Chapter Text
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, and I make no monetary gain from this enterprise.
Author’s notes: Written for the heck of it, and for the entertainment of my darling sassy_cissa . This was a bunny that would just not cease hopping.
There was no moon and little light in the yard where the carriages sat side by side on the close set tracks. The trains were mostly silent, faintly ominous coffin shapes in the darkness. The shadows between the tracks were long and inky black, and if one or two of those black shadows seemed to move, there was no one there to notice. And no one did notice, as a lumpier shadow extricated itself from between two of the carriages and lurched clumsily toward another.
Harry Potter tightened his arm around the man he half-dragged, half-carried forward, eyes wide and searching each of the boxcars. These trains were on the south bound tracks. He hoped to find an open door; someplace they could hide, rest for a bit, and maybe, if luck was on their side, hitch a ride back towards civilization.
“Donnelly!”
Harry heard the rough voice shout out to his left, and quickly pressed his back against the side of one of the cars, pulling his companion with him. The man moaned, and Harry reached over and quickly pressed his hand over his mouth. He couldn’t see the pain-filled eyes in the darkness, but he felt the moist breath against his palm.
“Ssh,” he breathed.
“Yeah, Dobs?” Another voice answered.
“Check them cars on the two-forty for Edinburgh. Don’t want no dogs in em this time, right?”
“Yeah.”
Harry pressed his back even more firmly to the side of the train as he heard footsteps shuffle by not far away, his grip tightening in unspoken warning on his companion.
“You want the cars checked, do it yerself, ya twat,” Harry heard someone grumble as they moved past on the other side of the carriage, feet noisy on the gravel. “Yer the one got the raise, not me. Far as I’m concerned, demmed dogs can shite all over the place.”
Harry held his breath until he was certain that the man was gone, then leaned out, searching left and then right. And there, near the end of the long line of cars and one track over, he saw the telltale tendrils of steam lifting from between the boxy shapes, the only indication that it was the two-forty for Edinburgh. If they could get as far as Edinburgh, he could get help...
“Come on,” he said urgently, urging his companion forward. There was another muffled moan but Harry ignored it as he moved in the shadows next to the train. He had to get one row over, where he could check for open doors. And he had to hope that the amount of noise that they were making was covered by the sound of the great steam engine, idling up near at the front of the train.
He pulled the surprisingly heavy body between carriages, urging the other man silently to step up and over the coupling, and paused to once again check up and down the long train. He nearly groaned aloud in relief when there, just to their left, he spotted the yawning black hole of an open door. Up near the front of the train, he heard the doors starting to slide shut, and he knew it was now or never.
“Can you make it up and in that door?” he asked quickly. His companion didn’t answer. “Dammit,” Harry whispered heatedly, shaking him. “Answer me. Can you make it, because I don’t think I can lift you…”
“Stuff it, Potter,” came the muffled response. “And yes, I can fucking make it, if you’ll stop blathering.”
The voice sounded winded and pained, but there was enough of the usual bite that it reassured Harry somewhat.
“All right, you go first, and…”
“No.” There was nothing breathless about the sound now. “You go first, then pull me up. I won’t be able to climb in, and I don’t fancy getting caught while you’ve got your hands on my arse, trying to shove me in the door.”
“Fine,” Harry said shortly, checking up and down the tracks once again, seeing figures far down the line, shutting and securing the doors. “But we have to go now.”
They stayed in the shadows, moving towards the yawning opening. Harry braced his arms on the floor of the carriage and pushed up, rolling into the musty space, then turned and reached down with his hand.
Even in the darkness, he could see the ragged white-blond hair, the upturned face pale as bleached bone. He couldn’t see the silvery color of the shadowed eyes, but he didn’t have to. He knew it by heart, saw it in his most secret dreams; those quicksilver eyes that had haunted him for the four days that Draco had been missing. They looked glazed and shadowed with pain but no less alert as he reached out with both of his hands and caught at Harry’s, and Harry grunted as he pulled him up and onto the rough wooden floor beside him.
Almost as soon as their feet had cleared the doorway, there were the sounds of voices from outside.
