Thank you all again for reading and offering your comments, as well as to those of you who encouraged me to write this in the first place. I'm posting a day early because well, I'm unexpectedly home thanks to Mother Nature. Also, chapters will be longer from here on out, though not always as long as this. Finally, the locations included in this story are very real, but they exist a little differently for everyone who's been there. Thank you for taking the time to read my account.
Harry Potter and all other related elements belong to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement intended.
In the end, Ron and Hermione are not as hard to convince as Draco expected. Then again, Draco may fib a bit about "non-refundable fees," and he silently nods in mock-serious-solidarity with Ron as he rages about "bloody Harry's bloody nerve," all in the hopes that eventually one or the other of them might come 'round to his way of thinking and agree to continue with the trip as planned.
It really is Hermione's curiosity that decides it, much as Draco hoped when he appealed to her first and loudly, so as to make his case over Weasley's increasingly vehement curses.
"We've come all this way and we've found him, Hermione," he says patiently as they sit in the open courtyard of the inn sipping Muggle ale and eating exotically spiced foods Draco can't quite identify. "Don't you want to know what he's been doing? Why he left? We've wondered for so long, and with nothing to do but walk for a week, don't you want to take the chance to ask?"
Her eyes betray her even as she chews her lip in a trademark-Hermione gesture, and Draco knows they'll be outside Potter's office in the morning. The rest of the meal passes quietly except for Ron's occasional outbursts, and the shock of the day drives Draco into deep, if not entirely restful sleep.
The next morning dawns hot and sticky, and the three of them squint into the equatorial sun as they make their way out of the gated entrance to the inn and down the street to Potter's office. Ron is still cursing, albeit with less vehemence, and Hermione is quiet, though Draco thinks if he listens hard enough, he can hear her mind whirring like a time-turner.
For his own part, Draco is uncharacteristically excited, and it's unsettling him. Nothing about this day fits Draco Malfoy at all; he's dressed in an odd array of khakis and greens and browns in fabrics with names he's never heard of, though the woman at the Muggle store they'd bought their clothing and equipment from assured them they were "only the best thing in trekking fabrics." Whatever the hell that meant. Potter's company's colourful brochures and pre-trip instructions had included the London shop's name with a note that instructed prospective wizarding clients that for those interested in climbing "the Muggle way," they'd do best to buy the recommended items on the list, even if it meant a trip into the Muggle stores and feigning comprehension of words like "synthetic" and "fiber fill" and "wicking."
Draco suspects all they really did was part with a lot more money than was strictly necessary, but Weasley wants to do this like the Muggles do, and apparently Wanderlust Expeditions -Potter - has rules about magic. Draco groans just thinking about that. Apparently he's going to be expected to do a good bit of this so-called trek without magic, and he'd be lying if he said it won't be a struggle.
As they round the bend in the road before the little street Potter's office is on, Weasley, who has been leading their little group because apparently the more he swears, the faster he walks, halts dead in his tracks so quickly that Draco and Hermione both collide with him in surprise.
"Bloody hell..." Ron breathes, and something in his tone makes Draco bit off the insult he's about to spit out. He and Granger both follow Ron's gaze and Draco finds himself unable to choke off the same epithet.
Potter's bloody mountain looms ahead of them in all its snow-covered, sunlit glory this morning, and it is so vast and imposing and impossibly steep that Draco cannot see how any person - magical or not - could ever reach the top on foot. He must be out of his mind, and Potter has clearly lost the plot years ago if he thinks he can get the three of them up that.
It isn't as though they haven't seen pictures, and Draco has seen mountains before, but this is something different entirely. The mass of rock and ice towering over them in the cloudless sky is like a monolith rising out of the savannah all the way to the heavens. It's a volcano, Draco knows - dormant, he checked before agreeing to this insane trip - and now that he's looking at it, he can see how it rose straight up out of the earth in some dramatic, violent fashion that has put fear into him the likes of which he hasn't felt since he was a teenager.
But, there's nothing to be done for it now, so Draco quells his fear by smacking Weasley in the back of the head. Hard.
