The Price of Light | drarry

twelve | a knife edge in a burning room

June 2002

When they settle down finally, Draco slides Harry to the ground by the bank of the brook as gently as if he were made of glass, and then eases off his boots with the softest touch he can manage.

"Fuck - fu- fuuuuuuuck," Harry hisses through his teeth, trying not to inadvertently lash out at the source of the pain. "I know you're helping me, sorry, Malfoy, FUCK-"

"It's over, it's over," says Draco soothingly, "They're off, it's ok. I've got you."

He guides Harry's aching feet with cool hands to the icy water's edge, and each breathe an audible sigh of relief as the burned skin makes contact with the brook. Tenderly, Draco washes the burns clean of mud and ash, and when the skin is looking fresher - albeit still pink - he tears off two lengths of his own robe and washes each in the water.

"You'd make a good Healer, you know," Harry sighs as Draco binds the first sopping swathe of material over his right sole, and the blonde laughs lightly.

"I always hoped that's what I'd have been, if I wasn't..." his voice tails off.

"If you weren't an accidental terrorist?" Harry smirks. It's not funny, he knows it's not, let alone accurate. But Draco chuckles anyway.

"Less of that, thanks, Scarhead," he rolls his eyes. "But, yes. That."

"You'd have been a good Healer," Harry says again. "And I'm sorry. You should've had that option."

"In an alternate universe," Draco smiles teasingly. "A parallel universe where my father wasn't a manipulative, evil scumbag and my mother had a backbone."

Harry doesn't know what to reply to that, so he changes tack as Draco wraps the second makeshift bandage over his left foot.

"What do you miss about your life before?" he asks, catching himself by surprise at the question as much as Draco.

"I didn't have much of a life before this," Draco admits. He runs a hand through his hair to keep it from flopping in his eyes. "After the war, we were in hiding - I suppose I haven't seen much of the world or ever done much else.  I suppose I miss my mother though, now and again. What about you?"

What don't I fucking miss, Harry expects himself to respond, but then he realises that the list is surprisingly short.

"I'm not sure I did a lot with my life, either," he says slowly. "I had a house, and a job, and friends, but I didn't really do anything, if that makes sense. I miss all those things, obviously. Especially Ron and Hermione. Miss them like crazy."

He clears his throat, trying not to think too much about his friends because of the tears threatening to burst down his cheeks.

"I guess you could say I miss sleeping in a fucking bed that doesn't have sticks and dirt in it," he laughs wryly, and Draco echoes the laughter.

He grins, though it doesn't reach his eyes. "And I miss showering in hot water. I miss my hot coffee in the morning and my mint tea at night. And my radio, God, I have this radio that I completely love, and I really miss that. Oh, and clean underwear is another good one."

Draco nods along, admiring the way Harry's mouth forms words, and the pretty movement of his throat as he speaks.

"I'd rather miss all those things forever than miss you," he says quietly, and a blush creeps over Harry's face.

"You're never going to have to," he responds a little awkwardly. "I think we both know how this one ends for you, and I'm not leaving when it does."