April 2002

Harry spends a while torn between ripping Malfoy's head off with his bare hands or just crashing his way out of the forest and leaving him alone, until he realises both are futile.

He's convinced that any second now - surely, any second - Malfoy will cave and lead him out of the woods, but he doesn't. Maybe he really doesn't know how to leave, Harry thinks, and his blood runs cold in his veins. He only walked for twenty minutes to get where he is now, but Harry knows he'd have no chance trying to escape by himself now. He doesn't even know which way he came from any more, and every step in the wrong direction could be a step away from survival.

"You're a bloody psycho, you know that?" he seethes, and Malfoy only smiles.

"And you're a wet blanket," he responds.

"Are you really going to keep me here?"

"I'm not detaining you myself," Malfoy shrugs. "I'd rather not touch you again. So no, Potter, be my guest. Au revoir."

"Ha, ha," Harry mutters sarcastically. "This is bloody ridiculous."

He wishes more than anything that he took on Arthur Weasley's passion for Muggle items more seriously years ago. A mobile phone would certainly come in more than useful right now.

He wonders what time it is. It must be approaching dinner, and he's skipped lunch by now. There's a growing hunger in the pit of his stomach, which reveals itself with a low growl that makes his cheeks flush.

Malfoy laughs. "You need food?"

"No," Harry lies stubbornly. He crosses his arms over his flat stomach as if to hide it. "I don't want whatever rat shit you've been living off while you've been here."

"I've been living quite well, Potter, thank you very much," Malfoy shoots back. As if to demonstrate, he reaches into his robe pocket for a small handful of nuts which Harry realises are acorns, and he chucks a couple into his open mouth.

"Oh, yeah, a life of luxury," Harry says scornfully as Malfoy chews. "Those'll give you a lovely stomach ache."

"Not if you soak them to remove the tannins," Malfoy frowns. "I eat them with berries too sometimes; I know which are safe to eat."

"What a feast."

Malfoy looks at him, a hard glare which makes Harry feel very vulnerable all of a sudden.

"I wasn't joking when I said we aren't leaving the forest, you tosser," he says slowly, pushing his blonde hair back and out of his eyes. "I could probably find the way out at a push, but then who would I bump into outside except one of your lovely fellow clowns from the clown station?"

"There aren't that many Aurors patrolling around here," Harry protests, but he knows there's truth in Malfoy's words.

With Lucius dead, Draco is now the most wanted Dark wizard on the planet, and will probably soon be adopted by his father's followers as the new face of the Revolution, whether he shows his face or not.

The minute he's seen in public, he'd be lucky to be arrested. Because the alternative is far, far worse. Harry knows that. Draco would be ripped apart where he stood by the public; he wouldn't stand a chance.

"I think you have to acknowledge, that you're stuck with me for a while," the blonde continues. "And as much as you hate that idea, I guarantee you I hate it more. But while you're here, you depend on me. So I advise you to watch your fucking tone."

"I'll scream," Harry warns him with a shake of his head. "I'll scream every day until someone hears me. And it's only a matter of time before my station realises I'm missing. My boss knows where I am - he'll flood the place with Aurors."

Malfoy doesn't seem as perturbed by this threat as Harry would like. "They've been here before," he shrugs. "You've all been chasing me for years and I've escaped so far, haven't I? I'll show you I know what I'm doing."

***

When evening draws in, Harry accepts the fruit that Malfoy offers with blind trust, and he watches as the blonde's elegant fingers crash flint on the surrounding rocks until sparks form and a twig is lit.

Draco bears the small yellow flame to a pile of dry leaves and more twigs, a pile which erupts in an ephemeral flash of gold as he hurries to get more substantial branches. The ones he brings back are thicker this time, sturdier, and as they catch they begin to roast in a sort of amber haze, richer than the yellow of before. He builds it small, but the heat it emanates is enough.

It's oddly mesmerising, the way his hands work in the flickering gloom.

"This is the one fire of the day," he says in a low voice, not tearing his gaze from the fire to meet Harry's eyes. "I light it at dusk and make sure it's just embers by the time I sleep. The light's good but it comes at a price. Don't want to be drawing attention, do I?"

Harry stares into the flames, his mind clouded and disoriented. He doesn't have a clue what's happening to him.

It's like he's acting in a dream in response to a set of stimuli rather than making his own decisions. Tiredly he accepts acorns, more berries, an apple, a half-fish that he doesn't see Malfoy catch and burn, and then when the blonde heads down to the stream he follows, kneels beside him, and drinks from his cupped hands like a mirror image.

They speak little, and when they do, the words Harry chooses are small and quiet. He wonders if he's a hostage. He wonders how soon it'll be before he's home. He wonders how long he can look at Malfoy in the firelight before his brain gives out.

An hour or so after they've eaten, Malfoy stops stoking the fire. He lets the height of the flame drop slowly into white-hot embers - "They'll keep us warm for the night," he says - but he lays some thick-ish logs by the side, so the heat can't get too low.

"Are we sleeping?" Harry asks numbly. He feels like a child talking to its parent, desperate for direction. That's two things he's never had, right there.

"I am," Malfoy replies. "You can please yourself. But I'm an early riser, and tomorrow we're on the move - I don't like to stay in the same part of the forest for too long. So I recommend that you get some sleep."

Harry sits back on his heels, and considers his options. He thinks about the unspoken trust the two of them have placed in each other here. The fruit and the fish that he accepted from Malfoy without so much as a blink before it was in his mouth. The vision of the restful body on the opposite side of the embers - does he know I could murder him? he thinks wildly.

More to the point, does he know I could leave?

No, he knows you won't, the voice in Harry's head corrects him. He knows you well, surely you remember this. What's the old saying? Keep your friends close...

But your enemies closer.

Harry frowns, rubs his aching head with tired hands. If someone had told him that morning he'd end up here tonight, sleeping in the middle of nowhere just inches from the most wanted Death Eater in the Wizarding World, he'd think they were nuts. But here he is. And there he is. Draco fucking Malfoy.

It's insane, he knows it's insane. But he also knows he can't think straight with this exhaustion and this emotional rollercoaster of a situation, so Harry lies down, his face to the embers, and lets his mind go blank.

And after an hour of silence, he trusts Draco Malfoy enough to fall asleep.

________________________________

a/n: this is quite an unusual fic i feel and it's taking me a lot of research but i hope it's worth it!

and i know with scent of malice i said it'd be really short and then it was 50 chapters.... i actually mean it with this one. i'm seeing like 20 max, i reckon it'd be better to keep it short and sweet. hope you're enjoying so far!

~ paradisedraco