"Close your mouth, will you? Merlin." Draco arches a disdainful eyebrow at Weasley's glare, but he's fighting a smirk. "You look as though you're trying to catch bugs, and besides, you chose this ridiculous trip up that." He gestures to the peak. "No backing out now, is there Weasel?"
He uses the old nickname now only in jest, and Ron smirks back and pulls a face as he rubs the back of his head.
They set off again, Ron's curses silenced, and Draco gives wordless thanks for that small favor. Perhaps his shock will keep him from hexing Potter on sight, since Ron had been the harder of the two to convince that this venture might be just the thing. As they round the last corner and Potter's office comes into view, Draco breathes in deeply, trying to calm the curlsmolder feeling before it can begin to rise in his chest.
At the same moment, Potter strides through the door of Wanderlust's office right into their path, and his face lights up with such a brilliant smile that Draco is ready to just keep right on walking straight to the base of that ridiculous mountain and up its steepest face if only Potter will smile at him like that when they reach the top. He curses himself and the tendrils of want that curl in his stomach, shaking off his traitorous response to a man who, more than likely, couldn't care less how Draco Malfoy looks at him.
Ron and Hermione barely manage a civil response to Potter's slightly-overenthusiastic greeting, but Draco stays quiet instead of mocking Potter's zeal as he once might have, because any idiot can see Potter is so grateful for the chance to be overly enthusiastic that Draco can't bring himself to stifle it. Neither, it seems, can Ron or Hermione, whose faces both show signs of conflicting emotions that Draco suspects are part irritation at the still-surprising presence of the idiot they've been searching for all this time and part infectious excitement, because that same great idiot is fairly humming with it.
Draco himself is rewarded with a softening of green eyes and a silently-mouthed "thank you," from Potter, coupled with a look at his friends when they aren't looking. Potter's gratitude is so earnest and clear on his face that Draco feels himself blush under his gaze, and he smiles back complicitly in spite of himself.
Deo appears from inside the office and bustles around the three of them, removing spelled packs from their hands and putting them in the boot of a Land Rover (which, Draco thinks to himself inspecting the rickety vehicle, does not look much like the shiny versions he sees on the Ron's Muggle television advertisements).
"Potter." Draco can't help himself. "Why on earth are we putting our things in that...thing? Certainly we could just Apparate to wherever this little adventure starts?"
Potter looks at him wryly.
"Glad you asked, Malfoy," he says, and his face shifts from patented Potter enthusiasm to what Draco thinks must be his Guide face, and his voice, when he speaks again, has a decidedly-businesslike tone. "You've all signed up for a non-magical expedition, and that's precisely what we intend to give you. As such, there are a few rules and procedures you'll be expected to follow, and you will follow them, because we'll be sharing our route with Muggles, and I've no intention of casting Memory Modification charms right and left in our wake.
"First, we'll be driving to the gate to the mountain. All climbers are expected to register, and that includes magical ones. Rescue missions up this thing are hard and costly, but they just plain don't happen if there's no record of you on the mountain to begin with.
"Although," Potter's voice softens for a second, "I've no intention of anyone in this party needing a rescue mission." He gulps and casts his eyes to the ground, and Draco looks at Ron and Hermione. Granger's face has relaxed minutely, and Draco can see the thoughts spinning in her head, wondering if perhaps this might work out after all.
"You can keep your wands, but you will not use them unless specifically told to do so. By me." He pauses, looking each of them in the eye closely. "From this moment forward, you will also not use magic unless I tell you to, or unless Healing is required and of the utmost urgency. If you so much as Warm your tea, I'll know, so don't think you'll get around me on this.
"Accommodations have been made so the trip will be comfortable for you, even by wizarding standards. You'll have hot meals in the morning and evening, and your tents are wizarding tents, so you'll have a great deal more space and heat than the Muggles sharing camp with you. And yes." He says this last looking straight at Draco. "You will be sharing camp with Muggles. The ministries here are very strict about where we walk, and there are only so many paths to the top."
His eyes bore into Draco, and he is reminded how little Potter knows about him now. Which he illustrates by putting an easy smile on his face, probably the last expression Potter expects.
