Title: A Little Less
Author: Hito
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Disclaimer: Not mine. No money.
Author's Note: Will be slash. Don't like it; don't read it. Rating may rise. Depends whether I feel like writing a gratuitous sex scene. It's a toss up.
*
It was May, and it was cold, and Draco didn't know why he was out there. He hesitated on the edge, but he wasn't supposed to be out, so he let the forest swallow him. Wind-tossed trees with inked in centres looked ready to burst, and he'd never noticed that summer was so—vicious. Carnivorous, and he already regretted coming.
He wasn't sure why he had. He knew, of course, he just didn't know what he was going to do, and that came to the same thing.
He found the first notch. The clearing was five minutes away, and the Whomping Willow two away from that, and he didn't know how far death was from the Shrieking Shack, but it wasn't likely to be an over-long journey. And he didn't know how he could stop it, and he didn't know why he was going to try, but he hurried onwards anyway.
Then he was on the ground, a root tight around his ankle, and there was a brief moment of terror while branches swayed and loomed and roots grew and reached before he realised that he'd just tripped and fallen, and everything was still inanimate. The forest was adaptable and Draco wasn't really used to it. He dragged himself to his feet and stumbled on.
And Potter wasn't worth it, any of it. He was just a stupid git with a superiority complex. One who did stupid things like saving the world when any sensible person would merely inform a responsible adult that one of the Dark Lord's followers had come up with another cunning plan to restore their master to power, and a little help would be nice, please. Dumbledore would disagree, but maybe Dumbledore was as stupid and soft as his father had always said. Was, Draco knew it, with the giant and the werewolf and sooner or later, Dumbledore would extend that hand of friendship and be left with nothing but a bloody stump.
Nobody had ever accused Draco of being stupid though – well, his father had, but his father had been wrong about too many things; Draco had the scars to prove it – and he had a fair idea of what would happen if the night went to plan. It was impossible to know for certain, and that was what was so frightening. He just knew that it would hurt a lot. For everyone.
And maybe the forest was alive, because he could feel it watching him, and it was an effort to keep moving, frantically scouring his memory for tid-bits from Care of Magical Creatures that might actually be a guide on how to survive the things.
This was all his father's fault and it would serve him right if Draco did die tonight, if there was any sort of guarantee that life would be extinct before he was torn limb from limb by whatever ravening beasts were on the prowl.
But then, Lucius would probably just shrug and get on with his day. His father had always been inexplicable. Draco had never known why he couldn't be satisfied with all that money and power, why he felt the need to make a tool of himself to an insane, murderous, aspiring dictator. Why he was willing to risk himself and his family on such a thing, for such a small gain. They'd always had so much, could have had so much, and his father was willing, eager, to throw everything away for the chance to be Voldemort's right hand man – and everything would be so much less if somebody else had absolute power over you. Inexplicable. If you're going to risk everything, why not at least come up with your own plot for world domination?
Draco did know, when he had to. He'd heard the screams and seen the marks and sometimes he had trouble looking his mother in the eye over breakfast, when his father hissed in pain every time he had to reach for the butter. In truth, it was his mother who was an enigma and his father whom he hated.
The trees thinned as he approached the clearing and he the deep notches cut into the bark ended. He'd been there before, but he wouldn't have known the way without the markings; there was nothing special about the place, despite its popularity.
It was rumoured that shields surrounded the clearing, to keep out magical creatures, and nobody had ever been injured there, so perhaps it was true. People afraid of being caught at their fumblings came out there, as Hagrid was the only one who patrolled it, and he hardly counted as a teacher, anyway. He never punished anyone he discovered. Potter wouldn't know that though—would he? It was a discomfiting thought, so Draco refused to think it. He, like most of the rest of the school, thought it was a perfectly ridiculous idea, but that never stopped some idiot from ignoring the warnings. Trust Potter. Draco'd been once, in fourth year, and he'd sworn never to set eyes on the place again; fucking against a tree was not fun. Scratchy bark and biting ants didn't make for the most pleasant coupling.
He was geared up, ready, as he emerged from the trees, and his start when he came face to face with Potter was wholly convincing.
Or maybe just overdone: the only reaction Potter displayed was a slight widening of the eyes. "Dra— Hannah. It's Draco."
The girl was sitting on a blanket on the ground with her back to him, looking up at Potter, who had gone from uncomfortable to wary in about a second. She turned, looking a little puzzled, but not afraid—he was a Slytherin, after all, and a Hufflepuff wouldn't understand that Slytherins mistrust their own most of all. She was pretty enough—not enough to lure Draco out of doors on a night like this, but more than enough for Potter, evidently—and looked like an indeterminate Granger. Food for thought, that.
