Well of Shadows
Loose Ends
By Ruskbyte
Chapter Twenty Five
~ Loose Ends ~
The sun was low in the sky above the blackened and torn remnants of the Forbidden Forest, its light tinted almost blood red as it streamed through the pall of ash which hung in the air. It was
possibly one of the most magnificent approaching sunsets to fall over Hogwarts in centuries, possibly the only positive result of the Well of Shadows' destructive passage through the forest the
previous day.
It was quieter than normal inside the castle, the proverbial calm had which settled over the school following Voldemort's failed siege. The deserted corridors were literally hauntingly silent, disturbed only by the occasional ghost and the soft rap of two pairs of dragon hide boots echoing off the stone as Gregory and Hilary Proteus strode purposefully down the hallway.
"You have the sunglasses?" asked Hilary as they walked.
"Yes, in my inside pocket," Gregory replied in a tone that suggested this was not the first time she had asked that question of him. Still, he patted his chest where a pair of stylish sunglasses rested securely in his robes.
"Are you certain we charmed them correctly?" she pressed.
"Yes."
Hilary took a deep and worried breath. "I hope we set it up properly."
"We did. Don't worry so much," Gregory tried to reassure her.
"Don't worry?" Hilary looked at him in askance. "If we've made a mistake he's going to end up with all the brains of a turnip."
"He didn't, so he won't," he said forcibly, coming to an abrupt halt as the two professors found themselves standing in front of one of Hogwarts' many stone gargoyles. Gregory looked at his wife and asked, "What's the password again?"
"Mars Bars," she both answered and told the gargoyle.
With a brisk nod of his horned head the guardian of the entrance leading to the headmaster's office shifted to the side and allowed them to enter. Stepping onto the winding staircase, which still reminded Gregory of a Muggle escalator.
As they began to ascend he glanced over his shoulder, watching as the gargoyle resumed his post, and chuckled softly. "At least he's not scared of us anymore."
"Only because he doesn't recognise us," replied Hilary dryly. She shook her head. "When I visited Minerva before we left, he practically tripped over himself trying to get out of my way."
"Poor Bob. We really should apologise when we get back," decided Gregory, reaching out to rap firmly on the oak door at the top of the staircase.
"Come in," Dumbledore's voice called out.
Opening the door and stepping into the headmaster's office, the two Defence professors saw that Dumbledore was currently in a meeting. He was sitting behind his massive desk and speaking with two wizards who turned in their seats to regard them.
Dumbledore smiled and waved them across the threshold. "Ah, Gregory, Hilary. Please, do come in."
"Thank you, Albus."
"I believe some introductions are in order. This is Alastor Moody," said Dumbledore, indicating at first one of his guest and then the other, "and Johann Jäger."
"We both know Mister Moody," said Gregory, extending his hand in greeting to Moody as the retired Auror rose from his seat, "at least by reputation."
Hilary focused her attention on the second wizard, who had also risen to his feet. Jäger was a tall and solidly built man, looking more like a professional heavyweight boxer than anything else. He had stormy blue eyes, a neatly trimmed goatee and long blonde hair, starting to grey at the temples, which was pulled into a ponytail. A wicked-looking scar, able to match any of the ones sported by Moody, sliced across his left cheek, down his chin and curling down his neck and beneath his collar. Shaking the hand which he offered to her, she asked politely, "You're an Auror, aren't you, Mister Jäger?"
"That I am," he confirmed in a deep baritone, with a slight German accent.
"Retired," growled Moody, dropping back into his chair.
"Johann used to work for the German Ministry of Magic up until several years ago," Dumbledore told them.
Jäger nodded and returned to his seat. "Ja. Now I am working with Alastor there--" he jerked a thumb in Moody's direction "--doing work as a security consultant here in England."
"Alastor and Johann have been brought in at the school governors' behest; to evaluate Hogwarts and make recommendations to prevent any future sieges similar to the one we recently weathered," explained Dumbledore.
"Good to hear," said Gregory.
"Yes, the school can always use additional protection," agreed Hilary readily. "You can never be too prepared, after all."
"Exactly," Moody growl, slapping one hand against his wooden leg. "Constant vigilance!"
Jäger looked very much as if he wanted to roll his eyes at this proclamation, but settled with elaborating, "We've begun drawing up plans for any foreseeable situation that might affect the school."