"Potter, perhaps you haven't noticed, but I'm standing here, in front of your office, paying to walk up that," he points vaguely in the direction of the massive mountain, and then at his friends, "with them. Has it occurred to you, as I mentioned yesterday, that some things are not as they always have been? Like, for example, my tolerance of Muggles? After all, Weasley here has spent a good deal of time convincing me that a few of their inventions are quite useful. I'm sure I can resist the urge to hex them for a few days."
Potter looks at him, confusion and surprise washing over his face for a moment, then melting away to the all-business expression he was wearing before. Draco smirks though, knowing he's unsettled the man. He's perfectly happy to go along on this little adventure and more than a little intrigued to see what he might learn about this Potter along the way, but he'll not have the great idiot making assumptions where he hasn't the right.
"Alright," Potter says, "as long as you can adhere to the no-magic policy, the rest should be easy. Drink lots of fluids, try to eat even if you're not hungry, and even though I know none of you will want to," this is said meaningfully and with pointed looks at each of them, "if you're feeling off - nauseous, headache, lethargic - please tell me. It's likely altitude sickness, which is not a big thing by itself, but can become one if you don't treat it. Are we agreed?"
Tense silence drags on for what Draco knows is only seconds but feels like an eternity before Ron and Hermione finally nod. For his own part, Draco jerks his chin right away, because he'll be damned if Potter's going to think he can't do this just because he's not allowed magic. Although, as he looks up that blasted mountain again, he's sure he might die in the trying, but that's what The Boy Who Grew Up Hot is for; after all, he's always liked saving people.
With no further ado, they pile into the rickety car and bounce down dirt roads until they turn on what Draco doesn't think is a road at all, and the bouncing heightens to such levels he's sure his kidneys will not survive the trip even if the rest of him does. Finally they come to a stop and stand uncertainly at a gate (Draco wasn't expecting an actual gate) as Potter goes into a hut and does something involving paperwork and a lot of gesturing and signing of things. People mill about, some locals selling wares that Draco thinks are meant to be attractive to Muggles, but some of which carry unmistakable magical signatures, and he wonders just how different this place really must be that the Wizarding and Muggle worlds combine so freely.
But when Harry comes out he is supremely unruffled and does no more than flick a wrist their way, indicating, apparently, that it's time to start walking. A younger man, Deo introduced him before they left as Charles, has taken their things from the back of the Land Rover and disappeared into the jungle with them. A porter, Potter had said. Magical expeditions only have one, he told them on the way up the road, because their supplies can be spelled, but Charles will have their camp set up when they arrive, and prepare the food. Charles told them in no uncertain terms that he's far better-suited for this than they themselves would be anyway, since he grew up on the mountain's flanks, and the altitude doesn't bother him.
He also teaches them a few local phrases, so they can greet other porters on their way up the mountain. Jambo for hello, asante sana for thank you very much, which Draco thinks he will need a good many times in the next week, and pole pole for slow down. This last, apparently, is one the Muggles have to learn so their guides can slow them down when they think climbing more rapidly than necessary is a good idea. This idea also makes Draco laugh. Climbing this bloody mountain too fast? He's certain it will take a month to get him to the top, but he doesn't say as much to Potter or to Granger or Weasley.
The trio follows Potter down a quickly-narrowing pathway and before Draco knows it, they're walking through the densest foliage he's ever seen, and none of it looks familiar. The ground is slick and muddy, and none of them escapes at least one slip to the ground, though they keep quiet about it. Draco tries to keep his concentration on where he's putting his feet in the mud rather than on Potter, whose nimble steps and occasional commentary about this plant or that tree or the monkey that's just leapt over their heads are equal parts irritating and mesmerizing.
He might as well be walking down the street in Diagon Alley for all the effort the walk through the jungle seems to cost him, and Draco wants to hex him for it, but the ease with which he steps and weaves and holds out a hand to help Hermione over particularly large obstacles in the path is confident. Draco thinks back to the brooding, always-slightly-put-out Potter from school and struggles to see that boy in the man in front of them.
Intriguing. Evidently he isn't the only one who's changed.
