The Price of Light | drarry

nine | a mother's life

May 2002

It's three days before Draco's eyes open.

Another day follows before he accepts the fruit Harry offers him.

And from then, it's a full week before the first word escapes his lips since the incident.

It's "Harry."

He croaks the name out, his throat dry and crackly. It's not the beginning of a question, but more a sort of remark, a comment. Harry's here.

Harry's first feeling at the sound is one of enormous relief. Draco may be sick and weak but he's alive and conscious, and he called him Harry, which Harry decides sounds rather lovely in his mouth.

"Hi, Draco," he responds softly.

He gives him water, shivering only slightly at the cold feel of Draco's skin, and he keeps the fire burning longer than he should into the evening. Draco's life is the price of their light today.

The whole situation overall is nothing like what Harry remembers of his own experience during the war, though, when he himself was momentarily killed with the same curse to release Tom Riddle's Horcrux. After all, back then he was only gone for, what, a matter of minutes?

He wonders suddenly what Draco saw when he was in his trance-like state. Harry had seen Dumbledore, but Draco... Was it the schoolmates he lost in the War? Perhaps Dobby, his old House Elf?

Harry decides it's better not to ask. Instead, he helps Draco eat and drink, clears the space by the fire for him to sleep, keeps him well hidden by the Invisibility Cloak. The blonde takes the best spot, and most of the Cloak, and Harry realises he doesn't resent him for this. Oddly, he wants him to have it. Wants him to feel cared for in this way. Just wants him in general, maybe.

***

As the last of the cold begins to soften slightly, Draco gets a little better, to the point where he's strong enough to walk without Harry's support.

In early June, he catches the first fish they've had since the incident (which they still don't talk about, though each know Lucius must be dead) and they eat it straight from the fire off broad green leaves, burning their fingers.

"It's not so bad any more, is it?" Harry asks thoughtfully as they eat. Draco's not sure what exactly he means - the cold, or the world, or just life in general - but either way he agrees. It's all getting slowly easier.

Harder to escape the Aurors, though. Harry knows that eventually they'll burn down the forest, raise it entirely to the trunk stumps. And that no Cloak on earth will save them then.

***

A realisation hits Malfoy as he's sleeping that night.

It's a real memory, he realises subconsciously, not a dream. It's a memory of his father, of the task Draco had to submit to for him. Trauma clouds his brain but somewhere in the mist there's his mother's face illuminated by emerald light as the dreadful words reverberate off the walls. Unmistakeable.

He sacrificed his wife for himself and his son - for the Malfoy line, Draco remembers with horror. What other option did he have? It was just the three of us.

"Do you want to be great, Draco? ...The world is going to fear the Malfoy name..." his father says in his memory.

In his memory, Draco's nineteen and he's never been so scared.

"Yes, Father." Anything you say, Father. Anything you want.

"We'll found a dynasty ... stay one step ahead, finish what He couldn't-"

The green light... the falling body... the sounds, oh my God, that's my fucking mother-

But he can't react, the wand's at Draco's throat now, oh God, he terrifies him, he's not even looked down-

"It's your turn to help me, now, Draco," Lucius smiles.

And, "Yes, Father," says his son. He's only nineteen. What is he supposed to do?

He lurches awake in a blur of grey panic, jolting the boy beside him.

"Bad dream?" asks Harry sleepily.

"Bad life," Draco responds. His hands are shaking, the skin stretched tight over the blue veins and almost translucent.

Harry instinctively shifts slightly closer - just for warmth, of course - and Draco's glad of the contact.

"Potter, I think it was my mother," is all he whispers after that, and Harry doesn't need to ask what he means.

The death to make the Horcrux. A mother's life ripped apart, to cut the soul of the father, to save the son. What awful symmetry.

As he turns over onto his side that night to sleep, Draco kisses Harry. It's so fleeting and gentle that neither of them are quite sure it really happened, more like the touch of a falling leaf than of two soft lips.

It's just gratitude and sadness that made him do that, Harry tells himself quietly, trying to calm his trembling nerves. He's lonely and you're right there - what do you expect?

So he doesn't kiss him back, doesn't pull him in. The two just lie there in the silence of the night, listening to the crackling of the embers dying down and their own heartbeats racing in their throats.

And it's enough, for now.

________________________________

a/n: so just a short one to ease me back into writing this, but there we have it! a kiss at last! i hope people are still reading this, i'm quite keen to finish it soonish so hope you're enjoying ✨✨

~ paradisedraco