fic: through the fire and flame
Title: Through The Fire And Flame
Rating: PG
Word count: 3,027
Summary: Draco likes the idea of complete destruction; no traces left behind. Harry believes in repairing and nurturing and suffering if that makes everything better. For faeriechii in hds-beltane and also the ' flame' prompt for my 100quills.
Entranced by the wavering flames devouring so completely, so easily, the man stared into the brightness until the light seared his eyes. He closed his eyes, white fire continuing to dance under his eyelids and warmth bathed his pale cheeks, lending them the colour that they did not possess. The sharp flares of brightness made him appear more alive than he had been for a long while, and the accompanying sweeps of shadow in the brightness' wake revealed his ashen, angular face and the tremor of his lips. The alternating light and dark moved as he stayed still, staring. It looked like it wouldn't even hurt. He leaned forward briefly to slide another coal into the blaze and watched it sink slowly and become just another part of the fire. It would happen like that. He would melt into the shimmering air that the heat caused and disappear, with no traces left of him except the fine black dust. He could even whisk up a potion to make the fires rage so high and mightily that no one would be able to douse them until he was gone. He could even make himself one to make himself numb, as unfeeling externally as he was internally. He had a week in which to work. He'd neglect everything else if he had to; what would it matter afterwards anyway? He would be dead, after all.
He would be dead.
Draco Malfoy finally turned away from the fire, not a quick wrench but a slow movement that let the illumination blaze at the edge of his sight. Even as the young man rose to prepare for work, the warmth and light pounded upon his back, calling him back to them. This insalubrious behaviour had started only two days ago. The young man consulted the book, as he always had, prepared the ingredients as he always had, daisy root in this case, and chopped accurately with a clean knife as he always did. Draco knew that he was feeling off when he actually contemplated deliberately cutting himself with the knife, even though he had never made an inaccurate slice in his life. He knew that he was feeling particularly morbid when his only thought after that was how red his blood would look against the refined metal. The final conclusion to this strange string of thoughts was how they had been spurred on by an event totally insignificant. He had, put plainly, been dumped.
How trifling this seemed, considering that he had never bothered to show the woman any affection, never pledged any part of his life to her, never listened when she was upset. It was not so much the loss of a companion, or even the humiliation of someone as wonderful as himself being rejected, but why. Her final words to him were what had frozen his heart, her reason for being unable to be with him: You will never notice me no matter how hard I try, because you're just not interested in women. You're only interested in yourself. Well, she had half of it right. He wasn't interested in women. For a man to be not interested in women in the traditional Wizarding society was... wrong. It simply did not happen. The young man scraped the last vestiges of plant matter off his chopping board and into the potion. He smiled at the change in colour even though the excitement of brewing a potion correctly had long since lost its pleasure.
At first, Draco had thought that the problem lay in what women he chose. They were too rich, too used to pulling in their nearest source of money; they were too clingy and spoiled for attention; they were too focused on their career; they weren't good in bed: a plethora of reasons had traversed their ways across his mind. The smell of the potion started to come through. It smelled distinctly masculine. He bottled and corked the empty vials lined up like patient soldiers, making sure that he labelled every one. He was nothing if not thorough in his job.
Simmering the rest of the liquid, the man put another cauldron on to boil and began work on another potion even though only one had been ordered by the Head Auror. Once he had fulfilled the potion supplies the Auror department of the Ministry of Magic needed each day, no one minded if he brewed his own. Firstly the Numbing Draught, for it would take longer to stew, and Draco had a deadline.
* * *
Harry shivers. There had been light rain earlier and the chill was still hanging around. He is only on light duty at the moment, meaning that instead of running around after cursed artifacts and dark magic users, he is overseeing the building of the bonfire for Beltane instead. As a child, he had never been to the fireworks displays or bonfires on Bonfire Night, and was surprised at the amount of effort it took to create a proper fire that would sustain for hours. It was not simply a matter of throwing branches into a pile, but making sure that there was a proportion of smaller twigs suitably arranged that would catch fire first and bigger logs for the sustainability. As a wizard, he had originally wondered why they would not just use magic to keep the fire going. However, watching young magical children running around searching of twigs with leaves tangled in their hair makes him laugh, and just enjoy the experience.
