Save The Date (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Fifty Eight

   Harry's insides plummeted.

They had been so wrapped up in each other, they hadn't realised they were being crept up on. At least a dozen skeletons of the HSP had materialised in the common room, and at their centre was a tall, slender man in a butcher's apron, a meat cleaver in his hand and a blood-chilling smile on his pale, thin lips.

Harry didn't have a chance to react, as Draco pushed in front of him protectively. They both twitched instinctively for their wands, but whilst this dream-like level might have given them school uniforms, it had sadly failed to equip them with any sort of weapon. Even Draco's sword would have been an advantage now, as he certainly knew how to use it, but as it was they were left empty handed as they backed further into the common room, watching as more and more armed HSP filled in to surround them.

"Leave us alone," Draco snapped at the butcher, his hands groping blinding to make sure Harry was still behind him. He was astonished by uncharacteristic bravery, and might have said something if he wasn't processing how screwed they really were, looking around desperately to see if there was any sort of escape. There were windows they could break, and also the corridor behind them that led to the dormitories, but that was a dead end in the real world, so Harry wasn't sure what they should expect from this reconstruction. Instead, he took Draco's hand to show he was still there, and stood with his chest to his back in encouragement, looking around his shoulder. "We only want to go home. You can have your Halloween Land and whatever else. Just...let us go."

The butcher smiled widely, and a chill ran up Harry's spine. His apron was practically dripping with blood, and Harry was under no illusion what he could probably do with the cleaver shining in his hand. "Nobody leaves," said the butcher gleefully. "Not even you." He shook his head and moved closer, the firelight dancing on his sunken cheekbones and casting shadows that gouged his face. "That mutt normally sneaks people out the backdoor, he thinks he's clever you see. But you, you he took all around the houses. I couldn't fathom why. And now-" He leered sickeningly at Harry. "Now I do."

"What difference does it make to you?" Draco fired back. Harry was feeling at a disadvantage, not understanding who this man was. But he was apparently trying to keep them from leaving, and Draco's comments about running out of time came to mind again. "We remember who we are, we're not like your other ignorant subjects who don't have a choice. We do, and we're going back to the Living Land!"

The butcher tilted his head, like they were interesting specimens on a chopping board. "You won't remember anything once the clock strikes twelve, or didn't my annoying little pest tell you that?" Draco shifted uncomfortably, and the butcher's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, he did," he said softly, and with delight. "So, we shall just wait here in that case. You and you little love can watch the minutes tick by, until – ding!" He splayed his long fingers out like fireworks. "You'll forget all about this, and we can set the world to its natural order again."

"We'll forget?" rasped Harry. Draco looked over his shoulder, and nodded hopelessly.

"We won't even know the other exists, we'll go back to the lives they programmed for us this morning."

"But," said Harry hopefully, shooting a defiant glare at the butcher. "I remembered you this morning, I went looking for you!"

Draco though, shook his head sadly, turning to cup Harry's cheek. "We have until midnight on the first day to remember and leave. After that, our old lives will be gone forever. We might as well be dead."

The butcher laughed mirthlessly, walking towards them as Harry's heart turned to ice. "Oh come, come now Your Highness, no need to be so bleak. You'll still be living your lives." He leaned in, his breath hot and sour. "They'll just be the lives I want you to live. My little puppets."

Harry couldn't help it; despite Draco's cry not to, he saw red. How could they be so close to going back home, only to be thwarted at the last moment by someone purely for his own amusement? This was their lives he was joking about!

Harry lunged for him, which was possibly one of the stupidest ideas he had ever had. Within a split second the butcher had him by the neck, his back pressed against his bloody apron in a parody of the comforting pose he'd just been holding with Draco. Except now, he had an enormous knife held up to his throat.

"NO!" Draco shouted, panic all over his face as he held his hands up in surrender. "No, please don't hurt him."

The butcher grinned, making Harry flinch. "Oh I won't," he said ominously. "So long as you sit there like a good little prince, and watch the clock tick down. Once you forget everything, I'll let him skip on off back to Christmas Land, and we can take a nice walk back to Halloween." He pressed the blade closer to Harry's jugular, and he gasped at the prick against his flesh and the warm droplet of blood that fell. "The only question is, do I let you trot off back to mummy queen in the palace none-the-wiser, or, do I put you in my special dungeon, see how long it will take me to strip you apart, piece by piece, and turn you into one of my creations?"

He indicated the skeletons surrounding them, and the whole of Harry's insides twisted. "No," he stammered and struggled to pull free. "No, let him live, don't torture him, don't make him one of those things!"