By The Light Of A Dying Flame ~ Drarry Fanfic

Chapter 4: Harry

Harry felt rather exposed in the Scottish sunlight. The Invisibility Cloak was still tucked into Hermione's bag, which was with Hermione, who was—unknown. He tried not to think about it.

In the distance, the clattering wheels of a train rumbled through the tiny town; although it wasn't the time of year for the Hogwarts Express to be making its journey along those very tracks, the sound still rattled through Harry down to his bones, making his scar burn and his teeth ache. He tried not to think about that, either.

He managed to snag some produce from a passing cart and a partially molding loaf of bread from a compost bin. When he returned to the gardening shed, Malfoy was in the exact same place Harry had left him, his long legs stretched out in front of him, drawing patterns in the wood with a puddle of rainwater, drops of his dried blood scattered around him like macabre splatters of paint.

"I'm not eating this," Malfoy said, eyeing the bread disdainfully when Harry held it out to him.

"Then starve," Harry replied, using the wand to cut away the moldy parts of the bread, setting it gingerly on his knee. He bit into the soft flesh of a plum, the juice dripping down his chin, and hunger flared in his stomach at the sour sweetness. He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten, and he devoured the rest of the plum as if it were the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

Malfoy watched him chew, his top lip curling. With reluctant fingers, he snagged the bread from Harry's lap and tore off a chunk. Harry watched with raised eyebrows as Malfoy sniffed the bread before nibbling the tiniest morsel he could fit his teeth around, his scowl deepening at the taste. As he ate—slowly, as if he were a toddler Harry was forcing to eat a proper serving of vegetables—some of the color returned to his face, his sour expression lightning to only a shade darker than his typical air of displeasure.

"Once it's dark," Harry said around his third plum, "we'll need to Apparate somewhere else."

"What do you mean, 'we?'"

Harry raised one eyebrow, watching Malfoy gingerly pick up a carrot and examine the vegetable as if it held the answer to some riddle hidden in its grooves. "You want me to leave you here?"

"Give me my wand back," Malfoy replied, waving the carrot around demonstratively, "and it won't be a problem."

Harry laughed sharply. "Not a chance." He gathered up the remaining scraps of food, shoving them into his moleskine bag as best he could. Malfoy watched him, his gray eyes narrowed and lip still curled in that infuriating way that made Harry want to deck him right in the mouth. "What?" Harry asked, glancing down at his own hands before meeting Malfoy's watchful gaze.

"Did the Muggles starve you so much," he said plainly, "you got used to hoarding food?"

Heat flushed through Harry's face, and he stood up, glaring down at Malfoy. "I don't know when we'll have access to food next," he said, his voice edged in steel. "This isn't a bloody holiday, Malfoy."

Malfoy gestured around them, at the wooden slats of the shed, the leaking roof. "I am well aware."

"You're unbearable," Harry spat.

Malfoy's jaw tightened, and he brushed bread crumbs from his long fingers before laying back down, his face turned toward the wall. "Wake me when it's time to leave."

Harry exhaled, sliding to the floor on the opposite side of the shed, his body achingly tired in that prickly way when anxiety had burned a crooked path through your limbs for endless days. Panic gnawed at him, brushing the edges of his senses and spiking through his brain with each burn of his scar. Ron and Hermione had no idea where he was; all he could do was hope they'd made it somewhere safe, that Dobby had been able to find them again. All Harry could do was keep moving, keep himself safe until he could come up with some plan—and try not to murder Malfoy in the meantime. Hatred simmered in his stomach like a bubbling cauldron.

The day passed slowly and in silence, with Harry alternating between staring at the wall and pacing the short distance of the shed. Malfoy remained stubbornly on his side, back to Harry, still as a Basilisk's victim. Once the sun dipped below the horizon, Harry trudged to his side, kicking him sharply in the shoulder. "Get up," he ordered.

Malfoy groaned, turning himself onto his back. Pain rippled across his face as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Harry watched wordlessly as he slowly, slowly stood, muttering curses under his breath. He faced Harry, drenched in sweat, a trickle of blood sliding down his pale stomach from beneath his bandages. Harry stepped forward, wrapping his hand around Malfoy's bicep, recoiling at the clamminess of his skin. "Don't fight me this time," he muttered, before spinning into the void, Malfoy at his side.