The door wouldn't be easily broken by Draco, normally, but no one even knew his strength anymore. The door was easily cracked in half and snapped off the hinges, the second Draco's foot came into contact with the door. He already had Harry hoisted up on his shoulders because he still owed him, of course. The invisibility cloak was tucked back into Harry's pocket. It was awkward, feeling the boy you've been taught to hate your entire life, his legs legs limply grazing Draco's with every moment. The boy wasn't wearing much, a hospital gown and Gryffindor robes over it. It was an unusual feeling, to say the least.

True, there might've been more cunning ways to do this and possibly slip out without getting caught, but Draco's mind wasn't working properly. How could it, with being locked in a room in his own house with a boy his family has been revolted by since he was one. Draco wasn't in the mood for quiet and it wasn't as if the door's cracking hadn't already given away that he escaped.

The marble stairs always shined beautifully, but today they seemed musty and dull. His mother was standing in the room he'd entered, holding up her wand in a position that showed she would kill if he stepped any further, but her face said otherwise. The sad scrunching was saddening and not easily ignored, for that was his mother, after all. "Draco, please don't make me do this. I'll never forgive myself, you know that." Her voice was shaking, causing Draco's heart to feel as if it was being pummeled by a troll. "Draco, listen to me! Walk back up those stairs and—"

"I love you, mother, but you aren't the only one I love..." Draco said shakily, the words felt right, but so wrong. Part of him knew what he was speaking of, but part of him still wished to believe he was spewing rubbish, so his mother would back off.

"Draco, baby, please." She said and tears were now filling her eyes. The fear in her voice meant one thing, the Dark Lord was on his way. It'd been a time he'd heard many of times prior, but it never quite bothered him that the Dark Lord would be present before. But he had nothing to hide before. His hands still gripped Harry's tightly, keeping the boy's arms wrapped around his pale neck. The small tickles of his hair brushing Draco's skin was soothing, but also nerve racking. The one good thing was that there was no need for burying unless someone attacked and his mother could barely threaten to, much less do it.

It seemed too easy, but he was never one for taking the more painful road ahead, anyway. His robes blew beautifully, gracefully as he ran, Harry barely stopping from going flying. He'd ran to the next room, one where a fireplace was present. The floo powder was in a beautiful green basin on the black marble that seemed to not be as marvelous as he'd recalled. The flames turned emerald, like Harry's eye before losing vibrancy, and Draco stepped into the fire, feeling the soothing warmth climb his body. He was almost gone, free. "Hogwarts!" He yelled and saw the fire around him twirl. At first he was going to head back to the oversized shack that the blood traitors called a home, but he knew they were gone. Something in his gut told him they weren't there anymore and never would be.

The Slytherin common room would include a lot of explaining and questioning on why Harry was laying dead-like on Draco's back. The Gryffindor common room seemed like a safe bet and from what he could see it was Harry's too best friends, perfect.

The scene must've looked suspicious to the two. Draco jumping out of a fire, carrying an unconscious Harry who was wearing a hospital gown under his robes and both looking slightly off from when the two had last seen them. "Malfoy, you little—" The Weasley started, jumping from a nearby maroon armchair and pulling out his wand.

"I-I can explain." He said, but it was the exact opposite of what he wanted to do.