dismissively. “How about you, Pansy? What are you doing after Hogwarts?”

“I’ve been accepted as a mediwitch apprentice at St. Mungo’s,” Pansy replied.

“So that’s why you knew that breathing spell you used on Neville,” Harry said.

“Yes,” Pansy said. She set aside her empty plate. “Since we’re pretending to be Hufflepuffs, what are you doing after Hogwarts, Potter?”

“Auror training,” Harry said promptly, almost before she’d finished her question.

Draco snorted. “As if you’d do anything else.”

Harry simply looked at him in response.

A sneer pulled at Draco’s lips, while inside he felt uncomfortable. Damn Potter. It was moments like these Draco wanted to kick him for being such a martyr. Or kiss him.

“What are you going to do, Malfoy?” Hermione said with a hint of disdain in her tone.

Draco shifted his gaze from Harry to her. “I’m going to get more N.E.W.T.s than you.”

Hermione’s nose went up at the challenge. “We’ll see.”

“How about after school?” Neville said with genuine curiosity.

“My options are open right now. Professor Snape instructed me to take N.E.W.T.s in all the O.W.L. classes I received high marks in, so that my choices wouldn’t be limited.” It was a twist on the truth. Draco hadn’t gotten any offers like Hermione and nowhere had sparked his interest for him to send an application. He knew he’d be living with Pansy, but other than that…

“Liar,” Ron said baldly. “No one wants you because of your father and they know you’ll be following in his footsteps.”

“Don’t speak about my father, Weasley,” Draco warned.

“I see you didn’t deny it,” Ron said with a smug look.

“If I followed in his footsteps, I’d be a governor,” Draco said snidely. “Following in your father’s wake would make you scut worker number twelve.”

“I’d rather clean up after blast-end screwts than have a scum like Lucius Malfoy as my dad.”

“My father is not a scum,” Draco hissed, reaching for his wand.

“He’s a bottom-feeding, boot-licking Death Eater—”

“No, we are not going to do this!” Pansy stated abruptly, putting her hand on Draco’s arm. She glared sternly between him and Ron. “I’m tired of the two of you acting like children, as I’m sure everyone else is. Grow up already.”

Draco jerked his arm out of her grasp, furious and hurt that she’d speak out against him. He rose and strode stiffly out from the campsite without another word.

<hr>

<b>From CHAPTER FIVE</b>

They walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Ron tripped. Draco laughed. Hermione glared. They walked some more.

“I think Dog is lost,” Neville commented.

“Perhaps.” Harry shrugged. “It’s not like we know where we’re going anyway.”

They walked on.

And on.

And on.

And on.

And on.

Draco’s head pounded and his hands throbbed with every step. He distracted himself by watching Harry’s arse. Harry was carrying his school robe rather than wearing it. His school trousers wore nicely, shifting and clinging as he walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And jumped over a rotting log.

And walked a bit more.

The sun filtered through the heavy foliage of the trees. Its passage overhead was from east to west, consistent with the real world. The dampness of the ground remained, however, the heavy shade from the leaves preventing the sun from drying the earth. Their feet squished as they walked through the woods, leaving and mud sticking to their shoes.

It was relatively warm outside; a blessing, since all they had was the clothes on their backs. Birds sang to each other in the branches of the trees. Woodland animals scurried from sight at the group’s approach. Hunger and thirst made the six irritable, but all the walking made them tired and quiet.

“If we ever get out of here, I’m going to spend the rest of my life riding a broom.”

Or, relatively quiet.

“Longbottom, that better have been your stomach growling.”

“It was,” Neville confirmed. He smiled shyly at Pansy. “I was debating whether I was hungry enough to eat the tree bark. My stomach votes yes.”

“Tree bark.” Pansy’s lips curled disdainfully.

Neville fell back, joining Pansy and Draco in the center of the group. Harry was in front, following Dog’s lead. Ron and Hermione were bringing up the rear. The PRATS members had divided daylight guard by person: Neville was to protect Harry, Pansy had Hermione, and Draco had Ron, if anything happened.

“All the plants I’ve seen have medicinal properties, but not nutritional ones,” Neville said to Pansy. “I suppose we could eat bugs…”

“I would rather starve,” Pansy said.

“Worms are also edible,” Neville went on.

“I’m going to transfigure you into a worm if you don’t shut it.”

“To keep you from going hungry, I wouldn’t mind.”

Draco glanced at the two blushing fools, shook his head, and quickened his step. He caught up with Harry, who eyed him suspiciously. “Do you want something?” he asked.

‘You,’ was the first obvious response that came to Draco’s mind, although ‘pumpkin juice’ was vying for the top answer. “No,” was what he actually said.

He heard Pansy titter girlishly behind him and grimaced. Harry noticed and glanced over his shoulder. “Does that bother you? Pansy and Neville?”

“No,” Draco said. Harry looked at him expectantly, clearly wanting more of a reply. Draco sighed internally. Gryffindors always pried instead of accepting the face answer. “Parkinson can do what she wishes. I’m not her keeper.”

“I thought you two were a couple?” Harry said with a confused frown.

Draco choked back a laugh. “Hardly. We’re friends, Potter, like you and Granger. Unless you’re diddling her under Weasley’s big, dumb nose.”

“Ron’s not dumb, and I’m not d-d-“

“Dicking about?”

Harry glared. “-Doing anything like that with Hermione.”

“Why not?” Draco said. He glanced back, past Pansy and Neville, to Ron and Hermione. “Granger is passable, for a mudblood.”

“Why aren’t you shagging Pansy?” Harry retorted. “And don’t call Hermione a ‘mudblood.’”

“Pansy is not my type.”

“Then, what is the mighty King of Slytherin’s type?” Harry said. “Tell me, so I can warn them off.”

Draco wondered what Harry’s reaction would be if he told the truth. ‘Inaccessible messy-haired boys with predilections for death-defying heroics and tight bums.’ “None of your business.”

“It’s true, then.”

“What is?”

“You’re…” Something flickered across Harry’s face before he finished his sentence. “You’re a poof.”

Draco’s step barely faltered. “How, exactly, did you come to that conclusion?”

“It’s the rumor at Hogwarts,” Harry informed him. “I thought you were with Pansy, but you said you weren’t and since I haven’t seen you with any other girl…”

“Have you seen me with a boy?”

“Well, no,” Harry admitted. His eyes danced wickedly behind his glasses. “Except for Crabbe and Goyle.”

Draco just looked at Harry. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“Throwing the quaffle too close to the goal, am I?” Harry said.

Draco made the truth into an insult. “I would shag you, Potter, before I’d let either one of those oafs lay a bloody finger on me.”

“Only if you were gagged and wandless, Malfoy.”

Draco did stumble this time and it took two tries for him to speak, but he managed to pull of a convincing sneer. “Maybe it’s you who’s the poof.”

Harry’s smile was somewhat mocking. “You wish.”

Yes, repeatedly, but so far it hadn’t been granted, Draco thought. But he said, “Like I care one way or another where you dip your wick. Why are you talking to me, anyway?”

“You’re the one who decided to walk by me,” Harry said.

“Only to get away from Longbottom’s fawning over Pansy,” Draco said.

“I think it’s great,” Harry said. “Everyone should be so lucky to find love.”

“Until love is ripped apart by war and death, and the one who’s left behind is hollow where his heart once was and soon takes his own life in hopes to stop the pain of existing forever alone.”

Harry studied him. “That was rather poetic, in a depressing sort of way. Who knew you could be deep?”

“Sod off.”

Harry snickered. “That’s the Malfoy I know and loathe, short, succinct, and highly eloquent.”

“Gryffindors scarcely comprehend single syllable verbage, wherefore I must rephrase my vernacular accordingly.”

“What?”

“My point exactly,” Draco said with a smirk.

Harry glowered. “Does everything that comes out of your mouth have to be an insult?”

“’Ask a toad what is beauty…; he will answer that it is a female with two great round eyes coming out of her little head, a large flat mouth, a yellow belly, and a brown back.’”

Bafflement made Harry gape like a toad. It brought a smile to Draco’s lips, which he wiped quickly away. “Problems, Potter?”

Harry closed his mouth with a snap and shook his head. “You confuse me, Malfoy.”

Draco did smile at that, a smug little quirk of the lips that remained as they continued walking in surprisingly comfortable silence.

A few minutes later, Draco realized his headache was gone.

The sounds of the forest changed subtly with the group’s passing, if one was listening. The shadows lengthened as the day began its transition into night. Draco watched the patterns of sunlight shift, contemplating how long the peaceful quiet would last between him and Harry.

“We should have eaten the rabbits,” Harry murmured, loud enough for Draco to hear. Draco snorted. Harry grinned sheepishly at him, which made Draco’s insides feel funny.

“I suppose it they’d been rats, or opossums, or some other non-cute-and-fluffy animal, there wouldn’t have been as much of a fuss, but I guess it’s the thought that counts.” Harry glanced sideways at Draco. “Don’t let it go to your insufferable head; however, someone ought to say ‘thanks.’”

Draco waited and walked. And waited and walked. And waited and walked some more. Finally, he blew out an exasperated breath and said, “That’s the second time you’ve done that.”

“Done what?” Harry said.

“Said that I should be thanked and then don’t actually thank me.”

“Did I, now?” Harry’s lips curved in mocking amusement.

“I’m the insufferable one?”

Harry shrugged. “Perhaps I didn’t want to be insulted for being polite.”

“Potter, I’ll insult you whether you’re polite, disparaging, or breathing,” Draco said, “but just because I’m me doesn’t mean that I don’t deserve a ‘thanks, mate’ when due.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Very well, Malfoy. Next time you do something worthy…,” he trailed off, cocking his head. “Do you hear that?”

<hr>

<b>Same Scene, even older</B>

Draco heard Pansy titter girlishly behind him, pulling him out of his pondering, and grimaced.

Harry noticed and glanced over his shoulder. “Does that bother you? Pansy and Neville?”

“No,” Draco said. Harry looked at him expectantly, clearly wanting more of a reply. Draco sighed internally. Gryffindors always pried instead of accepting the face answer. “Parkinson can do what she wishes. I’m not her keeper.”

“I thought you two were a couple?” Harry said with a confused frown.

Draco choked back a laugh. “Hardly. We’re friends, Potter, like you and Granger. Unless you’re diddling her under Weasley’s big, dumb nose.”

“Ron’s not dumb, and I’m not d-d-”

“Dicking about?”

Harry glared. “-dating Hermione.”

“Why not?” Draco said. He glanced back, past Pansy and Neville, to Ron and Hermione. “Granger is passable, for a Mudblood.”

“Why aren’t you shagging Pansy?” Harry retorted. “And don’t call Hermione a ‘Mudblood.’”

“Pansy is not my type.”

“Is it true, then?”

“What is?”

“You’re…” Something flickered across Harry’s face before he finished his sentence. “You’re into blokes.”

Draco paused before speaking. It was the truth, but he didn’t vocalize it, except to Pansy. Neville figured out Draco fancied Harry long before Draco even realized it himself, but he hadn’t flat out told Neville his preferences. “How, exactly, did you come to that conclusion?”

“It’s one of the rumors at Hogwarts,” Harry said. “I thought you were with Pansy, but you said you weren’t and since I haven’t seen you with any other girl…”

“Have you seen me with a boy?”

“Well, no,” Harry admitted. His lips quirked. “Except for Crabbe and Goyle.”

Draco just looked at Harry. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“Throwing the quaffle too close to the goal, am I?” Harry said.

Draco made the truth into an insult. “I would shag you, Potter, before I’d let either one of those oafs lay a bloody finger on me.”

“So, you’re admitting it?”

“Maybe it’s you who’s into blokes,” Draco said, turning the tables.

“Maybe you should mind your own business.”