Even after he knew about his magic, Harry still had not known about Beltane. His years at school had not taught him what many magical families took for granted. He had never known about Wizarding festivals, and to be plunged into them at adulthood had been challenging. As the evening progressed, the young man makes sure that no children wandered too close to the blaze and enjoyed the radiating warmth from the pillar of fire casting rich light on the festival. He pays for his hot chocolate, watching people's cheery excursions with contentment. This is what he had become an Auror to see: people safe and happy.
The large bonfire roars and shoots up suddenly to his side, spilling flicks of fire outside the designated area as the flames sweep the sky; Harry turns quickly. He pulls his wand out at the same time as pelting over, water already gushing out in torrents from the end of it. The water isn't doing anything, Harry realises with shock. The people closest to the fire shriek, and, through the flitting light and shadow, he sees a figure walk right up to the fire and into it. The Auror's eyes widen in panic before he bellows the incantation for a Flame-Freezing Charm. He hopes desperately that it works; the tower of fire is hardly something as trivial as a 'flame', after all. Nothing seems to have happened. All Aurors on light duty are gathered now, circled warily around the bonfire. The figure standing in the middle isn't doing anything, screaming or even moving. But Potter can't remember whether the body was screaming even before the Charm at all.
Cautiously, the young man picks up an untouched branch, throwing it in. It doesn't change at all; he takes the chance to step into the fire before any of his colleagues can stop him. Nothing happens to him. The flames whisk around him, tugging at his clothes but only feeling like a warm current of air. He steps over ashes until he reaches the other person: his eyes widen when he sees Draco Malfoy standing calmly in the middle, arms hanging limply by his side and his eyes closed. Harry reaches forward and urgently grabs the other man's arm; the blond opens his eyes in alarm and simply asks, "What are you doing in my fire, Potter?" Mouth gaping open in absolute bewilderment, Harry shakes his head and drags Malfoy out of the fire first. Even once they are clear, Harry keeps the Flame-Freezing Charm active.
"Your fire?" the man eventually manages to spit out at Malfoy, who is looking quite deranged in every way possible and attempting to walk back to the bonfire. "What are you doing in a bloody bonfire?" He struggles to stop the other man and eventually smacks him on the back of the head: it is as if Malfoy does not feel anything, although Harry's grip on his arm is so tight that it has to hurt. The blond surprises him by slacking his tension and practically falling into his arms, before quickly jerking away and pounding back towards the fire. With the benefit of Auroral authority behind him, Harry simply Body-Binds him: Malfoy drops to the ground.
Leaving everyone else to comfort the festival participants, Harry Potter floats the body of Draco Malfoy away from the gawping spectators and into a copse. He then stands for several moments simply contemplating what on earth it is that he is supposed to do. Eventually, the strangeness of the moment lessens although the dead glare that Malfoy gives does not, and he settles for binding the other man to a tree before releasing the Body-Bind. "You are a bastard," Malfoy levels flatly.
Potter stares at him, wand raised just in case he tries anything. Silence leaks tension between them. "For saving your life?"
"Yes." The image of Malfoy's defiant expression drills itself into Harry's mind, and he finally sits down on the grass opposite the bound man
The two continue to stare at each other, each assessing the moment. "Why are you trying to kill yourself, Malfoy?" A snort sounds; he supposes that it would be far too easy if the situation resolved itself that quickly. Another length of silence ensues. "You do know that I'm going to sit here with you until I find out, right?" Harry asks conversationally, wondering briefly if he ought to have carted Malfoy off to St Mungo's already. This sudden aboulia of his seems strange: he is known for his confident, impulsive decisions that usually end up working out for the best. Or perhaps he has simply chosen to do nothing this time. "You got a high paying job in the Auror department, you're incredibly rich, you have parents who love you and lots of friends. So what is it I'm missing?"
