By The Light Of A Dying Flame ~ Drarry Fanfic

Chapter 14: Harry

Harry didn't manage to sleep until morning light had already begun to filter through the window, too drained to have closed the blinds the night before. As he blinked grumpily awake, he reached over to the nightstand to grab the hawthorn wand, only to remember it wasn't there; Malfoy had it now. Part of the reason sleep had evaded him so stubbornly was that he couldn't shake the look on Malfoy's face when he'd produced his non-corporeal Patronus—it was meant to be an incantation of joy, to stave off the darkness, but Malfoy had seemed wrapped in those very shadows, embroiled in anger. He should not have been able to produce that Patronus at all.

After what had been a few hours of fitful rest, with Malfoy's narrowed silver eyes imprinted on the backs of Harry's eyelids, he finally pulled himself from the bed. He splashed water on his face, ignoring his reflection. In the closet, he found an empty backpack, where he threw in a change of clothes and the first-aid kit from the kitchen, as well as a few cans of beans and other provisions grabbed at random; his ability for long-term planning seemed to have burned into an unidentifiable pile of ash. Outside the door to Malfoy's room, he hesitated, the backpack slung over one shoulder. With a deep breath, he knocked lightly and waited for several moments before Malfoy threw the door open, blinking into the light of the hallway. He was still shirtless, the bandages wrapped around his chest, and had taken off his jeans, wearing only a pair of black boxers he must've nicked from one of the dresser drawers. His hair had dried in loose curls that made him look younger, like the boy he had been when they'd first met in that robes shop all those years before.

"What now?" Malfoy grumbled, rubbing his chest with a flat palm.

"We need to move on," Harry said, determinedly keeping his eyes fixed on Malfoy's face and away from the Dark Mark shifting back and forth across his vision with the movement of Malfoy's arm.

Malfoy dropped his other hand from the door, mouth twisting into a scowl. "Now?"

Harry rolled his eyes, pulling the backpack higher on his shoulder. "Yes, now," he said, "Unless you want to wait around for the Death Eaters to find us."

Malfoy sighed deeply before turning and walking back into the room. Harry stood awkwardly in the doorway, not wanting to shorten the distance between them any more than he had to. "Where are we going, then?" Malfoy asked as he picked up his jeans off the floor.

"I was hoping you'd have a suggestion."

Malfoy stiffened, straightening to peer at Harry, his jumper dangling from one hand. "What?"

"Look," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders, "Hermione was the one who came up with the hideouts for us." He glanced around at the Muggle house that still reminded him painfully of Privet Drive, like a tiny blade shoved between his ribs. "I don't have any more ideas."

"And you want my input?"

"Why not?" Harry asked plainly. "Stranger things have happened."

An inscrutable expression crossed Malfoy's face. He pulled the jumper on, his curls flattening against his head before springing up again, glinting in the muted sunlight. He grabbed his wand from the nightstand and tucked it behind his ear. "Could be a trap," he suggested, raising his pale eyebrows at Harry.

"Then I can pass into the afterlife with the comfort that you'll be joining me."

Malfoy crossed the room to peer into the closet, pulling out an oversized coat. He brought the dark material to his face and sniffed, recoiling at what Harry guessed was the musty scent of mothballs. "I have a place in mind," he relented, draping the coat over his arm. "I'm just not sure how safe it'll be."

"We're both on the run now," Harry said, and Malfoy's jaw tightened, his gray gaze cutting towards the window. "Nowhere is safe."

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