“I tell you, I saw someone,” a man was saying forcefully, and Harry cursed under his breath, wrapping his arms around the thin, wiry body and rolling, hiding them behind a row of pallets just inside the door to the left. They came to a rest pressed against the wall with Harry lying on top of Draco, his head lifted and face turned toward the door. He tried to ignore the hot, damp breath that brushed his neck.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Donnelly. There’s no one in these cars. Relax; you got the fucking promotion.” It wasn’t ‘Dobs’, but someone who sounded a good deal gruffer, and more forceful. “I’m not impressed, and if we don’t get these doors closed, the bloody train will leave late, and it’ll be my arse. Now shove the fuck off and get out of my way.”
There were more rough voices, raised in argument, but moments later the heavy door slid shut with a decisive clang and the interior of the car was plunged into complete darkness.
Harry exhaled heavily and rolled off of Draco, lying at his side on his back. They didn’t speak as the raised voices continued to argue just outside the door. They didn’t speak even as the voices faded away. Finally, when all was quiet, Harry raised his head and turned it towards his companion.
“Are you all right?” he whispered. There was a moment’s pause.
“Yes.” The answer sounded faint, but steady.
“Did I hurt you, when I rolled you like that?”
A ragged chuckle greeted his ears. “After four days of beatings, that was nothing.”
There was another long silence. Finally, Harry reached out in the darkness, groping until his hand closed over a bony wrist. Draco startled, but didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry, Malfoy,” Harry said. “It was my fault, all of it. I should have known; the Glamour wasn’t even that good, and I’d seen the spell before…”
Harry heard Draco sigh. “Potter, you can take the blame when it’s actually your fault. We both wanted to believe that we’d found something. For now, just…” There was another pause, then the voice came again, softer, infinitely weary. “Thank you, for coming to get me. I… I don’t…”
“You’d have done the same for me,” Harry said quickly, sensing Draco’s discomfort. There was another silence.
“I like to think so, but…”
“You would have,” Harry said firmly, then squeezed the tensile wrist and let his hand drop away.
Silence settled. Harry sat up and shifted until his back was against the wall, and he leaned his head back, closing his eyes, his rapid heart rate beginning to slow for the first time since he’d seen a beaten and bedraggled Malfoy tied to the chair in that shabby, neglected basement. He heard a shuffling sound, and a soft grunt. Moments later, he felt the warmth of Malfoy’s shoulder against his own, and closed his eyes briefly, secretly savoring the slight pressure. There was so much he’d come to realize in the last four days. So much about himself, and the source of the raw panic and fear he’d felt…
“You said you’d seen the spell before,” Malfoy said, sounding more steady. “What did you mean?”
Harry thought back, the images in his mind coalescing into a painfully clear picture. He and Malfoy had been called out to a small house in Surrey, told that there was ‘dark activity’ by a neighbor. He’d cursed himself later for not recognizing the dark wizard under the Glamour, but at the time, they’d been trying to break the case of several Aurors that had simply disappeared, and they’d thought it a legitimate lead. Malfoy had taken out his wand and begun to dismantle the wards when there was a distinctive ‘pop’ and he’d vanished.
Harry had his wand out and was preparing to cast a tracking charm to follow just as Ron had appeared, grabbing Harry’s wrist, hurriedly ordering him not to do magic under any circumstances. Harry had been in a panic; his partner was gone, just like the others. But then what Ron was saying had begun to get through, and Harry’s heart had dropped into his stomach.
He stared into the darkness now, remembering a tent in the middle of a dark forest, and the werewolves that had suddenly been there when he’d mentioned a hated name.
“During the war,” he said quietly. “Voldemort had a spell he used, to track anyone who used his name…”
“Expicsor is m perdulis.”
Harry turned his head toward the weary voice.
“What?”
“Expicsor is m perdulis.” Malfoy repeated. “To find my Enemy.” He paused. “I saw him use it. It was incredibly complicated.”
“Apparently, it still is,” Harry said, running his hand through his hair. “And they’ve made some alterations.”
“What kind of alterations?”
