Me again. Still muddling through here, and these characters and whatnot still belong to..well. Duh. Not me, obviously. Thanks for the reviews and encouragement, lovelies. I do 'preciate it. And this is a teensy bit of artistic license, 'cause I will be resurrecting the elder Mr. Malfoy... so he's not in prison in my little world. 'Cause I need him. And because he's a fantastic character, so nyah.
Draco fed another small branch to the fire he'd managed to cobble together from the trash littering the cavern floor. It wasn't very impressive, to be certain- he'd just managed to get Harry to light the fire before the younger wizard succumbed to his exhaustion. Once the golden boy had slipped back into unconsciousness, Draco reclaimed his wand- he wasn't about to sit around in the dark with some thing, as Harry called it, hunting somewhere above them.
Pensive, the blond Slytherin cast another uneasy glance toward the lip of the pit, seeking out movement or, gods forbid, a flash of yellow eyes. Seeing none, he relaxed marginally, his gaze straying to the figure curled up a few feet to his left. Potter really is catlike, he mused, finding the revelation somewhat disconcerting.
As if sensing the scrutiny, Harry stirred fretfully, whimpering in his sleep. Draco flinched, casting a critical eye over the other boy. In sleep, Harry looked impossibly frail. It became apparent that much of the famed Gryffindor's strength lay within sheer force of personality- and when not in motion, blazing eyes hooded by bruised lids- Harry was bereft, just another youth... a would-be casualty of war.
Draco's gaze was drawn to the notorious scar, livid against pallid flesh. Such a small thing to call so much attention, really. In the flickering light, he could just make out fading scratches, as if someone had tried to claw the mark into non-existence. Draco couldn't help but wonder if it was the Golden Boy himself that had done that in a fit of what was fast becoming characteristic rage, or if it had occurred during his one-sided battle with the tree earlier in the day.
Harry made another faint noise of protest in the back of his throat, drawing Draco's attention once more. Heaving a long-suffering sigh, the blond scooted to his side, prodding the slumbering boy in his uninjured shoulder.
"Potter. Wake up," he ordered, doing his best to sound put upon rather than concerned. The other boy moaned, reluctantly prying lashes apart to peer at his companion. Draco thought he glimpsed something in Harry's eyes- terror? confusion?- before recognition seemed to filter in.
"Malfoy," he greeted wearily, running a hand that trembled imperceptibly through disordered raven locks.
"Potter," Draco returned, and then, perhaps feeling he owed an explanation, "You were having a nightmare."
That something swam up behind Harry's eyes again, clouding the emerald green to a dull jade.
"Thanks," Harry murmured, effectively shocking them both into silence once again. Merlin, were they having a civil conversation? Close enough, thought Draco with a wry sort of amusement.
A thousand different questions crowded to the tip of the Slytherin's sharp tongue, demanding he give voice to something, be it concern or curiosity.
"We should go. Before that... whatever comes back," Harry stated flatly, and the moment was lost. Draco hitched a shrug, unfolding long legs and rising in one fluid motion. If he was stiff or sore, he didn't show it by the languid grace of his movements. Malfoys don't show weakness, he thought humorlessly, waiting with characteristic impatience on Potter to rise.
Harry felt as if his entire left side was on fire, throbbing in time to the racing cadence of his heart. His ankle was thrumming a dull counterpoint to the white-hot pain of his shoulder, but both would have to be tolerated for the moment.
Malfoy was watching him, cool and aloof- his aristocratic features marred with flaking blood and a fain smudging of dirt. Makes him look more human, Harry found himself thinking, somewhat uncharitably, and then he had to squash a rising wave of guilt.
He's trying to help you, git.
Yeah, and you wouldn't be out here if not for him.
If that wasn't self-defeating, Harry didn't know what was. So resolutely telling his inner monologue to shove off, he scrambled upright only to find the floor was canting sickeningly to one side.
Then he felt steadying arms around him, wiry muscles unyielding in their support. The pressure on his wounded shoulder made him breathless, however, and Harry shied back with a sibilant hiss. He found himself staring into fathomless silver eyes, smoky depths reflecting what might've been hurt before the trademarked Malfoy sneer slid into place.
