*** Day 107 - Draco ***

"Malfoy," Potter greeted. "Where's everyone gone? I was just looking out the window and—what are those?" Potter's emerald eyes went suddenly and dramatically wide.

"What do they look like, Potter?" Draco drawled lazily, rocking the two brooms he held over the ridge of his shoulder.

"I…but…" Potter gaped unintelligently. "You're going flying?"

"Correction: we're going flying."

There was a beat of astounded silence. "You're messing with me."

"Maybe," Draco said as he marched through the wards. He half expected some sort of alarm to go off when he brought the brooms through, but nothing happened. So the Dark Lord hadn't been bluffing then. He really believed that Potter would stay.

Snorting, Draco shoved a broom at Potter and barely registered the note of surprise on the Gryffindor's face before he brushed past him towards the window. He was going to prove the Dark Lord wrong. If it was a choice between him and his self-righteous vendetta against the Dark Lord, of course Potter would pick the latter. No stupid mythical bond could change that.

If Potter had the choice, he would do what was right…no matter what. And whatever consequences Draco had to face to prove that were of little concern to him. At least he would be free of this monotony. At least he would die knowing that he actually did something.

Draco pushed open the window and felt his heart flutter as a late summer breeze caressed his face.

Not a moment later, Potter was standing beside him, his breath coming in heavy, uneven bursts. "This is really happening? We're really going to fly?"

"Looks like it."

"And no one will mind?"

Draco pursed his lips. "Do you see anyone around to mind?"

Potter shook his head, gazing out the window with obvious longing.

Draco stepped back, daring Potter to trust him. The responding grin that broke across Potter's face was enough to flip Draco's stomach. Draco watched in silent awe as the other boy mounted the broom and launched himself out the window, laughing wildly as if he hadn't just spent the last four months as a prisoner of war. Mounting his own broom, Draco took off after him, soaring up towards the clouds where he saw Potter rocketing around like a man possessed. He'd never seen someone so happy. Unbridled cries of delight broke through the air, filling the grounds with a bright sense of life. For a while, Draco just watched him, finding his own sort of peace in being able to witness someone be so free.

Some ten minutes later, Potter finally calmed himself down enough to rush down to Draco's side. With lustrous eyes and windswept hair he asked, "Why aren't you flying with me?"

"I liked watching," Draco replied, unable to hold back his smile. "However," he dug into his pocket and held out his hand, "I did bring a snitch for us. We can play Chase if you'd like." The small golden ball unfurled its wings and hovered just above Draco's palm, waiting to be thrown.

Potter's grin seemed about ready to split his face in two. "I feel like I'm dreaming."

"I'm going to take that as a yes." Without warning, Draco launched the snitch into the air as hard as he could. The ball took off in a flurry of golden light, zipping down towards the gardens, and like twin rockets, the boys were off.

It had been far too long since Draco had felt the wind rip against him like this—far too long since he'd felt the rush in his blood that came with rushing towards the ground so fast his eyes swam with tears. He could hear Potter laughing next to him as they swept through the flowers in his mother's garden, weaving through stone pillars like they were nothing more than columns of smoke. Potter probably could've sped ahead—he was, admittedly, the superior flyer—but instead he stayed neck-and-neck with Draco, pressing their shoulders together as they fishtailed around the greenhouse.

The snitch jutted up, taking once more to the free air. And suddenly, Draco realized that he was laughing too. He felt so light, like he could let go of the broom and just take off into the clouds. He was a boy again, in a place somewhere before the war, before the pain, before he ever cared who Harry Potter was and why he had to hate him.

They were close to the snitch now—speeding upwards into the thick wisps of clouds. Draco could see Potter's hand outstretched, his fingers splayed and aching to close. For some reason, Draco wanted to burn that image into his mind and bury it someplace deep where no one would ever be able to reach it. He wanted to be able to look at it and remember this time in the sky next to Potter and this feeling that his heart was beating so hard it might burst through his chest at any moment. He wanted to remember…in case this was the last time he ever felt this way.

Then, Draco stopped.

He watched Potter soar up, up, and higher still before finally disappearing into the clouds. Everything went quiet, and eerily still. This was it. Potter would catch the snitch and find himself completely and undeniably alone, freedom ringing in the wind in his ears. And that would be the end of it. Draco would never see him again. He would never—

"Got it!" Potter burst through the clouds, holding the snitch high over his head and wearing the most ridiculously triumphant grin Draco had ever seen.

