By The Light Of A Dying Flame ~ Drarry Fanfic

Chapter 3: Harry

Harry thought about abandoning Malfoy. He really did.

He paced near the door of the gardening shed they'd ended up in, Malfoy's wand clenched in his fist, his moleskine bag beating against his chest as he prowled back and forth like a caged beast. Outside, rain pounded furiously against the earth, and it leaked through cracks in the ceiling, dripping onto his face and neck.

The dueling pull of his mind and Malfoy's when they'd Apparated had landed them in a Scottish hamlet, nestled in the hills near the track of the Hogwarts Express. Harry had thrown them into the nearest four-walled structure he'd seen, casting protection spells with all the elegance of a first-year. Malfoy had bled all over the place, soaking into the wood and spilling down his chest in gruesome rivers. Harry had Transfigured his shirt into bandages, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding as Malfoy grew paler and paler beneath his hands.

After several sloppy spells, Harry's energy drained down to the wick, the flow of blood had eventually slowed. Harry's hands were coated in ruby gore, but Malfoy's breathing had become less shallow, and only then had Harry leaned back on his heels and realized what an absolute fucking mess he was in.

He glanced over at Malfoy, still unconscious from the Stunning spell. He could leave him now that he wasn't going to exsanguinate. Even without a wand, Malfoy couldn't be totally helpless. But that irritating sense of righteous responsibility tugged at Harry's chest, and he threw his head back, releasing a frustrated groan.

Fatigue filled his limbs with concrete, panic whirring in his brain like a broken alarm clock, and he sat back down on the ground, leaning against the door to the shed. Malfoy's head was currently propped up on Harry's jacket, so Harry remained upright as his eyes slipped closed, his hand still gripping Malfoy's wand like the hilt of a sword.

***

A muffled grunting woke Harry. His eyes shot open, pupils dilating in the brighter light of dawn. The oil lamp had extinguished at some point while he'd slept. The grunting grew louder, and he glanced over at Malfoy to find him in an awkward, crouched position, his legs trembling beneath him like a calf just learning to walk. His tongue poked out from between his lips as he attempted to shimmy up the wall of the shed. The bandages around his chest were soaked through with fresh blood.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

Malfoy startled, his legs giving out beneath him. He landed back on the ground with a dull thud, and he gasped with the pain. "Fuck, Potter," he hissed between his teeth, reaching up to press his palm against his chest.

Harry stood, making his way over to Malfoy and kneeling in front of him. Malfoy flinched back when Harry reached out his hand, gloved in dry blood, to unravel the bandage, his gray eyes darting between his face and his own chest. "What are you doing?" Malfoy said, voice pinched.

"Helping you," Harry snapped, slicing through the bandage with Malfoy's wand. Malfoy's skin was exceedingly pale and glimmered beneath a thin layer of sweat. In the daylight, the wound looked far more gruesome, with purplish-green edges and spurts of dark red blood leaking out of Malfoy's parted flesh. The gash wasn't very long, but it bisected the left side of his chest, right above his heart. As Harry's eyes roved his torso, they snagged on the Dark Mark burned into Malfoy's forearm, the skin there rippled and raised. He turned away, nausea roiling in his stomach.

He rummaged through the compartments in the back of the shed until he found a pile of unused rags. With the hawthorn wand, he cleaned them the best he could, tearing them into long strips that he used to rewrap Malfoy's chest and tucking the rest into his moleskine bag.

Malfoy watched him silently as he tended to him, his gray eyes unreadable. Harry was careful to avoid touching Malfoy with his bare skin, the intimacy between them slithering through his gut as if he'd drunk poison. Once Harry stepped away, Malfoy lightly fingered the bandages, grimacing with the movement. When he glanced back up at Harry, he said plainly, "I'm starving."

Harry laughed, the sound harsh in the cool morning air, shaking his head. "You're such a git, Malfoy."

"A hungry git."

Rolling his eyes, Harry gestured around them. "I don't have any food, and I can't leave you alone."

Malfoy scowled, looking pointedly at his wand in Harry's hand. "You're the one with the wand," he said dryly. "What am I supposed to do without it?"

Harry's eyes flicked down to the tattoo on Malfoy's forearm. "You could summon that master of yours."

Malfoy's expression hardened, and he cut his eyes away, crossing his left arm over his abdomen so the Mark was hidden from view. "He would kill me right along with you."

Harry sighed, rubbing his scar with his fist as it prickled. "Fine," he muttered, walking toward the door of the shed, "I'll see what I can find." His own stomach was scraped dry and hollow, but he also couldn't deny his acquiescence stemmed from the sudden overwhelming desire to escape the shed. Malfoy's presence seemed to have inflated to every corner until Harry felt he might suffocate beneath it. He looked back at Malfoy, his hand tightening around the hawthorn wand before he said, "And if you do anything remotely stupid while I'm gone, I'll kill you myself."