Draco Malfoy could not help but feeling disgusted at the sight of those Muggles hovering in the air. But was he disgusted because the men in dark robes and masks humiliated innocent people or because the possibility that his father had sunken that low was extremely high?
Draco looked over his shoulder where he could watch Potter disappearing with his friends behind the trees. What was St. Potter thinking? That Draco would be proud of his father disgracing himself with behaving like a barbarian from the 16th century? He wished that his father would be here by his side right now, sneering at those Muggles and ensuring Draco that disgust was not what he should feel right now. And he was worried about his mother.
Narcissa had woken him up and told him to stay here, before she had disappeared in the rows of tents, searching for her husband.
Draco pulled some branches apart to enhance his view. Flames burst out of a near tent, trying to swallow another one to the right and far closer to Draco. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the dark shapes of people approaching him from the left. Draco gulped, unsure what to do. His mother had told him to let the tempest howl and hide in the safety of the woods, but it did not look this safe anymore with men approaching him and flames trying to burn him, not to forget that behind him Potter and his friends waited for him.
Draco stepped out from behind the branches. He would search for his mother and tell her to bring him home. Father was able to look after himself.
Draco tried not to look at the men, who were talking… no, yelling at each other. Quickly, he walked over to the burning tent, not expecting the flames to feel so hot on his skin, although he was in a safe distance. Behind him, the yelling grew louder, otherwise Draco would have taken a closer look at the masses of flames hungrily devouring the tent.
It took him a while to realise that the yelling was addressed to him. When he turned around, long arms of fire were reaching to the opposite tent and blocking his view. Draco stood still and tried to listen closer, but over the screams he could not understand a single thing. And the orange and red fire in front of him was also crackling and rustling.
Draco made a step backwards – directly into the firing line of someone's wand. A flash of red light flew past him, only inches away from his eyes. Draco was startled, not expecting those men to aim at him. He turned his head just to see another red light coming into his direction.
Everything around him slowed down, the yelling and screaming drowned by the rush of blood in his ears. Something grabbed him from behind; Draco gasped, his eyes widened and his heart was beating in every vein when he slumped with his back flat on the ground.
"Stay down," a rough voice told him. Long hair was brushing over Draco's forehead when the man leant over him, screaming at someone opposite from them. "It's just a child, you bloody idiots!" Then he looked down at Draco and his until then angry expression became softer. "You're okay?"
Draco was certainly not okay. Everything but that other face was a blur, voices mingled to incomprehensible sounds, and that fire in the background was causing such an unbearable heat that Draco was sweating. Or was it the flaming red hair of the man? He could not make up the difference, but found a saving anchor from his confusion when he looked into the pale blue eyes, like the purest water of an untouched spring.
"Where are your parents?" The man talked slow, or was it Draco's mind perverting reality? "Don't you speak English?"
Draco blinked. "I…" As his view became clearer again, Draco noticed a green light illuminating the sky. His eyes grew big again and he grabbed the man's arm, hastily sitting up. He was shaking when the skull in the sky sharpened its form, a tongue rolling out of the mouth and moving like a snake.
The man followed his gaze and gasped at the sight of the Dark Mark. Draco tried to rise to his feet, but strong hands grabbed his shoulders, keeping Draco from running away in panic. Something hot dripped on his arm. Draco tore his gaze from the Dark Mark and stared at the blood filling a deep cut in the man's arm, literally floating over his skin and dripping onto Draco's arm, his robe and pyjama shirt.
"You… you…" His stuttering was pathetic, especially compared to the other's tranquillity.
"Just a cut. Don't worry." He offered Draco a smile. "Listen. I want you to go into the woods and hide there. I'll be with you in –"
"Bill? Bill, we need you here!"
The man, Bill, looked away and his smile disappeared. He was obviously unsure if it was wrong to leave Draco alone now, having a lot reason to consider him a helpless child.
Draco loosened his grip around the injured arm and when Bill looked at him, he shoved him roughly away.
"I can look after myself," he snapped, stumbled to his feet and hurried away, hoping to find his father safely at their tent and ready to sneer at him for fearing the Dark Mark… and for wanting to cling to another man for protection of it.