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He really had gotten himself into quite the pickle this time. He couldn't even blame Zabini. It seemed kind of silly, now, as he sat here in this stinking bog with mud up to his waist and no wand in sight, but at the time, running away as fast as he could when he'd seen Potter striding towards him had seemed like a really good idea. He didn't always see Potter in his official Auror robes, but when he did, he looked so intimidatingly handsome that Draco panicked. He wasn't quite sure what was going on inside his head – or his pants – when he saw Potter like that, and frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Flight had been the only sensible option.
Now, however, he was stuck, quite literally. He'd Apparated to the first place that entered his mind, which so happened to be the moors. Why his brain had decided to send him to the moors was beyond him. It wasn't like he had any connections to the place. He wasn't even sure if he'd ever actually been here before, or just seen pictures of it. His desire to get away from Potter must have been great indeed for him to Apparate all the way here. That surely was food for thought.
His main problem now, though, was that he'd dropped his wand. In the bog. He didn't feel particularly proud about that. He'd just been so surprised when he'd suddenly found himself waist deep in mud that his arms had flailed about just a bit. Enough for his treacherous wand to slip from his grip and slowly sink into the dark, gooey substance, mere inches out of reach. It really was infuriating.
What was he supposed to do now, anyway? His robes were soaked, he couldn't move, it was cold and it would be dark soon. If there was ever a time to mope, this was surely it.
He had to think of something, and fast. He'd struggled in vain to get out, but his boots were thoroughly stuck. No one knew he was here either, and without his wand he had no way of contacting anyone for help.
Maybe, if he tried really, really hard, he could summon his wand with a bit of wand-less magic. It was worth a shot, surely? It wasn't like anyone was around to see him fail.
Closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths, Draco stretched out his hand, concentrated really hard on his wand stuck down in the mud somewhere, and said as firmly as he could, “Accio wand!”
A whole lot of nothing happened.
Letting out a disappointed sigh, Draco gathered himself and tried again. He imagined all his magic was gathered in his fingertips and yelled, “Accio wand!”
Nothing again.
“Argh!” He let out a roar of anger and frustration, before running his cold, trembling hands through his hair. Whatever would he do? He was shivering now. He'd probably freeze to death unless he managed to get away. As if on cue, a gust of cold wind blew past him, making him even colder. Swearing as ungracefully as he could – really, who would ever know about it anyway? – he hugged himself, rubbing his hands up and down his arms for warmth.
It was time to face reality: he was doomed. Draco Lucius Malfoy, the last of his name (as soon as his father kicked the bucket, anyway), would die cold and alone, in a bog on the moors, and no one would ever know about it. Hanging his head, he felt himself fall into despair. He'd be happy to see anyone at this point. Even Potter.
As dusk slowly started to creep up on him, Draco looked to the sky. It sort of felt like the thing to do at a time like this. The odd bird was flying by, undoubtedly on their way home to their nests for a nice, warm sleep. He envied them. Imagine having wings! He'd be able to fly away from here faster than you could say Dumbledore's soggy pants. While indulging in these nonsensical thoughts, he spotted another, rather large bird approaching on the horizon. In fact, the closer it came, the larger it got. Larger than any bird he had ever seen, come to think of it. Squinting, thinking so hard he could almost feel the cogs turning, it occurred to him that this might not, actually, be a bird.
The something became ever larger as it came closer and closer. Soon enough it became all too clear to Draco that this was someone on a broom. A flame of hope lit in his chest, and without a second thought he lifted his arms and waved frantically. This was probably the only chance he'd get to be released from his cold, soggy prison.
“Hey!” he called as loudly as he could while waving his arms above his head. “Down here! Help!”
With mounting relief, he watched as the flying entity changed direction and angled their broom downwards. They'd seen him! He hoped to Merlin it was someone friendly, rather than some old enemy who'd help him further into the bog rather than out of it. The thought made him shiver in a different way than the cold had.
As it turns out, luck was on his side. Sort of. It certainly wasn't anyone likely to murder him, although he wouldn't put it past them to shove him further in just to prove a point. The cloaked figure landed expertly on the stable ground beyond the edge of the bog, then tore back their hood.
“Malfoy! What the fuck are you doing?” The evident concern displayed on Potter's face almost made Draco laugh. Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't this: Harry Potter flying in like a knight in shining armour on a high-end broomstick, ready to save the, er, wizard in distress.