Gregory looked at him, a twinkle of amusement sparking in his eyes, and asked, "Really? Any foreseeable situation?"
"Ja, Professor," Jäger said with a firm nod.
"Do you have a plan to deal with illegal time travelling students from the future?"
Jäger, surprisingly enough, didn't even blink. Instead he nodded once again and confirmed in a matter of fact tone, "Of course."
Hilary's lips twitched as she stifled a smile and said, "I'd love to see whatever plans you've got drawn up for that situation."
"I'm afraid that's confidential," replied Jäger sternly, "unless Professor Dumbledore says otherwise."
Dumbledore repressed his own bemused smile more successfully than Hilary, but he could not stop his eyes from sparkling with humour. He reached into his robes and withdrew an intricate golden pocket watch. "It would seem that our time is up for this afternoon, gentlemen. I will be keeping in touch with you, of course, but for the moment I must speak with my colleagues here on several matters pertaining to our students."
Moody rose from his seat once again. "Right, we'll be off then."
Jäger also nodded as he moved to the door. "Ja, good day to you all."
"Come along, you bloody kraut," Moody directed as he limped to the office door and swung it open. "I want to make one quick sweep of the grounds along what's left of the Forbidden Forest before we leave."
"I am right behind you, you pompous English ass," replied Jäger evenly, as he brushed past Moody and began to descend the winding staircase. Moody did not look pleased at this, his magical eye twirling around in its socket with agitation, but said nothing he shut the door behind him and followed Jäger down.
Dumbledore, Gregory and Hilary waited patiently as the two wizards exited the office, keeping quiet until they were sure that they were alone. Then Hilary turned to Gregory with an impish grin and said, "So, they have a plan, do they?"
Gregory matched her grin with one of his own and offered her a seat. "To deal with anyone who gets it into their heads to time travel."
"Namely us," she noted as she sat down.
"A bit late, aren't they?" he asked, sitting in the chair next to her.
Hilary laughed lightly and proposed jokingly, "If they ask nicely maybe we could give them pointers on how to get somewhere on time."
Dumbledore settled back in his plush armchair, lips curling up in a smile. "Johann and Alastor were contemporaries during their career days. They worked together on several occasions and both think very highly of each other — though they will never dare admit as much."
"It's reassuring to know that we have allies from overseas, even if they are retired," agreed Gregory.
"Charlie Weasley was very helpful in that regard; gathering what support he could. As was Remus Lupin, before I brought him back to Hogwarts to teach last year," Dumbledore readily admitted. He looked at the two young professors sitting opposite him. "Have you met Johann before?"
"No, we've met him after," replied Hilary.
"In Auckland, a couple of years from now, actually," added Gregory.
Dumbledore arched an eyebrow and asked, "What will you be doing in New Zealand?"
Gregory sighed and shook his head. "It's a long story."
"Aren't they all?"
Hilary smirked. "At least then he won't be wasting his time trying to work out ways to stop time travelling students from the future. He'll have far more pressing matters on his hands."
Dumbledore leaned forward and asked curiously, "Are you still studying at Hogwarts?"
Hilary shook her head. "No, why do you ask?"
"That's the second time you've referred to yourselves as 'time travelling students'."
"We'll always be students of some kind, Albus," Gregory said. "After all, from beginning to end, life is a learning experience."
"Quite true, I suppose," Dumbledore agreed. Clearing his throat he clearly decided to get down to business and asked, "So, what did you wish to see me about?"
Hilary shot her husband both a reproachful and at the same time endearing glance and answered, "Since Harry's barricaded himself in the Hospital Wing with Ginny, we thought we'd be the ones to inform you that the magical energies surrounding and comprising Hogwarts have finally begun to settle down."
"Ah, yes, I had wondered when things would return to normal," admitted Dumbledore. He pointed at a book sitting to one side of his desk. "Just an hour ago I tried to conjure up a tea tray for my guests and produced a Yoga instruction manual instead."
"The magic in the castle has been rather mixed up," confessed Gregory. He winced slightly and added, "It's our fault, I'm afraid, but we had to do it because we had already done it."
"How are you responsible for it?" asked Dumbledore with interest.
"We interfered quite a bit with things," Hilary divulged quietly, looking down at her hands.
"The centaurs," Gregory explained, "the merpeople."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I was surprised to learn that the two of you could speak Mermish."
