Chapter Eleven
Burn

Thursday passed quietly, although there was a growing dread within Harry as he thought about the date with Mona that night. He really didn’t want to have dinner with her. He felt like when he’d first met Ginny Weasley, who for three years couldn’t stop staring moony-eyed at Harry.

He wondered what she was doing now. Perhaps she was married to Neville; they had begun dating during Harry and Neville’s sixth year, after all, but Harry barely recalled anything about the events after Ron’s death. He didn’t remember much at all about what happened at Hogwarts after that.

And he didn’t want to remember.

Harry hurried home during lunch with take out for both himself and Draco. Chinese food, with rice and some sort of chicken, that they both thought tasted good enough to eat again. Harry kept an eye on Draco’s plate, to see how much the blond ate, and it wasn’t much. Draco noticed him staring, though, and remembering how the argument had gone the last time he’d brought the subject up, Harry wisely decided to not say anything just then. He would wait a few more days, or weeks, to see if Draco’s eating habits became better.

At the university, Harry talked to Myra and Darius, happily explaining just how much better Draco was getting with each day that passed. Myra still thought Draco should get a medal for getting Harry new clothes.

“Is it okay if I swing by tonight?” she asked. “I would like to meet him again, now that he’s talking.”

“Yeah, me too,” Darius agreed. “Seeing as he’s the only thing you talk about these days.”

“You’re welcome to come by, but can you do it tomorrow instead? I’m— er, not home tonight.”

“Hot date?” Darius of course immediately asked.

“Well, a date at least,” Harry muttered and Darius stared.

“You’ve got a date? With who?”

“A girl. Mona. She’s nice, I suppose.” Harry shrugged, digging his hands into his pockets.

“You don’t seem too overjoyed with this date,” Myra said, noting Harry’s tone.

“Oh I don’t know,” Harry said, forcing a smile to his lips. “Might turn out nice. Anyway, you can come by tomorrow. Actually, why don’t you two come and have dinner with us tomorrow night?”

“That would be lovely. It has been weeks since we did anything together,” Myra said.

“Yeah, and for some reason, it seems like our fun-together-nights stopped at about the same time as this Draco of yours was re-introduced into your life,” Darius said, smirking.

“Hm, imagine that,” Harry said, sticking his tongue out at Darius, who did the same back. Myra rolled her eyes and muttered something about three-year-olds beneath her breath, before taking them both by their elbows and leading them in the general direction of their next classes.

Harry arrived home again at five thirty, an hour and a half before he was to meet Mona outside of Espresso House.

Draco sat on the couch, watching MTV.

“Draco?”

“Yes?” He managed to drawl just the one word.

“Er—”

“Don’t just stand in front of the TV making that wonderful impression of a fish out of water, Potter – spit it out so I can go back to watching this video.”

“What do I wear?” Harry asked, the words rushed out and his cheeks turning red.

Draco slowly pulled his eyes from the TV to Harry. “Oh right,” he said. “You have a date tonight.” He smirked and Harry wasn’t sure he liked the look of it. “And you don’t know what to wear. Well, what is the message you want to send out?”

“Message?”

“Yes, Potter, message. Is it ‘I want to have sex with you on this restaurant table’—“ Harry pulled a face “—obviously not. There goes the leather pants. Damn. All right, is it ‘I’m interested in you, but I want to take things slow’?”

Harry shook his head ‘no’.

“Is it ‘I want to be friends with you’?”

“Um— perhaps?” Harry said.

“Or is it, ‘I am doing this because you begged me and after tonight I don’t want anything to do with you’?”

“Err— yeah,” Harry answered, wincing at the sound of it.

“Well then,” Draco said, “I suggest you go find something from your old wardrobe.” At Harry’s confused face, he continued, “If you put on any of the clothes that I chose for you, she will be drooling all over you and it won’t matter what you say or do – she won’t give up anyway. If you have your old clothes, she is more likely to run screaming in the other direction, if she has any sense of self preservation.”

“Gee, thanks Malfoy,” Harry said.

“You’re welcome,” Draco said, smiling winningly at him before lowering his eyes to the TV again. “Now go away, I want to watch MTV.”

“You’ve watched MTV all day long!” Harry cried, exasperated.

Draco pulled his eyes from the TV long enough to raise an eyebrow at him. “Your point being?”

“You— Why— Oh, I don’t care. Whatever. I’m going.”

“I knew that something good was going to come out of your mouth sooner or later.”

Harry just barely resisted sticking his tongue out at Draco, reminding himself that this was Draco with an aristocratic upbringing, rather than Darius, who only had an aristocratic amount of money behind him. Instead, he opted to throw his hands up in the air as he left the room.

Despite Draco’s suggestion to pick something out of his own wardrobe, Harry felt obligated to at least try to dress nicely. So he chose in a pair of jeans and a button-up, white cotton shirt, both items that Draco had chosen. He attempted to brush his hair, but it stayed just as messy as always. Walking back into the living room, Draco looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I thought you didn’t want to impress her,” he said.