“Like I care one way or another where you dip your wick,” Draco lied. “Why are you talking to me, anyway?”

“You’re the one who decided to walk by me,” Harry said.

“Only to get away from Longbottom’s fawning over Pansy,” Draco said.

“I think it’s great,” Harry said.

Draco snorted. “You would.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors are notoriously sappy.”

Harry’s brows lifted. “And the Slytherin idea of romance is not hexing someone from behind?”

Draco lowered his gaze and watched the leaves squash under his boots with his steps. “There are things more important in life than romance, Potter. Power, money, name.” Protection.

“Quidditch, freedom, life itself,” Harry said agreement, “but others think love is important.”

“Until love is ripped apart by war and death, and the one who’s left behind is hollow where his heart once was and soon takes his own life in hopes to stop the pain of existing forever alone.”

Harry studied him. “That was rather poetic, in a depressing sort of way. Who knew you could be deep?”

“Sod off.”

Harry snickered. “That’s the Malfoy I know and loathe, short, succinct, and highly eloquent.”

“Gryffindors scarcely comprehend single syllable wordage, therefore I must rephrase my verbal communication accordingly.”

“What?”

“My point exactly,” Draco said with a smirk.

Harry glowered. “Does everything that comes out of your mouth have to be an insult?”

“’Ask a toad what is beauty…; he will answer that it is a female with two great round eyes coming out of her little head, a large flat mouth, a yellow belly, and a brown back.’”

Bafflement made Harry gape like a toad. It brought a smile to Draco’s lips, which he wiped quickly away. “Problems, Potter?”

Harry closed his mouth with a snap and shook his head. “You annoy me, Malfoy.”

Draco did smile at that, a smug little quirk of the lips that remained as they continued walking in surprisingly comfortable silence.

A few minutes later, Draco realized his headache was gone.

<hr>

<a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/sabershadowkat/347529.html#cutid1">Part 3</a>

<lj-cut text="DMTE - Deleted Scenes - Cut Bits Part 3">

<b>CHAPTER EIGHT</b>

The morning sun beamed past the foliage of the towering trees. The weather was warm already, despite the early hour. The air was fresh and clean, with the scents of dew-kissed flowers and trees. It was a beautiful morning for a hike through the woods.

The six entrapped Hogwarts students left after breakfast was finished and the shack straightened. They’d shrunk and packed food, dishes, potions, their vests, ties, and school robes, and the map, and along with Dog, started off for Trapman. The plan was to reach the edge of the woods bordering the field to the west before stopping to sleep.

Draco trailed behind the group as they walked through the woods, playing with the cork on the vial of poison in his pocket. He was lagging, eyes darting to the woods with every noise he heard. He was on edge and wanted to tell Hermione to shut her yap. The seventeen-year-old had been yammering on a kilometer a minute since they had left the shack.

“—Charms and DADA will be a snap, but I doubt I’ll get any N.E.W.T.s in Potions no matter how well I test, because Snape hates me—”

Harry had been acting odd since breakfast. If Draco weren’t who he was, he would’ve thought Potter liked him. It was a ridiculous notion, which only served to make Harry’s behavior all the more strange.

“—Herbology can go either way, mainly because plants are boring. I haven’t even started revising for the exam that’s tomorrow. If it’s Sunday here, that is. Do you think the days are the same in the book as back home? It seems like there’s the same number of hours—”

Potter was prattling on and on. He’d dropped back earlier, leaving Ron and Hermione with a laugh to walk beside Draco and drive him barmy. Worse, Harry kept touching him. Putting a hand on his shoulder, his arm, or his back. Nudging him when sharing a joke that only Harry found funny. Poking him in the ribs to get him to laugh. Then, there were the winks and smiles and leering looks that Draco’s overly tired and stressed mind couldn’t process, and Pansy and Neville weren’t interested in rescuing him.

“—I’d hate to miss the Quidditch finals because we’re still stuck in here. The game will probably be my last, except recreationally. I bet you don’t want to miss it, either—”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, even though, surprisingly, he didn’t have a headache. “Is there any way I can get you to shut up?”

“Kiss me.”

Draco’s head snapped around and he stared at Harry. “What?”

“Ditch me,” Harry said. He grinned evilly. “It’s ‘Torment Malfoy’ day, don’t you know?”

“You’re succeeding,” Draco mumbled. Merlin, he must be tired if he was hearing Harry say ‘kiss me.’

“I know,” Harry said smugly.

“Go away, before I hex you.”

“Go ahead,” Harry dared. “I haven’t had good sex in a while.”

Draco blinked. “You haven’t what?”

“I said, I haven’t cast a good hex in a while.” Harry pulled out his wand, pranced in front of Draco, and started walking backwards. “I’ll even let you go first.”

Draco was going insane; it was as simple as that. Potter had finally driven him completely round the bend. “I…uh…”

“Come on, Draco. It’s your only chance for a free shot.”

“Draco?” Draco latched onto the abnormality. Of course, everything about the situation was abnormal, but this was something he could perhaps make sense of. “Since when do you call me by my given name?”

“I’ve fondled your John Thomas.” Harry indicated Draco’s crotch with his wand. “I think that puts us on a more intimate level, don’t you?”

Draco gaped at him. Of all the cheek…

“Close your mouth, Draco, unless you want to lick me this minute.”

“What?”

“Are you deaf or something?” Harry questioned, tapping his ear with his wand. “I said, you’re going to get something icky in it if you don’t shut your gob.”

“You did not!” Draco sputtered.

Harry’s brows shot up, as he continued his unerring backwards walking. “What did I say then?”

Draco opened his mouth and shut it with a clack. He clenched his teeth. Potter was messing with him. That had to be the answer. “I thought I told you to forget what happened.”

“You did,” Harry agreed with a naughty smile.

“Then, why don’t you?” Draco ground out.

“Because I want to shag you.”

Draco’s left eye twitched. “What?”

“I want to rag you,” Harry repeated. “Cor, Malfoy, get your ears checked.”

Draco was confused, bewildered, and somewhat flustered. He didn’t understand Harry’s behavior. Then again, he never understood Harry, which was why Draco was infatuated with him to begin with. “My hearing is just fine, Potter.”

The fields stretched before them as far as the eye could see. The woods disappeared in the distance behind them. The overhead sun was harsh without the leafy canopy blocking the intense rays. Sweat beaded on foreheads and dripped down flushed faces, clothing stuck wetly to bodies as the six students trudged through the wheat. Pansy cast a sunblock charm on herself, Draco, and Ron, “So we don’t have to listen to his whining about being sunburnt.” Hermione twined her hair in a braid, earning a double look from everyone. She was pretty with her hair pulled back from her face and rapidly tanning skin, Draco was forced to admit. Pansy seethed in jealousy.

Draco was pensive, silently contemplating the various negative consequences of dating Harry Potter. Pansy walked quietly beside him for a while before joining Hermione and Neville, leaving him alone. Harry passed out fruit at lunch from the wizard’s pack he carried. He gave Draco a concerned look as he handed over an apple. Draco smiled falsely in reassurance.

It was early evening when they came over a rise and saw Trapmen spread before them. The imagined scenarios had taken on a gory twist and Draco welcomed the sight of the town nestled in a sloping valley. Wizard-created homes and shops, evidenced by their offbeat structure, lined the narrow, dusty streets. Many of the homes had penned animals and fenced food gardens. Shops and pubs, their signs posted above the doorways, were centered in the town, along with a guild hall, a peace officer station, and a goal.

Hermione lowered the ominoculors they’d permanently borrowed from the deceased hunter. “There are people about, wearing wizarding robes.”

“What’s the plan?” Harry asked, holding on to Dog’s collar so he wouldn’t roam ahead.

“I suggest we find the grocer’s or a general store,” Hermione said. “The shopkeepers would be the most knowledgeable, as they would see nearly everyone on a regular basis, and those seeking the books’ end would most likely stop and stock up on supplies before going further.”

“Do you think we should spend the night in town?” Ron said.

“No,” Hermione answered. “Tomorrow’s Monday already and the longer it takes for us to reach the end, the more lessons we’ll miss.”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. “In that case, we should get a room for the night,” Harry said.

“Or a week,” Ron chimed in.

“Two weeks would be best,” Harry continued.

“Maybe they’ll pass us in absentia,” Ron said with a grin.

“That settles it.” Harry turned to Draco. “Malfoy, want to set up house with me? We can fight over the decorating.”

Despite his headache, Draco’s insides did girly things at the idea of living with Harry. Ron’s irksome glare prompted him to play. “I put my foot down on anything red or gold.”

“No green or silver, either,” Harry countered jokingly. “It’s tacky.”

Draco pretended to take offense. “Green and silver are fabulous colors.”

“On you, perhaps, but not on our walls,” Harry responded with a quirk of his lips.

Potter was flirting. Draco was done for. He grinned stupidly at Harry. Pansy rolled her eyes. Hermione sighed loudly. “We are not staying just to avoid the N.E.W.T.s.”

“Yellow walls w-would look lovely,” Neville said with a wink at Pansy.

“Why would you want to live with this git, Harry?” Ron asked irritably, with a jerk of his thumb towards Draco.

“He can’t cause trouble if he’s somewhere I can see him,” Harry replied with a shrug.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Well, that, and the sex.”

“What?” Ron turned purple. Harry burst out laughing, clutching his stomach in mirth. Draco hid his reddening face by turning his back to Harry and Ron, only to be smirked at full-on by Pansy and Neville. His scowl wasn’t very effective with the blush, curse his fair, perfect complexion.

Harry clapped his hand on Ron’s back and urged him down the hill. “Relax, Ron. Hermoine won’t allow my sex life to interfere with schooling.”

“I think I’m going to puke.”

Hermione muttered, “Boys,” under her breath and hurriedly caught up with them.

“’The home of Harry and Draco Potter.’ It has a nice ring to it,” Neville teased Draco sotto voca, before scurrying after the other Gryffindors.

Pansy opened her mouth, but Draco cut her off swiftly. “Don’t even,” he growled.

She smiled sweetly. “I would never.”

Draco snorted in disbelief and started down the hill. Pansy fell into step beside him.

The six received barely passing glances as they made their way through Trapmen, towards the center of the town. Draco wondered about that, whether the townspeople were used to strangers appeared or if they were part of the book and wouldn’t interact with them unless they initiated something. Draco’s test – bumping into someone and receiving a curt “Watch it!” – was inconclusive. “What I wouldn’t give to be playing chess right now,” he said clearly.

“Me, too,” Pansy said.

“Me, too,” Neville echoed, indicating they both heard the code.

Warily, Draco watched the movements of the townspeople in relation to their own movements. They passed clapboard and stone houses lined in neat rows along the narrow, dirt streets. Private homes gave way to shops and businesses. Clean windows sparkled in the slowly setting sun, displaying shop wares. Doors were propped open invitingly, voices and smells drifting outdoors. Signs jutted from the outer wall above the doorways: Abel’s Apocathary, Quality Quills, Inks, and Parchment, Boredman’s Books, Slyson’s Solicitor.

S. Upply’s General Store was on the corner of a dusty intersection. The sun spilled in through the large picture window, dust motes dancing in the golden light. Parallel rows of wide shelves stretched high, the top-most nearly out of sight, to the ceiling. The shelves were filled with supplies, from clothes to lanterns, foodstuffs to jewelry, garden spades to kitchen pans. A few people in robes walked up and down the aisles, carrying baskets of goods.

Dog waited outside and Pansy stationed herself by the door. Neville split off and circled the store, checking the aisles. Hermione ended the tractus spell on her feet and Draco followed the Gryffindor Trio as they walked up to a stout wizard wearing faded brown robes with a full apron over the top that matched his short hair and beard, standing behind a waist-high counter. He did not appear friendly.

“Excuse me. Hello,” Harry ventured with a tentative, polite smile. “We were wondering if you could help us?”

