April 2002

It's a fitful night, and Harry finds his eyes begin to fully open around the time dawn is peeking through the leaves. The space where Draco lay across from him has been covered with new leaves, and the ashes from the fire have been kicked messily through the undergrowth. Hiding evidence of his existence.

Draco himself is nowhere to be seen, but Harry's parched so he dusts himself off and makes his way to where he remembers the stream was.

And there, up to his neck in the wash of pink dawn light, is Draco Malfoy.

He's bathing in the stream, skin completely bare, and the light soaks over him as much as the water at his ankles. He's a vision.

Harry holds back a second, staring at Malfoy's back as cupped handfuls of water cascade down him, and then clears his throat to make his presence known. It feels weird to watch him  be so vulnerable without his knowledge.

At the sound, Draco turns. He looks calm, open. "Potter," he nods. Harry's breath catches in his throat.

God, he's gorgeous. He looks barely human.

"I just came for a drink," Harry mumbles, his cheeks flaring red. He's never seen Draco naked before - why would he have done? - and it's a confusingly wonderful experience.

"Don't let me stop you," Malfoy replies, then he sends another splash of water down his skin. He doesn't even flinch at the temperature, which must surely be painful.

Obediently, awkwardly, Harry kneels to scoop a handful from the other side of the stream, and drinks from it thirstily. He drinks more than he needs, as an excuse to stay by the water.

"Do you want breakfast?" Malfoy asks then, stepping out onto the bank and re-dressing himself in his black robes. "I have some apples back where we slept - they're crab apples, so they're sour, but they'll fill you up."

"Thanks," Harry nods politely. He can't believe he's not still angry with Malfoy after what happened yesterday, but supposes it'll hit again later. He wonders if the Aurors will come today or the day after. It'll be soon, anyway. He hopes they don't hurt Malfoy too badly.

They walk the thirty seconds back to the fire site in silence, and Harry wordlessly accepts the proffered green apple. Draco's right, it is sour, but it's better than nothing. He chews thoughtfully. He still hasn't got his head around the insanity of the situation.

"How long have you been living like this?" he asks. Malfoy meets his gaze.

"I'm not sure," he says. "Maybe two months? I didn't keep track of the days. Maybe I should've done. But unofficially I spent time here before I really had to. Father wanted me to be prepared."

"Today's the last day of April," Harry says quietly. He doesn't ask if Draco knows his father's dead.

"Not as long as I thought, then," Draco replies simply.

Harry can't keep his eyes off him as he eats. He can't put his finger on what exactly the difference in Draco is since they were seventeen - it can't just be the age, the hair, the very un-Malfoylike facial hair he's got going on.

He's noticed a soft sort of truth in everything Draco does, though. Perhaps that's it.

He's stripped of pretences. His materials. His wealth won't keep him alive in the forest and for the first time ever his reputation is far more of a risk than a saving grace.

Perhaps, abandoned by society in this way, Draco's the most human anyone can be.

How can he have ever done those terrible things Harry's read in the Prophet... the things that Ron and Rosen used to bang on about at work?

"You weren't a Death Eater, were you?" Harry asks.

"No," says Draco simply.

Harry doesn't ask again.

***

May 2002

By the time the second week after meeting Malfoy comes around, Harry's learnt to sleep at night and he's stopped trying to think of ways to get out of the woods every second of every day.

He and Draco aren't friends by any stretch of the imagination, but they share water, and sometimes at night they sleep within touching distance to conserve body heat, and share the Invisibility Cloak. And that's a hell of a lot closer than they could ever get at school.

He's taken to watching the blonde quietly as he does the tasks they need to do to stay alive, and wondering vaguely how it'll all end. In flames? In rescue? In destruction?

This evening is less rainy than it's been recently, though, which is a blessing. They've been moving around constantly to find the best canopy to protect the light of the fire and it's nice to have a clear day to stay in one place.

This is the price of light, Harry supposes.

And so the fire's newly lit, and burning bright as he watches its glow reflect off Draco's skin.

"Pass me a leaf or two, Potter," Draco mutters with a stifled gag. He's gutting a fish he caught from the river, and that's always his least favourite job. But they have to eat.

So Harry obliges, and forces a hard swallow as he watches Draco's pretty fingers work.

The fish gleams, clean now, and the blonde bundles it gently into the fire to roast it. Harry can see the grey eyes shining with something sensitive that he's still not quite used to seeing in Draco.

This is one of the things he's recently learnt about the boy he used to hate - he cries when he has to kill something. Every time. But he still does it - he catches fish and birds and the occasional rabbit with a Seeker's accuracy.

And then sometimes he vomits when they die.

The fish is cooking now, though. Their one sanctioned hot meal of the day. And it smells good after a day of acorns and the kind of nameless plants they find by the river. If Draco's got a few safe wild mushrooms too then they'll cook those in the fish fat left on the leaf later on, and Harry looks forward to that hungrily.

"So because you're an Auror," Draco says as he pokes another stick into the fire. "Does that mean you know much about ... about the others? About how the Resistance is going?"

Harry considers. How much should he tell him? This is the first time he's brought it up, surprisingly. Perhaps they both knew it was a subject best avoided.

Harry bites the bullet. "Do you mean 'others' like your family?" he asks quietly.

Draco pales. "My father's died, hasn't he?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he has." Harry swallows. Uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I actually tried to protect him, but..." his voice trails off.

"It's fine," Draco interrupts stiffly, but his eyes are already glassy. It could be the smoke in his eyes, Harry reasons. Or the aftermath of killing the fish.

Or maybe, Harry, he's twenty-two years old and has just learnt he's lost his dad.

"I'm sorry," Harry says again, feeling useless. "I told my boss that it was happening - that people were killing detained Death Eaters... I told anyone who would listen that he was high profile, and not to leave him alone. But it still happened."

"It's fine." Draco's completely rigid, processing the news. He looks like he's in pain, but Harry isn't sure how to comfort him, so he stays silent.

Should he tell him about the Horcrux, he wonders? Maybe not. Better to keep it one bombshell at a time.

"Do you think the next war will come sooner rather than later?" Draco asks, breaking Harry's train of thought. His hands snap twigs to cast into the flames, and Harry can't see his face well now he's turned it sideways from the fire.

"Probably, yeah," he answers the question quietly. "There'll definitely be trouble if the other Aurors find us here and see that you kidnapped me."

"Oh, that's not an 'if', Potter," Draco shakes his head. "That's a 'when'."

He pauses, swallowing hard. "And it won't be a war. It'll be a massacre."

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a/n: thanks to anyone who reads this fic! i'm going to keep this one short, it's worth sticking around for the ending that i have in mind so trust me on this one ;)

please please vote and comment, it means a lot to me and i'm sorry i haven't posted in a while! i've been super busy but i'm around now and keen to work on this fic 💗

~ paradisedraco