Orb of Destiny - Moment by Moment Book #6 (Harry Potter, Drarry)

Into the Fray

Two minutes later, as long as no-one looked down at their bare feet, or too deeply into their hoods, two ordinary-looking Enforcers joined their oblivious fellows and trotted down the stairs with a bag each of self-binding rope-capsules and some nasty transmogrification missiles. Draco led the way: Harry had decided not to argue, since his lover seemed to be cooperating with the plan as long as they executed it in his style. He kept his head slightly down, and tried to look like he was on an urgent mission, holding out the bag in front of him to make sure that the man at the bottom of the stairs with the clip board and quill was just going to see what he was holding, and not him. Draco was headed towards a second coordinator on the other side of the stairway.

"What's in the bag?" the ruffled official asked, wincing as there was a particularly loud bang from behind the doors and the whole room reverberated with it.

"Ropes," Harry muttered quickly, and was relieved when the man waved towards the old classrooms.

"Get them outside, quickly," he was told.

Draco had no more problem passing his coordinator than Harry, and, with a glance at each other, Harry headed in the direction he had been told, while Draco ducked behind a scurrying group of armourers and began moving through the melee towards the main doors. As he moved, Harry surreptitiously reached into the bag of weapons and wrapped his fingers around the deceptively tiny capsules that, if thrown at a person, would wrap them in six metres of iron-like rope.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, Draco was almost near enough to play his part. However, as he began to pull his tools of distraction from their home, Harry had the need for a diversion taken away from him.

"I need assistance here!" a familiar voice bellowed across the room, but when Harry looked over to the source of the call, he barely recognised Julian Maersmith.

It wasn't just that the man was covered in blood, his robes were torn and burned, and he was carrying a semi-conscious young woman in his arms, it was Julian's whole demeanour that struck Harry. The once unhappy, conflicted healer sounded purposeful and sure of himself. The young woman whom he was struggling to carry was moaning, and it was her blood which was covering Julian's tunic. Everyone else ignored the healer, even when he teetered and then collapsed to his knees, sliding his charge onto the floor, but, remembering the risk that Julian had taken for him, Harry could not leave him struggling alone. He dropped the rope capsule back into the bag and ran over to the healer and patient.

"What should I do?" he asked, keeping his hood up, his head down and his voice gruff to avoid recognition.

He dropped to his knees on the other side of Julian's patient and was told, "Put your hand on her leg and stem the bleeding."

Harry did as he was instructed, pressing hard with the sleeve of his robe onto a gash on the woman's thigh: she screamed, but Harry knew his magical first aid, and he just held firm. It looked like Julian was about to perform healing in the middle of the floor, he ripped at the patient's top, her modesty less important than her life as he revealed a deep wound running from bra to navel, and Harry watched as the man aimed his wand and started to cast. Harry was now not the only one watching the unfolding drama, runners were stopping and staring at the woman who was struggling for life and Julian trying to seal the injury.

"Her heart's been damaged," the healer muttered to himself, and Harry went cold as he remembered that feeling.

His memory distracted Harry for a moment, and he lightened his press; Julian noticed. He elbowed Harry, catching him by surprise, and he looked up, right into the healer's face: any chastisement that had been ready did not make it out of Julian's mouth as, even in the shade of the hood, the man recognised Harry.