Eight very muddy, very damp, very tiring hours later, they crest a hill and Potter says, "Welcome to Big Tree camp."
Draco is too tired to roll his eyes at the obviousness of the name, since everywhere he looks there are trees that make the Whomping Willow back at Hogwarts look like a shrub. Potter stumbles over the Latin name when Draco asks, but manages to tell them that these trees can reach nearly 40 metres in height, and when thick enough, actually keep the rain out of the forest floor completely. Draco supposes this is why the camp is here, and Potter says as much.
Supper passes in tense silence, and Draco knows his friends are still trying to decide when to confront Potter about his disappearance. The food is both good and plentiful, and Potter puts on his Guide face long enough to tell them to eat while they're hungry, because they might not feel much like it later. Draco eats heartily, as do his friends, but is otherwise frankly too tired to care about the tension in the cook tent after the surprise of the day before combined with eight hours of walking today, and he turns in first. He feels a little bit claustrophobic in this camp, which he attributes to the number of climbers in such a small space.
Potter and then Charles both told them as they reached the camp that this would be their most crowded evening since several routes diverge from where they'll be sleeping the next night. Draco looks forward to the near-solitude Potter promises their route will provide after one more night, and he thinks he'll bide his own time until then.
He has a few questions for this new Harry Potter as well, and he's not sure either of them want anyone else around when he asks them.
The next few days pass in much the same fashion. Get up, have tea and coffee (which is excellent up here, owing to the fact that what they're drinking is evidently grown at the base of the mountain) and breakfast, walk, have lunch, walk, have tea, walk, have supper, slide into oblivious sleep. Interactions among the four of them have reached a cordial level, but Draco sees it more as in intricate dance. Harry continues to tell them about local flora and fauna, talking about the temperate zones on the mountain as they walk through each. As they come out of the jungle onto vast plains, he points out the most bizarre trees Draco has ever seen, calling them senecios and explaining they only grow on the sides of this mountain and a couple of other places in the region, and huge flowers that he says are lobelia, though they're nothing like the flowers of the same name Draco has ever seen.
Listening to Harry Potter go on and on about plants strikes a surreal chord in Draco's brain, but he leaves it be. Hermione, who predictably cannot help herself when any new piece of knowledge comes her way, breaks her stubborn near-silence of the last three days to ask a thousand questions about the plants. Which ones are edible? Which can be used to make potions? Do any have magical properties that are exclusive to this area? Does anyone harvest them?
Ron is still quiet, although the downturn of his mouth and the hard set of his eyes has abated somewhat in the face of Hermione's curiosity. Draco wonders if Ron is taking his cues from her or if he's so relieved to see her acting just a little bit normal around Potter that he's somewhat mollified as well. Either way, by the time they reach what Potter tells them is called Moir Camp on the third night, the tension has eased just a little bit. They sit around the cook tent after eating for the first time since they arrived, making idle small talk about anything and everything except the world Potter left behind and how it changed when he did so. Instead they talk about Quidditch and African food and some of the stranger clients Potter has taken up the mountain, and it's strangely easy.
When at last they all retire, Ron, Hermione and Draco to the very spacious wizard's tent Potter has provided them and Potter to his own much smaller tent across the small clearing they've camped in, they actually bid one another good night with smiles, and it seems a temporary peace has been achieved, for a moment anyway.
Several hours later, Draco lies awake, silently cursing the miserable drag of the night. There is absolutely no reason on earth he should not be sleeping, and yet here he lies, wide awake and half out of his mind from the sound of Weasley's snoring from across the tent. It might be impressive were it not so irritating, because it is a large tent with multiple rooms, and yet Weasley might as well be lying next to him, perish that horrible thought. Draco shudders.
Perhaps he'll need to beg Potter for an exception to the no-magic rule. The man shared a room with Weasley once up on a time, surely he'll have some sympathy for Draco's ears. Otherwise Draco thinks he may die from lack of sleep before he ever reaches the top of this ridiculous mountain. As he lies there trying to block out the horrific sounds coming from Weasley - how on earth does Hermione sleep with that every night? - he wonders why on earth anyone would ever do this for fun.
