Fourteen Thousand Galleons

Mercy

Harry is no stranger to loss.

He lost his parents before he could speak.

He lost his godfather before he left Hogwarts.

He lost so many friends and those he considers family before the end of the war.

But he can't—in any stretch of the imagination—consider losing Hermione Granger.

She's unconscious in a metal chair, directly across from him and hidden behind the bulky from of Rabastan Lestrange. Wandless, Rabastan is at his mercy.

Harry Potter is out of mercy.

He lifts his hand, the end of his wand sparking green. The room erupts around him, magic swooshing through his body and whipping his hair around his head. His gaze is steady on Rabastan, his lips barely moving as the words of the most unforgivable curse begins to tumble from him.

"Avada Ked—"

It's Draco's hand that steadies him, pulls his wand down, and doesn't let go of his hand nor remove the point of his wand from Lestrange. He's shaking, rage filling him. The mark on his chest is pulsing, egging him on to do it – murder the bastard.

"You can't," Draco tells him quietly. Harry opens his mouth to argue, but Draco doubles down. "You won't ."

"Look at her!" Harry angles his chin at Hermione's prone body. Fury licks at his spine, heats his nerves as he watches to see her shoulders rise and fall. To make sure she's still breathing. To confirm she's still alive. His eyes drop to the ground and he releases a shaky breath.

Rabastan's hand twitches and it catches Harry's eyes. He narrows them and tries to snatch his grasp out of Draco's hold. Draco only squeezes tighter.

"I see her, Potter. I see her." Draco shoots a wordless stunner at Rabastan with his free hand who crumples to the floor on top of Ron with a grunt wheezing from his lips. "Go untie her. Let me deal with this."

He can't leave Draco, not alone with a rogue Death Eater and Ron. Merlin, Ron – what happened to him? Is he teaming up with Rabastan? Is this where their friendship led? Harry's overcome with the urge to crush his boot against Ron's windpipe—a fleeting thought as Draco calls his name and brings his focus back to his pale face.

"Draco—" Harry's worried eyes consider Draco for a moment and wipes his hand over his face. "I can't – I don't know what I'd do, Draco, I just—"

"Hey, hey. It's alright. She's—she'll be alright." Draco grabs Harry's shoulder gently and pulls him into chest. They don't have time, but he's a mess and so Draco makes the time, and he's eternally grateful. Draco's fingers caress the side of his neck and he whispers into his ear. "You have to suck it up, Potter. You have to get her untied and take her to Tink."

"Tink?" Harry blinks as Draco pulls away. He crouches down and pats down Rabastan's body – something Harry knows he should be doing but is frozen in place. What can a house elf do that St. Mungo's can't.

Draco glances up at him, there's anger in his eyes that softens towards him. "Who do you think cared for me when—after everything?"

The Worst Auror, that's what they should call him. Harry's certain that every thought in his head is about as useless as a plastic teddy bear. He can barely draw his eyes away from Draco long enough to look at Hermione again and when he finally does, the fear intensifies. Is there even life there? He can't tell and he's afraid to approach her; hands shaking, eyes stinging, face pale.

"Tink can care for her, Potter." Draco shoves Rabastan's body away from Ron. "You have to get her somewhere safe. Can you do that for me, love?"

The gentleness that Draco employs to calm him barely works. Harry breathes deeply through his nose and finally takes a step toward the unconscious witch in the chair. While Draco hauls Rabastan to sitting position against the cement wall, Harry takes Hermione's chin between his fingers and lifts her head gently.