“What does it look like I'm doing, P-Potter?” he managed to force out through chattering teeth – not quite as cool or haughty as he'd aimed for, but it would have to do. Potter, however, seemed completely unaffected.
“Oh my god, you must be freezing.” Quick as lightning, Potter pulled out his wand. With a flick of his wrist, warmth slowly started to spread through Draco's body and he felt himself relax. Whatever he'd expected Potter to say or do next, he'd not expected that.
“Thanks,” he muttered in the direction of Potter's wand.
“But seriously, Malfoy, how are you stuck in a bog? Where's your wand?”
Ah , Draco thought. Of course he's going straight for the wand, the insufferable twat.
Still looking concerned, for reasons unclear to Draco, Potter's voice had also taken on an exasperated tone, which Draco found rather annoying. It wasn't like he had chosen to be in this bog. It was more like the bog had chosen him.
“I left it in my other cloak,” said Draco matter-of-factly, arms now folded neatly across his chest.
Potter eyed him stupidly. “What?” he said, confused. Draco almost laughed.
Instead, he rolled his eyes and said pointedly, “Use your brain, Scar-head. Where could my wand possibly be when I'm stuck here in this muddy bog?” His eyes locked with Potter's for a few seconds before the latter sighed heavily.
“Please don't tell me it's down there,” he said, sounding almost pleading. “Please tell me it's somewhere on dry land.”
Starting to feel quite annoyed that he was still stuck in the mud, despite his apparent rescuer being right there, Draco put on his sweetest, most innocent smile, cocked his head and said silkily, “Yes, Potter, it's right there on the ground, by your feet. Can't you tell?”
He had to give it to Potter; the man was clearly wise enough to understand sarcasm, at least when it was laid on so heavily. His unamused expression was quite telling.
“Knock it off, Malfoy,” he said gruffly. “Let's get you out of there first.”
“Finally!” exclaimed Draco. “So you are capable of common sense.”
“You know, I have half a mind to leave you in there, now,” muttered Potter as he took a step back, but he brandished his wand anyway, a look of concentration on his face. “Carpe Retractum!”
Draco felt an uncomfortable tug throughout his body. With his legs so firmly trapped, he briefly wondered if Potter wasn't actually trying to tear him in half for his cheek. He couldn't help it, though. The man just had that effect on him. The dark, ruffled hair, the green, boyish eyes, his general ruggedly handsome appearance. It all screamed 'tease me!' Draco was all too happy to comply.
There was also the fact that everything mentioned above stirred something inside Draco that he was shying away from examining closer. He knew he'd be in a whole lot of trouble if he didn't.
Draco was torn between being secretly a bit delighted that it was Potter, easily the best and most powerful Auror, who was rescuing him, and wishing it was literally anyone else. Being rescued by Potter after blatantly running away from him was nothing short of humiliating. On the other hand, he couldn't imagine Weasley doing a particularly splendid job of it. He'd probably just point and laugh.
After a few seconds, Draco was still stuck. He'd moved a few inches and he could sort of wiggle his right leg a bit, but he was very clearly not going anywhere. He was about to give Potter a snarky remark about his laughable attempts at magic – perhaps he should go back to Hogwarts? – but the look of pure concentration on the other man's face as he cast the spell again made Draco hold his tongue. The pull on his body was much greater this time; he practically lurched forward. A big, gloopy, sucking sound filled the air around them, and Draco noticed how he could move a whole lot more now.
Taking a step back and relaxing his wand arm, Potter ran a hand across his brow, giving Draco a brief glimpse of the old scar.
“Damn, Malfoy, is something holding onto your legs or something?” he exclaimed. “How can you possibly be this stuck?”
This possibility had certainly not occurred to Draco. The idea of some evil creature down there tugging at his legs, trying to pull him further into the bog, had him in a sudden panic. What if there were Dugbogs in there?
“Potter, get me out of here!”
A voice in the back of Draco's mind noted that he must remember to Obliviate that undignified high-pitched squeal and ensuing thrashing about from Potter's memory. Not his best moment.
“Okay, Malfoy, calm down. One last pull should do it.” Potter's calm, firm voice soothed Draco's nerves marginally and he prepared himself for the sensation he knew was about to come.
