Chapter 2

                                        

                                              
Chapter 2
                              
Published: May 7, 2021
                              
Draco felt his whole being rip loose from his body as the dementor extracted his soul. His senses faded. His breathing and heart stopped. His soul slowly was being sucked toward the black hole with acute, deliberate pain. It was enjoying it, enjoying his fear, his horror. This was the end. Harry was going to be the last thing he thought about as his consciousness was torn from his body.
                              
Suddenly the dementor lurched, releasing its hold and Draco's hearing returned to a cacophony of sound. There was something screaming, but couldn't see as his vision was slowly coming back. He staggered from the loss of the dementor's slimy grip on his arm and dropped to the floor on his back. His heart finally restarted now that he was out of the dementor's thrall.
                              
"Stupefy!" he heard, and something dropped behind him.
                              
Draco's vision finally cleared in time to see the second Auror get hit and crumble next to the other. The dementor was what was screeching loudly, impossibly loud, and writhing in pain. It turned, and Draco saw that a sword was stuck in its back. There was a third person in the room, hooded, who stormed forward yanked the sword out. As the dementor turned, the cloaked figure plunged it hard into the fiend's chest, right where its heart should be.
                              
The dementor let out a final, ear-shattering scream, and then practically liquified as its essence dissolved into the ether. Its shroud slowly collapsed to the floor as it... died. It might have been Draco's imagination, but he saw faint... things... like echoes of light, come out of the robes and float away. Were they souls? The ones the dementor took? Were they were free? Were his parents were free? He suddenly could breathe, again.
                              
His rescuer secured the sword to his belt and then bent down to grab him before Draco could fully understand what he saw. He didn't even have time to prepare himself before he was pulled into his Apparation. It was rougher than Draco had ever felt before, as he was jerked from point to point, until they finally stopped. He landed on another floor in a barely lit room on his back. He was shaking, uncertain of where he was. Voices came from somewhere, but he was dazed.
                              
"There you are! You did it!"
                              
"They make you?"
                              
Draco didn't look at who it was, just up at the hooded person. His hero finally pulled back his hood, to reveal the speccy, green-eyed git with black-ruffled hair that had been haunting his thoughts. What was happening?
                              
Potter turned to what he assumed was Granger and Weasley, and said, "I don't think so." Then he looked down. "Malfoy?"
                              
His hands, still bound, were tight against his chest as he looked up at Potter. He couldn't talk. He couldn't move. He could barely breathe, and he wasn't sure his heart was working normally. The dementor had taken every bit of his resolve and strength. He just stared up at his deliverer, Potter, who had arrived at the last second to save him.
                              
"Malfoy?" Potter asked, a little more worried. "I'm sorry... they started a few minutes early. I couldn't get you when you were in the prison hold. Too many wards, but that room... they lowered the wards for the dementor. It was the only place I could get you."
                              
He didn't say anything. He didn't move. He was still trying to process his words.
                              
"Did you make it on time?" Granger asked, walking closer.
                              
"He's looking at me. He's just in shock. It almost took his soul," Potter said and knelt down. "Hey, Malfoy. Calm down."
                              
He still just stared at him. Was this real? He had imagined Potter saving him before. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he was still in his cellblock, waiting for Death. Or perhaps he was dead, and this was some strange afterlife. Potter would never rescue him. They were enemies, and he hated him. His breathing became erratic, again.