The sight was like an arrow through Draco's chest. He felt himself gag on it, the world spinning violently around him as he felt the Dark Lord's words crash in on him. Because of what you are to him, he will never abandon you.

Potter slowed to a stop just below him, his smile dropping at the sight of Draco's expression. "Malfoy?" he questioned. "Are you okay?"

Draco didn't answer. Instead, he tipped his broom towards the ground and plummeted down. His stomach hit the back of his spine as the garden rose up to meet him, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to slow down. His feet slammed against the ground, a sharp pain rocketing up his shins even as Potter called after him. He felt like he was going to be sick. Anger, dark and twisting, was threatening to consume him. It blurred every line around the edges, yet somehow made Potter's soft footsteps behind him all the more acutely real. Draco fled into a clustered patch of wild oaks on the edge of the gardens and threw down his broom.

"Malfoy?" Potter ventured again, following Draco into the dense brush.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Draco hissed, whirling on him.

Potter stopped in his tracks, blinking. "I—Are you upset that I won?"

"Upset that you won?" Draco felt a manic laugh bubble up his throat. This was insane. Potter should be gone and…this was insane! This wasn't how it was supposed to be! "You're out of your bloody mind, do you know that?"

"I'm beginning to think that one of us is…"

"You were up there alone, with a broom, and nobody around to stop you! Did you even think about leaving? Did it even cross your fucking mind?"

A dangerous fury sparked in Potter's eyes. He surged forward, pushing Draco back further into the foliage. "Of course it crossed my mind! How could it not? What I don't understand is why you're yelling at me about it!"

"Because you were supposed to leave!"

"I—" Realization broke over Potter's features. "What?"

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands and willing the pounding in his skull to stop. "I just…I thought you would…" he tried, but the words wouldn't come. He could feel himself trembling, as if the sinews of his muscles were unraveling from the bone.

"Malfoy?" Potter stepped forward again, and Draco was overwhelmed by the sudden heat that filled the space between them. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Potter this close before without a layer of blood filming his skin. There was something overwhelmingly real about him standing there with his dark tangled hair stuck to his sweaty brow, and his moistened lips parted and questioning. "Were you trying to let me escape?"

Potter breathed out and Draco could feel it stirring the fine hairs on his face. It sent a soft chill down his spine and a cruel fog through his mind. "It doesn't matter."

"How could it not matter?"

"Because you're still here!"

Potter's brow creased, and for the first time he seemed to realize how close they were. Black lashes fluttered as his eyes dropped the barest fraction. "Why would you do something like that?"

Draco shook his head. "Potter…"

"Answer me." Potter pressed forward again, only this time there was nowhere for Draco to go. He felt his heel slip against the root of a tree as his back hit bark.

"Potter," the blond snapped, "back off."

But Potter just crowded in closer. "Malfoy…you know that they'd kill you."

Heat filled Draco's nose and scorched the back of his throat, causing his eyes to prickle. He pressed his palms back against the tree, digging his nails into the wood. "So what? They're planning on killing Merlin knows how many people today anyway! What's one more life to them?"

"I—what are you talking about?"

Draco clenched his teeth together. "He's taking over the Ministry right now, Potter."

Grey dread made Potter go still.

"Where do you think everyone is? Out on holiday?" Draco gestured around them, as if the empty forest was enough to prove his point. "And I've seen the numbers—your side isn't prepared for this kind of attack. They're going to kill everyone, Potter. Everyone. And then after that…" Draco broke off, unable to comprehend the reality of what would happen if the Dark Lord succeeded. He stared at Potter, his heart tightening painfully in his chest. "But maybe if you were there—"

"Don't!" Potter's voice was bitter and broken. "Don't you dare try to tell me that I could help them!"

"Potter—"

"No! You don't know anything about it! I thought I could make a difference once, but I can't! I couldn't save my friends at Hogwarts—hell I can't even save you! Every time I try to do something right it gets thrown back in my face, and I can't—Merlin—I can't take it anymore, alright? I won't! I won't watch the people I care about die because of me!"

Draco saw the light in Potter's eyes shatter before him like a stream of broken sea-glass, and somehow he could feel the Dark Lord's pride ringing through it. "Potter…" Draco said softly, "tell me you didn't stay because you think they'll kill me if you don't?"