The shopkeeper folded his arms and looked suspiciously between the four students. “I might. What do you need?”

Harry glanced questioningly at Hermione, who spoke up. “Have other strangers, like us, come into your store?”

“Not today, but in the past, yes,” he replied slowly.

“Did they inquire about anything?” Hermione asked.

He nodded. “Some were looking for ‘the end,’ whatever that means. Others were seeking a way back to wherever they were from, naming places I’ve never heard of. Either way, I didn’t have any answers, other than they try asking Labinnac.”

“Labinnac?”

“She’s an old hag that lives in a cave near the Bridge of Mist,” he said. “She’s been around these parts forever and has a voracious appetite for knowledge seekers.”

Draco was wary of the gleam in the shopkeeper’s eye. There was something he wasn’t telling them about the hag. They’d have to take care when they visited her.

“Thank you,” Hermione said.

“Yes, thanks,” Harry echoed, and the six students left the general store.

Around the corner of the building, Hermione gathered everyone in a circle and unfolded the map. “The Bridge of Mist isn’t far,” she said, pointing at the bridge marked west of Trapmen. “Less than an hour’s walk, I estimate.”

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go,” Ron said anxiously.

“Let’s be careful,” Draco countered. “The shopkeeper could be leading us to our deaths, for all we know.”

“Of course we’ll be careful, that goes without saying,” Ron scowled.

“If it went without saying, we wouldn’t be in this predicament to begin with,” Draco said pointedly.

“We wouldn’t be in this predicament if you hadn’t planted the book for us to find,” Ron countered with a finger jab at Draco’s chest.

“I did no such thing, and if you took your head out of your arse, you’d see that,” Draco retorted coldly.

“Enough!” Harry said firmly. He looked at Ron. “Malfoy’s right, we need to be careful.” Draco started to smile smugly, but wiped it away as Harry turned to him. “But we still need to go. This Labinnac may know the way out of here. If we are heading to our deaths, we’ll come back and haunt the shopkeeper, all right?”

Draco nodded, and Ron mumbled, “Fine.”

“Hermione, we’re right behind you,” Harry said.

“Right, then.” Hermione folded the map and led the way out of town. Ron and Harry flanked either side of her, with Dog trotting ahead. Neville chose to walk with Pansy, and Draco trailed behind everyone, guarding the rear.

The fields became rocky and untilled the further west they walked. Farming wheat became wild grass and weeds. The temperature cooled somewhat with the slowly setting sun. Small dinural animals rustled the grass as they sought shelter for the upcoming night.

<hr>

<b>Original Zoroaster Meeting</b>

Shortly thereafter, they took flight, leaving the small crop circle where they’d made their camp. The mooncalves had left new designs in the wheat fields, a starburst with rounded tips, visible clearly from the air. Harry and Neville led, wings flapping, seeking the updrafts, as Draco, Pansy, Ron and Hermione trailed behind on their brooms.

Liberty was situated on a rise, south of the mountains that grew in the distance. It was larger than Piègens, with four well-traveled roads leading out of town in each direction. Farm homes were scattered on the outskirts of the town, vibrantly colored residential homes and buildings becoming more densely packed closer to the center of Liberty. Even at a distance, the hustle and bustle of daily life could be heard, making Draco wonder if the sound was an effect of the book, or if the town always was noisy, even without anyone trapped to hear it.

It reminded Draco of Piègens, when he tried to deduce whether the people were real or simply constructs. The witches and wizards of Liberty spared them no concern as they went about their business. Brooms shrunk and pocketed, and Harry and Neville two-legged once again, the six students walked along the road towards the center of town, avoiding horses and carts that rumbled down the streets.

Dust kicked up behind the horses and carts, making them cough and get dirty. The noon sun was hot overhead. Standing on a corner across from the Government Hall, in the shade of an overhang near Maxwell Swift’s Delivery Service, Hermione passed out cups of juice from the jug in the bespelled backpack to quench their parched throats.

“Recrare,” Pansy cast at each of them, cleaning away the stickiness and odor from their travels. She smoothed her robes and patted her hair.

Draco checked his appearance in the window to Swift’s, adjusting his shirt so it lined with the trouser fastener. He ran his fingers through his hair, combing it quickly. He caught Harry looking at him in the reflection and scowled. Harry turned away.

“Absergeo.” Hermione swished and flicked her wand over the cups she re-gathered and dumped the lot in the backpack. She removed the fiction book, buckled the backpack closed, and passed it to Harry. “Ready?”

“Should we all go in?” Neville asked, shaking the wrinkles from his robe.

“It’s better to stick together,” Hermione said. “It’s also probably best if only one of us does the talking.”

“I nominate Hermione,” Ron said.

“Second,” Harry piped in.

“Go ahead, Granger,” Pansy said. “It was your idea to speak with Mr. Zoroaster.”

“All right,” Hermione said. “Remember, we’re fans until it’s determined whether he can help us or not.”

Hermione took the lead, then, crossing the street and walking up the five steps to the doors of the bright green Government Hall. Inside, hundreds of fairy lights floated in the air, casting a blue-white glow on the marble floors and the enchanted tapestries hanging on the walls. A circular reception desk sat in the center of the room, with a large double doorway behind it. Other shadowed archways led to stairs and corridors with shiny brass nameplates marking them.

The wizard behind the reception desk was portly and balding. He wore yellow robes and quickly adorned a pointy yellow hat when they entered. “Hello,” he greeted, with a friendly smile. “Welcome to Government Hall. How may I direct you?”

“Good afternoon,” Hermione said politely. “We’re here to see Mr. Oscar Zoroaster, please.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” Hermione admitted. “We’ve only just arrived in Liberty and were hoping to speak with him.”

“I see,” the wizard said. “And what is the nature of your visit?”

“We were hoping he’d autograph his book for us-,” Hermione held up the fiction book, “-and maybe speak with us about it.”

“Oh, how delightful.” The wizard clapped his hands together. “I’m certain Oscar will have time for you lovely children. Wait here a moment.”

The wizard bustled off down one of the side hallways, leaving them in the reception area. Ron grinned at Hermione. “That was easy.”

“He could still say no,” Hermione pointed out.

Harry jumped up and leaned over the reception desk. He stretched forward, legs in the air behind him, and grabbed an open book. “Not if we have an appointment,” he said, showing them the ledger.

“Harry, put that back!”

“It’s a good idea, Granger,” Draco said, fighting the urge to either flip Harry over the desk or grin stupidly at his cuteness. “We could write in the appointment, obliviate the yellow peacock, and enter again.”

“If we have to, we’ll make an appointment for tomorrow the correct way,” Hermione said. “Harry—”

Harry put the book back and jumped down just in time, as the wizard in yellow robes waddled into view. “This way, children,” he beckoned. “Oscar will see you now.”

Following the wizard, they walked down a corridor lined with portraits that smiled and said “Hello” as they passed. The green marble floor gave way to green carpeting as the hallway branched in three directions. The wizard continued on straight ahead, pushing open a dark wood door with a flourish. “Here they are, Oscar.”

“Welcome, welcome.” Oscar Zoroaster stood as they entered the office, rounding his cluttered desk to greet them. Pear-shaped and dressed in paisley blue robes, he towered over them all, including, amazingly, Ron. A brown, thick, bushy mustache curled upwards, nearly joining with his brown, thick, bushy brows that curled down. His pale green eyes were full of wisdom and cunning as he looked them all over.

“Hello, Mr. Zoroaster. I’m Hermione Granger,” Hermione said. She half-turned and went down the line gathered behind her. “And this is Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, and Harry Potter.”

“A pleasure,” Oscar said. He clasped Hermione’s hand briefly. “Please, call me Oscar. Herbert, you may leave now.”

The yellow-clad wizard nodded, smiled at everyone, and left, closing the door behind him. Oscar motioned at the sofa, situated across from a high backed leather chair. “Sit, sit. I have a feeling this will be a long conversation.”

The sofa expanded magically, leaving room for everyone to sit. Draco chose to stand, instead leaning his hip on the arm of the sofa on the side nearest the door.

“Mr. Zoroaster,” Hermione began. “We are great fans of your book—”

“Now, now, Ms. Granger, there’s no need to start this conversation with a fib,” Oscar said. He sank into the leather chair and clasped his hands over his ample waist. “I can tell by your clothing why you’re really here.”

Draco looked over at Pansy and Neville above Hermione, Harry, and Ron’s heads. The Gryffindor Trio also exchanged looks. “Then, you know the way out of the Tome of Entrapment,” Hermione said straightforwardly.

“I do,” Oscar said with a nod of his head.

“Will you tell us?”

Oscar smiled slowly, showing his teeth. “Tell me, have you read my book? The whole thing?”

“Yes,” Hermione said hesitantly. “I have.”

“What is it about?”

Draco was becoming uncomfortable. He glanced around the office, noting the many maps decorating the walls, as Hermione answered. Her tone indicated she was wary, too.

“It’s about a man, Keifen, who becomes trapped in a town and cannot escape.”

“Is that all?” Oscar said.

“Well, no,” Hermione said. “In the book, Keifen faces many things, falls in love, and decides not to return to the real world.”

“Does he?” Oscar propped his elbows on the chair arms and raised his folded hands to his lips. “Are you sure?”

“Sir,” Harry spoke up. “Not to be rude, but what are you getting at?”

“Ms. Granger, what happens at the end of the book?” Oscar said, not responding to Harry.

“A stranger appears,” Hermione said, putting her hand on Harry’s arm when he moved to speak again. “Keifen tells him the way out of the town, which is why we connected the fictional story with reality. The town is an allegory for the Tome of Entrapment.”

“But I thought you said Keifen did not return to the real world.”

Hermione frowned. “I did. He didn’t.”

“Who do you think Keifen is?”

“You,” Hermione said. “I think that he is you, Mr. Zoroaster.”

“Indeed,” Oscar said. “Am I not real?”

“Yes...” Hermione’s brows drew together in confusion.

“Then how is the story fictional?”

“It isn’t—” Hermione stopped, corrected herself. “It is. The story about Keifen trapped in the town is fictional.”

“But if I am Keifen, does that make me fictional?”

Frustration colored Hermione’s voice. “No. Keifen if fictional, you are real. Just like that town is fictional and this one is not.”

Oscar’s smile peeked over his hands. “It’s not?”

“You’re talking in riddles,” Ron spoke up. “Will you help us or not?”

“I am,” Oscar said.

“How?” Ron went on. “You’re talking about what’s fictional and what’s real.”

“Exactly.” Oscar lowered his hands, looking pleased. “What is reality? If I am me and I am Keifen, and Keifen never left the town, does that mean I live in a fictional world?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. She paused. “Somewhat. Liberty, Piègens, all of Baum, is a construct of a magical book.”

“Ah, but I live and breathe and work here, and you already established that I am real,” Oscar said.

“Yes…”

“And what about Herbert? He lives here, works here, and has many adorable children running around here. He was also born here,” Oscar continued. “Does that mean he’s real?”

“No, because the book created him,” Hermione said smartly.

“How does that not make him real?” Oscar said. “I met Herbert briefly when I was twenty-two. I left Liberty to explore the world of Baum, found the way out of the Tome of Entrapment, came back, and returned to Liberty thirty years later. Herbert was still here, but he had aged, married, and had a passel of little Herberts. If this were merely a fictional world, wouldn’t the characters remain the same no matter how many times you left and returned?”

“I suppose…”

“Then, what is reality?” Oscar said. He waved his hand in the general direction of the window. “Perhaps what’s out there, where you six are from, is the fictional world. Or perhaps you are fictional.”

A heavy silence filled the office. Oscar rose, walked over to one of the walls, and removed a map. He carried it over to them, shifted it around, and held it up. “See the bridge marked on the map directly west of Liberty? That’s where you requested to go.” He lowered the map. “It only takes a few hours to walk there. If you left now, you’d make it before nightfall.”