"I can't," corrected Hilary ruefully. She shot Gregory another look, this one a bit more teasing than the first. "He's the one with the 'gift' for languages."
"It's a dirty job, but somebody has to," he countered sardonically. "Naturally my name was first on the list for dirty jobs."
"Your name's always first on the list for dirty jobs."
Gregory shrugged. "It's a short list."
Hilary nodded in agreement and, not very subtly prodded Gregory's ribs with her elbow. He looked at her in confusion for a second before understanding her message. Snapping his fingers he began digging around inside his robes. "Oh, I almost forgot. We passed Fred and George on our way here. They were going to visit Ginny in the Hospital Wing and asked us to give these to you."
"Indeed?" asked Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows as Gregory held out a pair of sunglasses.
"The latest model Omnitacles, courtesy of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," Hilary explained. "They're going to be opening their shop in Diagon Alley at the end of the month, so they're handing out examples of their merchandise as a promotional advertising campaign."
"Percy's idea, surprisingly enough."
"Yeah, he was even more disapproving of the twins' business than Mum was."
Gregory handed the Omnitacles to Dumbledore, who held them up and examined them. He turned them this way and that, admiring the sleek lines. "Ah yes, I've seen several students wearing these at the last couple of Quidditch matches this season."
"Try them on," prompted Gregory. "I'm sure they'll look good on you."
"They are very stylish, aren't they?" Dumbledore agreed, removing his gold-rimmed half-moon spectacles and carefully setting them down on his desk. He unfolded the Omnitacles and slipped them on, sliding them up the length of his crooked nose until they sat snugly. He looked at Gregory and Hilary, clearly awaiting their appraisal of his appearance.
Hilary nodded her approval and grinned. "Wicked, professor. They suit you."
"Are they working all right?" asked Gregory.
"Let me see," said Dumbledore, reaching up to tap on the polished bronze stud moulded into the side of the Omnitacles.
The brief flash of light, which encompassed the Omnitacles the moment after Dumbledore had pressed the activation stud, caused Gregory and Hilary to wince and turn away slightly. It was rather like having Colin Creevey setting off his camera right in their faces, only with a strange sucking noise rather than the click and whir of film.
Blinking away the afterimages caused by the light the two professors looked to where Dumbledore was seated, perfectly immobile. Gregory pushed himself out of his chair and reached over the large desk to remove the specially doctored Omnitacles from the headmaster. He took in Dumbledore's now slack features and blank --staring into space-- eyes.
"I told you they'd work without a hitch," he said, slipping the sunglasses back into his pocket. He picked up Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles and placed them back on the headmaster, perching them just short of the tip of his long nose.
"It's a pity though," murmured Hilary as Gregory returned to his seat. "That his knowledge and memories of who we really are has been erased, I mean."
"We couldn't risk it, you know that," he told her, reaching out to take one of her hands in his to give a comforting squeeze. "If he didn't react the same way as everyone else it could disrupt how everything turns out. Especially considering how precarious next year's situation will be even without any interference."
Hilary nodded in pensive agreement before asking, "How long d'you think he'll be like this?"
Gregory shrugged. "Not long. A few more seconds."
"Ah, excuse me. I fear I lost myself wool-gathering for a moment," Dumbledore abruptly said a moment or two later, jerking upright as if suddenly waking from a daydream. Clearing his throat he settled back in his plush chair and asked, "So, what did you wish to see me about?"
Hilary exchanged a look with Gregory, both professors masterfully hiding their feelings. She turned to Dumbledore and asked, "We were curious to know if you would be able to tell us when things are going to settle down again? Magically speaking, I mean."
"Ah, yes, I have wondered when things would return to normal, myself," admitted Dumbledore. He pointed at the book that was still sitting to one side of his desk. "Just an hour ago I tried to conjure up a tea tray for my guests and produced a Yoga instruction manual instead."
"The magic in the castle has been rather mixed up," agreed Gregory, without any hint entering his voice that this was not the first time he said as much. He paused briefly and then suggested, "Perhaps it would help if Mister Potter were to make a sweep of the grounds and try to smooth the energy flows back into their proper courses."
"Assuming he can do that, of course," added Hilary, deliberately making herself sound a little doubtful. "Nobody really knows the full extents of his, or Ginny Weasley's, abilities."
Gregory shrugged with practiced nonchalance, "Still, wouldn't hurt to ask, I suppose."