Draco is startled that Potter knows all this about him. Even though they work within the same department it is not as if they talk frequently, or at all. He does, however, note detachedly what it is that Potter has missed; perhaps Potter lacks a relationship too. There is a root digging into his leg, he absently notices, but it does not hurt. Of course - nothing hurts because of the Numbness Draught. He is jerked back to matters in front of him by Potter speaking again. "-that you're gay."
"PARDON?" Draco squeals, thrashing in his ropes.
Harry blinks a couple of times. "Malfoy? Don't you read the news? It was all over the front page on Tuesday."
Oh. Whatever Potter had said was evidently not about him then. Tuesday... He had stopped reading about the news by then. The blond had not thought that keeping up to date with the state of magical gardens nowadays was particularly important for him to know considering that he had been going to kill himself. So now, Draco is thoroughly confused and no longer has any idea what they are talking about. "What?" His words are heavy-handed and unfeeling.
Potter flinches slightly. "I said that it couldn't worse than the media getting hold of the fact that you're gay," the man dutifully repeats anyway, eyeing the other with wariness and resignation. "You really didn't know?"
"You're gay?" How, Draco questioned himself, had they turned from talking, or not talking as it was, about his problems to talking about Potter's problems? However, more important was that... Potter was gay. Gay. "You... told people that you're gay?" Every time the word 'gay' drops out of his mouth, it is emphasised.
The look that Potter gives him is piercing. "Are you homophobic?" Mutely, Draco shakes his head. "You sound it," he continued flatly. Draco only shakes his head again and shrugs, his expression slightly bemused. "I hadn't told anyone outside of my close friends, but no one seems to mind. Should they?" The blond is reminded once again of how ignorant Potter is of traditional Magical culture. The smile that he sends Potter is thin.
As he speaks, his voice is back to its usual dryness, the beginning of an obliteration of the moments that occurred just previously, "Gay, Potter, is not something that one is if one is a right and proper pureblood." His expression is tight, his lips raised in a mocking smile. When the standing man slowly sits down, Draco can see that actually, their expressions are similar.
Potter opens his mouth to say something, but instead asks, "Why?"
Why? Draco envies muggles if they can deal with this without stigma or prejudice, although he knows nothing about them whatsoever. "Because..." he struggled, "it's epicene. Effeminate." And one could not be effeminate, of all things. He wondered what would happen if he ever mentioned to his parents that they might not ever have grandchildren.
"And what if one isn't?" Potter affects the peculiarities of Draco's deliberately high speech with a drawl that is almost as pronounced as his own. There is, however, a glint in Potter's eye.
Draco thinks momentarily about the question. "Gay?"
"No," Potter tosses his head into a shake, "A right and proper pureblood."
Draco's upper lip curls; both of them seem to have forgotten that he is still strapped tightly to the tree trunk. "Then you can go and run down Diagon Alley screaming that you're a flaming poofter at the top of your voice and flashing for all that anyone cares." He paused to consider: "Although some people might take particular offence at the flashing. Or pleasure."
Leaning back against a tree opposite to the blond, Potter stares for just a moment, before waving his wand; an invisible knife slices through the ropes. Draco shakes them off himself, but a gesture is absent that Potter notices. "Didn't that hurt? The ropes?" A slight quirk of his lips shows the frown, and Draco glances down at himself, remembering the Draught once again.
Malfoy speaks carefully. "You can't hurt if you don't feel anything." He raises his hand and squeezes it into a fist until his nails dig bloody cuts into his palm. He sighs. "But it will wear off soon." He sounds so terribly weary.
As soon as he realises what the other man has done, Harry starts forward and grabs the blond's hand, forcing the fingers open one by one. "You idiot," he mutters, healing the crescent wounds. He clears his throat and his next words come out briskly. "So I take it that you're not going to do the running thing." Draco's light eyebrows twist together; he's confused again. "Down Diagon Alley," Potter clarifies, and it dawns upon the young man that Potter has figured it all out... He has not been the most particularly discreet about it in the last few moments, that is true, but he did not think that he was so transparent.
