Chapter Text
"If I didn't know any better, Draco, I'd say you were scared."
"I'm not scared, Potter." He forces out a chuckle, but honestly, he isn't fooling anyone, least of all himself.
This forest has always creeped him out. After all, he's heard plenty of stories about the place, about the banshees and the werewolves and all those other creatures, the ones that are too awful to even think about; they'll follow you home, they'll hide in your wardrobe, they'll crawl under your bed, and then, in the middle of the night, when you're fast asleep, they'll sneak up on you and suck out your soul.
Draco shudders. He tightens his grip on the large lantern he's holding. It isn't much of a comfort, not really, but right now, he'll take any kind of reassurance he can get.
They turn another corner and are greeted by a horrifying sight. Some dark creature, its features partly concealed by a hooded cloak, is feeding off a freshly killed unicorn. White fangs glisten ferociously in the moonlight and the metallic smell of blood taints the night air.
Harry's mouth flies open in fascinated horror. The scene in front of him is sickening and yet, he can't bring himself to look away. He stands there and stares in horrified awe.
Draco, on the other hand, feels as though he's faced with his worst nightmare; and in a sense, he is.
So he screams at the top of his lungs, and he starts to run, as fast as his legs can carry him, not even caring where he ends up. (Anywhere will do, as long as it's far away from here.)
Snapped back to reality by his classmate's terrified screams, Harry whips around. He no longer sees Draco, but he can still catch a glimpse of the light of the lantern as it disappears out of sight, fades fast in the distance.
Harry sighs. He's well aware that Draco's a prat, and it's not like they ever got along—quite the opposite, in fact—but still... He doesn't think anyone should be running through this dangerous forest by themselves, and no one should be that scared, and he may not like Draco, not in the least, but that doesn't mean he wants him to get hurt. (Harry hates it when people get hurt.)
So he races after his classmate, follows the glow of the lantern, focuses on the only light in the pitch black forest, that doesn't come from the moon.
Suddenly, a dull thud is heard and the lantern's light goes out.
Harry runs some more and he's very relieved when he spots Draco, but then he's very worried, because the boy's lying on the ground; he's crying, his face is muddy and one of his sleeves is torn.
"Are you hurt?" Harry asks.
"No," Draco lies. "Go away, Potter!'"
Harry shakes his head. He's not going anywhere. That just wouldn't be right. "I only want to help you, Draco," he says softly. "You hurt yourself, didn't you?"
The boy huffs in response, but he seems too tired to get into a real argument. "My ankle," he admits, reluctantly.
Harry bites his lip. "Can you stand up?"
"I—" Draco begins, and adds quickly, in what he hopes is a threatening way (but it isn't, it comes across as rather pathetic, actually), "If you tell anyone about this, Potter..."
Harry shrugs. "It's dark and there are these enormous tree roots everywhere. Anyone could trip. It's no big deal."
Draco frowns. "You're not planning to tell them about...?"
Harry shakes his head. He supposes he could tell people, though, and it'd be a good laugh, Malfoy running like a coward, but it doesn't seem fair, making fun of someone just because they were afraid. After all, everyone's afraid of something.
"Can you stand up, Draco?" he asks again, and he holds out his hand.
"Um, yeah, I reckon so." Draco looks up and hesitantly takes the outstretched hand. "Oh," he says, once he's back on his feet. "Look at my robes. What a mess!" (And wouldn't Father be furious?)
Harry grins. "Your face is filthy, too."
"Oh." Draco quickly goes through his robe pockets, in search of a handkerchief.
"Here," Harry says. He offers him a white cloth. It has the Gryffindor crest embroidered on it. "I took it from the Common Room earlier, in case I needed to wrap something up. Looks like you can make better use of it, though."
"Thanks," Draco says awkwardly and proceeds to wipe his face. "All gone?" he asks when he's finished.
Harry nods. "As good as."
"Um, Potter," Draco mutters, as if he's suddenly remembered something, "That... thing back there... it..."
"…was too busy eating," Harry reassures him. "It didn't follow me."
"Oh, good," he mumbles. "All right, then. I guess we'd best get back, as soon as... " He wrings his hands together and tries to ignore how filthy they are. (Dirt under his fingernails—that just won't do!) "I mean, we still have to look for..."
Harry nods slowly. They glance around and then Draco spots them first, the small blue specks of light, the tiny blue petals that almost shine. "Say, Potter, aren't those...?"
"Yeah, I think they are," he says with a smile.
They pick two flowers, just like Hagrid instructed.
"Are you sure you can make it back all right?" Harry asks.
"Yeah," Draco says. "No problem."
But it is, though, just a little. His ankle hurts and he has a slight limp he can't hide, no matter how hard he tries.
"I'll take the lantern," Harry says, and he grabs his companion's hand, too.
When Draco looks at him, a confused look on his pale face, Harry explains, "I'm not letting you fall again." (It's not like he wants to hold Draco's hand, or anything. That would be awfully strange, not to mention, kind of girly.)
Draco bites his lip, nods, and they quietly make their way back to the castle.
Hagrid, who's sitting by the door, waiting, gives the two boys a questioning look as they approach hand in hand, but as soon as he notices Draco's limp, he leaps up and rushes forward. "What 'appened 'ere, then? Are ye hurt, lad?"
Draco doesn't protest when the Half-Giant lifts him up and carries him off. He pays no attention to Weasley and Granger, either, when they return with their flowers. But over Hagrid's shoulder, he does look at Harry.
Harry glances up at Draco at the same time, and Harry smiles, because it's the polite thing to do.
Draco smiles back and then the smile turns into a grin. It's spontaneous, genuine and almost conspiratorial, and Harry doesn't think the two of them will ever be enemies anymore.