“Thank you, Mr. Zoroaster,” Hermione said.

“Please, its Oscar,” Oscar said. “And you’re welcome anytime.”

The double meaning was not lost on the group as they made their way out of the Government Hall, Herbert calling after them to visit again. They moved around the corner of the bright green building, out of traffic, and exchanged thoughtful glances.

“Well, that was interesting,” Ron said. He scratched his large nose. “I think he insulted us.”

“I think he’s crazy,” Neville said.

“He was merely being philosophical,” Hermoine said.

“I think he’s full of shite,” Harry spat and stormed away.

“Harry…” Hermione hurried after him, Ron right on her heels.

“We might not want to get involved,” Pansy said.

“But we don’t want to split up,” Draco said, already walking swiftly after them.

Harry’s voice carried, drawing attention and leading Draco to a side-alley between two buildings, where Hermione, Ron, and Harry stood. Harry’s cheeks were flushed angrily and his fists clenched at his sides.

“How dare he imply that our lives are fictional!” Harry snarled loudly. “That’s like saying nothing matters, because it isn’t real! Sirius’ death doesn’t matter, Hagrid’s death doesn’t matter, my parents’ death doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you might die, because you’re not real anyway!”

“He was just trying to get us to think, Harry,” Hermione said.

“Think about what?” Harry snapped. “That the war that’s going on at home, the one that’s killed thousands of wizards and witches, is all a fake? That the weight of the bloody wizarding world rests on a fictional character’s shoulders, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because Voldemort isn’t real either!”

“Potter—”

“What?!”

Pansy looked down her nose at him, expression clearly indicating not to take that tone with her. “Have you ever read a fiction book?”

Draco glanced at Pansy, who stood beside him with Neville. She folded her arms across her chest. “Well, Potter? Or do you not know how to read?”

“I can read,” Harry scowled. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Answer the question,” Pansy said with false patience. “Have you ever read a fiction book?”

“Yes,” Harry replied shortly. “I have.”

“More than one?”

“Yes, more than one,” Harry said.

“How did they end?” Pansy asked.

“What?” Harry’s irritation was tinged with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“How did the books end?” Pansy repeated.

Harry glanced at Hermione and Ron, and replied, “Er, Robin and Marion wed in Robin Hood. Lancelot flew off into the sunset with Genevieve in Merlin’s Camelot. Jasper Hyde saved the world in Hyde and Seek.”

“I think what Pansy’s saying, Harry,” Hermione said when he paused, “is that most fiction books have a happy ending.”

“Happy endings depend on when you stop the story,” Harry said flatly.

Pansy glanced irritatedly at Draco. “And I thought you were a pain in the arse.”

Draco shrugged. “He’s right. It’s why people say to grab happiness when you can, because you never know when things’ll turn to shite.”

“I notice you follow that advice so well,” Pansy said dryly.

“Me, follow the plebian masses?” Draco said. “I think not.”

“Harry, listen,” Ron said. “You can’t let Zoroaster’s opinion get you worked up. He’s probably gone spare from being in this book for too long. We should get out of here before we start spouting things like, ‘the world is nothing but a desk and we’re just the bogies stuck underneath.’”

Harry’s lips twitched. “Very profound, Ron.”

“Anytime, Harry.” Ron grinned.

“Lovely,” Draco drawled. “Now that Potter’s done with the dramatics, what say we get back to important things, like how do we escape this bloody book?”

“Zoroaster definitely knew the way out,” Neville said, as Harry shot Draco a brief scowl. “But how do we get him to tell us?”

“We could torture the git,” Draco said.

“That would be the first thing that came to your mind, Malfoy,” Ron said.

“I don’t see you coming up with any ideas.”

“The maps,” Hermione said abruptly. “That’s it!”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. Neville brightened. Draco glanced at Pansy, who shrugged. “Care to explain, Granger?” Draco said.

“Zoroaster had maps covering his office walls,” Hermione said, unhelpfully.

“You think he has a map out of here?” Harry said.

“Yes. He was quite clear about his knowledge of the way out,” Hermione said. “I’d wager he has a map to the exit hanging up at home.”

“Why at home?” Ron said.

“He’d want to keep the information safe, but his affinity for maps would put it on display,” Hermione said, as if she couldn’t be wrong.

“How do you know that anything you said is correct?” Draco said.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it,” Hermione replied snottily.

“Then the next question is, how do we find where Zoroaster lives?” Neville said.

“Simple: we ask,” Hermione said. She strode out of the alleyway, with Harry and Ron hurrying after her.

“Hermione is seldom wrong,” Neville said to Draco and Pansy. “It can be quite annoying, but at times like this…”

“We follow the mudblood,” Draco finished.

Neville shot him a dark look. “And you wonder why Harry doesn’t like you.” He went after the others.

“It’s the truth,” Draco called after him. He glanced at Pansy. She was looking at him sadly. “What?”

“You certainly have a way with people,” Pansy said.

-end

This is the original ending to the story. It is a) sappy, b) cliche, and c) kinda cute. It fits very well with the other cut bits I've already posted (some of which is repeated here), which is when the story was more a romance than character study. Lots of kissing, fool-in-love-extra-virgin-olive-oil Draco, and a glimpse into the future. You'll recognize some things I used/altered to fit into the final story.

<lj-cut text="DMTE - Deleted scenes - Original ending">

<b>Chapter Eight: Under the Full Moon

(Starts after the worg scene, wherein Draco passes out after healing Harry and Dog, instead of riding off on the 'horses')</b>

“Can I eat Malfoy’s?”

“No, you may not.”

“It’s not like he would care. He’s unconscious.”

“You already had one. It wouldn’t be fair. Dog hasn’t had any yet.”

A smattering of laughter pulled Draco fully into consciousness. He blinked open his eyes, clearing the fuzz from his vision. The first thing he saw was Harry Potter’s smile.

“About time you woke up,” Harry said quietly. The seventeen-year-old was sitting on the ground beside Draco, with Dog lying next to him, muzzle resting on his knee. “I was beginning to worry, and I don’t like you much.”

Draco was lying flat on a firm cot. The sky above him was dark and studded with stars. A full moon cast an opaque glow over the area, highlighting the tree line bordering the field Draco found himself in.

“Pansy hinted that you probably haven’t slept in days, for some reason,” Harry went on, “and that’s why you’ve been out for so long, despite your wounds being healed.”

Draco’s mouth was dry and his head felt stuffed with cotton. He licked his lips and croaked, “What happened?”

“You healed Dog instead of yourself,” Harry answered with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Who knew the King of Slytherin had a soft spot for dogs? Then again, it’s pretty obvious, taking into account your animagus form.”

Draco’s body was stiff as he sat up, the healed muscles in his stomach stretching with protest. He was shirtless, air raising bumps on his pale skin despite the warmth of the night. No scar desecrated his smooth abdomen, marking where he’d been injured. He touched his left ear, found it whole, and brushed his fingers across his face.

“No worries, Malfoy. You’re still pretty,” Harry mocked lightly. He produced a cup of pumpkin juice and passed it to Draco.

Draco drank slowly, quenching his thirst and getting rid of the rotten taste in his mouth. He lowered the cup and glanced sidelong at Harry. He was quite embarrassed and tried to hide it. “How long was I out?”

“All day. It’s—” Harry looked at the watch on his wrist, made a face, and dropped his arm. “—time for me to get a new watch.”

Draco gazed up at the sky. “Close to ten o’clock, it looks like.” He glanced at Harry. “If time runs the same here."

Surprise colored Harry’s face. “You were listening.”

“Of course I was, you wouldn’t shut up.” Draco looked around. “It also appears that we made it out of the woods.”

“Yeah, about an hour ago. Once Pansy healed Dog, we stuck you on the stretcher and floated you with us,” Harry said. “Pansy wouldn’t let us ennervate you.”

Laughter rose from the others seated around a campfire nearby. “Where is Pansy? Why are you here instead of her?” Draco asked.

“It’s my turn to sit with you,” Harry replied with a shrug. “I made supper and shooed her off to eat. They’re just finishing the treacle tarts. I can fetch you some food, if you’re not up for moving.”

“You’d make a decent house elf, Potter,” Draco drawled, taking another sip of pumpkin juice.

Harry didn’t take offense. Instead, he waggled his brows and purred, “Want to be my master?”

Draco sputtered pumpkin juice. His face heated, and he attempted composing himself. His vivid imagination made it difficult, and that wasn’t the only thing that was hard.

Harry chuckled. “Too easy, Malfoy. I suppose I should wait until you feel better to take the piss.”

“You do that,” Draco said caustically. He set his cup aside, reached for his shirt, which was folded on the cot by his feet, slid it on and buttoned it up. The bloodstains on the white material were gone. He was glad; blood was such a fashion faux pas. He was feeling churlish, too, and didn’t need the reminder that he’d passed out like a girl.

“Malfoy,” Harry began. His green eyes were serious behind his glasses. “I said I would say thanks the next time you did something worthy of thanking.” He paused and stroked his hand over Dog’s fur. “Thank you.”

A smile came unbidden to Draco’s face. “You’re welcome, Potter.”

He was rewarded with a crooked grin that made his heart go pitter-pat. He was really pathetic. Life was grand.

A loud grumble from his stomach made Harry laugh. “Somebody’s hungry.”

Further embarrassment colored Draco’s already pinked skin deeper rose. He climbed quickly to his feet and regretted it as the world swayed drunkenly. A hand was immediately gripping his elbow, steadying him.

“Careful,” Harry said. “You lost a lot of blood. I know from experience that you’ll be dizzy until you eat.”

Draco didn’t need a reminder of the times he’d failed to protect Harry. His somewhat giddy mood vanished. “I can walk on my own.” He pulled his arm away from Harry, took a step, and almost stumbled as dizziness swept over him. He stopped moving, waited for the lightheadedness to pass, and continued on more cautiously.

“Stubborn Slytherin,” Harry muttered from behind him.

The wheat around the crackling campfire was flattened protectively, so as not to catch the field on fire. Pansy, Neville, Ron, and Hermione sat on canvas lawn chairs around the rocked fire ring. Empty dishes and cups rested on the ground in a pile, waiting to be cleaned. A covered plate of food and a treacle tart was in a pan near the fire, being kept warm.

Two chairs remained unoccupied, and Draco sat gratefully in one of them. He glanced around the circle. The others looked tired, like they’d been walking all day. Even Pansy’s hair was limp in the firelight.

“Malfoy,” Hermione greeted cautiously. “Feeling better?”

“Why do you care?” Draco said.

“That’s a yes,” Ron translated dryly.

Harry uncovered the plate off food and passed it to Draco, along with a fork. His eyes danced merrily, like the flames of the fire. “Harry the house elf, at your service.”

Draco’s lips twitched. He looked over at Pansy as he suppressed a smile. She gave him a Look in return. Draco knew that Look; it meant she was furious. It did not bode well for the talking to Draco would get when they were alone, for taking matters into his own hands – or paws, rather – and getting himself seriously hurt.

“Did I tell you, I got a letter from Charlie on Friday?” Ron said to Hermione, returning to the conversation Draco’s appearance had interrupted. “There’s a spot opening on one of the other teams and he’d put in a good word for me if I was interested.”

“Are you?” Hermione said. Harry sat in the last empty chair, beside Draco. Dog flopped on the ground by his feet.

Ron shrugged. “Working with dragons would be fun, but I think I’ll accept the position at Quality Quidditch Supply in Diagon Alley.”

“I don’t know, Ron. Getting paid for talking about Quidditch? However will you survive?” Harry said with a grin. Ron grinned widely in return. Harry turned to Hermione. “What about you, Hermione? Have you decided yet on which of the hundreds of offers to accept?”

