Chilled Legacy

Chilled Legacy XX: The Search Part 2

Chilled Legacy XX

What happened dawned on Astoria before it did Harry—Hermione had used them. She knew the mirror wasn't going to work without the last ingredient.
Hermione had wanted Astoria to cry.
Harry forced himself to stop and wiped furiously at his face. In the end, it didn't matter who added the ingredient anyhow.

He felt used. Used, but relieved. Astoria was too busy to be anything but adrenaline pumped, helping Hermione map the exact location and running back and forth informing the headmistress of what was happening. Maybe when all this was over she would slap Hermione for scaring her to death, or hug her for being a genius, or—depending on how things went—go back to being a numb ragdoll.
The young slytherin hadn't had time to cry, rejoice, or worry. None of them had. Her sole focus since Draco's voice echoed in the mirror was on finding him. Her Draco. Gripping the hope of rescuing him again had fixed whatever had been broken or frozen inside her. Draco was alive and that was all she needed.

McGonagall agreed to lend them her fireplace so they could floo to Astoria's mansion. Astoria, who had family in Norway. From there they would use the family portkey to arrive in Norway. Then fly, floo, run or do whatever it took to get there on time.
McGongall had wanted to come, but it wasn't even hours after the castle had melted that the ministry had arrived to inspect the scene. There was no time to look for Lucius or Narcissa, and it was believed they'd gone back to the mansion to search for Draco.

Harry was the only one still processing it all, clumsily following orders. Eventually Hermione gave up and gave him the easiest job—telling her what Draco saw.

"The colors!" Hermione was yelling. "What was the order?"

"Red with two stripes," Harry answered. "Yellow...or gold."

"He said outskirts," Ron told her. "So they're not quite there yet."

Harry had only seen it for half a second—how long Draco had looked at it. The flag of whatever town Draco had run to was red with two either yellow or golden stripes. It took ten whole minutes for Hermione to find it, and by that time Draco was blocks away from his destination.

"Aust-Agder," Hermione told them. "Ironically there is a small town by the name of Arendal within the county."

"Let's move," Astoria said, and the others followed her lead out of the room of requirements.

"Malfoy," she panted as they ran up the stairs to the headmistress' office. "If you don't die I'm going to kill you."

***

The most current, yet irrelevant mystery that might never be answered before his death was how he was still alive now.
Draco hadn't slept or even eaten in more than 48 hours. At the party, it was the potion keeping him alert. Afterwards, the adrenaline. And now, everything.

I'm going to die, Draco thought. I'm actually going to die.

It was the swishing of the leaves on the trees, the wind brushing against his face, and the chirping of the birds that kept him awake. He wanted to miss none of it.
His hand hadn't left his chest, Draco unconsciously counting the beats of his heart. How could he have ever taken a single one for granted? Wasted a single opportunity to find forgiveness or be kind to others?
Looking back, most all the beats had been used not only selfishly, but cruelly. There was no hope for him. He was too far gone.

"You alright, kid?" The driver had turned to look at him.

Draco was tired. His limbs were on fire, his bladder was killing him, and his stomach was trying to eat itself. Worse of all, the pain from the stab wound was finally sinking in.