Draco gives it a moment, then takes it in his stride. "No, I don't think so, Potter. Might get attacked by rabid girls if I flashed anywhere." Harry laughs a deep-throated laugh that draws a chuckle out from Draco. Potter gets up, dusting bits of moss and grass off himself, and holds a hand out. The blond hesitates, but slips his hand into the other, feeling the rough skin and strength of someone who worked hard for a living and so different from any other hand that he has held before. Tugging himself up, he sees the genuinely amused smile dancing across Potter's lips that are so close. He glances up an inch or so to meet the eyes of the other man and suddenly wants to know what he feels behind the warm weight of that gaze.
"If I don't get to kill myself before being a shameful abomination to society, you don't either," Potter jokes, not letting go of Draco's hand. His voice lowers and head tilts just that much closer to the blond's. "And you know what they say about Beltane."
The pale lips curl upwards as Draco replies, deadpan, "Which saying? 'If we're doing this bloody fertility rite, you'd better use protection tonight', or 'Try not to set your robes on fire'?" They both laugh softly again, feeling the other body vibrate so close by. This sarcastic bantering is something that evolved naturally from their old antagonistic relationship, and seems to fit them like comfortable old robes. Perhaps the silences said more than was noticed at first, too. Harry, in a way, knows what Draco's life is like because he has suffered judgement throughout his life, and Draco on the other hand has studied his enemy for years. He knows that without asking or even offering, Potter will do his best to help. What help that may be can be anything. Draco's laugh fades, but settles more comfortably into a small smile.
Harry nudged Malfoy, bringing them out towards the fires, "I should take you in to the office for a proper report. You did just try to burn yourself in front of half the magical families in southern England." They walk from the shadows towards that pillar of light, warmth washing over them as they emerge from the shadows of the trees. Scarcely anyone gives them a second glance as Harry takes them out to the Apparition point. "Don't worry, it's just paperwork. I'll hold your hand and guide you through it."
Draco snorts lightly. "Or you could just hold my hand." He squeezes the hand he's holding lightly, then lets go.
Harry turns just slightly to look at him, and takes the hand back, and squeezes in return to let Draco know that he won't let go for the ride they've pitched themselves in for.
Rating: PG
Word count: 3,027
Summary: Draco likes the idea of complete destruction; no traces left behind. Harry believes in repairing and nurturing and suffering if that makes everything better. For faeriechii in hds-beltane and also the ' flame' prompt for my 100quills.
Entranced by the wavering flames devouring so completely, so easily, the man stared into the brightness until the light seared his eyes. He closed his eyes, white fire continuing to dance under his eyelids and warmth bathed his pale cheeks, lending them the colour that they did not possess. The sharp flares of brightness made him appear more alive than he had been for a long while, and the accompanying sweeps of shadow in the brightness' wake revealed his ashen, angular face and the tremor of his lips. The alternating light and dark moved as he stayed still, staring. It looked like it wouldn't even hurt. He leaned forward briefly to slide another coal into the blaze and watched it sink slowly and become just another part of the fire. It would happen like that. He would melt into the shimmering air that the heat caused and disappear, with no traces left of him except the fine black dust. He could even whisk up a potion to make the fires rage so high and mightily that no one would be able to douse them until he was gone. He could even make himself one to make himself numb, as unfeeling externally as he was internally. He had a week in which to work. He'd neglect everything else if he had to; what would it matter afterwards anyway? He would be dead, after all.
He would be dead.
Draco Malfoy finally turned away from the fire, not a quick wrench but a slow movement that let the illumination blaze at the edge of his sight. Even as the young man rose to prepare for work, the warmth and light pounded upon his back, calling him back to them. This insalubrious behaviour had started only two days ago. The young man consulted the book, as he always had, prepared the ingredients as he always had, daisy root in this case, and chopped accurately with a clean knife as he always did. Draco knew that he was feeling off when he actually contemplated deliberately cutting himself with the knife, even though he had never made an inaccurate slice in his life. He knew that he was feeling particularly morbid when his only thought after that was how red his blood would look against the refined metal. The final conclusion to this strange string of thoughts was how they had been spurred on by an event totally insignificant. He had, put plainly, been dumped.