“There weren’t a hundred offers, only fourteen,” Hermione corrected with a light blush. “I accepted a position at the Longago Historical Research Society.”

“That’s brilliant, Hermione,” Ron said. “It’s the perfect position for you: studying day in and day out and solving historical mysteries with books.”

“It does sound grand.” Hermione smiled happily and looked over at Neville. “Neville, what about your post-Hogwarts aspirations?”

“Me?” Neville blinked widely. “Um, I-I’ve made application to several Ministry offices and am awaiting response.” It was a lie, of course. He had already been accepted by the Unspeakables Office, having had interviewed and tested in secret of winter hols. “Pansy?”

“Hmm?”

“Do-do you have any plans for after school?” Neville asked.

Pansy glanced at Draco before shrugging an elegant shoulder. “I’ve been accepted as a mediwitch apprentice at St. Mungo’s.”

Draco’s gaze shot to hers. “You have?” It was news to him.

“I doubt I’ll accept, though,” Pansy said with a pointed look.

“Of course you will,” Draco said firmly. “And don’t bother arguing, because it won’t change my mind.”

”You’re not the boss of me,” Pansy said with an icy glare, as the four Gryffindors watched on.

Draco met her eyes steadily across the campfire. “My life is not yours, Pansy.”

“You can’t do it alone, Draco,” Pansy said, her voice softening.

“I’ll manage,” Draco reassured her.

“Are you sure you two aren’t a couple?” Harry said suddenly.

Pansy laughed without restraint. “Far from it, Potter. I lack certain…qualities that Draco fancies.”

“Pansy,” Draco hissed.

Pansy waved off his warning, folded her hands primly in her lap, and addressed Harry. “So, Potter, we haven’t heard from you yet. What are you doing after graduation?”

“I’m going to die.”

Draco’s head whipped around so fast, his neck cracked audibly. He stared, gobsmacked, at Harry, who looked as matter-of-fact as he had sounded.

“’Course, if that falls through, I’ll have to find something else,” Harry continued. He scratched his chin. “Maybe I’ll try out for a Quidditch team.”

“Harry, you know we don’t like it when you joke like that,” Hermione admonished. Ron and Neville looked uncomfortable. Pansy appeared as shocked as Draco.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized, “but it’s the truth, and you know it.” His eyes flicked to Draco and Pansy. “Even if I do nothing but hide after school ends, I’m a symbol for the Light and won’t be safe until Voldemort and his followers are defeated.”

It was the exact reasoning behind the existence of PRATS for every member, save Draco and Pansy, who participated out of loyalty and friendship to Draco. Draco looked down at his half-eaten food. It bode well that Harry acknowledged and understood what being the Boy Who Lived actually meant, and he was aware that he lived an endangered life. It was quite possible that he would have got along fine without PRATS’s interference.

“Are you planning on hiding?” Draco turned his head to look at Harry. It didn’t matter if Harry could protect himself or not, Draco would still watch after him. But if he went to ground, he’d be that much safer.

“Worried about your Death Eater plans, Malfoy,” Ron said acidly.

Draco ground his teeth, not looking away from Harry’s searching gaze. “No.”

“I’m not going into hiding,” Harry said after a moment. “I’ll be working for the war effort.”

“As an Auror?” Neville asked, reading Draco’s mind.

Harry shook his head. “No.”

In other words, Harry would be working with the Order of the Phoenix full-time. Draco grumbled mentally. The Order of the Phoenix was a secret society, its members unknown to outsiders. Draco knew about it only because the Weasley Twins were a part of it. The Order was subversive, acting as information gatherers and liaisons between races (Giants, Veela, house elves, and so on). The Order was essential to the Light side of the war. With Harry as a member, he’d be in public a lot, vulnerable even in a disguise. Draco was going to have his work cut out for him sticking close to and protecting Potter.

“What’s the latest news on the war?” Ron questioned. “I missed the breakfast report on Friday.”

“Nothing new,” Hermione said. “The Daily Prophet was still reporting on the Death Eater raid at Tipton.”

Ron scowled darkly at Draco. “Murderous bastards.”

“Mordred, will you give it a rest?” Draco’s head began hurting. “So you think I’m going to be a Death Eater. Fine. But really, ride a different broom already.”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Ron said.

“Oh, grow up,” Draco said. “You’re eighteen ruddy years old. Try acting like it and leave me alone.”

“Like you leave us alone?” Ron asked sarcastically.

“I haven’t said a word to you in years, unless you pick a fight,” Draco stated. He set his plate aside and stood.

“You pick fights with Harry all the time,” Ron said.

Draco’s blonde brow arched. “Is your name Harry? I think not.”

Ron rose, hands clenched into fists. “Insulting Harry is the same as insulting me.”

“No, what I say to Potter is between him and me. You’re just an interfering prat who has to stick his big nose into other wizards’ business.”

“Guys—” Harry began. He, Hermione, and Neville appeared worried. Pansy watched on with interest. “—please don’t fight.”

“Stay out of my space, Weasley, and we won’t have any trouble,” Draco said.

“Leave Harry alone, or we will,” Ron threatened.

Draco’s nostrils flared. His hand itched to grab his wand and hex Ron. “Potter doesn’t need your protection.”

“He doesn’t need your crap either.”

“He can speak for himself, too.” Harry popped up in between them, putting a hand on both their chests. He craned his neck as he frowned sternly at them.

“Ron, I don’t need you to defend me all the time. It’s nice of you, but unnecessary. Malfoy, you’re a tosser, but you’re my tosser… which didn’t come out right and we’ll just pretend I didn’t say it.” He smiled awkwardly. “I meant that I’d rather you take the piss with me and not anyone else. I know I can take a tongue-lashing from you.” He blinked twice as he realized what he said and blushed vibrantly.

Draco felt his own cheeks heating, matching the burn of Harry’s hand on his chest. “And I bet you’d enjoy it,” he taunted, though the sudden huskiness of his voice made it sound like a promise.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Ron sneered. “Harry’s not a shirtlifter, like you.”

Draco tore his eyes from Harry and glared at Ron. “Don’t call me that.”

Ron smirked. “You’d prefer ‘nancyboy’ or ‘pouf’ instead?”

“Ron, don’t be mean,” Harry said sharply.

“It’s not like he’s nice to us,” Ron said definitely.

“You don’t deserve for me to be nice to you,” Draco said.

“And you don’t deserve to breathe the same air as me,” Ron whipped out his wand.

Draco grabbed his wand instantly, but before either of them could utter a spell, Harry snatched both their wands from their hands. “We are not going to curse each other,” Harry said. “This place is dangerous enough as it is, without one of us being hurt by childish hexes.”

“Potter’s right. You two are acting like first years,” Pansy spoke up.

Draco grabbed his wand back from Harry, glared spitefully at Ron, and at Pansy, and stalked away from the campsite. “I’ll take watch. You all get some rest,” he snapped over his shoulder.

Draco was angry at Pansy for voicing an opinion against him. He had stopped initiating verbal confrontations with Ron and Hermione about the time the war officially started. He didn’t need to get detention with them. If only that damned Weasel would get the hint and let him alone. Yes, the Malfoys and the Weasleys had a long-standing family feud, and Draco had been taught since birth that the Weasley clan was the worst sort of purebloods, but Draco honestly didn’t care one whit about Ron or his opinion. Pansy knew that Draco hating losing face in front of others, though, and he wasn’t the bigger man who was able to walk away.

All his fights with Harry, however, were staged and had been since last first year. Draco used to be non-confrontational, issuing face-saving challenges that he never showed up for or tattling to his father when things went wrong. He had eventually learned to stand up for himself, earning the title of King of Slytherin. He was unforgiving, striking venomously with words and wand for the tiniest infraction. He had pride in himself and in his House.

But while he had breeding, money, and was definitely better than everyone, his demeanor was not icy or unemotional. In fact, if anything he was too emotional, quick-tempered, overly dramatic, and a romantic sap. He also had no real confidence, always questioning his abilities, knowledge, and self-worth. His neuroticism was well-hidden behind a façade, one that only Pansy could see through. While Crabbe and Goyle were friends, they were about as intuitive as rocks, which made keeping PRATS a secret from them that much easier. They thought all their fights with Harry were real.

Draco made a circular perimeter of the campsite, eyes and ears tuned for danger while his mind was elsewhere. As usual, his thoughts turned to Harry. He wondered briefly what his life might be like if it wasn’t wrapped up with Potter. Neville would still be protecting Harry, so the Dark side wouldn’t have encroached the school. Draco might or might not have supported his father’s political views – it hadn’t been because of Harry that Draco did not support the Death Eaters.

He also would have more free time, as he wouldn’t be earning detention constantly, and his grades would probably be higher. He might even have a boyfriend, perhaps the fifth year Ravenclaw that occasionally invaded his dreams. Maybe he’d be in love with someone he could actually say the words to, and he would no longer be the only virgin male above the age of puberty at Hogwarts.

There would be no cloak-and-dagger routine, no life-threatening danger, and no heavy stress. He wouldn’t have insomnia or headaches. He’d be a normal teen, whose main concerns revolved around school, looks, and boys.

It sounded terrifically boring. Except for the sex part.

Draco sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. The fine white-blonde strands sifted through his fingers, falling loosely over his brow. He debated on spell-gelling it back, but he was unsure when his next shampoo would be. Spell-gelling was damaging to hair if left on too long and ending the spell without a wash.

Draco dropped his hand and glanced around. He pondered how much longer they’d be trapped in the book. He hoped that someone in the town would provide information on how to escape, or perhaps even be able to take them to the end. They’d been lucky so far. They could have wandered indefinitely. Instead, they found Dog, who was able to lead them ‘home,’ where Hermione located a map.

It was rather convenient, come to think of it. Perhaps Miss Know-It-All had been mistaken on there being no set plots within a tome of entrapment, Draco thought. Or maybe the tome was like a ‘Choose Your Own Spell’ children’s book, where each choice made led down a differently plotted path.

It was an answer PRATS would have known if things had gone right, instead of being caught in the book like ninnies.

Draco found a spot with a view of the field, campsite, and the woods behind him, and leaned against the scratchy bark of a tall tree trunk. At camp, the others were settling down for the night. It appeared as though Hermione was going to keep watch first, like she had the last time they slept outdoors.

Draco glanced up at the stars, unimpeded by the leaf cover as previously. His namesake constellation was visible in the southern sky, although the brightness of the full moon made the stars seem dim. A dragon guards its treasure, the centaur, Arista had said long ago, bestowing his fate upon him.

Draco wondered what his destiny would have read if his name had been Bob.

<hr>

The night passed slowly. Harry woke close to the witching hour, sitting bolt upright like he had the first night. Draco watched from a distance as Hermione went to Harry. She put her hand on his shoulder. He slid on his glasses, smiled waveringly at her, and the two began speaking, their heads close together. The intimacy between them made Draco’s stomach twist, and he turned away.

The uncut field of wheat stretched on from the edge of the woods as far as the eye could see. The brown stalks with frayed tips were traced with silver moonlight, standing perfectly still in the breezeless night. The wheat had grown tall, waist-high to Draco. A nighthawk skimmed low across the field, ruffling the stalks.

The night was quiet, the sounds that had peppered the woods not carrying into the field. The wheat shushed against Draco’s trousers as he walked the invisible perimeter. He brushed his hands against the contradictory prickly-soft tops of the stalks, tickling his palms and sending a rain of fawn-colored bits to the ground.

The field was not flat. It crested and dipped in a rolling pattern that undoubtedly created the illusion of rolling waves when the wind blew. Draco paused his steps when he saw the wheat parting in four places, like sea serpents part the water just beneath the surface. The four anomalies moved steadily forward, coming over a rise not very far away. The faint shush of wheat brushing against something reached Draco’s ears, and he slowly drew his wand.