Harry teetered as the taller youth stood back, but managed to remain more or less upright by bracing himself on the craggy rockface. Breathing deeply, he pushed down rising nausea and dizziness to favor Malfoy with an inquisitive look.
"So.."
The other boy snorted, his gaze speculative as it swept the walls of the pit.
"You can't climb, Potter."
"No, but you can... and then you could levitate me out," Harry suggested, feeling maybe a tad superior at having come up with a plan.
Malfoy looked shocked, smoky eyes wide above the bruised slashes of cheekbones.
"You would trust me to climb out of here with your wand, in the idiotic hope that I will turn around and levitate you out," the pale Slytherin stared, unblinkingly, at a bemused Harry Potter.
"That's generally the idea, Malfoy," he agreed with the tiniest of smiles.
"Besides, you're going up first, to make sure that thing is gone."
"Ah, so the noble Gryffindor is not entirely altruistic," drawled Malfoy, looking relieved.
"Prat. Now get to climbing."
A quirk of brows was the only sign of the Slytherin's surprise, and to Harry's own amazement he actually turned and began an unsteady ascent. It was several long moments before Harry realized he'd been holding his breath, watching Malfoy scale the rock face inch by agonizing inch.
Suddenly dizzied by the cognitive dissonance of cheering on his long-time rival, the dark-headed wizard glanced aside... and caught a flash of yellow eyes against the darkness.
"Malfoy! Look out!"
And was that really his voice, reedy and pitched into a boyish octave of terror?
The lanky blond started, nearly losing his tenuous handhold. Harry could only watch, helpless, as the Slytherin tried to maintain his grasp and wrestle the borrowed wand out of his robes. With a gritted curse, Malfoy freed himself and the wand of the enveloping swath of fabric, aiming unerringly at the pair of eyes watching his progress with predatory interest.
"Stupefy!"
Red light sizzled through the darkness, and Harry quickly blinked away afterimages. When his vision cleared, Malfoy had scrambled over the lip of the pit and out of his line of sight.
Another flash of colored light left the anxious Gryffindor blinking again, scanning the darkness for the familiar platinum blond through the lingering blotches that marred his vision.
"Malfoy!"
As if on cue, the smirking young wizard leaned back into Harry's view, one brow arched in eloquent signal of condescension.
"Afraid I'd run off and left you, Potter?"
"You wish."
Deja vu of a sort, and they both lapsed into an awkward silence. Finally Harry cleared his throat, turning expectant eyes upon the other.
"You really do trust me to get you out of there, don't you?"
The blond's expression was indecipherable, shuttered- it was not an unfamiliar look on the Malfoy heir. But the wondering note in his voice gave Harry pause. He nodded slowly, solemnly... keeping an even gaze locked on the older boy.
"Yes."
Simply that, no conditions or demands- just acceptance. He watched emotion flicker across Malfoy's pale, pointed features, too quickly to be named or marveled over.
A moment later, he fought back a triumphant whoop as invisible hands swept him up and out of the crevasse.
Draco's mind was a jumbled confusion of recrimination, guilt, pride, uncertainty, and above all... astonishment. Potter trusted him. Him, would-be kidnapper, tormentor and rival of years, a Slytherin- no, not a Slytherin, the Slytherin, and that fool of a naive Gryffindor just stood there and accepted him as a saviour. The mind boggled.
He cast a sidelong look to his classmate, watching him trudge along in a pained silence. Draco could make out the muscles in Potter's jawline, clenching and writhing beneath skin that looked as papery-white and brittle as old parchment. Gritting his teeth, Draco realized. The long-legged blond slowed his strides, allowing the other boy to catch up. He no longer had to worry about the other escaping- Harry was having difficulty walking, nevermind the ridiculous notion of running. Draco had seriously considered leaving the brunette in that little hole- going to fetch the help that probably waited right outside the anti-apparation wards. He had abandoned the notion though, fearing something else would come along and snack on the idiot Gryffindor.
"Potter," he began, smooth tenor lacking its usual hint of malice.
