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Fate	By : silverdragon4736 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4778 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor any of the character from the books or movies, I don't make any money from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
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CHAPTER 5

Harry woke up to the bloody awful wailing sound of Parkinson's piping.

"Pansy!" Malfoy shouted.

Parkinson was standing on top of one of the wagons. She heaved a mighty sigh and looked down, a prideful dreamy expression on her face. "Doesn't the sound stir your heart with pureblood pride to take back what has been stolen from us?"

No, Harry thought, it was enough to make anyone give everything they had to stop that screeching, pureblood pride or not.

"Put those bloody pipes down, and tell me what's in the carriage." Malfoy said. "I'm making a list."

Goyle was still on guard duty. Although now, Harry noted, there was a pike resting atop of his shoulder, and this seemed to make the bloke feel more serious about his duty so much so that Harry watched him walk twenty times the length he had the previous night. He would reach the edge of the glen and turn sharply, marching back past Harry and past the wagons to the other side.

Goyle abruptly turned, and the pike knocked the needles from a pine with a whack! Yet on he went, marching back and forth, pivoting when he reached some imaginary boundary only he must have known.

"Couple of herbs in this one!" Zabini called out from one of the wagons.

"What kind?" Malfoy asked.

"I can't tell." Zabini answered with a shrug. "Never been good at Herbology or Potions."

Goyle marched past, stepping high, the pike on his shoulder. It was amusing.

"I've got a couple of old crates here!" Parkinson called out.

Goyle pivoted and marched past.

"Open it then." Malfoy said.

"They're smelly!" Parkinson shrieked as she faced Malfoy, then added, "Duck!"

"Dead or alive?" Malfoy casually asked as he wrote something down to the piece of parchment on his hands.

Harry looked at Parkinson in time to see her leap in the air just as Goyle turned and his pike whipped under her feet.

Parkinson landed back down on the dirt and shouted, "Goyle!"

Completely oblivious, Goyle halted mid-pivot, the long pike still on his shoulder. It was barely a foot away from Malfoy's head.

"What, Pansy? Where are you?" Goyle called out, searching.

Unfortunately, he spun back around toward Pansy who didn't move quickly enough. The pike hit her in the back.

There was a loud thud.

"Oh!" Goyle exclaimed, looking down at his feet. "There you are, Pans. What are you doing lying on the ground resting while we're doing all the work?"

Pansy's faced turned from a furious red into a livid purple. She stood up, took the pike from Goyle and proceeded to hit him back.

She only got one in the stomach before Zabini, who went out of one of the carriages to see what the commotion was about, and Malfoy, who glanced up from his writing to due to the sounds of whack whack whack, catch her arms, hold her down and try to drag her away from the now whimpering Goyle.

For over two hours the cumbersome rundown carriages rattled and bumped over a mountain road. The higher they traveled, the thicker the forest and the mist, which was all very good and well for covering their tracks from would-be pursuers.

Blaise drove the first carriage alone since Goyle didn't have much—nor any come to think of it—sense of direction if he, say, suddenly and unfortunately lose track of Blaise to follow. And it would've been asking too much of Pansy to help or to notice as she would be playing her bagpipes, much to the dismay of all.

Goyle drove the other carriage alongside Pansy. She had agreed that she would not harm, kill or maim—nor attempt to do these things—to Goyle since the alternative would be to ride with Blaise and she was still rather sore about their fight. It probably helped that Draco had secretly forced Goyle—because bitchy Pansy was grating on his nerves—to ask her to play for him during the ride since Draco believed and, most importantly, made Goyle believe that he, Gregory Goyle was the sole cause of her anger and also the fact that she quickly found the pipes in a most obvious hiding spot. Not to mention that because he was already deaf in one ear the pain of her 'music' would be reduced to half, and thus, it would only be fair that he sit closest to her. Draco sat inside the carriage and kept a watchful eye on Potter.

Draco found that he could concentrate better on their surroundings and on stopping the pounding in his head and ears now that Pansy had finally decided to rest from her playing as she had been at it for hours.

Reaching up to the heavens like the bruised arms of some enormous god were the purple crags of mountains. It reminded him of the view from his mother's garden in the Manor. He remembered the times when his father would teach him the history of their lineage, when his mother would point to different plants and tell him about them, or when they, as a family, would have a picnic in the summer. He remembered the times before he came to Hogwarts—before Voldemort came back.

"What are you thinking, Malfoy?"

That deep voice went through Draco as if it flowed in his blood. Only the sound of his voice made him feel these things.

Annoyed, Draco looked at him.