How trifling this seemed, considering that he had never bothered to show the woman any affection, never pledged any part of his life to her, never listened when she was upset. It was not so much the loss of a companion, or even the humiliation of someone as wonderful as himself being rejected, but why. Her final words to him were what had frozen his heart, her reason for being unable to be with him: You will never notice me no matter how hard I try, because you're just not interested in women. You're only interested in yourself. Well, she had half of it right. He wasn't interested in women. For a man to be not interested in women in the traditional Wizarding society was... wrong. It simply did not happen. The young man scraped the last vestiges of plant matter off his chopping board and into the potion. He smiled at the change in colour even though the excitement of brewing a potion correctly had long since lost its pleasure.
At first, Draco had thought that the problem lay in what women he chose. They were too rich, too used to pulling in their nearest source of money; they were too clingy and spoiled for attention; they were too focused on their career; they weren't good in bed: a plethora of reasons had traversed their ways across his mind. The smell of the potion started to come through. It smelled distinctly masculine. He bottled and corked the empty vials lined up like patient soldiers, making sure that he labelled every one. He was nothing if not thorough in his job.
Simmering the rest of the liquid, the man put another cauldron on to boil and began work on another potion even though only one had been ordered by the Head Auror. Once he had fulfilled the potion supplies the Auror department of the Ministry of Magic needed each day, no one minded if he brewed his own. Firstly the Numbing Draught, for it would take longer to stew, and Draco had a deadline.
* * *
Harry shivers. There had been light rain earlier and the chill was still hanging around. He is only on light duty at the moment, meaning that instead of running around after cursed artifacts and dark magic users, he is overseeing the building of the bonfire for Beltane instead. As a child, he had never been to the fireworks displays or bonfires on Bonfire Night, and was surprised at the amount of effort it took to create a proper fire that would sustain for hours. It was not simply a matter of throwing branches into a pile, but making sure that there was a proportion of smaller twigs suitably arranged that would catch fire first and bigger logs for the sustainability. As a wizard, he had originally wondered why they would not just use magic to keep the fire going. However, watching young magical children running around searching of twigs with leaves tangled in their hair makes him laugh, and just enjoy the experience.
Even after he knew about his magic, Harry still had not known about Beltane. His years at school had not taught him what many magical families took for granted. He had never known about Wizarding festivals, and to be plunged into them at adulthood had been challenging. As the evening progressed, the young man makes sure that no children wandered too close to the blaze and enjoyed the radiating warmth from the pillar of fire casting rich light on the festival. He pays for his hot chocolate, watching people's cheery excursions with contentment. This is what he had become an Auror to see: people safe and happy.
The large bonfire roars and shoots up suddenly to his side, spilling flicks of fire outside the designated area as the flames sweep the sky; Harry turns quickly. He pulls his wand out at the same time as pelting over, water already gushing out in torrents from the end of it. The water isn't doing anything, Harry realises with shock. The people closest to the fire shriek, and, through the flitting light and shadow, he sees a figure walk right up to the fire and into it. The Auror's eyes widen in panic before he bellows the incantation for a Flame-Freezing Charm. He hopes desperately that it works; the tower of fire is hardly something as trivial as a 'flame', after all. Nothing seems to have happened. All Aurors on light duty are gathered now, circled warily around the bonfire. The figure standing in the middle isn't doing anything, screaming or even moving. But Potter can't remember whether the body was screaming even before the Charm at all.
Cautiously, the young man picks up an untouched branch, throwing it in. It doesn't change at all; he takes the chance to step into the fire before any of his colleagues can stop him. Nothing happens to him. The flames whisk around him, tugging at his clothes but only feeling like a warm current of air. He steps over ashes until he reaches the other person: his eyes widen when he sees Draco Malfoy standing calmly in the middle, arms hanging limply by his side and his eyes closed. Harry reaches forward and urgently grabs the other man's arm; the blond opens his eyes in alarm and simply asks, "What are you doing in my fire, Potter?" Mouth gaping open in absolute bewilderment, Harry shakes his head and drags Malfoy out of the fire first. Even once they are clear, Harry keeps the Flame-Freezing Charm active.