The other boy favored him with an incurious look, as if it required too much energy to even bother with a vocal response. Flustered for reasons he could not give definition to, the blond Slytherin's glance slid aside, away from the irritating boy-hero that was causing him so much trouble... and then back again, as if compelled.
"Potter, I - "
Whatever he had been about to say was lost as a familiar tingle swept over the weary young wizards. They had reached the outer edges of the wards.
Lucius Malfoy was anxious. Not that he'd ever admit that, mind you, but still he paced, clipped footfalls swallowed up by the cushioning dampness of grass. This was a fool's errand, waiting out here in the cold November air for a boy to deliver a prize such as Harry Potter when so many experienced wizards had failed. Granted, it was his boy, but Lucius held no special regard for his son's abilities. The boy lacked subtlety, rushing headlong into things with all the finesse of a rabid wolf.
Imagine his surprise when the Dark Lord insisted he give Draco this task- to lure The Boy Who Lived out of Hogwart's cradling wards and into the open. Lucius supposed it was a test of some sort, and so he was pacing along this side of the wards, pale eyes scanning the darkness for sign of his son. It would not do for Draco to fail in this, it would not do at all.
"Lucius. Stop that infernal pacing at once," ordered a curt baritone somewhere to his left. Severus Snape. The Potions Master was leaning against a tree, hooded eyes tracking the elegant blond's attempts to wear a track into the grass.
Lucius continued his pacing, not even bothering to sneer at the darker man. Snape was there ostensibly to keep any of Dumbledore's little warning glyphs from picking up on the presence of the Death Eater's scattered throughout the Forbidden Forest. How he was disabling them, Lucius hadn't bothered to ask.
"Severus, don't presume to command me. I am not one of your sniveling students."
"This entire affair rests on the shoulders of one of my sniveling students, need I remind you?"
"No, it rests on the shoulders of a Malfoy," Lucius corrected with a superior lift of his spade-sharp chin, challenge clearly flickering in cold grey eyes.
The Potions Master muttered something inaudible, folding arms across his chest to resume a silent vigil on this edge of the wards. The elder Malfoy smirked, mentally claiming a win in this, the latest of their sniping matches. It was then the sounds of approach reached both men's ears, bringing Snape around from his leisurely post and finally putting an end to Lucius' pacing. Wands at the ready, they peered into the shadows, both relaxing minutely as a familiar blond head came into view.
"Draco," greeted the elder Malfoy, watching his son's eyes widen comically. The boy was so... untrained at times it was painful. How many years had he spent explaining that Malfoys don't show emotion- emotion is weak, and weakness is not to be tolerated.
"Father, Professor Snape," the young blond murmured, inclining his chin in a brief but respectful nod.
Snape was circling a battered Potter, looking not unlike a hungry shark, all teeth and anticipation. The young wizard swayed, tremors wracking his slight frame. The boy was clearly exhausted, the hectic spots of color in his cheeks betraying the beginning hints of fever- most likely from the shoulder wound Lucius could glimpse oozing blood and thicker things from the tattered shoulder seam of his school robe.
"I must say I am impressed, young Mr. Malfoy," began the Potions Master, earning a weak glare from the young would-be hero.
"You slimy, traitorous git," hissed Potter, and all three of his captors rolled their eyes skyward.
"Oh, shut it, Potter," growled Draco, stalking to his father's side with quick, angry strides.
Lucius cast an appraising glance over both young wizards before catching Severus' beetle-black eyes, perfectly-arched brows rising in question.
"Mr. Malfoy, I will be escorting you back to the castle. Your father will take Potter from here," Snape stated in his usual clipped tones, an unspoken warning in those dark eyes effectively silencing any protests Draco might've sputtered.
Lucius rested a hand on one of his son's shoulders, overlooking layers of dirt and grime just this once. Draco glanced up, looking startled and pleased all at once.
"Draco. I am proud of you, son. You've done a great service for our Lord, and neither he or I will soon forget it," the elder Malfoy pronounced, squeezing that shoulder before stepping back and tangling a fist in Potter's unruly dark locks.
"See that he gets back to the castle unnoticed, Severus."
With a last look at his son, he disappeared with his prize.