Potter was reclining, kinglike, atop some crates. When he'd last looked at him, he'd been asleep. How he could manage it with Pansy's piping, Draco didn't know. "You're awake."

"Yeah."

"I wonder how a man responsible for destroying more than a handful of pureblood families, even if they were on the same side, can sleep so peacefully." Draco said snidely. Obviously, Potter had caught him in a bad mood. Obviously, he was still a bit sore about the kiss. So obviously, Potter should've known better and stayed asleep.

"My conscience is clear, Malfoy." Potter answered. "The barest hint of suspicion and accusation from anyone was heard, taken to court and given a fair trial. I admit that the methods were more… exacting. But it's fair. It's not enough to just plead Imperio anymore."

Draco snorted. "Exacting, Potter? It's unjust." He wanted to hit Potter. "Our gold, heirlooms, homes were taken from us before the trial. For inspection, they said. Well, that's bollocks! How can we defend ourselves when we can't afford a good arguer, when we don't even have food to eat and shelter to sleep?"

"I don't—" Potter stopped and frowned. "Were you found guilty?"

"Do you think we're mad? Of course we didn't go!" Draco spat.

"Why not?"

"Why not?!" Draco sneered. "Once you have that bloody Dark Mark on your arm or your associated with someone who does, you're more or less condemned to either spend your life being haunted by Dementors or Kissed. It doesn't matter if we've been helping your side all along." Draco felt himself shake in fury. "There is no fair trial for that. No fair verdict. Those trials are farce."

"You should have shown up, Malfoy." Potter said seriously. "They wouldn't have found you guilty. Plus, I've seen that you don't even bear the Mark."

"You're right, Potter." Draco said sarcastically. "They wouldn't have cared that most of my family are Death Eaters, that most of my friends are Death Eaters, that I'm in Slytherin, a Pureblood and a Malfoy because I don't have the Mark even if that, as you had just admitted, the methods were more exacting. Really, Potter. What was I thinking?"

Draco didn't need Potter's fake sympathy. He didn't need his stupid and completely obvious lies. He wondered for a moment just why it is Potter was pursuing this.

Potter continued letting Draco's comment slide, "Look at Nott. He was found innocent even if he bears the Mark."

"That's because he's shagging Loony Lovegood. Probably knocked her up, too."

"Luna wasn't the only one to testify for him, you know." Potter paused, then continued earnestly. "If you give me something to work with—proof of your loyalty like who you reported to, I could get you all another chance at a trial. I'll even testify on your behalf."

Ah, Draco thought, There's his motive.

"If this is your way of convincing me to let you go, then you are stupider than I expected." Draco scoffed. He couldn't believe it. Did Potter seriously think that he'd be foolish enough to fall for that? Did Potter think that he'd let himself get bested again?

"I'm serious, Malfoy. I believe you. I believe you when you say that you—or any of your friends—aren't Death Eaters." Green eyes looked into silver. "Let me help you."

At that moment, Draco truly hated Potter. Draco hated Potter for looking so sincere, for acting like he bloody cared. He hated this Gryffindor for what he made him feel, for making him want to believe his lies and for making that little bit of hope that maybe they could finally stop just surviving and live—the hope he'd tried so hard to keep buried, dead and forgotten—rekindle for a moment.

But Draco was not a bloody fool. People only offered help when they want something in return. And for Potter that was escape.

"We don't need your charity, Potter. We'll get enough from your ransom." Draco said coldly and made it clear that this conversation was over.

Potter sighed, shook his head. He looked like he wanted to say more but didn't.

Draco mentally sighed in relief. He was suddenly very tired, and was grateful for the silence that followed. It wouldn't do for him to lose control of his composure. If his father had taught him anything, it was to not let your emotions show lest it be used against you. Showing your emotions gives other people knowledge on what affects you, which leads to letting them see your weaknesses.

And Draco refused to be weak.

Potter said suddenly breaking the silence, "Well, you still haven't answered my question."

Draco didn't know how to handle the Harry Potter that appears to not hate him—the one that wants to help. He could, however, handle the obnoxious Harry Potter that is too curious for his own good.

"I've forgotten it." Draco lied thinking that maybe there was something here that he could use to gag Potter with.

"I asked what you were thinking."

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why do you want to know Potter?"

Potter shrugged. "Humor me."

An evil glint appeared in his mercuric orbs. "I'm thinking how to prove to your lapdogs that we've really got you. Maybe I should send them a foot? No, that'll make dragging your fat arse harder. What about a hand?" Draco paused for effect. "Oh, I know! Maybe I'll just slice a piece of your forehead and send them your scar! I bet that'll be proof enough."

