Prisoner 63

Sing to Me

A/N: hey guys! Sorry about my absence. Things have been crazy. Hope you're all doing well, especially in the current pandemic situation. Remember to keep clean, wash your hands and follow the isolation/health standards in your city! Please be careful and be well!

"You're going to what?" Draco asked, narrowing his eyes darkly.

Dumbledore's office was quiet that morning, apart from Draco's loud voice, which promptly woke up the portraits on the walls who groaned miserably at him. The magical trinkets whirred away silently, fluffy white clouds floating in the distance visible from one of the windows.

The headmaster himself sat on the other side of the desk. He looked tired - older than he had before, despite no one really knowing just how old he was. His face was shadowed, brows furrowed, lips sealed, completely serious.

"It's the only option, Draco. You and I both know your father and Voldemort will hunt you two to the ends of the earth and back again. Is that really what you want?"

Draco growled in anger. "Stop trying to manipulate me!" He hissed, slamming his fist onto the wooden desk, which made Harry, who was sitting next to him, flinch. "Stop trying to use Harry for your own stupid agenda, pretending you're being the good guy here!" He pointed a finger at the professor.

Dumbledore sighed, and removed his spectacles to rub his eyes, an action that seemed... oddly human for the almost ethereal man. "He is the most powerful wizard I've ever known," the man admitted quietly. "More than even myself. Harry's power doesn't come from the same place as the rest of us wizards. Ours is passed down from generation to generation - Harry's magic doesn't come from his blood. It comes from somewhere else entirely."

"What do you mean?" Draco snapped in response, staring protectively at Harry who was watching Dumbledore with a pensive look.

"Can't you feel it?" Dumbledore asked. "The magic in the air around him? You've witnessed how easily he wields his power. You know he's capable of this."

"Doesn't mean he should do it," Draco grabbed Harry's hand and squeezed it, the boy beginning to look on edge.

"It may be the only way. His power is growing stronger too, Draco, and if he is to be defeated, Harry may be the only one who can match his power."

Draco shut his eyes tightly, remembering how terribly Harry's only meeting with Voldemort had gone. The smell and taste of blood had never left the dining room, and Draco had imagined he was eating pieces of that woman's corpse for months during dinner.

"No," he finally said, tone firm. "No, he's not doing it. I'm not letting him put himself in danger. Come on Harry, we're leaving." Draco got to his feet, pulling Harry up with him, who looked generally uncomfortable.

"Mr Malfoy, I urge you to reconsider. Please, talk it over with Harry. See what he thinks." Dumbledore's voice was the last thing Draco heard before he slammed the door shut and began walking down the staircase.

Draco was seeing red. How dare he? How dare he even pose that idea, after all they'd been through? After they'd been running for weeks, starving, unclean, sleeping on the streets, trying to escape people who were trying to kill them? Even more so, wasn't Dumbledore the most powerful wizard? Why didn't he go fight Voldemort instead? It wasn't Harry's job to be a sacrificial lamb so the rest of them could live, he deserved a life too, a life outside the one he'd been trapped in so far-

"Draco, Draco! Let go!" Pained crying cut through Draco's rambled thoughts, and he felt himself be thrown to the side. Pain and shock pushed through his body as he hit the stone wall, vision turning white as his head collided with it. He slumped down against the wall, legs suddenly unable to support his weight.