The Last Two Standing
Chapter 3
Draco gasped as he tried to catch his breath. He was sure the day could not get much worse. First, he had traveled all night only to find Hogwarts locked and apparently abandoned. Unable to get inside and not wanting to risk being recognized in Hogsmead, Draco had flown to the nearest Muggle town, hoping to get some food. He had left his broom hidden in a copse of trees and walked toward the town, only to have a Muggle with a sword accost him and threaten to chop off his head.
Draco had been unable to retrieve his broom in his haste to lose his pursuer in the woods. Now he was lost and the sword-carrying imbecile was still following him. Twice he had thought he had managed to elude the Muggle, but each time the man had turned up again.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," a voice sang out.
Draco glared in the sword-carrier's direction. There did not seem to be any way to shake this cretin. Of course, things would be much different if he had a wand.
"I can feel you nearby, little mouse. You can't hide from me."
Draco decided that he had had enough of this sword-carrying Muggle. Looking around, he spied a promising looking branch. At about two inches thick and four feet long, he thought he might be able to make a dent in the idiot's head with it. Perhaps he even could hit the dolt hard enough to knock some sense into him.
The Muggle grinned as Draco stepped out from his hiding place about twenty feet away, branch in hand.
"So you found a weapon, did you? Think that will keep me from taking your head?"
With a determined grin in return, Draco said, "You want me so badly, come and get me."
Draco waited until the Muggle was almost within striking distance then cried, "Accio Sword!"
The Muggle stopped in surprise as the sword flew from his hands. Jumping to the side to avoid the flying weapon, Draco used his momentum to swing the branch with all his might. The Muggle dropped to the ground, the sword clanging slightly as it hit a tree.
"I'll give you an 'A' for resourcefulness," a voice said from Draco's right.
Springing back, Draco dropped the branch, grabbed the sword and held it at ready against this possible new menace. While he was unfamiliar with this sort of blade, a sword was a much more comforting weapon than a branch. "What do you want?" Draco hissed, stepping back from the still body on the ground, but keeping both men in his sights.
"Just passing by and saw that neat little trick you pulled on Travis," Methos said, leaning casually against a tree. "Don't let me keep you from finishing up."
Draco frowned, puzzled. "It is finished. He's unconscious, isn't he?"
Methos gazed at him for a moment without saying anything, and then, muttering under his breath, he walked toward Draco. He stopped just short of where Travis lay.
"Listen, kid," Methos said. "He'll come after you again when he wakes up. Travis doesn't strike me as the type to take being bested lying down… so to speak."
Draco's memory flashed back to his last night at Hogwarts, standing on the Astronomy tower, only a few months past. "I don't make a habit of killing men in cold blood."
"That's your prerogative, but in this world it's either kill or be killed. Travis has been hunting your kind for centuries. He won't rest until he has your head."
"What do you mean, 'my kind'?" Draco asked, eyes narrowed, as he carefully circled Travis' body, keeping it between the other man and himself. He did not believe the man was referring to wizards. No Muggle would last very long if he threw himself after wizards with nothing more than a sword. And what did he mean by 'centuries'? Muggles did not live that long.
"New immortals," Methos said, slowly grinning as Draco's face showed momentary surprise.
"You're daft," Draco said. "Not even the Dark Lord is immortal."
Methos laughed softly as he studied Draco. "Do you feel that buzz? That's because another immortal is nearby. That's how Travis found you. It's how he'll keep finding you until he takes your head."
Draco frowned as he realized the man was right. He had been feeling a buzz off and on since Travis had first appeared. It was especially loud at the moment. "And I suppose you are one of these 'immortals'," Draco finally said.
"The only immortal you need to be concerned about at the moment is the one lying at your feet," Methos replied.
"I'll be gone before he wakes up," Draco said.
"That might work," Methos said thoughtfully, "at least until the next immortal tries to take your head."
"How many of you aberrations are there?" Draco asked in exasperation. While his wandless Accio ability was an advantage, he could not depend on it to get him out of every situation. Moreover, dodging flying swords was a danger in itself.
