Way Down We Go

Chapter 27

Harry finds, in the next several hours, that it is possible to be both very important and entirely useless at the same time.

He sits in the bed, holding Draco, watching Nott pace around the room casting the same diagnostic spells every ten minutes while the rest—Hermione, Ron, Blaise, Pansy, Luna, and Ginny—are gone.

And he trusts them, he really does. He knows that they're some of the most capable witches and wizards in their age group. Perhaps even outside of their age group.

But Harry is used to being the hero.

He's used to being the one that risks everything and—somehow, inexplicably, both saves what needs saving and remains alive himself.

He doesn't know how to be the one that gets left behind.

He should probably talk to his therapist about it.

But Draco's breathing is getting shallower and shallower and Nott has no reassurances to give and Harry is afraid that, for once, perhaps he will not be the victor in this particular fight. Perhaps he's run out of happy endings.

When everyone reappears, Harry has become so used to the anxious silence of waiting that it's nearly a shock for so many people to suddenly crowd into the room—nearly all of them talking at once.

"Did it work?" he says, more frantic than he'd like, but also beyond caring; Draco is very still in his arms.

They're all there. All looking more or less the same as when they left.

That means it worked, right?

"Well, we followed the instructions and it didn't blow up," Luna says cheerfully. "Or turn us into slugs."

"Hate it when that happens," Ginny agrees.

"But we won't actually know if it works until—" Hermione doesn't finish but she doesn't need to.

"I brought Lyra," Pansy says. "I think she's rather furious you left her behind."

She's wearing Lyra like a necklace, and while snake facial expressions aren't exactly mobile, Harry is pretty sure Pansy's assessment is correct.

"Could you turn me around, please," someone says and Harry realises that Blaise is carrying Fleamont's portrait under his arm.

"Sorry about that, old boy," Blaise says, righting him. He considers the room for a moment and then hangs Fleamont with a sticking spell above the window where he'll have a good view of things.

"Er," Harry says. "Hello, Fleamont. You wanted to join us?"

"Of course. You think I'd let them leave me behind for this? Most excitement I've seen in years. And I've certainly never seen magic like this performed before." He squints down at Draco, leaning forward in his armchair. "I must say, your young man isn't looking well."

Harry doesn't look down at Draco.

He doesn't need to––he already knows that Fleamont is correct.

"Right," Harry agrees. "So. Magic. What do we do?"

"He has to drink the potion," Luna says, setting the two jars she's carrying on the bedside table.

"And then," Hermione says, "within ten minutes of consuming the potion, he needs to be inside a set of runes drawn with a one-to-one mixture of the potion and salt water, and then three magical beings have to repeat this incantation while doing specific wand movements," Hermione says, holding up the battered book.

"Should we start with the runes?" Ginny asks.

"You're doing this here?" Nott says.

"Is there somewhere else you'd suggest?" Hermione asks.