Harry sighed. “Well now, instead of the speaking of a name being the trigger, they’ve somehow manage to attach the magical signatures of everyone working within the Auror division.”
Harry could almost hear Malfoy’s mind working. “They’ve ‘attached’ our magic?”
“Yes, with an involuntary Apparition spell.”
“So then, any magic…”
“Brings us right to them, yes.”
“Fuck.”
“Pretty much.”
Malfoy exhaled heavily. “Christ, that explains so much.” Harry could almost feel the grey eyes searching for him in the darkness. “That’s why you were carrying a Muggle weapon.”
The weight of the gun had felt uncomfortable in his hand, and yet it had been the only choice that Harry had.
“Did you think I’d gone round the twist?” Harry asked, smirking.
“I thought you had a cowboy fixation.”
Harry chuckled. “Sounds like something you would think I’d do.”
“Sounds like something you’d do,” Malfoy countered. He paused. “Actually,” he said slyly, sounding more himself than he had in the entire time that Harry had been with him. “It was kind of sexy, in that cop on the telly way.”
It was a habit of long standing between them. Malfoy, unapologetically gay, would tease; Harry, heretofore convinced of his heterosexuality, would counter. “If a gun is all it takes, you’re too easy,” he managed, but his throat felt tight as he did so.
“So, I gather that until we figure out how they managed to find out all of our magical signatures, no one is doing much magic?” Malfoy asked.
“None,” Harry answered, glad the subject had changed.
“You had to travel here via Muggle transport,” Malfoy mused. “Which… explains the train, rather than a Portkey or Apparition.”
Harry marveled once again at how quick Malfoy’s mind was. It had taken him hours to process just that information.
“Therefore,” Malfoy went on into the darkness, “I’m guessing that means no spells of any kind, including healing.”
“Hermione doesn’t think it would be safe. She said no potions, either.”
“Shite.” Malfoy grunted as he shifted. “I wish she wasn’t usually right. I feel like I went five rounds with the Whomping Willow.”
Remembering the pack on his back, Harry shifted away from the wall, setting it on the floor. “She was afraid they might be causing some damage, and she sent some things, just in case.” Moving blindly in the darkness, it took him a few moments to find the zip. He opened it and fumbled inside.
“What kinds of things?” Malfoy said suspiciously. “And please, God, tell me you’ve some food in whatever it is you’re opening.”
“I do,” Harry said quickly, searching first for the cylindrical shape of the battery operated torch he’d tossed inside. One of the few benefits of being raised by Muggles was a working knowledge of the devices they used. He found the cold, round shape, lifted it from the bag, and flicked it on. A beam of bright light shot toward the ceiling, and he saw Draco jerk slightly from the corner of his eyes. He laid the torch on the floor, the beam directed at the wall so that the reflection of it lit the area immediately around his khaki-colored bag.
Digging through, he pulled out a bottle of water, and Malfoy made a grateful sound as Harry put it into his reaching hands. He could see their bruised knuckles uncapping the bottle in his peripheral vision as he found the small stash of candy bars and a plastic bottle that rattled when he caught it up in his hand.
“Oh, sweet Merlin,” Malfoy groaned when Harry’s hands came back into view. “You brought me chocolate. I may have to kiss you, Potter.”
Harry swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat as he held two of the candy bars out to Malfoy. “Hermione’s doing,” he said. “She said the sugar would help counteract the pain. Something about endorphins or something. No idea what it meant. But if you’re going to be kissing in gratitude, it’ll have to be her.”
Malfoy made a face as he tore the wrapper from one of the candy bars. “No, thanks. Rather kiss Shacklebolt, if it came right down do it.” The mental image of Draco snogging their stoic, serious supervisor made Harry smile. Malfoy took a bite of the chocolate, and the sound he made, pure pleasure mixed with gratitude, was so distinctly sexual that Harry grabbed another bottle of water from the bag and uncapped it quickly so that he could ease the sudden tightness in his throat.
