The Man From H.O.G.W.A.R.T.S. (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Eighteen

   At 06:07 they began to walk. They couldn't risk rushing, but Harry had a small, anxious flutter to his heartbeat. The next train wasn't for another half an hour, and if they missed this one, they risked being discovered waiting around for the next.

The guard blew his whistle.

Malfoy didn't increase his stride, but his eyes were fixed on the nearest carriage door, and with his long legs he naturally reached it first, extending his hand out for the door handle just as the train jerked its first few inches forward.

That was when the shot rang out.

Harry snapped backwards on instinct. Screams flew through the air and people began to run in panic, but Harry didn't pause as he snatched his gun from its holster and scanned the fleeing bodies for the shooter.

"Potter!" Malfoy barked. He had already stepped up onto the train, and it was chugging along the platform, picking up speed.

Harry gave one last look for their attacker, then turned to dash back over to the carriage door. Their enemy couldn't be close enough to board as well, so if he could get onto the train they would be safe.

Another bullet whizzed through the air, striking the side of the train, causing both agents to flinch and preventing Harry from reaching the door. "Shit!" He stumbled away, managing not to trip over his feet, but the train was pulling out of his reach. The shrill sounds of people's screams and pounding feet echoed across the station, the bodies blurring into one as they sought shelter. Harry still could not identify his assailant though as he got his footing back and sprinted towards the train.

Could it be a sniper? If so, why hadn't they made the shot? He couldn't believe they would be that incompetent – Voldemort didn't stand for incompetence. So, was their goal to simply stop him boarding? To take him in for interrogation? He couldn't allow that.

But the next shot came so close to his ear he actually felt the air move, and it ricocheted dangerously off the caboose. Another shot followed, and another, all whilst the train continued to accelerate.

"Potter, come on!" Malfoy shouted. He was reaching out as far as he could for Harry's hand, but it wasn't close enough.

A sudden explosion of pain in Harry's upper left arm blinded him momentarily, and he knew that the shooter must have hit true. He stumbled to the floor, knocked off balance by the impact, and he bellowed in anger and horror.

He would never make the train now.

A large seized his good arm. Harry made to yank away on instinct, until he looked up into a pair of wide, grey eyes.

"Move!" Malfoy shouted, hoisting him bodily to his feet and breaking into a sprint. Blood was spilling down Harry's arm; as his feet woke up and began to move, he surmised that it was only a superficial flesh wound. But its distraction might still have been enough to stop him from boarding the train, trapping him and Malfoy in the station with their attacker.

Malfoy had other plans though. They were both running flat out, chasing the train as it gained momentum, but his grip on Harry's arm was like iron, forcing him to match the distance his long legs were carrying.

He closed his hand around the edge of the open door without a millimetre to spare, tugging both him and Harry towards the opening. Another shot fired overhead, but Harry didn't allow himself to flinch. It was now or never.

Malfoy heaved himself up onto the carriage, and Harry jumped with him, trusting that Malfoy would help him. His hand refused to let go of Harry's arm, and together they tumbled into the belly of the caboose, falling down amidst the crates stored within.

Harry cried out in pain. But they had made it. They were on board.

Malfoy sat up first, panting and shifting beside Harry so he could then help him upright as well. The blood had soaked through the sleeve of his jacket, but as Harry caught his breath and gently probed the wound, he knew he had been right. The bullet had just skimmed the edge of his skin, he would be fine with a few stitches. A bit like another bullet wound he could think of.

That wasn't what concerned him the most at that particular moment though.

He looked up from the bloody hole in his jacket to find Malfoy staring at him, his pale lips in a thin line. They regarded one another as they swayed with the momentum of the train. "You came back for me," Harry said. His voice trembled a bit too much for his liking, but he figured he had just been shot, so it was alright.

Malfoy swallowed, his eyes unblinking. "You have microfilm," he rasped.

There was a pause, where Harry just stared. Then he discovered a grin was trying to make itself known on his face. He attempted to fight it, but he really didn't have the energy. "I have the microfilm," he repeated slowly, the laughter bubbling up inside him despite the pain he was in.

Malfoy continued to stare at him. Only the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him, before he lunged forward, grabbing the back of Harry's head with his hand, crushing their lips together in a fierce and hungry kiss.

Harry may not have any absolute assurance still as to how Malfoy felt, or whether or not there would be a repeat of last night's interlude, but he certainly felt the passion in that embrace. He couldn't help but bask in the tender way Malfoy carefully treated his wound, or sigh as his lover held him close in the storage caboose for the rest of the journey down to Potsdam, grumbling in Russian about idiotic, useless Englishmen.

Harry used his good hand to touch the microfilm case in his pocket, thankful it wasn't on the side where his blood had leaked. He told himself he couldn't help but also feel the strip of four photos against his fingertips, nestled safely next to the precious microfilm. But as Malfoy whispered into his ear, hissing that strange language of his, Harry thought maybe it was time to stop fighting himself.

There was a real danger he might very well have been falling in love with his infuriating partner, and he may not know what the future held for them, but, just for now, he was going to enjoy it.