“I don’t!” Harry said. “I just – she’s probably dressed up and— well, it would feel wrong if—“

Draco rolled his eyes at him. “You are pathetic, Potter.”

“And you’re rude.”

“Great comeback, really.”

Harry responded by pushing the off-button on the TV and leaving the room with a smirk at Draco, who shouted after him, “Hey! I was watching that, Potter! Potter!”

After a few minutes of yelling from Draco, Harry took pity on him and turned the TV on again. “Happy?”

Draco just glared.

At six fifty, Harry left the apartment. The feeling of dread grew stronger with every step he took.

Mona stood outside the café. Harry had to admit that she looked very pretty. Her long dark hair was let down, falling softly down thin shoulders and her cheeks were red, whether from the cool weather or from nervousness, Harry didn’t know. She was wearing a bit too much make-up and her jeans were riding a bit too low, but over all, she looked good. As he knew she was trying to make a good impression on him – he was stupid when it came to girls, but not that stupid – so when he came up to her, he offered her a smile and said, “You look good.”

Her blush deepened and she found the ground incredibly interesting. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

“So, where to?” Harry asked.

“There is a nice Mexican place called Cantina just a few minutes away from here,” Mona said and quickly added, “If you like Mexican food, I mean. If you don’t, then I’m sure we can find something else—”

Harry interrupted her. “Mexican is fine.”

They walked in an uncomfortable silence, as Mona tried to come up with something to say and Harry tried to think of a way to get out of the dinner as soon as possible without hurting Mona’s feelings. The feeling of dread just grew within him.

The restaurant was nice and small. It was filled with people, despite it being Thursday rather than weekend. Harry thought this was a good sign for what the food would be like. They ordered a salad each for starters; then Harry chose fajitas and Mona enchiladas for the main course.

“So,” Harry began, the uncomfortable silence growing too long. “How has work been?”

“It’s all right,” she said, smiling slightly at him. “It’s a lot to do, but the people who I work with are very nice.”

Harry nodded, as though thinking about what she was saying. The conversation was far from easy-going, with Mona varying between staring, completely fascinated by him, and studying the table or her hands. The salads were very good, though, which was the start of their next conversation. Harry wondered if it would have been better to go to a movie together – except perhaps she would have wanted to sit and snog in there. Harry suppressed a shudder. She was pretty, but he felt nothing for her.

He found himself wishing that it was Draco he was having dinner with instead. They may insult each other with every other sentence, but at least their conversations and discussions never came to a complete halt, resulting in this uncomfortable, pregnant silence.

“You don’t like tomatoes?” Harry asked, almost slapping himself for the silly question, but he couldn’t come up with anything better.

“Um, no,” Mona said, blushing and her gaze once again going to the table.

Another pause, then Harry asked, “What are you going to do when you leave Espresso House?”

She looked up. “Well, I just started there, so I’m not about to leave just yet. I usually take things as they come, one day to the next.”

“It’s a good way of living,” Harry said.

“What do you do? Other than write books, I mean.”

“I go to the university,” Harry said. “I’m taking English, mostly just to fill my days.”

“Is it anything you want to go deeper into?” She seemed to be getting good at playing journalist, but Harry was growing uncomfortable. He wanted to leave; there was something wrong. The feeling of dread had nothing to do with Mona, Harry realised. It was something else—

“Not really,” Harry said distractedly. “It’s just something to do right now.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Are you still writing?”

“Yes. The next book is due out this fall,” Harry said.

“What’s it about? If you don’t mind me asking, I mean,” Mona said.

“Actually, I can’t tell you. I’m not allowed.” Harry was trying his best to keep his attention on Mona rather than on the growing feeling of horror in his stomach.

“Oh,” Mona said. She looked at her watch, trying to seem inconspicuous. Harry wondered if she was feeling the same need to get away from the dinner as he was, but he doubted it, considering how insistent she had been that they would do it to begin with.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she said suddenly. “Excuse me.”

Harry watched her go. His dinner was finished, but he nibbled on a slice of sweet pepper distractedly. He wanted to stand up and leave, to go home and pull his blanket over his head and sleep this horrible sense of dread away. Pure will was all that kept him in his seat, but he did ask for the bill to be brought to them. He wondered if they should split the cost or if he was supposed to be a gentleman and pay for it all. He would; it was no problem, but the women of these days seemed to want to be independent and pay for themselves. He would just have to ask, he decided.

‘BANG!’

The tables in the restaurant rattled slightly, the sodas Harry and Mona had been drinking shook but didn’t spill. Harry stood, the chair falling back.

What the hell?

Somehow he just knew that this was what it had all been about. Throwing a few bills down on the table to cover the dinner, he ran outside. A huge cloud of smoke was rising into the dark sky and Harry ran towards his apartment, all thoughts leaving him. He picked up his cell phone from his pocket and dialled his home number, holding the phone to his ear and hoping desperately that Draco would pick up, but to no avail; it just kept ringing and ringing.

Harry told himself that Draco was just too far away from the phone; the explosion hadn’t been his apartment.