"Your fire?" the man eventually manages to spit out at Malfoy, who is looking quite deranged in every way possible and attempting to walk back to the bonfire. "What are you doing in a bloody bonfire?" He struggles to stop the other man and eventually smacks him on the back of the head: it is as if Malfoy does not feel anything, although Harry's grip on his arm is so tight that it has to hurt. The blond surprises him by slacking his tension and practically falling into his arms, before quickly jerking away and pounding back towards the fire. With the benefit of Auroral authority behind him, Harry simply Body-Binds him: Malfoy drops to the ground.
Leaving everyone else to comfort the festival participants, Harry Potter floats the body of Draco Malfoy away from the gawping spectators and into a copse. He then stands for several moments simply contemplating what on earth it is that he is supposed to do. Eventually, the strangeness of the moment lessens although the dead glare that Malfoy gives does not, and he settles for binding the other man to a tree before releasing the Body-Bind. "You are a bastard," Malfoy levels flatly.
Potter stares at him, wand raised just in case he tries anything. Silence leaks tension between them. "For saving your life?"
"Yes." The image of Malfoy's defiant expression drills itself into Harry's mind, and he finally sits down on the grass opposite the bound man
The two continue to stare at each other, each assessing the moment. "Why are you trying to kill yourself, Malfoy?" A snort sounds; he supposes that it would be far too easy if the situation resolved itself that quickly. Another length of silence ensues. "You do know that I'm going to sit here with you until I find out, right?" Harry asks conversationally, wondering briefly if he ought to have carted Malfoy off to St Mungo's already. This sudden aboulia of his seems strange: he is known for his confident, impulsive decisions that usually end up working out for the best. Or perhaps he has simply chosen to do nothing this time. "You got a high paying job in the Auror department, you're incredibly rich, you have parents who love you and lots of friends. So what is it I'm missing?"
Draco is startled that Potter knows all this about him. Even though they work within the same department it is not as if they talk frequently, or at all. He does, however, note detachedly what it is that Potter has missed; perhaps Potter lacks a relationship too. There is a root digging into his leg, he absently notices, but it does not hurt. Of course - nothing hurts because of the Numbness Draught. He is jerked back to matters in front of him by Potter speaking again. "-that you're gay."
"PARDON?" Draco squeals, thrashing in his ropes.
Harry blinks a couple of times. "Malfoy? Don't you read the news? It was all over the front page on Tuesday."
Oh. Whatever Potter had said was evidently not about him then. Tuesday... He had stopped reading about the news by then. The blond had not thought that keeping up to date with the state of magical gardens nowadays was particularly important for him to know considering that he had been going to kill himself. So now, Draco is thoroughly confused and no longer has any idea what they are talking about. "What?" His words are heavy-handed and unfeeling.
Potter flinches slightly. "I said that it couldn't worse than the media getting hold of the fact that you're gay," the man dutifully repeats anyway, eyeing the other with wariness and resignation. "You really didn't know?"
"You're gay?" How, Draco questioned himself, had they turned from talking, or not talking as it was, about his problems to talking about Potter's problems? However, more important was that... Potter was gay. Gay. "You... told people that you're gay?" Every time the word 'gay' drops out of his mouth, it is emphasised.
The look that Potter gives him is piercing. "Are you homophobic?" Mutely, Draco shakes his head. "You sound it," he continued flatly. Draco only shakes his head again and shrugs, his expression slightly bemused. "I hadn't told anyone outside of my close friends, but no one seems to mind. Should they?" The blond is reminded once again of how ignorant Potter is of traditional Magical culture. The smile that he sends Potter is thin.
As he speaks, his voice is back to its usual dryness, the beginning of an obliteration of the moments that occurred just previously, "Gay, Potter, is not something that one is if one is a right and proper pureblood." His expression is tight, his lips raised in a mocking smile. When the standing man slowly sits down, Draco can see that actually, their expressions are similar.
Potter opens his mouth to say something, but instead asks, "Why?"
