[Discontinued] When Shadows Collide, The Game Begins

Chapter Twenty Eight

"WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?!" yelled Draco, instinctively pulling out his wand and pointing it at the empty space where his friend had once stood. Silence was the only reply. Draco cried out in frustration, falling to his knees. A hand appeared on his shoulder.
    "If she was taken, she's not dead," said John quietly, helping the young boy to his feet. Draco's silver eyes swirled with tears, and John felt his own prickle but forced them down. There was no guarantee that Hermione and Harry were alive, but he was not giving up hope.
    "I can whip up a tracking potion, but it could be blocked," said Mcgonagall, already searching the flat for ingredients. She was surprised to find all the necessary ingredients in a kitchen cupboard labeled Tracking Spell. She made no comment, but started to make the potion.
    While the professor worked, Sherlock called Mycroft and asked him to say all he knew about Sherrinford. Mycroft was less than helpful, insisting that it was confidential, and he didn't have the clearance to share it.
    "Two children, one of them your nephew, have been taken today, and Sherrinford is the only clue we've got. So tell us goddamnit!" yelled Sherlock into the phone. There was silence for a few minutes. "We'll meet you at the park." Then Sherlock hung up and grabbed John's arm. "Helicopter at the park. Mycroft will explain while we fly." John nodded, grabbing his coat before the two walked out of the flat. Draco was close behind, and McGonogall followed after making sure the potion wouldn't blow up.
    "You need to go back to school, Draco," she said, catching up with the young boy.
    "Over my dead body. Harry and Hermione could be in danger. I'm not letting you go without me," said Draco firmly. McGonogall sighed, but pressed the subject no further.
    When they reached the park, a helicopter was sitting in the middle of one of the lawns, rotors still spinning. Mycroft was standing beside it, waving politely at the growing group of awestruck onlookers.
    Sherlock and John started jogging, under the spinning blades and into the helicopter, McGonagall and Draco close behind. Mycroft jumped in after them and slammed the door shut, almost cutting off the sound of the engine. Still, it was too loud to be heard, so he passed around headsets to each of them. Draco eyed them curiously, but followed the others' lead and was surprised by how much sound they blocked out. He almost jumped when Mycroft's voice rang clear in his ears.
    "Why is there a kid here? I thought we were supposed to be rescuing them, not putting more in danger," said Mycroft, glaring at Draco slightly.
    "They're my friends, and if you wanna get rid of me you'll have to throw me out of the helicopter," said Draco, eyes steely and voice harsh.
    "Fine. Anyway, concerning Sherrinford, it's a prison, designed to hold the most dangerous prisoner on earth. Our sister." Sherlock looked at him in shock, the others shared his disbelief.
    "We don't have a sister," spat Sherlock, glaring at his brother.
    "Well, of course you wouldn't know, what she did to your friends... anyone would want to forget that. But that's beside the point. It appears that she escaped somehow, perhaps with the help of a wizard, as that is the most secure facility in the world, but what matters is that she's on the loose and dangerous. Shoot to kill. We can't risk her causing any more damage." Everyone nodded, bringing out guns and wands. Draco did too, praying that his father would be able to get rid of any misuse of magic charges.
    Draco wasn't sure how long. they spent flying, but soon the rhythmic rise and fall of the machine made him drowsy. The reminder of the danger his friends were in woke him up immediately, and he felt bad for being so tired.
    "You can sleep if you want," said John kindly. "You'll need all the energy you can get." Draco nodded, eyes already drooping, and fell into a light and fitful sleep.
    Nightmares of his friends' deaths plagued him, vivid and terrifying as they were ripped apart before his sleeping eyes. He was powerless to help, someone holding his shoulder and keeping him from rescuing them. Not a sound left his lips as he tried to cast a spell, and all he could do was watch helplessly, failing his friends time and time again.
    When he woke, he was the farthest thing from well rested, but he pushed down his own feelings and tried to put on his mask, the one his father had made him craft so meticulously, the mask that told everyone that nothing could ever be wrong.
    The helicopter came to a stop, landing somewhere. Sherlock threw open the doors and sprinted out, dress shoes sinking into the sand of the beach they'd landed on. Sand was kicked up by the spinning rotors of the helicopter, landing in Draco's eyes as he sprinted after his friend's father.