Harry didn’t think that there had ever been a time in his life when he felt quite as out of his depth. As far as he’d known, he was a straight man, definitely attracted to girls, attached to Ginny Weasley in particular. They’d been together since the war had ended five years before, and the sex had been… well, she’d been his first and only, so as far as he knew it had been imminently satisfying, and she hadn’t complained.
When Shacklebolt had assigned Harry and trainee Malfoy to work as partners, Harry had been livid. Shacklebolt knew their history, and knew their mutual enmity. But, as he’d told Harry at the time, “You need to grow up and learn to work with all different kinds of people, Potter. And frankly, he’s smarter than you are.”
That had rankled, especially when it became quite clear the Malfoy had overheard it. But the smug superiority that Harry had expected had never really materialized. Oh, Malfoy was a smart ass, and snide, and arrogant. He was also, Harry was forced to admit, smart as hell. And funny. Really funny. Much to his surprise, he made Harry laugh. And it was about the time that Harry had begun to laugh with him that he’d noticed other things about his partner as well.
Like the fact that the war had changed Malfoy in ways no one but those who knew him well would notice. He was incredibly gentle when dealing with victims of crime, especially those injured at the hands of the few rogue Death Eaters still at large. When there were children involved, Malfoy’s calm, steadfast manner was reassuring. Harry was surprised by the almost tender way he spoke to them, handled them. If Harry had to pinpoint the exact moment when his own feelings about Draco had irrevocably changed, it had been when they’d been interviewing a young girl, no more than thirteen, who’d been sexually assaulted by one of Voldemort’s few remaining followers.
Malfoy had seemed strung tight as a piano wire throughout the entire investigation, but he’d been unfailingly kind and professional. Harry was certain that he was the only one who had noticed Malfoy’s hands trembling while he’d softly, carefully interviewed the tearful victim. When they’d gone back to the Ministry, Malfoy had calmly excused himself while Harry had briefed Kingsley. When ten, then fifteen minutes had gone by and Malfoy still hadn’t returned, Harry had gone in search of his partner. He’d found him, finally, on a terrace off of the break room, a Muggle cigarette in his trembling hand, his face the color of old parchment.
“Malfoy, all right there?” Harry had asked from the doorway, brow furrowed as he’d studied Malfoy’s ashen face. Malfoy’s fair head had jerked in a tight nod, but Harry could see that he was lying, and let the door shut behind him as he’d stepped onto the balcony. Malfoy looked as if a stiff breeze might shatter him into a million pieces. Harry stood at his side, hands in his pockets, staring at the magically created view of London, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt in his life. “Want to talk about it?” he’d asked finally, and he heard Malfoy’s tortured gasp of mirthless laughter at his side.
“No, I don’t want to ‘talk about it’,” he’d answered, angry. “And you’re not my fucking shrink, so back the hell off.”
Harry had turned his head and looked at him. “Look,” he’d said, his own anger engaged. “Clearly, something about this case has set you off. I just thought…”
“That’s your problem, Potter,” Malfoy had retorted, his storm cloud grey eyes flashing. “You don’t think. You just… blunder in, all well-meaning and upstanding and fucking earnest, still the shining golden boy, still the Saviour of the world…”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Harry had shot back, stung. “I just thought maybe you needed someone to talk to. You were so good with the girl, but clearly something about it got to you…”
The anger had drained from Malfoy’s eyes abruptly, leaving them bleak, and weary. His face looked all angles, thin skin drawn taut over sharp bones. “Some things --” he’d said, and Harry would never forget the look on his face, the sound of his voice; ragged, lost, “—cannot be talked about, cannot be understood unless you’ve lived them.”
Something had caught hard around Harry’s heart, like a fist, and clenched tightly. “Malfoy,” he’d wheezed. “Surely, no one…”
The corner of Malfoy’s lips had quirked in the saddest excuse for a smile that Harry had ever seen. “It was pretty common knowledge among the Death Eaters that Lucius Malfoy’s son was bent, Potter. And, as I’ve been told, I am so very pretty…”
The bitterness with which the words were delivered was almost as hard to hear as the expression on the pale face was to look at.
“Draco,” Harry had sighed. As far as he knew, it was the first time he’d ever used Malfoy’s given name. It was also the first time he’d had the almost uncontrollable desire to wrap him in his arms, and just hold him.
