WRONG WAY HOME

This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.

Thanks to my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle.

WARNING This fic contains HBP Spoilers. Enter at own risk if you haven't read HBP.

Vin stared down at his book in puzzlement, pushing his floppy hair off his face and leaning his head on that hand. He'd never written a – a song – before. And that it should come now, now on the worst day of his life – "Yet!" he added grimly – it was just wrong somehow.

If he'd thought, if he'd ever suspected that his silly private rhymes could turn into lyrics, into something useful that the three of them could maybe do together, be together as grown-ups… Maybe they could have been as famous as the Weird Sisters, girls hanging off their arms, pictures in the papers, go where they wanted, do what they wanted – but not without Draco. He'd never expected to have to live his life without Draco.

He stared across the dorm to the smooth empty bed, still neat from yesterday. They'd waited last night, but Draco had never come. Only a wild-eyed and rumpled Professor Slughorn very early in the morning, announcing that he was their Head of House from now on.

Draco would never be coming. He'd run off in the night with Professor Snape, of all people – Draco had been brushing him off all year, he didn't even like him any more – run off with Snape back to the Dark Lord. Vin hadn't even believed Draco really got Marked last summer, it just seemed so silly to think He'd be interested in schoolkids, though they'd played up like anything in the train last year when Draco told them he was 'cos he always liked an audience, Draco did. But it was true. Draco was gone, Snape too – and old Dumbles was dead.

Dead! And everyone was saying it was Snape that did it and those rumours about his Death Eater past were true. Old Snape that never laid a finger on anyone even when he was frothing, not even on Bottoms or Potty! There'd been a battle in the school – actually inside the school – with Death Eaters and werewolves. And Draco was all mixed up in it somehow. That was what he'd been doing in that room all year, figuring out how to let them in. And now he was gone and it was odds-on they'd never see him again. Not alive, anyway.

Till this year they'd always done things together, good or bad. Quidditch, messing around, duelling the Gryffs – Heck, they'd even been slugs together a year ago! He'd never expected to have a day worse that that one, dragged off the Hogwarts Express by their cringing mums and off to St Mungo's, without having avenged their dads.

But this was worse. Draco was gone and it was just him and Greg. And what were they going to do without him?

Standing at the crossroads, don't know which way to turn,
Behind the fire rages and everything, it burns.
Should I take the path of our fathers,
Try to quench it with oil?
Take the way of my teachers,
Watch the kettles boil?
Follow along with my friends around,
Pretend there's nothing there?
I see one path left to me,
Build a bridge to despair.

Their dads were Death Eaters – well, his and Draco's were and he'd bet that Greg's was too, even if he hadn't been on that mission that landed their dads in Azkaban. No use asking them what to do next.

And their teachers – all but Snape and he was a Death Eater too and no longer available for advice– weren't interested in helping Slytherins. They'd known that since first year.

And his friends? Pansy and Blaise were too frightened to speak to him, something about not wanting to get caught up in Draco's mess, and Greg – well, Greg was straight as a die and loyal as a Huffie, but you wouldn't call him the world's greatest thinker. He was just as confused as Vin himself, but he'd just keep plodding along in the same direction he'd always gone, like an ox to the plough. It'd take an earthquake to shift him.

I don't know where,
I only know it's not there,
It's not the way I'm going.
I'm going the wrong way,
Going the long way
Home.

Caught up in Draco's mess – They were, weren't they, him and Greg? Not that they'd had the foggiest what they were guarding, only that it was against school rules, but would the Aurors believe that if they came nosing around? Not likely, not when his dad was in Azkaban already. It'd be guilt by association, just like always.

All he could hope was that no one knew. The Gryffs had spoken to Greg twice, but luckily he'd been a girl both times and they hadn't recognised him. Who'd have thought that Potty Scarhead would hit on a first year though? Draco almost hadn't been able to persuade Greg to help again after that.

So maybe they were safe. But then what? Exams had been cancelled, which meant they wouldn't get to re-sit their Defense O.W.L.s after all. And he was sure he'd have passed them this time after a year of Snape's tutoring, maybe even scraped an Exceeds Expectations if he was very lucky. Now people were saying the school might not even open next year. What was he going to do with no dad to smooth his way and only Acceptables in Herbology, Potions and Care of Magical Creatures from last year's O.W.L.s to show an employer? There wasn't even anyone to ask. He didn't even know Sluggy – never had a class with him – but everyone knew he only cared about clever clogs and connectables.

Asked the wide world to tell me,
How do I get through?
What's left to believe in,
What's left to do?
Should I climb as high as the mountains,
Till the air's too thin to breathe?
Float along with the river,
Till it washes me to sea?
Hack a path through the forest,
Where I cannot see the sky?
Sink in the sand of the marshland,
Wait alone to die?

He scratched his head. That was silly, that was, that verse was pushing it a bit. He wouldn't even have written it down only it reminded him of a story Draco had made up once for one of their games, back when they were small and still acting out adventures. Liu Ching Liondragon had got lost – not really, just pretending – and Barney Basilisk and Maxi Manticore had been looking for him around Draco's house. They'd hunted up and down the stairs for mountains, through long empty hallways for deep-cleft rivers, into the lush green conservatory like a forest over their heads, and out to the lawn, where they all got walloped for digging holes.

I don't know where,
I only know it's not there,
It's not the way I'm going.
I'm going the wrong way,
Going the long way
Home

He turned his head a moment to watch Greg, sitting stiff and silent and hunched over his beetle collection, like he always did when he was upset, then looked back to his book. His eyes burned as he ripped out the page and crumpled it into a tight little ball. He wanted those days back again. But Draco was gone.