From out of the field rose four large animals with smooth, pale gray skin. They were mooncalves, magical beasts that resembled thin cows with spindly legs and enormous flat feet. Balanced upright on their hind legs, the mooncalves raised their bulging, round eyes to the night sky and began to dance under the full moon.

The mooncalves’ feet flattened the stalks as they moved in an intricate pattern, creating what muggles called crop circles. Every full moon, the mooncalves would dance in fields of wheat with fluidity and grace that belied their awkward form.

The beauty of the mooncalves weaving their wordless, worshipful tale entranced Draco. The smooth gray of their skin took on a pale glow from the moonlight. Their sinewy forelegs traced mesmerizing patterns in the air, their bovine faces lifted to the Heavens.

A soft noise to the right of Draco caused little reaction. He knew it was Harry by the way he breathed.

“Mooncalves,” Harry whispered in awe, stopping close enough to speak without disturbing the magical beasts. “Brilliant.”

Draco hummed in agreement, tucking away his wand. He watched the mooncalves fan out, creating a geometric design in the wheat. No sounds rose from their steps to distract from the visual beauty of the dance.

Harry shifted closer, his shoulder bumping Draco’s and their hands nearly tangling. “Hermione will be furious that she missed this. Rotten luck for her to go to sleep.”

“Go wake her, then,” Draco said in quiet irritation.

Harry glanced at Draco, before returning his attention to the mooncalves. “No, I don’t think I will.”

The mooncalves bowed gracefully towards each other from four separate corners of the design. The artistic dance continued, the music of the moon guiding their supple motions and silent steps. The pale glow of their skin enthralled with its ghostly luminescence.

“I know that you’re in love with me.”

The sentence came like a bludger from nowhere, slamming into Draco’s chest. His breath whooshed out of him and his hands began to sweat. Panic made his voice crack and his tongue feel thick in his suddenly dry mouth, as he said quickly, “I do not!”

“Don’t bother with denying it,” Harry said, keeping his voice down. “Pansy told me. And she would know, considering you two are friends and she thought she was talking to you at the time.” He smiled mischievously and continued in an almost perfect mimic of Draco’s drawl, “Don’t you love polyjuice potion?”

So, this was what it felt like to fall off his broom a hundred meters above the Quidditch pitch. “How long have you known?” he whispered faintly.

“Since February of Sixth form,” Harry replied. The mooncalves wove hypnotic patterns, inviting the moonbeams to dance with them. “It’s pretty obvious once it was pointed out. I mean, why else would you keep picking fights with me when you’d stopped initiating them with Ron? All those nights spent in detention, just you and me…”

It was pretty damned obvious the way Harry put it. Draco felt the flames of humiliation burn his face red. He clenched his jaw, staring straight forward, his shoulders tight and his fingernails digging into his palms.

“Crabbe and Goyle said you and Pansy were dating, which confused the heck out of me until yesterday, when you said that you weren’t with her,” Harry continued. “I thought perhaps since you couldn’t have me, you settled for her, and that’s just wrong to mess with a girl’s feelings like that.”

“Are you through?”

“No,” Harry said with a tinge of amusement. “I’m sorry I didn’t like you back, but you made it bloody difficult. I saw no reason to give you a chance.”

Harry stepped in front of Draco, looked up, and added, “Until today.”

“Wha—” Draco began, but was cut off by one hand snagging the front of his shirt, a second hand grabbing around the back of his neck, a sharp tug downward, and a pair of rough lips covering his own.

Harry had very long eyelashes, especially when seen close up.

Random synapses fired in Draco’s brain, as it tried to comprehend what was happening. Disbelief warred with shock, lust shook hands with love, confusion joined amazement on the sofa, and Harry Potter was kissing Draco Malfoy as the mooncalves danced.

Draco’s eyes were wide open. Harry’s were closed behind his glasses. Harry held Draco surely, while Draco’s arms hung limply at his sides. Harry’s lips pressed firmly against Draco’s felt nothing like Draco had imagined. Reality was a million times better.

Harry ended the kiss (too soon), released the back of Draco’s neck, and lowered his heels so he was not longer on tiptoe. He licked his lips, rubbed them together, and smiled crookedly at the frozen, gaping blonde. “Breathe, Malfoy. It’s just a kiss.”

Draco could count the number of times he’d been ‘just kissed’ on one hand, and this particular kiss meant a whole hell of a lot more than those few. He sucked in a shaky breath, gathered his scattered wits, and with a large dash of courage – much more than it took to face the worgs alone – he tentatively touched Harry’s cheek.

Harry’s smile softened, non-mockingly. “I won’t hex you if you kiss me.”

That wasn’t what he was afraid of. Draco had chosen protection over passion long ago, and it wasn’t wise to change strategy this late in the Quidditch game.

“You look terrified,” Harry said, tilting his head slightly and studying Draco with curious eyes. “Why?”

Draco lowered his head and murmured, “You’re going to break my heart,” before claiming Harry’s lips in a kiss.

Draco was not an expert kisser, but he knew the basics. His mouth moved against Harry’s, his breath hitching at the feel of Harry responding. His hand cupped Harry’s head, thick strands of hair entangling his fingers. His stomach flipped in excited nervousness. His heart pounded in his chest. Fine tremors shook his body. And the kiss went on.

The mooncalves continued dancing under the pale full moon.

<b>Chapter Nine: Escape</b>

Draco and Harry alternated snogging and talking until morning, bickering like normal and learning they had nothing in common beyond both playing seeker and their favorite color being blue. When Draco mentioned that he’d thought Harry was straight, Harry replied, “Life’s too short to limit myself. Besides, you’re cute.” Harry broached the subject of war and Draco chanced telling Harry flat out that he was neutral, not supporting or fighting against either side.

“But why?” Harry said, sitting cross-legged beside Draco on the ground. They were seated where Draco had first set watch, at the edge of the woods.

“Half-bloods and muggle-born are equal to purebloods when it comes to using magic, but tradition and family are just as important to a wizard as magical ability,” Draco said. “We’re losing that sense of tradition by bringing in muggle-borns, catering to them instead of them adopting our ways. I mean, look at our uniforms.” He gestured to his clothes. “Muggle shirt, vest, and trousers with school over-robes.”

“So people should be killed because of the clothes they wear?”

“No,” Draco said, “that’s the fault of He-Who-Must-Be-Loony.”

Harry snickered. Draco shifted and continued. “The killing is wrong; a majority of the beliefs behind the killing are not; and with You-Know-Who in charge the two cannot be separated. And that’s why I don’t want to become involved.”

“Makes sense,” Harry said. “What does your father have to say?”

Draco shrugged. “I haven’t exactly told him that I wasn’t joining his little club after graduation.”

“What will you do?” Harry asked.

“My father won’t ask, he’ll be expecting me to come to him and request that You-Know-Who mar my perfect skin.” Draco stroked his hand over his inner forearm. “Since it’s not going to happen, I’ll pack up my things and move out of the manor one day while he’s out. Pansy and I were planning on sharing a flat, anyway.”

“But not as boyfriend/girlfriend,” Harry said with a quirky grin.

“In case you haven’t noticed—,” Draco curved a hand around Harry’s neck, leaned in, and whispered a hairsbreadth from Harry’s lips, “—I don’t like girls.”

He brought their mouths together, and was giddy when Harry responded immediately. He could get used to this, real fast. He knew there was more to dating than snogging, but it was quite a perk.

“We could’ve been doing this long ago, if you weren’t such a prat,” Harry murmured, his deceptively small, strong hand gripping Draco’s shoulder.

“We shouldn’t be doing this at all,” Draco said, pulling back to look Harry in the eyes. “Being distracted could get you killed.”

“Just breathing could get me killed,” Harry said. His brows drew together. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”

“Only what you already know,” Draco answered, dragging his fingers along Harry’s jaw. The light rasp of stubble caught on his fingertips, unlike on his own perpetually smooth face. “Merlin, what am I doing?”

“Hopefully, you’re going to kiss me again,” Harry said with a cheeky grin.

A corner of Draco’s mouth curved, his gray eyes bright. “I can do that.”

“Ah-HEM.”

Draco’s gaze jerked up and he saw Pansy a short distance behind Harry. Her sculpted brows rose in question and admonishment. Heat climbed his cheeks and he cursed silently for being caught off-guard. He scrambled to his feet, pulling Harry up with him.

Harry chuckled softly and turned to greet Pansy. “Good morning.”

“Yes, it seems that way.” Pansy looked pointedly between the boys.

“We were just…,” Draco floundered.

“I saw that you were ‘just,’” Pansy said, lips twitching. “What does this mean?”

“Malfoy and I are dating,” Harry announced.

Draco’s blush deepened, pleased by the declaration, even as his stomach churned nervously at the ramifications.

“Potter, I’d like a moment alone with Draco,” Pansy said. “Your friends are waking up.”

“Okay.” Harry smiled briefly at Draco and jogged back to the campsite.

Pansy waited until he was out of hearing range before addressing Draco. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Draco shifted uncomfortably. “You heard what Potter said.”

“Then why aren’t you jumping for joy?”

“I think it’s obvious, Pansy, with you sneaking up on us,” Draco said sourly. “I can’t be with him and protect him at the same time.”

“There are seventeen other members of PRATS who can protect Harry equally as well,” Pansy said.

“No, they can’t,” Draco said sullenly, folding his arms, feeling unsure of himself and his future.

Pansy stepped closer and laid her hand on his arm. “Draco, you have a chance to be with the person you’ve loved in one way or another since you two met. Take it and be happy.”

Draco shook his head, white-blonde strands of hair falling in his eyes. “But what if—”

“Draco,” Pansy interrupted. “You’ve watched after Potter for seven years, worrying enough for a dozen people. You sleep fitfully, you have constant stress headaches, and your looks are suffering for it.”

Draco’s hand rose to his hair reflexively. He caught himself, then gave into vanity and combed his hair off his face. He sighed. “Pansy, I can’t—”

She cut him off again. “You can, you will, and you deserve to. And if you don’t, I’ll tell everyone you call your penis Mr. Tickles and giggle when you toss off.”

“That’s not true!” Draco protested.

Pansy looked smugly at him. “Would you rather I tell everyone you’re a virgin and you’ve only kissed four people in your life?”

Draco sputtered. “I’ve kissed more than four people.”

“Not including Potter.” Pansy turned and started for the campsite.

Draco scowled at her back and opened his mouth to retort.

“Kissing me doesn’t count, either,” she said over her shoulder.

Draco’s mouth clacked shut and his scowl deepened, even as his blush returned. It wasn’t as if he’d purposely set out to be the purest seventh year next to Wayne Hopkins, the shyest Hufflepuff at Hogwarts. If anyone’s to blame, it was Harry Potter for making Draco fall for him and causing all other male prospects to pale in comparison. He’d also been so busy chasing after and protecting Potter, serving detentions with him, attending PRATS meetings, catching catnaps from not sleeping for worry, on top of lessons, revisions, Quidditch, grooming, paying attention to Crabbe and Goyle when they wanted to complain about their girlfriends, and visiting with Pansy to maintain a grasp on his sanity, that he didn’t have time for snogging, let alone playing the “Are you gay?” game to find a snogging partner. So there, nyah.

Draco rolled his eyes at himself. ‘So there, nyah?’ He was really a sad, sad sort.

Ron, Hermione, and Neville were seated on the canvas chairs, looking foggy-eyed and disheveled, having just woken. Pansy was seated next to Neville, talking quietly with him. Dog was sprawled obscenely on his back, showing all and sundry he was very much a male dog. Harry was preparing breakfast on the ground near the stoked campfire, as Draco joined them in camp. Ron glared at Draco, which he ignored. Harry, however, flashed him a smile and Draco found himself smiling rather goofily in return.

Potter liked him.

