The Scent Of Malice | drarry

forty four | run baby run

"Potter, take my hand and fucking run!" Draco screamed, dragging Harry up roughly by his wrist and bolting away from the inferno that was Hogwarts School. It felt like a volcanic eruption behind them as the ground shook hard enough to propel them both forwards onto their faces, but they were up again in seconds and running again.

"Don't even look back," Draco's voice was stern and commanding in his ear, "We have to keep moving."

So Harry fought every nerve in his body that screamed at him to save everyone else, and for once he just lived for himself.

His heart hammered against his chest as he sprinted away from the scene. The past events were already a blur, as though they'd happened years ago instead of minutes - could it really be that Voldemort was dead? Was the rebounded Curse all it took to kill him? What about everyone else? It had all happened so quickly he hadn't managed more than a quick glance before he was pulled away.

"Draco, my friends," he gasped suddenly. A horrible pain wrenched through his body. "Did my friends -"

Draco's grip on his hand tightened.

"I saw them," he replied as they stumbled down the hill towards the Forbidden Forest. "Granger and Weasley, at least - they were very much alive, Potter."

"Do you promise?" Harry panted.

"Yeah," Draco said, "I don't lie to you any more."

The seriousness in his tone assured Harry that he meant what he said.

"We just have to get away, or my parents will kill us both," Draco continued, his voice shaking as he spoke. "The fact that Voldemort's dead doesn't mean the castle's safe for us."

So they ran and ran through the Forest and out the other side, sprinting until their lungs heaved and they could hardly force their legs any further, and then they collapsed in a small alcove in the slope of the hill.

Harry was too numb even to cry, though he was slightly sick on the grass beside them both. There was nothing to throw up in his stomach so it was mostly spit and bile, but still an unpleasant feeling.

"Why did you save me like that earlier?" he asked when he was done, wiping a shaking sleeve across his mouth and Draco knew instantly what he was referring to.

He looked at Harry then, really looked at him. Took in the greenness of his eyes and the hollows underneath them, the way his eyelashes clung together slightly under the dark sweep of his eyebrows, and the dark blush of exertion on his cheekbones. The innocence in the curve of his mouth that just screamed to be kissed, and the way his dark hair always stuck up no matter what he did.

"Fucking hell, you're beautiful," he muttered, shaking his head. "And I think you know why I did it. It's the same reason I always call for you in the night when I get too high. The same reason all my sketches are of you."

Harry bit his lip. "I want to hear you say it." Quiet, only slightly pleading.

Draco lay down beside him then, and took Harry's face above him in his hands. His fingers traced coolly over the hot skin of his jaw, then found their way into the curve of his jugular. The blood was close to the surface of the skin there; he could feel it throbbing against his fingertips as he pressed. He opened his mouth to speak, but Harry pushed two fingers to his lips to stop him.

"Only if you mean it," he whispered. "Don't say it if you aren't sure."

"I'm sure," Draco whispered back, but Harry only smiled sadly.

"Would you rather just kiss me?" he asked.

Hating himself for being such a coward, Draco nodded. "I've missed this," he breathed.

The kiss was clumsy, slightly out of sync from their time apart. But it was contact, and in that moment they both needed to feel needed so badly that this imperfect kiss was heaven.

It seemed inappropriate now to be kissing after what they'd seen, but also somehow exactly what should have happened. They'd learnt to take love wherever and whenever and however it was offered, and if that meant kissing in a hill's hollow a couple of miles from the battle scene where they'd both nearly died, then so be it.

"What do we do now?" Harry whispered when he pulled back, leaning his burning forehead against Draco's. "What if our friends need us?"

"They don't," Draco shook his head gently. "They have each other and I need you more. But either way, you know we can't go back to Hogwarts. My Mark still hurts, which isn't a good sign."

"Your Mark?" Harry asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

Draco's eyes widened in horror. Of course, Harry didn't know - how could he? He thought about somehow playing it off as a word mixup, then decided against it. "I don't lie to you,", hadn't he said that to Harry just minutes ago?

"Probably easier to show you," he mumbled, pushing up his sleeve to reveal the raw skin where the skull-headed serpent lay. Harry gasped, a ragged breath that got audibly snagged in his throat.

"I know," Draco whispered, shame rising to heat his cheeks. "It's awful, isn't it?"

"The trials," was all Harry could respond. "Oh, my god, the trials-"

"Trials?"

"There are always huge trials after wars," Harry replied shakily, still realising the horror of what he was saying as he spoke. "You'll be tried as a war criminal, Draco - you were on the wrong side, and now you can't say you weren't because you're Marked - oh, my God-"

"It hasn't even healed!" Draco protested, frightened.

"I know, darling," Harry said, his voice equally strained. The nickname was a reflex response to Draco's fear and had just slipped out, but he didn't regret it. "We'll think of something to make sure you're alright, I promise. But that is fucking scary."

Dusk was drawing in around them, and both boys became aware that it would be cold soon. Early May was not particularly forgiving that year, and neither of them fancied sleeping outside.

"Shall we go and find somewhere to sleep?" Harry whispered into Draco's hair, and felt the other boy nod against him. There was a long and cold night ahead of them if they didn't move.

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a/n: thanks for reading! we're nearing the end now, hope you're all enjoying still!

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~ paradisedraco