Malfoy’s reaction was, of course, somewhat different. He’d turned to Harry, back suddenly straight and eyes glinting now like tempered steel. “This conversation did not take place,” he’d said flatly. “If you repeat a word of it, I’ll remove your balls and feed them to you for breakfast.”
Harry had blinked, then nodded. “Understood.” They’d gone back to Shacklebolt’s office without exchanging another word.
Harry had kept his word, and kept his silence, but from that day forward the way he looked at Draco was changed.
He was more protective, more observant. He noticed things he never had before, like the way Draco’s hair fell over his forehead, making Harry’s hand itch to push the fringe back where it belonged. And the spare, elegant way Draco moved, and the languid gestures, and the way he’d finally grown in to that faintly pointed face. It didn’t really look pointed any longer, but aristocratic, and in a very real way, beautiful. His eyes were large and heavily lashed, his lips full and soft, and Harry was stunned the first time he found himself wondering what it would feel like to kiss them.
He knew that he was in real trouble when the dreams started. Disturbing, dark dreams full of long pale limbs, and hard flat chests, strong, muscled bodies moving together and fingers curled around his cock that were neither soft, feminine, nor his own. He’d wakened rock hard and in a cold sweat, lying next to a sleeping Ginny, terrified that some night he’d call out another’s name in his sleep and his life as he knew it would be over. From that moment forward his relationship with the perky redhead was doomed, and it wasn’t long before he ended it for good.
Ginny hadn’t taken it well. Certain that he had found someone else, she’d badgered him relentlessly for the name. He’d lied, telling her there was no one, but the way she looked at him told him louder than any words that she didn’t believe him. Her family’s disappointment had been palpable and painful, and Harry began to spend more and more time at work, and in the company of his partner. A rift grew between him and Ron. The only one who remained steadfast was Hermione, but even the way she would look at him, brown eyes soulful and sad, made Harry uncomfortable.
Draco had known that something was going on in Harry’s personal life, but he hadn’t pried. In fact, he hadn’t said anything for weeks, until the deterioration in Harry’s sleep habits began to show on his face.
“You look like shite, Potter,” Draco had said bluntly one afternoon. “The Weaslette keeping you up nights?” One of his brows, darker than his hair, had arched ironically towards his hairline.
Harry had stared at his hands. “We aren’t together anymore.”
Silence had greeted the words. Finally, Harry raised his eyes and looked up to find Malfoy studying him pensively. Whatever Harry had been expecting, it wasn’t what Malfoy had said next.
“Well,” he mused softly. “She never was good enough for you.”
He’d stood and calmly left their office, and Harry had stared at the empty doorway for a very long time.
Two months later, Harry still had no idea how to approach his partner with the fact that he had feelings for him, and Draco had disappeared on that ill-fated raid. And now, they were in a boxcar somewhere in the wilds of Scotland, and Harry still felt weakened with relief that Draco wasn’t hurt any worse than he was.
“Tell me there’s more chocolate in there.”
The voice near his elbow made Harry start, and he looked over to find Draco watching him. There was a bruise on his cheek, and another along his jaw, and his hair was a ragged mess. Tenderness flooded Harry’s chest, and he handed Draco another bar.
“I’ve a few more, but we’d better ration them,” he said, forcing his eyes away and taking another drink from his water bottle. “I don’t know how long it will take to get back to London.”
“Well, how long did it take you to get here?”
The corner of Harry’s mouth quirked self-consciously. “Two days. I’d have left sooner, but I had to wait that long for the informant to find out where they might have taken you.”
“Driving the others crazy and making a complete nuisance of yourself, no doubt.”
Harry glanced up to find Draco watching him as he ate his candy more slowly. His eyes were indulgent. “I guess you could say that,” Harry admitted. “Even Hermione was about ready to hex me.”
Grey eyes shone mischievously. “Probably a good thing none of you can do magic, then.”
“Oh, she can,” Harry answered with a smirk. “She’s not an Auror. I’m just lucky she has more self-control than most.”