Hannah—a girl he had barely known existed until this morning. Yesterday morning, now. And he should have paid attention, if she was dating a Housemate, and he blamed himself for that, with no clear idea why.
And here was the part where knowing what the fuck he was going to do once he got here might have come in useful.
Couldn't cede control to those two though, the idea being to get Potter away from her, and he was beside them before he could think to stop himself.
Vaguely realised that he was breathless and they were both staring at him in utter confusion and his body was still working ahead of his brain.
"Awfully sorry. I was supposed to meet somebody here. You know—"
The confusion stayed on Potter's face but melted from Hannah's, and she wavered between displeased and excited while Potter worked through it.
"A girl? You're meeting a girl now?"
Because it was romantic, and all that, what with the lack of pine needles to lodge in awkward places.
"Er, well…." It wasn't as if he could summon one to meet the need. Draco hedged for all he was worth, which wasn't much, at the moment. "You know how it is." Potter didn't, obviously, but an unpleasantly familiar conclusion appeared to be dawning on Hannah and why did people have to think things? "Wouldn't like to say."
"Oh. Gallantry."
The sarcasm was so unexpected that Draco didn't even know what syllable was droning out of his mouth and Hannah snapped out of her reverie.
"Of course, Harry. Consideration for a girl. Right." A smile that didn't sit well on that pretty, formless face. Draco hadn't been aware that particular piece of intelligence was being tossed around the Hufflepuff common room. He was going to kill William.
"Yes, well, we did get here first, you know. It really would be best if you just left." There was an expectant second before Hannah's face crumpled into petulance. "Oh, but if you were meeting somebody."
"Yes, I really shouldn't stand them up."
"No." She stared at him suspiciously, as if she was thinking about dragging the secret out of him by main force, but she shook it off. Unfolding herself, she got to her feet, hesitating. Draco knew that this had been mapped out from start to finish by her boyfriend, and she couldn't seem to decide what to do now that the plan had skidded off course. "Well, perhaps you'd better wait and then take your friend back to the castle. Harry and I have plans."
It was a pity those plans diverged so wildly. He tried not to think about it, as he'd been trying not to think about it all day; this wasn't the time to squirm.
"I will. Shouldn't be long…" He'd wait, and no one would come. He'd wait, and everything would happen anyway, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not without—
"How's Pansy?"
There was a decidedly unpleasant glint in Hannah's eye. The sweetness was assumed along with the loyalty, and he knew better than to believe in those divisions, but he hadn't thought—she had always seemed nice enough. He had never paid much attention to nice people.
"Pansy's fine. I haven't seen her much lately. How's William?"
The quick lift of her head indicated alarm, but it could have been interpreted as almost anything, and Potter wasn't looking at her, anyway.
"Oh, the usual. He's having a hard time in Transfiguration. Thinks McGonagall's marking harder."
"I expect he's been a bit distracted of late, hmm?"
There was no possibility she didn't know what he was implying, but she ignored it, and turned to Potter.
"Professor McGonagall is very strict, isn't she? Is she fair, do you think?"
As Potter stammered out an answer, Draco's eyes swept the surrounding area. He might be able to hear Melas' approach, if he hadn't used a silencing spell. Unlikely, but possible, and any advantage, any chance, however slight, was to be snatched.
He didn't hear anything, but he caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly, he was staring right into William's eyes.
He should say something, he should let Potter know, he'd want to leave—but William would just attack, and then Draco would have to make a choice.
William slipped back out of sight without acknowledging him, his colouring easily merging with the tree trunks, and Draco felt the panic that had been increasing since that morning spin out of control.
There was nothing he could do. He'd gotten himself involved with some stupid idea of changing things and now there was no way out, Potter was going to die and he was going to have to help, now, and there was nothing he could do to stop any of it. And it was his fault, for not being able to think of anything, for not being able to choose. For not really knowing what he wanted to happen.
He tuned back in to Potter and Hannah's conversation. Hannah was speaking.
"—done it before. I know all about it."
Hannah was smiling guilelessly, and the start of a flush was creeping up Potter's neck.
Draco had forgotten how damn awkward the first steps into sex were. He wondered why Potter was looking at him. Did he want a reason to escape? Maybe Draco could use that; maybe he could still….
William was just out of sight behind the first row of trees; Draco could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze, and hopelessly prayed that he wouldn't emerge. A movement that wouldn't have given him away if Hannah hadn't been expecting him, but she glanced to the side and stiffened, and Potter noticed.
