Drarry- It Was All Just a Game (Old Version)

Chapter 47- Malfoy Manor

JUST A REMINDER YOU ARE READING THE OLD VERSION, THIS IS NOT THE MOST UP TO DATE VERSION. THE MOST UP TO DATE VERSION IS EITHER THE RED COVER (MATURE) OR THE BLUE COVER (CLEAN VERSION).

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"Shit," Ron cursed under his breath. They were being dragged down a long cobblestone walkway, the stench of sweat from the snatchers holding them hostage disrupting the clear summer night.

With a swollen throat, Harry inhaled sharply, examining the big 'M' on the gates of Malfoy Manor, and immediately, Hermione grabbed his hand, squeezing it. "Do you think he's here," he whispered to her, just enough for her, and only her, to hear it.

"No. He's probably at Hogwarts," she murmured back to him, and Harry frowned with sad eyes, well, what was left of his eyes. The spell Hermione had used made his face numb and tingly.

"I wouldn't be able to handle it anyway."

"It's been a few more months-"

"Quiet," a snatcher barked, and the doors to enter the Manor had opened, leaving a stale, eerie coolness to chill them to the bone. They were guided into a room bigger than the Dursley's house, with small furniture and tables within it; however the most extravagant piece was the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

"Bring him out," he heard Bellatrix say, but his eyes, well, eye, was glued to the floor, and his heart beat so rapidly and hardly, he felt that every Death Eater in the room could hear it. Harry closed his eye, shielding himself from Lucius and Narcissa, and everyone else. He didn't want to be there of all places, and a gnawing at his heart reminded him of that.

He was expecting Voldemort, truly, in fact, he looked forward to it. He was just about ready to stop running, to face it and end everything whether by Voldemort's death or his own. Harry heard footsteps clatter down the stairs, and he opened his eyes to face someone much much worse than Voldemort. Their eyes connected.

At the sight of him, Harry gasped, and gasped loudly on accident, leaving the entire room to stare at him, and Bellatrix started laughing.

"Really, excellent job, Draco, making him look like a lost puppy that just found its owner," she sang with a smirk. "We didn't think you'd come so in handy with your stupid little plan." Draco froze, wishing he could do anything but that. He wanted to scream and yell and cry and just grab his heart so it wasn't ripping at it's stitches, but it was. He wanted to run over to Harry, because he bloody well knew it was Harry, and punch him and kiss him and kick him and steal him away from all the bad in the world.

How could he have gotten caught? How is he still even alive? Holy shit, he's alive!

It was his biggest fear and greatest dream to see Harry standing exactly where he was, and his blood tingled and nerves set fire at the sight of if.

"Is it him," Draco asked, his voice cracking as he kept a solid face.

"That's why you're here," Greyback taunted. "No one knows Potter better than you."

Ron struggled behind him, wanting to yell back at him, prove him wrong, but Greyback was completely, honestly right, much to Ron's ignorance, and Harry regretted not telling him considering this could be their dying day.

Draco just about stepped back, ready to make a break for it. They wanted identification. He'd done it so many times before. Idiot Death Eaters would think they had him, except they would bring in those with brown eyes and tan hair and pretend that the muggle or halfblood had used polyjuice. Those were the easy ones to get rid of. His mother helped him act more that of a Death Eater: how to talk and what to say, how to sneer properly, how to make those in question feel worthless and useless- it helped with interrogation.