Draco’s lips twitched. “I’m surprised Shacklebolt let you come alone.”
Harry carefully screwed the lid back on his water bottle and returned it to his bag, but he knew that his cheeks were filling with betraying color. He could feel the heat of it.
“Potter,” Draco said flatly. Harry grimaced; the other man had a disturbing ability to read him. “Shacklebolt does know that you came alone, doesn’t he?”
“Uhm,” Harry stalled. “Hermione knows.”
There was a weighted silence, and Harry could feel Draco’s eyes boring into him. Finally, his partner cursed fluidly.
“Son of a bitch, Potter,” he said harshly. “So, now not only am I considered missing, but you are as well.” Harry shrugged as if it were of little importance. “You fucking idiot. Have you any idea how frantic they must be, and how much trouble Granger is going to be in when they figure out she knew what you were up to? We’ll be lucky if they just suspend us…”
Harry’s eyes came back up then, and he stared into Draco’s face. “They won’t suspend you, they’ll suspend me, and it’s not like it’s the first time. Hermione won’t be in any trouble, because she won’t say anything.”
“So, she’ll just let them stew, circling one another, trying to figure out where you’ve gone?” He shook his fair head. “She won’t do it. She’s too bloody honest.”
“I made her swear that she wouldn’t say anything.”
Draco stared, stunned. “So, you’ve endangered not only your career, but hers as well? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I was worried, okay? I was afraid they might be… really hurting you, and I couldn’t wait around for the Ministry to pull its thumb out of its collective arse and do something…” Harry blurted, then bit his lower lip, wishing he could call the words back when Draco continued to stare at him.
The silence that hung between them was heavy. Finally, Draco sighed.
“You great idiot,” he muttered. “And what would have happened if they’d captured you, too?”
Harry stared down at the open pack. “Then… at least you would have had company.”
Another lengthy silence fell. “I might have been dead, you know. You might have walked into a trap.”
“I knew you weren’t dead.” Harry’s voice was flat as he slid the zipper closed emphatically.
“How could you?”
“I just did, all right?” Harry tossed the pack aside with more force than was necessary, refusing to look at his partner. “I just… knew. But I also knew that I couldn’t just… sit there once we had a lead on where you might be. I couldn’t let them hold you that long, I couldn’t give them the opportunity to weaken you enough that they could…” The words trailed off and he covered the lower half of his face with one of his hands, eyes tightly closed, but the truth of what he’d been about to say hung between them. Neither said anything more for several heartbeats.
“Potter.”
Harry shook his head, his hand still over his face, his eyes still tightly closed. They stung, and he was afraid if he opened them, Malfoy would see how very frightened he’d really been, and how lost. He jumped when a cool hand curled around his wrist.
“Potter,” Draco repeated, his voice closer. “Look at me.”
Harry shook his head, and Draco squeezed his wrist. “Harry,” he murmured, so close that his breath brushed Harry’s cheek. It smelled of chocolate. “Look at me.”
The use of his name, and the entreaty in the voice, finally had Harry’s eyes opening and he turned his head just enough to find Draco’s eyes inches from his own. They were wide, and resolved.
“I’m not fifteen years old anymore,” Draco said softly. “No one will ever do that to me again, do you understand?” Harry bit his lower lip. “They didn’t even try. In fact, it was as if once they had me they weren’t quite certain what to do with me.” His full lips curled wryly. “I’ve developed a bit of a reputation, you see, hanging about with the most powerful wizard of the modern age, and I think they were afraid that I could do magic, even without my wand. They pounded on me, but none of them was brave enough to try something with a full grown man.” His eyes hardened. “It’s the nature of the beast, Potter. They’re cowards, all of them, preying on the small and the weak. I am no longer either.”
Truer words were rarely spoken. There was a lean hardness about Draco now, a leashed fury that was worlds away from the softness of his youth. Harry stared into his eyes, saw the truth, and felt the fear leave him for the first time in days.
