June 2002

Fear wakes them up with the sun the next morning, in the form of shouts that are just a little too close to the clearing.

They untangle from one another in an instant and are on their feet, kicking pine needles brashly over their forms on the ground as a reflex response.

"Cloak?" Draco asks quietly, and Harry nods, throwing the fabric of his Invisibility Cloak hastily over the two of them. It's not meant for two and it doesn't quite cover them both, even as close together as they are.

Stupid, stupid, Harry thinks to himself angrily.

Stupid to let his guard down with Draco, to fall into such a false lull of security - there is no fucking security on the run with the world's most wanted ex-terrorist. And one day, they're going to run out of forest.

They don't look at each other much as they trip through the woods, and say even less ("We need to keep away from the river," is all Draco remarks, "They'll expect us there.") .

The shouts dim a little after several minutes, but the boys' hearts still hammer in their chests, and they don't stop just yet. An idea flits briefly through Harry's head, the idea of tearing away from Draco, keeping the Invisibility Cloak for himself, turning himself in, but he knows he'd be forced to explain himself, and he hasn't got a backup story that doesn't involve Draco. And he won't betray him. Won't even consider it.

"I hate this," Harry wheezes when they stop, scuffing a patch of dirt hard with his boot and coughing as he catches his breath in the cold air. "I hate it so much."

"I think we'll have a rabbit today," Draco says airily, ignoring Harry and the panic rattling through his own chest. "I'll set a snare. We deserve to eat nicely."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry says. Sarcasm drips from his tone as he bundles the Invisibility cloak back under his robes and runs a frustrated hand through his tousled dark hair. "We deserve that, do we? A traitor and a terrorist? Good. If we can't have freedom, at least we can have a fucking rabbit."

"I don't think I've ever had freedom," Draco replies simply, and his eyes are blue, no, grey, no, both. He leans in so achingly close. "This might be the only decision I've ever made," he whispers.

Harry lets him kiss him, stiffly at first, though it grows softer and more adept.

He lets his hands wander too; roaming over Harry's firm back and his neck and then down gently over his hips.

Freedom, he thinks, is this what freedom is? The space between us here and the decisions we make to care about one another before we die?

Harry wonders if he relates to what Draco said: "I don't think I've ever had freedom."

He thinks about the summer of 1980, of the two baby boys born in June and July, with no idea of the horrors that their lives would be coloured by. Born for one thing, chosen for another. What hope did either of these souls ever have?

"It's ok," Harry says at last against Draco's mouth, "I understand what you mean. I never had any freedom either."

That's the gasoline that turns the spark between them into a bonfire and suddenly they can't get close enough fast enough, fingers tearing at each other's hair and pouring over their skin, and all Harry can think, as he's pushed back into the ground, is how he hopes the end of the world waits a while before it comes to the woods.

Because nothing gets better than this.

***

Harry's bones aren't made for the cold shade of the woods, so he's glad when he awakes to find the fire early lit by Draco's delicate hands.

He huddles close to get an inkling of sun under his skin again, and an inkling of Draco back into his veins, the eternal summer of his wintered heart.

"You know what you were saying yesterday, about when we were at school?" Draco asks as Harry fidgets beside him. His voice is soft, melodic, and his lashes flutter long peaked shadows down his cheekbones in the firelight. Harry's transfixed by how beautiful he looks in that second.

"Yeah," he says simply. "I remember."

"I was just thinking about it."

His gaze is direct, undistracted - what would he have to be distracted by? Harry's the only thing in the world in that moment.

The object of Draco's attention stays silent, waits for him to talk. Eventually, he does.

"I'd have really loved you," he says, a strange look in his eyes. "If I'd been allowed."

"In another universe," Harry smiles, though there's no humour in his eyes.

"You and your parallel universes," Draco laughs. He shakes his head. "Maybe you're right, though. Maybe in another life we would've made it."

***

The next time the Aurors' shouts are heard again, it's late into the night. They echo out in that odd celestial time just before the dawn tinges the sky amber in those small precious spots where it is visible through the trees, and they stir Draco awake instantly.

"Harry, wake up!" he hisses.

His voice is ragged with panic. Harry doesn't move, so he tries again, harsher this time, and accompanied by a rough shake of the shoulder.

"Wake up, Potter, they're coming again, we have to fucking go!"

At that, Harry's eyes flare open wide and he grasps instinctively for Draco's outstretched hand like a child to scramble to his feet.

"Now?" he asks, his mind still half fogged with sleep and the electricity of the contact with Draco's skin.

"Yes, now," Draco nods sharply, and hauls him by the hand towards the woods. Before they can get far, however, a realisation hits him like a clap of thunder, so strong he almost yells.

"The fire!" he gasps. "There are still embers, Harry, they'll see-"

In a second, Harry's launched himself over the few steps back to the clearing, directly onto the pinkly dying fire. There, he begins scuffing and stomping hard, one hand clapped smotheringly hard over his mouth to muffle the pain - Draco knows those boots are wearing more than thin in several patches; it must be agony to make contact with the embers for so long.

The sacrifice is as raw as the red scars it leaves on Harry's poor damaged feet, but Draco's powerless to stop him, powerless to do anything except watch the scene unfold in horror until Harry collapses in his arms again, dizzy with pain.

"The river - we have to get to the water, Harry, soothe your feet-"

"No!" Harry hisses. His voice is scratchy and sore-sounding. "They'll find us at the river! And while I don't care if they kill me, they're not fucking touching you."

Draco knows it's pointless to argue, so instead he allows Harry to sling an arm around his shoulders and takes most of his weight as they half-run from the site. The fire may be out, but both of them know that the remaining smoke will be a sure giveaway of their whereabouts, and they have to get as far from it as possible.

The night ambush feels much more serious than the daytime one, and the boys force themselves to keep running for much longer, Harry leaning more heavily on Draco and pressing a hand harder over his mouth the further they go.

Neither of them have any idea how much time has passed before they stop against a tree in the half-light of the rising winter sun, their chests heaving dramatically.

It could be a handful of minutes or it could be almost an hour, but either way it's enough to significantly weaken Harry to the point where it's clear he isn't going to be able to even hobble much further - his whole face is screwed up with pain at every step, and each wince looks harder than the last.

"Climb on my back," Draco sighs, "I think we should keep moving just a little longer."

"No," Harry insists. "The shouts are quieter now, they're probably going in the wrong direction-"

"Do you want to risk that?"

Harry pauses, flicks his hair carelessly out of his eyes with one hand. He knows there's not a chance he can limp any further, but he doesn't want to burden Draco.

But Draco's eyes are pleading, the softest grey he's ever seen, and how can he say no to that?

"Let me," Draco says, and Harry drowns into his grasp like he's Holy water.

He'd let him do anything on Earth in that moment, they both know that.

***

They make slower progress with Harry draped over Draco's back, but both agree that some movement is better than nothing at a time like this, so they keep going till the sun is fully up and the woods ring empty of shouts once more.

In its place is birdsong and the babbling of the brook they found their way back to, and the gently snapping of twigs underfoot. These are the sounds Harry and Draco have learnt to associate with home. This is the soundtrack of their love story.

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a/n: thanks for reading! please vote and comment if you enjoyed, and i'll see you in the next chapter really soon!!

~ paradisedraco 💗