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully and nodded. "I shall discuss the idea with Mister Potter after dinner."
"You'll have to wait until tomorrow, to speak with him. He's going to miss dinner tonight, I'm afraid," Gregory noted.
"What do you mean, Professor?" asked Dumbledore.
Gregory's smile was a humourless one. "He's slipped out to visit an old acquaintance."
***
SPELL DAMAGE .............................................. Fourth floor
Unliftable jinxes, hexes, incorrectly
applied charms, etc.
Harry looked over the sign marking the floor he had just stepped onto, confirming that he had arrived at the right place. He had been, even with his sense of magic, somewhat worried that he had maybe Apparated to the wrong place when he had arrived earlier only to find that St. Mungo's appeared to be a derelict department store called Purge & Dowse Ltd.
Reassured from the sign that he had reached his destination, Harry began searching for the ward the enquiries desk had directed him to. As he had become accustomed to the wizarding world Harry was not overly surprised that St. Mungo's did not even remotely resemble a Muggle Hospital, save for the quiet hustle and bustle of the various Healers and their assistants.
"Mister Potter, I came as soon as I heard you'd arrived," called a short, rotund old witch that looked vaguely similar to his Herbology professor. The Healer hurried along the narrow corridor until she was able to introduce herself in a more subdued voice. "I'm Miriam Strout, the Healer in charge of the Spell Damage wing."
"Pleased to meet you," Harry said, shaking her hand.
Strout bobbed her head up and down. "I understand you wish to speak with the patient Professor Dumbledore sent here yesterday evening."
Harry nodded. "If he's awake, yes."
"He's awake," Strout confirmed, sounding rueful of the fact. "The nasty little bugger's given my staff and me nothing but grief from practically the moment he opened his eyes."
"Malfoy has that effect on people," agreed Harry, starting to walk down the hallway, Strout follow at his side.
"It's a wonder then that anybody tried to save his life," Strout muttered, struggling to keep up with Harry's longer strides.
Slowing his pace somewhat, Harry wryly admitted, "Accidents do happen."
Strout didn't quite smile, but her lips twitched a fraction upwards as she nodded. "Quite true, Mister Potter, quite true. We simply have to try and live with them afterwards. However, if he doesn't start behaving himself and treating my people with the respect they're due, I will be very tempted to try and correct the particular mistake that is Draco Malfoy."
"He shouldn't be bothering you for much longer."
"Yes, you're right about that as well," she agreed. "I shouldn't be surprised that you're aware of his condition."
"Actually," Harry confessed, "I'm the one who diagnosed his condition."
Strout looked at him in surprise. Harry was about to explain how he had used his ability to read magic to analyze the effects dispersing the Well of Shadows had triggered within Draco. At that moment, however, he caught sight of something --or rather someone-- as they walked past one ward that had its door open. It was all Harry could do not to lose a beat in his stride, though he did slow down slightly as the view registered.
There, his blonde hair as coifed and stylish as ever, teeth sparkling white as he beamed benevolently, was Gilderoy Lockhart. The former Hogwarts professor, was sitting at a small desk next to what must have been his bed, dressed in a flowing lilac dressing gown of all things, and was apparently signing his way through a stack of promotional photographs of himself. He was whistling a jaunty, if somewhat off-key, tune as he scratched away with his battered peacock feather quill.
Well, I guess it's true that some things never change, Harry decided, a certain amount of wry humour rising within him. Shaking off his momentary distraction at the sight, which he put it in the back of his mind as something to tell Ginny when he got back to Hogwarts, he picked up his pace once again. Strout, who had not noticed anything amiss, had been talking for several seconds.
"--tried almost everything we know of, even flooed some specialists from the Helvetian Institute in Geneva," she was saying as Harry focused his attention on the stocky Healer. "Nobody, however, had the foggiest notion about how we can help the boy."
"You probably won't be able to find anything," Harry said as they turned a corner to another corridor. "Even magic has its limits and synaptic degradation is one of them."
Strout nodded in agreement, but still protested, "Yes, but none of us can figure out why his neural pathways are almost literally crumbling into so much dust. At a phenomenal rate as well, I might add."
Harry frowned, "That I don't know either. Although I do have a few suspicions."
"I see," Strout said in a tone that clearly said she did not in fact see.