“Besides,” Draco went on, “I’m not exactly a damsel in distress that needs rescuing, much as I appreciate the impulse. I’m a big bad Auror, Potter, remember?” Harry felt his lips twitch in the ghost of a smile, which faded when Draco’s expression hardened. “No one will force me to do something that I don’t want ever again, Harry. They’ll die or I will, but I’ll never be a victim again.”
Harry stared into the resolute face, and slowly nodded. When Draco returned the nod and let his hand fall away from Harry’s wrist, he leaned back against the wall of the boxcar as if the exchange had taken the last of his strength.
“Where are you hurt?” Harry asked softly, studying the lines of his body, the way he held his center stiff, the way his left arm was hugged close against his side.
“Ribs. I believe my kidneys are bruised,” Draco answered, his eyes drifting closed. “That was a favorite spot, actually. And my left arm. One night they threatened to carve the mark out of it.” Harry gasped, reaching forward and circling Draco’s left wrist with his hand gently.
“They didn’t…?”
Draco shook his head. “They said they would, but I think that my response took all of the fun out it for them.”
“Why? What did you say?”
Draco’s eyes opened half way as he peered into Harry’s face. “That I wished they would, as the bloody thing was little more than a testament to what an arse I’d been in my youth.”
Harry’s lips quirked in spite of himself. “Someday that mouth of yours is going to get you killed.”
The corner of the swollen lips pulled up and his eyes gleamed, in spite of Draco’s obvious pain. “My mouth may get me many things, Potter. It certainly has in the past. Kissed, yes. Killed? Not so much.”
Harry shook his head indulgently even as unwanted images of Draco kissing other men flashed through his mind. Searching for a change of subject, he realized that he still had the bottle of Muggle pain killers in his hand and he held it up. “You want to try these?”
Draco frowned, eyeing the bottle suspiciously. “What are they?”
Harry turned the bottle so that he could read the small writing on the label. “Hydro… codone?” he said tentatively. “Yeah, that’s what it says. Hydrocodone.”
“Never heard of it.” The corners of Draco’s lips turned down and his brow furrowed.
“Well, not likely you would have, is it?” Harry said reasonably. “And remember; her parents are dentists, so at least you know it’s legal.”
“Like I care if it’s legal,” Draco scoffed. “I just want to know if it works.”
“She said that it would help if you were in pain--” Harry eyes studied Draco’s drawn features, “--which you are. Look, what could it hurt? You’re used to pain potions; I doubt there’s anything stronger in this.”
Draco shrugged. “True.” He held out his hand. Harry quickly glanced at the dosage, then shook two of the round white pills into Draco’s hand.
“Two?” he said, uncapping his water bottle.
“That’s what it says; one or two as needed every four hours for pain.”
Draco snorted. “Must not be much to it, then.” He popped them into his mouth and grimaced as he washed them down with water. “A good pain potion will last up to twelve.”
“They don’t have the benefit of magic, remember.” Harry recapped the bottle and dropped it into the side of his bag.
“Well, I’m not expecting much.” Draco shrugged and wrapped his arms around himself, leaning his head back against the side of the boxcar and closing his eyes. “Merlin, I’m tired,” he said wearily. “The one thing they did manage to do was keep me awake.”
“Did you recognize anyone besides Rosier?” Harry asked.
They’d all thought Evan Rosier was dead; seeing him in the dingy basement had been a nasty shock to Harry. Leaving him with a bullet hole in his shoulder was about the only part of the rescue that had gone the way Harry wanted it to. They’d been damned lucky to get out alive. The pistol wasn’t much of a weapon against six wands; he still wasn’t sure how they’d managed it.
Draco shook his head. “No, they all seemed pretty young and inexperienced, as far as I could tell. He was clearly in charge. He must have been the one who activated the spell, too. The rest of them were abysmally stupid. Sheep, really.”
The boxcar jerked, and Harry looked at the door, reaching out reflexively, his hand curling around Draco’s arm. After a moment he realized that the train had slowly begun to move, and he let out a breath he’d not known he was holding.
“Relax, hero, just the train,” Draco said with a slight smile, patting Harry’s hand. He let it drop away self-consciously. “No more heroics necessary for the day.”
“Oh, shut it, you,” Harry retorted, but there was no heat in it.