Happiness bubbled inside him, and Draco felt suddenly like laughing. He was dating Harry Potter. He was taking the chance he’d denied himself for years. He was scared out of his gourd that he’d screw up and lose everything: his heart, his life, Harry’s life. Salazar, what had he gotten himself into?

“Stop standing there, Malfoy, and be useful,” Harry said. He had a knife and some vegetables on a tray beside him. “Dice these for the omelets.”

“I’m not the house elf, Potter, you are,” Draco said, though he knelt in front of the tray and rolled up his shirtsleeves.

“That was yesterday,” Harry said, cracking eggs in a pan floating over the fire. “Today, I’m Harry the Headmaster.”

Draco shuddered at the image of Harry and Dumbledore merged into one. “That’s quite a disturbing thought.”

“Don’t fancy a tumble with Dumbledore, then?” Harry asked mischievously.

“That’s sick, Potter.”

“I take it that’s a no.”

“I’d rather shag you,” Draco said with a falsely disgusted curl of his lips.

Harry winked. “Now who’s being disgusting?”

Flirting, Draco realized. They were flirting, and it wasn’t that much different from their usual bickering and verbal one-upmanship. Maybe Harry had liked him all along, and if Draco hadn’t had to be a jerk in order to protect Harry, perhaps they would’ve started dating long ago. Harry did say that he’d been waiting for a reason to give Draco a chance.

“Potter,” Draco began quietly, not wanting to be overheard. He glanced at the others. Ron was dozing in the chair and Hermione had joined in conversation with Neville and Pansy. Pansy didn’t look too happy about it. “What was the reason you changed your mind about me?” With all their talking earlier, it was one question he hadn’t asked.

“You put Dog over your own well-being,” Harry replied. “It was a very selfless thing to do.”

“Er, not really,” Draco said uncomfortably. He concentrated on chopping perfect cubes. “I knew you’d be upset if Dog bit it, and seeing you upset makes me unhappy because of that whole liking you thing. And I’m not fond of being unhappy, so it was for my own state of mind that I helped Dog.”

He glanced from the corner of his eye at Harry and was nearly blinded by the smile Harry wore. “What?” Draco snapped self-consciously.

“Nothing,” Harry chirped, continuing to smile like a loony. He began humming tunelessly as he folded some of the diced vegetables into the omelet he was cooking.

Draco would never understand Potter.

Breakfast wasn’t as boisterous as the prior morning. Ron held a Quidditch conversation with Harry and shot dirty looks at Draco. Pansy continued to shoot dirty looks at Hermione for monopolizing the conversation about school with Neville. Dog tried to get someone to give him an omelet, too. Draco sat quietly, eating his food and trying not to break into song. He was gay, not a flaming queen (though Pansy would say otherwise).

It was difficult, however, not to launch into a chorus of It’s a Hap-Hap-Happy Day. Draco was in such a good mood and it was getting better with every lopsided smile sent his way by Harry. All right, so it was only the first day of dating and things were bound to go to pot in a short amount of time, but at this very moment, life was wonderful.

Draco’s happy smile played peek-a-boo during their tromp across the fields towards Trapmen. Pansy’s own lips curved in amusement at the bounce in his step.

“If you’re still grinning like this when we get back, you’ll scare everyone,” she said.

”You’re the one who told me to be happy,” Draco said, glancing over his shoulder. Harry and Ron were walking behind them, while Hermione and Neville led. The snog Draco had witnessed between Pansy and Neville put to rest any worries about Hermione in Pansy’s mind.

Dog loped at Harry’s heels and Harry was laughing at something. Ron caught Draco’s look and glowered. Draco smiled sweetly at him with lots of teeth before facing forward again. “Do you know why the weasel is glaring at me more than usual?”

“Potter told him off last night for picking a fight with you,” Pansy replied.

A warm glow filled Draco. “Really?”

Pansy smiled bemusedly at his tone of voice. “Yes, really.”

“You don’t think Weasley knows we’re dating, do you?” Draco shook his head and answered his own question. “No, he wouldn’t only be glaring if that were the case.”

“You’ll need to be careful,” Pansy warned. “My seeing Longbottom can be excused as slumming, but your seeing Potter…”

“Bugger all, I didn’t even think of that.” He scowled at her. “Why did you encourage me?”

“As I said before, I want you to be happy,” Pansy replied. “You only need to beware that you would be in danger like Potter’s prior girlfriends, and you won’t be able to wiggle out of trouble because of your name, especially once school ends.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose at the sudden onset of a headache. He knew there were reasons why he never pursued Harry, aside from the minute possibility Harry would say no to any advances. Dismemberment, death, or worse – disownment, topped the list that went on and on.

Hermione’s estimate of an hour’s walk was correct. Rock spires rose from the ground in a semi-circular pattern. The ground sloped from the spires, leading below ground into a cave. Beyond the spires, posts were sunk in the ground at a rocky land edge, supporting a rope plank bridge that dipped as it led into a dense mist. The smoky, wet mist curled at the edges of the bridge and over the lip of the land.

Their steps slowed and they approached cautiously. Everyone had their wands in hand. A light flickered in the cave opening.

“Woah. Brilliant,” Ron said, gaping when he saw a rock spire close up.

The rock spires were statues of young maidens with plaited hair, seven feel tall and carved from smooth gray stone. Intricate robes that looked like cloth rather than stone draped over their lithe bodies. A slender sword was grasped in each left hand, delicate looking fingers wrapped around the braided handle. There were eleven statues in the semi-circle outside the café.

The Gryffindor Trio moved closer together as the PRATS spread apart. The six approached the cave. Dog was alert, sticking close to Harry’s side. “Hello?” Harry called. “Is anyone here?”

“Yes, yes! Come in! Come in!” a faint, warbling female voice called back from within the cave.

Draco flicked his wand twice. Pansy and Neville stationed themselves on either side of the cave opening.

“Dog, stay,” Harry commanded. Dog whined but halted at the mouth of the cave.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, with Draco close behind them, entered the cave. Torches lined the rocky walls at uneven intervals, the flickering firelight barely breaking up the darkness. The ground sloped, taking them further underground. The air was moist and cool, a vast change from outside.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and frowned concernedly. “Where’s Neville and Pansy?” he whispered.

“Watching our six,” Draco replied.

Harry nodded, looking past Draco the way they came briefly before facing forward again.

The cave opened into a furnished cavern. Shelves were carved into the rock walls, lined with bottles, boxes, books, and jars. A curtain was strung across another opening. A wood table and a single chair were set up beside a twin bed with a dull gray throw. A large black cauldron was hanging over a stone fire pit from an iron rotating bar and was filled three-quarters with bubbling brown liquid and unidentifiable floating chunks.

A hunched old woman emerged from behind the curtain, leaving it gaping slightly. She was shorter than Harry and Hermione, with withered green-tinged skin, drab black hair done up in a bun, and amber-colored eyes. Moles and warts splotched her face and hands, the only visible parts of her not hidden by her tattered robes. Her fingers were curved in sharp claws, wrapped around a jar of something deep red and organ-shaped.

“Hello, hello,” she said in a raspy voice. “Come to visit Lannibac, have you?”

“Um, yes,” Harry said, stopping partway into the room. Hermione stood at his side. “The shopkeeper at S. Upply’s General Store in Trapmen sent us.”

“Did he now?” Lannibac smiled. Her teeth were rotted and black.

“He said he’s sent others to you in the past,” Harry said, not showing any revulsion. “He said that you might be able to help us.”

“Yes. Mr. Upply has sent strangers to Lannibac in the past and Lannibac will not forget that.” She hobble over to a recessed rock shelf across the cavern and set the jar in an empty spot.

“Would you be willing to help us?” Hermione asked politely.

“Depends on what you want from old Lannibac,” Lannibac replied, picking up another jar. She shuffled to the cauldron, uncapped the jar, and shook the herb-like flakes into the bubbling liquid.

Ron edged the cavern, nosing about unobtrusively and making faces at what he found. Draco kept one eye on him and the other on the hag from his spot near the rock wall where the cave widened.

“We were wondering if you knew where ‘the end’ was?” Harry said, not mincing words.

“The end, yes,” Lannibac said. “It is near.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. “Will you tell us where?”

“Closer than you think,” she said slyly. She turned to put the jar on the table. Ron used the opportunity to peek through the gap in the curtain.

“Can you take us to the end, then?” Harry pressed.

“I can,” Lannibac said. “After we have a nice cuppa.”

Draco saw Ron’s face drain of color. He was heading for Harry even as Ron turned quickly from the curtain and squeaked, “You know what? We’ve bothered the nice woman too much already.”

Harry and Hermione looked at Ron in confusion. Draco stepped between Harry and Lannibac, as Lannibac turned around again. He saw a flash of burning amber in her eyes and gripped his wand tighter.

Ron hurried to Hermione, took her arm, and prompted to her to move with an urgent look. “Thank you, but we really need to get going,” he said to Lannibac.

“Weasley’s right. It’s getting late,” Draco said. He did not look away from Lannibac. “Let’s go, Potter.”

“Okay. Thank you,” Harry said to Lannibac. A brief touch to Draco’s shoulder, and the two followed Ron and Hermione out of the cavern.

“What is it, Ron?” Hermione asked in a whisper when they were far enough away.

“Bodies.” Ron gulped. “Dead bodies and dead body parts, with teeth marks, behind the curtains. I think they were the previous strangers.”

“That’s not good,” Harry said.

A bolt of blue-white spell-light shot suddenly into the cave from ahead of them, exploding against the ceiling. The four ducked their head and threw up their arms protectively as rubble rained down on them.

Harry looked worried at the others. “That’s not good, either.”

They took off running to the mouth of the cave. Outside, all was not well. Pansy and Neville were surrounded, dodging attacks by eleven sword-wielding warrior women. The stone statues had come to life. Dark skinned and eyes blazing with white light, the tall women moved swiftly, gleaming steel blades cutting through the air with a whistle.

“Ah!” Neville cried, throwing himself to the ground, narrowly avoiding being decapitated. Dog ran between Neville and the warrior and barked.

“Golems!” Hermione identified instantly, hovering beside Harry and Ron at the edge of the cave entrance. “They’re indestructible.”

Pansy screeched like a banshee as a hunk of her hair was cut off. “Confringo!” She threw a spell at the golem, only to have it bounce off the warrior woman’s chest. Pansy dodged and the spell shot past her, exploding on the ground. Tufts of weeds and rock flew upon spell impact.

“Number one rule of fighting,” Harry began, squaring his shoulders. “If you can’t beat them—”

“—Change them into something you can,” Ron and Hermione chorused with him.

“You three are scary,” Draco said, glancing behind him. He could see amber-colored eyes glowing in the shadows of the torchlight from below. “Let’s do this.”

“Pillow fight!” Ron hollered in a battle cry, and the Gryffindor Trio charged out of the cave. The three transfigured the nearest golems into pillows: Hermione’s was plain white, Ron’s was a colorful Divination classroom pouf, and Harry’s looked like a plush snitch. Pansy and Neville caught on immediately.

Draco shoved aside his fear for Harry’s idiotic bravery, spun around, and shot a spell down the sloping cave. “Stupefy!”

“Expelleramus!”

Oh crap! Draco’s wand flew from his hand, clattering to the rocky ground behind him. The hag was a witch, and he was in deep dragon dung.

“Eiaculari!”

The spell slammed into the center of Draco’s chest, sending him sailing backwards through the air, out of the cave. He landed miraculously on a purple pouf, cushioning the impact ten meters from the entrance of the cave.

“Malfoy!”

The pillows around him changed shape as the hag re-transfigured them into activated stone golems. He could see the hag’s eyes glowing from inside the cave entry.

“Bloody hell!” Ron exclaimed, transfiguring the golems into pillows again as quick as he could.

