Defence, Pretence, Offence (Hecatemus Book #2)

Chapter 73 - Holding On

Draco could barely think as panic tried to take away any sense he had left after the explosion. He had stayed back, stayed hidden using his animagus form, just like Harry had asked, but he couldn't anymore. He prayed it was over. He had seen it all from Harry's perspective, keeping in close mental contact with his soulmate the entire time. It was the only way he had been able to remain the grounding strength and not directly involved as his instincts screamed at him.

It was too late now. He didn't care if he ran into the Death Eaters who had been with Voldemort. With how he was feeling he was ready to rip them to pieces with his own bare paws, magic be damned.

He knew he was irrational, but he was close to Harry and Harry was badly hurt. Part of him wanted to fall over, but he kept moving even as reflected pain tried to take his breath away. If it had just been pain coming from his soulmate it would not have been as bad, but the pain was muted and Harry's thoughts were muddled and distant.

Of course it was then that two Death Eaters appeared out of the gloom of the forest.

"What is that?" one of them demanded.

They were clearly off balance, but then what had just happened to their master had to be reverberating through the broken bond of the Dark Mark. Draco didn't give them time to react to him; he attacked. His cat shape was large and fast and, when instinct was guiding him, very, very accurate. One bounced off a tree and didn't move and the other fell, dropping his wand. Draco ignored the wizard as he scrabbled off into the darkness; all he was worried about was Harry. He moved through the trees with speed now.

Bounding into the open space Voldemort had chosen to try and destroy his nemesis, Draco scanned for danger, but nothing moved. Bellatrix, Macnair and the one other Draco did not recognise were out cold around the remains of their beloved leader. Harry was lying in a heap a few feet from the sludge that had once been the Dark Lord. As soon as Draco saw him everything else was irrelevant.

Without even considering what had happened to the others, he transformed back into his human form and ran to his soulmate, falling to his knees. Harry looked like a broken doll, face bloody, glasses gone, wand arm clearly broken and at a strange angle, rips in his clothes and bloody signs of other injuries all over his body, but that wasn't the worst. It was the way Harry's skin rippled, showing little flashes of colour underneath, sickly greens, blacks, yellows, even red; all the signs of dark magic, that had all of Draco's attention.

"Harry," he said, but there was no response. [Harry,] he tried again and his soulmate twitched, but nothing came back.

In that instant Draco knew his soulmate was dying; he was losing Harry.

That was entirely unacceptable.

He did not even stop to consider what he was doing. It was his job to keep Harry safe and he was not allowed to fail. There was only one way he knew he might have a chance and it didn't matter in the slightest how dangerous it might be.

Taking out his wand, he pointed it at his wrist and with a vicious flick used a cutting charm to open a vein. Pushing the wound against Harry's lips he lifted his soulmate, urging him to drink. Harry coughed, but swallowed and then Draco pushed his own magic into his other half.

"Two are one, one is two," he whispered, using the same binding charm they had employed for the ritual to resurrect Sirius.

Of course this time he was not joining with a healthy, strong wizard and as the blood link snapped into place it felt as if his magic was being ripped out of him. He couldn't stop it and he whimpered, clinging to Harry as his own power tried desperately to stabilise his soulmate. The pain that came back at him was almost overwhelming and he knew if he didn't do something he was going to fall under the onslaught.