The boys waited until the next day to return to the pensieve and Flamel. When the sun's rays glinted off the black lake and the trees were aglow in the sunrise, they made their way back up to McGonagall's office; both too tired from the previous night to do much more than move one foot in front of the other. At one point they had to stop because Potter had gotten himself stuck in the trick stair, and Draco spent a good ten minutes trying to get him out.

When they finally reached McGonagall's office, the sun had risen further, now peaking over the tops of the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Draco entered the office first; Severus behind him gave him a nod of greeting. Dumbledore wasn't in his portrait; McGonagall sat, wide awake and reading her papers again, at her desk. As Potter entered and immediately tripped over Draco, sending them both sprawling (and Severus sniggering from his portrait) McGonagall looked up. One glance at the boys and she waved her wand in the general direction of the cupboard to the left of the pensieve's one. Out of it flew two Pepperup potions; Draco tipped his head back and drank it immediately, blinking away his lingering tiredness. He made his way over to the pensieve cupboard, watched it float out slowly, Flamel's memory still lingering from yesterday. He didn't look over at Potter to see if he was ready before going face-first into the potion again.

He didn't land on his feet; instead he attempted to roll as he landed. He realised, as he tried this, that he had landed on a hill. And he was rolling down it.

He went tumbling down the side of the hill, entirely out of control, distantly noting that it was night here as the sky and the ground blurred together in an indistinguishable mess of muted colours and grass.

As he stood up, brushing off grass blades from his robes, Potter came tumbling into his feet, sending Draco down again. Bloody Gryffindors.

When the two had managed to organise themselves, they took in their surroundings.

This wasn't where they'd appreared last time.

They were at the base of a hill; to one side rose the great sloping side of the hill they'd rolled down, and to the other lay a- a wasteland, pretty much.

Flat, barren plains; bits of rubble scattered here and there; concrete patches worn and melted into dirt and dust. Heat seemed to radiate off of it, engulfing Draco where he stood.

Potter moved towards it.

"No, you moron," Draco said, grabbing his robes. "Potter, honestly. We don't know where we are, we could've been trapped somewhere, and you want to go into that place?"

"Well what do you suggest we do, Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Get the high ground, obviously. Have you never done strategizing, ever? You fought a war! Well, in any case. The idea, Potter, is that you get up somewhere high; not only is it easier to defend from oncoming attackers, it also provides a good vantage point. Come on now, hup-hup. Up we go."

They made their way up quietly. For all Draco's wit and joking at the base of the hill, where they were hidden from whatever lay on the other side of this hill, he was rather nervous. He was in foreign territory; he didn't know where he was or who else might be here, and while he trusted Potter with his life (he already owed him a life debt; how couldn't he?) and he knew Potter was more than capable of defending them both, Draco knew he was almost entirely incompetent in offense. He was unbelievable talented at defense, but if he was asked to attack... he just couldn't. He'd always been taught that the best form of offense is a good defense.

They mounted the hill. It appeared to be the highest of a series of hills; behind him, he could see that flat wasteland, stretching out to the horizon. To his left was a forest- with a sigh of relief, Draco recognised it as the forest he and Potter had fallen into the last time they'd arrived here. Before him, over a rolling landscape of hills, lay the plains, and- there it was- Flamel's modest little cabin.

Draco pointed it out to Potter, and they started making their way down the hill. About a third of the way down, Potter muttered, "Oh, I'm done with this," lay down, and went rolling down the hill. Draco watched, incredulous, at Potter's absolute lack of care for his clothes and his honour... although he was, admittedly, moving faster than Draco.

But Draco's pride wouldn't let him roll down the hill like a- a four-year-old, so he kept walking.

When Draco reached the bottom of the hill, Potter was halfway up the next one. When he reached the top, Potter was at the bottom. Draco looked around him; determining that Potter was, indeed, the only other person who could see Draco, he lay down hesitantly, and then lost control and went rolling down the hill. When he reached the bottom, he rolled a little up the next one; he stood up, but while rolling, his robes had tangles themselves. Above him, Potter snickered, watching Draco struggle with the expensive fabric that had knotted and twisted itself around him; he turned around, trying to see an end of the mess, but just fell over. Potter's snickers turned into chuckles. Draco looked up from the floor at him, glaring, and Potter started wheezing.

A few minutes of struggling and breathless laughter later, Draco (defeated) finally turned to Potter and said, "Help."

"Hmm... Not sure I will, Malfoy. It's quite entertaining, seeing you all tied up like this."

Draco's eyes glinted dangerously. "Potter..."

He laughed as he made his way down to Draco. "Alright, alright. Look- here-" He pulled on one strip of fabric, just out of Draco's view, and the whole mess unraveled.

Trying to save his dignity as much as he could, Draco stuck his nose in the air, brushed off his robes, and gave a snooty "Thank you." before carrying on up the hill, past a still-smiling Potter.

He rolled down the rest of the hills, levitating his robes behind him so as to not get tangled up in them again, finally coming to a stop on the plains. As he put his robes back on, Potter rolled down beside him, and stood, staring at the cabin with him. By now the full moon had risen and hung nearly overhead; the cabin's lights were out, and no smoke emerged from the chimney. The curtains were drawn, the door shut firmly, and Draco could feel that the magic in the wards were stronger.

Potter went ahead of him; about halfway there, he froze. He was staring at the cabin; Draco was too far away to see. He made his way over to Potter; when he saw what Potter had, he froze, too.

Lingering on the fringes of the woods behind the cabin were two glowing yellow eyes.

Surrounding them were what must have been dozens of black figures, hidden in shadow, but Draco could make out all too well what they were.

Shaggy beasts, stood tall on their hind legs.

The one with the bright yellow eyes growled; a low, menacing sound that reverberated through the ground, shaking Draco's bones. The rest of the group growled in response.

Potter adjusted his stance slightly; his right foot moved backwards and pivoted him so he was facing the forest. He raised his wand, too, crouched down slightly but head up, eyes trained on the pack. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but strong.

"Werewolves."