“Confringo specus!” Hermione cast at the top of the entry to the cave.

“My wand!” Draco shouted. He could see it just inside the mouth of the cave.

“Accio Draco’s wand!” Pansy summoned. The wand flew into her open palm without a second to spare.

The rock ceiling crumbled, the entrance caving in. The hag screamed in fury, her glowing eyes disappearing behind the rubble.

Neville and Harry helped Ron, and all the golems were harmless pillows once more. The six exchanged quick looks with each other, checking to make sure everyone was okay. Pansy pulled Draco to his feet and gave him his wand.

A muffled explosion was heard from the caved-in entrance to the hag’s home. Dog barked at the rocks. “I don’t think Labinnac’s inclined to help us any more,” Harry said.

“Probably not,” Ron agreed.

“How will we find the- the end now?” Neville asked, nervously pointed his wand at the collapsed cave mouth.

“You know the saying, ‘we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it?’” Harry pointed. “There’s a bridge.”

“We don’t know where it leads, Harry,” Hermione said. “The map doesn’t show what’s beyond the Bridge of Mist.”

“That’s the perfect reason to find out, then,” Harry said.

Another muffled explosion came from the cave, this time sending small bits of rock flying through the air.

“Well, we can’t stand here all day, picking our noses,” Draco said. “Potter’s gut instinct is rarely wrong, so the bridge it is.”

“Was that a compliment, Malfoy?” Harry said.

“No, just stating a fact,” Draco said. “A compliment would be: you have great taste in dates.”

Harry smirked at him. “I was always partial to fruits.”

Pansy snickered, and Draco transferred his glare at Harry to her.

“So we’ve decided to take the bridge?” Hermoine asked in confirmation.

Harry nodded. “Yes.” A third explosion showered bigger chunks of rock on them. “And quickly too,” he added.

The smoky white mist permeated the air over and around the bridge. It was too dense to see through. The rope plank bridge vanished into the thick mist, leading into the unknown.

“Stabilis.” Hermione cast on the bridge, insuring it wouldn’t break as they crossed. “It would be smart to secure our wands. We don’t want to drop them.”

“I’ll go first,” Ron volunteered. He swallowed thickly, squared his shoulders, and stepped onto the bridge. Holding onto both sides of the rope handholds, he walked forward. The bridge swung slightly with every step.

“Stick close so we can see each other,” Hermione said, before going after Ron. Neville was right behind her, followed by Pansy and then Dog.

The cave in exploded outward in a rain of min-boulders. Draco’s features tightened and he gave Harry a light shove onto the bridge. “Go.” Draco glanced over his shoulder and saw the pillows transfiguring into golems once again. He followed Harry quickly and the mist swallowed him from sight just as the hag emerged from the cave.

The bridge swayed with each step. The mist was dense and wet. It was like walking through soup. Draco’s clothing was getting heavy with moisture, and his hair hung in limp strands over his brow. His skin felt clammy. He could barely make out Harry walking in front of him; Harry was more of a shadow than a solid figure.

And when the flash of light came, the shadows disappeared completely, and so did Harry.

“Potter!” Draco yelled, bursting into a run. The bridge bounced underfoot, his palms scraping along the rope handhold. He tripped over a knot in the plank, stumbling forward as a flash of bright light engulfed him.

“Oof!”

Draco crashed into Harry, sending them sprawling to the ground. Draco blinked rapidly, clearing the white spots from his vision. He was on top of a small, hard body, his face smashed against thick, black hair.

“Malfoy, you’re squishing me.”

Draco shifted over and knelt up. He looked worriedly at the prone boy beside him. “You okay?”

Harry pushed himself up to his knees, glanced around, and smiled hugely. “I am now.”

Draco pulled his eyes away from examining Harry for injury and looked around. He grinned suddenly, too, his headache vanishing. “Dumbledore’s office!”

The circular office was exactly as he remembered it when he had been visited by his father fifth year. Books and artifacts cluttered the shelves against the walls all the way up to the unseen ceiling, lined the steps leading upwards around the room, and were piled on every available surface, including the floor. The rug swirled with colors beneath him. Fawkes, looking rather shabby, squawked from his perch. The portraits of past Headmaster’s had awakened and were talking with one another about the six students who’d appeared suddenly in the office. On Dumbledore’s desk, the recognizable tome of entrapment sat open to the last page, and Albus Dumbledore himself sat in the chair behind the desk, looking pleasantly surprised.

“Welcome back,” Dumbledore said with a smile.

“Headmaster, it’s good to be back,” Harry said, climbing to his feet. He offered his hand to Draco.

Draco glanced at the others – Ron and Hermione looked displeased and Pansy and Neville looked amused by Harry’s action – before taking Harry’s hand and being helped to his feet.

“How long were we gone?” Hermione asked.

“Only the weekend,” Dumbledore replied. “You’ve missed no classes, though you’ve worried quite a number of people.”

“We didn’t mean to,” Harry said apologetically.

“I figured you did not, when Madam Pince found the tome of entrapment,” Dumbledore said drolly. “I am simply glad you were all able to escape the book.”

“Us, too,” Ron agreed wholeheartedly.

“Wait a minute.” Harry looked around quickly. “Where’s Dog?”

“I don’t think he came back with us, Potter,” Pansy said. She gestured to her back. “You aren’t carrying the pack any longer, either.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

Draco wanted to comfort Harry, realized he could, and so he did. He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “I know where you can find another dog. One that’s much better looking, too.”

Harry’s laugh was watery, but real.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he looked at Draco and Harry. “I would like to hear all about your adventures through the tome of entrapment, as well as anything else you think I should know. However, it is almost curfew, and you six have classes bright and early tomorrow.”

“I still need to revise again for the Herbology exam!” Hermione gasped. Draco groaned silently at the reminder he was going to fail that particular test.

“Then I had best let you go.” Dumbledore smiled at them again. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sir.” “Goodnight, Headmaster.”

The corridor outside the Headmaster’s office was empty. The gargoyle jumped back into place, hiding the winding staircase once they exited. Torches lit up the old stone halls and reflected against the windowpanes. Outside the windows, the night sky was clear and the stars shined brightly.

“Come on, Harry, Neville,” Hermione said, practically dragging Ron along beside her, as she headed towards Gryffindor Tower. “You two have revisions for other classes as well.”

Neville bussed Pansy quickly on the cheek. “See you tomorrow,” he said, and hurried after Ron and Hermione.

“I’ll catch up in a minute,” Harry called after the Gryffindors.

Pansy’s cheeks were flushed pink, but she met Draco’s bemused look with one of her own. “Don’t be too long. I’m a prefect, remember, and will dock points from you.”

“Go away,” Draco said without ire, and watched her until she disappeared around a corner in the opposite direction the Gryffindors had gone.

Harry cleared his throat and Draco turned around. He was leaning against the windowsill, head cocked slightly, messy hair sticking up in back as usual. “So.”

“So,” Draco repeated. He was alone with Harry. His heart rate sped up and nervousness fluttered in his stomach. It was a great feeling.

“We’re no longer in the book. We’re in the real world now,” Harry said seriously.

Draco didn’t like the sound of that. “What does that mean?”

Harry beamed suddenly. “Want to go to Hogsmeade with me on Saturday?”

“On a date?” Draco said, shifting gears at the abrupt change of demeanor. “A non-secret one?”

Harry nodded. “Unless you don’t want to…”

Draco replayed in his mind, in rapid-fire motion, all the horrible scenes he’d thought of earlier as an outcome to publicly dating Harry Potter. Then, he looked at Harry and saw the hope in his eyes. “I am a fool, but I am in love. Though that’s really the same thing.”

Harry’s brows drew together quizzically. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Potter. I’ll go on a date with you,” Draco replied with a genuine smile.

“Oh. Good.” Harry grinned happily. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow, then.” He pushed off the windowsill and started down the hall.

“Just because we’re dating doesn’t mean I’ll stop yanking your chain!” Draco called after him.

“It’s only fair-,” Harry called back over his shoulder, “-since I grabbed yours!”

Draco blushed furiously as Harry vanished around the corner with a laugh. He walked over to the window and leaned his heated cheek against the cool glass pane. Outside, Draco could see Venus brightly illuminated in the fifth house. His love life was reading mighty fine.

He smiled. Perhaps dating Harry Potter wouldn’t be a bad thing, at all.

<b>Epilogue: Potter Rescue and Tending Society</b>

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a drafty, old castle with magnificent towers, dark dungeons, vast halls, and grandiose classrooms. It was a magical place where the stairs moved, the ceilings were enchanted, and the portraits held conversations with the resident ghosts. It was also a place full of hidden corridors, secret passages, and rooms that appeared and disappeared at varying intervals, depending on the moon cycle and the day of the week.

One such room — though it was more of a dead-end hallway — appeared only on the first Thursday of every month. Located behind a tapestry in the Hufflepuff wing of the castle, the bare, windowless corridor could fit twelve students relatively comfortably, with little bumping of elbows and knees. It was the perfect place to hold a secret meeting, away from prying eyes and safe from the wrath of Argus Filch.

Seven wands lit by the lumos spell was the only light in the hidden corridor. As magic powered the spell, each student held their wand in hand, resting in their laps or bent knee. They were seated on the stone floor in a small circle, their expressions serious. Seventh Years Laura Madley, Orla Quirke, and Dennis Creevey sat beside Lindsay Zabini, the Fourth Year Slytherin. Muriel Dunley and the third year Patil brothers, Punji and Pasha, all from Ravenclaw, were across from them. The seven students from different Houses, with different personalities, and different futures met together monthly with one wizard in mind: Harry Potter.

“What’s the status on the guard?” Laura asked.

“Six students on rotation, four hours each shift for the hall,” Punji answered. “I have two covering each meal, one on the locker room, and one for each field access from the stands.”

“The room itself is recording devise and portrait free,” Dennis said. “I double checked the mirrors for seeing spells, too.”

“I also changed the portrait on the door,” Fifth Year Muriel added. “Potter’s the only one who can set the password now.”

“I’ve finished the escape route maps for everyone,” Pasha said. He passed out scrolls to each person in the hidden corridor.

“Good. Thank you, Pasha,” Laura said. “I received an owl from Malfoy this morning. They will be arriving a day early to throw everyone off. Act as normally as possible, so we don’t alert anyone of what we know.”

“There’s still going to be chaos,” Orla said. “It’s not everyday that the World Cup Champion seeker—”

“And the sexiest one,” Muriel sighed and fanned herself with her scroll.

“—visits Hogwarts,” Orla finished. “The school’s Harry Potter Fanclub alone takes up a whole side of the Quidditch field.”

“The Quidditch fans themselves won’t be any calmer,” Punji said.

“That’s why we’re here,” Laura said. “To protect Potter from the mobs.”

“Just like the PRATS we are,” Lindsay said with a grin.

Dennis laughed. Pasha rolled his eyes. Muriel addressed Laura. “Is Draco Malfoy as gorgeous in person as he is in pictures?”

“Hey, Punji, who has locker room duty?”

“Any more wagers for the Snog Bet? McGonagall put in a galleon today on the Great Hall during the Welcoming Feast.”

“I overheard Snape asking one of the house elves to be served Firewine with all of his meals while Potter is here.”

“Yes, he is as gorgeous in person, but don’t bother to try anything. Draco Malfoy is still in love with Harry Potter, and Harry Potter loves him in return.”

End

</lj-cut>

I hope you enjoyed these deleted scenes. It's rare that I save anything like this, but since DMTE was such a massive undertaking that went through many, many, <i>many</i> revisions, it was good to have the old parts for dialogue, phrases, and descriptions.

Now, I order you all to go back a re-read <a href="http://www.sabershadowkat.com/harrypotter/dmtecover.html">Draco Malfoy and the Tome of Entrapment</a> and see how things actually went in this Draco Malfoy's reality.