By The Light Of A Dying Flame ~ Drarry Fanfic

Chapter 13: Draco

Draco and Potter returned to the bedroom, light from the streetlamp spilling through the open blinds. They stood across from one another, a kitchen island no longer between them, and Draco pushed down the desire to step back and increase the distance. He couldn't stop thinking about the way Potter had wrapped his chest with bandages earlier; even without touching his skin directly, Draco could feel the heat from his fingers, the warmth of his breath, and the combination of his proximity and the tenderness with which he'd bandaged him was doing funny things to Draco's stomach. It made him want to hurl a curse at Potter, just because he soon could.

Potter held the wand at his side, watching his own fingers as they twirled it in tight circles. He nodded to himself before flipping the wand around and holding it out to Draco. Draco kept his eyes on Potter as he reached out for the wand, his hand shaking as it closed around the hawthorn wood. A pulse of familiarity surged up his arm, and emerald sparks flared from the tip. Potter jolted, dropping his hand and stepping back quickly—but the sparks landed harmlessly on his exposed arm, glimmering like moon dust before dissolving into his skin. His eyes lifted to meet Draco's, the same shade of green.

"Alright, then," Potter said, clearing his throat against the silence. "Do you know the incantation?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, Potter," he drawled.

Potter's mouth twitched, his own eyes narrowing. He gestured to the wand. "Let's see you try it out, then."

Tightening his grip, Draco straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. "Expecto patronum!" he said in a solid voice; but the wand remained stubbornly unlit.

"What memory do you think of," Potter asked as Draco lowered the wand, his mouth scrunching in irritation, "when casting the spell?"

"Memory?"

"You have to conjure a memory—something happy."

Draco furrowed his brow, searching through his mind for something that could produce enough energy for his Patronus to take form. Nothing from the past few years—those had been filled with fear and blinding panic, with the searing pain of the Dark Mark burned onto his forearm. He thought of his childhood, of the look of pride on his father's face when he'd received his Hogwarts letter, of the magical toys he'd been showered with each Christmas. One in particular—his first broom—struck him as a time of joy, when he was able to leave the earth, the harsh criticism of Lucius, the twisted vileness of his aunt. He tried the spell once again, picturing himself on the tiny broom, but only a feeble pulse of bluish light flared in the darkness before dissipating just as quickly.

Reluctantly, he met Potter's gaze again. His mouth was twisted in consideration. "What did you think of?"

Draco bit back an acerbic retort, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the wand. "The first time I rode a broomstick." Potter blinked at him, his head tilting slightly as he surveyed Draco. Inhaling sharply against his stare, Draco threw up his free hand. "What?"

Clearing his throat again, Potter shifted his gaze away from Draco's face. "That's what I thought of the first time Lupin taught me this spell."

Draco's lips parted slightly, but he shook his head. "I'm sure it's what a lot of people use," he said dismissively, rubbing the wand between his thumb and forefinger. "Nothing beats the feeling of flying."

"Regardless," Potter replied, shoving his hands into his pockets, "it's not a powerful enough memory. You have to use something that cuts to the essence of who you are."

"Which is what?" Draco asked, waving the wand around, his wrist limp. "Devilishly handsome? Exceedingly wealthy?"

"A wanker."

Draco glared at him. "What do you think of, then, since you're so bloody good at it?"

Potter shrugged, the gesture irritating in its nonchalance. "The first time I managed a Patronus, I thought of when I received my Hogwarts letter." He regarded Draco carefully, before adding, "Really anything to do with Hogwarts—that's where I'm the happiest." His mouth tugged into a smile. "Especially with Ron and Hermione," he finished.

Something distressingly similar to jealousy flared in Draco's chest. Hogwarts was once where he had been happiest, but those feelings of joy and wonder and escape had fallen off that damned tower the year before. He thought of Crabbe and Goyle, of Blaise, Pansy, and Theo, but all he could see was Snape's coldly disapproving glare, Bellatrix crawling from the Vanishing Cabinet like a spider emerging from her web. His silver eyes refocused on Potter, who was watching him with a slightly furrowed brow. "I don't have anything."

"There has to be something, Malfoy," Potter insisted, waving his hands around as if to pull the memories from the darkness between them. "No fond memories of that big, drafty mansion of yours?"

Draco's jaw tightened, and he lowered the wand. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Then tell me, Malfoy," Potter said, taking a step closer, and Draco fought against the urge to raise his wand again. "Seventeen years of money and privilege and fucking magic, and you can't find something to help conjure a Patronus?"

Now, Draco did raise the wand, pointing it at Potter's face as he snarled out the incantation. Potter flinched, and the bluish light returned, stronger this time; it flared into a swirling river of silver, vibrating in the air between the two wizards, reflecting off of Potter's glasses. Draco's eyes widened, stunned in the brightness, before it evaporated like morning mist in the rising sun. Potter met his shocked gaze, his eyebrows lifting. "You're almost there," he said, his voice softer than before. "What did you think of this time?"

Draco stared at the place where the incorporeal Patronus had floated in the musty bedroom, the fingers clutching his hawthorn wand tingling with magic. He swallowed heavily, cutting his eyes quickly to Potter's. "None of your fucking business," he said, tossing the wand on the bed and turning away from Potter, the other boy's green eyes heavy on his back.

"We're not finished," Potter said from behind him. "The Patronus has to be in full form to send a message."

"We're done for now."

"This is important—"

"I'm done," Draco hissed, tightening his hand around the bed frame. He felt Potter struggling against the urge to argue, that stubborn streak of his nearly tangible in the darkened bedroom, but Draco heard him close the door after several thumping heartbeats. His shoulders dropped, his eyelids fluttering closed against the image of Potter's face hovering above his own as the blood drained from his body, the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness those bright emerald eyes.