Harry came to a halt and nodded his head towards the nearest door, which had a pair of bored-looking Aurors standing guard outside it.
"Is this the room?" he asked.
Strout blinked and, after glancing at the two Aurors, nodded. "Why, yes, it is."
Harry inclined his head and requested, "I'd appreciate it if we weren't disturbed."
"Certainly."
"Thank you, Healer Strout," he said, before turning to the door and stepping up to it. The Aurors standing watch were actually supposed to be stationed at Hogwarts. He looked at them, a little surprised, and asked, "Tom, Dick, what are the two of you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the school?"
"We should, yeah," agreed Thomas Harding, sounding mildly annoyed by the fact that he and his partner were at St. Mungo's rather than their assigned post. "Idaho had us come here instead, though."
Richard Faulkner explained, "Apparently the Ministry's being an ass about assigning someone to guard Malfoy, so until they do we're stuck with keeping an eye on him."
Harding crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. "We only came on duty here about an hour ago — before us it was Kit Walker and Diana Palmer on watch."
"I wonder why Fudge is causing trouble over this," Harry mused to himself. Taking hold of the door handle he asked, "Malfoy hasn't been causing any trouble, has he?"
"Trouble's about the only thing that runt is good for," complained Harding.
Faulkner elaborated, "He's done nothing but bellyache at the Healers over every little thing; from the quality of his bed sheets to the colour of the ceiling. You'd think he had nothing better to worry about."
Harry chuckled humourlessly, opened the door and stepped inside, "He's always been like that."
"Ah, look who's come to dinner," announced a familiar voice. "Are you here to kill me, Potter?"
"No," Harry answered, closing the door behind him and walking towards the solitary bed and its occupant.
Draco sneered and struggled unsuccessfully to sit upright. "Too much of a coward to do what's necessary, is that it?"
Harry shook his head. "You are going to die, Malfoy, but not today."
"And why's that?" Draco asked snidely.
"Because Heaven wants nothing to do with you," replied Harry, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to the bed, "and Hell's afraid you'll take over the place."
"How eloquent."
Looking at the sole surviving Malfoy --sole surviving male that is-- Harry quickly confirmed the evaluation he had made the day before at Hogwarts. Draco was completely free, if the term could be applied, of any trace of having been the Well of Shadows. His hair, which had darkened to a jet-black under the Well's influence, was once again a silvery blonde. His eyes, only yesterday as dark and bottomless as the pits of Hell itself, had returned to their normal steely grey. His skin had lost its shimmering translucence and regained some of its natural pallor. Still, in spite of these changes, Draco did not look healthy.
"I hear your heart stopped for a short time yesterday," Harry said after they had sat, or in Draco's case lain (he was secured to the bed with thick magical bindings), silently for several minutes.
"Yes," Draco confirmed, sounding surprisingly amiable. "According to the Healers I was dead for nearly a minute."
"Liberating, isn't it?"
"You know," Draco seemed to ponder the idea, "in a way, it was."
Harry lapsed into silence once again, not really sure how he could approach Draco with the reason he had come here. The various Members of the Order had supplied a wide assortment of suggestions and idea, but none seemed right to him at the moment. Fortunately, however, Draco solved the problem for him.
"So, what brings you out to visit St. Mungo's resident psychopath?"
"You're not a psychopath, Malfoy. You're a sociopath," Harry corrected him.
"What's the difference?"
"A psychopath can't tell the difference between right and wrong."
Draco arched one silvery eyebrow and concluded, "So I'm guessing that a sociopath can."
Harry nodded. "Yes, he just doesn't give a damn."
"I'm a much more complicated wizard than you give me credit for, Potter," replied Draco quietly, but with a dangerous glint in his eyes.
"Really," said Harry, his scepticism clearly audible.
"My mind may be falling apart, bit by bit," Draco declared arrogantly, "but I was so smart to begin with it's unlikely anyone will be able to notice."
Harry snorted, not particularly surprised that his school time nemesis was acting in such a way, even after everything that had happened to him. "I see your modesty isn't suffering the same degradation."
This time Draco snorted scornfully. "I have no need for false modesty, Potter. Every great leader --great conqueror-- has managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat at least once. Caesar, Alexander, Napoleon..."
"Considering the outcome of Waterloo," Harry noted, "Napoleon was not a particularly wise choice to model yourself after, Malfoy."
"Ah, but I'm smarter than he was. And taller."
