The alleyway was dark, filled with crushed beer cans, glass shards, and the pouring rain. Cracks ran deep through the concrete and cars could be heard from the distance. Even though it was day, the alley was nearly pitch black. Harry felt no fear, but when he turned around he saw Draco's head wildly turning at any sound. Unfortunately, this wasn't America where you could buy guns at any local hunting store, so here they were waiting for a shady guy from a shady website in a shady area. Harry's shaggy appearance had made him fit perfectly in with the population on the way here, but Draco's expensive attire and aristocratic look made people take a second glance. Sticking a hand in his jean pocket, he felt the damp money that he'd stolen from his uncle's wallet.

When footsteps echoed through the brick cage, Harry watched as a hooded man strolled their way. He had a black backpack and a couple of teardrops permanently inked under his eye. Draco held back a screech, but his face was enough to give away that he was practically a deer in headlights. The guy flashed a cocky smile, and shrugged the bag off of his shoulder. Once unzipped, he pulled out a silver pistol and a package of bullets. Harry smiled at the prospects, but Draco gave a pained expression. Harry reaches out for the toy, but the man pulled back and implied that Harry had to pay for the goods first. Harry pulled out the crumpled hundred dollar bills, and stuck them in the dirty hand of the sketchy man. Then, he grasped the gun and bullets. As soon as the exchange occurred, the man returnegulpedd to the direction he'd came from. Harry gripped the gun. It felt natural and oddly soothing. It was the first time in a while that he didn't feel completely helpless, or out of control.

"They're a whole army, Potter. A measly gun can't stop that." Draco argued, my hw was so naive.

Harry glanced at him calmly and spoke what he knew to be true, "They're cowards flocking towards power. You kill the leader, the others scatter. They don't want to be held accountable." Facts hurt. Draco stayed quiet, and considered his father being cowardice, but he could never look at his own father in that sort of light. "Give me the address to the lair."

"I don't know if I would call it a lair...it's my home." Draco spoke softly, feeling unfortunately fond of the house he'd been brought up in. This was right, though, he knew it was. "I'll show you how to get there."

***

The car approached a set of open gates, which were always propped open when meetings were held. "What're we going to do after this?" Draco asked, not sure if he even wanted to know. Would there even be an "after this"?

"Flee. We'll ditch this place, and set up shop in London."

"With no money?"

Harry chuckled, "Who said we had no money?"

Draco knew the walls were practically soundproof, but still closed the car door lightly. He peered at the giant blue house with vines climbing mindlessly up the side. For the first time, he realized what was happening. A mentally ill teenager, who was hyped up on antidepressants and only just left the hospital, is leading him on a suicide mission that includes killing family friends and fleeing to have sex in London. Also, he'd only known the boy for a couple of months. Harry looked so determined, any onlookers would've sworn that red flickered in his bright green eyes. He stood like a character on a crime show, with the gun pointing at the gravel and his feet spread apart.

They crept to the side of the house, where a window would lead right into the dining room. Voldemort would be at the head of the table, and in perfect alignment with the stain glass window. The stained glass would allow for any people within to not notice the two shadows fiddling with a weapon outside. Harry crept up to the window, and could see the bald man's head through a green tile of glass. The gun was cocked and ready. He lifted the heavy item with two hands, closed an eye, lined up the sights, and rested a firm finger on the trigger. Bang!

The sudden sound was familiar to both boys: Draco had witnessed shootings and Harry heard a similar bang when the two cars collided suddenly. The bullet pierced and resides in the man's head, not enough force to make it fully pass through. At first the man maintained a perfect and harrowing posture, but he quickly sunk into the posture of a crippled old man. By the placement of the hole, the bullet must've hit the brain stem, which meant it was over—plain and simple.

Harry barely moved from the recoil, still holding a firm grip on the gun, and watched as the entire group turned to face the murderer. As Harry suspected, rather than attacking back or heading to obtain weaponry they ran away like scared school children. They scattered—likely finding hiding spots around the house—but Harry didn't care because his job was done. Without a leader, they were just cowards. His breathe was shaky from the rush of adrenaline that coarser through his veins, as he watched the man lay on the ground, blood pouring from the wound. Harry smirked a bit because he'd won. What were the cowards going to do, call the cops? No, then they'd get arrested. Harry turned around to see Draco wasn't feeling the same high that he was.

Draco suspected he might have peed his pants, but he didn't. The man he'd feared his whole life was just easily bested and vanquished by a teenager. When you watch the scariest man you know get killed, you wonder if he really was the scariest. Was Harry the scariest? Was Harry the real threat? He glanced at Harry as if it's answer his question, but he was met with hesitant green eyes.

Seeing that Draco appeared to be as pale as a ghost who lived in Alaska, he pulled the boy's sleeve and enveloped him in comforting arms when the boy came close enough. He couldn't tell if it helped, though, because Draco maintained the mortified expression. Harry noticed he'd still had the gun and dropped the useless weapon to the ground. Holding Draco and peering down at the gun was the first time in the last few weeks that he'd actually considered that he hadn't been thinking straight. He didn't know how to fix it, though. His parents were no longer there to guide him. Then, he was pulled from his own thoughts by noticing that Draco was shaking. Harry tightened the embrace in the hope that this would better comfort the boy.