Pain etched itself deep into the lines on Potter's face. "I know they'll kill you. You said so yourself."

Any reaction Draco might have had dried up in his throat.

"Draco," Potter pushed in further, "them not killing you is the only thing I can control. It's the only thing I can do right anymore."

"Don't call me that," Draco snapped even as his stomach fluttered uncomfortably at the sudden smell of wind and citrus. "And you're being an idiot. You can't control what they do to me. I could very well go to the Dark Lord tomorrow and tell him that I tried to let you go. Is there a single doubt in your mind that he wouldn't hesitate to kill me on the spot?"

Potter crinkled his nose, his eyes narrowing. "Please…don't say things like that."

"Why not?" Draco flared, tempted to repeat himself for the sole reason that Potter had told him not to.

"You know why not!"

"All I know is that you're being a stupid ponce!"

"Shut up!" Potter's hand slammed against Draco's throat, his thumb and fingers pressing in on either side.

Every last ounce of oxygen left Draco's lungs as his head hit bark, sparks of white dancing before his eyes. "Potter…stop." There was something overwhelmingly frightening about how hot the Gryffindor's hand felt against his skin.

Potter's eyes flashed a brilliant green in the sunlight. There was a moment then—and, really, it couldn't have been longer than a second or two, but somehow Draco knew it was a moment he would never be able to escape for the rest of his life. Potter's breath was fire against his lips, and every inch of him seemed to be vibrating; the electric current traveling through the tips of his fingers to resonate in Draco's veins. Confusion and fear and heat flashed across Potter's gaze so quickly they all seemed to meld together in a messy tangle of emotion.

And then Potter's lips were pressing against his own.

After that, Draco wasn't sure what happened. All he knew was that he was being ripped apart from the inside out, and Potter seemed to be the only thing holding him together. It hurt, like every molecule in his body was threatening to burst. He felt like he was falling, so hard and fast that he couldn't help but reach out. The first thing he found was Potter's shirt. He clung to it, his fingers curling around the fabric and digging into the firm muscle underneath.

It had been so long—too long—since someone had touched him like this. Or at least, that's what Draco told himself as he blossomed beneath Potter's hands. Potter pushed him harder into the tree and slid a thigh between his legs as his tongue glided wetly across Draco's lower lip. A harsh, jagged sound erupted from the back of Draco's throat, drawn up from somewhere deep and dark that he'd buried long ago. Potter kissed him again and again and again, like he wanted to drown against Draco's lips.

Draco was caught between two painfully hard planes, bark and bone pressing into tender flesh and muscle, yet even still Draco found his blood simmering just beneath his skin. His tongue slid along the lower line of Potter's lip, begging to be stroked. A warm, damp heat filled him as Potter's mouth opened and his hands moved to cup either side of Draco's jaw. He couldn't breathe—Merlin, he couldn't breathe and there was something undeniably exhilarating about coming undone under Potter's lips.

Symbolon.

Draco broke free, throwing his head back and nearly choking on the air that rushed into his lungs. "Potter…"

Potter's head dipped down, sharp teeth scraping against Draco's neck and sending hot jolts of pleasure skittering over his nerves. Draco clenched his teeth against the moan that threatened to spill over his lips. Merlin…he was practically writhing against Potter's thigh now, already hard and aching like some teenage virgin.

"Potter…stop."

Potter froze. Hot breath ghosted against Draco's skin in time with the rise and fall of the chest that was pressed flush against his own.

"What's wrong?" Potter sounded like he'd just sprinted a mile.

A soft wind caressed the canopy of leaves overhead, filling the still air with a soft hissing sound. Draco stared up at the shuddering spiderweb of branches, desperately trying to separate himself from where he stood. "We can't."

Potter's head lifted, his hair tickling Draco's cheek. "Draco…"

The pang in Draco's chest was enough to force his eyes shut. How in the world had it come to this? "You know why we can't."

"I…" Potter's grip tightened for a single breath, and then his body was gone. Draco felt himself shiver in the cold that followed in the wake of the loss. "I'm sorry."

Pulling his chin back down, Draco opened his eyes. His heart shouldn't have been pounding as hard as it was. And the sight of Potter, all windswept hair and swollen lips definitely shouldn't have made it this hard to breathe. "Don't apologize. Please just…don't."

Something in Potter's gaze changed then—evolving from wounded to something soft and dangerous that made Draco's chest tighten.

"Come on. We should be getting back."