His breathing grew ragged as he kept running down the streets, narrowly avoiding the cars driving down the streets. He barely noticed his surroundings, only that as he was coming closer and closer to his home, he was also coming closer and closer to that huge cloud of smoke—

He turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the apartment building where flames licked the stone walls.

”Oh God, no…”

He started running again. Off in the distance, he heard the sirens of fire engines, coming closer and closer as Harry threw open the door leading into the building. Smoke welled out and a woman came running out. Harry recognized her as one of his neighbours and his eyes widened when he realised that Draco’s life wasn’t the only one in danger. She barely noticed him, though, and he went inside, even more intent on finding Draco now. Smoke had already filled the staircase, the air thick and stinging in his eyes. It was hard to breathe.

Harry hoped that the firemen would be coming soon. He heard the sirens closer now, as he took his shirt off and held it over his mouth and nose to help him breathe. His other hands searched for the keys to his apartment. He arrived on the third floor and screamed, “Draco!” through the door as he tried to unlock it with shaking hands. It took almost ten seconds – an eternity – before Harry had managed to put the keys into the keyhole and turned it around, opening the door.

“Draco!”

Inside the apartment, the smoke was much thicker than out in the hallway. The corridor was completely engulfed in flames, the tapestry already gone and the fire now continuing on what lay beyond. Shards of glass lay on the ground; it had been one of the paintings Harry had had on the walls. Harry moved quickly but cautiously down the hallway. The bathroom and his bedroom were both walls of flames.

“Draco! Where are you?”

When Harry heard weak coughing, he ran towards the sound.

Draco lay on the floor in the living room, bloody and sooty, coughing with every other breath as he tried to breath. His pants were on fire, with Draco trying desperately, failingly, to put it out. There was blood on his hands and face, mixed up with dirt. Flames licked the walls, spreading quickly.

“Harry…” The name was whispered, hoarse, pained. “Why—”

Harry’s eyes widened at the implied question. Why he was here? How could he not be? Did he really think Harry would— He broke off, the thoughts upsetting him too much, taking too much time. Instead, he took his shirt from his mouth and ripped it, holding the second piece over Draco’s mouth. With the first piece, he put the fire on Draco’s jeans out, revealing burnt skin. He then proceeded by tying the other cloth around Draco’s head, for him to breathe through.

“There, breathe through—“

Just then, a burning something from the ceiling fell and hit Harry over his back. He screamed as it burned his bare back and stars appeared before his eyes as the pain ripped through his body. The burning item slid off his back, leaving Harry panting in pain, shaking as he tried to get onto his feet again.

“Come on, Draco,” he said, pulling at the other man, “we need to get out of here.”

He could hear the fire engine’s sirens coming at the same time as he began coughing himself, having breathed in far too much of the heavy, poisonous gas. Draco also coughed, his breath catching in his throat, but he lifted weak arms around Harry’s neck as Harry lifted him. Harry hissed in pain at the raw, newly made injuries on his back.

Suddenly there was a large creak as something in the house began to give.

The world swayed in front of Harry, what little of it he saw. The room was filled with black smoke and Harry couldn’t creep along the ground with Draco in his arms. Either way, the mat was also aflame, so it didn’t matter. He had to make it to the balcony; the hallway was blocked by the fire now, so they couldn’t go down there. Every way but the balcony was blocked. They would have to jump.

Harry took a few unsteady steps forward, towards the balcony door, almost falling to the floor as the fire roared up around him, catching the cloth of his jeans again. It burned through the cloth to the skin and Harry couldn’t help but scream again.

The handle of the door was burning hot as well, untouchable. Harry knew he would have to kick the door down. As well as he could with Draco in his arms he raised his burning leg and brought it down on the door with a choked scream. Again and again he kicked at it, fury and pain and desperation blinding him. Between the screams, he coughed, choking on the poisonous air. Finally, not much was left of the previously sturdy door and Harry climbed through the hole he had made, Draco heavy and limp in his arms. He didn’t dare look down to discover Draco unconscious – or worse.

The night air, though filled with smoke, felt like heaven to Harry. Down on the ground stood the fire truck and the firemen.

“HEY!” he screamed down at them, wishing he could wave to get their attention, but his arms were filled with Draco. “HEY! PLEASE! HELP!”

He coughed again, his lungs tightening painfully.

Just then, one of the men down on the ground did look up. Quicker than Harry thought possible, although it still felt like an eternity with the fire licking at his back, the men assembled and motioned for him to let Draco go and they would catch him.

Harry gulped, but knew that there was no other way.

He pulled together the last of his strength to lift Draco over the railing and the men below stood waiting. With his eyes closed, he let go of Draco.

A second later, his eyes were open again and he saw the men catch Draco. The ambulance personnel took over and the men motioned for Harry to jump. Harry’s legs shook as he lifted himself over the railing to jump, and he was just about to let go when—

‘CRASH!’

The world shook and the fire no longer licked at him; it surrounded him, creating a world of pain and heat, throwing him forward through the railing and then he was thrown into an endless black pit…

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