"What's wrong? Oh!" Potter watched as William eased forward, slowly approaching the group. "Is this who—" A quick glance at Draco, and all expression vanished from his face. He didn't look away. "Did you come here to meet him?"
William and Hannah both opened their mouths, and hesitated, unsure. Draco jumped in. "No. I'm meeting someone else."
Potter turned to William. "So what are you doing here?"
There was nothing he could do. "Maybe I should leave. It's getting a little crowded here."
He was backing slowly away, trying desperately to decide, trying to ignore the uncertainty on William and Hannah's faces as they looked at him, willing Potter to understand, to speak, when everyone's attention was diverted by a sudden crashing in the undergrowth.
It grew steadily louder, and a few suspended seconds later a huge black ball bounced into the clearing, emitted several frantic barks, and skidded to a halt at Potter's feet, its tongue lolling out.
The crashing didn't stop, and everybody's gaze remained riveted upon the shielding trees.
A familiar bellow preceded its body by moments. "Fang? Where 'ave yeh got—"
Hagrid broke off as he burst into the open space, confronted with four unwavering stares.
Draco had never felt relief like this. Everything was going to be fine now. It had to be.
"Hello, Harry! What are you lot doing here?"
"Ah. Hagrid. You're late, you are."
Hagrid's eyes swung to Draco, along with everyone else's. The stares were distinctly disbelieving now. Hagrid glanced from Draco to Potter to the other two. Hannah was clinging to William. Draco could see him frantically recalculating.
"Am I? Sorry abou' tha'." He sidled closer to Potter, glowering down at Draco, on his other side.
Draco's mouth was half-open, ready to say something, something that would convince Hagrid, that wouldn't give him away, that would solve everything, when William shook Hannah off. She was anchoring his wand arm.
Hagrid hadn't noticed, but Harry had; he scrambled backwards, away from them. Draco realised he already had his own wand out.
Harry had been quicker. He began to mutter. Hannah, half a step away from William, shrieked his name, jumped in front of him, and fell in mid-air.
William spun, keeping his wand directed at Harry; Draco could hear his voice, quiet and fast. Harry's next effort went wide, barely missing Draco. Hagrid froze, and listed to the left.
It was Draco's curse that hit William. He hadn't been aware that he was casting.
Several seconds later, Hagrid hit the ground. The dog's flight was still clearly audible.
Harry sank to the ground, his body suddenly slack. An eternity later, Draco made for the blanket in the midst of the shocking emptiness.
The moon glinted off Harry's glasses, whiting out the lenses, making the frames glow. It felt silent, though it never was, ever, and Draco could hear every little shift Harry made, could feel his roving gaze burn when it passed over him in his survey of the wreckage.
"What was that?" Draco assumed the question was directed at him, since he was the only one conscious, but he didn't reply. Harry's voice sharpened. "What was all that about, Draco?"
"It was an attempt on your life, Potter. You should be used to them by now, surely." His heart was beginning to slow.
"Why did you save me?"
No way to deny it; no point in trying. "What do you care?"
"I thought I didn't. I tried to—" He shook his head angrily. "Why?"
"Why not?"
"Because—"
Draco didn't want the words that filled his head during the pause that followed. Because you're a Slytherin. Because you hate me. Because you're you. Because you're evil, and nothing you can do will convince anyone otherwise.
"Because your father's a Death Eater."
"Yes," said Draco. "He is."
Sudden stillness, even though they hadn't been moving before, and Draco shouldn't have spoken; they were going to read things into the words that weren't there. Harry didn't seem to be looking at Draco, his eyes unfocused behind the camouflaging lenses, but Draco knew he was seeing everything. He pushed his glasses more firmly into place. "It's not that bad. You know…. Well, it's not."
"I don't know what you're going on about Potter, but—"
Harry didn't give him the chance to regain any ground. He leaned forward, intent on Draco. "I know you think you had—whatever it is that you want. But—you can have it here, too. Do you understand?"
Draco didn't. Didn't have the faintest clue what Harry meant, why he looked like it was important. "Yeah. Fine. We should be getting back."
For a moment it seemed that Harry would protest, but then he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "S'pose so. Which do you want?"
Draco blinked. "What?"
Harry blinked. "Hmm? We have to get this lot to Madam Pomfrey. Look at them."
"What? All of them?" It wasn't a question, it was an expression of disbelief, and Harry ignored it.
Draco took the conspirators; they were lighter, even combined. Harry didn't complain.
On the long walk back to the castle, Draco almost convinced himself that it didn't matter. It hadn't turned out so badly. Maybe, if he was lucky, he wouldn't lose everything.