"Enough to keep you running for a very long time," Methos said. "You might want to learn to use that sword. It might keep your head attached for a while longer."
Before Draco could think of a response, his feet were knocked out from under him and he found himself laying flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him and Travis standing over him once again holding the sword. Draco barely managed to roll away before the sword struck the ground where his neck had been only a second before.
"What is it with you people and taking heads? The French revolution was over centuries ago," Draco spat out as he rolled to his feet, watching Travis warily. Judging by the death grip Travis had on his sword, Draco did not think Accio would work a second time.
Travis backed off a few paces as he warily eyed Methos who calmly watched the proceedings. "You know the rules, Adams. No interference once the fight is engaged."
Methos grinned disarmingly, then pulled a sword from under his coat and tossed it toward Draco. "Catch, kid!"
Travis cursed loudly as Draco caught the sword. "Your head is next, Adams," Travis snarled.
"Come now. What sort of fight is it when your opponent is unarmed?" Methos chided.
Turning his attention back to Draco, who was clumsily holding the sword in front of him, Travis grinned maliciously. "Your quickening is mine, little mouse," he purred just before he swung his sword.
Travis bellowed angrily as Draco dived underneath the sword's arc and rolled away. Before he could turn to face Draco, Travis' sword fell from his suddenly numb fingers. Looking down, Travis momentarily saw the tip of a sword protruding from between his ribs.
As Travis sank to his knees, Draco stepped back on shaking legs and pulled his borrowed sword free. It seemed his fencing lessons had not been a total waste after all. His former instructor might not approve of his technique, but he would not be able to fault the outcome.
"That will teach you to become over-confident, Travis," Methos chided, then turned to Draco. "The only way to finish it, kid, is to take his head."
Draco raised the sword but hesitated as Travis, kneeling on the ground in pain, glared up at him.
"It's him or you, kid," Methos said in a soft tone.
Travis gave an evil grin as the sword tip wavered. "You're mine, mouse," he growled.
Draco gritted his teeth as he swung, and then closed his eyes as Travis' head rolled away. He did not see Methos step back as the first tendrils of the quickening sought Draco out.
~ * ~
Harry tore down the stairs leading into the lobby of the inn. His only thought was to get to Ron and Hermione.
"Harry, wait. Let's talk this through first."
Harry turned angrily as MacLeod approached. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, Mr. MacLeod, but I need to get back to my friends."
"Harry, let's sit and have a drink. If you still want to leave afterwards, I'll help you find your friends." MacLeod motioned toward a table in the corner of the inn.
Harry glanced toward the front door, then back at MacLeod as he tried to make up his mind what to do. He realized he did not have much of a chance of finding the Burrow with no wand, no money and no real idea of where he was.
Harry was about to admit defeat and join MacLeod at a table when two men walked through the front door. Even with a hat covering his blond hair, Harry recognized the man who had just entered. All the pent up emotional turmoil Harry had been put through that day finally found a focus. "Malfoy!"
Draco barely had time to register surprise before a furious Harry was in his face.
"Where's your father? I'm going to kill the bastard."
Draco snarled in return. "Isn't this just my luck! I can't even become an immortal without The Chosen One becoming one as well."
Draco's benefactor gave the arguing teens a wide berth as he joined MacLeod at the corner table. "Looks like we found a matched set," Methos said as he sat down and motioned to the barman for a beer.
"I though you didn't believe in helping anyone but yourself, Methos," MacLeod said with a grin as he nodded toward the blond teen.
"Bloody boy scout," Methos muttered with a mock-glare at MacLeod. "I think you've infected me."
MacLeod shook his head then returned his attention to the shouting teens. "Should we stop them before they resort to fists?"
"Neither of them has a sword, so it's not like they can really hurt each other," Methos said.
MacLeod rolled his eyes at his friend. "Looks like it's too late anyway," he observed as Draco reeled from a punch Harry threw.
"Not much in the way of technique," Methos observed as both teens landed on the floor and began raining blows on whatever flesh was available.
"They're still young," MacLeod replied. "Give them a few centuries and I'm sure they'll improve."