A particularly loud inhalation from the other side of the tent is the last straw, and Draco very nearly jumps out of bed as his irritation spikes. He stands for a moment, trying to steady his breath and not break Potter's ridiculous rule by going to Ron's bedside and administering a Petrificus Totalus the likes of which Weasley has never seen. Perhaps what he really needs is some fresh air. He looks around for his clothes, dressing in extra layers of the Muggle underclothes that he has to admit are both warm and soft against his skin. As an afterthought, he pulls the sleeping sack from his bed and rolls it over his arm. Listening to Weasley might be good reason to flee the tent, but he has no intention of having his friends find him frozen solid outside in the morning.
He ducks out into the cold night air, lungs protesting sharply against the chill that accompanies his first breath.
"Fuck," he mutters against the night air and considers abandoning fresh air in favor of warmth, but he gets no more than two steps away from the tent an Weasley's snores are already dampened, and he can almost feel himself relaxing as he distances himself from that awful sound. Anyone who thinks a mandrake is painful to the ears has never slept in close proximity to Ronald Weasley.
"Can't sleep, Malfoy?"
Draco nearly leaps out of his skin at the soft voice from behind him. As he turns, he sees Potter regarding him from the ground next to a small fire that wasn't there before. In fact, he's pretty sure Potter rambled something about fires being forbidden on the mountain on their first day. Interesting.
He knows Potter puts up wards around their camp each night so the Muggles won't decide to stop in and wonder where all their porters are or, Merlin forbid, see their tents. Apparently he's decided that since no one can see it, a fire is also within bounds.
He supposes there's nothing for it, so he wanders over to the fire uncertainly. He can tell by looking at it that it's magical, its symmetry and lack of choking smoke are dead giveaways. He supposes this is how Potter justifies breaking this particular rule, since this fire is far more easily controlled than a natural one.
Draco remains standing and Potter looks up at him expectantly, reminding Draco that he'd asked a question.
"No. No one could sleep with Weasley in there sounding like some sort of Muggle deforestation equipment."
Potter laughs, a grin stretching across his face. Draco is simultaneously surprised to see it and irritated with the way it sparks that feeling in his chest he's been trying so bloody hard to suppress.
"He still does that then?" Potter is still laughing, but Draco starts at the first reference to the past since they left Moshi. He nods slowly. "You might as well sit, Malfoy, I won't bite."
Draco sighs and rolls his eyes, then gingerly sits on the ground not quite all the way around the fire from Potter, but not next to him either. Potter continues to chuckle quietly. Eventually he goes silent and they stare into the flames. Draco is almost uncomfortable in the silence, which is saying something, because he grew up with lengthy silences in Malfoy Manor, but this is stretching on longer than he can stand. He's about to make some inane comment about the fire when Potter's voice, far more serious than a moment ago, breaks the silence.
"Why are you here, Malfoy?"
And so it begins, but Draco, refusing to let Potter get the upper hand, manages a long-suffering sigh and says, with feigned but practiced nonchalance, "I should think that's rather obvious, isn't it?" He looks towards where he knows the summit of the mountain rises among the stars, and Potter rolls his eyes.
"That isn't what I meant, and you know it."
Draco shifts in his position in the dirt, drawing his knees up to his chest and pulling the sleep sack around his shoulders. Potter's voice has lost all its warmth, and suddenly Draco feels as though the heat has gone out of the fire with it.
"First of all," he says after a while, "we didn't know you'd be here." Which is more than I can say for you. "We came on holiday, and it turned out you were here. And as to why we're still here, you asked me to make that happen, in case you've forgotten."
Potter closes his eyes for a moment, looking frustrated.
"That isn't what I meant either, although I suppose it's what I said." He looks into Draco's eyes as though searching for his answers without having to ask the questions. "I meant why are you here with them?"
Ah. It's to begin here then. Draco nods. This was one of the points he was sure would come up, he just wasn't sure at what point Potter would ask this question. He supposes there's nothing to it but to just come out with it then.
