This Bitter Earth

TWENTY THREE

A/N: Thank you to Bree and SheekMartin for betaing this chapter for me and putting up with my nonsense.

CW: There is a bit of violence against an animal in this chapter, but it's not a good animal? I am not sure if that makes it better, but I wanted to give people a head's up because I would want one. Also DEATH. But, you kind of had to expect that one right?

Soundtrack- "Bloodsport '15" by Raleigh Ritchie

TWENTY THREE

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"Do you have a plan?" Draco asked as he and Potter came to the edge of the forest.

"This is the plan," Potter answered in a monotone voice. He clearly did not want to talk.

Too bad.

Draco wasn't one of his little cowardly friends, he wasn't going to just do whatever Potter wanted because he had that ugly scar on his forehead. Draco had scars too, and he hadn't forgotten who had given them to him.

"Let me guess, a heroic fight to the death?"

Potter slipped his invisibility cloak off and tucked it back into his pocket. "Something like that."

"Please don't tell me you're going to try and use Expelliarmus on him again," Draco drawled.

"Stop talking to me, Malfoy."

Draco rolled his eyes, but continued on.

The forest was quiet in a heavy, eerie kind of way and Draco remembered why he hated this place for so long. After his completely age-inappropriate trip here as punishment in first year, Draco had eagerly avoided it until his fourth. Quidditch was canceled and flying was the only time he felt... that he didn't feel. Up in the sky, when it was just him and the sun, Draco finally felt like he could breathe easy.

And he didn't want his seeker skills to get rusty with a year off from matches while Potter soaked up more fame and glory in the Twatwizard Tournament so Draco had started taking his broom out over the forest. Diving into the canopy, darting in and around branches and trees, Draco had honed his skills.

Not that it mattered, not anymore. Flying and Quidditch were luxuries Draco couldn't afford even if the Malfoy vaults had still been full. It wasn't as if they were destitute, there would be plenty left for... He looked down at his signet ring. If he died in this fucking war, everything would go to Granger and while he didn't think she'd leave his mother on the street, it wouldn't be the life she was used to.

That is, if he was ever able to find her and bring her back home.

Would she even want to come back?

Ironic, that he and his father had the same plan for the people they loved, yet never included the other one in it.

Maybe he really was his father's son after all, doomed to follow the same path as the last two generations of Malfoys. He was doing as the Dark Lord had commanded and was bringing Potter to him after all, each step carrying them closer and closer to their respective fates.

"Hey, give me a minute." Potter turned and started walking into the gloom of the trees.

Draco went after him. "You might be used to other people doing whatever you say because you're the 'Special Sparkly One' or whatever the fuck they call you, but we have somewhere to be, Potter."

Potter rounded on him. "You might be used to other people putting up with your shit, but Hermione's not here to save your ass this time, Malfoy, so when I say give me a minute, you give me a minute." His green eyes flashed bright and Draco looked away quickly, rubbing his mark as it ached.