The two older immortals serenely drank their beers as the teens continued to scuffle on the floor. When it looked like neither boy had much left to give, but both were too stubborn to actually stop, MacLeod walked over to the bar, asked for a bucket of ice, then calmly dumped the contents onto the heads of the two teens, effectively ending the battle.
~ * ~
"Are you picking up strays again, MacLeod?" Joe asked with a nod at the two sullen teens as he joined his friends at the inn later that evening. He had been quite relieved when Rachel had called and told him that the missing MacLeod had resurfaced. It looked as though Methos' help had not been needed after all.
"Actually, the blond came with Adam," MacLeod said, and then introduced Joe to the two teens.
Joe nodded a greeting to the boys and called for a beer.
"I thought your name was Adams?" Draco asked suspiciously of Methos, stressing the 's' at the end of the name.
"In another place and time," Methos replied nostalgically. "I currently prefer Adam Pierson. He's a nice, unobtrusive soul. Devoted to his books."
"Devoted to mooching off his friends and giving unwanted advice," Joe interrupted with a chuckle. "Don't listen to a word he says, kid."
"You wound me, Joe," Methos gasped, holding his hand over his heart.
Giving a derisive snort, Joe turned to MacLeod. "So, what the hell happened to you, Mac.? You disappear into thin air, and then show up later like nothing happened. What gives?"
MacLeod explained about the insane man who thought he could find the secret to immortality by torturing the information from him. He also explained how Harry had killed the man, but had then been killed himself. He did not, however, mention anything about wizards or magic.
"Of course," Draco snorted into his soft drink (the adults wouldn't let him have anything stronger), "the Boy Who Lived not only takes on the Dark Lord and wins yet again, but now he's effin' Boy Who Can't Die."
"Don't call me that," Harry snapped.
"I do hope you actually killed him for good this time, Potter," Draco continued. "Your fans will be so disappointed if he keeps coming back every decade or so."
"He's dead, alright," Harry replied heatedly. "There wasn't anything more than a smudge left of him."
"And whom do we have to thank for your untimely demise, brief though it might have been?" Draco asked.
"Your father," Harry snapped. "Next time you see him, tell him I'll be coming for him next."
"I don't think that will be an issue," MacLeod interrupted. "Lucius was out cold when that building went up in flames." He then turned to Draco. "Lucius was your father?"
Draco gave MacLeod a wary look. While Adam and Joe seemed pleasant enough, MacLeod was a bit forbidding. "He raised me," Draco said cautiously, "but I do not claim him as my father."
"What?" Harry exclaimed in disbelief. "You worship the ground he walks on, Malfoy."
"It appears that we not only share our immortality, but the same man is responsible for initiating our condition," Draco said, then smirked at Harry's stunned expression. "I'm not sure if I should thank him … or kill him."
"What kind of father kills his own son?" Harry gasped in shock.
"As if you know anything about fathers, Potter, seeing as you've never had one," Draco snapped. While he might want his father dead, defending the man to others had become a habit for Draco.
"Have you two ever had a civil conversation before?" MacLeod interrupted.
"Of course," Draco replied with a smirk, "just not with each other."
"Then maybe you could ignore each other for a while and give the rest of us a break," Joe said.
Draco and Harry glared at each other while the other men talked and then Harry remembered what had precipitated his running into Draco in the first place.
"Mr. MacLeod…" Harry began, then paused when Methos started chuckling.
"Please, Harry, call me Mac. Mr. MacLeod sounds so old."
"Yeah, he's only four hundred and something," Methos chortled.
"And you're older than that," MacLeod said, glaring at his friend.
"Don't you two start," Joe said. "You should be setting an example for the younger generation."
"What were you going to say, Harry?" MacLeod asked, turning pointedly away from the grinning Methos.
"I still need to get back to my friends," Harry said.
Methos cocked his head to one side as he looked at Harry. "Don't your friends think you're dead?"
Draco snorted. "The whole wizarding world thinks he's dead."
Harry gaped at Draco. "They do?"
