The Price of Light | drarry

six | killing the fish

April 2002

It's a fitful night, and Harry finds his eyes begin to fully open around the time dawn is peeking through the leaves. The space where Draco lay across from him has been covered with new leaves, and the ashes from the fire have been kicked messily through the undergrowth. Hiding evidence of his existence.

Draco himself is nowhere to be seen, but Harry's parched so he dusts himself off and makes his way to where he remembers the stream was.

And there, up to his neck in the wash of pink dawn light, is Draco Malfoy.

He's bathing in the stream, skin completely bare, and the light soaks over him as much as the water at his ankles. He's a vision.

Harry holds back a second, staring at Malfoy's back as cupped handfuls of water cascade down him, and then clears his throat to make his presence known. It feels weird to watch him  be so vulnerable without his knowledge.

At the sound, Draco turns. He looks calm, open. "Potter," he nods. Harry's breath catches in his throat.

God, he's gorgeous. He looks barely human.

"I just came for a drink," Harry mumbles, his cheeks flaring red. He's never seen Draco naked before - why would he have done? - and it's a confusingly wonderful experience.

"Don't let me stop you," Malfoy replies, then he sends another splash of water down his skin. He doesn't even flinch at the temperature, which must surely be painful.

Obediently, awkwardly, Harry kneels to scoop a handful from the other side of the stream, and drinks from it thirstily. He drinks more than he needs, as an excuse to stay by the water.

"Do you want breakfast?" Malfoy asks then, stepping out onto the bank and re-dressing himself in his black robes. "I have some apples back where we slept - they're crab apples, so they're sour, but they'll fill you up."

"Thanks," Harry nods politely. He can't believe he's not still angry with Malfoy after what happened yesterday, but supposes it'll hit again later. He wonders if the Aurors will come today or the day after. It'll be soon, anyway. He hopes they don't hurt Malfoy too badly.

They walk the thirty seconds back to the fire site in silence, and Harry wordlessly accepts the proffered green apple. Draco's right, it is sour, but it's better than nothing. He chews thoughtfully. He still hasn't got his head around the insanity of the situation.

"How long have you been living like this?" he asks. Malfoy meets his gaze.

"I'm not sure," he says. "Maybe two months? I didn't keep track of the days. Maybe I should've done. But unofficially I spent time here before I really had to. Father wanted me to be prepared."

"Today's the last day of April," Harry says quietly. He doesn't ask if Draco knows his father's dead.

"Not as long as I thought, then," Draco replies simply.

Harry can't keep his eyes off him as he eats. He can't put his finger on what exactly the difference in Draco is since they were seventeen - it can't just be the age, the hair, the very un-Malfoylike facial hair he's got going on.

He's noticed a soft sort of truth in everything Draco does, though. Perhaps that's it.

He's stripped of pretences. His materials. His wealth won't keep him alive in the forest and for the first time ever his reputation is far more of a risk than a saving grace.

Perhaps, abandoned by society in this way, Draco's the most human anyone can be.

How can he have ever done those terrible things Harry's read in the Prophet... the things that Ron and Rosen used to bang on about at work?