White Knight
It was cold. Bitterly cold. The kind of cold that crept into your bones when you weren't paying attention and prevented you from making yourself warm again, no matter how hard you tried. And damp. It was damp also. Water dripped down the cold stone walls of the little cell, making the air smell musty, like mould.
Harry was sat in the corner of his cell, his head limp against the stone, his breathing ragged and laboured. His face was covered in dark purple bruises, his lip split and oozing blood. The Death Eaters had been ecstatic when they had captured him, and although they knew they couldn't kill him, they had definitely shown him their warmest Death Eater's welcome, granting him no mercy, healing him just enough so that he would live long enough for Voldemort's arrival.
The door to his cell creaked open and he tensed automatically. This was it. He was here surely. A set of light footsteps rushed down the stone steps and Draco appeared at the bottom of the stars. Harry heaved a sigh of relief as the blond boy hurried over to him and knelt so that their faces were mere inches apart. Harry smiled as the boy took his face in his hands and kissed him gingerly.
"About time too," Harry wheezed. Draco rolled his steely grey eyes and unscrewed his hip-flask, holding the water to Harry's mouth.
"Drink," he murmured, helping Harry to raise his head to the water.
"I knew you would come," Harry whispered.
"Of course," Draco smiled, "now shush. Save your strength," he said, kissing Harry once more. He scooped his up into his arms and threw Harry's invisibility cloak over them, and with his lover in his arms, he left Malfoy Manner without a backwards glance.