"I suppose when you wrote that letter, you actually thought they'd honor your ridiculous request that no one look for you, hm? I suppose it goes without saying now that the both of them disregarded that request straight off." Potter looks sheepishly at the ground, and Draco suspects that he might do a few things differently if he had that day to do over again. "Well, you also should have guessed they'd come to me. You mentioned me in that letter, and you should have known Granger would jump on anything you wrote, and she did."
Draco looks at Harry, trying to decide how much to say. Some of this story isn't his to tell, but he's not sure how much of it Ron or Hermione might be willing to share. He's also not sure how much of it Potter's earned.
"As you also already know, we looked for you. For a long time. With a great deal of discomfort, if you must know. And having heard every Harry bloody Potter story those two have to tell, I can tell you that searching for you is just as painstaking as your great Horcrux hunt."
Potter glares, but Draco is having none of it.
"After a whole year, Potter, don't you think if the three of us hadn't killed one another, perhaps we might be friends? I'm not actually as horrid as all that, which I thought you might have noticed when I didn't sell you out to the Dark Lord at the Manor. They certainly noticed."
He jerks his chin towards the tent where Ron and Hermione are sleeping. He's being cruel and he knows it, but he can't help himself. Draco has never been one to deny someone his right to be selfish; he is firmly in the camp that believes selfishness is perfectly acceptable in moderation, and he can't help it if his idea of moderation is sometimes a bit greater than others. But Potter's midnight flight turned more lives upside-down than he could know. He knows that Potter knows what he did, and besides, Potter saved his life as well, so he has no business bringing up the past. Still, watching Potter's eyes go wide in the firelight is just the littlest bit rewarding, and Draco goes on.
"Look, Potter. You left. They were your friends, and they still care about you, even if they've done the most effective job I've ever seen at freezing you out the past few days. But it's been five years. You can't say I might not have ended up friends with them even if you'd stayed." He takes a deep breath. "Hell, Potter, you don't know that you and I might not have ended up friends."
This has the desired effect, because Draco doesn't really want to have all this out in one night, and he doesn't want to have any of it out without speaking with Ron and Hermione. Potter smiles, a small, cautious smile, and Draco smiles back, relieved to have sparked something besides fury in Potter. When he goes on, he speaks more quietly, moderating his tone.
"I'm not a Death Eater anymore, Potter. If you want the truth, I never really wanted to be, but I was young and terrified and I didn't really have much choice. You of all people should understand that. I've made something of myself since you left that has nothing to do with the Dark Lord or my father, and much as it sometimes pains me to admit it, Granger and Weasley have had a good bit to do with that. They like me, and I like them, and we tolerate one another's oddities. They are my friends, it's that simple.
"And that, Potter, is why I'm here. With them."
It's not the whole story. It's not even most of the story, but Draco feels as though the door has been opened now, and without all the hostility that might have been there.
"I think sometimes I forget that Voldemort and the Death Eaters are really in the past," Potter says quietly, and Draco nods.
Potter's so far away from all of that down here, he probably hasn't considered just how quickly most of the wizarding world has been willing to put the war behind it and carry on. Days and even weeks go by with no mention of any of it, or even of Potter, and it's all becoming history with alarming speed. But Potter wouldn't know that.
"Did it hurt?" Draco looks at Potter at the question, having no earthly idea what the other man is talking about until he catches his eye looking at Draco's left forearm, which Draco has been unconsciously rubbing since the first time he said the words Death Eater.
Draco quirks an eyebrow and gestures at Potter's forehead. "Did that?"
Potter laughs. "Fair point." He rubs his eyes and stands, walking over to where Draco is still on the ground watching him and putting out a hand to help Draco up. He stands, and perhaps its his imagination, but he thinks maybe Potter holds his hand just a little longer than necessary. "Go to bed, Malfoy. The altitude will get hard tomorrow and you should rest while you can."
"In case you've already forgotten," Draco says tiredly, thinking nothing would be better than sleep right about now, "Weasley is still in there making that terrible racket."
"Cast a Silencing Charm," Potter says quietly and extinguishes his fire, leaving them bathed in starlit darkness. He turns to walk towards his tent, pausing for a moment and looking over his shoulder. "Good night, Draco."