"Where, Malfoy, did you get that mouth?"

"The same place you got your cowardice, Potter. I was born with it."

Potter's expression changed so swiftly Draco almost flinched. Those green eyes of him glittered with fierce hardness, and he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "Men have died for calling another a coward," he said with a calm Draco sensed as deadly. "I suggest you do not use the word coward to me again."

He could handle an angry Harry Potter, too. After all, he'd had years of practice provoking him. Draco was not afraid. "I'll say whatever I like, Potty. You're the captive, not I."

Neither of them spoke. It looked as if he was counting.

Good. Draco thought.Be angry. I could not care less.

Draco ignored Potter and fiddled with the ragged edge of his robe for the tense minutes that followed.

Finally, Potter broke the silence. "I wonder that you cannot find the courage to look me in the eye."

Draco's head shot up, and his grey orbs met Potter's challenging look with a stubborn one of his own.

"Nor can you answer a civil question."

"Why do you care?

Potter just looked at him, waiting for an answer.

Draco let out an irritated sigh. "Why should my thoughts concern you?"

Still, Potter said nothing.

And once again, they found themselves surrounded by silence.

It was about an hour later when Harry felt Malfoy looking at him. He glanced up thinking that finally Malfoy had stopped his angry sulk. Harry didn't feel the need to know why he felt relieved that Malfoy had stopped pretending he didn't exist.

Malfoy scowled and turned away, digging beneath him and coming up with a dark red apple. He took out more and handed one to Goyle then to Parkinson. Harry felt relieved as he heard her put the pipes down and take the apple from Malfoy feeling grateful at his attempt to make Parikinson take another longer break. Harry had never truly appreciated silence until he was captured by this band of former Slytherins.

Malfoy pulled out his dirk and began to peel the remaining fruit.

It's like watching a child with a toy, Harry thought. Malfoy slowly drew the blade round and round so the peeling curled downward.

When the entire peel was only one long dark bouncing spiral, he grinned and cut it off, lifting the peel up to eat. Then, Malfoy noticed Harry was watching him and flushed as red as the apple. He stuck his chin up.

Harry found his game with the apple charming. He didn't care whether Malfoy looked at him or not. He enjoyed watching him. Perhaps it was the expressiveness of his features, the way every thought in that obstinate little mind flickered across his face as clear as spring water for but a few moments before he would realize he's not alone and let ice freeze and obscure it. He was in a fine temper. And Draco Malfoy was lovely in a temper, in spite of his scowl or his zeal to chew the bloody apple as slowly as he could manage. Malfoy was an enigma, a puzzle, a mystery that is so forbiddingly enticing to him.

Harry smiled.

Malfoy looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and Harry winked. The former Slytherin quickly looked away. He stared at the back of the blonde's head, and after some time Malfoy looked at the apple in his hand, and then muttered something.

"I can't hear you, Malfoy, when you speak to the forest." Harry said, watching him cut of a chunk of the fruit.

Still, the Malfoy heir didn't look at him, but shouted, "I said… would you like some apple?"

"Sounds familiar, a woman offering a man an apple…"

Malfoy spun around as Harry had expected he would, his blazing eyes narrowed in anger. "I am no woman, Potter! And I certainly don't see a man."

"If only you knew how badly I want to say something right now."

"What?" he asked his expression suspicious and curious. It was an interesting combination to watch—stubbornness and innocence. Harry shook his head and tried not to smile.

"Say it."

"No. I don't think so."

"No courage, Potter."

"Just being politic, Malfoy."

"Bah!" he said, and tossed the piece of apple in the air. With rapier speed, Harry sat up and caught the small chunk of apple in his open mouth. He heard Malfoy's gasp of surprise and leaned back against the bags grinning at him while he chewed.

For one brief second he thought Malfoy might smile, but he didn't.

Harry swallowed, and then nodded looking at the apple. "Is that small piece all you're going to give me?"

Malfoy cut off another chunk and tossed it high in the air again.

Harry watched the piece of apple fall, and then smoothly moved, catching it the same way he had before.

Malfoy flicked a third piece.

Harry caught it.

And another.

He caught it, too.

Faster and faster, chunks of apple flew through the air as quickly as his dagger could slice. Cheeks bulging, Harry caught the last one, and a brilliant smile appeared on Malfoy's face.

Harry chewed, grinning.