“Carpe Retractum!” said Potter firmly as he once more pointed his wand at Draco. He wasn't sure if he imagined it, but the magic felt stronger this time. In one, fluid motion he felt himself dragged through the thick, muddy bog by a ray of light, right into the arms of Harry Potter. The two of them toppled to the ground, Draco landing flat on top of Potter. His whole body felt like jelly, unable to move. How utterly unbecoming!
Panting slightly, Potter gave Draco a couple gentle pats on the back. “All right, Malfoy, I've got you,” he said in a low, comforting voice. Draco felt sure he ought to be outraged, but found he didn't have the enthusiasm. Besides, being held by Potter wasn't all that bad.
When he finally mustered up enough energy, he rolled off Potter and landed on the ground with a soft thud. For another few moments they just lay there, panting.
“Are you okay?” asked Potter after a while. Draco considered how best to answer.
“Not that I'm not terribly grateful that you pulled me out of that bog, Potter, but what in Merlin's name are you doing here?” Seeing as he wasn't entirely sure how he felt, he figured he might as well ask what was foremost on his mind.
“I was worried about you,” Potter simply said.
Draco frowned. “Why would you be worried about me? I'm positive no one knew I was here.”
“You looked like you'd seen a ghost earlier. And then you just disappeared. I asked around, but no one knew where you were. I was worried something might have happened to you.”
“That sounds awfully weird coming from you, Potter. It's not like we're friends.”
“We could be, but you keep pushing me away every time I try to approach you. It's not like we're at Hogwarts anymore, Malfoy. I actually want to get to know you.” Draco sneaked a peek at Potter. Dusk had already fallen, but was it his imagination, or had Potter's cheeks gone a bit red? Could he be blushing? An odd tingling sensation rushed through Draco's body. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but a part of him told him it was hope. Hope and perhaps expectation. But what exactly could he be expecting – or hoping for?
“Why would you want to get to know me?” asked Draco a little self-consciously. To be fair, they did both work at the Ministry and had some common friends – Luna in particular – so it wasn't like they'd never been at the pub together or at some other gathering arranged by their friends. Despite this, they'd never really talked. They were Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, for Merlin's sake. Sworn enemies fighting on opposite sides! Only they weren't anymore. Not really. There weren't technically any reasons why they shouldn't get along.
Draco felt Potter's arm brush against his as the dark haired man started to move about. Tilting his head to the side, he saw that Potter was now propped up on his side. “Because I like you, Malfoy,” he said softly. “I have done for a long time.”
Draco felt his breath hitch in his throat and attempted to hide an oncoming blush. What sort of 'like' could Potter possibly be referring to? He himself liked owls. Did Potter see him as a pet? Or just some cute little animal, which Draco was most definitely not, thank you very much! Potter couldn't possibly mean that he liked him, could he? Because that was utterly absurd. Draco had been nothing but mean and dismissive of Potter – was the man a masochist?
A gentle hand on his shoulder pulled Draco's ranting thoughts to a stop. “Relax, Malfoy. Don't give yourself an aneurysm. I'm not asking you to return my feelings. I just wanted to be open about how I feel about you. It didn't seem fair to get closer to you with ulterior motives and not tell you.”
Potter's smile was gentle and genuine, and Draco felt absolutely speechless. If it hadn't been for the fact he knew, deep down, that Potter wasn't a conniving, horrible person, he'd think the man was playing a cruel prank on him. He certainly would have thought so if it was anyone else. However, even though Draco thought him fully capable of pushing him back into the bog, Potter was so heroically good and honourable, so convincing, with those dreamy, green eyes you'd get lost in if you let yourself – that Draco found himself believing him.
Losing track of his own thoughts, Draco felt a sudden cold breeze on his shoulder as he realised that Potter had withdrawn his hand. The sudden loss of warmth – Potter's warmth – felt like the equivalent to being thrown into the Great Lake. Fine, perhaps that was being too dramatic, but it did dose Draco with a sort of wake up-call.
Potter liked him, was in love with him. Him, Draco. Despite everything they had been through. He realised now why he had been running away from Potter with such vigour and why he felt the sudden loss of that hand so overwhelmingly. He wanted it back, he never wanted Potter to withdraw it again. He had been so afraid of confronting his own feelings for Potter, so afraid to be laughed at or shot down by him, that he'd gotten himself stuck in a bog. He felt ridiculous.