Draco stares at his back as he disappears into the darkness until a shiver startles him.
"Good night, Harry," he whispers, and wanders back to his own tent to shut out Ron's snoring and try to get some sleep.
And sleep he does, though not much and not particularly well. His dreams are filled with flashbacks to the days before Potter killed the Dark Lord, and he fitfully relives being Marked and the Fiendfyre and that horrible night with his insane Aunt Bellatrix in the Manor, and when the sun begins to brighten the walls of the tent, he is grateful. He dispels his Silencing Charm with a small smile after he dresses and steps out into the morning light.
The canyon they're camped in is steep and rocky, and Draco can see the path they'll take to get out of it later. It is also steep and rocky, and Draco wonders for the thousandth time why anyone thinks this is fun. Strange little shrubs cling to rocky hillsides, and the knowledge that some of them are decades old despite their stature brought another round of questions from Hermione the day before. Potter explained, to her very great interest, that mountainous bushes have adapted to their environment in such a way that they remain low to the ground to stay clear of the elements, and that their growth is measured in much tinier increments than the trees she's used to.
It seems the most natural thing in the world to Draco, adaptation. There was a time he would not have thought so, but for a very privileged and very sheltered boy of 16, he learned to adapt rather quickly during the events leading up to the war. He'd been almost surprised at times to realise he had a survival instinct at all, but after so much structure and propriety for so long, it had been something of a relief to relinquish some of the Malfoy control and let those instincts take over.
By the time the war ended, giving into instinct had become, well, instinct, and Draco knows now that it was that response that made him decide helping Hermione and Ron was the best course five years ago. That, and Potter's bloody letter, which Draco still intends to take up with the man at some point on this trip.
He is the first one in the cook tent, unsurprising since he thought he could still hear echoes of Weasley's abominable snoring as he left their tent a few moments ago. Charles is there, fussing over their usual breakfast of eggs and slightly burned toast, and he greets Draco cheerfully. Draco returns the man's chatter with as much pleasantry as he can muster and drops heavily into one of the canvas chairs that sits around the table.
He lets his head drop back and his eyes close for a moment while he waits for breakfast, enjoying the relative quiet of the tent and the inconsequential sounds from the cooking stove. He thinks he might be nearly asleep when he is abruptly, though not unpleasantly brought back to the present by the scent of coffee wafting right under his nose. When he opens his eyes, Potter is there, holding out a mug expectantly, a small smile on his face.
"I thought you might need this," he says, placing the mug on the table in front of Draco. "Though how you can possibly even call this coffee is beyond me with all that sugar you like."
Draco gapes at him. Potter knows how he likes his coffee? After three mornings? And he's brought Draco coffee? Perhaps last night's fireside chat was the beginning of something after all, Draco thinks.
"Well, drink up." Potter laughs. "Just because I let you break one rule doesn't mean I'll let you warm that with magic if you just sit there while it gets cold."
Draco closes his mouth and picks up the mug, letting it sit in his hands for a moment and savouring the feeling of the heat spreading from his palms and up into his arms before he takes a sip and closes his eyes again, this time in complete, coffee-induced bliss. Potter's quiet chuckle from somewhere very close to him makes him realise he might have moaned a little with pleasure.
"What?" Draco flushes a little but looks up and fixes Potter with what he hopes is a haughty gaze in spite of his pleasure at both the coffee, which is made perfectly, and Potter's proximity at his side.. "The first sip of coffee in a morning is very often the best part of my day, Potter, and I won't apologize for enjoying it."
The light flush he was fighting deepens uncontrollably as Potter places a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezes for a minute as he grins down at Draco, and then steps away smoothly as the tent flap parts and both Ron and Hermione duck through in a burst of cold air. The exchange of morning pleasantries among the other four inhabitants of the tent gives Draco a moment to replay the odd little scene he's just been a part of involving Potter and coffee and smiles and that warm hand that he's trying not to read too much into.