Malfoy sagged back against the wagon bed still smiling. It was the first sincere smile Harry had ever seen on his face. "Well, I see you still move fast enough to warrant as a seeker. Though, I'm still faster."

"It is not speed that counts but agility and patience. There are some things, some situations, when slow and easy is better."

Harry saw that Malfoy didn't understand what he meant. But he had to give him credit for covering it well. Malfoy stuck up his chin, his expression suddenly filled with certainty. "Yes, slow can be better." He paused thoughtfully. "Certainly better for torturing prisoners."

Malfoy always had to have the last word.

Pansy's bagpipes bellowed overhead, playing a tune like a dying animal. Draco had decided that for the sake of annoying Potter, he would let Pansy play. Potter had cringed every time she hit a note.

The road had narrowed into a steep climb and became more pocked with holes. As the two carriages climbed up the grade, they had to slow to a crawl because it was more difficult to keep the carriages on the center of the rough steep road.

They neared the crest of a hill and Draco slowly craned his neck over the side of the stagecoach to look down at the drop below, where a river ran through a wooded area. It was a long drop.

His belly fluttered uneasily. He wasn't afraid of heights. He'd been seeker after all, but, the war had made him… wary of it.

Being this high up, he remembered being on his broom a hundred feet above the ground trying to dodge curses and hexes with his fellow Slytherins. He remembered when his broom caught on fire and how he tried his hardest to maneuver it down as long as he could. He remembered letting go because his hands were burning—because everything was burning. He remembered a body slamming into him, holding him and shielding him from the fall. He remembered hearing a splash, and then water charging at him from all sides. He remembered feeling the body that protected him so tightly before—that took the most damage from the fall—loosen its grip. He remembered grabbing one of its arms while kicking his legs frantically to swim to the surface. He remembered the cool night air hitting his face, making him shiver as he looked at the one who saved his life.

Being this high up, Draco remembered how Vincent Crabbe died for him.

His hands gripped the wagon rim tighter, so tight that he could see his knuckles turning white. He glanced back at Potter.

Potter appeared not the least bit concerned of the rough ride or the deadly drop, which made Draco more determined not to show that he was. In spite of his churning belly, he straightened his shoulders and let go of the carriage's rim, then calmly folded his hands on his lap as if he were sitting in a chair.

The wheel beneath Draco hit a deep grove on the road. Pansy missed a note, a painful experience for anyone nearby.

"Oh! That wasn't right, was it?" Pansy asked, pausing so that the only noise was sweet blessed silence. She played another wrong note—not that she ever actually played a right one—frowned, shook her head then tried four or five more that were equally spine-raking.

"Well." Pansy gave a deep sigh. "I'll just have to start all over again from the beginning."She started so loudly that she couldn't possibly hear the groans of the others.

Potter winced, and then turned to Draco who was taking deep breaths to calm his stomach. He shouted, "Have you thought about hiding those bloody things in a lake? A very deep lake?"

Quickly, Draco pulled his hand back from the rim wagon, where it had been gripping the side despite all his intentions.

Relax. Draco told himself. It happened a long time ago, and it's not going to happen again. You are not going to fall. Nobody is going to die this time. You are not going to let it.

The carriage hit a deep rut and bounced hard. The old latch on the door was ripped out.

And then, Draco slipped. "Oh Merlin…"

He slid right over the edge of the side of the carriage but made a desperate grab for the rim.

Splintery wood dug into his palms. But he wouldn't let go. Not again.

He hung on with everything he had. His body dangling helplessly over the crag as it banged against the side of the bouncing carriage. He screamed for help, but his voice was drowned out by the skirling squeal of Pansy's pipes.

Suddenly, Potter was there. His hands held Draco's slender wrists. Potter's powerful grip pulled him upward into his arms. Draco knelt atop the crate, holding on to Potter so tightly he could barely catch a breath. He felt himself shake. He was on the verge of tears, so he buried his face on Potter's neck.

"You're safe, Draco." Potter's hands rubbed his back so soothingly. His powerful hands, the ones that had saved him, were now calmly, tenderly rubbing his fears away.

Those big strong hands.

Potter's big strong free hands.

Draco pushed himself away and looked at Potter who was kneeling with his free hands holding him. "You utter prick! Your hands aren't bound at all!"

"A fact that just saved you arse, Malfoy."

Angrily, Draco jerked back pulling Potter with him.

The crate beneath them wobbled and teetered. Goyle drove the wagon straight into a deep hard rut.

"Bloody hell!" Potter swore as he lost his balance and fell right into Draco with all of his weight.

Not a second passed and they both went over the edge.

TBC
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