"Not by much."
Draco scowled unhappily and glared impatiently at Harry. "Did you come all this way from Hogwarts just to insult me, Potter?"
"Sorry, old habits die hard," Harry reluctantly apologised. Having just had the opportunity dropped in his lap, he began to explain the reason for his visit. "I need your help."
"Then I need a drink," proclaimed Draco mockingly.
"The reason I'm here, Malfoy, is to make a deal."
Draco actually blinked in disbelief. "I'll be damned."
Harry could help but smirk and quip, "Too late."
"Not to worry, God will forgive me," Draco said with remarkable assurance. "That's his job."
Pushing the chair back Harry stood up and anxiously began pacing around the ward. It was not a good room to pace in, affording him only a handful of steps either direction, but it gave him a way to work of his agitation.
He looked demandingly at Draco and asked, "Is this really the way you want it to end, Malfoy? Not with a bang but a whimper?"
Draco sniggered, "What d'you think you're going to do? Save me somehow?"
"I can't save you, Malfoy. Nothing can save you now," Harry told him bluntly. "Within a month, maybe less, there'll be nothing left of you but a mindless shell."
"Then what are you proposing?" asked Draco, his curiosity piqued.
"Your father was Voldemort's right hand man, or close to it."
Draco nodded, a thin smile on his lips. "Before I killed him, yes."
Harry pushed on, "It stands to reason then, that you should be well acquainted with the other Death Eaters and maybe even Voldemort's plans for the future."
"You want to me to spill my guts, is that it?" Draco asked incredulously.
"I'm asking you to share whatever information you have with me," Harry told him.
"Why? So that I can be redeemed? Pardoned of my crimes?"
"That's unlikely to ever happen, Draco," said Harry, struggling to keep his voice level. Draco was clearly not going to cooperate, Harry could see that already, but if there was even the remotest chance of prying information out of him before his mind completely went, then Harry had to make the attempt. "But helping me is the closest you're ever going to get to revenge on Voldemort and your father for doing this to you."
Draco laughed darkly, a sound that set Harry's teeth on edge and sent an uncomfortable shiver running up his spine. "I've already taken my vengeance on my father - he's dead, in case you missed the fact. As for Voldemort, he's as good as dead."
Harry froze.
"He is?"
"Yes, he is. The fool thought that he could perform the change in me with impunity."
"What d'you mean?"
"You can't simply create a Well of Shadows in someone else, Potty," Draco explained, pitching his voice as if he were speaking to a particularly slow child. "That's not the way it's supposed to work, though Voldemort tried his damnedest to arrange it that way."
Harry stood perfectly still and considered this. The implications of what Draco was saying were both disturbing and (in a way) heartening. "Are you saying that, in the process of changing you into the Well, Voldemort somehow... corrupted himself?"
"And Potter catches the Snitch at last," Draco announced mockingly. If his hands had not been strapped to the bed he would surely have lifted them up and applauded. "Yes... Voldemort is slowly being eaten away by the shadows --just as I was-- only on a physical level rather than a mental one. It's really quite obvious, if you look properly."
Sweet heavens, Harry thought, could he be telling the truth about that? If he is...
Draco continued, his voice turning from mockery to threatening. His eyes fixed on Harry and he practically snarled, "Which means the only people left that I want vengeance upon for my current condition is you and that red-haired slut you're sleeping with."
Harry felt his lips compressing into a thin line, both from the threat and the slur against Ginny. He lifted his chin a fraction, struggling not to let his emotions show, and spoke with a professional coolness. "I'll take that as a 'no', shall I?"
His only reply was a smirk that seemed equally condescending and menacing. Forcing his jaw to relax, lest his teeth began to audibly grind together, Harry strode away from the bed and to the closed door.
"In that case, goodbye," he said, twisting the handle and looking over his shoulder. "I doubt we will see each other again. Ever."
"I wouldn't be too sure of that, Potter," Draco told him confidently. "Don't fool yourself for even a minute that I'm going down without a fight. I'll find a way to take what I want from you - be sure of it."
Not bothering to respond, Harry pulled the door open and stepped outside without a backward glance. Not even bothering to close the door, leaving it to the Aurors guarding the ward, he marched down the narrow passage to where the elevator was, trying not to dwell on Draco's last words.
He'd better be wrong about that, he thought to himself. For all our sakes.
TBC...