Why? Draco envies muggles if they can deal with this without stigma or prejudice, although he knows nothing about them whatsoever. "Because..." he struggled, "it's epicene. Effeminate." And one could not be effeminate, of all things. He wondered what would happen if he ever mentioned to his parents that they might not ever have grandchildren.
"And what if one isn't?" Potter affects the peculiarities of Draco's deliberately high speech with a drawl that is almost as pronounced as his own. There is, however, a glint in Potter's eye.
Draco thinks momentarily about the question. "Gay?"
"No," Potter tosses his head into a shake, "A right and proper pureblood."
Draco's upper lip curls; both of them seem to have forgotten that he is still strapped tightly to the tree trunk. "Then you can go and run down Diagon Alley screaming that you're a flaming poofter at the top of your voice and flashing for all that anyone cares." He paused to consider: "Although some people might take particular offence at the flashing. Or pleasure."
Leaning back against a tree opposite to the blond, Potter stares for just a moment, before waving his wand; an invisible knife slices through the ropes. Draco shakes them off himself, but a gesture is absent that Potter notices. "Didn't that hurt? The ropes?" A slight quirk of his lips shows the frown, and Draco glances down at himself, remembering the Draught once again.
Malfoy speaks carefully. "You can't hurt if you don't feel anything." He raises his hand and squeezes it into a fist until his nails dig bloody cuts into his palm. He sighs. "But it will wear off soon." He sounds so terribly weary.
As soon as he realises what the other man has done, Harry starts forward and grabs the blond's hand, forcing the fingers open one by one. "You idiot," he mutters, healing the crescent wounds. He clears his throat and his next words come out briskly. "So I take it that you're not going to do the running thing." Draco's light eyebrows twist together; he's confused again. "Down Diagon Alley," Potter clarifies, and it dawns upon the young man that Potter has figured it all out... He has not been the most particularly discreet about it in the last few moments, that is true, but he did not think that he was so transparent.
Draco gives it a moment, then takes it in his stride. "No, I don't think so, Potter. Might get attacked by rabid girls if I flashed anywhere." Harry laughs a deep-throated laugh that draws a chuckle out from Draco. Potter gets up, dusting bits of moss and grass off himself, and holds a hand out. The blond hesitates, but slips his hand into the other, feeling the rough skin and strength of someone who worked hard for a living and so different from any other hand that he has held before. Tugging himself up, he sees the genuinely amused smile dancing across Potter's lips that are so close. He glances up an inch or so to meet the eyes of the other man and suddenly wants to know what he feels behind the warm weight of that gaze.
"If I don't get to kill myself before being a shameful abomination to society, you don't either," Potter jokes, not letting go of Draco's hand. His voice lowers and head tilts just that much closer to the blond's. "And you know what they say about Beltane."
The pale lips curl upwards as Draco replies, deadpan, "Which saying? 'If we're doing this bloody fertility rite, you'd better use protection tonight', or 'Try not to set your robes on fire'?" They both laugh softly again, feeling the other body vibrate so close by. This sarcastic bantering is something that evolved naturally from their old antagonistic relationship, and seems to fit them like comfortable old robes. Perhaps the silences said more than was noticed at first, too. Harry, in a way, knows what Draco's life is like because he has suffered judgement throughout his life, and Draco on the other hand has studied his enemy for years. He knows that without asking or even offering, Potter will do his best to help. What help that may be can be anything. Draco's laugh fades, but settles more comfortably into a small smile.
Harry nudged Malfoy, bringing them out towards the fires, "I should take you in to the office for a proper report. You did just try to burn yourself in front of half the magical families in southern England." They walk from the shadows towards that pillar of light, warmth washing over them as they emerge from the shadows of the trees. Scarcely anyone gives them a second glance as Harry takes them out to the Apparition point. "Don't worry, it's just paperwork. I'll hold your hand and guide you through it."
Draco snorts lightly. "Or you could just hold my hand." He squeezes the hand he's holding lightly, then lets go.
Harry turns just slightly to look at him, and takes the hand back, and squeezes in return to let Draco know that he won't let go for the ride they've pitched themselves in for.