He does notice, with some satisfaction, that Potter does not fetch coffee for Ron or Hermione. He also doesn't casually set a plate full of food down in front of either of them, and so Draco tries very hard not to stare again and instead picks up his fork and attacks his eggs with an enthusiasm he doesn't feel for the food, but musters instead for the gesture.
He wonders if Potter is merely expressing gratitude for finally getting some kind of civil conversation out of one of their party, or if there's something more, and tries very hard not to hope for the latter. It's just a peace offering, he thinks, just like last night's conversation, and he shouldn't read more into it than that.
He half-listens as Potter talks about today's route, still trying very hard not to overthink the mug and plate in front of him.
"It'll be a short walk," he's saying, "maybe a couple of hours, but we gain a lot of altitude today and you'll need the rest to acclimate."
Ron is looking at him skeptically.
"What will we do once we get there then? I mean, it isn't as though we have a lot to do in these camps you know. Why can't we just keep walking?"
Draco rolls his eyes, mostly because he knows there is in fact a point to the exacting nature of the route, and that Ron knows it too, but he's always a bit impatient to take on something bigger. It's something else that makes him a better Auror. He's neither fearless nor reckless, no one who's lived through what Ron has would be, but he's brave and has apparently taken on some of Hermione's tendencies toward overachievement.
"The last day before the summit push is a long one," Potter says patiently, "and you'll be glad for the two days of short walks before that. Besides, if you're feeling up to it when we get to the Tower today, we can do a bit of rock-climbing. It'll more than pass the time, I assure you."
Ron's face lights up at this, and Draco feels like maybe he should just leave his eyes rolled into the back of his head for the rest of the day. Rock-climbing. Lovely.
They pack their things up and leave Charles to spell their camp back into his pack and set off up the path. It is steeper and rockier than it looked, and Draco resorts to counting the painfully slow steps between boulders so as not to sit down in the middle of it and give up.
The air is noticeably thin up here, and his breath comes faster than he'd like, though he's pleased to note that Hermione and Ron are both huffing and puffing ahead of him. Porters pass them with irritating frequency, calling out greetings and admonishments of "pole pole" as they glide by with ease. In his logical brain Draco knows they do this so often over the course of a year, and have been doing so for so many years, that this is no more challenging to them than walking up the stairs in his flat is to him.
By the time they reach the rim of the canyon, Draco is, as usual, muttering curses at Weasley under his breath and swearing to himself that the next time his friends want to take a holiday, he's planning it. That way the highest altitude they'll ever reach is the second floor of whatever very nice, very warm restaurant he chooses.
He's still muttering and counting and cursing when he realises someone is walking next to him and he looks up in surprise to see Potter watching him with some amusement.
"What?" He huffs.
"If I didn't know any better, Draco, I'd say you weren't enjoying yourself." Potter's voice is irritatingly even.
Draco snorts. "Who's to say you do know better, Harry?"
He means the use of Potter's first name to needle the other man, but when it flies from his lips he realises he rather likes the sound of it. By the look of the quick flare of surprised delight on Potter's face, so does he, but he lets it go.
"We're nearly there," he says, and points.
Draco looks up for the first time since they started walking (he's discovered that looking ahead of him more than the next boulder is so defeating that he's stopped doing it unless absolutely necessary) to see a rock outcropping so large and looming that Draco stops in his tracks.
"Well," he says softly, "I can see why they call it a tower."
Potter nods. "We'll camp on the uphill side of it and walk up that way to Arrow Glacier tomorrow." He points towards the upper slopes of the mountain.
Draco is getting his first view of the last few days of the climb, and of the volcano's crater rim for the first time, and he finds himself dumbstruck. Potter, as has become his habit it seems, is watching his gaze and seems to read Draco's thoughts perfectly.
"It's overwhelming, isn't it?"
Draco nods silently and with effort resumes his slow steps. Potter matches his pace.
"Day after tomorrow will be the hardest. The Breach can't be done in segments, and we'll probably be on it all day, but the view from the top more than makes up for it." His tone is so reverent that Draco thinks absently that he feels as though he's intruding on Potter talking about a lover.
"You really do love this bloody mountain, don't you?" He says after fifteen or so more labored steps.
Potter grins. "I really do."