Save The Date (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Fifty Two

   "My darling?" said his mother, but she wasn't really his mother.

He spun around, taking in the lavish setting of his dream-like world. This was the fourth level, and Harry was in trouble.

"Harry," he gasped, looking around frantically as he pulled the mask from his face and let it drop to the floor. "I have to find Harry." He left the illusion of his mother, not caring for her concern because he knew she wasn't real. None of this was real, and he couldn't forget that again. "Harry's here," he rasped fervently to himself. "Harry's here, and he loves me. Harry loves me and we must escape."

He slipped through the crowd of happy dancers, feeling like they were blurring around him, losing their focus in the soft light. They didn't matter, only Harry mattered.

"I'm coming Harry," Draco promised. "I'm coming, I won't let you down again. Please hold on."

He stumbled as a drink was pressed into his hand, and a handsome stranger smiled affectionately at him. "Many happy returns," he said, his voice deep and his eyes bright and sparkling. "I had hoped to perhaps give you my present somewhere a little more private."

Draco's cheeks flushed and in lieu of a reply, he shyly sipped the rich wine, feeling it warm his throat. "Sounds exciting," he managed to utter.

"Oh, it is," the stranger rumbled. "Anything for the birthday boy. I hope you're having a good time?"

Draco smiled over the rim of the wine glass, and managed another sip. "I am now," he said. In fact, he'd been having a wonderful time all night. He wasn't sure why he just been trying to leave. He certainly didn't want to abandon the stranger now, not when he was having all sorts of wicked ideas. "Somewhere more private, you said?" he teased.

The stranger gave him a smouldering smile. "That's the idea," he murmured, touching the edge of Draco's collar.

The contact stirred something in him, something cold and sharp. "No," he croaked, thrusting the glass back into the stranger's hands. "No, you're not real." He closed his eyes and screwed his fists up so tightly the nails bit into his palms. "Harry's here, he loves me and I have to rescue him. Harry loves me, Harry loves me."

The stranger melted into the throng, and Draco pushed forward again, aiming for the main door to the grand ballroom. Harry had to be here somewhere, Bones promised if Draco focused on him hard enough the reality would shape around him, bring them together. Harry, Harry, Harry, he chanted silently to himself.

He managed to skirt around more dancers, more waiters with tempting hors d'oeuvres and more pretty boys trying to give him the eye. Draco only wanted Harry though, and all other cares drifted from his mind.

After what felt like an age, he finally managed to reach the double doors and force his way out. The entrance hall was eerily quiet after all the commotion of the party, and Draco paused for a moment to take a couple of deep breaths as the doors swung shut behind him, leaving him all alone.

The marble floor echoed under his feet, and he looked down to see he was back in his pirate gear, which was oddly comforting. The familiarity of his home offered a small amount of comfort too, and he tilted his head back to take in the sweeping staircase, the white stone statutes stood on plinths against the walls, the artwork of Malfoys past hanging from the walls and the exotic plants his mother kept to brighten the place up.

However, he realised with a jolt something was not familiar. He wasn't sure at first, as his head was still swimming from the onslaught of imaginary surroundings, but the more he looked, the more he was certain that there was definitely something out of place.

He padded over, his boots ringing softly against the shiny floor, and reached out to touch the door he was convinced did not normally reside under the stairs.

He considered the cupboard, wondering if its appearance held any significance, but looking around the entranceway he couldn't see anything else that didn't belong there. "Harry?" he whispered, his voice echoing off the walls. "Are you there?"

He dropped his hand to grasp the handle, encouraged when it felt warm to his touch. There was nothing for it; he pulled.