Scrambling about, Draco reached out and grabbed Potter's hand. “But I do. I like you too. I'm so glad you found me. I shouldn't have run away.” Draco fumbled through the words as he held on to Potter's pale and rapidly cooling hand. It was like a life-line he couldn't let go. Now that he had come to this realisation, all he wanted was for Potter to believe him.
Potter's eyes widened comically, as though Draco had sprouted an extra head.
“You do?” he asked, disbelief and surprise colouring his voice. Draco supposed he couldn't blame him. It hadn't been exactly obvious, especially since he hadn't really known about it himself till just now.
“Yes, really,” he said as ardently as he could muster. They were both sitting up now, Draco squeezing Potter's hand in both of his. He really hoped Potter wouldn't think he was joking; considering Draco's juvenile actions of the past, he might seem liable to. He swallowed.
A few seconds passed in which they merely stared into each other's eyes. Then Potter's perfect, pink lips turned up at the corners and he placed a hand carefully on Draco's cheek. Instinctively, Draco closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.
“You really are a piece of work, do you know that?” whispered Potter, but Draco could hear the smile in his voice.
He let out a small laugh and said, “Good luck with that, Potter.”
“Mmm, I always did like a challenge.”
Before Draco had time to open his eyes again, he felt soft lips pressed against his own. He sighed deeply, letting out a small moan, but for once he didn't feel self-conscious. Kissing Potter was the most wonderful sensation in the world. So soft, warm and delicious. He parted his lips ever so slightly in response and they moulded together in the most heated kiss he had ever shared with anyone. Their lips moved together in perfect sync, then a tongue slipped gently inside Draco's mouth, warm and wet, coaxing another moan out of him. His hands found their way into Potter's hair, pulling him closer.
He had no idea how long they were kissing for, but when they finally pulled apart they were both panting. “We should probably get you home,” suggested Potter. It was fast becoming too dark to see, but Draco was sure those green eyes were sparkling. It sent butterflies through his stomach.
“Sure,” he began, about to suggest they go back to his flat together, when something huge suddenly dawned on him. “Oh shit! My wand! It's still in the bog.”
“I thought you said it was here on dry land?” asked Potter sweetly. Draco let out a low growl. Potter should be ever so thankful it was dark around them, else he would not have liked the look Draco was giving him. A soft chuckle was the only reaction he got, however.
“Accio Malfoy's wand.” They heard a series of gloopy and globby sounds, then a faint pop as, presumably, the offending wand was extracted from the bog. A small wack and an“Ouch!” from Potter confirmed that the wand was saved.
“Here.” Potter thrust the wand into Draco's hand. It was wet and slimy.
“Hey!” exclaimed Draco, but Potter interrupted him. “Your robes are muddy already. Just wipe it off on them. We can clean it properly later.” Draco started to grumble a reply, but was silenced by one, firm “Malfoy.” Sighing deeply, he made his muddy robes even dirtier. He supposed it was about time they got going.
“Let's take my broom,” suggested Potter. “You're probably too tired to Disapparate, and I don't really want to shrink my broom for side-along.” With that he wandered over to where he'd left his broom on the ground and picked it up. Feeling ever so compliant, Draco followed suit. He sort of liked the idea of sitting close together with Potter on a broom anyway.
“I still don't understand how you found me, though,” Draco mused. Why would Potter have even thought to look for him out here?
“Well, after I looked for you at the Manor, I just started flying around the grounds, aimlessly, wondering if I should just give up and leave you alone, since you were clearly running away from me. And then I spotted you down here, waving and shouting.” Potter shrugged. “Lucky, I guess.”
“Wait – you mean we're on the Manor grounds?” Draco felt himself go deathly pale. He'd never really walked all over the grounds before, as the property was vast. He'd seen most of it from up in the air, on a broom.
“Yeah. Just inside the border, actually. You're very close to home.” After a small pause, he added, “I had no idea there were bogs around here, though. It's probably teeming with Dugbogs.”
Shuddering, Draco felt a bit like an idiot, but he was Potter's idiot, so it was his problem now.
Climbing onto the broom behind Potter, his arms clasped firmly around his waist, Draco sighed contentedly as they took off and flew away into the darkness.