Draco sat up straighter, warming to his subject. "You should have heard all the talk on the streets as we were coming here. Everywhere we went they were lamenting. 'Oh, woe is me, the Chosen One is gone. Whatever shall we do now?'" Draco dramatically threw an arm over his forehead as if he felt faint.
"Yeah, right," Harry complained. "Like they'd even care now that Voldemort is gone."
"Well, I certainly don't," Draco said, and then added with a pained sigh. "But unfortunately I know the truth and am unable to celebrate the great loss of our national hero."
"Of all the people I have to become immortal with, why did it have to be you?" Harry grumbled.
"It could be worse, Potter," Draco said. "It could be Snape."
When Harry's eyes narrowed angrily, MacLeod realized an explosion was imminent.
"Harry, about your friends," MacLeod began, diverting Harry's attention from Draco. "We immortals keep our existence to ourselves for the most part." He glanced briefly at Joe, one of the few mortals who knew about them, then returned his attention to Harry. "How would you explain all this if you did go back?"
Harry sat back with his arms crossed. "Ron and Hermione would understand. I can tell them anything."
"Right, just like the Weasel understood about the Triwizard Tournament," Draco said in his slow drawl. "He didn't speak to you for some time after you were selected. Does the term 'jealousy' mean anything to you?"
"He thought I had found a way to enter and didn't tell him," Harry said through gritted his teeth. "It was that fake Moody that put my name in." Harry slowly grinned. "The same guy that thought you would look good as a ferret."
Draco's face turned pale then a faint pink flush touched his cheeks.
"Moving on," Joe interrupted before another argument could start. "Harry, if your friend was jealous over some tournament that he didn't get in, how do you think he's going to feel when you tell him you get to live forever and he doesn't?"
"You're not an immortal and you're friends with Mac and Adam," Harry said with a stubborn set to his jaw.
"I knew about immortals long before I met them," Joe said. "To be honest, I'd rather have a mortal life than have to constantly worry about someone taking my head."
"You're still young, Harry. Your friends may not have a problem now, but what happens when they start getting older and you're still seventeen?"
Harry pondered that for a moment. "They might be immortals, too."
"I can tell when I'm around someone who could become an immortal and I felt nothing from either of them; just from you," MacLeod said with a compassionate glance at Harry.
"Thank Merlin," Draco muttered. "I'd hate to think I'd have to spend eternity with the Weasel, too."
Harry stood up so quickly that his chair fell over behind him. "You selfish, little bastard. It's just like all that pure-blood trash you used to spout. Now you'll lord it over everyone else that you're immortal and they aren't."
"I hardly plan to 'lord it over' anyone, Potter," Draco said icily. "If the rest of the world found out about immortals, it would only be a matter of time until they found out how to kill us. I, for one, rather like my head right were it is."
"That is true, Harry," MacLeod interrupted gently. "There are those who would kill us just because of what we are."
"It would give the term 'witch-hunt' a whole new meaning," Draco added acidly.
Harry ran a hand through his hair in agitation then dropped back into his chair that Methos had fortunately set back upright. "Ron and Hermione would keep it a secret," he said softly, as if to convince himself more than his companions. "I know they would if I asked."
"Why don't you sleep on it, Harry?" Joe suggested, downing the last of his beer. It had been a long day for all of them, the two teens especially. "It's too late to do anything tonight anyway. I'm ready for a bed, myself."
"I think I'll turn in too," Methos said. "My plane leaves Dublin tomorrow morning."
"Where are you off to now?" MacLeod asked as he stood also.
"I plan to be on the first plane that's going someplace warm and sunny," Methos said with a grin.
"Are you coming, Harry?" MacLeod asked when Harry remained in his chair.
Harry managed a small smile, but shook his head. "I think I'll just sit here for a bit. I don't think I could go to sleep right now anyway. Too much has happened." He sipped the remainder of his drink as he watched the four men leave the room.
In the hallway outside his room, Methos stopped and turned to MacLeod. "Bet you ten that he's gone come morning."
Joe chuckled softly. "That's a sucker bet."
MacLeod just shook his head. "I think I'll keep my money."