As the train picked up speed, it became harder for them to hear one another, so they lapsed into silence. Harry leaned against a crate at his back, his legs out in front of him. He thought about turning off the torch's light, but it was somehow reassuring to see Draco’s slender form across from him. He was glad later that he had left the light on, for if it had been dark he’d have never noticed when Draco slipped his hands between his raised knees, and his legs began to tremble.
He leaned across the space between them. “What is it?” He asked, frowning. “Are you ill?”
Draco shook his head quickly. “Cold,” he answered. And as Harry took in the thin shirt and slacks that he was wearing, and felt the chill breeze brush against his own neck, he could see why. It had been much warmer in London, where Draco had been taken from, than it was in the wilds of Scotland, and his Auror robes had been gone when Harry had found him.
Harry paused for just a moment before beginning to unfasten his heavy wool cape. Draco caught his wrist, stopping him.
“No,” he said firmly. “Then you’ll be cold. Don’t be stupid.”
“But,” Harry began, then stopped thoughtfully. “All right, then.” He quickly unfastened the cape and pulled it from his shoulders, and Draco scowled at him.
“I won’t take it, you imbecile,” he snapped. “Just put it back on.”
“Oh, shut up for a second, will you?” Harry snapped back, scooting until he was sitting next to Draco against the outer wall. He hesitated just a moment before slipping his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, pulling him closer, then curling his hands around his upper arms and lifting him.
“What in three hell’s do you think you’re doing?” Draco protested, struggling slightly.
“Getting you—" Harry pulled Draco over his leg and plopped him between his thighs, his back to Harry’s chest, “—warm, you bloody ingrate.” He settled the slender frame against his, then swept the long cape over both of them, tucking it around his sides. “You should remember some of your training, Auror Malfoy. Shared body heat to hold off hypothermia.”
“So now you remember the manual,” Draco groused, but after a moment, he relaxed slightly and leaned back into the solid strength of Harry’s chest. He felt chilled, and Harry quickly ran his hands up and down his thin arms. Immediately, warmth began to spread between them and Harry felt more than heard Draco’s sigh of relief.
“Sure this isn’t an excuse to get me under your cape?” Draco teased, and Harry was glad that his back was to him, for he was quite certain the heat that grew around his collar meant his neck was turning red.
“Right,” he said instead, aiming for flippant as he continued to rub warmth into Draco’s arms. “Because that’s always been my goal.” Even as he said it, the thought ‘maybe not always, but now’ flitted through his mind, and he clenched his teeth.
Draco sighed dramatically. “Well, a boy can dream, can’t he?” He turned his head far enough to shoot a cheeky grin over his shoulder, and Harry just shook his head. “Killjoy.” Draco sighed and seemed to melt into his chest. “This is much better,” he admitted softly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Draco’s hair felt soft against his cheek, and he fought the impulse to rub his face against it.
Silence broken only by the sound of the wheels on the tracks settled around them, and the gentle motion of the train seemed to rock them. After several minutes, Harry felt Draco sigh again.
“So tired,” he said, turning slightly so that his shoulder was in the middle of Harry’s chest, tucking his head under Harry’s chin.
Harry couldn’t resist rubbing his back in slow circles. “You’ve had a rough few days.”
“Mmm,” Draco responded, pressing his cheek against Harry’s sternum, his hand lifting to curl in Harry’s jumper. Even after four miserable days of captivity, Harry could smell the scent of his expensive shampoo lifting from his hair. “Going to… go… sleep.”
“Good plan,” Harry agreed, but he knew the words were pointless. Draco had gone completely limp, but for the hand that was curled tight in Harry’s jumper just over his pectoral muscle, pressing over a nipple that felt far more sensitive than Harry could ever remember it feeling before. He damned himself as some sort of pervert for even thinking such a thing when Draco clearly trusted him, but he allowed himself the luxury of curling his arms around the slender body and nuzzling his face in the soft fair hair. Reaching for the torch that still burned brightly near his knee, he flicked it off before tucking it against his thigh, sending the boxcar into complete darkness.
TBC