right person, always the right time drarry

smoke and shadows

The war had begun a few months ago, just as I’d suspected. And, of course, no one believed me. Most of Slytherin sided with Voldemort—including Draco.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, right into my ear, snapping me back to the present.

I winced, pressing a hand to my ear. "I’m here, no need to shout!" I said, making an exaggerated face to show my annoyance.

"If you didn’t notice, we’re in a fight against time, and you’re just standing there daydreaming," Ron added, a mix of frustration and his usual humor in his voice.

He wasn’t wrong. "Fair point," I muttered. Then I glanced around. "Where are Sirius and Remus?"

"If you were paying attention," Hermione said, crossing her arms, "you’d know they went to search for food since we’ve run out." She always enjoyed playing the role of the smartest and most mature of the group—and, honestly, I liked it too.

"Let’s get inside," she continued, gesturing toward the house. "We can’t stay out here for too long. Not without backup."

The "house" was our hiding place, enchanted by Remus to be invisible to anyone who didn’t know it was there. A perfect refuge for when things got too dangerous.

As soon as we stepped inside, exhaustion hit me like a wave. I collapsed onto the nearest surface and drifted into the best sleep I’d had in months.

When I woke, it was already the next day. Ron, Hermione, and I headed outside to search for... something. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what it was. I was still groggy from the deep sleep and didn’t catch the details.

We walked for hours, searching, until I noticed smoke rising in the distance.

"Cover your nose and mouth," Hermione warned. Her tone was serious now. "I know that smell. It’s toxic—if we breathe too much of it, we’re done for."

"We need to check if anyone’s trapped in there," I said, my voice firm. I didn’t just suggest it—I ordered it.

Ron looked like he wanted to argue, but I had already started moving toward the smoke. He and Hermione had no choice but to follow.

As we reached the center of the smoke, the scene unfolded before us—around a hundred of Voldemort’s followers lay unconscious on the ground. The air was thick with the stench of the toxic fumes. But my eyes were drawn to one figure in particular—a tall, thin figure with skin as pale as snow and hair to match.

Draco.

I moved closer, standing right above him. My heart raced. I wasn’t sure if it was from the smoke or from seeing him like this.

Hermione knelt beside him, checking his pulse. "He’s alive," she confirmed, her voice steady. Then she glanced up at me, her eyes serious. "We need to take him with us. He could be a great help."